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 Dickens dictionary; 
 
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THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY 
 
 V. 
 
THE 
 
 DICKENS DICTIONARY 
 
 A KEY TO THE CHAEACTEES AND PEINCIPAL INCIDENTS 
 IN THE TALES OF CHAELES DICKENS. 
 
 BY 
 
 GILBEET A. PIERCE. 
 
 WITH ADDITIONS BY 
 
 WILLIAM A. WHEELER. 
 
 A 
 
 ESERVBD 
 
 FOR 
 .EFERENCE 
 
 iQT T be; mkEN 
 
 FROM THc kmRARY 
 
 LONDON: CHAPMAN AND HALL, Ld. 
 
LONDON : 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, Limited, 
 
 STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 fw passing the sheets of the English Edition of this Dictionary^ 
 through the press, for Messrs. Chapman and Hall, I have found 
 it necessary to make but very few alterations in the work of 
 its American compilers. Such alterations as will he found in, 
 the hook in its present form consist mainly in the omission 
 of extracts from published criticisms, and of references to the 
 originals (real and imaginary) of some of the characters in my 
 father's books, these being matters which did not appear to 
 me necessary to the plan of the Dictionary, and which, for 
 many reasons, I thought it undesh-able to retain. The extracts 
 from the stories, in this edition, are taken directly from the 
 novels. 
 
 I may, perhaps, be permitted to express a very favourable 
 opinion of the singularly painstaking and careful manner, im 
 which Mr. Pierce amd Mr. Wheeler have carried out what has 
 clearly been to them a labour of love. 
 
 CHA.ELES DICKENS. 
 
 Jatmary, 187c 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2011 with funding from 
 
 LYRASIS members and Sloan Foundation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/dickensdictionar1878pier 
 
FREPAOE TO THE AMERIOAi^J EDITION. 
 
 On bringing the First Series of " All the Year Ronnd " to a 
 close, Mr. Dickens used these words: "It is better that every 
 kind of work, honestly undertaken and discharged, should 
 «peak for itself than be spoken for." Now, as the general 
 intent of thia volume, the manner of its execution, and its 
 usefulness to the reading public, will be sufficiently obvious 
 on even a cursory inspection, they need not be " spoken for " 
 here. A few facts, however, crave to be stated by way of 
 explanation and acknowledgment 
 
 The arrangement of the names of characters nndei each 
 tale is alphabetical; but the order in which the tales them- 
 selves are treated is chronologicaL The latter remark, how- 
 ever, does not apply to the "Eeprinted Pieces," which are 
 put at the end of the list, as having been originally published, 
 in "Household Words," at various dates between the years 
 1850 and 1856. Moi does it apply to "Some Uncollected 
 
viii PREFACE. 
 
 Pieces," which, though among the earliest of our author's pix> 
 ductions, are placed after all the rest, as heing little known, 
 and, at present, inaccessible to the majority of readers. 
 
 Besides these, a number of other sketches and tales still 
 remain to be gathered from "Household Words," "All the 
 Year Eound," and from Qther sources. To the "Christmas 
 l^umbers " published in connection with these two periodicals, 
 Mr. Dickens was generally a contributor; and in 1867 he 
 collected and revised, expressly for the "Diamond" edition 
 of his works (published in America), "the portions of those 
 numbers" written by himself — namely, "(Somebody's Lug- 
 gage," " Mrs. Lirriper's Lodgings," " Mrs. Liniper's Legacy," 
 "Doctor Marigold," "Two Ghost Stories," "The Boy at 
 Mugby," and "The Holly-Tree." He is said to have written 
 the first and third portions of " The Perils of Certain EngKsh 
 Prisoners" (1857), and more or less of "The Haunted House" 
 (1859), "A Message from the Sea" (1860),."^^ Thorough- 
 fare" (1867), &c. ; but as he did not see fit to acknowledge 
 any share in these composite productions, and as it would be 
 impossible to separate his contributions from those of the 
 other writers associated with him, these stories have been 
 wholly omitted. It is to be noted, however, that although, 
 in the "Diamond" edition, he claimed as his own only those 
 portions of " Mugby Junction " entitled " The Boy at Mugby ' 
 and "The Signal-Man" (reprinted as the second of "Two 
 Ghost Stories "), yet, in the Contents prefixed to this Christmas 
 number of " All the Year Round," he put his name as author 
 to two other portions- entitled "Barbox Brothers" and "Barbox 
 
PREFACE. Ix 
 
 Brothers and Co." These are accordingly iDcluded in the present 
 work. 
 
 In three or four cases, the extracts from Dickens are taken 
 from his "Headings, as Condensed hy Himself," and not 
 directly from his novels. In the case of other extracts, 
 omissions and explanatory additions are always carefully 
 indicated. 
 
 The summaries of the Principal Incidents in the longer 
 tales have heen borrowed (with some slight additions and 
 changes) from the " Diamond " edition ; but, as the original 
 references were to the pages in that edition only, these have 
 been omitted, and chapter references given in their stead. 
 They will be found to furnish an excellent analysis of the 
 tales, and to be exceedingly convenient for reference. A 
 general synopsis of each story may also be readily obtained 
 by reading the account of the principal character or characters 
 j&guring in it. 
 
 The number of names of characters included in the General 
 Index, and more or less fully treated in the pages preceding 
 the Index, is upwards of fifteen hundred and fifty. The 
 number of names of imaginary places, societies, and literary 
 works, and of familiar phrases or sayings, and the like — also 
 included in the Index — is upwards of two hundred. 
 
 On the completion of this Dictionary, it was placed in the 
 hands of Mr. William A. Wheeler, as a "scholar of critical 
 habits and approved experience," to be revised and corrected 
 for the press ; and he has re-ad every page of it with scrupulous 
 care, both in the manuscript and ihs proofs, suggesting many 
 
X PREFACE. 
 
 alterations which have materially improved the work, besides 
 furnishing contributions of his own, which have given it still 
 greater interest, value, and completeness. 
 
 As the preparation of this manual has been a pleasant task, 
 the Author would fain hope that those who consult it may 
 find the perusal equally pleasant; and that it may help, in 
 however small a degree, to extend and perpetuate the fame 
 and influence of Charles Dickens, not only in his native land, 
 where he rested his claims to remembrance, and in America, 
 whose people he always regarded as " essentially one " with 
 his own countrymen, but throughout the world, which he has 
 so warmed and cheered with the sunshine of his genius and 
 humanity, and to whose intellectual wealth he has added so 
 much. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Alphabetical Ordeb of Dickens's Novels and Tales, with the 
 
 Date of theie First Publication ri 
 
 DICTIONAEY— 
 
 Sketches by Boz 1 
 
 Pickwick Papers 19 
 
 Oliver Twist 95 
 
 MuDFOG Association ^.. ... 125 
 
 Nicholas Nickleby , 131 
 
 Sketches of Young Couples 164 
 
 Master Humphrey's Clock 167 
 
 Old Curiosity Shop ... 174 
 
 Barnaby Rudge ... 206 
 
 Christmas Carol 220 
 
 Martin Chuzzlewit ... 227 
 
 The Chimes 262 
 
 Cricket on the Hearth 265 
 
 Battle of Life 269 
 
 DOMBEY AND SON 272 
 
 Haunted Man 302 
 
 David Copperfield 308 
 
 Bleak House 356 
 
 Hard Times 385 
 
 Seven Poor Travellers 397 
 
 Holly-Tree 899 
 
 Little Dorrit 402 
 
Tale of Two Cities .., .„ ... 420 
 
 Hunted Down .,. .„ .., ... 447 
 
 Uncommercial TEAVELtsBS .0, „, ... 449 
 
 Geeat Expectations ,. »,. ,„ ... 455 
 
 Somebody's Luggage .„ ... 481 
 
 Mbs. Lieeiper's LoDGi>'(^iS ... ... .„ 484 
 
 Mes. Lieeipee's Legacy .« 488 
 
 OuE Mutual Friend 492 
 
 Doctor Marigold ... .« ,.. 52& 
 
 Baeboi Brothers „, ... ,„ ,,. ... 528 
 
 bot at mugbt ... .»« , 531 
 
 Two Ghost-Storibs ,., «, 533 
 
 HoLiDAT Romance .^ 536 
 
 George Silverman's Explanation ... »♦. ... ... 540 
 
 New Uncommercial Samples ^ 543 
 
 Edwin Drood , .,, ... 545 
 
 Reprinted Pieces ... ... 558 
 
 Some Uncollected Pieces ^ 569 
 
 A Classed List of Charactees, si^c, ... ... ... ,.. 577 
 
 GENBBAL INDEX ... .«. ,^ »^ ^ ,„ ,„, 5§7 
 
ALPHABETICAL ORDER 
 
 OP 
 
 DICKENS'S NOVELS AND MINOE TALES, 
 
 With the Date of their First Pcblioatk !». 
 
 BARNABY RUDGE, 1841. 
 
 BATTLE OF LIFE, 1864. 
 
 BLEAK HOUSE, 1852-53. 
 
 BOY AT MUGBY, 1866. 
 
 CHIMES, 1844. 
 
 CHRISTMAS CAROL, 1843. 
 
 CRICKET ON THE HEARTH, 1845. 
 
 DAVID OOPPERFIELD, 1849-50. 
 
 DOCTOR MARIGOLD, 1865. 
 
 DOMBEY AND SON, 1846-48. 
 
 GEORGE SILVERMAN'S EXPLANATION, 18(^, 
 
 GREAT EXPECTATIONS, 186L 
 
 HARD TIMES, 1854. 
 
 HAUNTED MAN, 1848. 
 
 HOLIDAY ROMANCE, 1868. 
 
 HOLLY TREE, 1855. 
 
 HUNTED DOWN, 1859. 
 
 LITTLE DORRIT, 1855-57. 
 
 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT, 1843-44. 
 
git ALPHABETICAL OKDER OP 
 
 MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK, 1840-41,. 
 MRS. LIRRIPER'S LEGACY, 1864. 
 MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS, 1863. 
 MUDFOG ASSOCIATION, 1837-38. 
 MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD, 1870. 
 NEW UNCOMMERCIAL SAMPLES, 1869. 
 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY, 1838-39. 
 OLD CURIOSITY SHOP, 1840-41. 
 OLIVER TWIST, 1837-39. 
 OUR MUTUAL FRIEND, 1864-65. 
 PICKWICK PAPERS, 1836-37. 
 REPRINTED PIECES, 1858. 
 
 Namely: — The Begging -Letter Writer, 1850: 
 Bill Sticking, 1851. 
 Births. Mrs. Meek, of a Son, 1851 
 Child's Dream op a Star, 1850. 
 Child's Story, 1852. 
 Christmas-Tree, 1850. 
 Detective Police, 1850. 
 Down with the Tide, 1853. 
 A Flight, 1851. 
 The Ghost op Art, 1850. 
 The Long Voyage, 1853. 
 Lying Awake, 1852. 
 A Monument op French Folly, 1851. 
 Noble Savage, 1853. 
 Nobody's Story, 1853. 
 On Duty with Inspector Field, 1851c 
 Our Bore, 1852. 
 
 Our English Watering -Place, 1851. 
 Our French Watering-Place, 1854. 
 
DICKENS'S NOVELS AND MINOR TALES. i;-? 
 
 BEPRINTED FIEC^S— continued. 
 
 Our Honourable Friend, 1852. 
 
 Our School, 1851. 
 
 Our Vestry, 1852. 
 
 Out of the Season, 1856v 
 
 Out of Town, 1856. 
 
 A Plated Article, 1852. 
 
 A Poor Man's Tale of a Patent, 1850. 
 
 Poor Relation's Story, 1852. 
 
 Prince Bull: a Fairy-Tale, 1855. 
 
 Schoolboy's Story, 1853. 
 
 Three " Detective " Anecdotes, 1850. 
 
 "Walk in a Workhouse, 1850. 
 
 SEVEN POOR TRAVELLERS, 1854. 
 SKETCHES BY BOZ, 1836. 
 
 Namely ;— Our Parish ; containing The Beedle, the Parish Engine, 
 the Schoolmaster ; The Curate, the Old Lady, the Half- 
 pay Captain; The Four Sisters; The Election for Beadle: 
 The Broker's Man ; The Ladies' Societies ; Our Next-door 
 Neighbour. 
 
 Scenes ; containing The Streets — Morning ; The Streets — 
 Night ; Shops and their Tenants ; Scotland Yard ; Seven- 
 Dials ; Meditations in Monmouth Street ; Hackney-Coach 
 Stands ; Doctors' Commons ; London Recreations ; The 
 River; Astley's; Greenwich Fair; Private Theatres; 
 Vauxhall Gardens by Day ; Early Coaches ; Omnibuses ; 
 The Last Cab-Driver, and the First Omnibus Cab; A 
 Parliamentary Sketch; Publisi Dinners; The First of 
 May ; Brokers' and Marine-Store Shops ; Gin Shops ; 
 The Pawnbroker's Shop ; Criminal Courts ; A Visit to 
 Newgate. 
 
xvi DICKENS'S NOVELS AND MINOB TALES. 
 
 SKETCHES BY BOZ-~continued. 
 
 Ohabacters ; containing Thouglits about People ; A Christ- 
 mas Dinner ; The New Year ; Miss Evans and the Eagle J 
 The Parlour Orator; The Hospital Patient ; The Misplaced 
 Attachment of Mr. John Dounce ; The Mistaken Milliner ; 
 The Dancing Academy ; Shabby-Genteel People ; Making 
 a Night of it ; The Prisoners' Van. 
 
 Tabbs ; containing the Boarding-House ; Mr. Minns and his 
 Cousin ; Sentiment ; The Tuggses at Eamsgate ; Horatio 
 Sparkins ; The Black Veil ; The Steam Excursion ; The 
 Great Winglebury Duel ; Mrs. Joseph Porter ; A Passage 
 in the Life of Mr. Watkins Tottle; The Bloomsbury 
 Christening : The Drunkard's Death. 
 
 SKETCHES OF YOUNO COUPLES, 1841. 
 Namely: — The Young Couple; The Formal Couple: The Loving 
 Couple ; The Contradictory Couple ; The Couple who 
 Dote upon their Children; The Cool Couple; The 
 Plausible Couple ; The Nice Little Couple ; The Ego- 
 tistical Couple; The Couple who Coddle Themselves; 
 The Old Couple. 
 
 SOME UNCOLLECTED PIECES. 
 Namely :— Is She Hk Wife ? 1837. 
 
 The Lamplighter's Story, 1841. 
 Pantomime op Life, 1837. 
 Public Life of Mb. Tulrumble, 1837 
 The Strange Gentleman, 1837. 
 The Village Coquettes, 183S. 
 
 SOMEBODY'S LUGGAGE, 1862. 
 TALE OF TWO CITIES, 1859. 
 TWO GHOST STORIES, 1865-66. 
 UNCOMMEECIAL TRAVELLER, 1860. 
 
THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 SKETCHES BY BOZ. 
 
 ILLirSTRATIVE OF EVERY-DAT LIFE AND EVERY-DAY PEOPLE. 
 
 These are a collection of ehort pieces, comprising Mr. Dickens's first 
 attempts at authorship. They were originally contributed to " The 
 Monthly Magazine " (*' The Old Monthly," as it was called to distinguish 
 it from Colburn's " New Monthly "), The Morning Chronicle, and Bell's Life 
 in London. In 1836 they were brought together, and republished, with 
 illustrations by George Cruikshank, in two series, of which the former 
 was contained in two volumes and the latter in one. The very first of 
 these " Sketches " was that entitled " Mrs. Joseph Porter." It appeared 
 in " The Monthly Magazine " for January, 1834. The first in which Dickens 
 assmned the pseudonym of " Boz " was the second part or chapter of 
 ** The Boarding House," which came out in the same magazine in 
 August, 1834. Of the origin of this name, the author has given the 
 following account : " ' Boz ' was the nickname of a pet child, a younger 
 brother [Augustus Dickens], whom I had dubbed Moses in honour of 
 the Vicar of Wakefield ; which, being facetiously pronoimced through 
 the nose, became Boses, and, being shortened, became Boz. * Boz ' 
 was a very familiar household word to me long before I was an author ; 
 and so I came to adopt it." 
 
 Mr. Dickens's own estimate of " The Sketches " — given in 1850, in 
 the Preface to a new edition of them — ^was, that they are often " extremely 
 crude and ill-considered, bearing obvious marks of haste and inexperience, 
 particularly in that section of th© volume which ia comprised under tho 
 general head of Tales." 
 
 • 
 
THE DICKENS DICTIONABT. 
 
 CHAEACTERS INTEODUCED. 
 
 The Beadls. 
 SIMMONS. Parish beadle. 
 
 The Four Sisters. 
 
 DAWSON, MR. A surgeon, &c., in attendance on Mrs. 
 Bobinson at the time of her confinement. 
 
 ROBINSON, MR. A gentleman in a public office, who 
 marries the youngest Miss Willis, though he has to court her 
 three sisters also, as they are all completely identified one 
 with another. 
 
 WILLISES, THE FOUR MISS. Eour sisters in "our 
 parish," who seem to have no separate existence, and who 
 drive the neighbourhood distracted by keeping profoundly 
 secret the name of the fortunate one who is to marry Mr. 
 Eobinson. 
 
 Election for Beadle. 
 
 BUNG, MR. A man of thirty-five years of age, with five 
 small children ; a candidate for the office of beadle, which he 
 obtains by a large majority. {^See below.) 
 
 PURDAY, CAPTAIN. A bluff and unceremonious old naval 
 officer on half-pay (first introduced, though not mentioned by 
 name, in the sketch entitled " The Curate "). He is a deter- 
 mined opponent of the constituted authorities, whoever they 
 may chance to be, and zealously supports Bung for beadle. 
 
 SPRUGGINS, MR. THOMAS Defeated candidate for beadle; 
 a httle thin man, fifty years old, with a pale face expressive 
 of care and fatigue, owing, perhaps, to the fact of his having 
 ten small children (two of them twins) and a wife. 
 
 SPRUGGINS, MRS. His wife. She solicits votes for her 
 husband, and increases the general prepossession which at first 
 prevails in his favour by her personal appearance, which in- 
 dicates the probability of a still further addition, at no remote 
 period, to his already large family. 
 
SKETCHES BY BOZ. 8 
 
 The Broker's Man. 
 
 BUNG, MR. A broker's assistant, afterwards the parish 
 beadle. {See above.) One of those careless, good-for-nothing, 
 happy fellows who float cork-like on the surface for the ^vorld 
 to play at hockey with. 
 
 FIXEM. A broker, who assumes the alias of Smith ; Eung'a 
 master. 
 
 JOHN. A servant. 
 
 The Ladies* Societies. 
 
 BROY/NS, THE THREE 3fISS, Members of various visita- 
 tion committees and charitable societies, and admirers of the 
 curate, who is a young man and unmarried. They are 
 opposed to— 
 
 BARKER, MRS. JOHNSON. The mother of seven extremely 
 fine girls — all unmamed — and the founder of a Ladies' Bible 
 and Prayer-Book Distribution Society, from which the Miss 
 Browns are excluded. 
 
 Our Next-door Neighbour. 
 
 WILLIAM. A young man who overtasks liimself to earn a 
 support for himself and his widowed mother, and at last dies 
 iQ her arms. 
 
 The Streets.— Night. 
 
 MAGKLIN, MRS. An inhabitant of No. 4 in one of the Httle 
 
 streets in the suburbs of London. 
 REFLOW, MRS. A neighbour of Mrs. Macklin. 
 FEPLOW, MASTER. Her son. 
 SMUGGINS, MR. A little round-faced man, in the comic 
 
 line, with a mixed air of self-denial and mental consciousness 
 
 of his own powers. 
 
 WALKER, MRS. An inhabitant of No. 5 in the same street 
 with Mrs. Macklin. 
 
 Seven Dials. 
 
 MARY. A woman who has taken "throe-outs" enough of gin 
 
 and bitters to make her quarrelsome. 
 SARAH. A vixen who falls out with her, and settles the 
 
 difficulty by a resort to blowg. 
 
TEE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 Doctors' Commons. 
 
 BUMPLE, MICHAEL. Promoter, or complainant, against 
 
 ^Ir. Sludbcrry, in a "brawling case. 
 SLUDBERRY, THOMAS. A little red-faced, sly-iooldng, 
 
 ginger-beer seller, defendant in case of " Bumple against 
 
 SludbeiTy;" sentenced to excom.mimication for a fortnight 
 
 and payment of costs. 
 
 London Eecreations. 
 
 BILL, UNCLE. One of a party of Sunday pleasurers at a 
 tea-garden ; considered a great wit by bis friends. 
 
 SALLY, His niece, joked by Uncle Bill about ber marriage, 
 and her first baby, because a certain young man is " keeping 
 company " with her. 
 
 The River, 
 DANDO, A boatman. 
 
 ASTLEY^S. 
 
 WOOLFORDj MISS, A circns-rider. 
 
 Private Theatres. 
 
 LARKINSj JEM. An amateur actor in the genteel comedy 
 line, kno^vm to the public as Mr. Horatio St, Julian. 
 
 LOG GINS, MR. A player who takes the part of Macbeth, 
 and is announced on the bills as Mr. Beverley. 
 
 Vauxhall Gardens bt Dat. 
 
 GREEN, MR. An aeronaut. 
 
 GREEN, MR., JUN. His son and assistant. 
 
 The Last Cab»deivee and the First Omnibus-cad. 
 
 BARKER, MR. WILLIAM, commonly called " Bill Booiikes 
 or Aggerawatin' Bill." An omnibus-cad, with aremarkable 
 talent for enticing the youthful and unwary, and shoving the 
 old and helpless into the wrong 'bus. 
 
 A Parliamentary Sketch. 
 
 CAPTAIN, THE. A spare, squeaking old man, always 
 damning his own eyes or " somebody else's,'' and a complete 
 walking-reservoir of spirits and water. 
 
SKETCHES BY BOZ. 6 
 
 JANE. The Hebo of "Bellamy's," or the refresluncnt-room of 
 the Houses of Parliament. She has a thorough contempt for 
 the great majority of her visitors, and a great love of admira- 
 tion. 
 
 NICHOLAS. The butler of « Bellamy's." He has held the 
 same place, dressed exactly in the same manner, and said 
 precisely the same things ever since the oldest of its present 
 visitors can remember. 
 
 TOM, HONEST, A metropolitan member of the House of 
 Commons. 
 
 TiEE FiEST OP Mat. 
 
 SLUFFEN, MR, of Adam-and-Eve Court. A speaker at the 
 anniversary dinner given to the chimney-sweeps on May-day 
 at Wliite Conduit House. 
 
 Tee Pawnbroker's Shop. 
 
 HENRY, MR. A pawnbroker, whose shop is near Drury 
 
 Lane. 
 JINKINS. A customer, dirty, intoxicated, and quarrelsome. 
 MA CKIN, MRS. Another customer, slipshod and abusive. 
 TAT HAM, MRS. An old woman who tries to borrow eighteen 
 
 pence or a shilling on a child's frock and " a beautiful sUk 
 
 'ankecher." 
 
 Thoughts about People. 
 
 SMITH, MR. A poor clerk, a mere passive creature of habit 
 
 and endurance. 
 
 A Christmas Dinner. 
 
 GEORGE, AUNT. The hostess at whose house the Christmas 
 
 family-party assemble. 
 GEORGE, UNCLE. Her husband. 
 JANE, AUNT Another member of the family. 
 MARGARET, AUNT. Married to a poor man, afad ti'eat?d 
 
 coldly by her relations in consequence. 
 
 ROBERT, UNCLE, Husband to Aunt J-ana 
 
$ THE DICKENS DICTION AKY. 
 
 The New Yeae. 
 
 DOBBLE, MR. A clerk in a public office, who gives .':'. 
 
 quadrille party on J^ew Year's Eve. 
 DOBBLE, MR, JUN. His son. 
 DOBBLE, MISS JULIA. His eldest dangMer. 
 DOBBLE, MRS His wife. 
 
 TUPPLE, MR. A junior clerk in the same office with Mr. 
 Dobhle ; a young man with a tendency to cold and corns, hut 
 " a charming j)ersonj" and "a perfect ladies' man." 
 
 Miss Evans and the Eagle. 
 
 EVANS, MISS JEMIMA (called "J'mima Ivins" hy her 
 acquaintances). A shoe-hinder and straw bonnet maker, 
 affianced to Mr. Samuel Wilkins. 
 
 EVANS, MISS TILLY. One of her sisters. 
 
 EVANS, MRS Her mother. 
 
 WILKINS, MR. SAMUEL. A journeyman carpenter of 
 small dimensions, "keeping company" with Miss Jemima 
 Evans. 
 
 The Paelour Oeatoe. 
 
 ELLIS, MR. A sharp-nosed man, with a very slow and soft 
 voice, who considers Mr. Eogers "such improving company." 
 
 ROGERS, MR. A stoutish man of about forty, -with a red 
 face and a confident oracular air, wliich marks him as a leading 
 politician, general authority, and universal anecdote-relater. 
 Proof is what he requires — proof, not assertions — ia regard to 
 anything and everything whatsoever. 
 
 TOMMY. A little chubby-faced greengrocer, of great good 
 sense, w^ho opposes Mr. Eogers, and is denounced by him, in 
 consequence, as " a willing slave." 
 
 The Hospital Patient. 
 
 JACK. A young fellow who treats his paramour so brutally as 
 to cause her death, and yet is so loved by her, even to the 
 last, that she cannot be persuaded to swear his life away, but 
 dies praying God to bless hiuL 
 
SKETCHES BY BOZ. 7 
 
 The MrspLACED Attachment op Mr. John Dounce. 
 
 BOUNCE, MR. JOHN. A fat, red-faced, white-headed old 
 boy, a retired glove and braces maker, and a widower. He 
 falls in love with a bewitching barmaid, who trifles with his 
 affections, and at last tells him plainly that she "wouldn't 
 have him at no price ; " whereupon he offers himself succes- 
 sively to a schoolmistress, a landlady, a feminine tobacconist, 
 a housekeeper, and his own cook, by the last of whom he is 
 accepted, married — and thoroughly henpecked. 
 
 HARRIS, MR. A law stationer and a jolly old fellow; a 
 friend of Mr. Doimce. 
 
 JENNINGS, MR. A robe maker ; also a friend of Mr. Bounce, 
 
 and a sad dog in his time. 
 JONES, MR. Another friend, a barrister's clerk, and a rum 
 
 fellow — capital company — full of anecdote. 
 
 The Mistaken Millinee. 
 
 MARTIN, MISS AMELIA. A milliner and dressmaker who 
 has an ambition to " come out " as a public singer, and tries 
 it, but fails miserably. 
 
 RODOLPH, MR. AND MRS. JENNINGS, Her friends 
 and counsellors. 
 
 The Dancing Academy. 
 
 BILLSMETHI, SIGNOR. A popular dancing-master. 
 
 BILLSMETHI, MASTER. His son. 
 
 BILLSMETHI, MISS. His daughter, a young lady with her 
 hair curled in a crop all over her head, and her shoes tied iu 
 sandals aU over her ankles. She sets her cap for Mr. Cooper, 
 and, not succeeding in securing him for a husband, brings a 
 suit for breach of promise, but finally compromises the matter 
 for twenty pounds, four shillings, and sixpence. 
 
 COOPER, MR. AUGUSTUS. A young gentleman of F2tter 
 Lane, in the oil and colour business, just of age, with a little 
 money, a little business, and a little mother. 
 
 Making a Night op It. 
 
 POTTER, MR. THOMAS. A clerk in the City, with a limited 
 income, and an unbounded friendship for Mr. Smithers. 
 
8 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 SMITHERS, MR. ROBERT. Also a clerk in tho City, knit 
 by the closest ties of intimacy and friendsMp to Mx. Potter. 
 On the receipt of their quarter's salary, these two " thick-and- 
 thin pals," as they style themselves, spend an evening together, 
 and proceeding by degrees from simple hilarity to drunkenness, 
 commit various breaches of the peace ; are locked up in the 
 station-house for the night ; brought iDcfore the pohce court 
 in the morning, and each fined live shillings for being drunk, 
 and thirty-four pounds for seventeen assaults at forty shillings 
 a head. 
 
 The Peisonees^ Van. 
 
 BELLA. A young girl, not fourteen, forced by a sordid and 
 ' rapacious mother to a life of vice and crime, which she loathes, 
 but cannot escape from. 
 
 EMILY. Her sister, hardened in depravity by two additional 
 years' experience of the debauchery of London street-life, and 
 priding herself on being " game." 
 
 The BoAEDma House. 
 
 A ONES. !Mrs. Bioss's maid. 
 
 BLOSS, MRS. The wealthy widow of a cork-cutter, whose 
 cook she had been. Having nothing to do,- she imagines she 
 must be ill, but eats amazingly, and has the appearance of 
 being remarkably weU. She makes the acquaintance of Mr. 
 Gobler, and marries him. 
 
 C ALTON, MR. A superannuated beau, exceedingly vain, in- 
 ordinately selfish, and the very pink of politeness. He makes 
 himself agreeable to Mrs. Maplesone, and agrees to marry her ; 
 but, failing to do so, she sues him for breach of promise, and 
 recovers a thousand pounds. 
 
 EVEN SON, MR. JOHN. A stem, morose, and discontented 
 man, a thorough radical, and a universal fault-finder. 
 
 OOBLER, MR. A lazy, selfish hypochondriac, whose digestion 
 is 80 much impaired, and whose interior so deranged, that his 
 stomach is not of the least use to him. 
 
 HIGKS, MR, SEPTIMUS, A taUish, white-faced, spectacled 
 yoiiBg mim, who has the reputation of being very talented. 
 
SKETCHES BY BOZ. 9 
 
 He falls in love with ]\Iiss Matilda Maplesono, -whom he 
 
 marries, but afterwards deserts. 
 JAMES. A servant to Mrs. Tibbs. 
 MAPLESONE, MRS. An enterprising widow of fifty, shrewd, 
 
 scheming, and good-looldng, with no objection to marrying 
 
 again if it would benefit her dear girls. 
 MAPLESONE, MISS JULIA. Her younger daughter; 
 
 married to Mr. Simpson. 
 
 MAPLESONE, MISS MATILDA. Her elder daughter; 
 
 married to Mr. Septimus Hicks. 
 0'BLEJ.EY, ME. FREDERICK. A patriotic Txishman, 
 
 recently imported in a perfectly wild state ; in search of 
 
 employment, and ready to do or be anything that might 
 
 turn up. 
 ROBINSON. A female servant to Mrs. Tibbs. 
 
 SIMPSON, MR. One of the " walking gentlemen " of society ; 
 an empty-headed young man, always dressed according to the 
 caricatures published in the monthly fashions. 
 
 TIBBS, MR. A short man, with very short legs, but a face 
 peculiarly long, by way of indemnification. He is to his wife 
 what the is in 90~of some importance with her, but 
 nothing without her. 
 
 TIBBS, MRS. His wife, mistress of the boarding-house ; the 
 most tidy, fidgety, thrifty little person that ever inhaled the 
 smoke of London. 
 
 TOMKINS, MR. ALFRED. Clerk in a wine-house; a con- 
 noisseur in paintings, and with a wonderful eye for the pic- 
 turesque. 
 
 WISBOTTLE, MR. A clerk in the Woods and Forests Office, 
 and a high Tory; addicted to whistling, and having a great 
 idea of his singing powers. 
 
 WOSKY, DOCTOR. Mr. Bloss's medical attendant, who has 
 amassed a fortujie by invariably humouring the worst fancies 
 of his female patients. 
 
 Mr. Minns and his Cousin. 
 
 BROGSON, MR. An elderly gentleman visiting at Ivlr. 
 
 Budden's. 
 SUDDEN, MR. OCTAVIUS. A retired corn-chandler, 
 
 residing at Amelia Cottage, Poplar "Walk, Stamford Hill 
 
 He is a cousin to Mr. Minns. 
 
10 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 BUDDEN, MRS. AMELIA. His wife. 
 
 SUDDEN, MASTER ALEXANDER AUGUSTUS. Their 
 son, a precocious cMld, and the pride of his parents. 
 
 JONES, MR. A little man with red whiskers, a visitor at 
 Mr. Budden's, and a " devilish sharp fellow," w^ho talks 
 equally well on any subject. 
 
 LlINNS, MR. AUGUSTUS A clerk in Somerset House, 
 and a precise, tidy, retiring old bachelor, who is always getting 
 into trouble when he leaves his own snug and well-ordered 
 apartments, and who is thoroughly disgusted with a visit 
 which he is compelled to make to his cousin, Mr. Octavius 
 Eudden. 
 
 Sentiment. 
 
 BUTLER, MR. THEODOSIUS. A very wonderful genius, 
 author of a pamphlet entitled *' Considerations on the Policy 
 of Eemoving the Duty on Beeswax." This he presents to 
 Cornelius Brook Dingwall, Esq., M.P., under the assumed 
 name of Edward M'J^eville Walter, and thus gains admission 
 to his house, and an opportunity of winning the heart of his 
 supersentimental daughter. 
 
 CRUMP TON, MISS AMELIA. A very tall, thin, skinny, 
 upright, yellow, and precise maiden lady, with the strictest 
 possible idea of propriety. 
 
 CRUMPTON, MISS MARIA. The exact counterpart of her 
 sister, in conjunction with whom she carries on a finishing- 
 school for young ladies, called "Minerva House." 
 
 DADSON, AIR. Writing-master at the Miss Crumptons 
 school. 
 
 DADSON, MRS. His wife. 
 
 DINGWALL, CORNELIUS BROOK, ESQ., M.P, Avery 
 haughty, solemn, and portentous man, having a great opinion 
 of his own abilities, and wonderfully proud of being a Member 
 of Parliament. 
 
 DINGWALL, MRS BROOK. His wife. 
 
 DINGWALL, FREDERICK. Son of Mr. and Mrs Brook 
 Dingwall ; one of those public nuisances — a spoiled child. 
 
 DINGWALL, MISS LAVINIA BROOK. Their daughter, 
 the most romantic of all romantic young ladies ; in love with 
 Edward M'll^eville Walter (otherwise Mr. Theodosius Butler), a 
 young man much her inferior in life. She is therefore sent to 
 the Miss Crumptons' educational establishment, to eradicate the 
 sentimental attachment from her young mind, on the supposi- 
 
SKETCHES BY BOZ. 11 
 
 tion that she can have no opportunity of meeting liim there. 
 
 She does meet him, however, and runs away with and marries 
 
 him in haste, only to repent at leisure. 
 HILTON, MR. Master of the ceremonies at a ball at Minerva 
 
 House. 
 JAMES. Servant to Mr. Brook Dingwall. 
 LOBSKINI, SIGNOR. A singing-master, with a splendid 
 
 tenor voice. 
 
 PARSONS, MISS LjETITIA. A brilliant musical performer. 
 
 SMITHERS, MISS EMILY. The belle of Minerva House. 
 
 WILSON, MISS CAROLINE. Her bosom-friend, and the 
 ugliest girl in Hammersmith — or out of it. 
 
 The Tuggses at Eamsgate. 
 
 AMELIA, JANE, AND MARY ANN. Yoimg ladies who 
 take part in games of chance in a concert-room at Eamsgate. 
 
 SLAUGHTER, LIEUTENANT. A friend of Captain 
 Waters. 
 
 TIFFIN, MR. A comic singer at Eamsgate. 
 
 TIFFIN, MRS. His wife ; a concert-singer from the London 
 theatres. 
 
 TIFFIN, MASTER. Their son. 
 
 TIFFIN, MISS. Their daughter ; a performer on the guitar. 
 
 TUGGS, MR. JOSEFH. A little pursy London grocer, with 
 shiny hair, twinkling eyes, and short legs. By the unexpected 
 decision of a long-pending lawsuit, he comes into possession 
 of twenty thousand pounds, whereupon he incontinently puts 
 on airs, closes his shop, and starts with his family for Eams- 
 gate, that being a fashionable vv^atering-place. 
 
 TUGGS, MRS. His wife ; in charge of the cheesemongery 
 department. 
 
 TUGGS, MISS CHARLOTTE. Their only daughter. When 
 her father becomes rich, she calls herself Charlotta. 
 
 TUGGS, MR. SIMON. Their only son; a young gentleman 
 with that elongation in his thoughtful face, and that tendency 
 to weakness in his interesting legs, which tell so forcibly of a 
 great mind and romantic disposition. At first, he is a book- 
 keeper in his father's shop; but^ when the fortune falls to 
 the family, he styles himself Cymon; attempts to play the 
 gentleman ; and roundly abuses his father for not appearing 
 
12 TKE DICKENS DICTIONAKY. 
 
 ftristocratic. Going to Eamsgate, he is neatly taken in and 
 swindled by Captain Waters and his wife, whom he meets 
 there, and greatly admii-cs— especially the wife. He escapes 
 with the loss of his veneration for appearances, and of fifteen 
 hundred pounds in money. 
 
 WATEES, CAPTAIN WALTER. A pretended miUtary 
 
 man, and a sharper. 
 
 WATERS, MRS. BELINDA. His wife; a young lady with 
 long black ringlets, large black eyes, brief petticoats, and 
 imexceptionabJe ankles. 
 
 Horatio Spareins. 
 
 BARTON, MR. JACOB. Brother of Mrs. Malderton ; a large 
 grocer, who never scrupled to avow that he wasn't above his 
 business. " He made his money by it, and he didn't care who 
 know'd it." 
 
 FLAM WELL, MR. A Kttie spoffish toad-eater, with green 
 spectacles, always pretending to know everybody, but in 
 reality knowing nobody ; a friend of Mr. Maldeiton. 
 
 JOHN. A man in IVIr. Malderlon's service, half -groom, half- 
 gardener, but, on great occasions, touched up and brushed to 
 look like a second footman. 
 
 MALDERTON, MR. (of Oak Lodge, Camberwell). A man 
 who has become rich in consequence of a few successful specu- 
 lations, and who is hospitable from ostentation, illiberal from 
 ignorance, and prejudiced from conceit. The whole scope of 
 his ideas is limited to Lloyds, the Exchange, the Lidia House, 
 and the Bank. 
 
 MALDERTON, MRS. His wife; a little fat woman, with a 
 
 great aversion to anything low. 
 
 MALDERTON, MISS MARIANNE. Their younger daughter; 
 
 a sentimental damsel. 
 
 MALDERTON, MISS TERESA. Their elder daughter; a 
 young lady of eight-and-twenty, w^ho has flirted for ten years 
 in vain, but is still on the look-out for a husband. 
 
 MALDERTON, MR. FREDERICK. Their eldest son; the 
 very heau ideal of a smart waiter, and the family authority on 
 all points of taste, dress, and fashionable arrangement. 
 
 MALDERTON, MR. THOMAS. Their younger son ; 
 snubbed by his father on all occasions, with a view to prevent 
 his becoming " sharp "-—a very unnecessary precaution. 
 
SK:ETCiiiES Bf BOZ. 13 
 
 SPARKINS, MR. IIOIIA TIO. A young man whose dashing 
 manners and gentlemanlike appearance so dazzle the JMal- 
 dertons, that they think he must be a man of large fortune and 
 aristocratic family. They eyen go so far as to suspect that he 
 may be a nobleman, and are greatly mortified at last to 
 discover that he is a mere clerk in a linen-draper's shop, and 
 owns to the plebeian name of Smith. 
 
 The Steam Excursion. 
 
 BRIGGS, MRS. A widow lady ; a rival of Mrs. Tatmton. 
 
 BRIGGS, MISS. One of her three daughters. 
 
 BRIGGS, MISS JULIA. Another daughter. 
 
 BRIGGS, MISS KATE. Another daughter. 
 
 BRIGGS, MR. ALEXANDER. Her younger son, articled to 
 his brother. He is remarkable for obstinacy. 
 
 BRIGGS, MR. SAMUEL. Her elder son ; an attorney, and 
 a mere machine ; a sort of self-acting, legal walking-stick. 
 
 EDKINS, MR. (of the Inner Temple). A pale young gentle- 
 man in a green stock and green spectacles, who makes a speech 
 on every occasion on which one can possibly be made. 
 
 FLEETWOOD, MR. One of the excursion party. 
 
 FLEETWOOD, MRS. His wife, who accompanies him. 
 
 FLEETWOOD, MASTER. Their son; an unfortunate inno- 
 cent of about four years of age. 
 
 HARDY, MR. A stout, middle-aged gentleman, with a red 
 face, a somewhat husky voice, and a tremendous laugh. He 
 is a practical joker, is immensely popular with married ladies, 
 and a general favourite with young men. 
 
 HELVES, CAPT. A military gentleman with a bass voice 
 and an incipient red moustache ; a friend of the Taiintons. 
 
 NOAKES, MR, PERCY. A law student, smart, spoffish, and 
 eight-and-twenty. With a few friends lie attempts to get up 
 an excursion party to which no one shall be invited w*ho has 
 not received the unanimous vote of a committee of arrange- 
 ments. But tlvD obstinate Isli. Alexander Briggs being a 
 member of this committee, and blackballing everybody who 
 is proposed b}'" Mi. iN'oakcs or his friends, the original plan is 
 abandoned ; and every gentleman is allowed to bring w^hom 
 he pleases. The party start on a Wednesday morning for the 
 I^ore, and reach it after a pleasant trip ; but on the return a 
 violent squall comes up ; the pitching and tossing of the boat 
 
14 THE DIOEENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 bring on a general seasicknevss ; and, v^hen tliey get back to 
 the wharf at two o'clock the next morning, everyone is 
 thoroughly dispirited and worn out. 
 
 STUBBS, MRS. A dirty old laundress with an inflamed 
 countenance. 
 
 TAUNTON, MRS. A good-looking widow of fifty, with the 
 form of a giantess and the mind of a child. The sole end of 
 her existence is the pursuit of pleasure, and some . means of 
 killing time. She is a particular friend of IVIr. Percy ISToakes, 
 and a mortal enemy of the Briggses. 
 
 TAUNTON, MISS EMILY. Her daughter j a frivolous 
 young lady. 
 
 TAUNTON, MISS SOPHIA. Another daughter, as light- 
 minded as her sister. 
 
 The Geeat Winglebuey Duel. 
 
 BROWN, MISS EMILY. A young lady beloved by both 
 Mr. Trott and Mr. Hunter, but finally married to the latter. 
 
 HUNTER, MR. HORACE. Pdval of Mr. Trott for the hand 
 of Miss Emily Erov/n. 
 
 MANNERS, MISS JULIA. A buxom and wealthy woman 
 of forty, formerly engaged to be married to a Mr. Comberry, 
 who died leaving her a large property unencumbered with 
 the addition of himself. Being in want of a young husband, 
 she falls in love with a certain %vild and prodigal noblem.an, 
 Lord Peter, who falls in love with her handsome fortune of 
 three thousand pounds a year; but in the end she marries 
 plain Mr. Trott. 
 
 OVERTON, JOSEPH, ESQ. Solicitor, and mayor of Great 
 Winglebury. 
 
 PETER, LORD. A dissipated sprig of nobility, attached to 
 Miss Manners (or her monej^) ; killed by being thrown from 
 his horse in a steeplechase. 
 
 THOMAS. A waiter at the Winglebury Arms. 
 
 TROTT, MR. ALEXANDER. A cowardly young tailor (or 
 umbrella maker). He desires to marry Miss Emily Brown, 
 but is deterred by the hostile attitude of Mr. Horace Hunter, 
 who challenges him to mortal combat for daring to think of 
 such a thing. He accepts the challenge in a bloodthirsty note, 
 but immediately sends another, and an anonymous one, to the 
 mayor of Great "Winglebury, urging that Mr. Trott be forth- 
 with arrested. By a ludicrous blunder, he is mistaken for 
 
SKETCHES BY BOZ. 15 
 
 Lord Peter, who is expected at the Winglebiiry Arms for the 
 purpose of meeting Miss Julia Manners, his intended, and who 
 is to be seized and carried off as an insane person, in order 
 that his relatives may not discover him. Thns it happens 
 that Trott is taken away in a carriage with Miss Manners, 
 and, mutual explanations having been made, that he marries 
 her instead of the adorable Miss Emily Erown. 
 
 WILLIAMSON, MRS. Landlady of the Winglebury Arms. 
 
 Mes. Joseph Portee. 
 
 BALDERSTONE, MR. THOMAS, called "Uncle Tom." 
 A rich brother of Mrs. Gattleton, always in a good temper, 
 and always talking and joking. 
 
 BROWN, MR. A performer on the violoncello at the private 
 theatricals. 
 
 CAPE, MR. A violinist. 
 
 EVANS, MR. A tall, thin, and pale young gentleman, with 
 lovely whiskers, and a remarkable talent for writing verses in 
 albums, and for playing the flute. He is the Roderigo of the 
 private theatricals. 
 
 GATTLETON, MR. A retired stockbroker, Hving at Kose 
 Villa, Clapham Eise. He is infected, as are the other members 
 of his family, with a mania for private theatricals, acting liim- 
 self as prompter. 
 
 GATTLETON, MRS. His wife; a kind-hearted, good-tem- 
 pered, vulgar soul, with a natural antipathy to other people's 
 unmarried daughters, a fear of ridicule, and a great dislike 
 for Mrs. Joseph Porter. 
 
 GATTLETON, MISS. One of their three daughters. 
 
 GATTLETON, MISS CAROLINE. Another daughter ; the 
 Fenella of the private theatricals. 
 
 GATTLETON, MISS LUCINA. Another daughter, who 
 plays the part of Desdemona. 
 
 GATTLETON, MR. SEMPRONIUS. Their son, at once 
 
 stage -manager and Othello. 
 IIARLEIGH, MR. A singer, who takes the part of Masaniello. 
 JENKINS, MISS. A piano-player. 
 
 PORTER, MRS, JOSEPH. A sarcastic scandal-monger, who 
 dehghts in making other people uncomfortable. At the private 
 theatricals of the Gattletons, she indulges her propensity to 
 mischief-niaking by setting on ^Mr. Jacob Barton (vrho prides 
 
16 THE DiCKUNS DICTIONARY. 
 
 himself on Ids accurate knowledge of Sliakespeare) to intei*rapt 
 the performers, in the very midst of the play, by correcting 
 their numerous mistakes. 
 
 PORTER, MISS EMILY. Her daughter. 
 
 WILSON, MR. The lago of the private theatricals. 
 
 A Passage in the Life op Me. Watkins Tottls. 
 
 IKET. The factotum of Llr. Solomon Jacobs's sponging-house. 
 
 JACOBS, MR. SOLOMON. A bailiff, Hving in Cursitor 
 Street. 
 
 JEM. A sallow-faced, red-haired, sulky boy in charge of the 
 door of Mr. Jacobs's private lock-up. 
 
 JOHN. Servant to Mrs. Parsons. 
 
 LILLERTON, MISS. A prim spinster of uncertain age, with 
 a complexion as clear as that of a wax doll, and a face as 
 expressive. 
 
 MARTHA. Serv^ant to Mrs. Parsons, 
 
 PARSONS, MR. GABRIEL. An elderly and rich sugar- 
 baker, who mistakes rudeness for honesty, and abrupt blunt- 
 ness for an open and candid manner. 
 
 PARSONS, MRS. FANNY. His wife. 
 
 TIMSON, THE REVEREND CIMRLES. A friend of 
 
 Mr. Parsons. He marries Miss Lillerton. 
 
 TOTTLE, MR. W ATKINS. A plump, cleau; rosy bachelor 
 of fifty ; a compound of strong uxorious inclinations and an 
 unparalleled degree of anti-connubial timidity. Having been 
 arrested for debt, and confined in a sponging-house, his friend 
 Parsons engages to pay the debt, and take him out, if he will 
 agree to marry Miss Lillerton, who has five hundred pounds a 
 year in her own right. On being released, he offers himself 
 to that lady, but after such an awkward and ambiguous 
 fashion, that she quite mistakes his meaning, and answers him 
 in a way that makes him think himself accejjted. On being 
 sent by her vrith a note — respecting their marriage, as he 
 supposes — to the Eeverend Mr. Timson, it transpires that she 
 has been engaged to that gentleman for several weeks. The 
 upshot of the whole affair is, that IMr. Parsons renounces the 
 friendship and acquaintance of IVIr. Tottle, who takes refuge 
 from " the slings and arrows of outrageous f oitan© " by walking 
 into the Eegent's CanaJ. 
 
SKETCHES BY BOZ. 17 
 
 WALKER, MR. An imprisoned debtor, inmate of I^Ir. Solomon 
 
 Jacobs's private lock-up. 
 
 WILLISf MR. Another inmate of the same establishment. 
 
 The Bloomsburt Christening. 
 
 DANTONf MR. A young man with a considerable stock of 
 impudence, and a very small share of ideas, who passes for a 
 wit. He is a friend of Mr. Kitterbell's, and a great favourite 
 generally, especially with young ladies. 
 
 DUMPS, MR. NIOODEMUS, called "Long Dumps." An 
 old bachelor, never happy but when he is miserable, and 
 always miserable when he has the best reason to be happy, 
 and whose only real comfort is to make everybody about him 
 wretched. He is uncle to Mr. Charles Kitterbell, and, having 
 been invited to stand as godfather to that gentleman's infant 
 son, reluctantly does so, but takes his revenge by suggesting 
 the most dismal possibilities of sickness and accident as alto- 
 gether likely to happen to the child, and by making a speech 
 at the supper after the cliristening, so lugubrious and full of 
 gloomy forebodings as to throw Mrs. Kitterbell into violent 
 hysterics, thus breaking up the party, and enabling him to 
 walk home with a cheerful heart. 
 
 KITTERBELL, MR. CHARLES. A small, sharp, spar@ 
 man, with an extraordinarily large head and a cast in his eye ; 
 very credulous and matter-of-fact. 
 
 KITTERBELL, MRS. JEMIMA. His wife; a tall, thin 
 young lady with very light hair, a particularly white face, a 
 slight cough, and a languid smile. 
 
 KITTERBELL, MASTER FREDERICK CHARLES 
 WILLIAM. Their first baby. 
 
 The Drunkaed's Death. 
 
 TOM. One of the officers who arrest young Warden, 
 
 WARDEN. A confirmed and irreclaimable drunkard. Eemorse, 
 fear, and shame ; the loss of friends, happiness, and station ; 
 the death of his wife from grief and care ; the murder of on© 
 of his sons, whom he had driven from home in a drunken fit ; 
 his own betrayal of another son into the hangman's hands 
 from a like cause ; his final desertion by his daughter, who 
 has stayed by him and supported him for years ; the utmost 
 (Bxtremity of poverty, disease^ and houseless, want j — do not 
 
18 THE DICKEiTS DICTIONAJ^T. 
 
 avail to conquer his fierce rage for drink, which drives him 
 remorselessly on, until at last he seeks release in death by 
 drowning himself in the Thames. 
 
 WARDEN, MARY, His daughter. 
 
 WARDEN, WILLIAM. His son. He avenges his brother's 
 death by killing the gamekeeper who shot him; flees from 
 justice to his father's solitary attic-room in the obscurest 
 portion of Whitefriars ; is discovered by the officers in conse- 
 quence of his father's getting intoxicated and betraying his 
 hiding-place ; and is seized, handcuffed, carried off, and made 
 to suffer the penalty of his crime. 
 

 
 
POSTHUMOUS PAPERS 
 
 01 
 
 THE PICKWICK CLUB, 
 
 This work was issued iu monthly sliilling numbers, with green covers — 
 a form of publication which Mr. Dickens adopted in all his subsequent 
 monthly serials. The first number appeared in March, 1836, with four 
 illustrations by Eobert Seymour. But this artist dying suddenly beforo 
 the publication of the second num.ber (for which, however, he had 
 furnished three plates), a Mr. R. W. Buss was chosen to succeed him ; 
 and two plates, "drawn and etched" by this gentleman, appeared in 
 No. 3. But they were so inferior, both in conception and execution, 
 that he was dismissed, and Mr. Hablot Knight Browne was selected as the 
 illustrator of the work, furnishing two plates for No. 4. In No. 5 he 
 used for the first time the pseudonym of "Phiz," which he has ever 
 since retained. In the second edition of the woi-k the publishers can- 
 celled the two plates by Mr. Buss which appeared in the third number, 
 and substituted two others by Mr. Browne. 
 
 The author has given the following account of the origin of the work : 
 " The idea propounded to me was that the monthly something should be a 
 vehicle for certain plates to be executed by Mr. Seymour ; and there 
 was a notion, either on the part of that admirable humorous artist, or of 
 my visitor— Mr. Chapman, of the publishing house of Chapman and Hall — 
 (I forget which), that a * Nimrod Club,' the members of which were to go 
 out shooting, fishing, and so forth, and getting themselves into difficulties 
 through their want of dexterity, would be the best means of introducing 
 these. I objected, on consideration, that, although born and partly 
 bred in the countiy, I was no great sportsman, except in regard of all 
 kinds of locomotion ; that the idea was not novel, and had been already 
 much used ; that it would be infinitely better for the plates to arise 
 naturally out of the text ; and that I should like to take my own way, 
 with a freer range of English scenes and people, and was afraid I should 
 ultimately do so in any case, whatever coursa I might prescribe to 
 Toyself at starting. My views being deferred to, I thought of Mr. 
 
 2 
 
20 THE DICKENS DICTIONARr. 
 
 Pickwick, arid vrrote the first number; from the proof-sheets of whioli 
 Mr. Seymour made his drawing of the club, and that happy portrait of 
 its founder by which he is always recognised, and which may be said to 
 have made him a reality. I connected Mr. Pickwick with a club because 
 of the original suggestion ; and I put in Mr. Winkle expressly for the 
 use of Mr. Seymour." The conception of Mr. Pickwick as an elderly 
 little gentleman, somewhat pursy, with a bland face, bald head, circular 
 gpectacles, fawn-coloured tights, and black gaiters, is said to have 
 originated in a description by Mr. Chapman of a like odd-looking 
 character whom he had met at Richmond. The ludicrous name of 
 *' Pickwick" is not a fabrication of the novelist, as many suppose, but is 
 also "founded on fact." It was actually borne by the proprietor of a 
 line of stages running between London and Bath. In the account of 
 the journey to Path, which Mr. Pickwick and his friends take after the 
 famous trial is over, the following allusion to his namesake occurs : — 
 
 Mr. Tnpman and Mr. Snodgrass had seated themselves at the back 
 part of the coach ; Mr. Winkle had got inside ; and Mr. Pickwick was 
 preparing to follow him ; when Sam Weller came up to his master, and, 
 whispering in his ear, begged to speak to him, with an air of the deepest 
 mystery. 
 
 " Well, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, " what's the matter now ? " 
 " Here's rayther a rum go, sir," replied Sam. 
 " What ? " inquired Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 " This here, sir," rejoined Sam. "I'm wery much afeered, sir, that 
 the properiator o' this here coach is a-playin' some imperence vith us." 
 
 " How is that, Sam ? " said Mr. Pickwick ; " aren't the names down 
 on the way-bill ? " 
 
 " The names is not only down on the vay-bill, sir," replied Sam, " but 
 they've painted vun on 'em up on the door o' the coach." As Sam spoke, 
 he pointed to that part of the coach-door on which the proprietor's name 
 usually appears ; and there, sure enough, in gilt letters of a goodly size, 
 was the magic name of Pickwick. 
 
 " Dear me ! " exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, quite staggered by the 
 coincidence ; *' what a very extraordinary thing." - 
 
 " Yes ; but that ain't all," said Sam, again directing his master's 
 attention to the coach-door. " Not content vith writin' up * Pickwick,' 
 they puts 'Moses' afore it, vich I call addin' insult to injuiy, as the 
 parrot said ven they not only took him from his native land, but made 
 him talk the English langwidge arterwards." 
 
 " It's odd enough, certainly, Sam," said Mr. Pickwiek. " But if we 
 stand talking here we shall lose our places." 
 
 *' Wot ! ain't nothin' to be done in consequence, sir ? " exclaimed 
 Sam, perfectly aghast at the coolness with which Mr. Pickwick prepared 
 to ensconce himself inside. 
 
 " Done ! " said Mr. Pickwick, " what should be done ? " 
 *' Ain't nobody to be whopped for takin* this here liberty, sir ? " said 
 Mr. Weller, who had expected that at least he would have been com- 
 missioned to challenge the guard and coachman to a pugilistic encounter 
 on the spot. 
 
 " Certainly not," replied Mr. Pickwick eagerly ; " not on any 
 account. Jump up to your seat directly." 
 
 The final issue of "The Pickwick Papers," comprising Parts 19 and 
 20, was in October, 1837. The complete work was now brought out in 
 one volume, octavo, and was dedicated by the author to Mr. Serjeant 
 Talfourd. 
 
THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 21 
 
 CHARACTERS INTRODUCED. 
 
 ALLEN, ARABELLA. Sister of Benjamin Allen; after- 
 wards the wife of Mr. Winkle. (Oh. xxviii, xxx., xxxix., 
 xlviii., liii., liv., Ivi, Ivii.) 
 
 ALLEN, BENJAMIN. A medical student, and the devoted 
 friend of Mr. Boh Sawyer, to whom he purposes marrying his 
 sister Arahella. 
 
 " I designed 'em for each otlier ; they were made for each other, 
 sent into the world for each other, bom for each other, Winkle," said 
 Mi. Ben Allen, setting down his glass with great emphasis. " There's 
 a special destiny in the matter, my dear sir ; there's only fire years' 
 difference between 'em, and both their birth-days are ia August." 
 
 Mr. Allen does not succeed in his project, however, as Mr. 
 Winkle, with the assistance of Mr. Pickwick, carries the gui 
 off, and marries her without the consent of either her hrother 
 or j\Ir. Boh Sawyer. (Oh. xxx., xxxii., xxxviii., xlviii., L, li., 
 lii., liv., Ivii.) See Sawyer, Bob. 
 
 ATRESLEIGH, MR. A prisoner for debt, whom Mr. 
 Pickwick meets in the "coffee-room" at Coleman Street. 
 (Ch. xl.) 
 
 BAGMANy THE ONE-EYED. A stout, jovial, middle-aged 
 man with a " lonely eye," whom Mr. Pickmck meets, first at 
 The Peacock Inn, Eatanswill, and afterwards at The Bush, in 
 Bristol. He is the narrator of " The Bagman's Story," and of 
 "The Story of the Bagman's Uncle." (Ch. xiv., xlviii, xlix.) 
 See Smart, Tom. 
 
 B AMBER, JACK. A Httle, high-shouldered, keen-eyed old 
 man, whom Mr. Pickwick casuaUy meets at The Magpie and 
 Stump. He relates "The Old Man's Tale about a Queer 
 CHent." (Ch. xx.) 
 
 BANTAM, ANGELO CYRUS, ESQ., M.C. A charming 
 young man of not much more than fifty, whom Mr. Pickwick 
 meets at Bath ; friend of Capt. Dowler, and master of cere- 
 monies at the hall which Mr. Pickwick attends. (Ch. xxxv.) 
 
 BARBELL, MRS. MARTHA. Mr. Pickwick's landlady in 
 Goswell Street. Becoming impressed with the idea that Mr. 
 Pickwick has offered to marry her, she is highly indignant 
 
22 /HE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 when she finds herself mistaken. In fact, she insists that 
 she is not mistaken, and forthwith brings an action against 
 him for breach of promise. For a full account of this 
 famons trial, and its sequel, see Pickwick, Samuel. (Ch. xii., 
 xxvi., xxxiv., xlvi.) 
 
 EARDELL, MASTER TOMMY. The hopeful son of Mrs. 
 Bardell. (Ch. xii., xxvi., xlvi.) 
 
 BETSEY. Servant-girl at Mrs. Eaddle's. (Ch . xxxii) 
 
 BLAD UD, PRINCE. Mythical founder of Bath ; hero of the 
 " True Legend " discovered by Mr. Pickwick. (Ch. xxxvi.) 
 
 BLOTTON, MR. (of Aldgate). A member of the Pickwick 
 Club. Having been accused by Mr. Pickwick, at a meeting 
 of the club, of acting in " a vile and calumnious manner," he 
 retorts by calling jMr. Pickwick " a humbug ; " but it finally 
 being made to appear that they both used the words not in a 
 common, but in a parliamentary or merely technical or con- 
 structive sense, and that each personally entertains the highest 
 regard and esteem for the other, the difficulty is readily settled, 
 and the gentlemen express themselves mutually satisfied with 
 the explanations which have been made. (Ch. i.) 
 
 BOLDWIG, CAPTAIN. A fierce little man, very consequen- 
 tial and imperious; owner of the premises on which Mr. 
 Pickwick and his friends trespass while shooting. Mr. 
 Pickwick, having fallen asleep under the influence of too 
 much cold punch, is left there by the rest of his party, and is 
 discovered by the captain, who indignantly orders him to be 
 taken to the pound in a wheelbarrow. (Ch. xix.) See 
 Pickwick, Samuel. 
 
 BOLO, MISS. A fashionable lady at Bath. (Ch. xxxv.) 
 
 BUDGER, MRS. A little old widow, with plenty of money ; 
 ^ir. Tupman's partner in a quadrille at the charity Ball at The 
 Bull Inn, Eo Chester, which he attends in company with JVtr. 
 Jingle. (Ch. ii.) 
 
 BULDER, COLONEL. Head of the garrison at Eochester, 
 and one of the company at the same ball. (Ch. ii., iv.) 
 
 BULDER, MRS COLONEL. His wife. (Ch. iL) 
 
 BULDER, MISS Theu- daughter. (Ch. ii.) 
 
 BUZFUZ, SERJEANT. Mrs. BardeU's counsel, remarkable 
 for his brutal and bullying insolence to the witnesses on ]\Ir. 
 Pickwick's side. (Ch. xxxiv.) See Pickwick, Samuel. 
 
THE PICKWICK PAPEES. ?3 
 
 GHANGERY PRISONER, THE, An old man whose 
 acquaintance Mr. Pickwick makes in the Fleet. He has been 
 confined there for twenty years, hut gets his release at last 
 from the hands of his Maker, and accepts it with a smile of 
 quiet satisfaction. (Ch. xlii., xliv.) 
 
 CLERGYMAN, THE. One of the guests at Mr. Wardle's. 
 He sings the song of " The Ivy Green," and relates the story 
 of " The Convict's Eetum." (Ch. vi., xi, xxviii.) 
 
 CLUBBER, SIR THOMAS, A fashionable gentleman at 
 Eochester, Commissioner at the head of the dockyard there. 
 (Ch. ii.) 
 CLUBBER, LADY, His wife. (Ch. ii.) 
 CLUBBER, THE MISSES. His daughters. (Ch. ii) 
 
 CLUPPINS, MRS. BETSEY. A hosom-friend of Mrs. 
 Eardell's. (Ch. xxvi, xxxiv., xlvi.) See Pickwick, Samuel. 
 
 CRADDOCK, MRS. Mr. Pickwick's landlady at Eath. 
 (Ch. xxxvi., xxxvii) 
 
 GROOKEY. An attendant at the sponging-house in Coleman 
 Street. (Ch. xl.) 
 
 CRUSHTON, THE HONOURABLE MR. A gentleman 
 whom Mr. Pickwick meets at Eath; a friend of Capt. 
 Dowler's. (Ch. xxxv.) 
 
 DISMAL JEMMY. See Hutley, Jem. 
 
 DODSON AND FOGG. Attorneys for Mrs. EardeU. (CL xx., 
 xxxiv., liii.) See Pickwick, Samuel. 
 
 DOWLER, CAPTAIN. A blustering coward, formerly in the 
 army, whom Mr. Pickwick meets at the travellers' room at The 
 White Horse Cellar. (Ch. xxv., xxxvi., xxxviii.) 
 
 The travellers' room at The White Horse Cellar is . , . divided 
 into boxes for the solitary confinement of travellers ; and is furnished 
 with a clock, a looking-glass, and a live waiter, which latter article 
 is kept in a small kennel for washing glasses in a corner of the apart- 
 ment. 
 
 One of these boxes was occupied on this particular occasion by 
 a stem-eyed man of about five-and-forty, who had a bald and glossy 
 forehead, with a good deal of black hair at the sides and back of his 
 head, and large black wbiskers. He was buttoned up to the chin in a 
 brown coat ; and had a large sealskin travelling- cap, and a great-coat 
 and cloak lying on ihe seat beside him. He looked up from his break- 
 fast as Mr. Pickwick entered, with a fierce and peremptory air which- 
 was very dignified ; and, having scrutinised that gentleman and his 
 compauions to his entire satisfaction, hummed a tune in a manner 
 which Geemed to say that he rather suspected somebody granted to 
 take the advantage of him ; but it wouldn't do. 
 
24 THE BICKEKS DICTIONARY. 
 
 " Waiter," said the gentleman with the whiskers. 
 
 " Sir ? " replied a man with a dirty complexion, and a towel of the 
 same, emerging from the kemiel before mentioned. 
 
 " Some more toast." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Buttered toast, mind," said the gentleman, fiercely. 
 
 " D'rectly, sir," replied the waiter. 
 
 The gentleman with the whiskers hummed a tune in the same 
 manner as before, and pending the arrival of the toast, advanced to the 
 front of the fire, and taking his coat-tails under his anhs, looked at his 
 boots, and ruminated. 
 
 "I wonder whereabouts in Bath this coach puts up," said Mr. 
 Pickwick, mildly addressing Mr. Winkle. 
 
 " Hum — eh — ^what's that ? " said the strange man. 
 
 " I made an observation to my friend, sir," replied Mr. Pickwick, 
 always ready to enter into conversation. " I wondered at what house 
 the Bath coach puts up. Perhaps you can inform me." 
 
 " Are you going to Bath ? " said the strange man. 
 
 " I am, sir," replied Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 ** And those other gentlemen ? " 
 
 " They are going also," said Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 ** Not inside 1 I'm damned if you're going inside 1 " said the strange 
 
 « Not all of us," said Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 " No, not all of you," said the strange man, emphatically. " I've 
 taken two places. If they try to squeeze siz people into an infernal box 
 that only holds four, I'll take a post-chaise, and bring an action. I've 
 paid my fare. It won't do : I told the clerk that it wouldn't do. I 
 know these things have been done ; I know they are done every day ; 
 but I never was done, and I never will be. Those who know me best, 
 best know it. Crush me 1 " Here the fierce gentleman rang the bell 
 with great violence, and told the waiter he'd better bring the toast in 
 five seconds, or he'd know the reason why. 
 
 '* My dear sir," said Mr. Pickwick, " you'll allow me to observe that 
 this is a very unnecessary display of excitement. I have only taken 
 places inside for two." 
 
 "I am glad to hear it," said the fierce man. "I withdraw my 
 expressions. I tender an apology. There's my card, give me your 
 acquaintance." 
 
 " With great pleasure, sir," replied Mr. Pickwick. " We are to be 
 fellow-travellers, and I hope we shall find each other's society mutually 
 agreeable." 
 
 " I hope we shall," said the fierce gentleman. " I know we shall. I 
 like your looks : they please me. Gtentlemen, your hands and names. 
 Know me." 
 
 Of course, an interchange of friendly salutations foUows this 
 gracious speech ; and it is soon found that the second place in 
 the coach has been taken for none other than the illustrious 
 Mrs. Dowler. 
 
 " She's a fine woman," said Mr. Dowler. " I am proud of her. I 
 have reason." 
 
 ♦' I hope I shall have the pleasui-a of judging," said Mr. Pickwick, 
 tritha smile. 
 
THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 25 
 
 ** You shall," replied Dowler. " She shall know you. She shall 
 esteem you. I courted her under singular circumstances. I won her 
 through a rash row. Thus : I saw her ; I loved her ; I proposed ; sho 
 refused me. 'You love another?' — 'Spare my blushes.' — *I know 
 him.* — • You do ? ' — * Very good, if he remains here I'll skin him.' " 
 
 " Lord bless me ! " exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, involuntarily. 
 
 " Did you skin the gentleman, sir ? " inquired Mr. Winkle, with a 
 very pale face. 
 
 " I wrote him a note. I said it was a painful thing. And so it was." 
 
 " Certainly," interposed Mr. Winkle. 
 
 " I said I had pledged my word as a gentleman to skin him. My 
 character was at stake. I had no alternative. As an officer in his 
 Majesty's service, I was bound to skin him. I regretted the necessity, 
 but it must be done. He was open to conviction. He saw that the 
 rules of the service were imperative. He fled. I married her. Here's 
 the coach. That's her head." 
 
 DOWLER, MRS, Wife of Capt. Dowler. (Ch. xxxv., 
 xxxvi.) 
 
 DUBBLEY, Ono of the special officers of the Mayor's Court 
 at Ipswich ; a dirty-faced man, over six feet high, and stout 
 in proportion. (Ch. xxiv.) Bee Nuprins, George. 
 
 DUMKINS, MR. A member of the All-Muggleton Cricket 
 Club. (Ch. vii.) 
 
 EDMUNDS, JOHN. Hero of the story of " The Convict's 
 Eeturn ; " a sullen, wilful young man, condemned to death for 
 crime, but, by commutation of his sentence, transported for 
 fourteen years. A repentant and altered man, he returns to 
 his old home, only to find his mother buried, and to see his 
 father die suddenly from the effects of passion and terror — the 
 same hard-hearted and ferocious brute that he had always 
 known him. (Ch. vi.) 
 
 EDMUNDS, MR. His father; a morose, dissolute, and 
 savage-hearted man. (Ch. vi.) 
 
 EDMUNDS, MRS. His mother; a gentle, ill-used, and heart- 
 broken woman. (Ch. vi.) 
 
 EMMA. A servant-girl at Mr. Wardle's. (Ch. xxviii.) 
 
 FITZ'MARSHALL, CHARLES. See Jingle, Alfred. 
 
 FIZKIN, HORATIO, ESQ. (of Eizkm Lodge, near Eatan- 
 swill). A candidate for Parliament, defeated by the Honourable 
 Samuel Slumkey. (Ch. xiii.) See Slumket, The Honourable 
 
 Samuel. 
 
 FLASHER, WILKINS. A stockbroker. (Ch. Iv.) 
 FOGG, MR. See Dodson and Eogg. 
 GOODWIN. Servant to Mrs. Pott. (Ch. xviii) 
 
26 THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 GROFFIN, THOMAS. One of tlie jury in tlie case of BardeU 
 V. Pickwick, He desires to be excused from attendance 
 on the ground that he is a chemist, and has no assistant. 
 (Ch. xxxiv,) 
 
 '' I can't help that, sir," replied Mr. Justice Stareieigh ; " you 
 should hire one." 
 
 " I can't afford it, my lord," rejoined the chemist. 
 
 " Then you ought to be able to afford it, sir," said the judge, 
 reddening; for Mr. Justice Stareleigh's temper bordered on the 
 irritable, and brooked not contradiction. ..." Swear the gentle- 
 man." . . . 
 
 " Very well, my lord," replied the chemist in a resigned manner. 
 " Then there'll be murder before this trial's over : that's all. Swear 
 me, if you please, sir." And sworn the chemist was, before the 
 judge could find words to utter. 
 
 " I merely wanted to observe, my lord," said the chemist, taking 
 his seat with great deliberation, " that I've left nobody but an errand 
 boy in my shop. He is a very nice boy, my lord; but he is not 
 acquainted with drugs ; and I know that the prevailing impression 
 on his mind is that Epsom salts mean oxalic acid ; and syrup of 
 senna, laudanum — that's all, my lord." 
 
 GRUB, GABRIEL. Hero of Mr. Wardle's "Story of the 
 Goblins who stole a Sexton ; " a cross-grained, surly, solitary 
 fellow, who is made good-natured and contented by his remark- 
 able experiences on Christmas Eve. (Ch. xxix.) 
 
 GRUMMER, DANIEL. A constable in attendance upon the 
 Mayor's Court at Ipswich. (Ch. xxiv., xxv.) See j^upkins, 
 George. 
 
 GRUNDY, MR. A friend of IVIr. Lowten's, and a frequenter 
 of The Magpie and Stump Inm (Ch. xx.) 
 
 GUNTER, MR. A friend of Mr. Bob SaAvyer's. (Ch. xxxii.) 
 
 G WYNN, MISS. Writing and ciphering governess at Westgate 
 House Establishment for Young Ladies, at Bury St. Edmunds. 
 (Ch. x^-i.) 
 
 HARRIS. A greengrocer. (Ch. xxxviii.) 
 
 HENRY. A character in " The Parish Clerk ; " cousin to Maria 
 Lobbs, whom he flnaUy marries. (Ch. xvii.) 
 
 HEYLING, GEORGE. Hero of " The Old Man's Tale about 
 a Queer Client." He is a prisoner for debt in the Marshalsea, 
 During his confinement, his little boy is taken sick and dies ; 
 and his wife, who thereupon shares her husband's . lot, soon 
 foUows, sinking uncomplainingly under the combined effects 
 of bodily and mental illness. Eeleased from prison by the 
 sudden death of his father, a very wealthy man who had 
 (Hsovmed him, and had meant to disinherit him, he devotea 
 
THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 27 
 
 himself uiireniittingly to avenge tlie death of his wife and 
 child upon his wife's father, who had cast him into prison, 
 and had spurned daughter and grandchild from his door when 
 they sued at his feet for mercy. In this scheme of vengeance 
 he is successful, suffering the old man's boy to drown before 
 his eyes, though he might easily have saved him, and after- 
 wards pursuing the father until he reduces him to utter 
 destitution. He intends to consign him to the hopeless 
 imprisonment which he had himself so long endured, but, on 
 announcing his purpose, his victim falls lifeless, and Hey- 
 ling disappears, leaving no clue to his subsequent history. 
 (Ch. xxi.) 
 
 HEYLING, MARY. His ivif e. (Ch. xix.) 
 
 HOPKINS, JACK. A medical student, whom Mr. Pickwick 
 meets at Mr. Bob Sawyer's party. (Ch. xxxii.) 
 
 " I hope that's Jack Hopkins," said Mr. Bob Sawyer. " Hush ! Yes, 
 it is. Come up, Jack ; come up." 
 
 A heavy footstep was heard upon the stairs, and Jack Hopkins 
 presented himself. He wore a black velvet waistcoat with thunder-and- 
 lightning buttons, and a blue striped shirt with a white false collar. 
 
 " You're late, Jack," said Mr. Benjamin Allen. 
 
 " Been detained at Bartholomew's," replied Hopkins. 
 
 " Anything new ? " 
 
 " No : nothing particular. Eather a good accident brought into the 
 casualty ward." 
 
 " What was that, sir ? "inquired Mr. Pickv/ick. 
 
 " Only a man fallen out of a four-pair-of -stairs window ; but it's a 
 very fair case— very fair case indeed." 
 
 " Do you mean that the patient is in a fair way to recover ? " 
 inquired Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 "No," replied Hopkins, carelessly. "No, I should rather say he 
 wouldn't. There must be a splendid operation, though, to-morrow 
 — magnificent sight if Slasher does it !" 
 
 '' You consider Mr. Slasher a good operator ? " said Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 " Best alive," replied Hopkins. " Took a boy's leg out of the socket 
 last week — boy ate five apples and a gingerbread cake. Exactly two 
 minutes after it was all over, boy said he wouldn't lie there to be made 
 game of ; and he'd tell his mother if they didn't begin." 
 
 " Dear me ! '* said Mr. Pickwick, astonished. 
 
 " Pooh ! that's nothing — that ain't," said Jack Hopkiiis. " Is it, 
 Bob?" 
 
 " Nothing at all," replied Mr. Bob Sawyer. 
 
 " By-the-bye, Bob," said Mr. Hopkins, with a scarcely perceptible 
 glance at Mr. Pickwick's attentive face, " we had a curious accident 
 last night. A child was brought in who had swallowed a necklace." 
 
 " Swallowed what, sir ? " interrupted Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 " A necklace," replied Jack Hopkins. " Not all at once ; you know 
 that would be too much. Yow couldn't swallow that if the child did — 
 eh, Mr. Pickwick ? Ha, ha ! " Mr. Hopkins appeared highly gratified 
 with his own pleasantry, and continued, " No, the way was this : child's 
 
28 THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 parents were poor people wlio lived in a court. Child's eldest eistep 
 bought a necklace — common necklace made of large, black, wooden 
 beads. Child, being fond of toys, cribbed the necklace, hid it, played 
 with it, cut the string, and swallowed a bead. Child thought it capital 
 fun ; went back next day and swallowed another bead.'* 
 
 " Bless my heart," said Mr. Pickwick, " what a dreadful thing 1 
 I beg your pardon, sir. Go on." 
 
 " Next day child swallowed two beads ; the day after that he treated 
 himself to three ; and so on, till in a week's time he had got through 
 the necklace — five-and-twenty beads in all. The sister, who was an 
 industrious girl, and seldom treated herself to a bit of finery, cried her 
 eyes out at the loss of the necklace ; looked high and low for it ; but, I 
 needn't say, didn't find it. A few days after, the family were at dinner. 
 
 The child, who wasn't hungry, was playing about the room, when 
 suddenly there was heard a devil of a noise, like a small hail-storm. 
 ' Don't do that, my boy,' said the father. ' I ain't a-doin' nothin',' said 
 the child. * Well, don't do it again,' said the father. There was a 
 short silence, and then the noise began again worse than ever. * If you 
 don't mind what I say, my boy,' said the father, ' you'll find yourself in 
 bed in something less than a pig's whisper.' He gave the child a shake 
 to make him obedient ; and such a rattling ensued as nobody ever heard 
 before. * Why, damme, it's in the child ! ' said the father. * He's got 
 the croup in the wrong place ! ' — ' No, I haven't, father,' said the child, 
 beginning to cry. * It's the necklace ; I swallowed it, father.' The 
 father caught the child up and ran with him to the hospital ; the beads 
 in the boy's stomach rattling all the way with the jolting, and the people 
 looking up in the air, and down in the cellars to see where the unusual 
 sound came from. He's in the hospital now," said Jack Hopkins ; " and 
 he makes such a devil of a noise when he walks about, that they're 
 obliged to muffle him in a watchman's coat, for fear he should wake 
 the patients." 
 
 UUMM, ANTHONY. Chairman of the Brick Lane Brancli 
 of the United Grand Junction Ebenezer Temperance Associa- 
 tion. (Ch. xxxiii.) See Weller, Samuel. 
 HUNT. Gardener to Captain Boldwig. (Ch. xix.) 
 HUNTER, MRS. LEO. A literary lady whom ]Mr. Pickwick 
 meets at Eatanswill. (Ch. xv.) One morning, Sam Weller 
 kands Mr. Pickwick a card bearing the following inscription : 
 
 The Den, Eatansiiyill. 
 
 " Person's a-waitin*," said Sam, epigrammatically. 
 
 " Does the person want me, Sam ? " inquired Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 " He wants you partickler ; and no one else'H do, as the DevU's 
 private secretary said van he fetched avay Dr. Fauetus," replied Mr. 
 Weller. 
 
THE PICKWICK PAPEES. 29 
 
 " He ? Is it a gentleman ? " said Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 " A werry good imitation o' one, if it ain't," replied Mr. Waller. 
 
 "But this is a lady's card," said Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 " Given me by a gen'lm'n, howsever," replied Sam ; " and he's a- 
 waitin' in the drawing-room — said he'd rather wait all day than not see 
 you." 
 
 Mr. Pickwick, on hearing this determination, descended to the 
 drawing-room, where sat a grave man, who started up on his entrance, 
 and said with an air of profound respect s 
 
 " Mr. Pickwick, I presume ? " 
 
 "The same." 
 
 " Allow me, sir, the honour of grasping your hand — permit me, sir, 
 to shake it," said the grave man. 
 
 " Certainly," said Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 The stranger shook the extended hand, and then continued : 
 
 " We have heard of your fame, sir. The noise of your antiquarian 
 discussion has reached the ears of Mrs. Leo Hunter — ^my wife, sir : I am 
 Mr. Leo Hunter." The stranger paused, as if he expected that Mr. 
 Pickwick would be overcome by the disclosure; but, seeing that he 
 remained perfectly calm, proceeded : 
 
 " My wife, sir — Mrs. Leo Hunter — is proud to number among her 
 acquaintance all those who have rendered themselves celebrated by 
 their works and talents. Permit me, sir, to place in a conspicuous part 
 of the list the name of Mr. Pickwick, and his brother-members of the 
 club that derives its name from him." 
 
 " I shall be extremely happy to make the acquaintance of such a 
 lady, sir," replied Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 " You shall make it, sir," said the grave man. " To-morrow morning, 
 sir, we give a public breakfast — a fHe champetre — to a great number of 
 those who have rendered themselves celebrated by their works and 
 talents. Permit Mrs. Leo Hunter, sir, to have the gratification of 
 Beeing you at the Den." 
 
 " With great pleasure," replied Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 " Mrs. Leo Hunter has many of these breakfasts, sir," resumed the 
 new acquaintance — " ' feasts of reason,' sir, * and flows of soul,' as some- 
 ^body who wrote a sonnet to Mrs. Leo Hunter on her breakfasts, feelingly 
 and originally observed." 
 
 " Was he celebrated for his works and talents ? " inquired Mr. Pick, 
 wick. 
 
 " He was, sir," replied the grave man. " All Mrs. Leo Hunter's 
 acquaintance are : it is her ambition, sir, to have no other acquaint- 
 ance." 
 
 " It is a very noble ambition," said Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 " When I inform Mrs. Leo Hunter that that remark fell from your 
 lips, sir, she will indeed be proud," said the grave man. " You have v, 
 gentleman in your train who has produced some beautiful little poems, 
 I think, sir ? " 
 
 " My friend Mr. Suodgrass has a great taste for poetry," replied 
 Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 " So has Mrs. Leo Hunter, sir. She dotes on poetry, sir. She adores 
 
 it ; I may say that her whole soul and mind are wound up and entwined 
 
 with it. She has produced some delightful pieces herself, sir. Yo:i may 
 
 have met with her ' Ode to an Expiring Frog,' sir." 
 
 •' I don't think I have," said Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 "You astonish me, sir," said Mr. Leo Hunter. "It crea^d sa 
 
80 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 immense sensation. It was signed with an * L' and eight stars, and 
 appeared originally in a Lady's Magazine. It commenced : 
 
 Can I view thee panting, lying 
 
 On thy stomach without sighing ; 
 
 Can I unmoved see thee dying 
 
 On a log. 
 Expiring frog I •* 
 ** Beantif al ! " said Mr. Pickwick. 
 "Fine," said Mr. Leo Hnnter; " so simple ! " 
 " Very," said Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 " The next verse is still more touching. Shall I repeat it ?** 
 " If you please," said Mr. Pickwick. 
 " It runs thus," said the grave man, still more gravely : 
 
 *• Say, have fiends in shape of boys. 
 With wild halloo and brutal noise, 
 Hunted thee from marshy joys, 
 
 With a dog. 
 Expiring frog ? " 
 
 " Finely expressed," said Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 " AH point, sir, all point," said Mr. Leo Hunter ; *' but you shall hear 
 Mrs. Leo Hunter repeat it. She can do justice to it, sir." 
 
 HUNTER, MR. LEO. Mrs. Leo Hunter's husband. (Ch, xv.^ 
 
 HUTLEY, JEM, called "Dismal Jemmy." An itinerant 
 
 actor, wiio " does the heavy business ; " brother to Job Trotter, 
 
 and friend of Mr. Alfred Jingle, who introduces him to Mr. 
 
 Pickwick. He relates to them " The Stroller's Tale," in which 
 
 he himself figures. (Ch. iii., v.) See John. 
 
 ISAAC. A friend of IVIr. Jackson's. (Ch. xlvi.) 
 
 JACKSON, MR. A clerk in the office of Dodson and Fogg. 
 
 (Ch. XX., xxxi., xlvi.) 
 JEMMY, DISMAL. /See Hutley, Jem. 
 JINGLE, ALFRED. An impudent strolling actor, who palms 
 himself off on Mr. Pickwick and his travelling-companions 
 of the club as a gentleman of consequence, sponges good 
 dinners and borrows money from them, and finally gets into 
 the Fleet Prison, where, some time afterwards, Mr. Pickwick 
 finds him in great destitution and liistress, and benevolently 
 pays hi-s debts and releases him, on satisfactory evidence of 
 penitence, and on promise of reformation, which is faithfully 
 kept. Mr. Jingle is a very loquacious person, talking inces- 
 santly j rarely speaking a connected sentence, however, but 
 stringing together mere disjointed phrases, generally without 
 verbs. He first meets Mr. Pickwick and his party at the 
 coach-stand in Saint Martin's-le-Grand. 
 
 " Heads, heads ; take care of your heads I " cried the loquacious 
 stranger, as they came out under the low archway, which in those days 
 formed the entrance to the coach-yard. " Terrible place — dangerous 
 
THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 31 
 
 work — other day — five children — mother — ^tall lady, eating sandwiches — 
 forgot the arch — orash-- -knock — children look round — mother's head (iff 
 — sandwich in her hand — ^no month to put it in — head of a family off — • 
 shocking, shocking I Looking at Whitehall, sir ? — fine place — little 
 window — somebody else's head ofE there, eh, sir ? — he didn't keep a 
 sharp look-ont enough, either — eh, sir, eh ? " 
 
 " I was ruminating," said Mr. Pickwick, " on the strange mutability 
 of human affairs." 
 
 " Ah ! I see — in at the palace-door one day, out at the window the 
 next. Philosopher, sir ? " 
 
 "An observer of human nature, sir," said Mr. Pickwick, 
 
 "Ah, so am I. Most people are when they've little to do and less to 
 get. Poet, sir ? " 
 
 " My friend Mr. Snodgrass has a strong poetic turn," said Mx. 
 Pickwick. 
 
 " So have I," said the stranger. " Epic poem — ten thousand lines — 
 Kevolution of July — composed it on the spot — Mars by day, Apollo by 
 uight — bang the field^piece, twang the lyre." 
 
 " You were present at that glorious scene, sir ? " said Mr. Snodgrass. 
 
 "Present! Think I was; fired a musket — fired with an idea — 
 rushed into a wineshop — wrote it down — back agaiu — whiz, bang — 
 another idea — wineshop again — pen and ink — back again — cut and slash 
 — noble time, sir. Sportsman, sir ? " abruptly turning to Mr. Winkle. 
 
 "A little, sir," replied that gentleman. 
 
 " Fine pursuit, sir — fine pm'suit. — Dogs, sir P ** 
 
 " Not just now," said Mr. Winkle. 
 
 "Ah! you should keep dogs — fine animals — sagacious creatures — 
 dog of my own once — pointer — surprising instinct — out shooting one 
 day — entering enclosure — whistled — dog stopped — whistled again — 
 Ponto — no go : stock still — called him — Ponto, Ponto — wouldn't mov(; — 
 dog transfixed — staring at a board — looked up, saw an inscription — 
 * Gamekeeper has orders to shoot all dogs found in this enclosure ' — 
 wouldn't pass it — wonderful dog — valuable dog that — ^very." 
 
 " Singular circumstance that," said Mr. Pickwick. "Will you allow 
 me to make a note of it ? " 
 
 "Certainly, sir, certainly — ^hundred more anecdotes of the sajjie 
 animal. — Fine girl, sir" (to Mr. Tracy Tupman, who had been bestowing 
 sundry anti-Pickwickian glances on a young lady by the roadside). 
 
 " Very ! " said Mr. Tupman. 
 
 " English girls not so fine as Spanish — noble creatures— jet hair — 
 black eyes — ^lovely forms — sweet creatures — ^beautiful ! " 
 
 " You have been in Spain, sir ? " said Mr. Tracy Tupman. 
 
 " Lived there — ages ! " 
 
 " Many conquests, sir ? " inquired Mr. Tupman. 
 
 "Conquests! Thousands. Don Bolaro Fizgig — Grandee — only 
 daughter — Donna Christina — splendid creature — loved me to distraction 
 — ^jealous father — ^high-souled daughter — handsome Englishman — Donna 
 Christina in despair — prussio acid— stomach-pump in my portmanteau 
 — operation performed — old Bolaro in ecstasies — consent to our ujiion — 
 join hands and floods of tears — romantic story — very." 
 
 " Is the lady in England now, sir ? " inquired Mr. Tupman, on whom 
 the description of her charms had produced a powerful impression. 
 
 " Dead, sir — dead," said the stranger, applying to his right eye the 
 brief remnant of a very old cambric handkerchief. " Never recovered 
 the stomach-pump — undermined conBtitutioa — fell a victim." 
 
8£ THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 " And iier father ? " inquired the poetic Snodgxass. 
 
 " Eemorse and misery," replied the stranger. " Sudden disappear* 
 ance — talk of the whole city — search made everywhere — without 
 success — ^public fountain in the great square suddenly ceased playing — • 
 weeks elapsed — still a stoppage — ^workmen employed to clean it — water 
 drawn off — father-in-law discovered sticking head first in the main pipe, 
 with a full confession in his right boot — 'took him out, and the foun- 
 tain played away again as well as ever." 
 
 " Will you allow me to note that little romance down, sir ? " said 
 Mr. Snodgrass, deeply affected. 
 
 " Certainly, sir, certainly — fifty more if you like to hear 'em— strange 
 life, mine — rather curious history— not extraordinary, but singular." 
 
 (Cli. ii., iii., vii.— X., xv., xxv., xlii., xlv., xlvii., liii.) See 
 Winkle, Nathaniel. 
 JINKINS, MR A cliaracter in "The Bagman's Story;" a 
 rascally adventurer with a wife and six babes — all of them 
 small ones — who tries to marry a buxom widow, the landlady 
 of a roadside inn, but is prevented by Tom Smart, who 
 marries her himself. (Ch. xiv.) 
 
 JINKS, ME. A pale, sharp-nosed, half-fed, shabbily-clad clerk 
 of the Mayor's Court at Ipswich. (Ch. xxiv., xxv.) See 
 Nuprins, George. 
 
 TOE, THE FAT BOY. Servant to Mr. Wardle ; a youth of 
 astonishing obesity and voracity, who has a way of going to 
 sleep on the slightest provocation, and in all sorts of places 
 and attitudes. Mr. Wardle, having met Mr. Pickwick and 
 his friends at a grand review at Kochester, invites them into 
 his carriage for a lunch. 
 
 " Joe, Joe ! " said the stout gentleman, when the citadel was taken, 
 and the besiegers and besieged sat down to dinner. " Damn that boy I 
 he's gone to sleep again. Be good enough to pinch him, sir — in the 
 leg, if you please : nothing else wakes him. Thank you ! Undo the 
 hamper, Joe." 
 
 The fat boy, who had been effectually roused by the compression 
 of a portion of his leg between the finger and thumb of Mr. Winkle, 
 rolled off the box once again, and proceeded to unpack the hamper, 
 with more expedition than could have been expected from his previous 
 inactivity. 
 
 " Now, we must sit close," said the stout gentleman. After a great 
 many jokes about squeezing the ladies' sleeves, and a vast quantity of 
 blushing at sundry jocose proposals that the ladies should sit in the 
 gentlemen's laps, the whole party were stowed down in the barouche ; 
 and the stout gentleman proceeded to hand the things from the fat 
 boy (who had mounted up behind for the purpose) into the carriage. 
 
 " Now, Joe, knives and forks ! " The knives and forks were handed 
 in ; and the ladies and gentlemen inside, and Mr. Winkle on the box, 
 were each furnished with those useful implements. 
 
 " Plates, Joe, plates ! " A similar process employed in the distri- 
 butioa of the crockery. 
 
TH^ PICKWICK PAPERS. 33 
 
 " K"oW, iToe, the fowls. — Damn that boy ! he's gone to sleep again. 
 Joe, Joe I " (Sundry taps on the head with a stick, and the fat boy, 
 with some difficulty, roused from his lethargy.) " Come, hand in the 
 eatables." 
 
 There was something in the sound of the last word which roused 
 the unctuous boy. He jumped up; and the leaden eyes, which twinkled 
 behind his mountainous cheeks, leered horribly upon the food as ha 
 unpacked it from the basket. 
 
 •* Now, make haste," said Mr. Wardle ; for the fat boy was hanging 
 fondly over a capon, which he seemed wholly unable to part with. 
 The boy sighed deeply, and, bestowing an ardent gaze upon its plump- 
 ness, unwillingly consigned it to his master. 
 
 (Ch. iv. — ix., xxviii., liv., Ivi.) 
 
 JOHN. A low pantomime actor, and an habitual drunkard, 
 wliose death is described in ** The Stroller's Tale ; " related to 
 Mr. Pickwick and his friends by Mr. Hutley. (Ch. iii.) 
 
 KATK A character in the story of "The Parish Clerk;" 
 cousin to Maria Lobbs. (Ch. xvii.) 
 
 L0BJ3S, MARIA. A character in Mr. Pickwick's story of 
 " The Parish Clerk ; " a pretty girl, beloved by I^athaniel 
 Pipkin, and also by her cousin Henry, whom she marries. 
 (Ch. xvii.) 
 
 LOBBS, OLD. Father to Maria Lobbs ; a rich saddler, and a 
 terrible old fellow when his pride is injured, or his blood is 
 up. (Ch. xvii.) 
 
 LOW TEN, MR. A puffy-faced young man, clerk to Mr. 
 Perker. (Ch. xx., xxi., xxxi., xxxiv., xL, xlvii., liii., liv.) 
 
 LUCAS, SOLOMON. A seUer of fancy dresses. (Ch. xv.) 
 
 LUFFEY, MR. Vice-president of the Din-ley DeU Cricket 
 Club. (Ch. vii) 
 
 MAGNUS, PETER. A red-haired man, with an inquisitive 
 nose and blue spectacles, who is a fellow-traveller with Mr. 
 Pickwick from London to Ipswich. The two gentlemen chat 
 cosily on the road, and dine together on their arrival at The 
 Great White Horse Lin. lsK.v. Magnus, who is natui'aUy of a- 
 very communicative disposition, and is made more so by 
 the brandy and water he drinks, confidentially informs Mr. 
 Pickwick that he has como down to Ipswich to propose to a- 
 certain lady who is even then in the same house. The next 
 morning at breakfast he recurs to the sam® subject, and the* 
 following conversation takes place : 
 
 " I bes youi? pardon, Tslr. Pickwick ; but hare ^oii ever done thir 
 Bor4 of thing in your time ? " said Mr. Magnus. 
 *• You mean proposing ? " saaid Mr. Pickwick, 
 
 D 
 
84 THE DICKENS DIOTIONASY, 
 
 '* Never I " said Mr. Pickwick, with great energy — "never ? " 
 
 " You have no idea, then, how it's best to begin ? " said Mr. Magnuff, 
 
 " Why," said Mr. Pickwick, " I may have formed some ideas npor? 
 the subject ; but, as I have never submitted them to the test of experience, 
 I should be sorry if you were induced to regulate your proceedings by 
 them." 
 
 " I should feel very much obliged to you for any advice," said Mr. 
 Magnus, taking another look at the clock, the hand of which was 
 verging on the five minutes past. 
 
 "Well, sir," said Mr. Pickwick, with the profound solemnity with 
 which that great man could, when he pleased, render his remarks so 
 deeply impressive, " I should commence, sir, with a tribute to the lady's 
 beauty and excellent qualities ; from them, sir, I should diverge to my 
 own unworthiness." 
 
 " Very good," said Mr. Magnus. 
 
 " Unworthiness for her only, mind, sir," resumed Mr. Pickwick ; " for 
 to show that I was not wholly unworthy, sir, I should take a brief review 
 of my past life and present condition. I should argue, by analogy, that, 
 to anybody else, I must be a very desirable object. I should then 
 expatiate on the warmth of my love and the depth of my devotion. 
 Perhaps I might then be tempted to seize her hand." 
 
 " Yes, I see," said Mr. Magnus : "that would be a very great point." 
 
 " I should then, sir," continued Mr. Pickwick, growing warmer as the 
 subject presented itself in more glowing colours before him — " I should 
 then, sir, come to the plain and simple question, ' Will you have me ? ' I 
 think I am justified in assuming, that, upon this, she would turn away 
 her head." 
 
 " You think that may be taken for granted ? " said Mr. Magnus j 
 "because, if she did not do that at the right place, it would be em- 
 barrassing." 
 
 " I think she would," said Mr. Pickwick. " Upon this, sir, I should 
 squeeze her hand, and I think — I thinJc, Mr. Magnus — that after I had 
 done that, supposing there was no refusal, J should gently draw away 
 the handkerchief, which my slight knowledge of human nature leads me 
 to suppose the lady would be applying to her' eyes at the moment, and 
 steal a respectful kiss. I think I should kiss her, Mr. Magnus ; and, at 
 this particular point, I am decidedly of opinion, that, if the lady were 
 going to take me at all, she would murmur into my ear a bashful 
 acceptance." 
 
 Mr. Magnus started, gazed on Mr. Pickwick's intelligent face for & 
 short time in silence, and then (the dial pointing to the ten minutes past) 
 shook him warmly by the hand and rushed desperately from the room. 
 
 Mr. Pickwick had taken a few strides to and fro ; and the small hand' 
 of the clock, following the latter part of his example, had arrived at the- 
 figure which indicates the half-hour, when the door suddenly opened.. 
 He turned round to greet Mr. Peter Magnus, and encountered, in his 
 stead, the joyous face of Mr. Tupman, the serene countenance of Mr, 
 Winkle, and the intellectual lineaments of Mr. Snodgrass. 
 
 As Mr. Pickwick greeted them, Mr. Peter Magnus tripped into the 
 room. 
 
 " My friends, the gentleman I was speaking of— Mr. Magnus " — said 
 Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 "Your servant, gentlemen," said Mr. Magnus, evidently in a high 
 state of excitement. " Mr. Pickwi ck, allow me to speak to you, one 
 moment, sir." 
 
THE PICKWICK PAPEBS. 86 
 
 As he said this, Mr. Magnus harnessed his forefinger to Mr. Pickwick's 
 
 buttonhole, and, drawing him into a window-recess, said : 
 
 " Congratulate me, Mr. Pickwick ; I followed your advice to the very 
 letter." 
 
 '* And it was all correct, was it ? " inquired Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 "It was, sir — could not possibly have been better," replied Mr. 
 Magnus. " Mr. Pickwick, she is mine ! " 
 
 " I congratulate you with all my heart," replied Mr. Pickwick, warmly 
 shaking his new friend by the hand. 
 
 " You must see her, sir," said Mr. Magnus : " this way, if you please. 
 Excuse us for one instant, gentlemen." And, hurrying on in this way, 
 Mr. Peter Magnus drew Mr. Pickwick from the room. He paused at the 
 next door in the passage, and tapped gently thereat. 
 
 " Come in," said a female voice. And in they went. 
 
 "Now, it has unfortunately happened that Mr. Pickwick, on 
 the night of their arrival, had occasion to leave his room to get 
 liis watch, which he had left on a table do'vvnstairs. Returning 
 in the dark, he lost his way, and groped about in search of his 
 room for a long time. 
 
 A dozen times did he softly turn the handle of some bedroom -door 
 which resembled his own, when a gruff cry from within, of " Who the 
 devil's that ? " or " What do you want here ? " caused him to steal away, 
 on tiptoe, with a perfectly marvellous celerity. He was reduced to the 
 verge of despah^, when an open door attracted his attention. He peeped 
 in — right at last ! There were the two beds, whose situation he perfectly 
 remembered, and the fire still biuming. His candle, not a long one when 
 he first received it, had flickered away in the draughts of air through 
 which he had passed, and sunk into the socket just as he closed the door 
 after him. " No matter," said Mr. Pickwick ; " I can undress myself 
 just as well by the light of the fire." 
 
 The bedsteads stood one on each side of the door ; and on the inner 
 side of each was a little path, termiaating in a rush-bottomed chair, just 
 wide enough to admit of a person's getting into or out of bed on that 
 side, if he or she thought proper. Having carefully drawn the curtains 
 of his bed on the outside, Mr. Pickwick sat down on the rush-bottomed 
 chair, and leisurely divested himself of his shoes and gaiters. He then 
 took off and folded up his coat, waistcoat, and neckcloth, and, slowly 
 drawing on his tasselled nightcap, secured it firmly on his head, by tying 
 beneath his chin the strings which he had always attached to that article 
 of dress. It was at this moment that the absurdity of his recent be- 
 wilderment struck upon his mind; and, throwing himself back in the 
 rush-bottomed chair, Mr. Pickwick laughed to himself so heartily, that it 
 would have been quite delightful, to any man of well-constituted mind, to 
 have watched the smiles which expanded his amiable features as they 
 shone forth from beneath the nightcap. 
 
 " It is the best idea," said Mr. Pickwick to himself, smiliug till he 
 almost cracked the nightcap strings — "it is the best idea, my losing 
 myself in this place, and wandering about those staircases, that I ever 
 heard of. Droll, droll, very droll ! " Here Mr. Pickwick smiled again, 
 k broader smile than before, and was about to continue the process of 
 undressing in the best possible humour, when he was suddenly stopped 
 by a most unexpected interruption j to wit, the entrance into the roo«% 
 
 D 2 
 
S6 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 of some person with a candle, wlio, after locking the door, advanced to 
 the dressing-table and'set down the light npon it. 
 
 The smile that played on Mr. Pickwick's features was instantaneously 
 lost in a look of the most unbounded and wonder-stricken surprise. The 
 person, whoever it was, had come in so suddenly, and with so little noise, 
 that Mr. Pickwick had had no time to call out, or oppose their entrance. 
 Who could it be ? A robber ! Some evil-minded person who had seen 
 him come upstairs with a handsome watch in his hand, perhaps. What 
 was he to do 1 
 
 The only way in which Mr. Pickwick could catch a glimpse of his 
 mysterious visitor, with the least danger of being seen himself, was by 
 creeping on to the bed, and peeping out from between the curtains on 
 the opposite side. To this manceuvre he accordingly resorted. Keeping 
 the curtains carefully closed wdth his hands, so that nothing more of him 
 could be seen than his face and nightcap, and putting on his spectacles, 
 he mustered up courage and looked out. 
 
 Mr. Piclcwick almost fainted with horror and dismay. Standing 
 before the dressing-glass was a middle-aged lady in yellow curl-papers, 
 busily engaged in brushing what ladies call their " back hair." However 
 the unconscious middle-aged lady came into that room, it was quite clear 
 that she contemplated remaining there for the night ; for she had brought 
 a rushlight and shade wdth her, which, with praiseworthy precaution 
 against fire, she had stationed in a basin on the floor, where it was glimmer- 
 ing away, like a gigantic lighthouse in a particularly small piece of water. 
 
 " Bless my soul," thought Mr. Pickwick, "what a dreadful thing ! " 
 
 " Hem ! " said the old lady ; and in went Mr. Pickwick's head with 
 automaton-like rapidity. 
 
 " I never met with anything so awful as this ! " thought poor Mr. 
 Pickwick, the cold perspiration starting in drops upon his nightcap, 
 " never ! This is fearful ! " 
 
 It was quite impossible to resist the urgent desire to see what was 
 going forward. So out went Mr. Pickwick's head again. The prospect 
 was worse than before. The middle-aged lady had finished arranging 
 her hair, and carefully enveloped it in a muslin nightcap with a small 
 plaited border, and was gazing pensively on the fire. 
 
 "This matter is growing alarming," reasoned Mr. Pickwick with 
 himself. "I can't allow things to go on in this way. By the self- 
 possession of that lady it's clear to me that I must have come into the 
 wrong room. If I call out, she'll alarm the house j but if I remain here 
 the consequence will be still more frightful." 
 
 Mr. Pickwick, it is quite unnecessary to say, was one of the most 
 modest and delicate-minded of mortals. The very idea of exhibiting his 
 nightcap to a lady overpowered him; but he had tied these confounded 
 strings in a knot, and, do what he would, he couldn't get it off. The 
 disclosure must be made. There was only one other way of doing it. 
 He shrunk behind the curtains, and called out very loudly : 
 
 « Ha, hum ! " 
 
 That the lady started at this unexpected sound was evident by her 
 falling up against the rushlight shade : that she persuaded herself that 
 it must have been the effect of imagination was equally clear : for when 
 Mr. Pickwick, imder the impression that she had fainted away, stone- 
 dead, from fright, ventured to peep out again, she was gazing pensively 
 on the fire as before. 
 
 " Most extraordinary female this 1 " thought Mr. Piokwiek, popping 
 in again, ** Ha, hum 1 " 
 
THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 3? 
 
 These last sounds, bo like those in which, as legends inform us, 
 the ferocious giant Blunderbore was in the habit of expressing hia 
 opinion that it was time to lay the cloth, were too distinctly audible to be 
 again mistaken for the workings of fancy. 
 
 *' Gracious Heaven ! " said the middle-aged lady, "what's that ? " 
 
 " It's — it's— only a gentleman, ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick, from 
 behind the curtains. 
 
 " A gentleman ! " said the lady with a terrific scream. 
 
 " It's all over," thought Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 "A strange man," shrieked the lady. Another instant, and the 
 house would be alarmed. Her garments rustled as she rushed towards 
 the door. 
 
 " Ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick, thrusting out his head in the extremity 
 of his desperation — " ma'am." 
 
 Now, although Mr. Pickwick was not actuated by any definite object 
 in putting out his head, it was instantaneously productive of a good 
 effect. The lady, as we have already sta,ted, was near the door. She 
 must pass it to reach the staircase, and she would most undoubtedly 
 have done so by this time, had not the sudden apparition of Mr. Pick- 
 wick's nightcap driven her back into the remotest corner of the 
 apartment, where she stood staring wildly at Mr. Pickwick, while Mr, 
 Pickwick, in his turn, stared wildly at her. 
 
 " Wretch ! " said the lady, covering her eyes with her hands, "what 
 do you want here ? " 
 
 "Nothing, ma'am — ^nothing whatever, ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick, 
 earnestly. 
 
 " Nothing ! " said the lady, looking up. 
 
 " Nothing, ma'am, upon my honour," said Mr. Pickwick, nodding his 
 head so energetically that the tassel of his nightcap danced again. " I 
 am almost ready to sink, ma'am, beneath the confusion of addressing 
 a lady in my nightcap " (here the lady hastily snatched off hers) ; " but 
 I can't get it off, ma'am " (here Mr. Pickwick gave it a tremendous tug 
 in proof of the statement). "It is evident to me, ma'am, now, that I 
 have mistaken this bedroom for my own. I had not been here five 
 minutes, ma'am, when you suddenly entered it." 
 
 " If this improbable story be really true, sir," said the lady, sobbing 
 violently, " you will leave it instantly." 
 
 " I will, ma'am, with the greatest pleasure," replied Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 " Instantly, sir," said the lady. 
 
 " Certainly, ma'am," interposed Mr. Pickwick, very quickly — 
 ** certainly, ma'am. I — I — am very sorry, ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick, 
 making his appearance at the bottom of the bed, " to have been the 
 innocent occasion of this alarm and emotion — deeply sorry, ma'am." 
 
 The lady pointed to the door. One excellent quality of Mr. Pick- 
 wick's character was beautifully displayed at this moment under the 
 most trying circumstances. Although he had hastily put on his hat over 
 his nightcap, after the manner of the old patrol ; although he carried 
 his shoes and gaiters in his hand, and his coat and waistcoat over hia 
 arm — nothing could subdue his native politeness. 
 
 " I am exceedingly sorry, ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick, bowing very low. 
 
 " If you are, sir, you wall at once leave the room," said the lady. 
 
 " Immediately, ma'am — this instant, ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick, open- 
 ing the door, and dropping both his shoes with a loud crash in so doing. 
 
 "I trust, ma'am," resumed Mr. Pickwick, gathering up his shoes, 
 and turning round to bow again, " I trust, ma'am, that my unblemished 
 
88 THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 character and the devoted respect I entertain for your sex, will plead 
 
 as some slight excuse for this " but before Mr. Pickwick could 
 
 conclude the sentence, the lady had thrust him into the passage, and 
 locked and bolted the door behind him. 
 
 Mr. Pickwick finally enconnters Sam Weller, liis valet, wlio 
 leads Mm to Ms room; but tMs mgM-adventure distiirbs him 
 considerably. The remembrance of it wears away, however, 
 and, at the moment of being introduced by Mr. Magnus to his 
 betrothed, the occurrence is not in his mind at all. 
 
 " Miss Witherfield," said Mr. Mp.gnus, " allow me to introduce my 
 very particular friend, Mr. Pickwick. Mr. Pickwick, I beg to make you 
 known to Miss Wit5herfield," 
 
 The lady was at the upper end of the room ; and, as Mr. Pickwick 
 bowed, he took his spectacles from his waistcoat-pocket, and put them 
 on, — a process which he had no sooner gone through, than, uttering an 
 exclamation of surprise, Mr. Pickwick retreated several paces, and the 
 lady, with a half- suppressed scream, hid her face in her hands, and 
 dropped into a chair ; whereupon Mr. Peter Magnus was struck motion- 
 less on the spat, and gazed from one to the other with a countenance 
 expressive of the extremities of horror and surprise. 
 
 This- certainly was, to all appearance, very unaccountable behaviour : 
 but the fact was, that Mr. Pickwick no sooner put on his spectacles, 
 than he at once recognised in the future Mrs. Magnus, the lady into 
 whose room he had so unwarrantably intruded on the previous night ; 
 and the spectacles had no sooner crossed Mr. Pickwick's nose than the 
 lady at once identified the countenance which she had seen surrounded 
 by all the horrors of a nightcap. So the lady screamed, and Mr. 
 Pickwick started, 
 
 " Mr. Pickwick ! " exclaimed Mr. Magnus, lost in astonishment, 
 "what is the meaning of this, sir? What is the meaning of it, sir?" 
 added Mr. Magnus in a threatening and a louder tone. 
 
 " Sir," said Mr. Pickwick, somewhat indignant at the very sudden 
 manner in which Mr. Peter Magnus had conjugated himself into the 
 imperative mood, " I decline answering that question." 
 
 " You decline it, sir ? " said Mr. Magnus. 
 
 " I do, sir," replied Mr. Pickwick. " I object to saying anything 
 which may compromise that lady, or awaken unpleasant recollections 
 in her breast, without her consent and permission." 
 
 "Miss Witherfield," said Mr. Peter Magnus, "do you knoTr this 
 person ? " 
 
 " Know him ! " repeated the middle-aged lady, hesitating. 
 
 " Yes, know him, ma'am. I said know him," replied Mr. Magnus 
 with ferocity. 
 
 "I have seen him," replied the middle-aged lady. 
 
 " Where ? " inquired Mr. Magnus, — " where ? " 
 
 " That," said the middle-aged lady, rising from her seat, and averting 
 her head, — "that I would not reveal for worlds." 
 
 " I understand you, ma'am," said Mr. Pickwick, " and respect your 
 delicacy. It shall never be revealed by me, depend upon it." 
 
 TMs, of course, makes Mr. Magnus very angry; and he 
 proceeds to work himself into a red-hot, scorcMng, consuming 
 passion, and indulges freely in tMeats of a duel. Miss Witlier- 
 
THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 89 
 
 field, however, contrives to settle matters by informing the 
 mayor that Mr. Pickwick is about to fight a duel, in which 
 Mr. Tupman proposes to act as his second, and that the other 
 party has absconded. The sequel is that Mr. Pickwick and 
 Mr. Tupman are arrested, and taken before the mayor. For 
 proceedings at the trial, see Nuprins, George. (Ch. xxii., xxiv.) 
 MALLARD, MR. Clerk to Mr. Serjeant Snubbin. (Ch. xxxi., 
 
 xxxiv.) 
 MARTIN, MR, A prisoner confined in the Fleet Prison, 
 
 (Ch. xlii.) 
 MARTIN. A coachman. (Ch. xlviii.) 
 MARTIN. A gamekeeper. (Ch. xix.) 
 
 MARTIN, JACK. Hero of "The Story of the Bagman's 
 
 Uncle." (Ch. xlix.) 
 MARY. A servant-girl at Mr. iN'upkins's; afterwards married 
 
 to Sam Weller. (Ch. xxv., xxxix., xlvii., liii., liv., Ivi.) 
 
 MATINTER, THE TWO MISSES. Ladies attending the 
 
 ball at Bath. (Ch. xxxv.) 
 MILLER, MR. A guest at Mr. Wardle's. (Ch. vi., xxviii.) 
 
 MIVINS, MR., called " The Zephyr." A fellow-prisoner with 
 
 Mr. Pickwick in the Pleet. (Ch. xli., xlii.) 
 MUDGE, MR. JONAS. Secretary of the Brick Lane Branch 
 
 of the United Grand Junction ELenezer Temperance Associa- 
 tion. (Ch. xxxiii.) 
 MUTANHED, LORD, A fashionable gentleman whom Mr. 
 
 Pickwick meets at a ball in Bath ; a friend of Captain and 
 
 j\L?s. Dowler. (Ch. xxxv.) 
 MUZZLE, MR. An undersized footman, with a long body 
 
 and short legs, in the service of George JSTupkins, Esq. 
 
 (Ch. xxiv., XXV.) 
 NAMBY, MR. A sheriflfs officer who arrestt l^ir. Pickwick. 
 
 (Ch. xl.) 
 NEDDY. A prisoner for debt, confined in the Eleet; a 
 
 phlegmatic and taciturn man. (Ch. xlii., xliii.) 
 
 NODDY, MR. A friend of Mr. Bob Sawyer. (Ch. xxxii.) 
 
 NUPRINS, GEORGE, ESQ. Mayor of Ipswich. Mr. 
 Pickwick and his friend Mr. Tupman are brought before him 
 on a charge preferred by Miss Witherfield, that they are 
 about to engage in a duel — ]\Ir. Pickwick as principal, and 
 ]Mr. Tupman as his second. (Ch. xxiv., xxv.) See I^Iagnus. 
 Peter, 
 
40 THB DIOKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 The scene was an impressive one, well cilculated to strike terror to 
 the hearts of culprits, and to impress them with an adequate idea of the 
 stern majesty of the law. In front of a big bookcase, in a big chair, 
 behind a big table, and before a big volume, sat Mr. Nupkins, looking a 
 full size larger than any one of them, big as they were. The table was 
 adorned with piles of papers ; and above the farther end of it appeared 
 the head and shoulders of Mr. Jinks, who was busily engaged in looking 
 as busy as possible. The party having all entered. Muzzle carefully 
 closed the door, and placed himself behind his master's chair to await 
 his orders : Mr. Nupkins threw himself back with thrilling solemnity, 
 and scrutinised the faces of his unwilling visitors. 
 
 " Now, Grummer, who is that person ? " said Mr. Nupkins, pointing 
 to Mr. Pickwick, who, as the spokesman of his friends, stood, hat in 
 hand, bowing with the utmost politeness and respect. 
 
 " This here's Pickvick, your wash-up," said Grummer. 
 
 " Come, none o' that 'ere, old Strike-a-Hght ! " interposed Mr. Weller, 
 elbowing himself into the front rank. " Beg your pardon, sir ; but this 
 here officer o' yourn in the gamboge tops *11 never earn a decent livin' as 
 a master o' the ceremonies any vere. This here, sir," continued Mr. 
 Weller, thrusting Grummer aside, and addressing the magistrate with 
 pleasant familiarity, — " this here is S. Pickvick, Esquire ; this here's 
 Mr. Tupman ; that 'ore's Mr. Snodgrass, and furder on, next him on the 
 t'other side, Mr. Winkle — all wery nice gen'l'm'n, sir, as you'll be wery 
 happy to have the acquaintance on ; so the sooner you commits these 
 here officers o' yourn to the treadmill for a month or two, the sooner 
 we shall begin to be on a pleasant understanding. Business first, 
 pleasure arterwards, as King Kichard the Third said ven he stabbed the 
 t'other king in the Tower, afore he smothered the babbies." 
 
 At the conclusion of this address, Mr. Weller brushed his hat with 
 his right elbow, and nodded benignly to Jinks, who had heard h im 
 throughout with unspeakable awe. 
 
 " Who is this man, Grummer ? " said the magistrate. 
 
 "Wery desp'rate character, your wash-up," replied Grummer. " He 
 attempted to rescue the prisoners, and assaulted the officers : bo we 
 took him into custody and brought him here." 
 
 " You did quite right," repHed the magistrate. " He is evidently n 
 desperate ruffian." 
 
 "He is my servant, sir !" said Mr. Pickwick, angrily. 
 
 " Oh ! he is your servant, is he ? " said Mr. Nupkins. " A conspiracy 
 to defeat the ends of justice, and murder its officers. Pickwick's servant. 
 Put that do-wn, Mr. Jinks." 
 
 Mr. Jinks did so. 
 
 " What's your name, fellow ? " thundered Mr. Nupkins. 
 
 " Veller," replied Sam. 
 
 " A very good name for the Newgate Calendar," said Mr. Nupkins. 
 
 This was a joke : so Jinks, Grummer, Dubbley, all the specials, and 
 Muzzle, went into fits of laughter for five minutes' duration. 
 
 " Put down his name, Mr. Jinks," said the magistrate. 
 
 " Two L's, old feller," said Sam. 
 
 Here an unfortunate special laughed again, whereupon the magistrate 
 threatened to commit him instantly. It's a dangerous thing laughing at 
 the wrong man in these cases. 
 
 " Where do you live ? " said the magistrat©. 
 
 " Yare-ever I can," replied Sam. 
 
THE PICKWICK PABEBS. 41 
 
 " Put that down, Mr. Jinks," said the magistrate, who was fast rising 
 into a rage. 
 
 " Score it under," said Sam. 
 
 "He is a vagabond, Mr. Jinks," said the magistrate. "He ig a 
 vagabond on his own statement ; is he not, Mr. Jinks ? " 
 
 " Certainly, sir." 
 
 " Then I'll commit him — I'll commit him as such," said Mr. Nupkins. 
 
 " This is a very impartial country for justice," said Sam. " There 
 ain't a magistrate going as don't commit himself twice as often as he 
 commits other people." 
 
 At this sally another special laughed, and then tried to look so super, 
 naturally solemn that the magistrate detected him immediately. 
 
 " Grummer," said Mr. Nupkins, reddening with passion, " how dare 
 you select such an inefficient and disreputable person for a special con- 
 stable, as that man ? How dare you do it, sir ? " 
 
 " I am worry sorry, your wash-up," stammered Gnunmer. 
 
 " Very sorry ! " said the furious magistrate. " You shall repent of 
 this neglect of duty, Mr. Grummer : you shall be made an example of. 
 Take that fellow's staff away. He's drunk. — You're drunk, follow." 
 
 "I am not drunk, your worship," said the man. 
 
 " You are drunk," returned the magistrate. " How dare you say you 
 are not drunk, sir, when I say you are P Doesn't he smell of spirits, 
 Grummer ? " 
 
 " Horrid ! your wash-up," replied Grummer, who had a vague im. 
 pression that there was a smell of rum somewhere. 
 
 " I knew he did ! " said Mr. Nupkins. *' I saw he was drunk when he 
 first came into the room, by his excited eye. Did you observe his excited 
 eye, Mr. Jinks ? " 
 
 " Certainly, sir." 
 
 "I haven't touched a drop of spirits this morning," said the man, 
 who was as sober a fellow as need be. 
 
 " How dare you tell me a falsehood ? " said Mr. Nupkina. " Isn't he 
 drunk at this moment, Mr. Jinks ? " 
 
 " Certainly, sir," replied Jinks. 
 
 "Mr. Jinks," said the magistrate, " I shall commit that man for con- 
 tempt. Make out his committal, Mr. Jinks." 
 
 And committed the special would have been, only Jinks, who was the 
 magisti-ate's adviser, having had a legal education of three years in a 
 country attorney's office, whispered the magistrate that he thought it 
 wouldn't do : so the magistrate made a speech, and said, that, in con- 
 sideration of the special's family, he would merely reprimand and dis- 
 charge him. Accordingly the special was abused vehemently for a 
 quarter of an hour, and sent about his business ; and Grummer, Dubbley, 
 Muzzle, and aU the other specials, murmured their admiration of the 
 magnanimity of Mr. Nupkins. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Jinks," said the magistrate, " swear Grummer." 
 
 Grummer was sworn directly ; but as Grummer wandered, and Mr. 
 Nupkins's dinner was nearly ready, Mr. Nupkins cut the matter short by 
 putting leading questions to Grummer, which Grummer answered as 
 nearly in the affirmative as he could. So the examination went off, all 
 very smooth and comfortable, and two assaults were proved against 
 Mr. Weller, and a threat against Mr. Winkle, and a push against Mr. 
 Snodgrass. And, when all this was done to the magistrate's satisfaction, 
 the magistrate aii4 Mr. Jinkfj consulted in whispers. 
 
42 THE DICKENS DIOTIONAEY. 
 
 The consultation Laving lasted about ten minutes, Mr. Jinks retired 
 to his end of the table ; and the magistrate, with a preparatory cough, 
 drew himself up in his chair, and was proceeding to commence his 
 address, when Mr. Pickwick interposed. 
 
 "I heg your pardon, sir, for interrupting you," said Mr. Pickwick ; 
 " but, before you proceed to express and act upon any opinion you may 
 have formed on the statements which have been made here, I must claim 
 mj right to be heard so far as I am personally concerned." 
 
 " Hold your tongue, sir ! " said the magistrate, peremptorily. 
 
 " I must submit to you, sir," said Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 " Hold your tongue, sir ! " interposed the magistrate, " or I shall order 
 an officer to remove you." 
 
 "You may order your ofEcers to do whatever you please, sir," said 
 Mr. Pickwick ; " and I have no doubt, from the specimens I have had of 
 the subordination preserved among them, that, whatever you order, they 
 will execute : but I shall take the liberty, sir, of claiming my right to be 
 heard, until I am removed by force." 
 
 " Pickvick and principle ! " exclaimed Mr. Weller in a very audible 
 voice. 
 
 " Sam, be quiet," said Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 " Dumb as a drum vith a hole in it," replied Sam. 
 
 Mr. Nupkins looked at Mr. Pickwick with a gaze of intense astonish, 
 ment at his displaying such unwonted temerity, and was apparently 
 about to return a very angry reply, when Mr. Jinks pulled him by the 
 sleeve, and whispered something in his ear. To this the magistrate 
 returned a half -audible answer ; and then the whispering was renewed. 
 Jinks was evidently remonstrating. 
 
 At length the magistrate, gulping down voth a very bad grace his 
 disinclination to hear anything more, turned to Mr. Pickwick, and said 
 sharply, " What do you want to say ? " 
 
 "First," said Mr. Pickwick, sending a look through his spectacles 
 under which even Nupkins quailed, " first I wish to know what I and my 
 friend have been brought here for ? " 
 
 " Must I tell him ? " whispered the magistrate to Jinks. 
 
 " I think you had better, sir," whispered Jinks to the magistrate. 
 
 "An information has been sworn before me," said the magistrate, 
 " that it is apprehended you are going to fight a duel, and that the other 
 man, Tupman, is your aider and abettor in it. Therefore — eh, Mr. Jinks ? " 
 
 *' Certainly, sir." 
 
 " Therefore I call upon yon both to-=-I think that's the course, 
 Mr. Jinks P " 
 
 " Certainly, sir." 
 
 " To — to — what, Mr. Jkiks P " said the magistrate, pettishly. 
 
 "To find bail, sir." 
 
 " Yes. Therefore I call upon you both — as I was about to say when 
 I was inten'upted by my clerk — to find bail." 
 
 " Good bail," whispered Mr. Jinks. 
 
 " I shall require good bail," said the magistrate. 
 
 " Town's-people," whispered Jinks. 
 
 " They must be town's-people," said the magistrate. 
 
 " Fifty pounds each," whispered Jinks, " and householders, of coarse." 
 
 " I shall require two sureties of fifty pounds each," said the magistrate 
 aloud, with great dignity; '*and they must be householders, of course." 
 
 " But bless my heart, sir ! " said Mr. Pickwick, who, together with 
 Mr. Tupman. was all amazement and indignation, " we are perfect 
 
THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 43 
 
 strangers in t.liis town. I have as little knowlodge of any householders 
 hei-e as I have intention of fighting a duel vnth anybody." 
 
 " I daresay," replied tlie magistrate, " I daresay j don't you, Mr. 
 Jinks?" 
 
 *' Certainly, sir." 
 
 " Have you anything more to say ? " inquired the magistrate. 
 
 Mr, Pickwick recollects that lie has lately heard of the 
 adventure of Mr. Alfred Jingle in those parts, under the alias of 
 Captain Fitz-Marshall, and that rumour has it that he is about 
 to marry a daughter of the mayor. Mr. Pickwick determines 
 to speak privately to the magistrate^ and, if this proves to he the 
 fact, to expose Jingle, and gain the good will of Mr. JSTupkins. 
 He therefore asks for a private interview, which, after some 
 hesitation and great astonishment, is granted. The consulta- 
 tion over, Mr. Pickwick and the mayor return to the office. 
 
 " Grummer," said the magistrate in an awful voice. 
 
 " Your wash -up," replied Grummer with the smile of a favourite. 
 
 " Come, come, sir," said the magistrate, sternly, " don't let me see 
 any of this levity here. It is very unbecoming ; and I can assure you 
 that you have very little to smile at. Was the account you gave me 
 just now strictly true ? Now be careful, sir." 
 
 " Your wash-up," stammered Grummer, " I " 
 
 "Oh ! you are confused, are you?" said the magistrate. "Mr. 
 Jinks, you observe his confusion ? " 
 
 '* Certainly, sir," replied Jinks. 
 
 " Now," said the magistrate, " just repeat your statement, Grummer ; 
 and again I warn you to be careful. Mr. Jinks, take his words down." 
 
 The unfortunate Grummer proceeded to re-state his complaint ; but 
 what between Mr. Jinks's taking down his words and the magistrate's 
 taking them up, his natural tendency to rambling, and his extreme 
 confusion, he managed to get involved, in something xmder three 
 minutes, in such a mass of entanglement and contradiction, that Mr. 
 Nupkins at once declared he didn't believe him. So the fines were 
 remitted, and Mr. Jinks found a couple of bail in no time ; and, all these 
 solemn proceedings having been satisfactorily concluded, LIr. Grummer 
 was ignominiously ordered out — an awful instance of the instability of 
 human greatness and the uncertain tenure of great men's favour. 
 
 NUPKINS, MRS. Wife of George :N'upkins, Esq. (Ch. 
 
 XXV.) 
 
 NUPKINS, MISS HENRIETTA. Their daughter. (Ch. 
 
 XXV.) 
 
 PA YNE, DOCTOR. Surgeon of the Forty-third regiment, and 
 a friend of Doctor Slammer's. (Ch. ii., iii.) See Slammer, 
 Doctor. 
 
 PEEL, MR. SOLOMON. An attorney at the Insolvent 
 Court in Portugal Street; a fat, flahhy, pale man, with a 
 narrow forehead, wide face, large head, short neck, and wry 
 noso. (Ch. xliii., Iv.) 
 
44 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 FERKER, MR. Election-agent for the Honourable Samuel 
 Slumkey ; afterwards Mr. Pickwick's attorney — a little, high- 
 dried man, with a dark, squeezed-up face, small, restless 
 black eyes, and the air of one in the habit of propounding 
 regular posers. (Ch. x., xiii., xxxi., xxxiv., xxxv., xlvii, 
 liii., liv.) 
 
 PHUNKY, MR. Junior counsel with Serjeant Snubbin in 
 the case of Bardell v. Pickwick ; regarded as " an infant 
 barrister," as he has not been at the Bar quite eight years. 
 (Ch. xxxi., xxxiv.) 
 
 PICKWICK, SAMUEL. Pounder of the Pickwick Club. 
 (Ch. i. — xxviii., xxx. — xxxii., xxxiv, — xxxvii., xxxix. — xlviii, 
 1.— Ivi) 
 
 The first ray of light which illumines the gloom, and converts into a 
 dazzling brilliancy that obscurity in which the earlier history of the 
 public career of the immortal Pickwick would appear to be involved, is 
 derived from the perusal of the following entry in the Transactions of 
 the Pickwick Club : — 
 
 ** May 12, 1817.— Joseph Smiggers, Esq., P.V.P., M.P.C.,* presid- 
 ing. The following resolutions unanimously agreed to : 
 
 " That this Association has heard read with feelings of unmingled 
 satisfaction and unqualified approval the paper communicated by Samuel 
 Pickwick, Esq., G.O., M.P.C. ,t entitled ' Speculations on the Source of 
 the Hampstead Ponds, with some Observations on the Theory of Tittle- 
 bats ; ' and that this Association does hereby return its warmest thanks 
 to the said Samuel Pickwick, Esq., G.C., M.P.C, for the same. 
 
 " That while this Association is deeply sensible of the advantages 
 which must accrue to the cause of science from the production to which 
 they have just adverted, no less than from the unwearied researches of 
 Samuel Pickwick, Esq., G.C., M.P.C, in Homsey, Highgate, Brixton, 
 and Camberwell, they cannot but entertain a lively sense of the ines- 
 timable benefits which must inevitably result from carrying the specu- 
 lations of that learned man into a wider field, from extending his 
 travels, and consequently enlarging his sphere of observation ; to the 
 advancement of knowledge and the diffusion of learning. 
 
 " That, with the view just mentioned, this Association has taken 
 into its serious consideration a proposal, emanating from the aforesaid 
 Samuel Pickwick, Esq., G.C, M.P.C, and three other Pickwickians 
 hereinafter named, for forming a new branch of United Pickwickians, 
 under the title of ' The Corresponding Society of the Pickwick Club.* 
 
 " That the said proposal has received the sanction and approval of 
 this Association. 
 
 " That the Corresponding Society of the Pickwick Club is therefore 
 hereby constituted; and that Samuel Pickwick, Esq., G.C, M.P.C, 
 Tracy Tupman, Esq., M.P.C, Augustus Snodgrass, Esq., M.P.C, and 
 Nathaniel Winkle, Esq., M.P.C, are hereby nominated and appointed 
 members of the same ; and that they be requested to forward, from time 
 to time, authenticated accounts of their journeys and investigations ; of 
 their observations of character and manners ; and of the whole of thar 
 
 * Perpetual Vice-President, Member Pickwick Club, 
 f General Chinirman, Member Pickwick Club. 
 
THil PICKWICK t»APE:&8. 45 
 
 adventirfea j together with all tales and papers to whidli local scenery or 
 associations may give rise, to the Pickwick Club, stationed in London. 
 
 "That this Association cordially recognises the principle of every 
 member of the Corresponding Society defraying his own travelling 
 expenses ; and that it sees no objection whatever to the members of the 
 said Society pursuing their inquiries for any length of time they please, 
 upon the same terms. 
 
 " That the members of the aforesaid Corresponding Society be and 
 are hereby informed that their proposal to pay the postage of their 
 letters, and the carriage of their parcels, has been deliberated upon by 
 this Association. That this Association considers such proposal worthy 
 of the great minds from which it emanated ; and that it hereby signifies 
 its perfect acquiescence therein.'* 
 
 A casual observer, adds the secretary — to whose notes we are in- 
 debted for the following account — a casual observer might possibly have 
 remarked nothing extraordinary in the bald head and circular spectacles 
 which were latently turned towards his (the secretary's) face during the 
 reading of the above resolutions. To those who knew that the gigantic 
 brain of Pickwick was working beneath that forehead, and that tna 
 beaming eyes of Pickwick were twinkling behind those glasses, the sight 
 was indeed an interesting one. There sat the man who had traced to 
 their source the mighty ponds of Hampstead, and agitated the scientific 
 world with his Theory of Tittlebats, as calm and unmoved as the deep 
 waters of the one on a frosty day, or as a solitary specimen of the other 
 in the inmost recesses of an earthen jar. And how much more in- 
 teresting did the spectacle become when, starting into full life and 
 animation as a simultaneous call for "Pickwick" burst from his fol- 
 lowers, that illustrious man slowly mounted into the Windsor chair, on 
 which he had been previously seated, and addressed the club himself 
 had founded! What a study for an artist did that exciting scene 
 present! The eloquent Pickwick, with one hand gracefully concealed 
 behind his coat-tails, and the other waving in air to assist his glowing 
 declamation — his elevated position revealing those tights and gaiters 
 which, had they clothed an ordinary man, might have passed without 
 observation, but which, when Pickwick clothed them (if we may use the 
 expression), inspired involuntary awe and respect — surrounded by the 
 men who had volunteered to share the peril of his travels, and who 
 were destined to participate in the glories of his discoveries ! On his 
 right hand sat Mr. Tracy Tupman — the too susceptible Tupma,n, who to 
 the wisdom and experience of maturer years superadded the enthusiasm 
 and ardour of a boy in the m.ost interesting and pardonable of human 
 weaknesses — love. Time and feeding had expanded that once romantic 
 form ; the black silk waistcoat had become more and more developed ; 
 inch by inch had the gold watch-chain beneath it disappeared from 
 within the range of Tupman's vision j and gradually had the capacious 
 chin encroached upon the borders of the white cravat : but the soul of 
 Tupman had known no change — admiration of the fair sex was still its 
 ruling passion. On the left of his great leader sat the poetic Snodgrass ; 
 and near him again the sporting Winkle; the former poetically enveloped 
 in a mysterious blue cloak with a canine-skin collar, and the latter 
 communicating additional lustre to a new green shooting-coat, plaid 
 neckerchief, and closely-fitted drabs. 
 
 Mr. Pickwick starts out upon his travels witli the other 
 members of the Corresponding Society of the Pickv/ick Cluh^ 
 
46 THE DIOKEJJS DICTION ABY. 
 
 and meets vrith many laughable and interesting adventures. 
 At Cliatham they attend a grand review, station themselves in 
 the front rank of the crowd, and patiently await the commence- 
 ment of the proceedings. 
 
 The throng was increasing every moment ; and the efforts they were 
 compelled to make to retain the position they had gained sufficiently 
 occupied their attention during the two hours that ensued. At one time 
 there was a sudden pressure from behind ; and then Mr. Pickwick was 
 jerked forward for several yards, with a degree of speed and elasticity 
 highly Inconsistent with the general gravity of his demeanour ; at 
 another moment there was a request to " keep back " from the front ; 
 and then the butt-end of a musket was either dropped upon Mr. 
 Pickwick's toe to remind him of the demand, or thrust into his chest to 
 insure its being complied with. Then some facetious gentlemen on the 
 left, after pressing sideways in a body, and squeezing Mr. Snodgrass 
 into the very last extreme of human torture, would request to know 
 " vere he was a-shovin' to; " and when jVIr. Winkle had done expressing 
 his excessive indignation at witnessing this unprovoked assault, some 
 person behind would knock his hat over his eyes, and beg the favour of 
 his putting his head in his pocket. These and other practical witticisms, 
 coupled with the unaccountable absence of Mr. Tupman (who had 
 suddenly disappeared, and was nowhere to be found), rendered their 
 situation, upon the whole, rather m.ore uncomfortable than pleasing or 
 desii-able. 
 
 At length that low roar of many voices ran through the crowd, 
 which usually announces the arrival of whatever they have been waiting 
 for. All eyes were turned in the direction of the sally-port. A few 
 moments of eager expectation, and colours were seen fluttering gaily in 
 the air ; arms glistened brightly in the sun ; column after colunm 
 poured on to the plain. The troops halted and formed; the word of 
 command rung through the line ; there was a general clash of muskets 
 as arms were presented ; and the commander-in-chief, attended by 
 Colonel Bulder, and numerous officers, cantered to the front. The 
 mihtary bands struck up all together ; the horses stood upon two .legs 
 each, cantered backwards, and whisked their tails about in all directions ; 
 the dogs barked ; the mob screamed ; the troops recovered ; and notliing 
 was to be seen on either side, as far as the eye could reach, but a long 
 perspective of red coats and white trousers, fixed and motionless. 
 
 Mr. Pickwick had been so fully occupied in falling about, and dis- 
 entangling himself miraculously from between the legs of horses, that he 
 had not enjoyed sufficient leisure to observe the scene before him, imtil 
 it assumed the appearance we have just described. When he was at last 
 enabled to stand firmly on his legs, his gratification and delight wef e 
 tmbounded. 
 
 " Can anything be finer or more delightful ? " he inquired of 
 Mr. Winkle. 
 
 "Nothing," replied that gentleman, who had had a short man stand- 
 ing on each of his feet for the quarter of an hour immediately pre- 
 ceding. 
 
 " It is indeed a noble and a brilliant sight," said Mr. Snodgrass, in 
 whose bosom a blaze of poetry was rapidly bursting forth, " to see the 
 gallant defenders of their country drawn up in a brilliant arrays before 
 its peaceful citizens ; their faces beaming, not with warlike ferocity, but 
 wit^ civilised gentleness; their eyes flashing, not vrith the rude fire 
 
THE PICKWICK PAPEKa. 47 
 
 t)f rapine or revenge, but with the soft light of humanity and intelli- 
 ^ence." 
 
 Mr. Piokwick fully entered into the spirit of this eulogium ; but ho 
 could not exactly re-echo its terms; for the soft light of intelligenco 
 burnt rather feebly in the eyes of the warriors, inasaiuch as the com- 
 mand, " Eyes front ! " had been given ; and all the spectator saw before 
 him was several thousand pair of optics staring straight forward, wholly 
 divested of any expression whatever. 
 
 " We are in a capital situation now ! " said Mr, Pickwick, looking 
 round him. The crowd had gradually dispersed from their immediate 
 vicinity, and they were nearly alone. 
 
 " Capital ! " echoed both Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle. 
 
 " What are they doing now ? " inquired Mr. Pickwick, adjusting his 
 spectacles. 
 
 " I — I — rather think," said Mr. Winkle, changing colour, — " 1 rather 
 think they're going to fire ! " 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said Mr. Pickwick, hastily. 
 
 "I — I — really think they are," urged Mr. Snodgrass, somewhat 
 alarmed. 
 
 " Impossible ! " replied Mr. Pickwick. He had hardly uttered the 
 word, when the whole half-dozen regiments levelled their muskets as if 
 they had but cue common object, and that object the Pickwickians, 
 and burst forth with the most awful and tremendous discharge that ever 
 shook the earth to its centre, or an elderly gentleman off his. 
 
 It was in this trying situation, exposed to a galling fire of blank 
 ■cartridges, and harassed by the operations of the military, — afresh body 
 •of whom had begun to fall in on the opposite side, — that Mr. Pickwick 
 ■displayed that perfect coolness and self-possession which are the iudis- 
 pensable accompaniments of a great mind. He seized Mr. Winkle by 
 the arm, and, placing himself between that gentleman and Mr. Snodgrass, 
 ■earnestly besought them to remember, that, beyond the possibility of 
 being rendered deaf by the noise, there was no immediate danger to be 
 apprehended from the firing. 
 
 " But — but — suppose some of the men should happen to have ball 
 ■cartridges by mistake," remonstrated Mr. Winkle, pallid at the sup- 
 position he was himself conjuring up. " I heard something whistle 
 through the air just now — so sharp ! — close to my ear." 
 
 " We had better throw ourselves on our faces, hadn't we ? " said 
 Mr. Snodgrass. 
 
 " No, no ! it's over now," said Mr. Pickwick. His lip might quiver, 
 «,nd his cheek might blanch; but no expression of fear or concern 
 escaped the lips of that immortal man. 
 
 Mr. Pickwick was right, the firing ceased. But he had scarcely time 
 ■to congratulate himself on the accuracy of his opinion, when a quick 
 Tnovement was visible in the line : the hoarse shout of the word of 
 ■command ran along it, and, before either of the party could form a guess 
 at the meaning of this new manoeuvre, the whole of the half-dozen 
 regiments, with fixed bayonets, charged at double quick time down 
 npon the very spot on which Mr. Pickwick and his friends were 
 "Stationed. 
 
 Man is but mortal, and there is a point beyond which human courage 
 •cannot extend. Mr. Pickwick gazed through his spectacles for an 
 instant on the advancing mass ; and then fairly turned his back, and — 
 we will not say fled ; first, because it is an ignotile term, and, secondly, 
 because Mr. Pickwick's figure wag bj no means adapted for that mode 
 
4a f HE DICfcENS DiCTlOKAiat. 
 
 of retreat. He trotted away at as quick a rate as his legs would coEfey 
 him, — so quickly, indeed, that he did not perceive the awkwardness of 
 his situation to the full extent until too late. 
 
 The opposite troops, whose falling-in had perplexed Mr. Pickwick a 
 few seconds before, were drawn up to repel the mimic attack of the 
 sham besiegers of the citadel ; and the consequence was that Mr. Pick- 
 wick and his two companions found themselves suddenly enclosed between 
 two lines of great length, — the one advancing at a rapid pace, and the 
 other firmly awaiting the collision in hostile array. 
 
 " Hoi ! " shouted the officers of the advancing line. 
 
 " Get out of the way ! " cried the officers of the stationary one. 
 
 "Where are we to go ? " screamed the agitated Pickwickians. 
 
 "Hoi, hoi, hoi!" was the only reply. There was a moment of 
 intense bewilderment, a heavy tramp of footsteps, a violent concussion, 
 a smothered laugh — the half-dozen regiments were half -a-thousand yards 
 off, and the soles of Mr. Pickwick's boots were elevated in air. 
 
 Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle had each performed a compulsory 
 summerset with remarkable agility, when the first object that met the eyes 
 of the latter as he sat on the ground, stanching with a yellow silk hand- 
 kerchief the stream of life which issued from his nose, was his venerated 
 leader at some distance off, running after his own hat, which was 
 gambolling playfully away in perspective. 
 
 There are very few moments in a man's existence when he experiences 
 so much ludicrous distress, or meets with so little charitable commisera- 
 tion, as when he is in pursuit of his own hat. A vast deal of coolness 
 and a peculiar degree of judgment are requisite in catching a hat. A 
 man must not be precipitate, or he runs over it ; he must not rush into 
 the opposite extreme, or he loses it altogether. The best way is to keep 
 gently up with the object of pursuit, to be wary and cautious, to watch 
 your opportunity well, get gradually before it, then make a rapid dive, 
 seize it by the crown, then stick it firmly on your head, smiling pleasantly 
 all the time as if you thought it as good a joke as anybody else. 
 
 There was a &ae gentle wind, and Mr. Pickwick's hat rolled sportively 
 before it. The wind puffed, and Mr. Pickwick puffed, and the hat rolled 
 over and over as merrily as a lively porpoise in a strong tide ; and on it 
 might have rolled, far beyond Mr. Pickwick's reach, had not its course 
 been providentially stopped just as that gentleman was on the point of 
 resigning it to its fate. 
 
 Mr. Pickwick, we say, was completely exhausted, and about to give 
 up the chase, when the hat was blown with some violence against th© 
 wheel of a carriage. 
 
 Darting forward to pick it up, Mr. Pickwick is accosted by 
 Mr. Tupman, who has made the acquaintance of Mr. Wardle 
 and his family (the occupants of the carriage), and is introduced 
 to them, as are Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle, who come up 
 shortly after. Eeing all invited to visit Manor Farm, !Mr. 
 "Wardle's home, on the following day, they determine to go — 
 three of them in a chaise, and one on horseback. At an early 
 hour, the carriage is brought to the door. 
 
 It was a curious little green box on four wheels, vrith a low place, 
 like a wine-bin, for two behind, and an elev&ted perch for one in front, 
 drawn by an immense brown horse, displaying great symmetry of bone. 
 
THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 49 
 
 An hostler stood near it, lidding by the bridle another immense horse 
 — apparently a near relative of the animal in the chaise — ready saddled 
 for Mr. Winkle. 
 
 " Bless my soul!" said Mr. Pickwiok, as they stood upon the pave- 
 ment while the coats were being put in, — "bless my soul! who's to 
 drive P I never thought of that." 
 
 "Oh ! you, of course," said Mr. Tupman. 
 
 " Of course," said Mr. Snodgrass. 
 
 " I ! " exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 " Not the slightest fear, sir," interposed the hostler. ** Wajrant hAm 
 fixuet, sir, — a hinfant in arms might drive him." 
 
 *' He don't shy, does he ? " inquired Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 " Shy, sir ? He wouldn't shy if he was to meet a vaggin-load of 
 monkeys with their tails burnt off." 
 
 The last recommendation was indisputable. Mr. Tupman and Mr. 
 Snodgrass got into the bin ; Mr. Pickwick ascended to his perch, and 
 deposited his feet on a fioor-clothed shelf erected beneath it for that 
 purpose. 
 
 " Now, Shiny Villiam," said the hostler to the deputy hostler, " give 
 the gen'l'm'n the ribbins." " Shiny Villiam," — so called, probably, from 
 his sleek hair and oily countenance — placed the reins in Mr. Pickwick's 
 left hand ; and the upper hostler thrust a whip into his right. 
 
 " Wo — o ! " cried Mr. Pickwick, as the tall quadruped evinced a de- 
 oided inclination to back into the coffee-room window. 
 
 " Wo — o! " echoed Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass from the bin. 
 
 *' Only his playfulness, gen'l'm'n," said the head hostler, encouragingly ; 
 " jisfc Mtch hold on him, YilUam." The deputy restrained the animal's 
 impetuosity, and the principal ran to assist Mr. Winkle in mounting. 
 
 "T'other side, sir, if you please." 
 
 " Blowed if the gen'l'm'n wom't a-gettin' up on the wrong side ! " 
 whispered a grinning post-boy, to the inexpressibly gratified waiter. 
 
 Mr. Winkle, thus instructed, climbed into his saddle with about aa 
 much difficulty as he would have experienced in getting up the side of a 
 first-rate man-of-war. 
 
 "All right?" inquired Mr. Pickwick, with an inward presentiment 
 that it was all wrong. 
 
 " All right," replied Mr. Winkle, faintly. 
 
 " Let 'em go ! " cried the hostler, " hold him in, sir ; " and away went 
 the chaise and the saddle-horse, with Mr. Pickwick on the box of the 
 one, and Mr. Winkle on the back of the other, to the delight and grati- 
 fication of the whole inn -yard. 
 
 " What makes him go sideways ? " aaid Mr. Snodgrass in. the bin to 
 Mr. Winkle in the saddle. 
 
 "I can't imagine," replied Mr. Winkle. His horse was going up the 
 street in the most mysterious manner, — side first, with his head towards 
 one side of the way, and his tail to the other. 
 
 Mr. Pickwick had no leisure to observe either this or any other 
 particular; the whole of his faculties being concentrated in the manage- 
 ment of the animal attached to the chaise, who displayed various 
 peculiarities, highly interesting to a bystander, but by no means equally 
 amusing to anyone seated behind him. Besides constantly jerking his 
 head up in a very unpleasant and uncomfortable manner, and tugging at 
 the reins to an extent which rendered it a matter of great difficulty 
 for Mr. Pickwick to hold them, he had a singular propensity for darting 
 suddenly, every novr and then to the side of the road, then stopping 
 
50 THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 ehoftj and then rushing forward for some minutes at a speed which it 
 was wholly impossible to control. 
 
 " What can he mean by this ? " said Mr. Snodgrass, when the horse 
 had executed this manoeuvre for the twentieth time. 
 
 "I don't know," repKed Mr. Tupman; "it loohs very much like 
 shying, don't it ? " Mr. Snodgrass was about to reply, when he was 
 interriipted by a shout from Mr. Pickwick, 
 
 •' Woo 1 " said that gentieman. " I have dropped my whip." 
 
 " Winkle," cried Mr. Snodgrass, as the equestrian came trotting up 
 on the tall horse, with his hat over his ears, and shaking all over, as if 
 he would shake to pieces with the violence of the exercise, — " pick up 
 the whip, there's a good fellow." Mr. Winkle pulled at the bridle of the 
 tall horse till he was black in the face, and having at length succeeded 
 in stopping him, dismounted, handed the whip to Mr. Pickwick, and 
 grasping the reins, prepared to remount. 
 
 Now, whether the tall horse, in the natural playfulness of his dis- 
 position, was desirous of having a little innocent recreation with Mr. 
 Winkle, or whether it occurred to him that he could perform the journey 
 as much to his own satisfaction without a rider as with one, are points 
 upon which, of course, we can arrive at no definite and distinct conclu- 
 sion. By whatever motives the animal was actuated, certain it is that 
 Mr. Winkle had no sooner touched the reins than he slipped them over 
 his head, and darted backwards to their full length. 
 
 "Poor fellow!" said Vf inkle, soothingty, "poor fellow, good old 
 horse ! " The " poor fellow" was proof against flattery : the more Mr. 
 Winkle tried to get nearer him, the more lie sidled away; and not- 
 withstanding all kinds of coaxing and wheedling, there were Mr. Winkle 
 and the horse going round and round each other for ten minutes, at the 
 end of which time each was at precisely the same distance from the 
 other as when they first commenced — an unsatisfactory sort of thing 
 under any circumstances, but particularly so in a lonely road, where no 
 assistance can be procm-ed. 
 
 " What am I to do ? " shouted Mr. Winkle, after the dodging had 
 been prolonged for a considerable time. " What am I to do ? I can't 
 get on him ! " 
 
 " You had better lead him till Tre come to a turnpike," replied 
 Mr. Pickwick from the chaise. 
 
 "But he won't come," roared Mr. Winkle. ".Bo come and hold 
 him." 
 
 Mr. Pickwick was the very personation of kindness and humanity : 
 he threw the reins on the horse's back, and, having descended from his 
 seat, carefully drew the chaise into the hedge, lest anything should come 
 along the road, and stepped back to the assistance of his distressed 
 companion, leaving Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass in the vehicle. 
 
 The horse no sooner beheld Mr. Pickwick advancing towards him, 
 with the chaise-whip in his haud, than he exchanged the rotary motion 
 in which he had previously indulged, for a retrograde movement, of so 
 veiy, determined a character, that it at once drew Mr. "Winkle, who was 
 still at the end of the bridle, at a rather quicker rate than fast walking 
 in the direction from which they had just come. Mr. Pickwick ran to- 
 his, assistance ; but the faster Mr. Pickwick ran forward, the faster the 
 horse ran backward. There was a great scraping of feet, and kicking 
 
 ^ri 
 
 up of the dust ; and at last Mr. Winkle, his arms being- nearly pul 
 out of their sockets, fairly lei go his hold. The horse paused, stared., 
 shook his head, turned roimd and quietly trotted home to Eochester, 
 
THE PICKWICK PAPERS. $1 
 
 leaving Mr. Winkle and Mr. Pickwick gazing on each other with coun- 
 tenances of blank dismay. A rattKng noise at a little distance atti-acteA 
 their attention. They looked up. 
 
 " Bless my soul ! " exclaimed the agonised Mr. Pickwick, " there^a the 
 other horse running away ! " 
 
 It was but too true. The animal was startled by the noise, and the 
 reins were on his back. The result may be guessed. He tore off with 
 the four-wheeled chaise behind him, and Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrasa 
 in the four-wheeled chaise. The heat was a short one. Mr. Tupman 
 threw himself into the hedge ; ilr. Snodgrass followed his example : the 
 horse dashed the four-wheeled chaise against a wooden bridge, separated 
 the wheels from the body, and finally stood stock still to gaze upon the 
 ruin he had made. 
 
 After extricating themselves, the party are compelled to walk 
 and to lead the horse ; and it is not until late in the afternoon 
 that they reach Manor Farm, tired, dusty, and foot-sore. 
 
 When in London, Mr. Pick-vvick lives at Mrs. BardelPs, in 
 Goswell Street, where he has very comfortable lodgings, and 
 a very accommodating landlady. He determines, however, to 
 take a servant ; and, desiring to consult Mrs. Bardeli in relation 
 to the matter, he sends for her. 
 
 " Mrs. Bardeli," said Mr. Pickwick. . , . 
 
 « Sir," said Mrs. Bardeli. . . . 
 
 " Do you think it's a much greater expense to keep two people than 
 to keep one P " 
 
 " La, Mr. Pickwick ! " said Mrs. Bardeli, colouring up to the very 
 border of her cap, as she fancied she observed a species of matrimonial 
 twinkle in the eyes of her lodger; " la, Mr. Pickwick, what a question !" 
 
 " Well, but do you ? " inquired Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 " That depends," said Mrs. Bardeli ..." that depends a good 
 deal upon the person, you know, Mr. Pickwick, and whether it's a saving 
 and careful person, sir." 
 
 " That's very true," said Mr. Pickwok ; " but the person I have in 
 my eye" — here he looked very hard at Mrs. Bardeli — " I think, possesses 
 these qualities, and has, moreover, a considerable knowledge of the 
 world, and a great deal of sharpness, Mrs. Bardeli, which may be of 
 n^aterial use to me." 
 
 "La, Mr. Pickwick!" said Mrs. Bardeli, the crimson rising to her 
 eap-border again. 
 
 " I do," said Mr. Pickwick, growing energetic, as was his wont in 
 gpeaking of a subject which interested him; "I do, indeed; and, to tell 
 jou the truth, Mrs. Bardeli, I have made up my miud." 
 
 " Dear me, sir ! " exclaimed Mrs. Bardeli. 
 
 "You'll think it not very sti-aage now," said the amiable Mr. Pickwick, 
 with a good-humoured glance at his companion, '' that I never consulted 
 you about this matter, and never mentioned it, till I sent your little boy 
 out this morrdng — eh ? " 
 
 Mrs. Bardeli could only reply by a look. She had long worshipped 
 Mr. Pickwick at a distaiico j but here she was, all at once raised to & 
 p'ianacie to which her wildest and most extravagant hope;: had never 
 dared to aspire. 3ir. Piclr^:'ick was going to prr'pose i A deiiberate 
 piac. too — sent her little boy away. 
 
 s 2 
 
52 THE DIOKENS DIOTIONAET. 
 
 ^.fier a few words more, Mrs. Bardell, orercome by he? 
 feelings, goes off into ecstatic hysterics, and throws herself into 
 the arms of Mr. Pickwick, who vehemently protests, and begs 
 her to desist. 
 
 " Mrs. Eardell, my good woman — dear me, what a situation ! Praj 
 consider, Mrs. Bardell ; don't — if anybody should oome " 
 
 " Oh, let them come ! " exclaimed Mrs. Bardell, frantically. " I't 
 never leave you, dear, kind, good soul ! " And with these words Mrs. 
 Bardell clang the tighter. 
 
 " Mercy upon me ! " said Mr. Pickwick, struggling violently. " I hear 
 somebody comiug up the stairs. Don't, don't, there's a good creature, 
 don't ! " But entreaty and remonstrance were alike unavailing, for 
 Mrs. Bardell had fainted in Mr. Pickwick's arms ; and, before he could 
 gain time to deposit her on a chair, Master Bardell entered the room, 
 ushering in Mr. Tupman, Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass. 
 
 Mr. Pickwick was struck motionless and speechless. He stood with 
 his lovely burden in his arms, gazing vacantly on the countenance of hie 
 friends, without the slightest attempt at recognition or explanation. 
 They, in their turn, stared at him; and Master Bardell, in his turn, 
 stared at everybody. 
 
 The astonishment of the Pickwickians was so absorbing, and the 
 perplexity of Mr. Pickwick was so extreme, that they might have 
 remained in exactly the same relative situations until the suspended 
 animation of the lady was restored, had it not been for a most beautiful 
 and touching expression of filial affection on the part of her youthfizl 
 son. Clad in a tight suit of corduroy, spangled with brass buttons of a 
 very considerable size, he at first stood at the door astounded and 
 uncertain ; but^. by degrees, the impression that his mother must have 
 BuiJered some personal damage pervaded his partially-developed mind, 
 and, considering Mr. Piclcwick as the aggressor, he set up an appalling 
 and semi-earthly kind of howling, and, butting forward with his head, 
 commenced assailing that immortal gentleman about the back and legs, 
 with such blows and pinches as the strength of hig arm and the violence 
 of his excitement allowed. 
 
 "Take this little villain awayl^^^id the agonised Mr. Pickwick, 
 "He's mad!" ^ 
 
 " What is the matter ? *' said the three tongue-tied Pickwickians. 
 
 " I don't know," replied Mr. Pickwick, pettishly. " Take away the 
 boy ! " Here Mr. Winkle carried the interesting boy, screaming and 
 struggling, to the farther end of the apartment. " Now help me to lead 
 this woman downstairs." 
 
 " Oh, I am better now," said Mrs. Bardell faintly. 
 
 *' Let me lead you downstairs," said the ever gallant Mr. Tupman. 
 
 " Thank you, sir ; thank you I " exclaimed Mrs. Bardell hysterically. 
 And downstairs she was led accordingly, accompanied by her affectionate 
 eon. 
 
 " I cannot conceive," said Mr. Pickwick, when his friend returned, 
 " I cannot conceive what has been the matter with that woman. I had 
 merely announced to her my intention of keeping a man-servant, when 
 she fell into the extraordinary paroxysm ill which you found her. Very 
 extraordinary thing ! " . 
 
 " Veiy ! " said his three Msnda. 
 
THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 63 
 
 " Placed me in such an extremely awkward situfttloii," continued 
 Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 " Very ! " was the reply of his followers, as they coughed slightly, 
 and looked dubionsly at each other. 
 
 This behaviour was not lost upon Mr. Pickwick. He remarked their 
 incredulity. They evidently suspected him. 
 
 After this occurrence Mr. Pickwick engages Samuel Weller 
 as his servant ; and the next day they all set out for Eatanswill 
 to observe the incidents attending an election at that borough. 
 The parties there are divided into two factions — the Buffs and 
 the Blues. 
 
 Of course it was essentially and indispensably necessary that each of 
 these powerful parties should have its chosen organ and representative ; 
 and accordingly there were two newspapers in the town — The Eatan^* 
 will Gazette and The Eatanswill Independent; the former advocatinfT' 
 Blue principles, and the latter conducted on grounds decidedly Bu^. 
 Fine newspapers they were ! Such leading articles, and such spirited 
 attacks! "Our worthless contemporary The Gazette," "That dis. 
 graceful and dastardly journal The Independent," "That false and 
 scurrilous print The Independent," "That vile and slaa$?srous calum- 
 niator The Gazette " — these and other spirit-stirring denimciations 
 were strewn plentifully over the columns of each, in every number, and 
 excited feelings of the most intense delight and indignation in the 
 bosoms of the townspeople. 
 
 Mr. Pickwick, with his usual foresight and sagacity, had chosen p 
 peculiarly desirable moment for his visit to the borough. Never wa& 
 such a contest known. The Honourable Samuel Slumkey, of Slumkey 
 Ilall, was the Blue candidate ; and Horatio Pizkin, Esq., of Fizkiiui 
 Lodge, near Eatanswill, had been prevailed upon by his friends to stand 
 forward on the Buff interest. The Gazette warned the electors of 
 Eatanswill that the eyes, not only of England, but of the whole civilised 
 world, were cpon them. The Independent imperatively demanded to 
 know whctiaer the constituency of Eatanswill were the grand fellows 
 they hod always taken them for, or base and servile tools, undeserving 
 alika of the name of Englishmen and the blessings of freedom. Never 
 Lad such a commotion agitated the town before. 
 
 It was late in the evening when Mr. Pickwick and his companions, 
 assisted by Sam, dismounted from the roof of the Eatanswill coach. 
 Large blue silk flags were flying from the windows of The Town Arms Inn ; 
 and bills were posted in every sash, intimating, in gigantic letters, that the 
 Honoiu-able Samuel Slumkey's Committee sat there daily. A crowd of 
 idlers were assembled in the road, looking at a hoarse man in the balcony, 
 who was apparently talking himself very red in the face in Mr. Slumkey's 
 behalf, but the force and point of whose arguments were somewhat 
 impaired by the perpetual beating of four large drums, which Mr. Fizkin's 
 committee had stationed at the street-corner. There was a busy little 
 man beside him, though, who took off his hat at intervals, and motioned 
 to the people to cheer, which they regularly did most enthusiastically ; 
 and, as the red-faced gentleman went on talking till he was redder in 
 the face than ever, it seemed to answer his purpose quite as well as if 
 anybody had heard him. 
 
 The Pickwickians had no sooner dismounted than tliey were surrounded 
 
64 THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 by a branch mob of the honest and independent, who forthwith Bet up 
 three deafening cheers, which, being responded to by the main body 
 (for it*s not at all necessary for a crowd to know what they are cheering 
 aboat), swelled into a tremendons roar of triumph, which stopped even 
 ihe red-faced man in the balcony. 
 
 " Hurrah! " shouted the mob in conclusion. 
 
 ''One cheer more!" screamed the little fugleman in the balcony; 
 and out shouted the mob again, as if lungs were cast iron with steel 
 works. 
 
 " Slmnkey for ever ! " roared the honest and independent. 
 
 " Slumkey for ever ! " echoed Mr. Pickwick, taking off his hat. 
 
 ** No Fizkin ! " roared the crowd. 
 
 " Certainly not ! " shouted Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 "Hurrah! " and then there was another roaring, like that of a whole 
 menagerie when the elephant has rung the bell for the cold meat. 
 
 " Who is Slumkey ? " whispered Mr. Tupman. 
 
 "I don't know," replied Mr. Pickwick in the same tone. "Hush! 
 don't ask any questions. It's always best on these occasions to do what 
 the mob do." 
 
 " But suppose there are two mobs," suggested Mr. Snodgraus. 
 
 " Shout with the largest ! " replied Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 Volumes could not have said more. 
 
 WMle in the country, Mr. Pickwick and his friends think it 
 will be well to indulge in a little sport, and consequently resolve 
 to go out shooting. Accompanied by Mr. "Wardle, they take an 
 open carriage and drive off. Arrived at the scene of action, 
 My. Pickwick finds himself too lame to walk, and is much dis- 
 appointed thereat ; but Sam, having discovered a wheelbarrow, 
 proposes to give him a ride in this novel vehicle, which pro- 
 position Mr. Pickwick gratefully accepts. But here a difficulty 
 arises. The gamekeeper resolutely protests against the intro- 
 duction into a shooting-party of a gentleman in a barrow, as a 
 gross violation of all established rules and precedents. 
 
 It was a great objection, but not an insurmountable one. The game- 
 keeper having been coaxed and feed, and having, moreover, eased his 
 mind by "punching" the head of the inventive youth who had first 
 fsnggested the use of the machine, Mr. Pickwick was placed in it, and 
 off the party set — Wardle and the long gamekeeper leading the way ; 
 and Mr. Pickwick in the barrow, propelled by Sam, bringing up the rear. 
 
 " Stop, Sam ! " said Mr. Pickwick, when they had got half across the 
 first field. 
 
 " What's the matter now P " said Wardle. 
 
 "I won't suffer this barrow to be moved another step," said Mr. 
 Pickwick, resolutely, " unless Winkle carries that gun of his in a different 
 manner." 
 
 " How am I to carry it ? " said the wretched Winkle. 
 
 " Carry it with the muzzle of it to the ground," replied Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 " It's so unsportsmanlike," reasoned Winkle. 
 
 " I don't care whether it's unsportsmanlike or not," replied Mr. 
 Pickwick. " I am not going to be shot in a wheelbarrow, for the sake 
 (*■ appearances to please anybody." 
 
THE PICKWICK PAPERS. IJ5 
 
 " I know the gectleinan '11 put that 'ere charge into somebody afore 
 he's done," growled the long man. 
 
 " Well, well, I don't mind," said poor Winkle, turning his gun-stock 
 uppermost : " there ! " 
 
 "Anythin' for a quiet life," said Mr. Weller; and on they went 
 again. 
 
 " Stop ! " said IMr. Pickwick, after they had gone a few yards farther. 
 
 " What now ? " said Wardle. 
 
 " That gun of Tnpman's is not safe : I know it isn't," said Mr. 
 Piclnvick. 
 
 " Eh ? What ! not safe ? " said Mr. Tupman, in a tone of great 
 alarm. 
 
 " Not as you are carrying it," said Mr. Pickwick. " I am very sorry 
 to make any further objections ; but I cannot consent to go on unless 
 you carry it as Winkle does his." 
 
 " I think you had better, sir," said the long gamekeeper, " or you're 
 Quite as likely to lodge the charge into your own vestcoat as in anybody 
 eWs." 
 
 Mr. Tupman, with the most obliging haste, placed his piece in the 
 position required, and the party moved on again ; the two am.ateurs 
 marching with reversed arms, like a couple of privates at a royal funeral. 
 
 The dogs came suddenly to a dead stop ; and the party, advancing 
 stealthily a single pace, stopped too. 
 
 " What's the matter with the dogs' legs ? " whispered Mr. Winkle. 
 " How queer they're standing ! " 
 
 " Hush ! can't you ? " i-ephed Wardle, softly. " Don't you see they're 
 making a point ? " 
 
 ■''Making a point!" said Mr. Winkle, staring about him as if he 
 expected to discover some particular beauty in the landscape which the 
 sagacious animals were calling special attention to — " making a point ! 
 What are they pointing at ?" 
 
 " Keep your eyes open," said Wardle, not heeding the question in tha 
 excitement of the moment. " Now, then !" 
 
 There was a sharp whirring noise, that made Mr. Winkle start back 
 as if he had been shot himself. Bang, bang! went a couple of guns. 
 The smoke swept quickly away over the field, and cm-led into the air. 
 
 " Where are they ? " said Mr. Winkle, in a state of the highest 
 excitement, turning round and round in all directions. " Where are 
 they ? Tell me when to fire. Where are they ? where are they ? " 
 
 " Where are they ?" said Wardle, taking up a brace of birds which 
 the dogs had deposited at his feet. " Where are they ? Why, here 
 they are." 
 
 " No, no; I mean the others," said the bewildered Winkle. 
 
 " Far enough off by this time," replied Wardle, coolly reloading 
 his gun. 
 
 " We shall very likely be up with another covey in five minutes^" 
 said the long gamekeeper. "If the gentleman begins to fire now, 
 perhaps he'll just get the shot out of the barrel by the time they rise." 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! " roared Mr. Weller. 
 
 " Sam I" said Mr. Pickwick, compaasionating his followers confusion 
 and embarrassment. 
 
 "Sir?" 
 
 " Don't laugh." 
 
 "Certainly not, gir." So, by way of indemnification, Mr. Weller 
 contorted his features from behind the wheelbarrow, for the esclusiv© 
 
66 THE DICKENS DICTION AEY. 
 
 anmsement of the boy with the leggings, who thereupon bTirat into a 
 boisterous laugh, and was summarily cuffed by the long gamekeeper, 
 who wanted a pretext for turning round to hide his own merriment. 
 
 " Bravo, old fellow ! " said Wardle to Mr. Tupman ; " you fired that 
 time, at all events." 
 
 " Oh yes," replied Mr. Tupman, with conscious pride j " I let it off." 
 
 "Well done. You'll hit something next time, if you look sharp. 
 Very easy, ain't it ? " 
 
 " Yes, it's very easy," said Mr. Tupman. *' How it hurts one's 
 shoulder, though ! It nearly knocked me backwards. I had no idea 
 these small firearms kicked so." 
 
 " Ah," said the old gentleman, smiling, " you'll get used to it in time. 
 Now, then — all ready, all right with the barrow there ? " 
 
 " All right, sir," rephed Mr. WeUer. 
 
 " Come along, then." 
 
 " Hold hard, sir," said Sam, raising the barrow. 
 
 " Ay, ay," replied Mr. Pickwick ; and on they went, as briskly aa 
 need be. 
 
 "Keep that barrow back, now," cried Wardle, when it had been 
 hoisted over a stile into another field, and Mr. Pickwick had been 
 deposited in it once more. 
 
 " All right, sir," replied Mr. Weller, pausing. 
 
 "Now, Winkle," said the old gentleman, "follow me softly, and 
 don't be too late this time." 
 
 " Never fear," said Mr. Winkle. " Are they pointing ? " 
 
 " No, no I not now. Quietly, now, quietly." On they crept, and very 
 quietly they would have advanced, if Mr. Winkle, in the performance of 
 some veiy intricate evolutions with his gun, had not accidentally fired, 
 at the most critical moment, over the boy's head, exactly in the very 
 spot where the tall man's brain would have been, had he been there 
 instead. 
 
 " Why, what on earth did you do that for ?" said old Wardle, as the 
 birds flew unharmed away. 
 
 " I never saw such a gun in my life," rephed- poor Winkle, looking at 
 the lock, as if that would do any good. " It goes off of its own accord. 
 It will do it." 
 
 " Will do it ? " echoed Wardle, with something of irritation in hia 
 manner. " I wish it would kill something of its own accord." 
 
 " It '11 do that afore long, sir," observed the taU man, in a low, 
 prophetic voice. 
 
 " What do you mean by that observation, sir ? " inquired Mr. Winkle 
 angrily. 
 
 " Never mind, sir ; never mind," replied the long gamekeeper. " I've 
 no family myself, sir; and this here boy's mother will get something 
 handsome from Sir Geoffrey, if he's killed on his land. Load again, 
 sir ; lead again." 
 
 " Take away his gun ! " cried Mr. Pickwick from the barrow, horror^ 
 stricken at the long man's dark insinuations. " Take away his gun! do 
 you hear, somebody ? " 
 
 Nobody, however, volunteered to obey the command ; and Mr. Wick'e, 
 after darting a rebellious glance at Mr. Pickwick, reloaded hif gun, and 
 proceeded onwards with the rest. 
 
 We are bound, on the authority of Mr. Pickwick, to state that 
 Mr. Tupman's mode of proceeding evinced far more of prudencs and 
 deliberation than that adopted by Mr. Winkle. . . . 
 
THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 67 
 
 With the quickness and psnetration of a man of geniiia, he had at 
 once observed that the two great points to be attained were, first, to 
 discharge his piece without injury to himself, and, secondly, to do so 
 without danger to the bystanders. Obviously the best thing to do, after 
 surmounting the difficulty of firing at all, was to shut his eyes firmly, 
 and fire into the air. 
 
 On one occasion, after performing this feat, Mr. Tupman, on opening 
 his eyes, beheld a plump partridge in the very act of falling wounded to 
 the ground. He was just on the point of congratulating Wardle on his 
 invariable success, when that gentleman advanced towards him, and 
 grasped him warmly by the hand. 
 
 " Tupman," said the old gentleman, " you singled out that particular 
 bird?" 
 
 " No," said Mr. Tupman, « no." 
 
 " You did," said Wardle. " I saw you do it ; I observed you pick 
 him out ; I noticed you as you raised your piece to take aim ; and I will 
 say this, that the best shot in existence could not have done it more 
 beautifully. You are an older hand at this than I thought you, Tupman ; 
 you have been out before." 
 
 It was in vain for Mr. Tupman to protest, with a smile of self-denial, 
 that he never had. The very smile was taken as evidence to the 
 contrary ; and from that time forth his reputation was established. It 
 is not the only reputation that has been acquired as easily ; nor are 
 such fortunate circumstances confined to partridge-shooting. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mr. Winkle flashed and blazed and smoked away, without 
 producing any material results worthy of being noted down ; sometimes 
 expending his charge in mid-air, and at others sending it skimming 
 along so near the surface of the ground as to place the lives of the two 
 dogs on a rather uncertain and pi'ecarious tenure. As a display of fancy 
 shooting, it was extremely varied and curious ; as an exhibition of firing 
 with any precise object, it was, upon the whole, perhaps a failure. . . 
 
 " Well," said Wardle, walking up to the side of the barrow, and 
 wiping the streams of perspiration from his jolly red face, " smoking 
 day, isn't it ? " 
 
 " It is, indeed," replied Mr. Pickwick. " The sun is tremendously 
 hot, even to me. I don't know how you must feel it." 
 
 "Why," said the old gentleman, "pretty hot. It's paat twelve, 
 though. You see that green hill there ? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " That's the place where we are to lunch ; and, by Jore ! there's the 
 boy with the basket, punctual as clock-work." 
 
 " So he is," said Mr. Pickwick, brightening up. " Good boy, that. 
 Fll give him a shilling presently. Now, then, Sam, wheel away." 
 
 " Hold on, sir ! " said Mr. Weller, invigorated with the prospect of 
 refreshments. " Out of the vay, young leathers ! If you walley my 
 precious life don't upset me, as the gen'l'man said to the driver when 
 they was a-carryin' him to Tyburn." And, quickening his pace to a 
 sharp rim, Mr. Weller wheeled his master to the green hill, shot him 
 dexterously out by the very side of the basket, and proceeded to unpack 
 it with the utmost despatch. 
 
 " A wery good notion of a lunch it is, take it altogether," said Mr. 
 Weller, surveying his arrangement of the repast with great satisfaction. 
 " Now, gen'l'men, ' fall on,' as the English said to the French when they 
 fixed bagginets." 
 
,8 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 It needed no second invitation to induce the party to yield full justio© 
 to the meal; and as little pressing did it require to induce Mr. Weller, 
 the long gamekeeper, and the two boys, to station themselves on the 
 grass at a little distance, and to do good execution upon a decent pro- 
 portion of the viands. An old oak-tree afforded a pleasant shelter to the 
 group ; and a rich prospect of arable and meadow la,nd, intersected with 
 luxuriant hedges, and richly ornamented with wood, lay spread out before 
 them. 
 
 " This is delightful, thoroughly delightful ! " said Mr. Pickwick, the 
 skin of whose expressive countenance was rapidly peeling off with 
 exposure to the sun. 
 
 "So it is, so it is, old fellow! " replied Wardle. " Come, a glass of 
 punch." 
 
 "With great pleasure," said Mr. Pickwick; and the satisfaction of 
 his countenance after drinking it bore testimony to the sincerity of the 
 reply. 
 
 " Good ! " said Mr. Pickwick, smacking his lips — " very good ! I'll 
 take another. Cool, very cool. Come, gentlemen," continued Mr. Pick- 
 vrick, still retaining his hold upon the jar, " a toast j * Our friends at 
 Dingley Dell.' " 
 
 The toast was drunk vrith loud acclamations. 
 
 " I'll tell you what I shall do to get up my shooting again," said Mr. 
 Winkle, who was eating bread and ham -with a pocket-knife. " I'll put 
 a stuffed partridge on the top of a post, and practise at it, beginning at 
 a short distance, and lengthening it by degrees. I understand it's a 
 capital practice." 
 
 "I know a gen'l'man, sir," said Mr. Weller, *' as did that, and begun 
 at two yards ; but he never tried it on agin ; for he blowed the bird right 
 clean away at the first fire, and nobody ever seed a feather on him arter- 
 wards." 
 
 " Sam," said Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 " Sir,". replied Mr. WeUer. . 
 
 "Have the goodness to resfcarve your anecdotes tiU they are called 
 for." 
 
 "Cert'nly, sir." . 
 
 Here Mr. Weller winked the eye which was not concealed by the beer, 
 can he was raising to his lips, with such exquisite facetiousness, that the 
 two boys went into spontaneous convulsions; and even the long man 
 condescended to smile. 
 
 " Well, that certainly is most capital cold punch," said Mr. Pickwick, 
 looking earnestly at the stone bottle ; "and the day is extremely warm, 
 and — Tupman, my dear friend, a glass of punch ? " 
 
 " With the greatest delight," replied Mr. Tupman ; and, having drunk 
 that glass, Mr. Pickwick took another, just to see whether there was any 
 orange-peel in the punch, because orange-peel always disagreed with 
 him ; and, finding that there was not, Mr. Pickvrick took another glass 
 to the health of their absent friend, and then felt himself imperatively 
 called upon to propose another in honour of the punch-compounder, 
 unknown. 
 
 This constant succession of glasses produced considerable effect upon 
 IVIr. Pickwick ; his countenance beamed with the most sunny smiles ; 
 laughter played around his lips ; and good-humoured merriment twinkled 
 in his eye. Yielding by degrees to the influence of the exciting liquid, 
 rendered more eo by the heat, Mr. Pickwick expressed a strong desire 
 to recollect a song which he had heard in his infancy, and, the B,tteva.p, 
 
 i 
 
THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 69 
 
 proving abortive, sought to stimulate hia memory with more glasaes of 
 punch, which appeared to have a quite contrary effect ; for, from for- 
 getting the words of the song, he began to f oi'get how to articulate any 
 words at all; and finally, after rising to his legs to address tlie company 
 in an eloquent speech, he fell into the barrow, and fast asleep simul- 
 taneously. 
 
 The basket having been repacked, and it being found perfectly im- 
 possible to awaken Mr. Pickwick from his torpor, some discussion took 
 place whether it would be better for Mr. Weller to wheel his master back 
 again, or to leave him where he was until they should be all ready to 
 return. The latter course was at length decided on ; and as their further 
 expedition was not to exceed an hour's duration, and as Mr. Weller 
 begged very hard to be one of the party, it was determined to leave 
 Mr. Pickvnck asleep in the barrow, and to call for him on their return. 
 So away they went, leaving ]SIr. Pickwick snoring most comfortably in 
 the shade. 
 
 That Mr. Pickwick would have continued to snore in the shade until 
 his friends came back, or, in default thereof, until the shades of evening 
 had fallen on the landscape, there appears no reasonable cause to doubt ; 
 always supposing that he had been suffered to remain there in peace. 
 But he was not suffered to remain there in peace. And this is what 
 prevented him. 
 
 Captain Boldwig was a little fierce man in a stiff black neckerchief 
 and blue surtout, who, when he did condescend to walk about his property, 
 did it in company with a thick rattan stick with a brass ferrule, and a 
 gardener and snb-gardener with meek faces, to Avhom (the gardeners, 
 not the stick) Captain Boldwig gave his orders with all due grandeur 
 and ferocity ; for Captain Boldwig's wife's sister had married a marquis, 
 and the captain's house was a villa, and hia land " grounds ; " and it was 
 all veiy high, and mighty, and great. 
 
 Mr. Pickwick had not been asleep half an hour, when little Captain 
 Boldwig, followed by the two gardeners, came striding along as fast as 
 his size and importance would let -him;- and, -when he came-near the oak 
 tree, Captain Boldwig paused,-and drew a long breath, and looked at the 
 prospect, as if he thought the prospect ought to be highly gratified at 
 having him to take notice of it ; and then he struck the ground emphatic- 
 ally with his stick, and summoned the head-gardener. 
 
 " Hunt,'* said Captain Boldwig. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said the gardener. 
 
 " Roll this place to-morrow morning. Do you heaT; Hunt ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " And take care that you keep me this place in good order. Do you 
 hear, Hunt ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " And remind me to have a board done about trespassers and spring- 
 guns, and all that sort of thing, to keep the common people out. Do you 
 hear, Hunt ; do you hear ? " 
 
 " I'll not forget it, sir." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir," said the other man, advancing, with his 
 hand to his hat. 
 
 " Well, Wilkins, what's the matter with you ? " said Captain Boldwig. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir ; but I think there have been trespassers 
 here to-day." 
 
 " Ha ! " said the captain, scowling around him. 
 
 " Yei, 8ir. They have been dining here, I think, air." 
 
60 THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 " WTiy, Saran i^eii audacity ! so they hare," said Capiain Boldwig, 
 as the crumbs and fragments that were strewn upon the grass met hia 
 eye. " They have been actually devouring their food here. I wish I 
 had the vagabonds here ! " said the captain, clinching the thick stick. 
 
 " I wish I had the vagabonds here I " said the captain, wrathf ully. 
 
 " Beg your pardon, sir," said Wilkins ; " but " 
 
 " But what ? Eh ? " roared the captain ; and, following the timid 
 glance of Wilkins, his eyes encountered the wheelbarrow and Mr. Pick- 
 wick. 
 
 " Who are you, you rascal ? " said the captain, administering several 
 pokes to Mr. Pickwick's body with the thick stick. " What's your name ?" 
 
 " Cold punch," murmured Mr. Pickwick as he sunk to sleep again. 
 
 " What ?" demanded Captain Boldwig. 
 
 No reply. 
 
 " What did he say his name was ? " asked the captain. 
 
 " Punch, I think, sir," replied Wilkins. 
 
 " That's his impudence : that's his confoundeG. impudence ! " said 
 Captain Boldwig. " He's only feigning to be asleep now," said the 
 captain, in a high passion. ** He's drunk ; he's a drunken plebeiss* 
 Wheel him away, Wilkins ; wheel him away directly." 
 
 " Where shall I wheel him to, sir ? " inquired Wilkins, with ^^^ 
 timidity. 
 
 " Wheel him to the devil," repKed Captain Boldwig. 
 
 " Yery well, sir," said Wilkins. 
 
 " Stay," said the captain. 
 
 Wilkins stopped accordingly. 
 
 "Wheel him! " said the captain — " wheel him to the pound! and let 
 us see whether he calls himself Punch when he comes to himself. He 
 shall not bully me : he shall not bully me ! Wheel him away ! " 
 
 Away Mr. Pickwick was wheeled in compliance with this imperious 
 mandate; and the great Captain Boldwig, swelling with indignation, 
 proceeded on his walk. 
 
 Inexpressible was the astonishment of the little party when they 
 returned, to find that Mr. Pickwick had disappeared, and taken the 
 wheelbarrow with him. It was the most mysterious and unaccountable 
 thing that was ever heard of. For a lame man to have got upon his legs 
 without any previous notice, and walked off, would have been most 
 extraordinary ; but when it came to his wheeling a heavy barrow before 
 him, by way of amusement, it grew positively miraculous. They searched 
 every nook and corner round, together and separately : they shoutedj^ 
 whistled, laughed, called — and all with the same result. Mr. Pickwick 
 was not to be found; and, after some hours of fruitless search, they 
 arrived at the unwelcome conclusion that they must go home without him* 
 
 Meanwhile Mr. Pickwick had been wheeled to the i)ound, and safely 
 deposited therein, fast asleep in the wheelbarrow, to the immeasurable 
 delight and satisfaction, not only of all the boys in the village, but three- 
 fourths of the whole population, who had gathered round in expectation 
 of his waking. If their most intense gratification had been awakened 
 by seeing him wheeled in, how many hundred-fold was their joy increased 
 when, after a few indistinct cries of " Sam ! " he sat up in the barrow, 
 and gazed with indescribable astonishment on the faces before him ! 
 
 A general shout was, of course, the signal of his having woke up t 
 and his involuntary inquiry of " What's the matter ? " occasioned anothc^ 
 louder than the first, if possible. 
 
 " Here's a game ! " roared the populaiK®. 
 
THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 61 
 
 " Where am I P *' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 " In the pound," replied the mob. 
 
 " How came I here ? What was I doing ? Where was I brought htom P ** 
 
 " Boldwig — Captain Boldwig," was the only reply. 
 
 " Let me out ! " cried Mr. Pickwick. " Where's my servant ? Where 
 are my friends ? " 
 
 " You an't got no friends. Hurrah ! " And then there came a turnip, 
 and then a potato, and then an egg, with a few other Httle tokens of 
 the playful disposition of the many-headed. 
 
 How long this scene might have lasted, or how much Mr. Pickwick 
 might have suffered, no one can tell, had not a carriage, which was 
 di-iving swiftly by, suddenly pulled up, from whence there descended 
 old Wardle and Sam Weller, the former of whom, in far less time than 
 it takes to write it, if not to read it, had made his way to Mr. Pickwick's 
 side, and placed him in the vehicle, just as the latter had concluded 
 the third and last round of a single combat with the town-beadle. 
 
 " Enn to the justice's," cried a dozen of voices. 
 
 " Ah, run avay ! " said Mr. Weller, jumping up on the box. " Give 
 my compliments — Mr. Veller's compliments — to the justice, and tell him 
 I've spoiled his beadle, and that, if he'll svear in a new 'un, I'll come 
 back agin to-morrow and spoil him. Drive on, old feller ! " 
 
 " I'll give directions for the commencement of an action for false 
 imprisonment against this Captain Boldwig directly I get to London," 
 said Mr. Pickwick, as soon as the carriage turned out of the town. 
 
 '* We were trespassing, it seems," said Wardle. 
 
 " I don't care," said Mr. Pickwick ; " I'll bring the action." 
 
 " No, you won't," said Wardle. 
 
 " I will, by " But as there was a humorous expression in Wardle's 
 
 face, Mr. Pickwick checked himself, and said, " Why not ? " 
 
 " Because," said old Wardle, half bursting with laughter, " because 
 they might turn round on some of us, and say we had taken too much 
 cold punch." 
 
 Do what he would, a smile would come into Mr. Pickvrick's face ; the 
 smile extended into a laugh, the laugh into a roar, and the roar became 
 general. So, to keep up their good humour, they stopped at the first 
 ;;^oadside tavern they came to, and ordered a glass of brandy and water 
 all round, with a magmmi of extra strength for Mr. Samuel Weller. 
 
 A serious trouble, however, is in store for Mr. Pickwick. 
 One morning, his servant hands him a letter in a strange hand. 
 
 " I don't know this hand," said Mr. Pickwick, opening the letter. 
 " Mercy on us, what's this ? It must be a jest : it— it — can't be true." 
 
 " What's the matter ? " was the general inquiry. 
 
 "Nobody dead, is there?" said Wardle, alarmed at ^^the horror in 
 Mr. Pickwick's countenance. 
 
 Mr. Pickwick made no reply, but pushing the letter across the table, 
 and desiring Mr. Tupman to read it aloud, fell back in his chair, with a 
 look of vacant astonishment quite alarming to behold. 
 
 Mr. Tupman, with a trembling voice, read the letter, of which thft 
 following is a copy : — 
 
 Fbee^^an's Coust, Coskeill, Auff. 28, 1830. 
 
 Barbell against Pickwick. 
 Sir, — Having been instructed by Mrs. Martha Bardell to commence 
 ftn action against you for a breach of promise of marriage, for whi<ib *^b» 
 
62 'ras DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 plaintil? lays her damages at fifteen hundred pounds, we beg to inform 
 you that a writ has been issued against you in this suit, in the Court of 
 Common Pleas ; and request to know, by return of post, the name of 
 your attorney in London who will accept service thereof. 
 
 We are, sir, 
 
 Your obedient Servants, 
 
 Mr. Bcmuel PiekicicJc. DODSON AND FOGG. 
 
 Mr. Pickwick is for some time inclined to think the letter a 
 joke merely ; but he is reminded of the fact, that, on one occa- 
 sion, he was seen with Mrs. Bardell in his arms, endeavouring 
 to soothe her anguish. Finding himself the " victim of circum- 
 stances," and seeing that the case is hkely to be a serious one, 
 he seeks his solicitor in London, who engages to retain Serjeant 
 Snubbin, an advocate who is " at the very top of his profession," 
 and " leads the court by the nose." The case comes on in due 
 time; and, on the morning of the trial, ]\ir. Pickwick, being 
 escorted into court, stands up in agitation, and takes a glance 
 around him. 
 
 There were already a pretty large sprinkling of spectators in th© 
 gallery, and a numerous muster of gentlemen in wigs in the barristers' 
 seats, who presented, as a body, all that pleasing and extensive variety 
 of nose and whisker for which the bar of England is so justly cele- 
 brated. Such of the gentlemen as had got a brief to carry carried it in 
 as conspicuous a manner as possible, and occasionally scratched their 
 noses therewith, to impress the fact more strongly on the observation of 
 the spectators. Other gentlemen, who had no briefs to show, carried 
 under their arms goodly octavos, with a red label behind, and that under- 
 done-pie-crust.coloured cover, which is technically known as "law calf." 
 Others, who had neither briefs nor books, thrust their hands into their 
 pockets, and looked as wise as they could. -The whole, to the great 
 wonderment of Mr. Pickwick, were divided into little groups, who were 
 chatting, and discussing the news of the day in the most mifeeliug 
 niaunar possible, just as if no trial at all were coining on. 
 
 A loud cry of " Silence I " announced the entrance of the 
 
 judge, 
 
 Who was a most particularly short man, and so fat, that he seemed all 
 face and waistcoat. He rolled in upon two little turned legs ; and having 
 !)()bbed to the bar, who bobbed to him, put his little legs underneath his 
 table, and his little three-cornered hat upon it. . . .A slight sen- 
 nation was perceptible in the body of the court ; and immediately after- 
 wards Mrs. Bardell, the plaintiff, supported by Mrs. Cluppins, was led in 
 and placed in a drooping state at the other end of the seat on which Mr. 
 Pickwick sat. An extra-sized umbrella was then handed in by lilr- 
 Dodson, and a pair of pattens by Mr. Fogg, each of whom had prepared 
 a sympathising and melancholy face for the cccasidn» Mrs. Sanders 
 then appeared, leading in Master Bardell , . . and plac-ed him on tha 
 tloor of tho court in ii-ouL oi riia mother — ^a comnia-iiding -pcsiti.-^rL. in 
 which he could not fail to awakec tLs fall coajimserauion and sympathy 
 
THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 63 
 
 of both judge and juiy. This was not done without considerable oppo- 
 sition on the part of the ycung gentleman himself, who had misgivings 
 that the placing him withm the full glare of the judge's eye was only a 
 formal prelude to his being immediately ordered away for inscant 
 execution. ... 
 
 " I am for the plaintiff, my lord," said Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz. 
 
 " Who is with you, Brother Buzfuz ? " said the judge. 
 
 Mr. Skimpin bowed, to intimate that he was. 
 
 " I appear for the defendant, my lord," said Mr. Serjeant Snubbin. 
 
 " Anybody with you, Brother Snubbin ? " enquired the Court. 
 
 " Mr. Phimky, my lord," replied Serjeant Snubbin. , . . 
 
 " Go on," said the judge. . . . 
 
 Mr. Skimpin proceeded to " open the case ; " and the case appeared 
 to have very Kttle inside it when he had opened it, for he kept such parti- 
 culars as he knew completely to himself, and sat down, after a lapse of 
 three minutes, leaving the jury in precisely the same advanced stage of 
 wisdom as they were in before. 
 
 Serjeant Buzfuz then rose with all the majesty and dignity which 
 the grave nature of the proceedings demanded, and having whispered to 
 Dodson, and conferred briefly with Fogg, pulled his gown over his 
 shoulders, settled his wig, and addressed the jury. 
 
 Serjeant Buzfuz began by saying, that never, in the whole course of 
 his professional experience — never, from the very first moment of his 
 applying himself to the study and practice of the law, had he approached 
 a case with such a heavy sense of the responsibility imposed upon him 
 — a responsibiKty he could never have supported, were he not buoyed up 
 and sustained by a conviction, so strong that it amounted to positive 
 certainty, that the cause of truth and justice, or, in other words, the 
 cause of his much-injured and most oppressed client, must prevail with 
 the high-minded and intelligent dozen of men whom he now saw in that 
 box before him. 
 
 Counsel always begia in this way, because it puts the jury on the 
 best terms with themselves, and makes them think what sharp fellows 
 they must be. A visible effect was produced immediately ; several jury- 
 men begirming to take voluminous notes with the utmost eagerness. 
 
 " You have heard from my learned friend, gentlemen," continued 
 Serjeant Buzfuz, well knowing, that, from the learned fxiend alluded to, 
 the gentlemen of the jury had heard nothing at all — " you have heard 
 f x'om my learned friend, gentlemen, that this is an action for a breach of 
 promise of marriage, in which the damages are laid at one thousand five 
 hundred pounds. But you have not heard from my learned friend, inas- 
 much as it did not come within my learned friend's province to tell you, 
 what are the facts and circumstances of this case. Those facts and cir- 
 cumstances, gentlemen, you shall hear detailed by me, and proved by the 
 UDimpeachable female whom I will place in that box before you. . . 
 
 " The plaintiff, gentlemen," continued Serjeant Buzfuz, in a soft atid 
 melancholy voice, "is a wddow; yes, gentlemen, a widow. The late Mr. 
 BardeU, after enjoying for many years the esteem and confidence of his 
 sovereign, as one of the guardians of his royal revenues, glided almost 
 imperceptibly from the world to seek elsewhere for that repose and 
 peace which a custom-house can never afford." 
 
 At this pathetic description of the decease of Mr. Bardell, who had 
 been knocked on the head with a quart-pot in a public-hcuse c?^^-, ths 
 Warned Serjeant's voioe faltered. . . 
 
 *' Borne tiuje before iiis dearb he had 8tamp;-^d his likeness apon a 
 
m THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 little boy. With, this little boy, the only pledge of her departed exeis«- 
 man, Mrs. Bardell shrank from the world, and courted the retirement 
 and tranquillity of Goswell Street ; and here she placed in her front- 
 parlour window a written placard, bearing this inscription : ' Apartments 
 furnished for a single gentleman. Enquire within.'" Here Serjeant 
 Buzfuz paused, while several gentlemen of the jury took a note of the 
 document. 
 
 "There is no date to that, is there, sir ? " inquired a juror. 
 
 " There is no date, gentlemen ; but I am instructed to say that it was 
 put in the plaintiff's parlour-window just this time three years. Now I 
 entreat the attention of the jury to the wording of this document : 
 * Apartments furnished for a single gentleman '!...* Mr. Bardell,' 
 said the widow — ' Mr. Bardell was a man of honour ; Mr. Bardell was a 
 man of his word ; Mr. Bardell was no deceiver ; Mr, Bardell was onca 
 a single gentleman himself ; to single gentlemen I look for protection, 
 for assistance, for comfort, and for consolation ; in single gentlemen I 
 shall perpetually see something to remind me of what Mr. Bardell was 
 when he first won my young and untried affections ; to a single gentle- 
 man shall my lodgings be let.' Actuated by this beautiful and touching 
 impulse (among the best impulses of our imperfect nature, gentlemen), 
 the lonely and desolate widow dried lier tears, furnished her first floor, 
 caught her innocent boy to her maternal bosom, and put the bill up in 
 her parlour-window. Did it remain there long ? No. Before the bill 
 had been in the parlour window three days — three days, gentlemen — a 
 being erect upon two legs, and bearing all the outward semblance of a 
 man, and not of a monster, knocked at Mrs. Bardell's door. He enquired 
 within ; he took the lodgings ; and on the very next day he entered 
 into possession of them. This man was Pickwick — Pickwick tha 
 defendant." 
 
 Serjeant Buzfuz . . . here paused for breath. The silence awoke 
 Mr. Justice Stareleigh, who immediately wrote down something with a 
 pen without any ink in it, and looked unusually profound, to impress 
 tlie jury with the belief that he always thought most deeply with hia 
 eyes shut. Serjeant Buzf az proceeded. 
 
 " Of this man Pickwick I will say little : "the subject presents but 
 few attractions ; and I, gentlemen, am not the man, nor are you, gentle- 
 men, the men, to delight in the contemplation of revolting heartlessness 
 and of systematic villany." 
 
 Here Mr. Pickwick, who had been writhing in silence for some time, 
 gave a violent start, as if some vague idea of assaulting Serjeant Buzfuz, 
 in the august presence of justice and law, suggested itself to hia 
 mind. . . . 
 
 " I say systematic villany, gentlemen," said Serjeant Buzfuz, looking 
 through Mr. Pickwick, and talking at him ; " and, when I say systematic 
 villany, let me tell the defendant, Pickwick — if he be in court, as I am 
 informed he is — that it would have been more decent in him, more 
 becoming, in better judgment, and in better taste, if he had stopped 
 away. . . . 
 
 " I shall show you, gentlemen, that, for two years, Pickwick continued 
 to reside, without interruption or intermission, at Mrs. Bardell's house. 
 . . . I shall show you, that on many occasions he gave halfpence, and 
 on some occasions even sixpences, to her little boy ; and I shall prove to 
 you, by a witness whose testimony it will be impossible for my learned 
 friend to weaken or controvert, that, on one occasion, he patted the boy 
 on his head, and, after inquiring whether he had won any alley tors or 
 eommoneys lately (both of which I understand to be a particular speciep 
 
THE PICKWICK PAPERS, 65 
 
 of marbles mnoh prized by the youth of this town), made use of thia 
 remarkable expression : ' How should you Hke to have another father ? ' 
 . . . I shall prove to you, gentlemen, on the testimony of three of his 
 own friends — ^most unwilling witnesses, gentlemen, most unwilling wit- 
 nesses — that on that morning he was discovered by them holding the 
 plaintiff in his arms, and soothing her agitation by his caresses and 
 endearments. . . . 
 
 " And now, gentlemen, but one word paore. Two letters have passed 
 between these parties — ^letters which are admitted to be in the hand- 
 writing of the defendant. . . . Let me read the first : — * Garraway's, 
 twelve o'clock. Dear Mrs. B. — Chops and tomato-sauce. Yours, Pick- 
 wick.' Gentlemen, what does this mean? Chops! Gracious heavens! and 
 tomato-sauce ! Gentlemen, is the happiness of a sensitive and confiding 
 female to be trifled away by such shallow artifices as these ? The next 
 has no date whatever, which is in itself suspicious. ' Dear Mrs. B. — I 
 shall not be at home till to-morrow. Slow coach.' And then follows 
 this very remarkable expression. 'Don't trouble yourself about the 
 warming-pan.* Why, gentlemen, who does trouble himself about a 
 warming-pan ? Why is Mrs. Bardell so earnestly entreated not to agi- 
 tate herself about this warming-pan, unless it is, as I assert it to be, a 
 mere cover for hidden fire — a mere substitute for some endearing word 
 or promise, agreeably to a preconcerted system of correspondence, 
 artfully contrived by Pickwick with a view to his contemplated desertion, 
 and which I am not in a condition to explain ? . . . 
 
 " But enough of this. . . . My client's hopes and prospects are 
 ruined. . . . But Pickwick, gentlemen — Pickwick, the ruthless 
 destroyer of this domestic oasis in the desert of Goswell Street — 
 Pickwick, who has choked up the well, and thrown ashes on the sward 
 — ^Pickwick, who comes before you to-day with his heartless tomato- 
 sauce and warming-pans — Pickwick still rears his head with unblushing 
 effrontery, and gazes without a sigh on the ruin he has made. Damages, 
 gentlemen, heavy damages, are the only punishment with which you can 
 visit him, the only recompense you can award to my client. And for 
 those damages she now appeals to an enlightened, a high-minded, a 
 right-feeling, a conscientious, a dispassionate, a sympathising, a contem- 
 plative jury of her civilised coimtrymen." 
 
 With this beautiful peroration, Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz sat down, and 
 Mr. Justice Stareleigh woke up. 
 
 "Call Elizabeth Cluppins," said Serjeant Buzfuz, rising a minute 
 afterwards, with renewed vigour. ... 
 
 "Do you recollect, Mrs. Cluppins ... do you recollect being 
 in Mrs. Bardell's back one pair of stairs on one particular morning in 
 July last, when she was dusting Pickwick's apartment ? '* 
 
 "Yes, my lord and jury I do." 
 
 " Mr. Pickwick's sitting-room was the first-floor front, I believe ? " 
 
 " Yes, it were, sir." 
 
 " What were you doing in the back-room, ma'am ? '^ enquired the 
 Kttle judge. 
 
 "My lord and jury," said Mrs. Cluppins with interesting agitation, 
 " I will not deceive you." 
 
 •* You had better not, ma'am," said the little judge. 
 
 " I was there," resumed Mrs. Cluppins, " unbeknown to Mrs. BardelL 
 I had been out with a little basket, gentlemen, to buy three pound of 
 red kidney purtaties, which was three pound tuppense ha'pennjj when 
 I see Mrs. Bardell's street-door on the jar." 
 
 *' On the what ? " exclaimed the little j^Tdge, 
 
 r 
 
66 THE DICKENS DICTIOKART. 
 
 " Partly open, my lord," said Serjeant Snnbbin. 
 " She said on the jar," said the little judge with a cunning look. 
 "It's all the same, my lord," said Serjeant Snubbin. 
 The little judge looked doubtful, and said he'd make a note 
 of it. 
 
 " I walked in, gentlemen, just to say ' good-mornin', and went in a 
 permiscuous manner upstairs, and into the back-room. Gentlemen, 
 
 there was the sound of voices in the front-room, and " 
 
 " And you listened, I believe, Mrs. Cluppins ? " 
 
 " Beggin' your pardon, sir, I would scorn the haction. The voicea 
 was very loud, sir, and forced themselves upon my ear." 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Cluppins, you were not listening, but you heard the 
 voices. Was one of those voices Pickwick's ? " 
 "Yes, it were, sir." 
 
 And Mrs. Cluppins, after distinctly stating that Mr. Pickwick 
 addressed himself to Mrs. Bardell, repeated by slow degrees, and by dint 
 of many questions, the conversation with which our readers are already 
 acquainted. . . . 
 
 Mrs. Cluppins, having broken the ice, thought it a favourable oppor- 
 tunity for entering into a short dissertation on her own domestic affairs j 
 so she straightway proceeded to inform the Court that she was the mother 
 of eight children at that present speaking, and that she entertained con- 
 fident expectations of presenting Mr. Cluppins with a ninth somewhere 
 about that day six months. At this interesting point the little judge 
 interposed most irascibly ; and the effect of the interposition was that 
 both the worthy lady and Mrs. Sanders were politely taken out of 
 court. . . . 
 
 " Nathaniel Winkle ! " said Mr. Skimpin. 
 
 " Here ! " replied a feeble voice. Mr. Winkle entered the witness, 
 box, and having been duly sworn, bowed to the judge. . . . 
 
 " Don't look at me, sir, said the judge sharply, in acknowledgment of 
 the salute ; ** look at the jury." 
 
 Mr. Winkle obeyed the mandate, and looked at the place where he 
 thought the jury might be. ... 
 
 Mr. Winkle was then examined by Mr. Skimpin. , . . 
 " Now, sir, have the goodness to let his lordship and the jury know 
 what your name is, wiU you ? " Mr. Skimpin inclined his head on one 
 side, to listen with great sharpness to the answer, and glanced at 
 the jury meanwhile, as if to imply that he rather expected Mr. Winkle's 
 natural taste for perjury would induce him to give some name which did 
 not belong to him. 
 " Winkle." 
 
 "What is your christian.DAme, sir?'* angrily enquired the lit 
 judge. 
 
 "Nathaniel, sir.'* 
 " Daniel — any other name P " 
 " Nathaniel, sir — my lord, I mean." 
 " Nathaniel Daniel, or Daniel Nathaniel ? " 
 " No, my lord, only Nathaniel ; not Daniel at all." 
 " What did you tell me it was Daniel for, then, sir ? " enquired the 
 judge. 
 
 " I didn't, my lord," replied Mr. Winkle. 
 
 "You did, sir," replied the judge with a sevsre frown. " How could 
 I have got Daniel ou my notes unless you told me so, sir ?" 
 
 " Mr. Winkle has rather a short memory, my lord . . . w© shall 
 ftttd means to refresh H before we have quite done with hinit I dare- 
 
TttJ) I»iCSWlCK: PAPERS. 67 
 
 eay. . . . Now, Mr. Winkle , . . attend to me, if yon please, 
 sir. ... I believe you are a particular friend of Pickwick the 
 defendant ; are you not ? " 
 
 " I have known Mr. Pickwick now, a3 well as I recollect at this 
 moment, nearly " 
 
 " Pray, Mr. Winkle, do not evade the question. Axe yoUj or are you 
 not, a particular friend of the defendant's ? " 
 
 " I was just about to say that " 
 
 *'Will you, or wiU you not answer my question, sir ? " 
 
 " If you don't answer the question, you'll be committed, sir," inter, 
 posed the little judge, looking over his note-book. 
 
 *' Yes ; I am," replied Mr. Winkle. 
 
 "Yes; you are. And couldn't you say that at once, sir? Perhaps 
 you know the plaintiff too ? Eh, Mr. Winkle ? " 
 
 " I don't know her ; Pve seen her." 
 
 " Oh ! you don't know her j but you've seen her ? INow have tha 
 goodness to tell the jury what you mean by that, Mr. Winkle." 
 
 " I mean that I am not intimate with her, but that I have seen her 
 when I went to call on Mr. Pickwick in Goswell Street." 
 
 " How often have you seen her, sir ? " 
 
 " How often ? " 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Winkle — how often ? I'll repeat the question for you a 
 dozen times if you require it, sir. . . ." 
 
 On this question there arose the edifying browbeating customary on 
 Buch points. First of all Mr. Winkle said it was quite impossible for him 
 to say how many times he had seen Mrs. Bardell. Then he was asked if 
 he had seen her twenty times, to which he replied, " Certainly — more 
 than that." Then he was asked whether he hadn't seen her a hundred 
 times ; whether he couldn't swear that he had seen her more than fifty 
 times ; whether he didn't know that he had seen her at least seventy- 
 five times J and so forth. . . . 
 
 " Pray, Mr. Winkle, do you remember calling on the defendant 
 Pickwick, at these apartments in the plaintiff's house in Goswell Street, 
 on one particular morning in the month of July last ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I do." 
 
 " Were you accompanied on that occasion by a friend of tho name of 
 Tupman, and another of the name of Snodgrass?" 
 
 " Yes ; I was." 
 
 " Are they here ? " 
 
 " Yes ; they are," looking very earnestly towards the spot where his 
 friends were stationed. 
 
 " Pray attend to me, Mr. Winkle, and never mind your friends," with 
 an expressive look at the jury. " They must teU their stories without 
 any previous consultation with you, if none has yet taken place " (another 
 look at the jury) . " Now, sir, tell the gentlemen of the jury what you 
 saw on entering the defendant's room on this particular morning. Come, 
 out with it, sir : we must have it sooner or later." 
 
 *' The defendant, Mr. Pickwick, was holding the plaintiff in his arms, 
 with his hands clasping her waist," replied Mr. Winkle, with natural 
 hesitation, "and the plaintiff appeared to have fainted away." 
 
 *' Did you hear the defendant say anything ? " 
 
 " I heard him call Mrs. Bardell a good creature j and I heard him ask 
 her to compose herself, for what » situation it was if anybody should 
 come, — or words to that effect." 
 
 " Now, Mr. Winkle, I have only one more question to ask yon, . . • 
 Will you undertake to swear that Pickwick the defendant did not saf, 
 
 w 2 
 
68 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 oil the occasion in question, * My dear Mrs. Bardell, you're a good 
 creature; compose yourself to this situation, for to this situation you 
 must come,' or words to that efEect ? " 
 
 " I — I didn't understand him so, certainly. ... I was on the stair- 
 case and couldn't hear distinctly. The impression on my mind is " 
 
 " The gentlemen of the jury want none of the impressions on your 
 mind, Mr. Winkle, which, I fear, would be of little service to honest, 
 straightforward men," interposed Mr. Skimpin. " You were on the 
 staircase and didn't distinctly hear ; but you will not swear that Pick, 
 wick did not make use of the expressions I hare quoted P Do I under- 
 stand that ? " 
 
 "No; I will not . . ." 
 
 Tracy Tupman and Augustus Snodgrass were severally called into 
 the box ; both corroborated the testimony of their unhappy friend ; and 
 each was driven to the verge of desperation by excessive badgering. 
 
 Susannah Sanders was then called, and examined by Serjeant 
 Buzfuz, and cross-examined by Serjeant Snubbin. Had always said and 
 believed that Pickwick would marry Mrs. BardelL Knew that Mrs. 
 Bardell's being engaged to Pickwick was the current topic of conversa- 
 tion in the neighbourhood after the fainting in July. . . . Had heard 
 Pickwick ask the little boy how he should like to have another father. 
 Did not know that Mrs. Bardell was at that time keeping company with 
 the baker, but did know that the baker was then a single man, and is now 
 married. . . . Thought Mrs. Bardell fainted away on the morning in 
 July because Pickwick asked her to name the day; knew that she 
 (witness) fainted away stone dead when Mr. Sanders asked her to name 
 the day, and believed that anybody as called herself a lady would do 
 the same under similar circumstances. . . . During the period of 
 her keeping company with Mr. Sanders, she had received love-letters 
 like other ladies. In the course of their correspondence Mr. Sanders 
 had often called her a " duck," but he had never called her " chops," nor 
 yet " tomato sauce. . . ." 
 
 Serjeant Buzfuz now rose with more importance than he had yet 
 exhibited, if that were possible, and said, *' Call Samuel Weller." 
 
 It was quite unnecessary to call Samuel Weller ; for Samuel Weller 
 stepped into the box the instant his name was pronounced ; and placing 
 his hat on the floor and his arms on the rail, took a bird's-eye view of 
 the bar and a comprehensive survey of the bench, with a remarkably 
 cheerful and lively aspect. 
 
 " What's your name, sir ? " enquired the judge. 
 
 " Sam Weller, my lord," replied that gentleman. 
 
 " Do you spell it with a * Y,' or a * W ' ? " enquired the judge. 
 
 " That depends upon the taste and fancy of the speller, my lord," 
 replied Sam ; " I never had occasion to spell it more than once or twice 
 in my life ; but I spells it with a * Y.' " 
 
 Here a voice in the gallery exclaimed, " Quite right too, Sauiivel ; 
 quite right. Put it down a we, my lord, put it down a we." 
 
 "Who is that who dares to address the Court ?" said the little judge, 
 looking up. " Usher." 
 
 "Yes, my lord." 
 
 "Bring that person here instantly." 
 
 " Yes, my lord." 
 
 But as the usher didn't find the person, he didn't briiig him ; and, 
 after a great commotion, all the people who had got up to look for the 
 culprit sat down again. The little judge turned to the witness as BOOil 
 n» his indignation would allow him to speak, and said : 
 
THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 69 
 
 ** Do yon know who that was, sir ? " 
 
 ** I rayther suspect it was my father, my lord," replied Sam, 
 
 ** Do you see him here now ? " said the judge. 
 
 " No, I don't, my lord," replied Sam, staring right up into the lantern 
 in the roof of the court. 
 
 " If you could have pointed him out, I would have committed him 
 instantly," said the judge. 
 
 Sam bowed his acknowledgments. . . . 
 
 " Now, Mr. Weller," said Serjeant Bozfuz. 
 
 " Now, sir," repUed Sam. 
 
 " I believe you are in the service of Mr. Pickwick, the defendant in 
 this case. Speak up, if yon please, Mr. Weller." 
 
 " I mean to speak up, sir," replied Sam ; " I am in the service o' 
 that 'ere gen'l'man, and a wery good service it is." 
 
 " Little to do, and plenty to get, I suppose ? " said Serjeant Buzfuz, 
 with jocularity. 
 
 " Oh ! quite enough to get, sir, as the soldier said ven they ordered 
 him three hundred and fifty lashes," replied Sam. 
 
 *' You must not tell us what the soldier or any other man said, sir," 
 interposed the judge : " it's not evidence." 
 
 " Wery good, my lord." 
 
 "Do you recollect anything particular happening on the morning 
 when you were first engaged by the defendant ? Eh, Mr. WeUer ? " said 
 Serjeant Buzfuz. 
 
 " Yes, I do, sir," replied Sam. 
 
 " Have the goodness to tell the jury what it was." 
 
 " I had a reg'lar new fit-out o' clothes that momin', gen'l'men of the 
 jury;" said Sam, "and that was a wery partickler and uncommon 
 circumstance vith me in those days." 
 
 The judge looked sternly at Sam ; but Sam's features were so perfectly 
 serene that the judge said nothing. . . . 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Weller, that you saw nothing of this 
 fainting on the part of the plaintiff in the arms of the defendant, which 
 you have heard described by the vsdtnesses ? " 
 
 " Certainly not, sir," replied Sam. " I was in the passage till they 
 called me up ; and then the old lady was not there." 
 
 " You were in the passage, and yet saw nothing of what was going 
 forward ? Have you a pair of eyes, Mr. Weller ? " 
 
 " Yes, I have a pair of eyes," replied Sam ; " and that's just it. If 
 they was a pair o' patent double million magnifyin' gas microscopes 
 of hextra power, p'r'aps I might be able to see through a flight o' 
 stairs and a deal door; but bein' only eyes, you see, my wision's 
 Hmited. . . ." 
 
 " Now, Mr. Weller, I'll ask yon a question on another point, if yon 
 please." 
 
 "If yon please, sir," rejoined Sam, with the utmost good humour. 
 
 " Do you remember going up to Mrs. Bardell's house one night in 
 November ? " 
 
 " Oh yes ! wery well.'* 
 
 "Oh! you do remember that, Mr. Weller," said Serjeant Buzfuz, 
 recovering his spirits. " I thought we should get at something at last." 
 
 " I rayther thought that too, sir." 
 
 " Well, I suppose you went up to have a little talk about the trial — 
 •h, Mr. Weller ? . . ." 
 
 " I went up to pay the rent ; but we <U<i get a-talkin' about the trial " 
 replied Sam, 
 
70 THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 " OL. ! you did get a-talking about the trial. . . . Now, what 
 passed about the trial? Will you have the goodness to tell us, Mr. 
 Weller ? " 
 
 "Yith all the pleasure in life, sir," replied Sam. "Arter a few 
 tmimportant obserwations from the two wirtuous females as has been 
 examined here to-day, the ladies gets into a wery great state o' admi- 
 ration at the honourable conduct of Mr. Dodson and Mr. Fogg — them 
 two gen'l'men as is settin' near you now. . . ." 
 
 " The attorneys for the plaintiff," said Mr. Serjeant Buzfnz. " Well, 
 they spoke in high praise of the honourable conduct of Messrs. Dodson 
 and Fogg, the attorneys for the plaintiff ; did they ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Sam ; "they said what a wery gen'rous thing it was o' 
 them to have taken up the case on spec, and to charge nothin' at all 
 for costs unless they got 'em out of Mr. Pickwick. ..." 
 
 Mr. Justice Stareleigh summed up in the old-established form. He 
 read as much of his notes to the jury as he could decipher on so short 
 a notice ; he didn't read as much of them as he couldn't make out : aud 
 he made running comments on the evidence as he went along. If 
 Mrs. Bardell were right, it was perfectly clear Mr. Pickwick was wrong ; 
 and, if they thought the evidence of Mrs. Cluppins worthy of credence, 
 they would believe it ; and if they didn't, why, they wouldn't. . . . 
 
 The jury then retired to their private room to talk the matter over, 
 and the judge retired to his private room to refresh himself with a 
 mutton-chop and a glass of sherry. 
 
 An anxious quarter of an hour elapsed ; the jury came back ; and 
 the judge was fetched in. Mr. Pickwick put on his spectacles, and gazed 
 at the foreman. 
 
 " Gentlemen, are you all agreed upon your verdict ? " 
 
 "We are." 
 
 "Do yon find for the plaintiff, gentlemen, or for the defendant ?" 
 
 "For the plaintiff." 
 
 " With vrhat damages, gentlemen f " 
 
 " Seven hundred and fifty pounds." 
 
 Mr. Pickwick took off his spectacles, carefully wiped the glasses, 
 folded them into ihe case, and put them in his pocket; then, having 
 drawn on his gloves with great nicety, and stared at the foreman all the 
 while, he mechanically followed Mr. Perker and the blue bag out of court. 
 
 They stopped in a side-room while Perker paid the court fees ; and 
 here JSIr. Pickwick was joined by his friends. Here, too, he encountered 
 IVIessrs. Dodson and Fogg, rubbing their hands with every token of 
 outward satisfaction. 
 
 " Well, gentlemen," said Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 " Well, sir," said Dodson, for self and partner. 
 
 "You imagine you'll get your costs, don't you, gentlemen?" said 
 Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 Fogg said they thought it rather probable ; and Dodson smilad, and 
 said they'd try. 
 
 " You may try, and try, and try again, Messrs. Dodson and Fogg," 
 said Mr. Pickwick vehemently ; " but not one farthing of costs or 
 damages do you ever get from me, if I spend the rest of my existence in 
 a debtor's prison." 
 
 " Ha, ha ! " said Dodson, " you'll think better of that before next 
 term, ISlx. Pickwick." 
 
 " He, he, he ! we'll soon see about that, Mr. Pickwick," grinned Fogg. 
 
 Speechless with indignation, Mr. Pickwick allowed himself to be led 
 by his solicitor and friends to the door, and there assisted into a 
 
THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 71 
 
 hackney-coach, which had been fetched for the purpose by the ever- 
 watchful Sam Waller. 
 
 Sam had put up the steps, and was preparing to jump on the box, 
 when he felt himself gently touched on the shoolder ; and hia father 
 stood before him. 
 
 The old gentleman's countenance wore a mournful expression, as he 
 shook his head gravely, and said, in warning accents : " I know'd what 
 'ud come o' this here mode o' doin' bisniss. Oh Sammy, Sammy ! vy 
 worn't there a alley bi ! " 
 
 Mr. Pickwick sticks to his determination, and goes to prison. 
 Sam Weller, despemte at being separated from his master, 
 borrows twenty- i^e pounds of his father, whom he gets to 
 arrest him for debt, and so follows Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 Messrs. Dodson and Fogg, having got a cognovit from Mrs. 
 Bardel], after the trial, for the amount of costs, by representing 
 that it was a mere matter of form, take her in execution for 
 them, and send her also to the Fleet. Here she meets Mr. 
 Pickw^ick, who, finding that nobody can release her from that 
 den of wretchedness but himself, and that he can only do so 
 by paying the entire costs of the suit (both of plaintiff and 
 defendant), and being also moved to the same course by divers 
 other good reasons, pays them, and sets both himself and Mrs. 
 Bardell at liberty ; whereupon Sam Weller procures from his 
 attorney a formal discharge, which he has had the foresight to 
 leave in the hands of that gentleman to be used in any case of 
 emergency. 
 
 Mr. Pickwick having, not long afterwards, withdrawn from 
 the club bearing his name (which circumstance, coupled with 
 others, occasions its dissolution), determines to settle down at 
 Dulwich. He sees all his young friends happily married, in- 
 cluding the devoted Sam Weller, who takes to himself a wife, 
 who is installed as Mr. Pickwick's housekeeper. And thus 
 Mr. Pickwick's biography terminates while the " sunshine of 
 the world is blazing full upon him." 
 
 PIPKIN, NATHANIEL. The " Parish Clerk " in Mr. Pick- 
 wick's tale of that name. He is a harmless, good-natured little 
 being, of a very nervous temperament, and with a cast in his 
 eye and a halt in his gait. He falls in love with the beautiful 
 Maria Lobbs, but sees her married to another. (Ch. xvii.) 
 
 PODDEE, MB. A member of the AU-Muggleton Cricket 
 Club. (Ch. vii.) 
 
 POTT, MR. Editor of The Eatanswill Gazette. (Ch. xiii., 
 XV., xviii.) 
 
 POTT, MRS. Wife of the editor of The Eaiansioill Gazette. 
 (Ch. xiii., XV., xviii., li.) 
 
72 THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 PRICE, MR. A coarse, vulgar young man, with a sallow face 
 and a harsh voice ; a prisoner for debt, whom Mr. Pickwick 
 encounters in the "coffee-room" of the sponging-house in 
 Coleman Street. (Ch. xl.) 
 
 PRUFFLE. A servant to a scientific gentleman at Bath. 
 (Ch. xxxix.) 
 
 RADDLE, MR. Husband to Mrs. Eaddle. (Ch. xxxii., xlvi.) 
 
 RADDLE, MRS. MARY ANN. Mr. Bob Sawyer's landlady ; 
 sister to Mi-s. Cluppins, and a thorough shrew. (Ch. xxxii, xlvi) 
 
 ROGERS, MRS. A lodger at Mrs. BardeU's. (Ch. xlvi.) 
 
 ROKER, MR. TOM. A turnkey at the Meet Prison. (Ch. 
 xl.-xlv.) 
 
 SAM. A cab-driver. (Ch. ii) 
 
 SANDERS, MRS. SUSANNAH. A bosom-friend of Mrs. 
 BardeU's. (Ch. xxv., xxxiv.) 
 
 SAWYER, BOB. A medical student whom Mr. Pickwick 
 meets at Mr. Wardle's. He afterwards sets up (Sawyer, 
 late ]!:^ockemorf) as a medical practitioner, in Bristol, where 
 Mr. Winkle meets him. He has a very nice place; but 
 " haK the drawers have got nothing in 'em, and the other 
 half don't open. Indeed, hardly anything real in the shop 
 but the leeches; and they are second-hand." Mr. Sawyer 
 keeps a boy, whose duties are thus described : 
 
 "He goes np to a house, rings the area-bell, pokes a packet of 
 medicine without a direction into the servant's hand, and walks off. 
 Servant takes it into the dining-parlour ; master opens it, and reads 
 the label : * Draught to be taken at bed-time ; pills as before ; lotion 
 as usual; t7ie powder. From Sawyer's, late Nockemorf's. Physicians' 
 prescriptions carefully prepared ; ' and all the rest of it. Shows it to 
 his wife ; she reads the label. It goes down to the servants ; tliey 
 read the label. Next day the boy calls : * Yery sorry — his mistake — 
 immense business — great many parcels to deliver — Mr. Savryer's com- 
 pliments — late Nockemorf ,' The name gets known ; and that's the 
 thing, my boy, in the medical way. Bless your heart, old fellow, it's 
 better than all the advertising in the world ! We have got one four- 
 ounce bottle that's been to half the houses in Bristol, and hasn't done 
 yet." . . . 
 
 " The lamplighter has eighteenpence a week to pull the night-bell 
 for ten minutes every time he comes round; and my boy always 
 rushes into church just before the Psalms, when the people have got 
 nothing to do but look about 'em, and calls me out, with horror and 
 dismay depicted on his countenance. ' Bless my soul ! ' everybody 
 says, * somebody taken suddenly ill. Sawyer, late Nockemorf, sent 
 for. What a business that young man has ! ' " 
 
 (Ch. XXX., xxxii, xxxviii., xlviii., L-lii) See Hopkins 
 Jack. 
 
 SHEPHERD, THE. See Stiggins, The Eeverenb jMr. 
 
THE PICKWICK PAPEES. 73 
 
 SIMMERY, FRANK, ESQ, A smart young stockbroker. 
 
 (Ch. Iv.) 
 SIMPSON, MR. A prisoner in the Meet. (Ch. xlii.) 
 SKIMPIN, MR. Junior counsel with Serjeant Buzfuz for 
 
 Mrs. Bardell, in her suit against ]\Ir. Pickwick. (Ch. xxxiv.) 
 
 See Pickwick, Samuel. 
 
 SLAMMER, DOCTOR. Surgeon of the Mnety-seventh Eegi- 
 ment, present at a charity ball at The Bull Inn, Eochester. 
 The slim Mr. Jingle and the stout Mr. Tupman desire to 
 attend the same ball; but Mr. Jingle happens not to have 
 a change of clothing. He therefore induces Mr. Tupman 
 (although they are comparative strangers) to borrow a suit 
 belonging to Mr. Winkle, who has been indulging too freely 
 in wine at the table, and has fallen fast asleep. Mr. Jingle, 
 being a very wide-awake and plausible person, makes a decided 
 impression on an elderly and wealthy widow-lady, who is the 
 object of Doctor Slammer's unremitting attention. 
 
 TJpon the doctor and the widow the eyes both of Mr. Tupman and 
 his companion had been fixed for some time, when the stranger broke 
 silence. 
 
 " Lots of money — old girl — pompous doctor — not a bad idea — good 
 fun," were the intelligible sentences which issued from his lips. Mr. 
 Tupman looked inquisitively in his face. 
 
 " I'll dance with the widow," said the stranger. 
 
 " Who is she ? " inquired Mr. Tupman. 
 
