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I 
 
 , *\Ki.-.; iWiirL'Ss j ' P B& ^ ^v* AN 
 
 
THE PERSONAL HISTORY 
 
 OF 
 
 DAVID COPPERFIELD 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES 
 VOL. I 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 NEW YORK 
 THE UNIVERSITY SOCIETY 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
PREFACE 
 
 I DO not find it easy to get sufficiently far away from this 
 Book, in the first sensations of having finished it, to refer 
 to it with the composure which this formal heading would 
 seem to require. My interest in it, is so recent and strong, 
 and my mind is so divided between pleasure and regret 
 pleasure in the achievement of a long design, regret in the 
 separation from many companions that I am in danger of 
 wearying the reader whom I love, with personal confidences 
 and private emotions. 
 
 Besides which, all that I could say of the Story, to any 
 purpose, I have endeavored to say in it. 
 
 It would concern the reader little, perhaps, to know how 
 sorrowfully the pen is laid down at the close of a two- 
 years' imaginative task ; or how an Author feels as if he 
 ere dismissing some portion of himself into the shadowy 
 world, when a crowd of the creatures of his brain are going 
 from him for ever. Yet, I have nothing else to tell; unless, 
 indeed, I were to confess (which might be of less moment 
 <Btill), that no one can ever believe this Narrative, in the 
 reading, more than I have believed it in the writing. 
 
 Instead of looking back, therefore, I will look forward. 
 
 . 
 
 ,1 cannot close this Volume more agreeably to myself, than 
 
 fit 
 
IV 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 with a hopeful glance towards the time when I shall again 
 put forth iny two green leaves once a month, and with 
 faithful remembrance of the genial sun and showers the 
 have fallen on these leaves of David Copperfield, and made 
 me happy. 
 
 The foregoing remarks are what I originally wrote, undei 
 the head of PREFACE TO THE PERSOXAL HISTORY OF DAVIJ 
 COPPERFIELD. I have nothing to add to them at tl 
 time. 
 
CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 CHAPTER PAQB 
 
 I. I AM BORN ... .,,,.. 
 
 II. I OBSERVE .......... 14 
 
 III. I HAVE A CHANGE ........ 30 
 
 IV. I FALL INTO DISGRACE ....... 47 
 
 V. I AM SENT AWAY FROM HOME . . . . . .68 
 
 VI. I ENLARGE MY ClRCLE OF ACQUAINTANCE ... 88 
 
 VII. MY "FIRST HALF" AT SALEM HOUSE .... 96 
 
 VIII. MY HOLIDAYS. ESPECIALLY ONE HAPPY AFTERNOON . 116 
 
 IX. I HAVE A MEMORABLE BIRTHDAY ..... 132 
 
 X. I BECOME NEGLECTED, AND AM PROVIDED FOR . . 145 
 
 XI. I BEGIN LlFE ON MY OWN ACCOUNT, AND DON'T LIKE IT 167 
 
 XII. LIKING LIFE ON MY OWN ACCOUNT NO BETTER, i FORM 
 
 A GREAT RESOLUTION ....... 184 
 
 XIII. THE SEQUEL OF MY RESOLUTION . . . 195 
 
 XIV. MY AUNT MAKES UP HER MIND ABOUT ME ... 217 
 
 XV. I MAKE ANOTHER BEGINNING ...... 234 
 
 XVI. I AM A NEW BOY IN MORE SENSES THAN ONE . . . 245 
 
 XVII. SOMEBODY TURNS UP ........ 269 
 
 XVIII. A RETROSPECT ......... 288 
 
 XIX. I LOOK ABOUT ME, AND MAKE A DISCOVERY . . . 296 
 
 XX. STEERFORTH'S HOME ........ 314 
 
 XXI. LITTLE EM'LY ......... 324 
 
 XXII. SOME OLD SCENES AND SOME NEW PEOPLE . . . 345 
 
 XXIII. I CORROBORATE MR. DlCK. ANT CHOOSE A PROFESSION . 370 
 
 V 
 
Vi CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XXIV. MY FIRST DISSIPATION 386 
 
 XXV. GOOD AND BAD ANGELS 396 
 
 XXVI. I PALL INTO CAPTIVITY 417 
 
 XXVII. TOMMY TRADDLES 434 
 
 XXVIII. MR. MICAWBER'S GAUNTLET 445 
 
 XXIX. I VISIT STEERFORTH AT HIS HOME, AGAIN . . . 466 
 
THE PERSONAL HISTORY OF 
 
 DAVID COPPERFIELD. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 I AM BORN. 
 
 WHETHER I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, 
 or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these 
 pages must show. To begin my life with the beginning of my 
 life, I record that I was born (as I have been informed and 
 believe) on a Friday, at twelve o'clock at night. It was 
 remarked that the clock began to strike, and I began to cry, 
 simultaneously. 
 
 In consideration of the day and hour of my birth, it was 
 declared by the nurse, and by some sage women in the neigh- 
 borhood who had taken a lively interest in me several months 
 before there was any possibility of our becoming personally 
 acquainted, first, that I was destined to be unlucky in life ; 
 and secondly, that I was privileged to see ghosts and spirits ; 
 both these gifts inevitably attaching, as they believed, to all 
 unlucky infants of either gender, born towards the small hours 
 on a Friday night. 
 
 I need say nothing here, on the first head, because nothing 
 can show better than my history whether that prediction was 
 verified or falsified by the result. On the second branch of 
 the question, I will only remark, that unless I ran through 
 that part of my inheritance while I was still a baby, I have 
 not come into it yet. But I do not at all complain of having 
 been kept out of this property, and if anybody else should 
 
 VOL. Z 1 1 
 
2 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 be in the present enjoyment of it, he is heartily welcome to 
 keep it. 
 
 I Avas born with a caul, which was advertised for sale, in the 
 newspapers, at the low price of fifteen guineas. Whether sea- 
 going people were short of money about that time, or were 
 short of faith and preferred cork-jackets, I don't know ; all I 
 know is, that there was but one solitary bidding, and that was 
 from an attorney connected with the bill-broking business, 
 who offered two pounds in cash, and the balance in sherry, 
 but declined to be guaranteed from drowning on any higher 
 bargain. Consequently the advertisement was withdrawn at 
 a dead loss -r for as to sherry, my poor dear mother's own 
 sherry was in the market then and ten years afterward? 
 the caul was put up in a raffle down in our part of the coun- 
 try, to fifty members at half-a-crown a head, the winner to 
 spend five shillings. I was present myself, and I remember 
 to have felt quite uncomfortable and confused, at a part of 
 myself being disposed of in that way. The caul was won, I 
 recollect, by an old lady with a hand-basket, who, very reluc- 
 tantly, produced from it the stipulated five shillings, all in 
 halfpence, and twopence halfpenny short as it took an 
 immense time and a great waste of arithmetic, to endeavor 
 without any effect to prove to her. It is a fact which will be 
 long remembered as remarkable down there, that she was 
 never drowned, but died triumphantly in bed, at ninety-two. 
 I have understood that it was, to the last, her proudest boast, 
 that she never had been on the water in her life, except upon 
 a bridge ; and that over her tea (to which she was extremely 
 partial) she, to the last, expressed her indignation at the 
 impiety of mariners and others, who had the presumption to 
 go " meandering " about the world. It was in vain to repre- 
 sent to her that some conveniences, tea perhaps included, 
 resulted from this objectionable practice. She always re- 
 turned, with greater emphasis and with an instinctive knowl- 
 edge of the strength of her objection, " Let us have no 
 meandering." 
 
 Not to meander myself, at present, I will go back to my 
 birth. 
 
 I was born at Blunderstone, in Suffolk, or "thereby/' as 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 3 
 
 they say in Scotland. I was a posthumous child. My father's 
 eyes had closed upon the light of this world six months, when 
 mine opened on it. There is something strange to me, even 
 now, in the reflection that he never saw me ; and something 
 stranger yet in the shadowy remembrance that I have of my 
 first childish associations with his white gravestone in the 
 churchyard, and of the indefinable compassion I used to feel 
 for it lying out alone there in the dark night, when our little 
 parlor was warm and bright with fire and candle, and the 
 doors of our house were almost cruelly, it seemed to me 
 sometimes bolted and locked against it. 
 
 An aunt of my father's, and consequently a great-aunt of 
 mine, of whom I shall have more to relate by and by, was the 
 principal magnate of our family. Miss Trotwood, or Miss 
 Betsey, as my poor mother always called her, when she suffi- 
 ciently overcame her dread of this formidable personage to 
 mention her at all (which was seldom), had been married to a 
 husband younger than herself, who was very handsome, except 
 in the sense of the homely adage, "handsome is, that hand- 
 some does " for he was strongly suspected of having beaten 
 Miss Betsey, and even of having once, on a disputed question 
 of supplies, made some hasty but determined arrangements to 
 throw her out of a two pair of stairs' window. These evidences 
 of an incompatibility of temper induced Miss Betsey to pay 
 him off, and effect a separation by mutual consent. He went 
 to India with his capital, and there, according to a wild legend 
 .in our family, he was once seen riding on an elephant, in com- 
 pany with a Baboon ; but I think it must have been a Baboo 
 or a Begum. Anyhow, from India, tidings of his death 
 reached home, within ten years. How they affected my aunt, 
 nobody knew ; for immediately upon the separation, she took 
 her maiden name again, bought a cottage in a hamlet on the 
 sea-coast a long way off, established herself there as a single 
 woman with one servant, and was understood to live se- 
 cluded, ever afterwards, in an inflexible retirement. 
 
 My father had once been a favorite of hers, I believe ; but 
 she was mortally affronted by his marriage, on the ground that 
 my mother was " a wax doll." She had never seen my mother, 
 but she knew her to be not yet twenty. My father and Miss 
 
4 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 Betsey never met again. He was double my mother's age 
 when he married, and of but a delicate constitution. He died 
 a year afterwards, and, as I have said, six months before I 
 came into the world. 
 
 This was the state of matters, on the afternoon of, what 
 / may be excused for calling, that eventful and important 
 Friday. I can make no claim therefore to have known, at that 
 time, how matters stood ; or to have any remembrance, founded 
 on the evidence of my own senses, of what follows. 
 
 My mother was sitting by the fire, but poorly in health, and 
 very low in spirits, looking at it through her tears, and de- 
 sponding heavily about herself and the fatherless little stranger, 
 who was already welcomed by some grosses of prophetic pins, 
 in a drawer up stairs, to a world not at all excited on the 
 subject of his arrival ; my mother, I say, was sitting by the 
 fire, that bright, windy March afternoon, very timid and sad, 
 and very doubtful of ever coming alive out of the trial that 
 was before her, when, lifting her eyes as she dried them, to 
 the window opposite, she saw a strange lady coming up the 
 garden. 
 
 My mother had a sure foreboding at the second glance, that 
 it was Miss Betsey. The setting sun was glowing on the 
 strange lady, over the garden-fence, and she came walking up 
 to the door with a fell rigidity of figure and composure of 
 countenance that could have belonged to nobody else. 
 
 When she reached the house, she gave another proof of her 
 identity. My father had often hinted that she seldom con- 
 ducted herself like any ordinary Christian ; and now, instead 
 of ringing the bell, she came and looked in at that identical 
 window, pressing the end of her nose against the glass to that 
 extent, that my poor dear mother used to say it became per- 
 fectly flat and white in a moment. 
 
 She gave my mother such a turn, that I have always been 
 convinced I am indebted to Miss Betsey for having been born 
 on a Friday. 
 
 My mother had left her chair in her agitation, and gone 
 behind it in the corner. Miss Betsey, looking round the 
 room, slowly and inquiringly, began on the other side, and 
 carried her eyes on, like a Saracen's Head in a Dutch clock, 
 
(XF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 5 
 
 until they reached my mother. Then she made a frown and a 
 gesture to my mother, like one who was accustomed to be 
 obeyed, to come and open the door. My mother went. 
 
 " Mrs. David Copperfield, I think," said Miss Betsey ; the 
 emphasis referring, perhaps, to my mother's mourning weeds^ 
 and her condition. 
 
 "Yes," said my mother, faintly. 
 
 "Miss Trotwood," said the visitor. "You have heard of 
 her, I dare say ? " 
 
 My mother answered she had had that pleasure. And she 
 had a disagreeable consciousness of not appearing to imply 
 that it had been an overpowering pleasure. 
 
 " Now you see her," said Miss Betsey. My mother bent her 
 head, and begged her to walk in. 
 
 They went into the parlor my mother had come from, the 
 fire in the best room on the other side of the passage not 
 being lighted not having been lighted, indeed, since my 
 father's funeral ; and when they were both seated, and Miss 
 Betsey said nothing, my mother, after vainly trying to restrain 
 herself, began to cry. 
 
 " Oh tut, tut, tut ! " said Miss Betsey, in a hurry. " Don't 
 do that ! Come, come ! " 
 
 My mother couldn't help it notwithstanding, so she cried 
 until she had had her cry out. 
 
 " Take off your cap, child," said Miss Betsey, " and let me 
 see you." 
 
 My mother was too much afraid of her to refuse compliance 
 with this odd request, if she had any disposition to do so. 
 Therefore she did as she was told, and did it with such nervous 
 hands that her hair (which was luxuriant and beautiful) fell 
 all about her face. 
 
 "Why, bless my heart!" exclaimed Miss Betsey. "You 
 are a very Baby ! " 
 
 My mother was, no doubt, unusually youthful in appearance 
 even for her years ; she hung her head, as if it were her fault, 
 poor thing, and said, sobbing, that indeed she was afraid she 
 was but a childish widow, and would be but a childish mother 
 if she lived. In a short pause which ensued, she had a fancy 
 that she felt Miss Betsey touch her hair, and that with no 
 
6 
 
 ungentle hand ; but, looking at her, in her timid hope, she 
 found that lady sitting with the skirt of her dress tucked up, 
 her hands folded on one knee, and her feet upon the fender, 
 frowning at the fire. 
 
 " In the name of Heaven," said Miss Betsey, suddenly, 
 "why Rookery?" 
 
 "Do you mean the house, nia'am ? " asked my mother. 
 
 "Why Bookery ? " said Miss Betsey. "Cookery would 
 have been more to the purpose, if you had had any practical 
 ideas of life, either of you." 
 
 " The name was Mr. Copperfield's choice," returned my 
 mother. "When he bought the house, he liked to think that 
 there were rooks about it." 
 
 The evening wind made such a disturbance just now, among 
 some tall old elm trees at the bottom of the garden, that 
 neither my mother nor Miss Betsey could forbear glancing 
 that way. As the elms bent to one another, like giants who 
 were whispering secrets, and after a few seconds of such repose, 
 fell into a violent flurry, tossing their wild arms about, as if 
 their late confidences were really too wicked for their peace 
 of mind, some weather-beaten ragged old rooks'-nests, burden- 
 ing their higher branches, swung like wrecks upon a storms- 
 sea. 
 
 " Where are the birds ? " asked Miss Betsey. 
 
 " The ? " My mother had been thinking of something 
 else. 
 
 "The rooks what has become of them?" asked Miss 
 Betsey. 
 
 "There have not been any since* we have lived here," said 
 my mother. "We thought Mr. Copperfield thought it 
 was quite a large rookery ; but the nests were very old ones, 
 and the birds have deserted them a long while." 
 
 " David Copperfield all over ! " cried Miss Betsey. " David 
 Copperfield from head to foot ! Calls a house a rookery when 
 there's not a rook near it, and take the birds on trust, because 
 he sees the nests ! " 
 
 "Mr. Copperfield," returned my mother, "is dead, and if 
 you dare to speak unkindly of him to me " 
 
 My poor dear mother, I suppose, had some momentary in- 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 1 
 
 tention of committing an assault and battery upon my aunt, 
 who could easily have settled her with one hand, even if my 
 mother had been in far better training for such an encounter 
 than she was that evening. But it passed with the action of 
 rising from her chair ; and she sat down again very meekly, 
 and fainted. 
 
 When she came to herself, or when Miss Betsey had restored- 
 her, whichever it was, she found the latter standing at the 
 window. The twilight was by this time shading down into 
 darkness ; and dimly as they saw each other, they could not 
 have done that without the aid of the fire. 
 
 " Well ? " said Miss Betsey, coming back to her chair, as if 
 she had only been taking a casual look at the prospect ; " and 
 when do you expect " 
 
 " I am all in a tremble," faltered my mother. " I don't 
 know what's the matter. I shall die, I am sure ! " 
 
 " No, no, no," said Miss Betsey. " Have some tea." 
 
 " Oh dear me, dear me, do you think it will do me any 
 good? " cried my mother, in a helpless manner. 
 
 " Of course it will," said Miss Betsey. " It's nothing but 
 fancy. What do you call your girl ? " 
 
 " I don't know that it will be a girl, yet, ma'am," said my 
 mother, innocently. 
 
 "Bless the Baby ! " exclaimed Miss Betsey, unconsciously 
 quoting the second sentiment of the pincushion in the drawee 
 up stairs, but applying it to my mother instead of me, "I 
 don't mean that. I mean your servant-girl." 
 
 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. Copper- 
 field called her by it, because her Christian name was the 
 same as mine." 
 
 " Here ! Peggotty ! " cried Miss Betsey, opening the parlor- 
 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 recognized authority in the house ever since it 
 had been a house, and having looked out to confront the 
 
8 
 
 amazed Peggotty coining 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. 
 
 "You were speaking about its being a girl," said Miss 
 Betsey. " I have no doubt it will be a girl. I have a presenti- 
 ' merit 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 intend to be her friend. I intend 
 to be her godmother, and I beg you'll call her Betsey Trot- 
 wood Copperfield. There must be no mistakes in life with this 
 Betsey Trotwood. There must be no trifling with her affec- 
 tions, poor dear. She must be well brought up, and well 
 guarded from reposing any foolish confidences where they are 
 not deserved. I must make that my care." 
 
 There was a twitch of Miss Betsey's head, after each of 
 these sentences, as if her own old wrongs were working within 
 her, and she repressed any plainer reference to them by strong 
 constraint. So my mother suspected, at least, as she observed 
 her by the low glimmer of the fire : too much scared by Miss 
 Betsey, too uneasy in herself, and too subdued and bewildered 
 altogether, to observe anything very clearly, or to know what 
 to say. 
 
 " And was David good to you, child ? " asked Miss Betsey, 
 when she had been silent for a little while, and these motions 
 of her head had gradually ceased. " Were you comfortable 
 together ? " 
 
 " We were very happy," said my mother. " Mr. Copperfield 
 was only too good to me." 
 
 " What, he spoilt you, I suppose ? " returned Miss Betsey. 
 
 " For being quite alone and dependent on myself in this 
 rough world again, yes, I fear he did indeed," sobbed my 
 mother. 
 
 " Well ! Don't cry ! " said Miss Betsey. " You were not 
 equally matched, child if any two people ca.?i be equally 
 
OF D'AVID COPPEBFIELD. 9 
 
 matched and s I asked the question. You were an orphan, 
 weren't you ? ;: 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And a governess ? " 
 
 " I was nursery-governess in a family where Mr. Copperfield 
 came to visit. Mr. Copperfield was very kind to me, and took 
 a great deal of notice of me, and paid me a good deal of atten- 
 tion, and at last proposed to me. And I accepted him. And 
 so we were married," said my mother, simply. 
 
 " Ha ! Poor Baby ! " mused Miss Betsey, with her frown 
 still bent upon the fire. " Do you know anything ? " 
 " I beg your pardon, ma'am," faltered my mother. 
 " About keeping house, for instance," said Miss Betsey. 
 " Not much, I fear," returned my mother, " Not so much as 
 I could wish. But Mr. Copperfield was teaching me " 
 
 ("Much he knew about it himself! ") said Miss Betsey, in 
 a parenthesis." 
 
 And I hope I should have improved, being very anxious 
 
 to learn, and he very patient to teach, if the great misfortune 
 of his death " my mother broke down again here, and could 
 get no farther. 
 
 " Well, well ! " said Miss Betsey. 
 
 " I kept my housekeeping-book regularly, and balanced 
 it with Mr. Copperfield every night," cried my mother, in 
 another burst of distress, and breaking down again. 
 
 " Well, well ! " said Miss Betsey. " Don't cry any more." 
 
 And I am sure we never had a word of difference 
 
 respecting it, except when Mr. Copperfield objected to my 
 threes and fives being too much like each other, or to my put- 
 ting curly tails to my sevens and nines," resumed my mother, 
 in another burst, and breaking down again. 
 
 "You'll make yourself ill," said Miss Betsey, "and you 
 know that will not be good either for you or for my god- 
 daughter. Come ! You mustn't do it ! " 
 
 This argument had some share in quieting my mother, 
 though her increasing indisposition perhaps had a larger one. 
 There was an interval of silence, only broken by Miss Betsey's 
 occasionally ejaculating " Ha ! " as she sat with her feet upon 
 the fender. 
 
10 THE PEE SON AL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " David had bought an annuity for himself with his money, 
 I know," said she, by and by. " What did he do for you ? " 
 
 " Mr. Copperfield," said my mother, answering with some 
 difficulty, " was so considerate and good as to secure the 
 reversion of a part of it to me." 
 
 " How much ? " asked Miss Betsey. 
 
 " A hundred and five pounds a year," said my mother. 
 
 " He might have done worse," said my aunt. 
 
 The word was appropriate to the moment. My mother was 
 so much worse that Peggotty, coining in with the teaboard 
 and candles, and seeing at a glance how ill she was, as Miss 
 Betsey might have done sooner if there had been light enough, 
 conveyed her up stairs to her own room with all speed ; and 
 immediately despatched Ham Peggotty, her nephew, who had 
 been for some days past secreted in the house, unknown to my 
 mother, as a special messenger, in case of emergency, to fetch 
 the nurse and doctor. 
 
 Those allied powers were considerably astonished, when 
 they arrived within a few minutes of each other, to find an 
 unknown lady of portentous appearance sitting before the 
 fire, with her bonnet tied over her left arm, stopping her ears 
 with jewellers' cotton. Peggotty knowing nothing about her, and 
 my mother saying nothing about her, she was quite a mystery 
 in the parlor ; and the fact of her having a magazine of jewel- 
 lers' cotton in her pocket, and sticking the article in her ears 
 in that way, did not detract from the solemnity of her presence. 
 
 The doctor having been up stairs and come down again, 
 and having satisfied himself, I suppose, that there was a 
 probability of this unknown lady and himself having to sit 
 there, face to face, for some hours, laid himself out to be polite 
 and social. 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. He might have offered him one gently, or half a one, 
 or a fragment of one ; for he spoke as slowly as he walked', 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 11 
 
 but he wouldn't have been rude to him, and he couldn't have 
 been quick with him, for any earthly consideration. 
 
 Mr. Chillip, looking mildly at my aunt, with his head on. 
 one side, and making her a little, bow, said, in allusion to the 
 jewellers' cotton, as he softly touched his left ear : 
 
 " Some local irritation, ma'am ? " 
 
 " What ! " replied my aunt, pulling the cotton out of one 
 ear like a cork. 
 
 Mr. Chillip was so alarmed by her abruptness as he tola:' 
 my mother afterwards that it was a mercy he didn't lose 
 his presence of mind. But he repeated, sweetly : 
 
 " Some local irritation, ma'am ? " 
 
 " Nonsense ! " replied my aunt, and corked herself, again, 
 at one blow. 
 
 Mr. Chillip could do nothing after this, but sit and look at 
 her feebly, as she sat and looked at the fire, until he was 
 called up stairs again. After some quarter of an hour's 
 absence, he returned. 
 
 " Well ? " said my aunt, taking the cotton out of the ear 
 nearest to. him. 
 
 "Well, ma'am," returned Mr. Chillip, "we are we are 
 progressing slowly, ma'am." 
 
 " Ya a ah ! " said my aunt, with a perfect shake on the 
 contemptuous interjection. And corked herself as before. 
 
 Really really as Mr. Chillip told my mother, he was 
 almost shocked; speaking in a professional point of view 
 alone he was almost shocked. But he sat and looked at her, 
 notwithstanding, for nearly two hours, as she sat looking at 
 the fire, until he was again called out. After another absence, 
 he again returned. 
 
 " Well ? " said my aunt, taking out the cotton on that side 
 again. 
 
 "Well, ma'am," returned Mr. Chillip, "we are we are pro- 
 gressing slowly, ma'am." 
 
 "Ya a ah !" said my aunt. With such a snarl at him, 
 that Mr. Chillip absolutely could not bear it. It was really 
 calculated to break his spirit, he said afterwards. He pre- 
 ferred to go and sit upon the stairs, in the dark and a strong 
 draught, until he was again sent for. 
 
12 
 
 Ham Peggotty, who went to the national school, and was ;i 
 very dragon at his catechism, and who may therefore be 
 regarded as a credible witness, reported next day, that hap- 
 pening to peep in at the parlor-door an hour after this, he was 
 instantly descried by Miss Betsey, then walking to and fro 
 in a state of agitation, and pounced upon before he could make 
 his escape. That there were now occasional sounds of feet and 
 voices overhead which he inferred the cotton did not exclude, 
 from the circumstance of his evidently being clutched by 
 the lady as a victim on whom to expend her superabundant 
 agitation when the sounds were loudest. That, marching him 
 constantly up and down by the collar (as if he had been taking 
 too much laudanum), she, at those times, shook him, rumpled 
 his hair, made light of his linen, stopped Ms ears as if she 
 confounded them with her own, and otherwise touzled and 
 maltreated him. This was in part confirmed by his aunt, who 
 saw him at half-past twelve o'clock, soon after his release, and 
 affirmed that he was then as red as I was. 
 
 The mild Mr. Chillip could not possibly bear malice at such 
 a time, if at any time. He sidled into the parlor as soon as he 
 was at liberty, and said to my aunt in his meekest manner : 
 
 "Well, ma'am, I am happy to congratulate you." 
 
 " What upon ? " said my aunt, sharply. 
 
 Mr. Chillip was fluttered again, by the extreme severity of 
 my aunt's manner; so he made her a little bow, and gave her 
 a little smile, to mollify her. 
 
 " Mercy on the man, what's he 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 aunt 
 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." 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 13 
 
 During the five minutes or so that Mr Chillip devoted to 
 the delivery of this oration, my aunt eyed him narrowly. 
 
 "How is she? 7 ' 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 cir- 
 cumstances. There cannot be any objection to your seeing 
 her presently, ma'am. It may do her good." 
 
 "And she. How is she?" said my aunt, sharply. 
 
 Mr. Chillip 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 aunt said never a word, but took her bonnet by the 
 strings, in the manner of a sling, aimed a blow at Mr. Chillip'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 see ; and never came back any more. 
 
 No. I lay in my basket, and my mother lay in her bed; 
 but Betsey Trotwood Copperfield was for ever in the land of 
 dreams and shadows, the tremendous region whence I had so 
 lately travelled; and the light upon the window of our room 
 shone out upon the earthly bourne of all such travellers, and 
 the mound above the ashes and the dust that once was he, 
 without whom I had never been. 
 
14 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 I OBSERVE. 
 
 THE first objects that assume a distinct presence before me, 
 as I look far back, into the blank of my infancy, are my mother 
 with her pretty hair and youthful shape, and Peggotty with 
 no shape at all, and eyes so dark that they seemed to darken 
 their whole neighborhood in her face, and cheeks and arms so 
 hard and red that I wondered the birds didn't peck her in 
 preference to apples. 
 
 I believe I can remember these two at a little distance apart, 
 dwarfed to my sight by stooping down or kneeling on the 
 floor, and I going unsteadily from the one to the other. I 
 have an impression on my mind which I cannot distinguish 
 from actual remembrance, of the touch of Peggotty's fore- 
 finger as she used to hold it out to me, and of its being rough- 
 ened by needlework, like a pocket nutmeg-grater. 
 
 This may be fancy, though I think the memory of most of 
 us can go farther back into such times than many of us sup- 
 pose ; just as I believe the power of observation in numbers 
 of very young children to be quite wonderful for its closeness 
 and accuracy. Indeed, I think that most grown men who are 
 remarkable in this respect, may with greater propriety be said 
 not to have lost the faculty, than to have acquired it; the 
 rather, as I generally observe such men to retain a certain fresh- 
 ness, and gentleness, and capacity of being pleased, which are 
 also an inheritance they have preserved from their childhood. 
 
 I might have a misgiving that I am " meandering " in stop- 
 ping to say this, but that it brings me to remark that I build 
 these conclusions, in part upon my own experience of myself ; 
 and if it should appear from anything I may set down in this 
 narrative that I was a child of close observation, or that as a 
 man I have a strong memory of my childhood, I undoubtedly 
 lay claim to both of these characteristics. 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 15 
 
 Looking back, as I was saying, into the blank of my infancy, 
 the first objects I can remember as standing out by themselves 
 from a confusion of things, are my mother and Peggotty. 
 What else do I remember ? Let me see. 
 
 There comes out of the cloud, our house not new to me, 
 but quite familiar, in its earliest remembrance. On the ground- 
 floor is Peggotty's kitchen, opening into a back yard ; with a 
 pigeon-house on a pole, in the centre, without any pigeons in 
 it; a great dog-kennel in a corner, without any dog; and a 
 quantity of fowls that look terribly tall to me, walking about, 
 in a menacing and ferocious manner. There is one cock who 
 gets upon a post to crow, and seems to take particular notice 
 of me as I look at him through the kitchen window, who makes 
 me shiver, he is so fierce. Of the geese outside the side-gate 
 who come waddling after me with their long necks stretched 
 out when I go that way, I dream at night : as a man environed 
 by wild beasts might dream of lions. 
 
 Here is along passage what an enormous perspective I 
 make of it ! leading from Peggotty's kitchen to the front- 
 door. A dark store-room opens out of it, and that is a place 
 to be run past at night ; for I don't know what may be among 
 those tubs and jars and old tea-chests, when there is nobody 
 in there with a dimly-burning light, letting a mouldy air come 
 out at the door, in which there is the smell of soap, pickles, 
 pepper, candles, and coffee, all at one whiff. Then there are 
 the two parlors : the parlor in which we sit of an evening, my 
 mother and I and Peggotty for Peggotty is quite our com- 
 panion, when her work is done and we are alone and the 
 best parlor where we sit on a Sunday ; grandly, but not so 
 comfortably. There is something of a doleful air about that 
 room to me, for Peggotty has told me I don't know when, 
 but apparently ages ago about my father's funeral, and the 
 company having their black cloaks put on. One Sunday night 
 my mother reads to Peggotty and me in there, how Lazarus was 
 raised up from the dead. And I am so frightened that they 
 are afterwards obliged to take me out of bed, and show me the 
 quiet churchyard out of the bedroom window, with the dead 
 all lying in their graves at rest, below the solemn moon. 
 
 . There is nothing half so green that I know anywhere, as 
 
16 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 the grass of that churchyard ; nothing half so shady as its 
 trees ; nothing half so quiet as its tombstones. The sheep are 
 feeding there, when I kneel up, early in the morning, in my 
 little bed in a closet within my mother's room, to look out at 
 it ; and I see the red light shining on the sun-dial, and think 
 within myself, " Is the sun-dial glad, I wonder, that it can 
 tell the time again ? " 
 
 Here is our pew in the church. What a high-backed pew ! 
 With a window near it, out of which our house can be seen, 
 and is seen many times during the morning's service, by Peg- 
 gotty, who likes to make herself as sure as she can that it's 
 not being robbed, or is not in flames. But though Peggotty's 
 eye wanders, she is much offended if mine does, and frowns to 
 me, as I stand upon the seat, that I am to look at the clergy- 
 man. But I can't always look at him I know him without 
 that white thing on, and I am afraid of his wondering why I 
 stare so, and perhaps stopping the service to inquire and 
 what am I to do ? It's a dreadful thing to gape, but I must 
 do something. I look at my mother, but she pretends not to 
 see me. I look at a boy in the aisle, and he makes faces at 
 me. I look at the sunlight coining in at the open door 
 through the porch, and there I see a stray sheep I don't 
 mean a sinner, but mutton half making up his mind to come 
 into the church. I feel that if I looked at him any longer, I 
 might be tempted to say something out loud ; and what would 
 become of me then ! I look up at the monumental tablets on 
 the Avail, and try to think of Mr. Bodgers, late of this parish, 
 and what the feelings of Mrs. Bodgers must have been, when 
 affliction sore, long time Mr. Bodgers bore, and physicians 
 were in vain. I wonder whether they called in Mr. Chillip, 
 and he was in vain ; and if so, how he likes to be reminded of 
 it once a week. I look from Mr. Chillip, in his Sunday neck- 
 cloth, to the pulpit ; and think what a good place it would be 
 to play in, and what a castle it would make, with another boy 
 coming up the stairs to attack it, and having the velvet 
 cushion with the tassels thrown down on his head. In time 
 my eyes gradually shut up; and, from seeming to hear the 
 clergyman singing a drowsy song in the heat, I hear nothing, 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 17 
 
 until I fall off the seat with a crash, and am taken out, more 
 dead than alive, by Peggotty, 
 
 And now I see the outside of our house, with the latticed 
 bedroom windows standing open to let in the sweet-smelling 
 air, and the ragged old rooks'- nests still dangling in the elm- 
 trees at the bottom of the front garden. Now I am in the 
 garden at the back, beyond the yard where the empty pigeon- 
 house and dog-kennel are a very preserve of butterflies, as 
 I remember it, with a high fence, and a gate and padlock ; 
 where the fruit clusters on the trees, riper and richer than 
 fruit has ever been since, in any other garden, and where my 
 mother gathers some in a basket, while I stand by, bolting 
 furtive gooseberries, and trying to look unmoved. A great 
 wind rises, and the summer is gone in a moment. We are 
 playing in the winter twilight, dancing about the parlor. 
 When my mother is out of breath and rests herself in an 
 elbow-chair, I watch her winding her bright curls round her 
 fingers and straightening her waist, and nobody knows better 
 than I do that she likes to look so well, and is proud of being 
 so pretty. 
 
 That is among my very earliest impressions. That, and a 
 sense that we were both a little afraid of Peggotty, and sub- 
 mitted ourselves in most things to her direction, were among 
 the first opinions if they may be so called that I ever 
 derived from what I saw. 
 
 Peggotty and I were sitting one night by the parlor fire, 
 alone. I had been reading to Peggotty about crocodiles. I 
 must have read very perspicuously, or the poor soul must have 
 been deeply interested, for I remember she had a cloudy 
 impression, after I had done, that they were a sort of vege- 
 table. I was tired of reading, and dead sleepy ; but having 
 leave, as a high treat, to sit up until my mother came home 
 from spending the evening at a neighbor's, I would rather 
 have died upon my post (of course) than have gone to bed. 
 I had reached that stage of sleepiness when Peggotty seemed 
 to swell and grow immensely large. I propped my eyelids 
 open with my two forefingers, and looked perseveringly at her 
 as she sat at work ; at the little bit of wax-candle she kept for 
 her thread how old it looked, being so wrinkled in all direc- 
 
 VOL. I 2 
 
18 TUE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 tions ! at the little house with a thatched roof, where the 
 yard-measure lived ; at her work-box with a sliding lid, with a 
 view of St. Paul's Cathedral (with a pink dome) painted on 
 the top ; at the brass thimble on her finger ; at herself, whom 
 I thought lovely. I felt so sleepy, that I knew if I lost sight 
 of anything, for a moment, I was gone. 
 
 " Peggotty," says I, suddenly, " were you ever married ? " 
 
 " Lord, Master Davy ! " replied Peggotty. " What's put 
 marriage in your head ! " 
 
 She answered with such a start, that it quite awoke me. 
 And then she stopped in her work, and looked at me, with her 
 needle drawn out to its thread's length. 
 
 " But were you ever married, Peggotty ? " says I. " You 
 are a very handsome woman, an't you ? " 
 
 I thought her in a different style from my mother, certainly ; 
 but of another school of beauty, I considered her a perfect 
 example. There was a red velvet footstool in the best parlor, 
 on which my mother had painted a nosegay. The ground- 
 work of that stool, and Peggotty's complexion, appeared to me 
 to be one and the same thing. The stool was smooth, and 
 Peggotty was rough, but that made no difference. 
 
 " Me handsome, Davy ! " said Peggotty. " Lawk, no, my 
 dear ! But what put marriage in your head ? " 
 
 " I don't know ! You mustn't marry more than one person 
 at a time, may you, Peggotty ? " 
 
 " Certainly not," says Peggotty, with the promptest decision. 
 
 " But if you marry a person, and the person dies, why then 
 you may marry another person, mayn't you, Peggotty ? ' 
 
 "You MAY," says Peggotty, "if you choose, my dear. 
 That's a matter of opinion." 
 
 " But what is your opinion, Peggotty ? " said I. 
 
 I asked her and looked curiously at her, because she looked 
 so curiously at me. 
 
 " My opinion is," said Peggotty, taking her eyes from me, 
 after a little indecision, and going on with her work, " that I 
 never was married myself, Master Davy, and that I don't 
 expect to be. That's all I know about the subject." 
 
 " You an't cross, I suppose, Peggotty, are you ? ?; said I, 
 after sitting quiet for a minute, 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 19 
 
 I really thought she was, she had been so short with me ; 
 but I was quite mistaken : for she laid aside her work (which 
 was a stocking of her own) and opening her arms wide, took 
 my curly head within them, and gave it a good squeeze. I 
 know it was a good squeeze, because, being very plump, when- 
 ever she made any little exertion after she was dressed, some 
 of the buttons on the back of her gown flew off. And I recol- 
 lect two bursting to the opposite side of the parlor, while she 
 was hugging me. 
 
 "Now let me hear some more about the Crorkindills,' said 
 Peggotty, who was not quite right in the name yet, " for I 
 an't heard half enough." 
 
 I couldn't quite understand why Peggotty looked so queer 
 or why she was so ready to go back to the crocodiles. How- 
 ever, we returned to those monsters, with fresh wakefulness 
 on my part, and we left their eggs in the sand for the sun to 
 hatch ; and we ran away from them, and baffled them by con- 
 stantly turning, which they were unable to do quickly, on 
 account of their unwieldy make ; and we went into the water 
 after them, as natives, and put sharp pieces of timber down 
 their throats ; and in short we ran the whole crocodile gaunt- 
 let. I did, at least ; but I had my doubts of Peggotty, who 
 was thoughtfully sticking her needle into various parts of her 
 face and arms, all the time. 
 
 We had exhausted the crocodiles, and begun with the alliga- 
 tors, when the garden-bell rang. We went out to the door ; 
 and there was my mother, looking unusually pretty, I thought, 
 and with her a gentleman with beautiful black hair and whis- 
 kers, who had walked home with us from church last Sunday. 
 As my mother stooped down on the threshold to take me in 
 her arms and kiss me, the gentleman said I was a more highly 
 privileged little fellow than a monarch or something like 
 that ; for my later understanding comes, I am sensible, to my 
 
 aid here. 
 
 "What does that mean?" I asked him, over her shoulder. 
 
 He patted me on the head ; but somehow, I didn't like him 
 or his deep voice, and I was jealous that his hand should touch 
 my mother's in touching me which it did. I put it away as 
 well as I could. 
 
20 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " Oli Davy ! " remonstrated my mother. 
 
 " Dear boy ! " said the gentleman. " I cannot wonder at his 
 devotion ! " 
 
 I never saw such a beautiful color on my mother's face 
 before. She gently chid me for being rude ; and, keeping me 
 close to her shawl, turned to thank the gentleman for taking 
 so much trouble as to bring her home. She put out her hand 
 to him as she spoke, and, as he met it with his own, she glanced, 
 I thought, at me. 
 
 " Let us say ' good night/ my fine boy," said the gentleman, 
 when he had bent his head / saw him ! over my mother's 
 little glove. 
 
 " Good night ! " said I. 
 
 " Come ! Let us be the best friends in the world ! " said the 
 gentleman, laughing. " Shake hands ! " 
 
 My right hand was in my mother's left, so I gave him the 
 other. 
 
 " Why that's the wrong hand, Davy ! " laughed the gentle- 
 man. 
 
 My mother drew my right hand forward, but I was resolved, 
 for my former reason, not to give it him, and I did not. I 
 gave him the other, and he shook it heartily, and said I was a 
 brave fellow, and went away. 
 
 At this minute I see him turn round in the garden, and give 
 us a last look with his ill-omened black eyes, before the door 
 was shut. 
 
 Peggotty, who had not said a word or moved a finger, secured 
 the fastenings instantly, and we all went into the parlor. My 
 mother, contrary to her usual habit, instead of coming to the 
 elbow-chair by the fire, remained at the other end of the room, 
 and sat singing to herself. 
 
 " Hope you have had a pleasant evening, ma'am," said 
 Peggotty, standing as stiff as a barrel in the centre of the 
 room, with a candlestick in her hand. 
 
 " Much obliged to you, Peggotty," returned my mother, in a 
 cheerful voice, "I have had a very pleasant evening." 
 
 "A stranger or so makes an agreeable change," suggested 
 Peggotty. 
 
 " A very agreeable change, indeed," returned my mother. 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 21 
 
 continuing to stand motionless in the middle of 
 the room, and my mother resuming her singing, I fell asleep, 
 though I was not so sound asleep but that I could hear voices, 
 without hearing what they said. When I half awoke from 
 this uncomfortable doze, I found Peggotty and my mother 
 both in tears, and both talking. 
 
 "Not such a one as this, Mr. Copperfield wouldn't have 
 liked," said Peggotty. " That I say, and that I swear ! " 
 
 " Good Heavens ! " cried my mother, " you'll drive me mad ! 
 Was ever any poor girl so ill-used by her servants as I am ! 
 Why do I do myself the injustice of calling myself a girl ? 
 Have I never been married, Peggotty ? " 
 
 " God knows you have, ma'am,' 7 returned Peggotty. 
 
 "Then how can you dare," said my mother "you know I 
 don't mean how can you dare, Peggotty, but how can you have 
 the heart to make me so uncomfortable and say such bitter 
 things to me, when you are well aware that I haven't, out of 
 this place, a single friend to turn to ! " 
 
 "The more's the reason," returned Peggotty, "for saying 
 that it won't do. No! That it won't do. No! No price 
 could make it do. No ! " I thought Peggotty would have 
 thrown the candlestick away, she was so emphatic with it. 
 
 " How can you be so aggravating," said my mother, shed- 
 ding more tears than before, "as to talk in such an unjust 
 manner! How can you go on as if it was all settled and 
 arranged, Peggotty, when I tell you over and over again, you 
 cruel thing, that beyond the commonest civilities nothing has 
 passed! You talk of admiration. What am I to do ? If 
 people are so silly as to indulge the sentiment, is it my fault ? 
 What am I to do, I ask you ? Would you wish me to shave 
 my head and black my face, or disfigure myself with a burn, 
 or a scald, or something of that sort ? I dare say you would, 
 Peggotty. I dare say you'd quite enjoy it." 
 
 Peggotty seemed to take this aspersion very much to heart, 
 I thought. 
 
 " And my dear boy," cried my mother, coming to the elbow- 
 chair in which I was, and caressing me, " my own little Davy ! 
 Is it to be hinted to me that I am wanting in affection for my 
 precious treasure, the dearest little fellow that ever was ! " 
 
22 
 
 "Nobody never went and hinted no such a thing," said 
 Peggotty. 
 
 " You did, Peggotty ! " returned ray mother. " You know 
 you did. What else was it possible to infer from what you 
 said, you unkind creature, when you know as well as I do, 
 that on his account only last quarter I wouldn't buy myself a 
 new parasol, though that old green one is frayed the whole 
 way up, and the fringe is perfectly mangy. You know it is, 
 Peggotty. You can't deny it." Then, turning affectionately 
 to me, with her cheek against mine, " Am I a naughty mamma 
 to you, Davy ? Am I a nasty, cruel, selfish, bad mamma ? 
 Say I am, my child; say f yes,' dear boy, and Peggotty will 
 love you, and Peggotty's love is a great deal better than mine, 
 Davy. " I don't love you at all, do I ? " 
 
 At this, we all fell a-crying together. I think I was the 
 loudest of the party, but I am sure we were all sincere about 
 it. I was quite heart-broken myself, and am afraid that in 
 the first transports of wounded tenderness I called Peggotty 
 a "Beast." That honest creature was in deep affliction, I 
 remember, and must have become quite buttonless on the 
 occasion ; for a little volley of those explosives went off, when, 
 after having made it up with my mother, she kneeled down by 
 the elbow-chair, and made it up with me. 
 
 We went to bed greatly dejected. My sobs kept waking 
 me, for a long time; and when one very strong sob quite 
 hoisted me up in bed, I found my mother sitting on the cover- 
 let, and leaning over me. I fell asleep in her arms, after that, 
 and slept soundly. 
 
 Whether it was the following Sunday when I saw the gen- 
 tleman again, or whether there was any greater lapse of time 
 before he re-appeared, I cannot recall. I don't profess to be 
 clear about dates. But there he was, in church, and he walked 
 home with us afterwards. He came in, too, to look at a famous 
 geranium we had, in the parlor-window. It did not appear to 
 me that he took much notice of it, but before he went he asked 
 my mother to give him a bit of the blossom. She begged him 
 to choose it for himself, but he refused to do that I could 
 not understand why so she plucked it for him, and gave it 
 into his hand. He said he would never, never, part with it 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 23 
 
 any more ; and I thought he must be quite a fool not to know 
 that it would fall to pieces in a day or two. 
 
 Peggotty began to be less with us, of an evening, than she 
 had always been. My mother deferred to her very much 
 more than usual, it occurred to me and we were all three 
 excellent friends ; still we were different from what we used 
 to be, and were not so comfortable among ourselves. Some- 
 times I fancied that Peggotty perhaps objected to my mother's 
 wearing all the pretty dresses she had in her drawers, or to 
 her going so often to visit at that neighbor's ; but I couldn't, 
 to my satisfaction, make out how it was. 
 
 Gradually, I became used to seeing the gentleman with the 
 black whiskers. I liked him no better than at first, and had 
 the same uneasy jealousy of him ; but if I had any reason for 
 it beyond a child's instinctive dislike, and a general idea that 
 Peggotty and I could make much of my mother without any 
 help, it certainly was not the reason that I might have found 
 if I had been older. No such thing came into my mind, or 
 near it. I could observe, in little pieces, as it were ; but as to 
 making a net of a number of these pieces, and catching any- 
 body in it, that was, as yet, beyond me. 
 
 One autumn morning I was with my mother in the front 
 garden, when Mr. Murdstone I knew him by that name now 
 came by, on horseback. He reined up his horse to salute 
 my mother, and said he was going to Lowestoft to see some 
 friends who were there with a yacht, and merrily proposed to 
 take me on the saddle before him if I would like the ride. 
 
 The air was so clear and pleasant, and the horse seemed to 
 like the idea of the ride so much himself, as he stood snorting 
 and pawing at the garden-gate, that I had a great desire to go. 
 ISo I was sent up stairs to Peggotty to be made spruce ; and in 
 '<;he meantime Mr. Murdstone dismounted, and, with his horse's 
 bridle drawn over his arm, walked slowly up and down on the 
 outer side of the sweetbriar fence, while my mother walked 
 slowly up and down on the inner to keep him company. I 
 recollect Peggotty and I peeping out at them from my little 
 window ; I recollect how closely they appeared to be examin- 
 ing the sweetbriar between them, as they strolled along ; and 
 how, from being in a perfectly angelic temper, Peggotty turned 
 
24 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 cross in a moment, and brushed my hair the wrong way, exces- 
 sively hard. 
 
 Mr. Murdstone and I were soon off, and trotting along on 
 the green turf by the side of the road. .He held me quite 
 easily with one arm, and I don't think I was restless usually ; 
 but I could not make up my mind to sit in front of him with- 
 out turning my head sometimes, and looking up in his face. 
 He had that kind of shallow black eye I want a better word 
 to express an eye that has no depth in it to be looked into - 
 which, when it is abstracted, seems from some peculiarity oi 
 light to be disfigured, for a moment at a time, by a cast. Sev- 
 eral times when I glanced at him, I observed that appearance 
 with a sort of awe, and wondered what he was thinking about 
 so closely. His hair and whiskers were blacker and thicker, 
 looked at so near, than even I had given them credit for being. 
 A squareness about the lower part of his face, and the dotted 
 indication of the strong black beard he shaved close every day, 
 reminded me of the wax-work that had travelled into our 
 neighborhood some half-a-year before. This, his regular eye- 
 brows, and the rich white, and black, and brown, of his com- 
 plexion confound his complexion, and his memory ! made 
 me think him, in spite of my misgivings, a very handsome man. 
 I have no doubt that my poor dear mother thought him so too. 
 
 We went to an hotel by the sea, where two gentlemen were 
 smoking cigars in a room by themselves. Each of them was 
 lying on at least four chairs, and had a large rough jacket on. 
 In a corner was a heap of coats and boat-cloaks, and a flag, 
 all bundled up together. 
 
 They both rolled on to their feet in an untidy sort of man- 
 ner when we came in, and said " Halloa, Murdstcne ! We 
 thought you were dead ! " 
 . " Not yet," said Mr. Murdstone. 
 
 " And who's this shaver ? " said one of the gentlemen, tak- 
 ing hold of me. 
 
 " That's Davy," returned Mr. Murdstone. 
 
 "Davy who ? " said the gentleman. " Jones ? " 
 
 " Copperfield," said Mr. Murdstone. 
 
 " What ! Bewitching Mrs. Copperfield's incumbrance ? " 
 cried the gentleman. "The pretty little widow ? " 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 25 
 
 " Quinion," said Mr. Murdstone, " take care, if you please. 
 Somebody'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 it was only Brooks of Sheffield ; 
 for, at first, I really thought it was I. 
 
 There seemed to be something very comical in the reputa- 
 tion of Mr. Brooks of Sheffield, for both the gentlemen laughed 
 heartily when he was mentioned, and Mr. Murdstone was a 
 good deal amused also. After some laughing, the gentleman 
 whom he had called Quinion, said : 
 
 " And what is the opinion of Brooks of Sheffield, in refer- 
 ence to the projected business ? " 
 
 "Why, I don't know that Brooks understands much about 
 it at present," replied Mr. Murdstone ; " but he is not generally 
 favorable, 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 which they laughed the more. In 
 short, we quite enjoyed ourselves. 
 
 We walked about on the cliff after that, and sat on the 
 grass, and looked at things through a telescope I could 
 make out nothing myself when it was put to my eye, but I 
 pretended I could and then we came back to the hotel to an 
 early dinner. All the time we were out, the two gentlemen 
 smoked incessantly which, I thought, if I might judge from 
 the smell of their rough coats, they must have been doing 
 ever since the coats had first come home from the tailor's. 
 I must not forget that we went on board the yacht, where 
 they all three descended into the cabin, and were busy with 
 some papers. I saw them quite hard at work, when I looked 
 down through the open skylight. They left me, during this 
 time, with a very nice man with a very large head of red hair 
 and a very small shiny hat upon it, who had got a cross-barred 
 
26 THE PERSONAL HISTOEY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 shirt or waistcoat on, with. " Skylark " in capital letters across 
 the chest. I thought it was his name ; and that as he lived 01 
 board ship and hadn't a street-door to put his name on, he pul 
 it there instead ; but when I called him Mr. Skylark, he sai( 
 it meant the vessel. 
 
 I observed all day that Mr. Murdstone was graver anc 
 steadier than the two gentlemen. They were very gay an( 
 careless. They joked freely with one another, but seldom wit] 
 him. It appeared to me that he was more clever and col( 
 than they were, and that they regarded him with somethin| 
 of my own feeling. I remarked that once or twice when Mr. 
 Quinion was talking, he looked at Mr. Murdstone sideways, 
 if to make sure of his not being displeased; and that onc( 
 when Mr. Passnidge (the other gentleman) was in high spirits, 
 he trod upon his foot, and gave him a secret caution with his eyes, 
 to observe Mr. Murdstone, who was sitting stern and silent. 
 do I recollect that Mr. Murdstone laughed at all that day, except 
 at the Sheffield joke and that, by the by, was his own. 
 
 We went home early in the evening. It was a very fine 
 evening, and my mother and he had another stroll by the 
 sweet-briar, while I was sent in to get my tea. When he was 
 gone, my mother asked me all about the day I had had, and 
 what they had said and done. I mentioned what they had 
 said about her, and she laughed, and told me they were impu- 
 dent fellows who talked nonsense but I knew it pleased her. 
 I knew it quite as well as I know it now. I took the oppor- 
 tunity of asking if she was at all acquainted with Mr. Brooks 
 of Sheffield, but she answered No, only she supposed he must 
 be a manufacturer in the knife and fork way. 
 
 Can I say of her face altered as I have reason to remem- 
 ber it, perished as I know it is that it is gone, when here 
 it comes before me at this instant, as distinct as any face that 
 I may choose to look on in a crowded street ? Can I say 
 of her innocent and girlish beauty, that it faded, and was no 
 more, when its breath falls on my cheek now, as it fell that 
 night ? Can I say she ever changed, when my remembrance 
 brings her back to life, thus only ; and, truer to its loving 
 youth than I have been, or man ever is, still holds fast what 
 it cherished then ? 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 27 
 
 I write of her just as she was when I had gone to bed after 
 this talk, and she came to bid me good night. She kneeled 
 down playfully by the side of the bed, and laying her chin 
 upon her hands, and laughing, said : 
 
 " What was it they said, Davy ? Tell me again. I can't 
 believe it." 
 
 " ' Bewitching ' : " I began. 
 
 My mother put her hands upon my lips to stop me. 
 
 " It was never bewitching," she said, laughing. " It never 
 could have been bewitching, Davy. Now I know it wasn't ! " 
 
 "Yes it was. 'Bewitching Mrs. Copperfield,'" I repeated, 
 stoutly. "And ' pretty.'" 
 
 " No, no, it was never pretty. Not pretty," interposed my 
 mother, laying her fingers on my lips again. 
 
 " Yes it was. ' Pretty little widow.' ' v 
 
 " What foolish, impudent creatures ! " cried my mother, 
 laughing and covering her face. "What ridiculous men! 
 An't they ? Davy dear " 
 
 "Well, ma." 
 
 " Don't tell Peggotty ; she might be angry with them. I 
 am dreadfully angry with them myself ; but I would rather 
 Peggotty didn't know." 
 
 I promised, of course ; and we kissed one another over and 
 over again, and I soon fell fast asleep. 
 
 It seems to me, at this distance of time, as if it were the 
 next day when Peggotty broached the striking and adventur- 
 ous proposition I am about to mention; but it was probably 
 about two months afterwards. 
 
 We were sitting as before, one evening (when my mother 
 was out as before), in company with the stocking and the 
 yard measure, and the bit of wax, and the box with Saint 
 Paul's on the lid, and the crocodile book, when Peggotty, 
 after looking at me several times, and opening her mouth as 
 if she were going to speak, without doing it which I thought 
 was merely gaping, or I should have been rather alarmed 
 said coaxingly : 
 
 "Master Davy, how should you like to go along with me 
 and spend a fortnight at my brother's at Yarmouth ? 
 Wouldn't that be a treat?" 
 
28 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " Is your brother an agreeable man, Peggotty ? ' : I 
 inquired, provisionally. 
 
 " Oh what an agreeable man he is ! " cried Peggotty, hold- 
 ing up her hands. "Then there's the sea; and the boats 
 and ships ; and the fishermen ; and the beach ; and Am to 
 play with " 
 
 Peggotty meant her nephew Ham, mentioned in my first 
 chapter ; but she spoke of him as a morsel of English 
 Grammar. 
 
 I was flushed by her summary of delights, and replied that 
 it would indeed be a treat, but what would my mother say ? 
 
 "Why then I'll as good as bet a guinea," said Peggotty, 
 intent upon my face, " that she'll let us go. I'll ask her, if 
 you like, as soon as ever she comes home. There now ! " 
 
 "But what's she to* do while we're away ? " said I, putting 
 my small elbows on the table to argue the point. " She can't 
 live by herself." 
 
 If Peggotty were looking for a hole, all of a sudden, in the 
 heel of that stocking, it must have been a very little one 
 indeed, and not worth darning. 
 
 " I say ! Peggotty ! She can't live by herself, you know." 
 
 " Oh, bless you ! " said Peggotty, looking at me again at 
 last. " Don't you know ? She's going to stay for a fortnight 
 with Mrs. Grayper. Mrs. Grayper's going to have a lot of 
 company." 
 
 Oh ! If that was it, I was quite ready to go. I waited, 
 in the utmost impatience, until my mother came home from 
 Mrs. Grayper's (for it was that identical neighbor), to 
 ascertain if we could get leave to carry out this great idea. 
 Without being nearly so much surprised as I had expected, 
 my mother entered into it readily ; and it was all arranged 
 that night, and my board and lodging during the visit were 
 to be paid for. 
 
 The day soon came for our going. It was such an early 
 day that it came soon, even to me, who was in a fever of 
 expectation, and half afraid that an earthquake or a fiery 
 mountain, or some other great convulsion of nature, might 
 interpose to stop the expedition. We were to go in a carrier's 
 cart, which departed in the morning after breakfast. I would 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. . 29 
 
 have given any money to have been allowed to wrap myself 
 up over-night, and sleep in my hat and boots. 
 
 It touches me nearly now, although I tell it lightly, to 
 recollect how eager I was to leave my happy home j to think 
 how little I suspected what I did leave for ever. 
 
 I am glad to recollect that when the carrier's cart was at 
 the gate, and my mother stood there kissing me, a grateful 
 fondness for her and for the old place I had never turned my 
 back upon before, made me cry. I am glad to know that my 
 mother cried too, and that I felt her heart beat against mine. 
 
 I am glad to recollect that when the carrier began to move, 
 my mother ran out at the gate, and called to him to stop, that 
 she might kiss me once more. I am glad to dwell upon the 
 earnestness and love with which she lifted up her face to 
 mine, and did so. 
 
 As we left her standing in the road, Mr. Murdstone came up 
 to where she was, and seemed to expostulate with her for 
 being so moved. I was looking back round the awning of the 
 cart, and wondered what business it was of his. Peggotty, 
 who was also looking back on the other side, seemed anything 
 but satisfied; as the face she brought back into the cart 
 denoted. 
 
 I sat looking at Peggotty for some time, in a reverie on this 
 supposititious case : whether, if she were employed to lose me 
 like the boy in the fairy tale, I should be able to track my way 
 home again by the buttons she would sbed. 
 
30 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 CHAPTER IIL 
 
 I HAVE A CHANGE. 
 
 THE carrier's horse was the laziest horse in the world, I 
 should hope, and shuffled along, with his head down, as if he 
 liked to keep the people waiting to whom the packages were 
 directed. I fancied, indeed, that he sometimes chuckled au- 
 dibly ov^er this reflection, but the carrier said he was only 
 troubled with a cough. 
 
 The carrier had a way of keeping his head down, like his 
 horse, and of drooping sleepily forward as he drove, with one 
 of his arms on each of his knees. I say " drove," but it struck 
 me that the cart would have gone to Yarmouth quite as well 
 without him, for the horse did all that; and as to conversation, 
 he had no idea of it but whistling. 
 
 Peggotty had a basket of refreshments on her knee, which 
 would have lasted us out handsomely, if we had been going to 
 London by the same conveyance. We ate a good deal, and 
 slept a good deal. Peggotty always went to sleep with her 
 chin upon the handle of the basket, her hold of which never 
 relaxed ; and I could not have believed unless I hagl heard her 
 do it, that one defenceless woman could have snored so much. 
 
 TVe made so many deviations up and down lanes, and were 
 such a long time delivering a bedstead at a public-house, and 
 calling at other places, that I was quite tired, and very glad, 
 when we saw Yarmouth. It looked rather spongy and soppy, 
 I thought, as I carried my eye over the great dull waste that 
 lay across the river; and I could not help wondering, if the 
 world were really as round as my geography-book said, how any 
 part of it came to be so flat. But I reflected that Yarmouth 
 might be situated at one of the poles ; which would account 
 for it. 
 
 As we drew a little nearer, and saw the whole adjacent 
 prospect lying a straight low line under the sky, I hinted to 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 31 
 
 Peggotty that a mound or so might have improved it ; and 
 also that if the land had been a little more separated from the 
 sea, and the town and the tide had not been quite so much 
 mixed up, like toast and water, it would have been nicer. But 
 Peggotty said, with greater emphasis than usual, that we must 
 take things as we found them, and that for her part, she was 
 proud to call herself a Yarmouth Bloater. 
 
 When we got into the street (which was strange enough to 
 me), and smelt the fish, and pitch, and oakum, and tar, and 
 saw the sailors walking about, and the carts jingling up and 
 down over the stones, I felt that I had done so busy a place an 
 injustice ; and said as much to Peggotty, who heard my expres- 
 sions of delight with great complacency, and told me it was 
 well known (I suppose to those who had the good fortune to 
 be born Bloaters) that Yarmouth was, upon the whole, the 
 finest place in the universe. 
 
 " Here's my Am ! " screamed Peggotty, " growed out of 
 knowledge ! " 
 
 He was waiting for us, in fact, at the public-house ; and 
 asked me how I found myself, like an old acquaintance. I 
 did not feel, at first, that I knew him as well as he knew me, 
 because he had never come to our house since the night I was 
 born, and naturally he had the advantage of me. But our 
 intimacy was much advanced by his taking me on his back to 
 carry me home. He was, now, a huge, strong fellow of six 
 feet high, broad in proportion, and round-shouldered ; but with 
 a simpering boy's face and curly light hair that gave him quite 
 a sheepish look. He was dressed in a canvas jacket, and a 
 pair of such very stiff trousers that they would have stood 
 quite as well alone, without any legs in them. And you 
 couldn't so properly have said he wore a hat, as that he 
 was covered in a-top, like an old building, with something 
 pitchy. 
 
 Ham carrying me on his back and a small box of ours under 
 his arm, and Peggotty carrying another small box of ours, we 
 turned down lanes bestrewn with bits of chips and little hil- 
 locks of sand, and went past gas-works, rope-walks, boat-build- 
 ers' yards, shipwrights' yards, ship-breakers' yards, caulkers' 
 yards, riggers' lofts, smiths' forges, and a great litter of such 
 
32 THE PEE SOS AL HISTORY ASD EXPERIENCE 
 
 places, until we eanie out upon the dull waste I had already 
 seen at a distance ; when Ham said, 
 
 " Yon's our house, Mas'r Davy ! " 
 
 I looked in all directions, as far as I could stare over th( 
 wilderness, and away at the sea, and away at the river, but nc 
 house could / make out. There was a black barge, or sonu 
 other kind of superannuated boat, not far off, high and dry on 
 the ground, with an iron funnel sticking out of it for a chim- 
 ney and smoking very cosily ; but nothing else in the way of 
 a habitation that was visible to me. 
 
 " That's not it ? " said I. " That ship-looking thing ? " 
 
 " That's it, Mas'r Davy," returned Ham. 
 
 If it had been Aladdin's palace, roc's egg 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 ; but 
 the wonderful charm of it was, that it was a real boat which 
 had no doubt been upon the water hundreds of times, and 
 which had never been intended to be lived in, on dry land. 
 That was the captivation of it to me. If it had ever been 
 meant to be lived in. I might have thought it small, or incon- 
 venient, or lonely ; but never having been designed for any 
 such use, it became a perfect abode. 
 
 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 paint- 
 ing on it of a lady with a parasol, taking a walk with a mili- 
 tary-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 colored pictures, framed 
 and glazed, of scripture subjects ; such as I have never seen 
 since in the hands of pedlers, without seeing the whole inte- 
 rior of Peggotty's brothers 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 Sarah 
 Jane lugger, built at Sunderland, with a real little wooden 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 
 
 33 
 
 stern stuck on to it ; a work of art, combining composition 
 with carpentry, which I considered to be one of the most en- 
 viable possessions that the world could afford. 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. 
 
 All this, I saw in the first glance after I crossed the thresh- 
 oldchildlike, according to my theory and then Peggotty 
 opened a little door and showed me my bedroom. It was the 
 completest and most desirable bedroom ever seen in the 
 stern of the vessel ; with a little window, where the rudder 
 used to go through ; a little looking-glass, just the right height 
 for me, nailed against the wall, and framed with oyster- 
 shells ; a little bed, which there was just room enough to get 
 into; and a nosegay of seaweed in a blue mug on the table. 
 The walls were whitewashed as white as milk, and the patch- 
 work counterpane made my eyes quite ache with its bright- 
 ness. One thing I particularly noticed in this delightful house, 
 was the smell of fish; which was so searching, that when I 
 took out my pocket-handkerchief to wipe my nose, I found it 
 smelt exactly as if it had wrapped up a lobster. On my impart- 
 ing this discovery in confidence to Peggotty, she informed me 
 that her brother dealt in 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 
 off pinching whatever they laid hold of, were usually to be 
 found in a little wooden outhouse where the pots and kettles 
 
 were kept. 
 
 We were welcomed by a very civil woman in a white apron, 
 whom I had seen courtesying at the door when I was on Ham's 
 back, about a quarter of a mile off. Likewise by a most beau- 
 tiful little girl (or I thought her so) with a necklace of blu 
 beads on, who wouldn't let me kiss her when I offered to, but 
 ran away and hid herself. By and by, when we had dined m 
 a sumptuous manner off boiled dabs, melted butter, and pota- 
 toes, with a chop for me, a hairy man with a very good-natured 
 face came home. As he called Peggotty "Lass," and gave her 
 a hearty smack on the cheek, I had no doubt, from the general 
 propriety of her conduct, that he was her brother ; and so he 
 
 VOL. I O 
 
34 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 turned out being presently introduced to me as Mr. Peg- 
 got ty, the master of the house. 
 
 " Glad to see you, sir/' said Mr. Peggotty. " You'll find us 
 rough, sir, but you'll find us ready." 
 
 I thanked him and replied that I was sure I should be 
 happy in such a delightful place. 
 
 " How's your ma, sir ? " said Mr. Peggotty. " Did you 
 leave her pretty jolly ? " 
 
 I gave Mr. Peggotty to understand that she was as jolly as 
 I could wish, and that she desired her compliments which 
 was a polite fiction on my part. 
 
 " I'm much obleeged to her, I'm sure," said Mr. Peggotty. 
 " Well, sir, if you can make out here, for a fortnut, 'long 'wi' 
 her," nodding at his sister, "and Hani, and little Em'ly, we 
 shall be proud of your company." 
 
 Having done the honors of his house in this hospitable 
 manner, Mr. Peggotty went out to wash himself in a kettleful 
 of hot water, remarking that " cold would never get his muck 
 off." He soon returned, greatly improved in appearance; 
 but so rubicund, that I couldn't help thinking his face had 
 this in common with the lobsters, crabs, and crawfish, that 
 it went into the hot water very black, and came out very red. 
 
 After tea, when the door was shut and all was made snug 
 (the nights being cold and misty now), it seemed to me the 
 most delicious retreat that the imagination of man would con- 
 ceive. To hear the wind getting up out at sea, to know that 
 the fog was creeping over the desolate flat outside, and to look 
 at the fire, and think that there was no house near but this 
 one, and this one a boat, was like enchantment. Little Em'ly 
 had overcome her shyness, and was sitting by my side upon 
 the lowest and least of the lockers, which was just large enough 
 for us two, and just fitted into the chimney corner. Mrs. 
 Peggotty with the white apron, was knitting 011 the opposite 
 side of the fire. Peggotty at her needle-work was as much at 
 home with Saint Paul's and the bit of wax-candle, as if they 
 had never known any other roof. Ham, who had been giving 
 me my first lesson in all-fours, was trying to recollect a scheme 
 of telling fortunes with the dirty cards, and was printing off 
 fishy impressions of his thumb on all the cards he turned. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 35 
 
 Mr. Peggotty was smoking his pipe. I felt it was a time for 
 conversation and confidence. 
 
 " Mr. Peggotty ! " says I. 
 
 " Sir," says he. 
 
 " Did you give your son the name of Ham, because you lived 
 in a sort of ark ? " 
 
 Mr. Peggotty seemed to think it a deep idea, but answered : 
 
 "No, sir. I never giv him no name." 
 
 " Who gave him that name, then ? " said I, putting question 
 number two of the catechism to Mr. Peggotty. 
 
 " Why, sir, his father giv it him," said Mr. Peggotty. 
 
 " I thought you were his father ! " 
 
 " My brother Joe was his father," said Mr. Peggotty. 
 
 " Dead, Mr. Peggotty ? " I hinted, after a respectful pause. 
 
 " Drowndead," said Mr. Peggotty. 
 
 I was very much surprised that Mr. Peggotty was not 
 Ham's father, and began to wonder whether I was mistaken 
 about his relationship to anybody else there. I was so curious 
 to know, that I made up my mind to have it out with Mr. 
 Peggotty. 
 
 " Little Em'ly," I said, glancing at her. " She is your 
 daughter, isn't she, Mr. Peggotty ? " 
 
 " No, sir. My brother-in-law, Tom, was her father." 
 
 I couldn't help it. "--Dead, Mr. Peggotty?" I hinted, 
 after another respectful silence. 
 
 " Drowndead," said Mr. Peggotty. 
 
 I felt the difficulty of resuming the subjec^ but had not got 
 to the bottom of it yet, and must get to the bottom somehow. 
 
 So I said : 
 
 " Haven't you any children, Mr. Peggotty ? " 
 
 " No, master," he answered, with a short laugh. " Pm a 
 bacheldore." 
 
 " A bachelor ! " I said, astonished. " Why, who's that, Mr. 
 Peggotty ? " Pointing to the person in the apron who was 
 knitting. 
 
 " That's Missis Gummidge," said Mr. Peggotty. 
 
 " Gummidge, Mr. Peggotty ? " 
 
 But at this point Peggotty I mean my own peculiar 
 Peggotty made such impressive motions to me not to ask 
 
36 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 any more questions, that I could only sit and look at all the 
 silent company, until it was time to go to bed. Then, in the 
 privacy of my own little cabin, she informed me that Ham 
 and Em'ly were an orphan nephew and niece, whom my host 
 had at different times adopted in their childhood, when they 
 were left destitute ; and that Mrs. Gummidge was the widow 
 of his partner in a boat, who had died very poor. He was but 
 a poor man himself, said Peggotty, but as good as gold and 
 as true as steel those were her similes. The only subject, 
 she informed me, on which he ever showed a violent temper 
 or swore an oath, was this generosity of his ; and if it were 
 ever referred to by any one of them, he struck the table a 
 heavy blow with his right hand (had split it on one such oc- 
 casion), and swore a dreadful oath that he would be "Gormed" 
 if he didn't cut and run for good, if it was ever mentioned 
 again. It appeared, in answer to my inquiries, that nobody 
 had the least idea of the etymology of this terrible verb pas- 
 sive to be gormed ; but that they all regarded it as constitu- 
 ting a most solemn imprecation. 
 
 I was very sensible of my entertainer's goodness, and 
 listened to the women's going to bed in another little crib 
 like mine at the opposite end of the boat, and to him and Ham 
 hanging up two hammocks for themselves on the hooks I had 
 noticed in the roof, in a very luxurious state of mind, en- 
 hanced by nry being sleepy. As slumber gradually stole 
 upon me, I heard the wind howling out at sea and coming on 
 across the flat so fiercely, that I had a lazy apprehension of 
 the great deep rising in the night. But I bethought myself 
 that I was in a boat, after all ; and that a man like Mr. 
 Peggotty was not a bad 'person to have on board if anything 
 did happen. 
 
 Nothing happened, however, worse than morning. Almost 
 as soon as it shone upon the oyster-shell frame of my mirror 
 I was out of bed, and out with little Em'ly, picking up stones 
 upon the beach. 
 
 " You're quite a sailor, I supppose ? " I said to Em'ly. I 
 don't know that I supposed anything of the kind, but I felt 
 it an act of gallantry to say something ; and a shining sail 
 close to us made such a pretty little image of itself, at the 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 37 
 
 moment, in her bright eye, that it came into my head to say 
 this. 
 
 " No," replied Em'ly, shaking her head, " I'm afraid of the 
 
 sea." 
 
 "Afraid!" I said, with a becoming air of boldness, and 
 looking very big at the mighty ocean. " / ain't ! " 
 
 " Ah ! but it's cruel," said Em'ly. " I have seen it very 
 cruel to some of our men. I have seen it tear a boat as big 
 as our house all to pieces." 
 
 " I hope it wasn't the boat that " 
 
 " That father was drowiided in ? " said Em'ly. "No. Not 
 that one, I never see that boat." 
 
 " Nor him ? " I asked her. 
 
 Little Em'ly shook her head. " Not to remember ! " 
 
 Here was a coincidence ! I immediately went into an expla- 
 nation how I had never seen my own father ; and how my 
 mother and I had always lived by ourselves in the happiest 
 state imaginable, and lived so then, and always meant to live 
 so; and how my father's grave was in the churchyard near 
 our house,' and shaded by a tree, beneath the boughs of 
 which I had walked and heard the birds sing many a pleasant 
 morning. But there was some differences between Em'ly's 
 orphanhood and mine, it appeared. She had lost her mother 
 before her father ; and where her father's grave was no one 
 knew, except that it was somewhere in the depths of the 
 sea. 
 
 " Besides," said Em'ly, as she looked about for shells and 
 pebbles, " your father was a gentleman and your mother is a 
 lady ; and my father was a fisherman and my mother was 
 a fisherman's daughter, and my uncle Dan is a fisherman." 
 
 "Dan is Mr. Peggotty, is he ? " said I. 
 
 "Uncle Dan yonder," answered Em'ly, nodding at the 
 boat-house. 
 
 "Yes. I mean him. He must be very good, I should 
 think ? " 
 
 " Good ? " said ' Em'ly. " If I was ever to be a lady, I'd 
 give him a sky-blue coat with diamond buttons, nankeen trou- 
 sers, a red velvet waistcoat, a cocked hat, a large gold watch, 
 a silver pipe, and a box of money." 
 
38 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 I said I had no doubt that Mr. Peggotty well deserved 
 these treasures. I must acknowledge that I felt it difficult to 
 picture him quite at his ease in the raiment proposed for him 
 by his grateful little niece, and that I was particularly doubt- 
 ful of the policy of the cocked hat ; but I kept these senti- 
 ments to myself. 
 
 " Little Ein'ly had stopped and looked up at the sky in her 
 enumeration of these articles, as if they were a glorious vision. 
 We went on again, picking up shells and pebbles. 
 
 " You would like to be a lady ? " I said. 
 
 Em'ly looked at me, and laughed and nodded " yes." 
 
 " I should like- it very much. We would all be gentlefolks 
 together, then. Me, and uncle, and Ham, and Mrs. Gum- 
 midge. We wouldn't mind then, when there come stormy 
 weather. Not for our own sakes, I mean. We would for the 
 poor fishermen's, to be sure, and we'd help 'em with money 
 when they come to any hurt." 
 
 This seemed to me to be a very satisfactory and therefore 
 not at all improbable picture. I expressed my pleasure in the 
 contemplation of it, and little Ern'ly was emboldened to say, 
 shyly, 
 
 " Don't you think you are afraid of the sea, now ? " 
 
 It was quite enough to reassure me, but I have no doubt if 
 I had seen a moderately large wave come tumbling in, I should 
 have taken to my heels, with an awful recollection of her 
 drowned relations. However, I said "No," and I added, 
 " You don't seem to be, either, though you say you are ; " 
 for she was walking much too near the brink of a sort of old 
 jetty or wooden causeway we had strolled upon, and I was 
 afraid of her falling over. 
 
 "I'm not afraid in this way," said little Em'ly. "But I 
 wake when it blows, and tremble to think of Uncle Dan and 
 Ham, and believe I hear 'em crying out for help. That's why 
 I should like so much to be a lady. But I'm not afraid in 
 this way. Xot a bit. Look here ! " 
 
 She started from my side, and ran along a jagged timber 
 which protruded from the place we stood upon, and overhung 
 the deep water at some height, without the least defence. 
 The incident is so impressed on my remembrance, that if I 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 39 
 
 were a draughtsman I could draw its form here, I daresay, 
 accurately as it was that day, and little Em'ly springing 
 forward to her destruction (as it appeared to me), with a look 
 that I have never forgotten, directed far out to sea. 
 
 The light, bold, fluttering little figure turned and came back 
 safe to me, and I soon laughed at my fears, and at the cry I 
 had uttered ; fruitlessly in any case, for there was no one near. 
 But there have been times since, in my manhood, many times 
 there have been, when I have thought, Is it possible, among 
 the possibilities of hidden things, that in the sudden rashness 
 of the child and her wild look so far off, there was any 
 merciful attraction of her into danger, any tempting her 
 towards him permitted on the part of her dead father, that 
 her life might have a chance of ending that day. There has 
 been a time since when I have wondered whether, if the life 
 before her could have been revealed to me at a glance, and so 
 revealed as that a child could fully comprehend it, and if her 
 preservation could have depended on a motion of my hand, I 
 ought to have held it up to save her. There has been a time 
 since I do not say it lasted long, but it has been when I 
 have asked myself the question, Would it have been better 
 for little Em'ly to have had the waters close above her head 
 that morning in my sight ; and when I have answered Yes. 
 
 This may be premature. I have set it down too soon, per- 
 haps. But let it stand. 
 
 We strolled a long way, and loaded ourselves with things 
 that we thought curious, and put some stranded star-fish 
 carefully back into the water I hardly know enough of the 
 race at this moment to be quite certain whether they had 
 reason to feel obliged to us for doing so, or the reverse and 
 then made our way home to Mr. Peggotty's dwelling. We 
 stopped under the lee of the lobster-outhouse to exchange an 
 innocent kiss, and went into breakfast glowing with health 
 and pleasure. 
 
 "Like two young mavishes," Mr. Peggotty said. I knew 
 this meant, in our local dialect, like two young thrushes, and 
 received it as a compliment. 
 
 Of course I was in love with little Em'ly. I am sure I 
 loved that baby quite as truly, quite as tenderly, with greater 
 
40 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 purity and more disinterestedness, than can enter into the best 
 love of a later time of life, high and ennobling as it is. I am 
 sure my fancy raised up something round that blue-eyed mite 
 of a child, which etherealized, and made a very angel of her. 
 If, any sunny forenoon, she had spread a little pair of wings 
 and flown away before ray eyes, I don't think I should have 
 regarded it as much more than I had had reason to expect. 
 
 We used to walk about that dim old flat at Yarmouth in a 
 loving manner, hours and hours. The days sported by us, 
 as if Time had not grown up himself yet, but were a child 
 too, and always at play. I told Em'ly I adored her, and that 
 unless she confessed she adored me I should be reduced to the 
 necessity of killing myself with a sword.- She said she did, 
 and I have no doubt she did. 
 
 As to any sense of inequality, or youthfulness, or other 
 difficulty in our way, little Em'ly and I had no such trouble, 
 because we had no future. We made no more provision for 
 growing older, than we did for growing younger. We were 
 the admiration of Mrs. Gummidge and Peggotty, who used to 
 whisper of an evening when we sat, lovingly, on our little 
 locker side by side, " Lor ! wasn't it beautiful ! " Mr. Peggotty 
 smiled at us from behind his pipe, and Ham grinned all the 
 evening and did nothing else. They had something of the 
 sort of pleasure in us, I suppose, that they might have had in 
 a pretty toy, or a pocket model of the Colosseum. 
 
 I soon found out that Mrs. Gummidge did not always make 
 herself so agreeable as she might have been expected to do, 
 under the circumstances of her residence with Mr. Peggotty. 
 Mrs. Gummidge's was rather a fretful disposition, and she 
 whimpered more sometimes than was comfortable for other 
 parties in so small an establishment. I was very sorry for 
 her ; but there were moments when it would have been more 
 agreeable, I thought, if Mrs. Gummidge had had a convenient 
 apartment of her own to retire to, and had stopped there until 
 her spirits revived. 
 
 Mr. Peggotty went occasionally to a public house called 
 The Willing Mind. I discovered this, by his being out on the 
 second or third evening of our visit, and by Mrs. Gummidge's 
 looking up at the Dutch clock, between eight and nine, and 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 41 
 
 saying he was there, and that, what was more, she had known 
 in the morning he would go there. 
 
 Mrs. Gummidge had been in a low state all day, and had 
 burst into tears in the forenoon, when the fire smoked. "I 
 am a lone lorn crcetur'," were Mrs. G-ummidge's words, when 
 that unpleasant occurrence took place, "and everythink goes 
 contrairy with me." 
 
 " Oh, it'll soon leave off/ 7 said Peggotty I again mean our 
 Peggotty "and besides, you know, it's not more disagreeable 
 to you than to us." 
 
 "I feel it more," said Mrs. Gummidge. 
 
 It was a very cold day, with cutting blasts of wind. Mrs. 
 Gummidge's peculiar corner of the fireside seemed to me to be 
 the warmest and snuggest in the place, as her chair was cer- 
 tainly the easiest, but it didn't suit her that day at all. She 
 was constantly complaining of the cold, and of its occasioning 
 a visitation in her back which she called "the creeps." At 
 last she shed tears on that subject, and said again that she was 
 "a lone lorncreetur' and everythink went contrairy with her." 
 
 "It is certainly very cold," said Peggotty. "Everybody 
 must feel it so." 
 
 "I feel it more than other people," said Mrs. Gummidge. 
 
 So at dinner ; when Mrs. Gummidge was always helped 
 immediately after me, to whom the preference was given as a 
 visitor of distinction. The fish were small :,nd bony, and the 
 potatoes were a little burnt. We all acknowledged that we 
 felt this something of a disappointment ; but Mrs. Gummidge 
 said she felt it more than we did, and shed tears again, and 
 made that former declaration with great bitterness. 
 
 Accordingly, when Mr. Peggotty came home about nine 
 o'clock, this unfortunate Mrs. Gummidge was knitting in her 
 corner in a very wretched and miserable condition. Peggotty 
 had been working cheerfully. Ham had been patching up a 
 great pair of water-boots ; and I, with little Em'ly by my side, 
 had been reading to them. Mrs. Gummidge had never made 
 any other remark than a forlorn sigh, and had never raised 
 her eyes since tea. 
 
 " Well, Mates," said Mr. Peggotty, taking his seat, " and 
 how are you ? " 
 
42 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 * We all said something, or looked something, to welcome 
 him, except Mrs. Gunirnidge, -who only shook her head over 
 her knitting. 
 
 "What's amiss," said Mr. Peggotty, with a clap of his hands. 
 "Cheer up, old Mawther ! " (Mr. Peggotty meant old girl.) 
 
 Mrs. Gummidge did not appear to be able to cheer up. 
 She took out an old black silk handkerchief and wiped her 
 eyes ; but instead of putting it in her pocket, kept it out, and 
 wiped them again, and still kept it out, ready for use. 
 
 " What's amiss, dame ? " said Mr. Peggotty. 
 
 " Nothing," returned Mrs. Gummidge. " You've come from 
 The Willing Mind, Dan'l ? " 
 
 " Why yes, I've took a short spell at The Willing Mind to- 
 night," said Mr. Peggotty. 
 
 " I'm sorry I should drive you there," said Mrs. Gummidge. 
 
 " Drive ! I don't want no driving," returned Mr. Peggotty, 
 with an honest laugh. " I only go too ready." 
 
 " Very ready," said Mrs. Gummidge, shaking her head, and 
 wiping her eyes. " Yes, yes, very ready. I am sorry it should 
 be along of me that you're so ready." 
 
 " Along o' you ? It an't along o' you ! " said Mr. Peg- 
 gotty. " Don't ye believe a bit on it." 
 
 "Yes, yes, it is," cried Mrs. Gummidge. "I know what 
 I am. I know that I am a lone lorn creetur' and not only 
 that everythink goes contrairy with me, but that I go con- 
 trairy with everybody. Yes, yes. I feel more than other 
 people do, and I show it more. It's my misfortun'." 
 
 I really couldn't help thinking, as I sat taking in all this, 
 that the misfortune extended to some other members of that 
 family besides Mrs. Gummidge. But Mr. Peggotty made no 
 such retort, only answering with another entreaty to Mrs. 
 Gummidge to cheer up. 
 
 "I an't what I could wish myself to be," said Mrs. Gum- 
 midge. " I am far from it. I know what I am. My troubles 
 has made me contrairy. I feel my troubles, and they make 
 me contrairy. I wish I didn't feel 'em, but I do. I wish I 
 could be hardened to 'em, but I an't. I make the house un- 
 comfortable. I don't wonder at it. I've made your sister so 
 all day, and Master Davy." 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 43 
 
 Here I was suddenly melted, and roared out "No, you 
 haven't, Mrs. Gummidge," in great mental distress. 
 
 "It's far from right that I should do it," said Mrs. Gum- 
 midge. " It an't a fit return. I had better go into the house 
 and die. I am a lone lorn creetur', and had much better not 
 make myself contrairy here. If thinks must go coritrairy with 
 me, and I must go contrairy myself, let me go contrairy in my 
 parish. Dan'l, I'd better go into the h.ouse, and die and be a 
 riddance ! " 
 
 Mrs. Gummidge retired with these voids, and betook her- 
 self to bed. When she was gone, Mr. Peggotty, who had not 
 exhibited a trace of any feeling but the profoundest sympathy, 
 looked round upon us, and nodding his head with a lively 
 expression of that sentiment still animating his face, said in 
 a whisper : 
 
 " She's been thinking of the old 'un ! " 
 
 I did not quite understand what old one Mrs. Gummidge 
 was supposed to have fixed her mind upon, until Peggotty, 
 on seeing me to bed, explained that it was the late Mr. Gum- 
 midge ; and that her brother always took that for a received 
 truth on such occasions, and that it always had a moving effect 
 upon him. Some time after he was in his hammock that night, 
 I heard him myself repeat to Ham, " Poor thing ! She's been 
 thinking of the old J un ! " And whenever Mrs. Gummidge 
 was overcome in a similar manner during the remainder of 
 our stay (which happened some few times), he always said 
 the same thing in extenuation of the circumstance, and always 
 with the tenderest commiseration. 
 
 So the fortnight slipped away, varied by nothing but the 
 variation of the tide, which altered Mr. Peggotty's times of 
 going out and coming in, and altered Ham's engagements 
 also. When the latter was unemployed, he sometimes walked 
 with us to show us the boats and ships, and once or twice he 
 took us for a row. 1 don't know why one slight set of impres- 
 sions should be more particularly associated with a place than 
 another, though I believe this obtains with most people, in 
 reference especially to the associations of their childhood. I 
 never hear the name, or read the name, of Yarmouth, but I 
 am reminded of a certain Sunday morning on the beach, the 
 
44 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 bells ringing for church, little Ein'ly leaning on my shoulder, 
 Ham lazily dropping stones into the water, and the sun, away 
 at sea, just breaking through the heavy mist, and showing us 
 the ships, like their own shadows. 
 
 At last the day came for going home. I bore up against 
 the separation from Mr. Peggotty and Mrs. Gummidge, but 
 my agony of mind at leaving little Em'ly Avas piercing. We 
 went arm-in-arm to the public-house where the carrier put up, 
 and I promised, on the road, to write to her. (I redeemed 
 that promise afterwards, in characters larger than those in 
 which apartments are usually announced in manuscript 
 being to let.) We were greatly overcome at parting ; and if 
 ever, in rny life, I have had a void made in my heart, I had 
 one made that day. 
 
 Now, all *the time I had been on my visit, I had been un- 
 grateful to my home again, and had thought little or nothing 
 about it. But I was no sooner turned towards it, than my 
 reproachful young conscience seemed to point that way with 
 a steady finger; and I felt, all the more for the sinking of 
 my spirits, that it was my nest, and that my mother was my 
 comforter and friend. 
 
 This gained upon me as we went along ; so that the nearer 
 we drew, and the more familiar the objects became that we 
 passed, the more excited I was to get there, and to run into 
 her arms. But Peggotty, instead of sharing in these trans- 
 ports, tried to check them (though very kindly), and looked 
 confused and out of sorts. 
 
 Blunderstone Eookery would come, however, in spite of her, 
 when the carrier's horse pleased and did. How well I 
 recollect it, on a cold gray afternoon, with a dull sky, threat- 
 ening rain ! 
 
 The door opened, and I looked, half laughing and half cry- 
 ing in my pleasant agitation, for my mother. It was not she, 
 but a strange servant. 
 
 " Why, Peggotty ! " I said, ruefully, " isn't she come home ? " 
 
 "Yes, yes, Master Davy," said Peggotty. "She's come 
 home. Wait a bit, Master Davy, and I'll I'll tell you some- 
 thing." 
 
 Between her agitation, and her natural awkwardness in get- 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 45 
 
 ting out of the cart, Peggotty was making a most extraordinary 
 festoon of herself, but I felt too blank and strange to tell her 
 so. When she had got down, she took me by the hand ; led 
 me, wondering, into the kitchen ; and shut the door. 
 
 "Peggotty!" said I, quite frightened. "What's the mat- 
 ter ? " 
 
 "Nothing's the matter, bless you, Master Davy dear! ' she 
 answered, assuming- an air of sprightliiiess. 
 
 " Something's the matter, I'm sure. Where's mamma ? ' 
 "Where's mamma, Master Davy?" repeated Peggotty. 
 "Yes. Why hasn't she come out to the gate, and what 
 have we come in here for? Oh, Peggotty!" My eyes were 
 full, and I felt as if I were going to tumble down. 
 
 "Bless the precious boy!" cried Peggotty, taking hold of 
 me. " What is it ? Speak, my pet ! " 
 
 " Not dead, too ! Oh, she's not dead, Peggotty ? > : 
 Peggotty cried out No ! with an astonishing volume of 
 voice ; and then sat down, and began to pant, and said I had 
 given her a turn. 
 
 I gave her a hug to take away the turn, or to give her 
 another turn in the right direction, and then stood before her, 
 looking at her in anxious inquiry. 
 
 " You see, dear, I should have told you before now," said 
 Peggotty, "but I hadn't an opportunity. I ought to have 
 made it, perhaps, but I couldn't azackly " that was always 
 the substitute for exactly, in Peggotty's militia of words 
 "bring my mind to it." 
 
 " Go on, Peggotty," said I, more frightened than before. 
 "Master Davy," said Peggotty, untying her bonnet with a 
 shaking hand, and speaking in a breathless sort of way. 
 " What do you think ? You have got a Pa ! " 
 
 I trembled, and turned white. Something I don't know 
 what, or how connected with the grave in the churchyard, 
 and the raising of the dead, seemed to strike me like an un- 
 wholesome wind. 
 
 " A new one ? " said Peggotty. 
 " A new one ? " I repeated. 
 
 Peggotty gave a gasp, as if she were swallowing something 
 that was very hard, and, putting out her hand, said : 
 
46 THE PERSONAL III S TOE Y AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " Coine and see him." 
 
 " I don't want to see him." 
 
 " And your mamma," said Peggotty. 
 
 I ceased to draw back, and we went straight to the best 
 parlor, where she left me. On one side of the fire, sat my 
 mother; on the other, Mr. Murdstone. My mother dropped 
 her work, and arose hurriedly, but timidly I thought. 
 
 "Now, Clara, my dear," said Mr. Murdstone. "Recollect! 
 control yourself, always control yourself! Davy boy, how do 
 you do ? " 
 
 I gave him my hand. After a moment of suspense, I went 
 and kissed my mother : she kissed me, patted me gently on 
 the shoulder, and sat down again to her work. I could not 
 look at her, I could not look at him, I knew quite well that 
 he was looking at us both ; and I turned to the window and 
 looked out there, at some shrubs that were drooping their 
 heads in the cold. 
 
 As soon as I could creep away, I crept up stairs. My old 
 dear bedroom was changed, and I was to lie a long way off. I 
 rambled down stairs to find anything that was like itself, so 
 altered it all seemed ; and roamed into the yard. I very soon 
 started back from there, for the empty dog-kennel was filled 
 up with a great dog deep-mouthed and black-haired like 
 Him and he was very angry at the sight of me, and sprung 
 out to get at me. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 47 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 I FALL INTO DISGRACE. 
 
 IF the room to which, my bed was removed, were a sentient 
 thing that could give evidence, I might appeal to it at this 
 day who sleeps there now, I wonder ! to bear witness for 
 me what a heavy heart I carried to it. I went up there, 
 hearing the dog in the yard bark after me all the way while I 
 climbed the stairs; and, looking as blank and strange upon 
 the room as the room looked upon me, sat down with my 
 small hands crossed, and thought. 
 
 I thought of the oddest things. Of the shape of the room, 
 of the cracks in the ceiling, of the paper on the wall, of the 
 flaws in the window glass making ripples and dimples on the 
 prospect, of the washing-stand being rickety on its three legs, 
 and having a discontented something about it, which reminded 
 me of Mrs. Gummidge under the influence of the old one. I 
 was crying all the time, but, except that I was conscious of 
 being cold and dejected, I am sure I never thought why I 
 cried. At last in my desolation I began to consider that I was 
 dreadfully in love with little Em'ly, and had been torn away 
 from her to come here, where no one seemed to want me, or to 
 care about me, half so much as she did. This made such a 
 very miserable piece of business of it, that I rolled myself up 
 in a corner of the counterpane, and cried myself to sleep. 
 
 I was awoke by somebody saying " Here he is ! " and uncov- 
 ering my hot head. My mother and Peggotty had come to look 
 for me, and it was one of them who had done it. 
 
 " Davy," said my mother. " What's the matter ? " 
 
 I thought it very strange that she should ask me, and 
 answered, "Nothing." I turned over on my face, I recollect, to 
 hide my trembling lip, which answered her with greater truth. 
 
 " Davy," said my mother. "Davy, my child ! " 
 
 I dare say no words she could have uttered, would have 
 
48 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 affected me so much, then, as her calling me her child. I hid 
 my tears in the bedclothes, and pressed her from me with my 
 hand, when she would have raised me up. 
 
 " This is your doing, Peggotty, you cruel thing ! " said my 
 mother. " I have no doubt at all about it. How can you rec- 
 oncile it to your conscience, I wonder, to prejudice my own 
 boy against me, or against anybody who is dear to me ? What 
 do you mean by it, Peggotty ? " 
 
 Poor Peggotty lifted up her hands and eyes, and only an- 
 swered, in a sort of paraphrase of the grace I usually repeated 
 after dinner, "Lord forgive you, Mrs. Copperfleld, and for 
 what you have said this minute, may you never be truly 
 sorry ! " 
 
 "It's enough to distract me," cried my mother. "In my 
 honeymoon, too, when my most inveterate enemy might re- 
 lent, one would think, and not envy me a little peace of mind 
 and happiness. Davy, you naughty boy ! Peggotty, you savage 
 creature ! Oh, dear me ! " cried my mother, turning from one 
 of us to the other, in her pettish wilful manner, "what a 
 troublesome world this is, when one has the most right to 
 expect it to be as agreeable as possible V" 
 
 I felt the touch of a hand that I knew was neither hers nor 
 Peggotty's, and slipped to my feet at the bed-side. It was 
 Mr. Murdstone's hand, and he kept it on my arm as he said : 
 
 " What's this ? Clara, my love, have you forgotten ? - 
 Firmness, my dear ! " 
 
 " I am very sorry, Edward," said my mother. " I meant to 
 ' be very good, but I am so uncomfortable." 
 
 " Indeed ! " he answered. " That's a bad hearing, so soon, 
 Clara." 
 
 " I say it's very hard I should be made so now," returned 
 my mother, pouting ; "and it is very hard isn't it ?" 
 
 He dreAV her to him, whispered in her ear, and kissed her. 
 I knew as well, when I saw my mother's head lean down upon 
 his shoulder, and her arm touch his neck I knew as well 
 that he could mould her pliant nature into any form he chose, 
 as I know, now, that he did it. 
 
 "Go you below, my love," said Mr. Murdstone. " David 
 and I \ T ill come down, together. My friend," turning a dark- 
 
O.F DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 49 
 
 ening face on Peggotty, when lie had watched my mother out, 
 and dismissed her with a nod and a smile: "do you know 
 your mistress's name ? ' 
 
 " She has been my mistress a long time, sir/' answered Peg= 
 gotty. " I ought, to know it." 
 
 "That's true," he answered. "But I thought I heard you, 
 as I came up stairs, address her by a name that is not 
 hers. She has taken mine, you know. Will you remem- 
 ber that ? " 
 
 Peggotty, with some uneasy glances at me, courtesied her- 
 self out of the room without replying ; seeing, I suppose, that 
 she was expected to go, and had no excuse for remaining. 
 When we two were left alone, he shut the door, and sitting on 
 a chair, and holding me standing before him, looked steadily 
 into my eyes. I felt my own attracted, no less steadily, to 
 his. As I recall our being opposed thus, face to face, I seem 
 again to hear my heart beat fast and high. 
 
 "David," he said, making his lips thin, by pressing them 
 together, "if I have an obstinate horse or dog to deal with, 
 what do you think I do ? " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " I beat him." 
 
 I had answered in a kind of breathless whisper, but I felt, 
 in my silence, that my breath was shorter now. 
 
 " I make him wince and smart. I say to myself, ' I'll con- 
 quer that fellow ; ' and if it were to cost him all- the blood he 
 had, I should do it. What is that upon your face ? " 
 
 "Dirt," I said. 
 
 He knew it was the mark of tears as well as I. But if he 
 had asked the question twenty times, each time with twenty 
 blows, I believe my baby heart would have burst before I 
 would have told him so. 
 
 " You have a good deal of intelligence for a little fellow," 
 he said, with a grave smile that belonged to him, "and you 
 understood me very well, I see. Wash that face, sir, and 
 come down with me." 
 
 He pointed to the washing-stand, which I had made out to 
 be like Mrs. Gummidge, and motioned me with his head to 
 obey him directly. I had little doubt then, and I have less 
 VOL. i 4 
 
50 
 
 doubt now, that he would have knocked me down without the 
 least compunction, if I had hesitated. 
 
 "Clara, my dear/' he said, when I had done his bidding, 
 and he walked me into the parlor, with his hand still on my 
 arm ; " you will not be made uncomfortable any more, I hope. 
 We shall soon improve our youthful humors." 
 
 God help me, I might have been improved for my whole 
 life, I might have been made another creature perhaps for 
 life, by a kind word at that season. A word of encourage- 
 ment and explanation, of pity for my childish ignorance, of 
 welcome home, of reassurance to me that it was home, might 
 have made me dutiful to him in my heart henceforth, instead 
 of in my hypocritical outside, and might have made me 
 respect instead of hate him. I thought my mother was 
 sorry to see me standing in the room so scared and strange, and 
 that, presently, when I stole to a chair, she followed me with 
 her eyes more sorrowfully still missing, perhaps, some free- 
 dom in my childish tread but the word was not spoken, and 
 the time for it was gone. 
 
 We dined alone, we three together. He seemed to be very 
 fond of my mother I am afraid I liked him none the better 
 for that and she was very fond of him. I gathered from 
 what they said, that an elder sister of his was coming to stay 
 with them, and that she was expected that evening. I am not 
 certain whether I found out then or afterwards, that, without 
 being actively concerned in any business, he had some share 
 in, or some annual charge upon the profits of, a wine-merchant's 
 house in London, with which his family had been connected 
 from his great-grandfather's time, and in which his sister 
 had a similar interest ; but I may mention it in this place, 
 whether or no. 
 
 After dinner, when we were sitting by the fire, and I was 
 meditating an escape to Peggotty without having the hardi- 
 hood to slip away, lest it should offend the master of the 
 house, a coach drove up to the garden-gate, and he went out 
 to receive the visitor. My mother followed him. I was 
 timidly following her, when she turned round at the parlor- 
 door, in the dusk, and taking me in her embrace as she had 
 been used to do, whispered me to love iny new father and be 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 51 
 
 obedient to him. She did this hurriedly and secretly, as if it 
 were wrong, but tenderly ; and, putting out her hand behind 
 her, held mine in it, until we came near to where he was 
 standing in the garden, where she let mine go, and drew hers 
 through his arm. 
 
 It was Miss Murdstone who was arrived, and a gloomy- 
 looking lady she was ; dark, like her brother, whom she 
 greatly resembled in face and voice ; and with very heavy eye- 
 brows, 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 brought with her two 
 uncompromising hard black boxes, with her initials on the 
 lids in hard brass nails. When she paid the coachman she 
 took her money out of a hard steel purse, and she kept the 
 purse in a very jail of a bag which hung upon her arm by a 
 heavy chain, and shut up like a bite. I had never, at that 
 time, seen such a metallic lady altogether as Miss Murdstone 
 was. 
 
 She was brought into the parlor with many tokens of 
 welcome, and there formally recognized my mother as a new 
 and near relation. Then she looked at me, and said : 
 
 " Is that your boy, sister-in-law ? " 
 
 My mother acknowledged me. 
 
 " Generally speaking," said Miss Murdstone, " I don't like 
 boys. How d'ye do, boy ? " 
 
 Under these encouraging circumstances, I replied that I was 
 very well, and that I hoped she was the same ; with such an 
 indifferent grace, that Miss Murdstone disposed of me in two 
 words : 
 
 " Wants manner ! " 
 
 Having uttered which with great distinctness, she begged 
 the favor of being shown to her room, which became to me 
 from that time forth a place of awe and dread, wherein the 
 two black boxes were never seen open or known to be left 
 unlocked, and where (for I peeped in once or twice when she 
 was out) numerous little steel fetters and rivets, with which 
 Miss Murdstone embellished herself when she was dressed, 
 generally hung upon the looking-glass in formidable array. 
 
 As well as I could make out, she had come for good, and 
 
52 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 had no intention of ever going again. She began to " help " 
 my mother next morning, and was in and out of the store- 
 closet all day, putting things to rights, and making havoc in 
 the old arrangements. Almost the first remarkable thing I 
 observed in Miss Murdstone was, her being constantly haunted 
 by a suspicion that the servants had a man secreted somewhere 
 on the premises. Under the influence of this delusion, she 
 dived into the coal-cellar at the most untimely hours, and 
 scarcely ever opened the door of a dark cupboard, without 
 clapping it to again, in the belief that she had got him. 
 
 Though there was nothing very airy about Miss Murdstone, 
 she was a perfect Lark in point of getting up. She was up 
 (and, as I believe to this hour, looking for that man) before 
 anybody in the house was stirring. Peggotty gave it as her 
 opinion that she even slept with one eye open ; but I could 
 not concur in this idea ; for I tried it myself after hearing the 
 suggestion thrown out, and found it couldn't be done. 
 
 On the very first morning after her arrival she was up and 
 ringing her bell at cock-crow. When my mother came down 
 to breakfast and was going to make the tea, Miss Murdstone 
 gave her a kind of peck on the cheek, which was her nearest 
 approach to a kiss, and said : 
 
 *. "Now, Clara, my dear, I am come here, you know, to relieve 
 you of all the trouble I can. You're much too pretty and 
 thoughtless " my mother blushed but laughed, and seemed 
 not to dislike this character "to have any duties imposed 
 upon you that can be undertaken by me. If you'll be so good 
 as give me your keys, my dear, I'll attend to all this sort of 
 thing in future." 
 
 From that time, Miss Murdstone kept the keys in her own 
 little jail all day, and under her pillow all night, and my 
 mother had no more to do with them than I had. 
 
 My mother did not suffer her authority to pass from her 
 without a shadow of protest. One night when Miss Murdstone 
 had been developing certain household plans to her brother, of 
 which he signified his approbation, my mother suddenly began 
 to cry, and said she thought she might have been consulted. 
 
 " Clara ! " said Mr. Murdstone, sternly. " Clara ! I wonder 
 at you." 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 53 
 
 " Oh, it's very well to say you wonder, Edward ! " cried my 
 mother, " and it's very well for you to talk about firmness, but 
 you wouldn't like it yourself." 
 
 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 
 [ had been called 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 humor, 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 relationship, 
 and in an inferior and tributary degree. My mother was 
 another exception. She might be firm, and must be ; but only 
 in bearing their firmness, and firmly believing there was no 
 other firmness upon earth. 
 
 "It's very hard," said my mother, "that in my own 
 house " 
 
 " My own house ? " repeated Mr. Murdstone. " Clara ! " 
 " Oar own house, I mean," faltered my mother, evidently 
 frightened "I hope you must know what I mean, Edward - 
 it's very hard that in your own house I may not have a word 
 to say about domestic matters. I am sure I managed very 
 well before we were married. There's evidence/ 7 said my 
 mother, sobbing ; " ask Feggotty if I didn't do very well when 
 I wasn't interfered with ! " 
 
 "Edward," said Miss Murdstone, "let there be an end of 
 this. I go to-morrow." 
 
 " Jane Murdstone," said her brother, " be silent ! How dare 
 you to insinuate that you don't know my character better than 
 your words imply ? r ' 
 
 " I am sure," my poor mother went on, at a grievous disad- 
 vantage, and with many tears, " I don't want anybody to go. 
 I should be very miserable and unhappy if anybody was to go. 
 I don't ask much. I am not unreasonable. I only want to be 
 consulted sometimes. I am very much obliged to anybody 
 who assists me, and I only want to be consulted as a mere 
 
54 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AXD EXPERIENCE 
 
 form,, sometimes. I thought you were pleased, once, with ni} T 
 being a little inexperienced and girlish, Edward I am sure 
 you said so but yoi seem to hate me for it now, you are so 
 
 severe." 
 
 "Edward," said Miss Murdstone, again, "let there be an 
 end of this. I go to-morrow." 
 
 " Jane Murdstone," thundered Mr. Murdstone. " Will you 
 be silent ? How dare you ? " 
 
 Miss Murdstone made a jail-delivery of her pocket handker- 
 chief, and held it before her eyes. 
 
 "Clara," he continued, looking at my mother, "you sur- 
 prise me ! You astound me ! Yes, I had a satisfaction in the 
 thought of marrying an inexperienced and artless person, and 
 forming her character, and infusing into it some amount of 
 that firmness end decision of which it stood in need. But 
 when Jane Mim stone is kind enough to come to my assistance 
 in this endeavor, and to assume for my sake, a condition some- 
 thing like a housekeeper's, and when she meets with a base 
 return " 
 
 " Oh, pray, pray, Edward," cried my mother, " don't accuse 
 me of being ungrateful. I am sure I am not ungrateful. Xo 
 one ever said I was before. I have many faults, but not that. 
 Oh, don't, my dear ! " 
 
 " When Jane Murdstone meets, I say," he went on, after 
 waiting until niy mother was silent, " with a base return, that 
 feeling of mine is chilled and altered." 
 
 " Don't my love, say that ! " implored my mother, very pite- 
 ously. " Oh, don't, Edward ! I can't bear to hear it. What- 
 ever I am, I am affectionate. I know I am aJectiouate. I 
 wouldn't say it, if I wasn't certain that I am. Ask Peggot 
 I am sure she'll tell j'ou I'm affectionate." 
 
 " There is no extent ot mere weakness, Clara," said Mr. 
 Murdstone in reply, " that can have the least w sight with me. 
 You lose breath." 
 
 " Pray let us be friends," said my mother, " I couldn't live 
 under coldness or unkindness. I am so sorry. I have :i great 
 many defects, I know, and it's very good of you, Edward, with 
 your strength of mind, to endeavor to correct them for me. 
 Jane, I don't object to anything. I should be quite broken- 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 55 
 
 hearted if you thought of leaving " My mother was too 
 much overcome to go on. 
 
 " Jane Murdstone," said Mr. Murdstone to his sister, " any 
 harsh words between us are, I hope, uncommon. It is not 
 my fault that so unusual an occurrence has taken place to- 
 night. I was betrayed into it by another. Nor is it your 
 fault. You were betrayed into it by another. Let us both 
 try to forget it. And as this," he added, after these magnan- 
 imous words, "is not a fit scene for the boy David go to 
 bed!" 
 
 I could hardly find the door, through the tears that stood 
 in my eyes. I was so sorry for my mother's distress ; but I 
 groped my way out, and groped my way up to my room in the 
 dark, without even having the heart to say good night to Peg- 
 gotty, or to get a candle from her. When her coming up to 
 look for me, an hour or so afterwards, awoke me, she said that 
 my mother had gone to bed poorly, and that Mr. and Miss 
 Murdstone were sitting alone. 
 
 Going down next morning rather earlier than usual, I paused 
 outside the parlor door, on hearing my mother's voice. She 
 was very earnestly and humbly entreating Miss Murdstone's 
 pardon, which that lady granted, and a perfect reconciliation 
 took place. I never knew my mother afterwards to give an 
 opinion on any matter, without first appealing to Miss Murd- 
 stone, or without having first ascertained by some sure means, 
 what Miss Murdstone's opinion was ; and I never saw Miss 
 Murdstone, when out of temper (she was infirm that way), 
 move her hand towards her bag as if she were going to take 
 out the keys and offer to resign them to my mother, without 
 seeing that my mother was in a terrible fright. 
 
 The gloomy taint that was in the Murdstone blood, dark- 
 ened the Murdstone religion, which was austere and wrathful. 
 I have thought, since, 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. Be this 
 as it may, I well remember the tremendous visages with which 
 we used to go to church, and the changed air of the place. 
 Again, the dreaded Sunday comes round, and I file into the 
 
06 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 old pew first, like a guarded captive brought to a condemned 
 service. Again, Miss Murdstone, in a black velvet gown, that 
 looks as if it had been made out of a pall, follows close upon 
 me ; then my mother j then her husband. There is no Peggotty 
 now, as in the old time. Again, I listen to Miss Murdstone 
 mumbling the responses, and emphasizing all the dread words 
 with a cruel relish. Again, I see her dark eyes roll round the 
 church when she says " miserable sinners," as if she were call- 
 ing all the congregation names. Again, I catch rare glimpses 
 of my mother, moving her lips timidly between the two, with 
 one of them muttering at each ear like low thunder. Again, 
 I wonder with a sudden fear, whether it is likely that our good 
 old clergyman can be wrong, and Mr. and Miss Murdstone 
 right, and that all the angels in Heaven can be destroying 
 angels. Again, if I move a finger or relax a muscle of my 
 face, Miss Murdstone pokes me with her prayer-book, and 
 makes my side ache. 
 
 Yes, and again, as we walk home, I note some neighbors 
 looking at my mother, and at me, and whispering. Again, as 
 the three go on, arm-in-arm, and I linger behind alone, I fol- 
 low some of those looks, and wonder if my mother's step be 
 really not so light as I have seen it, and if the gaiety of her 
 beauty be really almost worried away. Again, I wonder 
 whether any of the neighbors call to mind, as I do, how we 
 used to walk home together, she and I ; and I wonder stupidly 
 about that, all the dreary dismal day. 
 
 There had been some talk on occasions of my going to 
 boarding-school. Mr. and Miss Murdstone had originated it, 
 and my mother had of course agreed with them. Nothing, 
 however, was concluded on the subject yet. In the meantime 
 I learnt lessons at home. 
 
 Shall I ever forget those lessons ! They were presided over 
 nominally by my mother, but really by Mr. Murdstone and 
 his sister, who were always present, and found them a favor- 
 able occasion for giving my mother lessons in that miscalled 
 firmness, which was the bane of both our lives. I believe I 
 was kept at home for that purpose. I had been apt enough 
 to learn, and willing enough, when my mother and I had 
 lived alone together. I can faintly remember learning the 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 57 
 
 alphabet at her knee. To this day, when I look upon the 
 fat black letters in the primer, the puzzling novelty of their 
 shapes, and the easy good-nature of and Q and S, seem to 
 present themselves again before me as they used to do. But 
 they recall no feeling of disgust or reluctance. On the con- 
 trary, I seem to have walked along a path of flowers as far as 
 the crocodile-book, and to have been cheered by the gentleness 
 of my mother's voice and manner all the way. But these 
 solemn lessons which succeeded those, I remember as the 
 death-blow at my peace, and a grievous daily drudgery and 
 misery. They were very long, very numerous, very hard 
 perfectly unintelligible, some of them, to me and I was gene- 
 rally as much bewildered by them as I believe my poor mother 
 was herself. 
 
 Let me remember how it used to be, and bring one morning 
 back again. 
 
 I come into the second-best parlor after breakfast, with my 
 books, and an exercise-book, and a slate. My mother is ready 
 for me at her writing-desk, but not half so ready as Mr. 
 Murdstone in his easy-chair by the window (though he pre 
 tends to be reading a book), or as Miss Murdstone, sitting 
 near my mother stringing steel beads. The very sight oi 
 these two has such an influence over me, that I begin to feel 
 the words I have been at infinite pains to get into my head, 
 all sliding away, and going I don't know where. I wonder 
 where they do go, by the by ? 
 
 I hand the first book to my mother. Perhaps it is a gram- 
 mar, perhaps a history, or geography. I take a last drowning 
 look at the page as I give it into her hand, and start off aloud 
 at a racing pace while I have got it fresh. I trip over a word. 
 Mr. Murdstone looks up. I trip over another word. Miss 
 Murdstone looks up. . I redden, tumble over half-a-dozen words, 
 and stop. I think my mother would show me the book if she 
 dared, but she does not dare, and she says softly : 
 
 " Oh, Davy, Davy ! " 
 
 "Now, Clara," says Mr. Murdstone, "be firm with the boy. 
 Don't say 'Oh, Davy, Davy!' That's childish. He knows 
 his lesson, or he does not know it." 
 
 "He does not know it," Miss Murdstone interposes, awfully. 
 
58 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " I am really afraid lie does not," says iny mother. 
 
 "Then you see, Clara," returns Miss Murdstone, "you should 
 just give him the book back, and make him know it." 
 
 "Yes, certainly," says my mother; "that is what I intend 
 to do, my dear Jane. Now, Davy, try once more, and don't be 
 stupid." 
 
 I obey the first clause of the injunction by trying once 
 more, but am not so successful with the second, for I am very 
 stupid. I tumble down before I get to the old place, at a 
 point where I was all right before, and stop to think. But 
 I can't think about the lesson. I think of the number of 
 yards of net in Miss Murds tone's cap, or of the price of Mr. 
 Murdstone's dressing-gown, or any such ridiculous problem 
 that I have no business with, and don't want to have anything 
 at all to do with. Mr. Murdstone makes a movement of im- 
 patience which I have been expecting for a long time. Miss 
 Murdstone does the same. My mother glances submissively 
 at them, shuts the book, and lays it by as an arrear to be 
 worked out when my other tasks are done. 
 
 There is a pile of these arrears very soon, and it swells 
 like a rolling snow-ball. The bigger it gets, the more stupid 
 / get. The case is so hopeless, and I feel that I am wallow- 
 ing in such a bog of nonsense, that I give up all idea of 
 getting out, and abandon myself to my fate. The despairing 
 way in which my mother and I look at each other, as I 
 blunder on, is truly melancholy. But the greatest effect in 
 these miserable lessons is when my mother (thinking nobody 
 is observing her) tries to give me the cue by the motion of her 
 lips. At that instant, Miss Murdstone, who has been lying in 
 wait for nothing else all along, says in a deep warning voice : 
 
 "Clara!" 
 
 My mother starts, colors, and smiles . faintly. Mr. Murd- 
 stone comes out of his chair, takes the book, throws it at me, 
 or boxes my ears with it, and turns me out of the room by the 
 shoulders. 
 
 Even when the lessons are done, the worst is yet to happen, 
 in the shape of an appalling sum. This is invented for me, 
 and delivered to me orally by Mr. Murdstone, and begins, 
 "If I go into a cheesemonger's shop, and buy five thousand 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 59 
 
 double-Gloucester cheeses at fourpence-halfpenny each, present 
 payment " at which I see Miss Murdstone secretly overjoyed. 
 I pour over these cheeses without any result or enlightenment 
 until dinner-time ; when, having made a Mulatto of myself by 
 getting the dirt of the slate into the pores of my skin, I have 
 a slice of bread to help me out with the cheeses, and am con- 
 sidered in disgrace for the rest of the evening. 
 
 It seems to me, at this distance of time, as if my unfortu- 
 nate studies generally took this course. I could have done 
 very well if I had been without the Murds tones ; but the 
 influence of the Murdstones upon me was like the fascination 
 of two snakes on a wretched young bird. Even when I did 
 get through the morning with tolerable credit, there was not 
 much gained but dinner; for Miss Murdstone never could 
 endure to see me untasked, and if I rashly made any show of 
 being unemployed, called her brother's attention to me by 
 saying, " Clara, my dear, there's nothing like work give your 
 boy an exercise ; " which caused me to be clapped down to some 
 new labor there and then. As to any recreation with other 
 children of my age, I had very little of that ; for the gloomy 
 theology of the Murdstones made all children out to be a 
 swarm of little vipers (though there was a child once set in 
 the midst of the Disciples), and held that they contaminated 
 one another. 
 
 The natural result of this treatment, continued, I suppose, 
 for some six months or more, was to make me sullen, dull, and 
 dogged. I was not made the less so, by my sense of being 
 daily more and more shut out and alienated from my mother. 
 I believe I should have been almost stupefied but for one cir- 
 cumstance. 
 
 It was this. My father had left a small collection of books 
 in a little room up stairs, to which I had access (for it adjoined 
 my own) and which nobody else in our house ever troubled. 
 From that blessed little room, Koderick Random, Peregrine 
 Pickle, Humphrey Clinker, Tom Jones, The Vicar of Wake- 
 field, Don Quixote, Gil Bias, and Robinson Crusoe, came out, a 
 glorious host, to keep me company. They kept alive my fancy, 
 and my hope of something beyond that place and time, 
 they, and the Arabian. Nights, and the Tales of the Genii, 
 
60 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 and did me no harm ; for whatever harm was in some of them 
 was not there for me ; / knew nothing of it. It is astonishing 
 to me now, how I found time, in the midst of my porings and 
 blunderings over heavier themes, to read those books as I did. 
 It is curious to me how I could ever have consoled myself 
 under my small troubles (which were great troubles to me), 
 by impersonating my favorite characters in them as I did - 
 and by putting Mr. and Miss Murdstone into all the bad ones 
 which I did too. I have been Tom Jones (a child's Tom 
 Jones, a harmless creature) for a week together. I have sus- 
 tained my own idea of Roderick Random for a month at a 
 stretch, I verily believe. I had a greedy relish for a few vol- 
 umes of Voyages and Travels I forget what, now that 
 were on those shelves ; and for days and days I can remember 
 to have gone about my region of our house, armed with the 
 centre-piece out of an old set of boot-trees the perfect 
 realization of Captain Somebody, of the Royal British Navy, 
 in danger of being beset by savages, and resolved to sell his 
 life at a great price. The Captain never lost dignity, from 
 having his ears boxed with the Latin Grammar. I did ; but 
 the Captain was a Captain and a hero, in despite of all the 
 grammars of all the languages in the world, dead or alive. 
 
 This was my only and my constant comfort. When I think 
 of it, the picture always rises in my mind, of a summer 
 evening, the boys at play in the churchyard, and I sitting on my 
 bed, reading as if for life. Every barn in the neighborhood, 
 every stone in the church, and every foot of the churchyard, 
 had some association of its own, in my mind, connected with 
 these books, and stood for some locality made famous in them. 
 I have seen Tom Pipes go climbing up the church-steeple ; I 
 have watched Strap, with the knapsack on his back, stopping 
 to rest himself upon the wicket-gate ; and I know that Com- 
 modore Trunnion held that club with Mr. Pickle, in the parlor 
 of our little village alehouse. 
 
 The reader now understands as well as I do, what I was 
 when I came to that point of my youthful history to which I 
 am now coming again. 
 
 One morning when I went into the parlor with my books, 
 I found my mother looking anxious, Miss Murdstone looking 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 61 
 
 firm, and Mr. Murdstone binding something round the bottom 
 of a cane a lithe and limber cane, which he left off binding 
 when I came in, and poised and switched in the air. 
 
 " I tell you, Clara," said Mr. Murdstone, " I have been often 
 flogged myself." 
 
 "To be sure; of course," said Miss Murdstone. 
 
 " Certainly, my dear Jane," faltered my mother, meekly. 
 " But but do you think it did Edward good ? " 
 
 " Do you think it did Edward harm, Clara ? " asked Mr. 
 Murdstone, gravely. 
 
 " That's the point ! " said his sister. 
 
 To this my mother returned, " Certainly, my dear Jane," 
 and said no more. 
 
 I felt apprehensive that I was personally interested in this 
 dialogue, and sought Mr. Murdstone's eye as it lighted on 
 mine. 
 
 " Now, David," he said and I saw that cast again, as he 
 said it " you must be far more careful to-day than usual." 
 He gave the cane another poise, and another switch ; and hav- 
 ing finished his preparation of it, laid it down beside him, with 
 an expressive look, and took up his book. 
 
 This was a good freshener to my presence of mind, as a 
 beginning. I felt the words of my lessons slipping off, not 
 one by one, or line by line, but by the entire page. I tried to 
 lay hold of them ; but they seemed, if I may so express it, to 
 have put skates on, and to skim away from me with a smooth- 
 ness there was no checking. 
 
 We began badly, and went on worse. I had come in, with 
 an idea of distinguishing myself rather, conceiving that I was 
 very well prepared ; but it turned out to be quite a mistake. 
 Book after book was added to the heap of failures, Miss Murd- 
 stone being firmly watchful of us all the time. And when we 
 came at last to the five thousand cheeses (canes he made it 
 that day, I remember), my mother burst out crying. 
 
 " Clara ! " said Miss Murdstone. in her warning voice. 
 
 "I am not quite well, my dear Jane, I think," said my 
 mother. 
 
 I saw him wink, solemnly, at his sister, as he rose and said, 
 taking up the cane : 
 
62 THE PERSONAL III S TOE T AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " Why, Jane, we can hardly expect Clara to bear, with per- 
 fect firmness, the worry and torment that David has occasioned 
 her to-day. That would be stoical. Clara is greatly strength- 
 ened and improved, but we can hardly expect so much from 
 her. David, you and I will go up stairs, boy." 
 
 As he took me out at the door, my mother ran towards us. 
 Miss Murdstone said, " Clara ! are you a perfect fool ? " and 
 interfered. I saw my mother stop her ears then, and I heard 
 her crying. 
 
 He walked me up to my room slowly and gravely I am 
 certain he had a delight in that formal parade of executing 
 justice and when we got there, suddenly twisted my head 
 under his arm. 
 
 Mr. Murdstone! Sir!" I cried to him. "Don't! Pray 
 don't beat me ! I have tried to learn, sir, but I can't learn 
 while you and Miss Murdstone are by. I can't indeed ! " 
 
 " Can't you, indeed, David ? " he said. " We'll try that." 
 
 He had my head as in a vice, but I twined round him 
 somehow, and stopped him for a moment, entreating him not 
 to beat me. It was only for a moment that I stopped him, 
 for he cut me heavily an instant afterwards, and in the same 
 instant I caught the hand with which he held me in my mouth, 
 between my teeth, and bit it through. It sets my teeth on 
 edge to think of it. 
 
 He beat me then, as if he would have" beaten me to death. 
 Above all the noise we made, I heard them running up the 
 stairs, and crying out I heard my mother crying out and 
 Peggotty. " Then he was gone ; and the door was locked out- 
 side; and I was lying, fevered and hot, and torn, and sore, 
 and raging in my puny way, upon the floor. 
 
 How well I recollect, when I became quiet, what an unnat- 
 ural stillness seemed to reign through the whole house ! How 
 well I remember, when my smart and passion began to cool, 
 how wicked I began to feel ! 
 
 I sat listening for a long while, but there was not a sound. 
 I crawled up from the floor, and saw my face in the glass, so 
 swollen, red, and ugly that it almost frightened me. My 
 stripes were sore and stiff, and made me cry afresh, when I 
 moved; but they were nothing to the guilt I felt. It lay 
 
OF DAVID COP PERFIELD. 63 
 
 -heavier on my breast than if I had been a most atrocious crim- 
 inal, I dare say. 
 
 It had begun to grow dark, and I had shut the window (I 
 had been lying, for the most part, with my head upon the sill, 
 by turns crying, dozing, and looking listlessly out), when the 
 key was turned, and Miss Murdstone came in with some bread 
 and meat, and milk. These she put down upon the table with- 
 out a word, glaring at me the while with exemplary firmness, 
 and then retired, locking the door after her. 
 
 ,Long after it was dark I sat there, wondering whether any- 
 body else would come. When this appeared improbable for 
 that night, I undressed, and went to bed ; and, there I began 
 to wonder fearfully what would be done to me. Whether it 
 was a criminal act that I had committed ? Whether I should 
 be taken into custody, and sent to prison ? Whether I was at 
 all in danger of being hanged ? 
 
 I never shall forget the waking, next morning; the being 
 cheerful and fresh for the first moment, and then the being 
 weighed down by the stale and dismal oppression of remem- 
 brance. Miss Murdstone reappeared before I was out of bed ; 
 told me, in so many words, that I was free to walk in the gar- 
 den for half an hour and no longer ; and retired, leaving the 
 door open, that I might avail myself of that permission. 
 
 I did so, and did so every morning of my imprisonment, 
 which lasted five days. If I could have seen my mother alone, 
 I should have gone down on my knees to her and besought her 
 forgiveness ; but I saw no one, Miss Murdstone excepted, dur- 
 ing the whole time except at evening prayers in the parlor ; 
 to which I was escorted by Miss Murdstone after everybody 
 else was placed; where I was stationed, a young outlaw, all 
 alone by myself near the door ; and whence I was solemnly 
 conducted by my jailer, before any one arose from the devo- 
 tional posture. I only observed that my mother was as far off 
 from me as she could be, and kept her face another way so 
 that I never saw it ; and that Mr. Murdstone's hand was bound 
 up in a large linen wrapper. 
 
 The length of those five days I can convey no idea of to any 
 one. They occupy the place of years in my remembrance. 
 The way in which I listened to all the incidents of the house 
 
64 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 that made themselves audible to me ; the ringing of bells, the 
 opening and shutting of doors, the murmuring of voices, the 
 footsteps on the stairs ; to any laughing, whistling, or singing, 
 outside, which seemed more dismal than anything else to me 
 in my solitude and disgrace the uncertain pace of the hours, 
 especially at night, when I would wake thinking it was morn- 
 ing, and find that the family were not yet gone to bed, and 
 that all the length of night had yet to come the depressed 
 dreams and nightmares I had the return of day, noon, after- 
 noon, evening, when the boys played in the churchyard, and J 
 watched them from a distance within the room, being ashamed 
 to show myself at the window lest they should know I was a 
 prisoner the strange sensation of never hearing myself speak 
 the fleeting intervals of something like cheerfulness, which 
 came with eating and drinking, and went away with it the 
 setting in of rain one evening, with a fresh smell, and its com- 
 ing down faster and faster between me and the chur.ch, unti" 
 it and gathering night seemed to quench me in gloom, anc 
 fear, and remorse all this appears to have gone round anc 
 round for years instead of days, it is so vividly and strongly 
 stamped on my remembrance. 
 
 On the last night of my restraint, I was awakened by hear- 
 ing my own name spoken in a whisper. I started up in bed, 
 and putting out my arms in the dark, said : 
 
 " Is that you, Peggotty ? " 
 
 There was no immediate answer, but presently I heard my 
 name again, in a tone so very mysterious and awful, that I 
 think I should have gone into a fit, if it had not occurred to me 
 that it must have come through the keyhole. 
 
 I groped my way to the door, and pr.tting my own lips to 
 the keyhole, whispered : 
 
 " Is that you, Peggotty, dear ? " 
 
 "Yes, my own precious Davy," she replied. "Be as soft 
 as a mouse, or the Cat'll hear us." 
 
 I understood this to mean Miss Murdstone, and was sensible 
 of the urgency of the case ; her room being close by. 
 
 "How's mamma, dear Peggotty? Is she very angry with 
 me?" 
 
 I could hear Peggotty crying softly on her side of the key- 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 65 
 
 hole, as I was doing on mine, before she answered, "No. Not 
 very." 
 
 " What is going to be done with me, Peggotty, dear ? Do 
 you know ? " 
 
 "School. Near London," was Peggotty's answer. I was 
 obliged to get her to repeat it, for she spoke it the rst time 
 quite down my throat, in consequence of my having forgotten 
 to take my mouth away from the keyhole and put my ear 
 there ; and though her words tickled me a good deal, I didn't 
 hear them. 
 
 "When Peggotty?" 
 
 " To-morrow." 
 
 "Is that the reason why Miss Murdstone took the clothes 
 out of my drawers ? " which she had done, though I have for- 
 gotten to mention it. 
 
 " Yes," said Peggotty. " Box." 
 
 " Sha'n't I see mamma ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Peggotty. "Morning." 
 
 Then Peggotty fitted her mouth close to the keyhole, and 
 delivered these words through it with as much feeling and 
 earnestness as a keyhole has ever been the medium of com- 
 municating, I will venture to assert : shooting in each broken 
 little sentence in a convulsive little burst of its own. 
 
 " Davy, dear. If I ain't ben azackly as intimate with you. 
 Lately, as I used to be. It ain't because I don't love you. 
 Just as well and more, my pretty poppet. It's because 1 
 thought it better for you. And for some one else besides. 
 Davy, my darling, are you listening ? Can you hear ? " 
 
 "Ye ye ye yes, Peggotty ! " I sobbed. 
 
 " My own ! " said Peggotty, with infinite compassion. 
 "What I want to say, is. That you must never forget me. 
 For I'll never forget you. And I'll take as much care of your 
 mamma, Davy. As ever I took of you. And I won't leave her. 
 The day may come when she'll be glad to lay her poor head. 
 On her stupid, cross old Peggotty's arm again. And I'll write 
 to you, my dear. Though I ain't no scholar. And I'll I'll 
 " Peggotty fell to kissing the keyhole, as she couldn't kiss 
 ine. 
 
 " Thank you, dear Peggotty ! " said I. " Oh, thank you ! 
 
 VOL. 1 6 
 
66 THE PEE SON AL HISTORY AND 
 
 Thank you ! Will you promise me one thing, Peggotty ? 
 Will you write and tell Mr. Peggotty and little Eir.'ly and 
 Mrs. Gummidge and Hani, that I am not so bad as they might 
 suppose, and that I sent 'em all my love especially to little 
 Em'ly ? Will you, if you please, Peggotty ? " 
 
 The kind soul promised, and we both of us kissed the key- 
 hole with the greatest affection I patted it with my hand, I 
 recollect, as if it had been her honest face and parted. 
 From that night there grew up in my breast, a feeling for 
 Peggotty which I cannot very well define. She did not replace 
 my mother ; no one could do that ; but she came into a vacancy 
 in my heart, which closed upon her, and I felt towards her 
 something I have never felt for any other human being. It 
 was a sort of comical affection, too ; and yet if she had died, I 
 cannot think what I should have done, or how I should have 
 acted out the tragedy it would have been to me. 
 
 In the morning Miss Murdstone appeared as usual, and told 
 me I was going to school ; which was not altogether such news 
 to me as she supposed. She also informed me that when I 
 was dressed, I was to come down stairs into the parlor, and 
 have my breakfast. There, I found my mother, very pale and 
 with red eyes : into whose arms I ran, and begged her pardon 
 from my suffering soul. 
 
 "Oh, Davy!" she said. u That you could hurt any one I 
 love ! Try to be better, pray to be better ! I forgive you ; 
 but I am so grieved, Davy, that you should have such bad 
 passions in your heart." 
 
 They had persuaded her that I was a wicked fellow, and she 
 was more sorry for that, than for my going away. I felt it 
 sorely. I tried to eat my parting breakfast, but my tears 
 dropped upon my bread-and-butter, and trickled into my tea. 
 I saw my mother look at me sometimes, and then glance at the 
 watchful Miss Murdstone, and then look down, or look away. 
 
 " Master Copperfield's box there ? " said Miss Murdstone, 
 when wheels were heard at the gate. 
 
 I looked for Peggotty, but it was not she ; neither she nor 
 Mr. Murdstone appeared. My former acquaintance, the car- 
 rier, was at the door ; the box was taken out to his cart and 
 lifted in. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 67 
 
 " Clara ! " said Miss Murdstone, in her warning note. 
 
 " Ready, my dear Jane," returned my mother. " Good by, 
 Davy. You are going for your own good. Good by, my 
 child. You will come home in the holidays, and be a better 
 boy." 
 
 " Clara ! " Miss Murdstone repeated. 
 
 "Certainly, my dear Jane," replied my mother, who was 
 holding me. " I forgive you, my dear boy. God bless you ! " 
 
 " Clara ! " Miss Murdstone repeated. 
 
 Miss Murdstone was good enough to take me out to the 
 cart, and to say on the way that she hoped I would repent, 
 before I came to a bad end ; and then I got into the cart, and 
 the lazy horse walked oft' with it. 
 
68 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 I AM SENT AWAY FROM HOME. 
 
 WE might have gone about half a mile, and my pocket- 
 handkerchief was quite wet through, when the carrier stopped 
 short. 
 
 Looking out to ascertain for what, I saw, to my amazement, 
 Peggotty burst from a hedge and climb into the cart. She 
 took me in both her arms, and squeezed me to her stays until 
 the pressure on my nose was extremely painful, though I 
 never thought of that till afterwards when I found it very 
 tender. Not a single word did Peggotty speak. Releasing 
 one of her arms, she put it down in her pocket to the elbow, 
 and brought out some paper bags of cakes which she crammed 
 into my pockets, and a purse which she put into my hand, but 
 not one word did she say. After another and a final squeeze 
 with both arms, she got down from the cart, and ran away ; 
 and my belief is, and has always been, without a solitary 
 button on her gown. I picked up one, of several that were 
 rolling about, and treasured it as a keepsake for a long time. 
 
 The carrier looked at me, as if to inquire if she were com- 
 ing back. I shook my head, and said I thought not. " Then 
 come up," said the carrier to the lazy horse, who came up 
 accordingly. 
 
 Having by this time cried as much as I possibly could, I 
 began to think it was of no use crying any more, especially as 
 neither Roderick Random, nor that Captain in the Royal 
 British Navy had ever cried, that I could remember, in trying 
 situations. The carrier seeing me in this resolution, proposed 
 that my pocket-handkerchief should be spread upon the horse's 
 back to dry. I thanked him and assented ; and particularly 
 small it looked, under those circumstances. 
 
 I had now leisure to examine the purse. It was a stiff 
 leather purse, with a snap, and had three bright shillings in 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 69 
 
 it, which Peggotty had evidently polished up with whitening, 
 for iny greater delight. But its most precious contents were 
 two half-crowns folded together in a bit of paper, on which 
 was written, in my mother's hand, "For Davy. With my 
 love." I was so overcome by this, that I asked the carrier to 
 be so good as reach me my pocket-handkerchief again, but he 
 said he thought I had better do without it ; and I thought I 
 really had j so I wiped my eyes on my sleeve and stopped my- 
 self. 
 
 For good, too ; though, in consequence of my previous emo- 
 tions, I was still occasionally seized with a stormy sob. After 
 we had jogged on for some little time, I asked the carrier if 
 he was going all the way. 
 
 " All the way where ? " inquired the carrier. 
 
 " There," I said. 
 
 " Where's there ? " inquired the carrier. 
 
 "Near London," I said. 
 
 "Why that horse," said the carrier, jerking the rein to 
 point him out, " would be deader than pork afore he got over 
 half the ground." 
 
 " Are you only going to Yarmouth then ? " I asked. 
 
 "That's about it," said the carrier. "And there I shall 
 take you 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 conver- 
 sational 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 
 forward, in his slouching way, on the footboard of the cart 
 with an arm on each knee. 
 
 " Peggotty, do you mean, sir ? " 
 
 " Ah ! " said Mr. Barkis. " Her." 
 
 " Yes. She makes all our pastry and does all our cooking." 
 
 " Do she though ? " said Mr. Barkis. 
 
 He made up his mouth as if to whistle, but he didn't 
 
70 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 whistle. He sat looking at the horse's ears, as if he saw 
 something new there ; and sat so-, for a considerable time. 
 By and by, he said : 
 
 " No sweethearts, I b'lieve ? " 
 
 " Sweetmeats did you say, Mr. Barkis ? " For I thought he 
 wanted something else to eat, and had pointedly alluded to 
 that description of refreshment. 
 
 " Hearts," said Mr. Barkis. " Sweethearts ; no person walks 
 with her ! " 
 
 " With Peggotty ? " 
 
 "Ah!" he said. "Her." 
 
 " Oh, no. She never had a sweetheart." 
 
 " Didn't she though ! " said Mr. Barkis. 
 
 Again he made up his mouth to whistle, and again he didn't 
 whistle, but sat looking at the horse's ears. 
 
 " So she makes," said Mr. Barkis, after a long interval of 
 reflection, " all the apple parsties, and doos all the cooking, do 
 she?" 
 
 I replied that such was the fact. 
 
 " Well. I'll tell you what," said Mr. Barkis. " P'raps you 
 might be writin' to her ? " 
 
 " I shall certainly write to her," I rejoined. 
 
 " Ah ! " he said, slowly turning his eyes towards me. 
 " Well ! If you was writiu' to her, p'raps you'd recollect to 
 say that Barkis was willin' ; would you ? " 
 
 " That Barkis is willing," I repeated, innocently. " Is that 
 all the message ? " 
 
 "Ye es," he said, considering. "Ye es. Barkis is 
 willin'." 
 
 "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 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 71 
 
 wrote a note to Peggotty which ran thus : " My dear Peggotty. 
 I have come here safe. Barkis is willing. My love to 
 mamma. Yours affectionately. P.S. He says he particularly 
 wants you to know Barkis is willing" 
 
 When I had taken this commission on myself prospectively, 
 Mr. Barkis relapsed into perfect silence ; and I, feeling quite 
 worn out by all that had happened lately, lay down on a sack 
 in the cart and fell asleep. I slept soundly until we got to 
 Yarmouth ; which was so entirely new and strange to me in 
 the inn-yard to which we drove, that I at once abandoned a 
 latent hope I had had of meeting with some of Mr. Peggotty's 
 family there, perhaps even with little Em'ly herself. 
 
 The coach was in the yard, shining very much all over, but 
 without any horses to it as yet ; and it looked in that state as 
 if nothing was more unlikely than its ever going to London. 
 I was thinking this, and wondering what would ultimately 
 become of my box, which Mr. Barkis had put down on the 
 yard-pavement by the pole (he having driven up the yard to 
 turn his cart), and also what would ultimately become of me, 
 when a lady looked out of a bow-window where some fowls 
 and joints of meat were hanging up, and said : 
 
 " Is that the little gentleman from Blunderstone T " 
 
 "Yes, ma'am," I said. 
 
 " What name ? " 
 
 " Copperfield, ma'am/ 7 I said. 
 
 " That won't do," returned the lady. " Nobody's dinner is 
 paid for here, in that name." 
 
 " Is it Murdstone, ma'am ? " I said. 
 
 " If you're Master Murdstone," said the lady, " why do you 
 go and give another name, first ? " 
 
 I explained to the lady how it was, who then rang a bell, 
 and called out, " William ! show the coffee-room ! " Upon 
 which a waiter came running out of a kitchen on the opposite 
 side of the yard to show it, and seemed a good deal surprised 
 when he found he was only to show it to me. 
 
 It was a large long room with some large maps in it. I 
 doubt if I could have felt much stranger if the maps had been 
 real foreign countries, and I cast away in the middle of them. 
 I felt it was taking a liberty to sit down, with my cap in my 
 
72 THE PEP SON AL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 hand, on the corner of the chair nearest the door ; and when 
 the waiter laid a cloth on purpose for me, and put a set of 
 castors on it, I think I must have turned red all over with 
 modesty. 
 
 He brought me some chops, and vegetables, and took the 
 covers off in such a bouncing manner that I was afraid I must 
 have given him some offence. But he greatly relieved my 
 mind by putting a chair for me at the table, and saying very 
 affably, " Xow, six-foot ! come on ! " 
 
 I thanked him, and took my seat at the board ; but found 
 it extremely difficult to handle my knife and fork with any- 
 thing like dexterity, or to avoid splashing myself with the 
 gravy, while he was standing opposite, staring so hard, and 
 making me blush in the most dreadful manner every time I 
 caught his eye. After watching me into the second chop, he said : 
 
 "There's half a pint of ale for you. Will you have it now ? " 
 
 I thanked him and said " Yes." Upon which he poured it 
 out of a jug into a large tumbler, and held it up against the 
 light, and made it look beautiful. 
 
 " My eye ! " he said. " It seems a good deal, don't it ? " 
 
 "It does seem a good deal," I answered, with a smile. For, 
 it was quite delightful to me to find him so pleasant. He was 
 a twinkling-eyed, pimple-faced man, with his hair standing 
 upright all over his head ; and as he stood with one arm 
 a-kimbo, holding up the glass to the light with the other hand, 
 he looked quite friendly. 
 
 " There was a gentleman here yesterday," he said " a 
 stout gentleman, by the name of Topsawyer perhaps you 
 know him ? " 
 
 "No," I said, "I don't think " 
 
 "In breeches and gaiters, broad-brimmed hat, gray coat, 
 speckled choker," said the waiter. 
 
 " No," I said bashfully, " I haven't the pleasure " 
 
 " He came in here." said the waiter, looking at the light 
 through the tumbler, Bordered a glass of this ale would 
 order it I told him not drank it. and fell dead. It was 
 too old for him. It oughtn't to be drawn, that's the fact," 
 
 I was very much shocked to hear of this melancholy acci- 
 dent, and said I thought I had better have some water. 
 
THE FRIENDLY WAITER AND I. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 73 
 
 "Why, you see," said the waiter, still looking at the light 
 through the tumbler, with one of his eyes shut up, "our peo- 
 ple don't like things being ordered and left. It offends 'em. 
 But I'll drink it, if you like. I'm used to it, and use is every- 
 thing. I don't think it'll hurt me, if I throw my head back, 
 and take it off quick. Shall I ? " 
 
 I replied that he would much oblige me by drinking it, if 
 he thought he could do it safely, but by no means otherwise. 
 When he did throw his head back, and take it off quick, I had 
 a horrible fear, I confess, of seeing him meet the fate of the 
 lamented Mr. Topsawyer, and fall lifeless on the carpet. But 
 it didn't hurt him. On the contrary, I thought he seemed the 
 fresher for it. 
 
 " What have we got here ? " he said, putting a fork into my 
 dish. "Not chops ?" 
 
 " Chops," I said. 
 
 " Lord bless my soul ! " he exclaimed, " I didn't know they 
 were chops. Why a chop's the very thing to take off the bad 
 effects of that beer ! Ain't it lucky ? " 
 
 So he took a chop by the bone in one hand, and a potato in 
 the other, and ate away with a very good appetite, to my 
 extreme satisfaction. He afterwards took another chop, and 
 another potato ; and after that another chop and another 
 potato. When we had done, he brought me a pudding, and 
 having set it before me, seemed to ruminate, and to become 
 absent in his mind for some moments. 
 
 " How's the pie ? " he said, rousing himself. 
 
 "It's a pudding," I made answer. 
 
 " Pudding ! " he exclaimed. " Why, bless me, so it is. 
 What ! " looking at it nearer. " You don't mean to say it's a 
 batter-pudding ! " 
 
 "Yes, it is indeed." 
 
 " Why, a batter-pudding," he said, taking up a table-spoon, 
 " is my favorite pudding ! Ain't that lucky ? Come on, little 
 7 un, and let's see who'll get most." 
 
 The waiter certainly got most. He entreated me more than 
 once to come in and win, but what with his table-spoon to my 
 tea-spoon, his despatch to my despatch, and his appetite to my 
 appetite, I was left far behind at the first mouthful, and had 
 
74 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 no chance with him. I never saw any one enjoy a pudding so 
 much, I think ; and he laughed, when it was all gone, as if his 
 enjoyment of it lasted still. 
 
 Finding him so very friendly and companionable, it was 
 then that I asked for the pen and ink and paper, to write to 
 Peggotty. He not only brought it immediately, but was good 
 enough to look over me while I wrote the letter. When I had 
 finished it, he asked me where I was going to school. 
 
 I said, "Near London," which was all I knew. 
 
 "Oh, my eye!" he said, looking very low-spirited, "I am 
 sorry for that." 
 
 " Why ? " I asked him. 
 
 " Oh, Lord ! " he said, shaking his head, " that's the school 
 where they broke the boy's ribs two ribs a little boy he 
 was. I should say he was let jne see how old are you, 
 about ? " 
 
 I told him between eight and nine. 
 
 " That's just his age," he said. " He was eight years and 
 six months old when they broke his first rib ; eight years and 
 eight months old when they broke his second, and did for 
 him." 
 
 I could not disguise from myself, or from the waiter, that 
 this was an uncomfortable coincidence, and inquired how it 
 was done. His answer was not cheering to my spirits, for it 
 consisted of two dismal words, " With whopping." 
 
 The blowing of the coach-horn in the yard was a seasonable 
 diversion, which made me get up and hesitatingly inquire, in 
 the mingled pride and diffidence of having a purse (which I 
 took out of my pocket), if there were anything to pay. 
 
 "There's a sheet of letter-paper," he returned. "Did you 
 ever buy a sheet of letter-paper ? " 
 
 I could not remember that I ever had. 
 
 " It's dear," he said, " on account of the duty. Threepence. 
 That's the way we are taxed in this country. There's nothing 
 else, except the waiter. Never mind the ink. /lose by that." 
 
 " What should you what should I how much ought I to 
 what would it be right to pay the waiter, if you please ? " I 
 stammered, blushing. 
 
 " If I hadn't a family, and that family hadn't the cow-pock," 
 
OF DAVID COPPER FIELD. 75 
 
 said the waiter, " I wouldn't take a sixpence. If I didn't sup- 
 port a aged pairing and a lovely sister/' here the waiter was 
 greatly agitated "I wouldn't take a farthing. If I had a 
 good place, and was treated well here, I should beg acceptance 
 of a trifle, instead of taking of it. But I live 011 broken wit- 
 ties and I sleep on the coals " here the waiter burst into 
 tears. 
 
 I was very much concerned for his misfortunes, and feli; 
 that any recognition short of ninepence would be mere brutal- 
 ity and hardness of heart. Therefore I gave him one of my 
 three bright shillings, which he received with much humility 
 and veneration, and spun up with his thumb, directly after- 
 wards, to try the goodness of. 
 
 It was a little disconcerting to me, to find, when I was 
 being helped up behind the coach, that I was supposed to have 
 eaten all the dinner without any assistance. I discovered this, 
 from overhearing the lady in the bow-window, say to the 
 guard, "Take care of that child, George, or he'll burst!" and 
 from observing that the women-servants who were about the 
 place came out to look and giggle at me as a young phenome- 
 non. My unfortunate friend the waiter, who had quite recov- 
 ered his spirits, did not appear to be disturbed by this, but 
 joined in the general admiration without being at all confused. 
 If I had any doubt of him, I suppose this half-awakened it ; 
 but I am inclined to believe that with the simple confidence of 
 a child, and the natural reliance of a child upon superior years 
 (qualities I am very sorry any children should prematurely 
 change for worldly wisdom), I had no serious mistrust of him 
 on the whole, even then. 
 
 I felt it very hard, I must own, to be made, without deserv- 
 ing it, the subject of jokes between the coachman and guard 
 as to the coach drawing heavy behind, on account of my sitting 
 there, and as to the greater expediency of my travelling by 
 wagon. The story of my supposed appetite getting wind 
 among the outside passengers, they were merry upon it like- 
 wise, and asked me whether I was going to be paid for, at 
 school, as two brothers or three, and whether I was contracted 
 for, or went upon the regular terms ; with other pleasant 
 'questions. But the worst of it was, that I knew I should be 
 
76 THE PERSONAL H1STOET AND EXPEEIENCE 
 
 ashamed to eat anything, when an opportunity offered, and 
 that, after a rather light dinner, I should remain hungry all 
 night for I had left niy cakes behind, at the hotel, in my 
 hurry. My apprehensions were realized. When we stopped 
 for supper I couldn't muster courage to take any, though I 
 should have liked it very much, but sat by the fire and said 
 I didn't want anything. This did not save me from more 
 jokes, either ; for a husky-voiced gentleman with a rough face, 
 who had been eating out of a sandwich-box nearly all the way, 
 except when he had been drinking out of a bottle, said I was 
 like a boa-constrictor who took enough at one meal to last him 
 a long time ; after which he actually brought a rash out upon 
 himself with boiled beef. 
 
 We had started from Yarmouth at three o'clock in the after- 
 noon, and we were due in London about eight next morning. 
 It was Midsummer weather, and the evening was very pleasant. 
 When we passed through a village, I pictured to myself what 
 the insides of the houses were like, and what the inhabitants 
 were about ; and when boys came running after us, and got up 
 behind and swung there for a little way, I wondered whether 
 their fathers were alive, and whether they were happy at 
 home. I had plenty to think of, therefore, besides my mind 
 running continually on the kind of place I was going to 
 which was an awful speculation. Sometimes, I remember, I 
 resigned myself to thoughts of home and Peggotty; and to 
 endeavoring, in a confused blind way, to recall how I had felt, 
 and what sort of boy I used to be, before I bit Mr. Murdstone : 
 which I couldn't satisfy myself about by any means, I seemed 
 to have bitten him in such a remote antiquity. 
 
 The night was not so pleasant as the evening, for it got 
 chilly; and being put between two gentlemen (the rough- 
 faced one and another) to prevent my tumbling off the coach, 
 I was nearly smothered by their falling asleep, and completely 
 blocking me up. They squeezed me so hard sometimes, that 
 I could not help crying out " Oh, if you please ! " which 
 they didn't like at all, because it woke them. Opposite me 
 was an elderly lady in a great fur cloak, who looked in the 
 dark more like a haystack than a lady, she was wrapped up to 
 such a degree. This lady had a basket with her, and she 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 77 
 
 hadn't known what to do with it for a long time, until she 
 found . that on account of my legs being short, it would go 
 underneath me. It cramped and hurt me so, that it made me 
 perfectly miserable ; but if I moved in the least, and made a 
 glass that was in the basket rattle against something else (as 
 it was sure to do), she gave me the cruellest poke with her 
 foot, and said, " Come, don't you fidget. Your bones are young 
 enough, /'m sure ! " 
 
 At last the sun rose, and then my companions seemed to 
 sleep easier. The difficulties under which they had labored 
 all night, and which had found utterance in the most terrific 
 gasps and snorts, are not to be conceived. As the sun got 
 higher, their sleep became lighter, and so they gradually one 
 by one awoke. I recollect being very much surprised by the 
 feint everybody made, then, of not having been to sleep at all, 
 and by the uncommon indignation with which every one 
 repelled the charge. I labor under the same kind of astonish- 
 ment to this day, having invariably observed that of all human 
 weaknesses, the one to which our common nature is the least 
 disposed to confess (I cannot imagine why) is the weakness of 
 having gone to sleep in a coach. 
 
 What an amazing place London was to me when I saw it 
 in the distance, and how I believed all the adventures of all 
 my favorite heroes to be constantly enacting and re-enacting 
 there, and how I vaguely made it out in my own mind to be 
 fuller of wonders and wickedness than all the cities of the 
 earth, I need not stop here to relate. We approached it by 
 degrees, and got, in due time, to the inn in the Whitechapel 
 district, for which we were bound. I forget whether it was 
 the Blue Bull or the Blue Boar ; but I know it was the Blue 
 Something, and that its likeness was painted up on the back 
 of the coach. 
 
 The guard's eye lighted on me as he was getting down, and 
 he said at the booking-office door : 
 
 " Is there anybody here for a yoongster booked in the name 
 of Murdstone, from Bloonderstone, Sooffolk, to be left till 
 called for ? " 
 
 Nobody answered. 
 
78 THE PERSONAL HISTOET AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " Try Copperfield, if you please, sir," said I, looking help- 
 lessly down. 
 
 " Is there anybody here for a yoongster, booked in the name 
 of Murdstone, from Bloonderstone, Sooffolk, but owning to 
 the name of Copperfield, to be left till called for ? " said the 
 guard. " Come ! Is there anybody ? ' 
 
 No. There was nobody, I looked anxiously around; but 
 the inquiry made no impression on any of the bystanders, if 
 I except a man in gaiters, with one eye, who suggested that 
 they had better put a brass collar round my neck, and tie me 
 up in the stable. 
 
 A ladder was brought, and I got down after the lady, who 
 was like a haystack : not daring to stir, until her basket was 
 removed. The coach was clear of passengers by that time, 
 the luggage was very soon cleared out, the horses had been 
 taken out before the luggage, and now the coach itself was 
 wheeled and backed off by some hostlers, out of the way. 
 Still, nobody appeared, to claim the dusty youngster from 
 Blunderstone, Suffolk. 
 
 More solitary than Robinson Crusoe, who had nobody to 
 look at him, and see that he was solitary, I went into the 
 booking-office, and, by invitation of the clerk on duty, passed 
 behind the counter, and sat down on the scale at which they 
 weighed the luggage. Here, as I sat looking at the parcels, 
 packages, and books, and inhaling the smell of stables (ever 
 since associated with that morning), a procession of most 
 tremendous considerations began to march through my mind. 
 Supposing nobody should ever fetch me, how long would they 
 consent to keep me there ? Would they keep me long enough 
 to spend seven shillings ? Should I sleep at night in one of 
 those wooden binns, with the other luggage, and wash myself 
 at the pump in the yard in the morning; or should I be 
 turned out every night, and expected to come again to be left 
 till called for, when the office opened next day ? Supposing 
 there was no mistake in the case, and Mr. Murdstone had 
 devised this plan to get rid of me, what should I do ? If they 
 allowed me to remain there until my seven shillings were 
 spent, I couldn't hope to remain there when I began to starve. 
 That would obviously be inconvenient and unpleasant to the 
 
OF DAVIV COPPEHFIELD. 79 
 
 customers, besides entailing on the Blue Whatever-it-was, the 
 risk of funeral expenses. If I started off at once, and tried 
 to walk back home, how could I ever find my way, how could 
 I ever hope to walk so far, how could I make sure of any one 
 but Peggotty, even if I got back ? If I found out the nearest 
 proper authorities, and offered myself to go for a soldier, or a 
 sailor, I was such a little fellow that it was most likely they 
 wouldn't take me in. These thoughts, and a hundred other 
 such thoughts, turned me burning hot, and made me giddy 
 with apprehension and dismay. I was in the height of my 
 fever when a man entered and whispered to the clerk, who 
 presently slanted me off the scale, and pushed me over to him, 
 as if I were weighed, bought, delivered, and paid for. 
 