 " Don't know — never saw her in all my life — cut out the doctor — 
 here goes." And the stranger forthwith crossed the room ; and, leaning 
 against a mantelpiece, commenced gazing with an air of respectful and 
 melancholy admiration on the fat countenance of the little old lady. 
 Mr. Tupman looked on in mute astonishment. The stranger progressed 
 rapidly. The little doctor danced with another lady — the widow dropped 
 her fan ; the stranger picked it up, and presented it — a smile, a bow, a 
 courtesy, a few words of conversation. The stranger walked boldly up 
 to, and returned with, the master of the ceremonies ; a little introduc- 
 tory pantomime, and the stranger and Mrs. Budger took their places 
 in a quadrille. 
 
 The surprise of Mr. Tupman at this summary proceeding, great as it 
 was, was immeasurably exceeded by the astonishment of the doctor. 
 The stranger was young, and the widow was flattered. The doctor's 
 attentions were unheeded by the widow, and the doctor's indignation 
 was wholly lost on his imperturbable rival. Doctor Slammer was 
 paralysed. He, Doctor Slammer, of the Ninety-seventh, to be ex- 
 tinguished in a moment by a man whom nobody had ever seen before, 
 and whom nobody knew even now ! Doctor Slammer — Doctor Slammer, 
 of the Ninety-seventh, rejected ! Impossible ! It could not be ! Yes, 
 it was ; there they were. What ? introducing his friend ! Could he 
 believe his eyes ? He looked again, and was under the painful necessity 
 of admitting the veracity of his optics. Mrs. Budger was dancing with 
 Mr. Tracy Tupman : there was no mistaking the fact. There was the 
 widow before him, bouncing bodily here and there with unwonted 
 vigour j and Mr. Tracy Tupman hopping aboi;t with a face expressive 
 
74 THE DICKENS DICTIONAKT. 
 
 of the most intense solemnity, dancing (as a good many people do) as if 
 a quadrille were not a thing to be laughed at, but a severe trial to the 
 feelings, which it requires inflexible resolution to encounter. 
 
 Silently and patiently did the doctor bear all this, and all the 
 handings of negus, and watching for glasses, and darting for biscuits, 
 and coquetting that ensued ; but, a few seconds after the stranger had 
 disappeared to lead Mrs. Budger to her carriage, he darted swiftly front 
 the room, with every particle of his hitherto bottled-up indignation 
 effervescing from all parts of hia countenance, in a perspiration of 
 passion. 
 
 The stranger was returning, and Mr. Tupman was beside him. He 
 spoke in a low tone, and laughed. The little doctor thirsted for his life. 
 He was exulting. He had triumphed. 
 
 " Sir I ' said the doctor, in an awful voice, producing a card, and 
 retiring into an angle of the passage, " my name is Slammer, Doctor 
 Slammer, sir — Ninety-seventh Eegiment — Chatham Barracks — my card, 
 sir, my card." He would have added more, but his indignation choked 
 him. 
 
 " Ah ! " replied the stranger coolly, " Slammer — much obliged — polite 
 attention — not ill now, Slammer — but when I am — knock you up." 
 
 " You — you're a shuflBer, sir," gasped the furious doctor, " a poltroon, 
 a coward, a liar, a — a — will nothing induce you to give me your card, 
 sir?" 
 
 " Oh, I see," said the stranger, half aside, " negus too strong here — 
 liberal landlord — very foolish — very — lemonade much better — hot rooms 
 — elderly gentleman — suffer for it in the morning — cruel — cruel ; " and 
 he moved on a step or two. 
 
 " You are stopping in this house, sir," said the indignant little man ; 
 " you are intoxicated now, sir j you shall hear from me in the morning, 
 sir. I shall find you out." 
 
 "Rather you found me out than found me at home," replied the 
 unmoved stranger. 
 
 Doctor Slammer looked unutterable ferocity as he fixed his hat on 
 his head with an indignant knock ; and the stranger and Mr. Tupman 
 ascended to the bedroom of the latter to restore the borrowed plumage 
 to the unconscious Winkle. 
 
 That gentleman was fast asleep: the restoration was soon made. 
 The stranger was extremely jocose ; and Mr. Tracy Tupman, being quite 
 bewildered with wine, negus, lights, and ladies, thought the whole affair 
 an exquisite joke. His new friend departed; and after experiencing 
 some slight difficulty in finding the orifice in his nightcap originally 
 intended for the reception of his head, and finally overturning his candle- 
 stick in his struggles to put it on, Mr. Tracy Tupman managed to get 
 into bed by a series of complicated evolutions, and shortly afterwards 
 sank into repose. 
 
 Early on the following morning, inquiry is made at the inn 
 for a gentleman wearing a bright blue dress-coat with a gilt 
 button with " P. C." on it ; and as Mr. Winkle answers to the 
 description, he is awakened out of a sound sleep, dresses himself 
 hastily, and goes downstairs to the coffee-room. 
 
 An officer in undress uniform was looking out of the window. He 
 turned round as Mr. Winkle entered, and made a stiff inclination of the 
 head. Having ordered the attendants to retire, and closed the door very 
 carefully, he said, "Mr. Winkle, I presume ?" 
 
THE PICKWICK PAPEES. 76 
 
 *'My name is Winkle, sir." 
 
 " You will not be surprised, sir, when I inform you that I have called 
 here this morning on behalf of my friend, Doctor Slammer of the Kinety- 
 seventh." 
 
 " Doctor Slammer ! " said Mr. Winkle. 
 
 " Doctor Slammer. He begged me to express his opinion that your 
 conduct of last evening was of a description which no gentleman could 
 endure, and (he added) which no one gentleman would pursue towards* 
 another." 
 
 Mr. Winkle's astonishment was too real and too evident to escape the 
 observation of Doctor Slammer's friend ; he therefore proceeded. " My 
 friend, Doctor Slammer, requested me to add, that he is firmly persuaded 
 you were intoxicated during a portion of the evening, and possibly 
 unconscious of the extent of the insult you were guilty of. He com- 
 missioned me to say, that, should this be pleaded as an excuse for your 
 behaviour, he will consent to accept a written apology, to be penned by 
 you from my dictation." 
 
 " A written apology ! " repeated Mr. Winkle in the most emphatic tone 
 of amazement possible. 
 
 " Of course you know the alternative," replied the visitor, coolly. 
 
 "Were you entrusted with this message to me by name ? " inquired 
 Mr. Winkle, whose intellects were hopelessly confused by this extra- 
 ordinary conversation. 
 
 " I was not present myself," replied the visitor ; " and, in consequence 
 of your firm refusal to give your card to Doctor Slammer, I was desired 
 by that gentleman to identify the wearer of a very uncommon coat — a 
 bright blue dress-coat, with a gilt button displaying a bust, and the 
 letters * P. C " 
 
 Mr. Winkle actually staggered with astonishment as he heard his own 
 costume -thus minutely described. Doctor Slammer's friend proceeded — 
 
 " From the inquiries I made at the bar just now, I was convinced that 
 the owner of the coat in question arrived here, with three gentlemen, 
 yesterday afternoon. I immediately sent up to the gentleman who was 
 described as appearing the head of the party ; and he at once referred 
 me to you." 
 
 If the principal tower of Rochester Castle had suddenly walked from 
 its foundation, and stationed itself opposite the coffee-room window, 
 Mr. Winkle's surprise woitld have been as nothing, compared with the 
 profound astonishment with which he had heard this address. His first 
 impression was that his coat had been stolen. " Will you allow me to 
 detain you one moment ? " said he. 
 
 " Certainly," replied the unwelcome visitor. 
 
 Mr. Winkle ran hastily upstairs, and with a trembling hand opened 
 the bag. There was the coat in its usual place, but exhibiting, on a close 
 inspection, evident tokens of having been worn on the preceding night. 
 
 " It must be so," said Mr. Winkle, letting the coat fall from his hands- 
 " I took too much wine after dinner, and have a very vague recollection 
 of walking about the streets, and smoking a cigar afterwards. The fact 
 is I was very drunk. I must have changed my coat, gone somewhere, 
 and insulted somebody — I have no doubt of it — and this message is the 
 terrible consequence." Saying which, Mr. Winkle retraced his steps in 
 the direction of the coffee-room, with the gloomy and dreadful resolve of 
 accepting the challenge of the warlike Doctor Slammer, and abiding by 
 the worst consequences that might ensue. 
 
 To this determination Mr. Winkle was urged by a variety of con- 
 siderations ; the first of which was his reputation with the club. He had 
 
76 THE DICKENS DlCTIONAfiY. 
 
 always been looked up to as a high authority on all matters of amnee* 
 ment and dexterity, whether offensive, defensive, or inoffensive ; and if, 
 on this very first occasion of being put to the test, he shrunk back from 
 the trial, beneath his leader's eye, his name and standing were lost for 
 ever. Besides, he remembered to have heard it frequently surmised by 
 the uninitiated in such matters, that, by an understood arrangement 
 between the seconds, the pistols were seldom loaded with baU; and, 
 furthermore, he reflected, that if he applied to Mr. Snodgrass to act aa 
 his second, and depicted the danger in glowing terms, that gentleman 
 might possibly communicate the intelligence to Mr. Pickwick, who would 
 certainly lose no time in transmitting it to the local authorities, and thus 
 prevent the killing or maiming of his follower. 
 
 Such were his thoughts when he returned to the coffee-room, and 
 intimated his intention of accepting the doctor's challenge. . . , 
 
 That morning's breakfast passed heavily off. Mr. Tupman was not 
 in a condition to rise after the unwonted dissipation of the previous night ; 
 Mr. Snodgrass appeared to labour under a poetical depression of spirits ; 
 and even Mr. Pickwick evinced an unusual attachment to silence and 
 soda-water. Mr. Winkle eagerly watched his opportunity. It was not 
 long wanting. Mr. Snodgrass proposed a visit to the castle ; and, as 
 Mr. Winkle was the only other member of the party disposed to walk, 
 they went out together. 
 
 "Snodgrass," said Mr. Winkle, when they had turned out of the 
 public street, " Snodgrass, my dear fellow, can I rely upon your secrecy ? '* 
 As he said this, he most devoutly and earnestly hoped he could not. 
 
 " You can," replied Mr. Snodgrass. " Hear me swear " 
 
 " No, no ! " interrupted Winkle, terrified at the idea of his companion's 
 unconsciously pledging himself not to give information. " Don't swear, 
 don't swear ; it's quite tmnecessary." 
 
 Mr. Snodgrass dropped the hand which he had, in the spirit of poesy, 
 raised towards the clouds as he made the above appeal, and assumed an 
 attitude of attention. 
 
 " I want your assistance, my dear fellow, in an affair of honour," said 
 Mr. Winkle. 
 
 " You shall have it," replied Mr. Snodgrass, clasping his friend's hand. 
 
 " With a doctor — Doctor Slammer of the Ninety-seventh," said Mr. 
 Winkle, wishing to make the matter appear as solemn as possible : " an 
 affair with an officer, seconded by another officer, at sunset this evening, 
 in a lonely field beyond Fort Pitt." 
 
 " I will attend you," said Mr. Snodgrass. 
 
 He was astonished, but by no means dismayed. It ig extraordinary 
 how cool any party but the principal can be in such cases. Mr. Winkle 
 had forgotten this. He had judged of his friend's feelings by his own. 
 
 " The consequences may be dreadful," said Mr. Winkle. 
 
 " I hope not," said Mr. Snodgrass. 
 
 " The doctor, I believe, is a very good shot," said Mr. WinHe. 
 
 " Most of these military men are," observed Mr. Snodgrass, calmly ; 
 " but so are you ; a' n't you ? " 
 
 Mr. Winkle replied in the affirmative ; and, perceiving that he had 
 not alarmed his companion sufficiently, changed his ground. 
 
 " Snodgrass," he said, in a voice tremulous with emotion, " if I fall, 
 you will find in a packet which I shall place in your hands a note for my 
 — for my father." 
 
 This attack was a failure also. Mr. Snodgrass was affected ; but he 
 undertook the delivery of the note m readily as if he had been a two. 
 penpy postman. 
 
" It 1 fall," said Mr. Winkle, *' or, if the doctor falls, you, m j dear 
 friend, will be tried as an accessory before the fact. Shall I involve my 
 friend in transportation — possibly for life ! " ^ 
 
 Mr. Snodgrass winced a little at this ; but his heroism was invincible. 
 " In the cause of friendship," he fervently exclaimed, " I would brave all 
 dangers." 
 
 How Mr. Winkle cursed his aompanion's devoted friendship internally, 
 as they walked silently along, side by side, for some minutes, each 
 immersed in his own meditations! The morning was wearing awayj 
 he grew desperate. 
 
 " Snodgrass," he said, stopping suddenly, " do not let me be balked 
 in this matter ; do not give information to the local authorities j do not 
 obtain the assistance of several peace-officers to take either me, or 
 Doctor Slammer, of the Ninety. seventh Eegiment, at present quartered 
 in Chatham Barracks, into custody, and thus prevent this duel j I say, 
 do not." 
 
 Mr. Snodgrass seized his friend's hand warmly, as he enthusiastically 
 leplied, " Not for worlds ! " 
 
 A thrill passed over Mr. Winkle's frame, as the conviction that he 
 had nothing to hope from his friend's fears, and that he was destined 
 to become an animated target, rushed forcibly upon him. . . . 
 
 It was a dull and heavy evening when they again sallied forth on 
 their awkward errand. Mr. Winkle was muffled up in a huge cloak to 
 escape observation; and Mr. Snodgrass bore under his the implements 
 of destruction. . . . 
 
 " We are in excellent time," said Mr. Snodgrass, as they climbed the 
 fence of the first field ; " the sun is just going down." Mr. Winkle looked 
 up at the declining orb, and painfully thought of the probability of his 
 *' going down " himself, before long. 
 
 "There's the officer," exclaimed Mr. Winkle, after a few minutes' 
 walking. 
 
 " Where ? " said Mr. Snodgrass. 
 
 " There — the gentleman in the blue cloak." Mr. Snodgrass looked 
 in the direction indicated by the forefinger of his friend, and observed 
 a figure muffled up as he had described. The officer evinced his 
 consciousness of their presence by slightly beckoning with his hand; 
 and the two friends followed him at a little distance as he walked 
 away. . . . The officer turned suddenly from the path; and after 
 climbing a paling, and scaling a hedge, entered a secluded field. Two 
 gentlemen were waiting in it : one was a little fat man with black hair ; 
 and the other — a portly personage in a braided surtout — was sitting 
 with perfect equanimity on a camp-stool. 
 
 ** The other party and a surgeon, I suppose," said Mr. Snodgrass : 
 " take a drop of brandy." Mr. Winkle seized the wicker bottle which 
 his friend proffered, and took a lengthened pull at the exhilarating 
 liquid. 
 
 "My friend, sir, Mr. Snodgrass," said Mr. Winkle, as the officer 
 approached. Doctor Slammer's friend bowed, and produced a case 
 similar to that which Mr. Snodgrass carried. 
 
 " We have nothing further to say, sir, I think," he coldly remarked, 
 as he opened the case; "an apology has been resolutely decUned." 
 
 " Nothing, sir," said Mr. Snodgrass, who began to feel rather un- 
 comfortable himself. . ♦ , 
 
 "We may place our men, then, I think," observed the officer, with as 
 much indifference as if the principals were chessmen and the seconds 
 players* 
 
78 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 " I think we may," replied Mr. Snodgrass, who woiild tave asgented to 
 any proposition, because he knew nothing about the matter. The officer 
 crossed to Doctor Slammer, and Mr. Snodgrass went up to Mr. Winkle. 
 
 " It's all ready," he said, offering the pistol. " Give me your cloak." 
 
 " You have got the packet, my dear fellow ? " said poor Winkle. 
 
 " All right," said Mr. Snodgrass. " Be steady, and wing him." . , . 
 
 Mr. Winkle was always remarkable for extreme humanity. It is 
 conjectured that his unwillingness to hurt a fellow-creature intentionally 
 was the cause of his shutting his eyes when he arrived at the fatal spot ; 
 and that the circumstance of his eyes being closed prevented his ob- 
 serving the very extraordinary and unaccountable demeanour of Doctor 
 Slammer. That gentleman started, stared, retreated, rubbed his eyes, 
 stared again, and finally shouted, " Stop, stop ! " 
 
 " What's all this ? " said Doctor Slammer, as his friend and Mr. Snod- 
 grass came running up. " That's not the man." 
 
 " Not the man ! " said Dr. Slammer's second. 
 
 " Not the man ! " said Mr. Snodgrass. 
 
 "Not the man! " said the gentleman vrith the camp-stool in his hand. 
 
 '* Certainly not," replied the little doctor. " That's not the person 
 who insulted me last night. . . ." 
 
 Now Mr. Winkle had opened his eyes, and his ears too, when he 
 heard his adversary call out for a cessation of hostilities ; and perceiving, 
 by ^Yhat he had afterwards said, that there was, beyond all question, 
 some mistake in the matter, he at once foresaw the increase of repu- 
 tation he should inevitably acquire by concealing the real motive for his 
 coming out ; he therefore stepped boldly forward, and said : 
 
 " I am not the person. I know it." 
 
 "Then, that," said the man with the camp-stool, "is an affront to 
 Doctor Slammer, and a sufficient reason for proceeding immediately." 
 
 " Pray be quiet, Payne ! " said the doctor's second. " Why did you 
 not communicate this fact to me this morning, sir ? " 
 
 " To be sure, to be sure ! " said the man with the camp-stool, in- 
 dignantly. 
 
 " I entreat you to be quiet, Payne," said the other. " May I repeat 
 my question, sir ? " 
 
 " Because, sir," replied Mr. Winkle, who had time to deliberate upon 
 his answer — "because, sir, you described an intoxicated and ungentlt;- 
 manly person as wearing a coat which I have the honour, not only to 
 wear, but to have invented — the proposed uniform, sir, of the Pickwick 
 Club in London. The honour of that unif oitu I feel bound to maintain ; 
 and I therefore, without inquiry, accepted the challenge which you 
 offered me." 
 
 " My dear sir," said the good-humoured little doctor, advancing with 
 extended hand, " I honour your gallantry. Permit me to say, sir, that I 
 highly admire your conduct, and extremely regret having caused you 
 the inconvenience of this meeting, to no puipose." 
 
 " I beg you won't mention it, sir," said Mr. Winkle. 
 
 " I shall feel proud of your acquaintance, sir," said the little doctor. 
 
 " It will afford me the greatest pleasure to know you, sir," replied 
 Mr. Winkle. Thereupon, the doctor and Mr. Winkle shook hands j and 
 then Mr. Winkle and Lieutenant Tappleton, the doctor's second ; and 
 then Mr. Winkle and the man with the camp-stool j and, finally, Mr. 
 Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass — the last-named gentleman in an excess of 
 admiration at the noble conduct of his heroic friend. 
 
 " I think we may adjourn," said Lieutenant TappletOfc 
 
 ** Certainly," added the doctor. • • t, 
 
THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 79 
 
 The two seconds adjusted the cases ; and the whole party left the 
 ground in a much more lively manner than they had proceeded to it. 
 
 (Ch. ii., iii.) 
 
 SLUMKEY, THE HONOURABLE SAMUEL, Candidate 
 for Parliament from the borougli of Eatanswill. He is suc- 
 cessful in the contest, heating his opponent, Horatio TizkiQ, 
 Esq. (Ch. xiii.) 
 
 SLURK, MR. Editor of The Eatanswill Independent (CL li.) 
 See Pott, Mr. 
 
 SMANGLE. A fellow-prisoner with Mr. Pickwick in the 
 Elect. (Ch. xli., xlii., xliv.) 
 
 SMART, TOM. Hero of " The Bagman's Story." (Ch. xiv.) 
 See JiNKiNS, Mr. 
 
 SMA UKER, JOHN. Eootman ia the service of Angelo Cyrus 
 Bantam, Esq. (Ch. xxxv., xxxvii.) 
 
 SMIGGERS, JOSEPH. Perpetual Yice-President of the 
 Pickwick Club. (Ch. i.) 
 
 SMITHERS, MISS. A young lady-hoarder at Westgate 
 House, Bury St. Edmunds. (Ch. xvi.) 
 
 SMITHIE, MR. A gentleman present at the charity ball at 
 The Bull Inn, Eochester. (Ch. ii.) 
 
 SMITHIE, MRS. His wife. (Ch. ii.) 
 
 SMITHIE, THE MISSES. His daughters. (Ch. ii.) 
 
 SMORLTORK, COUNT. A famous foreigner whom Mr. 
 Pickwick meets at Mrs. Leo Hunter's fancy-dress breakfast 
 
 (Ch. XY.) 
 
 SMO UCH, MR. A sherifiTs assistant, who takes Mr. Pickwict. 
 to the Eleet Prison. (Ch. xl.) 
 
 SNIPE, THE HONOURABLE WILMOT. Ensign of the 
 Ninety-seventh ; one of the company at the ball in Eochester 
 attended by Mr. Tupman. (Ch. ii.) 
 
 SNODGRASS, AUGUSTUS. A poetic member of the Cor- 
 responding Society of the Pickwick Club. (Ch. i.-vi., viii., 
 xi.-xv., xvtii.,xxiv.-xxvi.,xxviii., xxx.-xxxii., xxxiv.-xxxvi., 
 xliv., xlvii., liv., Ivii.) See Pickwick, Samuel. 
 
 SNUBBIN, SERJEANT. Senior counsel for Mr. Pickwick 
 in his suit with Mrs. BardeU. (Ch. xxxi, xxxiv.) See 
 Pickwick, Samuel. 
 
 Mr. Serjeant Snubbin was a lantern-faced, gallow*C5omplexioned man 
 
 of abont five-and-forty He had that duU-liooking, boiled eye, 
 
 which is so often to be seen in the heads of people who have applied 
 themselves during many years to a weary and laborious course of 
 
80 THE DICKENS DICTIONABY. 
 
 study, and whicli would have been sufficient, without the additional 
 eye-glass which dangled from a broad black ribbon round his neck, to 
 warn a stranger that he was very near-sighted. His hair was thin and 
 weak, which was partly attributable to his having never devoted much 
 time to its arrangement, and partly to his having worn for five-and- 
 twenty years the forei>sio wig which hung on a block beside him. The 
 marks of hair-powder on his coat-collar, and the ill-washed and worse- 
 tied white neckerchief round his throat, showed that he had not found 
 leisure since he left the court to make any alteration in his dress ; 
 while the slovenly style of the remainder of his costume warranted 
 the inference that his personal appearance would not have been very 
 much improved if he had. 
 
 SNUPHANUPH, LADY. A fashionable lady whom Mr. 
 Pickwick meets in the Eooms at Bath. (Ch. xxxv., xxxvi.) 
 
 STAPLE, MR. A little cricket-player who makes a big speech 
 at the dinner which succeeds the match-game at Dingley DelL 
 (Ch. vii.) 
 
 STARELEIGH, MR. JUSTLCE. The judge who presides, 
 in the absence of the chief justice, at the trial of Eardell v. 
 Pickwick. (Ch. xxxiv.) See Pickwick, Samuel. 
 
 STIGGINS, THE REVEREND MR., called "The Shepherd." 
 An intemperate, canting, and hypocritical parson, who ministers 
 to a fanatical flock, composed largely of women, at Emanuel 
 Chapel. (Ch. xxvii., xxxiii., xlv., lii.) 
 
 STRUGGLES, MR. A cricketer of Dingley Dell. (Ch. vii.) 
 
 TADGER, BROTHER. A member of the Erick Lane Branch 
 of the United Grand Junction Ebenezer Temperance Associa- 
 tion. (Ch. xxxiii.) 
 
 TAPPLETON, LIEUTENANT. Doctor Slammer's second, 
 
 (Ch. ii., iii.) See Slammer, Doctor. 
 TOMKINS, MISS. Principal of a boarding-school for young 
 
 ladies, called "Westgate House, at Bury St. Edmunds. (Ch. xvi.) 
 
 TOMLINSON, MRS. Postmistress at Eochester, and one of 
 the company at the charity ball at The Bull Inn there. (Ch. ii.) 
 
 TOMMY. A waterman. (Ch. ii.) 
 
 TROTTER, JOB. The confidential servant of Mr. Alfred 
 Jingle, and the only man who proves too sharp for Sam 
 Weller. (Ch. xvi, xx., xxiii., xxv., xlii., xlv.-xlvii., liii., Ivii.) 
 
 TRUNDLE, MR. A young man who marries Isabella Wardle. 
 He is repeatedly brought upon the scene as an actor, but not 
 once as an interlocutor. (Ch. iv., vi, viii., xvi., xvii., xix., 
 xxviii., Ivii.) 
 
 TUCKLE, A. footman at Bath. (Ch. xxxvii) 
 
THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 81 
 
 TUBMAN, TRACY. One of the Corresponding Society of 
 the Pickwick Club; of so susceptible a disposition, that he 
 falls in love with every pretty girl he meets. (Ch. i.-ix., 
 xi.-xv., xviii, xix., xxiv.-xxvi., xxviii., xxx., xxxii., xxxiv., 
 XXXV., xliv., xlvii., Ivii.) See Pickwick, Samuel. 
 
 UPWITCH, RICHARD. A greengrocer ; one of the jurymen 
 in the case of Eardell v. Pickwick. (Ch. xxxiv.) 
 
 WARBLE, MR. (of Manor Parm, Dingley Dell). A friend of 
 Mr. Pickwick and his companions ; a stout, hearty, honest 
 old gentleman, who is most happy when he is making others 
 so. (Ch. iv., vi.-xi., xvi-xix., xxviii., xxx., liv., Ivi.) 
 
 WARDLE, MISS EMILY. One of his daughters. (Ch. iv., 
 vi.-xi., xxviii., xxx., liv., Ivii.) 
 
 WARDLE, MISS ISABELLA. Another daughter. (Ch. iv., 
 vi-viii., xxviii., Ivii.) 
 
 WARDLE, MISS RACHAEL. His sister; a spinster of 
 doubtful age, with a peculiar dignity in her air, majesty in 
 her eye, and touch-me-not-ishness in her walk. The too 
 susceptible Mr. Tupman falls in love with her, only to be 
 circumvented by the adroit Mr. Jingle, who steals her heart 
 away from him, and elopes with her, but is pursued, over- 
 taken, and induced to relinquish his prize in consideration of 
 a cheque for a hundred and twenty pounds. (Ch. iv., vi.-ix.) 
 
 WARDLE, MRS. Mother of Mr. Wardle and Miss Rachael, 
 very old and very deaf. (Ch. vi.-ix., xxviii., Ivii.) 
 
 WATTY, MR. A bankrupt client of Mr. Perker, whom he 
 keeps pestering about his affairs, although they have not been 
 in Chancery four years. (Ch. xxxi.) 
 
 WELLER, SAMUEL. Mr. Pickwick's valet; a compound 
 of wit, simplicity, quaint humour, and fidelity, who may 
 be regarded as an embodiment of London low life in its 
 most agreeable and entertaining form. Master and servant 
 first meet at an inn, whither Mr. Pickwick goes with 
 Mr. Wardle in search of that gentleman's sister, who has 
 eloped with Mr. Alfred Jingle. Mr. Weller first appears 
 on the scene busily employed in brushing a pair of boots, 
 and " habited in a coarse striped waistcoat, w?^h black calico 
 sleeves and blue glass buttons ; drab breeches and leggings. 
 A bright red handkerchief was Avound in a very loose and 
 Tinstudied style round his neck, and an old white hat was 
 
 o 
 
82 THB DICKENS DIOTIOIlTAEY, 
 
 carelessly thrown on one side of his head. There were 
 two rows of boots before him; one cleaned, and the other 
 dirty ; and, at every addition he made to the clean row, he 
 stopped in his work, and contemplated its results with evident 
 satisfaction." Sam carries Mr. Jingle's boots to him, and, 
 being asked where Doctors' Commons is, at once divines that 
 he wants to procure a marriage-Hcense, and proceeds to tell the 
 following story : 
 
 " My father, sir, vos a coachman. A vidower he vos, and fat enough 
 for anything — uncommon fat, to be sure ! His missus dies, and leaves 
 him four hundred poimd. Down he goes to the Commons, to see the 
 lawyer and draw the blunt — very smart, top-boots on, nosegay in hia 
 button-hole, broad-brimmed tile, green shawl — quite the gen'l'm'n. 
 Goes through the archvay, thinking how he should inwest the money j 
 up comes the touter, touches his hat — 'License, sir, license?' — 
 ' VVhat's that ? ' says my father. * License, sir,' says he. ' What license ?* 
 says my father. * Marriage-license,' says the touter. * Dash my veskit ! ' 
 «ays my father, *I never thought o' that.' — 'I think you wants one, 
 Bir,' says the touter. My father pulls up and thinks a bit. *No,* 
 says he, * damme, I'm too old ; b'sides, I'm a many sizes too large,' 
 says he. * Not a bit on it, sir ! ' says the touter. ' Think not ? ' says 
 my father. 'I'm sure not,' says he. 'We married a gen'l'm'n twice 
 your size last Monday.' — ' Did you, though ? * gays my father. ' To 
 be sure -re did ! ' says the touter : ' you're a babby to him. This vay, 
 sir — this vay ! ' And, sure enough, my father walks arter him, like 
 a tame monkey behind a horgan, into a little back-office vere a feller 
 sat among dirty papers and tin boxes, making believe he was busy. 
 ' Pray take a seat vile I makes out the affidavit, sir,' says the lawyer. 
 'Thankee, sir! ' says my father; and down he sat, and stared vith all 
 his eyes, and his mouth vide open, at the names on the boxes. ' What's 
 your name, sir?' says the lawyer. 'Tony Weller,' says my father, 
 ' Parish ? * says the lawyer. ' Belle Savage,' says my father ; for 
 he stopped there ven he drove uj); and he kr.ow'd nothing about 
 parishes, he didn't. ' And what's the lady's name ? ' says the lawyer. 
 My father was struck all of a heap. ' Bless'd if I know ! ' says he. 
 * Not know ! ' says the lawyer. ' No more nor you do,' says my father. 
 ' Can't I put that in artervvards ? ' — ' Impossible ! ' says the lawyer. 
 'Wery well,' says my father, after he'd thought a moment, 'put down 
 Mrs. Clarke.' — ' What Clarke ? ' says the lawyer, dipping his pen in the 
 ink. ' Susan Clai-ke, Markis o' Granby, Dorking,' says my father : * she'll 
 have me, if I ask hei', I des-say. I never said nothing to her ; but she'll 
 have me, I know.* The license was made out, and she dtd have him ; 
 and, what's more, she's got him now ; and I never had any of the four 
 hundred pound, worse luck ! Beg your pardon, sir," said Sam when he 
 had concluded, " but, wen I gets on this here grievance, 1 mns on like 
 a new barrow vith the wheel greased." 
 
 After this, Mr. Pickwick meets Sam, and liking his appear- 
 ance, resolves to engage him. He sends for him, therefore, and 
 proposes to give him twelve pounds a year, and two suits of 
 clothes, to attend upon him, and travel about with him and th© 
 
TIIR PICKWICK PAPERS. 83 
 
 other Pickwiekians— terms which are highly satisfactory to 
 Sam. 
 
 When Mr. Pickwick goes to consult Mr. Perker in relation 
 to the action which Mrs. Bardell has brought against him for 
 breach of promise, Sam accompanies him. 
 
 They had walked some distance — Mr. Pickwick trotting on before 
 plunged in profound meditation, and Sam following behind, with a coun- 
 tenance expressive of the most enviable and easy defiance of everybody 
 and everything ; when the latter, who was always especially anxious to 
 impart to his master any exclusive information he possessed, quickened 
 his pace until he was close at Mr. Pickwick's keels, and, pointing up at 
 a house they were passing, said : 
 
 " Wery nice pork-shop that 'ere, sir." 
 
 " Yes ; it seems so," said Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 " Celebrated sassage-factory," said Sam. 
 
 " Is it ? " said Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 " Is it ! " reiterated Sam with some indignation : " I should rayther 
 think it was. Why, sir, bless your innocent eysbrows, that's where the 
 mysterious disappearance of a 'spectable tradesman took place four years 
 ago." 
 
 " You don't mean to say he was burked, Sam ? " said Mr. Pickwick, 
 looking hastily round. 
 
 " No ; I don't indeed, sir," replied Mr. Weller. " I wish I did ! Far 
 worse than that. He was the master o' that 'ere shop, sir, and the 
 inwenter o' that patent never-leavin'-off sassage steam-injine as 'ud 
 Bwaller up a pavin'-stone if you put it too near, and grind it into 
 eassages as easy as if it was a tender young babby. Wery jjroud o' that 
 machine he was, as it was nat'ral he should be ; and he'd stand down in 
 the cellar a-lookin' at it wen it was in full play, till he got quite melan- 
 choly with joy. A wery happy man he'd ha' been, sir, in the procession 
 o' that 'ere ingine and two more lovely hinfants besides, if it hadn't been 
 for his wife, who was a most ow-dacious wixin. She was always a- 
 foUerin' him about, and dinnin' in his ears, till at last he couldn't stand 
 it no longer. * I'll tell you what it is, my dear,' he says one day : * if you 
 persewere in this here sort of amusement,' he says, 'I'm blessed if I 
 don't go away to 'Merriker ; and that's all about it.' — ' You're a idle 
 willin,' says she ; ' and I wish the 'Merrikins joy of their bargain.' Arter 
 wich she keeps on abusin' of him for half an hour, and then runs into 
 the little parlour behind the shop ; sets to a-screamin' ; says he'll be the 
 death on her ; and falls in a fit, which lasts for three good hours — one o' 
 them fits wich is all screamin' and kickin'. Well, next mornin' the 
 husband was missin'. He hadn't taken nothin' from the till; hadn't 
 even put on his great -coat ; so it was quite clear he warn't gone to 
 'Merriker. Didn't come back next day 5 didn't come back next week : 
 missis had bills printed, sayin, that, if he'd come back, he should be for- 
 given everythin' (which was very Liberal, seein' that he hadn't done nothin' 
 at all) } the canals was dragged, and for two months artervards, when- 
 ever a body turned up, it was carried, as a reg'lar thing, straight off to 
 the sassage-shop. Hows' ever, none on 'em answered : so they gave out 
 that he'd run avay, and she kept on the bis'ness. One Saturday night, 
 a little thin old gen'l'm'n comes into the shop in a great passion, and 
 says, * Are you the missis of this here shop ? ' — * Yes, I am,' says she. 
 * Well, ma'am,* says he, * then I've Just looked in to say that me and my 
 
 G 2 
 
84 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 family ain't a-goin'to be choked fornofcliiti' ; and more than that, ma'am,* 
 he says, ' you will allow me to observe, that, aa yon don't use the primesfc 
 parts of the meat in the manafacter of sassages, I think you'd find beef 
 come nearly as cheap as buttons.' — * As buttons, sir ! ' says she. 
 * Buttons, ma'am,* said the little old gentleman, unfolding a bit of paper, 
 and showin' twenty or thirty halves o' buttons. ' Nice seasonin' for 
 sassages is trousers' buttons, ma'am ! ' — 'They're my husband's buttons!' 
 says the widder, beginnin' to faint. ' What I * screams the little old 
 gen'l'm'n, turnin* wery pale. * I see it all ! ' says the widder : * in a fit of 
 temporary insanity he rashly converted hisself into sassages ! ' And so 
 he had, sir," said Mr. Weller, looking steadily into Mr. Pickwick's 
 horror-stricken countenance, " or else he'd been draw'd into the ingine ; 
 but, however that might ha' been, the little old gen'l'm'n, who had been 
 remarkably partial to sassages all his life, rushed out o' the shop in a 
 wild state, and was nevar heerd on artervards." 
 
 Sam, in Ms travels with Mr. Pickwick, falls in with a comely 
 servant-girl by the name of Mary, and is smitten with her 
 charms. He determines to send her a valentine, and, while 
 engaged in the task, is interrupted by his father. 
 
 To ladies and gentlemen who are not in the habit of devoting themselves 
 practically to the science of penmanship, writing a letter is no very easy 
 task, it being always considered necessary in such cases for the writer 
 to recline his head on his left arm, so as to place his eyes as nearly as 
 possible on a level with the paper, and, while glancing sideways at the 
 letters he is constructing, to form with his tongue imaginary characters 
 to correspond. These motions, although unquestionably of the greatest 
 assistance to original composition, retard, in some degree, the progress 
 of the writer ; and Sam had unconsciously been a full hour and a half 
 writing words in small text, smearing out wrong letters with his litt'e 
 finger, and putting in new ones, which required going over very often to 
 render them visible through the old blots, when ho was roused by the 
 opening of the door and the entrance of his parent. 
 
 " Yell, Sammy," said the father, ... " wot's that you're a-doin' of 
 —pursuit of knowledge under difficulties ? eh, Sammy P " 
 
 " I've done now," said Sam, with slight embarrassment. " I've been 
 a-writin'." 
 
 " So I see," replied Mr. "Weller. "Not to any young 'ooman, I hope, 
 Sammy," 
 
 "Why, it's no use a-sayin' it ain't," replied Sam. "It's a 
 walentine." 
 
 "A what!" exclaimed Mr. Weller, apparently horror-stricken by 
 the word- 
 
 " A walentine," replied Sam. 
 
 *' Samivel, Samivel," said Mr. WeUer in reproachful accents, " I 
 didn't think you'd ha' done it. Arter the warnin' you've had o' your 
 father's wicious propensities ; arter all I've said to you upon this here 
 wery subject 5 arter actiwally seein' and bein' in the company o' your 
 own mother-in-law (vich I should ha' thought wos a moral lesson as no 
 man could never ha' forgotten to his dyin'-day) — I didn't think you'd ha* 
 done it, Sammy, I didn't think you'd ha' done it." These reflections, 
 
THE FICKWICK PAPERS. gS 
 
 were too much for the good old man. He raised Sam's tumbler to his 
 lips, and drank o£E the contents. 
 
 ** Wot's the matter now ? " said Sam. 
 
 " Ne-Zr mind, Sammy," replied Mr. Weller. " It '11 be a wery 
 agonisin' trial to me at my time of life ; but I'm pretty tough, that's 
 vun consolation, as the wery old turkey remarked ven the farmer said 
 he wos afeered he should be obliged to kill him for the London market." 
 
 " Wot '11 be a trial ? " inquired Sam. 
 
 "To see you married, Sammy; to see you a deluded wictim, and 
 thinkin' in your innocence that it's all wery capital," replied Mr. Weller. 
 *' It's a dreadful trial to a father's feelin's, that 'ere, Sammy." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said Sam. *' I ain't a-goin' to get married, don't you 
 fret yourself about that : I know you're a judge of these things. Order 
 in your pipe, and I'll read you the letter — there ! " 
 
 We cannot distinctly say whether it was the prospect of the pipe, or 
 the consolatory reflection that a fatal disposition to get married ran in 
 the family, and couldn't be helped, which calmed Mr. Weller's feelings, 
 and caused his grief to subside. We should be rather disposed to say 
 that the result was attained by combining the two sources of consolation, 
 for he repeated the second in a low tone very frequently, ringing the 
 bell, meanwhile, to order in the first. He then divested himself of his 
 upper coat ; and, lighting the pipe, and placing himself in front of the 
 fire with his back towards it, so that he could feel its full heat, and 
 recline against the mantelpiece at the same time, turned towards Sam, 
 and, with a countenance greatly mollified by the softening influence of 
 tobacco, requested him to *' fire away." 
 
 Sam dipped his pen into the ink to be ready for any corrections, and 
 began with a very theatrical air — 
 
 « ' Lovely ' " 
 
 " Stop," said Mr. Weller, ringing the bell. " A double glass of the 
 inwariable, my dear." 
 
 " Yery well, sir," replied the girl, who with great quickness appeared, 
 vanished, returned, and disappeared. 
 
 "They seem to know your ways here," observed Sam. 
 
 " Tes," replied his father, " I've been here before in my tlxo®. Go 
 <m, Sammy." 
 
 " * Lovely creetur,' " repeated Sam. 
 
 ** 'Tain't in poetry, is it ? " interposed the father. 
 
 "No, no," replied Sam. 
 
 " Wery glad to hear it," said Mr. Weller. " Poetry's unnat'ral ; no 
 man ever talked in poetry 'cept a beadle on boxin'-day, or Warren's 
 blackin', or Rowland's oil, or some of them low fellows. Never you let 
 yourself down to talk poetry, my boy. Begin again, Sammy." 
 
 Mr. Weller resumed his pipe with critical solemnity j and Sam once 
 more commenced, and read as follows : — 
 
 " * Lovely creetur i feel myself a dammed; * " 
 
 "That ain't proper," said Mr. Weller, taking his pipe from his 
 mouth. 
 
 "No, it ain't 'dammed,'" observed Sam, holding the letter up 
 to the light; "it's 'shamed;* there's a blot there. 'I feel myself 
 ashamed.' " 
 
 " Wery good," said Mr. Weller. " Go on." 
 
 " * Feel myself ashamed, and completely cir — — ' I forget wot this 
 here word is," said Sam, scratching his head with the pen, 4q vain 
 attempts to remember. 
 
8f THE BIOKEHS DIOTIONAllT. 
 
 " Why don't you look at it, then P " inquired Mr. Weller. 
 
 "So I am a-lookin' at it," replied Sam; "but there's another biofc. 
 Here's a * c,' and a * i,' and a * d.' " 
 
 " ' Circumwented,' p'rhaps," suggested Mr. Weller. 
 
 " No, it ain't that," said Sam. " ' Circumscribed;' that's it ! " 
 
 *' That ain't as good a word as * circumwented,' Sammy," said Mr. Weller 
 gravely. 
 
 " Think not ? " said Sam. 
 
 *' Nothin' like it," replied his father. 
 
 " But don't you think it means more ? " inquired Sam. 
 
 " Veil, p'rhaps it's a more tenderer word," said Mr. Weller, after a 
 few moments' reflection. *' Go on, Sammy." 
 
 "'Feel miyself ashamed and completely circumscribed in a dressin' 
 of you, for you are a nice girl, and nothin' but it.' " 
 
 " That's a wery pretty sentiment," said the elder Mr. Weller, 
 removing his pipe to make way for the remark. 
 
 " Yes, I think it is rayther good," observed Sam, highly flattered. 
 
 " Wot I like in that 'ere style of writin'," said the elder Mr. Weller, 
 " is, that there ain't no caUin' names in it — no Wenuses, nor nothin' o' 
 that kind. Wot's the good o' callin' a young 'ooman a Wenus or a 
 angel, Sammy P " 
 
 " Ah ! what, indeed ? " replied Sam. 
 
 *' You might jist as veil call her a griflBn, or a unicorn, or a king's 
 arms at once, which is wery well known to be a col-lection o' fabulous 
 animals," added Mr. Weller. 
 
 " Just as well," replied Sam. 
 
 " Drive on, Sammy," said Mr. Weller. 
 
 Sam complied with the request, and proceeded as follows ; his father 
 continuing to smoke, with a mixed expression of wisdom and complacency 
 which was particularly edifying. 
 
 " ' Afore I see you, I thought all women was alike,' " 
 
 " So they are," observed the elder Mr. Weller parenthetically. 
 
 " * But now,' " continued Sam, " * now I find what a reg'lar soft, 
 headed, inkred'lous turnip I must ha' been ; for there ain't nobody like 
 you, though I like you better than nothin' at all.' I thought it best to 
 make that rayther strong," said Sam, looking up. 
 
 Mr. Weller nodded approvingly, and Sam resumed : — 
 
 " * So I take the privilidge of the day, Mary, my dear — as the 
 gen'lem'n in difficulties did, ven he valked out of a Sunday — to tell you 
 that the fii-st and only time I see you your likeness was took on my hai't 
 in much quicker time and brighter colours than ever a likeness was taken 
 by the profeel macheen (wich praps you may have heerd on Mary my 
 dear) altho it does finish a portrait and put the frame and glass on 
 complete with a hook at the end to hang it up by, and all in two minutes 
 and a quarter.' " 
 
 " I am afeered that werges on the poetical, Sammy," said Mr. Weller 
 dubiously. 
 
 " No, it don't," replied Sam, reading on very quickly to avoid 
 contesting the point. 
 
 " ' Except of me Mary my dear as your walentine and think over what 
 I've said. My dear Mary I will now conclude.' That's all," said Sam. 
 
 " That's rayther a sudden pull up ; ain't it, Sammy p " inquired 
 Mr. Weller. 
 
 " Not a bit on it," said Sam. " She'll vish there wos more, and that'i 
 the great art o* letter-writin'." 
 
THK PICIiWICK PAPKBS. §7 
 
 ^* Well," said Mr. Weller, ^' there's Bomethin' in that i and I wish 
 your mother^n-law 'ud only conduct her oonwersation on the same 
 gen-teel principle. Ain't yon a-goin' to sign it ? " 
 
 " That's the difficulty," said Sam. " I don't know what to sign it." 
 
 " Sign it * Veller,' " said the oldest surviving proprietor of that name. 
 
 " Won't do," said Sam. " Never sign a walentine with your own 
 name." 
 
 "Sign it 'Pickvick,' then," said Mr. Weller j "it's a wery good 
 name, and a easy one to spell." 
 
 " The wery thing! I could end with a werse ; what do you think ? " 
 
 "I don't like it, Sam," rejoined Mr. Weller. "I never know' d a 
 respectable coachman as wrote poetry, 'cept one, as made an affectin' 
 copy o' werses the night afore he wos hung for a highway robbery ; 
 and he wos only a Cambervell man ; so even that's no rule." 
 
 But Sam was not to be dissuaded from the poetical idea that had 
 occurred to him, so he signed the letter — 
 
 ** Your love-sick 
 Pickwick." 
 
 And, having folded it in a very intricate manner, squeezed a dovm-hill 
 direction in one corner — " To Mary, House-maid, at Mr. Nupkins's 
 Mayor's, Ipswich, Suffolk," — and put it into his pocket, wafered, and 
 ready for the General Post. 
 
 To the last, Sam remains devotedly attached to his master ; 
 and when Mr. Pickwick gives up his rambles, retires from active 
 life and settles down at Dulwich, he goes with him, determined 
 to remain single, and to stick by him and make him comfort- 
 able, " vages or no vages, notice or no notice, board or no 
 board, lodgin' or no lodgin'." 
 
 Sam Weller kept his word, and remained unmarried for two years. 
 The old housekeeper dying at the end of that time, Mr. Pickwick 
 promoted Mary to the situation, on condition of her marrying Mr. 
 Weller at once, which she did vrithout a murmur. From the circum- 
 stance of two sturdy little boys having been repeatedly seen at the 
 gate of the back garden, we have reason to suppose that Sam has some 
 family. 
 
 (Ch. X., xii., xiii., xv., xvi., xviii.-xx., xxii.-xxviii., xxx.- 
 XXXV., xxxvi-xlviii., l.-lii., Iv.-lvii.) See Joe (the Fat Boy), 
 Pickwick (Samuel), Weller (Tony). 
 
 WELLER, TONY. Father to Samuel Weller -, one of the old 
 plethoric, mottled-faced, great-coated, many-waistcoated stage- 
 coachmen that flourished in England before the advent of 
 railways. Being a widower, and therefore feeling rather 
 lonely at times, he is inveigled by a buxom widow, who keeps 
 a public-house, into marrying again. Pather and son, who 
 have not seen each other for some time, accidentally meet one 
 day at a tavern where Sam is taking some refreshment with 
 his master, Mr. Pickwick. 
 
88 THE BIOKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 A hoarse voice, like Bome strange effort of ventriloqnism, emerged 
 from beneath the capacious shawls which muffled his throat and chest, 
 and slowly uttered these sounds, *' Wy, Sammy ! " 
 
 " Who's that, Sam ? " inquired Mr. Pickwick. 
 
 " Why, I wouldn't ha' believed it, sir ! " replied Mr. Weller, with 
 astonished eyes. " It's the old 'un." 
 
 « Old one ? " said Mr. Pickwick. « What old one ? " 
 
 " My father, sir," replied Mr. Weller. " How are you, my ancient?" 
 And with this beautiful ebullition of filial affection, Mr. Weller made 
 room on the seat beside him for the stout man, who advanced, pipe in 
 mouth and pot in hand, to greet him. 
 
 " Wy, Sammy," said the father, " I han't seen you for two years and 
 better." 
 
 " No more you have, old codger," replied the son. " How's mother- 
 in-law?*' 
 
 " Wy, I'll tell you what, Sammy," said Mr. Weller, senior, with much 
 solemnity in his manner, " there never was a nicer woman as a widder 
 than that 'ere second wentur o' mine. A sweet creetur she was, 
 Sammy ; and all I can say on her now is, that as she was such an 
 uncommon pleasant widder, it's a great pity she ever changed her con- 
 dition. She don't act as a vife, Sammy." 
 
 *' Don't she, though ? " inquired Mr. Weller, junior. 
 
 The elder Weller shook his head as he replied with a sigh, "I've done 
 it once too often, Sammy — I've done it once too often. Take example by 
 your father, my boy, and be wery careful o' widders all your life, 'specially 
 if they've kept a public-house, Sammy." And, having delivered this 
 parental advice with great pathos, Mr. Weller, senior, refilled his pipe 
 from a tin box he carried in his pocket, and lighting his fresh pipe 
 from the ashes of the old one, commenced smoking at a great rate. 
 
 Shortly after this, Mr. Weller meets his son again, when a 
 more extended conversation ensues. 
 
 " That *ere your governor's luggage, Sammy ?" inquired Mr. Weller, 
 senior, of his affectionate son, as he entered the yard of The Bull Inn, 
 Whitechapel, mth a travelling-bag and a small portmanteau. 
 
 •' You might ha' made a worser guess than that, old feller," replied 
 Mr. Weller, the younger, setting down his burden in the yard, and sitting 
 himself down upon it afterwards. " The governor his-self '11 be down 
 here presently." 
 
 " He's a-cabbin' it, I suppose ?" said the father. 
 
 " Yes, he's a havin' two mile o' danger at eightpence," responded 
 the son. " How's mother-in-law this momin' ? " 
 
 " Queer, Sammy, queer," replied the elder Mr. Weller, with im- 
 pressive solemnity. *' She's been gettin' rayther in the Methodistical 
 order lately, Sammy; and she's uncommonly pious to be sure. She's 
 too good a creetur for me, Sammy ; I feel I don't deserve her." 
 
 " Ah," said Mr. Samuel, " that's wery self-denyin' o' you." 
 
 "Wery," replied his parent, with a sigh. *' She's got hold o' some 
 inventioni'for grown-up people being born again, Sammy — the new birth, 
 I think they calls it. I should wery much like to see that system in 
 haction, Sammy. I should wery much like to see your mother-in-law 
 born again. Wouldn't I put her out to nurse ! " 
 
 " What do you think them women does t'other day," continued 
 
THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 89 
 
 Mr. Weller, after a short pause, during wliich he had significantly struck 
 the side of his nose with his forefinger some half-dozen times ; *' what do 
 you think they does t'other day, Sammy ? " 
 
 " Don't know," replied Sam ; " what ? " 
 
 ** Goes and gets up a grand tea-drinkin' for a feller they calls their 
 ehepherd," said Mr. Weller. *' I was a- standing starin' in at the pictur- 
 ehop down at our place, when I sees a little bill about it : * Tickets 
 half-a-crown. All applications to be made to the committee. Secretary, 
 Mrs. Weller ; ' and when I got home, there was the committee a-sittin* 
 in our back-parlour. Fourteen women ; I wish you could ha' heard 'em, 
 Sammy ! There they was, a-passin' resolutions, and wotin' supplies, 
 and all sorts o' games. Well, what with your mother-in-law a-worrying 
 me to go, and what with my looking for'ard to seein' some queer starts 
 if I did, I put my name down for a ticket. At six o'clock on the Friday 
 evenin' I dresses myself out wery smart, and off I goes with the old 
 'ooman ; and up we walks into a fust floor where there was tea-things 
 for thirty, and a whole lot o' women as begins whisperin' to one another, 
 and lookin' at me as if they'd never seen rayther a stout gen'l'm'n of 
 eight-and-fifty afore. By-and-by there comes a great bustle downstairs; 
 and a lanky chap with a red nose and white neckcloth rushes up, and 
 sings out, * Here's the shepherd a-coming to wisit his faithful fiock ! ' 
 and in comes a fat chap in black, vith a great white face, a-smilin' avay 
 like clock-work. Such goin's on, Sammy 1 ' The kiss of peace,' says 
 the shepherd, and then he kissed the women all round ; and ven he'd 
 done, the man with the red nose began. I was just a-thinkin' whether 
 I hadn't better begin too — 'specially as there was a wery nice lady 
 a-sittin' next me — ven in comes the tea, and your mother-in-law, as had 
 been makin' the kettle boil downstairs. At it they went, tooth and nail. 
 Such a precious loud hymn, Sammy, while the tea was a-brewin' ! such 
 a grace 1 such eatin' and drinkin' ! I wish you could ha' seen the 
 ehepherd walkin' into the ham and muflins. I never see such a chap to 
 eat and drink — never ! The red-nosed man warn't by no means the 
 sort of person you'd like to grub by contract ; but he was nothin' to the 
 shepherd. Well, arter the tea was over, they sang another hymn, and 
 then the shepherd began to preach ; and wery well he did it, considerin' 
 how heavy them muffins must have lied on his chest. Presently he pulls 
 up all of a sudden, and hollers out, ' Where is the sinner ? where is the 
 mis'rable sinner ? ' upon which all the women looked at me, and began 
 to groan as if they was dyin'. I thought it was rather sing'lar; but, 
 hows'ever, I says nothing. Presently he pulls up again, and, lookin' 
 wery hard at me, says, * Where is the sinner ? where is the mis'rable 
 sinner ? ' and all the women groans again, ten times louder than afore. 
 I got rather wild at this ; so 1 takes a step or two for'ard, and says, 
 * My friend,' says I, * did you apply that 'ere obserwation to me ? * 
 'Stead of beggin' my pardon, as any gen'l'm'n would ha' done, he got 
 more abusive than ever, called me a wessel, Sammy — a wessel of wrath, 
 and all sorts o' names. So, my blood being reg'larly up, I first gave him 
 two or three for himself, and then two or three more to hand over to the 
 man with the red nose, and walked off. I wish you could ha' heard how 
 the women screamed, Sammy, ven they picked up the shepherd from 
 under the table." 
 
 (Ch. XX., xxii., xxiii., xxvii., xxxiii., xxxiv., xliii., xlv., iii, 
 Iv., Ivl See Pickwick (Samuel) and Weller (Samuel). 
 
00 THK DIOESHg DXOflOHABir. 
 
 WELLER, MRS. SUSAN. Wife of Mr. Tony l/^Uer, foi'ffiefl5f 
 Mrs. Clarke. (Ch. xxvii, xlv.) See Welleb (Samuel) and 
 Weller (Tony). 
 WHIFFERS. A footman at Bath. (Ch. xxxvii.) 
 WICKS, MR, Clerk in office of Dodson and Fogg. (Ch. xx.) 
 WILKIN S. Gardener to Captain Boldwig. (Ch. xix.) 
 WINKLE, MR., SENIOR. Father of JN^athaniel Winkle ; an 
 old wharfinger at Birmingham, and a thorough man of busi- 
 ness, having the most methodical habits, and never committing 
 himself hastily in any affair. He is greatly displeased at his 
 son's marriage to Miss Arabella Allen, but finally forgives 
 him, and admits that the lady is "a very charming little 
 daughter-in-law, after all." (Ch. 1., Ivi.) 
 WINKLE, NATHANIEL. A member of the Corresponding 
 Society of the Pickwick Club, and a cockney pretender to 
 sporting skill. (Ch. i.-v., vii., ix., xi.-xiii., xv., xviii., xix., 
 xxiv.-xxvi., xxviii., xxx.-xxxii., xxxiv.-xxxvi., xxxviii., 
 xxxix., xliv., xlvii., liv., Ivi, Ivii.) 
 WITHERFIELD, MISS A middle-aged lady, affianced to 
 
 Mr. Magnus. (Ch. xxii., xxiv.) See Magnus, Peter. 
 WUGSBY, MRS COLONEL. A fashionable lady whom 
 
 Mr. Pickwick meets at Bath. (Ch. xxxv., xxxvi.) 
 ZEPHYR, THE. See Miyins, Mr. 
 
 PRINCIPAL INCIDENTS. 
 
 Chapter I. Meeting of the Pickwick Club ; Mr. Blottop calls Mr. 
 Pickvrick a *' humbug " in a " Pickwickian sense." — II. The Pick- 
 wickians get into trouble with a cabman at the Golden Cross 
 Inn ; they meet Mr. Alfred Jingle ; the journey to Rochester ; after 
 supper at The Bull Inn, Mr. Tupman and Mr. Jingle attend the ball, 
 Mr. Jingle wearing Mr. Winkle's coat ; Mr. Jingle excites the jealousy 
 of Dr. Slammer, who challenges Mr. Winkle in consequence ; the 
 duel, which is interrupted by Dr. Slammer discovering that Mr. 
 Winkle is "not the man." — III. Dismal Jemmy relates "The Stroller's 
 Tale;" Dr. Slammer recognises Mr. Jingle. — IV. The military review 
 at Eochester; meeting with Mr. Wardle and his party. — V. The 
 drive to Dingley Dell; Mr. Winkle, dismounting, is unable to re- 
 mount; and, Mr. Pickwick going to his assistance, his horse runs 
 away, leaving the Pickwiokians to walk the rest of the wav. — VI. The 
 party at Mr. Wardle'sj the clergyman recites "The Ivy Grees" 
 
THE XnCKWICK PAX^EB^. 01 
 
 frjid relatftB "The Convict's Return." — YII. Mr. Winkle attempta to 
 ehoot the rooks, and wounds Mr. Tupman ; the orioket,match at 
 Muggleton, and the dinner which followed. — VIII. Mr. Tupman 
 proposes to Misa Rachael, and is discovered bj the fat boy ; Joe, 
 relating the discovery to old Mrs. Wardle, is overheard by Mr. Jingle, 
 who determines to supersede Mr. Tupman in the spinster's affections 
 ■ — IX. Finding his arts successful, he elopes with her; Mr. Wardle 
 and !Mr. Pickwick follow, and are just on the point of overtaking the 
 fugitives, when their carriage breaks down. — X. Sam Weller's first 
 appearance as " boots " at The White Hart Inn ; his account of his 
 father's marriage ; Mr. Wardle questions Sam, and finds that Jingle and 
 Miss Rachael are at the White Hart; Mr. Jingle is bought off, and the 
 lady returns with her brother. — XI. The disappearance of Mr. Tupman, 
 and the journey of Pickwick, Snodgrass, and Winkle in search of him; 
 Mr. Pickvrick discovers the stone with the famous inscription; 
 the madman's manuscript ; the discussion occasioned among the learned 
 societies by Mr. Pickwick's discov^ery. — XII. Mr. Pickwick, informing 
 Mrs. Bardell of his determination to employ a valet, finds himself in an 
 awkward situation, in which he is discovered by his friends ; Mr. Pickwick 
 engages Sam Weller as his valet. — XIII. Some account of Eatanswill, 
 and the rival factions of the Buffs and Blues ; Mr. Perker explains how 
 an election is managed, and introduces the Pickwickians to Mr. Pott, 
 editor of The Gazette, who invites Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Winkle to 
 his house ; Sam Weller relates to his master some tricks of the election ; 
 Bpeeches of the rival candidates, and success of the Hon. Samuel Slumkey. 
 — XIV. " The Bagman's Story." — XV, Mr. Leo Hunter waits upon 
 Mr. Pickwick, and invites him and his friends to a f4te champitre, to be 
 given by Mrs. Leo Hunter ; dispute and reconciliation of Mr. Pickwick 
 and ]VIr. Tupman ; the fancy ball at Mrs. Hunter's, and re-appearance 
 of Alfred Jingle as Mr. Charles Fitz-Marshall ; recognising Mr, Pickwick, 
 he suddenly departs, and is followed by Mr. Pickwick and Sam to The 
 Angel, and Buiy St. Edmunds. — XVI. Sam gives Mr. Pickwick some 
 account of his bringing up ; Sam discovers Mr. Job Trotter, who reveals 
 the plans of Mr. Charles Fitz-Marshall for eloping with a young lady 
 from the boarding-school ; JVh:. Pickwick's adventure in the boarding, 
 school ; he is relieved from his unpleasant situation by the appearance 
 of Mr. Wardle and Mr. Trundle, — XVII. Mr. Pickwick reads to Mr. 
 Wardle the " Story of the Parish Clerk."— XVIII. Mr. Pott, having his 
 jealousy of Mr. Winkle excited by an article in The Independent, 
 denounces that gentleman, whereupon a scene ensues, ending in the 
 departure of Mr. Winkle; Messrs. Winkle, Snodgrass, and Tupman join 
 Mr. Pickwick at The Angel, at Bury St. Edmunds ; Mr. Pickwick receives 
 a letter from Messrs. Dodson and Fogg, informing him of Mrs. Bardell' s 
 action for breach of promise. — XIX. Account of the shooting-party and 
 the extraordinary skill of Messrs. Tupman and Winkle ; Sam Weller 
 explains the mysteries of " weal pie ; " Mr. Pickwick, having imbibed 
 punch very freely, falls asleep in a wheelbarrow, and is left alone while 
 the party continue their sport ; he is discovered by Captain Boldwig, 
 who orders him to be wheeled off to the pound, from which he is rescued 
 by Mr. Wardle and Sam Weller. — XX. Mr. Pickwick and Sam visit the 
 office of Dodson and Fogg, after which they caU at a tavern, where Sam 
 unexpectedly encounters his father; from him they learn that Jingle 
 and Job Trotter are at Ipswich, and ^Ir. Pickwick decides to seek them 
 there at once; Mr. Pickwick finds Mr. Lowten at the head of a convivial 
 party at The Magpie and Stump, and is invited to join them. — XXI. Jack 
 
92 THE DICKEKS DICTIOITAEY. 
 
 Bamber relates gome stories abont Gray's Inn, and also " A Tale of ^ 
 Queer Client." — XXII. Mr. Pickwick, going to Ipswich, meets Mr. Peter 
 Magnus, going to the same place, and learns from that gentleman hig 
 object in visiting that city ; Mr. Pickwick, retiring for the night, leaves 
 his watch upon the table, and, returning to seek it, loses his way, and 
 gets into the wrong room, which proves to be the chamber of a middle- 
 aged lady. — XXIII. Sam Weller unexpectedly encounters Mr. Job 
 Trotter, and begins his return-match. — XXIV. Mr. Magnus introduces 
 Mr. Pickwick to his betrothed, and is astonished at their behaviour ; Miss 
 Witherfield waits r^pon George Nupkins, Esq., and enters a compla-lnt 
 against Mr. Pickwick, - in consequence of which that gentleman and 
 Mr. Tupman are arrested, and, in attempting a rescue, Sam Weller and 
 the other Pickwickians share the same fate. — XXV. The trial before 
 George Nupkins, Esq., which is brought to an unexpected termination 
 by Mr. Pickwick exposing Mr. Alfred Jingle and his designs ; Mr. Weller 
 also exposes Job Trotter ; the first passage of Mr. Weller's fij:st love. — 
 XXVI. Sam visits Mrs. Bardell, and assists in a conversation which 
 throws some light on the action of Bardell v. Pickwick. — XXVII. Sam 
 goes to Dorking, and makes the acquaintance of his mother-in-law and 
 the Eev. Mr. Stiggins, and also has an interview with Mr. Weller, senior. 
 — XXVIII. The Pickwickians and Sam Weller go to Dingley Dell, and 
 attend the wedding of Mr. Trundle and Miss Isabella Wardle; Mr. 
 Pickwick speaks at the wedding-breakfast, and dances with old Mrs. 
 Wardle in the evening; Mr. Wardle sings a "Christmas Carol." — 
 XXIX. Mr. Wardle relates "The Story of the Goblins who stole a 
 Sexton." — XXX. The Pickwickians make the acquaintance of Mr. Ben 
 Allen and Mr. Bob Sawyer ; Mr. Winkle exhibits his skill in the accom. 
 plishment of skating ; Mr. Pickwick's fall through the ice, and rescue ; 
 breaking up of the party. — XXXI. Mr. Jackson, of the house of Dodson and 
 Fogg, subpoenas the friends and servants of Mr. Pickwick ; Mr. Pickwick 
 and Sam go to Mr. Perker's, Sam relating on the way the mysterious 
 disappearance of a respectable tradesman; Mr. Perker informs Mr. 
 Pickwick that he has retained Serjeant Snubbin as his advocate, and is 
 amazed at Mr. Pickwick's determination to see that eminent personage; 
 IVIr. Pickwick's interview with Serjeant' Snubbin, in which they are 
 joined by Mr. Phunky. — XXXII. Mr. Bob Sawyer, proposing to give a 
 bachelor party, has some trouble with his landlady ; the party, getting 
 noisy, are ordered out by Mrs. Eaddle. — XXXIII. Mr. Sam Weller, 
 going to meet his father at The Blue Boar, has his attention attracted by 
 a valentine in a shop-window, and, purchasing paper and pens, he 
 indites a valentine to Mary, which Mr. Weller, senior, criticises and 
 approves ; Mr. Weller and Sam attend the meeting of the Brick Lane 
 Branch of the United Grand Junction Ebenezer Total Abstinence 
 Association ; Mr. Stiggins also attends in a state which astonishes the 
 members, and causes the dispersion of the meeting. — XXXIV. Com- 
 mencement of the memorable trial, Bardell v. Pickwick ; dramatic effect 
 of Mrs. Bardell's appearance ; address of Serjeant Buzfuz, followed by 
 the examination of the witnesses, and the important testimony of Sam 
 Weller; verdict for the plaintiff. — XXXV. The Pickwickians, going to 
 Bath, make the acquaintance of Captain Dowler, also of Angelo Cyrus 
 Bantam, Esq., M.C.; Sam goes on an errand to Queen Square, and 
 meets a resplendent footman; the ball-night in the assembly-room 
 at Bath, where Mr. Pickwick does himself no credit at cards. — 
 XXXVI. Mr. Pickwick takes lodgings for himself and friends ia the 
 Eoyal Crescent; he finds the "True Legend of Prince Bladud;" Mr. 
 
THE PICKWICK PAPERS. 93 
 
 Dowler, sitting up for his wife, who has gone to a party, falls asleep ; 
 on her return in a sedan-chair, Mr. Winkle is the first person aroused, 
 and he proceeds, in dressing-gown and slippers, to open the door, when 
 it is blown to behind him, and he rushes into the sedan-chair ; exciting 
 chase of Mr. Winkle by Mr. Dowler. — XXXYII. Sam Weller receives an 
 invitation to a "friendly swarry" by the Bath footmen, which he attends 
 under the patronage of Mr. John Smaukerj Mr. Pickwick relates to 
 Sam the story of Mr. Winkle's flight, and commissions him to find and 
 bring him back. — ^XXXVIII. Mr. Winkle, having fled to Bristol, un- 
 expectedly finds himself in the presence of Mr. Bob Sawyer and Mr. Ben 
 Allen ; Mr. Allen explains to Mr. Winkle his intentions in regard to his 
 sister Arabella; Mr. Winkle, returning to his hotel, is greatly astonished 
 to find Mr. Dowler; mutual explanation and reconciliation. — XXXIX. Sam 
 Weller appears, and undertakes to find Miss Arabella Allen; his un- 
 expected meeting with the pretty housemaid, through whom he finds 
 and has an interview with Miss Allen; Mr. Pickwick arranges and 
 assists at a meeting between Mr. Winkle and Miss Arabella, and casts 
 new light on the studies of a scientific gentleman. — XL. Mr. Pickwick 
 is arrested ; Mr. Perker visits him, but is unable to induce him to pay 
 the damages adjudged, and Mr. Pickwick is carried to the Fleet. — 
 XLI. Sam relates the story of the Chancery prisoner ; Mr. Pickwick 
 makes the acquaintance of Messrs. Mivins and Smangle. — XLII. Mr. 
 Smangle's attempt to get possession of Mr. Pickwick's linen is frustrated 
 by Sam Weller ; Mr. Pickwick is " chummed " upon No. 27 in the third, 
 and takes possession of his quarters, but finding his presence dis- 
 agreeable to his chums, and learning that he can live elsewhere, he hires 
 a room in the coffee-house fiight ; he visits the poor side of the prison, 
 and encounters Mr. Alfred Jingle and Mr. Job Trotter ; Mr. Pickwick 
 dismisses Sam. — XLIII. Sam arranges with his father a little plan, by 
 which he gets himself arrested and sent to the Fleet as a prisoner, 
 in which character he astonishes Mr. Pickwick. — XLIV. Sam relates 
 to his master the story of the man " as killed hisself on principle ; " 
 he makes the acquaintance of his chum, the cobbler; Mr. Pickwick 
 is visited by Messrs. Tupman, Snodgrass, and Winkle; death of the 
 Chancery prisoner. — XLV. Sam Weller is visited by hia father, his 
 mother-in-law, and the shepherd ; he is overwhelmed with astonishment 
 at encountering Mr. Job Trotter; Mr. Trotter introduces Mr. Pickwick 
 and Sam to a " whistling-shop." — XL VI. Mrs. Bardell is visited by 
 some friends, with whom and her lodger she goes to The Spaniard Tea 
 Gardens; their tea-party is interrupted by Mr. Jackson, of Dodson 
 and Fogg's, by whom Mrs. Bardell is carried to the Fleet, in execu- 
 tion for costs in the case of Bardell v. Pickwick. — XLYII. Mr. Perker, 
 having received notice of this from Sam, visits Mr. Pickwick ; Mr. and 
 Mrs. Winkle appear, to confess their marriage ; Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. 
 Tupman also arrive ; and Mr. Pickwick finally yields to their united 
 appeals, and consents to release himself from prison. — XLYIII. Mr. Bob 
 Sawyer and Mr. Ben Allen, discussing the prospects, business and 
 matrimonial, of the former, are visited by an aunt of the latter, also by 
 Mr. Pickwick and Sam ; Mr. Pickwick's explanation reconciles all parties 
 to the marriage of Miss Allen with Mr. Winkle ; Mr. Pickwick again 
 meets the one-eyed bagman. — XLIX. He relates "The Story of his 
 Uncle." — L. Mr. Pickwick having arranged with Mr. Ben Allen to 
 accompany him to Birmingham, to explain matters to the elder Mr. 
 Winkle, is surprised at Mr. Sawyer's determination to go with them ; 
 humorous conduct of that gentleman on the journey; the three visit 
 
9i THE DICKENS DICTIONAET. 
 
 Mr. Winkle, senior; unfavourable result of the intervxe-vr. — LI. Th« 
 party returning to London, stop at The Saracen's Head, Towoester, where 
 they find Mr. Pott ; arrival of Mr. Slurk, and desperate encounter of the 
 rival editors. — LII. Sam receives news of the death of his mother-in- 
 law, and goes to Dorking to see his father ; Mr. Stiggins pays a visit of 
 sympathy to the vridower, by whom he is kicked out of doors, and 
 ducked in the horse-trough. — LIII. Mr. Pickwick calls to consult Mr. 
 Perker on Mr. "Winkle's affairs, and meets Mr. Jingle and Job Trotter, 
 who finally take their leave of him and of the reader ; Mr. Pickwick 
 gives Messrs. Dodson and Fogg his opinion of their character. — LIV. 
 The fat boy announces the arrival of his master ; Mr. Wardle astonishes 
 Mr. Pickwick with the story of the attachment of Mr. Snodgrass and 
 Miss Emily Wardle ; Mr. SnodgTass, visiting Miss Emily, is discovered 
 by the fat boy, who is bribed to keep the secret ; Mr. Wardle and hia 
 party returning earlier than expected, Mr. Snodgrass conceals himself in 
 an inner room, from which he is unable to escape; unaccountable 
 behaviour of Joe, which is explained by the appearance of Mr. Snodgrass, 
 and his story. — LY. Mr. Weller, advised by Sam, has his late wife's will 
 probated, and sells his share in the funds, through the aid of Wilkin s 
 Flasher, Esq. — LVI. Mr. Weller, senior, consigns his property into the 
 hands of Mr. Pickwick ; Mr. Pickwick advises Sam, with his father's 
 consent, to marry, but Sam stoutly refuses to leave his master ; Mr. 
 Winkle, senior, calls on his daughter-in-law, and becomes reconciled to 
 his son's marriage. — LYII. Mr. Pickwick announces the dissolution of 
 the club; marriage of Snodgrass and Emily Wcrdle, and subsequsat 
 history of the principal characters. 
 
THE 
 
 ADYEJfTUrtES OF OLIVER TWIST. 
 
 FffE greater part of this tale was originally published during the years 
 1837 and 1838, in " Bentley's Magazine," of which Mr. Dickens was at 
 that time the editor. It was begun in the second number (for February, 
 1837), and was illustrated by George Cruikshank. On its completion, "it 
 was issued in three volumes, by Mr. Bentley. 
 
 In " OKver Twist " Dickens assailed the abuses of the poor-law and 
 frorkhouse system. Of his more general object in writing the work, 
 he has himself given this account : — 
 
 " I have yet to learn that a lesson of the purest good may not be 
 drawn from the vilest evil. I have always believed this to be a recog- 
 nised and established truth, laid down by the greatest men the world has 
 ever seen, constantly acted upon by the greatest and wisest natures, and 
 confii-med by the reason and experience of every thinking mind. I saw 
 no reason, when I wrote this book, why the dregs of life, so long as their 
 speech did not offend the ear, should not serve the purpose of a moral, 
 at least as well as its froth and cream. Nor did I doubt that there lay 
 festering in Saint Giles's as good materials towards the truth as any to be 
 found in Saint James's. 
 
 " In this spirit, when I wished to show in little Oliver the principle 
 of good surviving through every adverse circumstance, and triumphing at 
 last ; and when I considered among what companions I could try him best, 
 having regard to that kind of men into whose hands he would most naturally 
 fall — I bethought myself of those who figure in these volumes. When I 
 came to discuss the subject more maturely vrith myself, I saw many 
 strong reasons for pursuing the course to which I was incKned. I had 
 read of thieves by scores — seductive fellows (amiable for the most part), 
 faultless in dress, plump in pocket, choice in horse-flesh, bold in bearing, 
 fortunate in gallantry, great at a song, a bottle, pack of cards, or dice- 
 box, and fit companions for the bravest ; but I had never met (except in 
 Hogarth) with the miserable reality. It appeared to me that to draw a 
 knot of such associates in crime as really do exist ; to paint them in all 
 their deformity, in all their wi-etchedness, in all the squalid poverty of 
 their lives ; to show them as they really are, for ever skulking imeasily 
 through the dirtiest paths of life, with the great, black, ghastly gallows 
 closing up their prospect, turn them where they may — it appeared to me 
 that to do this woiild be to attempt a something which was greatly 
 needed, and which would be a service to ioeiety. And therefore I did it 
 M J best could." 
 
THE DICKENS DICTIONARY, 
 
 CHARACTEES INTRODUCED. 
 
 ANNT. A pauper. (Ch. xxiv., li.) 
 
 ARTFUL DODGER, THE. See Dawkins, John, 
 
 BARNEY. A villainous young Jew, with a chronic catarrh, 
 employed at The Three Cripples Inn, Little Saffiion liilL 
 (Ch. XV., xxii., xlii, xlv.) 
 
 BATES, CHARLEY. A thief ; one of Fagin's "apprentices." 
 (Ch. ix., X., xii., xiii., xvi., xviii., xxv.) See Dawkins, John. 
 
 BAYTOK One of the poor of the parish. (Ch. v.) 
 
 BECKY. Barmaid at The Eed Lion Inn. (Ch. xxi.) 
 
 BED WIN, MRS. Mr. Brownlow's housekeeper. (Ch, xii., 
 xiv., xvii., xii., li.) 
 
 BET, or BETSY. A thief in Fagin's service, and a companion 
 of ISTancy. (Ch. ix., xiii, xvi., xviii.) See Sikes, Bill. 
 
 BILL. A grave-digger. (Ch. v.) 
 
 BLATHERS and DUFF. Bow Street officers. (Ch. xxxi.) 
 
 BOLTER, MORRIS. See Claypolb, :N'oah. 
 
 BRITTLES. A servant at Mrs. Maylie's. (Ch. xxviii, xxx., 
 
 xxxi., liii.) See Giles, Mr. 
 BROWNLOW, MR. A benevolent old gentleman, who takes 
 
 Oliver into his house and treats him kindly. (Ch. x.-xii., 
 
 xvi., xii., xlvi., xlix., li.-liii.) See Fang (Mr.), Fagin, 
 
 Monks. 
 BULUS-EYE. Bill Sikes's dog. (Ch. xiii., xv., xvi., xix., 
 
 xxxix., xlviii., 1.) See Sikes, Bill. 
 BUMBLE, MR. A beadle puffed up with the insolence of 
 
 office. He visits the branch workhouse where Oliver Twist 
 
 is "farmed," and is received with great attention by IMra. 
 
 Mann, the matron. 
 
 Mrs. Mann nshered tlie beadle into a small parlour with a brick 
 floor, placed a seat for tim, and officiously deposited his cocked hat 
 and cane on the table before him. Mr. Bumble wiped from his fore- 
 head the perspiration which his walk had engendered, glanced com- 
 placently at the cocked hat, and smiled. Yes, he smiled, Beadlea 
 are but men; and Mr. Bumble smiled. 
 
 " Now, don't you be offended at what I am a-going to say," nhsprvpd 
 Mrs. Mann, with captiyating sweetness. " You've had a long waJk, voq 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 97 
 
 know, or I wouldn't mention it. Now, will yon take a little drop of 
 sometliink, Mr. Bumble ? " 
 
 *' Not a drop, not a drop," said Mr. Bumble, waving his right hand in 
 a dignified but still placid manner. 
 
 " I think you will," said Mrs. Mann, who had notioad the tone of the 
 refusal, and the gesture that had accompanied it, "just a leetle drop, 
 with a little cold water, and a lump of sugar." 
 
 Mr. Bumble coughed. 
 
 " Now, just a leetle drop," said Mrs. Mann persuasively. 
 
 " What is it ? " inquired the beadle. 
 
 " Why, it's what I'm obliged to keep a little of in the house, to put in 
 the blessed infants* daffy when they ain't well, Mr. Bumble," replied 
 Mrs. Mann, as she opened a corner cupboard, and took down a bottle and 
 glass. " It's gin." 
 
 ** Do you give the children daffy, Mrs. Mann ? " inquired Bumble, 
 following Avith his eyes the interesting process of mixing. 
 
 "Ah, bless 'em! that I do, dear as it is," replied the nurse. "I 
 couldn't see 'em suffer before my eyes, you know, sir." 
 
 " No," said Mr. Bumble, approvingly ; " no, you could not. You are 
 a humane woman, Mrs. Mann." (Here she set down the glass.) " I 
 shall take an early opportunity of mentioning it to the Board, Mrs. 
 Mann." (He drew it towards him.) " You feel as a mother, Mrs. Mann." 
 (He s",irred the gin and water.) " I — I drink your health with cheerful, 
 ness, Mrs. Mann ; " and he swallowed half of it. 
 
 " And now about business," said the beadle, taking out a leathern 
 pocket-book. " The child that was half-baptised, Oliver Twist, is eight 
 years old to-day." 
 
 " Bless him ! " interposed Mrs. Mann, inflaming her left eye with the 
 corner of her apron. 
 
 "And notwithstanding an offered reward of ten pound, which was 
 afterwards increased to twenty pound ; notwithstanding the most super- 
 lative, and, I may say, sapernat'ral exertions on the part of this parish," 
 said Bumble, " we have never been able to discover who is his father, or 
 what was his mother's settlement, name, or condition." 
 
 Mrs. Mann raised her hands in astonishment, but added, after a 
 moment's reflection, " How comes he to have any name at all, then ? " 
 
 The beadle drew himself up with great pride, and said, " I ia. 
 wented it." 
 
 "You, Mr. Bumble?" 
 
 " I, Mrs. Mann. We name our foundlin's in alphabetical order. Th« 
 last was a S — Swubble : I named him. This was a T — Twist : I named 
 him. The next one as comes will be Unwin, and the next Yilkins. I 
 have got the names ready made to the end of the alphabet, and all the 
 way through it again, when we come to Z." 
 
 " Why, you're quite a literary character, sir," said Mrs. Mann. 
 
 " Well, well," said the beadle, evidently gratified with the compliment § 
 " perhaps I may be, perhaps I may be, Mrs. Mann." He finished the 
 gin and water, and added, "Oliver being now too old to remain here, thj 
 Board have determined to have him back into the house ; and I have 
 come out myself to take him there : so let me gee him at once." 
 
 -TMrs. Comey being matron of tlie workhouse, and the deatl? 
 of IVIr. Slont, the master of the establishment, being d.a.ily 
 expected, Mr. Bumble, who stands next in the order of succejv 
 
m THE DICKENS DICTIOKAEY. 
 
 sion, thinks it might "be a good opportunity for " a joining of 
 hearts and housekeepings." With this idea in his mind, he pays 
 the lady a visit, and, while she is out of the room for a few 
 moments, counts the spoons, weighs the sugar-tongs, closely 
 inspects the silver milk-pot, takes a mental inventory of the 
 furnitui-e, and makes himself acquainted with the contents of 
 a chest of drawers. Upon her return, after some hilling and 
 cooing, she says " the one little, httle, little word " he begs to 
 hear, and bashfully consents to become Mrs. Bumble as soon as 
 ever he pleases. But the course of ]\ir. Bumble's love does not 
 run smooth after marriage; 'for his wife turns out to be a 
 thorough shrew. When the first tiff occurs Mrs. Bumble bursts 
 into tears, but they do not serve to soften the heart of !Mr. 
 Bumble; for he smilingly bids her keep on. "It opens, the 
 lungs," he tells her, " washes the countenance, exercises the 
 eyes, and softens the temper : so cry away." WTien, however, 
 she changes her tactics, boldly flies at him, and gives him a 
 sound and well-merited drubbing, he yields incontinently, and 
 indulges in sad and solitary reflections. " I sold myself," he 
 says, " for six tea-spoons, a pair of sugar-tongs, and a milk-pot, 
 with a small quantity of second-hand furniter, and twenty 
 pound in money. I went very reasonable, cheap — dirt cheap." 
 This precious pair are afterwards guilty — first, of selling 
 certain articles which were left in the workhouse by the mother 
 of Oliver Twist, and which are necessary to his identification ; 
 and, secondly, of witnessing what they suppose to be the de- 
 struction of these articles. Brought before Mr. Brownlow, 
 they are confronted with proofs and witnesses of their rascality ; 
 but Bumble exeuses himself by saying, "It was all Mrs. 
 Bumble. She would do it." 
 
 "That is no excuse" replied Mr. Brownlow. "Ton were present 
 on the occasion of the destmction of these trinkets, and, indeed, are 
 the more guilty of the two in the eye of the law ; for the law supposes 
 that your wife acts under your direction." 
 
 " If the law supposes that," said Mr. Bumhle, squeezing his hat 
 emphatically in both hands, "the law is a ass, a idiot. If that's the 
 eye of the law, the law's a bachelor ; and the worst I wish the law is, 
 that his eye may be opened by experience — by experience." 
 
 ISTotwithstanding this disclaimer of any personal respon- 
 sibility in the matter, Mr. Bumble loses his situation, and 
 retires with his wife to private life. (Ch. i., iii.-v., vii., 
 xvii., xxiii., xxxvii., xxxviii., li.) See Dick (Little), Twist 
 (Oliver). 
 
 CHARLOTTE. Servant to Mrs. Sowerberry; afterwards goes to 
 London with 'Noah Cla^ole. (Ch. iv.-vi., xxvii, xlii., liii) 
 
oliveh twist. 89 
 
 CHITLING, TOM. An '' approntico " of Fagin's ; a "half- 
 wittod dnpo," who makes a rather unsuccessful thief. (Ch. 
 xviil, XXV., xxxix,, 1.) 
 
 CLAYPOLE, NO AIL A chucldo-headed charity-hoy, appren- 
 ticed to ]\Ir. So^v(3rherry the uiulcrtaker. He afterwards goes 
 to London, and hecomes a thiol (Ch, v., vi., xxvii., xlii.,, 
 xliii., xlv.-xlvii., liii.) 
 
 CORNEY, MRS. INIatron of a workhouse ; afterwards married 
 to jMt. Bumble. (Ch. xxiii., xxiv., xxvii., xxxvii., xxxviii.r 
 li.) See Bumble, TvIr. 
 
 CRACKIT, TOBY. A housebreaker. (Ch. xxiii., xxv., xxviii 
 xxxix., 1.) 
 
 DAWKINS, JOHN, called ^'The Artful Dodger." A young 
 pickpocket in the service of Fagin the Jew. When Oliver 
 Twist runs away from his master, and sets out for London, he 
 meets the Artful Dodger on the road, who gives him some- 
 thing to eat, and afterwards takes him to Fagin's den. 
 
 " Don't fret your eyelids," . . . said the young gentleman. "IVe 
 got to be in Loudon to-night, and I know a 'spectable old genelman as 
 lives there,, wot'U give yon lodgings for nothink, and never ask for the 
 change — that is, if any genelman he knows' interdaces you. And d'on't 
 he know me ? Oh no ! Not in the least ! By no means ! Certainly 
 not ! " 
 
 Although the Dodger is an adept in thieving and knavery, 
 he is detected at last in attempting to pick a gentleman's 
 pocket, and is sentenced to transportation for life. While in 
 court, he maintains his accustomed coolness, impudently chaffs 
 the police-officers, asking the jailer to communicate " the names 
 of them two files as was on the bench," and- generally '' does 
 full justice to his bringing-up, and establishes for himself a 
 glorious reputation. When brought into court, he requests to 
 know what he is "placed in that 'ere disgraceful sitivation 
 for." 
 
 " Hold your tongue ; will you ? " said the jailer. 
 " I'm an Englishman, ain't I ? "rejoined the Dodger. " Where are 
 my privileges p " 
 
 " You'll get your privileges soon enough," retorted the jailer, " and 
 pepper with 'em." 
 
 " We'll see wot the Secretary of State for the Home Affairs has go; 
 to say to the beaks, if I don't," replied Mr. Dawkins. " Now, then, wot 
 is this here business ? I shall thank the madg'strates to dispose of 
 this he^ little affair, and not to keep me while they read the paper ; 
 for I've got an appointment with a genelman in the City ; and as I'm 
 atnan of my word, and wery punctual in business matters, iie'll gi 
 away if I ain't thei^e to my time, and then, p'r'aus There vr.,>r!'; lie c.l 
 action for damage against those as kept m© away. Oh no i csris,''.;. 
 not!" 
 
100 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 The evidence against him is direct and conclusive ; but 
 the Dodger continues unabashed; and, when the magistrate 
 asks him if he has anything to say, he affects not to hear the 
 question. 
 
 " Do you hear his worship ask you if you've anything to say ? " 
 inquired the jailer, nudging the silent Dodger with his elbow. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said the Dodger, looking up with an air of 
 abstraction. " Did you redress yourself to me, my man ? " 
 
 * I never see such an out-and-out young wagabond, your worship,'* 
 observed the oflBcer, with a grin. " Do you mean to say anything, 
 you young shaver." 
 
 " No," replied the Dodger, " not here, for this ain't the shop for 
 justice ; besides which, my attorney is a-breakfasting this morning with 
 the wice-president of the House of Commons. But I shall have some- 
 thing to say elsewhere, and so will he, and so will a wery numerous and 
 'spectable circle of acquaintance, as '11 make them beaks wish they'd 
 never been bom, or that they'd got their footmen to hang 'em up to 
 their hat-pegs afore they let 'em come out this morning to try it on 
 upon me. I'll " 
 
 " There ! he's fully committed," interposed the clerk. " Take him 
 away." 
 
 *' Come on," said the jailer. 
 
 " Oh ah ! I'll come on," replied the Dodger, brushing his hat with 
 the palm of his hand. " Ah " (to the bench), " it's no use your looking 
 frightened ; I won't show you no mercy — not a ha'p'orth of it. You'll 
 pay for this, my fine fellers. I wouldn't be yoa for something ! I 
 wouldn't go free now, if you was to fall down on your knees and ask 
 me. Here, carry me off to prison ! Take me away ! " 
 
 With these last words the Dodger suffered himself to be led off by 
 the collar, threatening, till he got into the yard, to make a parlia- 
 mentary business of it, and then grinning in the officer's face with 
 great glee and self-approval. 
 
 (Ch. viiL-x., xii., xiii., xvi., xviii, xix., xxv., xxxix,, 
 xliii.) 
 
 DIOK, LITTLE. Companion of Oliver Twist at a branch 
 workhouse where infant paupers are tended with parochial 
 care. (Ch. vii., xvii.) 
 
 DODGER, THE ARTFUL. See Dawkins, John. 
 
 DUFF. A Bow Street officer. See Blathers and Duff. 
 
 FAGIN. A crafty old Jew, a receiver of stolen goods, with 
 a number of confederates of both sexes. He also employs 
 several boys (styled " apprentices ") to carry on a systematic 
 trade of pilfering. After a long career of villany, he is sen- 
 tenced to death for complicity in a murder. Having been 
 taken to prison, he is placed in one of the " condemned cells," 
 and left there alone. 
 
 H© sat down on a stone bench opposite the door, which served for 
 seat and bedstead, and, casting his bloodshot eyes upon the gi-oimd, 
 
OLIVSK TWIST. 101 
 
 tried to Oolleot his thonghts. After awhile, he tried to rememher a few 
 disjointed fragments of what the judge had said, though it had seemed 
 to him at the time that he could not hear a word. These gradually fell 
 into their proper places, and, by degrees, suggested more ; so that in a 
 little time he had the whole almost as it was delivered. To be hanged 
 by the neck till he was dead — that was the end — ^to be hanged by the 
 neck till he was dead. 
 
 As it came on very dark, he began to think of all the men he had 
 known who had died upon the scaffold, some of them through his means. 
 They rose up in such quick succession that he could hardly count them. 
 He had seen some of them die, and joked, too, because they died with 
 prayers upon their Kps. With what a rattling noise the drop went 
 down ! and how suddenly they changed from strong and vigorous men 
 to dangling heaps of clothes ! 
 
 Some of them might have inhabited that very cell, sat upon that 
 very spot. It was very dark ; why didn't they bring a light ? The cell 
 had been built for many years. Scores of men must have passed their 
 last hours there. It was Hke sitting in a vault sti^ewn with dead bodies 
 — ^the cap, the noose, the pinioned arms, the faces that he knew, even 
 beneath that hideous veil. — Light, light ! 
 
 At length, when his hands were raw with beating against the heavy 
 door and walls, two men appeared, one bearing a candle, which he 
 thrust into an iron candlestick fixed against the wall, and the other 
 dragging in a mattress on which to pass the night ; for the prisoner was 
 to be left alone no more. 
 
 Then came night — dark, dismal, silent night. Other wretches are 
 glad to hear the church-clocks strike, for they tell of life and coming 
 day J to the Jew they brought despair. The boom of every iron bell 
 came laden with the one deep, hollow sound — death. What availed the 
 noise and bustle of cheerful morning, which penetrated even there, to 
 him ? It was another form of knell, with mockery added to the 
 warning. 
 
 The day passed off. Day ! there was no day. It was gone as soon 
 as come ; and night came on again — night so long, and yet so short ; 
 long in its dreadful silence, and short in its fleeting hours. At one time 
 he raved and blasphemed; and at another howled, and tore his hair. 
 Venerable men of his own persuasion had come to pray beside him ; but 
 he had driven them away with curses. They renewed their charitable 
 efforts, and he beat them off. 
 
 Saturday night ! He had only one night more to live ; and as he 
 thought of this, the day broke — Sunday. 
 
 It was not until the night of this last awful day that a withering 
 sense of his helpless, desperate state came in its full intensity upon his 
 blighted soul ; not that he had ever held any defined or positive hope of 
 mercy, but that he had never been able to consider more than the dim 
 probability of dying so soon. He had spoken little to either of the 
 two men who relieved each other in their attendance npon him ; and 
 they, for their parts, made no effort to rouse his attention. He had sat 
 there awake, but dreaming. Now he started up every minute, and, with 
 gasping mouth and burning skin, hurried to and fro, in sucb a paroxysm 
 of fear and wrath, that even they — used to such sights — recoiled from 
 him with horror. He grew so terrible at last, in all the tortures of his 
 evil conscience, that one man could not bear to sit there eyeing him 
 alone ; and so the two kept watch together. 
 
 He cowered down upon his stone bed, and thought of the |^gL Ho 
 
10S THE DICKENS DICTIONARY, 
 
 had been woanded with gome missiles from the crowd on the day of hid 
 ijapture, and his head was bandaged with a linen cloth. Hig red. h.a*ir 
 himg down upon his bloodless face; his beard was torn, and tv/iated 
 into knots ; his eyes ghone with a terrible light ; his unwashed flesh 
 crackled with the fever that Journt him up. Eight — nine — ten ! If it 
 was not a trick tO»fi;ighten him, -and those were the real hours treading 
 on each other's heels, where would he be when they came round again ! 
 Eleven ! Another struck before the voice of the previous hour had 
 ceased to vibrate. At eight he would be the onlj mourner in his o-wn 
 
 funeral train ; ' at eleven 
 
 Those dreadful walls of Newgate, which have hidden so much misery 
 and such unspeakable anguish, not only from the eyes, but, too often 
 and too long, from the thoughts of men, never held so dread a 
 spectacle as that. The- few who lingered as they passed, and wondered 
 what the man was doing who was to be hung to-morrow, would have 
 slept but ill that night if they could have seen him. 
 
 Late at nigM, Mr. BrownloAV appears with. Oliver Tmst at 
 the wicket of the prison, and, presenting an order from one of 
 the sheriifs, is immediately admitted, and conducted to Tagin's 
 cell. 
 
 The condemned criminal was seated on his bed, rocking himself fi-om 
 side to side, with a countenance more like that of a snared beast than the 
 face of a man. His mind was evidently wandering to his old life ; for he 
 continued to mutter, without appearing conscious of their presence other- 
 wise than a:? a part of his vision. 
 
 " Good boy, Charlie — well done ! " he mumbled. " Oliver too, ha, ha. 
 
 ha ! Oliver too — quite the gentleman now, quite the Take that 
 
 boy away to bed ! " 
 
 The jailer took the disengaged hand of Oliver, and, whispering him 
 not to be alarmed, looked on without speaking. 
 
 " Take him away to bed! " cried the Jew. *' Do you hear me, some 
 of you ? He has been the — the — somehow the. cause of all this. It's 
 worth the money to bring him up to it. Bolter's throat, Bill — never 
 mind the girl — Bolter's throat, as deep as you can cut. Saw his head 
 off!" 
 
 " Fagin," said the jailer. 
 
 " That's me ! " cried the Jew, falling instantly into the attitude of 
 listening ho had assumed upon his trial. " An old man, my lord — a very 
 old, old man ! " 
 
 " Here," said the turnkey, laying his hand upon his breast to keep 
 him down — " here's somebody wants to see you, to ask you some ques- 
 tions, I suppose. Fagin, Fagin ! Are you a man ? " 
 
 " I shan't be one long," replied the Jew, looking up with a face 
 retaining no human expression but rage and terror. " Strike them all 
 dead ! What right have they to butcher me ? " 
 
 As he spoke, he caught sight of Oliver and Mr. Brownlow. Shrink- 
 ing to the farthest corner of the seat, he demanded to know what they 
 v/anted there. 
 
 " Steady," said the turnkey, etiU holding him down. " Now, sir, tell 
 him M'hat you want — quick, if you please ; for he grows worse as the 
 time gets on." 
 
 " You have some papers," said IMr. Brownlow, advancing, " which 
 were placed in your hands, for better security, by a man called Monks." 
 
OLIVER TWIST. lOi 
 
 "It'a all & lie together," replied the Jew, ''I haven't one— noi; 
 one." 
 
 " For the love of God," said Mr. Brownlow, solemnly, " do not say 
 that now, upon the very verge of death, but tell me where they are. 
 You know that Sikes is dead ; that Monks has confessed ; that there is 
 no hope of any further gain. Where are those papers ? " 
 
 " OKver," cried the Jew, beckoning to him. " Here, here ! Let me 
 whisper to you." 
 
 " I am not afraid," said Oliver, in a low voice, as he relinquished 
 Mr. Brownlow's liand. 
 
 " The papers," said the Jew, drawing Oliver toward him, "are in a 
 canvas bag, in a hole a little way up the chimney in the top front room. 
 I want to talk to you, my dear — I want to talk to you." 
 
 " Yes, yes," returned Ohver. " Let me say a prayer. Do! Let me 
 say one prayer. Say only one, upon your knees, with me, and we 
 will talk till morning." 
 
 " Outside, outside," replied the Jew, pushing the boy before him 
 toward the door, and looking vacantly over his head. " Say I've gone 
 to sleep : they'll believe you. You can get me out, if you take me 
 so. Now then, now then ! " 
 
 *' Oh God, forgive this wretched man ! " cried the boy, with a burst 
 of tears. 
 
 " That's right, that's right," said the Jew. " That'll help us on. 
 This door first. If I shake and tremble as we pass the gallows, don't 
 you mind, but hurry on. Now, now, now ! " 
 
 " Have you nothing else to ask him, sir ? " inquired the turnkey. 
 
 " No other question," replied Mr. Brownlow. " If I hoped we coald 
 r®call him to a sense of his position " 
 
 " Nothing will do that, sir," replied the man, shaking his head. 
 " You had better leave him." 
 
 The door of the cell opened, and the attendants returned. 
 
 " Press on, press on ! " cried the Jew. " Softly, but not so slow. 
 Faster, faster ! " 
 
 The men laid hands upon him, and, disengaging Oliver from his 
 grasp, held him back. He struggled with the power of despei^ation, for 
 an instant; and then sent xip cry upon cry that penetrated even those 
 massive walls, 'and rang in their ears until they readied the open yard. 
 
 It was some time before they left the prison. Oliver nearly swooned 
 after this frightful scene, and was so weak, that, for an hour or more, 
 he had not the strength to walk. 
 
 Day was dawning when they again emerged. A great mnltitude had 
 already assembled ; tlie vnndows were filled with people, smoking, and 
 playing cards, to beguile the time ; the crowd were pushing, quarrelling, 
 and joking. Everything told of life and animation, but one dark 
 cluster of objects in the very centre of all — the black stage, the cross- 
 beam, the rope, and all the hideous apparatus of death. 
 
 (Cli. viii., ix., xii.^ xiii., xv., xvi., xix., xx., xxv., 
 xiv., xxxix., xiii-xlv., xlvii., lii.) See Sikes, Bill. 
 
 xxxiv., 
 
 FANG, ME. A violent and overljearing police-magistrate. 
 
 Oliver Twist, enlarged with, stealing a liandkercliief from 
 Ish. Brownlow as lie stands quietly reading at a bookstall, is 
 
104 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 brouglit "before Mr. Eang for trial ; Mr. Brownlow appearing as 
 ■tvitness. 
 
 Mr. Fang was a lean, long-backed, stiff-necked, middle-sized man, 
 with no great quantity of hair, and what he had, growing on the back 
 and sides of his head. His face was stern, and much flushed. If he 
 were really not in the habit of drinking rather more than was ex- 
 actly good for him, he might have brought an action against his coun- 
 tenance for libel, and have recovered heavy damages. 
 
 The old gentleman bowed respectfully, and, advancing to the magis- 
 trate's desk, said, suiting the action to the word, " That is my name and 
 address, sir." He then withdrew a pace or two, and, with another 
 polite and gentlemanly inclination of the head, waited to be questioned. 
 
 Now, it so happened that Mr. Fang was at that moment perusing a 
 leading article in a newspaper of the morning, adverting to some 
 recent decision of his, and commendiug him, for the three hundred and 
 fiftieth time, to the special and particular notice of the Secretary of 
 State for the Home Department. He was out of temper, and he looked 
 up with an angry scowl. 
 
 " Who are you ? " said Mr. Fang. 
 
 The old gentleman pointed with some surprise to his card. 
 
 " Officer," said Mi'. Fang, tossing the card contemptuously away with 
 the newspaper, " who is this fellow ? " 
 
 " My name, sir," said the old gentleman, speaking UTce a gentleman, 
 " my name, sir, is Brownlow. Permit me to inquire the name of the 
 magistrate who ofEers a gratuitous and unprovoked insult to a respect- 
 able man, under the protection of the bench." Saying this, Mr. Brown- 
 low looked round the office as if in search of some person who could 
 afford him the required information. 
 
 " Officer," said Mr. Fang, throwing the paper on one side, " what's 
 this fellow charged with ? " 
 
 " He's not charged at all, your worship," replied the officer. " He 
 appears against the boy, your worship." 
 
 His worship knew this perfectly well ; but it was a good annoyance, 
 and a safe one. 
 
 " Appears against the boy, does he ? " eaid Fang, surveying Mr. 
 Brownlow contemptuously from head to foot. " Swear him." 
 
 " Before I am sworn, I must beg to say one word," said Mr. Brownlow ; 
 " and that is, that I never, without actual experience, could have 
 believed " 
 
 " Hold your tongue, sir ! " said Mr. Fang peremptorily. 
 
 ** I will not, sir ! " replied the old gentleman. 
 
 " Hold your tongue this instant, or I'll have you turned out of the 
 office ! " said ]^Ir. Fang. " You're an insolent, impertinent fellow. How 
 dare you bully a magistrate ? " 
 
 " What ? " exclaimed the old gentleman, reddening. 
 
 " Swear this person ! " said Fang to the clerk. " I'll not hear another 
 word. Swear him ! " 
 
 Mr. Brownlow's indignation was greatly roused ; but, reflecting that 
 he might injure the boy by giving vent to it, he suppressed his feelings, 
 and submitted to be sworn at once. 
 
 " Now," said Fang, " what's the charge against this boy ? What have 
 yotj got to say, sir ? " 
 
 " I was standing at a> bookstall — — " Mr. Browrlow began, 
 
 " Hold yom- tongue, sir ! " said Mr. Fang. " Policeman !— Where's 
 
OLIVEE TWIST. 105 
 
 tlie policeman P Here, Bwear this policeman. Now, policeman, what 
 is this?" 
 
 The policeman, with becoming humility, related how he had taken 
 the charge ; how he had searched Oliver, and found nothing on his 
 person ; and how that was all he knew about it. 
 
 " Are there any witnesses ? " inquired Mr. Fang. 
 
 " None, your worship," replied the policeman. 
 
 Mr. Fang sat silent for some minutes, and then, turning round to the 
 prosecutor, said in a towering passion : 
 
 "Do you mean to state what your complaint against this boy is, 
 man, or do you not ? You have been sworn. Now, if you stand there, 
 refusing to give evidence, I'U punish you for disrespect to the bench j I 
 will, by " 
 
 By what or by whom nobody knows ; for the clerk and jailer coughed 
 very loud just at the right moment, and the former dropped a heavy book 
 on the floor j thus preventing the word from being heard — accidentally, 
 of course. 
 
 With many interruptions and repeated insults, Mr. Brownlow contrived 
 to state his case ; observing, that, in the surprise of the moment, he had 
 run after the boy because he saw him running away j and expressing his 
 hope that, if the magistrate should believe him, although not actually the 
 thief, to be connected with thieves, he would deal as leniently with him 
 as justice would allow. 
 
 " He has been hurt already," said the old gentleman in conclusion. 
 " And I fear," he added, with great energy, looking towards the bar, " I 
 really fear that he is very iU." 
 
 " Oh yes ! I daresay," said Mr. Fang with a sneer. " Come, none of 
 your tricks here, you young vagabond; they won't do. What's your 
 name ? " 
 
 Oliver tried to reply; but his tongue failed him. He was deadly 
 pale ; and the whole place seemed turning round and round. 
 
 " What's your name, you hardened scoundrel ? " demanded Mr. Fang. 
 " Officer, what's his name ? " 
 
 This was addressed to a bluff old fellow in a striped waistcoat, who 
 was standing by the bar. He bent over Oliver, and repeated the inquiry ; 
 but finding him really incapable of understanding the question, and 
 knowing that his not replying would only infuriate the magistrate the 
 more, and add to the severity of his sentence, he hazarded a guess. 
 
 *' He says his name's Tom White, your worship," said this kind- 
 hearted thief -taker. . . . 
 
 " How do you propose to deal with the case, sir ? " inquired the clerk 
 in a low voice. 
 
 " Summarily," replied Mr. Fang. " He stands committed for three 
 months — hard labour, of course. Clear the office." 
 
 The keeper of the bookstall, however, who saw the affair, 
 and knows that Oliver is not guilty, just at this moment hastily 
 enters the room, demands to be heard, and testifies that it was 
 not Oliver, but his companion (the "Artful Dodger"), who 
 picked Mr. Brownlow's pocket ; and that Oliver, apparently 
 much terrified and astonished by the proceeding, ran off, was 
 pursued, knocked down, arrested, and taken away by a police- 
 officer. This evidence, though unwillingly received by the 
 
106 THE DICKENS DXCTIOKAEY, 
 
 magistrate, acquits the boy, wlio is compassionately taken hy 
 }sli. Brownlow to his ovrn house, where he is laid up with fever, 
 and is carefully nursed till he recovers. (Ch. xi.) 
 
 FLEMING, AGNES. Mother of Oliver Twist. (Ch, i, liiL) 
 
 FLEMING, ROSE. See Maylie, Eose. 
 
 GAMFIELD. A chimney-sweep. (Ch. iii.) 
 
 GILES, MR. Mrs. Maylie's butler and steward. Two burglars, 
 Sikes and Crackit, attempt to break into Mrs. Maylie's house, 
 one night, but, being alarmed, retreat in haste, and are followed 
 in a most valiant manner by Giles and his fellow-servants. 
 When a short distance from the house, however, they stop 
 very suddenly, under instructions from Giles. 
 
 ** My advice, or, leastways, I should say, my orders, is," said the 
 fattest man of the party, " that we 'mediately go home again." 
 
 " I am. agreeable to anything which is agreeable to ISIr. Giles,** 
 said a shorter man, who was b}'' no means of a slim figure, and who 
 was very pale in the face, and very polite, as frightened men frequently 
 are. 
 
 "I shouldn't wish to appear ill-mannered, gentlemen," said the 
 third, who had called the dogs back. " Mr. Giles ought to know." 
 
 *' Certainly," replied the shorter man ; "and, whatever Mr. Giles 
 says, it isn't onr place to contradict him. No, no, 1 know my siti- 
 wation — thank my stars, I know my sitiwation." To tell the truth, 
 the little man did seem to know his situation, and to know perfectly 
 well that it was by no means a desirable one, for his teeth chattered 
 in his head as he spoke. 
 
 "You are afraid, Brittles," said Mr. Giles. 
 
 " I ain't," said Brittles. 
 
 "You are," said Giles. 
 
 " You're a falsehood, Mr. Giles," said Brittles. 
 
 " You're a lie, Brittles," said Mr. Giles. 
 
 Now, these four retorts arose from Mr. Giles's taunt; and Mr. 
 Giles's taunt had arisen from his indignation a,t having the responsi- 
 bility of going home again imposed upon himself under cover of a 
 compliment. The thii'd man brought the dispute to a close most 
 philosophically. 
 
 " I'll tell you what it is, gentlemen," said he, "we're all afraid." 
 
 " Speak for yourself, sir," said Mr. Giles, who was the jjalest of 
 the party. 
 
 " So I do," replied the man. " It's natural and proper to be 
 afraid under such circumstances ; I am." 
 
 " So am I," said Brittles j " only there's no call to tell a man he is 
 BO bounceably." 
 
 These frank aduiissions softened Mr. Giles, who at once owned that he 
 was afraid; upon which they all three faced about and ran back again 
 ynth. the completest unanimity, till Mr. Giles (who had the shortest 
 ■^vind of the party, and was encumbered with a pitchfork) most hand- 
 Bomely insisted upon stopping to make an apology for his hastiness of 
 speech. 
 
 " But it's wonderful," said Mr. Giles, when he had explained, " what 
 
OLIVSa TWIgT. loy 
 
 tk man will do wlien hig blood is up. I should have committed murder, 
 I know I should, if we'd caught one of them rascals." 
 
 As the other two were impressed with a similar presentiment, and 
 their blood, like his, had all gone down again, some speculation ensued 
 upon the cause of this sudden change in their temperament. 
 
 *' I know what it was," said Mr. Giles ; " it was the gate ! " 
 
 " I shouldn't wonder if it was ! " ezclaimed Brittles, catching at the 
 idea. 
 
 " You may depend upon it," said Giles, " that that gate stopped 
 the flow of the excitement. I felt all mine suddenly going away as I 
 was climbing over it." 
 
 By a remarkable coincidence the other two had been visited with 
 the same unpleasant sensation at that precise moment. It was quite 
 obvious therefore that it was the gate, especially as there was no doubt 
 regarding the time at which the change had taken place, because all 
 three remembered that they had come in sight of the robbers at the 
 very instant of its occurrence. 
 
 (Ch. xxviii.-xxxi., xxxiv., xxxv., liii.) 
 
 GRIMWIG, MR. An irascible "but warmlicarted friend of 
 ]VIr. Ero-wnlow's. He is thus introduced : — 
 
 At this moment there walked into the room, supporting himself by 
 a thick stick, a stout old gentleman, rather lame in one leg, who was 
 dressed in a blue coat, striped waistcoat, nankeen breeches and gaiters, 
 and a broad-brimmed white hat with the sides turned up with green. 
 A very small-plaited shirt-frill stuck out from his waistcoat, and a very 
 long steel watch-chain, with nothing but a key at the end, dangled 
 loosely below it. The ends of his white neckerchief were twisted into 
 a ball about the size of an orange ; the variety of shapes into which 
 his countenance was twisted defy description. He had a manner of 
 screwing his head round on one side when he spoke, and looking out 
 of the corners of his eyes at the same time, which irresistibly reminded 
 the beholder of a parrot. In this attitude he fixed himself the moment 
 he made his appearance ; and, holding out a small piece of orange- 
 peel at arm's length, exclaimed in a growling, discontented voice : 
 
 " Look here ! do you see this ? Isn't it a most wonderful and 
 extraordinaiy thing that I can't call at a man's house, but I find a 
 piece of this cursed poor-surgeon's-friend on the staircase ? I've 
 been lamed with orange-peel once ; and I know orange-peel will be 
 my death at last ? It will, sir ; orange-peel will be my death, ov I'll 
 be content to eat my own head, sir ! " This was the handsome offer with 
 which Mr. Grimwig backed and confirmed nearly every assertion that he 
 made ; and it was the more singular in his case, because, even admitting, 
 for the sake of argument, the possibility of scientific improvements 
 being ever brought to that pass which will enable a gentleman to eat 
 his own head in the event of his being so disposed, Mr. Grimwig's 
 head was such a particularly large one, that the most sanguine man 
 alive could hardly entertain a hope of being able to get thi'ough it at a 
 Bitting, to put entirely out of the question a very thick co-atiiig of 
 powder. 
 
 (Ch. xiv., xvii., xli., li., liii.) 
 KAGS. A returned transport. (Ch. I) 
 
108 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 LEEFORD, EDWARD. See Monks. 
 
 LIMBKINS. Chairman of the Workhouse Board. (CK il, 
 iii.) See Twist, Olivek. 
 
 LIVELY, MR. A salesman in Field Lane, and a dealer in 
 stolen goods. (Ch. xxvi.) 
 
 LOSE ERNE, MR., called *'The Doctor." A friend of the 
 Maylie family ; a surgeon, fat rather from good-humour than 
 good living, and an eccentric bachelor, but kind and large- 
 hearted withal. (Ch. xxix.-xxxvi., xli., xlix., li._, liii.) 
 
 MANN, MRS. Matron of the branch workhouse where Oliver 
 Twist is " farmed." (Ch. i., xvii.) See Bumble, Mr. 
 
 MARTHA. A pauper. (Ch. xxiii., xxiv., li.) 
 
 MAYLIE, HARRY. Son of Mrs. Maylie; afterwards married 
 to Eose. (Ch. xxxiv., xxxvi., li., liii.) 
 
 MAYLIE, MRS. A lady who befriends Oliver Twist. (Ch. 
 xxix.-xxxi., xxxiii., xxxiv., xli., li., liii.) 
 
 MAYLIE, ROSE. Her adopted daughter; an orphan, whose 
 true name is Eose Fleming, and who turns out to be Oliver 
 Twist's aunt. (Ch. xxviii., xxix., xxx.-xxxiii., xxxv., xxxvi., 
 xl., xli., xlvL, li., liii.) See Sikes, Bill. 
 
 MONKS. A half-brother of Oliver Twist. His real name is 
 Edward Leeford. His father, while living apart from his 
 wife, from whom he has long been separated, sees and loves 
 Agnes Fleming, daughter of a retired naval officer. The result 
 of their intimacy is a child (Oliver), who is born while Mr. 
 Leeford is in Eome, where he is suddenly taken ill and dies. 
 His wife and her son join him as soon as they hear of his 
 illness, that they may look after his large property, which 
 they take possession of immediately upon his death, destroying 
 a will, which leaves the great bulk of it to Agnes Fleming and 
 her unborn child. Believing that this child will yet appear 
 to claim his rights, young Leeford, under the assumed name 
 of Monks, endeavours to find him out, and, after a long search, 
 discovers that he was born in a workhouse, but has left there. 
 He pursues the boy, and finds him at last in London, in the 
 den of Fagin the Jew, whom he makes his accomplice and 
 confidant, giving him a large reward for keeping the boy in- 
 snared. The proofs of Monks's villany are discovered by 
 Mr. Brownlow ; and he is compelled to give up one-half (three 
 thousand pounds) of the wreck of the property remaining in 
 
OLITER TWIST. 109 
 
 liis hands, after wLich. lie leaves tlie country, and ultimately 
 dies in prison. (Cli. xxvi, xxxiii., xxxiv., xxxvil-xxxix., 
 xlix., li., Hii.) 
 
 NANCY. A tHef in Fagin's service, and mistress to Sikes, to 
 whom, brutal as lie is, she is always faithful and devoted. 
 The author says of her in his Preface : 
 
 It is useless to discuss whetlier the condacfc and character of the 
 girl seems natural or unnatural, probable or improbable, right or 
 •wrong. It is true. Every man who has watched these melancholy 
 shades of life knows it to be so. From the first introduction of that 
 poor wretch, to her laying her bloody head upon the robber's breast, 
 there is not one word exaggerated or overwrought. It is emphatically 
 God's truth; for it is the truth He leaves in such depraved and 
 miserable breasts ; the hope yet lingering behind ; the last fair drop 
 of water at the bottom of the dried-up, weed-choked well. It in- 
 volves the best and worst shades of our common nature, much of its 
 ■ugliest hues, and something of its most beautiful ; it is a contradiction, 
 an anomaly, an apparent impossibility ; but it is a truth. I am glad 
 to have had it doubted ; for in that circumstance I find a sufficient 
 assurance (if I wanted any) that it needed to be told. 
 
 (Ch. ix., xiii., xv., xvi., xix., xx., xxvi., xxxix., si., sliv.- 
 xlvii.) See Sikes, Bill. 
 
 SALLYf OLD. An inmate of the workhouse, who robs Agnes 
 Fleming (Oliver's mother) when on her deathbed. (Ch. xxiv.) 
 
 SIKES, BILL. A brutal thief and housebreaker, with no 
 gleam of hght in aU. the blackness of his character. He first 
 appears on the scene during a squabble between Fagin and 
 the Artful Dodger, in which Fagin throws a pot of beer at 
 Charley Bates. The pot misses its mark j and the contents 
 are sprinkled over the face of Sikes, who just then opens the 
 door. 
 
 " Why ! what the blazes is in the wind now ? " growled a deep voice. 
 " Who pitched that 'ere at me ? It's well it's the beer, and not the pot, 
 as hit me, or I'd have settled somebody. . . Wot's it all about, Fagin ? 
 
 D me, if my neckankecher ain't lined with beer ! — Come in, you 
 
 sneaking warmint : wot are you stopping outside for, as if you was 
 ftshamed of your master ? Come in ! " 
 
 The man who growled out these words was a stoutly -built fellow of 
 jibout five-and-thirty,in ablack velveteen coat, very soiled drab breeches, 
 iace-up half-boots, and gray cotton stockings, which enclosed a very 
 bulky pair of legs, with large swelling calves — the kind of legs which in 
 such costume always look in an unfinished and incomplete state without 
 a set of fetters to garnish them. He had a brown hat on his head, and 
 a dirty belcher handkerchief round his neck, with the long frayed ends 
 of which he smeared the beer from his face as he spoke. He disclosed, 
 when he had done so, a broad heavy countenance with a beard of three 
 
110 THE DICKIENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 days' groTs^h, and two seowUng eyes, one of which displayed varioui 
 party.coloured symptoms of having been recently damaged by a 
 blow. 
 
 "Come in, d'ye hear?" growled this engaging-lookinf^ ruffian. A 
 white shasrgy dog, with his face scratched and torn in twenty ditferent 
 places, skulked into the room. 
 
 " Why didn't yon come in afore ?" said the man. "You're getting 
 too proud to own me afore company, are yon ? Lie down ! " 
 
 This command was accompanied with a kick which sent the animal 
 to the other end of the room. He appeared well used to it, however ; 
 for he coiled himself up in a corner very quietly, without uttering a 
 sound, and, winking his very ill-looking eyes about twenty times in a 
 minute, appeared to occupy himself in taking a survey of the apartment. 
 
 " What are jon up to ? Ill-treating the boys, you covetous, avari- 
 cious, in-sa-ti-a-ble old fence?" said the man, seating himself deliber- 
 ately. " I wonder they don't murder you : I would if I was them. If 
 I'd been your 'prentice, I'd have done it long ago ; and — no, I couldn't 
 have sold you arterwards, though ; for you're fit for nothing but keep, 
 ing as a curiosity of ugliness in a glass bottle j and I suppose they don't 
 blow them large enough." 
 
 " Hush, hush ! jyir. Sikes," said the Jew, trembling. " Don't speak 
 so loud." 
 
 "None of your mistering," replied the ruffian: "you always mean 
 mischief when you come that. You know my name : out with it. I 
 shan't disgi^ace it when the time comes." 
 
 " Well, well, then, Bill Sikes," said the Jew with abject humility. 
 "Yon seem out of humour, Bill." 
 
 " Perhaps I am," replied Sikes. " T should think you were rather 
 out of sorts too, unless you mean as little harm when you throw pewter 
 pots about, as you do when you blab and " 
 
 " Are you mad ? " said the Jew, catching the man by the sleeve, and 
 pointing towards the boys. 
 
 Mr. Sikes contented himself with tying an imaginary knot under his 
 left ear, and jerking his head over on the right shoulder; a piece of 
 dumb show which the Jew appeared to understand perfectly. He then 
 in cant terms, with which his whole conversation was plentifully be- 
 sprinkled, but which would be quite unintelligible if they were recorded 
 here, demanded a glass of liquor. 
 
 " And mind you don't poison it," said Mr. Sikes, laying his hat upon 
 the table. 
 
 This was said in jest ; but, if the speaker could have seen the evil 
 leer with which the Jew bit his pale lip as he turned round to tlie cup- 
 board, he might have thought the caution not wholly unnecessary, or 
 the wish, at all events, to improve upon the distiller's ingenuity, not 
 very far from the old gentleman's merry heart. 
 
 After swallowing two or three glasses of spirits, Mr. Sikes con- 
 descended to take some notice of the young gentlemen ; which gracious 
 act led to a conversation, in which the cause and manner of Oliver's 
 capture were circumstantially detailed, with such alterations, and im- 
 provements on the truth, as to the Dodger appeared most advisable 
 under the circumstances. 
 
 " I'm afraid," said the Jew, " that he may say something which will 
 get us into trouble." 
 
 " That's very likely," rstumed Sikes with a malicious grin. " You'r© 
 bloweJ unon. Fasrin." 
 
OUYMn TWIST, ni 
 
 "And I'm ftfrafcl, you see," added tbe Jew, speaking aa if he had no4 
 noticed the interruption, and regarding the other closely as he did so. 
 " I'm afraid that, if the game was up with us, it might be up with a 
 good many more ; and that it would come out rather worse for you than 
 it would for me, my dear." 
 
 The man started, and turned round upon the Jew; but the old 
 gentleman's ehouldei's were shrugged up to hia ears, and his eyes were 
 vacantly staring on the opposite wall. 
 
 There was a long pause. Every member of the respectable coterie 
 appeared plunged in his own reflections, not excepting the dog, who, by 
 a certain malicious licking of his lips, seemed to be meditating an attack 
 upon the legs of the first gentleman or lady he might encounter in the 
 street when he went out. 
 
 " Somebody must find out what's been done at the office," said Mr, 
 Sikes, in a much lower tone than he had taken since he came in. 
 
 The Jew nodded assent. 
 
 " If he hasn't peached, and is committed, there's no fear till he comes 
 out again," said Mr. Sikes ; " and then he must be taken care on. You 
 must get hold of him somehow." 
 
 Again the Jew nodded. 
 
 The prudence of this line of action, indeed, was obvious ; but, unfor- 
 tunately, there was one very strong objection to its being adopted : and 
 this was, that the Dodger and Charley Bates and Fagin and Mr. William 
 Sikes happened, one and all, to entertain a violent and deep-rooted 
 antipathy to going near a police-office on any ground or pretext what- 
 ever. 
 
 How long they might have sat and looked at each other, in a state of 
 uncertainty not the most pleasant of its kind, it is difficult to guess. It 
 is not necessary to make any guesses on the subject, however; for the 
 sudden entrance of the two young ladies whom Oliver had seen on a 
 former occasion caused the conversation to flow afresh. 
 
 "The very thing!" said the Jew. "Bet will go; won't you, my 
 dear ? " 
 
 " Wheres ? " inquired the young lady. 
 
 " Only just up to the office, my dear," said the Jew, coaxingly. 
 
 It is due to the young lady to say that she did not positively affirm 
 that she would not, but that she merely expressed an emphatic; and 
 earnest desire to be " blessed " if she would — a polite and delicate 
 evasion of the request, which shows the young lady to have been pos- 
 sessed of that natural good-breeding that cannot bear to inflict upon a 
 fellow. creature the pain of a direct and pointed refusal. 
 
 The Jew's countenance fell ; and he turned from this young lady, 
 who was gaily, not to say gorgeously attired, in a red gown, green boots, 
 and yellow curl-papers, to the other female. 
 
 " Nancy, my dear," said the Jew in a soothing manner, " what do 
 you say ? " 
 
 " That it won't do : so it's no use a-trying it on, Fagin," replied 
 Nancy. 
 
 " What do you mean by that ? " said Mr. Sikes, looking np in a 
 Burly manner. 
 
 " What I say. Bill," replied the lady collectedly. 
 
 " Why, you're just the very person for it," reasoned Mr. Sikes : 
 " nobody about here knows anything of you." 
 
 "And as I don't want 'em to, neither," replied Miss Nancy in the 
 same composed manner, " it's rayther more no than yes with me, Bill,'* 
 
112 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 " Shell go, Fagin," said Sikes. 
 
 " No, she won't, Fagin," said Nancy. 
 
 "Yes, she will, Fagin," said Sikes. 
 
 And Mr. Sikes was right. By dint of alternate threats, promisea, and 
 bribes, the lady in question was ultimately prevailed upon to undertake 
 the commission. She was not indeed withheld by the same consider, 
 ations as her agreeable friend ; for, having recently removed into the 
 neighbourhood of Field Lane from the remote but genteel suburb of 
 Eatcliffe, she was not under the same apprehension of being recognised 
 by any of her numerous acquaintance. 
 
 Accordingly, with a clean white apron tied over her gown, and her 
 (^url-papers tucked up under a straw bonnet — both articles of dress being 
 provided from the Jew's inexhaustible stock — Miss Nancy prepared to 
 issue forth on her errand. 
 
 " Stop a minute, my dear," said the Jew, producing a little covered 
 basket. " Carry that in one hand : it looks more respectable, my 
 dear." 
 
 " Give her a door-key to carry in her t'other one, Fagin," said Sikes : 
 " it looks real and genivine like." 
 
 " Yes, yes, my dear : so it does," said the Jew, hanging the large 
 street -door, key on the forefinger of the young lady's right hand. 
 " There; very good — very good indeed, my dear," said the Jew, rubbing 
 his hands. 
 
 "Oh, my brother! my poor, dear, sweet, innocent little brother!" 
 exclaimed Miss Nancy, bursting into tears, and wringing the little basket 
 and the street-door-key in an agony of distress. *' What has become of 
 him ? Where have they taken him to ? Oh ! do have pity, and tell me 
 what's been done with the dear boy, gentlemen : do, gentlemen j if you 
 please, gentlemen." 
 
 Having uttered these words in a most lamentable and heart-broken 
 tone, to the immeasurable delight of her hearers. Miss Nancy paused, 
 winked to the company, nodded smilingly round, and disappeared. 
 
 Slie finally discovers Oliver in the street, bent upon executing 
 a commission with, which. ]\ir. Brownlow has intrusted him. 
 
 He was walking along, thinking how happy and contented he ought 
 to feel, and how much he would give for only one look at poor little 
 Dick, who, starved and beaten, might be weeping bitterly at that very 
 moment, when he was startled by a young woman screaming out very 
 loifd, " Oh, my dear brother I " and he had hardly looked up to see what 
 the matter was, when he was stopped by having a pair of arms thrown 
 tight round his neck. 
 
 " Don't ! " cried Oliver, struggling. " Let go of me ! Who is it ? 
 What are you stopping me for ? " 
 
 The only reply to this was a great number of loud lamentations from 
 the young woman who had embraced him, and who had a little basket 
 and a street-door-key in her hand. 
 
 " Oh, my gracious I " said the young woman, " I've found him ! Oh 
 Oliver, Oliver ! Oh, you naughty boy, to make me suffer such distress 
 on your account ! Come home, dear, come. Oh, I've found him ! 
 Thank gracious goodness heavins, I've found him ! " With these in- 
 coherent exclamations the young woman burst into another fit of 
 "srying, and got so dreadfully hysterical, that a couple of women who 
 
OLITB^ TWISt. lit 
 
 oame up d.t the moment asked a butcher's boy, with a shiny head of 
 hair anointed with suet, who was also looking on, whether he didn't 
 think he had better run for the doctor. To which the butcher's boy : 
 who appeared of a lounging, not to say indolent disposition : replied that 
 he thought not. 
 
 " Oh no, no ! never mind," said the young woman, grasping Oliver's 
 hand ; " I'm better now. Come home directly, you cruel boy j come ! " 
 
 "What's the matter, ma'am ? " inquired one of the women. 
 
 " Oh, ma'am," replied the young woman, " he ran away near a month 
 ago from his parents, who are hard-working and respectable people, and 
 joined a set of thieves and bad characters, and almost broke his mother's 
 heart." 
 
 " Young wretch," said one woman. 
 
 " Go home, do, you little brute ! " said the other. 
 
 " I'm not," replied OKver, greatly alarmed. " I don't know her. I 
 haven't got any sister, or father and mother either. I'm an orphan j I 
 live at Pentonville." 
 
 " Oh, only hear him ! how he braves it out ! " cried the young 
 woman. 
 
 " Why, it's Nancy ! " exclaimed Oliver, who now saw her face for the 
 first time, and started back in irrepressible astonishment. 
 
 " You see he knows me," cried Nancy, appealing to the bystanders. 
 ** He can't help himself. Make him come home, there's good people, or 
 he'll kill his dear mother and father, and break my heart." 
 
 " What the devil's this ? " said a man, bursting out of a beershop, with 
 a white dog at his heels. " Young Oliver ! Come home to your poor 
 mother, you young dog ! come home directly." 
 
 " I don't belong to them ; I don't know them. Help, help ! " cried 
 Ohver, struggling in the man's powerful grasp. 
 
 " Help ! " repeated the man ; " yes, I'll help you, you young rascal ! 
 What books are these ? You've been a-stealing 'em ; have you ? Give 
 'em here ! " With these words the man tore the volumes from his grasp, 
 and struck him on the head. 
 
 " That's right!" cried a looker-on from a garret window. " That's 
 the only way of bringing him to his senses ! " 
 
 " To be sure ! " cried a sleepy -faced carpenter, casting an approving 
 look at the garret window. 
 
 " It'll do him good ! " said the two women. 
 
 " And he shall have it too ! " rejoined the man, administering another 
 blow, and seizing Oliver by the collar. " Come on, you young villain ! 
 Here, Bull's-eye, mind him, boy ! mind him ! " 
 
 Weak with recent illness, stupefied by the blows and the suddenness 
 of the attack, terrified by the fierce growling of the dog and the brutality 
 of the man, and overpowered by the conviction of the bystanders that 
 he was really the hardened little wretch he was described to be, what 
 could one poor child do ? Darkness had set in ; it was a low neighbour- 
 hood ; no help was near ; resistance was useless. In another moment 
 he was dragged into a labyrinth of dark, narrow courts, and forced along 
 them at a pace which rendered the few cries he dared to give utterance 
 to, wholly unintelligible. It was of little moment, indeed, whether they 
 were intelhgible or not, j for there was nobody to care for them had they 
 been ever so plain. 
 
 After taking the boy back to the JeVs den, Nancy, struck 
 with his pale face and great grief, tries to shield him from 
 
il4 fSfi DICSeKS iDtCl'iOJ^AM. 
 
 Tiolence. Oliver, deterinined to escape, "watches for an oppo?- 
 tunity, and, when the door is opened for a moment, he darts 
 through it, followed by the Jew and his two pupils. Sikes's 
 dog is also about to dash after him, when Nancy springs to tlie 
 door, and closes it, crying, " Keep back the dog. Bill, keep back 
 the dog 1 He'll tear the boy to pieces." 
 
 " Serve liim right ! " cried Sikes, struggling to disengage timself from 
 the girl's grasp. " Stand off from me, or I'll split your skull against the 
 wall ! " 
 
 " I don't care for that, Bill ; I don't care for that ! " screamed the 
 girl, struggling violently with the man. " The child shan't be torn down 
 by the dog, unless you kill me first." 
 
 " Shan't he ! " said Sikes, setting his teeth fiercely. " I'll soon do 
 that, if you don't keep off." 
 
 The housebreaker flang the girl from him to the farther end of the 
 room, just as the Jew and the two boys returned di-agging Oliver among 
 them. 
 
 " What's the matter here ? " said the Jew, looking round. 
 
 " The girl's gone mad, I think," replied Sikes, savagely. 
 
 " No, she hasn't ! " said Nancy, pale and breathless from the scuffle j 
 " no, she hasn't, Fagin ; don't think it." 
 
 " Then keep quiet, will you ? " said the Jew, with a threatening look. 
 
 " No : I won't do that, either," replied Nancy, speaking very loud. 
 " Come, what do you tliink of that ? " 
 
 Mr. Fagin was sufficiently well acquainted with the manners and 
 customs of that particular species of humanity to which Miss Nancy 
 belonged, to feel tolerably certain that it would be rather unsafe to 
 prolong any conversation with her at present. With the view of divert- 
 ing the attention of the company, he turned to Oliver. 
 
 "So you wanted to get away, my dear, did you ? " said the Jew, 
 taking up a jagged and knotted club which lay in a corner of the fii'e. 
 place; "eh?" 
 
 Oliver made no reply j but he watched the Jew's motions and 
 breathed quickly. 
 
 " Wanted to get assistance ; called for the police, did you ? " sneered 
 the Jew, catching the boy by the arm. " We'll cure you of that, my 
 dear ! " 
 
 The Jew inflicted a smart blow on Oliver's shoulders with the club, 
 and was raising it for a second, when the girl, rushing forward, wrested 
 it from his hand, and flung it into the fire, with a force that brought some 
 of the glowing coals whirling out into the room. 
 
 " I won't stand by and see it done, Fagin ! " cried the girl. " You've 
 got the boy ; and what more would you have ? Let him be, let him be, 
 ov I shall pat the mark on some of you that will bring me to the gallows 
 before my time ! " 
 
 The girl stamped her foot violently on the floor as she vented this 
 threat; and with her %)S compressed, and her hands clenched, looked 
 alternately at the Jew and the other robber, her face quite colourless 
 from the i^assion of rage into which she had gradually worked herself. 
 
 " Why, Nancy ! " said the Jew, in a soothing tone, after a pause, 
 during which he and Mr. Sikes had stared at one another in a discoa- 
 certed manner, "you — you're more clever than ever to-night. Ila, ha! 
 my dear, you are acting beautifully." 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 115 
 
 " Am 1 ? ''^ said the girl. " Take care I don't overdo it ; you will be 
 the worse for it, Fagin, if I do ; and so I tell you in good time to keep 
 clear of me." 
 
 There is something about a roused woman, especially if she add to 
 all her other strong passions the fierce impulses of recklessness aud 
 despair, which few men like to provoke. The Jew saw that it would be 
 hopeless to affect any further mistake regarding the reality of Misa 
 Nancy's rage ; and shrinking involuntarily back a few paces, cast a 
 glance, half -imploring and half-cowardly, at Sikes: as if to hint that he 
 was the fittest person to pursue the dialogue. 
 
 Mr. Sikes, thus mutely appealed to, and possibly feeling his personal 
 pride and influence interested in the immediate reduction of Miss Nancy 
 to reason, gave utterance to about a couple of score of curses and threats, 
 the rapid delivei'y of which reflected great credit on the fertility of his 
 invention. As they produced no visible effect on the object against 
 whom they were discharged, however, he resorted to more tangible 
 arguments. 
 
 " What do you mean by this ? " said Sikes, backing the inquiry with 
 a very common imprecation concerning the most beautiful of human 
 features, which, if it were heard above only once out of every fifty 
 thousand times it is uttered below, would render blindness as common 
 a disorder as measles — " what do you mean by it ? Burn my body ! 
 Do you know who you are, and what you are ? " 
 
 " Oh yes ! I know all about it," replied the girl, laughing hyste- 
 rically, and shaking her head from side to side with a poor assumption 
 of indifference. 
 
 " Well, then, keep quiet," rejoined Sikes with a growl like that he 
 was accustomed to use when addressing his dog, " or I'U quiet you for a 
 good long time to come." 
 
 The girl laughed again, even less composedly than before, and, 
 darting a hasty look at Sikes, turned her face aside, and bit her lip till 
 the blood came. 
 
 " You're a nice one," added Sikes, as he surveyed her with a con- 
 temptuous air, "to take up the humane and genteel side! A pretty 
 Bubject for the child, as you call him, to make a friend of ! " 
 
 " God Almighty help me, I am ! " cried the girl passionately 5 " and 
 I wish I had been struck dead in the street, or changed places with 
 them we passed so near to-night, before I had lent a hand in bringing 
 him here. He's a thief, a liar, a devil, all that's bad, from this night 
 forth : isn't that enough for the old wretch without blows ? " 
 
 " Come, come, Sikes," said the Jew, appealing to him in a remonstra- 
 tory tone, and motioning towards the boys, who were eagerly attentive 
 to all that passed : "we must have civil words, civil words. Bill ! " 
 
 " Civil words ! " cried the girl, whose passion was frightful to see, 
 " civil words, you villain I Yes, you deserve 'em from me I I thieved 
 for you when I was a child not half as old as this ! " pointing to Oliver. 
 " I have been in the same trade and the same service for twelve years 
 since ; don't you know it ? Speak out ! don't you know it ? " 
 
 " Well, well ! " replied the Jew with an attempt at pacification j. 
 "and, if you have, it's your living." 
 
 " Ah, it is ! " returned the girl, not speaking, but pouring out the* 
 words in one continuous and vehement scream. ♦' It is my living 5 and 
 the cold, wet, dirty streets are my home j and you're the wretch that' 
 drove me to them long ago, and that'll keep me there day and night,. 
 day and night, tilll die 1 " 
 
 12 
 
116 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 " I shall do you a miscliief ! " interposed the Jew, goaded by these 
 reproaches, " a mischief worse than that, if you say much more." 
 
 The girl said nothing more; but, tearing her hair and dress in a 
 transport of passion, made such a rush at the Jew as would probably 
 have left signal marks of her revenge upon him, had not her wrists been 
 seized by Sikes at the right moment; upon which she made a few 
 ineffectual struggles, and fainted. 
 
 Discovering a dark plot against Oliver, and hearing the name 
 of Miss Maylie connected with that of the boy, Nancy detemunes 
 to seek out the lady, and warn her. She does so, and, disclosing 
 what a life she leads, is entreated by Eose to quit it. 
 
 " Why do you wish to return to companions you paint in such terrible 
 colours ? " 
 
 " I wish to go back," said the girl, " I wish to go back, because — 
 how can I tell such things to an innocent lady like you? — ^because, 
 among the men I have told you of, there is one, the most desperate of 
 them all, that I can't leave ; no, not even to be saved from the life I am 
 leading now." 
 
 " Your having interfered in this dear boy's behalf before," said Rose • 
 " your coming here, at so great a risk, to tell me what you have heard ; 
 your manner, which convinces me of the truth of what you say ; your 
 evident contrition and sense of shame — all lead me to believe that you 
 might yet be reclaimed. Oh ! " said the earnest girl, folding her hands 
 as the tears coursed down her face, " do not turn a deaf ear to the 
 entreaties of one of your own sex ; the first — the first, I do believe — 
 who ever appealed to you in the voice of pity and compassion. Do hear 
 my words, and let me save you yet for better things." 
 
 "Lady !" cried the girl, sinking on her knees, "dear, sweet, angel 
 lady, you are the first that ever blessed me with such words as these ; 
 and, if I had heard them years ago, they might have turned me from a 
 hfe of sin and sorrow; but it is too late ; it is too late ! " 
 
 " It is never too late," said Rose, " for penitence and atonement." 
 
 "It is," cried the girl, writhing in the agony of her mind. "I 
 cannot leave him now : I could not be his death." 
 
 " Why should you be ? " asked Rose. 
 
 "Nothing could save him," cried the girl. " If I told others what 1 
 have told you, and led to their being taken, he would be sure to die. 
 He is the boldest, and has been so cruel ! " 
 
 " Is it possible," cried Rose, " that, for such a man as this, you can 
 resign every future hope and the certainty of immediate rescue ? It is 
 madness ! " 
 
 " I don't know what it is," answered the girl : "I only know that it 
 is so ; and not with me alone, but with hundreds of others as bad and as 
 wretched as myself. I must go back. Whether it is God's wrath for 
 the wrong I have done I do not know ; but I am drawn back to him 
 through every suffering and ill-usage, and should be, I beheve, if I knew 
 that I was to die by his hand at last." 
 
 Wishing to impart further information as she obtains it, 
 [Nancy makes an appointment to walk on London Bridge every 
 Sunday night from eleven till twelve o'clock, where Miss Maylio 
 agrees to meet her, accompanied only by Mi, Brownlow. Dia- 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 117 
 
 covering sometlimg strange in the girl's appearance, Fagin causes 
 her to be watched ; and the disclosures she makes are overheard 
 and conveyed to him by the spy he employs. Furious with 
 rage, the Jew imparts to Sikes the fact of Nancy's informing 
 against them. Flinging the old man from him, Sikes rushes 
 furiously from the room, and dashes into the silent streets. 
 
 Without one pause or moment's consideration, witliout once turning 
 his head to the right or left, or raising his eyes to the sky, or lowering 
 them to the ground, but looking straight before him with savage reso- 
 lution, his teeth so tightly compressed that the strained jaw seemed 
 starting through his skin, the robber held on his headlong course, nor 
 muttered a word, nor relaxed a muscle, until he reached his own door. 
 He opened it, softly, with a key, strode Kghtly up the stairs, and entering 
 his own room, double-locked the door, and, lifting a heavy table against 
 it, drew back the curtain of the bed. 
 
 The girl was lying half -dressed upon it. He had roused her from 
 her sleep j for she raised herself with a hurried and startled look. 
 
 " Get up ! " said the man. 
 
 " It is you, Bill ! " cried the girl, with an expression of pleasure at 
 his return. 
 
 " It is," was the reply. " Get up ! " 
 
 There was a candle burning ; but the man hastily drew it from the 
 candlestick, and hurled it under the grate. Seeing the faint light of 
 early day without, the girl rose to undraw the curtain. 
 
 " Let it be ! " said Sikes, thrusting his hand before her. " There's 
 light enough for what I've got to do ! " 
 
 " Bill," said the girl in the low voice of alarm, " why do you look 
 like that at me ? " 
 
 The robber sat regarding her for a few seconds with dilated nostrils 
 and heaving breast, and then, grasping her by the head and throat, 
 dragged her into the middle of the room, and, looking once towards the 
 door, placed his heavy hand wpon her mouth. 
 
 " Bill, Bill ! " gasped the girl, wrestling with the strength of mortal 
 fear, " I — I won't scream or cry — not once — hear me — speak to me — tell 
 me what I have done ! " 
 
 "You know, you she-devil," returned the robber, suppressing his 
 breath. " You were watched to-night ; and every word you said was 
 heard." 
 
 " Then spare my Hfe, for the love of heaven, as I spared yours," re- 
 joined the girl, clinging to him. " Bill, dear Bill, you cannot have the 
 heart to kill me. Oh ! think of all I have given up, only this one night, 
 for you. You shall have time to think, and save yourself this crime. I 
 will not loose my hold : you cannot throw me off. Bill, Bill ! for dear 
 God's sake, for your own, for mine, stop before you spill my blood ! I 
 have been true to you ; upon my guilty soul, I have." 
 
 The man struggled violently, to release his arms ; but those of the 
 girl were clasped round his, and, tear her as he would, he could not tear 
 them away. 
 
 " Bill," cried the girl, striving to lay her head upon his breast, " the 
 gentleman and that dear lady told me to-night of a home in some 
 foreign country, where I could end my days in solitude and peace. Let 
 me see them again, and beg them on my knees to show the same mercy 
 and goodness to you ; and let us both leave this dreadful place, and, far 
 
118 THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 apart, lead better lives, and forget how we have lived, except in prayers, 
 and never see each other more. It is never too late to repent. They 
 told me so : I feel it now. But we must have time — a little, little 
 time!" 
 
 The housebreaker freed one arm, and grasped his pistol. The cer- 
 tainty of immediate detection, if he fired, flashed across his mind even 
 in the midst of his fury ; and he beat it twice, with all the force he 
 could summon, upon the upturned face that almost touched his own. 
 
 She staggered and fell, nearly blinded with the blood that rained 
 down from a deep gash in her forehead, but, raising herself with diffi- 
 culty on her knees, drew from her bosom a white handkerchief — Rose 
 Maylie's own — and, holding it up in her folded hands as high towards 
 heaven as her feeble strength would let her, breathed one prayer for 
 mercy to her Maker. 
 
 It was a ghastly figure to look upon. The murderer, staggering 
 backward to the wall, and shutting out the sight with his hand, seized 
 a heavy club and struck her down. 
 
 The murder done, Sikes flees into the country ; hut, after 
 wandering for miles and miles in momentary fear of capture, he 
 finally resolves to return to London, tlunkrrig he can " lay hy " 
 for awhile, and then escape to France. He seeks refuge in an 
 old den in Jacob's Island — the filthiest, strangest, and most 
 extraordinary of the many localities that are hidden in the great 
 city — hut his old companions shrink from him ; and one cries 
 aloud for help to the officers and others below, who have tracked 
 the ruffian to his retreat. The crowd swarm about the building, 
 and endeavour, with thick and heavy strokes, to break down the 
 strong doors and window-shutters. Sikes escapes to the roof, 
 and attempts, hy means of a rope, to drop iQto a ditch at the 
 hack of the house. 
 
 Eoused into new strength and energy, and stimulated by the noise 
 within the house, which announced that an entrance had really been 
 effected, he set his foot against the stack of chimneys, fastened one end 
 of the rope tightly and firmly round it, and with the other made a strong 
 running-noose, by the aid of his hands and teeth, almost in a second. 
 He could let himself down by the cord to within a less distance of the 
 ground than his own height, and had his knife ready in his hand to cut 
 it then, and drop. 
 
 At the very instant that he brought the loop over his head, previous 
 to slipping it beneath his arm-pits, and when the old gentleman before 
 mentioned (who had clung so tight to the railings of the bridge as to 
 resist the force of the crowd, and retain his position) earnestly warned 
 those about him that the man was about to lower himself down — at that 
 very instant, the murderer, looking behind him on the roof, threw his 
 arms above his head, and uttered a yell of terror. 
 
 " The eyes again ! " he cried in an unearthly screech. Staggering 
 as if struck by lightning, he lost his balance, and tumbled over the 
 parapet. The noose was at his neck : it ran up with his weight tight as 
 a bow-string, and swift as the arrow it speeds. He tell for fivp-and- 
 thirty feet. There was a sudden jerk, a terrific convuls-or of the 'imha j 
 and there he hung, with the open knife clenched in his stiffening hand- 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 119 
 
 The old clilmney quivered with the shock ; but it stood it bravely. 
 The murderer swung lifeless against the wall. . . . 
 
 A dog, which had lain concealed till now, ran backwards and for- 
 wards on the parapet with a dismal howl, and, collecting himself for a 
 spring, jumped for the dead man's shoulders. Missing liis aim, he fell 
 into the ditch, turning completely over as he went, and, striking his 
 head against a stone, dashed out his brains. 
 
 Of this character, Dickens says in his preface : . 
 
 It has been objected to Sikes — with some inconsistency, as I venture 
 to think — that he is surely overdrawn; because in him tliei-e would 
 appear to be non§ of those redeeming ti-aits which are objected to as 
 unnatural in his mistress. Of the latter objection I will merely say 
 that I fear there are in the world some insensible and callous natures, 
 that do become, at last, utterly and incurably bad. Whether this 
 be so or not, of one thing I am certain, that there are such men as 
 Sikes, who, being closely followed through the same space of time, and 
 through the same current of circumstances, would not give, by the 
 action of a moment, the faintest indication of a better nature. 
 Whether every gentler human feeling is dead within such bosoms, or 
 the proper chord to strike has rusted, and is hard to find, I do not 
 know ; but that the fact is as I state it, I am sure. 
 
 (Ch. xiii., XV., xvi., xix.-xxii,, xxviii., xxxix., xliv., xlvii., 
 xlviii., I.) 
 
 SOWERBERRY, MR. A parochial undertaker, to whom 
 Oliver Twist is apprenticed. (Ch. iv., v., vii.) See Eumele, 
 Mr. 
 
 SOWERBERRY, 3TRS. His wife, "a short, thin, squeezed-up 
 woman, with a vixenish countenance " and disposition. (Ch. 
 iv.-vii.) See Bumble, Mr. 
 
 TWIST, OLIVER. A poor, nameless orphan hoy, born in the 
 workhouse of a small town, w^hither his young mother, 
 an outcast and a stranger, had come to lie down and die. He 
 is " brought up by hand," and " farmed out " at a branch 
 establishment, where twenty or thirty other juvenile offenders 
 against the poor-laws are starved, beaten, and abused by an 
 elderly woman named Mrs. Mann. On his ninth birthday, 
 Mr. Bumble, the beadle, visits the branch, and removes him 
 to the workhouse, to be taught a useful trade. 
 
 The room [in the workhouse] in which the boys were fed was a large 
 stone hall, with a copper at one end, out of which the master, dressed in 
 an apron for the purpose, and assisted by one or two women, ladled the 
 gruel at meal-times. Of this festive composition each boy had one 
 porringer, and no more — except on occasions of great public re- 
 joicing — and then he had two ounces and a quarter of bread 
 besides. The bowls never wanted washing. The boys polished 
 them with their spoons till they shone again; and, when they 
 had performed this operation (which never took very long, the 
 spoons being nearly as large as the bowls), they would sit staring at the 
 
120 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 copper with such eager eyes, as if they could have devoured the very 
 bricks of which it was composed ; employing themselves meanwhile in 
 sucking their fingers most assiduously, with the view of catching up any 
 stray splashes of gruel that might have been cast thereon. Boys have 
 generally excellent appetites. Oliver Twist and his companions suffered 
 the tortures of slow starvation for three months : at last they got so vora- 
 cious and wild with hunger, that one boy, who was tall for his age, and 
 hadn't been used to that sort of thing (for his father had kept a small 
 cook-shop), hinted darkly to his companions, that, unless he had another 
 basin of gruel per diem, he was afraid he should some night eat the boy 
 who slept next him, who happened to be a weakly youth of tender age. He 
 had a wild hungry eye, and they implicitly believed him. A council was 
 held. Lots were cast who should walk up to thei'%iaster after supper 
 that evening, and ask for more ; and it fell to'^ver Twist. 
 
 The evening arrived ; the boys took their places. The master, in his 
 cook's uniform, stationed himself at the copper ; his pauper assistants 
 ranged themselves behind him ; the gruel was served out, and a long 
 grace was said over the short commons. The gruel disappeared; 
 the boys whispered to each other, and winked at Oliver, while his 
 next neighbours nudged him. Child as he was, he was desperate with 
 hunger and reckless with misery. He rose from the table, and advancing, 
 basin and spoon in hand, to the master, said, somewhat alarmed at his 
 own temerity : 
 
 " Please, sir, I want some more." 
 
 The master was a fat, healthy man ; but he turned very pale. He 
 gazed in stupefied astonishment on the small rebel for some seconds ; 
 and then clung for support to the copper. The assistants were paralysed 
 with wonder, and the boys with fear. 
 
 " What ! " said the master at length, in a faint voice. 
 
 " Please, sir," replied Oliver, " I want some more." 
 
 The master aimed a blow at Oliver's head with the ladle, pinioned 
 him in his arms, and shrieked aloud for the beadle. 
 
 The Board were sitting in solemn conclave, when Mr. Bumble rushed 
 into the room in great excitement, and, addressing the gentleman in the 
 high chair, said : 
 
 " Mr. Limbkins, I beg your pardon, sir ! Oliver Twist has asked for 
 more ! " There was a general start. Horror was depicted on every 
 oonntenance. 
 
 " For more ! " said Mr. Limbkins. " Compose yourself. Bumble, and 
 answer me distinctly. Do I understand that he asked for more after 
 he had eaten the supper allotted by the dietary ? " 
 
 " He did, sir," replied Bumble. 
 
 " That boy will be hung," said the gentleman in the white waistcoat. 
 " I know that boy will be hung." 
 
 Nobody controverted the prophetic gentleman's opinion. An ani- 
 mated discussion took place. Oliver was ordered into instant confine- 
 ment ; and a bill was next morning posted on the outside of the gate 
 offering a reward of five pounds to anybody who would take Oliver Twist 
 off the hands of the parish. In other words, five poimds and Oliver Twist 
 were offered to any man or woman who wanted an apprentice to any 
 trade, business, or calling. 
 
 After serving a short apprenticeship to Mr. Sowerbeny, 
 parish undertaker, and being cruelly abused, he runs off, and 
 makes his way, under the guidance of Mr. John Dawkins (alias 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 121 
 
 the " Artful Dodger ") to London, wliere he is decoyed into the 
 den of I'agin, an old Jew, and a receiver of stolen goods, who 
 employs a number of young persons of both sexes to carry on a 
 systematic trade of theft. From this haunt of vice, where he is 
 cautiously and gradually instructed in the art of larceny, he is 
 temporarily rescued (see Fang), but is recaptured, and watched 
 more closely than before to prevent his escape. His assistance, 
 however, being very necessary to the execution of a contemplated 
 burglary, he is forced to accompany two confederates of the Jew 
 (Sikes and flash Toby Crackit) on their housebreaking expedition. 
 But the plan fails," as the family are alarmed ; and the robbers 
 flee, taking with them Oliver, who has been shot, and severely 
 wounded. Being closely pursued, they drop the boy into a 
 ditch, and dart off at full speed. On recovering his senses, 
 Ohver wanders about till he comes to the very house he had 
 entered. On being admitted, he is kindly cared for by the lady 
 of the house, Mrs. Maylie, and her niece Eose, who, on hearing 
 his story, save him from arrest, and educate him and love him. 
 The detection and punishment of the Jew and his accomplices, 
 and the identification of Oliver through the zealous efforts of his 
 new friends (among whom he finds an aunt in Eose Maylie), 
 bring the tale to a happy conclusion. (Ch. i-xii., xiv.-xvi., 
 xviii., xx.-xxii., xxviii.-xxxvi., xli., li-liii.) See Bumble (Mr.), 
 Faqin, Monks, Sikes (Bill). 
 
 PEINCIPAL INCIDENTS. 
 
 Chapter I. Oliver Twist is bom ; his motlier dies. — II. He is " fanned ' 
 with Mrs. Mann ; Mr. Bumble visits Mrs. Mann, explains how Oliver 
 received his name, and takes him to the workhouse ; Oliver is brought 
 before the " Board " and assigned to picking oakum ; appointed by lot 
 among the starved boys, he asks for " more," and is duly punished for 
 his temerity. — III. Mr. Gamfield's negotiations for OKver. — lY. Mr. 
 Sowerberry converses with Mr. Bumble on parish undertaking and 
 juries ; takes Oliver, who — ^V. Becomes acquainted with Noah Claypole j 
 on account of his "interesting expression of melancholy," Oliver is 
 promoted to be a " mute," and attends his first funeral. — VI. He knocks 
 down Noah Claypole ; the excitement caused by this exhibition of spirit. 
 — VII. His punishment ; he runs away. — VIII. Experiences divers hard- 
 ships and ill-treatment ; meets Jack Dawkins, the " Artful Dodger ; " 
 goes with him to London. — IX. Hears Fagin's soliloquy over a box of 
 stolen watches and jewellery. The " Artftd Dodger " and Charley Bates 
 report their success in pocket-picking at an execution. — ^X. Oliver goes 
 out to operate with them ; is arrested. — XI. His trial. — ^XII. His ill- 
 ness at Mr. Brownlow's ; Mr. Brownlow visits him, and is surprised by 
 his familiar look j rpceptioii of tjj© Dodger and Charley Bates by Fagin, 
 
122 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 after Oliver's arrest. — XIII. Bill Sikes, with his dog, enters Fagin's room j 
 their altercation ; Nancy goes to the police-office to learn where Oliver 
 IS. — XIV. Mr. Brownlow's kindness to Oliver ; his conversation with him ; 
 with Mr. Grim wig ; Oliver is sent with a parcel to a bookseller. — XV. lie is 
 caught by Nancy. — XVI. Impression produced on Fagin's thieves by 
 his return and good clothes ; Oliver's grief at having Mr. Brownlow's 
 money and the parcel of books taken from him ; he attempts to run 
 away ; Nancy protects him when retaken ; her rage against Sikcs and 
 Fagin. — XVII. Mr. Bumble visits the "porochial" nursery; Dick 
 astounds him by desiring that someone may write a note expressing his 
 love for OKver, and his wish to die ; Mr. Bumble sees Mr. Brownlow's 
 advertisement for Oliver, and calls on him ; tells a very unfavourable 
 story of Oliver's parentage and character. — XVIII. The "Dodger" 
 advises OKver to become a " prig," to make friends with Fagin, and to 
 steal, because, if he didn't, somebody else would; Oliver becomes 
 acquainted with Tom Chitling, just out of the House of Correction. — 
 
 XIX. Sikes and Fagin plan a burglary in which Oliver must assist. — 
 
 XX. Fagin tells Oliver he must go with Sikes, and gives him a book 
 of murders to read till sent for ; Nancy takes him to Sikes, who gives 
 him his instructions. — XXI. Their journey. — XXII. Preparations for the 
 burglary by Sikes and Toby Crackit; OHver's grief and terror at learn- 
 ing their plan, and that he must aid in executing it ; he enters the house 
 of Mrs. Maylie, is shot, and carried off by Sikes and Crackit. — XXIII. 
 Mrs. Comey makes a cup of tea, and has some reflections over it ; Mr. 
 Bumble calls, and discusses the obstinacy of paupers, and the great 
 " porochial " safeguard — to give them exactly what they don't want ; 
 takes a cup of tea with Mrs. Corney, and becomes tender. — XXIV. An 
 old pauper-woman on her death-bed gives hints of a revelation concern. 
 ing Oliver's mother. — XXV. A game of whist at Fagin's ; Toby Crackit 
 reports to Fagin the ill-success of the burglary. — XXVI. Fagin seeks 
 intelligence of Sikes among the traders in stolen goods ; at The Three 
 Cripples ; at Sikes's own room ; almost betrays his own guilt to Nancy ; 
 has a conference with Monks. — XXVII. Hints of great things that 
 might be said concerning beadles; Mr. Bumble, having weighed and 
 counted Mrs. Corney's silver plate while she was at Old Sally's death- 
 bed, on her return concludes his courtship ; on his way home inter- 
 rupts Noah Claypole eating oysters. — XXVIIl. Abandonment of Oliver 
 by Sikes and Crackit after the burglary; conversation between 
 Giles and Brittles while pursuing them ; Oliver recovers conscious- 
 ness, and wanders to the house he had entered the previous night ; 
 Giles's report to the other servants of the incidents of the bur- 
 glary; in the midst of his narrative Oliver knocks, and, after con. 
 siderable hesitation, is admitted. — XXIX. Rose Maylie ; the doctor comes 
 to dress Oliver's wound. — XXX. Mrs. Maylie and Rose look at Oliver 
 sleeping and Rose pleads for mercy toward him ; he tells his story ; the 
 doctor challenges Giles and Brittles to identify Oliver as the boy who 
 had broken into Mrs. Maylie's house. — XXXI. Blathers and Duff examine 
 the premises, and report their opinion of the burglary ; after taking 
 some spirits they become loquacious, and tell how Con key Chick weed 
 robbed himself ; they look at Oliver, and contemn Giles and Brittles for 
 their contradictory testimony. — XXXII. Oliver expresses his gratitude 
 to Rose ; the doctor takes him to see Mr. Brownlow, and at Chert sey 
 Bi'idge rushes into the house Oliver points out as the one from which 
 Sikes and Crackit had gone to commit the burglary ; Oliver's disap- 
 TDoiatment at finding that Mr. Brownlow had gone to the West Indies 3 
 
OLIVER TWIST. 123 
 
 tis duties and clfuf^hts in the conntry.honse to which Mrs. Maylie moved 
 in the spring. — XXXIII. Eose is taken sick ; Oliver goes to the market, 
 town with a letter for the doctor ; encounters Monks ; Eose comes out 
 of the crisis of her fever to live. — XXXIV. Oliver, overjoyed, walks out, 
 and meets Giles with Hariy Maylie ; Harry tells lais mother his love for 
 Eose ; Giles's gallantry on the night of the burglary rewarded ; Olive? 
 sleeps, and dreams that Fagin and Monks are watching him ; wakes, 
 and finds it real. — XXXV. The fruitless search for them ; Harry tells 
 Eose his love ; she explains -^y she must not become his wife. — 
 XXXVI. The doctor and Harry Maylie leave Mrs. Maylie's.— XXXVII. 
 Mr. Bumble as master of the workhouse ; discussion of prerogative 
 between him and Mrs. (Corney) Bumble; settled decisively in her 
 favour; Mr. Bumble, going into a public-house to regain his composure, 
 meets Monks, who makes numerous inquiries concerning Oliver's mother 
 and the woman who nursed her. — XXXVIII. Mr. and Mrs. Bumble go 
 to Monks'a hiding-place ; Mrs. Bumble, after demanding and receiving 
 twenty pounds, relates what Old Sally told her about Oliver's mother; 
 hands Monks a locket containing two locks of hair and a gold wedding- 
 ring, which he drops through a trap-door into the river, and then dismisses 
 Mr. and Mrs. Bumble. — XXXIX. Sikes recovers from a fever ; Fagin and 
 his boys bring refreshments ; Nancy goes with Fagin for some money 
 for Sikes ; she overhears a conversation between Fagin and Monks ; gives 
 an opiate to Sikes; goes to find Miss Maylie. — XL. She repeats what 
 she heard Monks tell Fagin about Oliver; Eose pleads with her to 
 abandon her wretched course of life. — XLI. Oliver accidentally dis- 
 covers Mr. Brownlow ; Eose goes to his house with Oliver ; Mr. Grim- 
 wig's excitement at hearing her account of Oliver ; joyful surprise of 
 Mr. Brownlow and Mrs. Bedwin at seeing Oliver ; discussion of the best 
 mode of clearing up the mystery of his parentage, and securing Monks. 
 — XLII. Noah Claypole and Charlotte, having robbed Mr. Sowerberry, 
 go to London ; they stop at The Three Cripples ; Fagin overhears their 
 conversation ; shows that he knows of their theft, and proposes that 
 they join his gang ; Noah enters heartily into his plan, and agrees to 
 undertake stealing money from children sent on errands. — XLIII. Fagin 
 explains how Noah cannot take care of himself without having special 
 regard to Fagin's interests ; the " Artful Dodger " is arrested ; Fagin 
 expatiates to his other boys on the unusual glory of attaining to the 
 dignity of transportation for life at the "Dodger's" tender age; Noah 
 (now Morris Bolter) goes to the police-oflBce to learn the " Dodger's " 
 fate ; his examination and committal. — XLIV. Nancy tries to keep her 
 appointment with Eose, on Sunday night, but is prevented by Sikes ; Fagin 
 observes her efforts, and resolves to learn her secret, and so strengthen 
 his influence over her. — XLV. He sends Noah to follow her the next 
 Sunday night. — ^XLVI. Noah dogs her steps to London Bridge, where 
 Mr. Brownlow and Eose Maylie meet her; she tells them why she 
 tailed to meet them before ; describes Monks ; is urged to forsake her 
 vile companions, but declares she cannot. — XL VII. Fagin tells Sikes of 
 her disclosures ; Sikes, in a frenzy of rage, goes to his room, tells Nancy 
 she was watched and overheard at London Bridge, and kills her. — 
 XL VIII. His flight ; at an inn a pedlar offers to take a blood-stain out 
 of his hat ; he hears the murder talked of at the mail-coach ; tries to 
 Bleep, but the murdered girl's eyes and figure haunt him ; helps at a 
 fire ; goes back to London. — XLIX. Mr. Brownlow causes Monks to be 
 seized ; tells him the story of his father, mother, and Oliver ; convinces 
 him that his villany, and the proofs of it, are well known ; makes him 
 
lU THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 premiss a complete statement of facts in regard to Oliver, and full recti- 
 tution cf money of which he had defrauded him. — L. Jacob's Island, 
 where Fagin's gang took refuge after his arrest ; Chitling's account 
 of Fagin's capture ; Sikes's dog, which he had vainly tried to drown, 
 reaches the island; Sikes himself comes, fearfully haggard; Charley 
 Bates so horrified as to attack him ; his hiding-place is discovered, and 
 a fierce crowd try to capture him ; his frantic effortg to escape ; acci- 
 dentally hangs himself; and his dog — springing at him — faUs, and 
 dashes out his brains. — LI. Oliver's sensations as he goes to his native 
 town ; he is shocked at the sight of Monks ; aided by Mr. Brownlow, 
 Monks relates to OHver's benefactors the circumstances of the death of 
 his and Oliver's father, and describes the will and letter he left ; the 
 destruction of the will by Monks' s mother ; his promise to hunt down 
 Oliver ; his bribing of Fagin to ensnare Oliver, and his own exposure ; 
 Mr. and Mrs. Bumble are summoned; Mrs. Bumble denies all know- 
 ledge of Monks and the locket, but two old pauper-women, who over- 
 heard Old Sally's confession, refresh her memory ; Mr. Bumble's opinion 
 of the law, which supposes that the wife acts under her husband's direc- 
 tion ; Bote's parentage made known ; Harry, having reduced his circum- 
 stances to match hers, and become a clergyman, wins her hand. — LII. 
 Fagin on trial ; his sentence ; his last days and nights ; Mr. Brownlow 
 and Oliver visit him ; he teUs Oliver where he put the papers given him 
 by MonkS' — I4III. I^ast look at the principal surviving cb»racterg. 
 
FULL REPORT 
 
 OF 
 
 THE FIRST (AND SECOND) MEETING 
 
 THE MUDFOG ASSOCIATION" 
 
 Fob the Adyancement off Eveeything. 
 
 These reporta appeared in " Bentley's Miscellany," in 1837 and 1838, 
 while Mr. Dickens was the editor of that periodical. Thej were 
 designed to satirise the proceedings of the British Association for the 
 Advancement of Science, which had then been recently established. 
 TDhe first meeting is "holden in the town of Mudfog;" some of the 
 sections sitting at The Original Pig, and others at The Pig and Tinder- 
 box : the second meeting is at Oldcastle ; and the varions sections 
 obtain accommodation at the two rival inns — The Black Boy and 
 Stomachache, and The Bootjack and Gonntenance. 
 
 CHAEAOTERS INTRODUCED. 
 
 BELL, MR. KNIGHT {M.RC.S.). A member of the asso- 
 ciation, who exhibits a wax preparation of the interior of a 
 man, who, in early life, had swallowed a door-key. At a 
 jpost mortem examination, it is found that an exact model of 
 the key is distinctly impressed on the coating of the stomach. 
 This coating a dissipated medical student steals, and hastens 
 with it to a locksmith of doubtful character, who makes a 
 new key from the novel pattern. "With this key the student 
 enters the house of the deceased gentleman, and commits a 
 "burglary to a large amount, for which crime he is tried and 
 
126 TME DICKERS DlCTIONAHY. 
 
 executed. The deceased gentleman liad always been much 
 accustomed to punch, and it is supposed that the original key- 
 must have been destroyed by the acid. After the unlucky 
 accident, he was troubled with nightmare, under the influence 
 of which he always imagined himself a wine-ceUar door. 
 
 BLANK, MR. A member who exhibits a model of a fashion- 
 able annual, composed of copperplates, gold leaf, and silk 
 boards, and worked entirely by milk and water. 
 
 BLUBB, MR. A member who lectures learnedly upon a 
 cranium which proves to be a carved cocoanut-sheU. See 
 Ketch, Professor John. 
 
 BLUNDERUM, MR. Contributor of a paper, "On the Last 
 Moments of the Learned Pig." 
 
 BROWN, MR. (of Edenburg). A member. 
 
 BUFFER, DOCTOR. Another member. 
 
 CARTER, MR. President of Section D (Mechanical Science), 
 at the first meeting of the association. 
 
 COPPERNOSE, MR. Author of a proposition of great mag- 
 nitude and interest, submitted, at the first meeting of the 
 association, to Section B (Display of Models and Mechanical 
 Science), illustrated by a vast number of models, and explained 
 in a treatise entitled " Practical Suggestions on the Necessity 
 of Providing some Harmless and Wholesome Relaxation for 
 the young Noblemen of England." 
 
 CRINKLES, MR. Inventor and exhibitor of a beautiful 
 
 pocket-picking machine. 
 DOZE, PROFESSOR. Vice-president of Section A (Zoology 
 
 and Botany), at the first meeting of the association. 
 DRA WLEY, MR. Vice-president of Section A, at the second 
 
 meeting. 
 DULL, MR. Vice-president of Supplementary Section E 
 
 (Umbugology and Ditchwateristics). 
 D UMMY, MR. Another vice-president of the same section. 
 FEE, DOCTOR W. R. A member of the association. 
 FLUMMERY, MR. Another member. 
 GRIME, PROFESSOR. Another member 
 
 GRUB, MR. President of Suppleinentary Section E (Umbug- 
 ology and Ditchwateristics). 
 
 GR UMMIDGE, DOCTOR. A physician, who gives an account 
 of his curing a case of monomania by the heroic method of 
 tteatmeni 
 
TfiE MUDFOG ASSOCIATION. 127 
 
 JOBBAy MR. Exiiibitor of a forcing-macliiiic on a novel plan, 
 for bringing joint -stock railway shares prematurely to a 
 premium. 
 
 JOLTERED, SIR WILLIAM. President of Section A 
 (Zoology and Botany), at the second meeting of the associa- 
 tion. 
 
 KETCH, PROFESSOR JOHN. A member, who is called 
 upon to exhibit the skull of the late Mr. Greenacre, which he 
 produces with the remark, " that he'd pound it as that 'ere 
 'spectable section [the section of TJmbugology and Ditch- 
 wateristics] had never seed a more gamerer cove nor he vos." 
 The "professor" finds, however, that he has made a slight 
 mistake, and has displayed a carved cocoanut instead of the 
 skull Avhich he intended to show. 
 
 KUTANKUMAGEN, DOCTOR (of Moscow). A physician, 
 who succeeds in curing an alarmingly healthy man by a per- 
 severing use of i^owerful medicine, low diet, and bleeding, 
 which method of treatment so far restores him as to enable 
 him to walk about with the slight assistance of a crutch and 
 a boy. 
 
 KWAKLEY, MR. A member who submits the result of some 
 ingenious statistical inquiries relative to the dilTerence between 
 the value of the qualification of several members of parhament, 
 as published to the world, and its real nature and amount. 
 
 LEAVER, MR. Vice-president of Section B (Display of 
 Models and Mechanical Science), at the Oldcastle meeting. 
 
 LEDBRAIN, MR. X. Vice-president of Section C (Statistics), 
 at the ^ludfog meeting. He reads a very ingenious paper, 
 showing that the total number of legs belonging to one great 
 town in Yorkshire is, in round numbers, forty thousand; 
 while the total number of chair and stool legs is only thirty 
 thousand. Allowing the very favourable average of three 
 legs to a seat, he deduces the conclusion that ten thousand 
 individuals (or one-half the whole population) are either desti- 
 tute of any seats at all, or pass the whole of theii' leisure time 
 in sitting upon boxes. 
 
 LONG EARS, THE HONOURABLE AND REVEREND 
 MR. A member of the association. 
 
 MALLET, MR. President of Section B (Display of Models 
 and Mechanical Science), at the second meeting. 
 
 MISTY, MR. X A member. 
 
 MISTY, MR. X. X. Author of a communication on the dis- 
 appearance of dancing-bears from the streets of London, with 
 
128 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY* 
 
 observations on the exMbition of monkeys as connected with 
 barrel-organs. 
 
 MORTAIRy MR. Vice-president of Section C (Anatomy and 
 Medicine), at the Oldcastle meeting. 
 
 MUDDLEBRAINS, MR. Vice-president of Section A (Zoology 
 and Botany), at the Oldcastle meeting. 
 
 MUFF, PROFESSOR. A member of the association, remark- 
 able for the urbanity of his manners and the ease with which 
 he adapts himself to the forms and ceremonies of ordinary 
 life. At the first meeting, at Mudfog, he tries some private 
 experiments, in conjunction with Professor !N'ogo, with prussic 
 acid, upon a dog. The animal proves to have been stolen 
 from an unmarried lady in the town, who is rendered nearly 
 distracted by the loss of her pet (named Augustus, in affec- 
 tionate remembrance of a former lover), and avenges his death 
 by a violent attack on the two scientific gentlemen, in which 
 the expressive features of Professor Muff are much scratched 
 and lacerated, while Professor JS'ogo, besides sustaining several 
 severe bites, loses some handfuls of hair. Professor Muff 
 subsequently relates to the association an extraordinary and 
 convincing proof of the wonderful efficacy of the system of 
 infinitesimal doses. He had diffused three drops of rum 
 through a bucketful of water, and given the whole to a patient 
 who was a hard drinker. Before the man had drunk a quart, 
 he was in a state of beastly intoxication ; and five other men 
 were made dead drunk with the remainder. 
 
 MULL, PROFESSOR, A member of the association, who 
 criticises some of the ideas advanced by Mr. X. X. Misty in 
 his paper on dancing-bears and barrel-organ monkeys. 
 
 NEESHAWTS, DOCTOR. A medical member. 
 
 NOAKES, MR. Vice-president of Section D (Statistics), at 
 the meeting held at Oldcastle. 
 
 NOGO, PROFESSOR. Exhibitor of a model of a wonderful 
 safety fije-escape. See Muff, Professor. 
 
 PESSELL, MR. Vice-president of Section C (Anatomy and 
 Medicine), at the meeting at Oldcastle. 
 
 PIPKIN, MR. {M.R.C.S.). Author of a paper which seeks to 
 prove the complete belief of Sir William Courtenay (otherwise 
 Thom), recently shot at Canterbury, in homoeopathy; and 
 which argues that he might have been restored to life if an 
 infinitesimal dose of lead and gunpowder had been administered 
 to him immediately after he fell. 
 
 PROSEE, MR. A member. 
 
THE MUDFOG ASSOCIATION". 129 
 
 PUMPKINSKULL, PROFESSOR. An influential member 
 of the council of the association. 
 
 P URBLINDy MR. A member of the association. 
 
 QUEERSPECK, PROFESSOR, Exhibitor of a model of a 
 portable railway, neatly mounted in a green case, for the 
 waistcoat pocket. By attaching this instrument to his boots, 
 any bank or public-office clerk could transport himself from 
 his place of residence to his place of business at the easy rate 
 of sixty-five miles an hour. The professor explains that City 
 gentlemen would run in trains, being handcuffed together to 
 prevent confusion or unpleasantness. 
 
 RUMMUN, PROFESSOR. A member. 
 
 SCROO, MR. Vice-president of Section B (Display of Models 
 and Mechanical Science), at the second meeting of the asso- 
 ciation. 
 
 SL UG, MR. A celebrated statistician. " His complexion is a 
 dark purple, and he has a habit of sighing constantly." He 
 presents to Section C the result of some investigations he has 
 made regarding the state of infant education and nursery 
 literature among the middle classes of London. He also states 
 some curious calculations respecting the dogs'-meat barrows of 
 London, which have led him to the conclusion that, if all the 
 skewers delivered daily with the meat could be collected and 
 warehoused, they would, in ten years' time, afford a mass of 
 timber more than sufficient for the construction of a first-rate 
 vessel of war, to be called "The Eoyal Skewer," and to 
 become, under that name, the terror of aU the enemies of 
 Great Britain. 
 
 SMITH, MR. (of London). A member of the association. 
 
 SNIVEY, SIR HOOKIIAM. A member who combats the 
 opinion of Mr. Blubb. 
 
 SNORE, PROFESSOR. President of Section A (Zoology and 
 Botany), at the meeting at Mudfog. 
 
 BNUFFLETOFFLE, MR. 0. J. A member present at the 
 second meeting of the association. 
 
 BOEMUP, DOCTOR. President of Section C (Anatomy and 
 Medicine), at the second meeting. 
 
 SOWSTER. Beadle of Oldcastle; a fat man with an immense 
 double-chin and a very red nose, which he attributes to a 
 habit of early rising. 
 
 STYLES, MR. Yice-president of Section D (Statistics), at the 
 second meeting of the association. 
 
ISO THE DICKEXS DICTIOXAEY. 
 
 TICKLE f MR. Exliibitor of a newly-inveuted kind of spec- 
 tacles, which enable the wearer to discern in very bright 
 coloui's objects at a great distance (as the horrors of the West 
 India plantations), and render him wholly blind to those 
 immediately before him (as the abuses connected with the 
 Manchester cotton-mills). 
 
 TIMBERED, MR. Vice-president of Section C (Statistics) at 
 the meeting held at Mudfog. 
 
 TOORELL, DOCTOR. President of Section B (Anatomy and 
 Medicine), at the same meeting. 
 
 TRUCK, MR. One of the vice-presidents of Section D 
 (Mechanical Science), at the same meeting. 
 
 WAGHORN, MR. Another of the vice-presidents of the same 
 section, at the same meeting. 
 
 WHEEZY, PROFESSOR. One of the vice-presidents of 
 Section A (Zoology and Eotany), at the same meeting. 
 
 WIGSBY, MR. Exhibitor of a cauliilower somewhat larger 
 than a chaise umbrella, raised by the simple a[>plication of 
 higldy-carbonated soda-water as mainire. He explains tliat, 
 by scooping out the head (which would afford a new and 
 delicious species of nourishment for the poor), a paracliute 
 could at once be obtained ; the stalls;, of coui'se, beiiig kept 
 downwards. 
 
 WOODENSCONCE, MR. President of Section C (Statistics), 
 at the meeting held at Mudfog. 
 
THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES 
 
 OF 
 
 mCHOLAS NICKLEBY. 
 
 This story was began within a few mouths after the completion of ths 
 " Pickwick Papers " (September, 1837) ; *' Oliver Twist," which followed 
 that work, having been coinm.ence\I in Febrnary, 1837, and carried on 
 simultaneously with it for several months. " Nicholas Nickleby " was 
 issued in monthly shilling numbers, and was illustrated by " Phiz " 
 (Hablot K. Browne). On its completion, in 1839, it was brought out in 
 volume form, with a prefixed portrait of Dickens, engraved by Finden 
 from a painting by Maclise. It was dedicated to W. C. Macready. 
 
 The main object of the work was to expose " the monstrous neglect 
 cf education in England, and the disregard of it by the State, as a means 
 of forming good or bad citizens, and miserable or happy men," by show- 
 ing up, as a notable example, the cheap Yorkshire schools which wei-e in 
 existence at that time. The author's purpose was answered. In the 
 Preface to a later edition of " Nicholas Nickleby," he was able to speak 
 of the race of Yorkshire schoolmasters "in the past tense," and to say, 
 ^' Though it has not yet disappeared, it is dwindling daily." 
 
 CHARACTERS INTRODUCED. 
 
 ADAMS, CAPTAIN. One of tlie seconds in tlie duel between 
 Sir Mulberry Hawk and Lord Frederick Verisopbt. (Cb. 1.) 
 
 AFRICAN KNIFE-SWALLO^VER, THE. A member of 
 Mr. Crummles's theatrical company. (Cb. xlviii.) 
 
 ALICE. See York, The Pivk Sisters of. 
 
 ALPIIONSE. Mrs. Wititterly'sj page j so diminutive, "that 
 
 s 2 
 
132 THE DIOKBNS DICTIONARY. 
 
 his body would not hold, in ordinary array, the nnmher of 
 small buttons which are indispensable to a page's costume; 
 and they were consequently obliged to be stuck on four 
 abreast." (Ch. xxi., xxviii., xxxii.) 
 
 BELLING, MASTER. One of Mr. Squeers's pupils a 
 Dotheboys Hall. (Ch. iv.) 
 
 BELVAWNEY, MISS. A lady in Mr. Vincent Crummies' 
 theatrical company. (Ch. xxiii.-xxv., xxix.) 
 
 BLOGKSONy MRS. A charwoman employed by Miss Knag, 
 (Ch. xviii.) 
 
 BOBSTERf MR. A ferocious old fellow into whose house 
 JSTicholas Nickleby is introduced one evening by ^N'ewman 
 Noggs : whom he has commissioned to find out where Madeline 
 Bray lives, and who makes the ludicrous mistake of discover- 
 ing the wrong person. (Ch. xl.) 
 
 BOBSTER, MISS CECILIA. His daughter; mistaken by 
 Newman Noggs for Miss Madeline Bray, and persuaded by 
 him to see Mcholas, and to hear him speak for himself. 
 (Ch. xl.) 
 
 BOLDER. A pupil at Mr. Squeers's school. (Ch. viii.) 
 
 BONNET, MR. A friend of Ealph Mckleby's, and the prime 
 organiser of the " United Metropolitan Improved Hot Muffin 
 and Crumpet Baking and Punctual Delivery Company." 
 (Ch. ii.) 
 
 B OR UM, MR. A gentleman at whose house Mcholas Nickleby 
 and Miss Snevellicci call (accompanied by Miss Ninetta 
 Crummies, the " Infant Phenomenon ") to induce him to put 
 his name to Miss Snevellicci's "bespeak." (Ch. xxiv.) 
 
 BORUM, MRS. His wife; mother of six interesting children. 
 (Ch. xxiv.) 
 
 BORUM, AUGUSTUS. Their son; a young gentleman who 
 pinches the " Phenomenon " behind to ascertain whether she 
 is real. (Ch. xxiv.) 
 
 BORUM, CHARLOTTE. One of their daughters, who filches 
 the " Phenomenon's " parasol, and carries it off. (Ch. xxiv.) 
 
 BORUM, EMMA. Another daughter. (Ch. xxiv.) 
 
 .^RAVASSA, MISS. One of the members of Mr. Crummles's 
 theatrical company. (Ch. xxiii.-xxv., xxix.) 
 
 BRA Y, MADELINE. Daughter of a gentleman who married 
 a very particular friend of the Cheeryble Brothers. Her 
 mother dies while she is a mere child ; and her selfish and 
 
NICHOLAS NIOKLEBY. 133 
 
 profligate father, at a somewhat later date, is reduced, between 
 sickness and poverty, to the verge of death. Although she 
 braves privation, degradation, and affliction, for the sake of 
 supporting him, he is on the point of forcing her to marry a 
 rich old miser named Gride, when death suddenly carries off 
 the unnatural parent, and Madeline is removed to Mrs. 
 Mckleby's house. She afterwards marries J^Ticholas. (Ch. 
 xvi., xl., xlvi., xlvii., li., lii., liv.-lvi., Ixiii., Ixv.) 
 
 BRAY, ME. WALTER. Father to Madeline, a broken-down, 
 irritable, and selfish debauchee. (Ch. xlvi, xlvii., lii.-liv.) 
 
 BROOKER. A felon and an outcast ; a former clerk to Ealph 
 Mckleby. Being ill-treated by his master, and hating him, 
 he takes advantage of favouring circumstances to make him 
 think his only son has died and been buried, during his tem- 
 porary absence from home ; though, in reality, the boy has 
 been left at a Yorkshire school, with the design of one day 
 making the secret a means of getting money from the father. 
 Eut the plan fails ; and Mr. Nickleby, in the hot pursuit of 
 bad ends, persecutes and hunts down his own child to death. 
 (Ch. xliv., Ix., Ixv.) See Smike, Squeers. 
 
 BROW DIE, JOHN. A stout, kind-hearted Yorkshireman. 
 He is betrothed to Miss Matilda Price, whom he afterwards 
 marries. At his first meeting with Nicholas Kickleby, he 
 becomes furiously jealous of him. Finding, however, that 
 Nicholas has no intention of making trouble between him and 
 his intended, he conceives a more favourable opinion of the 
 young gentleman, and they become good friends. (Ch. ix., 
 xiii., xxxix., xlii., xliii., xlv., Ixiv.) 
 
 BULPHf MR. A pHot, who keeps a lodging-house at which 
 Mr. Crummies lives. (Ch. xxiii.) 
 
 CHEERTBLE BROTHERS, THE {CHARLES AND 
 EDWIN). Twin brothers, partners in business, and the 
 benefactors and employers of Nicholas Nickleby. Mr. Dickens 
 says of them in his Preface, that they are " drawn from life ; " 
 and 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 of tenest 
 by stealth) some munificent and generous deed in that town 
 of which they are the pride and honour." Mr. Dickens, 
 however, never saw these gentlemen, or interchanged any 
 communication with them during his life. Having been 
 encouraged to tell his story to one of the brothers, whom he 
 has accidentally met in the street, Nicholas is hurried intfl 
 an omnibus, and taken straight to the warehouse, where lie % 
 
134 THE DICKENS DIOTIONAEY. 
 
 introduced to the otlier "brother, and, after some inquiries and 
 
 jirivate conference, is taken into their employment. (Ch. 
 
 XXXV., xxxvii, xl., xliii, xlvi., xlix., Iv., lix., Ix., Ixi., Ixiii., 
 
 Ixv.) 
 QHEERYBLE, FRANK, I^epliew of the CheeryWe Brothers. 
 
 He finally marries Kate Mckleby. (Ch. xliii., 2dix., Iv., Ivii., 
 
 lix., Ixi., Ixiii., Ixv.) 
 CHOWSER, COLONEL. One of the guests at a dinner-party 
 
 given by Ealph Nickleby. (Ch. xix., 1.) 
 COBBEY, A pupU at Squeers's school. (Ch. viii.) 
 CROWL, MR. A feUow-lodger of JSTewman Noggs's. (Ch. 
 
 xiv., XV., xxxii.) 
 CRUMMLES, MR. VINCENT. The manager of an itinerant 
 
 theatrical company. Meeting Mcholas JSTickleby and Smike 
 
 at an inn not far from Portsmouth, he advises them to adopt 
 
 the stage for a profession, and offers to bring them out. 
 
 '' There's genteel comedy," he tells Il^icholas, " in your walk 
 
 and manner, juvenile tragedy in your eye, and touch-and-go 
 
 farce in your laugh." Of Smike he says — 
 
 " 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 iu this country. Only let him be tolerably well up in the apothe- 
 caiy 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 O.P." 
 
 The result is, that Mcholas, after a little deliberation, 
 declares it a bargain; and he and Smike become a part of 
 Mr. Crummles's company. ]\Ir. Crummies treats them very 
 kindly ; and when he finally separates from them — on 
 the occasion of his departure with his family for America 
 — ^he puts out his hand, with "not a jot of his theatrical 
 manner " remaining, and says with great warmth, " We were 
 a very happy little company. You and I never had a word. 
 I shall be very glad to-morrow morning to think that I saw 
 you again ; but now I almost wish you hadn't come." (Ch. 
 xxiL-xxv., xxix., xxx., xlviii.) 
 
 CRUMMLES, MRS. Wife of Mr. Vincent Crummies. (Ch. 
 xxiii.-xxv., xxix., xxx., xlviii.) 
 
 CRUMMLES, MASTER. One of their sons, and a member 
 of the theatrical company. (Ch. xxii., xxiii., xxx., xlviii.) 
 
 CRUMMT^ES, MASTER PERCY, Another son. (Ch. xxil, 
 xxiii, XXX., xlviii.) 
 
 CRUMMLES, MISS NINETTA, Their daughter, known and 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 135 
 
 advertised as the " Infant Phenomenon." (Ch. xxiii.-xxv., 
 xxix., xlviii.) 
 CURDLE, MR. A Portsmouth gentleman, whom Miss Snevel- 
 licci calls upon to request that he would put his name to her 
 "bespeak;" he being a great critic, and having quite the 
 London taste in matters relating to literature and the drama. 
 He is the author of a pamphlet of sixty-four pages, post 
 octavo, on the character of the nurse's deceased husband, in 
 "Eomeo and Juliet." (Ch. xxiv.) 
 
 CURDLE, MRS. His wife. (Ck xxiv.) 
 
 CUTLER, MR, AND MRS, Priends of the Kenwigses. 
 (Ch. xiv.) 
 
 DAVID. Butler to the Cheeryble Brothers. (Ch. xxxvii., 
 Ixiii.) 
 
 DIGBT, Smike's theatrical name. See Smike. 
 
 FOLAIR, MR. A dancer and pantomimic actor belonging to 
 
 Mr. Crummles's company. (Ch. xxiii.-xxv., xxix., xxx.) 
 GAZINGI, MISS, An actress in the theatrical company of 
 
 ^Ir. Vincent Crummies. (Ch. xxiii.) 
 
 GENTLEMAN, THE, IN SMALL-CLOTHES. See Nickleby, 
 Mrs. 
 
 GEORGE. A friend of the Kenwigses. He is a young man 
 who had known Mr. Kenwigs when he was a bachelor, and is 
 much esteemed by the ladies as bearing the reputation of a 
 rake. (Ch. xiv.) 
 
 GRAYMARSH. A pupil at Squeers'a school. (Ch. viiL) 
 
 GREEN, MISS. A friend of the Kenwigses. (Ch. xiv.) 
 
 GREGSBURY, MR. A member of parliament, to whom 
 Nicholas Mckleby applies for a situation as private secretary. 
 The requirements, however, are so many, and so difficult to 
 meet, that the situation is declined. Says Mr. Gregsbury — 
 
 " 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 oa the table, or 
 anything of that kind. Do yon 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 newspapei paragraphs 
 on passing events ; such as * Mysterious disappearance, and supposed 
 Buicide of a pot-boy,' or anything of that sort, upon which I might 
 
136 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 fonnd a question to the Secretary of State for the Ilome Department. 
 Then he would have to copy the question, and as much as I remembered 
 of the answer ^including a little compliment about my independence 
 and good sense), and to send the manuscript in a frank to the local 
 paper, with perhaps half-a-dozen lines of leader, to the effect that I 
 was always to be found in my place in parliament, and never shrunk 
 from the 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 effects of a 
 return to cash payments and a metallic currency, with a touch now 
 and then about the erportation of bullion, and the Emperor of Eussia, 
 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 
 curse 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 flourishing speeches of 
 a patriotic cast. . . . 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." (Ch. rvi.) 
 
 GRIDE, ARTHUR. An old miser. (Ch. xlvii., H., liii., Hy., 
 Ivi., lix., Ixv.) See Brat (Madeline), Mcklebt (Ealph). 
 
 GROGZWIG, BARON OF, See Koeldwethout, Baron von. 
 
 GRUDDENy MRS. An actress attached to Mr. Crmmnles's 
 theatrical company, and an assistant to Mrs. Crummies in her 
 domestic affairs. (Ch. xxiii., xxiv., xxix., xxx., xlix.) 
 
 HANNAH. Servant to Miss La Creevy. (Ch. iii.) 
 
 HAWK, SIR MULBERRY. A fashionable gambler, roue, 
 and knave, remarkable for his tact in ruining young gentle- 
 men of fortune. He insults Kate Mckleby, and is punished 
 by her brother. He afterwards fights a duel with his 
 pupil and dupe, Lord Frederick Verisopht, in which the 
 latter is killed. (Ch. xiic, xxvi.-xxviii., xxxii., xxxvuL, 
 L, Ixv.) 
 
 JOHNSON, MR. The stage name given by Mr. Crummies to 
 Jlicholas !N"ickleby. 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBT. 187 
 
 KENWIGS, MR. A turner in ivory, and a lodger in the same 
 kouse with ]N'ewnian Noggs ; " 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." 
 (Ch. xiv.-xvi., xxxvi., lii.) 
 
 KENWIGS, MRS. His wife ; " quite a lady in her manners, 
 and of a very genteel family, having an uncle [Mr. Lillyvick] 
 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 
 ribbons hanging in luxuriant pigtails down their backs, and 
 wore little white trousers with frills round the ankles — for all 
 of which reasons, and many more, equally valid, but too 
 numerous to mention, she was considered a very desirable 
 person to know." (Ch. xiv.-xvi., xxxvi., lii.) 
 
 KENWIGS, MORLEENA. Her eldest daughter, "regarding 
 whose uncommon christian-name it may be stated, 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. (Ch. xiv.-xvi., xxxvi., lii.) 
 
 KNAG, MISS. Forewoman in Madame Mantalini's millinery 
 establishment, and her successor in the business. (Ch. xvii., 
 xviii., XX., xxi., xliv.) 
 
 KNAG, MR. MORTIMER. Her brother; a young man 
 whom unrequited aff'ection has made miserable. (Ch. xviii.) 
 
 KOELDWETHOUT, BARON VON. Hero of one of the 
 tales told at a roadside inn when Mcholas Mckleby and 
 Squeers, with other passengers, were detained there by an 
 accident to the stage-coach in which they were travelling. 
 The baron is described as dwelling, " once upon a time," with 
 numerous retainers, in an old castle at Grogzwig in Germany. 
 He is a young, jolly, roystering blade, and a perfect Nimrod 
 of a hunter. Eecoming tired of his monotonous bachelor-life, 
 he marries a daughter of the Baron von Swillenhausen, by 
 whom he is soon well snubbed and effectually subdued. As 
 the baroness makes it a point that the family pedigree shall 
 receive an addition yearly, and as the Grogzwig coffers are 
 not as inexhaustible as her relatives suppose them to be, 
 Koeldwethout at last loses heart, and resolves to make away 
 with himself. But, before doing so, he smokes one last pipe, 
 and tosses off one last measure of wine, the effect of which is 
 to conjure up an apparition — ^the " Genius of Suicide and 
 Despair " — with which he has a conference that ends in his 
 deciding to put a good face on the whole matter, and try the 
 
138 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 Avorld a little longer. TMs lie does; and dies, many years 
 after, a liappy man, if not a rich. one. (Ch. yi.) 
 
 KOELD WETHO UT, BARONESS VON. His wife. (Ch. vi ) 
 
 LA CEEEVY, MISS. A good-hearted elderly miniature- 
 painter, who becomes a fast friend of the !Nicklebys, and 
 finally marries Tim Linkinwater, the old clerk of the Cheery ble 
 Brothers. (Ch. iii., v., x., xx., xxxi., xxxiii., xxxv., xxxviii., 
 xlix., Ixi., Ixiii., Ixv.) 
 
 LANE, MLSS. Governess in Mr. Eorum's family. (Ch. xxiv.) 
 
 LEDROOK, MISS. A member of Mr. Crummies' dramatic 
 company. (Ch. xxiii., xxv., xxx.) 
 
 LENVILLE, THOMAS. A tragic actor in Mr. Crummles's 
 theatre. (Ch. xxiii., xxiv., xxix.) 
 
 LENVILLE, MRS. His wife; a member of the same pro- 
 fession. (Ch. xxiii., xxix.) 
 
 LILLYVICK, MR. A collector of water-rates ; uncle to Mrs. 
 Kenwigs, at one of whose anniversary wedding-parties ]ie 
 meets Miss Henrietta Petowker, an actress, and is smitten 
 with her charms. He finally follows her to Portsmouth — 
 where she has engaged to appear in Mr. Crummles's theatre 
 — and marries her, much to the disgust of the Kenwigses, 
 who have considered themselves his heirs. But Miss Petowker 
 soon proves false, and elopes, leaving tht collector disconsolate. 
 He returns to London, where he meets !N'ewman I'^Toggs, and 
 is prevailed upon to go to the house of hi? relative, where a 
 ludicrously aflecting scene ensues. A boy has been born to 
 the Kenwigses during his absence. -Mr. Lilly vick informs 
 them that he never shall expect them to receive jiis wife, as 
 she has deserted him. 
 
 " Eloped with a half -pay captain," repeated Mr. Lillyvick, ** basely 
 and falsely eloped with a half-paj 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 tnm 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 bad 
 suffered, what must his sufferings have been ! Mr. Kenwigs gras})ed 
 his hand, and vowed eternal friendship and remorse. . . . And Mr. 
 and Mrs. Kenwigs both said, with 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 relations whose arms and hearts were ever 
 open to him. 
 
 "Out of affection and regard for yon, Susan and Kenwigs," said 
 Mr. Lillyvick, " and not out of revenge and spite against her (for she 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 139 
 
 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 which 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." 
 
 (Ch. xiv.-xvi., XXV., xxx., xxxvi., xlviii.) 
 
 LINKINWATER, MISS. Sister to Tim Liaikinwater. (Ch. 
 xxxvii., Ixiii.) 
 
 LINKINWATER, TIM, Chief clerk of the Cheeryble 
 Brothers. 
 
 " 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 Cheeryble 
 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 befoi'e 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 mignonette-box in the middle of the window, and the same four 
 flower-pots, two on each side, that I brought with me when I fi-rst 
 came. There ain't — I've said it again and again, and I'll maintain it 
 — ^there ain't such a square as this in the world. I liruiw there ain'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 ic. 
 1 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 inter- 
 fere with business, I should request leave to die there." 
 
 (Ch. XXXV., xxxvii., xl., xliii., xHx., Iv., lix.-lxi., Ixiii., Ixv.) 
 
 LUMBEY, MR. A doctor who attends on Mrs. Kenwigs in 
 
 her last confinement. (Ch. xxxv.) 
 MANTALINI, MADAME. A fashionable milliner and 
 
 dressmaker. (Ch. x., xvii., xviii., xxi., xxxiv., xliv.) 
 MANTALINI, MR. ALFRED. Her husband. 
 
 His name was originally Muntle ; but it had been converted, by an 
 easy transition, into Mantalini, the lady rightly considering that n n 
 English appellation would be of serious injury to the business. Be 
 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. 
 
 When Madame refuses to supply his demands, he at first 
 resorts to flattery and honeyed words, then declares that, 
 
140 THE DICKENS DICTIONAKY. 
 
 being a burden, he will put an end to his existence ; which 
 generally has the effect of softening her heart, and bringing 
 her to terms. She is at last, however, driven into bankruptcy 
 by his reckless extravagance, and, the suicide dodge having 
 been tried once too often, insists on a separation, and declares 
 her firm determination to have nothing more to do with such 
 a man. The elegant and dashing fop's butterfly-life is soon 
 ended, and he goes " to the demnition bow-wows." He gets 
 into prison, and is taken out by a vixenish washerwoman, 
 who is at first captivated by his handsome person and 
 graceful manners, but, becoming disenchanted, keeps him 
 constantly turning a mangle in the cellar in which she lives, 
 "like a demd old horse in a demnition null;" making his 
 life, as he says, " one demd horrid grind." 
 (Ch. X., xvii., xxii., xxxiv., xHv., Ixiv.) 
 MO BBS. A pupil at Squeers's school. (Ch. viii.) 
 
 NIGKLEBY, MR. GODFREY. Father of Ealph and the 
 elder IsTicholas, to the former of whom he left three thousand 
 pounds iu cash, and to the latter "one thousand and the 
 farm, which was as small a landed estate as one would desire 
 to see." (Ch. i.) 
 
 NIGKLEBY, NIGHOLAS, the elder. Son of Mi. Godfrey 
 l^ickleby, brother of Ealph, and father of Mcholas and 
 Kate. By his wife's advice he took to speculating with what 
 little capital he had, and, losing it aU, lost heart too, took 
 to his bed, and died. (Ch. i.) See jSTicklebt, Ealph. , 
 
 NIGKLEBY, NIGH OL AS, the younger. The character from 
 whom the story takes its name ; a young man who finds 
 himself, at the age of nineteen, reduced to poverty by the 
 unfortunate speculations and death of his father, but pos- 
 sessed, notwithstanding, of a good education, and with 
 abounding energy, honesty, and industry. His mother being 
 determined to make an appeal for assistance to her deceased 
 husband's brother, Mr. Ealph Nickleby, he accompanies her, 
 with his sister, to London. On their first interview their 
 relative receives them very roughly, and takes a dislike to his 
 nephew, amounting to positive hatred ; but he procures him a 
 situation as assistant tutor at Dotheboys Hall — a school kept 
 by Mr. Wackford S queers, in Yorkshire. Nicholas proceeds 
 thither to assume his new duties ; but such is the meanness, 
 rapacity, and brutality of Mr. S queers, that he soon forcibly 
 interferes on behalf of the "pupils;" gives the master a 
 sound drubbing, and then turns his back upon the place, 
 taking with him a poor, half-starved, and shamefuUy-abused 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 141 
 
 lad, named Smike. He returns to London only to find that 
 the story of his adventure, highly magnified and distorted, 
 has preceded him. Learning that his sister will lose a situa- 
 tion she has obtained, if he remains at home, he quits London 
 again, and goes to Portsmouth, where he joins a theatrical 
 company, and becomes an actor. He is, however, sud- 
 denly summoned back to London to protect his sister from 
 the insults and persecutions of two aristocratic roues, one of 
 whom he chastises severely under circumstances of great pro- 
 vocation. He then takes his mother and sister under his own 
 protection, and soon after makes the acquaintance of two 
 benevolent merchants — the Cheeryble Brothers — gains their 
 respect and confidence; is, after a while, admitted into 
 the firm; and finally marries a friend and 'protegee of his 
 benefactors. Mr. Dickens says of this character, in his 
 Preface — 
 
 *' If Nicholas be not always found to be blameless or agreeable, he 
 is not always intended to appear so. He is a yonng man of an im- 
 petuous temper, and little or no experience j and I saw no reason why 
 such a hero should be lifted out of nature." 
 
 (Ch. iii.-ix., xii., xiii., xv., xvi., xx., xxii.-xxv., xxix.> 
 xxxii., xxxiii., xxxv., xxxvii., xl., xlii., xliii., xlv., xlvi., 
 xlviii., xlix., K.-lv., Iviii., Ixi., lxiii.-lxv.) 
 
 NICKLEBY, RALPH. A miser and usurer; uncle to the 
 younger, and brother to the elder Mcholas Nickleby. 
 
 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 accounts 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 im- 
 pression on the two : for while the youngs .-, who was of a timid and 
 retiring disposition, gleaned from thence nothing but forewarnings to 
 shun the great world, and attach himself to the quiet routine of a 
 country life, Kalph the elder deduced from the often-repeated tale 
 the two great morals — that riches are the only true source of hap- 
 piness and power, and that it is lawful and just to compass their 
 acquisition by all means short of felony. "And," reasoned Ealph 
 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 sayiug 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 ifc 
 all his life long, and of being envied and courted by all his family 
 besides." And Ealph 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 
 
142 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 good interest a small capital of slate-pencil and marbles, and gradually 
 extending his operations nntil they aspired to the copper coinage of 
 this realm, in which he speculated to considei'able 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, " twopence 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 
 j ustice, many of them are to this day in the frequent habit of adopt- 
 ing it with eminent success. 
 
 On the death of his father, he is placed in a mercantile 
 house in London; applies himself passionately to his old 
 pursuit of money-getting ; soon has a spacious house of his 
 own in Golden Square; and enjoys the reputation of heing 
 immensely rich. When his brother's widow presents herself 
 in London, with her two children, seeking his assistance, he 
 gives her to understand that he is not to he looked to " as the 
 support of a great hearty woman and a grown hoy and girl." 
 He makes them work, therefore, for their bread, and, taking 
 an intense dislike to his nephew, tries in every way to humble 
 and ruin him ; but his machinations are all defeated, his illegal 
 operations detected, his evil deeds discovered ; and he finally 
 hangs himself in a fit of mingled frenzy, hatred, and despair. 
 (Ch. i.-iv., X., xix., xx., xxviii., xxxi, xxxiii., xxxv., xliv., 
 xlv., xlvii., li., liv., Ivi., lix., Ix., Ixii.) See Smike, Squeers. 
 
 NICKLEBY, KATE. Sister of Nicholas. She marries Prank 
 Cheeryble. (Ch. iii, v., x., xi., xvii.-xxi., xxvii., xxviii., 
 xxxiii., xxxv., xxxviii., xli.,xliii., xlv.,xlix.,lv.,lxi., lxiii.-lxv.) 
 
 NI0KLEB7, MRS. Widow of the elder, and mother of the 
 younger Nicholas Nickleby ; a well-meaning woman, but weak 
 Avithal ; very fond and proud of her children ; very loquacious ; 
 very desirous of being considered genteel ; and remarkable for 
 the inaccuracy of her memory, the irrelevancy of her remarks, 
 and the general discursiveness and inconsequence of her con- 
 versation. When she leaves her quarters in London, and goes 
 with Nicholas to live at Bow, her attention is attracted by tlie 
 singular deportment of an elderly gentleman who lives in the 
 next house. He is so plainly struck with IMrs. Nickleby's 
 appearance, and becomes so very demonstrative, that, although 
 she feels flattered by his homage, she determines, nevertheless, 
 to acquaint her son with the facts. 
 
 " There can be no doubt," said Mrs. Nickleby, " that he is a gentle- 
 xsaan, and has the maimers of a gentleman, and the appearance of 9^ 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. lU 
 
 jreutk^man ; altiiongh he does wear smalls and gray 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 Kegent 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, correcting her- 
 self, " I think she had only toes ; but the principle is the same." 
 
 Nicholas looked on quite amazed at the introduction of this nc^r 
 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 I 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 bad several times seen him sitting among the scarlet-beans in 
 his Kttle 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. 
 Mat when he began to throw his cucumbers over our wall " 
 
 " To throw his cucumbers over our wall ! " repeated Nicholas in grs&t. 
 Eatonishment. 
 
 " Yes, Nicholas, my dear," replied Mrs. Nickleby, in a very serious 
 tone, " his cucumbers over our wall, and vegetable-marrows, likewise," 
 
 *' Confound his impudence ! " said Nicholas, firing immediately. 
 " Wbat 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 ia their own garden, and not 
 meant impertinently ! Why, mother " 
 
 Nicholas stopped short ; for there was an indescribable expression 
 of placid triumph, mingled vdth 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, " blamable, 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 agaiu, with a dear girl 
 like Kate still unsettled in Hfe " 
 
 "Surely, mother, such an idea never entered your brain for an 
 instant ! " said Nicholas. ... " You Icaow there is no language of 
 vegetables which converts 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." 
 
 " Is there no mistake on your part ? " asked Nicholas. 
 
 "Mistake!" cried Mrs. Nickleby. "Lord, Nicholas, my dear! do 
 yon 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 com-se, it's very foolish 
 of him to do so, and I daresay you'll say it's very wrong ; but he does 
 it vp;vj respectfully — very respectfully indeed — and very tenderly. 
 
244 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 extremely tenderly. So far lie deserves the greatest credit : tliere 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 j 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, aa 
 I was walking in the garden, and proposed marriage and an elopement. 
 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 hia 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." . . . 
 
 So saying, Nicholas kissed his mother, and bade her good-night j 
 and they retired to their respective chambers. 
 
 Mrs. McldeLy is finally convinced that lier admirer is insane, 
 wMcli nobody else is slow to perceive ; but slie will not admit 
 it until the old gentleman has transferred his admiration to 
 Tvliss La Creevy; though she persists in thinking that her 
 rejection of his addresses is the unhappy cause of his madness. 
 (Ch. iii., v., X., xi., xviii.-xx., xxi., xxvi.-xxviii., xxxiii, 
 XXXV., xsxviii., xli., xliii., xlv., Iv., Ixi., Ixiii., Ixv.) 
 
 NOGGS, NEWMAN. IVir. Ealph Mcldeby's clerk and drudge. 
 
 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 marvellous how he contrived 
 to keep them on. . . . He rarely spoke to anybody, unless some- 
 body spoke to him, . . . and rubbed his hands slowly over each other, 
 cracking the joints of his fingers, and squeezing them into all possible 
 distortions. The incessant performance of this routine on every 
 occasion, and the communication of a fixed and rigid look to his un- 
 affected eye, so as to make it uniform with the other, and render it 
 impossible for anybody to determine where or at what he was looking, 
 were two among the numerous peculiarities of Mr. Noggs, which 
 struck an inexperienced observer at first sight. 
 
 This man was once a gentleman ; but, being of an open 
 and unsuspicious nature, he falls into the hands of Balph 
 Kickleby and other knaves, who ruin him. Eeduced to 
 poverty, he enters IN'ickleby's service as clerk and fag, both 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBT. 145 
 
 because he is proud and there are no other drudges there to 
 see his degradation, and because he is resolved to find Mckleby 
 out, and hunt him down. He befriends and assists ISTicholas, 
 aids in unravelling his master's wicked plots, and at last has 
 the satisfaction of telling him what he has done, " face to face, 
 man to man, and like a man." (Ch. ii.-vi., xi., xiv.-xvi., 
 xxii., xxviii., xxxi., xxxiii., xxxiv., xl., xliv., xlvii., li., lii., 
 Ivii., lix., Ixiii., Ixv.) 
 
 PETO WKER, MISS HENRIETTA. An actress who marries 
 Mr. Lilly vick, and then elopes with a ** half-pay captain." 
 (Ch. xiv., XV., XXV., XXX., xxxvi., xlviii.) See Kbnwigs, 
 
 LiLLYVIOK. 
 
 PIICEBE, or PHIB. Miss Squeers's maid. (Ch. xii.) 
 
 PLUCK, MR. A creature of Sir Mulberry Hawk's. (Ch. xix., 
 xxvii., x:^viii., xxxviii., 1.) See Hawk, Sir Mulberry. 
 
 PRIGE, MATILDA. A friend of Miss Fanny Squeers's, en- 
 gaged to John Browdie, whom she afterwards marries. (Ch. 
 ix., xii., xxxix., xlii., xliii., xlv., Ixiv.) 
 
 PUGSTYLES, MR. One of IVIr. Gregsbury's constituents, 
 and the spokesman of q deputation which waits on that gentle- 
 man to request him to resign his seat in parliament. (Ch. xvi. ) 
 
 PUPKER, SIR MATTHEW. A member of parliament, and 
 chairman of a meeting called to organise " The United Metro- 
 politan Improved Hot Muffin and Crumpet Baking and 
 Punctual Delivery Company." (Ch. ii.) 
 
 PYKE, MR. Toad-eater in ordinary to Sir Mulberry Hawk. 
 (Ch. xix., xxvii., xxviii., xxxviii., 1.) See Hawk, Sir Mul- 
 berry. 
 
 SCALEY, MR. A sheriff's officer. (Ch. xxi.) 
 
 SIMMONDS, MISS. A workwoman of Madame Mantalini's. 
 (Ch. xvii.) 
 
 SLIDERSKEW, PEG. Arthur Gride's housekeeper; a short, 
 thin, weazen, blear-eyed old woman, palsy-stricken, hideously 
 ugly, and very deaf. (Ch. 11, liii., liv., Ivii.., Ixv.) 
 
 SMIKE. An inmate of Squeers's house. Left with Mr. Squeers 
 at an early age, and no one appearing, after the first year, to 
 claim him, or to pay for his board and tuition, he is made use 
 of as a drudge for the whole family. Starved and beaten, 
 he becomes broken-spirited and nearly half-witted. When 
 Mcholas ITickleby arrives at Dotheboys Hall as Squeers's 
 assistant, his heart is filled with pity for the poor lad, and he 
 treats him with great gentleness and kindness; and whea 
 
146 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 Squeers undertakes to flog the boy within an inch of Lis life 
 for attempting to run away, ^Nicholas interferes, compels the 
 ruffian to desist, and gives him as severe a beating as Smike 
 himself was to have had. The two then leave the school and 
 the village together, and, after various wanderings, fall in with 
 Mr, Crummies, who is much struck with Smike's haggard 
 c^)untenance, and secures him for his theatrical company as 
 *' an actor for the starved business," bringing him out as the 
 apothecary in " Eomeo and Juliet," under the stage-name of 
 ]5igby. Smike is subsequently captured by Squeers, who 
 meets him in London, and takes him to Snawley's house ; 
 but he is aided to escape by John Browdie, and succeeds 
 in finding his way back to !N'icholas, who refuses to give 
 him up. Introduced to Mrs. Mckleby and Kate and Miss 
 La Creevy, and suiTounded by aU the comforts and pleasures 
 of a home, Smike gradually becomes accustomed to the new 
 life upon which he has entered, and recovers much of his 
 natural intelligence ; but it is not long before he begins to 
 droop, and, though he rallies once or twice, grows weaker and 
 weaker till he dies. It is afterwards ascertained that he was 
 the son of Ralph Nickleby. (Ch. vii., viii,, xii., xiii., xv., xx., 
 xxii., xxiii., xxv., xxix., xxx., xxxii., xxxv., xxxvii.-xl., xlv., 
 xlix., Iv., Iviii.) See Brooker, Squeers. 
 
 SNAWLEY, MR. A sanctimonious, hypocritical rascal, who 
 places his two little step-sons in the care of Squeers, at 
 Dotheboys Hall, wiik the tacit understanding that thej"" are to 
 have no vacations, and are to " rough it a little." Acting a.s 
 the tool of Ealph Nickleby, he afterwards claims Smike as 
 his son, for the pui'pose of separating him from JS^icholas, and 
 restoring him to the custody of Squeers ; but his viliany is 
 discovered, and, to secure his own safety, he divulges 11 le 
 whole scheme, naming Ealph Nickleby as his employer, and 
 implicating Squeers as a confederate. (Ch. iv., xxxviil, 
 xlv., lix.) 
 
 SNAWLEY, MRS. His wife. (Ch. xxxviii., lix.) 
 
 SNEVELLIGCI, MISS. A member of Mr. Crummles's 
 dramatic company. (Ch. xxiii. -xxv., xxix., xxx., xlviii.) 
 
 SNEVELLIGCI, MR. Her father; an actor belonging to the 
 same company. (Ch. xxx.) 
 
 SNEVELLICCI, MRS. Her mother. (Ch. xxx.) 
 
 SNEWKES, MR. A friend of the Kenwigses. (Ch. xiy.) 
 
 SNOBBy THE HONOURABLE MR. A guest at the dinner 
 party given by Ealph Nickleby. (Ch. xix.) 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 147 
 
 SQUEERSy W A OXFORD. A brutal, rapiictous, and ignoranb 
 Yorksliii'e schoolmaster. To this person Nicholas Nickleby 
 engages hiuiself as a scliolastic assistant on the faith of the 
 following advertisement in the London papers : — 
 
 " Education. — At Mr. Wackford Squeers's Academy, Dotheboys 
 Hall, at the delightful village of Dothoboys, near Greta Bridge, in 
 Yorkshire, youth are boarded, clothed, booked, furnished with pocket. 
 money, provided with all necessaries, instructed in all languages, liv^iug 
 and dead, mathematics, orthography, geometry, astronomy, trigono- 
 metry, the use of the globes, algebra, single-stick (if required), writing, 
 arithmetic, fortification, and every other branch of classical literatui-e. 
 Terms, twenty guineas per annum. No extras, no vacations, 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." . . . 
 
 Mr. Squeers's appearance was not prepossessing. He had but one 
 eye, and the popular prejudice runs in favour of two. . . . The blank 
 side of his face was much wrinkled and puckered up, which gave him a 
 siniBter appearance, especially when he smiled, at which times his ex- 
 })res8ion bordered closely on the villanous. . . . Hewore a white necker- 
 chief with long ends, and a suit of scholastic black; but iiis coat-sleeves 
 being a great deal too long, and his trousers a great deal too short, he 
 appear'^d ill at ease in his clothes, and as if he were ia a perpetual 
 state of astonishment at finding himself so I'espectable. . . . 
 
 That learned gentleman . . . had before him a small measure of 
 coffee, a plate of hot toast, and a cold round of beef ; but be was &*i that 
 moment intent on preparing breakfast for the little boys. 
 
 "This is twopeun'orth of milk, ia it, waiter if" said Mr. Squeers, 
 looking down into a large blue mug. 
 
 " That's twopeun'orth, sir," i-eplied the waiter. 
 
 " What a rare article milk is, to be sui-e, in London ! '* said Mr. 
 Squeers, with a sigh. " Just fill that mug up with lukewarm water, 
 WiUiam ; will you ? " 
 
 " To the wery top, sir ?" inquired the waiter. *' Why, the lailk will 
 be dro^vnded !" 
 
 " Never you mind that," replied Mr. Squeers. ** Servo it right for 
 being so dear. You ordered that thick bread and butter for tia-ee j did 
 you?" 
 
 " Coming dh'ectly, 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. . . . 
 
 " Oh, that's the milk and water, is it, Wilham ? . . . Here's richr 
 ness ! Think of the many beggars and orphans in the streets, that 
 would be glad of this, httle boys. . . . When I say number one .... 
 the boy on the left hand nearest the window may take a drink ; and 
 when I say number two, the boy next him will go in ; and so till we 
 come to number five. . . . Are you ready ? " 
 
 " Yes, t<ir," cried all the little boys, with great eageniess. . . • 
 
 L 2 
 
145 TnE DICKENS DICTI05JARY. 
 
 '* Keep ready till I tell you to begin. Subdue your appetites, my 
 dears, and you've conquered human natur. This is the way we incul- 
 cate strength of mind, Mr. Nickleby." . . . 
 
 Nicholas murmured something he knew not what in reply ; and the 
 little boys . . . remained with strained eyes in torments of expectation. 
 
 " Thank God for a good breakfast ! . , , 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 until 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 kom will blow in a minute 
 or two, and then every boy leaves off." . . , 
 
 The boys began to eat voraciously . . . while the schoolmaster (who 
 was in high good humour after his meal) picked his teeth with a fork 
 and looked 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. ... " Put what you haven't had time to eat in 
 here, boys ! You'U want it on the road." 
 
 They certainly did want it on tlie road, and very mucli 
 too ; for the journey was long, the weather was intensely 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, he said — and as he always came back with a 
 very red nose, and composed himself to sleep directly, the 
 stretching seemed to answer. It was a long journey : but the 
 longest lane has a turning at last; and late in the night the 
 coach put them down at a lonely roadside inn, where they found 
 in waiting two labouring men, a rusty pony-chaise, and a cart. 
 
 " Put the boys and the boxes into the cart," said Squeers, rubbing 
 his hands ; " and this young man and me will go in the chaise. Get 
 in, Nickleby." 
 
 Nicholas obeyed. Mr. Squeers with some dijS5culty inducing the 
 pony to obey also, they started off, leaving the cartload of infant misery 
 to follow at leisure. 
 
 ♦' Are you cold, Nickleby P " inquired Squeers, after they had travelled 
 some distance in silence. 
 
 *' Rather, sir, I must say." 
 
 " Well, I don't find fault with that," said Sqneera | " it's a long 
 journey this weather." 
 
 " Is it much farther to Dotheboys Hall, sir P " asked Nicholas. 
 
 "About three mile. . . . 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." ... 
 
 " Oh, indeed ! " . . . 
 
 " No. . . . We call it a hall up in London because it sounds better j 
 but they don't know it by that name in these pajrts. A man may call 
 
NICHOLAS KICKLEBY. 149 
 
 his houso an island if he likes ; there's no act of parliament against 
 that, I believe." 
 
 "I believe not, sir," rejoined Nicholas. 
 
 Sqneers eyed his companion slyly at the conclusion of this little 
 dialoofne, and, fincling that he had grown thoughtful, . . . contented him- 
 self with lashing the pony imtil they reached their journey's end. 
 
 " Jump out !",,.. 
 
 Nicholas sighed and hurried in. Mr. Squeers, having bolted the door 
 to keep it shut, ushered him into a small parlour scantily furnished . . . 
 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 was of a large raw-boned figure, 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 nightcap on. 
 
 She was accustomed to boast that she was no grammarian, 
 thank God ! and also that she had tamed a high spirit or two in 
 her day. Truly, in conjunction with her worthy husband, she 
 had broken many and many a one. 
 
 " How is my Squeery ? " . . . 
 
 •' Quite well, my love. . . . How's the cows ? ** 
 
 " All right, everv one of 'em." . . . 
 
 " And the pigs ?'" ... 
 
 " As well as they was when yon went away." 
 
 "Cornel That's a blessing I . . . The boys are all as they were, I 
 suppose ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! they're well ratongli. . , . That young Pitcher's had a 
 fever." . . . 
 
 " No ! . . . Damn that boy I He's always at something of that 
 sort." . . . 
 
 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. . . . He was now relieved from 
 his perplexity by Mr. Squeers. 
 
 " This is the new young man, my dear." ... 
 
 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 dif- 
 ferent 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 nine- 
 teen, and was tall for that age, he wore a skeleton suit, such as is usually 
 put upon very little boys. ... 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 a»sd tattered for r» 
 beggar. Heaven knows how long he had been there; but he still wore . • « 
 
160 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 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, 
 f^rlanced 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 Mra. Bqueers. 
 
 efc ^84? things alone, can't you ? " 
 
 *' Eh I " said S queers, looMng up. " Oh, it's you, is it ? " 
 
 ** Yes, sir. ... Is there " 
 
 "Well?" said Squeers. 
 
 *' Have you — did anybody — has nothing been heard — about me ? " 
 
 " Devil a bit . . . not a word ; . . . and never will be. Now, this is 
 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, 
 iior 1. o clue to be got who you belong to ? It's a pretty sort of thing that 
 1 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, 
 gradually 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. . . . for he's a handy fellow out of doors, and worth 
 his meat and drink anyway. I should think he'd have wit enough for 
 us, though, if he was. But come ! Let's have supper ; for I'm hungry 
 and tired, and want to get to bed." 
 
 Mr. Squeers took a stiff bumper of hot brandy and watei 
 after supper ; and Mrs- Squeers made the new young man tlie 
 ghost of a small glas^ iil of that compound. 
 
 At length, Mr. Squeers yawned fearfully, and opined that it wag 
 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. 
 
 " Well put you into your regular bedroom to-morrow, Nickleby. . . . 
 Let rjie see. Whc sleeps in Brooks's bed, my dear ? " 
 
 " In Brooks's . . . there's Jennings, little Bolder, Graymarsh, and 
 What's-his-nam©." 
 
 *' So there is. . . . Yes : Brooks is full." . . . 
 
 "There's a place somewhere I know; . . . but I can't at this 
 moment call to mind where it is. However, we'll have that aU settled 
 to-morrow. (Jood-night, Nickleby ! Seven o'clock in the morning, mind." 
 
 ** I ohall be ready, sir. . . . Good-night ! " . . . 
 
 " I don't know, I am sure," he said, " whose towel to put you on ; 
 but, a you'll make shift with something to-morrow morning, Mrs. 
 Squeers will arrange that in the course of the day. My dear, don't 
 forget." ... 
 
 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. 
 
 The next morning, Mcholas is awakened very early by 
 Squeers, who tells him that it is time to get up ; and also that 
 ths pizmp is frozen, so that he will have to give himself a " dry 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 161 
 
 polish," till the ice is broken in the welL Mrs. Squeers now 
 appears on the scene, looking busily for a spoon which is 
 missing. 
 
 "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! Why, how you talk!" retorted Mrs. Squeers, 
 sharply. " Isn't it brimstone morpit;g ? " 
 
 ** I forgot, my dear," rejoined Squeers : " yes, it certainly is. We 
 purify the boys* blood 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 
 to purify them ; because, if you think we carry on 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 medi- 
 cine, 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." 
 
 JSTicholas is shortly afterwards introduced into the schoolroom. 
 
 " There ! . . . This is our shop, Nickleby ! " . . . 
 
 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; ... 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 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 ! , . . Pale and haggard faces, lank and bony 
 figures, children with 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. . . . 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 remaining ; 
 there were vicious-faced boys, brooding, with leaden eyes, like male- 
 factors 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. With 
 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 here ! . . . 
 
 It was Mr. Sqneers's custom to call the boys together, and maku 
 a sort of report, after every half-yearly visit to the metropolis : . . . 
 The boys were recalled from house- window, garden, stable, and oow- 
 yard ; and the school were assembled in full conclavo. . . . 
 
161 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 " Let any boy speak a word without leave," said Mr. Squeere, mildly, 
 " and I'll take the skin off his back." . . . 
 
 Death-like silence immediately prevailed. . . . 
 
 " Boys, I've been to London, and have returned to my family and 
 you as strong and as well as ever." 
 
 . . . The boys gave three feeble cheers at this refreshing intelligence. 
 Such cheers ! . . . 
 
 " 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 aU 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; . . . but the 
 greater part of the young gentlemen — having no particular parents to 
 speak of — ^were wholly uninterested in the thing, one way or other. 
 
 "I have had disappointments to contend against," said Squeers. 
 "Bolder's father was two pound ten ehort. Where is Bolder? . . . 
 Come here, Bolder ! " said Squeers. 
 
 An unhealthy-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 j his own quite white from the rapid beating of his 
 heart. 
 
 " Bolder," said Squeers, speaking very slowly — ^for he was consider- 
 ing, as the saying goes, where to have him — " Bolder, if your father 
 thinks that, because Why ! what's this, sir ? " . . . 
 
 He caught up the boy's hand by the cuii of his jacket. ... 
 
 " What do you call this, sir ? " . . . 
 
 " I can't help it, indeed, sir. . . . They will come. It's the dirty 
 work, I think, sir — at least, I don't know what it is, sir j but it's not my 
 fault." 
 
 "Bolder . . . 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." ... 
 
 Mr. Squeers fell upon the boy, and caned him soundly. . . . 
 
 ** There , , . rub away as hard as you like : you won't rub that ofE 
 in a hurry. . . . Now let us see. 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 ! . . . Cobbey's grandmother is dead, and his Uncle John has 
 took to drinking, which is all the news his sister sends, except eighteen- 
 pence, which will just pay for that broken square of glass. Mrs. 
 Squeers, my dear, will you take the money ? " . . . 
 
 " Graymarsh," said Squeers, " he's the next. Stand up, Graymarsh ! " 
 
 Another boy stood up. . . . 
 
 " Graymarsh's maternal aunt ... is very glad to hear he's so well 
 and happy, 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 have sent the two pair of stockGigs, as desired, but is 
 short of money, so forwards a tract instead. . . . Hopes, above all, thut 
 he will study in everything to please Mr. and Mrs. Squeers, and look 
 \ipon 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 ! . . . a delightful letter ; very affecting, indeed." 
 
 It was affecting in one genee ; for Graymarsh's maternal aunt was 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 153 
 
 strongly supposed by her more intimate friends to be no other than 
 his maternal parent. . . . 
 
 " Mobbs's mother-in-law," said Squeers, " took to her bed on hearing 
 that he wouldn't eat fat, aud 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. . . . She is sorry to 
 find he is discontented (which is sinful and horrid), and hopes Mr. Squeers 
 will flog him into a happier state of mind ; with this 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 . . . won't do. Cheerful- 
 ness 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 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 the same lady stated to be too large or too small, and calculated 
 for nobody but young Squeers, who would appear, indeed, to have had 
 most accommodating limbs, since everything that came into the school 
 fitted him to a nicety. 
 
 This business despatched, . . . Squeers retired to his fireside, 
 leaving Nicholas to take care of the boys in the schoolroom, which was 
 very cold, and where a meal of bread and cheese was served up shortly 
 after dark. 
 
 There was a small stove at that comer of the room whicn was nearest 
 to the master's desk, and by it Nicholas sat down, depressed and self- 
 degraded. ... 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 cinders from the hearth and planting them on 
 the fire. . . . When he saw that he was observed, he shrank back as if 
 expecting a blow. 
 
 " You need not fear me," said Nicholas, kindlj. " Are you cold ? " 
 
 "N-n-o." 
 
 " You are shivering." 
 
 " I am not cold. ... I am used to it." . . , 
 
 " 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 ! . . . My heart will break ! It will, it will ! " 
 
 " Hush ! ... be a man I You are nearly one by years — God help 
 you ! '* 
 
 "By years ! . . . Oh, dear, dear! how many of them! How many 
 of thena since I was a little child, younger than any that are here now ! 
 where are they all ? " 
 
 " Whom do you speak of ? " . . . 
 
 ** My friends," he replied, " myself, my Oh ! what sufferings 
 
 mine have been I " 
 
 " There is always hope," said Nicholas. . . . 
 
 "No, ... no J none for me. Do you remember th© boy that died 
 here?" 
 
154 THE DICKENS DICTIONAET. 
 
 " I was not here you know : . . . but what of him ? " . . . 
 
 " I was with hiTTi at night : and when it was all silent, he cried no 
 more for the friends he wished to come and sit with him, but begau to 
 see faces round his bed, that came from honae ; he said they smiled and 
 talked to him • and he died at last lifting his head to kiss them. . . . 
 What faces will smile on me when I die ? . . . Who will talk to me in 
 those long nights ? They cannot come from home : they would frig:hten 
 me if they did; for I don't know what it is. . . . Pain and fear, pain 
 and fear for me, alive or dead. No hope, no hope ! " 
 
 The bell rang to bed, and the boy . . . crept away. . . . With a 
 heavy heart Nicholas soon afterwards retired — no, not retired ; there 
 was no retirement there — followed — to his dirty and crowded dormitory. 
 
 A day or two after this, the poor creature Smike, in the 
 hope of somehow bettering his condition, runs away. As 
 Squeers cannot afford to lose so valuable a drudge, he is pursued, 
 overtaken, and brought back, with his legs tied under the apron, 
 and made fast to the chaise, to prevent his escaping on the road. 
 
 With hands trembling with delight, Squeers unloosened the cord ; 
 and Smike . , . 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. . . . 
 
 The news that Smike had been caught and brought back in triumph 
 ran like wildfire through the hungry community j and expectation 
 was on tiptoe all the morning. On tiptoe it was destined to remain, 
 however, until afternoon ; when Squeers, having refreshed himself with 
 his dinner and an extra libation or so, made his appearance (accompanied 
 by his amiable partner) with ... a fearful instrument of flagellation, 
 strong, supple, wax-ended, and new. . . . 
 
 " Is every boy here ?'*... 
 
 Every boy was there, but every boy was afraid to speak ; so Squeers 
 glared along the lines to assure himself. ... 
 
 " Nickleby 1 to your desk, sir." , . . 
 
 There was a very curious and unusual expression on the usher's face ; 
 but he took his seat without opening his lips in reply. Squeers . . . 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 decora- 
 tion. . . . 
 
 " Have you anything to say ? . . . 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 aU, is it ? " said Squeers. ** Yes, I'll flog you within an 
 inch of your life and spare you that." ... 
 
 One desperate out had fallen on his body, , . . when Nicholas 
 Nickleby, suddenly starting up, cried " Stop ! " . . . 
 
 "Who cried stop?" . . . 
 
 " I," said Nicholas, stepping forwoxd. " This must not go on," 
 
 " Must not go on ! " . . . 
 
 « No 1 . . . Must not ! ShaU not ! I will prevent it ! " . . . You 
 
 have disregarded all my quiet interference in this miserable lad's behalf; 
 
 • . you have returned no answer to the letter in which I begged for* 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 166 
 
 gireness for Mm, and offered to be responsible tliat he would remain 
 qnietlj here. Don't blame me for this public interference. You have 
 brought it upon yourself, not I." 
 
 " Sit down, beggar ! " . . . 
 
 "Wretch," rejoined Nicholas, fiercely, "touch him again at your 
 peril ! 1 will not stand by and see it done. My blood is up, and I ha\ <_■ 
 the strength of ten such men as you. . . . By Heaven! I will not spare 
 you if you drive me on. ... I have a long series of insults to avenge ; 
 . . . and my indignation is aggravated by the cruelties practised on 
 helpless infancy in this foul den. Have a care ; for, if you do raise 
 the devil in me, the consequences shall fall heavily upon your own 
 head." . . . 
 
 Squeers . . . spat upon him, and struck him a blow across the face 
 . . . Nicholas sprang upon him, wrested the weapon from his hand, 
 and, pinning him bv the throat, beat the rujSan till he roared for 
 mercy. ... 
 
 He threw all his remaining strength into half-a-dozen finishing cuts 
 and flung Squeers from him vnth 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 . . . packed up a few clothes in a small leathern valise, and, 
 finding that nobody offered to oppose his progress, marched boldly out 
 by the front door, and shortly afterwards struck into the road. 
 
 Mr. Squeers meets his just deserts at last, being sentenced 
 to transportation for seven years for being in the unlawful 
 possession of a stolen wiU ; the result of which is that Dothe- 
 boys Hall is broken up for ever. (Ch. iv.-ix., xiii, xxxiv., 
 xxxviii, xxxix., xliL, xlv., Ivi, Ivii, lix., Ix., Ixv.) 
 
 SQUEERS, MRS. Wife of Mr. WacHord Squeers. (Ch. vii., 
 viii, ix., xiii., Ixiv.) See Squeers, Wackford. 
 
 SQUEERS, MISS FANNY. Daughter of Mr. and Mrs. 
 Wackford Squeers ; a young lady in her three-and-twentietli 
 year, resembling her mother in the harshness of her voice and 
 the shrewishness of her disposition, and her father in the 
 remarkable expression of her right eye, something akin to 
 having none at all. (Ch. ix., xii, xiii, xv., xxxix., xli., Ixiv.) 
 
 SQUEERS, MASTER WACKFORD, JUNIOR. Son oi 
 Mr. and Mrs. Wackford Squeers. (Ch. viii., ix., xiii., xxix., 
 xxxiv., xxxviii., xiii., Ixiv.) See Squeers, Wackford. 
 
 SWILLENHA USEN, BARON VON. Ij^'eighbour and father 
 in-law to the Earon of Grogzwig. (Ch. vi) 
 
15fi THE DICKENS DICTIOXASY. 
 
 SV/ILLENHAUSEN, BARONESS VON, His wife. (CLvi.) 
 
 TIMBERRT, MR. SNITTLE. An actor belonging to Mr. 
 Crummles's theatre. (Ch. xxi.) 
 
 TIX, MR. TOM. A broker who makes an inventory of the 
 stock in Madame Mantalini's millinery establishment on the 
 occasion of her sudden failure. (Ch. slviii.) 
 
 TOM. Clerk at the General Agency Office. (Ch. xvi, xliii.) 
 
 T0MKIN8. One of Squeers's pupils. (Ch. xiii.) 
 
 TRIMMERS, MR, A friend of the Cheeryble Brothers. 
 (Ch. XXXV.) 
 
 VERISOPHT, LORD FREDERICK. A siUy young noble- 
 man, the tool of Sir Mulberry Hawk. He becomes enamoured 
 of Kate Nickleby, and has an angry altercation concerning 
 her with Sir Mulberry. The quarrel leads to a duel, in which 
 Lord Frederick is killed. (Ch. xix., xxvi-xxviii., xxxviii., 
 L) See Hawk, Sir Mulberry. 
 
 WESTWOOD, MR. One of the seconds in the duel between 
 Sir Mulberry Hawk and Lord Yerisopht. (Ch. 1.) 
 
 WILLIAM. A waiter at the Saracen's Head Lon. (Ch. v.) 
 
 YilTITTERLY, MRS. JULIA. A lady of the middle class, 
 who apes the airs and style of the aristocracy, and with whom 
 Kate Mckleby lives for a while as companion. (Ch. xxi, 
 xxvii., xxviii.) 
 
 WITITTERLY, MR. HENRY. Husband to Mrs. Wititterly. 
 Eeing informed that Kate has applied for a situation as com- 
 panion to his wife, he discusses the matter for some time with 
 Mrs. Wititterly in whispers. At length he notices Kate. 
 
 " Oh. ! " lie said, turning round, " yes. This is a most important 
 matter. Mrs. Wititterly is of a very excitable nature j very delicate, 
 very fragile ; a hothouse plant, an exotic." 
 
 " Oh, Henry, my dear," interposed Mrs. Wititterly. 
 
 " You are, vaj love, you know you are ; one breath," said Mr. W., 
 blowing an imaginary feather away. " Pho ! you're gone ! '* 
 
 The 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 Snuflfim, 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, expandst 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 157 
 
 dilates — bhe blood fires, the pnlse quickens, the excitfenient increases — 
 Whew I ' " Here Mr. Wicitterly, 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, connection, and en- 
 dowments — is one vortex and whirlpool of the most frightful excite- 
 ment. Bless my heart and body, can I ever forget the night yon 
 danced with the baronet's nephew at the election ball, at Exeter ! It 
 was tremendous." 
 
 " I always suffer for these triumphs afterwards," said Mra. 
 Wititterly. 
 
 "And for that very reason," rejoined her husband, "you must 
 have a companion, in whom there is great gentleness, great sweet- 
 ness, excessive 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, with an expression of countenance which seemed to say, 
 •' What do you think of all this ! " 
 
 " Mrs. Wititterly," said her husband, addressing himself to Mrs. 
 Nickleby, "is sought after and courted by glittering crowds and 
 brilliant circles. She is excited by the opera, the drama, the fine 
 arts, the — the — the " 
 
 "The nobility, my love," interposed IVIrs. Wititterly. 
 
 "The nobility, of course," said Mr. Wititterly. "And the mili- 
 tary. 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 w^ouid 
 not hold up their heads, perhaps, quite as high as they do." 
 
 (Cli. xxi., xxvii., xxviii., xxxiii.) 
 
 YORK, THE FIVE SISTERS OF. The title of a story 
 told by a gi^ay-haired gentleman at a roadside inn between 
 Grantham and Newark, for the amusement of liis fellow- 
 passengers, who have been detained there by the breaking 
 do^\Ti of a stage-coach. The five sisters are represented as 
 living in York in the early part of the sixteenth century, in 
 an old house belonging to the black monks of St. Benedict. 
 While engaged in embroidering a complicated and intricate 
 pattern, they are visited by one of the monks, who urges 
 them to take the veil ; but, under the influence of the 
 youngest sister (named Alice), tbey refuse to do so, believing 
 that peace and virtue can be found beyond as well as within 
 a convent's walls. Years pass by, bringing change and 
 separation and sorrow ; but at last the four elder sisters meet 
 again in the old home : and again the same black monk urges 
 them by all the sad memories of the past to seek consolation 
 and peace within the sheltering arms of the CliurclL 
 
158 TEE DICKENS BICTIOKAEY. 
 
 Rememberiiig how the young heart of their lost sister had 
 sickened at the thought of cloistered walls, they again refuse. 
 As a work of piety, however, as well as a memorial of affec- 
 tion, they cause to be executed in five compartments of stained 
 glass, fitted into a large window in York Cathedral (which 
 is still shown there under the name of the Five Sisters), a 
 faithful copy of their old embroidery-work, through which the 
 sun may shine brightly on a flat stone in the nave, which bears 
 the name of ^iict. (Ch. vi) 
 
 PEINCIPAL INCIDENTS. 
 
 Chapter I. Sketch of the history of the Nicklebj family previou§ to 
 the time of our story, and death of Mr. Nickleby, father of its hero. — 
 11. Description of Mr. Ealph Nickleby, and of his business; formation 
 of the Crumpet Company. — III. Ealph Nickleby receives the news of his 
 brother's death, and the arrival of the widow and her children in London ; 
 he finds them in lodgings at Miss La Creevy's, and proceeds to provide 
 for them by promising to secure Nicholas a situation as assistant in the 
 academy of Mr. Waokford S queers in Yorkshire. — IV. Interview be- 
 tween Mr. Squeers and Mr. Snawley ; Ealph and his nephew call upon 
 Mr. Squeers, and Nicholas secures the situation; Nicholas informs 
 Newman Noggs of his uncle's intentions in regard to him. — V. Nicholas 
 bids adieu to Miss La Creevy, and leaves the house without disturbing 
 his mother and sister; how Mr. Squeers and his boys breakfasted; 
 Ealph, Mrs. Nickleby, and Kate come to see Nicholas off, also Newman 
 Noggs, who secretly gives him a letter. — ^VI. On the journey to York- 
 shire the coach is overturned ; while waiting for another, one gentleman 
 entertains his fellow-passengers with the story of the Five Sisters of 
 York; and another one relates the story of the Baron of Grogzwig; 
 they leave the stage at Greta Bridge, and Mr. Squeers "stretches his 
 legs," as he has frequently done on the journey. — VII. They reach 
 Dotheboys Hall, with which Nicholas is not favourably impressed ; he is 
 introduced to Mrs. Squeers ; notices the sad appearance of Smike, and 
 gets an idea of the internal economy of Squeers's establishment ; he 
 reads Newman Noggs's letter. — VIII. Mrs. Squeers improves the boys' 
 appetites by dosing them with brimstone and treacle; Mr. Squeers 
 shows his practical mode of teaching, makes a report to the school of his 
 journey to London, and adds a liberal discipline with the cane ; Nicholas 
 shows his sympathy for Smike. — IX. Mrs. Squeers expresses her opinion 
 of Nicholas ; Miss Fanny Squeers makes an errand into the schoolroom, 
 in her father's absence, for the purpose of inspecting Nicholas; his 
 appearance being satisfactory, she at once falls in love with him, and 
 hastens to inform her bosom friend, Miss Price, of her attachment and 
 its return ; Miss Squeers makes a little party for the purpose of intro- 
 ducing Nicholas to her friends; he excites the jealousy of Mr. John 
 Browdie, and Miss Price does the same service for Fanny Squeers. — 
 X. Miss I^ Creevy paints Kate Nickleby's portrait; discussing tb< 
 character of PiaTph Nickleby^ they are interrupted by the appearance iJ 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBT. 159 
 
 that gentlemati ; Ralph informs Kate and her mother of the situation 
 he has obtained for her in the establishment of Madame Mantalini ; 
 Kate has an interview with Mr. and Madame Mantalini. — XI. Newman 
 Noggs moves Mrs. Nickleby and Kate into the house of which Ralph 
 Nickleby has given them possession. — XII. Miss Price informs Miss 
 Squeers that her wedding day is fixed; Nicholas in his solitary walk is 
 met by Miss Squeers and her friend, and a scene follows in which he 
 declares his sentiments for the schoolmaster's daughter ; Nicholas has 
 a conversation with Smike. — XIII. Smike runs away, is pursued in one 
 direction by Squeers, and in another by his wife, and is overtaken and 
 brought back by Mrs. Squeers ; Mr. Squeers is about to flog Smike, 
 when he is stopped by Nicholas, who beats the brute severely, and leaves 
 the house ; meeting John Browdie, that worthy individual is greatly 
 delighted to hear of Nicholas's exploit, and assists him on his way ; 
 Nicholas is joined by Smike. — XIV. Newman Noggs attends the party 
 of the Kenwigses on their wedding-day, and is called away by the 
 arrival of Nicholas and Smike. — XV. Newman reads to Nicholas a copy 
 of Fanny Squeers's letter to Ralph Nickleby ; Nicholas rescues the infant 
 Ken wigs from a dangerous position, and makes a favourable impression 
 on the company. — XVT. Nicholas, visiting a Register-office in search 
 of employment, is struck with the appearance of a young lady whom 
 he meets there ; being referred to Mr. Gregsbury, M.P., he visits that 
 gentleman just as he is waited upon by a deputation of his constituents ; 
 he finds the situation not adapted to his wants, and he accepts, as Mr. 
 Johnson, the position of pi-ivate tutor to the Kenwigs children; enters 
 upon the duties of that position under the inspection of Mr. Lillyvick. — 
 XVII. Kate Nickleby commences her labours at Madame Mantalini's, and 
 is introduced to M iss Knag. — XVIII. Miss Knag conceives a warm affec- 
 tion for Kate, and makes the acquaintance of Mrs. Nickleby ; Kate and 
 her mother go home with Miss Knag to her brother's, and learn some- 
 thing of the histoiy of that gentleman ; Kate, being preferred by some 
 ladies to Miss Knag, loses the forewoman's good opinion. — XIX. Ralph 
 Nickleby invites Kate to dine with him ; she is astonished to find his 
 house richly fui-nished ; Ralph introduces her to his guests, Lord 
 Frederick Verisopht and Sir Mulberry Hawk ; Kate bears their insult- 
 ing manner as long as she can, and then hurries from the room ; Sir 
 Mulberry finds her alone, and, pursuing his attentions, is interrupted by 
 Ralph Nickleby ; Ralph and Sir Mulberry understand each other. — XX. 
 Miss La Creevy has an interview with Miss Knag ; Miss La Creevy ia 
 astonished at the return of Nicholas, and undertakes to prepare his 
 mother and Kate for his coming ; Ralph visits the widow to inform her 
 cf her son's misdemeanours, and is confronted by Nicholas himself, who 
 repels his charges, but who, for the sake of his mother and Kate, leaves 
 them to the care of his uncle, and departs. — XXI. Madame Mantalini's 
 establishment falls into the hands of the sheriff ; Mr. Mantalini threatens 
 suicide ; and Kate finds herself without a situation ; JVii-s. Nickleby urges 
 Kate to answer an advertisement for a companion, and she applies for 
 and secures a situation in that capacity in the family of Mrs. Wititterly. 
 — XXII. Nicholas and Smike leave London for Portsmouth, in search of 
 fortune ; Nicholas atttempts to revive Smike's recollections of his child- 
 hood ; they fall in wiih Mr. Vincent Crummies, witness the rehearsal of 
 a stage-combat by the Masters Crummies, and Nicholas embraces the 
 ofEer of Mr. Crummies, and joins the theatrical profession. — XXIII. They 
 proceed to Portsmouth, Mr. Crummies giving an account of his wonder. 
 fsl pony by the way, and Nicholas is introduced to the oomftanji Mr. 
 
160 THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 Crummies amiotmces a new play, of wiiioli Nicliolas is to be the author, 
 and shows him how to make use of the French original • Nicholas dine a 
 with Mr. and Mrs. Crummies, and then finds lodgings for himself and 
 Smike. — XXIY. Mr. Folair and Mr. Lenville give Nicholas some hints 
 of value in his task of composition ; Nicholas accompanies Miss Snevel- 
 licci in her calls on the occasion of her *' bespeak ; " Nicholas appears in 
 his new piece, and meets with decided success. — XXV. Mr. Crummles's 
 company is joined by Miss Henrietta Petowker from London, and 
 Mr. Lillysdck follows her ; Mr. Lilly viok makes known to Nicholas his 
 intentions in regard to Miss Petowker ; Mr. Lillyvick and Miss Petowker 
 are married, and have their wedding-breakfast ; Nicholas instructs Smike 
 in the part of the Apothecary. — XXYI. Lord Frederick Yerisopht and Sir 
 Mulberry Hawk determine to find out Kate Nickleby, and Lord Frederick 
 learns her address from Ealph ; they encounter Mrs. Nickleby, and show 
 her particular attention, which sets that good lady castle-building. — 
 XXVII. Messrs. Pyke and Pluck call upon Mrs. Nickleby as the friends 
 of Sir Mulberry Hawk, and invite her to make one of their party at the 
 play ; at the play she finds herself in the next box to Kate, who is in 
 company with the Wititterlys ; Sir Mulberry makes a division of the 
 party, so as to secure Kate's society to himself, and becomes more 
 insulting in his attentions. — XXVIII. Sir Mulberry and Lord Frederick, 
 backed by Pyke and Pluck, follow up their advantage, and call at the 
 Wititterlys' ; Kate, harassed beyond endurance, seeks her uncle, and 
 claims his protection, but he declines to interfere. — XXIX. Mr. Lenville, 
 jealous of Nicholas's increasing popularity, threatens him with punish- 
 ment ; attempting to execute his threat in the presence of the company, 
 he finds himself disappointed; Nicholas receives warning from New- 
 man Noggs that his presence in London may be necessary for Kate's 
 protection. — XXX. Mr. Crummies arranges three "last appearances'* 
 for Mr. Johnson; Nicholas, at Miss Snevellicci'a earnest invitation, 
 accompanies that young lady home, when he becomes the hero of the 
 dinner-feast, and Miss SnevelHcci gives way to her feelings ; the appear- 
 ance of a London manager in the audience creates an unusual excite- 
 ment behind the curtain; Nicholas receives another letter from Newman, 
 and hurries his departure for London. — XXXI. Ealph Nickleby detects 
 Newman watching him; Newman consults "with Miss La Creevy in 
 regard to Kate and the return of Nicholas. — XXXII. Nicholas returns 
 to London, and, not finding Newman or Miss La Creevy, strolls into an 
 hotel, where he overhears Sir Mulberry and his party insolently jest- 
 ing about Kate, and demands satisfaction ; receiving only insult in 
 reply, he assaults Sir Mulberry as he is entering his carriage to leave, 
 the horse takes fright, and Sir Mulberry receives serious injury. — 
 XXXIII. Newman relates to Nicholas the position of affairs in regard 
 to Kate, and Nicholas loses no time in removing her from Mrs. Witit- 
 terly's ; he also removes his mother and Kate back to the lodgings at 
 Miss La Creevy' s, and returns the key of Ralph Nickleby' s house to the 
 owner. — XXXIV. Mrs. and Mr. Mantalini transact a little business with 
 Ralph Nickleby; Mr. Mantalini informs Ralph of the altercation be- 
 tween Nicholas and Sir Mulberry Hawk; Mr. Squeers surprises Ralph 
 by calling upon him ; they plan to retaliate upon Nicholas through his 
 affection for Smike. — XXXV. Smike is introduced to Mrs. Nickleby and 
 Kate; Nicholas tries the register ofl&ce again for employment, and 
 meets Mr. Charles Cheeryble, who takes him to his warehouse, where 
 he meet-s Mr. Ned Cheeryble and Tim Linkin water; he enters the 
 employ of Cheeryble Brothers; and removes his mother apkd Kate to a 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBT. 161 
 
 iotiage wMch. his employers let him at Bow. — XXXVI. The Kenwigses, 
 rejoicing over an addition to their family, have their joy turned to 
 grief by the news Nicbclas brings of the marriage of Mr. Lillyvick. — 
 XXXVII. Nicholas's laboars meet the entire approval of Tim Linkin- 
 water ; Cheeryble Brothers give Tim Linkinwater a dinner on his birth, 
 day ; Mrs. Nickleby informs Nicholas of the strange proceedings of their 
 next-door neighbour. — XXXVIII. Miss La Creevy notices a sorrowful 
 change in Smike j Kalph Nickleby waits upon Sir Mulberry Hawk, and 
 they discuss his injury from the attack of Nicholas; Lord Frederick 
 refuses to be a party to any assault upon Nicholas ; Smike is arrested in 
 the street by Mr. Squeers, and carried to Snawle/s house. — XXXIX. John 
 Browdie and his wife, with Miss Squeers, arrive in London, and stop at 
 The Saracen's Head ; Mr. Squeers reports to them the capture of Smike ; 
 accepting the schoolmaster's invitation to tea at Mr. Snawley's, John 
 Browdie feigns illness, and assists Smike to escape. — XL. Smike finds 
 his way to Newman Noggs, and is restored to Nicholas ; Nicholas en- 
 counters a young lady in the room of Mr. Charles Cheeryble, whom he 
 recognises as the one he met at the Registry office, and falls in love 
 with her at once; Nicholas employs Newman to follow her servant, 
 and find out who she is; Newman faithfully performs his trust, and 
 appoints a meeting, on keeping which Nicholas finds that his mediator 
 has made a mistake in the lady. — XLI. Mrs. Nickleby and Kate, con- 
 versing in the garden, are interrupted by the gentleman next door, who 
 proceeds to declare his passion for Mrs. Nickleby, when he is arrested 
 by his keeper. — XLII. Nicholas takes supper with Mr. and Mrs. John 
 Browdie at The Saracen's Head, and hears from John the particulars of 
 Smike's escape from Squeers ; sudden appearance of Miss Squeers, with 
 her father and brother ; her indignation, and her departure with her 
 relatives. — XLIII. Nicholas first meets Mr. Frank Cheeryble; Mr 
 Charles Cheeryble and his nephew take tea with the Nicklebys. — XLIV. 
 Ralph Nickleby learns that Sir Mulberry Hawk has left the country ; 
 Ralph is accosted by a beggar who claims an old acquaintance 
 with him ; he refuses to assist him, and threatens him with arrest ; 
 Ralph witnesses a falling-out between Mr. and Madame Mantalini ; re- 
 turning home, Ralph finds Squeera and Snawley, and goes away with 
 them; Newman Noggs, following, encounters a stranger, in whom he 
 becomes greatly interested. — XLV. IVIr. and Mrs. John Bi'owdie spend a 
 merry evening at the Nicklebys' ; their pleasure is interrupted by the 
 entrance of Ralph Nickleby and Squeers, who claim Smike in the name 
 of his father, whom they produce in the person of Snawley ; Nicholas 
 refuses to give up Smike ; and Squeers gets some rough treatment from 
 John Browdie. — XLVI. Nicholas, relating the circumstances to Mr. 
 Charles Cheeryble, finds that Ralph has been before him ; Mr. Charles 
 relates to Nicholas the history of the young lady whom he has met, and 
 employs him as his confidential messenger in communicating vnth her, 
 and Nicholas makes his first call upon Miss Bray. — XL VII. Newman 
 Noggs, concealing himself in a closet in his room, becomes witness to 
 an interview between Ralph Nickleby and Arthur Gride, in which the 
 latter details his plans for securing Madeline Bray as his bride, and 
 compounds with Ralph for his assistance; they visit Bray, and urge 
 Gride's suit for his daughter's hand. — XL VIII. Nicholas encounters Mr. 
 Vincent Crummies, and attends a farewell supper given to that gentle- 
 man and his family previous to their departure for America ; Nicholas 
 discusses the morality of a certain class of playwrights, and takes his 
 final leave of the Crummleses. — XLIX. Mxs. Nickleby appropriates to 
 
162 THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 herself the attentions of Mr. Frank Cheeryble ; Frank and Tim Linkin- 
 water drop in at the Nicklebys' ; they are astonished at the entrance, 
 down the chimney, of the Gentleman in Small- Clothes ; an abrupt change 
 in his manner towards Mrs. Nickleby convinces her of his insanity, 
 of which she thinks herself the cause; Nicholas becomes alarmed at 
 Smike's melancholy. — L. Sir Mulberry Hawk threatens revenge on 
 Nicholas, and Lord Frederick remonstrates; a quarrel between them 
 in a gambling-booth at Hampton Eaces leads to a duel, in which Lord 
 Frederick is killed. — LI. Arthur Gride selects his wedding-garments ; 
 Newman Noggs bears a letter from his master to Gride, and takes an 
 opportunity to acquaint himself with its contents ; Ralph questions New- 
 man about Brooker, but without satisfactory result ; Newman informs 
 Nicholas of the plot between Ralph and Gride, by which the latter is 
 to marry Madeline Bray; in the absence of the Cheeryble Brothers, 
 Nicholas determines to take upon himself the responsibility of remon- 
 strating with Miss Bray. — LII. Mr. Lillyvick returns to the Kenwigses, 
 and relates the story of his wife's elopement. — LIII. Pursuing his 
 purpose, Nicholas counsels Miss Bray to prevent the approaching 
 marriage ; finding she will sacrifice herself for her father's sake, he goes 
 to Gride, and tries threats upon him, but without eSect. — LIY. Arthur 
 Gride and Ralph Nickleby go to Mr. Bray's for the marriage; while 
 waiting for the appearance of Bray and Madeline, they are surprised by 
 the entrance of Nicholas and Kate ; sudden death of Mr. Bray ; Nicholas 
 accuses Ralph and Gride of their evil designs, threatens them with 
 discovery and punishment, and carries Madeline from the house. — 
 LV. Mrs. Nickleby surprises Nicholas by informing him of her discovery 
 that Frank Cheeryble has fallen in love with Kate ; Smike becomes very 
 ill, and Nicholas takes him to Devonshire. — LYI. Ralph. Nickleby and 
 Gride return to the latter's house, and find it closed; forcing an entrance 
 they find that Peg Sliderskew has robbed Gride of his papers, and 
 absconded; Ralph Nickleby sends for S queers, informs hhn of the 
 theft of the papers, and engages him to recover them. — LVII. Squeers, 
 having found Mrs. Sliderskew and secured her confidence, proceeds 
 to examine the stolen papers ; Frank Cheeryble and Newman Noggs 
 steal in upon them, and prevent the destruction of a will in which 
 Madeline is interested. — LYIII. Smike has his fears excited by the 
 apparition of the man who first carried him to Dotheboys Hall ; Smike 
 confesses to Nicholas his love for Kate and dies. — LIX. Ralph is sur- 
 prised by the absence of Newman Noggs, and also by the appearance of 
 Mr. Charles Cheeryble, to whom he refuses to listen ; Ralph goes in 
 search of Squeers, but does not find him, and then to Gride's, who 
 refuses him entrance; he then goes to Cheeryble Brothers', where 
 Newman Noggs confronts him, and tells him how he has watched his 
 actions and overheard his plots ; they also relate to Ralph, the discoveries 
 they have made in regard to the imposture of Snawley, the occupation of 
 Squeers, his arrest, and the implication of Ralph in these villanies ; he 
 spurns their counsel and defies them to do their worst. — ^LX. Ralph visits 
 Squeers at the police-office, learns that the will in favour of Madeline 
 Bray has been lost to him, and that Squeers no longer will aid his 
 schemes; Tim LinMnwater carries the announcement of a fresh discovery 
 to Ralph, and conveys him again to Cheeryble Brothers' counting-room, 
 where they tell him of Smike's death and confront him with Brooker, 
 who proves to him that Smike was his (Ralph's) own son. — LXI. Nicholas 
 ■"•onfesses to Kate his love for Madeline, and she informs him that she 
 bas declined the hand of Frank Cheeryble j Nicholas also makes known 
 
NICHOLAS NICKLEBr. IffS 
 
 f}if atate of his feelings to Mr. Charles Clieeryble ; ]\Ir. Cheeiyble infornm 
 K icholas of the occurrences of the preceding day, and that his uncle haa 
 fixed an appointment for a meeting with him. — LXII. Ealph Nicklebj, 
 oil leaving the Cheeryble Brotliers, goes home, filled with rotnorse ; 
 ou keeping his appointment, they find liim dead, hanged by his own act. 
 — LXIII. The Cheeryble Brothers invito the Nicklebys and Miss La 
 Creevy to a dinner, where they are surprised to find Frank Cheeryble 
 and Madeline Bray ; Brother Charles explains the position of Madeline's 
 affairs, and approves of her choice of Nicholas, and also the union of 
 Frank with Kate ; Tim Linkinwater and Miss La Creevy agree to 
 unite their fortunes; Newman Noggs appears in a new character. — 
 LXIV. Nicholas and Kate discover Mr. Mantalini in reduced circum- 
 stances } Nicholas visits John Browdie in Yorkshire ; breaking up of 
 Dotheboys Hall. — LXV. Conclusion, in which the subsequent history of 
 ik@ characters is briefly told. 
 
SKETCHES OF YOOTG COUPLES. 
 
 [PUBLISHED IN 1840.] 
 
 The Young Coupljb. 
 
 ADAMS, JANE. A housemaid. 
 
 ANNE. A housemaid at " ^o. 6 ; " friend to Jane Adams. 
 
 FIELDING, MISS EMMA. A young lady about to be married 
 
 to a Mr. Harvey, who is "an angel of a gentleman.*' 
 HARVEY, MR. A young gentleman engaged to Miss Fielding. 
 JOHNf MR, A servant in the house of Miss Fielding's father. 
 
 The Loving Couple. 
 
 LEAVER, AUGUSTUS. ) Two married persons, so tender, so 
 LEAVER, AUGUSTA, /affectionate, so given to the inter- 
 change of soft endearments, as to be well-nigh intolerable to 
 everybody else. 
 STARLING, MRS. A widow-lady em-aptured with the affec- 
 tionate behaviour of Mr. and ]\irs. Leaver, whom she considers 
 a perfect model of wedded felicity. 
 
 The Conteadictoey Coupie. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. 1 ^ married pair who seem to find a positive 
 EDWARD. } pleasui'e in contradiction, and agree in nothing 
 
 else. 
 CHARLOTTE, MISS Tlieir daughter. 
 JAMES, MASTER. Then- son 
 
I 
 
 SKETCHES OF YOUNG COUPLES. 165 
 
 The Couple who Dote upon their Children. 
 
 SA UNDERS, MR. A bachelor-friend of the Wliifflers. 
 
 WHIFFLER, MR. AND MRS. A married pair, whose 
 thoughts at all times and in all places are bound up in their 
 children, and have no sphere beyond. They relate clever 
 things their offspring say or do, and weary every company 
 with their prolixity and absurdity. 
 
 The Cool Couple, 
 
 CHARLES. ) A husband and wife, well-bred, easy, and care- 
 LOUISA. J less, who rarely quarrel, but are unsympathising, 
 and indifferent to each other's comfort and happiness. 
 
 The Plausible Couple. 
 
 WIDGER, MR. BOBTAIL. I People of the world, who 
 WIDGER, MRS. LAVINIA. } d^^d^^t themselves to aU its 
 ways, all its twistings and turnings ; who know when to close 
 their eyes, and when their ears; when to crawl upon their 
 hands and knees ; when to stoop ; and when to stand 
 upright 
 
 The Nice Little Couple. 
 
 CHIRRUP f MR. A warm-hearted little fellow, with the 
 smartness, and something of the brisk, quick manner, of a 
 small bird. 
 
 CHIRRUP, MRS. His wife; a sprightly little woman, with 
 an amazing quantity of goodness and usefulness — ^a condensa- 
 tion, indeed, of all the domestic virtues. 
 
 The Egotistical Couple. 
 
 SLIVERSTONEy MR. A clerical gentleman, who magnifies 
 his wife on every possible occasion by launching out into 
 glowing praises of her conduct in the production of eight 
 young children, and the subsequent rearing and fostering of 
 the same. 
 
 SLIVERSTONE, MRS. His wife; always engaged m 
 praising her husband's worth and excellence. 
 
inc THE DICKENS DICTIONAKY. 
 
 The Couple who Coddle Themselves. 
 
 CHOPPER, MRS. Mother to Mrs. Merrywinkle. 
 
 MERRYWINKLE, MR. AND MRS. A married pair, ulm 
 have fallen into excessive habits of self-indulgence, and forg»t 
 their natural sympathy and close connection with everybody 
 and everything in the world around themj thus depriving 
 themselves of the best and truest enjoyment. 
 
 The Old Coupljs. 
 
 ADAMS, JANE. An aged servant, who has been nurse and 
 
 story-teller to two generations. 
 CROFTS. A barber. 
 
MASTER HUMPHEJEY'S CLOCK. 
 
 Under this title, on the 4th of April, 1840, Mr. Dickeus started a mis. 
 cellany, which was to be issued in weekly numbers, at threepence each, 
 and which was to consist of short, detached papers, with occasional con- 
 tinuous stories. These were introduced and connected together by means 
 of a fiction, describing an old gentleman named Master Humphrey, and 
 a kind of club, which meets once a week at his house, in a quaint old 
 room in which there is a tall old-fashioned clock, from the case of which 
 the members of the club draw forth piles of dusty papers which 
 they themselves have written, and placed there to be read at their 
 meetings. The work extended to eighty-eight numbers, covering a period 
 of nearly two years. Ifc was brought out in the form of an imperial 
 octavo, was excellently printed on good paper, and was illustrated with 
 wood engravings (instead of etchiaga on steel) by George Cattermole, 
 "Phiz" (H. K. Browne), George Cruikshank, and Daniel Maclise — the 
 two latter artists, however, furnishing but one sketch each. 
 
 The public did not take kindly to the machinery of Master Humphrey 
 and his friends; and to revive their flagging interest^ Mr. Pickwick and 
 the two Wellers were again brought upon the scene, as was also a third 
 Weller— a young Tony —who is Sam's son, and a counterpart in miniature 
 of his gi-andf ather. This device was successful ; and the work won 
 its way steadily to general favour. But Mr. Dickens considered that the 
 coimecting fiction of Master Humphrey interfered too much with the 
 continuity of the principal stories, and gave the whole work a too 
 desultoiy character. He therefore eventually cancelled the introductory, 
 inter-^alary, and concluding chapters in which this fiction was contained, 
 though on the completion of the eighty-eight numbers of which the work 
 consisted, it* was issued in three volumes — of which the first appeared in 
 1840, and the last two in 1841. 
 
 CHARACTERS INTRODUCED. 
 
 ALICE, MISTRESS, Heroine of the tale told by Ma^og. 
 the Guiklhall giant, to hia companion, Gog ; the beautiful 
 and only daughter of a wealthy London bo^vyer of the 
 sixteenth century. She elopes \yith a gay young cavaher, by 
 whom she is conveyed abroad, where shame and remorse 
 
 k 
 
168 THE DICKENS mcnO^ASit, 
 
 overtake her. Her father, dying, leaves all his property and 
 trade to a trusted 'prentice, named Hugh Graham, charging 
 him with his latest breath to revenge his child upon the 
 author of her misery, if ever he has the opportunity. 
 Twenty years afterwards, Alice suddenly returns; and 
 Master Graham (who was formerly an aspirant for her 
 hand, and who still loves her) gives her lodging in his 
 house — once he.'^s — taking up his own abode in a dwelling 
 near by. Soon after, he encounters the man who wrought 
 her ruin. The two exchange a few high, hot words, and then 
 close in deadly contest. After a brief struggle, the noble 
 falls, pierced through the heart with his own sword by the 
 citizen. A riot ensues ; and at last Graham is shot dead on 
 his own doorstep. On carrying him upstairs, an unknown 
 woman is discovered lying lifeless beneath the window. 
 
 BELINDA. A distracted damsel, who writes a letter to Master 
 Humphrey about her faithless lover. 
 
 BENTON, MISS. Master Humphrey's housekeeper. Mr. 
 Weller, senior, in a moment of weakness, falls in love with 
 her; but she prefers Mr. Slithers the barber; and the old 
 gentleman, recovering his " native hue of resolution," conjures 
 his son Samivel to put him in a strait waistcoat until the 
 fit is passed, in the event of his ever becoming amorous again. 
 
 DEAF GENTLEMAN, THE. An intimate friend of Master 
 Humphrey's, and a cheerful, placid, happy old man. It is his 
 humour to conceal his name, or he has a reason and purpose 
 for doing so. Master Humphrey and the other members of 
 the club respect his secret, therefore ; and he is known among 
 them only as the Deaf Gentleman. 
 
 GOG. One of the Guildhall giants. See Toddyhigh, Joe. 
 
 GRAHAM, HUGH. A bowyer's 'prentice, in love with his 
 master's daughter. See Alice, Mistress. 
 
 JINKINSON. The subject of an anecdote related by Sam 
 WeUer. 
 
 MAGOG. One of the Guildhall giants. See Toddyhigh, Joe. 
 
 MARKS, WILL. The hero of a tale which Mr. Pickwick 
 submits to Master Humphrey and his friends as a " quahfi ca- 
 tion" for admission to their club. "Will is a wild, roving 
 young fellow, living at Windsor in the time of James I. 
 He volunteers to keep watch by night at a gibbet near 
 Kingston, for the purpose of identifying some witches who 
 have been holding hideous nocturnal revels there ; but he 
 finds, instead of witches, two gentlewomen weeping and 
 
MASTER HUMPHHEY'S clock. 169 
 
 Wailiiig for an executed husband and brotlier. He suffers 
 himself to be conducted to Putney, where he is introduced to 
 a masked cavalier, who induces him to take the body of the 
 dead man by night for burial to St. Dunstan's Church 
 in London. This task, though a difficult and dangerous one, 
 he performs; and on his return home, finding the whole 
 neighbourhood worked up to a high pitch of mystery and 
 horror over his disappearance, he adds to the excitement by 
 teUiag them a most extraordinary story of his adventures, 
 describing the witches' dance to the minutest motion of their 
 legs, and performing it in character on the table, with the 
 assistance of a broomstick. 
 
 MASTER HUMPHREY, A kind-hearted, deformed old gentle- 
 man, living in an ancient house in a venerable suburb of 
 London. He is the founder of a sort of club, which meets in 
 his room one night in every week, at the hour of ten. In 
 this room are six chairs, four of which are filled by Master 
 Humphrey and his friends — Jack Eedburn, Mr. Owen Miles, 
 and the "Deaf Gentleman." The two empty seats are 
 reserved until they can fill them with two men to their mind ; 
 and Mr. Pickwick eventually becomes the occupant of one of 
 them, while Mr. Jack Bamber is proposed as a candidate for 
 the other. In a snug corner stands a quaint old clock in a 
 huge oaken case, curiously and richly carved; and in the 
 bottom of this case the members of the club, from time to 
 time, deposit manuscript tales of their own composition, 
 which are taken out and read at their weekly meetings. 
 Among these are the two well-known stories called "The 
 Old Curiosity Shop " (the secondary title of which, as at 
 first published, was "Personal Adventures of Master 
 Humphrey") and "Bamaby Eudge." Master Humphrey 
 thus describes himself and his friends : 
 
 " We are men of secluded habits, witli something of a clond upon 
 onr early fortunes, whose enthusiasm, nevertheless, has not cooled 
 with age, whose spirit of romance is not yet quenched, who are content 
 to ramble through the world in a pleasant dream, rather than ever 
 waken again to its harsh realities. We are alchemists who would 
 extract the essence of perpetual youth from dust and ashes, tempt coy 
 Truth in many light and airy forms from the bottom of her well, and 
 discover one crumb of comfort or one grain of good in the commonest 
 and least-regarded matter that passes through our crucible." 
 
 MILES, MR. OWEN. A wealthy retired merchant of sterling 
 character ; a great friend and admirer of Jack Eedburn. 
 
 PICKWICK, MR. SAMUEL. The hero of "The Pickwick 
 Papers." Heading Master Humphrey's account of himself, 
 
170 THE DICKENS DICTIONAKY. 
 
 liis clock, and his club, lie is seized with a strong desire to 
 become a candidate for one of the two vacant chairs in the 
 club, and accordingly furnishes a witch-story of the time of 
 James L, as his qualification, which procures him the honour. 
 See Marks, Will. 
 
 Mr. Pickwick's face, while his tale was being read, would have 
 attracted the attention of the dullest man alive. The complacent 
 motion of his head and forefinger as he gently beat time, and corrected 
 the air with imaginary punctuation, the smile that mantled on his 
 face at every jocose passage, and the sly look he stole around to 
 observe its effect, the calm manner in which he shut his eyes and 
 listened when there was some little piece of description, the chaugiog 
 expression with which he acted the dialogue to himself, his agony that 
 the deaf gentleman should know what it was all about, and his estra- 
 ordinary anxiety to correct the reader when he hesitated at a word in 
 the manuscript or substituted a wrong one, were alike worthy of 
 remark. And when at last, endeavouring to communicate with the 
 deaf gentleman by means of the finger alphabet, with which he con- 
 structed such words as are unknown in any civilised or savage language, 
 he took up a slate and wrote in large text, one word in a line, the 
 question, *' How — do — you — like — it ? "—when he did this, and hand- 
 ing it over the table awaited the reply, with a countenance only 
 brightened and improved by his great excitement, even Mr. Miles 
 relaxed, and could not forbear looking at him for the moment with 
 interest and favour. 
 
 PODGEBS, JOHN. A character in Mr. Pickwick's tale ; a 
 stout, drowsy, fat-witted old fellow, held by his neighbours to 
 be a man of strong sound sense ; uncle to WiU Marks. 
 
 RED BURN, JACK. One of Master Humphrey's friends, and 
 his factotum. IMr. Miles is his inseparable <jompanion, and 
 regards him with great admiration, believing not only that 
 "no man ever lived who could do so many things as Jack, 
 but that no man ever lived who could do anything so well." 
 
 SLITHERS, MR. Mr. Pickwick's barber; a very bustling, 
 active little man, with a red nose and a round bright face. 
 He falls in love with Miss Benton, Master Humphrey's house- 
 keeper, and finally marries her. 
 
 TODDYHIGH, JOE. An old playmate of the Lord Mayor 
 elect of London. The two had been poor boys together at 
 Hull ; and when they separated, and went out into the world 
 in different directions to seek their fortunes, they agreed always 
 to remain fast friends. But time works many changes ; and 
 so it happens that the Loid Mayor elect receives his old com- 
 panion very coldly when he suddenly appears in his counting- 
 room, and claims acquaintance, at a late hour on the very 
 night before the grand inauguration. -Ashamed and distrustful 
 of his old friend, he gets rid of him as quickly as possible. 
 
MASTER HUMPHREY'S CLOCK. 171 
 
 giving him, however, a ticket to the grand dinner on the 
 morrow. Joe takes it withoTit a word, and instantly departs. 
 The next day he goes to Guildhall, but, knowing nobody there, 
 lounges about^ and at last comes into an empty little music- 
 gallery, which commands the whole hall. Sitting down, he 
 soon falls asleep; and when he wakes, as the clock strikes 
 three, he is astonished to find the guests departed, and to see 
 the statues of the great giants Gog and Magog (the guardian 
 genii of the city) endowed with Hfe and motion, and to hear 
 them speak in grave and solemn voices, agreeing to while away 
 the dreary nights with legends of old London and with other 
 tales ; Magog making a beginning by relating the first of the 
 " Giant Chronicles." 
 
 WELLER, SAMUEL. Mr. Pickwick's body-servant; "the 
 same true, faithful fellow " that he used to be in the days of 
 the Pickwick Club, retaining all his native humour too, and 
 all his old easy confidence, address, and knowledge of the 
 world. See Weller, Tony, the elder, 
 
 WELLER, TONYy the elder. The old plethoric coachman of 
 " The Pickwick Papers ; " father to Sam Weller. "When Mr. 
 Pickwick, attended by Sam, visits Master Humphrey on club- 
 nights, old Mr. Weller accompanies them as pait of Mr. Pick- 
 wick's body-guard. While the members of Master Humphrey's 
 Clock are holding their meeting in the study upstaii-s, Miss 
 Benton the housekeeper, and her friend, Mi. Slithers the 
 barber, entertain the two Wellers in the kitchen. 
 
 "I don't think," said Sam, who was smoking with great composure 
 and enjoyment, " that if the lady wos agreeable, it 'ud be very far out 
 o' the vay for us four to make up a club of our own like the governors 
 does upstairs, and let him," Sam pointed with the stem of his pipe 
 towards his parent, " be the president." 
 
 The housekeeper affably declared it was the very thing she had 
 been thinking of. The barber said the same. Mr. Weller said nothing, 
 but he laid down his pipe as if in a fit of inspiration, and performed 
 the following manoeuvres. 
 
 Unbuttoning the three lower buttons of his waistcoat, and pausing 
 for a moment to enjoy the easy flow of breath consequent upon this 
 process, he laid violent hands upon his watch-chain, and slowly and 
 with extreme difficulty drew from his fob an immense double-cased 
 silver watch, which brought the lining of the pocket with it, and was 
 not to be disentangled but by great exertions and an amazing redness 
 of face. Having fairly got it out at last, he detached the outer case, 
 and wound it up with a key of corresponding magnitude ; then put the 
 case on again, and having applied the watch to his ear to ascei-taia 
 that it was still going, gave it some half-dozen hard knocks on the 
 table to improve its performance. 
 
 "That," said Mr. Weller, laying it on the table with its face 
 upwards, " ia the title and emblem of this hers society. Samray, reach 
 
1?2 THS GICKEKS DICTIOKAUY. 
 
 them two stools this vay for the wacant cheeia. Ladies and gen'lmen, 
 Mr. Weller's Watch is vound up and now a-goin*. Order ! " 
 
 By way of enforcing this proclamation, Mr. Weller, using the watch 
 after the manner of a president's hammer, and remarking with great 
 pride that nothing hurt it, and that falls and concussions of all kinds 
 materially enhanced the excellence of the works and assisted the 
 regulator, knocked the table a great many times, and declared the 
 association formally constituted. 
 
 The old " whip " presides with great dignity, and ohserves 
 the strictest rules of parliamentary law ; thus, when Sam, in the 
 course of some remarks, refers to a class of gentlemen as " barhers," 
 and Mr. Slithers rises, and suggests that " hair-dressers " would 
 be more " sootliing " to his feelings, Mr. Weller rules that " hair- 
 dressers " is the only designation proper to be used in the debate, 
 and that all others are out of order. 
 
 " Well, but suppose he wasn't a hairdresser," suggested Sam. 
 
 "Wy, then, sir, be parliamentary, and call him vun all the more,** 
 returned his father, " in the same vay as ev^ery gen'lman in another 
 place is Tionourable, ev'ry barber in this place is a hairdresser. Ven 
 you reads the speeches in the papers, and see as vun gen'lman says of 
 another, * The Tionourable member, if he vill allow me to call him so,' 
 you vill understand, sir, that that means, * if he vill allow me to keep 
 up that 'ere pleasant and uniwersal fiction." 
 
 Having taken a decided fancy to Miss Benton, but being 
 afraid that she is a " widder," Mr. Weller gets Sam to inquire 
 as to the fact. He is told that she is a spinster. 
 
 " A wot ? " said his father, with deep scorn. 
 
 *' A spinster," replied Sam. 
 
 Mr. Weller looked very hard at his eon for a minnte or two, and 
 then said : 
 
 "Never mind vether she makes jokes or not, that's no matter. 
 Wot I say is, is that 'ere female a widder, or is she not ? " 
 
 "Wot do you mean by her making jokes?" demanded Sam, quite 
 aghast at the obscurity of his parent's speech. 
 
 '* Never you mind, Samivel," returned Mr. Weller, gravely ; " puns 
 may be wery good things or they may be wery bad 'uns, and a female 
 may be none the better, or she may be none the vurae for making of 
 'em ; that's got nothing to do vith widders." 
 
 " Wy now," said Sam, looking round, " would anybody believe that 
 a man at his time of life could be running his head agin spinsters and 
 punsters being the same thing ? " 
 
 "There ain't a straw's difference between 'em," said Mr. Weller. 
 " Your father didn't drive a coach for so many years, not to be ekval to 
 his own langvidge as far as that goes, Sanmiy." 
 
 Mr. Weller insists upon the two words being synonymous, 
 but is finally assured that Miss Benton is not a widow, which 
 gives him great satisfaction. 
 
MASTER HUMPHEEY'S CLOCK. 173 
 
 WELLERj TONY, the younger. A son of Sam Weller ; named 
 after his grandfather. He is a very small boy, about two feet 
 six from the ground, having a very round face strongly resem- 
 bling Mr. "Weller's, and a stout little body of exactly his build, 
 firmly set upon a couple of very sturdy legs. When Mr. 
 "Weller is first introduced to Master Humphrey, he imme- 
 diately goes off, as he always does, into praises of his name- 
 sake. 
 
 " Samivel Veller, sir,** said the old gentleman, " has con-f erred upon 
 toe the ancient title o' grandfather vich had long lain dormouse, and 
 "wos s'posed to be nearly hex-tinct in our family. Sammy, relate a 
 anecdote o' Tun o* them boys, — that 'ere little anecdote about young 
 Tony sayin' as he would smoke a pipe unbeknown to his mother." 
 
 " Be quiet, can't you ? " said Sam j " I never see such an old 
 magpie — never ! " 
 
 " That 'ere Tony is the blessedest boy," said Mr. Weller, heedless 
 of this rebuff, " the blessedest boy as ever I see in my days ! of all the 
 charmin'est infants as ever I heerd tell on, includiu' them as was 
 kivered over by the robin-redbreasts arter they'd committed sooicide 
 with blackberries, there never wos any like that 'ere little Tony. He's 
 alvays playin' vith a quart pot, that boy is! To see him a-settin* 
 down on the doorstep pretendin' to drink out of it, and fetcbin' a long 
 breath artervards, and smoking a bit of fire-vood, and savin' * Now I'm 
 grandfather,' — to see him a-doin' that at two year old is better than 
 any play as was ever wrote. ' Now I'm grandfather ! ' He wouldn't 
 take a pint-pot, if you vos to make him a present on it, but he gets 
 his quart, and then he says, ' Now I'm grandfather ! ' " 
 
 Mr. Weller was so overpowered by this picture that he straightway 
 fell into a most alarming fit of coughing, which must certainly have 
 been attended with some fatal result but for the dexterity and 
 promptitude of Sam, who, taking a firm grasp of the shawl just 
 under his father's chin, shook him to and fro vsdth great violence, 
 at the same time administering some smart blows between his 
 shoulders. By this curious mode of treatment Mr. Weller was finally 
 recovered, but with a very crimson face, and in a state of great 
 exhaustion. 
 
THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
 
 This story originally appeared in the serial miscellany called " Master 
 liumplirey's Clock," the first chapter in the fourth number. It is 
 supposed to be narrated by Master Humphi-ey (who figures as the 
 Single Gentleman, the brother of Little Kell's grandfather), and, as at 
 first published, it bore the sub-title, " Personal Adventui-es of Master 
 Humphrey," 
 
 The author says of this tale, " The many friends it won me, and the 
 many hea.rts it turned to me when they were full of private sorrow, 
 invest it with an interest in my mind which is not a public one, and 
 the rightful place of which appears to be ' a more removed ground.' I 
 vdM merely observe, therefore, that, in writing the book, I had it always 
 in my fancy to surround the lonely figure of the child [Little Nell] with 
 grotesque and wild, but not impossible companions, and to gather about 
 her innocent face and pure intentions associates as strange and uncoD- 
 genial as the grim objects that are about her bed when her history is 
 first foreshadowed." 
 
 CHARACTERS INTRODUCED. 
 
 BACHELOR, THE. A Mnd old gentleman at a village where 
 Little !N'ell and her grandfather stay in the course of their 
 wanderings. 
 
 None of the simple villagers had cared to ask his name, or, when 
 they knew it, to store it in their memory. Perhaps from some 
 vague rumour of his college honours which had been whispered abroad 
 on his first arrival, perhaps because he was an unmarried, unencum- 
 bered gentleman, he had been called The Bachelor. The name pleased 
 him, or suited him as well as any other, and The Bachelor he had ever 
 since remained. 
 
 (Ch. lii, liv., Iv., Ixi, Ixviii, Isix., Ixxxiii.) 
 
 BARBARA, A housemaid at Mrs. Garland's ; afterwards the 
 wife of Kit [N'ubhles. (Ch. xxii, xxxviii-xl., Ixviii, Ixix., 
 Ixxiii) See Nubbles, Kit. 
 
THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 175 
 
 ||. BARBARA'S MOTHER (Ch. xzxix.. xl., Ixi., liviii., Ixix., 
 ^ Ixxiii.) 
 
 BRASS, SALLY. Sister and partner of Sampson Brass. 
 
 In face she bore a striking resemblance to her brother Sampson — 
 so exact, indeed, was the likeness between them, that had it consorted 
 with Miss Brass's maiden modesty and gentle womanhood to have 
 assumed her brother's clothes in a frolic and sat down beside him, 
 it would have been difficult for the oldest friend of the family to 
 determine which was Sampson and which Sally, especially as the 
 lady carried upon her upper lip certain reddish demonstrations, 
 which, if the imagiaation had been assisted by her attire, might have 
 been mistaken for a beard. These were, however, in all probability, 
 nothing more than eye-lashes in a wrong place, as the eyes of Miss 
 Brass were quite free from any such natiiral impertinences. In com- 
 plexion Miss Brass was sallow — rather a dirty sallow, so to speak — 
 but this hue was agreeably relieved by the healthy glow which 
 mantled in the extreme tip of her laughing nose. Her voice was 
 exceedingly impressive — deep and rich in quality, and, once heard, 
 not easily forgotten. ... In mind, she was of a strong and vigorous 
 turn, having from her earliest youth devoted herself with uncommon 
 ardour to the study of the law ; not wasting her speculations upon its 
 eagle flights, which are rare, but tracing it attentively through all 
 the slippery and eel-like crawlings in which it commonly pursues its 
 way. . . . Whether she had steeled her heart against mankind, or 
 whether those who might have wooed and won her were deterred by 
 fears that, being learned in the law, she might have too near her 
 fingers' ends those particular statutes which regulate what are 
 familiarly termed actions for breach, certain it is that she was still 
 in a state of celibacy, and still in daily occupation of her old stool 
 opposite to that of her brother Sampson. And equally certain it is, 
 by the way, that between these two stools a great many people had 
 come to the ground. 
 
 (Cii. xxxiil-xxxviii., li., Ivi., lvm.-lx., IxiiL-lxvii., Ixxiii.) 
 
 - BRASS, SAMPSOK A villanous attorney of Eevis Marks, 
 with a cringing manner and a very harsh voice ; Quilp's legal 
 adviser. He is a tall, meagre man, with a nose like a wen, a 
 protruding forehead, retreating eyes, and hair of a deep red. 
 (Ch. xi.-xiii., xxxiii., xxxv., xxxvii., xxxviii., xlix., li., Ivi.- 
 Ix., lxii.-lxiv., Ixvi., Ixvii., Ixxxiii.) 
 
 CHEGGS, MR. A market-gardener ; a rival of Mr. Swiveller's 
 for the hand of Sophy Wackles, whom he finally marries. 
 (Ch. viii.) See Swiveller, Dick. 
 
 CHEGGS, MISS. His sister. (Ch. viii) 
 
 CHUGKSTER, MR. Clerk in the office of Witherden the 
 notary ; a member of the Lodge of Glorious Apollos, and a 
 mortal enemy of Kit Nubbles. (Ch. xiv., xx., xxxviii., xl., 
 Ivi., Ix., Ixv., Ixix., Ixxiii.) 
 
 CLERGYMAN, THE. A very kind pastor at the village 
 
176 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 where Nell and her grandfather stay for a time. (Ch. lii., 
 
 Ixxiii.) See Trent, Little Nell. 
 CODLINy TOM. One of the Punch-and-Judy showmen with 
 
 whom Little Nell and her grandfather travel for a few days. 
 
 (Ch. xvi.-xix., xxvii., Ixxiii.) 
 DA VIDy OLD. Assistant to the old sexton in the village where 
 
 Little NeU dies. (Ch. Hv.) 
 ED WARDS, MISS. A p»apil at Miss Monflathers's educational 
 
 establishment. (Ch. xxv^i., ^xxii.) 
 EVANS, RICHARD. One of Mr. Marton's pupils. (Ch. lii.) 
 GARLAND, MR. A little, fat, placid-faced, and very kind- 
 
 liearted old gentleman, with whom Kit Nubbles lives after he 
 
 leaves Little Nell (Ch. xiv., xx., xxii., xxxviii.-xl., Ix., 
 
 Ixvii.-lxx., Ixxii.) 
 GARLAND, MRS. His wife ; a little old lady, plump and 
 
 placid, like himself. (Ch. xiv., xx., xxii., xxxviii.-xl., Ixvii.- 
 
 Ixix., Ixxiii.) 
 GARLAND, MR. ABEL. Their son, articled to Mr. Witherden 
 
 the notary, whose partner he afterwards becomes. (Ch. xiv., 
 
 XX., xxxviii.-xli., Ix., Ixv., Ixvii.-lxix., Ixxiii.) 
 GEORGE. Driver of ^Irs. Jarley's caravan; afterwards hei 
 
 husband. (Ch. xxvi., xxviii., xlvii.) 
 GEORGE, MRS. A neighbour and friend of Mrs. Quilp's. 
 
 (Ch. iv.) 
 GRANDFATHER, LITTLE NELL'S. Proprietor of the 
 
 Old Curiosity Shop. The history of his life before the time 
 
 when the story opens is thus sketched : ' 
 
 " There were once two brothers, who loved each other dear! j. 
 There was a disparity in their ages — some twelve years. ... Wide 
 as the interval between thena was, however, they became rivals too 
 soon. The deepest and strongest affection of both their hearts settled 
 upon one object. 
 
 *' The youngest — ^there were reasons for his being sensitive and 
 watchful — was the first to find this out. I will not tell you what misery 
 he underwent, what agony of soul he knew, how great his mental 
 struggle was. . . . He left his brother to be happy. The truth never 
 passed his lips ; and he quitted the country, hoping to die abroad. 
 
 " The elder brother married her. She was in heaven before long, 
 ftnd left him with an infant daughter. . . . 
 
 "In this daughter the mother lived again. You may judge with 
 what devotion he who lost that mother, almost in the winning, clung to 
 this girl, her breathing image. She grew to womanhood, and gave her 
 heart to one who could not know its worth. Well ! Her fond father 
 could not see her pine and droop. He might be more deserving than 
 he thought him. He surely might become so with a wife like her. He 
 joined their hands, and they were married. 
 
THU OLt) CtElOSll't SfiOP. 177 
 
 ** Throngll all the misery that followed this nnion, through all the 
 bold neglect and undeserved reproach, through all the poverty he 
 brought upon her, through all the struggles of their daily life, too mean 
 and pitiful to tell, but dreadful to endure, she toiled on in the deep 
 devotion of her spirit, and in her better nature, as only woman can, 
 Her means and substance wasted, her father nearly beggared by her 
 husband's hand, and the hourly witness (for they lived now under one 
 roof) of her ill-usage and unhappiness, she never, but for him, bewailed 
 her fate. Patient, and upheld by strong affection to the last, she died 
 a Tiddow of some three weeks' date, leaving to her father's care twio 
 orphans — one a son of ten or twelve years old, the other a girl, sufeh 
 another infant child (the same in helplessness, in age, in form, :iii> 
 feature) as she had been herself when her young mother died. 
 
 *' The elder brother, grandfather to these two children, was now a 
 broken man, crushed and borne down less by the weight of years than 
 by the hand of sorrow. With the wreck of his possessions he began to 
 trade — in pictures first, and then in curious ancient things. He haid 
 entertained a fondness for such matters from a boy; and the tastes 
 he had cultivated were now to yield him an anxious and precarioua 
 subsistence. 
 
 "The boy grew like his father in mind and person; the girl so like 
 her mother, that when the old man had her on his knee, and looked iuto 
 her mild blue eyes, he felt as if awaking fx'om a wretched dream, and 
 his daughter were a little child again. The wayward boy soon sparued 
 the shelter of his roof, and sought associates more congenial to his 
 taste. The old man and the child dwelt alone together. 
 
 *' It was then, when the love of two dead people who had been 
 nearest and dearest to his heart was all transferred to this slight 
 creature ; when her face, constantly ^bef ore him, reminded him from 
 hour to hour of the too early change he had seen in such another,"df 
 all the suffering he had watched and knowTi, and all his child had 
 undergone; when the young man's profligate and hardened course 
 drained him of money, as his father's had, and even sometimes occa- 
 sioned them temporary privation and distress — it was then that, t]&ere 
 began to beset him, and to be ever in his mind, a gloomy dread of 
 poverty and want. He had no thought for himself in this. His fear 
 was for the child. It was a spectre in his house, and haunted him 
 night and day." ;j' - rai.i 
 
 Possessed by this overmastering desire to provide |€ff> his 
 granddaughter, he is drawn to the gaming-table, and tries hm 
 luck again and again, until at last he becomes — for her sak&^a 
 confirmed gambler. Losing heavily and constantly, but con- 
 fident that fortune will finally favour him, he borrows money 
 from Quilp, a rich dwarf, pledging his little stock as seciirity foj^ 
 the debt. His resources, however, are soon all exhausted, vMs 
 shop and its contents taken in execution, and he himself is 
 thrown upon the world, a. beggar, shattered in intellect^ and 
 tottering on the verge of the grave. Little ISTell leads him ^'W:^f 
 from London; and they wander together through the cpu^?f^ 
 But the passion for play only slumbers in him, and is ready.ctxJ 
 awake with the first opportunity that offers. But in the secltfiioa 
 
178 THS DICKEKS DICTIONARY. 
 
 of a quiet village, wherethey at last find a home, such temptatloTi 
 no longer conies ;; .and his hopes and fears, an4 all his thoughts, 
 are tm-ned to the gentle ohj(?ct of his love, who soon begins to 
 sink Tindef the effects of her past trials and sufferings. Mean- 
 time — ^- . ' - -'• \- - - 
 
 ** The younger brother had been a traveller in many countries, and 
 had made his pilgrimage through life alone. His voluntary banishment 
 had been misconstrued, and he had borne (not without pain) reproach 
 and slight for doing that which'had wrtmg his heart, and cast a mourn- 
 ful shadow on his path. Apart from this, communication between him 
 and the elder was difficult and uncertain, and often failed; still it 
 was not so wholly broken off but that he learned — ^with long blanks, 
 and gaps between each interva^ of information — all that I have told 
 you now. 
 
 "Then dreams of their young, happy life — ^happy to him, though 
 laden with pain and early care— visited his pillow yet ofteher than 
 before; and -every night,' a boy again, he was at his brother's side. 
 With the utmost speed he could exert he settled his affairs ; converted 
 into money all the goods he had, and with honourable wealth enough 
 for both, with open heart and hand, with limbs that trembled as they 
 bore him on, with emotion such as men can hardly bear and live, 
 arrived one evening at his brother's door." 
 
 When, by dint of such inquiries as the utmost vigilance and 
 sagacity could set on foot, he at last discovers the place of the 
 wanderers' retreat, it is only to find Little Nell dead, and her 
 grandfather a mere wreck. Even Kit ITubbles, his old servant, 
 who accompanies the younger brother, has no power to move 
 him. 
 
 "Where is she ? " demanded Kit. " Oh, tell me but that — ^but that, 
 dear master!" 
 
 " She is asleep — ^yonder — ^in there." - 
 
 "Thank God!" 
 
 "Aye! Thank God!" returned the old man. "I have prayed to 
 Him, many, and many, and many a livelong night, when she has been 
 asleep. He knows. Hark 1 Did she caU ? " 
 
 " I heard no voice." 
 
 " You did. You hear her now. Do yon tell me that you don't hear 
 that?" 
 
 He started up, and listened again. 
 
 " Nor that ? " he cried, with a triumphant smile. " Can anybody 
 know that voice so well as 1 1 Hush ! hush ! " 
 
 Motioning him to be silent, he stole away into another chamber. 
 After a short S,bsence (during which he could be heard to speak in a 
 Boftened soothing tone) he returned, bearing in his hand a lamp. 
 
 " She is still asleep," he whispered. " You were right. She did 
 not caU — unless she did so in her slumber. She has called to me in her 
 Bleep before now, sir ; as I have sat by, watching, I have seen her lip« 
 move, and have known, though no sound came from them, that she 
 Bpoke of me. I feared the light might dazzle hei eyes and wake her, so 
 I brought it here." 
 
 H© spoke rather to himself thswa to the visitor, but when he had 
 
THE OLD CUlttOSiTt SitO?. m 
 
 put the lamp upon the table, he took ifc tip, as if impelled by Bome 
 momentary recollection or curiosity, and held it near his face. Then, 
 as if forgetting his motive in the very action, he turned away and put 
 it down again. 
 
 " She is sleeping BOtmdly," he said ; " but no wonder. Angel hands 
 have strewn the ground deep with snow, that the lightest footstep may 
 be lighter yet ; and the very birds are dead, that tbey may not wake 
 her. She nsed to feed them, sir. Though never so cold and hungry, 
 the timid things would fly from us. They never flew from her ! " 
 
 Again he stopped to listen, and scarcely drawing breath, listened for 
 a long, long time. That fancy past, he opened an old chest, took out 
 Bome clothes as fondly as if they had been living things, and began to 
 Bmooth and brush them with his hand. 
 
 " Why dost thou lie so idle there, dear Nell," he murmured, " when 
 there are bright red berries out of doors waiting for thee to pluck them ! 
 Why dost thou lie so idle there, when thy little friends come creeping 
 to the door, crying * Where is Nell — sweet Nell ? ' — and sob, and weep, 
 because they do not see thee ? She was always gentle with children. 
 The wildest would do her bidding — she had a tender way with them, 
 indeed she had I " 
 
 Kit had no power to speak. His eyes were filled with tears. 
 
 "Her little homely dress — her favourite!" cried the old man, 
 pressing it to his breast, and patting it with his shrivelled hand. *' She 
 will miss it when she wakes. They have hid it here in sport, but she 
 shall have it — she shall have it. I would not vex my darling, for the 
 wide world's riches. See here — these shoes — how worn they are — she 
 kept them to remind her of our last long journey. You see where the 
 little feet went bare upon the ground. They told me, afterwards, that) 
 the stones had cut and bruised them. She never told me that. No, no, 
 God bless her ! and, I have remembered since, she walked behind me, 
 sir, that I might not see how lame she was — but yet she had my hand in 
 hers, and seemed to lead me still." 
 
 By little and little, the old man had drawn back towards the inner 
 chamber, while these words were spoken. He pointed there, as he 
 replied, with trembling lips : 
 
 " You plot among you to wean my heart from her. You never will 
 do that — never while I have life. I have no relative or friend but her — 
 I never had — I never will have. She is all in all to me. It is too late 
 to part us now." 
 
 Waving them off with his hand, and calling softly to her as he went, 
 he stole into the room. They who were left behind, drew close together, 
 and after a few whispered words — not unbroken by emotion, or easily 
 uttered — followed bim. They moved so gently, that their footstep^? 
 made no noise; but there were sobs from among the group, and sounds 
 of grief and mouiming. 
 
 For she was dead. There, upon her little bed, she lay at rest. The 
 iolemn stillness was no marvel now. 
 
 She was dead. No sleep so beautifid and calm, so free from trace 
 of pain, so fair to look upon. She seemed a creature fresh from the 
 hand of God, and waiting for the breath of Ufe ; not one who had lived 
 and suffered death. 
 
 Her couch was dressed with here and there some winter berries and 
 green leaves, gathered in a spot she had been used to favour. " Wheo 
 
 jsr 2 
 
ISO f HE DICKENS DICTlOl^AIlt. 
 
 I die, put near me something that has loved the ligM, and had the skf 
 above it always." Those were her words. 
 
 She was dead. Dear, gentle, patient, noble Nell was dead. Her 
 little bird — a poor slight thing the pressure of a finger would have 
 crushed — ^was stirring nimbly in its cage ; and the strong beart of its 
 child-mistress was mute and motionless for ever. 
 
 Wbere were the traces of her early cares, her sufferings, and fatigues ? 
 All gone. Sorrow was dead indeed in her, but peace and perfect hap- 
 piness were born ; imaged in her tranquil beauty and profound repose. 
 
 And still her former self lay there, unaltered in this change. Yes. 
 The old fireside had smiled upon that same sweet face ; it had passed, 
 like a dream, through haunts of misery and care ; at the door of the 
 poor schoolmaster on the summer evening, before the furnace fire upon 
 the cold wet night, at the still bedside of the dying boy, there had been 
 the same mild, lovely look. So shall we know the angels in their 
 majesty, after death. 
 
 The old man held one languid arm in his, and had the small hand 
 tight folded to his breast for warmth. It was the hand she had 
 stretched out to him with her last smile — the hand that had led him 
 on through all their wanderings. Ever and anon he pressed it to his 
 lips ; then bugged it to his breast again, murmuring that it was warmer 
 now ; and as he said it he looked in agony to those who stood around, as 
 if imploring them to help her. 
 
 She was dead, and past all help, or need of it. The ancient rooms 
 Bhe had seemed to fill with life, even while her own was waning fast , 
 the garden she had tended, the eyes she bad gladdened, the noiseless 
 haunts of many a thoughtful hour, the paths she had trodden as it were 
 but yesterday, could know her never more. 
 
 " It is not," said the schoolmaster, as he bent down to kiss her on 
 the cheek, and gave his tears free vent, *' it is not on earth that Heaven's 
 justice ends. Think what earth is compared with the world to which 
 her young spirit has winged its early flight ; and say, if one deliberate 
 wish expressed in solemn terms above this bed could call her back to 
 life, which x>t us would utter it ? " 
 
 They then take the old man out while Little l^eR is removed 
 to the churchyard ; hut, upon his return, he repairs straight to 
 her chamher. 
 
 Not finding what be had left there, he returned with distracted looks 
 to the room in which they were assembled. From that he rushed into 
 the schoolmaster's cottage, calling her name. They followed close upon 
 him, and when he had vainly searched it, brought him home. 
 
 With such persuasive words as pity and affection could suggest, they 
 prevailed upon him to sit among them and hear what they should tell 
 him. Then endeavouring by every little artifice to prepare his mind 
 for what must come, and dwelling with many ferveut words upon the 
 happy lot to which she had been removed, they told him, at last, the 
 truth. The moment it had passed their lips, he fell down among them 
 like a murdered man. 
 
 For many hours they had Httle hope of his surviving j but grief is 
 gtrong, and he recovered. 
 
 If there be any who have never known the blank that follows death 
 —the weary void — the sense of desolation that will come upon the 
 strongest minds, when something familiar and beloved is missed a,i: 
 
THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 181 
 
 every turn — the connection between inanimate and senseless things, 
 and the object of recollection, when every household god becomes 
 a monument and every room a grave — ^if there be any who have not 
 known this, and proved it by their own experience, they can never 
 faintly guess how, for many days, the old man pined and moped away 
 the time, and wandered here and there as seelang something, and had 
 no comfort. 
 
 Whatever power of thought or memory he retained, was all bound 
 up in her. He never understood, or seemed to care to understand, 
 about his brother. To every endearment and attention he continued 
 listless. If they spoke to him on this or any other theme — save one — 
 he would hear them patiently for a while, then turn away, and go o^ 
 eeeking as before. 
 
 On that one theme, which was in his and all their minds, it was 
 impossible to touch. Dead ! He could not hear or bear the word. The 
 slightest hint of it would throw him into a paroxysm, like that he had 
 had when it was first spoken. In what hope he lived, no man could 
 tell ; but that he had some hope of finding her again, some faint and 
 shadowy hope, deferred from day to day, and making him from day to 
 day more sick and sore at heart, was plain to aU. 
 
 They bethought them of a removal from the scene of this last 
 sorrow ; of trying whether change of place would rouse or cheer him. 
 His brother sought the advice of those who were accounted skilful in 
 such matters, and they came and saw him. Some of the number stayed 
 upon the spot, conversed with him when he would converse, and watched 
 him as he wandered up and down, alone and silent. Move him where 
 they might, they said, he would ever seek to get back there. His mind 
 would run upon that spot. If they confined him closely, and kept a 
 strict guard upon him, they might hold him prisoner, but if he could 
 by any means escape, he would surely wander back to that place, or die 
 upon the road. 
 
 At length they found, one day, that he had risen early, and with 
 his knapsack on his back, his staff in hand, her own straw hat, and 
 little basket full of such things as she had been used to carry, was 
 gone. As they were making ready to pursue him far and wide, a 
 frightened schoolboy came, who had seen him, but a moment before, 
 sitting in the church — upon her grave, he said. 
 
 They hastened there, and going softly to the door, espied him in the 
 attitude of one who waited patiently. They did not disturb him then, 
 but kept a watch upon him allj that day. Wben it grew quite dark, he 
 rose and returned home, and went to bed, murmuring to himself, " She 
 will come to-morrow ! '* 
 
 Upon the morrow he was there again from sunrise until night ; and 
 still at night he laid him down to rest, and murmured, " She will come 
 to.morrow!" 
 
 And thenceforth, every day, and all day long, he waited at her grave 
 for her. How many pictures of new journeys over pleasant country, of 
 resting-places under the free broad sky, of rambles in the fields and 
 woods, and paths not often trodden — how many tones of that one well- 
 remembered voice, how many glimpses of the form, the fluttering dress, 
 the hair that waved so gaily in the wind — how many visions of what 
 had been, anti what he hoped was yet to be — ^rose up before him in the 
 014, doll, gilent churpJi ! S© mx^v told them what he thought, or whero 
 
182 TEE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 he went. He -vroulcl sit witli tliein at night, pondering -with a secret 
 Batisfaction, they could see, upon the flight that he and she would take 
 before night came again j and still they would hear him whisper in his 
 prayers, "Lordl let her come to-mon'ow!" 
 
 The last time was on a genial day in spring. He did not return at 
 the usual hour, and they went to seek him. He was lying dead upon 
 the stone. 
 
 They laid him by the side of her whom he had loved so well ; and, in 
 the church where they had often prayed, and mused, and lingered hand 
 in hand, the child and the old man slept together. 
 
 (Cli. L-iii., ix., xi., xii., xv.-xix., xxiv.-xxxii., xlii.-xlvi, 
 Hi, liv., Iv.f Ixxi., Ixxii.) See Trent, Little Nell. 
 
 GRINDER, MR. A showman. (Ch. xviL) 
 
 GROVES, JAMES. Landlord of The Valiant Soldier Inn. 
 
 (Ch. xxix., bcxiii.) 
 HARRIS, MR., alias Short Trotters, hut commonly called 
 
 either " Short " or " Trotters." One of the showmen with 
 
 whom Little ISTell and her grandfather travel for a few days. 
 
 (Ch. xvi.-xix., xxviL, Ixxiii.) 
 HARRY. A schoolboy; ^Mr. Marton's favourite pupil. (Ch. 
 
 xxiv., XXV.) 
 JARLEY, MRS. Proprietor of « Jarley's Wax Works." Little 
 
 Nell is engaged hy this lady to point out the figures to visitors. 
 
 (Ch. xxvi.-xxix., xxxi., xxxii., xlvii., Ixxiii.) 
 JERRY, Proprietor of a troop of dancing- dogs. (Ch. xvii, 
 
 xix., xxxvii.) 
 JINIWIN, MRS. The mother of Mrs. Quilp, with whom she 
 
 lives, and with whose husband she wages perpetual war, though 
 
 she stands in no slight dread of him. (Ch. iv.-vi., xxiii., 
 
 xHx., 1., Ixxiii.) See Quilp, Daniel. 
 JOWL, JOE. A gambler, who tempts Little Nell's grandfather 
 
 to rob Mrs. Jarley. (Ch. xxix., xlii., Ixxiii.) 
 LIST, ISAAC. A gambler and knave. (Ch. xxix., xxx., xlii., 
 
 Ixxiii.) 
 MARCHIONESS, THE. A name given to the small servant 
 
 at Sampson Brass's, by Dick Swiveller, who eventually 
 
 marries her. (Ch. xxxiv.-xxxvi., li., Ivii., Iviii., Ixiv.-lxvi., 
 
 Ixxiii.) See Swiveller, Dick. 
 MARTON, MR. An old schoolmaster who befriends Little 
 
 Nell and her grandfather. (Ch. xxiv.-xxvi., xlv., xlvi., lil- 
 
 liv., Ixxi., Ixxiii.) 
 MONFLATHERS, MISS. Principal of a select boarding- 
 school for young ladies. (Ch. xxxi.) 
 NUBBLES, CHRISTOPHER or KIT. A shock-headed, 
 
THE OLD CtTRlOSITY SHOP. 183 
 
 dhambling, awkward lad, with an uncommonly wide mouth, 
 very red cheeks, a tumefd-up nose, and a peiculiarly comical 
 .expression oi Jace. ..He is very much attached to Little Nell, 
 whose grandfather employs him as an errand-boy. After a 
 while," however, the old man takes it into his head that Kit 
 has told of his gambling habits, and that this is the reason 
 why he cannot succeed in borrowing aiiy liiore money. Ho 
 therefore forbids his ever coming into his presence again. 
 After the disappearance of his old master, Kit gets employ- 
 ment in the family of a kind old gentleman named Garland. 
 At length he falls into trouble, being falsely accused of larceny, 
 and is aiTested, and thrown into prison; but his innocence is 
 soon established, and he is set at liberty. He afterwards 
 marries Barbara, Mrs. Garland's servant. (Oh. L, iii., vi., x., 
 xi., xiii., xiv., xx.-xxii., xxxvui.-xli., xlviii., Ivi-lxi, Ixiii., 
 Ixiv., lxviii.-lxxii.) 
 
 NUBBLES, JACOB. Brother to Kit. (Ck x., xiii., xxi, 
 xxii., xxxix., xli., Ixi., Ixix., Ixxii.) 
 
 NUBBLES, MRS. Mother to Kit :N'ubbles; a poor but 
 industrious widow, very pious, and very constant in her 
 attendance at a dissenting chapel called Little Bethel, When 
 the Single Gentleman at last gains tidings of Little ISTell and 
 her grandfather, he desires Mrs. bubbles, as being an acquaint- 
 
 . ance of Nell's, and a kind and motherly person, to accompany 
 him for the purpose of bringing the wanderers back. There 
 being urgent need of haste in the matter. Kit is despatched 
 for his mother. He does not find her at home, however, and 
 feeling sure that she must, therefore, be at chapel, he takes 
 his way to Little BetheL 
 
 It was not very easy to procure a direction to the fold in question, 
 as none of the neighbours were of the tiock that resorted thither, and 
 few knew anything more of it than the name. At last, a gossip of 
 Mrs. Nubbles's, who had accompanied her to chapel on one or two occa- 
 sions when a comfortable cup of tea had preceded her devotions, fur- 
 nished the needful information, which Kit had no sooner obtained than 
 he started oil again. 
 
 Little Bethel might have been nearer, and might have been in a 
 straighter i-oad, though in that case the reverend gentleman who pre- 
 sided over its congregation would have lost his favourite allusion to the 
 crooked ways by which it was approached, and which enabled him to 
 liken it to Paradise itself, in contradistinction to the parish church and 
 the broad thoroughfare leading thereunto. Kit found it, at last, after 
 some trouble, and pausing at the door to take breath that he might 
 enter with becoming decency, passed into the chapel. 
 
 It was not badly named in one respect, being in truth a particularly 
 little Bethel — a Bethel of the smallest dimensions — with a small numbej' 
 of small pews, aud a smjull pulpit, in which a small gentleman (by trad-n 
 
184 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 a Shoemaker, and by calling a Divine) was delivering in a by no means 
 email voice, a by no means small sermon, judging of its dimensions by 
 tHe condition of his audience, which, if their gross amomit were but 
 Btriall, comprised a stiU smaller number of hearers, as the majority were 
 slumbering. 
 
 ] Among these was Kit's mother, who, finding it matter of extreme 
 difficulty to keep her eyes open after the fatigues of last night, and 
 feeling their inclination to doze strongly backed and seconded by the 
 arguments of the preacher, had yielded to the drowsiness that over- 
 powered her, and fallen asleep; though not so soundly but that she 
 could, from time to time, utter a slight and almost inaudible groan, as if 
 in recognition of the orator's doctrines. The baby in her arms was as 
 fast asleep as she ; and little Jacob, whose youth prevented him f com 
 recognising in this prolonged spiritual nourishment anything half as 
 interesting as oysters, was alternately very fast asleep and very wide 
 awake, as his inclination to slumber, or his terror of being personally 
 alluded to in the discourse, gained the mastery over him. 
 
 "And now I'm here," thought Kit, gliding into the nearest empty 
 pew which was opposite his mother's, and on the other side of the little 
 aisle, " how am I ever to get at her, or persuade her to come out ! I 
 might as well be twenty miles off. She'll never wake tUl it's all over, 
 and there goes the clock again ! If he would but leave off for a minute, 
 or if they'd only sing! '* 
 
 But there was little encouragement to believe that either event would 
 happen for a couple of hours to come. The preacher went on telling 
 them what he meant to convince them of before he had done, and it was 
 clear that if he only kept to one-half of his promises and forgot the other, 
 he was good for that time at least. 
 
 In his desperation and restlessness Kit cast his eyes about the chapel, 
 and happening to let them fall upon a little seat in front of the clerk's 
 desk, could scarcely beHeve them when they showed him— Quilp ! 
 
 He rubbed them twice or thrice, but still they insisted that Quilp 
 was there, and there indeed he was, sitting with his hand upon his 
 knees, and bis hat between them on a little wooden bracket, with the 
 accustomed grin on his dirty face, and his eyes fixed upon the ceiling. 
 He certainly did not glance at Kit or at his mother, and appeared utterly 
 unconscious of their presence ; still Kit could not help feeling, directly, 
 that the attention of the sly Httle fiend was fastened upon them, and 
 upon nothing else. 
 
 But astounded as he was by the apparition of the dwarf among the 
 Little Bethelives, and not free from a misgiving that it was the fore- 
 runner of some trouble or annoyance, he was compelled to subdue his 
 wonder and to take active measures for the withdrawal of his parent, as 
 the evening was now creeping on, and the matter grew serious. There- 
 fore, the next time little Jacob woke. Kit set himself to attract his 
 wandering attention, and this not being a very difficult task (one sneeze 
 effected it), he signed to him to rouse his mother. 
 
 Ill-luck would have it, however, that, just then, the preacher, in a 
 forcible exposition of one head of his discourse, leaned over upon the 
 pulpit, desk so that very little more of him than his legs remained inside; 
 and, while he made vehement gestures with his right hand, and held on 
 with his left, stared, or seemed to stare, straight into little Jacob's eyes, 
 threatening him by his strained look and attitude — so it appeared to the 
 child — thaL if he so much as moved a muscle, he, the preacher, would be 
 literally, and not figuratively, " down upon him " that instant. In this 
 
THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 185 
 
 fearful state of tilings, distracted by the sudden appearance of Kit, and 
 fascinated by the eyes of the preacher, the miserable Jacob sat bolt up- 
 right, wholly incapable of motion, strongly disposed to cry but afraid to 
 do so, and returning his pastor's gaze until his infant eyes seemed 
 starting from their sockets. 
 
 " If I must do it openly, I must," thought Kit. With that he walked 
 softly out of his pew and into his mother's, and as Mr. Swiveller would 
 have observed if he had been present, " collared " the baby without 
 speaking a word. 
 
 " Hush, mother ! " whispered Eat. " Gome along with me, I've got 
 something to tell you." 
 
 " Where am I ? " said Mrs. Nubbles. 
 
 " In this blessed Little Bethel," returned her son, peevishly. 
 
 " Blessed indeed ! " cried Mrs. Nubbles, catching at the word. " Oh, 
 Christopher, how have I been edified this night ! " 
 
 "Yes, yes, I know," said Kit, hastily ; ' ' but come along, mother, every- 
 body's looking at us. Don't make a noise — bring Jacob — that's right ! " 
 
 " Stay, Satan, stay ! " cried the preacher, as Kit was moving off. 
 
 " The gentleman says you're to stay, Christopher," whispered his 
 mother. 
 
 " Stay, Satan, stay ! " roared the preacher again. " Tempt not the 
 woman that doth incUne her ear to thee, but hearken to the voice of 
 him that calleth. He hath a lamb from the fold ! " cried the preacher, 
 raising his voice still higher and pointing to the baby. " He beareth 
 off a lamb, a precious lamb ! He goeth about, like a wolf in the night 
 season, and inveigleth the tender lambs ! " 
 
 Kit was the best-tempered fellow in the world, but considering this 
 strong language, and being somewhat excited by the circumstances in 
 which he was placed, he faced round to the pulpit with the baby in his 
 arms, and replied aloud : 
 
 " No, I don't. He's my brother." 
 
 " He's v%y brother! " cried the preacher. 
 
 " He isn't," said Kit indignantly. " How can you say such a thing ? 
 And don't call me names if you please ; what harm have I done ? I 
 shouldn't have come to take 'em away, unless I was obliged, you may 
 depend upon that. I wanted to do it very quiet, but you wouldn't let 
 me. Now, you have the goodness to abuse Satan and them, as much 
 as you like, sir, and to let me alone if you please." 
 
 So saying, Kit marched out of the chapel, followed by his mother 
 and little Jacob, and found himself in the open air, with an indistinct 
 recollection of having seen the people wake up and look surprised, 
 and of Quilp having remained, throughout the interruption, in his old 
 attitude, without moving his eyes from the ceiling, or appearing to 
 take the smallest notice of anything that passed. 
 
 (Ch. X., xiii., xxi., xxii., xxxix., xli., xlvii, xlviii, Ixi., 
 Ixiii., Ixix., Ixxii.) 
 
 OWEN, JOHN, A sch-oolboy; one of Mr. Marten's pupils. 
 
 (Ch. lii.) 
 QUILP y DANIEL. A hideous creature, full of ferocity and 
 
 cunning. He is described as — 
 
 An elderly man of remarkably hard features and forbidding aspect, 
 and so low iu stature as to be quite a dwarf, though his head and face 
 
186 THE DICKENS DICTIO^^ASY. 
 
 were large enougli for the body of a giant. His black eyes were rest- 
 less, sly, and cunning; his mouth and chin bristly with the stubble 
 of a coarse hard beard ; and his complexion was one of that kind which 
 never looks clean or wholesome. But what added m^ost to the gro- 
 tesque expression of his face was a ghastly smile, which, appearing 
 to be the mere result of habit, and to have no connection with any 
 mirthful or comjjlacent feeling, constantly revealed the few discoloured 
 fangs that were yet scattered in his mouth, and gave him the aspect of 
 a panting dog. His dress consisted of a large high-crowned hat, a 
 worn dark suit, a pair of capacious shoes, and a dirty white neckerchief 
 sufficiently limp and crumpled to disclose the greater portion of his 
 wiry throat. Such hair as he had was of a giizzled black, cut short 
 and straight upon his temples, and hanging in a frowsy fringe about 
 his ears. His hands, which were of a rough, coarse grain, were very 
 dirty ; his finger-nails were crooked, long, and yellow. . . . 
 
 Mr. Quilp could scai'cely be said to be of any particular trade 
 or calling, though his pursuits were diversified and his occupations 
 numerous. He collected the rents of whole colonies of filthy streets 
 and alleys by the water-side, advanced money to the seamen and petty 
 officers of merchant-vessels, had a share in the ventures of divers 
 mates of East-Indiamen, smoked his smuggled cigars under the very 
 nose of the Custom-house, and made appointments on 'Change with 
 men in glazed hats and round jackets pretty well every day. 
 
 Quilp having absented himself from home for some time, 
 and not having been heard from, it is finally supposed that he is 
 dead ; and Mr. Sampson Brass, the attorney, is called in to 
 write a descriptive advertisement in hopes of finding the body. 
 Qmlp returns, however, just at this jaoment, and resolves to 
 steal upon his wife unawares. 
 
 The bedroom- door on the staircase being unlocked, Mr. Quilp slipped 
 in, and planted himself behind the door of communication between that 
 chamber and the sitting-room, which standing ajar to render both more 
 airy, and having a very convenient chink (of which he had often availed 
 himself for purposes of espial, and had indeed enlarged with his pocket- 
 knife), enabled him not only to hear, but to see distinctly, what was 
 passing. 
 
 Applying his eye to this convenient place, he descried Mr. Brass 
 seated at the table with pen, ink, and paper, and the case-bottle of rum 
 — his own case-bottle, and his own particular Jamaica — convenient to 
 his hand ; with hot water, fragrant lemons, white lump-sugar, and all 
 things fitting ; from which choice materials Sampson, by no means 
 insensible to their claims upon his attention, had compounded a mighty 
 glass of punch reeking hot ; which he was at that very moment stirring 
 np with a teaspoon, and contemplating with looks in which a faint 
 assumption of sentimental regret struggled but weakly with a bland 
 Eud comfortable joy. At the same table, with both her elbows upon it, 
 was Mrs. Jiniwin ; no longer sipping other people's punch feloniously 
 with teaspoons, but taking deep draughts from a jorum of her own; 
 while her daughter — not exactly with ashes on her head or sackcloth on 
 her back, but preserving a veiy decent and becoming appearance of 
 sorrow, nevei-theless — was reclining in an easy-chair, and soothing her 
 grief YFith a smaller allowance of the same glib liquid. There were also 
 
THE OLD CUKIOSITY SHOP. 187 
 
 present a conple of -water-side men, bearing between them certain 
 machines called drags ; even these fellows were accommodated with a 
 stiff glass apiece ; and as they drank with a great relish, and were 
 naturally of a red-nosed, piuiple-faced, convivial look, their presence 
 rather increased than detracted from that decided appearance of comfort, 
 which was the great characteristic of the party. 
 
 " If I could poison that dear old lady's rum and water," murmured 
 Quilp, " I'd die happy." 
 
 " Ah," said Mr. Brass, breaking the silence, and raising his eyes to 
 the ceiling with a sigh, " who knows but he may be looking down upon 
 us now 1 Who knows but he may be surveying of us from — from some- 
 wheres or another, and contemplating us wich a watchful eye ! Oh Lor ! " 
 
 Here Mr. Brass stopped to drink half his punch, and then resumed, 
 looking at the other half as be spoke with a dejected smile. 
 
 " I can almost fancy," said the lawyer, shaking his head, ** that I see 
 his eye glistening down at the very bottom of my liquor. When shall 
 Vie look upon his like again ? Never, never ! One minute we are here," 
 -T-holding his tumbler before his eyes — " the next we are there " — gulp- 
 ing down its contents, and striking himself emphatically a little below 
 the chest — " in the silent tomb. To think that I should be drinking his 
 very rum. It seems like a dream." 
 
 With the view, no doubt, of testing the reality of his position, Mr. 
 Brass pushed his tumbler, as he spoke, towards Mrs. Jiniwin, for the 
 purpose of being replenished, and turned towards the attendant mariners. 
 
 *' The search has been quite unsuccessful, then ? " 
 
 *' Quite, master. But I should say that, if he turns up anywhere, he'll 
 come ashore somewhere about Grinidge to-morrow, at ebb-tide; eh, 
 mate ? " 
 
 The other gentleman assented, observing that he was expected at the 
 Hospital, and that several pensioners would be ready to receive him 
 whenever he annved. 
 
 " Then we have nothing for it but resignation," said Mr. Brass, 
 " nothing but resignation and expectation. It would be a comfort to 
 have his body ; it would be a dreary comfort." 
 
 " Oh, beyond a doubt," assented Mrs. Jiniwin, hastily. " If we once 
 had that, we should be quite sure." 
 
 " With regard to the descriptive advertisement," said Sampson Brass, 
 taking up his pen. "It is a melancholy pleasure to recall his traits. 
 Respecting his legs, now ?'* 
 
 *' Crooked, certainly," said Mrs. Jiniwin. 
 
 " Do you think they were crooked ? " said Brass in an insinuating 
 tone. *' I think I see them now, coming up the street, very wide apart, 
 in nankeen })antaloons, a little shrunk, and without straps. Ah ! what a 
 vale of tears we live in ! Do we say ' crooked ' ? " 
 
 " I think they were a little so," observed Mrs. Quilp, with a sob. 
 
 ** Legs crooked," said Brass, wiiting as he spoke. " Large head, 
 short body, legs crooked " 
 
 ** Yery crooked," suggested Mrs. Jiniwin. 
 
 " We'll not say ' very crooked,' ma'am," said Brass, piously. " Let us 
 not bear hard upon the weaknesses of the deceased. He is gone, ma'ani, 
 to where his legs will never come in question. We will content our- 
 eolves with * crooked,' Mrs. Jiniwin." 
 
 " I thought you wanted the truth," said the old lady. " That's all." 
 
 "Bless your eyes, how I love you!" muttered Quilp. "There sho 
 g-oes again 1 Nothing but punch ! " 
 
188 THE DICKE^^S DICTIONARY. 
 
 " This is an occupation," said tlie lawyer, laying down hia pen, and 
 emptying his glass, " which seems to bring him before my eyes like the 
 ghost of Hamlet's father, in the very clothes that he wore on work-a- 
 days. His coat, his waistcoat, his shoes and stockings, his trousers, his 
 hat, his wit and humour, his pathos and his umbrella — all come before 
 me like visions of my youth. His linen ! " said Mr. Brass, smiling 
 fondly at the wall — " his linen, which was always of a particular colour, 
 for such was his whim and fancy — how plain I see his linen now 1 '* 
 
 " You had better go on, sir," said Mrs. Jiniwin, impatiently. 
 
 " True, ma'am, true," cried Mr. Brass. " Our faculties must not 
 freeze with grief. I'll trouble you for a Kttle more of that, ma'am. A 
 question now arises with relation to his nose." 
 
 " Flat," said Mrs. Jiniwin. 
 
 " Aquiline ! " cried Quilp, thrusting in his head, and striking the 
 feature with his fist. " Aquiline, you hag ! Do you see it ? Do you 
 call this flat ? Do you ? Eh ? " 
 
 " Oh, capital, capital ! " shouted Brass, from the mere force of habit. 
 " Excellent ! How very good he is I He's a most remarkable man — so 
 extremely whimsical ! Such an amazing power of taking people by 
 surprise 1 " 
 
 Quilp paid no regard whatever to these compliments, nor to the 
 dubious and frightened look into which the lawyer gradually subsided, 
 nor to the shrieks of his wife and mother-in-law, nor to the latter' s 
 running from the room, nor to the former's fainting away. Keeping his 
 eye fixed on Sampson Brass, he walked up to the table, and, beginning 
 with his glass, drank off the contents, and went regularly round until he 
 had emptied the other two ; when he seized the case-bottle, and, hugging 
 it under his arm, surveyed him with a most extraordinary leer. 
 
 *' Not yet, Sampson ! " said Quilp, " not just yet ! " 
 
 " Oh, very good indeed ! " cried Brass, recovering his spirits a little. 
 " Ha, ha., ha ! Oh, exceedingly good ! There's not another man alive 
 who could carry it off like that. A most difficult position to carry ofE. 
 But he has such a flow of good-humour, such an amazing flow ! " 
 
 " Good-night 1 " said the dwarf, nodding expressively. 
 
 *' Good-night, sir, good-night ! " cried the lawyer, retreating back- 
 wards towards the door. " This is a joyful occasion, indeed ; extremely 
 joyful. Ha, ha, ha ! Oh very rich, very rich indeed, remarkably so ! " 
 
 Waiting until Mr. Brass's ejaculations died away in the distance (for 
 he continued to pour them out all the way down stairs) Quilp advanced 
 towards the two men, who yet lingered in a kind of stupid amazement. 
 
 " Have you been dragging the river all day, gentlemen ? " said the 
 dwarf, holding the door open with great politeness. 
 
 " And yesterday too, master." 
 
 " Dear me 1 you've had a deal of trouble. Pray consider everything 
 yours that you find upon the — upon the body. Good-night I " 
 
 The men looked at each other, but had evidently no inclination to 
 argue the point just then, and shuffled out of the room. The speedy 
 clearance effected, Quilp locked the doors ; and still embracing the case- 
 bottle with shrugged-up shoulders and folded arms, stood looking at his 
 insensible wife like a dismounted nightmare. 
 
 Quilp comes to Ms end by falling into the Thames, and being 
 drowned on a dark night, in an attempt to escape from some 
 oncers who are on the poiiit of arresting him for various cfiweg. 
 
TSS OLD CtHlOSll'lr SSOP. 18D 
 
 Kis property falls to his wife, who hears her bereavetneiit with 
 exemplary resignation, and marries again, choosing the exact 
 opposite of the dear departed. (Ch. iii.-vi., ix., xi.-xiii., xxiii., 
 xxvii., XXX., xlL, xlviii.-li., Ix., Ixii., Ixiv., Ixvii., Ixxiii.) See 
 Scott, Tom. 
 
 QUILP, MRS. BETSEY. His wife; **a pretty little mHd- 
 spoken, blue-eyed woman, who having allied herself in wedlock 
 to the dwarf, in one of those strange infatuations of which 
 examples are by no means scarce, performed a sound practical 
 penance for her folly every day of her life." (Ch. iv.-vi., 
 xiii., xxi., xxiii., xlix., 1., Ixvii., Ixxiii.) See Quilp, Daniel. 
 
 SCOTT, TOM. Quilp'sboy. Although he is habitually beaten 
 and abused by Quilp, Tom retains a queer sort of affection and 
 admiration for his master. His favourite amusement is to 
 stand on his head ; and he also adopts this attitude when he 
 wishes to show his defiance of ]\ir. Quilp's instructions, or to 
 revenge himseK upon him. Being cast upon the world by his 
 master's death, he determines to go through it upon his head 
 and hands, and accordingly becomes a professional " tumbler," 
 adopting the name of an Italian image-lad of his acquaintance, 
 and meeting with extraordinary success. (Ch. iv.-vi., xi., 
 xiii., xxvii, xlix.-li., Ixvii., Ixxiii.) 
 
 SEXTON, THE OLD. An old man at the village where 
 Little Nell and her grandfather find a home. (Ck liii.-lv., 
 Ixx., Ixxii.) 
 
 SHORT. See Harris, Mr. 
 
 SIMMONS, MRS. HENRIETTA. A neighbour of Mrs. Quilp. 
 (Ch. iv.) 
 
 SINGLE GENTLEMAN, THE. Brother to Little ^elY% 
 grandfather. He proves to be Master Humphrey, the narrator 
 of the story. (Ch. xxxiv.-xxxviii., xl., xli., xlvii., xlviii., Iv., 
 Ivi., Ixvi., Ixix. -Ixxiii.) See Grandfather, Little Nell's. . 
 
 SLUM, MR. A writer of poetical advertisements. (Ch. xxviii.) 
 
 SPHYNX, SOPHRONIA. See Marchioness, The. 
 
 SWEET WILLIAM. A silent man, who earns his living by 
 showing tricks upon cards, and who has rather deranged the 
 natural expression of his countenance by putting small leaden 
 lozenges into his eyes and bringing them out at his mouth. 
 (Ch. xix.) 
 
 SWIVELLER, DICK. Friend to Fred Trent, and clerk to 
 Sampson Brass. He is first introduced on the occasion of a 
 visit which young Trent makes to his grandfather for the 
 purpose of demanding to see his sister. 
 
190 THE DICKtJ^S DlCTlONAEt. 
 
 At length there panntered np on the opposite side of f.he ^ay, with. 
 a bad pretence of passinf^ by accident, a figure conspicuous for its dirty 
 smartness, which, after a great many frowns and jerks of the head, in 
 resistance of the invitation, ultimately crossed the road, and was brought 
 into the shop. 
 
 " There ! It's Dick Swiveller," said the young fellow, pushing him 
 in. " Sit down, Swiveller." 
 
 " But is the old min agreeable ? " said Mr. Swiveller, in an under- 
 tone. 
 
 " Sit down ! " repeated his companion. 
 
 Mr. Swiveller complied, and, looking about him with a propitiatory 
 smile, observed that last week was a fi.ne week for the ducks, and this 
 week was a fine week for the dust; he also observed that whilst stand- 
 lOg by the post at the street comer, he had observed a pig with a straw 
 in his mouth issuing out of the tobacco shop, from which appearance he 
 argued that another fine week for the ducks was approaching, and that 
 rain would certainly ensue. He furthermore took occasion to apologise 
 for any negligence that might be perceptible in his dress, on the ground 
 that last night he had had " the sun very strong in his eyes," by which 
 expression he was understood to convey to his hearers, in the most 
 delicate manner possible, the information that he had been extremely 
 drunk. 
 
 " But what," said Mr. Swiveller with a sigh, " what is the odds so 
 long as the fire of soul is kindled at the taper of conwiviality, and the 
 wing of friendship never moults a feather ? What is the odds, so long 
 as the spirit is expanded by means of rosy wine, and the present moment 
 is the least happiest of our existence P " . . . 
 
 It was, perhaps, not very unreasonable to suspect, from what had 
 already passed, that Mr. Swiveller was not quite recovered from tho 
 effects of the powerful sunlight to which he had made allusion ; but, if 
 no such suspicion had been awakened by his speech, his Aviry hair, dull 
 eyes, and sallow face, would still havo been strong witnesses as:ain?t 
 him. His attire was not, as he had himself hinted, remarkable for the 
 nicest arrangement, but was in a state of disorder, which strongly 
 Induced the idea that be had gone to bed in it. It consisted of a brown 
 body.coat with a great many brass buttons up the fronts and only one 
 behind ; a bright check neckerchief, a plaid waistcoat, soiled whita 
 trousers, and a very limp hat, worn with the wrong side foremost, to 
 hide a hole in the brim. The breast of his coat was ornamented with 
 an outside pocket, from which there peeped forth the cleanest end of a 
 very large and very ill-favoured handkerchief; his dirty wristbands 
 were pulled down as far as possible, and ostentatiously folded back over 
 his cuffs; he displayed no gloves, and carried a yellow cane, havaug at 
 the top a bone hand with the semblance of a ring on its little finder, and 
 a black ball in its grasp. With all these personal advantages (to which 
 may be added a strong savour of tobacco-smoke and a prevailing greapi- 
 ness of appearance) Mr. Swiveller leaned back in his chair, with his 
 eyes fixed on the ceiling, and occasionally pitching his voice to the 
 needful key, obliged the company with a few bars of an intensely-dismal 
 air, and then, in the middle of a note, relapsed into his former silence. 
 
 ]^Ir. Swiveller and Fred enter into a sort of conspiracy to 
 marry the former to Little ISTell, and thus get possession of tiui 
 enormous wealth which it is supposed the old man is hoarding 
 up for her. After the disappearance of Little Nell and her 
 
THifi OLD CtTRlOSItlr SHOP. 191 
 
 granllfatlier, Dick nml^e?} a friPTid of Qiiilp, who obtains for him 
 a situation as clerk in the office of Sampson Eraas. Here he 
 makes the acquaintance of the Marchioness. 
 
 A <56aeh stopped near the door, and presently afterwards there was 
 a loud double knock. As this was no business of Mr. Swiveller's, the 
 persDnnot ringing the office bell, he pursued his diversion with perfect 
 composure, notwithstanding that he rather thought there Avas nobody 
 else in the house. 
 
 In this, however, he was mistaken ; for after the knock had been 
 repeated with increased inipatieace, the door was opened, and some- 
 body with a very heavy tread went \ip the stairs, and into the room 
 above. Mr. Swiveller was wondering whether this might be anothor 
 Miss Brass, twin-sister to the Dragon, when there came a rapping of 
 knucklae at the office-door. 
 
 " Come in! " said Dick. " Don't stand upon ceremony. The business 
 will get rather complicated if I've many more customers. Come in! " 
 
 ** Oh ! please," said a little voice very low down in the doorway, 
 " will you come and show the lodgings ? " 
 
 Dick leaned over the table, and descried a small, slipshod girl in a 
 dirty coarse apron and bib, which left nothing of her visible but her 
 face and feet. She might as well have been dressed in a violin-case. 
 
 " Why, who are you ? " said Dick. 
 
 To which the only reply was, "Oh! please, will you come and show 
 the lodgings ? " 
 
 There never was such an old-fashioned child in her looks and 
 manner. She must have been at work from her cradle. She seemed 
 as much afraid of Dick, as Dick was amazed at her. 
 
 " I haven't got anything to do with the lodgings," said Dick. " Tell 
 'em to call again." 
 
 "Oh! but please, will yon come and show the lodgings ?" returned 
 the girl. "It's eighteen shillings a week, and us finding plate and 
 linen. Boots and clothes is extra, and fires in winter-time is eightpence 
 a day." 
 
 " Why don't you show 'em yourself ? You seem to know all about 
 'em," said Dick. 
 
 " Miss Sally said I wasn't to, because people wouldn't believe the 
 attendance was good, if they saw how small I was first." 
 
 " Well ; but they'll see how small you are afterwards j won't 
 they ? " said Dick. 
 
 " Ah 1 But then they'll have taken 'em for a fortnight certain," 
 replied the child, with a shrewd look j " and people don't like moving 
 when they're once settled." 
 
 "This is a queer sort of thing," nauttered Dick, rising. "What do 
 yon mean to say you are ; the cook ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do plain cooking," replied the child. " Fm housem&Jd too ; 
 I do all the work of the house." 
 
 " I suppose Brass and the Dragon and I do the dirtiest part of it," 
 thought Ditik. And he might have thought much more, being in a 
 doubtful and hesitating mood, but that the girl again urged her request. 
 and certain mysterious bumping sounds on the passage and staircase 
 seemed to give note of the applicant's impatience. Eichard Swiveller, 
 therefore, sticking a pen behind each ear, and carrying another in his 
 mouth as a token of his g'"^t importance. «""1 devotion to biisineRO, 
 hurried out to meet and trel ^th the Siiigie geutlemaa. 
 
192 THE DICKENS DlCTlOKAHIf. 
 
 After the arrest of Kit I^ubbles, in consequence of the falgd 
 testimony of Sampson Brass, Dick, who has sided with the poor 
 boy, is discharged. He takes his little bundle under his arm, 
 intending to go to Kit's mother, and comfort and assist her. 
 
 But the lives of gentlemen devoted to such pleasures as Ricliard 
 Swiveller are extremely precarious. The spiritual excitement of the 
 last fortnight, working upon a system affected in no slight degree by the 
 spirituous excitement of some years, proved a little too much for him. 
 That very night Mr. Eichard was seized with an alarming illness, and in 
 twenty -four hours was stricken with a raging fever. 
 
 Tossing to and fro upon his hot, uneasy bed, tormented by a fierce 
 thirst which nothing could appease ; unable to find in any change of 
 posture a moment's peace or ease ; and rambling ever through deserts of 
 thought where there was no resting-place, no sight or sound suggestive 
 of refreshment or repose, nothing but a dull eternal weariness, with no 
 change but the restless shiftings of his miserable body, and the weary 
 wandering of his mind, constant still to one ever-present anxiety — to a 
 sense of something left undone, of some fearful obstacle to be sur- 
 mounted, of some carking care that would not be driven away, and 
 which haunted the distempered brain, now in this form, now in that, 
 always shadowy and dim, but recognisable for the same phantom in 
 every shape it took, darkening every vision like an evil conscience, and 
 making slumber horrible — in these slow tortures of his dread disease the 
 unfortunate Richard lay wasting and consuming inch by inch, until at 
 last, when he seemed to fight and struggle to rise up, and to be held 
 down by devils, he sank into a deep sleep, and dreamed no more. 
 
 He awoke. With a sensation of most blissful rest, better than sleep 
 itself, he began gradually to remember something of these sufferings, 
 and to think what a long night it had been, and whether he had not been 
 delirious twice or thrice. Happening, in the midst of these cogitations, 
 to raise his hand, he was astonished to find how heavy it seemed, and yet 
 how thin and light it really was. Still he felt indifferent and happy, 
 and, having no curiosity to pursue the subject, remained in the same 
 waking slumber until his attention was attracted by a cough. This 
 made him doubt whether he had locked his door last night, and feel a 
 little surprised at having a companion in the room. Still he lacked 
 energy to follow up this train of thought, and . . . was rambling in 
 imagination . . , when he heard the cough once more. . . . Raising 
 himself a little in the bed, and holding the curtain open with one 
 hand, he looked out. 
 
 The same room, certainly, and still by candle-light ; but with what 
 unbounded astonishment did he see all those bottles and basins, and 
 articles of linen airing by the fire, and such like furniture of a sick- 
 chamber — all very clean and neat, but all quite different from anything 
 he left there when he went to bed ! The atmosphere, too, filled with a 
 cool smell of herbs and vinegar, the floor newly sprinkled, the — the 
 what ? The Marchioness ? 
 
 Yesj playing cribbage with herself at the table. There she sat, 
 intent upon her game, coughing now and then in a subdued manner as if 
 she feared to disturb him, shuffling the cards, cutting, dealing, playing, 
 counting, pegging, going through all the mysteries of cribbage as if she 
 had been in full practice from her cradle ! . . . 
 
 >Ir. Swiveller raised the curtain again, determined to take the first 
 
♦rffiffi OLD OtfRiOSITT SHOP. 19S 
 
 favourable opportnnity of addressing his companion. An occasion soon 
 presented itself. The Marchioness dealt, tnmed up a knave, and 
 omitted to take the usual advantage ; upon which Mr. Swiveller called 
 out as loud as he could, " Two for his heels ! '* 
 
 The Marchioness jumped up quickly, and clapped her hands . . . for 
 joy . . . declaring . . . that she was " so glad she didn't know what 
 to do." 
 
 "Marchioness," said Mr. Swiveller thoughtfully, "be pleased to 
 draw nearer. First of all, wiU you have the goodness to inform me 
 where I shall find my voice, and, secondly, what has become of my 
 flesh ? »• 
 
 The Marchioness only shook her head mournfully, and cried again ; 
 whereupon Mr. Swiveller (being very weak) felt his own eyes afEected 
 likewise. 
 
 "I begin to infer from your manner and these appearances. Mar- 
 chioness," said Richard after a pause, and Bmiling with a trembling Hp, 
 "that I have been ill." 
 
 " You just have I " replied the small servant, wiping her eyes. " And 
 haven't you been a-talking nonsense ! " 
 
 " Oh 1 " said Dick. '* Very ill, Marchioness, have I been ? " 
 
 " Dead, all but," replied the small servant. " I never thought you d 
 get better. Thank Heaven you have." 
 
 Mr. Swiveller was silent for a long while. By-and-by he begau to 
 talk again, inquiring how long ke had been there. 
 
 " Three weeks to-morrow," replied the small servant. 
 
 " Three what P " said Dick. 
 
 '* Weeks," returned the Marchioness emphatically — "three long, slow 
 weeks." 
 
 The bare thought of having been in such extremity caused Eichard 
 to fall into another silence, and to lie flat down again at his fuU length. 
 The Marchioness having arranged the bed-clothes more comfortably, and 
 felt that his hands and forehead were quite cool — a discovery that filled 
 her with delight — cried a little more, and then applied herself to getting 
 tea ready, and making some thin dry toast. 
 
 While she was thus engaged, Mr. Swiveller looked on with a grateful 
 heart, very much astonished to see how thoroughly at home she made 
 herself, and attributing this attention, in its origin, to Sally Brass, whom, 
 in his own mind, he could not thank enough. When the Marchioness 
 had finished her toasting, she spread a clean cloth on a tray, and brought 
 him some crisp slices and a great basin of weak tea, with which (she 
 said) the doctor had left word he might refresh himself when he awoke. 
 She propped him up with pillows, if not as skilfully as if she had been a 
 professional nurse all her Uf e, at least as tenderly, and looked on with un- 
 utterable satisfaction while the patient — stopping every now and then to 
 shake her by the hand — took his poor meal with an appetite and relish 
 which the greatest dainties of the earth, under any other circumstances, 
 would have failed to provoke. Having cleared away, and dispose*? 
 everything comfortably about him again, she sat down at the table to 
 take her own tea. 
 
 " Marchioness," said Mr. Swiveller, " how's Sally ? " 
 
 The small servant screwed her face into an expression of the very 
 uttermost entanglement of slyness, and shook her head. 
 
 "What ! haven't yon seen her lately" ? " said Dick. 
 
 " Been her ! " cried the small servaut. " Bless you, I've rooi away." 
 
 Mr. Swiveller immediately laid himself dctPn again quite flat, and a» 
 
m 'THE DICKER'S DIC^tOKABt. 
 
 remained for about five minutes. By slow degrees he resumed hid 
 sitting posture after that lapse of time, and inquired — 
 
 " And where do you live, IMarchioness ? " 
 
 " Live ! '* cried the small servant. " Here ! " 
 
 " Oh ! *' said Mr. Swiveller. 
 
 And with that he fell down flat again as suddenly as if he had been 
 shot. Thus he remained, motionless, and bereft of speech, until she had 
 finished her meal, put everything in its place, and swept the hearth ; 
 when he motioned her to bring a chair to the bedside, and, being 
 propped up again, opened a farther conversation. 
 
 " And so," said Dick, '' you have run away ? " 
 
 "Yes," said the Marchioness; " and they've been a-tizing of me." 
 
 "Been — I beg your pardon," said Dick — "what have they been 
 doing ? " 
 
 " Been a-tizing of me — tizing, you know, in the Bewspapers," rejoined 
 the Marchioness. 
 
 " Ay, ay," said Dick — " advertising ? " 
 
 The small servant nodded and winked. Her eyes were so red with 
 waking and crying, that the Tragic Muse might have winked with 
 greater consistency. And so Dick felt. 
 
 " Tell me," said he, " how it was that you thought of coming here." 
 
 " Why, you see," returned the Marchioness, " when you was gone, 1 
 hadn't any friend at all, because the lodger he never come back, and I 
 didn't know where either him or you was to be found, you know. But 
 one morning, when I was " 
 
 " Was near a keyhole," suggested Mr. Swiveller, observing that she 
 faltered. 
 
 " Well, then," said the small servant, nodding, " when I was near the 
 oflBce keyhole — as you see me through, you know — I heard somebody 
 saying that she lived here, and was the lady whose house you lodged at ; 
 and that you was took very bad ; and wouldn't nobody come and take 
 care of you ? Mr. Brass he says, * It's no business of mine,' he says ; 
 and Miss Sally she says, * He's a funny chap ; but it's no business of 
 mine.* And the lady went away, and slammed the door to when she 
 went out, I can tell you. So I run away tliat night, and come here, and 
 told 'em you was my brother j and they believed me j and I've been her* 
 ever since." 
 
 In tlie end, Kit is released and returned to his friends. Dick 
 comes into an annuity of one hundred and fifty pounds a year, 
 and, being very grateful to the Marchioness, his first thought is 
 of her. ** Please God," he says, " we'll make a scholar of the 
 poor Marchioness yet ! And she shall walk in silk attire, and 
 siller have to spare, or may I never rise from this bed again I " 
 
 After casting about for some time for a name which should be 
 worthy of her, he decided in favour of Sophronia Sphynx, as being 
 euphonious and genteel, and, furthermore, indicative of mystery. Under 
 this title, the Marchioness repaired, in tears, to the school of his selection, 
 from which, as she soon distanced all competitors, she was removed 
 before the lapse of many quarters to one of a higher grade. It is but 
 bare justice to Mr. Swiveller to say, that, although the expenses of her 
 education kept hiui in straitened circumstances for half-a-dozen years, he 
 never slackened in his zeal, and always held himself sufiiciently repaid 
 
THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 196 
 
 by tlie aoooonts he heard (with great gravity) of her advanoemeno, 
 on his monthly yisits to the governess, who looked upon him as a 
 literary gentleman of eccentric habits, and of a most prodigious talent 
 in quotation. 
 
 In a word, Mr. Swiveller kept the Marchioness at this establishment 
 until she was, at a moderate guess, full nineteen years of age, good- 
 looking, clever, and good-humoured, when he began to consider seriously 
 what was to be done next. On one of his periodical visits, while he was 
 revolving this question in his mind, the Marchioness came down to him 
 alone, looking more smiling and more fresh than ever. Then it occurred 
 to him, but not for the first time, that, if she would marry him, how 
 comfortable they might be ! So Hichard asked her. WhateVfer she said, 
 it wasn't No ; and they were married in good earnest that day week, 
 which gave Mr. Swiveller frequent occasion to remark at divers sub- 
 sequent periods that there had been a young lady saving up for him 
 after all. 
 
 (Ch. ii., iii., vii, viii., xiii, xxi., xxiii., xxxiv.-xxxviii., 
 xlviii., L, Ivi.-lxvi., Ixxiii.) 
 
 TRENT, FREDERICK. Brotlier to Little NelL (Ch. ii, 
 iii., vii., viii., xxiii., 1,, Ixxiii.) See Grandfather (Little 
 Nell's), Swiveller (Dick). 
 
 TRENT, LITTLE NELL. A smaU and deHcate child of 
 angeKc purity of character and sweetness of disposition, who 
 lives alone with her grandfather, an old man possessed by a 
 mania for gambling; his object being to make her rich and 
 happy. The account of their wanderings, after the old man 
 loses the last of his property, and is turned into the streets a 
 beggar and an imbecile, forms the thread of the story. 
 
 " Which way ? " said the child. 
 
 The old man looked irresolutely and helplessly, first at her, then to 
 the right and left, then at her again, and shook his head. It was plain 
 that she was thenceforth his guide and leader. The child felt it, but 
 had no doubts or misgiving, and, putting her hand in his, led him 
 gently away. 
 
 It was the beginning of a day in June, the deep blue sky unsullied 
 by a cloud, and teeming with brilliant light. The streets were as yet 
 nearly free from passengers ; the houses and shops were closed ; and the 
 healthy air of morning fell like breath from angels on the sleeping town. 
 
 The old man and the child passed on through the glad silence, elate 
 with hope and pleasure. They were alone together once again. Every 
 object was bright and fresh : nothing reminded them, otherwise than by 
 contrast, of the monotony and constraint they had left behind. Church 
 towers and steeples, frowning and dark at other times, now shone in 
 the sun j each humble nook and comer rejoiced in light 5 and the sky, 
 dimmed only by excessive distance, shed its placid snule on everything 
 beneath. 
 
 Forth from the city, while it yet slumbered, went the two poor 
 adventurers, wandering they knew not whither. 
 
 l^ell and her grandfather fall into the company of many 
 itrange people during their wanderings, among whom are Messrs, 
 
 o 2 
 
196 THE DICKENS DICTIONAET. 
 
 Codlin and Short, a couple of itinerant showmen, who take it 
 into their heads that the old man has stolen the child, and is 
 endeavouring to elude pursuit, and that there will surely be a 
 reward offered for their apprehension ; whereupon they resolve 
 to keep them in their company until the right time comes for 
 surrendering them. Little ^Nell divines the object of these men ; 
 and, fearing that her grandfather, in case they should be handed 
 over to the authorities, may be confined in some asylum, she 
 escapes from the showmen, and shortly afterwards faUs in with 
 Mrs. Jarley, the proprietress of "Jarley's "Wax Work," who 
 engages her to point out the figures to visitors. While walking, 
 one evening, near the town where Mrs. Jarley is exhibiting her 
 works, I^ell and her grandfather are overtaken by a severe storm, 
 and are forced to seek shelter for the night at a roadside inn 
 called The Valiant Soldier. Behind a screen some men are 
 playing at cards, and, with the sight of this, aU the slumbering 
 passion of the old man is aroused. Being asked if he desires to 
 join them — 
 
 The old man replied by shaking the little purse in his eager hand, and 
 then throwing it down upon the table, and gathering np the cards as a 
 miser would clatch at gold. 
 
 "Oh I That indeed!" said Isaac. "If that's what the gentleman 
 meant, I beg the gentleman's pardon. Is this the gentleman's little 
 purse ? A very pretty little purse. Bather a light purse," added Isaac, 
 throwing it into the air, and catching it dexterously, " but enough to 
 amuse a gentleman for half an hour or so." . . . 
 
 The child, in a perfect agony, drew her grandfather aside, and im- 
 plored him, even then, to come away. 
 
 " Come, and we may be so happy," said the child. 
 
 ** We will be happy," repKed the old man hastily. " Let me go, Nell. 
 The means of happiness are on the cards and the dice. We must rise 
 from Httle winnings to great. There's little to be won here ; but great 
 will come in time* I shall but win back my own ; and it's all for thee, 
 my darling." 
 
 " God help us I " cried the child ; " oh, what hard fortune brought us 
 here?" 
 
 "Hush!" rejoined the old man, laying his hand upon her mouth. 
 " Fortune wiU not bear chiding. We must not reproach her or she shuna 
 us ; I have found that out." 
 
 " Now, mister," said the stout man, " if you're not coming yourself, 
 give us the cards, wiU you ? " 
 
 ** I am coming," cried the old man. " Sit thee down, NeU j sit thee 
 down, and look on. Be of good heart; it's all for thee — all, every 
 penny. I don't tell them ; no, no ! or else they wouldn't play, dreading 
 the chance that such a cause must give me. Look at them. See what 
 they are, and what thou art. Who doubts that we must win ? " 
 
 " The gentleman nas thought better of it, and isn't coming," said 
 Isaac, making as though he would rise from the table. " I'm sorry the 
 gentleman's daunted. Nothing venture, nothing have j but the gentle- 
 msT" knows bei&t." 
 
THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 197 
 
 "Why, I am ready. You have all been slow but me," said the old 
 man. "1 wonder who is more anxious to begin than I ?" 
 
 As he spoke, he drew a chair to the table, and, the other three 
 closing round it at the same time, the game commenced. 
 
 The child sat by and watched its progress with a troubled mind. 
 Eegardless of the run of luck, and mindful only of the desperate passion 
 which had its hold upon her grandfather, losses and gains were to her 
 alike. Exulting in some brief triumph, or cast down by a defeat, there 
 he sat so wild and restless, so feverishly and intensely anxious, so terribly 
 eager, so ravenous for the paltry stakes, that she could have almost 
 better borne to see him dead. And yet she was the innocent cause of 
 all this torture ; and he, gambling with such a savage thirst for gain as 
 the most insatiable gamlDler never felt, had not one selfish thought. 
 
 On the contrary, the other three — ^knaves and gamesters by their 
 trade — while intent upon their game, were yet as cool and quiet as if 
 every virtue had been centred in their breasts. . . . 
 
 The storm had raged for full three hours ; the lightning had grown 
 fainter and less frequent ; the thunder, from seeming to roll and break 
 above their heads, had gradually died away into a deep, hoarse distance, 
 and still the game went on, and still the anxious child was quite forgotten. 
 
 The old man plays until their little purse is exhausted, and 
 nothing is left with which to pay for their entertainment. In 
 this strait, "Nelly after much hesitation, and fearful that her grand- 
 father will observe her, takes from her dress a smaU gold piece 
 which she has kept concealed there, in anticipation of some great 
 emergency, and pays the reckoning, hiding the change which 
 she receives, before rejoining her grandfather. Shortly after- 
 wards she retires for the night. 
 
 At last, sleep gradually stole upon her — a broken, fitful sleep, 
 troubled by dreams of falling from high towers, and waking with a 
 start and in great terror. A deeper slumber followed this, and then— 
 what ! That figure in the room 1 
 
 A figure was there. Yes j she had drawn up the blind to admit the 
 light when it should be dawn, and there, between the foot of the bed 
 and the dark casement, it crouched and slunk along, groping its way 
 with noiseless hands, and stealing round the bed. She had no voice to 
 cry for help, no power to move, but lay still, watching it. 
 
 On it came, on, silently and stealthily, to the bed's head ; the breath 
 so near her pillow, that she shrunk back into it, lest those wandering 
 hands should light upon her face. Back again it stole to the window, 
 then turned its head towards her. 
 
 The dark form was a mere blot upon the lighter darkness of the room j 
 but she saw the turning of the head, and felt and knew how the eyes 
 looked, and the ears listened. There it remained, motionless as she. 
 At length, still keeping the face towards her, it busied its hands in 
 something, and she heard the chink of money. 
 
 Then on it came again, silent and stealthy as before, and, replacing 
 the garments it had taken from the bedside, dropped upon its hands 
 and knees, and crawled away. How slowly it seemed to move now that 
 she could hear, but not see it, creeping along the floor ! It reached the 
 door at last, and stood upon its feet. The steps creaked beneath its 
 nqiseleBs trea4> a^nd it w^s goi;e. 
 
tm THE DICKENS DICTI02TAHY. 
 
 The first impulse of the child was to % from the terror of being by 
 herself in that room, to have somebody l^, not to be alone ; and then 
 her power of speech would be restored. With no consciousness of 
 having moved, she gained the door. 
 
 There was the dreadful shadow, pausing at the bottom of the steps. 
 
 She could not pass it; she might have done so, perhaps, in the 
 darkness, without being seized ; but her blood curdled at the thought. 
 The figure stood quite still, and so did she 5 not boldly, but of necessity ; 
 for going back into the room was hardly less terrible than going on. 
 
 The rain beat fast and furiously without, and ran down in plashing 
 streams from the thatched roof. Some summer insect, with no escape 
 into the air, flew bHndly to and fro, beating its body against the walls 
 and ceiling, and filling the silent place with murmurs. The figure 
 moved again. The child involuntarily did the same. Once in her 
 grandfather's room, she would be safe. 
 
 It crept along the passage until it came to the very door she longed 
 so ardently to reach. The child, in the agony of being so near, had 
 almost darted forward with the design of bursting into the room, and 
 closing it behind her, when the figure stopped again. 
 
 The idea fiashed suddenly upon her — what if it entered there, and 
 had a design upon the old man's life 1 She turned faint and sick. It 
 did. It went in. There was a light inside. The figure was now within 
 the chamber, and she, still dumb — quite dumb, and almost senseless — 
 stood looking on. 
 
 The door was partly open. Not knowing what she meant to do, but 
 meaning to preserve him, or to be killed herself, she staggered forward 
 and looked in. 
 
 What sight was that which met her view ! 
 
 The bed had not been laid on, but was smooth and empty j and at a 
 table sat the old man himself, the only living creature there — ^his white 
 face pinched and sharpened by the greediness which made his eyes un- 
 naturally bright — counting the money of which his hands had robbed her. 
 
 Shocked beyond measure by the sigbt, tbe child returns to 
 her room ; but, during the night, she steals again to her grand- 
 father's side and finds hiin asleep. 
 % 
 
 She had no fear as sheilooked upon his slumbering features ; btit 
 she had a deep and weighty sojrrow, and it found its relief in tears. 
 
 ** God bless him ! " said the child, stooping softly to kiss his placid 
 cheek. " I see too well now, that they would indeed part us if they 
 found us out, and shut him up from the light of the sun and sky. He 
 has only me to help him. God bless us both ! " 
 
 Lighting her candle, she retreated as silently as she had come, and, 
 gaining her own room once more, sat up during the remainder of that 
 long, long, miserable night. 
 
 At last the day turned her waning candle pale, and she fell asleep. 
 She was quickly roused by the girl who had shown her up to bed, and, 
 as soon as she was dressed, prepared to go down to her grandfather. 
 But first she searched her pocket, and found that her money was all 
 gone — not a sixpence remained. 
 
 The old man was ready, and in a few seconds they were on their 
 road. The child thought he rather avoided her eye, and appeared to 
 expect that she would tell him of her loss. She felt she must do that, 
 er he might suspect the truth. 
 
THE OLD CUEIOSITT SHOP. 199 
 
 " Granlfather," she said, in a tremulous voice, after they ha.l walked 
 about a mile in silence, " do you think they are honest people at the 
 Louse yonder ?" 
 
 " Why ? " returned the old man, trembling. " Do I think them 
 honest ? yes, they played honestly." 
 
 " I'll tell you why I ask," rejoined Nell. " I lost some money last 
 night — out of my bedroom, I am sure. Unless it was taken by some- 
 body in jest — only in jest, dear grandfather, which would make me 
 laugh heartily, if I could but know it " 
 
 " Who would take money in jest ? " returned the old man, in a 
 hurried manner. " Those who take money, take it to keep. Don't 
 talk of jest." 
 
 " Then it was stolen out of my room, dear," said the child, whose 
 last hope was destroyed by the manner of this reply. 
 
 By tears and entreaties, Nell succeeds in leading her grand- 
 father away from the old temptation, which has again beset him, 
 and forms fresh hopes of saving him; but these are «v>on dis- 
 sipated. Unseen, herself, she discovers him in company with 
 the same gamblers, and witnesses their cunning endeavours to 
 induce him to rob Mrs. Jarley, in order to obtain the means of 
 winning back all he had lost, and perhaps, of securing still 
 greater gains. 
 
 She went back to her own room, and tried to prepare herself for 
 bed. But who could sleep — sleep ! who could lie passively down — dis- 
 tracted by such terrors ? They came upon her more and more strongly 
 yet. Half. undressed, and with her hair in wild disorder, she flew to the 
 old man's bedside, clasped him by the wrist, and roused him from his sleep. 
 
 " What's this ! " he cried, starting up in bed, and fixing his eyes 
 npon her spectral face. 
 
 " I have had a dreadful dream," said the child, with an energy fehat 
 nothing but such terrors could have inspired, "a dreadful, horrible 
 dream ! I have had it once before. It is a dream of gray-haired men 
 like you, in darkened rooms, by night, robbing sleepers of their gold. 
 Up, up ! " The old man shook in every joint, and folded his hands like 
 one who prays. 
 
 "Not to me," said the child, "not to me; to Heaven, to save us 
 from such deeds ! This dream is too real. I cannot sleep ; I cannot 
 stay here ; I cannot leave you alone under the roof where such dreams 
 come. Up ! We must fly." 
 
 He looked at her as if she were a spirit — she might have been for 
 all the look of earth she had — and trembled more and more. 
 
 " There is no time to lose ; I will not lose one minute," aaid the 
 child. •' Up ! and away with me." 
 
 " To-night ? " murmured the old man. 
 
 " Yes, to-night," replied the child. " To-morrow night will be too 
 late. The dream will have come again. Nothing but flight can save 
 US. Up!" 
 
 The old man rose from his bed, his forehead bedewed with the cold 
 ■weat of fear, and bending before the child as if she had been an angel 
 messenger sent to lead him where she would, made ready to follow her. 
 She took him by the hand, and led him on. As they passed the door of 
 the room he had proposed to rob, she shuddered apd looked up into his 
 
too THE DICKENS DICTIONAET. 
 
 face. Wliat a white face was that ! and with what a look did he meet 
 hers ! 
 
 She cook him to her own chamber, and still holding him by the hand, 
 as if she feared to lose him for an instant, gathered together the little 
 stock she had, and hung her basket on her arm. The old man took his 
 wallet from her hands, and strapped it on his shoulders — ^his staff, too, 
 she had brought away — and then she led him forth. 
 
 They suffer mucli privation after this, and the old man com- 
 plains piteously of hunger and fatigue ; but the child trudges on, 
 with less and less of hope and strength, indeed, hut with an 
 undiminished resolution to lead her sacred charge somewhere — 
 anywhere, indeed — away from guilt and shame. At last they 
 encounter Mr. Marton, a poor but kind-hearted schoolmaster, 
 whom they had met once before. He is travelling on foot to a 
 distant village, where he has been appointed clerk and teacher ; 
 and, on learning from Little !N'eU the full story of her trials and 
 sufferings and wanderings, asks her and her grandfather to accom- 
 pany him, promising to use his best endeavours to find them 
 some humble occupation by which they can subsist. Little JS'ell 
 gladly embraces his off'er ; and they journey on together. Arrived 
 at the village, their kind friend exerts himself successfully in 
 their behalf, procures them a pleasant home and a light employ- 
 ment in connection with the parish church, which brings them 
 money enough to live on. But the quiet and happy life they 
 begin to lead is destined to be of short duration. Long exposure 
 and suffering have been too much for the child's delicate organisa- 
 tion, and her health fails. Slowly, but surely, the end draws on, 
 and at last she dies. 
 
 They had read and talked to her in the earlier portion of the night, 
 but as the hours crept on, she sunk to sleep. They could tell, by what 
 she faintly uttered in her dreams, that they were of her journeyings 
 with the old man ; they were of no painful scenes, but of people who 
 had helped and used them kindly ; for she often said, " God bless you ! ** 
 with great fervour. Waking, she never wandered in her mind but 
 once ; and that was of beautiful music which she said was in the air. 
 God knows. It may have been. 
 
 Opening her eyes at last, from a very quiet sleep, she begged that 
 they would kiss her once again. That done, she turned to the old man 
 with a lovely smile upon her face — such, they said, as they had never 
 seen, and never could forget — and clung with both her arms about his 
 neck. They did not know that she was dead at first. 
 
 She had spoken very often of the two sisters, who, she said, were 
 like dear friends to her. She wished they could be told how much she 
 thought about them, and how she had watched them as they walked 
 together by the river-side at night. She would like to see poor Kit, she 
 had often said of late. She wished there was somebody to take her 
 love to Kit. And even then she never thought or spoke about him, 
 but with something of her old, clear, merry laugh. 
 
 For the rest, she had never murmured or complftined, but with a 
 
THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 201 
 
 qniet mind, and manner qnite unaltered — save that she every day be- 
 came more earnest and more grateful to them — faded like the light 
 npon a summer's evening. 
 
 (Cli. i-vi., ix.-xii., xv.-xix., xxiv.-xxxiL, xlii.-xlvi, 
 lil-lv., IxxL, Ixxii) See Grandfather, Little Nell's. 
 
 TROTTERS, See Harris, Mr. 
 
 VUFFIN, A showman ; proprietor of a giant, and of a little 
 lady without legs or arms. (Ch. xix.) 
 
 WACKLES, MISS JANE. Youngest daughter of Mrs. 
 "Wackles, and instructor in the art of needlework, marking, 
 and samplery, in the " Ladies' Seminary " presided over hy 
 her mother. (Ch. viii.) 
 
 WA QKLESy MISS MELISSA. Teacher of English grammar, 
 composition, geography, and the use of the dumh-heUs, in her 
 mother's seminary for young ladies. She is the eldest daughter, 
 and verges on the autumnal, having seen thirty-five summers, 
 or thereahouts. (Ch. viii.) 
 
 WACKLESy MISS SOPHY. A fresh, good-humoured, buxom 
 girl of twenty ; Mrs. "Wackles's second daughter, and teacher 
 of writing, arithmetic, dancing, and general fascination in the 
 "Ladies' Seminary." Mr. Swiveller at one time supposes 
 himself to he in love with Miss Sophy. (Ch. viii.) 
 
 WA GKLES, MRS. Proprietor of a very small day-school for 
 young ladies, at Chelsea ; an excellent but rather venomous 
 old lady of threescore, who takes special charge of the corporal 
 punishment, fasting, and other tortures and terrors of the 
 establishment. (Ch. viii) 
 
 WESTy DAME. The grandmother of a favourite pupil of 'Mi. 
 Marton's the schoolmaster. (Ch. xxv.) 
 
 WHISKER. A pony belonging to Mr. Garland, obstinate, 
 independent, and freakish, but "a very good fellow if you 
 know how to manage him." (Ch. xiv., xx., xxii, xxxviii., xL, 
 xli., Ixi, Ixiii, Ixv., Ixvi., Ixxiii.) 
 
 WILLIAM, SWEET. See Sweet William. 
 WITHERDEN, MR. A notary ; short, chubby, fresh-coloured, 
 
 brisk, and pompous. (Ch, xiv., xx., xxxviii., xl., xli., Ixi., 
 
 Ixiii., Ixv., Ixvi., Ixxiii.) 
 
2(» THE DICKENS DIOTIOIs^ABY, 
 
 PRINCIPAL INCIDENTS. 
 
 Chapter I. Little Nell enquires the way of Master Hnmplirej ; he 
 goes home with her to the Old Curiosity Shop, and meets her grand- 
 father ; retu2ni of Kit from his errand ; Master Humphrey is surprised 
 to hear that the old man is going out, leaving Little Nell alone. — II. 
 Eetuming, drawn by curiosity, a few days after, Master Humphrey 
 interrupts an angry controversy between the old man and his grandson; 
 Fred Trent calls in his friend Mr. Swiveller, who gives sorie pacific 
 advice; Little Nell returns. — III. She is followed by Quilp; the old 
 man keeps his secret close. — IV. !Mrs. Quilp and her mother, discussing 
 with some neighbours the character of Mr. Quilp, are interrupted by the 
 entrance of that gentleman ; Quilp's kind treatment of his wife. — V. Mr. 
 Quilp goes to his wharf, where he quarrels with his boy ; Nell comes to 
 him there with a letter. — YI. Quilp takes Nell to his home on Tower 
 Hill, where he forces Mrs. Quilp to endeavour to find out from the 
 child her grandfather's secret, while he listens behind the door. — 
 VII. Fred Trent, supposing his grandfather to be very rich, conspires 
 with Dick Swiveller to get possession of his property by the marriage of 
 Little Nell to the latter gentleman, involving the probable disappoint- 
 ment of the matrimonial expectations of Miss Sophy Wackles. — Vill. 
 Mr. Swiveller dines his friend at the expense of the cook-shop keeper ; 
 Miss Sophy Wackles plays off Mr. Cheggs against Mr. Swiveller, and loses 
 Mr. Swiveller. — IX. Nelly pleads with her grandfather to give up their way 
 of living, and become beggars and be happy ; Quilp enters, unperceived, 
 and hears their conversation ; Quilp informs the old man that he has 
 discovered the secret of his gambling, and the old man denies that he 
 ever played for his own sake, but always for Nelly's good ; Quilp throws 
 the old man's suspicions upon Kit. — X. Kit, after watching the house 
 until midnight, goes home, and is soon followed by Nelly, who informs 
 him of the illness of her grandfather, and that he blames Kit himself as 
 the cause. — XI. Quilp, accompanied by Sampson Brass, takes possession 
 of the old man's property ; Kit has a secret interview with Little Nell. 
 — XII. The old man recovers, and is warned by Quilp to leave the house ; 
 he and Noll leave secretly, not knowing where they shall go. — XIII. 
 Mr. Quilp, opening the door to his wife, falls into the hands of Mr. 
 Kichard Swiveller ; Mr. Swiveller's astonishment at what has happened ; 
 Kit fights with Quilp's boy for the possession of Nelly's bird, and wins. 
 — XIV. Kit minds the horse of Mr. and Mrs. Garland, while their son, 
 Mr. Abel, is being articled to Mr. Witherden, and gets overpaid for the 
 job. — XV. Nelly and her giundfather escape from London, and are 
 befriended by a cottager's family. — XVI. They encounter JSIessrs. 
 Codlin and Short, itinerant showmen, in the churchyard. — XVII. Little 
 Nell's interview with the aged widow of a young husband ; Codlin and 
 Short invite Nell and her grandfather to go with them to the races ; 
 they encounter the stilt- walkers. — XVIII. Arrived at The Jolly Sand- 
 boys, they are joined by other showmen, and have supper. — ^XIX. Codlin 
 makes warm professions of friendship, and both he and Short keep close 
 watch over the fugitives ; Nelly and her grandfather escape from their 
 oompaniomf. — %%• Kit goeg to wqtV oi?t the o^cl sixpence paid him by 
 
THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 203 
 
 Mr. Garland. — XXI. He is engaged bj 2Ir. Garland for six pounds a 
 year ; Quilp and Mr. Swiveller pursue their inquiries for the fugitives 
 at the house of Mrs. Nubbles ; the dwarf draws from Mr. Swiveller the 
 details of the scheme he has formed with Fred Trent, and promises 
 his assistance. — XXII. Kit becomes an inmate of Abel Cottage. — 
 XXIII. Mr. Kichard Swiveller bemoans his orphan state; Quilp and 
 Fred Trent, for different reasons, unite in the scheme for entrapping 
 Nelly into a marriage with Dick Swiveller. — XXIV. Escaped from the 
 showmen, Nell and her grandfather find their way to a quiet village, 
 where they are kindly received by the schoolmaster. — XXY. Nell spends 
 the morning in the schoolroom ; the schoolmaster takes Nell to the sick- 
 room of his favourite pupil, little Harry ; Harry's death. — XXVI. After 
 leaving the schoolmaster, Nelly and the old man encounter Mrs. Jarley 
 taking tea outside her caravan ; she gives them some supper, and carries 
 them on their way. — XXVII. Mrs. Jarley explains her business to the 
 child, and, finding they are begging their living, offers her employment, 
 which she gladly accepts ; the child is terrified at the sight of Quilp, but 
 luckily escapes being seen by him. — XXVIII. Mr. Slum receives an 
 order from Mrs. Jarley ; Nell learns the histories of Mrs. Jarley's wax 
 figures. — XXIX. Nell and her grandfather, wandering through the 
 fields, are caught in a storm, and take refuge in The Valiant Soldier ; 
 the old man becomes excited at the sight of gambling, secures the child's 
 purse, plays, and loses. — XXX. The old man robs NeU of the little she 
 has left. — XXXI. She tells him of the robbery, in the hope that he 
 will confess it ; he bids her keep silent about it ; Miss Monflathers 
 receives Nell with dignity ; she lectures Miss Edwards for her impro- 
 priety in doing NeU a kindness, and refuses her patronage to Mrs. 
 Jarley's exhibition. — XXXII. The old man gambles away all Nelly's 
 earnings ; Mrs. Jarley's schemes for making her exhibition more popular. 
 — XXXIII. Sally Brass reproves her brother for taking a clerk; he 
 justifies it as the request of his best client, Mr. Quilp ; Quilp introduces 
 Mr. Swiveller, who is installed as Sampson Brass's clerk. — ^XXXIV. 
 Dick defines his position, and tells how he came in it; he lets the 
 lodgings to the Single Gentleman. — XXXV. The new lodger remains 
 singularly silent for a iBng time ; Sampgon Brass refreshes Mr, Swiveller's 
 memory in regard to iihe statement made by the Single Gentleman, who 
 is at length aroused, and expresses his desires to Mr. Kichard Swiveller. 
 — XXXVI. Mr. Swiveller finds favour in the eyes of Sally Brass; 
 he witnesses the feeding of the small servant. — XXXVEI. The Single 
 Gentleman shows an extraordinary interest in Punch and Judy shows ; 
 he entertains Messrs. Codhn and Short, and makes particular inquiries 
 in regard to Little Nell and her grandfather. — XXXVIII. Kit's pro- 
 gress in his new place ; he meets the strange gentleman at Mr. Wither- 
 den's, who questions him closely about the old man and the child, and 
 enjoins silence thereupon; Dick Swiveller finds Kit can keep a secret. — 
 XXXIX. How Kit and his mother, and Barbara and her mother, enjoyed 
 their half -holiday. — XL. Kit receives with some surprise the intelli- 
 gence that the strange gentleman desires to take him into his service, 
 and declines to leave Mr. Garland; the Single Gentleman informs Kit 
 that Nell and the old man have been found ; Kit declines his proposal 
 to take him with him to bring them back, on account of the old man's 
 feeling towards him, but recommends hia mother instead. — ^XLI. Kit 
 finds his mother at Little Bethel Chapel, where he is astonished to 
 Bee Quilp also ; the Single Gentleman and Mrs. Nubbles start on their 
 journey. — XWI. Jjittle NeU overhears the gamblers tempting her grand- 
 
204 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 father to rob Mrs. Jarley, until he consents j she sets this knowledge 
 before him as a terrible dream she has had, and bids him fly with her 
 from a place where such dreams come. — XLIII. The fugitives are be- 
 friended and carried on their way by some rough boatmen. — XLIV. Lost 
 in the busy streets of a manufacturing town, they are taken by a poor 
 workman to a foundry, where they remain through the night, in the 
 warmth of the furnaces. — XLV. They wander on in search of the open 
 country, Nell growing very weak from hunger and fatigue ; she is about 
 to beg of a traveller on the road, when she recognises in him their old 
 friend the schoolmaster, and falls senseless at his feet. — XLYI. The 
 schoolmaster carries her to a neighbouring inn, where she is restored; 
 he informs them of his change of fortune, and they accompany him to 
 his new home. — XLVII. The Single Gentleman and Mrs. Nubbles reach 
 Mrs. Jarley's, to find that lady just married to George, and to learn that 
 the child and her grandfather disappeared a week before, and all 
 attempts to find them have failed. — XL VIII. Quilp's appearance at the 
 inn to which the Single Gentleman goes, and how he came to be there. — 
 XLIX. Quilp returns home, and interrupts the arrangements Mr. 
 Sampson Brass and Mrs. Jiniwin are making for the recovery of his body, 
 supposing him to be drowned. — L. Quilp establishes himself as a jolly 
 bachelor in the counting-house on his wharf ; he pays a visit to Mr. 
 Swiveller, whom he finds disconsolate at the marriage of Sophy Wackles 
 to his rival, Cheggs ; the dwarf learns from Dick that his friend Fred 
 Trent and the Single Gentleman have met, with no good result ; Mrs. 
 Quilp importunes her husband to return home, but he drives her away. — 
 LI. Quilp has an interview with Miss Brass's small servant ; Quilp 
 informs Sampson and Sally Brass that he wants Kit put out of the way, 
 and they agree to do it. — LII. The schoolmaster arranges that Nell and 
 her grandfather shall have the care of the church, and they take posses- 
 sion of their new home ; their kind reception by the clergyman and the 
 bachelor ; the bachelor introduces the schoolmaster to his new pupils. — 
 LIII. Nell's talk with the old sexton. — LIY., LV. The sexton's im- 
 patience with old David; Nelly's health fails, and her friends grow 
 anxious about her. — LVI. Mr. Swiveller goes into mourning on the 
 occasion of the marriage of Miss Sophy Wackles ; Mr. Chuckster com- 
 plains to Mr. Swiveller that his merits are not appreciated; Sampson 
 Brass calls Kit into his office, and begins to put his plot against him 
 into execution. — LVII. Progress of the plot ; Dick Swiveller discovers 
 the small servant eavesdropping ; he teaches her to play cribbage, and 
 bestows upon her the title of Marchioness. — LYIII. He learns from her 
 how she is kept by Miss Sally ; Mr. Swiveller relieves his melancholy by 
 a little flute-playing ; Miss Sally reports to Dick that some smaU thefts 
 have occurred in the office ; she suspects Kit, whom her brother stoutly 
 defends. — LIX. Consummation of the plot, and arrest of Kit for larceny. 
 — LX. Kit begs to be taken to Mr. Witherden's office ; on the way they 
 encounter Quilp, who bestows his blessing on the party ; astonishment 
 of the Garlands and Mr. Witherden at the charge against Kit. — LXI. 
 Kit in prison is visited by his mother and Barbara's mother; Mr. 
 Swiveller shows his sympathy in a mug of beer. — LXII. Sampson 
 Brass visits Quilp in his den ; pleasant behaviour of the facetious dwarf ; 
 he demands the discharge of Mr. Swiveller. — LXIII. Trial and conviction 
 of Kit ; Mr. Swiveller gets his discharge. — LXIV. Mr. Swiveller awakes 
 from a delirious sickness to find himself in the care of the Marchioness ; 
 she informs him how she came there, and gives him the particulars of 
 his sickness ; the Maychiones? Et,l3o relates to Dick the details of the plo^ 
 
THE OLD CtTRlOSltY BROP. 
 
 20S 
 
 against Blit, which she overheard throngh the keyhole ; she goes in 
 search of Mr. Abel Garland. — LXV. She finds him, and brings him to 
 Dick's lodgings, where she repeats the story to him. — LXYI. The 
 Garlands and their friends take Mr. Swiveller and the Marchioness 
 under their protection ; they attempt to draw a confession from Sally 
 Brass, but the conference is interrupted by Sampson, who confesses the 
 whole conspiracy ; Dick Swiveller inherits a fortune, which is smaller 
 than it might have beea. — LXVII. Mrs. Qiiilp carries to her husband a 
 letter from Sally Brass, informing him of the discovery of their schemes, 
 and warning him of his danger ; he drives his wife away, and groping 
 in the darkness to escape the officers, who are already on his track, he 
 falls into the river, and is drowned. — LXVIII. Kit is released, and 
 welcomed home by his friends ; Mr. Garland notifies him to prepare for a 
 journey to meet Nell and her grandfather. — LXIX. Kit has an understand- 
 ing with Barbara 5 the Single Gentleman, Mr. Garland, and Kit start on 
 their journey ; the Single Gentleman relates his story to Mr. Garland. — • 
 LXX. They arrive at the village after midnight j the old sexton is dis- 
 turbed ; Kit discovers the old man brooding over the fire. — LXXI. The 
 old man knows neither Kit nor his brother ; Kelly is dead. — LXXII. 
 Her burial is kept a secret from her grandfather ; the old man is found 
 dead on the child's grave. — LXXIII. Sampson Brass, after serving out 
 his sentence, joins his sister in the wretched neighbourhood of St. Giles's ; 
 Mrs. Quilp marries again and lives happily ; Mr. Abel Garland beoomea 
 the head of a family ; 'Mx. Swiveller bestows upon the small servant the 
 name of Sopbionia Sphynx, educates, and finally marries her; sad end 
 of Frederick Trent ; the Single Gentleman rewards all who befriended 
 his brother j the family history of Kit and Barbara. 
 
BARFABY RUDGE. 
 
 A TALE OF THE EIOTS OF 'EIGHTY. 
 
 " Barnaby Rudge" is an historical novel, based upon the Lord George 
 Gordon, or London Protestant, riots of 1780. It first appeared in 1841, 
 iu "Master Hranphrey's Clock;" and in 1849 it was published apart 
 from the machlaery of that serial miscellany. 
 
 CHAEAOTERS INTRODUCED. 
 
 AKERMAN, MR. Head jailer at Kewgate. (Ch. Ixiv., Ixxvii.) 
 
 BLACK LION, THE. Landlord of a London inn of the same 
 name ; so called because lie had instructed the artist who 
 painted his sign to convey into the features of the lordly 
 brute whose effigy it bore, as near a counterpart of his own 
 face as his skill could compass and devise. He is such a 
 swigger of beer, that most of his faculties have been utterly 
 dro^vned and washed away, except the one great faculty of 
 sleep, which he retains in surprising perfection. (Ch. xxxL) 
 
 CHESTER, MR., afterwards SIR JOHN. An elegant and 
 punctiliously polite, but thoroughly heartless and unprincipled 
 gentleman. Mr. Chester attempts, but unsuccessfully, to break 
 off the match between his son Edward and Miss Emma Hare- 
 dale, both because the girl is poor, and because he is bent on 
 an alliance which will add to his own wealth and importance. 
 (Ch. x.-xii., xiv., xv., xxiii., xxiv., xxvi.-xxx., xxxii., xl., 
 xliii., liii., Ixxv., Ixxxi) See H^jiedale (Mr. Geoffuey), 
 
 HUQM. 
 

 
BAttNABY EUDGB. 207 
 
 OtiESTERy EDWARD. His son; in love with and finaUy 
 married to Miss Emma Haredale. (Ch. i., ii., v., vi., xiy., 
 XV., xix., xxix., xxxii., Ixvii., Ixxi, Ixxii., Ixxix., Ixxxii) 
 
 COBB, TOM. General chandler and post-office keeper ; a crony 
 of old Willet's, and a frequent visitor at The Maypole Inn. 
 (Ch. i., XXX., xxxiii., liv.) 
 
 CONWAY, GENERAL. A member of parliament, and an 
 opponent of Lord George Gordon. (Ch. xlix.) 
 
 DAISY, SOLOMON. Parish clerk and beU-ringer of Chigwell; 
 a little man, with little round, black, shining eyes like beads, 
 and studded all down his rusty black coat, and his long flapped 
 waistcoat, with queer little buttons, like nothing except his 
 eyes, but so like them that he seems all eyes from head to 
 foot. (Ch. i.-iii., xi, xxx., xxxiii., liv., hd.) 
 
 DENNISy NED. Ringleader of the Gordon rioters. Having 
 formerly been a hangman, and therefore entertaining a profound 
 respect for the law, he desires that everything should be done 
 in a constitutional way. Yet, as an adept in the art of " work- 
 ing people off," he thinks it the better and neater method to 
 hang everybody who stands in the way of the rioters ; and he 
 is frequently disgusted by the refusal of his fellow-insurgents 
 to adopt his suggestions. When the riot is at last suppressed, 
 and Dennis is arrested and condemned to death, he suddenly 
 discovers that the satisfaction which he has experienced for so 
 many years in executing the capital sentence upon his fellow- 
 mortals was, in all probability, not shared by the subjects of 
 his skill ; and he shrinks in the most abject fear from his fate. 
 
 " No reprieve, no reprieve ! Nobody comes near us. There's only 
 the night left now ! " moaned Dennis faintly, as he wrung his hands. 
 " Do you think they'll reprieve me in the night, brother ? I've known 
 reprieves come in the night, afore now. I've known 'em come as late 
 as five, six, and seven o'clock in the morning. Don't you think there's 
 a good chance yet — don't you? Say you do. Say you do, young 
 man," whined the miserable creature, with an imploring gesture 
 towards Barnaby, " or I shall go mad ! " 
 
 " Better be mad than sane, here," said Hugh. " Oo mad." 
 
 " But tell me what you think. Somebody tell me what he thinks ! " 
 cried the wretched object — so mean, and wretched, and despicable, 
 that even Pity's self might have turned away, at sight of such a 
 being in the likeness of a man — " isn't there a chance for me — isn't 
 there a good chance for me ? Isn't it likely they may be doing this 
 to frighten me? Don't you think it is ? Oh!" he almost shrieked, 
 as he wrung his hands, "won't anybody give me comfort ?" 
 
 " You ought to be the best, instead of the worst," said Huj^h, 
 stopping before him. " Ha, ha, ha I See the hangman, when it 
 ©omes home to him ! " 
 
 " You don't know what it la/' cried DemtiB, aotnaUy writhing at 
 
208 THE DICKENS DICTIOKART. 
 
 he spoke: "I do. That I should come to be worked ofE! I! I! 
 That I shonld come ! " 
 
 "And why not ?" said Hugh, as he thrust back his matted hair 
 to get a better view of his late associate. " How often, before I knew 
 your trade, did I hear you talking of this as if it was a treat ? " 
 
 " I ain't unconsistent," screamed the miserable creature ; "I'd talk 
 so again, if I was hangman. Some other man has got my old opinions 
 at this minute. That makes it worse. Somebody's longing to work 
 me off. I know by myself that somebody must be ! " 
 
 " He'U soon have his longing," said Hugh, resuming his walk. 
 ** Think of that, and be quiet." 
 
 (Ch. xxxvi.-xL, xliv., xlix., 1., lii-liv., lix., Ix., lxiii.-lxv., 
 lxix.-lxxi, Ixxiv.-lxxvii.) 
 
 GASHFOED, MM. Lord George Gordon's secretary j a tall, 
 bony, liigli-slioiildered, and angular man. 
 
 His dress, in imitation of his superior, was demure and staid in 
 the extreme; his manner, formal and constrained. This gentleman 
 had an overhanging brow, great hands and feet and ears, and a pair 
 of eyes that seemed to have made an unnatural retreat into his head, 
 and to have dug themselves a cave to hide in. His manner was 
 smooth and humble, but very sly and slinking. He wore the aspect 
 of a man who was always lying in wait for something that %vouldn't 
 come to pass ; but he looked patient — very patient — and fawned Kke 
 a spaniel dog. 
 
 (Ch. xxxv.-xxxviii, xliii, xliv., xlviii.-L, lii., liii, Ixxi, 
 Ixxxii.) 
 
 GILBERT, MARK. One of the " Prentice Knights, or United 
 Bull-Dogs," a secret society formed by the apprentices of 
 London for the purpose of resisting the tyranny of their 
 masters. On the occasion of Mark's admission to this or- 
 ganisation, he is thus described : 
 
 " Age, nineteen. Bound to Thomas Curzon, hosier. Golden Fleece, 
 Aldgate. Loves Curzon's daughter. Cannot say that Curzon's 
 daughter loves him. Should think it probable. Curzon puUed his 
 ears last Tuesday week." 
 
 (Ch. viii-xxxix.) 
 
 GORDON, COLONEL, Member of parliament, and an op- 
 ponent of his kinsman Lord George Gordon. (Ch. xlix.) 
 
 GORDON, LORD GEORGE. Third son of Cosmo George, 
 third duke of Gordon; born Sept. 19, 1750 j noted as the 
 chief instigator of the Protestant or " No Popery " riots, which 
 took place in London in 1780, and were a result of the passage 
 of a bill by parliament relieving Eoman Catholics from certaiu 
 disabilities and penalties. In these riots (which lasted for 
 several days) many Eoman Catholic churches were destroyed, 
 as were also Newgate Prison, the residence of Lord Chief 
 Justice Mansfield, and numerous other private dwellings. Lord 
 
BAENABY EUDQB. 209 
 
 George was arrested on a charge of high treason, and was com- 
 mitted to the Tower ; but, the offence not having been proved, 
 he was acquitted. He died 'Nov. 1, 1793. (Ch. xxxv.-xxxvii., 
 xliii., xlviii.-L, Ivii, Ixxiii, Ixxxii) 
 
 GREEN, TOM, A soldier. (Ch. Iviil) 
 
 GRIP. A raven ; the constant companion of Eamaby Eudge ; 
 a very knowing bird, supposed to be a hundred and twenty 
 years old, or thereabouts. 
 
 The widow tried to make light of Barnaby*s remark, and endea- 
 voured to divert hia attention to some new subject ; too easy a task 
 at all times, as she knew. His supper done, Barnaby, regardless of 
 her entreaties, stretched himself on the mat before the fire ; Grip 
 perched upon his leg, and divided his tirae between dozing in the 
 grateful warmth, and endeavouring (as it presently appeared) to 
 recall a new accomplishment he had been studying all day. 
 
 A long and profound silence ensued, broken only by some change 
 of position on the part of Barnaby, whose eyes were still wide open 
 and intently fixed upon the fire ; or by an effort of recollection on 
 the part of Grip, who would cry in a low voice from time to time, 
 "Polly put the ket " and there stop short, forgetting the re- 
 mainder, and go off in a doze again. 
 
 After a long interval, Barnaby's breathing grew more deep and 
 regular, and his eyes were closed. But even then the unquiet spirit 
 
 of the raven interposed, " Polly put the ket '* cried Grip, and his 
 
 master was broad awake again. 
 
 At length Barnaby slept soundly, and the bird with his bill sunk 
 upon his breast, his breast itself puffed out into a comfortable alder- 
 man-like form, and his bright eye growing smaller and smaller, really 
 seemed to be subsiding into a state of repose. Now and then he 
 
 muttered in a sepulchral voice, "Polly put the ket " but very 
 
 drowsily, and more like a drunken man than a reflecting raven. 
 
 The widow, scarcely venturing to breathe, rose from her seat. The 
 man glided from the closet, and extinguished the candle. 
 
 " — ^tle on," cried Grip, suddenly struck with an idea and very 
 much excited. " — tie on. Hurrah! Polly put the ket-tle on, we'll 
 all have tea ; Polly put the ket-tle on, we'll all have tea. Hurrah, 
 hurrah, hurrah I I'm a devil, I'm a devil, I'm a ket-tle on, Keep up 
 your spirits, Never say die. Bow, wow, wow, I'm a devil, I'm a ket-tle, 
 I'm a — Polly put the ket-tle on, we'll all have tea." 
 
 They stood rooted to the ground, as though it had been a voice 
 from the grave. 
 
 But even this failed to awaken the sleeper. He turned over 
 towards the fire, his arm fell to the ground, and his head drooped 
 heavily upon it. 
 
 (Ch. v., vi., X., xvii., xxv., xlv.-xlvii., Ivii., Iviii., Ixviii., 
 Ixxiii., Ixxv.-lxxvii., Ixxix., Ixxxii.) 
 
 GRUEBYf JOHN, Servant to Lord George Gordon ; a square- 
 built, strong-made, bull-necked fellow, of the true English 
 breed, self-possessed, hard-headed, and imperturbable. (Ch. 
 ^xxv., xxxvii., xxxviii., Ivii., Ixvi., Ixxxii.) 
 
210 THE DICKENS DICTIONAST. 
 
 HAREDALE, MR. GEOFFREY, A country gmtleman, 
 burly in person, stern in disposition, rough and abrupt in 
 manner, but thoroughly honest and unselfish. He resides at 
 a mansion called "The Warren," on the borders of Epping 
 Forest, and not far from The Maypole Inn. Being a rigid 
 Eoman Catholic, he is made a special object of vengeance by 
 the Lord Gordon mob. He kills Sir John Chester in a duel, 
 and thereupon quits England for ever, ending his days in the 
 seclusion of a religious establishment abroad. (Ch. i., x.-xu., 
 xiv., XX,, xxv.-xxvii., xxix., xxxiv., xlii., xliii., ivi., Ixi, 
 Ixvi., Ixvii., Ixxi., Ixxvi., Ixxix., Ixxxi., Ixxxii.) 
 
 HAREDALE, MISS EMMA. His niece j daughter of Mr. 
 Eeuben Haredale, who is mysteriously murdered. She is 
 finally married to Edward Chester. (Ch. i., iv., xii.-xv., xx., 
 XXV., xxvii.-xxix., xxxiL, lix., Ixx., Ixxi, Ixxix., Ixxxi.) 
 
 HUGH. A wild, athletic, gipsy-like young feUow, with some- 
 thing fierce and sullen in his features. He is at first a hostler 
 at The Maypole Inn, and afterwards a leader in the Gordon 
 riots. He turns out to be a natui*al son of Sir John Chester, 
 who, when urged to save him from the gallows, treats the 
 appeal with the utmost sang froid, and permits him to be 
 executed, without making the least effort in his behalf. (Ch. 
 x.-xii.,xx.,xxii., xxiii., xxviii., xxix., xxxiv., xxxv., xxxvii.- 
 xl., xliv., xlviii.-l., lii.-lLV., lix., Ix., Ixiii-lxv., Ixvii. -Ixix., 
 Ixxiv., Ixxvi. -Ixxviii.) 
 
 LANGDALE, MR. A vintner and distiller ; a portly, purple- 
 faced, and choleric old gentleman. (Ch. xiii., Ixi., Ixvi., Ixvii., 
 Ixxxi.) 
 
 MIGGS, MISS. The single domestic servant of Mrs. Varden. 
 
 This Miggs was a tall young lady, very mucli addicted to 
 pattens in private life; slender and shrewish., of a rather uncom- 
 fortable figure, and though not absolutely ill-looking, of a sharp and 
 acid visage. As a general principle and abstract proposition, Miggs 
 held the male sex to be utterly contemptible and unworthy of notice ; 
 to be fickle, false, base, sottish, inclined to perjury, and wholly un- 
 deserving. When particularly exasperated against them (which, 
 scandal said, was when Sim Tappertit slighted her most) she was 
 accustomed to wish with great emphasis that the whole race of 
 women could but die off, in order that the men might be brought to 
 know the real value of the blessings by which they set so little store ; 
 nay, her feeling for her order ran so high, that she sometimes declared, 
 if she could only have good security for a fair, round number — say 
 ten thousand — of young virgins following her example, she would, to 
 spite mankind, hang, drown, stab, or poison herself, with a joy pa,st 
 all expression. 
 
 When the Gordon riots break out she forsakev«! ber old 
 
BAENABY EUDGB. til 
 
 master and mistress to follow and watch over Mr. Sim 
 Tappertit. After the dispersion of the rioters, ^liss Miggs 
 returns to Mr. Varden's house, quite as a ^matter of course, 
 expecting to be reinstated in her old situation. But Mrs. 
 Varden^ who is at first amazed at her audacity, orders her to 
 leave the house ins tauter; whereupon the young lady relieves 
 her mind after this wise : — 
 
 ** I'm quite delighted, I'm sure, to find such independency, feeling 
 sorry though, at the same time, mim, that you should have been 
 forced into submissions when you couldn't help yourself — he, he, he ! 
 It must be great vexations, 'specially considering how ill you always 
 spoke of Mr. Joe — to have him for a son-in-law at last ; and I wonder 
 Miss Dolly can put up with him, either, after being off and on for so 
 many years with a coachmaker. But I have heerd say, that the 
 coachmaker thought twice about it — he, he, he ! — and that he told a 
 young man as was a f rind of his, that he hoped he knowed better than 
 to be drawed into that ; though she and all the family did pull uncom- 
 mon strong ! " 
 
 Here she paused for a reply, and receiving none, went on as before. 
 
 " I have heerd say, mim, that the illnesses of some ladies was all 
 pretentions, and that they could faint away, stone dead, whenever 
 they had the inclinations so to do. Of course I never see sich cases 
 with my own eyes — bo no ! He, he, he ! Nor master neither — ho no ! 
 He, he, he ! I have heerd the neighbours make remark as someone as 
 they was acquainted with, was a poor good-natur'd mean-spirited 
 creetur, as went out fishing for a wife one day, and caught a Tartar. 
 Of course I never to my knowledge see the poor person himself. Nor 
 did you neither, mim — no, no. I wonder who it can be — don't you, 
 mim ? No doubt you do, mim. Ho yes. He, he, he ! " 
 
 Cast upon a thankless, undeserving world, and baffled in 
 all her schemes, matrimonial and otherwise. Miss Miggs turns 
 sharper and soujer than ever. It happens, however, that, just 
 at this time, a female turnkey is wanted for the county 
 Bridewell, and a day and hour is appointed for the inspection 
 of candidates. Miss Miggs attends, and is instantly chosen 
 from a hundred and twenty-four competitors, and installed in 
 office, which she holds till her decease, more than thirty years 
 afterwards. (Ch. vii., ix., xiii., xviii., xix., xxii., tuvu., xxxi., 
 xxxvi., xxxix., xli., li., Ixiii., Ixx., Ixxi., 1x3:2., Lcxsii.) 
 
 PARKESi PHIL, A ranger who frequents The Maypole Inn \ 
 a tail man, very taciturn, and a profound smoker. (Ch. i., 
 xi., XXX., xxxiii., liv.) 
 
 PEAK. Sir John Chester's valet. (Ch. xxiii., xxiv., xxxii , 
 Ixxv., Ixxxii.) 
 
 RUDGEy BARNABY. A fantastic youth, half crazed, half 
 idiotic Wandering listlessly about at the time of the Gordon 
 
 p 2 
 
212 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 riots, he is overtaken by tlie mob, and eagerly joins tbcm in 
 their work of destruction. 
 
 As he stood, at that moment, half shrinking back and half bend- 
 ing forward, both his face and figure were full in the strong glare of 
 the link, and as distinctly revealed as though it had been broad day. 
 He was about three-and-twenty years old, and though rather spare, 
 of a fair height and strong make. His hair, of which he had a great 
 profusion, was red, and hanging in disorder about his face and 
 shoulders, gave to his restless looks an expression quite unearthly — 
 enhanced by the paleness of his complexion, and the glassy lustre of 
 his large protruding eyes. Startling as his aspect was, the features 
 were good, and there was something even plaintive in his wan and 
 haggard aspect. But the absence of the soul is far more terrible in a 
 living man than in a dead one; and in this unfortunate being itg 
 noblest powers were wanting. 
 
 His dress was of green, clumsily trimmed here and there — appa- 
 rently by his own hands — with gaudy lace ; brightest where the cloth 
 was most worn and soiled, and poorest where it was at the best. A 
 pair of tawdry ruffles dangled at his wrists, while his throat was 
 nearly bare. He had ornamented his hat with a cluster of peacock's 
 feathers, bat they were limp and broken, and now trailed negligently 
 down his back. Girt to his side was the steel hilt of an old sword 
 without blade or scabbard ; and some parti-coloured ends of ribands 
 and poor glass toys completed the ornamental portion of his attire. 
 The fluttered and confused disposition of all the motley scraps that 
 formed his dress, bespoke, in a scarcely less degree than his eager 
 and unsettled manner, the disorder of his mind, and by a grotesque 
 contrast set off and heightened the more impressive wildness of 
 his face. 
 
 His strength and agility make him a valuable auxiliary ; 
 and he continues fighting, until he is at last overpowered, 
 arrested, and condemned to death. " Aha, Hugh ! " says he 
 to his companion on the eve of their execution, " we shall 
 know what makes the stars shine now'^ A pardon is finally 
 procured for him by Mr. Yarden. (Ch. iii.-vi., x.-xii., xvii., 
 XXV., xxvi, xlv.-L, lii., liii., Ivii., Iviii., Ix., Ixii., Lxv., Ixviii., 
 Ixix., Ixxiii., Ixxv.-lxxvii., Ixxix., IxxxiL) 
 
 RUDGE, MRS. Mother of Barnaby. (Ch. iv.-vi., xvi., xvii., 
 xjcv., xxvi., xlil, xlv.-L, Ivii, Ixii., Ixix., Ixxiii., Ixxvi, Ixxix., 
 
 Ixxxii.) 
 
 RUDGE, MR. Father of Barnaby, and a former steward of 
 Reuben Haredale's. One morning in the year 1733, Mr. 
 Haredale is found murdered, and the steward is missing. 
 Afterwards a body is discovered, which is supposed to be that 
 of Eudge ; but it is so disfigured as not to be recognisable. 
 After the lapse of many years, it is proved that Eudge was 
 the real murderer, and that the body wliich was taken to be 
 his was reall}'- that of another of his victims. He is finally 
 
BARNABY BUDGE. 213 
 
 captured and executed. (Ch. i-iii., v., vi., xvi.-xviii., xxxiii., 
 xlv., xlvi., Iv., Ivi., Ixi., Ixii., Ixv., Ixviii., Lxix., Ixxiii., Ixxvi.) 
 
 STAGG. A blind man; proprietor of a drinking-cellar and 
 skittle-ground. (Ch. viii., xviii., xlv., xlvi., Ixii., lxix.) 
 
 TAPPERTIT, SIMON. Apprentice to Mr. Gabriel Yarden, 
 and a sworn enemy to Joe Willet, who has rivalled him in 
 the affections of his master's daughter Dolly. 
 
 Sim . . . was an old-fasliioned, thin-faced, sleek-haired, sharp, 
 nosed, small-eyed little fellow, very little more than five feet high, and 
 thoroughly convinced in his own mind that he was above the middle 
 size ; rather tall, in fact, than otherwise. Of his figure, which was 
 well enough formed, though somewhat of the leanest, he entertained 
 the highest admiration ; and with his legs, which, in knee-breeches, 
 were perfect curiosities of littleness, he was enraptured to a degree 
 amounting to enthusiasm. . . . Add to this that he was in years just 
 twenty, in his looks much older, and in conceit at least two hundred ; 
 that he had no objection to be jested with, touching his admiration of 
 his master's daughter ; and had even, when called upon at a certain 
 obscure tavern to pledge the lady whom he honoured with his love, 
 toasted, with many winks and leers, a fair creature whose Christian 
 name, he said, began with a D [Dolly Varden]. 
 
 Mr. Tappertit is captain of the " 'Prentice Knights " (after- 
 wards called the " United Bull-Dogs "), whose objects were 
 vengeance on their tyrant masters (of whose grievous and in- 
 supportable oppression no 'prentice could entertain a moment's 
 doubt) and the restoration of their ancient rights and holidays. 
 He takes a leading part in the Lord George Gordon riots, but 
 finally receives a gun-shot wound m his body, and has his 
 precious legs crushed into shapeless ugliness. After being 
 removed from a hospital to a prison, and thence to his place 
 of trial, he is discharged, by proclamation, on two wooden legs. 
 By the advice and aid of his old master, to whom he applies 
 for assistance, he is established in business as a shoe-black, 
 and quickly secures a great run of custom ; so that he thinks 
 himself justified in taking to wife the widow of an eminent 
 bone and rag collector. (Ch. iv., vii.— ix., xviii., xix., xxii., 
 xxiv., xxvii, xxxi., xxxvi., xxxix., xlviii.-lii., lix., Ix., Ixii., 
 Ixx., Ixxi., Ixxxii.) 
 
 VARDEN, DOLLY, A bright, fresh, coquettish girl, the very 
 impersonation of good humour and blooming beauty. She is 
 finally married to Joe WiUet. (Ch. iv., xiii., xix.-xxii., 
 xxvii., xxxi, lix., Ixx., Ixxi.) 
 
 VARDEN, GABRIEL. A frank, hearty, honest old lock- 
 smith, at charity with all mankind ; father to Dolly YardeUi 
 (Ch. ii.-vii., xiii., xiv., xix., xxi., xxii., xxvi., xxvii., xli., xlii., 
 U., Ixiii., Ixiv., Ixxi., Ixxii, Ixxiv. -Ixxvi., IxxLx., Lxxx., Ixxxii. 
 
214 THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 VARDENy MRS. MARTHA, His wife. 
 
 Mrs. Varden was a lady of what is commonly called an imoertam 
 temper — a phrase which being interpreted signifies a temper tolerably 
 certain to make everybody more or less uncomfortable. Thus it 
 generally happened, that when other people were merry, Mrs. Yarden 
 was dull ; and that when other people were dull, Mrs. Varden was 
 disposed to be amazingly cheerful. Indeed the worthy housewife was 
 of such a capricious nature, that she not only attained a higher pitch 
 of genius than Macbeth, in respect of her ability to be wise, amazed, 
 temperate and furious, loyal and neutral in an instant, but would 
 sometimes ring the changes backwards and forwards on all possible 
 moods and flights in one short quarter of an hour ; performing, as it 
 were, a kind of triple bob major on the peal of instruments in the 
 female belfry, with a skilfuLaess and rapidity of execution that 
 astonished all who heard her. 
 
 It had been observed in this good lady (who did not want for 
 persona] attractions, being plump and buxom to look at, though, like 
 her fair daughter, somewhat short in stature) that this uncertainty of 
 disposition strengthened and increased with her temporal prosperity ; 
 and divers wise men and matrons, on friendly terms with the lock- 
 smith and his family, even went so far as to assert, that a tumble 
 down some half-dozen rounds in the world's ladder — such as the 
 breaking of the bank in which her husband kept his money, or some 
 little fall of that kind — would be the making of her, and could hardly 
 fail to render her one of the most agreeable companions in existence. 
 
 (Ch. iv., vii., xiii., xix., xxi., xxii., xxvii., xxxvi., xli., 
 xlii., li., Ixxi., Ixxii., Ixxx., Ixxxii.) 
 
 WILLET, JOHN, Landlord of The Maypole Inn at Chigwell ; 
 a burly, large-headed man, with a fat face, which betokened 
 profound obstinacy and slowness of apprehension, combined 
 with a very strong reliance upon his own merits. 
 
 The Maypole was an old building with inore gable-ends than a 
 lazy man would care to count on a sunny day ; huge zigzag chiniRcys, 
 out of which it seemed as if smoke could not choose but cume in more 
 than naturally fantastic shapes imparted to it in its tortuous progress; 
 and vast stables, gloomy, ruinous, and empty. The place was said to 
 have been built in the days of Henry the Eighth. ... Its windows 
 were all diamond-pane lattices ; its floors were sunken and uneven ; 
 its ceiling blackened by the hand of time, and heavy with massive 
 beams. Over the doorway was an ancient porch quaintly and 
 grotesquely carved ; and here, on summer evenings, the more favoured 
 customers smoked and drank — ay, and sung many a good song too, 
 sometimes — leposing on two grim-looking, high-backed settles, which, 
 like the twin dragons of some fairy-tale, guarded the entrance to the 
 mansion. . . . All bars are snug places ; but The Maypole's was the 
 very snuggest, cosiest, and completest bar that ever the wit of man 
 devised. Such amaaing bottles in old oaken pigeon-holes; . . . such 
 sturdy little Dutch kegs, ranged in rows on shelves; so many lemons, 
 hanging in separate nets, and forming the fragrant grove already 
 mentioned in this chronicle, suggestive, with goodly loaves of snowy 
 sugar stowed away hard by, of punch ideaHsed beyond all mortal 
 kuowladge ; such closets, such presses, . . . such places for putting 
 
BARNABY fiUDGE. 21S 
 
 things away in hollow window-seats, all crammed to the throat with 
 eatables, drinkables, or savoury condiments ; lastly, and to crown all, 
 aa typical of the immense resources of the establishment, and its 
 defiances to all visitors to cut and come again, such a stupendous 
 cheese ! 
 
 (Ch. i.-iii., x.-xiv., xix., xx., xxiv., xxix., xxx., xxxiii.- 
 XXXV., liv.— Ivi., Ixxii., IxxvUi., Ixxxii.) 
 
 WILLET, JOE. Son of John Willet; a broad-shouldered, 
 strapping young fellow, whom it pleases his father still to 
 consider a little boy, and to treat accordingly. After being 
 bullied, badgered, worried, fretted, and browbeaten, until he 
 can endure it no longer, Joe runs away and joins the army. 
 At the time of the London riots, however, he turns up, and 
 renders good service to his friends, notwithstanding the loss 
 of an arm at the siege of Savannah. The father is only too 
 glad to welcome him back ; never speaks of him to a stranger 
 afterwards without saying proudly, " My son's arm was took 
 off at the defence of the — Salwanners — ^in America, where the 
 war is." Joe finally marries Dolly Yarden, whom he has long 
 loved. (Cb. i.-iii., xiii., xiv., xix., xxi., xxii., xxx,, xxxi., 
 xii., Iviii., Ixvii., Ixxi., Ixxii., ixKviii., Ixxx., Ixxxii.) 
 
 PEmCIPAL INOIDENTS. 
 
 Chapteb I. John Willet, landlord of The Maypole, and his guests, dis« 
 cuss the weather j a suspicious-looking stranger asks questions about The 
 Warren, and is answered by Joe Willet j one of the guests sets out to 
 walk to London through the storm ; Joe Willet is lectured for his for- 
 wardness by his father and his friends ; Solomon Daisy relates the story 
 of the murder of Mr. Eeuben Haredale twenty -two years before. — II. The 
 suspicious-looking stranger sets out for London, and rides furiously 
 through the darkness ; he encounters Gabriel Varden on the road j Gabn«i 
 goes back to The Maypole. — III. Joe Willet rebels against his father's 
 authority, and threatens to run away; Gabriel advises him to think 
 better of it ; going on to London, Gabriel is attracted by loud outcries, 
 and finds Barnaby Eudge standing over a bloody and apparently lifeless 
 body. — IV. Mr. Varden's home described ; Mr. Simon Tappertit is intro- 
 duced; Mr. Varden gives his daughter an account of his last night's 
 adventure on the road, and also his difficulty in finding Miss Emma Hare- 
 dale ; Dolly's confusion on hearing of Joe Willet ; the jealousy of Mr. 
 Tappertit is aroused.— V. Varden goes to Mrs. Rudge's to inquire about 
 Mr. Edward Chester, the young man whom he rescued; he is astonished 
 to find her receiving a call from the ruffian he encountered on the road. 
 — VI. She declines to make any explanation, but begs him to keep silent 5 
 Gabriel sees Mr. Edward Chesler, who gives him an accoimt of his 
 adventure; and Varden recognises in his assailant the same man h« 
 
il6 fMfi; t)lO^KS DldTIONAET. 
 
 himself met ; Baxnaby and his raven. — Til. Gabriel's reception by Mrfl. 
 Varden and Miggs on his retnm home. — VIII. Sim Tappertit secretly 
 leaves the honse, and goes to the rendezvons of the " 'Prentice Knights," 
 where he is received by Stagg ; the " 'Prentice Knights " admit a new 
 member; confidence between the captain and the novice. — IX. Miss 
 Miggs witnesses Sim's exit from the honse, and receives him on his 
 return. — X. Mr. John Chester visits The Maypole, and sends a note to 
 Mr. Haredale, requesting him to meet him there ; Bamaby returns with 
 Mr. Haredale's answer. — ^XI. Speculations of Mr. Willet's customers in 
 regard to the meeting of Mr. Chester and Mr. Haredale ; interview be- 
 tween these gentlemen, in which they discuss the attachment of Mr. 
 Edward Chester and Miss Emma Haredale, and agree, though on different 
 grounds, to oppose it. — XII. Surprise of John Willet at finding JVIr. 
 Chester uninjured. — XIII. — Joe WiUet sets out for London to pay his 
 father's rent ; he goes to The Warren for any message Miss Emma may 
 have for Edward Chester 5 Joe goes to the Vardens', where the bouquet 
 he had prepared for Dolly meets an inglorious fate ; Dolly goes to a 
 party, and Joe goes home disappointed. — XIV. On the road home Joe ia 
 joined by Mr. Edward Chester j Edward calls on Miss Haredale, and is 
 dismissed from the house by her uncle j finding his father at The Maypole, 
 Edward avoids meeting him, and returns to town. — XV. Interview be- 
 tween Mr. John Chester and his son, wherein he explains the poverty of 
 their resources and the necessity for his son's forming a wealthy mastriage. 
 — XVI. Condition of London streets at the time of the story ; appearance 
 among the outcasts of the ruffian who assaulted Mr. Chester ; he follows 
 Mrs. Rudge to her home, and gains admittance. — XVII. Terror of the 
 widow lest he should be seen by her idiot son ; Bamaby tells his mothe 
 of his search for the robber, who, concealed in a closet, overhears their 
 conversation ; the ruffian threatens her with a sure and slow revenge, if 
 she betrays lim, and leaves her. — XVIII. After wandering through the 
 streets nearly all night, he sees the departure of Sim Tappertit from the 
 rendezvous of the 'Prentices, and obtains shelter with Stagg. — XIX. 
 Edward Chester calls at Mr. Varden's to request Dolly to be the bearer 
 of a letter to Miss Haredale ; Mr. Varden proposes to take his wife and 
 daughter to The Maypole, and how Mrs. Varden receives the proposal ; 
 they arrive at The Maypole ; DoUy goes to The Warren, carrying Mr. 
 Edward's letter. — XX. Leaving Miss Haredale, on her return with the 
 answer she is met by Mr. Haredale, who questions her in regard to her 
 errand, and proposes to her to become Miss Haredale's companion ; re- 
 tni'ning to The Maypole, Dolly is assaulted by Hugh, and rescued by Joe 
 Willet. — XXI. She discovers the loss of her bracelet and of Miss Hare- 
 dale's letter; Hugh questions her about the man who assaulted her, 
 secretly warning her not to betray him ; the Vardens returning home, 
 Joe accompanies them on the way, and they are soon joined by Hugh. 
 — XXII. Hugh rides back with Joe ; Miggs repeats Dolly's adventures 
 to Mr. Tappertit, who denounces Joe. — XXIII. Hugh waits upon Mr. 
 John Chester, and gives him Miss Haredale's letter to his son, telling 
 him how he obtained it; how Mr. Chester received it; and how he 
 cautioned Hugh about robbing on the highway. — ^XXIV. Mr. Tappertit 
 calls upon Mr. Chester, and complains of the treatment he has received 
 from his son ; recommends him to see Mrs. Varden, and prevent Dolly's 
 being a go-between for the lovers ; and warns him against the character 
 of Joe. — XXV. Mrs. Rudge and Barnaby go to Chigwell; she has an inter- 
 view with Mr. Haredale, and rejects the assistance she has received from 
 him since her husband's supposed murder, for reasons which she deelines 
 
BABNABT EUDGB. 217 
 
 to gire. — XXVL Mr. Haredale informs Varden of the singolar conduct of 
 Mrs. Eudge, and Mr. Yarden gives him an account of his adventure with 
 the ruffian, and of Mrs. Budge's conduct towards him ; they go to Mrs. 
 Rudge's house together, and find Mr. John Chester there alone, who in- 
 forms them of the disappearance of the widow and her son, but cannot 
 tell where they have gone. — XXVII. Mr. Chester leaves them, and calls 
 upon Mrs. Varden ; he makes insinuations against the character of his 
 son, and requests Mrs. Varden's influence in breaking off the engagement 
 between Edward and Miss Haredale. — XXVIII. Mr. Chester finds Hugh 
 asleep on the stairway ; Hugh gives him a letter from Dolly Varden to 
 Miss Haredale, which Mr. Chester receives with less pleasure than Hugh 
 expects. — XXIX. Mr. Chester goes to Chigwell again, and stops at The 
 Maypole j Hugh shows his activity; Joe Willet upon his " patrole ; " Mr. 
 Chester encounters Miss Haredale, and endeavours to poison her mind 
 against Edward ; they are interrupted by Mr. Haredale. — XXX. Joe 
 rebels against his father's authority, punishes Tom Cobb for interfering, 
 and escapes from the house.- — XXXI. He meets a recruiting-sergeant ; 
 Joe seeks an interview with DoUy Varden, who seems indifferent to him, 
 and he enlists. — XXXII. Mr. Chester and his son have an interview, in 
 which Edward gives his father offence, and is dismissed from his roof 
 with his curse. — XXXIII. After an interval of five years, John Willet 
 and his friends are sitting again in the public room of The Maypole, a 
 Bevere storm raging without j sudden entrance of Solomon Daisy in great 
 fright; he relates what he has just heard and seen at the church. — 
 
 XXXIV. Mr. "Willet resolves to communicate to Mr. Haredale what 
 Daisy has witnessed, and summons Hugh to accompany him to The 
 "Warren; Mr. WiUet's story has a marked effect on Mr. Haredale. — 
 
 XXXV. Eeturning home, Mr. Willet encounters Lord George Gordon and 
 his attendants, who go to The Maypole to spend the night ; interview be- 
 tween Lord George Gordon and his secretary ; John Grueby expresses 
 his disgust at his lord's proceedings. — XXXVI. Lord George and his 
 secretary in council consider the accessions to their cause in men and 
 means ; Gashford sowing seed. — XXXVII. Lord George Gordon's cause 
 and its progress ; Lord George and his attendants journey to London ; 
 interview between Gashford and Dennis, in which Dennis shows his 
 desire for active work in the No-Popery cause. — XXXVIII. Hugh presents 
 himself, bringing one of the handbills dropped by Gashford, and is enrolled 
 in the Great Protestant Association ; Hugh and Dennis take a look at the 
 Houses of Parliament, and then repair to The Boot. — XXXIX. Mr. Tapper- 
 tit bestows his patronage upon Hugh, and reminds him of former times ; 
 Dennis gives his companion some particulars of his trade, without expos, 
 ing himself. — ^XL. Hugh makes a call at Sir John Chester's; how Sir 
 John obtained his title ; Hugh informs Sir John that he has joined the 
 Protestant Association, and made the acquaintance of Dennis ; Sir John's 
 underhand plotting. — ^XLI. Mr. Varden defends himself for joining the 
 Volunteers; Dolly questions her father about Mr. Haredale's absence 
 from home ; Dolly's agitation at her father's mention of Joe Willet.— 
 XLII. Mr. Haredale meets the locksmith, and informs him that he intends 
 to pass the night in watching at Mrs. Eudge's old home ; and Mr. Varden 
 leaves him there. — ^XLIII. How Mr. Haredale kept his watch j Mr. Hare- 
 dale encounters Sir John Chester and Gashford in Westminster Hall; 
 Lord George Gordon joins them, and Sir John introduces Mr. Haredale 
 as a Papist; Mr. Haredale, assaulted by the crowd, retaKates upon 
 Gashford, and is rescued from the revenge of the mob by John Grueby. 
 XLIV. Gashford joins Dennis and Hugh, and incites them to pimish 
 
218 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 Haredale. — XLV. Mrs. Budge and Bamaby, in the quiet village homo 
 they had secured, are saluted by a blind wayfarer; he proves to bo 
 Stagg, and the agent of the ruffian from whom the widow had fled, in 
 whose name he demands twenty pounds. — XL VI. Stagg excites in 
 Barnaby a desire to see the world ; the widow gives Stagg her little hoard, 
 and early in the morning leaves her home with Barnaby, to lose them- 
 selves in the crowds of London. — XL VII. Harsh treatment of the widow 
 and her son by a " fine old country gentleman." — XL VIII. The travellers 
 arrive at Westminster Bridge just as the crowd of Lord Gordon's ad- 
 herents are passing over to the city; Barnaby is enticed to join them 
 by Lord George himself ; he is recognised by Hugh, and drawn into the 
 ranks. — XLIX. The crowd of Lord George Gordon's followers meet at 
 the House of Commons ; they are confronted by General Conway and 
 Colonel Gordon ; the mob are opposed by the military, and Barnaby 
 strikes down a soldier with his flagstaff. — L. Grashford finds Dennis and 
 Hngh at The Boot, and suggests to them greater acts of violence. — LI. 
 Mr. Tappertit returns home, boasting of the part he has taken in the dis- 
 turbance of the day, gives Mrs. Varden a " protection " from Lord George 
 Gordon, and escapes from Mr. Varden, who attempts to detain him ; 
 Gabriel destroys his wife's collection -box and the "protection." — LII. 
 Hugh and Sim Tappertit plan an expedition against Mr. Haredale's 
 house ; the rioters despoil churches and dwellings, and make bonfires of 
 the plunder. — LIII. Gashf ord informs Hugh of the reward offered for 
 the ringleaders of the mob ; the rioters set out on their expedition to 
 Chigwell. — LIV. Mr. WiUet gives the "evidence of his senses" against 
 the reports of the London riots ; his cronies start for London to see for 
 themselves ; the mob visit The Maypole, despoil the house, bind old John 
 to his chair, and hasten on to The Warren. — LV. After the departure cf 
 the mob, a man comes to the inn, and is questioning Willet, when he ij 
 startled by the ringing of the bell at The Warren ; the mob destroy Mr. 
 Haredale's house, and disperse. — LVL The Maypole cronies, on the way 
 to London, meet Mr. Haredale on horseback, who takes Daisy up behind 
 him, and hurries on to Chigwell ; they find Mr. Willet bound as the mob 
 left him ; he informs Mr. Haredale of the call he has received from " a 
 dead man ;" Mr. Haredale hastens on to the ruins of his house, follows 
 a shadowy form up the tower-stairs, and grapples with Rudge, the mur- 
 derer of his brother. — LVII. Barnaby, on guard at The Boot, is ^-isited 
 by Lord Gordon and his servant; Grueby excites the anger of Lord 
 George by calling Barnaby mad ; a company of soldiers surround The 
 Boot, and Barnaby is taken prisoner. — LVIII. Barnaby notices a one- 
 armed man among his guard ; Barnaby is committed to Newgate. — LIX. 
 Sim Tappertit, Dennis, and Hugh, having dispersed the rioters, convey 
 Emma Haredale and Dolly Varden in a carriage to London, where they 
 confine them in a miserable cottage, and warn them against any disturb- 
 ance. — LX. Returning to The Boot, Hugh and his companions find it in 
 possession of the soldiers, and repair to the Fleet Market ; a one-armed 
 man brings the news of the arrest of Barnaby. — LXI. Mr. Haredale 
 hastens to London with his prisoner, and applies to the lord mayor for 
 his committal ; meeting with no success, he obtains a warrant from Sir 
 John Fielding, and sees the murderer confined in Newgate. — LXII. Stagg 
 visits Rudge in prison, who relates to him the particulars of his crime ; 
 Stagg forms a plan for releasing him ; the father and son meet in the 
 prison. — LXIII. The rioters, carrying out their designs on Newgate, 
 repair to Gabriel Varden's; he refuses to comply with their demand 
 that he shall pick the prison lock ; Sim Tappertit orders Miggs to bo 
 
BARNABY BUDGE. 219 
 
 released, and sends her to join Emma and Dolly. — LXIV. Vardeu 
 refuses the demands of the mob in front of Newgate, and is rescued 
 from their fury by the one-armed man and another, and conveyed away 
 through the crowd ; the rioters bum down the jail-door, and gain en- 
 trance to the interior. — LXV. Rudge and Bamaby are released by the 
 mob ; Dennis visits the criminals condemned to be hung ; Hugh releases 
 these criminals against the remonstrances of Dennis. — LXVI. Mr. Hare- 
 dale seeks his niece without avail ; fearing the release of the murderer, 
 he goes to Newgate, but is met by Mr. Langdale, who conveys him, in 
 an exhausted condition, to his home ; progress of the riot. — LXYII. The 
 rioters, led by Hugh, attack the house of Mr. Langdale ; Langdale and 
 Mr. Haredale, escaping by a secret passage, are met by Edward Chester 
 and Joe Willet, who, disguised as rioters, have found this means of 
 rescuing them ; Joe Willet proves to be the one-armed man. — LXVIII. 
 Barnaby and his father escape to Clerkenwell, and find shelter in a poor 
 shed ; Bamaby rejoins the rioters on Holbom Hill just as Hugh is 
 struck dawa by Edward Chester, rescues Hugh, and carries him to the 
 place where Rudge is concealed. — LXIX. Barnaby goes in search of 
 Stagg, with whom he returns; Dennis joins them, and, at a signal from 
 him, a body of soldiers advance, and arrest all but Stagg, who is shot in 
 attempting to escape. — LXX. Dennis goes to the house where Emma 
 and Dolly are imprisoned; Miggs informs him that Miss Haredale is to 
 be removed the next night ; and he imparts his scheme for disposing of 
 Dolly. — LXXI. Gashford attempts to induce Emma to trust in him, and 
 go with him, when Mr. Haredale and his friends enter, rescue the 
 captives, and all repair to The Black Lion. — LXXII. Mr. Willet makes 
 up his mind that Joe's arm has "been took off;" interview between 
 Dolly and Joe. — LXXIII. Dispersion of the rioters ; interview between 
 Bamaby and his mother in his dungeon ; Mrs. Rudge makes a vain 
 attempt to move her husband to repentance. — LXXIY. Dennis's terror 
 of Hugh on being confined in the same cell with him ; Hugh tells Dennis 
 of his mother's fate. — L.XXY. Gabriel Yarden calls upon Sir John 
 Chester, informs him that he believes Hugh to be his son, and begs Sir 
 John to see him, and attempt to rouse in him a sense of his guilt ; Sir 
 John's callousness. — LXXYI. The execution of Rudge ; agony of Dennis 
 at his approaching fate. — LXXYII. Hugh and Dennis are led out to 
 execution, and Hugh pleads for Bamaby. — LXXYIII. Dolly seeks out 
 Joe Willet, and declares her affection for him. — LXXIX. Mr. Haredale 
 and Edward Chester meet at Mr. Yarden's house ; Mr. Haredale now 
 approves of Edward's attachment to his niece, and blesses their imion ; 
 Gabriel is brought home in triumph by the crowd, accompanied by 
 Barnaby, for whom he has obtained a pardon. — LXXX. Happiness of 
 the locksmith and his family ; Miggs receives her discharge from Mrs. 
 Yarden; Mr. Haredale visits the ruins of The Warren, where he en- 
 counters Sir John Chester, with whom he has an altercation, ending in 
 a dnel, in which Sir John is killed. — LXXXl. Subsctiuent career of the 
 principal characters. 
 
A CHEISTMAS CAEOL 
 
 IN PROSE; 
 
 BEING A GHOST-STORY OF CHEISTMAa 
 
 This work was "printed and published for the anthor by Messrs. 
 Bradbury and Evans, in December, 1843, in one volume, 12mo, with 
 four coloured etchings on steel by John Leech." In the Preface to the 
 edition of the Christmas books published in 1850, Mr. Dickens said of 
 this, as well as of the others, " My purpose was, in a whimsical kind of 
 masque, which the good humour of the season justified, to awaken some 
 loving and forbearing thoughts, never out of season in a Christian land." 
 
 CHARACTERS INTRODUCED. 
 
 BELLE. A comely matron, whom the Ghost of Christmas 
 
 Past shows to Scrooge, and in whom he recognises an old 
 
 sweetheart. (Stave ii.) 
 CAROLINE, Wife of one of Scrooge's debtors, shown to him 
 
 in a dream by the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come. (Stave 
 
 iv.) 
 
 CRATCHIT, BOB. Clerk to Scrooge. He works in a dismal 
 little cell — a sort of tank leading out of Scrooge's counting- 
 room. (Stave i., iii., iv., v.) See Scrooge. 
 CRATCHIT, MRS. His wife. (Stave iii., iv.) 
 CRATCHIT, BELINDA. Their second daughter. (Stave 
 iii, iv.) 
 
I 
 
A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 221 
 
 CRATCHIT, MARTHA. Their eldest daughter. (Stave iii, 
 
 iv.) 
 CRATCHIT, MASTER FETER. One of their sons. (Stave 
 
 iii., iv.) 
 CRATCHIT, TIM, called « Tiny Tim." Their youngest son, a 
 
 cripple. (Stave iii.) See Scrooge. 
 DILBER, MRS, A laundress whom the Ghost of Christmas 
 
 Yet To Come shows to Scrooge. (Stave iv.) 
 FAN. A little girl, Scrooge's sister (afterwards the mother of 
 
 Fred, his nephew) whom the Ghost of Christmas Past shows 
 
 to Scrooge in a dream. (Stave ii.) 
 FEZZIWIGy MR. A kind-hearted, jolly old merchant, to 
 
 whom Scrooge was a 'prentice when a young man, and whom 
 
 the Ghost of Christmas Past brings before him in a vision 
 
 when he has become an old man and a miser. (Stave ii.) 
 
 FEZZIWIG, MRS. His wife, " worthy to be his partner in 
 every sense of the term." At the ball which her husband 
 gave to his workpeople on Christmas Eve, and which the 
 Ghost of Christmas Past shows to old Scrooge, "in came 
 Mrs. Pezziwig, one vast, substantial smile." (Stave ii) 
 
 FEZZIWIG, THE THREE MISSES. Their daughters, 
 beaming and lovable, with six young followers, whose hearts 
 they break. (Stave ii) 
 
 FRED. Scrooge's nephew. (Stave i, iii., v.) 
 
 GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PAST. A phantom that shows 
 Scrooge " shadows of things that have been " in his past life. 
 (Stave ii.) 
 
 GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PRESENT. A jolly spirit, 
 glorious to see, of a kind, generous, hearty nature, who in- 
 visibly conducts old Scrooge through various scenes on Christ- 
 mas Eve. (Stave iii.) 
 
 Much they saw, and far they went, and many homes they visited, 
 bnt always with a happy end. The Spirit stood beside sick beds, and 
 they were cheerful ; on foreign lands, and they were close at home j by 
 struggling men, and they were patient in their greater hope ; by poverty, 
 and it was rich. In almshouse, hospital, and jail, in misery's every 
 refuge, where vain man in his little brief authority had not made fast 
 the door, and barred the Spirit out, he left his blessing, and taught 
 Scrooge his precepts. 
 
 GHOST OF CHRISTMAS YET TO COME. An apparition 
 which shows Scrooge " shadows of things that have not hap- 
 pened," but which may happen in the time before him. 
 
 (Stave iv.) 
 
222 THE DICKENS DIOTIONAET. 
 
 JOE. A maiine-store dealer, and a receiver of stolen goods, 
 
 shown to old Scrooge by the Ghost of Christmas Yet To 
 
 Come. (Stave iv.) 
 MARLET, THE GHOST OF JACOB. A spectre that visits 
 
 Scrooge on Christmas Eve, and was in life his partner in 
 
 busiaess. (Stave L) See Scrooge. 
 SCROOGE, EBENEZER, The hero of the " Carol j" sniv 
 
 viving partner of the firm of Scrooge and Marley. 
 
 Oil ! but lie was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge! — a 
 squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old sinner ! 
 Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out 
 generous fire ; secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster. The 
 cold within him froze his old features, nipped his pointed nose, shrivelled 
 his cheek, stiffened his gait, made his eyes red, his thin lips blue, and 
 spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice. A frosty rime was on his 
 head and on his eyebrows and his wiry chin. He carried his own low 
 temperature always about with him ; he iced his oflBce in the dog- 
 days, and didn't thaw it one degree at Christmas. 
 
 One Christmas Eve, after having declined in a very surly 
 manner to accept an invitation to dinner the next day from 
 his nephew Ered, and having reluctantly given his clerk. Bob 
 Cratchit, permission to be absent the whole day, Scrooge goes 
 home to his lodgings, where, brooding over a low fire, he is- 
 visited by the ghost of old Marley, who has been dead seven 
 years. 
 
 Scrooge fell upon his knees and clasped his hands before his face. 
 
 " Mercy ! " he said. " Dreadful apparition, why do you trouble 
 me?" 
 
 " Man of the worldly mind ! " replied the ghost, " do you believe 
 in me, or not ? " 
 
 " I do," said Scrooge. " I must. But why do spirits walk the 
 earth, and why do they come to me ? " 
 
 " It is required of every man," the ghost returned, " that the spirit 
 within him should walk abroad among his fellow-men and travel far 
 and wide ; and, if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to 
 do so after death. It is doomed to wander through the world — oh, woe 
 is me ! — and witness what it cannot share, but might have shared on 
 earth, and turned to happiness." 
 
 Again the spectre raised a cry, and shook its chain, and wrung its 
 shadowy hands. 
 
 " You are fettered," said Scrooge, trembling. " Tell me why." 
 
 " I wear the chain I forged in life," repKed the ghost. " I made it 
 link by link, and yard by yard ; I girded it on of my own free will, and 
 of my own free will I wore it. Is its pattern strange to you ? " 
 
 Scrooge trembled more and more. 
 ♦ *♦♦•» II 
 
 " Hear me ! " cried the ghost. " My time is nearly gone. ... I 
 am here to-night to warn you that you have yet a chance and hope oi 
 escaping my fate — a chance and hope of my procuring, Ebenezer," 
 
A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 228 
 
 **Tou were always a good friend to me," said Scroorro, " Thanlc'ee." 
 
 " You will be haunted," resumed the ghost, " by three spirits. . . . 
 Expect the first to-morrow, when the bell tolls one." 
 
 " Couldn't I take 'em all at once, and have it over, Jacob ? " hinted 
 Scrooge. 
 
 " Expect the second on the next night at the same hour ; the third 
 upon the next night when the last stroke of twelve has ceased to vibrate. 
 Look to see me no more; and look that, for your own sake, you remember 
 what has passed between us." . . . 
 
 Scrooge became sensible of confused noises in the air, incoherent 
 sounds of lamentation and regret, wailings inexpressibly sorrowful and 
 self -accusatory. The spectre, after listening a moment, joined in the 
 mournful dirge, and floated out upon the bleak, dark night. 
 
 Being much in need of repose, whetlier from tlie emotion 
 he had undergone, or the fatigues of the day, or his glimpse of 
 the invisible world, or the lateness of the hour, or from all 
 combined, Scrooge goes straight to bed, without undressing, and 
 falls asleep upon the instant. When he wakes, it is nearly one. 
 The hour soon strikes ; and, as the notes die away, the curtains 
 of the bed are drawn aside, and a child stands before him. It 
 is the Ghost of Christmas Past. The spirit bids him follow, 
 and takes hun to scenes long past. His childhood comes back 
 to him. His sister Fan is before him. His old master Fezziwig 
 reappears, and Dick Wilkins, the companion of his boyish 
 days. It is Christmas time ; and he and Dick and many are 
 made happy by their master's liberality. The scene changes, 
 and Scrooge sees himself in the prime of life. " His face had 
 not the harsh and rigid lines of later years, but it had begun 
 to wear the signs of avarice ; " and a young girl stands beside 
 him, and teUs him that another idol, a golden one, has displaced 
 her, and that she releases him. " May you be happy in the 
 life you have chosen I " she says sorrowfully, and disappears. 
 " Spirit I " says Scrooge, " show me no more ; conduct me 
 home." But the ghost poiats agaiu, and the wretched man sees 
 a happy home — husband and wife, and many children ; and the 
 matron is she whom he might have called his own. The spirit 
 vanishes, and Scrooge, exhausted and drowsy, throws himself 
 upon the bed, and sinks into a heavy sleep. He awakes as the 
 bell is upon the stroke of one; and the Ghost of Christmas 
 Present is before him. Agaiu he goes forth. 
 
 And perhaps it was the pleasure the good Spirit had in showing off 
 this power of his, or else it was his own kind, generous, hearty nature, 
 and his sympathy with all poor men, that led him straight to Scrooge's 
 oiark's j for there he went and took Scrooge with him, holding to his 
 robe ; and on the threshold of the door the Spirit smiled, and stopped to 
 bless Bob Cratchit*s dwelling with the sprinklings of his torch. Think 
 of that ! Bob had but fifteen " Bob " a week himself j he pocketed on 
 
224 THE DICKENS DIOTIONAET. 
 
 SatnrdayB bnt fifteen copies of his Christian name j and yet the Ghost 
 of Christmas Present blessed his four-roomed house. 
 
 Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Cratohit's vdf e, dressed ont but poorly in a 
 twice-tumed gown, but brave in ribbons, which are cheap, and make a goodly 
 show for sixpence ; and she laid the cloth, assisted by Belinda Cratchit, 
 second of her daughters, also brave in ribbons; while Master Peter Cratchit 
 plunged a fork into the saucepan of potatoes, and, getting the comers of 
 his monstrous shirt-collar (Bob's private property, conferred upon his 
 son and heir in honour of the day) into his mouth, rejoiced to find him- 
 self so gallantly attired, and yearned to show his linen in the f ashionablo 
 parks. And now two smaller Cratchits, boy and girl, came tearing in, 
 screaming that outside the baker's they had smelt the goose, and known 
 it for their own ; and, basking in luxurious thoughts of sage and onion, 
 these young Cratchits danced about the table, and exalted Master Peter 
 Cratchit to the skies ; while he (not proud, although his collars near 
 choked him) blew the Sme until the slow potatoes, bubbling up, knocked 
 loudly at the saucepan-lid to be let out and peeled. 
 
 " What has ever got your precious father, then ? " said Mrs. Cratchit. 
 " AMd your brother Tiny Tim ? And Martha wam't as late last Christ- 
 mas Day by half an hour.'* 
 
 " Here's Martha, mother ! " said a girl, appearing as she spoke. 
 
 " Here's Martha, mother ! " cried the two young Cratchits. " Hurrah ! 
 There's such a goose, Martha ! " 
 
 " Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are ! " said 
 Mrs. Cratchit, kissing her a dozen times, and taking off her shawl and 
 bonnet for her with officious zeal. 
 
 *• We'd a great deal of work to finish up last night," replied the girl, 
 " and had to clear away this morning, mother." 
 
 " Well, never mind, so long as you are come," said Mrs. Cratchit. 
 " Sit ye down before the fire, my dear, and have a warm j Lord bless 
 ye!" 
 
 "No, no! There's father coming," cried the two young Cratchits, 
 who were everywhere at once. " Hide, Martha, hide ! " 
 
 So Martha hid herself, and in came little Bob, the father, with at 
 least three feet of comforter, exclusive of fringe, hanging down before 
 him, and his threadbare clothes darned up and brushed to look seasonable, 
 and Tiny Tim upon his shoulder. Alas for Tiny Tim ! he bore a little 
 crutch, and had his limbs supported by an iron frame. 
 
 " Why, Where's our Martha ? " cried Bob Cratchit, looking round. 
 
 " Not coming," said Mrs. Cratchit. 
 
 " Not coming ! " said Bob, with a sudden declension in his high 
 spirits ; for he had been Tim's blood horse all the way from church, and 
 had come home rampant. " Not coming upon Christmas Day ! " 
 
 Martha didn't like to see him disappointed, if it were only in joke, 
 BO she came out prematurely from behind the closet-door, and ran into 
 his arms ; while the two yoimg Cratchits hustled Tiny Tim, and bore 
 him off to the wash-house, that he might hear the padding singing in 
 the copper. 
 
 " And how did little Tim behave ? " asked Mrs. Cratchit, when she 
 had rallied Bob on his credulity, and Bob had hugged his daughter to 
 his heart's content. 
 
 "As good as gold," said Bob, "and better. Somehow he gets 
 thoughtful, sitting by iumself so much, and thinks the strangest things 
 you ever heard. He told me, coming home, that he hoped the people 
 saw him in the church, because he was a cripple, and it might be plea- 
 
▲ CHRISTMAS CAROL. 226 
 
 J»nt for tliem to remember upon Christmas Day who made lame beggars 
 
 "jealk, and blind men see." 
 
 Bob's voice was tremulous when he told them this, and trembled 
 more when he said that Tiny Tim was growing strong and hearty. 
 
 His active little crutch was heard upon the floor; and back came 
 Tiny Tim before another word was spoken, escorted by his brother and 
 sister, to his stool beside the fire. And while Bob, turning up his cufEs 
 — as if, poor fellow 1 they were capable of being made more shabby — 
 compounded some hot mixture in a jug with gin and lemons, and stirred 
 it round and round, and put it on the hob to simmer. Master Peter and 
 the two ubiquitous young Cratchits went to fetch the goose, with which 
 they soon returned in high procession. 
 
 Such a bustle ensued that you might have thought a goose the rarest 
 of all birds — a feathered phenomenon, to which a black swan was a 
 matter of course ; and, in truth, it was something very like it in that 
 house. Mrs. Cratchit made the gravy (ready beforehand in a little 
 saucepan) hissing hot ; Master Peter mashed the potatoes with incredible 
 vigour; Miss Belinda sweetened up the apple-sauce; Martha dusted the 
 hot plates ; Bob took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at the table ; 
 the two young Cratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgetting them. 
 selves, and, mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into their 
 mouths, lest they should shriek for goose before their turn came to be 
 helped. At last the dishes were set on, and grace was said. It was 
 succeeded by a breathless pause, as Mrs. Cratchit, looking slowly all 
 along the carving-knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast ; but when 
 she did, and when the long-expected gush of stuflSng issued forth, one 
 murmur of delight arose all round the board ; and even Tiny Tim, 
 excited by the two young Cratchits, beat on the table with the handle of 
 his knife, and feebly cried " Hurrah ! " 
 
 • •••••• 
 
 At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearth 
 swept, and the fire made up. The compound in the jiig being fasted 
 and considered perfect, apples and oranges were put upon the table, and 
 a shovelful of chestnuts on ths^ fire= Then all the Cratchit family drew 
 round the hearth in what Bob Cratchit called a circle, meaning half-a- 
 one ; and at Bob Cratchit's elbow stood the family display of glass, two 
 tumblers and a custard cup without a handle. 
 
 These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as golden 
 goblets would have done ; and Bob served it out with beaming looks, 
 while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered and crackled noisily. Then 
 Bob proposed : 
 
 " A merry Christmas to us all, my dears ! God bless ns ! * "Which 
 all the family re-echoed. 
 
 ** God bless us every one ! " said Tiny Tim, the last of alL 
 
 Bob tlien proposes the healtli of !Mr. Scrooge ; and although 
 Ills wife docs not relish the toast, yet, at the solicitation of her 
 1 Lisband, she consents to drink it for her husband's sake and 
 tlie day's. 
 
 Again the scene changes, and Scrooge finds himself in the 
 li right gleaming house of his nephew, where a merry company 
 fi re enjoying themselves, and are laughing at his surly refusal ta 
 join in their Christmas festivities. 
 
226 THIS DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 The third and last Spirit comes at the same hour, and intro- 
 duces itself as the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come. It shows 
 Scrooge a room in which a dead man is lying. The Spirit 
 points to the head, covered by the thin sheet; but Scrooge 
 has no power to pull it aside, and view the features. As they 
 leave the room, however, he beseeches the Spirit to tell him 
 what man it is who lies there so friendless and uncared for. 
 The ghost does not answer, but conveys him to a church- 
 yard, neglected, overgrown with weeds, " choked up with too 
 much burying, fat with repleted appetite. A worthy place 1 " 
 The Spirit stands among the graves, and points down to one ; 
 and Scrooge beholds upon the stone of the neglected grave his 
 own name — " Ebenezer Scrooge." 
 
 " Am I that man who lay npon the bed P " he cried upon his knees. 
 The finger pointed from ihe grave to tiim and back again. 
 "No, Spirit! Oh, no, nol" 
 The finger still was there. 
 
 Scrooge asks if there is no hope; if these sights are tlie 
 shadows of what must or what may come to him ? The kiii<l 
 hand trembles ; and Scrooge sees room for hope. 
 
 " I will honour Christmas in my heart and try to keep it all the year, 
 I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all 
 three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons they teach. 
 Oh, tell me I may sponge away the writing on this stone ! " . . . 
 
 Holding up his hands in a last prayer to have his fate reversed, he 
 saw an alteration in the Phantom's hood and dress. It shrunk, col- 
 lapsed, and dwindled down into a bed-post. 
 
 Yes ! and the bed-post was his own ; the bed was his own ; the 
 room was his own — -best and happiest of all, the time before him was 
 his own to make amends in. 
 
 And he does make amends most amply. The lesson of liis 
 dream is not forgotten. He instantly sends a prize turkey to 
 the Cratchits, twice the size of Tiny Tim, and gives half-a-crown 
 to the boy who goes and buys it for him. He surprises his 
 nephew by dining with him, and the next day raises Bob Crat- 
 chit's salary. In short, " he became as good a friend, as good 
 a master, and as good a man, as the good old city knew, or any 
 other good old city, town, or borough in the good old world." 
 
 TINY TIM. See Cratchit, Tim. 
 
 TOPPERj MR. One of the guests at Fred's Christmas dinner- 
 party; a bachelor, who thinks himself a wretched outcast 
 because he has no wife, and consequently keeps his eye upon 
 one of Scrooge's niece's sisters. (Stave iii) 
 
 WILKINS, DICK. A fellow-'prentice of Scrooge's. (St&Yeii.) 
 
I 
 
THE LIFE k^D ADVENTUEES 
 
 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 This noT-el was begun after Mr. Dickens's return from Ms first visit to 
 America in 1841-42, and was issued in twenty monthly shilKng parts, 
 the fixst part making its appearance in January, 1843. The work was 
 completed and published in one volume in 1844. It was illustrated with 
 twenty etchings on steel by "Phiz" (Hablot K. Browne), and was 
 dedicated to Miss Burdett-Coutts. 
 
 *' My main object in this story," says the author in his preface, " waa 
 to exhibit in a variety of aspects the commonest of all the vices ; to 
 show how selfishness propagates itself, and to what a grim giant it may 
 grow from small beginnings." 
 
 Of the American portion of the book Mr. Dickens says in his preface, 
 that it " is in no other respect a caricature than as it is an exhibition, 
 for the most part, of the ludicrous side of the Ajnerican character — of 
 that side which is, from its very nature, the most obtrusive, and the 
 most likely to be seen by such travellers as young Martin and Mark 
 Tapley. As I have never, in writing fiction, had any disposition to 
 soften what is ridiculous or wrong at home, I hope (and believe) that 
 the good-humoured people of the United States are not generally dis- 
 posed to quarrel with me for carrying the same usage abroad." Our 
 author's American readers did, however, quarrel with him very generally 
 and very seriously, as they had previously done for his strictures on 
 their social usages and political institutions in his "American Notes." 
 But, as Emerson says (in his essay on *' Behaviour," in " The Conduct 
 of Life"), "the lesson was not quite lost: it held bad manners up, so 
 that the churls could see the deformity." On his second visit to the 
 United States, Mr. Dickens frankly and gracefully, and " as an act of 
 plain justice and honour," bore testimony (in his farewell speech at 
 New York, April 18, 1868) to the astonishing progress which had taken 
 place in the country during the quarter of a century that had ela^-^sed 
 since his first visit. It is " a daty," he said, " with which I henc^^orth 
 charge mjRolf, not only hex-®, but on every BQitaUe oc?i3asion wb;. s-jevor 
 
228 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 and wlieresoever, to express my high and grateful sense of my second 
 reception in America, and to bear my honest testimony to the national 
 generosity and magnanimity; also to declare how astoxmded I have 
 "been by the amazing changes that I have seen aronnd me on every 
 side — changes moral, changes physical, changes in the amount of land 
 subdued and peopled, changes in the rise of vast new cities, changes in 
 the growth of older cities almost out of recognition, changes in the 
 graces and amenities of life, changes in the press, without whose ad- 
 vancement no advancement can be made anywhere. Nor am I, believe 
 me, so arrogant as to suppose, that, in five-and-twenty years, there have 
 been no changes in me, and that I had nothing to learn, and no extreme 
 impressiouB to correct when I was here first." 
 
 CHARACTEES INTRODUCED. 
 
 BAILEYy JUNIOR. The "boots" at Mrs. Todgers's "Com- 
 mercial Boarding-house ; " a small boy with a large red head, 
 and no nose to speak of. He afterwards becomes " tiger " to 
 Tigg Montague, and finally engages with Mr. Sweedlepipe in 
 the barber business. (Ch. viii, x., xi., xxvi-xxix., xxxviii, 
 xli., xlii., xlix., Hi) 
 
 SEVAN, MB. A sensible, warm-hearted Massachusetts man, 
 whom Martin Chuzzlewit meets at his boarding-house in New 
 York, and who afterwards advances him money to enable him 
 to return to England. (Ch. xvi., xvii:, xxi., xxxiii., xxxiv., 
 xliii.) 
 
 BIB, JULIUS WASHINGTON MERRYWEATHER. An 
 American gentleman in the lumber line ; one of a committee 
 that waits upon the Honourable Elijah Pogram. (Ch. xxxiv.) 
 
 BRICK, JEFFERSON. The war correspondent of TJie New 
 York Rowdy Journal. (Ch. xvi.) He is introduced by 
 Colonel Diver, the editor of the newspaper, to Martia Chuzzle- 
 wit, who had at first supposed him to be the colonel's son. 
 
 *' My war correspondent, sir. llr. Jefferson Brick 1 " 
 Martin could not help starting at this unexpected announcement, 
 and the consciousness of th© irretrievable mistake he had nearly 
 made. 
 
 Mr. Brick leemed pleased with the eensation he produced upon 
 the stranger, and shook hands with him, with an air of patronage 
 designed to reassure him, a«ad to let him know that there was no 
 occasion to be frightened, for h^ (Brick) wouldn't hurt him. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 229 
 
 " You have heard of Jefferson Brick I see, sir," quoth the colonel, 
 with a smile. " England has heard of Jefferson Brick. Europe haa 
 heard of Jefferson Brick. Let me see. When did you leave England, 
 sir?" 
 
 " Five weeks ago," said Martin. 
 
 " Five weeks ago," repeated the colonel, thoughtfully ; as he took 
 his seat upon the table, and swung his legs. " Now let me ask you, 
 sir, which of Mr. Brick's articles had become at that time the most 
 obnoxious to the British Parliament and the Court of Saint James's ? " 
 
 *' Upon my word," said Martin, " I " 
 
 " I have reason to know, sir," interrupted the colonel, " that the 
 aristocratic circles of your country quail before the name of Jefferson 
 Brick. I should like to be informed, sir, from your lips, which of his 
 sentiments has struck the deadliest blow " 
 
 " At the hundred heads of the Hydra of Corruption now grovelling 
 in the dust beneath the lance of Keason, and spouting up to the 
 universal arch above us its sanguinary gore," said Mr. Brick, putting 
 on a little blue cloth cap with a glazed front, and quoting his last 
 article. 
 