 As I went out of the office, hand in hand with this new 
 acquaintance, I stole a leok at him. He was a gaunt, sallow 
 young man, with hollow cheeks, and a chin almost as black as 
 Mr. Murdstone's ; but there the likeness ended, for his 
 whiskers were shaved off, and his hair, instead of being 
 glossy, was rusty and dry. He was dressed in a suit of black 
 clothes which were rather rusty and dry too, and rather short 
 in the sleeves and legs ; and he had a white neckerchief on, 
 that was not over-clean. I did not, and do not, suppose that 
 this neckerchief was all the linen he wore, but it was all he 
 showed or gave any hint of. 
 
 "You're the new boy ? " he said. 
 
 "Yes, sir," I said. 
 
 I supposed I was. I didn't know. 
 
 "I'm one of the masters at Salem. House," he said. 
 
 I made him a bow and felt very much overawed. I was so 
 ashamed to allude to a common-place thing like my box, to a 
 scholar and a master at Salem House, that we had gone some 
 little distance from the yard before I had the hardihood to 
 mention it. We turned back on my humbly insinuating that 
 it might be useful to me hereafter ; and he told the clerk that 
 the carrier had instructions to call for it at noon. 
 
 " If you please, sir," I said, when we had accomplished 
 about the same distance as before, " is it far ? " 
 
 " It's down by Blackheath," he said. 
 
 " Is that far, sir ? " I diffidently asked, 
 
80 
 
 "It's a good step," he said. "We shall go by the stage- 
 coach. It's about six miles." 
 
 I was so faint and tired, that the idea of holding out for six 
 miles more, was too much for me. I took heart to tell him 
 that I had had nothing all night, and that if he would allow 
 me to buy something to eat, I should be very much obliged 
 to him. He appeared surprised at this I see him stop and 
 look at me now and after considering for a few moments, 
 said he wanted to call on an old person who lived not far off, 
 and that the best way would be for me to buy some bread, or 
 whatever I liked best that was wholesome, and make my 
 breakfast at her house, where we could get some milk. 
 
 Accordingly we looked in at a baker's window, and after 
 I had made a series of proposals to buy everything that was 
 bilious in the shop, and he had rejected them one by one, we 
 decided in favor of a nice little loaf of brown bread, which cost 
 me threepence. Then, at a grocer's shop, we bought an egg 
 and a slice of streaky bacon ; which still left what I thought a 
 good deal of change, out of the second of the bright shillings, 
 and made me consider London a very cheap place. These 
 provisions laid in, we went on through a great noise and 
 uproar that confused my weary head beyond description, and 
 over a bridge which, no doubt, was London Bridge (indeed 
 I think he told me so, but I was half asleep), until we came 
 to the poor person's house, which was a part of some alms- 
 houses, as I knew by their look, and by an inscription on a 
 stone over the gate, which said they were established for 
 twenty-five poor women. 
 
 The master at Salem House lifted the latch of one of a 
 number of little black doors that were all alike, and had each 
 a little diamond-paned window on one side, and another little 
 diamond-paned window above; and we went into the little 
 house of one of these poor old women, who was blowing a fire 
 to make a little saucepan boil. On seeing the master enter, 
 the old woman stopped with the bellows on her knee, and said 
 something that I thought sounded like " My Charley ! " but 
 on seeing me come in too, she got up, and rubbing her hands 
 made a confused sort of half courtesy. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 81 
 
 " Can you cook this young genteman's breakfast for him, 
 if you please ? " said the master at Salem House. 
 
 " Can I ? " said the old woman. " Yes can I, sure ! " 
 
 " How's Mrs. Fibbitson to-day ? " said the master, looking 
 at another old woman in a large chair by the fire, who was 
 such a bundle of clothes that I feel grateful to this hour for 
 not having sat upon her by mistake. 
 
 " Ah, she's poorly," said the first old woman. " It's one 
 of her bad days. If the fire was to go out, through any acci- 
 dent, I verily believe she' d go out too, and never come to life 
 again." 
 
 As they looked at her, I looked at her also. Although it 
 was a warm day, she seemed to think of nothing but the fire. 
 I fancied she was jealous even of the saucepan on it ; and I 
 have reason to know that she took its impressment into the 
 service of boiling my egg and broiling my bacon, in dudgeon ; 
 for I saw her, with my own discomfited eyes, shake her fist 
 at me once, when those culinary operations were going on, and 
 no one else was looking. The sun streamed in at the little 
 window, but she sat with her own back and the back of the 
 large chair towards it, screening the fire as if she were 
 sedulously keeping it warm, instead of it keeping her warm, 
 and watching it in a most distrustful manner. The comple- 
 tion of the preparations for my breakfast, by relieving the 
 fire, gave her such extreme joy that she laughed aloud and 
 a very unmelodious laughed she had, I must say. 
 
 I sat down to my brown loaf, my egg, and my rasher of 
 bacon, with a basin of milk besides, and made a most delicious 
 meal. While I was yet in the full enjoyment of it, the old 
 woman of the house said to the master : 
 
 " Have you got your flute with you ? " 
 
 " Yes," he returned. 
 
 "Have a blow at it," said the old woman, coaxingly. 
 " Do ! " 
 
 The master, upon this, put his hand underneath the skirts of 
 his coat, and brought out his flute in three pieces, which he 
 screwed together, and began immediately to play. My impres- 
 sion is, after many years of consideration, that there never 
 can have been anybody in the world who played worse. He 
 VOL. i 6 
 
82 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AXD EXPERIENCE 
 
 made the most dismal sounds I have ever heard produced by 
 any means, natural or artificial. I don't know what the tunes 
 were if there were such things in the performance at all, 
 which I doubt but the influence of the strain upon me was, 
 first, to make me think of all my sorrows until I could hardly 
 keep my tears back : then to take away my appetite ; and 
 lastly to make me so sleepy that I couldn't keep my eyes 
 open. They begin to close again, and I begin to nod, as the 
 recollections rise fresh upon me. Once more the little room 
 with its open corner cupboard, and its square-backed chairs, 
 and its angular little staircase leading to the room above, and 
 its three peacock's feathers displayed over the mantel-piece 
 I remember wondering when I first went in, what that pea- 
 cock would have thought if he had known what his finery 
 was doomed to come to fades from before me, and I nod, 
 and sleep. The flute becomes inaudible, the wheels of the 
 coach are heard instead, and I am on my journey. The coach 
 jolts, I wake with a start, and the flute has come back again, 
 and the master at Salem House is sitting with his legs crossed, 
 playing it dolefully, while the old woman of the house looks 
 on delighted. She fades in her turn, and he fades, and all 
 fades, and there is no flute, no master, no Salem House, no 
 David Copperfield, no anything but heavy sleep. 
 
 I dreamed, I thought, that once while he was blowing into 
 this dismal flute, the old woman of the house, who had gone 
 nearer and nearer to him in her ecstatic admiration, leaned 
 over the back of his chair and gave him an affectionate squeeze 
 round the neck, which stopped his playing for a moment. I 
 was in the middle state between sleeping and waking, either 
 then or immediately afterwards ; for, as he resumed it was 
 a real fact that he had stopped playing I saw and heard the 
 same old woman ask Mrs. Fibbitson if it wasn't delicious 
 (meaning the flute), to which Mrs. Fibbitson replied, "Ay, 
 ay ! Yes ! " and nodded at the fire : to which, I am per- 
 suaded, she gave the credit of the whole performance. 
 
 When I seemed to have been dozing a long while, the master 
 at Salem House unscrewed his flute into the three pieces, put 
 them up as before, and took me away. We found the coach 
 very near at hand, and got upon the roof ; but I was so dead 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 83 
 
 sleepy, that when we stopped on the road to take up some- 
 body else, they put me inside where there were no passengers, 
 and where I slept profoundly, until I found the coach going at 
 a footpace up a steep hill among green leaves. Presently, it 
 stopped, and had come to its destination. 
 
 A short walk brought us I mean the master and me 
 to Salem House, which was enclosed with a high brick wall, 
 and looked very dull. Over a door in this wall was a board 
 with SALEM HOUSE upon it ; and through a grating in this 
 door we were surveyed, when we rang the bell, by a surly 
 face, which I found, on the door being opened, belonged to a 
 stout man with a bull-neck, a wooden leg, overhanging temples, 
 and his hair cut close all round his head. 
 
 " The new boy," said the master. 
 
 The man with the wooden leg eyed me all over it didn't 
 take long, for there was not much of me and locked the 
 gate behind us, and took out the key. We were going up to 
 the house, among some dark heavy trees, when he called after 
 my conductor. 
 
 " Hallo ! " 
 
 We looked back, and he was standing at the door of a little 
 lodge, where he lived, with a pair of boots in his hand. 
 
 " Here ! The cobbler's been," he said, " since you've been 
 out, Mr. Mell, and he says he can't mend 'em any more. He 
 says there ain't a bit of the original boot left, and he wonders 
 you expect it." 
 
 With these words he threw the boots towards Mr. Mell, 
 who went back a few paces to pick them up, and looked at 
 them (very disconsolately, I was afraid) as we went on to- 
 gether. I observed then, for the first time, that the boots he 
 had on were a good deal the worse for wear, and that his 
 stocking was just breaking out in one place, like a bud. 
 
 Salem House was a square brick building with wings ; of a 
 bare and unfurnished appearance. All about it was so very 
 quiet, that I said to Mr. Mell I supposed the boys were out ; 
 but he seemed surprised at my not knowing that it was holi- 
 day-time. That all the boys were at their several homes. 
 That Mr. Creakle, the proprietor, was down by the seaside 
 with Mrs. and Miss Creakle ; and that I was sent in holiday- 
 
84 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 * 
 
 time as a punishment for my misdoing, all of which he ex- 
 plained to me as we went along. 
 
 I gazed upon the schoolroom into which he took me, as the 
 most forlorn and desolate place I had ever seen. I see it now. 
 A long room, with three long rows of desks, and six of forms, 
 and bristling all round with pegs for hats and slates. Scraps 
 of old copy-books and exercises litter the dirty floor. Some 
 silkworms' houses, made of the same materials, are scattered 
 over the desks. Two miserable little white mice, left behind 
 by their owner, are running up and down in a fusty castle 
 made of pasteboard and wire, looking in all the corners with 
 their red eyes for anything to eat. A bird, in a cage, very 
 little bigger than himself, makes a mournful rattle now and 
 then in hopping on his perch, two inches high, or dropping 
 from it ; but neither sings nor chirps. There is a strange 
 unwholesome smell upon the room, like mildewed corduroys, 
 sweet apples wanting air, and rotten books. There could not 
 well be more ink splashed about it, if it had been roofless from 
 its first construction, and the skies had rained, snowed, hailed, 
 and blown ink through the varying seasons of the year. 
 
 Mr. Mell having left me while he took his irreparable boots 
 up stairs, I went softly to the upper end of the room, observ- 
 ing all this as I crept along. Suddenly I came upon a paste- 
 board placard, beautifully written, which was lying on the 
 desk, and bore these words " Take care of him. He bites" 
 
 I got upon the desk immediately, apprehensive of at least a 
 great dog underneath. But, though I looked all round with 
 anxious eyes, I could see nothing of him. I was still engaged 
 in peering about, when Mr. Mell came back, and asked me 
 what I did up there. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir," says I, " if you please, I'm looking 
 for the dog." 
 
 " Dog ? " says he, " What dog ? " 
 
 "Isn't it a dog, sir?" 
 
 "Isn't what a dog ? " 
 
 " That's to be taken care of, sir ; that bites." 
 
 " No, Copperfield," says he, gravely, " that's not a dog. 
 That's a boy. My instructions are, Copperfield, to put this 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 85 
 
 placard on your back. I am sorry to make such a beginning 
 with you, but I must do it." 
 
 With that, he took me down, and tied the placard, which 
 was neatly constructed for the purpose, on my shoulders like 
 a knapsack ; and wherever I went, afterwards, I had the con- 
 solation of carrying it. 
 
 What I suffered from that placard, nobody can imagine. 
 Whether it was possible for people to see me or not, I always 
 fancied that somebody was reading it. It was no relief to turn 
 round and find nobody ; for wherever my back was, there I 
 imagined somebody always to be. That cruel man with the 
 wooden leg, aggravated my sufferings. He was in authority ; 
 and if he ever saw me leaning against a tree, or a wall, or the 
 house, he roared out from his lodge-door in a stupendous 
 voice, " Hallo, you sir ! You Copperfield ! Show that badge 
 conspicuous, or I'll report you ! " The playground was a bare 
 gravelled yard, open to all the back of the house and the 
 offices ; and I knew that the servants read it, and the butcher 
 read it, and the baker read it ; that everybody, in a word, who 
 came backwards and forwards to the house, of a morning, when 
 I was ordered to walk there, read that I was to be taken care 
 of, for I bit. I recollect that I positively began to have a 
 dread of myself, as a kind of wild boy who did bite. 
 
 There was an old door in this playground, on which the 
 boys had a custom of carving their names. It was completely 
 covered with such inscriptions. In my dread of the end of the 
 vacation and their coming back, I could not read a boy's name, 
 without inquiring in what tone and with what emphasis he 
 would read, " Take care of him. He bites." There was one 
 boy a certain J. Steerforth who cut his name very deep 
 and very often, who, I conceived, would read it in a rather 
 strong voice, and afterwards pull my hair. There was another 
 boy, one Tommy Traddles, who I dreaded would make game 
 of it, and pretend to be dreadfully frightened of me. There 
 was a third, George Demple, who I fancied would sing it. 
 I have looked, a little shrinking creature, at that door, until 
 the owners of all the names there were five-and-forty of 
 them in the school then, Mr. Mell said seemed to send me 
 
86 THE PERSONAL HISTOEY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 to Coventry by general acclamation, and to cry out, each in his 
 own way, " Take care of him. He bites ! " 
 
 It was the same with the places at the desks and forms. It 
 was the same with the groves of deserted bedsteads I peeped 
 at, on my way to, and when I was in, my own bed. I re- 
 member dreaming night after night, of being with iny mother 
 as she used to be, or of going to a party at Mr. Peg- 
 gotty's, or of travelling outside the stage-coach, or of dining 
 again with my unfortunate friend the waiter, and in all these 
 circumstances making people scream and stare, by the unhappy 
 disclosure that I had nothing on but my little night-shirt, and 
 that placard. 
 
 In the monotony of my life, and in my constant apprehen 
 sion of the reopening of the school, it was such an insup- 
 portable affliction ! I had long tasks every day to do with 
 Mr. Mell ; but I did them, there being no Mr. and Miss 
 Murdstone here, and got through them without disgrace. 
 Before, and after them, I walked about supervised, as I have 
 mentioned, by the man with the wooden leg. How vividly I 
 call to mind the damp about the house, the green cracked 
 flag stones in the court, and old leaky water-butt, and the dis- 
 colored trunks of some of the grim trees, which seemed to 
 have dripped more in the rain than other trees, and to have 
 blown less in the sun ! At one we dined, Mr Mell and I, at 
 the upper end of a long bare dining-room, full of deal tables, 
 and smelling of fat. Then, we had more tasks until tea. which 
 Mr. Mell drank out of a blue tea-cup, and I out of a tin pot. 
 All day long, and until seven or eight in the evening, Mr. Mell. 
 at his own detached desk in the schoolroom, worked hard with 
 pen, ink, ruler, books, and writing-paper, making out the bills 
 (as I found) for last half year. When he had put up his 
 things for the night he took out his flute, and blew at it, until 
 I almost thought he would gradually blow his whole being 
 into the large hole at the top, and ooze away at the keys. 
 
 I picture my small self in the dimly lighted rooms, sitting 
 with my head upon my hand, listening to the doleful per- 
 formance of Mr. Mell, a"nd conning to-morrow's lessons. I 
 picture myself with my books shut up, still listening to the 
 doleful performance of Mr. Mell, and listening through it to 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 87 
 
 what used to be at home, and to the blowing of the wind on 
 Yarmouth flats, and feeling very sad and solitary. I picture 
 myself going up to bed, among the unused rooms, and sitting 
 on my bedside crying for a comfortable word from Peggotty. 
 I picture myself coming down stairs in the morning, and 
 looking through a long ghastly gash of a stair-case window, 
 at the school-bell hanging on the top of an out-house, with a 
 weathercock above it; and dreading the time when it shall 
 ring J. Steerforth and the rest to work : which is only second, 
 in my foreboding apprehensions, to the time when the man 
 with the wooden leg shall unlock the rusty gate to give admis- 
 sion to the awful Mr. Creakle. I cannot think I was a very 
 dangerous character in any of these aspects, but in all of them 
 I carried the same warning on my back. 
 
 Mr. Mell never said much to me, but he was never harsh to 
 me. I suppose we were company to each other, without 
 talking. I forgot to mention that he would talk to himself 
 sometimes, and grin, and clench his fist, and grind his teeth, 
 and pull his hair in an unaccountable manner. But he had 
 these peculiarities : and at first they frightened me, though I 
 soon got used to them. 
 
88 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 I ENLARGE MY CIRCLE OF ACQUAINTANCE. 
 
 I HAD led this life about a month, when the man with the 
 wooden leg began to stump about with a mop and a bucket 
 of water, from which I inferred that preparations were making 
 to receive Mr. Creakle and the boys. I was not mistaken ; for 
 the mop came into the schoolroom before long, and turned 
 out Mr. Mell and me, who lived where we could, and got on 
 how we could, for some days, during which we were always in 
 the way of two or three young women, who had rarely shown 
 themselves before, and were so continually in the midst of 
 dust that I sneezed almost as much as if Salem House had 
 been a great snuff-box. 
 
 One day I was informed by Mr. Mell, that Mr. Creakle 
 would be home that evening. In the evening, after tea, I 
 heard that he was come. Before bed-time, I was fetched by 
 the man with the wooden leg to appear before him. 
 
 Mr. Creakle's part of the house was a good deal more com- 
 fortable than ours, and he had a snug bit of garden that 
 looked pleasant after the dusty playground, which was such 
 a desert in miniature, that I thought no one but a camel, or 
 a dromedary, could have felt at home in it. It seemed to 
 me a bold thing even to take notice that the passage looked 
 comfortable, as I went on my way, trembling, to Mr. Creakle's 
 presence : which so abashed me, when I was ushered into it, 
 that I hardly saw Mrs. Creakle or Miss Creakle (who were 
 both there in the parlor), or anything but Mr. Creakle, a stout 
 gentleman with a bunch of watch-chain and seals, in an arm- 
 chair, with a tumbler and bottle beside him. 
 
 " So ! " said Mr. Creakle. " This is the young gentleman 
 whose teeth are to be filed ! Turn him round." 
 
 The wooden-legged man turned me about so as to exhibit 
 the placard ; and having afforded time for a full survey of it, 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 89 
 
 turned me about again, with my face to Mr. Creakle, and 
 posted himself at Mr. Creakle's side. Mr. Creakle's face was 
 fiery, and his eyes were small, and deep in his 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 not surprised, 
 on looking back, at this peculiarity striking me as his chief 
 one. 
 
 "Now," said Mr. Creakle. "What's the report of this 
 boy ? " 
 
 " There's nothing against him yet," returned the man with 
 the wooden leg. " There has been no opportunity." 
 
 I thought Mr. Creakle was disappointed. I thought Mrs. 
 and Miss Creakle (at whom I now glanced for the first time, 
 and who were, both, thin and quiet) were not disappointed. 
 
 " Come here, sir ! " said Mr. Creakle, beckoning to me. 
 
 " Come here ! " said the man with the wooden leg, repeat- 
 ing the gesture. 
 
 "I have the happiness of knowing your father-in-law," 
 whispered Mr. Creakle, taking me by the ear ; " and a worthy 
 man he is, and a man of a strong character. He knows me, 
 and I know him. Do you know me ? Hey ? " said Mr. 
 Creakle, pinching my ear with ferocious playfulness. 
 
 " Not yet, sir," I said, flinching with the pain. 
 
 " Not yet ? Hey ? " repeated Mr. Creakle. " But you will 
 soon. Hey ? " 
 
 " You will soon. Hey ? " repeated the man with the 
 wooden leg. I afterwards found that he generally acted, 
 with his strong voice, as Mr. Creakle's interpreter to the boys. 
 
 I was very much frightened, and said, I hoped so, if he 
 pleased. I felt, all this while, as if my ear were blazing ; he 
 pinched it so hard. 
 
 "I'll tell you what I am," whispered Mr. Creakle, letting it 
 
90 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 go at last, with a screw at parting that brought the water into 
 my eyes. " I'm a Tartar." 
 
 " A Tartar," said the man with the wooden leg. 
 
 " When I say I'll do a thing, I do it," said Mr. Creakle ; " and 
 when I say I will have a thing done, I will have it done." 
 
 " Will have a thing done, I will have it done," repeated 
 the man with the wooden leg. 
 
 " I am a determined character," said Mr. Creakle. " That's 
 what I am. I do my duty. That's what / do. My flesh and 
 blood " he looked at Mrs. Creakle as he said this " when 
 it rises against me, is not my flesh and blood. I discard it. 
 Has that fellow," to the man with the wooden leg, "been 
 here again ? ' ; 
 
 " No," was the answer. 
 
 "No," said Mr. Creakle. "He knows better. He knows 
 me. Let him keep away. I say let him keep away," said 
 Mr. Creakle, striking his hand upon the table, and looking at 
 Mrs. Creakle, "for he knows me. Now you have begun to 
 know me too, my young friend, and you may go. Take him 
 away." 
 
 I was very glad to be ordered away, for Mrs. and Miss 
 Creakle were both wiping their eyes, and I felt as uncom- 
 fortable for them, as I did for myself. But I had a petition 
 on my mind which concerned me so nearly, that I couldn't 
 help saying, though I wondered at my own courage : 
 
 " If you please, sir " 
 
 Mr. Creakle whispered, " Hah ? What's this ? " and bent his 
 eyes upon me, as if he would have burnt me up with them. 
 
 " If you please, sir," I faltered, " if I might be allowed (I 
 am very sorry indeed, sir, for what I did) to take this writing 
 off, before the boys come back " 
 
 Whether Mr. Creakle was in earnest, or whether he only did 
 it to frighten me, I don't know, but he made a burst out of his 
 chair, before which I precipitately retreated, without waiting 
 for the escort of the man with the wooden leg, and never once 
 stopped until I reached my own bedroom, where, finding I 
 was not pursued, I went to bed, as it was time, and lay quak- 
 ing, for a couple of hours. 
 
 Next morning Mr. Sharp came back. Mr. Sharp was the 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 91 
 
 first master, and superior to Mr. Mell. Mr. Mell took his 
 meals with the boys, but Mr. Sharp dined and supped at Mr. 
 Creakle's table. He was a limp, delicate-looking gentleman, 
 I thought, with a good deal of nose, and a way of carrying 
 his head on one side, as if it were a little too heavy for him. 
 His hair was very smooth and wavy ; but I was informed by 
 the very first boy who came back that it was a wig (a second- 
 hand one he said), and that Mr. Sharp went out every Saturday 
 afternoon to get it curled. 
 
 It was no other than Tommy Traddles who gave me this 
 piece of intelligence. He was the first boy who returned. 
 He introduced himself by informing me that I should find his 
 name on the right-hand corner of the gate, over the top bolt ; 
 upon that I said, " Traddles ? ;; to which he replied, " The 
 same," and then, he asked me for a full account of myself and 
 family. 
 
 It was a happy circumstance for me that Traddles came 
 back first. He enjoyed my placard so much, that he saved me 
 from the embarrassment of either disclosure or concealment, 
 by presenting me to every other boy who came back, great or 
 small, immediately on his arrival, in this form of introduction, 
 " Look here ! Here's a game ! " Happily, too, the greater 
 part of the boys came back low-spirited, and were not so 
 boisterous at my expense as I had expected. Some of them 
 certainly did dance about me like wild Indians, and the greater 
 part could not resist the temptation of pretending that I was 
 a dog, and patting and smoothing me lest I should bite, and 
 saying, "Lie down, sir !" and calling me Towzer. This was 
 naturally confusing, among so many strangers, and cost me 
 some tears, but on the whole it was much better than I had 
 anticipated. 
 
 I was not considered as being formally received into the 
 school, however, until J. Steerforth arrived. Before this boy, 
 who was reputed to be a great scholar, and was very good- 
 looking, and at least half-a-dozen years my senior, I was carried 
 as before a magistrate. He inquired, under a shed in the play- 
 ground, into the particulars of my punishment, and was pleased 
 to express his opinion that it was " a jolly shame ; " for which 
 I became bound to him ever afterwards. 
 
92 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " What money have you got, Copperfield ? " he said, walk- 
 ing aside with me when he had disposed of my affair in these 
 terms. 
 
 I told him seven shillings. 
 
 " You had better give it to me to take care of," he said. 
 " At least, you can if you like. You needn't if you don't like." 
 
 I hastened to comply with his friendly suggestion, and 
 opening Peggotty's purse, turned it upside down into his hand. 
 
 " Do you want to spend anything now ? " he asked me. 
 
 " No, thank you," I replied. 
 
 " You can, if you like, you know," said Steerforth. " Say 
 the word." 
 
 " No, thank you, sir," I repeated. 
 
 " Perhaps you'd like to spend a couple of shillings, or so, in 
 a bottle of currant wine by and by, up in the bedroom ? " said 
 Steerforth. " You belong to my bedroom, I find." 
 
 It certainly had not occurred to me before, but I said, Yes, 
 I should like that. 
 
 "Very good," said Steerforth. "You'll be glad to spend 
 another shilling or so, in almond cakes, I dare say ? '' 
 
 I said, Yes, I should like that, too. 
 
 "And another shilling or so in biscuits, and another in 
 fruit, eh ? " said Steerforth. " I say, young Copperfield, you're 
 going it ! " 
 
 I smiled because he smiled, but I was a little troubled in 
 my mind, too. t 
 
 " Well ! " said Steerforth. " We must make it stretch as far 
 as we can ; that's all. I'll do the best in my power for you. 
 I can go out when I like, and I'll smuggle the prog in." With 
 these words he put the money in his pocket, and kindly told 
 me not to make myself uneasy ; he would take care it should 
 be all right. 
 
 He was as good as his word, if that were all right which I 
 had a secret misgiving was nearly all wrong for I feared it 
 was a waste of my mother's two half-crowns though I had 
 preserved the piece of paper they were wrapped in ; which 
 was a precious saving. When we went up stairs to bed, he 
 produced the whole seven shillings' worth, and laid it out on 
 my bed in the moonlight, saying: 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 93 
 
 "There you are, young Copperfield, and a royal spread 
 you've got ! " 
 
 I couldn't think of doing the honors of the feast, at my time 
 of life, while he was by j my hand shook at the very thought 
 of it. I begged him to do me the favor of presiding ; and my 
 request being seconded by the other boys who were in that 
 room, he acceded to it, and sat upon my pillow, handing round 
 the viands with perfect fairness, I must say and dispens- 
 ing the currant wine in a little glass without a foot, which was 
 his own property. As to me, I sat on his left hand, and the 
 rest were grouped about us, on the nearest beds and on the 
 floor. 
 
 How well I recollect our sitting there, talking in whispers, 
 or their talking, and iny respectfully listening, I ought rather 
 to say; the moonlight falling a little way into the room, 
 through the window, painting a pale window on the floor, and 
 the greater part of us in shadow, except when Steerforth 
 dipped a match into a phosphorus-box, when he wanted to 
 look for anything on the board, and shed a blue glare over us 
 that was gone directly ! A certain mysterious feeling, conse- 
 quent on the darkness, the secrecy of the revel, and the whis- 
 per in which everything was said, steals over me again, and I 
 listen to all they tell me, with a vague feeling of solemnity 
 and awe, which makes me glad that they are all so near, and 
 frightens me (though I feign to laugh) when Traddles pre- 
 tends to see a ghost in the corner. 
 
 I heard all kinds of things about the school and all belong- 
 ing to it. I heard that Mr. Creakle had not preferred his 
 claim to being a Tartar without reason ; that he was the stern- 
 est and most severe of masters ; that he laid about him, right 
 and left, every day of his life, charging in among the boys like 
 a trooper, and slashing away, unmercifully. That he knew 
 nothing himself, but the art of slashing, being more ignorant 
 (J. Steerforth said) than the lowest boy in the school ; that he 
 had been, a good many years ago, a small hop-dealer in the 
 Borough, and had taken to the schooling business after being 
 bankrupt in hops, and making away with Mrs. Creakle's money. 
 With a good deal more of that sort, which I wondered how 
 they knew. 
 
94 THE PERSONAL BISTORT AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 I heard that the man with the wooden leg, whose name was 
 Tungay, was an obstinate barbarian who had formerly assisted 
 in the hop business, but had come into the scholastic line with 
 Mr. Creakle, in consequence, as was supposed among the boys, 
 of his having broken his leg in Mr. Creakle's service, and hav- 
 ing done a deal of dishonest work for him, and knowing his 
 secrets. I heard that with the single exception of Mr. Creakle, 
 Tungay considered the whole establishment, masters and boys, 
 as his natural enemies, and that the only delight of his life 
 was to be sour and malicious. I heard that Mr. Creakle had a 
 son, who had not been Tungay's friend, and who, assisting in 
 the school, had once held some remonstrance with his father 
 on an occasion when its discipline was very cruelly exercised, 
 and was supposed, besides, to have protested against his fath- 
 er's usage of his mother. I heard that Mr. Creakle had turned 
 him out of doors, in consequence ; and that Mrs. and Miss 
 Creakle had been in a sad way, ever since. 
 
 But the greatest wonder that I heard of Mr. Creakle was, 
 there being one boy in the school on whom he never ventured to 
 lay a hand, and that boy being J. Steerforth. Steerforth him- 
 self confirmed this when it was stated, and said that he should 
 like to begin to see him do it. On being asked by a mild boy 
 (not me) how he would proceed if he did begin to see him do 
 it, he dipped a match into his phosphorus-box on purpose to 
 shed a glare over his reply, and said he would commence with 
 knocking him down with a blow on the forehead from the 
 seven-and-six-penny ink-bottle that was always on the mantel- 
 piece. We sat in the dark for some time, breathless. 
 
 I heard that Mr. Sharp and Mr. Mell were both supposed 
 to be wretchedly paid ; and that when there was hot and cold 
 meat for dinner at Mr. Creakle's table, Mr. Sharp was always 
 expected to say he preferred cold ; which was again corrobo- 
 rated by J. Steerforth, the only parlor-boarder. I heard that 
 Mr. Sharp's wig didn't fit him ; and that he needn't be so 
 " bounceable " somebody else said "bumptious " about it, 
 because his own red hair was very plainly to be seen behind. 
 
 I heard that one boy, who was a coal-merchant's son, came 
 as a set-off against the coal-bill, and was called 011 that account 
 " Exchange or Barter " a name selected from the arithmetic- 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 95 
 
 book as expressing this arrangement. I heard that the table- 
 beer was a robbery of parents, and the pudding an imposition. 
 I heard that Miss Creakle was regarded by the school in gen- 
 eral as being in love with Steerforth ; and I am sure, as I sat 
 in the dark, thinking of his nice voice, and his fine face, and 
 his easy manner, and his curling hair, I thought it very likely. 
 I heard that Mr. Mell was not a bad sort of fellow, but hadn't 
 a sixpence to bless himself with ; and that there was no doubt 
 that old Mrs. Mell, his mother, was as poor as Job." I thought 
 of my breakfast then, and what had sounded like " my Char- 
 ley ! " but I was, I am glad to remember, as mute as a mouse 
 about it. 
 
 The hearing of all this, and a good deal more, outlasted the 
 banquet some time. The greater part of the guests had gone 
 to bed as soon as the eating and drinking were over ; and we, 
 who had remained whispering and listening half undressed, at 
 last betook ourselves to bed, too. 
 
 " Good night, young Copperfield," said Steerforth, " I'll take 
 care of you." 
 
 "You're very kind," I gratefully returned. "I am very 
 much obliged to you." 
 
 " You haven't got a sister, have you ? " said Steerforth, 
 yawning. 
 
 "No," I answered. 
 
 "That's a pity," said Steei forth. "If you had had one, 
 I should think she would have been a pretty, timid, little, 
 bright-eyed sort of girl. I should have liked to know her. 
 Good night, young Copperfield." 
 
 " Good night, sir," I replied. 
 
 I thought of him very much after I went to bed, and raised 
 myself, I recollect, to look at him where he lay in the moon- 
 light, with his handsome face turned up, and his head reclining 
 easily on his arm. He was a person of great power in my 
 eyes ; that was of course the reason of my mind running on 
 him. No veiled future dimly glanced upon him in the moon- 
 beams. There was no shadowy picture of his footsteps, in the 
 garden that I dreamed of walking in all night. 
 
96 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 MY " FIRST HALF " AT SALEM HOUSE. 
 
 SCHOOL began in earnest next day. A profound impression 
 was made upon me, I remember, by the roar of voices in the 
 schoolroom suddenly becoming hushed as death when Mr. 
 Creakle entered after breakfast, and stood in the doorway 
 looking round upon us like a giant in a story-book surveying 
 his captives. 
 
 Tungay stood at Mr. Creakle's elbow. He had no occasion, 
 I thought, to cry out " Silence ! " so ferociously, for the boys 
 were all struck speechless and motionless. 
 
 Mr. Creakle was seen to speak, and Tungay was heard, to 
 this effect. 
 
 "Now, boys, this is a new half. Take care what you're 
 about, in this new half. Come fresh up to the lessons, I ad- 
 vise you, for I come fresh up to the punishment. I won't 
 flinch. It will be of no use your rubbing yourselves ; you 
 won't rub the marks out that I shall give you. Now get to 
 work, every boy ! " 
 
 When this dreadful exordium was over, and Tungay had 
 stumped out again, Mr. Creakle came to where I sat, and told 
 me that if I were famous for biting, he was famous for biting, 
 too. He then showed me the cane, and asked me what I 
 thought of that, for a tooth ? Was it a sharp tooth, hey ? 
 Was it a double tooth, hey ? Had it a deep prong, hey ? Did 
 it bite, hey ? Did it bite ? At every question he gave me a 
 fleshy cut with it that made me writhe ; so I was very soon 
 made free of Salem House (as Steerforth said), and very soon 
 in tears also. 
 
 Not that I mean to say these were special marks of dis- 
 tinction, which only I received. On the contrary, a large 
 majority of the boys (especially the smaller ones) were visited 
 with similar instances of notice, as Mr. Creakle made the 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 97 
 
 round of the schoolroom. Half the establishment was writh- 
 ing and crying, before the day's work began ; and how much 
 of it had writhed and cried before the day's work was over, I 
 am really afraid to recollect, lest I should seem to exaggerate. 
 
 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 j 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. I was chubby myself, 
 and ought to know. I am sure when I think of the fellow 
 now, my blood rises against him with the disinterested indig- 
 nation I should feel if I could have known all about him 
 without having ever been in his power ; but it rises hotly, 
 because I know him- to have been an incapable brute, who had 
 no more right to be possessed of the great trust he held, than 
 to be Lord High Admiral, or Commander-in-chief : in either 
 of which capacities, it is probable, that he would have done 
 infinitely less mischief. 
 
 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 cypheriiig-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 cyphering-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 
 
 VOL. 1 7 
 
98 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 excuses, and professes a determination to do better to-morrow. 
 Mr. Creakle cuts a joke before he beats him, and we laugh at 
 it miserable little dogs, we laugh, with our visages as white 
 as ashes, and our hearts sinking into our boots. 
 
 Here I sit at the desk again, on a drowsy summer afternoon. 
 A buzz and hum go up around me, as if the boys were so many 
 blue-bottles. A cloggy sensation of the lukewarm fat of meat 
 is upon me (we dined an hour or two ago), and my head is as 
 heavy as so much lead. I would give the world to go to sleep. 
 I sit with my eye on Mr. Creakle, blinking at him like a young 
 owl ; when sleep overpowers me for a minute, he still looms 
 through my slumber, ruling those cyphering-books ; until he 
 softly comes behind me and wakes me to plainer perception of 
 him, with a red ridge across my back. 
 
 Here I am in the playground, with my eyes still fascinated 
 by him, though I can't see him. The window at a little dis- 
 tance from which I know he is having his dinner, stands for 
 him, and I eye that instead. If he shows his face near it, 
 mine assumes an imploring and submissive expression. If he 
 looks out through the glass, the boldest boy (Steerforth 
 excepted) stops in the middle of a shout or yell, and becomes 
 contemplative. One day, Traddles (the most unfortunate boy 
 in the world) breaks that window accidentally with a ball. I 
 shudder at this moment with the tremendous sensation of 
 seeing it done, and feeling that the ball has bounded on to 
 Mr. Creakle's sacred head. 
 
 Poor Traddles ! In a tight sky-blue suit that made his 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 
 found in drawing skeletons ; and for some time looked upon 
 him as a sort of hermit, who reminded himself by those 
 symbols of mortality that caning couldn't last forever. But I 
 
OF DAVID COPPERF1ELD. 99 
 
 believe he only did it because they were easy, and didn't want 
 any features. 
 
 He was very honorable, 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-full 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. For my part, I could have gone 
 through a good deal (though I was much less brave than 
 Traddles, and nothing like so old) to have won such a recom- 
 pense. 
 
 To see Steerforth walk to church before us, arm-in-arm with 
 Miss Creakle, was one or the great sights of my life. I didn't 
 think Miss Creakle equal to little Em'ly in point of beauty, 
 and I didn't love her (I didn't dare) ; but I thought her a 
 young lady of extraordinary attractions, and in point of gen- 
 tility not to be surpassed. When Steerforth, in white trousers, 
 carried her parasol for her, I felt proud to know him; and 
 believed that she could not choose but adore him with all her 
 heart. Mr. Sharp and Mr. Mell were both notable personages 
 in my eyes ; but Steerforth was to them what the sun was to 
 two stars. * 
 
 Steerforth continued his protection of me, and proved a 
 very useful friend ; since nobody dared to annoy one whom he 
 honored with his countenance. He couldn't or at all events 
 he didn't defend me from Mr. Creakle, who was very severe 
 with me ; but whenever I had been treated worse than usual, 
 he always told me that I wanted a little of his pluck, and that 
 he wouldn't have stood it himself ; which I felt he intended 
 for encouragement, and considered to be very kind of him. 
 There was one advantage, and only one that I know of, in Mr. 
 Creakle's severity. He found my placard in his way when he 
 came up or down behind the form on which I sat, and wanted 
 
100 THE PEESONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 to make a cut at me in passing ; for this reason it was soon 
 taken off, and I saw it no more. 
 
 An accidental circumstance cemented the intimacy between 
 Steerforth and me, in a manner that inspired me with great 
 pride and satisfaction, though it sometimes led to incon- 
 venience. It happened on one occasion, when he was doing 
 me the honor of talking to me in the playground, that I haz- 
 arded the observation that something or somebody I forget 
 what now was like something or somebody in Peregrine 
 Pickle. He said nothing at the time ; but when I was going 
 to bed at night, asked me if I had got that book. 
 
 I told him no, and explained how it was that I had read it; 
 and all those other books of which I have made mention. 
 
 "And do you recollect 'them ? " Steerforth said. 
 
 Oh yes, I replied ; I had a good memory, and I believed I 
 recollected them very well. 
 
 " Then I tell you what, young Copperfield," said Steerforth, 
 " you shall tell 'em to me. I can't get to sleep very early at 
 night, and I generally wake rather early in the morning. 
 We'll go over 'em one after another. We'll make some regular 
 Arabian Nights of it." 
 
 I felt extremely flattered by this arrangement, and we com- 
 menced carrying it into execution that very evening. What 
 ravages I committed on my favorite authors in the course of 
 my interpretation of them, I am not in a condition to say, and 
 should be very unwilling to know ; but I had a profound faith 
 in them, and I had, to the best of my belief, a simple, earnest 
 manner of narrating what I did, narrate j'and these qualities 
 went a long way. 
 
 The drawback was, that I was often sleepy at night, or out 
 of spirits and indisposed to resume the story ; and then it 
 was rather hard work, and it must be done ; for to disappoint 
 or displease Steerforth was of course out of the question. In 
 the morning too, when I felt weary, and should have enjoyed 
 another hour's repose very much, it was a tiresome thing to be 
 roused, like the Sultana Scheherazade, and forced into a long 
 story before the getting-up bell rang ; but Steerforth was reso- 
 lute ; and as he explained to me, in return, my sums and 
 exercises, and anything in my tasks that was too hard for me, 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 101 
 
 I was no loser by the transaction. Let me do myself justice, 
 however. I was moved by no interested or selfish motive, nor 
 was I moved by fear of him. I admired and loved him, and 
 his approval was return enough. It was s"o precious to me 
 that I look back on these trifles, now, with an aching heart. 
 
 Steerforth was considerate too ; and showed his considera- 
 tion, in one particular instance, in an unflinching manner that 
 was a little tantalizing, I suspect, to poor Traddles and the 
 rest. Peggotty's promised letter what a comfortable letter 
 it was ! arrived before " the half " was many weeks old ; and 
 with it a cake in a perfect nest of oranges, and two bottles of 
 cowslip wine. This treasure, as in duty bound, I laid at the 
 feet of Steerforth, and begged him to dispense. 
 
 " Now, I'll tell you what, young Copperfield," said he : 
 "the wine shall be kept to wet your whistle when you are 
 story-telling." 
 
 I blushed at the idea, and begged him, in my modesty, not 
 to think of it. But he said he had observed I was sometimes 
 hoarse a little roopy was his exact expression and it should 
 be, every drop, devoted to the purpose he had mentioned. 
 Accordingly, it was locked up in his box, and drawn off by 
 himself in a phial, and administered to me through a piece of 
 quill in the cork, when I was supposed to be in want of a 
 restorative. Sometimes, to make it a more sovereign specific, 
 he was so kind as to squeeze orange juice into it, or to stir it 
 up with ginger, or dissolve a peppermint drop in it ; and 
 although I cannot assert that the flavor was improved by these 
 experiments, or that it was exactly the compound one would 
 have chosen for a stomachic, the last thing at night and the 
 first thing in the morning, I drank it gratefully, and was very 
 sensible of his attention. 
 
 We seem to me, to have been months over Peregrine, and 
 months more over the other stories. The institution never 
 flagged for want of a story, I am certain ; and the wine lasted 
 out almost as well as the matter. Poor Traddles I never 
 think of that boy but with a strange disposition to laugh, and 
 with tears in my eyes was a sort of chorus, in general ; and 
 affected to be convulsed with mirth at the comic parts, and to 
 be overcome with fear when there was any passage of an 
 
102 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 alarming character in the narrative. This rather put me out, 
 very often. It was a great jest of his, I recollect, to pretend 
 that he couldn't keep his teeth from chattering, whenever 
 mention was made of an Alguazil in connection with the adven- 
 tures of Gil Bias ; and I remember when Gil Bias met the 
 captain of the robbers in Madrid, this unlucky joker counter- 
 feited such an ague of terror, that he was overheard by Mr. 
 Creakle, who was prowling about the passage, and handsomely 
 flogged for disorderly conduct in the bedroom. 
 
 Whatever I had within me that was romantic and dreamy, 
 was encouraged by so much story-telling in the dark ; and in 
 that respect the pursuit may not have been very profitable to 
 me. But the being cherished as a kind of plaything in my 
 room, and the consciousness that this accomplishment of mine 
 was bruited about among the boys, and attracted a good deal 
 of notice to me though I was the youngest there, stimulated 
 me to exertion. In a school carried on by sheer cruelty, 
 whether it is presided over by a dunce or not, there is not 
 likely to be much learnt. I believe our boys were, generally, 
 as ignorant a set as any schoolboys in existence ; they were 
 too much troubled and knocked about to learn ; they could no 
 more do that to advantage, than any one can do anything to 
 advantage in a life of constant misfortune, torment, and worry. 
 But my little vanity, and Steerforth's help, urged me on some- 
 how ; and without saving me from much, if anything, in the 
 way of punishment, made me, for the time I was there, an 
 exception to the general body, insomuch that I did steadily 
 pick up some crumbs of knowledge. 
 
 In this I was much assisted by Mr. Mell, who had a liking 
 for me that I am grateful to remember. It always gave me 
 pain to observe that Steerforth treated him with systematic 
 disparagement, and seldom lost an occasion of wounding his 
 feelings, or inducing others to do so. This troubled me the 
 more for a long time, because I had soon told Steerforth, from 
 whom I could no more keep such a secret, than I could keep a 
 cake or any other tangible possession, about the two old women 
 Mr. Mell had taken me to see ; and I was always afraid that 
 Steerforth would let it out, and twit him with it. 
 
 We little thought, any one of us, I dare say, when I ate my 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 103 
 
 breakfast that first morning, and went to sleep under the 
 shadow of the peacock's feathers to the sound of the flute, 
 what consequences would come of the introduction into those 
 almshouses of my insignificant person. But the visit had its 
 unforeseen consequences j and of a serious sort, too, in their 
 way. 
 
 One day when Mr. Creakle kept the house from indisposi- 
 tion, which naturally diffused a lively joy through the school, 
 there was a good deal of noise in the course of the morning's 
 work. The great relief and satisfaction experienced by the 
 boys made them difficult to manage ; and though the dreaded 
 Tungay brought his wooden leg in twice or thrice, and took 
 notes of the principal offenders' names, no great impression 
 was made by it, as they were pretty 'sure of getting into trouble 
 to-morrow, do what they would, and thought it wise, no doubt, 
 to enjoy themselves to-day. 
 
 It was, properly, a half-holiday ; being Saturday. But as 
 the noise in the playground would have disturbed Mr. Creakle, 
 and the weather was not favorable for going out walking, we 
 were ordered into school in the afternoon, and set some lighter 
 tasks than usual, which were made for the occasion. It was 
 the day of the week on which Mr. Sharp went out to get his 
 wig curled ; so Mr. Mell, who always did the drudgery, what- 
 ever it was, kept school by himself. 
 
 If I could associate the idea of a bull or a bear with any 
 one so mild as Mr. Mell, I should think of him, in connection 
 with that afternoon when the uproar was at its height, as of 
 one of those animals, baited by a thousand dogs. I recall him 
 bending his aching head, supported on his bony hand, over 
 the book on his desk, and wretchedly endeavoring to get on 
 with his tiresome work, amidst an uproar that might have 
 made the Speaker of the House of Commons giddy. Boys 
 started in and out of their places, playing at puss-in-the-corner 
 with other boys ; there were laughing boys, singing boys, talk- 
 ing boys, dancing boys, howling boys ; boys shuffled with their 
 feet, boys whirled about him, grinning, making faces, mim- 
 icking him behind his back and before his eyes : mimicking 
 his poverty, his boots, his coat, his mother, everything belong- 
 ing to him that they should have had consideration for. 
 
104 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " Silence ! " cried Mr. Mell, suddenly rising up, and striking 
 his desk with the book. " What does this mean ! It's impos- 
 sible to bear it. It's maddening. How can you do it to me, 
 boys?" 
 
 It was my book that he struck his desk with ; and as I stood 
 beside him, following his eye as it glanced round the room, I 
 saw the boys all stop, some suddenly surprised, some half 
 afraid, and some sorry perhaps. 
 
 Steerforth's place was at the bottom of the school, at the 
 opposite end of the long room. He was lounging with his 
 back against the wall, and his hands in his pockets, and looked 
 at Mr. Mell with his mouth shut up as if he were whistling, 
 when Mr. Mell looked at him. 
 
 " Silence, Mr. Steerforth ! " said Mr. Mell. 
 
 " Silence yourself," said Steerforth, turning red. " Whom 
 are you talking to ? " 
 
 " Sit down," said Mr. Mell. 
 
 " Sit down yourself," said Steerforth, " and mind your busi- 
 ness." 
 
 There was a titter, and some applause ; but Mr. Mell was 
 so white, that silence immediately succeeded ; and one boy, 
 who had darted out behind him to imitate his mother again, 
 changed his mind, and pretended to want a pen mended. 
 
 " If you think, Steerforth," said Mr. Mell, " that I am not 
 acquainted with the power you can establish over any mind 
 here " he laid his hand, without considering what he did 
 (as I supposed), upon my head " or that I have not observed 
 you, within a few minutes, urging your juniors on to every 
 sort of outrage against me, you. are mistaken." 
 
 " I don't "give myself the trouble of thinking at all about 
 you," said Steerforth, coolly ; " so I'm not mistaken, as it 
 happens." 
 
 "And when you make use of your position of favoritism 
 here, sir," pursued Mr. Mell, with his lip trembling very 
 much, " to insult a gentleman " 
 
 " A what ? where is he ? " said Steerforth. 
 
 Here somebody cried out, "Shame, J. Steerforth! Too 
 bad ! " It was Traddles ; whom Mr. Mell instantly dis- 
 comfited by bidding him hold his tongue. 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 105 
 
 " To insult one who is not fortunate in life, sir, and who 
 never gave you the least offence, and the many reasons for not 
 insulting whom you are old enough and wise enough to under- 
 stand," said Mr. Mell, with his lip trembling more and more, 
 " you commit a mean and base action. You can sit down or 
 stand up as you please, sir. Copperfield, go on." 
 
 "Young Copperfield," said Steerforth, coming forward up 
 the room, "stop a bit. I tell you what, Mr. Mell, once for 
 all. When you take the liberty of calling me mean or base, 
 or anything of that sort, you are an impudent beggar. You 
 are always a beggar, you know ; but when you do that, you 
 are an impudent beggar." 
 
 I am not clear whether he was going to strike Mr. Mell, or 
 Mr. Mell was going to strike him, or there was any such 
 intention on either side. I saw a rigidity come upon the 
 whole school as if they had been turned into stone, and found 
 Mr. Creakle in the midst of us, with Tungay at his side, and 
 Mrs. and Miss Creakle looking in at the door as if they were 
 frightened. Mr. Mell, with his elbows on his desk and his 
 face in his hands, sat, for some moments, quite still. 
 
 " Mr. Mell," said Mr. Creakle, shaking him by the arm ; 
 and his whisper was so audible now, that Tungay felt it 
 unnecessary to repeat his words ; " you have not forgotten 
 yourself, I hope ? " 
 
 "No, sir, no," returned the Master, showing his face, and 
 shaking his head, and rubbing his hands in great agitation. 
 
 " No sir. No. I have remembered myself, I no, Mr. 
 Creakle, I have not forgotten myself, I I have remembered 
 myself, sir. I I could wish you had remembered me a little 
 sooner, Mr. Creakle. It it would have been more kind, 
 sir, more just, sir. It would have saved me something, sir." 
 
 Mr. Creakle, looking hard at Mr. Mell, put his hand on 
 Tungay's shoulder, and got his feet upon the form close by, 
 and sat upon the desk. After still looking hard at Mr. Mell 
 from this throne, as he shook his head, and rubbed his hands, 
 and remained in the same state of agitation, Mr. Creakle 
 turned to Steerforth, and said : 
 
 "Now, sir, as he don't condescend to tell me, what is 
 this?" 
 
106 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 Steerforth evaded the question for a little while ; looking 
 in scorn and anger on his opponent, and remaining silent. 
 I could not help thinking even in that interval, I remember, 
 what a noble fellow he was in appearance, and how homely 
 and plain Mr. Mell looked opposed to him. 
 
 " What did he mean by talking about favorites, then ! " 
 said Steerforth at length. 
 
 " Favorites ? " repeated Mr. Creakle, with the veins in his 
 forehead swelling quickly. " Who talked about favorites ? " 
 
 "He did," said Steerforth. 
 
 " And pray, what did you mean by that, sir ? " demanded 
 Mr. Creakle, turning angrily on his assistant. 
 
 " I meant, Mr. Creakle," he returned, in a low voice, " as I 
 said ; that no pupil had a right to avail himself of his position 
 of favoritism to degrade me." 
 
 " To degrade you ? " said Mr. Creakle. " My stars ! But 
 give me leave to ask you, Mr. What's-your-name ; " and here 
 Mr. Creakle folded his arms, cane and all, upon his chest, and 
 made such a knot of his brows that his little eyes were hardly 
 visible below them ; " whether, when you talk about favorites, 
 you showed proper respect to me ? To me, sir," said Mr. 
 Creakle, darting his head at him suddenly, and drawing it 
 back again, "the principal of this establishment, and your 
 employer." 
 
 " It was not judicious, sir, I am willing to admit," said Mr. 
 Mell. " I should not have done so, if I had been cool." 
 
 Here Steerforth struck in. 
 
 "Then he said I was mean, and then he said I was base, 
 and then I called him a beggar. If I had been cool, perhaps 
 I shouldn't have called him a beggar. But I did, and I am 
 ready to take the consequences of it." 
 
 Without considering, perhaps, whether there were any con- 
 sequences to be taken, I felt quite in a glow at this gallant 
 speech. It made an impression on the boys, too, for there was 
 a low stir among them, though no one spoke a word. 
 
 "I am surprised, Steerforth although your candor does 
 you honor," said Mr. Creakle, " does you honor, certainly 
 I am surprised, Steerforth, I must say, that you should attach 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 107 
 
 an epithet to any person employed and paid in Salem 
 House, sir." 
 
 Steerforth gave a short laugh. 
 
 "That's not an answer, sir," said Mr. Creakle, "to my 
 remark. I expect more than that from you, Steerforth." 
 
 If Mr. Mell looked homely, in my eyes, before the hand- 
 some boy, it would be quite impossible to say how homely Mr. 
 Creakle looked. 
 
 " Let him deny it," said Steerforth. 
 
 " Deny that he is a beggar, Steerforth ? " cried Mr. Creakle. 
 " Why, where does he go a begging ? " 
 
 " If he is not a beggar himself, his near relation's one," said 
 Steerforth. "It's all the same." 
 
 He glanced at me, and Mr. Mell's hand gently patted me 
 upon the shoulder. I looked up with a flush upon my face 
 and remorse in my heart, but Mr. Mell's eyes were fixed on 
 Steerforth. He continued to pat me kindly on the shoulder, 
 but he looked at him. 
 
 "Since you" expect me, Mr. Creakle, to justify myself," said 
 Steerforth, "and to say what I mean, what I- have to say is, 
 that his mother lives on charity in an almshouse." 
 
 Mr. Mell still looked at him, and still patted me kindly on 
 the shoulder, and said to himself, in a whisper, if I heard 
 right : " Yes, I thought so." 
 
 Mr. Creakle turned to his assistant, with a severe frown and 
 labored politeness : 
 
 " Now, you hear what this gentleman says, Mr. Mell. Have 
 the goodness, if you please, to set him right before the as- 
 sembled school." 
 
 "He is right, sir, without correction," returned Mr. Mell, 
 in the midst of a dead silence; "what he has said is true." 
 
 "Be so good then as declare publicly, will you," said Mr. 
 Creakle, putting his head on one side, and rolling his eyes 
 round the school, "whether it ever came to my knowledge 
 until this moment ? " 
 
 " I believe not directly," he returned. 
 
 "Why, you know not," said Mr. Creakle. "Don't you, 
 man?" 
 
 "I apprehend you never supposed my worldly circumstances 
 
108 
 
 to be very good," replied the assistant. " You know what my 
 position is, and always has been here." 
 
 " I apprehend, if you conie to that," said Mr. Creakle, with 
 his veins swelling again bigger than ever, " that you've been 
 in a wrong position altogether, and mistook this for a charity 
 school. Mr. Mell, we'll part if you please. The sooner the 
 better." 
 
 "There is no time," answered Mr. Mell, rising, "like the 
 present." 
 
 " Sir, to you ! " said Mr.' Creakle. 
 
 " I take my leave of you, Mr. Creakle, and of all of you," 
 said Mr. Mell, glancing round the room, and again patting me 
 gently on the shoulder. "James Steerforth, the best wish I 
 can leave you is, that you may come to be ashamed of what 
 you have done to-day. At present I would prefer to see you 
 anything rather than a friend to me, or to any one in whom I 
 feel an interest." 
 
 Once more he laid his hand upon my shoulder; and then 
 taking his flute and a few books from his desk, and leaving the 
 key in it for his successor, he went out of the school, with his 
 property under his arm. Mr. Creakle then made a speech, 
 through Tungay, in which he thanked Steerforth for asserting 
 (though perhaps too warmly) the independence and respec- 
 tability of Salem House ; and which he wound up by shaking 
 hands with Steerforth, while we gave three cheers I did not 
 quite know what for, but I suppose for Steerforth, and so 
 joined in them ardently, though I felt miserable. Mr. Creakle 
 then caned Tommy Traddles for being discovered in tears, 
 instead of cheers, on account of Mr. Mell's departure : and 
 went back to his sofa or his bed, or wherever he had come 
 from. 
 
 We were left to ourselves now, and looked very blank, I 
 recollect, on one another. For myself, I felt so much self- 
 reproach and contrition for my part in what had happened, 
 that nothing would have enabled me to keep back my tears 
 but the fear that Steerforth, who often looked at me, I saw, 
 might think it unfriendly or, I should rather say, consider- 
 ing our relative ages, and the feeling with which I regarded 
 him, undutif ul if I showed the emotion which distressed me. 
 
OF DAVID COPPER FIELD. 109 
 
 He was very angry with Traddles, and said he was glad he had 
 caught it. 
 
 Poor Traddles, who had passed the stage of lying with his 
 head upon the desk, and was relieving himself as usual with a 
 burst of skeletons, said he didn't care. Mr. Mell was ill-used. 
 
 " Who has ill-used him, you girl ? " said Steerforth. 
 
 "Why, you have," returned Traddles. 
 
 "What have I done ? " said Steerforth. 
 
 "What have you done?" retorted Traddles. "Hurt his 
 feelings and lost him his situation." 
 
 "His feelings!" repeated Steerforth, disdainfully. "His 
 feelings will soon get the better of it, I'll be bound. His feel- 
 ings are not like yours, Miss Traddles. -As to his situation 
 which was a precious one, wasn't it ? do you suppose I am 
 not going to write home, and take care that he gets some 
 money ? Polly ? " 
 
 We thought this intention very noble in Steerforth, whose 
 mother was a widow, and rich, and would do almost anything, 
 it was said, that he asked her. We were all extremely glad 
 to see Traddles so put down, and exalted Steerforth to the 
 skies ; especially when he told us, as he condescended to do, 
 that what he had done had been done expressly for us, and for 
 our cause ; and that he had conferred a great boon upon us 
 by unselfishly doing it. 
 
 But I must say that when I was going on with a story in 
 the dark that night, Mr. Mell's old flute seemed more than 
 once to sound mournfully in my ears ; and that when at last 
 Steerforth was tired, and I lay down" in my bed, I fancied it 
 playing so sorrowfully somewhere, that I was quite wretched. 
 
 I soon forgot him in the contemplation of Steerforth, who, 
 in an easy amateur way, and without any book (he seemed to 
 me to know everything by heart), took some of his classes 
 until a new master was found. The new master came from a 
 grammar-school ; and before he entered on his duties, dined in 
 the parlor one day to be introduced to Steerforth. Steerforth 
 approved of him highly, and told us he was a Brick. With- 
 out exactly understanding what learned distinction was meant 
 by this, I respected him greatly for it, and had no doubt what- 
 ever of his superior knowledge ; though he never took the 
 
110 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 pains with me not that / was anybody that Mr. Mell had 
 taken. 
 
 There was only one other event in this half-year out of the 
 daily school-life, that made an impression on me which still 
 survives. It survives for many reasons. 
 
 One afternoon, when we were all harassed into a state of 
 dire confusion, and Mr. Creakle was laying about him dread- 
 fully, Tungay came in, and called out in his usual strong way : 
 "Visitors for Copperfield ! " 
 
 A few words were interchanged between him and Mr. 
 Creakle, as, who the visitors were, and what room they were 
 to be shown into ; and then I, who had, according to custom, 
 stood up on the announcement being made, and felt quite faint 
 with astonishment, was told to go by the back stairs and get 
 a clean frill on, before I repaired to the dining-room. These 
 orders I obeyed, in such a flutter and hurry of my young 
 spirits as I had never known before ; and when I got to the 
 parlor-door, and the thought came into my head that it might 
 be my mother I had only thought of Mr. or Miss Murclstone 
 until then I drew back my hand from the lock, and stopped 
 to have a sob before I went in. 
 
 At first I saw nobody ; but feeling a pressure against the 
 door, I looked round it, and there, to my amazement, were Mr. 
 Peggotty and Ham, ducking at me with their hats, and squeez- 
 ing one another against the wall. I could not help laughing ; 
 but it was much more in the pleasure of seeing them, than at 
 the appearance they made. We shook hands in a very cordial 
 way ; and I laughed and laughed, until I pulled out my pocket- 
 handkerchief and wiped my eyes. 
 
 Mr. Peggotty (who never shut his mouth once, I remember, 
 during the visit) showed great concern when he saw me do 
 this, and nudged Ham to say something. 
 
 " Cheer up, Mas'r Davy bor' ! " said Hani, in his simpering 
 way. " Why, how you have growed ! " 
 
 " Am I grown ? " I said, drying my eyes. I was not crying 
 at anything particular that I know of ; but somehow it made 
 me cry to see old friends. 
 
 " Growed, Mas'r Davy bor' ? Ain't he growed ! " said Ham. 
 
 " Ain't he growed ! " said Mr. Peggotty. 
 
DAVID COPPEEFIELD. Ill 
 
 They made me laugh again by laughing at each other, and 
 then we all three laughed until I was in danger of crying 
 again. 
 
 " Do you know how mamma is, Mr. Peggotty ? " I said. 
 " And how my dear, dear, old Peggotty is ? " 
 
 " Oncoinmon," said Mr. Peggotty. 
 
 " And little Em'ly and Mrs. Guminidge ? " 
 
 " On common," said Mr. Peggotty. 
 
 There was a silence. Mr. Peggotty, to relieve it, took two 
 prodigious lobsters, and an enormous crab, and a large canvas 
 bag of shrimps, out of his pockets, and piled them up in Ham's 
 arms. 
 
 " You see," said Mr. Peggotty, " knowing as you was par- 
 tial to a little relish with your wittles when you was along 
 with us, we took the liberty. The old Mawther biled 'em, she 
 did. Mrs. Gummidge biled 'em. Yes," said Mr. Peggotty, 
 slowly, who I thought appeared to stick to the subject on 
 account of having no other subject ready, " Mrs. Gummidge, 
 I do assure you, she biled 'em." 
 
 I expressed my thanks ; and Mr. Peggotty, after looking at 
 Ham, who stood smiling sheepishly over the shell-fish, with- 
 out making any attempt to help him, said : 
 
 " We come, you see, the wind and tide making in our favor, 
 in one of our Yarmouth lugs to Gravesen'. My sister she 
 wrote to me the name of this here place, and wrote to me as 
 if ever I chanced to come to Gravesen', I was to come over and 
 inquire for Mas'r Davy, and give her dooty, humbly wishing 
 him well, and reporting of the fam'ly as they was oncommon 
 toe-be-sure. Little Em'ly, you see, she'll write to my sister 
 when I go back, as I see you, and as you was similarly oncom- 
 mon, and so we make it quite a merry-go-rounder." 
 
 I was obliged to consider a little before I understood what 
 Mr. Peggotty meant by this figure, expressive of a complete 
 circle of intelligence. I then thanked him heartily ; and said, 
 with a consciousness of reddening, that I supposed little Em'ly 
 was altered too, since we used to pick up shells and pebbles 
 on the beach ? 
 
 " She's getting to be a woman, that's wot she's getting to 
 be," said Mr. Peggotty. " Ask him." 
 
\12 THE PERSONAL HISTOEY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 He meant Ham, who beamed with delight and assent over 
 the bag of shrimps. 
 
 " Her pretty face ! " said Mr. Peggotty, with his own shin- 
 ing like a light. 
 
 " Her learning ! " said Ham. 
 
 " Her writing ! " said Mr. Peggotty. " Why it's as black as 
 jet ! And so large it is, you might see it anywheres." 
 
 It was perfectly delightful to behold with what enthusiasm 
 Mr. Peggotty became inspired when he thought of his little 
 favorite. He stands before me again, his bluff hairy face 
 irradiating with a joyful love and pride, for which I can find 
 no description. His honest eyes fire up, and sparkle, as if 
 their depths were stirred by something bright. His broad 
 chest heaves with pleasure. His strong loose hands clench 
 themselves, in his earnestness ; and he emphasizes what he 
 says with a right arm that shows, in my pigmy view, like a 
 sledge hammer. 
 
 Ham was quite as earnest as he. I dare say they would 
 have said much more about her, if they had not been abashed 
 by the unexpected coming in of Steerforth, who seeing me in 
 a corner speaking with two strangers, stopped in a song he was 
 singing, and said : " I didn't know you were here, young Cop^ 
 perfield ! " (for it was not the usual visiting room), and crossed 
 by us on his way out. 
 
 I am not sure whether it was in the pride of having such a 
 friend as Steerforth, or in the desire to explain to him how I 
 came to have such a friend as Mr. Peggotty, that I called to 
 him as he was going away. But I said, modestly Good 
 Heaven, how it all comes back to me this long time after- 
 wards ! 
 
 " Don't go, Steerforth, if you please. These are two Yar- 
 mouth boatmen very kind, good people who are relations 
 of my nurse, and have come from Gravesend to see me." 
 
 " Ay, ay ? " said Steerforth, returning. " I am glad to see 
 them. How are you both ? " 
 
 There was an ease in his manner a gay and light manner 
 it was, but not swaggering which I still believe to have 
 borne a kind of enchantment with it. I still believe him, in 
 virtue of this carriage, his animal spirits, his delightful voice, 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 113 
 
 his handsome face and figure, and, for aught I know, of some 
 inborn power of attraction besides (which I think a few people 
 possess), to have carried a spell with him to which it was a 
 natural weakness to yield, and which not many persons could 
 withstand. I could not but see how pleased they were with 
 him, and how they seemed to open their hearts to him in a 
 moment. 
 
 " You must let them know at home, if you please, Mr. 
 Peggotty," I said, " when that letter is sent, that Mr. Steer- 
 forth is very kind to me, and that I don't know what I should 
 ever do here without him." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said Steerforth, laughing. " You mustn't tell 
 them anything of the sort." 
 
 " And if Mr. Steerforth ever comes into Norfolk, or Suffolk, 
 Mr. Peggotty," I said, " while I am there, you may depend 
 upon it I shall bring him to Yarmouth, if he will let me, to 
 see your house. You never saw such a good house, Steerforth. 
 It's made out of a boat ! " 
 
 "Made out of a boat, is it ?" said Steerforth. It's the 
 right sort of house for such a thorough-built boatman." 
 
 "So 'tis, sir, so 'tis, sir," said Ham, grinning. "You're 
 right, young gen'lm'n. Mas'r Davy, bor', gen'lm'n's right. A 
 thorough-built boatman ! Hor, hor ! That's what he is, too ! " 
 
 Mr. Peggotty was no less pleased than his nephew, though 
 his modesty forbade him to claim a personal compliment so 
 vociferously. 
 
 "Well, sir," he said, bowing and chuckling, and tucking in 
 the ends of his neckerchief at his breast, " I thankee, sir, I 
 thankee ! I do my endeavors in my line of life, sir." 
 
 "The best of men can do no more, Mr. Peggotty," said 
 Steerforth. He had got his name already. 
 
 " I'll pound it it's wot you do yourself, sir," said Mr. 
 Peggotty, shaking his head, "and wot you do well right 
 well ! I thankee, sir. I'm obleeged to you, sir, for your 
 welcoming manner of me. I'm rough, sir, but I'm ready 
 least ways, I hope I'm ready, you understand. My house ain't 
 much for to see, sir, but it's hearty at your service, if ever 
 you should come along with Mas'r Davy to see it. I'm a 
 reg'lar Dodman, I am," said Mr. Peggotty, by which he meant 
 
 VOL. 1 8 
 
114 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 snail, and this was in allusion to his being slow to go, for he 
 had attempted to go after every sentence, and had somehow or 
 other come back again; "but I wish you both well, and I 
 wish you happy ! " 
 
 Ham echoed this sentiment, and we parted with them in 
 the heartiest manner. I was almost tempted that evening to 
 tell Steerforth about pretty little Em'ly, but I was too timid 
 of mentioning her name, and too much afraid of his laughing 
 at me. I remember that I thought a good deal, and in an 
 uneasy sort of way, about Mr. Peggotty having said that she 
 was getting on to be a woman; but I decided that was non- 
 sense. 
 
 We transported the shell-fish, or the "relish" as Mr. Peg- 
 gotty had modestly called it, up into our room unobserved, 
 and made a great supper that evening. But Traddles couldn't 
 get happily out of it. He was too unfortunate even to come 
 through a supper like anybody else. He was taken ill in the 
 night quite prostrate he was in consequence of Crab ; and 
 after being drugged with black draughts and blue pills, to an 
 extent which Demple (whose father was a doctor) said was 
 enough to undermine a horse's constitution, received a caning 
 and six chapters of Greek Testament for refusing to confess. 
 
 The rest of the half-year is a jumble in my recollection of 
 the daily strife and struggle of our lives ; of the waning sum- 
 mer and the changing season; of the frosty mornings when 
 we were rung out of bed, and the cold, cold smell of the dark 
 nights when we were rung into bed again ; of the evening 
 schoolroom dimly lighted and indifferently warmed, and the 
 morning schoolroom which was nothing but a great shivering 
 machine; of the alternation of boiled beef with roast beef, 
 and boiled mutton with roast mutton ; of clods of bread-and- 
 butter, dog's-eared lesson-books, cracked slates, tear-blotted 
 copy-books, canings, rulerings, hair-cuttings, rainy Sundays, 
 suet-puddings, and a dirty atmosphere of ink surrounding all. 
 
 I well remember though how the distant idea of the 
 holidays, after seeming for an immense time to be a stationary 
 speck, began to come towards us, and to grow and grow. How 
 from counting months, we came to weeks, and then to days : 
 and how I then began to be afraid that I should not be sent 
 
OF DAVID' COPPEEFIELD. 115 
 
 for, and when I learnt from Steerforth that I had been sent 
 for and was certainly to go home, had dim forebodings that I 
 might break my leg first. How the breaking-up day changed 
 its place fast, at last, from the week after next to next week, 
 this week, the day after to-morrow, to-morrow, to-day, to-night 
 when I was inside the Yarmouth mail, and going home. 
 
 I had many a broken sleep inside the Yarmouth mail, and 
 many an incoherent dream of all these things. But when I 
 awoke at intervals, the ground outside the window was not 
 the playground of Salem House, and the sound in my ears 
 was not the sound of Mr. Creakle giving it to Traddles, but 
 the sound of the coachman touching up the horses. 
 
116 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 MY HOLIDAYS. ESPECIALLY ONE HAPPY AFTERNOON. 
 
 WHEN we arrived before day at the inn where the mail 
 stopped, which was not the inn where my friend the waiter 
 lived, I was shown up to a nice little bedroom, with DOLPHIN 
 painted on the door. Very cold I was I know, notwithstand- 
 ing the hot tea they had given me before a large fire down 
 stairs ; and very glad I was to turn into the Dolphin's bed, 
 pull the Dolphin's blankets round my head, and go to sleep. 
 
 Mr. Barkis the carrier was to call for me in the morning at 
 nine o'clock. I got up at eight, a little giddy from the shortness 
 of my night's rest, and was ready for him before the appointed 
 time. He received me exactly as if not five minutes had elapsed 
 since we were last together, and I had only been into the hotel 
 to get change for sixpence, or something of that sort. 
 
 As soon as I and my box were in the cart, and the carrier 
 seated, the lazy horse walked away with us all at his accus- 
 tomed pace. 
 
 " You look very well, Mr. Barkis," I said, thinking he would 
 like to know it. 
 
 Mr. Barkis rubbed his cheek with his cuff, and then looked 
 at his cuff as if he expected to find some of the bloom upon 
 it ; but made no other acknowledgment of the compliment. 
 
 <C I gave your message, Mr. Barkis," I said: "I wrote to 
 Peggotty." 
 
 "Ah!" said Mr. Barkis. 
 
 Mr. Barkis seemed gruff, and answered drily. 
 
 " Wasn't it right, Mr. Barkis ? " I asked, after a little hesi- 
 tation. 
 
 " Why no," said Mr. Barkis. 
 
 " Not the message ? " 
 
 " The message was right enough, perhaps," said Mr. Barkis ; 
 " but it come to an end there." 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 117 
 
 Not understanding what he meant, I repeated inquisitively : 
 " Came to an end, Mr. Barkis ? " 
 
 "Nothing come of it," he explained, looking at me side- 
 ways. " No answer." 
 
 " There was an answer expected, was there, Mr. Barkis ? " 
 said I, opening my eyes. For this was a new light to me. 
 
 " When a man says he's willin'," said Mr. Barkis, turning 
 his glance slowly on me again, "it's as much as to say, that 
 man's a wait in' for a answer." 
 
 "Well, Mr. Barkis?" 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Barkis, carrying his eyes back to his horse's 
 ears ; " that man's been awaitin' for a answer ever since." 
 
 " Have you told her so, Mr. Barkis ? " 
 
 "N no," growled Mr. Barkis, reflecting about it. "I 
 ain't got no call to go and tell her so. I never said six words 
 to her myself. I ain't a goin' to tell her so." 
 
 " Would you like me to do it, Mr. Barkis ? " said I, doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 " You might tell her, if you would," said Mr. Barkis, with 
 another slow look at me, "that Barkis was a waitin' for a 
 answer. Says you what name is it ? " 
 
 "Her name?" 
 
 "Ah ! " said Mr. Barkis, with a nod of his head. 
 
 "Peggotty." 
 
 " Chrisen name ? Or nat'ral name ? " said Mr. Barkis. 
 
 "Oh, it's not her Christian name. Her Christian name is 
 Clara." 
 
 " Is it though ! " said Mr. Barkis. 
 
 He seemed to find an immense fund of reflection in this 
 circumstance, and sat pondering and inwardly whistling for 
 some time. 
 
 " Well ! " he resumed, at length. " Says you, ' Peggotty ! 
 Barkis is a waitin' for a answer.' Says she, perhaps, ' Answer 
 to what ? ' Says you, ' To what I told you.' ' What is that ? ' 
 says she. ' Barkis is willin',' says you." 
 
 This extremely artful suggestion, Mr. Barkis accompanied 
 with a nudge of his elbow that gave me quite a stitch in my 
 side. After that, he slouched over his horse in his usual 
 manner ; and made no other reference to the subject except, 
 
118 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 half an hour afterwards, taking a piece of chalk from his 
 pocket, and writing up, inside the tilt of the cart, "Clara 
 Peggotty" apparently as a private memorandum. 
 
 Ah, what a strange feeling it was to be going home when 
 it was not home, and to find that every object I looked at, 
 reminded me of the happy old home, which was like a dream 
 I could never dream again ! The days when my mother and 
 I and Peggotty were all in all to one another, and there was 
 no one to come between us, rose up before me so sorrowfully 
 on the road, that I am not sure I was glad to be there not 
 sure but that I would rather have remained away, and for- 
 gotten it in Steerforth's company. But there I was ; and 
 soon I was at our house, where the bare old elm trees wrung 
 their many hands in the bleak wintry air, and shreds of the 
 old rooks' nests drifted away upon the wind. 
 
 The carrier put my box down at the garden gate, and left 
 me. I walked along the path towards the house, glancing at 
 the windows, and fearing at every step to see Mr. Murdstone 
 or Miss Murdstone lowering out of one of them. No face 
 appeared, however ; and being come to the house, and knowing 
 how to open the door, before dark, without knocking, I went 
 in with a quiet timid step. 
 
 God knows how infantine the memory may have been, that 
 was awakened within me by the sound of my mother's voice 
 in the old parlor, when I set foot in the hall. She was singing 
 in a low tone. I think I must have lain in her arms, and 
 heard her singing so to me when I was but a baby. The strain 
 was new to me, and yet it was so old that it filled my heart 
 brimful ; like a friend come back from a long absence. 
 
 I believed, from the solitary and thoughtful way in which 
 my mother murmured her song, that she was alone. And I 
 went softly into the room. She was sitting by the fire, suck- 
 ling an infant, whose tiny hand she held against her neck. 
 Her eyes were looking down upon its face, and she sat sing- 
 ing to it. I was so far right, that she had no other companion. 
 
 I spoke to her, and she started, and cried out. But seeing 
 me, she called me her dear Davy, her own boy ! and coming 
 half across the room to meet me, kneeled down upon the 
 ground and kissed me, and laid my head down on her bosom 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 119 
 
 near the little creature that was nestling there, and put its 
 hand up to my lips. 
 
 I wish I had died. I wish I had died then, with that feel- 
 ing in my heart ! I should have been more fit for Heaven 
 than I ever have been since. 
 
 "He is your brother," said my mother, fondling me. 
 " Davy, my pretty boy ! My poor child ! " Then she kissed 
 me more and more, and clasped me round the neck. This she 
 was doing when Peggotty came running in, and bounced down 
 on the ground beside us, and went mad about us both for a 
 quarter of an hour. 
 
 It seemed that I had not been expected so soon, the carrier 
 being much before his usual time. It seemed, too, that Mr. 
 and Miss Murdstone had gone out upon a visit in the neighbor- 
 hood, and would not return before night. I had never hoped 
 for this. I had never thought it possible that we three could 
 be together undisturbed, once more ; and I felt, for the time, 
 as if the old days were come back. 
 
 We dined together by the fireside. Peggotty was in attend- 
 ance to wait upon us, but my mother wouldn't let her do it, 
 and made her dine with us. I had my own old plate, with a 
 brown view of a man-of-war in full sail upon it, which Peggotty 
 had hoarded somewhere all the time I had been away, and 
 would not have had broken, she said, for a hundred pounds. I 
 had my own old mug with David on it, and my own old little 
 knife and fork that wouldn't cut. 
 
 While we were at table, I thought it a favorable occasion to 
 tell Peggotty about Mr. Barkis, who, before I had finished 
 what I had to tell her, began to laugh, and throw her apron 
 over her face. 
 
 " Peggotty," said my mother. " What's the matter ? " 
 
 Peggotty only laughed the more, and held her apron tight 
 over her face when my mother tried to pull it away, and sat 
 as if her head were in a bag. 
 
 " What are you doing, you stupid creature ? " said my 
 mother, laughing. 
 
 " Oh, drat the man ! " cried Peggotty. " He wants to marry me." 
 
 " It would be a very good match for you ; wouldn't it ? " 
 said my mother. 
 
120 THE PEE SON AL HISTOET AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 "Oh! I don't know/' said Peggotty. "Don't ask me. I 
 wouldn't have him if he was made of gold. Nor I wouldn't 
 have anybody." 
 
 " Then, why don't you tell him so, you ridiculous thing ? " 
 said my mother. 
 
 " Tell him so," retorted Peggotty, looking out of her apron. 
 " He has never said a word to me about it. He knows better. 
 If he was to make so bold as say a word to me, I should 
 slap his face." 
 
 Her own was as red as ever I saw it, or any other face I 
 think; but she only covered it again, for a few moments at a 
 time, when she was taken with a violent fit of laughter ; and 
 after two or three of those attacks, went on with her dinner. 
 
 I remarked that my mother, though she smiled when Peg- 
 gotty looked at her, became more serious and thoughtful. I 
 had seen at first that she was changed. Her face was very 
 pretty still, but it looked careworn, and too delicate ; and her 
 hand was so thin and white that it seemed to me to be almost 
 transparent. But the change to which I now refer was super- 
 added to this : it was in her manner, which became anxious 
 and fluttered. At last she said, putting out her hand, and lay- 
 ing it affectionately on the hand of her old servant : 
 
 Peggotty dear, you are not going to be married ? r 
 
 " Me, ma'am ? " returned Peggotty, staring. " Lord bless 
 you, no ! " 
 
 " Not just yet ? " said my mother, tenderly. 
 
 " Never ! " cried Peggotty. 
 
 My mother took her hand, and said : 
 
 " Don't leave me, Peggotty. Stay with me. It will not be 
 for long, perhaps. What should I ever do without you ! " 
 
 " Me leave you, my precious ! " cried Peggotty. " Not for 
 all the world and his wife. Why, what's put that in your 
 silly little head ? " for Peggotty had been used of old to talk 
 to my mother sometimes like a child. 
 
 But my mother made no answer, except to thank her, and 
 Peggotty went running on in her own fashion. 
 
 " Me leave you ? I think I see myself. Peggotty go away 
 from you ? I should like to catch her at it ! No, no, no," 
 said Peggotty, shaking her head, and folding her arms ; " not 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 121 
 
 she, my dear. It isn't that there ain't some Cats that would 
 be well enough pleased if she did, but they sha'n't be pleased. 
 They shall be aggravated. I'll stay with you till I'm a cross 
 cranky old woman. And when I'm too deaf, and too lame, 
 and too blind, and too mumbly for want of teeth, to be of any 
 use at all, even to be found fault with, then I shall go to my 
 Davy, and ask him to take me in." 
 
 " And Peggotty," says I, " I shall be glad to see you, and 
 I'll make you as welcome as a queen." 
 
 " Bless your dear heart ! " cried Peggotty. " I know you 
 will!" And she kissed me beforehand, in grateful acknowl- 
 edgment of my hospitality. After that, she covered her head 
 up with her apron again, and had another laugh about Mr. 
 Barkis. After that, she took the baby out of its little cradle, 
 and nursed it. After that, she cleared the dinner-table ; after 
 that, came in with another cap on, and her workbox, and the 
 yard-measure, and the bit of wax candle, all just the same as 
 ever. We sat round the fire, and talked delightfully. I told 
 them what a hard master Mr. Creakle was, and they pitied me 
 very much. I told them what a fine fellow Steerforth was, 
 and what a patron of mine, and Peggotty said she would walk 
 a score of miles to see him. I took the little baby in my arms 
 when it was awake, and nursed it lovingly. When it was 
 asleep again, I crept close to my mother's side, according to 
 my old custom, broken now a long time, and sat with my arms 
 embracing her waist, and my little red cheek on her shoulder, 
 and once more felt her beautiful hair drooping over me like 
 an angel's wing as I used to think, I recollect and was very 
 happy indeed. 
 
 While I sat thus, looking at the fire, and seeing pictures in 
 the red-hot coals, I almost believed that I had never been 
 away ; that Mr. and Miss Murdstone were such pictures, and 
 would vanish when the fire got low; and that there was 
 nothing real in all that I remembered, save my mother, 
 Peggotty, and I. 
 
 Peggotty darned away at a stocking as long as she could 
 see, and then sat with it drawn on her left hand like a glove, 
 and her needle in her right, ready to take another stitch when- 
 ever there was a blaze. I cannot conceive whose stockings 
 
122 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 they can have been that Peggotty was always darning, or 
 where such an unfailing supply of stockings in want of darn- 
 ing can have come from. From my earliest infancy she seems 
 to have been always employed in that class of needlework, and 
 never by any chance in any other. 
 
 " I wonder," said Peggotty, who was sometimes seized with 
 a fit of wondering on some most unexpected topic, " what's 
 become of Davy's great-aunt ? " 
 
 " Lor, Peggotty ! " observed my mother, rousing herself 
 from a reverie, " what nonsense you talk ! " 
 
 " Well, but I really do wonder, ma'am," said Peggotty. 
 
 " What can have put such a person in your head ? " inquired 
 my mother. "Is there nobody else in the world to come 
 there ? " 
 
 "I don't know how it is," said Peggotty, "unless it's on 
 account of being stupid, but my head never can pick and 
 choose its people. They come and they go, and they don't 
 come and they don't go, just as they like. I wonder what's 
 become of her ? " 
 
 "How absurd you are, Peggotty," returned my mother. 
 " One would suppose you wanted a second visit from her." 
 
 "Lord forbid !" cried Peggotty. 
 
 "Well, then, don't talk about such uncomfortable things, 
 there's a good soul," said my mother. " Miss Betsey is shut up 
 in her cottage by the sea, no doubt, and will remain there. At 
 all events, she is not likely ever to trouble us again." 
 
 " No ! " mused Peggotty. " ISTo, that ain't likely at all 
 I wonder, if she was to die, whether she'd leave Davy any- 
 thing ? " 
 
 " Good gracious me, Peggotty," returned my mother, " what 
 a nonsensical woman you are ! when you know that she took 
 offence at the poor dear boy's ever being born at all ! " 
 
 " I suppose she wouldn't be inclined to forgive him now," 
 hinted Peggotty. 
 
 " Why should she be inclined to forgive him now ? " said 
 my mother, rather sharply. 
 
 "Now that he's got a brother, I mean," said Peggotty. 
 
 My mother immediately began to cry, and wondered how 
 Peggotty dared to say such a thing. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 123 
 
 "As if this poor little innocent in its cradle had ever done 
 any harm to you or anybody else, you jealous thing ! " said 
 she. " You had much better go and marry Mr. Barkis, the 
 carrier. Why don't you ? " 
 
 "I should make Miss Murdstone happy, if I was to," said 
 Peggotty. 
 
 " What a bad disposition you have, Peggotty ! " returned 
 my mother. " You are as jealous of Miss Murdstone as it is 
 possible for a ridiculous creature to be. You want to keep 
 the keys yourself, and give out all the things, I suppose ? I 
 shouldn't be surprised if you did. When you know that she 
 only does it out of kindness and the best intentions I You 
 know she does, Peggotty you know it well." 
 
 Peggotty muttered something to the effect of "Bother the 
 best intentions ! " and something else to the effect that there 
 was a little too much of the best intentions going on. 
 
 " I know what you mean, you cross thing," said my mother. 
 " I understand you, Peggotty, perfectly. You know I do, and 
 I wonder you don't color up like fire. But one point at a 
 time. Miss Murdstone is the point now, Peggotty, and , you 
 sha'n't escape from it. Haven't you heard her say, over and 
 
 over again, that she thinks I am too thoughtless and too a 
 a " 
 
 " Pretty," suggested Peggotty. 
 
 " Well," returned my mother, half laughing, " and if she is 
 so silly as to say so, can I be blamed for it ? " 
 
 " No one says you can," said Peggotty. 
 
 " No, I should hope not, indeed ! " returned my mother. 
 " Haven't you heard her say, over and over again, that on this 
 account she wishes to spare me a great deal of trouble, which 
 she thinks I am not suited for, and which I really don't know 
 myself that I am suited for ; and isn't she up early and late, 
 and going to and fro continually and doesn't she do all 
 sorts of things, and grope into all sorts of places, coal-holes 
 and pantries and I don't know where, that can't be very 
 agreeable and do you mean to insinuate that there is not 
 a sort of devotion in that ? " 
 
 " I don't insinuate at all," said Peggotty. 
 
 " You do, Peggotty," returned my mother. " You never do 
 
124 THE PERSONAL HISTORY ASD EXPERIENCE 
 
 anything else, except your work. You are always insinuating. 
 You revel in it. And when you talk of Mr. Murdstone's good 
 intentions " 
 
 " I never talked of 'em," said Peggo.tty. 
 
 "Xo, Peggotty," returned my mother, "but you insinuated. 
 That's what I told you just now. That's the worst of you. 
 You witt insinuate. I said, at the moment, that I understood 
 you, and you see I did. When you talk of Mr. Murdstone's 
 good intentions, and pretend to slight them (for I don ? t be- 
 lieve you really do, in your heart, Peggotty), you must be as 
 well convinced as I am how good they are, and how they ac- 
 tuate him in everything. If he seems to have been at all 
 stern with a certain person, Peggotty you understand, and 
 so I am sure does Davy, that I am not alluding to anybody 
 present it is solely because he is satisfied that it is for a 
 certain person's benefit. He naturally loves a certain person, 
 on my account; and acts solely for a certain person's good. 
 He is better able to judge of it than I am ; for I very well 
 know that I am a weak, light, girlish creature, and that 
 he is a firm, grave, serious man. And he takes," said my 
 mother, with the tears which were engendered in her affec- 
 tionate nature, stealing down her face, " he takes great pains 
 with me ; and I ought to be very thankful to him, and very 
 submissive to him even in my thoughts ; and when I am not, 
 Peggotty, I worry and condemn myself, and feel doubtful of 
 my own heart, and don't know what to do." 
 
 Peggotty sat with her chin on the foot of the stocking, look- 
 ing silently at the fire. 
 
 "There, Peggotty," said my mother, changing her tone, 
 " don't let us fall out with one another, for I couldn't bear it. 
 You are my true friend, I know, if I have any in the world. 
 When I call you a ridiculous creature, or a vexatious thing, 
 or anything of that sort, Peggotty, I only mean that you are 
 my true friend, and always have been, ever since the night 
 when Mr. Copperfield first brought me home here, and you 
 came out to the gate to meet me." 
 
 Peggotty was not slow to respond, and ratify the treaty of 
 friendship by giving me one of her best hugs. I think I had 
 some glimpses of the real character of this conversation at the 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 125 
 
 time ; but I am sure, new, that the good creature originated 
 it ; and took her part in it, merely that my mother might 
 comfort herself with the little contradictory summary in 
 which she had indulged. The design was efficacious ; for I 
 remember that my mother seemed more at ease during the 
 rest of the evening, and that Peggotty observed her less. 
 
 When we had had our tea, and the ashes were thrown up, 
 and the candles snuffed, I read Peggotty a chapter out of the 
 Crocodile Book, in remembrance of old times she took it 
 out of her pocket: I don't know whether she had kept it 
 there ever since and then we talked about Salem House, 
 which brought me round again to Steerforth, who was my 
 great subject. We were very happy ; and that evening, as the 
 last of its race, and destined evermore to close that volume of 
 my life, will never pass out of my memory. 
 
 It was almost ten o'clock before we heard the sound of 
 wheels. We all got up then ; and my mother said hurriedly 
 that, as it was so late, and Mr. and Miss Murdstone approved 
 of early hours for young people, perhaps I had better go to 
 bed. I kissed her, and went up stairs with my candle, directly, 
 before they came in. It appeared to my childish fancy, as I 
 ascended to the bedroom where I had been imprisoned, that 
 they brought a cold blast of air into the house which blew 
 away the old familiar feeling like a feather. 
 
 I felt uncomfortable about going down to breakfast in the 
 morning, as I had never set eyes on Mr. Murdstone since the 
 day when I committed my memorable offence. However, as 
 it must be done, I went down, after two or three false starts 
 half-way, and as many runs back on tiptoe to my own room, 
 and presented myself in the parlor. 
 
 He was standing before the fire with his back to it, while 
 Miss Murdstone made the tea. He looked at me steadily as I 
 entered, but made no sign of recognition whatever. 
 
 I went up to him, after a moment of confusion, and said : 
 " I beg your pardon, sir. I am very sorry for what I did, and 
 I hope you will forgive me." 
 
 " I am glad to hear you are sorry, David," he replied. 
 
 The hand he gave me was the hand I had bitten. I could 
 not restrain my eye from resting for an instant on a red spot 
 
126 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 upon it ; but it was uot so red as I turned, when I met that 
 sinister expression in his face. 
 
 " How do you do, ma'am," I said to Miss Murdstone. 
 
 " Ah, dear me ! " sighed Miss Murdstone, giving me the tea- 
 caddy scoop instead of her fingers. " How long are the holi- 
 days ? " 
 
 "A month, ma'am." 
 
 " Counting from when ? " 
 
 " From to-day, ma'am." 
 
 "Oh ! " said Miss Murdstone. "Then here's one day off." 
 
 She kept a calendar of the holidays in this way, and every 
 morning checked a day off in exactly the same manner. She 
 did it gloomily until she came to ten, but when she got into 
 two figures she become more hopeful, and, as the time ad- 
 vanced, even jocular. 
 
 It was on this very first day that I had the misfortune to 
 throw her, though she was not subject to such weakness in 
 general, into a state of violent consternation. I came into 
 the room where she and my mother were sitting ; and the baby 
 (who was only a few weeks old) being on my mother's lap, I 
 took it very carefully in my arms. Suddenly Miss Murd- 
 stone gave such a scream that I all but dropped it. 
 
 " My dear Jane ! " cried my mother. 
 
 " Good heavens, Clara, do you see ? " exclaimed Miss 
 Murdstone. 
 
 " See what, my dear Jane ? " said my mother ; " where ? " 
 
 " He's got it ! " cried Miss Murdstone. " The boy has got 
 the baby ! " 
 
 She was limp with horror ; but stiffened herself to make a 
 dart at me, and take it out of my arms. Then, she turned 
 faint ; and was so very ill, that they were obliged to give her 
 cherry-brandy. I was solemnly interdicted by her, on her 
 recovery, from touching my brother any more on any pretence 
 whatever; and my poor mother, who, I could see, wished 
 otherwise, meekly confirmed the interdict by saying : " No 
 doubt you are right, my dear Jane." 
 
 On another occasion, when we three were together, this 
 same dear baby it was truly dear to me, for our mother's 
 sake was the innocent occasion of Miss Murdstone's going 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 127 
 
 into a passion. My mother, who had been looking at its eyes 
 as it lay u-poii her lap, said : 
 
 " Davy ! come here ! " and looked at mine. 
 
 I saw Miss Murdstone lay her beads down. 
 
 " I declare," said my mother, gently, " they are exactly alike. 
 I suppose they are mine. I think they are the color of mine. 
 But they are wonderfully alike." 
 
 " What are you talking about, Clara ? " said Miss Murd- 
 stone. 
 
 "My dear Jane," faltered rny mother, a little abashed by 
 the harsh tone of this inquiry, " I find that the baby's eyes and 
 Davy's are exactly alike." 
 
 "Clara!" said Miss Murdstone, rising angrily, ''you are a 
 positive fool sometimes." 
 
 " My dear Jane," remonstrated my mother. 
 
 "A positive fool," said Miss Murdstone. "Who else could 
 compare my brother's baby with your boy ? They are not at 
 all alike. They are exactly unlike. They are utterly dis- 
 similar in all respects. I hope they will ever remain so. I 
 will not sit here and hear such comparisons made." With that 
 she stalked out, and made the door bang after her. 
 
 In short, I was not a favorite with Miss Murdstone. In 
 short, I was not a favorite there with anybody, not even 
 with myself ; for those who did like me could not show it, and 
 those who did not showed it so plainly that I had a sensitive 
 consciousness of always appearing constrained, boorish, and 
 dull. 
 
 I felt that I made them as uncomfortable as they made me. 
 If I came into the room where they were, and they were talk- 
 ing together and my mother seemed cheerful, an anxious cloud 
 would steal over her face from the moment of my entrance. 
 If Mr. Murdstone were in his best humor, I checked him. If 
 Miss Murdstone were in her worst, I intensified it. I had 
 perception enough to know that my mother was the victim 
 always ; that she was afraid to speak to me, or be kind to me, 
 lest she should give them some offence by her manner of doing 
 so, and receive a lecture afterwards ; that she was not only 
 ceaselessly afraid of her own offending, but of my offending, 
 and uneasily watched their looks if I only moved. Therefore 
 
128 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 I resolved to keep myself as much out of their way as I 
 could ; and many a wintry hour did I hear the church-clock 
 strike, when I was sitting in my cheerless bedroom, wrapped 
 in my little great coat, poring over a book. 
 
 In the evening, sometimes, I went and sat with Peggotty in 
 the kitchen. There I was comfortable, and not afraid of 
 being myself. But neither of -these resources was approved 
 of in the parlor. The tormenting humor which was dominant 
 there stopped them both. I was still held to be necessary to 
 jny poor mother's training, and, as one of her trials, could not 
 be suffered to absent myself. 
 
 ' :( David," said Mr. Murdstone, one day after dinner when I 
 wa& going to leave the room as usual; " I am sorry to observe 
 that you are of a sullen disposition." 
 
 " As sulky as a bear ! " said Miss Murdstone. 
 
 I stood still, and hung my head. 
 
 " Now, David," said Mr. Murdstone, " a sullen, obdurate dis- 
 position is, of all tempers, the worst." 
 
 " And the boy's is, of all such dispositions that ever I have 
 seen," remarked his sister, " the most confirmed and stubborn. 
 I think, my dear Clara, even you must observe it ? ' 
 
 " I beg your pardon, my dear Jane," said my mother, " but 
 are you quite sure I am certain you'll excuse me, my dear 
 Jane that you understand Davy ? r 
 
 "I should be somewhat ashamed of myself, Clara," returned 
 Miss Murdstone, " if I could not understand the boy, or any 
 boy. I don't profess to be profound ; but I do lay claim to 
 common sense." 
 
 "No doubt, my dear Jane," returned my mother, "your 
 Understanding is very vigorous " 
 
 " Oh dear, no ! Pray don't say that, Clara,' ; interposed Miss 
 Murdstone, angrily. 
 
 "But I am sure it is," resumed my mother ; " and everybody 
 knows it is. I profit so much by it myself, in many ways - 
 at least I ought to that no one can be more convinced of it 
 than myself ; and therefore I speak with great diffidence, my 
 dear Jane, I assure you." 
 
 "We'll say I don't understand the boy, Clara," returned 
 Miss Murdstone, arranging the little fetters on her wrists. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 129 
 
 "We'll agree, if you please, that I don't understand him at 
 all. He is much too deep for me. But perhaps my brother's 
 penetration may enable him to have some insight into his 
 character. And I believe my brother was speaking on the 
 subject when we not very decently interrupted him." 
 
 " I think, Clara," said Mr. Murdstone, in a low grave voice, 
 " that there may be better and more dispassionate judges of 
 such a question than you." 
 
 " Edward," replied my mother, timidly, " you are a far bet- 
 ter judge of all questions than I pretend to be. Both you and 
 Jane are. I only said " 
 
 "You only said something weak and inconsiderate," he 
 replied. " Try not to do it again, my dear Clara, and keep a 
 watch upon yourself." 
 
 My mother's lips moved, as if she answered " Yes, my dear 
 Edward," but she said nothing aloud. 
 
 "I was sorry, David, I remarked," said Mr. Murdstone, 
 turning his head and his eyes stiffly towards me, "to observe 
 that you are of a sullen disposition. This is not a character 
 that I can suffer to develop itself before my eyes without an 
 effort at improvement. You must endeavor, sir, to change it. 
 We must endeavor to change it for you." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir," I faltered. " I have never meant 
 to be sullen since I came back." 
 
 " Don't take refuge in a lie, sir ! " he returned, so fiercely, 
 that I saw my mother involuntarily put out her trembling 
 hand as if to interpose between us. " You have withdrawn 
 yourself in your sullenness to your own room. You have 
 kept your own room when you ought to have been here. You 
 know now, once for all, that I require you to be here, and 
 not there. Further, that I require you to bring obedience 
 here. You know me, David, I will have it done." 
 
 Miss Murdstone gave a hoarse chuckle. 
 
 "I will have a respectful, prompt, and ready bearing to- 
 wards myself," he continued, " and towards Jane Murdstone, 
 and towards your mother. I will not have this room shunned 
 as if it were infected, at the pleasure of a child. Sit down." 
 
 He ordered me like a dog, and I obeyed like a dog. 
 
 " One thing more," he said. " I observe that you have an 
 
 VOL. 1 9 
 
130 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 attachment to low and common company. You are not to 
 associate with servants. The kitchen will not improve you, 
 in the many respects in which you need improvement. Of the 
 woman who abets you, I say nothing since you, Clara,'' 
 addressing my mother in a lower voice, " from old associations 
 and long established fancies, have a weakness respecting her 
 which is not yet overcome." 
 
 " A most unaccountable delusion it is ! " cried Miss Murd- 
 stone. 
 
 "I only say," he resumed, addressing me, "that I disap- 
 prove of your preferring such company as Mistress Peggotty, 
 and that it is to be abandoned. Now, David, you understand 
 me, and you know what will be the consequence if you fail to 
 obey me to the letter." 
 
 I knew well better perhaps than he thought, as far as my 
 poor mother was concerned and I obeyed him to the letter. 
 I retreated to my own room no more ; I took refuge with Peg- 
 gotty no more ; but sat wearily in the parlor day after day, 
 looking forward to night, and bedtime. 
 
 What irksome constraint I underwent, sitting in the same 
 attitude hours upon hours, afraid to move an arm or a leg lest 
 Miss Murdstone should complain (as she did on the least 
 pretence) of my restlessness, and afraid to move an eye lest it 
 should light on some look of dislike or scrutiny that would 
 find new cause for complaint in mine ! What intolerable 
 dulness to sit listening to the ticking of the clock ; and watch- 
 ing Miss Murdstone's little shiny steel beads as she strung 
 them ; and wondering whether she would ever be married, and 
 if so, to what sort of unhappy man ; and counting the divisions 
 in the moulding on the chimney-piece ; and wandering away, 
 with my eyes, to the ceiling, among the curls and corkscrews 
 in the paper on the wall ! 
 
 What walks I took alone, down muddy lanes, in the bad 
 winter weather, carrying that parlor, and Mr. and Miss Murd- 
 stone in it, everywhere : a monstrous load that I was obliged 
 to bear, a daymare that there was no possibility of breaking 
 in, a weight that brooded on my wiv.s and blunted them ! 
 
 What meals I had in silence an.i embarrassment, always 
 feeling that there were a knife and fork too many, and that 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 131 
 
 mine ; an appetite too many, and that mine ; a plate and chair 
 too many, and those mine ; a somebody too many, and that I ! 
 
 What evenings, when the candles came, and I was expected 
 to employ myself, but not daring to read an entertaining book, 
 pored over some hard-headed, harder-hearted treatise on arith- 
 metic ; when the tables of weights and measures set them- 
 selves to tunes, as Rule Britannia, or Away with Melancholy ; 
 and wouldn't stand still to be learnt, but would go threading 
 my grandmother's needle through my unfortunate head, in at 
 one ear and out at the other ! 
 
 What yawns and dozes I lapsed into, in spite of all my 
 care ; what starts I came out of concealed sleeps with ; what 
 answers I never got, to little observations that I rarely made ; 
 what a blank space I seemed, which everybody overlooked, 
 and yet I was in everybody's way ; what a heavy relief it was 
 to hear Miss Murdstone hail the first stroke of nine at night, 
 and order me to bed ! 
 
 Thus the holidays lagged away, until the morning came 
 when Miss Murdstone said : " Here's the last day off ! " and 
 gave me the closing cup of tea of the vacation. 
 
 I was not sorry to go. I had lapsed into a stupid state ; 
 but I was recovering a little and looking forward to Steer- 
 forth, albeit Mr. Creakle loomed behind him. Again Mr. 
 Barkis appeared at the gate, and again Miss Murdstone in her 
 warning voice, said : " Clara ! " when my mother bent over 
 me, to bid me farewell. 
 
 I kissed her, and my baby brother, and was very sorry then ; 
 but not sorry to go away, for the gulf between us was there, 
 and the parting was there, every day. And it is not so much 
 the embrace she gave me, that lives in my mind, though it was 
 as fervent as could be, as what followed the embrace. 
 
 I was in the carrier's cart when I heard her calling to me. 
 I looked out, and she stood at the garden-gate alone, holding 
 her baby up in her arms for me to see. It was cold still 
 weather ; and not a hair of her head, or a fold of her dress, 
 was stirred, as she looked intently at me, holding up her child. 
 
 So I lost her. So I saw her afterwards, in my sleep at 
 school a silent presence near my bed looking at me with 
 the same intent face holding up her baby in her arms. 
 
o2 THE PERSONAL HISTOBY AXD EXPERIENCE 
 
 I HAVE A MEMORABLE BIRTHDAY. 
 
 I PASS over all that happened at school, until the anniver- 
 sary of my birthday came round in March. Except that 
 Steerforth was more to be admired than ever, I remember 
 nothing. He was going away at the end of the half-year, if 
 not sooner, and was more spirited and independent than before 
 in my eyes, and therefore more engaging than before ; but 
 beyond this I remember nothing. The great remembrance by 
 which that time is marked in my mind, seems to have swal- 
 lowed up all lesser recollections, and to exist alone. 
 
 It is even difficult for me to believe that there was a gap of 
 full two months between my return to Salem House and the 
 arrival of that birthday. I can only understand that the fact 
 was so, because I know it must have been so ; otherwise I 
 should feel convinced that there was no interval, and that the 
 one occasion trod upon the other's heels. 
 
 How well I recollect the kind of day it was ! I smell the 
 fog that hung about the place ; I see the hoar frost, ghostly, 
 through it ; I feel my rimy hair fall clammy on my cheek ; I 
 look along the dim perspective of the schoolroom, with a sput- 
 tering candle here and there to light up the foggy morning, 
 and the breath of the boys wreathing and smoking in the raw 
 cold as they blow upon their fingers, and tap their feet upon 
 the floor. 
 
 It was after breakfast, and we had been summoned in from 
 the playground, when Mr. Sharp entered and said: 
 
 " David Copperfield is to go into the parlor." 
 
 I expected a hamper from Peggotty, and brightened at the 
 order. Some of the boys about me put in their claim not to 
 be forgotten in the distribution of the good things, as I got 
 out of my seat with great alacrity. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 133 
 
 "Don't hurry, David," said Mr. Sharp. "There's time 
 enough, my boy, don't hurry." 
 
 I might have been surprised by the feeling tone in which he 
 spoke, if I had given it a thought ; but I gave it none until 
 afterwards. I hurried away to the parlor ; and there I found 
 Mr. Creakle sitting at his breakfast with the cane and a news- 
 paper before him, and Mrs. Creakle with an opened letter in 
 her hand. But no hamper. 
 
 "David Copperfield," said Mrs. Creakle, leading me to a 
 sofa, and sitting down beside me. " I want to speak to you 
 very particularly. I have something to tell you, my child." 
 
 Mr. Creakle, at whom of course I looked, shook his head 
 without looking at me, and stopped up a sigh with a very 
 large piece of buttered toast. 
 
 " You are too young to know how the world changes every 
 day," said Mrs. Creakle, "and how the people in it pass away. 
 But we all have to learn it, David ; some of us when we are 
 young, some of us when we are old, some of us at all times of 
 our lives." 
 
 I looked at her earnestly. 
 
 " When you came away from home at the end of the vaca- 
 tion," said Mrs. Creakle, after a pause, " were they all well ? " 
 After another pause, " Was ^yonr mamma well ? " 
 
 I trembled without distinctly knowing why, and still looked 
 at her earnestly, making no attempt to answer. 
 
 " Because," said she, " I grieve to tell you that I hear this 
 morning your mamma is very ill." 
 
 A mist arose between Mrs. Creakle and me, and her figure 
 seemed to move in it for an instant. Then I felt the burning 
 tears run down my face, and it was steady again, 
 
 " She is very dangerously ill," she added. 
 
 I knew all now. 
 
 " She is dead." 
 
 There was no need to tell me so. I had already broken out 
 into a desolate cry, and felt an orphan in the wide world. 
 
 She was very kind to me. She kept me there all day, and 
 left me alone sometimes ; and I cried, and wore myself to 
 sleep, and awoke and cried again. When I could cry no more, 
 I began to think ; and then the oppression on my breast was 
 
134 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 heaviest, and my grief a dull pain that there was no ease 
 for. 
 
 And yet my thoughts were idle ; not intent on the calamity 
 that weighed upon my heart, but idly loitering near it. I 
 thought of our house shut up and hushed. I thought of the 
 little baby, who, Mrs. Creakle said, had been pining away for 
 some time, and who, they believed, would die too. I thought 
 of my father's grave in the churchyard, by our house, and of 
 my mother lying there beneath the tree I knew so well. I 
 stood upon a chair when I was left alone, and looked into the 
 glass to see how red my eyes were, and how sorrowful my 
 face was. I considered, after some hours were gone, if my 
 tears were really hard to flow now, as they seemed to be, what, 
 in connection with my loss, it would affect me most to think 
 of when I drew near home for I was going home to the 
 funeral. I am sensible of having felt that a dignity attached 
 to me among the rest of the boys, and that I was important 
 in my affliction. 
 
 If ever child were stricken with sincere grief, I was. But 
 I remember that this importance was a kind of satisfaction to 
 me, when I walked in the playground that afternoon while the 
 boys were in school. When I saw them glancing at me out 
 of the windows, as they went up to their classes, I felt distin- 
 guished, and looked more melancholy, and walked slower. 
 When school was over, and they came out and spoke to me, I 
 felt it rather good in myself not to be proud to any of them, 
 and to take exactly the same notice of them all, as before. 
 
 I was to go home next night ; not by the mail, but by the 
 heavy night-coach, which was called the Farmer, and was 
 principally used by country-people travelling short inter- 
 mediate distances upon the road. We had no story-telling 
 that evening, and Traddles insisted on lending me his pillow. 
 I don't know what good he thought it would do me, for I had 
 one of my own : but it was all he had to lend, poor fellow, 
 except a sheet of letter-paper full of skeletons, and that he 
 gave me at parting, as a soother of my sorrows and a contri- 
 bution to my peace of mind. 
 
 I left Salem House upon the morrow afternoon. I little 
 thought then that I left it never to return. We travelled very 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 135 
 
 slowly all night, and did not get into Yarmouth before nine 
 or ten o'clock in the morning. I looked out for Mr. Barkis, 
 but he was not there ; and instead of him 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, came puffing up to the coach-window, and 
 said : 
 
 " Master Copperfield ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Will you come with me, young sir, if you please," he said, 
 opening the door, " and I shall have the pleasure of taking 
 you home." 
 
 I put my hand in his, wondering who he was, and we 
 walked away to a shop in a narrow street, on which was 
 written OMER, DRAPER, TAILOR, HABERDASHER, FUNERAL 
 FURNISHER, &c. It was a close and stifling little shop ; full of 
 all sorts of clothing, made and unmade, including one window 
 full of beaver-hats and bonnets. We went into a little back- 
 parlor behind the shop, where we found three young women 
 at work on a quantity of black materials, which were heaped 
 upon the table, and little bits and cuttings of which were 
 littered all over the floor. There was a good fire in the room, 
 and a breathless smell of warm black crape I did not know 
 what the smell was then, but I know now. 
 
 The three young women, who appeared to be very indus- 
 trious and comfortable, raised their heads to look at me, and 
 then went on with their work. Stitch, stitch, stitch. At the 
 same time there came from a workshop across a little yard 
 outside the window, a regular sound of hammering that kept 
 a kind of tune : EAT tat-tat, RAT tat-tat, RAT tat-tat, with- 
 out any variation. 
 
 "Well," said my conductor to one of the three young 
 women. " How do you get on, Minnie ? " 
 
 " We shall be ready by the trying-on time," she replied 
 gaily, without looking up. " Don't you be afraid, father." 
 
 Mr. Omer took off his broad-brimmed hat, and sat down and 
 panted. He was so fat that he was obliged to pant some time 
 before he could say : 
 
 "That's right." 
 
136 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " Father ! " said Minnie, playfully. " What a porpoise you 
 do grow ! " 
 
 " Well, I don't know how it is, my dear," he replied, con- 
 sidering about it. " I am rather so." 
 
 " You are such a comfortable man, you see," said Minnie. 
 " You take things so easy." 
 
 "No use taking 'em otherwise, my dear," said Mr. Omer. 
 
 " No, indeed," returned his daughter. " We are all pretty 
 gay here, thank Heaven ! Ain't we, father ? " 
 
 " I hope so, my dear," said Mr. Omer. " As I have got my 
 breath now, I think I'll measure this young scholar. Would 
 you walk into the shop, Master Copperfield ? " 
 
 I preceded Mr. Omer, in compliance with his request ; and 
 after showing me a roll of cloth which he said was extra 
 super, and too good mourning for anything short of parents, 
 he took my various dimensions, and put them down in a book. 
 While he was recording them he called my attention to his 
 stock in trade, and to certain fashions which he said had 
 " just come up," and to certain other fashions which he said 
 had "just gone out." 
 
 " And by that sort of thing we very often lose a little mint 
 of money," said Mr. Omer. " But fashions are like human 
 beings. They come in, nobody knows when, why, or how; 
 and they go out, nobody knows when, why, or how. Every- 
 thing is like life, in my opinion, if you look at it in that point 
 of view." 
 
 I was too sorrowful to discuss the question, which would 
 possibly have been beyond me under any circumstances ; and 
 Mr. Omer took me back into the parlor, breathing with some 
 difficulty on the way. 
 
 He then called down a little breakneck range of steps 
 behind a door: "Bring up that tea and bread-and-butter!" 
 which, after some time, during which I sat looking about me 
 and thinking, and listening to the stitching in the room and 
 the tune that was being hammered across the yard, appeared 
 on a tray, and turned out to be for me. 
 
 " I have been acquainted with you," said Mr. Omer, after 
 watching me for some minutes, during which I had not made 
 much impression on the breakfast, for the black things de- 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 137 
 
 stroyed my appetite, " I have been acquainted with you a long 
 time, my young friend." 
 
 " Have you, sir ? " 
 
 " All your life," said Mr. Omer. " I may say before it. I 
 knew your father before you. He was five foot nine and a 
 half, and he lays in five and twen-ty foot of ground." 
 
 " EAT tat-tat, RAT tat-tat, RAT tat-tat," across the yard. 
 
 " He lays in five and twen-ty foot of ground, if he lays in 
 a fraction," said Mr. Omer, pleasantly. "It was either his 
 request or her direction, I forget which." 
 
 " Do you know how my little brother is, sir ? " I inquired. 
 
 Mr. Omer shook his head. 
 
 "RAT tat-tat, RAT tat-tat, RAT tat-tat." 
 
 " He is in his mother's arms," said he. 
 
 " Oh, poor little fellow ! Is he dead ? " 
 
 " Don't mind it more than you can help," said Mr. Omer. 
 "Yes. The baby's dead." 
 
 My wounds broke out afresh at this intelligence. I left the 
 scarcely tasted breakfast, and went and rested my head on 
 another table in a corner of the little room, which Minnie 
 hastily cleared, lest I should spot the mourning that was lying 
 there with my tears. She was a pretty good-natured girl, 
 and put my hair away from my eyes with a soft kind touch ; 
 but she was very cheerful at having nearly finished her work 
 and being in good time, and was so different from me ! 
 
 Presently the tune left off, and a good-looking young fellow 
 came across the yard into the room. He had a hammer in 
 his hand, and his mouth was full of little nails, which he was 
 obliged to take out before he could speak. 
 
 " Well, Joram ! " said Mr. Omer. " How do you get on ? " 
 
 "All right," said Joram. "Done, sir." 
 
 Minnie colored a little, and the other two girls smiled at 
 one another. 
 
 "What! you were at it by candle-light last night, when I 
 was at the club, then ? Were you ? " said Mr. Omer, shutting 
 up one eye. 
 
 " Yes," said Joram. " As you said we could make a little 
 trip of it, and go over together, if it was done, Minnie and 
 me and you." 
 
138 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 11 Oh ! I thought you were going to leave me out alto- 
 gether," said Mr. Omer, laughing till he coughed. 
 
 " As you was so good as to say that," resumed the young 
 man, " why I turned to with a will, you see. Will you give 
 me your opinion of it ? " 
 
 " I will," said Mr. Omer, rising. " My dear ; " and he 
 stopped and turned to me ; " would you like to see your " 
 
 " No, father," Minnie interposed. 
 
 "I thought it might be agreeable, my dear," said Mr. 
 Omer. " But perhaps you're right." 
 
 I can't say how I knew it was my dear, dear mother's coffin 
 that they went to look at. I had never heard one making ; I 
 had never seen one that I know of : but it came into my mind 
 what the noise was, while it was going on ; and when the 
 young man entered, I am sure I knew what he had been 
 doing. 
 
 The work being now finished, the two girls, whose names 
 I had not heard, brushed the shreds and threads from their 
 dresses, and went into the shop to put that to rights, and wait 
 for customers. Minnie stayed behind to fold up what they 
 had made, and pack it in two baskets. This she did upon her 
 knees, humming a lively little tune the while. Joram, who I 
 had no doubt was her lover, came in and stole a kiss from her 
 while she was busy (he didn't appear to mind me, at all), and 
 said her father was gone for the chaise, and he must make 
 haste and get himself ready. Then he went out again ; and 
 then she put her thimble and scissors in her pocket, and stuck 
 a needle threaded with black thread neatly in the bosom of 
 her gown, and put on her outer clothing smartly, at a little 
 glass behind the door, in which I saw the reflection of her 
 pleased face. 
 
 All this I observed, sitting at the table in the corner with 
 niy head leaning on my hand, and my thoughts running on 
 -rery different things. The chaise soon came round to the 
 front of the shop, and the baskets being put in first, I was 
 put in next, and those three followed. I remember it as a 
 kind of half chaise-cart, half piano-forte van, painted of a 
 sombre color, and drawn by a black horse with a long tail. 
 There was plenty of room for us all. 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 139 
 
 I do not think I have ever experienced so strange a feeling 
 in my life (I am wiser now, perhaps) as that of being with 
 them, remembering how they had been employed, and seeing 
 them enjoy the ride. I was not angry with them; I was 
 more afraid of them, as if I were cast away among creatures 
 with whom I had no community of nature. They were very 
 cheerful. The old man sat in front to drive, and the two 
 young people sat behind him, and whenever he spoke to them 
 leaned forward, the one on one side of his chubby face and 
 the other on the other, and made a great deal of him. They 
 would have talked to me too, but I held back, and moped in 
 my corner ; scared by their love-making and hilarity, though 
 it was far from boisterous, and almost wondering that no 
 judgment came upon them for their hardness of heart. 
 
 So, when they stopped to bait the horse, and ate and drank 
 and enjoyed themselves, I could touch nothing that they 
 touched, but kept my fast unbroken. So, when we reached 
 home, I dropped out of the chaise behind, as quickly as pos- 
 sible, that I might not be in their company before those 
 solemn windows, looking blindly on me like closed eyes once 
 bright. And oh, how little need I had had to think what 
 would move me to tears when I came back seeing the window 
 of my mother's room, and next it that which, in the better 
 time, was mine ! 
 
 I was in Peggotty's arms before I got to the door, and she 
 took me into the house. Her grief burst out when she first 
 saw me ; but she controlled it soon, and spoke in whispers, 
 and walked softly, as if the dead could be disturbed. She 
 had not been in bed, I found, for a long time. She sat up at 
 night still, and watched. As long as her poor dear pretty was 
 above the ground, she said, she would never desert her. 
 
 Mr. Murdstone took no heed of me when I went into the 
 parlor where he was, but sat by the fireside, weeping silently, 
 and pondering in his elbow-chair. Miss Murdstone, who was 
 busy at her writing-desk, which was covered with letters and 
 papers, gave me her cold finger-nails, and asked me, in an 
 iron whisper, if I had been measured for my mourning. 
 
 I said: "Yes." 
 
140 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " And your shirts/' said Miss Murdstone ; " have you 
 brought 'em home ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am. I have brought home all my clothes." 
 
 This was all the consolation that her firmness administered 
 to me. I do not doubt that she had a choice pleasure in 
 exhibiting what she called her self-command, and her firm- 
 ness, and her strength of mind, and her common sense, and 
 the whole diabolical catalogue of her unamiable qualities, on 
 such an occasion. She was particularly proud of her turn for 
 business ; and she showed it now in reducing everything to 
 .pen and ink, and being moved by nothing. All the rest of 
 that day, and from morning to night afterwards, she sat at 
 that desk ; scratching composedly with a hard pen, speaking in 
 the same imperturbable whisper to everybody ; never relaxing 
 a muscle of her face, or softening the tone of her voice, or 
 appearing with an atom of her dress astray. 
 
 Her brother took a book sometimes, but never read it that 
 I saw. He would open it and look at it as if he were read- 
 ing, but would remain for a whole hour without turning the 
 leaf, and then put it down and walk to and fro in the room. 
 I used to sit with folded hands watching him, and counting 
 his footsteps, hour after hour. He very seldom spoke to her, 
 and never to me. He seemed to be the only restless thing 
 except the clocks, in the whole motionless house. 
 
 In these days before the funeral, I saw but little of Peg- 
 gotty, except that, in passing up or down stairs, I always 
 found her close to the room where my mother and her baby 
 lay, and except that she came to me every night, and sat by 
 my bed's head while I went to sleep. A day or two before 
 the burial I think it was a day or two before, but I am con- 
 scious of confusion in my mind about that heavy time, with 
 nothing to mark its progress she took me into the room. I 
 only recollect that underneath some white covering on the bed, 
 with a beautiful cleanliness and freshness all around it, there 
 seemed to me to lie embodied the solemn stillness that was 
 in the house ; and that when she would have turned the cover 
 gently back, I cried : " no ! no ! " and held her hand. 
 
 If the funeral had been yesterday, I could not recollect it 
 better. The very air of the best parlor, when I went in at 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 141 
 
 the door, the bright condition of the fire, the shining of the 
 wine in the decanters, the patterns of the glasses and plates, 
 the faint sweet smell of cake, the odor of Miss Murdstone's 
 dress, and our black clothes. Mr. Chillip is in the room, and 
 comes to speak to me. 
 
 " And how is Master David ? " he says, kindly. 
 
 I cannot tell him very well. I give him my hand, which he 
 holds in his. 
 
 " Dear me ! " says Mr. Chillip, meekly smiling, with some- 
 thing shining in his eye. " Our little friends grow up around 
 us. They grow out of our knowledge, ma'am ? " 
 
 This is to Miss Murdstone, who makes no reply. 
 
 " There is a great improvement here, ma'am ? " says Mr. 
 Chillip. 
 
 Miss Murdstone merely answers with a frown and a formal 
 bend ; Mr. Chillip, discomfited, goes into a corner, keeping me 
 with him, and opens his mouth no more. 
 
 I remark this, because I remark everything that happens, 
 not because I care about myself, or have done since I came 
 home. And now the bell begins to sound, and Mr. Omer and 
 another come to make us ready. As Peggotty was wont to 
 tell me, long ago, the followers of my father to the same grave 
 were made ready in the same room. 
 
 There are Mr. Murdstone, our neighbor Mr. Grayper, Mr. 
 Chillip, and I. When we go out to the door, the Bearers and 
 their load are in the garden ; and they move before us down 
 the path, and past the elms, and through the gate, and into the 
 churchyard, where I have so often heard the birds sing on a 
 summer morning. 
 
 We stand around the grave. The day seems different to 
 me from every other day, and the light not of the same color 
 of a sadder color. Now there is a solemn hush, which we 
 have brought from home with what is resting in the mould ; 
 and while we stand bare-headed, I hear the voice of the clergy- 
 man, sounding remote in the open air, and yet distinct and 
 plain, saying : " I am the Resurrection and the Life, saith the 
 Lord ! " Then I hear sobs ; and, standing apart among the 
 lookers-on, I see that good and faithful servant, whom of all 
 the people upon earth I love the best, and unto whom my 
 
142 THE PERSONAL HISTOET AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 childish heart is certain that the Lord will one day say : 
 "Well done." 
 
 There are many faces that I know, among the little crowd ; 
 faces that I knew in church, when mine was always wondering 
 there ; faces that first saw my mother, when she came to the 
 village in her youthful bloom. I do not mind them I mind 
 nothing but my grief and yet I see and know them all ; and 
 even in the background, far away, see Minnie looking on, and 
 her eye glancing on her sweetheart, who is near me. 
 
 It is over, and the earth is filled in, and we turn to come 
 away. Before us stands our house, so pretty and unchanged, 
 so linked in my mind with the young idea of what is gone, 
 that all my sorrow has been nothing to the sorrow it calls 
 forth. But they take me on ; and Mr. Chillip talks to me ; 
 and when we get home, puts some water to my lips ; and when 
 I ask his leave to go up to my room, dismisses me with the 
 gentleness of a woman. 
 
 All this, I say, is yesterday's event. Events of later date 
 have floated from me to the shore where all forgotten things 
 will reappear, but this stands like a high rock in the ocean. 
 
 I knew that Peggotty would come to me in my room. The 
 Sabbath stillness of the time (the day was so like Sunday ! I 
 have forgotten that) was suited to us both. She sat down by 
 my side upon my little bed ; and holding my hand, and some- 
 times putting it to her lips, and sometimes smoothing it with 
 hers, as she might have comforted my little brother, told me, 
 in her way, all that she had to tell concerning what had 
 happened. 
 
 "She was never well/' said Peggotty, "for a long time. 
 She was uncertain in her mind, and not happy. When her 
 baby was born, I thought at first she would get better, but 
 she was more delicate, and sunk a little every day. She used 
 to like to sit alone before her baby came, and then she cried ; 
 but afterwards she used to sing to it so soft, that I once 
 thought, when I heard her, it was like a voice up in the air, 
 that was rising away. 
 
 " I think she got to be more timid, and more frightened-like, 
 of late ; and that a hard word was like a blow to her. But 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 143 
 
 she was always the same to me. She never changed to her 
 foolish Peggotty, didn't my sweet girl." 
 
 Here Peggotty stopped, and softly beat upon my hand a little 
 while. 
 
 " The last time that I saw her like her own old self, was 
 the night when you came home, my dear. The day you went 
 away, she said to me, 'I never shall see my pretty darling 
 again. Something tells me so, that tells the truth, I know. 7 
 
 " She tried to hold up after that ; and many a time, when 
 they told her she was thoughtless ' and light-hearted, made 
 believe to be so; but it was all a bygone then. She never 
 told her husband what she had told me she was afraid of 
 saying it to anybody else till one night, a little more than a 
 week before it happened, when she said to him : ' My dear, I 
 think I am dying/ 
 
 "'It's off my mind now, Peggotty,' she told me, when I 
 laid her in her bed that night. ' He will believe it more and 
 more, poor fellow, every day for a few days to come ; and then 
 it will be past. I am very tired. If this is sleep, sit by me 
 while I sleep : don't leave me. God bless both my children ! 
 God protect and keep my fatherless boy ! ' 
 
 " I never left her afterwards," said Peggotty. " She often 
 talked to them two down stairs for she loved them ; she 
 couldn't bear not to love any one who was about her but 
 when they went away from her bedside, she always turned to 
 me, as if there was rest where Peggotty was, and never fell 
 asleep in any other way. 
 
 " On the last night, in the evening, she kissed me. and said : 
 ' If my baby should die too, Peggotty, please let them lay him 
 in my arms, and bury us together.' (It was done ; for the 
 poor lamb lived but a day beyond her.) ' Let my dearest boy 
 go with us to our resting-place,' she said, ' and tell him that 
 his mother, when she lay here, blessed him, not once, but a 
 thousand times.' ' 
 
 Another silence followed this, and another gentle beating on 
 my hand. 
 
 " It was pretty far in the night," said Peggotty, " when she 
 asked me for some drink ; and when she had taken it, gave me 
 such a patient smile, the dear ! so beautiful ! 
 
144 THE PERSONAL HISTOEY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " Daybreak had come, and the sun was rising, when she said 
 to me, how kind and considerate Mr. Copperfield had always 
 been to her, and how he had borne with her, and had told her, 
 when she doubted herself, that a loving heart was better and 
 stronger than wisdom, and that he was a happy man in hers. 
 ' Peggotty, my dear/ she said then, ' put me nearer to you/ for 
 she was very weak. ( Lay your good arm underneath my neck/ 
 she said, 'and turn me to you, for your face is going far off, 
 and I want it to be near.' I put it as she asked ; and oh Davy ! 
 the time had come when my first parting words to you were 
 true when she was glad to lay her poor head on her stupid 
 cross old Peggotty's arm and she died like a child that had 
 gone to sleep ! " 
 
 Thus ended Peggotty's narration. From the moment of my 
 knowing of the death of my mother, the idea of her as she 
 had been of late had vanished from me. I remembered her, 
 from that instant, only as the young mother of my earliest 
 impressions, who had been used to wind her bright curls round 
 and round her finger, and to dance with me at twilight in the 
 parlor. What Peggotty had told me now, was so far from 
 bringing me back to the later period, that it rooted the earlier 
 image in my mind. It may be curious, but it is true. In her 
 death she winged her way back to her calm untroubled youth, 
 and cancelled all the rest. 
 
 The mother who lay in the grave, was the mother of my 
 infancy ; the little creature in her arms, was myself, as I had 
 once been, hushed for ever on her bosom. 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 145 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 I BECOME NEGLECTED, AND AM PROVIDED FOE. 
 
 THE first act of business Miss Murdstone performed when 
 the day of the solemnity was over, and light was freely 
 admitted into the house, was to give Peggotty a mouth's 
 warning. Much as Peggotty would have disliked such a 
 service, I believe she would have retained it, for my sake, in 
 preference to the best upon earth. She told me we must part, 
 and told me why ; and we condoled with one another, in all 
 sincerity. 
 
 As to me or my future, not a word was said, or a step 
 taken. Happy they would have been, I dare say, if they 
 could have dismissed me at a month's warning too. I mus- 
 tered courage once, to ask Miss Murdstone when I was going 
 back to school ; and she answered, drily, she believed I was 
 not going back at all. I was told nothing more. I was very 
 anxious to know what was going to be done with me, and so 
 was Peggotty ; but neither she nor I could pick up any infor- 
 mation on the subject. 
 
 There was one change in my condition, which, while it 
 relieved me of a great deal of present uneasiness, might have 
 made me, if I had been capable of considering it closely, yet 
 more uncomfortable about the future. It was this. The con- 
 straint that had been put upon me, was quite abandoned. I 
 was so far from being required to keep my dull post in the 
 parlor, that on several occasions, when I took my seat there, 
 Miss Murdstone frowned to me to go away. I was so far from 
 being warned off from Peggotty's society, that, provided I was 
 not in Mr. Murdstone's, I was never sought out or inquired 
 for. At first I was in daily dread of his taking my education 
 in hand again, or of Miss Murdstone's devoting herself to it ; 
 but I soon began to think that such fears were groundless, and 
 that all I had to anticipate was neglect. 
 
 TOL. I 10 
 
146 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 I do not conceive that this discovery gave me much pain 
 then. I was still giddy with the shock of my mother's death. 
 and in a kind of stunned state as to all tributary things. I 
 can recollect, indeed, to have speculated, at odd times, on the 
 possibility of my not being taught any more, or cared for any 
 more ; and growing up to be a shabby moody man, lounging 
 an idle life away, about the village ; as well as on the feasi- 
 bility of my getting rid of this picture by going away some- 
 where, like the hero in a story, to seek my fortune : but these 
 were transient visions, day dreams I sat looking at sometimes, 
 as if they were faintly painted or written on the wall of my 
 room, and which, as they melted away, left the wall blank again. 
 
 "Peggotty," I said in a thoughtful whisper, one evening, 
 when I was warming my hands at the kitchen fire, " Mr. Murd- 
 stone likes me less than he used to. He never liked me much, 
 Peggotty ; but he would rather not even see me now, if he can 
 help it." 
 
 " Perhaps it's his sorrow," said Peggotty, stroking my hair. 
 
 " I am sure, Peggotty, I am sorry too. If I believed it was 
 his sorrow, I should not think of it at all. But it's not that; 
 oh, no, it's not that." 
 
 " How do you know it's not that ? " said Peggotty, after a 
 silence. 
 
 " Oh, his sorrow is another and quite a different thing. He 
 is sorry at this moment, sitting by the fireside with Miss Murd- 
 stone ; but if I was to go in, Peggotty, he would be something 
 besides." 
 
 " What would he be ? " said Peggotty. 
 
 "Angry," I answered, with an involuntary imitation of his 
 dark frown. " If he was only sorry, he wouldn't look at me 
 as he does. Jam only sorry, and it makes me feel kinder." 
 
 Peggotty said nothing for a little while ; and I warmed my 
 hands as silent as she. 
 
 " Davy," she said at length. 
 
 " Yes, Peggotty ? " 
 
 " I have tried, my dear, all ways I could think of all the 
 ways there are, and all the ways there ain't, in short to get 
 a suitable service here, in Blunderstone ; but there's no such 
 a thing, iny love." 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 147 
 
 " And what do you mean to do, Peggotty ? " said I, wistfully. 
 " Do you mean to go and seek your fortune ? " 
 
 "I expect I shall be forced to go to Yarmouth," replied 
 Peggotty, " and live there." 
 
 "You might have gone farther off," I said, brightening a 
 little, " and been as bad as lost. I shall see you sometimes, 
 my dear old Peggotty, there. You won't be quite at the other 
 end of the world, will you ? '' 
 
 " Contrairy-ways, please God!" cried Peggotty, with great 
 animation. "As long as you are here, my pet, I shall come 
 over every week of my life to see you. One day every week 
 of my life ! " 
 
 I felt a great weight taken off my mind by this promise ; 
 but even this was not all, for Peggotty went on to say : 
 
 " I'm a going, Davy, you see, to my brother's first, for an- 
 other fortnight's visit just till I have had time to look about 
 me, and get to be something like myself again. Now, I have 
 been thinking, that perhaps, as they don't want you here at 
 present, you might be let to go along with me." 
 
 If anything short of being in a different relation to every 
 one about me, Peggotty excepted, could have given me a sense 
 of pleasure at that time, it would have been this project of all 
 others. The idea of being again surrounded by those honest 
 faces, shining welcome on me ; of renewing the peacefulness 
 of the sweet Sunday morning, when the bells were ringing, 
 the stones dropping in the water, and the shadowy ships break- 
 ing through the mist ; of roaming up and down with little 
 Em'ly, telling her my troubles, and finding charms against 
 them in the shells and pebbles on the beach ; made a calm in 
 my heart. It was ruffled next moment, to be sure, by a doubt 
 of Miss Murdstone's giving her consent ; but even that was 
 set at rest soon, for she came out to take an evening grope in 
 the store-closet while we were yet in conversation, and Peg- 
 gotty, with a boldness that amazed me, broached the topic on 
 the spot. 
 
 " The boy will be idle there," said Miss Murdstone, looking 
 into a pickle-jar, "and idleness is the root of all evil. But, to 
 be sure, he would be idle here or anywhere, in my opinion." 
 
148 THE PEE SON AL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 Peggotty had an angry answer ready, I could see ; but she 
 swallowed it for my sake, and remained silent. 
 
 " Humph ! " said Miss Murdstone, still keeping her eye on 
 the pickles ; " it is of more importance than anything else it 
 is of paramount importance that my brother should not be 
 disturbed or made uncomfortable. I suppose I had better say 
 yes." 
 
 I thanked her, without making any demonstration of joy, 
 lest it should induce her to withdraw her assent. Nor could I 
 help thinking this a prudent course, when she looked at me 
 out of the pickle-jar with as great an access of sourness as if 
 her black eyes had absorbed its contents. However the per- 
 mission was given, and was never retracted ; for when the 
 month was out, Peggotty and I were ready to depart. 
 
 Mr. Barkis came into the house for Peggotty 's boxes. I had 
 never known him to pass the garden-gate before, but on this 
 occasion he came into the house. And he gave me a look as 
 he shouldered the largest box and went out, which I thought 
 had meaning in it, if meaning could ever be said to find its way 
 into Mr. Barkis's visage. 
 
 Peggotty was naturally, in low spirits at leaving what had 
 been her home so many years, and where the two strong attach- 
 ments of her life for my mother and myself had been 
 formed. She had been walking in the churchyard, too, very 
 early ; and she got into the cart, and sat in it with her hand- 
 kerchief at her eyes. 
 
 So long as she remained in this condition, Mr. Barkis gave 
 no sign of life whatever. He sat in his usual place and atti- 
 tude, like a great stuffed figure. But when she began to look 
 about her, and to speak to me, he nodded his head and grinned 
 several times. I have not the least notion at whom, or what 
 he meant by it. 
 
 " It's a beautiful day, Mr. Barkis ! " I said, as an act of 
 politeness. 
 
 " It ain't bad," said Mr. Barkis, who generally qualified his 
 speech, and rarely committed himself. 
 
 "Peggotty is quite comfortable now, Mr. Barkis," I remarked, 
 for his satisfaction. 
 
 " Is she, though ! " said Mr. Barkis. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIEZD. 149 
 
 After reflecting about it, with a sagacious air, Mr. Barkis 
 eyed her, and said : 
 
 " Are you pretty comfortable ? " 
 
 Peggotty laughed, and answered in the affirmative. 
 
 " But really and truly, you know. Are you ? " growled Mr. 
 Barkis, sliding nearer to her on the seat, and nudging her 
 with his elbow. " Are you ? Eeally and truly pretty com- 
 fortable ? Are you ? Eh ? " At each of these inquiries Mr. 
 Barkis shuffled nearer to her, and gave her another nudge ; so 
 that at last we were all crowded together in the left-hand 
 corner of the cart, and I was so squeezed that I could hardly 
 bear it. 
 
 Peggotty calling his attention to my sufferings, Mr. Barkis 
 gave me a little more room at once, and got away by degrees. 
 But I could not help observing that he seemed to think he had 
 hit upon a wonderful expedient for expressing himself in a 
 neat, agreeable, and pointed manner, without the inconven- 
 ience of inventing conversation. He manifestly chuckled 
 over it for some time. By and by he turned to Peggotty again, 
 and repeating, "Are you pretty comfortable, though?" bore 
 down upon us as before, until the breath was nearly wedged 
 out of my body. By and by he made another descent upon us 
 with the same inquiry, and the same result. At length, I got 
 up whenever I saw him coming, and, standing on the foot- 
 board, pretended to look at the prospect ; after which I did 
 very well. 
 
 He was so polite as to stop at a public-house, expressly on 
 our account, and entertain us with broiled mutton and beer. 
 Even when Peggotty was in the act of drinking, he was seized 
 with one of those approaches, and almost choked her. But as 
 we drew nearer to the end of our journey, he had more to do 
 and less time for gallantry ; and when we got on Yarmouth 
 pavement, we were all too much shaken and jolted, I appre- 
 hend, to have any leisure for anything else. 
 
 Mr. Peggotty and Ham waited for us at the old place. 
 They received me and Peggotty in an affectionate manner, and 
 shook hands with Mr. Barkis, who, with his hat on the very 
 back of his head, and a shame-faced leer upon his countenance, 
 and pervading his very legs, presented but a vacant appear- 
 
150 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 ance, I thought. They each took one of Peggotty's trunks, 
 and we were going away, when Mr. Barkis solemnly made a 
 sign to me with his forefinger to come under an archway. 
 
 "I say," growled Mr. Barkis, "it was all right." 
 
 I looked up into his face, and answered, with an attempt to 
 be very profound : " Oh ! " 
 
 " It didn't come to a end there," said Mr. Barkis, nodding 
 confidentially. " It was all right." 
 
 Again I answered " Oh ! " 
 
 "You know who was willin'," said my friend. "It was 
 Barkis, and Barkis only." 
 
 I nodded assent. 
 
 " It's all right," said Mr. Barkis, shaking hands ; " I'm a 
 friend of your'n. You made it all right, first. It's all right." 
 
 In his attempts to .be particularly lucid, Mr. Barkis was so 
 extremely mysterious, that I might have stood looking in his 
 face for an hour, and most assuredly should have got as much 
 information out of it as out of the face of a clock that had 
 stopped, but for Peggotty's calling me away. As we were 
 going along, she asked me what he had said ; and I told her 
 he had said it was all right. 
 
 "Like his impudence," said Peggotty, "but I don't mind 
 that ! Davy dear, what should you think if I was to think 
 of being married ! " 
 
 " Why I suppose you would like me as much then, 
 Peggotty, as you do now ? " I returned, after a little con- 
 sideration. 
 
 Greatly to the astonishment of the passengers in the street, 
 as well as of her relations going on before, the good soul was 
 obliged to stop and embrace me on the spot, with many 
 protestations of her unalterable love. 
 
 " Tell me what should you say, darling ? " she asked again, 
 when this was over, and we were walking on. 
 
 "If you were thinking of being married to Mr. Barkis, 
 Peggotty ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Peggotty. 
 
 " I should think it would be a very good thing. For then 
 you know, Peggotty, you would always have the horse and 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 151 
 
 cart to bring you over to see ine, and could come for nothing, 
 and be sure of coming." 
 
 " The sense of the dear ! " cried Peggotty. " What I have 
 been thinking of this month back ! Yes, my precious ; and I 
 think I should be more independent altogether, you see ; let 
 alone my working with a better heart in my own house, than 
 I could in anybody else's now. I don't know what I might 
 be fit for, now, as a servant to a stranger. And I shall be 
 always near my pretty's resting-place," said Peggotty, musing, 
 " and be able to see it when I like ; and when 1 lie down to 
 rest, I may be laid not far off from rny darling girl ! " 
 
 We neither of us said anything for a little while. 
 
 " But I wouldn't so much as give it another thought," said 
 Peggotty, cheerily, " if my Davy was anyways against it 
 ot if I had been asked in church thirty times three times 
 over, and was wearing out the ring in my pocket." 
 
 " Look at me, Peggotty," I replied ; " and see if I am not 
 really glad, and don't truly wish it ! " As indeed I did, with 
 all my heart. 
 
 "Well, my life," said Peggotty, giving me a squeeze, "I 
 have thought of it night and day, every way I can, and I hope 
 the right way; but I'll think of it again, and speak to my 
 brother about it, and in the meantime we'll keep it to our- 
 selves, Davy, you and me. Barkis is a good plain creetur'," 
 said Peggotty, " and if I tried to do my duty by him, I think 
 it would be my fault if I wasn't if I wasn't pretty com- 
 fortable," said Peggotty, laughing heartily. 
 
 This quotation from Mr. Barkis was so appropriate, and 
 tickled us both so much, that we laughed again and again, and 
 were quite in a pleasant humor when we came in view of Mr. 
 Peggotty's cottage. 
 
 It looked just the same, except that it may, perhaps, have 
 shrunk a little in my eyes ; and Mrs. Gummidge was waiting 
 at the door as if she had stood there ever since. All within 
 was the same, down to the seaweed in the blue mug in my 
 bedroom. I went into the outhouse to look about me ; and 
 the very same lobsters, crabs, and crawfish possessed by the 
 same desire to pinch the world in general, appeared to be in 
 the same state of conglomeration in the same old corner. 
 
152 THE PEE 80^ AL HISTORY AXD EXPERIENCE 
 
 But there was no little Em'ly to be seen, so I asked Mr. 
 Peggotty where she was. 
 
 " She's at school, sir," said Mr. Peggotty, wiping the heat 
 consequent on the porterage of Peggotty s box from his fore- 
 head ; "she'll be home," looking at the Dutch clock, " in from 
 twenty minutes to half-an-hour's time. We all on us feel the 
 loss of her, bless ye ! n 
 
 Mrs. Gum midge moaned. 
 
 " Cheer up, mawther ! " cried Mr. Peggotty. 
 
 " I feel it more than anybody else," said Mrs. Gummidge ; 
 " I'm a lone lorn creetur 5 , and she used to be a'most the only 
 think that didn't go contrairy with me." 
 
 Mrs. Gummidge, whimpering and shaking her head, applied 
 herself to blowing the fire. Mr. Peggotty, looking round 
 upon us while she was so engaged, said in a low voice, which 
 he shaded with his hand : " The old 'un ! " From this I 
 rightly conjectured that no improvement had taken place since 
 my last visit in the state of Mrs. Guinmidge's spirits. 
 
 Now, the whole place was, or it should have been, quite as 
 delightful a place as ever ; and yet it did not impress me in 
 the same way. I felt rather disappointed with it. Perhaps 
 it was because little Enrly was not at home. I knew the way 
 by which she would come, and presently found myself strolling 
 along the path to meet her. 
 
 A figure appeared in the distance before long, and I soon 
 knew it to be Em'ly, who was a little creature still in stature. 
 though she was grown. But when she drew nearer, and I 
 saw her blue eyes looking bluer, and her dimpled face looking 
 brighter, and her own self prettier and gayer, a curious feeling 
 came over me that made me pretend not to know her, and pass 
 by as if I were looking at something a long way off. I have 
 done such a thing since in later life, or I am mistaken. 
 
 Little Em'ly didn't care a bit. She saw me well enough ; 
 but instead of turning round and calling after me, ran away 
 laughing. This obliged me to run after her, and she ran so 
 fast that we were very near the cottage before I caught her. 
 
 "Oh, it's you, is it?" said little Em'ly. 
 
 " Why, you knew who it was, Em'ly," said I. 
 
 " And didn't you know who it was ? " said Em'ly. I was 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 153 
 
 going to kiss her, but she covered her cherry lips with her 
 hands, and said she wasn't a baby now, and ran away, laughing 
 more than ever, into the house. 
 
 She seemed to delight in teasing me, which was a change 
 in her I wondered at very much. The tea-table was ready, 
 and our little locker was put out in its old place, but instead 
 of coining to sit by nie, she went and bestowed her company 
 upon that grumbling Mrs. Grummidge : and on Mr. Peggotty's 
 inquiring why, rumpled her hair all over her face to hide it, 
 and would do nothing but laugh. 
 
 " A little puss it is ! " said Mr. Peggotty, patting her with 
 his great hand. 
 
 " So sh' is ! so sh' is ! " cried Ham. " Mas'r Davy bor, so 
 sh' is ! " and he sat and chuckled at her for some time, in a 
 state of mingled admiration and delight, that made his face a 
 burning red. 
 
 Little Em'ly was spoiled by them all, in fact ; and by no 
 one more than Mr. Peggotty himself, whom she could have 
 coaxed into anything by only going and laying her cheek 
 against his rough whisker. That was my opinion, at least, 
 when I saw her do it ; and I held Mr. Peggotty to be thor- 
 oughly in the right. But she was so affectionate and sweet- 
 natured, and had such a pleasant manner of being both sly and 
 shy at once, that she captivated me more than ever. 
 
 She was tender-hearted, too ; for when, as we sat round the 
 fire after tea, an allusion was made by Mr. Peggotty over his 
 pipe to the loss I had sustained, the tears stood in her eyes, 
 and she looked at me so kindly across the lable, that I felt 
 quite thankful to her. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Mr. Peggotty, taking up her curls, and running 
 them over his hand like water, " here's another orphan, you 
 see, sir. And here," said Mr. Peggotty, giving Ham a back- 
 handed knock in the chest, " is another of 'em, though he don't 
 look much like it." 
 
 " If I had you for my guardian, Mr. Peggotty," said I, shak- 
 ing my head, " I don't think I should feel much like it." 
 
 " Well said, Mas'r Davy, bor ! " cried Ham, in an ecstasy. 
 " Hoorah ! Well said ! Nor more you wouldn't ! Hor ! Hor ! " 
 
154 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 Here he returned Mr. Peggotty' s back-hander, and little 
 Em'ly got up and kissed Mr. Peggotty. 
 
 "And how's your friend, sir ? " said Mr. Peggotty to me. 
 
 " Steerforth ? " said I. 
 
 " That's the name ! " cried Mr. Peggotty, turning to Ham. 
 " I knowed it was something in our way." 
 
 " You said it was Rudderf ord," observed Ham, laughing. 
 
 " Well ? " retorted Mr. Peggotty. " And ye steer with a 
 rudder, don't ye ? It ain't fur off. How is he, sir ? " 
 
 "He was very well indeed when I came away, Mr. Peg- 
 gotty." 
 
 " There's a friend ! " said Mr. Peggotty, stretching out his 
 pipe. " There's a friend, if you talk of friends ! Why, Lord 
 love my heart alive, if it ain't a treat to look at him ! " 
 
 " He is very handsome, is he not ? " said I, my heart warm- 
 ing with this praise. 
 
 " Handsome ! " cried Mr. Peggotty. " He stands up to you 
 like like a why I don't know what he don't stand up to 
 you like. He's so bold ! " 
 
 " Yes ! That's just his character," said I. " He's as brave 
 as a lion, and you can't think how frank he is, Mr. Peggotty." 
 
 " And I do suppose, now," said Mr. Peggotty, looking at me 
 through the smoke of his pipe, " that in the way of book-learn- 
 ing he'd take the wind out of a'most anything." 
 
 " Yes," said I, delighted ; " he knows everything. He is 
 astonishingly clever." 
 
 "There's a friend ! " murmured Mr. Peggotty, with a grave 
 toss of his head. 
 
 "Nothing seems to cost him any trouble," said I. "He 
 knows a task if he only looks at it. He is the best cricketer 
 you ever saw. He will give you almost as many men as you 
 like at draughts, and beat you easily." 
 
 Mr. Peggotty gave his head another toss, as much as to 
 say : " Of course he will." 
 
 " He is such a speaker," I pursued, " that he can win any- 
 body over ; and I don't know what you'd say if you were to 
 hear him sing, Mr. Peggotty." 
 
 Mr. Peggotty gave his head another toss, as much as to 
 say : " I have no doubt of it." 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 155 
 
 "Then, he's such a generous, fine, noble fellow," said I, 
 -quite carried away by my favorite theme, "that it's hardly 
 possible to give him as much praise as he deserves. I am 
 sure I can never feel thankful enough for the generosity with 
 which he has protected me, so much younger and lower in the 
 school than himself." 
 
 I was running on, very fast indeed, when my eyes rested 
 on little Ein'ly's face, which was bent forward over the table, 
 listening with the deepest attention, her breath held, her blue 
 eyes sparkling like jewels, and the color mantling in her 
 cheeks. She looked so extraordinarily earnest and pretty, 
 that I stopped in a sort of wonder ; and they all observed her 
 at the same time, for, as I stopped, they laughed and looked 
 at her. 
 
 " Em'ly is like me," said Peggotty, " and would like to see 
 
 him." 
 
 i 
 
 Em'ly was confused by our all observing her, and hung 
 down her head, and her face was covered with blushes. 
 Glancing up presently through her stray curls, and seeing 
 that we were all looking at her still (I am sure I, for one, 
 could have looked at her for hours), she ran away, and kept 
 away till it was nearly bedtime. 
 
 I lay down in the old little bed in the stern of the boat, and 
 the wind came moaning on across the flat as it had done 
 before. But I could not help fancying, now, that it moaned 
 of those who were gone ; and instead of thinking that the 
 sea might rise in the night and float the boat away, I 
 thought of the sea that had risen, since I last heard those 
 sounds, and drowned my happy home. I recollect, as the 
 wind and water began to sound fainter in my ears, putting 
 a short clause into my prayers, petitioning that I might 
 grow up to marry little Em'ly, and so dropping lovingly 
 asleep. 
 
 The days passed pretty much as they had passed before, 
 except it was a great exception that little Em'ly and I 
 seldom wandered on the beach now. She had tasks to learn, 
 and needlework to do ; and was absent during a great part of 
 each day. But I felt that we should not have had these old 
 wanderings, even if it had been otherwise. Wild and full of 
 
156 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 childish whiins as Em'ly was, she was more of a little woman 
 than I had supposed. She seemed to have got a great 
 distance away from me, in little more than a year. She 
 liked me, but she laughed at me, and tormented me ; and 
 when I went to meet her, stole home another way. and was 
 laughing at the door, when I came back, disappointed. 
 The best times were when she sat quietly at work in the 
 doorway, and I sat on the wooden step at her feet, reading 
 to her. It seems to me at this hour, that I have never 
 seen such sunlight as on those bright April afternoons ; 
 that I have never seen such a sunny little figure as I used 
 to see, sitting in the doorway of the old boat; that I have 
 never beheld such sky, such water, such glorified ships 
 sailing away into golden air. 
 
 On the very first evening after our arrival, Mr. Barkis 
 appeared in an exceedingly vacant and awkward condition, 
 and with a bundle of oranges tied up in a handkerchief. 
 As he made no allusion of any kind to this property, he 
 was supposed to have left it behind him by accident when 
 he went away ; until Ham, running after him to restore it, 
 came back with the information that it was intended for 
 Peggotty. After that occasion he appeared every evening at 
 exactly the same hour, and always with a little bundle, to 
 which he never alluded, and which he regularly put behind 
 the door, and left there. These offerings of affection were 
 of a most various and eccentric description. Among them 
 I remember a double set of pigs' trotters, a huge pin-cushion, 
 half a bushel or so of apples, a pair of jet earrings, some 
 Spanish onions, a box of dominoes, a canary bird and cage, 
 and a leg of pickled pork. 
 
 Mr. Barkis's wooing, as I remember it, was altogether of a 
 peculiar kind. He very seldom said anything ; but would sit 
 by the fire in much the same attitude as he sat in his cart, and 
 stare heavily at Peggotty, who was opposite. One night, 
 being, as I suppose, inspired by love, he made a dart at the 
 bit of wax candle she kept for her thread, and put it in his 
 waistcoat-pocket and carried it off. After that, his great 
 delight was to produce it when it was wanted, sticking to the 
 lining of his pocket, in a partially melted state, and pocket it 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 157 
 
 again when it was done with. He seemed to enjoy himself 
 very much, and not to feel a all called upon to talk. Even 
 when he took Peggotty out for a walk on the flats, he had no 
 uneasiness on that head, I believe j contenting himself with 
 now and then asking her if she was pretty comfortable ; and I 
 remember that sometimes, after he was gone, Peggotty would 
 throw her apron over her face, and laugh for half an hour. 
 Indeed, we were all more or less amused, except that miser- 
 able Mrs. Gum midge, whose courtship would appear to have 
 been of an exactly parallel nature, she was so continually 
 reminded by these transactions of the old one. 
 
 At length, when the term of my visit was nearly expired, 
 it was given out that Peggotty and Mr. Barkis were going to 
 make a day's holiday together, and that little Em'ly and I 
 were to accompany them. I had but a broken sleep the night 
 before, in anticipation of the pleasure of a whole day with 
 Em'ly. We were all astir betimes in the morning ; and while 
 we were yet at breakfast, Mr. Barkis appeared in the distance, 
 driving a chaise-cart towards the object of his affections. 
 
 Peggotty was dressed as usual, in her neat and quiet mourn- 
 ing ; but Mr. Barkis bloomed in a new blue coat, of which the 
 tailor had given him such good measure, that the cuffs would 
 have rendered gloves unnecessary in the coldest weather, 
 while the collar was so high that it pushed his hair up on end 
 on the top of his head. His bright buttons, too, were of the 
 largest size. Rendered complete by drab pantaloons and a 
 buff waistcoat, I thought Mr. Barkis a phenomenon of respec- 
 tability. 
 