 " The libation of freedom. Brick," hinted the colonel. 
 
 " Must sometimes be quaffed in blood, colonel," cried Brick. And 
 when he said "blood," he gave the great pair of scissors a sharp 
 snap, as if they said blood too, and were quite of his opinion. 
 
 This done, they both looked at Martin, pausing for a reply. 
 
 " Upon my life," said Martin, who had by this time quite recovered 
 his usual coolness, "I can't give you any satisfactory information 
 about it ; for the truth is that I " 
 
 " Stop I " cried the colonel, glancing sternly at his war corres- 
 pondent, and giving his head one shake after every sentence. " That 
 you never heard of Jefferson Brick, sir. That you never read Jefferson 
 Brick, sir. That you never saw The Rowdy Jowrnal, sir. That you 
 never knew, sir, of its mighty influence upon the cabinets of Eu — rope. 
 Yes ? " 
 
 " That's what I was about to observe, certainly," said Martin. 
 
 "Keep cool, Jefferson," said the colonel gravely. "Don't bust! 
 oh you Europeans 1 Arter that, let's have a glass of wine 1 " 
 
 BRICK, MRS. JEFFERSON. His wife, and the mother of 
 " two young Bricks." She is taken by Martin Chuzzlewit for 
 a " little girl ; " hut he is put right by Colonel Diver, who 
 informs him that she is a "matron." (Ch. xvi., xvii.) 
 
 BUFFUMy MR. OSCAR. A member of a committee that 
 waits upon the Honourable Elijah Pogram for the purpose of 
 requesting the honour of his company " at a little le-Yee " in 
 the ladies' ordinary at the ISTational Hotel. (Ch. xxxiv.) 
 
 BULLAMT. A porter in the service of the Anglo-Bengalee 
 Disinterested Loan and Life Insurance Company. (Ch. xxvii., 
 
 When he sat upon a seat erected for him in a corner of the office, 
 with his glazed hat hanging on a peg over his head, it was impossible 
 to doubt the respectability of the concern. It went on doubling itself 
 with every square inch of his red waistcoat until, like the probleiu oi 
 
2S0 TBE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 tLe nails in the horse's sLoes, the total became enormons. People had 
 been known to apply to effect an insurance on their lives for a 
 thousand pounds, and looking at him, to beg, before the form of pro- 
 posal was filled up, that it might be made two. And yet he was not a 
 ^iant. His coat was rather small than otherwise. The whole charm 
 was in his waistcoat. Eespectability, competence, property in Bengal 
 or anywhere else, responsibility to any amount on the part of the 
 company that employed him, were all expressed in that one garment. 
 
 CHOKE, GENERAL CYRUS. Ad American mnitia general, 
 whose acquaintance Martin Cliuzzlewit makes in a railway 
 car. He is a member of the Eden Land Corporation, belongs 
 to the "Watertoast Association of United Sympathisers, and, 
 taken all in all, is " one of the most remarkable men in the 
 country." (Ch. xxi.) 
 
 CHOLLOP, MAJOR HANNIBAL. A man who calls upon 
 Martin Chuzzlewit at Eden. (Ch. xxxiii., xxxiv.) 
 
 He was nsually described by his friends, in the South and West, 
 as " a splendid sample of our na-tive raw material, sir," and was much 
 esteemed for his devotion to rational Liberty ; for the better propaga- 
 tion whereof he usually carried a brace of revolving pistols in his coat 
 pocket, with seven barrels a-piece. He also carried, amongst other 
 trinkets, a sword-stick, which he called his "Tickler;" and a great 
 knife, which (for he was a man of a pleasant turn of humour) he 
 called " Eipper," in allusion to its usefulness as a means of ventilating 
 the stomach of any adversary in a close contest* He had used these 
 weapons with distinguished effect in several instances, all duly 
 chronicled in the newspapers ; and was greatly beloved for the gallant 
 manner in which he had "jobbed out " the eye of one gentleman as 
 he was in the act of knocking at his own street door. 
 
 . . . Preferring, with a view to the gratification of his tickling 
 and ripping fancies, to dwell upon the outskirts of society, and in the 
 more remote towns and cities, he was in the habit of emigrating from 
 place to place, and establishing in each some business — usually a 
 nev/spaper — which he presently sold : for the most part closing the 
 bargain by challenging, stabbing, pistolling, or gouging the new editor, 
 before he had quite taken possession of the property. 
 
 He had come to Eden on a speculation of this kind, but had 
 abandoned it, and was about to leave. He always introduced himself 
 to strangers as a worshipper of Freedom ; was the consistent advocate 
 of Lynch law, and slavery; and invariably recommended, both in 
 print and speech, the "tarring and feathering" of any unpopular 
 person who differed from himself. He called this "planting the 
 standard of civilisation in the wilder gardens of My country." 
 
 1 he TTonourable Elijah Pogram thus eulogises him to 
 
 Martin ; 
 
 " Our fell ow-eotmtry man is a model of a man, quite fre^h from 
 Natur's mould I . . . He is a true-bom child of this free hemisphere^ 
 Verdant as the mountains of our country ; bright and flowing as our 
 mineral Licks; unspiled by withering conventionalities as air our 
 broad and boundless Perearers ! Eough hu may be. Su air uur Daira. 
 
MASTIX OHUZZLEWIT. 281 
 
 Wild he may be. So air our Buffalers. But he is a child of Natur*, 
 and a child of Freedom ; and his boastful answer to the Despot and 
 the Tyrant is, that his bright home is in the Settin' Sun." 
 
 CHUFFE7, MR. Clerk to Anthony Chuzzlemt ; a little, 
 blear-eyed, weazen-faced old man, looking as if he had been 
 put away and forgotten half a century before, and had just 
 been found in a lumber closet. He hardly understands any- 
 one except his master, but always understands him, and wakes 
 up quite wonderfully when Mr. Chuzzlewit speaks to him. 
 (Ch. xi., xviii., xix., xxv., xxvi., xlvi., xlviii., xlix., li., liv.) 
 
 CHUZZLEWIT, ANTHONY. Father of Jonas, and brother 
 of Martin Chuzzlewit the elder ; an old man with a face won- 
 derfully sharpened by the wariness and cunning of his life. 
 (Ch. iv., viii., xii., xviii., xix.) 
 
 CHUZZLEWIT, GEORGE. A gay bachelor, who clauns to 
 be young, but has been younger. He is inclined to corpulency, 
 overfeeds himself, and has such an obvious disposition to 
 pimples, that the bright spots on his cravat, and the rich 
 pattern on his waistcoat, and even his glittering trinkets, 
 seem to have broken out upon him, and not to have come iuto 
 existence comfortably. (Ch. iv., liv.) 
 
 CHUZZLEWIT, JONAS. Son of Anthony, and nephew of old 
 Martin Chuzzlewit ; a sly, cunning, ignorant young man, who 
 is in pecuniary matters a miser, and in instinct and disposition 
 a brute. His rule for bargains is, "Do other men; for they 
 would do you." " That's the true business precept," he says. 
 " All othei-s are counterfeit." Tired of the prolonged life of 
 his father, and eager to come into possession of his property, 
 he attempts to poison him, and believes that he has succeeded, 
 as the old man dies shortly afterwards. The truth is, however, 
 that his attempt has been discovered by his intended victim 
 and an old clerk named Chuffey, who privately remove the 
 poison. But the thought of his son's ingratitude and un- 
 natural wickedness breaks old Anthony's heart ; and in a few 
 days he dies, having first made Chuffey promise not to reveal 
 the dreadful secret. Jonas now marries Mercy, the younger 
 daughter of Mr. Pecksniff, and treats her very cruelly. Be- 
 lieving that he has murdered his father, and that the secret 
 has in some way become known to Montague Tigg, a swindling 
 director of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life 
 Lisurance Company, Jonas is forced, as a condition of his 
 secrecy, not only to come into the company himself, but to 
 pay large sums to Tigg as hush-money. At last, goaded to 
 desperation, he follows Tigg into the country, where he waylays 
 
J2 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 and murders Mm. The deed, though very cunningly devised 
 and executed, is soon traced to him, and he is arrested, but 
 poisons himself on his way to prison. (Ch. iv., viiL, xL, 
 xviii.-xx., xxiv., xxvi.-xxviii., xxxviii., xl.~xlii., xliv., xlvi.- 
 i^Jviii., li.) 
 
 dUZZLEWlT, MARTIN, SENIOR. A very rich and 
 eccentric old gentleman; brother of Anthony, and grand- 
 father of young Martin. He is nearly driven mad by the 
 fawning servility and hollow professions of his covetous 
 relatives, and even quarrels with and disinherits his grand- 
 son, the only one among them all for whom he has ever cared. 
 Receiving a visit from his cousin, IMr. Pecksniff, under whose 
 assumption of honest independence he instantly detects the 
 selfishness, deceit, and low design of his true character, he 
 takes occasion to say : 
 
 " Judge what profit you are like to gain from any repetition of this 
 visit ; and leave me. I have so corrupted and changed the nature of 
 all those who have ever attended on me, by breeding avaricious plots 
 and hopes within them ; and I have engendered such domestic strife 
 and discord, by tarrying even with members of my own family ; I 
 have been such a lighted torch in peaceful homes, kindling up all the 
 inflammable gases aud vapours in their moral atmosphere, which, but 
 for me, might have proved harmless to the end ; that I have, I may 
 gay, fled from all who knew me, and taking refuge in secret places 
 have lived, of late, the life of one who is hunted. The young girl 
 whom you just now saw ... is an orphan child, whom, with one 
 steady purpose, I have bred and educated, or, if you prefer the word, 
 adopted. For a year or more she has been my constant companion, 
 and she is my only one. I have taken, as she knows, a solemn oath 
 never to leave her sixpence when I die, but while I live, I make her 
 an annual allowance : not extravagant in its amount and yet not 
 stinted. There is a compact between us that no term of affectionate 
 cajolery shall ever be addressed by either to the other, but that she 
 shall call me always by my Christian name ; I her, by hers. She is 
 bound to me in life by ties of interest, and losing by my death, and 
 having no expectation disappointed, will mourn it, perhaps ; though 
 for that I care little. This is the only kind of friend I have or will 
 have. Judge from such premises what a profitable hour you have 
 spent in coming here, and leave me j to return no more." 
 
 Notwithstanding this plain speaking, the old man, for 
 purposes of his own, goes to reside with Mr. Pecksniff, and 
 pretends to be entirely governed by his wishes. When young 
 Martin returns from America, rendered humble and penitent 
 by his hard experience, he sees Pecksniff drive him from the 
 door, and yet does not interpose a word. But the time soon 
 comes, when having thoroughly tested both, and proved his 
 grandson true, and Pecksniff false, he makes ample amends 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 238 
 
 to the former, and awards the latter his just deseiti. (Ch. iii., 
 iv., X., xxiv., XXX., xxxi., xliii., l.-liv.) 
 CHUZZLEWIT, MARTIN, THE YOUNGER. The hero of 
 the story. He has heen brought up by a rich grandfather, who 
 has intended making him his heir. But the young man pre- 
 sumes to fall in love with a young lady (Mary Graham) of whom 
 the old man does not approve, and he is, therefore, disinherited, 
 and thrown upon his own resources. He goes to study with Mr. 
 Pecksniff, with a vague intention of becoming a civil engineer. 
 His grandfather, upon ascertaining this fact, intimates to 
 Mr. Pecksniff (who is his cousin), that he would find it to 
 be for his own advantage, if he should turn young Martin 
 out of the house. This Mr. Pecksniff immediately proceeds 
 to do ; and Martin again finds himself without money, or the 
 means of obtaining it. He determines to go to America, and 
 accordingly makes his way to London, where he meets Mark 
 Tapley, who has saved a little from his wages at The Blue 
 Dragon, and who wishes to accompany him. They take 
 passage on the packet-ship Screw, going over as steerage 
 passengers, but with sanguine expectations of amassing sudden 
 wealth in the New World. Soon after their arrival at New 
 York, Martin is led into investing the little money remaining 
 to himself and Mark in a lot of fifty acres in the thriving 
 city of Eden, in a distant part of the country ; and they set 
 out for it immediately. They find the city — which on paper 
 had looked so fair, with its parks and fountains, its banks, 
 factories, churches, and pubKc buildings of all kinds — a 
 . dreary and malarious marsh, with a dozen log-cabins com- 
 prising the whole settlement. "Worse than all, Martin is 
 seized with fever and ague, and barely escapes with his life ; 
 and, before he is fairly convalescent, Mark is also stricken 
 down. When they are at last able to move about a little, 
 they turn their faces toward England, and after some time 
 arrive at home. Martin seeks an interview with his grand- 
 father, but finds that }>h: Pecksniff's influence over him is 
 paramount, and that not even a frank and manly avowal of 
 error, coupled with a request for forgiveness, avails to revive 
 the old love, or to save him from the indignity of being 
 ordered out of the house. Miss Graham, however, has re- 
 mained faithful to him ; and with this one comfort he again 
 turns his face towards London, to make his way in the great 
 world as best he can. Li the sequel he finds, much to his 
 surprise, that his grandfather, distracted by suspicions, doubts, 
 and fears, has only been probing Pecksniff, and accumulating 
 proofs of his duplicity, and that, all through their separation, 
 
234 THE DICKENS DICTIONABT, 
 
 he himself has remained the old man's favourite. (Ch. v.-vii., 
 xii-xvil, xxi., xxii, xxxiii.-xxxv., xliii., xlviii.-l., lii.-liv.) 
 
 CICERO. A negro truckman in K'ew York, formerly a slave, 
 (Ch. xvil) 
 
 CODGER, MISS, A Western Hterary celebrity. (Ch. xxxiv.) 
 
 CRIMFLE, DA VID. A pawnbroker, afterwards secretary of 
 the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Insurance 
 Company. His name was originally Crimp ; but as this was 
 susceptible of an awkward construction, and might be mis- 
 represented, he altered it to Crimple. (Ch. xul, xxvii., 
 xxviii., xlix., li.) 
 
 DIVER, COLONEL. Editor of 7%e New York Rowdy 
 Journal; a sallow man, with sunken cheeks, black hair, 
 small twinkling eyes, and an expression compounded of 
 vulgar cunning and conceit. (Ch. xv.) 
 
 DUNKLE, DOCTOR GINERY. One of a committee of 
 citizens that waits upon the Honourable Elijah Pogram to 
 request the honour of his company at a little le~Vee at the 
 National HoteL Although he has the appearance of a mere 
 boy with a very shrill voice, he passes for " a gentleman 
 of great poetical elements." (Ch. xxxiv.) 
 
 FIPS, MR. A lawyer, who, as the agent of an unknown 
 person (old Martin Chuzzlewit) employs Tom Pinch as librarian. 
 (Ch. xxxix., xl,, liii.) 
 
 FLADDOCK, GENERAL. A corpulent American mmtia 
 officer, starched and punctilious, to whom Martin Chuzzlewit 
 is introduced at the I^^orris's in New York, as having come 
 over from England in the same vessel with himself. The 
 general does not recognise him; and Martin is obliged to 
 explain, that, for the sake of economy, he had been obliged 
 to take passage in the steerage — a confession which at once 
 stamps him as a fellow of no respectability, who has gained 
 an entrance into good society under false pretences, and 
 whose acquaintance must forthwith be disavowed. (Ch. xv., 
 xviL) 
 
 GAMP, SAIREY. A professional nurse. 
 
 She was a fat old wcman, this Mrs. Gramp, with a husky voice and 
 a moist eye, which she had a remarkable power of turning up, and only 
 showing the white of it. Having a very little neck, it cost her some 
 trouble to look over herself, if one may say so, at those to whom sh« 
 talked. She wore a very rusty blaok gown, rather the worse for 
 BnufF, and a shawl and bonnet to correspond. In these dilapidated 
 articles of dress she had, on principle, arrayed herself, time out of 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. SS6 
 
 mind, on such occasions as the present ; for this at ono© expressed a 
 decent amount of veneration for the deceased, and invited the next of 
 kin to present her with a fresher suit of weeds : an appeal so fre- 
 quently succeasful, that the very fetch and ghost of Mrs. Gamp, 
 honnet and all, might be seen hanging up, any hour in the day, in at 
 l«a8t a dozen of the second-hand clothes shops about Holbom. The 
 face of Mrs. Gamp — the nose in particular — was somewhat red and 
 swollen, and it was difficult to enjoy her society without becoming- 
 conscious of a smell of spirits. Like most persons who have attained 
 to great eminence in their profession, she took to hers very kindly; 
 insomuch, that setting aside her natural predilections as a woman, she 
 went to a lying-in or a laying-out with equal zest and relish. 
 
 Mrs. Gamp is represented as constantly quoting or refer- 
 ring to a certain Mrs. Harris — a purely imaginary person — 
 as an authority for lier own fancies and fabrications. Thus, 
 when ]Mr. l^ecksnifF says to her, that he supposes she has 
 become indifferent to the distress of surviving friends around 
 the bed of the dying and of the dead, and that " use is 
 second nature " — 
 
 " You may well say second natnr, sir," returned that lady. " One's 
 first ways is to find sich things a trial to the feelings, and so is one's 
 lasting custom. If it wasn't for the nerve a little sip of liquor gives 
 me (I never was able to do more than taste it) I never could go 
 through with what I sometimes has to do. * Mrs. Harris,* I says, at 
 tlie very last case as ever I acted in, which it was but a young person, 
 ' Mrs. Harris,' I says, * leave the bottle on the chimley-piece, and don't 
 ask me to take none, but let me put my lips to it when I am so dis- 
 poged, and then I will do what ,I'm engaged to do, according to the 
 best of my ability.' ^ Mrs. Gamp,' she says, in answer, * if ever there 
 was a sober creetur to be got at eighteen pence a day for working 
 people, and three and six for gentlefolks — night watching,' " said Mrs. 
 Gamp, with emphasis, " ' being an extra charge — ^you are that inwallible 
 person.' * Mrs. Harris,' I says to her, * don't name the charge, for if I 
 could afford to lay all my feller creeturs out for nothink, I would 
 gladly do it, sich is the love I bears 'em. But what I always says to 
 tbem as has the management of matters, Mrs. Harris:'" here she 
 kept her eye on Mr. Pecksniff : " ' be they gents or be they ladies, is, 
 dou't ask me whether I won't take none, or whether I will, but leave 
 the bottle on the chimley-piece, and let me put my lips to it when I 
 am so dispoged.' " 
 
 (Ch. xix., XX15., xxvL, xxix, xL, xlvi., xlix., li, lii) See 
 
 Prig, Betsey. 
 
 GANDER, MR. A boarder at Mrs. Todgers's. (Ch. ix.) 
 
 GRAHAM, MARY. Companion of old Martin Chuzzlewit, 
 and betrothed to young Martin, whom she finally marries. 
 
 She was very young ; apparently not more than seventeen ; timid 
 and shrinking in her manner, and yet with a greater share of self- 
 possession and control over her emotions than usually belongs to a far 
 
236 TKE DICKENS DICTIONASY. 
 
 more advanced period of female life. . . . Slie was short in stature ; 
 and her figure was slight, as became her years ; but all the charms of 
 youth and maidenhood set it off, and clustered on her gentle brow. 
 
 (Ch. iii., v., vi., xxiv., xxx., xxxi., xxxiii., xliii., lii., liii.) 
 
 GROPER, COLONEL. One of a committee who wait upon 
 the Honourable Elijah Pogram to request his attendance at a 
 le-Yee at the National Hotel, given to him by the citizens. 
 (Oh. xxxiv.) 
 
 HOMINY, MRS. A literary celebrity introduced to Martin 
 Chuzzlewit. She is " one of our chicest spirits, and belongs 
 toe one of our most aristocratic families." (Ch. xxii., xxiii., 
 xxxiv.) 
 
 IZZARD, MR. One of the deputation of citizens who beg the 
 attendance of the Honourable Elijah Pogram at a little le-Yee 
 at the ^National Hotel (Ch. xxxiv.) 
 
 JACK. Driver of a stage-coach plying between London and 
 Salisbury. (Ch. xxxvi) 
 
 JANE. Mr. Pecksniff's female servant. (Ch. xxxi.) 
 
 JINKINS, MR. The oldest boarder at Mrs. Todgers's; a 
 gentleman of a fashionable turn, who frequents the parks on 
 Sundays, and knows a great many carriages by sight. (Ch. 
 ix.-xi., liv.) 
 
 JOBLING, DOCTOR JOHN. Medical officer of the Anglo- 
 Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Lisurance Company. 
 (CL xxvii., xxviii., xxxviii., xH.) 
 
 JODD, MR. A member of the committee of citizens that waits 
 upon the Honourable Elijah Pogram to solicit the favour of 
 his company at a le-Yee at the National Hotel. (Ch. xxxiv.) 
 See PoGEAM. 
 
 KEDGICK, CAPTAIN. Landlord of the National Hotel, at 
 which Martin Chuzzlewit stays on his way to Eden, and also 
 on his return to New York. (Ch. xxii., xxxiv.) 
 
 KETTLE, LAFAYETTE. An inquisitive, bombastic 
 American, whom Martin Chuzzlewit meets while travelling ; 
 secretary of the Watertoast Association of United Sympa- 
 thisers. (Ch. xxi., xxii.) 
 
 LEWSQME, MR. A young man bred a surgeon, and em- 
 ployed by a general practitioner in London as an assistant. 
 Being indebted to Jonas Chuzzlewit, he seUs him the drugs 
 with which old Anthony Chuzzlewit is poisoned, though he 
 has reason to suspect the use which wiU be made of them. 
 After the death of the old man, he makes a voluntary con- 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 237 
 
 fession of Ms agency in tlie matter ; being impelled to do so 
 by tbe torture of his mind and the dread of death caused by 
 a severe sickness. (Ch. xxv., xxix., xlviii, 11) 
 LUPINy MRS. Landlady of The Blue Dragon Inn at SaHs. 
 bury ; afterwards the wife of Mark Tapley. 
 
 The mistress of The Blue Dragon was in outward appearance just 
 what a landlady should be; broad, buxom, comfortable, and good- 
 looking, with a face of clear red and white, which by its jovial aspect 
 at once bore testimony to her hearty participation in the good things 
 of the larder and cellar, and to their thriving and healthful influences. 
 She was a widow, but years ago had passed through her state of 
 weeds, and burst into flower again ; and in full bloom she had con- 
 tinned ever since ; and in full bloom she was now ; with roses on her 
 ample skirts, and roses on her boddice, roses in her cap, roses in her 
 cheeks — ay, and roses, worth the gathering too, on her lips, for that 
 matter. She had still a bright black eye, and jet black hair; was 
 comely, dimpled, plump, and tight as a gooseberry; and though she 
 was not exactly what the world calls young, you may make an 
 affidavit, on trust, before any mayor or magistrate in Christendom, 
 that there are a great many young ladies in the world (blessings on 
 them, one and all !) whom you wouldn't like half as well, or admire 
 half as much, as the beaming hostess of The Blue Dragon. 
 
 (Ch. iii., iv., vii., xxxi., xxxvi., xxxvii., xliii., xliv., Hi.) 
 
 MODDLE, ME. AUGUSTUS. "The youngest gentleman" 
 at Mrs. Todgers's Commercial Boarding House. He falls 
 desperately in love with Miss Mercy Pecksniff, and, be- 
 coming very low-spirited after her marriage to Jonas Chuzzle- 
 wit, is entrapped into an engagement with her sister Charity, 
 but loses his courage, and breaks his word at the last moment, 
 sending the injured fair one a letter to inform her that he is 
 on his way to Yan Diemen's Land, and that it will be useless 
 for her to send in pursuit, as he is determined never to be 
 taken alive. (Ch. ix.-xi., xxxii., xxxvii, xlvi, liv.) 
 
 MONTAGUE, TIGG. See Tigg, Montague. 
 
 MOULD, MB. An undertaker; a little bald elderly man, 
 with a face in which a queer attempt at melancholy was at 
 odds Avith a smirk of satisfaction. (Ch. xix., xxv., xxix., 
 xxxviii.) 
 
 MOULD, MBS. His wife. (Ch. xxv., xxrs.) 
 
 MOULD, THE TWO MISSES. Their daughters: fair, 
 round, and chubby damsels, with their peachy cheeks dis- 
 tended as though they ought of right to be performing on 
 celestial trumpets. (Ch. xxv.) 
 
 MULLIT, PBOFESSOB. A very short gentleman, with a 
 red nose, whom Martia Chuzzlewit m^ets at Mis. Pawkins's 
 boarding-house ia New York. He is a professor " of educa- 
 
2S8 THE DICKENS DIOTIONAKY. 
 
 tion," a man of " fine moral elements," and author of some 
 powerful pamphlets, written nnder the signature of Suturb, 
 or Brutus reversed, (Ch. xvi) 
 NADGETT, MR. Tom Pinch's landlord, employed by Mon- 
 tague Tigg as a detective. 
 
 He was a short, dried -up, withered old man, who seemed to have 
 secreted his very blood ; for nobody would have given him credit for 
 the possession of six ounces of it in his whole body. How he lived 
 was a secret ; where he lived was a secret ; and even what he was, 
 was a secret. In his musty old pocket-book he carried contradictory 
 cards, in some of which he called himself a coal-merchant, in others a 
 wine-merchant, in others a commission-agent, in others a collector, in 
 others an accountant : as if he really didn't know the secret himself. 
 He was always keeping appointments in the City, and the other man 
 never seemed to come. 
 
 (Ch. xxvii., xxviii., xxxviii, xl., xli, xlvii., li.) 
 
 NORRIS, MR. A ITew York gentleman, wealthy, aristocratic, 
 and fashionable ; a sentimental abolitionist, and " a very good 
 fellow in his way," but inclined "to set up on false pre- 
 tences," and ridiculously afraid of being disgraced by money- 
 less acquaintances. (Ch. xvii.) 
 
 NORRIS, MRS. His wife ; much older and me^e faded than 
 she ought to have looked. (Ch. xvii) 
 
 NORRIS, THE TWO MISSES. Their daughters; one 
 eighteen, the other twenty, both very slender, and very pretty. 
 (Ch. xvii.) 
 
 PA WKINS, MAJOR. A IlTew York politician ; a bold specu- 
 lator (or swindler), an orator and a man of the people, and a 
 general loafer. (Ch. xvi.) 
 
 PAWKINS, MRS. His wife; keeper of a boarding-house. 
 
 (Ch. xvi.) 
 
 PECKSNIFF, SETH. A resident of Salisbury ; ostensibly an 
 architect and land surveyor, though he had never designed or 
 built anything, and his surveying was limited to the extensive 
 prospect from the windows of his house. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff was a moral m.an. . . . Perhaps there never was a 
 more moral man than Mr. Pecksniff : especially in his oonversacion and 
 corre§$)ondence. It was once said of him by a homely admirer, that he 
 had a Fortunatus's purse of good sentiments ia his inside. In this 
 particular he was like the girl in the faiiy tale, except that if they 
 were not actual diamonds which fell from his lips, they were the very 
 brightest paste, and shone prodigiously. He was a most exemplary 
 man : fuller of virtuous precept than a copy-book. Some people likened 
 him to a direction-post, which is always telling the way to a place, and 
 never goes there : but these were his enemies j the shadows oast by 
 his brightness J that wavS ail. His very throat was mo'- \ Tou saw a 
 
k 
 
 MARTIN CnUZZLEWIT. 239 
 
 good deal of it. Yon looked over a very low fence of white cravat 
 (whereof no man had ever beheld the tie, for he fastened it behind), and 
 there it lay, a valley between two jutting heights of collar, serene and 
 whiskerless before yon. It seemed to say, on the part of Mr. PecksniS, 
 " There is no deception, ladies and gentlemen, all is peace, a holy calm 
 pervades me." So did his hair, just grizzled with an iron-gray, which 
 was all brushed off his forehead, and stood bolt upright, or slightly 
 drooped in kindred action with his heavy eyelids. So did his person, 
 which was sleek though free from corpulency. So did his manner, which 
 was soft and oily. In a word, even his plain black suit, and state of 
 widower, and dangling double eyeglass, all tended to the same purpose, 
 and cried aloud, " Behold the moral Pecksniff !".... 
 
 Mr. Pecksniffs professional engagements, indeed, were almost, if not 
 entirely, confined to the reception of pupils ; for the collection of rents, 
 with which pursuit he occasionally varied and relieved his graver toils, 
 can hardly be said to be a strictly architectural employment. His 
 genius lay in ensnaring parents and guardians, and pocketing premiums. 
 A young gentleman's premium being paid, and the young gentleman 
 come to Mr. Pecksniff's house, Mr. Pecksniff borrowed his case of 
 mathematical instruments (if silver-mounted or otherwise valuable) ; 
 entreated him, from that moment, to consider himself one of the 
 family ; complimented him highly on his parents or guardians, as the 
 case might be j and turned him loose in a spacious room on the two- 
 pair front ; where, in the company of certain drawing-boards, parallel 
 rulers, very stiff-legged compasses, and two, or perhaps three, other 
 young gentlemen, he improved himself, for three or five years, accord- 
 ing to his articles, in making elevations of Salisbury Cathedral from 
 every possible point of sights and in constructing in the air a vast 
 quantity of Castles, Houses of Parliament, and other PubHo Buildings. 
 
 IVIr. Pecksniff is a cousin of old Martin Chuzzlewit, and 
 when the old man is lying ill at The Dragon, a general council 
 and conference of his relatives is held at Mr. Pecksniff's house 
 in order to devise means of inducing him to listen to the prompt- 
 ings of nature in the disposal of his large property. The meeting 
 is far from heing harmonious ; and Mr. Pecksniff is compelled 
 to listen to some very plain truths, Mr. Anthony Chuzzlewit 
 telling him bluntly not to be a hypocrite. 
 
 " A what, my good sir ? " demanded Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 ** A hypocrite." 
 
 "Charity, my dear," said Mr. Pecksniff, "when I take my chamber 
 candlestick to-night, remind me to bfe more than usually particular in 
 praying for Mr. Anthony Chuzzlewit j who has done me an injustice." 
 
 Meeting Mr. Chuzzlewit in a stage-coach, some time after- 
 wards, Mr. Pecksniff takes occasion to remark, incidentally, but 
 cuttingly, " I may be a hypocrite ; but I am not a brute." 
 
 " Pooh, pooh I " said the old man. " What signifies that word. Peck, 
 sniff ? Hypocrite 1 why, we are all hypocrites. We were all hypocrites 
 t'other day. I am sure I felt that to be agreed upon among us, or I 
 shouldn't have called yon one. We should not have been there at all, 
 if we had not b^en hypocrites. TIlq only difference between jou and 
 
240 THE DICKENS DICTIONAET. 
 
 the rest was — shall I teU you the difference between yuu and the rest 
 now, Pecksniff ? " 
 
 " If you please, my good sir ; if you please." 
 
 "Why, the annoying quality in you, is," said the old man, " that you 
 never have a confederate or partner in your juggling; you would deceive 
 everybody, even those who practise the same art ; and have a way with 
 you, as if you — he, he, he ! — as if you really believed yourself. I'd lay 
 a handsome wager now," said the old man, " if I laid wagers, which I 
 don't and never did, that you keep up appearances by a tacit under- 
 standing, even before your own daughters here." 
 
 During tlie journey, Pecksniff imbibes copious refreshment 
 from a brandy bottle, and is thereafter moved to give utterance 
 to various moral precepts and weighty sentiments. 
 
 "What are we?" said Mr. Pecksniff, "but coaches? Some of ui 
 are slow coaches *' 
 
 " Goodness, Pa ! " cried Chanty. 
 
 " Some of us, I say," resumed her parent with increased emphasis, 
 " are slow coaches ; some of us are fast coaches. Our passions are the 
 horses; and rampant animals too ! " 
 
 " Eeally, Pa ! " cried both the daughters at once. " How very un- 
 
 ' And rampant animals too ! ' repeated Mr. Pecksniff, with so much 
 determination, that he may be said to have exhibited, at the moment, 
 a sort of moral rampancy himself: "and Virtue is the drag. We start 
 from The Mother's Arms, and we run to The Dust Shovel." 
 
 When he had said this, Mr. Pecksniff, being exhausted, took some 
 further refreshment. When he had done that, he corked the bottle 
 tight, with the air of a man who had effectually corked the subject also ; 
 and went to sleep for three stages. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff receives young Martin Clnizzlewit into his 
 family as a student, and mamfests a very stroii<^ interest in him ; 
 but, on a hint from the elder Mr. Chuzzlewit, he contumeliously 
 turns him out of his house, and renounces him for ever. This 
 he does because Martin's grandfather has expressed his desire for 
 a better understanding between himself and Mr. Peck^iiff than 
 has hitherto existed, and has declared his intention to attach 
 him to himself by ties of interest and expectation. Systematic 
 self-server that he is, in order to secure the old man's great 
 wealth, Mr. Pecksniff sedulously studies his likings and dis- 
 likings, falls in with all his prejudices, lies, fawns, and worms 
 himself (as he tliinks) into his favour, through concessions and 
 crooked deeds innumerable, through meannesses and vile en- 
 durance, and through all manner of dirty ways ; but in the end 
 he finds that, after all, his labour has been for nought, that his 
 duplicity has been fathomed to the bottom, and his servile 
 character thoroughly unmasked. Yet he remains the same 
 , canting hypocrite even in shame and discovery, and in the 
 
.MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 24.1 
 
 dmnkeimess and beggary in which he ends his days. (Ch. 
 ii-vi., viii.-xii., xviii.-xx., xxiv., xxx., xxxi., xxxv., xliii., 
 xliv., xlvii., lii., liv.) 
 
 PECKSNIFF, CHARITY, called « Cherry." Mr. Pecksniff's 
 elder daughter, betrothed to Mr. Augustus Moddle, but 
 deserted by him on the very day appointed for the wedding. 
 (Oh. ii., iv.— vi., viii.-xi., xviii., xx., xxiv., xxx., xxxii., 
 xxxvii., xliv., xlvi., liv.) See Moddle, Mr. Augustus. 
 
 PECKSNIFF, MERCY, called "Merry." His younger 
 daughter; a giddy, vain, and heartless girl, and a hypocrite 
 like her father. 
 
 Her simplicity and innocence . . . were very great : very great. 
 . . . She was all girlishness, and playfulness, and wildness, and 
 kittenisli buoyancy. Slie was the most arch and at the same time 
 the most artless creature, was the youngest Miss Pecksniff, that you 
 can possibly imagine. It was her great charm. She was too fresh 
 and guileless, and too full of child-like vivacity, was the youngest 
 Miss Pecksniff, to wear combs in her hair, or to turn it up, or to 
 frizzle it, or braid it. She wore it in a crop, a loosely flowing crop, 
 which had so many rows of curls in it, that the top row was only one 
 curl. 
 
 Mr. Jonas Chuzzlewit, a thoroughly sordid and despicable 
 villairi, after making love to her sister, abruptly proposes to 
 herseK. She accepts and marries him — partly to spite her 
 sister, and partly because he has money. She soon finds out 
 that he is a brute as well as a rascal, and she suffers much 
 from his cruelty. (Ch. ii., iv.-vi., viii., x., xi., xx., xxii., 
 xxiv., xxvi., xxviii., xxxvi., xl., xlvi., xlvii., Ii., liv.) 
 PINCH, RUTH. Governess in a wealthy brass and copper 
 founder's family at Camberwell ; sister to Tom Pinch ; after- 
 wards the wife of John Westlock. (Ch. ix., xxxvi., xxxvii., 
 xxxix., xL, xlvi., xlviii., 1., lii.-liv.) 
 PINCH, TOM. An ungainly, awkward-looking man, extremely 
 short-sighted, and prematurely bald. He is an assistant to 
 Mr. Pecksniff, for whom he has an unbounded respect, and in 
 whose pretensions he has a wonderful faith ; his nature being 
 such, that he is timid and distrustful of himself, and trustful 
 of all other men — even the least deserving. 
 
 He was far from handsome certainly ; and was drest in a snuff- 
 coloured suit, of an uncouth make at the best, which, being shrunk with 
 long wear, was twisted and tortured into all kinds of odd shapes ; but 
 notwithstanding his attire, and his clumsy figure, which a great stoop 
 in his shoulders, and a ludicrous habit he had of thrusting his head 
 forward, by no means redeemed, one would not have been disposed 
 (unless Mr. Pecksniff said so) to consider him a bad fellow by any 
 raeaDfl. He was perhaps about thirty, but he might have been almost 
 
241 THE DICKEKS DICTIOKi.KT. 
 
 any age between sisteen and sixty : being one of those strange 
 creatures who nsTer decline into an ancient appearance, but look 
 their oldest when they are very young, and get it over at once. 
 
 Tom's faitli in Ms master remains unshaken for a long 
 time ; "but liis eyes are opened at last, and lie sees Mm to be a 
 consummate hypocrite and villain, Pecksmff, knowing Mm- 
 self to have been found out, discharges Tom, who goes to 
 London to try his fortune, and is befriended by old Martin 
 Chuzzlewit, secretly at first, but afterwards openly. (Ch. ii., 
 v.-vii., ix., xii., xiv., xx., xxiv., xxx., xxxi., xxxvi.— xl., xlv., 
 xlvi., xlviii., ]., lii.— liv.) 
 
 PIP, MR. A theatrical character, and a "capital man to 
 know ; " a friend of Montague Tigg. (Ch. xxxviii.) 
 
 PIPER, PROFESSOR. On© of a deputation chosen to wait 
 upon the Honourable Elijah Pogram, to request the honour of 
 liis company at a little le-Yee, at the I^ational Hotel. (Ch. 
 xxxiv.) 
 
 POGRAM, THE HONOURABLE ELIJAH A member 
 of Congress, and " one of the master minds of our country," 
 whose acquaintance Martin Chuzzlewit makes on Ms return 
 from Eden to New York. He is especially noted as the 
 author of the " Pogram Defiance," " which rose so much con- 
 test and preju-dice in Europe." Mr. Pogram is waited on at 
 the JSTational Hotel by a committee of the citizens, and ten- 
 dered a public reception, or " levee," the same evening. 
 
 Each man took one slide forward as he was named ; butted at the 
 Honourable EKjah Pogram with his head ; shook hands, and slid back 
 again. The introductions being completed, the spokesman resumed. 
 
 "Sir!" 
 
 " Mr. Pogram ! " cried the shrill boy. 
 
 "Perhaps," said the spokesman, with a hopeless look, '*yoti will 
 be so good, Dr. Ginery Dunkle, as to charge yourself with the execu- 
 tion of our little office, sir ? " 
 
 As there was nothing the shrill boy desired more, h© immediately 
 stepped forward. 
 
 " Mr. Pogram ! Sir I A handful Of your fellow citizens, sir, 
 hearing Of your arrival at the National Hotel, and feeling the 
 patriotic character Of your public services, wish, sir, to have the 
 gratification Of beholding you, and miring with you, sir j and unbend- 
 ing with you, sir, in those moments which " 
 
 " Air," suggested Buffum. 
 
 " Which air so peculiarly tho lot, sir, 0£ our great and happy 
 country." 
 
 " Hear !" cried Colonel Gropar, in a loud voice. " Good ! Hear him ! 
 Good ! " 
 
 " And therefore, sir," pursued the Doctor, " they request, as A mark 
 Of thtnr respf^rt, tLe honour of your company at a little le-Yee, sir, in 
 «he ladles' ondiaary, at eight o'clock," 
 
MAHtliJ OfiU^ZLEWrt. 248 
 
 Mr. Pogram bowed, and said : 
 
 " Fellow coantrymen ! " 
 
 " Good ! " cried the Colonel. « Hear Wm ! Good I *» 
 
 Mr. Pogram bowed to the Colonel individnally, and then restltned : 
 
 " Your approbation of My labours in the common cause, goes to My 
 heart. At all times and in all places j in the ladies' ordinary, My friends, 
 and in the Battle Field " 
 
 " Good, very good ! Hear him! Hear him ! " eaid the Colonel. 
 
 "The name Of Pogram will be proud to jine you. And may it, My 
 friends, be written on My tomb, * He was a member of the Congress of 
 our common country, and was ac-Tive in his trust.' '* 
 
 " The Com-mittee, sir," said the shrill boy, "will wait upon you at 
 five minutes afore eight. I take My leave, sir ! " 
 
 Mr. Pogram shook hands with him, and everybody else, once more ; 
 and when they came back again at five minutes before eight, they said, 
 one by one, in a melancholy voice, "How do you do, sir?" and 
 shook hands with Mr. Pogram all over again, as if he had been 
 abroad for a twelvemonth in the meantime, and they met, now, at a 
 funeral. 
 
 But, by this time, Mr. Pogram had freshened himself up, and had 
 composed his hair and features after the Pogram statue, so that any 
 one with half an eye might cry out, " There he is ! as he delivered the 
 Defiance ! " The Committee were embellished also ; and when they 
 entered the ladies' ordinary in a body, there was much clapping of 
 hands from ladies and gentlemen, accompanied by cries of " Pogram! 
 Pogram ! " and some standing up on chairs to see him. 
 
 The object of the popular caress looked round the room as he walked 
 up it, and smiled : at the same time observing to the shrill boy, that 
 he knew something of the beauty of the daughters of their common 
 country, but had never seen it in such lustre and perfection as at that 
 moment. Which the shrill boy put in the paper next day; to Elijaix 
 Pogram' s great surprise. 
 
 " We will re-quest you, sir, if you please," said Buffum, laying hands 
 on Mr. Pogram as if he were taking his measure for a coat, " to stand 
 up with your back agin the wall right in the furthest comer, that there 
 may be more room for our fellow cit-izens. If you could set your back 
 right slap agin that curtain-peg, sir, keeping your left leg everlastingly 
 behind the stove, we should be fixed quite slick." 
 
 Mr. Pogram did as he was told, and wedged himself into such a 
 little corner, that the Pogram statue wouldn't have known him. 
 
 The entertainments of the evening then began. Gentlemen brought 
 ladies up, and brought themselves up, and brought each other up; 
 and asked Elijah Pogram what he thought of this political question, 
 and what he thought of that; and looked at him, and looked at one 
 another, and seemed very unhappy indeed. The ladies on the chairs 
 looked at Elijah Pogram through their glasses, and said audibly, " I 
 wish he'd speak. Why don't he speak? Oh, do ask him to speak!" 
 Aud Elijah Pogram looked sometimes at the ladies and sometimes else- 
 where, delivering senatorial opinions, as he was asked for them. But 
 the great end and object of the meeting seemed to be, not to let Elijah 
 Pogram out of the corue.r ou any account; so there they kept, him, 
 hard and fast. 
 
 (Ck 2txjdv.) 
 
 S2 
 
244 tSE DICltENS DICTIOi^ART. 
 
 PRIG, BETSEY. A nurse ; a bosom-friend of Mrs. Gamp. 
 
 lli-s. Prig was of the Gamp build, but not so fat ; and her voice 
 was deeper, and more like a man's. She had also a beard. 
 
 These two ladies often "nuss together, turn and turn 
 ahout, one off, one on." They are both engaged by John 
 Westlock to take care of an acquaintance of his who lies 
 dangerously ill at a public-house in London; and, when 
 Mrs. Gamp relieves Mrs. Prig, the following conversation 
 occurs : 
 
 " Anythin* to tell afore you goes, my dear ? " asked Mrs. Gamp, 
 setting her bundle down inside the door, and looking afEectionatoly at 
 her partner. 
 
 "The pickled salmon," Mrs. Prig rephed, "is quite delicious. I 
 can partick'ler recommend it. Don't have nothink to say to the cold 
 meat, for it tastes of the stable. The drinks is all good." 
 
 Mrs. Gamp expressed herself much gratified. 
 
 *' The physic and them things is on the drawers and mankleshelf," 
 said Mrs. Prig, cursorily. " He took his last slime draught at seven. 
 The easy-chair ain't soft enough. You'll want his piller." 
 
 Mrs. Gamp thanked her for these hints, and giving her a friendly 
 good-night, held the door open until she had disappeared at the other 
 end of the gallery. 
 
 The patient at last recovers sufficiently to admit of his 
 being removed to the country ; and Mrs. Gamp and Mrs. Prig 
 superintend the arrangements for the journey. 
 
 He was so wasted, that it seemed as if his bones would rattle when 
 they moved him. His cheeks were sunken, and his eyes unnaturally 
 large. He lay back in the easy-chair like one more dead than living : 
 and rolled his languid eyes towards the door when Mrs. Gramp 
 HDnpared, as painfully as if their weight alone were burdensome to 
 mova. 
 
 " And how are we by this time ?" Mrs. Gamp observed. " We looks 
 charming." 
 
 " We looks a deal charminger than we are, then," returned Mrs. 
 Prig, a little chafed in her temper. ** We got out of bed back'ards, I 
 think, for we're as cross as two sticks. I never see sich a man. He 
 Wouldn't have been washed, if he'd had his own way." 
 
 " She put the soap in my mouth," said the unfortimate patient, 
 feebly. 
 
 ** Could'nt you keep it shut then ? " retorted Mrs. Prig. " Who do 
 you think's to wash one feater, and miss another, and wear one's eyes 
 out with all manner of fine work of that description, for half-a-crown 
 a day ! If you wants to be tittivated, you must pay accordin." 
 
 " Oh dear me ! " cried the patient, " oh dear, dear ! " 
 
 " There ! " said Mrs. Prig, " that's the way he's been a conduct- 
 ing of himself, Sairah, ever since I got him out of bed, if you'll be« 
 lioT« it." 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLBWIT. 245 
 
 " Instead of being grateful," Mrs. Gamp observed, " for all our little 
 ways. Oh, fie for shame, sir, fie for shame ! " 
 
 Here Mrs. Prig seized the patient by the chin, and began to rasp his 
 unhappy head with a hair-bmsh. 
 
 " I suppose you don't Kke that, neither ! " she observed, stopping to 
 look at him. 
 
 It was just possible that he didn't, for the brush was a specimen of 
 the hardest kind of instrument producible by modern art ; and his very 
 eye-lids were red with the friction. Mrs. Prig was gratified to observe 
 the correctness of her supposition, and said triumphantly, " she know'd 
 as much." 
 
 When his hair was smoothed down comfortably into his eyes, Mrs. 
 Prig and Mrs. Gamp put on his neckerchief : adjusting his shirt-collar 
 with great nicety, so that the starched points should also invade those 
 organs, and afflict them with an artificial ophthalmia. His waistcoat 
 and coat were next arranged : and as every button was wrenched into a 
 wrong button-hole, and the order of his boots was reversed, he presented 
 on the whole rather a melancholy appearance. 
 
 " I don't think it's right," said the poor weak invalid. " I feel as if 
 I was in somebody else's clothes. I'm all on one side ; and you've made one 
 of my legs shorter than the other. There's a bottle in my pocket too. 
 What do you make me sit upon a bottle for ? " 
 
 " Deuce take the man ! " cried Mrs. Gamp, drawing it forth. " If he 
 ain't been and got my night-bottle here. I made a little cupboard of his 
 coat when it hung behind the door, and quite forgot it, Betsey. You'll 
 find a ingun or two, and a little tea and sugar in his t'other pocket, my 
 dear, if you'll just be good enough to take 'em out." 
 
 Betsey produced the property in question, together with some other 
 articles of general chandlery ; and Mrs. Gamp transferred them to her 
 own pocket, which was a species of nankeen pannier. Eefreshment then 
 arrived in the form of chops and strong ale, for the ladies, and a basin of 
 beef-tea for the patient : which refection was barely at an end when 
 John Westlock appeared. 
 
 The arrangements are finally completed ; and, as Mrs. Gamp 
 is to accompany the invalid, she bids farewell to Mrs. Prig. 
 
 " Wishin' you lots of sickness, my darling creetur," Mrs. Gamp 
 observed, " and good places. It won't be long, I hope, afore we works 
 together, off and on, again, Betsey ; and may our next meetin' be at a 
 large family's, where they all takes it reg'lar, one from another, turn 
 and turn about, and has it business-like." 
 
 " I don't care how soon it is," said Mm. Prig; " nor how many weeks 
 it lasts." 
 
 The two friends have a falllng-out at last, however. Mrs. 
 Prig has been invited to take tea with Mrs. Gamp, on which 
 occasion the latter informs her of another prospective job of 
 nursing in partnership. 
 
 " Now, Sairah," said Mrs. Prig, ** joining business with pleasure, wot 
 is this case in which you wants me ? " 
 
 Mrs. Gamp betraying in her face some i^tentio^ of yetflymng an 
 evasive answer, Betsey added ; 
 
 «' J? it Mrs. Harris?" 
 
246 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 " No, Betsey Prig, it ain't," was Mrs. Gamp's reply. 
 " Well ! " said i\irs. Prig, with a short laugh, '* I'm ^lad of that, at 
 any rate." 
 
 " Why should yon be glad of that, Betsey ? " Mrs. Gamp retorted, 
 warmly, " She is unbeknown to you except by hearsay, why should you 
 be glad ? If you have anythink to say contrairy to the character of Mrs. 
 Harris, which well I knows behind her back, afore her face, or any- 
 wheres, is not to be impeaged, out with it, Betsey. I have know'd that 
 sweetest and best of women," said Mrs. Gamp, shaking her head, and 
 shedding tears, "ever since afore her First, which Mr. Harris who was 
 dreadful timid went and stopped his ears in a empty dog-kennel, and 
 never took his hands away or come out once till he was showed the baby, 
 wen bein' took with fits, the doctor collared him and laid him on his back 
 upon the airy stones, and she was told to ease her mind, his owls was 
 organs. And I have know'd her, Betsey Prig, when he has hurt her 
 feelin' art by sayin' of his Ninth that it was one too many, if not two, 
 while that dear innocent was cooin' in his face, which thrive it did 
 though bandy, but I have never know'd as you had occagion to be glad, 
 Betsey, on accounts of Mrs. Harris not requiring you. Require she never 
 will, depend upon it, for her constant words in sickness is, and will be, 
 ♦ Send for Sairey ! ' " 
 
 During this touching address, Mrs. Prig adroitly feigning to be the 
 victim of that absence of mind which has its origin in excessive attention 
 to one topic, helped herself from the tea-pot without appearing to observe 
 it. Mrs. Gamp observed it, however, and came to a premature close in 
 consequence. 
 
 " Well it ain't her, it seems," said Mrs. Prig, coldly : " who is it 
 then ? " 
 
 " You have heerd me mention, Betsey," Mrs. Gamp replied, after 
 glancing in an expressive and marked manner at the tea-pot, " a person 
 as I took care on at the time as you and me was pardners off and on, in 
 that there fever at The Bull ? " 
 
 " Old Snuffey," Mrs. Prig observed. 
 
 Sarah Gramp looked at her with an eye of fire, for she saw in this 
 mistake of Mrs. Prig, another wilful and malignant stab at that same 
 weakness or custom of hers, an ungenerous allusion to which, on the part 
 of Betsey, had first disturbed their harmony that evening. And she saw 
 it still more clearly, when, politely but firmly correcting that lady by the 
 distinct enunciation of the word " Chuffey," Mrs. Prig received the cor- 
 rectlon witn a diabolical laugh. . . . Her countenance became about this 
 time derisive and defiant, and . . . she sat with her arms folded, and one 
 eye shut up, in a somewhat offensive, because obtrusively intelligeut, 
 manner. 
 
 Mrs. Gamp observing this, felt it the more necessary that Mrs. Prig 
 should know her place, and be made sensible of her exact station iu 
 society, as well as of her obligations to herself. She therefore assumed 
 an air of greater patronage and importance, as she went on to answer 
 Mrs. Prig a little more in detail. 
 
 "Mr. Chuffey, Betsey," said Mrs. Gamp, "is weak in his mind. 
 Exctige me if I makes remark, that he may neither be so weak as people 
 thinks, nor people may not think he is so weak as they pretends, and 
 Mhat I knows, I knows; and what you don't you don't; so do not ask 
 me, Betsey. But Mr. Chuffey's friends has made propojals for his bein' 
 took care on, and has said to me, * Mrs. Gamp, will f(m andeiiake it ? 
 We couldn't think,' they says, *of tyustiug him to uo^gd^ but you, for, 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 247 
 
 Sairey, you are gold as has passed the furnage. Will you uBdrrtaT<o it, 
 at your own price, day and night, and by your own self ? ' * No,' I says, 
 * I will not. Do not reckon on it. There is,' I says, * but one creetnr in 
 the world as I would undertake on sech terms, and her name is Harris. 
 But,' I says, * I am acquainted with a friend, whose name is Betsey Prig, 
 that I can recommend, and will assist me. Betsey,' I says, * is always to 
 be trusted, under me, and will be guided as I could desire.' " 
 
 Here Mrs. Prig, without any abatement of her offensive manner, again 
 counterfeited abstraction of mind, and stretched out her hand to the tea 
 pot. It was more than Mrs. Gamp could bear. She stopped the hand of 
 Mrs. Prig with her own, and said, with great feeling : 
 
 " No, Betsey ! Drink fair, wotever you do ! " 
 
 Mrs. Prig, thus baffled, threw herself back in the chair, and closing 
 the same eye more emphatically, and folding her arms tighter, suffered 
 her head to roll slowly from side to side, while she surveyed her friend 
 with a contemptuous smile. 
 
 Mrs. Gamp resumed ; 
 
 " Mrs. Harris, Betsey — " 
 
 " Bother Mrs. Harris ! " said Betsey Prig. 
 
 Mrs. Gamp looked at her with amazement, incredulity, and indigTia- 
 tion ; when Mrs. Prig, shutting her eye still closer, and folding her arms 
 still tighter, uttered these memorable and tremendous words x 
 
 " I don't believe there's no sich a person ! " 
 
 After the utterance of which expressions, she leaned forward, and 
 snapped her fingers once, twice, thrice ; each time nearer to the face of 
 Mrs. Gump, and then rose to put on her bonnet, as one who felt that there 
 was now a gulf between them, which nothing could ever bridge across. 
 
 The shock of this blow was so violent and sudden, that Mrs. Gamp 
 sat staring at nothing with uplifted eyes, and her mouth open as if she 
 were gasping for breath, until Betsey Prig had put on her bonnet and 
 her shawl, and was gathering the latter about her throat. Then Mjcs. 
 Gamp rose — morally and physically rose — and denounced her. 
 
 " What ! " said Mrs. Gamp, " you bage creetur, have I know'd Mrs. 
 Harris five-and-thirty year, to be told at last that there ain't no sech a 
 person livin' 1 Have I stood her friend in all her troubles, great and 
 small, for it to come at last to sech a end as this, which her own sweet 
 picter hanging up afore you all the time, to shame your Bragian words ! 
 But well you mayn't believe there's no sech a creetur, for she wouldn't 
 demean herself to look at you, and often has she said, when I have made 
 mention of your name, which, to my sinful sorrow, I have done, * What, 
 Sairey Gamp ! debage yourself to her 1 ' Go along with you ! " 
 
 " I'm a goin', ma'am, ain't I ? " said Mrs. Prig, stopping as she said it. 
 
 " You had better, ma'am," said Mrs. Gamp. 
 
 " Do you know who you're talking to, ma'am ? " inquired her visitor. 
 
 " Aperiently," said Mrs. Gamp, surveying her with scorn from head 
 to foot, " to Betsey Prig. Aperiently so. I know her. No one better. 
 Go along with you ! " 
 
 " And you was a going to take me under you ! " cried Mrs. Prig, sur- 
 veying Mrs. Gamp from head to foot in her turn. " You was, was you ? 
 Oh, how kind ! Why, deuce take your imperence," said Mrs. Prig, vfiih 
 a rapid change from banter to ferocity, " what do you mean ? " 
 
 " Go along with you ! " said Mrs. Gamp. " I blush for you." 
 
 " You had better blush a little for yourself, while you are about it ! " 
 said Mrs. Prig. " You and your Chuffeys ! What, the poor old creetur 
 isn't mad enough, isn't ha ? Aha! " 
 
248 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 " He'd very soon be mad enough, if you iiacL aaything to do with 
 him," said Mrs. Gamp. 
 
 "And that's what I was wanted for, is it?" cried Mrs. Prig, 
 triumphantly. " Yes. But you'll find yourself deceived. I won't go 
 near him. We shall see how you get on without me. I won't have 
 nothink to do with him." 
 
 " You never spoke a truer word than that I" said Mrs. Gamp. " Go 
 along with you ! " 
 
 (Clu XXV., xxix., xlix.) 
 
 SOADDER, ZEPHANIAH. Agent of tlie Eden Land Cor- 
 poration. He dupes Martin Chuzzlewit into buying, for the 
 ridiculously small sum of a hundred and fifty dollars, a little 
 lot of fifty acres in the city from which the company takes 
 its name, and which looks wonderfully thriving on paper, but 
 proves to consist of a few log-houses in tho midst of a hideous 
 and pestilential morass. 
 
 He was a gaunt man in a huge straw hat, and a coat of green stuff. 
 The weather being hot, he had no cravat, and wore his shirt collar 
 wide open ; so that every time he spoke something was seen to twitch 
 and jerk up in his throat, like the little hammers of the harpsichord 
 when the notes are struck. Perhaps it was the Truth feebly endea- 
 vouring to leap to his lips. If so, it never reached them. 
 
 Two gray eyes lurked deep within this agent's head, but one of 
 them had no sight in it, and stood stock still. With that side of his 
 face he seemed to listen to what the other side was doing. Thus 
 each profile had a distinct expression; and when the movable side 
 was most in action, the rigid one was in its coldest state of watchful- 
 ness. It was like turning the man inside out, to pass to that view of 
 his features in his liveliest mood, and see how calculating and intent 
 they were. 
 
 Each long black hair upon his head hung down as straight as any 
 plummet Hne ; but rumpled tufts were on the arches of his eyes, as 
 if the crow whose foot was deeply printed in the comers, had pecked 
 and torn them in a savage recognition of his kindred nature as a bird 
 of prey. 
 
 SIMMONSy WILLIAM. Driver of a van, who carries Martin 
 Chuzzlewit from near Salisbury to Hounslow after his dis- 
 missal by Mr. Pecksniff. (Ch. xiii.) 
 
 SLYME, CHEVY. A very poor and shiftless relative of old 
 Martin Chuzzlewit, and anxious to come into a share of his 
 property. He is a friend of Montague Tigg, who thus 
 describes his character to Mr. Pecksniff : 
 
 " Every man of true genius has his peculiarity. Sir, the peculi- 
 arity of my friend Slyme is, that he is always waiting round the corner. 
 He is perpetually round the corner, sir. He is round the comer at 
 this instant. Now," said the gentleman, shaking his forefinger before 
 his nose, and planting his legs wider apart as he looked attentively in 
 Mr. Pecksniff's face, "that is a remarkably curious and interesting 
 trait in Mr. Slyme's character ; and whenever Slyme'a life comes to 
 
MARTIN OHUZZLEWIT, 249 
 
 be written, ttat trait must be tborotighly worked out by his bio- 
 grapher, or society will not be eatisfied. Observe me, society will 
 not be satisfied ! '* 
 
 ♦ »♦♦♦»♦ 
 
 With this announcement he hurried away to the outer door of The 
 Blue Dragon, and almost immediately retui'ned with a companion 
 shorter than himself, who was wrapped in an old blue camlet cloak 
 with a lining of faded scarlet. His sharp features being much pinched 
 and nipped by long waiting in the cold, and his straggling red whiskers 
 and frowzy hair being more than usually dishevelled from the same 
 cause, he certainly looked rather unwholesome and uncomfortable than 
 Shakspearian or Miltonic. 
 
 " Now," said Mr. Tigg, clapping one hand on the shoulder of his 
 prepossessing friend, and calling Mr. Pecksniff's attention to him with 
 the other, " you two are related ; and relations never did agree, and 
 never will : which is a wise dispensation and an inevitable thing, or 
 there would be none but family parties, and everybody in the world 
 would bore everybody else to death. If you were on good terms, I 
 should consider you a most confoundedly unnatural pair ; but standing 
 towards each other as you do, I look upon you as a couple of devilish 
 deep-thoughted fellows, who may be reasoned with to any extent." 
 
 (Cli. iv., vii., 11.) 
 
 SMIFy PUTNAM. A young and ardent clerk in a dry-goods 
 store, who " aspirates " for fame, and applies to Martin Chuz- 
 zlewit for assistance. (Cli. xxii) 
 
 SOPHIA. A pupil of Eutli Pinch's, called by Mrs. Todgers 
 " a syrup " (meaning a seraph or a sylph) ; a premature little 
 woman of thirteen years old, who had already arrived at such 
 a pitch of whalebone and education, that she had nothing 
 girlish about her. (Ch. ix., xxxvl) 
 
 SPOTTLETOE, MR. A relative of old Martin Chuzzlewit, 
 with testamentary designs upon his property. He is so bald, 
 and has such big whiskers, that he seems " to have stopped 
 his hair, by the sudden application of some powerful remedy, 
 in the very act of falling off his head, and to have fastened 
 it irrevocably on his face." (Ch. iv., liv.) 
 
 SPOTTLETOE, MRS. His wife; a woman "much too sHm 
 for her years, and of a poetical constitution." (Ch. iv., Kv.) 
 
 SWEEDLEPIPE, PA UL, called " Poll." A bird-fancier, who 
 is an easy shaver and a fashionable hair-diesser also; Mrs. 
 Gamp's landlord. 
 
 He was a little elderly man, with a clammy cold right hand, from 
 which even rabbits nnd birds could not remove the BmeU of shaving. 
 Boap. Poll had something of the bird in his nature ; not of the hawk 
 or eagle, but of the sparrow, that builds in chimney-stacks, and in- 
 clines to human company. He was not quarrelsome, though, like the 
 sparrow j but peaceful, like the dove. In his walk he strutted ; and, 
 in this respect, he bore a faint resemblance to the pigeon, as well as 
 
250 THE DICKENS DICTIONAET. 
 
 in a certain prosiness of speecli, wliicli might, in its monotony, b« 
 likened to tlie cooing of that bird. He was very inquisitive ; and 
 when he stood at his shop-door in the evening-tide, watching the 
 neighbonrs, with his head on one side, and his eye cocked knowingly, 
 there was a dash of the raven in him. Yet, there was no more wicked- 
 ness in Poll than in a robin. Happily, too, when any of his ornitho- 
 logical properties were on the verge of going too far, they were 
 quenched, dissolved, melted down, and neatralised in the barber; just 
 as his bald head — otherwise, as the head of a shaved magpie — lost 
 itself in a wig of curly black ringlets, parted on one side, and cut away 
 almost to the crown, to indicate immense capacity of intellect, 
 
 (Ch. xix., xxvi., sxix., xlix., lii.) 
 
 TA CKER. Foreman and cliief mourner of Mr. Mould tlie 
 Tindertaker. (Cli. xix., xxv.) 
 
 An obese person, with his waistcoat in closer connection with his 
 legs than is quite reconcilable with the established ideas of grace ; 
 with that cast of feature which is figuratively called a bottle-nose ; 
 and with a face covered all over with pimples. He had been a tender 
 plant once upon a time, but from constant blowing in the fat atmo- 
 sphere of funerals, had run to seed. 
 
 TAMAROO. An old woman in the service of Mrs. Todgers ; 
 successor to Eailey. (Ch. xxxii., liv.) 
 
 It appeared in the fulness of time that the jocular boarders had 
 appropriated the word from an English ballad, in which it is supposed 
 to express the bold and fiery nature of a certain hackney-coachman ; 
 and that it was bestowed upon Mr. Bailey's successor by reason of her 
 having nothing fiery about her, except an occasional attack of that 
 fire which is called St. Anthony's. This ancient female had been en- 
 gaged, in fulfilment of a vow, registered by Mrs. Todgers, that no 
 more boys should darken the commercial doors ; and she was chiefiy 
 remarkable for a total absence of all comprehension npon every 
 subject whatever. She was a perfect Tomb for messages and small 
 parcels ; and when despatched to the Post-office with letters, had 
 been frequently seen endeavouring to insinuate them into casual 
 chinks in private doors, under the delusion that any door with a hole 
 in it would answer the purpose. She was a very little old woman, 
 and always wore a very coarse apron with a bib before and a loop 
 behind, together with bandages on her wrists, which appeared to be 
 a:8Bicted with an everlasting sprain. She was on all occasions chary 
 of opening the street-door, and ardent to shut it again j and she 
 waited at table in a bonnet. 
 
 TAPLEY, MARK. Hostler at The Blue Dragon Inn, kept by 
 Mrs. Lupin ; a young fellow of some tivo or six and twenty, 
 with a whimsical face and very merry pair of blue eyes, and 
 usually dressed in a remarkably free and fly-away fashion. 
 He believes that there never " was a man as could come out 
 so strong under circumstances that would make other men 
 miserable " as himself, if he could " only get a chance." But 
 that he finds it difficult to do. He takes the situation at The 
 
MAETIN CHUZZLEWIT. 261 
 
 Dragon in consequence of having made up his mind that it is 
 the dullest little out-of-the-way corner in England, and that 
 there would be some credit in being jolly in such a place. 
 But he leaves it because there is no dulness there whatever ; 
 skittles, cricket, quoits, ninepins, comic songs, choruses, com- 
 pany round the chimney-corner every winter evening, making 
 the little inn as merry as merry can be. Going to London, 
 he meets Martin Chuzzlewit, and finding him moneyless, and 
 resolved to go to America, he begs permission to accompany 
 him as his man-servant. After some opposition, Martin con- 
 sents; and they take passage in the steerage of the packet 
 ship Screw. 
 
 It is due to Mark Tapley to state, that he Buffered at least as mtich 
 from sea- sickness as any man, woman, or child, on board ; and that he 
 had a peculiar faculty of knocking himself about on the smallest pro- 
 vocation, and losing his legs at every lurch of the ship. But resolved, 
 in his usual phrase, to " come out strong " under disadvantageous circum- 
 stances, he was the Hfe and soul of the steerage, and made no more of 
 stopping in the middle of a facetious conversation to go away and be 
 excessively ill by himself, and afterwards come back in the very best 
 and gayest of tempers to resume it, than if such a conrse of proceeding 
 had been the commonest in the world. 
 
 It cannot be said that as his illness wore off, his cheerfulness and 
 good nature increased, because they would hardly admit of augmenta- 
 tion ; but his usefulness among the weaker members of the party was 
 much enlarged ; and at all times and seasons there he was exerting it. 
 If a gleam of sun shone out of the dark sky, down Mark tumbled into 
 the cabin, and presently up he came again with a woman in his arms, or 
 half-a-dozen children, or a man, or a bed, or a saucepan, or a basket, or 
 something animate or inanimate, that he thought would be the better 
 for the air. If an hour or two of fine weather in the middle of the day, 
 tempted those who seldom or never came on deck at other times, to 
 crawl into the long-boat, or lie down upon the spare spars, and try to 
 eat, there, in the centre of the gronp, was Mr. Tapley, handing about 
 salt beef and biscuit, or dispensing tastes of grog, or cutting up the 
 children's provisions with his pocket-knife, for their greater ease and 
 comfort, or reading alond from a venerable newspaper, or singing some 
 roaring old song to a select party, or writing the beginnings of letters 
 to their friends at home for people who couldn't write, or cracking 
 jokes with the crew, or nearly getting blown over the side, or emerging 
 half-drowned from a shower of spray, or lending a hand somewhere or 
 other ; but always doing something for the general entertainment. At 
 night, when the cooking-fire was lighted on the deck, and the driving 
 sparks that flew among the rigging, and the clond of sails, seemed to 
 menace the ship with certain annihilation by fixe, in case the elements 
 of air and water failed to compass her destruction ; there again was Mr. 
 Tapley, with hii coat oft and his shirt-sleeves turned up to his elbows, 
 doing all kinds of culinary offices ; compounding the strangest dishes ; 
 recognised by everyone as an established authority; and helping all 
 parties to achieve something which, left to themselves, they never could 
 have done, and never would have dreamed of. In short, there never 
 was & more popular character than Mark Tapl^ became on board that 
 
252 THE DICKENS DICTIONAST. 
 
 noble and fast-sailing line of packet ship, the Screw ; and he attained 
 at last to such a pitch of universal admiration, that he began to have 
 grave doubts within himself whether a man might reasonably claim any 
 credit for being jolly under such exciting circumstances. 
 
 Arrived at New York, Martin invests all his own means, 
 and Mark's, in the purchase of a fifty-acre lot in the distant 
 " city " of Eden, which is represented to them as a flourishing 
 town, with banks, churches, markets, wharfs, and the like. It 
 is Martin's intention to establish himself here as an architect ; 
 and he takes Mark into partnership, in consideration of his 
 having furnished much the larger share of their joint stock. On 
 reaching the place, however, after a long and fatiguing journey 
 of many days, they find it to be a hideous swamp, exhaHng 
 deadly miasms, and containing only a few scattered log-cabins. 
 Martin is terribly disheartened on discovering the outrageous 
 swindle that has been practised upon him, and soon sinks under 
 an attack of the fever that prevails throughout the settlement. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Tapley," said Mark, giving himself m tremendous blow 
 in the chest by way of reviver, " just you attend to what I've got to 
 say. Things is looking about as bad as they can look, young man. 
 You'll not have such another opportunity for showing your jolly dis- 
 position, my fine fellow, as long as you live. And therefore, Tapley, 
 Now's your time to come out strong j or Never 1 " 
 
 Martin no sooner recovers than Mark is prostrated. For 
 many weary days and nights he lies burnt up with fever; 
 but, as long as he can speak, he assures Martin that he is still 
 "jolly," and when, at last, he is too far gone to speak, he feebly 
 writes " joUy " on a slate. After a long and Hngeriag illness, he 
 slowly recovers ; and, when able to get about once more, they 
 both set their faces towards Old England, where they arrive in 
 due time. Mark turns his steps towards The Blue Dragon, and 
 finds his old friend Mrs. Lupin alone in the bar. Wrapped up 
 as he is in a great-coat, she does not know him at first, but soon 
 utters a glad cry of recognition, and he catches her in his arms. 
 
 " Yes, I will ! " cried Mark, " another — one more — ^twenty more ! 
 You didn't know me in that hat and coat ? I thought you would have 
 known me anywheres ! Ten more ! " 
 
 " So I should have known you, if I could have seen you j but I 
 couldn't, and you spoke so gruff. I didn't think you could speak gruff 
 to me, Mark, at first coming back." 
 
 " Fifteen more ! " said Mr. Tapley. " How handsome and how 
 young you look 1 Six more 1 The last half-dozen wam't a fair one, 
 and must be done over again. Lord bless you, what a treat it is to see 
 you ! One more I Well, I never was so jolly. Just a few more, on 
 account of there not being any credit in it I " 
 
 When Mr. Tapley stopped in t}i.e?e calculations m simple additioi^ 
 
I 
 
 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 253 
 
 he did it, not because he was at all tired of the exeroipe, but because 
 he was out of breath. The pause reminded him of other duties. 
 
 " Mr. Martin Chuzzlewit's outside," he said. " I left him under 
 the cart-shed, while I came on to see if there was anybody here. We 
 want to keep quiet to-night, till we know the news from you, and what 
 it's best for us to do." 
 
 " There's not a soul in the house, except the kitchen company," re- 
 turned the hostess. " If they were to know you had come back, Mark, 
 they'd hay© a bonfire in the street, late as it is." 
 
 " But they mustn't know it to-night, my precious soul," said Mark : 
 " so have the house shut, and the kitchen fire made up ; and when it's 
 all ready, put a light in the winder, and we'll come in. Once more ! I 
 long to hear about old friends. You'll tell me all about 'em, won't you P 
 Mr. Pinch, and the butcher's dog down the street, and the terrier over 
 the way, and the wheelwright's, and every one of 'em. When I first 
 caught sight of the church to-night, I thought the steeple would have 
 choked me, I did. One more I Won't you ? Not a very little one to 
 finish ofE with ? " 
 
 " You have bad plenty, I am sure," said the hosteea. " Go along 
 with your foreign manners ! " 
 
 " That ain't foreign, bless you ! " cried Mark. " Native as oysters, 
 that is I One more, because it's native ! As a mark of respect for the 
 land we live in ! This don't count as between you and me, you under- 
 stand," said Mr. Tapley. " I ain't a kissing you now, yoa'U observe. 
 I have been among the patriots : I'm a kissin' my country." 
 
 This love-passage ends in tlie marriage of Mark to the fair 
 widow, and the conversion of The Blue Dragon into The JoUy 
 Tapley. " A sign of my own invention," said Mark ; " wery 
 new, conwivial, and expressive." (Ch. v., vii., xiii-xv., xvii, 
 xxi.-xxiii., xxxiii-xxxv., xliii., xlviii., li.-liii.) 
 
 TIGG, MONT A G UE, alias Tigg Montague. A needy sharper, 
 and a friend of Chevy Slyme. 
 
 The gentleman was of tbat order of appearance, which is currently 
 termed shabby-genteel, though in respect of his dress ho can hardly 
 be said to have been in any extremities, as his fingers were a long 
 way out of his gloves, and the soles of his feet were at an incon- 
 venient distance from the upper leather of his boots. His nether gar- 
 ments were of a bluish gray — violent in its colours once, but sobered 
 now by age and dinginess — and were so stretched and strained in a 
 tough conflict between his braces and bis straps, that they appeared 
 every moment in danger of flying asunder at the knees. His coat, ir» 
 colour blue and of a military cut, was buttoned and frogged up to 
 his chin. His cravat was, in hue and pattern, like one of those 
 mantles which hair-dressers are accustomed to wrap about their 
 clients during the progress of the professional mysteries. His hat 
 had arrived at such a pass that it would have been hard to determine 
 whether it was originally white or black. But he wore a moustache 
 — a shaggy moustache too : nothing in the meek and merciful way, 
 but quite in the fierce and scornful style ; the regular Satanic sort of 
 thing — and he wore, besides, a vast quantity of unbrushed hair. He 
 was very dirty and very jaunty ; very bold and very mean ; very 
 Swaggering and very slinking} very much like a man who might 
 
£S4 fSil DI0KEH8 DIOf lOSTAtt. 
 
 have hem flomething better, and unspeakably like a man who d.6* 
 served to be eomething worse. 
 
 At a later period, having come into the possession of a 
 few pounds, he unites with David Oimple, a pawnbroker who 
 has saved a few pounds (see Crimple, David), and reversing his 
 name, and making it Tigg Montague, Esquire, organises a 
 swindling concern called the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested 
 Loan and Life Lisurance Company, and, peculating on a 
 grander scale than formerly, becomes a grander man altogether. 
 
 He had a world of jet-black shining hair npon his head, upon his 
 cheeks, upon his chin, upon Ms upper lip. His clothes, symmetrically 
 made, were of the newest fashion and the costliest kind. Flowers of 
 gold and blue, and green and blushing red, were on his waistcoat ; 
 precious chains and jewels sparkled on his breast ; his fingers, clogged 
 with brilliant rings, were as unwieldy as summer flies but newly 
 rescued from a honey -pot. The daylight mantled in his gleaming hat 
 and boots as in a polished glass. And yet, though changed his name, 
 and changed his outward surface, it was Tigg. Though turned and 
 twisted upside down and inside out, as great men have been some- 
 times known to be ; though no longer Montagu© Tigg, but Tigg Mon- 
 tague ; still it was Tigg ; the same Satanic, gallant, military Tigg. 
 The brass was burnished, lacquered, newly-stamped ; yet it was the 
 true Tigg metal notwithstanding. 
 
 Obtaining private information of Jonas Chuzdewit's at- 
 tempt to poison his father, Tigg makes use of his knowledge of 
 the fact to compel him not only to invest largely in the stock 
 of the Anglo-Bengalee out of his own wealth, but to persuade 
 his father-in-law, Mr. Pecksniff, to do so likewise.- Jonas 
 finding his secret known, and himself baffled, hunted, and 
 beset, watches his opportunity, and murders Tigg; but his 
 crime is discovered, and he is arrested, and put into a coach 
 to be carried to prison, but poisons himself on the way. (Ch. 
 iv., vii., xii., xiii., xxii., xxviii., xxxviii, xl.-xlii., xliv., xlvii) 
 
 TODGERS, MRS. M. Keeper of a commercial boarding- 
 house in London ; a bony and hard-featured lady, with a row 
 of curls in front of her head, shaped like little barrels of beer. 
 
 " Presiding over an establishment like this, makes sad havoc with 
 the features, my dear Miss Pecksniffs," said Mrs. Todgers. " The 
 gravy alone is enough to add twenty years to one's age, I do assure you." 
 
 " Lor ! " cried the two Miss Pecksniffs. 
 
 " The anxiety of that one item, my dears," said Mrs. Todgers, 
 " keeps the mind continually upon the stretch. There is no such passion 
 in human nature, as the passion for gravy among commercial gentle- 
 men. It's nothing to say a joint won't yield — a whole animal 
 wouldn't yield — the amount of gravy they expect each day at 
 dinner. And what I have undergone in consequence," cried Mrs. 
 Todgers, raising her eyes and shaking her head, ''no one would 
 belierel** 
 
MARTIK 0flU2ZLEWl¥. 255 
 
 Though not a handsome woman, Mrs. Todgers is a very 
 kind-hearted one; and when Mrs. Jonas Chuzzlewit (Mercy 
 Pecksniff), heartbroken and destitute, applies to her for 
 sympathy and assistance, she extends both ready hand and 
 
 heart. 
 
 Commercial gentlemen and gravy liad tried Mrs. Todgers's temper ; 
 the main chance — it was sucli a very small one in her case, that she 
 might have been excused for looking sharp after it, lest it should en- 
 tirely vanish from her sight — had taken a firm hold on Mrs. Todgers's. 
 attention. But in some odd nook in Mrs. Todgers's breast, up a great 
 many steps, and in a corner easy to be overlooked, there was a secret 
 door, with " Woman " written on the spring, which, at a touch from 
 Mercy's hand, had flown wide open, and admitted her for shelter. 
 
 When boarding-house accounts are balanced with all other ledgers, 
 and the books of the Becording Angel are made up for ever, perhaps 
 there may be seen an entry to thy credit, lean Mrs. Todgers, which 
 chall make thee beautiful I 
 
 (Ch. viil-xi., xxxii., xxxvii., xlvi., liv.) 
 
 TOPPIT, MISS. A literary lady whom Mrs. Hominy intro- 
 duces to the Honourable Elijah Pogram. (Ch. xxxiv.) 
 
 WESTLOOK, JOHN. A young man who has been a pupil of 
 Pecksniff, but has a difference with him, and leaves him. 
 He is a warm friend of Tom Pinch, whose sister Euth he 
 finally marries. (Ch. ii, xii., xxv., xxix., xxxvi, xxxvii., 
 xxxix., xl., xlv., xlviii., xlix., li-liii.) 
 
 WOLF J MR. A friend and confederate of Montague Tigg; 
 introduced to Jonas Chuzzlewit as a literary character con- 
 nected with a remarkably clever weekly paper. (Ch. xxviii.) 
 
 FBIKCIPAL mOIDEKTB. 
 
 Chapter I. Concerning the pedigree of the Chuzzlewit family. — II. 
 Mr. Pecksniff, about to enter his house, is unceremoniously overturned 
 down the steps by the wind slamming the door in his face ; his daughters 
 discover him, and bear him into the house ; Mr. Pecksniff's business, and 
 his method of obtaining pupils, described; Pecksniff moralises, and 
 announces to his daughters the engagement of a new pupil ; Tom Pinch 
 tries to intercede for John Wesdock, but Mr. Pecksniff will listen to no 
 advances from Tom, or from John himself, who leaves in disgust ; John 
 tries to open Tom's eyes to the true character of Pecksniff, but without 
 effect ; John Westlock's departure for London. — III. Martin Chuzzlewit, 
 senior, and Mary Graham, arrive at The Blue Dragon ; Martin is very 
 ill, and the landlady sends for Mr. Pecksniff; Mrs. Lupin mistakes the 
 relation existing between Mr. Chuzzlewit and Mary ; Mr. Chuzzlewit 
 destroys a paper be had with great difficulty wiitfcen in bedj Mr. 
 
266 THE DIOKEiJS DICTIONARY. 
 
 Pecksniff awives at The Blue Dragon, and is greatly scandalised by the 
 landlady's story of her lodgers ; his surprise at finding in the invalid hia 
 cousin Mr. Chuzzlewit ; Martin acquaints Mr. Pecksniff with the facts of 
 his wealth, and his distrust of all who court his favour. — IV. Mr. 
 Pecksniff comes in violent contact with Mr. Montague Tigg at the door 
 of Mr. Chuzzlewit's chamber ; Mr. Tigg eulogises his friend, Mr. Chevy 
 Slyme, and informs Mr. Pecksniff of the arrival of Mr. Chuzzlewit's 
 relations ; a meeting of these relatives is held at Mr. Pecksniff's house ; 
 the meeting proves anything but harmonious, each person accusing 
 every other of designs on the property of Mr. Chuzzlewit, and Pecksniff 
 is called some very hard names by his friends ; the meeting breaks up 
 on the announcement that Mr. Chuzzlewit has gone no one knows where. 
 — ^V. Tom Pinch drives to Salisbury to meet the new pupil, taking up 
 Mark Tapley on the way ; Mark informs Tom of his intention to leave 
 The Dragon, and seek a new situation where he can get some credit for 
 being jolly ; meeting of Tom Pinch and the new pupU, and their first 
 impressions of each other; Tom relates to young Martin the circum- 
 stances of his playing the organ in the church, and of the frequent 
 appearance there of a beautiful young lady; Mr. Pecksniff and his 
 daughters affect surprise at the early arrival of Martin; Mr. Pecksniff 
 shows his house to Martin, and, after supper (on a scale that surprises 
 Tom Pinch) shows him to his bedroom, and takes an opportunity to 
 give him a hint of Tom's position. — ^VI. Mr. Pecksniff announces his 
 intention of going to London, and taking his daughters with him, and 
 gives Martin some suggestions as to his employment during his absence ; 
 Tom and Martin, left alone together, become confidential, and Tom 
 learns of Martin's attachment to Mary Graham, and consequent mis- 
 understanding with his grandfather; he also finds that his beautiful 
 visitor in the church was Mary. — ^YII. Tom and Martin are surprised 
 by the appearance of Mr. Montague Tigg, who explains that he and 
 Chevy Slyme are detained at The Dragon in default of payment of 
 their bills, and Martin and Tom assume the obligation; Mr. Slyme 
 shows his independent nature ; Mr. Tigg improves a favourable oppor- 
 tunity, and begs the loan of a half-sovereign from Tom Pinch; Mark 
 Tapley takes leave of The Blue Dragon. — ^YIII. Mr. Pecksniff and his 
 daughters, journeying to London by the stage-coach, are joined by 
 Anthony Chuzzlewit and his son Jonas, and Mr. Jonas becomes attentive 
 to the young ladies ; Mr. Pecksniff arrives with his daughters at Mrs. 
 Todgers's Commercial Boarding-house, and that lady makes arrange- 
 ments for their accommodation ; situation of Todgers's described. — IX. 
 Mr. Pecksniff returns a favourable answer to Mr. Jinkins's round- 
 robin ; Pecksniff and his daughters call on Tom Pinch's sister ; they 
 patronise Miss Pinch, and offend the gentleman of the house; Bailey 
 gives sundry dark hints in regard to the bill of fare for the approaching 
 feast ; the gentlemen boarders are presented to the young ladies ; the 
 successful dinner, graced by the presence of the young ladies, where Mr. 
 Jinkins is triumphant, and Mr. Moddle becomes despondent and jealous ; 
 Mr. Pecksniff, under the influence of wine, becomes a little particular in 
 his attentions to Mrs. Todgers ; Mr. Pecksniff is put to bed under difficulties. 
 — X. Old Martin Chuzzlewit calls on Mr. Pecksniff, apologises for his former 
 rudeness, and asks an introduction to that gentleman's daughters ; Mr. 
 Chuzzlewit instructs Pecksniff to dismiss young Martin from his employ, 
 and asks him and the yoimg ladies to befriend Mary, who, he is careful to 
 tell them, has no expectations from him ; Mr. Chuzzlewit warns Pecksniff 
 that the world will accuse him of mercenary motives in carrying out this 
 
MAKtIN CnUZZLEWIT. ^5^ 
 
 p.\&n, and takes hia leave ; Mra. Todgers's youngest boarder is incensed 
 Bgainst Mr. Jiukina j Mr. Pecksniff reproves Mrs. Todgers for dissimula- 
 tion. — XI. ]Mr. Jonas Chuzzlewit invites the young ladies to view the 
 sights of London ; after a look at all the free spectacles, Jonas takes 
 them to his home ; they are introduced to old Chuffey ; ChufEey's depend- 
 ence upon Mr. Anthony Chuzzlewit; Miss Charity makes the tea, and 
 receives particular attention from Jonas; Jonas entertains the sisters 
 through the evening, and then accompanies them home; the young 
 gentlemen of Mrs. Todgers's serenade the young ladies on the eve of 
 their departure from London ; Mr. Bailey receives a gratuity and makes 
 himself useful ; Mr. Anthony Chuzzlewit and Jonas call to take leave, 
 and the Pecksniffs start for home. — XII. Young Martin patronises Tom 
 Pinch, and tells him what he shall do for him when he himself is success- 
 ful ; John Westlock invites Tom and Martin to dine with him at Salis- 
 bury ; and they walk to Salisbury to keep the appointment ; John and 
 Martin discuss the amiability of Tom Pinch and the hypocrisy of Peck- 
 eniff ; Tom defends Pecksniff against John's prejudices ; John returns 
 Tom the money he had lent Tigg, and cautions him against trusting 
 that gentleman any further ; John Westlock, watching Tom and Martin 
 as they set out for home, is impressed with a sense of Martin's selfish mis- 
 appreciation of Tom's character ; Martin and Tom turn out to meet Mr. Peek- 
 sniil and his daughters on their return, and Martin is astonished to receive 
 no recognition from them ; Martin demands an explanation, and is dis- 
 missed by Pecksniff ; he determines to go to America ; Tom Pinch gives 
 him his last half-sovereign. — XIII. Martin meets a friendly carter 
 who helps him on his way, and gives him an accotmt of his friend who 
 went to the U-nited States ; Martin encounters Mr. Montague Tigg at a 
 pawnbroker's, and makes ineffectual attempts to find employment in 
 London; he receives a twenty -pound note from an unknown liand; 
 Mark Tapley introduces himself to Martin, and asks to be taken into his 
 service, and allowed to go to America with him ; Martin relates his 
 history to Mark ; Mark installs himself in Martin's service, and secures 
 a meeting between his master and Mary. — XIY. Martin and Mary meet 
 in the Park ; he informs her of his intention to go to America, and con- 
 signs her to the care of Tom Pinch ; Mark escorts Mary home after her 
 farewell to Martin, and she sends by him her diamond ring to her lover. 
 — XY. Mr. Mark Tapley, on board the ship Screw, bound for America, 
 has an opportunity to be "jolly," and makes himself useful to hia 
 poor fellow-passengers ; Martin avoids the cabin-passengers ; the 
 travellers land in New York. — XYI. They encounter Colonel Diver, who 
 eulogises his country; colloquy between the captain of the Screw. 
 and Colonel Diver; Martin accompanies the colonel to the office of 
 The Rowdy Journal, and is introduced to Mr. Jefferson Brick; Mr. 
 Brick gives a toast ; they all go to the boarding-house of Mrs. Pawkins, 
 where Martin is astonished at the voracity of the boarders, and makes 
 the acquaintance of some of "the most remarkable men of the country ; " 
 Mr. Bevan accosts Martin, and explains some of the characteristics of 
 the colonel. — XYII. Mr. Bevan surprises Martin by his criticisms of 
 America ; they find Mark Tapley at the office of The Rowdy Journal, 
 in company with a former slave, whose story he repeats to them ; Mr. 
 Bevan in troduces Martin to the family of Mr. Norris ; Martin is much 
 pleased with them, until the entrance of General Fladdock, who was a 
 cabin-passenger in the Screw. Martin is now obliged to acknowledge that 
 he himself came in the steerage from poverty, and finds a sudden cold- 
 aess on the part of his hosts ; Mrs. Jefferson Brick describee her attendance 
 
258 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 on certain lectures; Mark Tapley revives Martin's spirits by administering 
 a sherry-cobbler. — XYIII. Jonas Chuzzlewit, surreptitiously examining 
 his father's will, is startled by the appearance of Mr. Pecksniff; Anthony 
 informs Pecksniff that Jonas will be his heir, and advises him to bind him 
 to one of his daughters while he is in the mood ; sudden death of Anthony 
 Chuzzlewit. — XIX. Mr. Pecksniff goes in quest of Mrs. Gamp ; Mr. 
 Mould, the undertaker, commends the affectionate regrets of Mr. Jonas, 
 who has ordered no limitation of expense in the funeral arrangements ; 
 Chuff ey's grief at the death of his old master ; sensitiveness of Jonas 
 under his affliction; how old Anthony was buried, and no expense 
 spared ; Jfmas is alarmed lest Chuffey should " talk some precious non- 
 sense." — XX. Jonas questions Mr. Pecksniff in regard to the dowry 
 he will give his daughter in case she should secure such a husband as 
 himself ; how Jonas treated Pecksniff, and how Pecksniff paid the bill ; 
 Pecksniff, recalling the memory of old Anthony, is warned by Jonas 
 never to revive the subject ; Mr. Pecksniff takes Jonas home with him, 
 and they surprise Cherry in the performance of her household duties ; 
 Jonas proposes to Mercy in the presence of her sister, much to the dis- 
 appointment of the elder sister's hopes ; Tom Pinch announces the 
 approach of old Martin Chuzzlewit and Mary Graham. — XXI. Young 
 Martin and Mark Tapley, on the way to Eden, discuss the attractions of 
 that locality; Mr. La Fayette Kettle and General Choke give Martin 
 some information, new to him, in regard to his own country ; the general 
 advises the travellers in regard to settling in Eden ; Martin takes Mark 
 into partnership ; they consult the agent of the Eden Land Corporation, 
 witness the floui'ishing condition (upon paper) of that city, and purchase 
 an eligible site ; they attend a great meeting of the Watertoast Sym- 
 pathisers, and witness the end of that association. — XXII. Martin is 
 lionised by the citizens, and invited to deliver a lecture ; on declining he 
 is forced to hold a " le-Vee ; " Mrs. Hominy is introduced ; Captain 
 Kedgick gives Mark the secret of Martin's popularity. — XXIII. The 
 travellers proceed on their journey to Eden, leaving Mrs. Hominy at 
 New Thermopylae ; arrived at Eden, they find it to consist of a few log- 
 houses in a swamp, and Martin, giving way, is taken ill with fever 
 and ague. — XXIV. Pecksniff receives Old Martin and Mary with 
 assumed surprise; he prepares Mr. Chuzzlewit's mind for a meeting 
 with Jonas, whom he eulogises as a model and dutiful son ; Tom Pinch 
 lights Mr. Chuzzlewit and Mary home to The Blue Dragon ; returning, 
 he encounters Jon^s, who assaults him, and gets the worst of it ; Jon-as 
 ascribes his injuiy to accident, but Charity suspects Tom to be the 
 cause of it, and thanks him for it ; old Martin tries to arouse Mercy to a 
 sense of her future unhappiness if she marries Jonas ; Jonas asks Mercy 
 to fix the day. — XXV. Mrs. Gamp calls upon the Moulds, and discourses 
 on the changes of life j she obtains Mr. Mould's permission to night- 
 watch a gentleman in connection with taking care of Mr. Chuffey, who 
 has been left in her charge in the absence of Jonas ; John Westlock 
 calls at The Bull to inquire about Mrs. Gamp's new patient ; Betsey 
 Prig introduces Mrs. Gamp to her new patient, whose mind is wandering. 
 — XXVI. Mr. Bailey calls upon Poll Sweedlepipe, and hears of the 
 marriage of Jonas ; going with Poll to Jonas's house to fetch Mrs. Gamp, 
 she is surprised to learn that Jonas has married " the merry one j '■' the 
 bride's welcome home. — XXVII. Mr. Montague Tigg appears as Tigg 
 Montague, Esq., chairman of the Anglo- Bengalee Disinterested Loan 
 and Life Insurance Company, of which David Crimple is secretary; 
 meeting of the board of the Anglo-Bengaleej Dr. Jobling introduce© 
 
MARTIN CnUZZLEWIT. 259 
 
 ■TonaB Cliuzzlewit, who has an interview with Tigg, in which the latter 
 makes himself known to Jonas, and invites him to join the company ; 
 ilontagne instructs Nadgett to bring him all the information he can 
 obta,iu in regard to Jonas Chuzzlewit. — XXVIII. Jonas dines with Mr. 
 Tigg and a few friends at that gentleman's house ; he is carried home 
 drunk by Mr. Bailey ; Jonas curses his vsdfo, and strikes her. — XXIX. 
 Mr. Bailey has an easy shave at the hands of Poll Sweedlepipe ; Mrs. 
 Gamp's opinion of Mr. Lewsome's sickness; Mrs. Gamp and Betsey 
 Prig prepare their patient for a journey ; Lewsome tells John Westlock 
 he has a secret weighing on his mind. — XXX. Mr. Pecksniff reproves his 
 eldest daughter for her jealousy of her sister; and, at her request, con- 
 sents to place her at Mrs. Todgers's in the city; Pecksniff informs 
 Martin of Charity's proposed departure, and invites him to come and 
 stay with him for the sake of Mary ; Mr. Pecksniff meets Mary, and 
 forces her to listen to an offer of marriage, which she spurns, and he 
 threatens to use his influence with Mr. Chuzzlewit against his grandson 
 unless she submits ; Cherry informs Tom Pinch of her intended departure. 
 — XXXI. Pecksniff viritnesses in the church an interview between Tom 
 Pinch and Mary, in which she opens Tom's eyes to the true character 
 of his employer ; Pecksniff complains to Mr. Chuzzlewit that he has been 
 cruelly deceived by Thomas Pinch ; he accuses Tom, in the presence of 
 ilr. Chuzzlewit, of addressing proposals of love to Mary in the church ; 
 Tom makes no reply, but returns to Pecksniff his double eyeglass which 
 he had found in the church, and leaves the house ; Tom declines Mrs. 
 Lupin's invitation to stay at The Dragon, and goes to Salisbury. — 
 XXXII. Miss Pecksniff arrives at Mrs. Todgers's, and receives a 
 pathetic account of the state of Mr. Augustus Moddle ; Charity becomes 
 attentive to Mr. Moddle, and draws him on to a proposal of maiTiage, 
 which, of course, she accepts. — XXXIII. Mr. Mark Tapley finds that hia 
 fellow-passengers on the Screw are his next-door neighbours in Eden ; Mr. 
 Hannibal ChoUop calls upon the new settlers ; Mark's free speaking does 
 not please him, and he warns him to restrain it ; Martin recovers, after 
 many weeks, and Mark is then taken ill : by these experiences Martin 
 learns the lesson of self-sacrifice, and, upon Mark's recovery, consults 
 him in regard to returning home ; Martin writes to Mr. Bovan for assist- 
 ance, on receipt of which they start homeward. — XXXIV. Martin is in- 
 t roduced to the Honourable Elijah Pogram ; Mr. Pogram glorifies the 
 institutions of the country, and attributes Martin's dissent to British 
 [prejudice; Captain Kedgick is surprised to see the travellers return; 
 Mr. Pogram holds a le-Vee by request of a committee of the citizens ; 
 meeting of Mrs. Hominy and Elijah Pogram; Mai'tin and Mark arrive in 
 New York, find Mr. Bevan, and learn that the Screw is in port, and 
 ready to sail for England the next day ; Mark ships as cook, and so pays 
 their passage, enabhng them to do without the assistance of Mr. Bevan. — 
 XXXV. Arriving in England, they witness the laying of the comer-stone 
 of a new building, at which Mr. Pecksniff, as architect, plays a prominent 
 ])art J Martin recognises the plan of the building as his own, which he 
 designed when studying with Pecksniff. — XXXVI. Tom Pinch starts for 
 London to seek his fortune ; he takes leave of Mrs. Lupin ; arrived in 
 London, he calls upon John Westlock at Eurnival's Inn, who is delighted 
 to see him,, and insists upon his staying with him ; Tom goes to see his 
 sister, and, finding her subjected to the incivility of servants and the 
 unjust censure of her employers, he expresses his indignation, and takes 
 her away with him ; Tom and Pi,uth find lodgings at Islington. — XXXVII. 
 Tom encounters Miss Chaxitv Pecksniff in the street, and goes with her 
 
 g 2 
 
260 TS£ DiCKE^^S DlCTlOXARt. 
 
 to Mrs. Todgers'a, where he meets her sister ; Mercy gives Tom a message 
 for old Mr. Chuzzlewit ; Charity introduces Tom to Mr. Meddle ; Tom 
 tells John Westlock his story, and returns to Euth. — ^XXXVIII. Mr. 
 Nadgett prosecutes his inquiries as ordered by Mr. Montague j he reports 
 the result of his investigations in writing to his employer ; Jonas calls 
 upon Mr. Montague, who keeps Nadgett present at their interview, in 
 which he proposes that Jonas should go deeper into their scheme, and 
 draw in his father-in-law also, and gives Jonas, in a whisper, good reason 
 for complying. — XXXIX. Tom Pinch and Euth commence their house- 
 keeping J how Euth makes a beefsteak pudding, and how John Westlock 
 happens to witness the operation j John narrates the circumstances 
 of a call he had received from a gentleman who offered Tom, through 
 him, a situation as secretary and librarian, with a yearly salary of one 
 hundred pounds; John and Tom call on Mr. Fips, the agent of Tom's 
 employer ; Mr. Fips shows Tom the place where his work is to be, but 
 declines to give his employer's name ; John dines with Tom and his 
 sister, and hears Tom's account of his leaving Pecksniff, and of the 
 changes in Pecksniff's family. — ^XL. Tom enters upon his duties and 
 makes considerable progress, but the mystery of his employer is still 
 unsolved; Tom and Euth, taking a morning walk near the steamboat 
 wharf, encounter Mrs. Gamp, anxiously seeking for " The Ankworks 
 Package ; " Mrs. Gamp discovers the persons of whom she is in search, 
 and points them out to Tom ; Tom is amazed to see Nadgett at his elbow, 
 making inquiries for the same parties ; at Nadgett's request Tom carries 
 the man a letter, and is astonished to recogmse Jonas Chuzzlewit ; effect 
 of the letter upon Jonas, who drags his wife from the steamer, meets 
 Montague upon the wharf, and drives off with him. — XLI. Montague 
 threatens Jonas with a disclosure of the secret he possesses, unless he 
 accedes to his demands ; Montague proposes that Jonas should entice 
 Pecksniff to invest with them, and, at Jonas' s request, consents to go 
 with him to Pecksniff's ; Jonas lunches with Jobling, and questions him 
 in a careless way about the use of his lancets ; the doctor narrates the 
 particulars of a remarkable murder. — XLII. Journey of the two friends 
 to Salisbury during a violent storm j the carriage is overturned, the 
 horses throvra down, and Jonas attempts to force them upon Montague, 
 who is lying senseless in the road, but is stopped by the driver j Bailey, 
 who accompanies them, receives severe injuries from the accident; 
 Montague resolves to travel home alone. — XLIII. Mrs. Lupin, sitting 
 alone in her bar, is accosted by a traveller who inquires for Mark Tapley; 
 the traveller proves to be Mark himself, who, accompanied by Martin, 
 }ias just arrived ; they learn from Mrs. Lupin the changes in Pecksniff's 
 family, and the influence Pecksniff has acquired over old Mr. Chuzzlewit ; 
 Martin determines to call upon his grandfather, and sends Mark with a 
 letter requesting leave to wait upon him, which Pecksniff receives at the 
 door, and destroys ; Martin, accompanied by Mark, gains admission to 
 Pecksniff's house, and appeals to his grandfather, who allows Pecksniff 
 to answer for him ; Martin has an interview with Mary, and hears of 
 Pecksniff's suit for her hand; leaving Pecksniff's house, they meet 
 Jonas going there. — XLIV. Mr. Pecksniff receives his son-in-law with 
 tender inquiries for his daughters; Jonas informs Pecksniff of his 
 business, introduces him to Montague, and secures the investment of his 
 capital in their concern; Jonas leaves Montague to complete the 
 arrangements with Pecksniff, and returns to London. — XLV. Euth 
 Pinch, waiting for Tom in Fountain Court, is joined by John Westlock, 
 vho takeB Tom and his sister horn© to his rooms to dine.™XLVI. Tom 
 
MARTIN CUUZZLEWIT. 281 
 
 relates the occurrences of the morning on the wharf, and John euspecta 
 foul play ; Tom and Ruth, going to call on Mrs. Jonas Chnzzlewit, meet 
 Miss Pecksniff and Mr. Moddle, who accompany them; Mrs. Gamp 
 makes tea for the company, and admonishes Mr. Chuffey ; Jonas returns 
 home, is incensed to find Tom there, and forces him to leave the house ; 
 Jonas retires to a private room, giving orders that he shall not be 
 disturbed, and under cover of the darkness, and in disguise, escapes 
 from the house by an unfrequented way. — XLYII. Jonas returns to 
 Wiltshire, concealed by his disguise, lies in wait for Montague, way- 
 lays him as he is passing through a wood, murders him, and returns 
 by night to London; in the morning Jonas is called by his wife, who 
 informs him that Nadgett had called very early to see him. — ^XLVIII. 
 Tom and Ruth are surprised by a call from Martin and Mark ; Martin 
 gives Tom an account of his circumstances, and by his advice they go to 
 consult John Westlock, who receives them with some embarrassment on 
 account of having a visitor ; Tom and Mark leave Martin with John, and 
 as they walk along Mark informs Tom of the settlement he proposes to 
 make in life ; John introduces Martin to his visitor, Mr. Lewsome, who 
 narrates his instrumentality in the death, of Anthony Chuzzlewit, and 
 fixes the responsibility upon Jonas, whom he accuses of his father's 
 murder ; Martin and John determine what course to pursue. — XLIX. 
 Mrs. Gamp entertains Betsey Prig at her apartment in Kingsgate Street, 
 but that lady showing some unpleasant feeling, and venturing to express 
 a doubt of the existence of Mrs. Harris, the friends quarrel and part ; 
 John and Martin arrive just at this moment, and learn from Mrs. Gamp 
 some particulars in regard to Chuff ey. — L. Martin accuses Tom Pinch of 
 unfairness, greatly to Tom's surprise; Ruth tells Tom she has dis- 
 covered his secret love for Mary ; Tom's employer at last appears. — LI. 
 Jonas Chuzzlewit thinks to carry out his plan for silencing Mr. Chuffey ; 
 Mrs. Gamp arrives, and is soon followed by old Martin and John 
 Westlock, who are followed by Lewsome and Mark Tapley ; Lewsome 
 states all the circumstances relating to Jonas's murder of his father, 
 which Chuffey contradicts, by relating how his old master and himself 
 had discovered Jonas's designs, and that Anthony had died from a 
 broken heart, and not from poison ; Jonas, thinking himself cleared by 
 this testimony, orders them from the room, when Nadgett enters with 
 officers, and arrests him for the murder of Montague ; Jongja attempts to 
 bribe Slyme, who is one of the officers, to allow him to kiUhimself, but 
 failing in this, he commits suicide by taking poison as they are carrying 
 him to jail. — LII. Mark Tapley waits upon old Martin Chuzzlewit by his 
 request; he admits, in turn, Mr. John Westlock, Tom Pinch and his 
 sister, young Martin, and Miss Graham and Mrs. Lupin; lastly Mr. 
 Pecksniff enters, and reproaches them all for taking advantage of the 
 old man, when the old man strikes him down with his staff; Martin 
 compels Pecksniff to listen to his exposure of his meanness, and to 
 witness his reconciliation with young Martin ; Mr. Pecksniff takes his 
 departure • Mrs. Gamp, Mr. Poll Sweedlepipe, and the revived Mr. 
 Bailey, appear and disappear for the last time. — LIII. John Westlock 
 declares Ids love to Ruth, and finds it reciprocated ; happiness of old 
 Martin in the joy of the lovers ; he entertains them all at dinner : Miss 
 Pecksniff makes arrangements for her wedding. — LIV. Mr. Chuzzlewit 
 caUs upon Mercy at Mrs. Todgers's, and invites her to place herself 
 under his care; Mark Tapley welcomes home his old neighbours in 
 Eden ; how Mr. Augustus Moddle deserted his bride, and Miss Pecksniff 
 was not married ; what Tom Pinch saw as time passed on. 
 
THE CHIMES. 
 
 A GOBLIN STORY OF SOME BELLS THAT BANG AN OLD 
 YEAR OUT, AND A NEW YEAR IN. 
 
 This, the second of the Christmas books, was brought out in 1844 by 
 
 Bradbury and Evans. It was illustrated with a frontispiece aud title 
 on steel by Daniel Maclise, and with woodcuts from di-awinga by John 
 Leech, Richard Doyle, and Clarkson Stanfield. 
 
 CHARACTERS INTRODUCED. 
 
 B OWLET, LADY. Wife to Sir Joseph Eowley; a very 
 stately lady. (2iid quarter.) 
 
 B OWLET, MASTER. Her son, a little gentleman aged 
 twelve. (3rd quarter.) 
 
 B OWLET, SIR JOSEPH. An old and very stately gentle- 
 man, wlio is a member of parliament, and who prides himself 
 upon being the "poor man's friend and father." The poor 
 man in his district he considers his business. " I endeavour," 
 he says, " to educate his mind by inculcating on all occasions 
 the one great moral lesson which that class requii^es ; that is, 
 entire dependence on myself. (2nd, 3rd quarter.) 
 
 CHICKEN STALKER, MRS. ANNE. A stout old lady, 
 keeper of a shop "in the general line," who, Toby Veck 
 dreams, is married to Tugby, Sir Joseph Bowley's porter. 
 (2nd, 4th quarter.) 
 
 CUTE, ALDERMAN. A plain man and a practical man ; an 
 easy, afiabie, joking, knowing fellow, up to everything, and 
 
THE CHIMES. 263 
 
 not to bo imposed on ; one who understands the common 
 people, and has not the least difficulty in dealing with them. 
 Eeing a justice, he thinks he can "put down" anything among 
 " this sort of people," and so sets about putting down the 
 nonsense that is talked about want, and the cant in vogue 
 about starvation; and declares his intention of putting down 
 distressed wives, boys without shoes and stockings, wandering 
 mothers, and indeed all young mothers of all aorts and kinds, 
 all sick persons and young children; and, if there is one 
 thing on which he can be said to have made up his mind 
 more than on another, it is to put suicide down. (1st, 3rd 
 quarter.) 
 
 FERN, LILIAN. An orphan ; niece to Will Fern. (2nd-4th 
 quarter.) 
 
 FERN, WILL. A poor but honest man, who only wants " to 
 live like one of the Almighty's creeturs," but has a bad name, 
 and can't. (2nd-4th quarter.) 
 
 FILER, MR. A low-spirited gentleman of middle age, of a 
 meagre habit and a disconsolate face, full of facts and figures, 
 and ready to prove anything by tables ; a friend of Alderman 
 Cute. (1st, 3rd quarter.) 
 
 FISH, MR. Confidential secretary to Sir Joseph Eowley. 
 (2nd, 3rd quarter.) 
 
 LILIAN. See Pekn, Lilian. 
 
 RICHARD. A handsome, well-made, powerful young smith, 
 engaged to Meg Yeck. (1st, 3rd, 4th quarter.) 
 
 TUGBY. Porter to Sir Joseph Eowley; afterwards married, 
 as Toby Yeck dreams, to Mrs. Chickenstalker. (2nd, 4th 
 quarter.) 
 
 VECK, MARGARET or MEG. Toby Veck's daughter. 
 (lst-4th quarter.) 
 
 VECK, TOBY, called "Trottt'' from his pace, "which 
 meant speed, if it didn't make it." A ticket-porter. 
 
 A weak, small, spare old man, he was a very Hercules, this Toby, 
 in his good intentions. He loved to earn his money. He delighted to 
 believe — Toby was very poor, and couldn't well afford to part with a 
 delight — that he was worth his salt. With a shilling or an eighteen, 
 penny message or small parcel in hand, his courage, always high, rose 
 higher. As he trotted on, he would call out to fast Postmen ahead of 
 him, to get out of the way; devoutly believing that in the natural 
 course of things he must inevitably overtake and run them down ; and 
 he had perfect faith — ^not often tested — in his being able to carry any- 
 thing that man could lift. 
 
264 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 Toby has a great liking for the bells in the church near 
 
 his station. 
 
 Being but a simple man, he invested them with a strange and 
 solenm character. They were so mysterious, often heard and never 
 seen ; so high up, so far off, so full of such a deep strong melody, that 
 he regarded them with a species of awe; and sometimes when he 
 looked up at the dark arched windows in the tower, he half expected 
 to be beckoned to by something which was not a Bell, and yet was 
 what he had he^rd so often sounding in the Chimes. For all this, 
 Toby scouted with indignation a certain flying rumour that the Chimes 
 were haunted, as implying the possibility of their being connected 
 with any Evil thing. In short, they were very often in his ears, and 
 very often in his thoughts, but always in his good opinion; and he 
 very often got such a crick in his neck by staring with his mouth 
 wide open, at the steeple where they hung, that he was fain to take 
 an extra trot or two afterwards to cure it. 
 
 On Christmas Eve, Toby falls asleep by the fireside, while 
 reading a newspaper, and dreams that he is called by the chimes, 
 and so goes up into the church tower, which he finds peopled by 
 dwarf phantoms, spirits, elfin creatures of the bells, of all aspects, 
 shapes, characters, and occupations. As he gazes, the spectres 
 disappear, and he sees in every bell a bearded figure, mysterious 
 and awful, of the bulk and stature of the bell — at once a figure 
 and the bell itself. The Great EeU, or the Goblin of the Great 
 Bell, after arraigning him for sundry instances of wrong-doing, 
 puts him in charge of the Spirit of the Chimes, a little child, 
 who shows him various sorrowful scenes of the future, the actors 
 in which he knows, and some of whom are very near and dear 
 to him. But all these scenes point the same moral — " that we 
 must trust and hope, and neither doubt ourselves, nor the good 
 in one another." And when Toby breaks the speU that binds 
 him, and wakes up suddenly with a leap that brings him upon 
 his feet, he is beside himself with joy to find that the chimes are 
 merrily ringing in the New Year, and that all the sin and shame 
 and suffering and desperation which he has witnessed is but the 
 baseless fabric of a vision. The lesson is not forgotten, how- 
 ever, and the 'New Year is made all the happier by his troubled 
 dream. 
 
THE CRICKET ON THE HEAETH. 
 
 A FAIRY TALE OF HOME. 
 
 Published in 1845, inscribed to Lord Jeffrey, and illustrated with a 
 frontispiece and title-page by Maclise, and woodcuts from drawings by 
 Doyle, Leech, Clarkson Stanfield, and Landseer. 
 
 CHAEACTERS INTEODUCED. 
 
 BOXER. John Peerybingle's dog. (CHrps lst-3rd.) 
 DOT. See Peerybingle, Mrs. Mary. 
 
 FIELDING, MAY. A friend of ]\Irs. Peerybingle. She is 
 over-persuaded into consenting to bestow her hand upon 
 Tackleton, a surly, sordid, grinding old man; but, on the 
 morning of the day appointed for the wedding, she marries 
 Edward Plummer, a former lover, who suddenly returns alter 
 a long absence, and whom she has beHeved to be dead. 
 (Chirps 2nd, 3rd.) 
 
 FIELDING, MRS. Her mother ; a little, querulous chip of 
 an old lady, with a peevish face, who is considered to have a 
 most transcendent figure, in right of having preserved a waist 
 like a bedpost. She is very genteel and patronising, in con- 
 sequence of having once been better off, or of labouring under 
 an impression that she might have been, if something had 
 happened (in the indigo trade) which never did happen, and 
 seemed to have never been particularly likely to happen. 
 (Chirp 2nd, 3rd.) 
 
 rF^EUYBJNGLE, JOHN. A l^rge, sturdy m^n, much oldsr 
 
266 THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 than his wife, hut "the hest, the most considerate, the most 
 affectionate of hushands " to her. (Chirps lst-3rd.) 
 
 He was often near to something or other very clever, by his own 
 account i this lumbering, slow, honest John ; this John so heavy, but 
 BO light of spirit ; so rough upon the surface, but so gentle at the core ; 
 so dull without, so quick within ; so stolid, but so good ! Oh Mother 
 liature, give thy children the true poetry of heart that hid itself in 
 this poor Carrier's breast — he was but a Carrier by the way — and we 
 can bear to have them talking prose, and leading lives of prose ; and 
 bear to bless thee for their company I 
 
 PEERYBINGLE, MRS, MART, called "Dot" from her smaU 
 size. John's wife, a blooming young woman, with a very doll 
 of a haby. (Chirps lstr-3rd.) 
 
 FLUMMER, CALEB. A poor toymaker in the employ of 
 Tackleton ; a spare, dejected, thoughtful, gray-haired old man, 
 wholly devoted to his blind daughter. (Chirps lst-3rd.) 
 
 PLUMMER, BERTHA. His daughter, a blind girl. With 
 her father, she lives in " a little cracked nutshell of a wooden 
 house, . . . stuck to the premises of Gruff and Tackleton like 
 a barnacle to a ship's keel." 
 
 I have said that Caleb and his poor Blind Daughter lived here. I 
 should have said that Caleb Hved here, and his poor Blind Daughter 
 somewhere else — in an enchanted home of Caleb's furnishing, where 
 scarcity and shabbiness were not, and trouble never entered. Caleb 
 was no sorcerer, but in the only magic art that still remains to us, the 
 magic of devoted, deathless love, Nature had been the mistress of his 
 study ; and from her teaching, all the wonder came. 
 
 The Blind Girl never knew that ceiling-s were discoloured, walls 
 blotched and bare of plaster here and there, high crevices unstopped 
 and widening every day, beams mouldering and tending downward. 
 The Blind Girl ne>'er knew that iron was rusting, wood rotting, paper 
 peeling off ; the size, and shape, and true proportion of the dwelling, 
 withering away. The Blind Girl never knew that ugly shapes of delf 
 and earthenware were on the board ; that sorrow and faintheartedness 
 were in the house ; that Caleb's scanty hairs were turning greyer and 
 more grey, before her sightless face. The Blind Girl never knew 
 they had a master, cold, exacting, and uninterested — never knew 
 that Tackleton was Tackleton, in short ; but lived in the belief of an 
 eccentric humourist who loved to have his jest with them, and who, 
 while he was the Guardian Angel of their lives, disdained to hear one 
 word of thankfulness. 
 
 And all was Caleb's doing; all the doing of her simple father! 
 
 The consequence of this well-meant but ill-judged deception 
 is, that Bertha comes secretly to love Tackleton with unspeak- 
 able affection and gratitude, and is nearly heartbroken on 
 finding that he means to marry May Fielding. This compels 
 her father to tell her the truth ; to confess that he has altered 
 objects, changed the characters of people, invented many 
 
TEE CRICKET ON THE HEARTH. 267 
 
 things that never have been, to make her happier. The shock 
 to her sensitive nature is great ; but instead of losing her con- 
 fidence in him she clings to him aU the more closely, and 
 cherishes him all the more devotedly for his innocent deceit, 
 springing from motives so pure and unselfish. (Chirps 2nd, 
 3rd.) 
 
 PL UMMER, ED WARD. Son to Caleb, and brother to Bertha 
 Plummer. After a long absence in the "Golden South 
 Americas," he returns to claim the hand of May Fielding, to 
 whom he had been engaged before leaving home. Hearing, 
 when twenty miles away, that she has proved false to him, 
 and is about to marry old Tackleton, he disguises himself as 
 an old man, for the sake of observing and judging for himself, 
 in order to get at the real and exact truth. He makes himself 
 known to Mrs. Peerybingle (" Dot "), who advises him to 
 keep his secret close, and not even to let Mr. Peerybingle 
 know it, he being much too open in his nature, and too 
 inexperienced in aU artifice to keep it for him. She also 
 ofiers to sound his sweetheart, and to bring them together, 
 which she does, and has the pleasure of seeing them married, 
 and of expressing a hope that Tackleton may die a bachelor. 
 Her mediation, however, becomes known, in part, to her hus- 
 band, who misconstrues her actions, and suspects her of being 
 untrue to himseK. But in the end everytliing is satisfactorily 
 explained, and everybody is made happy; while even the 
 kettle hums for joy, and the cricket joins the music with its 
 '' Chirp, chirp, chirp." (Chirps lst-3rd.) 
 
 SLOWBOTy TILLY. Mrs. Peerybingle's nurserymaid ; a great, 
 clumsy girl, who is very apt to hold the baby topsy-turvy, 
 and who has a habit of mechanically reproducing, for its 
 entertainment, scraps of current conversation, with all the 
 sense struck out of them, and aU the nouns changed into the 
 plural number, as when she asks, " Was it GrufTs and Tackle- 
 tons the toy makers, then % " and " Would it call at pastry- 
 cooks for wedding cakes It " and " Did its mothers know the 
 boxes when its fathers brought them home % " and so on. 
 (Chirps lst-3rd.) 
 
 TACKLETON, called " Gkuff and Tackleton." A toy mer- 
 chant, stern, ill-natured, and sarcastic, with one eye always 
 wide open, and one eye nearly shut. 
 
 Cramped and chafing in the peaceable pnrstiit of toy-nialring, he 
 was a domestic Ogre, who had been living on children all his life, and 
 was their implacable enemy. He despised all toys; wouldn't have 
 bought one for the world; delighted, in his malice, to insinuate grim 
 expressions into the faces of brown-paper farmers who drove pigs tc 
 
268 THE DICKERS DICTIONARYe 
 
 market, bellmen who advertised lost lawyers' consciences, movable 
 old ladies who darned stockings or carved pies ; and other Hke samples 
 of his stock in trade. In appalling masks; hideous, hairy, red-eyed 
 Jacks in Boxes; Vampire Kites; demoniacal Tumblers who wouldn't 
 lie down, and were perpetually flying forward, to stare infants out of 
 countenance ; his soul perfectly revelled. They were his only relief, 
 and safety-valve. 
 
 After tlie marriage of his betrotlied, May Fielding, to 
 Edward Plummer (see alDove), lie turns his disappointment to 
 good account by resolving thenceforth to be, and by actually 
 l)ecoming, a pleasant, hearty, kind, and happy man. (Chirps 
 lst-3rd,) 
 
THE BATTLE OF LIFE. 
 
 A LOVE STOEY. 
 
 Published in 1846, with a frontispiece and title-page engraved on wooa 
 from drawings by Maclise, and with woodcuts inserted in the text, from 
 designs by Doyle, Leech, and Stanfield. 
 
 CHARACTERS INTRODUCED. 
 
 BRITAIN, BENJAMIN, called "Little Britain." A small 
 man with an uncommonly sour and discontented face ; servant 
 to Doctor Jeddler, afterwards husband of Clemency ^N'ewcome, 
 and landlord of The Nutmeg Grater Inn. He gives this sum- 
 mary of his general condition : " I don't know anything ; I 
 don't care for anything ; I don't make out anything j I don't 
 believe anything ; and I don't want anythiag." (Parts I.-III. ) 
 
 CRAGGSy MR. THOMAS. Attorney-at-law and partner of 
 Jonathan Snitchey. He seems to he represented by Snitchey, 
 and to be conscious of little or no separate existence or per- 
 sonal individuality. (Parts I., II.) 
 
 CRAGGS, MRS. His wife. (Part IL) 
 
 HEATHFIELD, ALFRED. A young medical student; a 
 ward of Doctor Jeddler, and engaged to his younger daughter 
 Marion. On coming of age, he starts on a three years' tour 
 among the foreign schools of mediciae. In the very hour of 
 his return, Marion flees from home, eloping, as it is supposed, 
 with a young spendthrift named Michael Warden. After a 
 time, her elder sister Grace becomes Alfred's wife; and it 
 finally transpires that Marion, though deeply loving him, dis- 
 covers that Grace also loves him, and^ deeming herself to ba 
 
270 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 less worthy of siicli a husband, sacrifices her own happiness 
 to insure her sister's. But, instead of eloping with young 
 Warden, she retires to an aunt's, who lives at a distance, 
 where she remains secluded until after her sister's marriage 
 has taken place. (Parts I. -III.) 
 
 JEDDLER, DOCTOR ANTHONY. A great philosopher, 
 the heart and mystery of whose philosophy is to look upon 
 the world as a gigantic practical joke, or as something too 
 absurd to be considered seriously by any practical man. But 
 the loss of his favourite daughter, " the absence of one little 
 unit in the great absurd account," strikes him to the ground, 
 and shows him how serious the world is, " in which some 
 love, deep-anchored, is the portion of all human creatures," 
 (Parts I.-IIL) 
 
 JEDDLER, GRACE. His elder daughter; married to Alfred 
 Heathfield. (Parts I.-IIL) See Heathfield, Alfred. 
 
 JEDDLER, MARION. His younger daughter. (Parts 
 I.-IIL) See Heathfield (Alfred), Warden (Michael). 
 
 MARTHA, A UNT. Sister to Doctor Jeddler. (Part IIL) 
 
 NEWCOME, CLEMENCY. Servant to Doctor Jeddler; 
 afterwards married to Benjamin Britain. (Parts I.-IIL) 
 
 She was about thirty years old, and had a sufficiently plump and 
 cheerful face, though it was twisted up into an odd expression of 
 tightness that made it comical. But the extraordinary homeliness of 
 her gait and manner, would have superseded any face in the world. 
 To say thatrshe had two left legs, and somebody else's arms, and that all 
 four limbs seemed to be out of joint, and to start from perfectly wrong 
 places when they were set in motion, is to offer the mildest outHne of 
 the reality. To say that she was perfectly content and satisfied with 
 these arrangements, and regarded them as being no business of hers, 
 and that she took her arms and legs as they came, and allowed them 
 to dispose of themselves just as it happened, is to render faint justice 
 to her equanimity. Her dress was a prodigious pair of self-willed shoes, 
 that never wanted to go where her feet went ; blue stockings ; a 
 printed gown of many colours, aud the most hideous pattern pro- 
 curable for money; and a white apron. She always wore short 
 sleeves, and always had, by some accident, grazed elbows, in which 
 she took so lively an interest, that she was continually trying to turn 
 them round and get impossible views of them. In general, a little 
 cap placed somewhere on her head, though it was rarely to be met 
 with in the place usually occupied in other subjects by that article of 
 dress ; but from head to foot she was scrupulously clean, and main- 
 tained a kind of dislocated tidiness. Indeed, her laudable anxiety to 
 be tidy and compact in her own conscience as well as in the public 
 eye, gave rise to one of her most startling evolutions, which was to 
 grasp herself sometimes by a sort of wooden handle (part of her 
 clothing, and familiarly called a busk), and wrestle as it were with 
 her garments, imtil they feU into a symmetrioal arrangement. 
 
THE BATTLE OP LIFE. . 271 
 
 SNITCHEY, JONATHAN. Attomey-at-law and partner of 
 Thomas Craggs. (Parts I.-IIL) 
 
 SNITCHEY, MBS. His wife. (Part 11.) 
 
 WARDEN, MICHAEL. A client of Messrs. Snitcliey and 
 Craggs ; a man of thirty, who has sown a good many wild 
 oats, and finds his affairs to be in a bad way in consequence. 
 He repents, however, and reforms, and finally marries Mariou 
 Jed Her, whom he has long loved. (Parts IL, IIL) 
 
DOMBEY MB SOK. 
 
 On the first of October, 1846, Messrs. Bradbury and Evans issued the 
 first number of a new serial novel under the title of " Dealings witb the 
 Firm of Dombey and Son, Wholesale, Retail, and for Exportation." Each 
 part was illustrated with two engravings on steel by Hablot K. Browne 
 (" Phiz "). The publication of the work extended over twenty months ; 
 and on its completion, in 1848, it was brought out in a single octavo 
 volume, and was " Dedicated with great esteem to the Marchioness of 
 Normanby." 
 
 CHAEACTEES INTKODUCED. 
 
 ANNE. A housemaid at Mr. Dombey's, beloved by Towlinson, 
 tbe footman. (Ch. xviii., xxxi., xxxv., lix.) 
 
 BAGSTOCK, MAJOR JOSEPH. A retired army officer, 
 wooden-featuied and blue-faced, with his eyes starting out of 
 his head. He is a near neighbour of Miss Tox, between 
 whom and himself an occasional interchange of newspapers 
 and pamphlets, and the Hke Platonic dalliance, is effected 
 through the medium of a dark servant of the major's, whom 
 Miss Tox is content to designate as a " native," without con- 
 necting him with any geographical idea whatever. 
 
 Although Major Bagstock had arrived at what is called in polite 
 literature the grand meridian of life, and was proceeding on his journey 
 down-hill with hardly any throat, and a very rigid pair of jaw-bones, 
 and long-flapped elephantine ears, and his eyes and complexion in the 
 state of artificial excitement already mentioned, he was mightily proud 
 of awakening an interest in Miss Tox, and tickled his vanity with the 
 fiction that she was a splendid woman, who had her eye on him. This 
 he had several times hinted at the club : in connection with little 
 jocularities, of which old Joe Bagstock, old Joey Bagstock, old J. 
 Bagstock, old Josh Bagstock, or so forth, was the perpetual theme : it 
 being, as it were, the Major's stronghold and donjon keep of light 
 humour, to be on the most familiar terms with his own nam©. 
 
DOMBEY AND SON. 273 
 
 " Joey B., Bir," the Major would say, with a flourish of hia walking- 
 Btiok, " is worth a dozen of you. If you had a few more of the Bag- 
 stock breed among you, sir, you'd be none the worse for it. Old Joe, 
 sir, needn't look far for a wife even now, if he was on the look-out ; 
 but he's hard-hearted, sir, is Joe — he's tough, sir, tough, and de-vilish 
 sly ! '* After such a declaration wheezing sounds would be heard ; and 
 the Major's blue would deepen into purple, while his eyes strained and 
 started convulsively. 
 
 Notwithstanding hia very liberal laudation of himself, however, the 
 Major was selfish. It may be doubted whether there ever was a more 
 entirely selfish person at heart, or at stomach is perhaps a better 
 expression, seeing that he was more decidedly endowed with that latter 
 organ than with the former. He had no idea of being overlooked or 
 slighted by anybody ; least of all, had he the remotest comprehension 
 of being overlooked and sighted by Miss Tox. 
 
 And yet, Miss Tox, as it appeared, forgot him — gradually forgot him. 
 She began to forget him soon after her discovery of the Toodle family. 
 She continued to forget him up to the time of the christening. She 
 went on forgetting him with compound interest after that. Something 
 or somebody had superseded him as a source of interest. 
 
 " Good morning, ma'am," said the Major, meeting Miss Tox in 
 Princess's Place, some weeks after the changes chronicled in the last 
 chapter. 
 
 " Good morning, sir," said Miss Tox, very coldly. 
 
 " Joe Bagstock, ma'am," observed the Major, with his usual gallantry, 
 " has not had the happiness of bowing to you at your window, for a 
 considerable period. Joe has been hardly used, ma'am. His san haa 
 been behind a cloud." 
 
 Miss Tox inclined her head ; but very coldly indeed. 
 
 " Joe's luminary has been out of town, ma'am, perhaps," inqniied 
 the Major. 
 
 "I? out of town? oh no, I have not been out of town," said Misa 
 Tox. " I have been much engaged lately. My time is nearly all devoted 
 to some very intimate friends. I am afraid I have none to spare, even 
 now. Good morning, sir ! " 
 
 As Miss Tox, with her most fascinating step and carriage, dis- 
 appeared from Princess's Place, the Major stood looking after her 
 with a bluer face than ever : muttering and growling some not at all 
 complimentary remarks. 
 
 "Why, damme, sir," said the Major, rolling his lobster eyes round 
 and round Princess's Place, and apostrophising its fragrant air, **Bix 
 months ago, the woman loved the ground Josh Bagstock walked on. 
 What's the meaning of it ? ** 
 
 The Major decided, after some consideration, that it meant man- 
 traps ; that it meant plotting and snaring ; that Miss Tox was digging 
 pitfalls. ** But you won't catch Joe, ma'am," said the Major. " He's 
 tough, ma'am, tough, is J. B. Tough, and de-vilish sly 1 " over which 
 reflection he chuckled for the rest of the day. 
 
 The Major becomes a friend and companion of Mr. Dombey, 
 introduces him to Edith Granger and Mrs. Skewton, and plays 
 the agreeable to the mother, while Mr. Dombey makes love 
 to the daughter. (CL vii, x., xx., xxi., xxvi., xxvii, 
 xxxvi, xl., li, lix., Ix.) 
 
 1 
 
274 THE DICKENS DIOTIONAEY. 
 
 BAPS, MR. Dancing-master at Doctor Elimber's ; a very 
 grave gentleman with, a slow and measured manner of speak- 
 ing. (Ch. xiv.) 
 
 BAPSy MRS, His wife. (Ch. xiv.) 
 
 BERINTIIIA, called "Berry." K"iece and drudge to Mrs. 
 Pipchin, whom she regards as one of the most meritorious 
 persons in the world. She is a good-natured spinster of 
 middle age, but possessing a gaunt and iron-hound aspect, 
 and much afflicted with hoiLs on her nose. (Ch. viii., xi.) 
 
 BILER. See Toodle, Eobin. 
 
 BITHERSTON, MASTER. A child hoarding at Mrs. Pip- 
 chin's; a boy of mysterious and terrible experiences. (Ch. 
 viii., X., xli., Ix.) 
 
 BLIMBER, DOCTOR. Proprietor of an expensive private 
 boarding-school for boys, at Brighton, to which Paul Dombey 
 is sent to be educated. 
 
 The Doctor was a portly gentleman in a suit of black, with strings 
 at his knees and stockings below them. He had a bald head, highly- 
 polished ; a deep voice ; and a chin so very double, that it was a 
 wonder how he ever m.anaged to shave into the creases. He had like- 
 wise a pair of little eyes that were always half shut up, and a mouth 
 that was always half expanded into a grin, as if he had, that moment, 
 posed a boy, and were waiting to convict him from his own Hps. . . . 
 The Doctor's walk was stately, and calculated to impress the juvenile 
 mind with solenan feeHngs. It was a sort of march ; but when the 
 Doctor put out his right foot, he gravely turned upon his axis, with a 
 semicircular sweep towards the left ; and when he put out his left 
 foot, he turned in the same manner towards the right. So that he 
 seemed, at every stride he took, to look about him as though he were 
 paying, " Can anybody have the goodness to indicate any subject, in 
 any direction, on which I am uninformed ? 1 rather think not." 
 
 Whenever a young gentleman was taken in hand by Doctor 
 Blimber, he might consider himself sure of a pretty tight squeeze. 
 The doctor only undertook the charge of ten young gentlemen, but he 
 had, always ready, a supply of learning for a hundred, on the lowest 
 estimate j and it was at once the business and delight of his life to 
 gorge the unhappy ten with it. 
 
 In fact. Doctor Blimber's establishment was a great hot-house, in 
 which there was a forcing apparatus incessantly at work. All the 
 boys blew before their time. Mental gi-een-peas were produced at 
 Christmas, and intellectual asparagus all the year round. Mathe- 
 matical gooseberries (very soar ones too) were common at untimely 
 seasons, and from mere sprouts of bushes, under Dr. Blimber's culti- 
 vation. Every description of Greek and Latin vegetable was got off 
 the driest twigs of boys, under the frostiest cii-cum stances. Nature 
 was of no consequence at all. No matter what a young gentleman 
 was intended to bear, Dr. Blimber made him bear to pattern, some- 
 how or other. 
 
 (Ch. xi., xii, xix., xxiv., xJi, Ix.) 
 
DOMBET AND SON. 275 
 
 BLIMBER, MRS, His ^df©. 
 
 Mrs. Blimber . . . was not learned herself, but she pretended to 
 be, and that did quite as well. She said at evenin^^ parties, that if 
 she could have known Cicero, she thought she could have died con- 
 tented. It was the steady joy of her life to see the Doctor's young 
 gentlemen go out walking, unlike all other young gentlemen, in the 
 largest possible shirt-collars, and the stiffest possible cravats. It was 
 so classical, she said. 
 
 (Ch. xi., sii., xix., xxiv., xli., Ix.) 
 
 BLIMBER, MISS CORNELIA. The daughter , a slim and 
 graceful maid. (Ch. xi., xii., xiv., xli., Ix.) 
 
 There was no light nonsense about Miss Blimber. She kept her 
 hair short and crisp, and wore spectacles. She was dry and sandy 
 with working in the graves of deceased languages. None of your live 
 languages for Miss Blimber. They must be dead — stone dead — and 
 then Miss Blimber dug them up like a Ghuul. 
 
 BLOCKITT, MRS. Mrs. Dombey's nurse ; a simpering piece 
 
 of faded gentihty. (Ch. i.) 
 BOKUM, MRS. A friend of Mrs. MacStinger's, and her 
 
 bridesmaid on the occasion of her marriage to Jack Bunsby. 
 
 (Ch. Ix.) 
 BRIGGS. A pupil of Doctor Blimber's, and the room-mate of 
 
 Paul Dombey. (Ch. xil, xiv., xli., Ix.) 
 
 BROGLEY, MR. A sworn broker and appraiser, and second- 
 hand furniture dealer; a friend of Sol Gills. (Ch. ix.) 
 
 BROWN, ALICE, alias Alice Marwood. A handsome woman 
 of about thirty years of age; a former mistress of James 
 Carker. After suffering transportation for crime, she comes 
 back to England filled with scorn, hate, defiance, and reckless- 
 ness. (Ch. xxxiii., xxxiv., xl., xlvi., lii., liii., Iviii.) 
 
 BROWN, MRS., called (by herself) " Good Mks. Brown." Her 
 mother; a very ugly old woman, with red rims round her 
 eyes, and a mouth that mumbled and chattered of itself when 
 she was not speaking. (Ch. vL, xxvii., xxxiv., xl., xlvi., lii., 
 Iviii.) 
 
 BUNSBY, CAPTAIN JACK. Master of a vessel caUed the 
 Cautious Clara, and a warm friend of Captain Cuttle, who 
 looks up to him as an oracle. Eearing that the vessel on 
 which her friend Walter Gay has taken passage is lost, 
 Florence Dombey, accompanied by her maid, Susan Nipper, 
 goes to Captain Cuttle for advice. Walter's uncle, Sol Gills, 
 is also very much distressed about his nephew; and the 
 captaiQ, being a friend of all parties, tries to reassure them. 
 
 T 2 
 
276 THE DICKEXS DICTIONARY. 
 
 ;N"ot being quite equal to the occasion, however, he fortunately 
 bethinks himself of Jack Bunsby. 
 
 " With regard to old Sol Gills," hero the Captain became solemn, 
 " who I'll stand by, and not desert until death doe ns part, and when 
 the stormy winds do blow, do blow, do blow — overhanl the Catechism," 
 said the Captain parenthetically, "and there you'll find them expres- 
 sions — if it would console Sol Gills to have the opinion of a seafaring 
 man as has got a mind equal to any undertaking that he puts it along, 
 side of, and as was all but smashed in his 'ijrenticeship, and of which 
 the name is Bansby, that 'ere man shall give him such an opinion in his 
 own parlour as *11 stun him. Ah ! " said Captain Cuttle, vauntingly, 
 ' as much aa if he'd gone and knocked his head again a door 1 '* 
 
 They accordingly go to see Captain Bunsby, and, under the 
 pilotage of Captain Cuttle, board the Cautious Clara. 
 
 Immediately there appeared, coming slowly up above the bulk-head 
 of the cabin, another bulk-head — ^human, and very large — ^with one 
 stationary eye in the mahogany face, and one revolving one, on the 
 principle of some lighthouses. This head was decorated with shaggy 
 hair, like oakum, which had no governing inclination towards the north, 
 east, west, or south, but inclined to all four quarters of the compass, and 
 to every point upon it. The head was followed by a perfect desert of 
 chin, and by a shirt-collar and neckerchief, and by a dreadnought pilot- 
 coat, and by a pair of dreadnought pilot-trousers, whereof the waist- 
 band was so very broad and high, that it became a succedaneum for a 
 waistcoat : being ornamented near the wearer's breast-bone with some 
 massive woodsn buttons, like backgammon men. As the lower portions 
 of these pantaloons became revealed, Bunsby stood confessed ; his 
 hands in their pockets, which were of vast size ; and his gaze directed, 
 not to Captain Cuttle or the ladies, but the mast-head. 
 
 . . . Whispering to Florence that Bunsby had never in his life 
 expressed surprise, and was considered not to know what it meant, the 
 Captain watched him as he eyed his mast-head, and afterwards swept 
 the horizon ; and when the revolving eye seemed to be coming round in 
 his direction, said : 
 
 " Bunsby, my lad, how fares it ? " 
 
 A deep, gruff, husky utterance, which seemed to have no connection 
 with Bunsby, and certainly had not the least effect upon his face, 
 replied, " Aye, aye, shipmet, how goes it ? " At the same time Bunsby's 
 right hand and arm, emerging from a pocket, shook the Captain's, and 
 went back again. 
 
 "Bunsby," said the Captain, striking home at once, "here you are; 
 a man of mind, and a man as can give an opinion. Here's a young lady 
 as wants to take that opinion, in regard of my friend Wal'r ; likewise my 
 t'other friend, Sol Gills, which is a character for you to come within hail of, 
 being a man of science, which is the mother of inwention, and knows no 
 law. Bunsby, will you wear, to oblige me, and come along with us ? " 
 
 The great commander, who seemed by the expression of his visage 
 to be always on the look-out for something in the estremest distance, 
 and to have no ocular knowledge of anything within ten miles, made no 
 reply whatever. 
 
DOMBEY AND SON. 277 
 
 He finally consents to go with them, however, and at last 
 delivers the following " opinion : " 
 
 " My name's Jack Bunsby ! " 
 
 •' He was christened John," cried the delighted Captain Cuttle. 
 "Hear him!" 
 
 "And what I says," pursued the voice, after some deliberation, 
 "I stands to." 
 
 The Captain, with Florence on his arm, nodded at the auditory, 
 and seemed to say, " Now he's coming out. This is what I meant 
 when I brought him." 
 
 "Whereby," proceeded 'the voice, "why not? If so, what odds? 
 Can any man say otherwise ? No. Awast then I " 
 
 When it had pursued its train of argument to this point, the voice 
 stopped, and rested. It then proceeded very slowly, thus : 
 
 " Do I believe that this here Son and Heir's gone down, my lads ? 
 Mayhap. Do I say so ? Which ? If a skipper stands out by Sen' 
 George's Channel, making for the Downs, what's right ahead of him ? 
 The Goodwins. He isn't forced to run upon the Goodwins, but he 
 may. The bearings of this observation lays in the application on it. 
 That a'nt no part of my duty. Awast then, keep a bright look-out 
 for'ard, and good luck to you ! " 
 
 The voice here went out of the back parlour and into the street, 
 taking the Commander of the Cautious Clara with it, and accompany, 
 ing him on board again with all convenient expedition, where he 
 immediately turned in, and refreshed his mind with a nap. 
 
 !N"otwithstanding his sagacity and independence, Captain 
 Eunsby is finally captured and married, perforce, by his land- 
 lady, Mrs. MacStinger. (Ch. xxviii., xxxix., Ix.) 
 
 CAREER, HARRIET. Sister of John and James Carter; 
 
 afterwards the wife of IVIr. MorfiiL (Ch. xxii., xxxiii., xxxiv., 
 
 liii, Ixii.) 
 CAREER, JAMES. Mr. Dombey's head clerk or manager. 
 
 Mr. Carker was a gentleman thirty-eight or forty years old, of a 
 florid complexion, and with two unbroken rows of glistening teeth, 
 whose regularity and whiteness were quite distressing. It was im- 
 possible to escape the observation of them, for he showed them when- 
 ever he spoke; and bore so wide a smile upon his countenance (a 
 smile, however, very rarely, indeed, extending beyond his mouth), 
 that there was something in it like the snaii of a cat. He affected a 
 stiff white cravat, after the example of his principal, and was always 
 closely buttoned up and tightly dressed. His manner towards Mr. 
 Dombey was deeply conceived and perfectly expressed. He was 
 familiar with him, in the very extremity of his sense of tha distance 
 between them. " Mr. Dombey, to a man in your position from a man 
 in mine, there is no show of subservience compatible with the trans- 
 action of business between us, that I should think sufficient. I frankly 
 tell you, sir, I give it up altogether. I feel that I could not satisfy 
 my own mind ; and Heaven knows, Mr. Dombey, you can afford to 
 Sispense with the endeavour." If he had carried these words about 
 
278 THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 with him, printed on a placard, and had constantly offered it to 
 Mr. Dombey's perusal on the breast of his coat, he could not have 
 been more explicit than he was. 
 
 Enjoying the confidence of Ms employer, Mr. Carker 
 ppeculates on his own account, and amasses a fortune. "V\nien 
 Mr. Dombey marries a second time, Carker observes that 
 there is no love or sympathy in the case, and that both parties 
 are of a proud and unyielding disposition ; and he secretly 
 takes advantage of the confidence reposed in him by Mr. 
 Dombey to increase the constantly widening breach between 
 husband and wife. Goaded to desperation by the conduct of 
 Mr. Dombey in making his manager the medium of communi- 
 cating his directions to her, but equally despising both man 
 and master, ]\irs. Dombey revenges herseli on her husband by 
 eloping with Carker, and on Carker by taunting him with 
 his supposed victory, and leaving him, in the very hour of his 
 anticipated triumph, to the vengeance of her husband, who 
 has pursued them. In trying to avoid Mr. Dombey, whom 
 he accidentally encounters at a railway-station, he staggers, 
 slips on to the line, and is killed by a passing train. (Ch. 
 xiii., xvii., xxiL, xxiv., xxvi., xxvii., xxxi., xxxiii., xxxvi., 
 xxxvii., xl., xlii., xlv.-xlvii., lii.-lv.) 
 
 CARKER, MR. JOHN. Brother of James and Harriet Carker, 
 and a junior clerk at Dombey and Son's. "When a young man, 
 he had been led astray by evil companions, and had robbed 
 his employers, who had reposed great confidence in him. His 
 guilt was soon discovered ; but the house was merciful, and, 
 instead of dismissing him, retained him in a subordinate 
 capacity, in which he made expiation for his crime by long 
 years of patient, faithful service. After the elopement of his 
 brother James with Edith Dombey, he is discharged ; but, by 
 the sudden death of his brother, he comes into possession of a 
 fortune, the interest of which, when Mr. Dombey becomes a 
 banloupt, he secretly makes over to him year by year as if it 
 were the repayment of an old lost debt. (Ch. vL, xix., xxii, 
 xxxiii., xxxiv., liii., Iviii., Ixii.) 
 
 CHICK, MR. JOHN. Brother-in-law to Mr. Dombey; a 
 stout, bald gentleman with a very large face, and his hands 
 continually in his pockets, and with a tendency to whistle 
 and hum tunes on every sort of occasion. (Ch. ii., v., xxix., 
 xxxvi.) 
 
 CHICK, MRS. LOUISA. His wife; sister to IMj. Dombey; 
 a weak, good-natured, self-satisfied woman, very proud of her 
 family and of having always tried, as she puts it, to " make 
 Ml effort." (Ch. i., ii, v.-viii., x., xviii., xxix., xxxvi, li., lix.) 
 
DOMBEY AND SON. 2?9 
 
 CHICKEN, THE GAME, See Game Chickkn, The. 
 
 CHOWLEY, See MacStinger, Charles. 
 
 CLARK, MR. A clerk of IVIr. Dombey's. (Ck vi) 
 
 CLEOPATRA. See Skewton, Mrs. 
 
 CUTTLE, CAPTAIN EDV/ARD. Protector of Florence 
 Dombey, friend of Walter Gay, and friend and afterwards 
 partner of Walter's uncle, Sol Gills. His first advent in the 
 story is at the house of the latter at dinner-time. 
 
 An addition to the little party now made its appearance, in the shape 
 of a gentleman in a wide snit of blue, with a hook instead of a hand 
 attached to his right wrist ; very bushy black eyebrows; and a thick 
 stick in his left hand, covered all over (like his nose) with knobs. He 
 wore a loose black silk handkerchief round his neck, and such a very 
 large coarse shirt collar, that it looked like a small sail. He was 
 evidently the person for whom the spare wine-glass was intended, and 
 evidently knew it ; for having taken o^ his rough outer coat, and hung 
 up, on a particular peg behind the door, such a hard glazed hat as a 
 sympathetic person's head might ache at the sight of, and which left a 
 red rim round his own forehead as if he had been wearing a tight basin, 
 he brought a chair to where the clean glass was, and sat himself down 
 behind it. He was usually addressed as Captain, this visitor ; and had 
 been a pilot, or a skipper, or a privateers-man, or all three perhaps ; and 
 was a very salt-looking man indeed. 
 
 His face, remarkable for a brown solidity, brightened as he shook 
 hands with uncle and nephew j but he seemed to be of a laconic disposi- 
 tion, and merely said : 
 
 " How goes it ? " 
 
 " All well," said Mr. Gills, pushing the bottle towards him. 
 
 He took it up, and having surveyed and smelt it, said with extra- 
 ordinary expression : 
 
 ''The?" 
 
 " The" returned the Instrument-maker. 
 
 Upon that he whistled as he fiEed his glass, and seemed to think 
 they were making holiday indeed. 
 
 "Wal'r!" he said, arranging his hair (which was thin) with his 
 hook, and then pointing it at the Instrument-maker, '* Look at him ! 
 Love ! Honour ! And Obey ! Overhaul your catechism till you 
 find that passage, and when found turn the leaf down. Success, 
 my boy ! " 
 
 He was so perfectly satisfied both with this quotation and his refer- 
 ence to it, that he could not help repeating the words again in a low 
 voice, and saying he had forgotten 'em these forty year. 
 
 " But I never wanted two or three words in my life that I didn't 
 know whei-e to lay my hand upon 'em. Gills," he observed. '* It cornea 
 of not wasting language as some do." 
 
 The reflection perhaps reminded him that he had better, like young 
 Norval's father, *• increase his store." At any rate he became silent. 
 
 Walter having been selected by his employer to fdl a junior 
 situation in the counting-house at Barbadoes, a meeting of a 
 
fm THE DICKENS DIOTIONAEY. 
 
 few friends takes place at his uncle's at whicli Captain Cuttle 
 is present. 
 
 "Wal'r," Baid the Captain, when they took their seats at table, *' if 
 your uncle's the man I think him, he'll bring out the last bottle of the 
 Madeira on the present occasion." 
 
 " No, no, Ned," returned the old man. " No ! That shall be 
 opened when Walter comes home again." 
 
 " Well said ! " cried the Captain. " Hear him ! " 
 
 " There it lies," said Sol Gills, " down in the little cellar, covered 
 with dirt and cobwebs. There may be dirt and cobwebs over you and 
 me perhaps, Ned, before it sees the light." 
 
 " Hear him !" cried the Captain, •' Good morality ! Wal'r, my lad. 
 Train up a fig-tree in the way it should go, and when you are old sit 
 under the shade on it. Overhaul the — Well," said the Captain on 
 second thoughts, " I an't quite certain where that's to be found, but 
 when found, make a note of. Sol Gills, heave a-head again I " 
 
 Old Sol and the Captain accompany the lad on board the 
 ship to see him off, the former with moist eyes, the latter with 
 a very grave face. 
 
 The Captain immediately drew Walter into a comer, and with a 
 great efEort, that made his face very red, pulled up the silver watch, 
 which was so big, and bo tight in his pocket, that it came out like a 
 bung. 
 
 " Wal'r," said the Captain, handing it over, and shaking him heartily 
 by the hand, " a parting gift, my lad. Put it back half an hour every 
 morning, and about another quarter towards the afternoon, and it's a 
 watch that'll do you credit." 
 
 (Ch. iv., ix., X., XV., xvii., xix., xxiii., xxv., xxxii., xxxix., 
 xlviii-L, Ivi., Ivii, Ix., Ixii.) See MacStinger, Mrs. 
 
 DAWSf MART. A young kitchenmaid in Mr. Domhey's 
 service. (Ch. lix.) 
 
 DIOGENES. A dog given by Mr. Toots to Florence Domhey, 
 " as a sort of keepsake," he having been a favourite with her 
 brother, little Paul. (Ch. xiv., xviii., xxii., xxiii, xxviii., 
 XXX., xxxl, XXXV., xli., xliv., xlviil-L, Ivi., Ixii.) 
 
 Though Diogenes was as ridiculous a dog as one would meet with 
 on a summer's day ; a blimdering, ill-favoured, clumsy, bullet-headed 
 dog, continually acting on a wrong idea that there was an enemy 
 in the neighbourhood, whom it was meritorious to bark at ; and though 
 he was far from good-tempered, and certainly was not clever, and had 
 hair all over his eyes, and a comic nose, and an inconsistent tail, and 
 a gruff voice ; he was dearer to Florence . . . than the most valuable 
 and beautiful of his kind. 
 
 D0MBE7, MRS, EDITH, Mr. Domhey's second wife; 
 daughter of Mrs. Skewton, and widow of Colonel Granger. 
 She is a woman under thirty, very handsome, Tery haughty, 
 and very wilful j pure at heart, but defiant of criticism. 
 
DOMBEY AND SON. 281 
 
 Though she feels neither love nor esteem for ]\ir. Dombey, 
 and does not tempt him to seek her hand, yet she suffers him 
 to marry her, content to be made rich so long as the tran- 
 saction is understood to be a mere matter of traffic, in which 
 beauty, grace, and varied accomplishments are exchanged for 
 wealth and social position. As might be expected, the alliance 
 proves to be a very unfortunate one. ]N"o friendship, no fitness 
 for each other, no mutual forbearance, springs up between the 
 unhappy pair; but indifference gives place to aversion and 
 contempt ; arrogance is repaid in kind ; opposition arouses 
 opposition. At last, Edith elopes with IMr. Carker, a con- 
 fidential clerk of Mr. Dombey's ; and this she does with the 
 double motive of revenging herself on her husband, and of 
 befooling and punishing the clerk, who has pursued her from 
 her wedding-day with humiliating solicitations and the meanest 
 stratagems. But she leaves him in the very hour of their 
 meeting, and he is killed by a passing train in trying to 
 escape pursuit. (Ch. xxi., xxvi.-xxviii., xxx., xxxi., xxxv.- 
 xxxvii., xl.-xliii., xlv., xlvii., liv., Ixi.) See Skewton, Mrs. 
 
 DOMBEY, MRS. FANNY. Mr. Dombey's first wife ; mother 
 of Florence and of little Paul. (Ch. i.) See Dombey, Little 
 Paul. 
 
 DOMBEY, FLORENCE. Daughter of Mr. Dombey, and 
 sister of little Paul. She is a loving and lovable child, but, 
 not having had the good fortune to be born a boy, is of no 
 accoimt in her father's eyes. At first she is merely an object 
 of indifference to him, but by degrees he comes to conceive a 
 positive dislike for her, and at last drives her from his house. 
 She finally marries Walter Gay. (Ch. i., iii., v., vi, viii.-xii., 
 xiv., xvi., xviii., xix., xxii.-xxiv., xxviii., xxx., xxxv.-xxxvii., 
 xL, xli, xliii-xlv., xlvii. -1., Ivi., Ivii., lix., Ixi., Ixii.) See 
 Dombey (Mr.), and Dombey (Little Paul). 
 
 DOMBEY, LITTLE PAUL. IMr. Dombey's son and heir. 
 His advent into the world is thus described : 
 
 Dombey sat in the comer of the darkened room in the great arm- 
 chair by the bedside, and Son lay tucked up warm in a little basket 
 bedstead, carefully disposed on a low settee immediately in front of the 
 fire and close to it, as if his constitution were analogous to that of a 
 muflin, and it was essential to toast him brown while he was very new. 
 
 Dombey was about eight-and- forty years of age. Son about eight- 
 and-f orty minutes. Dombey was rather bald, rather red, and though a 
 handsome well-made man, too stern and pompous in appearance to be 
 prepossessing. Son was very bald and very red, and though (of course) 
 an undeniably fine infant, somewhat crushed and spotty in his genen?il 
 effect, as yet. . . , 
 
282 THE DICKENS DICTIONAHY. 
 
 DomboY, exulting in the long-looked-for event, jingled and jingled 
 the heavy gold watch-chain that depended from below his trim blue 
 coat, whereof the buttons sparkled phosphorescently in the feeble r&jf 
 of the distant fire. . . . 
 
 " The house will once again, Mrs. Dombey,** said Mr. Dombey, " be 
 not only in name but in fact Dombey and Son ; Dom-bey and Son ! . . . 
 He will be christened Paul, my — Mrs. Dombey — of course. . . . His 
 father's name, Mrs, Dombey, and his grandfather's ! I wish his grand- 
 father were alive this day ! " And again he said "Dom-bey and Son," 
 in exactly the same tone as before. . . . 
 
 Those three words conveyed the one idea of Mr. Dombey's life. The 
 earth was made for Dombey and Son to trade in, and the sun and moon 
 were made to give them light. . . . Common abbreviations took new 
 meanings in his eyes, and had sole reference to them : A. D. had no 
 concern with anno Domini, but stood for anno Dombei — and Son. . . . 
 
 They had been married ten years, and until this present day on 
 which Mr. Dombey sat jingling and jingling his heavy gold watch-chain 
 in the great arm-chair by the side of the bed, had had no issue. 
 
 — To speak of ; none worth mentioning. There had been a girl some 
 six years before, and the child, who had stolen into the chamber un- 
 observed, was now crouching timidly, in a comer whence she could see 
 her mother's face. But what was a girl to Dombey and Son ! . . . 
 
 Mr. Dombey's cup of satisfaction was so full at this moment, how- 
 ever, that he felt he could afford a drop or two of its contents, even to 
 sprinkle on the dust in the by-path of his little daughter. 
 
 So he said, " Florence, you may go and look at your pretty brother, 
 if you like. I dare say. Don't touch him ! " 
 
 Little Paul's mother dies in giving him birth, and he himself 
 is hut a weakling. 
 
 In his steeple-chase towards manhood ... he still found it very 
 rough riding, and was grievously beset by all the obstacles in his course. 
 Every tooth was a break-neck fence, and every pimple in the measles a 
 stone wall to him. He was down in every fit, of the whooping-cough, 
 and rolled upon and crushed by a whole field of small diseases, that 
 came trooping on each other's heels to prevent his getting up again. 
 Some bird of prey got into his throat instead of the thrush ; and the 
 veiy chickens turning ferocious — if they have anything to do with that 
 infant malady to which they lend their name — worried him like tiger- 
 oats. . . . 
 
 Thus Paul grew to be nearly five years old. He was a pretty little 
 fellow, though there was something wan and wistful in his small face, that 
 gave occasion to many significant shakes of Mrs. Wickam's head. . . . 
 
 He was childish and sportive enough at times, and not of a sullen 
 disposition; but he had a strange, old-fashioned, thoughtful way, at 
 other times, of sitting brooding in his minia^^ure arm-chair, when he 
 looked (and talked) like one of those terrible little Beings in the Fairy 
 tales, who, at a hundred and fifty or two hundred years of age, fantasti. 
 cally represent the children for whom they have been substituted. 
 
 Mr. Domhey becomes imeasy about this odd boy, and sends 
 him to Brighton to board with an old lady named Pipchin, who 
 has acquired an immense reputation as a manager of children. 
 But little Paul grows more old-fashioned than ever, without 
 
DOMBEY AND SON. 283 
 
 growing any stronger; and his father, bent on his leamini:^ 
 everything, and being brought forward rapidly, resolves to mal<e 
 a change, and accordingly enrols him as a student in Dr. Blimber's 
 educational establishment, whicSi is conducted on the hothouse 
 or forcing principle. His health continues to fail, however, and 
 at last he is taken home to die. 
 
 Paril had sever risen from his little bed. He lay there, listening to 
 the noises in the street, quite tranquilly ; not caring much how the time 
 went, but watching it, and watching everything about him with observ- 
 ing eyes. 
 
 When the sunbeams stmck into his room through the rustlinsr blinds, 
 and quivered on the opposite wall, like golden water, he kniovr that 
 evening was coming on, and that the sky was red and beautiful. As the 
 reflection died away, and a gloom went creeping up the wall, he watched 
 it deepen, deepen, deepen, into night. Then he thought how the long 
 streets were dotted with lamps, and how the peaceful stars were shining 
 overhead. His fancy had a strange tendency to wander to the river, 
 which he knew was flowing through the great city ; and now he thought 
 how black it was, and how deep it would look reflecting the hosts of 
 stars — and, more than all, how steadily it rolled away to meet the sea. 
 
 As it grew later in the night, and footsteps in the street became so 
 rare, that he could hear them coming, count them as they passed, and 
 lose them in the hollow distance, he would lie and watch the many- 
 coloured ring about the candle, and wait patiently for day. His only 
 trouble was the swift and rapid river. He felt forced, sometimes, to try 
 to stop it — to stem it with his childish hands, or ohoke its way with 
 sand — and when he saw it coming on resistless he cried out. But a 
 word from Florence, who was always at his side, restored him to him- 
 self ; and leaning his poor head upon her breast, he told Floy of his 
 dream, and smiled. 
 
 When day began to dawn again, he watched for the sun j and, when 
 its cheerful light began to sparkle in the room, he pictured to himself — 
 pictured ! he saw — ^the high church-towers rising up into the naorning 
 sky, the town reviving, waking, starting into life once more, the river 
 glistening as it rolled (but rolling fast as ever) and the country bright 
 with dew. Familiar sounds and cries came by degrees into the street 
 below ; the servants in the house were roused and busy ; faces looked in 
 at the door ; and voices asked his attendants softly how he was. Paul 
 always answered for himself, " I am better — I am a great deal better, 
 thank you ! Tell papa so." 
 
 By little and little, he got tired of the bustle of the day, the noise of 
 carriages and carts and people passing and repassing, and would fall 
 asleep, or be troubled with a restless and uneasy sense again — the child 
 could hardly tell whether this were in his sleeping or his waking 
 moments — of that rushing river. " Why will it never stop, Floy P " he 
 would sometimes ask her. " It is bearing me away, I think.'* 
 
 But Floy could always soothe and reassure him, and it was his daily 
 delight to make her lay her head down on his pillow and take some rest. 
 
 '* You are always watching me, Floy. Let me watch you now ! " 
 They would prop him up with cushions in a comer of his bed, and there 
 he would recline the while she lay beside him : bending forward often- 
 times to kiss her, and whispering to those who were near that she was 
 tired, and how she had sat up so many nights beside him. 
 
284 THE DICKENS DIOTIONAEY. 
 
 Thus the flush of the day, in its heat and light, would gradually 
 decline ; and again the golden water would be dancing on the wall. 
 
 He was visited by as many as three grave doctors — they used to 
 assemble downstairs, and come up together — and the room was so 
 quiet, and Paul was so observant of them (though he never asked of 
 anybody what they said), that he even knew the difference in the sound 
 of their watches. But his interest centred in Sir Parker Peps, who 
 always took his seat on the side of the bed. For Paul had heard them 
 say loag ago that that gentleman had been with his mamma when she 
 clasped Florence in her arms, and died. And he could not forget it 
 now. He liked him for it. He was not afraid. 
 
 The people round him changed as unaccountably as on that first 
 night at Dr. Blimber's — except Florence ; Florence never changed — and 
 what had been Sir Parker Peps, was now his father, sitting with his 
 head upon his hand. Old Mrs. Pipchin, dozing in an easy-chair, often 
 changed to Miss Tox, or his aunt ; and Paul was quite content to shut 
 his eyes ag-ain, and see what happened next without emotion. But this 
 figure with its head upon its hand returned so often and remained so 
 long, and sat so still and solemn, never speaking, never being spoken to, 
 and rarely Kfting up its face, that Paul began to wonder languidly, if it 
 were real j and in the night-time saw it sitting there, with fear. 
 
 " Floy ! " he said, " what is that ? " 
 
 " Where, dearest ? " 
 
 " There ! At the bottom of the bed." 
 
 " There's nothing there, except papa." 
 
 The figure lifted up its head, and rose, and coming to the bedside, 
 said : " My own boy ! Don't you know me?" 
 
 Paul looked in the face, and thought, was this his father ? But 
 the face so altered to his thinking, thrilled while he gazed, as if it were 
 in pain ; and before he could reach out both his hands to take it between 
 them, and draw it towards him, the figure turned away quickly from the 
 little bed, and went out at the door. 
 
 Paul looked at Florence with a fluttering heart, but he knew what 
 she was going to say, and stopped her with his face against her lips. 
 The next time he observed the figure sitting at the bottom of the bed, he 
 called to it. 
 
 " Don't be so sorry for me, dear papa ! Indeed I am quite happy ! " 
 
 His father coming and bending down to him — which he did quickly, 
 and without first pausing by the bedside — Paul held him round the neck 
 and j-epeated those words to him several times, and very earnestly; and 
 Paul never saw him in his room again at any time, whether it were day 
 or night, but he called out, "Don't be so sorry for me ! Indeed I am 
 quite happy ! " This was the beginning of his always saying in the 
 morning that he was a great deal better, and that they were to tell his 
 father so. 
 
 How many times the golden water danced upon the wall ; how many 
 nights the dark, dark river rolled towards the sea in spite of him ; Paul 
 never counted, never sought to know. If their kindness, or his sense of 
 it, could have increased, they were more kind and he more grateful every 
 day ; but whether they were many days or few, appeared of little 
 moment now to the gentle boy. 
 
 One night he had been thinking of his mother, and of her picture in 
 the drawing-room downstaii's, and thought she must have loved sweet 
 Florence better than his father did to have licld her in her arms when 
 she felt that she was dying—for even he, her brother, who had such 
 
DOMBBY AND SON. 285 
 
 dear love for her, could have no greater wish than that. The train of 
 thought suggested to him to inquire if he had ever seen his mother ; for 
 he could not remember whether they had told hira yes or no, the river 
 running very fast and confusing his mind. 
 
 " Floy, did I ever see mamma ? " 
 
 " No, darling, why ? " 
 
 "Did I ever see any kind face, like mamma's, looking at me when I 
 was a baby, Floy ? " 
 
 He asked incredulously, as if he had some vision of a face before 
 him. 
 
 " Oh yes, dear ! *' 
 
 " Whose, Floy ? " 
 
 *' Your old nurse's. Often." 
 
 "And where is my old nurse?" said Paul. "li she dead too? 
 floy, are we all dead, except yon ? " 
 
 There was a hurry in the room for an instant — ^longer, perhaps ; but 
 it seemed no more — then all was still again ; and Florence, with her 
 face quite colourless, but smiling, held his head upon her arm. Her 
 arm trembled very much. 
 
 " Show me that old nurse, Floy, if you please." 
 
 " She is not here, darling. She shall come to-morrow." 
 
 " Thank you, Floy." 
 
 Paul closed his eyes with those words, and fell asleep. When he 
 awoke the sun was high, and the broad day was clear and warm. He 
 lay a little, looking at the windows, which were open, and the curtains 
 rustling in the air, and waving to and fro ; then he said : " Floy, is it 
 to-morrow ? Is she come ? " 
 
 Someone seemed to go in quest of her. Perhaps it was Susan. 
 Paul thought he heard her telling him, when he had closed his eyes 
 again, that she would soon be back ; but he did not open them to see. 
 She kept her word — perhaps she had never been away — but the next 
 thiug that happened was a noise of footsteps on the stairs, and then 
 Paul woke — woke mind and body — 'and sat upright in his bed. He saw 
 them now about him. There was no grey mist before them as there had 
 been sometimes in the night. He knew them everyone and called them 
 by their names. 
 
 " And who is this ? Is this my old nurse ? " said the child, regarding 
 with a radiant smile a figure coming in. 
 
 Yes, yes. No other stranger would have shed those tears at sight of 
 him, and called him her dear boy, her pretty boy, her own poor blighted 
 child. No other woman would have stooped down by his bed, and taken 
 up his wasted hand, and put it to her lips and breast, as one who harl 
 some right to fondle it. No other woman would have so forgotten 
 everybody there but him and Floy, and been so full of tenderness aui 
 pity. 
 
 " Floy ! this is a kind, good face," said Paul. " I am glad to see it 
 sgain. Don't go away, old nurse ! Stay here." 
 
 His senses were all quickened, and he heard a name he knew. 
 
 " Who was that, who said ' Walter ?'" he said, looking round. 
 ■ Some one said Walter. Is he here ? I should like to see him very 
 touch." 
 
 Nobody replied directly ; but his father soon said to Susan, "Call 
 him back, then ; let him come up." After a short pause of expecta- 
 tion, during which he looked with smiling interest and wonder on his 
 nurse, and saw that she had not forgotten Floy, Walter was brongb)!-. 
 
286 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 into the room. His open face and manner, and his cheerful eyes had 
 always made him a favourite with Paul ; and when Paul saw him he 
 stretched out his hand and said " Good-bye ! " 
 
 " Good-bye, my child ! " said Mrs. Pipchin, hurrying to his bed's 
 head. " Not good-bye ? " 
 
 For an instant, Paul looked at her with the wistful face with which 
 he had so often gazed upon her in his comer by the fire. " Ah, Yes," 
 he said placidly, " good-bye ! Walter dear, good-bye ! " — turning his 
 head to where he stood, and putting out his hand again. " Where is 
 papa ? " 
 
 He felt his father's breath upon his cheek before the words had parted 
 from his lips. 
 
 " Eemember Walter, dear papa," he whispered, looking in his face. 
 " Remember Walter. I was fond of Walter ! " The feeble hand waved 
 in the air as if it cried " Good-bye !" to Walter once again. 
 
 "Now lay me down," he said, "and Floy, come close to me, and 
 let me see you." 
 
 Sister and brother wound their arms around each other, and the 
 golden light came streaming in, and fell upon them, locked together. 
 
 " How fast the river runs between its green banks and the rushes, 
 Floy ! But it's very near the sea. I hear the waves ! They always 
 said so ! " 
 
 Presently he told her that the motion of the boat upon the stream 
 was lulhng him to rest. How green the banks were now, how bright the 
 flowers growing on them, and how tall the rushes ! Now the boat was 
 out at sea, but gliding smoothly on. And now there was a shore before 
 him. Who stood on the bank ! 
 
 He put his hands together, as he had been used to do at his prayers. 
 He did not remove his arms to do it ; but they saw him fold them so 
 behind her neck. 
 
 " Mamma is like you, Floy. I know her by the face ! But tell 
 them that the print upon the stairs at school is not divine enough. The 
 light about the head is shining on me as I go ! " 
 
 The golden ripple on the wall came back again, and nothing else 
 stirred in the room. The old, old fashion ! The fashion that came in 
 with our first garments, and will last unchanged until our race has run 
 its course, and the wide firmament is rolled up like a scroll. The old, 
 old fashion — ^Death ! 
 
 Oh thank God, all who see it, for that older fashion yet of Immor- 
 tality ! And look upon us, angels of young children, with regards not 
 quite estranged when the swift river bears us to the ocean 1 
 
 (Cli. i-iii., v.-viii., x.-xii., xiv., xvi) 
 
 DOMBET, MR. PA TIL. A London merchant, very wealthy, 
 very starched and pompous, intensely obstinate, and pos- 
 sessed by a conviction that the house of Dombey and 
 Son is the central fact of the universe. He has a daughter 
 Morence, who is of no consequence in his eyes ; and a son 
 Paul, on whom all his hopes and affections centre, but who 
 dies in childhood. He marries for his second wife a woman 
 whose pride is equal to his own, and who not only has no 
 love to give him, but refuses to render him the deference and 
 
DOMBEY AND SON. 287 
 
 sulDmission which he exacts as his due. Goaded to desperation, 
 at last, hy his arrogance, and by the slights and affronts he 
 puts upon her, she elopes, upon the anniversary of her marriage, 
 with Mr. Carker, Mr. Dombey's manager, whom he had chosen 
 as an instrument of her humiliation, content to wear the ap- 
 pearance of an adulteress (though not such in reality), if she 
 can only avenge herself upon her husband. But Mr. Dombey, 
 though keenly sensitive to the disgrace she has inflicted upon 
 him, and haunted by the dread of public ridicule, abates no jot 
 of his pride or obstinacy. He drives his daughter from his 
 house, believing her to be an accompKce of his wife, forbids 
 the name of either to be mentioned in his presence, and pre- 
 serves the same calm, cold, impenetrable exterior as ever. His 
 trouble preys upon his miad, however ; his prudence in 
 matters of busiuess deserts him ; and the great house of which 
 he is the head, soon goes down in utter bankruptcy. But 
 this crowning retribution proves a blessing after all; for it 
 undermines his pride, melts his obstinacy, and sets his in- 
 justice plainly before him. His daughter seeks him out, and 
 in her home he passes the evening of his days, a wiser and a 
 better man. (Ch. i.-iii., v., vi., viii, x., xi., xiii., xvL, xviii., 
 XX., xxi., xxvi.-xxviii., xxx., xxxi., xxxv., xxxvi., xl.-xliv., 
 xlvii., li., lii., Iv., Iviii., lix., Ixi., Ixii.) See Dombey, Little 
 Paul. 
 
 FEEDER, REVEREND ALFRED, M.A, A brother of 
 ]\Ir. Feeder, B.A. (Ch. Ix.) 
 
 FEEDER, MR., B.A. An assistant in the establishment of 
 Blimber ; afterwards his son-in-law and successor. (Ch. xi., 
 xii., xiv., xli., Ix.) 
 
 FEENIX, COUSIN, A superannuated nobleman, nephew to 
 the Honourable Mrs. Skewton, and cousin to Edith Dombey. 
 (Ch. xxxi., xxxvi., xli., li., Ixi.) 
 
 Cousin Feenix was a man about town, forty years ago ; but he is 
 still so juvenile in figure and in manner, and so well got up, that 
 strangers are amazed when thej discover latent wrinkles in his lord- 
 ship's face, and crowsfeet in his eyes ; and first observe him, not 
 exactly certain when he walks across a room, of going quite straight 
 to where he wants to go. But Cousin Feenix, getting up at half-past 
 Beven o'clock or so, is quite another thing from Cousin Feenix got up ; 
 and very dim, indeed, he looks, while being shaved at Long's Hotel, 
 in Bond Street. 
 
 FLOWERS. ISirs. Skewton's maid. (Ch. xxvii, xxx., xxxv.- 
 xxxvii., xL) 
 
 GAME CHICKEN, THE. A professional boxer and prize- 
 fighter, with very short hair, a broken nose, and a considerable 
 
288 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 tract of bare and sterile country behind eacb ear. He is a 
 friend of Mr. Toots, whom he knocks about the head three 
 times a week for the small consideration of ten and six per 
 visit. (Ch. xxii., xxviii., xxxii., xli., xliv., Ivi) 
 
 GA Y, WALTER. A young man in the employ of ]\Ir. Dombey ; 
 nephew to Sol Gills. He makes the acquaintance of Florence 
 Dombey, and falls in love with her, but is soon afterward sent 
 to Barbadoes to fiU a junior situation in the counting-house 
 there. The ship in which he sails is lost at sea, and it is long 
 thought that he went down with her ; but he finally returns 
 and marries Florence. (Ch. iv., vi., ix., x., xiii, xv.-xvii., 
 xix., xlix., 1., Ivi., Ivii., Ixi., Ixii.) See Cuttle, Captain 
 Edward. 
 
 GILLS, SOLOMON. A nautical instrument maker ; uncle to 
 Walter Gay. When he hears of the loss of the ship in which 
 his nephew has sailed, he goes abroad in quest of him, leaving 
 his shop in the hands of Captain Cuttle. (Ch. iv., vi., ix., x., 
 XV., xvii., xix., xxii., xxiii., xxv., Ivi., Ivii., Ixii.) 
 
 To say nothing of his Welsh wig, which was as plain and stubhorn 
 a Welsh wig as ever was worn, and in which he looked like anything 
 but a Eover, he was a slow, quiet-spoken, thoughtful old fellow, with 
 eyes as red as if they had been small suns looking at you through a 
 fog ; and a newly-awakened manner, such as he might have acquired 
 by having stared for three or four days successively through every 
 optical instrument in his shop, and suddenly came back to the world 
 again, to find it green. 
 
 GLUBB, OLD. An old man employed to draw little Paul 
 
 Dombey's couch. (Ch. xii) 
 GRANGER, MRS. EDITH. See Dombey, Mrs. Edith. 
 HOWLER, THE REVEREND MELCHISEDECH. A 
 
 minister *' of the ranting persuasion," who predicts the speedy 
 
 destruction of the world. He was formerly employed m the 
 
 West India Docks, but was "discharged on suspicion of 
 
 screwing gimlets into puncheons, and applying his lips to the 
 
 orifice." (Ch. xv., Ix.) 
 JEMIMA. Mrs. Toodle's unmarried sister, who lives with her 
 
 and helps her take care of the children. (Ch. ii., vi.) 
 JOE. A labourer. (Ch. vi.) 
 JOHN. A poor man with no regular employment ; father of 
 
 Martha, a deformed and sickly girl. (Ch. xxiv.) See Martha. 
 JOHNSON. A pupil of Doctor Blimber's. (Ch. xii, xiv.) 
 KA TE. An orphan child, visiting Sir Bamet and Lady Skettles, 
 
 at Eulham, with her aunt, during Florence Dombey's stay 
 
 there. (Ch. xxv.) 
 
DOMBEt A^n SOH. 289 
 
 MACSflNGJSEy ALEXANDER. Son of Mrs. MacStinger, 
 aged two years and three months. His mother never enters 
 upon any action of importance without previously inverting 
 him to bring him within range of a brisk battery of slaps, and 
 then setting him down on the street pavement ; a cool paving- 
 stone being usually found to act as a powerful restorative. 
 (Ch. xxiii., XXV., xxix., Ix.) 
 
 MACSTINGER, CHARLES, called "Chowlet" by his play- 
 mates. Another son of Mrs. MacStinger. (Ch. xxxix., Ix.) 
 
 MACSTINGER, JULIANA. Mrs. MacStinger's daughter; 
 the very picture of her mother. " Another year or two, the 
 captain " [Captain Cuttle] " thought, and to lodge where that 
 child was would be destruction." (Ch. xxv., xxix., Ix.) 
 
 MA C STINGER, MRS. Captain Cuttle's landlady ; a vixenish 
 widow, living at ITo. 9, Erig Place, near the India Docks. 
 She exhibits a disposition to retain her lodgers by physical 
 force, if necessary. The captain stands in mortal fear of her ; 
 though, as he says, he " never owed her a penny," and has 
 "done her a world of good turns too." Circumstances, 
 however, occur, that make it absolutely necessary for him to 
 remove to another part of the city ; and, as he dare not ac- 
 quaint her with the fact, he resorts to stratagem to effect 
 his purpose. 
 
 In the silence of night, the Captain packed up his heavier property 
 in a chest, whicli he locked, intending to leave it there, in all probability 
 for ever, but on the forlorn chance of one day finding a man sufficiently 
 bold and desperate to come and ask for it. Of his lighter necessaries, 
 the Captain made a bundle j and disposed his plate about his person, 
 ready for flight. At the hour of midnight, when Brig Place was buried 
 in slumber, and Mrs. MacStinger was lulled in sweet oblivion, with her 
 infants around her, the guilty Captain, stealing down on tiptoe, in the 
 dark, opened the door, closed it softly after him, and took to his heels. 
 
 Pursued by the image of Mrs. MacStinger springing out of bed, and, 
 regardless of costume, following and bringing him back ; pursued also 
 by a consciousness of his enormous crime ; Captain Cuttle held on at a 
 great pace, and allowed no grass to grow under his feet, between Brig 
 Place and the Instrument-maker's door. It opened when he knocked — 
 for Kob was on the watch — and when it was bolted and locked behind 
 him. Captain Cuttle felt comparatively safe. 
 
 " Whew I " cried the Captain, looking round him, " It's a breather I " 
 
 " Nothing the matter, is there. Captain ? " cried the gaping Eob. 
 
 ** No, no ! ** said Captain Cuttle, after changing colour, and listening 
 to a passing footstep in the street. " But mind ye, my lad ; if any lady, 
 except either of them two aa you see t'other day, ever comes and asks 
 for Cap'en Cuttle, be sure to report no person of that name known, nor 
 never heard of here ; observe them orders, will you ? " 
 
 " I'll take care. Captain," returned liob. 
 
 ** You might say — ^if you hked," hesitated the Captain, ♦* that you'd 
 
 y 
 
290 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 read in the paper that a Cap'en of that name was gone to AiistralJa, 
 emigrating, along with a whole ship's complement of people as had all 
 swore never to come back no more." 
 
 The brave old salt takes great precautions against discovery 
 and recapture ; but Mrs. MacStinger finds him out at last, and 
 descends upon him while lie is engaged in a consultation with 
 his friend Jack Eunsby. The captain tries to effect his escape, 
 but in vain ; for he is stopped by the little MacStingers, who 
 cling to his legs with loud screams of recognition. 
 
 " Oh, Cap'en Cuttle, Cap'en Cuttle ! " said Mrs. MacStinger, making 
 her chin rigid, and shaking it in unison with what, but for the weakness 
 of her sex, might be described as her -Sst. "Oh, Cap'en Cuttle, Cap'en 
 Cuttle, do vou dare to look me in the face, and not he struck down in 
 the berth!" 
 
 The Captain, who looked anything but daring, feebly muttered 
 " Stand by ! " 
 
 " Oh I was a weak and trusting Fool when I took you under my 
 roof, Cap'en Cuttle, I was ! " cried Mrs. MacStinger. " To think of the 
 benefits I've showered on that man, and the way in which I brought my 
 children up to love and Tionour him as if he was a father to 'em, when 
 there an't a 'ousekeeper, no nor a lodger in our street, don't know that I 
 lost money by that man, and by his guzzlings and his muzzlings " — Mrs. 
 MacStinger used the last word for the joint sake of alliteration and 
 aggravation, rather than for the expression of any idea — '* and when 
 they cried out one and all, shame upon him for putting upon an indus- 
 trious woman, up early and late for the good of her young family, and 
 keeping her poor place so clean that a individual might have ate his 
 dinner, yes, and his tea too, if ho was so disposed, off any one of the floors 
 or stairs, in spite of all his guzzlicgs and his muzzlings, such was the 
 care and pains bestowed upon him! " 
 
 Mrs. MacStinger stopped to fetch her breath ; and her face flushed 
 with triumph in this second happy introduction of Captain Cuttle's 
 muzzlings. 
 
 . " And he runs awa-a-a-ay ! " cried Mrs. MacStinger, with a length, 
 ening out of the last syllable that made the unfortunate Captain regard 
 himself as the meanest of men ; " and keeps away a twelvemonth ! 
 From a woman! Sitch is his conscience! He hasn't the courage to 
 meet her hi-i-i-igh;" long syllable again; "but steals away, like a 
 felion. ... A pretty sort of a man is Cap'en Cuttle," said Mrs. Mac- 
 Stinger, with a sharp stress on the first syllable of the Captain's name, 
 " to take on for — and to lose sleep for — and to faint along of — and to 
 think dead forsooth — and to go up and down the blessed town hke 
 a mad woman, asking questions after ! Oh, a pretty sort of a man ! 
 Ha, ha, ha, ha! He's worth all that trouble and distress of miud, and 
 much more. That* .9 nothing, bless you ! Ha, ha, ha, ha ! Cap'ea 
 Cuttle," said Mrs. MacStinger, with a severe reaction in her voice aad 
 manner, " I wish to kiaow if you're a-coming home." 
 
 The frightened Captain looked into his hat, as if he saw nothing for 
 it but to put it on, and give himself up. 
 
 " Cap'en Cuttle," repeated Mrs. MacStinger, in the same determined 
 Snanner, " I wish to know if you're a-coming home, sir." 
 
 The Captain seemed qiiite ready to q-o, but faint ly suggested sssxe©- 
 thing to the effect of " 001 making so much noise about it." 
 
DOMBEY ^D SO!?. 291 
 
 The gallant captain i3 relieved, however, by Eunshy, who 
 diverts the widow's attention from his friend, and soothes and 
 softens her by a little delicate llattery, and by otfering to " con- 
 woy " her home, which he does, retnrning, after some hours^ 
 with the captain's chest, which is held to imply a relinquish- 
 ment of any further claims upon the owner by his late land- 
 lady. Mrs. MacStinger subsequently marries Captain Bunsby. 
 (Ch. ix., xvii., xxiii., xxv., xxxix., ivi., Ix.) 
 
 MARTHA. The daughter of a poor labouring man, who finds 
 it very difficult to get work to do. She is ugly, misshapen, 
 peevish, ill-conditioned, ragged, and dirty, but dearly loved 
 by her father, who makes his own life miserable to add to 
 her comfort. (Ch. xxiv.) See John. 
 
 MARWOOD, ALICE. See Brown, Alice. 
 
 'MELIA. A servant-girl at Doctor Blimber's. (Ch. xiL, xiv., 
 xli.) 
 
 MIFFf MRS. A wheezy little pew-opener ; a mighty dry old 
 lady, with a vinegary face, an air of mystery, and a thhsty 
 soul for sixpences and shillings. (Ch. xxxi., Ivii.) 
 
 MORFIN, MR. Head clerk to Dombey and Son ; a cheerful- 
 looking, hazel-eyed, elderly bachelor, who befriends John 
 Carker, and eventually marries his sister Harriet. (Ch. xiii., 
 xxxiii., liii., Iviii., Ixii.) 
 
 NATIVE, THE. A dark servant of Major Bagstock's, so 
 called by Miss Tox, though without connecting him with any 
 geographical idea whatever. He has no particular name, but 
 answers to any vituperative epithet. (Ch. vii, x., xx., xxi. 
 xxvi., xxvii., xxix., IviiL^ lix.) 
 
 NIPPER, SUSAN. Florence Dombey's maid ; a short, brown, 
 womanly girl, with a little snub nose and black eyes like jet 
 beads. jN'otwithstanding a peculiarly sharp and biting manner, 
 she is, in the main, a good-natured little body, and is wholly 
 devoted to her mistress. She has the audacity to tell Air. 
 Dombey what she thinks of his treatment of his daughter, 
 and is immediately discharged from that gentleman's servic*;. 
 She afterwards marries Mr. Toots, who considers her " a most 
 extraordinary woman." (Ch. iii., v., vi., xiii., xv., xvl, xviii., 
 xix., xxii., xxiii., xxviii., xxxii., xliLL, xliv., Ivi, Ivii., lx.-lxii.) 
 See Toots, Mr. P. 
 
 PANKE7, MISS. A boarder at Mrs. Pipchin's "select in- 
 fantine boarding-house," worth " a good eighty pounds a yca^ '' 
 to her. (Ch. viii., xi.) 
 
 PAUL, LITTLE, See Dombey, Little Paui^ 
 
 ^2 
 
292 THB DlCSJJITS DldTlOiTASir. 
 
 PEFSy DOCTOR PARKER. One of tlie court physiciaSiS, 
 and a man of immense reputation for assisting at the increase 
 of great families, on wliich account Ms services are secured by 
 Mr. Dombey when little Paul is born. (Cb. i, xvi) 
 
 PEROHf MR. Messenger in Mr. Dombey's office, living (wben 
 
 at home) at Balls Pond. (Ch. xiiL, xvii, xxii., xxiv., xxxi., 
 
 xlvi, H., liii., Iviii., lix.) 
 PERCH, MRS. His wife, always in an interesting condition. 
 
 (Ch. xiiL, xxii., xxxi., xxxv., li., liii, Iviii., lix.) 
 PILKINS, MR. Mr. Dombe/s family physician. (Ch. i., 
 
 viiL) 
 PIP CHIN, MRS. An old lady living at Brighton, with whom 
 
 little Paul Dombey, accompanied by his sister Florence and a 
 
 nurse, is sent to board. She afterwards becomes Mr. Dombey's 
 
 housekeeper. 
 
 Mis. Pipcliin ... an elderly lady, who had for some time devoted 
 all the energies of her mind to the study and treatment of infancy. 
 She was generally spoken of as " a great manager " of children ; and 
 the secret of her management was, to give them everything that they 
 didn't like, and nothing that they did. Mrs. Pipchin had also founded 
 great fame on being a widow lady whose husband had broken his 
 heart in pumping water out of the Peruvian mines. . . . This was a 
 great recommendation to Mr. Dombey; for it had a rich sound. Broke 
 his heart of the Peruvian mines, mused Mr. Dombey. Well, a very 
 respectable way of doing it. . . . 
 
 This celebrated Mrs. Pipchin was a marvellous ill-favoured, ill- 
 conditioned old lady, of a stooping figure, with a mottled face, like 
 bad marble, a hook nose, and a hard grey eye, that looked as if it 
 might have been hammered at on an anvil without sustaining any 
 injury. Forty years at least had elapsed since the Peruvian mines 
 had been the death of Mr. Pipchin; but his relict still wore black 
 bombazeen, of such a lustreless, deep, dead, sombre shade, that gas 
 itself couldn't light her up after dark, and her presence was a quencher 
 to any number of candles. She was such a bitter old lady, that one 
 was tempted to believe there had been some mistake in the application 
 of the Peruvian machinery, and that all her waters of gladness and 
 milk of human kindness had been pumped out dry, instead of the 
 mines. 
 
 RICHARDS. See Toodle, Polly. 
 
 ROB THE GRINDER See Toodle, Eobin. 
 
 SKETTLES, LADY. The wife of Sir Bamet Skettlos. 
 (Ch. xiv., xxiii., xxiv., xxviii., Ix.) 
 
 SKETTLES, _ SIR BARNET. A member of the House of 
 Commons, living in a pretty villa at Eulham, on the banks of 
 the Thames. It was anticipated that, when he did catch the 
 speaker's eyes (which he had been expected to do for three or 
 four years), he would rather touch up the Eadicals. His 
 
i)OMBEY AND SON. 293 
 
 object in life is constantly to extend the range of his acquaint- 
 ance. (Ch. xiv., xxiii., xxiv., xxviii., Ix.) 
 
 SKETTLE8, BARNET, JUNIOR. His son; a pupH of 
 Doctor BKmber's. (Ch. xiv., xxiv., xxviii.) 
 
 SKEWTON, THE HON. MRS., called " Cleopatra," from 
 the name appended to a sketch of her published in her youth. 
 Aunt to Lord Feenix, and mother to Edith Dombey. An old 
 lady, who was once a belle, and who still retains, at the age 
 of seventy, the juvenility of dress, the coquettishness of 
 manner, and the aifectation of speech which distinguished her 
 fifty years before. She parades her fair daughter through aU 
 the fashionable resorts in England in order to sell her to the 
 highest bidder. She succeeds in making a very " advantageous 
 match " for her, but dies soon after of paralysis. (Gh. xxl, 
 xxvi.-xxviii., xxx., xxxv.-xxxvii., xl., xii.) 
 
 SOWNDS. A portentous beadle, orthodox and corpulent, who 
 spends the greater part of his time sitting in the sun, on the 
 church steps, or, in cold weather, sitting by the fire. (Ch. v., 
 xxxi., Ivii.) 
 
 TOODLE, MR. Husband to Polly Toodle, and father to " Eob 
 the Grinder." He is at first a stoker, but afterwards becomes 
 an engine-driver. (Gh. ii., xv., xx., lix.) 
 
 TOODLE, MRS. POLLY, called "Richards" by Mr. Dombey 
 and his family. His wife ; foster-mother of little Paid Dombey; 
 a plump, rosy-cheeked, wholesome, apple-faced young woman 
 with five children of her own, one of them being a nursing 
 infant. (Ch. ii., iii., v.-vii., xv., xvi., xxii., xxxviii, Ivi., lix.) 
 
 TOODLE, ROBIN, called by the family "Biler" (in remem- 
 brance of the steam-engine), otherwise styled " Rob the 
 Grinder." Their son, nominated by Mr. Dombey to a vacancy 
 in the establishment of " The Charitable Grinders ; " but the 
 child meets with so much badgering from the boys in the 
 street, and so much abuse from the master of the school, that 
 he runs away. He afterwards becomes the spy and instrument 
 of Mr. Carker, and finally enters the service of Miss Tox with 
 a view to his " restoration to respectability." (Gh. ii, v., vi, 
 XX., xxii., xxiii, xxv., xxxi., xxxii, xxxviii., xxxix., xlu., xlvi, 
 Iii, lix.) 
 
 TOOTS, MR. P. The eldest of Doctor Blimber's pupils; a 
 wealthy young gentleman, with swollen nose and excessively 
 large head, of whom people did say that the doctor had rather 
 overdone it with young Toots, and that, when he began to have 
 whiskers, he left off having bratRs. Saving licence to pursue 
 
S£4 THE DICKENS DICTIOI>AEY. 
 
 his own course of study, he occupies his time chiefly in writing 
 long letters to himself from persons of distinction, addressed 
 " P. Toots, Esq., Brighton, Sussex," which he preserves in lus 
 desk with great care. His personal appearance takes a great 
 deal of his attention, and he prides himself especially upon 
 his tailors, Burgess and Co., as being " fash'nal^le, but very 
 dear." His conversational ability is not remarkable ; but his 
 deep voice, his sheepish manner, and his stock phrases — of 
 which *' It's of no consequence " is the most usual — are par- 
 ticularly noteworthy. Of his intellectual and social deliciencies 
 ke is by no means ignorant, however. " I am not what is 
 considered a quick sort of a person," he says : " 1 am perfectly 
 aware of that. I don't think anybody could be better ac- 
 quamted with his own — if it was not too strong an expression, 
 I should say with the thickness of his own head than myself." 
 Mr. Toots conceives so strong a passion for Miss Florence 
 Dombey, that he is — to use his own words — " perfectly sore 
 with loving her." His attentions, however, are not encouraged, 
 and he becomes very do^vnhearted. " I know I'm wasting 
 away," he says to Captain Cuttle. "Burgess and Co. have 
 altered my measure, I'm in that state of thinness. If you 
 could see my legs when I take my boots off, you'd form some 
 idea what unrequited affection is." He recovers his health 
 and spirits, however, after no long time, and consoles himself 
 for the loss of Miss Dombey by marrying her maid, ]\Iiss 
 Susan Xipper. The result of this union is a large family of 
 children. After the birth of the third, Mr. Toots betakes 
 himself to the " Wooden Midshipman " to give information of 
 the happy event to his friend Captain Cuttle, whom he always 
 misnames Captain Gills. 
 
 " I knew that you'd be glad to hear, and so I came down myself. 
 We're positively getting on, you know. There's Florence, and Susan, 
 and now here's another little stranger." 
 
 "A female stranger?" inquires the Captain. 
 
 " Yes, Captain Gills," says Mr. Toots, " and I'm glad of it. The 
 oftener we can repeat that most extraordinary woman, my opinion is 
 the better ! " 
 
 " Stand by ! " says the Captain, turning to the old case-bottle 
 with no throat — for it is evening, and The Midshipman's usual mode- 
 rate provision of pipes and glasses is on the board. " Here's to her, 
 &nd may she have ever so many more ! " 
 
 " Thank' ee, Captain Gills," says the delighted Mr. Toots. " I echo 
 the sentiment." 
 
 (Ch. xi., xii., xiv., xviii., xxii., xxviii, xxxi., xxxii., xxxix., 
 
 xli., xlv., xlviii., L, Ivi., Ivii., Ls., Ixii.) 
 
 TOOTS, MRS, See Kippbr, Susast, 
 
DOMBET A^T) SON. 295 
 
 TOWLINSON, THOMAS. Itlr. Dombey's footman. (Ch. v., 
 xviii., XX., xxviii., xxxi., xxxv., xliv., li., lix.) 
 
 TOX, MISS LUCRETIA. A friend of Mrs. CMck's, greatly 
 admired by Major Bagstock. 
 
 The lady . . . was a long, lean fignro, wearing such a faded air, 
 tiat she seemed not to have been made in what linendrapers call 
 " fast colours " originally, and to have, by little and little, washed out. 
 But for this she might have been described as the very pink of 
 general propitiation and politeness. From a long habit of listening 
 admiringly to everything that was said in her presence, and looking at 
 the speakers as if she were mentally engaged in taking off impressioua 
 of tlieii" images upon her soul, never to part with the same but with 
 her life, her head had quite settled on one side. Her hands had con- 
 tracted a spasmodic habit of raising themselves of their own accord as 
 in involuntary admiration. Her eyes were liable to a similar aiTection. 
 She had the softest voice that ever was heard ; and her nose, stupen- 
 dously aquiline, had a little knob in the very centre or keystone of 
 tlie bridge, whence it tended downwards towards her face, as in an 
 invincible determination not to turn up at anything. 
 
 After the death of the fhst Mrs. Dombey, Miss Tox has a 
 modest ambition to succeed her, but, failing of doing so, her 
 regard for Mr. Dombey becomes severely platonic. (Ch. i., ii., 
 v.-viii., X., xviii., xx., xxix., xxxi.,xxxvi.,xxxviii., li.,lix.,lxii.) 
 
 TOZER. A room-mate of Paul Dombey's at Doctor Blimber's ; 
 a solemn young gentleman whose shirt-collar curls up the lobes 
 of his ears. (Ch. xii., xiv., xli., Ix.) 
 
 WICKAM, MRS, A waiter's wife (which would seem equiva- 
 lent to being any other man's widow), and little Paul Dombey's 
 nurse. (Ch. viii., xi., xii., xviii. ^ IviiL) 
 
 Mrs. Wickam was a meek woman, of a fair complexion, vdth her 
 eyebrows always elevated, and her head always drooping ; who was 
 always ready to pity herself, or to be pitied, or to pity anybody else ; 
 ;uid who had a surprising natural gift of viewing all subjects in an 
 utterly forlorn and pitiable light, and bringing dreadful precedents 
 to bear upon them, and deriving the greatest consolation from the 
 exercise of that talent. 
 
 WITHERS. Page to Mrs. Skewton; tall, wan, and thiii. 
 (Ch. xxi., XXV., xxvii., xxx., xxxvii., xl.) 
 
296 THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 PRINCIPAL INCIDENTS, 
 
 Chapter I. Mr. Dombey expresses liis gratification at the birth of a 
 son, and receives the congratulations of his sister, Mrs. Chick j his 
 sister's friend, Miss Tox, presents her offering; Mrs. Dombey, not being 
 able to make the effort urged by Mrs. Chick, gradually fails, and dies 
 clinging to her daughter. — II. Mrs. Chick exerts herself to provide a 
 wet-nurse for little Paul ; Miss Tox also interests herself in the matter, 
 and introduces the Toodle family ; Mrs. Toodle, as Eichards, is engaged. 
 — III. Florence hears from Richards the story of her mother's death ; 
 Susan Nipper makes her first appearance ; Richards, by a little manage- 
 ment, brings the children constantly together. — IV. Solomon Gills, on 
 the occasion of his nepheVs entering the employ of Dombey and Son, 
 produces a bottle of choice Madeira j Captain Cuttle joins the party, 
 and they drink to Dombey and Son, and Daughter. — ^V. Mrs. Chick 
 and Miss Tox enjoy a social evening in the nursery, to the disgust of 
 Miss Nipper; little Paul is christened. Miss Tox being one of the 
 sponsors ; chilling effect of the christening collation ; Mr. Dombey 
 shows his regard for Richards by appointing Biler a "Charitable 
 Grinder." — ^VI. Richards and Susan take the children to Staggs'a 
 Gardens, the home of the Toodles ; returning home, Richards discovers 
 Biler in trouble, and goes to his rescue ; an alarm of " Mad Bull " is 
 raised, and the party gets separated ; Florence is picked up by Good 
 Mrs. Brown, who robs her of her clothing and turns her into the streets 
 in rags; she is found by Walter Gay, who takes her to his uncle's, 
 and goes to Mr. Dombey with the news of her safety, which her father 
 receives quite indifferently; Richards is discharged. — YII. Major Joe 
 Bagstock finds himself superseded in the notice of Miss Tox. — 
 VTII. Little Paul, grown to the age of five years, surprises his father 
 by his questions about money; Paul not being strong and well, the 
 doctor recommends sea-air, and he and Florence are sent to Mrs. 
 Pipohin's, at Brighton ; Paul is impolite to Mrs. Pipchin ; Mrs. Wickam 
 expresses some superstitious fears in regard to him ; Paul asks Florence 
 what the waves are always saying. — IX. Walter notices a change in 
 Uncle Sol, and tries to cheer him up ; returning from the oflBce one day, 
 he is astonished to find that Mr. Brogley, a broker, has taken possession 
 of the stock for debt ; Walter looks up Captain Cuttle, whom he has 
 some trouble in coming at on account of the perverseness of his land- 
 lady, Mrs. MacStinger ; the captain takes the matter into consideration, 
 and advises applying to Mr. Dombey for a loan, and he and Walter set 
 off to Brighton for that purpose. — X. Major Bagstock traces the cause of 
 Miss Tox's reserve to her devotion to the Dombeys, and goes to 
 Brighton, where he throws himself in Mr. Dombey's way, and makes his 
 acquaintance ; Walter, supported by Captain Cuttle, makes his applica- 
 tion to Mr. Dombey ; the captain presents his valuables as security ; 
 Mr. Dombey, through Paul, lends the required amount to Mr. Gills. — XI. 
 Mr. Dombey decides to remove Paul from Mrs. Pipchin's to Doctor 
 BKmber's ; Doctor Blimber's establishment, and its methods of teaching ; 
 !Mr. Dombey, accompanied by Florence and Mrs. Pipchin, takes Paul to 
 Doctor Bhmber's, where he is introduced to the family of that learned 
 gentleinan, and where hp is left to be subjected to th© forcing propess 
 
DOMBBY AND SON. 297 
 
 for which that establishment is celebrated. — XII. Miss Blimber takes 
 Paul in hand j Mr. Toots shows his good-wiU ; Miss Blimber starts Paul 
 in his course of study ; Florence obtains the books which contain Paul's 
 lessons, and assists him in their preparation ; Mr. Toots continues to 
 ilterest himself in Paul. — XIII. The deference paid to Mr. Dombey by 
 those in and around his office ; Mr. Carker the manager informs Mr. 
 Dombey of a vacancy in their agency at Barbadoes, and be decides to 
 send Walter Gay to fill it ; Walter hears a conversation between the 
 brothers James and John Carker, in which the position of the latter is 
 defined ; Mr. John Carker tells Walter the story of his temptation and 
 fall, — XIV. Miss Blimber prepares an analysis of Paul's character ; Paul 
 grows more and more old-fashioned; he receives his invitation to 
 Doctor and Mrs. Blimber's " early party ; " he has a fainting-fit in 
 Mr. Feeder's room, and by the Doctor's advice is relieved from his 
 studies ; Paul collects all his little possessions for taking home j at the 
 BKmbers's party, Paul receives the kindest attentions from all present, 
 and Florence becomes a universal favourite ; they all show their fondness 
 for Paul at his departure, and he finally reaches home. — XV. Walter 
 makes up his mind to inform his uncle of the Barbadoes project, and goes 
 to Captain Cuttle to get him to break the news to Sol Gills ; the captain, 
 in consideration of the matter, "bites his nails a bit," and finally decides 
 to see Mr. Dombey and talk it over with him ; Walter, walking about to 
 give the captain time to break the news to Sol Gills, is overtaken by 
 Susan Nipper in a coach, in search of Staggs's Gardens and Mrs. Toodle ; 
 he assists her to find Eichards, and returns with them to Mr. Dombey's 
 house, where he is called in. — XVI. Little Paul, grown more and more 
 feeble, begs to see his old nurse and Walter, and dies with his arms 
 round Florence's neck. — XVII. Not seeing Mr. Dombey at home, Cap- 
 tain Cuttle goes to the office of Dombey and Son, and calls on Mr. 
 Carker the manager; the captain explains his view of the case to 
 Carker, and his aspirations in connection with Walter and Florence, 
 which Mr. Carker takes pains to strengthen, and the captain is fully 
 satisfied that he " has done a little business for the youngsters." — 
 XVIII. Funeral of little Paul, and Mr, Dombey's indifference to Florence ; 
 Mrs. Chick and Miss Tox attempt to console Florence ; Sir Barnet and 
 Lady Skettles invite Florence to visit them, but she prefers to remain at 
 home; Mr. Dombey grows more and more cold towards his daughter; 
 Mr. Toots calls upon Florence, and brings Diogenes, the dog of which 
 Paul was so fond at Doctor Blimber's ; Susan informs Florence that her 
 father is to leave home on the morrow, in company with Major Bag- 
 stock ; Florence goes to her father's room, and tries to excite his affection 
 and sympathy, but finds him still cold and reserved, — XIX. Walter pre- 
 pares to go away, and is giving his uncle a message for Florence, when 
 she and Susan enter the shop ; Florence and Walter take leave of each 
 other, and Florence presents him with a keepsake ; John Carker comes 
 to take leave of Walter; Walter goes aboard the Son and Heir, and 
 she starts upon her voyage. — XX. Mr. Dombey breakfasts with Major 
 Bagstock ; the major speculates on the matrimonial ambition of Miss Tox; 
 Mr. Toodle expresses his sympathy at the death of little Paul, but Mr. 
 Dombey does not respond ; reflections of Mr. Dombey on the road ; the 
 major rallies him on his thoughtf ulness ; they arrive at Leamington. — 
 XXI. Mr. Dombey and Major Bagstock encounter Mrs. Skewton and her 
 daughter Mrs. Granger ; Mrs. Skewton expresses her fondness for 
 *' Nature " and " Heart ; '* Major Bagstock informs Mr. Dombey who 
 these new fr-ends are ; Mr. Dombey and the major call upon the ladieg, 
 
298 THE DICKENS DICTIONAET. 
 
 and Mrs. Granger shows her accomplishments. — XXII. Mr. Carker the 
 manager shows his affection for Mr. Carker the junior, and for their 
 sister ; Mr. Perch inf oi-ms Mr. Carker that Eob the Grinder is seeking 
 employment ; Mr. Carker has him brought in ; Sol GiUs comes to pay 
 the instalment due on his debt, and to inquire for news of the Son amd 
 Heir, which has not been heard from since she sailed ; Carker proposes 
 to put Eob into his employ ; Carker goes home with Eob, and fully 
 engages to take charge of that young hopeful, whom he places as a spy 
 upon Sol Gills J Carker is witness to the discomfiture of Mr. Toots, con- 
 sequent upon that young gentleman's advances to Susan Nipper.— 
 XXIII. The lonely life of Florence in the deserted house; Florence, 
 anxious at the absence of news from Walter, goes with Susan to see Sol 
 Gills, and, not finding him at home, they go to Captain Cuttle's ; meet- 
 ing of Susan Nipper and Mrs. MacStinger; Captain Cattle, at a loss 
 what to say about Walter's ship, consults the oracular Bunsby, who 
 gives an opinion, the "bearings" of which *' lays in the application on 
 it." — XXIV. Florence visits the family of Sir Barnet Skettles at Fulham ; 
 various incidents remind her of her estrangement from her father ; they 
 encounter Carker, who informs Florence that there is no news of 
 the ship. — XXV. Sudden disappearance of Sol Gills; Captain Cuttle, 
 finding no traces of him, runs away from Mrs. MacStinger, and takes 
 possession of the shop. — XXVI. Carker arrives at Leamington; the 
 major and Mrs. Skewton encourage the attention of Mr. Dombey to 
 Edith; Mrs. Skewton accepts for herself and Edith Mr. Dombey's in- 
 Wtation to breakfast, and to a ride to Warwick Castle. — XXVII. Carker 
 meets Edith in the grove, and relieves her from the annoyance of Good 
 Mrs. Brown ; Carker watches Edith closely during the breakfast and 
 the trip to Warwick ; Dombey makes an appointment with Mrs. Granger 
 " for a purpose," and she recapitulates to her mother the management 
 they have used in bringing him to a declaration. — XXVIII. Florence 
 proposes to return home ; how Mr. Toots practised boating ; returning 
 home, Florence and Susan find the house undergoing extensive altera, 
 tions; Florence meets Edith and Mrs. Skewton for the first time, and 
 hears of the approaching marriage of her father. — XXIX. Mrs. Chick 
 calls upon Miss Tox to inform her of Mr. Dombey's contemplated mar- 
 riage ; Miss Tox is overcome by the news, and Mrs. Chick has her eyes 
 opened to the ambitious hopes of her friend, whom she consequently casts 
 off. — XXX. Edith shows a warm friendship for Florence ; she urges her 
 to remain at home alone after her father's marriage; Mrs. Skewton 
 shows her interest in Florence ; Edith refuses to allow Florence to re- 
 main with Mrs. Skewton during her absence. — XXXI. The wedding of 
 Mr. Dombey and Edith Granger; the wedding-breakfast, where Cousin 
 Feenix makes a speech, and Mr. Carker smiles upon the company. — 
 XXXII. Captain Cuttle, keeping close quarters at The Wooden Midship, 
 man, is called upon by Mr. Toots and the Game Chicken ; Mr. Toots is 
 anxious to cultivate Captain Cuttle's acquaintance; he reads from 
 a newspaper an account of the loss of the Son and Heir to Captain 
 Cuttle ; CaptaiQ Cuttle calls again on Mr. Carker, who receives him with 
 less poKteness than before. — -XXXIII. Mr. James Carker' s home near 
 Norwood, with the picture resembhng Edith on the wall; Mr. John 
 Carker's house on the other side of London ; John Carker parts with 
 his sister for the day ; she is visited by a stranger gentleman, who is 
 thoroughly acquainted with their history, and who secures her promise 
 to call on him if they ever need assistance ; Harriet Carker befriend a 
 Alice Brown, a returned convict, — ^XSXIV. Good Mrs. Brown weloomeM 
 
DOMBEY AND SON. 299 
 
 home her daughter ; Mrs. Brown informs Alice what she knows of 
 Carker ; learning that it was his sister who befriended her, she returns 
 to her house, and flings back her gift with curses. — XXXV. Mr. and 
 Mrs. Dombey are welcomed home after their brida-l tour ; Mr. Dombey, 
 ]>)-etending to sleep, watches Florence and Edith> and his heart hardens 
 towards his daughter to find that she has won his wife's love; Florence 
 relates to Edith the story of Walter j Edith waras Florence not to expect 
 to gain through her her father's affection. —XXXVI. Mr. and Mrs. 
 Dombey give an entertainment which is not social ; Cousin Feenix re- 
 lates a story ; Mr. Carker is the only man at ease, and Mrs. Chick feels 
 herself slighted ; Mr. Dombey, in the presence of Carker, makes objections 
 to his wife's conduct. — XXXVII. Carker calls upon Mrs. Dombey, and 
 insists upon an interview; Carker assumes the existence of devoted 
 attachment between Mrs. Dombey and her husband, and endeavours to 
 establish an influence over her through her fear of injuring P^lorence ; 
 Mrs. Skewton is struck with paralysis. — XXXVIII. Miss Tox, abandoned 
 by Mrs, Chick, seeks Richards for information of the Dombeys, and is 
 escorted home by Rob the Grinder. — XXXIX. Captain Cuttle bestows 
 on Mr. Toots the pleasure of his acquaintance, on condition that Florence 
 must never be named or referred to ; Rob the Grinder leaves Captain 
 Cuttle's service ; Captain Cuttle, with the approval of his friend Bunsby, 
 opens Sol Gills's packet in the presence of that worthy ; JVIrs. MacStiuger 
 and her family suddenly appear on the scene; much to Captain Cuttle's 
 amazement, Bunsby pacifies her, and, escorting her home, returns with 
 the captain's box, which he had left at Brig Place on his escape. — XL. 
 Mr. Dombey expresses to Edith his displeasure at her conduct; she 
 avows her feelings towards him, and requests, for the sake of others, 
 mutual forbearance ; Mr. Dombey insists on his own will ; the family, 
 except Mr. Dombey, accompany Mrs. Skewton to Brighton ; Mrs. Skewton 
 and her daughter encounter Good Mrs. Brown and Alice. — XLI. Mr. 
 Toots, accompanied by Florence, calls at Dr. Blimber's ; on their return 
 Mr. Toots is on the point of making a declaration of his love, which 
 Florence checks; death of Mrs. Skewton. — XLII. Rob the Grinder 
 appears in the service of Mr. Carker ; Mr. Dombey and Mr. Carker in. 
 council ; Mr. Dombey instructs Carker to act as his agent in expressing 
 to his wife his demands in regard to her conduct; Mr. Dombey is thrown 
 from his horse and severely hurt, and Carker carries the news of the 
 accident to Edith. — XLIII. Susan Nipper expresses her opinion of Mr. 
 Carker, and of Mrs. Pipchin, who has become housekeeper; Florence 
 goes to her father's room, and kisses him in his sleep ; Florence finds 
 Edith in a state of great agitation after her interview with Carker. — 
 XLIV. Susan Nipper, watching her opportunity, enters Mr. Dombey's 
 room when he is alone, and relieves her mind ; Mrs. Pipchin gives her 
 warning, and she leaves under the escort of Mr. Toots ; she destroys his 
 hopes of ever being loved by Florence. — XLV. Carker requests an inter- 
 view alone with Edith ; he states the position Mr. Dombey would have 
 him fill towards her, and declares himself devoted to her service ; she 
 denies having any affection for her husband; Carker warns her, for 
 Florence's sake, to withdraw her affection from her. — XL VI. Mr. Carker is 
 watched by Good Mrs. Brown and her daughter, who afterwards question 
 Rob the Grinder in regard to his master ; Mr. James Carker again taunts 
 his brother with his disgrace, and sneers at his expressions of good- will 
 towards Mr. Dombey. — XL VII. Edith avoids Florence, and informs her 
 that they must become estranged ; Mr. Dombey persists in correcting 
 Edith in the presence of Carker and Florence j Edith answers him, and ask 
 
300 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 for a separation on his own terms ; Mr. Dombey rejects the proposition ; 
 Carker attempts to conciliate; Edith shrinks from Florence on the 
 stairs ; flight of Edith and Carker ; Florence is struck down by an 
 angry blow from her father. — XL VIII. She flies to the house of Sol 
 Gills, where she is received by Captain Cuttle, from whom she learns of 
 the disappearance of Walter's uncle ; the captain provides for the com- 
 fort of Florence ; Mr. Toots calls, and informs Captain Cuttle that a 
 person whom he met at the door that morning is waiting to see him at 
 Mr. Brogley's ; the captain goes to Brogley's and returns in a state of 
 great excitement. — XLIX. Captain Cuttle takes tender care of Florence, 
 and cheers her by reminding her that " Wal'r's drownded ; " Florence 
 goes shopping with the captain; the captain relates to Florence the 
 story of the ship lost at sea from which one lad was saved ; the shadow 
 of a man appears upon the wall, and she welcomes Walter home, while 
 Captain Cuttle " makes over a little property jintly." — L. Florence 
 relates the reason of her flight from home; Walter reasons that his 
 uncle is stiU alive and will return ; they discuss the position of Florence, 
 and decide to find out Susan as the best attendant for her ; Mr. Toots, 
 distracted with the news of Florence's disappearance, is relieved to find 
 she is safe, though in his rival's charge, and promises to devote himself 
 and the Chicken to the recovery of Susan ; Florence, pained at Walter's 
 avoiding her, seeks an explanation ; their interview results in a mutual 
 profession of love, to the great delight of Captain Cuttle. — LI. Mr. 
 Dombey warns his sister to be silent on the subject of Florence ; Major 
 Bagstock claims the name of Dombey's friend when the time comes for 
 meeting Carker ; how the family disaster affects Mr. Dombey's clerks. — 
 LII. Mr. Dombey goes to the abode of Good Mrs. Brown to hear news of 
 Carker; from a place of concealment he hears Mrs. Brown and her 
 daughter draw from Eob the Grinder, by questions and threats, the 
 secrets of his master's flight with Edith, and their place of destination. 
 — LIII. John Carker is dismissed; Harriet relates to her brother the 
 appearance of their unknown friend, who proves to be Mr. Morfin, of 
 Dombey and Son's house : he relates how he came by a knowledge of 
 their affairs, and promises to assist them ; Mr. Morfin informs Harriet 
 Carker of the condition of her brother's pecuniary connection with 
 Dombey and Son; Alice Brown relents at her share in the betrayal of 
 Carker, and, after relating to Harriet the cause she has to curse him, 
 begs her to warn him that Dombey is on his track. — LIT. Edith appears 
 alone at the apartment in Dijon; Carker joins her; Edith spurns 
 Carker's advances, threatens him with violence if he approaches her, 
 and shows him that her flight with him was in order to avenge the 
 insults she had received from him ; she informs him of her husband's 
 presence in the town, and escapes from the apartment, just as Mr. 
 Dombey arrives at the door; Carker escapes through an obscure passage. 
 — LV. Carker hastens back to England, terrifled by the feeling that 
 Mr. Dombey is pursuing him; he stops to rest at a remote country 
 station, and, as he is about to proceed, he encounters Mr. Dombey, in 
 avoiding whom he steps upon the rails, and is cut to pieces by a passing 
 train. — LVI. Mr. Toots returns to The Midshipman with Susan Nipper, 
 and becomes reconciled to the loss of Florence ; Mrs. Bichards becomes 
 housekeeper at The Midshipman ; Mr. Toots's unhappiness at hearing th© 
 banns read in church ; return of Sol Gills ; his long absence and his 
 silence are explained ; the Game Chicken expresses his disgust, and he 
 and Mr. Toots part company. — LYII. Walter and Florence visit the 
 tomb of little Paul ; naarriage of Walter and Florence, and their departure 
 
DOMBfeY AKD SO]St. M 
 
 <J!i a voyage to China. — LVIII. Failure of the house of Dombey and Son ; 
 Harriet Carker begs Mr. Morfin to give Mr. Dombey the interest of the 
 bulk of the fortune left by her brother James ; Harriet visits Alice 
 Brown, whom she has rescued from her sinful life, and who now lies 
 very ill, nursed by Mrs. Wickam ; Mrs. Brown informs Harriet of the 
 relationship between her child and Mrs. Dombey ; death of Alice. — LIX. 
 Mr. Dombey's servants are dismissed and the furniture sold at auction, 
 while Mr. Dombey keeps himself unseen in his own apartments ; Mrs. 
 Pipchin resigns her charge of the house, and is succeeded by Eichards ; 
 Miss Tox continues to show her sympathy? Mr. Dombey wanders through 
 the house by night, and learns to long for Florence ; she returns and 
 seeks her father, and takes him home with her ; Miss Tox takes Rob the 
 Grinder into her service. — LX. Mr. Feeder, B.A., marries Cornelia 
 Blimber, Mr. Toots and his wife, formerly Susan Nipper, being present 
 at the ceremony; Mrs. MacStinger leads Bunsby to the altar j Susan 
 returns to Florence. — LXI. Cousin Feenix takes Florence to his house 
 to meet Edith ; the last bottle of the old Madeira is drunk to Walter 
 mad his wife. — LXII. Final disposition of all the characters. 
 
THE HAUNTED MAN, 
 
 A.ND 
 
 THE GHOST'S BARGAIN. 
 
 4 FANCY FOE CHRISTMAS-TTMll. 
 
 PuRLiSKRD in 1848, and illnstrated with a frontispiece and title-pa^e 
 engraved on wood from drawings by John Tenniel, and with woodcuts 
 in the text from sketches bj Stanfield, Leech, and Stone. 
 
 CHARACTEES INTEODTJCED. 
 
 DENHAM, EDMUND. A student, whose true name is 
 Longford. He comes under the evil influence of ]\Ir. Kedlaw, 
 and loses all sense of the kindness that has been shown him 
 during a dangerous illness. But, when a change falls upon 
 Kedlaw, his heart feels the effect also, and glows with affection 
 and gratitude to his benefactress. (Ch. ii., iii.) 
 
 LONGFORD, EDMUND. See Denham, Edmund. 
 
 RED LAW, MR. A learned chemist, and a lecturer at an 
 ancient institution in a great city. He is a melancholy hut 
 kind-hearted man, whose life has been darkened by many 
 sorrows. As he sits brooding one night over the things thut 
 might have been, but never were, Mr. William Swidger, tJiy 
 Jteejjcr of the Lodge, with his wife Milly, and his father Philip, 
 
THi3 SAtTNTED MA:^. 803 
 
 enter the room to serve his tea, and to decorate the apartment 
 with holly in honour of Chiirftmas. 
 
 " Another Christinas come, another year gone ! " nrnrmured the 
 Chemist, with a gloomy sigh. " More figures in the lengthened snm of 
 recollection that we work and work at to our torment, till Death idlj 
 jumbles all altogether, and rubs all out. So, Philip ! " breaking off, and 
 raising his voice as he addressed the old man standing apart, with his 
 glistening burden in his arms, from which the quiet Mrs. William took 
 small branches, which she noiselessly triramed w^th her scissors, and 
 decorated the room with, while her aged father-in-law looked on much 
 interested in the ceremony. 
 
 *' My duty to you, sir," returned the old man. " Should have spoke 
 before, sir, but know your ways, Mr. Redlaw — proud to say — and wait 
 till spoke to ! Merry Christmas, sir, and happy New Year, and many of 
 'em. Have had a pretty many of 'em myself — ha, ha! — and may take 
 the h'berty of wishing 'em. I'm eighty-seven ! " 
 
 " Have yon had so many that were merry and happy ? " asked the 
 other. 
 
 " Ay, sir, ever so many," returned the old man. 
 
 "Is his memory impaired with age ? It is to be expected now," said 
 Mr. Eedlaw, turning to the son, and speaking lower. 
 
 " Not a morsel of it, sir," replied Mr. William. *' That's exactly 
 what I say myself, sir. There never was such a memory as my father's. 
 He's the most wonderful man in the world. He don't know what for- 
 getting means. It's the very observation I'm always making to Mrs. 
 William, sir, if you'll believe me 1 " 
 
 The old man reminds Mr. Eedlaw of a picture of one of the 
 founders of the institution, which hangs in what was once tlie 
 great dining-hall — a sedate gentleman, with a scroll helow him, 
 bearing this inscription, " Lord, keep my memory green 1 " And 
 then the younger Mr. Swidger speaks of his wife's visits to the 
 sick and suffering, and tells how she has just returned from 
 nursing a student who attends Mr. Eedlaw's lectures, and who 
 has been seized with a fever. 
 
 " Not content with this, sir, Mrs. William goes and finds, this very 
 night, when she was coming home (why it's not above a couple of hours 
 ago), a creature more like a young wild beast than a young child, shiver- 
 ing upon a door-step. W^hat does Mrs. William do, but brings it home to 
 dry it, and feed it, and keep it till our old Bounty of food and flannel is 
 given away on Christmas morning ! If it ever felt a fire before, it's as 
 much as it ever did ; for it's sitting in the old Lodge chimney, staring 
 at ours as if its ravenous eyes would never shut again. It's sitting there, 
 at least," said Mr. William, correcting himself on reflection, " unless it's 
 bolted." 
 
 " Heaven keep her happy ! " said the Chemist aloud, " and yon too, 
 Philip I and yon, William ! I must consider what to do in this. I may 
 desire to see this student : I'll not detain you longer now. Good- 
 night i " 
 
 " 1 thank' ee, sir, I thank'eo ! " said the old man, " for Mouse, and for 
 my son William, and for myself. Whore's my son William ? William, 
 yen tskp the h.nl&rn, ar.d go on first iLrough tkem long dark passages, 
 
as you did last year and the year afore. Ha, ha 1 T remember, tlidtigli 
 I'm eighty-seven I * Lord, keep m.y memory green ! * It's a very good 
 prayer, Mr. Eedlaw — that of the learned gentleman in the peaked 
 beard, with a rnff round his neck ; hangs up, second on the right above 
 the panelling, in what used to be, afore our ten poor gentlemen com- 
 muted, our great dinner hall. * Lord, keep my memory green ! * It's 
 very good and pious, sir. Amen, amen ! " 
 
 After the departure of these humble friends, Eedlaw falls 
 back into his train of sorrowful musings ; and, as he sits before 
 the fire, an awful spectral likeness of himself appears to him. 
 It echoes his mournful thoughts, brings each wrong and sorrow 
 that he has suffered vividly before him, and finally offers to 
 cancel the remembrance of them, destroying no knowledge, no 
 result of study, nothing but the intertwisted chain of feelings 
 and associations, each in its turn dependent on and nourished by 
 the banished recollections. 
 
 "Decide," it said, " before the opportunity is lost! '* 
 
 "A moment! I call Heaven to witness," said the agitated man, 
 " that I have never been a hater of my kind — never morose, indifferent, 
 or hard to anything around me. If, living here alone, I have made too 
 much of all that was and might have been, and too little of what is, the 
 evil, I believe, has fallen on me, and not on others. But, if there were 
 poison in my body, should I not, possessed of antidotes, and knowledge 
 how to use them, use them ? If there be poison in my mind, and 
 through this fearful shadow I can cast it out, shall I not cast it out ? " 
 
 " Say," said the spectre, " is it done ? " 
 
 " A moment longer ! " he answered hurriedly. *' I would forget it if I 
 could ! Have I thought that alone ? or has it been the thought of 
 thousands upon thousands, generation after generation ? All human 
 memory is fraught with sorrow and trouble. My memory is as the 
 memory of other men j but other men have not this choice. Yes ; I 
 close the bargain. Yes ; I will forget my sorrow, wrong, and trouble ! 
 
 " Say," said the spectre, " is it done ? " 
 
 "It is!" 
 
 " It is. And take this with you, man whom I here renounce. The 
 gift that I have given, you shall give again, go where you will. Without 
 recovering yourself the power that you have yielded up, you shall hence- 
 forth destroy its like in all whom you approach. Your wisdom has dis- 
 covered that the memory of sorrow, wrong, and trouble is the lot of all 
 mankind, and that mankind would be the happier in its other memories 
 without it. Go ! Be its benefactor 1 Freed from such remembrance 
 from this hour, carry involuntarily the blessing of such freedom with 
 you. Its diffusion is inseparable and inalienable from you." 
 