 When we were all in a bustle outside the door, I found that 
 Mr. Peggotty was prepared with an old shoe, which was to be 
 thrown after us for luck, and which he offered to Mrs. Gum- 
 midge for that purpose. 
 
 " No. It had better be done by somebody else, Dan'l," said 
 Mrs. Gummidge. " I'm a lone lorn creetur' myself, and every- 
 think that reminds me of creeturs that ain't lone and lorn, 
 goes contrairy with me." 
 
 " Come, old gal ! " cried Mr. Peggotty. " Take and heave 
 it!" 
 
 "No, Dan'l," returned Mrs. Gummidge, whimpering and 
 
158 THE PEE SON AL HISTORY AXD EXPERIENCE 
 
 shaking her head. "If I felt Jess, I could do more. You 
 don't feel like ine, Dan'l ; thinks don't go contrairy with you, 
 nor you with them ; you had better do it yourself." 
 
 But here Peggotty, who had been going about from one to 
 another in a hurried way, kissing everybody, called out from 
 the cart, in which we all were by this time (Em'ly and I on 
 two little chairs, side by side), that Mrs. Gummidge must do 
 it. So Mrs. Gummidge did it; and, I am sorry to relate, cast 
 a damp upon the festive character of our departure, by imme- 
 diately bursting into tears, and sinking subdued into the arms 
 of Ham, with the declaration that she knowed she was a 
 burden, and had better be carried to the House at once. 
 Which I really thought was a sensible idea, that Ham might 
 have acted on. 
 
 Away we went, however, on our holiday excursion ; and the 
 first thing we did was to stop at a church, where Mr. Barkis 
 tied the horse to some rails, and went in with Peggotty, 
 leaving little Em'ly and me alone in the chaise. I took that 
 occasion to put my arm round Em'ly's waist, and propose that 
 as I was going away so very soon now, we should determine 
 to be very affectionate to one another, and very happy, all day. 
 Little Em'ly consenting, and allowing me to kiss her, I became 
 desperate ; informing her, I recollect, that I never could love 
 another, and that I was prepared to shed the blood of anybody 
 who should aspire to her affections. 
 
 How merry little Em'ly made herself about it ! With what 
 a demure assumption of being immensely older and wiser than 
 I, the fairy little woman said I was " a silly boy ; " and then 
 laughed so charmingly that I forgot the pain of being called 
 by that disparaging name, in the pleasure of looking at her. 
 
 Mr. Barkis and Peggotty were a good while in the church, 
 but came out at last, and then we drove away into the country. 
 As we were going along, Mr. Barkis turned to me, and said, 
 with a wink, by the by, I should hardly have thought, before, 
 that he could wink : 
 
 " What name was it as I wrote up in the cart ? " 
 
 " Clara Peggotty," I answered. 
 
 " What name would it be as I should write up now, if there 
 was a tilt here ? " 
 
r 
 
DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 159 
 
 " Clara Peggotty, again/' I suggested. 
 
 "Clara Peggotty BARKIS!" he returned, and burst into a 
 roar of laughter that shook the chaise. 
 
 In a word, they were married, and had gone into the church 
 for no other purpose. Peggotty was resolved that it should 
 be quietly done j and the clerk had given her away, and there 
 had been 110 witnesses of the ceremony. She was a little con- 
 fused when Mr. Barkis made this abrupt announcement of their 
 union, and could not hug me enough in token of her unim- 
 paired affection ; but she soon became herself again, and said 
 she was very glad it was over. 
 
 We drove to a little inn in a by road, where we were 
 expected, and where we had a very comfortable dinner, and 
 passed the day with great satisfaction. If Peggotty had been 
 married every day for the last ten years, she could hardly 
 have been more at her ease about it ; it made no sort of 
 difference in her: she was just the same as ever, and went 
 out for a stroll with little Em'ly and me before tea, while 
 Mr. Barkis philosophically smoked his pipe, and enjoyed him- 
 self, I suppose, with the contemplation of his happiness. If 
 so, it sharpened his appetite ; for I distinctly call to mind that, 
 although he had eaten a good deal of pork and greens at 
 dinner, and had finished off with a fowl or two, he was obliged 
 to have cold boiled bacon for tea, and disposed of a large 
 quantity without any emotion. 
 
 I have often thought, since, what an odd, innocent, out-of- 
 the-way kind of wedding it must have been ! We got into 
 the chaise again soon after dark, and drove cosily back, look- 
 ing up at the stars, and talking about them. I was their chief 
 exponent, and opened Mr. Barkis's mind to an amazing extent. 
 I told him all I knew, but he would have believed anything I 
 might have taken it into my head to impart to him ; for he 
 had a profound veneration for my abilities, and informed his 
 wife in my hearing, on that very occasion, that I was " a young 
 Boeshus " by which I think he meant, prodigy. 
 
 When we had exhausted the subject of the stars, or rather 
 when I had exhausted the mental faculties of Mr. Barkis, 
 little Em'ly and I made a cloak of an old wrapper, and sat 
 under it for the rest of the journey. Ah, how I loved her ! 
 
160 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 What happiness (I thought) if we were married, and were 
 going away anywhere to live among the trees and in the 
 fields, never growing older, never growing wiser, children ever, 
 rambling hand in hand through sunshine and among flowery 
 meadows, laying down our heads on moss at night, in a sweet 
 sleep of purity and peace, and buried by the birds when we 
 were dead ! Some such picture, with no real world in it, 
 bright with the light of our innocence, and vague as the stars 
 afar off, was in my mind all the way. I am glad to think 
 there were two such guileless hearts at Peggotty's marriage as 
 little Ern'ly's and mine. I am glad to think the Loves and 
 Graces took such airy forms in its homely procession. 
 
 Well, we came to the old boat again in good time at night ; 
 and there Mr. and Mrs. Barkis bade us good by, and drove 
 away snugly to their own home. I felt then, for the first 
 time, that I had lost Peggotty. I should have gone to bed 
 with a sore heart indeed under any other roof but that which 
 sheltered little Em'ly's head. 
 
 Mr. Peggotty and Ham knew what was in my thoughts as 
 well as I did, and were ready with some supper and their 
 hospitable faces to drive it away. Little Em'ly came and sat 
 beside me on the locker for the only time in all that visit ; 
 and it was altogether a wonderful close to a wonderful day. 
 
 It was a night tide; and soon after we went to bed, Mr. 
 Peggotty and Ham went out to fish. I felt very brave at being 
 left alone in the solitary house, the protector of Em'ly and 
 Mrs. Gummidge, and only wished that a lion or a serpent, or 
 any ill-disposed monster, would make an attack upon us, that 
 I might destroy him, and cover myself with glory. But as 
 nothing of the sort happened to be walking about on Yarmouth 
 flats that night, I provided the best substitute I could by 
 dreaming of dragons until morning. 
 
 With morning came Peggotty ; who called to me, as usual, 
 under my window as if Mr. Barkis the carrier had been from 
 first to last a dream too. After breakfast she took me to her 
 own home, and a beautiful little home it was. Of all the 
 movables in it, I must have been most impressed by a certain 
 old bureau of some dark wood in the parlor (the tile-floored 
 kitchen was the general sitting-room), with a retreating top 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 161 
 
 which opened, let down, and became a desk, within which was 
 a large quarto edition of Fox's Book of Martyrs. This 
 precious volume, of which I do not recollect one word, I 
 immediately discovered and immediately applied myself to; 
 and I never visited the house afterwards, but I kneeled on a 
 chair, opened the casket where this gem was enshrined, spread 
 my arms over the desk, and fell to devouring the book afresh. 
 I was chiefly edified, I am afraid, by the pictures, which were 
 numerous, and represented all kinds of dismal horrors ; but 
 the Martyrs and Peggotty's house have been inseparable in my 
 mind ever since, and are now. 
 
 I took leave of Mr. Peggotty, and Ham, and Mrs. Gum- 
 midge, and little Em'ly, that day j and passed the night at 
 Peggotty's, in a little room in the roof (with the crocodile- 
 book on a shelf by the bed's head), which was to be always 
 mine, Peggotty said, and should always be kept for me in 
 exactly the same state. 
 
 " Young or old, Davy dear, as long as I am alive and have 
 this house over my head," said Peggotty, " you shall find it as 
 if I expected you here directly minute. I shall keep it every 
 day, as I used to keep your old little room, my darling ; and 
 if you was to go to China, you might think of it as being kept 
 just the same, all the time you were away." 
 
 I felt the truth and constancy of my dear old nurse, with all 
 my heart, and thanked her as well as I could. That was not 
 very well, for she spoke to me thus, with her arms round my 
 neck, in the morning, and I was going home in the morning, 
 and I went home in the morning, with herself and Mr. Barkis 
 in the cart. They left me at the gate, not easily or lightly ; 
 and it was a strange sight to me to see the cart go on, taking 
 Peggotty away, and leaving me under the old elm-trees looking 
 at the house in which there was no face to look on mine with 
 love or liking any more. 
 
 And now I fell into a state of neglect, which I cannot look 
 back upon without compassion. I fell at once into a solitary 
 condition, apart from all friendly notice, apart from the 
 society of all other boys of my own age, apart from all com- 
 panionship but my own spiritless thoughts, which seems to 
 cast its gloom upon this paper as I write. 
 
 VOL, I 11 
 
162 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 What would I have given, to have been sent to the hardest 
 school that ever was kept ! to have been taught something, 
 anyhow, anywhere ! No such hope dawned upon me. They 
 disliked me ; and they sullenly, sternly, steadily overlooked 
 me. I think Mr. Murdstone's means were straitened at about 
 this time ; but it is little to the purpose. He could not bear 
 me ; and in putting me from him he tried, as I believe, to put 
 away the notion that I had any claim upon him and suc- 
 ceeded. 
 
 I was not actively ill-used. I was not beaten, or starved ; 
 but the wrong that was done to me had no intervals of relent- 
 ing, and was done in a systematic, passionless manner. Day 
 after day, week after week, month after month, I was coldly 
 neglected. I wonder sometimes, when I think of it, what they 
 would have done if I had been taken with an illness ; whether 
 I should have lain down in my lonely room, and languished 
 through it in my usual solitary way, or whether anybody 
 would have helped me out. 
 
 When Mr. and Miss Murdstone were at home, I took my 
 meals with them ; in their absence, I ate and drank by myself. 
 At all times I lounged about the house and neighborhood 
 quite disregarded, except that they were jealous of my making 
 any friends : thinking, perhaps, that if I did, I might com- 
 plain to some one. For this reason, though Mr. Chillip often 
 asked me to go and see him (he was a widower, having, some 
 years before that, lost a little small light-haired wife, whom I 
 can just remember connecting in my own thoughts with a pale 
 tortoise-shell cat), it was but seldom that I enjoyed the happi- 
 ness of passing an afternoon in his closet of a surgery ; read- 
 ing some book that was new to me, with the smell of the 
 whole pharmacopoeia coming up my nose, or pounding some- 
 thing in a mortar under his mild directions. 
 
 For the same reason, added no doubt to the old dislike of 
 her, I was seldom allowed to visit Peggotty. Faithful to her 
 promise, she either came to see me, or met me somewhere 
 near, once every week, and never empty-handed; but many 
 and bitter were the disappointments I had, in being refused 
 permission to pay a visit to her at her house. Some few 
 times, however, at long intervals, I was allowed to go there; 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 163 
 
 and then I found out that Mr. Barkis was something of a 
 miser, or as Peggotty dutifully expressed it, was "a little 
 near," and kept a heap of money in a box under his bed, 
 which he pretended was only full of coats and trousers. In 
 this coffer, his riches hid themselves with such a tenacious 
 modesty, that the smallest instalments could only be tempted 
 out by artifice ; so that Peggotty had to prepare a long and 
 elaborate scheme, a very Gunpowder Plot, for every Saturday's 
 expenses. 
 
 All this time I was so conscious of the waste of any promise 
 I had given, and of my being utterly neglected, that I should 
 have been perfectly miserable, I have no doubt, but for the 
 old books. They were my only comfort ; and I was as true 
 to them as they were to me, and read them over and over I 
 don't know how many times more. 
 
 I now approach a period of my life, which I can never lose 
 the remembrance of, while I remember anything: and the 
 recollection of which has often, without my invocation, come 
 before me like a ghost, and haunted happier times. 
 
 I had been out one day, loitering somewhere, in the listless, 
 meditative manner that my way of life engendered, when, 
 turning the corner of a lane near our house, I came upon Mr. 
 Murdstone walking with a gentleman. I was confused, and 
 was going by them, when the gentleman cried : 
 
 "What! Brooks!" 
 
 " No, sir, David Copperfield," I said. 
 
 "Don't tell me. You are Brooks," said the gentleman. 
 " You are Brooks of Sheffield. That's your name." 
 
 At these words, I observed the gentleman more attentively. 
 His laugh coming to my remembrance too, I knew him to be 
 Mr. Quinion, whom I had gone over to Lowestoft with Mr. 
 Murdstone to see, before it is no matter I need not recall 
 when. 
 
 "And how do you get on, and where are you being edu- 
 cated, Brooks ? " said Mr. Quinion. 
 
 He had put his hand upon my shoulder, and turned me 
 about, to walk with them. I did not know what to reply, and 
 glanced dubiously at Mr. Murdstone. 
 
 "He is at home at present," said the latter. "He is not 
 
164 THE PEE SOy AL HISTORY Ay I) EXPERIENCE 
 
 being educated anywhere. I doirt know what to do with him. 
 He is a difficult subject." 
 
 That old, double look was on me for a moment ; and then 
 his eye darkened with a frown, as it turned, in its aversion, 
 elsewhere. 
 
 " Humph ! " said Mr. Quinion, looking at us both, I thought. 
 "Fine weather." 
 
 Silence ensued, and I was considering how I could best dis- 
 engage my shoulder from, his hand, and go away, when he 
 said: 
 
 " I suppose you are a pretty sharp fellow still ? Eh, 
 Brooks ? " 
 
 " Ay ! he is sharp enough," said Mr. Murdstone, impatiently. 
 "You had better let him go. He will not thank you for 
 troubling him." 
 
 On this hint, Mr. Quinion released me, and I made the best 
 of my way home. Looking back as I turned into the front 
 garden, I saw Mr. Murdstone leaning against the wicket of the 
 churchyard, and Mr. Quinion talking to him. They were both 
 looking after me, and I felt that they were speaking of me. 
 
 Mr. Quinion lay at our house that night. After breakfast, 
 the next morning, I had put my chair away, and was going out 
 of the room, when Mr. Murdstone called me back. He then 
 gravely repaired to another table, where his sister sat herself 
 at her desk. Mr. Quinion, with his hands in his pockets, stood 
 looking out of window ; and I stood looking at them all. 
 
 "David," said Mr. Murdstone, "to the young this is a 
 world for action ; not for moping and droning in." 
 
 " As you do," added his sister. 
 
 "Jane Murdstone, leave it to me, if you please. I say, 
 David, to the young this is a world for action, and not for 
 moping and droning in. It is especially so for a young-boy of 
 your disposition, which requires a great deal of correcting; 
 and to which no greater service can be done than to force it to 
 conform to the ways of the working world, and to bend it and 
 break it." 
 
 "For stubbornness won't do here," said his sister. "What 
 it wants, is, to be crushed. And crushed it must be. Shall 
 be, too!" 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 165 
 
 He gave her a look, half in remonstrance, half in approval, 
 and went on : 
 
 " I suppose you know, David, that I am not rich. At any 
 rate, you know it now. You have received some considerable 
 education already. Education is costly ; and even if it were 
 not, and I could afford it, I am of opinion that it would not be 
 at all advantageous to you to be kept at a school. What is 
 before you is a fight with the world ; and the sooner you begin 
 it, the better." 
 
 I think it occurred to me that I had already begun it, in my 
 poor way : but it occurs to me now, whether or no. 
 
 " You have heard ' the counting-house ' mentioned some- 
 times," said Mr. Murdstone. 
 
 " The counting-house, sir ? " I repeated. 
 
 " Of Murdstone and Grinby, in the wine trade," he replied. 
 
 I suppose I looked uncertain, for he went on hastily : 
 
 " You have heard the ' counting-house ' mentioned, or the 
 business, or the cellars, or the wharf, or something about it." 
 
 " I think I have heard the business mentioned, sir," I said, 
 remembering what I vaguely knew of his and his sister's 
 resources. " But I don't know when." 
 
 "It does not matter when," he returned. "Mr. Quinion 
 manages that business." 
 
 I glanced at the latter deferentially as he stood looking out 
 of window. 
 
 "Mr. Quinion suggests that it gives employment to some 
 other boys, and that he sees no reason why it shouldn't, on 
 the same terms, give employment to you." 
 
 " He having," Mr. Quinion observed, in a low voice, and half 
 turning round, " no other prospect, Murdstone." 
 
 Mr. ^urdstone, with an impatient, even an angry gesture, 
 resumed, without noticing what he had said : 
 
 "Those terms are, that you will earn enough for yourself 
 to provide for your eating and drinking, and pocket-money. 
 Your lodging (which I have arranged for) will be paid by me. 
 So will your washing " 
 
 " Which will be kept down to my estimate,' 5 said his 
 sister. 
 
 " Your clothes will be looked : .fter for you, too," said Mr. 
 
166 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 Murdstone ; " as you will not be able, yet awhile, to get them 
 for yourself. So you are now going to London, David, with 
 Mr. Quinion, to begin the world on your own account." 
 
 " In short, you are provided for," observed his sister ; " and 
 will please to do your duty." 
 
 Though I quite understood that the purpose of this announce- 
 ment was to get rid of me, I have no distinct remembrance 
 whether it pleased or frightened me. My impression is, that 
 I was in a state of confusion about it, and, oscillating between 
 the two points, touched neither. Xor had I much time for the 
 clearing of my thoughts, as Mr. Quinion was to go upon the 
 morrow. 
 
 Behold me, on- the morrow, in a much-worn little white hat, 
 with a black crape round it for my mother, a black jacket, and 
 a pair of hard stiff corduroy trousers which Miss Murdstone 
 considered the best armor for the legs in that fight with the 
 world which was now to come off : behold me so attired, and 
 with my little worldly all before me in a small trunk, sitting, 
 a lone lorn child (as Mrs. Gummidge might have said), in the 
 post-chaise that was carrying Mr. Quinion to the London coach 
 at Yarmouth ! See, how our house and church are lessening in 
 the distance ; how the grave beneath the tree is blotted out by 
 intervening objects ; how the spire points upward from my old 
 playground no more, and the sky is empty ! 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 167 
 
 CHAPTEE XL 
 
 I BEGIN LIFE ON MY OWN ACCOUNT, AND DON*T LIKE IT. 
 
 I KNOW enough of the world now, to have almost lost the 
 capacity of being much surprised by anything ; but it is mat- 
 ter of some surprise to me, even now, that I can have been 
 so easily thrown away at such an age. A child of excellent 
 abilities, and with strong powers of observation, quick, eager, 
 delicate, and soon hurt bodily or mentally, it seems wonderful 
 to me that nobody should have made any sign in my behalf. 
 But none was made ; and I became, at ten years old, a little 
 laboring hind in the service of Murdstone and Grinby. 
 
 Murdstone and G-rinby's warehouse was at the water side. 
 It was down in Blackfriars. Modern improvements have 
 altered the place ; but it was the last house at the bottom of a 
 narrow street, curving down hill to the river, with some stairs 
 at the end, where people took boat. It was a crazy old house 
 with a wharf of its own, abutting on the water when the tide 
 was in, and on the mud whrn the tide was out, and literally 
 overrun with rats. Its panelled rooms, discolored with the 
 dirt and smoke of a hundred years, I dare say ; its decaying 
 floors and staircase ; the squeaking and scuffling of the old 
 gray rats down in the cellars ; and the dirt and rottenness of 
 the place ; are things, not of many years ago, in my mind, but 
 of the present instant. They are all before me, just as they 
 were in the evil hour when I went among them for the first 
 time, with my trembling hand in Mr. Quinion's. 
 
 Murdstone and Grinby's trade was among a good many 
 kinds of people, but an important branch of it was the supply 
 of wines and spirits to certain packet ships. I forget now 
 where they chiefly went, but I think there were some among 
 them that made voyages both to the East and West Indies. I 
 know that a great many empty bottles were one of the conse- 
 quences of this traffic, and that certain men and boys were 
 
168 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE. 
 
 employed to examine them against the light, and reject those 
 that were flawed, and to rinse and wash them. When the 
 empty bottles ran short, there were labels to be pasted on full 
 ones, or corks to be fitted to them, or seals to be put upon the 
 corks, or finished bottles to be packed in casks. All this work 
 was my work, and of the boys employed upon it I was one. 
 
 There were three or four of us, counting me. My working 
 place was established in a corner of the warehouse, where 
 Mr. Quinion could see me, when he chose to stand up on the 
 bottom rail of his stool in the counting-house, and look at me 
 through a window above the desk. Hither, on the first morn- 
 ing of my so auspiciously beginning life on my own account, 
 the oldest of the regular boys was summoned to show me my 
 business. His name was Mick Walker, and he wore a ragged 
 apron and a paper cap. He informed me that, his father was 
 a bargeman, and walked, in a black velvet head-dress, in the 
 Lord Mayor's Show. He also informed me that our principal 
 associate would be another boy whom he introduced by the 
 to me extraordinary name of Mealy Potatoes. I discovered, 
 however, that this youth had not been christened by that 
 name, but that it had been bestowed upon him in the ware- 
 house, on account of his complexion, which was pale or mealy. 
 Mealy's father was a waterman, who had the, additional dis- 
 tinction of being a fireman, and was engaged as such at one of 
 the large theatres ; where some young relation of Mealy's 
 I think his little sister did Imps in the Pantomimes. 
 
 No words can express the secret agony of my soul as I sunk 
 into this companionship ; compared these henceforth every-day 
 associates with those of my happier childhood not to say 
 with Steerforth, Traddles, and the rest of those boys ; and felt 
 my hopes of growing up to be a learned and distinguished 
 man crushed in my bosom. The deep remembrance of the 
 sense I had, of being utterly without hope now ; of the shame 
 I felt in my position ; of the misery it was to my young heart 
 to believe that day by day what I had learned, and thought, 
 and delighted in, and raised my fancy and my emulation up 
 by, would pass away from me, little by little, never to be 
 brought back any more ; cannot be written. As often as Mick 
 Walker went away in the course of that forenoon, I mingled 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 169 
 
 my tears with the water in which I was washing the bottles ; 
 and sobbed as if there were a flaw in my own breast, and it 
 were in danger of bursting. 
 
 The counting-house clock was at half-past twelve, and there 
 was general preparation for going to dinner, when Mr. Quinioii 
 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 full upon me. His clothes were shabby, 
 but he had an imposing shirt-collar on. He carried a jaunty 
 sort of a stick, with a large pair of rusty tassels to it ; and a 
 quizzing-glass hung outside his coat, for ornament, I after- 
 wards 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 Copper- 
 field. I hope I see you well, sir ? " 
 
 I said I was very well, and hoped he was. I was sufficiently 
 HI at ease, 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 received a letter from Mr. Murdstone, in which he men- 
 tions 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. Murd- 
 stone. 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." 
 
170 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 "My address," said Mr. Micawber, " is Windsor Terrace, 
 City Road. I in short," said Mr. Micawber, with the same 
 genteel air, and in another burst of confidence "I live 
 there." 
 
 I made him a bow. 
 
 "Under the impression," said Mr. Micawber, "that your 
 peregrinations in this metropolis have not as yet been extensive, 
 and that you might have some difficulty in penetrating the 
 arcana of the Modern Babylon in the direction of the City 
 Road in short," said Mr. Micawber, in another burst of con- 
 fidence, " that you might lose yourself I shall be happy to 
 call this evening, and install you in the knowledge of the 
 nearest way." 
 
 I thanked him with all my heart, for it was friendly in him 
 to offer to take that trouble. 
 
 "At what hour," said Mr. Micawber, "shall I " 
 
 "At about eight," said Mr. Quinion. 
 
 "At about eight," said Mr. Micawber, "I beg to wish you 
 good day, Mr. Quinion. I will intrude no longer." 
 
 So he put on his hat, and went out with his cane under his 
 arm : very upright, and humming a tune when he was clear of 
 the counting-house. 
 
 Mr. Quinion then formally engaged me to be as useful as I 
 could in the warehouse of Murdstone and Grinby, at a salary, 
 I think, of six shillings a week. I am not clear whether 
 it was six or seven. I am inclined to believe, from my 
 uncertainty on this head, that it was six at first and seven 
 afterwards. He paid me a week down (from his own pocket, 
 I believe), and I gave Mealy sixpence out of it to get my trunk 
 carried to Windsor Terrace at night : it being too heavy for 
 my strength, small as it was. I paid sixpence more for my 
 dinner, which was a meat pie and a turn at a neighboring 
 pump ; and passed the hour which was allowed for that meal, 
 in^ walking about the streets. 
 
 At the appointed time in the evening, Mr. Micawber 
 reappeared. I washed my hands and face, to do the greater 
 honor to his gentility, and we walked to our house, as I 
 suppose I must now call it, together ; Mr. Micawber impressing 
 the names of streets, and the shapes of corner houses upon 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 171 
 
 me, as we went along, that I might find my way back easily, 
 in the morning. 
 
 Arrived at his 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 parlor 
 (the first floor was altogether unfurnished, and the blinds 
 were kept down to delude the neighbors), with a baby at her 
 breast. This 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. 
 
 There were two other children; Master Micawber, aged 
 about four, and Miss Micawber, aged about three. These, and 
 a dark-complexioned young woman, with a habit of snorting, 
 who was servant to the family, and informed me, before half- 
 an-hour had expired, that she was " a Orfling," and came from 
 St. Luke's workhouse, in the neighborhood, completed the 
 establishment. My room was at the top of the house, at the 
 back ; a close chamber ; stencilled all over with an ornament 
 which my young imagination represented as a blue muffin ; 
 and very scantily furnished. 
 
 " I never thought," said Mrs. Micawber when she came up, 
 twin and all, to show me the apartment, and sat down to take 
 breath, "before I was married, when I lived with papa and 
 mamma, that I should ever find it necessary to take a lodger. 
 But Mr. Micawber being in difficulties, all considerations of 
 private feeling must give way." 
 
 I said: "Yes, Ma'am." 
 
 "Mr. Micawber's difficulties are almost overwhelming just 
 at present," said Mrs. Micawber ; " and whether it is possible 
 to bring him through them, I don't know. When I lived at 
 home with papa and mamma, I really should have hardly 
 understood what the word meant, in the sense in which I now 
 employ it, but experientia does it as papa used to say." 
 
 I cannot satisfy myself whether she told me that Mr. 
 Micawber had been an officer in the Marines, or whether I 
 have imagined it. I only know that I believe to this hour 
 that he was in the Marines once upon a time, without knowing 
 
172 THE PEESONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 why. He was a sort of town traveller for a number of mis- 
 cellaneous houses, now ; but made little or nothing of it, I am 
 afraid. 
 
 " If Mr. Micawber's creditors will not give him time," said 
 Mrs. Micawber, " they must take the consequences ; and the 
 sooner they bring it to an issue the better Blood cannot be 
 obtained from a stone, neither can anything on account be 
 obtained at present (not to mention law expenses) from Mr. 
 Micawber." 
 
 I never can quite understand whether my precocious self- 
 dependence confused Mrs. Micawber in reference to my age, 
 or whether she was so full of the subject that she would have 
 talked about it to the very twins if there had been nobody 
 else to communicate with, but this was the strain in which 
 she began, aud she went on accordingly all the time I knew 
 her. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Micawber! She said she had tried to exert her- 
 self; and so, 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 Establish- 
 ment for Young 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. 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 ? Come ! " Receiving no 
 answer to these taunts, he would mount in his wrath to the 
 words "swindlers" and "robbers;" and these being ineffec- 
 tual 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 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 173 
 
 from Ms 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. Mrs. Micawber was 
 quite as elastic. I have known her to be thrown into fainting 
 fits by the king's taxes at three o'clock, and* to eat lamb- 
 chops, breaded, and drink warm ale (paid for with two tea- 
 spoons 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. 
 
 In this house, and with this family, I passed my leisure 
 time. My own exclusive breakfast of a penny loaf and a 
 pennyworth of milk, I provided myself ; I kept another small 
 loaf, and a modicum of cheese, on a particular shelf of a par- 
 ticular cupboard, to make my supper on when I came back at 
 night. This made a hole in the six or seven shillings, I know 
 well ; and I was out at the warehouse all day, and had to sup- 
 port myself on that money all the week. From Monday morn- 
 ing until Saturday night, I had no advice, no counsel, no 
 encouragement, no consolation, no assistance, no support, of 
 any kind, from any one, that I can call to mind, as I hope to 
 go to Heaven ! 
 
 I was so young and childish, and so little qualified how 
 could I be otherwise ? to undertake the whole charge of my 
 own existence, that often, in going to Murdstone and Grinby's, 
 of a morning, I could not resist the stale pastry put out for 
 sale at half-price at the pastrycooks' doors, and spent in that 
 the money I should have kept for my dinner. Then, I went 
 without my dinner, or bought a roll or a slice of pudding. I 
 remember two pudding-shops between which I was divided, 
 according to my finances. One was in a court close to St. 
 Martin's Church, at the back of the church, which is now 
 removed altogether. The pudding at that shop was made of 
 currants, and was rather a special pudding, but was dear, two- 
 
174 
 
 pennyworth not being larger than a pennyworth of more ordi- 
 nary pudding. A good shop for the latter was in the Strand 
 somewhere in that part which has been rebuilt since. It 
 was a stout pale pudding, heavy and flabby, and with great 
 flat raisins in it, stuck in whole at wide distances apart. It 
 came up hot at about my time every day, and many a day did 
 I dine off it. When I dined regularly and handsomely, I had 
 a^aveloy and a penny-loaf, or a fourpenny plate of red beef 
 from a cook's shop ; or a plate of bread and cheese and a glass 
 of beer, from a miserable old public-house opposite our place 
 of business, called the Lion, or the Lion and something else 
 that I have forgotten. Once, I remember carrying my own 
 bread (which I had brought from home in the morning) under 
 my arm, wrapped in a piece of paper, like a book, and going 
 to a famous alamode beef-house near Drury Lane, and order- 
 ing a "small plate" of that delicacy to eat with it. What 
 the waiter thought of such a strange little apparition coining 
 in all alone, I don't know ; but I can see him now, staring at 
 me as I ate my dinner, and bringing up the other waiter to 
 look. I gave him a halfpenny for himself, and I wish he 
 hadn't taken it. 
 
 We had half-an-hour, I think, for tea. When I had money 
 enough, I used to get half-a-pint of ready-made coffee and a 
 slice of bread and butter. When I had none, I used to look 
 at a venison-shop in Fleet Street ; or I have strolled, at such 
 a time, as far as Covent Garden Market, and stared at the 
 pineapples. I was fond of wandering about the Adelphi, be- 
 cause it was a mysterious place, with those dark arches. I see 
 myself emerging one evening from some of these arches, on a 
 little public-house close to the river, with an open space before 
 it, where some coal-heavers were dancing ; to look at whom 
 I sat down upon a bench. I wonder what they thought of 
 me ! 
 
 I was such a child, and so little, that frequently when I 
 went into the bar of a strange public-house for a glass of ale 
 or porter, to moisten what I had had for dinner, they were 
 afraid to give it me. I remember one hot evening I went into 
 the bar of a public-house, and said to the landlord : 
 
 " What is your best your very best ale a glass ? " For 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 175 
 
 it was a special occasion. I don't know what. It may have 
 been my birthday. 
 
 " Twopence-halfpenny/' says the landlord, " is the price of 
 the Genuine Stunning ale." 
 
 " Then/' says I, producing the money, " just draw me a 
 glass of the Genuine Stunning, if you please, with a good head 
 to it." 
 
 The landlord looked at me in return over the bar, from 
 head to foot, with a strange smile on his face ; and instead of 
 drawing the beer, looked round the screen and said something 
 to his wife. She came out from behind it, with her work in 
 her hand, and joined him in surveying me. Here we stand, 
 all three, before me now. The landlord in his shirt sleeves, 
 leaning against the bar window-frame ; his wife looking over 
 the little half-door ; and I, in some confusion, looking up at 
 them from outside the partition. They asked me a good many 
 questions ; as, what my name was, how old I was, where I 
 lived, how I was employed, and how I came there. To all of 
 which, that I might commit nobody, I invented, I am afraid, 
 appropriate answers. They served me with the ale, though I 
 suspect it was not the Genuine Stunning; and the landlord's 
 wife, opening the little half -door of the bar, and bending down, 
 gave me my money back, and gave me a kiss that was half 
 admiring, and half compassionate, but all womanly and good, 
 I am sure. 
 
 I know I do not exaggerate, unconsciously and uninten- 
 tionally, the scantiness of my resources or the difficulties of 
 my life. I know that if a shilling were given me by Mr. 
 Quinion at any time, I spent it in a dinner or a tea. I know 
 that I worked from morning until night, with common men 
 and boys, a shabby child. I know that I lounged about the 
 streets, insufficiently and unsatisfactorily fed. I know that 
 but for the mercy of God, I might easily have been, for any 
 care that was taken of me, a little robber or a little vagabond. 
 
 Yet I held some station at Murdstone and Grinby's too. 
 Besides that Mr. Quinion did what a careless man so occupied, 
 and dealing with a thing so anomalous, could, to treat me as 
 one upon a different footing from the rest, I never said, to 
 man or boy, how it was that I came to be there, or gave the 
 
176 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 least indication of being sorry that I was there. That I suf. 
 fered in secret, and that I suffered exquisitely, no one ever 
 knew but I. How much I suffered, it is, as I have said 
 already, utterly beyond my power to tell. But I kept my own 
 counsel, and I did my work. I knew from the first, that, if I 
 could not do my work as well as any of the rest, I could not 
 hold myself above slight and contempt. I soon became at 
 least as expeditious and as skilful as either of the other boys. 
 Though perfectly familiar with them, my conduct and manner 
 were different enough from theirs to place a space between us. 
 They and the men generally spoke of me as "the little gent," 
 or "the young Suffolker." A certain man named Gregory, 
 who was foreman of the packers, and another named Tipp, 
 who was the carman, and wore a red jacket, used to address 
 me sometimes as " David : " but I think it was mostly when 
 we were very confidential, and when I had made some efforts 
 to entertain them, over our work, with some results of the old 
 readings which were fast perishing out of my remembrance. 
 Mealy Potatoes uprose once, and rebelled against my being so 
 distinguished; but Mick Walker settled him in no time. 
 
 My rescue from this kind of existence I considered quite 
 hopeless, and abandoned, as such, altogether. I am solemnly 
 convinced that I never for one hour was reconciled to it, or 
 was otherwise than miserably unhappy ; but I bore it ; and 
 even to Peggotty, partly for the love of her and partly for 
 shame, never in any letter (though many passed between us) 
 revealed the truth. 
 
 Mr. Micawber's difficulties were an addition to the distressed 
 state of my mind. In my forlorn state I became quite attached 
 to the family, and used to walk about, busy with Mrs. Micaw- 
 ber's calculations of ways and means, and heavy with the 
 weight of Mr. Micawber's debts. On a Saturday night, which 
 was my grand treat, partly because it was a great thing to 
 walk home with six or seven shillings in my pocket, looking 
 into the shops and thinking what such a sum would buy, and 
 partly because I went home early, Mrs. Micawber would make 
 the most heart-rending confidences to me ; also on a Sunday 
 morning, when I mixed the portion of tea or coffee I had 
 bought over-night, in a little shaving-pot, and sat late at my 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 177 
 
 breakfast. It was nothing at all unusual for Mr. Micawber to 
 sob violently at the beginning of one of these Saturday night 
 conversations, and sing about Jack's delight being his lovely 
 Nan, towards the end of it. I have known him come home 
 to supper with a flood of tears, and a declaration that nothing 
 was now left but a jail; and go to bed making a calculation of 
 the expense of putting bow-windows to the house, "in case 
 anything turned up," which was his favorite expression. And 
 Mrs. Micawber was just the same. 
 
 A curious equality of friendship, originating, I suppose, in 
 our respective circumstances, sprung up between me and these 
 people notwithstanding the ludicrous disparity in our years. 
 But I never allowed myself to be prevailed upon to accept 
 any invitation to eat and drink with them out of their stock 
 (knowing that 'they got on badly with the butcher and baker, 
 and had often not too much for themselves), until Mrs. Micaw- 
 ber took me into her entire confidence. This she did one 
 evening as follows : 
 
 "Master Copperfield," said Mrs. Micawber, "I make no 
 stranger of you, and therefore do not hesitate to say that Mr. 
 Micawber's difficulties are coming to a crisis." 
 
 It made me very miserable to hear it, and I looked at Mrs. 
 Micawber's red eyes with the utmost sympathy. 
 
 "With the exception of the heel of a Dutch cheese which 
 is not adapted to the wants of a young family " said Mrs. 
 Micawber, "there is really not a scrap of anything in the 
 larder. I was accustomed to speak of the larder when I lived 
 with papa and mamma, and I used the word almost uncon- 
 sciously. What I mean to express, is, that there is nothing 
 to eat in the house." 
 
 " Dear me ! " I said, in great concern. 
 
 I had two or three shillings of my week's money in my 
 pocket from which I presume that it must have been on 
 a Wednesday night when we held this conversation and I 
 hastily produced them, and with heartfelt emotion begged 
 Mrs. Micawber to accept them as a loan. But that lady, kiss- 
 ing me, and making me put them back in my pocket, replied 
 that she couldn't think of it. 
 
 "No, my dear Master Copperfield," said she, "far be it 
 VOL. i 12 
 
178 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 from my thoughts ! But you have a discretion beyond your 
 years, and can render me another kind of service, if you will j 
 and a service I will thankfully accept of." 
 
 I begged Mrs. Micawber to name it. 
 
 " I have parted with the plate myself," said Mrs. Micawber. 
 " Six tea, two salt, and a pair of sugars, I have at different 
 times borrowed money on, in secret, with my own hands. But 
 the twins are a great tie ; and to me, with my recollections of 
 papa and mamma, these transactions are very painful. There 
 are still a few trifles that we could part with. Mr. Micawber's 
 feelings would never allow him to dispose of them ; and 
 Clickett " this was the girl from the workhouse " being 
 of a vulgar mind, would take painful liberties if so much con- 
 fidence was reposed in her. Master Copperfield, if I might 
 ask you " 
 
 I understood Mrs. Micawber now, and begged her to make 
 use of me to any extent. I began to dispose of the more port- 
 able articles of property that very evening ; and went out on 
 a similar expedition almost every morning, before I went to 
 Murdstone and Grinby's. 
 
 Mr. Micawber had a few books on a little chiffonier, which 
 he called the library ; and those went first. I carried them, 
 one after another, to a bookstall in the City-road one part 
 of which, near our house, was almost all bookstalls and bird- 
 shops then and sold them for whatever they would bring. 
 The keeper of this bookstall who lived in a little house behind 
 it, used to get tipsy every night, and to be violently scolded 
 by his wife every morning. More than once, when I went 
 there early, I had audience of him in a turn-up bedstead, 
 with a cut in his forehead or a black eye, bearing witness to 
 his excesses over night (I am afraid he was quarrelsome in 
 his drink), and he, with a shaking hand, endeavoring to find 
 the needful shillings in one or other of the pockets of his 
 clothes, which lay upon the floor, while his wife, with a baby 
 in her arms and her shoes down at heel, never left off rating 
 him. Sometimes he had lost his money, and then he would 
 ask me to call again ; but his wife had alwaj'S got some had 
 taken his, I dare say, while he was drunk and secretly com- 
 pleted the bargain on the stairs, as we went down together. 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 179 
 
 *t the pawnbroker's shop, too, I began to be very well 
 known. The principal gentleman who officiated behind the 
 counter, took a good deal of notice of me ; and often got me, I 
 recollect, to decline a Latin noun or adjective, or to conjugate 
 a Latin verb, in his ear, while he transacted my business. 
 After all these occasions Mrs. Micawber made a little treat, 
 which was generally a supper ; and there was a peculiar relish 
 in these meals which I well remember. 
 
 At last Mr. Micawber's difficulties came to a crisis, and he 
 was arrested arly one morning, and carried over to the King's 
 Bench Prison in the Borough. He told me, as he went out of 
 the house, that the God of day had now gone down upon him 
 and I really thought his heart was broken and mine too. 
 But I heard, afterwards, that he was seen to play a lively 
 game of skittles, before noon. 
 
 On the first Sunday after he was taken there, I was to go 
 and see him, and have dinner with him. I was to ask my 
 way to such a place, and just short of that place I should see 
 such another place, and just short of that I should see a yard, 
 which I was to cross, and keep straight on until I saw a turn- 
 key. All this I did ; and when at last I did see a turnkey 
 (poor little fellow that I was !), and thought how, when Rod- 
 erick Random was in a debtors' prison, there was a man there 
 with nothing on him but an old rug, the turnkey swam before 
 my dimmed eyes and my beating heart. 
 
 Mr. Micawber was waiting for me within the gate, and we 
 went up to his room (top story but one), and cried very much. 
 He solemnly conjured me, I remember, to take warning by 
 his fate ; and to observe that if a man had twenty pounds 
 a-year for his income, and spent nineteen pounds nineteen 
 shillings and sixpence, he would be happy, but that if he spent 
 twenty pounds one he would be miserable. After which he 
 borrowed a shilling of me for porter, gave me a written order 
 on Mrs. Micawber for the amount, and put away his pocket- 
 handkerchief, and cheered up. 
 
 We sat before a little fire, with two bricks put within the 
 rusted grate, one on each side, to prevent its burning too many 
 coals ; until another debtor, who shared the room with Mr. 
 Micawber, came in from the bakehouse with the loin of mutton 
 
180 THE PEE SON AL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 which was our joint-stock repast. Then I was sent up to 
 " Captain Hopkins " in the room overhead, with Mr. Micaw- 
 ber's compliments, and I was his young friend, and would 
 Captain Hopkins lend me a knife and fork. 
 
 Captain Hopkins lent me the knife and fork, with his com- 
 pliments to Mr. Micawber. There was a very dirty lady in 
 his little room, and two wan girls, his daughters, with shock 
 heads of hair. I thought it was better to borrow Captain Hop- 
 kins's knife and fork, than Captain Hopkins's comb. The cap- 
 tain himself was in the last extremity of shabbiness, with 
 large whiskers, and an old, old brown greatcoat with no other 
 coat below it. I saw his bed rolled up in a corner ; and what 
 plates and dishes and pots he had, on a shelf ; and I divined 
 (God knows how) that though the two girls with the shock 
 heads of hair were Captain Hopkins's children, the dirty lady 
 was not married to Captain Hopkins. My timid station on 
 his threshold was not occupied more than a couple of minutes 
 at most ; but I came down again with all this in my knowl- 
 edge, as surely as the knife and fork were in my hand. 
 
 There was something gipsy-like and agreeable in the dinner, 
 after all. I took back Captain Hopkins's knife and fork early 
 in the afternoon, and went home to comfort Mrs. Micawber 
 with an account of my visit. She fainted when she saw me 
 return, and made a little jug of egg-hot afterwards to console 
 us while we talked it over. 
 
 I don't know how the household furniture came to be sold 
 for the family benefit, or who sold it, except that / did not. 
 Sold it was, however, and carried away in a van ; except the 
 beds, a few chairs, and the kitchen table. With these posses- 
 sions we encamped, as it were, in the two parlors of the 
 emptied house in Windsor Terrace ; Mrs. Micawber, the chil- 
 dren, the Orfling, and myself ; and lived in those rooms night 
 and day. I have no idea for how long, though it seems to me 
 for a long time. At last Mrs. Micawber resolved to move into 
 the prison, where Mr. Micawber had now secured a room to 
 himself. So I took the key of the house to the landlord, who 
 was very glad to get it ; and the beds were sent over to the 
 King's Bench, except mine, for which a little room was hired 
 outside the walls in the neighborhood of that Institution, very 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 181 
 
 much, to my satisfaction, since the Micawbers and I had 
 become too used to one another, in our troubles, to part. The 
 Orfling was likewise accommodated with an inexpensive lodg- 
 ing in the same neighborhood. Mine was a quiet back-garret 
 with a sloping roof, commanding a pleasant prospect of a tim- 
 ber-yard ; and when I took possession of it, with the reflection 
 that Mr. Micawber's troubles had come to a crisis at last, I 
 thought it quite a paradise. 
 
 All this time I was working at Murdstone and Grinby's in 
 the same common way, and with the same common companions, 
 and with the same sense of unmerited degradation as at first. 
 But 1 never, happily for me no doubt, made a single acquaint- 
 ance, or spoke to any of the many boys whom I saw daily in going 
 to the warehouse, in coming from it, and in prowling about the 
 streets at meal-times. I led the same secretly unhappy life ; 
 but I led it. in the same lonely, self-reliant manner. The only 
 changes I am conscious of are, first, that I had grown more 
 shabby, and secondly, that I was now relieved of much of the 
 weight of Mr. and Mrs. Micawber's cares ; for some relatives 
 or friends had engaged to help them at their present pass, and 
 they lived more comfortably in the prison than they had lived 
 for a long while out of it. I used to breakfast with them now, 
 in virtue of some arrangement, of which I have forgotten the 
 details. I forget, too, at what hour the gates were opened in 
 the morning, admitting of my going in ; but I know that I was 
 often up at six o'clock, and that my favorite lounging-place in 
 the interval was old London Bridge, where I was wont to sit 
 in one of the stone recesses, watching the people going by, or to 
 look over the balustrades at the sun shining in the water, and 
 lighting up the golden flame on the top of the Monument. 
 The Orfling met me here sometimes, to be told some astonish- 
 ing fictions respecting the wharves and the Tower 5 of which I 
 can say no more than that I hope I believed them myself. In 
 the evening I used to go back to the prison, and walk up and 
 down the parade with Mr. Micawber ; or play casino with Mrs. 
 Micawber, and hear reminiscences of her papa and mamma. 
 Whether Mr. Murdstone knew where I was, I am unable to 
 say. I never told them at Murdstone and Grinby's. 
 
 Mr. Micawber's affairs, although past their crisis, were very 
 
182 
 
 much involved by reason of a certain " Deed," of which I used 
 to hear a great deal, and which I suppose now, to have been 
 some former composition with his creditors, though I was so 
 far from being clear about it then, that I am conscious of hav- 
 ing confounded it with those demoniacal parchments which 
 are held to have, once upon a time, obtained to a great^ extent 
 in Germany. At last this document appeared to be got out of 
 the way, somehow ; at all events, it ceased to be the rock 
 a-head it had been ; and Mrs. Micawber informed me that " her 
 family" had decided that Mr. Micawber should apply for his 
 release under the Insolvent Debtors' Act, which would set him 
 free, she expected, in about six weeks. 
 
 " And then," said Mr. Micawber, who was present, " I have 
 no doubt I shall, please Heaven, begin to be beforehand with 
 the world, and to live in a perfectly new manner, if in 
 short, if anything turns up." 
 
 By way of going in for anything that might be on the cards, 
 I call to mind that Mr. Micawber, about this time, composed 
 a petition to the House of Commons, praying for an alteration 
 in the law of imprisonment for debt. I set down this remem- 
 brance here, because it is an instance to myself of the manner 
 in which I fitted my old books to my altered life, and made 
 stories for myself, out of the streets, and out of men and 
 women ; and how some main points in the character I shall 
 unconsciously develop, I suppose, in writing my life, were 
 gradually forming all this while. 
 
 There was a club in the prison, in which Mr. Micawber, as 
 a gentleman, was a great authority. Mr. Micawber had stated 
 his idea of this petition to the club, and the club had strongly 
 approved of the same. Wherefore Mr. Micawber (who was a 
 thoroughly good-natured man, and as active a creature about 
 everything but his own affairs as ever existed, and never so 
 happy as when he was busy about something that could never 
 be of any profit to him) set to work at the petition, invented 
 it, engrossed it on an immense sheet of paper, spread it out on 
 a table, and appointed a time for all the club, and all within 
 the walls if they chose, to come up to his room and sign it. 
 
 When I heard of this approaching ceremony, I was so 
 anxious to see them all come in, one after another, though I 
 
OF DAVITS COPPEEFIELD. 183 
 
 knew the greater part of them already, and they me, that I 
 got an hour's leave of absence from Murdstone and Grinby's, 
 and established myself in a corner for that purpose. As many 
 of the principal members of the club as could be got into the 
 small room without filling it, supported Mr. Micawber in front 
 of the petition, while my old friend Captain Hopkins (who had 
 washed himself, to do honor to so solemn an occasion) stationed 
 himself close to it, to read it to all who were unacquainted 
 with its contents. The door was then thrown open, and the 
 general population began to come in, in a long file ; several 
 waiting outside, while one entered, affixed his signature, and 
 went out. To everybody in succession, Captain Hopkins said : 
 " Have you read it ? " " No." " Would you like to hear it 
 read ? " If he weakly showed the least disposition to hear it, 
 Captain Hopkins, in a loud sonorous voice, gave him every 
 word of it. The Captain would have read it twenty thousand 
 times, if twenty thousand people would have heard him, one by 
 one. I remember a certain luscious roll he gave to such phrases 
 as " The people's representatives in parliament assembled," 
 "Your petitioners therefore humbly approach your honorable 
 house," " His gracious Majesty's unfortunate subjects," as if 
 the words were something real in his mouth, and delicious to 
 taste ; Mr. Micawber, meanwhile, listening with a little of an 
 author's vanity, and contemplating (not severely) the spikes 
 on the opposite wall. 
 
 As I walked to and fro daily between Southwark and Black- 
 frairs, and lounged about at meal-times in obscure streets, the 
 stones of which may, for anything I know, be worn at this 
 moment by my childish feet, I wonder how many of these 
 people were wanting in the crowd that used to come filing 
 before me in review again, to the echo of Captain Hopkins's 
 voice ! When my thoughts go back now, to that slow agony 
 of my youth, I wonder how much of the histories I invented 
 for such people hangs like a mist of fancy over well-remem- 
 bered facts ! When I tread the old ground, I do not wonder 
 that I seem to see and pity, going on before me, an innocent, 
 romantic boy, making his imaginative world out of such 
 strange experiences and sordid things. 
 
184 THE PEE SON AL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE' 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 LIKING LIFE ON MY OWN ACCOUNT NO BETTER, I FORM A 
 
 GREAT RESOLUTION. 
 
 IN due time Mr. Micawber's petition was ripe for hearing ; 
 and that gentleman was ordered to be discharged under the 
 Act, to my great joy. His creditors were not implacable ; 
 and Mrs. Micawber informed me that even the revengeful 
 boot-maker had declared in open court that he bore him no 
 malice, but th^t when money was owing to him he liked to 
 be paid. He said he thought it was human nature. 
 
 Mr. Micawber returned to the King's Bench when his case 
 was over, as some fees were to be settled, and some formalities 
 observed, before he could be actually released. The club 
 received him with transport, and held an harmonic meeting 
 that evening in his honor ; while Mrs. Micawber and I had 
 a lamb's fry in private, surrounded by the sleeping family. 
 
 " On such an occasion I will give you, Master Copperfield," 
 said Mrs. Micawber, " in a little more flip," for we had been 
 having some already, "the memory of my papa and mamma. ' 
 
 "Are they dead, ma'am?" I inquired, after drinking th<* 
 toast in a wineglass. 
 
 " My mamma departed this life," said Mrs. Micawber, " before 
 Mr. Micawber's difficulties commenced, or at least before the] 
 became pressing. My papa lived to bail Mr. Micawber several 
 times, and then expired, regretted by a numerous circle." 
 
 Mrs. Micawber shook her head, and dropped a pious tear 
 upon the twin who happened to be in hand. 
 
 As I could hardly hope for a more favorable opportunity 
 of putting a question in which I had a near interest, I said to 
 Mrs. Micawber : 
 
 " May I ask, ma'am, what you and Mr. Micawber intend to 
 do, now that Mr. Micawber is out of difficulties and at liberty ? 
 Have you settled yet ? " 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 185 
 
 " My family," said Mrs. Micawber, who always said those 
 two words with an air, though I never could discover who 
 came under the denomination, " my family are of opinion that 
 Mr. Micawber should quit London, and exert his talents in 
 the country. Mr. Micawber is a man of great talent, Master 
 Copperfield." 
 
 I said I was sure of that. 
 
 "Of great talent," repeated Mrs. Micawber. "My family 
 are of opinion, that, with a little interest, something might 
 be done for a man of his ability in the Custom House. The 
 influence of my family being local, it is their wish that Mr. 
 Micawber should go down to Plymouth. They think it indis- 
 pensable that he should be upon the spot." 
 
 " That he may be ready ? " I suggested. 
 
 "Exactly," returned Mrs. Micawber. "That he may be 
 ready in case of anything turning up." 
 
 " And do you go too, ma'am ? " 
 
 The events of the day, in combination with the twins, if not 
 with the flip, had made Mrs. Micawber hysterical, and she 
 shed tears as she replied : 
 
 "I never will desert Mr. Micawber. Mr. Micawber may 
 have concealed 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 thrown away for nothing. 
 But I never will desert Mr. Micawber. No ! " cried Mrs. 
 Micawber, more affected than before, "I never will do it! 
 It's of no use 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 
 improvident. 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 having now raised her voice into a perfect 
 scream, I was so frightened that I ran off to the club-room 
 
186 THE PEE SON AL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 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 ho 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 
 the room ; " what is the matter ? " 
 
 " I never will desert you, Micawber ! " she exclaimed. 
 
 " My life'! " said Mr. Micawber, taking her in his arms, " I 
 am perfectly aware of it." 
 
 " He is the parent of my children ! He is the father of 
 my twins ! He is the husband of my aif ections," cried Mrs. 
 Micawber, struggling ; " and I ne ver will desert Mr. 
 Micawber ! " 
 
 Mr. Micawber was so deeply affected by this proof of her 
 devotion (as to me, I was dissolved in tears), that he hung 
 over her 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 her eyes on nothing ; and the more he 
 asked her to compose herself, the more she wouldn't. Conse- 
 quently Mr. Micawber was soon so overcome, that he mingled 
 his tears with hers and mine ; until he begged me to do him 
 the favor of taking a chair on the staircase, while he got her 
 into bed. I would have taken my leave for the night, but he 
 would not hear of my doing that until the strangers' bell 
 should ring. So I sat at the staircase window, until he came 
 out with another chair and joined me. 
 
 " How is Mrs. Micawber now, sir ? " I said. 
 
 "Very low," said Mr. Micawber, shaking his head; "reac- 
 tion. Ah, this has been a dreadful day ! We stand alone now 
 
 everything has gone from us ! " 
 
 Mr. Micawber pressed my hand, and groaned, and after- 
 wards shed tears. I was greatly touched, and disappointed 
 too, for I had expected that we should be quite gay on 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 187 
 
 this happy and long-looked for occasion. But Mr. and Mrs. 
 Micawber were so used to their old difficulties, I think, that 
 they felt quite shipwrecked when they came to consider 
 that they were released from them. All their elasticity was 
 departed, and I never saw them half so wretched as on this 
 night ; insomuch that when the bell rang, and Mr. Micawber 
 walked with me to the lodge, and parted from me there with 
 a blessing, I felt quite afraid to leave him by himself, he was 
 so profoundly miserable. 
 
 But through all the confusion and lowness of spirits in 
 which he had been, so unexpectedly to me, involved, I plainly 
 discerned that Mr. and Mrs. Micawber and their family were 
 going away from London, and that a parting between us was 
 near at hand. -It was in my walk home that night, and in 
 the sleepless hours which followed when I lay in bed, that the 
 thought first occurred to me though I don't know how it 
 came into my head which afterwards shaped itself into a 
 settled resolution. 
 
 I had grown to be so accustomed to the Micawbers, and had 
 been so intimate with them in their distresses, and was so 
 utterly friendless without them, that the prospect of being 
 thrown upon some new shift for a lodging, and going once 
 more among unknown people, was like being that moment 
 turned adrift into my present life, with such a knowledge of 
 it ready made, as experience had given me. All the sensitive 
 feelings it wounded so cruelly, all the shame and misery it 
 kept alive within my breast, became more poignant as I 
 thought of this ; and I determined that the life was unen- 
 durable. 
 
 That there was no hope of escape from it, unless the escape 
 was my own act, I knew quite well. I rarely heard from 
 Miss Murdstone, and never from Mr. Murdstone : but two or 
 three parcels of made or mended clothes had come up for me, 
 consigned to Mr. Quinion, and in each there was a scrap of 
 paper to the effect that J. M. trusted D. C. was applying him- 
 self to business, and devoting himself wholly to his duties 
 not the least hint of my ever being anything else than the 
 common drudge into which I was fast settling down. 
 
 The very next day showed me, while my mind was in the 
 
188 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 first agitation of what it had conceived, that Mrs. Micawber 
 had not spoken of their going away without warrant. They 
 took a lodging in the house where I lived, for a week ; at the 
 expiration of which time they were to start for Plymouth. 
 Mr. Micawber himself came down to the counting-house, ip 
 the afternoon, to tell Mr. Quinion that he must relinquish me 
 on the day of his departure, and to give me a high character, 
 which I am sure I deserved. And Mr. Quinion, calling in 
 Tipp the carman, who was a married man, and had a room to 
 let, quartered me prospectively on him by our mutual 
 consent, as he had every reason to think ; for I said nothing, 
 though my resolution was now taken. 
 
 I passed my evenings with Mr. and Mrs. Micawber, during 
 the remaining term of our residence under the same roof ; and 
 I think we became fonder of one another as the time went on. 
 On the last Sunday, they invited me to dinner ; and we had 
 a loin of pork and apple sauce, and a pudding. I had bought 
 a spotted wooden horse over-night as a parting gift to little 
 Wilkins Micawber that was the boy and a doll for little 
 Emma. I had also bestowed a shilling on the Orfling, who 
 was about to be disbanded. 
 
 We had a very pleasant day, though we were all in a tender 
 state about our approaching separation. 
 
 "I shall never, Master Copperfield," said Mrs. Micawber, 
 " revert to the period when Mr. Micawber was in difficulties, 
 without thinking of you. Your conduct has always been of 
 the most delicate and obliging description. You have never 
 been a lodger. You have been a friend." 
 
 "My dear," said Mr. Micawber; "Copperfield," for so he 
 had been accustomed to call me of late, "has a heart to feel 
 for the distresses of his fellow creatures when they are behind 
 a cloud, and a head to plan, and a hand to in short, a gen- 
 eral ability to dispose of such available property as could be 
 made away with." 
 
 I expressed my sense of this commendation, and said I was 
 very sorry we were going to lose one another. 
 
 "My dear young friend," said Mr. Micawber, "I am older 
 than you ; a man of some experience in life, and and of 
 some experience, in short, in difficulties, generally speaking. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 189 
 
 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. Micawber, 
 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/ 7 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. Pro- 
 crastination is the thief of time. Collar him." 
 
 " 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 anybody 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, my dear ; and that was so far 
 prematurely entered into, in consequence, that I never re- 
 covered 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 expendi- 
 ture nineteen nineteen six, result happiness. Annual income 
 twenty pounds, annual expenditure twenty pounds aught 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. 
 
 I did not fail to assure him that I would store these precepts 
 in my mind, though indeed I had no need to do so, for, at the 
 time, they affected me visibly. Next morning I met the whole 
 
190 
 
 family at the coach-office, and saw them, with a desolate heart, 
 take their places outside, at the back. 
 
 "Master Copperfield," said Mrs. Micawber, " God bless you! 
 I never can forget all that, you know, and I never would if I 
 could." 
 
 " Copperfield," said Mr. Micawber, " farewell ! Every hap- 
 piness and prosperity ! If, in the progress of revolving years, 
 I could persuade myself that my blighted destiny had been 
 a warning to you, I should feel that I had not occupied 
 another man's place in existence altogether in vain. In case 
 of anything turning up (of which I am rather confident), I 
 shall be extremely happy if it should be in my power to 
 improve your prospects." 
 
 I think, as Mrs. Micawber sat at the back of the coach, with 
 the children, and I stood in the road looking wistfully at them, 
 a mist cleared from her eyes, and she saw what a little creature 
 I really was. I think so, because she beckoned to me to climb 
 up, with quite a new and motherly expression in her face, and 
 put her arm round my neck, and gave me just such a kiss as 
 she might have given to her own boy. I had barely time to 
 get down again before the coach started, and I could hardly 
 see the family for the handkerchiefs they waved. It was gone 
 in a minute. The Orfling and I stood looking vacantly at 
 each other in the middle of the road, and then shook hands 
 and said good by ; she going back, I suppose, to St. Luke's 
 workhouse, as I went to begin my weary day at Murdstone 
 and Grinby's. 
 
 But with no intention of passing many more weary days 
 there. No. I had resolved to run away. To go, by some 
 means or other, down into the country, to the only relation I 
 had in the world, and tell my story to my aunt, Miss Betsey. 
 
 I have already observed that I don't know how this desperate 
 idea came into my brain. But, once there, it remained there ; 
 and hardened into a purpose than which I have never enter- 
 tained a more determined purpose in my life. I am far from 
 sure that I believed there was anything hopeful in it, but my 
 mind was thoroughly made up that it must be carried into 
 execution. 
 
 Again, and again, and a hundred times again, since the night 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 191 
 
 when the thought had first occurred to me and banished sleep. 
 I had gone over that old story of my poor mother's about my 
 birth, which it had been one of my great delights in the old 
 time to hear her tell, and which I knew by heart. My aunt 
 walked into that story, and walked out of it, a dread and 
 awful personage ; but there was one little trait in her behavior 
 which I liked to dwell on, and which gave me some faint 
 shadow of encouragement. I could not forget how my mother 
 had thought that she felt her touch her pretty hair with no 
 ungentle hand ; and though it might have been altogether my 
 mother's fancy, and might have had no foundation whatever in 
 fact, I made a little picture, out of it, of my terrible aunt 
 relenting towards the girlish beauty that I recollected so well, 
 and loved so much, which softened the whole narrative. It is 
 very possible that it had been in my mind a long, time, and 
 had gradually engendered my determination. 
 
 As I did not even know where Miss Betsey lived, I wrote a 
 long letter to Peggotty, and asked her, incidentally, if she 
 remembered ; pretending that I had heard of such a lady living 
 at a certain place I named at random, and had a curiosity to 
 know if it were the same. In the course of that letter I told 
 Peggotty that I had a particular occasion for half a guinea ; 
 and that if she could lend me that sum until I could repay it, I 
 should be very much obliged to her, and would tell her after- 
 wards what I had wanted it for. 
 
 Peggotty 's answer soon arrived, and was, as usual, full of 
 affectionate devotion. She enclosed the half guinea (I was 
 afraid she must have had a world of trouble to get it out of 
 Mr. Barkis's box), and told me that Miss Betsey lived near 
 Dover, but whether at Dover itself, at Hythe, Sandgate, or 
 Folkstone, she could not say. One of our men, however, 
 informing me on my asking him about these places, that they 
 were all close together, I deemed this enough for my object, 
 and resolved to set out at the end of that week. 
 
 Being a very honest little creature, and unwilling to disgrace 
 the memory I was going to leave behind me at Murdstone and 
 Grinby's, I considered myself bound to remain until Saturday 
 night ; and, as I had been paid a week's wages in advance 
 when I first came there, not to present myself in the counting- 
 
192 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 house at the usual hour to receive roy stipend. For this express 
 reason, I had borrowed the half-guinea, that I might not be 
 without a fund for my travelling-expenses. Accordingly, when 
 the Saturday night came, and we were all waiting in the ware- 
 house to be paid, and Tipp, the carman, who always took 
 precedence, went in first to draw his money, I shook Mick 
 Walker by the hand ; asked him when it came to his turn to 
 be paid, to say to Mr. Quinion that I had gone to move my box 
 to Tipp's ; and, bidding a last good night to Mealy Potatoes, 
 ran away. 
 
 My box was at my old lodging over the water, and I had writ- 
 ten a direction for it on the back of one of our address cards that 
 we nailed on the casks : " Master David, to be left till called 
 for at the coach-office, Dover." This I had in my pocket 
 ready to put on the box, after I should have got it out of the 
 house ; and as I went towards my lodging I looked about me 
 for some one who would help me to carry it to the booking- 
 office. 
 
 There was a long-legged young man with a very little empty 
 donkey-cart, standing near the Obelisk, in the Blackfriars 
 Road, whose eye I caught as I was going by, and who, address- 
 ing me as " Sixpenn'orth of bad ha'pence," hoped " I should 
 know him agin to swear to " in allusion, I have no doubt, to 
 my staring at him. I stopped to >assure him that I had not 
 done so in bad manners, but uncertain whether he might or 
 might not like a job. 
 
 " Wot job ? " said the long-legged young man. 
 
 "To move a box," I answered. 
 
 " Wot box ? " said the long-legged young man. 
 
 I told him mine, which was down that street there, and 
 which I wanted him to take to the Dover coach-office for six- 
 pence. 
 
 " Done with you for a tanner ! " said the long-legged young 
 man, and directly got upon his cart, which was nothing but a 
 large wooden tray on wheels, and rattled away at such a rate 
 that it was as much as I could do to keep pace with the 
 donkey. 
 
 There was a defiant manner about this young man, and par- 
 ticularly about the way in which he chewed straw as he spoke 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 193 
 
 tc me, that I did not much like ; as the bargain was made, 
 however, I took him up stairs to the room I was leaving, and 
 we brought the box down, and put it on his cart. Now, I was 
 unwilling to put the direction-card on there, lest any of my 
 landlord's family should fathom what I was doing, and detain 
 me ; so I said to the young man that I would be glad if he 
 would stop for a minute, when he came to the dead-wall of the 
 King's Bench Prison. The words were no sooner out of my 
 mouth, than he rattled away, as if he, my box, the cart, and 
 the donkey, were all equally mad; and I was quite out of 
 breath with running and calling after him, when I caught him 
 at the place appointed. 
 
 Being much flushed and excited I tumbled my half-guinea 
 out of my pocket in pulling the card out. I put it in my 
 ^aouth for safety, and though my hands trembled a good deal, 
 had just tied the card on very much to my satisfaction, when 
 T felt myself violently chucked under the chin by the long- 
 legged young man, and saw my half-guinea fly out of my 
 mouth into his hand. 
 
 " Wot ! " said the young man, seizing me by my jacket 
 collar, with a frightful grin. " This is a pollis case, is it ? 
 You're a going to bolt, are you ? Come to the pollis, you 
 young warnrin, come to the pollis ! " 
 
 " You give me my money back, if you please," said I, very 
 much frightened; "and leave me alone." 
 
 " Come to the pollis ! " said the young man. " You shall 
 prove it yourn to the pollis." 
 
 " Give me my box and money, will you," I cried, bursting 
 into tears. 
 
 The young man still replied : " Come to the pollis ! " and 
 was dragging me against the donkey in a violent manner, as if 
 there were any affinity between that animal and a magistrate, 
 when he changed his mind, jumped into the cart, sat upon my 
 box, and exclaiming that he would drive to the pollis straight, 
 rattled away harder than ever. 
 
 I ran after him as fast as I could, but I had no breath to 
 
 call out with, and should not have dared to call out, now, if I 
 
 had. I narrowly escaped being run over, twenty times at 
 
 least, in half a mile. Now I lost him, now I saw him, now I 
 
 VOL. i 13 
 
194 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 lost him, now I was cut .at with a whip, now shouted at, now 
 down in the mud, now up again, now running into somebody's 
 arms, now running headlong at a post. At length, confused 
 by fright and heat, and doubting whether half London might 
 not by this time be turning out for my apprehension, I left 
 the young man to go where he would with my box and money ; 
 and, panting and crying, but never stopping, faced about for 
 Greenwich, which I had understood was on the Dover Road : 
 taking very little more out of the world, towards the retreat 
 of my aunt, Miss Betsey, than I had brought into it, on the 
 night when my arrival gave her so much umbrage. 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 195 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 THE SEQUEL OF MT RESOLUTION. 
 
 FOR anything I know, I may have had some wild idea of 
 running all the way to Dover, when I gave up the pursuit of 
 the young man with the donkey cart, and started for Green- 
 wich. My scattered senses were soon collected as to that 
 point, if I had ; for I came to a stop in the Kent Road, at a 
 terrace with a piece of water before it, and a great foolish 
 image in the middle, blowing a dry shell. Here I sat down 
 on a door-step, quite spent and exhausted with the efforts I 
 had already made, and with hardly breath enough to cry for 
 the loss of my box and half-guinea. 
 
 It was by this time dark ; I heard the clock strike ten, as 
 I sat resting. But it was a summer night fortunately, and 
 fine weather. When I had recovered my breath, and had got 
 rid of a stifling sensation in my throat, I rose up and went on. 
 In the midst of my distress, I had no notion of going back. I 
 doubt if I should have had any, though there had been a Swiss 
 snow-drift in the Kent Road. 
 
 But my standing possessed of only three-halfpence in the 
 world (and I am sure I wonder how they came to be left in 
 my pocket on a Saturday night !) troubled me none the less 
 because I went on. I began to picture to myself, as a scrap 
 of newspaper intelligence, my being found dead in a day or 
 two, under some hedge ; and I trudged on miserably, though 
 as fast as I could, until I happened to pass a little shop, where 
 it was written up that ladies' and gentlemen's wardrobes, 
 were bought, and that the best price was given for rags, btfhes, 
 and kitchen-stuff. The master of this shop was sitting at the 
 door in his shirt sleeves, smoking ; and as there were a great 
 many coats and pairs of trousers dangling from the low ceiling, 
 and only two feeble candles burning inside to show what they 
 were, I fancied that he looked like a man of a revengeful dis- 
 
196 TEE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 position, who had hung all his enemies, and was enjoying 
 himself. 
 
 My late experiences with Mr. and Mrs. Micawber suggested 
 to me that here might be a means of keeping off the wolf for 
 a little while. I went up the next by-street, took off my 
 waistcoat, rolled it neatly under my arm, and came back to 
 the shop door. " If you please, sir," I said, " I am to sell this 
 for a fair price." 
 
 Mr. Dolloby Dolloby was the name over the shop door, at 
 least took the waistcoat, stood his pipe on its head against 
 the door-post, went into the shop, followed by me, snuffed the 
 two candles with his fingers, spread the waistcoat on the 
 counter, and looked at it there, held it up against the light, 
 and looked at it there, and ultimately said : 
 
 " What do you call a price, now, for this here little weskit ? 7) 
 
 " Oh ! you know best, sir," I returned, modestly. 
 
 " I can't be buyer and seller too," said Mr. Dolloby. " Put 
 a price on this here little weskit." 
 
 "Would eighteenpence be" I hinted, after some hesita- 
 tion. 
 
 Mr. Dolloby rolled it up again, and gave it me back. " I 
 should rob my family," he said, " if I was to offer ninepence 
 for it." 
 
 This was a disagreeable way of putting the Ifusiness ; because 
 it imposed upon me, a perfect stranger, the unpleasantness of 
 asking Mr. Dolloby to rob his family on my account. My cir- 
 cumstances being so very pressing, however, I said I would 
 take ninepence for it, if he pleased. Mr. Dolloby, not without 
 some grumbling, gave ninepence. I wished him good night, 
 and walked out of the shop, the richer by that sum, and the 
 poorer by a waistcoat. But when I buttoned my jacket, that 
 was not much. 
 
 Indeed, I foresaw pretty clearly that my jacket would go 
 next, and that I should have to make . the best of my way to 
 Dover in a shirt and a pair of trousers, and might deem myself 
 lucky if I got there even in that trim. But my mind did not 
 run so much on this as might be supposed. Beyond a general 
 impression of the distance before me, and of the young man 
 the donkey-cart having used me cruelly, I think I had 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 197 
 
 no very urgent sense of my difficulties when I once again set 
 off with my ninepence in my pocket. 
 
 A plan had occurred to me for passing the night, which I 
 was going to carry into execution. This was, to lie behind 
 the wall at the back of my old school, in a corner where there 
 used to be a haystack. I imagined it would be a kind of com- 
 pany to have the boys, and the bedroom where I used to tell 
 the stories, so near me : although the boys would know noth- 
 ing of my being there, and the bedroom would yield me no 
 shelter. 
 
 I had had a hard day's work, and was pretty well jaded 
 when I came climbing ont, at last, upon the level of Black- 
 heath. It cost me some trouble to find out Salem House ; but 
 I found it, and I found a haystack in the corner, and I lay 
 down by it ; having first walked round the wall, and looked up 
 at the windows, and seen that all was dark and silent within. 
 Never shall I forget the lonely sensation of first lying down, 
 without a roof above my head ! 
 
 Sleep came upon me as it came on many other outcasts, 
 against whom house-doors were locked, and house-dogs barked, 
 that night and I dreamed of lying on my old school-bed, 
 talking to the boys in my room ; and found myself sitting up- 
 right, with Steerforth's name upon my lips, looking wildly at 
 the stars that were glistening and glimmering above me. 
 When I remembered where I was at that untimely hour, a 
 feeling stole upon me that made me get up, afraid of I don't 
 know what, and walk about. But the fainter glimmering of the 
 stars, and the pale light in the sky where the day was coming, 
 reassured me : and my eyes being very heavy, I lay down 
 again, and slept though with a knowledge in my sleep that 
 it was cold until the warm beams of the sun, and the ring- 
 ing of the getting-up bell at Salem House, awoke me. If I 
 could have hoped that Steerforth was there, I would have 
 lurked about until he came out alone; but I knew he must 
 have left long since. Traddles still remained, perhaps, but it 
 was very doubtful ; and I had not sufficient confidence in his 
 discretion or good luck, however strong my reliance was on 
 his good-nature, to wish to trust him with my situation. So I 
 crept away from the wall as Mr. Oreakle's boys were getting 
 
198 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 up, and struck into the long dusty track which I had first 
 known to be the Dover Road when I was one of them, and 
 when I little expected that any eyes would ever see me the 
 wayfarer I was now, upon it. 
 
 What a different Sunday morning from the old Sunday 
 morning at Yarmouth ! In due time I heard the church-bells 
 ringing, as I plodded on : and I met people who were going to 
 church ; and I passed a church or two where the congregation 
 were inside, and the sound of singing came out into the sun- 
 shine, while the beadle sat and cooled himself in the shade of 
 the porch, or stood beneath the yew-tree, with his hand to his 
 forehead, glowering at me going by. But the peace and rest 
 of the old Sunday morning were on everything, except me. 
 That was the difference. I felt quite wicked in my dirt and 
 dust, and with my tangled hair. But for the quiet picture I 
 had conjured up, of my mother in her youth and beauty, weep- 
 ing by the fire, and my aunt relenting to her, I hardly think I 
 should have had courage to go on until next day. But it 
 always went before me, and I followed. 
 
 I got, that Sunday, through three-and-twenty miles on the 
 straight road, though not very easily, for I was new to that 
 kind of toil. I see myself, as evening closes in, coming over 
 the bridge at Rochester, footsore and tired, and eating bread 
 that I had bought for supper. One or two little houses, with 
 the notice, " Lodgings for Travellers," hanging out, had tempted 
 me ; but I was afraid of spending the few pence I had, and was 
 even more afraid of the vicious looks of the trampers I had 
 met or overtaken. I sought no shelter, therefore, but the sky ; 
 and toiling into Chatham, which, in that night's aspect, is a 
 mere dream of chalk, and drawbridges, and mastless ships in a 
 muddy river, roofed like Noah's arks, crept, at last, upon a 
 sort of grass-grown battery overhanging a lane, where a sentry 
 was walking to and fro. Here I lay down, near a cannon ; 
 and, happy in the society of the sentry's footsteps, though he 
 knew no more of my being above him than the boys at Salem 
 House had known of my lying by the wall, slept soundly until 
 morning. 
 
 Very stiff and sore of foot I was in the morning, and quite 
 dazed by the beating of drums and marching of troops, which 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 199 
 
 seemed to hem me in on every side when I went down towards 
 the long narrow street. Feeling that I could go but a very 
 little way that day, if I were to reserve any strength for get- 
 ting to my journey's end, I resolved to make the sale of my 
 jacket its principal business. Accordingly, I took the jacket 
 off, that I might learn to do without it; and carrying it 
 under my arm, began a tour of inspection of the various 
 slop-shops. 
 
 -r-It was a likely place to sell a jacket in ; for the dealers in 
 second-hand clothes were numerous, and were, generally speak- 
 ing, on the look-out for customers at their shop doors. But, 
 as most of them had, hanging up among their stock, an officer's 
 coat or two, epaulettes and all, I was rendered timid by the 
 costly nature of their dealings, and walked about for a long 
 time without offering my merchandise to any one. 
 
 This modesty of mine directed my attention to the marine- 
 store shops, and such shops as Mr. Dolloby's, in preference to 
 the regular dealers. At last I found one that I thought looked 
 promising, at the corner of a dirty lane, ending in an inclosure 
 full of stinging nettles, against the palings of which some 
 second-hand sailors' clothes, that seemed to have overflowed 
 the shop, were fluttering among some cots, and rusty guns, 
 and oilskin hats, and certain trays full of so many old rusty 
 keys of so many sizes that they seemed various enough to open 
 all the doors in the world. 
 
 Into this shop, which was low and small, and which was 
 darkened rather than lighted by a little window, overhung 
 with clothes, and was descended into by some steps, I went 
 with a palpitating heart ; which was not relieved when an 
 ugly old man, with the lower part of his face all covered with 
 a stubbly gray beard, rushed out of a dirty den behind it, and 
 seized me by the hair of my head. He was a dreadful old 
 man to look at, in a filthy flannel waistcoat, and smelling terri- 
 bly of rum. His bedstead, covered with a tumbled and ragged 
 piece of patchwork, was in the den he had come from, where 
 another little window showed a prospect of more stinging net- 
 tles, and a lame donkey. 
 
 " Oh, what do you want ? " grinned this old man, in a fierce, 
 monotonous whine. "Oh, my eyes and limbs, what do you 
 
200 THE PERSONAL BISTORT AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 want ? Oh, my lungs and liver, what do you want ? Oh, 
 goroo, goroo ! " 
 
 I was so much dismayed by these words, and particularly 
 by the repetition of the last unknown one, which was a kind 
 of rattle in his throat, that I could make no answer ; hereupon 
 the old man, still holding me by the hair, repeated : 
 
 " Oh, what do you want ? Oh, my eyes and limbs, what do 
 you want ? Oh, my lungs and liver, what do you want ? Oh, 
 goroo ! " which he screwed out of himself, with an energy that 
 made his eyes start in his head. 
 
 " I wanted to know," I said, trembling, " if you would buy 
 a jacket." 
 
 " Oh, let's see the jacket ! " cried the old man. " Oh, my 
 heart on fire, show the jacket to us ! Oh, my eyes and limbs, 
 bring the jacket out ! " 
 
 With that he took his trembling hands, which were like the 
 claws of a great bird, out of my hair ; and put on a pair of 
 spectacles, not at all ornamental to his inflamed eyes. 
 
 " Oh, how much for the jacket ? " cried the old man, after 
 examining it. " Oh goroo ! how much for the jacket ? " 
 
 " Half-a-crown," I answered, recovering myself. 
 
 " Oh, my lungs and liver," cried the old man, " no ! Oh, my 
 eyes, no ! Oh, my limbs, no ! Eighteenpence. Goroo ! " 
 
 Every time he uttered this ejaculation, his eyes seemed to 
 be in danger of starting out ; and every sentence he spoke, he 
 delivered in a sort of tune, always exactly the same, and more 
 like a gust of wind, which begins low, mounts up high, and 
 falls again, than any other comparison I can find for it. 
 
 " Well," said I, glad to have closed the bargain, " I'll take 
 eighteenpence." 
 
 " Oh, my liver ! " cried the old man, throwing the jacket on 
 a shelf. " Get out of the shop ! Oh, my lungs, get out of the 
 shop! Oh, my eyes and limbs goroo ! don't ask for money 
 make it an exchange." 
 
 I never was so frightened in my 2 life, before or since ; but I 
 told him humbly that I wanted money, and that nothing else 
 was of any use to me, but that I would wait for it, as he de- 
 sired, outside, and had no wish to hurry him. So I went out- 
 side, and sat down in the shade in a corner. And I sat there 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 201 
 
 so many hours, that the shade became sunlight, and the sun- 
 light became shade again, and still I sat there waiting for the 
 money. 
 
 There never was such another drunken madman in that line 
 of business, I hope. That he was well known in the neighbor- 
 hood, and enjoyed the reputation of having sold himself to the 
 devil, I soon understood from the visits he received from the 
 boys, who continually came skirmishing about the shop, shout- 
 ing that legend, and calling to him to bring out his gold. " You 
 ain't poor, you know, Charley, as you pretend. Bring out 
 your gold. Bring out some of the gold you sold yourself to 
 the devil for. Come ! It's in the lining of the mattress, 
 Charley. Rip it open and let's have some ! " This, and many 
 offers to lend him a knife for the purpose, exasperated him to 
 such a degree, that the whole day was a succession of rushes 
 on his part, and flights on the part of the boys. Sometimes 
 in his rage he would take me for one of them, and come at me, 
 mouthing as if he were going to tear me in pieces; then, 
 remembering me, just in time, would dive into the shop, and 
 lie upon his bed, as I thought from the sound of his voice, 
 yelling in a frantic way, to his own windy tune, the Death of 
 Nelson ; with an Oh ! before every line, and innumerable 
 Groroos interspersed. As if this were not bad enough for me, 
 the boys, connecting me with the establishment, on account of 
 the patience and perseverance with which I sat outside, half- 
 dressed, pelted me, and used me very ill all day. 
 
 He made many attempts to induce me to consent to an ex- 
 change ; at one time coming out with a fishing rod, at another 
 with a fiddle, at another with a cocked hat, at another with a 
 flute. But I resisted all these overtures, and sat there in 
 desperation ; each time asking him, with tears in my eyes, for 
 my money or my jacket. At last he began to pay me in half- 
 pence at a time ; and he was full two hours getting by easy 
 stages to a shilling. 
 
 " Oh, my eyes and limbs ! " he then cried, peeping hideously 
 out of the shop, after a long pause, " will you go for twopence 
 more ? " 
 
 I can't," I said ; " I shall be starved." 
 
 " Oh, my lungs and liver, will you go for threepence ? " 
 
202 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " I would go for nothing if I could," I said, " but I want the 
 money badly." 
 
 " Oh, go roo ! " (it is really impossible to express how he 
 twisted this ejaculation out of himself, as he peeped round the 
 doorpost at me, showing nothing but his crafty old head) ; 
 " will you go for f ourpence ? " 
 
 I was so faint and weary that I closed with this offer ; and 
 taking the money out of his claw, not without trembling, 
 went away more hungry and thirsty than I had ever been, a 
 little before sunset. But at an expense of threepence I soon 
 refreshed myself completely ; and, being in better spirits 
 then, limped seven miles upon my road. 
 
 My bed at night was under another haystack, where I rested 
 comfortably, after having washed my blistered feet in a stream, 
 and dressed them as well as I was able, with some cool leaves. 
 When I took the road again next morning, I found that it lay 
 through a succession of hop-grounds and orchards. It was 
 sufficiently late in the year for the orchards to be ruddy with 
 ripe apples ; and in a few places the hop-pickers were already 
 at work. I thought it all extremely beautiful, and made up 
 my mind to sleep among the hops that night : imagining some 
 cheerful companionship in the long perspective of poles, with 
 the graceful leaves twining round them. 
 
 The trainpers were worse than ever that day, and inspired 
 me with a dread that is yet quite fresh in my mind. Some of 
 them were most ferocious-looking ruffians, who stared at me 
 as I went by ; and stopped, perhaps, and called after me to 
 come back and speak to them ; and when I took to my heels, 
 stoned me. I recollect one young fellow a tinker, I suppose, 
 from his wallet and brazier who had a woman with him, 
 and who faced about and stared at me thus ; and then roared 
 to me in such a tremendous voice to coine back, that I halted 
 and looked round. 
 
 "Come here when you're called," said the tinker, "or I'll 
 rip your young body open." 
 
 I thought it best to go back. As I drew nearer to them, 
 trying to propitiate the tinker with my looks, I observed that 
 the woman had a black eye. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 203 
 
 " Where are you going ? " said the tinker, gripping the 
 bosom of my shirt with his blackened hand. 
 
 " I am going to Dover," I said. 
 
 " Where do you come from ? " asked the tinker, giving his 
 hand another turn in my shirt, to hold me more securely. 
 
 " I come from London," I said. 
 
 " What lay are you upon ? " asked the tinker. " Are you 
 a prig ? " 
 
 "N no," I said. 
 
 " Ain't you, by G- ? If you make a brag of your honesty 
 to me," said the tinker, " I'll knock your brains out." 
 
 With his disengaged hand he made a menace of striking me, 
 and then looked at me from head to foot. 
 
 " Have you got the price of a pint of beer about you ? " said 
 the tinker. "If you have, out with it, afore I take it away ! " 
 
 I should certainly have produced it, but that I met the 
 woman's look, and saw her very slightly shake her head, and 
 form " No ! " with her lips. 
 
 "I am very poor," I said, attempting to smile, "and have 
 got no money." 
 
 " Why, what do you mean ? " said the tinker, looking so 
 sternly at me, that I almost feared he saw the money in my 
 pocket. 
 
 " Sir ! " I stammered. 
 
 "What do you mean," said the tinker, "by wearing my 
 brother's silk handkercher ? Give it over here ! " And 
 he had mine off my neck in a moment, and tossed it to the 
 woman. 
 
 The woman burst into a fit of laughter, as if she thought 
 this a joke, and tossed it back to me, nodded once, as slightly 
 as before, and made the word " Go ! " with her lips. Before I 
 could obey, however, the tinker seized the handkerchief out of 
 my hand with a roughness that threw me away like a feather, 
 and putting it loosely round his own neck, turned upon 
 the woman with an oath, and knocked her down. I never 
 shall forget seeing her fall backward on the hard road, and 
 lie there with her bonnet tumbled off, and her hair all 
 whitened in the dust ; nor, when I looked back from a dis- 
 tance, seeing her sitting on the pathway, which was a bank 
 
204- THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 by the roadside, wiping the blood from her face with a corner 
 of her shawl, while he went on ahead. 
 
 This adventure frightened me so, that afterwards, when I 
 saw any of these people coming, I turned back until I could 
 find a hiding-place, where I remained until they had gone out 
 of sight; which happened so often, that I was very seriously 
 delayed. But under this difficulty, as under all the other 
 difficulties of my journey, I seemed to be sustained and led 
 on by my fanciful picture of my mother in her youth, before 
 I came into the world. It always kept me company. It was 
 there, among the hops, when I lay down to sleep; it was 
 with me on my waking in the morning; it went before me 
 all day. I have associated it, ever since, with the sunny 
 street of Canterbury, dozing as it were in the hot light ; and 
 with the sight of its old houses and gateways, and the stately, 
 gray Cathedral, with the rooks sailing round the towers. 
 When I came, at last, upon the bare, wide downs near Dover, 
 it relieved the solitary aspect of the scene with hope; and 
 not until I reached that first great aim of my journey, and 
 actually set foot in the town itself, on the sixth day of my 
 flight, did it desert me. But then, strange to say, when I 
 stood with my ragged shoes, and my dusty, sunburnt, half- 
 clothed figure, in the place so long desired, it seemed to vanish 
 like a dream, and to leave me helpless and dispirited. 
 
 I inquired about my aunt among the boatmen first, and 
 received various answers. One said she lived in the South 
 Foreland Light, and had singed her whiskers by doing so ; 
 another, that she was made fast to the great buoy outside the 
 harbor, and could only be visited at half-tide ; a third, that 
 she was locked up in Maidstone Jail for child-stealing ; a 
 fourth, that she was seen to mount a broom, in the last high 
 wind, and make direct for Calais. The fly-drivers, among 
 whom I inquired next, were equally jocose and equally dis- 
 respectful : and the shopkeepers, not liking my appearance, 
 generally replied, without hearing what I had to say, that 
 they had got nothing for me. I felt more miserable and des- 
 titute than I had done at any period of my running away. 
 My money was all gone, I had nothing left to dispose of ; I 
 
OF DA VII) COPPERFIELD. 205 
 
 was hungry, thirsty, and worn out ; and seemed as distant 
 from my end as if I had remained in London. 
 
 The morning had worn away in these inquiries, and I was 
 sitting on the step of an empty shop at a street corner, 
 near the market-place, deliberating upon wandering towards 
 those other places which had been mentioned, when a fly- 
 driver, coming by with his carriage, dropped a horsecloth. 
 Something good-natured in the man's face, as I handed it up, 
 encouraged me to ask him if he could tell me where Miss 
 Trotwood lived; though I had asked the question so often, 
 that it almost died upon my lips. 
 
 " Trotwood," said he. " Let me see. I know the name, too. 
 Old lady?" 
 
 "Yes,". I said, "rather." 
 
 " Pretty stiff in the back ? " said he, making himself 
 upright. 
 
 " Yes," I said. " I should think it very likely." 
 
 " Carries a bag ? " said he " bag with a dood deal of room 
 in it is grumsh, and comes down upon you, sharp ? ' : 
 
 My heart sank within me as I acknowledged the undoubted 
 accuracy of this description. 
 
 "Why then, I tell you what," said he. "If you go up 
 there," pointing with his whip towards the heights, "and 
 keep right on till you come to some houses facing the sea, I 
 think you'll hear of her. My opinion is, she won't stand 
 anything, so here's a penny for you." 
 
 I accepted the gift thankfully, and bought a loaf with it. 
 Despatching this refreshment by the way, I went in the direc- 
 tion my friend had indicated, and walked on a good distance 
 without coming to the houses he had mentioned. At length 
 I saw some before me ; and approaching them, went into a 
 little shop (it was what we used to call a general shop, at 
 home), and inquired if they could have the goodness to tell 
 me where Miss Trotwood lived. I addressed myself to a man 
 behind the counter, who was weighing some rice for a young 
 woman ; but the latter, taking the inquiry to herself, turned 
 round quickly. 
 
 " My mistress ? " she said. " What do you want with her, 
 boy ? " 
 
206 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 "I want," I replied, "to speak to her, if you please." 
 
 " To beg of her, you mean," retorted the damsel. 
 
 "No," I said, " indeed." But suddenly remembering that 
 in truth I came for no other purpose, I held my peace in 
 confusion, and felt my face burn. 
 
 My aunt's handmaid, as I supposed she was from what she 
 had said, put her rice in a little basket and walked out of tli j 
 shop ; telling me that I could follow her, if I wanted to know 
 where Miss Trotwood lived. I needed no second permission ; 
 though I was by this time in such a state of consternation and 
 agitation, that my legs shook under me. I followed the young 
 woman, and we soon came to a very neat little cottage with 
 cheerful bow-windows : in front of it, a small square gravelled 
 court or garden full of flowers, carefully tended, and smelling 
 'deliciously. 
 
 " This is Miss Trotwood's," said the young woman. " Now 
 you know; and that's all I have got to say." With which 
 words she hurried into the house, as if to shake off the respon- 
 sibility of my appearance ; and left me standing at the garden- 
 gate, looking disconsolately over the top of it towards the 
 parlor-window, where a muslin curtain partly undrawn in 
 the middle, a large round green screen or fan fastened on to 
 the window-sill, a small table, and a great chair, suggested to 
 me that my aunt might be at that moment seated in awful state. 
 
 My shoes were by this time in a woful condition. The 
 soles had shed themselves bit by bit, and the upper leathers 
 had broken and burst until the very shape and form of shoes 
 had departed from them. My hat (which had served me for 
 a nightcap, too) was so crushed and bent, that no old battered 
 handleless saucepan on a dunghill need have been ashamed to 
 vie with it. My shirt and trousers, stained with heat, dew, 
 grass, and the Kentish soil on which I had slept and torn 
 besides might have frightened the birds from my aunt's 
 garden, as I stood at the gate. My hair had known no comb 
 or brush since I left London. My face, neck, and hands, from 
 unaccustomed exposure to the air and sun, were burnt to a 
 berry-brown. From head to foot I was powdered almost as 
 white with chalk and dust, as if I had come out of a lime-kiln. 
 In this plight, and with a strong consciousness of it, I waited 
 
^^~-'i '-.' - ".' 't 
 
 I MAKE MYSELF KNOWN TO MY AUNT, 
 
OF DAVII> COPPEEFIELD. 207 
 
 to introduce myself to, and make my first impression on, my 
 formidable aunt. 
 
 The unbroken stillness of the parlor-window leading me to 
 infer, after a while, that she was not there, I lifted up my 
 eyes to the window above it, where I saw a florid, pleasant- 
 looking gentleman, with a gray head, who shut up one eye in 
 a grotesque manner, nodded his head at me several times, 
 shook it at me as often, laughed, and went away. 
 
 I had been discomposed enough before ; but I was so much 
 the more discomposed by this unexpected behavior, that I was 
 011 the point of slinking off, to think how I had best proceed, 
 when there came out of the house a lady with her handker- 
 chief tied over her cap, and a pair of gardening gloves on her 
 hands, wearing a gardening pocket like a tollman's apron, and 
 carrying a great knife. I knew her immediately to be Miss 
 Betsey, for she came stalking out of the house exactly as my 
 poor mother had so often described her stalking up our garden 
 at Blunderstone Rookery. 
 
 " Go away ! " said Miss Betsey, shaking her head, and mak- 
 ing a distant chop in the air with her knife. " Go along ! No 
 boys here ! " 
 
 I watched her, with my heart at my lips, as she marched 
 to a corner of her garden, and stooped to dig up some little 
 root there. Then, without a scrap of courage, but with a great 
 deal of desperation, I 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." 
 
 "En?" exclaimed Miss Betsey, in a tone of amazement I 
 have never heard approached. 
 
 " If you please, aunt, I am your nephew." 
 
 " Oh, Lord ! " said my aunt. And sat flat down in the 
 garden-path. 
 
 "I am David Copperfield, of Blunderstone, in Suffolk 
 where you came, on the night when I was born, and saw my 
 dear mamma. I have been very unhappy since she died. I 
 have been slighted, and taught nothing, and thrown upon my- 
 self, and put to work not fit for me. It made me run away to 
 
208 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 you. I was robbed at first setting out, and have walked all 
 the way, 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 some- 
 thing, I broke into a passion of crying, which I suppose had 
 been pent up within me all the week. 
 
 My aunt, with every sort of expression but wonder dis- 
 charged 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 parlor. 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 handker- 
 chief 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 
 exclamations off like minute guns. 
 
 After a time she rang the bell. "Janet," said my aunt, 
 when her servant came in. " Go up stairs, give my compli- 
 ments to Mr. Dick, and say I wish to speak to him." 
 
 Janet looked a little surprised to see me lying stiffly on the 
 sofa (I was afraid to move lest it should be displeasing to my 
 aunt), but went on her errand. My aunt, with her hands 
 behind her, walked up and down the room, until the gentleman 
 w r ho had squinted at me from the upper window came in 
 laughing. 
 
 " Mr. Dick," said my aunt, " don't be a fool, because nobody 
 can be more discreet than you can, when you choose. We all 
 know that. So don't be a fool, whatever you are." 
 
 The gentleman w^as serious immediately, and looked at me, 
 I thought, as if he would entreat me to say nothing about the 
 window. 
 
 "Mr. Dick," said my aunt, "you have heard me mention 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 209 
 
 David Copperfield ? Now don't pretend not to have a memory, 
 because you and I know better." 
 
 "David Copperfield?" said Mr. Dick, who did not appear 
 to me to remember much about it. "David Copperfield ? Oh 
 yes, to be sure, David, certainly." 
 
 "Well," said my aunt, "this is his boy his son. He 
 would be. as like his father as it's possible to be, if he was not 
 so like his mother, too." 
 
 " His son ? " said Mr. Dick. "David's son ? Indeed ! " 
 
 " Yes," pursued my aunt, " and he has done a pretty piece 
 of business. He has run away. Ah ! His sister, Betsey 
 Trotwood, never would have run away." My aunt shook .her 
 head firmly, confident in the character and behavior of the girl 
 who never was born. 
 
 " Oh ! you think she wouldn't have run away ? " said Mr. 
 Dick. 
 
 "Bless and save the man," exclaimed my aunt, sharply, 
 "how he talks ! Don't I know she wouldn't ? She would 
 have lived with her god-mother, and we should have been de- 
 voted to one another. Where, in the name of wonder, should 
 his sister, Betsey Trotwood, have run from, or to ? " 
 
 " Nowhere," said Mr. Dick. 
 
 "Well then," returned my aunt, softened by the reply, 
 " how can you pretend to be wool-gathering, Dick, when you 
 are as sharp as a surgeon's lancet ? Now, here you see young 
 David Copperfield, and the question I put to you is, what shall 
 I do with him?" 
 
 " What shall you do with him ? " said Mr. Dick, feebly, 
 scratching his head. " Oh ! do with him ? " 
 
 "Yes," said my aunt, with a grave look, and her forefinger 
 held up. "Come ! I want some very sound advice." 
 
 " Why, if I was you," said Mr. Dick, considering, and look- 
 ing vacantly at me, "I should " The contemplation of me 
 seemed to inspire him with a sudden idea, and he added, 
 briskly, "I should wash him ! " 
 
 " Janetj" said my aunt, turning round with a quiet triumph, 
 -which I did not then understand, " Mr. Dick sets us all right. 
 Heat the bath ! " 
 
 Although I was deeply interested in this dialogue, I could 
 
 VOL. I 14 
 
210 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPEDIENCE 
 
 not help observing my aunt, Mr. Dick, and Janet, while it 
 was in progress, and completing a survey I had already been 
 engaged in making of the room. 
 
 My aunt was a tall, hard-featured lady, but by no means 
 ill-looking. There was an inflexibility in her face, in her 
 voice, in her gait and carriage, amply sufficient to account 
 for the effect she had made upon a gentle creature, like my 
 mother ; but her features were rather handsome than other- 
 wise, though unbending and austere. I particularly noticed 
 that she had a very quick, bright eye. Her hair, which was 
 gray, was arranged in two plain divisions, under what I believe 
 would be called a mob-cap; I mean a cap, much more common 
 then than now, with side-pieces fastening under the chin. Her 
 dress was of a lavender color, and perfectly neat ; but scantily 
 made, as if she desired to be as little encumbered as possible. 
 I remember that I thought it, in form, more like a riding- 
 habit with the superfluous skirt cut off, than anything else. 
 She wore at her side a gentleman's gold watch, if I might 
 judge from its size and make, with an appropriate chain 
 and seals ; she had some linen at her throat not unlike a 
 shirt-collar, and things at her wrists like little shirt-wrist- 
 bands. 
 
 Mr. Dick, as I have already said, was gray-headed and 
 florid : I should have said all about him, in saying so, had 
 not his head been curiously bowed not by age ; it reminded 
 me of one of Mr. Creakle's boys' heads after a beating and 
 his gray eyes prominent and large, with a strange kind of 
 watery brightness in them that made me, in combination with 
 his vacant manner, his submission to my aunt, and his childish 
 delight when she praised him, suspect him of being a little 
 mad, though, if he were mad, how he came to be there puzzled 
 me extremely. He was dressed like any other ordinary gen- 
 tleman, in a loose gray morning coat and waistcoat, and white 
 trousers ; and had his watch in his fob, and his money in his 
 pockets : which he rattled as if he were very proud of it. 
 
 Janet was a pretty blooming girl, of about nineteen or 
 twenty, and a perfect picture of neatness. Though I made 
 no further observation of her at the moment, I may mention 
 here what I did not discover until afterwards, namely, that 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELI). 211 
 
 she was one of a series of protegees whom my aunt had taken 
 into her service expressly to educate in a renouncement of 
 mankind, and who had generally completed their abjuration 
 by marrying the baker. 
 
 The room was as neat as Janet or my aunt. As I laid 
 down my pen, a moment since, to think of it, the air from 
 the sea came blowing in again, mixed with the perfume of the 
 flowers ; and I saw the old-fashioned furniture brightly rubbed 
 and polished, my aunt's inviolable chair and table by the round 
 green fan in the bow-window, the drugget-covered carpet, the 
 cat, the kettle-holder, the two canaries, the old china, the 
 punch-bowl full of dried rose leaves, the tall press guarding 
 all sorts of bottles and pots, and, wonderfully out of keeping 
 with the rest, my dusty self upon the sofa, taking note of 
 everything. 
 
 Janet had gone away to get the bath ready, when my aunt, 
 to my great alarm, became in one moment rigid with indig- 
 nation, and had hardly voice to cry out, " Janet ! Donkeys ! " 
 
 Upon which, Janet came running up the stairs as if the 
 house were in flames, darted out on a little piece of green in 
 front, and warned off two saddle-donkeys, lady ridden, that 
 had presumed to set hoof upon it ; while my aunt, rushing 
 out of the house, seized the bridle of a third animal laden 
 with a bestriding child, turned him, led him forth from those 
 sacred precincts, and boxed the ears of the unlucky urchin in 
 attendance who had dared to profane that hallowed ground. 
 
 To this hour I don't know whether my aunt had any lawful 
 right of way over that patch of green ; but she had settled it 
 in her own mind that she had, and it was all the same to her. 
 The one great outrage of her life, demanding to be constantly, 
 avenged, was the passage of a donkey over that immaculate 
 spot. In whatever occupation she was engaged, however 
 interesting to her the conversation in which she was taking 
 part, a donkey turned the current of her ideas in a moment, 
 and she was upon him straight. Jugs of water, and watering- 
 pots, were kept in secret places ready to be discharged on the 
 offending boys ; sticks were laid in ambush behind the door ; 
 sallies were made at all hours ; and incessant war prevailed. 
 Perhaps this was an agreeable excitement to the donkey-boys ; 
 
212 THE PEE SOS AL HISTOPY ASD 
 
 or perhaps the more sagacious of the donkeys, understanding 
 how the case stood, delighted with constitutional obstinacy in 
 coming that way. I only know that there were three alarms 
 before the bath was ready ; and that on the occasion of the 
 last and most desperate of all, I saw my aunt engage, single- 
 handed, with a sandy-headed lad of fifteen, and bump his 
 sandy head against her own gate, before he seemed to com- 
 prehend what was the matter. These interruptions were the 
 more ridiculous to me, because she was giving me broth out 
 of a table-spoon at the time (having firmly persuaded herself 
 that I was actually starving, and must receive nourishment 
 at first in very small quantities), and, while my mouth was 
 yet open to receive the spoon, she would put it back into the 
 basin, cry " Janet ! Donkeys ! " and go out to the assault. 
 
 The bath was a great comfort. For I began to be sensible 
 of acute pains in my limbs from lying out in the fields, and 
 was now so tired and low that I could hardly keep myself 
 awake for five minutes together. When I had bathed they 
 (I mean my aunt and Janet) enrobed me in a shirt and a pair 
 of trousers belonging to Mr. Dick, and tied me up in two or 
 three great shawls. What sort of bundle I looked like, I 
 don't know, but I felt a very hot one. Feeling also very 
 faint and drowsy, I soon lay down on the sofa again and fell 
 asleep. 
 
 It might have been a dream, originating in the fancy which 
 had occupied my mind so long, but I awoke with the impression 
 that my aunt had come and bent over me, and had put my 
 hair away from my face, and laid my head more comfortably, 
 and had then stood looking at me. The words, "Pretty, 
 fellow," or " Poor fellow," seemed to be in my ears, too ; but 
 certainly there was nothing else, when I awoke, to lead me to 
 believe that they had been uttered by my aunt, who sat in the 
 bow-window gazing at the sea from behind the green fan, 
 which was mounted on a kind of swivel, and turned any way. 
 
 We dined soon after I awoke, off a roast fowl and a pud- 
 ding ; I sitting at table, not unlike a trussed bird myself, and 
 moving my arms with considerable difficulty. But as my 
 aunt had swathed me up. I made no complaint of being incon- 
 venienced. All this time, I was deeply anxious to know what 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 213 
 
 she was going to do with me ; but she took her dinner in pro- 
 found silence, except when she occasionally fixed her eyes on 
 me sitting opposite, and said, " Mercy upon us ! " which did 
 not by any means relieve my anxiety. 
 
 The cloth being drawn, and some sherry put upon the 
 table (of which I had a glass), my aunt sent up for Mr. Dick 
 again, who joined us, and looked as wise as he could when 
 she requested him to attend to my story, which she elicited 
 from me, gradually, by a course of questions. During my 
 recital, she kept her eyes on Mr. Dick, who I thought would 
 have gone to sleep but for that, and who, whensoever he 
 lapsed into a smile, was checked by a frown from my aunt. 
 
 " Whatever possessed that poor unfortunate Baby, that she 
 must go and be married again," said my aunt, when I had 
 finished, "/can't conceive." 
 
 "Perhaps she fell in love with her second husband," Mr. 
 Dick suggested. 
 
 " Fell in love ! " repeated my aunt, " What do you mean ? 
 What business had she to do it ? " 
 
 " Perhaps," Mr. Dick simpered, after thinking a little, " she 
 did it for pleasure." 
 
 " Pleasure, indeed ! " replied my aunt. " A mighty pleas- 
 ure for the poor baby to fix her simple faith upon any dog of 
 a fellow, certain to ill-use her in some way or other. What 
 did she propose to herself, I should like to know ! She had 
 had one husband. She had seen David Copperfield out of the 
 world, who was always running after wax dolls from his 
 cradle. She had got a baby oh, there were a pair of babies 
 when she gave birth to this child, sitting here, that Friday 
 night ! and what more did she want ? " 
 
 Mr. Dick secretly shook his head at me, as if he thought 
 there was no getting over this. 
 
 " She couldn't even have a baby like anybody else," said 
 my aunt. " Where was this child's sister, Betsey Trotwood ! 
 Not forthcoming. Don't tell me ! " 
 
 Mr. Dick seemed quite frightened. 
 
 "That little man of a doctor, with his head on one side," 
 said my aunt, " Jellips, or whatever his name was, what was 
 he about ? All he could do, was to say to me, like a robin 
 
214 THE PERSONAL HISTORY A.SD EXPERIENCE 
 
 redbreast as lie is ' It's a boy.' A boy ! Yah, the im- 
 becility of the whole set of 'em ! " 
 
 The heartiness of the ejaculation startled Mr. Dick exceed- 
 ingly ; and me, too, if I am to tell the truth. 
 
 "And then, as if this was not enough, and she had not 
 stood sufficiently in the light of this child's sister, Betsey 
 Trotwood," said my aunt, " she marries a second time goes 
 and marries a Murderer or a man with a name like it and 
 stands in this child's light ! And the natural consequence is, 
 as anybody but a baby might have foreseen, that he prowls 
 and wanders. He's as like Cain before he was grown up, as 
 he can be." 
 
 Mr. Dick looked hard at me, as if to identify me in this 
 character. 
 
 "And then there's that woman with the Pagan name." 
 said my aunt, "that Peggotty, she goes and gets married 
 next. Because she has not seen enough of the evil attending 
 such things, she goes and gets married next, as the child re- 
 lates. I only hope," said my aunt, shaking her head, "that 
 her husband is one of those Poker husbands who abound in 
 the newspapers, and will beat her well with one." 
 
 I could not bear to hear my old nurse so described, and made 
 the subject of such a wish. I told my aunt that indeed she 
 was mistaken. That, Peggotty was the best, the truest, the 
 most faithful, most devoted, and most self-denying friend and 
 servant in the world ; who had ever loved me dearly, who had 
 ever loved my mother dearly; who had held my mother's 
 dying head upon her arm, on whose face my mother had im- 
 printed her last grateful kiss. And my remembrance of them 
 both, choking me, I broke down as I was trying to say that 
 her home was my home, and that all she had was mine, and 
 that I would have gone to her for shelter, but for her humble 
 station, which made me fear that I might bring some trouble 
 on her I broke down, I say, as I was trying to say so, and 
 laid my face in my hands upon the table. 
 
 " Well, well ! " said my aunt, " the child is right to stand 
 by those who have stood by him Janet ! Donkt 
 
 I thoroughly believe that but for those unfortunate donkeys, 
 we should have come to a good understanding; for my aunt 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 215 
 
 had laid her hand on. my shoulder, and the impulse was upon 
 me, thus emboldened, to embrace her and beseech her protec- 
 tion. But the interruption, and the disorder she was thrown 
 into by the struggle outside, put an end to all softer ideas for 
 the present ; and kept my aunt indignantly declaiming to Mr. 
 Dick about her determination to appeal for redress to the laws 
 of her country, and to bring actions for trespass against the 
 whole donkey proprietorship of Dover, until tea-time. 
 
 After tea, we sat at the window on the look out, as I 
 imagined, from my aunt's sharp expression of face, for more 
 invaders until dusk, when Janet set candles, and a back- 
 gammon-board, on the table, and pulled down the blinds. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Dick," said my aunt, with her grave look, and 
 her forefinger up as before, " I am going to ask you another 
 question. Look at this child." 
 
 " David's son ? " said Mr. Dick, with an attentive, puzzled 
 face. 
 
 "Exactly so," returned my aunt. "What would you do 
 with him, now ? " 
 
 " Do with David's son ? " said Mr. Dick. 
 
 " Ay," replied my aunt, " with David's son ? " 
 
 "Oh!" said Mr. Dick. "Yes. Do with I should put 
 him to bed." 
 
 " Janet ! " cried my aunt, with the same complacent triumph 
 that I had remarked before. " Mr. Dick sets us all right. If 
 the bed is ready, we'll take him up to it." 
 
 Janet reporting it to be quite ready, I was taken up to it ; 
 kindly, but in some sort like a prisoner; my aunt going in 
 front, and Janet bringing up the rear. The only circumstance 
 which gave me any new hope, was my aunt's stopping on the 
 stairs to inquire about a smell of fire that was prevalent there ; 
 and Janet replying that she had been making tinder down in 
 the kitchen, of my old shirt. But there were no other clothes 
 in my room than the odd heap of things I wore ; and when 
 I was left there, with a little taper which my aunt fore-warned 
 me would burn exactly five minutes, I heard them lock my 
 door on the outside. Turning these things over in my mind, 
 I deemed it possible that my aunt, who could know nothing 
 of me, might suspect that I had a habit of running away, 
 
216 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 and took precautions, on that account, to have me in safe 
 keeping. 
 
 The room was a pleasant one, at the top of the house, over- 
 looking the sea, on which the moon was shining brilliantly. 
 After I had said my prayers, and the candle had burnt out, I 
 remember how I still sat looking at the moonlight on the 
 water, as if I could hope to read my fortune in it, as in a 
 bright book ; or to see my mother with her child, coming from 
 Heaven, along that shining path, to look upon me as she had 
 looked when I last saw her sweet face. I remember how the 
 solemn feeling with which at length I turned my eyes away, 
 yielded to the sensation of gratitude and rest which the sight 
 of the white-curtained bed and how much more the lying 
 softly down upon it, nestling in the snow-white sheets ! 
 inspired. I remember how I thought of all the solitary places 
 under the night sky where I had slept, and how I prayed that 
 I never might be houseless any more, and never might forget 
 the houseless. I remember how I seem to float, then, down 
 the melancholy glory of that track upon the sea, away into the 
 world of dreams. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 217 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 MY AUNT MAKES UP HER MIND ABOUT ME. 
 
 ON going down in the morning, I found my aunt musing 
 so profoundly over the breakfast-table, with her elbow on the 
 tray, that the contents of the urn had overflowed the teapot 
 and were laying the whole table-cloth under water, when my 
 entrance put her meditations to flight. I felt sure that I had 
 been the subject of her reflections, and was more than ever 
 anxious to know her intentions towards me. Yet I dared not 
 express my anxiety, lest it should give her offence. 
 
 My eyes, however, not being so much under control as my 
 tongue, were attracted towards my aunt very often during 
 breakfast. I never could look at her for a few moments 
 together but I found her looking at me in an odd thoughtful 
 manner, as if I were an immense way off, instead of being on 
 the other side of the small round table. When she had finished 
 her breakfast, my aunt very deliberately leaned back in her 
 chair, knitted her brows, folded her arms, and contemplated me 
 at her leisure, with such a fixedness of attention that I was 
 quite overpowered by embarrassment. Not having as yet 
 finished my own breakfast, I attempted to hide my confusion 
 by proceeding with it ; but my knife tumbled over my fork, 
 my fork tripped up my knife, I chipped bits of bacon a 
 surprising height into the air instead of cutting them for my 
 own eating, and choked myself with my tea, which persisted in 
 going the wrong way instead of the right one, until I gave in 
 altogether, and sat blushing under my aunt's close scrutiny. 
 
 "Hallo !" said my aunt, after a long time. 
 
 I looked up, and met her sharp bright glance respectfully. 
 
 "I have written to him," said my aunt. 
 
 To ?" 
 
 " To your father-in-law," said my aunt. " I have sent him 
 
THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 a letter that I'll trouble him to attend to, or he and I will fall 
 out, I can tell him ! " 
 
 " Does he know where I am, aunt ? " I inquired, alarmed. 
 
 " I have told him," said my aunt, with a nod. 
 
 " Shall I be given up to him ? " I faltered. 
 
 " I don't know," said my aunt. " We shall see." 
 
 " Oh ! I can't think what I shall do," I exclaimed, " if I have 
 to go back to Mr. Murdstone ! " 
 
 "I don't know anything about it," said my aunt, shaking 
 her head. " I can't say, I am sure. We shall see." 
 
 My spirits sank under these words, and I became very down- 
 cast and heavy of heart. My aunt, without appearing to take 
 much heed of me, put on a coarse apron with a bib, which she 
 took out of the press ; washed up the teacups with her own 
 hands ; and, when everything was washed and set in the tray 
 again, and the cloth folded and put on the top of the whole, 
 rang for Janet to remove it. She next swept up the crumbs 
 with a little broom (putting on a pair of gloves first), until 
 there did not appear to be one microscopic speck left on the 
 carpet ; next dusted and arranged the room, which was dusted 
 and arranged to a hair's breadth already. When all these 
 tasks were performed to her satisfaction, she took off the 
 gloves and apron, folded them up, put them in the particular 
 corner of the press from which they had been taken, brought 
 out her work-box to her own table in the open window, and sat 
 down, with the green fan between her and the light, to work. 
 
 " I wish you'd go up stairs," said my aunt, as she threaded 
 her needle, "and give my compliments to Mr. Dick, and I'll 
 be glad to know how he gets on with his Memorial." 
 
 I rose with all alacrity, to acquit myself of this commission. 
 
 "I suppose," said my aunt, eyeing me as narrowly as she 
 had eyed the needle in threading it, "you think Mr. Dick a 
 short name, eh ? " 
 
 "I thought it was rather a short name, yesterday," I 
 confessed. 
 
 " You are not to suppose that he hasn't got a longer name, if 
 he chose to use it," said my aunt, with a loftier air. " Babley 
 Mr. Richard Babley that's the gentleman's true name." 
 
 I was going to suggest, with a modest sense of my youth 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 219 
 
 and the familiarity I had already been guilty of, that I had 
 better give him the full benefit of that name, when my aunt 
 went on to say : 
 
 " But don't you call him by it, whatever you do. He can't 
 bear his name. That's a peculiarity of his. Though I don't 
 know that it's much of a peculiarity, either ; for he has been 
 ill-used enough, by some that bear it, to have a mortal antip- 
 athy for it, Heaven knows. Mr. Dick is his name here, and 
 everywhere else, now if he ever went anywhere else, which 
 he don't. So take care, child, you don't call him anything 
 but Mr. Dick." 
 
 I promised to obey, and went up stairs with my message ; 
 thinking, as I went, that if Mr. Dick had been working at his 
 Memorial long, at the same rate as I had seen him working at 
 it, through the open door, when I came down, he was probably 
 getting on very well indeed. I found him still driving at it 
 with a long pen, and his head almost laid upon the paper. He 
 was so intent upon it, that I had ample leisure to observe the 
 large paper kite in a corner, the confusion of bundles of manu- 
 script, the number of pens, and, above all, the quantity of ink 
 (which he seemed to have in, in half gallon jars by the dozen), 
 before he observed my being present. 
 
 " Ha ! Phoebus ! " said Mr. Dick, laying down his pen. " How 
 does the world go ? I'll tell you what," he added, in a lower 
 tone, " I shouldn't wish it to be mentioned, but it's a " here 
 he beckoned to me, and put his lips close to my ear " it's a 
 mad world. Mad as bedlam, boy ! " said Mr. Dick, taking 
 snuff from a round box on the table, and laughing heartily. 
 
 Without presuming to give my opinion on this question, I 
 delivered my message. 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Dick, in answer, " my compliments to her, 
 and I I believe I have made a start. I think I have made 
 a start," said Mr. Dick, passing his hand among his gray hair, 
 and casting anything but a confident look at his manuscript. 
 "You have been to school ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," I answered, " for a short time." 
 
 " Do you recollect the date," said Mr. Dick, looking earnestly 
 at me, and taking up his pen to note it down, "when King 
 Charles the First had his head cut off ? " 
 
220 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 I said I believed it happened in the year sixteen hundred 
 and forty-nine. 
 
 "Well," returned Mr. Dick, scratching his ear with his 
 pen, and looking dubiously at me. " So the books say ; but I 
 don't see how that can be. Because, if it was so long ago, 
 how could the people about him have made that mistake of 
 putting some of the trouble out of his head, after it was taken 
 off, into mine ?" 
 
 I was very much surprised by the inquiry ; but could give 
 no information on this point. 
 
 " It's very strange," said Mr. Dick, with a despondent look 
 upon his papers, and with his hand among his hair again, 
 " that I never can get that quite right. I never can make 
 that perfectly clear. But no matter, no matter ! " he said 
 cheerfully, and rousing himself, "there's time enough! My 
 compliments to Miss Trotwood, I am getting on very well 
 indeed." 
 
 I was going away, when he directed my attention to the kite. 
 
 " What do you think of that for a kite ? " he said. 
 
 I answered that it was a beautiful one. I should think it 
 must have been as much as seven feet high. 
 
 " I made it. We'll go and fly it, you and I," said Mr. Dick. 
 " Do you see this ? " 
 
 He showed me that it was covered with manuscript, very 
 closely and laboriously written; but so plainly, that as I 
 looked along the lines, I thought I saw some allusion to King 
 Charles the First's head again, in one or two places. 
 
 " There's plenty of string," said Mr. Dick, " and when it 
 flies high it takes the facts a long way. That's my manner of 
 diffusing 'em. I don't know where they may come down. It's 
 according to circumstances, and the wind, and so forth ; but I 
 take my chance of that." 
 
 His face was so very mild and pleasant, and had something 
 so reverend in it, though it was hale and heart} 7 , that I was 
 not sure but that he was having a good-humored jest with me. 
 So I laughed, and he laughed, and we parted the best friends 
 possible. 
 
 "Well, child," said my aunt, when I went down stairs. 
 " And what of Mr. Dick, this morning ? " 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 221 
 
 I informed her that he sent his compliments, and was get- 
 ting on very well indeed. 
 
 " What do you think of him ? " said my aunt. 
 
 I had some shadowy idea of endeavoring to evade the ques- 
 tion by replying that I thought him a very nice gentleman ; 
 but my aunt was not to be so put off, for she laid her work 
 down in her lap, and said, folding her hands upon it : 
 
 " Come ! Your sister Betsey Trotwood would have told me 
 what she thought of any one, directly. Be as like your sister 
 as you can, and speak out ! " 
 
 " Is he is Mr. Dick I ask because I don't know, aunt 
 is he at all out of his mind, then ? " I stammered ; for I felt I 
 was on dangerous ground. 
 
 "Not a morsel," said my aunt. 
 
 " Oh, indeed ! " I observed, faintly. 
 
 "If there is anything in the world," said my aunt, with 
 great decision and force of manner, " that Mr. Dick is not, it's 
 that." 
 
 I had nothing better to offer, than another timid " Oh, in- 
 deed ! " 
 
 " He has been called mad," said my aunt. " I have a selfish 
 pleasure in saying he has been called mad, or I should not 
 have had the benefit of his society and advice for these last 
 ten years and upwards in fact, ever since your sister, Betsey 
 Trotwood, disappointed me." 
 
 " So long as that ? " I said. 
 
 " And nice people they were, who had the audacity to call 
 him mad," pursued my aunt. " Mr. Dick is a sort of distant 
 connection of mine it doesn't matter how ; I needn't enter 
 into that. If it hadn't been for me, his own brother would 
 have shut him up for life. That's all." 
 
 I am afraid it was hypocritical in me, but seeing that my 
 aunt felt strongly on the subject, I tried to look as if I felt 
 strongly too. 
 
 " A proud fool ! " said my aunt. " Because his brother was 
 a little eccentric though he is not half so eccentric as a good 
 many people he didn't like to have him visible about his 
 house, and sent him away to some private asylum-place; 
 though he had been left to his particular care by their deceased 
 
222 THE PEE SON AL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 father, who thought him almost a natural. And a wise man 
 he must have been to think so ! Mad himself, no doubt." 
 
 Again, as my aunt looked quite convinced, I endeavored to 
 look quite convinced also. 
 
 " So I stepped in," said my aunt, " and made him an offer. 
 I said, your brother's sane a great deal more sane than you 
 are, or ever will be, it is to be hoped. Let him have his little 
 income, and come and live with me. I am not afraid of him, 
 / am not proud, J am ready to take care of him, and shall not 
 ill-treat him as some people (besides the asylum-folks) have 
 done. After a good deal of squabbling," said my aunt, " I got 
 him ; and he has been here ever since. He is the most 
 friendly and amenable creature in existence ; and as for advice ! 
 But nobody knows what that man's mind is, except myself." 
 
 My aunt smoothed her dress and shook her head, as if she 
 smoothed defiance of the whole world out of the one, and 
 shook it out of the other. 
 
 " He had a favorite sister," said my aunt, " a good creature, 
 and very kind to him. But she did what they all do took a 
 husband. And he did what they all do made her wretched. 
 It had such an effect upon the mind of Mr. Dick (that's not 
 madness I hope !) that, combined with his fear of his brother, 
 and his sense of his unkindness, it threw him into a fever. 
 That was before he came to me, but the recollection of it is 
 oppressive to him even now. Did he say anything to you 
 about King Charles the First, child ? " 
 
 "Yes, aunt." 
 
 " Ah ! " said my aunt, rubbing her nose as if she were a 
 little vexed. " That's his allegorical way of expressing it. 
 He 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 rea- 
 son why I insist upon it, that there sha'n't be a word about it 
 in his Memorial." 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 223 
 
 " Is it a Memorial about his own history that he is writing, 
 aunt ? " 
 
 " Yes, child," said my aunt, rubbing her nose again. " He 
 is memorializing the Lord Chancellor, or the Lord Somebody 
 or other one of those people, at all events, who are paid to 
 be memorialized 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 
 upwards of ten years endeavoring to keep King Charles the 
 First out of the Memorial ; but he had been constantly getting 
 into it, and was there now. 
 
 "I say again," said my aunt, "nobody knows what that 
 man's mind is except myself ; and he's the most amenable and 
 friendly creature in existence. If he likes to fly a kite some- 
 times, what of that ! Franklin used to fly a kite. He was a 
 Quaker, or something of that sort, if I am not mistaken. And 
 a Quaker flying a kite is a much more ridiculous object than 
 anybody else." 
 
 If I could have supposed that my aunt had recounted these 
 particulars for my especial behoof, and as a piece of confidence 
 in me, I should have felt very much distinguished, and should 
 have augured favorably from such a mark of her good opinion. 
 But I could hardly help observing that she had launched into 
 them, chiefly because the question was raised in her own mind, 
 and with very little reference to me, though she had addressed 
 herself to me in the absence of anybody else. 
 
 At the same time, I must say that the generosity of her 
 championship of poor harmless Mr. Dick, not only inspired 
 my young breast with some selfish hope for myself, but 
 warmed it unselfishly towards her. I believe that I began to 
 know that there was something about my aunt, notwithstand- 
 ing her many eccentricities and odd humors, to be honored and 
 trusted in. Though she was just as sharp that day, as on the 
 day before, and was in and out about the donkeys just as 
 often, and was thrown into a tremendous state of indignation, 
 when a young man, going by, ogled Janet at a window (which 
 was one of the gravest misdemeanors that could be committed 
 
224 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 against my aunt's dignity), she seemed to me to command 
 more of my respect, if not less of my fear. 
 
 The anxiety I underwent, in the interval which necessarily 
 elapsed before a reply could be received to her letter to Mr. 
 Murdstone, was extreme ; but I made an endeavor to suppress 
 it, and to be as agreeable as I could in a quiet way, both to 
 my aunt and Mr. Dick. The latter and I would have gone 
 out to fly the great kite ; but that I had still no other clothes 
 than the anything but ornamental garments with which I had 
 been decorated on the first day, and which confined me to the 
 house, except for an hour after dark, when my aunt, for my 
 health's sake, paraded me up and down on the cliff outside 
 before going to bed. At length the reply from Mr. Murdstone 
 came, and my aunt informed me, to my infinite terror, that he 
 was coming to speak to her himself on the next day. On the 
 next day, still bundled up in my curious habiliments I sat 
 counting the time, flushed and heated by the conflict of sinking 
 hopes and rising fears within me; and waiting to be startled 
 by the sight of the gloomy face, whose non-arrival startled me 
 every minute. 
 
 My aunt was a little more imperious and stern than usual, 
 but I observed no other token of her preparing herself to 
 receive the visitor so much dreaded by me. She sat at work 
 in the window, and I sat by, with my thoughts running astray 
 on all possible and impossible results of Mr. Murdstone's visit, 
 until pretty late in the afternoon. Our dinner had been 
 indefinitely postponed; but it was growing so late, that my 
 aunt had ordered it to be got ready, when she gave a sudden 
 alarm of donkeys, and to my consternation and amazement, I 
 beheld Miss Murdstone, on a side-saddle, ride deliberately 
 over the sacred piece of green, and stop in front of the house, 
 looking about her. 
 
 " Go along with you ! " cried my aunt, shaking her head 
 and her fist at the window. "You have no business there. 
 How dare you trespass ? Go along ! Oh, you bold-faced 
 thing ! " 
 
 My aunt was so exasperated by the coolness with which 
 Miss Murdstone looked about her, that I really believe she 
 was motionless, and unable for the moment to dart out accord- 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 225 
 
 ing to custom. I seized the opportunity to inform her who it 
 was ; and that the gentleman now coming near the offendei 
 (for the way up was very steep, and he had dropped behind), 
 was Mr. Murdstone himself. 
 
 "I don't care who it is ! " cried my aunt, still shaking her 
 head, and gesticulating anything but welcome from the bow- 
 window. " I won't be trespassed upon. I won't allow it. 
 Go away ! Janet, turn him round. Lead him off ! " and I 
 saw, from behind my aunt, a sort of hurried battle-piece, in 
 which the donkey stood resisting everybody, with all his four 
 legs planted different ways, while Janet tried to pull him round 
 by the bridle, Mr. Murdstone tried to lead him on, Miss 
 Murdstone struck at Janet with a parasol, and several boys, 
 who had come to see the engagement, shouted vigorously. 
 But my aunt, suddenly descrying among them the young 
 malefactor who was the donkey's guardian, and who was one 
 of the most inveterate offenders against her, though hardly in 
 his teens, rushed out to the scene of action, pounced upon him, 
 captured him, dragged him, with his jacket over his head, and 
 his heels grinding the ground, into the garden, and, calling 
 upon Janet to fetch the constables and justices that he might 
 be taken, tried, and executed on the spot, held him at bay 
 there. This part of the business, however, did not last long ; 
 for the young rascal, being expert at a variety of feints and 
 dodges, of which my aunt had no conception, soon went 
 whooping away, leaving some deep impressions of his nailed 
 boots in the flower-beds, and taking his donkey in triumph 
 with him. 
 
 Miss Murdstone, during the latter portion of the contest, 
 had dismounted, and was now waiting with her brother at the 
 bottom of the steps, until my aunt should be at leisure to 
 receive them. My aunt, a little ruffled by the combat, 
 marched past them into the house, with great dignity, and 
 took no notice of their presence, until they were announced 
 by Janet. 
 
 " Shall I go away, aunt ? " I asked, trembling. 
 
 " No, sir," said my aunt. " Certainly not ! " With which 
 she pushed me into a corner near her, and fenced me in with 
 a chair, as if it were a prison or a bar of justice. This 
 VOL.I 16 
 
position I continued to occupy during the whole interview, and 
 from it I now saw Mr. and Miss Murdstone enter the room. 
 
 " Oh ! " said my aunt, " I was not aware at first to whom 
 I had the pleasure of objecting. But I don't allow anybody 
 to ride over that turf. I make no exceptions. I don't allow 
 anybody to do it." 
 
 "Your regulation is rather awkward to strangers," said 
 Miss Murdstone. 
 
 " Is it ! " said my aunt. 
 
 Mr. Murdstone seemed afraid of a renewal of hostilities, 
 and interposing began : 
 
 " Miss Trotwood ! " 
 
 " I beg your pardon," observed my aunt, with a keen look. 
 "You are the Mr. Murdstone who married the widow of my 
 late nephew, David Copperfield, of Blunderstone Kookery ? 
 Though why Kookery, / don't know ! " 
 
 " I am," said Mr. Murdstone. 
 
 " You'll excuse my saying, sir," returned my aunt, " that I 
 think it would have been a much better and happier thing if 
 you had left that poor child alone." 
 
 "I so far agree with what Miss Trotwood has remarked," 
 observed Miss Murdstone, bridling, "that I consider our 
 lamented Clara to have been, in all essential respects, a mere 
 child." 
 
 " It is a comfort to you and me, ma'am," said my aunt, 
 " who are getting on in life, and are not likely to be made 
 unhappy by our personal attractions, that nobody can say the 
 same of us." 
 
 " No doubt ! " returned Miss Murdstone, though, I thought, 
 not with a very ready or gracious assent. " And it certainly 
 might have been, as you say, a better and happier thing for 
 my brother if he had never entered into such a marriage. I 
 have always been of that opinion." 
 
 "I have no doubt you have," said my aunt. "Janet," 
 ringing the bell, " my compliments to Mr. Dick, and beg him 
 to come down." 
 
 Until he came, my aunt sat perfectly upright and stiff, 
 frowning at the wall. When he came my aunt performed the 
 ceremony of introduction. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 227 
 
 " Mr Dick. An old and intimate friend. On whose judg- 
 ment/' said my aunt, with emphasis, as an admonition to Mr. 
 Dick, who was biting his forefinger, and looking rather foolish, 
 "I rely." 
 
 Mr. Dick took his finger out of his mouth, on this hint, and 
 stood among the group, with a grave and attentive expression 
 of face. My aunt inclined her head to Mr. Murdstone, who 
 went on : 
 
 " Miss Trotwood : on the receipt of your letter, I considered 
 it an act of greater justice to myself, and perhaps of more 
 respect to you " 
 
 " Thank you," said my aunt, still eyeing him keenly. "You 
 needn't mind me." 
 
 " To answer it in person, however inconvenient the journey," 
 pursued Mr. Murdstone, "rather than by letter. This un- 
 happy boy who has run away from his friends and his occu- 
 pation " 
 
 "And whose appearance," interposed his sister, directing 
 general attention to me in my indefinable costume, "is 
 perfectly scandalous and disgraceful." 
 
 "Jane Murdstone," said her brother, "have the goodness 
 not to interrupt me. This unhappy boy, Miss Trotwood, has 
 been the occasion of much domestic trouble and uneasiness ; 
 both during the lifetime of my late dear wife, and since. He 
 has a sullen, rebellious spirit ; a violent temper ; and an 
 untoward, intractable disposition. Both my sister and myself 
 have endeavored to correct his vices, but ineffectually. And I 
 have felt we both have felt, I may say ; my sister being 
 fully in my confidence that it is right you should receive 
 this grave and dispassionate assurance from our lips." 
 
 " It can hardly be necessary for me to confirm anything 
 stated by my brother," said Miss Murdstone ; " but I beg to 
 observe, that, of all the boys in the world, I believe this is 
 the worst boy." 
 
 " Strong ! " said my aunt, shortly. 
 
 "But not at all too strong for the facts," returned Miss 
 Murdstone. 
 
 " Ha ! " said my aunt. " Well, sir ? " 
 
 " I have my own opinions," resumed Mr. Murdstone, whose 
 
228 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 face darkened more and more, the more he and my aunt 
 observed each other, which they did very narrowly, "as to 
 the best mode of bringing him up j they are founded, in 
 part, on my knowledge of him, and in part on my knowledge 
 of my own means and resources. I am responsible for them 
 to myself, I act upon them, and I say no more about them. 
 It is enough that I place this boy under the eye of a friend 
 of my own, in a respectable business ; that it does not please 
 him ; that he runs away from it ; makes himself a common 
 vagabond about the country ; and comes here, in rags, to 
 appeal to you, Miss Trotwood. I wish to set before you, 
 honorably, the exact consequences so far as they are within 
 my knowledge of your abetting him in this appeal." 
 
 "But about the respectable business first/' said my aunt. 
 " If he had been your own boy you would have put him to it, 
 just the same I suppose ? " 
 
 " If he had been my brother's own boy," returned Miss 
 Murdstone, striking in, "his character, I trust, would have 
 been altogether different." 
 
 " Or if the poor child, his mother, had been alive, he would 
 still have gone into the respectable business, would he ? " said 
 my aunt. 
 
 " I believe," said Mr. Murdstone, with an inclination of his 
 head, " that Clara would have disputed nothing which myself 
 and my sister Jane Murdstone were agreed was for the best." 
 
 Miss Murdstone confirmed this with an audible murmur. 
 
 " Humph ! " said my aunt. ' " Unfortunate baby ! " 
 
 Mr. Dick, who had been rattling his money all this time, 
 was rattling it so loudly now, that my aunt felt it necessary to 
 check him with a look, before saying : 
 
 " The poor child's annuity died with her ? " 
 
 " Died with her," replied Mr. Murdstone. 
 
 " And there was no settlement of the little property the 
 house and garden the what's-its-name Rookery without any 
 rooks in it upon her boy ? " 
 
 " It had been left to her, unconditionally, by her first hus- 
 band," Mr. Murdstone began, when my aunt caught him up 
 with the greatest irascibility and impatience. 
 
 " Good Lord, man, there's no occasion to say that. Left to 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 229 
 
 her unconditionally ! I think I see David Copperfield looking 
 forward to any condition of any sort or kind, though, it stared 
 him point-blank in the face ! Of course, it was left to her 
 unconditionally. But when she married again when she 
 took that most disastrous step of marrying you, in short," 
 said my aunt, " to be plain did no one put in a word for the 
 boy at that time ? " 
 
 " My late wife loved her second husband, madam," said Mr. 
 Murdstone, "and trusted implicitly in him." 
 
 " Your late wife, sir, was a most unworldly, most unhappy, 
 most unfortunate baby," returned my aunt, shaking her head 
 at him. "That's what she was. And, now, what have you 
 got to say next ? " 
 
 " Merely, this, Miss Trotwood," he returned. " I am here 
 to take David back to take him back unconditionally, to dis- 
 pose of him as I think proper, and to deal with him as I think 
 right. I am not here to make any promise, or give any pledge 
 to anybody. You may possibly have some idea, Miss Trot- 
 wood, of abetting him in his running away, and in his com- 
 plaints to you. Your manner, which I must say does not seem 
 intended to propitiate, induces me to think it possible. Now 
 I must caution you that if you abet him once, you abet him 
 for good and all ; if you step in between him and me, now, you 
 must step in, Miss Trotwood, for ever. I cannot trifle, or be 
 trifled with. I am here, for the first and last time, to take him 
 away. Is he ready to go ? If he is not and you tell me he 
 is not ; on any pretence ; it is indifferent to me what my 
 doors are shut against him henceforth, and yours, I take it for 
 granted, are open to him." 
 
 To this address, my aunt had listened with the closest 
 attention, sitting perfectly upright, with her hands folded on 
 one knee, and looking grimly on the speaker. When he had 
 finished, she turned her eyes so as to command Miss Murd- 
 stone, without otherwise disturbing her attitude, and said : 
 
 "Well, ma'am, have you got anything to remark ? " 
 
 " Indeed, Miss Trotwood," said Miss Murdstone, " all that I 
 could say has been so well said by my brother, and all that 
 I know to be the fact has been so plainly stated by him, that 
 I have nothing to add except my thanks for your politeness. 
 
230 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 For your very great politeness, I am sure/' said Miss Murd- 
 stone ; with, an irony which no more affected my aunt than it 
 discomposed the cannon I had slept by at Chatham. 
 
 "And what does the boy say ? " said my aunt. "Are you 
 ready to go, David ? " 
 
 I answered no, and entreated her not to let me go. I said 
 that neither Mr. nor Miss Murdstone had ever liked me, or had 
 ever been kind to me. That they had made my mamma, who 
 always loved me dearly, unhappy about me, and that I knew 
 it well, and that Peggotty knew it. I said that I had beei? 
 more miserable than I thought anybody could believe who only 
 knew how young I was. And I begged and prayed my aunt 
 I forget in what terms now, but I remember that they 
 affected me very much then to befriend and protect me, for 
 my father's sake. 
 
 " Mr. Dick," said my aunt, " what shall I do with this child ? r 
 
 Mr. Dick considered, hesitated, brightened, and rejoined. 
 " Have him measured for a suit of clothes, directly." 
 
 "Mr. Dick," said my aunt, triumphantly, "give me your 
 hand, for your common sense is invaluable." Having shaken 
 it with great cordiality, she pulled me towards her, and said to 
 Mr. Murdstone : 
 
 " You can go when you like ; I'll take my chance with the 
 boy. If he's all you say he is, at least I can do as much for 
 him then, as you have done. But I don't believe a word of it." 
 
 "Miss Trotwood," rejoined Mr. Murdstone, shrugging his 
 shoulders, as he rose, " if you were a gentleman " 
 
 " Bah ! stuff and nonsense ! " said my aunt. " Don't talk to 
 me!" 
 
 " How exquisitely polite ! " exclaimed Miss Murdstone, 
 rising. " Overpowering, really ! " 
 
 " Do you think I don't know," said my aunt, turning a deaf 
 ear to the sister, and continuing to address the brother, and 
 to shake her head at him with infinite expression, " what kind 
 of life you must have led that poor, unhappy, misdirected 
 baby ? Do you think I don't know what a woful day it was 
 for the soft little creature when you first came in her way 
 smirking, and making great eyes at her, I'll be bound, as if 
 you couldn't say boh ! to a goose ! " 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 231 
 
 " I never heard anything so elegant ! " said Miss Murdstone. 
 
 "Do you think I can't understand you as well as if I had 
 een you," pursued my aunt, "now that I do see and hear 
 you which I tell you candidly, is anything but a pleasure to 
 me ? Oh yes, bless us ! who so smooth and silky as Mr. 
 Murdstone at first ! The poor, benighted innocent had never 
 seen such a man. He was made of sweetness. He worshipped 
 her. He doted on her boy tenderly $oted on him ! He was 
 to be another father to him, and they were all to live together 
 in a garden of roses, weren't they ? Ugh ! Get along with 
 you, do ! " said my aunt. 
 
 " I never heard anything like this person in my life ! " 
 exclaimed Miss Murdstone. 
 
 "And when you had made sure of the poor little fool," 
 said my aunt " God forgive me that I should call her so, and 
 she gone where you won't go in a hurry because you had 
 not done wrong enough to her and hers, you must begin to 
 train her, must you ? begin to break her, like a poor caged 
 bird, and wear her deluded life away, in teaching her to sing 
 your notes ? " 
 
 "This is either insanity or intoxication," said Miss Murd- 
 stone, in a perfect agony at not being able to turn the current 
 of my aunt's address towards herself ; " and my suspicion is, 
 that it's intoxication." 
 
 Miss Betsey, without taking the least notice of the interrup- 
 tion, continued to address herself to Mr. Murdstone, as if there 
 had been no such thing. 
 
 "Mr. Murdstone," she said, shaking her finger at him, "you 
 were a tyrant to the simple baby, and you broke her heart. 
 She was a loving baby I know that ; I knew it years before 
 you ever saw her and through the best part of her weakness, 
 you gave her the wounds she died of. There is the truth for 
 your comfort, however you like it. And you and your instru- 
 ments may make the most of it." 
 
 "Allow me to inquire, Miss Trotwood," interposed Miss 
 Murdstone, " whom you are pleased to call, in a choice of words 
 in which I am not experienced, my brother's instruments ? " 
 
 Still stone deaf to the voice, and utterly unmoved by it, 
 Miss Betsey pursued her discourse. 
 
232 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " It was clear enough, as I have told you, years before you 
 ever saw her and why in the mysterious dispensations of 
 Providence, you ever did see her, is more than humanity can 
 comprehend it was clear enough that the poor soft little 
 thing would marry somebody, at some time or other ; but I 
 did hope it wouldn't have been as bad as it has turned out. 
 That was the time, Mr. Murdstone, when she gave birth to her 
 boy here," said my aunt ; " to the poor child you sometimes 
 tormented her through afterwards, which is a disagreeable 
 remembrance, and makes the sight of him odious now. Aye, 
 aye ! you needn't wince ! " said my aunt. " I know it's true 
 without that." 
 
 He had stood by the door, all this while, observant of her 
 with a smile upon his face, though his black eyebrows were 
 heavily contracted. I remarked now, that, though the smile 
 was on his face still, his color had gone in a moment, and he 
 seemed to breathe as if he had been running. 
 
 "Good day, sir," said my aunt, "and good by ! G-ood day 
 to you, too, ma'am," said my aunt, turning suddenly upon 
 his sister. "Let me see you ride a donkey over my green 
 again, and as sure as you have a head upon your shoulders, 
 I'll knock your bonnet off, and tread upon it ! " 
 
 It would require a painter, and no common painter too, to 
 depict my aunt's face as she delivered herself of this very 
 unexpected sentiment, and Miss Murdstone's face as she heard 
 it. But the manner of the speech, no less than the matter, 
 was so fiery, that Miss Murdstone, without a word in answer, 
 discreetly put her arm through her brother's, and walked 
 haughtily out of the cottage ; my aunt remaining in the 
 window looking after them; prepared, I have no doubt, in 
 case of the donkey's re-appearance, to carry her threat into 
 instant execution. 
 
 No attempt at defiance being made, however, her face 
 gradually relaxed, and became so pleasant that I was embold- 
 ened to kiss and thank her ; which I did with great heartiness, 
 and with both my arms clasped round her neck. I then shook 
 hands with Mr. Dick, who shook hands with me a great many 
 times, and hailed this happy close of the proceedings with 
 repeated bursts of laughter. 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 233 
 
 "You'll consider yourself guardian, jointly with, me, of this 
 child, Mr. Dick," said my aunt. 
 
 " I shall be delighted," said Mr. Dick, " to be the guardian 
 of David's son." 
 
 "Very good," returned my aunt, "that's settled. I have 
 been thinking, do you know, Mr. Dick, that I might call him 
 Trotwood ? " 
 
 "Certainly, certainly. Call him Trotwood, certainly," said 
 Mr. Dick. "David's son's Trotwood." 
 
 " Trotwood Copperfield, you mean," returned my aunt. 
 
 "Yes, to be sure. Yes. Trotwood Copperfield," said Mr. 
 Dick, a little abashed. 
 
 My aunt took so kindly to the notion, that some ready-made 
 clothes, which were purchased for me that afternoon, were 
 marked " Trotwood Copperfield," in her own handwriting, and 
 in indelible marking-ink, before I put them on; and it was 
 settled that all the other clothes which were ordered to be 
 made for me (a complete outfit was bespoke that afternoon) 
 should be marked in the same way. 
 
 Thus I began my new life, in a new name, and with every- 
 thing new about me. Now that the state of doubt was over, I 
 felt, for many days, like one in a dream. I never thought that 
 I had a curious couple of guardians, in my aunt and Mr. Dick. 
 I never thought of anything about myself, distinctly. The two 
 things clearest in my mind were, that a remoteness had come 
 upon the old Blunderstone life which seemed to lie in the 
 haze of an immeasurable distance ; and that a curtain had for 
 ever fallen on my life at Murdstone and Grinby's. No one 
 has ever raised that curtain since. I have lifted it for a 
 moment, even in this narrative with a reluctant hand, and 
 dropped it gladly. The remembrance of that life is fraught 
 with so much pain to me, with so much mental suffering and 
 want of hope, that I have never had the courage even to 
 examine how long I was doomed to lead it. Whether it lasted 
 for a year, or more, or less, I do not know. I only know that 
 it was, and ce.ased to be j and that I have written, and there I 
 leave it. 
 
234 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 I MAKE ANOTHER BEGINNING. 
 
 MR. DICK and I soon became the best of friends, and very 
 often, when his day's work was done, went out together to fly 
 the great kite. Every day of his life he had a long sitting at 
 the Memorial, which never made the least progress, however 
 hard he labored, for King Charles the First always strayed 
 into it, sooner or later, and then it was thrown aside, and 
 another one begun. The patience and hope with which he 
 bore these perpetual disappointments, the mild perception he 
 had that there was something wrong about King Charles the 
 First, the feeble efforts he made to keep him out, and the cer- 
 tainty with which he came in, and tumbled the Memorial out 
 of all shape, made a deep impression on me. What Mr. Dick 
 supposed would come of the Memorial, if it were completed ; 
 where he thought it was to go, or^ what he thought it was to 
 do ; he knew no more than anybody else, I believe. Nor was 
 it at all necessary that he should trouble himself with such 
 questions, for if anything were certain under the sun, it was 
 certain that the Memorial never would be finished. 
 
 It was quite an affecting sight, I used to think, to see him 
 with the kite when it was up a great height in the air. What 
 he had told me, in his room, about his belief in its dissemi- 
 nating the statements pasted on it, which were nothing but 
 old leaves of abortive Memorials, might have been a fancy 
 with him sometimes ; but not when he was out, looking up 
 at the kite in the sky, and feeling it pull and tug at his hand. 
 He never looked so serene as he did then. I used to fancy, as 
 I sat by him of an evening, on a green slope, and saw him 
 watch the kite high in the quiet air, that it lifted his mind 
 out of its confusion, and bore it (such was my boyish thought) 
 into the skies. As he wound the string in, and it came lower 
 and lower down out of the beautiful light, until it fluttered to 
 
OF DAVID COPPERF1ELD. 235 
 
 the ground, and lay there like a dead thing, he seemed to 
 wake gradually out of a dream ; and I remember to have seen 
 him take it up, and look about him in a lost way, as if they 
 had both come down togther, so that I pitied him with all my 
 heart. 
 
 While I advanced in friendship and intimacy with Mr. 
 Dick, I did not go backward in the favor of his staunch friend, 
 my aunt. She took so kindly to me, that, in the course of a 
 few weeks, she shortened my adopted name of Trotwood into 
 Trot ; and even encouraged me to hope that if I went on as I 
 had begun, I might take equal rank in her affections with my 
 sister Betsey Trotwood. 
 
 " Trot," said my aunt one evening, when the backgammon- 
 board was placed as usual for herself and Mr. Dick, " we must 
 not forget your education." 
 
 This was my only subject of anxiety, and I felt quite de- 
 lighted by her referring to it. 
 
 " Should you like to go to school at Canterbury ? r - said my 
 aunt. 
 
 I replied that I should like it very much, as it was so near 
 her. 
 
 " Good," said my aunt. " Should you like to go to-morrow ? " 
 
 Being already no stranger to the general rapidity of my 
 aunt's evolutions, I was not surprised by the suddenness of 
 the proposal, and said : " Yes." 
 
 " Good," said my aunt again. " Janet, hire the gray pony 
 and chaise to-morrow morning at ten o'clock, and pack up 
 Master Trot wood's clothes to-night." 
 
 I was greatly elated by these orders ; but my heart smote 
 me for my selfishness, when I witnessed their effect on Mr. 
 Dick, who was so low-spirited at the prospect of our separa- 
 tion, and played so ill in consequence, that my aunt, after giv- 
 ing him several admonitory raps on the knuckles with her 
 dicebox, shut up the board, and declined to play with him any 
 more. But, on hearing from 'my aunt that I should sometimes 
 come over on a Saturday, and that he could sometimes come 
 over and see me on a Wednesday, he revived ; and vowed to 
 make another kite for those occasions, of proportions greatly 
 surpassing the present one. In the morning he was down- 
 
236 
 
 hearted again, and would have sustained himself by giving me 
 all the money he had in his possession, gold and silver too, if 
 my aunt had not interposed, and limited the gift to five shil- 
 lings, which, at his earnest petition, were afterwards increased 
 to ten. We parted at the garden gate in a most affectionate 
 manner, and Mr. Dick did not go into the house until my aunt 
 had driven me out of sight of it. 
 
 My aunt, who was perfectly indifferent to public opinion, 
 drove the gray pony through Dover in a masterly manner ; 
 sitting high and stiff like a stage coachman, keeping a steady 
 eye upon him wherever he went, and making a point of not 
 letting him have his own way in any respect. When we came 
 into the country road, she permitted him to relax a little, how- 
 ever ; and looking at me down in a valley of cushion by her 
 side, asked me whether I was happy. 
 
 "Very happy indeed, thank you, aunt," I said. 
 
 She was much gratified ; and both her hands being occupied, 
 patted me on the head with her whip. 
 
 " Is it a large school, aunt ? " I asked. 
 
 " Why, I don't know," said my aunt. " We are going to Mr. 
 Wickfield's first." 
 
 " Does he keep a school ? " I asked. 
 
 " No, Trot," said my aunt. " He keeps an office." 
 
 I asked for no more information about Mr. Wickfield, as 
 she offered none, and we conversed on other subjects until we 
 came to Canterbury, where, as it was market-day, my aunt had 
 a great opportunity of insinuating the gray pony among carts, 
 baskets, vegetables, and hucksters' goods. The hair-breadth 
 turns and twists we made, drew down upon us a variety of 
 speeches from the people standing about, which were not 
 always complimentary; but my aunt drove on with perfect 
 indifference, and I dare say would have taken her own way 
 with as much coolness through an enemy's country. 
 
 At length we stopped before a very old house bulging out 
 over the road ; a house with long low lattice-windows bulging 
 out still farther, and beams with carved heads on the ends bulg- 
 ing out too, so that I fancied the whole house was leaning for- 
 ward trying to see who was passing on the narrow pavement 
 below. It was quite spotless in its cleanliness. The old-fash- 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 237 
 
 ioned brass knocker on the low arched door, ornamented with 
 carved garlands of fruit and flowers, twinkled like a star ; the 
 two stone steps descending to the door were as white as if 
 they had been covered with fair linen ; and all the angles and 
 corners, and carvings and mouldings, and quaint little panes of 
 glass, and quainter little windows, though as old as the hills, 
 were as pure as any snow that ever fell upon the hills. 
 
 When the pony-chaise stopped at the door, and my eyes were 
 intent upon 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 grain of it there was that tinge of red which is sometimes 
 to be 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 ; who had hardly any eyebrows, and no eye- 
 lashes, and eyes of a red-brown j so unsheltered and unshaded, 
 that I remember wondering how he went to sleep. 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. 
 
 " Is Mr. Wickfield at home, Uriah Heep ? " said my aunt. 
 
 " Mr. Wickfield's at home, ma'am," said Uriah Heep, " if 
 you'll please to walk in there " pointing with his long hand 
 to the room he meant. 
 
 We got out ; and leaving him to hold the pony, went into a 
 long low parlor looking towards the street, from the window 
 of which I caught a glimpse, as I went in, of Uriah Heep 
 breathing into the pony's nostrils, and immediately covering 
 them with his hand, as if he were putting some spell upon 
 him. Opposite to the tall old chimney-piece, were two por- 
 traits : one of a gentleman with gray hair (though not by any 
 means an old man) and black eyebrows, who was looking over 
 some papers tied together with red tape ; the other, of a lady, 
 
238 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 with a very placid and sweet expression of face, who was look- 
 ing at me. 
 
 I believe I was turning about in search of Uriah's picture, 
 when, a door at the farther end of the room opening, a gentle- 
 man entered, at sight of whom I turned to the first-mentioned 
 portrait again, to make quite sure that it had not come out of 
 its frame. But it was stationary ; and as the gentleman ad- 
 vanced into the light, I saw that he was some years older than 
 when he had had his picture painted. 
 
 " Miss Betsey Trotwood," said the gentleman, " pray walk 
 in. I was engaged for the moment, but you'll excuse my 
 being busy. You know my motive. I have but one in life." 
 
 Miss Betsey thanked him, and we went into his room, which 
 was furnished as an office, with books, papers, tin boxes, and 
 so forth. It looked into a garden, and had an iron safe let 
 into the wall; so immediately over the mantel-shelf that I 
 wondered, as I sat down, how the sweeps got round it when 
 they swept the chimney. 
 
 " Well, Miss Trotwood," said Mr. Wickfield ; for I soon 
 found that it was he, and that he was a lawyer, and steward 
 of the estates of a rich gentleman of the county ; " what wind 
 blows you here ? Not an ill wind, I hope ? '' 
 
 " No," replied my aunt, " I have not come for any law." 
 
 "That's right, ma'am," said Mr. Wickfield. " You had bet- 
 ter come for anything else." 
 
 His hair was quite white now, though his eyebrows were 
 still black. He had a very agreeable face, and, I thought, was 
 handsome. There was a certain richness in his complexion, 
 which I had been long accustomed, under Peggotty's tuition, 
 to connect with port wine ; and I fancied it was in his voice 
 too, and referred his growing corpulency to the same cause. 
 He was very cleanly dressed, in a blue coat, striped waistcoat, 
 and nankeen trousers ; and his fine frilled shirt and cambric 
 neckcloth looked unusually soft and white, reminding my 
 strolling fancy (I call to mind) of the plumage on the breast 
 of a swan. 
 
 " This is my nephew," said my aunt. 
 