 The phantom leaves him bewildered, and with no memory of 
 past wrongs or troubles. He does not know in what way he 
 possesses the power to communicate this forgetfulness to others ; 
 but, with a vague feeling of having an antidote for the worst of 
 human ills, he goes forth to administer it. Those whom he 
 seeks, and those whom he casually encounters, alike experience 
 
THE HAUNTED MAN. SOS 
 
 the infection of his preseoii©. Charged with poison for his own 
 mind, he poisoHS the minds of others. Where he felt interest, 
 compassion, sympathy, his heart turns to stone. Selfishness and 
 ingratitude everywhere spring up in his blighting footsteps. 
 There is but one person who is proof against his baneful influence, 
 and that is the ragged child whom Mrs. Swidger picked up in 
 the streets. Hardship and cruelty have so blunted the senses of 
 this wretched creature, that it grows neither worse nor better 
 from contact with the haunted man. It is, indeed, already a 
 counterpart of him, with no memory of the past to soften or 
 stimulate it. Shocked by the evil he has wrought, Eedlaw 
 awakes to a consciousness of the misery of his condition. Having 
 long taught that in the material world nothing can be spared, 
 that no step or atom in the wondrous structure could be lost 
 without a blank being made in the great universe, he is now 
 brought to see that it is the same with good and evil, happiness 
 and sorrow, in the memories of men. He invokes the spirit of 
 his darker hours to come back and take its gift away, or, at 
 least, to deprive him of the dreadful power of giving it to others. 
 His prayer is heard. The phantom reappears, accompanied by 
 the shadow of Milly, the wife of William Swidger, from whom 
 Eedlaw has resolutely kept himseK aloof, fearing to influence the 
 steady quahty of goodness that he knows to be in her, fearing 
 that he may be "the murderer of what is tenderest and best 
 within her bosom." He learns that she, unconsciously, has the 
 power of setting right what he has done ; and he seeks her 
 out. Wherever she goes, peace and happiness attend her. The 
 peevish, the morose, the discontented, the ungrateful, and the 
 selfish are saddenly changed, and become their former and better 
 selves. Even Eedlaw is restored to what he was ; and a clearer 
 light shines into his mind, when Milly tells him that, to her, 
 it seems a good thing for us to remember wrong, that we may 
 ■ forgive it. 
 
 Some people have said since, that he onlj thought what has been 
 herein set down ; others, that he had read it in the fire, one winter-night, 
 about the twiKght time ; others, thp.t the ghost was but the representa- 
 tion of his own gloomy thoughts, and Milly the embodiment of hia 
 batter wisdom. I say nothing. 
 
 — Except this. That as they were assembled in the old hall, by no 
 other light than that of a great fire (having dined early) the shadows 
 once more stole out of their hiding-places, and danced about the room, 
 showing the children marvellous shapes and faces on the walls, anrt 
 gradually changing what was real and familiar there to what was wild 
 and magical. But that there was one thing in the hall, to which the 
 eyes of Eedlaw, and of Milly and her husband, and of the old man, and 
 of the student and his bride that was to be, were often turned ; which 
 the shadows did not obscure or change. Deepened in its gravity by the 
 
306 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 firelight, and gazing from the darkness of the panelled wall like lifOj, 
 the sedate face in the portrait, with the beard and raff, looked down 
 at them from under its verdant wreath of holly, as they looked up at 
 it ; and clear and plain below, as if a voice had uttered them, were 
 the words — 
 
 BWIDGERy GEORGE. Eldest son of old PhiHp Swidger ; a 
 dying man, repentant of all the wrong lie has done and the 
 sorrow he has caused during a career of forty or fifty years, 
 but suddenly changed, by seeing Eedlaw at his bedside, into 
 a bold and callous ruffian, who dies with an oath on his 
 lips. (Ch. ii.) 
 
 SWIDGER, HILLY, Wife of William Swidger; an em- 
 bodiment of goodness, gentle consideration, love, and domes- 
 ticity. (Ch. i.-iii.) See Eedlaw, Me. 
 
 SWIDGER, PHILIP. A superannuated custodian of the 
 institution in which Mr. Eedlaw is a lecturer. He is a happy 
 and venerable old man of eighty-seven years of age, who has 
 a most remarkable memory. When, however, at the bed- 
 side of his dying son, he meets Eedlaw (who has just closed 
 the bargain with the ghost, in consequence of which he 
 causes f orgetfulness in others wherever he goes), he all at once 
 grows weak-minded and petulant; but, when he once more 
 comes within the influence of his good daughter Milly, he 
 recovers all his recollections of the past, and is quite himself 
 again. (Ch. i.-iii.) See Eedlaw, Mr. 
 
 SWIDGER, WILLIAM. His youngest son ; servant to Eed- 
 law, and husband to Milly ; a fresh-coloured, busy, good- 
 hearted man, who, like his father and others, is temporarily 
 transformed into a very different sort of person by coming in 
 contact with his master after " the ghost's bargain " is con- 
 cluded. (Ch. L-iii.) See Eedlaw, Mb. 
 
 TETTERBY, MR. ADOLPHUS. A newsman, with almost 
 any number of small children — ^usually an unselfish, good- 
 natured, yielding little race, but changed for a time, as 
 well as himself, into the exact opposite by Mr. Eedlaw.. 
 (Ch. iL, iii.) 
 
 TETTERBY, MRS. SOPHIA. His wife, caUed by himself 
 his " little woman." " Considered as an individual, she was 
 rather remarkable for being robust and portly ; but considered 
 with reference to her husband, her dimensions became magni- 
 ficent." (Ch. ii, iii) 
 
THE HAUNTED ilAN. 307 
 
 lETTERBY, 'DOLPHUS. Their eldest son, aged ten ; ho is 
 a newspaper boy at a railway station. (Ch. ii, iii.) 
 
 His juvenility miglit have been at some loss for a harmless outleb 
 in this early application to traffic, but for a fortnnate discovery he 
 made of a means of entertaining himself, and of dividing the long day 
 into stages of interest, without neglecting business. This ingenious 
 invention, remarkable, like many great discoveries, for its simplicity, 
 consisted in varying the first vowel in the word " paper," and sub- 
 stituting in its stead, at different periods of the day, all the other 
 vowels in grammatical succession. Thus, before daylight in the winter- 
 time he went to and fro, in his little oilskin cap and cape and his big 
 comforter, piercing the heavy air with his cry of " Morn-ing pa-per ! '* 
 which, about an hour before noon, changed to " Morn-ing pep-per ! " 
 which, at about two, changed to "Morn-ing pip-per!" which, in a 
 couple of hours, changed to *' Morn-ing pop-per ! " and so declined 
 with the sun into " Eve-ning pup-per! " to the great relief and comfort 
 of this young gentleman's spirits. 
 
 TETTERBY, JOHNNY. Their second son ; a patient, much- 
 enduring child, whose special duty it is to take care of the 
 baby. (Ch. ii., iii.) 
 
 TETTERBY, SALLY. A large, heavy infant, always cutting 
 teeth. (Ch. ii., iii.) 
 
 It was a very Moloch of a baby, on whose insatiate altar the who] a 
 existence of this particular young brother [Johnny] was offered up a 
 daily sacrifice. Its personality may be said to have consisted in Hb 
 never being quiet in any one place for five consecutive minutes, and 
 never going to sleep when required. ... It roved from door-step to 
 door-step in the arms of little Johnny Tettei-by, and lagged heavily at 
 the rear of troops of juveniles who followed the tumblers or tho 
 monkey, and came up, all on one side, a little too late for everything 
 that was attractive, from Monday morning till Saturday night. 
 Wherever childhood congregated to play, there was little Moioch 
 making Johnny fag and toil. Wherever Johnny desired to stay, little 
 Moloch became fractious, and would not remain. Whenever Johnny 
 wanted to go out, Moloch was asleep, and must be watched. When- 
 over Johnny wanted to stay at home, Moloch was awake, and must bo 
 taken out. Yet Johnny was verily persuaded that it was a fauitlesa 
 baby, without its peer in the realm of England ; and was quite con- 
 tent to catch meek glimpses of things in general from behind ita 
 skirts, or over its limp flapping bonnet, and to go staggering about 
 with it like a very little porter with a very large parcel, which wag 
 Eot directed to anybody, and could never be delivered anywhere. 
 
 n % 
 
THE PERSONAL HISTORY 
 
 OF 
 
 DAVID COPPERFIELD THE YOUNGER. 
 
 This work was originally brouglit out under the following title : *' The 
 Personal History, Adventures, Experiences, and Observations of David 
 Copperfield the Younger, of Blunderstone Eookery (which he never meant 
 to be published on any account)." It was issued in twenty monthly 
 parts, with two illustrations by *' Phiz " (Hablot K. Browne) in each part. 
 The first number appeared May 1, 1849 ; and the preface was dated 
 October, 1850. In it the author thus spoke of his work : 
 
 " Of all my books, I like this the best. It will be easily believed that 
 I am a fond parent to every child of my fancy, and that no one can ever 
 love that family as dearly as I love them ; but, like many fond parents, 
 I have in my heart of hearts a favourite child, and his name is David 
 
 COPPKEFIELD." 
 
 CHAEAOTERS INTEODUCED. 
 
 ADAMS, Head boy at Doctor Strong's; aflfable and good- 
 humoiired, and with a turn for mathematics. (Ch. xvi, xviii.) 
 
 BABLET, RICHARD, called " Mr. Dick." A mild lunatic, 
 and a 'protege of Miss Betsey Trotwood's, who insists that he 
 is not mad. 
 
 "He had a favourite sister," said my aunt, "a good creature, and 
 very kind to him. But she did what they all do— took a husband. 
 And ?ie did what they all do — made her wretched. It had such an 
 effect upon the mind of Mr. Dick (ijhat's not madness, I hope !) that, 
 combined with the fear of his brother, and his sense of liis unkindness 
 it threw him into a fever. That was before he came to me, but the 
 recollection of it is oppressive to hini-even now. Did he say anythinf 
 to yoa about King Chirl^s the First, child ? *' 
 
 «T?es, aunt." 
 
■••■%. 
 
DAVID COPPERFlELD. 8( 
 
 "Ah!" said my aunt, rubbing her nose as if shfe wfete £k littU 
 vexed. "That's his allegorical way of expressing it. lie connects 
 his illness with great disturbance and agitation, naturally, and that's 
 the figure, or the simile, or whatever it's called, which he chooses to 
 use. And why shouldn't he, if he thinks proper ? " 
 
 I said : " Certainly, aunt." 
 
 " It's not a business-like way of speaking," said my aunt, " nor a 
 worldly way. I am aware of that ; and that's the reason why I insist 
 upon it, that there shan't be a word about it in his Memorial." 
 
 " Is it a Memorial about his own history that he is writing, aunt ? " 
 
 " Yes, child," said my aunt, rubbing her nose again. " He is 
 memorialising the Lord Chancellor, or the Lord Somebody or other — 
 one of those people, at all events, who are paid to he memoriaHsed — 
 about his affairs. I suppose it will go in, one of these days. He 
 hasn't been able to draw it up yet, without introducing that mode of 
 expressing himself; but it don't signify; it keeps him employed." 
 
 In fact, I found out afterwards that Mr. Dick had been for up- 
 wards of ten years endeavouring to keep King Charles the First out 
 of the Memorial j but he had been constantly getting into it, and was 
 there now. 
 
 (Ch. xiii-xv., xvii., xix., xxxiv., xxxvi., xxxviiL, xliir 
 xliii., xlv., xlix., lii., liv., Ix., Ixii., Ixiv.) 
 
 BAILEY, CAPTAIN. An admirer of tlie eldest Miss Larkins. 
 (Ch. xviil) 
 
 BARKIS, ME. A carrier who takes David Copperfield from 
 Blunderstone to Yarmouth, on his first being sent away to 
 school As they jog along, Copperfield asks ]\Ir. Barkis if 
 they are going no farther than Yarmouth together. 
 
 " That's about it," said the carrier. " And there I shall take yon 
 to the stage.cutch, and the stage-cutch that'll take you to — wherever 
 it is." 
 
 As this was a great deal for the carrier (whose name was Mr. Barkis) 
 to say — he being, as I observed in a former chapter, of a phlegmatic 
 temperament, and not at all conversational — I offered him a cake as a 
 mark of attention, which he ate at one gulp, exactly like an elephant, 
 and which made no more impression on his big face than it would have 
 done on an elephant's. 
 
 "Did she make 'em, now?" said Mr. Barkis, always leaning for- 
 ward, in his slouching way, on the footboard of the cart with an arm 
 on each knee. 
 
 " Peggotty, do yon mean, sir ? " 
 
 « Ah J " said Mr. Barkis. « Her.*» 
 
 " Yes. She makes all our pastry and does all our cooking." 
 
 ** Do she though ? " said Mr. Barkis. 
 
 He made np his mouth as if to whistle, but he didn't whistle. He 
 eat looking at the horse's ears, as if he saw something new there j 
 and sat so for a considerable time, By-and-by, he said : 
 
 "No sweethearts, I b'lieve ? " 
 
 " Sweetmeats did you ^ay, Mr. Barkis ? " For I thought he wanted 
 something else to eat, and had pointedly alluded to that description 
 *)f refreshment. 
 
ElO THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 " Ilsarts," said Mr. Barkis. " Sweethearts ; no person walks with 
 her ? " 
 
 "WithPeggotty?" 
 
 "Aki" he said. "Her." 
 
 " Oh no. She never had a sweetheart." 
 
 '* Didn't she, though ? " said Mr. Barkis. 
 
 Again he made np his mouth to whistle, and again he didn't whiatle, 
 bat sat looking at the horse's ears. 
 
 " So she makes,** said Mr. Barkis, after a long interval of reflection, 
 " all the apj)le parsties, and doos all the cooking, do she ? '* 
 
 I replied that such was the fact. 
 
 " Well. I'll teU you what," said Mr. Barkis. " P'raps yoa might be 
 writin'toher?" 
 
 " I shall certainly write to her," I rejoined. 
 
 ** Ah ! *' he said, slowly turning his eyes towards me. " Well ! If 
 you was writin' to her, p'raps you'd recollect to say that Barkis was 
 willin' ; would you ? " 
 
 " That Barkis was willing," I repeated, innocently. " Is that all the 
 message ? '* 
 
 " Ye — es,'* he said, considering. " Ye — es. Barkis is wiUin*.'* 
 
 " But you will be at Blunderstone again to-morrow, Mr. Barkis," I 
 said, faltering a little at the idea of my being far away from it then, 
 ** and could give your own message so much better." 
 
 As he repudiated this suggestion, however, with a jerk of his head, 
 and once more confirmed his previous request by saying, with profound 
 gravity, "Barkis is willin'. That's the message," I readily undertook 
 its transmission. While I was waiting for the coach in the hotel at 
 Yarmouth that very afternoon, I procured a sheet of paper and an 
 inkstand and wrote a note to Peggotty, which ran thus: *' My dear 
 Peggotty. I have come here safe. Barkis is willing. My love to 
 mama. Yours affectionately. P.S. He says he particularly wants you 
 to know — Barkis is willing." 
 
 After the death of her mistress, Peggotty becomes " •williii' '* 
 also, and marries "Mi. Barkis, who makes her a very good husband, 
 save that he is " rather near," as she expresses it, and jealously 
 guards a box under his bed, which contains his money and valu- 
 ables j although he persists in telling everybody that it is " old 
 clothes." At last he is taken very iH ; and David goes down 
 from London to visit him. 
 
 " Barkis, my dear ! '* said Peggotty, almost cheerfully : bending over 
 him, while her brother and I stood at the bed's foot, " Here's my dear 
 boy — my dear boy. Master Davy, who brought us together, Barkis ! That 
 you sent messages by, you know ! Won't you speak to Master Davy ? " 
 
 He was as mute and senseless as the box, from which his form 
 derived the only expression it had. 
 
 " He's a going out with the tide," eaid Mr. Peggotty to me, behind 
 his hand. 
 
 My eyes were dim, and so were Mr. Peggotty's ; but I repeated in a 
 whisper, " With the tide ? ** 
 
 "People can't die, along the coast,** said Mr. Peggotty, "except when 
 the tide's pretty nigh out. They can't be bom, unless it's pretty nigh 
 in — not properly born, till fiood. He's a going out with the tide. It'i 
 
DAVID COPPERFIELD. 811 
 
 ebb at half-arter three, slack water half-an-hour. If he lives 'till it 
 turns, he'll hold hia own till past the flood, and go out with the nezt 
 tide." 
 
 We remained there, watching him, a long time — hours. What 
 mysterioug influence my presence had upon him in that state of hia 
 senses, I shall not pretend to say ; but when he at last began to wander 
 feebly, it is certain he was muttering about driying me to school. 
 
 " He's coming to himself," said Peggotty. 
 
 Mr. Peggotty touched me, and whispered with much awo and 
 reverence, " They are both agoing out fast." 
 
 " Barkis, my dear ! " said Peggotty. 
 
 " C. P. Barkis," he cried, faintly. " No better woman anywhere ! " 
 
 " Look ! Here's Master Davy ! " said Peggotty. For he now opened 
 his eyes. 
 
 I was on the point of asking him if he knew me, when he tried to 
 stretch out his arm, and said to me distinctly, with a pleasant smile : 
 
 " Barkis is willin' ! " 
 
 And, it being low water, ho went out with the tide. 
 
 (Cli. ii.-v., vii., viii., x., xxix., xxxi.) 
 
 BARKIS, MRS. See Peggotty, Clara. 
 
 CHARLEY. A drunken, ugly old dealer in second-hand sailors' 
 clothes and marine stores, to whom David Copperfield sells 
 his jacket for fourpence when travelling on foot to his aunt's. 
 (Ch. xiu.) 
 
 CHESTLEf MR. A hop-grower; a plain, elderly gentleman, 
 who marries the eldest Miss Larkins. (Ch. xviii) 
 
 CHILLIP, MR. The doctor who officiates at the birth of 
 David Copperfield. (Ch. 1., ii, ix., x., xxii., xxx,, lix.) 
 
 He was the meekest of his sex, the mildest of little men. He 
 sidled in and out of a room, to take up the less space. He walked as 
 softly as the Ghost in Hamlet, and more slowly. He carried his head 
 on one side, partly in modest depreciation of himself, partly in modest 
 propitiation of everybody else. It is nothing to say that he hadn't a 
 word to throw at a dog. He couldn't have thrown a word at a mad 
 dog. 
 
 CLIOKETT. An " orfling " girl from St. Luke's Workho^ise ; 
 servant to the Micawbers. She is a dark-complexioned young 
 woman with a habit of snorting. (Ch. xi., xii.) 
 
 COPPERFIELD, MRS. CLARA. The mother of David; 
 an artless, affectionate little woman, whom Miss Betsey Trot- 
 wood insists upon calling a mere baby. She marries Mr. 
 Murdstone, a stern man, who, in conjunction with his sister, 
 attempts to teach her " firmness," hut breaks her heart in the 
 experiment. (Ch. i.-iv., viiL,ix.) >See Co?P.F,^FiELD, David 
 
312 l^nt BtCKEKS tUCTlOlfAET. 
 
 COPPERFIELD, DAVID. The character from whom the 
 story takes its name, or by whom it is supposed to he told. 
 He is a posthumous child, having been bom six months after 
 his father's death. His mother, young, beautiful, inexperienced, 
 loving, and lovable, not long afterwards marries a handsome 
 and plausible, but hard and stem man — Mr. Murdstone by 
 name — who soon crushes her gentle spirit by his exacting 
 tyranny and by his cruel treatment of her boy. After being 
 for some time instructed at home by his mother, and reduced 
 to a state of dulness and sullen desperation by his stepfather, 
 David is sent from home. He is sent to a villauious school, 
 near London, kept by one Creakle, where he receives more 
 stripes than lessons. Here he is kept until the death of his 
 mother, when his stepfather sends him (he beiug now ten 
 years old) to London, to be employed in Murdstone and 
 Grinby's warehouse in washing out empty wine bottles, pasting 
 labels on them when filled, and the hke, at a salary of six 
 shillings a week. Eut such is the secret agony of his soul 
 at sinking into companionship with Mick Walker, "Mealy 
 Potatoes," and other boys with whom he is forced to associate, 
 that he at length resolves to run away, and throw himself 
 upon the kindness of a great-aunt (Miss Betsey Trotwood), 
 whom he has never seen, but of whose eccentric habits and 
 singular manner he has often heard. She receives him much 
 better than he has expected, and soon adopts him, and sends 
 him to a school in the neighbouring town of Canterbury. He 
 does well here, and works his way up to the head of the 
 school before leaving. Having made up his mind to become 
 a proctor, he enters the office of Mr. Spenlow, lq London. 
 Soon after this, his aunt loses the greater part of her pro- 
 perty ; and David, being compelled" to look about him for 
 the means of subsistence, learns the art of stenography, and 
 supports himself by reporting the debates in Parliament. 
 In the meantime he has fallen desperately in love with 
 Dora, the daughter of Mr. Spenlow, but has been discouraged 
 in his suit by the young lady's father. Mr. Spenlow dying, 
 however, he becomes her accepted suitor. Turning his atten- 
 tion soon after to authorship, he acquires a reputation, and 
 obtains constant employment on magazines and periodicals. 
 He now marries Dora, a pretty, captivating, affectionate girl, 
 but utterly ignorant of everything practical It is not long 
 before David discovers that it wiU be altogether useless to 
 expect that his wife will develop any stability of character, 
 and he resolves to estimate her by the good qualities she has, 
 and not by those which she has not. One night, she says to 
 
DAVID GOTPmnth^. 813 
 
 him in & very thoughtful manner that she wishes him to call 
 her his " child-wife." 
 
 "It's a stupid name/' she said, ehaking lier curls for a moment. 
 " Child-wife." 
 
 I langhingly asked my child-'wife what her fancy was in desiring to 
 be so called. She answered without moving, otherwise than as the arm 
 I twined about her may have brought her blue eyes nearer to me. 
 
 " I don't mean, you silly fellow, that you should use the name instead 
 of Dora. I only mean that you should think of me that way. When 
 you are going to be angry with me, say to yourself, * It's only my child- 
 wife ! * When I am very disappointing, say, ' I knew, a long time ago, 
 that she would make but a child -wife ! * When you miss what 1 should 
 like to be, and I think can never be, say, * Still my foolish child-wife 
 loves me I * For indeed I do." 
 
 I had not been serious with her ; having no idea, until now, that she 
 was serious herself. But her affectionate nature was so happy in what 
 I now said to her with my whole heart, that her face became a laughing 
 one before her glittering eyes were dry. She was soon my child-wife 
 indeed ; sitting down on the floor outside the Chinese House, ringing all 
 the little bells one after another, to punish Jip for his recent bad beha- 
 viour J while Jip lay blinking in the doorway with his head out, even too 
 lazy to be teased. 
 
 This appeal of Dora's made a strong impression on me. I look back 
 on the time I write of j I invoke the innocent figure that I dearly loved 
 to come out from the mists and shadows of the past, and turn its gentle 
 head towards me once again ; and I can still declare that this one little 
 Bpeech was constantly in my memory. 
 
 At length Dora falls into a decline, and grows weaker and 
 weaker, day by day. 
 
 It is night; and I am with her still. Agnes has arrived; has been 
 among us for a whole day and an evening. She, my aunt, and I have 
 sat with Dora since the morning, all together. We have not talked 
 much, but Dora has been perfectly contented and cheerful. We are 
 now alone. 
 
 Do I know now that my child-wife will soon leave me ? They have 
 told me so ; they have told me nothing new to my thoughts i but I am 
 far from sure that I have taken that truth to heart. I cannot master 
 it. I have withdrawn by myself, many times to-day, to weep. I have 
 remembered Who wept for a parting between the living and the dead. 
 I have bethought me of all that gracious and compassionate history. I 
 have tried to resign myself, and to console myself ; and that, I hope, I 
 may have done imperfectly ; but what I cannot firmly settle in my 
 mind is, that the end will absolutely come. I hold her hand in mine, I 
 hold her heart in mine, I see her love for me alive in all its strength. I 
 cannot shut out a pale lingering shadow of belief that she will be 
 spared. 
 
 " I am going to speak to you, Doady. I am going to say something 
 1 have often thought of saying lately. You won't mind?" with a 
 gentle look. 
 
 " Mind, my darling ? " 
 
 ** Because I don't know what you will think, or what you may have 
 
314 THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 thought sometimes. Perhaps you have often thought the same. Doady, 
 dear, I am afraid I was too young.'* 
 
 I lay my face upon the pillow by her, and she looks into my eyes 
 and speaks very softly. Gradually, as she goes on, I feel, with a stricken 
 heart, that she is speaking of herself as past. 
 
 ** I am afraid, dear, I was too young. I don't mean in years only, 
 but in experience, and thoughts, and everything. I was such a silly 
 little creature ! I am afraid it would have been better if we had only 
 loved each other as a boy and girl, and forgotten it. I have begun to 
 think I was not fit to be a wife." 
 
 I try to stay my tears, and to reply, " Oh, Dora, love, as fit as I to be 
 a husband ! '* 
 
 " I don't know," with the old shake of her curls. *' Perhaps 1 But 
 if I had been more fit to be married, I might have made you more so, 
 too. Besides, you are very clever, and I never was." 
 
 " We have been very happy, my sweet Dora." 
 
 " I was very happy, very. But as years went on my dear boy would 
 have wearied of his child- wife. She would have become less and less a 
 companion for him. He would have been more and more sensible of 
 what was wanting in his home. She wouldn't have improved. It is 
 better as it is." 
 
 ** Oh, Dora, dearest, dearest, do not speak to me so. Every word 
 seems a reproach ! " 
 
 " No, not a syllable ! " she answers, kissing me. " Oh, my dear, you 
 never deserved it, and I loved you far too well to say a reproachful 
 word to you in earnest — it was all the merit I had, except being pretty 
 — or you thought me so. Is it lonely downstairs, Doady ? " 
 
 " Very, very I " 
 
 " Don't cry ! Is my chair there ?" 
 
 " In its old place." 
 
 " Oh, how my poor boy cries ! Hush, hush I Now, make me one 
 promise. I want to speak to Agnes. When you go downstairs tell 
 Agnes so, and send her up to me ; and while I speak to her let no one 
 come — ^not even aunt. I want to speak to Agnes by herself. I want to 
 speak to Agnes quite alone." 
 
 I promise that ghe shall, immediately ; but I cannot leave her for my 
 grief. 
 
 " I said that it was better as it is ! " she whispers, as she holds me in 
 her arms. " Oh, Doady, after more years you never could have loved 
 your child-wife better than you do ; and, after more years, she would 
 so have tried and disappointed you, that you might not have been able 
 to love her half so well ! I know I was too young and foolish. It is 
 much better as it is." 
 
 After tlie deatli of his wife, David goes abroad, passing 
 tlirougli many weary phases of mental distress. During liis 
 absence, Agnes Wickfield, a dear friend of Dora's and of him- 
 self, writes to liim. 
 
 She gave me no advice ; she urged no duty on me ; she only told rue 
 in her own fervent manner what her trust in me was. She knew (she 
 said) how such a nature as mine would turn affliction to good. She 
 knew how trial and emotion would exalt and strengthen it. She was 
 sure that in my every purpose I should gain a firmer and a higher 
 tendency, through the grief 1 had undergone. She, who so gloried m 
 
DAVID COPPESFIELD. 815 
 
 my fame, and eo looked forward to its augmentation, well knew that I 
 would labour on. She knew that in me sorrow could not be weakiiesB, 
 but must be strength. As the endurance of my childish days had done 
 its part to make me what I was, so greater calamities would nerve mo 
 on to bo yet better than I was ; and so, as they had taught me, would I 
 teach others. She commended me to God, who had taken my innocent 
 darling to His rest j and in her sisterly affection cherished me always, 
 and was always at my side go where I would ; proud of what I had 
 done, but infinitely prouder yet of what I was reserved to do. 
 
 Wlien tliree years have passed, David returns to England, 
 where his few works have abeady made him famous. But 
 more than all else he values the praise and encouragement he 
 receives from Agnes, whom he has come to think the better 
 angel of his life, and whom he would gladly make his wife, 
 did he not heheve that her feeling towards him was merely 
 one of sisterly afTection, and that she has formed a deeper 
 attachment for another. He discovers at last, however, that 
 she loves him oidy, and that she has loved him all her life ; 
 though she unselfishly subdued the feelings of her heart so far 
 as to rejoice sincerely in his marriage to Dora. They are soon 
 united, and she then tells him that Dora, on the last night of 
 her life, expressed the earnest wish that she, and she alone, 
 should succeed to her place. 
 
 And now, as I close my task, subduing my desire to linger yet, these 
 faces fade away. But one face, shining on me like a heavenly light, 
 by whicb I see all other objects, is above them and beyond them all. 
 And that remains. 
 
 I turn my head, and see it in its beautif al serenity beside me. My 
 lamp bums low, and I have written far into the night ; but the dear 
 presence, without which I were nothing, bears me company. 
 
 Oh Agnes, oh, my soul, so may thy face be by me when I close my 
 life indeed ! So may I, when realities are melting from me like the 
 shadows which I now dismiss, still find thee near me pointing upward I 
 
 COPPERFIELD, MRS. DORA. See Spenlow (Dora) and 
 
 CoppERFiELD (David). 
 CREAKLE, MR. Master of Salem House, the school to which 
 
 David Copperfield is sent by ]\Ir. Murdstone; an ignorant 
 
 and ferocious brute, who prides himself on being a " Tartar." 
 
 (Ch. v.-vii., ix., IxL) 
 
 Mr. Creakle's face was fiery; and hia eyes were small, and deep 
 in bis head ; he had thick veins in his forehead, a little nose, and a 
 large chin. He was bald on the top of his head ; and had some thin, wet- 
 looking hair, that was just turning gray, brushed across each temple, 
 so that the two sides interlaced on his forehead. But the circumstance 
 about him which impressed me most was, that he had no voice, but 
 spoke in a whisper. The exertion this cost him, or the consciousness 
 of talking in that feeble way, made his angry face so much more 
 angry, and his thick veins so much thicker, when he spoke, that I am 
 
Sie THE DICOIHS DIC^IOJiTARY. 
 
 not surprised, on looking back, at this peculiarity strikijig me as Ms 
 chief one. 
 *♦♦•♦♦♦ 
 
 I should think there never can have been a man who enjoyed his 
 profession more than Mr. Creakle did. He had a delight in cutting 
 at the boys, which was like the satisfaction of a craving appetite. I 
 am confident that he couldn't resist a chubby boy especially ; that 
 there was a fascination in such a subject which made him restless in 
 his mind until he had scored and marked him for the day. . . . Miserable 
 little propitiators of a remorseless idol — ^how abject we were to him ! 
 What a launch in life I think it now, on looking back, to be so mean 
 and servile to a man of such parts and pretensions ! 
 
 Here I sit at the desk again, watching his eye — humbly watching 
 his eye — as he rules a ciphering-book for another victim whose hands 
 have just been flattened by that identical ruler, and who is trying to 
 wipe the sting out with a pocket-handkerchief. I have plenty to do. 
 I don't watch his eye in idleness, but because I am morbidly attracted 
 to it in a dread desire to know what he will do next, and whether it 
 will be my turn to suffer, or somebody else's. A lane of small boys 
 beyond me, with the same interest in his eye, watch it too. I think 
 he knows it, though he pretends he don't. He makes dreadful mouths 
 as he rules the ciphering-book ; and now he throws his eye sideways 
 down our lane, and we all droop over our books and tremble. A 
 moment afterwards we are again eyeing him. An unhappy culprit 
 found guilty of imperfect exercise approaches at his command. The 
 culprit falters excuses, and professes a determination to do better 
 to-morrow. Mr. Creakle cuts a joke before he beats him, and we 
 laugh — miserable little dogs, we laugh, with our visages as white as 
 ashes, and our hearts sinking into our boots. 
 
 CREAKLE, MBS. His wife ; a thin and. quiet woman, ill- 
 treated by her InislDand. (Ch. vi., ix.) 
 
 CREAKLE, MISS. Their daughter ; supposed to be in love 
 with Steerforth. (Ch. vi, vii., ix.) 
 
 CREWLER, MRS. Wife of the Eeverend Horace Crewler ; 
 a very superior woman, who has lost the use of her limbs. 
 She becomes the mother-in-law of Traddles. Whatever occurs 
 to harass her (as the engagement and prospective loss of her 
 daughters) usually settles in her legs, but sometimes mount* 
 to her chest and head, and pervades her whole system in a 
 most alarming manner. (Ch. xxxiv., xH., Ix.) 
 
 CREWLER, MISS CAROLINE. Eldest daughter of IVIrs. 
 Crewler ; a very handsome girl, who marries a dashing vaga- 
 bond, but soon separates from him. (Ch. xlL, Ix., Ixiv.) 
 
 CREWLER, MISS LOUISA, Mrs. Growler's third daughter. 
 
 (Ch. xli., Ix., Ixiv.) 
 CREWLER, MISS LUCY. One of Mrs. Crewler's two 
 
 youngest daughters, educated by her sister Sophy. (Ch. xlL, 
 
 Ix., Ixiv.) 
 
DAVID COPPERFIELD. 817 
 
 CREWLER, MISS MARGARET. One of Mrs. Crewler's 
 two youngest daughters, educated by her sister Sophy. (Ch. 
 xli., Ix., Ixvi.) 
 
 CREWLER, MISS SARAH, Mrs. Crewler's second daughter. 
 (Ch. xxxiv., xli., Ix., Ixiv.) 
 
 CREWLER, MISS SOPHY. Fourth daughter of Mrs. 
 Crewler; always forgetful of herself, always cheerful and 
 amiable, and as much a mother to her mother (who is a con- 
 firmed invalid) as she is to her sisters. She becomes the wife 
 of Tommy Traddles, who regards her both before and after 
 marriage as "the dearest girl in the world." (Ch. xxvii., 
 xxviii., xxxiv., xli., xliii., lix., Ixi., Ixii., Ixiv.) 
 
 CREWLER, THE REVEREND HORACE. A poor Devon- 
 shire clergyman, with a large family and a sick wife. (Ch. 
 xxxiv., xli., Ix., Ixiv.) 
 
 CRUPP, MRS. A stout woman living in Euckingham Street, 
 in the Adelphi, who lets a set of furnished chambers to David 
 Copperfield when he becomes an articled clerk in the office 
 of Spenlow and Jorkins. She is a martyr to a curious dis- 
 order called " the spazzums," wliich is generally accompanied 
 with inflammation of the nose, and requires to be constantly 
 treated with peppermint. (Ch. xxiii.-xxvi., xxviii., xxxiv., 
 XXXV., xxxvii.) 
 
 DARTLE, ROSA. A lady some thirty years old, living with 
 Mrs. Steerf orth as a companion, and passionately in love with 
 her son, who does not return her affection. She is of a slight, 
 short figure, and a dark complexion ; has black hair, and large 
 black eyes, and a remarkable scar on her lip, caused by a 
 wound from a hammer thrown at her by Steerforth, when a 
 boy, in a moment of exasperation. She is very clever, bringing 
 everything, as it were, to a griadstone, and even wearing her- 
 self away by constant sharpening, till she is all edge. (Ch. xx., 
 xxi, xxiv., xxix., xxxii., xxxvi., xlvi., L, Ivi., Ixiv.) 
 
 DEMPLE, GEORGE. A schoolmate of David Coppcrfield's 
 at Salem House. (Ch. v., vii.) 
 
 DOLLOBY, MR. A dealer in second-hand clothes, rags, bones, 
 and kitchen-stuff, to whom David Copperfield sells bis waist- 
 coat for niriepence when he runs away from " Murdstone and 
 Grinby's " to seek his aunt. (Ch. xiii.) 
 
 DORA. See Spenlow, Dora. 
 
 EM'LY, LITTLE. Mece and adopted daughter of Mr. Peggotty, 
 and the object of David Copperfield's first love. . She is 
 
818 TEE DICKENS DICTIONAP.Y. 
 
 afterwards betrotlied to lier cousin Ham, but is seduced by 
 Steerfortb. (Cb. iii,, vii., x., xvii, xxi-xxiii., xxx.) See 
 Steerfokth, Jambs. 
 
 ENDELL, MARTHA. An unfortunate young woman, witbout 
 money or reputation, wbo finally discovers " Little Em'ly," 
 and restores ber to ber uncle. Sbe is reclaimed, and emigrates 
 to Australia, wbere sbe marries bappily. (Cb. xxii., xL, xlvi,, 
 xlvii., L, 11, Ivil, Ixiii) 
 
 FIBBETSON, MRS. An old woman, inmate of an almsbouse. 
 
 (Cb. V.) 
 GEORGE. Guard of tbe Yarmoutb maiL (Cb. v.) 
 
 GRAINGER. A friend of Steerfortb's, and a very gay and 
 lively fellow. (Cb. xxiv.) 
 
 GRATFER, MR. A neigbbour of Mrs. Copperfield. (Cb. ix., 
 
 xxii.) 
 GRATPER, MRS. His wife. (Cb. ii., xxii.) 
 
 GULP ID GE, MR. A guest of tbe Waterbrooks, wbo bas 
 sometbing to do at second-band witb tbe law business of tbe 
 Bank. (Cb. xxv.) 
 
 GULPIDGE, MRS. His wife. (Cb. xxv.) 
 
 GUMMIDGE, MRS. Tbe widow of Mr. Peggotty's partner. 
 Her busband dying poor, Mr. Peggotty offers ber a bome, and 
 supports ber for years ; and tbis kindness sbe acknowledges 
 by sitting in tbe most comfortable corner by tbe fii-eside, and 
 complaining tbat sbe is a " lone, lorn creetur, and every tbink 
 goes contrairy witb ber." (Cb. iii, vii., x., xxi., xxii., xxxi., 
 xxxii., xl., li., Ivii., Ixiii.) 
 
 HAMLETS AUNT. See Spiker, Mrs. Henry. 
 
 HEEPf MRS. A very umble widow woman, motber of TJiiab 
 
 Heep, and bis " dead image, only sbort." (Cb. xvii., xxxix., 
 
 xlii., Iii., Ixi) 
 HEEP, URIAH. A clerk in tbe law office of Mr. Wickfield, 
 
 wbose partner be afterwards becomes. David Copperfield's 
 
 first meeting witb Mm is tbus described : 
 
 When the pony-chaise stopped at the door, and my eyes were intent 
 npon the house, I saw a cadaverous face appear at a small window on 
 the ground-floor (in a little round tower that formed one side of the 
 house), and quickly disappear. The low arched door then opened, and 
 the face came out. It was quite as cadaverous as it had looked in the 
 window, though in the graia of it there was that tinge of red which is 
 sometimes tohe observed in the skins of red-haired people. It belonged to 
 a red-haired person — a youth of fifteen, as I take it now, but looking 
 much older — ^whose hair was cropped as close as the closest stubble j who 
 
DAVID COPPBEFIELD. 819 
 
 had hardly any eyebrows, and no eyelashes, and eyes of a red-brown, so 
 unsheltered and unshaded, that I remembered wondering how he went to 
 Bleep. He was high-shouldered and bony ; dressed in decent black, with 
 a white wisp of a neckcloth ; buttoned up to the throat ; and had a long, 
 lank, skeleton hand, which particularly attracted my attention, as he 
 stood at the pony's head, rubbing his chin with it, and looking up at us 
 in the chaise. 
 
 The following conversation takes place a little while after- 
 wards : 
 
 " I suppose you are quite a great lawyer ? " I said, after looking at 
 him for some time. 
 
 *' Me, Master Copperfield ? " said Uriah. " Oh no ! Pm a very umble 
 person." 
 
 It was no fancy of mine about his hands, I observed ; for he fre- 
 quently ground the palms against each other as if to squeeze them dry 
 and warm, besides often wiping them, in a stealthy way, on his pocket 
 handkerchief. 
 
 " I am well aware that I am the umblest person going," said Uriah 
 Heep, modestly ; " let the other be where he may. My mother is like- 
 wise a very umble person. We live in a numble abode, Master Copper- 
 field, but have much to be thankful for. My father's former calling was 
 umble. He was a sexton." 
 
 " What is he now ? " I asked. 
 
 " He is a partaker of glory at present, Master Copperfield," said 
 Uriah Heep. " But we have much to be thankful for. How much have 
 I to be thankful for in living with Mr. Wickfield I " 
 
 As time runs on, David finds that Uriah, is ohtaining an un- 
 bounded influence over Mr. Wickfield, whom he deludes in every 
 possible way, and whose business he designedly perplexes and 
 complicates in order to get it wholly into his own hands ; and, 
 furthermore, that he looks with greedy eyes upon Mr. Wickfield's 
 daughter Agnes, to whom David himself is warmly attached. 
 He even goes so far as to boast of this, and to declare his 
 intention of making her his wife. 
 
 I a8.k<«>d him, with a better appearance of composure than I could 
 have thought possible a minute before, whether he had made his feelings 
 known to Agnes. 
 
 " Oh no, Master Copperfield ! " he returned ; " oh dear no ! Not to 
 anyone but you. You see I am only just emerging from my lowly 
 station. I rest a good deal of hope on her observing how useful I am 
 to her father (for I trust to be very useful to him indeed, Master Copper- 
 field), and how I smooth the way for him, and keep him straight. She's 
 Bo much attached to her father. Master Copperfield (oh what a lovely 
 thing it is in a daughter!), that I think she may come, on his account, 
 to be kind to me." 
 
 I fathomed the depth of the rascal's whole scheme, and understood 
 why he laid it bare. 
 
 " If you'll have the goodness to keep my secret. Master Copperfield,'* 
 he pursued, '* and not, in general, to go against me, I shall take it as a 
 particular favour. You wouldn't wish to make unpleasantness. I know 
 what a friendly heart you've got j but having only known me on my 
 
820 THE DICKENS DICTIONAET. 
 
 umble footing (on my mnblest, I ehonld say, for I am very umble still), 
 you might, nnbeknown, go against me rather, with my Agnes. I call 
 her mine, you see. Master Copperfield. There's a song that says, * I'd 
 crowns resign, to caU her mine ! ' I hope to do it, one of these days.'* 
 Uriah goes on weaving Ms meslies around Agnes and lier 
 father until he has them completely in his power. But his 
 rascality is at last unravelled and exposed by Mr. Micawber ; 
 and Mr. Wickfield not only recovers aU the property of which 
 he has been defrauded, but is absolved from all suspicion of any 
 criminal act or intent. Uriah pursues his calling in another part 
 of the country, but is finally arrested for fraud, forgery, and 
 conspiracy, and is sentenced to solitary imprisonment. (Ch. 
 xv.-xvii., xix., XXV., xxxv., xxxvi., xxxix., xlii., xlix., lii., 
 liv., Ixi.) 
 
 HOPKINS, CAPTAIN. A prisoner for debt, in the King's 
 Bench Prison, at the time that Mr. Micawber is also confined 
 there. (Ch, xi.) 
 
 JANET, Miss Betsey Trotwood's handmaid. (Ch. xiii-xv., 
 xxiii, xxxix., xliii., Ix.) 
 
 JIP {a contraction of Gypsy). Dora's pet dog. (Ch. xxvi., 
 xxxiii., xxxvi. -xxxviii., xli.-xliv., xlviii., lii., liii.) 
 
 JORAM, MR. The partner and son-in-law of Mr. Omer the 
 undertaker. (Ch. ix., xxi., xxiii., xxx., li., Ivi.) 
 
 JORAM, MRS. See Omer, Miss Minnie. 
 
 JORKINS, MR. A proctor, partner of Mr. Spenlow. (Ch. 
 xxiii., xxix., xxxv., xxxviii., xxxix.) 
 
 He was a mild man of a heavy temperament, whose place in the 
 business was to keep himself in the background, and be constantly 
 exhibited by name as the most obdurate and ruthless of men. If a 
 clerk wanted his salary raised, Mr. Jorkins wouldn't listen to such a 
 proposition. If a client were slow to settle his biU of costs, Mr. 
 Jorkins was resolved to hare it paid; and however painful these 
 things might be (and always were) to the feehngs of Mr. Spenlow, 
 Mr. Jorkins would have his bond. The heart and hand of the good 
 angel Spenlow would have been always open, but for the restraining 
 demon Jorkins. As I have grown older, I think I have had experience 
 of some other houses doing business on the principle of Spenlow and 
 Jorkins I 
 LARKINS, MISS. A taU, dark, black-eyed, fine figure of a 
 woman, of about thirty, with whom David Coppei£eld falls 
 desperately in love when about seventeen. His passion for 
 her is beyond aU bounds ; but she crushes his hopes by marry- 
 ing a hop-grower. (Ch. xviii.) 
 LARKINS, MR. Her father ; a gruff old gentleman with a 
 double chin, and one of his eyes immovable in his head. 
 (Ch. xviiL) 
 
DAVID COPPEBI^IELD. 821 
 
 LtTTIMER. Confidential servant of SteerfoHli. (Ch. xxi.- 
 xxiii., xxviii., xxix., xxxi., xxxii., xlvi., Ixi.) See Steerforth, 
 James. 
 
 I believe there never existed in his station a more respectable- 
 looking man. He was taciturn, soft-footed, very quiet in his manner, 
 deferential, observant, always at hand when wanted, and never near 
 when not wanted ; but his great claim to consideration was his re- 
 spectability. He had not a pliant face, he had rather a stiff neck, 
 rather a tight smooth head with short hair clinging to it at the sides, 
 a soft way of speaking, with a peculiar habit of whispering the letter 
 S so distinctly, that he seemed to use it of tener than any other man ; 
 but every peculiarity that he had he made respectable. . . . He sur- 
 rounded himself with an atmosphere of respectability, and walked 
 secure in it. It would have been next to impossible to suspect him 
 of anything wrong, he was so thoroughly respectable. Nobody could 
 have thought of putting him in a livery, he was so highly respectable. 
 To have imposed any derogatory work upon him, would have been to 
 inflict a wanton insult on the feelings of a most respectable man. 
 
 MALDON, JACK. Cousin to Mrs. Doctor Strong; an idle, 
 needy libertine, with a handsome face, a rapid utterance, and 
 a confident, bold air. (Ch. xvi., xix., xxxvi., xli., xlv., Ixi v.) 
 
 MARKHAM. A gay and lively fellow of not more than 
 twenty; a friend of Steerforth's. (Ch. xxiv., xxv.) 
 
 MARKLEHAM, MRS. Mother of Mrs. Doctor Strong. (Ch. 
 xvi., xix., xxxvi., xlii., xlv., Ixiv.) 
 
 Our boys used to call her the Old Soldier, on account of her 
 generalship, and the skill with which she marshalled great forces of 
 relations against the Doctor. She was a little, sharp-eyed woman, 
 who used to wear, when she was dressed, one unchangeable cap, 
 ornamented with some artificial flowers, and two artificial butterflies 
 supposed to be hovering above the flowers. 
 
 MEALY POTATOES. (So called on account of his pale com- 
 plexion.) A boy employed at Murdstone and Grinby's wine 
 store, with David Copperfield and others, to examine bottles, 
 wash them out, label and cork them, and the like. (Ch. xi.) 
 
 MELL, MR. CHARLES. An under-master at Salem House, 
 ]\Ir. Crealde's school. He is a gaunt, sallow young man, with 
 hollow cheeks, and dry and rusty hair. Mr. Creakle discharges 
 him because it is ascertained that his mother lives on charity 
 in an almshouse. He emigrates to Australia, and finally 
 becomes Doctor Mell of Colonial Salem House Grammar 
 SchooL (Ch. v.-vii., Ixiii.) 
 
 MELL, MRS. His mother. (Ch. v., vii.) 
 
 AflCAWBER, MASTER WILKINS. Son of ]\Ir. Wilkins 
 Micawber. He has a remarkable head voice, and becomes a 
 chorister-boy m the cathedral at Canterbury, At a later date, 
 
 Y 
 
322 TEE DICKENS DlCTlONARt. 
 
 iie acquires a liigh reputation as an amateur singer. (Ch. xi., 
 xii., xvii., xxvii., xxxvi., xlii., xlix., lii., liv., Ivii., Ixiv.) 
 
 MICAWBER, MISS EMMA. Daughter of ]\Ir. Willdns 
 Micawber ; afterwards Mrs. Ridger Begs of Port Middlebay, 
 Australia. (Ch. xi., xii., xvii., xxvii., xxxvi., xlii., xlix., lii., 
 liv., Ivii., Ixiv.) 
 
 MICAWBER, MR. WILKIN'S. A gentleman— remarkable 
 for his reckless it&providencej his pecuniary involvements, his 
 alternate elevation and depression of spirits, his love of letter- 
 writing and speech-]naking, his grandiloquent rhetoric, bis 
 sliabby devices for eking out a genteel living, and his con- 
 stantly " waiting for something to turn up " — with whom 
 David Copperheld lodges while di-udging in ilie warehouse of 
 Murdstone and Grinby. 
 
 ]\ir. Micawber is thus introduced upon the scene : 
 
 The counting-house clock was at half -past twelve, and there was 
 a general preparation for going to dinner, when Mr. Quinion tapped at 
 the counting-house window, and beckoned to me to go in. I went in, 
 and found there a stoutish, middle-aged person, in a brown surtout and 
 black tights and shoes, with no more hair upon his head (which was a 
 large one, and very shining) than there is upon an egg, and with a very 
 extensive face, which he turned fall upon me. His clothes were shabby, 
 but he had an imposing shirt-collar on. He carried a jaunty sort of a 
 slick, with a large pair of rusty tassels to it ; and a quizzing-glass liinig 
 outside his coat — for ornament, I afterwards found, as he very seldom 
 looked through it, and couldn't see anything when he did. 
 
 "This," said Mr. Quinion, in allusion to myself, "is he." 
 
 "This," said the stranger, with a certain condescending roll in his 
 voice, and a certain indescribable air of doing something genteel, which 
 impressed me very much, " is Master Copperfield. I hope 1 see you 
 well, sir ? " 
 
 I said I was very well, and hoped he was. I was sufficiently ill at 
 *ase, Heaven knows ; but it was not in my nature to complain much at 
 that time of my life, so I said I was very well, and hoped he was. 
 
 " I am," said the stranger, "thank Heaven, quite well. I have re- 
 ceived a letter from Mr. Murdstone, in which he mentions that he would 
 desire me to receive into an apartment in the rear of my house, which is 
 at present unoccupied — and is, in short, to be let as a — in short," said 
 the stranger, with a smile and in a burst of confidence, "as a bedroom — 
 
 the young beginner whom I have now the pleasure to " and the 
 
 stranger waved his hand, and settled his chin in his shirt-collar. 
 
 " This is Mr. Micawber," said Mr. Quinion to me. 
 
 " Ahem ! " said the stranger, " that is my name." 
 
 " Mr. Micawber," said Mr. Quinion, "is known to Mr. Murdstone. 
 He takes orders for us on commission, when he can get any. He has 
 been written to by Mr. Murdstone, on the subject of your lodgings, and 
 he will receive you as a lodger." 
 
 When young Copperfield takes possession of his quarters 
 V Mr^ Micawber's, Windsor Terrace, Citf "Hoad, he finds the 
 
DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 323 
 
 domestic situation of that gentleman beset with difficulties Vt^hich 
 to any other man would be thoroughly discouraging. 
 
 The only visitors I ever saw or heard of, were creditors. They used 
 to come at all hours, and some of them were quite ferocious. One dirty- 
 faced man, I think he was a boot -maker, used to edge himself into the 
 passage as early as seven o'clock in the morning, and call up the stairs 
 to Mr. Micawber — " Come ! You ain't out yet, you know. Pay us, will 
 you? Don't hide, you know; that's mean. I wouldn't be mean if I 
 was you. Pay us, will you ? You just pay us, d'ye hear ? Gome ! " 
 Receiving no answer to these taunts, he would mount in his wrath to 
 the words "swindlers" and "robbers;" and these being ineffectual too, 
 would sometimes go to the extremity of crossing the street, and roaring up 
 at the windows of the second floor, where he knew Mr. Micawber was. 
 At these times, Mr. Micawber would be transported with grief and 
 mortification, even to the length (as I was once made aware by a scream 
 from his wife) of making motions at himself with a razor ; but within 
 half an hour afterwards, he would polish up his shoes with extraordinary 
 pains, and go out, humming a tune with a greater air of gentility than 
 ever. 
 
 His difficulties come to a crisis at last, however ; and he is 
 arrested one morning, and carried to the King's Bench Prison, 
 saying that the God of Day has gone down upon him ; but before 
 noon he is seeii playing a lively game of skittles. At last he 
 applies for release under the Insolvent Debtors' Act ; and in due 
 time is set at liberty. Mrs. Micawber's friends being of opinion 
 that his wisest course will be to quit London, he determines to 
 go down to Plymouth, where he thinks something may " turn 
 up " for him in the custom-house. Before parting from David, 
 he gives him a little friendly counsel 
 
 " My dear young friend," said Mr. Micawber, " I am older than you j 
 a man of some experience in life, and — and of some experience, in short, 
 in difficulties, generally speaking. At present, and until something turns 
 up (which I am, I may say, hourly expecting), I have nothing to bestow 
 but advice. Still my advice is so far worth taking that — in short, that 
 I have never taken it myself, and am the " — here Mr. l^Iicawber, who 
 had been beaming and smiling, all over his head and face, up to the 
 present moment, checked himself and frowned — " the miserable wretch 
 you behold." 
 
 " My dear Micawber! " urged his wife. 
 
 " I say," returned Mr. Micawber, quite forgetting himself, and smiling 
 again, " the miserable wretch you behold. My advice is, never do to- 
 morrow what you can do to-day. Procrastination is the thief of time. 
 CoUarhim!" 
 
 " My poor papa's maxim," Mrs. Micawber observed. 
 
 "My dear," said Mr. Micawber, "your papa was very well in his 
 way, and Heaven forbid that I should disparage him. Take him for all 
 in all, we ne'er shall — ^in short, make the acquaintance, probably, of any- 
 body else possessing, at his time of life, the same legs for gaiters, and 
 able to read the same description of print, without spectacles. But he 
 applied that maxim to our marriage, ray dear; and that was so far 
 
 Y 2 
 
324 THE DICKENS DICTIOKAKY. 
 
 prematurely entered into, in consequence, that I never recot^ered the 
 expense." 
 
 Mr. Micawber looked aside at Mrs. Micawber, and added : " Not that 
 I am sorry for it. Quite the contrary, my love." After which he was 
 grave for a minute or so. 
 
 " My other piece of advice, Copperfield," said Mr. Micawber, " you 
 know. Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure nineteen 
 nineteen six, result happiness. Annual income twenty pounds, annual 
 expenditure twenty pounds ought and six, result misery. The blossom. 
 is blighted, the leaf is withered, the God of Day goes down upon the 
 dreary scene, and — and in short you are for ever floored. As I am ! " 
 
 To make his example the more impressive, Mr. Micawber drank a 
 glass of punch with an air of great enjoyment and satisfaction, and 
 whistled the College Hornpipe. 
 
 Some time after this, David — then a pupil of Dr. Strong's, 
 at Canterbury — unexpectedly meets Mr. Micawber, who has left 
 Plymouth (talent not being wanted in the custom-house) and is 
 invited to dine at his inn with him. 
 
 We had a beautiful little dinner. Quite an elegant dish of fish ; the 
 kidney-end of a loin of veal, roasted ; fried sausage-meat 5 a partridge, 
 and a pudding. There was wine, and there was strong ale ; and after 
 dinner Mrs. Micawber made us a bowl of hot punch with her own 
 hands. 
 
 Mr. Micawber was uncommonly conviviaL I never saw him such 
 good company. . , . 
 
 As the punch disappeared, Mr. Micawber became still more friendly 
 and convivial. Mrs. Micawber's spirits becoming elevated, too, we sang 
 '♦Auld Lang Syne." When we came to "Here's a hand, my trusty 
 frere," we all joined hands round the table ; and when we declared we 
 would " take a right gude Willie Waught," and hadn't the least idea 
 what it meant, we were really afPected. 
 
 In a word, I never saw anybody so thoroughly jovial as Mr. Micawber 
 was, down to the very last moment of the evening, when I took a hearty 
 farewell of himself and his amiable wife. Consequently, I was not pre- 
 pared, at seven o'clock next morniiig, to receive the following commu- 
 nication, dated half-past nine in the eveaing ; a quarter of an hour after 
 I had left him : 
 
 "My dear Young Friend, 
 
 ** The die is cast — all is over. Hiding the ravages of care with 
 a sickly mask of mirth, I have not informed you, this evening, that 
 there is no hope of the remittance ! Under these circumstances, alike 
 humiliating to endure, humiliating to contemplate, and humiliating to 
 relate, I have discharged the pecuniary liability contracted at this 
 establishment, by giving a note of hand, made payable fourteen days 
 after date, at my residence, Pentonville, London. When it becomes 
 due, it will not be taken up. The result ia destruction. The bolt ia 
 impending, and the tree must fall. 
 
 " Let the wretched man who now addressed you, my dear Copper- 
 field, be a beacon to you through life. He writes with that intention, 
 and in that hope. If he could think himself of so much use, one gleam 
 ©f day might, by possibility, penetrate into the cheerless dungeon of his 
 
DAVID COPPERFIELD. 825 
 
 remaining ejdstence — though his longevity is, at present (to say the 
 least of it), extremely problematical. 
 
 " This is the last commnnication, my dear Copperfield, you wiU ever 
 receive 
 
 "From 
 "The 
 ** Beggared Outcast, 
 
 " WiLKlNS MiCAWBER." 
 
 I was so shocked by the contents of this heartrending letter, that I 
 ran off directly towards the little hotel with the intention of taking it on 
 my way to Dr. Strong's, and trying to soothe Mr. Micawber with a word 
 of comfort. But, half way there, I met the London coach with Mr. and 
 Mrs. Micawber up behind ; Mr. Micawber, the very picture of tranquil 
 enjoyment, smiling at Mrs. Micawber's conversation, eating walnuts out 
 of a paper bag, with a bottle sticking out of his breast-pocket. As they 
 did not see me, I thought it best, all things considered, not to see them. 
 So, with a great weight taken off my mind, 1 turned into a by-street 
 that was the nearest way to school, and felt, upon the whole, relieved 
 that they were gone : though I still liked them very much, nevertheless. 
 
 "Ml. Micawber next engages in tlie sale of corn upon com- 
 mission ; but not finding it " an avocation of a remunerative 
 description," and getting again into " temporary embarrassments 
 of a pecuniary nature," lie accepts an offer from Uriah Heep to 
 become bis confidential clerk. Eut, before leaving London for 
 Canterbury (where Heep is established), he invites David to 
 spend an evening at his house with their common friend Traddles. 
 When the time has nearly come for them to take their leave, 
 Mr. Micawber rises to acknowledge a toast proposed vjy Copper- 
 field. He thanks his friends for their good wishes, and speaks 
 as if he was going " five hundred thousand miles " away. He 
 hopes to become an ornament to the profession of which he is 
 " about to become an unworthy member," and finally concludes 
 as follows : 
 
 " Under the temporary pressure of pecuniary liabilities, contracted 
 with a view to their immediate liquidation but remaining unliquidated 
 through a combination of circumstances, I have been under the neces- 
 sity of assuming a garb from which my natural instincts recoil — I allude 
 to spectacles — and possesiing myself of a cognomen, to which I can 
 establish no legitimate pratensions. All I have to say on that score is, 
 that the cloud has passed from the dreary scene, and the God of Day 
 is once more high upon the mountain tops. On Monday next, on the 
 arrival of the four o'clock afternoon coach at Canterbury, my foot will 
 be on my native heath — my name, Micawber ! " 
 
 Mr. Micawber resumed his seat on the close of these remarks, and 
 drank two glasses of punch in grave succession. He then said witii 
 much solemnity : 
 
 " One thing more I have to do, before the separation is complete, and 
 that is to perform ar act of* justice. My friend Mr. Thomas Traddles 
 has, on two several occasions, * put bis name,' it I ii}»y use % comni^. 
 
326 THE DICKBNS DICTIONAP.Y. 
 
 expression, to bills of exchange for my accommodation. On the first 
 occasion Mr. Thomas Traddles was left — let me say, in short, in the 
 lurch. The fulfilment of the second has not yet arrived. The amount 
 of the first ohligation," here Mr. Micawber carefully referred to papers, 
 "was, I beUeve, twenty -three, four, nine and a halfj of the second, 
 according to my entry of that transaction, eighteen, six, two. These 
 sums, united, make a total, if my calculation is correct, amounting to 
 forty-one, ten, eleven and a half. My friend Copperfield will perhaps 
 do me the favour to check that total ? ** 
 
 I did so and found it correct. 
 
 "To leave this metropolis," said Mr. Micawber, "and my friend Mr. 
 Thomas Traddles, without acquitting myself of the pecuniary part of 
 this obligation, would weigh upon my mind to an insupportable extent. 
 I have, therefore, prepared for my friend Mr. Thomas Traddles, and I 
 now hold in my hand, a document, which accompKshes the desired 
 object. I beg to hand to my friend Mr. Thomas Traddles my I. O. TJ. 
 for forty-one, ten, eleven and a half, and I am happy to recover my 
 moral dignity, and to know that I can once more walk erect before my 
 fellow-man ! " 
 
 With this introduction (which greatly affected him), Mr. Micawber 
 placed his I. O. U. in the hands of Traddles, and said he wished him 
 well in every relation of life. I am persuaded, not only that this was 
 quite the same to Mr. Micawber as paying the money, but that Traddles 
 himself hardly knew the difference until he had had time to think 
 about it. 
 
 Mr. Micawber does not find liis position in Heep's office as 
 pleasant as Ms sanguine temperament has led him to anticipate. 
 He soon discovers his employer to he a consummate hypocrite 
 and villain, who is bent upon ruining his partner, Mr. Wickfield, 
 and that he himself is being made use of as a tool to aid in 
 furthering the scheme. He therefore sets himself to the task of 
 unravelling the whole tissue of rascality so cunningly woven by 
 Heep ; and, when this is done, he denounces and exposes him 
 in a long and characteristic letter which he reads to Copperfield, 
 Traddles, and Miss Betsey Trotwood, who meet by appoint- 
 ment at Mr. Wickfield's former office.. 
 
 Miss Trotwood having been made acquainted with ^Ir. 
 Micawber's straitened circumstances, suggests that it might be 
 well for him to try his fortunes in AustraHa, and offers to pay 
 his debts, and the passage of himself and family to that country. 
 Mr. Micawber is delighted at the idea, and makes immediate 
 preparations for emigrating. In a few day&:, he informs his kind 
 patron that his " boat is on the shore," and " his bark is on the sea." 
 
 " In reference to our domestic preparations, madam," said Mr. 
 Micawber, with some pride, ** for meeting the destiny to which we are 
 now understood to be self-devoted, I beg to report them. My eldest 
 daughter attends at five every morning in a neighbouiang establishment, 
 to acquire the process — if process it may be called — of miJking cows. 
 My younger children are instructed to observe, as closely as circum- 
 
DAVID COPPERFIELD. 827 
 
 Btancea will permit, the habits of the pii:js and poultry maintained in 
 the poorer parts of this city; a pursuit from which they have, oa two 
 occasions, been broughc home, within a.'i inch of heing nm over. I have 
 myself directed some attention, during the past week, to the art of 
 baking; and my son Wilkins haa issued forth with a walking-stick and 
 driven cattle, when permitted, by the rugged hirelings who had them 
 in charge, to render any voluntary service in that direction — which I 
 regret to say, for the credit of our nature, vvas not often j bo being 
 generally warned, with imprecations, to desist." 
 
 Many years afterwards, David receives from 'Mr. Peggotty 
 (who went out in the same vessel with Mr. Micawber) a copy of 
 an Australian paper containing an account of a public dimmer 
 given to " our distinguished townsman, Wilkins Micawber, 
 Esquire," and, in another column, a letter addressed : 
 
 "TO DAVID COPPEKFIELD, ESQUIRE, 
 the eminent author. 
 "My dsar Sir, 
 
 " Years have elapsed since I had an opportunity of ocu- 
 larly perusing the lineaments, now famiKar to the imaginations of a 
 considerable portion of the civilised world. 
 
 " But, my dear sir, though estranged (by the force of circumstances 
 ox-er which I have had no control) from the personal society of the 
 friend and companion of my youth, I have not been unmindful of his 
 soaring flight. Nor have I been debarred. 
 
 Though seas between us braid ha' roarsd, 
 
 (Burns) from participating in the intellectual feasts he has spread 
 before us. 
 
 " I cannot, therefore, allow of the departura from this place of an 
 individual whom we mutually respect and esteem, without, my clear 
 sir, taking this public opportunity of thanking you, on my owti behalf, 
 and, I may undertake to add, on that of the whole of the inhabitants 
 of Port Middlebay, for the gratification of which you are the minister- 
 ing agent. 
 
 " Go on, my dear sir! You are not unknown here, yon are not un- 
 appreciated. Though 'remote,' we are neither 'unfriended,' 'melan- 
 choly,' nor (I may add) 'slow.' Go on, my dear sir, in your Eagle 
 course ! The inhabitants of Port Middlebay may at least aspire to 
 watch it, with delight, with entertainment, with instruction ! 
 
 " Among the eyes elevated towards you from this portion of the 
 globe, will ever be found, while it has light and Kfe, 
 
 "The 
 "Eye 
 
 " Appertaining to 
 
 " Wilkins Micawber, 
 " Magistrate." 
 
 I found, on glancing at the remaining contents of the newspaper, 
 that Mr. Micawber was a diligent and esteemed correspondent of that 
 Journal. There was another letter from him in the same paper, touch- 
 ing a bridge J there was an advertisement of a, collection of similar 
 
328 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 letters by him, to be stortly republislied, in a neat volume, " with con- 
 siderable additions ; " and, unless I am very much mistaken, the Lead- 
 ing Article was his also. 
 
 (Ch.. xi., xii., xvii., xxvii, xxviii., xxxvi., xxxix., xlii,, 
 xlix., lii., liv., Ivii., Ixiii.) 
 
 MICAWBER, MRS. EMMA, Wife of Wilkins Micawter. 
 
 Arrived at his [Mr. Micawber*s] house in Windsor Terrace (which 
 I noticed was shabby like himself, but also, like himself, made all the 
 show it could) he presented me to Mrs. Micawber, a thin and faded 
 lady, not at all young, who was sitting in the parlour (the first floor 
 was altogether unfurnished, and the blinds were kept down to delude 
 the neighbours) with a baby at her breast. The baby was one of 
 twins ; and I may remark here that I hardly ever, in all my experience 
 of the family, saw both the twins detached from Mrs. Micawber at 
 the same time. One of them was always taking refreshment. 
 
 "When her husband's resources are at the lowest ebh, she 
 determines to come to his rescue if she can. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Micawber ! She said she had tried to exert herself ; 
 and BO, I have no doubt, she had. The centre of the street-door was 
 perfectly covered with a great brass-plate, on which was engraved 
 " Mrs. Micawber's Boarding EstabHshment for Youjig Ladies : " but I 
 never found that any young lady had ever been to school there ; 
 or that any young lady ever came, or proposed to come ; or that the 
 least preparation was ever made to receive any young lady. 
 
 In the ease of her temper and the elasticity of her spirits, 
 ]\Irs. Micawber is scarcely surpassed by her husband. 
 
 I have known her to be thrown into fainting fits by the king's 
 taxes at thi^ee o'clock, and to eat lamb-chops breaded, and drink warm 
 ule (paid for with two teaspoons that had gone to the pawnbroker's) 
 at four. On one occasion, when an execution had just been put in, 
 coming home through some chance as early as six o'clock, I saw her 
 lying (of course with a twin) under the grate in a swoon, with her 
 hair all torn about her face ; but I never knew her more cheerful than 
 she was, that very same night, over a veal-cutlet before the kitchen 
 fire, telling me stories about her papa and mamma, and the company 
 they used to keep. 
 
 Among the strildng and praiseworthy characteristics of this 
 remarkable lady, her devoted attachment to her husband is 
 deserving of special mention. On one occasion she tells David 
 Copperfield — 
 
 " I never wiU desert Mr. Micawber. Mr. Micawber may have con- 
 cealed his difficulties from me in the first instance, but his sanguine 
 temper may have led him to expect that he would overcome them. The 
 pearl necklace and bracelets which I inherited from mamma, have 
 been disposed of for less than half their value ; and the set of coral, 
 which was the wedding gift of my papa, has been actually throwu 
 
"^ DAVID COPPERFIELD. 329 
 
 away for nothing. But I never will desert Mr. Micawber. No 1 " cried 
 Mrs. Micawber, more affected than before, " I never will do it 1 It's of 
 no nse asking me ! " 
 
 I felt quite uncomfortable — as if Mrs. Micawber supposed I had 
 asked her to do anything of the sort — and sat looking at her in 
 alarm. 
 
 " Mr. Micawber has his faults. I do not deny that he is improvi- 
 dent. I do not deny that he has kept me in the dark as to his 
 resources and his liabilities, both," she went on, looking at the wall ; 
 " but I never will desert Mr. Micawber ! " 
 
 Mrs. Micawber .javing now raised her voice into a perfect scream, 
 I was so frightened that I ran off to the club-room, and disturbed 
 Mr. Micawber in the act of presiding at a long table, and leading the 
 chorus of — 
 
 Gee up, Dobbin, 
 
 Gee ho, Dobbin, 
 
 Gee up, Dobbin, 
 
 Gee up, and gee bo — o— o ! 
 
 — with the tidings that Mrs. Micawber was in an alarming state, upon 
 which he immediately burst into tears, and came away with me with 
 his waistcoat full of the heads and tails of shrimps, of which he had 
 been partaking. 
 
 ** Emma, my angel ! " cried Mr. Micawber, running into Lh.0 room ; 
 *' what is the matter ? " 
 
 " I never will desert you, Micawber ! " she exclaimed. 
 
 " My Hf e ! " said Mr. Micawber, taking her in his armis. " I am 
 perfectly aware of it." 
 
 " He is the parent of my children ! He is the father of luy twins ! 
 He is the husband of my affections," cried Mrs. Micawber, straggling ; 
 " and I ne — ver — will — desert Mr. Micawber ! " 
 
 Mr. Micawber was so deeply affected by this proof of hor duvotiod 
 (as to me, I was dissolved in tears) that he hung over hpx in a 
 passionate manner, imploring her to look up and to be calm. But the 
 more he asked Mrs. Micawber to look up, the more she fixed ber eyes 
 on nothing; and the more he asked her to compose herself, the more 
 she wouldn't. Consequently Mr. Micawber was soon so overcome, 
 that he mingled his tears with hers and mine ; until he beggeiil me to 
 do him the favour of taking a chair on the staircase, while he got her 
 into bed. 
 
 (Ch. xi., xii., xvii, xxvii., xxviii., xxxvi, xlii., kHx,, lii., 
 liv., Ivii., Ixiii.) 
 
 MILLS, MISS JULIA. Tlie bosom-friend of Dora Bpenlow. 
 (Ch. xxxiii., xxxvii., xxxviii., xli., Ixiv.) 
 
 I learnt . . . that Miss Mills had had her trials in the 
 course of a chequered existence ; and that to these, perhaps, I might 
 refer that wise benignity of manner which I had already noticed. I 
 found, in the course of the day, that this was the case : Miss Mills 
 having been unhappy in a misplaced affection, and being understood 
 to have retired from the world on her awful stock of experience, but 
 still to take a calm interest in the unblighted hopes and loves of youth. 
 
 For the more exact discliarge of the duties of friendship, 
 
330 THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 Miss Mills keeps a journal, of wluch the following is a 
 sample : 
 
 " Monday. My sweet D. still much depressed. Headache. Called 
 attention to J. as being beautifully sleek. D. fondled J. Associations; 
 thus awakened, opened floodgates of sorrow. Kush of grief admitted. 
 (Are tears the dewdrops of the heart ? J. M.) " 
 
 MILLS f MR. Her father ; a terrihle fellow to fall asleep after 
 dinner. (Ch. xxxiii., xxxvii., xxxviii., xli.) 
 
 MOW CHER, MISS. A dealer in cosmetics, a fashionable 
 hairdresser, &c., who makes herseK useful to a variety of 
 people in a variety of ways. She is very talkative, and 
 plumes herself on being " volatile," but is thoroughly kind- 
 hearted and honest. (Ch. xxii., xxxii., Ixi.) 
 
 I was still looking at the doorway, thinking that Miss Mowcher 
 was a long while making her appearance, when, to my infinite 
 astonis^'inent, there came waddling round a sofa which stood between 
 me :' /lu it, a pursy dwarf, of about forty or forty-five, with a very 
 large, bu.id and face, a pair of roguish grey eyes, and such extremely 
 little arms, that, to enable herself to lay a finger archly against her 
 snub i."8e as she ogled Steerforth, she was obliged to meet the finger 
 half. v» ay, and lay her nose against it. Her chin, which was what is 
 called a double-chin, was so fat i hat it entirely swallowed up the 
 string? t)f her bonnet, bow and all. Throat she had none ; waist she 
 had none ; legs she had none, worth mentioning ; for though she was 
 more than full-sized down to where her waist would have been, if she 
 had had any, and though she terminated, as human beings generally 
 ' do, ii; a pair of feet, she was so short that she stood at a common- 
 sized tVoair as at a table, resting a bag she carried on the seat. This 
 lady ; dressed in an off-hand, easy style ; brincring her nose and her 
 forefinger together, with the difficulty I have described; standing 
 with hor head necessarily on one side, and, with one of her sharp eyes 
 shut up, making an uncommonly knowing face; after ogling Steer- 
 forth ioi a few moments, broke into a torrent of words. 
 
 MURB STONE, MR. EDWARD. Stepfather of David 
 Cop'-«niield. (Ch. ii-iv., viii-x., xiv., xxxiii., lix.) See 
 Copi-iLfiFiELD, David. 
 
 Firmness, I may observe, was the grand quality on which both 
 Mr. and Miss Murdstone took their stand. However I might have 
 expressed my comprehension of it at that time, if I had been caller? 
 upon, I nevertheless did clearly comprehend in my own way, that it 
 was another name for tyranny ; and for a certain gloomy, arrogant, 
 devil's humour, that was in them both. The creed, as I should state 
 it now, was this. Mr. Murdstone was firm ; nobody in his world was 
 to be so firm as Mr. Murdstone ; nobody else in his world was to be 
 firm at all, for everybody was to be bent to his firmness. Miss 
 Murdstone was an exception. She might be firm, but only by relation- 
 ship, and in an inferior and tributary degree. She might be firm, 
 and must be; but only in bearing their firmness, and firmly believing 
 there was no other finimess upon earth. 
 
DAVID COPPERFIELD. 331 
 
 The gloomy taint that was in the Murdstone blood, darkened the 
 Murdstone religion, which was austere and wrathful. I have thought, 
 eince, that its assuming that character, was a necessary consequence 
 of Mr. Murdstone's firmness, which wouldn't allow him to let anybody 
 off from the utmost weight of the severest penalties he could find any 
 excuse for. 
 
 After tlie death of David's mother, !RIr. Murdstone niayries, 
 for Ms second wife, a lively young woman, but soon breaks 
 her spirit by his gloom and austerity, and at last reduces her 
 to a state bordering on imbecility. 
 
 MURDSTONE, MISS JANE. Sister to Edward Murdstone ; 
 a gloomy-looking, severe, metallic lady, dark, like her brother, 
 whom she greatly resembles in face and voice ; and with very 
 heavy eyebrows, nearly meeting over her large nose, as if, 
 being disabled by the wrongs of her sex from wearing whiskers, 
 she had carried them to that account. She is constantly 
 haunted by a suspicion that the servants have a man secreted 
 somewhere on the premises ; and, under the influence of this 
 delusion, she dives into the coal-cellar at the most untimely 
 hours, and scarcely ever opens the door of a dark cupboard 
 without clapping it to again in the belief that she has got him. 
 (Ch. iv., viii.— X., xii., xiv., xxvi., xsxiii., xxxviii., lix.) 
 See CoppERFiELD (Mrs. Clara), Copperfield (David), 
 Murdstone (Mr. Edward). 
 
 NETTINGALL, THE MISSES. Principals of a boarding- 
 school for young ladies. (Ch. xviii.) 
 
 OLD SOLDIER, THE. See Markleham, Mrs. 
 
 OMER, MINNIE. Daughter of Mr. Omer; a pretty, good- 
 natured girl engaged to Mr. Joram. (Ch. ix., xxi., xxx., 
 xxxii., li.) 
 
 OMER, MR. A draper, tailor, haberdasher, undertaker, &c., 
 at Yarmouth; a fat, short-winded, merry-looking little old 
 man in black, with rusty little bunches of ribbons at the 
 knees of his breeches, black stockings, and a broad-brimmed 
 hat. (Ch. ix., xxi., xxx., xxxii., li.) 
 
 PARAGON, MARY ANNE. A servant who keeps house for 
 
 David Copperfield and Dora. (Ch. xliv.) 
 FASSNIDGE, MR. A friend of Mr. Murdstone's. (Ch. ii.) 
 
 PEGGOTTY, CLARA. Servant to Mrs. Copperfield, and 
 nurse and friend to her son David ; a girl with no shape at 
 all, and eyes so dark, that they seem to darken their whole 
 neighbourhood in her face, and with cheeks and arms so hard 
 and red, that the birds might peck them in preference to apples. 
 
832 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 Eeing very plump, whenever she -makes any little exertion 
 after she is dressed, some of the buttons on the back of her 
 gown fly off. After the death of her mistress, Peggotty marries 
 Mr. Barkis, a carrier, who has long admired her ; but she never 
 forgets her old love for David, whose housekeeper she finally 
 becomes. (Ch. i.— v., viii.— x., xii., xiii., xvii., xix.-xxiii., 
 xxvii., xxx.-xxxv., xxxvii., xliii., li., Iv., Ivii., lix., Ixii., Ixiv.) 
 
 PEGGOTTY, MR. DANIEL. A rough but kind-hearted and 
 noble-souled fisherman j brother to Clara Peggotty. 
 
 I had known Mr. Peggotty's house very well in my childliood. 
 It was an old black barge, or some other kind of superannuated boat 
 . . . high and dry on the ground, with an iron funnel sticking out of 
 it for a chimney, and smoking very cosily. ... If it had been 
 Aladdin's palace, roc's eg^ and all, I suppose I could not have been 
 more charmed with the romantic Idea of living in it. There was a 
 delightful door cut in the side, and it was roofed in, and there were 
 little windows in it. . . . It was beautifully clean inside, and as tidy 
 as possible. There was a table, and a Dutch clock, and a chest of 
 drawers, and on the chest of drawers there was a tea-tray with a 
 painting on it of a lady with a parasol, taking a walk with a military - 
 looking child who was trundling a hoop. The tray was kept from 
 tumbling down by a bible ; and the tray, if it had tumbled down, 
 would have smashed a quantity of cups and saucers and a teapot that 
 were grouped around the book. On the walls there were some 
 common coloured pictures, framed and glazed, of scripture subjects ; 
 Bach as I have never seen since in the hands of pedlars, without seeing 
 the whole interior of Peggotty's brother's house again, at one view. 
 Abraham in red going to sacrifice Isaac in blue, and Daniel in yellow 
 cast into a den of green lions, were the most prominent of these. 
 Over the little mantel- shelf was a picture of the Scvrah Jame lugger, 
 built at Sunderland, with a real little wooden stem stuck on to it ; a 
 work of art, combining composition with carpentry, which I con- 
 sidered to be one of the most enviable possessions that the world 
 could afEord. There were some hooks in the beams of the ceiling, 
 the use of which I did not divine then ; and some lockers and boxes 
 and conveniences of that sort, which served for seats and eked out 
 the chairs. . . . Mr. Peggotty dealt is lobsters, crabs, and crawfish ; 
 and I afterwards found that a heap of these creatures, in a state of 
 wonderful conglomeration with one another, and never leaving o£E 
 T>inching whatever they laid hold of, were usually to be found in a little 
 wooden outhouse where the pots and kettles were kept. 
 
 Mr. Peggotty*s nephew Ham and his adopted niece Emily, 
 a beautiful young woman — ^both members of his household — 
 are engaged to be married ; but, before the wedding-day arrives 
 Emily elopes with Steerforth, a brilliant, handsome, plausible 
 fellow, who has succeeded in winning her affections and seducing 
 her. She leaves a letter for Ham, which he gives to David 
 Copperfield to read aloud. 
 
 I remember a great wail and cry, awd the women hanging about bim, 
 
DAVID COPPERt'IELD. SS3 
 
 And ^a ail standing in the room ; I with a paper in my hand, which 
 Ham had given me; Mr. Peggotty, with his vest torn open, his hair 
 wild, his face and lips quite white, and blood trickling down Ids bosom 
 (it had sprang from his mouth, I think) looking fixedly at me. 
 
 " Read it, sir," he said, in a low shivering voice. " Slow, please. I 
 doen't know as I can understand." 
 
 In the midst of the silence of death, I read thus, from a blotted 
 letter : 
 
 " When you, who love me so much better than I ever have deserved, 
 even when my mind was innocent, see this, I shall be far away." 
 
 "I shall be fur away," he repeated slowly. "Stop! Em'ly fur 
 away. WeU ! " 
 
 " When I leave my dear home — ^my dear home — oh, my dear hoirve ! 
 —in the morning." 
 
 the letter bore date on the previous night s 
 
 '* — it will be never to come back, unless he brings me back a lady. 
 This will be found at night, many hours after, instead of me. Oh, if 
 you knew how my heart is torn. If even you, that I have wronged so 
 much, that can never forgive me, could only know what I suffer ! I am 
 too wicked to write about myself. Oh, take comfort in thinking that I 
 am so bad. Oh, for mercy's sake, tell uncle that I never loved him half 
 BO dear as now. Oh, don't remember how affectionate and kind you 
 have all been to me — don't remember we were ever to be married — but 
 try to think as if I died when I was little, and was buried somewhere. 
 Pray Heaven that I am going away from, have compassion on my uncle ! 
 Tell him that I never loved him half so dear. Be his comfort. Love 
 some good girl, that will be what I was once to uncle, and be true to 
 you, and worthy of you, and know no shame but me. God bless all ! 
 I'll pray for all, often, on my knees. If he don't bring me back a lady, 
 and I don't pray for my own self, I'll pray for all. My parting love to 
 uncle. My last tears, and my last thanks, for uncle ! " 
 
 That was alL 
 
 He stood, long after I had ceased to read, looking at me. At length 
 I ventured to take his hand, and to entreat him, as well as I could, to 
 endeavour to get some command of himself. He replied, " I thankee, 
 dir, I thankee ! " without moving. 
 
 Ham spoke to him. Mr. Peggotty was so far sensible of his afl3ic. 
 tion, that he wrung his hand ; but, otherwise, he remained in the same 
 state, and no one dared to disturb him. 
 
 Slowly, at last he moved his eyes from my face, as if he were waking 
 from a vision, and cast them round the room. Then he said, in a low 
 voice • 
 
 '• Who'i: the man ? I want to know his name." 
 
 Ham glanced at me, and suddenly I felt a shock that struck me back. 
 
 ** There's a man suspected," said Mr. Peggotty. " Who is it ? " 
 
 " Mas'r Davy ! " implored Ham. " Go out a bit, and let me tell him 
 what I must. You doen't ought to hear it, sir." 
 
 I felt the shock again. I sank down in a chair, and tried to utter 
 Bome reply ; but my tongue was fcttsrsdj and my sight was weak. 
 
334 THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 ** T want to know his name I " I heard said, once more. 
 
 " For some time past," Ham faltered, " there's been a servant about 
 here, at odd times. There's been a gen'lm'n too. Both of 'em belonged 
 to one another." 
 
 Mr. Peggotty stood fixed as before, but now looking at him. 
 
 " The servant," pui-sned Ham, " was seen along with — our poor girl 
 — last night. He's been in hiding about here, this week or over. He 
 was thought to have gone, but he was hiding. Doen't stay, Mas'r Davy, 
 doen't!" 
 
 I felt Peggotty's arm round my neck, but I could not have moved if 
 the house bad been about to fall upon me. 
 
 " A strange chay and bosses was outside town, this morning, on t})e 
 Norwich, road, a'most afore the day broke," Ham went on. " The 
 servant went to it, and come from it, and went to it again. When he 
 went to it again, Em'ly was nigh him. The t'other was inside. He's the 
 man," 
 
 " For tbe Lord's love," said Mr, Peggotty, falling back, and putting 
 out his hand, as if to keep off what he dreaded. *' Doen't tell me his 
 name's Steerforth ? " 
 
 " Mas'r Davy," exclaimed Ham, in a broken voice, " it ain't no fault 
 of youm — and I ana far from laying of it to you — but his name is 
 Steerforth, and he's a damned villain ! " 
 
 Mr. Peggotty uttered no cry, and shed no tear, and moved no more, 
 until he seemed to wake again, all at once, and pulled down his rough 
 coat from its peg in a corner. 
 
 " Bear a hand with this! I'm struck of a heap, and can't do it," he 
 said impatiently. " Bear a hand and help me. Well! " when somebody 
 had done so. " Now give me that theer hat ! " 
 
 Ham asked him whither he was going. 
 
 " I'm a-going to seek my niece. I'm a-going to seek my Em'ly. I'm 
 a going, first, to stave in that theer boat, and sink it where I would have 
 drownded him, as I'm a Hvin' soul, if I had had one thought of what was 
 in him! As he sat afore me," he said, wildly, holding out his clenched 
 right hand, "as he sat afore me, face to face, strike me down dead, but 
 I'd have drownded him, and thought it right 1 — I'm a-going to seek my 
 niece." 
 
 " Where ? " cried Ham, interposing himself before the door. 
 
 "Anywhere ! I'm a-going to seek my niece through the wureld. I'm 
 a-going to find my poor niece in her shame, and bring her back. No one 
 Btop me ! I tell you I'm a-going to seek my niece ! " 
 
 Months pass ; and Mr. Peggotty has heen ahsent — no one 
 knows where — ^the whole time, when suddenly David encounters 
 him in London, and learns the story of his wanderings. 
 
 " When she was a child . . . she used to talk to me a deal about the 
 sea, and about them coasts where the sea got to be dark blue, and to lay 
 a- shining and a- shining in the sun. . . . When she was — lost ... I 
 know'd in my mind, as he would take her to them cotmtries. I know'd 
 in my mind, as he'd have told her wonders of 'em, and how she. 
 was to be a lady theer, and how he got her listen to him fust, along o' 
 sech like. ... I went across-channel to France, and landed thefir, as* 
 if I'd fell down from the sky. ... I found out an EngKsh gen'leman aa 
 was in authoi^ity . . . and told him I was a-going to seek my niece. He 
 got me them papers as 1 wanted fur to carry me through — I doen'fc 
 
DAVID COPPERFIELD. 835 
 
 tightly know how they're called —and he would have give m© money, 
 but that I was thankful to have no need on. I thank him kind, for all 
 he done, I'm sure ! . . . I told him, best as I was able, what my 
 gratitoode was, and went away through France." 
 
 ** Alone, and on foot ? " . . . 
 
 •* Mostly a-foot . . . sometimes in carts along with people going to 
 market ; sometimes in empty coaches. Many mile a day a-foot, and 
 often with some poor soldier or another, travelling to see his friends. I 
 couldn't talk to him . . . nor he to me ; but we was company for one 
 another, too, along the dusty roads. . . . When 1 come to any town . . . 
 I found the inn, and waited about the yard till some one turned up (soma 
 one mostly did) as know'd English. Then I told how that I was on my 
 way to seek my niece, and they told me what manner of gentlefolks was 
 in the house, and I waited to see any as seemed like her, going in or 
 out. When it warn't Em'ly, I went on agen. By little and httle, when 
 I come to a new village or that, among the poor people, I found they 
 know'd about me. They would set me down at their cottage-doors, and 
 give me what-not fur to eat and drink, and show me where to sleep ; 
 and many a woman, Mas'r Davy, as has had a daughter of about Em'ly'g 
 age I've found a-waiting for me, at Our Saviour's Cross outside the 
 village, fur to do me sim'lar kindnesses. Some has had daughters as 
 was dead. And God only knows how good them mothers was to 
 me !'*... 
 
 I laid my trembling hand upon the hand he put before his face. 
 "Thankee, sir," he said, " doen't take no notice." 
 
 " At last I come to the sea. It warn't hard, you may suppose, for a 
 seafaring man like me to work his way over to Italy. When I got theer, 
 I wandered on as I had done afore. The people was just as good to me, 
 and I should have gone from town to town, maybe the country thi-oiigh, 
 but that I got news of her being seen among them Swiss mountains 
 yonder. ... I made for them mountains, Mas'r Davy, day and night. 
 Ever so fur as I went, ever so fur the mountains seemed to shift away 
 from me. But I come up with 'em. ... I never doubted her . . . 
 No ! Not a bit ! On'y let her see my face — ou'y let her heer my voice 
 — on'y let my stanning still afore her bring to her thoughts the homo 
 she had fled away from, and the child she had been — and if she had 
 growed to be a royal lady, she'd have fell down at my feet ! I know'd it 
 well! ... I bought a country dress to put upon her. ... To put that 
 dress upon her, and to cast off what she wore — to take her on my arm 
 again, and wander towards home — to stop sometimes upon the road, aiul 
 heal her l!,rn^sed feet and her worse-bruised heart — was all that 1 thowt 
 of now. . . . But, Mas'r Davy, it warn't to be — not yet ! I was too 
 late, and they was gone. Wheer, I couldn't learn. Some said heer, 
 some said theer. I travelled heer, and I travelled theer, but I found no 
 Em'ly, and I travelled home." 
 
 At last, however, IMr. Peggotty finds Ms niece, and emigrates 
 with her to Australia. "ISTo one can't reproach my darling in 
 Australia," he says. " We will begin a new life over theer." 
 (Ch. ii., iii., vii., x., xxi., xxii., xxx.-xxxu., xl., xliii, xlvi., 
 xlvii., L, li., IviL, Ixiii.) 
 
 PEGGOTTY, HAM. Nephew of Daniel Peggotty. He is 
 engaged to little Emily, but on the eve of their marriage, she 
 
836 THE DICKENS BiCTtOlTARY. 
 
 elopes with Steerfortli. Years afterwards, lie attempts, One 
 night, to rescue some unfortunate passengers from a vessel 
 wrecked in a great storm on Yarmouth beach. One of these 
 passengers proves to be Steerforth, who is returning home 
 from abroad. A mighty wave engulfs them all; and the 
 wronged and wrong-doer perish together on the very scene 
 which had witnessed the triumph of the one and the blighted 
 hopes of the other. (Ch. ii., iii., vii, x., xxi., xxii., xxx.- 
 xxxii., xl,, xlvL, li., 1y.) See Peggotty (Daniel), Steebforth 
 (James). 
 QUINION, MR. A friend of Mr. Murdstone's, and chiei 
 manager at Murdstone and Grinby's warehouse, in London. 
 Mr. Murdstone calls on Mr. Quinion and Mr. Passnidge, at 
 Lowestoft, in company with little David Copperfield, to whose 
 mother he is on the point of being married. 
 
 They both rolled on to their feet, in an nntidj sort of manner, 
 when we came in, and said, " Halloa, Murdstone ! We thought you 
 were dead ! " 
 
 " Not yet," said Mr. Murdstone. 
 
 " And who's this shaver ? " said one of the gentlemen, taking hold 
 of me. 
 
 "That's Davy," returned Mr. Murdstone. 
 
 " Davy who ? " said the gentleman. " Jones ? ** 
 
 " Copperfield," said Mr. Murdstone. 
 
 " What 1 Bewitching Mrs. Copperfield's incumbrance ? " cried th® 
 gentleman. " The pretty little widow ? " 
 
 " Quinion," said Mr. Murdstone, "take care, if you please. Some- 
 body's sharp." 
 
 " Who is ? " asked the gentleman, laughing. 
 
 I looked up quickly ; being curious to know. 
 
 " Only Brooks of Sheffield," said Mr. Murdstone. 
 
 I was quite relieved to find that it was only Brooks of Sheffield j 
 for, at first, I really thought it was I. 
 
 There seemed to be something very comical in the reputation of 
 Mr. Brooks of Sheffield, for both the gentlemen laughed heartily wliea 
 he was mentioned, and Mr. Murdstone was a good deal amused also. 
 After some laughing, the gentleman whom he called Quinion said : 
 
 " And what is the opinion of Brooks of Sheffield, in reference to 
 the projected business ? " 
 
 " Why, I don't know that Brooks understands much about it at 
 present," replied Mr. Mxa-dstone ; " but he is not generally favourable, 
 I believe." 
 
 There was more laughter at this, and Mr. Quinion said he would 
 ring the bell for some sherry in which to drink to Brooks. This he 
 did; and when the wine came, he made me have a little, with a 
 biscuit, and, before I drank it, stand up and say, *' Confusion to Brooks 
 of Sheffield !'* The toast was received with great applause, and such 
 hearty laughter that it made me laugh too ; at wtuck they laughed 
 the more. In short, we quite enjoyed ourselvea. 
 
 (Ch. ii., x.-xii) 
 
DATID COPPEEFIELD. g37 
 
 SHAEP, MM. First master at Salem House, IVlr. CreaMe'a 
 school, near London ; a limp, delicate-looking gentleman, with 
 8 good deal of nose, and a way of carrying his head on one 
 side, as if it were a little too heavy for him. (Ch. vi, vii., ix.) 
 
 SHEPHERD, MISS. A hoarder at the Misses ISTettingall's 
 Estahlishment for Young Ladies, with whom David Copper- 
 field is for a time deeply in love. She is a little girl in a 
 spencer, with a round face, and curly flaxen hair. (Ch. xviii.) 
 
 SPENLOW, MISS CLARISSA. The elder of two maiden 
 sisters of Mr. Spenlow, with whom his daughter Dora resides 
 after his death. They are both dry little ladies, upright in 
 their carriage, formal, precise, composed, and quiet. (Ch. 
 xxxviil, xxxix., xlL— xliii, liii.) 
 
 SPENLOW, MISS LAVINIA. Aunt to Dora, and sister to 
 Miss Clarissa and Mr. Francis Spenlow. (Ch. xxxviii., 
 xxxix., xli.-xliii., liii.) 
 
 Miss Lavinia was an authority in affairs of the heart, by reason of 
 there having anciently existed a certain Mr. Pidger, who played shorfi 
 wliist, and was supposed to have been enamoured of her. My private 
 opinion is, that this was entirely a gratuitous assumption, and that 
 Pidger was altogether innocent of any such sentiments — to which he 
 had never given any sort of expression that I could ever hear of. 
 Both Miss Lavinia and Miss Clarissa had a superstition, however, that 
 he would have declared his passion, if he had not been cut short in 
 his youth (at about sixty) by over-drinking his constitution, and over- 
 doing an attempt to set it right again by swilling Bath water. They 
 had a lurking suspicion even, that he died of secret love ; though I 
 must say there was a picture of him in the house with a damask nose, 
 which concealment did not appear to have ever preyed upon. 
 
 SPENLOW, MISS DORA. Only daughter of Mr. Spenlow; 
 afterwards the " child-wife " of David Copperfield ; a timid, 
 trustful, sensitive, artless little beauty, who is not much more 
 than a plaything, and who dies young. (Ch. xxvi., xxxiii., 
 XXXV., xxxvii., xxxviii., xli.-xliv., xlviii., L-liii) See 
 Copperfield, David. 
 
 SPENLOW, MR. FRANCIS One of the firm of Spenlow 
 and Jorkins (proctors in Doctors' Commons), and the father 
 of Dora, who is afterwards David Copperfield's wife. (Ch. 
 xxiii., xxvi., xxix,, xxxiii., xxxv., xxxviii.) See Jorkins, Mr. 
 
 He was a little light-haired gentleman, with undeniable boots, and 
 the stiffest of white cravats and shirt -collars. He was buttoned up 
 mighty trim and tight, and must have taken a great deal of pains with 
 his whiskers, which were accurately curled. ... He was got up 
 with such care, and was so stiff, that he could hardly bend hunself ; 
 being obliged, when he glanced at some papers on his desk, after 
 Bitting down in his chair, to move his wl^ole body, from the bottom of 
 ?iia spine, like Puno^. 
 
338 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 SPIKER, MR, HENRY. A guest at a party given by Mr. 
 and Mrs. "Waterbrook. He is solicitor to somebody or some- 
 thing remotely connected with the Treasury, and is so cold a 
 man that his head, instead of being grey, seems to be sprinkled 
 with hoar-frost. (Ch. xxv.) 
 
 8PIKER, MRS. HENRY. His wife ; a very awful lady, look- 
 ing like a near relation of Hamlet — say his aunt. (Ch. xxv.) 
 
 STEEREORTH, JAMES. A schoolfellow and friend of David 
 Copperfield's ; a young man of great personal attractions and 
 the most easy and engaging manners. Always adapting him- 
 seK readily to the society he happens to be in, he has no 
 trouble in securing the regard and confidence of simple-hearted 
 Mr. Peggotty, whose humble house he visits with David. 
 Here he meets Mr. Peggotty's niece and adopted daughter, 
 Emily — a beautiful young woman, betrothed to her cousin 
 Ham — and deliberately sets to work to effect her ruin. In 
 this he is successful ; and, on the eve of her intended marriage, 
 she consents to elope with him. They live abroad for some 
 time ; but he finally tires of her, and, after insultingly pro- 
 posing that she should marry his valet, a detestable scoundrel, 
 cruelly deserts her. ISTot long after, he sets sail for England, 
 and meets his death by shipwreck during a fearful gale which 
 is thus described by David Copperfield : 
 
 It was a murky confusion — here and there blotted with a colour 
 like the colour of the smoke from damp fuel — of flying clouds tossed up 
 into most remarkable heaps, suggesting greater heights in the clouds 
 than there were depths below them to the bottom of the deepest hollows 
 in the earth, through which the wild moon seemed to plunge headlong, 
 as if, in a dread disturbance of the laws of nature, she had lost her 
 way and were frightened. There had been a wind all day ; and it was 
 rising then, with an extraordinary great sound. In another hour it had 
 much increased, and the sky was more overcast, and it blew hard. 
 
 But as the night advanced, the clouds closing in and densely over- 
 spreading the whole sky, then very dark, it came on to blow, harder 
 and harder. It still increased, until our horses could scarcely face the 
 wind. Many times, in the dark part of the night (it was then late in 
 September, when the nights were not short), the leaders turned about, 
 or came to a dead stop ; and we were often in serious apprehension 
 that the coach would be blown over. Sweeping gusts of rain came up 
 before this storm, like showers of steel; and, at those times, when 
 there was any shelter of trees or lee walls to be got, we were fain to 
 stop, in a sheer impossibility of continuing the struggle. 
 
 When the day broke, it blew harder and harder. I had been in 
 Yarmouth when the seamen said it blew great guns, but I had never 
 known the like of this, or anything approaching to it. We came to 
 Ipswich — very late, having had to fight every inch of ground since we 
 were ten miles out of London — and found a cluster of people in the 
 market-place, who had risen from their beds in the night, fearful of 
 falling chimneys. Some of these, congregating about the inn-yard 
 
DAVID COPPERFIELD. 339 
 
 whale we ctanged horses, told us of great sheets of lead having been 
 npped off a high church-tower, and Hung into a bye- street, which they 
 then blocked up. Others had to tell of country people, coming in from 
 leighbouring villages, who had seen great trees lying torn out of the 
 earth, and whole ricks scattered about the roads and fields. Still, there 
 was no abatement in the storm, but it blew harder. 
 
 As we struggled on, nearer and nearer to the sea, from which this 
 mighty wind was blowing dead on shore, its force became more and 
 more terrific. Long before we saw the sea, its spray was on our lips, 
 and showered salt rain upon us. The water was out, over miles and 
 miles of the fiat country adjacent to Yarmouth ; and every sheet and 
 puddle lashed its banks, and had its stress of little breakers setting 
 heavily towards us. When we came within sight of the sea, the waves 
 on the horizon, caught at intervals above the rolling abyss, were like 
 glimpses of another shore with towers and buildings. When at last we 
 got into the town, the people came out to their doors, all aslant, and 
 with sDreaming hair, making a wonder of the mail that had come through 
 such a night. 
 
 I put up at the old inn, and went down to look at the sea ; stagger- 
 ing along the street, which was strevsna with sand and seaweed, and with 
 flying blotches of sea-foam ; afraid of falling slates and tiles ; and hold- 
 ing by people I met, at angry corners. Coming near the beach, I saw, 
 not only the boatmen, but half the people of the town, lurking behind 
 buildings ; some, now and then braving the fury of the storm to look away 
 to sea, and blown sheer out of their course in trying to get zigzag back. 
 
 Joining these groups, I found bewailing women whose husbands 
 were away in herring or oyster boats, which there was too much reason 
 to think might have foundered before they could run in anywhere for 
 safety. Grizzled old sailors were among the people, shaking their heads, 
 as they looked from water to sky, and muttering to one another; ship- 
 owners, excited and uneasy; children, huddling together, and peering 
 into older faces; even stout mariners, disturbed and anxious, levelling 
 their glasses at the sea from behind places of shelter, as if they were 
 surveying an enemy. 
 
 The tremendous sea itself, when I could find sufficient pause to look 
 at it, in the agitation of the blinding wind, the flying stones and sand, and 
 the awful noise, confounded me. As the high watery walls came rolling 
 in, and, at their highest, tumbled into surf, they looked as if the least 
 would engulf the town. As the receding wave swept back vdth a hoarse 
 roar, it seemed to scoop out deep caves in the beach, as if its purpose 
 were to undermine the earth. Wlien some white-headed billows thun- 
 dered on, and dashed themselves to pieces before they reached the land, 
 every fragment of the late whole seemed possessed by the full might of 
 its wrath, rushing to be gathered to the composition of another monster. 
 Undulating hills were changed to valleys, undulating valleys (with a 
 solitary storm-bird sometimes skimming through them) were lifted r.p 
 to hills; masses of water shivered and shook the beach with a booroing 
 sound ; eveiy shape tumultuously rolled on, as soon as made, to change 
 its shape and place, and beat another shape aud place away ; the idea! 
 shore on the horizon, with its towers and buildings, rose and fell ; the 
 clouds flew fast and thick; I seemed to see a rending and upheaving of 
 all nature. 
 
 Not finding Ham among the people whom this memorable wind — for 
 it is still remembered down there as the greatest ever known to blow 
 upon that coast — had brought together, I made my way to his house. 
 
 £ 2 
 
3^ THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 It was shut J and as no one answered to my knocking, I went, by back 
 ways and bye-lanes, to the yard where he worked. I learned, there, 
 that he had gone to Lowestoft, to meet some sudden exigency of ship, 
 repairing in which his skill was required j but that he would be back 
 to-morrow morning, in good time. 
 
 I went back to the inn ; and when I had washed and dressed, and 
 tried to sleep, but in vain, it was five o'clock in the afternoon. I had 
 not sat five minutes by the coffee-room fire, when the waiter coming to 
 stir it, as an excuse for talking, told me that two colliers had gone down, 
 with all hands, a few miles away ; and that some other ships had been 
 seen labouring hard in the Roads, and trying, in great distress, to keep 
 off shore. Mercy on them, and on aU poor sailors, said he, if we had 
 another night like the last 1 
 
 I was very much depressed in spirits; very solitary; and felt an 
 uneasiness in Ham's not being there, disproportionate to the occasion. 
 I was seriously affected, without knowing how much, by late events ; 
 and my long exposure to the fierce wind had confused me. There was 
 that jumble in my thoughts and recollections, that I had lost the clear 
 arrangement of time and distance. Thus, if I had gone out into the 
 town, I should not have been surprised, I think, to encounter some one 
 whom I knew must be then in London. So to speak, there was in these 
 respects a curious inattention in my mind. Yet it was busy, too, with 
 all the remembrances the place naturally awakened j and they were 
 particularly distinct and vivid. 
 
 In this state, the waiter's dismal intelligence about the ships imme- 
 diately connected itself, without any effort of my volition, with my 
 uneasiness about Ham. I was persuaded that I had an apprehension of 
 his returning from Lowestoft by sea, and being lost. This grew so 
 strong with me, that I resolved to go back to the yard before I took my 
 dinner, and ask the boat-builder if he thought his attempting to return 
 by sea at all likely ? If he gave me the least reason to think so, I 
 would go over to Lowestoft and prevent it by bringing him with me. 
 
 I hastily ordered my dinner, and went back to the yard. I was none 
 too soon; for the boat-builder, with a lantern in his hand, was locking 
 the yard-gate. He quite laughed, when I asked him the question, and 
 said there was no fear ; no man in his senses, or out of them, would put 
 off in such a gale of wind, least of all Ham Peggotty, who had been born 
 to seafaring. 
 
 So sensible of this, beforehand, that I had really felt ashamed of 
 doing what I was nevertheless impelled to do, I went back to the inn. 
 If such a wind could rise, I think it was rising. The howl and roar, the 
 rattling of the doors and windows, the rumbling in the chimneys, the 
 apparent rocking of the very house that sheltered me, and the prodigious 
 tumult of the sea, were more f eai-f ul than in the morning. But there 
 was now a great darkness besides j and that invested the storm with 
 new terrors, real and fanciful. 
 
 I could not eat, I could not sit still, I could not continue steadfast to 
 anything. Something within me, faintly answering to the storm without, 
 tossed up the depths of my memory, and made a tumult in them. Yet, 
 in all the hurry of my thoughts, wild running with the thundering sea 
 ' — ^the storm, and my uneasiness regarding Ham were always in the fore- 
 ground. 
 
 My dinner went away almost untasted, and I tried to refresh myself 
 'wilh a glass or two of wine. In vain, I fell into a dull slumber before 
 %o rii«, without losing my consciousness either of the uproar oat oi 
 
DAVID COPPERFIELD. 341 
 
 donfg, ot of the place in which I was. Both became overshadowed by a 
 new and indefinable horror ; and when I awoke — or, rather, when 1 
 shook off the lethargy that bound me in my chair — my whole frame 
 thrilled with objectless and unintelligible fear. 
 
 I walked to and fro, tried to read an old gazetteer : listened to the 
 awful noises : looked at faces, scenes, and figures in the fire. At length 
 the steady ticking of the nndisturbed clock on the wall tormented me to 
 that degree, that I resolved to go to bed. 
 
 It was reassuring, on such a night, to be told that some of the inn 
 servants had agreed together to sit up until morning. I went to bed 
 exceedingly weary and heavy ; but, on my lying down, all such sensa- 
 tions vanished, as if by magic, and I was broad awake, with every sense 
 refined. 
 
 For hours I lay there, listening to the wind and water; imagining, 
 now, that I heard shrieks out at sea : now that I distinctly heard the 
 firing of signal guns ; and now the fall of houses in the town. I got up, 
 several times, and looked out; but could see nothing except the re- 
 flection in the window-panes of the faint candle I had left burning, and 
 of my own haggard face looking in at me from the black void. 
 
 At length my restlessness attained to such a pitch, that I hurried on 
 my clothes and went downstairs. In the large kitchen, where I dimly 
 saw bacon and ropes of onions hanging from the beams, the watchers 
 were clustered together, in various attitudes, about a table purposely 
 moved away from the great chimney, and brought near the door. A 
 pretty girl, who had her ears stopped with her apron, and her eyes upon 
 the door, screamed when I appeared, supposing me to be a spirit ; but 
 the others had more presence of mind, and were glad of an addition to 
 their company. One man, referring to the topic they had been discuss- 
 ing, asked me whether I thought the souls of the collier-crews who had 
 gone down, were out in the storm ? 
 
 I remained there, I dare say, two hours. Once, I opened the yard, 
 gate, and looked into the empty street. The sand, the sea-weed, and 
 the flakes of foam, were driving by ; and I was obliged to call for assist- 
 ance before I could shut the gate again and make it fast against the wind. 
 
 There was a dark gloom in my solitary chamber when I at length returned 
 to it ; but I was tired now, and, getting into bed again, fell — off a tower 
 and down a precipice — into the depths of sleep. I have an impression 
 that for a long time, though I dreamed of being elsewhere and in a 
 variety of scenes, it was always blowing in my dream. At length, I losfc 
 that feeble hold upon reality, and was engaged vrith two dear friends, 
 but who they were I don't know, at the siege of some town, in a roar of 
 cannonading. 
 
 The thunder of the cannon was so loud and incessant, that I could 
 not hear something I much desired to hear, until I made a great exertion 
 and awoke. It was broad day — eight or nine o'clock ; the storm raging 
 in lieu of the batteries, and some one knocking and calling at my door. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " I cried. 
 
 " A wreck ! Close by ! " 
 
 I sprang out of bed, and asked, what wreck ? 
 
 " A schooner from Spain or Portugal, laden with fruit and win©. 
 Make haste, sir, if you want to see her I It's thought down on tha 
 beach, she'll go to pieces every moment." 
 
 The excited voice went clamouring along the staircase; and I 
 wrapped myself in my clothes as quickly as I could, and ran into th® 
 otreet. 
 
848 THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 Numbers of people were there before me, all ninniBg in one direction 
 —to the beacb. I ran the same way, outstripping a good many, and 
 BOon came facing the wild eea. 
 
 The wind might by this time have lulled a little, though not more 
 sensibly than if the cannonading I had dreamed of had been diminished 
 by the silencing of half-a-dozen guns out of hundreds. But the sea, 
 having upon it the additional agitation of the whole night, was infinitely 
 more terrific than when I had seen it last. Every appearance it had 
 then presented bore the expression of being swelled : and the height to 
 which the breakers rose, and, looking over one another, bore one another 
 down, and rolled in, in interminable hosts, was most appalling. 
 
 In the difficulty of hearing anything but wind and waves, and in the 
 crowd, and the unspeakable confusion, and my first breathless efforts to 
 stand against the weather, I was so confused that I looked out to sea 
 for the wreck, and saw nothing but the foaming heads of the great 
 waves. A half-dressed boatman, standing next me, pointed with bis 
 bare arm (a tattoo'd arrow on it, pointing in the same direction) to the 
 left. Then, great Heaven, I saw it, close in upon us ! 
 
 One mast was broken short off, six or eight feet from the deck, and 
 lay over the side entangled in a maze of sail and rigging ; and all that 
 ruin as the ship rolled and beat — which she did without a moment's 
 pause, and with a violence quite inconceivable — beat the side as if it 
 would stave it in. Some efforts were even then being made to cut 
 this portion of the wreck away; for, as the ship, which was broadside 
 on, turned towards us in her rolling, I plainly descried her people at 
 work with axes, especially one active figure with long curling hair, con- 
 spicuous among the rest. But a great cry, which was audible even 
 above the wind and water, rose from the shore at this moment ; the sea, 
 sweeping over the rolling wreck, made a clean breach, and carried men, 
 spars, casks, planks, bulwarks, heaps of such toys, into the boiling 
 surge. 
 
 The second mast was yet standing, with the rags of a rent sail, and 
 a wild confusion of broken cordage flapping to and fro. The ship had 
 struck once, the same boatman hoarsely said in my ear, and then 
 lifted in and struck again. I understood him to add that she was part- 
 ing amidships, and I could readily suppose so, for the rolling and beating 
 were too tremendous for any human work to suffer long. " As he spoke, 
 there was another great cry of pity from the beach ; four men arose 
 with the wreck out of the deep, chnging to the rigging of the remaining 
 mast ; uppermost, the active figure with the curling hair. 
 
 There was a bell on board ; and as the ship rolled and dashed, like a 
 desperate creature driven mad, now showing us the whole sweep of her 
 deck, as she turned on her beam-ends towards the shore, now nothing 
 but her keel, as she sprang wildly over and turned towards the sea, thp 
 bell rang ; and its sound, the knell of those unhappy mec^ was borne 
 towards us on the wind. Again we lost her and again she rose. Two 
 men were gone. The agony on shore increased. Men groaned, and 
 clasped their hands ; women shrieked, and turned away their faces. 
 Some ran wildly up and down along the beach, crying for help wheie 
 no help could be. I found myself one of these, frantically imploring & 
 knot of sailors whom I knew, not to let those two lost creatures perish 
 before our eyes. 
 
 They were making out to me, in an agitated way — I don't know how, 
 lor the little I could hear, I was scarcely composed enough to understand 
 —that the lifr^boat had been bravely maimed an hour ago, and could do 
 
DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 843 
 
 nothing ; and that as no man would be so desperate as to attempt to 
 wade off with a rope, and establish a communication with the shore, 
 there was nothing left to try ; when I noticed that some new sensation 
 moved the people on the beach, and saw them part, and Ham come 
 breaking through them to the front. 
 
 I ran to him — as well as I know, to repeat my appeal for help. But, 
 distracted though I was, by a sight so new to me and terrible, the 
 determination in his face, and his look out to sesi — exactly the same look 
 as I remembered in connexion with the morning after Emily's flight — 
 awoke me to the knowledge of his danger. I held him back with both 
 arms ; and implored the men with whom I had been speaking, not to 
 listen to him, not to do murder, not to let him stir from off the sand ! 
 
 Another cry arose on shore; and looking to the wreck, we saw 
 the cruel sail, with blow on blow, beat off the lower of the two men, 
 and fly up in triumph round the active figure left alone upon the mast. 
 
 Against such a sight, and against such determination as that of the 
 calmly desperate man who was already accustomed to lead half the 
 people present, I might as hopefully have entreated the wind. " Mas'r 
 Davy," he said, cheerily grasping me by both hands, "if my time is 
 come, 'tis come. If *t an't, I'll bide it. Lord above bless you, and 
 bless all 1 Mates, make me ready I I'm a-going off I " 
 
 I was swept away, but not unkindly, to some distance, where the 
 people around me made me stay ; urging, as I confusedly perceived, 
 that he was bent on going, with help or without, and that I should 
 endanger the precautions for his safety by troubling those with whom 
 they rested. I don't know what I answered, or what they rejoined; but 
 I saw hurry on the beach, and men running with ropes from a capstan 
 that was there, and penetrating into a circle of figures that hid him from 
 me. Then I saw him standing alone, in a seaman's frock and trousers ; 
 a rope in his hand, or slung to his wrist ; another round his body ; and 
 several of the best men holding, at a Httle distance, to the latter, which 
 he laid out himself, slack upon the shore, at his feet. 
 
 The wreck, even to my unpractised eye, was breaking up. I saw 
 that she was parting in the middle, and that the life of the solitary man 
 upon the mast hung by a thread. Still he clung to it. He had a 
 singular red cap on — not like a sailor's cap, but of a finer colour ; and 
 as the few yielding planks between him and destruction rolled and 
 bulged, and his anticipative death-knell rung, he was seen by all of us 
 to wave it. I saw him do it now, and thought I was going distracted, 
 when his action brought an old remembrance to my mind of a once dear 
 friend. 
 
 Ham watched the sea, standing alone, with the silence of suspended 
 breath behind him, and the storm before, until there rra'^ a great retiring 
 wave, when, with a backward glance at those who iielci the rope which 
 was made fast round his body, he dashed in after it, and in a moment 
 was buffeting with the water ; rising with the hills, falling with the 
 valleys, lost beneath the foam ; then drawn again to land. They hauled 
 in hastily. 
 
 He was hurt. I saw blood on his face, from where I stood ; but ha 
 took no thought of that. He seemed hurriedly to give them some 
 directions for leaving him more free — or so I judged from the motion of 
 his arm — and was gone as before. 
 
 And DOW he made for the wreck, rising with the hills, falling with 
 the valleys, lost beneath the rugged foam, borne in towards the shore, 
 borne on towards the ship, striving hard and valiantly. The distance 
 
§44 THE DICKENS DICTIONART. 
 
 was nothing, but the power of the sea and wind made the strife deadly. 
 At length he neared the wreck. He was so near, that with one more 
 of his vigorous strokes he would be clinging to it — ^when, a high, 
 green, -r&st hill-side of water, moving on shoreward, from beyond the 
 ship, he seemed to leap up into it with a mighty bound, and the ship 
 was gone ! 
 
 Some eddying fragments I saw in the sea, as if a mere cask had 
 been broken, in running to the spot where they were hauling in. Con- 
 sternation was in every face. They drew him to my veiy feet — in- 
 sensible — dead. He was carried to the nearest house ; and, no one 
 preventing me now, I remained near him, busy, while every means of 
 restoration were tried j but he had been beaten to death by the great 
 wave, and his generous heart was stilled for ever. 
 
 As I sat beside the bed, when hope was abandoned and all was 
 done, a fisherman, who had known me when Emily and I were chil- 
 dren, and ever since, whispered my name at the door. 
 
 " Sir," said he, with tears starting to his weather-beaten face, which, 
 with his trembling lips, was ashy pale, " will you come over yonder ? " 
 
 The old remembrance that had been recalled to me, was in his 
 look. I asked him, terror-stricken, leaning on the^arm he held out to 
 support me : 
 
 " Has a body come ashore ? " 
 
 He said, " Yes." 
 
 « Do I know it ? " I asked then. 
 
 He answered nothing. 
 
 But, he led me to the shore. And on that part of it where she and 
 I had looked for shells, two children — on that part of it where sojoie 
 lighter fragments of the old boat, blown down last night, had been 
 scattered by the wind — among the ruins of the home he had wronged — 
 I saw him lying with his head upon his arm, as I had often seen him 
 lie at school. 
 
 (Oh. vi., vii., ix., xix.-xxv., xxviii., xxix., xxxi., Iv.) 
 
 8TEERF0RTH, MRS. Mother of James Steerforth; an 
 elderly lady, with a proud carriage and a handsome face, 
 entirely devoted to her son, but estranged from him at last ; 
 both of them being imperious and obstinate. (Ch, xx., xxi., 
 xxiv., xxix., xxxii., xxxvi., xlvi., Ivi., Ixiv.) 
 
 STRONG, DOCTOR. Master of a school at Canterbury 
 attended by David Copperfield ; a quiet, amiable old gentle- 
 man, who has married a lady many years his junior. 
 
 Some of the higher scholars boarded in the Doctor's house, and 
 through them I learned, at second hand, some particulars of the 
 Doctor's history. As, how he had not yet been married twelve 
 months to the beautiful young lady I had seen in the study, whom he 
 had married for love ; for she had not a sixpence, and had a world of 
 poor relations (so our fellows said) ready to swarm the Doctor out 
 of house and home. Also, how .the Doctor's cogitating manner was 
 attributable to his being always engaged in looking out for Greek 
 roots . . . with a view to a new Dictionary which he had in con- 
 templation. Adams, our head-boy, who had a turn for mathematics, 
 had made a calculation, I was informed, of the time this Dictionai^ 
 
DAVID COPPERFIELD. 345 
 
 would take in completing, on tlie Doctor's plan, and at the Doctor's 
 rate of going. He considered that it might be done in one thousand 
 six hundred and forty -nine years, counting from the Doctor's last, or 
 sixty-second, birthday. 
 
 The doctor*s wife has a cousin, Jack Maldon, who is a 
 pensioner on the bounty of her husband, and who attempts to 
 make love to her, even while enjoying the hospitality of her 
 husband's house. Through very shame, Mrs. Strong does not 
 mention this ; but there are ready and meddlesome tongues to 
 hint suspicion to the kind old man, and to make him miserable. 
 His faith in his wife never falters, however ; and, to prove it, 
 he makes a will, in which he leaves his property unconditionally 
 to her. Hearing of this, and knowing that he has heard a 
 magnified story of her intimacy with her cousin, she resolves 
 to go to her husband and frankly explain all. This she does, 
 much to the confusion of those who have hoped to separate 
 them, and to the complete satisfaction of her husband. Mrs. 
 Strong had formerly been attached to Mr. Jack Maldon ; but 
 seeing his course, and having principles and sentiments the 
 exact opposite of his, she concludes that " there is no disparity 
 in marriage like unsuitability of mind and purpose," and she 
 thanks Heaven for the day she wedded one whom she can 
 esteem and respect and love altogether. (Ch. xvi., xvii., xix., 
 xxxvi., xxxix., xlii., xlv., Ixii., Ixiv.) 
 
 STRONG, MRS. ANNIE. The wife of Doctor Strong, and 
 daughter of Mrs. Markleham (the Old Soldier). She is a 
 beautiful woman, much her husband's junior. (Ch. xvi., 
 xix., xxxvi., xlii., xlv., Ixii., Ixiv.) See Strong, Doctor. 
 
 TIFFET, MR. An old clerk in the office of Spenlow and 
 Jorkins ; a little dry man, wearing a stiff brown wig that 
 looks as if it were made of gingerbread. (Ch. xxiii., xxvi., 
 xxxiii., XXXV., xxxviii.) 
 
 TIPP. A carman employed in Murdstone and Grinby's ware- 
 house. (Ch. xi., xii.) 
 
 TRADDLES, THOMAS. A schoolmate of David Copperfield's 
 at Salem House (Mr. Creakle's school). 
 
 Poor Traddles I In a tight sky-blue suit that made hia arms and 
 legs like German sausages, or roly-poly puddings, he was the merriest 
 and most miserable of all the boys. He was always being caned — I 
 think he was caned every day that half-year, except one holiday Monday 
 when he was only ruler'd on both hands — and was always going to write 
 to his uncle about it, and never did. After laying his head on the desk 
 for a little while, he would cheer up somehow, begin to laugh again, and 
 draw skeletons all over his slate, before his eyes were dry. I used at 
 first to wonder what comfort Traddles foimd in drawing skeletons j and 
 
346 THE DICKENS DICTIONAET. 
 
 for some time looked upon him as a sort of hermit, who reminded him. 
 self hj those symbols of mortality that caning couldn't last for ' ever. 
 But I believe he only did it because they were easy, and didn't want 
 any features. 
 
 He was very honourable, Traddles was, and held it as a solemn duty 
 in the boys to stand by one another. He suffered for this on several 
 occasions ; and particularly once, when Steerforth laughed in church, 
 and the Beadle thought it was Traddles, and took him out. I see him 
 now, going away in custody, despised by the congregation. He never said 
 who was the real offender, though he smarted for it next day, and was 
 imprisoned so many hours that he came forth with a whole churchyard, 
 f al of skeletons swarming all over his Latin Dictionary. But he had 
 his reward. Steerforth said there was nothing of the sneak in Traddles, 
 and we all felt that to be the highest praise. 
 
 Years afterwards, David meets Traddles in London, and find,-? 
 him a shy, steady, but agreeable and good-natured young man, 
 with a comic head of hair, and eyes rather wide open, which 
 give him a surprised look— not to say a hearth-broomy kind of 
 expression. He is reading for the bar, and fighting his way on 
 in the world against difiiculties. He tells David that, at his 
 uncle's death, he got but fifty pounds, though he had expected 
 to be handsomely remembered in his will. 
 
 " I had never been brought up to any profession, and at first I was 
 at a loss what to do for myself. However, I began, with the assistance 
 of the son of a professional man, who had been to Salem House — Yawler, 
 with his nose on one side. Do you recollect him ? " 
 
 No. He had not been there with me ; all the noses were straight in 
 my day. 
 
 "It don't matter," said Traddles. "I began, by means of his 
 assistance, to copy law writings. That didn't answer very well ; and 
 then I began to state cases for them, and make abstracts, and do thac 
 sort of work. For I am a plodding kind of fellow, Copperfield, and had 
 learnt the way of doing such things pithily. Well ! That put it in my 
 head to enter myself as a law student ; and that ran away with all that 
 was left of the fifty pounds. Yawler recommended me to one or two 
 other offices, however — Mr. Waterbrook's for one — and I got a good 
 many jobs. I was fortunate enough, too, to become acquainted with a 
 person in the publishing way, who was getting up an Encyclopsedia, and 
 he set me to work ; and, indeed'* (glancing at his table), " I am at work 
 for him at this minute. I am not a bad compiler, Copperfield," said 
 Traddles, preserving the same air of cheerful confidence in all he said, 
 " but I have no invention at all ; not a particle. I suppose there never 
 was a young man with less originality than I have." 
 
 As Traddles seemed to expect that I should assent to this as a matter 
 of course, I nodded ; and he went on, with the same sprightly patience 
 — I can find no better expression — as before. 
 
 " So, by little and little, and not living high, I managed to scrape up 
 the hundred pounds at last," said Traddles ; " and thank heaven that's 
 paid — though it was — though it certaialy was," said Traddles, wincing 
 again as if he had had another tooth out, " a pull. I am living by the 
 sort of work I have mentioned, still, and I hope, one of these days, 
 to get connected with some newspaper: which would almost fee the 
 
DAVID COPPERFIELD. 347 
 
 making of my fortune. Now, Copperfield, you are so exactly what 
 you used to be, with that agreeable face, and it's so pleasant to see you, 
 that I sha'n't conceal anything. Therefore you must know tZiat I am 
 engaged." 
 
 Engaged ! Oh Dora ! 
 
 " She is a curate's daughter," said Traddles j " one of ten, down in 
 Devonshire. Yes!" For he saw me glance, involuntarily, at the 
 prospect on the inkstand. " That's the church ! You come ronnd here, 
 to the left, out of this gate," tracing his finger along the inkst&nd, " and 
 exactly where I hold this pen, there stands the house — facing, you 
 understand, towards the church. . . . She is such a dear girl ! . . . 
 a little older than me, but the dearest girl! I told you I was going 
 out of town ? I have been down there. I walked there, and I walked 
 back, and I had the most delightful time ! I dare say ourw is likely to 
 be a rather long engagement, but our motto is * Wait and hope ! ' We 
 always say that. 'Wait and hope,* we always say. And she would 
 wait, Copperfield, tiU she was sixty — any age you can meiiiion — for 
 me ! " 
 
 Traddles rose from his chair, and, with a triumphant smile, put his 
 hand upon the white cloth I had observed. 
 
 "However." he said, "it's not that we haven't made a beginning 
 towards housekeeping. No, no ; we have begun. We must get on by 
 degrees, but we have begun. Here," drawing the cloth off with great 
 pride and care, " are two pieces of furniture to commence with. This 
 flower-pot and stand, she bought herself. You put that in a parlour, 
 window," said Traddles, falling a little back from it to survey it with 
 the greater admiration, " with a plant in it, and — and there you are ! 
 This little round table with the marble top (it's two feet ten in cir- 
 cumference), I bought. You want to lay a book down, you know, or 
 somebody comes to see you or your wife, and wants a place to stand 
 a cup of tea upon, and — and there you are again!" said Traddles. 
 ♦' It's an admirable piece of workmanship — firm as a rock ! " 
 
 I praised them both, highly, and Traddles replaced the covering 
 as carefully as he had removed it. 
 
 " It's not a great deal towards the furnishing," said Traddles, "but 
 it's something. The table-cloths, and pillow-cases, and articles of that 
 kind, are what discourage me most, Copperfield. So does the iron- 
 mongery — candle-boxes, and gridirons, and that sort of necessaries — 
 because those things tell, and mount up. However, ' wait and hope 1 ' 
 And I assure you she's the dearest girl ! " 
 
 " I am quite certain of it," said I. 
 
 " In the meantime," said Traddles, coining back to his chair ; "and 
 this is the end of my prosing about myself, I get on as we£\ an 1 can. 
 I don't make much, but I don't spend much." 
 
 In due time Traddles is married, and, getting on by degrees 
 in his profession, at last accumulates a competence, becomes a 
 judge, and is honoured and esteemed by aU who know him. 
 (Ch. vi., vii., ix., xxv., xxvii., xxviii., xxxiv., xxxvi., xxxviii., 
 xli., xliii., xliv., xlviii., xlix., li., liv., Ivii.-lix., Ixi., ixii., Ixiv.) 
 
 TMOTWOOD, MISS BETSEY. The great-aunt of David 
 Copperfield; an austere, hard-favoured, and ecceatric, but 
 thoroughly kind-hearted woman. David's father liad one© 
 
348 THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 been fe, favourite of hers, but bad mortally offended her by 
 marryiijg " a wax doll." On tbe occasion of tbe birth of bis 
 posthumous son, she pays his widow a visit for the first time. 
 Einding Mrs. Copperfield quite ill, she immediately proceeds 
 to take charge of the house, and frightens everybody with her 
 odd maniiers and abrupt speeches. 
 
 ** I nni all in a tremble," faltered my motber. " I don't know what's 
 the matter. I shall die, I am sure ! " 
 
 " NOj no, no," said Miss Betsey. " Have some tea." 
 
 " Ob dear me, dear me, do you think it will do me any good ? " cried 
 my mother in a helpless manner. 
 
 *'0f coiirse it will," said Miss Betsey. "It's nothing but fancy. 
 What do you call your girl ? " 
 
 " I (Jow't know that it will be a girl, yet, ma*am," said my mother, 
 innoceDtly. 
 
 **BhiK the Baby!" exclaimed Miss Betsey, unconsciously quoting 
 the second sentiment of the pincushion in the drawer upstairs, but 
 applying it to my naother instead of me, " I don't mean that. I mean 
 your servant." 
 
 " Peggotty," said my mother. 
 
 " Peggotty ! " repeated Miss Betsey, with some indignation. " Do 
 you mean to say, child, that any human being has gone into a Christian 
 church, and got herself named Peggotty ? " 
 
 " It's her surname," said my mother, faintly. " Mr. Copperfield 
 called her by it, because her Christian name was the same as mine." 
 
 "Here, Peggotty!" cried Miss Betsey, opening the parlour-door. 
 " Tea. Your mistress is a little unwell. Don't dawdle." 
 
 Having issued this mandate with as much potentiality as if she had 
 been a recognised authority in the house ever since it had been a house, 
 and having looked out to confront the amazed Peggotty coming along 
 the passage with a candle at the sound of a strange voice, Miss Betsey 
 shut the door again, and sat down as before ; with her feet on the fender, 
 the skirt of her dress tucked up, and her hands folded on one knee. 
 
 " Yon were speaking about its being a girl," said Miss Betsey. " I 
 have no doubt it will be a girl. I have a presentiment that it must be a 
 girl. Now child, from the moment of the birth of this girl " 
 
 " Perhaps boy," my mother took the liberty of putting in. 
 
 " I tell you I have a presentiment that it must be a girl," returned 
 Miss Betsey. "Don't contradict. From the moment of this girl's birth, 
 child, I 1 uf end to be her friend. I intend to be her godmother, and I 
 beg yon' II call her Betsey Trotwood Copperfield. There must be no 
 mistaki-<s I « life with this Betsey Trotwood. There must be no trifliD^: 
 with her affections, poor dear. She must be well brought up, and well 
 guarded f.i'om reposing any foolish confidences where they are not de- 
 served, i must make that wy care." 
 
 "Wlien.the child is bom, Mr. Chillip, the attending physician, 
 descends to the room where Miss Trotwood is waiting, and accosts 
 her thus s 
 
 " Wef.l, ma'am, I am happy to congratulate you.** 
 
 " Whwt upon ? " said my aunt, sharply. 
 
 Mr, Ohillip was fluttered again, by the extreme severity of my sunt'* 
 
DAVID COPPEllFIELD. 349 
 
 manner ; so be made her a little bow, and gave her a little smile, to 
 mollify her. 
 
 " Mercy on the man, what's h© doing ? " cried my aunt, impatiently. 
 « Can't he speak ? " 
 
 " Be calm, my dear ma'am," said Mr. Chillip, in his softest accents. 
 ** There is no longer any occasion for uneasiness, ma'am. Be calm." 
 
 It has since been considered almost a miracle that my amit didn't 
 shake him, and shake what he had to say out of him. She only shook 
 her own head at him, but in a way that made him quail. 
 
 " Well, ma'am," resumed Mr. Chillip, as soon as he had courage, *' I 
 am happy to congratulate you. All is now over, ma'am, and well over." 
 
 During the five minutes or so that Mr. Chillip devoted to the delivery 
 of this oration, my aunt eyed him narrowly. 
 
 " How is she ? " said my aunt, folding her arms with her bonnet still 
 tied on one of them. 
 
 " Well, ma'am, she will soon be quite comfortable, I hope," returned 
 Mr. Chillip. " Quite as comfortable as we can expect a young mother 
 to be, under these melancholy domestic circumstances. There cannot be 
 any objection to your seeing her presently, ma'am. It may do her good." 
 
 " And she. How is site ? " said my aunt, sharply. 
 
 Mr. ChiUip laid his head a little more on one side, and looked at my 
 aunt like an amiable bird. 
 
 " The baby," said my aunt. " How is she ? *' 
 
 " Ma'am," returned Mr. Chillip, " I apprehended you had known. It's 
 a boy." 
 
 My axmt said never a word, but took her bonnet by the strings, in 
 the manner of a sling, aimed a blow at Mr. ChilHp's head with it, put 
 it on bent, walked out, and never came back. She vanished like a 
 discontented fairy; or like one of those supernatural beings whom it 
 was popularly supposed I was entitled to seej and never came back 
 any more. 
 
 After the death of his mother, David runs away from the 
 warehouse, in London, where his stepfather has placed him in a 
 menial position, to seek the aunt of whom he has often heard, 
 resolved upon trying to soften her heart, and, if need be, to 
 apologise for not having been born a girl. He arrives at last in 
 Dover, ragged, footsore, and weary; ascertains the way to his 
 aunt's house; and, on reaching it, sees a figure in the garden 
 which he loiows must be that of his kinswoman. 
 
 " Go away ! " said Miss Betsey, shaking her head, and making a 
 distant chop in the air with her knife. " Go along ! No boys here ! " 
 
 I watched her, vnth my heart at my lips, as she marched to a comer 
 of her garden, and stooped to dig up some little root there. Then, with- 
 out a scrap of courage, but with a great deal of desperation, T went 
 softly in and stood beside her, touching her with my finger. 
 
 *' If you please, ma'am," I began. 
 
 She started and looked up. 
 
 "If you please, aunt." 
 
 " Eh ? " exclaimed Miss Betsey, in a tone c^ amazement I have never 
 heard approached. 
 
 "If you please, axmt, I am your nephew." 
 
 " Oh Lord ! " said my aunt. And sat flat down in the garden- path. 
 
350 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 " 1 am David Copperfield, of Blunderstone, in Suffolk — where you 
 tjame, on the night when I was bom, and saw my dear mamma. I have 
 been very nnhappy since she died. I have been slighted, and taught 
 nothing, and thrown upon myself, and put to work not fit for me. It 
 made me run away to you. I was robbed at first setting out, and have 
 walked all the wa^, and have never slept in a bed since I began the 
 journey." Here my self-support gave way all at once; and with a 
 movement of my hands, intended to show her my ragged state, and call 
 it to witness that I had suffered something, I broke into a passion of 
 crying, which I suppose had been pent up within me all the week. 
 
 My aimt, with every sort of expression but wonder discharged from 
 her countenance, sat on the gravel, staring at me, until I began to cry ; 
 when she got up in a great hurry, collared me, and took me into the 
 parlour. Her first proceeding there was to unlock a tall press, bring 
 out several bottles, and pour some of the contents of each into my 
 mouth. I think they must have been taken out at random, for I am 
 sure I tasted aniseed water, anchovy sauce, and salad dressing. When 
 she had administered these restoratives, as I was still quite hysterical, 
 and unable to control my sobs, she put me on the sofa, with a shawl 
 under my head, and the handkerchief from her own head under my feet, 
 lest I should sully the cover ; and then, sitting herself down behind the 
 green fan or screen I have already mentioned, so that I could not see 
 her face, ejaculated at intervals, "Mercy on us ! " letting those exclama- 
 tions off like minute guns. 
 
 After a time, recovering from her astonishment, she begins 
 to consider what she shall do with him, and determines, as a 
 necessary preliminary, to have him well washed. Wliile the 
 bath is heating, she becomes suddenly rigid with indignation, 
 and calls out, " Janet ! Donkeys ! " upon which David, to his 
 great surprise, sees his aunt and her servant-girl rush out of 
 doors, and drive off several donkeys and small boys from the 
 green in front of the house. This, he finds, is regularly repeated 
 every hour during the day, and every day during the week, some- 
 times resulting in a hand-to-hand conflict between his aunt and the 
 bigger boys, but in which Miss Betsey always came out victorious, 
 
 Mr. Murdstone, learning the whereabouts of his stepson, calls 
 on Miss Trotwood, and informs her that, if she puts any obstacles 
 in the way of his taking the lad home, his doors will be for ever 
 shut against him. David begs to stay with his aunt, and she 
 teUs Mr. Murdstone that he can go as soon as he likes, and she 
 will take her chance with the boy. Adopting David as her son, 
 she renames him Trotwood Copperfield ; sends him to an excellent 
 school ; and afterwards articles him to Spenlow and Jorkins, 
 proctors, London. Finding a new and worthy object for her 
 affection and care, her temper softens by degrees ; her oddities 
 of manner diminish ; and her solid worth and goodness of heart 
 become more conspicuous from year to year. (Ch. ii., xiii.-xv., 
 xvii., xix., xxiii.-xxv., xxxvii.-xl., xliii.-xlv., xlvii.-xlix., 11,- 
 Iv., Ivii, lix., Ix., Ixiv.) See Babley, Mb. Eichaeb. 
 
DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 351 
 
 TROTWOOD, HUSBAND OF MISS BETSEY. A hand- 
 some man, younger than Miss Eetsey, whom he treats so 
 falsely, ungratefully, and cruelly, that she separates from him, 
 and resumes her maiden name. He marries another woman ; 
 becomes an adventurer, a gambler, and a cheat ; and finally 
 sinks into the lowest depths of degradation. (Ch. ii., xvii., 
 xxiii., xlvii., Iv.) 
 
 TUNGAY. Lodge-keeper and tool of Mr. Crealde, at Salem 
 House ; a stout man with a bull neck, a wooden leg, a surly 
 face, overhanging temples, and his hair cut close all round his 
 head. (Ch. v.-vii.) 
 
 y/ALKER, MICK, A boy employed at Murdstone and 
 Grinby's, with three or four others (including David Copper- 
 field), to rinse out bottles, cork and label them, &c. (Ch. xi., 
 xii.) 
 
 WATERBROOK, MR. Mr. "Wickfield's agent in London; a 
 middle-aged gentleman with a short throat and a good deal of 
 shkt-collar, who only wants a black nose to be the portrait 
 of a pug dog. (Ch. xxv.) 
 
 WATERBROOK, MRS. His wife; a woman who affects to 
 be very genteel ; likes to talk about the aristocracy ; and 
 maintains, that, if she has a weakness, it is " blood." (Ch. 
 xxv.) 
 
 WIGKFIELD, AGNES. Daughter and housekeeper of Mr. 
 Wickfield, and friend and counsellor of David Copperfield, 
 whose second wife she becomes after the death of Dora. 
 (Ch. xv.-xix., xxiv., xxxiv., xxxv., xxxix., xlii., xliii., lii.-liv., 
 Ivii., Iviii., Ix., Ixii.-lxiv.) See Copperfield, David. 
 
 WICKFIELD, MR. A lawyer at Canterbury, and the agent 
 and friend of Miss Betsey Trotwood. He is nearly ruined by 
 Uriah Heep (at first a clerk in his office, and afterwards his 
 partner), who by adroit management, the falsification of facts, 
 and various malpractices, acquires a complete ascendency over 
 him, and obtains control of all his property ; but in the end 
 Uriah's machinations are foiled, and his rascality exposed by 
 Mr. Micawber, whom he has endeavoured to make use of as 
 an instrument to assist in the accomphshment of his dishonest 
 purposes. (Ch. xv., xvii., xix., xxxv., xxxix., xliL, Hi., Hv., 
 
 WILLIAM. A waiter in an inn at Yarmouth, who wheedles 
 little David Copperfield out of the greater part of his dinner. 
 (Ch. V.) 
 
 WILLIAM. Driver of the Canterbury coach. (Ch. xix.) 
 
95S THE DICKENS DICTIONAET. 
 
 PRINCIPAL INCIDBNTSo 
 
 Chapter I. Mrs. Copperfield, sitting hj the fire, is startled by tfc** 
 appearance of Miss Betsey Trotwood ; their conversation upon the late 
 Mr. Copperfield, &c. j birth of David, and sudden disappearance of Miss 
 Betsey. — II. David relates some of the incidents of his early childhood ; 
 his first meeting vrith Mr. Murdstone ; Peggotty remonstrates with Mrs. 
 Copperfield against the attentions of Mr. Murdstone; David goes to 
 Lowestoft with Mr. Murdstone, and reports his conversation to his 
 mother ; Peggotty and David go to Yarmouth. — III. David makes the 
 acquaintance of Mr. Peggotty and his family, and falls in love with little 
 Em'ly ; he returns home, and finds his mother married to Mr. Murdstone. 
 — ly. Mr. Murdstone takes David in hand ; arrival of Miss Jane Murd- 
 stone, who assumes the place of housekeeper ; David falls into disgrace 
 over his lessons ; he is beaten by Mr. Murdstone, whose hand he bites ; 
 he is imprisoned in his room for five days, as a punishment, and then 
 sent from home to school. — Y. David sends word to Peggotty that 
 " Barkis is willin' ; " the friendly waiter relieves David by eating his 
 dinner; David arrives in London, and is met by Mr. Mell of Salem 
 House ; they arrive at Salem House, and David has a placard, reading 
 " Take care of him ; he bites," attached to his back. — VI. Mr. Creakle 
 and family return, and the school re-opens ; Steerforth takes charge of 
 David's money, and treats the boys in their bedroom therewith. — YII. 
 David amuses the boys in his room by repeating the stories he has read ; 
 altercation between Steerforth and Mr. Mell, and Mr. Moll's dismission 
 from the school ; Mr. Peggotty and Ham visit David at the school, and 
 are introduced to Steerforth. — YIII. David goes home for the holidays ; 
 Mr. Barkis informs him he is expecting an answer from Peggotty ; in 
 the absence of Mr. Murdstone and his sister, David spends a pleasant 
 evening with his mother and Peggotty; David leads a wretched life 
 during the holidays, and goes back to school. — IX. He receives the 
 news of his mother's death ; returning home, he makes the acquaintance 
 of Mr. Omer; Peggotty relates to David the circumstances of his 
 mother's death. — X. Peggotty receives warning from Miss Murdstone, 
 and she and David go again to Yarmouth ; Peggotty accepts Mr. 
 Barkis's proposal, and they are married ; David returns home, and 
 falls into neglect ; he is provided for by a situation in the house 
 with which Mr. Murdstone is connected. — XI, David begins his life 
 at Murdstone and Grinby's, and also meets Mr. Micawber, with 
 whom he is to board ; Mr. Micawber falls into difficulties, and is taken 
 to the debtors' prison ; he petitions the House of Commons for a change 
 in the laws for imprisonment for debt. — ^XII. He is released from con- 
 finement, and decides to leave London with his family ; David deter- 
 mines to run away from Murdstone and Grinby*s, and seek his aunt ; hia 
 adventures and misfortunes on the road from London to Dover. — XIII. 
 He introduces himself to Miss Betsey Trotwood; Mr. Dick's wise advice 
 is asked and followed; Miss Betsey's indignation at the donkeys. — XI Y. 
 Mr. Dick, writing his memorial, finds some difficulty in keeping Charles 
 the First out of it ; Miss Betsey tells David Mr. Dick's story ; she 
 is visited by Mr. and Miss Murdstone, who come to claim David ; she 
 takss Mr. Dick's advice, and decides to keep him, giving him the nam© 
 
DAVID COPPEEFIELD. S53 
 
 of Trottrood. — XV. David is taken to Canterbury by hig aunt, where he 
 is to be put to school ; he makes the acquaintance of Mr. Wickfield and 
 Agnes, with whom he is to board, and also of Uriah Heep. — XVI. David 
 begins his school-life at Dr. Strong's; he hears a conversation between 
 Dr. Strong and Mr. Wickfield about Mr. Jack Maldon, and afterwards 
 sees that gentleman at Mr. Wickfield'sj Uriah Heep explains his 
 ** umble " character and position ; the party at Dr. Strong's on the eve 
 of Jack Maiden's departure for India. — XVII. David hears from Mr. Dick 
 the story of the strange man who frightens Miss Trotwood j Mr. Dick 
 makes friends with everybody; David takes tea with Uriah and his 
 mother, and Mr. Micawber unexpectedly " turns up ; " David enjoys » 
 jovial dinner with the Micawbers, and receives a dismal letter from Mr. 
 Micawber directly afterwards. — XVUI. David takes a retrospective view 
 of his school-days at Canterbury. — XIX. After leaving school, his aunt 
 advises a visit to Yarmouth ; David first learns from Agnes the influence 
 which Uriah Heep is gaining over Mr. Wickfield ; he also hears of the 
 illness and probable return of Mr. Jack Maldon ; David meets Steer- 
 forth in London. — XX. David goes home with Steerforth ; his reception 
 by Mrs. Steerforth and Rosa Dartle. — XXL His impressions of Littimer ; 
 Steerforth accompanies David to Yarmouth; Peggotty's joy at seeing 
 David ; Barkis grows a " little near ; " David and Steerforth go to Mr. 
 Peggotty's, and hear from him the story of the engagement of Ham and 
 little Em'ly. — XXII. Steerforth shows David his gloomy side ; Steer- 
 forth buys a boat which he calls the Little Eni'ly ; they discover 
 Martha following Ham and Emily ; the " volatile " Miss Mowcher makes 
 her appearance at the inn; Emily befriends Martha, and sheds tears 
 at the thought of her own unworthiness. — XXIII. David consults Steer- 
 forth in regard to his choice of a profession, and decides to become 
 a proctor; Miss Betsey and David, on the way to Doctors' Commons, 
 encounter the strange man who has such an effect upon her : David is 
 articled to Spenlow and Jorkins, and makes his first appearance in court ; 
 he takes the lodgings at Mrs. Crupp's. — XXIV. He gives a supper at his 
 lodgings to Steerforth and his friends, becomes intoxicated, and goes in 
 that condition to the theatre, where he meets Agnes. — XXV. His 
 remorse on the following day ; by Agnes's invitation he calls upon her, 
 and she warns him against Steerforth ; David meets Ti-addles at the 
 dinner-party at Mr. Waterbrook's ; David takes Uriah Heep home with 
 him, and hears from him the particulars of the change in his expecta- 
 tions, and his designs in regard to Agnes. — XXVI. David goes home 
 with Mr. Spenlow ; he meets Miss Dora Spenlow, and falls in love at first 
 sight ; Miss Murdstone appears as Dora's " confidential friend." — XXVII. 
 David goes tasee Traddles, and finds him boarding with Mr. and Mrs. 
 Micawber.-T^XXVIII. David gives a dinner-party to Traddles and the 
 Micawbers, which is interrupted by the appearance of Littimer; Mr. 
 Micawber throws down the gauntlet to society ; Steerforth's arrival at 
 David's rooms ; he brings news of the illness of Mr. Barkis, and David 
 decides to go down to Yarmouth; another gloomy letter from Mr. 
 Micawber. — ^XXIX. David visits Steerforth at his home again.— XXX. 
 Arriving at Yarmouth he hears from Mr. Omer of the unsettled state of 
 little Em'ly ; Mr. Barkis " goes out with the tide." — XXXI. Disappear- 
 ance of Emily, who is carried away by Steerforth; Jlr. Peggotty 
 decides to seek his niece, leaving Mm. Gummidge in charge of his houa>:. 
 Ham going to live with his aunt.^XXXII. Miss Mowcher explains bet 
 connection with Steerforth's intimacy with Emily, and her determina- 
 Uoa to do what she can to reseue her j Mr. Peggotty and David csM 
 
 2 a 
 
354 THE DICKERS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 upon Mrs. Steerfortii; passionate concTncfc of Rosa Dartle : Mr. Fcggotif 
 tets out on. Ms journey. — XXXIII. David encounters Mr. Murdstoue ab 
 iho office of Mr. Spsniow ; David attends a party on Dora's birthday, 
 and falls deeper in love ; lie visits Dora at the house of her friend, Julia 
 Infills, declares his passion, and is accepted; the engagement is to be 
 kept a secret from Mr. Spenlow. — XXXIV. Traddles gives David some 
 infoi-mation in regard to the family connections of " the dearest girl in 
 the world ; " with Peggotty's assistance he redeems his household goods, 
 taken in ezecution by Mr. Micawber's creditors; David, returning 
 home, is astonished to find his aimt and Mr. Dick in his rooms, and to 
 hear from her of the loss of her property. — XXXV. David makes an 
 ineffectual attempt to cancel his articles; David's joy at xmezpectedly 
 meeting Agnes, who goes with him to see Miss Betsey, and they hear 
 from her an account of her losses ; Uriah Heep shows his increasing 
 influence over Mr. Wickfield. — XXXVI. David becomes amanuensis to 
 Dr. Strong, who has removed to London ; he meets Mr. Jack Maldon, 
 who has returned from India; David determines to learn short-hand, 
 and he and Traddles find employment for Mr. Dick ; Mr. Micawber, 
 about to leave London for Canterbury as the confidential clerk of 
 Uriah Heep, entertains David and Traddles, and settles his pecuniary 
 obligations to the latter by presenting him his I. 0. U. — XXXVII. 
 David informs Dora of the change in his fortunes and prospects.' — 
 
 XXXVIII. Traddles delivers parliamentary speeches, and David reports 
 him ; Mr. Spenlow discovers, through Miss Murdstoue, the attachment 
 of David and Dora, and forbids the engagement; sudden death of 
 Mr. Spenlow, and the disordered state in which his affairs aro 
 found ; Dora goes to live with her maiden aunts at Putney. — 
 
 XXXIX. David finds Mr. Micawber installed as confidential clerk to 
 Wickfield and Heep, and not altogether easy in the position ; he con- 
 suits Agnes on the state of his engagement to Dora, and by her advice 
 writes to Dora's aunts; Uriah forces his company upon David, and inti- 
 mates his designs in regard to Agnes ; effect upon Mr. Wickfield of the 
 knowledge of these designs. — XL. David encounters Mr. Peggotty, who 
 relates his travels in search of Emily, and is overheard by Martha 
 Bndell.-^XLL David and Traddles go to Putney to see the Misses 
 Spenlow, who consent, on certain conditions, to .receive David's visits. — 
 XLII. Agnes's first meeting with Dora; Uriah Heep attempts to con-. 
 vince Dr. Strong of the faithlessness of his wife, and the noble answer 
 of the doctor to his aspersions; David gives Uriah a blow; David i-e- 
 ceives a singular letter from Mrs. Micawber. — XLIII. Marriage of David 
 and Dora^^XLIV. Some account of their housekeeping. — XLV. Mr. 
 Dick suspects the cause of the unhappiness of Mrs. Strong, and deter- 
 mines to "set things right;" a convenient opportunity offering, he 
 brings about the desired explanation. — ^XLVI. David, passing by Mrs. 
 Steerforth's house, is called in by Eosa Dartle, who makes Littimer 
 repeat to him the story of Steerforth and Emily, their separation, and 
 Emily's flight; David repeats the story to Mr. Peggotty, and advises 
 him to put Martha upon the watch for Emily, if she should return to 
 London. — XL VII. David and Mr. Peggotty follow Martha to the river- 
 side, and save her from suicide, and then secure her promise to devote 
 herself to the task of saving Emily- David meets again the strange niaa 
 who has such an influence over Miss Betsey, and learns from her that he 
 ia her husband.— XIvVIT I. Some farther account of David's housekeep- 
 ihj£, and the commencement of Dora's decline. — XLIX. David receiveg 
 ^ y. ysterious letter from Mr. Micawber; Traddles has one equally 
 
DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 356 
 
 mygtorious from Mrs. Micawber; they meet Mr. Micawber by appoint- 
 ment, and find him in very low spirits; they take him home to Mis3 
 Trotwood's, where he is overcome by the cordiality of Mr. Dick; com- 
 mits sundry strange blunders in his favourite occupation of making 
 punch, and finally relieves his mind by a frantic denunciation of Uriah 
 Heep. — L. Martha brings David news of Emily; going to Martha's 
 lodging, they see Eosa Dartle enter the room, and from an unoccupied 
 room they witness the interview between Rosa Dartle and Emily ; Peg- 
 gotty returns, and meets Emily.— ^I. He relates to David and Miss 
 Betsey the story of Emily's escape from Littimer, how she was befriended 
 by a poor cottager, and finally, reaching London, was rescued by Martha ; 
 he also informs them of his plan of emigrating with Emily to Australia ; 
 David calls upon Mr. Omer, and finds him in good spirits ; Ham gives 
 David a parting message for Emily; Mrs. Gummidge insists on going 
 with Mr. Peggotty. — LII. Miss Betsey, Mr. Dick, Traddles, and David 
 go down to Canterbury to keep their appointment with JNIr. Micawber ; 
 interview in the office of Wickfield and Heep, where Micawber exposes 
 the villany of Uriah, and Traddles, acting for Mr. Wickfield, makes 
 certain demands with which Uriah thinks it best to comply ; Miss 
 Betsey and David witness the reconciliation of Mr. and Mrs. Micawber ; 
 Miss Betsey proposes to them emigration, with an offer of pecuniaiy 
 assistance. — LIII. Dora's increasing weakness, and her death.^LIV. 
 Mr. Micawber's preparations for emigrating ; Traddles explains the con- 
 dition of Mr. Wickfield's affairs, and the recoveiy of Miss Trotwood'a 
 property ; they arrange Micawber's money matters ; Miss Betsey tells 
 David the reason of her recent trouble, and he accompanies her to the 
 funeral of her husband ; David writes to Emily, communicating Ham's 
 last message, and receives her reply. — LV. The great storm at Yarmouth ; 
 David goes down to the shore to see the wrecked schooner, with the 
 active figure conspicuous among her people; Ham attempts to reach 
 the wreck, and is killed by the waves, and the bod^ of the active seaman 
 is washed ashore, and proves to be Steerforth.r-^VI. David bears the 
 news to Mrs. Steerforth ; passionate manner of Rosa Dartle towards 
 Mrs. Steerforth. — LVII. The emigrants complete their preparations, and 
 set sail, Mr. Peggotty taking Martha with him. — LVIII. David goes/^ 
 abroad, and remains for three years.^4iIX. On his return he seeks 
 Traddles, finds him married and living in chambers, with five of Sophy's 
 sisters for visitors; David . encounters Mr. Chillip, and hears news of 
 the Murdstones. — LX. He returns to Dover ; Miss Betsey gives him a^^^"^ 
 hint that Agnes's affections are engaged ; David's interview with Agnes 
 and her father, and Mr. Wickfield's story of her care and kindness. — ■ 
 LXI. A glimpse at the happy life of Traddles and Sophy; David and 
 Traddles find Mr. Creakle a respected magistrate ; under his escort 
 they visit a model prison, and find Littimer and Uriah Heep among its ^ 
 inmates. — LXII. Miss Betsey strengthens David's belief in the attachi^ 
 ment that Agnes has formed ; questioning Agnes, David finds that he is 
 himself the object of it. — LXIII. Marriage of David and Agnes; ten^-^ 
 years after, they receive a visit from Mr. Peggotty, who brings good 
 accounts of all the emigrants. — LXIV. A last retrospect, showing what^x' 
 ]ft&3 happened to the principal personages of the story. 
 
 2^3 
 
BLEAK HOUSE. 
 
 In the preface to "David Copperfield," Mr. Dickens promissed to renew 
 his acquaintance with the public by putting forth again "two green 
 leaves once a month." This he did by bringing out, in 1852, in the familiar 
 serial form, the first number of a new novel, called *' Bleak House." It 
 was published by Bradbury and Evans, was illustrated by " Phiz," and 
 ran through the usual twenty numbers. The preface was dated August, 
 1853 ; and the dedication was to the author's " companions in the guild 
 of literature and art." The work was chiefly aimed at the vexatious 
 delays of the Court of Chancery, and the enormous expense of prose- 
 cuting suits therein. At the time of publication there was a suit before 
 the court which had been commenced nearly twenty years before ; in 
 which from thirty to forty counsel had been known to appear at one 
 time; in which costs had been incurred to the amount of seventy 
 thousand pounds ; which was a friendly suit ; and which was said to be 
 no nearer to its termination then than when it was begun. 
 
 OHAEACTEES INTEODUCED. 
 
 BADGER J MR. BA THAM. A medical practitioner in London, 
 to whom Richard Carstone is articled. Mr. Badger is noted 
 principaUy for his enthusiastic admiration of his wife's former 
 husbands ; he being the third. 
 
 Mr. Bayham Badger . , . was a pink, fresh-faced, crisp-looking 
 gentleman, with a weak voice, white teeth, light hair, and surprised 
 eyes : some years younger, I should say, than Mrs. Bayham Badger. 
 He admired her exceedingly, but principally, and to begin with, on 
 the curious ground (as it seemed to us) of her having had three hus- 
 bands. We had barely taken our seats, when he said to Mr. Jam^ 
 djce quite triumphantly : 
 

BLEAK HOUSE. 857 
 
 "You would hardlj suppose that I am Mrs. BAyham Badger's 
 third ! " 
 
 " Indeed ? " said Mr. Jarndyoe. 
 
 " Her third ! " said Mr. Badger. " Mrs. Bayham Badger has not 
 the appearance, Miss Summerson, of a lady who has had two former 
 husbands ? " 
 
 I said "Not at aU!" 
 
 " And most remarkable men ! " said Mr. Badger, in a tone of con- 
 fidence. " Captain Swosser of the Eoyal Navy, who was Mrs. Badger's 
 first husband, was a very distinguished officer indeed. The name of 
 Professor Dingo, my immediate predecessor, is one of European repu- 
 tation. . . . Perhaps you may be interested ... in this portrait of 
 Captain Swosser. ... I feel when I look at it . . . ' that's a man I 
 should like to have seen ! ' . . . On the other side, Professor Dingo. 
 I knew him well — attended him in his last illness — a speaking like- 
 ness! Over the piano, Mrs. Bayham Badger when Mrs. Swosser. 
 Over the sofa, Mrs. Bayham Badger when Mrs. Dingo. Of Mrs. 
 Bayham Badger in esse, I possess the original, and have no copy." 
 
 (Ch. xiii., xvii., 1.) 
 
 BADGER, MRS. BAYHAM. A lady of about fifty, who 
 dresses yontlifully, and improves her fine complexion by the 
 use of a little rouge. She is not only the wife of Mr. Badger, 
 but the widow of Captain Swosser of the Eoyal l!^avy, and of 
 Professor Dingo, to the loss of whom she has become inured 
 by custom^ combined with science — particularly science. (Ch. 
 xiii., xvii.) 
 
 BAGNET, MATTHEW, called "Lignum Yum." An ex- 
 artilleryman, " tall and upright, with shaggy eyebrows, and 
 whiskers like the fibres of a cocoanut, not a hair upon his 
 head, and a torrid complexion." On leaving the service he goes 
 into "the musical business," and becomes a bassoon-player. 
 Of his wife's judgment he has a very exalted opinion ; though 
 he never forgets the apostolic maxim that " the head of the 
 woman is the man." To an old companion-in-arms he says : 
 
 ** George. You know me. It's my old girl that advises. She has 
 the head. But I never own to it before her. Discipline must be 
 maintained. Wait till the greens is off her mind. Then, we'll con- 
 sult. Whatever the old girl says, do — do it ! " 
 
 (Oh. xxvii., xxxiv., xlix., liii., Ixvi.) 
 
 BAGNET, MRS. His wife ; a soldierly-looking woman, usually 
 engaged in washing greens. (Ch. xxvii., xxxiv., xlix., liii., 
 Iv., Ixvi.) 
 
 Mrs. Bagnet is not at all an ill-looking woman. Eather large- 
 boned, a little coarse in the grain, and freckled by the sun and wind 
 which have tanned her hair upon the forehead ; but healthy, whole- 
 some, and bright-eyed. A strong, busy, active, honest-faced woman 
 of from forty-five to fifty. 
 
358 THE DICKENS DICTIONAET. 
 
 BAGNET, MALTA, Their elder daughter; so called in the 
 family from the place of her birth in barracks. (Ch. xxvii., 
 xxxiv., xlix., Ixvi.) 
 
 BAGNET, QUEBEC. Their younger daughter; so called in 
 the family from the place of her birth in barracks. (Ch. 
 xxvii., xxxiv., xlix., Ixvi.) 
 
 BAGNET, WOOLWICH. Their son ; so caUed in the family 
 from the place of his birth in barracks. (Ch. xxvii., xxxiv., 
 xlix.) 
 
 BARBARYy MISS. Aunt and godmother to Esther Summerson. 
 (Ch. iii.) 
 
 She was a good, good woman ! Slie went to church three times 
 every Sunday, and to morning prayers on Wednesdays and Fridays, 
 and to lectures whenever there were lectures ; and never missed. 
 She was handsome ; and if she had ever smiled, would have been (1 
 used to think) like an angel — bat she never smiled. She was always 
 grave, and strict. She was so very good herself, I thought, that the 
 badness of other people made her frown all her life. 
 
 BLINDER, MRS. A good-natured old woman, with a dropsy, 
 or an asthma, or perhaps both; a friend of the Necketts. 
 (Ch. XV., xxiii.) 
 
 BOGSBY, JAMES GEORGE. Landlord of The Sol's Arms 
 tavern. (Ch. xxxiii.) 
 
 BOODLE, LORD. A friend of Sir Leicester Dedlock's ; a 
 man of considerable reputation with his party, and who has 
 known what office is. (Ch. xii.) 
 
 BOYTHORN, LAWRENCE. A friend of Mr. Jarndyce's. 
 (Ch. ix., xii., xiii., xv., xviii., xxiii., xliii., Ixvi.) 
 
 " I went to school with this fellow, Lawrence Boythorn," said Mr. 
 Jamdyce, . . . "more than five-and-forty years ago. He was then 
 ■ the most impetuous boy in the world, and he is now the most im- 
 petuous man. He was then the loudest boy in the world, and he is 
 now the loudest man. He was then the heartiest and sturdiest boy 
 in the world, and he is now the heartiest and sturdiest man. He is a 
 tremendous fellow." 
 
 " In stature, sir! " asked Eichard. 
 
 *' Pretty well. Rick, in that respect," said Mr. Jamdyce j " being 
 Bome ten years older than I, and a couple of inches taller, with his 
 head thrown back like an old soldier, his stalwart chest squared, his 
 hands like a clean blacksmith's, and his lungs ! — there's no simile for 
 his lungs. Talking, laughing, or snoring, they make the beams of the 
 house shake. . . . But it's the inside of the man, the warm heart of 
 the man, the passion of the man, the fresh blood of the man, . . . that 
 I speak of. . . . His language is as sounding as his voice. He is 
 always in extremes; perpetually in the superlative degree. In his 
 
BLEAK HOUSE. 359 
 
 er^ndcmnation ho is all forocitj. Yon rcight suppose him to he an 
 Ogre, from what he says; and 1 believe he haa the reputation of 
 one with some people. There ! I tell you no more of him before, 
 band. . . . 
 
 "We were sitting round the fire with no light but the blaze, when 
 the hall-door suddenly burst open, and the hall resounded with these 
 words, uttered with the greatest vehemence and in a stentorian tone : 
 
 " We have been misdirected. Jamdyce, by a most abandoned ruffian, 
 who told us to take the turning to the right instead of to the left. He 
 is the most intolerable scoundrel on the face of the earth. His father 
 toust have been a most consummate villain, ever to have si::ch a son. 
 I would have had that fellow shot without the least remorse ! " 
 
 " Did he do it on purpose ? " Mr. Jarndyce inquired. 
 
 " I have not the slightest doubt that the scoundrel has passed 
 his whole existence in misdirecting travellers ! " returned the other. 
 ** By my soul, I thought him the worst-looldng dog I had ever beheld, 
 when he was telling me to take the turning to the right. And yet 
 I stood before that feUow face to face and didn't knock his brains 
 out!" . . . 
 
 We all conceived a prepossession in hia favour ; for there was a 
 Bterling quality in this laugh, and in hia vigorous healthy voice, and 
 in the roundness and fulness with which he uttered every word he 
 spoke, and in the very fury of his superlatives, which seemed to go 
 off like blank cannons and hurt nothing. . . . He was not only a 
 very handsome old gentleman — upright and stalwart as he had been 
 described to us — with a massive gray head, a fine composure of face 
 when silent, a figure that might have become corpulent but for hia 
 being so continually in earnest that he gave it no rest, and a chin that 
 might have subsided into a double chin but for the vehement emphasis 
 in which it was constantly required to assist ; but he was such a true 
 gentleman in his manner, so chivah'onsly polite, his face was lighted 
 by a smile of so much sweetness and tenderness, and it seemed so 
 plain that he had nothing to hide, but showed himself exactly as he 
 was . . . tliat really I could not help looking at him with equal 
 pleasure as he sat at dinner, whether he smilingly conversed with Ada 
 and me, or was led by Mr. Jarndyce into some great volley of super- 
 latives, or threw up his head like a bloodhound, and gave out that 
 tremendous Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 BUCKET, ME. INSPECTOR. A detective officer, wonder- 
 fully patient, persevering, affable, alert, imperturbable, and 
 sagacious ; a stoutly-built, steady-looking, sbarp-eyed man in 
 black, of about the middle age. (Ch. xxii., xxiv., xxv., xlix., 
 liii., liv., Ivi., Ivii., lix., ixi., Ixii.) 
 
 Mr. Bucket and his fat forefinger are much in co»sultation. , . , 
 He puts it to his ears, and it whispers information ; he puts it to his 
 lips, and it enjoins him to secrecy ; he rubs it over his nose, and it 
 sharpens hia scent • he shakes it before a guilty man, and it charms 
 him to his destruction. . . . Otherwise mildly studious in his obser- 
 vation of human natxire, on the whole a benignant philosopher net 
 disposed to be severe upon the follies of mankind, Mr. Bucket per- 
 vades a vast number of houses, and strolls about an infinity of streets s 
 to outward appearance rather laDgiiishing for want of an object, ila 
 
3^ THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 is in the friendiiesfc condition towards his species, and will drink with 
 most of them. He is free with his money, affable in his manners, 
 innocent in his conversation — ^but, throngh the placid stream of his 
 life, there glides an under-current of forefinger. Time and place 
 cannot bind Mr. Bucket. Like man in the abstract, he is here to-day 
 and gone to-morrow— but, very nnHke man indeed, he is here again 
 the next day. 
 
 BUCKET, MRS. Wife of Mr. Inspector Bucket ; a lady of a 
 natural detective genius, whicli, if it had been improved by 
 professional exercise, might have done great things, but which 
 has paused at the level of a clever amateur. (Ch. liii., liv.) 
 
 BUFFET, THE RIGHT HONOURABLE WILLIAM, 
 M,P. A friend of Sir Leicester Dedlock's. (Ch. xii., xxviii., 
 liii., Iviii., Ixvi.) 
 
 CARSTONE, RICHARD. A ward of John Jamdyce, and a 
 suitor in Chancery ; a handsome young man with an ingenuous 
 face and a most engaging laugh, afterwards married to Ada 
 Clare. Though possessed of more than ordinary talent, and 
 of excellent principles, he yet lacks tenacity of purpose, and 
 becomes successively a student of law, a student of medicine, 
 and a soldier. Ever haunted by the long-pending Chancery 
 suit, and always basing his expenditures and plans on the 
 expectation of a speedy and favourable decision of the case, 
 he at last becomes very restless, leaves the army, and devotes 
 aU his energies to the suit. When the case is finally closed, 
 and the whole estate is found to have been swallowed up in 
 costs, the blow proves too much for him, and quickly results in 
 nis death. (Oh. iii.-vi., viii., ix., xii., xiv., xvii., xviii., xx., 
 xxiii., xxiv., xxxv., xxxvii., xxxix., xliii., xlv., li., Ix., Ixi., 
 Ixiv., Ixv.) 
 
 CHADBAND, THE REVEREND MR. A large yellow 
 man, with a fat smile, and a general appearance of having a 
 good deal of train-oil in his system. 
 
 He is very much embarrassed about the arms^ as if they were 
 inconvenient to him, and he wanted to grovel ; is very much in a 
 perspiration about the head j and never speaks without first putting 
 np his great hand, as delivering a token to his hearers that he is going 
 to edify them. 
 
 From Mr. Chadband's being much given to describe himself, both 
 verbally and in writing, as a vessel, he is occasionally mistaken by 
 strangers for a gentleman connected with navigation ; but, he is, as 
 he expresses it, " in the ministry." Mr. Chadband is attached to no 
 particular denomination ; and is considered by his persecutors to have 
 nothing so very remarkable to say on the greatest of subjects 'as to 
 render his volunteering, on his own account, at all incumbent on his 
 conscience J but, he has his followers, and Mrs. Snagsby is of the 
 number. 
 
BLEAK HOUSE. 861 
 
 Visiting I>Irs. Snagsby's with his wife one day, he salutes 
 the lady of the house, and her hushand, in the following 
 manner, which may serve as a specimen of his usual style of 
 delivering himself : 
 
 " My friends . . . Peace be on this house ! On the master thereof, 
 on the mistress thereof, on the yomig maidens, and on the young men ! 
 My friends, why do I wish for peace ? What is peace ? Is it war ? 
 No. Is it strife ? No. Is it lovely, and gentle, and beautiful, and 
 pleasant, and serene, and joyful ? O yes! Therefore, my friends, I 
 wish for peace, upon you and upon yours." 
 
 (Ch. xix., XXV., liv.) 
 
 CIIADBAND, MBS., formerly Mrs. Eachabl. Wife of the 
 Eeverend Mr. Chadband ; a stern, severe-looking, silent 
 woman. (Ch. iii., xix., xxv., xxix., liv.) See Eachabl, Mrs. 
 
 CHARLEY. See I^eckett, Charlotte. 
 
 CLARE, ADA. A ward of Mr. John Jarndyce, and a friend 
 of Esther Summerson ; afterwards wife of Eichard Carstone. 
 (Ch. iii.~vi., viii., ix., xiii.-xv., xvii., xviii., xxiii., xxiv., 
 XXX., xxxi., XXXV., xxxvii., xliii., xlv., 1., li., lix., Ix.-lxii., 
 Ixiv., Ixvii.) 
 
 aOAVINSES. See ISTeckett, Mr. 
 
 DARBY, A constable who accompanies Mr. Bucket to Tom- 
 
 all-Alone's. (Ch. xxii.) 
 DEDLOCK, SIR LEICESTER. Eepresentative of one of 
 
 the great county families of England. (Ch. ii., vii., ix., xii., 
 
 xvi., xviii., xxviii., xxix., xl., xli., xliii., xlviii, liii.-lvi., Iviii., 
 
 Ixiii., Ixvi) 
 
 Sir Leicester Dedlock is only a baronet, but there is no mightier 
 baronet than he. His family is as old as the hills, and infinitely more 
 respectable. He has a general opinion that the world might get on 
 without hills, but would be done up without Dedlocks. ... He is a 
 gentleman of strict conscience, disdainful of all littleness and mean- 
 ness, and ready, on the shortest notice, to die any death you may 
 please to mention rather than give occasion for the least impeach, 
 ment of his integrity. He is an honourable, obstinate, truthful, high- 
 spirited, intensely prejudiced, perfectly unreasonable man. 
 
 Sir Leicester is twenty years, full measure, older than my Lady. 
 He will never see sixty-five again, nor perhaps sixty-six, nor yet 
 sixty-seven. He has a twist of the gout now and then, and walks a 
 little stiffly. He is of a worthy presence, with his light gray hair and 
 whiskers, his fine shirt-frill, his pure white waistcoat, and his blue 
 coat with bright buttons always buttoned. He is ceremonious, stately, 
 most polite on every occasion to my Lady, and holds her personal 
 attractions in the highest estimation. His gallantry to my Lady, 
 which has never changed since he courted her, is the one little to^Qji 
 of romantic fancy in him. 
 
3f52 THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 DEBLOCK, LADY IIONORIA, Mother of Esther SmrmK^T- 
 son by Captain Hawdon, a gay rake, to whom she is engaged, 
 but whom she never marries. She afterwards becomes the 
 wife of Sir Leicester Dedlock, who knows nothing of tljis 
 portion of her history, but, fascinated by her beauty and wit, 
 marries her solely for love, for she has not even " family." 
 Being a proud and ambitious woman, she assumes her ne-^ 
 position with dignity, and holds it with cold composuie, 
 hiding in her heart, however, her disgraceful secret. She flies 
 from home upon the eve of its discovery, and dies miserably, 
 from the combined effects of shame, remorse, and exposure, 
 at the gate of a wretched graveyard, in which the father of 
 her child lies buried, in one of the worst and filthiest portions 
 of London. (Ch. ii., vii., ix., xii., xvi., xviii., xxviii., xxix., 
 xxxiii., xxxvi., xxxix.-xli., xlviii., liiL-lviii.) 
 
 DEDLOCK, VOLUMNIA. A cousin of Sir Leicester Ded- 
 lock's, from whom she has an annual allowance, on which 
 she lives at Bath, making occasional visits at the country 
 house of her patron. She is a young lady of sixty, of high 
 standing in the city in which she resides, but a little dreaded 
 elsewhere, in consequence of an indiscreet profusion in the 
 article of rouge, and persistency in wearing an obsolete pearl 
 necklace, like a rosary of little bird's eggs. (Ch. xxviii., xl., 
 liii., liv., Ivi., Iviii., Ixvi.) 
 
 DON NT, MISS. Proprietor of a boarding-school, called 
 " Greenleaf," at Reading, where Esther Summerson spends 
 six years. (Ch. iii.) 
 
 FLITE, MISS. A half-crazed little old woman, who is a 
 suitor in Chancery, and attends every sitting of the court, 
 expecting judgment in her favour. She tells Esther Suiumer- 
 son — 
 
 " There's a cruel attraction in the plsice. Yon can't leave it. And 
 yon must expect. ... I have been there many years, and I have 
 noticed. It's the Mace and Seal upon the table." 
 
 " What could they do, did she think ? " I mildly asked her. 
 
 " Draw," returned Miss Flite. " Draw people on, my dear. Draw 
 peace out of them. Sense out of them. Good looks out of them. 
 Good qualities out of them. I have felt them even drawing my rest 
 away in the night. Cold and glittering devils! . . . Let me see,'* 
 said she. " I'll tell you my own case. Before they ever drew me — 
 before I had ever seen them — what was it I used to do ? Tambourine 
 playing ? No. Tambour work. I and my sister worked at tambour 
 work. Our father and our brother had a builder's business. We all 
 lived together. Ye-ry respectably, my dear I First, our father was 
 drawn — slowly. Home was drawn with him. In a few years, be was 
 a fierce, sour, angry bankrupt, without a kind word or a kind look for 
 any one. He had been so different, Fitz-Jarndyce. He was drawn to 
 
BLEAK HOUSE. 863 
 
 a debtors* prison. There he died. Then our brother was dravrn — 
 Bwiftly — to drunkenness. And rags. And death. Then my sister 
 was drawn. Hush! Never ask to what! Then I was ill, and in 
 misery ; and heard, as I had often heard before, that this was all the 
 work of Chancery. When I got better, I went to look at the Monster. 
 Aiid then I found out how it was, and I was drawn to stay there." 
 
 (Ch. iii., v., xi., xiv., xx., xxiv., xxxiii., xxxv., xl^-i,, xlvii., 
 1., Ix., Ixv.) 
 
 GEORGE, See Eouncewell, Georgb, 
 
 G RIDLEY, MR., called "Tns Man from Shropshire." A 
 mined suitor in Chancery, who periodically appears in court, 
 and breaks out into efforts to address the Chancellor at the 
 close of the day's business, and can by no means be made 
 to understand that the Chancellor is legally ignorant of his 
 existence, after making it desolate for a quarter of a century. 
 He gives Mx. Jarndyce the following account of his case : 
 
 " I am one of two brothers. My father (a farmer) made a will, 
 and left his farm and stock, and so forth, to my mother, for her life. 
 After my mother's death, all was to come to me, except a legacy of 
 three hundred pounds I was then to pay my brother. My mother 
 died. My brother, some time afterwards, claimed his legacy. I, and 
 some of my relations, said that he had had a part of it already, in 
 board and lodging, and some other things. Now mind! That was 
 the question, and nothing else. No one disputed the will; no one 
 disputed anything but whether part of that three hundred pounds had 
 been already paid or not. To settle that question, my brother filing 
 a bill, I was obliged to go into this accursed Chancery ; I was forced 
 there, because the law forced me, and would let me go nowhere else. 
 Seventeen people were made defendants to that simple suit ! It first 
 came on, after two years. It was then stopped for another two years, 
 while the Master (may his head rot off !) inquired whether I was my 
 father's son — about which, there was no dispute at all with any mortal 
 creature. He then found out, that there were not defendants enough 
 — remember, there were only seventeen as yet ! — but, that we must 
 have another who had been left out ; and must begin all over again. 
 The costs at that time — before the thing was begun ! — were three 
 times the legacy. My brother would have given up the legacy, and 
 joyful, to escape more costa. My whole estate, left to me in that will 
 of my father's, has gone in costs. The suit, still undecided, has fallen 
 into rack, and ruin, and despair, with everything else — and here I 
 stand, this day ! " 
 
 Badgered and worried and tortured by being knocked 
 about from post to pillar and from pillar to post, he gets 
 violent and desperate, threatens the lawyers, and pins the 
 Chancellor like a bull-dog, and ^^ sent to the Fleet over and 
 over again for contempt of court. At last he becomes utterly 
 discouraged and worn out, and suddenly breaks do^vn, and 
 dies in a shooting-gallery, where he is trying to hide from the 
 
864 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 officers. In the preface to " Bleak House," Mr. Dickens says 
 of this character — 
 
 Everything set forth in these pages concerning the Conrt of Chancery 
 is substantially true and within the truth. The case of Gridley is in no 
 essential altered from one of actual occurrence, made public by a dis- 
 interested person, who was professionally acquainted with the whole 
 of the monstrous wrong from beginning to end. 
 
 (Ch. i., XV., xxiv.) 
 
 QR UBBLE, W. Landlord of " The Dedlock Arms," a pleasant- 
 looking, stoTitish, middle-aged man, who never seems to con- 
 sider himseK cosily dressed for his own fireside without his 
 hat and top-boots, hut who never wears a coat except at 
 church. (Ch. xxxvii.) 
 
 GUPPT, MRS. Mother of WHliam Guppy; a wayward old 
 lady, in a large cap, with rather a red nose and rather an 
 unsteady eye, hut always smihng all over. (Ch. xxxviii., 
 Ixiv.) 
 
 GUPPYy WILLIAM. A lawyer's clerk, in the employ of 
 Kenge and Carboy, Mr. Jarndyce's solicitors ; usually spoken 
 of as " the young man of the name of Guppy." He conceives 
 a passion for Esther Summerson, the heroine of the story, and 
 declares his love (" files a declaration," as he phrases it) in a 
 very amusing manner. Though refused, and greatly dis- 
 appointed, he does not quite despair, and, on taking his leave, 
 tells her — 
 
 " In case yon should think better — at any time, however distant, 
 thafs no consequence, for my feelings can never alter — of anything; I 
 have said, particularly what might I not do — Mr. William Gnpi)y, 
 eighty-seven, Penton Place, or if removed or dead (of blighted hopes, 
 or anything of that sort), care of Mrs. Guppy, three hundred and 
 two, Old Street Hoad, will be sufficient." 
 
 At a later day, on receiving a business call from j\Iiss 
 Summerson and discovering that, from the effects of illness, 
 she has lost her former beauty, he fancies that she has come 
 to hold him to his proposal, and becomes, in consequence, very 
 confused and apprehensive. Although she assures him that 
 such is not the case, he nevertheless asks her to make a full 
 and explicit statement, before a witness, whose name and 
 address he carefully notes with legal precision, that there has 
 never been any engagement or promise of marriage between 
 them. (Ch. iii., iv., vii., ix., xiii., xix., xx., xxiv., xxix., 
 xxxii., xxxiii., xxxviii., xxxix., xliv., liv., Iv., Ix., Lxiii., Ixiv.) 
 
 G USTER {by some supposed to have been christened August^ ). 
 Mddservaiit of the Snagshys ; a lean young woman of soms 
 
BLUAK HOUSE. 865 
 
 three or four and twenty, subject to fits. Taken originally 
 from the workhouse, she is so afraid of being sent back there, 
 that, except when she is found with her head in the pail, or 
 the sink, or the copper, or the dinner, or anything else that 
 happens to be near her at the time of her seizure, she is 
 always at work. (Ch. x., xi., xix., xxil, xxv., xlii., lix.) 
 
 GUSHER, MR. A friend of Mrs. Pardiggle's ; a flabby gentle- 
 man, with a moist surface, and eyes so much too small for 
 his moon of a face, that they seem to have been originally 
 made for somebody else. (Ch. xv.) 
 
 HAWDON, CAPTAIN. A law-writer who lodges at Mr. 
 Krook's, and gives himself the name of I^emo ; formerly a 
 rakish military officer, and a lover of a young lady (afterwards 
 Lady Dedlock), who gives birth to a child (Esther Summerson) 
 of which he is the father. He dies in a garret, and is buried 
 in a miserable graveyard, at the gate of which Lady Dedlock 
 is found lying lifeless, after her flight from her husband's 
 house. (Ch. v., x., xi.) 
 
 HORTENSE, MADEMOISELLE. Lady Dedlock's waiting- 
 woman, and the murderess of Mr. Tulkinghorn. (Ch. xii., 
 xviii., xxii., xxiii., xlii, xliv., liv.) 
 
 My lady's inaid is a Frenchwoman of two-and-tliirty, from some, 
 where in the southern country about Avignon and Marseilles — a large- 
 eyed brown woman, with black hair ; who would be handsome, but for 
 a certain feline mouth, and general uncomfortable tightness of face, 
 rendering the jaws too eager, and the skull too prominent. There is 
 something indefinably keen and wan about her anatomy ; and she has 
 a watchful way of looking out of the corners of her eyes without 
 turning her head which could be pleasantly dispensed with — especially 
 when she is in an ill-humour and near knives. 
 
 JARNDYCE, JOHN. Guardian of Eichard Carstone and 
 Ada Clare, and friend and protector of Esthdr Summerson. 
 He is an unmarried man of about sixty, upright, hearty, and 
 robust, with silvered iron-gray hair ; a handsome, lively, quick 
 face, full of change and motion ; pleasant eyes ; a sudden, 
 abrupt manner ; and a very benevolent heart. He affects to 
 be subject to fits of ill-humour, and has a habit of saying, 
 when deceived or disappointed in any person or matter, that 
 " the wind is in the east ; " and of taking refuge in his library, 
 which he calls " The Growiery." JMr. Jarndyce is one of the 
 parties in the celebrated Chancery suit of "Jarndyce and 
 Jarndyce." 
 
 " Of course, Esther," he said, " you don't understand this ChanoeiT' 
 business?" 
 
 And of course I shook my head. 
 
366 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 ," I don't know who does," he returned. " The Lawyers have 
 twisted it into such a state of bederilment that the original merits of 
 the case have long since disappeared from the face of the earth. It's 
 about a Will, and the trusts under a Will — or it was, once. It's about 
 nothing but Costs, now. We are always appearing, and disappearing, 
 and swearing, and interrogating, and filing, and cross-filing, and arguing, 
 and sealing, and motioning, and referring, and reporting, and revolving 
 about the Lord Chancellor and all his satellites, and equitably waltz- 
 ing ourselves off to dusty death about Costs. That's the great question. 
 All the rest, by some extraordinary means, has melted away." 
 
 *' But it was, sir," said I, to bring him back, for he began to 
 rub his head, "about a Will ? " 
 
 " Why, yes, it was about a Will when it waa about anything," he 
 returned. " A certain Jamdyce, in an evil hour, made a great 
 fortune, and made a great Will. In the question how the trusts 
 under that Will are to be administered, the fortune left by the Will ie 
 squandered away ; the legatees under the Will are reduced to such a 
 miserable condition that they would be sufficiently punished, if they 
 had committed an enormous crime in having money left them ; and 
 the Will itself is made a dead letter. All through the deplorable 
 cause, everything that everybody in it, except one man, knows already, 
 is referred to that only one man who don't know it, to find out — all 
 through the deplorable cause, everybody must have copies, over and over 
 again, of everything that has accumulated about it in the way of cart- 
 loads of papers (or must pay for them without having them, which is 
 the usual course, for nobody wants them) ; and must go down the 
 middle and up again, through such an infernal country-dance of costs, 
 and fees, and nonsense, and corruption, as was never dreamed of in 
 the wildest visions of a Witch's Sabbath. . . . And thus, through 
 years and years, and lives and lives, everything goes on, constantly 
 beginning over and over again, and nothing ever ends. And we can't 
 get out of the suit on any terms, for we are made parties to it, and 
 must he parties to it, whether we like it or not. But it won't do to 
 think of it." 
 
 And Mr. Jamdyce does not allow himself to tliiiik of it, 
 if lie can possibly help doing so. With the warning example 
 of so many of his kinsmen, living or dead, always before him, 
 he refuses to enter the court, or have anything whatever, of 
 his own accord, to do with the case ; but he deeply pities and 
 benevolently f.ssists those of his relatives who have thrown 
 tliemselves into it, and make it the object of their lives. It 
 is found, however, that the whole estate has been absorbed in 
 costs ; and thus the suit lapses and melts entirely away. (Ch. 
 i., iii., vi., viii., ix., xiii.-xv., xvii., xviii., xxiii., xxiv., xxx., 
 xxxi., xxxv.-xxxvii., xxxix., xliii-xlv., xlvii., h-lii., Ivi, 
 lx.-lxii, Ixiv., Ixv., Ixvii.) 
 
 JELLYBY, CAROLINE, called "Caddy." Mrs. JeUyby's 
 eldest daughter, and her amanuensis ; a pretty and industrious 
 but sadly neglected and overworked girL Becoming heartily 
 disgusted and tired with copying never-ending letters to in- 
 
BLEAK HOUSE. 867 
 
 niitnerable correspondents concerning tlie welfare of her species, 
 she resolves tliat she won't be a slave all her life, and accord- 
 ingly marries Prince Turveydrop, who makes her very happy. 
 (Ch. iv., v., xiv., xviii., xxiii., xxx., xxxviii., 1., Ixv., Ixvii.) 
 
 JELLYBY, MRS. A very pretty, very diminutive, plump 
 woman, of from forty to fifty, with handsome eyes, though 
 they have a curious habit of looking a long way off. She is 
 a lady of remarkable strength of character, who has devoted 
 herself to an extensive variety of public subjects, at various 
 times, and especially to the subject of Africa, with a view to 
 the general cultivation of the coffee-berry, and the natives, and 
 the happy settlement of a portion of our superabundant home 
 population in Bomoboola-Gha, on the left bank of the Niger. 
 Her energies are so entirely devoted to this philanthropic 
 project, that she finds no time to consider the happiness or 
 welfare of her own family ; and the result is, that her children 
 grow up dirty, ignorant, and uncared-for; her house is dis- 
 gracefully cold, cheerless, and untidy ; and her husband 
 becomes a dejected and miserable banki'upt. (Ch. iv., v., xix., 
 xxiii., XXX., xxxviii., 1., Ixvii.) 
 
 JELLYBY, ME. The husband of Mrs. Jellyby ; a mild, bald, 
 quiet gentleman in spectacles, who is completely merged in 
 the more shining qualities of his wife. (Ch, iv., xiv., xxiii., 
 XXX., xxxviii., 1., Ivii.) 
 
 JELLYBY, "PEEPY" (so self-named). A neglected and 
 unfortunate son of ]\Ir. and ]\irs. Jellyby. (Ch. iv., v., xiv., 
 xxiii., xxx., xxxviii., Ixvii.) 
 
 JENNY. Wife of a drunken brickmaker. (Ch. viii., xxii., 
 xxxi., XXXV., xlvi., Ivii.) 
 
 JO, called " Toughey." A street-crossing sweeper. A stranger 
 who has died very suddenly has been seen speaking to Jo, 
 who is brought before the coroner's jury. 
 
 Here he is, very muddy, very hoarse, very ragged. Now, boy ! — 
 But stop a minute. Caution. This boy must be put through a few 
 preliminary paces. 
 
 Name, Jo. Nothing else that he knows on. Don't know that 
 everybody has two names. Never heerd of sich a think. Don't know 
 that Jo is short for a longer name. Thinks it long enough for him. 
 He don't find no fault with it. Spell it ? No. Ee can't spell it. 
 No father, no mother, no friends. Never been to school. What's 
 home ? Knows a broom's a broom, and knows it's wicked to tell a lie. 
 Don't recollect who told him about the broom, or about the lie, but 
 knows both. Can't exactly say what'll be done to him arter he's dead 
 if be tells a lie to the gentlemen here, but he believes it'll bf some- 
 thing wery bad to punish him, and serve him right — acd so hel! tell 
 the truth. 
 
868 THE DICKENS DICTIONAET. 
 
 His evidence is set aside. Questioned apart, however, and 
 privately, Jo tells Ms story with directness, and a touching and 
 simple pathos. He knows — 
 
 That the dead man (whom he recognised just noT7 by his yellow 
 face and black hair) was sometimes hooted and pursued about the 
 streets. That one cold winter night, when he, the boy, was shivering 
 in a doorway near his crossing, the man turned to look at him, and 
 came back, and having questioned him, and found that he had not a 
 friend in the world, said, " Neither have I. Not one ! " and gave him 
 the price of a supper and a night's lodging. That the man had often 
 spoken to him since, and asked him whether he slept sound at night, 
 and how he bore cold and hunger, and whether he ever wished to die ; 
 and similar strange questions. That when the man had no money, he 
 would say in passing, "I'm as poor as you to-day, Jo;" but that 
 when he had any, he had always (as the boy most heartily believes) 
 been glad to give him some. 
 
 *' He wos wery good to me," says the boy, wiping his eyes with 
 his wretched sleeve. '* When I see him a-layin' so stretched out just 
 now, I wished he could have heerd me tell him so. He wos wery good 
 to me, he wos ! " 
 
 The stranger is buried, unwept and unregretted: no, not 
 iinregretted ; for — 
 
 With the night, comes a slouching figure through the tunnel-court, 
 to the outside of the iron gate. It holds the gate with its hands, and 
 looks in between the bars ; stands looking in for a little while. 
 
 It then, with an old broom it carries, softly sweeps the step, and 
 makes the archway clean. It does so very busily and trimly j looks 
 in again a little while ; and so departs. 
 
 Jo, is it thou ? Well, well ! Though a rejected witness, who " can't 
 exactly say" what will be done to him in greater hands than men's, 
 thou art not quite in outer darkness. There is something like a dis- 
 tant ray of light in thy muttered reason for this : 
 
 " He wos wery good to me, he wos ! " 
 
 Becoming accidentally and unfortunately possessed of infor- 
 mation which involves the secret of Lady Dedlock, poor Jo is 
 driven away from London by officers in the service of Mr. 
 Tulkinghorn, and is always being told to " move on," no matter 
 where he may seek a resting-place. Worn out at last, he steals 
 into the city, avoiding even those who would befriend him, but 
 is finally found and taken in charge by a kind physician (Mr. 
 Woodcourt), who knows, a portion of his story; and in the 
 iUness which follows is properly cared for. Jo desires to be 
 laid in the strangers' burying-ground, near his unknown friend. 
 
 " Ha used fur to say to me, * I am as poor as you to-day, Jo,' he 
 ges. I wants to tell him that I am as poor as him now, and have 
 come there to be laid along with him. . . . Will you promise to have 
 me took there, sir, and laid along with him ? " 
 
 *' I will, indeed." 
 
BLEAK HOUSE. S^ 
 
 " Tiiank'ee, sir. Thank'ee, sir. They'll have to get the kdy oi the 
 gate afore they can take me in, for it's alius looked. And there's a 
 step there as I used for to clean with my broom. — ^It*s turned wery 
 dark, sir. Is there any light a-oomin' ? '* 
 
 " It is coming fast, Jo." 
 
 Fast. . . . The rugged road is very near its end. 
 
 " Jo, my poor fellow ! " 
 
 " I hear you, sir, in the dark, but I'm a-gropin* — a-gropin' — let ine 
 catch hold of your hand." 
 
 " Jo, can you say what I say ? " 
 
 " I'll say anythink as you say, sir, for I knows it's good." 
 
 "Our Father." 
 
 " Our Father ! — yes, that's wery good." 
 
 "Which art in Heaven." 
 
 " Art in Heaven — is the Hght a-comin', sir ? " 
 
 *' It is close at hand. Hallowed be thy name ! '* 
 
 " Hallowed be— thy " 
 
 The light is come upon the dark, benighted way. Dead ! 
 
 Dead, your Majesty. Dead, my lords and gentlemen. Dead, 
 Right Reverends and Wrong Reverends of every order. Dead, men 
 and women, born with Heavenly compassion in your hearts. And 
 dying thus around us every day. 
 
 (Ch. xi., xvi., xix., xx., xxv., xxix., xxxii, xlvi, xlvii) 
 
 JOBLING, TONY, otherwise " Weevle." A friend of Mr. 
 Guppy's, and a law writer for IMr. Snagsby. " He has the 
 faded appearance of a gentleman in embarrassed circumstances ; 
 even his light whiskers droop with something of a shabby air." 
 (Cb. vii., XX., xxxii., xxxiii., xxxix., liv., Iv., Ixiv.) 
 
 KENGEf MR., called " Conversation Kbngb." Senior member 
 of the firm of Kenge and Carboy, solicitors ; a portly, important- 
 looking gentleman dressed in black, with a white cravat, large 
 gold watch seals, a pair of gold eye-glasses, and a large seal 
 ring upon his little finger. (Ch. iii., iv., xiii., xvii.-xx., 
 xxiii., xxiv., xxxvii., xxxix., Ixii., Ixv.) 
 
 He appeared to enjoy beyond everything the sound of his own 
 voice. I couldn't wonder at that, for it was mellow and full, and gave 
 great importance to every word he utt^ered. He listened to himself 
 with obvious satisfaction, and sometimes gently beat time to his own 
 music with his head, or rounded a sentence with his hand. 
 
 KROOK, MR. Proprietor of a rag and bottle shop, and dealer 
 in marine stores, bones, kitchen-stuff, waste paper, &c. ; land- 
 lord to Miss Flite and Captain Hawdon; and only "brother 
 to Mrs. Smallweed. He is unmarried, old, eccentric, and 
 much given to the use of intoxicating drinks. In person 
 he is short, cadaverous, and withered ; with his head sunk 
 sideways between his shoulders, and the breath issuing in 
 visible smoke from his mouth, as if he were on fire within. 
 His only coiapanion is a large gray cat, of a fierce disposition, 
 
870 THE DIGKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 wliich is accustomed to sit on Ms sliouldfer. With this 
 man, Mr. Jobling has an appointment for twelve o'clock 
 on a certain night. Going into the room at the hour 
 agreed upon, he finds it full of smoke, the window- 
 panes and furniture covered with a dark, greasy deposit, more 
 of which is discovered lying in a small heap of ashes on the 
 floor before the fire. The explanation is that Krook has 
 perished, a victim to spontaneous combustion. 
 
 This incident excited much controversy at the time of the 
 publication of " Bleak House ; " the possibility of spontaneous 
 combustion being vehemently denied by Mr. G. H. Lewes and 
 others. In his preface, Mr. Dickens maintains his ground, 
 and brings forward a number of " notable facts " in support 
 of his position. (Ch. v., x., xi., xiv., xix., xx., xxix., xxxii.) 
 
 LIZ. A brickmaker's wife. (Ch. yiii., xxii., xxxi., xlvi., 
 Ivii.) 
 
 MAN FROM SHROPSHIRE, THE, See Gridley, Mr. 
 
 MELVILLESONy MISS M. A "noted siren," or vocahst, 
 advertised under that name, though she has been married a 
 year and a half, and has her baby clandestinely conveyed to 
 The Sol's Arms every night to receive its natural nourishment 
 during the entertainments. (Ch. xxxii., xxxiii., xxxix.) 
 
 MER CUR Y. A footman in the service of Sir Leicester Dedlock. 
 (Ch. ii., xvi., xxix., xxxiii., xl., xlviii., liii., liv.) 
 
 MOONEY. A beadle. (Ch. xi.) 
 
 NEOKETT, CHARLOTTE, called "CKARLm." Elder daughter 
 of Mr. I^Teckett, a sherifi''s officer. She is a womanly, self- 
 reliant girl of about thirteen or fourteen, who, after the death 
 of her father, goes out to work to earn a livelihood for herself 
 and a younger brother and sister. 
 
 She is visited by ]\Ir. Jarndyce; and the following con- 
 versation ensues : 
 
 **Do you often go out ? " 
 
 " As often as I can," said Cliarlej, opening her eyes, and f?iniling, 
 *' because of earning sixpences and sliillings ! " 
 
 " And do you always lock the babies up when you go out ? " 
 
 " To keep 'em safe, sir, don't you see ? " said Charley. " Mrs. 
 Blinder conies up now and then, and Mr. Gridley comes up sometimes, 
 and perhaps I can run in sometimes, and they can play you know, and 
 Tom an't afraid of being locked up, are you, Tom ? " 
 
 " No-o I " said Tom, stoutly. 
 
 " "When it comes on dark, the lamps are lighted down in the court, 
 and they show up here quite bright — almost quite bright. Don't they, 
 Tom?" 
 
 " Yes, Chsiiey," said Tom, " almost quite bright." 
 
 " Then he's as good as gold," said the little creatur© — O I in aof b 
 
 ..* 
 
BLEAK HOUSE. 371 
 
 a Eiofciierly, womanly way! "And when Emma's tired, he puts her 
 to bed. And when he's tired, he goes to bed himself. And when I 
 come home and light the candle, and has a bit of supper, he eats up 
 again and has it with me. Don't you, Tom ? " 
 
 " yes, Charley ! " said Tom. " That I do ! " 
 
 And either in this glimpse of the great pleasure of his life, or in 
 gratitude and love for Charley, who was all in all to him, he laid his 
 face among the scanty folds of her frock, and passed from laughing 
 into crying. 
 
 (Oh. XV., xxi., xxiii., xxx., xxxi., xxxv.— xxxvii., xliv., 
 xlv., li.j Ixi., Ixii., Ixiv., Ixvii.) 
 
 NEQKETT, EMMA. Infant daughter of Mr. Neckett. (Ck 
 XV., xxiii., Ixvii.) 
 
 NECKETT, MR. A sheriff's officer. (Ch. vi., xv.) 
 
 NEGKETT, TOM. Mr. mckett's only son; brother to 
 "Charley" and Emma. (Gh. xv., xxiii., Ixvii.) 
 
 NEMO. 8ee Hawdon, Captain. 
 
 PARDIGGLE, MR. 0. A., F.R.S. Husband of Mrs. Par- 
 diggle ; an obstinate-looking man, with a large waistcoat and 
 stubbly hair, always talking in a loud bass voice about his 
 mite, or Mrs, Pardiggle's mite, or their five boys' mites. (Ch. 
 viii., xxx.) 
 
 PARDIGGLE, MRS. One of those charitable people who do 
 little and make a great deal of noise. She is a School lady, a 
 Visiting lady, a Reading lady, a Distributing lady, and on the 
 Social Linen Box Committee, and many general committees. 
 (Oh. viii., XV., xxx.) 
 
 PARDIGGLE, ALFRED. Youngest son of Mr. and Mrs. 
 Pardiggle, aged five years. He voluntarily enrols himself in 
 the " Infant Bonds of Joy," and is pledged never, through 
 life, to use tobacco in any form. (Ch. viii.) 
 
 PARDIGGLE, EGBERT. Eldest son of llx. and Mrs. Par- 
 diggle, aged twelve years. He sends out his pocket-money, 
 to the amount of five and threepence, to the Tockahoopo 
 Indians. (Ch. viii.) 
 
 PARDIGGLE, FELIX. Fourth son of IMr. and Mrs. Pardiggle, 
 aged seven years ; contributor of eightpence to the " Super- 
 annuated Widows." (Ch. viii.) 
 
 PARDIGGLE, FRANCIS. Third son of Mr. and Mrs. Par- 
 diggle, aged nine years ; a contributor of one and sixpence 
 halfpenny to the "Great National Sndthers TestimoniaL'' 
 (Ch. viii.) 
 
 PARDIGGLE, OSWALD. Second son of Mr. and Mrs. 
 Pardiggle, aged ten and ;& half. He gives two and aiae- 
 
 2 B 2 
 
372 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 pence to the "Great ISTatioiial Smithers TestimoniaL** 
 (Ch. viii) 
 
 PERKINS f MRS. An inquisitive woman living near The 
 Sol's Arms; neighbour to Mr. Krook. (Oh. xi., xx., xxxii., 
 xxxiii., xxxix.) 
 
 PIPERy MRS. A woman who lives near Krook's rag and 
 bottle shop, and who leads the court. (Oh. xi., xx., xxxii., 
 xxxiii., xxxix.) 
 
 PRISGILLA. Mrs. Jellyby*s servant gurl ; " always drinking." 
 (Ch. iv., V.) 
 
 QUALE, MR. A friend of Mrs. Jellyby's; a loquacious young 
 man with large shining knobs for temples, and his hair all 
 brushed to the back of his head. He is a philanthropist, and 
 has a project for teaching the coffee colonists of Borrioboola- 
 Gha to teach the natives to turn pianoforte legs, and establish 
 an export trade. (Oh. iv., v., xv., xxiii.) 
 
 RAQHAEL, MRS. Servant to Miss Barbary; afterwards the 
 wife of the Eeverend Mr. Chadband. 
 
 ROSA. Lady Dedlock's maid; a dark-haired, shy village 
 beauty, betrothed to Watt Eouncewell. (Oh. vii., xii., xvi., 
 xviii., xxviii., xl., xlviii., Ixiii.) 
 
 ROUNOEWELL, MRS. Sir Leicester Dedlock's housekeeper 
 at Chesney Wold; a fine old lady, handsome, stately, and 
 wonderfully neat. (Oh. vii., xii., xvi., xxviii., xxxiv., xl., 
 lii., Iv., Ivi., Iviii.) 
 
 ROUNOEWELL, MR. Her son; an ironmaster; father of 
 Watt Rouncewell. (Oh. vii., xxviii., xl., xlviii., Ixiii.) 
 
 ROUNOEWELL, GEORGE, called "Mr. George." Another 
 son ; a wild young lad, who enlists as a soldier, and afterwards 
 becomes keeper of a shooting-gallery in London. (Oh. vii., 
 xxi., xxiv., xxvi., xxvii., xxxiv., xlvii., xlix., lii., Iv., Ivi., 
 Iviii., Ixiii., Ixvi.) 
 
 ROUNOEWELL, WATT. Her grajidson, betrothed to Eosa. 
 (Oh. vii., xii., xviii., xxviii., xl., xlviii., Ixiii.) 
 
 SHROPSHIRE, THE MAN FROM. See Gridlbt, Mr. 
 
 SKIMPOLE, ARETHUSA. Mr. Skimpole's blue-eyed "Beauty" 
 daughter, who plays and sings odds and ends, like lier father. 
 (Ch. xliii) 
 
 SKIMPOLE, HAROLD. A prot^^ of Mr. John Jamdyce ; 
 a sentim-entalist, brilliant, vivacious, and engaging, but 
 thoroughly selfish and unprincipled ; a genial caricatmc — so 
 far as mere external peculiarities and mannerisms are coi^- 
 
BLEAK HOUSE. 373 
 
 cemed — of Leigh Hunt. Tlie likeness was instantly recog- 
 nised ; and Mr. Dickens, while admitting that he had " yielded 
 to the temptation of too often making the character speak like 
 his old friend," felt himself called upon to declare, that "he 
 no more thought, God forgive him ! that the admired original 
 would ever be charged with the imaginary vices of the fictitious 
 creature, than he has himself ever thought of charging the blood 
 of Desdemona and Othello on the innocent Academy model 
 who sat for lago's leg in the pictm-e." (Ch. iv., viii., ix., xv., 
 xviii., xxxi., xxxvii., xliii., xlvi., Ivii., Ixi.) 
 
 He was a little bright creature, with a rather large head j but a 
 delicate face, and a sweet voice, and there was a perfect charm in him. 
 All he said was so free from effort and spontanepus, and was said with 
 such a captivating gaiety, that it was fascinating to hear him talk. . . . 
 He had more the appearance, in all respects, of a damaged young man, 
 than a well-preserved elderly one. There was an easy negligence in his 
 manner, and even in his dress (his hair carelessly disposed, and his 
 neck-kerchief loose and flowing, as I have seen artists paint their own 
 portraits), which I could not separate from the idea of a romantic youth 
 who had undergone some unique process of depreciation. 
 
 Mr. Skimpole is constantly getting into debt, and as con- 
 stantly being helped out by somebody whom he never seriously 
 thanks. He says of himself — 
 
 " I am constantly being bailed out, like a boat ; or paid off like a 
 ship's company. Somebody always does it for nie. I can't do it, you 
 know, for I never have any money; but Somebody does it. I get out 
 by Somebody's means. I am not like the starling : I get out. If you 
 were to ask me who Somebody is, upon my word, I couldn't tell you. 
 Let us drink to Somebody. God bless him 1 " 
 
 Mr. Skimpole is arrested for debt. He turns the matter 
 over to chis friends, completely washing his hands of the entire 
 affair, and smiles benevolently on them as they pay him out. 
 His furniture is seized. He remonstrates with his landlord, 
 informing him that the articles are not paid for, and that his 
 friend Jarndyce will have to suffer if they are taken. 'No 
 attention being paid to this, he is greatly amused at " the oddity 
 of the thing," not understandiug how a man can wish to pay 
 himself " at another man's expense." On another occasion he 
 tells Mr. Jarndyce — 
 
 **My butcher says to me, he wants that little bill. It's a part of 
 the pleasant unconscious poetry of the man's nature, that he always 
 calls it a 'little' bill — to make the payment appear easy to both of us. 
 I reply to the butcher, ' My good friend, if you knew it you are paid. 
 You haven't had the trouble of coming to ask for the little bill. You 
 are paid. I mean it.' " 
 
 "But suppose," said my guardian, laughing, "he had meant the 
 meat in the bill, instead of providing it ?*' 
 
3^1 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 ' •' My dear Jarndyce," he returned, "you surprise me. You take 
 the butcher's position. A butcher I once dealt with, occupied that 
 very ground. Says he, * Sir, why did you eat spring lamb at eighteen- 
 pence a pound ? ' ' Why did I eat spring lamb at eighteen-pence a 
 pound, my honest friend ? ' said I, naturally amazed by the question. 
 ' I like spring lamb ! ' This was so far convincing. ' Well, sir,' says 
 he, ' I wish I had meant the lamb as yon mean the money ! ' * My 
 good fellow,' said I, ' pray let us reason like intellectual beings. How 
 could that be ? It was impossible. You had got the lamb, and I have 
 not got the money. You couldn't really mean the lamb without send- 
 ing it in, whereas I can, and do, really mean the money without paying 
 i 1' He had not a word. There was an end of the smbjeot." 
 
 SKIMPOLE, MBS. Wife of Harold Skimpole; a delicate, 
 high-nosed invalid, suffering under a complication of disorders. 
 (Ch. xliii.) 
 
 SKIMPOLE, KITTY. Mr. Skimpole's " Comedy " daughter, 
 who sings a Httle, but don't play. (Ch. xliii.) 
 
 SKIMPOLE, LAURA. Mr. Skimpole's "Sentiment" daughter, 
 who pla^'^s a little, but don't sing, (Ch. xliii.) 
 
 SMALLWEED, BARTHOLOMEW, jocularly called " Small' 
 a?2cZ/' Chick "Weed." Grandson of Mr. and Mrs. Smallweed, 
 twin brother of Judy, and a friend of Mr. William Guppy, 
 on whom he sponges for dinners as often as he can. (Ch. 
 XX., xxi,:, xxxiii., xxxix., Iv-, Ixiii.) 
 
 He is a town-made article, of small stature and weazen featm-es ; 
 but may be perceived from a considerable distance by means of his 
 very tall hat. To become a Guppy is the object of his ambition. He 
 dresses at that "gentleman (by whom he is patronised), talks at him, 
 walks" at him, foxinds himself entirely on him. ... . He is a weird 
 changeling, to whom years are nothing. He stands precociously 
 possessed of centuries of owlish wisdom. If lie ever lay in a cradle, 
 it seems as if he must have lain there in a tail-coat. He has an old, 
 old eye ; . . . and he drinks and smokes, in a monkeyish way ; and 
 his neck is stiffi in his collar ; and he is never to be taken inj and he 
 Icnows all about it, whatever it is. 
 
 SMALLWEED, GRANDFATHER. An old man who has 
 been in the " discountmg profession," but has become super- 
 annuated, and nearly helpless. His mind, however, is un- 
 impaired, and still holds, as AveU as it over did, the first four 
 rules of arithmetic, and a certain small collection of the hardest 
 facts. His favourite amusement is to throw at the head of 
 his venerable partner a spare cushion, with which he is pro- 
 vided, whenever she makes an allusion to money — a subject 
 on which he is particularly sensitive. The exertion this 
 requhes has the effect of always throwing him back into his 
 chair hke a broken puppet, and makes it necessary that he 
 ehoidd undergo the two operations, at the hands of his grand- 
 
BLEAK HOUSE. 376 
 
 daiigliter, of being shaken up like a great bottle, and poked 
 aM punched like a great bolster. (Oh. xxi., xxvi., xxvii., 
 xxxiii., xxxiv., liv., Iv., Ixiii.) 
 SMALLWEED, GRANDMOTHER. His wife; so far fallen 
 into a childish state as to have regained such infantine graces 
 as a total want of observation, memory, understanding and 
 interest, and an eternal disposition to fall asleep over the 
 fire, and into it. (Ch. xxi., xxvi., xxvii., xxxiii., xxxiv., 
 Ixiii.) 
 
 8MALLWEED, JUDT. Granddaughter of Mr. and Mrs. 
 
 Smallweed, and twin sister of Bartholomew. She is so 
 indubitably his sister, that the two kneaded into one would 
 hardly make a young person of average proportions. (Ch. 
 xxi., xxvi., xxvii., xxxiii., xxxiv., Ixiii.) 
 
 SNAG SB Y, MR. A law stationer in Cook's Court, Cursitor 
 Street ; a nuld, bald, timid man, tending to meekness and 
 obesity, with a shiurag head and a scrubby clump of black 
 hair sticking out at the back. Eeing a timid man, he is 
 accustomed to cough with a variety of expressions, and so to 
 save words. (Ch. x., xi., xix., xx., xxii., xxv., xxxiii., xlii.,' 
 xlvii., liv., lix.) 
 
 SNAGSBYf MRS. His wife ; a short shrewish woman, som^ 
 thiQg too violently compressed about the waist, and with e 
 nose, like a sharp autumn evening, inclining to be frosty 
 towards the end. (Ch. x., xi., xix., xx., xxii., xxv., x^Tixiii , 
 xlii., xlviL, liv., lix.) 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Snagsby are not only one bone and one flesh, but, to 
 the neighbours thinking, one voice too. That voice, appearing to pro- 
 ceed from Mrs. Snagsby alone, is heard in Cook's Court very often. 
 . . . Mr. Snagsby refers everything not in the practical mysteries of 
 the business to Mrs. Snagsby. She manages the money, reproaches 
 the tax-gatherers, appoints the time and places of devotion on Sundays, 
 licenses Mr. Snagsby's entertainments, and acknowledges no responsi- 
 bility as to what she thinks fit to provide for dinner. . . . Humour, 
 always flying, bat-like, about Cook's Court, and skimming in and out 
 at everybody's windows, does say that Mrs. Snagsby is jealous and 
 inquisitive; and that Mr. Snagsby is sometimes worried out of house 
 and home, and that if he had the spirit of a mouse he wouldn't 
 stand it. 
 
 SQUOD, PHIL. A man employed in Mr, George's shooting- 
 gallery. 
 
 He is a little man with a face all crushed together, who appears, 
 from a certain blue and speckled appearance that one of his cheeks 
 presents, to have been blown up, in the way of business, at some odd 
 time or times. . . . On the speckled side of his face he has no eye- 
 brow, and on the other side he has a busby black one, which want of 
 
876 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 uniformity gives him a very singular and rather sinister appearance. 
 Everything seems to have happened to his hands that could possibly 
 take place, consistently with the retention of all the fingers ; for they 
 are notched, and seamed, and crumpled all over. . . . He has a 
 curious way of limping round the gallery with his shoulder against 
 the wall, and tacking off at objects he wants to lay hold of, instead of 
 going straight to them, which has left a smear all round the fiour 
 walls, conventionally called "Phil's mark." 
 
 (CL xxi., xxiv., xxvL, xxxiv., xlvii., Ivi, Ixvi) 
 
 STABLES, THE HONOURABLE BOB. Cousin to Sir 
 Leicester Dedlock. (Ch. ii., xxviii., xL, Iviii.) 
 
 SUMMERSON, ESTHER. Prot^gde of Mr. Jarndyce ; after- 
 wards the wife of Allan Woodcourt. She is the narrator of 
 a part of the story, and is represented as a prudent, wise little 
 body, a notable housewife, a self-denying friend, and a universal 
 favourite. She proves to be an illegitimate daughter of Lady 
 Dedlock and Captain Hawdon. (Ch. iii.-vi., viii., ix., xiii.- 
 XV., xvii.-xix., xxiii., xxiv., xxix.-xxxi. xxxv.-xxxviii., xliii.- 
 xlv., xlvii., L-lii., liv., ivi, Ivii., lix.-lxv., Ixvii.) 
 
 SWILL Sy LITTLE. A red-faced comic vocalist, engaged at 
 the Harmonic meetings at The Sol's Arms. (Ch. xi., xix., 
 xxxii., xxxiii., xxxix.) 
 
 TANGLE, MR. A lawyer who knows more about the case of 
 Jarndyce and Jarndyce than anybody, and is supposed never 
 to have read anything else since he left school. (Ch. i) 
 
 THOMAS. Sir Leicester Dedlock's groom. (Ch, xL) 
 
 TOUGHEY. See Jo. 
 
 TULKINGHORN, MR. An attomey-at-law, and a solicitor 
 of the Court of Chancery, who is the legal adviser of Sir 
 Leicester Dedlock. 
 
 The old gentleman s rusty to look at, but is reputed to have made 
 good thrift out of aristocratic marriage settlements and aristocratic 
 ■vills, and to be very rich. He is surrounded by a mysterious halo of 
 family confidences; of which he is known to be the silent depository, 
 . . . He is of what is called the old school — a phrase generally 
 meaning any school that seems never to have been young — and wears 
 knee-breeches tied with ribbons, and gaiters or stockings. One 
 peculiarity of his black clothes, and of his black stockings, be they 
 silk or worsted, is that they never shine. Mute, close, irresponsive to 
 any glancing light, his dress is like himself. He never converses, 
 when not professionally consulted. He is found sometimes, speechless 
 but quite at home, at corners of dinner-tables in great country houses, 
 and near doors of drawing-rooms, concerning which the fashionable 
 intelligence is eloquent : where everybody knows him, and where half 
 tl'.e Peerage stops to say, " How do you do, Mr. Tulkinghorn ? " He 
 receives these salutations with gravity, and buries them along with 
 the rest of his knowledge. 
 
BLEAK HOUSE. S7t 
 
 Becoming acquainted with the early history of Lady 
 Dedlock, he quietly informs her of the fact, and of his inten- 
 tion to reveal it to her husband, which causes her eventually to 
 flee from home, and results in her death. Shortly after this 
 disclosure, he is murdered in his room by a French waiting- 
 maid, whom he has made use of to discover certain family 
 secrets, and whom he refuses to reward to the amount she desires. 
 (Ch. ii., vii., x.-xii,, xv., xvi., xxii., xxiv., xxvii., xxix., 
 xxxiii., xxxiv., xxxvi., xL-xlii., xliv., xlvii., xlviii.) 
 TURVEYDROP, MR. "A very gentlemanly man, celebrated 
 almost everywhere for his deportment." (Ch. xiv., xxiii., 
 XXX., xxxviii., 1., Ivii.) 
 
 He was a fat old gentleman with a false compleidon, false teeth, 
 false whiskers, and a wig. He had a fur collar, and he had a padded 
 breast to his coat, which only wanted a star or a broad blue ribbon to 
 be complete. He was pinched in, and swelled out, and got up, and 
 strapped down, as much as he could possibly bear. He had such a 
 neckcloth on (puffing his very eyes out of their natural shape), and 
 his chin and even his ears so sunk into it, that it seemed as though he 
 must inevitably double up, if it were cast loose. He had, under his 
 arm, a hat of great size and weight, shelving downward from the 
 crown to the brim ; and in his hand a pair of white gloves, with which 
 he flapped it, as he stood poised on one leg, in a high-shouldered, 
 round-elbowed state of elegance not to be surpassed. He had a cane, 
 he had an eye-glass, he had a snuff-box, he had rings, he had wrist- 
 bands, he had everything but any touch of nature ; he was not like 
 youth, he was not like age, he was not like anything in the world but 
 a model of Deportment. 
 
 He had married a meek little dancing-mistress, with a tolerable 
 connection (having never in his life before done anything but deport 
 himself), and had worked her to death, or had, at the best, suffered 
 her to work herself to death, to maintain him in those expenses which 
 were indispensable to his position. At once to exhibit his Deportment 
 to the best models, and to keep the best models constantly before him- 
 self, he had found it necessary to frequent all public places of fashion, 
 able and lounging resort ; to be seen at Brighton and elsewhere at 
 fashionable times ; and to lead an idle life in the very best clothes. 
 To enable him to do this, the affectionate little dancing-mistress had 
 toiled and laboured, and would have toiled and laboured to that hour 
 if her strength had lasted so long. For, ... in spite of the man's 
 absorbing selfishness, his wife (overpowered by his Deportment) had, 
 to the last, believed in him, and had, on her death-bed, in the most 
 moving terms, confided him to their son as one who had an inex- 
 tinguishable claim upon him, and whom he could never regard with 
 too much pride and deference. The son, inheriting his mother's 
 belief, and having the Deportment always before him, had lived and 
 grown in the same faith, and now, at thirty years of age, worked for 
 his father twelve hours a day, and looked up to hiTn with veneration 
 on the old imaginary pinnacle. 
 
 TURVEYDROP, PRINCE. His son; so named in remem- 
 brance of the Prince Kegent, whom Mr. Turveydrop the 
 
378 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 elder adored on account of Ms deportment. He is a little 
 blue-eyed fair man, of youthful appearance, with, flaxen hair 
 parted in the middle, and curling at the ends all round hig 
 head. He marries Miss Caddy Jelly by. (Ch. xiv., xvii, 
 xxiii., XXX., xxxviii., 1., Ivii.) 
 VHOLESy MR. Eichard Carstone's solicitor; a man who is 
 always "putting his shoulder to the wheel," without any 
 visible results, and is continually referring to the fact that he 
 is a widower, with three daughters and an aged father in the 
 Yale of Taunton, who are dependent on him for their support. 
 (Ch. xxxvii., xxxix., xlv., li., Ixi., Ixii, Ixv.) 
 
 A sallow man, with pinclied lips that looked as if they were 
 cold, a red eruption here and there npon hia face, tall and thin, 
 about fifty years of age, high-shouldered and stooping. Dressed in 
 black, black-gloved, and buttoned to the chin, thei'e was nothing so 
 remarkable in him as a lifeless manner and a slow, fixed way he had of 
 looking .... 
 
 WEEVLE, MR. See Jobling, Tony. 
 
 WISE, MISS. A friend of Mrs. JeUyby's, betrothed to Mr. 
 Quale. Her " mission " is to show the world that woman's 
 mission is man's mission, and that the only genuine mission of 
 both man and woman is to be always moving declaratory 
 resolutions about things in general at public meetings. (Ch. 
 
 XXX.) 
 
 WOODCOURT, ALLAN. A young surgeon, who afterwards 
 marries Esther Summerson. (Cli. xi., xiii., xiv., xvii., xxx., 
 XXXV., xlvi., xlvii., l.-lii., lix.-lxi., Ixiv., Ixv., Ixvii.) 
 
 WOODCOURT, MRS. His mother; a "handsome old lady, 
 small, sharp, upright, and trim, with bright black eyes ; very 
 proud of her descent from an illustrious Welsh ancestor, 
 named Morgan-ap-Kerrig. (Ch. xvii, xxx., Ix., Ixii., Ixiv.) 
 
 PRINCIPAL INCIDENTS. 
 
 Chapter I. The High Court of Chancery in session, with the suit of Jar-n. 
 dyce and Jarndyce; the Lord Chancellor postpones the hearing. — II. Mr. 
 Tulkinghorn reports some new proceedings in the case to Sir Leicester and 
 Lady Dedlock ; Lady Dedlock asks who copied an affidavit he reads ; she 
 swoons. — III. Esther Summerson narrates the history of her childhood, 
 under the care of her godmother ; she is informed of the stain upon her 
 birth ; she is introduced to Mr. Kenge ; Miss Barbary dies, and Esther 
 learns she was her aunt j Mr. Jarndyce's offer to educate Esther ; oa 
 
S80 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 room to meet Mr. Jarndyce aiad Ada, Esther learna of the Boioide of 
 Mr. Krook's lodger j Mr. AUan Woodcourt appears as Miss Flite's 
 medical attendant j Miss Flite receives a pension from an unknown 
 BOTirce ; Krook repeats the names of Miss Flite's birds ; his attempts to 
 teach himself to read. — XY. Mr. Skimpole's method of paying his debts ; 
 he informs Esther of the death of " Coavinses j '* they all visit BeU 
 Yard to find Neckett's children ; how Charley takes care of her brother 
 and sister; Mrs. Blinder explains the situation of the family; Mr. 
 Gridley*s snit in Equity ; Mr. Skimpole's commentary on this state of 
 things. — XVI. Jo, sweeping his crossing, is accosted by a lady, to whom, 
 at her request, he points out the places associated with the dead copyist, 
 and is rewarded with a sovereign. — XVII. Richard becomes languid in the 
 profession he has chosen ; he argues to Esther that it is of little con- 
 sequence, being only a kind of probation until their suit is decided ; he 
 thinks " the law is the boy for him ; " Mr. Jarndyce tells Esther all he 
 knows of her early history j Mr. Woodcourt comes to take leave before 
 going to India ; Caddy Jellyby brings the flowers left by Mr. Woodcourt 
 for Esther. — XVIII. Richard shows his careless disposition in money- 
 matters ; Mr. Skimpole's idea of property ; they visit Mr. Boythom, and 
 receive a characteristic welcome ; Esther experiences peculiar emotions 
 on seeing Lady Dedlock in church ; the same feelings return on meeting 
 her in a lodge where they take shelter from the rain ; how the pride of 
 Hortense was wounded, and how she revenged herself. — XIX. Mr. and 
 Mrs. Chadband take tea with the Snagsbys ; Mr. Chadband discourses ; 
 a constable brings Jo to Mr. Snagsby's because he won't " move on; " 
 Mr. Guppy appears on the scene ; Jo tells the story of the lady and the 
 sovereign ; Mr. Chadband improves the occasion, and Jo " moves on." — 
 XX. Mr.. Guppy invites his friends Smallweed and Jobling to dine with 
 him ; Mr, Guppy proposes to Jobling to apply for copying to Snagsby, 
 and also to take the vacant lodgings at Krook's ; Mr. Guppy presents 
 his friend to Krook under the name of Weevle, and he takes possession 
 of the room. — XXI. The Smallweed family introduced; Mr. George 
 oalls to pay the interest on a loan from Mr. Smallweed's "friend 
 in the City ; " their talk concerning Captain Hawdon ; returning to his 
 shooting-gallery, George is received by Phil Squod. — XXII. Mr. Snagsby, 
 repeating to Mr. Tulkinghom Jo's story of the sovereign, is surprised to 
 find Mr. Bucket in company ; Mr. Bucket and Snagsby go to " Tom-all- 
 Alone's " in search of Jo ; they find Jenny and her friend ; finding Jo, 
 they return with him to Mr. Tulkinghom's rooms, where Jo recognises 
 the dress of the lady who bestowed the sovereign, but not the lady her- 
 self, she being personated by Mademoiselle Hortense. — XXIII. Mr. Jam. 
 dyce and his wards return to Bleak House ; Hortense ofEers herself to 
 Esther as lady's maid ; Richard is again unsettled, and now makes choice 
 of the army ; Caddy consults Esther on breaking the news of her engage- 
 ment to Mr. Turveydrop and Mrs. Jellyby ; Mr. Turveydrop is overcome, 
 but soon recovers ; Mrs. Jellyby is too much absorbed in Borrioboola-Gha 
 to show any interest in her daughter ; Esther returns home and finds 
 Charley engaged as her maid. — ^XXIV. Mr. Jarndyce desires Richard 
 and Ada to cancel their engagement before Richard joins his regiment ; 
 Mr. George calls to teach Richard fencing, and thinks he has seen 
 Esther before ; Esther and Richard visit the Court of Chancery ; Mr. 
 Guppy introduces Mrs. Chadband, formerly Mrs, Rachael ; Mr. George 
 appears in search of Miss Flite, whom Gridley, who is hiding at George's 
 to avoid arrest, wants to see ; Esther and Richard accompany them to 
 Georce's ; Mr. Bucket obtains admittance in disguise ; death of Gridley. 
 
BLEAK HOUSE. 381 
 
 — ^XXV. !Mrs. Snagsby becomes suspicious and jealous ; Mr. Ohadband 
 ** improves a tough subject ; " Jo is fed by Guster, Mr. Snagsby's servant, 
 and dismissed by Snagsby with the gift of half-a-crown. — XXVI. Mr. 
 George and Phil Squod cohverse about the country ; Phil's account of his 
 early life ; Mr. George is visited at his gallery by Grandfather Smallweed 
 and Judy J Mr. Small weed wants to obtain a specimen of Captain Hawdon's 
 writing for a lawyer ; Mr. George accompanies him to the lawyer, who 
 proves to be Mr. TuUdnghom. — XXYII. Mr. Tulldnghom offers him a re- 
 ward for the writing he possesses ; Mr. George declines, but proposes to 
 take a friend's advice; the " old girl" gives Greorge Mr. Bagnet's opinion, 
 which confirms his own ; Mr. George returns to Mr. TuUdnghom's, who 
 uses high words to him in the presence of a clerk. — XX V ITT- Sir 
 Leicester and Lady Dedlook, after their visitors retire, give audience to 
 Mrs. Rouncewell's son ; he speaks of the attachment of his son for Rosa, 
 and requests to be allowed to remove her from Chesney Wold; Sir 
 Leicester declines; Lady Dedlock invites Eosa's confidence, and promises 
 to make her happy if she can. — XXIX. The young man of the name of 
 Guppy calls on Lady Dedlock ; he mentions the remarkable resemblance 
 of Esther Summerson to my lady, relates what he has discovered of her 
 history — ^that her real name is Hawdon, and that he has found that the 
 deceased law-writer's was the same; he promise to bring my lady 
 Mr. Hawdon's papers, of which he will gain possession that night ; Lady 
 Dedlock's secret agony for her child. — XXX. Mrs. Woodcourt visits 
 Bleak House ; Caddy Jellyby spends three weeks at Bleak House, pre- 
 paring for her wedding ; Caddy and Prince are married. — XXXT . Charley 
 informs Esther of the return of Jenny and Liz, and a sick boy with 
 them ; Esther and Charley go to Jenny's, and find Jo ; he is terrified at 
 Esther's resemblance to the lady who gave him the sovereign ; they take 
 Jo home, where they find Mr. Skimpole, who advises turning him into 
 the street ; Jo disappears in the night ; Esther nurses Charley through a 
 dangerous illness, and falls ill herself. — XXXII. Mr. Snagsby, passing 
 through Cook's Court at night, calls Mr. Weevle's attention to a 
 peculiar smell about the place ; Mr. Guppy and Mr. Weevle, wait- 
 ing the appointed time for receiving the packet of Captain Hawdon's 
 letters from Krook, are disgusted by the taint in the atmosphere; 
 keeping his appointment, they find Krook dead by spontaneous 
 combustion. — XXXTTT. Mr. Snagsby is followed to The Sol's Arms by 
 his wife, whc takes him home again ; Mr. Guppy recommends Weevle to 
 remain in Krook' s house, and keep possession of the property; un- 
 expected appearance of heirs to the estate in the persons of the Small- 
 weed family ; Mr. Gujipy carries the news of Ea'ook's death, and the 
 probable destruction of the papers, to Lady Dedlock ; retiring, he meets 
 Mr. Tnlkinghorn. — XXXIV. George receives due notice of the maturity 
 of his loan from Grandfather Smallweed; Mr. Bagnet and his wife, 
 coming in to renew his draft, find Mr. George in this dilemma : Mr. 
 Bagnet gives his opinion, through the " old girl," that they had better 
 see Mr. Smallweed at once ; Mr. Smallweed refuses to renew the loan, 
 and breaks the pipe of peace ; they go to Mr. Tulkinghom's, where they 
 meet Mrs. KounceweU coming out ; to free himself from SmaUweed's 
 claims, Mr. George sells Mr. Tulkinghorn the specimen of Captain 
 Hawdon's writing ; George advises Woolwich to honour his mother. — 
 XXXV. Esther's recovery i her first interview with Mr. Jamdyco ; she 
 receives a call from Miss Flite ; Miss EUte's account of her case in 
 Chancery, and her warning about Richard ; the story of Mr. Woodcourt's 
 heroic bravery. — XXXVI. Esther and Charley go to Mr. Boythoiu's ; 
 
S82 THE DICKENS DIOTIONAET. 
 
 Esther first sees the reflection of her face scarred by the disease | 
 Esther, resting in the wood, is met by Lady Dedlock, who owns her as her 
 chOd, but tells her they must never meet again ; Esther's first meeting 
 with Ada since her recovery. — XXXVII. Richard sends for Esther 
 to meet him at The Dedlock Arms ; Mr. Skimpole appears as Richard's 
 artless friend; Esther has an interview with Richard, who shows 
 increasing dislike for Mr. Jamdyce, and increasing confidence in the early 
 decision of the suit ; Ada writes to Richard, praying him to relinquish 
 his hope from the suit ; Esther tries to give Mr. Skimpole an idea of 
 responsibility; Mr. Vholes, Richard's new legal adviser, appears, Mr. 
 Skimpole showing how he introduced him to Richard; Mr. Vholes 
 informs Richard that his cause is coming on the next morning, and they 
 return to town immediately. — ^XXXVIII. Esther goes to London; she 
 calls on Caddy Jellyby, and dances with the apprentices : Esther and 
 Caddy caU on Mr. Guppy ; Esther requests a private interview with Mr. 
 Guppy, and cures that gentleman's passion by showing her face ; she 
 requests him to give up all idea of serving her through any discovery 
 relating to her parentage. — XXXIX. Mr. Vholes's respectability ; inter- 
 view between Vholes and Richard, in which Vholes appears with " his 
 shoulder to the wheel^^ " Mr. Gupjjy and Mr. Weevle go to Krook's house 
 to remove Mr. Weevle's effects ; they find Mr. TulMnghom looking on as 
 the SmaUweeds examine Krook's papers ; Mr. Guppy declines to explain 
 to Mr. Tulkinghorn the business he had with Lady Dedlock. — XL. Sir 
 Leicester and his retinue return to Chesney Wold ; Sir Leicester dis- 
 cusses with Volumnia the pending elections ; Mr. Tulkinghorn 
 arrives with the news of the defeat of Sir Leicester's party, and that 
 Mr. Rouncewell and his son were very active in aiding that result ; Mr. 
 Tulkinghorn tells a story bearing on Rosa's position as Lady Dedlock's 
 maid. — XLI. Mr. Tulkinghorn, on retiring to his room, is sought by Lady 
 Dedlock ; she asks how long he has known her secret, and how far it is 
 known to others ; she informs hitn of her design to leave Chesney Wold 
 at once ; he counsels her to remain just as before in all respects, and 
 promises to take no steps to expose her without warning. — XLII. 
 Mr. Snagsby complains to Mr. Tulkinghorn of the persecutions of 
 Mademoiselle Hortense; Mr. Talkinghorn threatens to have Hortense 
 put in confinement if she continues her importunities. — XLIII. Esther 
 suggests to her guardian that Mr. Skimpole is not a safe adviser for 
 Richard ; they visit Mr. Skimpole at his home ; Mr, Skimpole introduces 
 his family ; he returns with Mr. Jarndyce to Bleak House ; they receive 
 a call from Sir Leicester Dedlock ; Esther's agitation in his presence ; 
 Esther tells her guardian of the relationship between herself and Lady 
 Dedlock. — XLIV. Mr. Jamdyce sends Esther a letter, with her per- 
 mission, asking her to become the mistress of Bleak House; Esthei 
 destroys the flowers sent her by Mr. Woodcourt ; she answers yes to Mr. 
 Jarndyce's letter. — XLY. Mr. Vholes caUs upon Mr. Jamdyce, and 
 reports the sad state of Richard's affairs ; Esther decides to gc ^nd see 
 Richard at Deal, where he is stationed, and she sets out with Charley 
 for her companion; she finds Richard looking worn and haggard; 
 Richard grows more and more angry with Mr. Jarndyce as the cause of 
 his trials, and convinces Esther of the necessity of his withdrawing 
 from the army ; Esther recognises Allan Woodcourt among some gentle- 
 men landing from an Indiaman just airived ; she has an interview with 
 him, and requests hini to befriend Richard, which he promises to do.— 
 XLVl. Going through Tom-all-Alone's, Mr. Woodcourt finds Jenny with 
 a bruised head, which he di'esses for her ; they pursue and overtake Jo, 
 
BLEAK HOUSE. 388 
 
 and Allan hears from Jenny the story of his having been taken in at 
 Bleak House, and Esther catching his disease ; Jo gives the reason of his 
 escaping from Bleak House, and Allan takes charge of him. — XL VII. Jo 
 teUs Allan the story of the lady in the veil ; Woodcourt consults Miss 
 Flite to find a place of refuge for Jo, and she recommends George ; Mr. 
 Geoi'ge takes him in ; George expresses to Mr. Woodcourt his feelings 
 toward Tulkinghorn ; Jo sends a message to Mr. Snagsby, who calls to 
 eeehim; Jo makes his last request, and dies. — XLVIII. Lady Dedlock 
 dismisses Eosa ; Mr. Eouncewell calls, by Lady Dedlock's appointment, 
 and she relinquishes Rosa to his care ; Mr. Tulkinghorn, who is present 
 at the interview, warns Lady Dedlock that he considers her course a 
 departure from her promise, and that he shall soon undeceive S'> 
 Leicester j Mr. Tulkinghorn goes home to his rooms, and in the morning 
 is found murdered lying on the floor. — XLIX. JVIr. Bagnet prepares a 
 feast on his wife's birthday ; George joins them in dull spirits, which he 
 accounts for by Jo's death ; Mr. Bucket adds himself to the party, and 
 makes himself friendly ; Bucket arrests George for the murder of Mr. 
 Tulkinghorn. — L. Caddy Jellyby, who has an infant, and is ill, sends for 
 Esther, and Mr. Jarndyce and Ada go with her to London; Caddy 
 recovers under Mr. Woodcourt's medical care ; Esther notices a change 
 in Ada's manner towards her; Mr. Woodcourt applies to Yholes for 
 Richard's address. — LI. He finds him next door ; Esther and Ada visit 
 Richard at his rooms ; Ada acknowledges her secret marriage to Richard, 
 and Esther returns alone ; Esther tells Mr. Jarndyce. — Lll. ]^Ir. Wood- 
 court tells Mr. Jarndyce and Esther of the murder of Mr. Tulkinghorn 
 and the arrest of Mr. George ; the three visit him in prison ; George is 
 deteraiined to stand by the exact truth, and have no lawyer ; Mr. and 
 ilrs. Bagnet also come to see George ; George mentions the resemblance 
 of Esther to a figure he saw on Mr. Tulkinghorn's stairs at the time of 
 the murder. — LIII. Mrs. Bagnet reasons that George's mother is alive, 
 and sets off for Lincolnshire in search of her ; Mr. Bucket watches his 
 wife and their lodger; Bucket receives anonymous letters containing 
 Lady Dedlock's name ; he informs Sir Leicester that he has the case 
 nearly worked up. — LIV. Next morning, Mr. Bucket informs Sir 
 Leicester that the case is complete ; he proceeds to relate the conduct 
 of Lady Dedlock, and her fear of Tulkinghorn, when they are inter, 
 rapted by the arrival of Smallweed, the Chadbands, and Mrs. Snagsby, 
 who demand to be paid for suppressing what they have learnt of 
 Lady Dedlock's story ; Bucket dismisses them, and admits Mademoiselle 
 Hortense, whom he accuses of the murder, and shows how he has worked 
 up the evidence. — LV. Jiirs. Bagnet brings Mrs. Rouncewell, Mr. George's 
 mother, to London ; the mother and son in prison ; Mrs. Rouncewell 
 informs Lady Dedlock that she has found her son, and appeals to her for 
 pity ; Mr. Guppy requests an interview with Lady Dedlock, and informs 
 her that I^Ir. Smallweed and others, probably, know all she would have 
 concealed ; flight of Lady Dedlock. — LVL Sir Leicester is struck with 
 I^aralysis ; Mr. Bucket interprets his signs, and sets oS. in pursuit of 
 Lady Dedlock ; he goes to Mr. Jarndyce's house, and gets Esther to 
 afjcompany him. — LVII. Buckpt tracks Lady Dedlock to the brickmaker's 
 at St. Alban's ; they are froid she went north, while Jenny went to 
 London, and they f oUow on northward in search of her ; Bucket at fault. 
 — LVIII. He decides to follow the other one, and returns to London ; 
 what rumour says of Lady Dedlock ; Sir Leicester insists on seeing Mrs. 
 liouncewell's son George ; they watch through the day and night foi 
 Lady Dedlock's return ; Esther and Mr. Bucket reach London. — LIX. 
 
S84 TEE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 They trace the person they hc2 following to Mr. Snagsby'g, meeting Mr. 
 Woodcourt by the way ; they find a letter for Esther, wi'ittea by Lady 
 Dedlock; following Guster's directions, they find Lady Dedlock lying 
 dead at the gate of the burying-ground. — LX. Esther learns from her 
 gnardian that Mr. Woodcourt has decided to remain in England ; Misa 
 Flite makes Eichard her executor; Mr. Vholes discusses Richard's 
 interests with Esther; Ada confides her secret to Esther. — LXI. Esther 
 requests Mr. Skimpole not to go to Richard's any more, and attempts lo 
 remonstrate with him for betraying Jo to Bucket ; Mr. Skimpole drops 
 from this history ; Allan Woodcourt declares his love to Esther. — LXII. 
 Esther fixes the day for becoming mistress of Bleak House ; Mr. Bucket 
 introduces Mr. Smallweed, with a newly-discovered will in Jarndyce. — • 
 LXIII. George makes the acquaintance of his brother and his family. — 
 LXIV. Mr. Jarndyce goes to Yorkshire to look after Mr. Woodcourt'a 
 business, and sends for Esther to follow him ; he shows her the house he 
 has prepared for Allan, which he has named Eleak House, and relin- 
 quishes her to Woodcourt; Mr. Guppy, backed by his mother and Mr. 
 Jobling, renews his proposal. — LXV. Jarndyce and Jarndyce is over f')i 
 good ; Richard is reconciled to Mr. Jarndyce, and •' begins the world," — 
 LXVI. Sir Leicester's life at Chesncy Wold. — LXYII. Esther clo».5s hf^| 
 narratii'5. 
 
HARD TIMES. 
 
 FOR THESE TIMES. 
 
 This tale was originally published in " Household Words ; " the first 
 chapter making its appearance in No. 210, for April, 1854, and tho last 
 in No. 229, for August 12, 1854. In the same year it was brought out 
 independently, in one octavo volume of 352 pages, and was inscribed to 
 Thomas Carlyle. In a letter to Mr. Charles Knight (quoted in his 
 "Passages of a Working Life"), Mr. Dickens thus explains his design 
 in writing this story : 
 
 " My satire is against those who see figures and averages, and nothing 
 else — the representatives of the wickedest and most enormous vice of 
 this time ; the men who, through long years to come, will do more to 
 damage the really useful truths of political economy than I could do (if 
 I tried) in my whole life ; the addled heads who would take the average 
 of cold in the Crimea during twelve months as a reason for clothing a 
 soldier in nankeen on a night when he would be frozen to death in fur, 
 and who would comfort the labourer, in travelling twelve miles a day to 
 and from his work, by telling him that the average distance of one in- 
 habited place from another on the whole area of England is not more 
 than four miles. 
 
 CHARACTERS INTRODUCED. 
 
 BITZER A light -haired and light -eyed pupil of Mr. 
 M'Choaknnichild's, in Mr. Gradgrind's model school; crammed 
 full of hard facts, but with all fancy, sentiment, and affection 
 taken out of him. 
 
 His cold eyes would hardly have been eyes, but for the short ends 
 of lashes which, by bringing them into immediate contrast with some- 
 thing paler than themselves, expressed their form. His short-cropped 
 hair might have been a mere continuation of the sandy freckles on his 
 forehead and face. His skin was so unwholesomely deficient in the 
 natural tinge, that he looked as though, if he were cut, he would bleed 
 white. 
 
 2 
 
886 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 " Bitzer," said Tkomas Gradgrind. " Your definition of a horse.** 
 " Qaadraped. Graminivorous. Forty teeth, namely twenty-fonr 
 grinders, four eye-teeth, and twelve incisive. Sheds coat in the 
 spring ; in marshy countries, sheds hoofs, too. Hoofs hard, but re- 
 quiring to be shod with iron. Age known by marks in mouth." Thus 
 (and much more) Bitzer. 
 
 After he leaves school, Bitzer is employed as light porter 
 and clerk at Mr. Eounderhy's hank. When Mr. Gradgrind's 
 son, after rohhing the hank, endeavours to escape, he starts in 
 pursuit, and pounces on him just as he is ahout to start for 
 Liverpool 
 
 " Bitzer," said Mr. Gradgrind, broken Ad^m, and miserably sub- 
 missive to him, " have you a heart ? " 
 
 " The circulation, sir,** returned Bitzer, smiling at the oddity of 
 the question, "couldn't be carried on without one. No man, sir, 
 acquainted with the facts established by Harvey relating to the circu- 
 lation of the blood, can doubt that I have a heart." 
 
 " Is it accessible," cried Mr. Gradgrind, " to any compassionate 
 influence ? " 
 
 "It is accessible to Reason, sir," returned the excellent young 
 man. " And to nothing else." 
 
 (Bk. L, ch. ii., v. ; Bk. II., ch. i, iv., vi, viii., ix., xi ; 
 Bk. III., ch. vii.-ix.) 
 
 BLACKPOOL, MRS. Wife of Stephen Blackpool. Soon 
 after her marriage, she takes to drinking, and goes on from 
 had to worse, until she hecomes a curse to her husband, to 
 herself, and to aU around her. (Bk. L, ch. x.-xiiL ; Bk. III., 
 ch. ix.) 
 
 BLACKPOOL, STEPHEN. A simple, honest power-loom 
 weaver, in Mr. Bounderhy's factory. A rather stooping man, 
 with a knitted brow, a pondering expression of face, and a 
 hard-looking head, sufficiently capacious, on which Lis iron- 
 gray hair lay long and thin. His lot is a hard one. Tied to 
 a miserable, drunken wife, who has made his home a desolation 
 and a mockery, and for whom he has long ceased to feel either 
 respect or love, he finds himself unable to marry — as he would 
 like to do — a woman (Rachael) who has been a kind and dear 
 friend to him for many years ; and he goes to ]\Ir. Bounderby 
 for advice. 
 
 " I ha' coom to ask yo, sir, how I am to be ridded o' this woman." 
 Stephen infused a yet deeper gravity into the mixed expression of his 
 attentive face. . . . 
 
 " What do you mean ? " said Bounderby, getting up to lean his 
 back against the chimney-piece. " What are you tallong about ? You 
 took her for better for worse." 
 
 •• I mun' be ridaen o' her. I cannot bear't nommore. I ha' lived 
 
HARD TIMES. 387 
 
 under*t so long, for that I ha* had'n the pity and comforting words o' th* 
 best lass living or dead. Haplj, but for her, I should ha' gone hot- 
 tering mad." 
 
 " He wishes to be free, to marry the female of whom he speaks, I 
 fear, sir," observed Mrs. Sparsit in an undertone, and much dejected by 
 the immorahty of the people. 
 
 " I do. The lady says what's right. I do. I were a coming to't. I 
 ha' read i* th' papers that great fok (fair faw 'em a' ! I wishes 'em no 
 hurt ! ) are not bonded together for better for worst so fast, but that 
 they can be set free fro' their misfortnet marriages, an' marry ower 
 agen. When they dunnot agree, for that their tempers is ill-sorted, 
 they has rooms o' one kind an another in their houses, above a bit, and 
 they can live asunders. We fok ha' only one room, and we can't. When 
 that won't do, they ha' gowd an other cash, an they can say ' This for 
 yo' an that for me,* an they go their separate ways. We can't. Spite 
 o' all that, they can be set free for smaller wrongs than mine. So, I 
 mun be ridden o' this woman, and I want t' know how ? " 
 
 " No how," returned Mr. Bounderby. 
 
 " If I do her any hurt, sir, there's a law to punish me ? " 
 
 " Of course there is." 
 
 " If I flee from her, there's a law to punish me ? " 
 
 "Of course there is.*' 
 
 " If I marry t'oother dear lass, there's a law to punish me ?" 
 
 " Of course there is." 
 
 " If I was to live wi' her an not marry her — saying such a thing 
 could be, which it ne^ er could or would, an her so good— there's a law 
 to punish me, in every innocent child belonging to me ? " 
 
 " Of course there is." 
 
 " Now, a' God's name," said Stephen Blackpool, " show me the law 
 to help me I " 
 
 " Hem ! there's a sanctity in this relation of life," said Mr. Bounderby, 
 " and — and — it must be kept up," 
 
 " No, no, dunnot say that, sir. 'Tan't kep' up that way. Not that 
 way. "Tis kep' down that way. I'm a weaver, I were in a fact'ry when 
 a chilt, but I ha' gotten een to see wi' and eern to year wi'. I read in 
 th' papers every 'Sizes, every Sessions — and you read too — I know it ! — 
 with dismay — how th' supposed unpossibility o' ever getting unchained 
 fi'om one another, at any price, on any terms, brings blood upon this 
 land, and brings many common married fok to battle, murder, and 
 sudden death. Let us ha' this, right understood. Mine's a grievous 
 case, an I want — if yo will be so good — t' know the law that helps me." 
 
 " Now, I tell you what ! " said Mr. Bounderby, putting his hands in 
 his pockets. " There is such a law." 
 
 Stephen, subsiding into his quiet manner, and never wandering in 
 his attention, gave a nod. 
 
 " But it's not for you at all. It costs money. It costs a mint of 
 money." 
 
 " How much might that be ? " Stephen calmly asked. 
 
 " Why, you'd have to go to Doctors' Commons with a suit, and you'd 
 have to go to a Court of Common Law with a suit, and you'd 
 have to go to the House of Lords with a suit, and you'd have to get an 
 Act of Parliament to enable you to marry again, and it would cost you 
 (if it was a case of very plain sailing), I suppose from a thousand to 
 lifteen hundred pound," aaid Mr. Bounderby. " Perhaps twice the 
 monej." 
 
 2 2 
 
383 THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 " There's no other law ? *' 
 « Certainly not." 
 
 " Why then, sir," said Stephen , . . , " 'tis a muddle. 'Tis just a 
 maddle a'toogether, an the sooner I am dead the better." 
 
 When the Coketown operatives enter into a combination 
 against their employers, and establish certain "regulations," 
 Stephen refuses to join them, and they all renounce and shun 
 him. And when Mr. Eounderby questions him about the asso- 
 ciation (styled the " United Aggregate Tribunal "), calling the 
 members " a set of rascals and rebels," he earnestly protests 
 that they are acting from a sense of duty, and is angrily told 
 to finish -what he's at, and then look elsewhere for work. 
 Stephen leaves Coketown in search of employment, but soon 
 after returns, being falsely accused of complicity in the 
 robbery at Mr. Bounderby's bank, and, on his way, he falls into 
 an abandoned coal shaft (" Old Hell Shaft ") hidden by thick 
 grass, where he remains for some days, when he is accidentally 
 discovered, and is rescued, alive, but dreadfully bruised, and 
 so injured that he dies soon after being brought to the surface. 
 (Bk. I., ch. x.-xiii. ; Bk. II., ch. iv.-vi, ix. j Bk. III., ch. iv.-'Vi., 
 See Gradgrind, Tom. 
 
 BOUNDERBY, JOSIAR. A wealthy Coketown manufacturer, 
 who marries the daughter of Mr. Gradgrind. (Bk. L, ch. iii.- 
 ix., XL, xiv.-xvi. ; Bk. II., ch. i-xii. ; Bk. III., ch. ii.-ix.) 
 See Gradgrind, Louisa. 
 
 Mr. Bonnderby was as near being Mr. Gradgrind's bosom-friend aa 
 a man perfectly devoid of sentiment can approach that spiritual re- 
 lationship towards another man perfectly devoid of sentiment. So 
 near was Mr. Bonn derby, — or, if the reader should prefer it, so far off. 
 
 He was a rich man, — banker, merchant, manufacturer, and what 
 not : a big, loud man, with a stare, and a metallic laugh ; a man made 
 out of a coarse material, which seemed to have been stretched to make 
 BO much of him ; a man with a great puffed head and forehead, swelled 
 veins in his temples, and such a strained skin to his face, that it 
 seemed to hold his eyes open, and lift his eyebrows up ; a man with a 
 pervading appearance on him of being inflated like a balloon, and 
 ready to start ; a man who could never sufficiently vaunt himself a 
 self-made man ; a man who was always proclaiming, through that 
 brassy speaking-trumpet of a voice of his, his old ignorance and hig 
 old poverty ; a man who was the Bully of humility. 
 
 A year or two younger than his eminently practical friend, Mr. 
 Bounderby looked older ; his seven or eight and forty might have had 
 the seven or eight added to it again, without surprising anybody. He 
 had not much hair. One might have fancied he had talked it off ; and 
 that what was left, all standing up in disorder, was in that conditioi\ 
 from being constantly blown about by his windy boastfulness. 
 
 BOUNDERBY, VRS LOUISA. >^ee Geadgrind, Louisa, 
 
HARD TIMES. 889 
 
 OBlLDERSf MR, E. W. B. A young man who is a member 
 of Sleary's Circus Troupe, and is celebrated for bis daring 
 vaulting act as the Wild Huntsman of the ISTorth American 
 Prairies. (Bk. I., ch. vi. ; Bk. III., ch. vii., viii.) 
 
 His face, close-shaven, thin, and sallow, was shaded by a great 
 quantity of dark hair brushed into a roll all round his head, and parted 
 up the centre. His legs were very robust, but shorter than legs of 
 good proportions should have been. His chest and back were as much 
 too broad as his legs were too short. He was dressed in a Newmarket 
 coat and tight-fitting trousers ; wore a shawl round his neck ; smelt of 
 lamp-oil, straw, orange-peel, horses' provender, and sawdust ; and 
 looked a most remarkable sort of Centaur, compounded of the stable 
 and the play-house. Where the one began, and the other ended, nobody 
 could have told with any precision, 
 
 GORDON, EMMA. A member of Sleary's Circus Troupe, and 
 a friend to Sissy Jupe. (Bk. I., eh. vi. ; Bk. IIL, ch. vii.) 
 
 GRADGRIND, MR. THOMAS. A retired wholesale hard» 
 ware merchant. (Bk. I., ch. i.-ix., xiv.-xvi ; Bk. II., ch. i- 
 iii., vii., ix., xi., xii. ; Bk. IIL, ch. i.-ix.) 
 
 "Thomas Gradgrind, sir. A man of realities. A man of facts 
 and calculations. A man who proceeds upon the principle that two 
 and two are four, and nothing over, and who is not to be talked into 
 allowing for anything over. Thomas Gradgrind, sir, — peremptorily 
 Thomas — Thomas Gradgrind. With a rule and a pair of scales, and 
 the multiplication table always in his pocket, sir, ready to weigh and 
 measure any parcel of human nature, and tell you exactly what it 
 comes to. It is a mere question of figxires, a case of simple arithmetic. 
 You might hope to get some other nonsensical belief into the head of 
 George Gradgrind, or Augustus Gradgrind, or John Gradgrind, or 
 Joseph Gradgrind (all supposititious, non-existent persons), but into the 
 head of Thomas Gradgrind — no, sir ! " 
 
 In such terms Mr. Gradgrind always mentally introduced himself, 
 whether to his private circle of acquaintance, or to the public in 
 general. 
 
 Visiting his model school in company with a Government 
 officer of the same intensely practical, utilitarian stamp as 
 himself, he tells the teacher, Mr. M'Choakumchild — 
 
 " Now, what I want is, Facts. Teach these boys and girls nothing 
 but Facts. Facts alone are wanted in life. Plant nothing else, and root 
 out everything else. You can only form the minds of reasoning animals 
 upon Facts : nothing else will ever be of any service to them. This is 
 the principle on which I bring up my own children, and this is the 
 principle on which I bring up these children. Stick to Facts, sir ! " 
 
 The scene was a plain, bare, monotonous vault of a schoolroom, and 
 the speaker's square forefinger emphasized his observations by under, 
 scoring every sentence with a line on the schoolmaster's sleeve. The 
 ©mphasis was helped by the speaker's square wall of a forehead, which 
 had his eyebrows for its base, while his eyes found commodious cellarage 
 
390 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 iu two dark caves, overshadowed by the wall. The emphasis waa helpea 
 by the speaker's mouth, which was wide, thin, and hard set. The 
 emphasis was helped by the speaker's voice, which was inflexible, dry, 
 and dictatorial. The emphasis was helped by the speaker's hair, which 
 bristled on the skirts of his bald head, a plantation of firs to keep the 
 wind from its shining surface, all covered with loiobs, like the crust of a 
 plum-pie, as if the head had scarcely warehouse-room for the hard facts 
 stored inside. The speaker's obstinate carriage, square coat, square legs, 
 squai'e shoulders, — nay, his very neckcloth, trained to take him by the 
 throat with an unaccommodating grasp, like a stubborn fact, as it was, — 
 all helped the emphasis. 
 
 Mr. Gradgrind's residence is a very matter-of-fact place, 
 called Stone Lodge, situated on a moor within a mile or two 
 of the great manufacturing town of Coketown. 
 
 A very regular feature on the face of the country, Stone Lodge was. 
 Not the least disguise toned down or shaded off that uncompromising 
 fact in the landscape. A great square house, with a heavy portico darken- 
 ing the principal windows, as its master's heavy brows overshadowed 
 hia eyes. A calculated, cast up, balanced, and proved house. Six 
 windows on this side of the door, six on that side ; a total of twelve in 
 this wing, a total of twelve in the other wing ; four-and-twenty carried 
 over to the back wings. A lawn and garden and an infant avenue, all 
 ruled straight like a botanical account-book. Gas and ventilation, 
 drainage and water-service, all of the primest quality. Iron clamps and 
 girders, fireproof from top to bottom; mechanical lifts for the house- 
 maids, with all their brushes and brooms j everything that heart could 
 desire. 
 
 ISIr. Gradgxind marries his eldest daughter, according to a 
 mathematical plan wliich he has adopted, to his friend Mr. 
 Bounderby, who is not only twenty years her senior, but is in 
 every respect unsuited to her. The result of this ill-assorted 
 union is unhappiness not only to the wife,but to her father as well, 
 for whom a still sharper trial is in store. His eldest son, whom 
 he has carefully trained, becomes dissipated, robs his employer, 
 Mr. Bounderby, and brings disgrace on the hitherto unblemished 
 name of Gradgrind. In his sore trouble, Mr. Gradgrind is con- 
 soled and strengthened by two of the most impractical people in 
 the world — ]\Ir. Sleary, the manager of a circus, and Sissy Jupe, 
 the daughter of a clown, both of whom he has repeatedly lectured 
 on their utter want of worldly wisdom and practicahty. Forced 
 to admit that much of his misfortune is attributable to his own 
 hard system of philosophy, he becomes a humbler and a wiser 
 man, bending his hitherto inflexible theories to appointed cir- 
 cumstances ; making his facts and figures subservient to Faith, 
 Hope, and Charity, and no longer trying to grind that heavenly 
 trio in his dusty little mills. See Sleary (Mb.), and Jupi? 
 (Cecilia). 
 
HARD TIMES. 391 
 
 ORADGRINDy MRS. Wife of Mr. Thomas GradgrincL 
 (Bk. I., ch. iv., ix., xv. ; Bk. 11. , ch. ix.) 
 
 A little, thin, white, pink-eyed bundle of shawls, of surpassing 
 feebleness, mental and bodily ; who was always taking physio without 
 any effect, and who, whenever she showed a symptom of coming to 
 life, was invariably stunned by some weighty piece of fact tumbling 
 on her. 
 
 GRADGRIND, ADAM SMITH. A younger son of Mr. 
 
 Gradgrind. (Bk. I., ch. iv.) 
 GRADGRIND, JANE. Mr. Gradgrind's younger daughter. 
 
 (Bk. L, ch. iv., xvi. ; Bk. II., ch. ix. ; Bk. IIL, ch. i.) 
 GRADGRIND, LOUISA. Eldest child of I^Ir. Gradgrind. 
 
 There was an air of jaded sullenness in . . . the girl ; yet, strug- 
 gling through the dissatisfaction of her face, there was a liglit with 
 nothing to rest upon, a fire with nothing to bum, a starved imagination 
 keeping life in itself somehow, which brightened its expression, — not 
 with the brightness natural to cheerful youth, but with uncertain, eager, 
 doubtful flashes, which had something painful in them, analogous to 
 the changes of a blind face groping its way. 
 
 She becomes the wife of Josiah Bounderby, who says to 
 the guests at the breakfast-table, after the marriage ceremony 
 has been performed — 
 
 " I have watched her bringing-up, and I believe she is worthy of 
 me. At the same time — not to deceive you — I believe I am worthy of 
 her. So, I thank you, on both our parts, for the good-will you have 
 shown towards us ; and the best wish I can give the unmarried part of 
 the present company, is this : I hope every bachelor may find as good 
 a wife as I have found. And I hope every spinster may find as good 
 a husband as my wife has found." 
 
 The current of their wedded life does not run smooth, 
 however. Utter incompatibility of temper, utter want of 
 mutual love or sympathy, pave the way for a plausible ac- 
 quaintance — a polished, easy man of the world — to approach 
 her with insidious declarations of love, and to propose an 
 elopement. Eesisting the temptation, she flees to her father's 
 house, and implores him to save her. He recommends to her 
 husband to allow her to stay there for a while, that she may 
 have the opportunity she so much needs for repose and reflec- 
 tion ; but Mr. Bounderby requires that she shall return to his 
 bed and board by the next day noon ; and, as she fails to do 
 so, he refuses to have anything more to do with her, and leaves 
 her in her father's charge. (Bk. L, ch. iii., iv., vi.-ix., xiv.- 
 xvi. ; Bk, II., ch. i-iii., v.-xii. ; Bk. IIL, ch. i-ix.) 
 GRADGRIND, MALTIIUS. A son of Mr. Gradgrind. 
 (Bk. I., ch. iv.) 
 
392 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 GRADGRIND, THOMAS. Mr. Gradgrind's youngest son; 
 a selfish, ill-natured, sensual, mercenary whelp. He is em- 
 ployed as a clerk in Eounderby's Bank, and, being a dissipated 
 and extravagant idler, robs it of some hundred and fifty pounds. 
 For a time he succeeds in throwing suspicion, upon an innocent 
 factory operative, Stephen Blackpool; but his own guilt is soon 
 established, and he flees from the country to avoid arrest and 
 imprisonment. (Bk. I., ch. iii., iv., vii.-ix., xiv., xvi. ; Bk. II., 
 ch. i-ui., v.-viii., x.-xii. ; Bk. III., ch. ii.-ix.) 
 
 IIARTH0U8E, MR. JAMES. A friend of Mr. Gradgrind's ; 
 a thorough gentleman, made to the model of the time, weary 
 of everything, and putting no more faith in anything than 
 Lucifer. He is " five-and-thirty, good-looking, good figure, 
 good teeth, good voice, dark hair, bold eyes." (Bk. II., cii. 
 i.-iii., v., vii.-xii. ; Bk. III., ch. ii., iii.) See Gkadgrixd 
 (Louisa), Jupb (Cecilia). 
 
 JUPE, CECILIA, or SISSY. The daughter of a cIo^tl 
 She has been kindly permitted to attend the school controlled 
 by Mr. Gradgrind ; but Mr. Bounderby thinks that she has a 
 bad influence over the other children, and advises that the 
 privilege should be withdrawn. The two gentlemen accord- 
 ingly visit The Pegasus' Arms, at Pod's End, to inform her 
 father of their intention; but they find that Signor Jupe — 
 always a haK-cracked man — having got old and stiff in the 
 joints, so that he cannot perform his parts satisfactorily, and 
 having got his daughter into the school, and therefore, as he 
 seems to think, got her well provided for, has run off to parts 
 unlinown. Under these circumstances, Mr. Gradgrind decides 
 to take charge of the girl, and educate and support her. She 
 accompanies him home, and makes herself very useful and 
 companionable in his family. When Louisa is about to fall 
 into the meshes of Mr. Harthouse, Sissy visits that gentleman, 
 and persuades and shames him into leaving the neighbourhood ; 
 and when Mr. Gradgrind's son is about to be arrested for the 
 robbery of Bounderby's Bank, she sends him to her father's 
 old employer, Mr. Sleary, who conceals him and gets him 
 safely abroad. (Bk. I., ch. ii., iv.-ix., xiv., xv. ; Bk. II., 
 ch. ix. ; Bk. IIL, ch. i, ii., iv.-ix.) 
 
 JUPE, SIGNOR. A clown in Sleary's circus ; father of Sissy 
 Jupe, and owner of the "highly-trained performing dog 
 Merrylegs." (Bk, L, ch. IL, iii, v., vi, ix. ; Bk. III., ch. ii., 
 viii) See Jupe, Cecilia. 
 
 KIDDERMINSTER, MASTER. A member of Sleary's 
 Circus Troupe; a diminutive boy, with an old face, who 
 
HARD TIMES. 393 
 
 assists Mr. Cliilders in his daring vaulting act as the Wild 
 Huntsman of the I^orth American Prairies ; taking the part 
 of his infant son, and being carried upside down over his 
 father's shoulder, by one foot, and held by the crown of his 
 head, heels upwards, in the palm of his father's hand, accord- 
 ing to the violent paternal manner in which wild huntsmen 
 may be observed to fondle their offspring. (Bk. I., ch. vi, ; 
 Bk. IL, ch. vii.) 
 M'CHOAKUMGHILD, ME. Teacher in Mr. Gradgrind's 
 model school. (Bk. L, ch. i.-iii., ix., xiv.) 
 
 He and some one hundred-and -forty otter schoolmasters had been 
 lately turned at the same time, in the same factory, on the same 
 principles, like so many pianoforte legs. He had been put through an 
 immense variety of paces, and had answered volumes of head-breaking 
 questions. Orthography, etymology, syntax and prosody, biography, 
 astronomy, geography and general cosmography, the sciences of com- 
 pound proportion, algebra, land surveying and levelling, vocal music, 
 and drawing from models, were all at the ends of his ten chilled 
 fingers. He had worked his stony way into Her Majesty's most 
 Honourable Privy Council's Schedule B, and had taken the bloom off 
 the higher branches of mathematics and physical science, French, 
 German, Latin, and Greek. He knew all about all the watersheds of 
 all the world (whatever they are), and all the histories of all the 
 peoples, and all the names of all the rivers and mountains, and all the 
 productions, manners, and customs of all the countries, and all their 
 boundaries and bearings on the two-and-thirty points of the compass. 
 Ah ! rather overdone, M'Choakumchild. If he had only learnt a little 
 less, how infinitely better he might have taught much more 1 
 
 MERRTLEGS. Signor Jupe's trained performing dog. (B. I., 
 ch. iii., v.-viii. ; Bk. III., ch. viii.) 
 
 PEGLER, MRS. Mother of Josiah Bound erby ; a mysterious 
 old woman, tall and shapely, though withered by time. Her 
 son, growing rich, becomes ashamed of her, and gives her 
 thirty pounds a year to keep away from him, and not claim 
 any relationship with him ; but the secret is at last divulged, 
 under the most ridiculous circumstances, through the agency 
 of the inquisitive Mrs. Sparsit. (Bk. I., ck xii ; Bk. IL, 
 ch. vi., viii. ; Bk. III., ch. iv., v.) 
 
 RA CHAEL. A factory hand ; a friend of Stephen Blackpool's. 
 (Bk. L, ch. x.-xiii. ; Bk. IL, ch. iv., vi. ; Bk. III., ch. iv.~ 
 vi., ix.) 
 
 SCADGERS, LADY, Great-aunt to IVIrs. Sparsit; an im- 
 mensely fat old woman with an inordinate appetite for 
 butcher's meat, and a mysterious leg, which has refused to 
 get out of bed for fourteen years. (Bk. I., ch. vii. ; Bk. IL, 
 ch. viii ; Bk. III., ch. ix.) 
 
894 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 SLA CKBRIDGE. A trades-union agitator and orator. (Bk. II., 
 ch. iv. ; Bk. III., ch. iv.) 
 
 SLEARY, JOSEPHINE. Daughter of a circus propiietor ; a 
 pretty, fair-haired girl of eighteen, noted for her graceful, 
 Tyrolean flower act. (Bk. I., ch. vi. ; Bk. II., ch. vii.) 
 
 SLEARY, MR. Proprietor of a "Horse-riding," or circus; a 
 stout man, with one fixed eye and one loose eye, a voice (if it 
 can be called so) like the efforts of a broken old pair of bellows, 
 a flabby surface, and a muddled head, which is never sober, 
 and never drunk. He is troubled with asthma, and his breath 
 comes far too thick and heavy for the letter " s." (Bk. I., 
 ch. vi., ix. ; Bk. III., ch. vii., viii.) 
 
 SFARSIT, MRS. Mr. Bounderby's housekeeper; an elderly 
 lady, highly connected, with a Coriolanian style of nose and 
 dense black eyebrows. ^Ir. Bounderby gives her a hundred 
 a year, disguising the payment under the name of an " annual 
 compliment." (Bk. I., ch. vii., xi., xvi. ; Bk. IL, ch. i., iii, 
 vi, viii-xi. ; Bk. III., ch. iii., v., ix.) 
 
 PRINCIPAL INCIDENTS. 
 
 BOOK I. — Chapter I. Mr. Thomas Gradgrind discourses on fact to 
 the school-children. — II. He examines Sissy Jupe, and expresses his dis- 
 f-atisfaction at the business of her father ; Mr. Gradgrind and his friend, 
 addressing the school, insist upon the supremacy of fact. — III. Mr. 
 Gradgrind's horror at finding his children peeping at the circus. — IV. 
 Mr. Bounderby gives Mrs. Gradgrind an account of his bringing up ; 
 Mr. Gradgrind enters with the children, and he and Bounderby decide 
 that the presence of Sissy Jupe in the school has produced a bad effect, 
 and that she should be dismissed. — Y. Mr. Gradgrind and IVIr. Bounderby 
 go to Coketown to carry out this design, when they meet Sissy in the 
 street, and go with her to the house where her father is staying. — VI. 
 Jupe is missing, and Sissy goes in search of him ; Mr. E. W. B. Childers 
 suspects Jupe has run away, and so explains his absence ; finding Jupe 
 does not return, Gradgrind offers Sissy a home under certain conditions, 
 which she accepts. — VII. Mrs. Sparsit appears as Mr. Bounderby's 
 housekeeper; Mr. Gradgrind completes his plan of befriending Sissy 
 Jupe, and takes her home with him to Stone Lodge. — VIII. Sympathy 
 between Tom and Louisa, and Tom's plan of managing Bounderby 
 through her influence. — IX. Sissy's account of her progress in school ; 
 she tells Louisa about her father and his occupation ; Sissy's continued 
 disappointment at hearing nothing from her father. — X. Stephen Black- 
 pool, watching for Eachael as the hands leave the factories, misses her, 
 but afterwards overtakes her on the way home ; leaving her, he pro- 
 ceeds home, and finds his drunken wife come back. — XI. Stephen consults 
 
HAED TIMES. 395 
 
 Mr. Bounderby how he can get rid of his wifo by law, and is more than 
 ever convinced that it " is a' a muddle." — XII. After leaving Mr. Boun- 
 derby' s house, Stephen encounters a mysterious old woman, who is 
 greatly interested in that gentleman's welfare. — XIII. Stephen finds 
 Eachael tending his wife j Rachael prevents her from poisoning herself ; 
 Kachael's influence over Stephen. — XIV. Sissy Jupe is removed from 
 school ; Mi\ Gradgrind becomes sensible that Louisa has grown quite a 
 young woman ; Tom gives Louisa a hint of how she may be useful to 
 him. — XY. Mr. Gradgrind informs Louisa that Mr. Bounderby has 
 offered to make her his wife, and she accepts him. — XVI. Mr. Bounderby 
 informs Mrs. Sparsit of his approaching marriage, and provides for her 
 removal to the bank; Mr. Bounderby makes a speech at his wedding- 
 breakfast. 
 
 BOOK n. — Chapter I. Bitzer informs Mrs. Sparsit of his sus- 
 picions of Mr. Tom ; Mr. James Harthouse calls at the bank to make 
 inquiries for Mr. Bounderby. — II. Mr. Harthouse presents his letters of 
 introduction to Mr. Bounderby, and is introduced to Mrs. Bounderby ; 
 Mr. Harthouse, watching for something to move Louisa, finds it in the 
 appearance of Tom. — III. Harthouse draws from Tom some particulars 
 in regard to his sister and her education. — IV. Slackbridge harangues the 
 Coketown operatives ; Stephen declines to enter into the proposed regula- 
 tions of the woi-kmen, and is shunned by all his old friends. — V. Bounderby 
 sends for Stephen, who expresses to him and Harthouse his opinion of 
 the action of the workmen, whom Stephen justifies, though he does not join 
 them ; Bounderby becomes angry with him, and discharges him. — VI. 
 Stephen is surprised to meet Eachael in company with Mrs. Pegler, the 
 mysterious old woman whom he had met before ; he informs them of hia 
 discharge, and invites them to accompany him home ; Mrs. Pegler 
 speaks of the son whom she has lost, and shows great fear of meeting 
 Mr. Bounderby; Louisa calls upon Stephen, accompanied by Tom, to 
 express her sympathy, and to offer him assistance ; Tom, under promise 
 of doing him a service, asks Stephen to hang about the bank each 
 evening before he leaves Coketown ; Stephen leaves Coketown in search 
 of work. — VII. Harthouse goes to Mr. Bounderby's country-house, and 
 finds Louisa alone ; he assumes an interest in Tom for the purpose of 
 securing an influence over her ; Harthouse accuses Tom of ingratitude 
 to his sister, and he promises amendment. — VIII. The robbery of 
 Bounderby's Bank, and the effect of the news upon Louisa; Stephen 
 Blackpool is suspected of the crime on the evidence of Mrs. Sparsit and 
 Bitzer, by whom he was seen hanging about the bank; Mrs. Sparsit 
 shows her determination to pity Bounderby, and keeps her eye on 
 Harthouse and Louisa ; Louisa goes to Tom's room, and begs him to 
 confide in her. — IX. Mrs. Sparsit's action throws Harthouse and Louisa 
 more together; sickness and death of Mrs. Gradgrind; Mrs. Sparsit 
 watches the growing intimacy of Harthouse with Louisa. — X. Harthouse 
 tries to convince Louisa of Blackpool's guilt. — XL Mrs. Sparsit, learning 
 from Tom that he has an appointment to meet Mr. Harthouse at Coke- 
 town, suspects this is a plan to keep Tom out of the way, while 
 Harthouse goes to meet Louisa alone in the absence of Mr. Bounderby ; 
 and, hastening off to the country-house, she finds them together, and 
 overhears Harthouse's declaration of love ; Mrs. Sparsit follows Louisa, 
 through a drenching storm, to Coketown, and there loses sight of her. — 
 XII. Louisa goes home to her father, tells him her story, and begs him 
 to save her. 
 
 BOOK III.—Chaptsr I. Mr, Gradgrind begins to suspect somo 
 
396 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 defect in Ms system of education; Sissy comforts Louiiyri. — II. Mr. 
 Harthouse, in doubt of what may happen next, receives a caU from Sissy 
 Jupe, who informs him he can never see Louisa again, and asks him, as 
 the only reparation he can make, to leave the place immediately, which 
 he decides to do. — III. Mrs. Sparsit informs Bounderby of her dis- 
 coveries, and he takes her to Mr. Gradgrind's, where he learns what has 
 become of Louisa; at Mr. Gradgrind's suggestion that Louisa should 
 remain there for a time, Bounderby determines to leave her there alto- 
 gether. — IV. Bounderby offers a reward for the apprehension of Stephen 
 Blackpool ; Eachael appeals to Louisa to confirm her story of Louisa's 
 visit to Stephen, and promises that he shall be there in two days ; 
 Stephen fails to appear, and cannot be found. — Y. Mrs. Sparsit captures 
 gld Mrs. Pegler, and takes her to Bounderby's house ; she proves to be 
 Bounderby's mother, and all his stories of his childhood falsehoods. — 
 VI. Sissy and Eachael, walking in the fields, discover Stephen's hat at 
 the mouth of an abandoned coal-shaft; help gathers, and Stephen ia 
 raised from the pit, stiU alive; he recognises Eachael, and asks Mr. 
 Gradgrind to clear his name, as his son can tell him how ; Stephen dies. 
 — ^VII. Tom vanishes at a hint from Sissy ; Louisa and Sissy inform Mr. 
 Gradgrind of their previous suspicions of Tom, and that Sissy had sent 
 him to Mr. Sleary to be hidden ; Mr. Gradgrind, Louisa, and Sissy go to 
 Mr. Sleary, then exhibiting not far from Liverpool, and arrange for 
 Tom's escape from the country, in disguise, when their plan is inter- 
 rupted by Bitzer. — VIII. Mr. Sleary, through the aid of his trained 
 horse and dog, assists Tom to escape. — IX. Mrs. Sparsit takes leave of 
 Ml'. Bounderby ; fate of the characters. 
 
THE SEVE^ POOE TRAVELLERS. 
 
 [Published in "Household Woiids," in 1834.] 
 
 In the ancient city of Rocliester, in Kent, i. ^n ancient house with 
 this inscription over its quaint old door : 
 
 RICHAED WATTS, ESQ. 
 By his Will, dated 22 Aug. 157i>. 
 
 POUNDED this CHARITY 
 
 FOR SIX POOR TRAVELLERS, 
 
 WHO, NOT BEING EOGUES, OR PEOCTOHS. 
 
 MAY RECEIVE GRATIS FOR ONE NIGHT 
 
 LODGING, ENTERTAINMENT, 
 
 AND FOURPENCB EACH. 
 
 On a certain Christmas eve, the narrator of the story- — ^who describes 
 himself as being a traveller, and withal as poor as he hopes to be — ^visits 
 the Charity, and makes inquiries of the matron concerning the insti- 
 tution and its management. He finds that the prescribed number of 
 travellers is forthcoming every night from year's end to year's end, but 
 that they are not lodged in the house itself, occupying two little galleries 
 at the back instead ; neither are they provided with entertainment, as 
 might be supposed, but buy what they can with their fourpences, and 
 prepare their own suppers, a fire and cooking-utensils being furnished 
 them for this purpose. Of the whole revenue of the establishment, only 
 about a thirtieth part is expended for the objects commemorated in 
 the inscription over the door; the rest being handsomely laid out in 
 chancery, law-expenses, collectorship, receivership, poundage, and other 
 appendages of management highly complimentary to the importance of 
 the Six Poor Travellers, and essential to the dignity of the Board of 
 Trustees. Having ascertained these facts, the narrator becomes desirous 
 of treating the travellers on that night to a supper and a glass of hot 
 wassail at his own expense. Consent being granted, he sets before them 
 % most substantial and excellent meal, and after it is ended tells them — ■ 
 
 THE STORY OF RICHAED DOUBLEDICK. 
 
THE DICKENS DTOTIONAET. 
 
 CHARACTERS INTRODUCED. 
 
 BEN. A waiter. 
 
 DOUBLEDICK, RIGHARD. A young man who has nm 
 wild, and has been dismissed "by the girl to whom he was 
 betrothed. Made reckless by this weU-deserved stroke, he 
 enlists in a regiment of the line under an assumed name, 
 becomes more dissipated than ever, and is constantly getting 
 punished for some breach of discipline. Under the influence 
 of the captain of his company, however, he becomes an altered 
 man, rises rapidly from the ranks, and gains the reputation of 
 being one of the boldest spirits in the whole army. At Badajos 
 the captain falls, mortally wounded by a French officer ; and 
 from that moment Doubledick devotes himself to avenging 
 the death of his friend, in case he should ever meet that 
 French officer again. At Waterloo he is among the wounded, 
 and for many long weeks his recovery is doubtful ; but he is 
 tenderly nursed by Mrs. Taunton, the mother of his lost friend, 
 and by the young lady (Mary Marshall) to whom he had been 
 engaged, and who now marries him. Three years afterwards, 
 he has occasion to visit the South of France, to join IMrs. 
 Taunton (who has gone thither for her health), and escort her 
 home. He finds her the unwitting guest of the very officer 
 who killed her son, and whose life he has vowed to have in 
 return. But the frank and noble demeanour of the Frenchman, 
 the innocent happiness of his pleasant home, and the warm 
 regard which ;^Irs. Taunton has come to feel for him — all 
 combine to suggest better thoughts and feeKngs ; and Captain 
 Doubledick secretly forgives him in the name of the divine 
 Forgiver of injuries. 
 
 MARSHALL, MART, A beautiful girl, betrothed to Eichard 
 Doubledick ; afterwards estranged from but finally married to 
 him. 
 
 TAUNTON, CAPTAIN The captain of the company m 
 which Private Richard Doubledick enlists. 
 
 TAUNTON, MRS. His mother. 
 
THE HOLLY-TREE. 
 
 [Published in "Household Woeds," in December, 1855.] 
 
 This is the story of a gentleman, who, imagining himself to have been 
 supplanted in the affections of a young lady, resolves to go straight to 
 America — on his "way to the Devil." Before starting, however, he 
 finds occasion to make a visit to a certain place on the farther borders 
 of Yorkshire, and on the way thither he gets snowed up for a week at 
 The Holly-Tree Inn, where he finds himself the only guest. Sitting by 
 the fire in the principal room, he reads through all the books in the 
 house ; namely, a " Book of Roads," a little song-book terminating in a 
 collection of toasts and sentiments, a little jest-book, an odd volume of 
 "Peregrine Pickle," and "The Sentimental Journey," to say nothing of 
 two or three old newspapers. These being exhausted, he endeavours to 
 while away the time by recalling his experience of inns, and his remem- 
 brances of those he has heard or read of. He further beguiles the days 
 of his imprisonment by talking, at one time or another, with the whole 
 establishment, not excepting the " Boots," who, lingering in the room 
 one day, tells him a story about a young gentleman not eight years old, 
 who runs off with a young lady of seven to Gretna Green, and puts 
 up at The Holly-Tree. "When the roads are at last open, and just as 
 the disconsolate traveller is on the point of resuming his journey, a 
 carriage drives up, and out jumps his (as he sapposes) successful rival, 
 who is running away to Gretna too. It turns out, however, that the 
 lady he has with him is not the one with whom the traveler is in love, 
 but her cousin. The fugitives are hastened on their way : and the 
 traveller retraces his steps without delay, goes straight to London, and 
 marries the girl whom he thought he had lost for ever. 
 
 OHAEACTERS INTEODUCBD, 
 
 BOOTS. See Cobbs. 
 
 CHARLEY. Guest at The Holly-Tree Inn; a self-supposed 
 rejected man ; in love with Angela Leath. 
 
400 THE DICKENS DIOTIONAEY. 
 
 COBBS. TI18 "Boots" at The HoUy-Tree Inn j formerly 
 
 under-gardener at Mr. Walmers's. 
 EDWIN. Supposed rival of Charley, the guest at The Holly- 
 
 Tree ; betrothed to Emmeline. 
 EMMELINE. Consin to Angela Leath. She elopes with hex 
 
 lover, Edwin, and is married to him at Gretna Green. 
 GEORGE. Guard of a coach. 
 LEATH, ANGELA. The lady-love and afterwards the wif'* 
 
 of Charley (The Holly-Tree guest), who for a time deludes 
 
 himself into thinking that she prefers his friend Edwin. 
 
 NORAH. Cousin to Master Harry Walmers, Junior, with whor: 
 she runs away from home, intending to go to Gretna Green, 
 and be married to him. She is, however, overtaken and 
 carried home, and long afterwards becomes the wife of a 
 captain ; and finally dies in India. 
 
 WALMERS, MASTER HARRY, JUNIOR. A bright boy, 
 not quite eight years old, who falk in love with his cousin, a 
 little girl of seven, and starts with her for Gretna Green, to 
 get married. Stopping at The Holly-Tree Inn in their 
 journey, they are recognised by the " Boots," who had been 
 in the service of the young gentleman's father. The landlord 
 immediately sets off for York to inform the parents of the two 
 little runaways of their whereabouts. They return late at 
 night j and Mr. Walmers — 
 
 Tlie door being opened, goes in. Boots goes in too, holding the 
 light, and he sees Mr. Walmers go np to the bedside, bend gently down, 
 and kiss the little sleeping face. Then he stands looking at it for a 
 minute, looking wonderfully like it (they do say he ran away with 
 Mrs. Walmers) ; and then he gently shakes the little shoulder. 
 
 " Harry, my dear boy ! Harry ! " 
 
 Master Harry starts up and looks at him. Looks at Cobbs too. 
 Sach is the honour of that mite, that he looks at Cobbs, to see whether 
 he has brought him into trouble. 
 
 " I am not angry, my child. I only want you to dress yourself 
 and come home." 
 
 "Yes, pa." 
 
 Master Harry dresses himself quickly. His breast begins to swell 
 when he has nearly finished, and it swells more and more as he stands, 
 at last, a-looking at his father : his father standing a-looking at him, 
 the quiet image of him. 
 
 " Please may I " — the spirit of that little creatur, and the way he 
 kept his rising tears down! — "please, dear pa — may I — kiss Norah 
 before I go ? " 
 
 " You may, my child." 
 
 So he takes Master Harry in his hand, and Boots leads the way 
 with the candle, and they come to that other bedroom, where the 
 elderly lady is seated by the bed, and poor little Mrs. Harry Walrners, 
 
THE HOLLY-TRBB. 401 
 
 Jtinior, is fast asleep. There the father lifts the ohild up to the 
 pillow, and he lays his little face down for an instant by the little 
 warm face of poor unconscious little Mrs. Harry Walmers, Junior, and 
 gently draws it to him — a sight so touching to the chambermaids who 
 are peeping through the door, that one of them calls out, " It's a 
 shame to part 'em ! " 
 
 Finally, Boots says, that's all about it. Mr. Walmers drove away 
 in a chaise, having hold of Master Harry's hand. The elderly lady 
 and Mrs. Harry Walmers, Junior, that was never to be (she married a 
 Captain long afterwards, and died in India), went off next day. In 
 conclusion, Boots put it to me whether I hold with him in two opinions : 
 firstly, that there are not many couples on their way to be married who 
 are half as innocent of guile as those two children ; secondly, that it 
 would be a jolly good thing for a great many couples on their way to he 
 married, if they could only be stopped in time, and brought back 
 separately. 
 
 WALMERS, MR. The father of Master Harry ; a gentleman 
 living at the " Elmses," near Shooter's Hill, six or seven miles 
 from London. " Eoots " thus describes him : 
 
 He was a gentleman of spirit, and good-looking, and held his head 
 up when he walked, and had what you may call Fire about him. He 
 wrote poetry, and he rode, and he ran, and he cricketed, and he 
 danced, and he acted, and he done it all equally beautiful. He was 
 uncommon proud of Master Harry as was his only child; but he didn't 
 spoil him neither. He was a gentleman that had a will of his own 
 Bad a eye of his own, and that woui4 be minded. 
 
 8s 
 
LITTLE DOEEIT. 
 
 On the first day of December, 1856, tlie first number of this tale was 
 issued J and tlie*^twentietli and last number made its appearance in June, 
 1857. The work was illustrated by Hablot K. Browne : and on its com- 
 plefcion it was dedicated to the late Olarkson Stanfield, the eminent land- 
 scape-painter. 
 
 CHARACTERS INTRODUCED. 
 
 AUNT, MR. f:S. See Mr. Y.'a Aunt. 
 
 BANGHAM, MBS. A cLarwoman and messenger; rnirse of 
 Mrs. Dorrit in the MarsLalsea Prison. (Bk. L, ch. vi., viL ; 
 Bk. IL, cli. xix.) 
 
 BARN A CLE, CLARENCE, called " Barnacle, Junior." Son 
 of Mr. Tite Barnacle; an empty-Leaded young gentleman 
 employed in the Circumlocution Office. (Bk. I., cL. x., xviL, 
 xxxiv., XXXV.) 
 
 [He] had a youthful aspect, and the fluffiest little whisker, perhaps, 
 that ever was seen. Such a downy tip was on his callow chin, that 
 he seemed half -fledged, like a young bird. . . . He had a superior 
 eyeglass dangling round his neck, but unfortunately had such flat 
 orbits to his eyes, and such limp little eyelids, that it wouldn't stick in 
 when he put it up, but kept tumbling out against his waistcoat buttona 
 with a cUck that discomposed him very much. 
 
 BARNACLE, LORD DECIMUS TITE. Uncle of Mr. Tit« 
 
LITTLE DOREIT. / 403 
 
 Barnacle; a windy peer, high in the Circumlocution Office. 
 (Bk. I., ch. xvii, xxv., xxxiv.; Bk. II., ch. vii., xxiv., 
 xxviii.) 
 
 The OiroTiinlocution Office was (as everybody knows without being 
 told) the most important Department under Government. No public 
 business of any kind could possibly be done at any time, without the 
 acquiescence of the Circumlocution Office. Its finger was in the largest 
 public pie, and in the smallest public tart. It was equally impossible to 
 do the plainest right and to undo the plainest wrong, without the express 
 authority of the Circumlocution Office. If another Gunpowder Plot 
 had been discovered half-an-hour before the lighting of the match, 
 nobody would have been justified in saving the parliament until there 
 had been half-a-score of boards, half -a-bushel of minutes, several sacks 
 of official memoranda, and a family-vault full of ungrammatical corre- 
 spondence, on the part of the Circumlocution Office. 
 
 This glorious establishment had been early in the field, when the one 
 Bublime principle, involving the difficult art of governing a country, was 
 first distinctly revealed to statesmen. It had been foremost to study 
 that bright revelation, and to carry its shining influence through the 
 whole of the official proceedings. Whatever was required to be done, 
 the Circumlocution Office was beforehand with all the public depart- 
 ments in the art of perceiving — how not to do it. . . . 
 
 The Circumlooutioa Office went on mechanically, every day, keep- 
 ing this wonderful, all-sufficient wheel of statesmanship, How not to do 
 it, in motion. Because the Circumlocution Office was down upon any 
 ill-advised public servant who was going to do it, or who appeared to bo 
 by any surprising accident in remote danger of doing it, with a minute, 
 and a memorandum, and a letter of instructions, that extinguished him. 
 It was this spirit of national efficiency in the Circumlocution Office that 
 had gi'adually led to its having something to do with everything. 
 Mechanicians, natural philosophers, soldiers, sailors, petitioners, me- 
 morialists, people with grievances, people who wanted to prevent 
 giievances, people who wanted to redress grievances, jobbing people, 
 jobbed people, people who couldn't get rewarded for merit, and people 
 who couldn't get punished for demerit, were all indiscriminately tucked 
 up under the foolscap paper of the Circumlocution Office. 
 
 Numbers of people were lost in the Circumlocution Office. Unfortu. 
 nates with wrongs, or with projects for the general welfare (and they 
 had better have had wrongs at first than have taken that bitter English 
 recipe for certainly getting them), who in slow lapse of time and agony, 
 had passed safely through other public departments, who, according to 
 rule, had been bullied in this, overreached by that, and evaded by the 
 other, got referred at last to the Circumlocution Office, and never re- 
 appeared in the light of day. Boards sat upon them, secretaries mi- 
 nuted upon them, commissioners gabbled about them, clerks registered, 
 entered, checked, and ticked them off, and they melted away. In short, 
 all the business of the country went through the Circumlocution Office, 
 except the business that never came out of it ; and its name was Legion. 
 * # # * # « # 
 
 In the great art How not to do it, Lord Decimus had long sustained 
 the highest glory of the Barnacle family; and let any ill-advised 
 member of either House but try How to do it by bringing in a Bill to do 
 it, that Bill was as good as dead and buried when Lord Decimus Tite 
 Barnacle rose up in his place, and solemnly said, soaring into indignant 
 
 2 B 2 
 
404 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 majesty as the Oircumlocntion clieering soared aronnd him, that he waa 
 ^et to be told, My Lords, that it behoved him, as the Minister of this 
 ^ee country, to set bounds to the philanthropy, to cramp the charity, 
 %o fetter the public spirit, to contract the enterprise, to damp the 
 independent self-reliance of its people. 
 
 BARNACLE, FERDINAND. Private secretary to Lord 
 Decimus Tite Barnacle ; a vivacious, well-looking, well-dressed, 
 agreeable young fellow, on the more sprightly side of the 
 family. Arthur Clennam, wishing to investigate ]\Ir. Dorrit's 
 affairs, with the view of releasing him, if possible, from the 
 Marshalsea, inquires of Earnacle how he can obtain informa- 
 tion as to the real state of the case. 
 
 " You'll find out what Department the contract was in, and then 
 you'll find out all about it there." 
 
 *' I beg your pardon. How shall I find out ? " 
 
 " Why, you'll — ^you'll ask till they tell you. Then you'll memo- 
 rialise that Department (according to regular forms which you'll find 
 out) for leave to memorialise this Department. If you get it (which 
 you may, after a time), that memorial must be entered in that Depart- 
 ment, sent to be registered in this Department, sent back to be 
 signed by that Department, sent back to be countersigned by this 
 Department, and then it will begin to be regularly before that Depart- 
 ment. You'll find out when the business passes through each of these 
 stages, by asking at both Departments till they tell you." 
 
 " But surely this is not the way to do the business," Arthur 
 Clennam could not help saying. 
 
 This airy young Barnacle was quite entertained by his simplicity 
 in supposing for a moment that it was. This light-in-hand young 
 Barnacle knew perfectly that it was not. This touch-and-go young 
 Barnacle had "got up" the Department in a private secretaryship, 
 that he might be ready for any little bit of fat that came to hand ; 
 and he fully understood the Department to be a politico-diplomatic 
 hocus pocus piece of machinery for the assistance of the nobs in keep- 
 ing off the snobs. This dashing young Barnacle, in a word, was likely 
 to become a statesman, and to make a figure. 
 
 " When the business is regularly before that Department, whatever 
 it is," pursued this bright young Barnacle, " then you can watch it 
 from time to time through that Department. When it comes regularly 
 before this Department, then you must watch it from time to time 
 through this Department. We shall have to refer it right and left ; 
 and, when we refer it anywhere, then you'll have to look it up. When 
 it conies back to us at any time, then you had better look us up. 
 When it sticks anywhere, you'll have to try to give it a jog. When 
 you write to another Department about it, and then to this Department 
 about it, and don t hear anything satisfactory about it, why, then you 
 had better — keep on writing." 
 
 (Bk. I., ch. X., xxxiv. ; Ek. II., ch. xiL, xxviiL) 
 
 BARNACLE, MR. TITE. A man of family, a man of place, 
 and a man of gentlemanly residence, who usually coaches or 
 crams the statesman at the head of the Circumlocution Office. 
 (Bk. I., ch. ix., X., xxxiv. ; Bk. II., ch. xii.) 
 
LITTLE DOREIT. 405 
 
 BEADLE, HARRIET, called " Tattycoram." A girl taken 
 from the Foundling Hospital by Mr. Meagles to be a maid to 
 his daughter Miimie. She is a handsome girl, but headstrong 
 and passionate. Mr. Meagles takes great pains to improve 
 her disposition and character, and always advises her, when 
 she is not in a good temper, to " take a little time," and to 
 " count five-and-twenty." She proves insensible, however, to 
 all his goodness and kind consideration, runs away after a 
 time, and places herself under the protection of a certain J\Iiss 
 Wade ; but in the end she returns, humble and penitent, to 
 her benefactor's house. 
 
 " She was called, in the Institution, Harriet Beadle — an arbitrary 
 name, of course. Now Harriet we changed into Hattej, and then into 
 Tatty, because, as practical people, we thought even a playful name 
 might be a new thing to her, and might have a softening and affec- 
 tionate kind of effect; don't you see ? As to Beadle, that I needn't 
 say was wholly out of the question. If there is anything that is not 
 to be tolerated on any terms ; anything that is a type of Jack-in-office 
 insolence and absurdity ; anything that represents in coats, waistcoats, 
 and big sticks, our English holding-on by nonsense after everyone has 
 found it out — it is a beadle. . . . The name of Beadle being out of the 
 question, and the originator of the Institution for these poor found- 
 lings having been a blessed creature of the name of Coram, we gave 
 that name to Pet's little maid. At one time she was Tatty, and at one 
 time she was Coram, until we got into a way of mixing the two names 
 together, and now she is always Tattycoram." 
 
 (Bk. I., ch. ii., xvi., xxvii, xx\diL j Bk. II., ch. ix., x., 
 XX., xxxiii. 
 
 BLANDOIS. See Eigaud. 
 
 BOB. Turnkey of the Marshalsea Prison ; godfather to Little 
 Dorrit. (Bk. I., ch. vi., vii. ; Bk. IL, ch. xix.) 
 
 CASBT, CHRISTOPHER. Landlord of Bleeding Heart Yard ; 
 a selfish, crafty impostor, who likes to be thought a benefactor 
 to his species, and who grinds his tenants by proxy. 
 
 Patriarch was the name which many people delighted to give him. 
 Various old ladies in the neighbourhood spoke of him as The Last of the 
 Patriarchs. So gray, so slow, so quiet, so impassionate, so very bumpy 
 in the head. Patriarch was the word for him. . . . His smooth face had 
 a bloom upon it like ripe wall-fruit. What with his blooming face, and 
 that head, and his blue eyes, he seemed to be delivering sentiments of rai-e 
 wisdom and virtue. In like manner, his physiognomical expression 
 seemed to teem with benignity. Nobody could have said where the 
 wisdom was, or where the virtue was, or where the benignity was j 
 but they all seemed to be somewhere about him. 
 
 (Bk. L, ch. xii., xiii., xxiii., xxiv., xxxv. ; Bk, II., ch. ix., 
 xxiii., xxxii.) 
 
406 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 CAVALLETTO, JOHN BAPTIST. A f eUow-prisoner with 
 Eigaud at Marseilles ; afterwards in Arthur Clennam's employ. 
 (Bk. L, cIl i., xi., xxiii, xxv., xxix. ; Bk. IL, cli. xii., xxii, 
 xxiii., xxviii., xxx.) 
 
 A sunbnmt, quick, lithe little man, thougli rather thick-set. Ear. 
 rings in his brown ears, white teeth lighting np his grotesque brown 
 face, intensely black hair clustering about his brown throat. 
 
 CIIIVERY, JOHN. A non-resident turnkey of the Marshalsea 
 Prison. (Bk. I., ch. xviii., xix., xxii., xxv., xxxi., xxxv., 
 xxxvi. ; Bk. II. , ch. xviii, xxvi., xxvii., xxix., xxxi., xxxiv.) 
 
 CHIVERT, YOUNG JOHN. His son; a lover of Little 
 Dorrit. 
 
 Yonng John was small of stature, with rather weak legs, and very 
 weak light hair. One of his eyes . . . was also weak, and looked 
 larger than the other, as if it couldn't collect itself. Young John was 
 gentle likewise. But he was great of soul. Poetical, espansiTC, 
 faithful. 
 
 This sentimental youth, before ever he had told his love, 
 had often meditated on the happiness that would result from 
 his marriage to Little Dorrit, and on the loving manuer in 
 which they would " gHde down the stream of time in pastoral 
 and domestic happiness." 
 
 Young John drew tears from his eyes by finishing the picture with 
 a tombstone in the adjoining churchyard, close against the prison wall, 
 bearing the following touching inscription : " Sacred to the Memory 
 of John Chiveky, Sixty years Turnkey, and Fifty years Head Turn- 
 key, Of the neighboxiring Marshalsea, Who departed this life, universally 
 respected, on the thirty-first of December, One thousand eight hundred 
 and eighty-six, Aged eighty-three years. Also of his truly beloved 
 and truly loving wife, Amy, wliose maiden name was Dorrit, who 
 survived his loss not quite forty-eight hours, and who breathed her 
 last in the Marshalsea aforesaid. There ehe was bom, There she 
 lived, There she died." 
 
 He finally musters up courage to approach Miss Donit in 
 relation to the subject that is so near his heart. She, however, 
 not only gives him no encouragement, hut requests him very 
 plainly (though with the utmost delicacy and consideration) 
 never to refer to the matter again. 
 
 It was an affecting illustration of the fallacy of human projects, to 
 behold her lover .... creeping along by the worst back streets, and 
 composing as he went the following new inscription for a tombstone in 
 St. George's Churchyard : " Here lie the mortal remains of John 
 Chiveky, Never anything worth mentioning. Who died about the end 
 of tho year One thousand eight hundred and twenty-six, Of a broken 
 
LITTLE DOEEIT. 407 
 
 heart, Eequesting with his last breath tnac the word Amy might be 
 inscribed over his ashes, which was accordingly directed to be done, 
 By his afflicted Parents." 
 
 John does not easily recover from tlio blow lie has received ; 
 and when, long afterwards, ho leams that Little Dorrit is to 
 he married to Arthur Clennam, he is made very wretched, 
 though he endeavours to hear the intelligence with manly 
 fortitude. Ho cannot refrain, however, from composing on 
 that ill-starred night the following monumental inscription : 
 
 STRANGER ! 
 RESPECT THE TOMB OP 
 
 JOHN GHIYERY, Junior, 
 
 WHO DIED AT AN ADVANCED AGB 
 
 NOT NECESSARY TO MENTION. 
 
 E2 ENCOUNTERED HIS RIVAL IN A DISTRESSED STATS, 
 
 AND FELT INCLINED 
 
 TO HAVE A ROUND WITH HIM; 
 
 BUT, FOR THE SAKE OF THE LOVED ONE, 
 
 CONQUERED THOSE FEELINGS OF BITTERNESS 
 
 AND BECAME 
 
 MAGNANIMOUS. 
 
 (Bk. I., eh. xviii., xix., xxii., xxv., xxxi., xxxv., xxxvi. ; 
 Bk. n., eh. xviii, xix., xxvi, xxvii., xxix., xxxi., xxxiii., 
 xxxiv.) 
 
 CHIVERT, MRS. Wife of John Chivery, and keeper of a 
 small tobacco-shop round the corner of Horsemonger Lane. 
 (Bk. L, ch. xviii., xxil, xxv.) 
 
 CLENNAM, ARTHUR. Eeputed son, hut really the adopted 
 son of Mrs. Clennam. He gives this account of himself to 
 Mr. Meagles : 
 
 " I am the son of a hard father and mother. I am the only child 
 of parents who weighed, measmred, and priced everything ; for whom 
 what could not be weighed, measured, and priced, had no existence. 
 Strict people, as the phrase is, professors of a stern religion, their very 
 religion was a gloomy sacrifice of tastes and sympathies that were 
 never their own, offered up as a part of a bargain for the security of 
 their possessions. Austere faces, inexorable discipline, penance in 
 this world and terror in the next, nothing graceful or gentle anywhere, 
 and the void in my cowed heart everywhere, — this was my childhood, 
 if I may so misuse the word as to apply it to such a beginning of 
 Hfe." 
 
 At the age of twenty he had been sent to China to join 
 his father, a merchant, who had been living in that country 
 for some years, taking care of the business there, while his 
 mother managed the business at home. He stays there till 
 he is forty, and, his father then dying, he returns to London 
 
408 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 to see Ms motber ; but she receives him very coldly, as her 
 old servant and confidential adviser, I'lintwinch, also does. 
 Finding a young woman in the house who is called " Little 
 Dorrit," and who is employed by his mother to do needle- 
 work, and feeling a growing interest in her, he ascertains her 
 history, and is the means of her father's release from the 
 Marshalsea. Being afterwards unfortunate in business, he is 
 arrested for debt, and is thrown into the same prison ; but he 
 finds a fast friend in Little Dorrit, and, when he at last gains 
 his liberty, she marries him. (Bk. L, ch. ii., iii., v., vii.-x., 
 xii.-xvii, xxii., xxiv.-xxviii., xxxi., xxxii., xxxiv.-xxxvi. ; 
 Bk. IL, ch. iii., iv., viii.-xi., xiii., xx., xxii., xxiii., xxvi.- 
 xxxiv.) 
 
 GLENN AM, MRS. The supposed mother of Arthur Clennam, 
 who turns out, however, to have been the child of another 
 woman whom his father had known before marrying Mrs. 
 Clennam. She is a hard, stern woman, with cold gray eyes, 
 cold gray hair, and an immovable face. Though an invalid, 
 who has lost the use of her limbs, and is confined to a single 
 room, she retains the full vigour of her mind, and is still, as 
 she has always been, a thorough woman of business. An 
 austere moralist, a religionist whose faith is in a system of 
 gloom and darkness, of vengeance and destruction, she yet 
 does not hesitate to suppress a avlLI, by virtue of which two 
 thousand guineas were to go to Little Dorrit on her coming of 
 age. Finding that her guilt has been discovered, and is certain 
 to be made known, she throws herself on the mercy of the 
 girl she has so grievously wronged, and is freely forgiven. 
 (Bk. L, ch. iii. -v., viLi., xv., xxix., xxx. ; Bk. II., ch. x., 
 xvii., xxiii., xxviii, xxx., xxxi) 
 
 CRIPPLES, MASTER. A white-faced boy, son of Mr 
 Cripples. (Bk. I., ch. ix.) 
 
 CRIPPLES, MR. Teacher of an academy for "evening 
 tuition." (Bk. I., ch. ix.) 
 
 DAWES. A rosy-faced, gay, good-humoured nurse, who is 
 Miss Wade's special antipathy. 
 
 DORRIT, AMY, called "Little Dorrit." Daughter of ]\Ir. 
 William Dorrit. She becomes the wife of Arthur Clennam. 
 (Bk. I., ch. iii, v.-ix., xii.-xvi., xviii.-xxv., xxvii, xxix., xxxi., 
 xxxii, XXXV., xxxvi. ; Bk. II., ch. i-viii., xi, xiv., xv., xis., 
 xxiv., xxvi., xxvii., xxix. -xxxi, xxxiii, xxxiv.) 
 
LITTLE DOERIT. 409 
 
 DORRIT, EDWARD, called "Tip." The brother of Little 
 Dorrit ; a spendthrift and an idler, for whom his sister is 
 always calculating and planning. (Bk. I., ch. vi.-viii., xii., 
 xviii., XX., xxii., xxiv., xxxi., xxxv., xxxvi. ; Ek. IL, cL i., 
 iii., v., xi., XV., xix., xxiv., xxix., xxxiii., xxxiv.) 
 
 Tip tired of everything. With, intervals of Marshalsea lounging 
 .... his small second mother, aided bj her trusty friend, got him 
 into a warehouse, into a market-garden, into the hop trade, into the 
 law again, into an auctioneer's, into a brewery, into a stockbroker's, 
 into the law again, into a coach-office, into a waggon-office, into the 
 law again, into a general dealer's, into a distillery, into the law again, 
 into a wool house, into a dry goods house, into the Billingsgate trade, 
 into the foreign fruit trade, and into the docks. But whatever Tip went 
 into, he came out of tired, announcing that he had cut it. 
 
 DORRIT, FANNY. Daughter of Mr. William Dorrit, and 
 elder sister of Amy, or " Little Dorrit." She is, for a time, a 
 ballet-dancer, but finally marries Mr. Edmund Sparkler, and 
 rules him with a rod of iron. (Bk. L, ch. vi.-ix., xviii., xx., 
 xxxi., XXXV., xxxvi. ; Bk. IL, ch. i.-iii., v.-vii., xi., xiv.-xvi., 
 xviii., xix., xxiv., xxxiii., xxxiv.) 
 
 DORRIT, MR. FREDERICK. Brother to Mr. William 
 Dorrit. (Bk. L, ch. vii.-ix., xix., xx., xxvi j Bk. IL, ch. i., 
 iv., v., xix.) 
 
 There was a ruined uncle in the family group — ruined by his 
 brother, the Father of the Marshalsea, and knowing no more how than 
 his ruiner did, but accepting the fact as an inevitable certainty. . . . 
 Naturally a retired and simple man, he had shown no particular sense 
 of being ruined, at the time when that calamity fell upon him, further 
 than that he left off washing himself when the shock was announced, 
 and never took to that luxury any more. He had been a very in- 
 different musical amateur in his better days ; and when he fell with 
 his brother, resorted for support to playing a clarionet as dirty as him- 
 self in a small theatre orchestra. 
 
 DORRIT, MR. WILLIAM. A prisoner for debt in the 
 Marshalsea ; a shy, retiring man, well-looking, though in an 
 effeminate style, with a mild voice, curling hair, and irresolute 
 hands. 
 
 The affairs of this debtor were perplexed by a partnership, of 
 which he knew no more than that he had invested money in it ; by 
 legal matters of assignment and settlement, conveyance here and con- 
 veyance there, suspicion of unlawful preference of creditors in this 
 direction, and of mysterious spiriting away of property in that ; and 
 as nobody on the face of the earth could be more incapable of ex- 
 plaining any single item in the heap of confusion than the debtor him- 
 self, nothing comprehensible could be made of his case. To question 
 him in detail, and endeavour to reconcile his answers, to closet him 
 
410 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 witli aooonnLants and sharp practitioners learned in tlie wiles of 
 insolvency and bankruptcy, was only to put the case out at compound 
 interest of incomprehensibility. The irresolute fingers fluttered more 
 and more ineffectually about the trembling lip on every such occasion, 
 and the sharpest practitioners gave him up as a hopeless job. 
 
 His young wife joins him witli their two cliildren; and 
 in a few months another child is horn to them, a girl, from 
 whom the story takes its name. When this child is eight 
 years old, the wife dies. Years pass hy, and Dorrit hecomes 
 gray-haired and venerahle, and is knoAvn in the prison as the 
 Father of the Marshalsea — a title he grows to he very vain of. 
 From an early period his daughter devotes herself to the task 
 of heing his support and protection, hecoming, in all things 
 hut precedence, the head of the fallen family, and hearing in 
 her own heart its anxieties and shames. After twenty-five 
 years spent within the prison walls^ Mr. Dorrit proves to he 
 heir-at-law to a great estate that has long remained unknown 
 of, unclaimed, and accumulating. He leaves the Marshalsea a 
 rich man ; hut that quarter of a century hehind its bars has 
 done its work ; and he leaves it with a failing intellect, and 
 makes himself ridiculous hy his pride, hy the lofty airs he 
 gives himself, and hy his unwillingness to recall at any time 
 the old days of his poverty and confinement. He declines 
 slowly hut surely, and at last dies in a palace at Rome, fancying 
 it to he the Marshalsea. (Bk. I., ch. vi.-ix., xviii., xix., xxiL, 
 xxiii, xxxi., xxxii., xxxv., xxxvi. ; Bk. II., ch. i.-iii., v.-vii., 
 xii., xiii., xv.-xix.) 
 
 DOTOE, DANIEL. An engineer and inventor, who hecomes 
 the partner of Arthur Clennam. (Bk. L, ch. x., xii., xvi., 
 xvii., xxiii., xxvi., xxviii., xxxiv. ; Bk. II., ch. viii., xiii., 
 xxii, xxvi., xxxiv.) 
 
 F:S a tint, MR. See Mr. F.'s Aunt. 
 
 FINCHING, MRS. FLORA. Daughter of Christopher Cashy ; 
 a wealthy widow of some thirty-eight or forty years of age, 
 sentimental and afi'ected, hut thoroughly good-hearted. She 
 talks with the most disjointed volubility, pointing her con- 
 versation with nothing hut commas, and very few of them. 
 
 Most men will be found sufficiently true to themselves to be true 
 to an old idea. It is no proof of an inconstant mind, but exactly the 
 opposite, when the idea will not bear close comparison with the reality • 
 and the contrast is a fatal shock to it. Such was Clennam's caso 
 In his youth he had ardently loved this woman, and had heaped upor 
 her all the locked-up wealth of his affection and imagination. . , . Evei 
 since that memorable time, though he had, until the night of his aiTival 
 as completely dismissed her from any association with his Present oi 
 Future ae if she had been dead (which she might easily have been, for 
 
LITTLE DORKIT. 411 
 
 ftuy thing he knew), he had kept the old fancy of the past, unchanged, 
 in its old sacred place. And now, after all, the Last of the Patriarchs 
 coolly walked into the parlour, saying, in effect, " Be good enough to 
 throw it down and dance upon it : this is Flora." 
 
 Flora, always tall, had grown to be very broad too, and short of 
 breath ; but that was not much. Flora, whom he had left a lily, had 
 become a peony ; but that was not much. Flora, who had seemed 
 enchanting in all she said and thought, was diffuse and silly : that was 
 much. Flora, who had been spoiled and artless long ago, was determined 
 to be spoiled and artless now : that was a fatal blow. 
 
 " Oh good gracious me I hope you never kept yourself a bachelor so 
 long on my account ! " tittered Flora ; *' but of course you never did 
 why should you, pray don't answer, I don't know where I'm running 
 to, oh do tell me something about the Chinese ladies whether their eyes 
 are really so long and narrow always putting me in mind of mother-of- 
 pearl fish at cards and do they really wear tails down their back and 
 plaited too or is it only the men, and when they pull their hair so very 
 tight off their foreheads don't they hurt themselves, and why do they 
 stick little bells all over their bridges and temples and hats and things 
 or don't they really do it ! " Flora gave him another of her old glances. 
 Instantly she went on again, as if he had spoken in reply for some 
 time : 
 
 " Then it's all true and they really do ! good gracious, Arthur ! — ^pray 
 excuse me — old habit — Mr. Clennam far more proper — what a country to 
 live in for so long a time, and vtath so many lanterns and umbrellas too, 
 how very dark and wet the climate ought to be and no doubt actually is, 
 and the sums of money that must be made by those two trades where 
 everybody carries them and hangs them everywhere, the little shoes 
 too and the feet screwed back in infancy ia quite surprising, what a 
 traveller you are ! " 
 
 In this ridiculous distress, Clennam received another of the old 
 glances, without in the least knowing what to do with it. 
 
 " Dear dear," said Flora, " only to think of the changes at home 
 Arthur — cannot overcome it, seems so natural, Mr. Clennam far more 
 proper — since you became familiar with the Chinese customs and 
 language which I am persuaded you speak like a Native if not better 
 for you were always quick and clever though immensely difficult no 
 doubt, I am suro the tea chests alone would kill me if I tried, such 
 changes Arthur — I am doing it again, seems so natural, most improper 
 — as no one could have believed, who could have ever imagined Mrs. 
 Finching when I can't imagine it myself ! " 
 
 " Is that your married name ? " asked Arthur, struck, in the midst 
 of all this, by a certain warmth of heart that expressed itself in her 
 tone when she referred, however oddly, to the youthful relation in 
 which they had stood to one another. " Finching ? " 
 
 " Finching oh yes isn't it a dreadful name, but as Mr. F. said when 
 he proposed to me which he did seven times and handsomely consented 
 I must say to be what he used to call on liking twelve months after all, 
 he wasn't answerable for it and couldn't help it could he, Excellent 
 man, not at all Hke you but excellent man ! " 
 
 (Bk. I., ch. xiii., xxiiL, xxiv., xxxv. ; Bk. II., ck ix, 
 xvii., xxiii., xxxiv.) 
 
412 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 FLINTWINCH, AFFERY. An old servant of l^Irs. Clennam's j 
 wife of Jeremiah Mintwinch. She is apt to fall into a dreamy 
 sleep-waking state, much to the displeasure of her hushand, 
 who tells her, " If you ever have a dream of this sort again, 
 it'll be a sign of your being in want of physic, and I'll give 
 you such a dose, old woman — such a dose !" (Bk. I., ch. iii.- 
 V., XV., xxix., XXX. ; Ek. 11. , ch. x., xvii., xxiii., xxx., xxxi.) 
 
 FLINTWINCH, EPHRAIM. Jeremiah's "double" and 
 confederate. (Bk. L, ch. iv. ; Bk. 11. , ch. xxx.) 
 
 FLINTWINCH, JEREMIAH. Servant and afterwards 
 partner of Mrs. Clennam. He is a short, bald old man, bent 
 and dried, with a one-sided crab-like manner of locomotion. 
 
 His neck was so twisted, that the knotted ends of his wHte cravat 
 usually dangled nnder one ear ; h.is natural acerbity and energy, always 
 contending with a second nature of habitual repression, gave his 
 features a swollen and suffused look ; and, altogether, he had a weird 
 appearance of having hanged himself at one time or other, and of 
 having gone about ever since, halter and all, exactly as some timely 
 hand had cut him down. 
 
 (Bk. I., ch. iii.-v., xv., xxix., xxx. j Bk. IL, ch. x., xvii., 
 xxiii., xxviii., xxx., xxxi.) 
 
 GENERAL, MRS. A widow-lady of forty-five, whom Mr. 
 Dorrit engages to " form the mind " and manners of hia 
 daughters. 
 
 In person, Mrs. General, including her skirts, which had much to 
 do with it, was of a dignified and imposing appearance ; ample, rust- 
 ling, gravely voluminous, always upright behind the proprieties. She 
 might have been taken — had been taken — to the top of the Alps and 
 the bottom of Herculaneum, without disarranging a fold in her dress, 
 or displacing a pin. If her countenance and hair had rather a floury 
 appearance, as though from living in some transcendently genteel Mill, 
 it was rather because she was a chalky creation altogether, than 
 because she mended her complexion with violet-powder, or had turned 
 gray. If her eyes had no expression, it was probably because they 
 had nothing to express. If she had few vrrinkles, it was because her 
 mind had never traced its name or any other inscription on her face. 
 A cool, waxy, blown-out woman, who had never lighted well. 
 
 Mrs. General had no opinions. Her way of forming a mind was to 
 prevent it from forming opinions. She had a little circular set of 
 mental grooves, or rails, on which she started little trains of other 
 people's opinions, which never overtook one another, and never got 
 anywhere. Even her propriety could not dispute that there was im- 
 propriety in the world ; but Mrs. General's way of getting rid of it 
 was to put it out of sight, and make believe that there was no such 
 thing. This was another of her ways of forming a mind — to cram all 
 articles of difficulty into cupboards, lock them up, and say they had no 
 existence. It was the easiest way, and, beyond all comparison, the 
 properest. 
 
 Mrs. General was not to be told of anything shocking. Accidentg, 
 
LITTLE DORRIT. 413 
 
 miseries, and offences were never to be mentioned before her. Passion 
 was to go to sleep in the presence of Mrs. General, and blood was to 
 change to milk and water. The little that was left in the world when 
 all these deductions were made, it was Mrs. General's province to 
 varnish. In that formation process of hers she dipped the smallest of 
 brushes into the largest of pots, and varnished the surface of every 
 object that came under consideration. The more cracked it was, the 
 more Mrs. General varnished it. 
 
 Observing that Amy Dorrit calls Mr. Dorrit "father," 
 Mrs. General informs her that " jjapa " is a preferable mode of 
 address. 
 
 "Father is rather vulgar, my dear. The word Papa, besides, 
 gives a pretty form to the lips. Papa, potatoes, poultry, prunes, and 
 prism, are all very good words for the lips ; especially prunes and 
 prism. You will find it serviceable in the formation of a demeanour, 
 if you sometimes say to yourself in company — on entering a room, for 
 instance — Papa, potatoes, poultry, prunes and prism, prunes and 
 prism." 
 
 " Pray, my child," said Mr. Dorrit, " attend to the — hum — precepts 
 of Mrs. General." 
 
 Poor little Dorrit, with a rather forlorn glance at that eminent 
 varnisher, promised to try. 
 
 " You say, Amy," pursued Mr. Dorrit, *' that you think you require 
 time. Time for what ? " 
 
 Another pause. 
 
 " To become accustomed to the novelty of my life, was all I meant," 
 said Little Dorrit, with her loving eyes upon her father ; whom she had 
 very nearly addressed as poultry, if not prunes and prism too, in her 
 desire to submit herself to Mrs. General and please him. 
 
 (Bk. IL, ch. i-v., vii., xi., xv., xix.) 
 
 OOWANf HENRY. An artist, who marries Miss Minnie 
 Meagles. (Bk. I., ch. xvii., xxvi., xxviii., xxxiii., xxxiv. ; 
 Bk. IL, ch. i., LLi.-viii., xi., xiv., xvii., xx., xxi., xxxiii) 
 
 The Gowan family were a very distant ramification of the Bar- 
 nacles ; and . . . the Paternal Gowan, originally attached to a legation 
 abroad, had been pensioned off as a Commissioner of nothing particular 
 somewhere or other, and had died at his post with his drawn salary in 
 his hand, nobly defending it to the last extremity. In consideration 
 of this eminent public service, the Barnacle then in power had recom- 
 mended the CroAvn to bestow a pension of two or three hundred a 
 year on his widow ; to which the next Barnacle in power had added 
 certain shady and sedate apartments in the Palace at Hampton Court, 
 where the old lady still lived, deploring the degeneracy of the times, 
 in company with several other old ladies of both sexes. Her son, Mr. 
 Henry Gowan, inheriting from his father, the Commissioner, that very 
 questionable help in life, a very small independence, had been difficult 
 to settle ; the rather as public appointments chanced to be scarce, and 
 his genius during his earlier manhood was of that exclusively agri- 
 cultural character which applies itself to the cultivation of wild oats. 
 At last he had declared that he would become a Painter; partly because 
 
414 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 he had always had an idle kriack that way, and partly to grieve the 
 souls of the Barnaoles-in-chief who had not provided for him. So it 
 had come to pass successively, first, that several distinguished ladies 
 had been frightfully shocked ; then that portfolios of his performances 
 had been handed about o* nights, and declared with ecstasy to be 
 perfect Claudes, perfect Cuyps, perfect phenomena; then that Lord 
 Decimus had bought his picture, and had asked the President and 
 Council to dinner at a blow, and had said vnth his own magnificent 
 gravity, " Do you know, there appears to me to be reaUy immense 
 merit in tha-t work ? " and, in short, that people of condition had 
 absolutely taken pains to bring him into fashion. But somehow it had 
 all failed' The prejudiced public had stood out against it obstinately. 
 They had determined not to admire Lord Decimus' s picture. They 
 had determined to believe, that in every service, except their ovm, a 
 man must qualify himself, by striving, early and late, and by working 
 heart and soul, might and main. 
 
 GOWANy MRS. His mother ; a courtly old lady, a little lofty 
 in her maimer. (Bk. L, ch. xviL. xxvi, xxxiii., xxxiv. j 
 Bk. II., ch. v., viii.) 
 
 GOWANy MRS. HENRY. See Meagles, Minnih. 
 
 HAG GAGE, DOCTOR. A poor debtor in the Marshalsea ; 
 
 a hoarse, puffy, red-faced, dirty, brandy-drinking, medical 
 
 scarecrow, who assists Little Dorrit into the world. (Bk. I., 
 
 ch. vi., vii.) 
 JENKINSON, A messenger at the Circumlocution Office. 
 
 (Bk. I., ch. X.) 
 
 LA GNIER. See Eigaud. 
 
 MAGGY. A granddaughter of Mrs. Bangham's, and a. protegee 
 of Little Dorrit's ; afterwards an assistant to Mrs. Plornish. 
 (Bk. I., ch. ix., xiv., xx., xxii., xxiv., xxxi., xxxii., xxxv., 
 xxxvi ; Bk. IL, ch. iii., iv., xiii., xxix., xxxiii, xxxiv.) 
 
 She was about eight-and-twenty, with large bones, large features, 
 large feet and hands, large eyes, and no hair. Her large eyes were 
 limpid and almost colourless ; they seemed to be very little affected 
 by light, and to stand unnaturally still. There was also that attentive, 
 listening expression in her face, which is seen in the faces of the bUnd ; 
 but she was not blind, having one tolerably serviceable eye. Her face 
 was not exceedingly ugly, though it was only redeemed from being so 
 by a smile, — a good-humoured smile, and pleasant in itself, but rendered 
 pitiable by being constantly there. 
 
 " When Maggy was ten years old," said Little Dorrit, watching her 
 face while she spoke, " she had a bad fever, sir ; and she has never 
 grown any older ever since." 
 
 " Ten years old," said Maggy, nodding her head. " But what a 
 nice hospital I So comfortable j wasn't it ? Oh, bo nice it was I Such 
 a Ev'nly place ! " 
 
 *' She had never been at peace before, sir," said Dorrit, turning 
 
LITTLE DORRIT. 415 
 
 towards Arthur for an instant, and speaking low, " and she always 
 runs o2 upon that." 
 
 " Sach beds there is there!" cried Maggy. "Such lemonades! 
 Such oranges ! Such d'licious broth and wine ! Such Chicking ! Oh, 
 ain't it a dehghtful place to go and stop at ! " 
 
 " So Maggy stopped there as long as she could," said Dorrit in her 
 former tone of telling a child's story ; the tone designed for Maggy's 
 ear, " and at last, when she could stop there no longer, she came out. 
 Then, because she was never to be more than ten years old, however 
 long she lived " — 
 
 " However long she lived," echoed Maggy. 
 
 "And because she was very weak; indeed, was so weak, that, 
 when she began to laugh she couldn't stop herself, which was a great 
 pity"- 
 
 (Maggy mighty grave of a sudden.) 
 
 " Her grandmother did not know what to do with her, and for 
 some years was very unkind to her indeed. At length, in course of 
 time, Maggy began to take pains to improve herself, and to be very 
 attentive and very industrious ; and, by degrees, was allowed to come 
 in and out as often as she liked, and got enough to do to support her- 
 self, and does support herself. And that," said Little Dorrit, clap- 
 ping the two great hands together again, "is Maggy's history, as 
 Maggy knows ! " 
 
 MAROON, CAPTAIN. One of Mr. Edward Dorrit's creditors. 
 (Bk. L, ch. xii) 
 
 MARSHALSEA, FATHER OF THE, See Doreit, Mr. 
 
 William. 
 
 MEAGLESf MR. A retired banker, good-natured and benevo- 
 lent, and always priding himself on being a practical man. 
 (Bk. I., ch. ii, X., xii., xvi., xvii., xxiii., xxvi.-xxix., xxxiii., 
 xxxiv. ; Bk. II., ok, viii.-x., xxxiii., xxxiv.) 
 
 MEAGLES, MRS. His wife; a comely and healthy woman, 
 with a pleasant English face, which, ]ike her husband's, has 
 been lookiug at homely thiags for five-and-fifty years or more, 
 and shiues with a bright reflection of them. (Bk. I., ch. ii., 
 xvi., xvii., xxviii., xxxiii, xxxiv. ; Bk, II., ch. viii., ix., 
 xxxiii., xxxiv.) 
 
 MEAGLES, MINNIE, called "Pet." Their daughter, after- 
 wards the wife of ]Mr. Henry Gowan. (Bk. I., ch. ii., xvi., 
 xvii, xxvi, xxviii., xxxiv. ; Bk. II., ch. i, iii, iv.-viii, xi, 
 xxviii., xxxiii) 
 
 Pet was about twenty. A fair girl with rich brown hair hanging 
 free in natural ringlets. A lovely girl, with a frank face and wonderful 
 eyes ; so large, so soft, so bright, set to such perfection in her kind 
 good head ! She was round and fresh and dimpled and spoilt, and 
 there was in Pet an air of timidity and dependence which was the best 
 w^eakness in the world, and gave her the only crowning charm & gixl 
 so pretty and pleasant could have been without. 
 
416 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 MERDLE, MR. A London banker, wlio, after a remarkably 
 successful career, becomes a bankrupt and commits suicide. 
 (Bk. I., cb. xxi., yxxiii. ; Bk. II., cb. v., vii., xii.-xvL, xviii., 
 xix., xxiv., XXV., xxviii.) 
 
 Mr. Merdle was immensely rich j a man of prodigious enterprise j 
 a Midas without the ears, who turned all he touched to gold. He was 
 in everything good, from banking to building. He was in Parliament, 
 of course. He was in the City, necessarily. He was Chairman of 
 this, Trustee of that, President of the other. The weightiest of men 
 had said to projectors, " Now, what name have you got ? Have you 
 got Merdle ? " And the reply being in the negative, had said, " Then 
 I won't look at you." . . . 
 
 He was the most disinterested of men — did everything for Society, 
 and got as little for himself, out of all his gain and care, as a man 
 might. 
 
 That is to say, it may be supposed that he got all he wanted, 
 otherwise, with unlimited wealth, he would have got it. But his 
 desire was, to the utmost, to satisfy Society (whatever that was), and 
 take up all its drafts upon him for tribute. He did not shine in 
 company ; he had not very much to say for himself ; he was a reserved 
 man, with a broad, overhanging, watchful head, that particular kind 
 of dull red colour in his cheeks which is rather stale than fresh, and a 
 somewhat uneasy expression abont his coat-cuffs as if they were in his 
 confidence, and had reasons for being anxious to hide his hands. In 
 the little he said, he was a pleasant man enough ; plain, emphatic 
 about public and private confidence, and tenacious of the utmost 
 deference being shown by everyone, in all things, to Society. In this 
 same Society (if that were it which came to his dinners, and to Mrs. 
 Merdle's receptions and concerts), he hardly seemed to enjoy himself 
 much, and was mostly to be found against walls, and behind doors. 
 Also when he went out to it, instead of its coming home to him, he 
 seemed a little fatigued, and, upon the whole, rather more disposed 
 for bed ; but he was always cultivating it, nevertheless, and always 
 moving in it, and always laying out money on it with the greatest 
 liberality. 
 
 MERDLE, MRS. His wife, and motber of Mr. Edmund 
 Sparkier ; a very fasbionable lady. 
 
 The lady was not young and fresh from the hand of Nature, but 
 was young and fresh from the hand of her maid. She had large, 
 unfeeling, handsome eyes, and dark, unfeeling, handsome hair, and a 
 broad, unfeeling, handsome bosom, and was made the most of in every 
 particular. Either because she had a cold, or because it suited her 
 face, she wore a rich white fillet tied over her head, and imder her 
 chin. And if ever there were an unfeeling, handsome chin, that 
 looked as if, for certain, it had never been, in familiar parlance, 
 " chucked " by the hand of man, it was the chin curbed up so tight 
 and close by that laced bridle. 
 
 (Bk. L, cL XX., xxi.j x?rxiii. j Bk. IL, ch. iii., v., vii, 
 xii, xiv.-xvi, xix., xxiv., xxv., xxxiii.) 
 
LITTLE DOREH?. 41^ 
 
 MR. FJS A TINT. A singular old lady, who is a legacy left to 
 Mrs. Flora ITinchiiig by her deceased husband. 
 
 This was an amazing little old woman, with a face like a staring 
 wooden doll too cheap for expression, and a stifE yellow wig perched 
 unevenly on the top of her head, as if the child who owned the doll 
 had driven a tack through it anywhere, so that it only got fastened on. 
 Another remarkable thing in this little old woman was, that the same 
 child seemed to have damaged her face in two or three places with 
 some blunt instrument in the nature of a spoon ; her countenance, and 
 particularly the tip of her nose, presenting the phenomena of several 
 dints, generally answering to the bowl of that article. A further 
 remarkable thmg in this little old woman was, that sha had no nam« 
 but Mr. F.'s Aunt. . . . 
 
 The major characteristics discoverable by the stranger in Mr. F.'s 
 Aunt were extreme severity and grim taciturnity, sometimes inter- 
 rupted by a propensity to offer remarks, in a deep warning voice, 
 which, being totally uncalled for by anything said by anybody, and 
 traceable to no association of ideas, confounded and terrified the mind. 
 Mr. F.'s Aunt may have thrown in these observations on some system 
 of her own, and it may have been ingenious, or even subtle ; but the 
 key to it was wanted. 
 
 (Bk. I., ch. xiii., xxiiL, xxiv., xxxv. j Bk. II., oh. ix., 
 xxxiv.) 
 
 NANDY, JOHN EDWARD. Father to Mrs. Plornish; an 
 old man with a weak, piping voice, though his daughter 
 considers him "a sweet singer." (Bk. L, cL xiiLj Bk. XL, 
 ch. xiii., xxvi., xxvii.) 
 
 PANCKS, MR. Mr. Casby's coUector of rents. 
 
 He was dressed in black and rusty iron-gray ; had jet-black 
 beads of eyes, a scrubby little black chin, wiry black hair striking 
 out from his head in prongs, like forks or hair-pins, and a oomplexiou 
 that was very dingy by nature, or very dirty by art, or a compound of 
 nature and art. He had dirty hands and dirty broken nails, and 
 looked as if he had been in the coals ; he was in a perspiration, and 
 snorted and sniffed and puffed and blew like a little labouring 
 Bteam-engine, 
 
 Though the agent of a man who, despite his benevolent 
 and patriarchal air, is a hard, avaricious old sinner, and 
 though, in accordance with his instructions, he periodically 
 squeezes and harasses his employer's tenants, he is by no means 
 a cruel or ungenerous man. Lideed, he is so chafed and exas- 
 perated by the disagreeable nature of his work, and by the 
 hypocrisy of his " proprietor," that he makes up his mind to 
 seek some other occupation. Meeting Mr. Casby, one day, in 
 Bleeding Heart Yard, 
 
 Going close up to the most venerable of men, and halting in front of 
 the bottle-green waistcoat [he] made a trigger of his right thumb and 
 
 2 £ 
 
418 THE DIO^ENS t)lOTlONABir. 
 
 forefinger, applied the same to the brim of the broad-brimmed hat, and, 
 with singular smartness and precision, shot it off the polished head as if 
 it had been a large marble. 
 
 Having taken this little liberty with the Patriarchal person, Mr. 
 Pancks fm-ther astounded and attracted the Bleeding Hearts by saying 
 in an audible voice, " Now, you sugary swindler, I mean to have it out 
 with you ! " 
 
 Mr. Pancka and the Patriarch were instantly the centre of a press, 
 all eyes and ears : windows were thrown open, and door-steps were 
 thronged- 
 
 " What do you pretend to be ? " said Mr. Pancks. " What's your 
 moral game? What do you go in for? Benevolence; an't it? You 
 benevolent ! " Here Mr. Pancks, apparently without the intention of 
 hitting liim, but merely to relieve his mind and expand his superfluous 
 power in wholesome exercise, aimed a blow at the bumpy head, which 
 the bumpy head ducked to avoid. This singular performance was 
 repeated, to the ever-increasing admiration of the spectators, at the end 
 of every succeeding article of Mr. Pancks's oration. 
 
 " I have discharged myself from your service," said Pancks, " that 
 I may tell you what you are. You're one of a lot of impostors that 
 are the worst lot of all the lots to be met with. . . . You're a driver 
 in disguise, a screwer by deputy, a wringer, and squeezer, and a shaver 
 by substitute ! Y'ou're a philanthropic sneak ! You're a shabby 
 deceiver ! " 
 
 (The repetition of the performance at this point was received with a 
 burst of laughter.) 
 
 " Ask these good people who's the hard man here. They'll tell you 
 Pancks, I believe." 
 
 This was confii*med with cries of " Certainly ! " and " Hear ! '* 
 
 •'Bat I tell you, good people — Casby ! This mound of meekness, 
 this lump of love, this bottle-green smiler — this is your driver ! " said 
 Pancks. " If you want to see the man who would flay you alive, here 
 lie is ! Don't look for him in me, at thirty shillings a week, but look for 
 him in Casby, at I don't know how much a year." 
 
 " Good ! " ci-ied several voices. *' Hear Mr. Pancks ! " 
 
 " Hear Mr. Pancks ? " cried that gentleman (after repeating the 
 popular performance). " Yes, I should think so ! It's almost time to hear 
 Mr. Pancks ! Mr. Pancks has come down into the Yard to-night on 
 purpose that you should hear him. Pancks is only the Works; but here's 
 the Winder ! " 
 
 The audience would have gone over to Mr. Pancks as one man, 
 woman, and child, but for the long, gray, silken locks, and the broad- 
 brimmed hat. 
 
 *' Here's the Stop," said Pancks, " that sets the tune to be ground. 
 And there is but one tune, and its name is Grind, Grind, Grind ! Here's 
 the Proprietor, and here's his Grubber. ... He provides the pitch, 
 and I handle it, and it sticks to me. Now," said Mr. Pancks, closing 
 upon his late Proprietor again, from whom he had withdrawn a little 
 for the better display of him to the Yard, " as I am not accustomed to 
 speak in public, and as I have made a rather lengthy speech, all cir. 
 cumstances considered, I shall bring my observations to a close by 
 requesting you to get out of this." 
 
 The Last of the Patriarchs had been so seized by assault, and 
 required so much room to catch an idea in, and so much more room to 
 turn it in, that }i% had not a word to offer in reply. He appeared to be 
 
LITTLE DOllRIT. 419 
 
 meditating aome patriai'chal y^a,y out of liis delicate poBition, when 
 Mr. Paucka onco more, suddenly applyinj^ the trigger to his hat, shot it 
 o£E again with his former dexterity. On the preceding occasion, one 
 or two of the Bleeding Heart Yarders had obsequiously picked it up, 
 and handed it to its owner ; but Mr. Pancks had now so far impressed 
 his audience, that the Patriarch had to turn, and stoop for it himself. 
 
 Quick as lightning Mr. Pancks, who for some moments had had his 
 n'ght hand in his coat-pocket, whipped out a pair of shears, swooped 
 upon the Patriarch behind, and snipped off short the sacred locks that 
 flowed upon his shoulders. In a jjaroxysm of animosity and rapidity, 
 Mr. Pancks then caught the broad-brimmed hat out of the astounded 
 Patriarch's hand, cut it down into a mere stewpan, and fixed it on the 
 Patriarch's head. 
 
 Before the frightful results of this desperate action Mr. Pancks 
 himself recoiled in consternation. A bare-polled, goggle-eyed, big- 
 headed, lumbering personage stood staring at him, not in the least 
 impressive, not in the least venerable, who seemed to have started out 
 of the earth to ask what was become of Casby. After staring at thia 
 phantom in return, in silent awe, Mr. Pancks threw down his shears, 
 and fled for a place of hiding, where he might lie sheltered from the 
 consequences of his crime. Mr. Pancks deemed it prudent to use all 
 possible despatch in making off, though he was pursued by nothing but 
 the sound of laughter in Bleeding Heart Yard, rippling through the aiTj 
 and making it ring again. 
 
 (Bk. I., ch. xii., xiii., xxm.-xxv., xxvii., xxix., xxxii^ 
 xxxiv., XXXV. ; Bk. II., ch. ix., xi., xiii, xvii, xx., xxii,5 
 xxvi., xxviiL-xxx., xxxii., xxxiv.) 
 
 PUT. See Meagles, Minnie. 
 
 PLORNISH, MR. A plasterer living in Bleeding Heart Yard , 
 one of IMr. Casby 's tenants, and a friend of Little Dorrit's ; a 
 smooth-clieeked, fresh-coloured, sandy- whiskered man of thirty^ 
 long in the legs, yielding at the knees, foolish in the face, 
 flannel-jacketed, lime-whitened. (Bk. I., ch. vi., ix., xii, xxiiij 
 xxiv., xxxi., xxxvi ; Bk. II., ch. iv., xiii., xxvii., xxix.) 
 
 PLORNISH, MRS. His wife ; a young woman, made some 
 what slatternly in herself and her belongings by poverty ; 
 and so dragged at by poverty and the children together, that 
 their united forces have already dragged her face into 
 wrinkles. (Bk. I., ch. vi, xii, xxiii, xxxi. ; Bk. II., ch. iv,, 
 xiii, xxvi, xxvii., xxix., xxx.) 
 
 RIGAUDf alias Blandois, alias Lagnisr. A chevalier 
 d'industrief with polished manners, but a scoundrers heart. 
 Having murdered his wife, and been lodged in a French jail, 
 he contrives to effect his escape, and flees to England. Gain- 
 ing a knowledge of !Mrs. Clennam's frauds, he tries to wring 
 
 2 E 2 
 
420 THE DICEE:N"S DICTIONARY. 
 
 from her a very large amomit of hnsh-money, but is killed by 
 the sudden falhng of the house in v/hich he is waiting for her. 
 
 His eyes, too close together, . . . were sharp rather than bright. . . . 
 They had no depth or change, they glittered, and they opened and 
 shut. So far, and waiving their use to himself, a clockmaker could 
 have made a better pair. He had a hook nose, handsome after its 
 kind, "but too high between the eyes by probably just as much as his 
 eyes were too near to one another. For the rest, he was large and tall 
 in frame, had thin lips, where his thick moustache showed them at all, 
 and a quantity of dry hair, of no definable colour in its shaggy state, 
 but shot with red, 
 
 (Bk. L, ch- i., xi., sxix., xxx. ; Ek. IL, ch. i, iii.j vi., vii., 
 ix., X., xvii, XX., xxii., xxiii., xxviii., xxx., xxxi., xxxiii.) 
 
 BUGG, HISS ANASTASIA, Daughter of Mr. Eugg. She 
 has little nankeen spots, like shirt buttons, all over her face ; 
 and her yellow tresses are rather scrubby than luxuriant. 
 (Bk. I., ch. XXV. ; Bk. IL, ch, xxvi., xxviii.) 
 
 Miss Eugg was a lady of a little property, which she had acquired, 
 together with much distinction in the neighbourhood, by having 
 her heart severely lacerated, and her feelings mangled, by a middle- 
 aged baker, resident in the vicinity, against whom she had, by the 
 ageucy of Mr. Rugg, found it necessary to proceed at law to recover 
 damages for a breach of promise of marriage. The baker having 
 been, by the counsel for Miss Eugg, witheringly denounced on that 
 occasion up to the full amount of twenty guineas, at the rate of 
 about eighteen-pence an epithet, and having been cast in correspond- 
 ing damages, still suffered occasional persecution from the youth of 
 Pentonville ; but Miss Eugg, environed by the majesty of the law, and 
 having her damages invested in the public securities, was regarded 
 with consideration. 
 
 RUGG, MR. A general agent, accountant, and collector of 
 debts, who is Mr. Pancks's landlord. He has a round white 
 visage — as if all his blushes had been drawn out of him long 
 ago — and a ragged yellow head like a worn-out hearth-broom. 
 (Bk. I., ch. XXV., xxxii., xxxv., xxxvi. ; Bk. II., ch. xxvi., 
 xxviii., xxxiv.) 
 
 SPARKLER, MR. EDMUND. Son of I^Irs. Merdle by her 
 first husband. He marries Eanny Dorrit, considering her to 
 be "a young lady with no nonsense about her." (Bk. I., 
 ch. XX., xxi., xxxiii. ; Bk. IL, ch. iii., vi., vii., xii., xiv.-xvi., 
 xviii., xxiv., xxxiii.) 
 
 Mrs. Merdle' s first husband had been a colonel, under whosa 
 auspices the bosom had entered into competition with the snows of 
 North America, and had come ofi at little disadvantage in point of 
 
LITTLE DOERIT. 421 
 
 whiteness, and at none in point of coldness. The colonel's son was 
 IVIrs. Merdle's only child. He was of a chuclde-headed, high- 
 shouldered make, with a general appearance of being not so much a 
 young man as a swelled boy. He had given so few signs of reason, 
 that a byword went among his companions, that his brain had been 
 frozen up in a mighty frost which prevailed at St. John's, New Bruns- 
 wick, at the period of his birth there, and had never thawed from 
 that hour. Another byword represented him as having in his infancy, 
 through the negligence of a nurse, fallen out of a high window on his 
 head, which had been heard, by responsible witnesses, to crack. It is 
 probable that both these representations were of ex post facto origin ; 
 the young gentleman (whose expressive name was Sparkler) being 
 monomaniacal in offering marriage to all manner of undesirable young 
 ladies, and in remarking of every successive young lady to whom he 
 tendered a matrimonial proposal, that she was " a doosed fine gal — well 
 educated too — ^with no biggodd nonsense about her." 
 
 SPARKLER, MRS. EDMUND. See Dorrit, Fanny. 
 
 STILTSTALKING, LORD LANCASTER. A gray old 
 gentleman of dignified and sullen appearance, whom the 
 Circumlocution Office had maintained for many years as a 
 representative of the Britannic majesty abroad. (Bk. I., 
 ch. xxvi) 
 
 This noble Refrigerator had iced several European courts in his 
 time, and had done it with such complete success, that the very name 
 of Englishman yet struck cold to the stomachs of foreigners who had 
 the distinguished honour of remembering him at a distance of s 
 quarter of a century. 
 
 TATTYCORAM. See Beadle, Harriet. 
 
 TICKIT, MRS. Mr. Meagies's cook and housekeeper. She 
 makes Buchan's "Domestic Medicine" her constant vade 
 mecum, though she is believed never to have consulted it to 
 the extent of a single word in her life. (Bk. I., ch. xvi., 
 xxxiv. ; Bk. II., ch. ix,, xxxiii.) 
 
 TINKLER. Mr. William Donit'a valet. (Bk XL, ck iii, v., 
 sv., xix.) 
 
 TIP, See DoEEiT, Edward. 
 
 WADEy MISS. A woman with a sullen and ungovernable 
 temper, a self-tormentor, who fancies that wrongs and insults 
 are heaped upon her on every side. Finding a kindred spirit 
 in Tattycoram, the adopted child of Mr. Meagles, she entic«« 
 the girl to leave that excellent couple, and live with her, and, 
 when she has done so, makes and keeps her as miserable, 
 suspicious, and tormenting as herself. But Tattycorsm grows 
 
422 THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 tired of such a life, and at length returns, repentant and grateful, 
 to her old master and mistress. 
 
 One conld hardly Bee the face, po still anrl scornful, set off by the 
 arched dark eyebrows and the folds of dark hair, without wondering 
 what its expression would bo if a change came over it. That it could 
 soften or relent appeared next to impossible. That it could deepen 
 into anger or any extreme of- defiance, and that it must change in that 
 direction, when it changed at all, would have been its peculiar 
 impression upon most observers. It was dressed and trimmed into no 
 ceremony of expression. Althongli not an open face, there was no 
 pretence in it. I am self-contained and self-reliant ; your opinion is 
 nothing to me ; I have no interest in you, care nothing for you, and 
 see and hear you with indifference — this it said plainly. It said so in 
 the proud eyes, in the lifted nostril, in the handsome but compressed 
 and even cruel mouth. Cover either two of those channels of 
 expression, and the third would have said so still. Mask them 
 all, and the mere turn of the head would have shown an unsubduable 
 nature. 
 
 (Bk. I., ch. ii., 
 XX., xxi., xxxiii.) 
 
 xvL, xxvii., xxviii. ; Bk. II., ch. ix., x., 
 
 WOBBLER, MR A clerk in the secretarial department of 
 the Circumlocution Office. (Bk. L, ch. x.) 
 
 PRINCIPAL INCIDENTS, 
 
 BOOK I. — Chapter I. Rigaud and Cavalletto, in prison in Maraeillea, 
 have their food brought them by the jailer and his little daughter; 
 lligand gives Cavalletto the reason of his imprisonment ; Bigaud is 
 carried oiEfe<t5o his trial. — ^11. Mr. Meagles is impatient at the detention 
 in quaranfeie ; Mr. Meagles gives Arthur Clennam an account of Tatty- 
 coram, and how they adopted her ; confidence between Mr. Meagles and 
 Mr. Clennam, in which some of the circumstances in the history of each 
 are narrated; Miss Wade's indifference at parting with her fellow, 
 travellers ; her influence over Tattycoram, who shows signs of discon- 
 tent. — III. Arthur Clennam arrives home on a dismal Sunday evening, 
 after an absence of twenty years; he is received without any emotion 
 by the old serving.man, Jeremiah Flintwinch, and as coldly welcomed 
 by hig mother ; Affery gives Arthur some hints of the relations existing 
 between his mother and Flintwinch, and tells him how she came to 
 marry Jeremiah ; ALrthur has his memory of an old sweetheart revived. 
 — IV. Mrs. Flintwinch sees, " in a dream," Jeremiah and his *' Double," 
 whom he entrusts with an iron box, and dismisses from the house. — Y. 
 Arthur Clennam consults with his mother in regard to the business c/f 
 
LITTLE DOERIT. 423 
 
 (he honse ; he mtirr.ates his suspicions tbat his fatltor had trahappily 
 committed a wrong afrainst someone without making reparation ; she 
 threatens to renounce him if he ever renews the theme ; Arthur relin. 
 quishes his share of the business, which the widow bestows upon Jere- 
 miah ; Little Dorrit appears in attendance on Mrs. Clennam ; Arthur 
 resolves to watch her, and know more of her story. — VI. Mr. Dorrit and 
 his family enter the Marshalsea; Little Dorrit is born; death of Mrs. 
 Dorrit; Mr. Dorrit becomes the Father of the Marshalsea. — VII. Little 
 Dorrit becomes the pet of the prison, and, as she grows older, the prin. 
 cipal support of her father, and the head of the fallen family ; Tip, 
 after repeated failures to succeed in business, comes back to the Mar- 
 shalsea as a prisoner ; Arthur traces Little Dorrit to the Marshalsea. — 
 VIII. He encounters Frederick Dorrit, who takes him into the prison, 
 and introduces him to Mr. Dorrit ; Mr. Dorrit gives him the history of a 
 delicate action ; Mr. Clennam is locked in, and spends the night in 
 prison. — IX. Arthur sends Little Dorrit a request to meet him at hei 
 uncle's lodgings ; he questions her about the family reverses in the hope 
 of releasing Mr. Dorrit ; they meet Maggy in the street, and who Maggy 
 is. — X. The Circumlocution OflBce, and its principle of IIow not to do 
 IT ; Arthur Clennam makes inquiries at the Circumlocution Office about 
 Mr. Dorrit's creditors, but gets no information; he encounters Mr. 
 Meagles and Daniel Doyce ; who Daniel Doyce is, and how he came in 
 the Circumlocution Office ; the party go to Bleeding Heaii; Yard. — XI. 
 Rigaud, released by the law, arrives in Chalons, and stops at a cabaret, 
 where he hears his character discussed, and his crime denounced, by the 
 guests ; going to bed, he recognises in the man who shares his room his 
 old companion, Cavalletto ; Cavalletto escapes from him in the morning. 
 — XII. Clennam finds Mr. and Mrs. Plornish, friends of Little Dorrit ; 
 through Mr. Plomish he compromises for Tip's debts, and secures his re- 
 lease. — ^XIII. Arthur renews his acquaintance with Mr. Casby ; meets Mr. 
 Pancks, Mr. Casby's agent, and has the Flora of his early love and after- 
 recollections destroyed by an interview with the actual Flora ; Arthur's 
 introduction to " Mr. F.'s Aunt," who makes some very pertinent re- 
 marks ; Arthur and Mr. Pancks return to the city together ; leaving 
 Pancks, Arthur encounters Cavalletto, borne on a litter, his leg broken, 
 and accompanies him to a hospital ; Arthur's sorrowful meditations are 
 interrupted by the entrance of Little Dorrit and Maggy. — XIV. She 
 tells him Tip is released, and how she would thank his benefactor if 
 allowed to know him ; her suspicions that Flintwinch has watched her, 
 and followed her home ; she begs Arthur not to bestow any gift upon 
 her father ; Little Dorrit and Maggy spend the night in the street. — 
 XV. Mrs. Flintwinch dreams again, and hears an angry conversation 
 between her husband and Mrs. Clennam. — XVI. Mr. Clennam goes to 
 Twickenham to renew his acquaintance with the Meagleses, and over, 
 takes Daniel Doyce going there also ; Mr. Meagles shows them his house 
 and curiosities ; Arthur questions whether he should allow himself to 
 fall in love with Pet, and decides in the negative ; Tattycoram relates 
 her interview with Miss Wade; Clennam proposes to Mr. Meagles to 
 recommend him as a partner to Daniel Doyce. — XVII. Clennam meets 
 Henry Gowan at the Ferry, and afterwards at Mr. Meagles's house ; Mr. 
 Gowan proposes to introduce a friend ; Arthur inquires of Doyce who 
 Gowan is ; Barnacle, jun., appears as Gowan's friend ; Arthur does not 
 like the intimacy between Henry Gowan and Minnie. — XVIII. Toung 
 John Chivery forms an attachment for Little Dorrit; he presents a little 
 testimonial to the Father of the Marshalsea ; he follows Amy in her 
 
424 THE DICKENS DICTIONABY. 
 
 walk, and is on the point of making a declaration, when she checks hiin, 
 and disappoints his hopes. — XIX. Contrast between the brothers William 
 and Frederick Dorrit ; Mr. Chivery's vexation j Mr. Dorrit explains to 
 Amy the cause of Chivery's vexation ; he becomes despondent, and she 
 comforts him. — XX. Little Dorrit seeks her sister at the theatre, where 
 she is engaged as a dancer, during a rehearsal ; Fanny introduces her to 
 Mrs. Merdle, the lady who gave her a bracelet ; Mrs. Merdle gives Little 
 Dorrit the circumstances of her son's attachment to Fanny, and the 
 understanding she and Fanny have upon the subject. — XXI. Who the 
 Merdles were, and their position in society ; a dinner-party at Mr. 
 Merdle* s, and that gentleman's complaint. — XXII. ]VIr. Clennam does not 
 find favour with the Father of the Marshalsea; Mrs. Chivery shows 
 Arthur her son's despondency, and explains the cause; Arthur and 
 Little Dorrit meet on the bridge, and Maggy joins them with notes from 
 Mr. Dorrit and Tip, requesting loans. — XXIII. Clennam becomes a 
 partner in Mr. Doyce's business ; Flora and " Mr. F.'s Aunt " visit him 
 in his counting-room; they are followed by Mr. Casby and Pancks; 
 Flora takes an interest in Little Dorrit; "Mr. F.'s Aunt" makes a 
 demonstration, and is taken out by Mr. Pancks j Mr. Pancks shows an 
 absorbing interest in the Dorrit family, and questions Arthur about 
 them ; Mr. Pancks goes through Bleeding Heart Yard collecting rents, 
 but does not satisfy his proprietor. — XXIV. Little Dorrit goes to work 
 for Flora j Flora gives her the history of her old attachment to Arthur ; 
 Mr. Pancks surprises Little Dorrit by his skill in fortune-telling • Amy 
 tells Maggy the story of the beautiful princess, and the little woman 
 who had a secret. — XXV. Mr. Pancks, Mr. Eugg, and young John 
 Chivery dine together, and appear to be engaged in a conspiracy which 
 interests Little Dorrit ; Mr. Pancks calls upon Cavalletto, and Mrs. 
 Plornish acts as interpreter. — XXVI. Doyce and Clennam discuss the 
 intimacy of Henry Gowan at the cottage; Mr. Gowan expresses his 
 opinion of the world ; Arthur visits, at her son's request, Mrs. Gowan 
 at Hampton Court ; she questions him about the Meagleses, and he 
 assures her that they are not pleased by her son's attentions to Pet, and 
 have hoped to break off the engagement. — XXVII. Mr. Meagles informs 
 Clennam of Tattycoram's sudden disappearance; their thoughts both 
 turn to Miss Wade as the probable cause ; they seek Miss Wade, and 
 find Tattycoram with her, but cannot induce her to return home with 
 Mr. Meagles. — XXVIII. Mr. Clennam encounters Minnie alone, and, as 
 they walk home through the avenue, he anticipates her confidence, in- 
 vokes a blessing on her marriage with Gowan, and promises to be a 
 friend to her father when she is away ; Mr. Meagles delicately intimateB 
 to Arthur his suspicion of the hopes he once cherished in regard to Pet. 
 — ^XXIX. Mr. Pancks calling at Mrs. Clennam' s, she understands that it 
 is to see Little Dorrit, who is there ; Mrs. Clennam is unusually gentle 
 towards Amy ; Affery, shut out in the street, is accosted by a traveller, 
 who climbs into the window, and opens the door for her. — XXX. The 
 stranger announces himself to Jeremiah as Blandois, and produces a 
 letter of introduction to Clennam and Co. ; Mr. Blandois, having dined 
 at a neighbouring tavern, returns to pay his respects to Mrs. Clennam ; 
 the visitor shows particular interest in Mrs. Clennam's watch, with its 
 peculiar monogram ; at his request he is shown through the old house ; 
 he appears delighted with the house, and takes singular freedoms with 
 Jeremiah. — XXXI. Mr. John Edward Nandy is introduced ; Little Dorrit 
 takes him with her to the Marshalsea, to the indignation of Miss Fanny 
 and the grief of her father; the father becomes reconciled, and be- 
 
LITTLE DOREIT. 425 
 
 •tows his patronage upon Nandy j Tip and Miss Fanny show " a proper 
 spirit " in their conduct towards Arthur. — XXXII. Arthur secures an 
 interview alone with Little Dorrit, and confides to her the story of the 
 love he had overcome ; he urges her tc entrust to him any secret grief 
 or care she may have ; Mr. Pancks appears in a state of great excite- 
 ment, which half frightens Amy, but which Clennam understands : Mr. 
 Pancks imparts his discovery to Clennam. — XXXIII. Mrs. Merdle advises 
 !Mrs. Gowan on the requirements of society in regard to her son's mar- 
 riage J Mrs. Merdle complains to her husband that he carries his business 
 too much with him. — XXXIY. Mr. Henry Gowan explains to Clennam 
 the disappointment he has suffered; marriage of Henry Gowan and 
 Minnie Meagles, attended by all the Barnacles. — XXXV. Mr. Dorrit 
 proves heir-at-law to a great estate, Mr. Pancks having traced out the 
 evidence j Pancks narrates all the particulars to Arthur, who carries the 
 news immediately to Little Dorrit ; her first thought is of her father, and 
 they go to tell him ; emotion with which Mr. Dorrit receives the news of 
 his good fortune. — XXXVI. Mr. Dorrit and family prepare for leaving 
 the prison, and Mr. Dorrit gives an entertainment to the collegians ; 
 at the moment of departure, the family is disgraced by Amy, who has 
 fainted in her shabby dress, and is carried to the carriage in that con- 
 dition by Arthur. 
 
 BOOK II. — Chapter L The Dorrit party, Mr. and Mrs. Henry 
 Gowan, and Blandois meet at the Convent of the Great St. Bernard ; 
 Mrs. Gowan, having received an injury on the road, faints away, and 
 her husband carries her to her room ; Amy seeks Minnie Gowan in her 
 room, and gives her a letter from Clennam ; leaving the room, Amy 
 encounters Blandois in the dark gallery ; Blandois registers his name 
 under the others in the Travellers' Book. — II. Who Mrs. General was, 
 and how Mr. Dorrit engaged her to " form the minds " of his daughters. 
 — III. Mr. Dorrit and Fanny are indignant at Amy for seeking the 
 acquaintance of a friend of Clennam ; the Dorrit party leave the con- 
 vent, watched in their descent by Blandois; at Martigny, Mr. Dorrit 
 has an altercation -with, the innkeeper, who has allowed one of the rooms 
 engaged for him to be used by other travellers ; the travellers prove to 
 be Mrs. Merdle and Mr. Sparkler, and the lady appeases Mr. Dorrit by 
 her apology ; the party moves on to Venice. — IV. Amy writes to Clen- 
 nam, and relates her interview with Minnie Gowan. — ^V. Mr. Dorrit 
 takes the liberty to suggest to Mrs. General that there is something 
 wrong in Amy ; Mr. Dorrit begs Amy to accommodate herself better to 
 the circumstances of her station ; he speaks of the old days in the Mar- 
 shalsea, and accuses her of always recalling them by her manner ; the 
 Gowans being in Venice, Mr. Dorrit, after consulting Mrs. General, con- 
 sents to recognise their acquaintance ; Mr. Frederick is moved to protest 
 against the way in which Amy is treated. — VI. Mr. Gowan decides to 
 encourage the acquaintance of Blandois, who has accompanied them to 
 Venice; Fanny and Amy caU upon the Gowans; in Gowan's studio, 
 Blandois is attacked by Gowan's dog ; returning home, they are attended 
 by Mr. Sparkler, and Fanny tells Amy how she m^ans to receire his 
 attentions ; Mr. Dorrit decides to bestow his patronage upon Henry 
 Gowan, and engages him to paint his portrait ; Gowan loses his dog. — 
 Vn. Fanny suspects Mrs. General of matrimonial designs on Mr. Dorrit ; 
 Gowan accepts, in his deprecating way, Mr. Dorrit's commission ; Blan- 
 dois prevents the confidence between Amy and Mrs. Gowan ; the family 
 goes to Eome, and Mrs. Merdle renews the acquaintance "begun at 
 Martigny."— VIII. Doyce explains to Clennam the invention he has 
 
426 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 cherished for j'ears, and Arthur determines to ur^e iti claims at the Cir« 
 ciunlocution Office j the dowager Mrs. Gowan calls upon the Meagleses, 
 and reminds them, that, considering the sacrifice her son has made, " it 
 never does " for people of such different antecedents to try to get on 
 together. — IX. Mr. Meagles informs Arthur of his intention to go abroad 
 and see Pet, and Arthur urges him to do so ; Mrs. Tickit sees Tatty. 
 eoram ; soon after, Arthur himself sees her in company with Miss Wade 
 and Blandois j Blandois leaves them, and Arthur sees them enter !RIr. 
 Casby's house, but on gaining admission to the house, and inquiring for 
 them, Casby gives him vague answers. — X. Ai'thur, on the way to see his 
 mother, is jostled in the street by Blandois, and is greatly astonished, 
 on following him, to find him seeking admittance to Mrs. Clennam'a 
 house ; Arthur objects to his presence there, but Mrs. Clennam informs 
 him that Blandois has business with them; Blandois hints darkly at the 
 feeling existing between Clennam and Co. — XI. Little Dorrit writes again 
 to Arthur, with further intelligence of the Gowans and of her own 
 family. — XII. A dinner is given at Mr. Merdle's, attended by Bar, 
 Bishop, &c., and the Barnacles, the object being to secure a meeting for 
 five minutes between Mr. Merdle and Lord Decimus, the consequence of 
 which is the appointment of Edmund Sparkler, Esquire, as one of the 
 lords of the Circumlocution Office. — XIII. Everybody talks of Mr. Merdle 
 and of his enterprises ; Mr. Pancks calls at Mr. Plornish's shop after a 
 trying day; singular performances of Cavalletto, consequent on his 
 seeing Rigaud, and trying to avoid him ; Clennam calls at the Plornishes 
 on his return home ; Pancks accompanies Clennam home, and argues in 
 favour of the Merdle enterprises, in which he haa himself invested. — • 
 XIY. How the news of Mr. Sparkler's appointment was received by his 
 friends in Italy; Fanny "takes Amy's advice" as to the end of her 
 intercourse with Mr. Sparkler, and decides, for the sake of securing a 
 more defined position, and of asserting herself against his mother, that 
 she will encourage him ; Fanny, attended by Mr. Sparkler, informs Amy 
 of their engagement. — XY. Mr. Dorrit finds Mrs. Merdle charmed with 
 Mr. Sparkler's choice ; Fanny expresses herself tired of Mrs. General ; 
 Mr. Dorrit remonstrates, and insists upon the engagement being an- 
 nounced to her; Fanny "looks to Amy" for advice in regard to the 
 time of her marriage, and decides that it shall be soon ; Fanny is married, 
 and leaves for England; Mr. Dorrit joins her at Florence, and Amy and 
 Mrs. General are left at Rome. — XVI. Mrs. Sparkler is established in 
 the rooms of Mrs. Merdle; Mr. Merdle calls upon Mr. Dorrit at his 
 hotel, and offers to assist Mr. Dorrit in investing his money. — XYII, 
 Mrs. Pinching calls upon Mr. Dorrit, and informs him of the disappear- 
 ance of Blandois, who has never been seen since he entered the house 
 of Mrs. Clennam, and asks him to look out for him on his return to 
 Italy ; Mr. Dorrit goes to Mrs. Clennam's to ask about Blandois ; Mrs. 
 Affery is again frightened by the noises. — XYIII. Young John Chivery 
 calls to pay his respects to Mr. Dorrit, much to that gentleman's iadig- 
 nation ; passing tlu-ough Paris, Mr. Dorrit selects two little gifts for a 
 lady. — XIX. Mr. Dorrit arrives at Rome late in the evening, and finds 
 his brother and Amy alone ; he thinks his brother greatly broken ; they 
 receive an invitation to Mrs. Merdle's farewell assembly; Mr. Dorrit 
 begins an important conversation with Mrs. General, the conclusion oi; 
 which, at her request, he postpones ; at Mrs. Merdle's party, Mr. Dorrit'a 
 mind wanders ; he fancies himself again the Father of the Marshalsea, 
 and welcomes the company to that institution; his brother and Amy 
 get him home, and, after ten days of wandering, I^Ir. Dorrit dies j Mr. 
 
LITTLE DOREIT. 427 
 
 Frederick Don-it dies by the bedside of bis dend brotlier,— XX. Arthur 
 Clennam gains an interview with Miss Wade at her lodgings in Calais; 
 he seeks news of Blandois, but she will give him none ; her hatred of 
 the Gowans; her influence over Tattycoram. — XXI. Miss Wade's history, 
 as written out by herself for Mr. Clennam's perusal ; Doyce receives an 
 appointment as engineer from a foreign power. — XXII. Before leaving 
 England, Clennam gives bim a statement of their business, and Doyce 
 cautions him against speculating; Doyce's departure; Clennam, tmcon- 
 eciously repeating the tune he had heard Blandois sing, is surprised to 
 hear Cavalletto continue it; Cavalletto tells Arthur where he knew 
 Rigaud, and who he was, and Arthur despatches him in search of the 
 missing man. — XXIII. Ai'thur informs his mother what he has heard 
 regarding Blandois ; Arthur secures an opportunity of speaking privately 
 to Affery, who tells him the house is full of mysteries, but will say 
 no more until he bids her "tell her dreams" before his mother and 
 Jeremiah. — XXIY. Mrs. Sparkler passes a long day with her husband ; 
 they receive a call from Mr. Merdle ; who, on leaving, borrows Fanny'g 
 penknife. — XXY. Mr. Merdle is found dead in a bath, having committed 
 suicide with Fanny's knife ; the chief butler gives notice ; Mr. Merdle's 
 "complaint" proves to be forgery and robbery. — XXYI. Clennam finds 
 his firm ruined by the failure of Merdle's Bank, resigns everything into 
 the hands of their creditors, and exonerates Doyce from blame ; Arthur 
 is arrested and taken to the Marshalsea ; young John Chivery conducts 
 him into the old room, but declines to shake hands vdth him. — XXVII. 
 Young John invites Arthur to take tea with him, and opens his eyes in 
 regard to Little Dorrit's feelings for him ; young John composes his 
 final epitaph. — XXYIII. Ferdinand Barnacle calls upon Arthur in prison ; 
 E-ugg calls, but is unable to move Arthur's decision to remain where he 
 is ; Eigaud enters Arthur's room, followed by Cavalletto and Pancks ; 
 Cavalletto relates how he found him ; Rigaud gives his reasons for dis- 
 appearing; he sends a note to Mrs. Clennam, naming a time for the 
 adjustment of their business; Flintwinch comes in person to answer the 
 note. — XXIX. Arthur's health fails in the prison ; Little Dorrit cornea 
 ■ to him, having just returned to London, and heard of his misfortunes ; 
 she offers him all her wealth to free him from embarrassment, but he 
 declines, and requests her to avoid him ; young John brings Little 
 Dorrit's parting-message to Arthur. — XXX. Rigaud, closely followed by 
 Cavalletto and Pancks, keeps his appointment with Clennam and Co. ; 
 Pancks calls upon Affery in Arthur's name to "tell her dreams;" 
 partly by Rigaud relating what he knows, and partly through Affery's 
 " dreams," it is told that Mrs. Clennam is not Arthur's mother ; that he 
 is her husband's child by a woman whom he loved, but was forced by 
 his uncle to give up ; that Mrs. Clennam forced her husband to give up 
 to her the object of his love, whom she also forced to relinquish her 
 child, to be reared as, and believed to be, Mrs. Clennam's own son ; that 
 Mrs. Clennam had suppressed a codicil to Gilbert Clennam's will, by 
 which Little Dorrit would have received two thousand guineas; that 
 Jeremiah had intrusted the papers establishing these facts to his brother's 
 keeping, and that they had fallen into Rigaud's hands ; Rigaud threatens, 
 if his terms for silence are not accepted, to put copies of these papers 
 in Arthur's hands; Mrs. Clennam starts up regardless of her paralytic 
 state, and rushes out of the house, followed by Affery and Jeremiah. — 
 XXXI. Mrs. Clennam's interview with Little Dorrit in the prison ; fall 
 of the old house, burying Blandois in its ruins. — XXXII. Mr. Pancks 
 exposes his patron to the Bleeding Hearts. — XXXIII. Mr. Meagles sets 
 
428 THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 himself to hmiting up the box containing the papers Eigand had stolen ; 
 his interview with Miss Wade, who denies all knowledge of them ; he 
 returns to England unsuccessful, but is followed by Tattycoram, who 
 brings the missing box, and begs to be taken back ; Mr. Meagles starts 
 off again in search of Doyce. — XXXIV. Little Dorrit informs Arthur 
 that her father's property was all lost by Mr. Merdle's failure, and he now 
 will share her fortune with her ; Flora's last act of friendship, and the 
 crowning defiance of " Mr. F.'s Aunt;" Doyce returns with Mr. Meagles, 
 exonerates Arthur, and offers to renew the partnership ; Little Dorrit 
 gives Arthur a folded paper to bumj Arthur and Little Dorrit are 
 married. 
 
A TALE OF TWO CITIES. 
 
 The first portion of this story was published in the first number of " All 
 the Year Round," dated April 30, 1859. It was concluded in No. 31, for 
 November 26, 1859. It was also issued in eight monthly parts, with two 
 illustrations in each, by Hablot K. Browne. On its completion, it was 
 published as an independent volume by Chapman and Hall, and was 
 inscribed to Lord John Russell, " in remembrance of many public services 
 and private kindnesses." 
 
 CHARACTERS INTRODUCED. 
 
 BARSAD, JOHN. See Pboss, Solomon. 
 
 CARTON, SYDNEY. A dissipated, reckless drudge for Mr. 
 Stryver ; a man of good abilities and good emotions, incapable 
 of their directed exercise, incapable of his own help and his 
 own happiness, sensible of the blight on him, and resigning 
 himself to let it eat him away. (Bk. I., ch. ii.-vi., xi, xiii, 
 XX., xxL ; Bk. III., ch. viii., ix., xi., xii., xiii., xv.) 
 
 It had once been noted at the Bar, that while Mr. Stryver was a glib 
 man, and an unscrupulous, and a ready, and a bold, he had not that 
 faculty of extracting the essence from a heap of statements, which is 
 among the most striking and necessary of the advocate's accomplish- 
 ments. But, a remarkable improvement came upon him as to this. The 
 more business he got, the greater his power seemed to grow of getting 
 at its pith and marrow ; and however late at night he sat carousing with 
 
430 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 Sydney Carton, he always had his points at his fingers' ends in the 
 morning. 
 
 Sydney Carton, idlest and most unpromising of men, was Stryver'a 
 great ally. What the two drank together, between Hilary Term and 
 Michaelmas, might have floated a king's ship. Stryver never had a case 
 in hand anywhere, but Carton was there, with his hands in his pockets, 
 staring at the ceiling of the court. They went the same circuit, and 
 even there they prolonged their usual orgies late into the night, and 
 Carton was rumoured to be see.n at broad day, going home stealthily and 
 unsteadily to his lodgings like a dissipated cat. At last it began to get 
 about among such as were interested in the matter, that, although 
 Sydney Carton would never be a lion, ho was an amazingly good jackal, 
 and that he rendered suit and service to Stryver in that humble 
 capacity. 
 
 Cliarles Darnay having been on trial for his life on a charge 
 of treason, and Miss Lucie Manette having been one of the 
 witnesses in the case, Mr. Stryver, who has been the prisoner's 
 counsel, jokes Carton about his manifest interest in the young 
 lady. And although Carton affects to be utterly indifferent to 
 her, and speaks almost contemptuously of her, he is, in fact, 
 fascinated by her beauty, and falls more and more deeply in love 
 with her as he comes to know more of her goodness and purity. 
 Feeling that he is quite unworthy of her, and knowing that she 
 is betrothed to Darnay, he seeks her for the double purpose of 
 declaring his love, and bidding her farewell for ever. 
 
 If Sydney Carton ever shone anywhere, he certainly never shone in 
 the house of Doctor Manette. He had been there often, during a whole 
 year, and had always been the same moody and morose lounger there. 
 When he cared to talk, he talked well ; but, the cloud of caring for 
 nothing, which overshadowed, him with such a fatal darkness, was very 
 rarely pierced by the light within him. . . . 
 
 On a day in August, . . . Sydney's feet . . . became animated by 
 an intention, and, in the working out of that intention, they took him to 
 the Doctor's door. 
 
 He was shown upstairs, and found Lucie at her work, alone. She had 
 never been quite at her ease with him, and received hira with some little 
 embarrassment as he seated himself near her table. But, looking up at 
 his face in the interchange of the first few common-places, she observed 
 a change in it. 
 
 " I fear you are not well, Mr. Carton ! '* 
 
 " No. Eut the life I lead, Miss Manette, is not condacivo to health. 
 What is to be expected of, or by, such profligates ? " 
 
 *' Is it not — forgive me j I have begun the questioa on my lips — a 
 pity to live no better life ? " 
 
 " God knows it is a shame ! " 
 
 " Then why not change it ? " 
 
 Looking gently at him again, she was surprised and saddened to see 
 that there were tears in Mb eyes. There were tears in his voice, too, aa 
 he answered ; 
 
 " It is too late for that. I shall nasTor be better than I am, I shall 
 eink lower, and be worse." 
 
A TALS OF TWO CITIES. 4BI 
 
 Ee leaned an elbow on her table, and covered his eyes with his hand. 
 The table trembled in the silence that followed. 
 
 She had never seen him softened, and was much distressed. He knew 
 her to be so, without looking at her, and said : 
 
 *' Pray forgive me, Miss Manette. I break down before the knowledge 
 of what I want to say to you. Will you hear me ? " 
 
 " If it will do you any good, Mr. Carton, if it would make you happier 
 it would make me very glad ! " 
 
 " God bless you for your sweet compassion ! " 
 
 He unshaded his face after a little while, and spoke steadily. 
 
 " Don't be afraid to hear me. Don't shrink from anything I say. I 
 am like one who died yoang. All my life might have been." 
 
 ** No, Mr. Carton. I am sure that the best part of it might still be ; 
 I am sure that you might be much, much worthier of yourself." 
 
 " Say of you. Miss Manette, and although I know better — although in 
 the mystery of my own wretched heart I know better — I shall never 
 forget it I " 
 
 She was pale and trembling. He came to her relief with a fixed 
 despair of himself which made the interview unlike any other that could 
 have been holden. 
 
 " If it had been possible. Miss Manette, that you could have returned 
 the love of the man you see before you — self -flung away, wasted, drunken, 
 poor creature of misuse as you know him to be — he would have been 
 conscious this day and hour, in spite of his happiness, that he would bring 
 you to misery, bring you to sorrow and repentance, blight you, disgrace 
 you, pull you down with him. I know very well that you can have no 
 tenderness for me ; I ask for none j I am even thankful that it cannot 
 be." 
 
 " Without it, can I not save you, Mr. Carton ? Can I not recall you 
 — forgive me again ! — to a better course ? Can I in no way repay your 
 confidence ? I know this is a confidence," she modestly said, after a 
 little hesitation, and in earnest tears, *' I know you would say this to no 
 one else. Can I turn it to no good account for yourself, Mr. Carton ? " 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 ** To none. No, Miss Manette, to none. If you will hear me through 
 a very little more, all you can ever do for me is done. I wish you to 
 know that you have been the last dream of my soul. In my degradation 
 I have not been so degraded but that the sight of you with your father, 
 and of this home made such a home by you, has stirred old shadows that 
 I thought had died out of me. Since I knew you, I have been troubled 
 by a remorse that I thought would never reproach me again, and have 
 heard whispers from old voices, impelling me upward, that I though c 
 were silent for ever. I have had unformed ideas of striving afresh, be- 
 ginning anew, shaking oS sloth and sensuality, and fighting out the 
 abandoned fight. A dream, all a dream, that ends in nothing, and leaves 
 the sleeper where he lay down, but I wish you to know that you inspired 
 it." 
 
 " Will nothing of it remain ? Oh, Mr. Carton, think again ! Try 
 again ! " 
 
 " No, Miss Manette ; all through it, I have known myself to be quite 
 nndeserving. And yet I have had the weakness, and have still the 
 weakness, to wish you to know with what a sudden mastery you kindled 
 me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire — a fire, however, inseparable in its 
 nature from myself, quickening nothing, lighting nothing, doing no 
 service, idly burning away. . . . Let me cai'ry through the rest of my 
 
4S2 THE DICKENS DlCTiOJTAliY. 
 
 misdirected life, the remembrance that I opened my heart to you, laSt of 
 all the world ; and that there was something left in me at this time which 
 you could deplore and pity." 
 
 " Which I entreated you to believe, again and again, most fervently, 
 with all my heat, w as capable of better things, Mr. Carton ! " 
 
 " Entreat me to believe it no more, Miss Manette. I have proved 
 myself, and I know better. I distress you ; I draw fast to an end. Will 
 you let me believe, when I recall this day, that the last confidence of my 
 life was reposed in your pure and innocent breast, and that it lies there 
 alone, and will be shared by no one ? " 
 
 ** If that will be a consolation to you, yes." 
 
 " Not even by the dearest one ever to be known to you ? " 
 
 " Mr. Carton," she answered, after an agitated pause, " the sscret is 
 yours, not mine ; and I promise to respect it." 
 
 " Thank you. And again, God bless you." 
 
 He put her hand to his lips, and moved towards the door. . • . 
 
 " My last supplication of all, is this ; and with it, I will relieve yon of 
 a visitor with whom I well know you have nothing in unison, and between 
 whom and you there is an impassable space. It is useless to say it, I 
 know, but it rises out of my soul. For you, and for any dear to you, I 
 would do anything. If my career were of that better kind that there 
 was any opportunity or capacity of sacrifice in it, I would embrace any 
 sacrifice for you and for those dear to you. Try to hold me in your 
 mind, at some quiet times, as ardent and sincere in this one thing. The 
 time will come, the time will not be long in coming, when new ties will 
 be formed about you — ties that will bind you yet more tenderly and 
 strongly to the home you so adorn — the dearest ties that will ever grace 
 and gladden you. Miss Manette, when the little picture of a happy 
 father's face looks up in yours, when you see your own bright beauty 
 springing up anew at your feet, think now and then that there is a man 
 who would give his life, to keep a life you love beside you I " 
 
 The words are prophetic. Her husband, Darnay, having 
 been summoned to Paris, and on his arrival arrested, thrown 
 into prison, and condemned to death, is rescued by Carton, who 
 greatly resembles him, and who takes his place and dies in his 
 stead, having faithfully promised one of the officers of the prison 
 that he will protect him from punishment for his compHcity in 
 Damay's escape by submitting to be guillotined without reveal- 
 ing the fraud. Darnay (called in Paris Evremonde) is drugged, 
 and rendered insensible, as he cannot otherwise be made a 
 party to the escape ; and he is then removed, dressed in Carton's 
 clothes, to a carriage, the suspicions of the guard having been 
 lulled by telling them that the prisoner's visitor has been over- 
 come by parting from his friend. 
 
 The door closed, and Carton was left alone. Straining his powers of 
 listening to the utmost, he listened for any sound that might denote 
 suspicion or alarm. There was none. . . . Breathing more freely in a 
 little while, he sat down at the table, and listened again until the clock 
 Btruck Two. 
 
 Sounds that he was not afraid of, for he divined their meaning, then 
 began to be audible. Several doors were opened in succession, and 
 
A TALE OF TWO CITIES. 433 
 
 finally Lis own. A gaoler, with a list in liis hand, looked in, merely 
 saying, " Follow me, Evremonde ! " and he followed into a large dark 
 room, at a distance. It was a dark winter day, and what with the 
 shadows within, and what with the shadows without, he could but dimly 
 discern the others who were brought there to have their arms bound. 
 Some were standing : some seated. Some were lamenting, and in rest- 
 less motion ; but these were few. The great majority were silent and 
 still, looking fixedly at the ground. 
 
 * 4«: « • • • 9 
 
 Along the Paris streets, the death-carts rumble, hollow and harsh. 
 Six tumbrils carry the day's wine to La Guillotine. . . . 
 
 As the sombre wheels ... go round, they seem to plough up a long 
 crooked furrow among the populace in the streets. Kidges of faces are 
 thrown to this side and to that, and the ploughs go steadily onward. So 
 used are the regular inhabitants of the houses to the spectacle, that in 
 many windows there are no people, and in some the occupation of the 
 hands is not so much as suspended, while the eyes survey the faces in 
 the tumbrils. . . . 
 
 Of the riders in the tumbrils, some observe these things, and all 
 things on their last roadside, with an impassive stare ; others, with a 
 lingering interest in the ways of life and men. Some, seated with 
 drooping heads, are sunk in silent despair ; again, there are some so 
 heedful of their looks that they cast upon the multitude such glances as 
 they have seen in theatres, and in pictures. Several close their eyes, 
 and think, or try to get their straying thoughts together. Only one, and 
 he a miserable creature, of a crazed aspect, is so shattered and made 
 drunk by horror, that he sings, and tries to dance. Not one of the whole 
 number appeals by look or gesture, to the pity of the people. 
 
 There is a guard of sundry horsemen riding abreast of the tumbrils, 
 and faces are often turned up to some of them, and they are asked some 
 question. It would seem to be always the same question, for, it is always 
 followed by a press of people towards the third cart. The horsemen 
 abreast of that cart, frequently point out one man in it with their swords. 
 The leading curiosity is, to know which is he ; he stands at the back of 
 the tumbril with his head bent down . . . He has no curiosity or care 
 for the scene about him . . , Here and there in the long street of 
 St. Honore, cries are raised against him. If they move him at all, it is 
 only to a quiet smile, as he shakes his hair a little more loosely about his 
 face. He cannot easily touch his face, his arms being bound. 
 
 On the steps of a church, awaiting the coming.up of the tumbrils, 
 stands the Spy and prison-sheep. He looks into the first of them ; 
 not there. He looks into the second ; not there. He already asks him - 
 self, " Has he sacrificed me ? " when his face clears, as he looks' into the 
 third. 
 
 ** Which is Evremonde ? " says a man behind him. 
 
 " That. At the back there.'* 
 
 " With his hand in the girl's ? " 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 The man cries, "Down, Evremonde 1 To the Guillotine all aristocni.ts i 
 Down, Evremonde!" 
 
 " Hush, hush! " the Spy entreats him, timidly. 
 
 " And why not, citizen ? " 
 
 " He is going to pay the forfeit 3 it will be paid in five minutes mo£^ 
 Let him be at peace/* 
 
 27 
 
434. THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 But; the man contimaing to exclaim, " Down, Evrenionde ! " the face 
 of Evremonde is for a moment turned towards him. Evremonde then 
 sees the Spy, and looks attentively at him, and goes his way. . . . 
 
 The murmuring of many voices, the upturning of many faces, the 
 pressing on of many footsteps in the outskirts of the crowd, so that it 
 swells forward in a mass, like one great heave of water, all flashes 
 away. 
 
 CLY, ROGER. An Old Bailey spy, partner of Solomon Press, 
 and formerly servant to Charles Darnay. (Bk. II., ch.. iii., 
 xiv. j Bk. III., ch. viii., xy.) 
 
 CRUNCHER, JERRY. An odd-job-man at TeUson's Bank, 
 in London, wlio is also a resurrection-man. His wife, a pious 
 woman, is greatly distressed by her knowledge of the horrible 
 nature of his nightly occupation ; and, as her remonstrances 
 prove to be unavailing, she resorts to prayers and supplications 
 to Heaven to aid her in the reformation of her husband. 
 This is very distasteful to ]\Ir. Cruncher — so much so, indeed, 
 that he sometimes resorts to violence to prevent it. 
 
 Mr. Cruncher reposed under a patchwork counterpane, like a 
 Harlequin at home. At first he slept heavily, but, by degrees, began 
 to roll and surge in bed, until he rose above the surface, with his 
 spiky hair looking as if it must tear the sheets to ribbons. At which 
 juncture, he exclaimed, in a voice of dire exasperation : 
 
 " Bust me, if she ain't at it agin ! " 
 
 A woman of orderly and industrious appearance rose from her 
 knees in a comer, with sufficient haste and trepidation to show that 
 she was the person referred to. 
 
 "What!" said Mr. Cruncher, looking out of bed for a boot, 
 " You're at it agin, are you ? " 
 
 After hailing the morn with this second salutation, he threw a boot 
 at the woman as a third. It was a very muddy boot, and may intro- 
 duce the odd circumstance connected with Mr. Cruncher's domestic 
 economy, that, whereas, he often came home after banking hours 
 with clean boots, he often got up next morning to find the same 
 boots covered with clay. 
 
 " What,'* said Mr. Cruncher, varying his apostrophe after missing 
 his mark — " what are you up to, Aggerawayter ? " • 
 
 " I was only saying my prayers." 
 
 " Saying your prayers ! You're a nice woman ! Wliat do you 
 mean by flopping yourself down and praying agin me ? " 
 
 *' I was not praying against you j I was praying f Qr you." 
 
 *' You weren't. And if you were, I won't be took the Kberty with. 
 Here ! your mother's a nice woman, young Jerry, going a praying agiu 
 your father's prosperity. You've got a dutiful mother, you have, my 
 son. You've got a religious mother, you have, my boy: going ami 
 flopping herself down, and praying that the bread-and-butter may ba 
 snatched out of the mouth of her only child." 
 
 Master Cruncher (who was in his shirt) took this very ill, and, 
 turning to his mother, strongly deprecated any praying away of his 
 personal board. 
 
A TALE OF TWO CITIES. 435 
 
 " And what do you suppose, you conceited Tenialo," aaid Mr. Omncher, 
 with uuconscioQS inconsistency, " that the worth of yov/r prayers may 
 be ? Name the price that you put your prayers at ! " 
 
 " They only come from the heart, Jerry. They are worth no moi-e 
 than that." 
 
 " Worth no more than that," repeated Mr. Cruncher. " They ain't 
 worth much, then. Whether or no, I won't be prayed agin, I tell you. 
 I can't afford it. I'm not a going to be made unlucky by your sneaking. 
 If you must go flopping yourself down, flop in favour of your husband 
 and child, and not in opposition to 'em. If I had had any but a uuuat'ral 
 wife, and this poor boy had had any but a unnat'ral mother, 1 might 
 have made some money last week instead of being counterprayed and 
 countermined and religiously circumwented into the worst of luck., 
 B-u-u-ust me!" said Mr. Cruncher, who all this time had been putting 
 on his clothes, " if I ain't, what with piety and one blowed thing ami 
 another, been choused this last week into as bad luck as ever a poor 
 devil of a honest tradesman met with ! Young Jerry, dress yourselt, 
 my boy, and while I clean my boots keep a eye upon your mother now 
 and then, and if you see any signs of more flopping, give me a call. For, 
 I tell you," here he addressed his wife once more, " I won't be gone agin, 
 in this manner. I am as rickety as a hackney-coach, I'm as sleepy as 
 laudanum, my lines is strained to that degree that I shouldn't know, if 
 it wasn't for the pain in 'em, which was me and which somebody else, yet, 
 I'm none the better for it in pocket ; and it's my suKpicion that you've 
 been at it from morning to night to prevent me from being the better 
 for it in pocket, and I won't put up with it, Aggerawayter, and what do 
 you say now ? " . . . Mr. Cruncher betook himself to his bcjot-cleaning 
 and his general preparation for business. In the meantime, his son . . . 
 kept the required watch upon his mother. lie greatly disturbed that 
 poor woman at intervals, by darting out of his sleeping-closet, where ho 
 made his toilet, with a suppressed cry of " You are going to flop, mother. 
 — Halloa, father!" and, after raising this fictitious alarm, darting in 
 again with an un dutiful grin. 
 
 Mr. Cruncher's temper wag not at all improved when he came to his 
 breakfast. He resented Mi-s. Cruncher's saying grace with particular 
 animosity. 
 
 " Now, Aggerawayter ! What are you up to ? At it agin ? " 
 
 His wife explained that she had merely " asked a blessing." 
 
 " Don't do it I " said Mr. Cruncher, looking about, as if he rather 
 expected to see the loaf disappear under tlie efficacy of his wife's 
 petitions. *' I ain't a going to be blest out of house and home. I won't 
 have my wittles blest off my table. Keep still ! " 
 
 Participating in tlie liorrors of tlie outbreak in Paris, whither 
 he has gone in company with Mr. Long, Jerry is so impressed 
 ^7ith the uncertainty of human life, that he resolves to reform ; 
 and he communicates his resolution to ]\Iiss Pross in this 
 Vf ise : 
 
 " Would you do me the favour, miss, to take notice o' two promises 
 And wows wot it is my wishes fur to record in this here crisis ? " 
 
 *' Oh, for gracious sake ! " cried Miss Pross, still wildly crying, 
 " record them at once, and get them out of the way, like an excellent 
 man." 
 
 2 V 2 
 
436 THE DICKERS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 " First," said Mr. Crtmclier, who was all in a tremble, and who 
 spoke with an ashy and solemn visage, " them poor things well ont o' 
 this, never no more will I do it, never no more ! " 
 
 " I am quite sure, Mr. Cmncher," retm-ned Miss Pross, " that you 
 never will do it again, whatever it is, and I beg you not to think it 
 necessary to mention more particularly what it is." 
 
 " No, miss," returned Jerry, " it shall not be named to you. Second : 
 them poor things well out o* this, and never no more will I interfere 
 with Mrs. Cruncher's flopping, never no more ! " 
 
 " "Whatever housekeeping arrangement that may be," said Miss 
 Pross, striving to dry her eyes and compose herself, " I have no doubt 
 it is iDest that Mrs. Cmncher should have it entirely under her own 
 superintendence. — my poor darlings ! " 
 
 " I go so far as to say, miss, morehover," proceeded Mr, Cruncher, 
 with a most alarming tendency to hold forth as from a pulpit — " and 
 let my words be took down and took to Mrs. Cruncher through your- 
 self — that wot my opinions respectin' flopping has undergone a 
 change, and that wot I only hope with all my heart as Mrs. Cruncher 
 may be a flopping at the present time." 
 
 " There, there, there ! I hope she is, my dear man," cried the 
 distracted Miss Pross, " and I hope she finds it answering her ex- 
 pectations." 
 
 (Bk. L, ch. ii., iii. ; Bk. II., ck i.-iii., vi., xiv., xxiv.; 
 Bk. III., ch. vii.-ix., xiv.) 
 CRUNCHER, YOUNG JERRY, His son and assistant. 
 (Bk. II., ch. i., ii., xiv. ; Bk. III., ch. ix.) 
 
 Young Jerry, while yet a mere boy, and not in the secret 
 of his father's night-excursions, forms an idea of the nature 
 of the business. 
 
 " Father," said Young Jerry, as they walked along — taking care to 
 keep at arm's length and to have the stool well between them — " what's 
 a Resurrection-Man ? " 
 
 Mr. Cruncher came to a stop on the pavement before he answered, 
 ** How should I know ? " 
 
 " I thought you knowed everything, father," said the artless boy. 
 
 *' Hem ! Well," returned Mr. Cruncher, going on again, ..." he's 
 , a tradesman." 
 
 " What's his goods, father ? " asked the brisk Young Jerry. 
 
 ** His goods," said Mr. Cruncher, after turning it over in his mind, 
 " is a branch of Scientific goods." 
 
 " Persons' bodies, ain't it, father ? " asked the lively boy. 
 
 ** I believe it is something of that sort," said Mr. Cmncber. 
 
 "Oh, father, I should so like to be a Eesurrection-Man when I'm 
 quite growed up ! " 
 
 Mr. Cruncher was soothed, but shook his head in a dubious and 
 moral way. "It depends upon how you dewelop your talents. Ee 
 careful to dewelop your talemts, and ne\ er to say no more than you 
 can help to nobody, and there's no telling at the present time what you 
 may not come to be fit for." As Young Jerry, thus encouraged, went 
 on a few yards in advice, to plant the stool in the shadow of the Bar, 
 Mr. Cruncher added to himself, " Jerry, you honest tradesman, there's 
 hopes wot that boy will yet be a blessing to you, and a recompense to 
 you for his mother] " 
 
A TALE OF TWO CITIES. 437 
 
 CRUNCHER, MRS. Wife of Jerry Cruncher; caUed by him 
 " Aggerawayter." (Bk. II., ch. 1., ii., xiv. ; Bk. III., ch. ix., 
 xiv.) See Cruncher, Jerry. 
 
 D ARRAY, CHARLES. See St. Evr^monde, Charles. 
 
 DARN AT, MRS. LUCIE. See Manetts, Lucie. 
 
 DEFARGE, MADAME THERESE. Wife of Monsieur 
 Defarge, and leader of the Saint Antoine rabble of women in 
 the Eevolution. She is a weU-made woman, with a watchful eye 
 that seldom seems to look at anything, a steady face, strong 
 features, and great composure of manner. She is killed in an 
 encounter with Miss Manette's maid. Miss Pross, who refuses 
 to admit her into a room in which her mistress is supposed to 
 be. (Bk. L, ch. v., vi. ; Bk. II., ch. vii., xv., xvi., xxi., xxii. j 
 Bk. III., ch. iii., v., vi., viii.-x., xii., xiv., xv.) 
 
 Of a strong and fearless character, of slirewd sense and readiness, 
 of great determination, of that kind of beauty which not only seems 
 to impart to its possessor firmness and animosity, but to strike into 
 others an instinctive recognition of those qualities ; the troubled time 
 would have heaved her up, under any circumstances. But, imbued 
 from her childhood with a brooding sense of wrong, and an inveterate 
 hatred of a class, opportunity had developed her into a tigress. She 
 was absolutely without pity. If she had ever had the virtue in her, it 
 bad quite gone out of her. 
 
 DEFARGE, MONSIEUR ERNEST, Keeper of a wine-shop 
 in the suburb of Saint Antoine, in Paris, and ringleader of 
 the revolutionists in that quarter of the city. At his house. 
 Doctor Manette is temporarily placed after being released from 
 the Bastille ; and it is he who finds the record which the old 
 man had written and secreted in the prison, and who produces 
 it in court against Darnay. (Bk. I., ch. v., vi ; Bk. II., ch. 
 vii., XV., xvi., xxi., xxii; Bk. III., ch. i, iii., vi., ix., x., xii., 
 xiv., XV.) 
 
 This wine-shop keeper was a bull-necked, martial-looking man of 
 thirty, and he should have been of a hot temperament, for, although 
 it was a bitter day, he wore no coat, but carried one slung over his 
 shoulder. His shirt-sleeves were rolled up, too, and his brown arms 
 were bare to the elbows. Neither did he wear anything more on his 
 head than his own crisply-curling short dark hair. He was a dark 
 man altogether, with good eyes and a good bold breadth between them. 
 Good-humoured-looking on the whole, but implacable-looking, too; 
 evidently a man of a strong resolution and a set purpose ; a man noo 
 desirable to be met, rushing down a narrow pass with a gulf on either 
 side, for nothing would turn the man. 
 
 EVREMONDE, CHARLES. See St. Evr^monde, Charles. 
 GABELLE, MONSIEUR THEOPHILE. A postmaster 
 
 and some kind of taxing functionary united, (Bk, it, ch. viii., 
 
 ix., xxiii., xxiv. ; Bk. III., ch. i, vi) 
 
438 THE DICKENS DICTIONAET. 
 
 GASPARD. Assassin of the Marquis St. Evr^monde. (Bk. I., 
 ch. V. ; Bk. II., ch. vii., xv., xd.) 
 
 JACQUEB ONE. A prominent assistant of Defarge in tlie 
 French Revolution. (Bk. I., ch. v. ; Bk. II., ch. xv., xxi., 
 xxiii.) 
 
 JACQUES TWO. Another revohitionist, -who is also an 
 assistant of Defarge. (Bk. I., ch. v. ; Bk. IL, ch. xv., xxi., 
 xxiii.) 
 
 JACQUES THREE. An associate of Defarge, and a memher 
 of the revolutionary jury ; a cannibal-looking, bloody-minded 
 man. (Bk. I., ch. v. ; Bk. IL, ch. xv., xxi. -xxiii. ; Bk. III., 
 ch. xii., xiv.) 
 
 JACQUES FOUR. A name given to himself by Monsieur 
 Defarge as one of the Saint Antoine revolutionists. See 
 Defarge, Monsieur Ernest. 
 
 JACQUES FIVE. An associate of Defarge; a mender of 
 roads, afterwards a wood-sawyer. (Bk. IL, ch. viii., ix., xv., 
 xvi., xxiii.; Bk. III., ch. v., ix., xiv., xv.) 
 
 JOE. A coachman. (Bk. L, ch. ii.) 
 
 LORRYy MR. JARVIS. A confidential clerk at the banking 
 liouse of Tellson and Company, in London. He is a friend of 
 the Manettes, and their companion during the terrible scenes 
 of the Revolution in Paris. (Bk. L, ch. ii.-vi. ; Bk. IL, 
 cli. ii.-iv., vi., xii., xvi. -xxi., xxiv. j Bk. III., ch. ii.-vi., viii, 
 ix,, xi.-xiii., xv.) 
 
 Very orderly and methodical he looked, with a hand on each knee, 
 and a loud watch ticking a sonorous sermon under his flapped waist- 
 coat, as though it pitted its gravity and longe\'ity against the levity 
 and evanescence of the brisk fire. He had a good leg, and was a 
 little vain of it, for hia brovm stockiugs fitted sleek and close, and 
 were of a fine texture ; his shoes and buckles, too, though plain were 
 trim. He wore an odd little sleek crisp flaxen wig, setting very close 
 to his head : which wig, it is to be presumed, was made of hair, but 
 which looked far more as though it were spun from filaments of silk 
 or glass. His linen, though not of a fineness in accordance with his 
 stockings, was as white as the tops of the waves that broke upon the 
 neighbouring beach, or the specks of sail that glinted in the sunlight 
 far at sea. A face habitually suppressed and quieted, was still lighted 
 up under the quaint wig by a pair of moist bright eyes that it must 
 have cost their owner, in years gone by, some pains to drill to the 
 composed and reserved expression of Tellson' s Bank. He had a 
 healthy colour in his cheeks, and his face, though lined, bore few 
 traces of anxiety. But, perhaps the confidential bachelor clerks in 
 Tellson's Bank were principally occupied with the cares of other 
 people; and perhaps second-hand cares, like second-hand clothes, 
 oome easily off and on. 
 
A TALE OF TWO CITIES. 439 
 
 MANETTE, DOCTOR ALEXANDER. A physician of 
 Paris, confined for eigliteen years in the Bastille, because, in 
 his professional capacity he had become acquainted with the 
 secret crimes of a noble family. Eeleased just before the out- 
 break of the Eevolution, he goes to England, whither his wife 
 and daughter had preceded him, and where the former had 
 died. Eestored to his child, who nurses him with tender 
 solicitude, he gradually recovers the use of his faculties, which 
 had become greatly impaired during his long imprisonment. 
 About this time a young French nobleman, disgusted with 
 the tyranny of the class to which he belongs, renounces hi? 
 title and fortune, expatriates himself, and settles in England, 
 where he passes under the name of Charles Darnay. He there 
 becomes acquainted with and marries the daughter of Doctor 
 Manette. Having been summoned back to Paris at the out- 
 break of the Eevolution, to release from prison, by his testi- 
 mony, an old and faithful servant of his family, he is himself 
 thrown into La Force immediately upon his arrival, as a pro- 
 scribed emigrant. His wife and her father follow him, how- 
 ever, and Doctor Manette, whose popularity is very high, 
 succeeds in securing his acquittal. Yet in a few days he is 
 re-accused and re-arrested, the charge against him being that 
 he is aristocrat, one of a family of tyrants, denounced enemies 
 of the Eepublic ; and the evidence against liim is a paper 
 written by Doctor Manette, when a prisoner in the Bastille, 
 and secreted by him in a hole in the chimney of his celL 
 This document, which had been discovered at the capture of 
 the prison, recites the story of the good doctor's sufferings, 
 details the abominable iniquities of the St. Evremonde family 
 (to which Darnay belongs), and ends by denouncing them 
 and their descendants, to the last of the race, to the times 
 when all such things shall be answered for. Darnay is con- 
 demned to death ; but, through the heroic self-devotion of 
 Sydney Carton, he is saved from such a fate, and is taken to 
 England by his wife and her father, where they all lead a 
 peaceful, prosperous, and happy life, and pass at last to a 
 tranquil death. (Bk. I., eh. ii.-vi.; Bk. II., eh. ii.-iv., vi, 
 ix., X., xii., xiii., xvi.-xxi., xxiv. ; Bk. III., eh. ii-vii, 
 ix.-xii., xiv., xv.) 
 
 MANETTE, LUCIE. His daughter; afterwards the wife of 
 Charles Darnay. (Bk. I., ch. i^-.-vi. ; Bk. IL, ch- ii.-vi,, 
 ix.-xui, xvi.-xxi., xxiv.; Ek, III., ch. iii.-vii., ix.-xii, xiv,, 
 
 XV.) 
 
 A yotmg lady of ... a short, slight, pretty fignro, a quantity of 
 g-olden hair, e^ pair of blue eyes . . . and a forehead Trith a singular 
 
440 THE DICKENS DICTIOXARY. 
 
 capacity" (remembering how young and smooth it was) of lifting and 
 knitting itself into an expression that was not quite one of perplexity, 
 or wonder, or alarm, or merely of a bright fixed attention, though it 
 included all the four expressions. 
 
 PBOSS, MISS. Miss Lucie Manette's maid ; sister of Solomon 
 Pross. She is a grim, TTild-looking woman, with, red face and 
 hair, brawny arms, abrupt manners, and singular habits : yet — 
 
 Beneath the surface of her eccentricity, one of those unselfish 
 creatures — ^found only among women — who will, for pure love and 
 admiration, bind themselves willing slaves, to youth, when they have 
 lost it, to beauty that they never had, to accomplishments that they 
 were never fortunate enough to gain, to bright hopes that never shone 
 upon their own sombre lives. 
 
 When the Manettes escape from Paris, Miss Pross remains 
 behind to conceal their flight, and, in trying to do so, gets 
 involved in a hand-to-hand conflict with Madame Defarge, a 
 ruthless and desperate woman, who is on their track. In the 
 struggle, Madame Defarge draws a pistol and attempts to shoot 
 her antagonist ; but Miss Pross strikes it at the moment of 
 firing, and the charge takes efi'ect on the Frenchwoman, killing 
 her instantly. Miss Pross hurries from the house, closely 
 veiled ; takes a carriage which has been in waiting for her, and 
 succeeds in escaping safely to England. (Bk. I., ch. iv. ; 
 Bk. II., ch. vi., X., xvii.-xix., xxi ; Bk. III., ch. ii., iii., vii., 
 viiL, xiv.) 
 
 PROSS, SOLOMON, called also " John Barsad." A heartless 
 scoundrel, who strips his sister of everything she possesses, 
 as a stake to speculate with, and then abandons her in her 
 poverty to support herself as she can. He becomes a spy 
 and secret informer in the service of the English Govern- 
 ment, and afterwards a turnkey in the Conciergerie in Paris. 
 (Bk. I., ch. iii., vi.; Bk. II., ch. xvi ; Bk. HL, ch. viii., ix., 
 xi., xiii.-xv.) 
 
 ST. EVREMONDE, MARQUIS. Uncle of Charles Darnay ; 
 twin brother, joint inheritor, and next successor of the elder 
 marquis. (Bk. IL, ch. vii-ix. ; Bk. III., ch. x.) 
 
 He was a man of about sixty, handsomely dressed, haughty in 
 manner, and with a face like a fine mask. A face of a transparent 
 paleness j every feature in it clearly defined ; one set expression on 
 it. The nose, beautifully formed otherwise, was very slightly pinched 
 at the top of each nostril. In those two compressions, or dints, the 
 only little change that the face ever showed, resided. They persisted 
 in changing colour sometimes, and they would be occasionally dilated 
 and contracted by something like a faint pulsation ; then, they gave a 
 look of treachery, and cruelty, to the whole countenance. Examined 
 with btWfltioa, its capacity of helping such a look was to be found in 
 
A TALE OF TWO CITIES. 441 
 
 the line of the mouth, and the lines of the orbits of the eyes, being 
 much too horizontal and thin ; still, in the effect the face made, it was 
 a handsome face, and a remarkable one. 
 
 ST. EVREMONDE, MARQUIS. Twin brother of the 
 
 younger marquis, and father of Charles Darnay. (Bk. III., 
 
 ch. X.) 
 ST. EVREMONDE, MARQUISE. His wife; a young lady, 
 
 handsome, engaging, and good, but not happy in her marriage. 
 
 (Bk. III., ch. X.) 
 
 ST. EVREMONDE, CHARLES, called " CRABLm Darnay." 
 His son ; a Trench emigre, afterwards married to Lucie 
 Manette. (Bk. II., ch. ii.-vi., ix., x., xvi-xviii., xx., xxi., 
 xxiv. ; Bk. III., ch. i.-vii., ix.-xv.) See Manette, Doctor 
 Alexander. 
 
 ST. EVREMONDE, LUCIE. His daughter. (Bk. II., ch. xxi. ; 
 Bk. JII., ch. ii., iii., v.-vii., xi., xiii., xiv.) 
 
 STRYVER, MIL A London barrister; counsel for Charles 
 Darnay, and patron of Sydney Carton. (Bk. XL, ch. il-v., 
 xi., xxi, xxiv.) See Carton, Sydney. 
 
 A man of little more than thirty, but looking twenty years older 
 than he was, stout, loud, red, bluff, and free from any drawback of 
 delicacy, had a pushing way of shouldering himself (morally and 
 physically) into companies and conversations, that argued well for his 
 shouldering his way up in life. 
 
 TELLSON AND COMPANY. An old and eminent banking 
 firm in London. (Bk. L, ch. iii., iv. ; Bk. IL, ch. i, iii., vii., 
 ix.) 
 
 TeUson's Bank by Temple Bar was an old-fashioned place, even in 
 the year one thousand seven hundred and eighty. It was very small, 
 very dark, very ngly, very incommodious. It was an old-fashioned 
 place, moreover, in the moral attribute that the partners in the House 
 were proud of its smallness, proud of its darkness, proud of its ugli- 
 ness, proud of its inconamodiousness. They were even boastful of its 
 eminence in those particulars, and were fired by an express conviction 
 that, if it were less objectionable, it would be less respectable. This 
 was no passive belief, but an active weapon which they flashed at 
 more convenient places of business. Tellson's (they said) wanted no 
 elbow-room, Tellson's wanted no light, Tellson's wanted no embellish, 
 ment. Noakes and Co.'s might, or Snooks Brothers' might; but 
 TeUson's, thank Heaven ! . . . 
 
 After bursting open a door of idiotic obstinacy with a weak rattle 
 in its throat, yon fell into Tellson's down two steps, and came to your 
 eenses in a miserable little shop, with two little counters, where the 
 oldest of men made your cheque shake as if the wind rustled it, 
 while they examined the signature by the dingiest of windows, which 
 i^ere always under a shower-bath of mud from Fleet Street, and 
 
442 THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 which were made the dingier by their own iron bars proper, aad the 
 heavy shadow of Temple Bar. If your business necessitated your 
 seeing " the House," you were put into a species of Condemned Hold 
 at the back, where you. meditated on a misspent life, until the House 
 came with its hands in its pockets, and you could hardly blink at it in 
 the dismal twilight. Your money came out of, or went into, wormy 
 old wooden drawers, particles of which flew up your nose and down 
 your, throat when they were opened and shut. Your bank-notes had a 
 musty odour, as if they were' fast decomposing into rags again. Your 
 plate was stowed away among the neighbouring cesspools, and evil 
 communications corrupted its good polish in a day or two. Your 
 deeds got into extemporised strong rooms made of kitchens and 
 BCuUeries, and fretted all the fat out of their parchments into the 
 banking-house air. 
 
 TOM. Coacliman of the Dover mail. (Bk. L, ch. ii.) 
 YENGEANQE, THE. One of tlie leading Eevolutionists 
 among the Saint Antoine women; lieutenant to Madame 
 Defarge. (Ek. II, cL xsii, ; Ek. III., ck ix., sii., xiv., xv.) 
 
 PRINCIPAL INCIDENTS. 
 
 BOOK I. — Chapter I. Social condition of England and Fiance in 
 1775. — II. The Dover Mail climbing Shooter's Hill; a messenger over- 
 takes it with a despatch for Mr. Jarvis Lorry ; he receives a very 
 singular message to carry back ; his perplexity over it. — III. Mr. Lorry's 
 dream as he rode through the night. — IV. How he looked, and what he 
 did at The Eoyal George, at Dover; Miss Manette comes; he tells 
 her, as "a matter of business," that her father, whom she supposed 
 dead, has been imprisoned many years, but is now free at Paris ; she is 
 stunned by the intelligence. — ^V. A wine-cask bursts in Saint Antoine^, 
 and a crowd try to secure the wine ; Defarge, the wine-shop keeper, 
 leads Mr. Lorry and Miss Manette to the garret where her father 
 is making shoes. — Yl. Doctor Manette's appearance and voice; how 
 he came to understand shoemaking ; Lucie tries to recall to his mind 
 long-forgotten incidents ; they take him from the garret, and out of 
 France. 
 
 BOOK XL — Chapter I. Tellson's Bank a triumph of inconveniftnce j 
 Jerry Cruncher at home ; is greatly disturbed by Mrs. Cruncher's 
 *' flopping;" with young Jerry goes to his station near Tellson's, and 
 ©hews straws till called to go on an errand. — II. He is sent to the Old 
 Bailey, where Charles Darnay is put on trial for treason. — III. Tho 
 attorney-general's speech ; testimony of John Barsad and Eoger Cly, of 
 Mr. Lorry, of Miss Manette, of Doctor Manette; strange likeness of 
 Sydney Carton, the barrister, to the prisoner ; Darnay is acquitted. — . 
 IV. Receives his friends' congratulations; Carton and Darnay dine 
 together. — Y. Strrver as lion, and Qwctan as jackal; Carton "works 
 
A TALE OF TWO CITIES. 443 
 
 np" two cases for Stiyver. — TI. Doctor Manette's tonse near Soho 
 Square; Mr. Lony goes there one fine Sunday; talks with Miss 
 Pross ; the doctor and Lucie come home ; Mr. Camay calls, and tells 
 of a carious fact he heard while confined in the Tower, by which the 
 doctor is much startled; Carton calls; their conversation before and 
 dui-ing a thunderstorm. — VII. Monseigneur, a French lord, takes his 
 chocolate; cliaracter of the people who frequented his rooms; Mai-quis 
 St. Evremonde drives over and kills Gaspard's child; Defarge comes, 
 and a stout woman, knitting. — VIII. The marquis goes to his country, 
 seat; the poverty-stricken village near it; a road-mender tells the 
 marquis of seeing a spectral -looking man s^vingi^g by the carriage-drag ; 
 a poor woman, whose husband has died of want, petitions the marquis 
 for a bit of stone or wood to mark his grave. — IX. lie reaches the 
 chateau, and soon his nephew, Charles Daruay, comes; their conversa- 
 tion ; the sleepless night and the waking morning ; the marquis is found 
 assassinated. — X. Charles Darnay teaches in England; tells Doctor 
 Manette his love for Lucie. — XL Conversation between Stryver and 
 Carton about Stryver's plan to marry Miss Manette. — XII. Stryver, on 
 hia way to tell her his intention, stops at Tellson's, communicates his 
 plan to Mr. Lorry, who advises him not to do it; Mr. Lorry, after seeing 
 Miss Manette, reiterates his advice, and is astounded by the nonchalance 
 of Stryver. — XIII. Sydney Carton confesses to Miss Manette that she 
 is the last dream of his life, and that even her influence cannot redeem 
 him from the ruin he has brought on his career and character. — XIV. 
 The funeral of Koger Cly, first followed, then managed, by a fierce mob; 
 Jerry, having notified his wife that he shall "work" her for "flopping," 
 if ill success attend his efforts, goes out " fishing " after midnight ; youug 
 Jeny follows; sees him, joined by two other men, enter a graveyard; 
 they raise a co£&n, and young Jerry flees home in deadly fear, fancying 
 himself closely pursued by the cofiin ; Cruncher, returning unsuccessful, 
 takes his wife to task for it ; next morning, on their way to Tellson's, 
 young Jerry asks his father about the business of a "resurrection, 
 man." — XV. Wine-drinking at Defarge's, madame keeping shop ; De- 
 farge and the road-mender enter, and soon follow the three Jacques 
 to the garret once occupied by Doctor Manette; the road-mender 
 tells of Gaspard, the assassin of Marquis St. Evremonde ; his 
 arrest eleven months after the murder ; his imprisonment in the 
 marquis's castle; his execution; Defarge and madame go with the 
 road-mender on Sunday to Versailles to see the king and nobility; 
 the road-mender is enthusiastic in his loyal demonstrations. — XVI. 
 Defarge tells madame that John Barsad has been commissioned as 
 government-spy for Saint Antoine, and describes him ; madame re- 
 asEures Defarge's faiKng courage ; Barsad comes to the wine-shop ; 
 madame puts a rose in her hair, and the customers all go out, leaving 
 him talking with her ; he feigns much sympathy for Gaspard ; addresses 
 Defarge — who comes in — as Jacques, but is corrected ; he tells them that 
 Miss Manette is going to marry Charles Darnay. — XVII. Doctor Manette 
 and Lucie under the plane-tree the evening before her marriage; ha 
 assures her of his entire satisfaction that she is to be married : tells her 
 the thoughts and fancies he had of her while in prison. — XVIII. Mr. 
 Lorry gives her his parting bachelor-blessing ; the marriage ; Darnay 
 End Lucie leave for Warwickshire; something Darnay had told the 
 doctor just before the marriage brings back his old bewilderment, and 
 he returns to making shoes ; expedients adopted by Mr. Lorry to restore 
 him, and not to mar Lucie's wedding-tour. — XIX. The tenth mcrning, 
 
i44 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 Mr. Lorry finds the doctor recovered ; has a long conversation with hitn 
 on the cause of his malady, and obtains his consent to remove the shoe- 
 maker's bench and tools during his absence.— XX. Carton asks and 
 obtains permission of Damay to come to his house occasionally ; Lucie 
 tells Darnay that Carton is better at heart than he seems, and begs for 
 kind and generous treatment of him. — XXI. Echoes of little feet in 
 Lucie's life; Carton's manner when visiting the Damays; Stryver 
 shoulders himself into wealth, marries a rich widow, takes her three sons 
 to be taught by Damay, who declines the patronage ; Mr. Lorry calls at 
 Damay' B, one July evening, quite irritated by his unusual day's work ; 
 the same day the people of Saint Antoine rise in revolution; Defarge 
 leads them in repeated furious assaults on the Bastille ; when it is taken, 
 he forces the turnkey to conduct him to North Tower, where Doctor 
 Manette had been confined ; apparently finds nothing ; the governor is 
 Btabbed by the mob, and Madame Defarge hews off his head. — XXII. 
 Foulon, who had once told the famished people to eat grass, is taken, 
 briefly tried, and hanged. — XXIII. A grim, shaggy man comes where 
 the road-mender is at work, learns the situation of the marquis's 
 castle, then falls asleep ; that night, the castle is burned ; the villagers 
 refuse to aid in extinguishing the fire, but ring the bell, and illuminate 
 their houses. — XXIV. Monseigneur, representative of the French nobility, 
 escaped from Paris, at Tellson's ; Mr. Lorry announces to Darnay his 
 plan of going to Paris to secure from Tellson's Paris Bank some im- 
 portant books and papers ; Damay sees a letter addressed to him by his 
 real name (Evremonde) ; the depreciating remarks of Monseigneur, and 
 the coarse bullying remarks of Stryver ; letter from GabeUe in prison at 
 Paris, imploring Darnay's assistance ; Damay resolves to go to Paris ; 
 sees Mr. Lorry off, writes letters to Lucie and Doctor Manette, and next 
 night starts on his journey. 
 
 BOOK III. — Chapter I. He meets obstacles constantly from citizen- 
 patriots ; finally is furnished with escorts ; just escapes with Hf e from 
 the mob at Beauvais; arrives at Paris; is at once consigned to the 
 prison of La Force ; Defarge accompanies him, asking some questions, 
 but declaring that he will do nothing for him ; at the prison, a company 
 of refined and courteous prisoners welcome him ; he is put in a cell, and 
 left to his maddening thoughts. — II. Tellson's Bank at Paris ; Doctor 
 IVIanette and Lucie rush into Mr. Lorry's room, to his utter surprise ; he 
 tells Lucie that he knows of no harm having befallen Damay ; puts her 
 in a safer room, then looks out of a window with Doctor Manette on a 
 yard where scores of fierce men and women are grinding weapons dulled 
 by murdering prisoners ; Doctor Manette, safe because he has himself 
 been a Bastille prisoner, rushes into the crowd, makes himself known, and 
 is hurried away to La Force to save Damay. — III. Mr. Lorry procures 
 lodgings for Lucie, her daughter, and Miss Press ; Defarge brings him a 
 note from the doctor, stating that Damay is safe ; Madame Defarge and 
 The Vengeance look carefully at Lucie and her child, but give little heed to 
 her plea for kindness to Damay. — IV. What the doctor saidandheard while 
 trying to save Damay ; his perfect self-possession and resolution ; the 
 sharp female called La Guillotine ; Lucie's steady devotion to her house- 
 hold duties. — ^V. She goes daily to a spot where the doctor had told her 
 Damay could see her, though she could not see him ; the horrible dance 
 of the Carmagnole. — ^VI. Darnay is summoned before the Tribunal ; his 
 answers ; the testimony of GabeUe, Doctor Manette, and Mr. Lorry ; he 
 is acquitted ; the crowd carry him home in triumph. — VII. Miss Prosa 
 and Cruncher prepare for an unusually elaborate marketing in honour of 
 
A TALE OP TWO CITIES. 445 
 
 tte release of Damay ; he is again arrested on the accusation of Defarge, 
 madame, and another. — YIII. Miss Pross, marketing with Jerry, meets 
 her brother Solomon in The Good Eepublican Brutus of Antiquity; 
 he goes with her into the street, and is just getting rid of her, when 
 Jerry half-recognises hi^t and Sydney Carton calls him by name, 
 " Barsad ; " by a half -threat. Carton induces Barsad to go with him to 
 Mr. Lorry's ; convinces him that he knows so much of his villany as to 
 have him in his power ; Barsad declares Cly dead, and Jerry vehemently 
 denies it. — IX. Mr. Lorry questions Jerry as to his knowledge of Cly's 
 being alive, and learns that Jerry is an " Agricultooral character;" 
 Carton tells Mr. Lorry he has arranged with Barsad, who is one of the 
 turnkeys at the Conciergerie, to be admitted to Darnay once if it should 
 go ill with him ; thej'' talk of Lucie, of the days when they were children 
 at their mothers' knees; Carton talks with a wood-sawyer about the 
 guillotine ; procures some drugs from a chemist ; walks the streets all 
 night, repeating again and again the words read at his father's grave ; 
 Darnay again before the Tribunal; the prosecutor states that Darnay is 
 denounced by Monsieur and Madame Defarge, also by Doctor Manettej 
 the doctor, denying the statement, is stopped, and obliged to sit down ; 
 Defarge testifies to having found in North Tower a paper written by Doctor 
 Manette in prison in 1767 — X. — in which the doctor sets forth how, in 
 December, 1757, he was overtaken by two men ; was compelled to go with 
 them to a country-seat two miles out of Paris, where he found a patient, 
 a young woman, who in her delirium, at regular intervals, shrieked, and 
 said, " My husband, my father, and my brother," then counted twelve ; 
 how, in the same place, he found another patient, a boy of seventeen, 
 dying of a sword-wound, who told the doctor, in the presence of the two 
 unfeeling St. Evremonde brothers, how brutally these nobles treat their 
 tenants, that the delirious young woman is his sister, that her husband 
 was worked to death in order that the younger brother might obtain pos- 
 session of her ; that he had hidden his younger sister, then tried to kill the 
 younger noble, and was mortally wounded ; the young woman dies ; the 
 doctor writes all the circumstances to the minister; the wife of Marquis St. 
 Evremonde calls on the doctor, and expresses her great desire to do what 
 she can to atone for the gross wrongs of her husband and his brother ; 
 the doctor is imprisoned. On this testimony, Darnay is swiftly condemned 
 to die within twenty-four hours. — XI. Darnay and Lucie meet a few 
 moments in the court-room ; Carton carries Lucie to a carriage, thence 
 to her room ; arranges to have Doctor Manette make another effort to 
 save Darnay, and meet him at Mr. Lorry's at nine o'clock that night. — 
 XII. Carton goes to Defarge's wine-shop; hears Madame Defarge, Jacques 
 Three, and The Vengeance urge the utter extermination of all the family 
 of Evremonde ; Defarge opposes this, for the doctor's sake ; Madame 
 declares herself the younger sister of the woman and boy killed by the 
 Evremondes; at midnight, the doctor enters Mr. Lorry's room crazy, 
 demanding his bench again ; Carton finds a passport in his case ; tells 
 Mr. Lorry what he heard Madame Defarge say ; arranges with him to 
 have everything ready to start for England next day at two p.m. ; then 
 bids him ♦' Good-bye." — XIII. Darnay's last night in the Conciergerie ; he 
 becomes composed; writes letters to Lucie, Doctor Manette, and Mr. 
 Lorry; dreams of his happy home near Soho Square ; wakes, and counts 
 the hours calmly; at one o'clock Sydney Carton comes in; Carton 
 dictates a letter for Darnay to wrrite, and, with drugs procured at the 
 chemist's, renders him unconscious; changes clothes with him; then 
 Barsad carries Darnay out as if overcome with grief; Carton meets 
 
446 THE DICKEi^rs BIOTIONAEY, 
 
 a BTveet-faced seamstress in the hall where the day's victims are 
 gathered, and promises to hold her hand as they ride to executiou ; 
 the carriage, with Mr. Lorry, Doctor Manet te, Darn ay, Lncie, and the 
 child, reaches the Barrier ; the papers are examined ; they drive as 
 fast as they dare, not to excite suspicion, but are not pursued. — XIV. 
 Madame Defarge, The Vengeance, and Jacques Three determine that 
 Lucie shall be denounced ; having directed The Vengeance to reserve for 
 her a seat at the execution, Madame Defarge goes to see Lucie, to be able 
 to bear witness that she impeached the justice of the liepublic; Jei-ry 
 and Miss Pross consult as to the best place for them to start from ; Jerry 
 goes; Madame Defarge enters the house, and demands to seeLacie; 
 Miss Pross defiant ; neither understands a word the other says ; at 
 last they grapple, and in the struggle madanie ia shot by her own 
 pistol ; Miss Pross locks the door, throws the key into the river, joins 
 Jerry, and they start for England, the crash of the pistol-shot riuy:iug in 
 her ears, and to ring there for ever. — XV. Sydney Carton's ride in a 
 tumbril to the guillotine ; The Vengeance is greatly excited because 
 Madame Defarge does not come; Carton cheers and comforts the Heam- 
 stresa, they kiss, and are executed ; the prophetic thoughts Carton wji.y 
 •\\ixve had of the future of hia frieuds and fx^ 
 
HUNTED DOWK 
 
 This tale was written specially for The New York Ledger, in which 
 paper ifc appeared in the numbers for August 20 and 27 and September ;i, 
 1S59 (Vol. XV., No. 2'^i-2G), illustrated with seven woodcats. It wag 
 republished in 1860 in "All the Year Round," 4tb and llth of August 
 (Lst series, No. 67 and 68). 
 
 CHARACTEES INTEODUCED. 
 
 ADAMS, MR. Clerk in the life assurance office of which 
 ^ir. Sampson is the chief manager. 
 
 BANKS, MAJOR. A character assumed by !Mr. Mcltham in 
 furtherance of his plans against Mr. Slinkton. 
 
 BECKWITH, MR. ALFRED. See Meltham, Mr. 
 
 MELTHAMy MR. Actuary of the Inestimable Life Assurance 
 Company. He falls in love with one of Mr. Julius Slinkton'a 
 nieces, a lovely girl, whose life is insured in his office. She 
 soon dies from the effects of a slow poison secretly administered 
 to her by her uncle ; and ]\Ir. Meltham, having become 
 thoroughly assured of the villain's guilt, devotes himself 
 thenceforth to the single object of huntmg him down. 
 Besigning his situation, he causes a report of his death to be 
 put into circulation, assumes the name of Mr. Alfred Beckwith, 
 takes rooms in the Middle Temple, opposite those of Mr. 
 Sliukton — to whom he is personally unknown — and makes 
 them a trap for him. Affecting to be a confirmed drunkard, 
 he deludes the murderer into thinking that it would be an 
 easy thing to obtain an insurance on his life for two thousand 
 
448 f fiE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 pounds, and then to do liim to death with hrandy, or, brandy not 
 proving quick enough, with something quicker. Slinkton's 
 plotting, however, is well understood all along, and he ia 
 gradually led on to his ruin. The fitting time having arrived, 
 he is confronted with the evidences of his guilt, when, finding 
 himself brought to bay, he swallows some of the powerful 
 poison which he always carries with him, and falls down a 
 dead man. 
 
 NINER, MISS MARGARET. Mr. Slinkton's niece. She 
 is saved from falling a victim to the wickedness of her uncle 
 by the efi'orts of Mr. Sampson and Mr. Melthara, who reveal to 
 her his real character, and induce her to leave him for ever. 
 
 SAMPSON', MR. Chief manager of a life assurance company, 
 and narrator of the story, in which he is also one of the 
 actors. 
 
 SLINKTONy MR. JULIUS. A gentleman, educated, weU- 
 bred, and agreeable, who professes to be on the point of going 
 into orders, but who is, in reality, a consummate hypocrite 
 and villain. He effects an insurance for two thousand pounds 
 on the life of ^Ir. Alfred Beckwith, and then attempts to 
 poison him in order to get the money ; but, being foiled in 
 hia obje<jt, he destroys himself. 
 
Ul^COMMERCIAL TRAYELLER. 
 
 In December, 1860, seventeen papers, on a variety of topics, which h&d 
 previously appeared at intervals in " All tho Tear Eound," were pub- 
 lished in a collective form, under the above title, by Chapman and Hall, 
 A second edition, with illustrations, in which the number of sketches 
 was increased to twenty -eight, was brought out in the latter part of 
 1868. 
 
 The Uncommercial Traveller introduces himself to the reader in 
 these words : 
 
 " I am both a town traveller and a country-traveller, and am always 
 on the road. Figuratively speaking, I travel for the great house of 
 Human Interest Brothers, and have rather a large connection in the 
 fancy goods way. Literally speaking, I am always wandering here and 
 there from my rooms in Covent Grarden, London — now about the city 
 streets, now about the country byroads — seeing many little things, and 
 some greg,t things, which, becauss they interest me, I think may interest 
 Qthers," 
 
 CHARACTERS INTRODUCED. 
 
 ANDERSON, JOHN. A tramp, whose only improvidence 
 
 appears to have been that he has spent the last of his little 
 
 all upon soap. (XL Tramps.) 
 ANDERSON, MRS. His wife ; a woman spotless to behold. 
 
 (XL Tramps.) 
 ANTONIO. A swarthy young Spanish guitar-player. (Y. 
 
 Poor Mercantile Jack.) 
 BATTENS, MR. A virulent old pensioner at Tithull's. 
 
 (XXVIL TithuWs Almshouses.) 
 BONES, MR. BANJO. A comic Ethiopian minstrel, with a 
 
 blackened face and a limp sugar-loaf hat. (Y. Poor Mercantile 
 
 Jack,) 
 
 2 « 
 
450 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 BONES, MRS. BANJO. His wife; a professional singer. 
 (Y. Poor Mercantile Jack.) 
 
 GARLAVEROy GIOVANNI. Keeper of a small wine-shop, 
 in a certain small Italian town on tlie Mediterranean. He 
 had beam « political offender, sentenced to imprisonment for 
 life, bnt was afterwards released through the zealous inter- 
 vention of a generous English nobleman. Desirous of testifying 
 his gratitude to his benefactor, whom he has not seen since 
 his liberation, he sends him by Mr. Dickens an immense 
 demijohn of wine, the first produce of his h'ttle vineyard. 
 With infinite difficulty this frail and enormous bottle, holding 
 some half-dozen gallons, is safely carried to England ; but the 
 wine turns to vinegar before it reaches its destiuation. Yet 
 " the Englishman," says Mr. Dickens, " told me, with much 
 emotion in his face and voice, that he had never tasted wine 
 that seemed to him so sweet and sound ; and long afterwards 
 the bottle graced his table." (XXVIIL The Italian Prisoner.) 
 
 CHIPS. A shipwright who sells himself to the Devil for half 
 a ton of copper, a bushel of tenpenny nails, an iron pot, and a 
 rat that can speak. He gets disgusted with the rat, and tries 
 to kill it, but does not succeed, and is punished by being 
 subjected to a swarm and plague of rats, who finally compass 
 his destruction by eating through the planks of a ship in 
 which he has been " pressed " for a sailor. (XV. Nurse's 
 Stones.) 
 
 CLEVERLY, SUSANNAH. A Mormon emigrant ; a young 
 woman of business. {XX. Bound for the Great Salt Lake.) 
 
 CLEVERLY, WILLIAM. Her brother; also a Mormon 
 emigrant. (XX. Bound for the Great Salt Lake.) 
 
 DIBBLE, MR. SAMPSON. A Mormon emigrant; a very 
 old man, who is stone-blind. (XX. Bound for the Great 
 Salt Lake.) 
 
 DIBBLE, MRS. DOROTHY. His wife, who accompanies 
 him. (XX. Bound for the Great Salt Lalce.) 
 
 FACE^MAKER, MONSIEUR THE. A corpulent little man 
 with a comical face. He is heralded as " the great changer of 
 countenances, who transforms the features that Heaven lias 
 bestowed upon him into an endless succession of surprisi.ig 
 and extraordinary visages, comprehending all the contortioTis, 
 energetic and expressive, of which the human face is capa1>!(!, 
 and all the passions of the human heart, as love, jealousy, 
 revenge, hatred, avarice, despair." (XXY. In the Frendk^ 
 Fle^nish Country.) 
 
UNCOMMERCIAL TRAVELLBB. 461 
 
 FLANDERS^ SALLY. A former nurse of the TJncominercial 
 
 Traveller, and widow of Flanders, a small master-builder. 
 (XXVI. Medicine-Men of Civilization.) 
 
 FLIP FIELD, MR, A friend of the Uncommercial Traveller's. 
 (XIX. BiHlidai' Celebrations.) 
 
 FLlPFIELD, MRS. His mother. (XIX. Birthday Celehra- 
 tions.) 
 
 FLIPFIELD, MISS. His elder sister. She is in the hahit of 
 speaking to new acquaintances, in pious and condoning tones, 
 of all the quarrels that have taken place in the family from 
 infancy. (XIX. Birthday Celebrations.) 
 
 FLIPFIELD, MR. TOM, called " The Long-Lost." A brother 
 of ]\Ir. Flipfield's. After an absence of many years in foreign 
 parts, he returns home, and is warmly welcomed by his family 
 and friends ; but he proves to be an " antipathetical being, 
 with a peculiar power and gift of treading on everybody's 
 tenderest place ; " and everybody wishes that he could be 
 instantly transported back to the foreign parts which have 
 tolerated him so long. (XIX. Birthday Celebratimis.) 
 
 GLOB SON, BULLY. A schoolmate of the Uncommercial 
 Traveller's ; a big fat boy, with a big fat head, and a big fat 
 fist. (XIX. Birthday Celebrations.) 
 
 GRAZINGLANDS, MR. ALEXANDER. A midland 
 county gentleman, of a comfortable property, on a visit to 
 London. (YI. Refreshments for Travellers.) 
 
 GRAZINGLANDS, MRS ARABELLA. His wife; the 
 pride of her division of the county. (YI. Refreshments for 
 Travellers.) 
 
 J A CK, DARK. A negro sailor. (Y. Poor Mercantile Jack.) 
 JACK, MERCANTILE. A representative of the sailors em- 
 ployed in the merchant marine. (Y. Poor Mercantile Jack.) 
 
 JOBSON, JESSE, NUMBER TWO. A Mormon emigrant, 
 the head of a family of eight persons. (XX. Bound for the 
 Great Salt Lake.) 
 
 KING II, HORACE. An inmate of the King's Bench Prison, 
 
 where he dies. (XIIL Night Walks.) 
 
 He was a likely man to look at, in the prime of life, well to do, as 
 clever as he needed to be, and popular among many friends. He was 
 suitably married, and had healthy and pretty children. But, like 
 some fair-loooking houses or fair-looking ships, he took the Dry Rot. 
 .... Those who knew him had not nigh done saying, " So well off, 
 Bo comfortably established, with such hope before hun" . . , when 
 lo I the man was all Dry Rot and dust. 
 
 2 6 2 
 
452 THE DICKENS DIOTIONAET. 
 
 KINDHEARTy MR. An Englishman of an amiable nature, 
 great enthusiasm, and no discretion. (XXVL Medicine-M&n 
 of Civilization.) 
 
 KLEM, MR. A weak old man, mejigre and mouldy, who is 
 never to he seen detached from a flat pint of beer in a pewter 
 pot. (XYL Arcadian London.) 
 
 KLEM, MRS. His wife ; an elderly woman, labouring under 
 a chronic sniff, and having a dejected consciousness that she 
 is not justified in appearing on the surface of the earth. 
 (XVI. Arcadian London.) 
 
 KLEM, MISS. Their daughter, apparently ten years older 
 than either hei* father or mother. (XVI. Arcadian London.) 
 
 MELLOWS, MR. J. Landlord of The Dolphin's Head 
 (XXIL An Old Stage- Coaching House.) 
 
 MERCY. A nurse who relates diabolical stories to the Un- 
 commercial Traveller, when a child, with a fiendish enjoyment 
 of his terrors. (XV. Nurse's Stories.) 
 
 MITTS, MRS. A pensioner at Titbull's ; a tidy, well-favoured 
 widow, with a propitiatory way of passing her hands over and 
 under one another. (XXVII. TitbulVs Almshouses.) 
 
 MURDERER, CAPTAIN. A diabolical wretch, admitted 
 into the best society, and possessing immense wealth. His 
 mission is matrimony, and the gratification of a cannibal 
 appetite with tender brides. (XV. Nurse's Stories.) 
 
 OAKUM-HEAD. A refractory female pauper, who "would 
 be very thankful to be got into a place, or got abroad." 
 (III. Wapping Workhouse.) 
 
 ONOWENEVER, MRS. Mother of a young lady ardently 
 loved by the Uncommercial Traveller in his youth. (XIX. 
 Birthday Celebrations.) 
 
 It is Tinnecessary to name Her more particularly; She was older 
 tlian I, atifl had pervaded every chink and crevice of my mind for 
 three or fonr years. I had held volumes of Imaginary Conversations 
 with her mother on the subject of our union, and 1 had written letters 
 srMiro in number than Horace Walpole's to that discreet woman, 
 pnliciting her daughter's hand in marriage. I had never had the 
 lemotest intention of sending any of those letters ; but to write them, 
 and after a few days tear them up, had been a sublime occupation. 
 
 PANGLOSS. An ofiicial friend of the Uncommercial Traveller's 
 lineally descended from the learned doctor of the same name, 
 
UNCOMMERCIAL TEATELlBR. 458 
 
 who was tutor to Candide. (VIIL The Great Tasmania's 
 Cargo.) 
 
 In his persoual character, he is as humane and worthy a gentle- 
 man as any I know ; in his official capacity, he unfortunately preached 
 the doctrines of his renowned ancestor, by demonstrating on all occa- 
 sions that we live in the best of all possible official worlds. 
 
 PARKLE, MR. A friend of the Uncommercial Traveller's. 
 
 (XIV. Chambers.) 
 QUIGKEAR. A policeman. (V. Poor Mercantile Jack.) 
 
 Q UINCHj MRS. The oldest pensioner at Titbull's ; a woman 
 who has "totally lost her head." (XXVII. TlthulVs Alms- 
 houses.) 
 
 REFRACTORY, CHIEF. A surly, discontented female pauper, 
 with a voice in which the tonsils and uvula have gained a 
 diseased ascendency. (II L W a pping Workhouse.) 
 
 REFRACTORY, NUMBER TWO. Another pauper of the 
 same character. (III. Wapping Workhouse.) 
 
 SAGGERS, MRS. One of the oldest pensioners at Titbull's, 
 who has split the small community in which she lives into 
 almost as many parties as there are dwellings in the precinct, 
 by standing her pail outside her dwelling. (XXVII. TitbuWs 
 Alms! louses.) 
 
 SALCY, P., FAMILY. A troupe of dramatic artists, fifteen 
 in number, under the management of Monsieur P. Salcy. 
 (XXV. In the French-Flemish Country.) 
 
 SHARP EYE. A policeman. (V. Poor Mercantile Jack.) 
 
 SPECKS, JOE. An old schoolfellow of the Uncommercia] 
 Traveller; afterwards a physician in Dullborough (where most 
 of us come from who come from a country town). (XIL 
 Dullhorough Town.) 
 
 BPECKS, MRS. Ilis wife, formerly Lucy Gveen; an old 
 friend of the Uncommercial Traveller's. (XIL Dullboroug 
 Town. 
 
 SQUIRES, OLYMPIA. An old flame of the Uncommercia: 
 Traveller's. (XIX. Birthday Celebrations.) 
 
 Olympia was most beautiful (of course), and I loved her to that 
 degree, that I used to be obliged to get out of my little bed in the 
 night, expressly to exclaim to Solitude, " 0, Olympia Squires 1 " 
 
 STRAUDENHEIM. A shopkeeper at Strasburg; a large- 
 lipped, pear-nosed old man, with white hair and keen eyes, 
 '^ough near-sighted. (VIL Travelling Abroad.) 
 
464 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 SWEENEYj MRS. A professional laundress, in figure extremely 
 like an old family umbrella. (XIV. Chambers.) 
 
 TESTATOR^ MR. An occupant of a very dreary set of 
 chambers, in Lyons Inn, which he furnishes with articles he 
 finds locked up in one of the cellars, and having no owner, so 
 far as is known to anyone. He is afterwards visited, late at 
 night, by a man considerably sodden with liquor, who examines 
 e^'cry article, claims them all as his own, and promises to call 
 again the next morning, punctually at ten o'clock, but who 
 fails to do so. (XIY. Chambers.) 
 
 Whether he was a ghost, or a spectral illusion of conscience, or a 
 drunken man who had no business there, or the drunken rightful 
 owner of the furniture, with a transitory gleam of memory ; whether 
 he got safe home, or had no home to get to ; whether he died of liquor 
 on the way, or lived in liquor ever afterwards j he never was heard of 
 more. 
 
 TRAMPFOOT. A policeman. (Y. Poor Mercantile Jack.) 
 
 VENTRILOQUIST, MONSIEUR THE. A performer at- 
 tached to a booth at a fair. He is a thin and sallow man of 
 a weakly aspect. (XXY. In the French-Flemish Country.) 
 
 VICTUALLER, MR. LICENSED. Proprietor of a singing- 
 liouse frequented by sailors ; a sharp and watchful man, with 
 tight lips, and a complete edition of Cocker's Arithmetic in 
 each eye. (Y. Poor Mercantile Jack.) 
 
 WEEDLE, ANASTASIA. A pretty Mormon emigrant, elected 
 by universal suffrage the beauty of the ship. (XX. Bound 
 for the Great Salt Lake.) 
 
 WILTSHIRE. A simple, fresh-coloured farm labourer, of eight- 
 and-thii'ty. (XX. Bound for the Great SaU Lake.) 
 
GREAT EXPECTATIOIJS. 
 
 This tale originally appeared in "All the Year Bound j" the first 
 chapter being contained in the number for December 1, 1860. On its 
 completion, in 1861, it was published by Chapman and Hall, in three 
 volumes, with illustrations by Marcus Stone; and was "affectionately 
 inscribed to Chauncy Hare Townshend." 
 
 CHAEACTEKS INTEODUCED. 
 
 AGED, THE. See Wemmick, Mr., Senior. 
 
 AMELIA. One of Mr. Jaggers's clients. (Ch. xx.) 
 
 AVENGER, THE. >^ee Pepper. 
 
 BARLEY, CLARA. Daughter of Old Bill Barley | a very 
 pretty, slight, dark-eyed girl of twenty or so, of natural and 
 winning manners, and a confiding and amiable disposition. 
 She is betrothed to Herbert Pocket, whom she afterwards 
 marries. (Ch. xlvi, Iv., Iviii., lix.) 
 
 BARLEY, OLD BILL. A bedridden purser ; a sad old rascal, 
 always more or less drunk, and tormented by the gout ia his 
 right hand — and everywhere else. (Ch. xlvi., Iviii.) 
 
 BIDDY. An orphan ; second cousin to Mr. "Wopsle, being his 
 "great-aunt's granddaughter." She is a good, honest girl, 
 poor in purse and condition, but with a wealth of true 
 womanliness which makes Joe Gargery, whose second wife 
 she becomes, very rich iadeed. (Ch. vii, xvi-xix., xxxv., 
 Iviii., lix.) 
 
 BRANDLEY, MRS. A widow-lady at Eichmond, with whom 
 Estella is placed by Miss Havisham. (Ch. xxxviii.) 
 
458 THE DICKENS DIGTIONAKT. 
 
 CAMILLA, MB, JOHN or RAYMOND. A relative of 
 Mss Havisliain's ; a toady and a hmnbug. (Ch. xi, xxv.) 
 
 CAMILLA, MRS. His wife; sister to Mr. Pocket. She 
 professes a great deal of love for Miss Havisham, and calls on 
 lier husband to testify that her solicitude for that lady is 
 gradually undermining her to the extent of making one of her 
 legs shorter than the other. (Ch. xi., xxv.) 
 
 CLARRIKER. A young merchant or shipping broker. (Ch. HI, 
 Iviii.) 
 
 COILLRy MRS. A toady neighbour of Mr. and 3^Irs. Pocket^s ; 
 a widow-lady of that highly sympathetic nature, that she 
 agrees with everybody, blesses everybody, and sheds smiles 
 or tears on everybody, according to circumstances. (Ch. xxiii.) 
 
 COMPEYSON. A convict, and "the worst of scoundrels." 
 He proves to be the man who professed to be Miss Havisham's 
 lover. Magwitch gives the following account of him to Pip : 
 
 " Compeyson took me on to be his man and pardner. And what 
 was Compeyson's business in which we was to go pardners ? Compey- 
 Bon's business was the swindling, handwriting forging, stolen bank- 
 note passing, and such-like. All sorts of traps as Compeyson could 
 set with his head, and keep his own legs out of and get the profits 
 from and let another man in for, was Compeyson's business. He'd no 
 more heart than a iron file, he was as cold as death, and he bad the 
 head of the Devil. . . . Not to go into the things that Conipeysou 
 planned, and I done — ^which 'ud take a week — I'll simply say to you, 
 dear boy . . . that that man got me into such nets as made me his 
 black slave. I was always in debt to him, always under his thumb, 
 always a working, always a getting into danger. He was younger 
 than me, but he'd got craft, and he'd got learning, and heovermatched 
 lae five hundred times told and no mercy." 
 
 He is at length committed for felony, is sentenced to seven 
 years' imprisonment ; and is finally killed in a struggle with 
 Magwitch. (Ch. iii., v., xlii., xlv., xlvii., L, liii-lvi.) 
 
 DRUMMLE, BENTLEY, called "The Spider." A sulky, 
 old-looking young man of a heavy order of architecture ; idle, 
 proud, niggardly, reserved, and suspicious. He is a fellow- 
 boarder with Pip at Mr. Pocket's, and his rival for the hand 
 of Estella, whom he marries and treats with great cruelty. 
 (Ch. xxiiL, XXV., xxxviii., xliii., xHv., xlviii.) 
 
 ESTELLA. The adopted daughter of !Miss Havisham, and the 
 heroiae of the story. She proves to be the daughter of Abel 
 Magwitch (or Provis), Pip's benefactor. Her foster-mother 
 tells Pip that she had wished for a little girl to rear, and to 
 save from her own fate {see Havisham, Miss) j and that Mr. 
 
GEEAT EXPECTATIONS. 457 
 
 Jaggers had accordingly bronght her such a child — an orphan 
 of about three years. 
 
 •* When she first camo to me, I meant to save her from misery like 
 my ovra. At first I meant no more." 
 
 " Well, well ! " said I. « I hope so." 
 
 " But as she grew, and promised to he very beautiful, I gradually 
 did worse, and with my praises, and with my jewels, and with my 
 teachings, and with this figui-e of myself always before her, a warning 
 to back and point mj lessons, I stole her heart away and put ice in its 
 place." 
 
 l^ot content with moulding the impressionable child into 
 the form that her own wild resentment, spurned affection, and 
 wounded pride find vengeance in, she marries her to an ill- 
 tempered, clumsy, contemptible booby (Bentley Drummle), 
 who has nothing to recommend him but money and a ridiculous 
 roll of addle-headed predecessors. After leading a most un- 
 happy life, she separates from her husband, who subsequently 
 dies from an accident consequent on his ill-treatment of a 
 horse. Some two years after this event, she happens to meet 
 Pip (who has always loved her) on the very spot where their 
 first meeting had been when they were children. 
 
 I took her hand in mine, and we went out of the ruined place ; 
 and as the morning mists had risen long ago, when I first left the 
 forge, so the evening mists were rising now; and, in all the broad 
 expanse of tranquil light they showed to me, I saw no shadow of 
 another parting from her. 
 
 (Ch. vii., ix., xi.-xvi., xviii., xxii., xxvii, xxix., xxx., 
 xxxii., xxxiiL, xxxviil, xxxix., xliii, xliv., xlviii.-li., Ivi, 
 Ivii., lix.) 
 
 FLOPSON, A nurse in ]\Ir. Pocket's family. (Ch. xxii, 
 xxiii.) 
 
 GARGERTj JOE, A blacksmith, married to Pip's sister, who 
 is an out-and-out termagant. 
 
 Joe was a fair man, with curls of flaxen hair on each side of his 
 smooth face, and with eyes of such a very undecided blue, that they 
 seemed to have somehow got mixed with their own whites. He was 
 a mild, good-natured, sweet-tempered, easy-going, foolish, dear fellow 
 —a sort of Hercules in strength, ajid also in weakness. 
 
 When Pip is a small boy, he is harshly treated by his sister 
 (with whom he lives, both his parents being dead) ; but his 
 kind-hearted brother-in-law befriends him as much as is pos- 
 sible, and makes quite a companion of him. In the course of 
 conversation, one night, when they happen to be left by them- 
 selves, Joe gives him some account of his early history, of tho 
 
458 THE DICKENS DIOTIONAEY. 
 
 circumstances attending his marriage, and of tlie principles on 
 which he regulates his domestic conduct. 
 
 " Didn't you ever go to school, Joe, when you were as little as me ? " 
 
 " No, Pip." 
 
 " Why didn't you ever go to school, Joe, when you were aa little 
 
 A3 me ? " 
 
 " Well, Pip," said Joe, taldng up the poker, and settling himself to 
 his usual occupation when he was thoughtful, of slowly raking the fire 
 between the lower bars : "I'll tell you. My father, Pip, he were giveif 
 to drink, and when he were overtook with drink, he hammered away ac 
 my mother most onmerciful. It were a'most the only hammering he 
 did, indeed, 'xcepting at myself. And he hammered at me with a wigour 
 only to be equalled by the wigour with which he didn't hammer at his 
 anwil. — You're a-listening and understanding, Pip ? " 
 
 "Yes, Joe." 
 
 "'Consequence my mother and me we ran away from my father 
 several times 5 and then my mother she'd go out to work, and she'd say, 
 * Joe,' she'd say, ' now, please God, you shall have some schooling, child,' 
 and she'd put me to school. But my father were that good in his hart 
 that he couldn't abear to be without us. So, he'd come with a most 
 tremenjous crowd and make such a row at the doors of the houses 
 where we was, that they used to be obligated to have no more to do with 
 us and to give us up to him. And then he took us home and hammered 
 us. Which, you see, Pip," said Joe, pausing in his meditative raking of 
 the fire, and looking at me, " were a drawback on my learning." 
 
 " Certainly, poor Joe ! " 
 
 " Though mind you, Pip," said Joe, with a judicial touch or two of 
 the poker on the top bar, " rendering unto all their doo, and maintaining 
 equal justice betwixt mon and man, my father were that good in his 
 hart, don't you see ? " 
 
 I didn't see j but I didn't say so. 
 