 " Wasn't aware you had . one, Miss Trotwood," said Mr. 
 Wickfield. 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 239 
 
 " My grand-nephew, that is to say," observed my aunt. 
 
 "Wasn't aware you had a grand-nephew, I give you my 
 word," said Mr. Wickfield. 
 
 " I have adopted him," said my aunt, with a wave of her 
 hand, importing that his knowledge and his ignorance were all 
 one to her, " and I have brought him here, to put him to a 
 school where he may be thoroughly well taught, and well 
 treated. Now tell me where that school is, and what it is, 
 and all about it." 
 
 " Before I can advise you properly," said Mr. Wickfield, 
 " the old question you know. What's your motive in this ? '" 
 
 " Deuce take the man ! " exclaimed my aunt. " Always 
 fishing for motives, when they're on the surface ! Why, to 
 make the child happy and useful." 
 
 " It must be a mixed motive, I think," said Mr. Wickfield, 
 shaking his head and smiling incredulously. 
 
 " A mixed fiddlestick ! " returned my aunt. " You claim 
 to have one plain motive in all you do yourself. You don't 
 suppose, I hope, that you are the only plain dealer in the 
 world ? " 
 
 " Ay, but I have only one motive in life, Miss Trotwood," 
 he rejoined, smiling. " Other people have dozens, scores, 
 hundreds. I have only one. There's the difference. How- 
 ever, that's beside the question. The best school ? What- 
 ever the motive, you want the best ? " 
 
 My aunt nodded assent. 
 
 "At the best we have," said Mr. Wickfield, considering, 
 "your nephew couldn't board just now." 
 
 " But he could board somewhere else, I suppose ? " sug- 
 gested my aunt. 
 
 Mr. Wickfield thought I could. After a little discussion, 
 he proposed to take my aunt to the school, that she might see 
 it and judge for herself; also, to take her, with the same 
 object, to two or three houses where he thought I could be 
 boarded. My aunt embracing the proposal, we were all three 
 going out together, when he stopped and said : 
 
 "Our little friend here might have some motive, perhaps, 
 for objecting to the arrangements. I think we had better 
 leave him behind ? " 
 
240 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 My aunt seemed disposed to contest the point ; but to facili- 
 tate matters I said I would gladly remain behind, if they 
 pleased ; and returned into Mr. Wickfield's office, where I sat 
 down again, in the chair I had first occupied,- to await their 
 return. 
 
 It so happened that this chair was opposite a narrow pas- 
 sage, which ended in the little circular room where I had seen 
 Uriah Heep's pale face looking out of window. Uriah, 
 having taken the pony to a neighboring stable, was at work 
 at a desk in this room, which had a brass frame on the top to 
 hang papers upon, and on which the writing he was making 
 a copy of was then hanging. Though his face was towards 
 me, I thought, for some time, the writing being between us, 
 that he could not see me ; but looking that way more atten- 
 tively, it made me uncomfortable to observe that, every now 
 and then, his sleepless eyes would come below the writing, 
 like two red suns, and stealthily stare at me for I dare say & 
 whole minute at a time, during which his pen went, or pre- 
 tended to go, as cleverly as ever. I made several attempts to 
 get out of their way such as standing on a chair to look at 
 a map on the other side of the room, and poring over the 
 columns of a Kentish newspaper but they always attracted 
 me back again ; and whenever I looked towards those two red 
 suns, I was sure to find them, either just rising or just 
 setting. 
 
 At length, much to my relief, my aunt and Mr. Wickfield 
 came back, after a pretty long absence. They were not so 
 successful as I could have wished ; for though the advantages 
 of the school were undeniable, my aunt had not approved of 
 any of the boarding-houses proposed for me. 
 
 " It's very unfortunate," said my aunt. " I don't know 
 what to do, Trot." 
 
 " It does happen unfortunately," said Mr. Wickfield. " But 
 I'll tell you what you can do, Miss Trotwood." 
 
 "What's that ? " inquired my aunt. 
 
 "Leave your nephew here, for the present. He's a quiet 
 fellow. He won't disturb me at all. It's a capital house 
 for study. As quiet as a monastery, and almost as roomy. 
 Leave him here." 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 241 
 
 My aunt evidently liked the offer, though she was delicate 
 of accepting it. So did I. 
 
 "Come, Miss Trotwood," said Mr. Wickfield. "This is 
 the way out of the difficulty. It's only a temporary arrange- 
 ment, you know. If it don't act well, or don't quite accord 
 with our mutual convenience, he can easily go to the right 
 about. There will be time to find some better place for him 
 in the meanwhile. You had better determine to leave him 
 here for the present ! " 
 
 " I am very much obliged to you," said my aunt ; " and so 
 is he, I see ; but " 
 
 " Come ! I know what you mean," cried Mr. Wickfield. 
 " You shall not be- oppressed by the receipt of favors, Miss 
 Trotwood. You may pay for him if you like. We won't be 
 hard about terms, but you shall pay if you will." 
 
 " On that understanding," said my aunt, " though it doesn't 
 lessen the real obligation, I shall be very glad to leave him." 
 
 " Then come and see my little housekeeper," said Mr. Wick- 
 field. 
 
 We accordingly went up a wonderful old staircase with a 
 balustrade so broad that we might have gone up that, almost 
 as easily and into a shady old drawing-room, lighted by 
 some three or four of the quaint windows I had looked up at 
 from the street : which had old oak seats in them, that seemed 
 to have come of the same trees as the shining oak floor, and 
 the great beams in the ceiling. It was a prettily furnished 
 room, with a piano and some lively furniture in red and green, 
 and some flowers. It seemed to be all old nooks and corners ; 
 and in every nook and corner there was some queer little 
 table, or cupboard, or bookcase, or seat, or something or other, 
 that made me think there was not such another good corner in 
 the room ; until I looked at the next one, and found it equal 
 to it, if not better. On everything there was the same air of 
 retirement and cleanliness that marked the house outside. 
 
 Mr. Wickfield tapped at a door in a corner of the panelled 
 wall, and a girl of about my own age came quickly out and 
 kissed him. On her face, I saw immediately the placid and 
 sweet expression of the lady whose picture had looked at me 
 down stairs. It seemed to my imagination as if the portrait 
 VOL.I 16 
 
24:2 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AXD EXPEHIEX' K 
 
 had grown womanly, and the original remained a child. 
 Although her face was quite bright and happy, there was a 
 tranquillity about it, and about her a quiet, good, calm 
 spirit, that I never have forgotten; that I never shall 
 forget. 
 
 This was his little housekeeper, his daughter Agnes, Mr. 
 Wickfield said. When I heard how he said it, and saw how 
 he held her hand, I guessed what the one motive of his life 
 was. 
 
 She had a little basket-trifle hanging at her side, with keys 
 in it ; and she looked as staid and as discreet a housekeeper 
 as the old house could have. She listened to her father as he 
 told her about me, with a pleasant face ; and when he had con- 
 cluded, proposed to my aunt that we should go up stairs and 
 see my room. We all went together ; she before us. And a 
 glorious old room it was, with more oak beams, and diamond 
 panes, and the broad balustrade going all the way up to it. 
 
 I cannot call to mind where or when, in my childhood, I 
 had seen a stained glass window in a church. Nor do I recol- 
 lect its subject. But I know that when I saw her turn round, 
 in the grave light of the old staircase, and wait for us, above, 
 I thought of that window ; and that I associated something of 
 its tranquil brightness with Agnes Wickfield ever afterwards. 
 
 My aunt was as happy as I was, in the arrangement made 
 for me ; and we went down to the drawing-room again, well 
 pleased and gratified. As she would not hear of staying to 
 dinner, lest she should by any chance fail to arrive at home 
 with the gray pony before dark; and as I apprehend Mr. 
 Wickfield knew her too well, to argue any point with her ; 
 some lunch was provided for her there, and Agnes went back 
 to her governess, and Mr. Wickfield to his office. So we were 
 left to take leave of one another without any restraint. 
 
 She told me that everything would be arranged for me by 
 Mr. Wickfield, and that I should want for nothing, and gave 
 me the kindest words and the best advice. 
 
 " Trot," said my aunt in conclusion, " be a credit to your- 
 self, to me, and Mr. Dick, and Heaven be with you ! " 
 
 I was greatly overcome, and could only thank her, again 
 and again, and send my love to Mr. Dick. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 243 
 
 " Xever," said my aunt, " be mean in anything ; never be 
 false ; never be cruel. Avoid those three vices, Trot, and I 
 can always be hopeful of you." 
 
 I promised, as well as I could, that I would not abuse her 
 kindness or forget her admonition. 
 
 " The pony's at the door," said my aunt, " and I am off ! 
 Stay here." 
 
 With these words she embraced me hastily, and went out 
 of the room, shutting the door after her. At first I was star- 
 tled by so abrupt a departure, and almost feared I had dis- 
 pleased her ; but when I looked into the street, and saw how 
 dejectedly she got into the chaise, and drove away without 
 looking up, I understood her better, and did not do her that 
 injustice. 
 
 By five o'clock, which was Mr. Wickfield's dinner-hour, I 
 had mustered up my spirits again, and was ready for my knife 
 and fork. The cloth was only laid for us two ; but Agnes 
 was waiting in the drawing-room before dinner, went down 
 with her father, and sat opposite to him at table. I doubted 
 whether he could have dined without her. 
 
 We did not stay there, after dinner, but came up stairs into 
 the drawing-room again : in one snug corner of which, Agnes 
 set glasses for her father, and a decanter of port wine. I 
 thought he would have missed its usual flavor, if it had been 
 put there for him by any other hands. 
 
 There he sat, taking his wine, and taking a good deal of it, 
 for two hours ; while Agnes played on the piano, worked, and 
 talked to him and me. He was, for the most part, gay and 
 cheerful with us ; but sometimes his eyes rested on her, and he 
 fell into a brooding state, and was silent. She always observed 
 this -quickly, as I thought, and always roused him with a ques- 
 tion or caress. Then he came out of his meditation, and drank 
 more wine. 
 
 Agnes' made the tea, and presided over it; and the time 
 passed away after it, as after dinner, until she went to bed ; 
 when her father took her in his arms and kissed her, and, she 
 oeing gone, ordered candles in his office. Then I went to bed 
 too. 
 
 But in the course of the evening I had rambled down to the 
 
244 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 door, and a little way along the street, that I might have 
 another peep at the old houses, and the gray Cathedral ; and 
 might think of my coining through that old city on my jour- 
 ney, and of my passing the very house I 'lived in, without 
 knowing it. As I came back, I saw Uriah Heep shutting up 
 the office; and feeling friendly towards everybody, went in 
 and spoke to him, and at parting, gave him my hand. But 
 oh, what a clammy hand his was ! as ghostly to the touch as 
 to the sight ! I rubbed mine afterwards, to warm it, and to 
 rub his off. 
 
 It was such an uncomfortable hand, that, when I went to 
 my room, it was still cold and wet upon my memory. Lean- 
 ing out of window, and seeing one of the faces on the beam- 
 ends looking at me sideways, I fancied it was Uriah Heep got 
 up there somehow, and shut him out in a hurry. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 245 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 I AM A NEW BOY IN MORE SENSES THAN ONE. 
 
 NEXT morning, after breakfast, I entered on school life 
 again. I went, accompanied by Mr. Wickfield, to the scene 
 of my future studies a grave building in a court-yard, with 
 a learned air about it that seemed very well suited to the 
 stray rooks and jackdaws who came down from the Cathedral 
 towers to walk with a clerkly bearing on the grass-plot and 
 was introduced to my new master, Dr. Strong. 
 
 Dr. Strong looked almost as rusty, to my thinking, as the 
 tall iron rails and gates outside the house ; and almost as stiff 
 and heavy as the great stone urns that flanked them, and were 
 set up, on the top of the red-brick wall, at regular distances 
 all round the court, like sublimated skittles, for Time to play 
 at. He was in his library (I mean Dr. Strong was), with his 
 clothes not particularly well brushed, and his hair not partic- 
 ularly well combed ; his knee-smalls unbraced ; his long black 
 gaiters unbuttoned ; and his shoes yawning like two caverns 
 on the hearth-rug. Turning upon me a lustreless eye, that 
 reminded me of a long-forgotten blind old horse who once used 
 to crop the grass, and tumble over the graves in Blunderstone 
 churchyard, he said he was glad to see me : and then he gave 
 me his hand ; which I didn't know what to do with, as it did 
 nothing for itself. 
 
 But, sitting at work, not far off from Dr. Strong, was a very 
 pretty young lady whom he called Annie, and who was his 
 daughter, I supposed who got me out of my difficulty by 
 kneeling down to put Dr. Strong's shoes on, and button his 
 gaiters, which she did with great cheerfulness and quickness. 
 When she had finished, and we were going out to the school- 
 room, I was much surprised to hear Mr. Wickfield, in bidding 
 her good morning, address her as " Mrs. Strong ; " and I was 
 wondering could she be Doctor Strong's son's wife, or could 
 
246 
 
 she be Mrs. Doctor Strong, when Dr. Strong himself uncon- 
 sciously enlightened me. 
 
 "By the by, Wickfield," he said, stopping in a passage 
 with his hand on my shoulder; "you have not found any 
 suitable provision for my wife's cousin yet ? " 
 
 "No," said Mr. Wickfield. "No. Not yet." 
 
 " I could wish it done as soon as it can be done, Wickfield," 
 said Doctor Strong, " for Jack Maldon is needy, and idle ; 
 and of those two bad things, worse things sometimes come. 
 What does Doctor Watts say," he added, looking at me, and 
 moving his head to the time of his quotation, " ' Satan finds 
 some mischief still for idle hands to do.' ' 
 
 " Egad, doctor," returned Mr. Wickfield, " if Doctor Watts 
 knew mankind, he might have written, with as much truth, 
 ' Satan finds some mischief still, for busy hands to do.' The 
 busy people achieve their full share of mischief in the world, 
 you may rely upon it. What have the people been about 
 who have been the busiest in getting money, and in getting 
 power, this century or two ? No mischief ? " 
 
 "Jack Maldon will never be very busy in getting either, I 
 expect," said Doctor Strong, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. 
 
 " Perhaps not," said Mr. Wickfield ; " and you bring me 
 back to the question, with an apology for digressing. No, I 
 have not been able to dispose of Mr. Jack Maldon yet. I 
 believe," he said this with some hesitation, "I penetrate your 
 motive, and it makes the thing more difficult." 
 
 "My motive," returned Doctor Strong, "is to make some 
 suitable provision for a cousin, and an old playfellow of 
 Annie's." 
 
 " Yes, I know," said Mr. Wickfield ; " at home or abroad." 
 
 " Aye ! " replied the Doctor, apparently wondering why he 
 emphasized those words so much. " At home or abroad." 
 
 " Your own expression, you know," said Mr. Wickfield. 
 " Or abroad." 
 
 " Surely," the Doctor answered. " Surely. One or other." 
 
 " One or other ? Have you no choice ? " asked Mr. 
 Wickfield. 
 
 " No," returned the Doctor. 
 
 " No ? " with astonishment. 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 247 
 
 "Not the least." 
 
 " No motive/' said Mr. Wickfield, " for meaning abroad, and 
 not at home ? " 
 
 " No/' returned the Doctor. 
 
 "I am bound to believe you, and of course I do believe 
 you/' said Mr. Wickfield. " It might have simplified my 
 office very much, if I had known it before. But I confess I 
 entertained another impression." 
 
 Doctor Strong regarded him with a puzzled and doubting 
 look, which almost immediately subsided into a smile that 
 gave me great encouragement ; for it was full of amiability 
 and sweetness, and there was a simplicity in it, and indeed in 
 his whole manner, when the studious, pondering frost upon 
 it was got through, very attractive and hopeful to a young 
 scholar like me. Eepeating " no," and " not the least," and 
 other short assurances to the same purport, Doctor Strong 
 jogged on before us, at a queer, uneven pace ; and we 
 followed : Mr. Wickfield looking grave, I observed, and shak- 
 ing his head to himself, without knowing that I saw him. 
 
 The school-room was a pretty large hall, on the quietest 
 side of the house, confronted by the stately stare of some 
 half-dozen of the great urns, and commanding a peep of an 
 old secluded garden belonging to the Doctor, where the 
 peaches were ripening on the sunny south wall. There were 
 two great aloes, in tubs, on the turf outside the windows ; the 
 broad hard leaves of which plant (looking as if they were 
 made of painted tin) have ever since, by association, been 
 symbolical to me of silence and retirement. About five-and- 
 twenty boys were studiously engaged at their books when we 
 went in, but they rose to give the Doctor good morning, and 
 remained standing when they saw Mr. Wickfield and me. 
 
 " A new boy, young gentlemen," said the Doctor ; " Trot- 
 wood Copperfield." 
 
 One Adams, who was the head-boy, then stepped out of 
 his place and welcomed me. He looked like a young clergy- 
 man, in his white cravat, but he was very affable and good- 
 humored ; and he showed me my place, and presented me to 
 the masters in a gentlemanly way that would have put me 
 at my ease, if anything could. 
 
248 THE PERSONAL HISTOEY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 It seemed to me so long, however, since I had been among 
 such boys, or among any companions of my own age, except 
 Mick Walker and Mealy Potatoes, that I felt as strange as ever 
 I have done in all my life. I was so conscious of having 
 passed through scenes of which they could have no knowledge, 
 and of having acquired experiences foreign to my age, appear- 
 ance, and condition as one of them, that I half believed it was 
 an imposture to come there as an ordinary little schoolboy. I 
 had become, in the Murdstone and Grinby time, however short 
 or long it may have been, so unused to the sports and games 
 of boys, that I knew I was awkward and inexperienced in the 
 commonest things belonging to them. Whatever I had learnt, 
 had so slipped away from me in the sordid cares of my life 
 from day to night, that now, when I was examined about what 
 I knew, I knew nothing, and was put into the lowest form of 
 the school. But, troubled as I was, by my want of boyish 
 skill, and of book-learning too, I was made infinitely more 
 uncomfortable by the consideration, that, in what I did know, 
 I was much farther removed from my companions than in 
 what I did not. My mind ran upon what they would think, 
 if they knew of my familiar acquaintance with the King's 
 Bench Prison ? Was there anything about me which would 
 reveal my proceedings in connection with the Micawber family 
 all those pawnings, and sellings, and suppers in spite of 
 myself? Suppose some of the boys had seen me coming 
 through Canterbury, wayworn and ragged, and should find me 
 out ? What would they say, who made so light of money, if 
 they could know how I scraped my halfpence together, for 
 the purchase of my daily saveloy and beer, or my slices of 
 pudding ? How would it affect them, who were so innocent 
 of London life, and London streets, to discover how knowing 
 I was (and was ashamed to be) in some of the meanest phases 
 of both ? All this ran in my head so much, on that first day 
 at Dr. Strong's, that I felt distrustful of my slightest look 
 and gesture ; shrunk within myself whensoever I was ap- 
 proached by one of my new school-fellows ; and hurried off the 
 minute school was over, afraid of committing myself in my 
 response to any friendly notice or advance. 
 
 But there was such an influence in Mr. Wickfield's old 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 249 
 
 house, that when I knocked at it, with my new school-books 
 under my arm, I began to feel my uneasiness softening away. 
 As I went up to my airy old room, the grave shadow of the 
 staircase seemed to fall upon my doubts and fears, and to make 
 the past more indistinct. I sat there, sturdily conning my 
 books, until dinner time (we were out of school for good at 
 three) ; and went down, hopeful of becoming a passable sort 
 of boy yet. 
 
 Agnes was in the drawing-room, waiting for her father, who 
 was detained by some one in his office. She met me with her 
 pleasant smile, and asked me how I liked the school. I told 
 her I should like it very much, I hoped ; but I was a little 
 strange to it at first. 
 
 " You have never been to school," I said, " have you ? " 
 
 " Oh yes ! Every day." 
 
 " Ah, but you mean here, at your own home ? " 
 
 " Papa couldn't spare me to go anywhere else," she answered, 
 smiling and shaking her head. " His housekeeper must be in 
 his house, you know." 
 
 " He is very fond of you, I am sure," I said. 
 
 She nodded " Yes," and went to the door to listen for his 
 coming up, that she might meet him on the stairs. But, as he 
 was not there, she came back again. 
 
 " Mamma has been dead ever since I was born," she said, in 
 her quiet way. " I only know her picture, down stairs. I 
 saw you looking at it yesterday. Did you think whose it 
 was ? ' I told her yes, because it was so like herself. 
 
 "Papa says so, too," said Agnes, pleased. "Hark ! That's 
 papa now ? " 
 
 Her bright calm face lighted up with pleasure as she went 
 to meet him, and as they came in, hand in hand. He greeted 
 me cordially ; and told me I should certainly be happy under 
 Doctor Strong, who was one of the gentlest of men. 
 
 " There may me some, perhaps I don't know that there 
 are who abuse his kindness," said Mr. Wickfield. "Never 
 be one of those, Trotwood, in anything. He is the least suspi- 
 cious of mankind ; and whether that's a merit, or whether it's 
 a blemish, it deserves consideration in all dealings with the 
 Doctor, great or small." 
 
250 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 He spoke, I thought, as if he were weary, or dissatisfied 
 with something; but I did not pursue the question in my 
 mind, for dinner was just then announced, and we went down 
 and took the same seats as before. 
 
 We had scarcely done so, when Uriah Heep put in his red 
 head and his lank hand at the door, and said : 
 
 " Here's Mr. Maldon begs the favor of a word, sir." 
 
 "I am but this moment quit of Mr. Maldon," said his 
 master. 
 
 " Yes, sir," returned Uriah ; " but Mr. Maldon has come 
 back, and he begs the favor of a word." 
 
 As he held the door open with his hand, Uriah looked at 
 me, and looked at Agnes, and looked at the dishes, and looked 
 at the plates, and looked at every object in the room, I thought, 
 yet seemed to look at nothing ; he made such an appearance 
 all the while of keeping his red eyes dutifully on his master. 
 
 "I beg your pardon. It's only to say, on reflection," ob- 
 served a voice behind Uriah, as Uriah's head was pushed 
 away, and the speaker's substituted "pray excuse me for 
 this intrusion that as it seems I have no choice in the matter, 
 the sooner I go abroad the better. My cousin Annie did say, 
 when we talked of it, that she liked to have her friends 
 within reach rather than to have them banished, and the old 
 Doctor " 
 
 " Doctor Strong, was that ? " Mr. Wickfield interposed, 
 gravely. 
 
 " Doctor Strong of course," returned the other; "I call him 
 the old Doctor it's all the same you know." 
 
 " I don't know," returned Mr. Wickfield. 
 
 "Well, Doctor Strong," said the other "Doctor Strong 
 was of the same mind, I believed. But as it appears from the 
 course you take with me that he has changed his mind, why 
 there's no more to be said, except that the sooner I am off the 
 better. Therefore, I thought I'd come back and say, that 
 the sooner I am off the better. When a plunge is to be made 
 into the water, it's of no use lingering on the bank." 
 
 " There shall be as little lingering as possible, in your case, 
 Mr. Maldon, you may depend upon it," said Mr. Wickfield. 
 
 "Thank'ee," said the other. "Much obliged. I don't 
 
OF DAVID COPPER FIELD. 251 
 
 want to look a gift-horse in the mouth, which is not a gracious 
 thing to do; otherwise, I dare say, my cousin Annie could 
 easily arrange it in her own way. I suppose Annie would 
 only have to say to the old Doctor " 
 
 " Meaning that Mrs. Strong would only have to say to her 
 husband do I follow you ? " said Mr. Wickfield. 
 
 " Quite so," returned the other, " would only have to say, 
 that she wanted such and such a thing to be so and so ; and 
 it would be so and so, as a matter of course." 
 
 " And why as a matter of course, Mr. Maldon ? " asked Mr. 
 Wickfield, sedately eating his dinner, 
 
 " Why, because Annie's a charming young girl, and the old 
 Doctor Doctor Strong, I mean is not quite a charming 
 young boy," said Mr. Jack Maldon, laughing. " No offence to 
 anybody, Mr. Wickfield. I only mean that I suppose some 
 compensation is fair and reasonable in that sort of marriage." 
 
 " Compensation to the lady, sir ? " asked Mr. Wickfield, 
 gravely. 
 
 "To the lady, sir," Mr. Jack Maldon answered, laughing. 
 But appearing to remark that Mr. Wickfield went on with his 
 dinner in the same sedate, immovable manner, and that there 
 was no hope of making him relax a muscle of his face, he 
 added : 
 
 "However, I have said what I came back to say, and, with 
 another apology for this intrusion, I may take myself off. Of 
 course I shall observe your directions, in considering the matter 
 as one to be arranged between you and me solely, and not to 
 be referred to, up at the Doctor's." 
 
 " Have you dined ? " asked Mr. Wickfield, with a motion of 
 his hand towards the table. 
 
 " Thank'ee. I am going to dine," said Mr. Maldon, " with 
 my cousin Annie. Good by ! " 
 
 Mr. Wickfield, without rising, looked after him thought- 
 fully as he went out. He was rather a shallow sort of young 
 gentleman, I thought, with a handsome face, a rapid utterance, 
 and a confident bold air. And this was the first I ever saw of 
 Mr. Jack Maldon; whom I had not expected to see so soon, 
 when 1 heard the Doctor speak of him that morning. 
 
 When we had dined, we went up stairs again, where every- 
 
252 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 thing went on exactly as on the previous day. Agnes set the 
 glasses and decanters in the same corner, and Mr. Wickfield 
 sat down to drink, and drank a good deal. Agnes played the 
 piano to him, sat by him, and worked and talked, and played 
 some games at dominoes with me. In good time she made 
 tea ; and afterwards, when I brought down my books, looked 
 into them, and showed me what she knew of them (which was 
 no slight matter, though she said it was), and what was the 
 best way to learn and understand them. I see her, with her 
 modest, orderly, placid manner, and I hear her beautiful calm 
 voice, as I write these words. The influence for all good, 
 which she came to exercise over me at a later time, begins 
 already to descend upon my breast. I love little Em'ly, and 
 I don't love Agnes no, not at all in that way but I feel 
 that there are goodness, peace, and truth, wherever Agnes is ; 
 and that the soft light of the colored window in the church, 
 seen long ago, falls on her always, and on me when I am near 
 her, and on everything around. 
 
 The time having come for her withdrawal for the night, 
 and she having left us, I gave Mr. Wickfield my hand, pre- 
 paratory to going away myself. But he checked me and said : 
 "Should you like to stay with us, Trotwood, or to go else- 
 where ? " 
 
 " To stay," I answered, quickly. 
 
 " You are sure ? " 
 
 "If you please. If I may ! " 
 
 "Why, it's but a dull life that we lead here, boy, I am 
 afraid," he said. 
 
 " Not more dull for me than Agnes, sir. Not dull at all ! " 
 
 "Than Agnes," he repeated, walking slowly to the great 
 chimney-piece, and leaning against it. " Than Agnes ! " 
 
 He had drank wine that evening (or I-fancied it), until his 
 eyes were blood-shot. Not that I could see them now, for 
 they were cast down, and shaded by his hand; but I had 
 noticed them a little while before. 
 
 "Now I wonder," he muttered, "whether my Agnes tires 
 of me. When should I ever tire of her ! But that's different 
 that's quite different." 
 
 He was musing not speaking to me ; so I remained quiet. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 253 
 
 " A dull old house/ 7 he said, " and a monotonous life ; but 
 I must have her near me. I must keep her near me. If the 
 thought that I may die and leave my darling, or that my 
 darling may die and leave me, comes, like a spectre to distress 
 my happiest hours, and is only to be drowned in " 
 
 He did not supply the word; but pacing slowly to the place 
 where he had sat, and mechanically going through the action 
 of pouring wine from the empty decanter, set it down and 
 paced back again. 
 
 " If it is miserable to bear when she is here," he said, 
 " what would it be and she away ? No, no, no. I cannot 
 try that." 
 
 He leaned against the chimney-piece, brooding so long that 
 I could not decide whether to run the risk of disturbing him 
 by going, or to remain quietly where I was, until he should 
 come out of his reverie. At length he roused himself, and 
 looked about the room until his eyes encountered mine. 
 
 " Stay with us, Trotwood, eh ? " he said in his usual 
 manner, and as if he were answering something I had just 
 said. " I am glad of it. You are company to us both. It 
 is wholesome to have you here. Wholesome for me, whole- 
 some for Agnes, wholesome perhaps for all of us." 
 
 "I am sure it is for me, sir," I said. "I am so glad to 
 be here." 
 
 " That's a fine fellow ! " said Mr. Wickfield. " As long as 
 you are glad to be here, you shall stay here." He shook 
 hands with me upon it, and clapped me on the back; and told 
 me that when I had anything to do at night after Agnes had 
 left us, or when I wished to read for my own pleasure, I was 
 free to come down to his room, if he were there, and if I 
 desired it for company's sake, and to sit with him. I thanked 
 him for his consideration ; and, as he went down soon after- 
 wards, and I was not tired, went down too, with a book in 
 my hand, to avail myself, for half-an-hour, of his permission. 
 
 But, seeing a light in the little round office, and imme- 
 diately feeling myself attracted towards Uriah Heep, who had 
 a sort of fascination for me, I went in there instead. I found 
 Uriah reading a great fat book, with such demonstrative 
 attention, that his lank forefinger followed up every line as 
 
254 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 he read, and made clammy tracks along the page (or so I 
 fully believed) like a snail. 
 
 " You are working late to-night, Uriah," says I. 
 
 " Yes, Master Copperfield," says Uriah. 
 
 As I was getting on the stool opposite, to talk to him more 
 conveniently, I observed that he had not such a thing as a 
 smile about him, and that he could only widen his mouth and 
 make two hard creases down his cheeks, one on each side, to 
 stand for one. 
 
 "I am not doing office-work, Master Copperfield," said 
 Uriah. 
 
 " What work, then ? " I asked. 
 
 "I am improving my legal knowledge, Master Copperfield," 
 said Uriah. " I am going through Tidd's Practice. Oh, what 
 a writer Mr. Tidd is, Master Copperfield ! " 
 
 My stool was such a tower of observation, that as I watched 
 him reading on again, after this rapturous exclamation, and 
 following up the lines with his forefinger, I observed that his 
 nostrils, which were thin and pointed, with sharp dints in 
 them, had a singular and most uncomfortable way of expand- 
 ing and contracting themselves that they seemed to twinkle 
 instead of his eyes, which hardly ever twinkled at all. 
 
 " I suppose you are quite a great lawyer ? '' I said, after 
 looking at him for some time. 
 
 "Me, Master Copperfield?" said Uriah. "Oh, no! I'm 
 a very umble person." 
 
 It was no fancy of mine about his hands, I observed ; for 
 he frequently 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 likewise a very umble person. We live in a 
 umble abode, Master Copperfield, but have much to be thank- 
 ful 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. 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 255 
 
 How much have I to be thankful for in living with Mr. Wick- 
 field ! " 
 
 I asked Uriah if he had been with Mr. Wickfield long ? 
 
 " I have been with him going on four year, Master Copper- 
 field/' said Uriah; shutting up his book, after carefully mark- 
 ing the place where he had left off. " Since a year after my 
 father's death. How much have I to be thankful for, in that ! 
 How much have I to be thankful for, in Mr. Wickfield's kind 
 intention to give me my articles, which would otherwise not 
 lay within the umble means of mother and self ! " 
 
 "Then, when your articled time is over, you'll be a regular 
 lawyer, I suppose ? " said I. 
 
 "With the blessing of Providence, Master Copperfield," 
 returned Uriah. 
 
 "Perhaps you'll be a partner in Mr. Wickfield's business, 
 one of these days," I said, to make myself agreeable ; " and it 
 will be Wickfield and Heep, or Heep late Wickfield." 
 
 " Oh, no, Master Copperfield," returned Uriah, shaking his 
 head, " I am much too umble for that ! " 
 
 He certainly did look uncommonly like the carved face on 
 the beam outside my window, as he sat, in his humility, eyeing 
 me sideways, with his mouth widened, and the creases in his 
 cheeks. 
 
 "Mr. Wickfield is a most excellent man, Master Copper- 
 field," said Uriah. " If you have known him long, you know 
 it, I am sure, much better than I can inform you." 
 
 I replied that I was certain he was ; but that I had not 
 known him long myself, though he was a friend of my aunt's. 
 
 " Oh, indeed, Master Copperfield," said Uriah. " Your aunt 
 is a sweet lady, Master Copperfield ! " 
 
 He had a way of writhing when he wanted to express en- 
 thusiasm which was very ugly ; and which diverted my atten- 
 tion from the compliment he had paid my relation, to the 
 snaky twistings of his throat and body. 
 
 " A sweet lady, Master Copperfield ! " said Uriah Heep. 
 " She has a great admiration for Miss Agnes, Master Copper- 
 field, I believe ? " 
 
 I said " Yes," boldly ; not that I knew anything about it, 
 Heaven forgive me ! 
 
256 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " I hope you have, too, Master Copperfield," said Uriah. 
 " But I am sure you must have." 
 
 " Everybody must have," I returned. 
 
 "Oh, thank you, Master Copperfield," said Uriah Heep, 
 " for that remark ! It is so true ! Umble as I am, I know it 
 is so true ! Oh, thank you, Master Copperfield ! " 
 
 He writhed himself quite off his stool in the excitement of 
 his feelings, and, being off, began to make arrangements for 
 going home. 
 
 " Mother will be expecting me," he said, referring to a pale, 
 inexpressive-faced watch in his pocket, " and getting uneasy ; 
 for though we are very umble, Master Copperfield, we are 
 much attached to one another. If you would come and see us, 
 any afternoon, and take a cup of tea at our lowly dwelling, 
 mother would be as proud of your company as I should be." 
 
 I said I should be glad to come. 
 
 "Thank you, Master Copperfield," returned Uriah, putting 
 his book away upon a shelf. "I suppose you stop here, some 
 time, Master Copperfield ? " 
 
 I said I was going to be brought up there, I believed, as 
 long as I remained at school. 
 
 "Oh, indeed!" exclaimed Uriah. "I should think you 
 would come into the business at last, Master Copperfield ! " 
 
 I protested that I had no views of that sort, and that no 
 such scheme was entertained in my behalf by anybody ; but 
 Uriah insisted on blandly replying to all my assurances, " Oh, 
 yes, Master Copperfield, I should think you would, indeed ! " 
 and, "Oh, indeed, Master Copperfield, I should think you 
 would, certainly ! " over and over again. Being, at last, ready to 
 leave the office for the night, he asked me if it would suit my 
 convenience to have the light put out ; and on my answering 
 "Yes," instantly extinguished it. After shaking hands with 
 me his hand felt like a fish, in the dark he opened the 
 door into the street a very little, and crept out, and shut it, 
 leaving me to grope my way back into the house : which cost 
 me some trouble and a fall over his stool. This was the prox- 
 imate cause, I suppose, of my dreaming about him, for what 
 appeared to me to be half the night ; and dreaming, among 
 other things, that he had launched Mr. Feggotty's house on a 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 257 
 
 piratical expedition, with a black flag at the mast head, bearing 
 the inscription "Tidd's Practice," under which diabolical 
 ensign he was carrying me and little Em'ly to the Spanish 
 Main, to be drowned. 
 
 I got a little the better of my uneasiness when I went to 
 school next day, and a good deal the better next day, and so 
 shook it off by degrees that in less than a fortnight I was 
 quite at home, and happy, among my new companions. I was 
 awkward enough in their games, and backward enough in 
 their studies ; but custom would improve me in the first respect, 
 I hoped, and hard work in the second. Accordingly, I went 
 to work very hard, both in play and in earnest, and gained 
 great commendation. And, in a very little while the Murd- 
 stone and Grinby life became so strange to me that I hardly 
 believed in it, while my present life grew so familiar, that I 
 seemed to have been leading it a long time. 
 
 Doctor Strong's was an excellent school ; as different from 
 Mr. Creakle's as good is from evil. It was very gravely and 
 decorously ordered, and on a sound system ; with an appeal, 
 in everything, to the honor and good faith of the boys, and an 
 avowed intention to rely on their possession of those qualities 
 unless they proved themselves unworthy of it, which worked 
 wonders. We all felt that we had a part in the management 
 of the place, and in sustaining its character and dignity. 
 Hence, we soon became warmly attached to it I am sure I 
 did for one, and I never knew, in all my time, of any other 
 boy being otherwise and learnt with a good will, desiring to 
 do it credit. We had noble games out of hours, and plenty 
 of liberty ; but even then, as I remember, we were well spoken 
 of in the town, and rarely did any disgrace, by our appearance 
 or manner, to the reputation of Doctor Strong and Doctor 
 Strong's boys. 
 
 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 ; as she had not a six- 
 pence, and had a world of poor relations (so our fellows said) 
 ready to swarm the Doctor out of house and home. Also, how 
 VOL. i 17 
 
258 
 
 the Doctor's cogitating manner was attributable to his being 
 always engaged in looking out for Greek roots ; which, in my 
 innocence and ignorance, I supposed to be a botanical furor on 
 the Doctor's part, especially as he always looked at the ground 
 when he walked about, until I understood that they were roots 
 of words, with a view to a new Dictionary which he had in 
 contemplation. Adams, our head-boy, who had a turn for 
 mathematics, had made a calculation, I was informed, of the 
 time this Dictionary would take in completing, on the Doctor's 
 plan, and at the Doctor's rate of going. He considered that it 
 it might be done in one thousand six hundred and forty-nine 
 years, counting from the Doctor's last, or sixty-second, birth- 
 day. 
 
 But the Doctor himself was the idol of the whole school : 
 and it must have been a badly composed school if he had been 
 anything else, for he was the kindest of men ; with a simple 
 faith in him that might have touched the stone hearts of the 
 very urns upon the wall. As he walked up and down that 
 part of the court-yard which was at the side of the house, with 
 the stray rooks and jackdaws looking after him with their 
 heads cocked slily, as if they knew how much more knowing 
 they were in worldly affairs than he, if any sort of vagabond 
 could only get near enough to his creaking shoes to attract 
 his attention to one sentence of a tale of distress, that vaga- 
 bond was made for the next two days. It was so notorious 
 in the house, that the masters and head-boys took pains to cut 
 these marauders off at angles, and to get out of windows, and 
 turn them out of the court-yard, before they could make the 
 Doctor aware of their presence ; which was sometimes hap- 
 pily effected within a few yards of him, without his knowing 
 anything of the matter, as he jogged to and fro. Outside his 
 own domain, and unprotected, he was a very sheep for the 
 shearers. He would have taken his gaiters off his legs, to 
 give away. In fact, there was a story current among us (I 
 have no idea, and never had, on what authority, but I have 
 believed it for so many years that I feel quite certain it is 
 true), that on a frosty day, one winter time, he actually did 
 bestow his gaiters on a beggar-woman, who occasioned some 
 scandal in the neighborhood by exhibiting a fine infant from 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 
 
 door to door, wrapped in those garments, which were uni- 
 versally recognized, being as well known in the vicinity as the 
 Cathedral. The legend added that the only person who did 
 not identify them was the Doctor himself, who, when they 
 were shortly afterwards displayed at the door of a little second- 
 hand shop of no very good repute, where such things were 
 taken in exchange for gin, was more than once observed to 
 handle them approvingly, as if admiring some curious novelty 
 in the pattern, and considering them an improvement on his 
 own. 
 
 It was very pleasant to see the Doctor with his pretty young 
 wife. He had a fatherly, benignant way of showing his fond- 
 ness for her, which seemed in itself to express a good man. I 
 often saw them walking in the garden where the peaches 
 were, and I sometimes had a nearer observation of them in the 
 study or the parlor. She appeared to me to take great care of 
 the Doctor, and to like him very much, though I never thought 
 her vitally interested in the Dictionary : some cumbrous frag- 
 ments of which work the Doctor always carried in his pockets, 
 and in the lining of his hat, and geT.e'caUy seemed to be ex- 
 pounding to her as they walked about. 
 
 I saw a good deal of Mrs. Strong, both because she had taken 
 a liking for me on the morning of my introduction to the 
 Doctor, and was always afterwards kind to me, and interested 
 in me; and because she was very fond of Agnes, and was 
 often backwards and forwards at our house. There was a 
 curious constraint between her and Mr. Wickfield, I thought 
 (of whom she seemed to be afraid), that never wore off. 
 When she came there of an evening, she always shrunk from 
 accepting his escort home, and ran away with me instead. 
 And sometimes, as we were running gaily across the Cathedral 
 yard together, expecting to meet nobody, we would meet Mr. 
 Jack Maldon, who was always surprised to see us. 
 
 Mrs. Strong's mamma was a lady I took great delight in. 
 Her name was Mrs. Markleham ; but 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, 
 
260 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 ornamented with some artificial flowers, and two artificial 
 butterflies supposed to be hovering above the flowers. There 
 was a superstition among us that this cap had come from 
 France, and could only originate in the workmanship of that 
 ingenious nation : but all I certainly know about it is, that it 
 always made its appearance of an evening, wheresoever Mrs. 
 Markleham made her appearance; that it was carried about 
 to friendly meetings in the Hindoo basket ; that the butterflies 
 had the gift of trembling constantly; and that they improved 
 the shining hours at Dr. Strong's expense, like busy bees. 
 
 I observed the Old Soldier not to adopt the name dis- 
 respectfully to pretty good advantage, on a night which is 
 made memorable to me by something else I shall relate. It 
 was. the night of a little party at the Doctor's, which was given 
 on the occasion of Mr. Jack Maldou's departure for India, 
 whither he was going as a cadet, or something of that kind : 
 Mr. Wickfield having at length arranged the business. It 
 happened to be the Doctor's birthday, too. We had had a 
 holiday, had made presents to him in the morning, had made 
 a speech to him through the head-boy, and had cheered him 
 until we were hoarse, and until he had shed tears. And now, 
 in the evening, Mr. Wickfield, Agnes, and I, went to have tea 
 with him in his private capacity. 
 
 Mr. Jack Maldon was there, before us. Mrs. Strong, dressed 
 in white, with cherry-colored ribbons, was playing the piano, 
 when we went in ; and he was leaning over her to turn the 
 leaves. The clear red and white of her complexion was not 
 so blooming and flower-like as usual, I thought, when she 
 turned round ; but she looked very pretty, wonderfully pretty. 
 
 "I have forgotten, Doctor," said Mrs. Strong's mamma, when 
 we were seated, " to pay you the compliments of the day 
 though they are, as you may suppose, very far from being 
 mere compliments in my case. Allow me to wish you many 
 happy returns." 
 
 " I thank you, ma'am," replied the Doctor. 
 
 "Many, many, many, happy returns," said the Old Soldier. 
 "Not only for your own sake, but for Annie's, and John 
 Maldon's, and many other people's. It seems but yesterday 
 to me, John, when you were a little creature, a head shorter 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 261 
 
 than Master Copperfield, making baby love to Annie behind 
 the gooseberry bushes in the back-garden." 
 
 "My dear mamma/' said Mrs. Strong, "never mind that 
 now." 
 
 " Annie, don't be absurd," returned her mother. " If you 
 are to blush to hear of such things, now you are an old mar- 
 ried woman, when are you not to blush to hear of them ? " 
 
 " Old ? " exclaimed Mr. Jack Maldon. " Annie ? Come ? " 
 
 " Yes, John," returned the Soldier. " Virtually, an old 
 married woman. Although not old by years for when did 
 you ever hear me say, or who has ever heard me say, that a 
 girl of twenty was old by years ! your cousin is the wife of 
 the Doctor, and, as such, what I have described her. It is 
 well for you, John, that your cousin is the wife of the Doctor. 
 You have found in him an influential and kind friend, who 
 will be kinder yet, I venture to predict, if you deserve it. I 
 have no false pride. I never hesitate to admit, frankly, that 
 there are some members of our family who want a friend. 
 You were one yourself, before your cousin's influence raised 
 up one for you." 
 
 The Doctor, in the goodness of his heart, waved his hand as 
 if to make light of it, and save Mr. Jack Maldon from any 
 further reminder. But Mrs. Markleham changed her chair for 
 one next the Doctor's, and putting her fan on his coatsleeve, 
 said: 
 
 "No, really, my dear Doctor, you must excuse me if I 
 appear to dwell on this rather, because I feel so very strongly. 
 I call it quite my monomania, it is such a subject of mine. 
 You are a blessing to us. You really are a boon, you know." 
 
 "Nonsense, nonsense," said the Doctor. 
 
 "No, no, I beg your pardon," retorted the Old Soldier. 
 "With nobody present, but our dear and confidential friend 
 Mr. Wickfield, I cannot consent to be put down. I shall 
 begin to assert the privileges of a mother-in-law, if you go on 
 like that, and scold you. I am perfectly honest and out- 
 spoken. What I am saying, is what I said when you first 
 overpowered me with surprise you remember how surprised 
 I was ? by proposing for Annie. Not that there was any- 
 thing so very much out of the T^ay, in the mere fact of the 
 
262 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 proposal it would be ridiculous to say that ! but because, 
 you having known her poor father and having known her 
 from a baby six months old, I hadn't thought of you in such 
 a light at all, or indeed as a marrying man in any way, sim- 
 ply that, you know. 7 ' 
 
 "Ay, ay," returned the Doctor, good-humoredly. "Never 
 mind." 
 
 " But I do mind," said the Old Soldier, laying her fan upon 
 his lips. " I mind very much. I recall these things that I 
 may be contradicted if I am wrong. Well ! Then I spoke to 
 Annie, and I told her what had happened. I said, < My dear, 
 here's Doctor Strong has positively been and made you the 
 subject of a handsome declaration and an offer.' Did I press 
 it in the least ? No. I said, l Now, Annie, tell me the truth 
 this moment ; is your heart free ? ' ' Mamma,' she said, cry- 
 ing, <I am extremely young' which was perfectly true 
 ' and I hardly know if I have a heart at all.' i Then, my dear,' 
 I said, ' you may rely upon it, it's free. .At all events, my 
 love,' said I, ' Doctor Strong is in an agitated state of mind, 
 and must be answered. He cannot be kept in his present 
 state of suspense.' * Mamma,' said Annie, still crying, 
 ' would he be unhappy without me ? If he would, I honor 
 and respect him so much, that I think I will have him.' So 
 it was settled. And then, and not till then, I said to Annie, 
 1 Annie, Doctor Strong will not only be your husband, but he 
 will represent your late father : he will represent the head of 
 our family, he will represent the wisdom and station, and I 
 may say the means, of our family; and will be, in short, a 
 Boon to it.' I used the word at the time, and I have used it 
 again, to-day. If I have any merit it is consistency." 
 
 The daughter had sat quite silent and still during this 
 speech, with her eyes fixed on the ground ; her cousin stand- 
 ing near her, and looking on the ground too. She now said 
 very softly, in a trembling voice : 
 
 " Mamma, I hope you have finished ? " 
 
 "No, my dear Annie," returned the Soldier, "I have not 
 quite finished. Since you ask me, my love, I reply that I 
 have not. I complain that you really are a little unnatural 
 towards your own family ; and, as it is of no use complaining 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 263 
 
 to you, I mean to complain to your husband. Now, my dear 
 Doctor, do look at that silly wife of yours." 
 
 As the Doctor turned his kind face, with its smile of sim- 
 plicity and gentleness, towards her, she drooped her head 
 more. I noticed that Mr. Wickfield looked at her steadily. 
 
 " When I happened to say to that naughty thing, the other 
 day," pursued her mother, shaking her head and her fan at 
 her playfully, "that there was a family circumstance she 
 might mention to you indeed, I think, was bound to men- 
 tion she said, that to mention it was to ask a favor ; and 
 that, as you were too generous, and as for her to ask was 
 always to have, she wouldn't." 
 
 "Annie, my dear," said the Doctor. "That was wrong. It 
 robbed me of a pleasure." 
 
 "Almost the very words I said to her!" exclaimed her 
 mother. " Now really, another time, when I know what she 
 would tell you but for this reason, and won't, I have a great 
 mind, my dear Doctor, to tell you myself." 
 
 " I shall be glad if you will," returned the Doctor. 
 
 "Shall I?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 "Well, then, I will! " said the Old Soldier. "That's a bar- 
 gain." And having, I suppose, carried her point, she tapped 
 the Doctor's hand several times with her fan (which she 
 kissed first), and returned triumphantly to her former station. 
 
 Some more company coming in, among whom were the two 
 masters and Adams, the talk became general ; and it naturally 
 turned on Mr. Jack Maldon, and his voyage, and the country 
 he was going to, and his various plans and prospects. He was 
 to leave that night, after supper, in a postchaise, for Grave- 
 send; where the ship, in which he was to make the voyage, 
 lay; and was .to be gone unless he came home on leave, 
 or for his health I don't know how many years. I recollect 
 it was settled by general consent that India was quite a mis- 
 represented country, and had nothing objectionable in it, but 
 a tiger or two, and a little heat in the warm part of the day. 
 For my own part, I looked on Mr. Jack Maldon as a modern 
 Sinbad, and pictured him the bosom friend of all the Rajahs 
 
264 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 in the east, sitting under canopies, smoking curly golden pipes 
 a mile long, if they could be straightened out. 
 
 Mrs. Strong was a very pretty singer : as I knew, who often 
 heard her singing by herself. But, whether she was afraid of 
 singing before people, or was out of voice that evening, it was 
 certain that she couldn't sing at all. She tried a duet, once, 
 with her cousin Maldon, but could not so much as begin ; and 
 afterwards, when she tried to sing by herself, although she 
 began sweetly, her voice died away on a sudden, and left her 
 quite distressed, with her head hanging down over the keys. 
 The good Doctor said she was nervous, and, to relieve her, 
 proposed a round game at cards, of which he knew as much 
 as of the art of playing the trombone. But I remarked that 
 the Old Soldier took him into custody directly, for her partner, 
 and instructed him, as the first preliminary of initiation, to 
 give her all the silver he had in his pocket. 
 
 We had a merry game, not made the less merry by the 
 Doctor's mistakes, of which he committed an innumerable 
 quantity, in spite of the watchfulness of the butterflies, and 
 to their great aggravation. Mrs. Strong had declined to play, 
 on the ground of not feeling very well ; and her cousin Maldon 
 had excused himself because he had some packing to do. 
 When he had done it, however, he returned, and they sat 
 together, talking, on the sofa. From time to time she came 
 and looked over the Doctor's hand, and told him what to play. 
 She was very pale, as she bent over him, and I thought her 
 finger trembled as she pointed out the cards ; but the Doctor 
 was quite happy in her attention, and took no notice of this, 
 if it were so. 
 
 At supper, we were hardly so gay. Every one appeared to 
 feel that a parting of that sort was an awkward thing, and 
 that the nearer it approached, the more awkward it was. Mr. 
 Jack Maldon tried to be very talkative, but was not at his 
 ease, and made matters worse. And they were not improved, 
 as it appeared to me, by the Old Soldier : who continually 
 recalled passages of Mr. Jack Maldon's youth. 
 
 The Doctor, however, who felt, I am sure, that he was 
 making everybody happy, ivas well pleased, and had no sus- 
 picion, but that we were all at the utmost height of enjoyment. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 265 
 
 " Annie, my dear/' said he, looking at his .watch, and filling 
 his glass, " it is past your cousin Jack's time, and we must not 
 detain him, since time and tide both concerned in this case 
 wait for no man. Mr. Jack Maldon, you have a long voy- 
 age, and a strange country, before you ; but many men have 
 had both, and many men will have both, to the end of time. 
 The winds you are going to tempt, have wafted thousands 
 upon thousands to fortune, and brought thousands upon thou- 
 sands happily back." 
 
 " It's an affecting thing," said Mrs. Markleham " however 
 it's viewed, it's affecting to see a fine young man one has 
 known from an infant, going away to the other end of the 
 world, leaving all he knows behind, and not knowing what 
 before him. A young man really well deserves constant 
 support and patronage," looking at the Doctor, "who makes 
 such sacrifices." 
 
 "Time will go fast with you, Mr. Jack Maldon," pursued 
 the Doctor, "and fast with all of us. Some of us can hardly 
 expect, perhaps, in the natural course of things, to greet you 
 on your return. The next best thing is to hope to do it, and 
 that's my case. I shall not weary you with good advice. 
 You have long had a good model before you, in your cousin 
 Annie. Imitate her virtues as nearly as you can." 
 
 Mrs. Markleham fanned herself, and shook her head. 
 
 " Farewell, Mr. Jack," said the Doctor, standing up ; on 
 which we all stood up. " A prosperous voyage out, a thriving 
 career abroad, and a happy return home ! " 
 
 We all drank the toast, and all shook hands with Mr. Jack 
 Maldon ; after which he hastily took leave of the ladies who 
 were there, and hurried to the door, where he was received, 
 as he got into the chaise, with a tremendous broadside of 
 cheers discharged by our boys, who had assembled on the 
 lawn for the purpose. Eunning in among them to swell the 
 ranks, I was very near the chaise when it rolled away ; and I 
 had a lively impression made upon me, in the midst of the 
 noise and dust, of having seen Mr. Jack Maldon rattle past 
 with an agitated face, and something cherry-colored in his 
 hand. 
 
 After another broadside for the Doctor, and another for the 
 
266 ' THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 Doctor's wife, the boys dispersed, and I went back into the 
 house, where I found the guests all standing in a group about 
 the Doctor, discussing how Mr. Jack Maldon had gone away, 
 and how he had borne it, and how he had felt it, and all the 
 rest of it. In the midst of these remarks, Mrs. Markleharn 
 cried : " Where's Annie ! " 
 
 No Annie was there ; and when they called to her, no Annie 
 replied. But all pressing out of the room, in a crowd, to see 
 what was the matter, we found her lying on the hall floor. 
 There was great alarm at first, until it was found that she was 
 in a swoon, and that the swoon was yielding to the usual means 
 of recovery ; when the Doctor, who had lifted her head upon 
 his knee, put her curls aside with his hand, and said, looking 
 around : 
 
 "Poor Annie! She's so faithful and tender-hearted! It's 
 the parting from her old playfellow and friend her favorite 
 cousin that has done this. Ah ! It's a pity ! I am very 
 sorry ! " 
 
 When she opened her eyes, and saw where she was, and 
 that we were all standing about her, she arose with assistance : 
 turning her head, as she did so, to lay it on the Doctor's 
 shoulder or to hide it, I don't know which. We went into 
 the drawing-room, to leave her with the Doctor and her 
 mother ; but she said, it seemed, that she was better than she 
 had been since morning, and that she would rather be brought 
 among us ; so they brought her in, looking very white and 
 weak, I thought, and sat her on a sofa. 
 
 " Annie, my dear," said her mother, doing something to her 
 dress. " See here ! You have lost a bow. Will anybody 
 be so good as find a ribbon ; a cherry-colored ribbon ? J: 
 
 It was the one she had worn at her bosom. We all looked 
 for it I myself looked everywhere, I am certain but 
 nobody could find it. 
 
 " Do you recollect where you had it last, Annie ? " said her 
 mother. 
 
 I wondered how I could have thought she looked white, or 
 anything but burning red, when she answered that she had 
 had it safe, a little while ago, she thought, but it was not 
 worth looking for. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 267 
 
 Nevertheless, it was looked for again, and still not found. 
 She entreated that there might be no more searching ; but it 
 was still sought for in a desultory way, until she was quite 
 well, and the company took their departure. 
 
 We walked very slowly home, Mr. Wickfield, Agnes, and I 
 -Agnes and I admiring the moonlight, and Mr. Wickfield 
 scarcely raising his eyes from the ground. When we, at last, 
 reached our own door, Agnes discovered that she had left her 
 little reticule behind. Delighted to be of any service to her, 
 I ran back to fetch it. 
 
 I went into the supper-room where it had been left, which 
 was deserted and dark. But a door of communication between 
 that and the Doctor's study, where there was a light, being 
 open, I passed on there, to say what I wanted, and to get a 
 candle. 
 
 The Doctor was sitting in his easy-chair by the fireside, and 
 his young wife was on a stool at his feet. The Doctor, with 
 a complacent smile, was reading aloud some manuscript 
 explanation or statement of a theory out of that interminable 
 Dictionary, and she was looking up at him. But with such a 
 face as I never saw. It was so beautiful in its form, it was so 
 ashy pale, it was so fixed in its abstraction, it was so full of a 
 wild, sleep-walking, dreamy horror of I don't know what. 
 The eyes were wide open, and her brown hair fell in two rich 
 clusters on her shoulders, and on her white dress, disordered 
 by the want of the lost ribbon. Distinctly as I recollect her 
 look, I cannot say of what it was expressive. I cannot even 
 say of what it is expressive to me now, rising again before my 
 older judgment. Penitence, humiliation, shame, pride, love, 
 and trustfulness I see them all ; and in them all, I see that 
 horror of I don't know what. 
 
 My entrance, and my saying what I wanted, roused her. 
 It disturbed the Doctor too, for when I went back to replace 
 the candle I had taken from the table, he was patting her 
 head, in his fatherly way, and saying he was a merciless drone 
 to let her tempt him into reading on ; and he would have her 
 go to bed. 
 
 But she asked him, in a rapid, urgent manner, to let her 
 stay to let her feel assured (I heard her murmur some broken 
 
268 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 words to this effeet) that she was in his confidence that night. 
 And, as she turned again towards him, after glancing at me 
 as I left the room and went out at the door, I saw her cross 
 her hands upon his knee, and look up at him with the same 
 face, something quieted, as he resumed his reading. 
 
 It made a great impression on me, and I remembered it a 
 long time afterwards, as I shall have occasion to narrate when 
 the time conies. 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 269 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 SOMEBODY TURNS UP. 
 
 IT has not occurred to me to mention Peggotty since I ran 
 away ; but, of course, I wrote her a letter almost as soon as I 
 was housed at Dover, and another and a longer letter, contain- 
 ing all particulars fully related, when my aunt took me for- 
 mally under her protection. On my being settled at Doctor 
 Strong's I wrote to her again, detailing my happy condition 
 and prospects. I never could have derived anything like the 
 pleasure from spending the money Mr. Dick had given me, 
 that I felt in sending a gold half-guinea to Peggotty, per post, 
 inclosed in this last letter, to discharge the sum I had borrowed 
 of her: in which epistle, not before, I mentioned about the 
 young man with the donkey-cart. 
 
 To these communications Peggotty replied as promptly, if 
 not as concisely, as a merchant's clerk. Her utmost powers 
 of expression (which were certainly not great in ink) were 
 exhausted in the attempt to write what she felt on the subject 
 of my journey. Pour sides of incoherent and inter jectional 
 beginnings of sentences, that had no end, except blots, were 
 inadequate to afford her any relief. But the blots were more 
 expressive to me than the best composition ; for they showed 
 me that Peggotty had been crying all over the paper, and what 
 could I have desired more ? 
 
 I made out, without much difficulty, that she could not take 
 quite kindly to my aunt yet. The notice was too short after so 
 long a prepossession the other way. We never knew a person, 
 she wrote ; but to think that Miss Betsey should seem to be so 
 different from what she had been thought to be, was a Moral ! 
 that was her word. She was evidently still afraid of Miss 
 Betsey, for she sent her grateful duty to her but timidly ; and 
 she was evidently afraid of me, too, and entertained the proba- 
 bility of my running away again soon ; if I might judge from 
 
270 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 the repeated hints she threw out, that the coach-fare to Yar- 
 mouth was always to be had of her for the asking. 
 
 She gave me one piece of intelligence which affected me 
 very much, namely, that there had been a sale of the furniture 
 at our old home, and that Mr. and Miss Murdstone were gone 
 away, and the house was shut up, to be let or sold. God 
 knows I had had no part in it Awhile they remained there, but 
 it pained me to think of the dear old place as altogether aban- 
 doned ; of the weeds growing tall in the garden, and the fallen 
 leaves lying thick and wet upon the paths. I imagined how 
 the winds of winter would howl round it, how the cold rain 
 would beat upon the window-glass, how the moon would make 
 ghosts on the walls of the empty rooms, watching their soli- 
 tude all night. I thought afresh of the grave in the church- 
 yard, underneath the tree : and it seemed as if the house were 
 dead too, now, and all connected with my father and mother 
 were faded away. 
 
 There was no other news in Peggotty's letters. Mr. Barkis 
 was an excellent husband, she said, though still a little near ; 
 but we all had our faults, and she had plenty (though I am 
 sure I don't know what they were) ; and he sent his duty, and 
 my little bedroom was always ready for me. Mr. Peggotty 
 was well, and Ham was well, and Mrs. Gurnmidge was but 
 poorly, and little Eni'ly wouldn't send her love, but said that 
 Peggotty might send it, if she liked. 
 
 All this intelligence I dutifully imparted to my aunt, only 
 reserving to myself the mention of little Em'ly, to whom I 
 instinctively felt that she would not very tenderly incline. 
 While I was yet new at Doctor Strong's, she made several 
 excursions over to Canterbury to see me, and always at unsea- 
 sonable hours : with the view, I suppose, of taking me by 
 surprise. But, finding me well employed, and bearing a good 
 character, and hearing on all hands that I rose fast in the 
 school, she soon discontinued these visits. I saw her on a 
 Saturday, every third or fourth week, when I went over to 
 Dover for a treat ; and I saw Mr. Dick every alternate Wed- 
 nesday, when he arrived by stage-coach at noon, to stay until 
 next morning. 
 
 On these occasions Mr. Dick never travelled without a 
 
()F DAVID COPPEEF1ELD. 271 
 
 leathern writing-desk, containing a supply of stationary and 
 the Memorial ; in relation to which document he had a notion 
 that time was beginning to press now, and that it really must 
 be got out of hand. 
 
 Mr. Dick was very partial to ginger-bread. To render his 
 visits the more agreeable, my aunt had instructed me to open 
 a credit for him at a cake-shop, which was hampered with the 
 stipulation that he should not be served with more than one 
 shilling's-worth in the course of any one day. This, and the 
 reference of all his little bills at the county inn where he slept, 
 to my aunt, before they were paid, induced me to suspect that 
 he was only allowed to rattle his money, and not to spend it. 
 I found on further investigation that this was so, or at least 
 there was an agreement between him and my aunt that he 
 should account to her for all his disbursements. As he had 
 no idea of deceiving her, and always desired to please her, he 
 was thus made chary of launching into expense. On this 
 point, as well as on all other possible points, Mr. Dick was 
 convinced that my aunt was the wisest and most wonderful of 
 women ; as he repeatedly told me with infinite secrecy, and 
 always in a whisper. 
 
 "Trotwood," said Mr. Dick, with an air of mystery, after 
 imparting this confidence to me, one Wednesday ; " who's the 
 man that hides near our house and frightens her ? " 
 
 " Frightens my aunt, sir ? " 
 
 Mr. Dick nodded. " I thought nothing would have fright- 
 ened her," he said, " for she's " here he whispered softly, 
 "don't mention it the wisest and most wonderful of women." 
 Having said which, he drew back, to observe the effect which 
 this description of her made upon me. 
 
 "The first time he came," said Mr. Dick, "was let me 
 see sixteen hundred and forty-nine was the date of King 
 Charles's execution. I think you said sixteen hundred and 
 forty-nine ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 "I don't know how it can be," said Mr. Dick, sorely 
 puzzled and shaking his head. "I don't think I am as old 
 as that." 
 
 " Was it in that year that the man appeared, sir ? " I asked. 
 
272 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " Why, really," said Mr. Dick, " I don't see how it can have 
 been in that year, Trotwood. Did you get that date out of 
 history ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " I suppose history never lies, does it ? " said Mr. Dick, with 
 a gleam of hope. 
 
 " Oh dear, no, sir ! " I replied, most decisively. I was 
 ingenuous and young, and I thought so. 
 
 "I can't make it out," said Mr. Dick, shaking his head. 
 "There's something wrong, somewhere. However, it was 
 very soon after the mistake was made of putting some of the 
 trouble out of King Charles's head into my head, that the 
 man first came. I was walking out with Miss Trotwood after 
 tea, just at dark, and there he was, close to our house." 
 
 " Walking about ? " I inquired. 
 
 " Walking about ? " repeated Mr. Dick. " Let me see. I 
 must recollect a bit. N no, no ; he was not walking about." 
 
 I asked, as the shortest way to get at it, what he was 
 doing. 
 
 "Well, he wasn't there at all," said Mr. Dick, "until he 
 came up behind her, and whispered. Then she turned round 
 and fainted, and I stood still and looked at him, and he 
 walked away ; but that he should have been hiding ever since 
 (in the ground or somewhere), is the most extraordinary 
 thing ! " 
 
 " Has he been hiding ever since ? " I asked. 
 
 " To be sure he has," retorted Mr. Dick, nodding his head 
 gravely. " Never came out, till last night ! We were walk- 
 ing last night and he came up behind her again, and I knew 
 him again." 
 
 " And did he frighten my aunt again ? " 
 
 " All of a shiver," said Mr. Dick, counterfeiting that affec- 
 tion and making his teeth chatter. "Held by the palings. 
 Cried. But Trotwood, come here," getting me close to him, 
 that he might whisper very softly ; " why did she give him 
 money, boy, in the moonlight ? ' : 
 
 " He was a beggar, perhaps." 
 
 Mr. Dick shook his head, as utterly renouncing the sugges- 
 tion ; and having replied a great many times, and with great 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 
 
 confidence, " No beggar, no beggar, no beggar, sir ! " went on 
 to say, that from his window he had afterwards, and late at 
 night, seen nay aunt give this person money outside the garden 
 rails in the moonlight, who then slunk away into the 
 ground again,- as he thought probable and was seen no more : 
 while my aunt came hurriedly and secretly back into the house, 
 and had, even that morning, been quite different from her 
 usual self ; which preyed on Mr. Dick's mind. 
 
 I had not the least belief, in the outset of this story, that 
 the unknown was anything but a delusion .of Mr. Dick's, and 
 one of the line of that ill-fated Prince who occasioned him so 
 much difficulty ; but after some reflection I began to entertain 
 the question whether an attempt, or threat of an attempt, 
 might have been twice made to take poor Mr. Dick himself 
 from under my aunt's protection, and whether my aunt, the 
 strength of whose kind feeling towards him I knew from 
 herself, might have been induced to pay a price for his peace 
 and quiet. As I was already much attached to Mr. Dick, and 
 very solicitous for his welfare, my fears favored this supposi- 
 tion ; and for a long time his Wednesday hardly ever came 
 round, without my entertaining a misgiving that he would not 
 be on the coach-box as usual. There he always appeared, 
 however, gray-headed, laughing, and happy ; and he never had 
 anything more to tell of the man who could frighten my 
 aunt. 
 
 These Wednesdays were the happiest days of Mr. Dick's 
 life ; they were far from being the least happy of mine. He 
 soon became known to every boy in the school ; and though 
 he never took an active part in any game but kite-flying, was 
 as deeply interested in all our sports as any one among ^us. 
 How often have I seen him, intent upon a match at marbles 
 or pegtop, looking on with a face of unutterable interest, and 
 hardly breathing at the critical times ! How often, at hare 
 and hounds, have I seen him mounted on a little knoll, cheer- 
 ing the whole field on to action, and waving his hat above his 
 gray head, oblivious of King Charles the Martyr's head, and 
 all belonging to it ! How many summer-hours have I known 
 to be but blissful minutes to him in the cricket-field ! How 
 many winter days have I seen him, standing blue-nosed, in the 
 
 VOL. I 18 
 
274 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND 
 
 snow and east wind, looking at the boys going down the long 
 slide, and clapping his worsted gloves in rapture ! 
 
 He was an universal favorite, and his ingenuity in little 
 things was transcendant. He could cut oranges in such 
 devices as none of us had an idea of. He could make a boat 
 out of anything, from a skewer upwards. He could turn 
 crampbones into chessmen ; fashion Roman chariots from old 
 court cards ; make spoked wheels out of cotton reels, and 
 birdcages of old wire. But he was greatest of all, perhaps, 
 in the articles of string and straw ; with which we were all 
 persuaded he could do anything that could be done by hands. 
 
 Mr. Dick's renown was not long confined to us. After a 
 few Wednesdays, Dr. Strong himself made some inquiries 
 of me about him, and I told him all my aunt had told me ; 
 which interested the Doctor so much that he requested, on the 
 occasion of his next visit, to be presented to him. This cere- 
 mony I performed ; and the Doctor begging Mr. Dick, when- 
 soever he should not find me at the coach-office, to come on 
 there, and rest himself until our morning's work was over, it 
 soon passed into a custom for Mr. Dick to come on as a matter 
 of course, and, if we were a little late, as often happened on 
 a Wednesday, to walk about the court-yard, waiting for me. 
 Here he made the acquaintance of the Doctor's beautiful 
 young wife (paler than formerly, all this time ; more rarely 
 seen by me or any one, I think ; and not so gay, but not less 
 beautiful), and so became more and more familiar by degrees, 
 until, at last, he would come into the school and wait. He 
 always sat in a particular corner, on a particular stool, which 
 was called " Dick," after him ; here he would sit, with his gray 
 head bent forward, attentively listening to whatever might 
 be going on, with a profound veneration for the learning he 
 had never been able to acquire. 
 
 This veneration Mr. Dick extended to the Doctor, whom he- 
 thought the most subtle and accomplished philosopher of any 
 age. It was long before Mr. Dick ever spoke to him otherwise 
 than bare-headed ; and even when he and the Doctor had 
 struck up quite a friendship, and would walk together by the 
 hour, on that side of the courtyard which was known among 
 us as The Doctor's Walk, Mr. Dick would pull off his hat at 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 275 
 
 intervals to show his respect for wisdom and knowledge. How 
 it ever came about, that the Doctor began to read out scraps 
 of the famous Dictionary, in these walks, I never knew ; per- 
 haps he felt it all the same, at first, as reading to himself. 
 However, it passed into a custom too ; and Mr. Dick, listening 
 with a face shining with pride and pleasure, in his heart of 
 hearts, believed the Dictionary to be the most delightful book 
 in the world. 
 
 As I think of them going up and down before those school- 
 room windows the Doctor reading with his complacent smile, 
 an occasional flourish of the manuscript, or grave motion of 
 his head ; and Mr. Dick listening, enchained by interest, with 
 his poor wits calmly wandering God knows where, upon the 
 wings of hard words I think of it as one of the pleasantest 
 thing, in a quiet way, that I have ever seen. I feel as if they 
 might go walking to and fro for ever, and the world might 
 somehow be the better for it as if a thousand things it makes 
 a noise about, were not one-half so good for it, or me. 
 
 Agnes was one of Mr. Dick's friends, very soon ; and in 
 often coming to the house, he made acquaintance with Uriah. 
 The friendship between himself and me increased continually, 
 and it was maintained on this odd footing: that, while Mr. 
 Dick came professedly to look after me as my guardian, he 
 always consulted me in any little matter of doubt that arose, 
 and invariably guided himself by my advice ; not only having 
 a high respect for my native sagacity, but considering that I 
 inherited a good deal from my aunt. 
 
 One Thursday morning, when I was about to walk with Mr. 
 Dick from the hotel to the coach-office before going back to 
 school (for we had an hour's school before breakfast), I met 
 Uriah in the street, who reminded me of the promise I had 
 made to take tea with himself and his mother : adding, with 
 a writhe, " But I didn't expect you to keep it, Master Copper- 
 field, we're so very umble." 
 
 I really had not yet been able to make up my mind whether 
 I liked Uriah or detested him ; and I was very doubtful about 
 it still, as I stood looking him in the face in the street. But 
 I felt it quite an affront to be supposed proud, and said I only 
 wanted to be asked. 
 
276 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " Oh, if that's all, Master Copperfield," said Uriah, " and it 
 really isn't our umbleness that prevents you, will you come 
 this evening ? But if it is our umbleness, I hope you won't 
 mind owning to it, Master Copperfield ; for we are well aware 
 of our condition." 
 
 I said I would mention it to Mr. Wickfield, and if he ap- 
 proved, as I had no doubt he would, I would come with pleas- 
 ure. So, at six o'clock that evening, which was one of the 
 early office evenings, I announced myself as ready, to Uriah. 
 
 "Mother will be proud indeed/' he said, as we walked 
 away together. " Or she would be proud, if it wasn't sinful, 
 Master Copperfield." 
 
 "Yet you didn't mind supposing /was proud this morning," 
 I returned. 
 
 " Oh dear no, Master Copperfield ! " returned Uriah. " Oh, 
 believe me, no ! Such a thought never came into my head ! 1 
 shouldn't have deemed it at all proud if you had thought us 
 too umble for you. Because we are so very umble." 
 
 " Have you been studying much law lately ? " I asked, to 
 change the subject. 
 
 " Oh, Master Copperfield," he said, with an air of self-denial, 
 " my reading is hardly to be called study. I have passed an 
 hour or two in the evening, sometimes, with Mr. Tidd." 
 
 " Rather hard, I suppose ? " said I. 
 
 " He is hard to me sometimes," returned Uriah. " But I 
 don't know what he might be, to a gifted person." 
 
 After beating a little tune on his chin as we walked on, with 
 the two forefingers of his skeleton right hand, he added : 
 
 " There are expressions, you see, Master Copperfield Latin 
 words and terms in Mr. Tidd, that are trying to a reader of 
 my umble attainments." 
 
 " Would you like to be taught Latin ? " I said, briskly. 
 " I will teach it you with pleasure, as I learn it." 
 
 " Oh, thank you, Master Copperfield," he answered, shaking 
 his head. " I am sure it's very kind of you to make the offer, 
 but I am much too umble to accept it." 
 
 "What nonsense, Uriah ! " 
 
 " Oh, indeed you must excuse me, Master Copperfield ! I 
 am greatly obliged, and I should like it of all things, I assure 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 277 
 
 you; but I am far too umble. There are people enough to 
 tread upon me in my lowly Estate, without my doing outrage 
 to their feelings by possessing learning. Learning ain't for 
 me. A person like myself had better not aspire. If he is to 
 get on in life, he must get on umbly, Master Copperfield." 
 
 I never saw his mouth so wide, or the creases in his cheeks 
 so deep, as when he delivered himself of these sentiments : 
 shaking his head all the time, and writhing modestly. 
 
 " I think you are wrong, Uriah," I said. " I dare say there 
 are several things that I could teach you, if you would like to 
 learn them." 
 
 " Oh, I don't doubt that, Master Copperfield," he answered ; 
 " not in the least. But not being umble yourself, you don't 
 judge well, perhaps, for them that are. I won't provoke my 
 betters with knowledge, thank you. I'm much too umble. 
 Here is my umble dwelling, Master Copperfield ! " 
 
 We entered a low, old-fashioned room, walked straight into 
 from the street, and found there, Mrs. Heep, who was the dead 
 image of Uriah, only short. She received me with the utmost 
 humility, and apologized to me for giving her son a kiss, ob- 
 serving that, lowly as they were, they had their natural affec- 
 tions, which they hoped would give no offence to any one. It 
 was a perfectly decent room, half parlor and half kitchen, but 
 not at all a snug room. The tea-things were set upon the 
 table, and the kettle was boiling on the hob. There was a 
 chest of drawers with an escritoire top, for Uriah to read or 
 write at of an evening ; there was Uriah's blue bag lying down 
 and vomiting papers ; there was a company of Uriah's books 
 commanded by Mr. Tidd ; there was a corner cupboard ; and 
 there were the usual articles of furniture. I don't remember 
 that any individual object had a bare, pinched, spare look; 
 but I do remember that the whole place had. 
 
 It was perhaps a part of Mrs. Heep's humility, that she still 
 wore weeds. Notwithstanding the lapse of time that had 
 occurred since Mr. Heep's decease, she still wore weeds. I 
 think there was some compromise in the cap ; but otherwise 
 she was as weedy as in 'the early days of her mourning. 
 
 "This is a day to be remembered, my Uriah, I am sure," 
 
THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 said Mrs. Heep, making the tea, "when Master Copperfield 
 pays us a visit." 
 
 "I said you'd think so, mother," said Uriah. 
 
 "If I could have wished father to remain among us for any 
 reason," said Mrs. Heep, " it would have been, that he might 
 have known his company this afternoon." 
 
 I felt embarrassed by these compliments ; but I was sen- 
 sible, too, of being entertained as an honored guest, and I 
 thought Mrs. Heep an agreeable woman. 
 
 "My Uriah," said Mrs. Heep, "has looked forward to this, 
 sir, a long while. He had his fears that our umbleness stood 
 in the way, and I joined in them myself. Umble we are, 
 umble we have been, umble we shall ever be," said Mrs. Heep. 
 
 " I am sure you have no occasion to be so, ma'am," I said, 
 " unless you like." 
 
 "Thank you, sir," retorted Mrs. Heep. "We know OUT 
 station and are thankful in it." 
 
 / I found that Mrs. Heep gradually got nearer to me, and 
 that Uriah gradually got opposite to me, and that they respect- 
 fully plied me with the choicest of the eatables on the table. 
 There was nothing particularly choice there, to be sure ; but 
 I took the will for the deed, and felt that they were very 
 attentive. Presently they began to talk about aunts, and then 
 I told them about mine ; and about fathers and mothers, and 
 then I told them about mine ; and then Mrs. Heep began to 
 talk about fathers-in-law, and then I began to tell her about 
 mine but stopped, because my aunt had advised me to 
 observe a silence on that subject. A tender young cork, how- 
 ever, would have had no more chance against a pair of cork- 
 screws, or a tender young tooth against a pair of dentists, or a 
 little shuttlecock against two battledores, than I had against 
 Uriah and Mrs. Heep. They did just what they liked with 
 me ; and wormed things out of me that I had no desire to tell, 
 with a certainty I blush to think of : the more especially as, 
 in my juvenile frankness, I took some credit to myself for 
 being so confidential, and felt that I was quite the patron of 
 my two respectful entertainers. 
 
 They were very fond of one another : that was certain. I 
 take it that had its effect upon me, as a touch of nature ; but 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 279 
 
 the skill with which the one followed up whatever the other 
 said, was a touch of art which I was still less proof against. 
 When there was nothing more to be got out of me about 
 myself (for on the Murdstone and Grinby life, and on my 
 journey, I was dumb), they began about Mr. Wickfield and 
 Agnes. Uriah threw the ball to Mrs. Heep, Mrs Heep caught 
 it and threw it back to Uriah, Uriah kept it up a little while, 
 then sent it back to Mrs. Heep, and so they went on tossing 
 it about until I had no idea who had got it, and was quite 
 bewildered. The ball itself was always changing too. Now 
 it was Mr. Wickfield, now Agnes, now the excellence of Mr. 
 Wickfield, now my admiration of Agnes ; now the extent of 
 Mr. Wickfield's business and resources, now our domestic life 
 after dinner ; r ow the wine that Mr. Wickfield took, the reason 
 why he took if, and the pity that it was he took so much ; now 
 one thing, now another, then everything at once ; and all the 
 time, without appearing to speak 'very often, or to do anything 
 but sometimes encourage them a little, for fear they should 
 be overcome by their humility and the honor of my company, 
 I found myself perpetually letting out something or other 
 that I had no business to let out, and seeing the effect of it in 
 the twinkling of Uriah's dinted nostrils. 
 
 I had begun to be a little uncomfortable, and to wish myself 
 well out of the visit, when a figure coming down the street 
 passed the door it stood open to air u the room, which was 
 warm, the weather being close for the time of year came 
 back again, looked in, and walked in, exclaiming loudly, " Cop- 
 perfield ! Is it possible ! " 
 
 It was Mr. Micawber! It was Mr. Micawber, with his 
 eye-glass, and his walking stick, and his shirt-collar, and his gen- 
 teel air, and the condescending roll in his voice, all complete ! 
 
 " My dear Copperfield," said Mr. Micawber, putting out his 
 hand, " this is indeed a meeting which is calculated to impress 
 the mind with a sense of the instability and uncertainty of 
 all human in short, it is a most extraordinary meeting. 
 Walking along the street, reflecting upon the probability of 
 something turning up (of which I am at present rather san- 
 guine), I find a young but valued friend turn up, who is con- 
 nected with the most eventful period of my life ; I may say, 
 
280 THE PERSONAL HISTOET AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 with the turning point of my existence. Copperfield, my dear 
 fellow, how do you do ? " 
 
 I cannot say I really canwoZ say that I was glad to see 
 Mr. Micawber there ; but I was glad to see him too, and shook 
 hands with him heartily, inquiring how Mrs. Micawber was. 
 
 "Thank you," said Mr. Micawber, waving his hand as of 
 old, and settling his chin in his shirt-collar. " She is tolerably 
 convalescent. The twins no longer derive their sustenance 
 from Nature's founts in short," said Mr. Micawber, in one 
 of his bursts of confidence, " they are weaned and Mrs. 
 Micawber is, at present, my travelling companion. She will 
 be rejoiced, Copperfield, to renew her acquaintance with one 
 who has proved himself in all respects a worthy minister at 
 the sacred altar of friendship." 
 
 I said I should be delighted to see her. 
 
 "You are very good," said Mr. Micawber. 
 
 Mr. Micawber then smiled, settled his chin again, and looked 
 about him. 
 
 " I have discovered my friend Copperfield," said Mr. Micaw- 
 ber, genteelly, and without addressing himself particularly to 
 any one, "not in solitude, but partaking of a social meal in 
 company with a widow lady, and one who is apparently her 
 offspring in short," said Mr. Micawber, in another of his 
 bursts of confidence, " her son. I shall esteem it an honor to 
 be presented." 
 
 I could do no less, under these circumstances, than make 
 Mr. Micawber known to Uriah Heep and his mother ; which 
 I accordingly did. As they abased themselves before him, 
 Mr. Micawber took a seat, and waved his hand in his most 
 courtly manner. 
 
 " Any friend of my friend Copperfield' s," said Mr. Micawber, 
 " has a personal claim upon myself." 
 
 "We are too umble, sir," said Mrs. Heep, "my son and me, 
 to be the friends of Master Copperfield. He has been so good 
 as to take his tea with us, and we are thankful to him for his 
 company ; also to you, sir, for your notice." 
 
 "Ma'am," returned Mr. Micawber, with a bow, "you are 
 very obliging : and what are you doing, Copperfield ? Still in 
 the wine trade ? " 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 281 
 
 I was excessively anxious to get Mr. Micawber away ; and 
 replied, with my hat in my hand, and a very red face, I have 
 no doubt, that I was a pupil at Doctor Strong's. 
 
 " A pupil ? " said Mr. Micawber, raising his eyebrows. " I 
 am extremely happy to hear it. Although a mind like my 
 friend Copperfield's " to Uriah and- Mrs. Keep " does not 
 require that cultivation which, without his knowledge of men 
 and things, it would require, still it is a rich soil teeming with 
 latent vegetation in short," said Mr. Micawber, smiling, in 
 another burst of confidence, " it is an intellect capable of get- 
 ting up the classics to any extent." 
 
 Uriah, with his long hands slowly twining over one another, 
 made a ghastly writhe from the waist upwards, to express his 
 concurrence in this estimation of me. 
 
 " Shall we go and see Mrs. Micawber, sir ? " I said, to get 
 Mr. Micawber away. 
 
 "If you will do her that favor, Copperfield," replied Mr. 
 Micawber, rising. " I have no scruple in saying, in the pres- 
 ence of our friends here, that I am a man who has, for some 
 years, contended against the pressure of pecuniary difficulties." 
 I knew he was certain to say something of this kind ; he 
 always would be so boastful about his difficulties. " Sometimes 
 I have risen superior to my difficulties. Sometimes my diffi- 
 culties have in short, have floored me. There have been 
 times when I have administered a succession of facers to 
 them ; there have been times when they have been too many 
 for me, and I have given in, and said to Mrs. Micawber, in the 
 words of Cato, < Plato, thou reasonest well.' It's all up now. 
 I can show fight no more. But at no time of my life," said 
 Mr. Micawber, "have I enjoyed a higher degree of satisfac- 
 tion than in pouring my griefs (if I may describe difficulties, 
 chiefly arising out of warrants of attorney and promissory 
 notes at two and four months, by that word) into the bosom 
 of my friend Copperfield." 
 
 Mr. Micawber closed this handsome tribute by saying, " Mr. 
 Heep ! Good evening. Mrs. Heep ! Your servant," and then 
 walking out with me in his most fashionable manner, making 
 a good deal of noise on the pavement with his shoes, and hum- 
 ming a tune as we went. 
 
282 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 It was a little inn where Mr. Micawber put up, and lie occu- 
 pied a little room in it, partitioned off from the commercial 
 room, and strongly flavored with tobacco smoke. I think it 
 was over the kitchen, because a warm greasy smell appeared 
 to come up through the chinks in the floor, and there was a 
 flabby perspiration 011 the walls. I know it was near the bar, 
 on account of the smell of spirits and jingling of glasses. 
 Here, recumbent on a small sofa, underneath a picture of a 
 race-horse, with her head close to the fire, and her feet push- 
 ing the mustard off the dumb-waiter at the other end of the 
 room, was Mrs. Micawber, to whom Mr. Micawber entered 
 first, saying, " My dear, allow me to introduce to you a pupil 
 of Doctor Strong's." 
 
 I noticed, by the by, that although Mr. Micawber was just 
 as much confused as ever about my age and standing, he always 
 remembered, as a genteel thing, that I was a pupil of Doctor 
 Strong's. 
 
 Mrs. Micawber was amazed, but very glad to see me. I was 
 very glad to see her too, and after an affectionate greeting on 
 both sides, sat down on the small sofa near her. 
 
 "My dear/' said Mr. Micawber, "if you will mention to 
 Copperfield what our present position is, which I have no 
 doubt he will like to know, I will go and look at the paper the 
 while, and see whether anything turns up among the adver- 
 tisements." 
 
 "I thought you were at Plymouth, ma'am," I said to Mrs. 
 Micawber, as he went out. 
 
 "My dear Master Copperfield," she replied, "we went to 
 Plymouth." 
 
 " To be on the spot," I hinted. 
 
 "Just so," said Mrs. Micawber. "To be on the spot. But, 
 the truth is, talent is not wanted in the Custom House. The 
 local influence of my family was quite unavailing to obtain 
 any employment in that department, for a man of Mr. Micaw- 
 ber's abilities. They would rather not have a man of Mr. 
 Micawber's abilities. He would only show the deficiency of 
 the others. Apart from which," said Mrs. Micawber, " I will 
 not disguise from you, my dear Master Copperfield, that when 
 that branch of my family which is settled in Plymouth became 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 283 
 
 aware that Mr. Micawber was accompanied by myself, and by 
 little Wilkins and his sister, and by the twins, they did not 
 receive him with that ardor which he might have expected, 
 being so newly released from captivity. In fact," said Mrs. 
 Micawber, lowering her voice, "this is between ourselves 
 our reception was cool." 
 
 " Dear me ! " I said. 
 
 " Yes." said Mrs. Micawber. " It is truly painful to contem- 
 plate mankind in such an aspect, Master Copperfield, but our 
 reception was, decidedly, cool. There is no doubt about it. 
 In fact, that branch of my family which is settled in Plymouth 
 became quite personal to Mr. Micawber, before we had been 
 there a week." 
 
 I said, and thought, that they ought to be ashamed of them- 
 selves. 
 
 " Still, so it was," continued Mrs. Micawber. " Under such 
 circumstances, what could a man of Mr. Micawber's spirit do ? 
 But one obvious course was left. To borrow of that branch of 
 my family the money to return to London, and to return at 
 any sacrifice." 
 
 " Then you .all came back again, ma'am ? " I said. 
 
 " We all came back again," replied Mrs. Micawber. " Since 
 then, I have consulted other branches of my family on the 
 course which it is most expedient for Mr. Micawber to take 
 for I maintain that he must take some course, Master Copper- 
 field," said Mrs. Micawber, argumentatively. "It is clear 
 that a family of six, not including a domestic, cannot live 
 upon air." 
 
 " Certainly, ma'am," said I. 
 
 " The opinion of those other branches of my family," pur- 
 sued Mrs. Micawber, " is, that Mr. Micawber should immedi- 
 ately turn his attention to coals." 
 
 " To what, ma'am ? " 
 
 "To coals," said Mrs. Micawber. "To the coal trade. Mr. 
 Micawber was induced to think, on inquiry, that there might 
 be an opening for a man of his talent in the Medway Coal 
 Trade. Then, as Mr. Micawber very properly said, the first 
 step to be taken clearly was, to come and see the Medwp^y. 
 Which we came and saw. I say 'we/ Master Copperfield j 
 
284 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 for I never will," said Mrs. Micawber with emotion, " I never 
 will desert Mr. Micawber." 
 
 I murmured my admiration and approbation. 
 
 " We came," repeated Mrs. Micawber, "and saw the Medway. 
 My opinion of the coal trade on that river, is, that it may re- 
 quire talent, but that it certainly requires capital. Talent, 
 Mr. Micawber has ; capital, Mr. Micawber has not. We saw, 
 I think, the greater part of the Medway ; and that is my 
 individual conclusion. Being so near here, Mr. Micawber was 
 of opinion that it would be rash not to come on, and see the 
 Cathedral. Firstly, on account of its being so well worth 
 seeing, and our never having seen it ; and secondly, on account 
 of the great probability of something turning up in a cathedral 
 town. We have been here," said Mrs. Micawber, " three days. 
 Nothing has, as yet, turned up ; and it may not surprise you, 
 my dear Master Copperfield, so much as it would a stranger, 
 to know that we are at present waiting for a remittance from 
 London, to discharge our pecuniary obligations at this hotel. 
 Until the arrival of that remittance," said Mrs. Micawber, 
 with much feeling, "I am cut off from my home (I allude to 
 lodgings in Pentonville), from my boy and girl, and from my 
 twins." 
 
 I felt the utmost sympathy for Mr. and Mrs. Micawber in 
 this anxious extremity, and said as much to Mr. Micawber, 
 who now returned : adding that I only wished I had money 
 enough, to lend them the amount they needed. Mr. Micaw- 
 ber's answer expressed the disturbance of his mind. He said, 
 shaking hands with me, " Copperfield, you are a true friend ; 
 but when the worst conies to the worst, no man is without a 
 friend who is possessed of shaving materials." At this dread- 
 ful hint Mrs. Micawber threw her arms round Mr. Micawber's 
 neck, and entreated him to be calm. He wept ; but so far 
 recovered, almost immediately, as to ring the bell for the 
 waiter, and bespeak a hot kidney pudding and a plate of 
 shrimps for breakfast in the morning. 
 
 When I took my leave of them, they both pressed me so 
 much to come and dine before they went away, that I could 
 not refuse. But, as I knew I could not come next day, when 
 I should have a good deal to prepare in the evening, Mr. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 285 
 
 Micawber arranged that lie would call at Doctor Strong's in 
 the course of the morning (having a presentiment that the 
 remittance would arrive by that post), and propose the day 
 after, if it would suit me better. Accordingly I was called 
 out of school next forenoon, and found Mr. Micawber in the 
 parlor; who had called to say that the dinner would take 
 place as proposed. When I asked him if the remittance had 
 come, he pressed my hand and departed. 
 
 As I was looking out of window that same evening, it 
 surprised me, and made me rather uneasy, to see Mr. Micaw- 
 ber and Uriah Heep walk past, arm in arm : Uriah humbly 
 sensible of the honor that was done him, and Mr. Micawber 
 taking a bland delight in extending his patronage to Uriah. 
 But I was still more surprised, when I went to the little hotel 
 next day at the appointed dinner hour, which was four o'clock, 
 to find, from what Mr. Micawber said, that he had gone home 
 with Uriah, and had drunk brandy-and-water at Mrs. Heep's. 
 
 " And I'll tell you what, my dear Copperfield," said Mr. 
 Micawber, "your friend Heep is a young fellow who might be 
 attorney-general. If I had known that young man, at the 
 period when my difficulties came to a crisis, all I can say is, 
 that I believe my creditors would have been a great deal better 
 managed than they were." 
 
 I hardly understood how this could have been, seeing that 
 Mr. Micawber had paid them nothing at all as it was ; but I 
 did not like to ask. Neither did I like to say, that I hoped 
 he had not been too communicative to Uriah; or to inquire if 
 they had talked much about me. I was afraid of hurting Mr. 
 Micawber's feelings, or, at all events, Mrs. Micawber's, she 
 being very sensitive ; but I was uncomfortable about it, too, 
 and often thought about it afterwards. 
 
 We had a beautiful little dinner. Quite an elegant dish of 
 fish ; the kidney-end of a loin of veal, roasted ; fried sausage- 
 meat ; 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. He made his face shine with the punch, 
 so that it looked as if it had been varnished all over. He 
 
286 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 got cheerfully sentimental about the town, and proposed suc- 
 cess to it ; observing that Mrs. Micawber and himself had 
 been made extremely snug and comfortable there, and that 
 he never should forget the agreeable hours they had passed 
 in Canterbury. He proposed me afterwards ; and he, and Mrs. 
 Micawber, and I, took a review of our past acquaintance, in 
 the course of which, we sold the property all over again. 
 Then I proposed Mrs. Micawber ; or, at least, said, modestly, 
 "If you'll allow me, Mrs. Micawber, I shall now have the 
 pleasure of drinking your health, ma'am." On which Mr. 
 Micawber delivered an eulogium on Mrs. Micawber's character, 
 and said she had ever been his guide, philosopher, and friend, 
 and that he would recommend me, when I came to a marrying 
 time of life, to marry such another woman, if such another 
 woman could be found. 
 
 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 affected. 
 
 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 prepared, at seven 
 o'clock next morning, to receive the following communica- 
 tion, dated half-past nine in the evening ; a quarter of an hour 
 after I had left him : 
 
 " MY DEAR YOUNG FKIEND, 
 
 " 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 daj^s after date, 
 at my residence, Pentonville, London. When it becomes due, 
 
OF DAVID COPPEKFIELD. 287 
 
 it will not be taken up. The result is destruction. The bolt 
 is impending, and the tree must fall. 
 
 " Let the wretched man who now addresses you, my dear 
 Copperfield, 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 of day might, by possibility, pene- 
 trate into the cheerless dungeon of his remaining existence 
 though his longevity is, at present (to say the least of it), 
 extremely problematical. 
 
 "This is the last communication, my dear Copperfield, you 
 will ever receive. 
 
 " From 
 
 "The 
 
 "Beggared Outcast, 
 
 "WlLKINS MlCAWBER." 
 
 I was so shocked by the contents of this heart-rending letter, 
 that I ran off directly towards the little hotel with the inten- 
 tion 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 enjoy- 
 ment, 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, I 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. 
 
288 
 
 CHAPTEE XVIII. 
 
 A RETROSPECT. 
 
 MY school-days ! The silent gliding on of my existence 
 the unseen, unf elt progress of my life from childhood up to 
 youth ! Let me think, as I look back upon that flowing water, 
 now a dry channel overgrown with leaves, whether there are 
 any marks along its course, by which I can remember how it 
 ran. 
 
 A moment, and I occupy my place in the Cathedral, where 
 we all went together, every Sunday morning, assembling first 
 at school for that purpose. The earthy smell, the sunless air, 
 the sensation of the world being shut out, the resounding of 
 the organ through the black and white arched galleries and 
 aisles, are wings that take me back, and hold me hovering 
 above those days, in a half-sleeping and half-waking dream. 
 
 I am not the last boy in the school. I have risen, in a few 
 months, over several heads. But the first boy seems to me a 
 mighty creature, dwelling afar off, whose giddy height is un- 
 attainable. Agnes says " No," but I say " Yes," and tell her 
 that she little thinks what stores of knowledge have been 
 mastered by the wonderful Being, at whose place she thinks 
 I, even I, weak aspirant, may arrive in time. He is not my 
 private friend and public patron, as Steerforth was, but I hold 
 him in a reverential respect. I chiefly wonder what he'll be, 
 when he leaves Doctor Strong's, and what mankind will do to 
 maintain any place against him. 
 
 But who is this that breaks upon me ? This is Miss Shepherd, 
 whom I love. 
 
 Miss Shepherd is a boarder at the IVfisses Nettingalls' estab- 
 lishment. I adore Miss Shepherd. She is a little girl, in a 
 spencer, with a round face and curly flaxen hair. The Misses 
 Nettingalls' young ladies come to the Cathedral too. I cannot 
 look upon my book, for I must look upon Miss Shepherd 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 289 
 
 When the choristers chant, I hear Miss Shepherd. In the 
 service I mentally insert Miss Shepherd's name I put her in 
 among the Royal Family. At home, in my own room, I am 
 sometimes moved to cry out, " Oh, Miss Shepherd ! " in a 
 transport of love. 
 
 For some time, I am doubtful of Miss Shepherd's feelings, 
 but, at length, Fate being propitious, we meet at the dancing- 
 school. I have Miss Shepherd for my partner. I touch Miss 
 Shepherd's glove, and feel a thrill go up the right arm of my 
 jacket, and come out at my hair. I say nothing tender to 
 Miss Shepherd, but we understand each other. Miss Shep- 
 herd and myself live but to be united. 
 
 Why do I secretly give Miss Shepherd twelve Brazil nuts 
 for a present, I wonder ? They are not expressive of affec- 
 tion, they are difficult to pack into a parcel of any regular 
 shape, they are hard to crack, even in room doors, and they 
 are oily when cracked ; yet I feel that they are appropriate 
 to Miss Shepherd. Soft, seedy biscuits, also, I bestow upon 
 Miss Shepherd ; and oranges innumerable. Once, I kiss Miss 
 Shepherd in the cloak room. Ecstasy ! What are my agony 
 and indignation next day, when I hear a flying rumor that the 
 Misses Nettingall have stood Miss Shepherd in the stocks for 
 turning in her toes ! 
 
 Miss Shepherd being the one pervading theme and vision of 
 my life, how do I ever come to break with her ? I can't con- 
 ceive. And yet a coolness grows between Miss Shepherd and 
 myself. Whispers reach me of Miss Shepherd having said 
 she wished I wouldn't stare so, and having avowed a prefer- 
 ence for Master Jones for Jones ! a boy of no merit what- 
 ever ! The gulf between me and Miss Shepherd widens. At 
 last, one day, I meet the Misses Nettingalls' establishment out 
 walking. Miss Shepherd makes a face as she goes by, and 
 laughs to her companion. All is over. The devotion of a life 
 it seems a life, it is all the same is at an end ; Miss Shep- 
 herd comes out of the morning service, and the Royal Family 
 know her no more. 
 
 I am higher in the school, and no one breaks my peace. I 
 am not at all polite, now, to the Misses Nettingalls' young 
 ladies, and shouldn't dote on any of them, if they were twice 
 VOL. i 19 
 
290 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 as many and twenty times as beautiful. I think the dancing- 
 school a tiresome affair, and wonder why the girls can't dance 
 by themselves, and leave us alone. I am growing great in 
 Latin verses, and neglect the laces of my boots. Doctor 
 Strong refers to me in public as a promising young scholar. 
 Mr. Dick is wild with joy, and my aunt remits me a guinea 
 by the next post. 
 
 The shade of a young butcher rises, like the apparition of 
 an armed head in Macbeth. Who is this young butcher ? He 
 is the terror of the youth of Canterbury. There is a vague 
 belief abroad, that the beef suet with which he anoints his 
 hair gives him unnatural strength, and that he is a match for 
 a man. He is a broad-faced, bull-necked young butcher, with 
 rough red cheeks, an ill-conditioned mind, and an injurious 
 tongue. His main use of this tongue, is, to disparage Doctor 
 Strong's young gentlemen. He says publicly, that if they 
 want anything he'll give it 'em. He names individuals among 
 them (myself included), whom he could undertake to settle 
 with one hand, and the other tied behind him. He waylays 
 the smaller boys to punch their unprotected heads, and calls 
 challenges after me in the open streets. For these sufficient 
 reasons I resolve to fight the butcher. 
 
 It is a summer evening, down in a green hollow, at the 
 corner of a wall. I meet the butcher by appointment. I am 
 attended by a select body of our boys ; the butcher, by two 
 other butchers, a young publican, and a sweep. The prelimi- 
 naries are adjusted, and the butcher and myself stand face to 
 face. In a moment the butcher lights ten thousand candles 
 out of my left eyebrow. In another moment, I don't know 
 where the wall is, or where I am, or where anybody is. I 
 hardly know which is myself and which the butcher, we are 
 always in such a tangle and tustle, knocking about upon the 
 trodden grass. Sometimes I see the butcher, bloody but confi- 
 dent ; sometimes I see nothing, and sit gasping on my second's 
 knee ; sometimes I go in at the butcher madly, and cut my 
 knuckles open against his face, without appearing to discom- 
 pose him at all. At last I awake, very queer about the head, 
 as from a giddy sleep, and see the butcher walking off, con- 
 gratulated by the two other butchers and the sweep and pub- 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD, 291 
 
 lican, and putting on his coat as he goes ; from which I augur, 
 justly, that the victory is his. 
 
 I am taken home in a sad plight, and I have beef-steaks 
 put to my eyes, and am rubbed with vinegar and brandy, and 
 find a great white puffy place bursting out on my upper lip, 
 which swells immoderately. For three or four days I remain 
 at home, a very ill-looking subject, with a green shade over 
 my eyes ; and I should be very dull, but that Agnes is a 
 sister to me, and condoles with me, and reads to me, and 
 makes, the time light and happy. Agnes has my confidence 
 completely, always ; I tell her all about the butcher, and the 
 wrongs he has heaped upon me ; and she thinks I couldn't 
 have done otherwise than fight the butcher, while she shrinks 
 and trembles at my having fought him. 
 
 Time has stolen on unobserved, for Adams is not the head- 
 boy in the days that are come now, nor has he been this many 
 and many a day. Adams has left the school so long, that 
 when he comes back, on a visit to Doctor Strong, there are 
 not many there, besides myself, who know him. Adams is 
 going to be called to the bar almost directly, and is to be an 
 advocate, and to wear a wig. I am surprised to find him a 
 meeker man than I had thought, and less imposing in appear- 
 ance. He has not staggered the world yet, either ; for it goes 
 on (as well as I can make out) pretty much the same as if he 
 had never joined it. 
 
 A blank, through which the warriors of poetry and history 
 march on in stately hosts that seem to have no end and 
 what comes next ! / am the head boy, now ; and look down 
 on the line of boys below me, with a condescending interest in 
 such of them as bring to my mind the boy I was myself, when 
 I first came there. That little fellow seems to be no part of 
 me ; I remember him as something left behind upon the road 
 of life as something I have passed, rather than have actually 
 been and almost think of him as of some one else. 
 
 And the little girl I saw on that first day at Mr. Wickfield's, 
 where is she ? Gone also. In her stead, the perfect likeness 
 of the picture, a child likeness no more, moves about the 
 house ; and Agnes my sweet sister, as I call her in my 
 thoughts, my counsellor and friend, the better angel of the 
 
292 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 lives of all who come within her calm, good, self-denying 
 influence is quite a woman. 
 
 What other changes have come upon me, besides the 
 changes in my growth and looks, and in the knowledge I have 
 garnered all this while ? I wear a gold watch and chain, a 
 ring upon my little finger, and a long-tailed coat ; and I use a 
 great deal of bear's grease which, taken in conjunction with 
 the ring, looks bad. Am I in love again ? I am. I worship the 
 eldest Miss Larkins. 
 
 The eldest Miss Larkins is not a little girl. She is a tall, 
 dark, black-eyed, fine figure of a woman. The eldest Miss 
 Larkins is not a chicken ; for the youngest Miss Larkins is 
 not that, and the eldest must be three or four years older. 
 Perhaps the eldest Miss Larkins may be about thirty. My 
 passion for her is beyond all bounds. 
 
 The eldest Miss Larkins knows officers. It is an awful 
 thing to bear. I see them speaking to her in the street. I 
 see them cross the way to meet her, when her bonnet (she has 
 a bright taste in bonnets) is seen coming down the pavement, 
 accompanied by her sister's bonnet. She laughs and talks, 
 and seems to like it. I spend a good deal of my own spare 
 time in walking up and down to meet her. If I can bow to 
 her once in the day (I know her to bow to, knowing Mr. Lar- 
 kins), I am happier. I deserve a bow now and then. The 
 raging agonies I suffer on the night of the Race Ball, where I 
 know the eldest Miss Larkins will be dancing with the mil- 
 itary, ought to have some compensation, if there be even- 
 handed justice in the world. 
 
 My passion takes away my appetite, and makes me wear 
 my newest silk-neckerchief continually. I have no relief but 
 in putting on my best clothes, and having my boots cleaned 
 over and over again. I seem, then, to be worthier of the 
 eldest Miss Larkins. Everything that belongs to her, or is 
 connected with her, is precious to me. Mr. Larkins (a gruff 
 old gentleman with a double chin, and one of his eyes immov- 
 able in his head) is fraught with interest to me. When I 
 can't meet his daughter, I go where I am likely to meet him. 
 To say, " How do you do, Mr. Larkins ? Are the young ladies 
 and all the family quite well ? " seems so pointed, that I blush, 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 293 
 
 I think continually about my age. Say I am seventeen, 
 and say that seventeen is young for the eldest Miss Larkins, 
 what of that ? Besides, I shall be one-and-twenty in no time 
 almost. I regularly take walks outside Mr. Larkins's house 
 in the evening, though it cuts me to the heart to see the offi- 
 cers go in, or to hear them up in the drawing-room, where the 
 eldest Miss Larkins plays the harp. I even walk, on two or 
 three occasions, in a sickly, spoony manner, round and round 
 the house after the family are gone to bed, wondering which 
 is the eldest Miss Larkins's chamber (and pitching, I dare 
 say now, on Mr. Larkins's instead) ; wishing that a fire would 
 burst out ; that the assembled crowd would stand appalled ; 
 that I, dashing through them with a ladder, might rear it 
 against her window, save her in my arms, go back for some- 
 thing she had left behind, and perish in the flames. For I am 
 generally disinterested in my love, and think I could be con- 
 tent to make a figure before Miss Larkins, and expire. Gen- 
 erally, but not always. Sometimes brighter visions rise before 
 me. When I dress (the occupation of two hours), for a great 
 ball given at the Larkins's (the anticipation of three weeks), 
 I indulge my fancy with pleasing images. I picture myself 
 taking courage to make a declaration to Miss Larkins. I pic- 
 ture Miss Larkins sinking her head upon my shoulder, and 
 saying, " Oh, Mr. Copperfield, can I believe my ears ! " I 
 picture Mr. Larkins waiting on me next morning, and say- 
 ing, "My dear Copperfield, my daughter has told me all. 
 Youth is no objection. Here are twenty thousand pounds. 
 Be happy ! " I picture my aunt relenting, and blessing us ; 
 and Mr. Dick and Doctor Strong being present at the marriage 
 ceremony. I am a sensible fellow, I believe I believe, on 
 looking back, I mean and mod t est I am sure; but all this 
 goes on notwithstanding. 
 
 I repair to the enchanted house, where there are lights, 
 chattering, music, flowers, officers (I am sorry to see), and the 
 eldest Miss Larkins, a blaze of beauty. She is dressed in blue, 
 with blue flowers in her hair forget-me-nots as if she had 
 any need to wear forget-me-nots ! It is the first really grown- 
 up party that I have ever been in-vited to, and I am a little 
 uncomfortable j for I appear not to belong to anybody, and 
 
294 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 nobody appears to have anything to say to me, except Mr. 
 Larkins, who asks me how my school-fellows are, which he 
 needn't do, as I have not come there to be insulted. 
 
 But after I have stood in the doorway for some time, and 
 feasted my eyes upon the goddess of my heart, she approaches 
 me she, the eldest Miss Larkins! and asks me pleasantly, 
 if I dance. 
 
 I stammer, with a bow, " With you, Miss Larkins." 
 
 " With no one else ? " inquires Miss Larkins. 
 
 " I should have no pleasure in dancing with any one else." 
 
 Miss Larkins laughs and blushes (or I think she blushes), 
 and says, "Next time but one, I shall be very glad." 
 
 The time arrives. "It is a waltz, I think," Miss Larkins 
 doubtfully observes, when I present myself. " Do you waltz ? 
 If not, Captain Bailey " 
 
 But I do waltz (pretty well, too, as it happens), and I take 
 Miss Larkins out. I take her sternly from the side of Captain 
 Bailey. He is wretched, I have no doubt ; but he is nothing 
 to me. I have been wretched, too. I waltz with the eldest 
 Miss Larkins ! I don't know where, among whom, or how long. 
 I only know that I swim about in space, with a blue angel, in 
 a state of blissful delirium, until I find myself alone with her 
 in a little room, resting on a sofa. She admires a flower (pink 
 camelia japonica, price half-a-crown), in my button-hole. I 
 give it her, and say : 
 
 " I ask an inestimable price for it, Miss Larkins." 
 
 " Indeed ! What is that ? " returns Miss Larkins. 
 
 " A flower of yours, that I may treasure it as a miser does 
 gold." 
 
 "You're a bold boy," says Miss Larkins. "There." 
 
 She gives it me, not displeased ; and I put it to my lips, and 
 then into my breast. Miss Larkins, laughing, draws her hand 
 through my arm, and says, " Now take me back to Captain 
 Bailey." 
 
 I am lost in the recollection of this delicious interview, and 
 the waltz, when she comes to me again, with a plain elderly 
 gentleman, who has been playing whist all night, upon her 
 arm, and says : 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 295 
 
 " Oh ! here is my bold friend ! Mr. Chestle wants to know 
 you, Mr. Copperfield." 
 
 I feel at once that he is a friend of the family, and am much 
 gratified. 
 
 " I admire your taste, sir," says Mr. Chestle. " It does you 
 credit. I suppose you don't take much interest in hops ; but 
 I am a pretty large grower myself ; and if you ever like to 
 come over to our neighborhood neighborhood of Ashf ord 
 and take a run about our place, we shall be glad for you to 
 stop as long as you like." 
 
 I thank Mr. Chestle warmly, and shake hands. I think I 
 am in a happy dream. I waltz with the eldest Miss Larkins 
 once again she says I waltz so well ! I go home in a state 
 of unspeakable bliss, and waltz in imagination, all night long, 
 with my arm round the blue waist of my dear divinity. For 
 some' days afterwards, I am lost in rapturous reflections ; but 
 I neither see her in the street, nor when I call. I am imper- 
 fectly consoled for this disappointment by the sacred pledge, 
 the perished flower. 
 
 " Trotwood," says Agnes, one day after dinner. " Who do 
 you think is going to be married to-morrow ? Some one you 
 admire." 
 
 " Not you, I suppose, Agnes ? " 
 
 "Not me !" raising her cheerful face from the music she is 
 copying. " Do you hear him, papa ? The eldest Miss Larkins." 
 
 "To to Captain Bailey?" I have just enough power to 
 ask. 
 
 " No ; to no Captain. To Mr. Chestle, a hop-grower." 
 
 I am terribly dejected for about a week or two. I take off 
 my ring, I wear my worst clothes, I use no bear's grease, and 
 I frequently lament over the late Miss Larkins's faded flower. 
 Being, by that time, rather tired of this kind of life, and hav- 
 ing received new provocation from the butcher, I throw the 
 flower away, go out with the butcher, and gloriously defeat 
 him. 
 
 This, and the resumption of my ring, as well as of the bear's 
 grease in moderation, are the last marks I can discern, now, in 
 my progress to seventeen. 
 
296 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 I LOOK ABOUT ME, AND MAKE A DISCOVERY. 
 
 I AM doubtful whether I was at heart glad or sorry, when 
 my school-days drew to an end, and the time came for my 
 leaving Doctor Strong's. I had been very happy there, I had 
 a great attachment for the Doctor, and I was eminent and dis- 
 tinguished in that little world. For these reasons I was sorry 
 to go ; but for other reasons, unsubstantial enough, I was glad. 
 Misty ideas of being a young man at my own disposal, of the 
 importance attaching to a young man at his own disposal, of 
 the wonderful things to be seen and done by that magnificent 
 animal, and the wonderful effects he could not fail to make 
 upon society, lured me away. So powerful were these vision- 
 ary considerations in my boyish mind, that I seem, according 
 to my present way of thinking, to have left school without 
 natural regret. The separation has not made the impression 
 on me, that other separations have. I try in vain to recall 
 how I felt about it, and what its circumstances were ; but it 
 is not momentous in my recollection. I suppose the opening 
 prospect confused -me. I know that my juvenile experiences 
 went for little or nothing then ; and that life was more like 
 a great fairy story, which I was just about to begin to read, 
 than anything else. 
 
 My aunt and I had held many grave deliberations on the 
 calling to which I should be devoted. For a year or more I 
 had endeavored to find a satisfactory answer to her often-re- 
 peated question, " What I would like to be ? " But I had no 
 particular liking, that I could discover, for anything. If I 
 could have been inspired with a knowledge of the science of 
 navigation, taken the command of a fast-sailing expedition, and 
 gone round the world on a triumphant voyage of discovery, I 
 think I might have considered myself completely suited. But 
 in the absence of any such miraculous provision, my desire 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 297 
 
 was to apply myself to some pursuit that would not lie too 
 heavily upon her purse j and to do my duty in it, whatever it 
 might be. 
 
 Mr. Dick had regularly assisted at our councils, with a 
 meditative and sage demeanor. He never made a suggestion 
 but once ; and on that occasion (I don't know what put it in 
 his head), he suddenly proposed that I should be " a Brazier.' 5 
 My aunt received this proposal so very ungraciously, that he 
 never ventured on a second; but ever afterwards confined 
 himself to looking watchfully at her for her suggestions, and 
 rattling his money. 
 
 " Trot, I tell you what, my dear," said my aunt, one morning 
 in the Christmas season when I left school ; " as this knotty 
 point is still unsettled, and as we must not make a mistake in 
 our decision if we can help it, I "chink we had better take a 
 little breathing-time. In the meanwhile, you must try to look 
 at it from a new point of view, and not as a schoolboy." 
 
 " I will, aunt." 
 
 " It has occurred to me," pursued my aunt, " that a little 
 change, and a glimpse of life out of doors, may be useful, in 
 helping you to know your own mind, and form a cooler judg- 
 ment. Suppose you were to take a little journey now. 
 Suppose you were to go down into the old part of the country 
 again, for instance, and see that that out-of-the-way woman 
 with the savagest of names," said my aunt, rubbing her nose, 
 for she could never thoroughly forgive Peggotty for being so 
 called. 
 
 "Of all things in the world, aunt, I should like it best." 
 
 " Well," said my aunt, " that's lucky, for I should like it 
 too. But it's natural and rational that you should like it. 
 And I am very well persuaded that whatever you do, Trot, 
 will always be natural and rational." 
 
 " I hope so, aunt." 
 
 " Your sister, Betsey Trotwood," said my aunt, " would have 
 been as natural and rational a girl as ever breathed. You'll 
 be worthy of her, won't you ? " 
 
 "I hope I shall be worthy of you, aunt. That will be 
 enough for me." 
 
 " It's a mercy that poor dear baby of a mother of yours 
 
298 THE PEESONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 didn't live/' said my aunt, looking at me approvingly, " or 
 she'd have been so vain of her boy by this time, that her soft 
 little head would have been completely turned, if there was 
 anything of it left to turn." (My aunt always excused any 
 weakness of her own in my behalf, by transferring it in this 
 way to my poor mother.) "Bless me, Trotwood, how you do 
 remind me of her ! " 
 
 " Pleasantly, I hope, aunt ? " said I. 
 
 " He's as like her, Dick," said my aunt, emphatically, " he's 
 as like her, as she was that afternoon, bo fore she began to fret 
 bless my heart, he's as like her, as he can look at me out of 
 his two eyes ! " 
 
 " Is he indeed ? " said Mr. Dick. 
 
 " And he's like David, too," said my aunt, decisively. 
 
 " He is very like David ! " said Mr. Dick. 
 
 "But what I want you to be, Trot," resumed my aunt, " I 
 don't mean physically, but morally ; you are very well physi- 
 cally is, a firm fellow. A fine firm fellow, with a will of 
 your own. With resolution," said my aunt, shaking her cap 
 at me, and clenching her hand. " With determination. With 
 character, Trot with strength of character that is not to be 
 influenced, except on good reason, by anybody, or by anything. 
 That's what I want you to be. That's what your father and 
 mother might both have been, Heaven knows, and been the 
 better for it." 
 
 I intimated that I hoped I should be what she described. 
 
 " That you may begin, in a small way. to have a reliance 
 upon yourself, and to act for yourself," said my aunt, " I shall 
 send you upon your trip, alone. I did think, once, of Mr, 
 Dick's going with you ; but, on second thoughts, I shall keep 
 him to take care of me." 
 
 Mr. Dick, for a moment, looked a little disappointed ; until 
 the honor and dignity of having to take care of the most 
 wonderful woman in the world, restored the sunshine to his 
 face. 
 
 " Besides," said my aunt, " there's the Memorial " 
 
 " Oh, certainly," said Mr. Dick, in a hurry, " I intend, Trot- 
 wood, to get that done immediately it really must be done 
 immediately ! And then it will go in you know and then,'' 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 299 
 
 -- said Mr. Dick, after checking himself, and pausing a long 
 time, " there'll be a pretty kettle of fish ! " 
 
 In pursuance of my aunt's kind scheme, I was shortly after- 
 wards fitted out with a handsome purse of money, and a 
 portmanteau, and tenderly dismissed upon my expedition. At 
 parting, my aunt gave me some good advice, and a good many 
 kisses ; and said that as her object was that I should look 
 about me, and should think a little, she would recommend me 
 to stay a few days in London, if I liked it, either oil my way 
 down into Suffolk, or in coming back. In a word, I was at 
 liberty to do what I would, for three weeks or a month ; and 
 no other conditions were imposed upon my freedom than the 
 before-mentioned thinking and looking about me, and a pledge 
 to write three times a week and faithfully report myself. 
 
 I went to Canterbury first, that I might take leave of Agnes 
 and Mr. Wickfield (my old room in whose house I had not 
 yet relinquished), and also of the good Doctor. Agnes was 
 very glad to see me, and told me that the house had not been 
 like itself since I had left it. 
 
 "I am sure I am not like myself when I am away," said I. 
 " I seem to want my right hand when I miss you. Though 
 that's not saying much ; for there's no head in my right hand, 
 and no heart. Every one who knows you, consults with you, 
 and is guided by you, Agnes." 
 
 "Every one who knows me, spoils me, I believe," she 
 answered, smiling. 
 
 "No. It's because you are like no one else. You are so 
 good and so sweet-tempered. You have such a gentle nature, 
 and you are always right." 
 
 " You talk," said Agnes, breaking into a pleasant laugh, as 
 she sat at work, " as if I were the late Miss Larkins." 
 
 " Come ! It's not fair to abuse my confidence-," I answered, 
 reddening a the recollection of my blue enslaver. "But I 
 shall confide in you, just the same, Agnes. I can never grow 
 out of that. Whenever I fall into trouble, or fall in love, I 
 shall always tell you, if you'll let me even when I come to 
 fall in love in earnest." 
 
 " Why, you have always been in earnest ! " said Agnes, 
 laughing again. 
 
300 
 
 " Oh ! that was as a child, or a school -boy," said I, laughing 
 in my turn, not without being a little shame-faced. " Times 
 are altering now, and I suppose I shall be in a terrible state of 
 earnestness one day or other. My wonder is, that you are not 
 in earnest yourself, by this time, Agnes." 
 
 Agnes laughed again, and shook her head. 
 
 " Oh, I know you are not ! " said I, " because if you had 
 been, you would have told me. Or at least '' - for I saw a 
 faint blush in her face, " You would have let me find it out 
 for myself. But there is no one that I know of, who deserves 
 to love you, Agnes. Some one of a nobler character, and more 
 worthy altogether than any one I have ever seen here, must 
 rise up, before I give my consent. In the time to come, I 
 shall have a wary eye on all admirers ; and shall exact a great 
 deal from the successful one, I assure you." 
 
 We had gone on, so far, in a mixture of confidential jest and 
 earnest, that had long grown naturally out of our familiar 
 relations, begun as mere children. But Agnes, now suddenly 
 lifting up her eyes to mine, and speaking in a different man- 
 ner, said: 
 
 " Trot wood, there is something that I want to ask you, and 
 that I may not have another opportunity of asking for a long 
 time, perhaps something I would ask, I think, of no one 
 else. Have you observed any gradual alteration in papa ? r 
 
 I had observed it, and had often wondered whether she had 
 too. I must have shown as much, now, in my face ; for her 
 eyes were in a moment cast down, and I saw tears in them. 
 
 " Tell me what it is," she said, in a low voice. 
 
 "I think shall I be quite plain, Agnes, liking him so 
 much ? " 
 
 "Yes," she said. 
 
 " I think he does himself no good by the habit that has 
 increased upon him since I first came here. He is often very 
 nervous or I fancy so." 
 
 " It is not fancy," said Agnes, shaking her head. 
 
 " His hand trembles, his speech is not plain, and his eyes 
 look wild. I have remarked that at those times, and when he 
 is least like himself, he is most certain to be wanted on some 
 business." 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 301 
 
 " By Uriah," Said Agnes. 
 
 " Yes ; and the sense of being unfit for it, or of not having 
 understood it, or of having shown his condition in spite of 
 himself, seems to make him so uneasy, that next day he is 
 worse, and next day worse, and so he becomes jaded and hag- 
 gard. Do not be alarmed by what I say, Agnes, but in this 
 state I saw him, only the other evening, lay down his head 
 upon his desk, and shed tears like a child." 
 
 Her hand passed softly before my lips while I was yet 
 speaking, and in a moment she had met her father at the door 
 of the room, and was hanging on his shoulder. The expres- 
 sion of her face, as they both looked towards me, I felt to be 
 very touching. There was such deep fondness for him, and 
 gratitude to him for all his love and care, in her beautiful 
 look ; and there was such a fervent appeal to me to deal ten- 
 derly by him, even in my inmost thoughts, and to let no harsh 
 construction find any place against him ; she was, at once, so 
 proud of him and devoted to him, yet so compassionate and 
 sorry, and so reliant upon me to be so, too ; that nothing she 
 could have said would have expressed more to me, or moved 
 me more. 
 
 ' We were to drink tea at the Doctor's. We went there at 
 the usual hour ; and round the study-fireside found the Doc- 
 tor, and his young wife, and her mother. The Doctor, who 
 made as much of my going away as if I were going to China, 
 received me as an honored guest ; and called for a log of wood 
 to be thrown on the fire, that he might see the face of his old 
 pupil reddening in the blaze. 
 
 "I shall not see many more new faces in Trotwood's stead, 
 Wickfield," said the Doctor, warming his hands; "I am 
 getting lazy, and want ease. I shall relinquish all my young 
 people in another six months, and lead a quieter life." 
 
 " You have said so, any time these ten years, Doctor," Mr. 
 Wickfield answered. 
 
 "But now I mean to do it," returned the Doctor. "My 
 first master will succeed me I am in earnest at last so 
 you'll soon have to arrange our contracts, and to bind us 
 firmly to them, like a couple of knaves." 
 
 " And to take care," said Mr. Wickfield, " that you're not 
 
302 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 imposed on, eh ? as you certainly would be, in any contract 
 you should make for yourself. Well ! I am ready. There 
 are worse tasks than that, in my calling." 
 
 " I shall have nothing to think of, then," said the Doctor, 
 with a smile, " but my Dictionary ; and this other contract- 
 bargain Annie." 
 
 As Mr. Wickfield glanced towards her, sitting at the tea- 
 table by Agnes, she seemed to me to avoid his look with such 
 unwonted hesitation and timidity, that his attention became 
 fixed upon her, as if something were suggested to his thoughts. 
 
 " There is a post come in from India, I observe," he said, 
 after a short silence. 
 
 "By the by ! and letters from Mr. Jack Maldon ! " said the 
 Doctor. 
 
 "Indeed?" 
 
 " Poor dear Jack ! " said Mrs. Markleham, shaking her 
 head. " That trying climate ! like living, they tell me, on a 
 sand-heap, underneath a burning-glass ! He looked strong, 
 but he wasn't. My dear Doctor, it was his spirit, not his 
 constitution, that he ventured on so boldly. Annie, my dear, 
 I am sure you must perfectly recollect that your cousin never 
 was strong not what can be called robust, you know," said 
 Mrs. Markleham, with emphasis, and looking round upon us 
 generally, " from the time when my daughter and himself 
 were children, together, and walking about, arm-in-arm, the 
 live-long day." 
 
 Annie, thus addressed, made no reply. 
 
 "Do I gather from what .you say, ma'am, that Mr. Maldon 
 is ill ? " asked Mr. Wickfield. 
 
 " 111 ! " replied the Old Soldier. " My dear sir, he's all sorts 
 of things.'' 
 
 " Except well ? " said Mr. Wickfield. 
 
 "Except well, indeed!" said the Old Soldier. "He has 
 had dreadful strokes of the sun, no doubt, and jungle fevers 
 and agues, and every kind of thing you can mention. As to 
 his liver," said the Old Soldier, resignedly, " that, of course, 
 he gave up altogether, when he first went out ! " 
 
 "Does he say all this ? " asked Mr. Wickfield. 
 
 " Say ? My dear sir/' returned Mrs. Markleham, shaking 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 303 
 
 her head and her fan, " you little know my poor Jack Maldon 
 when you ask that question. Say? Not he. You might 
 drag him at the heels of four wild horses first." 
 
 " Mamma ! " said Mrs. Strong. 
 
 " Annie, my dear," returned her mother, " once for all, I 
 must really beg that you will not interfere with me, unless it 
 is to confirm what I say. You know as well as I do, that 
 your cousin Maldon would be dragged at the heels of any 
 number of wild horses why should I confine myself t four ! 
 I won't confine myself to four eight, sixteen, two-and-thirty, 
 rather than say anything calculated to overturn the Doctor's 
 plans." 
 
 "Wickfield's plans," said the Doctor, stroking his face, and 
 looking penitently at his adviser. " That is to say, our joint 
 plans for him. I said myself, abroad or at home." 
 
 "And I said," added Mr. Wickfield, gravely, "abroad. I 
 was the means of sending him abroad. It's my responsi- 
 oility." 
 
 "Oh! Eesponsibility ! " said the Old Soldier. "Every- 
 thing was done for the best, my dear Mr. Wickfield ; every- 
 thing was done for the kindest and best, we know. But if 
 the dear fellow can't live there, he can't live there. And if he 
 can't live there, he'll die there, sooner than he'll overturn the 
 Doctor's plans. I know him," said the Old Soldier, fanning 
 herself, in a sort of calm prophetic agony, "and I know he'll 
 die there, sooner than he'll overturn the Doctor's plans." 
 
 "Well, well, ma'am," said the Doctor, cheerfully, "I am 
 not bigoted to my plans, and I can overturn them myself. I 
 can substitute some other plans. If Mr. Jack Maldon comes 
 home on account of ill health, he must not be allowed to go 
 back, and we must endeavor to make some more suitable and 
 fortunate provision for him in this country." 
 
 Mrs. Markleham was so overcome by this generous speech 
 which, I need not say, she had not at all expected or led up 
 to that she could only tell the Doctor it was like himself, 
 and go several times through that operation of kissing the 
 sticks of her fan, and then tapping his hand with it. After 
 which she gently chid her daughter Annie, for not being more 
 demonstrative when such kindnesses were showered, for her 
 
304 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 sake, on her old playfellow : and entertained us with some 
 particulars concerning other deserving members of her family, 
 whom it was desirable to set on their deserving legs. 
 
 All this time, her daughter Annie never once spoke, or lifted 
 up her eyes. All this time, Mr. Wickfield had his glance upon 
 her as she sat by his own daughter's side. It appeared to me 
 that he never thought of being observed by any one ; but was 
 so intent upon her, and upon his own thoughts in connection 
 with her, as to be quite absorbed. He now asked what Mr. 
 Jack Maldon had actually written in reference to himself, and 
 to whom he had written it ? 
 
 "Why, here," said Mrs. Markleharn, taking a letter from 
 the chimney-piece above the Doctor's head, "the dear fellow 
 says to the Doctor himself where is it ? Oh ! 'I am sorry 
 to inform you that my health is suffering severely, and that I 
 fear I may be reduced to the necessity of returning home for 
 a time, as the only hope of restoration.' That's pretty plain, 
 poor fellow ! His only hope of restoration ! But Annie's 
 letter is plainer still. Annie, show me that letter again." 
 
 "Not now, mamma," she pleaded, in a low tone. 
 
 "My dear, you absolutely are, on some subjects, one of the 
 most ridiculous persons in the world," returned her mother, 
 " and perhaps the most unnatural to the claims of your own 
 family. We never should have heard of the letter at all, I 
 believe, unless I had asked for it myself. Do you call that 
 confidence, my love, towards Doctor Strong ? I am surprised. 
 You ought to know better." 
 
 The letter was reluctantly produced ; and as I handed it to 
 the old lady, I saw how the unwilling hand from which I took 
 it, trembled. 
 
 "Now let us see," said Mrs. Markleham, putting her glass 
 to her eye, "where the passage is. 'The remembrance of old 
 times, my dearest Annie' and so forth it's not there. 
 'The amiable old Proctor' who's he ? Dear me, Annie, how 
 illegibly your cousin Maldon writes, and how stupid I am! 
 ' Doctor/ of course. Ah ! amiable indeed ! " Here she left off, 
 to kiss her fan again, and shake it at the Doctor, who was 
 looking at us in a state of placid satisfaction. " Now I have 
 found it. ' You may not be surprised to hear, Annie ' no, 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 305 
 
 to be sure, knowing that he never was really strong ; what did 
 I say just now? 'that I have undergone so much in this 
 distant place, as to have decided to leave it at all hazards ; on 
 sick leave, if I can ; on total resignation, if that is not to be 
 obtained. What I have endured, and do endure here, is in- 
 supportable/ And but for the promptitude of that best of 
 creatures," said Mrs. Markleham, telegraphing the Doctor as 
 before, and refolding the letter, " it would be insupportable to 
 me to think of." 
 
 Mr. Wickfield said not one word, though the old lady looked 
 to him as if for his commentary on this intelligence ; but sat 
 severely silent, with his eyes fixed on the ground. Long after 
 the subject was dismissed, and other topics occupied us, he 
 remained so ; seldom raising his eyes, unless to rest them for 
 a moment, with a thoughtful frown, upon the Doctor, or his 
 wife, or both. 
 
 The Doctor was very fond of music. Agnes sang with great 
 sweetness and expression, and so did Mrs. Strong. They sang 
 together, and played duets together, and we had quite a little 
 concert. But I remarked two things : first, that though Annie 
 soon recovered her composure, and was quite herself, there 
 was a blank between her and Mr. Wickfield which separated 
 them wholly from each other; secondly, that Mr. Wickfield 
 seemed to dislike the intimacy between her and Agnes, and to 
 watch it with uneasiness. And now, I must confess, the 
 recollection of what I had seen on that night when Mr. Mal- 
 don went away, first began to return upon me with a meaning 
 it had never had, and to trouble me. The innocent beauty of 
 her face was not as innocent to me as it had been; I mis- 
 trusted the natural grace and charm of her manner ; and when 
 I looked at Agnes by her side, and thought how good and true 
 Agnes was, suspicions arose within me that it was an ill- 
 assorted friendship. 
 
 She was so happy in it herself, however, and the other was 
 so happy too, that they made the evening fly away as if it 
 were but an hour. It closed in an incident which I well 
 remember. They were taking leave of each other, and Agnes 
 was going to embrace her and kiss her, when Mr. Wickfield 
 stepped between them, as if by accident, and drew Agnes 
 VOL. i 20 
 
306 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 quickly away. Then I saw, as though all the intervening 
 time had been cancelled, and I were still standing in the door- 
 way on the night of the departure, the expression of that 
 night in the face of Mrs. Strong, as it confronted his. 
 
 I cannot say what an impression this made upon me, or 
 how impossible I found it, when I thought of her afterwards, 
 to separate her from this look, and remember her face in its 
 innocent loveliness again.' It haunted me when I got home. 
 I seemed to have left the Doctor's roof with a dark cloud 
 lowering on it. The reverence that I had for his gray head, 
 was mingled with commiseration for his faith in those who 
 were treacherous to him, and with resentment against those 
 who injured him. The impending shadow of a great affliction, 
 and a great disgrace that had no distinct form in it yet, fell 
 like a stain upon the quie.t place where I had worked and 
 played as a boy, and did it a cruel wrong. I had no pleasure 
 in thinking, any more, of the grave old broad-leaved aloe- 
 trees which remained shut up in themselves a hundred years 
 together, and of the trim, smooth grass-plot, and the stone 
 urns, and the Doctor's walk, and the congenial sound of the 
 Cathedral bell hovering above them all. It was as if the 
 tranquil sanctuary of my boyhood had been sacked before my 
 face, and its peace and honor given to the winds. 
 
 But morning brought with it my parting from the old house, 
 which Agnes had filled with her influence ; and that occupied 
 my mind sufficiently. I should be there again soon, no doubt ; 
 I might sleep again perhaps often in my old room ; but 
 the days of my inhabiting there were gone, and the old time 
 was past. I was heavier at heart when I packed up such of 
 my books and clothes as still remained there to be sent to 
 Dover, than I cared to show to Uriah Heep : who was so 
 officious to help me, that I uncharitably thought him mighty 
 glad that I was going. 
 
 I got away from Agnes and her father, somehow, with an 
 indifferent show of being very manly, and took my seat upon 
 the box of the London coach. I was so softened and forgiving, 
 going through the town, that I had half a mind to nod to my 
 old enemy the butcher, and throw him five shillings to drink. 
 But he looked such a very obdurate butcher as he stood scrap- 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 307 
 
 mg the great block in the shop, and moreover, his appearance 
 was so little improved by the loss of a front tooth which I 
 had knocked out, that I thought it best to make no advances. 
 
 The main object on my mind, I remember, when we got fairly 
 on the road, was to appear as old as possible to the coachman, 
 and to speak extremely gruff. The latter point I achieved at 
 great personal inconvenience : but I stuck to it, because . 
 ,t was a grown-up sort of thing. 
 
 " You are going through, sir ? " said the coachman. ^ 
 
 "Yes, William," I said, condescendingly (I knew him) ; < 
 im going to London. I shall go down into Suffolk after- 
 wards." 
 
 " Shooting, sir ? " said the coachman. 
 
 He knew as well as I did that it was just as likely, at that 
 time of year, I was going down there whaling ; but I felt com- 
 plimented, too. 
 
 I don't know," I said, pretending to be undecided, whethe] 
 
 T shall take a shot or not." 
 
 "Birds is got wery shy, I'm told," said William. 
 
 " So I understand," said I. 
 
 " Is Suffolk your county, sir ? " asked William. 
 
 "Yes," I said, with some importance. "Suffolk's my 
 
 county." 
 
 "I'm told the dumplings is uncommon fine down there, 
 
 said William. 
 
 I was not aware of it myself, but I felt it necessary to 
 uphold the institutions of my county, and to evince a famil- 
 iarity with them; so I shook my head, as much as to say, 
 
 " I believe you ! " 
 
 " And the Punches," said William. " There's cattle ! A 
 Suffolk Punch, when he's a good un, is worth his weight in 
 gold. Did you ever breed any Suffolk Punches yourself, sir ? ' 
 * N no," I said, " not exactly." 
 
 "Here's a gen'lm'n behind me, I'll pound it," said William, 
 " as has bred 'em by wholesale." 
 
 The gentleman spoken of was a gentleman with a very 
 unpromising squint, and a prominent chin, who had a tall 
 white hat on with a narrow flat brim, and whose close-fitting 
 drab trousers seemed to button all the way up outside his legs 
 
308 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 from his boots to his hips. His chin was cocked over the 
 coachman's shoulder, so near to me, that his breath quite 
 tickled the back of my head ; and as I looked round at him, 
 he leered at the leaders with the eye with which he didn't 
 squint, in a very knowing manner. 
 
 " Ain't you ? " asked William. 
 
 " Ain't I what ? " said the gentleman behind. 
 
 " Bred them Suffolk Punches by wholesale ? " 
 
 "I should think so," said the gentleman. "There ain't 
 no sort of orse that I ain't bred, and no sort of dorg. Orses 
 and dorgs is some men's fancy. They're wittles and drink to 
 me lodging, wife, and children reading, writing, and 'rith- 
 nietic snuff, tobacker, and sleep." 
 
 " That ain't a sort of man to see sitting behind a coach-box, 
 is it though ? " said William, in my ear, as he handled the 
 reins. 
 
 I construed this remark into an indication of a wish that he 
 should have my place, so I blushingly offered to resign it. 
 
 "Well, if you don't mind, sir," said William, "I think it 
 would be more correct." 
 
 I have always considered this as the first fall I had in life. 
 When I booked my place at the coach-office, I had had " Box 
 Seat " written against the entry, and had given the book-keeper 
 half-a-crown. I was got up in a special great coat and shawl, 
 expressly to do honor to that distinguished eminence ; had 
 glorified myself upon it a good deal ; and had felt that I was 
 a credit to the coach. And here, in the very first stage, I was 
 supplanted by a shabby man with a squint, who had no other 
 merit than smelling like a livery-stables, and being able to 
 walk across me, more like a fly than a human being, while 
 the horses were at a canter ! 
 
 A distrust of myself, which has often beset me in life on 
 small occasions, when it would have been better away, was 
 assuredly not stopped in its growth by this little incident out- 
 side the Canterbury coach. It was in vain to take refuge in 
 gruffness of speech. I spoke from the pit of my stomach for 
 the rest of the journey, but I felt completely extinguished, and 
 dreadfully young. 
 
 It was curious and interesting, nevertheless, to be sitting up 
 
OF DAVID COPPEKFIELD. 309 
 
 there, behind four horses: well educated, well dressed, and 
 with plenty of money in my pocket : and to look out for the 
 places where I had slept on my weary journey. I had abun- 
 dant occupation for my thoughts, in every conspicuous land- 
 mark on the road. When I looked down at the trampers whom 
 we passed, and saw that well-remembered style of face turned 
 up, I felt as if the tinker's blackened hand were in the bosom 
 of my shirt again. When we clattered through the narrow 
 street of Chatham, and I caught a glimpse, in passing, of the 
 lane where the old monster lived who had bought my jacket, I 
 stretched my neck eagerly to look for the place where I had 
 sat, in the sun and in the shade, waiting for my money. 
 When we came, at last, within a stage of London, and passed 
 the veritable Salem House where Mr. Creakle had laid about 
 him with a heavy hand, I would have given all I had, for law- 
 ful permission to get down and thrash him, and let all the boys 
 out like so many caged sparrows. 
 
 We went to the Golden Cross at Charing Cross, then a 
 mouldy sort of establishment in a close neighborhood. A 
 waiter showed me into the coffee-room; and a chambermaid 
 introduced me to my small bedchamber, which smelt like a 
 hackney-coach, and was shut up like a family vault. I was 
 still painfully concious of my youth, for nobody stood in any 
 awe of me at all : the chambermaid being utterly indifferent 
 to my opinions on any subject, and the waiter being familiar 
 with me, and offering advice to my inexperience. 
 
 " Well now," said the waiter, in a tone of confidence, " what 
 would you like for dinner ? Young gentlemen likes poultry in 
 general, have a fowl ! " 
 
 I told him, as majestically as I could, that I wasn't in the 
 humor Jor a fowl. 
 
 "Ain't you!" said the waiter. "Young gentlemen is gen- 
 erally tired of beef and mutton, have a weal cutlet ! " 
 
 I assented to this proposal, in default of being able to suggest 
 anything else. 
 
 " Do you care for taters ? " said the water, with an insinu- 
 ating smile, and his head on one side. "Young gentlemen 
 generally has been overdosed with taters." 
 
 I commanded him, in my deepest voice, to order a veal cut- 
 
310 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 let and potatoes, and all things fitting j and to inquire at the 
 bar if there were any letters for Trotwood Copperfield, Esquire 
 which I knew there were not, and couldn't be, but thought 
 it manly to appear to expect. 
 
 He soon came back to say that there were none (at which 
 I was much surprised), and began to lay the cloth for my 
 dinner in a box by the fire. While he was so engaged, he 
 asked me what I would take with it ; and on my replying 
 " Half a pint of sherry," thought it a favorable opportunity, 
 I am afraid, to extract that measure of wine from the stale 
 leavings at the bottoms of several small decanters. I am of 
 this opinion, because, while I was reading the newspaper, I 
 observed him behind a low wooden partition, which was his 
 private apartment, very busy pouring out of a number of those 
 vessels into one, like a chemist and druggist making up a pre- 
 scription. When the wine came, too, I thought it flat ; and 
 it certainly had more English crumbs in it, than were to be 
 expected in a foreign wine in anything like a pure state ; but 
 I was bashful enough to drink it, and say nothing. 
 
 Being then in a pleasant frame of mind (from which I infer 
 that poisoning is not always disagreeable in some stages of 
 the process), I resolved to go to the play. It was Co vent 
 Garden Theatre that I chose ; and there, from the back of a 
 centre box, I saw Julius Caesar and the new Pantomime. To 
 have all those noble Romans alive before me, and walking in 
 and out for my entertainment, instead of being the stern task- 
 masters they had been at school, was a most novel and delight- 
 ful effect. But the mingled reality and mystery of the whole 
 show, the influence upon me of the poetry, the lights, the 
 music, the company, the smooth stupendous changes of glitter- 
 ing and brilliant scenery, were so dazzling, and opened tip such 
 illimitable regions of delight, that when I came out into the 
 rainy street, at twelve o'clock at night, I felt as if I had come 
 from the clouds, where I had been leading a romantic life for 
 ages, to a bawling, splashing, link-lighted, umbrella-strug- 
 gling, hackney-coach-jostling, patten-clinking, muddy, miserable 
 world. 
 
 I had emerged by another door, and stood in the street for 
 a little while, as if I really were a stranger upon earth : but 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 311 
 
 the unceremonious pushing and hustling that I received, soon 
 recalled me to myself, and put me in the road back to the 
 hotel ; whither I went, revolving the glorious vision all the 
 way ; and where, after some porter and oysters, I sat revolving 
 it still, at past one o'clock, with my eyes on the coffee-room 
 
 fire. 
 
 I was so filled with the play, and with the past for it was, 
 in a manner, like a shining transparency, through which I 
 saw my earlier life moving along that I don't know when 
 the figure of a handsome well-formed young man, dressed 
 with a tasteful easy negligence which I have reason to remem- 
 ber very well, became a real presence to me. But I recollect 
 being conscious of his company without having noticed his 
 coming in and my still sitting, musing, over the coffee-room 
 
 fire. 
 
 At last I rose to go to bed, much to the relief of the sleepy 
 waiter, who had got the fidgets in his legs, and was twisting 
 them, and hitting them, and putting them through all kinds 
 of contortions in his small pantry. In going towards the 
 door, I passed the person who had come in, and saw him 
 plainly. I turned directly,, came back, and looked again. He 
 did not know me, but I knew him in a moment. 
 
 At another time I might have wanted the condence or the 
 decision to speak to him, and might have put it off until next 
 day, and might have lost him. But, in the then condition of 
 my mind, where the play was still running high, his former 
 protection of me appeared so deserving of my gratitude, and 
 my old love for him overflowed my breast so freshly and spon- 
 taneously, that I went up to him at once, with a fast-beating 
 heart, and said : 
 
 " Steerforth ! Won't you speak to me ? J: 
 
 He looked at me just as he used to look, sometimes but 
 I saw no recognition in his face. 
 
 " You don't remember me, I am afraid," said I. 
 
 "My God!" he suddenly exclaimed. "It's little Copper- 
 field ! " 
 
 I grasped him by both hands, and could not let them go. 
 But for very shame, and the fear that it might displease him, 
 I could have held him round the neck and cried. 
 
312 THE PERSONAL HISTOET AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " I never, never, never, was so glad ! My dear Steerforth,, I 
 am so overjoyed to see you ! " 
 
 "And I am rejoiced to see you, too ! " lie said, shaking my 
 hands heartily. " Why, Copperfield, old boy, don't be over- 
 powered ! " And yet he was glad, too, I thought, to see how 
 the delight I had in meeting him affected me. 
 
 I brushed away the tears that my utmost resolution had not 
 been able to keep back, and I made a clumsy laugh of it, and 
 we sat down together, side by side. 
 
 " Why, how do you come to be here ? " said Steerforth, 
 clapping me on the shoulder. 
 
 " I came here by the Canterbury coach, to-day. I have been 
 adopted by an aunt down in that part of the country, and have 
 just finished my education there. How do you come to be 
 here, Steerforth ? " 
 
 " Well, I am what they call an Oxford man," he returned ; 
 " that is to say, I get bored to death down there, periodically 
 and I am on my way now to my mother's. You're a devil- 
 ish amiable-looking fellow, Gopperfield. Just what you used 
 to be, now I look at you ! Not altered in the least ! " 
 
 " I knew you immediately," I said ; " but you are more easily 
 remembered." 
 
 He laughed as he ran his hand through the clustering curls 
 of his hair, and said gaily : 
 
 " Yes, I am on an expedition of duty. My mother lives a 
 little way out of town ; and the roads being in a beastly con- 
 dition, and our house tedious enough, I remained here to-night 
 instead of going on. I have not been in town half-a-dozen 
 hours, and those I have been dozing and grumbling away at 
 the play/' 
 
 " I have been at the play, too," said I. " At Covent Gar- 
 den. What a delightful and magnificent entertainment, Steer- 
 forth ! " 
 
 Steerforth laughed heartily. 
 
 " My dear young Davy," he said, clapping me on the 
 shoulder again, "you are a very Daisy. The daisy of the 
 field, at sunrise, is not fresher than you are ! I have been at 
 Covent Garden, too, and there never was a more miserable 
 business. Holloa, you sir ? " 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 
 
 This was addressed to the waiter, -who had been very atten- 
 tive to our recognition, at a distance, and now came forward 
 
 deferentially. T-IOJJ an \A 
 
 "Where have you put my friend, Mr. Copperfield ? said 
 
 Steerforth. 
 
 " Beg your pardon, sir ? " 
 
 Where does he sleep ? What's his number ? You know 
 what I mean," said Steerforth. 
 
 Well, sir," said the waiter, with an apologetic air. 
 Copperfield is at present in forty-four, sir." 
 
 "And what the devil do you mean," retorted Steerforth, 
 by putting Mr. Copperfield into a little loft over a stable ? 
 
 "Why you see we wasn't aware, sir," returned the waiter, 
 still apologetically, -as Mr. Copperfield was anyways- partic- 
 ular. We can give Mr. Copperfield seventy-two, sir, i 
 would be preferred. Next you, sir." 
 
 Of course it would be preferred," said Steerforth. 
 
 do it at once." 
 
 The waiter immediately withdrew to make the exchange. 
 Steerforth, very much amused at my having been put into 
 forty-four, laughed again, and clapped me on the shoulde 
 again, and invited me to breakfast with him next morning at 
 ten o'clock an invitation I was only too proud and happy to 
 accept. It being now pretty late, we took our candles and 
 went up stairs, where we parted with friendly heartiness at his 
 door, and where I found my new room a great improvement o 
 my old one, it not being at all musty, and having an immense 
 four-post bedstead in it, which was quite a little landed estate. 
 Here, among pillows enough for six, I soon fell asleep ma 
 blissful condition, and dreamed of ancient Rome, Steerforth, 
 and friendship, until the early morning coaches, rumbling out 
 of the archway underneath, made me dream of thund. 
 the gods. 
 
314 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 CHAPTEE XX. 
 
 STEERFORTH'S HOME. 
 
 WHEN the chambermaid tapped at my door at eight o'clock, 
 and informed me that my shaving-water was outside, I felt 
 severely the having no occasion for it, and blushed in my bed. 
 The suspicion that she laughed too, when she said it, preyed 
 upon my mind all the time I was dressing, and gave me, I 
 was conscious, a sneaking and guilty air when I passed her on 
 the staircase, as I was going down to breakfast. I was so 
 sensitively aware, indeed, of being younger than I could have 
 wished, that for some time I could not make up my mind to 
 pass her at all, under the ignoble circumstances of the case ; 
 but, hearing her there with a broom, stood peeping out of 
 window at King Charles on horseback, surrounded by a maze 
 of hackney-coaches and looking anything but regal in a driz- 
 zling rain and a dark-brown fog, until I was admonished by 
 the waiter that the gentleman was waiting for me. 
 
 It was not in the coffee-room that I found Steerforth expect- 
 ing me, but in a snug private apartment, red-curtained and 
 Turkey-carpeted, where the fire burnt bright, and a fine hot 
 breakfast was set forth on a table covered with a clean cloth, 
 and a cheerful miniature of the room, the fire, the breakfast, 
 Steerforth, and all, was shining in the little round mirror over 
 the sideboard. I was rather bashful at first, Steerforth being 
 so self-possessed, and elegant, and superior to me in all respects 
 (age included) ; but his easy patronage soon put that to rights, 
 and made me quite at home. I could not enough admire the 
 change he had wrought in the Golden Cross, or compare the 
 dull forforn state I had held yesterday, with this morning's 
 comfort and this morning's entertainment. As to the waiter's 
 familiarity, it was quenched as if it had never been. He 
 attended on us, as I may say, in sackcloth and ashes. 
 
 " Now, Copperfield," said Steerforth, when we were alone, 
 
OF DAVID COPPER FIELD 315 
 
 I should like to hear what you are doing, and where you are 
 going, and all about you. I feel as if you were my property. 
 ' Glowing with pleasure to find that he had still this interest 
 in me, I told him how my aunt had proposed the little expedi 
 tion that I had before me, and whither it tended. 
 
 "As you are in no hurry, then/' said Steerforth, "come 
 home with me to Highgate, and stay a day or two. You wil 
 be pleased with my mother -she is a little vain and prosy 
 about me, but that you can forgive her -and she wil 
 
 pleased with you." 
 
 "I should like to be as sure of that, as you are kind enough 
 to say you are," I answered, smiling. 
 
 0h!" said Steerforth, "every one who likes me, has a 
 claim on her that is sure to be acknowledged." 
 
 " Then I think I shall be a favorite," said I. 
 
 Good! " said Steerforth. Come and prove it. We will 
 go and see the lions for an hour or two -it's something to 
 have a fresh fellow like you to show them to, Copperfield- 
 and then we'll journey out to Highgate by the coach." 
 
 I could hardly believe but that I was in a dream, and that 
 I should wake presently in number forty -four, to the solitary 
 box in the coffee-room and the familiar waiter again. After 
 I had written to my aunt and told her of my fortunate meeting 
 with my admired old school-fellow, and my acceptance of 
 invitation, we went out in a hackney -chariot, and saw a Pano- 
 rama and some other sights, and took a walk through the 
 Museum, where I could not help observing how much Steer- 
 forth knew, on an infinite variety of subjects, and of how little 
 account he seemed to make his knowledge. 
 
 You'll take a high degree at college, Steerforth, said 1, 
 "if you have not done so already; and they will have good 
 reason to be proud of you." 
 
 I take a degree!" cried Steerforth. "Not I! my dear 
 Daisy _ w ill you mind my calling you Daisy ? " 
 
 Not at all ! " said I. 
 
 That's a good fellow ! My dear Daisy," said Steerforth, 
 laughing "I have not the least desire or intention to distin- 
 guish myself in that way. I have done quite sufficient for my 
 
316 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 purpose. I find that I am heavy company enough for myself 
 as I am." 
 
 " But the fame "I was beginning. 
 
 " You romantic Daisy ! " said Steer forth, laughing still more 
 heartily; "why should I trouble myself, that a parcel of 
 heavy-headed fellows may gape and hold up their hands ? 
 Let them do it at some other man. There's fame for him, 
 and he's welcome to it." 
 
 I was abashed at having made so great a mistake, and was 
 glad to change the subject. Fortunately it was not difficult 
 to do, for Steerforth could always pass from one subject to 
 another with a carelessness and lightness that were his own. 
 
 Lunch succeeded to our sight-seeing, and the short winter 
 day wore away so fast, that it was dusk when the stage-coach 
 stopped with us at an old brick house at Highgate on the 
 summit of the hill. An elderly lady, though not very far 
 advanced in years, with a proud carriage and a handsome 
 face, was in the doorway as we alighted ; and greeting 
 Steerforth as " My dearest James," folded him in her arms. 
 To this lady he presented me as his mother, and she gave me 
 a stately welcome. 
 
 It was a genteel old-fashioned house, very quiet and orderly. 
 From the windows of my room I saw all London lying in the 
 distance like a great vapor, with here and there some lights 
 twinkling through it. I had only time, in dressing, to glance 
 at the solid furniture, the framed pieces of work (done, I 
 supposed, by Steerforth's mother when she was a girl), and 
 some pictures in crayons of ladies with powdered hair and 
 bodices, coming and going on the walls, as the newly kindled 
 fire crackled and sputtered, when I was called to dinner. 
 
 There was a second lady in the dining-room, of a slight 
 short figure, dark, and not agreeable to look at, but with some 
 appearance of good looks too, who attracted my attention : 
 perhaps because I had not expected to see her : perhaps 
 because I found myself sitting opposite to her: perhaps 
 because of something really remarkable in her. She had 
 black hair and eager black eyes, and was thin, and had a scar 
 upon her lip. It was an old scar I should rather call it 
 seam, for it was not discolored, and had healed years ago 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 317 
 
 which had once cut through her mouth, downward towards 
 the chin, but was now barely visible across the table, except 
 above and on her upper lip, the shape of which it had altered. 
 I concluded in my own mind that she was about thirty years 
 of age, and that she wished to be married. She was a little 
 dilapidated like a house with having been so long to let; 
 yet had, as I have said, an appearance of good looks. Her 
 thinness seemed to be the effect of some wasting fire within 
 her, which found a vent in her gaunt eyes. 
 
 She was introduced as Miss Dartle, and both Steerforth and 
 his mother called her Rosa. I found that she lived there, 
 and had been for a long time Mrs. Steerforth's companion. 
 It appeared to me that she never said anything she wanted to 
 say, outright; but hinted it, and made a great deal more 
 of it by this practice. For example, when Mrs. Steerforth 
 observed, more in jest than earnest, that she feared her son 
 led but a wild life at college, Miss Dartle put in thus : 
 
 "Oh, really? You know how ignorant I am, and that I 
 only ask for information, but isn't it always so ? I thought 
 that kind of life was on all hands understood to be eh ? ' 
 
 " It is education for a very grave profession, if you mean 
 that, Rosa," Mrs. Steerforth answered, with some coldness. 
 
 "Oh! Yes! That's very true," returned Miss Dartle. 
 " But isn't it, though ? I want to be put right if I am wrong 
 isn't it really?" 
 
 " Really what ? " said Mrs. Steerforth. 
 
 " Oh ! You mean it's not I " returned Miss Dartle. " Well, 
 I'm very glad to hear it ! Now, I know what to do ! That's 
 the advantage of asking. I shall never allow people to talk 
 before me about wastfulness and profligacy, and so forth, in 
 connection with that life, any more." 
 
 " And you will be right," said Mrs. Steerforth. My son^s 
 tutor is a conscientious gentleman ; and if I had not implicit 
 reliance on my son, I should have reliance on him." 
 
 "Should you?" said Miss Dartle. "Dear me! Con- 
 scientious, is he ? Really conscientious, now ? 7: 
 " Yes, I am convinced of it," said Mrs. Steerforth. 
 " How very nice ! " exclaimed Miss Dartle. " What a 
 comfort ! Really conscientious ? Then he's not but of 
 
318 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 course he can't be, if he's really conscientious. Well, I shall 
 be quite happy in my opinion of him, from this time. You 
 can't think how it elevates him in my opinion, to know for 
 certain that he's really conscientious ! " 
 
 Her own views of every question, and her correction of 
 everything that was said to which she was opposed, Miss 
 Dartle insinuated in the same way : sometimes, I could not 
 conceal from myself, with great power, though in contradiction 
 even of Steerforth. An instance happened before dinner was 
 done. Mrs. Steerforth speaking to me about my intention of 
 going down into Suffolk, I said at hazard how glad I should 
 be, if Steerforth would only go there with me ; and explaining 
 to him that I was going to see my old nurse, and Mr. Peg- 
 gotty's family, I reminded him of the boatman whom he had 
 seen at school. 
 
 "Oh! That bluff fellow!" said Steerforth. "He had a 
 son with him, hadn't he ? " 
 
 " No. That was his nephew," I replied ; " whom he 
 adopted, though, as a son. He has a very pretty little niece 
 too, whom he adopted as a daughter. In short, his house (or 
 rather his boat, for he lives in one, on dry land) is full of 
 people who are objects of his generosity and kindness. You 
 would be delighted to see that household." 
 
 " Should I ? " said Steerforth. " Well, I think I should. 
 I must see what can be done. It would be worth a journey 
 not to mention the pleasure of a journey with you, Daisy, 
 to see that sort of people together, and to make one of 'em." 
 
 My heart leaped with a new hope of pleasure. But it was 
 in reference to the tone in which he had spoken of "that sort 
 of people," that Miss Dartle, whose sparkling eyes had been 
 watchful of us, now broke in again. 
 
 " Oh, but, really ? Do tell me. Are they, though ? " she 
 said. 
 
 " Are they what ? And are who what ? " said Steerforth. 
 
 " That sort of people. Are they really animals and clods, 
 and beings of another order ? I want to know, so much." 
 
 " Why, there's a pretty wide separation between them and 
 us," said Steerforth, with indifference. " They are not to be 
 expected to be as sensitive as we are. Their delicacy is not 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 819 
 
 to be shocked, or hurt very easily. They are wonderfully 
 virtuous, I dare say some people coutend for that, at least, 
 and I ain sure I don't want to contradict them but they 
 have not very fine natures, and they may be thankful that, 
 like their coarse rough skins, they are not easily wounded." 
 
 Really ! " said Miss Dartle. " Well, I don't know, now, 
 when I have been better pleased than to hear that. It's so 
 consoling ! It's such a delight to know that when they suffer 
 they don't feel ! Sometimes I have been quite uneasy for 
 that sort of people ; but now I shall just dismiss the idea of 
 them altogether. Live and learn. I had my doubts, I con- 
 fess, but now they're cleared up. I didn't know, and now 
 I do know, and that shows the advantage of asking don't 
 
 it?" 
 
 I believed that Steerforth had said what he had, in jest, or 
 to draw Miss Dartle out ; and I expected him to say as much 
 when she was gone, and we two were sitting before the fire. 
 But he merely asked me what I thought of her. 
 
 " She is very clever, is she not ? " I asked. 
 
 " Clever ! She brings everything to a grindstone," said 
 Steerforth, " and sharpens it, as she has sharpened her own 
 face and figure these years past. She has worn herself away 
 by constant sharpening. She is all edge." 
 
 " What a remarkable scar that is upon her lip ! " I said. 
 
 Steerforth's face fell, and he paused a moment. 
 
 " Why, the fact is," he returned, " I did that." 
 
 " By an unfortunate accident ! " 
 
 "No. I was a young boy, and she exasperated me, and I 
 threw a hammer at her. A promising young angel I must 
 have been ! " 
 
 I was deeply sorry to have touched on such a painful theme, 
 
 but that was useless now. 
 
 "She has borne the mark ever since, as you see," said 
 Steerforth ; " and she'll bear it to her grave, if she ever rests 
 in one though I can hardly believe she will ever rest any- 
 where. She was the motherless child of a sort of cousin of 
 my father's. He died one day. My mother, who was then 
 a widow, brought her here to be company to her. She has a 
 couple of thousand pounds of her own, and saves the interest 
 
320 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 of it every year., to add to the principal. There's the history 
 of Miss Rosa Dartle for you. 77 
 
 " And I have no doubt she loves you like a brother ? " 
 said I. 
 
 " Humph ! " retorted Steerforth, looking at the fire. " Some 
 brothers are not loved over much ; and some love but help 
 yourself, Copperfield ? We'll drink the daisies of the field, in 
 compliment to you ; and the lilies of the valley, that toil not, 
 neither do they spin, in compliment to me the more shame 
 for me ! " A moody smile that had overspread his features 
 cleared off as he said this merrily, and he was his own frank, 
 winning self again. 
 
 I could not help glancing at the scar with a painful interest 
 when we went in to tea. It was not long before I observed 
 that it was the most susceptible part of her face, and that, 
 when she turned pale, that mark altered first, and became a 
 dull lead-colored streak, lengthening out to its full extent, like 
 a mark in invisible ink brought to the fire. There was a little 
 altercation between her and Steerforth about a cast of the dice 
 at backgammon when I thought her, for one moment, in a 
 storm of rage ; and then I saw it start forth like the old writ- 
 ing on the wall. 
 
 It was no matter of wonder to me to find Mrs. Steerforth 
 devoted to her son. She seemed to be able to speak or think 
 about nothing else. She showed me his picture as an infant, 
 ( in a locket, with some of his baby-hair in it ; she showed me 
 his picture as he had been when I first knew him ; and she 
 wore at her breast his picture as he was now. All the letters 
 he had ever written to her, she kept in a cabinet near her own 
 chair, by the fire ; and she would have read me some of them, 
 and I should have been very glad to hear them too, if he had 
 not interposed, and coaxed her out of the design. 
 
 " It was at Mr. Creakle's, my son tells me, that you first 
 became acquainted," said Mrs. Steerforth, as she and I were 
 talking at one table, while they played backgammon at 
 another. " Indeed, I recollect his speaking at that time, of a 
 pupil younger than himself who had taken his fancy there ; 
 but your name, as you may suppose, has not lived in my 
 memory." 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 321 
 
 " He was very generous and noble to me in those days, I 
 assure you, ma'am/ 7 said I, " and I stood in need of such a 
 friend. I should have been quite crushed without him." 
 
 " He is always generous and noble," said Mrs. Steerforth, 
 
 proudly. 
 
 I subscribed to this with all my heart, God knows. She 
 knew I did ; for the stateliness of her manner already abated 
 towards me, except when she spoke in praise of him, and 
 then her air was always lofty. 
 
 " It was not a fit school generally for my son," said she ; 
 " far from it ; but there were particular circumstances to be 
 considered at the time, of more importance even than that 
 selection. My son's high spirit made it desirable that he 
 should be placed with some man who felt its superiority, and 
 would be content to bow himself before it; and we found 
 such a man there." 
 
 I knew that, knowing the fellow. And yet I did not despise 
 him the more for it, but thought it a redeeming quality in 
 him if he could be allowed any grace for not resisting one 
 so irresistible as Steerforth. 
 
 " My son's great capacity was tempted on, there, by a feel- 
 ing of voluntary emulation and conscious pride," the fond 
 lady went on to say. "He would have risen against all 
 constraint ; but he found himself the monarch of the place, 
 and he haughtily determined to be worthy of his station. It 
 was like himself." 
 
 I echoed, with all my heart and soul, that it was like him- 
 self. 
 
 " So my son took, of his own will, and on no compulsion, to 
 the course in which he can always, when it is his pleasure, out- 
 strip every competitor," she pursued. " My son informs me, 
 Mr. Copperfield, that you were quite devoted to him, and that 
 when you met yesterday you made yourself known to him 
 with tears of joy. I should be an affected woman if I made 
 any pretence of being surprised by my son's inspiring such 
 emotions ; but I cannot be indifferent to any one who is so 
 sensible of his merit, and I am very glad to see you here, and 
 can assure you that he feels an unusual friendship for you, 
 and that you may rely on his protection." 
 
 VOL. I 21 
 
322 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 Miss Dartle played backgammon as eagerly as she did 
 everything else. If I had seen her, first, at the board, I 
 should have fancied that her figure had got thin, and her eyes 
 had got large, over that pursuit, and no other. But I am very 
 much mistaken if she missed a word of this, or lost a look of 
 mine as I received it with the utmost pleasure, and, honored 
 by Mrs. Steerforth's confidence, felt older than I had done 
 since I left Canterbury. 
 
 When the evening was pretty far spent, and a tray of 
 glasses and decanters came in, Steerforth promised, over the 
 fire, that he would seriously think of going down into the 
 country with me. There was no hurry, he said ; a week hence 
 would do ; and his mother hospitably said the same. While 
 we were talking, he more than once called me Daisy ; which 
 brought Miss Dartle out again. 
 
 "But really, Mr. Copperfield," she asked, "is it a nick- 
 name? And why does he give it you? Is it eh?- 
 because he thinks you young and innocent ? I am so stupid 
 in these things." 
 
 I colored in replying that I believed it was. 
 
 " Oh ! " said Miss Dartle. " Now I am glad to know that ! 
 I ask for information, and I am glad to know it. He thinks 
 you young and innocent; and so you are his friend. Well, 
 that's quite delightful ! " 
 
 She went to bed soon after this, and Mrs. Steerforth retired 
 too. Steerforth and I, after lingering for half an hour over 
 the fire, talking about Traddles and all the rest of them at old 
 Salem House, went up stairs together. Steerforth's room was 
 next to mine, and I went in to look at it. It was a picture of 
 comfort, full of easy chairs, cushions, and footstools, worked 
 by his mother's hand, and with no sort of thing omitted that 
 could help to render it complete. Finally, her handsome feat- 
 ures looked down on her darling from a portrait on the wall, 
 as if it were even something to her that her likeness should 
 watch him while he slept. 
 
 I found the fire burning clear enough in my room by this 
 time, and the curtains drawn before the windows and round 
 the bed, giving it a very snug appearance. I sat down in a 
 great chair upon the hearth to meditate on my happiness ; and 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 323 
 
 had enjoyed the contemplation of it for some time, when I 
 found a likeness of Miss Dartle looking eagerly at me from 
 above the chimney-piece. 
 
 It was a startling likeness, and necessarily had a startling 
 look. The painter hadn't made the scar, but / made it ; and 
 there it was, coming and going : now confined to the upper 
 lip as I had seen it at dinner, and now showing the whole 
 extent of the wound inflicted by the hammer, as I had seen it 
 when she was passionate. 
 
 I wondered peevishly why they couldn't put her anywhere 
 else instead of quartering her on me. To get rid of her, I 
 undressed quickly, extinguished my light, and went to bed. 
 But, as I fell asleep, I could not forget that she was still there 
 looking, " Is it really, though ? I want to know ; " and when 
 I awoke in the night, I found that I was uneasily asking all 
 sorts of people in my dreams whether it really was or not 
 without knowing what I meant. 
 
324 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 CHAPTEE XXI. 
 LITTLE EM'LY. 
 
 THERE was a servant in that house, a man who, I understood, 
 was usually with Steerforth, and had come into his service at 
 the University, who was in appearance a pattern of respecta- 
 bility. 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 respectability. 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 oftener than any other 
 man ; but every peculiarity that he had he made respectable. 
 If his nose had been upside-down, he would have made that 
 respectable. He surrounded 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. And of this, I noticed the women-servants in the house- 
 hold were so intuitively conscious, that they always did such 
 work themselves, and generally while he read the paper by 
 the pantry fire. 
 
 Such a self-contained man I never saw. But in that quality, 
 as in every other he possessed, he only seemed to be the more 
 respectable. Even the fact that no one knew his Christian 
 name, seemed to form a part of his respectability. Nothing 
 could be objected against his surname Littimer, by which he 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 325 
 
 was known. Peter might have been hanged, or Tom trans- 
 ported ; but Littimer was perfectly respectable. 
 
 It was occasioned, I suppose, by the reverend nature of 
 respectability in the abstract, but I felt particularly young in 
 this man's presence. How old he was himself I could not 
 g uess a nd that again went to his credit on the same score ; 
 for in the calmness of respectability he might have numbered 
 fifty years as well as thirty. 
 
 Littimer was in my room in the morning before I was up, 
 to bring me that reproachful shaving-water, and to put out my 
 clothes. When I undrew the curtains and looked out of bed, 
 I saw him, in an equable temperature of respectability, unaf- 
 fected by the east wind of January, and not even breathing 
 frostily, standing my boots right and left in the first dancing 
 position, and blowing specks of dust off my coat as he laid it 
 down like a baby. 
 
 I gave him good morning, and asked him what o'clock it 
 was. He took out of his pocket the most respectable hunting- 
 watch I ever saw, and preventing the spring with his thumb 
 from opening far, looked in at the face as if he were consult- 
 ing an oracular oyster, shut it up again, and said, if I pleased, 
 it was half-past eight. 
 
 " Mr. Steerforth will be glad to hear how you have rested, 
 
 sir.' 7 
 
 " Thank you," said I, " very well indeed. Is Mr. Steerforth 
 quite well ? " , 
 
 'Thank you, sir, Mr. Steerforth is tolerably well." An- 
 other of his characteristics, no use of superlatives. A cool, 
 calm medium always. 
 
 " Is there anything more I can have the honor of doing for 
 you, sir ? The warning-bell will ring at nine ; the family take 
 breakfast at half-past nine." 
 
 "Nothing, I thank you." 
 
 " I thank you, sir, if you please ; " and with that, and with 
 a little inclination of his head when he passed the bedside, as 
 an apology for correcting me, he went out, shutting the door 
 as delicately as if I had just fallen into a sweet sleep on which 
 my life depended. 
 
 Every morning we held exactly this conversation: never 
 
326 THE PERSONAL HISTOEY AND EXPEDIENCE 
 
 any more, and never any less : and yet, invariably, however 
 far I might have been lifted out of myself over-night, and 
 advanced towards niaturer years, by Steerforth's companion- 
 ship, or Mrs. Steerforth's confidence, or Miss Dartle's conver- 
 sation, in the presence of this most respectable man I became 
 as our smaller poets sing, " a boy again." 
 
 He got horses for us ; and Steerforth, who knew everything, 
 gave me lessons in riding. He provided foils for us, and 
 Steerforth gave me lessons in fencing gloves, and I began, 
 of the same master, to improve in boxing. It gave me no 
 manner of concern that Steerforth should find me a novice in 
 these sciences, but I never could bear to show my want of 
 skill before the respectable Littimer. I had no reason to be- 
 lieve that Littimer understood such arts himself ; he never led 
 me to suppose anything of the kind, by so much as the vibra- 
 tion of one of his respectable eyelashes ; yet whenever he was 
 by, while we were practising, I felt myself the greenest and 
 most inexperienced of mortals. 
 
 I am particular about this man, because he made a paticular 
 effect on me at that time, and because of what took place 
 thereafter. 
 
 The week passed away in a most delightful manner. It 
 passed rapidly, as may be supposed, to one entranced as I 
 was ; and yet it gave me so many occasions for knowing Steer- 
 forth better, and admiring him more in a thousand respects, 
 that at its close I seemed to have been with him for a much 
 longer time. A dashing way he had of treating me like a 
 plaything, was more agreeable to me than any behavior he 
 could have adopted. It reminded me of our old acquaintance ; 
 it seemed the natural sequel of it ; it showed me that he was 
 unchanged ; it relieved me of any uneasiness I might have felt, 
 in comparing my merits with his, and measuring my claims 
 upon his friendship by any equal standard ; above all, it was 
 a familiar, unrestrained, affectionate demeanor that he used 
 towards no one else. As he had treated me at school differ- 
 ently from all the rest, I joyfully believed that he treated me 
 in life unlike any other friend he had. I believed that I was 
 nearer to his heart than any other friend, and my own heart 
 warmed with attachment to him. 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 327 
 
 He made up his mind to go with me into the country, and 
 the day arrived for our departure. He had been doubtful at 
 first whether to take Littirner or not, but decided to leave him 
 at home. The respectable creature, satisfied with his lot 
 whatever it was, arranged our portmanteaus on the little car- 
 riage that was to take us into London, as if they were in- 
 tended to defy the shocks of ages ; and received my modestly 
 proffered donation with perfect tranquillity. 
 
 We bade adieu to Mrs. Steerforth and Miss Dartle, with 
 many thanks on my part, and much kindness on the devoted 
 mother's. The last thing I saw was Littiiner's unruffled eye ; 
 fraught, as I fancied, with the silent conviction, that I was 
 very young indeed. 
 
 What I felt, in returning so auspiciously to the old familiar 
 places, I shall not endeavor to describe. We went down by 
 the Mail. I was so concerned, I recollect, even for the honor 
 of Yarmouth, that when Steerforth said, as we drove through 
 its dark streets to the inn, that, as well as he could make out, 
 it was a good, queer, out-of-the-way kind of hole, I was highly 
 pleased. We went to bed on our arrival (I observed a pair of 
 dirty shoes and gaiters in connection with my old friend the 
 Dolphin as we passed that door), and breakfasted late in the 
 morning. Steerforth, who was in great spirits, had been stroll- 
 ing about the beach before I was up, and had made acquaint- 
 ance, he said, with half the boatmen in the place. Moreover, 
 he had seen, in the distance, what he was sure must be the 
 identical house of Mr. Peggotty, with smoke coming out of the 
 chimney ; and had had a great mind, he told me, to walk in 
 and swear he was myself grown out of knowledge. 
 
 " When do you propose to introduce me there, Daisy ? " he 
 said. " I am at your disposal. Make your own arrangements." 
 
 "Why, I was thinking that this evening would be a good 
 time, Steerforth, when they are all sitting round the fire. I 
 should like you to see it when it's snug, it's such a curious 
 place." 
 
 " So be it ! " returned Steerforth. " This evening." 
 
 "I shall not give them any notice that we are here, you 
 know," said I, delighted. "We must take them by surprise." 
 
 " Oh, of course ! It's no fun," said Steerforth, " unless we 
 
328 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 take them by surprise. Let us see the natives in their aborig- 
 inal condition." 
 
 " Though they are that sort of people that you mentioned," 
 I returned. 
 
 " Aha ! What ! you recollect my skirmishes with Rosa, do 
 you ? " he exclaimed, with a quick look. " Confound the girl, 
 I am half afraid of her. She's like a goblin to me. But never 
 mind her. Now what are you going to do ? You are going to 
 see your nurse, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Why, yes," I said, " I must see Peggotty first of all." 
 
 "Well," replied Steerforth, looking at his watch. "Sup- 
 pose I deliver you up to be cried over for a couple of hours. 
 Is that long enough ? " 
 
 I answered, laughing, that I thought we might get through 
 it in that time, but that he must come also ; for he would find 
 that his renown had preceded him, and that he was almost as 
 great a personage as I was. 
 
 " I'll come anywhere you like," said Steerforth, " or do any- 
 thing you like. Tell me where to come to ; and in two hours 
 I'll produce myself in any state you please, sentimental or 
 comical." 
 
 I gave him minute directions for finding the residence of 
 Mr. Barkis, carrier to Blunders tone and elsewhere ; and, on 
 this understanding, went out alone. There was a sharp brac- 
 ing air ; the ground was dry ; the sea was crisp and clear ; 
 the sun was diffusing abundance of light, if not much warmth ; 
 and everything was fresh and lively. I was so fresh and lively 
 myself, in the pleasure of being there, that I could have stopped 
 the people in the streets and shaken hands with them. 
 
 The streets looked small, of course. The streets that we 
 have only seen as children always do, I believe, when we go 
 back to them. But I had forgotten nothing in them, and 
 found nothing changed, until I came to Mr. Omer's shop. 
 OMER AND JORAM was now written up, where OMER used to 
 be ; but the inscription, DRAPER, TAILOR, HABERDASHER. 
 FUNERAL FURNISHER, &c., remained as it was. 
 
 My footsteps seemed to tend so naturally to the shop-door, 
 after I had read these words from over the way, that I went 
 across the road and looked in. There was a pretty woman at 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 329 
 
 the back of the shop, dancing a little child in her arms, while 
 another little fellow clung to her apron. I had no difficulty in 
 recognizing either Minnie or Minnie's children. The glass- 
 door of the parlor was not open ; but in the workshop across 
 the yard I could faintly hear the old tune playing, as if it had 
 never left off. 
 
 "Is Mr. Omer at home ? " said I, entering. "I should like 
 to see him, for a moment, if he is." 
 
 " Oh yes, sir, he is at home," said Minnie ; " this weather 
 don't suit his asthma out of doors. Joe, call your grand- 
 father ! " 
 
 The little fellow, who was holding her apron, gave such a 
 lusty shout, that the sound of it made him bashful, and he 
 buried his face in her skirts, to her great admiration. I heard 
 a heavy puffing and blowing coming towards us, and soon Mr. 
 Omer, shorter-winded than of yore, but not much older look- 
 ing, stood before me. 
 
 " Servant, sir," said Mr. Omer. " What can I do for you, 
 
 sir ? " 
 
 " You can shake hands with me, Mr. Omer, if you please," 
 said I, putting out my own. " You were very good-natured 
 to me once, when I am afraid I didn't show that I thought so." 
 
 "Was I though?" returned the old man. "I'm glad to 
 hear it, but I don't remember when. Are you sure it was 
 me ? " 
 
 " Quite." 
 
 " I think my memory has got as short as my breath," said 
 Mr. Omer, looking at me and shaking his head ; " for I don't 
 remember you." 
 
 " Don't you remember your coming to the coach to meet me, 
 and my having breakfast here, and our riding out to Blunder- 
 stone together : you, and I, and Mrs. Joram, and Mr. Joram 
 too who wasn't her husband then ? r 
 
 " Why, Lord bless my soul ! " exclaimed Mr. Omer, after 
 being thrown by his surprise into a fit of coughing, " you don't 
 say so ! Minnie, my dear, you recollect ? Dear me, yes the 
 party was a lady, I think ? 7; 
 
 " My mother," I rejoined. 
 
 "To be sure," said Mr. Omer, touching my waistcoat 
 
330 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AXD EXPERIENCE 
 
 with his forefinger, " and there was a little child too ! There 
 was two parties. The little party was laid along with the 
 other party. Over at Blunderstone it was, of course. Dear 
 me ! And how have you been since ? " 
 
 Very well, I thanked him, as I hoped lie had been too 
 
 " Oh ! nothing to grumble at, you know," said Mr. Orner. 
 "I find my breath gets short, but it seldom gets longer as a 
 man gets older. I take it as it comes, and make the most of 
 it. That's the best way, ain't it ? " 
 
 Mr. Orner coughed again, in consequence of laughing, and 
 was assisted out of his fit by his daughter, who now stood 
 close beside us, dancing her smallest child on the counter. 
 
 -" Dear me ! " said Mr. Om er. " Yes, to be sure. Two par- 
 ties ! Why, in that very ride, if you'll believe me, the day 
 was named for my Minnie to marry Joram. 'Do name it, 
 sir/ says Joram. 'Yes, do, father,' says Minnie. And now 
 he's come into the business. And look here ! The youngest ! " 
 
 Minnie laughed, and stroked her banded hair upon her 
 temples, as her father put one of his fat fingers into the hand 
 of the child she was dancing on the counter. 
 
 " Two parties, of course ! " said Mr. Omer, nodding his head 
 retrospectively. " Ex-actly so ! And Jorarn's at work, at this 
 minute, on a gray one with silver nails, not this measurement " 
 
 the measurement of the dancing child upon the counter 
 " by a good two inches. Will you take something ? " 
 
 I thanked him, but declined. 
 
 " Let me see," said Mr. Omer. " Barkis's the carrier's wife 
 
 Peggotty's the boatman's sister she had something to do 
 with your family ? She was in service there, sure ? " 
 
 My answering in the affirmative gave him great satisfaction. 
 
 " I believe my breath will get long next, my memory's get- 
 ting so much so," said Mr. Omer. "Well, sir, we've got a 
 young relation of hers here, under articles to us, that has as 
 elegant a taste in the dress-making business I assure you I 
 don't believe there's a Duchess in England can touch her." 
 
 " Not little Em'ly ? " said I, involuntarily. 
 
 "Em'ly's her name," said Mr. Omer, "and she's little too. 
 But if you'll believe me, she has such a face of her own that 
 half the women in this town are mad against her." 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 331 
 
 " Nonsense, father ! " cried Minnie. 
 
 " My dear," said Mr. Omer, " I don't say it's the case with 
 you," winking at me, " but I say that half the women in Yar- 
 mouth ah! and in five mile round are mad against that 
 girl." 
 
 "Then she should have kept to her own station in life, 
 father," said Minnie, " and not have given them any hold to 
 talk about her, and then they couldn't have done it." 
 
 " Couldn't have done it, my dear ! " retorted Mr. Omer. 
 " Couldn't have done it ! Is that your knowledge of life ? 
 What is there that any woman couldn't do, that she shouldn't 
 do especially on the subject of another woman's good 
 looks ? " 
 
 I really thought it was all over with Mr. Omer, after he 
 had uttered this libellous pleasantry. He coughed to that 
 extent, and his breath eluded all his attempts to recover it 
 with that obstinacy, that I fully expected to see his head go 
 down behind the counter, and his little black breeches, with 
 the rusty little bunches of ribbons at the knees, come quivering 
 up in a last ineffectual struggle. At length, however, he got 
 better, though he still panted hard, and was so exhausted that 
 he was obliged to sit on the stool of the shop-desk. 
 
 "You see," he said, wiping his head, and breathing with 
 difficulty, "she hasn't taken much to any companions here; 
 she hasn't taken kindly to any particular acquaintances and 
 friends, not to mention sweethearts. In consequence, an ill- 
 natured story got about, that Em'ly wanted to be a lady. 
 Now, my opinion is, that it came into circulation principally 
 on account of her sometimes saying at the school, that if she 
 was a lady, she would like to do so and so for her uncle 
 don't you see ? and buy him such and such fine things." 
 
 " I assure you, Mr. Omer, she has said so to me," I returned 
 eagerly, " when we were both children." 
 
 Mr. Omer nodded his head and rubbed his chin. " Just so. 
 Then out of a very little, she could dress herself, you see, 
 better than most others could out of a deal, and that made 
 things unpleasant. Moreover, she was rather what might be 
 called wayward I'll go so far as to say what I should call 
 wayward myself," said Mr. Omer, " didn't know her own 
 
mind quite a little spoiled and couldn't, at first, exactly 
 bind herself down. No more than that was ever said against 
 her, Minnie ? " 
 
 "No, father," said Mrs. Joram. "That's the worst, I 
 believe." 
 
 " So, when she got a situation," said Mr. Omer, " to keep a 
 fractious old lady company, they didn't very well agree, and 
 she didn't stop. At last she came here, apprenticed for three 
 years. Nearly two of 'em are over, and she has been as good 
 a girl as ever was. Worth any six ! Minnie, is she worth 
 any six, now ? " 
 
 "Yes, father," replied Minnie. "Never say I detracted 
 from her ! " 
 
 " Very good," said Mr. Omer. " That's right. And so, 
 young gentleman," he added, after a few moments' further 
 rubbing of his chin, "that you may not consider me long- 
 winded as well as short-breathed, I believe that's all about it." 
 
 As they had spoken in a subdued tone, while speaking of 
 Em'ly, I had no doubt that she was near. On my asking now, 
 if that were not so, Mr. Omer nodded yes, and nodded towards 
 the door of the parlor. My hurried inquiry, if I might peep 
 in, was answered with a free permission ; and, looking through 
 the glass, I saw her sitting at her work. I saw her, a most 
 beautiful little creature, with the cloudless blue eyes, that had 
 looked into my childish heart, turned laughingly upon another 
 child of Minnie's who was playing near her ; with enough of 
 wilfulness in her bright face to justify what I had heard; with 
 much of the old capricious coyness lurking in it; but with 
 nothing in her pretty looks, I am sure, but what was meant 
 for goodness and for happiness, and what was on a -good and 
 happy course. 
 
 The tune across the yard that seemed as if it never had left 
 off alas ! it was the tune that never does leave off was 
 beating, softly, all the while. 
 
 " Wouldn't you like to step in," said Mr. Omer, " and speak 
 to her ? Walk in and speak to her, sir ! Make yourself at 
 home ! " 
 
 I was too bashful to do so then I was afraid of confusing 
 her, and I was no less afraid of confusing myself: but I 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 333 
 
 informed myself of the hour at which she left of an evening, 
 in order that our visit might be timed accordingly ; and taking 
 leave of Mr. Omer, and his pretty daughter, and her little 
 children, went away to my dear old Peggotty's. 
 
 Here she was, in the tiled-kitchen, cooking dinner ! The 
 moment I knocked at the door she opened it, and asked me 
 what I pleased to want. I looked at her with a smile, but she 
 gave me no smile in return. I had never ceased to write to 
 her, but it must have been seven years since we had met. 
 
 " Is Mr. Barkis at home, ma'am ? " I said, feigning to speak 
 roughly to her. 
 
 "He's at home, sir," returned Peggotty, "but he's bad abed 
 with the rheumatics." 
 
 " Don't he go over to Blunderstone now ? " I asked. 
 
 " When he's well he do," she answered. 
 
 " Do you ever go there, Mrs. Barkis ? ' ; 
 
 She looked at me more attentively, and I noticed a quick 
 movement of her hands towards each other. 
 
 " Because I want to ask a question about a house there, that 
 they call the what is it ? the Rookery," said I. 
 
 She took a step backward, and put out her hands in an 
 undecided frightened way, as if to keep me off. 
 
 " Peggotty ! " I cried to her. 
 
 She cried, " My darling boy ! " and we both burst into tears, 
 and were locked in one another's arms. 
 
 What extravagancies she committed; what laughing and 
 crying over me ; what pride she showed, what joy, what sor- 
 row that she whose pride and joy I might have been, could 
 never hold me in a fond embrace ; I have not the heart to tell. 
 I was troubled with no misgivings that it was young in me to 
 respond to her emotions. I had never laughed and cried in all 
 my life, I dare say not even to her more freely than I did 
 that morning. 
 
 "Barkis will be so glad," said Peggotty, wiping her eyes 
 with her apron, "that it'll do him more good than pints of 
 liniment. May I go and tell him you are here ? Will you 
 come up and see him, my dear ? ' 
 
 Of course I would. But Peggotty could not get out of the 
 room as easily as she meant to, for as often as she got to the 
 
334 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 door and looked round at me, she canie back again to have 
 another laugh and another cry upon my shoulder. At last, to 
 make the matter easier, I went up stairs with her ; and having 
 waited outside for a minute, while she said a word of prepara- 
 tion to Mr. Barkis, presented myself before that invalid. 
 
 He received me with absolute enthusiasm. He was too 
 rheumatic to be shaken hands with, but he begged me to shake 
 the tassel on the top of his nightcap, which I did most cor- 
 dially. When I sat down by the side of the bed, he said that 
 it did him a world of good to feel as if he was driving me on 
 the Blunderstone road again. As he lay in bed, face upward, 
 and so covered, with that exception, that he seemed to be 
 nothing but a face like a conventional cherubim he looked 
 the queerest object I ever beheld. 
 
 " What name was it as I wrote up in the cart, sir ? " said 
 Mr. Barkis, with a slow rheumatic smile. 
 
 " Ah ! Mr. Barkis, we had some grave talks about that mat- 
 ter, hadn't we ? " 
 
 " I was willin' a long time, sir ? " said Mr. Barkis. 
 
 "Along time," said I. 
 
 " And I don't regret it," said Mr. Barkis. " Do you remem- 
 ber what you told me once, about her making all the apple 
 parsties and doing all the cooking ? " 
 
 "Yes, very well," I returned. 
 
 " It was as true," said Mr. Barkis, " as turnips is. It was 
 as true," said Mr. Barkis, nodding his nightcap, which was his 
 only means of emphasis, " as taxes is. And nothing's truer 
 than them." 
 
 Mr. Barkis turned his eyes upon me, as if for my assent to 
 this result of his reflections in bed ; and I gave it. 
 
 "Nothing's truer than them," repeated Mr. Barkis; "a man 
 as poor as I am finds that out in his mind when he's laid up. 
 I'm a very poor man, sir." 
 
 " I am sorry to hear it, Mr. Barkis." 
 
 " A very poor man, indeed I am," said Mr. Barkis. 
 
 Here his right hand came slowly and feebly from under the 
 bedclothes, and with a purposeless uncertain grasp took hold 
 of a stick which was loosely tied to the side of the bed. After 
 some poking about with this instrument, in the course of 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 335 
 
 which his face assumed a variety of distracted expressions, 
 Mr. Barkis poked it against a box, an end of which had been 
 visible to me all the time. Then his face became composed. 
 
 " Old clothes," said Mr. Barkis. 
 
 "Oh!" said I. 
 
 " I wish it was Money, sir," said Mr. Barkis. 
 
 " I wish it was, indeed," said I. 
 
 " But it AIN'T," said Mr. Barkis, opening both his eyes as 
 wide as he possibly could. 
 
 I expressed myself quite sure of that, and Mr. Barkis, turn- 
 ing his eyes more gently to his wife, said : 
 
 " She's the usefullest and best of women, C. P. Barkis. All 
 the praise that any one can give to C. P. Barkis, she deserves, 
 and more ! My dear, you'll get a dinner to-day, for company ; 
 something good to eat and drink, will you ? 7; 
 
 I should have protested against this unnecessary demonstra- 
 tion in my honor, but that I saw Peggotty, on the opposite 
 side of the bed, extremely anxious I should not. So I held 
 my peace. 
 
 " I have got a trifle of money somewhere about me, my dear," 
 said Mr. Barkis, "but I'm a little tired. If you and Mr. 
 David will leave me for a short nap, I'll try and find it when 
 I wake." 
 
 We left the room in compliance with this request. When 
 we got outside the door, Peggotty informed me that Mr. Bar- 
 kis, being now " a little nearer " than he used to be, always 
 resorted to this same device before producing a single coin from 
 his store ; and that he endured unheard-of agonies in crawling 
 out of bed alone, and taking it from that unlucky box. In 
 effect, we presently heard him uttering suppressed groans of 
 the most dismal nature, as this magpie proceeding racked him 
 in every joint ; but while Peggotty's eyes were full of compas- 
 sion for him, she said his generous impulse would do him 
 good, and it was better not to check it. So he groaned on 
 until he had got into bed again, suffering, I have no doubt, a 
 martyrdom"; and then called us in, pretending to have just 
 woke up from a refreshing sleep, and to produce a guinea from 
 under his pillow. His satisfaction in which happy imposition 
 on us, and in having preserved the impenetrable secret of the 
 
336 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 box, appeared to be a sufficient compensation to him for all 
 his tortures. 
 
 I prepared Peggotty for Steerforth's arrival, and it was not 
 long before he came. I am persuaded she knew no difference 
 between his having been a personal benefactor of hers, and a 
 kind friend to me, and that she would have received him with 
 the utmost gratitude and devotion in any case. But his easy, 
 spirited good-humor ; his genial manner, his handsome looks, 
 his natural gift of adapting himself to whomsoever he pleased, 
 and making direct, when he cared to do it, to the main point 
 of interest in anybody's heart ; bound her to him wholly in 
 five minutes. His manner to me, alone, would have won her. 
 But, through all these causes combined, I sincerely believe she 
 had a kind of adoration for him before he left the house that 
 night. 
 
 He stayed there with me to dinner if I were to say will- 
 ingly, I should not half express how readily and gaily. He 
 went into Mr. Barkis's room like light and air, brightening 
 and refreshing it as if he were healthy weather. There was 
 no noise, no effort, no consciousness, in anything he did ; but 
 in everything an indescribable lightness, a seeming impossi- 
 bility of doing anything else, or doing anything better, which 
 was so graceful, so natural, and agreeable, that it overcomes 
 me, even now, in the remembrance. 
 
 We made merry in the little parlor, where the Book of 
 Martyrs, unthumbed since my time, was laid out upon the 
 desk as of old, and where I now turned over its terrific pic- 
 tures, remembering the old sensations they had awakened, but 
 not feeling them. When Peggotty spoke of what she called 
 my room, and of its being ready for me at night, and of her 
 hoping I would occupy it, before I could so much as look at 
 Steerforth, hesitating, he was possessed of the whole case. 
 
 " Of course," he said. " You'll sleep here, while we stay, 
 and I shall sleep at the hotel." 
 
 "But to bring you so far," I returned, "and to separate, 
 seems bad companionship, Steerforth." 
 
 "Why in the name of Heaven, where do you naturally 
 belong ! " he said. " What is < seems ' compared to that ! " It 
 was settled at once. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 337 
 
 He maintained all his delightful qualities to the last, until 
 WQ started forth, at eight o'clock, for Mr. Peggotty's boat. 
 Indeed, they were more and more brightly exhibited as the 
 hours went 011 ; for I thought even then, and I have no doubt 
 now, that the consciousness of success in his determination to 
 please, inspired him with a new delicacy of perception, and 
 made it, subtle as it was, more easy to him. If any one had 
 told me, then, that all this was a brilliant game, played for 
 the excitement of the moment, for the employment of high 
 spirits, in the thoughtless love of superiority, in a mere waste- 
 ful careless course of winning what was worthless to him, and 
 next minute thrown away I say, if any one had told me such 
 a lie that night, I wonder in what manner of receiving it my 
 indignation would have found a vent ! 
 
 Probably only in an increase, had that been possible, of the 
 romantic feelings of fidelity and friendship with which I 
 walked beside him, over the dark wintry sands, towards the 
 old boat ; the wind sighing around us even more mournfully 
 than it had sighed and moaned upon the night when I first 
 darkened Mr. Peggotty's door. 
 
 " This is a wild kind of place, Steerforth, is it not ? '' 
 " Dismal enough in the dark," he said ; " and the sea roars 
 as if it were hungry for us. Is that the boat, where I see a 
 light yonder ? " 
 
 " That's the boat," said I. 
 
 " And it's the same I saw this morning," lie returned, 
 came straight to it, by instinct, I suppose." 
 
 We said no more as we approached the light, but made softly 
 for the door. I laid my hand upon the latch 5 and whispering 
 Steerforth to keep close to me, went in. 
 
 A murmur of voices had been audible on the outside, 
 and, at the moment of our entrance, a clapping of hands : 
 which latter noise, I was surprised to see, proceeded from the 
 generally disconsolate Mrs. Gummidge. But Mrs. Gummidge 
 was not the only person there, who was unusually excited. 
 Mr. Peggotty, his face lighted up with uncommon satisfaction, 
 and laughing with all his might, held his rough arms wide 
 open, as if for little Em'ly to run into them ; Ham, with a 
 mixed expression in his face of admiration, exultation, and a 
 VOL. i 22 
 
888 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 lumbering sort of bashfulness that sat upon him very well, 
 held little Em'ly by the hand, as if he were presenting her to 
 Mr. Peggotty; little Em'ly herself, blushing and shy, but 
 delighted with Mr. Peggotty 's delight, as her joyous eyes 
 expressed, was stopped by our entrance (for she saw us first) 
 in the very act of springing from Ham to nestle in Mr. Peg- 
 gotty's embrace. In the first glimpse we had of them all, and 
 at the moment of our passing from the dark cold night into 
 the warm light room, this was the way in which they were all 
 employed: Mrs. Gumniidge in the back ground, clapping her 
 hands like a madwoman. 
 
 The little picture was so instantaneously dissolved by our 
 going in, that one might have doubted whether it had ever 
 been. I was in the midst of the astonished family, face to 
 face with Mr. Peggotty, and holding out my hand to him, 
 when Ham shouted : 
 
 " Mas'r Davy ! It's Mas'r Davy ! " 
 
 In a moment we were all shaking hands with xme another, 
 and asking one another how we did, and telling one another 
 how glad we were to meet, and all talking at once. Mr. 
 Peggotty was so proud and overjoyed to see us, that he did 
 not know what to say or do, but kept over and over again 
 shaking hands Avith me, and then with Steerforth, and then 
 with me, and then ruffling his shaggy hair all over his head, 
 and laughing with such glee and triumph, that it was a treat 
 to see him. 
 
 " Why, that you two gent'lmen gent'lmen growed 
 should come to this here roof to-night, of all nights in my 
 life," said Mr. Peggotty, " is such a thing as never happened 
 afore, I do rightly believe ! Em'ly, my darling, come here ! 
 Come here, my little witch ! Theer's Mas'r Dav} 7 's friend, 
 my dear ! Theer's the gent'lman as you've heerd on, Em'ly. 
 He comes to see you, along with Mas'r Davy, on the brightest 
 night of your uncle'a life as ever was or will be, Gorm the 
 t'other one, and horroar for it ! " 
 
 After delivering this speech all in a breath, and with extraor- 
 dinary animation and pleasure, Mr. Peggotty put one of his 
 large hands rapturously on each side of his niece's face, and 
 kissing it a dozen times, laid it with a gentle pride and love 
 
OF DAVID GOPPEEFIELD. 339 
 
 upon his broad chest, and patted it as if his hand had been 
 a lady's. Then he let her go ; and as she ran into the little 
 chamber where I used to sleep, looked round upon us, quite 
 hot and out of breath with his uncommon satisfaction. 
 
 " If you two gent'lmen gent'lnien growed now, and such 
 gent'lmen " said Mr. Peggotty. 
 
 " So th' are, so th' are ! " cried Ham. " Well said ! So 
 th' are. Mas'r Davy bor gent'lmen growed so th' are ! " 
 
 "If you two gent'lmen, gent'lmen growed," said Mr. Peg- 
 gotty, " don't ex-cuse me for being in a state of mind, when 
 you understand matters, I'll arks your pardon. Em'ly, my 
 dear ! She knows I'm a going to tell," here his delight broke 
 out again, " and has made off. Would you be so good as look 
 arter her, Mawther, for a minute ? " 
 
 Mrs. Gummidge nodded and disappeared. 
 
 " If this ain't," said Mr. Peggotty, sitting down among us 
 by the fire, " the brightest night o' my life, I'm a shellfish 
 biled too and more I can't say. This here little Em'ly, sir," 
 in a low voice to Steerforth, " her as you see a blushing 
 here just now " 
 
 Steerforth only nodded ; but with such a pleased expression 
 of interest, and of participation in Mr. Peggotty's feelings, 
 that the latter answered him as if he had spoken. 
 
 " To be sure," said Mr. Peggotty. " That's her, and so she 
 is. Thankee, sir." 
 
 Ham nodded to me several times, as if he would have said 
 so too. 
 
 " This here little Em'ly of ours," said Mr. Peggotty, " has 
 been, in our house, what I suppose (I'm an ignorant man, but 
 that's my belief) no one but a little bright-eyed creetur can 
 be in a house. She ain't my child ; I never had one ; but I 
 couldn't love her more. You understand ! I couldn't do it ! " 
 
 " I quite understand," said Steerforth. 
 
 "I know you do, sir," returned Mr. Peggotty, "and thankee 
 again. Mas'r Davy, he can remember what she was ; you 
 may judge for your own self what she is ; but neither of you 
 can't fully know what she has been, is, and will be, to my 
 loving art. I am rough, sir," said Mr. Peggotty, " I am as 
 rough as a sea Porkypine ; but no one, unless, mayhap, it is a 
 
840 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 woman, can know, I think, what our little Em'ly is to me. 
 And betwixt ourselves," sinking his voice lower yet, "that 
 woman's name ain't Missis Gummidge neither, though she has 
 a world of merits." 
 
 Mr. Peggotty ruffled his hair again with both hands, as a 
 further preparation for what he was going to say, and went 
 on with a hand upon each of his knees. 
 
 "There was a certain person as had know'd our Em'ly, 
 from the time when her father was drownded ; as had seen 
 her constant ; when a babby, when a young gal, when a 
 woman. Not much of a person to look at, he warn't," said 
 Mr. Peggotty, " something o' my own build rough a good 
 deal o' the sou'-wester in him wery salt but, on the whole, 
 a honest sort of a chap, with his art in the right place." 
 
 I thought I had never seen Ham grin to anything like the 
 extent to which he sat grinning at us now. 
 
 " What does this here blessed tarpaulin go and do," said 
 Mr. Peggotty, with his face one high noon of enjoyment, " but 
 he loses that there art of his to our little Em'ly. He f oilers 
 her about, he makes hisself a sort o' servant to her, he loses 
 in a great measure his relish for his wittles, and in the long 
 run he makes it clear to me wot's amiss. Now I could wish 
 myself, you see, that our little Em'ly was in a fair way of 
 being married. I could wish to see her, at all ewents, under 
 articles to a honest man as had a right to defend her. I don't 
 know how long I may live, or how soon I may die ; but I 
 know that if I was capsized, any night, in a gale of wind in 
 Yarmouth Roads here, and was to see the town-lights shining 
 for the last time over the rollers as I couldn't make no head 
 against, I could go down quieter for thinking ' There's a man 
 ashore there, iron-true to my little Em'ly, God bless her, and no 
 wrong can touch my Em'ly while so be as that man lives ! ' 
 
 Mr. Peggotty, in simple earnestness, waved his right arm, 
 as if he were waving it at the town-lights for the last time, 
 and then, exchanging a nod with Ham, whose eye he caught, 
 proceeded as before. 
 
 " Well ! I counsels him to speak to Em'ly. He's big 
 enough, but he's bashfuller than a little un, and he don't like. 
 So I speak. < What ! Him ! ' says Em'ly. ' Him that I've 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 341 
 
 know'd so intimate so many years, and like so much! Oh, 
 uncle ! I never can have Mm. He's such a good fellow ! ' I 
 gives her a kiss, and I says no more to her than ' My dear, 
 you're right to speak out, you're to choose for yourself, you're 
 as free as a little bird.' Then I aways to him, and I says, ' I 
 wish it could have been so, but it can't. But you can both be 
 as you was, and wot I say to you is, Be as you was with her, 
 like a man.' He says to me, a shaking of my hand, < I will ! ' 
 he says. And he was honorable and manful for two 
 year going on, and we was just the same at home here as 
 afore." 
 
 Mr. Peggotty's face, which had varied in its expression with 
 the various stages of his narrative, now resumed all its former 
 triumphant delight, as he laid a hand upon my knee and a 
 hand upon Steerforth's (previously wetting them both, for the 
 greater emphasis of the action), and divided the following 
 speech between us : 
 
 " All of a sudden, one evening as it might be to-night 
 comes little Em'ly from her work, and him with her! There 
 ain't so much in that, you'll say. No, because he takes care 
 on her, like a brother, arter dark, and indeed afore dark, and 
 at all times. But this tarpaulin chap, he takes hold of her 
 hand, and he cries out to me, joyful, < Look here ! This is to be 
 my little wife ! ' And she says, half bold and half shy, and 
 half a laughing and half a crying, < Yes, uncle ! If you please.' 
 
 If I please ! " cried Mr. Peggotty, rolling his head in an 
 ecstasy at the idea ; " Lord, as if I should do anythink else ! 
 
 'If you please, I am steadier now, and I have thought 
 better of it, and I'll be as good a little wife as I can to him, 
 for he's a dear, good fellow ! ' Then Missis Gummidge, she 
 claps her hands like a play, and you come in. There! the 
 murder's out ! " said Mr. Peggotty " You come in ! It took 
 place this here present hour ; and here's the man that'll marry 
 her, the minute she's out of her time." 
 
 Ham staggered, as well he might, under the blow Mr. 
 Peggotty dealt him in his unbounded joy, as a mark of con- 
 fidence and friendship ; but feeling called upon to say some- 
 thing to us, he said, with much faltering and great difficulty : 
 
 "Shewarn'tno higher than you was, Mas'r Davy when 
 
342 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 you first come when I thought what she'd grow up to be. 
 I see her grow up gent'lmen like a flower. I'd lay down 
 my life for her Mas'r Davy Oh! most content and cheerful ! 
 She's more to me gent'lmen than she's all to me that 
 ever I can want, and more than ever I than ever I could 
 say. I I love her true. There ain't a gent'lrnan in all the 
 land nor yet sailing upon all the sea that can love his lady 
 more than I love her, though there's many a common man 
 would say better what he meant." 
 
 I thought it affecting to see such a sturdy fellow as Ham 
 was now, trembling in the strength of what he felt for the 
 pretty little creature who had won his heart. I thought the 
 simple confidence reposed in us by Mr. Peggotty and by 
 himself, was, in itself, affecting. I was affected by the story 
 altogether. How far my emotions were influenced by the 
 recollections of my childhood, I don't know. Whether I had 
 come' there with any lingering fancy that I was still to love 
 little Em'ly, I don't know. I know that I was filled with 
 pleasure by all this ; but at first, with an indescribably sensi- 
 tive pleasure, that a very little would have changed to pain. 
 
 Therefore, if it had depended upon me to touch the prevail- 
 ing chord among them with any skill, I should have made 
 a poor hand "of it. But it depended upon Steerforth ; and he 
 did it with such address, that in a few minutes we were all as 
 easy and as happy as it was possible to be. 
 
 " Mr. Peggotty," he said, " you are a thoroughly good fellow, 
 and deserve to be as happy as you are to-night. My hand upon 
 it ! Ham, I give you joy, my boy. My hand upon that, too ! 
 Daisy, stir the fire, and make it a brisk one ! and Mr. Peggotty, 
 unless you can induce your gentle niece to come back (for 
 whom I vacate this seat in the corner), I shall go. Any gap 
 at your fireside on such a night such a gap least of all I 
 wouldn't make, for the wealth of the Indies ! " 
 
 So Mr. Peggotty went into my old room to fetch little Em'ly. 
 At first little Em'ly didn't like to come, and then Ham went. 
 Presently they brought her to the fireside, very much con- 
 fused, and very shy, but she soon became more assured 
 when she found how gently and respectfully Steerforth spoke 
 to her ; how skilfully he avoided anything that would embar- 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 343 
 
 rass her ; how he talked to Mr. Peggotty of boats, and ships, 
 and tides, and fish ; how he referred to me about the time 
 when he had seen Mr. Peggotty at Salem House ; how de- 
 lighted he was with the boat and all belonging to it; how 
 lightly and easily he carried on, until he brought us, by 
 degrees, into a charmed circle, and we were all talking away 
 without any reserve. 
 
 Em'ly, indeed, said little all the evening ; but she looked, 
 and listened, and her face got animated, and she was charming. 
 Steerforth told a story of a dismal shipwreck (which arose out 
 of his talk with Mr. Peggotty), as if he saw it all before him 
 
 and little Em'ly's eyes were fastened on him all the time, 
 
 as if she saw it too. He told us a merry adventure of his 
 own, as a relief to that, with as much gaiety as if the narrative 
 were as fresh to him as it was to us and little Em'ly laughed 
 until the boat rang with the musical sounds, and we all 
 laughed (Steerforth too), in irresistible sympathy with what 
 was so pleasant and light-hearted. He got Mr, Peggotty to 
 sing, or rather to roar, " When the stormy winds do blow, do 
 blow, do blow ; " and he sang a sailor's song himself, so 
 pathetically and beautifully, that I could have almost fancied 
 that the real wind creeping sorrowfully round the house, and 
 murmuring low through our unbroken silence, was there to 
 listen. 
 
 As to Mrs. Gummidge, he roused that victim of despondency 
 with a success never attained by any one else (so Mr. Peggotty 
 informed me), since the decease of the old one. He left her 
 so little leisure for being miserable that she said next day she 
 thought she must have been bewitched. 
 
 But he set up no monopoly of the general attention, or the 
 conversation. When little Em'ly grew more courageous, and 
 talked (but still bashfully) across the fire to me, of our old 
 wanderings upon the beach, to pick up shells and pebbles ; 
 and when I asked her if she recollected how I used to be 
 devoted to her; and when we both laughed and reddened, 
 casting these looks back on the pleasant old times, so unreal 
 to look at now; he was silent and attentive, and observed 
 us thoughtfully. She sat, at this time, and all the evening, 
 on the old locker in her old little corner by the fire Ham 
 
344 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 beside her, where I used to sit. I could not satisfy myself 
 whether it was in her own little tormenting way, or in a 
 maidenly reserve before us, that she kept quite close to the 
 wall, and away from him ; but I observed that she did so, all 
 the evening. 
 
 As I remember, it was almost midnight when we took our 
 leave. We had had some biscuit and dried fish for supper, 
 and Steerforth had produced from his pocket a full flask of Hol- 
 lands, which we men (I may say we men, now, without a blush) 
 had emptied. We parted merrily ; and as they all stood 
 crowded round the door to light us as far as they could upon 
 our road, I saw the sweet blue eyes of little Em'ly peeping 
 after us, from behind Ham, and heard her soft voice calling to 
 us to be careful how we went. 
 
 " A most engaging little Beauty ! " said Steerforth, taking 
 my arm. "Well! It's a quaint place, and they are quaint 
 company ; and it's quite a new sensation to mix with them." 
 
 " How fortunate we are, too," I returned, " to have arrived 
 to witness their happiness in that intended marriage ! I never 
 saw people so happy. How delightful to see it, and to be 
 made the sharers in their honest joy, as we have been ! " 
 
 "That's rather a chuckle-headed fellow for the girl, isn't 
 he ? " said Steerforth. 
 
 He had been so hearty with him, and with them all, that I 
 felt a shock in this unexpected and cold reply. But turning 
 quickly upon him, and seeing a laugh in his eyes, I answered, 
 much relieved : 
 
 "Ah, Steerforth ! It's well for you to joke about the poor ! 
 You may skirmish with Miss Dartle, or try to hide your sym- 
 pathies in jest from me, but I know better. When I see how 
 perfectly you understand them, how exquisitely you can enter 
 into happiness like this plain fisherman's, or humor a love like 
 my old nurse's, I know that there is not a joy or sorrow, not an 
 emotion, of such people, that can be indifferent to you. And I 
 admire and love you for it, Steerforth, twenty times the more ! '> 
 
 He stopped, and looking in my face, said, " Daisy, I believe 
 you are in earnest, and are good. I wish we all were ! " 
 Next moment he was gaily singing Mr. Peggotty's song, as we 
 walked at a round pace back to Yarmouth. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 345 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 SOME OLD SCENES, AND SOME NEW PEOPLE. 
 
 STEERFORTH and I stayed for more than a fortnight in that 
 part of the country. We were very much together, I need not 
 say ; but occasionally we were asunder for some hours at a 
 time. He was a good sailor, and I was but an indifferent one ; 
 and when he went out boating with Mr. Peggotty, which was 
 a favorite amusement of his, I generally remained ashore. My 
 occupation of Peggotty's spare-room put a constraint upon me, 
 from which he was free : for, knowing how assiduously she 
 attended on Mr. Barkis all day, I did not like to remain out 
 late at night ; whereas Steerforth, lying at the Inn, had nothing 
 to consult but his own humor. Thus it came about, that I 
 heard of his making little treats for the fishermen at Mr. Peg- 
 gotty's house of call, " The Willing Mind," after I was in bed, 
 and of his being afloat, wrapped in fisherman's clothes, whole 
 moonlight nights, and coming back when the morning tide 
 was at flood. By this time, however, I knew that his restless 
 nature and bold spirits delighted to find a vent in rough toil 
 and hard weather, as in any other means of excitement that 
 presented itself freshly to him; so none of his proceedings 
 
 surprised me. 
 
 Another cause of our being sometimes apart, was, that I had 
 naturally an interest in going over to Blunderstone, and revis- 
 iting the old familiar scenes of my childhood ; while Steerforth, 
 after being there once, had naturally no great interest in going 
 there again. Hence, on three or four days that I can at once 
 recall, we went our several ways after an early breakfast, and 
 met again at a late dinner. I had no idea how he employed 
 his time in the interval, beyond a general knowledge that he 
 was very popular in the place, and had twenty means of 
 actively diverting himself where another man might not have 
 found one. 
 
346 THE PEE SON AL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 For my own part, my occupation in my solitary pilgrimages 
 was to recall every yard of the old road as I went along it, and 
 to haunt the old spots, of which I never tired. I haunted 
 them, as my memory had often done, and lingered among 
 them as my younger thoughts had lingered when I was far 
 away. The grave beneath the tree, where both my parents 
 lay on which I had looked out, when it was my father's 
 only, with such curious feelings of compassion, and by which 
 I had stood, so desolate, when it was opened to receive my 
 pretty mother and her baby the grave which Peggotty's own 
 faithful care had ever since kept neat, and made a garden of, 
 I walked near, by the hour. It lay a little off the churchyard 
 path, in a quiet corner, not so far removed but I could read 
 the names upon the stone as I walked to and fro, startled by 
 the sound of the church-bell when it struck the hour, for it 
 was like a departed voice to me. My reflections at these times 
 were always associated with the figure I was to make in life, and 
 the distinguished things I was to do. My echoing footsteps went 
 to no other tune, but were as constant to that as if I had come 
 home to build my castles in the air at a living mother's side. 
 
 There were great changes in my old home. The ragged 
 nests, so long deserted by the rooks, were gone ; and the trees 
 were lopped and topped out of their remembered shapes. The 
 garden had run wild, and half the windows of the house were 
 shut up. It was occupied, but only by a poor lunatic gentle- 
 man, and the people who took care of him. He was always 
 sitting at my little window, looking .out into the churchyard ; 
 and I wondered whether his rambling thoughts ever went upon 
 any of the fancies that used to occupy mine, on the rosy morn- 
 ings when I peeped out of that same little window in my night- 
 clothes, and saw the sheep quietly feeding in the light of the 
 rising sun. 
 
 Our old neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Grayper, were gone to 
 South America, and the rain had made its way through the 
 roof of their empty house, and stained the outer walls. Mr. 
 Chillip was married again to a tall, raw-boned, high-nosed 
 wife ; and they had a weazen little baby, with a heavy head 
 that it couldn't hold up, and two weak staring eyes, with which 
 it seemed to be always wondering why it had ever been born. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 347 
 
 It was with a singular jumble of sadness and pleasure that 
 I used to linger about my native place, until the reddening 
 winter sun admonished me that it was time to start on my 
 returning walk. But, when the place was left behind, and 
 especially when Steerforth and I were happily seated over our 
 dinner by a blazing fire, it was delicious to think of having 
 been there. So it was, though in a softened degree, when I 
 went to my neat room at night ; and, turning over the leaves 
 of the crocodile-book (which was always there, upon a little 
 table), remembered with a grateful heart how blessed I was in 
 having such a friend as Steerforth, such a friend as Peggotty, 
 and such a substitute for what I had lost as my excellent and 
 generous aunt. 
 
 My nearest way to Yarmouth, in coming back from these 
 long walks, was by a ferry. It landed me on the flat between 
 the town and the sea, which I could make straight across, and 
 so save myself a considerable circuit by the high road. Mr. 
 Peggotty's house being on that waste-place, and not a hundred 
 yards out of my track, I always looked in as I went by. 
 Steerforth was pretty sure to be there expecting me, and we 
 went on together through the frosty air and gathering fog 
 towards the twinkling lights of the town. 
 
 One dark evening, when I was later than usual for I had, 
 that day, been making my parting visit to Blunderstone, as we 
 were now about to return home I found him alone in Mr. 
 Peggotty's house, sitting thoughtfully before the fire. He 
 was so intent upon his own reflections that he was quite un- 
 conscious of my approach. This, indeed, he might easily have 
 been if he had been less absorbed, for footsteps fell noiselessly 
 on the sandy ground outside ; but even my entrance failed to 
 rouse him. I was standing close to him, looking at him ; and 
 still, with a heavy brow, he was lost in his meditations. 
 
 He gave such a start when I put my hand upon his shoul- 
 der, that he made me start too. 
 
 "You come upon me," he said, almost angrily, "like a 
 reproachful ghost ! " 
 
 "I was obliged to announce myself somehow," I replied. 
 " Have I called you down from the stars ? ' ; 
 " No," he answered. " No." 
 
348 
 
 " Up from anywhere, then ? " said I, taking niy seat near 
 him. 
 
 " I was looking at the pictures in the fire," he returned. 
 
 " But you are spoiling them for me," said I, as he stirred 
 it quickly with a piece of burning wood, striking out of it a 
 train of red-hot sparks that went careering up the little chim- 
 ney, and roaring out into the air. 
 
 " You would not have seen them," he returned. " I detest 
 this mongrel time, neither day nor night. How late you are ! 
 Where have you been ? " 
 
 " I have been taking leave of my usual walk," said I. 
 
 " And I have been sitting here," said Steerforth, glancing 
 round the room, " thinking that all the people we found so 
 glad on the night of our coming down, might to judge from 
 the present wasted air of the place be dispersed, or dead, or 
 come to I don't know what harm. David, I wish to God I had 
 had a judicious father these last twenty years ! " 
 
 " My dear Steerforth, what is the matter ? " 
 
 " I wish with all my soul I had been better guided ! " he 
 exclaimed. "I wish with all my soul I could guide myself 
 better ! " 
 
 There was a passionate dejection in his manner that quite 
 amazed me. He was more unlike himself than I could have 
 supposed possible. 
 
 " It would be better to be this poor Peggotty, or his lout of 
 a nephew," he said, getting up and leaning moodily against 
 the chimneypiece, with his face towards the fire, " than to be 
 myself, twenty times richer and twenty times wiser, and be 
 the torment to myself that I have been, in this Devil's bark 
 
 L a boat, within the last half -hour ! " 
 
 I w?s so confounded by the alteration in him, that at first 
 
 1 could only observe him in silence, as he stood leaning his 
 ^iead upon his hand, and looking gloomily down at the fire. 
 At length I begged him, with all the earnestness I felt, to tell 
 me what had -occurred to cross him so unusually, and to let 
 me sympathize with him, if I could not hope to advise him. 
 Before I had well concluded, he began to laugh fretfully at 
 first, but soon with returning gaiety. 
 
 " Tut, it's nothing, Daisy ! nothing ! " he replied. " I told 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 349 
 
 you at the inn in London, I am heavy company for myself 
 sometimes. I have been a nightmare to myself, just now 
 must have had one, I think. At odd dull times, nursery tales 
 come up into the memory, unrecognized for what they are. 
 I believe I have been confounding myself with the bad boy 
 who ' didn't care/ and became food for lions a grander kind 
 of going to the dogs, I . suppose. What old women call the 
 horrors, have been creeping over me from head to foot. I 
 have been afraid of myself." 
 
 " You are afraid of nothing else, I think," said I. 
 
 "Perhaps not, and yet may have enough to be afraid of 
 too," he answered. " Well ! So it goes by ! I am not about 
 to be hipped, again, David ; but I tell you, my good fellow, 
 once more, that it would have been well for me (and for more 
 than me) if I had had a steadfast and judicious father ! " 
 
 His face was always full of expression, but I never saw it 
 express such a dark kind of earnestness as when he said these 
 words, with his glance bent on the fire. 
 
 " So much for that ! " he said, making as if he tossed some- 
 thing light into the air, with his hand. 
 
 * ' Why, being gone, I am a man again,' 
 
 like Macbeth. And now for dinner ! If I have not (Macbeth- 
 like) broken up the feast with most admired disorder, Daisy." 
 
 " But where are they all, I wonder ! " said I. 
 
 " God knows," said Steerf orth. " After strolling to the 
 ferry looking for you, I strolled in here and found the place 
 deserted. That set me thinking, and you found me thinking." 
 
 The advent of Mrs. Gummidge with a basket, explained how 
 the house had happened to be empty. She had hurried out to 
 buy something that was needed against Mr. Peggotty's return 
 with the tide ; and had left the door open in the meanwhile, 
 lest Ham and little Em'ly, with whom it was an early night, 
 should come home while she was gone. Steerforth, after very 
 much improving Mrs. Gummidge's spirits by a cheerful salu- 
 tation, and a jocose embrace, took my arm, and hurried me 
 away. 
 
 He had improved his own spirits, no less than Mrs. Gum- 
 
350 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 midge's, for they were again at their usual flow, and he was 
 full of vivacious conversation as we went along. 
 
 " And so," he said, gaily, " we abandon this buccaneer life 
 to-morrow, do we ? " 
 
 " So we agreed," I returned. " And our places by the coach 
 are taken, you know." 
 
 " Ay ! there's no help for it, I suppose," said Steerforth. " I 
 have almost forgotten that there is anything to do in the 
 world but to go out tossing on the sea here. I wish there was 
 not." 
 
 "As long as the novelty should last," said I, laughing. 
 
 " Like enough," he returned ; " though there's a sarcastic 
 meaning in that observation for an amiable piece of innocence 
 like my young friend. Well ! I dare say I am a capricious 
 fellow, David. I know I am ; but while the iron is hot, I can 
 strike it vigorously too. I could pass a reasonably good exam- 
 ination already, as a pilot in these waters, I think." 
 
 " Mr. Peggotty says you are a wonder," I returned. 
 
 "A nautical phenomenon, eh ?" laughed Steerforth. 
 
 " Indeed he does, and you know how truly ; knowing how 
 ardent you are in any pursuit you follow, and how easily you 
 can master it. And that amazes me most in you, Steerforth 
 that you should be contented with such fitful uses of your 
 powers." 
 
 " Contented ? " he answered, merrily. " I am never con- 
 tented, except with your freshness, my gentle Daisy. As to 
 fitfulness, I have never learnt the art of binding myself to any 
 of the wheels on which the Ixions of these days are turning 
 round and round. I missed it somehow in a bad apprentice- 
 ship, and now don't care about it. You know I have bought 
 a boat down here ? " 
 
 " What an extraordinary fellow you are, Steerforth ! " I 
 exclaimed, stopping for this was the first I had heard of it. 
 " When you may never care to come near the place again ! " 
 
 " I don't know that," he returned. " I have taken a fancy 
 to the place. At all events," walking me briskly on, " I have 
 bought a boat that was for sale a clipper, Mr. Peggotty 
 says ; and so she is and Mr. Peggotty will be master of her 
 in my absence." 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 351 
 
 "Now I understand you, Steerforth ! " said I, exultingly. 
 " You pretend you have bought it for yourself, but you have 
 really done so to confer a benefit on him. I might have known 
 as much at first, knowing you. My dear kind Steerforth, how 
 can I tell you what I think of your generosity ? " 
 
 "Tush!" he answered, turning red. "The less said, the 
 better." 
 
 " Didn't I know ? " cried I, " didn't I say that there was not 
 a joy, or sorrow, or any emotion, of such honest hearts that 
 was indifferent to you ? " 
 
 " Ay, ay," he answered, " you told me all that. There let it 
 rest, we have said enough ! " 
 
 Afraid of offending him by pursuing the subject when he 
 made so light of it, I only pursued it in my thoughts as we 
 went on at even a quicker pace than before. 
 
 " She must be newly rigged," said Steerforth, "and I shall 
 leave Littimer behind to see it done, that I may know she is 
 quite complete. Did I tell you Littimer had come down ? ' 
 
 "Ho," 
 
 " Oh, yes ! came down this morning, with a letter from my 
 mother." 
 
 As our looks met, I observed that he was pale even to his 
 lips, though he looked very steadily at me. I feared that some 
 difference between him and his mother might have led to his, 
 being in the frame of mind in which I had found him at the 
 solitary fireside. I hinted so. 
 
 " Oh, no ! " he said, shaking his head, and giving a slight 
 laugh. " Nothing of the sort ! Yes. He is come down, that 
 man of mine." 
 
 " The same as ever ? " said I. 
 
 " The same as ever," said Steerforth. " Distant and quiet 
 as the North Pole. He shall see to the boat being fresh 
 named. She's the Stormy Petrel now. What does Mr. Peg- 
 gotty care for Stormy Petrels ! I'll have her christened again." 
 
 " By what name ? " I asked. 
 
 " The Little Em'ly." 
 
 As he had continued to look steadily at me, I took it as a 
 reminder that he objected to being extolled for his considera- 
 tion. I could not help showing in my face how much it 
 
352 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 pleased me, but I said little, and he resumed his usual smile, 
 and seemed relieved. 
 
 "But see here," he said, looking before us, "where the 
 original little Em'ly comes ! And that fellow with her, eh ? 
 Upon my soul, he's a true knight. He never leaves her ! " 
 
 Ham was a boat-builder in these days, having improved a 
 natural ingenuity in that handicraft, until he had become a 
 skilled workman. He was in his working-dress, and looked 
 rugged enough, but manly withal, and a very fit protector for 
 the blooming little creature at his side. Indeed, there was a 
 frankness in his face, an honesty, and an undisguised show of 
 his pride in her, and his love for her, which were, to me, the 
 best of good looks. I thought, as they came towards us, that 
 they were well matched, even in that particular. 
 
 She withdrew her hand timidly from his arm as we stopped 
 to speak to them, and blushed as she gave it to Steerforth and 
 to me. When they passed on, after we had exchanged a few 
 words, she did not like to replace that hand, but, still appear- 
 ing timid and constrained, walked by herself. I thought all 
 this very pretty and engaging, and Steerforth seemed to think 
 so too, as we looked after them fading away in the light of a 
 young moon. 
 
 Suddenly there passed us evidently following them a 
 young woman whose approach we had not observed, but whose 
 face I saw as she went by, and thought I had a faint remem- 
 brance of. She was lightly dressed, looked bold, and haggard, 
 and flaunting, and poor; but seemed, for the time, to have 
 given all that to the wind which was blowing, and to have 
 nothing in her mind but going after them. As the dark dis- 
 tant level, absorbing their figures into itself, left but itself 
 visible between us and the sea and clouds, her figure disap- 
 peared in like manner, still no nearer to them than before. 
 
 "That is a black shadow to be following the girl," said 
 Steerforth, standing still; "what does it mean?" 
 
 He spoke in a low voice that sounded almost strange to me. 
 
 " She must have it in her mind to beg of them, I think," 
 said I. 
 
 " A beggar would be no novelty," said Steerforth ; " but it is a 
 strange thing that the beggar should take that shape to-night." 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD, 353 
 
 " Why ? " I asked him. 
 
 "For no better reason, truly, than because I was thinking," 
 he said, after a pause, " of something like it, when it came by. 
 Where the Devil did it come from, I wonder ! " 
 
 "From the shadow of this wall, I think," said I, as we 
 emerged upon a road on which a wall abutted. 
 
 " It's gone !" he returned, looking over his shoulder. "And 
 all ill go with it. Now for our dinner ! " 
 
 But, he looked again over his shoulder towards the sea-line 
 glimmering afar off ; and yet again. And he wondered about 
 it, in some broken expressions, several times, in the short 
 remainder of our walk ; and only seemed to forget it when the 
 light of fire and candle shone upon us, seated warm and merry, 
 
 at table. 
 
 Littimer was there, and had his usual effect upon me. 
 When I said to him that I hoped Mrs. Steerforth and Miss 
 Dartle were well, he answered respectfully (and of course 
 respectably), that they were tolerably well, he thanked me, 
 and had sent their compliments. This was all, and yet he 
 seemed to me to say as plainly as a man could say : " You are 
 very young, sir ; you are exceedingly young." 
 
 We had almost finished dinner, when taking a step or two 
 towards the table, from the corner where he kept watch upon 
 us, or rather upon me, as I felt, he said to his master : 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir. Miss Mowcher is down here." 
 
 " Who ? " cried Steerforth, much astonished. 
 
 " Miss Mowcher, sir." 
 
 " Why, what on earth does she do here ? " said Steerforth. 
 
 " It appears to be her native part of the country, sir. She 
 informs me that she makes one of her professional visits here, 
 every year, sir. I met her in the street this afternoon, and 
 she wished to know if she might have the honor of waiting on 
 you after dinner, sir." 
 
 " Do you know the Giantess in question, Daisy ? " inquired 
 Steerforth. 
 
 I was obliged to confess I felt ashamed, even of being at 
 this disadvantage before Littimer that Miss Mowcher and I 
 were wholly unacquainted. 
 
 "Then you shall know her," said Steerforth, "for she is 
 VOL. x 23 
 
354 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 one of the seven wonders of the world. When Miss Mowcher 
 conies, show her in." 
 
 I felt some curiosity and excitement about this lady, es- 
 pecially as Steerforth burst into a fit of laughing when I 
 referred to her, and positively refused to answer any question 
 of which I made her the subject. I remained, therefore, in 
 a state of considerable expectation until the cloth had been 
 removed some half an hour, and we were sitting over our 
 decanter of wine before the fire, when the door opened, 
 and Littimer, with his habitual serenity quite undisturbed, 
 announced : 
 
 " Miss Mowcher ! " 
 
 I looked at the doorway and saw nothing. I was still look- 
 ing at the doorway, thinking that Miss Mowcher was a long 
 while making her appearance, when, to my infinite astonish- 
 ment, there came waddling round a sofa which stood between 
 me and it, a pursy dwarf, of about forty or forty-five, with a 
 very large head and face, a pair of roguish gray eyes, and such 
 extremely little arms, that, to enable herself to lay a finger 
 archly against her snub nose as she ogled Steerforth, she was 
 obliged to meet the finger halfway, and lay her nose against 
 it. Her chin, which was what is called a double-chin, was so 
 fat that it entirely swallowed up the strings of her bonne 
 bow and all. Throat she had none ; waist she had none ; leg? 
 she had none, worth mentioning; for though she was mo'/e 
 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, in a pair of feet, she was so short that she stood 
 at a common-sized chair as at a table, resting a bag she carried 
 on the seat. This lady; dressed in an off-hand, easy style; 
 bringing her nose and her forefinger together, with the diffi- 
 culty I have described ; standing with her head necessarily on 
 one side, and, with one of her sharp eyes shut up, making an 
 uncommonly knowing face ; after ogling Steerforth for a few 
 moments, broke into a torrent of words. 
 
 "What! My flower!" she pleasantly began, shaking her 
 large head at him. " You're there, are you ! Oh, you naughty 
 boy, fie for shame, what do you do so far away from home ? 
 Up to mischief, I'll be bound. Oh, you're a downy fellow, 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 355 
 
 Steerf orth, so you are, and I'm another, ain't I ? Ha, ha, ha ! 
 You'd have betted a hundred pound to five, now, that you 
 wouldn't have seen me here, wouldn't you ? Bless you, man 
 alive, I'm everywhere. I'm here, and there, and where not, 
 like 'the conjuror's half-crown in the lady's hankercher. 
 Talking of hankerchers and talking of ladies what a com- 
 fort you are to your blessed mother, ain't you, my dear boy, 
 over one of my shoulders, and I don't say which ! " 
 
 Miss Mowcher untied her bonnet, at this passage of her 
 discourse, threw back the strings, and sat down, panting, on a 
 footstool, in front of the fire making a kind of arbor of the 
 dining-table, 'which spread its mahogany shelter above her 
 
 head. 
 
 " Oh, my stars and what's-their-names ! " she went on, 
 clapping a hand on each of her little knees, and glancing 
 shrewdly at me. " I'm of too full a habit, that's the fact, 
 Steerforth. After a flight of stairs, it gives me as much 
 trouble to draw every breath I want, as if it was a bucket of 
 water. If you saw me looking out of an upper window, you'd 
 think I was a fine woman, wouldn't you ? " 
 
 " I should think that, wherever I saw you," replied Steer- 
 forth. 
 
 " Go along, you dog, do ! " cried the little creature, making 
 a whisk at him with the handkerchief with which she was 
 wiping her face, " and don't be impudent ! But I give you 
 my word and honor I was at Lady Mithers's last week 
 there- s a woman. How she wears ! and Mithers himself 
 came into the room where I was waiting for her there 9 s a 
 man ! How he wears ! and his wig too, for he's had it these 
 ten years and he went on at that rate in the complimentary 
 line, that I began to think I should be obliged to ring the bell. 
 Ha ! ha ! ha ! He's a pleasant wretch, but he wants principle." 
 
 " What were you doing for Lady Mithers ? " asked Steer- 
 forth. 
 
 " That's tellings, my blessed infant," she retorted, tapping 
 her nose again, screwing up her face, and twinkling her eyes 
 like an imp of supernatural intelligence. " Never you mind ! 
 You'd like to know whether I stop her hair from falling off, 
 or dye it, or touch up her complexion, or improve her eye- 
 
356 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 brows, wouldn't you ? And so you shall, my darling when 
 I tell you ! Do you know what my great grandfather's name 
 was ? " 
 
 " No," said Steerforth. 
 
 "It was Walker, my sweet pet," replied Miss Mowcher, 
 " and he came of a long line of Walkers, that I inherit all the 
 Hookey estates from." 
 
 I never beheld anything approaching to Miss Mowcher's 
 wink, except Miss Mowcher's self-possession. She had a 
 wonderful way too, when listening to what was said to her, 
 or when waiting for an answer to what she had said herself, of 
 pausing with her head cunningly on one side, and one eye 
 turned up like a magpie's. Altogether I was lost in amaze- 
 ment, and sat staring at her, quite oblivious, I am afraid, of 
 the laws of politeness. 
 
 She had by this time drawn the chair to her side, and was 
 busily engaged in producing from the bag (plunging in her 
 short arm to the shoulder, at every dive) a number of small 
 bottles, sponges, combs, brushes, bits of flannel, little pairs of 
 curling irons, and other instruments, which she tumbled in a 
 heap upon the chair. From this employment she suddenly 
 desisted, and said to Steerforth, much to my confusion : 
 
 " Who's your friend ? " 
 
 " Mr. Copperfield," said Steerforth ; " he wants to know you." 
 
 " Well, then, he shall ! I thought he looked as if he 
 did ! " returned Miss Mowcher, waddling up to me, bag in 
 hand, and laughing on me as she came. "Face like a 
 peach ! " standing on tiptoe to pinch my cheek as I sat. 
 " Quite tempting ! I'm very fond of peaches. Happy to 
 make your acquaintance, Mr. Copperfield, I'm sure." 
 
 I said that I congratulated myself on having the honor to 
 make hers, and that the happiness was mutual. 
 
 "Oh my goodness, how polite we are!" exclaimed Miss 
 Mowcher, making a preposterous attempt to cover her large 
 face with her morsel of a hand. " What a world of gammon 
 and spinnage it is, though, ain't it ! " 
 
 This was addressed confidentially to both of us, as the 
 morsel of a hand came away from the face, and buried itself, 
 arm and all, in the bag again. 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 357 
 
 " What do you mean, Miss Mowcher ? " said Steerforth. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! What a refreshing set of humbugs we are, 
 to be sure, ain't we, my sweet child ? " replied that morsel of 
 a woman, fqeling in the bag with her head on one side and 
 her eye in the air. " Look here ! " taking something out. 
 " Scraps of the Eussian Prince's nails ! Prince Alphabet 
 turned topsy-turvy, / call him, for his name's got all the 
 letters in it, higgledy-piggledy." 
 
 "The Russian Prince is a client of yours, is he?" said 
 Steerforth. 
 
 " I believe you, my pet," replied Miss Mowcher. " I keep 
 his nails in order for him. Twice a week! Fingers and 
 toes ! " 
 
 " He pays well, I hope ? " said Steerforth. 
 
 "Pays as he speaks, my dear child through the nose," 
 replied Miss Mowcher. "None of your close shavers the 
 Prince ain't. You'd say so, if you saw his moustachios. Red 
 by nature, black by art." 
 
 " By your art, of course," said Steerforth. 
 
 Miss Mowcher winked assent. "Forced to send for me. 
 Couldn't help it. The climate affected his dye ; it did very 
 well in Russia, but it was no go here. You never saw such a 
 rusty Prince in all your born days as he was. Like old 
 iron ! " 
 
 " Is that why you called him a humbug just now ? ' 
 inquired Steerforth. 
 
 " Oh, you're a broth of a boy, ain't you ? " returned Miss 
 Mowcher, shaking her head violently. "I said what a set 
 of humbugs we were in general, and I showed you the 
 scraps of the Prince's nails to prove it. The Prince's nails 
 do more for me in private families of the genteel sort, 
 than all my talents put together. I always carry 'em about. 
 They're the best introduction. If Miss Mowcher cuts the 
 Prince's nails, she must be all right. I give 'em away 
 to the young ladies. They put 'em in albums, I believe. 
 Ha! ha! ha! Upon my life, 'the whole social system ' (as 
 the men call it when they make speeches in Parliament) is a 
 system of Prince's nails ! " said this least of women, trying to 
 fold her short arms, and nodding her large head. 
 
358 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 Steerforth laughed heartily, and I laughed too. Miss 
 Mowcher continuing all the time to shake her head (which 
 was very much on one side), and to look into the air with one 
 eye, and to wink with the other. 
 
 " Well, well ! " she said, smiting her small knees, and 
 rising, "this is not business. Come, Steerforth, let's explore 
 the polar regions, and have it over.'' 
 
 She then selected two or three of the little instruments, 
 and a little bottle, and asked (to my surprise) if the table 
 would bear. On Steerforth's replying in the affirmative, 
 she pushed a chair against it, and begging the assistance of 
 ray hand, mounted up, pretty nimbly, to the top, as if it were 
 a stage. 
 
 " If either of you saw my ankles," she said, when she was 
 safely elevated, " say so, and I'll go home and destroy 
 myself." 
 
 " / did not," said Steerforth. 
 
 "/did not," said I. 
 
 " Well, then," cried Miss Mowcher, " I'll consent to live. 
 Now, ducky, ducky, ducky, come to Mrs. Bond and be killed." 
 
 This was an invocation to Steerforth to place himself under 
 her hands ; who, accordingly, sat himself down, with his 
 back to the table, and his laughing face towards me, and 
 submitted his head to her inspection, evidently for no other 
 purpose than our entertainment. To see Miss Mowcher stand- 
 ing over him, looking at his rich profusion of brown hair 
 through a large round magnifying glass, which she took out of 
 her pocket, was a most amazing spectacle. 
 
 You're a pretty fellow ! " said Miss Mowcher, after a brief 
 inspection. " You'd be as bald as a friar on the top of your 
 head in twelve months, but for me. Just half -a-mi mite, my 
 young friend, and we'll give you a polishing that shall keep 
 your curls on for the next ten years ! " 
 
 With this, she tilted some of the contents of the little bottle 
 on to one of the little bits of flannel, and, again imparting 
 some of the virtues of that preparation to one of the little 
 brushes, oegan rubbing and scraping away with both on the 
 crown of Steerforth's head in the busiest manner I ever wit- 
 nessed, talking all the time. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 359 
 
 she said. 
 
 "You know Charley ? " peeping round into his face. 
 
 " A little," said Steerforth. 
 
 "What a man he is! There's a whisker! As to Charley's 
 legs, if they were only a pair (which they ain't), they'd defy 
 competition. Would you believe he tried to do without me 
 in the Life-Guards, too ? " 
 
 " Mad ! " said Steerforth. 
 
 "It looks like it. However, mad or sane, he tried," re- 
 turned Miss Mowcher. " What does he do, but, lo and behold 
 you, he goes into a perfumer's shop, and wants to buy a bottle 
 of the Madagascar Liquid." 
 
 " Charley does ? " said Steerforth. 
 
 " Charley does. But they haven't got any of the Madagas- 
 car Liquid." 
 
 " What is it ? Something to drink ? " asked Steerforth. 
 
 "To drink?" returned Miss Mowcher, stopping to slap his 
 cheek. " To doctor his own moustachios with, you know. 
 There was a woman in the shop elderly female quite a 
 Griffin who had never even heard of it by name. l Begging 
 pardon, sir,' said the Griffin to Charley, /it's not not not 
 ROUGE, is it ? ' < Eouge,' said Charley to the Griffin. < What 
 the unmentionable to ears polite, do you think I want with 
 rouge ? ' 'No offence, sir,' said the Griffin ; ' we have it asked 
 for by so many names, I thought it might be.' Now that, my 
 child," continued Miss Mowcher, rubbing all the time as busily 
 as ever, " is another instance of the refreshing humbug I was 
 speaking of. I do something in that way myself perhaps a 
 good deal perhaps a little sharp's the word, my dear boy 
 never mind! " 
 
 " In what way do you mean ? In the rouge way ? " said 
 Steerforth. 
 
 " Put this and that together, my tender pupil," returned the 
 wary Mowcher, touching her nose, "work it by the rule of 
 Secrets in all trades, and the product will give you the desired 
 result. I say I do a little in that way myself. One Dowager 
 she calls it lip-salve. Another, she calls it gloves. Another, 
 she calls it tucker-edging. Another, she calls it a fan. 7 call it 
 whatever they call it. I supply it for 'em, but we keep up the 
 
360 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 trick so, to one another, and make believe with such a face, 
 that they'd as soon think of laying it on, before a whole draw- 
 ing-room, as before me. And when I wait upon 'em, they'll 
 say to me sometimes with it on thick, and no mistake 
 ' How am I looking, Mowcher ? Am I pale ? ' Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 ha ! Isn't that refreshing, my young friend ! " 
 
 I never did in my days behold anything like Mowcher as 
 she stood upon the dining-table, intensely enjoying this re- 
 freshment, rubbing busily at Steerforth's head, and winking 
 at me over it. 
 
 " Ah ! " she said. " Such things are not much in demand 
 hereabouts. That sets me off again ! I haven't seen a pretty 
 woman since I've been here, Jemmy." 
 
 " No ? " said Steerforth. 
 
 " Not the ghost of one," replied Miss Mowcher. 
 
 " We could show her the substance of one, I think ? " said 
 Steerforth, addressing his eyes to mine. " Eh, Daisy ? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed," said I. 
 
 " Aha ? " cried the little creature, glancing sharply at my 
 face, and then peeping round at Steerforth's. " Umph ? " 
 
 The first exclamation sounded like a question put to both of 
 us, and the second like a question put to Steerforth only. She 
 seemed to have found no answer to either, but continued to 
 rub, with her head on one side and her eye turned up, as if she 
 were looking for an answer in the air, and were confident of 
 its appearing presently. 
 
 " A sister of yours, Mr. Copperfield ? " she cried, after a 
 pause, and still keeping the same look out. " Ay, ay ? ' 
 
 " No," said Steerforth, before I could reply. " Nothing of 
 the sort. On the contrary, Mr. Copperfield used or I am 
 much mistaken to have a great admiration for her." 
 
 " Why, hasn't he now ? " returned Miss Mowcher. " Is he 
 fickle ? oh, for shame ! Did he sip every flower, and change 
 every hour, until Polly his passion requited ? Is her name 
 Polly ? " 
 
 The Elfin suddenness with which she pounced upon me with 
 this question, and a searching look, quite disconcerted me for 
 a moment. 
 
 " No, Miss Mowcher," I replied. " Her name is Emily." 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 361 
 
 " Aha ? " she cried exactly as before. " Umph ? What a 
 rattle I am ! Mr. Copperfield, ain't I volatile ? " 
 
 Her tone and look implied something that was not agreeable 
 to me in connection with the subject. So I said, in a graver 
 manner than any of us had yet assumed : 
 
 " She is as virtuous as she is pretty. She is engaged to be 
 married to a most worthy and deserving man in her own 
 station of life. T esteem her for her good sense, as much as I 
 admire her for her good looks." 
 
 " Well said ! " cried Steerforth. " Hear, hear, hear ! Now 
 I'll quench the curiosity of this little Fatima, my dear Daisy, 
 by leaving her nothing to guess at. She is at present ap- 
 prenticed, Miss Mowcher, or articled, or whatever it may be, 
 to Omer and Joram, Haberdashers, Milliners, and so forth, in 
 this town. Do you observe ? Omer and Joram. The promise 
 of which my friend has spoken, is made and entered into with 
 her cousin ; Christian name, Ham ; surname, Peggotty ; occu- 
 pation, boat-builder; also of this town. She lives with a 
 relative; Christian name, unknown; surname, Peggotty; oc- 
 cupation, seafaring ; also of this town. She is the prettiest 
 and most engaging little fairy in the world. I admire her - 
 as my friend does exceedingly. If it were not that I might 
 appear to disparage her Intended, which I know my friend 
 would not like, I would add, that to me she seems to be throw- 
 ing herself away ; that I am sure she might do better ; and 
 that I swear she was born to be a lady." 
 
 Miss Mowcher listened to these words, which were very 
 slowly and distinctly spoken, with her head on one side, and 
 her eye in the air, as if she were still looking for that answer. 
 
 When he ceased she became brisk again in an instant, and 
 rattled away with surprising volubility. 
 
 "Oh! And that's all about it, is it?" she exclaimed, 
 trimming his whiskers with a little restless pair of scissors, 
 that went glancing round his head in all directions. " Very 
 well : very well ! Quite a long story. Ought to end ' and 
 they lived happy ever afterwards ' ; oughtn't it ? Ah ! What's 
 that game at forfeits ? I love my love with an E, because 
 she's enticing ; I hate her with an E, because she's engaged. 
 I took her to the sign of the exquisite, and treated her with 
 
362 THE PERSONAL HISTORY A^D EXPERIENCE 
 
 an elopement, her name's Emily, and she lives in the east ? 
 Ha ! ha ! ha ! Mr. Copperfield, ain't I volatile ? " 
 
 Merely looking at me with extravagant slyness, and not 
 waiting for any reply, she continued, without drawing breath : 
 
 " There ! If ever any scapegrace was trimmed and touched 
 up to perfection, you are, Steerforth. If I understand any 
 noddle in the world, I understand yours. Do you hear me 
 when I tell you that, my darling ? I understand yours," 
 peeping down into his face. " Now you may mizzle. Jemmy, 
 (as we say at Court), and if Mr. Copperfield will take the 
 chair I'll operate on. him." 
 
 " What do you say, Daisy?" inquired Steerforth, laughing, 
 and resigning his seat. "Will you be improved ? ' 
 
 " Thank you, Miss Mowcher, not this evening." 
 
 "Don't say no," returned the little woman, looking at me 
 with the aspect of a connoisseur; "a little bit more eyebrow?" 
 
 " Thank you," I returned, " some other time." 
 
 " Have it carried half a quarter of an inch towards the 
 temple," said Miss Mowcher. " We can do it in a fortnight." 
 
 " No, I thank you. Not at present." 
 
 " Go in for a tip," she urged. " Xo ? Let's get the scaf- 
 folding up, then, for a pair of whiskers. Coine ! " 
 
 I could not help blushing as I declined, for I felt we were 
 on my weak point, now. But Miss Mowcher, finding that I 
 was not at present disposed for any decoration within the 
 range of her art, and that I was, for the time being, proof 
 against the blandishments of the small bottle which she held 
 up before one eye to enforce her persuasions, said we would 
 make a beginning on an early day, and requested the aid of 
 my hand to descend from her elevated station. Thus assisted, 
 she skipped down with much agility, and began to tie her 
 double chin into her bonnet. 
 
 "The fee," said Steerforth, "is " 
 
 "Five bob," replied Miss Mowcher, "and dirt cheap my 
 chicken. Ain't I volatile, Mr. Copperfield ? " 
 
 I replied politely : " Not at all." But I thought she was 
 rather so, when she tossed up his two half-crowns like a goblin 
 pieman, caught them, dropped them in her pocket, and gave it 
 a loud slap. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEF1ELD. 363 
 
 "That's the Till!" observed Miss Mowcher, standing at 
 the chair again, and replacing in the bag a miscellaneous col- 
 lection of little objects she had emptied out of it. " Have I 
 got all my traps ? It seems so. It won't do to be like long 
 Ned Beadwood, when they took him to church 'to marry him 
 to somebody/ as he says, and left the bride behind. Ha ! ha ! 
 ha ! A wicked f ascal, Ned, but droll ! Now, I know I'm 
 going to break your hearts, but I am forced to leave you. 
 You must call up all your fortitude, and try to bear it. Good 
 by, Mr. Copperfield! Take care of yourself, Jockey of 
 Norfolk ! How I have been rattling on ! It's all the fault of 
 you two wretches. I forgive you ! < Bob swore ! ' as the 
 Englishman said for < Good night,' when he first learnt French, 
 and thought it so like English. 'Bob swore,' my ducks ! " 
 
 With the bag slung over her arm, and rattling as she wad- 
 dled away, she waddled to the door; where she stopped to 
 inquire if she should leave us a lock of her hair. " Ain't I 
 volatile ? " she added, as a commentary on this offer, and, 
 with her finger on her nose, departed. 
 
 Steerforth laughed to that degree, that it was impossible for 
 me to help laughing too ; though I am not sure I should have 
 done so, but for this inducement. When we had had our laugh 
 quite out, which was after some time, he told me that Miss 
 Mowcher had quite an extensive connection, and made herself 
 useful to a variety of people in a variety of ways. Some peo- 
 ple trifled with her as a mere oddity, he said ; but she was as 
 shrewdly and sharply observant as any one he knew, and as 
 long-headed as she was short-armed. He told me that what 
 she had said of being here, and there, and everywhere, was 
 true enough ; for she made little darts into the provinces, and 
 seemed to pick up customers everywhere, and to know every- 
 body. I asked him what her disposition was : whether it was 
 at all mischievous, and if her sympathies were generally on 
 the right side of things : but, not succeeding in attracting his 
 attention to these questions after two or three attempts, I for- 
 bore or forgot to repeat them. He told me instead, with much 
 rapidity, a good deal about her skill, and her profits ; and about 
 her being a scientific cupper, if I should ever have occasion for 
 her services in that capacity. 
 
364 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 She was the principal theme of our conversation during the 
 evening : and when we parted for the night Steer forth called 
 after ine over the banisters, " Bob swore ! " as I went down 
 stairs. 
 
 I was surprised, when I came to Mr. Barkis's house to find 
 Ham walking up and down in front of it, and still more sur- 
 prised to learn from him that little Em'ly was inside. I natu- 
 rally inquired why he was not there too, instead of pacing the 
 streets by himself ? 
 
 "Why, you see, Mas'r Davy," he rejoined, in a hesitating 
 manner, "Em'ly, she's talking to some 'un in here." 
 
 " I should have thought," said I, smiling, " that that was a 
 reason for your being in here too, Ham." 
 
 "Well, Mas'r Davy, in a general way, so 't would be," he 
 returned ; " but look'ee here, Mas'r Davy," lowering his voice, 
 and speaking very gravely. "It's a young woman, sir a 
 young woman that Em'ly know'd once, and doen't ought to 
 know no more." 
 
 When I heard these words, a light began to fall upon the 
 figure I had seen following them, some hours ago. 
 
 "It's a poor wurem, Mas'r Davy," said Ham, "as is trod 
 under foot by all the town. Up street and down street. The 
 mowld o' the churchyard don't hold any that the folk shrink 
 away from more." 
 
 "Did I see her to-night, Ham, on the sands, after we met 
 you ? " 
 
 " Keeping us in sight ? " said Ham. " It's like you did, 
 Mas'r Davy. Not that I know'd then, she was theer, sir, but 
 along of her creeping soon arterwards under Eni'ly's little 
 winder, when she see the light come, and whisp'ring - Em'ly, 
 Em'ly, for Christ's sake, have a woman's heart towards me. 
 I was once like you ! ' Those was solemn words, Mas'r Davy, 
 fur to hear ! " 
 
 " They were indeed, Ham. What did Em'ly do ? " 
 
 " Says Em'ly, l Martha, is it you ? Oh, Martha, can it be 
 you ! ' for they had sat at work together, many a day, at 
 Mr. Omer's." 
 
 " I recollect her now ! " cried I, recalling one of the two 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 365 
 
 girls I had seen when I first went there. " I recollect her 
 quite well ! " 
 
 " Martha Endell," said Ham. " Two or three year older 
 than Em'ly, but was at the school with her." 
 
 " I never heard her name/' said I. " I didn't mean to 
 interrupt you." 
 
 " For the matter o' that, Mas'r Davy," replied Ham, " all's 
 told a'most in them words, 'Em'ly, Em'ly, for Christ's sake, 
 have a woman's heart towards me. I was once like you ! ' 
 She wanted to speak to Em'ly. Em'ly couldn't speak to her 
 theer, for her loving uncle was come home, and he wouldn't 
 no, Mas'r Davy," said Ham, with great earnestness, "he 
 couldn't, kind naturd, tender-hearted as he is, see them two 
 together, side by side, for all the treasures that's wrecked in 
 the sea." 
 
 I felt how true this was. I knew it, on the instant, quite as 
 well as Ham. 
 
 " So Em'ly writes in pencil on a bit of paper," he pursued, 
 " and gives it to her out o' window to bring here. { Show 
 that,' she says, 'to jny aunt, Mrs. Barkis, and she'll set you 
 down by her fire, for the love of me, till uncle is gone out, 
 and I can come.' By and by she tells me what I tell you, 
 Mas'r Davy, and asks me to bring her. What can I do ? She 
 doeii't ought to know any such, but I can't deny her, when 
 the tears is on her face." 
 
 He put his hand into the breast of his shaggy jacket, and 
 took out with great care a pretty little purse. 
 
 " And if I could deny her when the tears was on her face, 
 Mas'r Davy," said Ham, tenderly adjusting it on the rough 
 palm of his hand, "how could I deny her when she give me 
 this to carry for her knowing what she brought it for? 
 Such a toy as it is ! " said Ham, thoughtfully looking on it. 
 " With such a little money in it, Em'ly my dear ! " 
 
 I shook him warmly by the hand when he had put it away 
 again for that was more satisfactory to me than saying any- 
 thing and we walked up and down, for a minute or two, in 
 silence. The door opened then, and Peggotty appeared, 
 beckoning to Ham to come in. I would have kept away, but 
 she came after me, entreating me to come in too. Even then, 
 
366 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 I would have avoided the room where they all were, but for 
 its being the neat-tiled kitchen I have mentioned more than 
 once. The door opening immediately into it, I found myself 
 among them, before I considered whither I was going. 
 
 The girl the same I had seen upon the sands was near 
 the fire. She was sitting on the ground, with her head and 
 one arm lying on a chair. I fancied, from the disposition of 
 her figure, that Enrly had but newly risen from the chair, and 
 that the forlorn head might perhaps have been lying on her lap. 
 I saw but little of the girl's face, over which her hair fell loose 
 and scattered, as if she had been disordering it with her own 
 hands ; but I saw that she was young, and of a fair complex- 
 ion. Peggotty had been crying. So had little Em'ly. Not a 
 word was spoken when we first went in ; and the Dutch clock by 
 the dresser seemed, in the silence, to tick twice as loud as usual. 
 
 Em'ly spoke first. 
 
 " Martha wants," she said to Ham, " to go to London." 
 
 " Why to London ? " returned Ham. 
 
 He stood between them, looking on the prostrate girl with 
 a mixture of compassion for her, and of jealousy of her hold- 
 ing any companionship with her whom he loved so well, which 
 I have always remembered distinctly. They both spoke as if 
 she were ill ; in a soft, suppressed tone that was plainly 
 heard, although it hardly rose above a whisper. 
 
 " Better there than here," said a third voice aloud Mar- 
 tha's, though she did not move. "No one knows me there. 
 Everybody knows me here." 
 
 " What will she do there ? " inquired Ham. 
 
 She lifted up her head, and looked darkly round at him for 
 a moment ; then laid it down again, and curved her right arm 
 about her neck, as a woman in a fever, or in an agony of pain 
 from a shot, might twist herself. 
 
 " She will try to do well," said little Em'ly. " You don't 
 know what she has said to us. Does he do they aunt ? " 
 
 Peggotty shook her head compassionately. 
 
 " I'll try," said Martha, -" if you'll help me away. I never 
 can do worse than I have done here. I may do better. Oh ! " 
 with a dreadful shiver, " take me out of these streets, where 
 the whole town knows me from a child ! " 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 367 
 
 A Em'ly held out her hand to Ham, I saw him put in it a 
 little canvas bag. She took it, as if she thought it were her 
 purse, and made a step or two forward; but finding her mis- 
 take, came back to where he had retired near me, and showed 
 it to him. 
 
 "It's all yourn, Em'ly," I could hear him say. "I haven't 
 nowt in all the wureld that ain't yourn, my dear. It ain't of 
 no delight to me, except for you ! " 
 
 The tears rose freshly in her eyes, but she turned away and 
 went to Martha. What she gave her, I don't know. I saw 
 her stooping over her, and putting money in her bosom. She 
 whispered something, and asked was that enough? "More 
 than enough," the other said, and took her hand and kissed 
 
 it. 
 
 Then Martha arose, and gathering her shawl about her, 
 covering her face with it, and weeping aloud, went slowly to 
 the door. She stopped a moment before going out, as if she 
 would have uttered something or turned back ; but no word 
 passed her lips. Making the same low, dreary, wretched 
 moaning in her shawl, she went away. 
 
 As the door closed, little Em'ly looked at us three in a 
 hurried manner, and then hid her face in her hands, and fell 
 to sobbing. 
 
 " Doen't, Em'ly ! " said Ham, tapping her gently on the 
 shoulder. " Doen't, my dear ! You doen't ought to cry so, 
 
 pretty ! " 
 
 " Oh, Ham ! " she exclaimed, still weeping pitifully, " I am 
 not as good a girl as I ought to be ! I know I have not the 
 thankful heart sometimes I ought to have ! " 
 
 " Yes, yes, you have, I'm sure," said Ham. 
 
 " Ko ! no ! no ! " cried little Em'ly, sobbing and shaking 
 her head. " I am not as good a girl as I ought to be. Not 
 near ! not near ! " 
 
 And still she cried as if her heart would break. 
 
 " I try your love too much. I know I do ! " she sobbed. 
 "I'm often cross to you, and changeable with you, when I 
 ought to be far different. You are never so to me. Why am 
 I ever so to you, when I should think of nothing but how to 
 be grateful, and to make you happy ! " 
 
368 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " You always make me so," said Ham, ' my dear ! I am 
 happy in the sight of you. I am happy, all day long, in the 
 thoughts of you." 
 
 "Ah! that's not enough !" she cried. "That is because you 
 are good ; not because I am ! Oh, my dear, it might have 
 been a better fortune for you, if you had been fond of some 
 one else of some one steadier and much worthier than me, 
 who was all bound up in you, and never vain and changeable 
 like me ! " 
 
 "Poor little tender-heart," said Ham, in a low voice. 
 "Martha has overset her, altogether." 
 
 " Please, aunt," sobbed Em'ly, " come here, and let me lay 
 my head upon you. Oh, I am very miserable to-night, aunt ! 
 Oh, I am not as good a girl as I ought to be. I am not, I 
 know ! " 
 
 Peggotty had hastened to the chair before the fire. Em'ly 
 with her arms around her neck, kneeled by her, looking up 
 most earnestly into her face. 
 
 " Oh, pray, aunt, try to help me ! Ham, dear, try to help 
 me ! Mr. David, for the sake of old times, do, please, try to 
 help me ! I want to be a better girl than I am. I want to 
 feel a hundred times more thankful than I do. I want to feel 
 more, what a blessed thing it is to be the wife of a good man, 
 and to lead a peaceful life. Oh me, oh me ! Oh, my heart, 
 my heart ! " 
 
 She dropped her face on my old nurse's breast, and, ceasing 
 this supplication, which in its agony and grief was half a 
 woman's, half a child's, as all her manner was (being, in that, 
 more natural, and better suited to her beauty, as I thought, 
 than any other manner could have been), wept silently, while 
 my old nurse hushed her like an infant. 
 
 She got calmer by degrees, and then we soothed her ; now 
 talking encouragingly, and now jesting a little with her, until 
 she began to raise her head and speak to us. So we got on, 
 until she was able to smile, and then to laugh, and then to 
 sit up, half ashamed ; while Peggotty recalled her stray ring- 
 lets, dried her eyes, and made her neat again, lest her uncle 
 should wonder, when she got home, why his darling had been 
 crying. 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 369 
 
 I saw her do, that night, what I had never seen her do 
 before. I saw her innocently kiss her chosen husband on the 
 cheek, and creep close to his bluff form as if it were her best 
 support. When they went away together, in the waning 
 moonlight, and I looked after them, comparing their departure 
 in my mind with Martha's, I saw that she held his arm with 
 both her hands, and still kept close to him. 
 
 VOL. i 24 
 
370 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIII. 
 
 I CORROBORATE MR. DICK, AND CHOOSE A PROFESSION. 
 
 WHEN I awoke in the morning I thought very much of little 
 Em'ly, and her emotion last night, after Martha had left. I 
 felt as if I had coine into the knowledge of those domestic 
 weaknesses and tendernesses in a sacred confidence, and that 
 to disclose them, even to Steerforth, would be wrong. I had 
 no gentler feeling towards any one than towards the pretty 
 creature who had been my playmate, and whom I have always 
 been persuaded, and shall always be persuaded, to my dying 
 day, I then devotedly loved. The repetition to any ears 
 even to Steerforth's of what she had been unable to repress 
 when her heart lay open to me by an accident, I felt would be 
 a rough deed, unworthy of myself, unworthy of the light of 
 our pure childhood, which I always saw encircling her head. 
 I made a resolution, therefore, to keep it in my own breast ; 
 and there it gave her image a new grace. 
 
 While we were at breakfast, a letter was delivered to me 
 from my aunt. As it contained matter on which I thought 
 Steerforth could advise me as well as any one, and on which 
 I knew I should be delighted to consult him, I resolved to 
 make it a subject of discussion on our journey home. For the 
 present we had enough to do, in taking leave of all our friends. 
 Mr. Barkis was far from being the last among them, in his 
 regret at our departure ; and I believe would even have opened 
 the box again, and sacrificed another guinea, if it would have 
 kept us eight-and-forty hours in Yarmouth. Peggotty, and 
 all her family, were full of grief at our going. The whole 
 house of Omer and Joram turned out to bid us good by ; and 
 there were so many seafaring volunteers in attendance on 
 Steerforth, when our portmanteaus went to the coach, that if 
 we had had the baggage of a regiment with us, we should hardly 
 have wanted porters to carry it. In a word, we departed to 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 371 
 
 the regret and admiration of all concerned, and left a great 
 many people very sorry behind us. 
 
 " Do you stay long here, Littimer ? " said I, as he stood 
 waiting to see the coach start. 
 
 " No, sir," he replied ; " probably not very long, sir." 
 
 "He can hardly say just now," observed Steerforth, care- 
 lessly. " He knows what he has to do, and he'll do it." 
 
 " That I am sure he will," said I. 
 
 Littimer touched his hat in acknowledgment of my good 
 opinion, and I felt about eight years old. He touched it once 
 more, wishing us a good journey ; and we left him standing 
 on the pavement, as respectable a mystery as any pyramid in 
 Egypt. 
 
 For some little time we held no conversation, Steerforth 
 being unusually silent, and I being sufficiently engaged in 
 wondering, within myself, when I should see the old places 
 again, and what new changes might happen to me or them 
 in the meanwhile. At length Steerforth, becoming gay and 
 talkative in a moment, as he could become anything he liked 
 at any moment, pulled me by the arm : 
 
 "Find a voice, David. What about the letter you were 
 speaking of at breakfast ? " 
 
 " Oh ! " said I, taking it out of my pocket. " It's from my 
 aunt." 
 
 " And what does she say, requiring consideration ? " 
 
 "Why, she reminds me, Steerforth," said I, "that I came 
 out on this expedition to look about me, and to think a little." 
 
 " Which, of course, you have done ? " 
 
 "Indeed I can't say I have, particularly. To tell you the 
 truth, I am afraid I had forgotten it." 
 
 " Well ! look about you now, and make up for your negli- 
 gence," said Steerforth. " Look to the right, and you'll see a 
 flat country, with a good deal of marsh in it ; look to the left, 
 and you'll see the same. Look to the front, and you'll find no 
 difference ; look to the rear, and there it is still." . 
 
 I laughed, and replied that I saw no suitable profession in 
 the whole prospect ; which was perhaps to be attributed to its 
 flatness. 
 
 " What says our aunt on the subject ? " inquired Steerforth, 
 
372 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 glancing at the letter in my hand. "Does she suggest any- 
 thing ? " 
 
 " Why, yes," said I. " She asks me, here, if I think I 
 should like to be a proctor ? What do you think of it ? " 
 
 " Well, I don't know," replied Steerforth, coolly. " You may 
 as well do that as anything else, I suppose ? ' ; 
 
 I could not help laughing again, at his balancing all callings 
 and professions so equally ; and I told him so. 
 
 " What is a proctor, Steerforth ? " said I. 
 
 " Why, he is a sort of monkish attorney," replied Steerforth. 
 " He is, to some faded courts held in Doctors' Commons a 
 lazy old nook near St. Paul's Churchyard what solicitors are 
 to the courts of law and equity. He is a functionary whose 
 existence, in the natural course of things, would have termi- 
 nated about two hundred years ago. I can tell you best what 
 he is, by telling you what Doctors' Commons is. It's a little 
 out-of-the-way place, where they administer what is called 
 ecclesiastical law, and play all kinds of tricks with obsolete 
 old monsters of acts of Parliament, which three-fourths of the 
 world know nothing about, and the other fourth supposes to 
 have been dug up, in a fossil state, in the days of the Edwards. 
 It's a place that has an ancient monopoly in suits about peo- 
 ple's wills and people's marriages, and disputes among ships 
 and boats." 
 
 " Nonsense, Steerforth ! " I exclaimed. " You don't mean 
 to say that there is any affinity between nautical matters and 
 ecclesiastical matters ? " 
 
 " I don't, indeed, my dear boy," he returned ; " but I mean 
 to say that they are managed and decided by the same set of 
 people, down in that same Doctors' Commons. You shall go 
 there one day, and find them blundering through half the 
 nautical terms in Young's Dictionary, apropos of the ' Nancy ' 
 having run down the ' Sarah Jane,' or Mr. Peggotty and the 
 Yarmouth boatmen having put off in a gale of wind with an 
 anchor and cable to the ' Nelson' Indiaman in distress; and 
 you shall go there another day, and find them deep in the evi- 
 dence, pro and con, respecting a clergyman who has misbehaved 
 himself ; and you shall find the judge in the nautical case the 
 advocate in the clergyman's case, or contrariwise. They are 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 373 
 
 like actors : now a man's a judge, and now he is not a judge ; 
 now he's one thing, now he's another ; now he's something else, 
 change and change about; but it's always a very pleasant 
 profitable little affair of private theatricals, presented to an 
 uncommonly select audience." 
 
 " But advocates and proctors are not one and the same ? " 
 said I, a little puzzled. " Are they ? " 
 
 " No," returned Steerforth, " the advocates are civilians 
 men who have taken a doctor's degree at college which is 
 the first reason of my knowing anything about it. The proc- 
 tors employ the advocates. Both get very comfortable fees, 
 and altogether they make a mighty snug little party. On the 
 whole I would recommend you to take to Doctors' Commons 
 kindly, David. They plume themselves on their gentility 
 there, I can tell you, if that's any satisfaction." 
 
 I made allowance for Steerforth's light way of treating the 
 subject, and considering it with reference to the staid air of 
 gravity and antiquity which I associated with that "lazy old 
 nook near St. Paul's Churchyard/' did not feel indisposed 
 towards my aunt's suggestion; which she left to my free 
 decision, making no scruple of telling me that it had occurred 
 to her, on her lately visiting her own proctor in Doctors' Com- 
 mons for the purpose of settling her will in my favor. 
 
 " That's a laudible proceeding on the part of our aunt, at all 
 events," said Steerforth, when I mentioned it ; " and one 
 deserving of all encouragement. Daisy, my advice is that you 
 take kindly to Doctors' Commons." 
 
 I quite made up my mind to do so. I then told Steerforth 
 that my aunt was in town awaiting me (as I found from her 
 letter), and that she had taken lodgings for a week at a kind 
 of private hotel in Lincoln's Inn Fields, where there was a 
 stone staircase, and a convenient door in the roof; my aunt 
 being firmly persuaded that every house in London was going 
 to be burnt down every night. 
 
 We achieved the rest of our journey pleasantly, sometimes 
 recurring to Doctors' Commons, and anticipating the distant 
 days when I should be a proctor there, which Steerforth pic- 
 tured in a variety of humorous and whimsical lights, that made 
 us both merry. When we came to our journey's end, he went 
 
374 THE PERSONAL HISTOBY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 home, engaging to call upon me next day but one ; and I drove 
 to Lincoln's Inn Fields, where I found my aunt up, and wait- 
 ing supper. 
 
 If I had been round the world since we parted, we could 
 hardly have been better pleased to meet again. My aunt cried 
 outright as she embraced me ; and said, pretending to laugh, 
 that if my poor mother had been alive, that silly little creature 
 would have shed tears, she had no doubt. 
 
 " So you have left Mr. Dick behind, aunt ? " said I. " I 
 am sorry for that. Ah, Janet, how do you do ? " 
 
 As Janet courtesied, hoping I was well, I observed my 
 aunt's visage lengthen very much. 
 
 " I am sorry for it, too," said my aunt, rubbing her nose. 
 " I have had no peace of mind, Trot, since I have been here." 
 
 Before I could ask why, she told me. 
 
 " I am convinced," said my aunt ; laying her hand with 
 melancholy firmness on the table, " that Dick's character is 
 not a character to keep the donkeys off. I am confident he 
 wants strength of purpose. I ought to have left Janet at 
 home, instead, and then my mind might perhaps have been 
 at ease. If ever there was a donkey trespassing on my green," 
 said my aunt, with emphasis, " there was one this afternoon 
 at four o'clock. A cold feeling came over me from head to 
 foot, and I know it was a donkey ! " 
 
 I tried to comfort her on this point, but she rejected 
 consolation. 
 
 " It was a donkey," said my aunt ; "and it was the one with 
 the stumpy tail which that Murdering sister of a woman rode, 
 when she came to my house." This had been, ever since, the 
 only name my aunt knew for Miss Murdstone. " If there is 
 any Donkey in Dover, whose audacity it is harder to me to 
 bear than another's, that," said my aunt, striking the table, 
 " is the animal ! " 
 
 Janet ventured to suggest that my aunt might be disturbing 
 herself unnecessarily, and that she believed the donkey in ques- 
 tion was then engaged in the sand and gravel line of business, 
 and was not available for purposes of trespass. But my aunt 
 wouldn't hear of it. 
 
 Supper was comfortably served and hot, though my aunt' 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 375 
 
 rooms were very high up whether that she might have 
 more stone stairs for her money, or might be nearer to the 
 door in the roof I don't know and consisted of a roast fowl, 
 a steak, and some vegetables, to all of which I did ample 
 justice, and which were all excellent. But my aunt had her 
 own ideas concerning London provision, and ate but little. 
 
 " I suppose this unfortunate fowl was born and brought up 
 in a cellar," said my aunt, " and never took the air except on 
 a hackney-coach-stand. I hope the steak may be beef, but I 
 don't believe it. Nothing's genuine in the place, in my opin- 
 ion, but the dirt." 
 
 "Don't you think the fowl may have come out of the 
 country, aunt ? " I hinted. 
 
 " Certainly not," returned my aunt. " It would be no pleas- 
 ure to a London tradesman to sell anything which was what 
 he pretended it was." 
 
 I did not venture to controvert this opinion, but I made a 
 good supper, which it greatly satisfied her to see me do. 
 When the table was cleared, Janet assisted her to arrange her 
 hair, to put on her nightcap, which was of a smarter con- 
 struction than usual ("in case of fire," my aunt said), and to 
 fold her gown back over her knees, these being her usual 
 preparations for warming herself before going to bed. I 
 then made her, according to certain established regulations 
 from which no deviation, however slight, could ever be per- 
 mitted, a glass of hot white wine and water, and a slice of 
 toast cut into long thin strips. With these accompaniments 
 we were left alone to finish the evening, my aunt sitting 
 opposite to me drinking her wine and water ; soaking her 
 strips of toast in it, one by one, before eating them ; and 
 looking benignantly on me, from among .the borders of her 
 nightcap. 
 
 " Well, Trot," she began, " what do you think of the proctor 
 plan ? Or have you not begun to think about it yet ? 7; 
 
 " I have thought a good deal about it, my dear aunt, and I 
 have talked a good deal about it with Steerforth. I like it 
 very much indeed. I like it exceedingly." 
 
 " Come ! " said my aunt. " That's cheering ! " 
 
 " I have only one difficulty, aunt." 
 
THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 11 Say what it is, Trot," she returned. 
 
 "Why, I want to ask, aunt, as this seems, from what I 
 understand, to be a limited profession, whether my entrance 
 into it would not be very expensive ? " 
 
 "It will cost," returned my aunt, "to article you, just a 
 thousand pounds." 
 
 "Now, my dear aunt," said I, drawing my chair nearer, 
 "I am uneasy in my mind about that. It's a large sum of 
 money. You have expended a great deal on my education, 
 and have always been as liberal to me in all things, as it was 
 possible to be. You have been the soul of generosity. Surely 
 there are some ways in which I might begin life with hardly 
 any outlay, and yet begin with a good hope of getting on by 
 resolution and exertion. Are you sure that it would not be 
 better to try that course ? Are you certain that you can 
 afford to part with so much money, and that it is right that it 
 should be so expended ? I only ask you, my second mother, 
 to consider. Are you certain ? " 
 
 My aunt finished eating the piece of toast on which she was 
 then engaged, looking me full in the face all the while ; and 
 then setting her glass on the chimney-piece, and folding her 
 hands upon her folded skirts, replied as follows : 
 
 " Trot, my child, if I have any object in life, it is to provide 
 for your being a good, a sensible, and a happy man. I am 
 bent upon it so is Dick. I should like some people that I 
 know to hear Dick's conversation on the subject. Its sagacity 
 is wonderful. But no one knows the resources of that man's 
 intellect except myself ! " 
 
 She stopped for a moment to take my hand between hers, 
 and went on : 
 
 "It's in vain, Trot, to recall the past, unless it works some 
 influence upon the present. Perhaps I might have been better 
 friends with your poor father. Perhaps I might have been 
 better friends with that poor child your mother, even after 
 your sister Betsey Trotwood, disappointed me. When you 
 came to me, a little runaway boy, all dusty and way-worn, per- 
 haps I thought so. From that time until now, Trot, you have 
 ever been a credit to me and a pride and a pleasure. I have 
 no other claim upon my means ; at least " here to my sur- 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 377 
 
 prise she hesitated, and was confused " no, I have no other 
 claim upon my means and you are my adopted child. Only 
 be a loving child to me in my age, and bear with my whims 
 and fancies ; and you will do more for an old woman whose 
 prime of life was not so happy or conciliating as it might have 
 been, than ever that old woman did for you." 
 
 It was the first time I had heard my aunt refer to her past 
 history. There was a magnanimity in her quiet way of doing 
 so, and of dismissing it, which would have exalted her in my 
 respect and affection, if anything could. 
 
 " All is agreed and understood between us now, Trot/' said 
 my aunt, " and we need talk of this no more. Give me a kiss, 
 and we'll go to the Commons after breakfast to-morrow." 
 
 We had a long chat by the fire before we went to bed. I 
 slept in a room on the same floor with my aunt's, and was a 
 little disturbed in the course of the night by her knocking at 
 my door as often as she was agitated by a distant sound of 
 hackney-coaches or market-carts, and inquiring " if I heard the 
 engines ? " But towards morning she slept better, and suf- 
 fered me to do so too. 
 
 At about mid-day, we set out for the office of Messrs. Spen- 
 low and Jorkins in Doctors' Commons. My aunt, who had this 
 other general opinion in reference to London, that every man 
 she saw was a pickpocket, gave me her purse to carry for her, 
 which had ten guineas in it and some silver. 
 
 We made a pause at the toy-shop in Fleet-street, to see the 
 giants of St. Dunstan's strike upon the bells we had timed 
 our going, so as to catch them at it, at twelve o'clock and 
 then went on towards Ludgate Hill and St. Paul's Churchyard. 
 We were crossing to the former place, when I found that my 
 aunt greatly accelerated her speed, and looked frightened. I 
 observed, at the same time, that a lowering ill-dressed man 
 who had stopped and stared at us in passing, a little before, 
 was coming so close after us, as to brush against her. 
 
 " Trot ! My dear Trot ! " cried my aunt, in a terrified whis- 
 per, and pressing my arm. " I don't know what I am to do." 
 
 "Don't be alarmed," said I. "There's nothing to be afraid 
 of. Step into a shop, and I'll soon get rid of this fellow." 
 
378 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " No, no, child ! " she returned. " Don't speak to him foi 
 the world. I entreat, I order you ! " 
 
 " Good Heaven, aunt ! " said I. " He is nothing but a 
 sturdy beggar." 
 
 " You don't know what he is ! " replied my aunt. " You 
 don't know who he is ! You don't know what you say ! " 
 
 We had stopped in an empty doorway, while this was pass- 
 ing, and he had stopped too. 
 
 " Don't look at him ! " said my aunt, as I turned my head 
 indignantly, " but get me a coach, my dear, and wait for me in 
 St. Paul's Churchyard." 
 
 " Wait for you," I repeated. 
 
 "Yes," rejoined my aunt, "I must go alone. I must go 
 with him." 
 
 " With him, aunt ? This man ? " 
 
 " I am in my senses," she replied, " and I tell you I must. 
 Get me a coach ! " 
 
 However much astonished I might be, I was sensible that I 
 had no right to refuse compliance with such a peremptory 
 command. I hurried away a few paces, and called a hackney 
 chariot which was passing empty. Almost before I could let 
 down the steps, my aunt sprang in, I don't know how, and the 
 man followed. She waved her hand to me to go away, so 
 earnestly, that, all confounded as I was, I turned from them at 
 once. In doing so, I heard her say to the coachman, " Drive 
 anywhere ! Drive straight on ! " and presently the chariot 
 passed me, going up the hill. 
 
 What Mr. Dick had told me, and what I had supposed to 
 be a delusion of his, now came into my mind. I could not 
 doubt that this person was the person of whom he had made 
 such mysterious mention, though what the nature of his hold 
 upon my aunt could possibly be, I was quite unable to imagine. 
 After half an hour's cooling in the churchyard, I saw the 
 chariot coming back. The driver stopped beside me, and my 
 aunt was sitting in it alone. 
 
 She had not yet sufficiently recovered from her agitation to 
 be quite prepared for the visit we had to make. She desired 
 me to get into the chariot, and to tell the coachman to drive 
 slowly up and down a little while. She said no more, except, 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 379 
 
 " My dear child, never ask me what it was, and don't refer to 
 it," until she had perfectly regained her composure, when she 
 told me she was quite herself now, and we might get out. On 
 her giving me her purse, to pay the driver, I found that all 
 the guineas were gone, and only the loose silver remained. 
 
 Doctors' Commons was approached by a little low archway. 
 Before we had taken many paces down the street beyond it, 
 the noise of the city seemed to melt, as if by magic, into 
 a softened distance. A few dull courts, and narrow ways, 
 brought us to the skylighted offices of Spenlow and Jorkins ; 
 in the vestibule of which temple, accessible to pilgrims with- 
 out the ceremony of knocking, three or four clerks were at 
 work as copyists. One of these, a little dry man, sitting by 
 himself, who wore a stiff brown wig that looked as if it were 
 made of gingerbread, rose to receive my aunt, and show us 
 into Mr. Spenlow's room. 
 
 " Mr. Spenlow's in Court, ma'am," said the dry man ; " it's 
 an Arches day; but it's close by, and I'll send for him 
 directly." 
 
 As we were left to look about us while Mr. Spenlow was 
 fetched, I availed myself of the opportunity. The furniture 
 of the room was old-fashioned and dusty ; and the green baize 
 on the top of the writing-table had lost all its color, and was 
 as withered and pale as an old pauper. There were a great 
 many bundles of papers on it, some indorsed as Allegations, 
 and some (to my surprise) as Libels, and some as being in the 
 Consistory Court, and some in the Arches Court, and some in 
 the Prerogative Court, and some in the Admiralty Court, and 
 some in the Delegates' Court ; giving me occasion to wonder 
 much, how many Courts there might be in the gross, and how 
 long it would take to understand them all. Besides these, 
 there were sundry immense manuscript Books of Evidence 
 taken on affidavit, strongly bound, and tied together in massive 
 sets, a set to each cause, as if every cause were a history in 
 ten or twenty volumes. All this looked tolerably expensive, 
 I thought, and gave me an agreeable notion of a proctor's 
 business. I was casting my eyes with increasing complacency 
 over these and many similar objects, when hasty footsteps 
 were heard in the room outside, and Mr. Spenlow, in a black 
 
380 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 gown trimmed with, white fur, came hurrying in, taking off his 
 hat as he came. 
 
 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. His gold watch-chain was so massive, that a fancy 
 came across me, that he ought to have a sinewy golden arm, to 
 draw it out with, like those which are put up over the gold- 
 beaters' shops. He was got up with such care, and was so 
 stiff, that he could hardly bend himself ; being obliged, when 
 he glanced at some papers on his desk, after sitting down in 
 his chair, to move his whole body, from the bottom of his 
 spine, like Punch. 
 
 I had previously been presented by my aunt, and had been 
 courteously received. He now said : 
 
 "And so, Mr. Copperfield, you think of entering into our 
 profession ? I casually mentioned to Miss Trotwood, when I 
 had the pleasure of an interview with her the other day," 
 with another inclination of his body Punch again " that 
 there was a vacancy here. Miss Trotwood was good enough 
 to mention that she had a nephew who was her peculiar care, 
 and for whom she was seeking to provide genteelly in life. 
 That nephew, I believe, I have now the pleasure of " Punch 
 again. 
 
 I bowed my acknowledgments, and said, my aunt had men- 
 tioned to me that there was that opening, and that I believed 
 I should like it very much. That I was strongly inclined to 
 like it, and had taken immediately to the proposal. That I 
 could not absolutely pledge myself to like it, until I knew 
 something more about it. That although it was little else 
 than a matter of form, I presumed I should have an op- 
 portunity of trying how I liked it, before I bound myself to it 
 irrevocably. 
 
 " Oh surely ! surely ! " said Mr. Spenlow. " We always, in 
 this house, propose a month an initiatory month. I should 
 be happy, myself, to propose two months three an indefi- 
 nite period, in fact but I have a partner. Mr. Jorkins." 
 
 "And the premium, sir," I returned, "is a thousand pounds." 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 381 
 
 "And the premium, Stamp included, is a thousand pounds," 
 said Mr. Spenlow. " As I have mentioned to Miss Trotwood, 
 I am actuated by no mercenary considerations ; few men are 
 less so, I believe ; but Mr. Jorkins has his opinions on these 
 subjects, and I am bound to respect Mr. Jorkins's opinions. 
 Mr. Jorkins thinks a thousand pounds too little, in short." 
 
 "I suppose, sir," said I, still" desiring to spare my aunt, 
 " that it is not the custom here, if an articled clerk were par- 
 ticularly useful, and made himself a perfect master of his 
 profession " I could not help blushing, this looked so like 
 praising myself "I suppose it is not the custom, in the later 
 years of his time, to allow him any " 
 
 Mr. Spenlow, by a great effort, just lifted his head far 
 enough out of his cravat, to shake it, and answered, anticipat- 
 ing the word " salary." 
 
 "No. I will not say what consideration I might give to 
 that point myself, Mr. Copperfield, if I were unfettered. Mr. 
 Jorkins is immovable." 
 
 I was quite dismayed by the idea of this terrible Jorkins. 
 But I found out afterwards that he was a mild man of a heavy 
 temperament, whose place in the business was to keep himself 
 in the back-ground, 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 prop- 
 osition. If a client were slow to settle his bill of costs, Mr. 
 Jorkins was resolved to have it paid; and however painful 
 these things might be (and always were) to the feelings 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 ! 
 
 It was settled that I should begin my month's probation as 
 soon as I pleased, and that my aunt need neither remain in 
 town nor return at its expiration, as the articles of agreement 
 of which I was to be the subject, could easily be sent to her at 
 home for her signature. When we had got so far, Mr. Spen- 
 low offered to take me into Court then and there and show 
 me what sort of place it was. As I was willing enough to 
 
382 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 know, we went out with this object, leaving my aunt behind ; 
 who would trust herself, she said, in no such place, and who, 
 I think, regarded all Courts of Law as a sort of powder-mills 
 that might blow up at any time. 
 
 Mr. Spenlow conducted me through a paved courtyard 
 formed of grave brick houses, which I inferred, from the 
 Doctors' names upon the doors, to be the official abiding-places 
 of the learned advocates of whom Steerforth had told me ; and 
 into a large dull room, not unlike a chapel to my thinking, on 
 the left hand. The upper part of this room was fenced off 
 from the rest ; and there, on the two sides of a raised platform 
 of the horse-shoe form, sitting on easy old-fashioned dining- 
 room chairs, were sundry gentlemen in red gowns and gray 
 wigs, whom I found to be the Doctors aforesaid. Blinking 
 over a little desk like a pulpit-desk, in the curve of the horse- 
 shoe, was an old gentleman, whom, if I had seen him in an 
 aviary, I should certainly have taken for an owl, but who, I 
 learned, was the presiding judge. In the space within the 
 horse-shoe, lower than these, that is to say on about the level 
 of the floor, were sundry other gentlemen of Mr. Spenlow's 
 rank, and dressed like him in black gowns with white fur 
 upon them, sitting at a long green table. Their cravats were 
 in general stiff, I thought, and their looks haughty ; but in this 
 last respect, I presently conceived I had done them an injustice, 
 for when two or three of them had to rise and answer a ques- 
 tion of the presiding dignitary, I never saw anything more 
 sheepish. The public represented by a boy with a comforter, 
 and a shabby-genteel man secretly eating crumbs out of his 
 coat pockets, was warming itself at a stove in the centre of 
 the Court. The languid stillness of the place was only broken 
 by the chirping of this fire and by the voice of one of the Doc- 
 tors, who was wandering slowly through a perfect library of 
 evidence, and stopping to put up, from time to time, at little 
 roadside inns of argument on the journey. Altogether, I have 
 never, on any occasion, made one at such a cosey, dozy, old- 
 fashioned, time-forgotten, sleepy-headed little family-party in 
 all my life ; and I felt it would be quite a soothing opiate to 
 belong to it in any character except perhaps as a suitor. 
 
 Very well satisfied with the dreamy nature of this retreat, I 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 383 
 
 informed Mr. Spenlow that I had seen enough for that time, 
 and we rejoined my aunt ; in company with whom I presently 
 departed from the Commons, feeling very young when I went 
 out of Spenlow and Jorkiris's, on account of the clerks poking 
 one anothor with their pens to point me out. 
 
 We arrived at Lincoln's Inn Fields without any new 
 adventures except encountering an unlucky donkey in a coster- 
 monger's cart, who suggested painful associations to my aunt. 
 We had another long talk about my plans, when we were 
 safely housed ; and as I knew she was anxious to get home, 
 and, between fire, food, and pickpockets, could never be con- 
 sidered at her ease for half-an-hour in London, I urged her not 
 to be uncomfortable on my account, but to leave me to take 
 care of myself. 
 
 "I have not been here a week to-morrow, without consid- 
 ering that too, my dear," she returned. " There is a furnished 
 little set of chambers to be let in the Adelphi, Trot, which 
 ought to suit you to a marvel." 
 
 With this brief introduction, she produced from her pocket 
 an advertisement, carefully cut out of a newspaper, setting 
 forth that in Buckingham Street in the Adelphi there was to 
 be let furnished, with a view of the river, a singularly desirable 
 and compact set of chambers, forming a genteel residence for 
 a young gentleman, a member of one of the Inns of Court, or 
 otherwise, with immediate possession. Terms moderate, and 
 could be taken for a month only if required. 
 
 " Why, this is the very thing, aunt ! " said I, flushed with 
 the possible dignity of living in chambers. 
 
 " Then come," replied my aunt, immediately resuming the 
 bonnet she had a minute before laid aside. "We'll go and 
 look at 'em." 
 
 Away we went. The advertisement directed us to apply to 
 Mrs. Crupp on the premises, and we rung the area bell, which 
 we supposed to communicate with Mrs. Crupp. It was not 
 until we had rung three or four times that we could prevail on 
 Mrs. Crupp to communicate with us, but at last she appeared, 
 being a stout lady with a flounce of flannel petticoat below a 
 nankeen gown. 
 
384 THE PERSONAL HISTOEY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " Let us see these chambers of yours, if you please, ma'am/' 
 said my aunt. 
 
 " For this gentleman ? " said Mrs. Crupp, feeling in her 
 pocket for her keys. 
 
 "Yes, for my nephew," said my aunt. 
 
 " And a sweet set they is for sich ! " said Mrs. Crupp. 
 
 So we went up stairs. 
 
 They were on the top of the house a great point with my 
 aunt, being near the fire-escape and consisted of a little 
 half-blind entry where you could see hardly anything, a little 
 stone-blind pantry where you could see nothing at all, a sitting- 
 room, and a bed-room. The furniture was rather faded, but 
 quite good enough for me ; and, sure enough, the river was 
 outside the windows. 
 
 As I was delighted with the place, my aunt and Mrs. Crupp 
 withdrew into the pantry to discuss the terms, while I remained 
 on the sitting-room sofa, hardly daring to think it possible 
 that I could be destined to live in such a noble residence. 
 After a single combat of some duration, they returned, and I 
 saw, to my joy, both in Mrs. Crupp's countenance and in my 
 aunt's, that the deed was done. 
 
 " Is it the last occupant's furniture ? " inquired my aunt. 
 
 " Yes, it is, ma'am," said Mrs. Crupp. 
 
 " What's become of him ? " asked my aunt. 
 
 Mrs. Crupp was taken with a troublesome cough, in the 
 midst of which she articulated with much difficulty. "He 
 was took ill here, ma'am, and ugh ! ugh ! ugh ! dear me ! 
 and he died." 
 
 " Hey ! What did he die of ? " asked my aunt. 
 
 " Well, ma'am, he died of drink," said Mrs. Crupp in con- 
 fidence. "And smoke." 
 
 " Smoke ? You don't mean chimneys ? " said my aunt. 
 
 " No, ma'am," returned Mrs. Crupp. " Cigars and pipes." 
 
 " That's not catching, Trot, at any rate," remarked my aunt, 
 turning to me. 
 
 " No, indeed," said I. 
 
 In short, my aunt, seeing how enraptured I was with the 
 premises, took them for a month, with leave to remain for 
 twelve months when that time was out. Mrs. Crupp was to 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 385 
 
 find linen, and to cook; every other necessary was already 
 provided ; and Mrs. Crupp expressly intimated that she should 
 always yearn towards me as a son. I was to take possession 
 the day after to-morrow, and Mrs. Crupp said thank Heaven 
 she had now found sunimun she could care for ! 
 
 On our way back, my aunt informed me how she confidently 
 trusted that the life I was now to lead would make me firm 
 and self-reliant, which was all I wanted. She repeated this 
 several times next day, in the intervals of our arranging for 
 the transmission of my clothes and books from Mr. Wickfield's ; 
 relative to which, and to all my late holiday, I wrote a long 
 letter to Agnes, of which my aunt took charge, as she was to 
 leave on the succeeding day. Not to lengthen these particu- 
 lars, I need only add, that she made a handsome provision for 
 all my possible wants during my month of trial ; that Steer- 
 forth, to my great disappointment, and hers too, did not make 
 his appearance before she went away ! that I saw her safely 
 seated in the Dover coach, exulting in the coming discomfiture 
 of the vagrant donkeys, with Janet at her side ; and that when 
 the coach was gone, I turned my face to the Adelphi, ponder- 
 ing on the old days when I used to roam about its subterranean 
 arches, and on the happy changes which had brought me to 
 the surface. 
 
 VOL. i 25 
 
38G THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIV. 
 
 MY FIRST DISSIPATION. 
 
 IT was a wonderfully fine thing to have that lofty castle to 
 myself, and to feel, when I shut my outer door, like Robinson 
 Crusoe, when he had got into his fortification, and pulled his 
 ladder up after him. It was a wonderfully fine thing to walk 
 about town with the key of my house in my pocket, and to 
 know that I could ask any fellow to come home, and make 
 quite sure of its being inconvenient to nobody, if it were not 
 so to me. It was a wonderfully fine thing to let myself in 
 and out, and to come and go without a word to any one, and 
 to ring Mrs. Crupp up, gasping, from the depths of the earth, 
 when I wanted her and when she was disposed to come. 
 All this, I say, was wonderfully fine ; but I must say, too, that 
 there were times when it was very dreary. 
 
 It was fine in the morning, particularly in the fine morn- 
 ings. It looked a very fresh, free life, by daylight : still 
 fresher, and more free, by sunlight. But as the day declined, 
 the life seemed to go down too. I don't know how it was ; 
 it seldom looked well by candle-light. I wanted somebody to 
 talk to, then. I missed Agnes. I found a tremendous blank, 
 in the place of that smiling repository of my confidence. Mrs. 
 Crupp appeared to be a long way off. I thought about my 
 predecessor, who had died of drink and smoke : and I could 
 have wished he had been so good as to live, and not bother 
 me with his decease. 
 
 After two days and nights, I felt as if I had lived there for 
 a year, and yet I was not an hour older, but was quite as much 
 tormented by my own youthfulness as ever. 
 
 Steerforth not yet appearing, which induced me to apprehend 
 that he must be ill, I left the Commons early on the third 
 day, and walked out to Highgate. Mrs. Steerforth was very 
 glad to see me, and said that he had gone away with one of 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 387 
 
 his Oxford friends to see another who lived near St. Alban's, 
 but that she expected him to return to-morrow. I was so fond 
 of him, that I felt quite jealous of his Oxford friends. 
 
 As she pressed me to stay to dinner, I remained, and I believe 
 we talked about nothing but him all day. I told her how 
 much the people liked him at Yarmouth, and what a delightful 
 companion he had been. Miss Dartle was full of hints and 
 mysterious questions, but took a great interest in all our 
 proceedings there, and said, " was it really though ? " and so 
 forth, so often, that she got everything out of me she wanted 
 to know. Her appearance was exactly what I have described 
 it, when I first saw her ; but the society of the two ladies was 
 so agreeable, and came so natural to me, that I felt myself 
 falling a little in love with her. I could not help thinking, 
 several times in the course of the evening, and particularly 
 when I walked home at night, what delightful company she 
 would be in Buckingham Street. 
 
 I was taking my coffee and roll in the morning, before going 
 to the Commons and I may observe in this place that it is 
 surprising how much coffee Mrs. Crupp used, and how weak 
 it was, considering when Steerf orth himself walked in, to 
 my unbounded joy. 
 
 " My dear Steerforth," cried I, " I began to think I should 
 never see you again ! " 
 
 " I was carried off, by force of arms," said Steerforth, " the 
 very next morning after I got home. Why, Daisy, what a 
 rare old bachelor you are here ! " 
 
 I showed him over the establishment, not omitting the 
 pantry, with no little pride, and he commended it highly. 
 " I tell you what, old boy," he added, " I shall make quite 
 a town-house of this place, unless you give me notice to 
 quit." 
 
 This was a delightful hearing. I told him if he waited for 
 that, he would have to wait till doomsday. 
 
 "But you shall have some breakfast!" said I, with my 
 hand on the bell-rope, " and Mrs. Crupp shall make you some 
 fresh coffee, and I'll toast you some bacon in a bachelor's 
 Dutch-oven that I have got here." 
 
 " No, no ! " said Steerforth. " Don't ring ! I can't ! I am 
 
388 
 
 going to breakfast with one of these fellows who is at the 
 Piazza Hotel, in Covent Garden." 
 
 " But you'll come back to dinner ? " said I. 
 
 " I can't, upon my life. There's nothing I should like bet- 
 ter, but I must remain with these two fellows. We are all 
 three off together to-morrow morning." 
 
 "Then bring them here to dinner," I returned. "Do you 
 think they would come ? " 
 
 " Oh ! they would come fast enough," said Steerf orth ; " but 
 we should inconvenience you. You had better come and dine 
 with us somewhere." 
 
 I would not by any means Consent to this, for it occurred 
 to me that I really ought to have a little house warming, and 
 that there never could be a better opportunity. I had a new 
 pride in my rooms after his approval of them, and burned 
 with a desire to develop their utmost resources. I therefore 
 made him promise positively in the names of his two friends, 
 and we appointed six o'clock as the dinner-hour. 
 
 When he was gone, I rang for Mrs. Crupp, and acquainted 
 her with my desperate design. Mrs. Crupp said, in the first 
 place, of course it was well known she couldn't be expected to 
 wait, but she knew a handy young man, who she thought 
 could be prevailed upon to do it, and whose terms would be 
 five shillings, and what I pleased. I said, certainly we would 
 have him. Next, Mrs. Crupp said it was clear she couldn't be 
 in two places at once (which I felt to be reasonable), and that 
 " a young gal " stationed in the pantry with a bed-room candle, 
 there never to desist from washing plates, would be indis- 
 pensable. I said, what would be the expense of this young 
 female, and Mrs. Crupp said she supposed eighteen-pence 
 would neither make me nor break me. I said I supposed not ; 
 and that was settled. Then Mrs. Crupp said, Now about the 
 dinner. 
 
 It was a remarkable instance of want of forethought on the 
 part of the ironmonger who had made Mrs. Crupp's kitchen 
 fire-place, that it was capable of cooking nothing but chops 
 and mashed potatoes. As to a fish-kittle, Mrs. Crupp said, 
 well ! would I only come and look at the range. She couldn't 
 say fairer than that. Would I come and look at it ? As I 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 389 
 
 should not have been much the wiser if I had looked at it, I 
 declined, and said, " Never mind fish." But Mrs. Crupp said, 
 Don't say that ; oysters was in, and why not them ? So that 
 was settled. Mrs. Crupp then said what she would recommend 
 would be this. A pair of hot roast fowls from the pastry- 
 cook's ; a dish of stewed beef, with vegetables from the 
 pastry-cook's ; two little corner things, as a raised pie and a 
 dish of kidneys from the pastry-cook's ; a tart, and (if I 
 liked) a shape of jelly from the pastry-cook's. This, Mrs. 
 Crupp said, would leave her at full liberty to concentrate her 
 mind on the potatoes, and to serve up the cheese and celery 
 as she could wish to see it done. 
 
 I acted on Mrs. Crupp's opinion, and gave the order at the 
 pastry-cook's myself. Walking along the Strand, afterwards, 
 and observing a hard mottled substance in the window of a 
 ham and beef shop, which resembled marble, bat was labelled 
 " Mock Turtle," I went in and bought a slab of it, which I 
 have since seen reason to believe would have sufficed for 
 fifteen people. This preparation, Mrs. Crupp, after some 
 difficulty, consented to warm up ; and it shrunk so much in a 
 liquid state, that we found it what Steerforth called " rather 
 a tight fit " for four. 
 
 These preparations happily completed, I bought a little 
 dessert in Covent Garden Market, and gave a rather extensive 
 order at a retail wine-merchant's in that vicinity. When I 
 came home in the afternoon, and saw the bottles drawn up in 
 a square on the pantry-floor, they looked so numerous (though 
 there were two missing, which made Mrs. Crupp very 
 uncomfortable), that I was absolutely frightened at them. 
 
 One of Steerforth's friends was named Grainger, and the 
 other Markham. They were both very gay and lively fellows ; 
 Grainger, something older than Steerforth ; Markham, youth- 
 ful-looking, and I should say not more than twenty. I 
 observed that the latter always spoke of himself indefinitely, 
 as " a man," and seldom or never in the first person singular. 
 
 "A man might get on very well here, Mr. Copperfield," 
 said Markham meaning himself. 
 
 "It's not a bad situation," said I, " and the rooms are 
 really commodious." 
 
390 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND 
 
 " I hope you have both brought appetites with you ? " said 
 Steerforth. 
 
 " Upon my honor," returned Markham, " town seems to 
 sharpen a man's appetite. A man is hungry all day long. A 
 man is perpetually eating." 
 
 Being a little embarrassed at first, and feeling much too 
 young to preside, I made Steerforth take the head of the table 
 when dinner was announced, and seated myself opposite to 
 him. Everything was very good ; we did not spare the wine ; 
 and he exerted himself so brilliantly to make the thing pass 
 off well, that there was no pause in our festivity. I was not 
 quite such good company during dinner, as I could have 
 wished to be, for my chair was opposite the door, and my 
 attention was distracted by observing that the handy young 
 man went out of the room very often, and that his shadow 
 always presented itself, immediately afterwards, on the wall 
 of the entry, with a bottle at his mouth. The " young gal " 
 likewise occasioned me some uneasiness : not so much by 
 neglecting to wash the plates, as by breaking them. For be- 
 ing of an inquisitive disposition, and unable to confine herself 
 (as her positive instructions were) to the pantry, she was con- 
 stantly peering in at us, and constantly imagining herself 
 detected ; in which belief, she several times retired upon the 
 plates (with which she had carefully paved the floor), and did 
 great deal of destruction. 
 
 These, however, were small drawbacks, and easily forgotten 
 when the cloth was cleared, and the dessert put on the 
 table ; at which period of the entertainment the handy young 
 man was discovered to be speechless. Giving him private 
 directions to seek the society of Mrs. Crupp, and to remove 
 the " young gal " to the basement also, I abandoned myself 
 to enjoyment. 
 
 I began by being singularly cheerful and light-hearted ; all 
 sorts of half-forgotten things to talk about, came rushing 
 into my mind, and made me hold forth in a most unwonted 
 manner. I laughed heartily at my own jokes, and everybody 
 else's; called Steerforth to order for not passing the wine; 
 made several engagements to go to Oxford ; announced that I 
 meant to have a dinner party exactly like that, once a week 
 
 
OF DAVID COPPERF1ELD. 391 
 
 until 'further notice ; and madly took so much snuff out of 
 Grainger's box, that I was obliged to go into the pantry, and 
 have a private fit of sneezing ten minutes long. 
 
 I went on, by passing the wine faster and faster yet, and 
 continually starting up with a corkscrew to open more wine, 
 long before any was needed. I proposed Steerforth's health. 
 I said he was my dearest friend, the protector of my boyhood, 
 and the companion of my prime. I said I was delighted to 
 propose his health. I said I owed him more obligations than 
 I could ever repay, and held him in a higher admiration than 
 I could ever express. I finished by saying, "I'll give you 
 Steerforth ! God bless him ! Hurrah ! " We gave him three 
 times three, and another, and a good one to finish with. I 
 broke my glass in going round the table to shake hands with 
 him, and I said (in two words) "Steerforth, you'retheguiding- 
 starofmy existence." 
 
 I went on, by finding suddenly that somebody was in the 
 middle of a song. Markham was the singer, and he sang 
 " When the heart of a man is depressed with care." He said, 
 when he had sung it, he would give us " Woman ! " I took 
 objection to that, and I couldn't allow it. I said it was not a 
 respectful way of proposing the toast, and I would never 
 permit that toast to be drunk in my house otherwise than as 
 " The Ladies ! " I was very high with him, mainly I think 
 because I saw Steerforth and Grainger laughing at me or at 
 him or at both of us. He said a man was not to be dictated 
 to. I said a man was. He said a man was not to be insulted, 
 then. I said he was right there never under my roof, 
 where the Lares were sacred, and the laws of hospitality para- 
 mount. He said it was no derogation from a man's dignity to 
 confess that I was a devilish good fellow. I instantly pro- 
 posed his health. 
 
 Somebody was smoking. We were all smoking. / was 
 smoking, and trying to suppress a rising tendency to shudder. 
 Steerforth had made a speech about me, in the course of which 
 I had been affected almost to tears. I returned thanks, and 
 hoped the present company would dine with me to-morrow, 
 and the day after each day at five o'clock, that we might 
 enjoy the pleasures of conversation and society through a long 
 
392 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 evening. I felt called upon to propose an individual. I would 
 give them my aunt. Miss Betsey Trotwood, the best of her 
 sex ! 
 
 Somebody was leaning out of my bed-room window, refresh- 
 ing his forehead against the cool stone of the parapet, and 
 feeling the air upon his face. It was myself. I was addressing 
 myself as " Copperfield," and saying, "Why did you try to 
 smoke ? You might have known you couldn't do it." Now, 
 somebody was unsteadily contemplating his features in the 
 looking-glass. That was I too. I was very pale in the look- 
 ing-glass ; my eyes had a vacant appearance ; and my hair 
 only my hair, nothing else looked drunk. 
 
 Somebody said to me, "Let us go to the theatre, Copper- 
 field ! " There was no bed-room before me, but again the 
 jingling table covered with glasses ; the lamp ; Grainger on 
 my right hand, Markham on my left, and Steerforth opposite 
 all sitting in a mist, and a long way off. The theatre ? 
 To be sure. The very thing. Come along ! But they must 
 excuse me if I saw everybody out first, and turned the lamp 
 off in case of fire. 
 
 Owing to some confusion in the dark, the door was gone. I 
 was feeling for it in the window-curtains, when Steerforth 
 laughing, took me by the arm and led me out. We went 
 down stairs, one behind another. Near the bottom, somebody 
 fell, and rolled down. Somebody else said it was Copperfield. 
 I was angry at that false report, until, finding myself on my 
 back in the passage, I began to think there might be some 
 foundation for it. 
 
 A very foggy night, with great rings round the lamps in the 
 streets ! There was an indistinct talk of its being wet. 7 
 considered it frosty. Steerforth dusted me under a lamp-post, 
 and put my hat into shape, which somebody produced from 
 somewhere in a most extraordinary manner, for I hadn't had 
 it on before. Steerforth then said, " You are all right, Copper- 
 field, are you not ? " and I told him, " Neverberrer." 
 
 A man, sitting in a pigeon-hole-place, looked out of the fog, 
 and took money from somebody, inquiring if I was one of the 
 gentlemen paid for, and appearing rather doubtful (as I 
 remember in the glimpse I had of him) whether to take the 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 393 
 
 money for me or not. Shortly afterwards, we were very high 
 up in a very hot theatre, looking down into a large pit, that 
 seemed to me to smoke; the people with whom it was 
 crammed were so indistinct. There was a great stage, too, 
 looking very clean and smooth after the streets ; and there 
 were people upon it, talking about something or other, but not 
 at all intelligibly. There was an abundance of bright lights, 
 and there was music, and there were ladies down in the boxes, 
 and I don't know what more. The whole building looked to 
 me, as if it were learning to swim ; it. conducted itself in such 
 an unaccountable manner, when I tried to steady it. 
 
 On somebody's motion, we resolved to go down stairs to 
 the dress-boxes, where the ladies were. A gentleman lounging, 
 full dressed, on a sofa, with an opera-glass in his hand, passed 
 before my view, and also my own figure at full length in a 
 glass. Then I was being ushered into one of these boxes, 
 and found myself saying something as I sat down, and people 
 about me crying " Silence ! " to somebody, and ladies casting 
 indignant glances at me, and what! yes! Agnes, sitting 
 on the seat before me, in the same box, with a lady and gen- 
 tleman beside her whom I didn't know. I see her face now, 
 better than I did then I dare say, with its indelible look of 
 regret and wonder turned upon me. 
 
 " Agnes ! " I said, thickly, " Lorblessmer ! Agnes ! " 
 
 " Hush ! Pray ! " she answered, I could not conceive why. 
 " You disturb the company. Look at the stage ! " 
 
 I tried, on her injunction, to fix it, and to hear something of 
 what was going on there, but quite in vain. I looked at her 
 again by and by, and saw her shrink into her corner, and put 
 her gloved hand to her forehead. 
 
 "Agnes!" I said. " I'mafraidyou'renorwell." 
 
 "Yes, yes. Do not mind me, Trotwood," she returned. 
 " Listen ! Are you going away soon ? ' : 
 
 " Amigoarawaysoo ? " I repeated. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 I had a stupid intention of replying that I was going to 
 wait, to hand her down stairs. I suppose I expressed it some- 
 how ; for after she had looked at me attentively for a little 
 while, she appeared to understand, and replied in a low tone : 
 
894 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " I know you will do as I ask you, if I tell you I am ver^. 
 earnest in it. Go away now, Trotwood, for my sake, and asL 
 your friends to take you home." 
 
 She had so far improved me, for the time, that though I wa& 
 angry with her, I felt ashamed, and with a short " Goori ! '* 
 (which I intended for " Good night ! ") got up and went 
 away. They followed, and I stepped at once out of the box- 
 door into my bed-room, where only Steerforth was with me. 
 helping me to undress, and where I was by turns telling him 
 that Agnes was my sister, and adjuring him to bring the cork- 
 screw, that I might open another bottle of wine. 
 
 How somebody, lyin^ in my bed, lay saying and doing all 
 this over again, at cross purposes, in a feverish dream all 
 night the bed a rocking sea, that was never still ! How, as 
 that somebody slowly settled down into myself, did I begin to 
 parch, and feel as if my outer covering of skin were a hard 
 board ; my tongue the bottom of an empty kettle, furred with 
 long service, and burning up over a slow fire ; the palms of 
 my hands, hot plates of metal which no ice could cool ! 
 
 But the agony of mind, the remorse and shame I felt, when 
 I became conscious next day ! My horror of having com- 
 mitted a thousand offences I had forgotten, and which nothing 
 could ever expiate my recollection of that indelible look 
 which Agnes had given me the torturing impossibility of 
 communicating with her, not knowing, beast that I was, how 
 she came to be in London, or where she stayed my disgust 
 of the very sight of the room where the revel had been held 
 my racking head the smell of smoke, the sight of 
 glasses, the impossibility of going out, or even getting up 
 Oh, what a day it was ! 
 