 " Well ! " Joe pursued, " somebody must keep the pot a-biling, Pip^ 
 or the pot won't bile, don't you know ? " 
 
 I saw that, and said so. 
 
 " 'Consequence, my father didn't make objections to my going to 
 work; so I went to work at my present calling, which were his too, if 
 he would have followed it, and I worked tolerable hard, I assure you, 
 Pip. In time I were able to keep him, and I kep him till he went off in 
 a purple leptic fit. And it were my intentions to have had put upon his 
 tombstone that Whatsume'er the failings on his part, Eemember reader 
 he were that good in his hart." 
 
 Joe recited this couplet with such manifest pride and careful perspi- 
 cuity, that I asked him if he had made it himself. 
 
 " I made it," said Joe, " my own self. I made it in a moment. It 
 was like striking out a horseshoe complete, in a single blow. I never 
 was so much surprised in all my life — couldn't credit my own ed — ^to 
 tell you the truth, hardly believed it were my own ed. As I was saying, 
 Pip, it were my intentions to have had it out over him ; but poetry costs 
 money, cut it how you will, small or large, and it were not done. Not 
 to mention bearers, all the money that could be spared were wanted for 
 my mother. She were in poor elth, and quite broke. She waren't 
 long of following, poor soul, and her share of peace come round at 
 last." 
 
 Joe's blue eyes turned a little watery ; he rubbed, first one of them, 
 
GSBAT EXPECTATIONS. 459 
 
 and then the other, in a most nncongenial and uncomfortable manner, 
 with the round knob on the top of the poker. 
 
 " It were but lonesome then," said Joe, " living here alone, and I 
 got acquainted with your sister. Now, Pip ; " Joe looked firmly at me, 
 as if he knew I was not going to agree with himj "your sister is a 
 fine figure of a woman." 
 
 I could not help looking at the fire, in an obvious state of doubt. 
 
 "Whatever family opinions, or whatever the woi'ld's opinions, on 
 that subject may be, Pip, your sister is," Joe tapped the top bar with 
 the poker after every word following, "a — fine — figure — of — a — 
 woman ! " 
 
 I could think of nothing better to say than " I am glad you think 
 BO, Joe." 
 
 " So am I," returned Joe, catching mo up. "I am glad I think 
 so, Pip. A little redness, or a little matter of Bone, here or there, 
 what does it signify to Me ? " 
 
 I sagaciously observed, if it didn't signify to him, to whom did it 
 signify ? 
 
 " Certainly ! " assented Joe. " That's it. You're right, old chap 1 
 When I got acquainted with your sister, it were the talk how she was 
 bringing you up by hand. Very kind of her too, all the folks said, and 
 I said, along with all the folks. As to you," Joe pursued, with a coun- 
 tenance expressive of seeing something very nasty indeed : ** if you 
 could have been aware how small and flabby and mean you was, dear 
 me, you'd have formed the most contemptible opinions of j'ourself ! " 
 
 Not exactly relishing this, I said, " Never mind me, Joe." 
 
 "But I did mind you, Pip," he returned, with tender simplicity. 
 "When I offered to your sister to keep company, and to be asked in 
 church, at such times as she was willing and ready to come to the forge, 
 I said to her, ' And bring the poor little child. God bless the poor little 
 child,' I said to your sister, 'there's room for Mm at the forge !' " 
 
 I broke out crying and begging pardon, and hugged Joe round the 
 neck : who dropped the poker to hug me, and to say, " Ever the best of 
 friends ; ain't us, Pip ? Don't cry, old chap ! " 
 
 When this little interruption was over, Joe resumed : 
 
 " Well, you see, Pip, and here we are ! That's about where it lights ; 
 here we are! Now, when you take me in hand in my learning, Pip 
 (and 1 tell you beforehand I am awful dull, most awful dull), Mrs. Joe 
 mustn't see too much of what we're up to. It must be done, as I may 
 say, on the sly. And why on the sly ? I'll tell you why, Pip." 
 
 He had taken up the poker again ; without which, I doubt if he 
 could have proceeded in bis demonstration. 
 
 " Your sister is given to govcrument." 
 
 " Given to government, Joe ? " I was startled, for I had some 
 shadowy idea (and I am afraid I must add, hope) that Joe had divorced 
 her in favoar of the Lords of the Admiralty, or Treasury. 
 
 " Given to government," said Joe. " Which I meantersay the 
 government of you and myself." 
 
 " Oh ! " 
 
 " And she ain't over partial to having scholars on the premises," 
 Joe continued, "and in partickler would not be over partial to my 
 being a scholar, for fear as I might rise. Like a sort of rebel, don't 
 you see ? " 
 
 I was going to retort with an inquiry, and had got as 
 '• Why " when Joe stopped me. 
 
460 THE DIGKEKS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 " Stay a bit. I know what you're a-going to say, Pip ; ttay a bit ! 
 I don't deny that your sister comes the Mo-gul over us, now and again. 
 I don't deny that she do throw us back-falls, and that she do drop down 
 upon us heavy. At such times as when your sister is on the Ram-page, 
 Pip," Joe sank his voice to a whisper and glanced at the door, *' can- 
 dour compels fur to admit that she is a Buster." 
 
 Joe pronounced this word, as if it began with at least twelve 
 capital Bs. 
 
 "Why don't I rise? That were your observation when I broke 
 itoS, Pip?" 
 
 *' Yes, Joe." 
 
 •' Well," said Joe, passing the poker into his left hand, that he might 
 feel his whisker ; and I had no hope of him whenever he took to that 
 placid occupation ; "your sister's a master-mind. A master-mind." 
 
 " What's that ? " I asked, in some hope of bringing him to a stand. 
 But, Joe was readier with his definition than I had expected, and com- 
 pletely stopped me by arguiug circularly, and answering with a fixed 
 look, "Her." 
 
 " And I ain't a master-mind," Joe resumed, when he had unfixed his 
 look, and got back to his whisker. " And last of all, Pip — and this I 
 want to say very serous to you, old chap — I see so much in my poor 
 mother, of a woman drudging and slaving and breaking her honest hart 
 and never getting no peace in her mortal days, that I'm dead afeerd of 
 going wrong in the way of not doing what's right by a woman, and I'd 
 fur rather of the two go wrong the t'other way, and be a little ill-con- 
 wenienced myself. I wish it was only me that got put out, Pip ; I wish 
 there warn't no Tickler for you, old chap ; I wish I could take it all 
 on myself ; but this is the up-and-down-and-straight on it, Pip, and I 
 hope you'll overlook shortcomings." 
 
 After tlie death of his wife Joe marries Biddy, a sweet- 
 tempered woman, who makes him an excellent wife, and with 
 whom he lives happily for many years, ever doing the duty 
 that lies before him with a strong hand, a quiet tongue, and 
 a gentle heart. (Ch. ii.-vii., ix., x., xii-xx., xxvii., xxxv., 
 Ivii.-lix.) See Garqery, Mrs. Joe. 
 
 GARGEE7, MRS. GEORGIAN A MARIA. His wife; 
 
 sister to Pip, and a thorough shrew. 
 
 My sister . , . was more than twenty years older than I, and had 
 established a great reputation with herself and the neighbours because 
 she had brought me up " by hand." Having at that time to find out 
 for myself what the expression meant, and knowing her to have a hard 
 and heavy hand, and to be much in the habit of laying it upon her 
 husband as well as upon me, I supposed that Joe Gargery and I were 
 both brought up by hand. 
 
 She was not a good-looking woman, my sister; and I had a 
 general impression that she must have made Joe Gargery marry her 
 by hand. . . . 
 
 With black hair and eyes [she] had such a prevailing redness ol 
 ekin, that I sometimes used to wonder whether it was possible she 
 washed herself with a nutmeg-grater instead of soap. She was tall 
 And bony, and almost always wore a coarse apron, fastened over her 
 
GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 461 
 
 fiprnre behind with tvro loops, and having a gqnnre Impregnable bib in 
 front, that was stuck full of pins and needles. She naade it a powerful 
 merit in herself, and a strong reproach against Joe, that she wore this 
 apron so much. . . , 
 
 Joe's forge adjoined our house, which was a wooden house, as many 
 of the dwellings in our country were — most of them at that time. 
 When I ran home from the churchyard, the forge was shut up, and 
 Joe was sitting alone in the kitchen. Joe and I being fellow.sullerers, 
 aiid having confidences as such, Joe imparted a confidence to me, the 
 moment I raised the latch of the door and peeped in at him opposite 
 to it, sitting in the chimney corner. 
 
 " Mrs. Joe has been out a dozen times, looking for yon, Pip. And 
 •he's out now, making it a baker's dozen." 
 
 " Is she ? '• 
 
 " Yes, Pip," said Joe ; " and what's worse, she's got Tickler with her." 
 
 At this dismal intelligence, I twisted the only button on my waist.- 
 coat round and round, and looked in great depression at the fire. 
 Tickler was a wax-ended piece of cane, worn smooth by collision with 
 my tickled frame. 
 
 "She sot down," said Joe, "and she got up, and she made a grab 
 at Tickler, and she Ram-paged out. That's what she did," said Joe, 
 slowly clearing the fire between the lower bars with the poker, and 
 looking at it : " she Ram-paged out, Pip." 
 
 " Has she been gone long, Joe ? " 1 always treated him as a larger 
 species of child, and as no more than my equal, 
 
 "Well," said Joe, glancing up at the Dutch clock, "she's been on 
 the Ram-page, this last spell, about five minutes, Pip. She's a-coming! 
 Get behind the door, old chap, and have the jack-towel betwixt you." 
 
 I took the advice. My sister, Mrs. Joe, throwing the door wide 
 open, and finding an obstruction behind it, im m ediately divined the 
 cause, and applied Tickler to its further investigation. She concluded 
 by throwing me — I often served as a connubial missile — at Joe, who, 
 glad to get hold of me on any terms, passed me on into the ohimney 
 and quietly fenced me up there with his great leg. 
 
 TThen Pip grows up, he goes out into tlie world, and his 
 experiences of his sister's tender mercies come to an end ; but 
 poor Joe continues to bear his cross with exemplary patience, 
 until death relieves him of it by opening a grave for Mrs. Gargery. 
 
 " She had been in one of her bad states — though they had got 
 better of late, rather than worse — for four days, when she came out 
 of it in the evening, just at tea-time, and said quite plainly, *Joe.' 
 As she had never said any word for a long while, 1 [Biddy] ran and 
 fetched in Mr. Gargery from the forge. She made signs to me that 
 she wanted him to sit down close to her, and wanted me to put her 
 arms round his neck. So I put them round his neck, and she laid 
 her head down on his shoulder quite content and satisfied. And so 
 she presently said ' Joe * again, and once ' Pardon,' and once * Pip.' 
 And so she never lifted her head up any more, and it was just an hour 
 later when we laid it down on her own bed, because we found she was 
 gone." 
 
 (Ch. ii, iv.-vii., xjl, x,, xii.-xviii., xxit., xxt.) 8m Orlick, 
 
 DOLQE. 
 
462 THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 GEORGIAN A. A cousin of Mr. Pocket's, and a relative of 
 Miss Havisham's j an indigestive single woman, who calls her 
 rigidity religion, and her liver love. (Ch. xi., xxv., Ivii.) 
 
 HAVISHAM, MISS, EsteUa's foster-mother. In her youth 
 she had been a beautiful heiress, and looked after as a great 
 match. She was pursued in particular by a certain showy 
 man (Compeyson), who professed to be devoted to her. 
 
 She had not shown much susceptibility up to that time ; but all 
 the susceptibility she possessed, certainly came out then, and she 
 passionately loved him. There is no doubt that she perfectly idolised 
 him. He practised on her aSeotion in that systematic way, that he 
 got great sums of money from her, and he induced her to buy her 
 brother out of a share in the brewery (which had been weakly left 
 him by his father) at an immense price, on the plea that when he was 
 her husband he must hold and manage it all. . . . The marriage-day 
 was fixed, the wedding-dresses were bought, the wedding-tour was 
 planned out, the wedding-guests were invited. The day came, but not 
 the bridegroom. 
 
 She received a letter from him, however, when she was 
 dressing for church, that most heartlessly broke the marriage 
 off. When she recovered from a bad illness that she had, she 
 laid waste the whole place where she resided (Satis House), 
 stopped all the clocks at twenty minutes to nine — ^the time of 
 her receiving the letter — and never afterwards looked upon 
 the light of day. Pip, who was invited to her house when a 
 small boy, thus describes it and its inmate : 
 
 I entered , . . and found myself in a pretty large room, well 
 lighted with wax candles. No glimpse of daylight was to be seen in 
 it. It was a dressing-room, as I supposed from the furniture, though 
 much of it was of forms and uses then quite unknown to me. But 
 prominent in it was a draped table with a gilded looking-glass, and 
 that I made out at first sight to be a fine lady's dressing-table. 
 
 Whether I should have made out this object so soon, if there had 
 been no fine lady sitting at it, I cannot say. In an arm-chair, with an 
 elbow resting on the table and her head leaning on that hand, sat the 
 strangest lady I have ever seen, or shall ever see. 
 
 She was dressed in rich materials — satins, and lace, and silks — all 
 of white. Her shoes were white. And she had a long white veil 
 dependent from her hair, and she had bridal flowers in her hair, but 
 her hair was white. Some bright jewels sparkled on her neck and on 
 her hands, a.nd some other jewels lay sparkKng on the table. Dresses, 
 less splendid than the dress she wore, and half -packed trunks, were 
 scattered about. She had not quite finished dressing, for she had but 
 one shoe on — the other was on the table near at hand — her veil was - 
 but half arranged, her watch and chain were not put on, and some 
 Ja,c8 for her bosom lay with those trinkets, and with her handkerchief, 
 and gloves, and some flowers, and a Prayer-book, all confusedly heaped 
 about the looking-glass. 
 
 It was not in the first few moments that I sa.w all these thiuga, 
 
GEEAT EXPECTATIONS. 463 
 
 though I saw more of them in the first moments than might be sup- 
 posed. But, I saw that everything within my view which ought to be 
 white, had been white long ago, and had lost its lustre, and was faded 
 and yellow. I saw that the bride within the bridal-dress had withered 
 like the dress, and like the flowers, and had no brightness left but the 
 brightness of her sunken eyes. I saw that the dress had been put 
 upon the rounded figure of a young woman, and that the figure upon 
 which it now hung loose, had shrunk to skin and bone. 
 
 Filled with bitterness towards all mankind, Miss Havisham 
 adopts a beautiful orphan girl (Estella), and rears her in the 
 midst of all this desolation, educating her to steel her heart 
 against all tenderness, but to lead young men on to love her, 
 that she may break their hearts. (Ch. viii., ix., xi-xiv., xix., 
 xxii, xxix., xxxviii., xliv., xlix., Ivii.) See Estella. 
 
 HUBBLE, MB. A wheelwright, who is a friend of Ikirs. Joe 
 Gargery's ; a tough, high-shouldered, stooping old man, of a 
 sawdusty fragrance_, with his legs extraordinarily wide apart. 
 (Ch. iv., v., XXXV.) 
 
 HUBBLE, MRS. His wife ; a little, sharp-eared person, who 
 holds a conventionally juvenile position, because she married 
 Mr. Hubble when she was much younger than he. (Cb. iv., 
 
 v., XXXV.) 
 
 JACK. A grizzled, slimy man, with a slushy voice, who is 
 employed on a little causeway on the Thames. (Ch. liv.) 
 
 JA GGERS, MR. A criminal lawyer of Little Britain, employed 
 by Pip's unknown patron to inform him of his " great expecta- 
 tions," and to act as his guardian until he comes into full 
 possession of his fortune. 
 
 He was a burly man of an exceedingly dark complexion, with an 
 exceedingly large head and a correspondingly large h;iud. ... Lie 
 was prematurely bald on the top of his head, and had bushy, black 
 eyebrows that wouldn't lie down, but stood up bristhng. His eyes were 
 set very deep in his head, and were disagreeably sharp and suspicious. 
 He had a large watch-chain, and strong black dots where his beard and 
 whiskers would have been if he had let them. 
 
 ^ir. Jaggers has an air of authority that is not to be 
 disputed, and a manner expressive of knowing sometbing 
 secret about everybody that would effectually do for eacli 
 individual if he chose to disclose it. His clerk tells Pip that 
 it always seems to him as if his master had set a man-trap 
 and was watching it. When he is not biting his large foro- 
 finger, he is in the habit of throwing it, in a half-buUying 
 sort of way, at the person he is talking ivith, lie never 
 laughs j but he wears great bright creaking boots, and in poising 
 himself on these, with his lai^e head bent down, and his 
 
464 THE DICKENS DIOTIONAET. 
 
 eyebrows joined together, awaiting an answer, he sometimes 
 causes the boots to creak as if they laughed in a dry and 
 suspicious way. (Ch. xi, xviii., xx., xxi., xxiv., xxvi., xxix., 
 xxxvi., xl, xlviii, xlix., li., Ivi.) 
 
 MAGWITCH, ABEL^ alias Pro vis. A convict who escapes 
 from the Hulks, and, meeting Pip, terrifies the boy into 
 supplying him with food and a file to enable him to file off 
 his fetters. Though very soon captured, and transported to 
 New South Wales, he retains a grateful remembrance of Pip, 
 and after some years, growing wealthy in the business of 
 sheep-farming, sets him up as a gentleman, making Mr. 
 Jaggers his guardian and banker. He does this privately, 
 however ; and Pip supposes himself to be indebted to Miss 
 Havisham for his good fortune — a mistake which that lady, 
 for reasons of her own, does not trouble herself to correct. 
 Magwitch at last returns to England under the assumed name 
 of Provis, and makes himseK known to Pip, who endeavours 
 to save his benefactor from recapture, but in vain.. In spite 
 of every precaution, Magwitch is discovered and taken ; but 
 he dies in prison, and thus escapes execution. (Ch. i., iii, v., 
 xxxix.-xlii., xlvi., liv.-lvi.) 
 
 MARY ANNE. A neat little girl who is Wemmick's servant. 
 (Ch. XXV., xlv.) 
 
 MIKE. A one-eyed client of Mr. Jaggers. (Ch. xx., li.) 
 
 MILLERS. A nurse in Mr. Pocket's family. (Ch. xxii, 
 
 xxiii.) 
 MOLLY. Mr. Jaggers's housekeeper, and a former mistress 
 
 of Abel Magwitch, by whom she is the mother of EsteUa. 
 
 (Ch. xxiv., xxvi.) 
 
 Rather tall, of a lithe, nimble figure, extremely pale, with large 
 faded eyes, and a quantity of streaming hair. I cannot say whether 
 any diseased affection of the heart caused her lips to be parted as if 
 she were panting, and her face to bear a curious expression of sudden- 
 ness and flutter ; but I know that I had been to see Macbeth at the 
 theatre, a night or two before, and that her face looked to me as if it 
 were all disturbed by fiery airj like the faces I had seen rise out of the 
 Witches' cauldron. 
 
 ORLICK, DOLGE. A journeyman employed by Joe Giirgery. 
 He secretly strikes a blow, which results in the death of 
 Mrs. Gargery ; and he afterwards attempts the life of Pip. 
 (Ch. xv.-xvii., xxix., xxx., liii.) 
 
 He was a broad-shouldered, loose-limbed, swarthy fellow of great 
 strength, neyer in a hurry, and always slouching. He never even 
 seemed to oome to his work on purpose, but would slouch in as if by 
 
GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 461 
 
 mere accident ; and when he -went to The Jolly Bargeman to eat hig 
 dinner, or went away at night, he would slouch cub, like Cain or the 
 Wandering Jew, as if he had no idea where he was goin<?, and no 
 intention of ever coming back. He lodged at a sluice-keeper's out on 
 the marshes, and on working days would come slouching from his 
 hermitage, with his hands in his pockets and his dinner loosely tied in 
 a bundle round his neck and dangling on his back. On Sundays he 
 mostly lay all day on sluice-gates, or stood against ricks and bams. 
 He always slouched, looomotively, with his eyes on the ground ; and, 
 when accosted or otherwise required to raise them, he looked up iu a 
 half-resentful, half-puzzled way, as though the only thought he ever 
 had, was, that it was rather an odd and injurious fact that he should 
 never be thinking. 
 
 P^PPjEJiJ, mZ/e^ "The Avenger." Pip's boy. (Ck xxvii.) 
 
 I had got on so fast of late, that I had even started a boy in boots 
 — top boots — in bondage and slavery to whom I might be said to pass 
 my days. For, after I had made this monster (out of the refuse of my 
 washerwoman's family) and had clothed him with a blue coat, canary 
 waistcoat, white cravat, creamy breeches, and the boots already men- 
 tioned, I had to find him a little to do and a great deal to eat ; and 
 with both of these horrible requirements he hauuted my existence. 
 
 PIP. See PiRRiP, Philip. 
 
 PIRRIP, PHILIP, called "Pip." The narrator and the hero 
 of the story; " a good fellow, with impetuosity and hesitation, 
 boldness and diffidence, action and dreaming, curiously mixed 
 in him," 
 
 My father's family name being Pirrip, and my christian -name 
 Philip, my infant tongue could make of both names nothing longer or 
 more explicit than Pip. So I called myself Pip, and came to be called 
 Pip. 
 
 His father and mother being dead, Pip is brought up " by 
 hand" by his sister, Mrs. Joe Gargery, who is more than twenty 
 years older than himself. She is something of a shrew, and 
 does not treat him very kindly ; but her husband, being a 
 fellow-sufferer, makes an equal and companion of him, and they 
 are " ever the best of friends." When Pip is old enough, he is 
 apprenticed to Joe, to learn the blacksmith's trade ; but, before 
 he is out of his time, he is informed that, through the generosity 
 of an unknown friend, he will one day come into a handsome 
 property ; and in accordance with the wish of his benefactor, he 
 removes to London to be brought up as a gentleman. Elated 
 by his good fortune, he looks down upon the humble friends of 
 his earlier days, and treats them with condescending kindness 
 when he sees them, which is but seldom. At last, to his 
 astonishment and disgust, he discovers his patron to be a convict 
 for whom he haddone a favour when a child. Transported for 
 «|ime, this mas (Abel Mag witch) has retained a grateful sense of 
 
 2 H 
 
466 THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 the kindness Pip had shown him, and, accumulating wealth, haa 
 determined to educate and provide for him, and ultimately to 
 make him his heir. Though sentenced for life, such is his 
 desire to see the gentlemiJi he has made, that he runs the risk 
 of detection, returns to England, makes himseK known to Pip, 
 and avows himself his benefactor. This declaration is a stagger- 
 ing blow to Pip, who has always supposed himself to be a 
 'protege of Miss Havisham's, and the intended husband of her 
 adopted daughter, Estella, with whom he is deeply in love. 
 The young lady is married to another, and to add to his troubles, 
 Magwitch is recognised, denounced, arrested, tried, and sen- 
 tenced to death- Fortunately for himself, he dies in prison 
 before the day of execution arrives. His possessions being, 
 under the law, forfeited to the Crown, Pip finds himself sud- 
 denly reduced to poverty and arrested for debt. He is on 
 the point of being thrown into jail, when he is seized with 
 a malignant fever, becomes delirious, and suffers greatly. 
 When he begins to recover, he finds his old friend Joe by Ms 
 bedside. 
 
 After I liad turned the worst point of my illness, I began to notice 
 that while all its other features changed, this one consistent feature 
 did not change. Whoever came about me, still tattled down into Joe. 
 I opened my eyes in the night, and I saw in the great chair at the bed- 
 side, Joe. I opened my eyes in the day, and, sitting on the window- 
 seat, smoking his pipe in the shaded open window, still I saw Joe. I 
 asked for cooling drink, and the dear hand that gave it me was Joe's. 
 I sank back on my pillow after drinking, and the face that looked so 
 hopefully and tenderly upon me was the face of Joe. 
 
 At last, one day, I took coiirage, and said, " Is it Joe ? " 
 
 And the dear old home- voice answered, " Which it air, old chap." 
 
 " Joe, you break my heart ! Look angry at me, Joe. Strike me, 
 Joe. Tell me of my ingratitude. Don't be so good to me ! '* 
 
 For, Joe had actually laid his head down on the pillow at my side, 
 and put his arm round my neck, in his joy that I knew him. 
 
 " Which dear old Pip, old chap," said Joe, " you and me was ever 
 friends. And when you*re well enough to go out for a ride — what 
 larks!" 
 
 After which, Joe withdrew to the window, and stood with his back 
 towards me, wiping his eyes. And as my extreme weakness prevented 
 me from getting up and goiug to him, I lay there, penitently whisper- 
 *ng, " God bless him ! O God bless this gentle Christian man ! " 
 
 When he gets about again, Pip sells all he has, and puts 
 aside as much as he can for a composition with his creditors, 
 becomes a clerk, and, after some years, a partner, in the house 
 of Clarriker and Co., and finally marries Estella, who has been 
 left a widow. 
 
 POCKET^ HEEBERT, A son of Matthew Pockety who 
 becomes a warm ftiend of P^'s. He has ** great e^fectktibns " 
 
GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 467 
 
 as well as Pip, whom he quite astonishes with the grandeur of 
 his ideas, and his plans for making money. 
 
 We were very gay and sociable, and I asked him, in the course of 
 conversation, what he was? He replied, "A capitalist — an Insurer of 
 Ships. ... In the City." 
 
 I had grand ideas of the wealth and importance of Insurers of Ships 
 in the City. . . . But, . . . there came upon me, for my relief, that odd 
 impression that Herbert Pocket would never be very successful or 
 rich. 
 
 " I shall not rest satisfied with merely employing my capital in 
 insuring ships. I shall buy up some good Life Assurance shares, and 
 cat into the Direction. I shall also do a little in the mining way. None 
 of these things will interfere with my chartering a few thousand tons on 
 my own account. I think I shall trade," said he, leaning back in his 
 chair, " to the East Indies, for silks, shawls, spices, dyes, drugs, and 
 precious woods. It's an interesting trade." 
 
 " And the profits are large ? " said I. 
 
 " Tremendous ! " said he. 
 
 I wavered again, and began to think here were greater esrpectations 
 than my own. 
 
 " I think I shall trade, also," said he, putting his thumbs into his 
 waistcoat pockets, " to the West Indies, for sugar, tobacco, and rum. 
 Also to Ceylon, especially for elephants' tusks." 
 
 " You will want a good many ships," said I. 
 
 " A perfect fleet," said he. 
 
 Quite overpowered by the magnificence of these transactions, I asked 
 him where the ships he insured mostly traded to at present ? 
 
 " I haven't begun insuring yet," he replied. *' I am looking about 
 me." 
 
 Somehow, that pursuit seemed more in keeping vtdth Barnard's Iniio 
 I said (in a tone of conviction). " Ah-h ! " 
 
 " Yes. I am in a counting-house, and looking about me.** 
 
 " Is a counting-house profitable ? " I asked. 
 
 " To — —do you mean to the young fellow who*s in it ? " he asked, in 
 reply. 
 
 "Yes; to you." 
 
 " Why, n-no ; not to me.'* He said this with the air of one carefully 
 reckoning .ip and striking a balance. " Not directly profitable. That is, 
 it doesn't pay me anything, and I have to keep myself." 
 
 This certainly had not a profitable appearance, and I shook my head 
 as if I would imply that it would be diflScult to lay by much accumulative 
 capital from such a source of income. 
 
 " But the thing is," said Herbert Pocket, "that you look about you. 
 That's the grand thing. You are in a counting-house, you know, and 
 you look about you." 
 
 It struck me as a singular implication that you couldn't be out of a 
 counting-house, you know, and look about you j but I silently deferred 
 to his experience. 
 
 " Then the time comes,'* said Herbert, " when you see your opening. 
 And you go in, and you swoop upon it and you make your capital, and 
 then there you are ! When you have once made your capital, you have 
 potiiing to do but employ it." 
 
 Pip's lavish habits l^'^d Herbert into expenses th-at he caiiii<>t 
 
 2 H 3 
 
468 THE DICKENS DIOTIONABT. 
 
 afford, corrupt the simplicity of his life, and disturb his peace 
 with caxieties and regrets. 
 
 Afc Startop's suggestion, we put ourselves down for election into a 
 club called the Finches of the Grove : the object of which institution I 
 have never divined, if it were not that the members should dine ex- 
 pensively once a fortnight, to quarrel among themselves as much as 
 possible after dinner, and to cause six waiters to get drunk on the stairs. 
 I know that these gratifying social ends were bo invariably accomplished, 
 that Herbert and I understood nothing else to be referred to in the first 
 standing toast of the society : which ran, " Gentlemen, may the present 
 promotion of good feeling ever reign predominant among the Finches of 
 the Grove." . . . 
 
 In my confidence in my own resources, I would willingly have taken 
 Herbert's expenses on myself ; but Herbert was proud, and I could make 
 no such proposal to him. So, he got into difficulties in every direction, 
 and continued to look about him. When we gradually fell into keeping 
 late hours and late company, I noticed that he looked about him with a 
 desponding eye at breakfast-time ; that he began to look about him more 
 hopefully about mid-day ; that he drooped when he came into dinner ; 
 that he seemed to descry Capital in the distance, rather clearly, after 
 dinner; that he all but realised Capital towards midnight; and that 
 about two o'clock in the morning, he became so deeply despondent again 
 as to talk of buying a rifle and going to America, with a general purpose 
 of compelling buffaloes to make his fortune. . . . 
 
 We spent as much money as we could, and got as little for it as 
 people could make up their minds to give us. We were always more or 
 less miserable, and most of our acquaintance were in the same condition. 
 There was a gay fiction among us that we were constantly enjoying our» 
 selves, and a skeleton truth that we never did. To the best of my belief, 
 our case was in the last aspect a rather common one. . . . 
 
 At certain times — meaning at uncertain times, for they depended 
 on our humour — I would say to Herbert, as if it were a remarkable 
 discovery : 
 
 " My dear Herbert, we are getting on badly." 
 
 "My dear Handel,"* Herbert would say to me, in all sincerity, "ifyoa 
 will believe me, those very words were on my lips, by a strange coin- 
 cidence." 
 
 " Then, Herbert," I would respond, " let us look into our affairs." 
 ^We always derived profound satisfaction from making an appoint- 
 ment for this purpose. I always thought this was business, this was the 
 way to confront the thing, this was the way to take the foe by the throat. 
 And I know Herbert thought so too. 
 
 We ordered something rather special for dinner, with a bottle of 
 something similarly out of the common way, in order that our minds 
 might be fortified for the occasion, and we might come well up to the 
 mark. Dinner over, we produced a bundle of pens, a copious supply of 
 ink, and a goodly show of writing and blotting paper. For, there was 
 something very comfortable in having plenty of stationery. 
 
 I would then take a sheet of paper, and write across the top of it, in 
 a neat Land, the heading, " Memorandum of Pip's debts ; '* with Barnard's 
 Inn and the date very carefully added. Herbert would also take a sheet 
 of paper, and write across it with similar formalities, " Memorandum of 
 Herbert's debts." 
 
 Each of us would then refer to a confused heap of papers at his side, 
 which had been thrown into drawers, worn into holes in pockets, half- 
 
GEBAT SXPBCTATIONS. 469 
 
 bnmt in lighting candles, stuck for weeks into the looking-glass, and 
 otherwise damaged. The sound of our pens going refreshed us exceed- 
 ingly, insomuch that I sometimes found it difl&cult to distinguish be- 
 tween this edifying business proceeding and actually paying the 
 money. In point of meritorious character, the two things seemed 
 about equal. . . . 
 
 When I had got all my responsibilities down upon my list, I com- 
 pared each with the bill, and ticked it off. My self -approval when I 
 ticked an entry was quite a luxurious sensation. When I had no more 
 ticks to make, I folded all my bills up uniformly, docketed each on. 
 the back, and tied the whole into a symmetrical bundle. Then I did 
 the same for Herbert (who modestly said he had not my administra- 
 tive genius), and felt that I had brought his affairs into a focus for him. 
 
 My business habits had one other bright feature, which I called 
 " leaving a Margin." For example ; supposing Herbert's debts to be 
 one hundred and sixty -four pounds four-and-twopence, I would say, 
 " Leave a margin, and put them down at two hundred." Or, supposing 
 my own to be four times as much, I would leave a margin, and put 
 them down at seven hundred. I had the highest opinion of the wisdom 
 of this same Margin, but I am bound to acknowledge that on look- 
 ing back, I deem it to have been an expensive device. For, we always 
 ran into new debt immediately, to the full extent of the margin, and 
 sometimes, in the sense of freedom and solvency it imparted, got 
 pretty far on into another margin. 
 
 At a later date Herbert becomes a partner in the house of 
 Clarriker and Co., through the kind assistance of Pip, which 
 is secretly rendered, and is not discovered for many a year. 
 He marries Clara Barley. (Ch. xi., xxi.-xxviii., xxx., xxxi., 
 xxxiv., xxxvL-xliL, xlv.-xlvii., xlix., 1., iii.-lv., Iviii.) 
 
 POCKET, ALIGK, One of Mr. Pocket's chHdren, who makes 
 arrangements, while still wearing a frock, for being married to 
 a suitable young person at Kew. (Ch. xxii., xxiii.) 
 POCKEI, JANE, A little daughter of ]\ir. Pocket's ; a mere 
 mite, who has prematurely taken upon herself some charge of 
 the others. Her desire to be matrimonially established is so 
 strong, that she might be supposed to have passed her short 
 existence in the perpetual contemplation of domestic bliss. 
 (Ch. xxii., xxiii.) 
 POQKET, JOE. Another child. (Ch. xxiii.) 
 POCKET, FANNY, Another child. (Ch. xxiii) 
 POCKET, MR. MATTHEW. A relative of Mss Havisham's, 
 living at Hammersmith, with whom Pip studies for a time. 
 He is a gentleman with a rather perplexed expression of face, 
 and with his hair disordered on his head, as if he didn't quite 
 see his way to putting anything straight. (Ch. xxiu-xxiv., 
 xxxiii., xxxix.) 
 
 By degrees I learnt, and chiefly from Herbert, that Mr. Pocket 
 had been educated at Harrow and at Cambridge, where he had 
 
470 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 distinguished himself; but that when he had had the happiness of 
 marrying Mrs. Pocket very early in Hfe, he had impaired his prospects 
 and taken up the calling of a Grinder. After grinding a number of 
 dull blades — of whom it was remarkable that their fathers, when 
 influential, were always going to help him to preferment, but always 
 forgot to do it when the blades had left the Grindstone — he had wearied 
 of that poor work and had come to London. Here, after gradually failing 
 in loftier hopes, he had " read " with divers who had lacked oppor- 
 tunities, or neglected them,, and had refurbished divers others for 
 epecial occasions, and had turned his acquirements to the account of 
 literary compilation and correction, and on such means, added to some 
 very moderate private resources, still maintained the house I saw. 
 
 POCKET, MRS, BELINDA. His wife. (Ch. xxii, xxiii, 
 xxxiii.) 
 
 Mrs. Pocket was the only daughter of a certain quite accidental 
 deceased Knight, who had invented for himself a conviction that his 
 deceased father would have been made a Baronet but for somebody's 
 determined opposition arising out of entirely personal motives — I 
 forget whose, if I ever knew — the Sovereign's, the Prime Minister's, 
 the Lord Chancellor's, the Archbishop of Canterbury's, anybody's — 
 and had tacked himself on to the nobles of the earth in right of this 
 quite supposititious fact. I believe he had been knighted himself for 
 storming the English grammar at the point of the pen, in a desperate 
 address engrossed on vellum, on the occasion of the laying of the first 
 stone of some building or other, and for handing some Eoyal Personage 
 either the trowel or the mortar. Be that as it may, he had directed 
 Mrs. Pocket to be brought up from her cradle as one who in the nature 
 of things must marry a title, and who was to be guarded from the 
 acquisition of plebeian domestic knowledge. 
 
 So successful a watch and ward had been established over the 
 young lady by this judicious parent, that she had grown up highly 
 ornamental, but perfectly helpless and useless. With her character 
 thus happily formed, in the first bloom of her youth she had 
 s«/30untered Mr. Pocket : who was also in the first bloom of youth, and 
 not quite decided whether to mount to the Woolsack, or to roof 
 himself in with a mitre. As his doing the one or the other was a mere 
 question of time, he and Mrs. Pocket had taken Time by the forelock 
 (when, to judge from its length, it would seem to have wanted cutting), 
 and had married without the knowledge of the judicious parent. The 
 judicious parent, having nothing to b^tow or withhold but his blessing, 
 had handsomely settled that dower upon them after a short struggle, 
 and had informed Mr. Pocket that his wife was "a treasure for a 
 Prince." Mr. Pocket had invested the Prince's treasure in the ways 
 of the world ever since, and it was supposed to have brought him in 
 but indifferent interest. Still, Mrs. Pocket was in general the object 
 of a queer sort of respectful pity, because she had not married a title j 
 while Mr. Pocket was the object of a queer Bort of forgiving reproach, 
 because he had never got one. 
 
 POCKET, SARAH. A relative of Miss Havisham ; a little, 
 dry, brown, corrugated old woman, with a blandly-vicious 
 manner, a small face that might have been made of walnut 
 
GEEAT EXPECTATIOKS. 4^1 
 
 shells, and a large mouth like a cat's, without the whiskers. 
 (Ch. xi., XV., xix., xxix.) 
 
 POTKINS, WILLIAM. A waiter at The Blue 13oar. (Ch. 
 Iviii.) 
 
 PRO VIS. See Magwitch, Abel. 
 
 PUMBLECHOOK, UNCLE. A well-to-do com chandler and 
 seedsman; uncle to Joe Gargery, but appropriated by Mrs. 
 Joe. He is a large, hard-breathing, middle-aged, slow man, 
 with a mouth like a fish, dull, staring eyes, and sandy hair 
 standing upright on his head ; so that he looks as if he had 
 been choked, and had just come to. Pumblechook is the 
 torment of Pip's life. AYhile a mere boy, the bullying old 
 fellow is in the habit of coming to Mrs. Gargery's house, 
 where Pip lives, and discussing his character and prospects ; 
 but this he can never do without having the child before him 
 to operate on. 
 
 He would drag me np from my stool (usually by the collar) where I 
 was quiet in a corner, and, putting me before the fire as if I were going 
 to be cooked, woald begin by saying, " Now, Mum, here is this boy ! 
 Here is this boy which you brought up by hand. Hold up your head, 
 boy, and be for ever grateful unto them which so did do. Now, Mum, 
 with respections to this boy." And then he would rumple my hair the 
 wrong way — which from my earliest remembrance, ... I have in my 
 Boul denied the right of any fellow-creature to do — and would hold me 
 before him by the sleeve : a spectacle of imbecility only to be equalled 
 by himself. 
 
 ^Yhen Pip comes, most unexpectedly, into property and 
 " great expectations," and is about departing for London, the 
 obsequiousness of Pumblechook is equal to his former assump- 
 tion of authority. 
 
 "My dear friend," said Mr. Pumblechook, taking me by both handa 
 ..." I give you joy of your good fortune. WeU deserved, well 
 deserved ! " 
 
 This was coming to the point, and I thought it a sensible way of 
 expressing himself. 
 
 " To think," said Mr. Pumblechook, after snorting admiration at 
 me for some moments, " that I should have been the humble instrument 
 of leading up to this, is a proud reward." 
 
 I begged Mr. Pumblechook to remember that nothing was to be 
 ever said or hinted, on that point. 
 
 " My dear young friend," said Mr. Pumblechook ; " if you will 
 allow me to call you so " 
 
 I murmured " Certainly," and Mr. Pumblechook tooh me by both 
 hands again, and communicated a movement to his waistcoat, which 
 had an emotional appearance, though it was rather low down, " My 
 dear young friend, rely upon my doing my little all in your absence, 
 by keeping the fact before the mind of Joseph. — Joseph 1 " said Mr. 
 
m THE BICKENS DICTIOKAS?. 
 
 Pumblechook, in the way of a compassionate adjuration. " Josepli ! ! 
 .1 f )seph ! ! ! " Thereupon he shook his head and tapped it, expressing 
 his sense of deficiency in Joseph. 
 
 " But my dear young friend," said Mr. Pumblechook, **you must be 
 hungry, you must be exhausted. Be seated. Here is a chicken had 
 round from The Boar, here is a tongue had round from The Boar, here's 
 one or two little things had round from The Boar, that I hope you may 
 not despise. But do I," said Mr. Pumblechook, getting up again the 
 moment after he had sat down, " see afore me, him as I ever sported 
 with in his times of happy infancy ? And may I — may I ? " 
 
 This May I, meant might he shake hands ? I consented, and he was 
 fervent, and then sat down again. 
 
 " Here is wine," said Mr. Pumblechook. " Let us drink, Thanks to 
 Fortune, and may she ever pick out her favourites with equal judgment! 
 And yet I cannot," said Mr. Pumblechook, getting up again, " see afore 
 me One — and hkewise drink to One — ^without again expressing — May I 
 —mayl- ?" 
 
 I said he might, and he shook hands with me again, and emptied his 
 glass and turned it upside down. 
 
 "When Pip is reduced to poverty by the death of his patron, 
 I^Ir. Pumblechook again changes his manner and conduct, 
 becoming as ostentatiously compassionate and forgiving as he 
 had been meanly servile in the time of Pi^i's new prosperity. 
 
 " Young man, I am sorry to see you brought low. But what else 
 could be expected ! what else could be expected ! . . . This is him . . . 
 as I have rode in my shay-cart. This is him as I have seen brought up 
 by hand. This is him untoe the sister of which I was imcle by mar- 
 riage, as her name was Georgiana M'ria from her own mother, let him 
 deny it if he can ! . . . 
 
 " Young man," said Pumblechook, screwing his head at me in the old 
 fashion, " you air a going to Joseph. What does it matter to me, you ask 
 me, where you air a going ? I say to you, Sir, you air a going to Joseph. 
 . . . Now, ... I will tell you what to say to Joseph. . . . Says you, 
 • Joseph, I have this day seen my earliest benefactor and the founder of 
 my fortun's. I will name no names, Joseph, but so they are pleased to 
 call him up-town, and I have seen that man.' " 
 
 *' I swear I don't see him here," said I. 
 
 " Say that likewise," retorted Pumblechook. " Say you said that, and 
 even Joseph will probably betray sui-prise." 
 
 " There you quite mistake him," said I. " I know better." 
 
 *' Says you," Pumblechook went on, " * Joseph, I have seen that man, 
 and that man bears you no malice, and bears me no malice. He knows 
 your character, Joseph, and is well acquainted with your pig-headedness 
 and ignorance ; and he knows my character, Joseph, and he knows my 
 want of gratitoode. Yes, Joseph,' says you," here Pumblechook shook 
 his head and hand at me, " ' he knows my total deficiency of common 
 human gratitoode. He knows it, Joseph, as none can. You do not know 
 it, Joseph, having no call to know it, but that man do.* " 
 
 Windy donkey as he was, it really amazed me that he could have the 
 face to talk thus to mine. 
 
 " Says ycni, ' J(.seph, he gave me a little message, which T will now 
 repeat. It was, tljat in my being brought low, he saw il-e finger of 
 Providence. lie knowed that finger when ho saw it, Joseph, and he saw 
 
GBBAT EXPECTATIONS. 478 
 
 it piain. It pinted out this writing, Joseph. Rewwrd of ingratitoode to 
 earliest henefactoTy amd founder of fortwCs. But that man said that he 
 did not repent of what he had done, Joseph. Not at all. It was right 
 to do it, it was kind to do it, it was benevolent to do it, and he would 
 do it aj,^in.' " 
 
 (CIl iv.-Ls., xii., xiii., xv., xix, xxxv,, Iviii.) 
 
 SKIFFINS, MISS. A lady of an imcertain age and a wooden 
 apj)earance, but " a very good sort of feUow." She stands 
 possessed of " portable property," which is so strong a recom- 
 mendation in the eyes of Mr. Wemmick, that he makes her 
 his wife. (Ch. xxxvii., Iv.) 
 
 SOPHIA. A housemaid in Mr. Pocket's service. (Ch. xxiii.) 
 
 SPIDER, THE. See Drummle, Bentlbt. 
 
 STARTOP, MR. A lively, bright young man, with a woman's 
 delicacy of feature, who is a fellow-boarder with Pip at Mr. 
 
 ■ Pocket's. (Ch. xxiii., xxv., xxvi., xxxiv., lii.-liv.) 
 
 TRABB, MR. A prosperous old bachelor, who is a tailor and 
 undertaker in the quiet old town where Pip lives during his 
 boyhood. (Ch. xix., xxxv.) 
 
 lie has a shop-boy who is one of the most audacious 
 young fellows in all that country-side. When Pip comes into 
 a handsome property, and people stare after him, and are 
 excessively polite if he happens to speak to them, the only 
 etlect upon Trabb's boy is to make him more independent and 
 impudent than before. As Pip is returning, on one occasion, 
 to The Blae Boar from Satis House, to take the coach back to 
 London, fate throws him in the way of "that unlimited 
 miscreant." 
 
 Casting vaj eyes along the street at a certain point of my pro- 
 gress, I beheld Trabb's boy approaching, lashing himself with an 
 empty blue bag. Deeming that a serene and unconscious contem- 
 plation of him would best beseem me, and would be most likely to 
 quell his evil mind, I advanced with that expression of countenance, 
 and was rather congratulating myself on my success, when suddenly 
 the knees of Ti abb's boy smote together, his hair uprose, his cap fell 
 off, he trembled violently in every limb, staggered out into the road, 
 and crying to the populace, " Hold me ! I'm so frightened! " feigned 
 to bo in a paroxysm of terror and contrition, occasioned by the dignity 
 of my appearance. As I passed him, his teeth loudly chattered in his 
 head, and with every mark of extreme humiliation, he prostrated 
 himself in the dust. 
 
 This was a bard thing to bear, but this was nothing. I had not 
 ftdvsjiced another two hundi'ed yards, when, to my inexpressible 
 terror, amazement, and indignation, I again beheld Trabb's boy ap- 
 proaching. He was coming round a narrow comer. His blue bag was 
 slung over his shoulder, honest industry beamed in his eyes, a deter- 
 mination to proceed to Trabb's with cheerful briskness was indicated 
 
474 1?HB DICKSKS DIOTIONAET. 
 
 in his gait. With a shock he became aware of me, and was severely 
 visited as before ; but this time his motion was rotatory, and he stag- 
 gered round and round me with knees more afflicted, and with up- 
 lifted hands as if beseeching for mercy. His sufferings were hailed 
 with the greatest joy by a knot of spectators, and I felt utterly con- 
 founded. 
 
 I had not got as much farther down the street as the post-office, 
 when I again beheld Trabb's boy, shooting round by a back way. 
 This time, he was entirely changed. He wore the blue bag in the 
 manner of my great-coat, and was strutting along the pavement 
 towards me on the opposite side of the street, attended by a company 
 of delighted young friends to whom he from time to time exclaimed, 
 with a wave of his hand, " Don't know yah ! " Words cannot state 
 the amount of aggravation and injury wreaked upon me by Trabb's 
 boy, when passing abreast of me, he pulled up his shirt-collar, twined 
 his side-hair, stuck an arm akimbo, and smirked extravagantly by, 
 wriggung his elbows and body, and drawling to his attendants, " Don't 
 know yah, don't know yah, 'pon my soul don't know yah ! " The dis- 
 grace attendant on his immediately afterward taking to crowing, and 
 pursuing me across the bridge with crows as from an exceedingly 
 dejected fowl who had known me when I was a blacksmith, ciilminated 
 the disgrace with which I left the town, and was, so to speak, ejected 
 by it into the open country. (Ch. xxx.) 
 
 WALDENGARVER, MR. See Wopsle, Mr. 
 
 WEMMICK, MR. JOHN. Mr. Jaggers's confidential clerk. 
 He is a dry man, rather short in stature, with a square wooden 
 face, whose expression seems to have been imperfectly chipped 
 out with a dull-edged chisel. He has glittering eyes — small, 
 keen, and black — and thin, white mottled lips, and has had 
 them, apparently, from forty to fifty years. His guiding 
 principle, and his invariable advice to his friends is, to take 
 care of portable property, and never on any account to lose an 
 opportunity of securing it. Although his business relations to 
 Mr. Jaggers are of the most intimate nature, their acquaintance 
 and fellowship goes no further, and each pretends to the other 
 that he is made of the sternest and flintiest stuff. But not- 
 withstanding their hard exterior and their fear of showing 
 themselves to one another in a weak and unprofessional light, 
 they are kindly men at heart — Wemmick especially, who has 
 a pleasant home at Walworth, where he devotes himself to 
 the comfort of his venerable father, and refreshes his business 
 life in many pleasant and playful ways, the latest and most 
 important of them being the transformation of Miss Skiffins 
 into Mrs. Wemmick. (Ch. xx., xxi., xxiv.-xxvi., xxxiL, 
 xxxvi, xxxvii, xlv., xlviiL, 11, Iv.) See Skiffins, Miss. 
 
 The district of Walworth . . . appeared to be a collection of 
 black lanes, ditches, and little gardens, and to present the aspect of a 
 rather dull retirement. Wemmick's house was a little wooden cottage 
 
GREAt EXPECTATIONS. 476 
 
 in tlie midst of plots of garden, and the top of it was cut out and 
 painted like a battery mounted with guns. 
 
 " My own doing," said Wemmick. " Looks pretty ; don't it ? " 
 
 I highly commended it. I think it was the smallest house I ever 
 aaw, with the queerest gothic windows (by far the greater part of 
 them sham), and a gothic door, almost too small to get in at. 
 
 " That's a real flagstaff, you see," said Wemmick, " and on Sundays 
 I run up a real flag. Then look here. After I have crossed this 
 bridge, I hoist it up — so — and cut off the communication." 
 
 The bridge was a plank, and it crossed a chasm about four feet wide 
 and two deep. But it was very pleasant to see the pride with which 
 he hoisted it up, and made it fast j smiling as he did so, with a relish, 
 and not merely mechanically. 
 
 " At nine o'clock every night, Greenwich time," said Wemmick, 
 " the gun fires. There he is, you see ! And when you hear him go, 
 I think you'll say he's a Stinger." 
 
 The piece of ordnance referred to, was mounted in a separate 
 fortress, constructed of lattice-work. It was protected from the 
 weather by an ingenious little tarpaulin contrivance in the nature of 
 an umbrella. 
 
 " Then at the back," said Wemmick, " out of sight, so as not to 
 impede the idea of fortifications — for it's a principle with me, if you 
 have an idea, carry it out and keep it up — I don't know whether 
 that's your opinion " 
 
 I said, decidedly. 
 
 " — At the back, there's a pig, and there are fowls and rabbits j 
 then I knock together my own Httle frame, you see, and grow cucum- 
 bers ; and you'll judge at supper what sort of a salad I can raise. 
 So, sir," said Wemmick, smiling again, but seriously too, as he shook 
 his head, " if you can suppose the little place besieged, it would hold 
 out a devil of a time in point of provisions." 
 
 Then, he conducted me to a bower about a dozen yards off, but 
 which was approached by such ingenious twists of path that it took 
 quite a long time to get at j and in this retreat our glasses were 
 already set forth. Our punch was cooling in an ornamental lake, on 
 whose margin the bower was raised. This piece of water (with 
 an island in the middle which might have been the salad for 
 supper) was of a circular form, and he had constructed a fountain in 
 it, which, when you set a little mill going and took a cork out of a 
 pipe, played to that powerful extent that it made the back of your 
 hand quite wet. 
 
 "I am my own engineer, and my own carpenter, and my own 
 plumber, and my own gardener, and my own Jack of all Trades," 
 said Wemmick, in acknowledging my compliments. " Well, it's a 
 good thing, you know. It brushes the Newgate cobwebs away, and 
 pleases the Aged." 
 
 WEMMIQK, MR., SENIOR, called "The Aged." Mr. John 
 Wemmick's father ; a very old man, clean, cheerful, comfort- 
 able, and well cared for, but intensely deaf. (Ch, xxv., xxxvii., 
 xlv., xlviii., li., Iv.) 
 
 WEMMICK, MRS. See Skiffins, Miss. 
 
 WHIMPLE, MRS. A lodging-house keeper at MiU Pond 
 
476 THE DIGKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 Bank, Chiiiks's Basin ; an elderly woman of a pleasaat and 
 thriving appearance, who is the best of housewives. (Ch. 
 xlvi.) 
 
 WILLIAM, See Potkins, William. 
 
 WOPSLE, MR, A friend of Mrs. Joe Gargery's; at first 
 parish clerk, afterwards an actor in London under the stage- 
 name of Mr. Waldengarver. 
 
 Mr. Wopsle, united to a Roman nose and a large shining bald fore- 
 head, had a deep voice which he was uncommonly proud of ; indeed 
 it was understood among his acquaintance that if you could only give 
 him his head, he would read the clergyman into fits ; he himself con- 
 fessed that if the Church was " thrown open," meaning to compe- 
 tition, he would not despair of making his mark in it. The Church 
 not being "thrown open," he was, as I have said, our clerk. But he 
 punished the Amens tremendously ; and when he gave out the psalm 
 — always giving the whole verse — he looked all round the congregation 
 first, as much as to say, " You have heard our friend overhead j oblige 
 me with your opinion of this." 
 
 His success as an actor is not particularly brilliant or 
 encouraging. Pip and Herbert go to the small theatre where 
 he is engaged, to witness his impersonation of Hamlet. 
 
 Whenever that undecided Prince had to ask a question or state a 
 doubt, the public helped him out with it. As for example 5 on the 
 question whether 'twas nobler in the mind to suffer, some roared yes, 
 and some no, and some inclining to both opinions said " toss up for 
 it ; " and quite a Debating Society arose. When he asked v.^hat should 
 Buch fellows as he do crawling between earth and heaven, he was 
 encouraged with loud cries of " Hear, hear ! " When he appeared 
 with his stocking disordered (its disorder expressed, according to 
 usage, by one very neat fold in the top, which I suppose to be always 
 got up with a flat iron), a conversation took place in the gallery re- 
 specting the paleness of his leg, and whether it was occasioned by 
 the turn the ghost had given him. On his taking the recorders — very 
 like a little black flute that had just been played in the orchestra and 
 handed out at the door — he was called upon unanimously for Rule 
 Britannia. When he recommended the player not to saw the air thus, 
 the sulky man said, "And don't you do it, neither; you're a deal 
 worse than Mm ! " And I grieve to add that peala of laughter 
 greeted Mr. Wopsle on every one of these occasions. 
 
 CCh iv.-vil, X., xiii., xv., xviii., xxxi, xlviL) 
 
6BEAT KXPBOTATIONS. iOI 
 
 PRINCIPAL INCIDENTS. 
 
 Chapter I. Pip, in the churcliyard, is frightened by the appearance of 
 & fearful man with a great iron on his leg, who makes him promise to 
 bring him, -^he next morning, a file and some food. — II. Pip, with some 
 difficulty, conceals the food Mrs. Joe gives him for supper, and early in 
 the morning, robs the pantry, and runs for the marshes. — III. Pip meets 
 a convict, who is not the one he seeks, and afterwards finds the right 
 one, who eagerly devours his food. — IV. Mrs. Joe's preparations for 
 Christmas ; Pip's sufferings during the Christmas dinner for fear his 
 theft should be discovered ; Pip starts to run away, and runs into a 
 party of soldiers at the door. — Y. Joe mends a pair of handcuffs for the 
 sergeant, and the party start in search of the escaped convicts on the 
 marshes ; they find the two convicts struggling together in a ditch, and 
 Pip's convict claims to have taken and given up the other one ; Pip's 
 convict confesses to having stolen the food taken by Pip from Mrs. Gar- 
 gery's pantry. — VI. Pip's fear of confessing to Joe. — ^VII. Pip's educa- 
 tion is attended to, and he indites a letter to Joe ; Joe's delight at 
 finding his name in print ; Joe's account of his father's goodness of 
 heart, and of his marriage to Pip's sister; Pip goes to play at Miss 
 Havlsham's. — ^VIII. Pip breakfasts at Mr. Pumblechook's, and proceeds 
 to Miss Havisham's, where he is received by Estella : singular appear- 
 ance of Miss Havisham, and of everything around her ; Estella and Pip 
 play cards for Miss Havisham's amusement ; Estella sends Pip home. — 
 IX. Pip gives his sister and Pumblechook an account of Miss Havisham's 
 and his visit there, the falsity of which he afterwards acknowledges to 
 Joe. — X. Pip goes to The Three Jolly Bargemen to meet Joe, and 
 see there a stranger, by a sign from whom he knows he has seen his 
 convict J the stranger gives Pip a shilling, wrapping it in two one-pound 
 notes. — XI. Pip goes again to Miss Ha,visham's, and finds her friends have 
 com-e to see her on her birthday ; Pip meets the pale young gentleman, 
 who challenges him to fight, and, being victorious, he is rewarded by a 
 kiss from Estella. — XII. Pip having grown old enough to be apprenticed 
 to Joe, Miss Havisham sends for Joe, to whom she gives twenty-five 
 guineas as a premium with Pip. — XIII. Joe gives the money to his wife, 
 with a message from Miss Havisham, and Pip is " bound out of hand " 
 by Mr. Pumblechook. — XIV. Pip desires to go and see Miss Havisham, 
 and Joe gives him and Orlick a half-holiday. — XV. Orlick calls Mrs. 
 Gargery names, and is beaten by Joe ; Pip goes to Miss Havisham's in 
 the hope of seeing EsteUa, but is disappointed ; Mrs. Gargery receives a 
 severe injury from an unknown hand. — XVI. Pip forms a theory io 
 regard to the assailant of his sister, and is surprised that she does 
 not denounce Orlick. — XVII. Pip pays a visit to Miss Havisham on 
 his birthday ; Pip expresses to Biddy, who has become Joe's house- 
 keeper, his desire to be a gentleman. — XVIII. Mr. Wopsle, reading at 
 The Three Jolly Bargemen the account of a murder, is cross-ques- 
 tioned by Mr. Jaggers ; Jaggers requests a private conference with Joe 
 and Pip, and informs them that Pip has Great Expectations, and must 
 hencef oi-th be brought up as a gentleman ; Jaggers informs them that 
 the conditions imposed are, that Pip sball always bear that name, and 
 
478 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 that he is never to ask or seek to know the name of his benefactor ; 
 Jaggers advises Pip "what to do, and offers Joe compensation for the loss 
 of Pip's time, which he refuses ; Joe tells the news at home. — XIX. 
 Biddy gives Pip her idea of good manners ; Pip waits upon Mr. Trabb, 
 and orders his new clothes ; Mr. Pumblechook entertains Pip, and con- 
 gratulates him on his good fortune, of which he claims to be the instru- 
 ment ; Pip takes a final leave of Miss Havisham ; Pip starts on his 
 journey to London. — XX. Arriving in London, Pip calls on Mr. Jaggers, 
 and witnesses that gentleman's manner of bullying his clients ; Wem- 
 mick accompanies Pip from Jaggers's ofl&ce to young Mr. Pocket's. — 
 XXI. — Pip's impressions of Barnard's Inn ; Pip is welcomed by Herbert 
 Pocket, in whom he recognises the pale young gentleman he had fought 
 with at Miss Havisham's. — XXII. Herbert informs Pip of his former ex- 
 pectations from Miss Havisham, and their disappointment ; Herbert gives 
 Pip the name of Handel j Pip learns from Herbert the history of Miss 
 Havisham, interspersed with some hints for the improvement of his 
 own manners ; Pip is introduced to Mr. Matthew Pocket and his family. 
 — XXIII. Some account of Mr. and Mrs. Pocket, their lodgers, and their 
 domestic mismanagement. — ^XXIY. Pip begins to do business with Mr. 
 Jaggers, and is shown that gentleman's ofl&ce-arrangements by Mr. 
 Wemmick. — XXV. Pip accompanies Wemmick home to Walworth, where 
 he is introduced to the Aged, and spends the night. — XXVI. Pip and his 
 friends dine with Mr. Jaggers ; singular appearance of that gentleman's 
 housekeeper; quarrel between Bentley Drummle and Pip, at Mr. 
 Jaggers's table. — XXVII. Pip receives a letter from Biddy, announcing 
 a visit from Joe, and soon after Joe himself arrives; Miss Havisham 
 sends word by Joe that Estella has returned, and would be glad to see 
 Pip. — XXVIII. Pip goes down to the old town, by stage, and recognises, 
 in a convict who is being taken to the hulks, the man from whom he 
 had received the two one-pound notes. — XXIX. Pip is surprised to find 
 Orlick occupying the place of porter at Miss Havisham's ; meeting of 
 Pip and Estella, and their walk together in the garden ; Miss Havisham's 
 passionate appeal to Pip to love Estella, and the sudden appearance of 
 Mr. Jaggers in the room. — XXX. How Trabb's boy met Pip in the street, 
 and attended him from the town ; Pip acknowledges to Herbert his love 
 for Estella and his doubts of ever winning her ; Herbert returns the 
 confidence by informing Pip of his own engagement. — XXXI. Mr. 
 Wopsle's appearance as Hamlet; Pip receives a note from Estella 
 informing him of her approaching visit to London. — XXXII. He accom- 
 panies Wemmick to Newgate, and witnesses the estimation in which 
 Jaggers is held in that institution. — XXXIII. Pip receives Estella on her 
 arrival, and escorts her to her destination at Richmond. — XXXIV. Effect 
 produced upon Pip by his expectations, and the way in which he and 
 Herbert " looked into their affairs ; " Pip receives notice of the death of 
 his sister, and goes down to attend the funeral. — XXXV. He has a con- 
 versation with Biddy, who understands him better than he understands 
 himself. — XXXVI. Jaggers congratulates Pip on his coming of age, and 
 presents him with five hundred pounds from his unknown benefactor, 
 but does not disclose the name of the person. — XXXVII. Wemmick 
 makes a distinction between his opinions in the office and at Walworth ; 
 Pip spends Sunday at Wemmick's, and witnesses his care of his aged 
 parent, and his attentions to Miss Skiffins ; Pip, with Wemmick's 
 Bssistance, seta Herbert up in business. — XXXVIII. Pip pays frequent 
 visits to Estella, at Mrs. Brandley's, and escorts her home to MisS 
 Havisham's ; some hai'sh words are exchanged "between Miss Havisham 
 
GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 479 
 
 and Estella ; Drummle offends Pip by toasting Estella ,• Pip remonstrates 
 with Estella for encouraging Drummle's attentions. — XXXIX. Pip, 
 Bitting alone in his room at a late hour of the night, is interrupted bj a 
 strange visitor, in whom he recognises his convict, and from whom he 
 learns that this man himself is the unknown patron whose money he haa 
 been spending ; he also learns the risk at which the convict has returned 
 to England. — XL. Pip stumbles over a man on his staircase, and learns 
 from the watchman that his convict was followed by another person ; 
 satisfaction of Provis in seeing *' the gentleman he has made ; " Pip 
 engages rooms for Provis, whom he represents as his uncle ; Pip verifies, 
 by reference to Mr. Jaggers, his knowledge that Provis is his sole 
 benefactor. — XLI. Herbert returns, and, taking the oath demanded by 
 Provis, is told the whole secret of his connection with Pip ; aversion of 
 the young men for Pip's patron. — XLII. Provis relates the story of hia 
 life, and his connection with Compeyson, the other convict who had 
 been retaken with him on the marshes ; Herbert recognises in Compeyson 
 the man who professed to be Miss Havisham's lover. — XLIII. Having 
 decided to go abroad with Provis, Pip goes down to see Miss Havisham 
 and Estella before leaving England; he encounters Bentley Drummle at 
 The Blue Boar. — ^XLIV. Pip calls upon Miss Havisham, informs her of 
 his discovery that she is not his patron, as he had always supposed, and 
 begs her to continue to Herbert the assistance he had begun to render ; 
 he confesses to Estella his love for her, and learns that she is soon to be 
 married to Drummle ; returning to London, Pip is warned by Wemmick 
 not to go home. — XLV. Pip goes down to Warwick to consult Wemmick, 
 and learns from him that Provis and himself had been watched, that 
 Compeyson is in London, and that, with Herbert's assistauce, Provis had 
 been taken to a place of greater safety. — XLYI. Pip accompanies 
 Herbert to Mrs. Whimple's, meets Clara Barley, and becomes acquainted 
 with the peculiarities of old Bill Barley ; they arrange a plan for the 
 escape of Magwitch by water. — XLV 11. Pip seeks to divert his mind by 
 going to the play, and after the performance learns from Wopsle that the 
 gecond of the two convicts of the marshes was in the audience. — XLYIII. 
 Pip receives through Jaggers a message from Miss Havisham, requesting 
 to see him ; he suspects Jaggers's housekeeper to be Estella's mother, 
 and questions Wemmick in regard to her story. — XLIX. Pip goes down 
 again to Miss Havisham's, and receives from her the assistance he had 
 asked for Herbert ; he confirms his belief that Molly is the mother of 
 Estella ; Pip walks round the place before leaving, and, returning to 
 Miss Havisham's room, sees her clothes in flames, and rescues her. — L. 
 Pip learns from Herbert that portion of Provis's history relating to some 
 trouble he had had vrith a woman, and knows from the facts that the 
 convict is Estella's father. — LI. Pip informs Jaggers of his discovery of 
 Estella's parentage; Jaggers and Wemmick discover something un- 
 professional in each other's character. — LII. Pip receives notice from 
 Wemmick that the attempt to get Provis off may safely be made, and 
 jirranges accordingly ; he also receives a singular letter, requesting his 
 presence by night at the lime-kiln on the old marshes. — LIII. Obeying 
 this call, he goes to the place designated, where he is set upon and bound 
 by old Orlick, who is about to kill him, when he is rescued by Herbert 
 and Startop; how Herbert came to rescue Pip. — LIV. Pip, Herbert, and 
 Startop take Provis down the river in order to get him aboard a foreign 
 steamer ; as they are about to accomplish this purpose, another boat 
 joins tl^m, and they are summoned to give up Magwitch j ae the two 
 boats lie side by side, Magwitcli grasps Compeyson, whtj is in the officer's 
 
480 THB DIOKENS DIOTIONABY. 
 
 boat ; tTiey are run down by the approaching ateainer, Compeysoli 
 drowned, and Magwitch severely injured. — LV. Herbert leaves London 
 to take charge of a branch house of his business in Cairo j Wemmick*8 
 regret at the sacrifice of Magwitch's " portable property ; " marriage of 
 Wemmick and Miss Skiffins. — ^LVI. Trial and conviction of Magwitch ; 
 he gradually sinks under the injuries he had received, and is tendei'ly 
 nursed by Pip until his death. — LVII. Delirious illness of Pip, from 
 which he recovers to find Joe at his bedside ; Joe informs him of Misa 
 Havisham'a death and the conditions of her will; Pip recovers his 
 strength, and Joe leaves him. — LVIII. Pip resolves to return to the forge 
 and to offer himself to Biddy; Pumblechook puts in his claim to be the 
 founder of~Pip's fortune, for the last time; Pip goes to the forge in 
 search of Biddy and Joe, and finds them celebrating their wedding-day ; 
 Pip joins Herbert, and remains abroad eleven years, at the end of which 
 time he revisits Satis House, where he meets Estella, who is now a 
 widow, and sees " no shadow of another carting from her." 
 
SOMEBODY'S LUGGAGE. 
 
 [Published in "All the Yeab Eound," in Decembsr, 1862.] 
 
 ThB Christmas tale published under this name contains an amusing 
 description, given by a head- waiter named Christopher, of the struggles, 
 trials, and experiences of the class to which he belongs, and also an 
 account of his purchasing a quantity of luggage left more than six years 
 previously in Room 24 B by a strange gentleman who had suddenly 
 departed without settling his bill, which amounted to £2 16s. 6d. Chris- 
 topher pays Somebody's bill, and takes possession of Somebody's luggage, 
 consisting of a black portmanteau, a black bag, a desk, a dressing-case, 
 a brown- paper parcel, a hat-box, and an umbrella strapped to a walking, 
 stick. These articles are in great part filled with manuscripts. " There 
 was writing in his dressing-case, writing in bis boots, writing among his 
 shaving. tackle, writing in his hat-box, writing folded away down among 
 the very whalebones of his umbrella." The writing found in the boots 
 proves to be a very pretty story ; and it is disposed of, together with the 
 other documents, to the conductor of " All the Year Eoimd " (Mr. 
 Dickens) on the most satisfactory terms. The stoiy is put in type ; and 
 a young man is sent with " the proofs " to Christopher, who does not 
 understand that they are intended to receive any corrections he may wish 
 to make, but supposes that tbey are the proofs of his having illegally 
 sold the writings. In a few days, the strange gentleman suddenly 
 reappears at the hotel ; and Christopher, overcome with terror and 
 remorse, makes a full confession of what he has done, lays " the proofs '* 
 before him, and offers any gradual settlement that may be possible. To 
 his amazement, the unknown grasps his hand, presses him to his breast- 
 bone, calls him "benefactor" and "philanthropist," forces two ten- 
 pound notes upon him, and explains, that, " from boyhood's hour," he 
 has "unremittingly and unavailingly endeavoured to get into print." 
 Sitting down with several new pens, and all the inkstands well filled, he 
 devotes himself, the night through, to the task of correcting the press, 
 and is found, the next morning, to have smeared himself and the proofs 
 to that degree, that " few could have said which was them, and which 
 was him, and which was blots." 
 
 % I 
 
48i THE DICKENS DlCTlONAfiT. 
 
 CHAEAOTERS mTRODUCED. 
 
 BEBELLE {a playful name for Gabriellb). A little orphaii. 
 girl, very pretty and very good ; the protegee of Corporal 
 Th^ophile. and afterwards adopted by Mr. Langley. 
 
 A mere baby, one might call her, dressed in the close white 
 linen cap which small French country children wear (like the children 
 in Dutch pictures), and in a frock of homespun blue, that had no 
 shape except where it was tied round her little fat throat. So that, 
 being naturally short and round all over, she looked, behind, as if she 
 had been cut o£E at her natural waist, and had had her head neatly 
 fitted on it. 
 
 BOUQLET, MADAME. Mr. Langley's landlady; a compact 
 little woman of thirty-five or so, who lets all her house over- 
 looking the place, in furnished flats, and lives up the yard 
 behind. 
 
 CHRISTOPHER. Head-waiter at a London coffee-house; 
 born as well as bred to the business. He dedicates his intro- 
 ductory essay on " waitering " to Joseph, " much respected 
 head-waiter at the Slamjam Coffee House, London, E.C., than 
 which, a individual more eminently deserving of the name of 
 man, or a more amenable honour to his own head and heart, 
 whether considered in the light of a waiter, or regarded as a 
 human being, do not exist." 
 
 GABRIELLE. See Bebellb. 
 
 LANGLEY, MR., called "Mr. The Englishman." A lodger 
 at Madame Bouclet's, in the Grande Place of a dull old fortified 
 Erench town. 
 
 In taking his Appartement,— or, as one might say on our side of 
 the Channel, his set of chambers, — [he] had given his name, correct to 
 the letter, Langley. But as he had a British way of not opening 
 his mouth very wide on foreign soil, except at meals, the Brewery 
 [Madame Bouclet and her family] had been able to make nothing of 
 it but L' Anglais. So Mr. The Englishman he had become and he 
 remained. "«^ 
 
 He is a very unreasonable man, given to grumbling, 
 moody, and somewhat vindictive. Having had a quarrel with 
 his erring and disobedient daughter, he has disowned her and 
 gone abroad to be rid of her for the rest of his life. But 
 becoming acquainted with Corporal Th^ophile and his orphan 
 
SOMEBODY'S LUGGAGBl. 483 
 
 eharge, Bebelle, and witnessing their strong affection for 
 each other, and the deep grief of the child at the death of her 
 friend, his heart is penetrated and softened. He adopts the 
 forlorn little one as a trust providentially committed to him, 
 and goes back with her to England, determined on a recon- 
 ciliation with his daughter. 
 
 MARTIN, MISS. A young lady at the bar of the hotel where 
 Christopher is head-waiter, who makes out the bills. 
 
 MUTUEL, MONSIEUR. A friend of Madame Bouclet's ; a 
 Frenchman with an amiable old walnut-shell countenance. 
 
 A spectacled, snuffy, stooping old gentleman in carpet shoes and a 
 cloth cap with a peaked shade, a loose blue frock-coat reaching to his 
 heels, a large limp white shirt-frill, and cravat to correspond, — that ia 
 to say, white was the natural colour of his linen on Sundays, but it 
 toned down with the week. 
 
 PRATCHETTy MRS. Head-chambermaid at the hotel where 
 Christopher is head-waiter; "a female of some pert n ess, 
 though acquainted with her business." Her husband i» in 
 Australia, and his address there is " The Bush." 
 
 THEOPHILE, CORPORAL, A brave French soldier, be- 
 loved by all his comrades; friend and protector of little 
 Bebelle. 
 
 The Corporal, a smart figure of a man of thirty, perhaps a thought 
 under the middle size, but very neatly made, — a sunburnt Corporal 
 with a brown peaked beard. . . . Nothing was amiss or awry about 
 the Corporal. A Kthe and nimble Corporal, quite complete, from the 
 sparkling dark eyes under his knowing uniform cap to his sparkling 
 white gaiters. The very image and presentment of a Corporal of his 
 country's army, in the line of his shoulders, the line of his waist, the 
 broadest line of his Bloomer trousers, and their narrowest line at LL9 
 caM of his leg. 
 
 «1 J 
 
MRS. LIKUIPER'S LODGIKGS. 
 
 [Published in "All the Year Eound," ik December, 1803.] 
 
 This Christmas tale purports to be the reminiscences of a Mrs. Lirriper, 
 a lodging-house keeper of No. 81, Norfolk Street, Strand. It sets forth 
 the circumstances under which she -went into the business, and the 
 manner in which she has carried it on for eight- and- thirty years, in- 
 cluding her trials with servant-girls, and her troubles with an opposition 
 establishment. The chief interest of the story, however, centres around 
 the child of Mrs. Edson, a delicate young woman, who is cruelly deserted 
 by her husband within a few months after their marriage. She dies, 
 heart-broken, in giving birth to a little boy, who is adopted by Mrs. 
 Lirriper, and who is brought up under the joint guardianship of herself, 
 and hor friend and lodger, Major Jemmy Jackman. 
 
 CHARACTERS INTRODUCED. 
 
 BOBBO. Friend and sclioolfellow of the hero of an extra- 
 vagant story that Jemmy Lirriper tells his grandmother and 
 godfather. 
 
 EDSON, MR. A gentleman from the country, who takes 
 lodgings for himseK and wife at Mrs. Lirriper's, and, after 
 staying there for three months, cruelly deserts her under 
 pretence of being suddenly called by business to the Isle of 
 Man. See further in "Mrs. Lirriper's Legacy." 
 
 EDSON, MRS. PEGGY. His wife; a very pretty and 
 delicate young lady. When she discovers that her husband 
 has abandoned her, she attempts to end her own life, and that 
 of her unborn infant, by throwing herself into the Thames ; 
 
MBS. LTEEIPER'S LODGINGS. 4.85 
 
 but sho is prevented by Mrs. Lirripor and Major Jackman, 
 who watch and follow her, but conceal their knowledge of 
 her intention. Desolate and heart-broken, however, she dies, 
 not long afterwards, in giving birth to a little boy, who is 
 adopted and brought up by Mrs. Lirriper. 
 JACKMAN, MAJOR JEMMY, A gentleman who leaves 
 Miss Wozenham's lodging-house in a rage, because " she has 
 no appreciation of a gentleman," and takes the parlours at 
 !Mrs. Lirriper's. He becomes a warm friend of his new land- 
 lady, who reciprocates his regard. She describes him as — 
 
 A most obliging Lodger and punctual in all respects except one 
 irregular wliich I need not particularly specify, but made up for by 
 his being a protection and at all times ready to fill in the papers of tli e 
 Assessed Taxes and Juries and that, and . . . ever quite the gentle- 
 man though passionate. . . . Though he is far from tall he seems 
 almost so when he has his shirt-frill out and his frock-coat on and his 
 hat with the curly brims, and in what service he was I cannot truly 
 tell you my dear whether Militia or Foreign, for I never heard hiai 
 even name himself as Major but always simple " Jemmy Jackman " 
 and once soon after he came when I felt it my duty to let him know 
 that Miss Wozenham had put it about that he was no Major and I took 
 the liberty of adding "which you are sir" his words were "Madam 
 at any rate I am not a Minor, and sufficient for the day is the evil 
 thereof" which cannot be denied to be the sacred truth, nor yet his 
 military ways of having his boots with only the dirt brushed off taken 
 to him in the front parlour every morning on a clean plate and varnish- 
 ing them himself with a little sponge and a saucer and a whistle in a 
 vvhisper so sure as ever his breakfast is ended, and so neat his ways 
 tliat it never soils his linen which is sci'upulous though more in quality 
 than quantity, neither that nor his mustachios which to the best of my 
 belief are done at the same time and which are as black and shining 
 as his boots, his head of hair being a lovely white. 
 
 The Major becomes the godfather of Mrs. Edson's little 
 boy, who is named for him ; and he takes it upon himself to 
 cultivate his mind on a system of his own, which Mrs. Lirriper 
 thinks " ought to be known to the throne and lords and 
 commons." 
 
 But picture my admiration when the Major going on almost as 
 quick as if he was conjuring sets out all the articles he names, and 
 says " Three saucepans, an Italian iron, a hand-bell, a toasting-fork, a 
 nutmeg-grater, four potlids, a spice-box, two egg-cups, and a chopping- 
 board — how many?" and when that Mite instantly cries " Tifteen, 
 tut down tive and carry ler 'topping-board " and then claps his hands 
 draws up his legs and dances on his chair. 
 
 My dear with the same astonishing ease and correctness him and 
 the Major added up the tables chairs and sofy, the picters fenders 
 and fire-irons their own selves me and the cat and the eyes in Miss 
 Wozenham's head, and whenever the sum was done Young Eoses and 
 Diamonds claps hi§ hq-ndp m^ dp^WS up Jys liBgs ^ud df^nces on his 
 
486 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY, 
 
 The pride of the Major I (" Here*8 a mind Ma'am ! " he saya to me 
 
 behind his hand.) 
 
 Then he says aloud, " We now come to the next elementary rule, — 
 which is called — " 
 
 " Umtraction ! " cries Jemmy. 
 
 " Eight," says the Major. " We have here a toasting-fork, a potato 
 in its natural state, two potlids, one egg-cup, a wooden spoon, and two 
 skewers, from which it is necessary for commercial purposes to sub- 
 tract a sprat-gridiron, a small pickle-jar, two lemons, one pepper-castor, 
 a blackbeetle-trap, and a knob of the dresser-drawer — ^what remains ? *' 
 
 " Toating-fork ! '* cries Jemmy. 
 
 " In numbers how many ? " says the Major. 
 
 ** One ! " cries Jemmy. 
 
 (" Here's a boy, Ma'am ! " says the Major to me behind his hand.) 
 
 Then the Major goes on : 
 
 " We now approach the next elementary rule, — ^which is entitled — " 
 
 " Tickleication," cries Jemmy. 
 
 " Correct," says the Major. 
 
 But my dear to relate to you in detail the way in which they 
 multiplied fourteen sticks of firewood by two bits of ginger and a 
 larding-needle, or divided pretty well everything else there was on the 
 table by the heater of the Italian iron and a chamber candlestick, and 
 got a lemon over, which would make my head spin round and round 
 and round as it did at the time. 
 
 JANE. A housemaid in Miss "Wozenham's service. 
 
 LIRRIPER, JEMMY JACKMAN. The son of Mrs. Edson, 
 who dies in giving birth to him. He is named after Mrs. Lirriper, 
 who adopts him, and after Major Jackman, who becomes his 
 godfather. He grows up to he a bright, blithe, and good 
 boy, delighting the hearts of both his guardians, who agree 
 that he "has not his like on the face of the earth." See 
 Edson, Mrs. Peggy. 
 
 LIRRIPER, MRS. EMMA. The narrator of the story ; a 
 lodging-house keeper at Ilo. 81, I^orfolk Street, Strand, 
 "situated midway between the City and St. James's, and 
 within five miautes' walk of the principal places of public 
 amusement." 
 
 Certainly I ought to know something of the business having been 
 in it so long, for it was early in the second year of my married life that 
 I lost my poor Lirriper and I set up at Islington directly afterwards 
 and afterwards came here, being two houses and eight-and-thirty years 
 and some losses and a deal of experience. 
 
 See introductory remarks, p. 484; also Edson (Mrs. 
 Peggy), Jackman (Major Jemmy), Lirriper (Jemmy Jack- 
 man), and the next story, " Mrs. Lirriper's Legacy." 
 
 MAXEY, CAROLINE. One of Mrs. Lirriper's servant-girls; 
 a good-looking, black-eyed girl, with a h^ temper, but & 
 kind and grateful heart 
 
MES. LIERIPER'S LODGINGS. 487 
 
 PERKINSOP, MART ANNE. A girl in ]\Irs. Lirriper's 
 service, who is enticed away by an offer from Miss Wozenham 
 of one pound per quarter more in the way of wages. Mrs. 
 Lirriper regards her as " worth her weight in gold " for over* 
 awing lodgers, without driving them away. 
 
 SERAPHINA. The heroine of an extravagantly fanciful story 
 related by Master Jemmy Jackman Lirriper to his "grand- 
 mother " and his godfather. She was a schoolmaster's daughter, 
 and the most beautiful creature that ever was seen. 
 
 SOPHY, called "Willing Sophy." A poor, haK-starved 
 creature, whom Mrs. Lirriper takes into her house as a 
 servant, and who is " down upon her knees, scrubbing, early 
 and late, and ever cheerful, but always smiling with a black 
 
 I says to Sophy, " Now Sophy my good girl "have a regular day for 
 your stoves and keep the width of the Airy between yourself and the 
 blacking and do not brush your hair with the bottoms of the sauce- 
 pans and do not meddle with the snuffs of the candles and it stands to 
 reason that it can no longer be " yet there it was and always on her 
 nose, which turning up and being broad at the end seemed to boast of 
 it and caused warning from a steady gentleman and excellent lodger 
 with breakfast by the week but a little irritable and use of a sitting. 
 room when required, his words being " Mrs. Lirriper I have arrived at 
 the point of admitting that the Black is a man and a brother, but only 
 in a natural form and when it can't be got off." 
 
 WOZENHAM, MISS. A lodging-house keeper in Norfolk 
 Street, not far from Mrs. Lirriper's, but on the other side of 
 the way. There is considerable rivalry between the two 
 establishments ; and Mrs. Lirriper conceives a strong dislike 
 to Miss Wozenham, on account of her advertising in Bradshaw's 
 "Railway Guide," her systematic underbidding for lodgers, 
 her enticing servant-girls away by the offer of higher wages, 
 and her doing various other ill-natured and unfriendly acts. 
 See " Mrs. Lirriper's Legacy." 
 
MRS. LIREIPER'S LEGACY. 
 
 [Published in "All the Yeae Round," in Decembes, 1864.] 
 
 This is a sequel to " Mrs. Lirriper's Lodgings " (published in 1863), which 
 met with a very warm reception from the pubho, and excited a general 
 desire to know more of the old lady's experiences. The legacy is left to 
 Mrs. Lirriper by the Mr. Edson who is introduced in the former part of 
 the story as deserting his young wife shortly after marrying her, and 
 who dies, repentant, many years after, in France, whither she goes to 
 take care of him in his last moments, accompanied by his son Jemmy 
 (whom he has never seen), and by her friend and adviser, Major Jack- 
 man. The benevolent conduct of this good soul to her good-for-nothing 
 brother-in-law, Doctor Joshua Lirriper ; to the obnoxious collector of 
 assessed taxes, Mr. Buffle, on the night when his house is burnt down ; 
 and to Miss Wozenham, when that lady was in danger of having her 
 chattels taken from her on execution — forms the subject of the remainder 
 of the stoiy. 
 
 CHAEACTEES INTEODUCED. 
 
 BUFFLE, MM. Collector of the assessed taxes. His manners 
 when engaged in his business are not agreeable ; and he has a 
 habit of looking about, as if suspicious that goods are being 
 removed in the dead of night by a back door. Major Jackman 
 knocks his hat off his head twice for keeping it on in Mrs. 
 Lirriper's presence, when he calls at her house in the discharge 
 of his regular duties. But when his house catches fire, and 
 burns to the ground, he and his family are taken by the Major 
 to Mrs. Lirriper's for shelter; and from this kindness an 
 intimacy springs up between the two households, which is 
 
MRS. LIRRIPER'S LEGACY, 489 
 
 very agreeaHe to all parties, Mr. Buffle even going so far as 
 to call the Major Ms " preserver " and " best friend." 
 
 BUFFLE, MRS. His wife; a woman who gives herself airs 
 because her husband keeps " a one-horse pheayton." 
 
 BUFFLE, MISS ROBIN A. Their daughter; a thin young 
 lady with a very small appetite. She looks favourably on 
 her father's articled young man, George, in opposition to the 
 wishes of her parents, though they finally give their consent 
 to the match. 
 
 EDSONy MR. A former lodger of Mrs. Lirriper's, and the 
 husband of a young woman whom he cruelly deserted after 
 living with her for a few months. Years pass by ; and he is 
 taken dangerously ill at a town in France. Finding that his 
 recovery is impossible, he leaves all that he has to Mrs. Lirriper, 
 who had been very kind to his poor wife, and who has brought 
 up their child as if it were her own. On learning from the 
 French consul in London that an unknown Englishman is 
 lying at the point of death in Sens, and that her name is 
 mentioned in a communication to the authorities, which is 
 found among his papers, she sets out at once for that place 
 with her adopted child and her friend Major Jackman. Eecog- 
 nising Mi. Edson in the sick stranger, and finding him truly 
 penitent for the grievous wrong he had done, she forgives 
 him, and causes the boy— who does not know who the dying 
 man is — also to say, " May God forgive you 1 " 
 
 GEORGE. A rather weak-headed young man, articled to Mr. 
 Buffle, and enamoured of his daughter. 
 
 GRAN, MRS. (i.e., Mes. Lirriper). A highly respected and 
 beloved lady who resides within a hundred miles of I^orfolk 
 Street, and who figures in Jemmy Lirriper's imaginary version 
 of the story of Mr. Edson's life. 
 
 JACKMAN, MAJOR JEMMY. A lodger at Mrs. Lirriper's; 
 her warm personal friend, and the godfather of her adopted 
 child Jemmy. See Lirriper (Jemmy Jackman) and "Mrs. 
 Lirriper's Lodgings." 
 
 LIRRIPER, DOCTOR JOSHUA. Youngest brother of 
 Mrs. Lirriper's deceased husband. He is a dissipated scape- 
 grace, and a systematic sponger upon his benevolent and 
 unsuspecting sister-in-law. 
 
 Doctor of what I am sure it would be hard to say unless Liquor, for 
 neither Physic nor Music nor yet Law does Joshua Lirriper know a 
 morsel of except continually being summoned to the County Court and 
 having orders made upon him which he runs away from. . . . 
 
 Joshua Lirriper has his good feelings and shown them in being 
 
490 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 always bo troubled in his mind when he cannot wear mourning for his 
 brother. Many a long year have I left off my widow's mourning not 
 being wishful to intrude, but the tender point in Joshua that I cannot 
 help a little yielding to is when he writes " One single sovereign would 
 enable me to wear a decent suit of mourning for my much-loved 
 brother. I vowed at the time of his lamented death that I would ever 
 wear sables in memory of him but Alas how shoit- sighted is man, How 
 keep that vow when penniless ! " It says a good deal for the strength 
 of his feelings that he couldn't have been seven year old when my poor 
 Lirriper died and to have kept to it ever since is highly creditable. But 
 we know there's good in all of us, — if we only knew where it was in 
 some of us, — and though it was far from delicate in Joshua to work 
 upon the dear child's feelings when first sent to school and write down 
 into Lincolnshire for his pocket-money by return of post and got it, 
 still he is my poor Lirriper's own youngest brother and mightn't have 
 meant not paying his bill at The Salisbury Arms when his affection 
 took him down to stay a fortnight at Hatfield churchyard and might 
 have meant to keep sober but for bad company. 
 
 LIRRIPER, MRS. See introductory remarks (p. 488), Edson 
 (Mr.), Wozenham (Miss), and " Mrs. Lirriper's Lodgings." 
 
 LIRRIPER, JEMMY JACKMAN. Son of Mr. Edson, 
 adopted by Mrs. Lirriper, and brought up under the joint 
 guardianship of herself and Major Jackman, who is at once 
 his godfather and his " companion, guide, philosopher, and 
 friend." As he develops a taste for engineering, the Major 
 assists him in the construction and management of a railway, 
 which they name " The United Grand Junction Lirriper and 
 Jackman Great ITorfolk Parlour Line," which is kept on the 
 Major's sideboard, and dusted with his own hands every 
 morning. 
 
 " For," says my Jemmy with the sparkling eyes when it was 
 christened, " we must have a whole mouthful of name Gran or our 
 dear old Public " and there the young rogue kissed me, ** won't stump 
 up." So the Public [Mrs. Lirriper] took the shares — ten at ninepence, 
 and immediately when that was spent twelve Preference at one and 
 sixpence — and they were all signed by Jemmy and countersigned by 
 the Major, and between ourselves much better worth the money than 
 some shares I have paid for in my time. In the same holidays the line 
 was made and worked and opened and ran excursions and had col- 
 lisions and burst its boilers and all sorts of accidents and offences all 
 most regular correct and pretty. 
 
 The young gentleman accompanies Mrs. Lirriper to Sens, 
 and is present at the death of Mr. Edson ; though he does 
 not know him to be his father, and is ignorant of the facts in 
 regard to his cruel desertion of his wife soon after marriage. 
 Being in the habit of composing and relating stories for the 
 amusement of his "grandmother" and godfather, and his 
 mind dwelling on the death-bed scene be has witnessed, he 
 
MES. LIERIPER'S LEGACY. 491 
 
 frames an imaginary version of his father^s history, which is 
 wofully unlike the fact, and in which — 
 
 In all reverses, whether for good or evil, the words of Mr. Edson to 
 the fair young partner of his life were, " Unchanging Love and Truth 
 will carry us tlurough all. " 
 
 MADGERS, WINIFRED, A servant-girl at Mrs. Lirriper's; 
 a " Plymouth sister," and a remarkably tidy young woman. 
 
 RAIRYGANOO, SALLY. One of Mrs. Lirriper's domestics, 
 suspected to be of Irish extraction, though professing to come 
 of a Cambridge family. She absconds, however, with a brick- 
 layer of the Limerick persuasion, and is married to him in 
 pattens, being too impatient to wait till his black eye gets 
 well. 
 
 WOZENHAM, MISS. A neighbour of Mrs. Luriper's in 
 Norfolk Street, and the keeper of a rival lodging-house. For 
 many years Mrs. Lirriper has been strongly prejudiced against 
 Miss Wozenham ; but on hearing that she has been " sold 
 up," she feels so much sympathy for her, that she goes to her 
 without delay or ceremony, expresses her regret for the un- 
 pleasantness there has been between them in the past, and 
 cheers her up with true womanly tact and kindliness. 
 
 I says, " My dear if you could give me a cup of tea to clear my 
 muddle of a head I should better understand your affairs." And we 
 had the tea and the affairs too and after all it was but forty pound, and 
 — There ! she's as industrious and straight a creeter as ever Kved and 
 has paid back half of it already, and where's the use of saying more, 
 particularly when it ain't the point ? For the point is that when she 
 was a kissing my hands and holding them in hers and kissing them 
 again and blessing blessing blessing, I cheered up at last and I says 
 "Why what a waddling old goose I have been my dear to take you for 
 something so very different ! " " Ah but I too " says she " how have 
 I mistaken you ! *' " Come for goodness* sake tell me " I says " what 
 you thought of me ?'* " O " says she, " I thought you had no feeling 
 for such a hard hand-to-mouth life as mine, and were rolling in 
 affluence." I says shaking my sides (and very glad to do it for I had 
 been a choking quite long enough) " Only look at my figure my dear 
 and give me your opinion whether if I was in affluence I should be 
 likely to roll in it ? " That did it ! We got as merry as grigs (what- 
 ever they are, if you happen to know my dear — I don't) and I went 
 hom^ to my blessed home as happy and as thaakfql as qould b^. 
 
OUll MUTUAL FRIEi^D. 
 
 Like most of its predecessors, this novel made its first appearance in 
 twenty monthly parts. The first part was issued May 1, 1864, and the 
 last in November, 1865. The illustrations were on wood from drawiii^-a 
 by Marcus Stone. On its completion, the work was published in t wo 
 octavo volumes, by Chapman and Hall, with a dedication to the late Sir 
 James Emerson Tennent. 
 
 CHARACTERS INTRODUCED. 
 
 AKERSIIEM, MISS SOPHRONIA. An acquaintance of 
 the Yencerings ; a fast young lady of society, with, raven 
 locks, and a complexion that lights up well when well powdered. 
 She marries Mr. Alfred Lammle. (Bk. I., ch. ii., x., xi. ; Bk. IL, 
 ch. iv., v., xvi. j Bk. III., ch. v., xii., xiv., xvii. ; Bk. IV., 
 ch. ii., viii.) See La3imle, Alfred. 
 
 BLIGHT, YOUNG. A dismal boy, who is Mr. Mortimer 
 Lightwood's clerk and office-boy. (Bk. L, ch. viil ; Bk. III., 
 ch. xvii.; Bk. lY., ch. ix., xvi.) 
 
 BOFFIN, MRS. HENRIETTA. Wife of Mr. Boffin , a 
 stout lady, of a rubicund and cheerful aspect, described by 
 her husband as "a high-flyer at fashion." (Bk. I., ch. v., ix., 
 XV. -xvii ; Bk. IL, ch. viii.-x., xiv. ; Bk. III., ch. iv., v., 
 XV. ; Bk. lY, ch. ii., xii. -xiv., xvi.) 
 
 BOFFIN, NICODEMUS, called ''l^ojijyY," also "The Golden 
 Dustman." A confidential servant of the elder Mr. Harmon, 
 who at death leaves him all his property, in case his sou 
 refuses to marry a certain young lady named in his will. 
 This son has quarrelled with his father, and parted from him, 
 and, at the tinae of M?. Uarnioii's deatli, is ^ ?esidep^t of Capo 
 
OM MUTtJAii FRIE^*t). 493 
 
 Colony. He returns to England on hearing of that event, 
 but disappears immediately on his arrival ; and a body, sup- 
 posed to be his, is subsequently found floating in the Thames, 
 in an advanced state of decomposition, and much injured. 
 ^Ir. Boffin, therefore, as residuary legatee, comes iuto posses- 
 sion of the whole property, amounting to upwards of one 
 hundred thousand pounds, standing in the books of the Bank 
 of England. As sole executor under the will, he has occasion 
 to visit Mortimer Lightwood, Esquire, and, in the course of 
 conversation, he gives the following account of his late master 
 and of his master's son : 
 
 " The old man was a awful Tartar (sajing it, I'm sure, without dis- 
 respect to his memory), but the business was a pleasant one to look after, 
 from before daylight to past dark. It's a'most a pity," said Mr. Boffin, 
 rubbing his ear, ' ' that he ever went and made so much money. It would 
 have been better for him if he hadn't so given himself up to it. You 
 may depend upon it," making the discovery all of a sudden, " that he 
 found it a great lot to take care of ! " 
 
 Mr. Lightwood coughed, not convinced. 
 
 " And speaking of satisfactory," pursued Mr. Boffin, " why. Lord 
 gave us I when we come to take it to pieces, bit by bit, where's the 
 satisfactoriness of the money as yet ? When the old man does right the 
 poor boy after all, the poor boy gets no good of it. He gets made away 
 with, at the moment when he's lifting (as one may say) the cup and 
 sarser to his lips. Mr. Lightwood, I will now name to you, that on behalf 
 of the poor dear boy, me and Mrs. Boffin have stood out against the old 
 man times out of number, till he has called us every name he could lay 
 his tongue to. I have seen him, after Mrs. Boffin has given him her 
 mind respecting the claims of the nat'ral affections, catch of£ Mrs. 
 Boffin's bonnet (she wore, in general, a black straw, perched as a matter 
 of convenience on the top of her head), and send it spinning across the 
 yard. I have indeed. And once, when he did this in a manner that 
 amounted to personal, I should have given him a rattler for himself, if 
 Mrs. Boffin hadn't thrown herself betwixt us, and received flush on the 
 temple. Which dropped her, Mr. Lightwood. Dropped her." 
 
 ilr. Lightwood murmured "Equal honour — Mrs. Boffin's head and 
 heart." 
 
 " You understand ; I name this," pursued Mr. Boffin, " to show you, 
 now the affairs are wound up, that me and Mrs. Boffin have ever stood, 
 as we were in Christia-n honour bound, . . . the poor boy's friend ; me 
 and Mrs. Boffin up and faced the old man when we momently expected 
 to be turned out for our pains. As to Mrs. Boffin," said Mr. BofBn, 
 lowering his voice, " she mightn't wish it mentioned now she's Fashion- 
 able, but she went so far as to tell him, in my presence, he was a flinty- 
 hearted rascal. . . . 
 
 " Well, sir. So Mrs. Boffin and me grow older and older in the old 
 man's service, living and working pretty hard in it, till the old man is 
 discovered dead in his bed. Then Mrs. Boffin and me seal up his box, 
 always standing on the table at the side of his bed, and having frequently 
 heerd tell of the Temple as a spot where lawyer's dust is contracted for, 
 I come down here in search of a lawyer to advise, and I see your young 
 man up at this present elevation, chopping at the flies on the window*siU 
 
4/94i (THE DIOKBlfS DiOTlONAEt. 
 
 with his penknife, and T gire him a Hoy ! not then having the pleasure of 
 your acquaintance, and by that means come to gain the honour. Then 
 you, and the gentleman in the uncomfortable neckcloth under the little 
 archway in Saint Paul's Churchyard ** 
 
 " Doctors' Commons," observed Lightwood. 
 
 " I understood it was another name," said Mr. Boffin, pausing, " but 
 you know best. Then you and Doctor Scommons, you go to work, and 
 you do the thing that's proper, and you and Doctor S. take steps foi 
 finding out the poor boy, and &t last you do find out the poor boy, and 
 me and Mrs. Boffin often exchange the observation, ' We shall see him 
 again, under happy circumstances.' But it was never to be ; and the 
 want of satisfactoriness is, that after all the money never gets to him." 
 
 Mr. Bofiiii closes his interview with Mr. Lightwood hy 
 authorising him to offer a reward of ten thousand pounds for the 
 arrest of the murderer of John Harmon the younger. John 
 Harmon, however, is not dead, though he has hut barely escaped 
 being murdered. Learning of the condition in his father's will, 
 under which he is to ioherit, it occurs to him to take advantage 
 of the false report of his death to make the acquaintance of the 
 young lady (Miss Bella Wilfer), and, if he likes her, to try to 
 win her without disclosing himseK. He accordingly assumes the 
 name of John Eokesmith, and hires a room at her father's house, 
 which gives him an opportunity of thus seeing and speaking to 
 her. He also succeeds in making an engagement to act as 
 secretary and man of business to Mr. Boffin, who shortly after- 
 wards adopts Miss WHf er, who is thus brought daily into contact 
 with Mr. Eokesmith. She treats him with great disdain ; but 
 he comes, in time, to love her devotedly. At last his features, 
 which have long attracted and puzzled Mrs. Boffin, betray him ; 
 and he is forced to acknowledge the truth about himself. The 
 discovery is kept a profound secret from Miss Wilfer, however, 
 and Mr. Boffin comes to Harmon's assistance, and endeavoui's to 
 win her love for him by first exciting her sympathy. He there- 
 fore pretends to become very miserly, and grows so anxious 
 about the management of his estate that he shamefully abuses 
 his factotum for not taking better care of it. In the end this 
 strategy proves successful, and Bella marries the poor secretary, 
 who stni retains the name of Eokesmith. Meanwhile Mr. Boffin 
 has discovered, secreted in an old Dutch bottle, a later will than 
 the one he has proved, and under which he has entered upon 
 possession of the estate. By this document, everything is given 
 to him absolutely, excluding and reviling the son by name. 
 But, with rare disinterestedness and munificence, Mr. Boffin 
 transfers the entire property to the rightful heir, reserving for 
 himself only the house occupied by his late master, which ia 
 popularly called " Harmon's Jail/* on account of his solitary 
 
Ottit MtrrUAL FRIEND. 496 
 
 Hasliiner of life, or " Harmony Jail," on account of his never 
 agreeing with anybody ; but which Mrs. Bofi&n renames 
 « Boffin's Bower." 
 
 With respect to his personal appearance, Mr. Boffin is 
 described as — 
 
 A broad, round-shouldered, one-sided old fellow, . . . dressed in a 
 pea overcoat, and carrying a large stick. He wore thick shoes, and 
 thick leather gaiters, and thick gloves like a hedger's. Both as to his 
 dress and to himself, he was of an overlapping rhinoceros build, with 
 folds in his cheeks, and his forehead, and his eyelids, and his lips, and 
 his ears ; but with bright, eager, childishly-inquiring gray eyes, under 
 bis ragged eyebrows, and broad- binnuned hat. A very odd-looking 
 old fellow altogether. 
 
 These two ignorant and unpolished people [Mr. and Mrs. Boffin] 
 had guided themselves so far on in their journey of life, by a religious 
 sense of duty and desire to do right. Ten thousand weaknesses and 
 absurdities might have been detected in the breasts of both ; ten thou- 
 sand vanities additional, possibly, in the breast of the woman. But 
 the hard wrathful and sordid nature that had wrung as much work out 
 of them as could be got in their best days, for as little money as could 
 be paid to hurry on their worst, had never been so warped but that 
 it knew their moral straightness and respected it. In its own despite, 
 in a constant conflict with itself and them, it had done so. And this 
 is the eternal law. For, Evil often stops short at itself and dies with 
 the doer of it j but Good, never. 
 
 (Bk. I., ch. v., viii, ix., xv.-xviL ; Bk.II., ch. vii., viii, x., 
 xiv. ; Bk. III., ch. iv.-viL, xiv., xv. ; Bk. lY., ch. ii, iii., xii.- 
 xiv., xvl) See Harmon (John), Wegg (Silas). 
 
 BOOTS, MR. 1 Fashionable toadies ; friends of the Veneer- 
 BREWER, MR, ) ings. Bk. I., ch. ii., x.; Bk. II., ch. iii., 
 
 xvi.; Bk. III., ch. xvii. ; Bk. IV., ch. xvi.) 
 CHERUB, THE. See Wilfer, Eeginald. 
 CLEAVER, FANNY, called "Jenny Wren." AdoU's dress« 
 
 maker. Lizzie Hexam, after her father's death, has temporary 
 
 lodgings with her ; and one day Charley Hexham, Lizzie's 
 
 brother, calls to see her. 
 
 The boy knocked at a door, and the door promptly opened with a 
 spring and a click. A parlour-door within a small entry stood open, 
 and disclosed a child — a dwarf — a girl — a something — sitting on a 
 little low old-fashioned arm-chair, which had a kind of little working 
 bench before it. 
 
 " I can't get up," said the child, " because my back's bad, and my 
 legs are queer. But Fm the person of the house." 
 
 " Who else is at home ? " asked Charley Hexam, staring. 
 
 " Nobody's at home at present,'* returned the child, with a glib 
 assertion of her dignity, ** except the person of the house. What did 
 you want, young man ?" 
 
 " I wanted to see my sister." 
 
496 THE DlCKEKS DICTlOHAJRY. 
 
 " Many young men have sisters," returned the child. " Give me your 
 name, young man." 
 
 The queer little figure, and the queer but not ugly little face, with 
 its bright gray eyes, were so sharp, that the sharpness of the manner 
 seemed unavoidable. As if, being turned out of that mould, it must 
 be sharp. 
 
 " Hexam is my name." 
 
 " Ah indeed ? " said the person of the house. " I thought it might 
 be. Your sister will be in in about a quarter of an hour. I am very 
 fond of your sister. She's my particular friend. Take a seat. And 
 this gentleman's name ? " 
 
 " Mr. Headstone, my schoolmaster." 
 
 " Take a seat. And would you please to shut the street door first ? 
 I can't very well do it myself, because my back's so bad, and my legs 
 are so queer." 
 
 They complied in silence, and the little figure went on with its work 
 of gumming or gluing together with a camel's hair-brush certain pieces 
 of cardboard and thin wood, previously cut into various shapes. The 
 scissors and knives upon the bench showed that the child herself had 
 cut them; and the bright scraps of velvet and silk and ribbon also 
 strewn upon the bench showed that when duly stuffed (and stuflSng too 
 was there), she was to cover them smartly. The dexterity of her nimble 
 fingers was remarkable, and, as she brought two thin edges accurately 
 together by giving them a little bite, she would glance at the visitors out 
 of the corners of her gray eyes with a look that out-sharpened all her 
 other sharpness. 
 
 " You can't tell me the name of my trade, I'll be bound," she said, 
 after taking several of these observations. 
 
 *' You make pincushions," said Charley. 
 
 "What else do I make ? " 
 
 " Pen-wipers," said Bradley Headstone. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! What else do I make ? You're a schoolmaster, but you 
 can't tell me." 
 
 " You do something," he returned, pointing to a comer of the little 
 bench, " with straw ; but I don't know what." 
 
 " Well done you ! " cried the person of the house. " I only make 
 pincushions and pen-wipers to use up my waste. But my straw 
 really does belong to my business. Try again. What do I make with 
 my straw ? " 
 
 " Dinner-mats." 
 
 "A schoolmaster, and says dinner-mats! I'll give you a clue to 
 my trade, in a game of forfeits. I love my love with a B because 
 she's Beautiful; I hate my love with a B because she is Brazen ; I took 
 her to the sign of The Blue Boar, and.I treated her with Bonnets ; her 
 name's Bouncer, and she lives in Bedlam. — Now, what do I make with 
 my straw ? " 
 
 '* Ladies' bonnets ? " 
 
 " Fine ladies'," said the person of the house, nodding assent. " Dolls*. 
 I'm a Doll's Dressmaker." 
 
 " I hope it's a good business ? " 
 
 The person of the house shrugged her shoulders and shook her 
 head. "No. Poorly paid. And I'm of ten so pressed for time ! I had 
 a doll married, last week, and was obliged to work all night. And 
 it's not good for me, on account of my back being so bad and my legs 
 6o queer." 
 
OtrU MUTUAL FRIEND. 497 
 
 ^hey looked at the little creatnre with a wonder that did not- 
 diminish, and the schoolmaster said : " I am sorry jouv fine ladies are so 
 inconsiderate." 
 
 •' It's the way with them," said the person of the house, shrags^ng 
 Lor shoulders again. " And they take no care of their clothes, and they 
 never keep to the same fashions a month. I work for a doll with three 
 daughters. Bless you, she's enough to ruin her husband ! " 
 
 The person of the house gave a weird little laugh here, and gave 
 them another look out of the corners of her eyes. She had an elfira chin 
 that was capable of great expression; and whenever she gave this look, 
 ehe hitched this chin up. As if her eyes and hor chin worked together 
 on the same wires. 
 
 " Are you always as busy as you are now ? " 
 
 " Busier. I'm slack just now. I finished a large mourning order 
 the day before yesterday. Doll I work for lost a canary-bird." The 
 person of the house gave another little langh, and then nodded her 
 hea i several times, as who should moralise, * ' Oh this world, this 
 world ! " 
 
 " Are you alone all day ? " asked Bradley Headstone. " Don't any 
 of the neighbouring children ? " 
 
 " Ah, lud ! " cried the person of the house, with a little scream, as if 
 the word had pricked her. " Don't talk of children. I can't bear 
 children. I know their tricks and their manners." She said this with an 
 angry little shake of her right fist close before her eyes. 
 
 Perhaps it scarcely required the teaoher-habit to perceive that the 
 doll's dressmaker was inclined to be bitter on the difference between 
 herself and other children. But both master and pupil understood 
 it so. 
 
 , '* Always running about and screeching, always playing and fighting, 
 always skip-skip-skipping on the pavement and chalking it for their 
 games ! Oh ! I know their tricks and their manners ! " Shaking the 
 little fist as before. "And that's not all. Ever so often calling names 
 in through a person's keyhole, and imitating a person's back and legs. 
 Oh ! I know their tricks and their manners. And I'll tell you what I'd 
 do to punish 'em. There's doors under the church in the Square — black 
 doors, leading into black vaults. Well ! I'd open one of those doors, and 
 I'd cram 'em all in, and then I'd lock the door and through the keyhole 
 I'd blow in pepper." 
 
 " What would be the good of blowing in pepper ? " asked Charley 
 Hexam. 
 
 "To set 'em sneezing," Baid the person of the house, "and make 
 their eyes water. And when they were all sneezing and infiamed, I'd 
 mock 'em through the keyhole. Just as they, with their tricks and their 
 manners, mock a person through a person's keyhole ! " 
 
 An uncommonly emphatic shake of her little fist close before her 
 eyes seemed to ease the mind of the person of the house ; for she added 
 with recovered composure, " No, no, no. No children for me. Give me 
 grown-ups." 
 
 It was difficult to guess the age of this strange creature, for her poor 
 figure furnished no clue to it, and her face was at once so young and so 
 old. Twelve, or at the most thirteen, might be near the mark. 
 
 (Bk. II., ch. i., ii., v., xi., xv. ; Bk. III., ch. ii., iii., x., xiii. ; 
 Bk. lY., cK viii.-xi, xv.> 
 
 2 K 
 
m THi: DICSENS DiCTIONAET. 
 
 CLEAVER, MR, called "Mr. Dolls." Her father; a good 
 workman at his trade, but a weak, wretched, trembling 
 creature, falling to pieces, and never sober. (Bk. IL, ch. ii. j 
 Bk. III., ch. X., xvii ; Bk. lY., ch. viii., ix.) 
 
 DOLLS, MM. See Cleaver, Mr. 
 
 FLEDGEBT, MR., called "Fascination Fledgeby.'' A 
 dandified young man, who is a dolt in most matters, but 
 sharp and tight enough where money is concerned. 
 
 Tonng Fledgeby had a peachy cheek, or a cheek compoanded of 
 the peach and the red red red wall on which it grows, and was an 
 awkward, sandy-haired, small-eyed, youth, exceeding slim (his enemies 
 would have said lanky), and prone to self-examination in the articles 
 'of whisker and moustache. While feeling for the whisker that he 
 anxiously expected, Fledgeby underwent remarkable fluctuations of 
 spirits, ranging along the whole scale from confidence to despair. 
 There were times when he started, as exclaiming, " By Jupiter, here it 
 is at last ! " There were other times when, being equally depressed, 
 he would be seen to shake his head, and give up hope. To see him at 
 those periods leaning on a chimneypiece, like as on an urn containing 
 the ashes of his ambition, with the cheek that would not sprout, upon 
 the hand on which that cheek had forced conviction, was a distressing 
 sight. . . . 
 
 In facetious homage to the smallness of his talk, and the jerky 
 nature of his manners, Fledgeby's familiars had agreed to confer upon 
 him (behind his back) the honorary title of Fascination Fledgeby. 
 
 He is an acquaintance of Mr. Lammle, who unsuccessfully 
 endeavours to marry him to Miss Georgiana Podsnap, Fledgeby 
 having given him his note for one thousand pounds in case he 
 effects the arrangement. Fledgeby is a money broker, and 
 has an office, which is kept by an aged Jew in his service, 
 and is known under the name of Pubsey & Co. Under 
 the pretence of using his influence with Pubsey & Co., he 
 pretends to plead with the Jew for an extension on the overdue 
 biDs of some of his acquaintances. The old man watches his 
 face for some sign of permission to do so, which is never 
 given ; yet Fledgeby habitually reviles him and his race for 
 not granting the accommodation that he has himself forced 
 him to deny. (Bk. II. , ch. iv., v., xvi. ; Bk. III., ch. i., 
 xiL. xiil, xvii.; Bk. lY., ch. viii, ix., xvi) See Eiah, Mr. 
 
 GLAMOUR, BOB. A customer at The Six Jolly Fellowship. 
 Porters. (Bk. I., ch. vi ; Bk. III., ch. iii.) 
 
 GLWDERV, BOB. Potboy at The Six Jolly FeUowship 
 i^orters. (Bk. L, ck vi,, xiii. ; Bk. Hi., ch. iii) 
 
OTJU MtJTUAL FRIEND. 499 
 
 aOLDEN DUSTMAN, THE. See Boffin, ]N"icodemus. 
 
 HANDFORD, JULIUS, See Harmon, John. 
 
 HARMON, JOHN, alias Julius Handford, alias John 
 EoKESMiTH. Heir to the Harmon estate. On the death of 
 his father, he returns to England from South Africa, where 
 he has been living for a good many years. On his arrival, he 
 is inveigled into a waterside inn by a pretended friend, named 
 George Eadfoot, with whom he has made the passage, and is 
 drugged, robbed, and thrown into the Thames. This pretended 
 friend had previously changed clothes with Harmon, at the 
 request of the latter, who desired to avoid recognition until 
 he had seen a certain young lady whom he is required by his 
 father's will to marry. The would-be assassin falls into a 
 quarrel with a confederate over the money obtained by the 
 robbery, and is himself murdered and thrown into the river. 
 The cold water into which Harmon is plunged restores him to 
 consciousness, and, swimming to the shore, he escapes. The body 
 of his assailant is found by a boatman named Hexam, and is 
 taken in charge by the authorities. The clothes and the papers 
 on the body having been identified, it is supposed that the 
 body itself is that of young Harmon, who, fmding himself 
 reported dead, resolves to take advantage of the circumstance 
 to further his own plans, and assumes the name of Julius 
 Handford, which he afterwards changes to John Eokesmith. 
 (Bk. I., ch. ii.-iv., viii., ix., xv.-xvii. ; Bk. II., ch. vii.-x., 
 xii.-xiv. ; Bk III., ch. iv., v., ix., xv., xvi. ; Bk. TV., ch. iv., 
 v., xi.-xiv., xvi.) See Boffin, iN'icoDEMUs. 
 
 HARMON, MRS. JOHN See Wilfer, Miss Bella. 
 
 HEADSTONE, BRADLEY. A master in a school in that 
 district of the flat country tending to the Thames, where Kent 
 and Surrey meet. 
 
 Bradley Headstone, in Ma decent black coat and waistcoat, and 
 decent white sliirt, and decent formal black tie, and decent panta- 
 loons of pepper and salt, with his decent silver watch in his pocket and 
 its decent hair-guard round his neck, looked a thoroughly decent young 
 man of six-and-twenty. He was never seen in any other dress, and 
 yet there was a certain stiffness in his manner of wearing this, as if 
 there were a want of adaptation between him and it, recalling some 
 mechanics in their holiday clothes. He had acquired mechanically a 
 great store of teacher's knowledge. He could do mental arithmetic 
 mechanically, sing at sight mechanically, blow various wind instru- 
 ments mechanically, even play the great church organ mechanically. 
 From his early childhood up, his mind had been a place of mechanical 
 •towage. The arrangement of his wholesale warehouse, so that it 
 
 2^2 
 
500 THE DICKENS DlCTIONACT. 
 
 might be always ready to meet the demands of retail dealers — ^histdfy 
 here, geography there, astronomy to the right, political economy to 
 the left — natural history, the physical sciences, figures, music, the 
 lower mathematics and what not, all in their several places — this care 
 had imparted to his countenance a look of care; while the habit of 
 questioning and being questioned had given him a suspicious manner, 
 or a manner that would be better described as one of lying in waic. 
 There was a kind of settled trouble in the face. It was the face be- 
 longing to a naturally slow or- inattentive intellect that had toiled 
 hard to get what it had won, and that had to hold it now that it was 
 gotten. He always seemed to be uneasy lest anything should be missing 
 from his mental warehouse, and taking stock to assure himself. 
 
 Suppression of so much to make room for so much, had given him 
 a constrained manner, over and above. Yet there was enough of what 
 was animal, and of what was fiery (though smouldering), still visible 
 in him, to suggest that if young Bradley Headstone, when a pauper lad, 
 liad chanced to be told off for the sea, he would not have been the last 
 liian in a ship's crew. Eegarding that origin of his, he was proud, moody, 
 and sullen, desiring it to be forgotten. And few people knew of it. 
 
 He faUs passionately in love with Lizzie Hexam, and, find- 
 ing that she loves Mr. Eugene Wrayburn, dogs his foot- 
 steps, and attempts to kill hini. Believing that he has done 
 so, he flies, but is followed by one Eiderhood, a desperate 
 character, who has discovered his plans, and who compels 
 him to pay liberally for keeping the secret. At last. Rider- 
 hood's demands and persecution become so unendurable, that 
 Headstone determines to get rid of him once for all. 
 
 " Come, come, Master," urged Riderhood at his side. " This is a 
 dry game. And where's the good of it ? You can't get rid of me, 
 except by coming to a settlement. I am a-going along -with yon 
 wherever you go." 
 
 Without a word of reply, Bradley passed quickly from him over 
 the wooden bridge on the Lock gates. " Why, there's even less sense 
 3 ci this move than t'other," said Kiderhood, following. " The Weir'a 
 there, and you'll have to come back, you know." 
 
 Without taking the least notice, Bradley leaned his body against a 
 post, in a resting attitude, and there rested with his eyes cast down. 
 " Being brought here," said Eiderhood, grufily, " I'll turn it to some 
 use by changing my gates." With a rattle and a rush of water, he 
 then swung-to the Lock gates that were standing open, before opening 
 the others; so both sets of gates were, for the moment, closed. 
 
 "You'd better by far be reasonalDle, Bradley Headstone, Master," 
 Eaid Eiderhood, passing him, " or I'll drain you all the drier for it when 
 we do settle. — Ah ! Would you P " 
 
 Bradley had caught him round the body. He seemed to be girdled 
 with an iron ring. They were on the brink of the lock, about mid- 
 way between the two sets of gates. 
 
 "Let go !" said Eiderhood, "or I'll get my knife out, and slash 
 you wherever I can cut you. Let go ! " 
 
 Bradley was drawing to the Lock.edge. Eiderhood was drawing 
 away from it. It was a strong grapple and a fierce struggle, arm and 
 
OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. 501 
 
 1^. Bradley got liim round, with his back to the Lock, and still 
 worked him backward. 
 
 *' Let go ! " said Riderhood. " Stop ! What are you trying at ? 
 You can't drown Me. Ain't I told you that the man as has come 
 through drowning can never be drowned ! I can't be drowned ! " 
 
 " I can be ! " returned Bradley in a desperate, clenched voice. " I 
 am resolved to be. I'll hold you living, and I'll hold you dead. Come 
 down ! " 
 
 Riderhood went over into the smooth pit, backward, and Bradley 
 Headstone upon him. When the two were found, lying under the 
 ooze and scum behind one of the rotting gates, Riderhood'a hold had 
 relaxed, probably in falling, and his eyes were staring upward. But 
 he was girdled still with Bradley's iron ring, and the rivets of the 
 iron ring held tight. 
 
 (Bk. II., ch. i., vi., xi., xiv., xv.; Bk. III., ch. x,, xi.; 
 Bk. lY., ch. i, vi., vii., xi., xv.) 
 
 EEXAM, JESSE, called " Gaffee." A Tliames " waterside 
 character ; " a strong man with ragged grizzled hair and a sun- 
 browned face, whose principal occupation is in recovering 
 dead todies from the Thames. He is falsely accused of the 
 murder of John Harmon. (Bk. L, ch. i., iii., vi., xii.-xiv., 
 xvL See Hexam, Lizzie. 
 
 HEXAM, CHARLEY. His son; a pupil of Bradley Head- 
 stone's, and a curious mixture of uncompleted savagery and 
 completed civilisation. He is tenderly loved and cared for 
 by his sister, but renounces her because she refuses his friend 
 Headstone. Always utterly selfish and empty-hearted, and 
 always bent on rising in the social scale, and increasing his 
 " respectability," he renounces Headstone with equal readiness 
 when he finds good reason to think him guilty of the murder 
 of his sister's favoured lover, Eugene "Wrayburn, and that his 
 own name is therefore likely to be dragged into injurious 
 notoriety. (Bk. L, ch. iii., vi.; Bk. II., ch. i., vi., xv.; Bk. lY., 
 ch. vii.) 
 
 HEX AM, LIZZIE. Daughter of Jesse or "Gaffer" Hexam. 
 She is in the habit of rowing with her father on the Thames, 
 and on one occasion, while thus engaged, they find the body 
 of a man, afterwards identified as John Harmon. Through 
 the jealousy of Eogue Eiderhood, suspicion is cast upon her 
 father ; and the officers undertake to arrest him as being con- 
 cerned in the murder, but they find him in the river, drowned, 
 and attached to his own boat by a cord, in which he had 
 apparently become entangled when he fell overboard. A young 
 barrister, Eugene Wrayburn, who accompanies the ofiicers, be- 
 comes interested in the daughter, manifests much sympathy 
 with her in her affliction^ ^nd aids her in obtaining an educa- 
 
602 THE DICKENS DICTIONAET. 
 
 tion. Her brother's teacher, Bradley Headstone, falls deeply 
 in love with her, and makes an offer of marriage. This she 
 refuses, and to escape his importunities, and also to save Wray- 
 hurn from his vengeance (for Headstone believes him to be the 
 cause of his rejection), she leaves London, and obtains employ- 
 ment in a paper-mill in the country. After much fruitless 
 search for her, Wrayburn ascertains where she is, and follows, 
 bent on having an interview with her. He is, in turn, followed 
 by Headstone, who comes upon them while they are engaged 
 in conversation. "Waiting until they part, the schoolmaster 
 stealthily follows his rival, and deals him a murderous blow 
 as he stands for a moment looking into the river. Lizzie hears 
 the blows, a faint groan, and a fall into the water. Erave by 
 nature and by habit, she runs towards the spot from which 
 the sound had come. Seeing a bloody face turned up to the 
 moon, and drifting away with the current, she jumps into a 
 boat near by, puts out into the stream, and, when she has 
 rescued the sufferer, finds that it is her lover. She tenderly 
 nurses him through the dangerous illness that follows. "When 
 consciousness returns, he asks to be married to his preserver 
 without delay, though no hope of his recovery is entertained 
 by anyone. Lizzie becomes his wife, and he grows stronger 
 and better by slow degrees, and is at last restored to perfect 
 health. (Bk. L, ch. i., iii, vi., xiii., xiv. ; Bk. IL, ch. i., ii., 
 v., xi., xiv.-xvi.; Bk. IIL, ch. i, ii., viii., ix.; Bk. lY., ch. v., 
 X., xi., xvi., xvii.) 
 IIIGDEN, MRS. BETTT. A poor woman who keeps a 
 " minding-school," and also a mangle, in one of the com- 
 plicated back settlements of Brentford. 
 
 She was one of those old women . . . who by dint of an indomit- 
 able purpose and a strong constitution fight out many years, though 
 each year has come with its new knock-down blows fresh to the fight 
 against her, wearied by it ; an active old woman, with a bright dark 
 eye and a resolute face, yet quite a tender creature too ; not a logically- 
 reasoning woman, but God is good, and hearts may count in Heaven 
 as high as heads. 
 
 Betty is haunted by a constant fear that she shall die in 
 an almshouse. 
 
 " Do I never read in the newspapers," said the dame ..." God 
 help me and the like of me ! — how the worn-out people that do come 
 down to that, get driven from post to pillar and pillar to post, a-pnr, 
 pose to tire them out ! Do I never read how they are put off, put off, 
 put off — how they are grudged, grudged, grudged the shelter, or the 
 doctor, or the drop of physic, or the bit of bread ? Do I never read 
 how they grow heartsick of it and give it np, after having let them- 
 selres drop %o low, and how they ftfter all die out for want of help ? 
 
OUR MUTUAL FBIEND. 508 
 
 Then I say, I hope I can die as well as anothe?, and I'll die withont 
 that disgrace." 
 
 Absolutely impossible, my Lords and Gentlemen and Honourable 
 Boards, by any stretch of legislative wisdom to set these perverse 
 people right in their logic ? 
 
 (Bk. I., ell. xvL ; Bk. IL, ch. ix., x., xiv. ; Bk. ILL, 
 cL viii.) 
 
 INSPECTOR, MB. A police-officer who examines into the 
 Harmon murder. (Bk. L, ch. ill. ; Bk. IV., ch. xii.) 
 
 JOEY, CAPTAIN. A bottle-nosed regular customer at The 
 Six Jolly Fellowship-Porters. (Bk. I., ch. vi ; Bk. III., 
 ch. iii.) 
 
 JONATHAN. A customer at The Six Jolly Fellowship 
 Porters. (Bk. I., ch. vi. ; Bk. III., ch. iii.) 
 
 JOHNNY. An orphan, grandson of Betty Higden. The 
 Bofiins propose to adopt him; but he dies before the plan 
 is carried into effect. (Bk. I., ch. xvi. ; Bk. IL, ch. viii, ix., 
 xiv. ; Bk. III., ch. ix.) 
 
 JONES, GEORGE. A customer at The Six JoUy FeUowship- 
 Porters. (Bk. I., ch. vi.) 
 
 KIBBLE, J A COB. A f eUow-passenger of John Harmon's on 
 his voyage from Cape Colony to England. (Bk. IL, ch. xiii. ; 
 Bk. IV., ch. xii.) 
 
 LAMMLE, ALFRED. A mature young gentleman with too 
 much nose in his face, too much ginger in his whiskers, too 
 much torso in his waistcoat, too much sparkle in his studs, 
 his eyes, his buttons, his talk, and his teeth. He is an ad- 
 venturer and a fortune-hunter ; and he marries Miss Sophronia 
 Akershem, supposing her to be a lady of wealth, while she 
 marries him also for money; each being deceived by Mr. and 
 Mrs. Veneering, who reaUy know next to nothing about either 
 of them. This precious pair of entrapped impostors determine 
 to revenge themselves on Veneering for his part in the matter, 
 but fail in their plans, and after an attempt (which is also a 
 failure) to supplant Kokesmith in the house of Mr. Boffin, 
 they leave the country. (Bk. I., ch. ii., x., xi ; Bk. IL, 
 ch. v., xvi. ; Bk. III., ch. l, v., xii., xvii. ; Bk. lY., ch. ii, viii) 
 
 LAMMLE, MRS. ALFRED. See Akershem, Miss Sophronia. 
 
 LIGHTWOOD, MORTIMER. A young soHcitor and attorney 
 employed by Mr. Boffin. He is an intimate friend of Eugene 
 Wraybum. (Bk. L, ch. ii, iii, viii, x., xii, xvi ; Bk. IL, 
 ch. vi, xiv., xvi ; Bk. IIL, ch. x., xi, xvii ; Bk. IV., 
 eh. ix.-xii) 
 
604 THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 MAIIY ANNE. Miss Peecher's assistant and favourite pnpil, 
 so imbued with the class-custom of stretching out an arm, as 
 if to hail a cab or omnibus, whenever she finds she has an 
 observation on hand to offer to Miss Peecher, that she often 
 does it in their domestic relations. (Bk. I., ch. i., xi. ; 
 Bk. lY., ch. vii.) 
 
 MILVEY, MRS. MARGARETTA. Wife of the Reverend 
 Prank; a pretty, bright little woman, something worn by 
 anxiety, who has repressed many pretty tales and bright 
 fancies, and substituted, in their stead, schools, soup, flannel, 
 coals, and all the week-day cares and Sunday coughs of a 
 large population, young and old. (Bk. L, ch. ix., xvi. ; 
 Bk. II., ch. X. ; Bk. IIP, ch. ix. ; Bk. lY., ch. xi.) 
 
 MILVET, THE REVEREND FRANK. A young curate. 
 (Bk. I., ch. ix., xvi. j Bk. II., ch. x. ; Bk. IIP, ch. ix. ; 
 Bk. lY., ch. xi) 
 
 He was quite a joung man, expensively educated and wretchedly 
 paid, with quite a young' wife, and half-a-dozen quite young children. 
 He was under the necessity of teachiDg, and translating from the 
 classics, to eke out his scanty means, yet was generally expected to 
 liave more time to spare than the idlest person in the parish, and 
 more money than the richest. He accepted the needless inequalities 
 and inconsistencies of his life with a kind of conventional submission 
 that was almost slavish ; and any daring layman who would have 
 adjusted such burdens as his more decently and graciously would have 
 had small help from him. 
 
 MULLINS, JACK. A frequenter of The Six JoUy Fellow- 
 ship Porters. (Bk. P, ch. vi.) 
 
 PEECHER, 3ITSS EMMA. A teacher in the female depart- 
 ment of the school in which Bradley Headstone is a master. 
 (Bk. P, ch. xi., XV. ; Bk. IIP, ch. xi. ; Bk. lY, ch. vii.) 
 
 Small, shining, neat, methodical, and buxom was Miss Peecher: 
 cherry-cheeked and tuneful of voice. A little pincushion, a little 
 housewife, a little book, a little work-box, a little set of tables and 
 weights and measures, and a little woman, all in one. She could 
 write a little essay on any subject, exactly a slate long, beginning 
 at the left-hand top of one side, and ending at the right-hand bottom 
 of vhe other, and the essay should be strictly according to rule. If 
 Mr. Bradley Headstone had addressed a written proposal of marriage 
 to her, she would probably have replied in a complete little essay on 
 the theme exactly a slate long, but would certainly have replied yes. 
 For she loved him. The decent hair-guard that went rotmd his neck 
 and took care of his decent silver watch was an object of en\'7 to 
 her. So would Miss Peecher have gone round his neck and taken care 
 of him. Of him, insensible. Because he did not love Miss Peecher. 
 
 PODDLES. The pet name of a little girl in Mrs. Betty 
 IJigdeii's " miuding-school." (B^. P, c]i. :^vi,) 
 
OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. 505 
 
 PODSNAP, MISS GEORGIANA. A sliy, foolish, affec- 
 tionate girl, of nearly eighteen, in training for " society." 
 (Bk. I., ch. xi., xvii. ; Bk. IL, ck iv., v., xvi. ; Bk. III., 
 ch. L, xvii. ; Bk. lY., ch. ii.) 
 
 She was "but an undersized damsel, with high shoulders, low spirits, 
 chilled elbows, and a rasped surface of nose, who seemed to take occa- 
 sional frosty peeps out of childhood into womanhood, and to shrink 
 back again, overcome by her mother's head-dress and her father from 
 head to foot — crushed by the mere dead-weight of Podsnappery. 
 
 A certain institution in Mr. Podsnap's mind which he called "the 
 young person'' may be considered to have been embodied in Miss 
 Podsnap, his daughter. It was an inconvenient and exacting insti- 
 tution, as requiring everything in the universe to be filed down and 
 fitted to it. The question about everything was, would it bring a 
 bhish into the cheek of the young person ? And the inconvenience of 
 the youug person was, that, according to JVLr. Podsnap, she seemed 
 always liable to burst into blushes when there was no need at all. 
 There appeared to be no line of demarcation between the young per- 
 son's excessive innocence, and another person's guiltiest knowledge. 
 Take Mr. Podsnap's word for it, and the soberest tints of drab, white, 
 lilac, and gray, were all flaming red to this troublesome Bull of a 
 young person. . . . 
 
 Miss Podsnap's life had been, from her first appearance on this 
 planet, altogether of a shady oixlor; for, Mr. Podsnap's young person 
 was likely to get little good out uf association with other young per- 
 sons, and had therefore been restricted to companionship with not 
 very congenial older persons, and with massive furniture. Miss Pod- 
 snap's early views of life being principally derived from the reflections 
 of it in her father's boots, and in the walnut and rosewood tables of 
 the dim drawing-rooms, and in their swarthy giants of looking glasses, 
 were of a sombre cast ; and it was not wonderful that now, when she 
 was on most days solemnly tooled through the Park by the side of her 
 mother in a great tall custard-coloured phaeton, she showed above the 
 apron of that vehicle like a dejected young person sitting up in bed 
 to take a startled look at things in general, and very strongly desiring 
 to get her head under the counterpane again. 
 
 PODSNAP, MR. JOHN. Her father ; a memher of " society" 
 and a pompous self-satisfied man, swelling with patronage of 
 his friends and acquaintances. (Bk. L, ch. ii., x., xi., xvii, ; 
 P>k. II., ch. iiL-v., xvi. ; Bk. III., ch. i., xvii. ; Bk. IV., 
 ch. xvii.) 
 
 Mr. Podsnap was well to c!r». and stood very high in Mr. Podsnap's 
 opinion. Beginning with a good inheritance, he had married a good 
 inheritance, and had thriven exceedingly in the Marine Insurance way, 
 and was quite satisfied. He never could make out why everybody was 
 not quite satisfied, and he felt conscious that he set a brilliant social 
 example in being particularly well satisfied with most things, and, 
 above all other things, with himself. 
 
 Thus happily acquainted with his own merit and importance, Mr. 
 Fgdsnap settjed th^T-t whq-tevpy h^ put behind hiaa he put out of eidst- 
 
606 THE DIOKBNS DICTIONASY. 
 
 ence. There was a dignified conclusiveness — not to add a grand con- 
 venience — in this way of getting rid of disagreeables, which had done 
 much towards establishing Mr. Podsnap in his lofty place in Mr. Pod- 
 snap's satisfaction. " I don't want to know about it ; I don't choose 
 to discuss it ; I don't admit it ! " Mr. Podsnap had even acquired a 
 peculiar flourish of his right arm in often clearing the world of its 
 most difficult problems, by sweeping them behind him (and conse- 
 quently sheer away) with those words and a flushed face. For they 
 affronted him. 
 
 Mr. Podsnap's world was not a very large world, morally ; no, nor 
 even geographically : seeing that although his business was sustained 
 upon commerce with other countries, he considered other countries, 
 with that important reservation, a mistake, and of their manners and 
 customs would conclusively observe, " Not English ! " when, Presto I 
 with a flourish of the arm, and a flush of the face, they were swept 
 away. Elsewise, the world got up at eight, shaved close at a quarter- 
 past, breakfasted at nine, went to the City at ten, came home at half- 
 past five, and dined at seven. Mr. Podsnap's notions of the Arts in 
 their integrity might have been stated thus. Literature ; large print, 
 respectively descriptive of getting up at eight, shaving close at a 
 quarter-past, breakfasting at nine, going to the City at ten, coming 
 home at half-past five, and dining at seven. Painting and Sculpture ; 
 models and portraits representing Professors of getting up at eight, 
 shaving close at a quarter-past, breakfasting at nine, going to the City 
 at ten, coming home at half-past five, and dining at seven. Music ; a 
 respectable performance (without variations) on stringed and wind 
 instruments, sedately expressive of getting up at eight, shaving close 
 at a quarter-past, breakfasting at nine, going to the City at ten, coming 
 home at half -past five, and dining at seven. Nothing else to be per- 
 mitted to those same vagrants the Arts, on pain of excommunication. 
 Nothing else To Be — anywhere ! 
 
 As a so eminently respectable man, Mr. Podsnap was sensible of 
 its being required of him to take Providence under his protection. 
 Consequently he always knew exactly what Providence meant. Inferior 
 and less respectable men might fall short of that mark, but Mr. Pod- 
 snap was always up to it. And it was very remarkable (and must 
 have been very comfortable) that what Providence meant, was 
 invariably what Mr. Podsnap meant. 
 
 These may be said to have been the articles of a faith and school 
 which the present chapter takes the liberty of calling, after its repre- 
 sentative man, Podsnappery. They were confined within close bounds, 
 as Mr. Podsnap's own head was confined by his shirt-collar ; and they 
 were enunciated with a sounding pomp that smacked of the creaking 
 of Mr. Podsnap's own boots. 
 
 PODSNAP, MRS. His wife; a " fine woman for Prof essor 
 Owen, quantity of bone, neck and nostrils like a rocking- 
 horse, hard features," and a majestic presence. (Bk. I., eh. IL, 
 X., xi., xvii ; Bk. IL, ch. iii., iv. ; Bk. IIL, ck i, xvii ; 
 Bk. rV., ch. xvii) 
 
 POTTERSONy MISS ABBEY. Sole proprietor and manager of 
 a well-kept tavern called The Six Jolly Fellowship-Porters ; a 
 woman of great dignity and firmness, tall, upright, and well- 
 
OUE MUTUAL FRIEND. 607 
 
 favoured, tliough severe of countenance, and having more the 
 air of a schoolmistress than mistress of a public-house. (Ek. I., 
 ch. vi., xiii.; Bk. III., ch. ii., iii. ; Bk. IV., ch. xii.) 
 
 The Six Jolly Fellowship- Porters, ... as a tavern of a dropsical 
 appearance, had long settled down into a state of hale infirmity. In 
 its whole constitntion it had not a straight floor, and hardly a straight 
 line ; but it had outlasted, and clearly would yet outlast, many a 
 better-trimmed building, many a sprucer public-house. Externally, it 
 was a narrow lopsided wooden jumble of corpulent windows heaped 
 one upon another as you might heap as many toppling oranges, with a 
 !razy wooden verandah impending over the water ; indeed the whole 
 house, inclusive of the complaining fiag-staff on the roof, impended 
 over the water, but seemed to have got into the condition of a faint- 
 hearted diver who has paused so long on the brink that he will never 
 go in at all. 
 
 This description applies to the river-frontage of The Six Jolly 
 Fellowship.Porters. The back of the establishment, though the chief 
 entrance was there, so contracted, that it merely represented in its 
 connection with the front, the handle of a flat-iron set upright on its 
 broadest end. This handle stood at the bottom of a wilderness of 
 court and alley ; which wilderness pressed so hard and close upon The 
 Six Jolly Fellowship-Porters as to leave the hostelry not an inch of 
 ground beyond its door. . . . 
 
 The bar of The Six Jolly Fellowship-Porters was a bar to soften the 
 human breast. The available space in it was not much larger than a 
 hackney-coach ; but no one could have wished the bar bigger, that 
 space was so girt in by corpulent little casks, and by cordial-bottles 
 radiant with fictitious grapes in bunches, and by lemons in nets, and 
 by biscuits in baskets, and by the polite beer-pulls that made low bows 
 when customers were served with beer, and by the cheese in a snug 
 comer, and by the landlady's own small table in a snugger corner near 
 the fire, with the cloth everlastingly laid. This haven was divided from 
 the rough world by a glass partition and a half-door with a leaden sill 
 upon it for the convenience of resting your liquor ; but, over this half - 
 door the bar's snugness so gushed forth, that, albeit customers drank 
 there standing, in a dark and draughty passage where they were 
 shouldered by other customers passing in and out, they always appeared 
 to drink under an enchanting delusion that they were in the bar 
 itself. 
 
 For the rest, both the tap and parlour of The Six Jolly Fellowship. 
 Porters gave upon the river, and had red curtains matching the noses 
 of the regular customers. 
 
 POTTERSON, JOB. Her brother; steward of the ship in 
 which John Harmon is a passenger. (Bk. I., cL iii ; Bk. IL, 
 ch. xiii. ; Bk. lY., ch. xii.) 
 
 PUBSE7 AND CO, The name of a fictitious firm of money 
 brokers in Saint Mary Axe, used by " Fascination " Eledgeby 
 to conceal his sharp practices. 
 
 RIAH, MR. An aged Jew, of venerable aspect and a generous 
 and noble nature, who befriends Lizzie Hexam, and obtains 
 employment for her. He is the agent of " Eascinatiou " 
 
b08 THE DICKENS DIOTIONAET. 
 
 Fledgeby, wlio directs all his proceedings, wMle keeping him- 
 self in the hackground. (Bk. II., ch. y,, xy. ; Bk. Ill, ch. i., 
 Il, X., xii., xiii. j Bk. lY., ch. Yiii, ix., xyl) 
 
 Fascination Fledgeby took another scratcli at his intellectnal head 
 with his hat [and said], " Who but you and I ever heard of a poor 
 Jew?" 
 
 " The Jews,** said the old man, raising his eyes from the ground 
 with his former smile. " They hear of poor Jews often, and are very 
 good to them." 
 
 " Bother that ! " returned Fledgehy. " You know what I mean. 
 You'd persuade me, if you could, that you are a poor Jew. I wish 
 you'd confess how much you really did make out of my late governor. 
 I should have a better opinion of you." 
 
 The old man only bent his head, and stretched out his hands as 
 before. 
 
 " Don't go on posturing like a Deaf and Dumb School," said the 
 ingenious Fledgeby, " but express yourself like a Christian — or as nearly 
 as you can.'* 
 
 " I had had sickness and misfortunes, and was so poor," said the old 
 man, " as hopelessly to owe the father principal and interest. The son 
 inheriting, was so merciful as to forgive me both, and place me here." 
 
 He made a little gesture as though he kissed the hem of an imagi- 
 nary garment worn by the noble youth before him. It was humbly 
 done, but picturesquely, and was not abasing to the doer. 
 
 " You won't say more, I see," said Fledgeby, looking at him as if 
 he would like to try the effect of extracting a double-tooth or two, " and 
 so it's of no use my putting it to you. But confess this, Eiah j who 
 believes you to be poor now ? " 
 
 *' No one," said the old man. 
 
 " There you're right," assented Fledgeby. 
 
 " No one," repeated the old man with a grave slow wave of his 
 head. "All scout it as a fable. Were I to say, *This little fancy 
 business is not mine ; * " with a lithe sweep of his easily-turning hand 
 around him, to comprehend the various objects on the shelves ; " 'it is 
 the little business of a Christian young gentleman who places me, his 
 servant, in trust and charge here, and to whom I am accountable for 
 every single bead,' they would laugh. When, in the larger money- 
 business, I tell the borrowers " 
 
 " I say, old chap ! " interposed Fledgeby, " I hope you mind what 
 you do tell 'em ? " 
 
 " Sir, I tell them no more than I am about to repeat. When I tell 
 them, * I cannot promise this, I cannot answer for the other, I must 
 see my principal, I have not the money, I am a poor man and it does 
 not rest with me,' they are so unbelieving and so impatient, that they 
 sometimes curse me in Jehovah's name." 
 
 " That's deuced good, that is ! " said Fascination Fledgeby. 
 
 " And at other times they say, ' Can it never be done without these 
 tricks, Mr. Riah ? Come, come, Mr. Eiah, we know the arts of your 
 people ' — my people ! — * If the money is to be lent, fetch it, fetch it j 
 if it is not to be lent, keep it and say so.' They never believe me." 
 
 " Thafs all right," said Fascination Fledgeby. 
 
 " They say, * We know, Mr. Eiah, we know. We have but to Iccls 
 at yon, and we know.* " 
 
OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. 509 
 
 " Oil, a good *tta are you for the post," thought Fledgeby, *' and a 
 good 'un was I to mark you out for it I I may be alow, but I am 
 precious sure." 
 
 Not a syllable of this reflection shaped itself in any scrap of Mr. 
 Fledgeby's breath, lest it should tend to put his servant's price up. 
 Bat looking at the old man as he stood quiet with his head bowed and 
 his eyes cast down, he felt that to relinquish an inch of his baldness, 
 an inch of his gray hair, an inch of his coat-skirt, an inch of his hat- 
 brim, an inch of his walking-staff, would be to relinquish hundreds of 
 pounds. 
 
 " Look here, Riah," said Fledgeby, mollified by these self -approving 
 considerations. " I want to go a little more into buying-up queer bills. 
 Look out in that direction." 
 
 *' Sir, it shall be done." 
 
 *' Casting my eye over the accounts, I find that branch of business 
 pays pretty fairly, and I am game for extending it. I like to know 
 people's affairs Ukewise. So look out." 
 
 " Sir, I will, promptly." 
 
 " Put it about in the right quarters, that you*ll buy queer bills by 
 the lump — ^by the pound weight if that's aU — supposing you see your 
 way to a fair chance on looking over the parcel. And there's one thing 
 more. Come to me with the books for periodical inspection as usual, 
 at eight on Monday morning." 
 
 Riah drew some folding tablets from his breast and noted it down. 
 
 *' That's all I wanted to say at the present time," continued 
 Fledgeby in a grudging vein, as he got off the stool. 
 
 RIDERUOOD, PLEASANT. Daughter of Eoger Eiderhood, 
 finally married to Mr. Yenus, after rejecting him more than 
 once. (Bk. IL, ch. xii., xiii. ; Bk. IIL, ch. iv., vii. ; Bk. lY., 
 ch. xiv.) 
 
 Upon the smallest of small scales, she was an unlicensed pawn- 
 broker, keeping what was popularly called a Leaving Shop, by 
 lending insignificant sums on insignificant articles of property 
 deposited with her as security. In her four-and-twentieth year of 
 life, Pleasant was already in her fifth year of this way of trade. . . . 
 
 Why christened Pleasant, the late Mrs. Riderhood might possibly 
 have been able at some time to explain, and possibly not. Her 
 daughter had no information on that point. Pleasant she found 
 herself, and she couldn't help it. She had not been consulted on the 
 question, any naore than on the question of her coming into these 
 teiTestrial parts, to want a name. Similarly, she found herself 
 possessed of what is colloquially termed a swivel eye (derived from 
 her father), which she might perhaps have declined if her sentiments 
 on the subject had been taken. She was not otherwise positively ill- 
 looking, though anxious, meagre, of a muddy complexion, and looking 
 as old again as she reaUy was. 
 
 As some dogs have it in the blood, or are trained, to worry certain 
 creatures to a certain point, so — not to make the comparison dis- 
 respectfully — Pleasant Riderhood had it in the blood, or had been 
 trained, to regard seamen, within certain limits, as her prey. Show 
 her a man in a blue jacket, and, figuratively" speaking, she pinned him 
 instantly. Yet, all things considered, she T^fas not of an evil mind or 
 Wa. unkindly disposition. 
 
610 THE DICKENS DIOTIONABY. 
 
 RIDERHOOD, ROGER, called " Rogue." A desperate "water- 
 side character," in whose house an attempt is made on John 
 Harmon's life. Quarrelling with Gaffer Hexam, who had 
 been his partner, and anxious to obtain the reward offered 
 by Mr. Boffin for the arrest of the supposed murderer, he goes 
 to Mortimer Lightwood's office, and accuses Hexam of having 
 done the deed. Search being made for Hexam, he is dis- 
 covered drowned \ and the reward is consequently not paid. 
 Eiderhood finally becomes a deputy lock-keeper at Plashwater 
 Weir Mill, and is cognisant of Bradley Headstone's attack on 
 Eugene Wrayburn. He uses his knowledge as a means of 
 extorting money from Headstone, and at last, by his continued 
 demands, drives him to desperation. A quarrel ensues, which 
 results in the death of both. (Bk. I., ch. i., vi., xii.-xiv. ; 
 Bk. II., ch. xii.-xiv., xvi. ; Bk. III., ch. ii., iii., viii., xi. ; 
 Bk. lY., ch. i., vii., xv.) See Headstone, Beadley. 
 
 ROKESMITH, JOHN, See Harmon, John. 
 
 ROKESMITH, MRS. JOHN. See Harmon, Mrs. John. 
 
 SAMPSON, GEORGE. A young man who is very intimate 
 with the Wilfer family. At first he hovers round Miss 
 Bella, but, on her betrothal to Mr. John Harmon, transfers 
 his affections to her sister, Lavinia, who keeps him — partly in 
 remembrance of his bad taste in having overlooked her in the 
 first instance — under a course of stinging discipline. (Bk. I., 
 ch. iv., ix. ; Bk. II., ch. xiv. ; Bk. III., ch. iv., xvi. ; Bk. lY., 
 ch. v., xvi.) 
 
 SLOPPY. A love-child, found in the street, brought up in 
 the poorhouse, and adopted by Betty Higden, who keeps him 
 employed in turning a mangle. He is afterwards taken into 
 Mr. Boffin's service. (Bk. I., ch. xvi. ; Bk. IL, ch. ix., x., 
 xiv. ; Bk. III., ch. ix. ; Bk. IV., ch. iii., xiv., xvi.) 
 
 Of an ungainly make was Sloppy. Too mucli of him longwise, too 
 little of him broadwise, and too many sharp angles of him angle- wise. 
 One of those shambling male human creatures born to be indiscreetly 
 candid in the revelation of buttons ; every button he had about him 
 glariDg at the public to a quite preternatural extent. A considerable 
 capital of knee and elbow and wrist and ankle, had Sloppy, and he 
 didn't know how to dispose of it to the best advantage, but was always 
 investing it in wrong securities, and so getting himself into em- 
 barrassed circumstances. Full-Private Number One in the Awkward 
 Squad of the rank and file of life, was Sloppy, and yet had his 
 glimmering notions of standing true to the Colours. 
 
 SNIGSWORTH, LORD, First cousin to Mr. Twemlow ; a 
 nobleman with gout in Ms temper. (Bk. L, ch. ii., x.; Bk. 11,,^ 
 eh. iii, v., xvL ; Bk. IV ch. xvi.) 
 
OtJtt MUTUAL FEIEKD. 611 
 
 BPRODOKlNy MRS. A portentous old parishioner of tlie 
 Eeverend Erank Milvey, and the plague of his life. She is 
 constantly wishing to know who begat whom, or wanting 
 some information concerning tho Amoritss, (Bk. lY., ch. xi.) 
 
 She was a member of the Eeverend FranVa congregation, and 
 made a point of distinguishing herself in that body, by conspicuously 
 weeping at everything, however cheering, said by the Reverend Frank 
 in his public ministration; also by applying to herself the various 
 lamentations of David, and complaining in a personally injured manner 
 (nmch in arrear of the clerk and the rest of the respondents) that her 
 enemies were digging pitfalls about her, and breaking her with rods of 
 iron. Indeed, this old widow discharged herself of that portion of 
 the Morning and Evening Service as if she were lodging a complaint 
 on oath and applying for a warrant before a magistrate. But this was 
 not her most inconvenient characteristic, for that took the form of an 
 impression, usually recurring in inclement weather and at about day- 
 break, that she had something on her mind and stood in immediate 
 need of the Reverend Frank to come and take it off. Many a time 
 had that kind creature got up, and gone out to Mrs. Sprodgkin (such 
 was the disciple's name), suppressing a strong sense of her comicality 
 by his strong sense of duty, and perfectly knowing that nothing bub 
 a cold would come of it. 
 
 TAPKINS, MRS. A fashionable woman, who calls at the 
 door of the " eminently aristocratic " mansion to which the 
 Boffins remove from the " Eower," and leaves a card for her- 
 self. Miss Tapkins, Miss Frederica Tapkins, Miss Antonia 
 Tapkins, Miss Mahdna Tapkins, and Miss Euphemia Tapkins ; 
 also the card of Mrs. Henry George Alfred Swoshle, 7iee Tap- 
 kins ; also a card, " Mrs. Tapkins at home Wednesdays, 
 Music, Portland Place." (Bk. I., ch. xvii.) 
 
 TIPPINS, LAD Y. A friend of the Yeneerings, and a member 
 of " society ; " leKct of the late Sir Thomas Tippins, knighted, 
 by mistake for somebody else, by his Majesty King George 
 the Third. She is a charming old woman, with an immense, 
 obtuse, drab, oblong face, like a face in a tablespoon, and a 
 dyed long walk up the top of her head, as a convenient public 
 approach to the bunch of false hair behind. She affects 
 perennial youth in her dress and manners, and exerts herself 
 to fascinate the male sex, especially the unmarried portion of 
 it. (Bk. I., ch. ii., x., xvii. ; Bk. II., ch. iii., xvi. ; Bk. III., 
 ch. xvii ; Bk. lY., ch. xvii.) 
 
 A grisly little fiction concerning her lovers is Lady Tippins's point. 
 She is always attended by a lover or two, and she keeps a Httle list of 
 her lovers, and she is always booking a new lover, or striking out 
 an old lover, or putting a lover in her black list, or promoting a 
 lover to her blue list, or adding up her lovers, or otherwise posting her 
 
512 THE DICtENS BlCl^iOi^Afif. 
 
 TODDLES. The pet name of a little boy in Mrs. Betty 
 Higden's *^ minding-scliool." (Bk. I., ch. xvi.) 
 
 TOOTLE, TOM. A frequenter of The Six JoUy Fellowship- 
 Porters. (Bk. I., ch. vi. j Bk. 111., ch. ii., iii.) 
 
 TWEMLOW, MR. MELVIN. A friend of the Yeneerings, 
 and a member of " society." He is poor, and lives over a 
 livery- stable-yard in Duke-street, St. James's ; but, being first 
 cousin to Lord Snigsworth, he is in frequent requisition 
 at many houses. His noble relative allows him a smaU 
 annuity, on which he lives ; and takes it out of liim, as the 
 phrase goes, in extreme severity ; putting him, when he visits 
 at Snigs worthy Park, under a kind of martial law ; ordaining 
 that he shall hang his hat on a particular peg, sit on a par- 
 ticular chair, talk on particular subjects to particular people, 
 and perform particular exercises, such as sounding the praises 
 of the family varnish (not to say pictures), and abstaining 
 from the choicest of the family wines, unless expressly invited 
 to partake. (Bk. L, ch. ii., x., xvii. ; Bk. II., ch. iii., xvi. ; 
 Bk. III., ch. xiii. ; Bk. lY., ch. xvi., xvii.) 
 
 VENEERING, MR. HAMILTON. A jparweww, tolerated by 
 
 " society " on account of his wealth. Formerly traveller or 
 commission-agent of Chicksey and Stobbles, druggists, but 
 afterwards admitted into the firm, of which he becomes the 
 supreme head, absorbing both his partners. He is a man of 
 forty, wavy-hahed, dark, tending to corpulence, sly, mysterious, 
 filmy — a kind of sufiiciently well-looking veiled prophet, not 
 prophesying. By a liberal expenditure of money, he gets 
 himself returned to the House of Commons from the Borough 
 of Pocket-Breaches. (Bk. I., ch. ii., x., xi., xvii. ; Bk. II., 
 ch. iii., xvi. j Bk. III., ch. xvii. ; Bk. lY., ch. xvii.) 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Veneering were brand-new people in a brand-new bouse 
 in a brand-new quarter of London. Everything about tbe Yeneerings 
 was spick and span new. All their furniture was new, all their friends 
 were new, all their servants were new, their plate was new, their 
 carriage was new, their harness was new, their horses were new, their 
 pictures were new, they themselves were new, they were as newly 
 married as was lawfully compatible with their having a brand-new baby, 
 and if they had set up a great-grandfather, he would have come home 
 in matting from the Pantechnicon, without a scratch upon him, French 
 polished to the crown of his head. 
 
 For, in the Yeneering establishment, from the hall-chairs with the 
 new coat-of-arms, to the gi'and pianoforte with the new action, and 
 upstairs again to the new fire-escape, all things were in a state of high 
 varnish and polish. And what was observable in the furniture, was 
 observable in the Yeneerings — the surface smelt a little too much of 
 the workshop and was a trMe sticky. 
 
OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. 513 
 
 VENEERING, MRS. ANASTASIA. His wife; a hh 
 ■woman, aquiline-nosed and fingered, not so much light 
 hair as she might have, gorgeous in raiment and jewels, 
 enthusiastic, propitiatory, (Ek. I., ch. ii., x., xi., xvii. ; 
 Ek. IL, ch, iii., xvi. ; Bk. III., ch. xvii ; Bk. lY., 
 ch. xvii.) 
 
 VENUS, MR. A preserver of animals and birds, and articu- 
 lator of human hones. He becomes a confederate of Mr. 
 Wegg's in his plan of blackmailing Mr. Boffm ; but being, on 
 the whole, a very honest man, and repenting of what he has 
 done, he makes amends by confidentially disclosing the whole 
 plot. His shop in Clerkenwell, his personal appearance, and 
 the nature of his occupation, are described in the following 
 extract : 
 
 In a narrow and dirty street . . . Mr. Wegg selects one dark shop- 
 window with a tallow-candle dimly bTirning in it, surrounded by a 
 muddle of objects, vaguely resembling pieces of leather and dry stick, 
 but among which nothing is resolvable into anything distinct, save the 
 candle itself in its old tin candlestick, and two preserved frogs fighting 
 fo small-sword duel. Stumping with fresh vigour, he goes in at the 
 dark greasy entry, pushes a little greasy dark reluctant side-door, and 
 follows the door into the little dark greasy shop. It is so dark that 
 nothing can be made out in it, over a Kttle counter, but another taUow- 
 candle in another old tin candlestick, close to the face of a man 
 stooping low in a chair. 
 
 Mr. Wegg nods to the face, " Good evening." 
 
 The face looking up is a sallow face with weak eyes, surmounted by 
 » tangle of reddish-dusty hair. The owner of the face has no cravat 
 on, and has opened his tumbled shirt-collar to work with the more 
 ease. For the same reason he has no coat on : only a loose waistcoat 
 over his yeUow linen. His eyes are like the over-tried eyes of an 
 engraver, but he is not that ; his ezpression and stoop ai-a like those 
 of a shoemaker, but he is not that. 
 
 " Good evening, !Mr. Yenus. Don't you remember ? " 
 
 With slowly dawning remembrance, Mr. Venus lises, and holds his 
 candle over the little counter, and holds it down towards the legs, 
 natural and artificial, of Mr. Wegg. 
 
 " To be sure ! " he says, then. " How do you do ? *' 
 
 " Wegg, you know," that gentleman explains. 
 
 " Yes, yes," says the other. " Hospital amputation ? " 
 
 ** Just so," says Mr. Wegg. 
 
 " Yes, yes," quoth Yenua. " How do you do ? Sit down by the 
 fire, and warm your — your other one. . . . 
 
 ♦* My tea is drawing, and my muffin is on the hob, Mr. Wegg j will 
 you partake ? " 
 
 It being one of Mr. Wegg's guiding rules in life always to partake, 
 he says he will. But, the little shop is so excessively dai-k, is stuck so 
 iixiW of black shelves and brackets and nooks and corners, that he sees 
 Mr. Yenus's cup and saucer only because it is close under the candle, 
 and does not see from what mysterious recess Mr. Yenus produces 
 fcnother for himself, until it is under his nose. Concurrently, Wegg 
 
 2 L 
 
614 THE DICKENS DIGTIO:^AEt. 
 
 perceives a pretty little dead bird lying on the counter, with its head 
 drooping on one side against tlie rim of Mr. Venus's saucer, and a long 
 stiff vidre piercing its breast. As if it were Cock Eobin, the hero of the 
 ballad, and Mr. Yenus were the sparrow with his bow and arrow, and 
 Mr. Wegg were the fly with his little eye. ... 
 
 As the mufiSns disappear, little by little, the black shelves and nooks 
 and comers begin to appear, and Mr. Wegg gradually acquires an 
 imperfect notion that over against him on the chimney-piece is a 
 Hindoo baby in a bottle, curved up with his big head tucked under him, 
 as though he would instantly throw a summersault if the bottle were 
 large enough. . . . 
 
 At this moment the greasy door is violently pushed inward, and a boy 
 follows it, who says, after having let it slam : 
 
 " Come for the stuffed canary." 
 
 "It's three and ninepence," rettims Venus j "have jou got the 
 money ? " 
 
 The boy produces four shillings. Mr. Yenns, always in exceedingly 
 low spirits, and making wliimpering sounds, peers about for the stuifed 
 canary. On his taking the candle to assist his search, Mr. Wegg observes 
 that he has a convenient little shelf near his knees, exclusively appropri- 
 ated to skeleton hands, which have very much the appearance of wanting 
 to lay hold of him. From these Mr. Yenus rescues the canary in a glass 
 case, and shows it to the boy. 
 
 " There ! " he whimpers. " There's animation ! On a twig, making 
 up his mind to hop 1 Take care of him j he's a lovely specimen. — And 
 three is four." 
 
 The boy gathers up his change and has pulled the door open by a 
 leather strap nailed to it for the purpose, when Yenus cries out ; 
 
 " Stop him ! Come back, you young villain ! You've got a tooth 
 among them halfpence," 
 
 " How was I to know I'd got it ? You giv it me. I don't want none 
 of your teeth, I've got enough of inj own." So the boy pipes, as he 
 selects it from his change, and throws it on the counter. 
 
 "Don't sauce me, in the wicious pride of your youth,*' Mr. Yenua 
 retorts pathetic&Uy. " Don't hit me because you see I'm down. I'm 
 low enough without that. It dropped into the till, I suppose. Thoy 
 drop into everything. There was two in the coffee-pot at breakf ast-time. 
 Molars." 
 
 "Yery well, then," argues the boy, "what do you call names 
 for?" 
 
 To which Mr. Yenus only replies, shaking his shock of dusty hair, and 
 winking his weak eyes, " Don't sauce me, in the wicious pride of your 
 youth ; don't hit me because you see I'm down. You've no idea how 
 small you'd come out, if I had the articulating of you." 
 
 This consideration ssems to have its effect upon the boy, for lie goes 
 out grumbling. 
 
 " Oh dear me, dear n,« ! " sighs Mr. Yenus, heavily, gnuffing the 
 candle, " the world that appeared so flowery has ceased to blow ! You're 
 casting your eye round the shop, Mr. Wegg. Let me show you a light. 
 My working bench. My ycuig man's bench. A Wice. Tools. Bones, 
 warious. Skulls, warious. Preserved Indian baby. African ditto. 
 Bottled preparations, warious. Everything within reach of your hand, 
 in good preservation. The mouldy ones a-top. What's in those hampers 
 over them again, I don't quite remember. Say, human warious. Cats. 
 Articul&ted English baby. Dogs. Ducks. Gl*^s eyes, wariotis. Mixkup 
 
iiaied bird. Dried cuticle, warious. Oh dear me I That's the general 
 panoramic view." 
 
 (Bk. I., ch. vii. ; Ek. II., ck vii. ; Bk. III., ch. vi, vii, 
 xiv. j Bk. IV., cli. iii,, xiv.) 
 
 WEGG, SILAS. A baUadmonger, who also keeps a fruit- 
 stall, near Cavendish Square. 
 
 Assuredly, this stall of Silas Wegg'a was the hardest little stall of 
 all the sterile little stalls in London. It gave you the face-ache to look 
 at his apples, the stomach-ache to look at his oranges, the tooth-ache to 
 look at his nuts. Of the latter commodity he had always a grim little 
 heap, on which lay a little wooden measure which had no discernible 
 inside, and was considered to represent the penn'orth appointed by 
 Magna Charta. Whether from too much east wind or no — it was an 
 easterly corner — the stall, the stock, and the keeper, were all as dry as 
 the Desert. Wegg was a knotty man, and a close-grained, with a face 
 carved out of very hard material, that had just as much play of 
 expression as a watchman's rattle. When he laughed, certain jerka 
 occurred in it, and the rattle sprung. Sooth to say, ho was so wooden 
 a man that he seemed to have taken his wooden ]eg naturally, and 
 rather suggested to the fanciful observer, that he might be expected 
 — if his development received no untimely check — to be completely 
 set up with a pair of wooden legs in about six months. 
 
 Mr. Boffin thinking himself too old " to begin shovelling 
 and sifting at alphabeds and grammar-books," and wanting to 
 engage someone to read to him, is attracted by JMr. Wegg'3 
 collection of ballads displayed on an unfolded clothes-horse. 
 He enters into conversation with the proprietor, and, when he 
 finds that " aU print is open to him," is filled with admiration 
 of him as being " a literary man with a wooden leg." 
 
 " Why, truly, sir," Mr. Wegg admitted with modesty j " I believa 
 yon couldn't show me the piece of English print, that I wouldn't be 
 equal to collaring and throwing." 
 
 " On the spot ? " said Mr. Boffin, 
 
 " On the spot." 
 
 " I know'd it ! Then consider this. Here am I, a man without 
 a wooden leg, and yet all print is shut to me." 
 
 " Indeed, sir ? " Mr. Wegg returned with increasing self-compla- 
 cency. " Education neglected ? " 
 
 " Neg— leoted ! " repeated Boffin, with emphasis. "That ain't no 
 word for it. I don't mean to say but what if you showed me a B, X 
 could so far give you change for it, as to answer Boffin." 
 
 " Come, come, sir," said Mr. Wegg, throwing in a little encoizrage- 
 ment, " that's something, too." 
 
 " It's something," answered Mr. Boffin, " but I'll take my oath i4 
 Bm'fc much." 
 
 After some further conversation, and some ciphering, 
 Mr. Boffin offers Mr. Wegg half-a-crown a week to read io 
 him two hours every evening. 
 
 2 L 2 
 
616 THE BiOKENS DIOTIONART. 
 
 " Half -a-crown," said Wegg, meditating. " Yea. (It ain*t mtich, sir.) 
 Half -a- crown." 
 
 " Per week, yon know." 
 
 " Per week. Yea. As to the amount of strain upon the intellect now. 
 Was yon thinking at all of poetry ? " Mr. Wegg inquired, musing. 
 
 ** Would it come dearer ? " Mr. Boflan asked. 
 
 " It would come dearer," Mr. Wegg returned. " For when a person 
 comes to grind off poetry night after night, it is but right he should 
 expect to be paid for its weakening effect on his mind." 
 
 " To tell you the truth, Wegg," said Boffin, " I wasn't thinking of 
 poetry, except in so fur as this : — If you was to happen now and then to 
 feel yourself in the mind to tip me and Mrs. Boffin one of yotir ballads, 
 why then we should drop into poetry." 
 
 "I follow you, sir," said Wegg. "But not being a regular musical 
 professional, I should be loath to engage myself for that ; and therefore 
 when I dropped into poetry, I should ask to be considered in the light of 
 a friend." 
 
 At this, Mr. Boffin's eyes sparkled, and he shook Silas earnestly by 
 the hand : protesting that it was more than he could have asked, and 
 that he took it very kindly indeed. 
 
 " What do you think of the terms, Wegg ? " Mr. Boffin then demanded, 
 with unconcealed anxiety. 
 
 Silas, who had stimulated this anxiety by his hard reserve of manner, 
 and who had begun to understand his man very well, replied with 
 an air j as if he were saying something extraordinarily generous and 
 great : 
 
 " Mr. Boffin, I never bargain." 
 
 •* So I should have thought of you 1 " said Mr. Boffiuj admiringly. 
 
 " No, sir. I never did 'aggie and I never will 'aggie. Conse* 
 quently I meet you at once, free and fair, with — Done, for double the 
 money ! " 
 
 Mr. Boffin seemed a little unprepared for this oonclasion, but assented, 
 with the remark, "You know better what it ought to be than I dO| 
 Wegg," and again shook hands with him upon it. 
 
 " Could you begin to-night, Wegg ? " he then demanded. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Mr. Wegg, careful to leave all the eagerness to him. 
 " I see no difficulty if you wish it. You are provided with the needful 
 implement — a book, sir ? " 
 
 "Bought him at a sale," said Mr. Boffin. "Eight wollumes. Eed 
 and gold. Purple ribbon in every woUume, to keep the place where you 
 leave off. Do you know him ? " 
 
 ** The book's name, sir ? " inquired Silas. 
 
 " I thought you might have know'd him without it," said Mr. Boffin, 
 slightly disappointed. " His name is Decline-and-Fall-Off-The-Rooshan- 
 Empire." (Mr. Boffin went over these stones slowly and with much 
 caution.) 
 
 " Ay indeed ! " said Mr. Wegg, nodding his head with an air of 
 friendly recognition. 
 
 " You know him, Wegg ? " 
 
 " I haven't been not to say right slap through him, very lately," Mr. 
 Wegg made answer, " having been otherwise employed, Mr. Boffin. But 
 know him ? Old familiar declining and falling off the Rooshan ? Rather, 
 %ir I Ever since I was not so high as your stick. Ever since my eldest 
 
OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. 517 
 
 brother left our cottage to enlist into the army. On which occasion, 
 as the ballad that was made about it describes — 
 
 " Beside that cottage door, Mr. Boffin, 
 
 A girl was on her knees : 
 She held aloft a snowy scarf, sir. 
 
 Which (my eldest brother noticed) fluttered in the broeza. 
 She breathed a prayer for him, Mr. BoflSn ; 
 
 A prayer he could not hear. 
 And my eldest brother lean'd upon his sword, Mr. Boffin, 
 
 And wiped away a tear." 
 
 Much impressed by this family circumstance, and also by the friendly 
 disposition of Mr. Wegj?, as exemplified in his so soon dropping into 
 poetry, Mr. Boffin again shook hands with that ligneous sharper, and 
 besought him to name his hour. Mr. Wegg named eight. . . . 
 
 " I shall expect you, Wegg," said Mr. Boffin, clapping him on the 
 shoulder with the greatest enthusiasm, " most jyf ully. I shall have no 
 peace or patience till you come. Print is now opening ahead of me. 
 This night, a literary man — with a wooden leg — " he bestowed an 
 admiring look upon that decoration, as if it greatly enhanced the relish 
 of Mr. Wegg's attainments — " will begin to lead me a new life ! My fist 
 again, Wegg. Morning, morning, morning 1 *' 
 
 "When niglit comes, Mr. Wegg stumps to the Bower, 
 according to appointment. After introduction to Mrs. Eofi&n, 
 and a little preliminary conversation, Mr. Boffin inquires : 
 
 " Now, what'll you read on ? " 
 
 " Thank you, sir," returned Wegg, as if there were nothing new in 
 his reading at all. " I generally do it on gin and water." 
 
 ** Keeps the organ moist, does it, Wegg ? " asked Mr. Boffin with 
 innocent eagerness. 
 
 " N-no, sir," replied Wegg, coolly, " I shall hardly describe it so, sir. 
 I should say, mellers it. Mellers it, is the word I should employ, Mr. 
 Boffin." . . . And now, Mr. Wegg at length . . . put on his spectacles, 
 and Mr. Boffin lighted his pipe and looked with beaming eyes into the 
 opening world before him, and Mrs. Boffin reclined in a fashionable 
 manner on her sofa ; as one who would be part of the audience if she 
 found she could, and would go to sleep if she found she couldn't. 
 
 "Hem!" began Wegg. "This, Mr. Boffin and Lady, is the first 
 chapter of the first wollume of the Decline and Fall off — — " here he 
 looked hard at the book, and stopped. 
 
 " What's the matter, Wegg ? " 
 
 " Why, it comes into my mind, do you know, sir," said Wegg with an 
 air of insinuating frankness (having first again looked hard at the book), 
 " that you made a little mistake this morning, which I had meant to set 
 you right in, only something put it out of my head. I think you raid 
 Booshan Empire, sir ? " 
 
 " It is Rooshan ; ain't it, Wegg ? " 
 
 " No, sir. Roman. Roman." 
 
 " What's the difEerence, Wegg ? " 
 
 " The difference, sir ? " Mr. Wegg was faltering and in danger of 
 breaking down, when a bright thought flashed upon him. " The differ- 
 ence, sir ? There you place me in a difficulty, Mr. Boffin. Suffice it to 
 
B18 THE DICKENS DIOTIONAEY. 
 
 observe, that the difference is best postponed to gome other occasion 
 when Mrs. Boffin does not honour us with her company. In Mrs. 
 Boffin's presence, sir, we had better drop it.*' 
 
 Mr. Wegg thus came out of his disadvantage with quite a chivali'oua 
 air, and not only that, but by dint of repeating with a manly delicacy, 
 " In Mrs. Boffin's presence, sir, we had better drop it ! " turned the 
 disadvantage on Boffiu, who felt that he had committed himself in a 
 very painful manner. 
 
 Then, Mr. Wegg, in a dry unflinching way, entered on his taskj 
 going straight across country at everything that came before him; 
 taking all the hard words, biographical and geographical; getting 
 rather shaken by Hadrian, Trajan, and the Antonines ; stumbling at 
 Polybius (pronounced Polly Beeious, and supposed by Mr. Boffin to be 
 a Eoman virgin, and by Mrs. Boffin to be responsible for that necessity 
 of di'opping it) ; heavily unseated by Titus Antoninus Pius ; up again 
 and galloping smoothly with Augustus ; finally, getting over the 
 ground well with Commodus ; who, under the appellation of Commo- 
 dious, was held by Mr. Boffixi to have been quite imworthy of his 
 English origin, and "not to have acted up to his name" in his 
 government of the Eoman people. With the death of this personage, 
 Mr. Wegg terminated his first reading. 
 
 lilx. Wegg turns out to be a rascal, ^ot resting satisfied 
 with, the salary which he receives from Mr. Boffin, he tries to 
 better his condition by knavery. Prying everywhere about the 
 ])reniises, he at last discovers a will in which the elder Mr. 
 Harmon leaves all his property to the Crown. Ascertaining 
 that this will is of later date than the one in Mr. Boffin's 
 favour, which has been admitted to probate, he conspires with 
 an acquaintance (Mr. Venus), either to oust jMt. Boffin, or to 
 compel him to buy them off. He finds, to his astonishment, 
 however, that there is a still later will in the possession of 
 Mr. Boffin, who has suppressed it because it leaves him all the 
 property ; while the one which has been proved leaves it to 
 the testator's son on the condition of his marrying Miss Bella 
 Wilfer. Discomfited and crestfallen, the avaricious "Wegg 
 returns, perforce, to his old trade of selling ballads, ginger- 
 bread, and the Like. (Bk. I., ch. v., \ii., xv., xvii. ; Bk. XL, 
 eh. vii., X. ; Bk. IIL, ch. vl, vii., xiv. j Bk. IV., ch. iii., 
 xiv.) 
 
 WILFER, MISS BELLA. Daughter of Eeginald Wilfer, and 
 protegee of the Boffins ; afterwards the "vvife of John Harmon. 
 (Bk. I., ch. iv., ix., x-\d., xvii. ; Bk. XL, ch. viii.-x., xiii. ; 
 Bk. XXX., ch. iv., v., vii., ix.. xv., xvi. ; Bk. XY., ch. iv., v., 
 xi.-xiii., xvi.) See Boffin, Mr. Nicodemus. 
 
 WILFER, MISS LAVINIA. Youngest of Mr. Wilfer's 
 children; a sharp, saucy, and irrepressible girl. (Bk. X., 
 ch. iv., ix. ; Bk. XL, ch. i, ix., xiii. ; Bk. IIL, ck iv., xvi j 
 Bk lY., ch. v., xvi) 
 
OUR MUTUAL FEIEND. 519 
 
 WILFER, REGINALD, called "The Cherub." A poor 
 hen-pecked clerk in the house of Chicksey, Veneering, and 
 Stobbles. 
 
 So poor a clerk, through having a limited salar}'-, and an unlimited 
 family, that he had never yet attained the modest object of his am- 
 bition : which was, to wear a complete new suit of clothes, hat and 
 boots included, at one time. His black hat was brown before he could 
 afford a coat, his pantaloons were white at the seams and knees before 
 he could buy a pair of boots, his boots had worn out before he could 
 treat himself to new pantaloons, and by the time he worked round to the 
 hat again, that shining modern article roofed-in an ancient ruin of 
 various periods. 
 
 If the conventional Cherub could ever grow up and be clothed, he 
 might be photographed as a portrait of Wilfer. His chubby, smooth, 
 innocent appearance was a reason for his being always treated with 
 condescension when he was not put down. A stranger entering 
 his own poor house at about ten o'clock p.m. might have been sur- 
 prised to find him sitting up to supper. So boyish was he in his curves 
 and proportions, that his old schoolmaster meeting him in Cheapside, 
 might have been unable to withstand the temptation of caning him on 
 the spot. , , . 
 
 He was shy, and unwilling to own to the name of Reginald, as 
 being too aspiring and self-assertive a name. In his signature he used 
 only the initial R., and imparted what it really stood for, to none but 
 chosen friends, under the seal of confidence. Out of this, the facetious 
 habit had arisen in the neighbourhood surrounding Mincing Lane of 
 making christian-names for him of adjectives and participles begin- 
 ning with R. Some of these were more or less appropriate : as Rusty, 
 Retiring, Ruddy, Round, Ripe, Ridiculous, R.uminative ; others derived 
 their point from their want of application : as Raging, Rattling, Roar- 
 ing, Rafiish. But, his popular name was Rumty, which in a moment 
 of inspiration had been bestowed upon him by a gentleman of con- 
 vivial habits connected with the drug market, as the beginning of a 
 social chorus, his leading part in the execution of which had led this 
 gentleman to the Temple of Fame, and of which the whole expressive 
 burden ran : 
 
 Rumty iddity, row dow dow. 
 
 Sing toodlely, teedlely, bow wow wow. 
 
 Thus he was constantly addressed, even in minor notes on business, 
 as "Dear Rumty;" in answer to which, he sedately signed himself, 
 « Yours truly, R. Wilfer." 
 
 (Bk. I., ch, iv. ; Bk. IL, ch. viii, xiii. ; Bk. III., ch. iv., 
 xvi. ; Bk. lY., ch. iv., v., xvi.) 
 
 WILFER, MRS. REGINALD. His wife; a teH, angular 
 woman, very stately and impressive. (Bk. I., ch. iv., ix., 
 xvi. ; Bk. IL, ch. i., ix., xiii. ; Bk. 111.^ ch. iv., xvi. ; 
 Bk. lY., ch. v., xvi.) 
 
 Her lord being cherubic, she was necessarily majestic, according to 
 the principle which matrimonially imites contrasts. She was much 
 given to tying up her head in a pocket-handkerchief, knotted under 
 
520 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 the chin. This head-gear, in con junction with a pair of gloveg worn 
 within doors, she seemed to consider as at once a kind of armour 
 against misfortune (invariably assuming it when in low spirits or diffi- 
 culties), and as a species of full di-ess. 
 
 WILLIAMS, WILLIAM. A frequenter of The Six JoUy 
 FeUowsMp-Porters. (Bk. L, ch. vi. ; Ek. III., ch. iii) 
 
 WRAYBURN, EUGENE, A. briefless barrister, who hates 
 his profession. He is a gloomy, indolent, unambitious, and 
 reckless young man. 
 
 " Idiots talk," said Eugene, leaning back, folding his arms, smoking 
 with his eyes shut, and speaking slightly through his nose, " of Energy. 
 If there is a word in the dictionary under any letter from A to Z that 
 I abominate, it is energy. It is such a conventional superstition, such 
 parrot gabble ! What the deuce ! Am I to rush out into the street, 
 collar the first man of a wealthy appeai'ance that I meet, shake him, 
 and say, * Go to law upon the spot, you dog, and retain me, or I'll be 
 the death of you ? ' Yet that would be energy." 
 
 Becoming interested in Lizzie Hexam, he assists her to 
 obtain education ; and, though he seeks her society, he does 
 so with no definite aim in view. He tells his friend, Mortimer 
 Lightwood — 
 
 "There is no better girl in all this London than Lizzie Hexam. 
 There is no better among my people at home ; no better among your 
 people." 
 
 " Granted. What follovss ? " 
 
 "There," said Eugene, looking after him dubiously as he paced 
 away to the other end of the room, " you put me again upon guess- 
 ing the riddle that I have given up." 
 
 " Eugene, do you design to capture and desert this girl ? " 
 
 ** My dear fellow, no." 
 
 *' Do you design to marry her ? " _ 
 
 *' My dear fellow, no." 
 
 "Do you design to pursue her ? " 
 
 ** My dear fellow, I don't design anything. I have no design what- 
 ever. I am incapable of designs. If I conceived a design, I should 
 speedily abandon it, exhausted by the operation." 
 
 " Oh, Eugene, Eugene ! " 
 
 " My dear Mortimer, not that tone of melancholy reproach, I entreat. 
 What can I do more than tell you all I know, and acknowledge my 
 ignorance of all I don't know ! How does that little old song go, which, 
 under pretence of being cheerful, is by far the most lugiibrious I ever 
 heard in my life ? 
 
 " Away with melancholy, 
 Nor doleful changes ring 
 On life and human folly, 
 But merrily merrily sing 
 
 Fal la I 
 
 Don't let us sing Fal la, my dear Mortimer (which is comparatively un- 
 meaning), but let us siug that we give up guessing the riddle alto- 
 gether/' 
 
OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. 621 
 
 *'Ar© you in commiinicatioii with this girl, Engene, and is what 
 these people say true ? " 
 
 *' I concede both admissions to my honourable and learned friend.** 
 
 " Then what is to come of it ? What are you doing ? Where are 
 you going ? " 
 
 " My dear Mortimer . , . you are ruffled by the want of another 
 cigar. Take one of these, I entreat. Light it at mine, which is in per- 
 fect order. So I Now do me the justice to observe that I am doing all 
 I can towards self -improvement, and that you have a light thrown on 
 those household implements which, when you only saw them as in a 
 glass darkly, you were hastily — I must say hastily — inclined to de- 
 preciate. Sensible of my deficiencies, I have surrounded myself with 
 moral influences expressly meant to promote the formation of the 
 domestic virtues. To those influences, and to the improving society 
 of my friend from boyhood, commend me with your best wishes." 
 
 " Ah, Eugene ! " said Lightwood, affectionately, now standing near 
 him, so that they both stood in one little cloud of smoke ; *' I would 
 that you answered my three questions ! What is to come of it ? What 
 are you doing ? Where are you going ? '* 
 
 *' And my dear Mortimer," returned Eugene, lightly fanning away 
 the smoke with his hand for the better exposition of his frankness 
 of face and manner, " believe me, I would answer them instantly if 
 I could. But to enable me to do so, I must first haire found out the 
 troublesome conundrum long abandoned. Here it is. Eugene Wray- 
 burn." Tapping his forehead and breast. " Riddle-me, riddle-me-ree, 
 perhaps you can't tell me what this may be ? — No, upon my life I 
 can't. I give it up ! " 
 
 Lizzie saves Wrayburn's life, nurses Mm tenderly through 
 a long and dangerous sickness, is married to him, and finds 
 that, transformed by the power of love, he has a mine of 
 purpose and energy which he turns to the best account. 
 (Bk. I., oh. ii., iii., viii., x., xii.-xiv. ; Bk. II., ch. i., iii., vi., 
 XL, xiv.-xvi. ; Ek. III., ch. x., xi., xvii. ; Bk. IV., ch. i., vi., 
 ix.-xi., x-vi., xvii.) 
 
 WRAYBURN, MRS. EUGENE. See Hexam, Lizzie. 
 
 WREN, JENNY. See Cleaver, Fanny. 
 
 PRINOIPAL INCIDENTS. 
 
 BOOK I. — Chapter I. Jesse Hexam and his daughtei' find a body in 
 the Thames ; he rejects Eiderhood's offer to share his luck. — II. Descrip- 
 tion of the Veneering dinner, where Mortimer Lightwood relates the 
 Btory of John Harmon and his will, and receives the news of the death of 
 the heir by drowning. — III. Mortimer and Eugene go to Hexam's house 
 to make inquiries about the body, and encounter Mr. Julius Handf ord ; 
 they all go to th© police-station to view the body, and Mr. Handford lays 
 
522 THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 himself open to Buspicion ; Lizzie Hexam shows Charley the pictures iJi 
 the fire ; verdict of the coroner's jury. — IV. John Rokesmith engages 
 lodgings at the house of Mr. Wilfer. — Y. Silas Wegg, tending his stall at 
 the street. corner, is accosted by Mr. Boffin, and Mr. Boffin engages him 
 to read " The Decline and Fall ; " Mr. Wegg visits Boffin's Bower, and 
 commences his readings. — VI, Miss Abbey Potterson forbids Rogue 
 Riderhood to visit The Six Jolly Fellowship-Porters ; Miss Abbey informs 
 Lizzie Hexam of the suspicions against her father, and eeoinsels ) x^v t « 
 l^avg,,feffii ; Lizzie refuses to do this, and Miss Abbey forbids hfm also 
 the ht^use ; Charley Hexam leaves home for school mthout his father's 
 knowledge. — ^VII. Mr. Wegg calls upon Mr. Venus to " look after him- 
 self ; " Mr. Venus puts a low value on the amputated leg of Wegg, and 
 also explains to that gentleman the reason of his low spirits. — ^VIII. Mr. 
 Boffin visits Lightwood at his office in the Temple, and instructs him to 
 offer a reward of £10,000 for the discovery of the murderer of Harmon ; 
 he is introduced to Eugene Wrayburn ; John Rokesmith applies to Mr. 
 Boffin for the situation of secretary. — IX. Mr. and Mrs. Boffin in con- 
 sultation decide to " go in strong " for fashion, to invite Miss Bella 
 Wilfer to live with them, and to adopt an orphan-child and give him John 
 Harmon's name ; Mr. and Mrs. Boffin visit the Rev. Frank Milvey in 
 search of an orphan, and also the Wilfers to tender their invitation to 
 Miss Bella; y;\ Rokesmith's agitation at unexpectedly hearing John 
 Harmon's name. — X. The Veneerings plan the marriage of Mr. Alfred 
 Lammle and Miss Sophronia Akershem, and Twemlow gives away the 
 bride ; finding they have been mutually imposed upon, they enter into a 
 new " marriage-contract," to deceive the world. — XI. What constitutes 
 •' Podsnappery ; " Mr. and Mrs. Podsnap give a party on Miss Georgiana'a 
 birthday ; Mrs. Lammle begins her friendship with Georgiana. — XII. 
 Riderhood goes to Lightwood's office, and accuses Hexam of the Harmon 
 murder ; Lightwood, Wrayburn, and the inspector go to The Fellowship- 
 Porters, while Riderhood tracks Hexam. — XIII. Eugene discovers Lizzie 
 Hexam through the window, watching by the fire. — XIV. They find 
 Hexam's boat and his drowned body. — XV. John Rokesmith enters upon 
 his duties as Mr. Boffin's secretary ; Mr. Boffin places Wegg in charge of 
 the Bower; Mrs. Boffin sees the faces of old Harmon and the children; 
 Pbokesmith objects to meeting Mr. Lightwood. — XVI. Mrs. Boffin and the 
 secretary go to see the orphan at Betty Higden's. — XVII. Charley Hexam 
 asking permission to go and see his sister, his schoolmaster decides to go 
 with him. 
 
 BOOK II. — Chapter I. Miss Peecher catechises Mary Anne on the 
 parts of speech ; Charley Hexam and Bradley Headstone make the 
 acquaintance of Miss Jenny Wren, who gives them an account of her 
 occupation; first meeting of Bradley Headstone and Lizzie Hexam; 
 leaving Lizzie, they encounter Wrayburn. — II. Eugene calls upon Lizzie, 
 and persuades her to receive instruction at his expense ; Jenny's fancies ; 
 Jenny's father comes home intoxicated, and she reprimands him. — III. 
 Veneering's friends " rally round him," and he is elected to Parliament. 
 — IV. The Lammles improve the acquaintance of Miss Georgiana Pod- 
 snap, and introduce her to Fascination Fledgeby. — V. Mr. Lammle 
 breakfasts with Fledgeby at his rooms, and, not liking that gentleman's 
 manner, threatens to pull his nose ; Fledgeby apologises, and reconcilia- 
 tion follows ; Fledgeby goes to the house at St. Mary Axe, where he 
 does business under the name of Pabsey and Co., and meets Riah, his 
 Jewish agent ; Riah shows him Lizzie Hexam and Jenny Wren on the 
 housetop. — ^VI. Eugene and Mortkner, is. their private chambers, are 
 
OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. 523 
 
 visited by the sclioolraaster and Charley Hexam ; Hexam reproaches 
 Eugene for his attentions to Lizzie ; Eugene exasperates them by his 
 coohiess, and gives up Mortimer's riddle, " WTiat is to come of it ? " — 
 VII. Mr. Wegg and Mr. Yenus enter into a " friendly move " in regard 
 to the dust-mounds. — VIII. Miss Bella Wilfer visits her father's house ; 
 Mr. Boffin sends her a purse containing £50, and she spends it for the 
 benefit of her father. — IX. Sickness of Johnny, the adopted orphan ; his 
 removal to the Children's Hospital, where he "makes his will," and 
 dies. — X. Mr. and Mrs. Boffin decide to provide for Sloppy. — XI. Bradley 
 Headstone appeals to Lizzie Hexam to renounce Wray bum's attentions ; 
 Lizzie tells Jenny what the lady " in the hollow down by the flare " says 
 of Eugene. — XII. Rokesmith, in disguise, goes to Rogue Eiderhood's 
 house ; his interviews, first with Miss Pleasant and then with her father. 
 — XIII. Rokesmith removes his disguise, and repeats to himself the cir- 
 cumstances attending the supposed death of John Harmon, and decides 
 Btill to retain his assumed character ; as the secretary, he offers himself 
 to Bella, and is rejected. — XIV. Betty Higden develops to the secretary 
 her plan for running away ; Rokesmith completes his plan of forcing 
 from Riderhood a recantation of his testimony against Hexam, and sends 
 the same to Lizzie ; and Betty Higden completes her arrangements for 
 running away. — XY. Bradley Headstone, seconded by Charley Hexam, 
 seeks Lizzie again, offers himself, and is rejected ; Charley's indignation, 
 and renunciation of his sister ; Lizzie is met by Riah, and afterwards by 
 Eugene, who take her home. — XVI. The Lammles celebrate the anni- 
 versary of their wedding by a breakfast ; Lightwood continues his story 
 by relating the disappearance of Lizzie Hexam j Mrs. Lammle begs Twem- 
 low to warn Podsnap against Fledgeby. 
 
 BOOK III. — Chapter I. Riah goes to Fledgeby's chambers; Lammle 
 also calls there, and informs Fledgeby that their game is up ; Fledgeby 
 cautions Lammle against Riah, and tries to draw from Riah the secret of 
 Lizzie Hexam's retreat. — II. Riah and Jenny Wren go to The Six Jolly 
 Fellowship.Porters to show Miss Abbey Potterson Riderhood's declara- 
 tion of Hexam's innocence of the Harmon murder ; Riderhood is run down 
 by a steamer, and — III. — is barely saved from drowning. — lY. Mr. and 
 Mrs. "Wilfer celebrate theirwedding anniversary; Bella tellsher father four 
 secrets. — Y. Mr. Boffin defines Rokesmith's position ; he begins to collect 
 " The Lives of Misers ; " Mrs. Lammle improves Bella's acquaintance, 
 and Bella confides to her the secret of the secretary's proposal. — VI. 
 Wegg and Yenus, discussing their friendly move at the Bower, are 
 visited by !RIr. Boffin with a load of books on misers ; Mr. Boffin, with a 
 dark lantern, makes the tour of the mounds, the friends watching him; 
 he digs up and carries away a glass bottle. — YII. Wegg imparts to Yenus 
 the secret of his having found a will of the late John Harmon in the 
 pump ; they carry this will to Mr. Venus's place to examine it, and 
 Venus insists upon keeping it ; they discuss the course to be pursued. — 
 YIII. Betty Higden on her travels ; her fainting-fit in the market-place ; 
 and the second one, in which she is relieved by Riderhood, serving as 
 deputy lock-keeper ; her discovery by Lizzie Hexam, and her death. — 
 IX. Lizzie tells Bella her story, and the reason of her concealment j 
 Bella and the secretary on better terms ; Eugene Wraybum tries imsuc- 
 cessfully to obtain Lizzie's address from Jenny Wren. — ^X. Mr. Dolls 
 promises to obtain the direction for him ; Eugene informs Lightwood of 
 his being watched by the schoolmaster, and they indulge in the pleasures 
 of the chase. — XL Headstone and Riderhood meet at the Temple gate. 
 «»-XlL Mr. and Mrg. Lammle, having broken down in their echeme 
 
624 THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 against the Podsnaps, turn their attention to the BoflBns ; Mrs. Lammle 
 begs Fledgeby to use his influence with Eiah. — XIII. He acts accordingly ; 
 Fledgeby also intercedes for Twemlow, and opens the eyes of Jenny 
 Wren. — XIV. Venus makes known to Mr. Boffin the friendly move of 
 Silas Wegg ; Mr. Boffin, concealed by Venus, hears Wegg's plan for 
 bringing his nose to the grindstone; interview between Mrs. Lammle 
 and Mr. Boffin. — XV. Mr. Boffin denounces Eokesmith, and sees Bella 
 righted ; Bella's indignation at Mr. Boffin, and her apology to the secre- 
 tary ; Bella relinquishes aU she has received from the Boffins, and secretly 
 leaves the house. — XVI. She goes to her father's office, where Eokesmith 
 follows her, whose love she now accepts. — XVII. Mrs. Lammle reminds 
 Twemlow of their confidence j Mr. Dolls brings Wraybum the desired 
 address. 
 
 BOOK rV. — Chapter I. Eugene in his boat passes Plashwater 
 Weir Mill Lock, kept by Eiderhood ; he is followed by Bradley Head- 
 stone in the disguise of a bargeman ; Bradley witnesses the meeting of 
 Eugene with Lizzie Hexam, and returns to the lock j Eiderhood confirms 
 his suspicion that the schoolmaster is copying his dress in his disguise. 
 — II. Mr. and Mrs. Lammle breakfast with the Boffins ; their plot is 
 understood, and their plans frustrated. — III. Wegg " drops down " on 
 Mr. Boffin, and, after showing him the will, sees him home. — IV. John 
 Eokesmith and Bella are married ; how Mrs. Wilf er receives the news. — 
 V. Bella's housekeeping. — ^VI. Eugene and Lizzie meet by appointment 
 on the river- bank; he urges his suit, but Lizzie firmly decHnes to 
 encourage him, on account of th© difference of their positions in society, 
 and begs him to leave her ; Eugene, walking by the river after their 
 interview, is assaulted by Headstone, and his body thrown into the 
 water ; he is rescued by Li^ie. — VII. Bradley Headstone returns to the 
 lock-house ; he is dogged by Eiderhood, who sees him resume his own 
 dress, and throw his disguise into the river ; Charley Hexam upbraids 
 Headstone, and drops his acquaintance; Eogue Eiderhood catches his 
 fish. — VIII. Fledgeby attempts to learn from Jenny Wren the place of 
 Lizzie Hexam' s retreat ; Fledgeby is caned by Lammle, and has hia 
 wounds dressed by Jenny. — IX. Jenny comes to an understanding of 
 Eiah's true character; Fledgeby sends Eiah his discharge; death of 
 Jenny's father ; Mortimer desires Jenny's presence at the bedside of 
 Eugene. — X. Jenny divines that Eugene wishes, to marry Lizzie. — XI. 
 Bradley Headstone's meeting with the Eev. Mr. Milvey, and agitation at 
 the news of Lizzie's approaching marriage ; the marriage of_Eugene and 
 Li^^ie. — XII. Eokesmith encounters Lightwood, anil Iti itijog'nised as 
 Julius Handf ord ; John goes with the inspector of police and Bella to The 
 Fellowship.Porters on a matter of identification; John takes Bella to 
 their new home in London.— XIII. Mrs. Boffin relates to Bella the story 
 of her husband's identity, how she had found him out, and how they had 
 planned to test her love for him. — XIV. Wegg finds Venus in improved 
 spirits, and appoints a time for bringing Boffin to the grindstone ; Wegg 
 finds his friendly move checkmated, and is finally disposed of by Sloppy. 
 — XV. Eiderhood visits Headstone in his school; Headstone goes to 
 Eiderhood's lock, and refuses his demands ; finding he cannot get rid of 
 nim, he seizes him, forces him into the lock, and both are drowned. — 
 XVI. Mrs. Wilfer, with Miss Lavinia and George Sampson, visit Bella in 
 her new home ; first interview between Sloppy and Jenny Wren ; Mr. 
 and Mrs. Wraybum visit Mr. and Mrp. ^oim Harmon. — XVII. Mortimer 
 takes a final look at society. 
 
DOCTOR MARIGOLD. 
 
 O&toiNALLT published as part of the oolleofcion of tales entitled " Doctoi 
 Marigold's Prescriptions," which formed the Christmas number of " All 
 the Yeac Round " for 1865. The story takes its name from a " Cheap 
 Jack," who relates the history of his life. 
 
 CHARAOTEES INTRODUCED. 
 
 MARIGOLD, DOCTOR. The narrator of tlie story. He 
 describes himself " as a middle-aged man, of a broadish 
 "build, in cords, leggings, and a sleeved waistcoat, the strings 
 of which is always gone behind," with a white hat, and a 
 shawl round his neck, worn loose and easy. He is a 
 " Cheap Jack," born on the highway, and named " Doctor " 
 out of gratitude and compliment to his mother's accoucheur. 
 He marries, and has one child, a little girl, but loses both 
 daughter and wife, and continues his travels alone. Coming 
 across a deaf-and-dumb child, however, who he fancies re- 
 sembles his lost daughter, he adopts her, and sends her to a 
 school for deaf mutes, to be educated ; but she falls in love 
 with a young man who is also deaf and dumb, and he is forced 
 to give her up. She sails for China with her husband, but 
 returns, after an absence of a few years, bringing with her 
 a little daughter who can both hear and talk ; and the measure 
 of the Doctor's happiness is once more full 
 
 MARIGOLD, MRS, Wife of Doctor Marigold; a Suffolk 
 young woman whom he courted from the footboard of his 
 cart. 
 
 She wasn't a bad wife, but she had a temper. If she could have 
 parted with that one article at a sacrifice, I wouldn't have swopped her 
 
526 TSU DIOKSNS DlGTIONABt. 
 
 away in exchange for any other •woman in England. Not that I erei? 
 did swop her away, for we lived together till she died, and that was 
 thirteen year. Now, my lords and ladies and gentlefolks all, I'll let 
 yon into a. secret, though yon won't believe it. Thirteen year of 
 temper in a Palace wonld try the worst of yon, but thirteen year of 
 temper in a Cart wonld try the best of you. You are kept so very 
 close to it in a cart, you see. There's thousands of couples among 
 you getting on like sweet ile upon a whetstone in houses five and six 
 pairs of stairs high, that Would go to the Divorce Court in a cart. 
 Whether the jolting makes it worse, I don't undertake to decide ; but 
 in a cart it does come home to you, and stick to you. Wiolence in a 
 cart is so wiolent, and aggrawation in a cart is so aggrawating. 
 
 We might have had such a pleasant life ! A roomy cart, with the 
 large goods hung outside, and the bed slung underneath it when on the 
 road, an iron pot and a kettle, a fireplace for the cold weather, a 
 chimney for the smoke, a hanging-shelf and a cupboard, a dog and a 
 horse. What more do you want ? You draw oS upon a bit of turf in 
 a green: lane or by the roadside, you hobble your old horse and turn 
 him grazing, you light your fire upon the ashes of the last visitors, you 
 cook your stew, and you wouldn't call the Emperor of France your 
 father. But have a temper in the cart, flinging language and the 
 hardest goods in stock at you, and where are you then ? Put a name 
 to your feelings. 
 
 My dog knew as well when she was on the turn as I did. Before 
 she broke out, he would give a howl, and bolt. How he knew it, was 
 a mystery to me ; but the sure and certain knowledge of it would wake 
 bim up out of his soundest sleep, and he would give a howl, and bolt. 
 At such tijiiss I wifiihed I was him. 
 
 At sucli times, she does not spare her little daughter, but 
 treats her with great cruelty. When, however, the child 
 dies, she takes to brooding, and tries to drown remorse in 
 liquor; but one day, seeing a woman beating a child un- 
 mercifully, she stops her ears, runs away like a wild thing, 
 and the next day she is found in the river. 
 
 MARIGOLD, LITTLE SOPHY. Their daughter; a sweet 
 child, shamefully abused by her mother, but dearly loved by 
 her father, to whom she is quite devoted. She takes a bad 
 low fever, and dies in his arms while he is convulsing a rustic 
 audience with his jokes and witty speeches. 
 
 MARIGOLD, WILLUM. Doctor Marigold's father ; a "lovely 
 one, in his time," at the " Cheap Jack " work. 
 
 MIM. A showman, who is a most ferocious swearer, and who 
 has a very hoarse voice. He is master to Pickleson, and step- 
 father to Sophy, whom he disposes of to Doctor Marigold for 
 haK-a-dozen pairs of braces. 
 
 PICKLESON^ called "Einaldo di Yblasco.'* Aa amiable 
 
BOOTOR MAEIGOLD. 527 
 
 though timid giant, let out to Mim for esliibition by his 
 mother, who spends the wages he receives. 
 
 Ho was a languid yonng man, wliicli I attribnte to the distance 
 betwixt his extremities. He had a little head and less in it, he had 
 weak eyes and weak knees, and altogether you couldn't look at him 
 without feeling that there was greatly too much of him both for his 
 joints and his mind. 
 
 SOPHY, A deaf-and-dumb girl adopted by Doctor Marigold 
 after the death of his own daughter Sophy. She becomes 
 greatly attached to her new father, who loves her fervently in 
 return, and is very kind and patient with her, trying at first to 
 teach her himself to read, and then sending her to an institu- 
 tion for deaf mutes to be educated. She subsequently marries 
 a man afflicted like herself ; goes abroad with him ; and, after 
 an absence of over five years, returns home with a little 
 daughter. Doctor Marigold thus describes their meeting : 
 
 I had started at a real sound, and the sound was on the steps of the 
 cart. It was the light hurried tread of a child, coming clambering up. 
 That tread of a child had once been so familiar to me, that for half a 
 moment I believed I was a-going to see a little ghost. 
 
 But the touch of a real child was laid upon the outer handle of 
 the door, and the handle turned, and the door opened a little way, 
 and a real child peeped in. A bright little comely girl with large 
 dark eyes. 
 
 Looking full at me, the tiny creature took ofE her mite of a straw 
 hat, and a quantity of dark curls fell all about her face. Then she 
 opened her lips, and said in a pretty voice, 
 
 " Grandfather ! " 
 
 " Ah, my God ! " I cried out. " She can speak ! " 
 
 ** Yes, dear grandfather. And I am to ask you whether there was 
 ever anyone that I remind you of ? '* 
 
 In a moment Sophy was round my neck, as well as the child, and 
 her husband was a-wringing my hand with his face hid, and we all had 
 to shake ourselves together before we could get over it. And when 
 we did begin to get over it, and I saw the pretty child a-talking, 
 pleased and quick and eager and busy, to her mother, in the signs that 
 I had first taught her mother, the happy and yet pitying tears fell 
 rolling down my face. 
 
BARBOX BROTHERS, 
 
 ▲ND 
 
 BARBOX BROTHERS AISD CO. 
 
 This story — for " Barbox Brothers and Co." is merely a pendant or 
 sequel to " Barbox Brothers " — is one of a number of tales included in 
 " Mugby Junction," the extra Christmas number of " All the Year 
 Round " for 1868. The hero of the story, who is also the narrator of it, 
 is at first a clerk in the fii'm of Barbox Brothers, then a partner, and 
 finally the firm itself. From being a moody, self-contained, and unhappy 
 person, made so by the lumbering cares and the accumulated disappoint- 
 ments of long monotonous years, he is changed, under circumstances 
 that awaken and develop his better nature, into a thoroughly cheerful 
 man, with eyes and thoughts for others, and a hand ever ready to help 
 those who need and deserve help ; and thus, taking, as it were, 
 thousands of partners into the solitary fii-m, he becomes " Barbox 
 Brothers and Co." 
 
 CHARACTERS INTRODUCED. 
 
 BARBOX BROTHERS. See Jackson, Mk. 
 
 BEATRICE, A careworn womaaj with her hair turned gray, 
 whom " Barbox Brothers " had once loved and lost. She is 
 the wife of Tresham. See Jackson (Mr.), Tresham. 
 
 JACKSON, MR. A former clerk in the public notary and 
 bUl-broking firm of Barbox Brothers, who, after imperceptibly 
 becoming the sole representative of the houi^e, at length retires, 
 and obhterates it from the face of the earth, leaving nothing 
 of it but its name on two portmanteaus, which he has with 
 
BARBOX BROTHEES. 629 
 
 him one rainy night when he leaves a train at Mugby 
 Junction. 
 
 A man within five years of fifty, either way, who had turned gray 
 too soon, like a neglected fire; a man of pondering habit, brooding 
 carriage of the head, and suppressed internal voice ; a man with many 
 indications on him of having been much alone. 
 
 With a hitter recollection of his lonely childhood, of the 
 enforced business, at once distasteful and oppressive, in which 
 the best years of his life have been spent, of the double faithless- 
 ness of the only woman he ever loved and the only friend he 
 ever trusted, his birthday, as it annually recurs, serves but to 
 intensify his ever-present sense of desolation ; and he resolves to 
 abandon aU thought of a fixed home, and to pass the rest of his 
 days in travelling, hoping to find relief in a constant change of 
 scene. It is after three o'clock of a tempestuous morning, when, 
 acting on a sudden impulse, he leaves the train at Mugby 
 Junction. At that black hour, he cannot obtain any con- 
 veyance to the inn, and willingly accepts the invitation of 
 " Lamps," a servant of the railway company, to try the warmth 
 of his little room for a while. He afterwards makes the acquaint- 
 ance of " Lamps's " daughter Phoebe, a poor bedridden girl ; 
 and their happy disposition, strong mutual affection, peaceful 
 lives, modest self-respect, and unaffected interest in those around 
 them, teach him a lesson of cheerfulness, contentment, and moral 
 responsibility, which the experience of years had failed to 
 impart. 
 
 On a visit, one day, to a distant town, he is suddenly accosted 
 by a very little girl, who tells him she is lost. He takes her to 
 his hotel, and failing to discover who she is, or where she lives, 
 he makes arrangements for her staying for the night, and amuses 
 himseK with her childish prattle, and her enjoyment of her 
 novel situation. The little one's mother at last appears, and 
 proves to be the woman he had loved, and who had so heartlessly 
 eloped with his most trusted friend years before. She tells hiT^ 
 that she has had five other children, who are all in their graves ; 
 that her husband is very ill of a lingering disorder, and that he 
 believes the curse of his old friend rests on the whole household. 
 "Will Mr. Jackson forgive them] The injured man — now so 
 changed from what he once was — responds by taking the child 
 to her father, placing her in his arms, and invoking a blessing 
 on her innocent head. " Live and thrive, my pretty baby I " he 
 says, "live and prosper, and become, in time, the mother of 
 other little children, like the angels who behold the Father> 
 face," 
 
 2 M 
 
gSO THE DICKENS DIOTIONAEY. 
 
 ** LAMPS.'* A railway servant employed at Mugby Junction, 
 father of Phoebe. He is a very hard-working man, being on 
 duty fourteen, fifteen, or eighteen hours a day, and sometimes 
 even twenty-four hours at a time. But he is always on the 
 bright side and the good side. He has a daughter who is bed- 
 ridden, and to whom he is entirely devoted. Besides supplying 
 her with books and newspapers, he takes to composing comic 
 songs for her amusement, and — what is still harder, and at 
 first goes much against his grain — to singing them also. 
 
 PHCEBE. His daughter ; crippled and helpless in consequence 
 of a fall in infancy. She supports herself by making lace, 
 and by teaching a few little children. ^Notwithstanding her 
 great misfortune, she is always contented, always lively, always 
 interested in others, of all sorts. She makes the acquaintance 
 of ]Mr. Jackson (" Barbox Brothers ") ; and her pure and 
 gentle life becomes the guiding star of his. 
 
 POLLY. Daughter of Beatrice and Tresham; a little child 
 found by " Barbox Brothers " in the streets of a large town. 
 See Jackson, Mr. 
 
 TRESHAM. A former friend of "Barbox Brothers," who 
 advances him in business, and takes him into his private 
 confidence. In return, Tresham comes between him and 
 Beatrice (whom "Barbox Brothers" loves), and takes her 
 from him. This treachery after a time receives its fitting 
 punishment in poverty, and loss of health and children ; but 
 " Barbox Brothers," whose awakened wrath had long seemed 
 inappeasable, is made better at last by the discipline and ex- 
 perience of life, and generously forgives those who had forced 
 him to undergo so sharp a trial. 
 
THE BOY AT MUGBY 
 
 This tale, as originally published, formed the third portion of " Magby 
 Tunction," the extra Christmas number of '* All the Year Eound " for 
 1866. It is a satirical description of the ordinaiy English railway 
 refreshment-room, as it was at that time, with its sawdust sand- 
 wiches, its stale cake and pastry, and its wretched tea and coffee, aa 
 compared with the excellent provision made in France for the 
 entertainment and comfort of travellers. The proprietress of the 
 Refreshment-room at Mugby Junction crosses the Channel for the 
 express purpose of looking into the French method of coiiduoting such 
 est&blishmenti. 
 
 CHAEACTERS INTEODUCED. 
 
 EZEKIEL, " The "boy at Mugby ; " an attendant in the Eef resh- 
 ment-room at Mugby Junction, whose proudest boast is, that 
 " it never yet refreshed a mortal being." 
 
 Up in a comer of the Down Refreshment-room at Mugby Junction, 
 in the height of twenty-seven cross draughts (I've often counted 'eui 
 while they brush the First-Class hair twenty-seven ways), behind the 
 bottles, among the glasses, bounded on the nor'-west by the beer, stood 
 pretty far to the right of a metallic object that's at times the tea-urn 
 and at times the soup-tureen, aocordiiig to the nature of the last 
 twang imparted to its contents which are the same groundwork, fended 
 off from the traveller by a barrier of stale sponge-cakes erected atop 
 of the counter, aud lastly exposed sideways to the glare of Our Missis's 
 eye — yon ask a Boy so sitiwated, next time you stop in a huriy at 
 Mugby, for anything to drink ; you take particular notice that he'll 
 try to seem not to hear you, that he'll appear in a absent manner to 
 survey the Line through a transparent medium composed of your 
 head and body, and that ha won't serve you as long as yoa can 
 possibly bear it. That's me. 
 
 PIFF, MISS. On(? of the " young ladiea " in the same 
 Kefreshment-room. 
 
 2 M i; 
 
532 THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 SNIFF, MR. " A regular msigrdficant cove " employed by the 
 mistress of the Eefreshment-room. 
 
 He looks arter the sawdust department in a back room, and is 
 sometimes, when we are very hard put to it, let behind the counter 
 with a corkscrew ; but never when it can be helped, his demeanour 
 towards the public being disgusting servile. How Mrs. Sniff ever 
 come BO far to lower herself as to marry him, I don't know ; but I 
 suppose lie does, and I should think he wished he didn't, for he leads a 
 awfnl life. Mrs. Sniff couldn't be much harder with him if he was 
 public. 
 
 SNIFF, MRS. His wife; chief assistant of the mistress of 
 the Eefreshment-room. 
 
 She's the one ! She's the one as you'll notice to be always looking 
 another way from you, when you look at her. She's the one with the 
 small waist buckled in tight in front, and with the lace cuffs at her 
 wrists, which she puts on the edge of the counter before her, and 
 stands a smoothing while the public foams. This smoothing the 
 cuffs and looking another way while the public foams is the last accom- 
 plishment taught to the young ladies as come to Mugby to be finished 
 by Our Missis ; and it's always taught by ]^irs. Sniff. 
 
 When Our Missis went away upon her journey, Mrs. Sniff was left 
 in charge. She did hold the public in check most beautiful ! In all 
 my time, I never see half so many cups of tea given without milk to 
 people who wanted it with, nor half so many cups of tea with milk 
 given to people as wanted it without. When foaming ensued, Mrs. 
 Sniff would say : "Then you'd better settle it among yourselves, and 
 change with one another." It was a most highly delicious lark. 
 
 WHIFFf MISS. An attendant in the Eefreshment-room. 
 
TWO GHOST STORIEa 
 
 I. The Trial foe Mueder. 
 
 The first of the two stories reprinted under the above title was originally 
 published as a portion of " Doctor Marigold's Prescriptions," the extra 
 Christmas number of "All the Year Eound" for 1865. It was the 
 sixth of the " Prescriptions," and was labelled " To be taken with a 
 grain of salt." It is supposed to have been written by " a Kterary 
 character " whom the doctor discovers in travelling about the country, 
 and to have been intended (as well as the tales accompanying it) for the 
 amusement of his adopted deaf-and-dumb daughter Sophy. It pur- 
 ports to be an account of circumstances preceding and attending a 
 certain noted trial for murder. The narrator, who is summoned to serve 
 on the jury, is haunted, from the time he first hears of the deed until 
 the close of the trial, by the apparition of the murdered man. Though 
 seen by no one else, it mingles with the jury and the officers of the 
 court, looks at the judge's notes over his shoulder, confronts the de- 
 fendant's witnesses, and stands at the elbow of the counsel, invariably 
 causing some trepidation or distui^banoe on the part of each, and, as it 
 were, dumbly and darkly overshadowing their minds. 
 
 " Finally the Jury returned into Court at ten minutes past twelve. 
 The murdered man at that time stood directly opposite the Jury-box, on 
 the other side of the Court. As I took my place, his eyes rested on me 
 with great attention; he seemed satisfied, and slowly shook a great 
 gray veil, which he carried on his arm for the first time, over his head 
 and whole form. As I gave in our verdict, ' Guilty,' the veil collapsed, 
 all was gone, and his place was empty." 
 
 Besides those above mentioned (the names of uons of whom are 
 given), the following are the only 
 
 CHAKACTERS mTRODUCED. 
 
 DERRICK, JOHN. Valet to tlie haunted jurj-man. 
 HARKER, MR. An officer in charge of the jury, and sworn 
 to hold them in safe keeping. 
 
«iS4 THE DICKE^^g DICTIOXAEY. 
 
 II. The Sigxal-man. 
 
 The second Ghost Story is aiD account of an Tucident occnrrinc^ on one 
 of the branch lines leading from Mugby Junction. It forms the fourth 
 division of the extra Christmas number bearing that name, which was 
 published in 1866, in connection with " All the Year Round." It is sup- 
 posed to be related by " Barbbx Brothers," who makes a careful study 
 of the Junction and its vicinity, and communicates to his poor bedridden 
 friend Phcsbe the substance of wha,t he sees, hears, or otherwise picks 
 up on the main-line and its five branches. Exploring Branch Line No. 1, 
 he visits a signal-man who is stationed in a deep cutting near the 
 entrance of a tunnel. He i& a cool, vigilant, clear-headed, and educated 
 man, who had been, when young, a student of natural history, and had 
 attended lectures, but had run wild, misused his opportunities, gono 
 down, and never risen again. Notwithstanding his intelligence, and his 
 freedom from, any taint of superstition, he is continually haunted by a 
 strange apparition, which, just before any fatal accident, stands by the 
 red light at the mouth of the tunnel, and with one hand over its eyes, as 
 if to shut out the frightful scene about to take place, cries " Holloa ! 
 Below there ! Look out 1 For God's sake clear the way ! " Twice has 
 this occurred, and been followed by accident and death ; and now the 
 figure has been seen and heard again. The visitor goes away, hardly 
 knowing how he ought to act in view of his knowledge of the man's 
 state of mind ; but he finally resolves to offer to accompany him to a 
 wise medical practitiojisfj asid to take his opinion. 
 
 " Next evening was a lovely evening, and I walked ont early to enjoy 
 it. The sun was not yet quite down when I traversed the field-path 
 near the top of the deep cutting. I would extend my walk for an hour, 
 I said to myself — half an hour on, and half an hour back — and it would 
 then be time to go to my signal-man's box. 
 
 " Before pursuing my stroll, I stepped to the brink, and mechanically 
 looked down from the point from which I had first, seen him. I cannot 
 describe the thrill that seized upon me, when, close at the mouth of the 
 tunnel, I saw the appearance of a man, with his left sleeve across his 
 eyes, passionately waving his right arm. 
 
 " The nameless horror that oppressed me passed in a moment ; for in a 
 moment I saw that this appearance of a man was a man indeed, and 
 that there was a little group of other men, standing at a short distance, 
 to whom he seemed to be i"ehearsing the gesture he made. The Danger- 
 light was not yet lighted. Against its shaft, a little low hut, entirely 
 new to me, had been madie of some wooden supports and tarpaulin. It 
 looked no bigger than a bed. 
 
 ** With an irresistible ^PiUSB that something was vn-ong — -with a flashing 
 Eelf-reproachful fear that fatal mischief had come of my leaving the 
 man there, and causing no one to be sent to overlook or correct what he 
 did — I descended the notched path with all the speed I could make. 
 
 " * What is the matter ? ' I asked the men. 
 
 " * Signal-mian killed this morning, sir.' 
 
 " * Kot the nmn beloxiging to that box ? * 
 
 " ' Yes, sir,' 
 
 " * Kot t^© man I know ? ' 
 
 ** * You will recognise him, sir, if yon knew him,' said the man who 
 
TWO GHOST STOEIES. 635 
 
 spoke for tlie otLcrs, soleinuly UTJcovering lila own Load, and raising an 
 end of the tarpaulin, 'for his faco is quite composed.* 
 
 " ' O, how did this happen, how did this happen ? ' I asked, turning 
 from one to another as the hut closed in again. 
 
 " * He was cut down by an engine, sir. Ko man in England knew his 
 work better. But somehow he was not clear of the outer rail. It waa 
 just at br-oad day. He had struck the light, and had the lamp in hia 
 hand. As the engine came out of the tunnel, his back was towai-ds lier, 
 and she cut him down. That man drove her, and was showing how it 
 happened. Show the gentleman, Tom.' . . . 
 
 " ' Coming round the curve in the tunnel, sir,' he said, *I saw him at 
 the end, like as if I saw him down a perspective-glass. There was no 
 time to check speed, and I knew him to be very careful. As he didn't 
 seem to take heed of the whistle, I shut it off when we wei^e x'unning 
 down upon him, and called to him as loud as I could call.' 
 
 " * What did you say ? ' 
 
 "•I said, "Below there! Look out 1 Look outl For God's sak«, 
 clear the way I"' 
 
 I started. 
 
 " ' Ah ! it was a dreadful time, sir. I never left off calling to him. I 
 put this arm before my eyes aot to see, and I waved this amx to the 
 latit ; but it was no u^q.' " 
 
HOLIDAY ROMANCE. 
 
 This story was written expressly for "Our Young Folks" (a juvenile 
 magazine publislied in America), and appeared during the months of 
 January, March, April, and May, 1868. It was also brought out in 
 England, in " All the Year Eound," in January, February, and March of 
 the same year. The story is in four parts, of which the first, supposed 
 to be written by a young gentleman of eight years of age, explains 
 " how what comes after came to be written." It contains an account of 
 two small boys, who " make believe " that they are married to two little 
 girls, and that they are all high and mighty personages, with relatives 
 and friends of the same stamp. Finding, however, that the " grown-up 
 people won't do what they ought to do," and refuse to allow their claims, 
 they agree that, during the approaching holidays, they will "educate 
 the grown-up people " by hinting to them how things ought to be, veiling 
 their meaning under a mask of romance. They accordingly write three 
 stories, in which the children act the part of men and women, while the 
 men and women are treated as if they were children. 
 
 CHAKACTEES INTKODUCED. 
 
 ALICIA, PRINCESS. The heroine of Miss Alice Eainbird's 
 romance ; eldest child of King Watkins the First, and god- 
 daughter of the good fairy Grandmarina, who gives her a 
 magic fish-hone, which can only he used once, hut which is 
 warranted to bring her, that once, whatever she wishes for, 
 provided she wishes for it at the right time. The princess is 
 a notable housewife, and is also a very motherly girl, taking 
 sole charge of her eighteen brothers and sisters. She has 
 great good sense, and refrains from using her magic present 
 ttntil some great exigency shall arise. But when, at last, her 
 father informs her that his money is aU gone, and that he has 
 
HOLIDAY EOMANCE. 537 
 
 no means ot getting any more, though he has tiled very hard, 
 and has tried all ways, she thmks the right time must have come 
 for testing the virtue of her godmother's gift, and she there- 
 fore wishes it were quarter day ; and immediately it is quarter 
 day, and the king's quarter's salary comes rattling down the 
 chimney. Moreover, her godmother appears, changes the 
 coarse attire of the princess into the splendid raiment of a 
 bride, and whisks her oif to church, where she is married to 
 Prince Certainpersonio, after which there is a magnificent 
 wedding-feast. 
 
 When Grandmarina had drunk her love to the young couple, and 
 Prince Certainpersonio had made a speech, and everybody had cried, 
 " Hip, hip, hip, hurrah ; " Grandmarina announced to the king and 
 queen that, in future, there would be eight quarter-days in every year, 
 except in leap-year, when there would be ten. She then turned to 
 Certainpersonio and Alicia, and said, " My dears, you will have thirty- 
 five children, and they will all be good and beautiful. Seventeen of 
 your children will be boys, and eighteen will be girls. The hair of 
 the whole of your children will curl naturally. They will never have 
 the measles, and will have recovered from the whooping-cough before 
 being bom.'* 
 
 ALIGUMPAINE, MRS. One of the characters in Miss :N"ettie 
 Ashford's romance; a little friend of Mr. and Mrs. Orange, 
 whom she invites to " a small juvenile party " of grown-up 
 people. See Ashfoed, Miss I^ettie. 
 
 ASHFORD, MISS NETTIE. A child of seven ; pretended 
 bride of William Tinkling, Esquire (aged eight), and author of 
 a romance, the scene of which is laid in "a most delightful 
 country to live in," where " the grown-up people are obHged 
 to obey the children, and are never allowed to sit up to 
 supper, except on their birthdays." See Tinkling, William, 
 Esquire. 
 
 BLACK, MRS. One of Mrs. Lemon's pupils in Miss !N"ettie 
 Ashford's romance. She is a grown-up child, who is always 
 at play, or gadding about and spoiling her clothes, besides 
 being " as pert and as flouncing a minx as ever you met with 
 in all your days." 
 
 BOLDHEART, CAPTAIN. Hero of Master Eobin Eed- 
 forth's romance. He is master of the schooner Beauty, 
 and greatly distinguishes himseK by various valiant exploits, 
 notably his capture of the Scorpion, commanded by an 
 old enemy, the Latin-grammar Master, whom he turns adrift 
 in an open boat, with two oars, a compass, a bottle of rum, a 
 small cask of water, a piece of pork, a bag of biscuit, and a 
 Latin grammar. He afterwards finds him on a lonely island, 
 and rescues him from the hands of the natives, who are 
 
638 THE DICKEiN'S DICTIONARY. 
 
 cannibals ; but, when he subsequently discovers him plotting 
 to give him up to the master of another vessel (the Family)^ 
 he incontinently hangs the traitor at the yard-arm. 
 
 BOOZEY, WILLIAM. One of the crew of the Beauty, 
 rescued from drowning by Captain I^oldheart, and ever after- 
 wards his devoted friend. 
 
 BB,OWN. A vicious (grown-up) boy, greedy, and troubled 
 with the gout, in Miss Nettie Ashford's romance. tSee 
 AsHFORD, Miss Nettie. 
 
 CERTAINPERSONIO, PRINCE. A young gentleman, who 
 becomes the husband of the Princess Alicia. See Alicia, 
 Princess. 
 
 DROWVET, MISS. A schoolmistress in partnership with 
 Miss Grimmer. The opinion of their pupils is divided as to 
 " which is the greatest beast." 
 
 GRANDMARINA, FAIRY. Godmother of the Princess 
 Alicia. See Alicia, Princess. 
 