 Oh, what an evening, when I sat down by my fire to a basin 
 of mutton broth, dimpled all over with fat, and thought I was 
 going the way of my predecessor, and should succeed to hit? 
 dismal story as well as to his chambers, and had half a mind 
 to rush express to Dover and reveal all ! What an evening, 
 when Mrs. Crupp, coming in to take away the broth-basin 
 produced one kidney on a cheese-plate as the entire remains 
 of yesterday's feast, and I was really inclined to fall upon her 
 
OF It AVID COPPEEFIELD. 395 
 
 nankeen breast, and say, in heartfelt penitence, "Oh, Mrs. 
 Crupp, Mrs. Crupp, never mind the broken meats ! I am very 
 miserable ! " - only that I doubted, even at that pass, if Mrs. 
 Crupp were quite the sort of woman to confide in! 
 
396 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 GOOD AND BAD ANGELS. 
 
 I WAS going out at my door on the morning after that 
 deplorable day of headache, sickness, and repentance, with an 
 odd confusion in my mind relative to the date of my dinner- 
 party, as if a body of Titans had taken an enormous lever and 
 pushed the day before yesterday some months back, when I 
 saw a ticket-porter coming up stairs, with a letter in his hand. 
 He was taking his time about his errand, then ; but when he 
 saw me on the top of the staircase, looking at him over the 
 banisters, he swung into a trot, and came up panting as if he 
 had run himself into a state of exhaustion. 
 
 "T. Copperfield, Esquire," said the ticket-porter, touching 
 his hat with his little cane. 
 
 I could scarcely lay claim to the name : I was so disturbed 
 by the conviction that the letter came from Agnes. However, 
 I told him I was T. Copperfield, Esquire, and he believed it, 
 and gave me the letter, which he said required an answer. I 
 shut him out on the landing to wait for the answer, and went 
 into my chambers again, in such a nervous state that I was 
 fain to lay the letter down on my breakfast-table, and familiar- 
 ize myself with the outside of it a little, before I could resolve 
 to break the seal. 
 
 I found, when I did open it, that it was a very kind note, 
 containing no reference to my condition at the theatre. All it 
 said, was, " My dear Trotwood. I am staying at the house of 
 papa's agent, Mr. Waterbrook, in Ely-place, Holborn. Will 
 you come and see me to-day, at any time you like to appoint ? 
 Ever yours affectionately, AGNES." 
 
 It took me such a long time to write an answer at all to my 
 satisfaction, that I don't know what the ticket-porter can have 
 thought, unless he thought I was learning to write. I must 
 have written half-a-dozen answers at least. I began one, 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 397 
 
 "How can I ever hope, my dear Agnes, to efface from your 
 remembrance the disgusting impression " there I didn't like 
 it, and then I tore it up. I began another, " Shakspeare has 
 observed, my dear Agnes, how strange it is that a man should 
 put an enemy into his mouth" that reminded me ,of Mark- 
 ham, and it got no farther. I even tried poetry. I began one 
 note, in a six syllable line, " Oh, do not remember " but that 
 associated itself with the fifth of November, and became an 
 absurdity. After many attempts, I wrote, "My dear Agnes. 
 Your letter is like you, and what could I say of it that would 
 be higher praise than that ? I will come at four o'clock. 
 Affectionately and sorrowfully, T. C." With this missive 
 (which I was in twenty minds at once about recalling, as 
 soon as it was out of my hands), the ticket-porter at last 
 departed. 
 
 If the day were half as tremendous to any other professional 
 gentleman in Doctors' Commons as it was to me, I sincerely 
 believe he made some expiation for his share in that rotten old 
 ecclesiastical cheese. Although I left the office at half-past 
 three, and was prowling about the place of appointment within 
 a few minutes afterwards, the appointed time was exceeded 
 by a full quarter of an hour, according to the clock of St. 
 Andrews, Holborn, before I could muster up sufficient desper- 
 ation to pull the private bell-handle let into the left-hand 
 door-post of Mr. Waterbrook's house. 
 
 The professional business of Mr. Waterbrook's establish- 
 ment was done on the ground floor, and the genteel business 
 (of which there was a good deal) in the upper part of the 
 building. I was shown into a pretty but rather close drawing- 
 room, and there sat Agnes, netting a purse. 
 
 She looked so quiet and good, and reminded me so strongly 
 of my airy fresh school days at Canterbury, and the sodden, 
 smoky, stupid wretch I had been the other night, that, nobody 
 being by, I yielded to my self-reproach and shame, and in 
 short, made a fool of myself. I cannot deny that I shed tears. 
 To this hour I am undecided whether it was upon the whole 
 the wisest thing I could have done, or the most ridiculous. 
 
 "If it had been any one but you, Agnes," said I, turning 
 away my head, " I should not have minded it half so much. 
 
398 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 But that it should have been you who saw me ! I almost wish 
 I had been dead, first." 
 
 She put her hand its touch was like no other hand upon 
 my arm for a moment ; and I felt so befriended a^d comforted, 
 that I could not help moving it to my lips, and gratefully 
 kissing it. 
 
 "Sit down," said Agnes, cheerfully. "Don't be unhappy, 
 Trotwood. If you cannot confidently trust me, whom will 
 you trust ? " 
 
 " Ah, Agnes ! " I returned. " You are my good Angel ! " 
 
 She smiled rather sadly, I thought, and shook her head. 
 
 " Yes, Agnes, my good Angel ! Always my good Angel ! " 
 
 " If I were, indeed, Trotwood," she returned, " there is one 
 thing that I should set my heart on very much." 
 
 I looked at her inquiringly; but already with a fore- 
 knowledge of her meaning. 
 
 "On warning you," said Agnes, with a steady glance, 
 " against your bad Angel." 
 
 " My dear Agnes," I began, " if you mean Steerforth " 
 
 " I do, Trotwood," she returned. 
 
 "Then, Agnes, you wrong him very much. He my bad 
 Angel, or any one's ! He, anything but a guide, a support, 
 and a friend to me ! My dear Agnes ! Now, is it not unjust, 
 and unlike you, to judge him from what you saw of me the 
 other night ? " 
 
 " I do not judge him from what I saw of you the other 
 night," she quietly replied. 
 
 " From what, then ? " 
 
 "From many things trifles in themselves, but they do not 
 seem to me to be so, when they are put together. I judge 
 him, partly from your account of him, Trotwood, and your 
 character, and the influence he has over you." 
 
 There was always something in her modest voice that 
 seemed to touch a chord within me, answering to that sound 
 alone. It was always earnest ; but when it was very earnest, 
 as it was now, there was a thrill in it that quite subdued me. 
 I sat looking at her as she cast her eyes down on her work ; I 
 sat seeming still to listen to her ; and Steerforth, in spite of 
 all my attachment to him, darkened in that tone. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 399 
 
 "It is very bold in me," said Agnes, looking up again, 
 " who have lived in such seclusion, and can know so little of 
 the world, to give you my advice so confidently, or even to 
 have this strong opinion. But I know in what it is engen- 
 dered, Trotwood, in how true a remembrance of our having 
 grown up together, and in how true an interest in all relating 
 to you. It is that which makes me bold. I am certain that 
 what I say is right. I am quite sure it is. I feel as if it 
 were some one else speaking to you, and not I, when I caution 
 you that you have made a dangerous friend." 
 
 Again I looked at her, again I listened to her after she was 
 silent, and again his image, though it was still fixed in my 
 heart, darkened. 
 
 " I am not so unreasonable as to expect," said Agnes, 
 resuming her usual tone, after a little while, " that you will, 
 or that you can, at once, change any sentiment that has 
 become a conviction to you ; least of all a sentiment that is 
 rooted in your trusting disposition. You ought not hastily to 
 do that. I only ask you, Trotwood, if you ever think of me 
 I mean," with a quiet smile, for I was going to interrupt 
 her, and she knew why, " as often as you think of me to 
 think of what I have said. Do you forgive me for all this ? " 
 
 "I will forgive you, Agnes," I replied, "when you come to 
 do Steerforth justice, and to like him as well as I do." 
 
 " Not until then ? " said Agnes. 
 
 I saw a passing shadow on her face when I made this men- 
 tion of him, but she returned my smile, and we were again 
 as unreserved in our mutual confidence as of old. 
 
 " And when, Agnes," said I, " will you forgive me the other 
 night ? " 
 
 " When I recall it," said Agnes. 
 
 She would have dismissed the subject so, but I was too full 
 of it to allow that, and insisted on telling her how it happened 
 that I had disgraced myself, and what chain of accidental 
 circumstances had had the theatre for its final link. It was a 
 great relief to me to do this, and to enlarge on the obligation 
 that I owed to Steerforth for his care of me when I was 
 unable to take care of myself. 
 
 "You must not forget," said Agnes, calmly changing the 
 
400 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 conversation as soon as I had concluded, " that you are always 
 to tell me, not only when you fall into trouble, but when you 
 fall in love. Who has succeeded to Miss Larkins, Trotwood ? " 
 
 " No one, Agnes." 
 
 " Some one, Trotwood," said Agnes, laughing, and holding 
 up her finger. 
 
 " No, Agnes, upon my word ! There is a lady, certainly, 
 at Mrs. Steerforth's house, who is very clever, and whom I 
 like to talk to Miss Dartle but I don't adore her." 
 
 Agnes laughed again at her own penetration, and told me 
 that if I were faithful to her in my confidence she thought 
 she should keep a little register of my violent attachments, 
 with the date, duration, and termination of each, like the 
 table of the reigns of the kings and queens, in the History of 
 England. Then she asked me if I had seen Uriah. 
 
 " Uriah Heep ? " said I. " No. Is he in London ? " 
 
 " He comes to the office down stairs, every day," returned 
 Agnes. " He was in London a week before me. I am afraid 
 on disagreeable business, Trotwood." 
 
 " On some business that makes you uneasy, Agnes, I see," 
 said I. " What can that be ? " 
 
 Agnes laid aside her work, and replied, folding her hands 
 upon one another, and looking pensively at me out of those 
 beautiful soft eyes of hers : 
 
 " I believe he is going to enter into partnership with papa." 
 
 " What ? Uriah ? That mean, fawning fellow, worm him- 
 self into such promotion ? " I cried, indignantly. " Have 
 you made no remonstrance about it, Agnes ? Consider what 
 a connection it is likely to be. You must speak out. You 
 must not allow your father to take such a mad step. You 
 must prevent it, Agnes, while there's time." 
 
 Still looking at me, Agnes shook her head while I was 
 speaking, with a faint smile at my warmth : and then replied: 
 
 " You remember our last conversation about papa ? It was 
 not long after that not more than two or three days when 
 he gave me the first intimation of what I tell you. It was sad 
 to see him struggling between his desire to represent it to me 
 as a matter of choice on his part, and his inability to conceal 
 that it was forced upon him. I felt very sorry." 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 401 
 
 " Forced upon him, Agnes ? Who forces it upon him ? " 
 
 "Uriah/' she replied, after a moment's hesitation, "has 
 made himself indispensable to papa. He is subtle and watch- 
 ful. He has mastered papa's weaknesses, fostered them, and 
 taken advantage of them, until to say all that I mean in 
 a word, Trotwood, until papa is afraid of him." 
 
 There was more that she might have said ; more that she 
 knew, or that she suspected ; I clearly saw. I could not give 
 her pain by asking what it was, for I knew that she withheld 
 it from me to spare her father. It had long been going on to 
 this I was sensible : yes, I could not but feel, on the least 
 reflection, that it had been going on to this for a long time. I 
 remained silent. 
 
 "His ascendancy over papa," said Agnes, "is very great. 
 He professes humility and gratitude with truth, perhaps : I 
 hope so but his position is really one of power, and I fear 
 he makes a hard use of his power." 
 
 I said he was a hound, which, at the moment, was a great 
 satisfaction to me. 
 
 " At the time I speak of, as the time when papa spoke to 
 me," pursued Agnes, " he had told papa that he was going 
 away ; that he was very sorry and unwilling to leave, but that 
 he had better prospects. Papa was very much depressed then, 
 and more bowed down by care than ever you or I have seen 
 him; but he seemed relieved by this expedient of the part- 
 nership, though at the same time he seemed hurt by it and 
 ashamed of it." 
 
 " And how did you receive it, Agnes ? " 
 
 "I did, Trotwood," she replied, "what I hope was right. 
 Feeling sure that it was necessary for papa's peace that the 
 sacrifice should be made, I entreated him to make it. I said 
 it would lighten the load of his life I hope it will! and 
 that it would give me increased opportunities of being his 
 companion. Oh, Trotwood ! " cried Agnes, putting her hands 
 before her face, as her tears started on it, " I almost feel as if 
 I had been papa's enemy, instead of his loving child. For I 
 know how he has altered, in his devotion to me. I know how 
 he has narrowed the circle of his sympathies and duties, in 
 the concentration of his whole mind upon me. I know what 
 VOL. i 26 
 
402 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 a multitude of things lie has shut out for my sake, and how 
 his anxious thoughts of rue have shadowed his life, and 
 weakened his strength and energy, by turning them always 
 upon one idea. If I could ever set this right ! If I could 
 ever work out his restoration, as I have so innocently been the 
 cause of his decline ! " 
 
 I had never before seen Agnes cry. I had seen tears in her 
 eyes when I had brought new honors home from school, and 
 I had seen them, there when we last spoke about her father, 
 and I had seen her turn her gentle head aside when we took 
 leave of one another ; but I had never seen her grieve like 
 this. It made me so sorry that I could only say, in a foolish, 
 helpless manner, "Pray, Agnes, don't! Don't, my dear 
 sister ! " 
 
 But Agnes was too superior to me in character and purpose, 
 as I know well now, whatever I might know or not know then, 
 to be long in need of my entreaties. The beautiful, calm 
 manner, which makes her so different in my remembrance 
 from everybody else, came back again, as if a cloud had passed 
 from a serene sky. 
 
 "We are not likely to remain alone much longer," said 
 Agnes, "and while I have an opportunity, let me earnestly 
 entreat you, Trotwood, to be friendly to Uriah. Don't repel 
 him. Don't resent (as I think you have a general disposition 
 to do) what may be uncongenial to you in him. He may not 
 deserve it, for we know no certain ill of him. In any case, 
 think first of papa and me ! " 
 
 Agnes had no time to say more, for the room-door opened, 
 and Mrs. "\Vaterbrook, who was a large lady or who wore a 
 large dress : I don't exactly know which, for I don't know 
 which was dress and which was lady came sailing in. I had 
 a dim recollection of having seen her at the theatre, as if I had 
 seen her in a pale magic lantern ; but she appeared to remember 
 me perfectly, and still to suspect me of being in a state of 
 intoxication. 
 
 Finding by degrees, however, that I was sober, and (I hope) 
 that I was a modest young gentleman, Mrs. Waterbrook 
 softened towards me considerably, and inquired, firstly, if I 
 went much into the parks, and secondly, if I went much into 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 403 
 
 society. On my replying to both these questions in the 
 negative, it occurred to me that I fell again in her good 
 opinion ; but she concealed the fact gracefully, and invited me 
 to dinner next day. I accepted the invitation, and took my 
 leave ; making a call on Uriah in the office as I went out, and 
 leaving a card for him in his absence. 
 
 When I went to dinner next day, and, on the street-door 
 being opened, plunged into a vapor-bath of haunch of mutton, 
 I divined that I was not the only guest ; for I immediately 
 identified the ticket-porter in disguise, assisting the family 
 servant, and waiting at the foot of the stairs to carry up my 
 name. He looked, to the best of his ability, when he asked 
 me for it confidentially, as if he had never seen me before ; but 
 well did I know him, and well did he know me. Conscience 
 made cowards of us both. 
 
 ^g. I found Mr. Waterbrook to be a middle-aged gentleman, with 
 a short throat, and a good deal of shirt-collar, who only wanted 
 a black nose to be the portrait of a pug-dog. He told me he 
 was happy to have the honor of making my acquaintance ; 
 and when I had paid my homage to Mrs. Waterbrook, presented 
 me, with much ceremony, to a very awful lady in a black 
 velvet dress, and a great black velvet hat, whom I remember 
 as looking like a near relation of Hamlet's say his aunt. 
 
 Mrs. Henry Spiker was this lady's name ; and her husband 
 was there too : so cold a man, that his head, instead of being 
 gray, seemed to be sprinkled with hoar-frost. Immense def- 
 erence was shown to the Henry Spikers, male and female ; 
 which Agnes told me was on account of Mr. Henry Spiker 
 being solicitor to something or to somebody, I forget what or 
 which, remotely connected with the Treasury. 
 
 I found Uriah Heep among the company, in a suit of black, 
 and in deep humility. He told me, when I shook hands with 
 him, that he was proud to be noticed by me, and that he really 
 felt obliged to me for my condescension. I could have wished 
 he had been less obliged to me, for he hovered about me in his 
 gratitude all the rest of the evening ; and whenever I said a 
 word to Agnes, was sure, with his shadowless eyes and cadav- 
 erous face, to be looking gauntly down upon us from behind. 
 
 There were other guests all iced for the occasion, as it 
 
404 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 struck me, like the wine. But, there was one who attracted 
 my attention before he came in, on account of my hearing him 
 announced as Mr. Traddles ! My mind flew back to Salem 
 House ; and could it be Tommy, I thought, who used to draw 
 the skeletons ! 
 
 I looked for Mr. Traddles with unusual interest. He was a 
 sober, steady-looking young man of retiring manners, with a 
 comic head of hair, and eyes that were rather wide open ; and 
 he got into an obscure corner so soon, that I had some difficulty 
 in making him out. At length I had a good view of him, 
 and either my vision deceived me, or it was the old unfortu- 
 nate Tommy. 
 
 I made my way to Mr. Waterbrook, and said, that I believed 
 I had the pleasure of seeing an old schoolfellow there. 
 
 " Indeed ? " said Mr. Waterbrook, surprised. " You are too 
 young to have been at school with Mr. Henry Spiker ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't mean him ! " I returned. " I mean the gentle- 
 man named Traddles." 
 
 " Oh ! Ay, ay ! Indeed ! " said my host, with much dimin- 
 ished interest. "Possibly." 
 
 " If it's really the same person," said I, glancing towards 
 him, "it was at a place called Salem House where we were 
 together, and he was an excellent fellow." 
 
 " Oh, yes. Traddles is a good fellow," returned my host, 
 nodding his head with an air of toleration. " Traddles is quite 
 a good fellow." 
 
 " It's a curious coincidence," said I. 
 
 " It is really," returned my host, " quite a coincidence, that 
 Traddles should be here a,t all : as Traddles was only invited 
 this morning, when the place at table, intended to be occupied 
 by Mrs. Henry Spiker's brother, became vacant, in consequence 
 of his indisposition. A very gentlemanly man, Mrs. Henry 
 Spiker's brother, Mr. Copperfield." 
 
 I murmured an assent, which was full of feeling, considering 
 that I knew nothing at all about him ; and I inquired what 
 Mr. Traddles was by profession. 
 
 "Traddles," returned Mr. Waterbrook, "is a young man 
 reading for the bar. Yes. He is quite a good fellow no- 
 body's enemy but his own." 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 405 
 
 " Is he his own enemy ? " said I, sorry to hear this. 
 
 "Well," returned Mr. Waterbrook, pursing up his inouth, 
 and playing with his watch-chain, in a comfortable, prosperous 
 sort of way. "I should say he was one of those men who 
 stand in their own light. Yes, I should say he would never, 
 for example, be worth five hundred pound. Traddles was 
 recommended to me by a professional friend. Oh, yes. Yes. 
 He has a kind of talent, for drawing briefs, and stating a case 
 in writing, plainly. I am able to throw something in Traddles's 
 way, in the course of the year ; something for him consid- 
 erable. Oh, yes. Yes." 
 
 I was much impressed by the extremely comfortable and 
 satisfied manner, in which Mr. Waterbrook delivered himself 
 of this little word "Yes," every now and then. There was 
 wonderful expression in it. It completely conveyed the idea 
 of a man who had been born, not to say with a silver spoon, 
 but with a scaling-ladder, and had gone on mounting all the 
 heights of life one after another, until now he looked, from 
 the top of the fortifications, with the eye of a philosopher and 
 a patron, on the people down in the trenches. 
 
 My reflections on this theme were still in progress when 
 dinner was announced. Mr. Waterbrook went down with 
 Hamlet's aunt. Mr. Henry Spiker took Mrs. Waterbrook. 
 Agnes, whom I should have liked to take myself, was given to 
 a simpering fellow with weak legs. Uriah, Traddles, and I, 
 as the junior part of the company, went down last, how we 
 could. I was not so vexed at losing Agnes as I might have 
 been, since it gave me an opportunity of making myself 
 known to Traddles on the stairs, who greeted me with great 
 fervor : while Uriah writhed with such obtrusive satisfaction 
 and self-abasement, that I could gladly have pitched him over 
 the banisters. 
 
 Traddles and I were separated at table, being billeted in 
 two remote corners : he in the glare of a red velvet lady : I, 
 in the gloom of Hamlet's aunt. The dinner was very long, 
 and the conversation was about the Aristocracy and Blood. 
 Mrs. Waterbrook repeatedly told us, that if she had a weak- 
 ness, it was Blood. 
 
 It occurred to me several times that we should have got on 
 
406 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 better, if we had not been quite so genteel. We were so ex- 
 ceedingly genteel, that our scope was very limited. A Mr. 
 and Mrs. Gulpidge were of the party, who had something to 
 do at second-hand (at least, Mr. Gulpidge had), with the law 
 business of the Bank ; and what with the Bank, and what 
 with the Treasury, we were as exclusive as the Court Circular. 
 To mend the matter, Hamlet's aunt had the family failing of 
 indulging in soliloquy, and held forth in a desultory manner, 
 by herself, on every topic that was introduced. These were 
 few enough, to be sure ; but as we always fell back upon 
 Blood, she had as wide a field for abstract speculation as her 
 nephew himself. 
 
 We might have been a party of Ogres, the conversation 
 assumed such a sanguine complexion. 
 
 "I confess I am of Mrs. Waterbrook's opinion," said Mr. 
 Waterbrook, with his wine-glass at his eye. " Other things 
 are all very well in their way, but give me Blood ! " 
 
 " Oh ! There is nothing," observed Hamlet's aunt, " so 
 satisfactory to one ! There is nothing that is so much one's 
 beau ideal of of all that sort of thing, speaking generally. 
 There are some low minds (not many, I am happy to believe, 
 but there are some) that would prefer to do what / should call 
 bow down before idols. Positively Idols ! Before services, 
 intellect, and so on. But these are intangible points. Blood is 
 not so. We see Blood in a nose, and we know it. We meet with 
 it in a chin, and we say, ' There it is ! That's Blood ! ' It is an 
 actual matter of fact. We point it out. It admits of no doubt." 
 
 The simpering fellow with the weak legs, who had taken 
 Agnes down, stated the question more decisively yet, I thought. 
 
 " Oh, you know, deuce take it," said this gentleman, looking 
 round the board with an imbecile smile, " we can't forego 
 Blood, you know. We must have Blood, you know. Some 
 young fellows, you know, may be a little behind their station, 
 perhaps, in point of education and behavior, and may go a 
 little wrong, you know, and get themselves and other people 
 into a variety of fixes and all that but deuce take it, it's 
 delightful to reflect that they've got Blood in 'em ! Myself, 
 I'd rather at any time be knocked down by a man who had got 
 Blood in him, than I'd be picked up by a man who hadn't ! " 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 407 
 
 This sentiment, as compressing the general question into a 
 nutshell, gave the utmost satisfaction, and brought the gentle- 
 man into great notice until the ladies retired. After that, I 
 observed that Mr. Gulpidge and Mr. Henry Spiker, who had 
 hitherto been very distant, entered into a defensive alliance 
 against us, the common enemy, and exchanged a mysterious 
 dialogue across the table for our defeat and overthrow. 
 
 " That affair of the first bond for four thousand five hundred 
 pounds has not taken the course that was expected, Spiker," 
 said Mr. Gulpidge. 
 
 " Do you mean the D. of A.'s ? " said Mr. Spiker. 
 
 " The C. of B.'s ? " said Mr. Gulpidge. 
 
 Mr. Spiker raised his eyebrows, and looked much concerned. 
 
 " When the question was referred to Lord I needn't name 
 him," said Mr. Gulpidge, checking himself 
 
 " I understand," said Mr. Spiker, " K" 
 
 Mr. Gulpidge darkly nodded " was referred to him, his 
 answer was, ' Money, or no release.' ' 
 
 " Lord bless my soul ! " cried Mr. Spiker. 
 
 " ' Money, or no release,' " repeated Mr. Gulpidge, firmly. 
 " The next in reversion you understand me ? " 
 
 " K.," said Mr. Spiker, with an ominous look. 
 
 " K. then positively refused to sign. He was attended at 
 ^Newmarket for that purpose, and he point-blank refused to do 
 it." 
 
 Mr. Spiker was so interested, that he became quite stony. 
 
 " So the matter rests at this hour," said Mr. Gulpidge, 
 throwing himself back is his chair. " Our friend Waterbrook 
 will excuse me if I forbear to explain myself generally, on 
 account- of the magnitude of the interests involved." 
 
 Mr. Waterbrook was only too happy, as it appeared to me, 
 to have such interests, and such names, even hinted at, across 
 his table. He assumed an expression of gloomy intelligence 
 (though I am persuaded he knew no more about the discussion 
 than I did), and highly approved of the discretion that had 
 been observed. Mr. Spiker, after the receipt of such a con- 
 fidence, naturally desired to favor his friend with a confidence 
 of his own ; therefore the foregoing dialogue was succeeded 
 by another, in which it was Mr. Gulpidge' s turn to be surprised, 
 
408 THE PEE SON AL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 and that by another in which the surprise came round to Mr. 
 Spiker's turn again, and so on, turn and turn about. All this 
 time we, the outsiders, remained oppressed by the tremendous 
 interests involved in the conversation ; and our host regarded us 
 with pride, as the victims of a salutary awe and astonishment. 
 I was very glad indeed to get up stairs to Agnes, and to talk 
 with her in a corner, and to introduce Traddles to her, who 
 was shy, but agreeable, and the same good-natured creature 
 still. As he was obliged to leave early, on account of going 
 away next morning for a month, I had not nearly so much con- 
 versation with him as I could have wished ; but we exchanged 
 addresses, and promised ourselves the pleasure of another 
 meeting when he should come back to town. He was greatly 
 interested to hear that I knew Steerforth, and spoke of him. 
 with such warmth that I made him tell Agnes what he thought 
 of him. But Agnes only looked at me the while, and very 
 slightly shook her head when only I observed her. 
 
 As she was not among people with whom I believed she 
 could be very much at home, I was almost glad to hear that 
 she was going away -within a few days, though I was sorry at 
 the prospect of parting from her again so soon. This caused 
 me to remain until all the company were gone. Conversing 
 with her, and hearing her sing, was such a delightful reminder 
 to me of my happy life in the grave old house she had made so 
 beautiful, that I could have remained there half the night ; 
 but, having no excuse for staying any longer, when the lights 
 of Mr. Waterbrook's society were all snuffed out, I took my 
 leave very much against my inclination. I felt then, more 
 than ever, that she was my better Angel ; and if I thought of 
 her sweet face and placid smile, as though they had shone on 
 me from some removed being, like an Angel, I hope I thought 
 no harm. 
 
 I have said that the company were all gone ; but I ought 
 to have excepted Uriah, whom I don't include in that denom- 
 ination, and who had never ceased to hover near us. He 
 was close behind me when I went down stairs. He was close 
 beside me when I walked away from the house, slowly fitting 
 his long skeleton fingers into the still longer fingers of a great 
 Guy Fawkes pair of gloves. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 409 
 
 It was in no disposition for Uriah's company, but in remem- 
 brance of the entreaty Agnes had made to me, that I asked him 
 if he would come home to my rooms, and have some coffee. 
 
 "Oh, really, Master Copperfield," he rejoined, "I beg 
 your pardon, Mister Copperfield, but the other comes so 
 natural. I don't like that you should put a constraint upon 
 yourself to ask a numble person like me to your ouse." 
 
 " There is no constraint in the case," said I. " Will you 
 come ? " 
 
 " I should like to, very much," replied Uriah, with a writhe. 
 
 " Well, then, come along ! " said I. 
 
 I could not help being rather short with him, but he appeared 
 not to mind it. We went the nearest way, without convers- 
 ing much upon the road; and he was so humble in respect 
 of those scarecrow gloves, that he was still putting them on, 
 and seemed to have made no advance in that labor, when we 
 got to my place. 
 
 I led him up the dark stairs, to prevent his knocking his 
 head against anything, and really his damp cold hand felt so 
 like a frog in mine, that I was tempted .to drop it and run 
 away. Agnes and hospitality prevailed, however, and I con- 
 ducted him to my fireside. When I lighted my candles, he 
 fell into meek transports with the room that was revealed to 
 Mm ; and when I heated the coffee in an unassuming block- 
 tin-vessel in which Mrs. Crupp delighted to prepare it (chiefly, 
 I believe, because it was not intended for the purpose, being a 
 shaving-pot, and because there was a patent invention of great 
 price mouldering away in the pantry), he professed so much 
 emotion, that I could joyfully have scalded him. 
 
 " Oh, really, Master C6pperfield, I mean Mister Copper- 
 field," said Uriah, "to see you waiting upon me is what I 
 never could have expected ! But, one way and another, so 
 many things happen to me which I never could have expected, 
 I am sure, in my umble station, that it seems to rain blessings 
 on my ed. You have heard something, I des-say, of a change 
 in my expectations, Master Copperfield, J should say, Mister 
 Copperfield?" 
 
 As he sat on my sofa, with his long knees drawn up under 
 his coffee-cup, his hat and gloves upon the ground close to 
 
410 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AXD EXPERIENCE 
 
 him, his spoon going softly round and round, his shadowless 
 red eyes, Avhich looked as if they had scorched their lashes off, 
 turned towards me without looking at me, the disagreeable 
 dints I have formerly described in his nostrils coming and 
 going with his breath, and a snaky undulation pervading his 
 frame from his chin to his boots, I decided in my own mind 
 that I disliked him intensely. It made me very uncomfortable 
 to have him for a guest, for I was young then, and unused to 
 disguise what I so strongly felt. 
 
 " You have heard something, I des-say, of a change in my 
 expectations, Master Copperfield I should say, Mister Cop- 
 perfield ? " observed Uriah. 
 
 " Yes," said I, " something." 
 
 " Ah ! I thought Miss Agnes would know of it ! " he quietly 
 returned. "I'm glad to find Miss Agnes knows of it. Oh, 
 thank you, Master Mister Copperfield ! " 
 
 I could have thrown my bootjack at him (it lay ready on 
 the rug), for having entrapped me into the disclosure of any- 
 thing concerning Agnes, however immaterial. But I only 
 drank my coffee. 
 
 " What a prophet you have shown yourself, Mister Copper- 
 field ! " pursued Uriah. " Dear me, what a prophet you have 
 proved yourself to be ! Don't you remember saying to me 
 once, that perhaps I should be a partner in Mr. Wickfield*s 
 business, and perhaps it might be Wickfield and Heep ! You 
 may not recollect it ; but when a person is umble, Master 
 Copperfield, a person treasures such things up ! " 
 
 " I recollect talking about it/' said I, " though I certainly 
 did not think it very likely then." 
 
 " Oh ! who would have thought it likely, Mister Copper- 
 field ! " returned Uriah, enthusiastically, " I am sure I didn't 
 myself. I recollect saying with my own lips that I was much 
 too umble. So I considered myself really and truly." 
 
 He sat, with that carved grin on his face, looking at the 
 fire, as I looked at him. 
 
 "But the umblest persons, Master Copperfield," he pres- 
 ently resumed, " may be the instruments of good. I am glad 
 to think I have been the instrument of good to Mr. Wickfield, 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 411 
 
 and that I may be more so. Oh, what a worthy man he is, 
 Mister Copperfield, but how imprudent he has been ! " 
 
 " I am sorry to hear it," said I. I could not help adding, 
 rather pointedly, "on all accounts." 
 
 "Decidedly so, Mister Copperfield," replied Uriah. "On 
 all accounts. Miss Agnes's above all ! You don't remember 
 your own eloquent expressions, Master Copperfield; but / 
 remember how you said one day that everybody must admire 
 her, and how I thanked you for it ? You have forgot that, I 
 have no doubt, Master Copperfield ? " 
 
 "No," said I, drily. 
 
 " Oh, how glad I am, you have not ! " exclaimed Uriah. 
 " To think that you should be the first to kindle the sparks of 
 ambition in my umble breast, and that you've not forgot 
 it i Oh ! Would you excuse me asking for a cup more 
 coffee?" 
 
 Something in the emphasis he laid upon the kindling of 
 those sparks, and something in the glance he directed at me as 
 he said it, had made me start as if I had seen him illuminated 
 by a blaze of light. Kecalled by his request, preferred in 
 quite another tone of voice, I did the honors of the shaving- 
 pot ; but I did them with an unsteadiness of hand, a sudden 
 sense of being no match for him, and a perplexed suspicious 
 anxiety as to what he might be going to say next, which I felt 
 could not escape his observation. 
 
 He said nothing at all. He stirred his coffee round and 
 round, he sipped it, he felt his chin softly with his grisly 
 hand, he looked at the fire, he looked about the room, he 
 gasped rather than smiled at me, he writhed and undulated 
 about, in his deferential servility, he stirred and sipped again, 
 but he left the renewal of the conversation to me. 
 
 "So, Mr. Wickfield," said I, at last, "who is worth five 
 hundred of you or me ; " for my life, I think, I could not 
 have helped dividing that part of the sentence with an awk- 
 ward jerk; " has been imprudent, has he, Mr. Heep ? ' ; 
 
 " Oh, very imprudent indeed, Master Copperfield," returned 
 Uriah, sighing modestly. " Oh, very much so ! But I wish 
 you'd call me Uriah, if you please. It's like old times." 
 "Well ! Uriah," said I, bolting it out with some difficulty. 
 
412 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " Thank you ! " he returned, with fervor. " Thank you, 
 Master Copperfield ! It's like the blowing of old breezes or 
 the ringing of old bellses to hear you say Uriah. I beg your 
 pardon. Was I making any observation ? " 
 
 "About Mr. Wickfield," I suggested. 
 
 "Oh! Yes, truly/' said Uriah. "Ah! Great imprudence, 
 Master Copperfield. It's a topic that I wouldn't touch upon, 
 to any soul but you. Even to you I can only touch upon it, 
 and no more. If any one else had been in my place during 
 the last few years, by this time he would have had Mr. 
 Wickfield (oh, what a worthy man he is, Master Copperfield, 
 too !) under his thumb. Un der his thumb," said Uriah, 
 very slowly, as he stretched out his cruel-looking hand above 
 my table, and pressed his own thumb down upon it, until it 
 shook, .and shook the room. 
 
 If I had been obliged to look at him with his splay foot on 
 Mr. Wickfield's head, I think I could scarcely have hated him 
 more. 
 
 " Oh, dear, yes, Master Copperfield," he proceeded in a soft 
 voice, most remarkably contrasting with the action of his 
 thumb, which did not diminish its hard pressure in the least 
 degree, "there's no doubt of it. There would have been loss, 
 disgrace, I don't know what all. Mr. Wickfield knows it. 
 I am the umble instrument of umbly serving him, and 
 he puts me on an eminence I hardly could have hoped to 
 reach. How thankful should I be ! " With his face turned 
 towards me, as he finished, but without looking at me, he 
 took his crooked thumb off the spot where he had planted it, 
 and slowly and thoughtfully scraped his lank jaw with it, as 
 if he were shaving himself. 
 
 I recollect well how indignantly my heart beat, as I saw 
 his crafty face, with the appropriately red light of the fire 
 upon it, preparing for something else. 
 
 "Master Copperfield," he began "but am I keeping you 
 up?" 
 
 " You are not keeping me up. I generally go to bed late." 
 
 " Thank you, Master Copperfield ! I have risen from my 
 umble station since first you used to address me, it is true ; 
 but I am umble still. I hope I never shall be otherwise than 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 413 
 
 umble. You will not think the worse of my umbleness, if I 
 make a little confidence to you, Master Copperfield ? Will 
 you ? " 
 
 " Oh, no," said I, with an effort. 
 
 " Thank you ! " He took out his pocket-handkerchief, and 
 began wiping the palms of Ms hands. " Miss Agnes, Master 
 Copperfield " 
 
 "Well, Uriah?" 
 
 " Oh, how pleasant to be called Uriah spontaneously ! " he 
 cried; and gave himself a jerk, like a convulsive fish. "You 
 thought her looking very beautiful, to-night, Master Copper- 
 field ? " 
 
 " I thought her looking as she always does : superior, in all 
 respects, to every one around her," I returned. 
 
 " Oh, thank you ! It's so true ! " he cried. " Oh, thank 
 you very much for that ! " 
 
 " Not at all," I said, loftily. " There is no reason why you 
 should thank me." 
 
 "Why that, Master Copperfield," said Uriah, "is in fact 
 the confidence that I am going to take the liberty of reposing. 
 Umble as I am," he wiped his hands harder, and looked at 
 them and at the fire by turns, " umble as my mother is, and 
 lowly as our poor but honest roof has ever been, the image of 
 Miss Agnes (I don't mind trusting you with my secret, Master 
 Copperfield, for I have always overflowed towards you since 
 the first moment I had the pleasure of beholding you in a 
 pony-shay) has been in my breast for years. Oh, Master 
 Copperfield, with what a pure affection do I love the ground 
 my Agnes walks on ! " 
 
 I believe I had a delirious idea of seizing the red-hot poker 
 out of the fire, and running him through with it. It went 
 from me with a shock, like a ball fired from a rifle : but the 
 image of Agnes, outraged by so much as a thought of this 
 red-headed animal's, remained in my mind when I looked at 
 him sitting all awry as if his mean soul griped his body 
 and made me giddy. He seemed to swell and grow before my 
 eyes ; the room seemed full of the echoes of his voice ; and 
 the strange feeling (to which, perhaps, no one is quite a 
 stranger) that all this had occurred before, at some indefinite 
 
414 
 
 time, and that I knew what he was going to say next, took 
 possession of me, 
 
 A timely observation of the sense of power that there was 
 in his face, did more to bring back to iny remembrance the 
 entreaty of Agnes, in its full force, than any effort I could 
 have made. I asked him, with a better appearance of com- 
 posure 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 any one but you. You see I am only just emerging 
 from my lowly station. I rest a good deal of hope on her ob- 
 serving how useful I am to her father (for I trust to be very 
 useful to him, indeed, Master Copperfield), and how I smooth 
 the way for him, and keep him straight. She's so 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 favor. You wouldn't wish 
 to make unpleasantness. I know what a friendly heart you've 
 got ; but having only known me on my umble footing (on my 
 umblest, I should say, for I am very umble still), you might, 
 unbeknown, 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 call her mine ! ' I hope to do it, one of 
 these days." 
 
 Dear Agnes ! So much too loving and too good for any one 
 that I could think of, was it possible that she was reserved to 
 be the wife of such a wretch as this ! 
 
 " There's no hurry at present, you know, Master Copper- 
 field," Uriah proceeded in his slimy way, as I sat gazing at 
 him, with this thought in my mind. "My Agnes is very 
 young still ; and mother and me will have to work our way 
 upards, and make a good many new arrangements, before it 
 would be quite convenient. So I shall have time gradually 
 to make her familiar with my hopes, as opportunities offer. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 415 
 
 Oh, I'm so much obliged to you for this confidence ! Oh, it's 
 such a relief you can't think, to know that you understand our 
 situation, and are certain (as you wouldn't wish to make un- 
 pleasantness in the family) not to go against me ! " 
 
 He took the hand which I dared not withhold, and having 
 given it a damp squeeze, referred to his pale-faced watch. 
 
 " Dear me ! " he said, " It's past one. The moments slip 
 away so, in the confidence of old times, Master Copperfield, 
 that it's almost half-past one ! " 
 
 I answered that I had thought it was later. ISTot that I had 
 really thought so, but because my conversational powers were 
 effectually scattered. 
 
 " Dear me ! " he said, considering. " The ouse that I am 
 stopping at a sort of a private hotel and boarding ouse, Master 
 Copperfield, near the New River ed will have gone to bed 
 these two hours." 
 
 " I am sorry," I returned, " that there's only one bed here, 
 and that I" 
 
 " Oh, don't think of mentioning beds, Master Copperfield ! " 
 he rejoined, ecstatically, drawing up one leg. " But would you 
 have any objections to my laying down before the fire ? " 
 
 " If it comes to that," I said, " pray take iny bed, and I'll 
 lie down before the fire." 
 
 His repudiation of this offer was almost shrill enough, in 
 the excess of its surprise and humility, to have penetrated to 
 the ears of Mrs. Crupp, then sleeping, I suppose, in a distant 
 chamber, situated at about the level of low water mark, soothed 
 in her slumbers by the ticking of an incorrigible clock, to 
 which she always referred me when we had any little differ- 
 ence on the score of punctuality, and which was never less 
 than three-quarters of an hour too slow, and had always been 
 put right in the morning by the best authorities. As no argu- 
 ments I could urge, in my bewildered condition, had the least 
 effect upon his modesty in inducing him to accept my bed-room, 
 I was obliged to make the best arrangements I could, for his 
 repose before the fire. The mattress of the sofa (which was 
 a great deal too short for his lank figure), the sofa pillows, a 
 blanket, the table-cover, a clean breakfast-cloth, and a great- 
 coat, made him a bed and covering, for which he was more 
 
416 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 than thankful. Having lent him a nightcap, which he put on 
 at once, and in which he made such an awful figure that I 
 have never worn one since, I left him to his rest. 
 
 I never shall forget that night. I never shall forget how I 
 turned and tumbled; how I wearied myself with thinking 
 about Agnes and this creature ; how I considered what could 
 I do, and what ought I to do ; how I could come to no other 
 conclusion than that the best course for her peace, was to do 
 nothing, and to keep to myself what I had heard. If I went 
 to sleep for a few moments, the image of Agnes with her ten- 
 der eyes, and of her father looking fondly on her, as I had so 
 often seen him look, arose before me with appealing faces, and 
 filled me with vague terrors. When I awoke, the recollection 
 that Uriah was lying in the next room sat heavy on me like 
 a waking nightmare; and oppressed me with a leaden dread, 
 as if I had had some meaner quality of devil for a lodger. 
 
 The poker got into my dozing thoughts besides, and wouldn't 
 come out. I thought, between sleeping and waking, that it 
 was still red hot, and I had snatched it out of the fire, and run 
 him through the body. I was so haunted at last by the idea, 
 though I knew there was nothing in it, that I stole into the 
 next room to look at him. There I saw him, lying on his back, 
 with his legs extending to I don't know where, gurglings tak- 
 ing place in his throat, stoppages in his nose, and his mouth 
 open like a post-office. He was so much worse in reality than 
 in my distempered fancy, that afterwards I was attracted to 
 him in very repulsion, and could not help wandering in and 
 out every half hour or so, and taking another look at him. 
 Still, the long, long night seemed heavy and hopeless as ever, 
 and no promise of day was in the murky sky. 
 
 When I saw him going down stairs early in the morning 
 (for, thank Heaven ! he would not stay to breakfast), it 
 appeared to me as if the night was going away in his person. 
 When I went out to the Commons, I charged Mrs. Crupp 
 with particular directions to leave the windows open, that my 
 sitting-room might be aired, and purged of his presence. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 417 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVI. 
 
 I FALL INTO CAPTIVITY. 
 
 I SAW no more of Uriah Heep, until the day when Agnes 
 left town. I was at the coach-office to take leave of her and 
 see her go ; and there was he, returning to Canterbury by the 
 same conveyance. It was some small satisfaction to me to 
 observe his spare, short-waisted, high-shouldered, mulberry- 
 colored great-coat perched up, in company with an umbrella 
 like a small tent, on the edge of the back seat on the roof, 
 while Agnes was, of course, inside ; but what I underwent 
 in my efforts to be friendly with him, while Agnes looked 
 on, perhaps deserved that little recompense. At the coach- 
 window, as at the dinner-party, he hovered about us without 
 a moment's intermission, like a great vulture : gorging himself 
 on every syllable that I said to Agnes, or Agnes said to me. 
 
 In the state of trouble into which his disclosure by my fire 
 had thrown me, I had thought very much of the words Agnes 
 had used in reference to the partnership. "I did what I hope 
 was right. Feeling sure that it was necessary for papa's 
 peace that the sacrifice should be made, I entreated him to 
 make it." A miserable foreboding that she would yield to, 
 and sustain herself by, the same feeling in reference to any 
 sacrifice for his sake, had oppressed me ever since. I knew 
 how she loved him. I knew what the devotion of her nature 
 was. I knew from her own lips that she regarded herself as 
 the innocent cause of his errors, and as owing him a great debt 
 she ardently desired to pay. I had no consolation in seeing 
 how different she was from this detestable Kufus with the 
 mulberry-colored great-coat, for I felt that in the very dif- 
 ference between them, in the self-denial of her pure soul and 
 the sordid baseness of his, the greatest danger lay. All this, 
 doubtless, he knew thoroughly, and had, in his cunning, con- 
 sidered well. 
 
 VOL. i 27 
 
418 THE PERSONAL HISTORY ASD EXPERIENCE 
 
 Yet, I was so certain that the prospect of such a sacrifice 
 afar off, must destroy the happiness of Agnes ; and I was so 
 sure, from her manner, of its being unseen by her then, and 
 having cast no shadow on her yet ; that I could as soon have 
 injured her, as given her any warning of what impended. 
 Thus it was that we parted without explanation : she waving 
 her hand and smiling farewell from the coach-window; her 
 evil genius writhing on the roof, as if he had her in his 
 clutches and triumphed. 
 
 I could not get over this farewell glimpse of them for a 
 long time. When Agnes wrote to tell me of her safe arrival, 
 I was as miserable as when I saw her going away. When- 
 ever I fell into a thoughtful state, this subject was sure to 
 present itself, and all my uneasiness was sure to be redoubled. 
 Hardly a night passed without my dreaming of it. It became 
 a part of my life, and as inseparable from my life as my own 
 head. 
 
 I had ample leisure to refine upon my uneasiness : for Steer- 
 forth was at Oxford, as he wrote to me, and when I was not at 
 the Commons, I was very much alone. I believe I had at this 
 time some lurking distrust of Steerforth. I wrote to him 
 most affectionately in reply to his, but I think I was glad, 
 upon the whole, that he could not come to London just then. 
 I suspect the truth to be, that the influence of Agnes was upon 
 me, undisturbed by the sight of him ; and that it was the 
 more powerful with me, because she had so large a share in 
 my thoughts and interest. 
 
 In the meantime, days and weeks slipped away. I was 
 articled to Spenlow and Jorkins. I had ninety pounds a year 
 (exclusive of my house-rent and sundry collateral matters) 
 from my aunt. My rooms were engaged for twelve months 
 certain : and though I still found them dreary of an evening, 
 and the evenings long, I could settle down into a state of 
 equable low spirits, and resign myself to coffee ; which I seem, 
 on looking back, to have taken by the gallon at about this 
 period of my existence. At about this time, too, I made three 
 discoveries : first, that Mrs. Crupp was a martyr to a curious 
 disorder called " the spazzums." which was generally accom- 
 panied with inflammation of the nose, and required to be 
 

 OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 419 
 
 constantly treated with peppermint ; secondly, that something 
 peculiar in the temperature of my pantry, made the brandy- 
 bottles burst ; thirdly, that I was alone in the world, and much 
 given to record that circumstance in fragments of English 
 versification. 
 
 On the day when I was articled, no festivity took place, 
 beyond my having sandwiches and sherry into the office for 
 the clerks, and going alone to the theatre at night. I went to 
 see " The Stranger " as a Doctors' Commons sort of play, and 
 was so dreadfully cut up, that I hardly knew myself in my 
 own glass when I got home. Mr. Spenlow remarked, on this 
 occasion, when we concluded our business, that he should have 
 been happy to have seen me at his house at Norwood to cele- 
 brate our becoming connected, but for his domestic arrange- 
 ments being in some disorder, on account of the expected 
 return of his daughter from finishing her education at Paris. 
 But, he intimated that when she came home he should hope to 
 have the pleasure of entertaining me. I knew that he was a 
 widower with one daughter, and expressed my acknowledg- 
 ments. 
 
 Mr. Spenlow was as good as his word. In a week or two, 
 he referred to this engagement, and said, that if I would do 
 him the favor to come down next Saturday, and stay till Mon- 
 day, he would be extremely happy. Of course I said I would 
 do him the favor ; and he was to drive me down in his phae- 
 ton, and to bring me back. 
 
 When the day arrived, my very carpet-bag was an object of 
 veneration to the stipendiary clerks, to whom the house at 
 Norwood was a sacred mystery. One of them informed me 
 that he had heard that Mr. Spenlow ate entirely off plate and 
 china ; and another hinted at champagne being constantly on 
 draught, after the usual custom of table beer. The old clerk 
 with the wig, whose name was Mr. Tiffy, had been down on 
 business several times in the course of his career, and had on 
 each occasion penetrated to the breakfast-parlor. He described 
 it as an apartment of the most sumptuous nature, and said 
 that he had drunk brown East India sherry there, of a quality 
 so precious as to make a man wink. 
 
 We had an adjourned cause in the Consistory that day 
 
420 
 
 about excommunicating a baker who had been objecting in a 
 vestry to a paving-rate and as the evidence was just twice 
 the length of Robinson Crusoe, according to a calculation I 
 made, it was rather late in the day before we finished. How' 
 ever, we got him excommunicated for six weeks, and sentenced 
 in no end of costs ; and then the baker's proctor, and the 
 judge, and the advocates 011 both sides (who were all nearly 
 related), went out of town together, and Mr. Spenlow and I 
 drove away in the phaeton. 
 
 The phaeton was a very handsome affair ; the horses arched 
 their necks and lifted up their legs as if they knew they be- 
 longed to Doctors' Commons. There was a good deal of com- 
 petition in the Commons on all points of display, and it turned 
 out some very choice equipages then ; though I always have 
 considered, and always shall consider, that in my time the 
 great article of competition there was starch ; which I think 
 was worn among the proctors to as great an extent as it is in 
 the nature of man to bear. 
 
 We were very pleasant going down, and Mr. Spenlow gave 
 me some hints in reference to my profession. He said it was 
 the genteelest profession in the world, and must on no account 
 be confounded with the profession of a solicitor : being quite 
 another sort of thing, infinitely more exclusive, less mechanical, 
 and more profitable. We took things much more easily in the 
 Commons than they could be taken anywhere else, he observed, 
 and that set us, as a privileged class, apart. He said it was 
 impossible to conceal the disagreeable fact, that we were chiefly 
 employed by solicitors; but he gave me to understand that 
 they were an inferior race of men, universally looked down 
 upon by all proctors of any pretensions. 
 
 I asked Mr. Spenlow what he considered the best sort of 
 professional business ? He replied, that a good case of a dis- 
 puted will, where there was a neat little estate of thirty or 
 forty thousand pounds, was, perhaps, the best of all. In such 
 a case, he said, not only were there very pretty pickings in the 
 way of arguments at every stage of the proceedings, and moun- 
 tains upon mountains of evidence on interrogatory and counter- 
 interrogatory (to say nothing of an appeal lying, first to the 
 Delegates, and then to the Lords) ; but, the costs being pretty 
 
I FALL INTO CAPTIVITY, 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 42] 
 
 sure to come out of the estate at last, both sides went at it in 
 a lively and spirited manner, and expense was no consideration. 
 Then, he launched into a general eulogium on the Commons. 
 What was to be particularly admired (he said) in the Com- 
 mons, was its compactness. It was the most conveniently 
 organized place in the world. It was the complete idea of 
 snugness. It lay in a nut-shell. For example : You brought 
 a divorce case, or a restitution case, into the Consistory. Very 
 good. You tried it in the Consistory. You made a quiet little 
 round game of it, among a family group, and you played it 
 out at leisure. Suppose you were not satisfied with the Con- 
 sistory, what did you do then ? Why, you went into the 
 Arches. What was the Arches ? The same court, in the 
 same room, with the same bar, and the same practitioners, but 
 another judge, for there the Consistory judge could plead any 
 court-day as an advocate. Well, you played your round game 
 out again. Still you were not satisfied. Very good. What 
 did you do then ? Why, you went to the Delegates. Who 
 were the Delegates ? Why, the Ecclesiastical Delegates were 
 the advocates without any business, who had looked on at the 
 round game when it was playing in both courts, and had 
 seen the cards shuffled, and cut, and played, and had talked 
 to all the players about it, and now came fresh, as judges, to 
 settle the matter to the satisfaction of everybody ! Discon- 
 tented people might talk of corruption in the Commons, 
 closeness in the Commons, and the necessity of reforming 
 the Commons, said Mr. Spenlow, solemnly, in conclusion ; 
 but when the price of wheat per bushel had been highest, 
 the Commons had been busiest ; and a man might lay his hand 
 upon his heart, and say this to the whole world, " Touch 
 the Commons, and down comes the country ! " 
 
 I listened to all this with attention ; and though, I must 
 say, I had my doubts whether the country was quite as much 
 obliged to the Commons as Mr. Spenlow made out, I respect- 
 fully deferred to his opinion. That about the price of wheat 
 per bushel, I modestly felt was too much for my strength, and 
 quite settled the question. I have never, to this hour, got the 
 better of that bushel of wheat. It has reappeared to anni- 
 hilate me, all through my life, in connection with all kinds of 
 
subjects. I don't know now, exactly, what it has to do with 
 me, or what right it has to crush me, on an infinite variety of 
 occasions ; but whenever I see my old friend the bushel 
 brought in by the head and shoulders (as he always is, I ob- 
 serve), I give up a subject for lost. 
 
 This is a digression. / was not the man to touch the 
 Commons, and bring down the country. I submissively ex- 
 pressed, by my silence, my acquiescence in all I had heard 
 from my superior in years and knowledge ; and we talked about 
 " The Stranger " and the Drama, and the pair of horses, until 
 we came to Mr. Spenlow's gate. 
 
 "^-There was a lovely garden te Mr. Spenlow's house ; and 
 though that was not the best time of the year for seeing a 
 garden, it was so beautifully kept, that I was quite enchanted. 
 There was a charming lawn, there were clusters of trees, and 
 there were perspective walks that I could just distinguish in 
 the dark, arched over with trellis-work, on which shrubs and 
 flowers grew in the growing season. "Here Miss Spenlow 
 walks by herself," I thought. " Dear me ! " 
 
 We went into the house, which was - cheerfully lighted up, 
 and into a hall where there were all sorts of hats, caps, great- 
 coats, plaids, gloves, whips, and walking-sticks. " Where is 
 Miss Dora ? " said Mr. Spenlow to the servant. "Dora ! " I 
 thought. " What a beautiful name ! " 
 
 We turned into a room near at hand (I think it was the 
 identical breakfast-room, made memorable by the brown East 
 India sherry), and I heard a voice say, "Mr. Copper-field, my 
 daughter Dora, and my daughter Dora's confidential friend ! " 
 It was, no doubt, Mr. Spenlow's voice, but I didn't know it, 
 and I didn't care whose it was. All was over in a moment. 
 I had fulfilled my destiny. I was a captive and a slave. I 
 loved Dora Spenlow to distraction ! 
 
 She was more than human to me. She was a Fairy, a 
 Sylph, I don't know what she was anything that no one 
 ever saw, and everything that everybody ever wanted. I was 
 swallowed up in an abyss of love in an instant. There was 
 no pausing on the brink ; no looking down, or looking back ; I 
 was gone, headlong, before I had sense to say a word to her. 
 
 " //' observed a well-remembered voice, when I had bowed 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 423 
 
 and murmured something, "have seen Mr. Copperfield be- 
 fore." 
 
 The speaker was not Dora. No; the confidential friend, 
 
 Miss Murdstone ! 
 
 I don't think I was much astonished. To the best of my 
 judgment, no capacity of astonishment was left in me. There 
 was nothing worth mentioning in the material world, but Dora 
 Spenlow, to be astonished about. I said, " How do you do, 
 Miss Murdstone ? I hope you are well." She answered, 
 " Very well." I said, " How is Mr. Murdstone ? " She replied, 
 " My brother is robust, I am obliged to you." . 
 
 Mr. Spenlow, who, I suppose, had been surprised to see us 
 reeognize each other, then put in his word. 
 
 "I am glad to find," he said, "Copperfield, that you and 
 Miss Murdstone are already acquainted." 
 
 " Mr. Copperfield and myself," said Miss Murdstone, with 
 severe composure, " are connections. We were once slightly 
 acquainted. It was in his childish days. Circumstances have 
 separated us since. I should not have known him." 
 
 I replied that I should have known her, anywhere. Which 
 was true enough. 
 
 "Miss Murdstone has the goodness," said Mr. Spenlow 
 to me, " to accept the office if I may so describe it of 
 my daughter Dora's confidential friend. My daughter Dora 
 having, unhappily, no mother, Miss Murdstone is obliging 
 enough to become her companion and protector." 
 
 A passing thought occurred to me that Miss Murdstone, 
 like the pocket instrument called a life-preserver, was not so 
 much designed for purposes of protection as of assault. But 
 as I had none but passing thoughts for any subject save 
 Dora, I glanced at her, directly afterwards, and was thinking 
 that I saw, in her prettily pettish manner, that she was 
 not very much inclined to be particularly confidential to her 
 companion and protector, when a bell rang, which Mr. Spenlow 
 said was the first dinner-bell, and so carried me off to dress. 
 
 The idea of dressing one's self, or doing anything in the 
 way of .action, in that state of love, was a little too ridiculous. 
 I could only sit down before "my fire, biting the key of my 
 carpet-bag, and think of the captivating, girlish, bright-eyed, 
 
424 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 lovely Dora. What a form she had, what a face she had, 
 what a graceful, variable, enchanting manner ! 
 
 The bell rang again so soon that I made a mere scramble 
 of my dressing, instead of the careful operation I could have 
 wished under the circumstances, and went down stairs. 
 There was some company. Dora was talking to an old 
 gentleman with a gray head. Gray as he was and a great- 
 grandfather into the bargain, for he said so I was madly 
 jealous of him. 
 
 What a state of mind I was in ! I was jealous of every- 
 body. I couldn't bear the idea of anybody knowing Mr. 
 Spenlow better than I did. It was torturing to me to hear 
 them talk of occurrences in which I had had no share. When 
 a most amiable person, with a highly-polished bald head, 
 asked me across the dinner-table, if that were the first occa- 
 sion of my seeing the grounds, I could have done anything 
 to him that was savage and revengeful. 
 
 I don't remember who was there, except Dora. I have not 
 the least idea what we had for dinner, besides Dora. My 
 impression is, that I dined off Dora entirely, and sent away 
 half-a-dozen plates untouched. I sat next to her. I talked 
 to her. She had the most delightful little voice, the gayest 
 little laugh, the pleasantest and most fascinating little ways, 
 that ever led a lost youth into hopeless slavery. She was 
 rather diminutive altogether. So much the more precious, 
 I thought. 
 
 When she went out of the room with Miss Murdstone (no 
 other ladies were of the party), I fell into a reverie, only 
 disturbed by the cruel apprehension that Miss Murdstone 
 would disparage me to her. The amiable creature with the 
 polished head told me a long story, which I think was about 
 gardening. I think I heard him say, " my gardener," several 
 times. I seemed to pay the deepest attention to him, 
 but I was wandering in a garden of Eden all the while with 
 Dora. 
 
 My apprehensions of being disparaged to the object of 
 my engrossing affection were revived when we went into the 
 drawing-room, by the grim and distant aspect of Miss Murd- 
 stone. But I was relieved of them in an unexpected manner. 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 425 
 
 " David Copperfield," said Miss Murdstone, beckoning me 
 aside into a window. " A word." 
 
 I confronted Miss Murdstone alone. 
 
 " David Copperfield," said Miss Murdstone, " I need not 
 enlarge upon family circumstances. They are not a tempting 
 subject." 
 
 " Far from it, ma'am," I returned. 
 
 " Far from it," assented Miss Murdstone. " I do not wish 
 to revive the memory of past differences, or of past outrages. 
 I have received outrages from a person a female I am sorry 
 to say, for the credit of my sex who is not to be mentioned 
 without scorn and disgust j and therefore I would rather not 
 mention her." 
 
 I felt very fiery on my aunt's account ; but I said it would 
 certainly be better, if Miss Murdstone pleased, not to mention 
 her. I could not hear her disrespectfully mentioned, I added, 
 without expressing my opinion in a decided tone. 
 
 Miss Murdstone shut her eyes, and disdainfully inclined 
 her head ; then, slowly opening her eyes, resumed : 
 
 " David Copperfield, I shall not attempt to disguise the fact, 
 that I formed an unfavorable opinion of you in your child- 
 hood. It may have been a mistaken one, or you may have 
 ceased to justify it. That is not in question between us now. 
 I belong to a family, remarkable, I believe, for some firmness ; 
 and I am not the creature of circumstance or change. I may 
 have my opinion of you. You may have your opinion of me." 
 
 I inclined my head, in my turn. 
 
 "But it is not necessary," said Miss Murdstone, "that 
 these opinions should come into collision here. Under exist- 
 ing circumstances, it is as well on all accounts that they 
 should not. As the chances of life have brought us together 
 again, and may bring us together on other occasions, I would 
 say let us meet here as distant acquaintances. Family cir- 
 cumstances are a sufficient reason for our only meeting on that 
 footing, and it is quite unnecessary that either of us should 
 make the other the subject of remark. Do you approve of 
 this ? " 
 
 " Miss Murdstone," I returned, " I think you and Mr. Murd- 
 stone used me very cruelly, and treated my mother with great 
 
426 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 unkindness. I shall always think so, as long as I live. But 
 I quite agree in what you propose." 
 
 Miss Murdstone shut her eyes again, and bent her head. 
 Then, just touching the back of my hand with the tips of 
 her cold stiff fingers, she walked away, arranging the little 
 fetters on her wrists and round her neck : which seemed to 
 be the same set, in exactly the same state, as when I had 
 seen her last. These reminded me, in reference to Miss 
 Murdstone's nature, of the fetters over a jail-door ; suggest- 
 ing on the outside, to all beholders, what was to be expected 
 within. 
 
 All I know of the rest of the evening is, that I heard the 
 empress of my heart sing enchanted ballads in the French lan- 
 guage, generally to the effect that, whatever was the matter, 
 we ought always to dance, Ta ra la, Ta ra la ! accompanying 
 herself on a glorified instrument, resembling a guitar. That I 
 was lost in blissful delirium. That I refused refreshment. 
 That my soul recoiled from punch particularly. That when 
 Miss Murdstone took her into custody and led her away, she 
 smiled and gave me her delicious hand. That I caught a view 
 of myself in a mirror, looking perfectly imbecile and idiotic. 
 That I retired to bed in a most maudlin state of mind, and 
 got up in a crisis of feeble infatuation. 
 
 It was a fine morning, and early, and I thought I would go 
 and take a stroll down one of those wire-arched walks, and 
 indulge my passion by dwelling on her image. On my way 
 through the hall, I encountered her little dog, who was called 
 Jip short for Gipsy. I approached him tenderly, for I 
 loved even him ; but he showed his whole set of teeth, got 
 under a chair expressly to snarl, and wouldn't hear of the 
 least familiarity. 
 
 The garden was cool and solitary. I walked about, wonder- 
 ing what my feelings of happiness would be, if I could ever 
 become engaged to this dear wonder. As to marriage, and 
 fortune, and all that, I believe I was almost as innocently 
 undesigning then, as when I loved little Em'ly. To be allowed 
 to call her " Dora," to write to her, to dote upon and worship 
 her, to have reason to think that when she was with other 
 people she was yet mindful of me, seemed to me the summit 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 427 
 
 of human ambition I am sure it was the summit of mine. 
 There is no doubt whatever that I was a lackadaisical young 
 spooney ; but there was a purity of heart in all this still, that 
 prevents my having quite a contemptuous recollection of it, 
 let me laugh as I may. 
 
 I had not been walking long, when I turned a corner, and 
 met her. I tingle again from head to foot as my recollection 
 turns that Corner, and my pen shakes in my hand. 
 
 " You are out early, Miss Spenlow," said I. 
 
 "It's so stupid at home," she replied, "and Miss Murd- 
 stone is so absurd ! She talks such nonsense about its being 
 necessary for the day to be aired, before I come out. Aired ! " 
 (She laughed here, in the most melodious manner.) "On 
 a Sunday morning, when I don't practise, I must do some- 
 thing. So I told papa last night I must come out. Besides, 
 it's the brightest time of the whole day. Don't you think so ? " 
 
 I hazarded a bold flight, and said (not without stammering) 
 that it was very bright to me then, though it had been very 
 dark to me a minute before. 
 
 " Do you mean a compliment ? " said Dora, " or that the 
 weather has really changed ? " 
 
 I stammered worse than before, in replying that j. meant 
 no compliment, but the plain truth ; though I was not aware 
 of any change having taken place in the weather. It was in 
 the state of my own feelings I added bashfully : to clench the 
 explanation. 
 
 I never saw such curls how could I, for there never were 
 such curls ! as those she shook out to hide her blushes. As 
 to the straw hat and blue ribbons which was on the top of the 
 curls, if I could only have hung it up in my room in Bucking- 
 ham Street, what a priceless possession it would have been ! 
 
 " You have just come home from Paris," said I. 
 
 " Yes," said she. " Have you ever been there ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Oh ! I hope you'll go soon ! You would like it so much ! " 
 
 Traces of deep-seated anguish appeared in my countenance. 
 That she should hope I would go, that she should think it 
 possible I could go, was insupportable. I depreciated Paris ; 
 I depreciated France. I said I wouldn't leave England, under 
 
428 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 existing circumstances, for any earthly consideration. Nothing 
 should induce me. In short, she was shaking the curls again, 
 when the little dog came running along the walk to our relief. 
 - He was mortally jealous of me, and persisted in barking at 
 me. She took him up in her arms oh, my goodness ! and 
 caressed him, but he insisted upon barking still. He wouldn't 
 let me touch him, when I tried ; and then she beat him. It 
 increased my sufferings greatly to see the pats she gave 
 him for punishment on the bridge of his blunt nose, while he 
 winked his eyes, and licked her hand, and still growled within 
 himself like a little double-bass. At length he was quiet 
 well he might be with her dimpled chin upon his head ! and 
 we walked away to look at a greenhouse. 
 
 "You are not very intimate with Miss Murdstone, are 
 you ? " said Bora, " My pet." 
 
 (The two last words were to the dog. Oh, if they had only 
 been to me !) 
 
 "No," I replied. "Not at all so." 
 
 " She is a tiresome creature," said Dora, pouting. " I can't 
 think what papa can have been about, when he chose such a 
 vexatious thing to be my companion. Who wants a protector ? 
 I am sure / don't want a protector. Jip can protect me a 
 great deal better than Miss Murdstone can't you, Jip, 
 dear ? " 
 
 He only winked lazily, when she kissed his ball of a head. 
 
 " Papa calls her my confidential friend, but I am sure she is 
 no such thing is she, Jip ? We are not going to confide in 
 such cross people, Jip and I. We mean to bestow our con- 
 fidence where we like, and to find out our own friends, instead 
 of having them found out for us don't we, Jip ? " 
 
 Jip made a comfortable noise, in answer, a little like a tea- 
 kettle when it sings. As for me, every word was a new heap 
 of fetters, rivetted above the last. 
 
 "It is very hard, because we have not a kind Mamma, that 
 we are to have, instead, a sulky, gloomy old thing like Miss 
 Murdstone, always following us about isn't it, Jip ? Never 
 mind, Jip. We won't be confidential, and we'll make ourselves 
 as happy as we can in spite of her, and we'll tease her, and 
 not please her won't we, Jip ? " 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 429 
 
 If it had lasted any longer, I think I must have gone down 
 on my knees on the gravel, with the probability before me 
 of grazing them, and of being presently ejected from the prem- 
 ises besides. But, by good fortune the greenhouse was not far 
 off, and these words brought us to it. 
 
 It contained quite a show of beautiful geraniums. We 
 loitered along in front of them, and Dora often stopped to 
 admire this one or that one, and I stopped to admire the same 
 one, and Dora, laughing, held the dog up childishly, to smell 
 the flowers ; and if we were not all three in Fairyland, cer- 
 tainly /was. The scent of a geranium leaf, at this day, strikes 
 me with a half comical half serious wonder as to what change 
 has come over me in a moment j and then I see a straw hat 
 and blue ribbons, and a quantity of curls, and a little black 
 dog being held up, in two slender arms, against a bank of 
 blossoms and bright leaves. 
 
 Miss Murdstone had been looking for us. She found us 
 here ; and presented her uncongenial cheek, the little wrinkles 
 in it filled with hair powder, to Dora to be kissed. Then she 
 took Dora's arm in hers, and marched us in to breakfast as if 
 it were a soldier's funeral. 
 
 How many cups of tea I drank, because Dora made it, I 
 don't know. But, I perfectly remember that I sat swilling 
 tea until my whole nervous system, if I had had any in those 
 days, must have gone by the board. By and by we went 
 to church. Miss Murdstone was between Dora and me in 
 the pew ; but I heard her sing, and the congregation vanished. 
 A sermon was delivered about Dora, of course and I 
 am afraid that is all I know of the service. 
 
 We had a quiet day. No company, a walk, a family dinner 
 of four, and an evening of looking over books and pictures ; 
 Miss Murdstone, with a homily before her, and her eye upon 
 us, keeping guard vigilantly. Ah! little did Mr. Spenlow 
 imagine, when he sat opposite to me after dinner that day, 
 with his pocket-handkerchief over his head, how fervently 
 I was embracing him, in my fancy, as his son-in-law ! Little 
 did he think, when I took leave of him at night, that he had 
 just given his full consent to my being engaged to Dora, and 
 that I was invoking blessings on his head ! 
 
430 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 We departed early in the morning, for we had a Salvage 
 case coming on in the Admiralty Court, requiring a rather 
 accurate knowledge of the whole science of navigation, in 
 which (as we couldn't be expected to know much about those 
 matters in the Commons) the judge had entreated two old 
 Trinity Masters, for charity's sake, to come and help him out. 
 Dora was at the breakfast-table to make the tea again, how- 
 ever ; and I had the melancholy pleasure of taking off my 
 hat to her in the phaeton, as she stood on the door-step with 
 Jip in her arms. 
 
 What the Admiralty was to me that day ; what nonsense I 
 made of our case in my mind, as I listened to it ; how I saw 
 "DORA" engraved upon the blade of the silver oar which 
 they lay upon the table, as the emblem of that high jurisdic- 
 tion ; and how I felt when Mr. Spenlow went home without me 
 (I had had an insane hope that he might take me back again), 
 as if I were a mariner myself, and the ship to which I 
 belonged had sailed away and left me on a desert island ; I 
 shall make no fruitless effort to describe. If that sleepy old 
 court could rouse itself, and present in any visible form the 
 day dreams I have had in it about Dora, it would reveal my 
 truth. 
 
 I don't mean the dreams that I dreamed on that day alone, 
 but day after day, from week to week, and term to term. I 
 went there, not to attend to what was going on, but to think 
 about Dora. If ever I bestowed a thought upon the cases, as 
 they dragged their slow length before me, it was only to won- 
 der, in the matrimonial cases (remembering Dora) how it was 
 that married people could ever be otherwise than happy ; and 
 in the Prerogative cases, to consider, if the money in question 
 had been left to me, what were the foremost steps I should 
 immediately have taken in regard to Dora. Within the first 
 week of my passion, I bought four sumptuous waistcoats - 
 not for myself ; 7 had no pride in them ; for Dora and took 
 to wearing straw-colored kid gloves in the streets, and laid the 
 foundations of all the corns I have ever had. If the boots 
 I wore at that period could only be produced and compared 
 with the natural size of my feet, they would show what the 
 state of my heart was, in a most affecting manner. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 481 
 
 And yet, wretched cripple as I made myself by this act of 
 homage to Dora, I walked miles upon miles daily in the hope 
 of seeing her. Not only was I soon as well known on the 
 Norwood Eoad as the postmen on that beat, but I pervaded 
 London likewise. I walked about the streets where the best 
 shops for ladies were, I haunted the Bazaar like an unquiet 
 spirit, I fagged through the Park again and again, long after 
 I was quite knocked up. Sometimes, at long intervals and 
 on rare occasions, I saw her. Perhaps I saw her glove waved 
 in a carriage window ; perhaps I met her, walked with her 
 and Miss Murdstone a little way, and spoke to her. In the 
 latter case I was always very miserable afterwards, to think 
 that I had said nothing to the purpose ; or that she had no 
 idea of the extent of my devotion, or that she cared nothing 
 about me. I was always looking out, as may be supposed, for 
 another invitation to Mr. Spenlow's house. I was always 
 being disappointed, for I got none. 
 
 Mrs. Crupp must have been a woman of penetration ; for 
 when this attachment was but a few weeks old, and I had not 
 had the courage to write more explicitly even to Agnes, than 
 that I had been to Mr. Spenlow's house, " whose family," I 
 added, " consists of- one daughter ; " I say Mrs. Crupp must 
 have been a woman of penetration, for, even in that early 
 stage, she found it out. She came up to me one evening, 
 when I was very low, to ask (she being then afflicted with the 
 disorder I have mentioned) if I could oblige her with a little 
 tincture of cardamums mixed with rhubarb, and flavored with 
 seven drops of the essence of cloves, which was the best rem- 
 edy for her complaint ; or, if I had not such a thing by me, 
 with a little brandy, which was the next best. It was not, she 
 remarked, so palatable to her, but it was the next best. As I 
 had never even heard of the first remedy and always had the 
 second in the closet, I gave Mrs. Crupp a glass of the second, 
 which (that I might have no suspicion of its being devoted to 
 any improper use) she began to take in my presence. 
 
 " Cheer up, sir," said Mrs. Crupp, " I can't abear to see you 
 so, sir, I'm a mother myself." 
 
 I did not quite perceive the application of this fact to 
 
432 THE PERSONAL HISTOEY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 myself, but I smiled on Mrs. Crupp, as benignly as was in my 
 power. 
 
 " Come, sir/' said Mrs. Crupp. " Excuse me. I know what 
 it is, sir. There's a lady in the case." 
 
 " Mrs. Crupp ? " I returned, reddening. 
 
 " Oh, bless you ! Keep a good heart, sir ! " said Mrs. Crupp, 
 nodding encouragement. " Never say die, sir ! If She don't 
 smile upon you, there's a many as will. You're a young gen- 
 tleman to be smiled on, Mr. Copperfull, and you must learn 
 your walue, sir." 
 
 Mrs. Crupp always called me Mr. Copperfull; firstly, no 
 doubt, because it was not my name; and secondly, I am 
 inclined to think, in some indistinct association with a wash- 
 ing-day. 
 
 "What makes you suppose there is any young lady in the 
 case, Mrs. Crupp ? " said I. 
 
 "Mr. Copperfull," said Mrs. Crupp, with a great deal of 
 feeling, " I'm a mother myself." 
 
 For some time Mrs. Crupp could only lay her hand upon 
 her nankeen bosom, and fortify herself against returning pain 
 with sips of her medicine. At length she spoke again. 
 
 " When the present set were took for you by your dear aunt, 
 Mr. Copperfull," said Mrs. Crupp, "my remark were, I had 
 now found summun I could care for. ' Thank Ev'in ! ' were 
 the expression, ( I have now found summun I can care for ! ' 
 You don't eat enough, sir, nor yet drink." 
 
 " Is that what you found your supposition on, Mrs. Crupp ? " 
 said I. 
 
 " Sir," said Mrs. Crupp, in a tone approaching to severity, 
 "I've laundressed other young gentlemen besides yourself. 
 A young gentleman may be over-careful of himself, or he may 
 be under-careful of himself. He may brush his hair too reg- 
 ular, or too unregular. He may wear his boots much too large 
 for him, or much too small. That is according as the young 
 gentleman has his original character formed. But let him go 
 to which extreme he may, sir, there's a young lady in both 
 of 'em." 
 
 Mrs. Crupp shook her head in such a determined manner, 
 that I had not an inch of vantage ground left. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 433 
 
 "It was but the gentleman which died here before your- 
 self," said Mrs. Crupp, " that fell in love with a barmaid 
 and had his waistcoats took in directly, though much swelled 
 by drinking." 
 
 "Mrs. Crupp," said I, "I must beg you not to connect the 
 young lady in my case with a barmaid, or anything of that 
 sort, if you please." 
 
 "Mr. Copperfull," returned Mrs. Crupp, "I'm a mother 
 myself, and not likely. I ask your pardon, sir, if I intrude. 
 I should never wish to intrude where I were not welcome. 
 But you are a young gentleman, Mr. Copperfull, and my 
 adwice to you is, to cheer up, sir, to keep a good heart, and to 
 know your own walue. If you was to take to something, 
 sir," said Mrs. Crupp, " if you was to take to skittles, now, 
 which is healthy, you might find it divert your mind, and do 
 you good." 
 
 With these words, Mrs. Crupp, affecting to be very careful 
 of the brandy which was all gone thanked me with a 
 majestic courtesy, and retired. As her figure disappeared into 
 the gloom of the entry, this counsel certainly presented itself 
 to my mind in the light of a slight liberty on Mrs. Crupp's 
 part; but, at the same time, I was content to receive it, in 
 another point of view, as a word to the wise, and a warning in 
 future to keep my secret better. 
 VOL. i28 
 
434 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 TOMMY TRADDLES. 
 
 IT may have been in consequence of Mrs. Crupp's advice, 
 and perhaps, for no better reason than because there was a 
 certain similarity in the sound of the words skittles and Trad- 
 dies, that it came into my head, next day, to go and look after 
 Traddles. The time he had mentioned was more than out, and 
 he lived in a little street near the Veterinary College at Cam- 
 dem Town, which was principally tenanted, as one of our 
 clerks who lived in that direction informed me, by gentlemen 
 students, who bought live donkeys, and made experiments on 
 those quadrupeds in their private apartments. Having ob- 
 tained from this clerk a direction to the academic grove in 
 question, I set out, the same afternoon, to visit my old school- 
 fellow. 
 
 I found that the street was not as desirable a one as I could 
 have wished it to be, for the sake of Traddles. The inhabi- 
 tants appeared to have a propensity to throw any little trifles 
 they were not in want of, into the road : which not only made 
 it rank and sloppy, but untidy too, on account of the cabbage- 
 leaves. The refuse was not wholly vegetable either, for I 
 myself saw a shoe, a doubled-up saucepan, a black bonnet, and 
 an umbrella, in various stages of decomposition, as I was look- 
 ing out for the number I wanted. 
 
 The general air of the place reminded me forcibly of the 
 days when I lived with Mr. and Mrs. Micawber. An in- 
 describable character of faded gentility that attached to the 
 house I sought, and made it unlike all the other houses in the 
 street though they were all built on one monotonous pattern, 
 and looked like the early copies of a blundering boy who was 
 learning to make houses, and had not yet got out of his 
 cramped brick and mortar pothooks reminded me still more 
 of Mr. and Mrs. Micawber. Happening to arrive at the door 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 435 
 
 as it was opened to the afternoon milkman, I was reminded of 
 Mr. and Mrs. Micawber more forcibly yet. 
 
 " Now," said the milkman to a very youthful servant girl. 
 " Has that there little bill of mine been heard on ? " 
 
 " Oh, master says he'll attend to it immediate," was the reply. 
 
 " Because," said the milkman, going on as if he had received 
 no answer, and speaking, as I judged from his tone, rather for 
 the edification of somebody within the house, than of the youth- 
 ful servant an impression which was strengthened by his 
 manner of glaring down the passage " Because that there 
 little bill has been running so long, that I begin to believe it's 
 run away altogether, and never won't be heerd of. Now, I'm 
 not a going to stand it, you know ! " said the milkman, still 
 throwing his voice into the house, and glaring down the 
 passage. 
 
 As to his dealing in the mild article of milk, by the by, 
 there never was a greater anomaly. His deportment would 
 have been fierce in a butcher or a brandy merchant. 
 
 The voice of the youthful servant became faint, but she 
 seemed to me, from the action of her lips, again to murmur 
 that it would be attended to immediate. 
 
 " I tell you what," said the milkman, looking hard at her for 
 the first time, and taking her by the chin, " are you fond of 
 milk?" 
 
 " Yes, I likes it," she replied. 
 
 "Good," said the milkman. "Then you won't have none 
 to-morrow. D' ye hear ? Not a fragment of milk you won't 
 have to-morrow." 
 
 I thought she seemed, upon the whole, relieved, by the 
 prospect of having any to-day. The milkman, after shaking 
 his head at her, darkly, released her chin, and with anything 
 rather than good will opened his can, and deposited the usual 
 quantity in the family jug. This done, he went away, mut- 
 tering, and uttered the cry of his trade next door, in a vin- 
 dictive shriek. 
 
 " Does Mr. Traddles live here ? " I then inquired. 
 
 A mysterious voice from the end of the passage replied 
 "Yes." Upon which the youthful servant replied "Yes." 
 " Is he at home ? " said I. 
 
436 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 Again the ir^sterious voice replied in the affirmative, and 
 again the servant echoed it. Upon this, I walked in. and in 
 pursuance of the servant's directions walked up stairs ; con- 
 scious, as I passed the back parlor-door, that I was surveyed 
 by a mysterious eye, probably belonging to the mysterious 
 voice. 
 
 When I got to the top of the stairs the house was only a 
 story high above the ground floor Traddles was on the 
 landing to meet me. He was delighted to see me, and gave 
 me welcome, with great heartiness, to his little room. It was 
 in the front of the house, and extremely neat, though sparely 
 furnished. It was his only room, I saw ; for there was a 
 sofa-bedstead in it, and his blacking-brushes and blacking 
 were among his books on the top shelf, behind a dictionary. 
 His table was covered with papers, and he was hard at work 
 in an old coat. I looked at nothing, that I know of, but I 
 saw everything, even to the prospect of a church upon his 
 china inkstand, as I sat down and this, too, was a faculty 
 confirmed in me in the old Micawber times. Various ingenious 
 arrangements he had made, for the disguise of his chest of 
 drawers, and the accommodation of his boots, his shaving-glass, 
 and so forth, particularly impressed themselves upon me, as 
 evidences of the same Traddles, who used to make models of 
 elephants' dens in writing paper to put flies in ; and to comfort 
 himself under ill-usage, with the memorable works of art I 
 have so often mentioned. 
 
 In a corner of the room was something neatly covered up 
 with a large white cloth. I could not make out what that was. 
 
 " Traddles," said I, shaking hands with him again, after I 
 had sat down. " I am delighted to see you." 
 
 "I am delighted to see you, Copperfield," he returned. 
 "I am very glad indeed to see you. It was because I was 
 thoroughly glad to see you when we met in Ely-place, and 
 was sure you w r ere thoroughly glad to see me, that I gave you 
 this address instead of my address at chambers." 
 
 " Oh ! You have chambers ? " said I. 
 
 Why, I have the fourth of a rcom and a passage, and the 
 fourth of a clerk," returned Traddles. "Three others and 
 myself unite to have a set of chambers to look business-like 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 437 
 
 and we quarter the clerk too. Half-a-crown a week he 
 
 costs me." 
 
 His old simple character and good temper, and something 
 of his old unlucky fortune also, I thought, smiled at me in the 
 smile with which he made this explanation. 
 
 " It's not because I have the least pride, Copperfield, you 
 understand," said Traddles, "that I don't usually give my 
 address here. It's only on account of those who come to me, 
 who might not like to come here. For myself, I am fighting 
 my way on in the world against difficulties, and it would be 
 ridiculous if I made a pretence of doing anything else." 
 
 "You are reading for the bar, Mr. Waterbrook informed 
 me ? " said I. 
 
 " Why, yes," said Traddles, rubbing his hands slowly over 
 one another, " I am reading for the bar. The fact is, I have 
 just begun to keep my terms, after rather a long delay. It's 
 some time since I was articled, but the payment of that hun- 
 dred pounds was a great pull. A great pull ! " said Traddles, 
 with a wince, as if he had had a tooth out. 
 
 " Do you know what I can't help thinking of, Traddles, as I 
 sit here looking at you ? " I asked him. 
 
 " No," said he. 
 
 " That sky-blue suit you used to wear." 
 
 "Lord, to be sure!" cried Traddles, laughing. "Tight in 
 the arms and legs, you know ? Dear me ! Well ! Those were 
 happy times, weren't they ? " 
 
 " I think our schoolmaster might have made them happier, 
 without doing any harm to any of us, I acknowledge," I 
 returned. 
 
 "Perhaps he might," said Traddles. "But dear me, there 
 was a good deal of fun going on. Do you remember the 
 nights in the bed-room ? When we used to have the suppers ? 
 And when you used to tell the stories ? Ha, ha, ha ! And 
 do you remember when I got caned for crying about Mr. Mell ? 
 Old Creakle ! I should like to see him again, too ! " 
 
 " He was a brute to you, Traddles," said I, indignantly ; 
 for his good humor made me feel as if I had seen him beaten 
 but yesterday. 
 
 "Do you think so ? " returned Traddles. " Eeally ? Per- 
 
438 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 haps he was, rather. But it's all over, a long while, Old 
 Creakle ! " 
 
 " You were brought up by an uncle, then ? " said I. 
 
 " Of course I was ! " said Traddles. " The one I was always 
 going to write to. And always didn't, eh ! Ha, ha, ha ! Yes, 
 I had an uncle then. He died soon after I left school." 
 
 "Indeed?" 
 
 " Yes. He was a retired what do you call it ! draper 
 cloth-merchant and had made me his heir. But he didn't 
 like me when I grew up." 
 
 " Do you really mean that ? " said I. He was so composed 
 that I fancied he must have some other meaning. 
 
 " Oh, dear, yes, Copperfield ! I mean it," replied Traddles. 
 " It was an unfortunate thing, but he didn't like me at all. 
 He said I wasn't at all what he expected, and so he married 
 his housekeeper." 
 
 " And what did you do ? " I asked. 
 
 "I didn't do anything in particular," said Traddles. "I 
 lived with them, waiting to be put out in the world, until his 
 gout unfortunately flew to his stomach and so he died, and 
 so she married a young man, and so I wasn't provided for." 
 
 " Did you get nothing, Traddles, after all ? " 
 
 " Oh, dear, yes ! " said Traddles. " I got fifty pounds. 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 ? " 
 
 Xo. 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 that 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 
 
OF DAVID COPPEltFIELD. 439 
 
 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 Encyclopaedia, 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 cer- 
 tainly 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 be the 
 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 shan't conceal anything. There- 
 fore you must know that I am engaged." 
 
 Engaged! Oh, Dora! 
 
 " She is a curate's daughter," said Traddles ; " one of ten, 
 down in Devonshire. Yes ! " For he saw me glance, in- 
 voluntarily, at the prospect on the inkstand. "That's the 
 church ! You come round here, to the left, out of this gate," 
 tracing his finger along the inkstand, " and exactly where I 
 hold this pen, there stands the house facing, you understand, 
 towards the church." 
 
 The delight with which he entered into these particulars, 
 did not fully present itself to me until afterwards; for my 
 selfish thoughts were making a ground-plan of Mr. Spenlow's 
 house and garden at the same moment. 
 
 " She is such a dear girl ! " said Traddles ; " 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 
 
440 THE PEE SON AL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 walked back, and I had the most delightful time ! I dare say 
 ours 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, till she was 
 sixty any age you can mention 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 parlor-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 circumference), / 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 Trad- 
 dies, "but it's something. The table-cloths, and pillow-cases, 
 and articles of that kind, are what discourage me most, Cop- 
 perfield. So does the ironmongery candle-boxes, and grid- 
 irons, and that sort of necessaries because those things tell, 
 and mount up. However, ' wait and hope ! ' And I assure 
 you she's the dearest girl ! " 
 
 " I am quite certain of it," said I. 
 
 "In the mean time," said Traddles, coming back to his 
 chair ; " and this is the end of my prosing about myself, I get 
 on as well as I can. I don't make much, but I don't spend 
 much. In general, I board with the people down stairs, who 
 are very agreeable people indeed. Both Mr. and Mrs. Micaw- 
 ber have seen a good deal of life, and are excellent company." 1 
 
 " My dear Traddles ! " I quickly exclaimed. " What are 
 you talking about ! " 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 441 
 
 Traddles looked at me, as if lie wondered what J was talking 
 
 about. 
 
 "Mr. and Mrs. Micawber!" I repeated. 'Why, I am 
 
 intimately acquainted with them ! " 
 
 An opportune double knock at the door, which I knew well 
 from old experience in Windsor-terrace, and which nobody but 
 Mr. Micawber could ever have knocked at that door, resolved 
 any doubt in my mind as to their being my old friends. I 
 begged Traddles to ask his landlord to walk up. Traddles 
 accordingly did so, over the bannister ; and Mr. Micawber, not 
 a bit changed his tights, his stick, his shirt-collar, and his 
 eye-glass, all the same as ever came into the room with a 
 genteel and youthful air. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Mr. Traddles," said Mr. Micawber, with 
 the old roll in his voice, as he checked himself in humming a 
 soft tune. " I was not aware that there was any individual, 
 alien to this tenement, in your sanctum." 
 
 Mr. Micawber slightly bowed to me, and pulled up his shirt- 
 collar. 
 
 "How do you do, Mr. Micawber ? " said I. 
 
 "Sir," said Mr. Micawber, "you are exceedingly obliging. 
 I am in statu quo." 
 
 " And Mrs. Micawber ? " I pursued. 
 
 " Sir," said Mr. Micawber, " she is also, thank God, in statu 
 
 quo.' 1 ' 1 
 
 " And the children, Mr. Micawber ? J: 
 
 " Sir," said Mr. Micawber, " I rejoice to reply that they are, 
 likewise, in the enjoyment of salubrity." 
 
 All this time, Mr. Micawber had not known me in the least, 
 though he had stood face to face with me. But now, seeing 
 me smile, he examined my features with more attention, fell 
 back, cried, "Is it possible! Have I the pleasure of again 
 beholding Copperfield ! " and shook me by both hands with 
 the utmost fervor. 
 
 "Good Heaven, Mr. Traddles!" said Mr. Micawber, "to 
 think that I should find you acquainted with the friend of my 
 youth, the companion of earlier days ! My dear ! calling 
 over the bannisters to Mrs. Micawber, while Traddles looked 
 (with re,ason) not a little amazed at this description of me. 
 
442 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " Here is a gentleman in Mr. Traddles's apartment, whom he 
 wishes to have the pleasure of presenting to you, my love ! " 
 
 Mr. Micawber immediately reappeared, and shook hands 
 with me again. 
 
 " And how is our good friend the Doctor, Copperfield ? " 
 said Mr. Micawber, " and all the circle at Canterbury ? " 
 
 " I have none but good accounts of them," said I. 
 
 " I am most delighted to hear it," said Mr. Micawber. " It 
 was at Canterbury where we last met. Within the shadow, I 
 may figuratively say, of that religious edifice immortalized by 
 Chaucer, which was anciently the resort of Pilgrims from the 
 remotest corners of in short," said Mr. Micawber, "in the 
 timnediate neighborhood of the Cathedral." 
 
 I replied that it was. Mr. Micawber continued talking as 
 volubly as he could ; but not, I thought, without showing, by 
 some marks of concern in his countenance, that he was sensi- 
 ble of sounds in the next room, as of Mrs. Micawber washing 
 her hands, and hurriedly opening and shutting drawers that 
 were uneasy in their action. 
 
 " You find us, Copperfield," said Mr. Micawber, with one eye 
 on Traddles, " at present established, on what may be desig- 
 nated as a small and unassuming scale ; but, you are aware 
 that I have, in the course of my career, surmounted difficulties, 
 and conquered obstacles. You are no stranger to the fact, 
 that there have been periods of my life, when it has been 
 requisite that I should pause, until certain expected events 
 should turn up ; when it has been necessary that I should fall 
 back, before making what I trust I shall not be accused of 
 presumption in terming a spring. The present is one of 
 those momentous stages in the life of man. You find me, 
 fallen back, for a spring ; and I have every reason to believe 
 that a vigorous leap will shortly be the result." 
 
 I was expressing my satisfaction, when Mrs. Micawber came 
 in; a little more slatternly than she used to be, or so she 
 seemed now, to my unaccustomed eyes, but still with some 
 preparation of herself for company, and with a pair of brown 
 gloves on. 
 
 "My dear," said Mr. Micawber, leading her towards me. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 443 
 
 "Here is a gentleman of the name of Copperfield, who wishes 
 to renew his acquaintance with you." 
 
 It would have been better, as it turned out, to have led 
 gently up to his announcement, for Mrs. Micawber, being in a 
 delicate state of health, was overcome by it, and was taken so 
 unwell, that Mr. Micawber was obliged, in great trepidation, 
 to run down to the water-butt in the back-yard, and draw a 
 basinful to lave her brow with. She presently revived, how- 
 ever, and was really pleased to see me. We had half-an-hour's 
 talk, altogether ; and I asked her about the twins, who, she 
 said, were "grown great creatures;" and after Master and 
 Miss Micawber, whom she described as " absolute giants," but 
 they were not produced on that occasion. 
 
 Mr. Micawber was very anxious that I should stay to dinner. 
 I should not have been averse to do so, but that I imagined 
 I detected trouble, and calculation relative to the extent of 
 the cold meat, in Mrs. Micawber's eye.. I therefore pleaded 
 another engagement; and observing that Mrs. Micawber's 
 spirits were immediately lightened, I resisted all persuasion 
 
 to forego it. 
 
 But I told Traddles, and Mr. and Mrs. Micawber, that before 
 I could think of leaving, they must appoint a day when they 
 would come and dine with me. The occupations to which 
 Traddles stood pledged, rendered it necessary to fix a some- 
 what distant one ; but an appointment was made for the pur- 
 pose, that suited us all, and then I took my leave. 
 
 Mr. Micawber, under pretence of showing me a nearer way 
 than that by which I had come, accompanied me to the corner 
 of the street ; being anxious (he explained to me) to say a few 
 words to an old friend, in confidence. 
 
 "My dear Copperfield," said Mr. Micawber, " I need ^ hardly 
 tell you that to have beneath our roof, under existing cir- 
 cumstances, a mind like that which gleams if I may be 
 allowed the expression which gleams in your friend Trad- 
 dies, is an unspeakable comfort. With a washerwoman, who 
 exposes hard-bake for sale in her parlor-window, dwelling next 
 door, and a Bow-street officer residing over the way, you may 
 imagine that his society is a source of consolation to myself 
 and to Mrs. Micawber. I am at present, my dear Copperfield, 
 
444 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 engaged in the sale of corn upon commission. It is not an 
 avocation of a remunerative description in other words, it 
 does not pay and some temporary embarrassments of a 
 pecuniary nature have been the consequence. I am, however, 
 delighted to add that I have now an immediate prospect of 
 something turning up (I am not at liberty to say in what 
 direction), which I trust will enable me to provide, perma- 
 nently, both for myself and for your friend Traddles, in whom 
 I have an unaffected interest. You may, perhaps, be prepared 
 to hear that Mrs. Micawber is in a state of health which ren- 
 ders it not wholly improbable that an addition may be ulti- 
 mately made to those pledges of affection which in short, 
 to the infantine group. Mrs. Micawber's family have been so 
 good as to express their dissatisfaction at this state of things. 
 I have merely to observe that I am not aware it is any business 
 of theirs, and that I repel that exhibition of feeling with 
 scorn, and with defiance ! " 
 
 Mr. Micawber then shook hands with ine again, and left me. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 445 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVIII. 
 MR. MICAWBER'S GAUNTLET. 
 
 UNTIL the day arrived on which I was to entertain my 
 newly found old friends, I lived principally on Dora and 
 coffee. In rny love-lorn condition, my appetite languished ; 
 and I was glad of it, for I felt as though it would have been 
 an act of perfidy towards Dora to have a natural relish for my 
 dinner. The quantity of walking exercise I took, was not in 
 this respect attended with its usual consequence, as the disap- 
 pointment counteracted the fresh air. I have my doubts, too, 
 founded on the acute experience acquired at this period of my 
 life, whether a sound enjoyment of animal food can develop 
 itself freely in any human subject who is always in torment 
 from tight boots. I think the extremities require to be at 
 peace before the stomach will conduct itself with vigor. 
 
 On the occasion of this domestic little party, I did not re- 
 peat my former extensive preparations. I merely provided a 
 pair of soles, a small leg of mutton, and a pigeon-pie. Mrs. 
 Crupp broke out into rebellion on my first bashful hint in 
 reference to the cooking of the fish and joint, and said, with a 
 dignified sense of injury, " No ! No, sir ! You will not ask 
 me sich a thing, for you are better acquainted with me than 
 to suppose me capable of doing what I cannot do with ampial 
 satisfaction to my own feelings ! " But, in the end, a compro- 
 mise was effected ; and Mrs. Crupp consented to achieve this 
 feat, on condition that I dined from home for a fortnight 
 afterwards. 
 
 And here I may remark, that what I underwent from Mrs. 
 Crupp, in consequence of the tyranny she established over me, 
 was dreadful. I never was so much afraid of any one. We 
 made a compromise of everything. If I hesitated, she was 
 taken with that wonderful disorder which was always lying 
 in ambush in her system, ready, at the shortest notice, to prey 
 
446 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE. 
 
 upon her vitals. If I rang the bell impatiently, after half-a- 
 dozen unavailing modest pulls, and she appeared at last 
 which was not by any means to be relied upon she would 
 appear with a reproachful aspect, sink breathless on a chair 
 near the door, lay her hand upon her nankeen bosom, and be- 
 come so ill, that I was glad, at any sacrifice of brandy or any- 
 thing else, to get rid of her. If I objected to having my bed 
 made at five o'clock in the afternoon which I do still think an 
 uncomfortable arrangement one motion of her hand towards 
 the same nankeen region of wounded sensibility was enough 
 to make me falter an apology. In short, I would have done 
 anything in an honorable way rather than give Mrs. Crupp 
 offence ; and she was the terror of my life. 
 
 I bought a second-hand dumb-waiter for this dinner-party, 
 in preference to re-engaging the handy young man; against 
 whom I had conceived a prejudice, in consequence of meeting 
 him in the Strand, one Sunday morning, in a waistcoat remark- 
 ably like one of mine, which had been missing since the for- 
 mer occasion. The " young gal " was re-engaged ; but on the 
 stipulation that she should only bring in the dishes, and then 
 withdraw to the landing-place, beyond the outer door ; where 
 a habit of sniffing she had contracted would be lost upon the 
 guests, and where her retiring on the plates would be a physi- 
 cal impossibility. 
 
 Having laid in the materials for a bowl of punch, to be 
 compounded by Mr. Micawber ; having provided a bottle of 
 lavender-water, two wax candles, a paper of mixed pins, and a 
 pincushion, to assist Mrs. Micawber in her toilette, at my dress- 
 ing-table ; having also caused the fire in my bed-room to be 
 lighted for Mrs. Micawber's convenience ; and having laid 
 the cloth with my own hands, I awaited the result with com- 
 posure. 
 
 At the appointed time, my three visitors arrived together. 
 Mr. Micawber with more shirt-collar than usual, and a new 
 ribbon to his eye-glass ; Mrs. Micawber with her cap in a 
 whitey-brown paper parcel ; Traddles carrying the parcel, and 
 supporting Mrs. Micawber on his arm. They were all delighted 
 with my residence. When I conducted Mrs. Micawber to my 
 dressing-table, and she saw the scale on which it was prepared 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 447 
 
 for her, she was in such raptures, that she called Mr. Micawber 
 to come in and look. 
 
 " My dear Copperfield," said Mr. Micawber, " this is luxuri- 
 ous. This is a way of life which reminds me of the period 
 when I was myself in a state of celibacy, and Mrs. Micawber 
 had not yet been solicited to plight her faith at the Hymeneal 
 altar." 
 
 " He means, solicited by him, Mr. Copperfield," said Mrs. 
 Micawber archly. " He cannot answer for others." 
 
 "My dear," returned Mr. Micawber with sudden seriousness, 
 " I have no desire to answer for others. I am too well aware 
 that when, in the inscrutable decrees of Fate, you were 
 reserved for me, it is possible you may have been reserved for 
 one, destined, after a protracted struggle, at length to fall a 
 victim to pecuniary involvements of a complicated nature. I 
 understand your allusion, my love. I regret it, but I can bear 
 it." 
 
 " Micawber ! " exclaimed Mrs. Micawber, in tears. " Have 
 I deserved this ! I, who never have deserted you ; who never 
 will desert you, Micawber ! " 
 
 " My love," said Mr. Micawber, much affected, " you will 
 forgive, and our old and tried friend Copperfield will, I am 
 sure, forgive, the momentary laceration of a wounded spirit, 
 made sensitive by a recent collision with the Minion of Power 
 in other words, with a ribald Turncock attached to the 
 water-works and will pity, not condemn, its excesses." 
 
 Mr. Micawber then embraced Mrs. Micawber, and pressed 
 my hand ; leaving me to infer from this broken allusion that 
 his domestic supply of water had been cut off that afternoon, 
 in consequence of default in the payment of the company's 
 rates. 
 
 To divert his thoughts from this melancholy subject, I 
 informed Mr. Micawber that I relied upon him for a bowl of 
 punch, and led him to the lemons. His recent despondency, 
 not to say despair, was gone in a moment. I never saw a man 
 so thoroughly enjoy himself amid the fragrance of lemon-peel 
 and sugar, the odor of burning rum, and the steam of boiling 
 water, as Mr. Micawber did that afternoon. It was wonderful 
 to see his face shining at us out of a thin cloud of these deli- 
 
448 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 cate fumes, as lie stirred, and mixed, and tasted, and looked 
 as if lie were making, instead of punch, a fortune for his 
 family down to the latest posterity. As to Mrs. Micawber, I 
 don't know whether it was the effect of the cap, or the lav- 
 ender-water, or the pins, or the fire, or the wax candles, but 
 she came out of my room, comparatively speaking, lovely. 
 And the lark was never gayer than that excellent woman. 
 
 I suppose I never ventured to inquire, but I suppose 
 that Mrs. Crupp, after frying the soles, was taken ill. Because 
 we broke down at that point. The leg of mutton came up 
 very red within, and very pale without : besides having a 
 foreign substance of a gritty nature sprinkled over it, as if it 
 had had a fall into the ashes of that remarkable kitchen fire- 
 place. But we were not in a condition to judge of this fact 
 from the appearance of the gravy, forasmuch as the "young 
 gal " had dropped it all upon the stairs where it remained, 
 by the by, in a long train, until it was worn out. The pigeon- 
 pie was not bad, but it was a delusive pie : the crust being like 
 a disappointing head, phrenologically speaking : full of lumps 
 and bumps, with nothing particular underneath. In short, 
 the banquet was such a failure that I should have been quite 
 unhappy about the failure, I mean, for I was always un- 
 happy about Dora if I had not been relieved by the great 
 good-humor of my company, and by a bright suggestion from 
 Mr. Micawber. 
 
 "My dear friend Copperfield," said Mr. Micawber, "acci- 
 dents will occur in the best-regulated families ; and in families 
 not regulated by that pervading influence which sanctifies 
 while it enhances the a I would say, in short, by the 
 influence of Woman, in the lofty character of Wife, they may 
 be expected with confidence, and must be borne with phil- 
 osophy. If you will allow me to take the liberty of remarking 
 that there are few comestibles better, in their way, than a 
 Devil, and that I believe, with a little division of labor, we 
 could accomplish a good one if the young person in attendance 
 could produce a gridiron, I would put it to you, that this little 
 misfortune may be easily repaired." 
 
 There was a gridiron in the pantry, on which my morning 
 rasher of bacon was cooked. We had it in, in a twinkling, 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 449 
 
 and immediately applied ourselves to carrying Mr. Micawber's 
 idea into effect. The division of labor to which he had re- 
 ferred was this : Traddles cut the mutton into slices ; Mr. 
 Micawber (who could do anything of this sort to perfection) 
 covered them with pepper, mustard, salt, and cayenne ; I put 
 them on the gridiron, turned them with a fork, and took them 
 off, under Mr. Micawber's direction ; and Mrs. Micawber 
 heated, and continually stirred, some mushroom ketchup in a 
 little saucepan. When we had slices enough done to begin 
 upon, we fell-to, with our sleeves still tucked up at the wrists, 
 more slices sputtering and blazing on the fire, and our atten- 
 tion divided between the mutton on our plates, and the mutton 
 then preparing. 
 
 What with the novelty of this cookery, the excellence of it, 
 the bustle of it, the frequent starting up to look after it, the 
 frequent sitting down to dispose of it as the crisp slices came 
 off the gridiron hot and hot, the being so busy, so flushed 
 with the fire, so amused, and in the midst of such a tempting 
 noise and savor, we reduced the leg of mutton to the bone. 
 My own appetite came back miraculously. I am ashamed to 
 record it, but I really believe I forgot Dora for a little while. 
 I am satisfied that Mr. and Mrs. Micawber could not have 
 enjoyed the feast more if they had sold a bed to provide it. 
 Traddles laughed as heartily, almost the whole time, as he 
 ate and worked. Indeed we all did, all at once ; and I dare 
 say there never was a greater success. 
 
 We were at the height of our enjoyment, and were all 
 busily engaged, in our several departments, endeavoring to 
 bring the last batch of slices to a state of perfection that 
 should crown the feast, when I was aware of a strange pres- 
 ence in the room, and my eyes encountered those of the staid 
 Lit timer, standing hat in hand before me. 
 
 " What's the matter ? " I involuntarily asked. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir, I was directed to come in. Is my 
 master not here, sir ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Have you not seen him, sir ? " 
 
 " No ; don't you come from him ? >; 
 
 "Not immediately so, sir." 
 VOL. i 29 
 
450 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " Did he tell you you would find him here ? " 
 
 " Not exactly so, sir. But I should think he might be here 
 to-morrow, as 'he has not been here to-day." 
 
 " Is he coming up from Oxford ? " 
 
 "I beg, sir," he returned respectfully, "that you will be 
 seated, and allow me to do this." With which he took the 
 fork from my unresisting hand, and bent over the gridiron, as 
 if his whole attention were concentrated on it. 
 
 We should not have been much discomposed, I dare say, 
 by the appearance of Steerforth himself, but we became in a 
 moment the meekest of the meek before his respectable serving- 
 man. Mr. Micawber, humming a tune, to show that he was 
 quite at ease, subsided into his chair, with the handle of a 
 hastily concealed fork sticking out of the bosom of his coat, as 
 if he had stabbed himself. Mrs. Micawber put on her brown 
 gloves, and assumed a genteel languor. Traddles ran his 
 greasy hands through his hair, and stood it bolt upright, and 
 stared in confusion on the, table-cloth. As for me, I was 
 a mere infant at the head of my own table ; and hardly 
 ventured to glance at the respectable phenomenon, who had 
 come from Heaven knows where, to put my establishment to 
 rights. 
 
 Meanwhile he took the mutton off the gridiron, and gravely 
 handed it round. We all took some, but our appreciation of 
 it was gone, and we merely made a show of eating it. As 
 we severally pushed away our plates, he noiselessly removed 
 them, and set on the cheese. He took that off, too, when it 
 was done with ; cleared the table ; piled everything on the 
 dumb-waiter ; gave us our wine-glasses ; and, of his own 
 accord, wheeled the dumb-waiter into the pantry. All this 
 was done in a perfect manner, and he never raised his eyes 
 from what he was about. Yet, his very elbows, when he had 
 his back towards me, seemed to teem with the expression of 
 his fixed opinion that I was extremely young. 
 
 " Can I do anything more, sir ? " 
 
 I thanked him and said No ; but would he take no dinner 
 himself ? 
 
 " None, I am obliged to you, sir." 
 
 " Is Mr. Steerforth coming from Oxford ? " 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 451- 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir ? ' : 
 
 " Is Mr. Steerforth coining from Oxford ? " 
 
 "I should imagine that he might be here to-morrow, sir. 
 I rather thought he might have been here to-day, sir. The 
 mistake is mine, no doubt, sir." 
 
 " If you should see him first " said I. 
 
 " If you'll excuse me, sir, I don't think I shall see him first." 
 
 "In case you do," said I, " pray say that I am sorry he was 
 not here to-day, as an old schoolfellow of his was here." 
 
 "Indeed, sir!" and he divided a bow between me and 
 Traddles, with a glance at the latter. 
 
 He was moving softly to the door, when, in a forlorn hope 
 of saying something naturally which I never could, to this 
 man I said : 
 
 "Oh! Littimer!" 
 
 " Sir ! " 
 
 " Did you remain long at Yarmouth, that time ? ' 
 
 " Not particularly so, sir." 
 
 " You saw the boat completed ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir. I remained behind on purpose to see the boat 
 
 completed." 
 
 " I know ! " he raised his eyes to mine respectfully. < Mr. 
 Steerforth has not seen it yet, I suppose ? ' 
 
 "I really can't say, sir. I think but I really can't say, 
 sir. I wish you good night, sir." 
 
 * He comprehended everybody present, in the respectful bow 
 with which he followed these words, and disappeared. My 
 visitors seemed to breathe more freely when he was gone ; but 
 my own relief was very great, for besides the constraint, 
 arising from that extraordinary sense of being at a disadvan- 
 tage which I always had in this man's presence, my conscience 
 had embarrassed me with whispers that I had mistrusted 
 his master, and I could not repress a vague uneasy dread that 
 he might find it out. How was it, having so little in reality 
 to conceal, that I always did feel as if this man were finding 
 
 me out ? 
 
 Mr. Micawber roused me from this reflection, which was 
 blended with a certain remorseful apprehension of seeing 
 Steerforth himself, by bestowing many encomiums Q2 the 
 
452 THE PERSONAL HISTOBY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 absent Littimer as a most respectable fellow, and a thoroughly 
 admirable servant. Mr. Micawber, I may remark, had taken 
 his full share of the general bow, and had received it with 
 infinite condescension. 
 
 "But punch, my dear Copperfield," said Mr. Micawber, 
 tasting it, "like time and tide, waits for no man. Ah! it is 
 at the present moment in high flavor. My love, will you give 
 me your opinion ? " 
 
 Mrs. Micawber pronounced it excellent. 
 
 " Then I will drink," said Mr. Micawber, " if my friend 
 Copperfield will permit me to take that social liberty, to the 
 days when my friend Copperfield and myself were younger, 
 and fought our way in the world side by side. I may say, of 
 myself and Copperfield, in words we have sung together before 
 now, that 
 
 We twa' hae run about the braes 
 And pu'd the go wans fine 
 
 in a figurative point of view on several occasions. I am 
 not exactly aware," said Mr. Micawber, with the old roll in 
 his voice, and the old indescribable air of saying something 
 genteel, " what go wans may be, but I have no doubt that 
 Copperfield and myself would frequently have taken a pull at 
 them, if it had been feasible." 
 
 Mr. Micawber, at the then present moment, took a pull at 
 his punch. So we all did : Traddles evidently lost in wonder- 
 ing at what distant time Mr. Micawber and I could have been 
 comrades in the battle of the world. 
 
 " Ahem ! " said Mr. Micawber, clearing his throat, and 
 warming with the punch and with the fire. " My dear, another 
 glass ? " 
 
 Mrs. Micawber said it must be very little, but we couldn't 
 allow that, so it was a glassful. 
 
 " As we are quite confidential here, Mr. Copperfield," said 
 Mrs. Micawber, sipping her punch, " Mr. Traddles being a part 
 of our domesticity, I should much like to have your opinion 
 on Mr. Micawber's prospects. For corn," said Mrs. Micawber 
 argumentatively, " as I have repeatedly said to Mr. Micawber, 
 may be gentlemanly, but it is not remunerative. Commission 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 453 
 
 to the extent of two and ninepence in a fortnight cannot, how- 
 ever limited our ideas, be considered remunerative." 
 
 We were all agreed upon that. 
 
 " Then/' said Mrs. Micawber, who prided herself on taking 
 a clear view of things, and keeping Mr. Micawber straight by 
 her woman's wisdom, when he might otherwise go a little 
 crooked, " then I ask myself this question. If corn is not to 
 be relied upon, what is ? Are coals to be relied upon ? Not 
 at all. We have turned our attention to that experiment, on 
 the suggestion of my family, and we find it fallacious." 
 
 Mr. Micawber, leaning back in his chair with his hands in 
 his pockets, eyed us aside, and nodded his head, as much as to 
 say that the case was very clearly put. 
 
 "The articles of corn and coals," said Mrs. Micawber, still 
 more argumentatively, " being equally out of the question, Mr. 
 Copperfield, I naturally look round the world, and say, ' What 
 is there in which a person of Mr. Micawber's talent is likely to 
 succeed ? ' And I exclude the doing anything on commission, 
 because commission is not a certainty. What is best suited 
 to a person of Mr. Micawber's peculiar temperament is, I am 
 convinced, a certainty." 
 
 Traddles and I both expressed, by a feeling murmur, that this 
 great discovery was no doubt true of Mr. Micawber, and that 
 it did him much credit. 
 
 " I will not conceal from you, my dear Mr. Copperfield," 
 said Mrs. Micawber, "that I have long felt the Brewing busi- 
 ness to be particularly adapted to Mr. Micawber. Look at 
 Barclay and Perkins ! Look at Truman, Hanbury, and Bux- 
 ton! It is on that extensive footing that Mr. Micawber, I 
 know from my own knowledge of him, is calculated to shine : 
 and the profits, I am told, are e-NOR mous ! But if Mr. 
 Micawber cannot get into those firms which decline to 
 answer his letters, when he offers his services even in an 
 inferior capacity what is the use of dwelling upon that 
 idea ? None. I may have a conviction that Mr. Micawber's 
 manners " 
 
 " Hem ! Eeally, my dear," interposed Mr. Micawber. 
 
 " My love, be silent," said Mrs. Micawber, laying her brown 
 glove on his hand. " I may have a conviction, Mr. Copper- 
 
454 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 field, that Mr. Micawbers manners peculiarly qualify him for 
 the Banking business. I may argue within myself, that if / 
 had a deposit at a banking-house, the manners of Mr. Micaw- 
 ber, as representing that banking-house, would inspire confi- 
 dence, and must extend the connection. But if the various 
 banking-houses refuse to avail themselves of Mr. Micawber's 
 abilities, or receive the offer of them with contumely, what is 
 the use of dwelling upon that idea ? Xone. As to originating 
 a banking-business, I may know that there are members of my 
 family who, if they chose to place their money in Mr. Micaw- 
 ber's hands, might found an establishment of that description. 
 But if they do not choose to place their money in Mr. Micaw- 
 ber's hands which they don't what is the use of that ? 
 Again I contend that we are no farther advanced than we 
 were before." 
 
 I shook my head, and said, "Not a bit." Traddles also 
 shook his head, and said, " Not a bit." 
 
 " What do I deduce from this ? " Mrs. Micawber went on to 
 say, still with the same air of putting a case lucidly. " What 
 is the conclusion, my dear Mr. Copperfield, to which I am 
 irresistibly brought ? Am I wrong in saying, it is clear that 
 we must live ? " 
 
 I answered, " Xot at all ! " and Traddles answered, " Xot at 
 all ! " and I found myself afterwards sagely adding, alone, 
 that a person must either live or die. 
 
 "Just so," returned Mrs. Micawber. "It is precisely that. 
 And the fact is, my dear Mr. Copperfield, that we can not live 
 without something widely different from existing circum- 
 stances shortly turning up. Xow I am convinced, myself, 
 and this I have pointed out to Mr. Micawber several times of 
 late, that things cannot be expected to turn up of themselves. 
 We must, in a measure, assist to turn them up. I may be 
 wrong, but I have formed that opinion." 
 
 Both Traddles and I applauded it highly. 
 
 "Very well," said Mrs. Micawber. "Then what do I re- 
 commend ? Here is Mr. Micawber with a variety of qualifi- 
 cations with great talent " 
 
 " Really, my love, J1 said Mr. Micawber. 
 
 "Pray, my dear, allow me to conclude. Here is Mr. Mi- 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 455 
 
 cawber, with, a variety of qualifications, with great talent / 
 should say, with genius, but that may be the partiality of a 
 wife " 
 
 Traddles and I both murmured " No." 
 
 " And here is Mr. Micawber without any suitable position 
 or employment. Where does that responsibility rest ? Clearly 
 on society. Then I would make a fact so disgraceful known, 
 and boldly challenge society to set it right. It appears to me, 
 my dear Mr. Copperfield," said Mrs. Micawber, forcibly, " that 
 what Mr. Micawber has to do, is to throw down the gauntlet 
 to society, and say, in effect, ' Show me who will take that up. 
 Let the party immediately step forward.' ' 
 
 I ventured to ask Mrs. Micawber how this was to be done. 
 
 " By advertising," said Mrs. Micawber " in all the papers. 
 It appears to me, that what Mr. Micawber has to do, in justice 
 to himself, in justice to his family, and I will even go so far 
 as to say in justice to society, by which he has been hitherto 
 overlooked, is to advertise in all the papers ; to describe him- 
 self plainly as so and so, with such and such qualifications, 
 and to put it thus: 'Now employ me, on remunerative 
 terms, and address, post-paid, to W. M., Post Office, Cainden 
 Town/ " 
 
 " This idea of Mrs. Micawber' s, my dear Copperfield," said 
 Mr. Micawber, making his shirt-collar meet in front of his 
 chin, and glancing at me sideways, " is, in fact, the Leap to 
 which I alluded, when I last had the pleasure of seeing you." 
 
 " Advertising is rather expensive," I remarked, dubiously. 
 
 " Exactly so ! " said Mrs. Micawber, preserving the same 
 logical air. " Quite true, my dear Mr. Copperfield ! I have 
 made the identical observation to Mr. Micawber. It is for 
 that reason especially, that I think Mr. Micawber ought (as I 
 have already said, in justice to himself, in justice to his fam- 
 ily, and in justice to society) to raise a certain sum of money 
 on a bill." 
 
 Mr. Micawber, leaning back in his chair, trifled with his eye- 
 glass, and cast his eyes up at the ceiling ; but I thought him 
 observant of Traddles, too, who was looking at the fire. 
 
 "If no member of my family," said Mrs. Micawber, "is 
 possessed of sufficient natural feeling to negotiate that bill 
 
456 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 I believe there is a better business-term to express what I 
 mean " 
 
 Mr. Micawber, with his eyes still cast up at the ceiling, 
 suggested "Discount." 
 
 "To discount that bill," said Mrs. Micawber, "then my 
 opinion is, that Mr. Micawber should go into the City, should 
 take that bill into the Money Market, and should dispose of it' 
 for what he can get. If the individuals in the Money Market 
 oblige Mr. Micawber to sustain a great sacrifice, that is be- 
 tween themselves and their consciences. I view it, steadily, 
 as an investment. I recommend Mr. Micawber, my dear Mr. 
 Copperfield, to do the same ; to regard it as an investment 
 which is sure of return, and to make up his mind to any sacri- 
 fice." 
 
 I felt, but I am sure I don't know why, that this was self- 
 denying and devoted in Mrs. Micawber, and I uttered a mur- 
 mur to that effect. Traddles, who took his tone from me, did 
 likewise, still looking at the fire. 
 
 " I will not," said Mrs. Micawber, finishing her punch, and 
 gathering her scarf about her shoulders, preparatory to her 
 withdrawal to my bed-room ; " I will not protract these re- 
 marks on the subject of Mr. Micawber's pecuniary affairs. At 
 your fireside, my dear Mr. Copperfield, and in the presence of 
 Mr. Traddles, who, though not so old a friend, is quite one of 
 ourselves, I could not refrain from making you acquainted 
 with the course / advise Mr. Micawber to take. I feel that 
 the time is arrived when Mr. Micawber should exert himself 
 and I will add assert himself, and it appears to me that . 
 these are the means. I am aware that I am merely a female, 
 and that a masculine judgment is usually considered more 
 competent to the discussion of such questions ; still I must not 
 forget that, when I lived at home with my papa and mamma, 
 my papa was in the habit of saying, ' Emma's form is fragile, 
 but her grasp of a subject is inferior to none. 7 That my papa 
 was too partial, I well know ; but that he was an observer of 
 character in some degree, my duty and my reason equally for- 
 bid me to doubt." 
 
 With these words, and resisting our entreaties that she 
 would grace the remaining circulation of the punch with her 
 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 457 
 
 presence, Mrs. Micawber retired to my bed-room. And really 
 I felt that she was a noble woman the sort of woman who 
 might have been a Roman matron, and done all manner of 
 heroic things, in times of public trouble. 
 
 In the fervor of this impression, I congratulated Mr. 
 Micawber on the treasure he possessed. So did Traddles. 
 Mr. Micawber extended his hand to each of us in succession, 
 and then covered his face with his pocket-handkerchief, which 
 T think had more snuff upon it than he was aware of. He 
 then returned to the punch, in the highest state of exhil- 
 aration. 
 
 He was full of eloquence. He gave us to understand that 
 in our children - lived again, and that, under the pressure of 
 pecuniary difficulties, any accession to their number was 
 doubly welcome. He said that Mrs. Micawber had latterly had 
 her doubts on this oint, but that he had dispelled them, and 
 reassured her. As to her family, they were totally unworthy 
 of her, and their sentiments were utterly indifferent to him, 
 and they might I quote his own expression go to the 
 Devil. 
 
 Mr. Micawber then delivered a warm eulogy on Traddles. 
 He said Traddles's was a character, to the steady virtues of 
 which he (Mr. Micawber) could lay no claim, but which, he 
 thanked Heaven, he could admire. He feelingly alluded to 
 the young lady, unknown, whom Traddles had honored with 
 his affection, and who had reciprocated that affection by honor- 
 ing and blessing Traddles with her affection. Mr. Micawber 
 pledged her. So did I. Traddles thanked us both, by saying, 
 with a simplicity and honesty I had sense enough to be quite 
 charmed with, " I am very much obliged to you indexed. And 
 I do assure you, she's the dearest girl ! " 
 
 Mr. Micawber took an early opportunity, after that, of 
 hinting, with the utmost delicacy and ceremony, at the state 
 of my affections. Nothing but the serious assurance of his 
 friend Copperfield to the contrary, he observed, could deprive 
 him of the impression that his friend Copperfield loved and 
 was beloved. After feeling very hot and uncomfortable for 
 some time, and after a good deal of blushing, stammering, and 
 denying, I said, having my glass in my hand, " Well ! I would 
 
458 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 give them D. ! " which so excited and gratified Mr. Micawber, 
 that he ran with a glass of punch into my bed-room, in order 
 that Mrs. Micawber might drink D., who drank it with enthu- 
 siasm, crying from within, in a shrill voice, " Hear, hear ! 
 My dear Mr. Copperfield, I am delighted. Hear ! " and tapping 
 at the wall, by way of applause. 
 
 Our onversation, afterwards, took a more worldly turn; 
 Mr. Micawber lling us that he found Camden Town incon- 
 venient, and that ne first thing he contemplated doing, when 
 the advertisement should have been the cause of something 
 
 4 
 
 satisfactory turning up, was to move. He mentioned a terrace 
 at the western end of Oxford-street, fronting Hyde Park, on 
 which he had always had his eye, but which he did not expect 
 to attain immediately, as it would require a large establish- 
 ment. There would probably be an interval, he explained, 
 in which he should content himself with the upper part of a 
 house, over some respectable place of business, say in Pic- 
 cadilly, which would be a cheerful situation for Mrs. Micaw- 
 ber ; and where, by throwing out a bow window, or carrying 
 up the roof another story, or making some little alteration of 
 that sort, they might live, comfortably and reputably, for a 
 few years. Whatever was reserved for him, he expressly said, 
 or wherever his abode might be, we might rely on this there 
 would always be a room for Traddles, and a knife and fork for 
 me. We acknowledged his kindness; and he begged us to 
 forgive his having launched into these practical and business- 
 like details, and to excuse it as natural in one who was making 
 entirely new arrangements in life. 
 
 Mrs. Micawber tapping at the wall again, to know if tea 
 were ready, broke up this particular phase of our friendly con- 
 versation. She made tea for us in a most agreeable manner ; 
 and, whenever I went near her, in handing about the tea cups 
 and bread-and-butter, asked me, in a whisper, whether D. was 
 fair, or dark, or whether she was short, or tall : or something 
 of that kind ; which I think I liked. After tea, we discussed 
 a variety of topics before the fire ; and Mrs. Micawber was 
 good enough to sing us (in a small, thin, flat voice, which 
 I remembered to have considered, when I first knew her, the 
 very table-beer of acoustics) the favorite ballads of "The 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 459 
 
 Dashing White Sergeant/' and " Little Tafflin." For both of 
 these songs Mrs. Micawber had been famous when she lived 
 at home with her papa and mamma. Mr. Micawber told us, 
 that when he heard her sing the first one, on the first occasion 
 of his seeing her beneath the parental roof, she had attracted 
 his attention in an extraordinary degree ; but that when it 
 came to Little Tafflin, he had resolved to win that woman or 
 perish in the attempt. 
 
 It was between ten and eleven o'clock when Mrs. Micawber 
 rose to replace her cap in the whitey-brown paper parcel, and 
 to put on her bonnet. Mr. Micawber took the opportunity of 
 Traddles putting on his great coat, to slip a letter into my 
 hand, with a whispered request that I would read it at my 
 leisure. I also took the opportunity of my holding a candle 
 over the banisters to light them down, when Mr. Micawber 
 was going first, leading Mrs. Micawber, and Traddles was fol- 
 lowing with the cap, to detain Traddles for a moment on the 
 top of the stairs. 
 
 " Traddles," said I, " Mr. Micawber don't mean any harm, 
 poor fellow: but, if I were you, I wouldn't lend him any- 
 thing." 
 
 "My dear Copperfield," returned Traddles, smiling, "I 
 haven't got anything to lend." 
 
 " You have got a name, you know," said I. 
 
 " Oh ! You call that something to lend ? " returned Trad- 
 dies with a thoughtful look. 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Traddles. " Yes, to be sure ! I am very much 
 obliged to you, Copperfield ; but I am afraid I have lent him 
 that already." 
 
 "For the bill that is to be a certain investment ? " I inquired. 
 
 "No," said Traddles. "Not for that one. This is the first 
 I have heard of that one. I have been thinking that he will 
 most likely propose that one, on the way home. Mine's 
 another." 
 
 " I hope there will be nothing wrong about it," said I. 
 
 " I hope not," said Traddles. " I should think not, though, 
 because he told me only the other day, that it was provided 
 for. That was Mr. Micawber's expression, t Provided for.' ' 
 
460 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 Mr. Micawber looking up at this juncture to where we were 
 standing, I had only time to repeat my caution. Traddles 
 thanked me, and descended. But I was much afraid, when I 
 observed the good-natured manner in which he went down 
 with the cap in his hand, and gave Mrs. Micawber his arm, 
 that he would be carried into the Money Market neck and heels. 
 
 I returned to my fireside, and was musing, half gravely and 
 half laughing, on the character of Mr. Micawber and the old 
 relations between us, when I heard a quick step ascending the 
 stairs. At first, I thought it was Traddles coming back for 
 something Mrs. Micawber had left behind ; but as the step 
 approached, I knew it, and felt my heart beat high, and the 
 blood rush to my face, for it was Steerforth's. 
 
 I was never unmindful of Agnes, and she never left that 
 sanctuary in my thoughts if I may call it so where I had 
 placed her from the first. But when he entered, and stood 
 before me with his hand out, the darkness that had fallen on 
 him changed to light, and I felt confounded and ashamed of 
 having doubted one I loved so heartily. I loved her none the 
 less ; I thought of her as the same benignant, gentle angel in 
 my life ; I reproached myself, not her, with having done him 
 an injury ; and I would have made him any atonement if I 
 had known what to make, and how to make it. 
 
 "Why, Daisy, old boy, dumb-foundered!" laughed Steer- 
 forth, shaking my hand heartily, and throwing it gaily away. 
 " Have I detected you in another feast, you Sybarite ! These 
 Doctors' Commons fellows are the gayest men in town, I believe, 
 and beat us sober Oxford people all to nothing ! " His bright 
 glance went merrily round the room, as he took the seat on 
 the sofa opposite to me, which Mrs. Micawber had recently 
 vacated, and stirred the fire into a blaze. 
 
 " I was so surprised at first,' 7 said I, giving him welcome 
 with all the cordiality I felt, " that I had hardly breath to 
 greet you with, Steerforth." 
 
 " Well, the sight of me is good for sore eyes, as the Scotch 
 say," replied Steerforth, " and so is the sight of you, Daisy, in 
 full bloom. How are you, my Bacchanal ? " 
 
 "I am very well," said I; "and not at all Bacchanalian 
 to-night, though I confess to another party of three." 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 461 
 
 " All of whom I met in the street, talking loud in your praise," 
 returned Steerforth. " Who's our friend in the tights ? " 
 
 I gave him the best idea I could, in a few words, of Mr. 
 Micawber. He laughed heartily at my feeble portrait of that gen- 
 tleman, and said he was a man to know, and he must know him. 
 
 " But who do you suppose our other friend is ? " said I, in 
 my turn. 
 
 " Heaven knows," said Steerforth. " Not a bore, I hope ? 
 I thought he looked a little like one." 
 
 " Traddles ! " I replied, triumphantly. 
 
 " Who's he ? " asked Steerforth, in his careless way. 
 
 " Don't you remember Traddles ? Traddles in our room at 
 Salem House?" 
 
 " Oh ! That fellow ! " said Steerforth, beating a lump of 
 coal on the top of the fire, with the poker. " Is he as soft 
 as ever ? And where the deuce did you pick him up ? ' : 
 
 I extolled Traddles in reply, as highly as I could ; for I felt 
 that Steerforth rather slighted him. Steerforth, dismissing 
 the subject with a light nod, and a smile, and the remark that 
 he would be glad to see the old fellow too, for he had always 
 been an odd fish, inquired if I could give him anything to eat ? 
 During most of this short dialogue, when he had not been 
 speaking in a wild vivacious manner, he had sat idly beating 
 on the lump of coal with the poker. I observed that he did 
 the same thing while I was getting out the remains of the 
 pigeon-pie, and so forth. 
 
 " Why, Daisy, here's a supper for a king ! " he exclaimed, 
 starting out of his silence with a burst, and taking his seat at 
 the table. "I shall do it justice, for I have come from 
 Yarmouth." 
 
 " I thought you came from Oxford ? " I returned. 
 
 " Not I," said Steerforth. " I have been seafaring better 
 employed." 
 
 " Littimer was here to-day, to inquire for you," I remarked, 
 "and I understood him that you were at Oxford; though, 
 now I think of it, he certainly did not say so." 
 
 " Littimer is a greater fool than I thought him, to have been 
 inquiring for me at all," said Steerforth, jovially pouring out 
 a glass of wine, and drinking to me. " As to understanding 
 
462 THE PEE SON AL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 him, you are a cleverer fellow than most of us, Daisy, if you 
 can do that." 
 
 " That's true, indeed," said I, moving my chair to the table. 
 " So you have been at Yarmouth, Steerforth ! " interested to 
 know all about it. " Have you been there long ? r - 
 
 "No," he returned. "An escapade of a week or so." 
 
 " And how are they all ? Of course, little Emily is 'not 
 married yet ? " 
 
 "Not yet. Going to be, I believe in so many weeks, or 
 months, or something or other. I have not seen much of 'em. 
 By the by ; " he laid down his knife and fork, which he had 
 been using with great diligence, and began feeling in his 
 pockets ; " I have a letter for you." 
 
 " From whom ? " 
 
 "Why, from your old nurse," he returned, taking some 
 papers out of his breast pocket. "' J. Steerforth, Esquire, 
 debtor, to the Willing Mind ; ' that's not it. Patience, and 
 we'll find it presently. Old what's-his-name's in a bad way, 
 and it's about that, I believe." 
 
 " Barkis, do you mean ? " 
 
 " Yes ! " still feeling in his pockets, and looking over their 
 contents : " it's all over with poor Barkis, I am afraid. I 
 saw a little apothecary there surgeon, or whatever he is - 
 who brought your worship into the world. He was mighty 
 learned about the case, to me ; but the upshot of his opinion 
 was, that the carrier was making his last journey rather fast. 
 Put your hand into the breast pocket of my great-coat on the 
 chair yonder, and I think you'll find the letter. Is it there ? ' ; 
 
 " Here it is ! " said I. 
 
 "That's right!" 
 
 It was from Peggotty ; something less legible than usual, 
 and brief. It informed me of her husband's hopeless state, 
 and hinted at his being " a little nearer " than heretofore, and 
 consequently more difficult to manage for his own comfort. 
 It said nothing of her weariness and watching, and praised 
 him highly. It was written with a plain, unaffected, homely 
 piety that I knew to be genuine, and ended with " my duty to 
 my ever darling " meaning myself. 
 
 While I deciphered it, Steerforth continued to eat and drink. 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELb. 463 
 
 "It's a bad job/' lie said, when I had done; "but the sun 
 sets every day, and people die every minute, and we mustn't 
 be scared by the common lot. If we failed to hold our own, 
 because that equal foot at all men's doors was heard knocking 
 somewhere, every object in this world would slip from us. 
 No ! Ride on ! Eough-shod if need be, smooth-shod if that will 
 do, but ride on ! Eide on over all obstacles, and win the race ! " 
 
 " And win what race ? " said I. 
 
 " The race that one has started in," said he. " Ride on ! " 
 
 I noticed, I remember, as he paused, looking at me with 
 his handsome head a little thrown back, and his glass raised 
 in his hand, that, though the freshness of the sea-wind was on 
 his face, and it was ruddy, there were traces in it, made since 
 I last saw it, as if he had applied himself to some habitual 
 strain of the fervent energy which, when roused, was so pas- 
 sionately roused within him. I had it in my thoughts to 
 remonstrate with him upon his desperate way of pursuing 
 any fancy that he took such as this buffeting of rough seas, 
 and braving of hard weather, for example when my mind 
 glanced off to the immediate subject of our conversation again, 
 and pursued that instead. 
 
 " I tell you what, Steerf orth," said I, " if your high spirits 
 will listen to me " 
 
 " They are potent spirits, and will do whatever you like," 
 he answered, moving from the table to the fireside again. 
 
 ^Then I tell you what, Steerforth, I think I will go down 
 and see my old nurse. It is not that I can do her any good, 
 or render her any real service ; but she is so attached to me 
 that my visit will have as much effect on her, as if I could 
 do both. She will take it so kindly that it will be a comfort 
 and support to her. It is no great effort to make, I am sure, 
 for such a friend as she has been to me. Wouldn't you go 
 a day's journey, if you were in my place ? " 
 
 His face was thoughtful, and he sat considering a -little 
 before he answered, in a low voice, " Well ! Go. You can do 
 no harm." 
 
 " You have just come back," said I, " and it would be in 
 vain to ask you to go with me ? " 
 
 "Quite," he returned. "I am for Highgate to-night. I 
 
464 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 have not seen my mother this long time, and it lies upon my 
 conscience, for it's something to be loved as she loves her 
 prodigal son. Bah ! Xonsense ! You mean to go to-morrow, 
 I suppose ? " lie said, holding me out at arm's length, with a 
 hand on each of my shoulders. 
 
 "Yes, I think so." 
 
 " Well, then, don't go till next day. I wanted you to come 
 and stay a few days with us. Here I am, on purpose to bid 
 you, and you fly off to Yarmouth ! " 
 
 " You are a nice fellow to talk of flying off, Steerf orth, who are 
 always running wild on some unknown expedition or other ! " 
 
 He looked at me for a moment without speaking, and then 
 rejoined, still holding me as before, and giving me a shake : 
 
 " Come ! Say the next day, and pass as much of to-morrow 
 as you can with us! Who knows when we may meet again, 
 else ? Come ! Say the next day ! I want you to stand 
 between Kosa Dartle and me, and keep us asunder." 
 
 "Would you love each other too much, without me ? " 
 
 "Yes; or hate," laughed Steerforth; "no matter which. 
 Come ! Say the next day ! " 
 
 I said the next day ; and he put on his great-coat and 
 lighted his cigar, and set off to walk home. Finding him in 
 this intention, I put on my own great-coat (but did not light 
 my own c^igar, having had enough of that for one while) and 
 walked with him as far as the open road ; a dull road, then, 
 at night. He was in great spirits all the way ; and when we 
 parted, and I looked after him going so gallantly and airily 
 homeward, I thought of his saying, " Ride on over all obstacles, 
 and win the race ! " and wished, for the first time, that he had 
 some worthy race to run. 
 
 I was undressing in my own room, when Mr. Micawber's 
 letter tumbled on the floor. Thus reminded of it, I broke 
 the seal and read as follows. It was dated an hour and a 
 half before dinner. I am not sure whether I have mentioned 
 that, when Mr. Micawber was at any particularly desperate 
 crisis, he used a sort of legal phraseology : which he seemed 
 to think equivalent to winding up his affairs. 
 
 "Sir for I dare not say my dear Copperfield, 
 
 " It is expedient that I should inform you that the under- 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 465 
 
 igned is Crushed. Some flickering efforts to spare you the 
 premature knowledge of his calamitous position, you may 
 observe in him this day; but hope has sunk beneath the 
 horizon, and the undersigned is Crushed. 
 
 "The present communication is penned within the per- 
 sonal range (I cannot call it the society) of an individual, in a 
 state closely bordering on intoxication, employed by a broker. 
 That individual is in legal possession of the premises, under a 
 distress for rent. His inventory includes, not only the chattels 
 and effects of every description belonging to the undersigned, 
 as yearly tenant of this habitation, but also those appertaining 
 to Mr. Thomas Traddles, lodger, a member of the Honorable 
 Society of the Inner Temple. 
 
 " If any drop of gloom were wanting in the overflowing cup, 
 which is now ' commended ' (in the language of an immortal 
 Writer) to the lips of the undersigned, it would be found in 
 the fact, that a friendly acceptance granted to the undersigned, 
 by the before-mentioned Mr. Thomas Traddles, for the sum 
 of 23 4s. 9 d. is over due, and is NOT provided for. Also, 
 in the fact, that the living responsibilities clinging to the 
 undersigned, will, in the course of nature, be increased by the 
 sum of one more helpless victim ; whose miserable appearance 
 may be looked for in round numbers at the expiration of 
 a period not exceeding six lunar months from the present date. 
 
 "After premising thus much, it would be a work of 
 supererogation to add, that dust and ashes are for ever 
 scattered 
 
 "On 
 "The 
 "Head 
 "Of 
 
 " WlLKINS MlCAWBER." 
 
 Poor Traddles ! I knew enough of Mr. Micawber by this 
 time, to foresee that he might be expected to recover the 
 blow ; but my night's rest was sorely distressed by thoughts 
 of Traddles, and of the curate's daughter, who was one of ten, 
 down in Devonshire, and who was such a dear girl, and who 
 would wait for Traddles (ominous praise !) until she was sixty, 
 or any age that could be mentioned. 
 VOL. i-30 
 
466 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIX. 
 
 I VISIT STEERFORTH AT HIS HOME, AGAIN. 
 
 I MENTIONED to Mr. Spenlow in the morning, that I wanted 
 leave of absence for a short time ; and as I was not in the 
 receipt of any salary, and consequently was not obnoxious to 
 the implacable Jorkins, there was no difficulty about it. I 
 took that opportunity, with my voice sticking in my throat, 
 and my sight failing as I uttered the words, to express my 
 hope that Miss Spenlow was quite well ; to which Mr. Spen- 
 low replied, with no more emotion than if he had been speak- 
 ing of an ordinary human being, that he was much obliged to 
 me, and she was very well. 
 
 We articled clerks, as germs of the patrician order of 
 proctors, were treated with so much consideration, that I was 
 almost my own master at all times. As I did not care, how- 
 ever, to get to Highgate before one or two o'clock in the day, 
 and as we had another little excommunication case in court 
 that morning, which was called The office of the Judge pro- 
 moted by Tipkins against Bullock for his soul's' correction, I 
 passed an hour or two in attendance 'on it with Mr. Spenlow 
 very agreeably. It arose out of a scuffle between two church- 
 wardens, one of whom was alleged to have pushed the other 
 against a pump ; the handle of which pump projecting into a 
 schoolhouse, which schoolhouse was under a gable of the 
 church-roof, made the push an ecclesiastical offence. It was 
 an amusing case ; and sent me up to Highgate, on the box of 
 the stage-coach, thinking about the Commons, and what Mr. 
 Spenlow had said about touching the Commons and bringing 
 down the country. 
 
 Mrs. Steerforth was pleased to see me, and so was Rosa 
 Dartle. I was agreeably surprised to find that Littimer was 
 not there, and that we were attended by a modest little parlor- 
 maid, with blue ribbons in her cap, whose eye it was much 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 467 
 
 more pleasant, and much less disconcerting,, to catch by acci- 
 dent, than the eye of that respectable man. But what I 
 particularly observed, before I had been half-an-hour in the 
 house, was the close and attentive watch Miss Dartle kept 
 upon me ; and the lurking manner in which she seemed to 
 compare my face with Steerforth's, and Steerforth's with 
 mine, and to lie in wait for something to come out between 
 the two. So surely as I looked towards her, did I see that 
 eager visage, with its gaunt black eyes and searching brow, 
 intent on mine ; or passing suddenly from mine to Steerforth's ; 
 or comprehending both of us at once. In this lynx-like scru- 
 tiny she was so far from faltering when she saw I observed 
 it, that at such a time she only fixed her piercing look upon 
 me with a more intent expression still. Blameless as I was, 
 and knew that I was, in reference to any wrong she could pot- 
 sibly suspect me of, I shrunk before her strange eyes, quite 
 unable to endure their hungry lustre. 
 
 All day, she seemed to pervade the whole house. If I 
 talked to Steerforth in his room, I heard her dress rustle in 
 the little gallery outside. When he and I engaged in some 
 of our old exercises on the lawn behind the house, I saw her 
 face pass from window to window, like a wandering light, 
 until it fixed itself in one, and watched us. When we all 
 four went out walking in the afternoon, she closed her thin 
 hand on my arm like a spring, to keep me back, while Steer- 
 forth and his mother went on out of hearing : and then spoke 
 to me. 
 
 "You have been a long time," she said, "without coming 
 here. Is your profession really so engaging and interesting 
 as to absorb your whole attention ? I ask because I always 
 want to be informed, when I am ignorant. Is it really, 
 though ? " 
 
 I replied that I liked it well enough, but that I certainly 
 could not claim so mucn for it. 
 
 " Oh ! I am glad to know that, because I always like to be 
 put right when I am wrong," said Rosa Dartle. " You mean 
 it is a little dry, perhaps ? ' 
 
 "Well," I replied ; "perhaps it was a little dry." 
 
 " Oh ! and that's a reason why you want relief and change 
 
468 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 excitement, and all that ? " said she. " Ah ! very true ! 
 But isn't it a little Eh ? for him ; I don't mean you ? " 
 
 A quick glance of her eye towards the spot where Steerforth 
 was walking, with his mother leaning on his arm, showed me 
 whom she meant ; but beyond that, I was quite lost. And I 
 looked so, I have no doubt. 
 
 " Don't it I don't say that it does, mind I want to know 
 don't it rather engross him ? Don't it make him, perhaps, a 
 little more remiss than usual in his visits to his blindly doting 
 
 eh ? " With another quick glance at them, and such a 
 glance at me as seemed to look into my innermost thoughts. 
 
 " Miss Dartle," I returned, " pray do not think " 
 
 " I don't ! " she said. " Oh, dear me, don't suppose that I 
 think anything ! I am not suspicious. I only ask a question. 
 I don't state any opinion. I want to found an opinion on 
 what you tell me. Then, it's not so ? Well ! I am very 
 glad to know it." 
 
 " It certainly is not the fact," said I, perplexed, " that I am 
 accountable for Steerforth's having been away from home 
 longer than usual if he has been : which I really don't know 
 at this moment, unless I understand it from you. I have not 
 seen him this long while, until last night." 
 
 "No?" 
 
 " Indeed, Miss Dartle, no ! " 
 
 As she looked full at me, I saw her face grow sharper and 
 paler, and the marks of the old wound lengthen out until it 
 cut through the disfigured lip, and deep into the nether lip, 
 and slanted down the face. There was something positively 
 awful to me in this, and in the brightness of her eyes, as she 
 said, looking fixedly at me : 
 
 "What is he doing?" 
 
 I repeated the words, more to myself than her, being so 
 amazed. 
 
 " What is he doing ? " she said, with an eagerness that 
 seemed enough to consume her like a fire. " In what is that 
 man assisting him, who never looks at me without an 
 inscrutable falsehood in his eyes ? If you are honorable and 
 faithful, I don't ask you to betray your friend. I ask you 
 only to tell me, is it anger, is it hatred, is it pride, is it rest- 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 469 
 
 lessness, is it some wild fancy, is it love, what is it, that is 
 leading him ? " 
 
 "Miss Dartle," I returned, "how shall I tell you, so that 
 you will believe me, that I know of nothing in Steerforth 
 different from what there was when I first came here. I can 
 think of nothing. I firmly believe there is nothing. I hardly 
 understand even what you mean." 
 
 As she still stood looking fixedly at me, a twitching or 
 throbbing, from which I could not dissociate the idea of pain, 
 came into that cruel mark ; and lifted up the corner of her 
 lip as if with scorn, or with a pity that despised its object. 
 She put her hand upon it hurriedly a hand so thin and 
 delicate, that when I had seen her hold it up before the fire 
 to shade her face, I had compared it in my thoughts to fine 
 porcelain and saying, in a quick, fierce, passionate way, 
 " I swear you to secrecy about this ! " said not a word more. 
 
 Mrs. Steerforth was particularly happy in her son's society, 
 and Steerforth was, on this occasion, particularly attentive and 
 respectful to her. It was very interesting to me to see them 
 together, not only on account of their mutual affection, but 
 because of the strong personal resemblance between them, and 
 the manner in which what was haughty or impetuous in him 
 was softened by age and sex, in her, to a gracious dignity. 
 I thought, more than once, that it was well no serious cause 
 of division had ever come between them ; or two such natures 
 I ought rather to express it, two such shades of the same 
 nature might have been harder to reconcile than the two 
 extremest opposites in creation. The idea did not originate 
 in my own discernment, I am bound to confess, but in a speech 
 of Eosa Dartle's. 
 
 She said at dinner : 
 
 "Oh, but do tell me, though, somebody, because I have 
 been thinking about it all day, and I want to know." 
 
 " You want to know what, Rosa ? " returned Mrs. Steerforth. 
 "Pray, pray, Rosa, do not be mysterious." 
 
 " Mysterious ! " she cried. " Oh ! really ? Do you con- 
 sider me so ? " 
 
 "Do I constantly entreat you," said Mrs. Steerforth, "to 
 speak plainly, in your own natural manner ? " 
 
470 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " Oh ! then this is not my natural manner ? " she rejoined. 
 "Now you must really bear with me, because I ask for 
 information. We never know ourselves." 
 
 "It has become a second nature," said Mrs. Steerforth, 
 without any displeasure ; " but I remember, and so must 
 you, I think, when your manner was different, Eosa ; when 
 it was not so guarded, and was more trustful." 
 
 "I am sure you are right," she returned; "and so it is 
 that bad habits grow upon one ! Really ? Less guarded and 
 more trustful ? How can I, imperceptibly, have changed, I 
 wonder ! Well, that's very odd ! I must study to regain my 
 former self." 
 
 " I wish you would," said Mrs. Steerforth, with a smile. 
 
 " Oh ! I really will, you know ! " she answered. " I will 
 learn frankness from let me see from James." 
 
 "You cannot learn frankness, Rosa," said Mrs. Steerforth 
 quickly for there was always some effect of sarcasm in 
 what Rosa Dartle said, though it was said, as this was, in 
 the most unconscious manner in the world "in a better 
 school." 
 
 " That I am sure of," she answered, with uncommon fervor. 
 " If I am sure of anything, of course, you know, I am sure 
 of that." 
 
 Mrs. Steerforth appeared to me to regret having been a 
 little nettled ; for she presently said, in a kind tone : 
 
 " Well, my dear Rosa, we have not heard what it is that you 
 want to be satisfied about ? " 
 
 " That I want to be satisfied about ? " she replied, with 
 provoking coldness. " Oh ! It was only whether people, who 
 are like each other in their moral constitution is that the 
 phrase ? " 
 
 " It's as good a phrase as another," said Steerforth. 
 
 " Thank you : whether people, who are like each other 
 in their moral constitution, are in greater danger than peo- 
 ple not so circumstanced, supposing any serious cause of va- 
 riance to arise between them, of being divided angrily and 
 deeply ? " 
 
 " I should say yes," said Steerforth. 
 
 " Should you ? " she retorted. " Dear -noe ! Supposing then, 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 471 
 
 for instance any unlikely thing will do for a supposition 
 that you and your mother were to have a serious quarrel." 
 
 " My dear Kosa," interposed Mrs. Steerforth, laughing good- 
 naturedly, " suggest some other supposition ! James and I 
 know our duty to each other better, I pray Heaven ! " 
 
 " Oh ! " said Miss Dartle, nodding her head thoughtfully. " To 
 be sure. That ivould prevent it ? Why, of course it would. 
 Ex-actly. Now, I am glad I have been so foolish as to put 
 the case, for it is so very good to know that your duty to 
 each other would prevent it ! Thank you very much." 
 
 One other little circumstance connected with Miss Dartle I 
 must not omit ; for I had reason to remember it thereafter, 
 when all the irremediable past was rendered plain. During 
 the whole of this day, but especially from this period of it, 
 Steerforth exerted himself with his utmost skill, and that was 
 with his utmost ease, to charm this singular creature into a 
 pleasant and pleased companion. That he should succeed, 
 was no matter of surprise to me. That she should struggle 
 against the fascinating influence of his delightful art 
 delightful nature I thought it then did not surprise me 
 either; for I knew that she was sometimes jaundiced and 
 perverse. I saw her features and her manner slowly change ; 
 I saw her look at him with growing admiration ; I saw her 
 try, more arid more faintly, but always angrily, as if she con- 
 demned a weakness in herself, to resist the captivating power 
 that he possessed ; and finally I saw her sharp glance soften, 
 and her smile become quite gentle, and I ceased to be afraid 
 of her as I had really been all day, and we all sat about the 
 fire, talking and laughing together, with as little reserve as if 
 we had been children. 
 
 Whether it was because we had sat there so long, or because 
 Steerforth was resolved not to lose the advantage he had 
 gained, I do not know ; but we did not remain in the dining- 
 room more than five minutes after her departure. " She is 
 playing her harp," said Steerforth, softly, at the drawing- 
 room door, " and nobody but my mother has heard her do that, 
 I believe, these three years." He said it with a curious smile, 
 which was gone directly ; and we went into the room and 
 found her alone. 
 
472 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " Don't get up," said Steerforth (which she had already 
 done) ; " my dear Eosa, don't ! Be kind for once, and sing 
 us an Irish song." 
 
 " What do you care for an Irish song ? " she returned. 
 
 "Much!" said Steerforth. "Much more than for any 
 other. Here is Daisy, too, loves music from his soul. Sing 
 us an Irish song, Eosa ! and let me sit and listen as I used 
 to do." 
 
 He did not touch her, or the chair from which she had 
 risen, but sat himself near the harp. She stood beside it for 
 some little while, in a curious way, going through the motion 
 of playing it with her right hand, but not sounding it. At 
 length she sat down, and drew it to her with one sudden 
 action, and played and sang. 
 
 I don't know what it was, in her touch or voice, that made 
 that song the most unearthly I have ever heard in my life, or 
 can imagine. There was something fearful in the reality of 
 it. It was as if it had never been written, or set to music, 
 but sprung out of the passion within her ; which found imper- 
 fect utterance in the low sounds of her voice, and crouched 
 again when all was still. I was dumb when she leaned beside 
 the harp again, playing it, but not sounding it, with her right 
 hand. 
 
 A minute more, and this had roused me from my trance ; 
 Steerforth had left his seat, and gone to her, and had put his 
 arm laughingly about her, and had said, " Come, Eosa, for the 
 future we will love each other very much ! " And she had 
 struck him, and had thrown him off with the fury of a wild 
 cat, and had burst out of the room. 
 
 " What is the matter with Eosa ? " said Mrs. Steerforth, 
 coming in. 
 
 " She has been an angel, mother," returned Steerforth, " for 
 a little while ; and has run into the opposite extreme, since, 
 by way of compensation." 
 
 "You should be careful not to irritate her, James. Her 
 temper has been soured, remember, and ought not to be 
 tried." 
 
 Eosa did not come back ; and no other mention was made 
 of her, until I went with Steerforth into his room to say good 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 473 
 
 night. Then he laughed about her, and asked me if I had 
 ever seen such a fierce little piece of incomprehensibility. 
 
 I expressed as much of my astonishment as was then ca- 
 pable of expression, and asked if he could guess what it was 
 that she had taken so much amiss, so suddenly. 
 
 " Oh, Heaven knows," said Steerforth. " Anything you like 
 or nothing ! I told you she took everything, herself included, 
 to a grindstone, and sharpened it. She is an edge-tool, and 
 requires great care in dealing with. She is always dangerous. 
 Good night ! " 
 
 " Good night ! " said I, " my dear Steerforth ! I shall be 
 gone before you wake in the morning. Good night ! " 
 
 He was unwilling to let me go ; and stood, holding me out, 
 with a hand on each of my shoulders, as he had done in my 
 own room. 
 
 " Daisy," he said with a smile " for though that's not the 
 name your Godfathers and Godmothers gave you, it's the name 
 I like best to call you by and I wish, I wish, I wish, you 
 could give it to me ! " 
 
 " Why so I can, if I choose," said I. 
 
 "Daisy, if anything should ever separate us, you must 
 think of me at my best, old boy. Come ! let us make that 
 bargain. Think of me at my best if circumstances should 
 ever part us ! " 
 
 " You have no best to me, Steerforth," said I, " and no worst. 
 You are always equally loved, and cherished in my heart." 
 
 So much compunction for having ever wronged him, even 
 by a shapeless thought, did I feel within me, that the confes- 
 sion of having done so was rising to my lips. But for the 
 reluctance I had, to betray the confidence of Agnes, but for 
 my uncertainty how to approach the subject with no risk of 
 doing so, it would have reached them before he said, "God 
 bless you, Daisy, and good night ! " In my doubt, it did not 
 reach them ; and we shook hands, and we parted. . 
 
 I was up with the dull dawn, and, having dressed as quietly 
 as I could, looked into his room. He was fast asleep ; lying, 
 easily, with his head upon his arm, as I had often seen him lie 
 at school. 
 
 The time came in its season, and that was very soon, when 
 
474 DAVID COPFEEFIELD. 
 
 I almost wondered that nothing troubled his repose, as I looked 
 at him. But he slept let me think of him so again as I 
 had often seen him sleejx at school ; and thus, in this silent 
 hour, I left him. 
 
 Never more, Oh God forgive you, Steerforth ! to touch 
 that passive hand in love and friendship. Never, never, more ' 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
.,-:,:,;,; - 
 
 / ' ''*':''*. .':-'..' 
 
 . 
 
 
CONTENTS OF VOL. II. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. A LOSS ....... 
 
 II. A GREATER LOSS 10 
 
 III. THE BEGINNING OF A LONG JOURNEY .... 20 
 
 IV. BLISSFUL . .40 
 
 V. MY AUNT ASTONISHES ME 58 
 
 VI. DEPRESSION . . .68 
 
 VII. ENTHUSIASM 90 
 
 VIII. A LITTLE COLD WATER -109 
 
 IX. A DISSOLUTION OF PARTNERSHIP 118 
 
 X. WlCKFIELD AND HEEP ....... 136 
 
 XI. THE WANDERER 157 
 
 XII. DORA'S AUNTS ......... 166 
 
 XIII. MISCHIEF 184 
 
 XIV. ANOTHER RETROSPECT . 206 
 
 XV. OUR HOUSEKEEPING 215 
 
 XVI. MR. DICK FULFILS MY AUNT'S PREDICTIONS . . . 232 
 
 XVII. INTELLIGENCE 249 
 
 XVIII. MARTHA 264 
 
 XIX. DOMESTIC 276 
 
 XX. I AM INVOLVED IN MYSTERY 288 
 
 XXI. MR PEGGOTTY'S DREAM COMES TRUE .... 302 
 
 XXII. THE BEGINNING OF A LONGER JOURNEY .... 313 
 
 XXIII. I ASSIST AT AN EXPLOSION . . . . . . 332 
 
 XXIV. ANOTHER RETROSPECT .... . 358 
 
 to 
 
iv CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XXV. MB. MICA WEEK'S TRANSACTIONS 364 
 
 XXVI. TEMPEST 381 
 
 XXVII. THE NEW WOUND, AND THE OLD 394 
 
 XXVin. THE EMIGRANTS 401 
 
 XXIX. ABSENCE 413 
 
 XXX. RETURN 420 
 
 XXXI. AGNES 438 
 
 XXXII. I AM SHOWN TWO INTERESTING PENITENTS . . . 448 
 
 XXXHL A LIGHT SHINES ON MY WAY 461 
 
 XXXIV. A VISITOR 470 
 
 XXXV. A LAST RETROSPECT 479 
 
THE PERSONAL HISTORY OF 
 
 DAVID COPPERFIELD, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A LOSS. 
 
 I GOT down to Yarmouth in the evening, and went to the 
 inn. I knew that Peggotty's spare room my room was 
 likely to have occupation enough in a little while, if that great 
 Visitor, before whose presence all the living must give place, 
 were not already in the house ; so I betook myself to the inn, 
 and dined there, and engaged my bed. 
 
 It was ten o'clock when I went out. Many of the shops 
 were shut, and the town was dull. When I came to Omer 
 and Joram's, I found the shutters up, but the shop door stand- 
 ing open. As I could obtain a perspective view of Mr. Omer 
 inside, smoking his pipe by the parlor-door, I entered, and 
 asked him how he was. 
 
 " Why, bless my life and soul ! " said Mr. Omer, " how do you 
 find yourself ? Take a seat. Smoke not disagreeable, I hope ? " 
 
 " By no means," said I. " I like it in somebody else's 
 pipe." 
 
 " What, not in your own, eh ? " Mr. Omer returned, laugh- 
 ing. " All the better, sir. Bad habit for a young man. Take 
 a seat. I smoke, myself, for the asthma." 
 
 Mr. Omer had made room for me, and placed a chair. He 
 now sat down again very much out of breath, gasping at his 
 pipe as if it contained a supply of that necessary, without 
 which he must perish. 
 VOL ii 1 
 
2 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " I am sorry to have heard bad news of Mr. Barkis/' said I. 
 
 Mr. Omer looked at me with a steady countenance, and 
 shook his head. 
 
 " Do you know how he is to-night ? " I asked. 
 
 " The very question I should have put to you, sir," returned 
 Mr. Onier, " but on account of delicacy. It's one of the draw- 
 backs of our line of business. When a party's ill, we can't 
 ask how the party is." 
 
 The difficulty had not occurred to me ; though I had had 
 my apprehensions too, when I went in, of hearing the old 
 tune. On its being mentioned, I recognized it, however, and 
 said as much. 
 
 "Yes, yes, you understand," said Mr. Onier, nodding his 
 head. " We dursn't do it. Bless you, it would be a shock 
 that the generality of parties mightn't recover, to say ' Omer 
 and Joram's compliments, and how do you find yourself this 
 morning ? ' or this afternoon as it may be." 
 
 Mr. Omer and I nodded at each other, and Mr. Omer re- 
 cruited his wind by the aid of his pipe. 
 
 " It's one of the things that cut the trade off from atten- 
 tions they could often wish to show," said Mr. Oiner. " Take 
 myself. If I have known Barkis a year, to move to as he 
 went by, I have known him forty year. But I can't go and 
 say, ' how is he ? ' 
 
 I felt it was rather hard on Mr. Omer, and I told him so. 
 
 "I'm not more self-interested, I hope, than another man," 
 said Mr. Omer. " Look at me ! My wind may fail me at any 
 moment, and it ain't likely that, to my own knowledge, I'd be 
 self-interested under such circumstances. I say it ain't likely, 
 in a man who knows his wind will go, when it does go, as if a 
 pair of bellows was cut open ; and that man a grandfather," 
 said Mr. Omer. 
 
 I said, "Not at all." 
 
 " It ain't that I complain of my line of business," said Mr. 
 Omer. " It ain't that. Some good and some bad goes, no 
 doubt, to all callings. What I wish is, that parties were 
 brought up stronger-minded." 
 
 Mr. Omer, with a very complacent and amiable face, took sev- 
 eral puffs in silence ; and then said, resuming his first point : 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 3 
 
 " Accordingly we're obleeged, in ascertaining how Barkis 
 goes on, to limit ourselves to Em'ly. She knows what our 
 real objects are, and she don't have any more alarms or sus- 
 picions about us, than if we was so many lambs. Minnie 
 and Joram have just stepped down to the house, in fact (she's 
 there, after hours, helping her aunt a bit), to ask her how he 
 is to-night ; and if you was to please to wait till they come 
 back, they'd give you full partic'lers. Will you take some- 
 thing ? A glass of srub and water, now ? I smoke on srub 
 and water, myself," said Mr. Omer, taking up his glass, " be- 
 cause it's considered softening to .the passages, by which this 
 troublesome breath of mine gets into action. But, Lord bless 
 you/' said Mr. Omer, huskily, " it ain't the passages that's out 
 of order ! ' Give me breath enough,' says I to my daughter 
 Minnie, ' and I'll find passages, my dear.' ' 
 
 He really had no breath to spare, and it was alarming to 
 see him laugh. When he was again in a condition to be 
 talked to, I thanked him for the proffered refreshment, which 
 I declined, as I had just had dinner ; and, observing that I 
 would wait, since he was so good as to invite me, until his 
 daughter and his son-in-law came back, I inquired how little 
 Emily was ? 
 
 " Well, sir," said Mr. Omer, removing his pipe, that he 
 might rub his chin ; " I tell you truly, I shall be glad when 
 her marriage has taken place." 
 
 " Why so ? " I inquired. 
 
 "Well, she's unsettled at present," said Mr. Omer. "It 
 ain't that she's not as pretty as ever, for she's prettier I do 
 assure you, she is prettier. It ain't that she don't work as 
 well as ever, for she does. She was worth any six, and she 
 is worth any six. But somehow she wants heart. If you 
 understand," said Mr. Omer, after rubbing his chin again, 
 and smoking a little, "what I mean in a general way by the 
 expression, ' A long pull, and a strong pull, and a pull alto- 
 gether, my hearties, hurrah ! ' I should say to you, that that 
 was in a general way what I miss in Em'ly.' ' 
 
 Mr. Omer's face and manner went for so much, that I could con- 
 scientiously nod my head, as divining his meaning. My quick- 
 ness of apprehension seemed to please him, and he went on : 
 
s 
 
 4 THE PEE SON AL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " Now, I consider this is principally on account of her being 
 in an unsettled state, you see. We have talked it over a good 
 deal, her uncle and myself, and her sweetheart and myself, 
 after business ; and I consider it is principally on account of 
 her being unsettled. v You must always recollect of Em'ly," 
 said Mr. Omer, shaking his head gently, " that she's a most 
 extraordinary affectionate little thing. The proverb says, 
 1 You can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.' Well, I 
 don't know about that. I rather think you may, if you begin 
 early in life. She has made a home out of that old boat, sir, 
 that stone and marble couldn't beat." 
 
 " I am sure she has ! " said I. 
 
 "To see the clinging of that pretty little thing to her 
 uncle," said Mr. Omer ; " to see the way she holds on to him, 
 tighter and tighter, and closer and closer, every day, is to see 
 a sight. Now, you know, there's a struggle going on when 
 that's the case. Why should it be made a longer one than is 
 needful ? " 
 
 I listened attentively to the good old fellow, and acquiesced, 
 with all my heart, in what he said. 
 
 " Therefore, I mentioned to them," said Mr. Omer, in a 
 comfortable, easy-going tone, "this. I said, 'Now, don't con- 
 sider Em'ly nailed down in point of time, at all. Make it 
 your own time. Her services have been more valuable than 
 was supposed ; her learning has been quicker than was sup- 
 posed ; Omer and Joram can run their pen through what 
 remains ; and she's free when you wish. If she likes to 
 make any little arrangement, afterwards, in the way of doing 
 any little thing for us at home, very well. If she don't, very 
 well still. We're no losers, anyhow.' For don't you see," 
 said Mr. Omer, touching me with his pipe, "it ain't likely 
 that a man so short of breath as myself, and a grandfather 
 too, would go and strain points with a little bit of a blue-eyed 
 blossom, like her 9 " 
 
 " Not at all, I am certain," said I. 
 
 "Not at all! You're right!" said Mr. Omer. "Well, 
 sir, her cousin you know it's a cousin she's going to be 
 married to ? ' : 
 
 " Oh yes," I replied. " I know him well." 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 5 
 
 " Of course you do," said Mr. Omer. " Well, sir ! Her 
 cousin being, as it appears, in good work, and well to do, 
 thanked me in a very manly sort of manner for this (conducting 
 himself altogether, I must say, in a way that gives me a high 
 opinion of him), and went and took as comfortable a little house 
 as you or I could wish to clap eyes on. That little house is 
 now furnished right through, as neat and complete as a doll's 
 parlor; and but for Barkis's illness having taken this bad 
 turn, poor fellow, they would have been man and wife I dare 
 say, by this time. As it is, there's a postponement." 
 
 " And Emily, Mr. Omer ? " I inquired. " Has she become 
 more settled ? " 
 
 " Why that you know," he returned, rubbing his double 
 chin again, " can't naturally be expected. The prospect of the 
 change and separation, and all that is, as one may say, close 
 to her and far away from her, both at once. Barkis's death 
 needn't put it off much, but his lingering might. Anyway, it's 
 an uncertain state of matters, you see." 
 
 " I see," said I. 
 
 " Consequently," pursued Mr. Onier, " Em'ly's still a little 
 down and a little fluttered ; perhaps, upon the whole, she's 
 more so than she was. Every day she seems to get fonder 
 and fonder of her uncle, and more loth to part from all of us. 
 A kind word from me brings the tears into her eyes ; and if 
 you was to see her with my daughter Minnie's little girl, 
 you'd never forget it. Bless my heart alive ! " said Mr. Omer, 
 pondering, " how she loves that child ! " 
 
 Having so favorable an opportunity, it occurred to me to 
 ask Mr. Omer, before our conversation should be interrupted 
 by the return of his daughter and her husband, whether he 
 knew anything of Martha. 
 
 " Ah ! " he rejoined, shaking his head, and looking very 
 much dejected. "No good. A sad story, sir, however you 
 come to know it. I never thought there was harm in the girl. 
 I wouldn't wish to mention it before my daughter Minnie 
 for she'd take me up directly but I never did. None of us 
 ever did." 
 
 Mr. Omer, hearing his daughter's footstep before I heard 
 
,6 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 it, touched me with his pipe, and shut up one eve, as a caution. 
 She and her husband came in immediately afterwards. 
 
 Their report was, that Mr. Barkis was " as bad as bad could 
 be ; " that he was quite unconscious ; and that Mr. Chillip had 
 mournfully said in the kitchen, on going away just now, that 
 the College of Physicians, the College of Surgeons, and Apoth- 
 ecaries' Hall, if they were all called in together, couldn't 
 help him. He was past both Colleges, Mr. Chillip said, and 
 the Hall could only poison him. 
 
 Hearing this, and learning that Mr. Peggotty was there, I 
 determined to go to ttie house at once. I bade good night to 
 Mr. Omer, and to Mr. and Mrs. Joram ; and directed my steps 
 thither, with a solemn feeling, which made Mr. Barkis quite a 
 new and different creature. 
 
 My low tap at the door was answered by Mr. Peggotty. He 
 was not so much surprised to see me as I had expected. I 
 remarked this in Peggotty, too, when she came down ; and I 
 have seen it since; and I think, in the expectation of that 
 dread surprise, all other changes and surprises dwindle into 
 nothing. 
 
 I shook hands with Mr. Peggotty, and passed into the 
 kitchen, while he softly closed the door. Little Emily was 
 sitting by the fire, with her hands before her face. Hani was 
 standing near her. 
 
 We spoke in whispers ; listening between whiles, for any 
 sound in the room above. I had not thought of it on the 
 occasion of my last visit, but how strange it was to me now, 
 to miss Mr. Barkis out of the kitchen ! 
 
 " This is very kind of you, Mas'r Davy," said Mr. Peggotty. 
 
 "It is oncommon kind," said Ham. 
 
 "Em'ly, my dear," cried Mr. Peggotty. "See here! Here's 
 Mas'r Davy come ! What, cheer up, pretty ! Not a wured to 
 Mas'r Davy ? " 
 
 There was a trembling upon her, that I can see now. The 
 coldness of her hand when I touched it, I can feel yet. Its 
 only sign of animation was to shrink from mine; and then 
 she glided from the chair, and, creeping to the other side of 
 her uncle, bowed herself, silently and trembling still, upon his 
 breast. 
 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 1 
 
 " It's such a loving art," said Mr. Peggotty, smoothing her 
 rich hair with his great hard hand, " that it can't abear the 
 sorrer of this. It's nat'ral in young folk, Mas'r Davy, when 
 they'rs new to these here trials, and timid, like my little bird 
 it's nat'ral." 
 
 She clung the closer to him, but neither lifted up her face, 
 nor spoke a word. 
 
 " It's getting late, my dear," said Mr. Peggotty, " and here's 
 Ham come fur to take you home. Theer! Go along with 
 'tother loving art ! What, Em'ly ? Eh, my pretty ? " 
 
 The sound of her voice had not reached me, but he bent his 
 head as if he listened to her, and then said : 
 
 " Let you stay with your uncle ? Why, you doen't mean to 
 ask me that ! Stay with your uncle, Moppet ? When your 
 husband that'll be so soon, is here fur to take you home ? 
 Now a person wouldn't think it, fur to see this little thing 
 alongside a rough-weather chap like me," said Mr. Peggotty, 
 looking round at both of us, with infinite pride ; " but the sea 
 ain't more salt in it than she has fondness in her for her 
 uncle a foolish little Em'ly ! " 
 
 " Em'ly's in the right in that, Mas'r Davy ! " said Ham. 
 " Lookee here ! As Em'ly wishes of it, and as she's hurried 
 and frightened, like, besides, I'll leave her till morning. Let 
 me stay too ! " 
 
 "No, no," said Mr. Peggotty. "You doen't ought a 
 married man like you or what's as good to take and hull 
 away a day's work. And you doen't ought to watch and work 
 both. That won't do. You go home and turn in. You ain't 
 afeered of Em'ly not being took good care on, I know." 
 
 Ham yielded to this persuasion, and took his hat to go. 
 Even when he kissed her, arid I never saw him approach 
 her, but I felt that nature had given him the soul of a gentle- 
 man, she seemed to cling closer to her uncle, even to the 
 avoidance of her chosen husband. I shut the door after him, 
 that it might cause no disturbance of the quiet that prevailed ; 
 and when I turned back, I found Mr. Peggotty still talking 
 to her. 
 
 "Now, Pm a going up stairs to tell your aunt as Mas'r 
 Davy's here, and that'll cheer her up a bit," he said. " Sit 
 
8 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 ye down by the fire, the while, my dear, and warm these 
 mortal cold hands. You doen't need to be so fearsome, and 
 take on so much. What ? You'll go along with me ? Well ! 
 come along with me come ! If her uncle was turned out of 
 house and home, and forced to lay down in a dyke, Mas'r 
 Davy," said Mr. Peggotty, with no less pride than before, 
 " it's my belief she'd go along with him, now ! But there'll 
 be some one else, soon, some one else, soon, Em'ly ! " 
 
 Afterwards, when I went up stairs, as I passed the door of 
 my little chamber, which was dark, I had an indistinct 
 impression of her being within it, cast down upon the floor. 
 But, whether it was really she, or whether it was a confusion 
 of the shadows in the room, I don't know now. 
 
 I had leisure to think, before the kitchen-fire, of pretty 
 little Em'ly 's dread of death which, added to what Mr. Omer 
 had told me, I took to be the cause of her being so unlike 
 herself and I had leisure, before Peggotty came down, even 
 to think more leniently of the weakness of it : as I sat counting 
 the ticking of the clock, and deepening my sense of the solemn 
 hush around me. Peggotty took me in her arms, and blessed 
 and thanked me over and over again for being such a comfort 
 to her (that was what she said) in her distress. She then 
 entreated me to come up stairs, sobbing that Mr. Barkis had 
 always liked me and admired me ; that he had often talked of 
 me, before he fell into a stupor ; and that she believed, in case 
 of his coming to himself again, he would brighten up at sight 
 of me, if he could brighten up at any earthly thing. 
 
 The probability of his ever doing so, appeared to me, when 
 I saw him, to be very small. He was lying with his head and 
 shoulders out of bed, in an uncomfortable attitude, half resting 
 on the box which had cost him so much pain and trouble. I 
 learned that, when he was past creeping out of bed to open it, 
 and past assuring himself of its safety by means of the divin- 
 ing rod I had seen him use, he had required to have it placed on 
 the chair at the bedside, where he had ever since embraced it, 
 night and day. His arm lay on it now. Time and the world 
 were slipping from beneath him, but the box was there ; and 
 the last words he had uttered were (in an explanatory tone) 
 " Old clothes ! " 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 9 
 
 " 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," said 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 
 born, unless it's pretty nigh in not properly born, till flood. 
 He's a going out with the tide. It's ebb at half arter three, 
 slack water half-an-hour. If he lives 'till it turns, he'll hold 
 his own till past the flood, and go out with the next tide." 
 
 We remained there, watching him, a long time hours. 
 What mysterious influence my presence had upon him in that 
 state of his senses, I shall not pretend to say ; but when he 
 at last began to wander feebly, it is certain he was muttering 
 about driving me to school. 
 
 " He's coming to himself," said Peggotty. 
 
 Mr. Peggotty touched me, and whispered with much awe 
 and reverence, " They are both a going out fast." 
 
 " Barkis, my dear ! " said Peggotty. 
 
 " C. P. Barkis," he cried, faintly. " No better woman any- 
 where ! " 
 
 " 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, he went out with the tide. 
 
THE PERSONAL HISTORY ASD EXPERIENCE 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A GREATER LOSS. 
 
 IT was not difficult for nie, on Peggotty's solicitation, to 
 resolve to stay where I was, until after the remains of the 
 poor carrier should have made their last journey to Blunder- 
 stone. She had long ago bought, out of her own savings, a 
 little piece of ground in our old churchyard near the grave 
 " of her sweet girl," as she always called my mother ; and 
 there they were to rest. 
 
 In keeping Peggotty company, and doing all I could for her 
 (little enough at the utmost), I was as grateful, I rejoice to 
 think, as even now I could wish myself to have been. But I 
 am afraid I had a supreme satisfaction, of a personal and pro- 
 fessional nature, in taking charge of Mr. Barkis's will, and 
 expounding its contents. 
 
 I may claim the merit of having originated the suggestion 
 that the will should be looked for in the box. After some 
 search, it was found in the box, at the bottom of a horse's 
 nose-bag ; wherein (beside* hay) there was discovered an old 
 gold watch, with chain and seals, which Mr. Barkis had worn 
 on his wedding-day, and which had never been seen before or 
 since ; a silver tobacco-stopper, in the form of a leg ; an imita- 
 tion lemon, full of minute cups and saucers, which I have 
 some idea Mr. Barkis must have purchased to present to me 
 when I was a child, and afterwards found himself unable to 
 part with; eighty-seven guineas and a half, in guineas and 
 half guineas ; two hundred and ten pounds, in perfectly clean 
 Bank notes ; certain receipts for Bank of England stock ; an 
 old horse-shoe, a bad shilling, a piece of camphor, and an oys- 
 ter-shell. From the circumstance of the latter article having 
 been much polished, and displaying prismatic colors on the 
 inside, I conclude that Mr. Barkis had some general ideas 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 11 
 
 ,ibout pearls, which never resolved themselves into anything 
 definite. 
 
 For years and years, Mr. Barkis had carried this box, on all 
 Iris journeys, every day. That it might the better escape 
 notice, he had invented a fiction that it belonged to " Mr. 
 Blackboy," and was " to be left with Barkis till called for ; " 
 a fable he had elaborately written on the lid, in characters 
 now scarcely legible. 
 
 He had hoarded, all these years, I found, to good purpose. 
 His property in money amounted to nearly three thousand 
 pounds. Of this he bequeathed the interest of one thousand 
 to Mr. Peggotty for his life ; on his decease, the principal to 
 be equally divided between Peggotty, little Emily, and me, or 
 the survivor or survivors of us, share and share alike. All 
 the rest he died possessed of, he bequeathed to Peggotty ; 
 whom he left residuary legatee, and sole executrix of that 
 his last will and testament. 
 
 I felt myself quite a proctor when I read this document 
 aloud with all possible ceremony, and set forth its provisions, 
 any number of times, to those whom they concerned. I began 
 to think there was more in the Commons than I had supposed. 
 I examined the will with the deepest attention, pronounced it 
 perfectly formal in all respects, made a pencil-mark or so in 
 the margin, and thought it rather extraordinary that I knew 
 so much. 
 
 In this abstruse pursuit; in making an account for Peg- 
 gotty, of all the property into which she had come ; in arrang- 
 ing all the affairs in an orderly manner; and in being her 
 referee and adviser on every point, to our joint delight ; I 
 passed the week before the funeral. I did not see little Emily 
 in that interval, but they told me she was to be quietly mar- 
 ried in a fortnight. 
 
 I did not attend the funeral in character, if I may venture 
 to say so. I mean I was not dressed up in a black cloak and 
 a streamer, to frighten the birds ; but I walked over to 
 Blunderstone early in the morning, and was in the church- 
 yard when it came, attended only by Peggotty and her 
 brother. The mad gentleman looked on, out of my little 
 window ; Mr. Chillip's baby wagged its heavy head, and rolled 
 
12 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 its goggle eyes, at the clergyman, over its nurse's shoulder ; 
 Mr. Omer breathed short in the background ; no one else was 
 there ; and it was very quiet. We walked about the church- 
 yard for an hour, after all was over ; and pulled some young 
 leaves from the tree above my mother's grave. 
 
 A dread falls on me here. A cloud is lowering on the dis- 
 tant town, towards which I retraced my solitary steps. I fear 
 to approach it. I cannot bear to think of what did come, upon 
 that memorable night ; of what must come again if I go on. 
 
 It is no worse, because I write of it. It would be no better, 
 if I stopped my most unwilling hand. It is done. Nothing 
 can undo it ; nothing can make it otherwise than as it was. 
 
 My old nurse was to go to London with me next day, on 
 the business of the will. Little Emily was passing that day 
 at Mr. Omer's. We were all to meet in the old boathouse 
 that night. Ham would bring Emily at the usual hour. I 
 would walk back at my leisure. The brother and sister would 
 return as they had come, and be expecting us, when the day 
 closed in, at the fireside. 
 
 I parted from them at the wicket-gate, where visionary 
 Straps had rested with Roderick Random's knapsack in the 
 days of yore ; and, instead of going straight back, walked a 
 little distance on the road to Lowestoft. Then I turned, and 
 walked back towards Yarmouth. I stayed to dine at a decent 
 alehouse, some mile or two from the Ferry I have mentioned 
 before ; and thus the day wore away, and it was evening 
 when I reached it. Rain was falling heavily by that time, 
 and it was a wild night ; but there was a moon behind the 
 clouds, and it was not dark. 
 
 I was soon within sight of Mr. Peggotty's house, and of the 
 light within it shining through the window. A little floun- 
 dering across the sand, which was heavy, brought me to the 
 door, and I went in. 
 
 It looked very comfortable, indeed. Mr. Peggotty had 
 smoked his evening pipe, and there were preparations for 
 some supper by and by. The fire was bright, the ashes were 
 thrown up, the locker was ready for little Emily in her old 
 place. In her own old place sat Peggotty, once more, looking 
 (but for her dress) as if she had never left it. She had fallen 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 13 
 
 back, already, on the society of the work-box with Saint Paul's 
 upon the lid, the yard-measure in the cottage, and the bit of 
 wax candle : and there they all were, just as if they had never 
 been disturbed. Mrs. Gummidge appeared to be fretting a lit- 
 tle, in her old corner ; and consequently looked quite natural, 
 too. 
 
 " You're first of the lot, Mas'r Davy ! " said Mr. Peggotty, 
 with a happy face. " Doen't keep in that coat, sir, if it's wet." 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Peggotty," said I, giving him my outer 
 coat to hang up. " It's quite dry." 
 
 " So 'tis ! " said Mr. Peggotty, feeling my shoulders. " As 
 a chip ! Sit ye down, sir. It ain't o' no use saying welcome 
 to you, but you're welcome, kind and hearty." 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Peggotty, I am sure of that. Well, Peg- 
 gotty ! " said I, giving her a kiss. " And how are you, old 
 woman ? " 
 
 " Ha, ha ! " laughed Mr. Peggotty, sitting down beside us, 
 and rubbing his hands in his sense of relief from recent trouble, 
 and in the genuine heartiness of his nature ; " there's not a 
 woman in the wureld, sir as I tell her that need to feel 
 more easy in her mind than her ! She done her dooty by the 
 departed, and the departed know'd it ; and the departed done 
 what was right by her, as she done what was right by the 
 departed ; and and and it's all right ! " 
 
 Mrs. Gummidge groaned. 
 
 " Cheer up, my pretty mawther ! " said Mr. Peggotty. (But 
 he shook his head aside at us, evidently sensible of the ten- 
 dency of the late occurrences to recall the memory of the old 
 one.) " Doen't be down ! Cheer up, for your own self, on'y a 
 little bit, and see if a good deal more doen't come nat'ral ! " 
 
 "Not to me, Dan'l," returned Mrs. Gummidge. "Nothink's 
 nat'ral to me but to be lone and lorn." 
 
 " No, no," said Mr. Peggotty, soothing her sorrows. 
 
 " Yes, yes, Dan'l ! " said Mrs. Gummidge. " I ain't a person 
 to live with them as has had money left. Thinks go too con- 
 trairy with me. I had better be a riddance." 
 
 " Why, how should I ever spend it without you ? " said Mr. 
 Peggotty, with an air of serious remonstrance. " What are you 
 a talking on ? Doen't I want you more now, than ever I did ? " 
 
14 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " I know'd I was never wanted before ! " cried Mrs. Gum- 
 midge, with a pitiable whimper, " and now I'm told so ! How 
 could I expect to be wanted, being so lone and lorn, and so 
 contrairy ! " 
 
 Mr. Peggotty seemed very much shocked at himself for hav- 
 ing made a speech capable of this unfeeling construction, but 
 was prevented from replying, by Peggotty's pulling his sleeve, 
 and shaking her head. After looking at Mrs. Gummidge for 
 some moments, in sore distress of mind, he glanced at the 
 Dutch clock, rose, snuffed the candle, and put it in the window. 
 
 " Theer ! " said Mr. Peggotty, cheerily. " Theer we are, Misses 
 Gummidge ! " Mrs. Gummidge slightly groaned. " Lighted 
 up, accordin' to custom ! You're a wonderin' what that's fur, 
 sir ! Well, it's fur our little Em'ly. You see, the path ain't 
 over light or cheerful arter dark ; and when I'm here at the 
 hour as she's a comin' home, I puts the light in the winder. 
 That, you see," said Mr. Peggotty, bending over me with great 
 glee, "meets two objects. She says, says Em'ly, ' Theer's home ! ' 
 she says. And likewise, says Em'ly, ' My uncle's theer ! ' Fur 
 if I ain't theer, I never have no light showed." 
 
 " You're a baby ! " said Peggotty ; very fond of him for it, 
 if she thought so. 
 
 " Well," returned Mr. Peggotty, standing with his legs pretty^ 
 wide apart, and rubbing his hands up and down them in his 
 comfortable satisfaction, as he looked alternately at us and at 
 the fire, " I doen't know but I am. Not you see, to look at." 
 
 "Not azackly," observed Peggotty. 
 
 " No," laughed Mr. Peggotty, " not to look at, but to to 
 consider on, you know. / doen't care, bless you.! Now I tell 
 you. When I go a looking and looking about that theer pritty 
 house of our Em'ly's, I'm I'm Gormed," said Mr. Peggotty, 
 with sudden emphasis "theer! I can't say more if I 
 doen't feel as if the littlest things was her, a'most. I takes 'em 
 up and I puts 7 em down, and I touches of 'em as delicate as if 
 they was our Em'ly. So 'tis with her little bonnets and that. 
 I couldn't see one on 'em rough used a purpose not fur the 
 whole wureld. There's a babby for you, in the form of a great 
 Sea Porkypine ! " said Mr. Peggotty, relieving his earnestness 
 with a roar of laughter. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 15 
 
 Peggotty and I both laughed, but not so loud. 
 
 "It's my opinion, you see," said Mr. Peggotty, with a 
 delighted face, after some further rubbing of his legs, "as 
 this is along of my havin' played with her so much, and 
 made believe as we was Turks, and French, and sharks, and 
 every wariety of forinners bless you, yes ; and lions and 
 whales, and I don't know what all ! when she warn't no 
 higher than my knee. I've got into the way on it, you know. 
 Why, this here candle, now," said Mr. Peggotty, gleefully 
 holding out his hand towards it, " 7 know wery well that arter 
 she's married and gone, I shall put that candle theer, just that 
 same as now. I know wery well that when I'm here o' nights 
 (and where else should J live, bless your arts, whatever f ortun 
 I come into !) and she ain't here, or I ain't theer, I shall put 
 the candle in the winder, and sit afore the fire, pretending I'm 
 expecting of her, like I'm a doing now. There's a babby for 
 you," said Mr. Peggotty, with another roar, " in the form of a 
 Sea Porkypine ! Why, at the present minute, when I see the 
 candle sparkle up, I says to myself, ' She's a looking at it ! 
 Em'ly's a coming ! ' There's a babby for you, in the form of 
 a Sea Porkypine ! Right for all that," said Mr. Peggotty, 
 stopping in his roar, and smiting his hands together; "fur 
 here she is ! " 
 
 It was only Ham. The night should have turned more wet 
 since I came in, for he had a large sou'wester hat on, slouched 
 over his face. 
 
 " Where's Em'ly ? " said Mr. Peggotty. 
 
 Ham made a motion with his head, as if she were outside. 
 Mr. Peggotty took the light from the window, trimmed it, put 
 it on the table, and was busily stirring the fire, when Ham, 
 who had not moved, said : 
 
 " Mas'r Davy, will you come out a minute, and see what 
 Em'ly and me has got to show you ? " 
 
 We went out. As I passed him at the door, I saw, to my 
 astonishment and fright, that he was deadly pale. He pushed 
 me hastily into the open air, and closed the door upon us. 
 Only upon us two. 
 
 " Ham ! what's the matter ? " 
 
16 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 11 Mas'r Davy ! " Oh, for his broken heart, how dread- 
 fully he wept ! 
 
 I was paralyzed by the sight of such grief. I don't know 
 what I thought, or what I dreaded. I could only look at 
 him. 
 
 " Ham ! Poor good fellow ! For Heaven's sake tell me 
 what's the matter ! " 
 
 " My love, Mas'r Davy the pride and hope of my art - 
 her that I'd have died for, and would die for now she's 
 gone ! " 
 
 " Gone ? " 
 
 " Em'ly's run away ! Oh, Mas'r Davy, think how she's run 
 away, when I pray my good and gracious God to kill her (her 
 that is so dear above all things) sooner than let her come to 
 ruin and disgrace ! " 
 
 The face he turned up to the troubled sky, the quivering of 
 his clasped hands, the agony of his figure, remain associated 
 with that lonely waste, in my remembrance, to this hour. It 
 is always night there, and he is the only object in the scene. 
 
 " You're a scholar," he said, hurriedly, " and know what's 
 right and best. What am I to say, indoors ? How am I ever 
 to break it to him, Mas'r Davy ? " 
 
 I saw the door move, and instinctively tried to hold the 
 latch on the outside, to gain a moment's time. It was too 
 late. Mr. Peggotty thrust forth his face ; and never could I 
 forget the change that came upon it when he saw us, if I 
 were to live five hundred years. 
 
 I remember a great wail and cry, and the women hanging 
 about him, and we all 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 his bosom (it had sprung from his 
 moutn, 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.' " 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 17 
 
 " I shall be fur away," he repeated slowly. " Stop ! Em'ly 
 fur away. Well ! " 
 
 " 'When I leave my dear home my dear home oh, my dear home ! 
 in the morning ' " 
 
 the letter bore date on the previous night : 
 
 " ' 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 never can 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 so 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, still looking at 
 me. At length I ventured to take his hand, and to entreat 
 him, as well as I could, to endeavor to get some command of 
 himself. He replied, " I thankee, sir, I thankee ! " without 
 moving. 
 
 Ham spoke to him. Mr. Peggotty was so far sensible of 
 his affliction, 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's 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." 
 
 VOL. II 2 
 
18 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 I felt the shock again. I sank down in a chair, and tried 
 to utter some reply; but my tongue was fettered, and my 
 sight was weak. 
 
 " I want to know his name ! " I heard said, once more. 
 
 "For some time past," Ham faltered, "there's been a ser- 
 vant 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," pursued 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 had been about to fall upon me. 
 
 "A strange chay and horses was outside town, this morning, 
 on the 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 the 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 yourn and I am 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 livin' 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. 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 19 
 
 " as lie sat afore me, face to face, strike me down dead, but 
 I'd have drownded him, and thought it right ! 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 stop me ! I tell you I'm a going to 
 seek my niece i " 
 
 "No, no!" cried Mrs. Guminidge, coining between them, 
 in a fit of crying. " No, no, Dan'l, not as you are now. Seek 
 her in a little while, my lone lorn Dan'l, and that'll be but 
 right ! but not as you are now. Sit ye down, and give me 
 your forgiveness for having ever been a worrit to you, Dan'l 
 what have my contrairies ever been to this ! and let us 
 speak a word about them times when she was first an orphan, 
 and when Ham was too, and when I was a poor widder 
 woman, and you took me in. It'll soften your poor heart, 
 Dan'l," laying her head upon his shoulder, " and you'll bear 
 your sorrow better ; for you know the promise, Dan'l, ' As you 
 have done it unto one of the least of these, you have done it 
 unto me ' ; and that can never fail under this roof, that's been 
 our shelter for so many, many year ! " 
 
 He was quite passive now ; and when I heard him crying, 
 the impulse that had been upon me to go down upon my 
 knees, and ask their pardon for the desolation I had caused, 
 and curse Steerforth, yielded to a better feeling. My over- 
 charged heart found the same relief, and I cried too. 
 
20 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE BEGINNING OF A LONG JOURNEY. 
 
 WHAT is natural in me, is natural in many other men, I 
 infer, and so I am not afraid to write that I never had loved 
 Steerforth better than when the ties that bound me to him 
 were broken. In the keen distress of the discovery of his 
 unworthiness, I thought more of all that was brilliant in him, 
 I softened more towards all that was good in him, I did more 
 justice to the qualities that might have made him a man of 
 a noble nature and a great name, than ever I had done in the 
 height of my devotion to him. Deeply as I felt my own un- 
 conscious part in his pollution of an honest home, I believed 
 that if I had been brought face to face with him, I could not 
 have uttered one reproach. I should have loved him so well 
 still though he fascinated me no longer I should have held 
 in so much tenderness the memory of my affection for him, 
 that I think I should have been as weak as a spirit-wounded 
 child, in all but the entertainment of a thought that we could 
 ever be re-united. That thought I never had. I felt, as he 
 had felt, that all was at an end between us. What his 
 remembrances of me were, I have never known they were 
 light enough, perhaps, and easily dismissed but mine of him 
 were as the remembrances of a cherished friend, who was 
 dead. 
 
 Yes, Steerforth, long removed from the scenes of this poor 
 history ! My sorrow may bear involuntary witness against 
 you at the Judgment Throne ; but my angry thoughts or my 
 reproaches never will, I know ! 
 
 The news of what had happened soon spread through the 
 town ; insomuch that as I passed along the streets next 
 morning, I overheard the people speaking of it at their doors. 
 Many were hard upon her, some few were hard upon him, 
 but towards her second father and her lover there was but 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 21 
 
 one sentiment. Among all kinds of people a respect for 
 them in their distress prevailed, which was full of gentleness 
 and delicacy. The seafaring men kept apart, when those two 
 were seen early, walking with slow steps on the beach ; and 
 stood in knots, talking compassionately among themselves. 
 
 It was on the beach, close down by the sea, that I found 
 them. It would have been easy to perceive that they had not 
 slept all last night, even if Peggotty had failed to tell me 
 of their still sitting just as I left them, when it was broad 
 day. They looked worn ; and I thought Mr. Peggotty's head 
 was bowed in one night more than in all the years I had 
 known him. But they were both as grave and steady as" the 
 sea itself: then lying beneath a dark sky, waveless yet 
 with a heavy roll upon it, as if it breathed in its rest and 
 touched, on the horizon, with a strip of silvery light from the 
 unseen sun. 
 
 " We have had a mort of talk, sir," said Mr. Peggotty 
 to me, when we had all three walked a little while in silence, 
 "of what we ought and doen't ought to do. But we see 
 our course now." 
 
 I happened to glance at Ham, then looking out to sea 
 upon the distant light, and a frightful thought came into 
 my mind not that his face was angry, for it was not ; I 
 recall nothing but an expression of stern determination in it 
 that if ever he encountered Steerforth he would kill him. 
 
 "My dooty here, sir," said Mr. Peggotty, "is done. Pm 
 a going to seek my " he stopped, and went on in a firmer 
 voice : " Pm a going to seek her. That's my dooty evermore." 
 
 He shook his head when I asked him where he would seek 
 her, and inquired if I were going to London to-morrow ? I 
 told him I had not gone to-day, fearing to lose the chance of 
 being of any service to him; but that I was ready to go 
 when he would. 
 
 "I'll go along with you, sir," he rejoined, "if you're 
 agreeable, to-morrow." 
 
 We walked again, for a while, in silence. 
 
 "Ham," he presently resumed, "he'll hold to his present 
 work, and go and live along with my sister. The old boat 
 yonder " 
 
22 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " Will you desert the old boat, Mr. Peggotty ? " I gently 
 interposed. 
 
 " My station, Mas'r Davy," lie returned, " ain't there no 
 longer ; and if ever a boat foundered, since there was dark- 
 ness on the face of the deep, that one's gone down. But no, 
 sir, no ; I doen't mean as it should be deserted. Fur from 
 that." 
 
 We walked again for a while, as before, until he explained : 
 
 "My wishes is, sir, as it shall look, day and night, winter 
 and summer, as it has always looked, since she first know'd 
 it. If ever she should come a wandering back, I wouldn't 
 have the old place seem to cast her off, you understand, but 
 seem to tempt her to draw nigher to 't, and to peep in, maybe, 
 like a ghosb, out of the wind and rain, through the old 
 winder, at the old seat by the fire. Then, maybe, Mas'r 
 Davy, seein' none but Missis G-ummidge there, she might take 
 heart to creep in, trembling; and might come to be laid down 
 in her old bed, and rest her weary head where it was once so 
 
 gay." 
 
 I could not speak to him in reply, though I tried. 
 
 " Every night," said Mr. Peggotty, " as reg'lar as the night 
 comes, the candle must be stood in its old pane of glass, that 
 if ever she should see it, it may seem to say ' Come back, my 
 child, come back ! ' If ever there's a knock, Ham (partic'ler 
 a soft knock) arter dark, at your aunt's door, doen't you go 
 nigh it. Let it be her not you that sees my fallen 
 child!" 
 
 He walked a little in front of us, and kept before us for 
 some minutes. During this interval, I glanced at Ham 
 again, and observing the same expression on his face, and 
 his eyes still directed to the distant light, I touched his arm. 
 
 Twice I called him by his name, in the tone in which I 
 might have tried to rouse a sleeper, before he heeded me. 
 When I at last inquired on what his thoughts were so 
 bent, he replied: 
 
 " On what's afore me, Mas'r Davy ; and over yon." 
 
 " On the life before you, do you mean ? " He had pointed 
 confusedly out to sea. 
 
 " Ay, Mas'r Davy. I doen't rightly know how 'tis, but 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 23 
 
 from over yon there seemed to me to come the end of it 
 like ; " looking at me as if he were waking, but with the 
 same determined face. 
 
 " What end ? " I asked, possessed by my former fear. 
 
 " I doen't know," he said thoughtfully ; " I was calling to 
 mind that the beginning of it all did take place here and 
 then the end come. But it's gone ! Mas'r . Davy," he added ; 
 answering, as I think, my look; "you han't no .call to be 
 afeerd of me ; but I'm kiender muddled ; I don't fare to feel 
 no matters," which was as much as to say that he was not 
 himself, and quite confounded. 
 
 Mr. Peggotty stopping for us to join him : we did so, and 
 said no more. The remembrance of this, in .connection with 
 my former thought, however, haunted me at intervals, even 
 until the inexorable end came at its appointed time. 
 
 We insensibly approached the old boat, and entered. Mrs. 
 G-ummidge, no longer moping in her especial corner, was 
 busy, preparing breakfast. She took Mr. Peggotty's hat, 
 and placed his seat for him, and spoke' so comfortably and 
 softly, that I hardly knew her. 
 
 "Dan'l, my good man," said she, "you must eat and 
 drink, and keep up your strength, for without it you'll do 
 nowt. Try, that's a dear soul ! And if I disturb you with 
 my clicketen," she meant her chattering, "tell me so, Dan'l, 
 and I won't." 
 
 When she had served us all, she withdrew to the window, 
 where she sedulously employed herself in repairing some 
 shirts and other clothes belonging to Mr. Peggotty, and 
 neatly folding and packing them in an old oilskin bag, such 
 as sailors carry. Meanwhile, she continued talking, in the same 
 quiet manner : 
 
 "All times and seasons, you kfiow, Dan'l," said Mrs. Gum- 
 midge, "I shall be allus here, and every think will look 
 accordin' to your wishes. I'm a poor scholar, but I shall 
 write to you, odd tunes, when you're away, and send my 
 letters to Mas'r Davy. Maybe you'll write to me too, Dan'l, 
 odd times, and tell me how you fare to feel upon your lone 
 lorn journeys." 
 
24 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " You'll be a solitary woman here, I'm af eerd ! " said Mr. 
 Peggotty. 
 
 " No, no, Dan'l," she returned, " I shan't be that. Doen't 
 you mind me. I shall have enough to do to keep a Beein for 
 you " (Mrs. Gummidge meant a home) " again you come back 
 to keep a Beein here for any that may hap to come back, 
 Dan'l. In the fine time, I shall set outside the door as I used 
 to do. If any should come nigh, they shall see the old widder 
 woman true to 'em, a long way off." 
 
 What a change in Mrs. Gummidge in a little time ! She 
 was another woman. She was so devoted, she had such a 
 quick perception of what it would be well to say, and what it 
 would be well to leave unsaid, she was so forgetful of herself, 
 and so regardful of the sorrow about her, that I held her in 
 a sort of veneration. The work she did that day ! There 
 were many things to be brought up from the beach and stored 
 in the outhouse as oars, nets, sails, cordage, spars, lobster- 
 pots, bags of ballast, and the like ; and though there was 
 abundance of assistance rendered, there being not a pair of 
 working hands on all that shore but would have labored hard 
 for Mr. Peggotty, and been well paid in being asked to do it, 
 yet she persisted, all day long, in toiling under weights that 
 she was quite unequal to, and fagging to and fro on all sorts 
 of unnecessary errands. As to deploring her misfortune, she 
 appeared to have entirely lost the recollection of ever having 
 had any. She preserved an equable cheerfulness in the midst of 
 her sympathy, which was not the least astonishing part of the 
 change that had come over her. Querulousness was out of the 
 question. I did not even observe her voice to falter, or a tear 
 to escape from her eyes, the whole day through, until 
 twilight ; when she and I and Mr. Peggotty being alone 
 together, and he having fallen asleep in perfect exhaustion, she 
 broke into a half-suppressed fit of sobbing and crying, and 
 taking me to the door, said, "Ever bless you, Mas'r Davy, be 
 a friend to him, poor dear ! " Then, she , immediately ran out 
 of the house to wash her face, in order that she might sit 
 quietly beside him, and be found at work there, when he should 
 awake. In short I left her, when I went away at night, the 
 prop and staff of Mr. Peggotty's affliction : and I could not 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 25 
 
 meditate enough upon the lesson that I read in Mrs. Gum- 
 midge, and the new experience she unfolded to me. 
 
 It was between nine and ten o'clock when, strolling in a 
 melancholy manner through the town, I stopped at Mr Omer's 
 door. Mr. Omer had taken it so much to heart, his daughter 
 told me, that he had been very low and poorly all day, and 
 had gone to bed without his pipe. 
 
 " A deceitful, bad-hearted girl," said Mrs. Joram. " There 
 was no good in her, ever ! " 
 
 " Don't say so," I returned. " You don't think so." 
 " Yes, I do ! " cried Mrs. Joram, angrily. 
 "No, no," said I. 
 
 Mrs. Joram tossed her head, endeavoring to be very stern 
 and cross ; but she could not command her softer self, and 
 began to cry. I was young, to be sure ; but I thought much 
 the better of her for this sympathy, and fancied it became 
 her, as a virtuous wife and mother, very well indeed. 
 
 " What will she ever do ! " sobbed Minnie. " Where will 
 she go ! What will become of her ! Oh, how could she be so 
 cruel, to herself and him ! " 
 
 I remembered the time when Minnie was a young and pretty 
 girl ; and I was glad that she remembered it too, so feelingly. 
 " My little Minnie," said Mrs. Joram, has only just now 
 been got to sleep. Even in her sleep she is sobbing for Em'ly. 
 All day long, little Minnie has cried for her, and asked me, 
 over and over again, whether Em'ly was wicked ? What can 
 I say to her, when Em'ly tied a ribbon off her own neck round 
 little Minnie's the last night she was here, and laid her head 
 down on the pillow beside her till she was fast asleep ! The 
 ribbon's round my little Minnie's neck now. It ought not to 
 be, perhaps, but what can I do ? Em'ly is very bad, but they 
 were fond of one another. And the child knows nothing ! " 
 
 Mrs. Joram was so unhappy, that her husband came out to 
 take care of her. Leaving them together, I went home to 
 Peggotty's j more melancholy myself, if possible, than I had 
 been yet. 
 
 That good creature I mean Peggotty all untired by her 
 late anxieties and sleepless nights, was at her brother's, where 
 she meant to stay till morning. An old woman, who had been 
 
26 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 employed about the house for some weeks past, while Peggott y 
 had been unable to attend to it, was the house's only other 
 occupant besides myself. As I had no occasion for her ser- 
 vices, I sent her to bed, by no means against her will ; and sat 
 down before the kitchen fire a little while, to think about all 
 this. 
 
 -I was blending it with the deathbed of the late Mr. Barkis, 
 and was driving out with the tide towards the distance at 
 which Ham had looked so singularly in the morning, when I 
 was recalled from my wanderings by a knock at the door. 
 There was a knocker upon the door, but it was not that which 
 made the sound. The tap was from a hand, and low down 
 upon the door, as if it were given by a child. 
 
 It made me start as much as if it had been the knock of a 
 footman to a person of distinction. I opened the door ; and at 
 first looked down, to my amazement, on nothing but a great 
 umbrella that appeared to be walking about of itself. But 
 presently I discovered underneath it, Miss Mowcher. 
 
 I might not have been prepared to give the little creature a 
 very kind reception, if, on her removing the umbrella, which 
 her utmost efforts were unable to shut up, she had shown me 
 the " volatile " expression of face which had made so great an 
 impression on me at our first and last meeting. But her face, 
 as she turned it up to mine, was so earnest ; and when I re- 
 lieved her of the umbrella (which would have been an incon- 
 venient one for the Irish Giant), she wrung her little hands 
 in such an afflicted manner ; that I rather inclined towards 
 her. 
 
 " Miss Mowcher ! " said I, after glancing up and down the 
 empty street, without distinctly knowing what I expected to 
 see besides ; " how do you come here ? What is the matter ? ?; 
 
 She motioned to me, with her short right arm, to shut 
 the umbrella for her ; and passing me hurriedly, went into the 
 kitchen. When I had closed the door, and followed, with the 
 umbrella in my hand, I found her sitting on the corner of 
 the fender it was a low iron one, with two flat bars at top 
 to stand plates upon in the shadow of the boiler, swaying 
 herself backwards and forwards, and chafing her hands upon 
 her knees like a person in pain. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 27 
 
 Quite alarmed at being the only recipient of this untimely 
 visit, and the only spectator of this portentous behavior, I 
 exclaimed again, '-Pray tell me, Miss Mowcher, what is the 
 matter ! are you ill ? " 
 
 " My dear young soul," returned Miss Mowcher, squeezing 
 her hands upon her heart one over the other. " I am ill 
 here, I am very ill. To think that it should come to this, 
 when I might have known it and perhaps prevented it, if I 
 hadn't been a thoughtless fool ! " 
 
 Again her large bonnet (very disproportionate to her figure) 
 went backwards and forwards, in her swaying of her little 
 body to and fro ; while a most gigantic bonnet rocked, in 
 unison with it, upon the wall. 
 
 " I am surprised," I began, " to see you so distressed and 
 serious " when she interrupted rne. 
 
 "Yes, it's always so ! " she said. " They are all surprised, 
 these inconsiderate young people, fairly and full grown, to see 
 any natural feeling in a little thing like me ! They make a 
 plaything of me, use me for their amusement, throw me away 
 when they are tired, and wonder that I feel more than a toy 
 horse or a wooden soldier ! Yes, yes, that's the way. The 
 old way ! " 
 
 " It may be, with others," I returned, " but I do assure you 
 it is not with me. Perhaps I ought not to be at all surprised 
 to see you as you are now : I know so little of you. I said, 
 .without consideration, what I thought." 
 
 " What can I do ? " returned the little woman, standing up, 
 and holding out her arms to show herself. " See ! What I 
 am, my father was j and my sister is ; and my brother is. 
 I have worked for sister and brother these many years 
 hard, Mr. Copperfield all day. I must live. I do no harm- 
 If there are people so unreflecting or so cruel, as to make a 
 jest of me, what is left for me to do but to make a jest of my- 
 self, them, and everything ? If I do so, for the time, whose 
 fault is that ? Mine ? " 
 
 No. Not Miss Mowcher's, I perceived. 
 
 " If I had shown myself a sensitive dwarf to your false 
 friend," pursued the little woman, shaking her head at me, 
 with reproachful earnestness, " how much of his help or good 
 
28 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 will do you think J should ever have had ? If little Mowcher 
 (who had no hand, young gentleman, in the making of herself) 
 addressed herself to him, or the like of him, because of her 
 misfortunes, when do you suppose her small voice would have 
 been heard ? Little Mowcher would have as much need to 
 live, if she was the bitterest and dullest of pigmies ; but she 
 couldn't do it. No. She might whistle for her bread and 
 butter till she died of Air." 
 
 Miss Mowcher sat down on the fender again, and took out 
 her handkerchief, and wiped her eyes. 
 
 " Be thankful for me, if you have a kind heart, as I think 
 you have," she said, " that while I know well what I am, I can 
 be cheerful and endure it all. I am thankful for myself, at 
 any rate, that I can find my tiny way through the world, with- 
 out being beholden to any one ; and that in return for all that 
 is thrown at me, in folly or vanity, as I go along, I can throw 
 bubbles back. If I don't brood over all. I want, it is the better 
 for me, and not the worse for any one. If I am a plaything 
 for you giants, be gentle with me." 
 
 Miss Mowcher replaced her handkerchief in her pocket, 
 looking at me with very intent expression all the while, and 
 pursued : 
 
 " I saw you in the street just now. You may suppose I am 
 not able to walk as fast as you, with my short legs and short 
 breath, and I couldn't overtake you ; but I guessed where you 
 came, and came after you. I have been here before, to-day, 
 but the good woman wasn't at home." 
 
 " Do you know her ? " I demanded. 
 
 " I know of her, and about her," she replied, " from Omer 
 and Joram. I was there at seven o'clock this morning. Do 
 you remember what Steerforth said to me about this unfortu- 
 nate girl, that time when I saw you both at the inn ? " 
 
 The great bonnet on Miss Mowcher's head, and the greater 
 bonnet on the wall, began to go backwards and forwards again 
 when she asked this question. 
 
 I remembered very well what she referred to, having had it 
 in my thoughts many times that day. I told her so. 
 
 " May the Father of all Evil confound him," said the little 
 woman, holding up her forefinger between me and her spark- 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 29 
 
 ling eyes ; " and ten times more confound that wicked ser- 
 vant ; but I believed it was you who had a boyish passion for 
 her ! " 
 
 " I ? " I repeated. 
 
 " Child, child ! In the name of blind ill-fortune," cried Miss 
 Mowcher, wringing her hands impatiently, as she went to and 
 fro again upon the fender, " why did you praise her so, and 
 blush, and look disturbed ? " 
 
 I could not conceal from myself that I had done this, though 
 for a reason very different from her supposition. 
 
 " What did I know ? " said Miss Mowcher, taking out her 
 handkerchief again, and giving one little stamp on the ground 
 whenever, at short intervals, she applied it to her eyes with 
 both hands at once. "He was crossing you and wheedling 
 you, I saw ; and you were soft wax in his hands, I saw. 
 Had I left the room a minute, when his man told me that 
 ' Young Innocence ' (so he called you, and you may call him 
 ' Old Guilt ' all the days of your life) had set his heart upon 
 her, and she was giddy and liked him, but his master was 
 resolved that no harm should come of it more for your sake 
 than for hers and that that was their business here ? How 
 could I but believe him ? I saw Steerforth soothe and please 
 you by his praise of her ! You were the first to mention her 
 name. You owned to an old admiration of her. You were 
 hot and cold, and red and white, all at once when I spoke to 
 you of her. What could I think what did I think but 
 that you were a young libertine in everything but experience, 
 and had fallen into hands that had experience enough, and 
 could manage you (having the fancy) for your own good ? 
 Oh ! oh ! oh ! They were afraid of my finding out the truth," 
 exclaimed Miss Mowcher, getting off the fender, and trotting 
 up and down the kitchen with her two short arms distress- 
 fully lifted up, " because I am a sharp little thing I need be, 
 to get through the world at all ! and they deceived me alto- 
 gether, and I gave the poor unfortunate girl a letter, which I 
 fully believe was the beginning of her ever speaking to Litti- 
 mer, who was left behind on purpose ! " 
 
 I stood amazed at the revelation of all this perfidy, looking 
 at Miss Mowcher as she walked up and down the kitchen until 
 
30 THE PERSONAL HISTOEY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 she was out of breath : when she sat upon the fender again, 
 and, drying her face with her handkerchief, shook her head 
 for a long time, without otherwise moving, and without break- 
 ing silence. 
 
 "My country rounds," she added at length, "brought me to 
 Norwich, Mr. Copperfield, the night before last. What I hap- 
 pened to find out there, about their secret way of coining and 
 going, without you which was strange led to my suspect- 
 ing something wrong. I got into the coach from London last 
 night, as it came through Norwich, and was here this morning. 
 Oh, oh, oh ! too late ! " 
 
 Poor little Mowcher turned so chilly after all her crying 
 and fretting, that she turned round on the fender, putting her 
 poor little wet feet in among the ashes to warm them, and sat 
 looking at the fire, like a large doll. I sat in a chair on the 
 other side of the hearth, lost in unhappy reflections, and look- 
 ing at the fire too, and sometimes at her. 
 
 "I must go," she said at last, rising as she spoke. "It's 
 late. You don't mistrust me ? " 
 
 Meeting her sharp glance, which was as sharp as ever when 
 she asked me, I could not on that short challenge answer no. 
 quite frankly. 
 
 " Come ! " said she, accepting the offer of my hand to help 
 her over the fender, and looking wistfully up into my face, 
 "you know you wouldn't mistrust me, if I was a full-sized 
 woman ! " 
 
 I felt that there was much truth in this ; and I felt rather 
 ashamed of myself. 
 
 " You are a young man," she said, nodding. " Take a word 
 of advice, even from three foot nothing. Try not to associate 
 bodily defects with mental, my good friend, except for a solid 
 reason." 
 
 She had got over the fender now, and I had got over my 
 suspicion. I told her that I believed she had given me a 
 faithful account of herself, and that we had both been hapless 
 instruments in designing hands. She thanked me, and said I 
 was a good fellow. 
 
 "Now, mind!" she exclaimed, turning back on her way to 
 the door, and looking shrewdly at me, with her forefinger up 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 31 
 
 again. " I have some reason to suspect, from what I have 
 heard my ears are always open ; I can't afford to spare what 
 powers I have that they are gone abroad. But if ever they 
 return, if ever any one of them, returns, while I am alive, I am 
 more likely than another, going about as I do, to find it out 
 soon. Whatever I know, you shall know. If ever I can do 
 anything to serve the poor betrayed girl, I will do it faithfully, 
 please Heaven ! And Littimer had better have a bloodhound 
 at his back, than little Mowcher ! " 
 
 I placed implicit faith in this last statement, when I marked 
 the look with which it was accompanied. 
 
 " Trust me no more, but trust me no less, than you would 
 trust a full-sized woman," said the little creature, touching me 
 appealingly on the wrist. "If ever you see me again, unlike 
 what I am now, and like what I was when you first saw me, 
 observe what company I am in. Call to mind that I am a 
 very helpless and defenceless little thing. Think of me at 
 home with my brother lik^ myself and sister like myself, 
 when my day's work is done. Perhaps you won't, then, be 
 very hard upon me, or surprised if I can be distressed and 
 serious. Good night ! " 
 
 I gave Miss Mowcher my hand, with a very different opinion 
 of her from that which I had hitherto entertained, and opened 
 the door to let her out. It was not a trifling business to get 
 the great umbrella up, and properly balanced in her grasp; 
 but at last I successfully accomplished this, and saw it go 
 bobbing down the street through the rain, without the least 
 appearance of having anybody underneath it, except when a 
 heavier fall than usual from some overcharged waterspout 
 sent it toppling over, an one side, and discovered Miss Mow- 
 cher struggling violently to get it right. After making one 
 or two sallies to her relief, which were rendered futile by the 
 umbrella's hopping on again, like an immense bird, before I 
 could reach it, I came in, went to bed, and slept till morning. 
 
 In the morning I was joined by Mr. Peggotty and by my 
 old nurse, and we went at an early hour to the coach office, 
 where Mrs. Gummidge and Ham were waiting to take leave 
 of us. 
 
 "Mas'r Davy/' Ham whispered, drawing me aside, while 
 
32 THE PEE SON AL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 Mr. Peggotty was stowing his bag among the luggage, " his 
 life is quite broke up. He doen't know wheer he's going; 
 he doen't know what's afore him j he's bound upon a voyage 
 that'll last, on and off, all the rest of his days, take my wured 
 for't, unless he finds what he's a seeking of. I am sure you'll 
 be a friend to him, Mas'r Davy ? " 
 
 " Trust me, I will indeed," said I, shaking hands with Hani 
 earnestly. 
 
 " Thankee. Thankee, very kind, sir. One thing furder. 
 I'm in good employ, you know, Mas'r Davy, and I han't no 
 way now of spending what I gets. Money's of no use to me 
 no more, except to live. If you can lay it out for him, I shall 
 do my work with a better art. Though as to that, sir," and 
 he spoke very steadily and mildly, " you're not to think but I 
 shall work at all times, like a man, and act the best that lays 
 in my power ! " 
 
 I told him I was well convinced of it ; and I hinted that I 
 hoped the time might even come, when he would cease to lead 
 the lonely life he naturally contemplated now. 
 
 "No, sir," he said, shaking his head, "all that's past and 
 over with me, sir. No one can never fill the place that's 
 empty. But you'll bear in mind about the money, as theer's 
 at all times some laying by for him ? ' ; 
 
 Reminding him of the fact, that Mr. Peggotty derived a 
 steady, though certainly a very moderate income from the 
 bequest of his late brother-in-law, I promised to do so. We 
 then took leave of each other. I cannot leave him even now, 
 without remembering, with a pang, at once his modest forti- 
 tude and his great sorrow. 
 
 As to Mrs. Gummidge, if I were to endeavor to describe 
 how she ran down the street by the side of the coach, seeing 
 nothing but Mr. Peggotty on the roof, through the tears she 
 tried to repress, and dashing herself against the people who 
 were coming in the opposite direction, I should enter on a 
 task of some difficulty. Therefore I had better leave her sit- 
 ting on a baker's door-step, out of breath, with no shape at all 
 remaining in her bonnet, and one of her shoes off, lying on the 
 pavement at a considerable distance. 
 
 When we got to our journey's end, our first pursuit was to 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 33 
 
 look about for a little lodging for Peggotty, where her brother 
 could have a bed. We were so fortunate as to find one, of a 
 very clean and cheap description, over a chandler's shop, only 
 two streets removed from me. When we had engaged this 
 domicile, I bought some cold meat at an eating-house, and 
 took my fellow-travellers home to tea ; a proceeding, I regret 
 to state, which did not meet with Mrs. Crupp's approval, but 
 quite the contrary. I ought to observe, however, in explana- 
 tion of that lady's state of mind, that she was much offended 
 by Peggotty's tucking up her widow's gown before she had 
 been ten minutes in the place, and setting to work to dust my 
 bed-room. This Mrs. Crupp regarded in the light of a liberty, 
 and a liberty, she said, was a thing she never allowed. 
 
 Mr. Peggotty had made a communication to me on the way 
 to London for which I was not unprepared. It was, that he 
 purposed first seeing Mrs. Steerforth. As I felt bound to 
 assist him in this, and also to mediate between them ; with 
 the view of sparing the mother's feelings as much as possible, 
 I wrote to her that night. I told her as mildly as I could 
 what his wrong was, and what my own share in his injury. 
 I said he was a man in very common life, but of a most gentle 
 and upright character ; and that I ventured to express a hope 
 that she would not refuse to see him in his heavy trouble. I 
 mentioned .two o'clock in the afternoon as the hour of our 
 coming, and I sent the letter myself by the first coach in the 
 morning. 
 
 At the appointed time, we stood at the door the door of 
 that house where I had been, a few days since, so happy : 
 where my youthful confidence and warmth of heart had been 
 yielded up so freely : which was closed against me henceforth : 
 which was now a waste, a ruin. 
 
 No Littimer appeared. The pleasanter face which had 
 replaced his, on the occasion of my last visit, answered to our 
 summons, and went before us to the drawing-room. Mrs. 
 Steerforth was sitting there. Kosa Dartle glided, as we went 
 in, from another part of the room, and stood behind her chair. 
 
 I saw, directly, in his mother's face, that she knew from 
 himself what he had done. It was very pale, and bore the 
 traces of deeper emotion than my letter alone, weakened by 
 
 VOL. II 3 
 
34 THE PEE SON AL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 the doubts her fondness would have raised upon it, would have 
 been likely to create. I thought her more like him than ever 
 I had thought her ; and I felt, rather than saw, that the resem- 
 blance was not lost on my companion. 
 
 She sat upright in her arm-chair, with a stately, immovable, 
 passionless air, that it seemed as if nothing could disturb. 
 She looked very steadfastly at Mr. Peggotty when he stood 
 before her ; and he looked, quite as steadfastly, at her. Eosa 
 Dartle's keen glance comprehended all of us. For some mo- 
 ments not a word was spoken. She motioned to Mr. Peggotty 
 to be seated. He said, in a low voice, "I shouldn't feel it 
 nat'ral, ma'am, to sit down in this house. I'd sooner stand." 
 And this was succeeded by another silence, which she broke 
 thus : 
 
 "I know, with deep regret, what has brought you here. 
 What do you want of me ? What do you ask me to do ? " 
 
 He put his hat under his arm, and feeling in his breast for 
 Emily's letter, took it out, unfolded it, and gave it to her. 
 
 "Please to read that, ma'am. That's my niece's hand ! " 
 
 She read it, in the same stately and impassive way, 
 untouched by its contents, as far as I could see, and re- 
 turned it to him. 
 
 " ' Unless he brings me back a lady,' " said Mr. Peggotty, 
 tracing out that part with his finger. "I come to know, 
 ma'am, whether he will keep his wured ? " 
 
 "No," she returned. 
 
 "Why not ? " said Mr. Peggotty. 
 
 " It is impossible. He would disgrace himself. You cannot 
 fail to know that she is far below him." 
 
 " Kaise her up ! " said Mr. Peggotty. 
 
 " She- is uneducated and ignorant." 
 
 " Maybe she's not ; maybe she is," said Mr. Peggotty. " / 
 think not, ma'am ; but I'm no judge of them things. Teach 
 her better ! " 
 
 " Since you oblige me to speak more plainly, which I am 
 very unwilling to do, her humble connections would render 
 such a thing impossible, if nothing else did." 
 
 "Hark to this, ma'am," he returned, slowly and quietly. 
 " You know what it is to love your child. So do I. If she 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 35 
 
 was a hundred times my child, I couldn't love her more. You 
 doen't know what it is to lose your child. I do. All the 
 heaps of riches in the wureld would be nowt to me (if they 
 was mine) to buy her back ! But save her from this disgrace, 
 and she shall never be disgraced by us. Not one of us that 
 she's growed up among, not one of us that's lived along with 
 her, and had her for their all in all, these many year, will ever 
 look upon her pritty face again. We'll be content to let her 
 be; we'll be content to think of her, far off, as if she was 
 underneath another sun and sky ; we'll be content to trust her 
 to her husband, to her little children, p'raps, and bide 
 the time when all of us shall be alike in quality afore our 
 God ! " 
 
 The rugged eloquence with which he spoke, was not devoid 
 of all effect. She still preserved her proud manner, but there 
 was a touch of softness in her voice, as she answered : 
 
 "I justify nothing. I make no counter-accusations. But 
 I am sorry to repeat, it is impossible. Such a marriage would 
 irretrievably blight my son's career, and ruin his prospects. 
 Nothing is more certain than that it never can take place, and 
 never will. If there is any other compensation " 
 
 " I am looking at the likeness of the face," interrupted Mr. 
 Peggotty, with a steady but a kindling eye, "that has looked 
 at me, in my home, at my fireside, in my boat wheer not-? 
 smiling and friendly when it was so treacherous, that I go 
 half wild when I think of it. If the likeness of that face 
 don't turn to burning fire, at the thought of offering money to 
 me for my child's blight and ruin, it's as bad. I doen't know, 
 being a lady's, but what it's worse." 
 
 She changed now, in a moment. An angry flush overspread 
 her features ; and she said, in an intolerant manner, gcasping 
 the arm-chair tightly with her hands : 
 
 " What compensation can you make to me for opening such 
 a pit between me and my son ? What is your love to mine ? 
 What is your separation to ours ? '' 
 
 Miss Dartle softly touched her, and bent down her head to 
 whisper, but she would not hear a word. 
 
 " No, Eosa, not a word ! Let the man listen to what I say ! 
 My son, who has been the object of my life, to whom its every 
 
36 
 
 thought has been devoted, whom I have gratified from a child 
 in every wish, from whom I have had no separate existence 
 since his birth, to take up in a moment with a miserable 
 girl, and avoid me ! To repay my confidence with systematic 
 deception, for her sake, and quit me for her ! To set this 
 wretched fancy, against his mother's claims upon his duty, 
 love, respect, gratitude claims that every day and hour of 
 his life should have strengthened into ties that nothing could 
 be proof against ! Is this no injury ? 7; 
 
 Again Eosa Dartle tried to soothe her ; again ineffectually. 
 
 " I say, Eosa, not a word ! If he can stake his all upon 
 the lightest object, I can stake my all upon a greater purpose. 
 Let him go where he will, with the means that my love has 
 secured to him ! Does he think to reduce me by long absence ? 
 He knows his mother very little if he does. Let him put 
 away his whim now, and he is welcome back. Let him not 
 put her away now, and he never shall come near me, living or 
 dying, while I can raise my hand to make a sign against it, 
 unless, being rid of her for ever, he comes humbly to me and 
 begs for my forgiveness. This is my right. This is the 
 acknowledgment I ivill have. This is the separation that there 
 is between us ! And is this," she added, looking at her visitor 
 with the proud intolerant air with which she had begun, " no 
 injury ? " 
 
 While I heard and saw the mother as she said these words, 
 I seemed to hear and see the son, defying them. All that I 
 had ever seen in him of an unyielding, wilful spirit, I saw in 
 her. All the understanding that I had now of his misdirected 
 energy, became an understanding of her character too, and a 
 perception that it was, in its strongest springs, the same. 
 
 She -LOW observed to me, aloud, resuming her former re- 
 straint, that it was useless to hear more, or to say more, and 
 that she begged to put an end to the interview. She rose 
 with an air of dignity to leave the room, when Mr. Peggotty 
 signified that it was needless. 
 
 "Doen't fear me being any hindrance to you, I have no 
 more to say, ma'am," he remarked as he moved towards the 
 door. "I come heer with no hope, and I take away no hope. 
 I have done what I thowt should be done, but I never looked 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 37 
 
 fur any good to come of my stan'ning where I do. This has 
 been too evil a house fur me and mine, fur me to be in my 
 right senses and expect it." 
 
 With this, we departed; leaving her standing by her 
 elbow-chair, a picture of a noble presence and a handsome 
 face. 
 
 We had, on our way out, to cross a paved hall, with glass 
 sides and roof, over which a vine was trained. Its leaves and 
 shoots were green then, and, the day being sunny, a pair of 
 glass doors leading to the garden were thrown open. Rosa 
 Dartle, entering this way with a noiseless step, when we were 
 close to them, addressed herself to me : 
 
 " You do well," she said, " indeed, to bring this fellow 
 here ! " 
 
 Such a concentration of rage and scorn as darkened her 
 face, and flashed in her jet-black eyes, I could not have 
 thought compressible even into that face. The scar made by 
 the hammer was, as usual in this excited state of her features, 
 strongly marked. When the throbbing I had seen before, 
 came into it as I looked at her, she absolutely lifted up her 
 hand and struck it. 
 
 " This is a fellow," she said, " to champion and bring here, 
 is he not ? You are a true man ! " 
 
 "Miss Dartle," I returned, "you are surely not so unjust 
 as to condemn me ! " 
 
 " Why do you bring division between these two mad crea- 
 tures ? " she returned. " Don't you know that they are both 
 mad with their own self-will and pride ? " 
 
 " Is it my doing ? " I returned. 
 
 " Is it your doing ! " she retorted. " Why do you bring 
 this man here ? " 
 
 "He is a deeply injured man, Miss Dartle," I replied. 
 " You may not know it." 
 
 " I know that James Steerforth," she said, with her hand 
 on her bosom, as if to prevent the storm that was raging 
 there, from being loud, " has a false, corrupt heart, and is a 
 traitor. But what need I know or care about this fellow, and 
 his common niece ? " 
 
 " Miss Dartle," I returned, " you deepen the injury. It is 
 
38 THE PEE SON AL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 sufficient already. I will only say, at parting, that you do 
 him a great wrong." 
 
 " I do him no wrong/' she returned. " They are a depraved 
 worthless set. I would have her whipped ! " 
 
 Mr. Peggotty passed on, without a word, and went out at 
 the door. 
 
 " Oh, shame, Miss Dartle ! shame ! " I said indignantly. 
 " How can you bear to trample on his undeserved affliction ! " 
 
 " I would trample on them all," she answered. " I would 
 have his house pulled down. I would have her branded on 
 the face, drest in rags, and cast out in the streets to starve. 
 If I had the power to sit in judgment on her, I would see it 
 done. See it done ? I would do it ! I detest her. If I ever 
 could reproach her with her infamous condition, I would go 
 anywhere to do so. If I could hunt her to her grave, I would. 
 If there was any word of comfort that would be a solace to 
 her in her dying hour, and only I possessed it, I wouldn't part 
 with it for Life itself." 
 
 The mere vehemence of her words can convey, I am sensible, 
 but a weak impression of the passion by which she was pos- 
 sessed, and which made itself articulate in her whole figure, 
 though her voice, instead of being raised, was lower than 
 usual. No description I could give of her would do justice to 
 my recollection of her, or to her entire deliverance of herself 
 to her anger. I have seen passion in many forms, but I have 
 never seen it in such a form as that. 
 
 When I joined Mr. Peggotty, he was walking slowly and 
 thoughtfully down the hill. He told me, as soon as I came 
 up with him, that having now discharged his mind of what he 
 had purposed doing in London, he meant " to set out on his 
 travels," that night. I asked him where he meant to go ? 
 He only answered, " I'm a going, sir, to seek my niece." 
 
 We went back to the little lodging over the chandler's shop, 
 and there I found an opportunity of repeating to Peggotty 
 what he had said to me. She informed me, in return, that 
 he had said the same to her that morning. She knew no more 
 than I did, where he was going, but she thought he had some 
 project shaped out in his mind. 
 
 I did not like to leave him, under such circumstances, and 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 39 
 
 we all three dined together off a beefsteak pie which was 
 one of the many good things for which Peggotty was famous 
 - and which was curiously flavored on this occasion, I recol- 
 lect well, by a miscellaneous taste of tea, coffee, butter, bacon, 
 cheese, new loaves, firewood, candles, and walnut ketchup, 
 continually ascending from the shop. After dinner we sat for 
 an hour or so near the window, without talking much ; and 
 then Mr. Peggotty got up, and brought his oilskin bag and 
 his stout stick, and laid them on the table. 
 
 He accepted, from his sister's stock of ready money, a small 
 sum on account of his legacy; barely enough, I should have 
 thought, to keep him for a month. He promised to communi- 
 cate with me, when anything befell him ; and he slung his bag 
 about him, took his hat and stick, and bade us both " Good by ! " 
 
 " All good attend you, dear old woman," he said, embracing 
 Peggotty, " and you too, Mas'r Davy ! " shaking hands with 
 me. " I'm a going to seek her, fur and wide. If she should 
 come home while I'm away, but ah, that ain't like to be ! 
 or if I should bring her back, my meaning is, that she and 
 me shall live and die where no one can't reproach her. If 
 any hurt should come to me, remember that the last words I 
 left for her was, ' My unchanged love is with my darling child, 
 and I forgive her ! ' : 
 
 He said this solemnly, bare-headed ; then, putting on his 
 hat, he went down the stairs, and away. We followed to the 
 door. It was a warm, dusty evening, just the time when, in 
 the great main thoroughfare out of which that by-way turned, 
 there was a temporary lull in the eternal tread of feet upon 
 the pavement, and a strong red sunshine. He turned alone, 
 at the corner of our shady street, into a glow of light, in which 
 we lost him. 
 
 Rarely did that hour of the evening come, rarely did I 
 wake at night, rarely did I look up at the moon, or stars, or 
 watch the falling rain, or hear the wind, but I thought of his 
 solitary figure toiling on, poor pilgrim, and recalled the words : 
 
 " I'm a going to seek her, fur and wide. If any hurt should 
 come to me, remember that the last words I left for her was, 
 'My unchanged love is with my darling child, and I forgive 
 her!'" 
 
40 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 BLISSFUL. 
 
 ALL this time, I had gone on loving Dora, harder than ever. 
 Her idea was my refuge in disappointment and distress, and 
 made some amends to me, even for the loss of my friend. The 
 more I pitied myself, or pitied others, the more I sought for 
 consolation in the image of Dora. The greater the accumula- 
 tion of deceit and trouble in the world, the brighter and the 
 purer shone the star of Dora high above the world. I don't 
 think I had any definite idea where Dora came from, or in 
 what degree she was related to a higher order of beings ; but 
 I am quite sure I should have scouted the notion of her being 
 simply human, like any other young lady, with indignation and 
 contempt. 
 
 If I may so express it, I was steeped in Dora. I was not 
 merely over head and ears in love with her, but I was saturated 
 through and through. Enough love might have been wrung 
 out of me, metaphorically speaking, to drown anybody in ; and 
 yet there would have remained enough within me, and all 
 over me, to pervade my entire existence. 
 
 The first thing I did, on my own account, when I came back, 
 was to take a night-walk to Norwood, and, like the subject of 
 a venerable riddle of my childhood, to go " round and round 
 the house, without ever touching the house," thinking about 
 Dora. I believe the theme of this incomprehensible conun- 
 drum was the moon. No matter what it was, I, the moon- 
 struck slave of Dora, perambulated round and round the 
 house and garden for two hours, looking through crevices in 
 the palings, getting my chin by dint of violent exertion above 
 the rusty nails on the top, blowing kisses at the lights in the 
 windows, and romantically calling on the night, at intervals, 
 to shield my Dora I don't exactly know what from, I sup- 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 41 
 
 pose from fire. Perhaps from mice, to which, she had a great 
 objection. 
 
 My love was so much on my mind, and it was so natural to 
 me to confide in Peggotty, when I found her again by my 
 side of an evening with the old set of industrial implements, 
 busily making the tour of my wardrobe, that I imparted to 
 her, in a sufficiently roundabout way, my great secret. Peg- 
 gotty was strongly interested, but I could not get her into my 
 view f the case at all. She was audaciously prejudiced in my 
 favor, and quite unable to understand why I should have any 
 misgivings, or be low-spirited about it. " The young lady might 
 hink herself well off," she observed, " to have such a beau. 
 And as to her Pa," she said, " what did the gentleman expect, 
 for gracious sake ! " 
 
 I observed, however, that Mr. Spenlow's Proctorial gown 
 and stiff cravat took Peggotty down a little, and inspired her 
 with a greater reverence for the man who was gradually be- 
 coming more and more etherealized in my eyes every day, and 
 about vhom a reflected radiance seemed to me to beam wnen 
 he sat erect in Court among his papers, like a little lighthous 
 in a sea f stationery. And by the by, it used to be uncom- 
 monly strange to me to consider, I remember, as I sat in Court 
 too, how those dim jld judges and doctors wouldn't have cared 
 for ">ora if they had known her ; how they wouldn't have gone 
 out of their senses with rapture, if marriage with Dora had 
 been proposed 10 thei ; how Dora might have sung and played 
 upon that glorified guitar, until she led me to the verge of mad- 
 ness, yet not have tempted one of those slow-goers an inch out 
 of his road ! 
 
 I despised them, to a man. Frozen-out old gardeners in the 
 flower-beds of the heart, I took a personal offence against them 
 all. The Bench was nothing to me but an insensible blunderer. 
 The Bar had no more tenderness or poetry in it, than the Bar 
 of a public-house. 
 
 Taking the management of Peggotty's affairs into my own 
 hands, with no little pride, I proved the will, and came to a 
 settlement with the Legacy Duty-office, and took her to the 
 Bank, and soon got everything into an orderly train. We 
 varied the legal character of these proceedings by going to see 
 
42 THE PEE SON AL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 some perspiring Wax-work, in Fleet Street (melted, I should 
 hope, these twenty years) ; and by visiting Miss Lin wood's 
 Exhibition, which I remember as a Mausoleum of needlework, 
 favorable to self-examination and repentance ; and by inspect- 
 ing the Tower of London ; and going to the top of St. Paul's. 
 All these wonders afforded Peggotty as much pleasure as she 
 was able to enjoy, under existing circumstances : except, I 
 think, St. Paul's, which, from her long attachment to her 
 workbox, became a rival of the picture on the lid, and was, in 
 some particulars, vanquished, she considered, by that work of 
 art. 
 
 Peggotty's business, which was what we used to call " com- 
 mon-form business " in the Commons (and very light and 
 lucrative the common-form business was), being settled, I 
 took her down to the office one morning to pay her bill. Mr. 
 Spenlow had stepped out, old Tiffey said, to get a gentleman 
 sworn for a marriage license ; but as I knew he would be 
 back directly, our place lying close to the Surrogate's, and to 
 the Vicar-General's office too, I told Peggotty to wait. 
 
 We were a little like undertakers, in the Commons, as 
 regarded Probate transactions ; generally making it a rule to 
 look more or less cut up, when we had to deal with clients in 
 mourning. In a similar feeling of delicacy, we were always 
 blithe and light-hearted with the license clients. Therefore 
 I hinted to Peggotty that she would find Mr. Speulow much 
 recovered from the shock of Mr. Barkis's decease ; and indeed 
 he came in like a bridegroom. 
 
 But neither Peggotty nor I had eyes for him, when we saw, 
 in company with him, Mr. Murdstone. He was very little 
 changed. His hair looked as thick, and was certainly as 
 black, as ever ; and his glance was as little to be trusted, as 
 of old. 
 
 " Ah, Copperfield ? " said Mr. Spenlow. " You know this 
 gentleman, I believe ? >; 
 
 I made my gentleman a distant bow, and Peggotty barely 
 recognized him. He was, at first, somewhat disconcerted to 
 meet us two together; but quickly decided what to do and 
 came up to me. 
 
 " I hope," he said, " that you are doing well ? " 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 43 
 
 " It can hardly be interesting to you," said I. " Yes, if you 
 wish to know." 
 
 We looked at each other, and he addressed himself to 
 Peggotty. 
 
 " And you," said he. " I am sorry to observe that you have 
 lost your husband." 
 
 " It's not the first loss I have had in my life, Mr. Murd- 
 stone," implied Peggotty, trembling from head to foot. "I 
 am glad to hope that there is nobody to blame for this one, 
 nobody to answer for it." 
 
 " Ha ! " said he ; " that's a comfortable reflection. You 
 have done your duty ? " 
 
 " I have not worn anybody's life away," said Peggotty, 
 " I am thankful to think ! No, Mr. Murdstone, I have not 
 worrited and frightened any sweet creetur to an early grave ! " 
 
 He eyed her gloomily remorsefully I thought for an 
 instant ; and said, turning his head towards me, but looking 
 at my feet instead of my face : 
 
 " We are not likely to encounter soon again ; a source of 
 satisfaction to us both, no doubt, for such meetings as this 
 can never be agreeable. I do not expect that you,, who always 
 rebelled against my just authority, exerted for your benefit 
 and reformation, should owe me any good will now. There is 
 an antipathy between us " 
 
 " An old one, I believe ? " said I, interrupting him. 
 
 He smiled, and shot as evil a glance at me as could come 
 from his dark eyes. 
 
 " It rankled in your baby breast," he said. " It embittered 
 the life of your poor mother. You are right. I hope you 
 may do better, yet ; I hope you may correct yourself." 
 
 Here he ended the dialogue, which had been carried on in 
 a low voice, in a corner of the outer office, by passing into Mr. 
 Spenlow's room, and saying aloud, in his smoothest manner : 
 
 " Gentlemen of Mr. Spenlow's profession are accustomed to 
 family differences, and know how complicated and difficult 
 they always are ! " With that, he paid the money for his 
 license ; and, receiving it neatly folded from Mr. Spenlow, 
 together with a shake of the hand, and a polite wish for his 
 happiness and the lady's, went out of the office. 
 
44 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 I might have had more difficulty in constraining myself to 
 be silent under his words, if I had had less difficulty in im- 
 pressing upon Peggotty (who was only angry on my account, 
 good creature !) that we were not in a place for recrimination, 
 and that I besought her to hold her peace. She was so unu- 
 sually roused, that I was glad to compound for an affectionate 
 hug, elicited by this revival in her mind of our old injuries, 
 and to make the best I could of it, before Mr. Spenlow and 
 the clerks. 
 
 Mr. Spenlow did not appear to know what the connection 
 between Mr. Murdstone and myself was ; which I was glad of, 
 for I could not bear to acknowledge him, even in my own 
 breast, remembering what I did of the history of my poor 
 mother. Mr. Spenlow seemed to think, if he thought anything 
 about the matter, that my aunt was the leader of the state 
 party in our family, and that there was a rebel party com- 
 manded by somebody else so I gathered at least from what 
 he said, while we were waiting for Mr. Tiffey to make out' 
 Peggotty's bill of costs. 
 
 " Miss Trotwood," he remarked, " is very firm, no doubt, and 
 not likely to give way to opposition. I have an admiration 
 for her character, and I may congratulate you, Copperfield, on 
 being on the right side. Differences between relations are 
 much to be 'deplored but they are extremely general and 
 the great thing is, to be on the right side : " meaning, I take 
 it, on the side of the moneyed interest. 
 
 " Eather a good marriage this, I believe ? " said Mr. Spen- 
 low. 
 
 I explained that I knew nothing about it. 
 
 " Indeed ! " he said. " Speaking from the few words Mr. 
 Murdstone dropped as a man frequently does on these occa- 
 sions and from what Miss Murdstone let fall, I should say 
 it was rather a good marriage." 
 
 " Do you mean that there is money, sir ? " I asked. 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Spenlow; "I understand there's money. 
 Beauty too, I am told." 
 
 " Indeed ? Is his new wife young ? " 
 
 " Just of age," said Mr. Spenlow. " So lately, that I should 
 think they had been waiting for that." 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 45 
 
 " Lord deliver her ! " said Peggotty. So very emphatically 
 and unexpectedly, that we were all three discomposed ; until 
 Tiffey came in with the bill. 
 
 Old Tiffey soon appeared, however, and handed it to Mr. 
 Spenlow, to look over. Mr. Spenlow, settling his chin in his 
 cravat and rubbing it softly, went over the items with a depre- 
 catory air as if it were all Jorkins's doing and handed it 
 back to Tiffey with a bland sigh. 
 
 "Yes," he said. "That's right. Quite right. I should 
 have been extremely happy, Copperfield, to have limited these 
 charges to the actual expenditure out of pocket, but it is an 
 irksome incident in my professional life, that I am not at 
 liberty to consult my own wishes. I have a partner Mr. 
 Jorkins." 
 
 As he said this with a gentle melancholy, which was the 
 next thing to making no charge at all, I expressed my acknowl- 
 edgments on Peggotty's behalf, and paid Tiffey in bank notes. 
 Peggotty then retired to her lodging, and Mr. Spenlow and I 
 went into Court, where we had a divorce-suit coming on, under 
 an ingenious little statute (repealed now, I believe, but in 
 virtue of which I have seen several marriages annulled), of 
 which the merits were these. The husband, whose name was 
 Thomas Benjamin, had taken out his marriage license as 
 Thomas only; suppressing the Benjamin, in case he should not 
 find himself as conifortable as he expeo-ted. Not finding him- 
 self as comfortable as he expected, or being a little fatigued 
 with his wife, poor fellow, he now came forward, by a friend, 
 after being married a year or two, and declared that his name 
 was Thomas Benjamin, and therefore he was not married at all. 
 Which the Court confirmed, to his great satisfaction. 
 
 I must say that I had my doubts about the strict justice of 
 this, and was not even frightened out of them by the bushel of 
 wheat which reconciles all anomalies. 
 
 But Mr. Spenlow argued the matter with me. He said, 
 Look at the world, there was good and evil in that ; look at 
 the ecclesiastical law, there was good and evil in that. It was 
 all part of a system. Very good. There you were ! 
 
 I had not the hardihood to suggest to Dora's father that 
 possibly we might even improve the world a little, if we got 
 
46 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 up early in the morning, and took off our coats to the work ; 
 but I confessed that I thought we might improve the Com- 
 mons. Mr. Spenlow replied that he would particularly advise 
 me to dismiss that idea from my mind, as not being worthy of 
 my gentlemanly character ; but that he would be glad to hear 
 from me of what improvement I thought the Commons sus- 
 ceptible ? 
 
 Taking that part of the Commons which happened to be 
 nearest to us for our man was unmarried by this time, and 
 we were out of Court, and strolling past the Prerogative 
 Office I submitted that I thought the Prerogative Office 
 rather a queerly managed institution. Mr. Spenlow inquired 
 in what respect ? I replied, with all due deference to his 
 experience (but with more deference, I am afraid, to his being 
 Dora's father), that perhaps it was a little nonsensical that 
 the Registry of that Court, containing the original wills of all 
 persons leaving effects within the immense province of Canter- 
 bury, for three whole centuries, should be an accidental build- 
 ing, never designed for the purpose, leased by the registrars 
 for their own private emolument, unsafe, not even ascertained 
 to be fire-proof, choked with the important documents it held, 
 and positively, from* the roof to the basement, a mercenary 
 speculation of the registrars, who took great fees from the 
 public, and crammed the public's wills away anyhow and any- 
 where, having no other object than to get rid of them cheaply. 
 That, perhaps, it was a little unreasonable that these registrars 
 in the receipt of profits amounting to eight or nine thousand 
 pounds a year (to say nothing of the profits of the deputy 
 registrars, and clerks of seats), should not be obliged to spend 
 a little of that money, in finding a reasonably safe place for 
 the important documents which all classes of people were com- 
 pelled to hand over to them, whether they would or no. That, 
 perhaps, it was a little unjust that all the great offices in this 
 great office, should be magnificent sinecures, while the unfor- 
 tunate working-clerks in the cold dark room up stairs were 
 the worst rewarded, and the least considered men, doing 
 important services, in London. That perhaps it was a little 
 indecent that the principal registrar of all, whose duty it was 
 to find the public, constantly resorting to this place, all need- 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 47 
 
 ful accommodation, should bean enormous sinecurist in virtue 
 of that post (and might be, besides, a clergyman, a pluralist, 
 the holder of a stall in a cathedral, and what not), while the 
 public was put to the inconvenience of which we had a speci- 
 men every afternoon when the office was busy, and which we 
 knew to be quite monstrous. That, perhaps, in short, this 
 Prerogative Office of the diocese of Canterbury was altogether 
 such a pestilent job, and such a pernicious absurdity, that but 
 for its being squeezed away, in a corner of Saint Paul's Church- 
 yard, which few people knew, it must have been turned com- 
 pletely inside out, and upside down, long ago. 
 
 Mr. Spenlow smiled as I became modestly warm on the sub- 
 ject, and then argued this question with me as he had argued 
 the other. He said, what was it after all ? It was a question 
 of feeling. If the public felt that their wills were in safe 
 keeping, and took it for granted that the office was not to be 
 made better, who was the worse for it ? Nobody. Who was 
 the better for it ? All the sinecurists. Very well. Then the 
 good predominated. It might not be a perfect system ; noth- 
 ing teas perfect ; but what he objected to, was, the insertion 
 of the wedge. Under the Prerogative Office, the country had 
 been glorious. Insert the wedge into the Prerogative Office, 
 and the country would cease to be glorious. He considered it 
 the principle of a gentleman to take things as he found them ; 
 and he had no doubt the Prerogative Office would last our 
 time. I deferred to his opinion, though I had great doubts of it 
 myself. I find he was right, however ; for it has not only lasted 
 to the present moment, but has done so in the teeth of a great 
 parliamentary report made (not too willingly) eighteen years 
 ago, when all these objections of mine were set forth in detail, 
 and when the existing stowage for wills was described as equal 
 to the accumulation of only two years and a half more. What 
 they have done with them since ; whether they have lost many, 
 or whether they sell any, now and then, to the butter shops ; 
 I don't know. I am glad mine is not there, and I hope it may 
 not go there, yet awhile. 
 
 I have set all this down, in my present blissful chapter, 
 because here it comas into its natural place. Mr. Spenlow and 
 I falling into this conversation; prolonged it and our saunter 
 
48 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 to and fro, until we diverged into general topics. And so it 
 came about, in the end, that Mr. Spenlow told me this day 
 week was Dora's birthday, and he would be glad if I would 
 come down and join a little picnic on the occasion. I went 
 out of my senses immediately ; became a mere driveller next 
 day, on receipt of a little lace-edged sheet of note paper, 
 " Favored by papa. To remind ; " and passed the intervening 
 period in a state of dotage. 
 
 I think I committed every possible absurdity, in the way of 
 preparation for this blessed event. I turn hot when I remem- 
 ber the cravat I bought. My boots might be placed in any 
 collection of instruments of torture. I provided, and sent 
 down by the Norwood coach the night before, a delicate little 
 hamper, amounting in itself, I thought, almost to a declaration. 
 
 There were crackers in it with the tenderest mottoes that 
 could be got for money. At six in the morning, I was in 
 Covent Garden Market, buying a bouquet for Dora. At ten I 
 was on horseback (I hired a gallant gray, for the occasion), 
 with the bouquet in my hat, to keep it fresh, trotting down to 
 Norwood. 
 
 I suppose that when I saw Dora in the garden and pretended 
 not to see her, and rode past the house pretending to be 
 anxiously looking for it, I committed two small fooleries which 
 other young gentlemen in my circumstances might have 
 committed because they came so very natural to me. But 
 oh! when I did find the house, and did dismount at the 
 garden gate, and drag those stony-hearted boots across the 
 lawn to Dora sitting on a garden seat under a lilac tree, what 
 a spectacle she was, upon that beautiful morning, among the 
 butterflies, in a white chip bonnet and a dress of celestial 
 blue! 
 
 There was a young lady with her comparatively stricken 
 in years almost twenty, I should say. Her name was Miss 
 Mills, and Dora called her Julia. She was the bosom friend 
 of Dora. Happy Miss Mills ! 
 
 Jip was there, and Jip would bark at me again. When I 
 presented my bouquet, he gnashed his teeth with jealousy. 
 Well he might. If he had the least idea how I adored his 
 mistress, well he might ! 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 49 
 
 " Oh, thank you, Mr. Copperfield ! What dear flowers ! " 
 said Dora. 
 
 I had had an intention of saying (and had been studying 
 the best form of words for three miles) that I thought them 
 beautiful before I saw them so near her. But I couldn't 
 manage it. She was too bewildering. To see her lay the 
 flowers against her little dimpled chin, was to lose all presence 
 of mind and power of language in a feeble ecstasy. I wonder 
 I didn't say, " Kill me, if you have a heart, Miss Mills. Let 
 me die here ! " 
 
 Then Dora held my flowers to Jip to smell. Then Jip 
 growled, and wouldn't smell them. Then Dora laughed, and 
 held them a little closer to Jip, to make him. Then Jip laid 
 hold of a bit of geranium with his teeth, and worried imagin- 
 ary cats in it. Then Dora beat him, and pouted, and said, 
 " My poor beautiful flowers ! " as compassionately, I thought, 
 as if Jip had laid hold of me. I wished he had ! 
 
 " You'll be so glad to hear, Mr. Copperfield," said Dora, 
 " that that cross Miss Murdstone is not here. She has gone 
 to her brother's marriage, and will be away at least three 
 weeks. Isn't that delightful ? " 
 
 I said I was sure it must be delightful to her, and all that 
 was delightful to her was delightful to me. Miss Mills, with 
 an air of superior wisdom and benevolence, smiled upon us. 
 
 " She is the most disagreeable thing I ever saw," said Dora. 
 "You can't believe how ill-tempered and shocking she is, 
 Julia." 
 
 " Yes, I can, my dear ! " said Julia. 
 
 " You can, perhaps, love," returned Dora, with her hand on 
 Julia's. " Forgive my not excepting you, my dear, at first." 
 
 I learnt, from this, 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. 
 
 VOL. II 4 
 
50 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPEEIESC1-: 
 
 But now Mr. Spenlow came out of the house, and Dora 
 went to Mm, saying, " Look, papa, what beautiful flowers ! " 
 And Miss Mills smiled thoughtfully, as who should say, " Ye 
 May-flies enjoy your brief existence in the bright morning of 
 life ! " And we all walked from the lawn towards the car- 
 riage, which was getting ready. 
 
 I shall never have such a ride again. I have never had 
 such another. There were only those three, their hamper, 
 my hamper, and the guitar-case, in the phaeton; and, of 
 course, the phaeton was open ; and I rode behind it, and 
 Dora sat with her back to the horses, looking towards me. 
 She kept the bouquet close to her on the cushion, and wouldn't 
 allow Jip to sit on that side of her at all, for fear he should 
 crush it. She often carried it in her hand, often refreshed 
 herself with its fragrance. Our eyes at those times often 
 met ; and my great astonishment is that I didn't go over the 
 head of my gallant gray into the carriage. 
 
 There was dust, I believe. There was a good deal of dust, 
 I believe. I have a faint impression that Mr. Spenlow 
 remonstrated with me for riding in it ; but I knew of none. 
 I was sensible of a mist of love and beauty about Dora, but 
 of nothing else. He stood up sometimes, and asked me what 
 I thought of the prospect. I said it was delightful, and I 
 dare say it was ; but it was all Dora to me. The sun shone 
 Dora, and the birds sang Dora. The south wind blew Dora, 
 and the wild flowers in the hedges were all Doras, to a bud. 
 My comfort is, Miss Mills understood me. Miss Mills alone 
 could enter into my feelings thoroughly. 
 
 I don't know how long we were going, and to this hour I 
 know as little where we went. Perhaps it was near Guildford. 
 Perhaps some Arabian-night magician opened up the place for 
 the day, and shut it up for ever when we came away. It was 
 a green spot, on a hill, carpeted with soft turf. There were 
 shady trees, and heather, and, as far as the eye could see, a 
 rich landscape. 
 
 It was a trying thing to find people here, waiting for us ; 
 and my jealousy, even of the ladies, knew no bounds. But 
 all of my own sex especially one impostor, three or four 
 years my elder, with a red whisker, on which he established 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 51 
 
 an amount of presumption not to be endured were my 
 mortal foes. 
 
 We all unpacked our baskets, and employed ourselves in 
 getting dinner ready. Red Whisker pretended he could make 
 a salad (which I don't believe), and obtruded himself on pub- 
 lic notice. Some of the young ladies washed the lettuces for 
 him, and sliced them under his directions. Dora was among 
 these. I felt that fate had pitted me against this man, and 
 one of us must fall. 
 
 Red Whisker made his salad (I wondered how they could 
 eat it. Nothing should have induced me to touch it !) and 
 voted himself into the charge of the wine-cellar, which he 
 constructed, being an ingenious beast, in the hollow trunk of a 
 tree. By and by I saw him, with the majority of a lobster on 
 his plate, eating his dinner at the feet of Dora ! 
 
 I have but an indistinct idea of what happened for some 
 time after this baleful object presented itself to my view. I 
 was very merry, I know ; but it was hollow merriment. I 
 attached myself to a young creature in pink, with little eyes, 
 and flirted with her desperately. She received my attentions 
 with favor ; but whether on my account solely, or because she 
 had any designs on Eed Whisker, I can't say. Dora's health 
 was drunk. When I drank it, I affected to interrupt my con- 
 versation for that purpose, and to resume it immediately after- 
 wards. I caught Dora's eye as I bowed to her, and I thought 
 it looked appealing. But it looked at me over the head of 
 Red Whisker, and I was adamant. 
 
 The young creature in pink had a mother in green ; and I 
 rather think the latter separated us, from motives of policy. 
 Howbeit, there was a general breaking up of the party, while 
 the remnants of the dinner were being put away ; and I 
 strolled off by myself among the trees, in a raging and 
 remorseful state. I was debating whether I should pretend 
 that I was not well, and fly I don't know where upon my 
 gallant gray, when Dora and Miss Mills met me. 
 
 " Mr. Copperfield," said Miss Mills, " you are dull." 
 
 I begged her pardon. Not at all. 
 
 " And Dora," said Miss Mills, " you are dull." 
 
 Oh, dear, no ! Not in the least. 
 
52 THE PERSONAL HISTOEY ASD EXPERIENCE 
 
 "Mr. Copperfield and Dora," said Miss Mills, with an 
 almost venerable air. "Enough of this. Do not allow a 
 trivial misunderstanding to wither the blossoms of spring, 
 which, once put forth and blighted, cannot be renewed. I 
 speak," said Miss .Mills, " from experience of the past the 
 remote irrevocable past. The gushing fountains which sparkle 
 in the sun must not be stopped in mere caprice ; the oasis in 
 the desert of Sahara, must not be plucked up idly." 
 
 I hardly knew what I did, I was burning all over to that 
 extraordinary extent; but I took Dora's little hand and kissed 
 it and she let me ! I kissed Miss Mills's hand ; and we all 
 seemed, to my thinking, to go straight up to the seventh 
 heaven. 
 
 We did not come down again. We stayed up there all the 
 evening. At first we strayed to and fro among the trees : I 
 with Dora's shy arm drawn through mine : and Heaven 
 knows, folly as it all was, it would have been a happy fate to 
 have been struck immortal with those foolish feelings, and 
 have strayed among the trees for ever ! 
 
 But, much too soon, we heard the others laughing and talk- 
 ing, and calling " Where's Dora ! " So we went back, and 
 they wanted Dora to sing. Eed Whisker would have got the 
 guitar-case out of the carriage, but Dora told him nobody 
 knew where it was, but I. So Red Whisker was done for in 
 a moment ; and / got it, and / unlocked it, and / took the 
 guitar out, and / sat by her, and 7 held her handkerchief and 
 gloves, and /drank in every note of her dear voice, and she 
 sang to me who loved her, and all the others might applaud as 
 much as they liked, but they had nothing to do with it ! 
 
 I was intoxicated with joy. I was afraid it was too happy 
 to be real, and that I should wake in Buckingham Street pres- 
 ently, and hear Mrs. Crupp clinking the teacups in getting 
 breakfast ready. But Dora sang, and others sang, and Miss 
 Mills sang about the slumbering echoes in the caverns of 
 Memory ; as if she were a hundred years old and the even- 
 ing came on ; and we had tea, with the kettle boiling gipsy- 
 fashion ; and I was still as happy as ever. 
 
 I was happier than ever when the party broke up, and the 
 other people, defeated Red Whisker and all, went their several 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 53 
 
 ways, and we went ours through the still evening and the 
 dying light, with sweet scents rising up around us. Mr. Spen- 
 low being a little drowsy after the champagne honor to the 
 soil that grew the grape, to the grape that made the wine, to 
 the sun that ripened it, and to the merchant who adulterated 
 it ! and being fast asleep in a corner of the carriage, I rode 
 by the side and talked to Dora. She admired my horse and 
 patted him oh, what a dear little hand it looked upon a 
 horse ! and her shawl would not keep right, and now and 
 then I drew it round her with my arm ; and I even fancied 
 that Jip began to see how it was, and to understand that he 
 must make up his mind to be friends with me. 
 
 That sagacious Miss Mills, too ; that amiable, though quite 
 used up, recluse ; that little patriarch of something less than 
 twenty, who had done with the world, and mustn't on any 
 account have the slumbering echoes in the caverns of Memory 
 awakened ; what a kind thing she did ! 
 
 " Mr. Copperfield," said Miss Mills, " come to this side of 
 the carriage a moment if you can spare a moment. I want 
 to speak to you." 
 
 Behold me, on my gallant gray, bending at the side of Miss 
 Mills, with my hand upon the carriage door ! 
 
 "Dora is coming to stay with me. She is coming home with 
 me the day after to-morrow. If you would like to call, I am 
 sure papa would be happy to see you." 
 
 What could I do but invoke a silent blessing on Miss Mills's 
 head, and store Miss Mills's address in the securest corner of 
 my memory ! What could I do but tell Miss Mills, with 
 grateful looks and fervent words, how much I appreciated her 
 good offices, and what an inestimable value I set upon her 
 friendship ! 
 
 Then Miss Mills benignantly dismissed me, saying, " G-o 
 back to Dora ! " and I went ; and Dora leaned out of the car- 
 riage to talk to me, and we talked all the rest of the way ; and 
 I rode my gallant gray so close to the wheel that I grazed his 
 near fore-leg against it, and " took the bark off," as his owner 
 told me, " to the tune of three pun 7 sivin " which I paid, 
 and thought extremely cheap for so much joy. What time 
 Miss Mills sat looking at the moon, murmuring verses and 
 
54 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 recalling, I suppose, the ancient days when she and earth had 
 anything in common. 
 
 Norwood was many miles too near, and we reached it many 
 hours too soon ; but Mr. Spenlow came to himself a little short 
 of it, and said, " You must come in, Copperfield, and rest ! " 
 and I consenting, we had sandwiches and wine-and-water. In 
 the light room, Dora blushing looked so lovely, that I could 
 not tear myself away, but sat there staring, in a dream, until 
 the snoring of Mr. Spenlow inspired me with sufficient con- 
 sciousness to take my leave. So we parted ; I riding all the 
 way to London with the farewell touch of Dora's hand, still 
 light on mine, recalling every incident and word ten thousand 
 times ; lying down in my own bed at last, as enraptured a 
 young noodle as ever was carried out of his five wits by 
 love. 
 
 When I awoke next morning, I was resolute to declare my 
 passion to Dora, and know my fate. Happiness or misery 
 was now the question. There was no other question that I 
 knew of in the world, and only Dora could give the answer 
 to it. I passed three days in a luxury of wretchedness, tortur- 
 ing myself by putting every conceivable variety of discouraging 
 construction on all that ever had taken place between Dora and 
 me. At last, arrayed for the purpose at a vast expense, I went 
 to Miss Mills's, fraught with a declaration. 
 
 How many times I went up and down the street, and round 
 the square painfully aware of being a much better answer to 
 the old riddle than the original one before I could persuade 
 myself to go up the steps and knock, is no matter now. Even 
 when, at last, I had knocked, and was waiting at the door, I 
 had some flurried thought of asking if that were Mr. Blackboy's 
 (in imitation of poor Barkis), begging pardon, and retreating. 
 But I kept my ground. 
 
 Mr. Mills was not at home. I did not expect he would be. 
 Nobody wanted him. Miss Mills was at home. Miss Mills 
 would do. 
 
 I was shown into a room up stairs, where Miss Mills and 
 Dora were. Jip was there. Miss Mills was copying music 
 (I recollect, it was a new song, called Affection's Dirge), and 
 Dora was painting flowers. What were my feelings, when I 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 55 
 
 recognized my own flowers ; the identical Covent Garden Mar- 
 ket purchase ! I cannot say that they were very like, or 
 that they particularly resembled any flowers that have ever 
 come under my observation ; but I knew from the paper round 
 them, which was accurately copied, what the composition was. 
 
 Miss Mills was very glad to see me, and very sorry her papa 
 was not at home : though I thought we all bore that with for- 
 titude. Miss Mills was conversational for a few minutes, and 
 then, laying down her pen upon Affection's Dirge, got up, and 
 left the room. 
 
 I began' to think I would put it off till to-morrow. 
 
 " I hope your poor horse was not tired, when he got home 
 at night," said Dora, lifting up her beautiful eyes. " It was a 
 long way for him." 
 
 I began to think I would do it to-day. 
 
 " It was a long way for him" said I, " for he had nothing to 
 uphold him on the journey." 
 
 " Wasn't he fed, poor thing ? " asked Dora. 
 
 I began to think I would put it off till to-morrow. 
 
 " Ye yes," I said, " he was well taken care of. I mean 
 he had not the unutterable happiness that I had in being so 
 near you." 
 
 Dora bent her head over her drawing, arid said, after a little 
 while I had sat, in the interval, in a burning fever, and with 
 my legs in a very rigid state 
 
 " You didn't seem to be sensible of that happiness yourself, 
 at one time of the day. 
 
 I saw now that I was in for it, and it must be done on the 
 spot. 
 
 "You didn't care for that happiness in the least," said Dora, 
 slightly raising her eyebrows, and shaking her head, "when 
 you were sitting by Miss Kitt." 
 
 Kitt, I should observe, was the name of the creature in pink, 
 with the little eyes. 
 
 "Though certainly I don't know why you should," said 
 Dora, " or why you should call it a happiness at all. But of 
 course you don't mean what you say. And I am sure no one 
 doubts your being at liberty to do whatever you like. Jip, you 
 naughty boy, come here ! " 
 
56 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 I don't know how I did it. I did it in a moment. I inter- 
 cepted Jip. I had Dora in my arms. I was full of eloquence. 
 I never stopped for a word. I told her how I loved her. I 
 told her I should die without her. I told her that I idolized 
 and worshipped her. Jip barked madly all the time. 
 
 When Dora hung her head and cried, and trembled, my elo- 
 quence increased so much the more. If she would like me to 
 die for her, she had but to say the word, and I was ready. 
 Life without Dora's love was not a thing to have on any terms. 
 I couldn't bear it, and I wouldn't. I had loved her every 
 minute, day and night, since I first saw her. I loved her at 
 that minute to distraction. I should always love her, every 
 minute, to distraction. Lovers had loved before, and lovers 
 would love again ; but no lover had ever loved, might, could, 
 would, or should ever love, as I loved Dora. The more I 
 raved, the more Jip barked. Each of us, in his own way, got 
 more mad every moment. 
 
 Well, well ! Dora and I were sitting on the sofa by and by, 
 quiet enough, and Jip was lying in her lap, winking peacefully 
 at me. It was off my mind. I was in a state of perfect rap- 
 ture. Dora and I were engaged. 
 
 I suppose we had some notion that this was to end in mar- 
 riage. We must have had some, because Dora stipulated that 
 we were never to be married without her papa's consent. But 
 in our youthful ecstasy, I don't think that we really looked 
 before us or behind us ; or had any aspiration beyond the 
 ignorant present?. We were to keep our secret from Mr. Spen- 
 low ; but I am sure the idea never entered my head then, that 
 there was anything dishonorable in that. 
 
 Miss Mills was more than usually pensive when Dora, going 
 to find her, brought her back ; I apprehend, because there 
 was a tendency in what had passed to awaken the slumbering 
 echoes in the caverns of memory. But she gave us her bless- 
 ing, and the assurance of her lasting friendship, and spoke to 
 us, generally, as became a Voice from the Cloister. 
 
 What an idle time it was ! What an unsubstantial, happy, 
 foolish time it was ! 
 
 When I measured Dora's finger for a ring that was to be 
 made of forget-me-nots, and when the jeweller, to whom I 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 57 
 
 took the measure, found me out, and laughed over his order 
 book, and charged me anything he liked for the pretty little 
 toy, with its blue stones so associated in my remembrance 
 with Dora's hand, that yesterday, when I saw such another, 
 by chance, on the finger of my own daughter, there was a 
 momentary stirring in my heart, like pain ! 
 
 When I walked about, exalted with my secret, and full of 
 my own interest, and felt the dignity of loving Dora, and of 
 being beloved, so much, that if I had walked the air, I could 
 not have been more above the people not so situated, who were 
 creeping on the earth ! 
 
 When we had those meetings in the garden of the square, 
 and sat within the dingy summer-house, so happy, that I love 
 the London sparrows to this hour, for nothing else, and see 
 the plumage of the tropics in their smoky feathers ! 
 
 When we had our first great quarrel (within a week of our 
 betrothal), and when Dora sent me back the ring, enclosed in 
 a despairing cocked-hat note, wherein she used the terrible 
 expression that "our love had begun in folly, and ended in 
 madness ! " which dreadful words occasioned me to tear my 
 hair, and cry that all was over ! 
 
 When, under cover of the night, I flew to Miss Mills, whom 
 I saw by stealth in a back kitchen where there was a mangle, 
 and implored Miss Mills to interpose between us and avert 
 insanity. When Miss Mills undertook the office and returned 
 with Dora, exhorting us from the pulpit of her own bitter 
 youth, to mutual concession, and the avoidance of the Desert 
 of Sahara ! 
 
 When we cried, and made it up, and were so blest again, 
 that the back-kitchen, mangle and all, changed to Love's own 
 temple, where we arranged a plan of correspondence through 
 Miss Mills, always to comprehend at least one letter on each 
 side every day ! 
 
 What an idle time! What an unsubstantial, happy, foolish 
 time ! Of all the times of mine that Time has in his grip, 
 there is none that in one retrospection I can smile at half so 
 much, and think of half so tenderly. 
 
58 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 CHAPTEK V. 
 
 MY AUNT ASTONISHES ME. 
 
 I WROTE to Agnes as soon as Dora and I were engaged. 
 I wrote her a long letter, in which I tried to make her com- 
 prehend how blest I was, and what a darling Dora was. I 
 entreated Agnes not to regard this as a thoughtless passion 
 which could ever yield to any other, or had the least resem- 
 blance to the boyish fancies that we used to joke about. I 
 assured her that its profundity was quite unfathomable, and 
 expressed my belief that nothing like it had ever been known. 
 
 Somehow, as I wrote to Agnes on a fine evening by my 
 open window, and the remembrance of her clear calm eyes 
 and gentle face came stealing over me, it shed such a peaceful 
 influence upon the hurry and agitation in which I had been 
 living lately, and of which my very happiness partook in some 
 degree, that it soothed me into tears. I remember that I sat 
 resting my head upon my hand, when the letter was half 
 done, cherishing a general fancy as if Agnes were one of the 
 elements of my natural home. As if, in the retirement of the 
 house made almost sacred to me by her presence, Dora and I 
 must be happier than anywhere. As if, in love, joy, sorrow, 
 hope, or disappointment; in all emotions; my heart turned 
 naturally there, and found its refuge and best friend. 
 
 Of Steerforth, I said nothing. I only told her there had 
 been sad grief at Yarmouth, on account of Emily's flight; 
 and that on me it made a double wound, by reason of the cir- 
 cumstances attending it. I knew how quick she always was 
 to divine the truth, and that she would never be the first to 
 breathe his name. 
 
 To this letter, I received an answer by return of post. As 
 I read it, I seemed to hear Agnes speaking to me. It was like 
 her cordial voice in my ears. What can I say more ! 
 
 While I had been away from home lately, Traddles had 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 59 
 
 called twice or thrice. Finding Peggotty within, and being 
 informed by Peggotty (who always volunteered that informa- 
 tion to whomsoever would receive it), that she was my old 
 nurse, he had established a good-humored acquaintance with 
 her, and had stayed to have a little chat with her about me. 
 So Peggotty said ; but I am afraid the chat was all on her 
 own side, and of immoderate length, as she was very difficult 
 indeed to stop, God bless her ! when she had me for her 
 theme. 
 
 This reminds me, not only that I expected Traddles on a 
 certain afternoon of his own appointing, which was now come, 
 but that Mrs. Crupp had resigned everything appertaining to 
 her office (the salary excepted) until Peggotty should cease to 
 present herself. Mrs. Crupp, after holding divers conversa- 
 tions respecting Peggotty, in a very high-pitched voice, 011 
 the staircase with some invisible Familiar it would appear, 
 for corporeally speaking she was quite alone at those times 
 addressed a letter to me, developing her views. Beginning 
 it with that statement of universal application, which fitted 
 every occurrence of her life, namely, that she was a mother 
 herself, she went on to inform me that she had once seen very 
 different days, but that at all periods of her existence she had 
 had a constitutional objection to spies, intruders, and inform- 
 ers. She named no names, she said ; let them the cap fitted, 
 wear it ; but spies, intruders, and informers, especially in wid- 
 ders' weeds (this clause was underlined), she had ever accus- 
 tomed herself to look down upon. If a gentleman was the 
 victim of spies, intruders, and informers (but still naming no 
 names), that was his own pleasure. He had a right to please 
 himself ; so let him do. All that she, Mrs. Crupp, stipulated 
 for, was, that she should not be " brought in contract " with 
 such persons. Therefore she begged to be excused from any 
 further attendance on the top set, until things were as they 
 formerly was, and as they could be wished to be ; and further 
 mentioned that her little book would be found upon the break- 
 fast-table every Saturday morning, when she requested an 
 immediate settlement of the same, with the benevolent view 
 of saving trouble, " and an ill-conwenience " to all parties. 
 
 After this, Mrs. Crupp confined herself to making pitfalls 
 
60 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 on the stairs, principally with pitchers, and endeavoring to 
 delude Peggotty into breaking her legs. I found it rather 
 harassing to live in this state of siege, but was too much afraid 
 of Mrs. Crupp to see any way out of it. 
 
 "My dear Copperfield," cried Traddles, punctually appearing 
 at my door, in spite of all these obstacles, " how do you do ? ' : 
 
 "My dear Traddles," said I, "I am delighted to see you at 
 last, and very sorry I have not been at home before. But I 
 have been so much engaged " 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know," said Traddles, " of course. Yours lives 
 in London, I think." 
 
 "What did you say?" 
 
 " She excuse me Miss D., you know," said Traddles, 
 coloring in his great delicacy, " lives in London, I believe ? ' 
 
 " Oh, yes. Near London." 
 
 " Mine, perhaps you recollect," said Traddles, with a serious 
 look, " lives down in Devonshire one of ten. Consequently, 
 I am not so much engaged as you in that sense." 
 
 "I wonder you can bear," I returned, " to see her so seldom." 
 
 " Hah ! " said Traddles, thoughtfully. " It does seem a 
 wonder. I suppose it is, Copperfield, because there's no help 
 for it ? " 
 
 "I suppose so," I replied with a smile, and not without a 
 blush. "And because you have so much constancy and pa- 
 tience, Traddles." 
 
 "Dear me," said Traddles, considering about it, "-do I strike 
 you in that way, Copperfield ? Really I didn't know that I 
 had. But she is such an extraordinarily dear girl herself, that 
 it's possible she may have imparted something of those virtues 
 to me. Now you mention it, Copperfield, I shouldn't wonder 
 at all. I assure you she is always forgetting herself, and tak- 
 ing care of the other nine." 
 
 " Is she the eldest ? " I inquired. 
 
 " Oh, dear, no," said Traddles. " The eldest is a Beauty." 
 
 He saw, I suppose, that I could not help smiling at the 
 simplicity of this reply ; and added, with a smile upon his own 
 ingenuous face : 
 
 " Not, of course, but that my Sophy pretty name, Copper- 
 field, I always think ? " 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 61 
 
 " Very pretty ! " said I. 
 
 " Not, of course, but that Sophy is beautiful too in my eyes, 
 and would be one of the dearest girls that ever was, in any- 
 body's eyes (I should think). But when I say the eldest is a 
 Beauty, I mean she really is a " he seemed to be describing 
 clouds about himself, with both hands : " Splendid, you know," 
 said Traddles, energetically. 
 
 "Indeed!" said I. 
 
 " Oh, I assure you," said Traddles, " something very uncom- 
 mon, indeed ! Then, you know, being formed for society and 
 admiration, and not being able to enjoy much of it in conse- 
 quence of their limited means, she naturally gets a little irri- 
 table and exacting, sometimes. Sophy puts her in good humor ! " 
 
 " Is Sophy the youngest ? " I hazarded. 
 
 " Oh, dear, no ! " said Traddles, stroking his chin. " The 
 two youngest are only nine and ten. Sophy educates 'em." 
 
 " The second daughter, perhaps ? " I hazarded. 
 
 "No," said Traddles. "Sarah's the second. Sarah has 
 something the matter with her spine, poor girl. The malady 
 will wear out by and by, the doctors say, but in the meantime 
 she has to lie down for a twelvemonth. Sophy nurses her. 
 Sophy's the fourth." 
 
 " Is the mother living ? " I inquired. 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Traddles, " she is alive. She is a very supe- 
 rior woman, indeed, but the damp country is not adapted to her 
 constitution, and in fact, she has lost the use of her limbs." 
 
 " Dear me ! " said I. 
 
 " Very sad, is it not ? " returned Traddles. " But in a merely 
 domestic view it is not so bad as it might be, because Sophy 
 takes her place. She is quite as much a mother to her mother, 
 as she is to the other nine." 
 
 I felt the greatest admiration for the virtues of this young 
 lady ; and, honestly, with the view of doing my best to prevent 
 the good-nature of Traddles from being imposed upon, to the 
 detriment of their joint prospects in life, inquired how Mr. 
 Micawber was ? " 
 
 "He is quite well, Copperfield, thank you," said Traddles. 
 " I am not living with him at present." 
 
 "No?" 
 
62 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 "No. You see the truth is," said Traddles, in a whisper, 
 " he has changed his name to Mortimer, in consequence of his 
 temporary embarrassments ; and he don't come out till after 
 dark and then in spectacles. There was an execution put 
 into our house, for rent. Mrs. Micawber was in such a dread- 
 ful state that I really couldn't resist giving my name to that 
 second bill we spoke of here. You may imagine how delight- 
 ful it was to my feelings, Copperfield, to see the matter settled 
 with it, and Mrs. Micawber recover her spirits." 
 
 "Hum!" said I. 
 
 "Not that her happiness was of long duration," pursued 
 Traddles, " for, unfortunately, within a week another execution 
 came in. It broke up the establishment. I have been living 
 in a furnished apartment since then, and the Mortimers have 
 been very private indeed. I hope you won't think it selfish, 
 Copperfield, if I mention that the broker carried off my little 
 round table with the marble top, and Sophy's flower-pot and 
 stand ? " 
 
 "What a hard thing ! " I exclaimed indignantly. 
 
 " It was a it was a pull," said Traddles, with his usual 
 wince at that expression. " I don't mention it reproachfully, 
 however, but with a motive. The fact is, Copperfield, I was 
 unable to repurchase them at the time of their seizure ; in the 
 first place, because the broker, having an idea that I wanted 
 them, ran the price up to an extravagant extent ; and, in the 
 second place, because I hadn't any money. Now, I have 
 kept my eye since, upon the broker's shop," said Traddles, 
 with a great enjoyment of his mystery, "which is up at the top 
 of Tottenham Court Road, and, at last, to-day I find them put 
 out for sale. I have only noticed them from over the way, 
 because if the broker saw me, bless you, he'd ask any price 
 for them ! What has occurred to me, having now the money, 
 is, that perhaps you wouldn't object to ask that good nurse of 
 yours to come with me to the shop I can show it her from 
 round the corner of the next street and make the best bar- 
 gain for them, as if they were for herself, that she can ! " 
 
 The delight with which Traddles propounded this plan to 
 me, and the sense he had of its uncommon artfulness, are 
 among the freshest things in my remembrance. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEF1ELD. 63 
 
 I told him that my old nurse would be delighted to assist 
 him, and that we would all three take the field together, but 
 on one condition. That condition was, that he should make a 
 solemn resolution to grant no more loans of his name, or any- 
 thing else, to Mr. Micawber. 
 
 "My dear Copperfield," said Traddles, "I have already done 
 so, because I begin to feel that I have not only been incon- 
 siderate, but that I have been positively unjust to Sophy. 
 My word being passed to myself, there is no longer any appre- 
 hension ; but I pledge it to you, too, with the greatest readi- 
 ness. That first unlucky obligation, I have paid. I have no 
 doubt Mr. Micawber would have paid it if he could, but he 
 could not. One thing I ought to mention, which I like very 
 much in Mr. Micawber, Copperfield. It refers to the second 
 obligation, which is not yet due. He don't tell me that it is 
 provided for, but he says it will be. Now, I think there is 
 something very fair and honest about that ! " 
 
 I was unwilling to damp my good friend's confidence, and 
 therefore assented. After a little further conversation, we 
 went round to the chandler's shop to enlist Peggotty ; Traddles 
 declining to pass the evening with me, both because he en- 
 dured the liveliest apprehensions that his property would be 
 bought by somebody else before he could repurchase it, and 
 because it was the evening he always devoted to writing to 
 the dearest girl in the world. 
 
 I never shall forget him peeping round the corner of the 
 street in Tottenham Court Road, while Peggotty was bargain- 
 ing for the precious articles ; or his agitation when she came 
 slowly towards us after vainly offering a price, and was hailed 
 by the relenting broker, and went back again. The end of the 
 negotiation was, that she bought the property on tolerably 
 easy terms, and Traddles was transported with pleasure. 
 
 " I am very much obliged to you, indeed," said Traddles, 
 on hearing it was to be sent to where he lived, that night. 
 " If I might ask one other favor, I hope you would not think 
 it absurd, Copperfield ? " 
 
 I said beforehand, certainly not, 
 
 "Then if you would be good enough/' aaid Traddles to 
 
64 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 Peggotty, " to get the flower-pot now, I think I should like 
 (it being Sophy's, Copperfield) to carry it home myself ! " 
 
 Peggotty was glad to get it for him, and he overwhelmed 
 her with thanks, and went his way up Tottenham Court Road, 
 carrying the flower-pot affectionately in his arms, with one of 
 the most delighted expressions of countenance I ever saw. 
 
 We then turned back towards my chambers. As the shops 
 had charms for Peggotty which I never knew them possess in 
 the same degree for anybody else, I sauntered easily along, 
 amused by her staring in at the windows, and waiting for her 
 as often as she chose. We were thus a good while in getting 
 to the Adelphi. 
 
 On our way up stairs, I called her attention to the sudden 
 disappearance of Mrs. Crupp's pitfalls, and also to the prints 
 of recent footsteps. We were both very much surprised, com- 
 ing higher up, to find my outer door standing open (which I 
 had shut), and to hear voices inside. 
 
 We looked at one another, without knowing what to make 
 of this, and went into the sitting-room. What was my amaze- 
 ment to find, of all people upon earth, my aunt there, and Mr. 
 Dick! My aunt sitting on a quantity of luggage, with her 
 two birds before her, and her cat on her knee, like a female 
 Robinson Crusoe, drinking tea. Mr. Dick leaning thought- 
 fully on a great kite, such as we had often been out together 
 to fly, with more luggage piled about him ! 
 
 " My dear aunt ! " cried I. " Why, what an unexpected 
 pleasure ! " 
 
 We cordially embraced; and Mr. Dick and I cordially 
 shook hands ; and Mrs. Crupp, who was busy making tea, and 
 could not be too attentive, cordially said she had knowed well 
 as Mr. Copperfull would have his heart in his mouth, when he 
 see his dear relations. 
 
 " Halloa ! " said my aunt to Peggotty, who quailed before 
 her awful presence. " How are you ? " 
 
 " You remember my aunt, Peggotty ? " said I. 
 
 "For the love of goodness, child," exclaimed my aunt, 
 " don't call the woman by that South Sea Island name ! If 
 she married and got rid of it, which was the best thing she 
 could do, why don't you give her the benefit of the change ? 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 65 
 
 What's your name now, P ? " said my aunt, as a compro- 
 mise for the obnoxious appellation. 
 
 " Barkis, ma'am," said Peggotty, with a courtesy. 
 
 " Well ! That's human," said my aunt. " It sounds less as 
 if you wanted a Missionary. How d'ye do, Barkis ? I hope 
 you're well ? " 
 
 Encouraged by these gracious words, and by my aunt's 
 extending her hand, Barkis came forward, and took the hand, 
 and courtesied her acknowledgments. 
 
 " We are older than we were, I see," said my aunt. " We 
 have only met each other once before, you know. A nice 
 business we made of it then ! Trot, my dear, another cup." 
 
 I handed it dutifully to my aunt, who was in her usual 
 inflexible state of figure ; and ventured a remonstrance with 
 her on the subject of her sitting on a box. 
 
 " Let me draw the sofa here, or the easy chair, aunt," said I. 
 "Why should you be so uncomfortable ? " 
 
 " Thank you, Trot," replied my aunt. " I prefer to sit upon 
 my property." Here my aunt looked hard at Mrs. Crupp, and 
 observed, " We needn't trouble you to wait, ma'am." 
 
 " Shall I put a little more tea in the pot afore I go, ma'am ? " 
 said Mrs. Crupp. 
 
 " No, I thank you, ma'am," replied my aunt. 
 
 " Would you let me fetch another pat of butter, ma'am ? " 
 said Mrs. Crupp. " Or would you be persuaded to try a new- 
 laid hegg ? or should I brile a rasher ? Ain't there nothing I 
 could do for your dear aunt, Mr. Copperfull ? " 
 
 " Nothing, ma'am," returned my aunt. " I shall do very 
 well, I thank you." 
 
 Mrs. Crupp, who had been incessantly smiling to express 
 sweet temper, and incessantly holding her head on one side, to 
 express a general feebleness of constitution, and incessantly 
 rubbing her hands, to express a desire to be of service to all 
 deserving objects, gradually smiled herself, one-sided herself, 
 and rubbed herself, out of the room. 
 
 " Dick ? " said my aunt. " You know what I told you about 
 time-servers and wealth-worshippers ? " 
 
 Mr. Dick with rather a scared look, as if he had forgotten 
 it returned a hasty answer in the affirmative. 
 
 VOL. II 6 
 
66 THE PERSONAL HISTOltY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " Mrs. Crupp is one of them/' said my aunt. " Barkis, I'll 
 trouble you to look after the tea, and let me have another cup, 
 for I don't fancy that woman's pouring out ! " 
 
 I knew my aunt sufficiently well to know that she had some- 
 thing of importance on her mind, and that there was far more 
 matter in this arrival than a stranger might have supposed. 
 I noticed how her eye lighted on me, when she thought my 
 attention otherwise occupied; and what a curious process of 
 hesitation appeared to be going on within her, while she pre- 
 served her outward stiffness and composure. I began to reflect 
 whether I had done anything to offend her ; and my conscience 
 whispered me that I had not yet told her about Dora. Could 
 it by any means be that, I wondered ! 
 
 As I knew she would only speak in her own good time, I 
 sat down near her, and spoke to the birds, and played with the 
 cat, and was as easy as I could be. But I was very far from 
 being really easy ; and I should still have been so, even if 
 Mr. Dick, leaning over the great kite behind my aunt, had not 
 taken every secret opportunity of shaking his head darkly at 
 me, and pointing at her. 
 
 "Trot," said my aunt at last, when she had finished her 
 tea, and carefully smoothed down her dress, and wiped her 
 lips " you needn't go, Barkis ! Trot, have you got to be 
 firm and self-reliant ? " 
 
 " I hope so, aunt." 
 
 " What do you think ? " inquired Miss Betsey. 
 
 " I think so, aunt." 
 
 "Then why, my love," said my aunt, looking earnestly at 
 me, " why do you think I prefer to sit upon this property of 
 mine to-night ? " 
 
 I shook my head, unable to guess. 
 
 "Because," said my aunt, "it's all I have. Because I'm 
 ruined, my dear ! " 
 
 If the house, and every one of us, had tumbled out into the 
 river together, I could hardly have received a greater shock. 
 
 " Dick knows it," said my aunt, laying her hand calmly on 
 my shoulder. " I am ruined, my dear Trot ! All I have in 
 the world is in this room, except the cottage ; and that I have 
 left Janet to let. Barkis, I want to get a bed for this gentle- 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 67 
 
 man to-night. To save expense, perhaps you can make up 
 something here for myself. Anything will do. It's only for 
 to-night. We'll talk about this, more, to-morrow." 
 
 I was roused from my amazement, and concern for her I 
 am sure, for her by her falling on my neck for a moment; 
 and crying that she only grieved for me. In another moment, 
 she suppressed this emotion ; and said, with an aspect more 
 triumphant than dejected : 
 
 "We must meet reverses boldly, and not suffer them to 
 frighten us, my dear. We must learn to act the play out. 
 We must live misfortune down, Trot ! " 
 
68 THE PEE SON AL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 DEPRESSION. 
 
 As soon as I could recover my presence of mind, which 
 quite deserted me in the first overpowering shock of my aunt's 
 intelligence, I proposed to Mr. Dick to come round to the 
 chandler's shop, and take possession of the bed which Mr. 
 Peggotty had lately vacated. The chandler's shop being in 
 Hungerford Market, and Hungerford Market being a very dif- 
 ferent place in those days, there was a low wooden colonnade 
 before the door (not very unlike that before the house where 
 the little man and woman used to live, in the old weather- 
 glass), which pleased Mr. Dick mightily. The glory of lodg- 
 ing over this structure would have compensated him, I dare 
 say, for many inconveniences ; but, as there were really few to 
 bear, beyond the compound of flavors I have already men- 
 tioned, and perhaps the want of a little more elbow-room, he 
 was perfectly charmed with his accommodation. Mrs. Crupp 
 had indignantly assured him that there wasn't room to swing 
 a cat there ; but, as Mr. Dick justly observed to me, sitting 
 down on the foot of the bed, nursing his leg, " You know, 
 Trotwood, I don't want to swing a cat. I never do swing a 
 cat. Therefore, what does that signify to me ! " 
 
 I tried to ascertain whether Mr. Dick had any understand- 
 ing of the causes of this sudden and great change in my aunt's 
 affairs. As I might have expected, he had none at all. The 
 only account he could give of it, was, that my aunt had said to 
 him, the day before yesterday, " Now, Dick, are you really and 
 truly the philosopher I take you for ? " That then he had 
 said, Yes, he hoped so. That then my aunt had said, " Dick, 
 I am ruined." That then he had said, "Oh, indeed!" That 
 then my aunt had praised him highly, which he was very glad 
 of. And that then they had come to me, and had had bottled 
 porter and sandwiches on the road. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 69 
 
 Mr. Dick was so very complacent, sitting on the foot of the 
 bed, nursing his leg, and telling me this, with his eyes wide 
 open and a surprised smile, that I am sorry to say I was pro- 
 voked into explaining to him that ruin meant distress, want, 
 and starvation; but, I was soon bitterly reproved for this 
 harshness, by seeing his face turn pale, and tears course down 
 his lengthened cheeks, while he fixed upon me a look of such 
 unutterable woe, that it might have softened a far harder heart 
 than mine. I took infinitely greater pains to cheer him up 
 again than I had taken to depress him ; and I soon understood 
 (as I ought to have known at first) that he had been so confi- 
 dent, merely because of his faith in the wisest and most won- 
 derful of women, and his unbounded reliance on my intellectual 
 resources. The latter, I believe, he considered a match for 
 any kind of disaster not absolutely mortal. 
 
 "What can we do, Trot wood?" said Mr. Dick. "There's 
 the Memorial " 
 
 "To be sure there is," said I. " But all we can do just now, 
 Mr. Dick, is to keep a cheerful countenance, and not let my 
 aunt see that we are thinking about it." 
 
 He assented to this in the most earnest manner; and im- 
 plored me, if I should see him wandering an inch out of the 
 right course, to recall him by some of those superior methods 
 which were always at my command. But I regret to state 
 that the fright I had given him proved too much for his best 
 attempts at concealment. All the evening his eyes wandered 
 to my aunt's face, with an expression of the most dismal 
 apprehension, as if he saw her growing thin on the spot. He 
 was conscious of this, and put a constraint upon his head ; but 
 his keeping that immovable, and sitting rolling his eyes like a 
 piece of machinery, did not mend the matter at all. I saw 
 him look at the loaf at supper (which happened to be a small 
 one), as if nothing else stood between us and famine; and 
 when my aunt insisted on his making his customary repast, 1 
 detected him in the act of pocketing fragments of his bread 
 and cheese ; I have no doubt for the purpose of reviving us 
 with those savings, when we should have reached an advanced 
 stage of attenuation. 
 
 My aunt, on the other hand, v/as in a composed frame of 
 
70 THE PERSONAL HISTORY ASD EXPERIENCE 
 
 mind, which was a lesson to all of us to nie, I ani sure. She 
 was extremely gracious to Peggotty, except when I inadver- 
 tently called her by that name ; and, strange as I knew she 
 felt in London, appeared quite at home. She was to have my 
 bed, and I was to lie in the sitting-room, to keep guard over 
 her. She made a great point of being so near the river, iu 
 case of a conflagration ; and I suppose really did find some 
 satisfaction in that circumstance. 
 
 " Trot, my dear," said my aunt, when she saw me making 
 preparations for compounding her usual night-draught, " Xo ! " 
 
 Nothing, aunt ? " 
 
 " Not wine, my dear. Ale." 
 
 "But there is wine here, aunt. And you always have it 
 made of wine." 
 
 " Keep that, in case of sickness," said my aunt. " We 
 rnusn't use it carelessly, Trot. Ale for me. Half a pint." 
 
 I thought Mr. Dick would have fallen, insensible. My aunt 
 being resolute, I went out and got the ale myself. As it was 
 growing late, Peggotty and Mr. Dick took that opportunity of 
 repairing to the chandler's shop together. I parted from him, 
 poor fellow, at the corner of the street, with his great kite at 
 his back, a very monument of human misery. 
 
 My aunt was walking up and down the room when I re- 
 turned, crimping the borders of her nightcap with her fingers. 
 I warmed the ale and made the toast on the usual infallible 
 principles. When it was ready for her, she was ready for it, 
 with her. nightcap on, and the skirt of her gown turned back 
 on her knees. 
 
 " My dear," said my aunt, after taking a spoonful of it ; 
 " it's a great deal better than wine. Xot half so bilious." 
 
 I suppose I looked doubtful, for she added : 
 
 " Tut, tut, child. If nothing worse than Ale happens to us, 
 we are well off." 
 
 " I should think so myself, aunt, I am sure," said I. 
 
 " Well, then, why don't you think so ? " said my aunt. 
 
 " Because you and I are very different people," I returned. 
 
 "Stuff and nonsense, Trot," replied my aunt. 
 
 My aunt went on with a quiet enjoyment, in which there 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 71 
 
 was very little affectation, if any ; drinking the warm ale witli 
 a teaspoon, and soaking her strips of toast in it. 
 
 " Trot," said she, " I don't care for strange faces in general, 
 but I rather like that Barkis of yours, do you know ! " 
 
 " It's better than a hundred pounds to hear you say so ! " 
 said I. 
 
 " It's a most extraordinary world," observed my aunt, rub- 
 bing her nose ; " how that woman ever got into it with that 
 name, is unaccountable to me. It would be much more easy 
 to be born a Jackson, or something of that sort, one would 
 think." 
 
 " Perhaps she thinks so, too ; it's not her fault," said I. 
 
 "I suppose not," returned my aunt, rather grudging the 
 admission ; " but it's very aggravating. However, she's Barkis 
 now. That's some comfort. Barkis is uncommonly fond of 
 you, Trot." 
 
 " There is nothing she would leave undone to prove it," 
 said I. 
 
 " Nothing, I believe," returned my aunt. " Here, the poor 
 fool has been begging and praying about handing over some 
 of her money because she has got too much of it ! A 
 simpleton ! " 
 
 My aunt's tears of pleasure were positively trickling down 
 into the warm ale. 
 
 " She's the most ridiculous creature that ever was born," 
 said my aunt. " I knew, from the first moment when I saw 
 her with that poor dear blessed baby of a mother of yours, 
 that she was the most ridiculous of mortals. But there are 
 good points in Barkis ! " 
 
 Affecting to laugh, she got an opportunity of putting her 
 hand to her eyes. Having availed herself of it, she resumed 
 her toast and her discourse together. 
 
 " Ah ! Mercy upon us ! " sighed my aunt. " I know all 
 about it, Trot ! Barkis and myself had quite a gossip while 
 you were out with Dick. I know all about it. I don't know 
 where these wretched girls expect to go to, for my part. I 
 wonder they don't knock out their brains against against 
 mantelpieces," said my aunt ; an idea which was probably 
 suggested to her by her contemplation of mine. 
 
72 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 "Poor Emily !" said I. 
 
 "Oh, don't talk to me about poor," returned my aunt. 
 "She should have thought of that, before she caused so much 
 misery ! Give me a kiss, Trot. I am sorry for your early 
 experience." 
 
 As I bent forward, she put her tumbler on my knee to 
 detain me, and said : 
 
 " Oh, Trot, Trot ! And so you fancy yourself in love ! Do 
 you ? " 
 
 " Fancy, aunt ! " I exclaimed, as red as I could be. " I 
 adore her with my whole soul ! " 
 
 "Dora, indeed!" returned my aunt. "And you mean to 
 say the little thing is very fascinating, I suppose ? " 
 
 "My dear aunt," I replied, "no one can form the least idea 
 what she is ! " 
 
 " Ah ! And not silly ? " said my aunt. 
 
 "Silly, aunt!" 
 
 I seriously believe it had never once entered my head for a 
 single moment, to consider whether she was or not. I resented 
 the idea, of course ; but I was in a manner struck by it, as a 
 new one altogether. 
 
 " Not light-headed ? " said my aunt. 
 
 " Light-headed, aunt ! " I could only repeat this daring 
 speculation with the same kind of feeling with which I had 
 repeated the preceding question. 
 
 "Well, well!" said my aunt. "I only ask. I don't depre- 
 ciate her. Poor little couple ! And so you think you were 
 formed for one another, and are to go through a party-supper- 
 table kind of life, like two pretty pieces of confectionery, dc 
 you, Trot ! " 
 
 She asked me this so kindly, and with such a gentle air, half 
 playful and half sorrowful, that I was quite touched. 
 
 "We are young and inexperienced, aunt, I know," I replied; 
 " and I dare say we say and think a good deal that is rather 
 foolish. But we love one another truly, I am sure. If I 
 thought Dora could ever love anybody else, or cease to love 
 me ; or that I could ever love anybody else, or cease to love 
 her ; I don't know what I should do go out of my mind, I 
 think!" 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 73 
 
 " Ah, Trot ! " said my aunt, shaking her head, and smiling 
 gravely; "blind, blind, blind!" 
 
 " Some one that I know, Trot," my aunt pursued, after a 
 pause, " though of a very pliant disposition, has an earnestness 
 of affection in him that reminds me of poor Baby. Earnest- 
 ness is what that Somebody must look for, to sustain him 
 and improve him, Trot. Deep, downright, faithful earnest- 
 ness." 
 
 " If you only knew the earnestness of Dora, aunt ! " I cried. 
 
 "Oh, Trot!" she said again ; "blind, blind!" and without 
 knowing why, I felt a vague unhappy loss or want of some- 
 thing overshadow me like a cloud. 
 
 " However," said my aunt, " I don't want to put two young 
 creatures out of conceit with themselves, or to make them 
 unhappy; so, though it is a girl and boy attachment, and 
 girl and boy attachments very often mind! I don't say 
 always ! come to nothing, still we'll be serious about it, and 
 hope for a prosperous issue one of these days. There's time 
 enough for it to come to anything ! " 
 
 This was not upon the whole very comforting to a rapturous 
 lover ; but I was glad to have my aunt in my confidence, and I 
 was mindful of her being fatigued. So I thanked her ardently 
 for this mark of her affection, and for all her other kindnesses 
 towards me ; and after a tender good night, she took her night- 
 cap into my bed-room. 
 
 How miserable I was, when I lay down ! How I thought 
 and thought of my being poor, in Mr. Spenlow's eyes ; about 
 my not being what I thought I was, when I proposed to Dora; 
 about the chivalrous necessity of telling Dora what my worldly 
 condition was, and releasing her from her engagement if she 
 thought fit ; about how I should contrive to live, during the 
 long term of my articles, when I was earning nothing ; about 
 doing something to assist my aunt, and seeing no way of 
 doing anything ; about coming down to have no money in 
 my pocket, and to wear a shabby coat, and to be able to carry 
 Dora no little presents, and to ride no gallant grays, and to 
 show myself in no agreeable light ! Sordid and selfish as I 
 knew it was, and as I tortured myself by knowing that it was, 
 to let my mind run on my own distress so much, I was so 
 
74 THE PEE SON AL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 devoted to Dora that I could not help it. I knew that it was 
 base in me not to think more of my aunt, and less of myself ; 
 but, so far, selfishness was inseparable from Dora, and I could 
 not put Dora on one side for any mortal creature. How 
 exceedingly miserable I was, that night ! 
 
 As to sleep, I had dreams of poverty in all sorts of shapes, 
 but I seemed to dream without the previous ceremony of 
 going to sleep. Now I was ragged, wanting to sell Dora 
 matches, six bundles for a halfpenny ; now I was at the office 
 in a nightgown and boots, remonstrated with by Mr. Spenlow 
 on appearing before the clients in that airy attire j now I was 
 hungrily picking up the crumbs that fell from old Tiffey's 
 daily buscuit, regularly eaten when Saint Paul's struck one ; 
 now I was hopelessly endeavoring to get a license to marry 
 Dora, having nothing but one of Uriah Heep's gloves to offer 
 in exchange, which the whole Commons rejected; and still, 
 more or less conscious of my own room, I was always tossing 
 about like a distressed ship in a sea of bed-clothes. 
 
 My aunt was restless, too, for I frequently heard her walk- 
 ing to and fro. Two or three times in the course of the night, 
 attired in a long flannel wrapper in which she looked seven 
 feet high, she appeared, like a disturbed ghost, in my room, 
 and came to the side of the sofa on which I lay. On the first 
 occasion I started up in alarm, to learn that she inferred from 
 a particular light in the sky, that Westminster Abbey was on 
 fire ; and to be consulted in reference to the probability of its 
 igniting Buckingham-street, in case the wind changed. Lying 
 still, after that, I found that she sat down near me, whispering 
 to herself " Poor boy ! " And then it made me twenty times 
 more wretched, to know how unselfishly mindful she was of 
 me, and how selfishly mindful I was of myself. 
 
 It was difficult to believe that a night so long to me, could 
 be short to anybody else. This consideration set me thinking 
 and thinking of an imaginary party where people were dancing 
 the hours away, until that became a dream too, and I heard 
 the music incessantly playing one tune, and saw Dora inces- 
 santly dancing one dance, without taking the least notice of 
 me. The man who had been playing the harp all night, was 
 trying in vain to cover it with an ordinary-sized nightcap, 
 
OF DAVIT) COPPEKFIELD. 75 
 
 when I awoke ; or I should rather say, when I left off trying 
 to go to sleep, and saw the sun shining in through the window 
 at last. 
 
 There was an old Koman bath in those days at the bottom 
 of one of the streets out of the Strand-^- it may be there still 
 in which I have had many a cold plunge. Dressing myself 
 as quietly as I could, and leaving Peggotty to look after my 
 aunt, I tumbled head foremost into it, and then went for a 
 walk to Hampstead. I had a hope that this brisk treatment 
 might freshen my wits a little ; and I think it did them good, 
 for I soon came to the conclusion that the first step I ought 
 to take was to try if my articles could be cancelled and the 
 premium recovered. I got some breakfast on the Heath, and 
 walked back to Doctors' Commons, along the watered roads 
 and through a pleasant smell of summer flowers, growing in 
 gardens and carried into town on hucksters' heads, intent on 
 this first effort to meet our altered circumstances. 
 
 I arrived at the office so soon, after all, that I had half an 
 hour's loitering about the Commons, before old Tiffey, who 
 was always first, appeared with his key. Then I sat down in 
 my shady corner, looking up at the sunlight on the opposite 
 chimney-pots, and thinking about Dora; until Mr. Spenlow 
 came in, crisp and curly. 
 
 " How are you, Copperfield ? " said he. " Fine morning ! " 
 
 " Beautiful morning, sir," said I. " Could I say a word to 
 you before you go into Court ? " 
 
 " By all means," said he. " Come into my room." 
 
 I followed him into his room, and he began putting on his 
 gown, and touching himself up before a little glass he had, 
 hanging inside a closet door. 
 
 " I am sorry to say," said I, " that I have some rather 
 disheartening intelligence from my aunt." 
 
 " oSTo ! " said he. " Dear me ! Not paralysis, I hope ? " 
 
 " It has no reference to her health, sir," I replied. " She 
 has met with some large losses. In fact, she has very little 
 left, indeed." 
 
 " You as-tound me, Copperfield ! " cried Mr. Spenlow. 
 
 I shook my head. "Indeed, sir," said I, "her affairs are 
 so changed, that I wished to ask you whether it would be 
 
76 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 possible at a sacrifice on our part of some portion of the 
 premium, of course," I put in this on the spur of the moment, 
 warned by the blank expression of his face " to cancel my 
 articles ? " 
 
 What it cost me to make this proposal, nobody knows. It 
 was like asking, as a favor, to be sentenced to transportation 
 from Dora. 
 
 " To cancel your articles, Copperfield ? Cancel ? " 
 
 I explained with tolerable firmness, that I really did not 
 know where my means of subsistence were to come from, 
 unless I could earn them for myself. I had no fear for the 
 future, I said and I laid great emphasis on that, as if to 
 imply that I should still be decidedly eligible for a son-in-law 
 one of these days but, for the present, I was thrown upon 
 my own resources. 
 
 " I am extremely sorry to hear this, Copperfield," said Mr. 
 Spenlow. " Extremely sorry. It is not usual to cancel arti- 
 cles for any such reason. It is not a professional course of 
 proceeding. It is not a convenient precedent at all. Far from 
 it. At the same time " 
 
 "You are very good, sir/' I murmured, anticipating a 
 concession. 
 
 "Not at all. Don't mention it," said Mr. Spenlow. "At 
 the same time, I was going to say, if it had been my lot to 
 have my hands unfettered if I had not a partner Mr. 
 Jorkins " 
 
 My hopes were dashed in a moment, but I made another 
 effort. 
 
 " Do you think, sir," said I, " if I were to mention it to Mr. 
 Jorkins " 
 
 Mr. Spenlow shook his head discouragingly. " Heaven for- 
 bid, Copperfield," he replied, " that I should do any man an 
 injustice ; still less, Mr. Jorkins. But I know my partner, 
 Copperfield. Mr. Jorkins is not a man to respond to a propo- 
 sition of this peculiar nature. Mr. Jorkins is very difficult to 
 move from the beaten track. You know what he is ? " 
 
 I am sure I knew nothing about him, except that he had 
 originally been alone in the business, and now lived by him- 
 self in a house near Montagu-square, which was fearfully in 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 77 
 
 want of painting ; that he came very late of a day, and went 
 away very early; that he never appeared to be consulted 
 about anything ; and that he had a dingy little black-hole of 
 his own up stairs, where no business was ever done, and where 
 there was a yellow old cartridge-paper pad upon his desk, 
 unsoiled by ink, and reported to be twenty years of age. 
 
 " Would you object to my mentioning it to him, sir ? " I 
 asked. 
 
 "By no means," said Mr. Spenlow. "But I have some 
 experience of Mr. Jorkins, Copperfield. I wish it were other- 
 wise, for I should be happy to meet your views in any respect. 
 I cannot have the least objection to your mentioning it to Mr. 
 Jorkins, Copperfield, if you think it worth while." 
 
 Availing myself of this permission, which was given with a 
 warm shake of the hand, I sat thinking about Dora, and look- 
 ing at the sunlight stealing from the chimney-pots down the 
 wall of the opposite house, until Mr. Jorkins came. I then 
 went up to Mr. Jorkins's room, and evidently astonished Mr. 
 Jorkins very much by making my appearance there. 
 
 " Come in, Mr. Copperfield," said Mr. Jorkins. " Come in ! " 
 
 I went in, and sat down ; and stated my case to Mr. Jorkins 
 pretty much as I had stated it to Mr. Spenlow. Mr. Jorkins 
 was not by any means the awful creature one might have 
 expected, but a large, mild, smooth-faced man of sixty, who 
 took so miich snuff that there was a tradition in the Commons 
 that he lived principally on that stimulant, having little room 
 in his system for any other article of diet. 
 
 " You have mentioned this to Mr. Spenlow, I suppose ? " 
 said Mr. Jorkins ; when he had heard me, very restlessly, to 
 an end. 
 
 I answered Yes, and told him that Mr. Spenlow had intro- 
 duced his name. 
 
 "He said I should object ? " asked Mr. Jorkins. 
 
 I was obliged to admit that Mr. Spenlow had considered it 
 probable. 
 
 " I am sorry to say, Mr. Copperfield, I can't advance your 
 object," said Mr. Jorkins, nervously. "The fact is but I 
 have an appointment at the Bank, if you'll have the goodness 
 to excuse me." 
 
78 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 With that he rose in a great hurry, and was going out of 
 the room, when I made bold to say that I feared, then, there 
 was no way of arranging the matter ? 
 
 "No ! " said Mr. Jorkins, stopping at the door to shake his 
 head. "Oh, no! I object you know,' 7 which he said very 
 rapidly, and went out. "You must be aware, Mr. Copper- 
 field," he added, looking restlessly in at the door again, " if 
 Mr. Spenlow objects " 
 
 "Personally he does not object, sir," said I. 
 
 " Oh ! Personally ! " repeated Mr. Jorkins in an impatient 
 manner. "I assure you there's an objection, Mr. Copperfield. 
 Hopeless ! What you wish to be done, can't be done. I I 
 really have got an appointment at the Bank." With that he 
 fairly ran away; and, to the best of my knowledge, it was three 
 days before he showed himself in the Commons again. 
 
 Being very anxious to leave no stone unturned, I waited 
 until Mr. Spenlow came in, and then described what had 
 passed ; giving him to understand that I was not hopeless of 
 his being able to soften the adamantine Jorkins, if he would 
 undertake the task. 
 