 GRIMMER, MISS. A schoolmistress. See Drowvey, Miss. 
 
 LATIN-GRAMMAR MASTER, THE. An old teacher and 
 enemy of Captain Boldheart. See Boldheart. 
 
 LEMON, MRS. The proprietress of a preparatory school for 
 gro^vn-up pupils, who figure in Miss Nettie Ashford's romance. 
 See AsHFORD, Miss Nettie. 
 
 ORANGE, MR. JAMES. The " husband " of Mrs. Orange. 
 
 ORANGE, MRS. A character in Miss Nettie Ashford's 
 romance ; " a truly sweet young creature," who has the mis- 
 fortune to be sadly plagued by a numerous family of grown- 
 up " children," Including two parents, two intimate friends of 
 theirs, one godfather, two godmothers, and an aunt. See 
 AsHFORD, Miss Nettie. 
 
 PEGGY. Lord Chamberlain at the Court of King Watkins 
 the Pirst, in Miss Alice Eainbird's romance. 
 
 PICKLES. A fishmonger in the same story. 
 
 MAINBIRD, ALICE. The "bride" of Eobin Eedforth, and 
 the author of the romance of which the Princess Alicia is the 
 heroine. See Alicia (Princess), and Eedforth (Lieutenant- 
 Colonel Eobin). 
 
 REDFORTH, LIEUTENANT-COLONEL ROBIN. Cousin 
 to WilKam Tinkling, Esquire. He is a young gentleman 
 aged nine, who assumes the part of a pirate, and affects to be 
 peculiarly lawless and bloodthirsty. The romance which 
 contains the story of Captain Boldheart is from his pen. See 
 Boldheart, Captain. 
 
HOLir)AY ROMANCE. 639 
 
 TINKLING, WILLIAM, ESQUIRE. Author of the intro- 
 ductory portion of the romance, and editor of the otlier 
 portions. He is eight yeai's old ; and to him Miss Xettie 
 Ashford is " married " in the right-hand closet in the corner 
 of the dancing-school where they first met, with a ring (a 
 gi'een one) from Wilkingwater's toy-shop. His bride, and 
 the bride of his friend, Lieutenant-Colonel E,obin Kedforth, 
 being in captivity at the school of Drowvey and Grimmer, 
 the two young gentlemen resolve to cut them out on a 
 "Wednesday, when w\ilking two and two. The plan fails, 
 however, and Tinkling's bride brands him as a coward. He 
 demands a court-martial, which is granted and assembles ; the 
 Emperor of France, the President of the United States, and a 
 certain admiral, being among the members of it. The verdict 
 of " ISTot guilty " is on the point of being rendered, when an 
 unlooked-for event disturbs the general rejoicing. This is no 
 other than the Emperor of France's aunt catching hold of his 
 hair. The proceedings abruptly terminate, and the court 
 tumultuously dissolves. 
 
 TOM. Cousin to Captain Boldieart; a boy remarkable for 
 his cheekiness and unmannerliness. 
 
 W ATKINS THE FIRST, KING. A character in Miss 
 Alice Eainbird's romance; the manliest of his sex, and 
 husband of a queen who is the loveliest of hers. 
 
 They had nineteen childi-en, and were always haTing more. Seven- 
 teen of these children took care of the babvj and Alicia, the eldest, 
 took care of them all. Their Rges varied from seven years to seven 
 months. 
 
 See Alicia, Princess. 
 
 WHITE. A pale bald child (a gro-^vn-np one) with red 
 whiskers, who is a pupil in Mrs. Lemon's preparatory school 
 
GEORGE SILVERMAN'S EXPLANATION. 
 
 This tale was written expressly for " The Atlantic MontUy,** and was 
 published in that magazine in the months of January, February, and 
 March, 1868. It was republished, the same year, in **A11 the Year 
 Round." 
 
 CHAEACTEES INTEODUCED. 
 
 FAREWATy ADELINA. Pupil of George Silverman, who 
 falls in love with her, and finds his love reciprocated, but 
 resigns her to another out of pure self-depreciation and un- 
 worldhness. 
 
 FARE WAY, LADY. Her mother; widow of the late Sir 
 Gaston Fareway, Earonet ; a penurious and managing woman, 
 handsome, well-preserved, of somewhat large stature, with a 
 steady glare in her great round eyes. She presents Mr. George 
 Silverman to a living of two hundred a year, in North Devon- 
 shire, but imposes the condition that he shall help her with 
 her correspondence, accounts, and various little things of that 
 kuid, and that he shall gratuitously direct her daughter's 
 studies. 
 
 FAREWAYf MR. Her second son; a young gentleman of 
 abilities much above the average, but idle and luxurious, who 
 for a time reads with Mr. Silverman. 
 
 QIMBLET, BROTHER. An elderly drysalter; a man with 
 a crabbed face, a large dog's-eared shii*t collar, and a spotted 
 blue neckerchief, reachiug up behiud to the crown of his head. 
 He is an expounder in Brother Hawkyard's congregation. 
 
GEORGE SILVEKMAN'S EXPLANATION. 541 
 
 HAWKTARD, MR. VERITY, of West Eromwich. George 
 Silverman's guardian or patron; a yellow-faced, peak-nosed 
 man, who is an exliorter in a congregation of an obscure 
 denomination, among whom he is called Brotlier Hawkyard. 
 He is given to boasting, and has a habit of confirming himself 
 in a parenthesis, as if, knowing himself, he doubted his own 
 word. Thus he tells his ward — 
 
 " I am a servant of tlie Lord, George, and I have been a good 
 servant to liim (I have) these five-and-thirty years j the Lord has had 
 a good servant in me, and he knows it." 
 
 From the first [says George Silverman], I could not like this 
 familiar knowledge of the ways of the sublime, inscrutable Almighty, 
 on Brother Hawkyard's part. As I gx'ew a little wiser, and still a 
 little wiser, I liked it less and less. . . . Before the knowledge 
 became forced upon me, that, outside their place of meeting, these 
 brothers and sisters were no better than the rest of the human family, 
 but on the whole were, to put the case mildly, as bad as most, in 
 respect of giving short weight in their shops, and not speaking the 
 truth, — I say, before thi^ knowledge became forced upon me, their 
 prolix addresses, their inordinate conceit, their daring ignorance, their 
 investment of the Supreme Ruler of heaven and earth with their own 
 miserable meannesses and littlenesses, greatly shocked me. 
 
 SILVERMAN, GEORGE. The narrator of the story; born 
 in a cellar in Preston. He thus describes his parents : 
 
 Mother had the gripe and clutch of poverty upon her face, upon 
 her figure, and, not least of all, upon her voice. Her sharp and high- 
 pitched words were squeezed out of her, as by the compression of 
 bony fingers on a leathern bag ; and she had a way of rolling her eyes 
 about and about the cellar, as she scolded, that was gaunt and hungry. 
 Father, with his shoulders rounded, would sit quiet on a three-legged 
 stool, looking at the empty grate, until she would pluck the stool from 
 under him, and bid him go bring some money home. Then he would 
 dismally ascend the steps ; and I, holding my ragged shirt and trousers 
 together with a hand (my only braces), would feint and dodge from 
 mother's pursuing grasp at my hair. 
 
 " A worldly little devil " was mother's usual name for me. Whether 
 I cried for that I was in the dark, or for that it was cold, or for that I 
 was hungry ; or whether I squeezed myself into a warm comer when 
 there was a fire, or ate voraciously when there was food, — she would 
 still say, " you worldly little devil ! " And the sting of it was, that 
 I quite well knew myself to be a worldly little devil ; worldly as to 
 wanting to be housed and warmed ; worldly as to wanting to be fed ; 
 worldly as to the greed with which I inwardly compared how much I 
 got of those good things with how much father and mother got, when, 
 rarely, those good things were going. 
 
 While still a small child, George loses his father and mother, 
 who die miserably of a fever ; is taken from the cellar in a half- 
 starved state ; and is handed over by the authorities to Brother 
 Hawkyard, who, as it seems, has accepted a trust in behalf of 
 
t4^ THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 the boy from a rich grandfather who has just died at Birming- 
 ham. After being disinfected, comfortably fed, and furnished 
 with new clothes, he is sent to an old farmhouse at Hoghton 
 Towers, whQ,re he remains for a considerable time, and where 
 he begins to form a shy disposition, to be of a timidly silent 
 character under misconstruction, to have an inexpressible and 
 even a morbid dread of becoming sordid or worldly. He is after- 
 wards put to school, told to work his way, and, as time goes on, 
 becomes a Foundation Boy on a good foundation, and is preached 
 at on Sundays by Brother Hawkyard and other expounders of 
 the same kidney. Working still harder, he at last obtains a 
 scholarship at Cambridge, where he lives a secluded life, and 
 studies diligently. Knowing himself to be " unfit for the noisier 
 stir of social existence," he applies his mind to the clerical pro- 
 fession, and at last is presented by Lady Fareway to a living 
 worth two hundred a year. Adelina, the only daughter of Lady 
 Fareway, pursues her studies under his direction ; and a strong 
 but undeclared affection springs up between them. But the 
 young clergyman, conscious that her family and fortune place 
 him far beneath her, and feeling that her merits are far greater 
 than his, resolves upon self-sacrifice, and quietly sets to work to 
 turn the current of her love into another channel. For this 
 purpose he introduces to her Mr. Granville Wharton, another 
 pupil of his, and contrives, in various ways, to interest them in 
 each other. The object is accomplished, and, in little more than 
 a year, they come before him, hand in hand, and ask to be united 
 in marriage. As they are both of age, and as the young lady 
 has come into possession of a fortune in her own right, he does 
 not hesitate to do so ; but the consequences to himseK are 
 disastrous. Lady Fareway has had ambitious projects for her 
 daughter, and indignantly charges George Silverman with taking 
 a percentage upon Adelina's fortune as a bribe for puttiug Mr. 
 Wharton in possession of it. With the old cry of, " You worldly 
 wretch I " she demands that he should resign his living, con- 
 tumehously dismisses him from her presence, and pursues him 
 for many years wit^ bitter animosity. But Adelina and her 
 husband stand by him, and at length he obtains a college living 
 in a sequestered place, lives down the suspicions and calumnies 
 that have dogged his steps, and pens his " Explanation," 
 
 SYLVIA. A girl at the farmhouse of Hoghton Towers, where 
 George Silverman is placed by Mr. Hawkyard, after the death 
 of his father and mother. 
 
 WHARTON, MR, GRANVILLE, PupH of George Silver- 
 man, and married by him to Adelina Fareway. 
 
NEW UJSrCOMMERCIAL SAMPLES. 
 
 [Published in "All the Yeab Eound," in 1869.] 
 
 A SilALL STAS IN THE EAST. 
 
 JOHN. A boiler-maker, Kving in tlie neiglibourliood of Eatcliffe 
 and Stepney, wlio obtains employment but fitfully and rarely, 
 and is forced to live on the work of his wife. 
 
 POODLES. A comical mongrel dog, found starving at the door 
 of the " East London Children's Hospital," and taken in and 
 fed, since which he has made it his home. On his neck he 
 wears a collar presented him by an admirer of his mental 
 endowments, and bearing the legend, " Judge not Poodles by 
 external appearances." 
 
 A LITTLE DINNES EST AN HOUR. 
 
 BULLFINCH. A gentleman, who, having occasion to go to 
 the seaside resort of Kamelesston with a friend for the tran- 
 saction of some business, proposes that they should dirie at 
 The Temeraire. They accordingly diive to that house, and 
 order a little dinner, which is to be ready punctually in one 
 hour. They return promptly, but try in vain to eat and drink 
 what is set before them, and come to the conclusion that no 
 such ill-served, ill-appointed, ill-cooked, nasty little dinner 
 could be got for the money anywhere else under the sun. 
 
 COCKER, MR. INDIGNATION. A dissatisfied diner at 
 the same house, who disputes the charges in his bill 
 
 MB. BARLOW. 
 
 BARLOW, MR. An irrepressible instructive monomaniac, who 
 knows everything, didactically improves all sorts of occasions, 
 
544 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 and presents himself in all sorts of aspects and under all kinds 
 of disguises ; so named from an all-knowing tutor in Thomas 
 Day's juvenile story of " Sandford and Merton." 
 
 ON AN AMATEUE BEAT. 
 
 POODLES. A mongrel dog attached to the "East I^ondon 
 Children's Hospital" See " A Small Star in the East." 
 
 I find him making the round of the beds, like a house-surgeon, 
 attended by another dog — a friend — ^who appears to trot about with 
 him in the character of his pupil-dresser. Poodles is anxious to make 
 me known to a pretty little girl, looking wondei-f ally healthy, who haa 
 had a leg taken off for cancer of the knee. " A difficult operation," 
 Poodles intimates, wagging his tail on the counterpane, " but perfectly 
 successful, as you see, dear sir." The patient, patting Poodles, adds, 
 with a smile, " The leg was so much trouble to me, that I am glad it's 
 gone." I never saw anything in doggery finer than the deportment of 
 Poodles when another little girl opens her mouth to show a peculiar 
 enlargement of the tongue. Poodles (at that time on a table, to be on 
 a level with the occasion) looks at the tongue (with his own sympa- 
 thetically out) so very gravely and knowingly, that I feel incKned to 
 put my hand in n\j waistcoat-pocket, and give him a guines> wrappeQ 
 H papsr. 
 
THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DEOOD. 
 
 The first number of this work, which closes the series of Dickens's 
 novels, was issued by Messrs. Chapman and Hall, on the Isfc of April, 
 1870, with two illustrations on wood from drawings by S. L. Tildes. 
 The story was to be completed in twelve monthly parts ; but the third 
 part had been published only a few days when death stopped the writer's 
 hand for ever. Three additional numbers, however, were left in mana. 
 script, making Just one-half of the entire story. 
 
 CHAEACTEBS INTKODUCED. 
 
 BAZZARDy MR. Clerk to Mr. Grewgious, over whom h© 
 possesses a strange power. He is a pale, puffy-faced, dark- 
 haired person of thirty, with big, dark eyes wholly wanting 
 in lustre, and with a dissatisfied, doughy complexion, that 
 seems to ask to be sent to the baker's. The secret of his 
 influence over Mr. Grewgious is thus explained by that 
 gentleman in a conversation he has with Miss Eosa Bud : 
 
 " We were speaking of Mr. Bazzard. . . . What do you think 
 Mr. Bazzard has done ? " 
 
 " O dear ? " cried Rosa, drawing her chair a little nearer, and her 
 mind reverting to Jasper, " nothing dreadful, I hope ? " 
 
 " He has written a play," said Mr. Grewgious, in a solemn whisper, 
 ** A tragedy." 
 
 Rosa seemed much relieved. 
 
 " And nobody," pursued Mr. Grewgioua in the same tone, " wUl hear, 
 tm any account whatever, of bringing it out," 
 
 % M 
 
646 THE DICKENS DIOTIONAET. 
 
 Eosa looked reflective, and nodded lier head slowly ; as who should 
 eaj, " Such things are, and why are they ! " 
 
 " Now, you know," said Mr. Grewgious, " J couldn't write a play." 
 
 " Not a bad one, sir ? " said Eosa, innocently, with her eyebrows 
 again in action. 
 
 " No. If I was under sentence of decapitation, and was about to 
 be instantly decapitated, and an express arrived with a pardon, for the 
 condenmed convict Grewgious if he wrote a play, I should be under 
 the necessity of resuming the block, and begging the executioner to 
 proceed to extremities, — meaning," said Mr. Grewgious, passing his 
 hand under his chin, " the singular number, and this extremity." 
 
 Eosa appeared to consider what she would do if the awkward sup- 
 posititious case were hers. 
 
 " Consequently," said Mr. Grewgious, " Mr. Bazzard would have a 
 sense of my inferiority to himself under any circumstances ; but when 
 I am his master, you know, the case is greatly aggravated." 
 
 Mr. Grewgious shook his head seriously, as if he felt the offence to 
 bo a little too much, though of his own committing. 
 
 " How came you to be his master, sir ? " asked Eosa. 
 
 **A question that naturally follows," said Mr. Grewgious, "Let's 
 talk. Mr. Bazzard' s father, being a Norfolk farmer, would have furiously 
 laid about him with a flail, a pitchfork, and every agricultural implement 
 available for assaulting purposes, on the slightest hint of his son's 
 having written a play. So the son, bringing to me the father's rent 
 (which I receive), imparted his secret, and pointed out that he was 
 determined to pursue his genius, and that it would put him in peril of 
 starvation, and that he was not formed for it." 
 
 " For pursuing his genius, sir ? " 
 
 " No, my dear," said Mr. Grewgious, " for starvation. It was im- 
 possible to deny the position, that Mr. Bazzard was not formed to be 
 starved, and Mr. Bazzard then pointed out that it was desirable that I 
 should stand between him and a fate so perfectly unsuited to his forma- 
 tion. In that way Mr. Bazzard became my clerk, and he feels it very 
 much." 
 
 " I am glad he is grateful," said Eosa. 
 
 "I didn't quite mean that, my dear. I mean, that he feels the 
 degradation. There are some other geniuses that IVIr. Bazzard has 
 become acquainted with, who have also written tragedies, which likewise 
 nobody will on any account whatever hear of bringing out, and these 
 choice spirits dedicate their plays to one another in a highly panegyrical 
 manner. Mr. Bazzai'd has been the subject of one of these dedications. 
 Now, you know, I never had a play dedicated to me ! " 
 
 Eosa looked at him as if she would have liked him to be the reci- 
 pient of a thousand dedications. 
 
 " Which again, naturally, rubs against the grain of Mr. Bazzard," 
 said Mr. Grewgious. *' He is very short with me sometimes, and then 
 I feel that he is meditating, ' This blockhead is my master ! A fellow 
 who couldn't write a tragedy on pain of death, and who will never 
 have one dedicated to hiin with the most complimentary congratula- 
 tions on the high position he has taken in the eyes of posterity ! ' 
 Very trying, very trying. However, in giving him directions, I reflect 
 beforehand : ' Perhaps he may not like this,' or ' He might take it ill if 
 I asked that ; ' and so we get on very well. Iiuleed, better than I 
 could have expected." 
 
 " Is the tragedy named, sir ? " ^sked Ilosa. 
 
THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. 547 
 
 ** Strictly between ourselves," answered Mr. Grewp^ous, " it lias a 
 dreadfully appropriate name. It is called The Thorn of Anxiety. But 
 Mr. Bazzard hopes — and I hope — that it will come out at last." 
 (Ch. xi, XX.) 
 
 BILLIQKINy MRS. A widowed cousin of Mr. Bazzard's, who 
 
 lets furnished lodgings in Southampton Street, Bloomsbury 
 Square. Personal faintness and an overpowering candour 
 are the distinguishing features of her organisation. (Ch. xxii.) 
 "With this lady Mr. Grewgious obtains rooms for his ward, 
 Miss Eosa Bud. Having concluded the bargain, he writes 
 and signs a few lines of agreement, and requests Mrs. Billickin 
 to put her signature to the document also, "Christian and 
 surname " in f ulL 
 
 " Mr. Grewgious," said Mrs. Billickin in a new burst of candour, 
 " no, sir ! You must excuse the christian-name." 
 
 Mr. Grewgious stared at her. 
 
 *' The door-plate is used as a protection," said Mrs. Billickin, " and 
 acts as such, and go from it I will not." 
 
 Mr. Grewgious stared at Eosa. 
 
 " No, Mr. Grewgious, you must excuse me. So long as this 'ouse 
 is known indefinite as Billickin's, and so long as it is a doubt with the 
 riff-raff where Billickin may be hidin', near the street-door or down 
 the airy, and what liis weight and size, so loug I feel safe. But com- 
 mit myself to a solitary female statement, no, Miss ! Nor would you 
 for a moment wish," said Mrs. Billickin, with a strong sense of injury, 
 " to take that advantage of your sex, if you were not brought to it by 
 inconsiderate example." 
 
 Rosa reddening as if she had m&de some most disgraceful attempt 
 to overreach the good lady, besought Mr. Grewgious to rest content 
 with any signature; and accordingly, in a baronial way, the sign- 
 manual Billickin got appended to the document. 
 
 B UD, MISS ROSA, called " Eosebud." A wonderfully pretty, 
 childish, and whimsical young lady, who is an orphan, and 
 the ward of Mr. Grewgious. While yet a mere child, she is 
 betrothed to Edwin Drood ; her father and his having been 
 very dear and firm and fast friends, and desiring that their 
 only children should be to one another even more than they 
 themselves had been to one another. But, as Eosa and Edwin 
 grow up, they find that they are not truly happy in their 
 engagement, and that each resents being thus married by 
 anticipation. They accordingly agree to break off the en- 
 gagement, and to " change to brother and sister " thenceforth. 
 Shortly after this event, Edwin Drood disappears, and is 
 supposed to have been murdered. (Ch. iii, vii., is.^ xiii, 
 xix.-xxii) See Tartar, Lieutenant. 
 
 CRISPARKLE, THE REVEREND SEPTIMUS, One of 
 
 the minor canons of Cloisterham Cathedral; a mode^clergy- 
 2 n 2 
 
648 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 man, and a true Cliristian gentleman. (Ch. ii., vi-viii., x., 
 xii., xiv.-xvii., xxi-xxiii.) 
 
 Mr. Crisparkle, Minor Canon, fair and rosy, and perpetually pitch- 
 ing iimself head-foremost into all the deep running water in the 
 Burroimding country; Mr. Crisparkle, Minoi Canon, early riser, 
 musical, classical, cheerful, kind, good-natured, social, contented, and 
 boy-like ; Mr. Crisparkle, Minor Canon and good man, lately " Coach " 
 upon the chief Pagan high roads, but since promoted by a patron 
 (grateful for a well-taught son) to his present Christian beat. 
 
 CRISPARKLE, MRS., called "The China Shepherdess." 
 His mother; a pretty old lady, with bright eyes, a calm 
 and cheerful face, and a trim and compact figure. (Ch. vi, 
 vii., X.) 
 
 DATCIIERY, DICK. A mysterious white-haired man, with 
 black eyebrows, who presents himself in Cloisterham shortly 
 after the death of Edwin Drood, and who takes lodgings over- 
 looking the rooms of Mr. Jasper. 
 
 Being buttoned up in a tightish blue surtout, with a buff waistcoat 
 and gray trousers, he had something of a military air; but he an- 
 nounced himself at The Crozier (the orthodox hotel, where he put up 
 •vN-ith a portmanteau) as an idle dog who lived upon his means ; and he 
 farther announced that he had a mind to take a lodging in the 
 picturesque old city for a month or two, with a view of settling down 
 there altogether. 
 
 "Wlao or what he is does not appear ; but it is plain that 
 he takes up his abode in Cloisterham for the sole purpose of 
 watching Jasper. (Ch. xviii., xxiii.) 
 
 DEPUTY. A hideous small boy, hired by Durdles to pelt him 
 home, if he catches him out too late. He explains to Jasper 
 that he is a " man-servant up at The Travellers' Twopenny," 
 a crazy wooden inn near the cathedral. As a caution to 
 Durdles to stand clear if he can, or to betake himself home, 
 the yoimg imp always chants the following note of preparation 
 before beginning to fling stones : 
 
 Widdy widdy wen ! 
 
 I — ket — ches— Im— out— ar— ter— tiaa, 
 
 Widdy widdy wy 1 
 
 Then — B — don't— go — ^then — I— shy — 
 
 Widdy Widdy Wake-cock warning 1 
 
 —with a comprehensive sweep on the last word. 
 
 The relations between Durdles and Deputy are of a capricious kind ; 
 for, on Durdle's turning himself about with the slow gravity of beery 
 Boddenness, Deputy makes a pretty wide circuit into the road 9,nd 
 ptanda on the defensive. 
 
THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. 619 
 
 " You never cried Widdy Warning before you begun to-night,'* 
 cays Durdles, unexpectedly reminded of, or imagining, an injury. 
 
 " Yer lie, I did," says Deputy, in his only form of polite contra- 
 diction. 
 
 " Own brother, sir," observes Durdles, turning himself about again, 
 and as unexpectedly forgetting his offence as he had recalled or con- 
 ceived it ; *' own brother to Peter the Wild Boy I But I gave him aa 
 object in life." 
 
 ** At which he takes aim ? " Mr. Jasper suggests. 
 
 "That's it, sir," returns Durdles, quite satisfied; "at which he 
 takes aim. I took him in hand and gave him an object. What was 
 he before ? A destroyer. What work did he do ? Nothing buc 
 destruction. What did he earn by it ? Short terms in Cloisterham 
 Jail. Not a person, not a piece of property, not a winder, not a horse, 
 nor a dog, nor a cat, nor a bird, nor a fowl, nor a pig, but what he 
 stoned, for want of an enlightened object. I put that enlightened 
 object before him, and now he can turn his honest halfpenny by the 
 three penn'orth a week." 
 
 (Ch. v., xii., xviii., xxiii.) 
 
 DROOD, EDWIN. The character from whom the story takes 
 its name ; a young man left an orphan at an early age, and 
 betrothed, in accordance with his father's dying wish, to Miss 
 Kosa Bud, the daughter of an old and very dear friend. At 
 the time the story opens, the young lady is attending the 
 school of Miss Twinkleton, at Cloisterham, and the young 
 gentleman is studying engineering in London. Neither of 
 them is reconciled to the thought that their destiny in life 
 has, in a most important respect, been predetermined for them ; 
 yet the thought of questioning the arrangement has not occurred 
 to either ; and Edwin runs down to Cloisterham every now and 
 then, both to see his intended and to visit his uncle, Mr. Jasper, 
 who is but little older than himself, and is his most intimate 
 friend and companion. On one of these occasions, he meets at 
 the Reverend Mr. Crisparkle's a young man named i^eville 
 Landless, and his sister Helena, who are pui'suing their 
 studies — the one under Mr. Crisparkle's direction, the other at 
 Miss Twinkleton's establishment. The young men take a strong 
 dislike to each other. Edwin thinks Neville's sister vastly 
 superior to her brother ; while the latter is disgusted by the air 
 of proprietorship with which Edwin treats Eosa. They escort the 
 young ladies home for the night, and then repair, at the invita- 
 tion of ^Ir. Jasper, to his lodgings to have a glass of wine. The 
 drink is mixed for them by their host ; and, although they take 
 only a moderate quantity, it seems to madden them \ for from 
 sarcastic remarks they soon come to open violence, when they 
 are separated by Jasper, who takes young Neville home, and 
 reports his conduct to ^Ir. Crisparkle. Li the morning, Edwu» 
 
550 THB DICKENS DldTIONARY. 
 
 departs for London, and Mr. Crisparlde is conseqiiently unable 
 to bring about an immediate reconciliation ; but be resolves to 
 (io so on tbe first opportunity tbat offers. He talks about tbe 
 matter to IsTeville, wbo expresses bimself 'wdlling to make an 
 apology ; and Mr. Jasper writes to Edwin, wbo replies tbat be 
 sball be glad to make any amends for Lis basty display of temper. 
 It is therefore arranged tbat tbe young men sball meet again 
 at Mr. Jasper's rooms, and "sbake bands, and say no more 
 about it." Before revisiting Cloisterbam, Edwin calls on Eosa's 
 guardian, Mr. Grewgious, wbo gives bim a wedding-ring, wbicb 
 belonged to ber departed motber, and cbarges bim to look care- 
 fully into bis own beart before making Eosa Ms wife ; for, 
 altbougb tbe marriage was a wisb dear botb to bis own fatber 
 and to bers, be ougbt not to commit bimself to sucb a step for 
 no bigber reason tban because be bas long been accustomed to 
 look forward to it. Edwin departs, and, deeply pondering tbe 
 injunction of Mr. Grewgious, becomes convinced tbat tbe mar- 
 riage ougbt not to take place. He resolves to bave a frank 
 conversation witb Eosa, feeling well assured tbat ber views will 
 coincide witb bis own. Eepairing to tbe ISTuns' House, be seeks 
 her witb tbis intention, but finds bimself anticipated ; for sbe 
 enters at once upon tbe subject berseK. Tbe result is, tbat, 
 altbougb tbey agree to remain tbe best of friends, tbey cease to 
 be lovers, and resolve to send at once for Mr. Grewgious, and 
 communicate tbeir determination to bim, but to be quite sHent 
 upon tbe subject to all otbers, until bis arrival. Edwin's sole 
 anxiety, as be tells Eosa, is for bis uncle, wbom be dearly 
 loves, and wbo, as be believes, bas set bis beart on tbe union. 
 Altbougb Eosa does not declare ber tbougbts, sbe yet believes 
 tbat tbe breakiug-off of tbe matcb will not be so great a disap- 
 pointment to Mr. Jasper as Edwin tbinl^s, baving good reason 
 to know tbat be is bimself deeply ia love witb ber. Tbey 
 separate for tbe nigbt, tbe young man going to bis uncle's to 
 meet Neville Landless, wbo, after promising Mr. Crispailde tbat 
 he will curb bis impetuous temper, directs bis steps to tbe same 
 place. 
 
 Tbe next morning, Edwin Drood is nowhere to be found ; 
 and young Landless sets out early for a two-weeks' ramble 
 through tbe neighbouring country. Mr. Jasper, becoming 
 alarmed at the disappearance of his nephew, arouses tbe town. 
 He says that the young men, after meeting at his room, went 
 out together for a walk near the river. The feud between them 
 is well known ; and dark suspicions are entertained of foul 
 play. Young Landless is followed and arrested. The river is 
 dragged, and no body is discovered ; but a watch, identified as 
 
THE MYSTERY OF ED WIN DliOOD. 551 
 
 Ed^vin's, is found ; and a jeweller testifies that lie wound and 
 set it for him at twenty minutes past two on the afternoon of 
 his arrival, and that it had run down before being cast into the 
 water. Further than this, nothing can be discovered, and, as 
 there is not evidence enough to warrant ISTeville's detention, he 
 is set at liberty. So strong is the popular feeling against him, 
 however, that he is forced to leave the town, and takes up his 
 residence in an obscure part of London. Here he is visited by 
 Mr. Crisparkle, who firmly believes in his innocence ; and here 
 he is watched and dogged by Mr. Jasper, who has taken a 
 solemn oath to devote his life to ferreting out the murderer. 
 
 Although the reader is left in the dark, by the abrupt ter- 
 mination of the novel, as to who is the guilty party, he is led 
 to believe that Mr. Jasper is the real assassin. He is desperately 
 in love with Eosa ; though she thoroughly dislikes and despises 
 him. After the death of Edwin, he visits her, and declares his 
 love, promising to forego his pursuit of young Landless, in 
 whom she is deeply interested, if she will give him some en- 
 couragement. He shows himself at least to be fully capable 
 of the crime ; and he is suspected by Eosa herself and by 
 Mr. Grewgious. (Ch. ii., vii., viii., xi, xiii., xiv.) 
 
 DURDLES. A stonemason; chiefiy in the gravestone, tomb, 
 and monument way, and wholly of their colour from head to 
 foot. (Ch. iv., xii, xiv.) 
 
 No man is better known in Cloisterham. He is the chartered 
 libertine of the place. Fame trumpets hira a wonderful workman — 
 which, for aught that anybody knows, he may be (as he never works) ; 
 and a wonderful Bot — which everybody knows he is. With the 
 Cathedral crypt he is better acquainted than any living authority ; it 
 may even be than any dead one. It is said that the intimacy of this 
 acquaintance began in his habitually resorting to that secret place, to 
 lock-out the Cloisterham boy-populace, and sleep off the fumes of 
 liquor; he having ready access to the Cathedral, as contractor for 
 rough repairs. Be this as it may, he does know much about it, and, in 
 the demolition of impedimental fragments of wall, buttress, and 
 pavement, has seen strange sights. He often speaks of himself in the 
 third person ; perhaps, being a little misty as to his own identity, when 
 he narrates; perhaps impartially adopting the Cloisterham nomen- 
 clature in reference to a character of acknowledged distinction. Thus 
 he vnll say, touching his strange sights : "Durdles come upon the old 
 chap," in reference to a buried magnate of ancient time and high 
 degree, " by striking right into the coffin with his pick. The old chap 
 gave Durdles a look with his open eyes, as much as to say, * Is your 
 name Durdles ? Why, my man, I've been waiting for you a devil of a 
 time ! ' And then he turned to powder." With a two-foot rule always 
 in his pocket, and a mason's hammer all but always in his hand, 
 Durdles goes continually sounding and tapping all about and about 
 
552 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 the Cathedral ; and whenever he says to Tope, " Tope, here's another 
 old *un in here ! *' Top© announces it to the Dean as an established 
 discovery, 
 
 Mr. Jasper visits the cathedral one night with Durdles, 
 whom he plies with liquor until he falls asleep; and he 
 improves the opportunity to make an extended examination 
 of the crypt, using the . keys of his companion to obtain 
 admission into its locked-up recesses. For what purpose thia 
 exploration is made does not appear, but, probably, for the 
 sake of finding a safe hiding-place for the body of Edwin 
 Drood, whom Jasper, as the reader is led to infer, has made 
 up his mind to put out of the way. See Deputy. 
 
 FERDINAND, MISS. A pupil at Miss Twinkleton's school 
 (Ch. ix., xiii) 
 
 GIGGLES, MISS, Another pupil at the same school (Ch. 
 ix., xiii.) 
 
 GREWGIOUS, HIRAM, ESQUIRE. Miss Eosa Bud's 
 guardian, and "a particularly angular man." (Ch. ix., xi, 
 sv.-xvii, xx.-xxii) 
 
 He was an arid, sandy man, who, if he had been put into a grind, 
 ing mill, looked as if he would have ground immediately into high- 
 dried snuff. He had a scanty flat crop of hair, in colour and consis- 
 tency like some very mangy yellow fur tippet ; it was so unlike hair, that 
 it must have been a wig, but for the stupendous improbability of any- 
 body's voluntarily sporting such a head. The little play of feature 
 that his face presented was cut deep into it, in a few hard curves that 
 made it more like work ; and he had certain notches in his forehead, 
 which looked as though Nature had been about to touch them into 
 sensibility or refinement, when she had impatiently thrown away the 
 chisel, and said : " I really cannot be worried to finish off this man ; 
 let him go as he is." 
 
 With too great length of throat at his upper end, and too much 
 ankle-bone and heel at his lower ; with an awkward and hesitating 
 manner ; with a shambling walk ; and with what is called a near 
 sight — which perhaps prevented his observing how much white cotton 
 stocking he displayed to the public eye, in contrast with his black suit 
 — Mr. Grewgious still had some strange capacity in him of , making on 
 the whole an agreeable impression. 
 
 After the disappearance of Edwin Drood, Mr. Grewgious 
 has an interview with Jasper, whose appearance and conduct 
 are such as to excite the strongest suspicions of his being the 
 murderer of that young gentleman. Mr. Grewgious keeps his 
 thoughts to himself however; but when Eosa, pursued by 
 Jasper, goes to London to thiow herself on her guardian's 
 
THE MYSTERY OB" EDWIi^ DEOOD. 563 
 
 protection, he astonishes Lis little ward by his indignation, 
 exclaiming with a sudden rush of amazing energy, " Damn him 1 
 
 Confound liis politics 1 
 Frustrate his knavish tricks 1 
 On Thee his hopes to fix ? 
 Damn him again I " 
 
 After this most extraordinary outburst, Mr. Grewgious, quite beside 
 himself, plunged about the room, to all appearance undecided wbether 
 he was in a fit of loyal enthusiasm or combative denunciation. 
 
 He stopped and said, wiping his face : " I beg your pardon, my dear, 
 but you will be glad to know I feel better. Tell me no more just now, 
 or I might do it again." 
 
 He immediately sets about making his ward comfortable, 
 procures lodgings for her, makes arrangements for IMiss 
 Twinkleton's staying with her as a companion and friend, 
 and devotes himseK to investigating the mystery of Edwin 
 Drood's sudden disappearance. 
 
 H0NE7THUNDER, MR. LUKE. Chabman of the Con- 
 vened Chief Composite Committee of Central and District 
 Philanthropists, and guardian of Neville and Helena Landless. 
 He is a large man, with a tremendous voice, and an appearance 
 of being constantly engaged in crowding everybody to the 
 waU. 
 
 Though it was not literally true, as was facetiously charged against 
 him by public unbelievers, that he called aloud to his fellow-creatures : 
 " Curse your soids and bodies, come here and be blessed ! " still hia 
 philanthropy was of that gunpowderons sort that the difference 
 between it and animosity was hard to determine. You were to abolish 
 military force, but you were first to bring all commanding officers who 
 had done their duty, to trial by court-martial for that offence, and 
 shoot them. You were to abolish war, but were to make converts by 
 making war upon them, and charging them vsdth loving war as the 
 apple of their eye. You were to have no capital punishment, but 
 were first to sweep off the face of the earth all legislators, jurists, and 
 judges, who were of the contrary opinion. You were to have universal 
 concord, and were to get it by eliminating all the people who wouldn't, 
 or conscientiously couldn't, be concordant. You were to love your 
 brother as yomrself, but after an indefinite interval of maligning him 
 (very much as if you hated him), and calling him all manner of names. 
 Above all things, you were to do nothing in private, or on your own 
 account. You were to go to the offices of the Haven of Philanthropy, 
 and put your name down as a Member and a Professing Philanthropist. 
 Then, you were to pay up your subscription, get your card of member- 
 ship and your riband and medal, and were evermore to live upon a 
 platform, and evermore to say what Mr. Honeythunder said, and what 
 the Treasurer said, and what the sub-Treasurer said, and what the 
 Committee said, and what the sub-Committee said, and what the 
 Secretary said, and what the Vice- Secretary said. And this was 
 usually said in the unanimously-carried resolution under hand and 
 seal, to the effect s "That this assembled Body of Professing Philan- 
 
554 TSE DICKENS DICTIONAET. 
 
 tiiropista views, with indignant scorn and contempt, not unmixed with 
 utter detestation and loathing abhorrence " — in short, the baseness of 
 all those who do not belong to it, and pledges itself to make as many 
 obnoxious statements as possible about them, without being at all 
 particular as to facts. 
 
 (Cli. vi., xvii) 
 
 JASPER, JOHN. A music-master wlio is employed as choir- 
 master in Cloisterliam Cathedral; uncle to Edwin Drood, 
 for whom he professes the strongest affection. 
 
 Mr. Jasper is a dark man of some six-and-twentj, with thick, 
 lustrous, well-arranged black hair and whiskers. He looks older than 
 he is, as dark men often do. His voice is deep and good, his face and 
 figure are good, his manner is a little sombre. 
 
 Jasper is addicted to the use of opium, and resorts every 
 now and then to a miserable hole in London, where the drug 
 is prepared in a peculiar form by an old hag, and where he 
 smokes himself into the wildest dreams. He goes to this 
 place after the disappearance of Edwin Drood, and is followed, 
 when he leaves, by the old woman, who thus ascertains who 
 and what he is. The two are, in turn, watched by Mr. 
 Datchery, who appears well satisfied on discovering the con- 
 nection between them. (Ch. i, ii, iv., v., vii-x., xii., xiv.- 
 xvi., xviiij xix., xxii., xxiii.) 
 
 JENNINGS, MISS, A pupH at Miss TwinMeton's Seminary 
 for Young Ladies. (Ch. ix.) 
 
 JOE. Driver of an omnibus, which is the daily service between 
 Cloisterham and external mankind. (Ch. vi., xv., xx.) 
 
 LANDLESS, HELENA. A native of Ceylon, but the chHI 
 of English parents ; a ward of Mr. Honeythunder's, who sends 
 her to Miss Twinkleton's School for Young Ladies in Cloister- 
 ham, where she becomes the friend and confidante of Eosa 
 Eud. She is an unusually handsome, lithe girl, very dark 
 and rich in colour — almost of the gipsy type — with something 
 untamed about her, as there is, also, about her twin brother 
 Neville. 
 
 A certain air upon them of hunter and huntress; yet withal a 
 certain air of being the objects of the chase, rather than the followers. 
 Slender, supple, quick of eye and limb ; half shy, half defiant j fierce 
 of look; an indefinable kind of pause coming and going on their 
 whole expression, both of face and form, which might be equally 
 likened to the pause before a crouch or a bound. 
 
 (Ch. vi, viL, X., xiii., xiv., xxii.) 
 
 LANDLESS, NEVILLE. Her brother, studying with the 
 Eeverend Mr. Crisparkle, and suspected of the murder of 
 Edwia Drood. (GlL vi-yiii., x., xii, xiv.-xvii) 
 
TUE MTSTEEY OF EDVYIN DEOOD. 555 
 
 LOBLEYy MR. A boatman in tlie service of Mr. Tartar — 
 " the dead image of the sun in old woodcuts," his hair and 
 whisker answering for rays all around him. (Ch. xxii.) 
 
 REYNOLDS, MISS. A pupil at the Is^uns' House, Miss 
 Twinkleton's Seminary for Young Ladies. (Ch. ix.) 
 
 RICKITTS, MISS. Another pupil at the same establishment. 
 
 SAPSEA, MR. THOMAS. An auctioneer, afterwards Mayor 
 of Cloisterham. 
 
 Accepting the Jackass as fhe type of self-sufficient stupidity and 
 conceit — a custom, perhaps, like some few other customs, more con- 
 ventional than fair — then the purest Jackass in Cloisterham is 
 Mr. Thomas Sapsea, Auctioneer. 
 
 Mr. Sapsea "dresses at" the Dean; has been bowed to for the Dean, 
 in mistake ; has eren been spoken to in the street as My Lord, under 
 the impression that he was the Bishop come down unexpectedly, with- 
 out his chaplain. Mr. Sapsea is Yerj proud of this, and of his voice, 
 and of his style. He has even (in selling landed property) tried the 
 experiment of slightly intoning in his pulpit, to make himself more 
 like what he takes to be the genuine ecclesiastical article. So, in 
 ending a Sale by Public Auction, Mr. Sapsea finishes off with an air 
 of bestowing a benediction on the assembled brokers, which leaves the 
 real Dean — a modest and worthy gentleman — far behind. 
 
 Mr. Sapsea has many admirers ; indeed, the proposition is carried 
 by a large local majority, even including non-believers in his wisdom, 
 that he is a credit to Cloisterham. He possssses the great qualities w* 
 being portentous and dull, and of having a roll in his speech, WM 
 another roU in his gait; not to mention a certain gravely flowing 
 action with his hands, as if he were presently going to Confirm the 
 individual with whom he holds discourse. Much nearer sixty years 
 of age than fifty, with a flowing outline of stomach, and horizontal 
 creases in his waistcoat : reputed to be rich ; voting at elections in the 
 strictly respectable interest; morally satisfied that nothing but he 
 himself has grown since he was a baby; how can dunder-headed 
 Mr. Sapsea be otherwise than a credit to Cloisterham, and society ? 
 
 Having lost his wife, Mr. Sapsea determines to compose an 
 epitaph for her tombstone, that shall strike all ordinary minds 
 with awe and confusion. When this literary thunderbolt is 
 forged, he calls in Mr. Jasper to get his opinion of it. iN'ot to 
 astound the young man by immediately launching this master- 
 piece of scho.astic workmanship at him, Mr. Sapsea consider- 
 ately begins by explaining how he came, first by his extensive 
 knowledge, secondly by his wife. The lady thus honoured 
 was a Miss Brobity, the mistress of a school in Cloisterham. 
 
 " She revered Mind, when launched, or, as I say, precipitated, on an 
 extensive knowledge of the world. When I made my proposal, she did 
 me the honour to be so overshadowed with a species of Awe, as to be 
 able to articulate only the two words, " O Thou! " meaning myself. Her 
 limpid blue eyes were fixed upon me, her semi-transparent hands were 
 
556 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 clasped together, pallor overspread her aquiline features, and, though 
 encouraged to proceed, she never did proceed a word fui-ther. I disposed 
 of the parallel establishment by private contract, and we became as 
 nearly one as could be expected under the circumstances. Bat she never 
 could, and she never did, find a phrase satisfactory to her perhaps-too- 
 favourable estimate of my intellect. To the very last (feeble action of 
 liver), she addressed me in the same unfinished terms." 
 
 Mr. Jasper has closed his eyes as the auctioneer has deepened his 
 voice. He now abruptly opens them, and says, in unison with the 
 deepened voice, " Ah ! " — rather as if stopping himself on the extreme 
 verge of adding — " men ! " 
 
 " I have been since," says Mr. Sapsea, with his legs stretched out, 
 and solemnly enjoying himself with the wine and the fire, " what you 
 behold me ; I have been since a solitary mourner ; I have been since, as 
 I say, wasting my evening conversation on the desert air. I will not say 
 that I have reproached myself ; but there have been times when I have 
 asked myself the question : What if her husband had been nearer on a 
 level with her ? If she had not had to look up quite so high, what might 
 the stimulating action have been upon the liver ? " 
 
 Mr. Jasper says, with an appearance of having fallen into dreadfully 
 low spirits, that he " supposes it was to be." 
 
 " We can only suppose so, sir," Mr. Sapsea coincides. " As I say, 
 Man proposes. Heaven disposes. It may or may not be putting the 
 same thought in another form ; but that is the way I put it." 
 
 Mr. Jasper murmurs assent. 
 
 " And now, Mr. Jasper," resumes the auctioneer, producing his scrap 
 of manuscript, "Mrs. Sapsea's monument having had full time to settle 
 and dry, let me take your opinion, as a man of taste, on the inscription 
 I have (as I before remarked, not without some little fever of the brow) 
 drawn out for it. Take it in your own hand. The setting out of the 
 lines requires to be followed with the eye, as well as the contents with 
 the mind." 
 
 Mr. Jasper complying, sees and reads as follows : 
 
 ETHELINDA, 
 
 EEVEKENTIAL WIFE OF 
 
 MR. THOMAS SAPSEA, 
 
 AUCTIONEER, VALUER, ESTATE AGENT, &a, 
 
 OP THIS CITY. 
 
 WHOSE KNOWLEDGE OF THE WORLD, 
 
 THOUGH SOMEWHAT EXTENSIVE, 
 
 HEVER BKOUGHT HIM ACQUAINTED 
 
 A SPIRIT 
 
 MOKE CAPABLE OF 
 
 LOOKING UP TO HIM. 
 
 STRANGER, PAUSE, 
 
 AND ASK THYSELP THE QUESTION, 
 
 CANST THOU DO LIKEWISE, 
 
 IP NOT, 
 
 WITH A BLUSH EETIRE. 
 
 " Admirable I " quoth Mr. Jasper, handing back the paper. 
 
 ** You approve, sir ? " 
 
 '* Impossible not to approve. Striking, charaoteristio, and complete." 
 
THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD. 657 
 
 The anctioneer inclines his head, as one accepting his dae and 
 giving a receipt. 
 
 (Ch. iv., xii., xiv.-xvi., xviii) 
 
 TARTAR, LIEUTENANT. An ex-officer of the Koyal ^vy, 
 who has come into possession of a fortune, and has retired 
 from the service. 
 
 A handsome gentleman, with a young face, but with an older figure 
 in its robustL*;s8 and its breadth of shoulder ; say a man of eight-and- 
 twenty, or ac the utmost thirty ; so extremely sunburnt that the con- 
 trast between his brown visage and the white forehead shaded out of 
 doors by his hat, and the glimpses of white throat below the necker- 
 chief, would have been almost ludicrous but for his broad temples, 
 bright blue eyes, clustering brown hair, and laughing teeth. 
 
 He "becomes the friend of JSTeville Landless, and makes the 
 acquaintance of Eosa Bud, whose husband, it is probable, 
 Mr. Dickens intended him to become. (Ch. xvii., xxi., xxii.) 
 
 TISHER, MRS, A deferential widow, with a weak back, a 
 chronic sigh, and a suppressed voice, who looks after the 
 young ladies' wardrobes at the J^Tuns' House, Miss Twinkleton's 
 seminary at Cloisterham, (Ch. ii., vii., ix., xiii.) 
 
 TOPE, MR. Chief verger of Cloisterham Cathedral (Ch. ii., 
 vi., xii., xiv., xvi., xviii., xxiii.) 
 
 TOPE, MRS, His wife. (Ch. il, xii, xiv., xvi., xviii., xxiii.) 
 
 TWINKLETON, MISS. Mistress of a boarding-school for 
 young ladies in Cloisterham, attended by Eosa Bud and 
 Helena Landless. (Ch. iii, vi., vii, ix., xiii, xxii) 
 
 In the midst of Cloisterham stands the Nuns* House ; a venerable 
 brick edifice, whose present appellation is doubtless derived from the 
 legend of its conventual uses. On the trim gate enclosing its old 
 courtyard is a resplendent brass plate flashing forth the legend : 
 " Seminary for Young Ladies. Miss Twinkleton." The house-front 
 is so old and worn, and the brass plate is so shining and stai-ing, that 
 the general result has reminded imaginative strangers of a battered 
 old beau with a large modem eye-glass stuck in his blind eye. . . . 
 
 JMiss Twinkleton has two distinct and separate phases of being. 
 Every night, the moment the young ladies have retired to rest, does 
 Miss Twinkleton smarten up her curls a little, brighten up her eyes a 
 little, and become a sprightlier Miss Twinkleton than the young ladies 
 have ever seen. Every night at the same hour, does Miss Twinkleton 
 resume the topics of the previous night, comprehending the tenderer 
 scandal of Cloisterham, of which she has no knowledge whatever by 
 day, and references to a certain season at Tunbridge Wells (airily called 
 by Miss Twinkleton in this state of her existence " The Wells"), notably 
 the season wherein a certain finished gentleman (compassionately 
 called by Miss Twinkleton, in this stage of her existence, " Foolish Mr. 
 Porters") revealed a homage of the heart, whereof Miss Twinkleton, in 
 her scholastic state of existence, is as ignorant as a granite pillsf . 
 
REPRmTED HEOES. 
 
 Under this name, thirty-one sketches, all of them origiaally published 
 in " Household Words," between the years 1850 and 1856, were first 
 brought together in 1858, and published in the twelfth volume of the 
 " Library Edition " of Dickens's works, issued jointly by Messrs. Chap- 
 maa and Hall, and Messrs. Bradbury and Evans. In the pages here 
 devoted to these " Reprinted Pieces," several are wholly left out of 
 view ; the characters in them being nameless, and therefore not falling 
 within the scope of this Dictionary, 
 
 CHAEACTEHS INTRODUCED. 
 
 THE LONG VOrAGS. 
 
 (Containing recollections of various incidents of travel.) 
 
 BLIGH, CAPTAIN. Master of the Bounty, turned adrift oa 
 
 the wide ocean in an ojjen boat. 
 BRIMER, MR. Fifth mate of the HalsewelL 
 CHRISTIAN, FLETCHER. One of the officers of the 
 
 Bounty ; a mutineer. 
 CHRISTIAN, THURSDAY OCTOBER. A natire of 
 
 Pitcairn's Island; son of Fletcher Christian by a vsavage 
 
 mother. 
 MA CM ANUS, MR. A midshipman on board of the Halsewail, 
 
 an East-indiaman wrecked on the island of Piirbeck. 
 M ANSEL, MISS. A. passenger on the same ship. 
 MERITON, MR. HENRY. Second mate of the HaUewdl 
 FIERCE, CAPTAIN. M&stei oithe Halsewdl 
 PIERCE, MISS MARY. His daughter. 
 
EEPEINTED PIECES. 
 
 ROGERS, MR. Third mate of the Halsewell. 
 SCIIUTZy MR. A passenger in the same ship. 
 
 THE BEGGING-LETTER WEITEE. 
 
 SOUTHCOTE, MR. One of the many aliases of a professional 
 swindler, who writes letters soliciting money for the relief of 
 his necessities. 
 
 SOUTHCOTE, MRS. His %vifQ. 
 
 OUR ENGLISH WATERING-PLACE. 
 
 MILLS, MISS JULIA. A sentimental novel-reader, who 
 figures also in '^ David Copparlield " as the bosom friend of 
 Dora Spenlow. 
 
 She has left marginal notes on the pages, as, " Is not this truly 
 touching ?— J. M." " How thrilling !— J. M." " Entranced here by 
 the magician's potent spell. — J. M.'* She has also Italicised her 
 favourite traits in the description of the hero, as " His hair, which was 
 darlc and wavy, clustered in rich profusion around a marble trow, whose 
 lofty paleness bespoke the intellect within." It reminds her of another 
 hero. She adds, *' How like B. L. ! Can this be mere coincidence ? 
 —J. M." 
 
 PEEPY, THE HONOURABLE MISS. The beauty of her 
 day, but long decease«l 
 
 OUB FRENCH WATERING-PLACE. 
 
 LOYAL DEVASSEUR, M. Citizen, town-councillor, and 
 landlord. He is an old soldier, and a staunch admirer of the 
 great IS'apoleon. 
 
 His respect for the memory of the illustrious general is enthusiastic. 
 Medallions of him, portraits of him, busts of him, pictures of him, 
 are thickly sprinkled all over the property. During the first month 
 of our occupation, it was our affliction to be constantly knocking down 
 Napoleon : if we touched a shelf in a. dark corner, he toppled over 
 with a crash; and every door we opened shook him to the soul. Yet 
 M. Loyal is not a man of mere castles in the air, or, as he would say, in 
 Spain. He has a specially practical, contriving, clever, skilful eye 
 and hand. His houses are delightful. He unites French elegance and 
 English comfort in a happy manner quite hia own. He has an extra- 
 ordinary genius for making tasteful little bedrooms in angles of his 
 roofs, which an Englishman would as soon think of tijming to any 
 account as he would think of cultivating the desert. We have our- 
 selves reposed deliciously in an elegant chamber of M. Loyal's con- 
 stx-B.ction, with our head as nearly in the kitchen chimney-pot as we 
 
560- THE DICKENS DICTIONAET. 
 
 can ooncefr© it likely for the head of any gentleman, not by profession 
 a sweep, to be. ... M. Loyal's natui'e is the nature of a gentleman. 
 He cultivates his ground with his own hands (assisted by one little 
 labourer, who falls into a fit now and then) ; and he digs and delves 
 from morn to eve in prodigious perspirations — " works always," as he 
 says — but cover him with dust, mud, weeds, water, any stains you will, 
 you never can cover the gentleman in M. Loyal. A portly, upright, 
 broad-shouldered, brown-faced man, whose soldierly bearing gives him 
 the appearance of being taller than he is. Look into the bright eye of 
 M. Loyal, standing before you in his working blouse and cap, not par- 
 ticularly well shaved, and, it may be, very earthy, and you shall 
 discern in M. Loyal a gentleman whose true politeness is ingrain, and 
 confirmation of whose word by his bond you would blush to think of. 
 
 FEROQE, M. A gentleman " in the bathing line ; " immensely 
 stout, of a beaming aspect, and of very mild and polished 
 manners. 
 
 BIRTHS. MRS. MEEK, OF A SON. 
 
 BIGBYy MRS. Mother of Mrs. Meek, and a most remarkable 
 woman. Her son-in-law says of her — 
 
 In my opinion, she would storm a town, single-handed, with a 
 hearth-broom, and carry it. I have never known her to yield any 
 point whatever to mortal man. She is calculated to terrify the 
 stoutest heart. 
 
 MEEK, AUGUSTUS GEORGE, Infant son of Mr. George 
 
 Meek. 
 
 MEEK, MR. GEORGE. The narrator of the story ; a qniet 
 man, of small stature, a weak voice, and a tremulous constitu- 
 tion. He is made utterly miserable by the manner in which 
 his infant child is smothered, and rasped, and dosed, and 
 bandaged by the nurse, aided and abetted by his wife's mother; 
 and he is betrayed into expressing himself warmly on the 
 subject, notwithstanding his wish to avoid giving rise to words 
 in the family. 
 
 MEEK, MRS. His wife. 
 
 PRODGIT, MRS. ]\Irs. Meek's nurse; considered by Mr. 
 Meek to be " from first to last a convention and a supersti- 
 tion," whom the medical faculty ought to take in hand and 
 improve. 
 
 One afternoon ... I came home earlier than usual from the 
 office, and, proceeding into the dining-room, found an obstruction 
 behind the door, which prevented it from opening freely. It was an 
 obstruction of a soft nature. On looking in, I found it to be a female, 
 who stood in the comer, behind the door, consuming sherry-wine. 
 From the nutty smell of that beverage pervading the apartment, I 
 have no doubt she was consuming ?i second glassful. She were a black 
 
REPRINTED PIECES. 661 
 
 bonnet of large dimensions, and was copious in figure. Tlie expres- 
 sion of her countenance was severe and discontented. The words to» 
 which she gave utterance on seeing me were these, " Oh I git along' 
 with you, sir, if you please. Me and Mrs. Bigby don't want no male 
 parties here." 
 
 LYING AWAKE. 
 
 WINKING, CHARLEY. A sturdy vagrant in one of Rm 
 Majesty's jails, who, like Her Majesty, like the author, like 
 everybody else, has had many astonishing experiences in his 
 dreams. 
 
 THE POOR RELATION'S STORY. 
 
 (One of the tales in " A Round of Stories by the Christmaa Fire," the 
 Christmas number of ** Household Words " for 1852.) 
 
 CHILL, UNCLE. An avaricious, crabbed old man ; uncle to 
 Michael. 
 
 CHRISTIANA. An old sweetheart of Michael's, to whom he 
 imagines that he is married. 
 
 FRANK, LITTLE. A cousin of Michael's ; a diffident boy, 
 for whom he has a particular affection. 
 
 MICHAEL. The " poor relation," and the nan-ator of the 
 story, which hinges upon a fancy of what might have been. 
 Premising that he is not what he is supposed to be, he pro- 
 ceeds, in the first place, to state what he is supposed to be, 
 and then goes on to tell what his life and habits and belong- 
 ings really are. He is thought to be very poor ; in fact, he is 
 rich. He is thought to be friendless ; but he has the best of 
 friends. He is thought to have been refused by a lady whom 
 he loved : it is a mistake ; he married the lady, and has a 
 happy family around him. He is thought to live in a lodging 
 in the Clapham Eoad : in reality, he lives in a castle — in the 
 air. 
 
 SNAP, BETSEY. Uncle Chill's only domestic ; a withered, 
 hard-favoured, yellow old woman. 
 
 SPATTER, JOHN. Michael's clerk, and afterwards his 
 partner, 
 
 THE CHILD'S STORY. 
 
 (One of the ta^aa in " A Round of Stories by the CKristmas Fire," the 
 Christmas number of "Household Words" for 1852.) 
 
 FANNY. One of the prettiest girls that ever was seen, in love 
 with " Somebody." 
 
662 THE DICKENS DIOTIONAEY. 
 
 THE SOHOOL.BOY'S STORY. 
 
 CHEESEMANy OLD. A poor boy at a boarding-school, who^ 
 is a general favourite with his fellows, until lie is made second 
 Latin master ; when they all agree in regarding him as a spy 
 and a deserter, who has sold himself for gold (two pounds ten 
 a quarter, and his washing). After this his life becomes very 
 miserable ; for the master and his wife look down upon him, 
 and snub him ; while the boys persecute him in many ways, 
 and even form a society for the express purpose of making a 
 set against him. One morning he is missed from his place, 
 and it is thought at first by the pupils that, unable to stand 
 it any longer, he has got up early and drowned himself. It 
 turns out, however, that he has come into a large fortune, a 
 fact which puts a very different face upon matters, making 
 the master obsequious, and the scholars afraid for the con- 
 sequences of what they have done. But **01d Cheeseman" 
 is not in the least puffed up or changed by his sudden pros- 
 perity, addressing them as "his dear companions and old 
 friends," and gives them a ma^niiicent spread in the dining- 
 room. 
 
 PITT, JANE. A soic of wardrobe- woman to the boys. 
 Though a good friend to the boys, she is also a good friend to 
 " Old Cheeseman ; " and the more they go against him the 
 more she stands by him. It is therefore only a natural thing 
 and one to be expected, that when " Old Cheeseman " succeeds 
 to his grandfather's large property, he should shpire it with 
 her by making her his wife. 
 
 TARTAR, BOB. The " first boy " in the school, and president 
 of the " Society " formed for the purpose of annoying " Old 
 Cheeseman," 
 
 KOBODY'S STOaY. 
 
 BIGWIG FAMILY, THE. A large household, composed 
 of stately and noisy people, professed humanitarians, wlio do 
 nothing but blow trumpets, and hold convocations, and make 
 speeches, and write pamphlets, and quarrel among them- 
 selves. 
 
 NOBODY, otherwise "Legion." The narrator of the story, 
 which, under the guise of an allegory, contains an appeal to 
 the governing classes in behalf of the poor, and an argument 
 for their proper instruction and rational amusement as a meane 
 of preventing di'unkenness, debauchery, and crime. 
 
EEPEINTBD PIECES. 563 
 
 THE GHOST OF AET. 
 
 (A satire on the conventionalities of Art.) 
 
 PAMKIA^S, MES. A laundress who invariably disregards all 
 instructions. 
 
 OUT OF TOWN. 
 
 (A description of a little town named Payilionstone, which has beoom® 
 a fayourite seaside resort.) 
 
 Within a quarter of a century, it was a little fishing town ; and they 
 do saj, that the time was, when it was a little smuggling town. . . . 
 Now, gas and electricity run to the very water's edge, and the South- 
 Eastern Railway Company screech at ns in the dead of night. . . , 
 We are a little mortary and limy at present ; but we are getting on 
 capitally. Indeed, we were getting on so fast, at one time, that we 
 rather overdid it, and built a street of shops, the business of which 
 may be expected to arrive in about ten years. We are sensibly laid 
 out, in general, and, with a little care and pains (by no means wanting, 
 so far), shall become a very pretty place. We ought to be; for our 
 situation is delightful ; our air is delicious ; and our breezy hills and 
 downs, carpeted with wild thyme, and decorated'with millions of wild 
 flowers, are, on the faith of a pedestrian, perfect. 
 
 OUT OF THE SEASOM, 
 
 BLOGKER, MR. A grocer. 
 
 WED GINGTON, MR, B. A singer and clog-dancer, who gives 
 
 an exhibition at a watering-place, after the " season " is over. 
 WEDGINGTON, MRS. B. His wife ; a singer and pianist. 
 WEDGINGTON, MASTER B. Her infant son, aged ten 
 
 months ; nursed by a shivering young person in the boxes, 
 
 while his mother is on the stage. 
 
 A POOR MAN'S TALE 01* A PATENT. 
 
 BUTCHER, WILLIAM. A Chartist j friend to Joka. 
 
 JOHN, The narrator of the story ; a poor man, a smith by 
 trade, who undertakes to obtain a patent on an inven- 
 tion which he has been twenty years in perfecting. He 
 succeeds in doing so only after going through thirty-five 
 distinct stages of obeying forms and paying fees, at a cost of 
 ninety-six pounds, seven, and eightpence, though nobody 
 opposes his application. 
 
 JOY, THOMAS. A carpenter with whom.. John lodges m 
 London. 
 
 2 o 2 
 
564 THE DICKENS BlCTIOJirAIlY. 
 
 A FLIGHT. 
 
 COMPACT ENCHANTRESS, THE. A French actress. 
 
 DIEGO, DON. Inventor of the last new flying-machine. 
 
 Z AM I EL. A tall, grave, melancholy Frenchman, with whom 
 
 (and with other passengers) the writer takes a flying trip from 
 
 London to Paris. 
 
 THE DETECTITE POLICE. 
 
 CLARKSON. Counsel for Shepherdson and other thieves, 
 traced out and arrested by Sergeant Mith. 
 
 DORNTON, SERGEANT. A detective police-officer; a man 
 about fifty years of age, with a ruddy face and a high sunburnt 
 forehead. He is famous for steadily pursuing the inductive 
 process, working on from clue to clue until he bags his man. 
 
 DUNDEY, DOCTOR. A man who robs a bank in Ireland, 
 and escapes to America, whither he is followed and captured 
 by Sergeant Dornton. 
 
 FEND ALL, SERGEANT. A detective police-officer; a 
 light-haired, well-spoken, polite person, and a prodigious hand 
 at pursuing private inquiries of a delicate nature. 
 
 FIKET. A man accused of forgery; taken prisoner by 
 Inspector Field. 
 
 MESHECK, AARON. A Jew, who gets acceptances from 
 young men of good connections (in the army chiefly) on pre- 
 tence of discount, and decamps with the same. He is finally 
 found by Sergeant Dornton in the Tombs prison in Xew 
 York City. 
 
 MITH, SERGEANT. A detective police-officer; a smooth- 
 faced man with a fresh, bright complexion, and a strange air 
 of simplicity. He is a dab at housebreakers. 
 
 PIGEON, THOMAS. See Thompson, Tally-ho. 
 
 SHEPHERDSON, MR. A thief, who informs Detective Mith 
 (who, under the disguise of a young butcher from the country, 
 has gained his confidence) that he is going " to hang out for 
 a while " at The Setting Moon, in the Commercial Iload, 
 where he is afterwards found, and is taken into custody. 
 
 STALKER, MR. INSPECTOR. A detective police-officer; 
 a shrewd, hard-headed Scotchman ; in appearance not at all 
 unlike a very acute, thoroughly-trained schoolmaster from the 
 Normal Establishment at Glasgow. 
 
REPRINTED PIECES. 565 
 
 STMAW, SERGEANT. A detective; a little wiry man of 
 meek demeanour and strong sense, who would knock at a 
 door, and ask a series of questions in any mild character you 
 choose to prescribe to him, from a charity-boy upward ; and 
 seem as innocent as an infant. 
 
 THOMPSON, TALLY-HO, alias Thomas Pigeon. A famous 
 horse-stealer, couper, and magsman, tracked to a lonely inn 
 in JS'orthamptonshii-e by Sergeant Witch em, who, single- 
 handed, arrests him, and takes him to London; though he 
 has two big and ugly-looking companions with him at the time. 
 
 WIELD, MR. INSPECTOR, A detective pohce-officer; a 
 middle-aged man, of a portly presence, with a large, moist, 
 knowing eye, a husky voice, and a habit of emphasising his 
 conversation by the aid of a corpulent fore-finger which is 
 constantly in juxtaposition with his eyes and nose. 
 
 WITGHEM, A detective ; a short, thick-set man, marked 
 with the small-pox, and having something of a reserved and 
 thoughtful air, as if he were engaged in deep arithmetical 
 calculations. He is renowned for his acquaintance with the 
 swell mob. 
 
 THREE "DETECTIVE" ANECDOTES. 
 
 GRIMWOOD, ELIZA, called "The Countess." A hand- 
 some young woman, found lying dead, with her throat cut, 
 on the floor of her bedroom, in the "Waterloo Eoad 
 
 PHIBBS, MR. A haberdasher. 
 
 TA TT, MR. A gentleman formerly in the public line ; quite 
 an amateur detective in his way. He loses a diamond pin 
 in a scrimmage, which is recovered by his friend Sergeant 
 Witchem, who sees the man who took it, and while they are 
 all down on the floor together, knocking about, touches him 
 on the back of his hand, as liis " pal " would j and he thinks 
 it is his pal, and gives it to him. 
 
 TRINKLE, MR. A young man suspected of the murder of 
 Eliza Grimwood, but proved innocent. 
 
 ON DUTY WITH INSPBCTOS FIELD. 
 
 BARK, BULLY. A lodging-house keeper, and a receiver of 
 stolen goods, who lives in the innermost recesses of the worst 
 part of London. 
 
 Bark is a red villain and a wrathful, with a sanguine throat, that 
 lopks very much ^s if it were espressly made for hanging, as he 
 
56G THE DICKENS DICTIONARy. 
 
 Btretches it out, in pale defiance, over the half-door of his hutch. 
 Bark's parts of speech are of an awful sort, — principally adjectives. 
 I won't, says Bark, have no adjective police and adjective strangers iu 
 my adjective premises. I won't, by adjective and substantive ! Give 
 me my trousei's, and I'll send the whole adjective police to adjective 
 and substantive ! Give me, says Bark, my adjective trousers! I'll 
 put an adjective knife in the whole bileing of 'em. I'll punch their 
 adjective heads. I'll rip up their adjective substantives. Give me my 
 adjective trousers, says Bark, and I'll spile the bileing of 'em. 
 
 BLACK, A constaWe, who, with his fellow-constable Green, 
 
 accompanies Inspector Field to Wentworth Street to ^inveil 
 
 its midnight mysteries. 
 BLACKEY. An impostor, who has stood soKciting charity 
 
 near London Bridge for five-and-twenty years, with a painted 
 
 skin, to represent disease. 
 CLICK, MR. A vagabond. 
 FIELD, INSPECTOR. A detective officer, who accompanies 
 
 the writer, by night, to the lowest parts of London, visiting 
 
 Kats' Castle (a dark, close cellar, a lodging-house for thieves, 
 
 near St. Giles's Chm-ch), the old Farm House near the Old 
 
 Mint, the sailors' dance-houses in the region of Eatcliffe 
 
 Highway, the low haunts of Wentworth Street, and revealing 
 
 the worst mysteries of the great city. 
 GREEN. A constable, who, mth another constable, named 
 
 Elack, acts as an escort to Inspector Field, on his visiting 
 
 Wentworth Street. 
 MILES, BOB. A vagabond and jail-bird. 
 PARKER. A constable who attends Inspector Field on the 
 
 occasion of his visit to the Old Mint. 
 ROGERS. A constable who goes with Inspector Field to 
 
 Eats' Castle. 
 WARWICK, THE EARL OF. A thief, so called. 
 WHITE. A constable who shows Inspector Field and his 
 
 visitor the lodging-houses in Eotten Gray's Inn Lane. 
 WILLIAMS. A constable who pilots Inspector Field and his 
 
 visitor to the sailors' dance-houses in the neighbourhood of 
 
 Eatcliffe Highway. 
 
 DOWN WITH THE TIDE. 
 
 PEA, or PEA CO A T. A river policeman, with whom the writer 
 
 goes down the Thames, at night, on a tour of inspection. 
 WATERLOO: A toll-taker, so called, at the bridge of that 
 iiamot. 
 
KBPEINTED PIECES. 507 
 
 FEINCE BULL: A FAIEY TALE. 
 
 BEAR, PRINCE. An enemy of Prince Bull ; intended aa a 
 personilication of Kussia. 
 
 BULL, PRINCE. A powerful prince, married to a lovely 
 princess named Fair Freedom, wlio brought him a large 
 fortune, and has borne him an immense number of children. 
 
 He had gone tiirough a great deal of fighting, in his time, about 
 all sorts of things, including nothing ; bat had gradually settled 
 down to be a steady, peaceable, good-natured, cox'puleat, rather 
 sleepy prince. 
 
 Under this name the English Government is satirised, 
 with especial reference to its bungling, inefficient prosecution 
 of the Crimean war, and its obstinate adherence, under all 
 circumstances, to mere official routine and formality. 
 
 TAPE. A malicious old beldame ; godmother to Prince Bull. 
 
 She was a fairy, this Tape, and was a bright red all over. She 
 was disgustingly prim and formal, and could never bend herself a 
 hair's-breadth, this way or that way, out of her naturally crooked 
 shape. But she was very potent in her wicked art. She could stop 
 the fastest thing in the world, change the strongest thing into .the 
 weakest, and the most useful into the most useless. To do this she 
 has only to put her cold hand upon it, and repeat her own name. Tape. 
 Then it withered away. 
 
 OTJB, HOXOUEABLE FEIEND. 
 
 TIPKISSON. A saddler ; a plain, hard-working man, and an 
 opponent of " Our Honourable Friend," who is returned to 
 Parliament as the member for Verbosity — the best repre- 
 sented place in England. 
 
 OUR SCHOOL. 
 
 BLINKINS, MR. Latin master ; a colonrless, doubled-up, 
 near-sighted man, with a crutch, who is always cold, and 
 always putting onions into his ears for deafness, and always 
 disclosing ends of flannel under all his garments, and almost 
 always applying a ball of pocket-handkerchief to some part of 
 his face with a screwing action round and round. 
 
 He was a very good scholar, and took great pains where he saw 
 intelligence and a desire to learn ; otherwise, perhaps not. Our 
 laemory preeents hiia (udIqbs teased my> a passion) with aa little 
 
668 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 energy as colour ; as having been worried and tormented into 
 monotonous feebleness ; as having had the best part of his life gi Dund 
 out of him in a mill of boys. 
 
 DUMBLEDON, MASTER. A parlour-boarder; an idiotic, 
 goggle-eyed boy, with a big bead, and half-crowns without 
 end ; rumoured to have come by sea from somp mysterious 
 part of the earth, where his parents rolled tu gold ; and said 
 to feed in the parlour on steaks and gravy, likewise to driok 
 currant wine. 
 
 FROST, MISS. A school-girl. 
 
 MA WLS, MASTER. A school-boy, with manners susceptible 
 of much improvement. 
 
 MAXBY, MASTER. A day-pupil, favoured by the usher, 
 who is sweet upon one of his sisters. 
 
 PHIL. A serving-man, with a sovereign contempt for learning. 
 
 OUB YESTEY. 
 (A satire on the proceedings of Parliament.) 
 
 BANGER, CAPTAIN (of Wilderness Walk). A vestryman, 
 
 and an opponent of Mr. Tiddypot, with whom he has a 
 
 Pickwickian altercation. 
 CHIB, MR. (of Tucket's Terrace). A hale old gentleman of 
 
 eighty-two, who is the father of the vestry, 
 DOGGINSON, MR. A vestryman who is regarded as "a 
 
 regular John Bulk" 
 MAGG, MR. (of Little Winkling Street). One of the "first 
 
 orators " of " Our Yestry." 
 
 TIDDYPOT, MR. (of Gumtion House). A vestryman. See 
 Banger, Captain. 
 
 WIGSBY, MR. (of Chumbledon Square). A vestryman, who 
 is a debater of great eminence. 
 
SOME UNCOLLECTED PIECES. 
 
 THE STEANGE GENTLEMAN. 
 
 This is a comic burletta, in two acts. It was first performed at tlis 
 St. James's Theatre on Thursday, the 29th of September, 1836 ; was well 
 received; and ran until December, when it was withdrawn for "The 
 Village Coquettes," a comic opera by the same author. " The Strange 
 Gentleman " was acted by J. P. Harley. In 1837, the piece was published, 
 under the pseudonym of " Boz," by Chapman and Hall, in a small octavo 
 pamphlet of forty-six pages, illustrated with an etched frontispiece by 
 " Phiz " (Hablot Knight Browne). 
 
 The play is a dramatised version of the story of " The Great Wingle- 
 bury Duel," in *' The Sketches by Boz," with some few changes in the 
 plot, and some alterations of the names of places and persons. Thus 
 " Great Winglebury" becomes a small anonymous town on the road to 
 Gretna ; '* The Winglebury Arms " is turned into *' The St. James's 
 Arms; " " Stiffun's Acre" (the scene of the proposed duel) is renamed 
 "Corpse Common;" instead of Mr. Horace Hunter and Mrs. William, 
 son, we have Mr. Horatio Tinkles and Mrs. Noakes; Miss Julia Manners 
 turns her surname into Dobbs ; and Mr. Joseph Overton, his christian- 
 name into Owen; while Mr. Alexander Trott figures as the Strange 
 Gentleman, and is at last discovered to be Mr. Walker Trott. See 
 pp. 14, 15. 
 
 CHARACTERS INTRODUCED. 
 
 BROWN, MISS EMILY. A young lady beloved by both 
 Mr. Trott (the Strange Gentleman) and Mr. Tinkles, but 
 married to the latter. 
 
 DOBBS, MISS JULIA. A wealthy woman, formerly engaged 
 to be married to a Mr. Woolley, who died, leaving her his 
 property, free from all incumbrances; the incumbrance of 
 himself as a husband not being among the least. Being 
 
570 THB DICKENS DIOTIONASY. 
 
 desperately in want of a young husTiand, she falls in love 
 with, a certain wild and not very strong-minded nohleman, 
 Lord Peter, who engages to run away with her to Gretna and 
 he married. He fails to keep the appointment, however; 
 and she gives her hand to IVIr. Trott (the Strange Gentleman) 
 instead. 
 
 JOHN. A waiter at The St. James's Arms. 
 
 JOHNSON, JOHN. A hare-brained madcap, enamoured of 
 Miss Mary Wilson, with whom he starts for Gretna Green, 
 but is temporarily detained at The St. James's Arms by hia 
 thoughtless liberality to the postboys, which leaves him abso- 
 lutely penniless. A timely loan, however, enables him to 
 continue his journey. 
 
 NO AXES, MRS. Landlady of The St. James's Arms. 
 
 OVERTON, MR. OWEN. An attorney, who is mayor of the 
 small to^vn in which is The St. James's Arms. 
 
 PETER, LORD. A sprig of nobility, very wild, but not very 
 sagacious or strong-minded, who is in love with ]Miss Julia 
 Dobbs — or her handsome fortune. 
 
 SPARKS, TOM. " Boots" at The St. James's Arms. 
 
 STRANGE GENTLEMAN, THE. See Trott, Mr. Walker. 
 
 TOMKINS, CHARLES. A young gentleman m love with 
 Miss Fanny Wilson. He has arranged to run away with 
 her to Gretna Green, and meets her for this purpose at The 
 St. James's Arms. As he has agreed not to disclose his name, 
 she imagines that the Strange Gentleman staying at that house, 
 and rumoured to be insane, but whom she has not seen, is 
 her lover. When she meets Mr. Tomkins, therefore, she acts 
 upon the presumption that he is actually mad ; and her 
 conduct seems to him so strange, that he suspects her of 
 playing him false, and works himself up into a tempest of 
 jealousy, which only serves to confirm her behef in his lunacy. 
 They are both, however, disabused at last, and set off, without 
 delay, for their original destination. i 
 
 TROTT, MR. WALKER, called "The Strange Gentleman." 
 A young man desirous of marrying Miss Emily Brown, but 
 deterred by the hostile attitude of Mr. Horatio Tinkles, who 
 challenges him to mortal combat (on Corpse Common) for 
 daring to think of such a thing. He accepts the challenge in 
 a bloodthirsty note, but immediately sends another, and an 
 anonymous one, to the mayor, urging that a Strange Gentleman 
 at The St. James's Arms be forthwith arrested, as he is bent 
 upoa committing a rash and sanguinary act By a ludicrous 
 
SOME UNCOLLECTED PIECES. 571 
 
 blunder, he is mistaken for Lord Peter, wLo is expected at 
 the same house for the purpose of meeting Miss Juha Dohbs, 
 his intended ; and who is to be seized and carried oli' as an 
 insane person, in order that his relatives may not discover 
 him. As he is being forced into the carriage, however, the 
 lady discovers that he is unknown to her ; and she refuses to 
 accompany him. At the same moment, a letter from his rival 
 is put into his hands, saying that the challenge was a ruse, 
 and that the A\Titer is far on his way to Gretna to be married 
 to Miss Emily Erown. Determined not to be thus balked of 
 a mfe, IVIr. Trott offers himself to Miss Dobbs on the spot, is 
 accepted, and starts instanter for the same place in a post- 
 chaise and four. 
 
 WILSON, FANNY, A young lady affianced to l^ir. Charles 
 Tomkins. 
 
 VilLSONj MARY. The inamorata of Mr. John Johnson. 
 
 THE VILLAGE COQUETTES. 
 
 This " comic opera in two acts," for which Mr. John Hiillah composed 
 the music, was written in 1835, and was brought out at the St. James's 
 Theatre, in London, on Tuesday evening, December 6, 1S36. The libretto 
 of the opera was published by Bentley, in 1836, in a pamphlet of seventy- 
 one pages, the dedication, to James Pritt Harley, being dated Decem- 
 ber 15. Tiie scene is laid in an English, village, and the time is supposed 
 to be the autumn of 1729. 
 
 BENSON, L UCY. A beautiful village gbl betrothed to George 
 Edmunds, a humble but worthy man. Squire Norton, a man 
 much her superior in social station, tries to lead her astray, 
 and for a time she coquettes with him ; but, before it is too 
 late, she sees her error, rejects the elopement he urges^ and 
 returns to her discarded lover. 
 
 BENSON, OLD, Her father ; a smaH farmer. 
 
 BENSON, YOUNG. His son; Lucy's brother. 
 
 EDMUNDS, GEORGE. A young man in love with Lucy 
 Benson. 
 
 FLAM, THE HONOURABLE SPARKINS. Friend to 
 Squire Norton ; fascinated by Eose, a village beauty, whom 
 he ineliectually endeavours to lead from the path of vii'tue ; 
 though she is at first fiattered by his attentions. 
 
 M ADD OX, JOHN. A young man attached to Eose. 
 
 NORTON, SQUIRE. A country gentleman who attempts, 
 but unsuccessfully, to seduce the fair Lucy Bensoii. 
 
672 THE DICKENS DICTIONAEY. 
 
 ROSE, Cousin to Lucy Benson; a lovely village maiden, 
 whom the Honourahle Sparkins Elam vainly seeks to ruin. 
 
 BTOKES, MR. MARTIN. A very small farmer with a very 
 lai'ge cixde of particular friends. 
 
 IS SHE HIS WIFBf 
 
 ORj Something Singular. 
 
 An inedited comic burletta, in one act, played at the St. James's Theatre, 
 on Monday, March 6, 1837. The part of the principal character, 
 Mr. Felix Tapkins, was taken by James Pritt Harley. 
 
 JOHN. Servant to Mi. Lovetown. 
 
 LIMBURY, MR. PETER. A friend of Mr. Felix Tapkins's'; 
 made fuiiously jealous by the attentions his wife receives from 
 Mr. Lovetown. 
 
 LIMBURYf MRS. A vain, conceited woman, who carries on 
 a flirtation with Mr. Lovetown, for the double purpose of 
 assisting him in curing his wife of her self-tormenting sus- 
 picions, and of teaching her husband the misery of the jealous 
 fears he has been accustomed to harbour. 
 
 LOVETOWN, MR. ALFRED. A newly-married man, per 
 petually yawning, and complaining of ennui. His wife, 
 chagrined by his seeming indifference, determines to remove 
 it, if she can, by wounding his vanity, and arousing his 
 jealousy. She accordingly carries on a flirtation with a gay 
 yoimg bachelor (Lir. Tapkins), which perfectly efi'ects her 
 object. Lovetown, stung to the quick, aff'ects a passion for 
 ]Mrs. Limbury, which he does not feel, and to which she never 
 really responds, with the double motive of obtaining oppor- 
 tunities of watching his wife, and of awaking any dormant 
 feelings of afi'ection for himself that may be slumbering in her 
 bosom. In the carrying on of these intrigues, many amusing 
 misunderstandings occur ; but in the end mutual explanations 
 remove all suspicions, and re-establish the confidence and 
 afi'ection which have temporarily been driven away. 
 
 LOVETOWN, MRS. His wife. 
 
 TAFKINS, MR. FELIX. A gay, good-hearted bachelor, who 
 has a sufficient share of vanity, and who plumes himself on 
 his gallantry. He resides at Kustic Lodge (near Eeading), a 
 remarkable cottage, with cardboard chimneys, Grecian bal- 
 oonies, Gothic parapets, and a thatcjied roof. Such ^ mo4el 
 
SOME TTNCOLLECTED PIECES. 673 
 
 of compactness is this house, that even the horse can't cough 
 without his owner's hearing him ; the stable being close to 
 the dining-room windows. See Lovetown, Mr. Alfred. 
 
 PUBLIC LIFE OF MR. TULRUMBLB (once Mayor of Mudfog). 
 (From " Bentley'a Miscellany," January, 1837.) 
 
 JENNINGS, MR A gentleman with a pale face and light 
 whiskers, whom Mr. Tulrumble imports from London to act 
 as his secretary. 
 
 SNIGGS, MR. Predecessor of Mr. Tulrumble in the mayor- 
 alty of Mudfog. 
 
 TULRUMBLE, MRS. Wife of Isli. Nicholas Tulrumble; a 
 vulgar, ignorant woman. 
 
 TULRUMBLE, MR. NICHOLAS. A coal-dealer, who begins 
 life in a wooden tenement of four feet square, with a capital 
 of two-and-nincpence, and a stock-in-trade of three bushels 
 and a half of coals. Being industrious and saving, he gra- 
 dually gets rich, marries, builds Mudfog Hall (on something 
 which he endeavours to delude himself into thinking a hill), 
 .retires from business altogether, grows vain and haughty, sets 
 up for a public character and a great gentleman, and finally 
 becomes Mayor of Mudfog. 
 
 Mudfog is a pleasant town . . . situated in a charming hollow by 
 the side of a river, from which [it] derives an agreeable scent of 
 pitch, tar, coals, and rope-yarn, a roving population in oil-skin hats, a 
 pretty steady influx of drunken bai-gemen, and a great many other 
 maritime advantages. There is a good deal of water about Mudfog ; 
 and yet it is not exactly the sort of town for a watering-place either. 
 ... In winter, it comes oozing down the streets, and tumbling 
 over the fields ; nay, rushes into the very cellars and kitchens of the 
 houses with a lavish prodigality that might well be dispensed with. 
 But in the hot summer weather it xuill dry up and turn green ; and 
 although green is a very good colour in its way, especially in grass, 
 still it certainly is not becoming to water ; and it cannot be denied 
 that the beauty of Mudfog is rather impaired even by this trifling 
 circumstance. 
 
 Having, when in London, been present at the Lord 
 Mayor's show, ]\Ir. Tulrumble determines to have one of his 
 own in Mudfog, which shall equal if not surpass it. He 
 make arrangements, therefore, for a grand procession and 
 dinner; but the day of his inauguration is dim and dismal, 
 the crowd is unreasonable and derisive, the show is a failure, 
 the dinner is fiat, and IS'icholas is deeply disappointed. Get- 
 
574 !FHB DICKENS DICTIONABT. 
 
 ting statistical and pMlosopMcal, lie exerts MmseK to pievent 
 tlie granting of a new license to an old and popnlar inn, 
 called The Jolly Boatmen, and commences a general crusade 
 against beer-jngs and fiddles, forgetting tlie time when he was 
 glad to drink ont of the one and to dance to the other. He 
 soon finds, however, that the people have come to hate him, 
 and that his old friends shnn him ; he begins to grow tired 
 of his new dignity and' his lonely magnificence ; and at last 
 he dismisses his secretary, goes down to his old haunt. The 
 Lighterman's Arms, tells his quondam companions that he is 
 very sorry for having made a fool of himseK, and hopes they 
 will give him up his old chair in the chimney-corner again, 
 which they do with great joy. 
 
 TULRUMBLE, NICHOLAS, JUNIOR. Their son. "When 
 his father becomes rich, he takes to smoking cigars, and 
 calling the footman a "feUer." 
 
 TWIGGER, EDWARD, called "Bottle-nosed Ked." A 
 merry-tempered, pleasant-faced, good-for-nothing sort of vaga- 
 bond, with an invincible dislike to manual labour, and an 
 unconquerable attachment to strong beer and spirits. He is 
 engaged to take part in the procession in honour of the 
 election of Mr. Tulrumble as Mayor of Mudf og, and is to make 
 his appearance in a complete suit of ancient brass armour of 
 gigantic dimensions. Unfortunately, however, he gets drunk, 
 makes a most extraordinary exhibition of himself, as well as a 
 laughing-stock of the mayor,and has to be conducted home, 
 where his wife, unable to gtt the armour off, tumbles him 
 into bed, helmet, gauntlets, breastplate, and all 
 
 TWIGGER, MRS. His wife. 
 
 THE PANTOMIME OF LIFE. 
 
 (Published in '' Bentlej's Miscellany," March, 1837.) 
 
 DO' EM. A confederate of Captain Eitz-Whisker Eiercy, acting 
 as his livery-servant. 
 
 FIERCY, THE HONOURABLE CAPTAIN FITZ- 
 WHISKER. A swindler, who struts about with that 
 compound air of conscious superiority and general blood- 
 thirstiness, which is characteristic of most military men, and 
 which always excites the admiration and terror of mere 
 plebeians. He dupes all the tradesmen in his neighbourhood, 
 by giving them orders for all sorts of articles, which he after* 
 wards disposes of to other dealers by mean^ of his confederate, 
 Bo'em. 
 
BOMS UNCOLLECTED PISOBS. 575 
 
 THE LAMPLIGHTER'S STOEY. 
 
 Ms. JoEN Macrone, the publisher of the " Sketches by Boz," died in 
 1841, leaving his wife and children in straitened circumstances. For 
 their benefit, Mr. Dickens undertook to procure and supervise the pub- 
 lication of a series of voluntary literary contributions. These were 
 issued in three volumes, by Henry Colburn, under the following title : 
 " The Pic-Nic Papers. By various hands. Edited by Charles Dickens." 
 The work was illustrated by George Cruikshank and " Phiz." It served 
 the purpose for which it was intended, and brought Mrs. Macrone the 
 Bum of three hundred pounds. Mr. Dickens wrote the Preface, and 
 furnished the opening tale, called "The Lamplighter's Story," which 
 is a narrative version of a farce that he wrote in 1838 or 1839 for the 
 manager of the Covent Garden Theatre. 
 
 BARKER, MISS FANNY. Xiece to an old astrologer, who 
 takes Toin Grig to be pointed out by the stars as her destined 
 husband. He describes her as having "a graceful carriage, 
 an exquisite shape, a sweet voice, a countenance beaming with 
 animation and expression, and the eye of a startled fawn." 
 She has also, he says, five thousand pounds in cash ; and this 
 attraction, added to the others, inclines Tom to marry her ; 
 but, when he finds that her uncle has borrowed and spent the 
 whole sum in an unsuccessful search for the philosopher's- 
 stone, he alters his mind, and declares that the scheme is " no 
 go," at which the uncle is enraged, and the niece is delighted, 
 she being in love with another young man. 
 EMMA. Daughter of a crazy astrologer who has spent fifteen 
 years in conducting fruitless experiments, having for their 
 object the discovery of the philosopher's-stone. Her father 
 designs marrying her to his partner, "the gifted Mooney;" 
 but he utterly refuses to take her, alleging that his " con- 
 templation of womankind" has led him to resolve that he 
 " will not adventure on the troubled sea of matrimony." 
 GALILEO ISAAC NEWTON FLAMSTEAD. The chris- 
 tian-names of the son of the crazy astrologer who takes Tom 
 Grig to be "the favourite of the planets." He is a tall, 
 thin, dismal-faced young gentleman, in his twenty-first year ; 
 though his father, absorbed in chimerical projects, considers 
 him "a mere child," and hasn't provided him with a new 
 suit of clothes since he was fourteen. 
 GRIG, TOM. A lamplighter, who, on going his rounds one 
 day, is accosted by one of the strangest and most mysterious- 
 looking old gentlemen ever seen. This person proves to be a 
 very learned astrologer, who is on the point of discovering 
 the philosopher's-atone, which will turn everything into gold. 
 
«76 THE DICKENS DIOTIONAEY. 
 
 He imagines that he has found in Tom a noble stranger, whose 
 birth is shrouded in uncertainty, and who is destined by the 
 stars to be the husband of his young and lovely niece. He 
 therefore takes him into his house forthwith, and introduces 
 him to the lady. She is greatly disturbed, and suggests that 
 the stars must have made a mistake ; but is silenced by her 
 uncle. After thi%, Tom accompanies the old gentleman to 
 the observatory, "Wtiere Mr. Mooney — another scientific gentle- 
 man — casts his nativity, and horrifies him by predicting his 
 death at exactly thirty-five minutes, twenty-seven seconds, 
 and five-sixths of a second, past nine o'clock, a.m., on that 
 day two months. Tom makes up his mind, that, while alive, 
 he had better be rich than poor, and so assents to the pro- 
 posed marriage. The preliminaries are nearly concluded, 
 when suddenly the crucible containing the ingredients of the 
 miraculous stone explodes with a tremendous crash, and the 
 labours of fifteen years are destroyed in an instant. More- 
 over, a mistake is discovered in the old gentleman's com- 
 putation; and it turns out that Tom is to live to a green 
 old age — eighty-seven, at least. Upon this, not caring for a 
 portionless bride who doesn't love him, he utterly refuses to 
 marry the lovely niece, whereupon her uncle, in a rage, wets 
 his forefinger in some of the liquor from the crucible that 
 was spilt on the floor, and draws a small triangle upon the 
 forehead of the young lamplighter, who instantly finds him- 
 self in the watch-house, with the room swimming before his 
 eyes. 
 MOONET, MR., called "The Gifted." A learned philoso- 
 pher, with the dirtiest face we can possibly know of in this 
 imperfect state of existence. He is so very absent-minded, 
 that he always has to be brought to by means of an electric 
 Ehock from a strongly-charged battery. 
 
A CLASSED LIST OF OHAIUCTERS. ETC, 
 
 Note. — The following list embraces onlj a portion of the names con- 
 tained in Dickens's novels and shorter tales. Not a few names are 
 omitted, as being quite unclassifiable ; others, as belonging to persons, 
 places, or things altogether insignificant ; others again, because, if 
 brought together at ail, they could only be so under headings of very 
 little interest or importance. Incomplete — designedly incomplete — as 
 the list is, however, it is thought that the groupings it presents will be 
 found to be both curious and useful for reference. 
 
 The tales in which the names occur may easily be ascertained by 
 means of the General Index on page 587. 
 
 Actors. — Master Crummies; Master Percy Crummies ; Vincent Crummies; 
 
 Mr. Folair ; JemHutley; Alfred Jingle ; John; JemLarkins; Thomas 
 
 Lenville ; Mr. Loggins ; Nicholas Nickleby ; Mr. Pip j P. Salcy Family t; 
 
 Smike; Mr. Snevellicci ; Mr. Suir.tle Timberry ; Mr. Wopsle. 
 Actresses. — Miss Belvawney ; Miss Bravassa; The Compact Enchantress 5 
 
 Ninetta Crummies ; Miss Gazingi ; Mrs. Grudden ; Miss Ledrook j Mrs. 
 
 Lenville ; Henrietta Petowker ; Miss SneveUicoi. 
 Actuary. — Mr. Meltham. 
 Adventurers. — Mr. Jingle ; Alfred Lammle. 
 Aeronauts. — Mr. Green ; Mr. Green, junior. 
 Alderman. — Mr. Cute. 
 AmoMuensis. — Caddy Jellyby. 
 
 Americans. — Mr. Bevan ; Julius Washington Merryweather Bib ; Jeffer- 
 son Brick; Mrs, Jefferson Brick; Oscar Bnifum.; Cyrus Choke ; Han- 
 
 nibal Chollop; Miss Codger; Colonel Diver; Doctor Ginery Dunkle ; 
 
 General Fladdock ; Colonel Groper ; Mrs. Hominy ; Mr. Izzard ; Mr. 
 
 Jodd ; Captain Kedgick ; La Fayette Kettle ; Mr. Norris and family ; 
 
 Major Pawkins; Mrs. Pawkins; Professor Piper j Ehjah Pogram; 
 
 Zephaniah Scadder ; Putnam Smif ; Miss Toppit. 
 Apprentices. — Noah C lay pole ; Mark Gilbert; Hugh Graham; Simon 
 
 Tappertit; Oliver Twist ; Dick Wilkins. 
 Architects. — Martin Chuzzlewit ; Seth Pecksniff; Tom Pinch; Job.s 
 
 Westlock. 
 Articulator ofhones, S'c. — Mr. Venus. 
 Astrologer.— Mt. Mooney. 
 Auctioneer. — Thomas Sapsea. 
 
 2 ? 
 
578 THE DICKENS DICTIONARY. 
 
 Authors, ^c. — Theoddsius Butler; Miss Codger; David Copperfield ; Mr. 
 Curdle J Mrs. liominyj Mrs. Leo Iliiaterj Miss Toppit; Pi-ofessor 
 Muliit. 
 
 Babies. — Frederick Charles William Kitterbelli SalljTetterby; Alexander 
 
 MacStinger. 
 Bachelors. — George Chuzzlewit; XicodeniTis Damps; The Single Gentle. 
 
 man; John Jarndyce ; Michael; Newman Noggs ; Mr, Saunders; 
 
 Felix Tapkins ; Tackleton ; Mr. Topper j Watkins Tottle. 
 Bailiff. — Solomon Jacobs. 
 Ballad-seller, ^"c. — Mr. Wegg. 
 
 Bankers. — Josiah Bounderby ; Mr. Meagles; Mr, Merdle; Tell son and Co. 
 Barbers^ — Crofts ; Jinkinson ; Mr. Slithers ; Poll Sweedlepipe. 
 Barmaids. — Becky; Miss Martin. 
 
 Beadles. — Mr. B amble; Mr. Bung ; Mooneyj Simmons; Sownds; Sowster. 
 Begr/ing-letter writer. — Mr. Sonthcote. 
 Bird-fancier. — Poll Sweedlepipe. 
 
 Blind, persons. — Bertha Plummer; Mr. Sampson Dibble ; Stagg. 
 Bearding -house keepers. — Mrs. Pawkins ; Mrs. Tibbs ; Mrs. Todgers. 
 Boobies. — Bentley Druminle ; Edmund Sparkler. 
 Boots. — Bailey, junior ; Cobbs ; Tom Sparks ; Sam Weller. 
 Bore. — Mr. Barlow. 
 Brokers. — Mr. Brogley; Clarriker ; Fixem; Wilkins Flasher; Fascination 
 
 Fledgeby ; Mr. Gattleton ; Frank Simmery j Graudfaiher Smailweed ; 
 
 Tom Tix. 
 Burglars. — See Hous^breakees. 
 Butlers. — David j Giles ; Nicholas. 
 
 Carpenters. — Thomas Joy ; Samuel "Wilkine. 
 
 Carriers. — Mr. Baikis ; John Peerybingie. 
 
 Chambermaid. — Mrs. Pratchett. 
 
 Cha/ndler. — Tom Cobb. 
 
 Chapel. — Little Bethel. 
 
 Charity-boys. — Noah Claypole ; Robin Toodlo. 
 
 Charwomen. — Mrs. Bangham ; Mrs. Blockson. 
 
 Cheap Jacks. — Doctor Marigold ; Willam Marigold. 
 
 Chemists. — Thomas Groffin ; Mr. B.edlaw. 
 
 Circus performers, ^c. — E. W. B. Childers ; Emma Gordon ; Signer Jnpe ; 
 
 Master Kidderminster ; Josephine Sleary; Mr. Sleary; Miss Woolford. 
 Clergymen, ^"c. — Mr. Chadband ; Horace Crewlsr ; Septimus Crisparkle ; 
 
 AKred Feeder; Brother Gimblet ; Verity Hawkyard ; Melchisedech 
 
 Howler; Mr. Long Ears; Frank Milvey; George Silverman; Mr. 
 
 Siiverstone ; Mr. Stiggins ; Charles Timson. 
 Clerks, ^"c. — Mr. Adams; Clarence Barnacle; Mr. Bazzard; Bitzer; 
 
 Young Blight; Alexander Briggs ; James Carker; JohnCarker; Frank 
 
 Cheeryble; Mr. Chnckster ; Chuffey; Mr. Clark; Bo^ Cratchit; Mr. 
 
 Dobble ; Walter Gay; Tom Gradgrind ; William Gup py ; Uriah Heep; 
 
 Mr. Jones ; Mr. Jackson ; Mr. Jinks ; Tim Linkinwater ; Jarvis Lorry ; 
 
 Mr. Lowten ; Mr. Mallard ; Wilkins Micawber ; Augustus Minns ; Mr. 
 
 Morfin ; Nicholas Nickleby ; Newman Noggs ; Nathaniel Pipkin ; 
 
 Thomas Potter; Bartholomew Smailweed; Putnam Smif ; Mr. Smith; 
 
 Robert Smithersj Horatio Sparkins ; John Spatter; Dick Swiveller; 
 
 Mr. Tiffey ; Tom ; Alfred Tomkins ; Mr. Tupple ; John Wemmick ; Mr. 
 
 Wicks ; Reginald Wilfer ; Mr, Wisbottle. See also Parish Clsrk3. 
 QMents. — Mr. Watty; Michael Warden; Amelia; Mik©. 
 
A CLASSED LIST OF CHARACTEHS, ETC. 579 
 
 Ccaehmen, ^c. — William Barker ; George ; Joe ; Martin ; Sam ; William 
 Simmons ; Tipp ; Tom ; Tony VVeller ; William. 
 
 Coal-dealer. — Nicholas TulruTuble. 
 
 Collectors. — Mr. Bufiie ; Mr. Lillyvick; Mr. Panoks ; Mr. Ilugg. 
 
 Com/paniona. — Mrs. General ; Mary Graham ; Kate Nickleby ; Rosa 
 Dartle. 
 
 Constables, — Black j Darby j Green ; Daniel Grummer j Rogers ; White ; 
 Williams. 
 
 Convicts. — Alice Brown; Compeyson ; John Edmnnda ; Kags ; Abel Mag- 
 witch. 
 
 Corn-chandlers. — Ootavins Buddenj Wilkins Micawber; Uncle Pumble- 
 chook. 
 
 Corporations^ ^'c. — Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life In- 
 surance Company ; Circumlocution Office ; Eden Land Corporation ; 
 Human Interest Brothers ; Inestimable Life Assurance Company ; 
 United Grand Junction Lirriper and Jackman Great Norfolk Parlour 
 Line ; United Metropolitan Improved Hot Muffin and Crumpet Baking; 
 and Punctual Delivery Company. — See Societies. 
 
 OosttMner.— Solomon Lucas. 
 
 Cricketers, — Mr. Dumkins; Luffey; Mr. Podder; Mr. Staple; Mr. 
 Struggles, 
 
 Cripples. — Phoebe ; Tiny Tim j Fanny Cleaver ; Mr. Wegg. 
 
 Bam^cing.masters. — Mr. Baps; Signer Billsmethi ; Prince Turveydrop. 
 
 Deaf-mute. — Sophy Marigold. 
 
 Detectives. — Mr. Inspector Bucket ; Sergeant Domton ; Sergeant Fendall ; 
 Inspector Field ; Sergeant Mith ; Mr. Nadgett ; Rogers ; Inspector 
 Stalker; Sergeant Straw; Mr. Tatt; Inspector Wield ; Witchem. 
 
 Distiller. — Mr. Langdale. 
 
 Dogs. — Boxer; Bull's-eye; Diogenes; Jip ; Merrylegs ; Poodles. 
 
 Dressmakers. — Fanny Cleaver (dolls' dressmaker) ; Miss Knag; Madame 
 Mantalini ; Amelia Martin ; Kate Nickleby ; Miss Simmond. 
 
 Drivers. — S^e Coachmen, &c. 
 
 Drunkards. — Mrs. Blackpool; Mr. Dolls; John; Krook; Warden. 
 
 Drysalters. — Brother Gimblet ; Verity Hawkyard. 
 
 Dustman. — Nicodemus Boffin. 
 
 Dwarfs. — Quilp ; Miss Mowcher. 
 
 Editors, ^e. — Jefferson Brick ; Colonel Diver ; Mr. Pott ; Mr. Slurk. 
 Emigrants. — Susannah Cleverly; William Cleverly; Dorothy Dibble; 
 
 Sampson Dibble ; Jessie Jobson ; Wiltshire ; Anastasia Weedle. 
 Engine-driver. — Mr. Toodle. 
 Engineers. — Daniel Doyce ; Edwin Drood, 
 
 Fairies. — Grandmarina ; Tape. 
 
 Ftrmers. — Old Benson; John Browdie; Godfrey Nickleby; Martin 
 
 Stokes. 
 Fishermen. — Ham Peggotty ; Daniel Peggotty. 
 Footmen. — Mercury; Muzzle; John Smauker; Thomas Towlinsonj 
 
 Tuckle; Whiffers. 
 Forgers. — Mr. Fikey ; Mr. Merdle. 
 Frenchmen and Frenchwomen. — Bebelle ; Blandois (or Rigand) ; Madame 
 
 Bouclet; The Compact Enchantress; Charles Damay (or Evremonde) ; 
 
 Lucie Damay; Ernest Defarge; Thermae Defarge ; Monsienr the Fac«- 
 
 2 F 2 
 
m^ 'IRE DiCKJE]SB DICTIONAJRY. 
 
 maker J Thlophile Gabelle i Gaspard ; M&damoiBello Hortense ; Jacques 
 (One, Two, Three, Four, Five) ; Lagnier (or Rigaud) ; M. Loyal 
 Devasseur; Alexander Manette ; Lucie Manette; Monsieur Mutuel ; St. 
 Evremonde ; P. Salcy Family j Corporal Theoplule j The Vengeance j 
 Monsieur the Ventriloquist. 
 
 Gamblers. — Joe Jowl; Isaac List; Miia Betsey Trotwood's Hoslmnd^ 
 Little Nell's Grandfather. 
 
 QwmeJce&per. — Martin. 
 
 Oardeners. — Mr. Cheggs ; Hunt j Wilkins. 
 
 Gentlemen. — Mr. Tite Barnacle ; Sir Joseph Bowley ; Mr. Brownlow; SI? 
 John Chester; Sir Thomas Clubber ; lion. Mr. Crushton ; Sir Leicester 
 Dedlock; The Hon. Sparkins Flam ; Mr. Alexander Grazinglands j Mr. 
 Grimwig; Geoffrey Haredale ; Sir Mulberry Hawk; Master Humphrey 5 
 Sir William Joltered; Hon. Mr. Long Ears ; Nicholas Nickleby ; Squire 
 Norton ; Samuel Pickwick ; Mr. John Podsnap ; Sir Matthew Pupker ; 
 Jack Eedbum; Sir Barnet Skettles ; the Hon. Wilmot Snipe; Sir 
 Hookham Snivey; the Hon. Mr. Snobj the Hon. Bob Stables; Mr. 
 Melvin Twemlow ; Mr. Wardle. 
 
 Germans. — Baron and Baroness voa Koeldwethout j Strandenheim j Barosi 
 and Baroness von Swillenhausen. 
 
 Giants. — Gog; Magog; Pickleson. 
 
 Governesses. — Mrs. General ; Miss Lane ; Ruth Pinch* 
 
 Greengrocers. — Harris ; Tommy ; Eichard Upwitch. 
 
 Grocers. — Jacob Barton j Mr. Blocker; Joseph Tugg®, 
 
 Groom. — Thomas. 
 
 Guards. — George; Jc^, 
 
 Baherdas'hers. — Mr. Omer ; Mr. rhibb& 
 
 Hangman, — Ned Dennis. 
 
 Hop-grower. — Mr. Chestle. 
 
 Horse- jockey. — Captain Maroon. 
 
 Hostlers. — Hugh ; Mark Tapley. 
 
 Househreakers. — Toby Crackit ; Bill Sikes. 
 
 Housekeepers. — Mrs. Bedwin ; Miss Benton ; Molly ; Mrs. Pipchin j Mlga 
 
 Press ; Mrs. Rouncewell; Peg Sliderskew; Mrs. Sparsit; Esther 
 
 Summerson ; Mrs. Tickit ; Agnes Wickfield. 
 Hypocrites. — Charity Pecksnifi: ; Mercy PecksniS ; Seth PecksniS ; Jalias 
 
 Slinkton. 
 
 Impostor. — Blackey. 
 
 Invalids. — Bill Barley; Mrs. Clennam; Mrs. Crewler; Mr. Gobler; Mrs. 
 
 Gradgrind ; Mrs. Skimpole ; Mr. Tresham. 
 Inventors. — Mr. Crinkles ; Don Diego j Daniel Doyce j John j Professoir 
 
 Queerspeck; Mr. Tickle. 
 Irishman. — Fi'ederick O'Eleary. 
 Ironmaster. — Mr. Rouncewell. 
 Italians. — Giovanni Carlaveroj John Baptist Carallett©, 
 
 Jailer. — Mr. Akerman. 
 
 Jews. — Barney ; Fagin ; Aaron Mesheok ; Mr. Eiah. 
 
 Judge. — Mr. Justice Stareleigh. 
 
 Jugglers. — African Knife- Swallower; Sweet Williaiai 
 
 Jurymen. — Thomas Groffin ; Eichard Upwitch. 
 
A CLASSED LIST OF CnASACTEES, ETC. 581 
 
 Labourers. — Bay ton ; Will Fern ; Joe ; Wiltshire. 
 
 Ladies. — Princess Alicia ; Lady Bowley ; Lady Clubber; Lady Dedlock ; 
 Mrs. Gowan ; Baroness von Koeldwethout ; Mrs. Merdle ; Lady Fare- 
 way; Lady S cadgers ; Lady Skettles ; the lion. Mrs. Skewton j Lady 
 Snuphanuph ; Lady Tippina j Baroness vou Swillenhausen, 
 
 Lamplighter. — Tom Grig. 
 
 Landladies. — Mrs. Bardell ; Mrs. Billickin ; Madame Bonclet ; Mrs. Crad- 
 dock ; Mrs. Crupp ; Mrs. Lirriper ; Mrs. Lupin ; Mrs. MacStinger ; 
 Mrs. Noakes ; Miss Abbey Potterson; Mary Ann Raddle; Mrs. Tibbs; 
 Mrs. Todgers; Mrs. WKimplj Mrs. Williamson; Miss Wozenham. 
 
 Landlords. — Bark; The Black Lion; James George Bogsby ; Christopher 
 Casby ; James Groves ; W. Grubble ; Captain Kedgick ; Mr. J. Mel- 
 lovrs ; Mr. Licensed Victualler ; John Willet. 
 
 Laundresses. — Mrs. Dilber ; Mrs. Parkins ; Mrs. Stubbs j Mrs. Sweecoy. 
 
 Law stationers. — Mrs. Harris j Mr. Snagsiby. 
 
 Law student. — Percy Noakea. 
 
 Law writers. — Captain Hawdon ; Tony Jobling. 
 
 Lawyers. — Sally Brass ; Sampson Brass ; Samnel Briggs ; Serjeant 
 Buzfnz ; Sydney Carton ; Clarkson ; Thomas Craggs ; ALr. Dodson ; 
 Mr. Fips; Mr. Fogg; Hiram Grewgious ; Uriah Heep ; Mr. Jaggers; 
 Mr. Jorkins ; Conversation Kenge ; Mortimer Lightwood ; Percy 
 Noakes; Joseph Overton; Owen Overton; Solomon Pell; Mr. Porker; 
 Mr. Phunky ; Mr. Rugg ; Mr. Skimpin ; Jonathan Snitchey ; Ser- 
 jeant Snubbin ; Francis Spenlow ; Henry Spiker ; l\Ir. Stryver ; Mr. 
 Tangle ; Thomas Traddlea ; Mr. Tulkinghorn ; Mr. Vholes ; Mr. Wiok- 
 field ; Eugene Wraybnrn. 
 
 Literary productions. — Considerations on the Policy of removing the 
 Duty on Beeswax; Last Momenta of the Learned Pig; Ode to an 
 Expiring Frog ; Speculations on the Sources of the Hampstead Ponds, 
 with some observations on the Theory of Tittlebats ; the Thorn of 
 Anxiety. 
 
 Locksmith. — Gabriel Varden. 
 
 Lodging-house keepers, — Bully Bark; Mrs. Billickin; Mr. Bolph; Mrs, 
 Lirriper ; Miss Wozenham. 
 
 Lords. — See NoblemExN'. 
 
 Lunatics. — Mr. Dick (Kichard Babley); The Gentleman in Small-clothes; 
 Miss Flite. 
 
 Magistrates. — Alderman Cute ; Mt. Fang ; Mr. Nupldna, 
 
 Manufacturer. — Josiah Bounderby. 
 
 Matrons of Workhouses. — Mrs. Corney ; Mrs. Mann. 
 
 Mayors. — George Nupkins ; Joseph (or Owen) Overton ; Mr. Snigg« ; 
 
 Mr. Tulrumble. 
 Medical students. — Ben Allen ; Alfred Heathfield ; Jack Hopkins ; Bob 
 
 Sawyer. 
 Member of Congress. — Elijah Pogram. 
 Members of Parliament. — William Buffey ; Cornelius Brook Dingwall ; 
 
 Mr. Gregsbury; Sir Matthew Pupker ; Sir Barnet Skettles ; Honesi* 
 
 Tom ; Hamilton Veneering. See also Noblemen. 
 Merchants. — Barbox Brothers (Mr. Jackson) ; Cheeryble Brothers; Clar- 
 
 riker ; Arthur Clennam ; Mr. Dombey ; Mr. Fezziwig ; Mr. Thomas 
 
 Gradgrind ; Mr. Murdstone ; Mr. Miles Owen ; Herbert Pocket j Mr, 
 
 Quinion ; Scrooge. 
 Messengers. — Jerry Cruncher ; JenkinBon • Mr. Perch, 
 Military men. — Cfaptain Adams; Matthew Bagnet; Major Bagstook 
 
6S2 THE DICKENS DiCTIOKAEY. 
 
 Captain Bailey; Major Banks; Captain Boldwig; Colonel Balderi 
 General Cyrus Choke ; Major Ilannibal Chollop ; Colonel Cbowser j 
 Captain Doubledick ; Captain Dowler ; General Fladdock ; Tom Green; 
 Colonel Groper; Captain Hawdon; Captain Helvesj Captain Hop- 
 kins; Major Jemmy Jackman; Captain Zedgick; the Recruiting 
 Sergeant; George Eouncowell ; Lieutenant Slanghter; Wilmot 
 Snipe; Lieutenant Tappleton; Captain Taunton j Corporal Th^o- 
 phile; Joe Willet. 
 
 Milliners. — Miss Krag ; Madame Mantalini ; Amelia Martia, 
 
 Misers, ^c. — Uncle Chill ; Christopher Caaby ; Anthony Chuzzlewit ; 
 Jonas Chuzzlewit ; Arthur Gride ; Ralph Nickleby ; Scrooge ; Bar- 
 tholomew Smallweed ; Grandfather Smallweed. 
 
 Murderers. — Jonas Chuzzlewit ; Gaspard ; Bradley Headstone ; Mademoi- 
 selle Hortense ; Captain Murderer; Bigaud; Mr. Budge ; Bill Sikes; 
 Julius Slinkton ; WilUam Warden. 
 
 Musical performers.— Antonio ; Matthew Bagnet ; Banjo Bones ; Mrs. 
 Banjo Bones ; Mr. Brown ; Mr. Cape ; Frederick Dorrit ; Mr. Evans ; 
 Mr. Harleigh ; John Jasper ; Miss Jenkins ; Signer Lobskini ; Miss A. 
 MelviUeson; Master Wilkins Micawber; Lffititia Parsons; Little Swills; 
 Mr. Tippin ; Mrs. Tippin ; Miss Tippin ; Mr. and Mrs. B. Wedgington. 
 
 Nautical-instrument malcer. — Solomon Gills. 
 
 Newsmen, ^c. — Adolphus Tetterby ; 'Dolphus Tett«rby. 
 
 Newspapers. — Eatanswili Gazette; Eatauswill Independent; New York 
 Rowdy Journal. 
 
 Nohlemen, 8fc. — LordDecimus Tite Barnacle; Prince Bear; Lord Boodle; 
 Prince Bull; Prince Certainpersonio ; Cousin Feenix; Baron von 
 Koeldwethout ; Mouseigneur ; Lord Mutanhed ; Lord Peter ; Marquis 
 St. Evxemonde I Count Smorltork ; Lord Snigsworth; Lord Lancaster 
 Stiltstalking ; Baron von Swiilenhausen ; Lord Frederick Veriaopht ; 
 King Watkins the First. 
 
 Notaries. — Abel Garland ; Mi. Witherdon. 
 
 Nurses. — Mrs. Bangham ; Mrs. Blockitt ; Dawea ; Sally Flanders ; Flop= 
 Bon; Sairey Gamp; Mercy; Millers; Betsey Prig; Mrs. Prodgit 5 
 Mrs. Polly Toodle ; Mrs. ^V'ickham. 
 
 Old Maids. — Misi Barbaryi Tcltsmms Dedlock; MisB Eavisham; 
 Miss Lillerton ; Miss Jane Kardstone ; Miss Anastasia Rngg ; Judy 
 Smallweed ; Miss Clarissa Spenlow ; Miss Lavinia Speniow^ j Miis 
 Lucretia Tox ; Rachael Wardle ; MisB WitherSeld, 
 
 Orators. — Mr. Edkins ; Mr. Magg ; Mr. Skckbridg*, 
 
 Orphans,— 3oh.mij I Lilian. 
 
 Pages. — ^Alphonse; Withers. 
 
 Painters. — Henry Gowan j Miss La Ormjj, 
 
 Farish-clerks. — Solomon Daisy; Ksthaniei Pipkin j Mr. Wof)fiIa. 
 
 Faupers. — Anny; Little Dick; Mrs. Fibbetson ; Marthft; John Edwurd 
 
 Nandy; Oakum Head; Chief Refractory; Refractory Number Two | 
 
 Old Sally ; Mrs. Thingummy ; Oliver Twist. 
 PoAJonhrokers. — David Crimple; Mr. Henry; Pleasant Rldeihcxjd. 
 Pensioners. — Mr. Battens ; Mri. Quinoh ; Mrs. Saggers. 
 Pew.opener. — Mrs. MifE. 
 Philanthropists. — Bigwig Family; Luke Honeythiiiidsr j MffS. Jellybyi 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Pardiggle; Mr. Quale ; Misi WLik. 
 Fhihsophers. — Doctor Jeddler j Mr. Mocnej, 
 
A CLASSED LIST OF CHAKACTERS, ETO. 688 
 
 Physicians. — Bajham Badger; Mr. Cbilb'p; Ginery Dmkle; Doctor 
 
 Grummidge ; Doctor Haggage ; John Jobling ; Doctor Kiitankumagen ; 
 
 Doctor Lumbey; Alexander Manette; ]ilr. Piikius; Parker Peps; 
 
 Doctor Soemup; Joe Specks; Doctor Toorell; Doctor Wosky. See 
 
 also Surgeons. 
 Pirate. — Lioutenant-Colonel Kobin Redforth. ' 
 
 Pickpockets. — See Thieves. 
 Pilot.— Kr. Bulph. 
 Places (various). — Ball's Pond ; Borrioboola Gha ; Cbinks'a Basin ; Chum- 
 
 bledon Square ; Cloisterham ; DingleyDell; Dullborough; Eatanswill ; 
 
 Eden ; Great Winglebary ; Grogzwig ; Haven of Philanthropy ; Mill 
 
 Pond Bank, Chinks's Basin ; Mugby Junction ; Muggleton ; Name- 
 
 lesston ; New Thermopylaa ; Oldcastle ; Old Hell Shaft ; Old Mint ; 
 
 Pavilionstone J Plashwater We-ir Mill; Pocket-Breaches; Pod's End; 
 
 Poplar Walk ; Port Middlebay ; Princess's Place ; Rats' Castle ; Staggs's 
 
 Garden ; Stiffun's Acre ; Tom-all-alone'a ; Tucket's Terrace; Verbosity ; 
 
 Wilderness Walk. 
 Plasterer. — Thomas Plomish. 
 
 Poets. — Mr. Slum ; Augustus Snodgrass ; Mrs. Leo Hunter. 
 Policemen. — Sergeant Dornton ; Inspector Field ; Mr. Inspector ; Sergeant 
 
 Mith ; Parker ; Peacoat ; Qaickear ; Sharpeye ; Inspector Stalker ; 
 
 Trampfoot ; Williams ; Sergeant Witchem. 
 Political parties. — Eatansvsdll Buffs ; Eatanswill Blues. 
 Politicians. — Lord Boodle j Horatio Fizkin ; Major Paw kins j Mr. Rogers j, 
 
 Samuel Slumkey. 
 Pony. — Whisker. 
 
 Poriers, ^c—Bullam J ; "Lamps;" Tugby; Toby Veck, 
 Postmasters. — Tom Cobb ; Monsieur Gabeile. 
 Postmistress. — Mrs. Tomlinson. 
 Pot.hoy.— Boh Gliddery. 
 Prisoners. — Mr. Ayresleigh ; John Baptist Cavalletto ; the Chancery 
 
 Prisoner; William Dorrit; Charles Evremonde; Doctor Haggage; 
 
 George Heyling ; Captain Hopkins ; Horace Kinch ; Mr. Martin j 
 
 Wilkin 8 Micawber ; Mr. Mivins ; Neddy ; Mr. Price ; Rigaud ; Mr. 
 
 Simpson ; Smangle j Mr. Walker ; Mr. Willis. 
 Public-houses. — Black Boy and Stomachache ; Black Lion ; Blue Boar ; 
 
 Blue Dragon • Boot-jack and Countenance ; The Bush ; The Crozier ; 
 
 Dolphin's Head ; Golden Cross ; Good Republican Brutus of Antiquity ; 
 
 Great White Horse ; Holly-Tree j Jolly Bargemen ; Jolly Boatmen ; 
 
 Jolly Sandboys; Jolly Tapley; Lighterman's Arms; Marquis of 
 
 Granby ; Maypole ; National Hotel ; Nutmeg Grater ; Original Pig ; 
 
 The Peacock ; Pegasus Arms ; Pig and Tinderbox ; St. James's Arms ; 
 
 Saracen's Head; Setting Moon; Six Jolly Fellowship-Porters ; Slam- 
 
 jam CofEee-House ; Sol's Arms; The Temeraire ; Three Cripples; 
 
 Three Jolly Bargemen ; Travellers' Twopenny ; Valiant Soldier; White 
 
 Conduit House ; White Horse Cellar; Winglebmy Arms. 
 Pugilist. — The Game Chicken. 
 Pupils. — Adams; Belling; Bitherstone; Bitzer; Mrs. Black; Bobbo; 
 
 Bolder; Briggs; Rosa Bud; Cobbey; David Copperfield; Cripples; 
 
 George Demple ; Dambledon ; Miss Edwards ; Richard Evans ; Adehna 
 
 Fareway ; Miss Ferdinand ; Miss Frost ; Miss Giggles ; Bully Globson ; 
 
 Graymarsh; Harry; Charley Hexam; Miss Jennings; Johnson ; Helena 
 
 Landless ; Jemmy Jackman Lirriper ; Mary Anne ; Ma wis ; Maxby ; 
 
 Mobbs ; John Owen ; Misa Pankey ; Miss Reynolds ; Miss Rickitts ; 
 
 Miss Shepherd ; Bamefc Skettles, junior ; Smike ; Misa Smithers j 
 
B84 TIIE BICKmEB DICTIO:^'"AEY. 
 
 Sophia; Joe 15 pecks; Steerforth; Bob Tartar; Tomidns; Tootsv 
 Tozer ; Traddles ; Graavilie Wharton j White. 
 
 Eanger. — Phil Parkes. 
 
 Eaven. — Grip. 
 
 Receivers of Stolen Goods. — Bully Bark ; Fagin; Joe j Mr. Lively. 
 
 Reporter,- — David Copperfield. 
 
 Residences, Sfc- — Abel Cottage ; Amelia Cottage ; Blunderstone Eookery ; 
 
 Boffin'B Bower ; Chesney Wold ; The Den; The Elms ; Fizkia Lodge; 
 
 The Growlery; Gumtion House; Harmony Jail; Hoghton Towers; 
 
 Manor Farm; Mndfog Hall; Norwood; Oak Lodge; Rose Yillaj 
 
 Kustio Lodge; Satis House; Stone Lodge; The Warren; Wooden 
 
 Midshipman. 
 Resurrectionist. — Jerry Cruncher. 
 
 Rioters. — Ned Dennis ; Hugh; BamabyEudge; Simon Tappertit. 
 Robe-maker. — Mr. Jennings. 
 
 Saddlers. — Old Lobbs ; Tipkisfeon. 
 
 Schools. — Dotheboys Hall ; Minerra House; Nuns' House; Salem House; 
 
 Westgate House. 
 Sciences. — Ditchwateristics ; Umbugology. 
 
 Seamen, ^c. — Old Bill Barley ; Captain Boldheart ; William Boozey ; Mr. 
 Bulph ; Captain Bunsby ; Captain Cuttle ; Dando ; Dark Jack ; Mer- 
 cantile Jack ; Job Potterson; Captain Purd ay ; Lieutenant Tartar. 
 Secreta/ries. — Ferdinand Barnacle ; Mr. Fish ; Mr. Gashf ord ; John 
 Harmon ; Mr. Jennings ; Lafayette Kettle ; Jonas Mudge ; Mr. 
 Wobbler. 
 Servants. — I. Male. Benjamin Britain ; Brittles ; Deputy ; John Der- 
 rick ; Do'em ; Jeremiah Flintwinch ; Old Glubb ; John Grueby ; James ; 
 Joe (the Fat Boy) ; John ; Littimer ; The Native ; Kat Nubbles ; Peak ; 
 Pepper ; Phil ; Pruffle ; Tom Scott ; Sloppy ; Smike ; Phil Sqncd ; 
 William Swidger ; MarkTapley; Tinlcler; BobinToodle; Job Trotter ; 
 Tungay ; Samuel Weller. — II. Female. Jane Adams ; Agnes ; Anne ; 
 Barbara ; Becky ; Berinthia ; Betsey ; Biddy ; Charlotte ; Clickett ; 
 Mary Daws; Emma; Affery Flintwinch ; Flowers; Goodwin; Guster; 
 Hannah ; Mademoiselle Hortense ; Jane ; Janet ; Winifred Madgers ; 
 The Marchioness ; Martha ; Mary ; Mary Anne ; Caroline ilaxey ; 
 'Melia ; MissMiggs; Clemency Newcome ; Susan Nipper; Mary Anne 
 Paragon ; Clara Peggotty ; Mary Anne Perkinsop ; Phoebe ; Priscilla ; 
 Mrs. Rachael; Sally Eairyganoo; Eobinson ; Eosa; Tilly Slowboy; 
 Betsey Snap ; Sophia ; Willing Sophy ; Tamaroo ; Tattycoram. 
 Sextons, ^c. — Bill ; Old David ; Gabriel Grub. 
 Sha/rpers. — See Swindlers. 
 Sheriff's OSicers. — Blathers; Dubbley; Duff; MJr. Namby; Mr. Neckett; 
 
 Mr. Scaley ; Mr. Smouch ; Tom. 
 Shipwright. — Chips. 
 Shoe-binder. — Jemima Evans. 
 
 Shops. — Wooden Midshipman; Old Curiosity Shop. 
 
 Shopkeepers. — Giovanni Cariavero ; Mrs. Chickenstalker ; Mrs. Chivery ; 
 Augustus Cooper ; Ernest Defarge ; Little Nell's Grandfather ; Mrs. 
 Plomish ; Pleasant Eiderhood ; Straudenheim ; Mrs. Tugby. 
 Bhowmen, Sfc. — Tom Codlin ; Mr. Grinder ; Mr. Harris ; Mrs. Jarley ; 
 
 Jeny; Mim; YuflBn. 
 Shrews. — Mrs- Bumble; Mrs. Joe Gargery; Mrs. MacStinger; Mrs. Mari- 
 
A CLASSED LIST OF CHARACTESS. ETC. 685 
 
 gold; MissMiggs; Mrs. Raddle; Sarah; Mrs. Snagsby; Mrs. Sower- 
 berry ; Fanny Squeers ; Mrs. Squeers ; IMrs. Varden. 
 
 Smiths. — Richard ; Joe Gargery ; Dolge Orlick ; John. 
 
 Societies. — All-Muggleton Cricket Chib ; Finche3 of the Grove ; Con- 
 vened Chief Composite Committee of Central and District Philanthro- 
 pists ; Glorious Apollos ; Infant Bonds of Joy ; Ladies' Bible and 
 Prayer-Book Distribution Society; Master Humphrey's Clock; Mr. 
 Weller's. Watch ; Pickwick Club; 'Prentice Knights; Social Linen 
 Box Committee; Superannuated Widows ; United Aggregate Tribunal ; 
 United Bull-Dogs; United Grand Junction Ebenezer Temperance 
 Association ; Watertoast Association of United Sympathisera. 
 
 Spaniard. — Antonio. 
 
 Spetidthrift. — Edward Dorrit. 
 
 Spies. — Roger Cly; Solomon Press. 
 
 Sportsman. — Nathaniel Winkle. 
 
 Statisticians. — Mr. Filer ; Mr. Kwakley ; Mr. X. Ledbrain ; Mr. Slug. 
 
 Stenographer. — David Copperfield. 
 
 Steward. — Mr. Rudge ; Job Potterson. 
 
 Stoker.— Mi. Toodle. 
 
 /Siowematon.— Durdles. 
 
 Straw -bonnet maker. — Jemima Evans. 
 
 Street-sweeper. — Jo. 
 
 Student. — Edmund Denham. 
 
 Sugar-baker. — Gabriel Parsons. 
 
 Suitors in Chancery. — Richard Carstone; Ada Clare; Miss Flite; Mr. 
 Gridley; John Jarndyce: 
 
 Surgeons. — Mr. Knight Bell ; Mr. Dawson ; Mr. Lewsome ; Mr. Los- 
 heme; Doctor Payne; Doctor Slammer; Allan Woodcourt. See also 
 Physicians. 
 
 Swindler Sy ^c. — B lackey ; Mr. Bonney ; Do'em ; Fitz- Whisker Fiercy ; 
 Alfred Jingle ; Mr. Jinkins ; Alfred Lammle ; Mr. Merdle ; Rigaud ; 
 Zephaniah Scadder; Montague Tigg; Job Trotter; Captain Walter 
 Waters; Mr. Wolf. 
 
 Tailors. — Mr. Omer ; Mr. Trabb ; Alexander Trott. 
 
 Taxidermist. — Mr. Yenus. 
 
 Teachers, ^c. — Cornelia Blimber ; Doctor Blimber j Mr. Blinkins ; Old 
 
 Cheeseman ; Mr. Creakle ; Mr. Cripples ; Amelia and Maria Crumpton ; 
 
 Mr. Dadson ; Miss Dormy ; Miss Drowvey ; Mr. Feeder ; Miss Grimmer ; 
 
 Miss Gwynn; Bradley Headstone; Betty Higden ; Latin-Grammar 
 
 Master; Mrs. Lemon; Mr. M'Choakumchild ; Mr. Marten; Charles 
 
 Mali } Miss Monflathers ; the Misses Nettingall ; Nicholas Nickleby ; 
 
 Emma Peecher ; Professor Piper ; Mr. Sharp ; Wackf ord Squeers ; 
 
 Doctor Strong ; Miss Tom kins ; Miss Twinkleton ; the Misses Wackles. 
 
 See also Governesses. 
 Temperance Reformers. — Anthony Hmnm ; Jonas Mudge ; Brother Tadger. 
 Thieves. — Charley Bates ; Bet ; Tom Chitling ; Noah Claypole ; John 
 
 Dawkins (the Artful Dodger) ; Doctor Dundey ; Aaron Mesheck ; 
 
 Nancy; Mx. Shepherdson; Bill Sikes; Tally-ho Thompson; Earl of 
 
 Warwick. 
 Toadies. — Mr. Boots ; Mr. Brewer ; Mr. and Mrs. Camilla ; Mrs. Coiler j 
 
 Mr. Flamwell ; Georgiana ; Mr. Pluck j Sarah Pocket j Mr. Pyke. 
 Tobacconist. — Miss Chivery. 
 Toy-maker. — Caleb Plunimer. 
 Toy -mer chant. — Tackleton. 
 
586 THE DICKEXS DICTIONARY. 
 
 Tramps. — John Anderson j ilrs. Anderson, 
 Turner. — Mr. Kenwigs. 
 
 Turnkeys, ^c. — Mr. Akerman ; Bob ; John Ohivery ; Young Jobs 
 Ciiiyery j Solomon ProBS ; Tom Iloker. 
 
 Unibrella-viaker. — Alexander Trott. 
 
 Undertakers. — Mr. Joram j Mr. Mould ; Mr. Omer j Mr. Sowerberry j 
 Tacker ; Mr. Trabb. 
 
 Usurers. — Anthony Chuzzlewifc j Arthur Gride j Ralph Nickleby ; Grand- 
 father Smallweed. 
 
 Vagabonds, Sfc. — John Anderson j Mr. Click ; Bob Miles ; Edward 
 
 Twiggs ; Winking Charley. 
 Valets. — See Servants. 
 Verger. — Mr. Tope. 
 Vessels. — The Beauty ; the Cautious Clara ; the Family ; the Royal 
 
 Skewer J the Scorpion; the Screw; the Son and Heir. 
 Vestrymen. — Mr. Chib ; Captain Banger ; Mr. Dogginson ; Mr. Magg j 
 
 Mr. Tiddypot j Mr. Wigsby. 
 
 Waiters. — Ben ; Christopher; Ezekiel ; Jack; John; Miss Piff ; William 
 Potkins J Mrs. Sniff ; Thomas ; Miss Whilf ; William. 
 
 Watermen. — Dando ; Jesse Hexam j Mr. Lobley ; Roger Eiderhood 5 
 Tommy. 
 
 Weaver. — Stephen Blackpool. 
 
 Wliarfing&r. — Mr. Winkle, senior. 
 
 Wheelwright. — Mr. Hubble. 
 
 Widowers. — Mr. John Dounce ; John Podgers ; Tony Waller. 
 
 Widows. — Barbara's Mother ; Mrs. Bardell ; Mrs. Bedwin ; Mrs. Billickin j 
 Mrs. Bloss ; Mrs. Brandley ; Mrs. Briggs ; Mrs. Budger ; Mrs. Clennam 5 
 Mrs. Coiler; Mrs. Copperfield ; Mrs. Comey; Mrs. Crisparkle; Lady 
 Fareway; Mrs. Fielding; Flora Finching; Sally Flanders; Mrs. 
 General ; Mrs. Gowan ; Edith Granger ; Mrs. Gummidge ; Mrs. Guppy j 
 Mrs. Heep ; Mrs. Jiniwin ; Mrs. Markleham j Mrs. Maplesone ; Mrs. 
 Mitts; Mrs. Kickleby; Mrs. Nubbles; Mrs. Peglerj Mrs. Skewtonj 
 Mrs. Sparsit ; Mrs. Starling; Mrs. Steerforthj Mrs. Taunton j Ladj 
 Tippina j Mrs. Tisher ; Mrs. Wardle j Mrs. Woodcourt. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Abel Cottage, 203. 
 
 Adams, 308. 
 
 Adams, Captain, 131. 
 
 Adams, Jane, 164, 166. 
 
 Adams, Mr., 447. 
 
 African Knife- Swallower, 131. 
 
 Aged, The. See Wemiuick, Mr., 
 
 senior, 455. 
 Aggerawayter, 437. 
 Agnes, 8. 
 
 Akerman, Mr., 206. 
 Akershem, Sophronia, 492. 
 Alice, 131. 
 Alice, Mistress, 167. 
 Alicia, Princess, 536. 
 Alicumpaine, Mrs., 537. 
 Allen, Arabella, 21. 
 Allen, Benjamin, 21. 
 All-Muggleton Cricket Club, 25. 
 Alphonse, 131. 
 Amelia, 11, 455. 
 
 Amelia Cottage, Poplar Walk, 9. 
 Anderson, John, 4^19. 
 Anderson, Mrs., 449. 
 Angel, The, 91. 
 Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan 
 
 and Life Insurance Company, 
 
 229, 254. 
 "Ankworks Package, The," 260. 
 Anne, 164, 272. 
 Anny, 96. 
 Antonio, 449. 
 Artful Dodger. /Tee Daw kins, Jolm, 
 
 96. 
 Ashford, Nettie, 537. 
 Astley's, 4. 
 Aunt, Mr. F.'s, 402. 
 Avenger, The. See Peppw, 451. 
 Aysresleigbj Mr,, 21. 
 
 Babley, Eichard, 308. 
 
 Bachelor, The, 174. 
 
 Badger, Bayham, 356. 
 
 Badger, Mrs. Bayham, 357. 
 
 Bagman, The One-eyed, 21. 
 
 Eagnet, Malta, 858. 
 
 Bagnet, Matthew, 357. 
 
 Bagnet, Mrs., 357. 
 
 Bagnet, Quebec, 358. 
 
 Bagnet, Woolwich, 358. 
 
 Bagstock, Major Joseph, 272, 
 
 Bailey, Captain, 309. 
 
 Bailey, junior, 228. 
 
 Balderstone, Thomas, 15. 
 
 Balls Pond, 292. 
 
 Bamber, Jack, 21. 
 
 Banger, Captain, 568. 
 
 Bangham, Mrs., 402. 
 
 Banks, Major, 447. 
 
 Bantam, Angelo Cyrus, 21. 
 
 Baps, Mr., 274. 
 
 Baps, Mrs., 274, 
 
 Barbara, 174. 
 
 Barbara's Mother, 175. 
 
 Barbary, Miss, 358. 
 
 Baebox Brothers, and Ba&bo^ 
 
 Brothers and Co., 528. 
 Barbox Brothers, 528. 
 Bardell, Mrs. Martha, 21. 
 BardeU, Tommy, 22. 
 Bark, Bully, 565. 
 Barker, Miss Fanny, 575. 
 Barker, William, 4. 
 Barkis, Mr., 309. 
 Barkis, Mrs. See Peggottj, Osat^ 
 
 311. 
 Barley, Clara, 455. 
 Barley, Old Bill, 455. 
 Earlow, Mr., 543. 
 
iMDaa. 
 
 Baenabt Eudge, 20S. 
 
 Barnacle, Clarence, 402. 
 
 Barnacle, Ferdinand, 404. 
 
 Barnacle, Lord Decimus Tite, 402. 
 
 Barnacle, Tite, 404. 
 
 Barney, 96. 
 
 Barsad, Jolm. See Pross, Solomon, 
 
 429. 
 Barton, Jacob, 12. 
 Bates, Charley, 96. 
 Battens, Mr., 449. 
 Battle of Life, The, 269. 
 Bayton, 96. 
 Bazzard, Mr., 545. 
 Beadle, Harriet, 405. 
 Beadle, The, 2. 
 Bear, Prince, 567. 
 " Bearings, The, of this observation 
 
 lays in the application on it," 
 
 277. 
 Beatrice, 528. 
 Beauty, The, 537. 
 Eebelle, 482. 
 Beckwith, Alfred. See Meltham, 
 
 Mr., 447. 
 Becky, 96. 
 Bedwin, Mrs., 96. 
 Beeswax, Considerations on the 
 
 Policy of Eemoving the Duty 
 
 on, 10. 
 Begging-Letter Writes, The, 559. 
 Begs, Mrs. Ridger, 322. 
 Belinda, 1G8. 
 Bell, Mr. Knight, 125. 
 BeU Yard, 380. 
 Bella, 8. 
 Belle, 220. 
 Belling, Master, ISS. 
 Belvawney, Miss, 132. 
 Ben, 398. 
 
 Benson, Lucy, 571. 
 Benson, Old, 571. 
 Benson, Young, 571. 
 Benton, Miss, 168. 
 Berinthia, 274. 
 Berry. See Berinthia, 274. 
 Bet, or Betsy, 96. 
 Betsey, 22. 
 Bevan, Mr., 228. 
 
 Beverley, Mr. See Loggins, Mr., 4. 
 Bib, Julius Washington Merry- 
 weather, 228. 
 Biddy, 455. 
 Bigby, Mrs., 560. 
 Bigwig Family, The, 562. 
 
 Biler. See Toodle, Eobin, 274, 
 
 Bill, 96. 
 
 Bill, Uncle, 4. 
 
 Billickin, Mrs., 547. 
 
 Billsmethi, Master, 7. 
 
 Billsmethi, Miss, 7. 
 
 Billsmethi, Signor, 7. 
 
 Births. Mrs. Meek, of a Son, 
 
 560. 
 Bitherstpn, Master, 274. 
 Bitzer, 385. 
 Black, 566. 
 Black, Mrs., 537. 
 Black Boy and Stomachache, The, 
 
 125. 
 Black Lion, The, 206. 
 Blackey, 566. 
 Blackpool, Mrs., 386. 
 Blackpool, Stephen, 386. 
 Bladud, Prince, 22. 
 Blandois. See Eigaud, 40S. 
 Blank, Mr., 126. 
 Blathers and Duff, 96. 
 Bleak House, 356. 
 Bleeding Heart Yard, 405. 
 Bligh, Captain, 558. 
 Blight, Young, 492. 
 Bhmber, Cornelia, 275. 
 Blimber, Doctor, 274. 
 Blimber, JVIrs., 275. 
 Blinder, Mrs., 35S. 
 Blinkins, Mr., 567. 
 Blocker, Mr., 563. 
 Blockitt, Mrs., 275. 
 Blockson, Mrs., 132. 
 Bloomsbury Christening, The, 17. 
 Bloss, Mrs., 8. 
 Blotton, Mr., 22. 
 Blubb, Mr., 126. 
 Blue Boar, The, 92, 473. 
 Blue Dragon, The, 237. 
 Blues, The, 53. 
 Blunderstone Eookery, 30§. 
 Blunderum, Mr., 126. 
 Boarding-House, The, 3. 
 Bob, 405. 
 Bobbo, 484. 
 Bobster, Cecilia, 132. 
 Bobster, Mr., 132. 
 Boffin, Henrietta, 492. 
 Boffin, Nicodemus, 492. 
 Boffin's Bower, 4i)5. 
 Bogsby, James George, S58, 
 Bokum, Mrs., 275. 
 Bolder, 132. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 589 
 
 Boldheart, Ceptam, 537. 
 
 Boldvrig, Captain, 22. 
 
 Bolo, Miss, 22. 
 
 Bolter, Morris. See Clajpole, Noah, 
 96. 
 
 Bones, Mr. Banjo, 449. 
 
 Bones, Mrs. Banjo, 450. 
 
 Bonney, Mr., 132. 
 
 Boodle, Lord, 358. 
 
 Boorker, Bill. See Barker, Wil- 
 liam,' 4. 
 
 Bootjack and Goontenanoe, The, 
 125. 
 
 Boots. See Cobbs, 399. "* 
 
 Boots, Mr., 495. 
 
 Boozey, William, 538. 
 
 Borrioboola-Gha, 367. 
 
 Boriim, Augustus, 132. 
 
 Borum, Charlotte, 132. 
 
 Borum, Emma, 132. 
 
 Borum, Mr., 132. 
 
 Borum, Mrs., 132. 
 
 Bottle-nosed Ned. See Twiggsr, 
 Edward, 574. 
 
 Bouclet, Madame, 482. 
 
 Bounderby, Josiah, 388. 
 
 Bounderby, Louisa. See Grad- 
 grind, Louisa, 388. 
 
 Bounty, The, 558. 
 
 Bowley, Lady, 262. 
 
 Bowley, Master, 262. 
 
 Bowley, Sir Joseph, 2G2. 
 
 "Bow-wows, Gone to tho demni- 
 tion," 140. 
 
 Boxer, 265. 
 
 Boy at Mugby, The, 531. 
 
 Boythorn, Lawrence, 358. 
 
 Boz, 1. 
 
 Brandley, Mrs., 455. 
 
 Brass, Sally, 175. 
 
 Brass, Sampson, 175. 
 
 Bravassa, Miss, 132. 
 
 Bray, Madeline, 132. 
 
 Bray, WaMer, 133. 
 
 Brewer, Mr., 495. 
 
 Brick, Jefferson, 228. 
 
 Brick, Mrs. Jefferson, 229. 
 
 Brick Lane Branch of the United 
 Grand Junction Ebenezer Tem- 
 perance Association, 28. 
 
 Brig Place, 289. 
 
 Briggs, 275. 
 
 Briggs, Alexander, 18, 
 
 Briggs, Julia, 13. 
 
 Briggs, Kate, 13. 
 
 Briggs, Misfl, 13. 
 
 Briggs, Mrs., 13. 
 
 Briggs, Samuel, 13. 
 
 Brimer, ]\[r., 558. 
 
 Britain, Benjamin, 269. 
 
 Britain, Little. See Britain, Beiv 
 
 jamin, 269. 
 Brittles, 96. 
 Brobity, Miss, 555. 
 Brogley, Mr., 275. 
 Brogson, Mr., 9. 
 Broker's Man, The, 3. 
 Brooker, 133. 
 Brooks of Sheffield, 336. 
 Browdie, John, 133. 
 Browdie, Mrs. See Price, Matilda, 
 
 145. 
 Brown, 538. 
 Brown, Alice, 275. 
 Brown, Emily, 569. 
 Brown, Good Mrs., 275. 
 Brown, Mr., 15. 
 
 Brown, Mr. (of Edenburg), 126. 
 Brownlow, Mr., 96. 
 Browns, The three Miss, 3. 
 Buchan's Domestic Medicine, 421^ 
 Bucket, Mr. Inspector, 359. 
 Backet, Mrs., 360. 
 Bud, Eosa, 547. 
 
 Budden, Alexander Augustus, IG* 
 Budden, Amelia, 10. 
 Budden, Octarius, 9. 
 Budger, Mrs., 22. 
 Buffer, Doctor, 126. 
 Buffey, Kt. Eon. WilUam, SCK). 
 Buffle, Mr., 488. 
 Buffle, Mrs.,489. 
 Buffle, Eobina, 489. 
 Buffs, The, 53. 
 Buffum, Oscar, 229. 
 Bulder, Colonel, 22. 
 Bulder, Mrs. Colonel, 2§. 
 Bulder, Miss, 22, 
 Bull, Prince, 567. 
 Bull, The, 22. 
 BuUamy, 229. 
 Bullfinch, 543. 
 Bull's-eye, 96. 
 Bulph, Mr., 133. 
 Bumble, Mr., 96. 
 Bumple, Michael, 4. 
 Bung, Mr., 2, 3. 
 Bunsby, Captain Jack, 27©> 
 Burgess and Co., 29 i. 
 Bush, The, 21. 
 
690 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Batcher, William, 563.; 
 Butler, Theodosixis, 10. 
 Buzfuz, Serjeant, 22. 
 
 Calton, Mr., 8. 
 
 Camilla, Mr. John, or Eaymoad, 
 
 456 
 
 Camilla, Mrs., 466. 
 
 Cape, Mr., 15. 
 
 Captain, The, 4. 
 
 Carker, Harriet, 277. 
 
 Carker, James, 277. 
 
 Carker, John, 278. 
 
 Carlavero, Giovanni, 450. 
 
 Caroline, 220. 
 
 Carstone, Richard, 360. 
 
 Carter, Mr., 126. 
 
 Carton, Sydney, 429. 
 
 Casby, Christopher, 405. 
 
 " Catechism, Overhaul vour," 279. 
 
 Cautious Clara, The, 275. 
 
 Cavalletto, John Baptist, 406. 
 
 Csrtainpersonio, Prince, 538, 
 
 Chadband, Mrs. See Rachael, 
 Mrs., 361. 
 
 Chadband, Eev. Mr., 360. 
 
 Chancery Prisoner, The, 23. 
 
 Charitable Grinder, 296. 
 
 Charles, 165. 
 
 Charley, 311, 361, 399. 
 
 Charlotte, 98, 164. 
 
 Cheap Jack, 525. 
 
 Cheeryble Brothers, 133. 
 
 Cheeryble, Frank, 134. 
 
 Cheeseman, Old, 562- 
 
 Cheggs, Miss, 175. 
 
 Cheggs, Mr., 175. 
 
 Cherub, The. See Wilfer, Regi- 
 nald, 495. 
 
 Chesney Wold, 879. 
 
 Chester, Mr., or Sir John, 206. 
 
 Chester, Edward, 207. 
 
 Chestle, Mr., 311. 
 
 Chib, Mr., 568. 
 
 Chick, John, 278. 
 
 Chick, Louisa, 278. 
 
 Chicken, The Game, 279. 
 
 Chickenstalker, Mrs. Anne, 262. 
 
 Chicksey and Stobbles, 512. 
 
 Childers, E. W • B., 3b9. 
 
 Child.wife, 313. 
 
 Child's Stoky, The, 561. 
 
 Chill, Uncle, 561. 
 
 ChilHp, Mr., 311. 
 
 Chimes, The, 262. 
 
 Chinks's Basiu, i7B, 
 
 Chips, 450. 
 
 Chirrup, Mr., 165. 
 
 Chirrup,' Mrs., 165. 
 
 Chitling, Tom, 99. 
 
 Chivery, John, 406. 
 
 Chi very, Mrs., 407. 
 
 Chivery, Young John, 406. 
 
 Choke, General Cyrus, 230. 
 
 Chollop, Major Hannibal, 230. 
 
 Chopper, Mrs., 166. 
 
 Chowley. See MacStinger, Charles, 
 
 279. 
 Chowser, Colonel, 134. 
 Christian, Fletcher, 558. 
 Christian, Thursday October, 558. 
 
 Christiana, 561. 
 CiEEisTMAs Carol, A, 220. 
 Christmas Dinner, A, 5. 
 Christopher, 482. 
 Chuckster, Mr., 175. 
 Chuffey, Mr., 231. 
 Chumbledon Square, 568. 
 Chuzzlewit, Anthony, 231. 
 Chuzzlewit, George, 231. 
 Chuzzlewit, Jonas, 231. 
 Chuzzlewit, Martin, senior, 232. 
 Chuzzlewit, Martin, the younger, 
 
 233. 
 Cicero, 234. 
 
 Circumlocution Office, 402. 
 Clare, Ada, 361. 
 Clark, Mr., 279. 
 Clarkson, 564. 
 Clarriker, 456. 
 Claypole, Noah, 99. 
 Claypole, Mrs. Noah. See Char- 
 lotte, 98. 
 Cleaver, Fanny, 495. 
 Cleaver, Mr., 498. 
 Clennam, Arthur, 407. 
 Clennam, Mrs., 408. 
 Cleopatra. See Skewton, Mrs., 279. 
 Clergyman, The, 23, 175. 
 Cleverly, Susannah, 450. 
 Cleverly, William, 450. 
 Click, Mr., 566. 
 CHckett, 311. 
 Cloisterham, 548. 
 Clubber, Lady, 23. 
 Clubber, Sir Thomas, 28, 
 Clubber, The Misses, 23, 
 Cluppins, Betsey, 23. 
 Cly, Roger, 434. 
 Coavinses. See Neckett, Mr., 361. 
 
IlIDEX 
 
 M 
 
 Cobb, Tom, 207. 
 
 Cobboy, 134. 
 
 Cobbs, 400. 
 
 Cocker, Indignation, S4^ 
 
 Codger, Miss, 234. 
 
 Codlin, Tom, 176. 
 
 Coiler, Mrs., 456. 
 
 Compact Enchantress, The, 564. 
 
 Compeyson, 456. 
 
 " Consequence, It's of no," 294. 
 
 Considerations on the Policy of 
 Eemoving the Duty on Bees- 
 wax, 10. 
 
 Convened Chief Composite Com. 
 mittee of Central and District 
 Philanthropists, t»53. 
 
 Conway, General, 207. 
 
 Cooper, A-ugustus, 7. 
 
 Copperfield, Clara, 311. 
 
 Copperfield, David, 312. 
 
 Copperfield, Dora. See Spenlow, 
 Dora, 315. 
 
 Coppemose, Mr., 126. 
 
 Corney, Mrs., 99. 
 
 Corpse Common, 570. 
 
 Conntess, The. See Grimwood, 
 Eliza, 565. 
 
 Cracldt, Toby, 99. 
 
 Craddock, Mrs., 23. 
 
 Craggs, Thomas, 269. 
 
 Craggs, Mrs., 269. 
 
 Cratchit, Belinda, 220. 
 
 Cratchit, Bob, 220. 
 
 Cratchit, Martha, 221. 
 
 Cratchit, Mrs., 220. 
 
 Cratchit, Peter, 221. 
 
 Cratchit, Tim, 221. 
 
 Creakle, Miss, 316. 
 
 Creakle, Mr., 815. 
 
 Creakle, Mrs., 316. 
 
 Crewler, Caroline, 313. 
 
 Crewler, Louisa, 3 16. 
 
 Crewler, Lucy, 316. 
 
 Crewler, Margaret, 317. 
 
 Crewler, Mrs., 316. 
 
 Crewler, Rev. Eorace, 317. 
 
 Crewler, Sarah, 317. 
 
 Crewler, Sophy, 317. 
 
 Cricket on the Hearth, The, 265. 
 
 Crimple, David, 234. 
 
 Crinkles, Mr., 126. 
 
 Cripples, Master, 408. 
 
 Cripples, Mr., 408. 
 
 Crisparkle, Mrs., 548. 
 
 Orisparkle, Rev. Septimus, 547. 
 
 Crofts, 166. 
 Crookey, 23. 
 Crowl. Mr., 134. 
 Crozier, The, 548. 
 Crummies, Master, 134. 
 Crummies, Mrs., 134. 
 Crummies, Ninetta, 134, 
 Crummies, Percy, 131:. 
 Crummies, Vincent, 134L 
 Crumpton, Amelia, 10. 
 Crumpton, Maria, 10. 
 Cruncher, Jerry, 4;j4. 
 Cruncher, Mrs., 437. 
 Cruncher, Young Jerry, 4S3. 
 Crupp, Mrs., 217. 
 Crushton, Hon. Mr., 23. 
 Curdle, Mr., 135. 
 Curdle, Mrs., 135. 
 Cute, Alderman, 262. 
 Cutler, Mr. and Mrs., 135. 
 Cuttle, Captain Edward, 279. 
 
 Dadson, Mr., 10. 
 
 Dadson, Mrs., 10. 
 
 Daisy, Solomon, 207. 
 
 Dancing AcAi!;EMY, The, 7. 
 
 Dando, 4. 
 
 Danton, Mr., 17. 
 
 Darby, 361. 
 
 Darnay, Charles. See St. Evr&- 
 
 monde, Charles, 437. 
 Darnay, Lucie. See Manette, 
 
 Lucie, 437. 
 Dartle, Rosa, 217. 
 Datchery, Dick, 54S. 
 David, 135. 
 
 David Copperfield, 308. 
 David, Old, 176. 
 Dawes, 408. 
 Dawkins, John, 99. 
 Daws, Mary, 2>S0. 
 Dawson, Mr., 2. 
 Deaf Gentleman, The, 168. 
 Dedlock, Lady Ilonoria, 362. 
 Dedlock, Sir Leicester, 361. 
 Dedlock, Volumnia, 362. 
 Defarge, Ernest, 437. 
 Defarge, Ther^se, 437. 
 Demple, George, 317. 
 Den, The, 28. 
 Denham, Edmund, 302. 
 Dennis, Ned, 207. 
 Deportment, Model of, 377. 
 Deputy, 548. 
 Derrick, John, 533. 
 
692 
 
 IKDSX. 
 
 Detectiti Police, The, 564. 
 Devasseur, M. Loyal. See Loyal 
 
 Deyasseur, M., 559. 
 Dibble, Dorothy, 450. 
 Dibble, Sampson, 450. 
 Dick, Little, 100. 
 Dick, Mr. See Babley, Eichard, 
 
 808. 
 Diego, Don, 564. 
 Digby. See Smike, 135. 
 Dilber, Mrs., 221. 
 Dingley Dell, 90. 
 Dingo, Professor, 357. 
 Dingwall, Cornelius Brook, 10. 
 Dingwall, Lavinia Brook, 10. 
 Dingwall, Frederick, lO. 
 Dingwall, Mrs. Brook, 10. 
 Diogenes, 2S0. 
 Dismal Jemmy. See Hutley, Jem, 
 
 23. 
 Ditcbwateristics, 126. 
 Diver, Colonel, 234. 
 Dobble, Julia, 6. 
 Dobble, Mr., 6. 
 Dobble, Mr., jun., 6. 
 Dobble, Mrs., 6. 
 Dobbs, Julia, 569. 
 Doctor Marigold, 525. 
 Doctor, The. See Losbeme, Mr., 
 
 108 
 Doctors' Commons, 4. 
 Dodger, The Artful. See Dawkins, 
 
 John, 100. 
 Dodson and Fogg, 23. 
 Do' em, 574. 
 Dogginson, Mr., 568. 
 Dolloby, Mr., 317. 
 Dolls, Mr. See Cleaver, Mr., 49®. 
 " Dolphin's Head, The," 452. 
 
 DOMBET AND SON, 272. 
 
 Dombej, Edith. ^See Granger, Edith, 
 
 280. 
 Dombey, Fanny, 281. 
 Dombey, Florence, 281. 
 Dombey, Little Paul, 281. 
 Dombey, Paul, 286. 
 Donkeys, 350. 
 Donny, Miss, 362. 
 Dora. See Spenlow, Dora, 317. 
 Dornton, Sergeant, 564. 
 Dorrit, Amy, 408. 
 Dorrit, Edward, 409. 
 Dorrit, Fanny, 409. 
 Dorrit, Frederick, 409. 
 Dorrit, William, 409. 
 
 Dose. " Such a dose, old woman I** 
 
 412. 
 Dot. See Peerybingle, Mary, 
 
 265. 
 Dotheboys Hall, 140, 
 Doubledick, Richard, 398, 
 Dounce, John, 7. 
 Dowler, Captain, 23. 
 Dowler, Mrs., 25. 
 Down with the Tide, 566. 
 Doyce, Daniel, 410. 
 Doze, Professor, 126. 
 Drawley, Mr., 126. 
 Drood, Edwin, 549. 
 Drowvey, Miss, 538. 
 Drummle, Bentley, 456. 
 Drunkard's Death, The, 17. 
 Dubbley, 25. 
 DufE. See Blathers and Dulfj 
 
 100. 
 DuU, Mr., 126. 
 DuUborough, 453. 
 Dumbledon, Master, 568. 
 Dumkins, Mr., 25. 
 Dummy, Mr., 126. 
 Dumps, Nicodemus, 17. 
 Dundey, Doctor, 564. 
 Dunkle, Doctor Ginery, 234, 
 Durdles, 551. 
 
 Eatanswill, 53. 
 
 Eatanswill Blues, 53. 
 
 Eatanswill Buffs, 53. 
 
 Eatanswill Gazette, The, 53, 
 
 Eatanswill Independent, The, SSU 
 
 Eden, 233, 252. 
 
 Eden Land Corporation, 230. 
 
 Edkins, Mr., 13. 
 
 Edmunds, George, 571. 
 
 Edmunds, John, 25. 
 
 Edmunds, Mr., 25. 
 
 Edmunds, Mrs., 23. 
 
 Edson, Mr., 484, 489. 
 
 Edson, Peggy, 484. 
 
 Edward, 164. 
 
 Edwards, Miss, 176. 
 
 Edwin, 400. 
 
 Effort, Making an, 278. 
 
 Election for Beadle, & 
 
 ElHs, Mr., 6. 
 
 Elms, The, 401. 
 
 Emily, 8. 
 
 Em'ly, Little, 317. 
 
 Emma, 25, 575. 
 
 Emmeline, 400 * 
 
EKDEX. 
 
 Eiiden, Martha, 3ia 
 
 EsteUa, 456. 
 
 Evans, Mrs., 6. 
 
 Erans, Jemima, 6. 
 
 Evans, Tillj, 6. 
 
 Evans, Mr., 15. 
 
 Evans, Richard, 176. 
 
 Evenson, John, 8. 
 
 Evremonde, Charles. See St. Evre- 
 
 monde, Charles, 437. 
 Ezekiel, 531. 
 
 Face-Maker, Monsieur the, 450. 
 
 Fagin, 100. 
 
 FanUly, The, 5ZS. 
 
 Fan, 221. 
 
 Fang, Mr., 103. 
 
 Fanny, 561. 
 
 Fareway, Adelina, 540. 
 
 Fareway, Lady, 540. 
 
 Fareway, Mr., 540, 
 
 Fascination Fledgeby, 498. 
 
 Father of the Marshalsea. See 
 
 Dorrit, William, 415. 
 Fee, Doctor W. R., 1 26. 
 Feeder, Mr., B.A., 287. 
 Feeder, Rev. Alfred, 287. 
 Feenix, Cousin, 287. 
 Fendall, Sergeant, 564, 
 Ferdinand, Miss, 552. 
 Fern, Lilian, 263. 
 Fern, Will, 263. 
 Feroce, M., 560. 
 Fezziwig, Mr., 221. 
 Fezziwig, Mrs., 221. 
 Fezzividg, The three Misses, 221. 
 Fibbetson, Mrs., 318. 
 Field, Inspector, 566. 
 Fielding, Emma, 164. 
 Fielding, May, 265. 
 Fielding, Mrs., 265. 
 Fieroy, Hon. Captaia Fits- Whisker, 
 
 574. 
 Fikey, 564. 
 Filer, Mr., 263. 
 Pinches of the Grove, 468. 
 Finching, Flora, 410. 
 "Fine figure, A, of a woman," 
 
 459. 
 Fips, Mr., 234. 
 First of Mat, The, 5. 
 Fish, Mr., 263. 
 Fitz-Marshall, Charles. See Jingle, 
 
 Alfred, 25. 
 Fixem, 3, 
 
 Fizkin, Horatio, 25. 
 
 Fizlcin Lodge, 25. 
 
 Fladdock, General, 234. 
 
 Flam, Hon. Sparkins, 571. 
 
 Flamwell, Mr., 12. 
 
 Flanders, Sally, 451. 
 
 Flare, HoUovsr down by the, 523, 
 
 Flasher, Wilkins, 25. 
 
 Fledgeby, Fascination, 498. 
 
 Fleetwood, Master, 13. 
 
 Fleetwood, Mrs., 13. 
 
 Fleetwood, Mr., 13. 
 
 Fleming, Agnes, 108. 
 
 Fleming, Rose. See Mavlie, Rose, 
 
 106. 
 Flight, A, 564. 
 Flintwinch, Affery, 412. 
 Flintwinch, Ephraim, 412. 
 FKnt winch, Jeremiah, 413. 
 Flipfield, Miss, 451. 
 Flipfield, Mr., 451. 
 Flipfield, Itfrs., 451. 
 Flipfield, Tom, 451. 
 Elite, Miss, 362. 
 Flopping, 434. 
 Flopson, 457. 
 Flowers, 287. 
 Flummery, Mr., 126. 
 Fogg, Mr. See Dodson and Fogg, 
 
 25. 
 Folair, Mr., 135. 
 Foulon, 444. 
 Four Sisters, The, 2. 
 Frank, Little, 561. 
 Fred, 221. 
 Frost, Mss, 568. 
 F.'a Aunt, Mr. See Mr. F.'s Aunt, 
 
 410. 
 
 Gabelle, Theophile, 437. 
 Gabrielle. See Bebelle, 482. 
 Galileo Isaac Newton Flamstead, 
 
 575. 
 Game Chicken, The, 287. 
 Gamfield, 106. 
 Gamp, Sairey, 234. 
 Gander, Mr., 235. 
 Gargery, Georgian a Maria, 460, 
 Gargery, Joe, 457. 
 Garland, Abel, 176. 
 Garland, Mr., 176. 
 Garland, Mrs., 176. 
 Gashford, Mr., 208. 
 Gaspard, 438. 
 Gattleton, Caroline. 15. 
 
d94 
 
 UWEX, 
 
 Gattleton, Laolna, 15. 
 
 €rattleton, Miss, 15. 
 
 Gattleton, Mr., 15. 
 
 Gattleton, Mrs., 16. 
 
 Gattleton, Semprooius, IS. 
 
 Gay, Walter, 288. 
 
 Gazingi, Miss, 135. 
 
 General, Mrs., 412. 
 
 Gentleman in Small-Clothes, 135. 
 
 George, 135, 176, 318, 400, 489. 
 
 George, Aunt, 5. 
 
 George. See Eouncewell, George, 
 
 363. 
 George, Mrs., 176. 
 George Silyeeman's Explanation, 
 
 540. 
 Greorge, Uncle, 5, 
 Georgiana, 462. 
 Ghost or Aet, The, 563. 
 Ghost of Christmas Past, 221. 
 Ghost of Christmas Present, 221. 
 Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come, 
 
 221. 
 Giant Chi'onioles, 171. 
 Gifted, The. See Moon©y, Mr., 
 
 576. 
 Giggles, Miss, 552. 
 Gilbert, Mark, 208. 
 Giles, Mr., 106. 
 Gills, Solomon, 288. 
 Gimblet, Brother, 540. 
 Glamour, Bob, 498. 
 Gliddery, Bob, 498. 
 Globson, Bully, 451. 
 Glorious ApoUos, 175. 
 Glabb, Old, 2S8. 
 Gobler, Mr., 8. 
 Gog, 168. 
 
 Golden Cross Inn, 90. 
 Golden Dustman, The. See Boffin, 
 
 Kicodemus, 498. 
 Good Kexjublican Brutng of Anti- 
 quity, The, 445. 
 Goodwin, 25. 
 Gordon, Colonel. 203. 
 Gordon, Enmaa, 389. 
 Gordon, Lord George, SOS. 
 Go"wan, Henry, 413. 
 Gowan, Mrs., 414. 
 Gowan, Mra. Henry. Bfi» Mesglea, 
 
 Minnie, 414. 
 Gradgrind, Adam Smith, 391. 
 Gnidgrind, Jans, 391. 
 Gr&dgrind, LouiR^i, 391. 
 Crrad^rind, M&lthas, 391. 
 
 Gradgrind, Mr. Thomas, 38©. 
 
 Gradgrind, Mrs., 391. 
 
 Gradgrind, Thomas, 392. 
 
 Graham, Hugh, 168. 
 
 Graham, Mary, 235. 
 
 Grandfather, Little Nell's. See 
 Little Nell's Grandfather, 176. 
 
 Grainger, 318. 
 
 Gran, Mrs., 489. 
 
 Grandfather of Little Nell, 176, 
 
 Grandmarina, Fairy, 538. 
 
 Granger, Edith, 288. 
 
 Graymarsh, 135. 
 
 Grayper, Mr., 318. 
 
 Grayper, Mrs., 318. 
 
 Grazinglands, Alexander, 451. 
 
 Grazinglands, Mrs, Arabella, 451. 
 
 Geeat Expectations, 455. 
 
 Great National Smithers Testi- 
 monial, 371. 
 
 Great White Horse, The, 33. 
 
 Great Winglebnry, 14. 
 
 Geeat Wi^jglebuet Duel, The, 
 14. 
 
 Green, 566. 
 
 Green, Lucy, 453. 
 
 Green, Miss, 135. 
 
 Green, Mr., 4. 
 
 Green, Mr., jun., 4. 
 
 Green,, Tom, 209. 
 
 Greens. " Wait till the greens is 
 off her mind," 357. 
 
 Gregsbury, Mr., 135. 
 
 GrewgiouB, Hiram, 552. 
 
 Gride, Arthur, 136. 
 
 Gridley, Mr., 363. 
 
 Grig, Tom, 575. 
 
 Grime, Professor, 126. 
 
 Grimmer, Miss, 538. 
 
 Grimwig, Mr., 107. 
 
 Glim wood, EHza, 565. 
 
 " Grind, One demd horrid," 140, 
 
 Grinder, Mr., 182. 
 
 Grip, 209. 
 
 Groffin, Thomas, 26. 
 
 Grogsjwig, 137. 
 
 Grogzwig, Baron of, 136. 
 
 Groper, Colotiel, 236. 
 Groves, Jarof^-a, 182. 
 Growlery, The, 3f^5. 
 Grub, Gftbrie!. 26. 
 Grub, Mr., 126. 
 Grabble, W., ?.M. 
 Grudden, Mrs., 1.36. 
 Grueby, John, 209. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 595 
 
 QrufE and Taokleton, 267. 
 Grummer, Daniel, 26. 
 Grummidge, Doctor, 12@i. 
 Grundy, Mr., 26. 
 Gulpidge, Mr., 318. 
 Gulpidge, Mrs,, 318. 
 Gummidge, Mrs., 318. 
 Gumtion Hoase, 568. 
 Gunter, Mr., 26. 
 Gnppy, Mrs., 364. 
 Gappy, William, 364. 
 Gusher, Mr., 365. 
 Guster, 364. 
 Gwynn, Miss, 26. 
 
 Haggage, Doctor, 414. 
 
 Halsewell, The, 558. 
 
 Hamlet's Aunt. See S piker, I?Irg. 
 
 Henry, 318. 
 Hampstead Pond.3, Speoulationaon 
 
 the Source of the, 44. 
 Handel, 478, 
 Handford, Julius. See narmon, 
 
 John, 499. 
 Hannah, 136. 
 Hard Times, S35. 
 Hardy, Mr., 13. 
 Haredale, Emma, 201. 
 Haredale, Geoffrey, 210. 
 Barker, Mr., 533.' 
 Harleigh, Mr., 15. 
 Harmon, John, 499. 
 Harmon, ilrs. John. See Wilfer, 
 
 Bella, 499. 
 Harmonic Meetings, 376, 
 Harmony Jail, 493. 
 Harris, 26. 
 
 Harris, Mrs., 235, 245. 
 Harris, Mr., 7, 182. 
 Harry, 182. 
 
 Harthouse, James, 392, 
 Harvey, Mr., 164. 
 Hatjnted Man, The, 302. 
 Haven of Philanthropy, 553. 
 Havisham, Esteila. See Bstella, 
 
 456. 
 Havisham, Miss, 462. 
 Hawdon, Captain, 365. 
 Hawdon, Misa. See Summorson, 
 
 Esther, 376. 
 Hawk, Sir Mulberry, 138. 
 Hawkyard, Yerity, 541. 
 « Head, I'll eat my," 107. 
 Headstone, Bradley, 499, 
 ** Heart," « Naturw '" and, 207. 
 
 Hoathfield, Alfred, 269. 
 Heathfield, Grace. See Jeddler, 
 
 Grace, 270. 
 Heep, Mrs., 318. 
 Heep, Uriah, 318. 
 Helves, Captain, 13. 
 Henry, 26. 
 Henry, Mr., 5. 
 Hexam, Charley, 501. 
 Hexam, Jesse, or (rniTer, ^1, 
 Hexam, Lizzie, 501. 
 Heyling, George, 26. 
 Heyling, Mary, 27. 
 Hicks, Septimus, 8. 
 Higden, Betty, 502. 
 Hilton, Mr., 11. 
 Hoghton Towers, 542. 
 Holiday Eomance, 536. 
 Hollow, The, down by tha Sare, 
 
 528. 
 Hollx-Tree, The, 399. 
 Hominy, Mrs., 236. 
 Honeythunder, Luke, 553. 
 
 Hopkins, Captain, 320. 
 Hopkins, Jack, 27. 
 
 Horatio Sparkins, 12. 
 
 Hortense, Mademoiselle, S6%. 
 
 Hospital Patient, The, 6. 
 
 Howler, Eeverend Melckisedech, 
 288. 
 
 Hubble, Mr., 463. 
 
 Hubble, Mrs., 463. 
 
 Hugh, 210. 
 
 Human Interest Brothers, 449. 
 
 Hamm, Anthony, 28. 
 
 Humphrey, Master. See Master 
 Humphrey, 169. 
 
 Hunt, 28. 
 
 Hunt, Leigh, 373. 
 
 Hunted Down, 447. 
 
 Hunter, Horace, 14, 
 
 Hunter, Mrs. Leo, 28, 
 
 Hunter, Leo, 30. 
 
 Hutioy, Jem, 30. 
 
 Ikey, 16. 
 
 Ine8tima,ble Life Aggoranoe Com- 
 
 pany, 447. 
 Infant Bonds of Joy, 371. 
 Infant Phenomenon, Ths, Ses 
 
 Crummies, Ninetta, 134. 
 Inspector, Mr., 503. 
 L 0. U.. 354. 
 Is She His Wifh ? 572. 
 Isaac, 30. 
 
 2 Q 2 
 
596 
 
 IN^EX. 
 
 Ivins, J'mitna, 6. 
 Izzard, Mr., 236. 
 
 Jack, 6, 236, 463. 
 
 Jackal, The, 443. 
 
 Jack, Dark, 451 
 
 Jack, Mercantile, 451. 
 
 Jackman, Major Jmumy, 4SS, 4S9, 
 
 Jackson, Mr., 30, 528. 
 
 Jacobs, Solomon, 16. 
 
 Jacques One, 433. 
 
 Jacques Two, 438. 
 
 Jacques Three, 438. 
 
 Jacques Pour, 438. 
 
 Jacques Five, 4.38. 
 
 Jaggers, Mr., 463. 
 
 James, 9, 11. 
 
 James, Master, 164. 
 
 Jane, 5, 11, 23S, 4S6. 
 
 Jane, Aunt, 6. 
 
 Janet, 320. 
 
 " Janet ! Donkeys ! " 350. 
 
 Jarley, Mrs., 182. 
 
 Jarndyce and Jarrnlyco, 365. 
 
 lamdyce, John, SGo. 
 
 Jasper, John, 554. 
 
 Jeddler, Doctor Anthony, 270. 
 
 Jeddler, Grace, 270. 
 
 Jeddler, Marion, 270. 
 
 Jellyby, Caroline, 366. 
 
 Jellyby, Mr., 367. 
 
 Jellyby, Mrs., 367. 
 
 Jellyby, Peepy, 367. 
 
 Jem, 16. 
 
 Jemima, 288. 
 
 Jemmy, Dismal. See Eutley, J©m, 
 SO. 
 
 Jenkins, Miss, 15. 
 
 Jenkinson, 414. 
 
 Jennings, Miss, 554. 
 
 Jennings, Mr., 7, 57S. 
 
 Jenny, 367. 
 
 Jerry, 182. 
 
 Jingle, Alfred, 30. 
 
 Jiniwin, Mrs., 182. 
 
 Jinkins, 5. 
 
 Jinkins, Mr.., 32, 23^ 
 
 Jinkinson, 16.8. 
 
 Jinks, Mr., 32. 
 
 Jip, 320. 
 
 Jo, 367. 
 
 Jobba, Mr., 127. 
 
 Jobling, Doctor John, 236. 
 
 Jobling, Tony, 369. 
 
 Jobaon, Jesse, Number Two, 4^1. 
 
 Jodd, Mr.. 236. 
 
 Joe, 222, 28S, 43.8, 554. 
 
 Joe, the Fat Bov, 32. 
 
 Joey, Captain, 50-'l. 
 
 John, 3, 12. 16, 33, 288, 543, 563, 
 
 570, 572. 
 John, Mr., 164. 
 Johnny, 503. 
 Johnson, 288. 
 Johnson, John, 570. 
 Johnson, ilr., 136. 
 Jolly, 252. 
 
 Jolly Bargemen, The. 465. 
 Jolly Boatmen, The, 574. 
 Jolly Sandboys, Th^, 202. 
 Jolly Tapley, The, 253. 
 Joltered, Sir William, 127. 
 Jonathan, 503. 
 Jonea, Geore-e, 503. 
 Jones, Mr., 7, 10. 
 Joram, itr., S20. 
 
 Joram, Mrs. See Omer, Minnie, 320. 
 Jorkins, Mr., 320. 
 Jowl, Joe, 182. 
 Joy, Thomas, 5^3. 
 Jupe, Cecilia, 392. 
 Jupe, Signor, 392. 
 
 Kags, 107. 
 
 Kate, 33, 288. 
 
 Kedgick, Captain, 236. 
 
 Kenge, Conversation, 369. 
 
 Kenwigs, Mr., 137, 
 
 Kenwigs, Mrs., 137. 
 
 Kenwigs, Morleena, 1.17. 
 
 Ketch, Professor John, 127. 
 
 Kettle, Lafayette, 236. 
 
 Kibble, Jacob, 503. 
 
 Kidderminster, Master, 392. 
 
 Kinoh, Horace, 451. 
 
 Eondheart, Mr., 452. 
 
 Kitterbell, Charles, 17. 
 
 Kitterbell, Frederick Charles 
 
 William, 17. 
 Kitterbell, Jemima, 17. 
 Klem, Miss, 452. 
 Klem, Mr., 462. 
 Klem, Mrs., 452. 
 Knag, MiK8, 137. 
 Knag, Mortimer, 137. 
 Koeldwethoat, Baron von, 137. 
 Koeldwethout, Baroness von, 133. 
 Krook, Mr., 369. 
 Kutankumagen, Doctor, 127. 
 Kw&kley, Mr.. 127. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 697 
 
 La CroQvy, Miss, 138. 
 
 Ladies' Bible and Prayer-Book 
 
 Distribution Sooietj, 3. 
 Ladies' Societies, The, 3. 
 Lagnier. See Rigaud, 414. 
 Lammle, Alfred, 503. 
 Lammle, Mrs. Alfred. See Aker- 
 
 shem, Mi3s Sophronia, 503. 
 Lamplightes's Story, The, 575. 
 Lamps, 530. 
 Landless, Helena, 554. 
 Landless, Neville, 554. 
 Lane, Miss, 138. 
 Langdale, Mr., 210. 
 Langley, Mr., 482. 
 Larkins, Jem, 4. 
 Larkins, Miss, 320. 
 Larkins, Mr., 320. 
 " Larks ! \VTiat," 466. 
 Last Cab-Driver, The, and the 
 
 First Omnibus-Cad, 4. 
 Last Moments of the Learned Pig, 
 
 126. 
 Last of the Patriarchs. See Casby, 
 
 Christopher, 411. 
 Latin- Grammar Master, The, 538. 
 Learned Pig, Last Moments of the, 
 
 126. 
 Leath, Angela, 400. 
 Leaver, Mr., 127. 
 Leaver, Augusta, 164. 
 Leaver, Augustus, 164. 
 Ledbrain, Mr. X., 127. 
 Ledrook, Miss, 138. 
 Leeford, Edward, 103. 
 Legion, 562. 
 Lemon, Mrs., 538. 
 Lenville, Mrs., 138. 
 Lenville, Thomas, 138. 
 Lewes, G. H., 370. 
 Lewsome, Mr., 236. 
 Lighterman's Arms, The, 574. 
 Lightwood, Mortimer, 503. 
 Lignum Yitse, 357. 
 Lilian. See Fern, Lilian, 253. 
 Lillerton, Miss, 16. 
 Liliyvick, IVIr., 138. 
 Lillyvick, Mrs. See Petowker, 
 
 Henrietta, 145. 
 Limbury, Mrs., 572. 
 Limbury, Peter, 572. 
 Limbkins, 108. 
 Linkin water. Miss, 139. 
 Linkinwater, Mrs. See La Creevy, 
 
 Miss, 138. 
 
 Linkinwater, Tim, 139. 
 
 Lirriper, Doctor Joshua, 489. 
 
 Lirriper, Emma, 486, 490. 
 
 Lirriper, Jemmy Jackman, 486, 
 490. 
 
 List, Isaac, 182. 
 
 Littimer, 321. 
 
 Little Bethel, 183. 
 
 Little Britain. See Britain, Ben- 
 jamin, 269. 
 
 Little Dinner, A, in an Hour, 
 543. 
 
 Little Dorrit, 402. 
 
 Little Nell. See Trent, Little NeU, 
 195. 
 
 Little Nell's Grandfather. See 
 Grandfather, Little Neirs,176. 
 
 Little Winkling Street, 568. 
 
 Lively, Mr., 108. 
 
 Liz, 370. 
 
 Lobbs, Maria, 33. 
 
 Lobbs, Old, 33. 
 
 Lobley, Mr., 555. 
 
 Lobskhii, Signer, 11. 
 
 Lodge of Glorious Apollos, 175. 
 
 Logging, Mr., 4. 
 
 London Recreations, 4. 
 
 Long Ears, Hon. and Rev. Mr., 127a. 
 
 Long Lost, The, 451. 
 
 Long Voyage, The, 558. 
 
 Longford, Edmund, 302. 
 
 Lorry, Jarvis, 438. 
 
 Losberne, Mr., 108. 
 
 Louisa, 165. 
 
 Lovetown, Mr. Alfred, 572. 
 
 Lovetown, Mrs., 572. 
 
 Lowten, Mr., 33. 
 
 Loyal Devasseur, M., 55^ 
 
 Lucas, Solomon, 33. 
 
 Luifey, Mr., 33. 
 
 Lumbey, Mr., 139. 
 
 Lupin, Mrs., 237. 
 
 Lying Awake, 561. 
 
 M'Choakumchild, Mr., 333. 
 Mackin, Mrs., 5. 
 Macklin, Mrs., 3. 
 Macmanus, Mr., 558. 
 MacStinger, Alexander, 289. 
 MacStinger, Charles, 289. 
 MacStinger, Juliana, 289. 
 MacStinger, Mrs., 289. 
 Maddox, John, 571. 
 Madgers, Winifred, 4S1. 
 Magg, Mr., 568. 
 
598 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Maggy, 414. 
 
 Magnus, Peter, SS. 
 
 Magog, 168. 
 
 Magwitcli, Abel, 464. 
 
 Making a Night of it, 7. 
 
 Malderton, Erederick, 12. 
 
 Malderton, Marianne, 12. 
 
 Malderton, Mr., 12. 
 
 Maldei-ton, Mrs., 12. 
 
 Malderton, Teresa, 12. 
 
 Malderton, Thomas, 12. 
 
 Maldon, Jack, 321. 
 
 Mallard, Mr., 39. 
 
 Mallet, Mr., 127. 
 
 Man from Shropshire, The, 370. 
 
 Manette, Doctor Alexander, 439. 
 
 Manette, Lucie, 489. 
 
 Mann, Mrs., 108. 
 
 Manners, Julia, 14. 
 
 Manor Farm, 48. 
 
 Mansel, Miss, 658. 
 
 Mantalini, Alfred, 139. 
 
 Mantalini, Madame, 139. 
 
 Maplesone, Julia, 9. 
 
 Maplesone, Matilda, 9. 
 
 Maplesone, Mrs., 9. 
 
 Marchioness, The, 182. 
 
 Margaret, Aunt, 5. 
 
 " Margin, Leaving a," 469. 
 
 Marigold, Doctor, 525. 
 
 Marigold, Mrs., 525. 
 
 Marigold, Little Sophy, 526. 
 
 Marigold, WiUum, 526. 
 
 Markham, 321. 
 
 Markieham, Mrs., 321. 
 
 Marks, Will, 168. 
 
 Marley, Ghost of Jacoh, 222. 
 
 Maroon, Captain, 415. 
 
 Marquis of Granby, 82. 
 
 Marshall, Mary, 398. 
 
 Marshalsea, Father of the. See 
 
 Dcrrit, William, 415. 
 Hartha, 16, 108, 291. 
 Martha, Aunt, 270. 
 Martin, 39. 
 Martin, Amelia, 7. 
 Martin, Jack, 89. 
 Martin, Miss, 483. 
 Martin, Mr., 39. 
 Maetin Chuzzlewit, 227. 
 Marton, Mr., 182. 
 Marwood, Alice. See Brown, Alice, 
 
 291. 
 Mary, 3, 39. 
 Maiy Ann, 11, 
 
 Mary Anne, 464, 504. 
 
 Master Humphrey, 169, 174. 
 
 Mastee Humpsiiet's Clocs;, 167. 
 
 Matinter, The two Msses, 39. 
 
 Mawls, Master, 568. 
 
 Maxby, Master, 568. 
 
 Maxey, Caroline, 486. 
 
 Maylie, Harry, 108. 
 
 MayKe, Mrs., 108. 
 
 Maylie, Eose, 108. 
 
 Maypole Inn, 214. 
 
 Meagles, Minnie, 415. 
 
 Meagles, Mr., 415. 
 
 Meagles, Mrs., 415. 
 
 Mealy Potatoes, 321. 
 
 Meek, Augustus George, 560. 
 
 Meek, George, 560. 
 
 Meek, Mrs., 560. 
 
 'MeHa, 291. 
 
 MeU, Charles, 821. 
 
 Mell, Mrs., 321. 
 
 Mellows, Mr. J., 452. 
 
 Meltham, Mr., 4^17 . 
 
 Melvilleson, Miss M., 370. 
 
 Mercury, 370. 
 
 Mercy, 452. 
 
 Merdle, Mr., 416. 
 
 Merdle, Mrs., 416. 
 
 Meriton, Henry, 558. 
 
 MeiTjiegs, 393. 
 
 Merrywinkle, Mr. and Mrs., 
 
 166. 
 Mesheck, Aaron, 564. 
 Mioawber, Master Wilkins, 321. 
 Micawber, Emma, 322. 
 Micawber, Mrs. Emma, 328. 
 Micawber, Wilkins, 322. 
 Michael, 561. 
 Mifi, Mrs., 291. 
 Miggs, Miss, 210. 
 Mike, 464. 
 Miles, Bob, 566. 
 Miles, Owen, 169. 
 Miller, Mr., 39. 
 Millers, 464. 
 Mill-PQnd Bank, Chinks's Basii^ 
 
 47S. 
 MiUs, Julia, 329, 559. 
 Mills, Mr., 330. 
 Milvey, Margaretta, 504. 
 Milvey, Eev. Frank, 504. 
 Mim, 526. 
 
 Minding-School, 512. 
 Minerva House, 10. 
 Minns, Augustus, 10. 
 
IKDEX. 
 
 599 
 
 Misplaced Attachment of Lla. 
 
 John Dounce, The, 7. 
 Miss Evans and the Eagle, 6. 
 Mistaken Milliner, The, 7. 
 Misty, Mr. X., 127. 
 Misty, Mr. X. X., 127. 
 Mith, Sergeant, 56-4. 
 Mitts, Mrs., 452. 
 Mivins, Mr., 39. 
 Mobbs, 140. 
 Moddle, AnguBtus, 237. 
 Molly, 464. 
 Moloch, 307. 
 Monflathers, Miss, 182. 
 Monks, 108. 
 Montague, Tigg. See Tigg, Mon. 
 
 tagne, 237. 
 Mooney, 370. 
 Mooney, Mr., 576. 
 *' More, Please, sir, I want some," 
 
 120. 
 Morfin, Mr., 291. 
 Morgan-ap-Kerrig, 378. 
 Mortair, Mr., 128. 
 Mould, Mr., 237. 
 Mould, Mrs., 237. 
 Mould, The two Misses, 237. 
 Mouse, 303. 
 Mowcher, Miss, 330. 
 Mrs. Bablow, §43. 
 Mr. F.'s Aont, 417. 
 Mb. Minns and his CousiNj 9. 
 Mr. Weller's Watch, 172. 
 Mrs. Joseph Porter, 1.5. 
 Mrs. Lieriper's Legacy, 488. 
 Mrs. Lieriper's Lodgings, 484. 
 "Muddle, It's a' a," 395. 
 Muddlebrains, Mr., 128. 
 Mudfog, 125, 573. 
 MuDFOQ Association, The, 125. 
 Mudfog HaU, 573. 
 Mudge, Jonas, 39. 
 Muff, Professor, 128. 
 Mugby Junction, 531t 
 Muggleton, 91. 
 Mull, Professor, 128. 
 MuUins, Jack, 504. 
 Mullit, Professor, 237. 
 Murderer, Captain, 452. 
 Murdstone, Edward, 330. 
 Murdstone, Jane, 331. 
 Mutanhed, Lord, 39. 
 Mutuel, Monsieur, 483. 
 Muzzle, Mr., 39. 
 Mystery of Edwin Dbood, 54g. 
 
 Nadgett, Mr., 238. 
 
 Namby, Mr., 39. 
 
 Namelesston, 543. 
 
 Nancy, 109. 
 
 Nandy, John Edward, 417. 
 
 National Hotel, 234. 
 
 Native, The, 291. 
 
 " Nature " and " Heart," 297. 
 
 Neckett, Charlotte, 370. 
 
 Neckett, Emma, 371. 
 
 Neckett, Mr., 371. 
 
 Neckett, Tom, 371. 
 
 Neddy, 39. 
 
 Neeshawts, Doctor, 128. 
 
 Nell, Little, 195. 
 
 Nemo. See Hawdon, Captain, 
 
 371. 
 Nettmgall, The Misses, 331. 
 Newcome, Clemency, 270. 
 New Thermopylae, 258. 
 New Uncommercial Samples, 543. 
 New Year, The, 6. 
 New York Rowdy Journal, The, 
 
 228, 234. 
 Nicholas, 5. 
 
 Nicholas Nickleby, 131. 
 Nickleby, Godfrey, 140. 
 Nickleby, Kate, 142. 
 Nickleby, Mrs., 142. 
 Nickleby, Nicholas, tho elder, 
 
 140. 
 Nickleby, Nicholas, the younger, 
 
 140. 
 Nickleby, Kalph, 141. 
 Nimrod Club, 19. 
 Niner, Margaret, 448. 
 Nipper, Susan, 291. 
 Noakes, Mr., 128. 
 Noakes, Mrs., 570. 
 Noakes, Percy, 13. 
 Nobody, 562. 
 Nobody's Story, 562. 
 Nockemorf, 72. 
 Noddy, Mr., 39. 
 Noggs, Newman, 144. 
 Nogo, Professor, 128. 
 Norah, 400. 
 Norris, Mr., 238. 
 Norris, Mrs., 238. 
 Norris, The two Misses, 238. 
 Nortoa, Squire, 571. 
 Norwood, 298. 
 "Note of, When found, make a,'* 
 
 280. 
 Nubbles, Christopher, or Kit, 182. 
 
^X) 
 
 mDsx. 
 
 Nubbles, Jacob, 183. 
 Nubbles, Mrs., 183. 
 Nuns' House, 557. 
 Nupkins, George, 39. 
 Nupkins, Henrietta, 43. 
 Nupkins, Mrs,, 43. 
 Nutmeg- Grater Inn, 269, 
 
 Oak Lodge, 12. 
 
 Oakum-Head, 451. 
 
 O'Bleary, Frederick, 9. 
 
 Ode to an Expiiing Frog, 29. 
 
 Oldcastle, 125. 
 
 Old Curiosity Shop, The, 174. 
 
 Old Hell Shaft, 888. 
 
 Old Mint, The, 586. 
 
 Old Soldier, The. Sea M^rkieham, 
 
 Mrs., 331. 
 Oliver Twist, 95. 
 Omer, Minnie, 331. 
 Omer, Mr., 331. 
 On an Amateur Beat, 544. 
 On Duty with Inspector Field, 565 
 Onowenever, Mrs., 452. 
 Orange, James, 53S. 
 Orange, Mrs., 538. 
 Original Pig, The, 125. 
 Orlick, Dolge, 464. 
 Our English Watering-Place, 559 
 Our French Watering-Plack, 559 
 Our Honourable Friend, 567. 
 Our Mlt:ual Friend, 492. 
 Our Next-Door Neighbour, 3. 
 Our School, 567. 
 Our Yestrit, 568. 
 Out of the Season, 58@. 
 Out of Town, 563. 
 " Overhaul yoiir catechism," 279. 
 Overton, JosepJi, 14. 
 Overton, Owen, 570. 
 Owen, John, 185. 
 
 Pancks, Mr., 417. 
 
 Pangloss, 452. 
 
 I'ankej, Miss, 291. 
 
 Pantomime of Life, The, 574. 
 
 " Papa, potatoes, poultry, prunes, 
 
 and prism," 413. 
 Paragon, Maiy Anne, 331. 
 Pardiggle, Alfred, 371. 
 Pardiggle, Egbert, 371. 
 Pardiggle, FeHx, 371. 
 Pardiggle, Francis, 371. 
 Pardig<rle, Mrs., 371. 
 -aidiggle, 0. A., 37 i. 
 
 Pardiggle, Oswald, 371. 
 
 Parker, 566. 
 
 Parker, ilrs. Johnson, 3. 
 
 Parkes, Phil, 211. 
 
 Parkins, :Mrs., 563. 
 
 Parkle, Mr., 453. 
 
 Parliamentary Sketch, A, 4. 
 
 Parlour Orator, The, 6. 
 
 Parsons, Lsetitia, 11. 
 
 Parsons, Mrs. Fanny, 16. 
 
 Parsons, Gabriel, 16. 
 
 Passage, A, in the Life of Ms, 
 
 Watkins Tottle, 16. 
 Passnidge, Mr., 331. 
 Patriarch, The. See Casby, Chris= 
 
 topher, 405. 
 Patriarchs, The Last of the. See 
 
 Casby, Christopher, 411. 
 Paul, Little. See Dombcv, Little 
 
 Paul, 291. 
 Pavilionstone, 563. 
 Pawkius, Major, 238. 
 Pawkins, Mrs., 238. 
 Pawnbroker's Shop, The, 5» 
 Payne, Doctor, 43. 
 Pea, or Peacoat, 566. 
 Peacock, The, 21. 
 Peak, 211. 
 
 Pecksniff, Charity, 241. 
 Pecksniff, Mercy, 241. 
 Pecksniff, Seth, 238. 
 Peecher, Emma, 504. 
 Peel, Solomon, 43. 
 Peepy, Hon. Miss, 559. 
 Peerybingle, John, 265. 
 Peerybingle, Mary, 266. 
 Pegasus Arms, The, 3y2o 
 Peggotty, Clara, 331. 
 Peggotty, Daniel, 332. 
 Peggotty, Ham, 335. 
 Peggy, 538. 
 Pegler, Mrs., 393. 
 Peplow, Master, 3. 
 Peplow, Mrs., 3. 
 Pepper, 465. 
 
 Peps, Doctor Parker, 21^. 
 Perch, Mr., 292. 
 Perch, Mrs., 292. 
 Perker, Mr., 44. 
 Perkins, Mrs., 372. 
 Perkinsop, Mary Anne, 487» 
 Peruvian Mines, 292. 
 Pessell, Mr., 128. 
 Pet. See Meagles, Minnie, 419, 
 .Peter, Lord, 14, 570. 
 
IKDSS. 
 
 flOl 
 
 (Petowker, Henrietta, 145. 
 
 |Fhenomeuon, The Iiifant, 134. 
 
 iPhib, 145. 
 
 'Phibbs, ilr., 566. 
 
 Phn, 568. 
 
 Phiz, 19. 
 
 Phosbe, 145, 530. 
 
 Phunky, Mr., 44, 
 
 Pickles, 538. 
 
 Pickleson, 526. 
 
 Pickwick Papers, Tee, 19. 
 
 Pickwick, Samuel, 44, 169. 
 
 Pidger, Mr., 337. 
 
 Pierce, Captain, 558. 
 
 Pierce, Mary, 558. 
 
 Piff, Miss, 531. 
 
 Pig and Tinder-bos, The, 125. 
 
 Pigeon, Thomas, 564. 
 
 Pilkins, Mr., 292. 
 
 Pinch, Euth, 241. 
 
 Pinch, Tom, 241. 
 
 Pip. See Pin-ip, PiiiKp, 465. 
 
 Pip, Mr., 242. 
 
 Pipchin, Mrs., 292. 
 
 Piper, Mrs., 372. 
 
 Piper, Professor, 242. 
 
 Pipkin, Mr., 128. 
 
 Pipkin, 2sathaniel, 71. 
 
 Pirrip, Phili}>, 465. 
 
 Pitt, Jane, 562. 
 
 Plashwater Weir Mill, 5ia 
 
 Plornish, Mr., 419. 
 
 Ploraish, Mrs., 419. 
 
 Pluck, Mr., 145. 
 
 Plummer, Bextha, 2^, 
 
 Plummer, Caleb, 266. 
 
 Plummer, Edward, 267, 
 
 Pocket, Ahok, 469. 
 
 Pocket, Belinda, 470. 
 
 Pocket, Fanny, 469. 
 
 Pocket, Herbert, 466. 
 
 Pocket, Jane, 469. 
 
 Pocket, Joe, 469. 
 
 Pocket, Matthew, 469. 
 
 Pocket, Sarah, 470. 
 
 Pocket-Breaches, 512 
 
 Podder, I^lr., 71. 
 
 Poddies, 504. 
 
 Podgers, John, 170. 
 
 Pod's End, 392. 
 
 Podsnap, Georgiana, 505. 
 
 Podsnap, John, 505. 
 
 Podsnap, Mxs., 506. 
 
 Podsnappery, 506. 
 
 Pogram, Hon. Elijah, 24S. 
 
 Polly, 630. 
 
 Poodles, 543, 544. 
 
 Poor Man's Tale of a Patent, A; 
 
 563. 
 Poor Kblation's Stort, 661. 
 Poplar Walk, 9. 
 Portable Property, 474/. 
 Porter, Emily, 16. 
 Porter, Mrs. Joseph, 15. 
 Port Middlebay, 322. 
 Potkins, \Villiam, 471. 
 Pott, Mr., 71. 
 Pott, Mrs., 71. 
 Potter, Thomas, 7. 
 Potterson, Abbey, 503. 
 Potterson, Job, 507. 
 Pratchett, Mrs., 463. 
 'Prentice Knights, 2iS. 
 Price, Matilda, 145. 
 Price, Mr., 72. 
 Prig, Betsey, 244. 
 Peinck Bull, 667. 
 Princess's Place, 273. 
 Priscilla, 372. 
 Prisoners' Van, The, & 
 Pritate Theatres, 4. 
 Prodgit, Mrs., 560. 
 Prosee, Mr., 128. 
 Pross, Miss, 440. 
 Press, Solomon, 440. 
 Provis. See Magwitch, Ab®l, 471. 
 Pruffle, 72. 
 
 " Prunes and prism," 413. 
 Public Life of Mr. Tulrumble,573 
 Pubs^ey and Co., 507. 
 Pugstyles, Mr., 145. 
 Pumblechook, Uncle, 471. 
 Pumpkinskull, Professor, 129. 
 Pupker, Sir Matthew, 145. 
 Purblind, Mr., 1:^9. 
 Purday, Captain, 2. 
 Pyke, Mr., 145. 
 
 Quale, Mr., 372. 
 Queerspeck, ProfesKJr, 128. 
 Quickear, 453. 
 Quilp, Betsey, 189. 
 Quilp, Daniel, 185. 
 Quinch, Mrs., 453. 
 Quirdon, Mr., 336. 
 
 Eachael, 393. 
 Eachael, Mrs. 
 
 372. 
 
 Eaddle, Mr., 72. 
 Eaddle, Mary Ann, 72, 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Kainbird, Alice, 538. 
 
 Raiiyganoo, Sallj, 491. 
 
 " Eam-page, On tke," 460. 
 
 Rats' Castle, 566. 
 
 Redbum, Jack, 170. 
 
 Eedforth, Lieutenant - Colonel 
 
 Robin, 539. 
 Redlaw, Mr., 302. 
 Refractoiy, Ciiief, 453. 
 Refractory, Number T-\yo, 453. 
 Repeinted Pieces, 558. 
 Reynolds, Miss, 555. 
 Riah, Mr., 507. 
 Ricbard, 263. 
 Richards. See Toodle, Polly, 
 
 292. 
 Eicketts, Miss, 555. 
 Riderhood, Pleasant, 509. 
 Riderbood, Roger, or Rogue, 510. 
 Rigaud, 420. 
 Einaldo di Yelasco. See Pickleson, 
 
 526. 
 Ripper, 230. 
 River, The, 4. 
 Eob tbe Grinder. See Toodle, 
 
 Robin, 292. 
 Robert, Uncle, 5. 
 Robinson, 9. 
 Robinson, Mr., 2. 
 
 Rodolpb, Mr. and Mrs. Jennings, 7. 
 Rogers, 566. 
 Rogers, Mr., 6, 559. 
 Rogers, Mrs., 72. 
 Roker, Tom, 72. 
 Eokesmitb, Jobn. See Harmon, 
 
 Jobn, 510. 
 Eokesmitb, Mrs. Jobn. See Wilf er, 
 
 Bella, 510. 
 Eosa, 372. 
 Rose, 572. 
 
 Rosebud. See Bud, Eosa, 547. 
 Rose Yillja, Clapbam Rise, 15. 
 RounceWell, George, 372. 
 Rouncewell, Mr., 372. 
 RounceweU, Mrs., 372. 
 Rouncewell, Watt, 372. 
 Rmody Journal, The, 228, 234 
 Boyal Skewer, The, 129. 
 Rudge, Barnaby, 211. 
 Rudge, Mr., 212. 
 Sudge, Mrs., 212. 
 Rugg, Anastasia, 420. 
 Eugg, Mr., 420. 
 Rammun, Professor, li9, 
 Sustic Lodge, 572. 
 
 Saggers, Mrs., 4$3. 
 
 St. Evremonde, Cbarlea, 441. 
 
 St. Evremonde, Lucie, 441. 
 
 St. Evremonde, Marquis, 4iO, 44i« 
 
 St. Evremonde, Marquise, 411. 
 
 St. James's Arms, The, 570. 
 
 St. JuKan, Mr. Horatio. 8&9 
 
 Larkins, Jem, 4. 
 Salcy, P., Family, 453. 
 Salem House, 315. 
 Sally, 4. 
 Sally, Old, 109. 
 Salwanners, The, 215. 
 Sam, 72. 
 
 Sampson, George, 510. 
 Sampson, Mr., 448. 
 Sanders, Susannah, 72. 
 Sapsea, Tbomas, 555. 
 Saracen's Head, The, 94. 
 Sarab, 3. 
 Satis House, 462. 
 Saunders, Mr., 165. 
 Sawyer, Bob, 72. 
 Scadder, Zephaniab, 248. 
 Scadgers, Lady, 393. 
 Scaley, Mr., 145. 
 Schoolboy's Stoet, The, 562. 
 Scbutz, Mr., 559. 
 Scorpion, The, 538. 
 Scott, Tom, 189. 
 Screw, The, 233. 
 Scroo, Mr., 129. 
 Scrooge, Ebenezer, 222. 
 Sentiment, 10. 
 Serapbina, 487. 
 Setting Moon, Tbe, 564. 
 Seven Dials, 3. 
 
 Seven Poge Teavellees, The, 3WT, 
 Sexton, Tbe Old, 189. 
 Sharp, Mr., 337. 
 Sbarpeye, 453. 
 Shepberd, Miss, 337. 
 Sbepberd, Tbe. See Stiggiss, 
 
 Rev. Mr., 72. 
 Sbepberdson, Mr., 564. 
 Sbort. See HaiTis, Mr., 189. 
 Sboulder to tbe wheel, Putting 
 
 tbe, 378. 
 Sbropsbire, Tbe Man from. Ses 
 
 Gridley, Mr., 372. 
 Sikes, Bill, 109. 
 Silverman, George, 541. 
 Simmery, Frank, 73. 
 Simmonds, Miss, 145. 
 Simmons, 2. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 Simmons, Henrietta, 189. 
 
 Simmons, William, 243. 
 
 Simpson, Mr., 9, 73. 
 
 Single Gentleman, The, 189. 
 
 Six Jolly Fellowship-Porters, Tha, 
 
 506. 
 Sketches by Boz, 1. 
 Sketches of Youkg Couples, 164. 
 Skettles, Bamet, juu., 293. 
 Sketties, Lady, 292. 
 Skettles, Sir Barnet, 202. 
 Skevrton, Hon. Mrs., 293. 
 Skiflins, Miss, 473. 
 Skimpin, Mr., 73. 
 Skimpole, Arethusa, 372, 
 Skimpole, Harold, 372. 
 Skimpole, Kitty, 374. 
 Skimpole, Laura, 374. 
 Skimpole, Mrs., 374. 
 Slackbridge, 494. 
 Slamjam Coffee-Honse, 482. 
 Slammer, Doctor, 73. 
 Slaughter, Lieutenant, 11. 
 Sleary, Josephine, 394. 
 Sleary, Mr., 394. 
 Sliderskew, Peg, 145. 
 Slinkton, Julius, 448. 
 SKthers, Mr., 170. 
 Sliverstone, Mr., 165. 
 Sliverstone, Mrs., 165. 
 Sloppy, 510. 
 Slowboy, Tilly, 2.^1. 
 " Slow Coaches," 240. 
 Sludberry, Thomas, 4. 
 Slufl'en, Mr., 5. 
 Slug, Mr., 129. 
 Slum, Mr., 189. 
 Slumkey, Hon. Samuel, 79. 
 Slurk, Mr., 79. 
 Slyme, Chevy, 248. 
 Small Stas, A, in the East, 
 
 643. 
 Smallweed, Bartholomew, 374. 
 SmaUweed, Grandfather, 374. 
 Smallweed, Grandmother, 375. 
 SmaUweed, Judy, 375. 
 Smangle, 79. 
 Smart, Tom, 79. 
 Smauker, John, 79. 
 Smif, Putnam, 249. 
 Smiggers, Joseph, 79. 
 Smike, 145. 
 " Smile. In came Mrs. Fezziwig, 
 
 one vast substantial," 221. 
 Smith, Mr., 5, 129. 
 
 Smithers, Emily, II, 
 
 Smithers, Miss, 79. 
 
 Smithers, Robert, 8e 
 
 Smithie, Mr., 79. 
 
 Smithie, Mrs., 79. 
 
 Smithie, The Misses, 79. 
 
 Smorltork, Count, 79. 
 
 Smouch, Mr., 79. 
 
 Smuggins, Mr., 3. 
 
 Snagsby, Mr., 375. 
 
 Snagsby, Mrs., 375. 
 
 Snap, Betsey, 561. 
 
 Snawley, Mr., 146. 
 
 Snawley, Mrs., 146. 
 
 Snevellicci, Miss, 146. 
 
 Snevellicci, Mr., 146. 
 
 SneveUicci, Mrs., 146. 
 
 Snewkes, Mr., 146. 
 
 Sniff, Mr., 532. 
 
 Sniff, Mrs., 532. 
 
 Sniggs, Mr., 573. 
 
 Snigsworth, Lord, 510. 
 
 Snipe, Hon. Wiimot, 79. 
 
 Snitchey, Jonathan, 271. 
 
 Snitchey, Mrs., 271. 
 
 Snivey, Sir Hookham, 129. 
 
 Snobb, Hon. Mr., 146. 
 
 Snodgrass, Augustus, 79. 
 
 Snore, Professor, 129. 
 
 Snubbin, Serjeant, 79. 
 
 Snuffletoffle, 0. J., 129. 
 
 Snuphanuph, Lady, 80. 
 
 Social Linen Box Company, 371. 
 
 Soemup, Doctor, 129. 
 
 Sol's Arms, The, 35S. 
 
 Somebody's Luggage, 481. 
 
 Some Uncollected Pieces, 569. 
 
 Bon and Heir, The, 277. 
 
 Sophia, 249, 473. 
 
 Sophy, 487, 527. 
 
 Southcote, Mr., 559. 
 
 Southcote, Mrs., 559. 
 
 Sowerberry, Mr., 119. 
 
 Sowerberry, Mrs., 119. 
 
 Sownds, Mr., 293. 
 
 Sowster, 129. 
 
 Sparkins, Horatio, 13. 
 
 Sparkler, Edmund, 420. 
 
 Sparkler, Mrs. Edmund. Bm 
 
 Dorrit, Fanny, 421. 
 Sparks, Tom, 570. 
 Sparsit, Mrs., 394. 
 Spatter, John, 561, 
 Specks, Joe, 453. 
 Specks, Mrs., 453. 
 
604 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Speonlationa on the Source of the 
 ilampstead Ponds, with some 
 Observations on the Theory 
 of Tittlebats, 44. 
 
 Spenlow, Clarissa, 337. 
 
 Spenlow, Dora, 337. 
 
 Spenlow, Francis, 337. 
 
 Spenlow, LaWnia, 337. 
 
 Sphjnx, Sophronia, See Mlar- 
 ohioness, The, 189. 
 
 Spider, The. 8ee Drummle, Bent- 
 ley, 473. 
 
 Spiker, Henry, 338. 
 
 Spiker, Mrs. Henry, 333. 
 
 Spottletoe, Mr,, 249. 
 
 Spottletoe, Mrs., 219. 
 
 Spx'odgkin, IVIrs., 511. 
 
 Spruggius, Mrs., 2. 
 
 Sprnggias, Thomas, 2. 
 
 Sqaeers, Fanny, 155. 
 
 Squeers, l^Iaster Wackford, 155. 
 
 Squeers, Mrs., 155. 
 
 Squeers, Wackford, 147. 
 
 Squires, Olympia, 453. 
 
 Squod, Phil, 375. 
 
 Stables, Hon. Bob, 376. 
 
 Stagg, 213. 
 
 Stagg's Gardens, 296. 
 
 Stalker, Mr. Inspector, 564i. 
 
 Staple, Mr., 80. 
 
 Stareleigh, Justice, 80. 
 
 Starling, Mrs., 164. 
 
 Startop, Mr., 473. 
 
 Steam Excursion, The, 13. 
 
 Steerforth, James, 338. 
 
 Steerforth, Mrs., 344. 
 
 StifEun's Acre, 569. 
 
 Stiggins, Rev. Mr., 80. 
 
 Stiltstalking, Lord Lancaster, 421. 
 
 Stokes, Mr. Martin, 572. 
 
 Stone Lodge, 390. 
 
 Strange Gentleman, The, 569. 
 
 Strange Gentleman, The, 570. . 
 
 Straudenheim, 453. 
 
 Straw, Sergeant, 565. 
 
 Streets, The. — Night, 3. 
 
 Strong, xinnie, 345. 
 
 Strong, Doctor, 3t4. 
 
 Struggles, Mr., 80. 
 
 Stryver, Mr., 441, 
 
 Stubbs, Mrs., 14. 
 
 Styles, Mr., 129. 
 
 Snmmerson, Esther, 376. 
 
 Superannuated Widows, 371. 
 
 Siiturb, 238. 
 
 Sweedlepipe, Paul, or Poll, 249, 
 
 Sweeney, Mrs., 454. 
 
 Sweet William, 189. 
 
 Swidger, George, 306. 
 
 Swidger, Milly, 306, 
 
 Swidger, Philip, 306. 
 
 Swidger, William, 306. 
 
 Swillenhausen, Baron von, 155. 
 
 Gwillenhausen, Baroness von, 156» 
 
 Swills, Little, 376. 
 
 Swiveller, Dick, 189. 
 
 Swoshle, Mrs. Henry George 
 
 Alfred, nde Tapkins, 511. 
 Swosser, Captain, 357. 
 Sylvia, 542. 
 
 Tacker, 250. 
 
 Tackleton, 267. 
 
 Tadger, Brother, 80. 
 
 " Take care of him : he h' -^s," 352. 
 
 Tale of Two Cities, 42i 
 
 Tamaroo, 250. 
 
 Tangle, Mr., 376. 
 
 Tape, 567. 
 
 Tapkins, Antonia, 511, 
 
 Tapkins, Euphemia, 511. 
 
 Tapkins, Felix, 572, 
 
 Tapkins, Frederica, 511. 
 
 Tapkins, Malvina, 511. 
 
 Tapkins, Miss, 511. 
 
 Tapkins, Mrs., 511. 
 
 Tapley, Mark, 250. 
 
 Tappertit, Simon, 213. 
 
 Tappleton, Lieutenant, 80. 
 
 Tartar, Bob, 562. 
 
 Tartar, Lieutenant, 557. 
 
 Tatham, Mrs., 5. 
 
 Tatt, Mr., 565. 
 
 Tattycoram. See Beadle, Harriet, 
 
 421. 
 Taunton, Captain, 398. 
 Taunton, Emily, 14. 
 Taunton, Mrs., 14, 398. 
 Taunton, Sophia, 14. 
 Taunton, Yale of, 378. 
 Tellson and Company, 441. 
 Temeraire, The, 543. 
 Testator, Mr., 454. 
 Tetterby, Adolphus, 306. 
 Tetterby, 'Dolphus, 307. 
 Tetterby, Johnny, 307. 
 Tetterby, Sally, 307, 
 Tetterby, Sophia, 306. 
 Theophile, Corporal, 483. 
 Thom-ia, 14, 376. 
 
:XDEX. 
 
 «05 
 
 Thompaon, Tally-ho, 505. 
 Thorn of Anxiety, The, 547. 
 Thoughts about People, ;">. 
 Three Cripples, The, 90, 1 22. 
 Three "Dstjictive " A-necdotes, 
 
 565. 
 Three Jolly Bargemen, Tho. See 
 
 Jolly Bargemen, The, 405. 
 Tibhs, Mr., 9. 
 Tibbs, Mrs., 9. 
 Tickit, Mrs., 421. 
 Tickle, Mr., 130. 
 Tickler, 230, 461. 
 " Tide, Going ont with the/* 310. 
 Tiddypot, Mr., 568. 
 Tiffer, Mr., 345. 
 Tigg, Montague, 253. 
 Timbered, Mr., 130. 
 Timberry, Snitfcle, ISO. 
 Timaon, E-ev. Charles, 10. 
 Tiny Tim. See Cratchit, Tim, 226. 
 Tinkler, 421. 
 TinkHng, William, 539. 
 Tip. See Dorrit, Edwaxd, 421. 
 Tipkisson, 567. 
 Tipp, 345. 
 Tippin, Master, 11. 
 Tippin, Miaa, 11. 
 Tippin, Mr., 11. 
 Tippin, Mrs., 11. 
 Tippina, Lady, 511. 
 Tisher, Mrs., 557, 
 Tittlebats, Observationa on tfee 
 
 Theory of, 44. 
 Tix, Tom, 150. 
 Tockahoopo Indiana, 371. 
 Toddles, 513, 
 Toddyhigh, Joe, 170. 
 Todgera, Mrs. M., 254. 
 Tom, 17, 156, 442, 539. 
 Tom, Honest, 5. 
 Tom, Uncle. See Balderstone, 
 
 Thomas, 15. 
 Tom-all-Aloiie's, 380, 2S2. 
 Tomkins, 150. 
 Tomkina, Alfred, 9. 
 Tomkins, Charles, 5701. 
 Tomking, Misa, 80. 
 Tomlinson, Mra., BO, 
 Tommy, 6, 80. 
 Toodle, Mr., 293. 
 Toodle, Pollv, 293. 
 Toodle, Eobin, 29.3. 
 Toorell, Dooior, UQ. 
 Tootle, Tom, 513. 
 
 'I'uots, P., 293. 
 
 Toots, i^Irs. See Nipper, Susan, 
 
 294. 
 Tope, Mr., 557. 
 Tope, Mrs., 5o7. 
 Topper, :Mr., 226. 
 Toppitt, Miss, 255. 
 Tottle, Watkins, 10. 
 *' Tough, sir — tough, and de-vilish 
 
 sly! "273. 
 Toughey. See Jo, 370. 
 Towlinson, Thomas, 295. 
 Tox, Lucretia, 295. 
 Tozer, 295. 
 Trabb, Mr., 473. 
 Traddlea, Thomas, 345. 
 Trampfoot, 454. 
 Trayellers' T-woponny, The, 548. 
 Treat, Frederick, 195. 
 Trent, Little Neii, 195. 
 Tresham, 530. 
 
 " Tricks, I know their," 497. 
 Trimmers, Mr., 156. 
 Trinkle, Mr., 565. 
 Trott, Alexander, 14. 
 Trott, Walker, 570. 
 Trottfvr. Job, 80. 
 Trottera. See Harris, Mr., 201. 
 Trotwood, Betsey, 3 J7. 
 Trotwood, Husband of Betsey, 
 
 35L 
 Trotty. See Yeck, Toby, 263. 
 Truck, Mr., 130. 
 Trundle, Mr., 80, 
 Tucket's Terrace, 568. 
 Tuckle, 80. 
 Tugby, 263. 
 Tuggs, Charlotte, 11. 
 Tuggs, Joseph, 11. 
 Tuggs, Mrs., 11. 
 Tuggs, Simon, 11. 
 
 TUGGSKS AT RaMSGATK, TkB, 11. 
 
 Tulkinghom, Mr., 370. 
 Tulrumble, IVIr., 573. 
 Tulrumble, Nicholas, 573. 
 Tulniinble, Niohoiaa, junior, 574. 
 Tungay, 351. 
 Tupman, Tracy, 81. 
 Tnpple, Mr., 6. 
 ^*Tum up, Waiting for aomething 
 
 to," 322. 
 Turveydrop, Mr., 377. 
 Turveydrop, Prince, 377. 
 Twemlow, Melvin, 512. 
 T?rig,cer, Ed»rard, 574. 
 
606 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Twigger, Mrs., 574. 
 Twinkleton, Miss, 557. 
 Twist, Olirer, 119. 
 Two Ghost Stories, 533. 
 Tyrolean Flower-act, The, 394. 
 
 '♦Umble, I'm very," 319. 
 
 Umbugology, 126. 
 
 Uncle Tom. See Baldorstone^ 
 Thomas, 15. 
 
 Uncommercial Trayeller, 449. 
 
 United Aggregate Tribunal, 388. 
 
 United BuU-Dogs, 213. 
 
 United Grand Junction Ebenezer 
 Temperance Association, 28. 
 
 United Grand Junction Lirriper 
 and Jackman Great Norfolk 
 Parlour Line, 490. , 
 
 United Metropolitan Improved Hot 
 Muffin and Crumpet Baking 
 and Punctual Delivery Com- 
 pany, 132. 
 
 Upwitch, Richard, 81. 
 
 Vale of Taunton, The, 378. 
 Valiant Soldier, The, 196. 
 Varden, Dolly, 218. 
 Varden, Gabriel, 213." 
 Varden, Martha, 214, 
 Vaitxhall Gardens by Day, 4. 
 Veck, Margaret, or Meg, 2G3. 
 Veck, Toby, 263. 
 Velasco, Rinaldo di. See Pickleson, 
 
 526. 
 Veneering, Anastasia, 513. 
 Veneering, Hamilton, 512. 
 Vengeance, The, 442. 
 Ventriloquist, Monsieur the, 454. 
 Venus, Mr., 513. 
 Verbosity, 567. 
 
 Verisopht, Lord Frederick, 156. 
 Vholes, Mr., 378. 
 Victualler, Mr. Licenped, 454. 
 Village Coquettes, The, 571. 
 "Volatile," 330. 
 Vuffin, 201. 
 
 Wackles, Jane, 201. 
 Wackles, Melissa, 201. 
 Vfackles, Mrs., 201. 
 Wa<5kles, Sophy, 201. 
 Wade, Miss, 421. 
 Wagbom, Mr., 130. 
 Waldengarver, Mr. 8es Wopsla, 
 Mr., 474. 
 
 TValker, Mick, 351. 
 
 Walker, Mr., 17. 
 
 Walker, Mrs., 3. 
 
 Walmers, Master Harry, iai/io?, 
 
 400. 
 Walmers, Mr., 401. 
 Walter, Edward M' Neville. Sm 
 
 Butler, Theodosius, 10. 
 Warden, Michael, 271. 
 Wardle, Emily, 81. 
 Wardle, Isabella, 81.. 
 Wardle, Mr., 81. 
 Wardle, Mrs., 81. 
 Wardle, Rachael, 81. 
 Warden, 17. 
 Warden, Mary, 18. 
 Warden, WiUiam, 18. 
 Warren, The, 210. 
 Warwick, The Earl of, 566. 
 Watch, Mr. Weller's, 172. 
 Waterbrook, Mr., 351. 
 Waterbrook, Mrs., 351. 
 Waterloo, 566. 
 Waters, Captain Walter, 12. 
 Waters, Belinda, 12. 
 Watertoast Association of Unitsd 
 
 Sympathisers, 230. 
 Watkins, The First, King, 539. 
 Watty, Mr., 81. 
 Wedgington, Master B., 563. 
 Wedgington, l^Ir. B., 563. 
 Wedgington, Mrs. B., 563. 
 Weedle, Anastasia, 454. 
 Weevle, Mr. See Jobling, Ton^ -, 378. 
 Wegg, Silas, 515. 
 Weller, Samuel, 81, 171. 
 Weller, Susan, 90. 
 WeUer, Tony, 87, 171. 
 Weller, Tony, the younger, 173. 
 Wemmick, John, 474. 
 Wemmick, Mr., senior, 475. 
 Wemmick, Mrs. See Skiffins, Miss, 
 
 475. 
 West, Dame, 201. 
 Westga-te House Establishment, 26. 
 Westlock, John, 255. 
 Westwood, Mr., 156. 
 Wharton, Granville, 542. 
 Wheel, Putting the shouldigt' to 
 
 the, 378. 
 Wheezy, Professor, 130, 
 " When found, make a note of," 280. 
 Whiff, Miss, 533. 
 Whiffers, 90. , 
 Whiffier, Mr. and Mrs., 166- 
 
INDEX. 
 
 9m 
 
 Whimple, Mrs., 475. 
 
 Whisker, 201. 
 
 White, 539, 566. 
 
 White Hart Inn, 91. 
 
 White Horse Cellar, 23. 
 
 Wickfield, Agnes, 351. 
 
 Wickfield, Mr., 351. 
 
 Wiokham, Mrs., 295. 
 
 Wicks, Mr., 90. 
 
 Widger, Bobtail, 165. 
 
 Widger, Lavinia, 165. 
 
 Wield, Mr. Inspector, 565. 
 
 Wigsby, Mr., 130, 5B8. 
 
 Wild Horseman of the K'orth 
 
 American Prairies, 389. 
 Wilderness Walk, 568. 
 Wilfer, BeUa, 518. 
 Wilfer, Lavinia, 518. 
 Wilfer, Mrs. Reginald, 519. 
 Wilfer, Eeginald, 519. 
 Wilkingwater, 539. 
 Wilkins, 90. 
 Wilkins, Dick, 226. 
 Wilkins, Samuel, 6. 
 Willet, Joe, 215. 
 Willet, John, 214. 
 WiUiam, 3, 156, 351. 
 WilKam. SeePotkina, WiViiam, 47'^. 
 William, Sweet. The Sweeo Wil- 
 
 Ham, 201. 
 Williams, 566. 
 WilHams, William, 520, 
 Williamson, ilrs., 15. 
 " Willin', Barkis is," SIO. 
 WilHng Sophy, 487. 
 WiUis, Mr., 17. 
 WiUises, The four Miss, 2, 
 Wilson, Caroline, 11. 
 Wilson, Fanny, 571. 
 
 Wilson, Mary, 571. 
 
 Wilson, Mr., 16. 
 
 Wiltshire, 454, 
 
 ♦' Wind, The, is in the east," 365. 
 
 Winglelaury Arms, The, 14. 
 
 Winking, Charley, 561. 
 
 Winkle, Mr., senior, 90. 
 
 Winkle, Nathaniel, 90. 
 
 Wisbottle, Mr., 9. 
 
 Wisk, Miss, 378. 
 
 Witchem, 565. 
 
 Witherden, Mr., 201. 
 
 Witherfield, Miss, 90. 
 
 Withers, 295. 
 
 Wititterly, Henry, 156. 
 
 Wititterfy, JuHa, 156. 
 
 Wobbler, Mr., 422. 
 
 Wolf, Mr., 255. 
 
 " Woman, A fine figure of a," 4501 
 
 Woodcourt, Allan, 378. 
 
 Woodcourt, Mrs., 378. 
 
 Wooden Midshipman, The, 294. 
 
 Woodensconce, Mr., 130. 
 
 Woolford, Miss, 4. 
 
 Wopsle, Mr., 476. 
 
 Wosky, Doctor, 9. 
 
 Wozenham, Miss, 487, 491. 
 
 Wraybum, Eugene, 520. 
 
 Wraybnrn, Mrs. Eugene. See 
 
 Hexam, Lizzie, 521. 
 Wren, Jenny. See Clearer, Fanny, 
 
 521 
 Wugsby, Mrs. Colonel, 90. 
 
 Tawler, 346. 
 
 York, The Five Sisters of, 157. 
 
 Zamiel, 564. 
 Zephyr, The. 
 
 See Mirins, Mr., 9^ 
 
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