 " Copperfield," returned Mr. Spenlow, with a gracious smile, 
 " you have not known my partner, Mr. Jorkins, as long as I 
 have. Nothing is farther from my thoughts than to attribute 
 any degree of artifice to Mr. Jorkins. But Mr. Jorkins has a 
 way of stating his objections which often deceives people. No, 
 Copperfield ! shaking his head, " Mr. Jorkins is not to be 
 moved, believe me!" 
 
 I was completely bewildered between Mr. Spenlow and Mr. 
 Jorkins, as to which of them really was the objecting partner ; 
 but I saw with sufficient clearness that there was obduracy 
 somewhere in the firm, and that the recovery of my aunt's 
 thousand pounds was out of the question. In a state of 
 despondency, which I remember with anything but satisfaction, 
 for I know it still had too much reference to myself (though 
 always in connection with Dora), I left the office, and went 
 homeward. 
 
 I was trying to familiarize my mind with the worst, and to 
 present to myself the arrangements we should have to make 
 for the future in their sternest aspect, when a hackney chariot 
 
 
OF DAVID COPPERF1ELD. 79 
 
 coming after me, and stopping at my very feet, occasioned me 
 to look up. A fair hand was stretched forth to me from the 
 window ; and the face I had never seen without a feeling of 
 serenity and happiness, from the moment when it first turned 
 back on the old oak staircase with the great broad balustrade, 
 and when I associated its softened beauty with the stained 
 glass window in the church, was smiling on me. 
 
 "Agnes !" I joyfully exclaimed. "Oh, my dear Agnes, of 
 all people in the world, what a pleasure to see you ! " 
 
 " Is it, indeed ? " she said, in her cordial voice. 
 
 "I want to talk to you so much!" said I. "It's such a 
 lightening of my heart, only to look at you ! If I had had a 
 conjuror's cap, there is no one I should have wished for but 
 you ! " 
 
 " What ? " returned Agnes. 
 
 " Well ! perhaps Dora first," I admitted with a blush. 
 
 "Certainly, Dora first, I hope," said Agnes, laughing. 
 
 " But you next ! " said I. " Where are you going ? " 
 
 She was going to my rooms to see my aunt. The day being 
 very fine, she was glad to come out of the chariot, which smelt 
 (I had my head in it all this time) like a stable put under a 
 cucumber-frame. I dismissed the coachman, and she took my 
 arm, and we walked on together. She was like Hope em- 
 bodied, to me. How different I felt in one short minute, hav- 
 ing Agnes at my side ! 
 
 My aunt had written her one of the odd, abrupt notes 
 very little longer than a Bank note to which her epistolary 
 efforts were usually limited. She had stated therein that she- 
 had fallen into adversity, and was leaving Dover for good, but 
 had quite made up her mind to it, and was so well that nobody 
 need be uncomfortable about her. Agnes had come to London 
 to see my aunt, between whom and herself there had been a 
 mutual liking these many years ; indeed, it dated from the 
 time of my taking up my residence in Mr. Wickfield's house. 
 She was not alone, she said. Her papa was with her and 
 Uriah Heep. 
 
 " And now they are partners," said I. " Confound him ! " 
 
 " Yes," said Agnes. " They have some business here ; and 
 I took advantage of their coming, to come too. You must not 
 
80 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 think my visit all friendly and disinterested, Trotwood, for 
 I am afraid I may be cruelly prejudiced I do not like to let 
 papa go away alone, with, him." 
 
 "Does he exercise the same influence over Mr. Wickfield 
 still, Agnes ? " 
 
 Agnes shook her head. " There is such a change at home," 
 said she, " that you would scarcely know the dear old house. 
 They live with us now." 
 
 "They?" said I. 
 
 " Mr. Heep and his mother. He sleeps in your old room," 
 said Agnes, looking up into my face. 
 
 " I wish I had the ordering of his dreams," said I. " He 
 wouldn't sleep there long." 
 
 "I keep my own little room," said Agnes, "where I used to 
 learn my lessons. How the time goes ! You remember ? The 
 little panelled room that opens from the drawing-room ? " 
 
 " Remember, Agnes ? When I saw you, for the first time, 
 coming out at the door, with your quaint little basket of keys 
 hanging at your side ? " 
 
 " It is just the same," said Agnes, smiling. " I am glad 
 you think of it so pleasantly. We were very happy." 
 
 "We were, indeed," said I. 
 
 "I keep that room to myself still; but I cannot always 
 desert Mrs. Heep, you know. And so," said Agnes, quietly, 
 " I feel obliged to bear her company, when I might prefer to 
 be alone. But I have no other reason to complain of her. If 
 she tires me, sometimes, by her praises of her son, it is only 
 natural in a mother. He is a very good son to her." 
 
 I looked at Agnes when she said these words, without detect- 
 ing in her any consciousness of Uriah's design. Her mild but 
 earnest eyes met mine with their own beautiful frankness, and 
 there was no change in her gentle face. 
 
 " The chief evil of their presence in the house," said Agnes, 
 " is that I cannot be as near papa as I could wish Uriah 
 Heep being so much between us and cannot watch over him, 
 if that is not too bold a thing to say, as closely as I would. 
 But, if any fraud or treachery is practising against him, I hope 
 that simple love and truth will be stronger, in the end. I 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 81 
 
 hope that real love and truth are stronger in the end than any 
 evil or misfortune in the world." 
 
 A certain bright smile, which I never saw on any other 
 face, died away, even while I thought how good it was, and 
 how familiar it had once been to me ; and she asked me, with 
 a quick change of expression (we were drawing very near my 
 street), if I knew how the reverse in my aunt's circumstances 
 had been brought about. On my replying no, she had not 
 told nie yet, Agnes became thoughtful, and I fancied I felt her 
 arm tremble in mine. 
 
 We found my aunt alone, in a state of some excitement. A 
 difference of opinion had arisen between herself and Mrs. 
 Crupp, on an abstract question (the propriety of chambers 
 being inhabited by the gentler sex); and my aunt, utterly 
 indifferent to spasms on the part of Mrs. Crupp, had cut the 
 dispute short, by informing that lady that she smelt of my 
 brandy, and that she would trouble .her to walk out. Both of 
 these expressions Mrs. Crupp considered actionable, and had 
 expressed her intention of bringing before a " British Judy " 
 meaning, it was supposed, the bulwark of our national 
 liberties. 
 
 My aunt, however, having had time to cool, while Peggotty 
 was out showing Mr. Dick the soldiers at the Horse Guards 
 and being, besides, greatly pleased to see Agnes rather 
 plumed herself on the affair than otherwise, and received us 
 with unimpaired good humor. When Agnes laid her bonnet 
 on the table, and sat down beside her, I could not but think, 
 looking on her mild eyes and her radiant forehead, how natural 
 it seemed to have her there : how trustfully, although she was 
 so young and inexperienced, my aunt confided in her; how 
 strong she was, indeed, in simple love and truth. 
 
 We began to talk about my aunt's losses, and I told them 
 what I had tried to do that morning. 
 
 "Which was injudicious, Trot," said my aunt, "but well 
 meant. You are a generous boy I suppose I must say, young 
 man, now and I am proud of you, my dear. So far so good. 
 Now, Trot and Agnes, let us look the case of Betsey Trotwood 
 in the face, and see how it stands." 
 
 I observed Agnes turn pale, as she looked very attentively 
 
 VOL. XX 6 
 
82 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AXU EXPERIENCE 
 
 at my aunt. My aunt, patting her cat, looked very attentively 
 at Agnes. 
 
 " Betsey Trotwood," said my aunt, who had always kept her 
 money matters to herself : " I don't mean your sister, Trot, 
 my dear, but myself had a certain property. It don't matter 
 how much ; enough to live on. More ; for she had saved a 
 little and added to it. Betsey funded her property for some 
 time, and then, by the advice of her man of business, laid it 
 out on landed security. That did very well, and returned very 
 good interest, till Betsey was paid off. I am talking of 
 Betsey as if she was a man-of-war. Well ! Then, Betsey had 
 to look about her, for a new investment. She thought she 
 was wiser, now, than her man of business, who was not such 
 a good man of business by this time, as he used to be I am 
 alluding to your father, Agnes and she took it into her head 
 to lay it out for herself. So she took her pigs," said my aunt, 
 " to a foreign market ; and a very bad market it turned out to 
 be. First, she lost in the mining way, and then she lost in 
 the diving way fishing up treasure, or some such Tom Tidier 
 nonsense," explained my aunt, rubbing her nose ; " and then 
 she lost in the mining way again, and, last of all, to set the 
 thing entirely to rights, she lost in the banking way. I don't 
 know what the Bank shares were worth for a little while," 
 said my aunt ; " cent per cent was the lowest of it, I believe ; 
 but the Bank was at the other end of the world, and tumbled 
 into space, for^what I know; anyhow, it fell to pieces, and 
 never will and never can pay sixpence ; and Betsey's sixpences 
 were all there, and there's an end of them. Least said, soon- 
 est mended ! " 
 
 My aunt concluded this philosophical summary, by fixing 
 her eyes with a kind of triumph on Agnes, whose color was 
 gradually returning. 
 
 " Dear Miss Trotwood, is that all the history ? " said Agnes. 
 
 " I hope it's enough, child," said my aunt. " If there had 
 been more money to lose, it wouldn't have been all, I dare say. 
 Betsey would have contrived to throw that after the rest, and 
 make another chapter, I have little doubt. But, there was no 
 more money, and there's no more story." 
 
 Agnes had listened at first with suspended breath. Her 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 83 
 
 color still came and went, but she breathed more freely. I 
 thought I knew why. I thought she had had some fear that 
 her unhappy father might be in some way to blame for what 
 had happened. My aunt took her hand in hers, and laughed. 
 
 " Is that all ? " repeated my aunt. " Why, yes, that's all, 
 except, 'And she lived happy ever afterwards.' Perhaps I 
 may add that of Betsey yet, one of these days. Now, Agnes, 
 you have a wise head. So have you, Trot, in some things, 
 though I can't compliment you always ; " and here my aunt 
 shook her own at me, with an energy peculiar to herself. 
 "What's to be done? Here's the cottage, taking one time 
 with another, will produce, say seventy pounds a-year. I think 
 we may safely put it down at that. Well ! That's all we've 
 got," said my aunt ; with whom it was an idiosyncrasy, as it 
 is with some horses, to stop very short when she appeared to 
 be in a fair way of going on for a long while. 
 
 " Then," said my aunt, after a rest, " there's Dick. He's 
 good for a hundred a-year, but of course that must be expended 
 on himself. I would sooner send him away, though I know I 
 am the only person who appreciates him, than have him and 
 not spend his money on himself. How can Trot and I do 
 best, upon our means ? What do you say, Agnes ? " 
 
 " I say, aunt," I interposed, " that I must do something ! " 
 
 " Go for a soldier, do you mean ? " returned my aunt, 
 alarmed ; " or go to sea ? I won't hear of it. You are to be 
 a proctor. We're not going to have any knockings on the head 
 in this family, if you please, sir." 
 
 I was about to explain that I was not desirous of introducing 
 that mode of provision into the family, when Agnes inquired 
 if my rooms were held for any long term ? 
 
 " You come to the point, my dear," said my aunt. " They 
 are not to be got rid of, for six months at least, unless they 
 could be underlet, and that I don't believe. The last man 
 died here. Five people out of six would die of course of 
 that woman in nankeen with the flannel petticoat. I have a 
 little ready money ; and I agree with you, the best thing we 
 can do, is, to live the term out here, and get Dick a bed-room 
 hard by." 
 
 I thought it my duty to hint at the discomfort my aunt 
 
84 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 would sustain, from living in a continual state of guerilla war- 
 fare with Mrs. Crupp; but she disposed of that objection 
 summarily by declaring, that, on the first demonstration of 
 hostilities, she was prepared to astonish Mrs. Crupp for the 
 whole remainder of her natural life. 
 
 " I have been thinking, Trotwood," said Agnes, diffidently, 
 " that if you had time " 
 
 " I have a good deal of time, Agnes. I am always disen- 
 gaged after four or five o'clock, and I have time early in the 
 morning. In one way and another," said I, conscious of red- 
 dening a little as I thought of the hours and hours I had 
 devoted to fagging about town, and to and fro upon the Nor- 
 wood Road, " I have abundance of time." 
 
 " I know you would not mind," said Agnes coming to me, 
 and speaking in a low voice, so full of sweet and hopeful con- 
 sideration that I hear it now, " the duties of a secretary." 
 
 " Mind, my dear Agnes ? " 
 
 " Because," continued Agnes, " Doctor Strong has acted on 
 his intention of retiring, and has come to live in London ; and 
 he asked papa, I know, if he would recommend him one. 
 Don't you think he would rather have his favorite old pupil 
 near him, than anybody else ? " 
 
 " Dear Agnes ! " said I. " What should I do without you ! 
 You are always my good angel. I told you so. I never think 
 of you in any other light." 
 
 Agnes answered with her pleasant laugh, that one good 
 Angel (meaning Dora) was enough ; and went on to remind 
 me that the Doctor had been used to occupy himself in his 
 study, early in the morning, and in the evening and that 
 probably my leisure would suit his requirements very well. 
 I was scarcely more delighted with the prospect of earning 
 my own bread, than with the hope of earning it under my old 
 master ; in short, acting on the advice of Agnes, I sat down 
 and wrote a letter to the Doctor, stating my object, and ap- 
 pointing to call on him next day at ten in the forenoon. This 
 I addressed to Highgate * for in that place, so memorable to 
 me, he lived and went and posted, myself, without losing a 
 minute. 
 
 Wherever Agnes was, some agreeable token of her noise- 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 85 
 
 less presence seemed inseparable from the place. When I 
 came back, I found my aunt's birds hanging, just as they had 
 hung so long in the parlor window of the cottage ; and my 
 easy chair imitating my aunt's much easier chair in its posi- 
 tion at the open window ; and even the round green fan, which 
 my aunt had brought away with her, screwed on to the window- 
 sill. I knew who had done all this, by its seeming to have 
 quietly done itself ; and I should have known in a moment 
 who had arranged my neglected books in the old order of my 
 school days, even if I had supposed Agnes to be miles away, 
 instead of seeing her busy with them, and smiling at the dis- 
 order into which they had fallen. 
 
 My aunt was quite gracious on the subject of the Thames 
 (it really did look very well with the sun upon it, though not 
 like the sea before the cottage), but she could not relent 
 towards the London smoke, which, she said, " peppered every- 
 thing." A complete revolution, in which Peggotty bore a 
 prominent part, was being effected in every corner of my 
 rooms, in regard of this pepper ; and I was looking on, think- 
 ing how little even Peggotty seemed to do with a good deal of 
 bustle, and how much Agnes did without any bustle at all, 
 when a knock came at the door. 
 
 " I think," said Agnes, turning pale, " it's papa. He prom- 
 ised me that he would come." 
 
 I opened the door, and admitted, not only Mr. Wickfield, 
 but Uriah Heep. I had not seen Mr. Wickfield for some time. 
 I was prepared for a great change in him, after what I had 
 heard from Agnes, but his appearance shocked me. 
 
 It was not that he looked many years older, though still 
 dressed with the old scrupulous cleanliness ; or that there was 
 an unwholesome ruddiness upon his face; or that his eyes 
 were full and bloodshot; or that there was a nervous trem- 
 bling in his hand, the cause of which I knew, and had for some 
 years seen at work. It was not that he had lost his good 
 looks, or his old bearing of a gentleman for that he had 
 not but the thing that struck me most, was, that with the evi- 
 dences of his native superiority still upon him, he should 
 submit himself to that crawling impersonation of meanness, 
 Uriah Heep. The reversal of the two natures, in their relative 
 
86 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 positions, Uriah's of power and Mr. Wickfield's of dependence, 
 was a sight more painful to me than I can express. If I had 
 seen an Ape taking command of a Man, I should hardly have 
 thought it a more degrading spectacle. 
 
 He appeared to be only too conscious of it himself. When 
 he came in, he stood still; and with his head bowed, as if he 
 felt it. This was only for a moment ; for Agnes softly said 
 to him, " Papa ! Here is Miss Trot\vood and Trotwood, 
 whom you have not seen for a long while ! " and then he 
 approached, and constrainedly gave my aunt his hand, and 
 shook hands more cordially with me. In the moment's pause 
 I speak of, I saw Uriah's countenance form itself into a most 
 ill-favored smile. Agnes saw it too, I think, for she shrank 
 from him. 
 
 What my aunt saw, or did not see, I defy the science of 
 physiognomy to have made out, without her own consent. I 
 believe there never was anybody with such an imperturbable 
 countenance when she chose. Her face might have been a 
 dead wall on the occasion in question, for any light it threw 
 upon her thoughts ; until she broke silence with her usual 
 abruptness. 
 
 " Well, Wickfield ! " said my aunt ; and he looked up at her 
 for the first time. " I have been telling your daughter how 
 well I have been disposing of my money for myself, because I 
 couldn't trust it to you, as you were growing rusty in business 
 matters. We have been taking counsel together, and getting 
 on very well, all things considered. Agnes is worth the whole 
 firm, in my opinion." 
 
 "If I may umbly make the remark," said Uriah Heep, 
 with a writhe, " I fully agree with Miss Betsey Trotwood, and 
 should be only too appy if Miss Agnes was a partner." 
 
 " You're a partner yourself, you know," returned my aunt, 
 " and that's about enough for you, I expect. How do you find 
 yourself, sir ? " 
 
 In acknowledgment of this question, addressed to him with 
 extraordinary curtness, Mr. Heep, uncomfortably clutching the 
 blue bag he carried, replied that he was pretty well, he thanked 
 my aunt, and hoped she was the same. 
 
 " And you, Master I should say, Mister Copperfield," pur- 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 87 
 
 sued Uriah.. " I hope I see you well ! I. am rejoiced to see 
 you, Mister Copperfield, even under present circumstances." 
 I believed that; for he seemed to relish them very much. 
 "Present circumstances is not what your friends would wish 
 for you, Mister Copperfield, but it isn't money makes the 
 man : it's I am really unequal with my umble powers to 
 express what it is/' said Uriah, with a fawning jerk, " but it 
 isn't money ! " 
 
 Here he shook hands with me : not in the common way, 
 but standing at a good distance from me, and lifting my hand 
 up and down like a pump handle, that he was a little afraid of. 
 
 "And how do you think we are looking, Master Copper- 
 field, I should say, Mister ? " fawned Uriah. " Don't you 
 find Mr. Wickfield blooming, sir ? Years don't tell much in 
 our firm, Master Copperfield, except in raising up the umble, 
 namely, mother and self and in developing," he added as an 
 after-thought, "the beautiful, namely Miss Agnes." 
 
 He jerked himself about, after this compliment, in such an 
 intolerable manner, that my aunt, who had sat looking straight 
 at him, lost all patience. 
 
 " Deuce take the man ! " said my aunt, sternly, " what's he 
 about ? Don't be galvanic, sir ! " 
 
 "I ask you pardon, Miss Trotwood," -returned Uriah; "I'm 
 aware you're nervous." 
 
 " Go along with you, sir ! " said my aunt, anything but 
 appeased. "'Don't presume to say so ! I am nothing of the 
 sort. If you're an eel, sir, conduct yourself like- one. If 
 you're a man, control your limbs, sir ! Good God ! " said my 
 aunt, with great indignation, " I am not going to be serpentined 
 and corkscrewed out of my senses ! " 
 
 Mr. Heep was rather abashed, as most people might have 
 been, by this explosion ; which derived great additional force 
 from the indignant manner in which my aunt afterwards 
 moved in her chair, and shook her head as if she were 'making 
 snaps or bounces at him. But he said to me aside in a meek 
 voice : 
 
 " I am well aware, Master Copperfield, that Miss Trotwood, 
 though an excellent lady, has a quick temper (indeed I think 
 I had the pleasure of knowing her, when I was an umblo 
 
88 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 clerk, before you did, Master Copperfield), and it's only 
 natural, I am sure, that it should be made quicker by present 
 circumstances. The wonder is, that it isn't much worse ! I 
 only called to say that if there was anything we could do, in 
 present circumstances, mother or self, or Wickfield and Heep, 
 we should be really glad. I may go so far ? " said Uriah, with 
 a sickly smile at his partner. 
 
 " Uriah Heep," said Mr. Wickfield, in a monotonous forced 
 way, " is active in the business, Trotwood. What he says, 
 I quite concur in. You know I had an old interest in you. 
 Apart from that, what Uriah says I quite concur in ! " 
 
 " Oh, what a reward it is," said Uriah, drawing up one leg, 
 at the risk of bringing down upon himself another visitation 
 from my aunt, " to be so trusted in ! But I hope I am able to 
 do something to relieve him from the fatigues of business, 
 Master Copperfield ! " 
 
 " Uriah Heep is a great relief to me," said Mr. Wickfield, 
 in the same dull voice. " It's a load off my mind, Trotwood, 
 to have such a partner." 
 
 The red fox made him say all this, I knew, to exhibit him 
 to me in the light he had indicated on the night when he 
 poisoned my rest. I saw the same ill-favored smile upon his 
 face again, and saw how he watched me. 
 
 " You are not going, papa ? " said Agnes, anxiously. " Will 
 you not walk back with Trotwood and me ? " 
 
 He would have looked to Uriah, I believe, before replying, 
 if that worthy had not anticipated him. 
 
 "I am bespoke myself," said Uriah, "on business; other- 
 wise I should have been appy to have kept with my friends. 
 But I leave my partner to represent the firm. Miss Agnes, 
 ever yours ! I wish you good day, Master Copperfield, and 
 leave my umble respects for Miss Betsey Trotwood." 
 
 With those words, he retired, kissing his great hand, and 
 leering at us like a mask. 
 
 We sat there, talking about our pleasant old Canterbury 
 days, an hour or two. Mr. Wickfield, left to Agnes, soon 
 became more like his former self ; though there was a settled 
 depression upon him, which he never shook off. For all that, 
 he brightened; and had an evident pleasure in hearing us 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 89 
 
 recall the little incidents of our old life, many of which he 
 remembered very well. He said it was like those times, to be 
 alone with Agnes and me again; and he wished to Heaven 
 they had never changed. I am sure there was an influence in 
 the placid face of Agnes, and in the very touch of her hand 
 upon his arm, that did wonders for him. 
 
 My aunt (who was busy nearly all this while with Peggotty, 
 in the inner room), would not accompany us to the place 
 where they were staying, but insisted on my going ; and I 
 went. We dined together. After dinner, Agnes sat beside 
 him, as of old, and poured out his wine. He took what she 
 gave him, and no more like a child and we all three sat 
 together at a window as the evening gathered in. When it 
 was almost dark, he lay down on a sofa, Agnes pillowing his 
 head and bending over him a little while ; and when she came 
 back to the window, it was not so dark but I could see tears 
 glittering in her eyes. 
 
 I pray Heaven that I never may forget the dear girl in her 
 love and truth, at that time of my life ; for if I should, I must 
 be drawing near the end, and then I would desire to remember 
 her best ! She filled my heart with such good resolutions, 
 strengthened my weakness so, by her example, so directed I 
 know not how, she was too modest and gentle to advise me in 
 many words the wandering ardor and unsettled purpose 
 within me, that all the little good I tave done, and all the 
 harm I have forborne, I solemnly believe I may refer to her. 
 
 And how she spoke to me of Dora, sitting at the window in 
 the dark ; listened to my praises of her ; praised again ; and 
 round the little fairy-figure shed some glimpses of her own 
 pure light, that made it yet more precious and more innocent 
 to me ! Oh, Agnes, sister of my boyhood, if I had known then, 
 what I knew long afterwards ! 
 
 There was a beggar in the street, when I went down ; and 
 as I turned my head towards the window, thinking of her calm, 
 seraphic eyes, he made me start by muttering, as if he were an 
 echo of the morning : 
 
 "Blind! Blind! Blind 1" 
 
90 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 ENTHUSIASM. 
 
 I BEGAN the next day with another dive into the Roman 
 bath, and then started for Highgate. I was not dispirited now. 
 I was not afraid of the shabby coat, and had no yearnings after 
 gallant grays. My whole manner of thinking of our late mis- 
 fortune was changed. What I had to do, was, to show my 
 aunt that her past goodness to me had not been thrown away 
 on an insensible, ungrateful object. What I had to do, was, 
 to turn the painful discipline of my younger days to account, 
 by going to work with a resolute and steady heart. What I 
 had to do, was, to take my woodman's axe in my hand, and 
 clear my own way through the forest of difficulty, by cutting 
 down the trees until I came to Dora. And I went on at a 
 mighty rate, as if it could be done by walking. 
 
 When I found myself on the familiar Highgate road, pursu- 
 ing such a different errand from that old one of pleasure, with 
 which it was associated, it seemed as if a complete change had 
 come on my whole life. But that did not discourage me. 
 With the new life, came new purpose, new intention. Great 
 was the labor; priceless the reward. Dora was the reward, 
 and Dora must be won. 
 
 I got into such a transport, that I felt quite sorry my coat 
 was not a little shabby already. I wanted to be cutting at 
 those trees in the forest of difficulty, under circumstances that 
 should prove my strength. I had a good mind to ask an old 
 man, in wire spectacles, who was breaking stones upon the road, 
 to lend me his hammer for a little while, and let me begin to 
 beat a path to Dora out of granite. I stimulated myself into 
 such a heat, and got so out of breath, that I felt as if I had 
 been earning I don't know how much. In this state, I went 
 into a cottage that I saw was to let, and examined it narrowly, 
 for I felt it necessary to be practical. It would . do for me 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 91 
 
 
 
 and Dora admirably : with a little front garden for Jip to run 
 about in, and bark at the tradespeople through the railings, 
 and a capital room up stairs for my aunt. I came out again, 
 hotter and faster than ever, and dashed up to Highgate, at such a 
 rate that I was there an hour too early ; and, though I had not 
 been, should have been obliged to stroll about to cool myself, 
 before I was at all presentable. 
 
 My first care, after putting myself under this necessary 
 course of preparation, was to find the Doctor's house. It was 
 not in that part of Highgate where Mrs. Steerforth lived, but 
 quite on the opposite side of the little town. When I had 
 made this discovery, I went back, in an attraction I could not 
 resist, to a lane by Mrs. Steerforth's, and looked ver a corner 
 of the garden Avail. His room was shut up close. The con- 
 servatory doors were standing open, and Rosa Dartle was 
 walking, bareheaded, with a quick impetuous step, up and 
 down a gravel walk on one side of the lawn. She gave me 
 the idea of some fierce thing, that was dragging the length 
 of its chain to and fro upon a beaten track, and wearing its 
 heart out. 
 
 I came softly away from my place of observation, -and avoid- 
 ing that part of the neighborhood, and wishing I had not gone 
 near it, strolled about until it was ten o'clock. The church 
 with the slender spire, that stands on the top of the hill now, 
 was not there then to tell me the time. An old red-brick 
 mansion, used as a school, was in its place ; and a fine old 
 house it must have been to go to school at, as I recollect it. 
 
 When I approached the Doctor's cottage a pretty old 
 place, on which he seemed to have expended some money, if I 
 might judge from the embellishments and repairs that had the 
 look of being just completed I saw him walking in the 
 garden at the side, gaiters and all, as if he had never left off 
 walking since the days of my pupilage. He had his old com- 
 panions about him, too ; for there were plenty of high trees in 
 the neighborhood, and two or three rooks were on the grass, 
 looking after him, as if they had been written to about him 
 by the Canterbury rooks,, and were observing him closely in 
 consequence. 
 
 Knowing the utter hopelessness of attracting his attention 
 
92 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 
 
 from that distance, I made bold to open the gate, and walk 
 after him, so as to meet him when he should turn round. When 
 he did, and came towards me, he looked at me thoughtfully 
 for a few moments, evidently without thinking about me at 
 all ; and then his benevolent face expressed extraordinary pleas- 
 ure, and he took me by both hands. 
 
 " Why, my dear Copperfield," said the Doctor ; " you are a 
 man ! How do you do ? I am delighted to see you. My dear 
 Copperfield, how very much you have improved ! You are 
 quite yes dear me ! " 
 
 I hoped he was well, and Mrs. Strong too. 
 
 " Oh dear, yes ! " said the Doctor, " Annie's quite well, and 
 she'll be delighted to see you. You were always her favorite. 
 She said so, last night, when I showed her your letter. And 
 yes to be sure you recollect Mr. Jack Maldon, Copper- 
 field ? " 
 
 "Perfectly, sir." 
 
 " Of course," said the Doctor. " To be sure. He's pretty 
 well, too." 
 
 " Has he come home, sir ? " I inquired. 
 
 " From India ? " said the Doctor. " Yes. Mr. Jack Mal- 
 don couldn't bear the climate, my dear. Mrs. Markleham 
 you have not forgotten Mrs. Markleham ? " 
 
 Forgotten the Old Soldier ! And in that short time ! 
 
 "Mrs. Markleham," said the Doctor, "was quite vexed about 
 him, poor thing ; so we have got him at home again ; and we 
 have bought him a little Patent place, which agrees with him 
 much better." 
 
 I knew enough of Mr. Jack Maldon to suspect from this 
 account that it was a place where there was not much to do, 
 and which was pretty well paid. The Doctor, walking up and 
 down with his hand on my shoulder, and his kind face turned 
 encouragingly to mine, went on : 
 
 " Now, my dear Copperfield, in reference to this proposal of 
 yours. It's very gratifying and agreeable to me, I am sure ; 
 but don't you think you could do better. You achieved dis- 
 tinction, you know, when you were with us. You are qualified 
 for many good things. You have laid a foundation that any 
 edifice may be raised upon ; and is it not a pity that you 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 93 
 
 should devote the springtime of your life to such a poor pur- 
 suit as I can offer ? " 
 
 I became very glowing again, and, expressing myself in a 
 rhapsodical style, I am afraid, urged my request strongly ; 
 reminding the Doctor that I had already a profession. 
 
 " Well, well," returned the Doctor, " that's true. Certainly, 
 your having a profession, and being actually engaged in study- 
 ing it, makes a difference. But, my good young friend, what's 
 seventy pounds a-year ? " 
 
 " It doubles our income, Doctor Strong," said I. 
 
 " Dear me ! " replied the Doctor. " To think of that ! Not 
 that I mean to say it's rigidly limited to seventy pounds a-year, 
 because I have always contemplated making any young friend 
 I might thus employ, a present too. Undoubtedly," said the 
 Doctor, still walking me up and down with his hand on my 
 shoulder. " I have always taken an annual present into 
 account." 
 
 "My dear tutor," said I (now, really, without any non- 
 sense), " to whom I owe more obligations already than I ever 
 can acknowledge " 
 
 " No, no," interposed the Doctor. " Pardon me ! " 
 
 " If you will take such time as I have, and that is my morn- 
 ings and evenings, and can think it worth seventy pounds 
 a-year, you will do me such a service as I cannot express." 
 
 " Dear me ! " said the Doctor, innocently. " To think that 
 so little should go for so much ! Dear, dear ! And when you 
 can do better, you will ? On your word, now ? " said the 
 Doctor, which he had always made a very grave appeal to 
 the honor of us boys. 
 
 " On my word, sir ! " I returned, answering in our old school 
 manner. 
 
 " Then be it so," said the Doctor, clapping me on the shoul- 
 der, and still keeping his hand there, as we still walked up and 
 down. 
 
 " And I shall be twenty times happier, sir," said I, with a 
 little I hope innocent flattery, " if my employment is to 
 be on the Dictionary." 
 
 The Doctor stopped, smilingly clapped me on the shoulder 
 again, and exclaimed, with a triumph most delightful to behold, 
 
94 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 as if I had penetrated to the profoundest depths of mortal 
 sagacity, " My dear young friend, you have hit it. It is the 
 Dictionary ! " 
 
 How could it be anything else ! His pockets were as full 
 of it as his head. It was sticking out of him in all directions. 
 He told me that since his retirement from scholastic life, he 
 had been advancing with it wonderfully ; and that nothing 
 could suit him better than the proposed arrangements for 
 morning and evening work, as it was his custom to walk about 
 in the day-time with his considering cap on. His papers were 
 in a little confusion, in consequence of Mr. Jack Maldon hav- 
 ing lately proffered his occasional services as an amanuensis, 
 and not being accustomed to that occupation ; but we should 
 soon put right what was amiss, and go on swimmingly. After- 
 wards, when we were fairly at our work, I found Mr. Jack 
 Maldon' s efforts more troublesome to me than I had expected, 
 as he had not confined himself to making numerous mistakes, 
 but had sketched so many soldiers, and ladies' heads, over the 
 Doctor's manuscript, that I often became involved in laby- 
 rinths of obscurity. 
 
 The Doctor was quite happy in the prospect of our going to 
 work together on that wonderful performance, and we settled 
 to begin next morning at seven o'clock. We were to work two 
 hours every morning, and two or three hours every night, 
 except on Saturdays, when I was to rest. On Sundays, of 
 course, I was to rest also, and I considered these very easy 
 terms. 
 
 Our plans being thus arranged to our mutual satisfaction, 
 the Doctor took me into the house to present me to Mrs. 
 Strong, whom we found in the Doctor's new study, dusting 
 his books, a freedom which he never permitted anybody 
 else to take with those sacred favorites. 
 
 They had postponed their breakfast on my account, and we 
 sat down to table together. We had not been seated long, 
 when I saw an approaching arrival in Mrs. Strong's face, 
 before I heard any sound of it. A gentleman on horseback 
 came to the gate, and leading his horse into the little court, 
 with the bridle over his arm, as if he were quite at home, tied 
 him to a ring in the empty coach-house wall, and came into 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 95 
 
 the breakfast parlor, whip in hand. It was Mr. Jack Maldon ; 
 and Mr. Jack Maldon was not at all improved by India, I 
 thought. I was in a state of ferocious virtue, however, as to 
 young men who were not cutting down the trees in the forest 
 of difficulty ; and my impression must be received with du< 
 allowance. 
 
 " Mr. Jack ! " said the Doctor. " Copperfield ! " 
 
 Mr. Jack Maldon shook hands with me ; but not ver^ 
 warmly, I believed ; and with an air of languid patronage, at 
 which I secretly took great umbrage. But his languor alto- 
 gether was quite a wonderful sight j except when he addressed 
 himself to his cousin Annie. 
 
 "Have you breakfasted this morning, Mr. Jack ? " said the 
 Doctor. 
 
 " I hardly ever take breakfast, sir," he replied, with his 
 head thrown back in an easy chair. " I find it bores me." 
 
 " Is there any news to-day ? " inquired the Doctor. 
 
 "Nothing at all, sir," replied Mr. Maldon. "There's an 
 account about the people being hungry and discontented down 
 in the North, but they are always being hungry and dis- 
 contented somewhere." 
 
 The Doctor looked grave, and said, as though he wished to 
 change the subject, " Then there's no news at all ; and no 
 news, they say, is good ne'ws." 
 
 " There's a long statement in the papers, sir, about a mur- 
 der," observed Mr. Maldon. " But somebody is always being 
 murdered, arid I didn't read it." 
 
 A display of indifference to all the actions and passions of 
 mankind was not supposed to be such a distinguished quality 
 at that time, I think, as I have observed it to be considered 
 since. I have known it very fashionable indeed. I have seen 
 it displayed with such success, that I have encountered some 
 fine ladies and gentlemen who might as well have been born 
 caterpillars. Perhaps it impressed me the more then, because 
 it was new to me, but it certainly did not tend to exalt my 
 opinion of, or to strengthen my confidence in, Mr. Jack 
 Maldon. 
 
 " I came out to inquire whether Annie would like to go to 
 the opera to-night," said Mr. Maldon, turning to her. "It's 
 
96 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 the last good night there will be, this season ; and there's a 
 singer there, whom she really ought to hear. She is perfectly 
 exquisite. Besides which, she is so charmingly ugly," relaps- 
 ing into languor. 
 
 The Doctor, ever pleased with what was likely to please his 
 young wife, turned to her and said : 
 
 " You must go, Annie. You must go." 
 
 "I would rather not," she said to the Doctor. "I prefer 
 to remain at home. I would much rather remain at home." 
 
 Without looking at her cousin, she then addressed me, and 
 asked me about Agnes, and whether she should see her, and 
 whether she was not likely to come that day ; and was so 
 much disturbed, that I wondered how even the Doctor, butter- 
 ing his toast, could be blind to what was so obvious. 
 
 But he saw nothing. He told her, good-naturedly, that she 
 was young and ought to be amused and entertained, and must 
 not allow herself to be made dull by a dull old fellow. More- 
 over, he said, he wanted to hear her sing all the new singer's 
 songs to him ; and how could she do that well, unless she 
 went ? So the Doctor persisted in making the engagement 
 for her, and Mr. Jack Maldon was to come back to dinner. 
 This concluded, he went to his Patent place, I suppose ; but 
 at all events went away on his horse, looking very idle. 
 
 I was curious to find out next morning, whether she had 
 been. She had not, but had sent into London to put her 
 cousin off ; and had gone out in the afternoon to see Agnes, 
 and had prevailed upon the Doctor to go with her ; and they had 
 walked home by the fields, the Doctor told me, the evening 
 being delightful. I wondered then, whether she would have 
 gone if Agnes had not been in town, and whether Agnes had 
 some good influence over her too ! 
 
 She did not look very happy, I thought, but it was a good 
 face, or a very false one. I often glanced at it, for she sat in 
 the window all the time we were at work; and made our 
 breakfast, which we took by snatches as we were employed. 
 When I left, at nine o'clock, she was kneeling on the ground 
 at the Doctor's feet, putting on his shoes and gaiters for him. 
 There was a softened shade upon her face, thrown from some 
 green leaves overhanging the open window of the low room ; 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 97 
 
 and I thought all the way to Doctors' Commons, of the night 
 when I had seen it looking at him as he read. 
 
 I was pretty busy now ; up at five in the morning, and 
 home at nine or ten at night. But I had infinite satisfaction 
 in being so closely engaged, and never walked slowly on any 
 account, and felt enthusiastically that the more I tired myself, 
 the more I was doing to deserve Dora. I had not revealed 
 myself in my altered character to Dora yet, because she was 
 coming to see Miss Mills in a few days, and I deferred all I 
 had to tell her until then ; merely informing her in my letters 
 (all our communications were secretly forwarded through Miss 
 Mills), that I had much to tell her. In the meantime, I put 
 myself on a short allowance of bear's grease, wholly abandoned 
 scented soap and lavender water, and sold off three waistcoats 
 at a prodigious sacrifice, as being too luxurious for my stern 
 career. 
 
 Not satisfied with all these proceedings, but burning with 
 impatience to do something more, I went to see Traddles, now 
 lodging up behind the parapet of a house in Castle Street, 
 Holborn. Mr. Dick, who had been with me to Highgate twice 
 already, and had resumed his companionship with the Doctor, 
 I took with me. 
 
 I took Mr. Dick with me, because, acutely sensitive to my 
 aunt's reverses, and sincerely believing that no galley-slave or 
 convict worked as I did, he had begun to fret and worry him- 
 self out of spirits and appetite, as having nothing useful to 
 do. In this condition, he felt more incapable of finishing the 
 Memorial than ever ; and the harder he worked at it, the 
 oftener that unlucky head of King Charles the First got into 
 it. Seriously apprehending that his malady would increase, 
 unless we put some innocent deception upon him and caused 
 him to believe that he was useful, or unless we could put him 
 in the way of being really useful (which would be better), I 
 made up my mind to try if Traddles could help us. Before we 
 went, I wrote Traddles a full statement of all that had hap- 
 pened, and Traddles wrote me back a capital answer, expressive 
 of his sympathy and friendship. 
 
 We found him hard at work with his inkstand and papers, 
 refreshed by the sight of the flowerpot-stand and the little 
 
 VOL. II 7 
 
98 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 round table in a corner of the small apartment. He received 
 us cordially, and made friends with Mr. Dick in a moment. 
 Mr. Dick professed an absolute certainty of having seen him 
 before, and we both said, " Very likely." 
 
 The first subject on which I had to consult Traddles was 
 this. I had heard that many men distinguished in various 
 pursuits had begun life by reporting the debates in Parlia- 
 ment. Traddles having mentioned newspapers to me, as one 
 of his hopes, I had put the two things together, and told 
 Traddles in my letter that I wished to know how I could 
 qualify myself for this pursuit. Traddles now informed me, 
 as the result of his inquiries, that the mere mechanical acqui- 
 sition necessary, except in rare cases, for thorough excellence 
 in it, that is to say, a perfect and entire command of the 
 mystery of short-hand writing and reading, was about equal 
 in difficulty to the mastery of six languages ; and that it might 
 perhaps be attained, by dint of perseverance, in the course of 
 a few years. Traddles reasonably supposed that this would 
 settle the business ; but I, only feeling that here indeed were 
 a few tall trees to be hewn down, immediately resolved to 
 work my way on to Dora through this thicket, axe in hand. 
 
 " I am very much obliged to you, my dear Traddles ! " said 
 I. " I'll begin to-morrow." 
 
 Traddles looked astonished, as he well might ; but he had 
 no notion as yet of my rapturous condition. 
 
 " I'll buy a book," said I, " with a good scheme of this art 
 in it ; I'll work at it at the Commons, where I haven't half 
 enough to do ; I'll take down the speeches in our court for 
 practice Traddles, my dear fellow, I'll master it ! " 
 
 " Dear me," said Traddles, opening his eyes, " I had no idea 
 you were such a determined character, Copperfield ! " 
 
 I don't know how he should have had, for it was new enough 
 to me. I passed that off, and brought Mr. Dick on the carpet. 
 
 "You see," said Mr. Dick, wistfully, "if I could exert 
 myself, Mr. Traddles if I could beat a drum or blow any- 
 thing ! " 
 
 Poor fellow ! I have little doubt he would have preferred 
 such an employment in his heart to all others. Traddles, who 
 would not have smiled for the world, replied composedly : 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 99 
 
 "But you are a very good penman, sir. You told me so, 
 Cbpperfield ? " 
 
 " Excellent ! " said I. And indeed lie was. He wrote with 
 extraordinary neatness. 
 
 " Don't you think," said Traddles, "you could copy writings, 
 sir, if I got them for you ? " 
 
 Mr. Dick looked doubtfully at me. " Eh, Trotwood ? " 
 
 I shook my head. Mr. Dick shook his, and sighed. " Tell 
 him about the Memorial," said Mr. Dick. 
 
 I explained to Traddles that there was a difficulty in keep- 
 ing King Charles the First out of Mr. Dick's manuscripts ; Mr. 
 Dick in the meanwhile looking very deferentially and seriously 
 at Traddles, and sucking his thumb. 
 
 " But these writings, you know, that I speak of, are already 
 drawn up and finished," said Traddles after a little considera- 
 tion. "Mr. Dick has nothing to do with them. Wouldn't 
 that make a difference, Copperfield ? At all events wouldn't 
 it be well to try ? " 
 
 This gave us new hope. Traddles and T laying our heads 
 together apart, while Mr. Dick anxiously watched us from his 
 chair, we concocted a scheme in virtue of which we got him 
 to work next day, with triumphant success. 
 
 On a table by the window in Buckingham Street, we set out 
 the work Traddles procured for him which was to make, I 
 forget how many copies of a legal document about some right 
 of way and on another table we spread the last unfinished 
 original of the great Memorial. Our instructions to Mr. Dick 
 were that he should copy exactly what he had before him, 
 without the least departure from the original ; and that when 
 he felt it necessary to make the slightest allusion to King 
 Charles the First, he should fly to the Memorial. We exhorted 
 him to be resolute in this, and left my aunt to observe him. 
 My aunt reported to us, afterwards, that, at first, he was like 
 a man playing the kettle-drums, and constantly divided his 
 attentions between the two ; but that, finding this confuse 
 and fatigue him, . and having his copy there, plainly be- 
 fore his eyes, he soon sat at it in an orderly, business-like 
 manner, and postponed the Memorial to a more convenient 
 time. In a word, although we took great care that he should 
 
100 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 have no more to do than was good for him, and although he 
 did not begin with the beginning of a week, he earned by the 
 following Saturday night ten shillings and nine pence ; and 
 never, while I live, shall I forget his going about to all the 
 shops in the neighborhood to change this treasure into six- 
 pences, or his bringing them to my aunt arranged in the form 
 of a heart upon a waiter, with tears of joy and pride in his 
 eyes. He was like one under the propitious influence of a 
 charm, from the moment of his being usefully employed ; and 
 if there were a happy man in the world, that Saturday night, 
 it was the grateful creature who thought my aunt the most 
 wonderful woman in existence, and me the most wonderful 
 young man. 
 
 " No starving now, Trotwood," said Mr. Dick, shaking 
 hands with me in a corner. " I'll provide for her, sir ! " and he 
 flourished his ten fingers in the air, as if they were ten banks. 
 
 I hardly know which was the better pleased, Traddles or I. 
 
 " It really," said Traddles, suddenly, taking a letter out of 
 his pocket, and giving it to me, " put Mr. Micawber quite out 
 of my head ! " 
 
 The letter (Mr. Micawber never missed any possible oppor- 
 tunity of writing a letter) was addressed to me "By the kind- 
 ness of T. Traddles, Esquire, of the Inner Temple." It ran 
 thus : 
 
 "MY DEAR COPPERFIELD, 
 
 " You may possibly not be unprepared to receive the 
 intimation that something has turned up. I may have men- 
 tioned to you on a former occasion that I was in expectation 
 of such an event. 
 
 "I am about to establish myself in one of the provincial 
 towns of our favored island, (where the society may be de- 
 scribed as a happy admixture of the agricultural and the 
 clerical), in immediate connection with one of the learned 
 professions. Mrs. Micawber and our offspring will accompany 
 me. Our ashes, at a future period, will probably be found 
 commingled in the cemetery attached to a venerable pile, for 
 which the spot to which I refer, has acquired a reputation, 
 shall I say from China to Peru ? 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 101 
 
 " In bidding adieu to the modern Babylon, where we have 
 undergone many vicissitudes, I trust not ignobly, Mrs. Micaw- 
 ber and myself cannot disguise from our minds that we part, 
 it may be for years and it may be for ever, with an individual 
 linked by strong associations to the altar of our domestic life. 
 If, on the eve of such a departure, you will accompany our 
 mutual friend, Mr. Thomas Traddles, to our present abode, 
 and there reciprocate the wishes natural to the occasion, you 
 will confer a Boon 
 
 "On 
 "One 
 "Who 
 "Is 
 " Ever yours, 
 
 "WlLKINS MlCAWBER." 
 
 I was glad to find that Mr. Micawber had got rid of his dust 
 and ashes, and that something really had turned up at last. 
 Learning from Traddles that the invitation referred to the 
 evening then wearing away, I expressed my readiness to do 
 honor to it ; and we went off together to the lodging which 
 Mr. Micawber occupied as Mr. Mortimer, and which was situ- 
 ated near the top of the Gray's Inn Road. 
 
 The resources of this lodging were so limited, that we found 
 the twins, now some eight or nine years old, reposing in a 
 turn-up bedstead in the family sitting-room, where Mr. Micaw- 
 ber had prepared, in a wash-hand-stand jug, what he called a 
 " Brew " of the agreeable beverage for which he was famous. 
 I had the pleasure, on this occasion, of renewing the acquaint- 
 ance of Master Micawber, whom I found a promising boy of 
 about twelve or thirteen, very subject to that restlessness of 
 limb which is not an unfrequent phenomenon in youths of 
 his age. I also became once more known to his sister, Miss 
 Micawber, in whom, as Mr. Micawber told us, "her mother 
 renewed her youth, like the Phoenix." 
 
 "My dear Copperfield," said Mr. Micawber, "yourself and 
 Mr. Traddles find us on the brink of migration, and will ex- 
 cuse any little discomforts incidental to that position." 
 
 Glancing round as I made a suitable reply, I observed that 
 
102 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 the family effects were already packed, and that the amount 
 of luggage was by no means overwhelming. I congratulated 
 Mrs. Micawber on the approaching change. 
 
 "My dear Mr. Copperfield," said Mrs. Micawber, "of your 
 friendly interest in all our affairs, I am well assured. My 
 family may consider it banishment, if they please ; but I am a 
 wife and mother, and I never will desert Mr. Micawber." 
 
 Traddles appealed to, by Mrs. Micawber's eye, feelingly 
 acquiesced. 
 
 " That," said Mrs. Micawber, " that, at least, is my view, 
 my dear Mr. Copperfield and Mr. Traddles, of the obligation 
 which I took upon myself when I repeated the irrevocable 
 words, 'I, Emma, take thee, Wilkins.' I read the service 
 over with a flat candle on the previous night, and the conclu- 
 sion I derived from it was, that I never could desert Mr. 
 Micawber. And," said Mrs. Micawber, " though it is possible 
 I may be mistaken in my view of the ceremony, I never will ! " 
 
 "My dear," said Mr. Micawber a little impatiently, "I am 
 not conscious that you are expected to do anything of the sort." 
 
 " I am aware, my dear Mr. Copperfield," pursued Mrs. Mi- 
 cawber, " that I am now about to cast my lot among strangers ; 
 and I am also aware that the various members of my family, 
 to whom Mr. Micawber has written in the most gentlemanly 
 terms, announcing that fact, have not taken the least notice of 
 Mr. Micawber's communication. Indeed I may be super- 
 stitious," said Mrs. Micawber, " but it appears to me that 
 Mr. Micawber is destined never to receive any answers what- 
 ever to the great majority of the communications he writes. 
 I may augur from the silence of my family, that they object 
 to the resolution I have taken ; but I should not allow myself 
 to be swerved from the path of duty, Mr. Copperfield, even by 
 my papa and mamma, were they still living." 
 
 I expressed my opinion that this was going in the right 
 direction. 
 
 " It may be a sacrifice," said Mrs. Micawber, " to immure 
 one's self in a Cathedral town; but surely, Mr. Copperfield, if 
 it is a sacrifice in me, it is much more a sacrifice in a man of 
 Mr. Micawber's abilities." 
 
 " Oh ! You are going to a Cathedral town ? " said I. 
 
OF DAVID VOPPERFIELD. 103 
 
 Mr. Micawber, who had been helping us all, out of the wash- 
 hand-stand jug, replied : 
 
 "To Canterbury. In fact, my dear Copperfield, I have 
 entered into arrangements, by virtue of which I stand pledged 
 and contracted to our friend Heep, to assist and serve him in 
 the capacity of and to be his confidential clerk." 
 
 I stared at Mr. Micawber, who greatly enjoyed my surprise. 
 
 " I am bound to state to you," he said, with an official air, 
 "that the business habits, and the prudent suggestions, of 
 Mrs. Micawber, have in a great measure conduced to this 
 result. The gauntlet, to which Mrs. Micawber referred upon 
 a former occasion, being thrown down in the form of an ad- 
 vertisement, was taken up by my friend Heep, and led to a 
 mutual recognition. Of my friend Heep," said Mr. Micawber, 
 " who is a man of remarkable shrewdness, I desire to speak 
 with all possible respect. My friend Heep has not fixed the 
 positive remuneration at too high a figure, but he has made a 
 great deal, in the way of extrication from the pressure of 
 pecuniary difficulties, contingent on the value of my services ; 
 and on the value of those services, I pin my faith. Such 
 address and intelligence as I chance to possess," said Mr. 
 Micawber, boastfully disparaging himself, with the old genteel 
 air, "will be devoted to my friend Heep's service. I have 
 already some acquaintance with the law as a defendant on 
 civil process and I shall immediately apply myself to the 
 Commentaries of one of the most eminent and remarkable of 
 our English Jurists. I believe it is unnecessary to add that I 
 allude to Mr. Justice Blackstone." 
 
 These observations, and indeed the greater part of the obser- 
 vations made that evening, were interrupted by Mrs. Micawber's 
 discovering -that Master Micawber was sitting on his boots, or 
 holding his head on with both arms as if he felt it loose, or 
 accidently kicking Traddles under the table, or shuffling his 
 feet over one another, or producing them at distances from 
 himself apparently outrageous to nature, or lying sideways 
 with his hair among the wine-glasses, or developing his rest- 
 lessness of limb in some other form incompatible with the 
 general interests of society ; and by Master Micawber's re- 
 ceiving those discoveries in a resentful spirit. I sat all the 
 
104 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 while, amazed by Mr. Micawber's disclosure, and wondering 
 what it meant ; until Mrs. Micawber resumed the thread of 
 the discourse, and claimed my attention. 
 
 " What I particularly request Mr. Micawber to be careful 
 of, is," said Mrs. Micawber, "that he does not, my dear Mr. 
 Copperfield, in applying himself to this subordinate branch of 
 the law, place it out of his power to rise, ultimately, to the 
 top of the tree. I am convinced that Mr. Micawber, giving 
 his mind to a profession so adapted to his fertile resources, 
 and his flow of language, must distinguish himself. ^N"ow, for 
 example, Mr. Traddles," said Mrs. Micawber, assuming a pro- 
 found air, " a Judge, or even say a Chancellor. Does an indi- 
 vidual place himself beyond the pale of those preferments by 
 entering on such an office as Mr. Micawber has accepted ? " 
 
 "My dear," observed Mr. Micawber but glancing inquisi- 
 tively at Traddles, too ; " we have time enough before us, for 
 the consideration of those questions." 
 
 " Micawber," she returned, " no ! Your mistake in life is, 
 that you do not look forward far enough. You are bound in 
 justice to your family, if not to yourself, to take in at a com- 
 prehensive glance the extreinest point in the horizon to which 
 your abilities may lead you." 
 
 Mr. Micawber coughed, and drank his punch with an air of 
 exceeding satisfaction still glancing at Traddles, as if he 
 desired to have his opinion. 
 
 " Why, the plain state of the case, Mrs. Micawber," said 
 Traddles, mildly breaking the truth to her, " I mean the real 
 prosaic fact, you know " 
 
 "Just so," said Mrs. Micawber, "my dear Mr. Traddles, I 
 Avish to be as prosaic and literal as possible on a subject of so 
 much importance." 
 
 " Is," said Traddles, "that this branch of the law, even 
 if Mr. Micawber were a regular solicitor " 
 
 "Exactly so," returned Mrs. Micawber. ("Wilkius, you 
 are squinting, and will not be able to get your eyes back.' ; ) 
 
 " Has nothing," pursued Traddles, "to do with that. 
 Only a barrister is eligible for such preferments ; and Mr. 
 Micawber could not be a barrister, without being entered at an 
 inn of court as a student, for five years." 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 105 
 
 "Do I follow you?" said Mrs. Micawber, with her most 
 affable air of business. " Do I understand, my dear Mr. 
 Traddles, that, at the expiration of that period, Mr. Micawber 
 would be eligible as a Judge or Chancellor ? " 
 
 "He would be eligible," returned Traddles, with a strong 
 emphasis on that word. 
 
 " Thank you," said Mrs. Micawber. " That is quite suffi- 
 cient. If such is the case, and Mr. Micawber forfeits no privi- 
 lege by entering on these duties, my anxiety is set at rest. I 
 speak," said Mrs. Micawber, " as a female, necessarily ; but I 
 have always been of opinion that Mr. Micawber possesses what 
 I have heard my papa call, when I lived at home, the judicial 
 mind ; and I hope Mr. Micawber is now entering on a field 
 where that mind will develop itself, and take a commanding 
 station." 
 
 I quite believe that Mr. Micawber saw himself, in his judi- 
 cial mind's eye, on the woolsack. He passed his hand com- 
 placently over his bald head, and said with ostentatious 
 resignation : 
 
 " My dear, we will not anticipate the decrees of fortune. If 
 I am reserved to wear a wig, I am at least prepared, externally," 
 in allusion to his baldness, " for that distinction. I do not," 
 said Mr. Micawber, " regret my hair, and I may have been 
 deprived of it for a specific purpose. I cannot say. It is my 
 intention, my dear Copperfield, to educate my son for the 
 Church ; I will not deny that I should be happy, on his 
 account, to attain to eminence." 
 
 " For the Church ? " said I, still pondering between whiles, 
 on Uriah Heep. 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Micawber. "He has a remarkable head- 
 voice, and will commence as a chorister. Our residence at 
 Canterbury, and our local connection, will, no doubt, enable 
 him to take advantage of any vacancy that may arise in the 
 Cathedral corps." 
 
 On looking at Master Micawber again, I saw that he had a 
 certain expression of face, as if his voice were behind his eye- 
 brows ; where it presently appeared to be, on his singing us 
 (as an alternative between that and bed), "The Wood-Pecker 
 tapping." After many compliments on this performance, we 
 
106 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPEDIENCE 
 
 fell into some general conversation j and as I was too full of 
 my desperate intentions to keep my altered circumstances to 
 myself, I made them known to Mr. and Mrs. Micawber. I 
 cannot express how extremely delighted they both were, by 
 the idea of my aunt's being in difficulties j and how comfort- 
 able and friendly it made them. 
 
 When we were nearly come to the last round of the punch, 
 I addressed myself to Traddles, and reminded him that we 
 must not separate, without wishing our friends health, happi- 
 ness, and success in their new career. I begged Mr. Micawber 
 to fill us bumpers, and proposed the toast in due form : shak- 
 ing hands with him across the table, and kissing Mrs. Micaw- 
 ber, to commemorate that eventful occasion. Traddles imi- 
 tated me in the first particular, but did not consider himself a 
 sufficiently old friend to venture on the second. 
 
 "My dear Copperfield," said Mr. Micawber, rising with one 
 of his thumbs in each of his waistcoat pockets, "the companion 
 of my youth: if I may be allowed the expression and my 
 esteemed friend Traddles : if I may be permitted to call him so 
 will allow me, on the part of Mrs. Micawber, myself, and 
 our offspring, to thank them in the warmest and most uncom- 
 promising terms for their good wishes. It may be expected 
 that on the eve of a migration which will consign us to a per- 
 fectly new existence," Mr. Micawber spoke as if they were 
 going five hundred thousand miles, " I should offer a few" vale- 
 dictory remarks to two such friends as I see before me. But all 
 that I have to say in this wa} 7 , I have said. Whatever station 
 in society I may attain, through the medium of the learned 
 profession of which I am about to become an unworthy mem- 
 ber, I shall endeavor not to disgrace, and Mrs. Micawber will 
 be safe to adorn. Under the temporary pressure of pecuniary 
 liabilities, contracted with a view to their immediate liquida- 
 tion, but remaining unliquidated through a combination of 
 circumstances, I have been under the necessity of assuming a 
 garb from which my natural instincts recoil I allude to 
 spectacles and possessing myself of a cognomen, to which I 
 c:in establish no legitimate pretensions. 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 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 107 
 
 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 with much solemnity : 
 
 "One thing more I have to do, before this separation is 
 complete, and that is to perform an act of justice. My friend 
 Mr. Thomas Traddles has, on two several occasions, 'put his 
 name/ if I may use a common 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 obligation," here Mr. Micawber carefully referred to 
 papers, "was, I believe, twenty-three, four, nine and a half; 
 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 favor 
 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 accomplishes the desired object. I beg to 
 hand to my friend Mr. Thomas Traddles my I. 0. U. 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. 0. U. in the hands of Traddles, and 
 said he wished him well in every relation of life. I am per- 
 suaded, 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 walked so erect before his fellow man, on the 
 strength of this virtuous action, that his chest looked half as 
 
108 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 broad again when he lighted us down stairs. We parted with 
 great heartiness on both sides ; and when I had seen Traddles 
 to his own door, and was going home alone, I thought, among 
 the other odd and contradictory things I mused upon, that, 
 slippery as Mr. Micawber was, I was probably indebted to 
 some compassionate recollection he retained of me as his boy- 
 lodger, for never having been asked by him for money. I 
 certainly should not have had the moral courage to refuse it ; 
 and I have no doubt he knew that (to his credit be it written), 
 quite as well as I did. 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 109 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A LITTLE COLD WATEB. 
 
 MY new life had lasted for more than a week, and I was 
 stronger than ever in those tremendous practical resolutions 
 that I felt the crisis required. I continued to walk extremely 
 fast, and to have a general idea that I was getting on. I 
 made it a rule to take as much out of myself as I possibly 
 could, in my way of doing everything to which I applied my 
 energies. I made a perfect victim of myself. I even enter- 
 tained some idea of putting myself on a vegetable diet, vaguely 
 conceiving that, in becoming a graminivorous animal, I should 
 sacrifice to Dora. 
 
 As yet, little Dora was quite unconscious of rny desperate 
 firmness, otherwise than as my letters darkly shadowed it forth. 
 But, another Saturday came, and on that Saturday evening 
 she was to be at Miss Mills's ; and when Mr. Mills had gone 
 to his whist-club (telegraphed to me in the street, by a bird- 
 cage in the drawing-room middle window), I was to go there 
 to tea. 
 
 By this time, we were quite settled down in Buckingham 
 Street, where Mr. Dick continued his copying in a state of 
 absolute felicity. My aunt had obtained a signal victory over 
 Mrs. Crupp, by paying her off, throwing the first pitcher she 
 planted on the stairs out of window, and protecting in person, 
 up and down the staircase, a supernumerary whom she engaged 
 from the outer world. These vigorous measures struck such 
 terror to the breast of Mrs. Crupp, that she subsided into her 
 own kitchen, under the impression that my aunt was mad. My 
 aunt being supremely indifferent to Mrs. Crupp's opinion and 
 everybody else's, and rather favoring than discouraging the 
 idea, Mrs. Crupp, of late the bold, became within a few days so 
 faint-hearted, that rather than encounter my aunt upon the 
 staircase, she would endeavor to hide her portly form behind 
 
110 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 doors leaving visible, however, a wide margin of flannel 
 petticoat or would shrink into dark corners. This gave my 
 aunt such unspeakable satisfaction, that I believe she took a 
 delight in prowling up and down, with -her bonnet insanely 
 perched on the top of her head, at times when Mrs. Crupp was 
 likely to be in the way. 
 
 My aunt, being uncommonly neat and ingenious, made so 
 many little improvements in our domestic arrangements, that 
 I seemed to be richer instead of poorer. Among the rest, she 
 converted the pantry into a dressing-room for me; and pur- 
 chased and embellished a bedstead for my occupation, which 
 looked as like a bookcase in the daytime as a bedstead could. 
 I was the object of her constant solicitude ; and my poor 
 mother herself could not have loved me better, or studied more 
 how to make me happy. 
 
 Peggotty had considered herself highly privileged in being 
 allowed to participate in these labors ; and, although she still 
 retained something of her old sentiment of awe in reference to 
 my aunt, had received so many marks of encouragement and 
 confidence, that they were the best friends possible. But the 
 time had now come (I am speaking of the Saturday when I 
 was to take tea at Miss Mills's) when it was necessary for her 
 to return home, and enter on the discharge of the duties she 
 had undertaken in behalf of Ham. "So good by, Barkis," 
 said my aunt, "and take care of yourself! I am sure I never 
 thought I could be so ry to lose you ! " 
 
 I took Peggotty to the coach-office, and saw her off. She 
 cried at parting, and confided her brother to my friendship as 
 Ham had done. We had he rd nothing of him since he went 
 away, that sunny afternoon. 
 
 "And now, my own dear Davy," said Peggotty, "if, while 
 you're a prentice, you should want any money to spend ; or if, 
 when you're out of your time, my dear, you should want any 
 to set you up (and you must do one or other, or both, my dar- 
 ling) ; who has such a good right to ask leave to lend it you, as 
 my sweet girl's own old stupid me ! " 
 
 I was not so savagely independent as to say anything in 
 reply, but that if ever I borrowed money of any one, I would 
 borrow it of her. Next to accepting a large sum on the spot, 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. Ill 
 
 I believe this gave Peggotty more comfort than anything I 
 could have done. 
 
 "And, my dear!" whispered Peggotty, "tell the pretty little 
 angel that I should so have liked to see her, only for a min- 
 ute ! And tell her that before she marries my boy, I'll come 
 and make your house so beautiful for you, if you'll let me ! " 
 
 I declared that nobody else should touch it ; and this gave 
 Peggotty such delight, that she went away in good spirits. 
 
 I fatigued myself as much as I possibly could in the Com- 
 mons all day, by a variety of devices, and at the appointed 
 time in the evening repaired to Mr. Mills's street. Mr. Mills, 
 who was a terrible fellow to fall asleep after dinner, had not 
 yet gone out, and there was no bird-cage in the middle window. 
 
 He kept me waiting so long, that I fervently hoped the club 
 would fine him for being late. At last he came out ; and then 
 I saw my own Dora hang up the bird-cage, and peep into the 
 balcony to look for me, and run in again when she saw I was 
 there, while Jip remained behind, to bark injuriously at an 
 immense butcher's dog in the street, who could have taken him 
 like a pill. 
 
 Dora came to the drawing-room door to meet me ; and Jip 
 came scrambling out, tumbling over his own growls, under the 
 impression that I was a Bandit ; and we all three went in, as 
 happy and loving as could be. I soon carried desolation into 
 the bosom of our joys lot that I meant to do it, but that I 
 was so full of the subject by asking Dora, without the 
 jjmallest preparation, if she could love a beggar ? 
 
 My pretty, little, startled Dora ! Her only association with 
 the word was a yellow face and a nightcap, or a pair of 
 crutches, or a wooden leg, or a dog with a decanter-stand in 
 his mouth, or something of that kind ; and she stared at me 
 with the most delightful wonder. 
 
 " How can you ask me anything so foolish ? " pouted Dora. 
 " Love a beggar ! " 
 
 "Dora, my own dearest ! " said I. " / am a beggar ! " 
 
 "How can you be such a silly thing," replied Dora, slapping 
 my hand, " as to sit there, telling such stories ? I'll make Jip 
 bite you ! " 
 
 Her childish way was the most delicious way in the world 
 
112 
 
 to me, but it was necessary to be explicit, and I solemnly 
 repeated : 
 
 " Dora, my own life, I am your ruined David ! " 
 
 " I declare Til make Jip bite you ! " said Dora, shaking her 
 curls, " if you are so ridiculous." 
 
 But I looked so serious, that Dora left off shaking her curls, 
 and laid her trembling little hand upon my shoulder, and first 
 looked scared and anxious, then began to cry. That was 
 dreadful. I fell upon my knees before the sofa, caressing her, 
 and imploring her not to rend my heart ; but, for some time, 
 poor little Dora did nothing but exclaim Oh dear ! Oh dear ! 
 And oh, she was so frightened ! And where was Julia Mills ! 
 And oh, take her to Julia Mills, and go away, please ! until I 
 was almost beside myself. 
 
 At last, after an agony of supplication and protestation, I 
 got Dora to look at me, with a horrified expression of face, 
 which I gradually soothed until it was only loving, and her 
 soft, pretty cheek was lying against mine. Then I told her, 
 with my arms clasped round her, how I loved her, so dearly, 
 and so dearly ; how I felt it right to offer to release her from 
 her engagement, because now I was poor ; how I never could 
 bear it, or recover it, if I lost her ; how I had no fears of 
 poverty, if she had none, my arm being nerved and my heart 
 inspired by her ; how I was already working with a courage 
 such as none but lovers knew ; how I had begun to be prac- 
 tical, and to look into the future ; how a crust well-earned was 
 sweeter far than a feast inherited; and much more to the 
 same purpose, which I delivered in a burst of passionate elo- 
 quence quite surprising to myself, though I had been thinking 
 about it, day and night, ever since my aunt had astonished me. 
 
 "Is your heart mine still, dear Dora ? " said I, rapturously, 
 for I knew by her clinging to me that it was. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " cried Dora. " Oh, yes, it's all yours. Oh, 
 don't be dreadful ! " 
 
 /dreadful! To Dora! 
 
 " Don't talk about being poor, and working hard ! " said 
 Dora, nestling closer to me. " Oh, don't, don't ! " 
 
 " My dearest love," said I, " the crust well-earned " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; but I don't want to hear any more about crusts ! " 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 113 
 
 said Dora. "And Jip must have a mutton-chop every day at 
 twelve, or he'll die ! " 
 
 I was charmed with her childish, winning way. I fondly 
 explained to Dora that Jip should have his mutton-chop with 
 his accustomed regularity. I drew a picture of our frugal 
 home, made independent by my labor sketching in the 
 little house I had seen at Highgate, and my aunt in her room 
 up stairs. 
 
 " I am not dreadful now, Dora ? " said I, tenderly. 
 
 " Oh, no, no ! " cried Dora. " But I hope your aunt will 
 keep in her own room a good deal ! And I hope she's not a 
 scolding old thing ! " 
 
 If it were possible for me to love Dora more than ever, I am 
 sure I did. But I felt she was a little impracticable. It 
 damped my new-born ardor, to find that ardor so difficult of 
 communication to her. I made another trial. When she was 
 quite herself again, and was curling Jip's ears, as he lay upon 
 her lap, I became grave, and said : 
 
 " My own ! May I mention something ? " 
 
 " Oh, please don't be practical ! " said Dora coaxingly. 
 "Because it frightens me so I" 
 
 " Sweet heart ! " I returned ; " there is nothing to alarm 
 you in alUthis. I want you to think of it quite differently. 
 I want to make it nerve you, and inspire you, Dora ! " 
 
 " Oh, but that's so shocking ! " cried Dora. 
 
 " My love, no. Perseverance and strength of character will 
 enable us to bear much worse things." 
 
 "But I haven't got any strength at all," said Dora, shaking 
 her curls. " Have I, Jip ? Oh ; do kiss Jip, and be agreea- 
 ble!" 
 
 It was impossible to resist kissing Jip, when she held him 
 up to me for that purpose, putting her own bright, rosy little 
 mouth into kissing form, as she directed the operation, which 
 she insisted should be performed symmetrically, on the centre 
 of his nose. I did as she bade me rewarding myself after- 
 wards for my obedience and she charmed me out of my 
 graver character for I don't know how long. 
 
 "But, Dora, my beloved!" said I, at last resuming it; "I 
 was going to mention something." 
 TOL. n 8 
 
114 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 The Judge of the Prerogative Court might have fallen in 
 love with her, to see her fold her little hands and hold them 
 up, begging and praying me not to be dreadful any more. 
 
 " Indeed I am not going to be, my darling ! " I assured 
 her. " But, Dora, my love, if you will sometimes think, not 
 despondingly, you know ; far from that ! but if you will 
 sometimes think just to encourage yourself that you are 
 engaged to a poor man " 
 
 " Don't, don't ! Pray don't ! " cried Dora. " It's so very 
 dreadful ! " 
 
 " My soul, not at all ! " said I, cheerfully. " If you will 
 sometimes think of that, and look about now and then at 
 your papa's housekeeping, and endeavor to acquire a little 
 habit of accounts, for instance " 
 
 Poor little Dora received this suggestion with something 
 that was half a sob and half a scream. 
 
 " It would be so useful to us afterwards," I went on. 
 "And if you would promise me to read a little a little 
 Cookery Book that I would send you, it would be so excellent 
 for both of us. For our path in life, my Dora," said I, warm- 
 ing with the subject, "is stony and rugged now, and it rests 
 with us to smooth it. We must fight our way onward. We 
 must be brave. There are obstacles to be met, and we must 
 meet, and crush them ! " 
 
 I was going on at a great rate, with a clenched hand, and 
 a most enthusiastic countenance ; but it was quite unnecessary 
 to proceed. I had said enough. I had done it again. Oh, 
 she was so frightened ! Oh, where was Julia Mills ! Oh, 
 take her to Julia Mills, and go away, please ! So that, in 
 short, I was quite distracted, and raved about the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 I thought I had killed her, this time. I sprinkled water 
 on her face. I went down on my knees. I plucked at my 
 hair. I denounced myself as a remorseless brute, and a ruth- 
 less beast. I implored her forgiveness. I besought her to 
 look up. I ravaged Miss Mills's work-box for a smelling- 
 bottle, and in my agony of mind applied an ivory needle-case 
 instead, and dropped all the needles over Dora. I shook my 
 fists at Jip, who was as frantic as myself. I did every wild 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 115 
 
 extravagance that could be done, and was a long way beyond 
 the end of my wits when Miss Mills came into the room. 
 
 " Who has done this ! " exclaimed Miss Mills, succoring her 
 friend. 
 
 I replied, " /, Miss Mills ! / have done it ! Behold the 
 destroyer ! " or words to that effect and hid my face from 
 the light, in the sofa cushion. 
 
 At first Miss Mills thought it was a quarrel, and that we 
 were verging on the Desert of Sahara ; but she soon found out 
 how matters stood, for my dear affectionate little Dora, em- 
 bracing her, began exclaiming that I was "a poor laborer," 
 and then cried for me, and embraced me, and asked me would 
 I let her give me all her money to keep, and then fell on Miss 
 Mills's neck, sobbing as if her tender heart were broken. 
 
 Miss Mills must have been born to be a blessing to us. 
 She ascertained from me in a few words what it was all about, 
 comforted Dora, and gradually convinced her that I was not 
 a laborer from my manner of stating the case I believe 
 Dora conclud^dr-that I was a navigator, and went balancing 
 myself up and down a plank all day with a wheelbarrow 
 and so brought us together in peace. When we were quite 
 composed, and Dora had gone up stairs to put some rose-water 
 to her eyes, Miss Mills rang for tea. In the ensuing interval, 
 I told Miss Mills that she was evermore my friend, and 
 that my heart must cease to vibrate ere I could forget her 
 sympathy. 
 
 I then expounded to Miss Mills what I had endeavored, so 
 very unsuccessfully, to expound to Dora. Miss Mills replied, 
 on general principles, that the Cottage of content was better 
 than the Palace of cold splendor, and that where love was, 
 all was. 
 
 I said to Miss Mills that this was very true, and who should 
 know it better than I, who loved Dora with a love that- never 
 mortal had experienced yet. But on Miss Mills observing, 
 with despondency, that it were well indeed for some hearts if 
 this were so, I explained that I begged leave to restrict the 
 observation to mortals of the masculine gender. 
 
 I then put it to Miss Mills, to say whether she considered 
 that there was or was not any practical merit in the sugges- 
 
116 
 
 tion I had been anxious to make, concerning the accounts, the 
 housekeeping, and the Cookery Book ? 
 
 Miss Mills, after some consideration, thus replied : 
 
 "Mr. Copperfield, I will be plain with you. Mental suf- 
 fering and trial supply, in some natures, the place of years, 
 and I will be as plain with you as if I were a Lady Abbess. 
 No. The suggestion is not appropriate to our Dora. Our 
 dearest Dora is a favorite child of nature. She is a thing of 
 light, and airiness, and joy. I am free to confess that if it 
 could be done, it might be well, but " And Miss Mills 
 shook her head. 
 
 I was encouraged by this closing admission on the part of 
 Miss Mills to ask her, whether, for Dora's sake, if she had 
 any opportunity of luring her attention to such preparations 
 for an earnest life, she would avail herself of it ? Miss Mills 
 replied in the affirmative so readily, that I further asked her 
 if she would take charge of the Cookery Book ; and, if she 
 ever could insinuate it upon Dora's acceptance, without fright- 
 ening her, undertake to do me that crowning service. Miss 
 Mills accepted this trust, too ; but was not sanguine. 
 
 And Dora returned, looking such a lovely little creature, 
 that I really doubted whether she ought to be troubled with 
 anything so ordinary. And she loved me so much, and was 
 so captivating (particularly when she made Jip stand on his 
 hind legs for toast, and when she pretended to hold that nose 
 of his against the hot tea-pot for punishment because he 
 wouldn't), that I felt like a sort of Monster who had got into 
 a Fairy's bower, when I thought of having frightened her, and 
 made her cry. 
 
 After tea we had the guitar ; and Dora sang those same 
 dear old French songs about the impossibility of ever on any 
 account leaving off dancing, La ra la, La ra la, until I felt a 
 much greater Monster than before. 
 
 We had only one check to our pleasure, and that happened 
 a little while before I took my leave, when, Miss Mills chanc- 
 ing to make some allusion to to-morrow morning, I unluckily 
 let out that being obliged to exert myself now, I got up at five 
 V clock. Whether Dora had any idea that I was a Private 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 117 
 
 Watchman, I am unable to say ; but it made a great impres- 
 sion on her, and she neither played nor sang any more. 
 
 It was still on her mind when I bade her adieu ; and she 
 said to me, in her pretty coaxing way as if I were a doll, I 
 used to think ! 
 
 "Now don't get up at five o'clock, you naughty boy. It's 
 so nonsensical ! " 
 
 " My love," said I, " I have work to do." 
 
 " But don't do it ! " returned Dora. " Why should you ? " 
 
 It was impossible to say to that sweet little surprised face, 
 otherwise than lightly and playfully, that we must work, to 
 live. 
 
 " Oh ! How ridiculous ! " cried Dora. 
 
 " How shall we live without, Dora ? " said I. 
 
 " How ? Anyhow ! " said Dora. 
 
 She seemed to think she had quite settled the question, and 
 gave me such a triumphant little kiss, direct from her innocent 
 heart, that I would hardly have put her out of conceit with 
 her answer, for a fortune. 
 
 Well ! I loved her, and I went on loving her, most absorb- 
 ingly, entirely, and completely. But going on, too, working 
 pretty hard, and busily keeping red-hot all the irons I now had 
 in the fire, I would sit sometimes of a night, opposite my aunt, 
 thinking how I had frightened Dora that time, and how I 
 could best make my way with a guitar-case through the forest 
 of difficulty, until I used to fancy that my head was turning 
 quite gray. 
 
118 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AXD EXPERIENCE 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A DISSOLUTION OF PARTNERSHIP. 
 
 I DID not allow my resolution, with respect to the Parlia- 
 mentary Debat s, to cool. It was one of the irons I began to 
 heat immediately, and one of the irons I kept hot, and ham- 
 mered at, with a perseverance I may honestly admire. I 
 bought an approved scheme of the noble art and mystery of 
 stenography (which cost me ten and sixpence) ; and plunged 
 into a sea of perplexity that brought me, in a few week 
 the confines of distraction. The changes that were rung upon 
 dots, which in such a position meant such a thing, and in such 
 another position something else, entirely different; the won- 
 derful vagaries that were played by ircles- the unaccount- 
 able consequences that resulted from marks like flies' legs; 
 the tremendous effects of a curve in a wrong place ; not only 
 troubled my waking hours, but reappeared before me in my 
 sleep. When I had groped my way, blindly, through these 
 difficulties, and had mastered the a pha 1 t, which was an 
 Egyptian Temple in itself, there then appeared a pro ession 
 of new horrors, called arbitrary characters ; the most despotic 
 characters I have ever known ; who insisted, for instance, 
 that a thing like the beginning of a cobweb, meant expectation, 
 and that a pen and ink sky-rocket stood for disadvantageous. 
 When I had fixed these wretches in my mind, I found that 
 they had driven everything else out of it ; then, beginning 
 again, I forgot them ; while I was picking them up, I dropped 
 the other fragments of the system; in short, it was almost 
 heart-breaking. 
 
 It might have been quite heart-breaking, but for Dora, who 
 was the stay and anchor of my tempest-driven bark. Every 
 scratch in the scheme was a gnarled oak in the forest of diffi- 
 culty, and I went on cutting them down, one after another, 
 with such vigor, that in three or four months I was in a con- 
 

 -eA\ / nKoJ^^EX Esa 
 
 O 
 
 01 
 
 UJ 
 
 CO 
 
 UJ 
 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 119 
 
 dition to make an experiment on one of our crack speakers in 
 the Commons. Shall I ever forget how the crack speaker 
 walked off from me before I began, and left my imbecile pencil 
 staggering about the paper as if it were in a fit ! 
 
 This would not do, it was quite clear. I was flying too 
 high, and should never get on, so. I resorted to Traddles for 
 advice ; who suggested that he should dictate speeches to me, 
 at a pace, and with occasional stoppages, adapted to my weak- 
 ness. Very grateful for this friendly aid, I accepted the pro- 
 posal ; and night after night, almost every night, for a long 
 time, we had a sort of private Parliament in Buckingham- 
 street, after I came home from the Doctor's. 
 
 I should like to see such a Parliament anywhere else ! My 
 aunt and Mr. Dick represented the Government or the Opposi- 
 tion (as the case might be), and Traddles, with the assistance 
 of Enfield's Speaker or a volume of parliamentary orations, 
 thundered astonishing invectives against them. Standing by 
 the table, with his finger in the page to keep the place, and 
 his right arm flourishing above his head, Traddles, as Mr. Pitt, 
 Mr. Pox, Mr. Sheridan, Mr. Burke, Lord Castlereagh, Viscount 
 Sidmouth, or Mr. Canning, would work himself into the most 
 violent heats, and deliver the most withering denunciations of 
 the profligacy and corruption of my aunt and Mr. Dick ; while 
 I used to sit, at a little distance, with my note-book on my 
 knee, fagging after him with all my might and main. The 
 inconsistency and recklessness of .Traddles were not to be 
 exceeded by any real politician. . He was for any description 
 of policy, in the compass of a week ; and nailed all sorts of 
 colors to every denomination of mast. My aunt looking very 
 like an immovable Chancellor of the Exchequer, would occa- 
 sionally throw in an interruption or two, as "Hear!" or "No!" 
 or "Oh!" when the text seemed to require it: which was 
 always a signal to Mr. Dick (a perfect country gentleman) to 
 follow lustily with the same cry. But Mr. Dick got taxed with 
 such things in the course of his Parliamentary career, and was 
 made responsible for such awful consequences, that he became 
 uncomfortable in his mind sometimes. I believe he actually 
 began to be afraid he really had been doing something, tend- 
 
120 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 ing to the annihilation of the British constitution, and the 
 ruin of the country. 
 
 Often and often we pursued these debates until the clock 
 pointed to midnight, and the candles were burning down. 
 The result of so much good practice was, that by and by I 
 began to keep pace with Traddles pretty well, and should 
 have been quite triumphant if I had had the least idea what 
 my notes were about. But, as to reading them after I had got 
 them, I might as well have copied the Chinese inscriptions on 
 an immense collection of tea-chests, or the golden characters 
 on all the great red and green bottles in the chemists' shops ! 
 
 There was nothing for it, but to turn back and begin all 
 over again. It was very hard, but I turned back, though 
 with a heavy heart, and began laboriously and methodically to 
 plod over the same tedious ground at a snail's pace ; stopping 
 to examine minutely every speck in the way, on all sides, and 
 making the most desperate efforts to know these elusive char- 
 acters by sight wherever I met them. I was always punctual 
 at the office at the '. doctor's too : and I really did work, as 
 the common expression A s, like a cart-horse. 
 
 One day, when I went to the Commons as usual, I found 
 Mr. Spenlow in the doorway looking extremely grave, and 
 talking to himself. As he was in the habit of complaining of 
 pains in his head he had naturally a short throat, and I do 
 seriously believe he overstarched himself I was at first 
 alarmed by the idea that he was not quite right in that direc- 
 tion ; but he soon relieved my uneasiness. 
 
 Instead of returning my "Good morning" with his usual 
 affability, he looked at me in a distant, ceremonious manner, 
 and coldly requested me to accompany him to a certain coffee- 
 house, which in those days, had a door opening into the Com- 
 mons, just within the little archway in St. Paul's churchyard. 
 I complied, in a very uncomfortable state, and with a warm 
 shooting all over me, as if my apprehensions were breaking 
 out into buds. When I allowed him to go on a little before, 
 on account of the narrowness of the way, I observed that he 
 carried his head with a lofty air that was particularly unprom- 
 ising ; and my mind misgave me that he had found out about 
 my darling Dora. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 121 
 
 If I had not guessed this, on the way to the coffee-house, I 
 could hardly have failed to know what was the matter when 
 I followed him into an up-stairs room, and found Miss Murd- 
 stone there, supported by a background of sideboard, on which 
 were several inverted tumblers sustaining lemons, and two of 
 those extraordinary boxes, all corners and flutings, for stick- 
 ing knives and forks in, which, happily for mankind, are now 
 obsolete. 
 
 Miss Murdstone gave me her chilly finger-nails, and sat 
 severely rigid. Mr. Spenlow shut the door, motioned me to a 
 chair, and stood on the hearth-rug in front of the fireplace. 
 
 "Have the goodness to show Mr. Copperfield," said Mr. 
 Spenlow, " what you have in your reticule, Miss Murdstone." 
 
 I believe it was the old identical steel-clasped reticule of 
 my childhood, that shut up like a bite. Compressing her 
 lips, in sympathy with the snap, Miss Murdstone opened it 
 opening her mouth a little at the same time and produced 
 my last letter to Dora, teeming with expressions of devoted 
 affection. 
 
 " I believe that is your writing, Mr. Copperfield ? " said Mr. 
 Spenlow. 
 
 I was very hot, and the voice I heard was very unlike mine, 
 when I said, " It is, sir ! " 
 
 "If I am not mistaken/ 7 said Mr. Spenlow, as Miss Murd- 
 stone brought a parcel of letters out of her reticule, tied round 
 with the dearest bit of blue ribbon, " those are also from your 
 pen, Mr. Copperfield ? " 
 
 I took them from her with a most desolate sensation ; and, 
 glancing at such phrases at the top, as " My ever dearest and 
 own Dora," " My best beloved angel," " My blessed one for 
 ever," and the like, blushed deeply, and inclined my head. 
 
 " No, thank you ! " said Mr. Spenlow, coldly, as I mechani- 
 cally offered them back to him. " I will not deprive you of 
 them. Miss Murdstone, be so good as to proceed ! " 
 
 That gentle creature, after a moment's thoughtful survey 
 of the carpet, delivered herself with much dry unction as 
 follows : 
 
 "I must confess to having entertained my suspicions of 
 Miss Spenlow, in reference to David Copperfield, for some 
 
122 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 time. I observed Miss Spenlow and David Copperfield when 
 they first met j and the impression made upon me then was 
 not agreeable. The depravity of the human heart is such " 
 
 "You will oblige me, ma'am," interrupted Mr. Spenlow, 
 " by confining yourself to facts." 
 
 Miss Murdstone cast down her eyes, shook her head as if 
 protesting against this unseemly interruption, and with frown- 
 ing dignity resumed : 
 
 "Since I am to confine myself to facts, I will state them as 
 drily as I can. Perhaps that will be considered an acceptable 
 course of proceeding. I have already said, sir, that I have 
 had my suspicions of Miss Spenlow, in reference to David 
 Copperfield, for some time. I have frequently endeavored to 
 find decisive corroboration of those suspicions, but without 
 effect. I have therefore forborne to mention them to Miss 
 Spenlow's father ; " looking severely at him ; " knowing how 
 little disposition there usually is in such cases, to acknowledge 
 the conscientious discharge of duty." 
 
 Mr. Spenlow seemed quite cowed by the gentlemanly stern- 
 ness of Miss Murdstone's manner, and deprecated her severity 
 with a conciliatory little wave of his hand. 
 
 "On my return to Norwood, after the period of absence 
 occasioned by my brother's marriage," pursued Miss Murd- 
 stone in a disdainful voice, " and on the return of Miss Spen- 
 low from her visit to her friend Miss Mills, I imagined that 
 the manner of Miss Spenlow gave me greater occasion for 
 suspicion than before. Therefore I watched Miss Spenlow 
 closely." 
 
 Dear, tender little Dora, so unconscious of this Dragon's eye. 
 
 " Still," resumed Miss Murdstone, " I found no proof until 
 last night. It appeared to me that Miss Spenlow received too 
 many letters from her friend Miss Mills ; but Miss Mills being 
 her friend with her father's full concurrence," another telling 
 blow at Mr. Spenlow, " it was not for me to interfere. If I 
 may not be permitted to allude to the natural depravity of the 
 human heart, at least I may I must be permitted, so far 
 to refer to misplaced confidence." 
 
 Mr. Spenlow apologetically murmured his assent. 
 
 "Last evening after tea," pursued Miss Murdstone, "I ob- 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 123 
 
 served the little dog starting, rolling, and growling about the 
 drawing-room, worrying something. I said to Miss Spenlow, 
 ' Dora, what is that the dog has in his mouth ? It's paper/ 
 Miss Spenlow immediately put her hand to her frock, gave a 
 sudden cry, and ran to the dog. I interposed, and said, l Dora 
 my love, you must permit me.' 7 
 
 Oh, Jip, miserable Spaniel, this wretchedness, then, was your 
 work ! 
 
 "Miss Spenlow endeavored," said Miss Murdstone, "to 
 bribe me with kisses, work-boxes, and small articles of 
 jewelry that, of course, I pass over. The little dog re- 
 treated under the sofa on my approaching him, and was with 
 great difficulty dislodged by the fire-irons. Even when dis- 
 lodged, he still kept the letter in his mouth; and on my 
 endeavoring to take it from him, at the imminent risk of being 
 bitten, he kept it between his teeth so pertinaciously as to 
 suffer himself to be held suspended in the air by means of the 
 document. At length I obtained possession of it. After 
 perusing it, I taxed Miss Spenlow with having many such 
 letters in her possession ; and ultimately obtained from, her, 
 the packet which is now in David Copperfield's hand." 
 
 Here she ceased ; and snapping her reticule again, and shut- 
 ting her mouth, looked as if she might be broken, but could 
 never be bent. 
 
 "You have heard Miss Murdstone," said Mr. Spenlow, turn- 
 ing to me. " I beg to ask, Mr. Copperfield, if you have any- 
 thing to say in reply ? " 
 
 The picture I had before me, of the beautiful little treasure 
 of my heart, sobbing and crying all night of her being 
 alone, frightened, and wretched, then of her having so 
 piteously begged and prayed that stony-hearted woman to 
 forgive her of her having vainly offered her those kisses, 
 work-boxes, and trinkets of her being in such grievous dis- 
 tress, and all for me very much impaired the little dignity 
 I had been able to muster. I am afraid I was in a tremulous 
 state for a minute or so, though I did my best to disguise it. 
 
 " There is nothing I can say, sir," I returned, " except that 
 all the blame is mine. Dora " 
 
 "Miss Spenlow, if you please," said her father, majestically 
 
124 THE PEE SON AL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " was induced and persuaded by me/' I went on, swal- 
 lowing that colder designation, " to consent to this conceal- 
 ment, and I bitterly regret it." 
 
 "You are very much to blame, sir," said Mr. Spenlow, 
 walking to and fro upon the hearth-rug, and emphasizing what 
 he said with his whole body instead of his head, on account 
 of the stiffness of his cravat and spine. "You have done a 
 stealthy and unbecoming action, Mr. Copperfield. When I 
 take a gentleman to my house, no matter whether he is nine- 
 teen, twenty-nine, or ninety, I take him there in a spirit of 
 confidence. If he abuses my confidence, he commits a dis- 
 honorable action, Mr. Copperfield." 
 
 "I feel it, sir, I assure you," I returned. "But I neve"r 
 thought so, before. Sincerely, honestly, indeed, Mr. Spenlow, 
 I never thought so, before. I love Miss Spenlow to that 
 extent " 
 
 " Pooh ! nonsense ! " said Mr. Spenlow, reddening. " Pray 
 don't tell me to my face that you love my daughter, Mr. 
 Copperfield ! " 
 
 " Could I defend my conduct if I did not, sir ? " I returned, 
 with all humility. 
 
 " Can you defend your conduct if you do, sir ? " said Mr. 
 Spenlow, stopping short upon the hearth-rug. "Have you 
 considered your years, and my daughter's years, Mr. Copper- 
 field ? Have you considered what it is to undermine the con- 
 fidence that should subsist between my daughter and myself ? 
 Have you considered my daughter's station in life, the projects 
 I may contemplate for her advancement, the testamentary 
 intentions I may have with reference to her ? Have you 
 considered anything, Mr. Copperfield ? '' 
 
 " Very little, sir, I am afraid," I answered, speaking to him 
 as respectfully and sorrowfully as I felt ; " but pray believe 
 me, I have considered my own worldly position. When I 
 explained it to you, we were already engaged - 
 
 "I BEG," said Mr. Spenlow, more like Punch than I had 
 ever seen him, as he energetically struck one hand upon the 
 other I could not help noticing that even in my despair ; 
 "that you will NOT talk to me of engagements, Mr. Copper- 
 field ! 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 125 
 
 The otherwise immovable Miss Murdstone laughed con- 
 temptuously in one short syllable. 
 
 "When I explained my altered position to you, sir," I 
 began again, substituting a new form of expression for what 
 was so unpalatable to him, " this concealment, into which I 
 am so unhappy as to have led Miss Spenlow, had begun. 
 Since I have been in that altered position, I have strained 
 every nerve, I have exerted every energy, to improve it. I am 
 sure I shall improve it in time. Will you grant me time 
 any length of time ? We are both so young, sir, " 
 
 "You are right," interrupted Mr. Spenlow, nodding his 
 head a great many times, and frowning very much, " you are 
 both very young. It's all nonsense. Let there be an end of 
 the nonsense. Take away those letters, and throw them in 
 the fire. Give me Miss Spenlow' s letters to throw in the 
 fire ; and although our future intercourse must, you are aware, 
 be restricted to the Commons here, we will agree to make no 
 further mention of. the past. Come, Mr. Copperfield, you 
 don't want sense ; and this is the sensible course." 
 
 No. I couldn't think of agreeing to it. I was very sorry, 
 but there was a higher consideration than sense. Love was 
 above all earthly considerations, and I loved Dora to idolatry, 
 and Dora loved me. I didn't exactly say so; I softened it 
 down as much as I could ; but I implied it, and I was resolute 
 upon it. I don't think I made myself very ridiculous, but I 
 know I was resolute. 
 
 "Very well, Mr. Copperfield," said Mr. Spenlow, "I must 
 try my influence with my daughter." 
 
 Miss Murdstone, by an expressive sound, a long drawn 
 respiration, which was neither a sigh nor a moan, but was 
 like both, gave it as her opinion that he should have done 
 this at first. 
 
 " I must try," said Mr. Spenlow, confirmed by this support, 
 "my influence with my daughter. Do you decline to take 
 those letters, Mr. Copperfield ? " For I had laid them on 
 the table. 
 
 Yes. I told him I hoped he would not think it wrong, but 
 I couldn't possibly take them from Miss Murdstone, 
 
 " Nor from me ? " said Mr. Spenlow. 
 
126 
 
 No, I replied with the prof oundest respect ; nor from him. 
 
 " Veiy well ! " said Mr. Spenlow. 
 
 A silence succeeding, I was undecided whether to go or 
 stay. At length I was moving quietly towards the door, with 
 the intention of saying that perhaps I should consult his 
 feelings best by withdrawing : when he said, with his hands 
 in his coat pockets, into which it was as much as he could do 
 to get them; and with what I should call, upon the whole, a 
 decidedly pious air : 
 
 " You are probably aware, Mr. Copperfield, that I am not 
 altogether destitute of worldly possessions, and that my daugh- 
 ter is my nearest and dearest relative ? >: 
 
 I hurriedly made him a reply to the effect, that I hoped the 
 error into which I had been betrayed by the desperate nature 
 of my love, did not induce him to think me mercenary too ? 
 
 " I don't allude to the matter in that light," said Mr. Spen- 
 low. " It would be better for yourself, and all of us, if you 
 were mercenary, Mr. Copperfield I mean, if you were more 
 discreet and less influenced by all this youthful nonsense. 
 No. I merely say, with quite another view, you are probably 
 aware I have Some property to bequeath to my child ? " 
 
 I certainly supposed so. 
 
 "And you can hardly think," said Mr. Spenlow, "having 
 experience of what we see, in the Commons here, every day, 
 of the various unaccountable and negligent proceedings of 
 men, in respect of their testamentary arrangements of all 
 subjects, the one on which perhaps the strangest revelations 
 of human inconsistency are to be met with but that mine 
 are made ? " 
 
 I inclined my head in acquiescence. 
 
 "I should not allow," said Mr. Spenlow, with an evident 
 increase of pious sentiment, and slowly shaking his head as 
 he poised himself upon his toes and heels alternately, "my 
 suitable provision for my child to be influenced by a piece of 
 youthful folly like the present. It is mere folly. Mere 
 nonsense. In a little while, it will weigh lighter than any 
 feather. But I might I might if this silly business were 
 not completely relinquished altogether, be induced in some 
 anxious moment to guard her from, and surround her with 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 127 
 
 protections against, the consequences of any foolish step in 
 the way of marriage. Now, Mr. Copperfield, I hope that you 
 will not render it necessary for me to open, even for a quarter 
 of an hour, that closed page in the book of life, and unsettle, 
 even for a quarter of an hour, grave affairs long since com- 
 posed." 
 
 There was a serenity, a tranquillity, a calm-sunset air 
 about him, which quite affected me. He was so peaceful and 
 resigned clearly had his affairs in such perfect train, and so 
 systematically wound up that he was a man to feel touched 
 in the contemplation of. I really think I saw tears rise to his 
 eyes, from the depth of his own feeling of all this. 
 
 But what could I do ? I could not deny Dora and my own 
 heart. When he told me I had better take a week to consider 
 of what he had said, how could I say I wouldn't take a week, 
 yet how could I fail to know that no amount of weeks could 
 influence such love as mine ? 
 
 " In the meantime, confer with Miss Trotwood, or with any 
 person with any knowledge of life," said Mr. Spenlow, adjust- 
 ing his cravat with both hands. " Take a week, Mr. Copper- 
 field." 
 
 I submitted ; and, with a countenance as expressive as I 
 was able to make it of dejected and despairing constancy, came 
 out of the room. Miss Murdstone's heavy eyebrows followed 
 me to the door I say her eyebrows rather than her eyes, 
 because they were much more important in her face and she 
 looked so exactly as she used to look, at about that hour of 
 the morning, in our parlor at Blunderstone, that I could have 
 fancied I had been breaking down in my lessons again, and 
 that the dead weight on my mind was that horrible old spelling- 
 book with oval woodcuts, shaped, to my youthful fancy, like 
 the glasses out of spectacles. 
 
 When I got to the office, and, shutting out old Tiffey and 
 the rest of them with my hands, sat at my desk, in my own 
 particular nook, thinking of this earthquake that had taken 
 place so unexpectedly, and in the bitterness of my spirit 
 cursing Jip, I fell into such a state of torment about Dora, 
 that I wonder I did not take up my hat and rush insanely to 
 Norwood. The idea of their frightening her, and making her 
 
128 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 cry, and of my not being there to comfort her, was so excruci- 
 ating, that it impelled me to write a wild letter to Mr. Spenlow, 
 beseeching him not to visit upon her the consequences of my 
 awful destiny. I implored him to spare her gentle nature 
 not to crush a fragile flower and addressed him generally, 
 to the best of my remembrance, as if, instead of being her 
 father, he had been an Ogre, or the Dragon of Wantley. This 
 letter I sealed and laid upon his desk before he returned ; and 
 when he came in, I saw him, through the half -opened door of 
 his room, take it up and read it. 
 
 He said nothing about it all the morning; but before he 
 went away in the afternoon he called me in, and told me that 
 I need not make myself at all uneasy about his daughter's 
 happiness. He had assured her, he said, that it was all non- 
 sense ; and he had nothing more to say to her. He believed 
 he was an indulgent father (as indeed he was), and I might 
 spare myself any solicitude on her account. 
 
 " You may make it necessary, if you are foolish or obstinate, 
 Mr. Copperfield," he observed, " for me to send my daughter 
 abroad again, for a term ; but I have a better opinion of you. 
 I hope you will be wiser than that, in a few days. As to 
 Miss Murdstone," for I had alluded to her in the letter, " I 
 respect that lady's vigilance, and feel obliged to her ; but she 
 has strict charge to avoid the subject. All I desire, Mr. Cop- 
 perfield, is, that it should be forgotten. All you have got to 
 do, Mr. Copperfield, is, to forget it." 
 
 All ! In the note I wrote to Miss Mills, I bitterly quoted 
 this sentiment. All I had to do, I said, with gloomy sarcasm, 
 was to forget Dora. That was all, and what was that ? I 
 entreated Miss Mills to see me, that evening. If it could not 
 be done with Mr. Mills sanction and concurrence, I besought 
 a clandestine interview in the back kitchen where the Mangle 
 was. I informed her that my reason was tottering on its 
 throne, and only she, Miss Mills, could prevent its being 
 deposed. I signed myself, hers distractedly ; and I couldn't 
 help feeling, when I read this composition over, before sending 
 it by a porter, that it was something in the style of Mr. 
 Micawber. 
 
 However, I sent it. At night I repaired to Miss Mills's 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 129 
 
 street, and walked up and down, until I was stealthily fetched 
 in by Miss Mills's maid, and taken the area way to the back 
 kitchen. I have since seen reason to believe that there was 
 nothing on earth to prevent my going in at the front door, and 
 being shown up into the drawing-room, except Miss Mills's 
 love of the romantic and mysterious. 
 
 In the back kitchen I raved as became me. I went there, I 
 suppose, to make a fool of myself, and I am quite sure I did it. 
 Miss Mills had received a hasty note from Dora, telling her 
 that all was discovered, and saying, " Oh, pray come to me, 
 Julia, do, do ! " But Miss Mills, mistrusting the acceptability 
 of her presence to the higher powers, had not yet gone ; and 
 we were all benighted in the Desert of Sahara. 
 
 Miss Mills had a wonderful flow of words, and liked to pour 
 them out. I could not help feeling, though she mingled her 
 tears with mine, that she had a dreadful luxury in our afflic- 
 tions. She petted them, as I may say, and made the most of 
 them. A deep gulf, she observed, had opened between Dora 
 and me, and Love could only span it with its" rainbow. Love 
 must suffer in this stern world ; it ever had been so, it ever 
 would be so. No matter, Miss Mills remarked. Hearts confined 
 by cobwebs would burst at last, arid then Love was avenged. 
 
 This was small consolation, but Miss Mills wouldn't encour- 
 age fallacious hopes. She made me much more wretched than 
 I was before, and I felt (and told her with the deepest grati- 
 tude) that she was indeed a friend. We resolved that she 
 should go to Dora the first thing in the morning, and find 
 some means of assuring her, either by looks or words, of my 
 devotion and misery. We parted, overwhelmed with grief; 
 and I think Miss Mills enjoyed herself completely. 
 
 I confided all to my aunt when I got home ; and in spite of 
 all she could say to me, went to bed despairing. I got up 
 despairing, and went out despairing. It was Saturday morn- 
 ing, and I went straight to the Commons. 
 
 I was surprised, when I came within sight of our office-door, 
 to see the ticket-porters standing outside talking together, and 
 some half dozen stragglers gazing at the windows which were 
 shut up. I quickened iny pace, and, passing among them, 
 wondering at their looks, went hurriedly in. 
 
 VOL. IX 9 
 
J.30 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 The clerks were there, but nobody was doing anything. 
 Old Tiffey, for the first time in his life I should think, was 
 sitting on somebody else's stool, and had not hung up his 
 hat. 
 
 " This is a dreadful calamity, Mr. Copperfield/' said he, as I 
 entered. 
 
 " What is ? " I exclaimed. " What's the matter ? " 
 
 " Don't you know ? " cried Tiffey, and all the rest of them, 
 coming round me. 
 
 " No ! " said I, looking from face to face. 
 
 "Mr. Spenlow," said Tiffey. 
 
 " What about him ? " 
 
 "Dead!" 
 
 I though it was the office reeling, and not I, as one of the 
 clerks caugl hold of me. They sat me down in a chair, 
 untied my neckcloth, and brought me some water. I have no 
 idea whether th ; took any time. 
 
 "Dead?" said^I. 
 
 " He dined in town yesterday, and drove down in the phae- 
 ton by himself," said Tiffey, "having sent his own groom 
 home by the coach, as he sometimes did, you know " 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 "The phaeton went home without him. The horses stopped 
 at the stable gate. The man went out with a lantern. 
 Nobody in the carriage." 
 
 " Had they run away ? " 
 
 " They were not hot," said Tiffey, putting on his glasses ; 
 "no hotter, I understand, than they would have been, going 
 down at the usual pace. The reins were broken, but they had 
 been dragging on the ground. The house was roused up 
 directly, and three of them went out along the road. They 
 found him a mile off." 
 
 " More than a mile off, Mr. Tiffey," interposed a junior. 
 
 "Was it? I believe you are right," said Tiffey, "more 
 than a mile off not far from the church lying partly on 
 the road-side, and partly on the path, upon his face. Whether 
 he fell out in a fit, or got out, feeling ill before the fit came 
 on or even whether he was quite dead then, though there is 
 no doubt he was quite insensible no one appears to know. 
 
OF DAVID COFFEE FIELD. 131 
 
 If he breathed, certainly he never spoke. Medical assistance 
 was got as soon as possible, but it was quite useless." 
 
 I cannot describe the state of mind into which I was thrown 
 by this intelligence. The shock of such an event happening 
 so suddenly, and happening to one with whom I had been in 
 any respect at variance the appalling vacancy in the room 
 he had occupied so lately, where his chair and table seemed to 
 wait for him, and his handwriting of yesterday was like a 
 ghost the indefinable impossibility of separating him from 
 the place, and feeling, when the door opened, as if he might 
 come in the lazy hush and rest there was in the office, and 
 the insatiable relish with which our people talked about it, 
 and other people came in and out all day, and gorged them- 
 selves with the subjtv, this is easily intelligible to any one. 
 What I cannot d cribe is, ^ow / in the innermost recesses of 
 my own heart, I had , lurking jealousy even of Death. How 
 I felt as if its might wou I ush me from my ground in Dora's 
 thoughts. How I was, in a grudging way I have no words 
 for, envious of her grief. How it made me restless to think 
 of her weeping to others, or being consoled by others. How 
 I had a grasping, avaricious wish to shut out everybody from 
 her but myself, and to be all in all to her, at that unseasonable 
 time of all times. 
 
 In the trouble of this state of mind not exclusively my 
 own, I hope, but known to others I went down to Norwood 
 that night ; and finding from one of the servants, when I made 
 my inquiries at the door, that Miss Mills was there, got my 
 aunt to direct a letter to her, which I wrote. I deplored the 
 untimely death of Mr. . penlow most sincerely, and shed tears 
 in doing so. I entreated her to tell Dora, if Dora were in a 
 state to hear it, that he had spoken to me with the utmost 
 kindness and consideration and had coupled nothing but ten- 
 derness, not a single or reproachful word, with her name. I 
 know I did this selfishly, to have my name brought before 
 her ; but I tried to believe it was an act of justice to his mem- 
 ory. Perhaps I did believe it. 
 
 My aunt received a few lines next day in reply ; addressed, 
 outside, to her ; within, to me. Dora was overcome by grief ; 
 and when her friend had asked her should she send her love to 
 
132 THE PEE SON AL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 me, had only cried, as she was always crying, " Oh, dear papa ! 
 oh, poor papa ! " But she had not said No, and that I made 
 the mo t of. 
 
 Mr. Jorkins, who had been at Norwood since the occurrence, 
 came to the office a few days afterwards. He and Tiffey were 
 closeted together for some few moments, and then Tiffey 
 looked out at the door and beckoned me in. 
 
 "Oh!" said Mr. Jorkins. "Mr. Tiffey and myself, Mr. 
 Copperfield, are about to examine the desk, the drawers, and 
 other such repositories of the deceased, with the view of seal- 
 ing up his private papers, and searching for a Will. There is 
 no trace of any, elsewhere. It may be as well for you to 
 assist us, if you please." 
 
 I " ad been n agony to obtain some knowledge of the 
 circumstances in which my Dora would be placed as, in 
 whose guardianship, and so forth ^nd this was something 
 towards it. We began the search at once ; Mr. Jorkins unlock- 
 ing the drawers and desks, and we all taking out the papers. 
 The office papers we placed on one side, and the private 
 papers (which were not numerous) on the other. We were 
 very grave ; and when we came to a stray seal, or pencil-case, 
 or ring, or any little article of that kind which we associated 
 personally with him, we spoke very low. 
 
 We had sealed up several packets , and were still going on 
 dustily and quietly, when Mr. Jorkins said to us, applying 
 exactly the same words to his late partner as his late partner 
 had applied to him : 
 
 "Mr. Spe'ilow was very difficult to move from the beaten 
 track. You know what he was ! I am disposed to think he 
 had made no will." 
 
 " Oh, I know he had ! " said I. 
 
 They both stopped and looked at me. 
 
 " On the very day when I last saw him," said I, " he told 
 me that he had, and that his affairs were long since settled." 
 
 Mr. Jorkins and old Tiffey shook their heads with one 
 accord. 
 
 " That looks unpromising," said Tiffey. 
 
 "Very unpromising," said Mr. Jorkins. 
 
 " Surely you don't doubt "I began. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 133 
 
 " My good Mr. Copperfwld ! " said Tiffey, laying his hand 
 upon niy arm, and shutting up both his eyes as he shook his 
 head : " if you had been in the Commons as long as I have, 
 you would know that there is no subject on which men are so 
 inconsistent, and so little to be trusted." 
 
 " Why, bless my soul, he made that very remark ! " I replied 
 persistently. 
 
 "I should call that almost final," observed Tiffey. "My 
 opinion is no will." 
 
 It appeared a wonderful thing to me, but it turned out that 
 there was no will. He had never so much as thought of mak- 
 ing one, so far as his papers afforded any evidence ; for there 
 was no kind of hint, sketch, or memorandum, of any testamen- 
 tary intention whatever. What was scarcely less astonishing 
 to me, was, that his affairs were in a most disordered state. It 
 was extremely difficult, I heard, to make out what he owed, or 
 what he had paid, or of what he died possessed. It was con- 
 sidered likely that for years he could have had no clear opin- 
 ion on these subjects himself. By little and little it came out, 
 that, in the competition on all points of appearance and gen- 
 tility then running high in the Commons, he had spent more 
 than his professional income, which was not a very large one, 
 and had reduced his private means, if they ever had been 
 great (which was exceedingly doubtful), to a very low ebb 
 indeed. There was a sale of the furniture and lease, at Nor- 
 wood; and Tiffey told me, little thinking how interested I was 
 in the story, that, paying all the just debts of the deceased, 
 and deducting his share of outstanding bad and doubtful debts 
 due to the firm, he wouldn't give a thousand pounds for all 
 the assets remaining. 
 
 This was at the expiration of about six weeks. I had suf- 
 fered tortures all the time ; and thought I really must have 
 laid violent hands upon myself, when Miss Mills still reported 
 to me, that my broken-hearted little Dora would say nothing, 
 when I was mentioned, but " Oh, poor papa ! Oh, dear papa ! " 
 Also, that she had no other relations than two aunts, maiden 
 sisters of Mr. Spenlow, who lived at Putney, and who had not 
 held any other than chance communication with their brother 
 for many years. Not that they had ever quarrelled (Miss 
 
134 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 Mills informed nie); but that having been, on the occasion 
 of Dora's christening, invited to tea, when they considered 
 themselves privileged to be invited to dinner, they had 
 expressed their opinion, in writing, that it was " better for the 
 happiness of all parties " that they should stay away. Since 
 which they had gone their road, and their brother had gone 
 his. 
 
 These two ladies now emerged from their retirement, and 
 proposed to take Dora to live at Putney. Dora, clinging to 
 them both, and weeping, exclaimed, " yes, aunts ! Please 
 take Julia Mills and me and Jip to Putney ! " So they went, 
 very soon after the funeral. 
 
 How I found time to haunt Putney, I am sure I don't know ; 
 but I contrived, by some means or other, to prowl about the 
 neighborhood pretty often. Miss Mills, for the more exact 
 discharge of the duties of friendship, kept a journal ; and she 
 used to meet me sometimes, on the Common, and read it, or 
 (if she had not time to do that) lend it to me. How I treas- 
 ured up the entries, of which I subjoin 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. 
 Rush of grief admitted. (Are tears the dewdrops of the 
 heart ? J. M.) 
 
 "Tuesday. D. weak and nervous. Beautiful in pallor. 
 (Do we not remark this in moon likewise ? J. M.) D. J. M. 
 and J. took airing in carriage. J. looking out of window, and 
 barking violently at dustmen, occasioned smile to overspread 
 features of D. (Of such slight links is chain of life composed ! 
 J. M.) 
 
 " Wednesday. D. comparatively cheerful. Sang to her, as 
 congenial melody, Evening Bells. Effect not soothing, but 
 reverse. D. inexpressibly affected. Found sobbing afterwards, 
 in own room. Quoted verses respecting self and young Gazelle. 
 Ineffectually. Also referred to Patience on Monument. (Qy. 
 Why on Monument ? J. M.) 
 
 " Thursday. D. certainly improved. Better night. Slight 
 tinge of damask revisiting cheek. Resolved to mention name 
 of D. C. Introduced same, cautiously, in coarse of airing. D. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 135 
 
 immediately overcome. ' Oh, dear, dear Julia ! Oh, I have 
 been a naughty and un dutiful child ! ' Soothed and caressed. 
 Drew ideal picture of D. C. on verge of tomb. D. again over- 
 come. ' Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do ? Oh, take me 
 somewhere ! ' Much alarmed. Fainting of D. and glass of 
 water from public-house. (Poetical affinity. Chequered sign 
 on door-post ; chequered human life. Alas ! J. M.) 
 
 " Friday. Day of incident. Man appears in kitchen, with 
 blue bag, 'for lady's boots left out to heel.' Cook replies, 
 ' No such orders.' Man argues point. Cook withdraws to 
 inquire, leaving man alone with J. On Cook's return, man 
 still argues point, but ultimately goes. J. missing. D. dis- 
 tracted. Information sent to police. Man to be identified by 
 broad nose, and legs like balustrades of bridge. Search made 
 in every direction. No J. D. weeping bitterly, and incon- 
 solable. Eenewed reference to young Gazelle. Appropriate, 
 but unavailing. Towards evening, strange boy calls. Brought 
 into parlor. Broad nose, but no balustrades. Says he wants 
 a pound, and knows a dog. Declines to explain further, 
 though much pressed. Pound being produced by D. takes 
 Cook to little house, where J. alone tied up to leg of table. 
 Joy of D. who dances round J. while he eats his supper. 
 Emboldened by this happy change, mention D. C. up stairs. 
 D. weeps afresh, cries piteously. ' Oh, don't, don't, don't. 
 It is so wicked to think of anything but poor papa ! ' 
 embraces J. and sobs herself to sleep. (Must not D. C. con- 
 fine himself to the broad pinions of Time ? J. M.) " 
 
 Miss Mills and her "journal were my sole consolation at this 
 period. To see her, who had seen Dora but a little while 
 before to trace the initial letter of Dora's name through her 
 sympathetic pages to be made more and more miserable by 
 her were my only comforts. I felt as if I had been living 
 in a palace of cards, which had tumbled down, leaving only 
 Miss Mills and me among the ruins ; as if some grim enchanter 
 had drawn a magic circle round the innocent goddess of my 
 heart, which nothing indeed but those same strong pinions, 
 capable of carrying so many people over so much, would 
 enable me to enter ! 
 
1.36 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AXD EXPERIENCE 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 WICKFIELD AXD HEEP. 
 
 MY aunt, beginning, I imagine, to be made seriously uncom- 
 fortable by my prolonged dejection, made a pretence of being 
 anxious that I should go to Dover, to see that all was working 
 well at the cottage, which was let ; and to conclude an agree- 
 ment, with the same tenant, for a longer term of occupation. 
 Janet was drafted into the service of Mrs. Strong, where I saw 
 her every day. She had been undecided, on leaving Dover, 
 whether or no to give the finishing touch to that renuncia- 
 tion of mankind in which she had been educated, by marrying 
 a pilot ; but she decided against that venture. Xot so much 
 for the sake of principle, I believe, as because she happened 
 not to like him. 
 
 Although it required an effort to leave Miss Mills, I fell 
 rather willingly into my aunt's pretence, as a means of ena- 
 bling me to pass a few tranquil hours with Agnes. I consulted 
 the good Doctor relative to an absence of three days ; and the 
 Doctor wishing me to take that relaxation, he wished me to 
 take more ; but my energy could not bear that, I made up 
 my mine to go. 
 
 As to the Commons, I had no great occasion to be particular 
 about my duties in that quarter. To say the truth, we were 
 getting in no very good odor among the tip-top proctors, and 
 were rapidly sliding down to but a doubtful position. The 
 business had been indifferent under Mr. Jorkins, before Mr. 
 Spenlow's time ; and although it had been quickened by the 
 infusion of new blood, and by the display which Mr. Spenlow 
 made, still it was not established on a sufficiently strong basis 
 to bear, without being shaken, such a blow as the sudden loss 
 of its active manager. It fell off very much. Mr. Jorkins, 
 notwithstanding his reputation in the firm, was an easy-going, 
 incapable sort of man, whose reputation out of doors was not 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 137 
 
 calculated to back it up. I was turned over to him now, and 
 when I saw him take his snuff and let the business go, I 
 regretted my aunt's thousand pounds more than ever. 
 
 But this was not the worst of it. There were a number of 
 hangers-on and out-siders about the Commons, who, without 
 being proctors themselves, dabbled in common-form business, 
 and got it done by real proctors, who lent their names in con- 
 sideration of a share in the spoil ; and there were a good 
 many of these too. As our house now wanted business on any 
 terms, we joined this noble band ; and threw out lures to the 
 hangers-on and out-siders, to bring their business to us. Mar- 
 riage licenses and small probates were what we all looked for, 
 and what paid us best ; and the competition for these ran very 
 high indeed. Kidnappers and inveiglers were planted in all 
 the avenues of entrance to the Commons, with instructions to 
 do their utmost to cut off all persons in mourning, and all 
 gentlemen with anything bashful in their appearance, and 
 entice them to the offices in which their respective employers 
 were interested ; which instructions were so well observed, 
 that I myself, before I was known by sight, was twice hustled 
 into the premises of our principal opponent. The conflicting 
 interests of these touting gentlemen being of a nature to irri- 
 tate their feelings, personal collisions took place ; and the 
 Commons was even scandalized by our principal inveigler 
 (who had formerly been in the wine trade, and afterwards in 
 the sworn brokery line) walking about for some days with a 
 black eye. Any one of these scouts used to think nothing of 
 politely assisting an old lady in black out of a vehicle, killing 
 any proctor whom she inquired for, representing his employer 
 as the lawful successor and representative of that proctor, and 
 bearing the old lady off (sometimes greatly affected) to his 
 employer's office. Many captives were brought to me in this 
 way. As to marriage licenses, the competition rose to such a 
 pitch, that a shy gentleman in want of one, had nothing to do 
 but submit himself to the first inveigler, or be fought for, and 
 become the prey of the strongest. One of our clerks, who was 
 an out-sider, used, in the height of this contest, to sit with his 
 hat on, that he might be ready to rush out and swear before 
 a surrogate any victim who was brought in. The system of 
 
138 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 inveigling continues, I believe, to this day. The last time 
 I was in the Commons, a civil able-bodied person in a white 
 apron pounced out upon me from a doorway, and whispering 
 the word "Marriage-license" in. my ear, was with great diffi- 
 culty prevented from taking me up in his arms and lifting me 
 into a proctor's. 
 
 From this digression, let me proceed to Dover. 
 
 I found everything in a satisfactory state at the cottage ; 
 and was enabled to gratify my aunt exceedingly by reporting 
 that the tenant inherited her feud, and waged incessant war 
 against donkeys. Having settled the little business I had to 
 transact there, and slept there one night, I walked on to Can- 
 terbury early in the morning. It was now winter again ; and 
 the fresh, cold, windy day, and the sweeping downland, bright- 
 ened up my hopes a little. 
 
 Coming into Canterbury, I loitered through the old streets 
 with a sober pleasure that calmed my spirits, and eased my 
 heart. There were the old signs, the old name^ over the shops, 
 the old people serving in them. It appeared so long, since I 
 had been a schoolboy there, that I wondered the place was so 
 little changed, until I reflected how little I was changed myself. 
 Strange to say, that quiet influence which was inseparable in 
 my mind from Agnes, seemed to pervade even the city where 
 she dwelt. The venerable cathedral towers, and the oW jack- 
 daws and rooks, whose airy voices made them more retired 
 than perfect silence would have done ; the battered gateways, 
 once stuck full with statues, long thrown down, and crumbled 
 away, like the reverential pilgrims who had gazed upon them ; 
 ohe still nooks, where the ivied growth of centuries crept over 
 gabled ends and ruined walls ; the ancient houses, the pastoral 
 landscape of field, orchard, and garden ; everywhere on 
 everything I felt the same serener air, the same calm, 
 thoughtful, softening spirit. 
 
 Arrived at Mr. Wickfield's house, I found, in the little lower 
 room on the ground floor, where Uriah Heep had been of old 
 accustomed to sit, Mr. Micawber plying his pen with great 
 assiduity. He was dressed in a legal-looking suit of black, 
 and loomed, burly and large, in that small office. 
 
 Mr. Micawber was extremely glad to see me, but a little 
 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 139 
 
 confused too. He would have conducted me immediately into 
 the presence of Uriah, but I declined. 
 
 " I know the house of old, you recollect," said I, " and 
 will find my way up stairs. How do you like the law, Mr. 
 Micawber ? " 
 
 " My dear Copperfield," he replied. " To a man possessed of 
 the higher imaginative powers, the objection to legal studies 
 is the amount of detail which they involve. Even in our 
 professional correspondence," said Mr. Micawber, glancing at 
 some letters he was writing, "the mind is not at liberty to 
 soar to any exalted form of expression. Still it is a great 
 pursuit. A great pursuit ! " 
 
 He then told me that he had become the tenant of Uriah 
 Heep's old house ; and that Mrs. Micawber would be delighted 
 
 to receive me. once more, under her own roof. 
 
 ' ^ 
 
 "It is humble," said Mr. Micawber, "to quote a favorite 
 expression of my friend Heep ; but it may prove the stepping- 
 storie to more ambitious domiciliary accommodation." 
 
 I asked him whether he had reason, so far, to be satisfied 
 with his friend Heep's treatment of him ? He got up to 
 ascertain if the door were close shut, before he replied, in a 
 lower voice : 
 
 " My dear Copperfield, a man who labors under the pressure 
 of pecuniary embarrassments, is, with the generality of people^ 
 at a disadvantage. That disadvantage is not diminished, when 
 that pressure necessitates the drawing of stipendiary emolu- 
 ments, before those emoluments are strictly due and payable. 
 All I can say is, that my friend Heep has responded to 
 appeals to which I need not more particularly refer, in a man- 
 ner calculated to redound equally to the honor of his head, 
 and of his heart." 
 
 " I should not have supposed him to be very free with his 
 money either," I observed. 
 
 " Pardon me ! " said Mr. Micawber, with an air of constraint, 
 " I speak of my friend Heep as I have experience." 
 
 " I am glad your experience is so favorable," I returned. 
 
 "You are very obliging, my dear Copperfield," said Mr. 
 Micawber ; and hummed a tune. 
 
L40 THE PEE SON AL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " Do you see much of Mr. Wickfield ? " I asked, to change 
 the subject. 
 
 " Xot much/' said Mr. Micawber, slightingly. " Mr. "Wick- 
 field is, I dare say, a man of very excellent intentions ; but he 
 is in short, he is obsolete." 
 
 " I am afraid his partner seeks to make him so," said I. 
 
 " My dear Copperfield ! " returned Mr. Micawber, after some 
 uneasy evolutions on his stool, " allow me to offer a remark ! 
 I am here, in a capacity of confidence. I am here, in a posi- 
 tion of trust. The discussion of some topics, even with Mrs. 
 Micawber herself (so long the partner of my various vicissi- 
 tudes, and a woman of a remarkable lucidity of intellect), is, 
 I am led to consider, incompatible with the functions now 
 devolving on me. I would therefore take the liberty of sug- 
 gesting that in our friendly intercourse which I trust will 
 never be disturbed! we draw 'a line. On one side of this 
 line," said Mr. Micawber, representing it on the desk with the 
 office ruler, " is the whole range of the human intellect, with 
 a trifling exception ; on the other, is that exception ; that is 
 to say, the affairs of Messrs. Wickfield and Heep, with all 
 belonging and appertaining thereunto. I trust I give no 
 offence to the companion of my youth, in submitting this 
 proposition to his cooler judgment ? " 
 
 Though I saw an uneasy change in Mr. Micawber, which 
 sat tightly on him, as if his new duties were a misfit, I felt I 
 had no right to be offended. My telling him so, appeared to 
 relieve him ; and he shook hands with me. 
 
 " I am charmed, Copperfield," said Mr. Micawber, " let me 
 assure you, with Miss Wickfield. She is a very superior 
 young lady, of very remarkable attractions, graces, and virtues. 
 Upon my honor," said Mr. Micawber, indefinitely kissing his 
 hand and bowing with his genteelest air, "I do Homage t 
 Miss Wickfield ! Hem ! " 
 
 " I am glad of that, at least," said I. 
 
 " If you had not assured us, my dear Copperfield, on the occ? 
 sion of that agreeable afternoon we had the happiness of pas 
 ing with you, that D. was your favorite letter," said M/. 
 Micawber, "I should unquestionably have supposed that A. 
 had been so." 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 141 
 
 We have all some experience of a feeling, that comes over 
 us occasionally, of what we are saying and doing having been 
 said and done before, in a remote time of our having been sur- 
 rounded, dim ages ago, by the same faces, objects, and circum- 
 stances of our knowing perfectly what will be said next, as if 
 we suddenly remembered it ! I never had this mysterious impres- 
 sion more strongly in my life, than before he uttered those words. 
 
 I took my leave of Mr. Micawber, for the time, charging him 
 with my best remembrances to all at home. As I left him, 
 resuming his stool and his pen, and rolling his head in his 
 stock, to get it into easier writing order, I clearly perceived 
 that there was something interposed between him and me, 
 since he had come into his new functions which prevented our 
 getting at each other as we used to do, and quite altered the 
 character of our intercourse. 
 
 There was no one in the quaint old drawing-room, though it 
 presented tokens of Mrs. Heep's whereabout. I looked into 
 the room still belonging to Agnes, and saw her sitting by the 
 fire, at a pretty old-fashioned desk she had, writing. 
 
 My darkening the light made her look up. What a pleasure 
 to be the cause of that bright change in her attentive face, and 
 the object of that sweet regard and welcome ! 
 
 " Ah, Agnes ! " said I, when we were sitting together, side 
 by side ; " I have missed you so much, lately ! " 
 
 " Indeed ? " she replied. " Again ! And so soon ? " 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 " I don't know how it is, Agnes ; I seem to want some 
 faculty of mind that I ought to have. You were so much in 
 the habit of thinking for me, in the happy old days here, and 
 I came so naturally to you for counsel and support, that I 
 really think I have missed acquiring it." 
 
 " And what is it ? " said Agnes, cheerfully. 
 
 " I don't know what to call it," I replied. " I think I am 
 earnest and persevering ? " 
 
 " I am sure of it," said Agnes. 
 
 " And patient, Agnes ? " I inquired, with a little hesitation. 
 
 " Yes," returned Agnes, laughing. " Pretty well." 
 
 "And yet," said I, "I get so miserable and worried, and 
 am so unsteady and irresolute in my power of assuring myself, 
 
142 
 
 that I know I must want shall I call it reliance, of some 
 kind?" 
 
 " Call it so, if you will," said Agnes. 
 
 " Well ! " I returned. " See here ! You come to London, 
 I rely on you, and I have an object and a course at once. I 
 am driven out of it, I come here, and in a moment I feel an 
 altered person. The circumstances that distressed me are 
 not changed, since I came into this room ; but an influence 
 comes over me in that short interval that alters me, oh, how 
 much for the better ! What is it ? What is your secret, 
 Agnes ? " 
 
 Her head was bent down, looking at the fire. 
 
 " It's the old story," said I. " Don't laugh, when I say it 
 was always the same in little things as it is in greater ones. 
 My old troubles were nonsense, and now they are serious ; but 
 whenever I have gone away from my adopted sister " 
 
 Agnes looked up with such a Heavenly face ! and gave 
 me her hand, which I kissed. 
 
 " Whenever I have not had you, Agnes, to advise and 
 approve in the beginning, I have seemed to go wild, and to get 
 into all sorts of difficulty. When I have come to you, at last 
 (as I have always done), I have come to peace and happiness. 
 I come home, now, like a tired traveller, and find such a 
 blessed sense of rest ! JJ 
 
 I felt so deeply what I said, it affected me so sincerely, that 
 my voice failed, and I covered my face with my hand, and 
 broke into tears. I write the truth. Whatever contradictions 
 and inconsistencies there were within me, as there are within 
 so many of us ; whatever might have been so different, and so 
 much better ; whatever I had done, in which I had perversely 
 wandered away from the voice of my own heart ; I knew 
 nothing of. I only knew that I was fervently in earnest, when 
 I felt the rest and peace of having Agnes near me. 
 
 In her placid sisterly manner ; with her beaming eyes ; with 
 her tender voice ; and with that sweet composure, which had 
 long ago made the house that held her quite a sacred place to 
 me ; she soon won me from this weakness, and led me on to 
 tell all that had happened since our last meeting. 
 
 "And there is not another word to tell, Agnes," said I, 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 143 
 
 when I had made an end of my confidence. " Now, my reliance 
 is on you." 
 
 "But it must not be on me, Trotwood," returned Agnes, 
 with a pleasant smile. " It must be on some one else." 
 
 " On Dora ? " said I. 
 
 " Assuredly." 
 
 "Why, I have not mentioned, Agnes," said I, a little em- 
 barrassed, " that Dora is rather difficult to I would not, for 
 the world, say, to rely upon, because she is the soul of purity 
 and truth but rather difficult to I hardly know how to 
 express it, really, Agnes. She is a timid little thing, and 
 easily disturbed and frightened. Some time ago, before her 
 father's death, when I thought it right to mention to her 
 but I'll tell you, if you will bear with me, how it was." 
 
 Accordingly, I told Agnes about my declaration of poverty, 
 about the cookery-book, the housekeeping accounts, and all 
 the rest of it. 
 
 " Oh, Trotwood ! " she remonstrated, with a smile. " Just 
 your old headlong way ! You might have been in earnest in 
 striving to get on in the world, without being so very sudden 
 with a timid, loving, inexperienced girl. Poor Dora ! " 
 
 I never heard such sweet forbearing kindness expressed in a 
 voice, as she ex/pressed in making this reply. It was as if I 
 had seen her admiringly and tenderly embracing Dora, and 
 tacitly reproving me, by her considerate protection, for my hot 
 haste in fluttering that little heart. It was as if I had seen 
 Dora, in all her fascinating artlessness, caressing Agnes, and 
 thanking her, and coaxingly appealing against me, and loving 
 me with all her childish innocence. 
 
 I felt so grateful to Agnes, and admired her so ! I saw 
 those two together, in a bright perspective, such well-associated 
 friends, each adorning the other so much ! 
 
 "What ought I to do then, Agnes?" I inquired, after 
 looking at the fire a little while. " What would it be right 
 to do ? " 
 
 " I think," said Agnes, " that the honorable course to take, 
 would be to write to those two ladies. Don't you think that 
 any secret course is an unworthy one ? " 
 
 " Yes. If you think so," said I. 
 
144 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " I am poorly qualified to judge of such matters/*' replied 
 Agnes, with a modest hesitation, "but I certainly feel in 
 short, I feel that your being secret and clandestine, is not 
 being like yourself." 
 
 "Like myself, in the too high opinion you have of me, 
 4.gnes, I am afraid," said I. 
 
 " Like yourself, in the candor of your nature," she returned ; 
 "and therefore I would write to those two ladies. I would 
 relate, as plainly and as openly as possible, all that has taken 
 place ; and I would ask their permission to visit sometimes, at 
 their house. Considering that you are young, and striving for 
 a place in life, I think it would be well to say that you would 
 readily abide by any conditions they might impose upon you. 
 I would entreat them not to dismiss your request, without a 
 reference to Dora; and to discuss it with her when they 
 should think the time suitable. I would not be too vehe- 
 ment," said Agnes, gently, "or propose too much. I would 
 trust to my fidelity and perseverance and to Dora." 
 
 "But if they were to frighten Dora again, Agnes, by s-peak- 
 ing to her," said I. " And if Dora were to cry, and say noth- 
 ing about me ! " 
 
 " Is that likely ? " inquired Agnes, with the same sweet 
 consideration in her face. 
 
 " God bless her, she is as easily scared as a bird," said I. 
 " It might be ! Or if the two Miss Spenlows (elderly ladies of 
 that sort are odd characters sometimes) should not be likely 
 persons to 'address in that way ! " 
 
 " I don't think, Trotwood," returned Agnes, raising her soft 
 eyes to mine, " I would consider that. Perhaps it would be 
 better only to consider whether it is right to do this ; and, if 
 it is, to do it." 
 
 I had no longer any doubt on the subject. With a lightened 
 heart, though with a profound sense of the weighty importance 
 of my task, I devoted the whole afternoon to the composition 
 of the draft of this letter; for which great purpose, Agnes 
 relinquished her desk to me. But first I went down stairs to 
 see Mr. Wickfield and Uriah Heep. 
 
 I found Uriah in possession of a new, plaster-smelling office, 
 built out in the garden ; looking extraordinarily mean, in the 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 145 
 
 midst of a quantity of books and papers. He received me in 
 his usual fawning way, and pretended not to have heard of 
 my arrival from Mr. Micawber ; a pretence I took the liberty 
 of disbelieving. He accompanied me into Mr. Wickfield's 
 room, which was the shadow of its former self having been 
 divested of a variety of conveniences, for the accommodation 
 of the new partner and stood before the fire, warming his 
 back, and shaving his chin with his bony hand, while Mr. 
 Wickfield and I exchanged greetings. 
 
 " You stay with us, Trotwood, while you remain in Canter- 
 bury ? " said Mr. Wickfield, not without a glance at Uriah for 
 his approval. 
 
 " Is there room for me ? " said I. 
 
 " I am sure, Master Copperfield I should say Mister, but 
 the other comes so natural," said Uriah, "I would turn out 
 of your old room with pleasure, if it would be agreeable." 
 
 " No, no," said Mr. Wickfield. " Why should you be incon- 
 venienced ? There's another room. There's another room." 
 
 " Oh, but you know," returned Uriah, with a grin, " I should 
 really be delighted ! " 
 
 To cut the matter short, I said I would have the other room 
 or none at all ; so it was settled that I should have the other 
 room : and, taking my leave of the firm until dinner, I went 
 up stairs again. 
 
 I had hoped, to have no other companion than Agnes. But 
 Mrs. Heep had asked permission to bring herself and her 
 knitting near the fire, in that room ; on pretence of its having 
 an aspect more favorable for her rheumatics, as the wind 
 then was, than the drawing-room or dining-parlor. Though I 
 could almost have consigned her to the mercies of the wind 
 on the topmost pinnacle of the Cathedral, without remorse, I 
 made a virtue of necessity, and gave her a friendly salutation. 
 
 "I'm umbly thankful to you, sir," said Mrs. Heep, in ac- 
 knowledgment of my inquiries concerning her health, "but 
 I'm only pretty well. I haven't much to boast of. If I could 
 see my Uriah well settled in life, I couldn't expect much more 
 I think. How do you think my Ury looking, sir ? " 
 
 I thought him looking as villanous as ever, and I replied 
 that I saw no change in him. 
 
 VOL. II 30 
 
146 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " Oh, don't you think he's changed ? " said Mrs. Heep. 
 "There I must umbly beg leave to differ from you. Don't 
 you see a thinness in him ? " 
 
 "Not more than usual," I replied. 
 
 " Don't you though ! " said Mrs. Heep. " But you don't 
 take notice of him with a mother's eye ! " 
 
 His mother's eye was an evil eye to the rest of the world, I 
 thought as it met mine, howsoever affectionate to him : and I 
 believe she and her son were devoted to one another. It 
 passed me, and went on to Agnes. 
 
 " Don't you see a wasting and a wearing in him, Miss Wick- 
 field ? " inquired Mrs. Heep. 
 
 " No," said Agnes, quietly pursuing the work on which she 
 was engaged. "You are too solicitous about him. He is 
 very well." 
 
 Mrs. Heep, with a prodigious sniff, resumed her knitting. 
 
 She never left off, or left us for a moment. I had arrived 
 early in the day, and we had still three or four hours before 
 dinner; but she sat there, plying her knitting-needles as 
 monotonously as an hour-glass might have poured out its 
 sands. She sat on one side of the fire ; I sat at the desk in 
 front of it ; a little beyond me, on the other side, sat Agnes. 
 Whensoever, slowly pondering over my letter, I lifted up my 
 eyes, and meeting the thoughtful face of Agnes, saw it clear, 
 and beam encouragement upon me, with its own angelic 
 expression, I was conscious presently of the evil eye passing 
 me, and going on to her, and coming back to me again, and drop- 
 ping furtively upon the knitting. What the knitting was, I 
 don't know, not being learned in that art ; but it looked like 
 a net ; and as she worked away with those Chinese chopsticks 
 of knitting-needles, she showed in the firelight like an ill- 
 looking enchantress, balked as yet by the radiant goodness 
 opposite, but getting ready for a cast of her net by and by. 
 
 At dinner she maintained her watch, with the same unwink- 
 ing eyes. After dinner, her son took his turn ; and when Mr. 
 Wickfield, himself, and I were left alone together, leered at 
 me, and writhed until I could hardly bear it. In the drawing- 
 room, there was the mother knitting and watching again. All 
 the time that Agnes sang and played, the mother sat at the 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 147 
 
 piano. Once she asked for a particular ballad, which she 
 said her Ury (who was yawning in a great chair) doted on ; 
 and at intervals she looked round at him, and reported to 
 Agnes that he was in raptures with the music. But she 
 hardly ever spoke I question if she ever did without mak- 
 ing some mention of him. It was evident to me that this was 
 the duty assigned to her. 
 
 This lasted until bedtime. To have seen the mother and 
 son, like two great bats hanging over the whole house, and 
 darkening it with their ugly forms, made me so uncomfortable, 
 that I would rather have remained down stairs, knitting and 
 all, than gone to bed. I hardly got any sleep. Next day the 
 knitting and watching began again, and lasted all day. 
 
 I had not an opportunity of speaking to Agnes, for ten min- 
 utes. I could barely show her my letter. I proposed to her to 
 walk out with me ; but Mrs. Heep repeatedly complaining that 
 she was worse, Agnes charitably remained within, to bear her 
 company. Towards the twilight I went out by myself, mus- 
 ing on what I ought to do, and whether I was justified in 
 withholding from Agnes, any longer, what Uriah Heep had 
 told me in London ; for that began to trouble me again, very 
 much. 
 
 I had not walked out far enough to be quite clear of the 
 town, upon the Ramsgate road, where there was a good path, 
 when I was hailed, through the dusk, by somebody behind me. 
 The shambling figure, and the scanty great coat, were not to 
 be mistaken. I stopped, and Uriah Heep came up. 
 
 "Well?" said I. 
 
 " How fast you walk ! " said he. " My legs are pretty long, 
 but you've given 'em quite a job." 
 
 " Where are you going ? " said I. 
 
 " I am coming with you, Master Copperfield, if you'll allow 
 me the pleasure of a walk with an old acquaintance." Saying 
 this, with a jerk of his body, which might have been either 
 propitiatory or derisive, he fell into step beside me. 
 
 " Uriah ! " said I, as civilly as I could, after a silence. 
 
 " Master Copperfield ! " said Uriah. 
 
 " To tell you the truth (at which you will not be offended), I 
 came out to walk alone, because I have had so much company." 
 
148 
 
 He looked at me sideways, and said, with his hardest grin, 
 " You mean mother." 
 
 " Why yes, I do," said I. 
 
 " Ah ! But you know we're so very umble," he returned. 
 "And having such a knowledge of our own umbleness, we 
 must really take care that we're not pushed to the wall by 
 them as isn't umble. All stratagems are fair in love, sir." 
 
 Raising his great hands until they touched his chin, he 
 rubbed them softly, and softly chuckled; looking as like 
 a malevolent baboon, I thought, as anything human could 
 look. 
 
 " You see," he said, still hugging himself in that unpleasant 
 way, and shaking his head at me, "you're quite a dangerous 
 rival, Master Copperfield. You always was, you know." 
 
 " Do you set a watch upon Miss Wickfield, and make her 
 home no home, because of me ? " said I. 
 
 " Oh ! Master Copperfield ! Those are very arsh words," he 
 replied. 
 
 " Put my meaning into any words you like," said I. " You 
 know what it is, Uriah, as well as I do." 
 
 " Oh, no ! You must put it into words," he said. " Oh, 
 really ! I couldn't myself." 
 
 " Do you suppose," said I, constraining myself to be very 
 temperate and quiet with him, on account of Agnes, "that I 
 regard Miss Wickfield otherwise than as a very dear sister ? " 
 
 " Well, Master Copperfield," he replied, " you perceive I am 
 not bound to answer that question. You may not, you know. 
 But then, you see, you may ! " 
 
 Anything to equal the Ipw cunning of his visage, and of his 
 shadowless eyes without the ghost of an eyelash, I never saw. 
 
 " Come then ! " said I. " For the sake of Miss Wickfield " 
 
 " My Agnes ! " he exclaimed, with a sickly, angular contor- 
 tion of himself. " Would you be so good as call her Agnes, 
 Master Copperfield ! " 
 
 " For the sake of Agnes Wickfield Heaven bless her ! " 
 
 " Thank you for that blessing, Master Copperfield ! " he 
 interposed. 
 
 "I will tell you what I should, under any other circum- 
 stances, as soon have thought of telling to Jack Ketch." 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 149 
 
 " To who, sir ? " said Uriah, stretching out his neck, and 
 shading his ear with his hand. 
 
 " To the hangman," I returned. " The most unlikely person 
 I could think of," though his own face had suggested the 
 allusion quite as a natural sequence. " I am engaged to another 
 young lady. I hope that contents you." 
 
 " Upon your soul ? " said Uriah. 
 
 I was about indignantly to give my assertion the confirma- 
 tion he required, when he caught hold of my hand, and gave it 
 a squeeze. 
 
 " Oh, Master Copperfield," he said. " If you had only had 
 the condescension to return my confidence when I poured out 
 the fulness of my art, the night I put you so much out of the 
 way by sleeping before your sitting-room fire, I never should 
 have doubted you. As it is, I'm sure . I'll take off mother 
 directly, and only too appy. I know you'll excuse the pre- 
 cautions of affection, won't you ? What a pity, Master Cop- 
 perfield, that you didn't condescend to return my confidence ! 
 I'm sure I gave you every opportunity. But you never have 
 condescended to me, as much as I could have wished. I know 
 you have never liked me, as I have liked you ! " 
 
 All this time he was squeezing my hand with his damp fishy 
 fingers, while I made every effort I decently could to get it 
 away. But I was quite unsuccessful. He drew it under the 
 sleeve of his mulberry-colored great coat, and I walked on, 
 almost upon compulsion, arm in arm with him. 
 
 " Shall we turn ? " said Uriah, by and by wheeling me face 
 about towards the town, on which the early moon was now 
 shining, silvering the distant windows. 
 
 "Before we leave the subject, you ought to understand," 
 said I, breaking a pretty long silence, " that I believe Agnes 
 Wickfield to be as far above you, and as far removed from all 
 your aspirations, as that moon herself ! " 
 
 " Peaceful ! Ain't she ! " said Uriah. " Very ! Now con- 
 fess, Master Copperfield, that you haven't liked me quite as 
 I have liked you. All along you've thought me too umble 
 now, I shouldn't wonder ? " 
 
 " I am not fond of professions of humility," I returned, " or 
 professions of anything else." 
 
150 
 
 " There now ! " said Uriah, looking flabby and lead-colored 
 in the moonlight. " Didn't I know it ! But how little you 
 think of the rightful umbleness of a person in my station, 
 Master Copperfield ! Father and me was both brought up at 
 a foundation school for boys ; and mother, she was likewise 
 brought up at a public, sort of charitable, establishment. They 
 taught us all a deal of umbleness not much else that I know 
 of, from morning to night. We was to be umble to this per- 
 son, and umble to that ; and to pull off our caps here, and to 
 make bows there; and always to know our place, and abase 
 ourselves before our betters. And we had such a lot of 
 betters ! Father got the monitor-medal by being umble. So 
 did I. Father got made a sexton by being umble. He had 
 the character, among the gentlefolks, of being such a well- 
 behaved man, that they were determined to bring him in. ' Be 
 umble, Uriah,' says father to me, ' and you'll get on. It was 
 what was always being dinned into you and me at school ; it's 
 what goes down best. Be umble/ says father, 'and you'll 
 do ! ' And really it ain't done bad ! " 
 
 It was the first time it had ever occurred to me, that this 
 detestable cant of false humility might have originated out of 
 the Heep family. I had seen the harvest, but had never 
 thought of the seed. 
 
 " When I was quite a young boy," said Uriah, " I got to 
 know what umbleness did, and I took to it. I ate umble pie 
 with an appetite. I stopped at the umble point of my learn- 
 ing, and says I, ' Hold hard ! ' When you offered to teach me 
 latin, I knew better. ' People like to be above you,' says 
 father, 'keep yourself down.' I am very umble to the present 
 moment, Master Copperfield, but I've got a little power ! " 
 
 And he said all this I knew, as I saw his face in the 
 moonlight that I might understand he was resolved to 
 recompense himself by using his power. I had never doubted 
 his meanness, his craft, and malice ; but I fully comprehended 
 now, for the first time, what a base, unrelenting, and revenge- 
 ful spirit must have been engendered by this early, and this 
 long, suppression. 
 
 His account of himself was so far attended with an agree- 
 able result, that it led to his withdrawing his hand in order 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 151 
 
 that he might have another hug of himself under the chin. 
 Once apart from him, I was determined to keep apart; and 
 we walked back, side by side, saying very little more by the 
 way. 
 
 Whether his spirits were elevated by the communication I 
 had made to him, or by his having indulged in this retrospect, 
 I don't know ; but they were raised by some influence. He 
 talked more at dinner than was usual with him; asked his 
 mother (off duty from the moment of our re-entering the 
 house), whether he was not growing too old for a bachelor; 
 and once looked at Agnes so, that I would have given all I 
 had, for leave to knock him down. 
 
 When we three males were left alone after dinner, he got 
 into a more adventurous state. He had taken little or no 
 wine ; and I presume it was the mere insolence of triumph 
 that was upon him, flushed perhaps by the temptation my 
 presence furnished to its exhibition. 
 
 I had observed yesterday, that he tried to entice Mr. Wick- 
 field to drink ; and interpreting the look which Agnes had 
 given me as she went out, had limited myself to one glass, and 
 then proposed that we should follow her. I would have done 
 so again to-day ; but Uriah was too quick for me. 
 
 " We seldom see our present visitor, sir," he said, address- 
 ing Mr. Wickfield, sitting, such a contrast to him, at the end 
 of the table, " and I should propose to give him welcome in 
 another glass or two of wine, if you have no objections. Mr. 
 Copperfield, your elth and appiness ! " 
 
 I was obliged to make a show of taking the hand he 
 stretched across to me ; and then, with very different emotions, 
 I took the hand of the broken gentleman, his partner. 
 
 "Come, fellow partner," said Uriah, "if I may take the 
 liberty, now, suppose you give us something or another 
 appropriate to Copperfield ! " 
 
 I pass over Mr. Wickfield's proposing my aunt, his pro- 
 posing Mr. Dick, his proposing Doctors' Commons, his pro- 
 posing Uriah, his drinking everything twice ; his consciousness 
 of his own weakness, the ineffectual effort that he made 
 against it ; the struggle between his shame in Uriah's deport- 
 ment, and his desire to conciliate him ; the manifest exultation 
 
152 
 
 with which Uriah twisted and turned, and held him up before 
 me. It made me sick at heart to see, and my hand recoils 
 from writing it. 
 
 " Come, fellow partner ! " said Uriah, at last, " /'ll give you 
 another one, and I umbly ask for bumpers, seeing I intend to 
 make it the divinest of her sex." 
 
 Her father had his empty glass in his hand. I saw him set 
 it down, look at the picture she was so like, put his hand to 
 his forehead, and shrink back in his elbow-chair. 
 
 " I'm an umble individual to give you her elth," proceeded 
 Uriah, " but I admire adore her." 
 
 No physical pain that her father's gray head could have 
 borne, I think, could have been more terrible to me, than the 
 mental endurance I saw compressed now within both his 
 hands. 
 
 "Agnes," said Uriah, either not regarding him, or not 
 knowing what the nature of his action was, " Agnes Wickfield 
 is, I am safe to say, the divinest of her sex. May I speak out, 
 among friends ? To be her father is a proud distinction, but 
 to be her usband " 
 
 Spare me from ever again hearing such a cry, as that with 
 which her father rose up from the table ! 
 
 " What's the matter ? " said Uriah, turning of a deadly 
 color. "You are not gone mad, after all, Mr. Wickfield, I 
 hope ? If I say, I've an ambition to make your Agnes my 
 Agnes, I have as good a right to it as another man. I have a 
 better right to it than any other man ! " 
 
 I had my arms round Mr. Wickfield, imploring him by 
 everything that I could think of, oftenest of all by his love for 
 Agnes, to calm himself a little. He was mad for the moment ; 
 tearing out his hair, beating his head, trying to force me from 
 him and to force himself from me, not answering a word, not 
 looking at or seeing any one ; blindly striving for he knew 
 not what, his face all staring and distorted a frightful 
 spectacle. 
 
 I conjured him, incoherently, but in the most impassioned 
 manner, not to abandon himself to this wildness, but to hear 
 me. I besought him to think of Agnes, to connect me with 
 A.gnes, to recollect how Agnes and I had grown up together. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 153 
 
 how I honored her and loved her, how she was his pride and 
 joy. I tried to bring her idea before him in any form ; I even 
 reproached him with not having firmness to spare her the 
 knowledge of such a scene of this. I may have effected some- 
 thing, or his wildness may have spent itself; but by degrees 
 he struggled less, and began to look at me strangely at first, 
 then with recognition in his eyes. At length he said, "I 
 know, Trot wood ! My darling child and you I know ! But 
 look at him ! " 
 
 He pointed to Uriah, pale and glowering in a corner, evi- 
 dently very much out in his calculations, and taken by sur- 
 prise. 
 
 "Look at my torturer/ 7 he replied. "Before him I have 
 step by step abandoned name and reputation, peace and quiet, 
 house and home." 
 
 "I have kept your name and* reputation for you, and your 
 peace and quiet, and youi house and home too," said Uriah, 
 with a sulky, hurried, defea*. d air of compromise. " Don't be 
 oolish, Mr. Wickfield. If I have gone a little beyond what 
 you were prepared for, I can go back, I suppose ? There's no 
 harm done." 
 
 " I looked for single motives in every one," said Mr. Wick- 
 field, " and I was satisfied I had bound him to me by motives 
 of interest. But "ee ,^hal he is oh, see what he is ! " 
 
 "You had better sto;- \im, Copperfield, if you can," cried 
 Uriah, with his long fore-finger pointing towards me. " He'll 
 say som.thin^ presently mind you ! he'll be sorry to have 
 said afterwards, - you'll be ; jrry to have heard ! " 
 
 " I'll say anything ! " cried Mr. Wickfield, with a desperate 
 air. " Why should I not be in all the world's power if I am 
 in yours ! " 
 
 " Mind ! I tell you ! " said Uriah, continuing to warn me. 
 " If you don't stop his mouth, you're not his friend ! Why 
 shouldn't you be in all the world's power, Mr. Wickfield ? 
 Because you have got a daughter. You and me know what 
 we know, don't we ? Let sleeping dogs lie who wants to 
 rouse 'em ? I don't. Can't you see I am as umble as I can 
 be ? I tell you, if I've gone too far, I'm sorry. What would 
 you have, sir ? " 
 
154 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 "Oh, Trotwood, Trotwood!" exclaimed Mr. Wickfield, 
 wringing his hands. " What I have come down to be, since 
 I first saw you in this house ! I was on my downward way 
 then, but the dreary, dreary road I have travelled since ! 
 Weak indulgence has ruined me. Indulgence in remembrance, 
 and indulgence in forgetfulness. My natural grief for my 
 child's mother turned to disease ; my natural love for my 
 child turned to disease. I have infected everything I touched. 
 I have brought misery on what I dearly love, I know You, 
 know ! I thought it possible that I could truly love one 
 creature in the world, and not love the rest; I thought it 
 possible that I could truly mourn for one creature gone out of 
 the world, and not have some part in the grief of all who 
 mourned. Thus the lessons of my life have been perverted ! 
 I have preyed on my own morbid coward heart, and it has 
 preyed on me. Sordid in my grief, sordid in my love, sordid 
 in my miserable escape from the darker side of both, oh see 
 the ruin I am, and hate me, shun me ! " 
 
 He dropped into a chair, and weakly sobbed. The excite- 
 ment into which he had been roused was leaving him. Uriah 
 came out of his corner. 
 
 "I don't know all I have done, in my fatuity," said Mr. 
 Wickfield, putting out his hands, as if to deprecate my con- 
 demnation. " He knows best," meaning Uriah Heep, " for he 
 has always been at my elbow, whispering me. You see the 
 millstone that he is about my neck. You find him in my house, 
 you find him in my business. You heard him but a little 
 time ago. What need have I to say more ! " 
 
 " You haven't need to say so much, nor half so much, nor 
 anything at all," observed Uriah, half defiant, and half fawn- 
 ing. " You wouldn't have took it up so, if it hadn't been for 
 the wine. You'll think better of it to-morrow, sir. If I have 
 said too much, or more than I meant, what of it ? I haven't 
 stood by it ! " 
 
 The door opened, and Agnes, gliding in, without a vestige 
 of color in her face, put her arm round his neck, and steadily 
 said, " Papa, you are not well. Come with me ! " He laid 
 his head upon her shoulder, as if he were oppressed with 
 heavy shame, and went out with her. Her eyes met mine 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 155 
 
 for but an instant, yet I saw how much she knew of what had 
 passed. 
 
 " I didn't expect he'd cut up so rough, Master Copperfield," 
 said Uriah. " But it's nothing. I'll be friends with him 
 to-morrow. It's for his good. I'm umbly anxious for his 
 good." 
 
 I gave him no answer, and went up stairs into the -quiet 
 room where Agnes had so often sat beside me at my books. 
 Nobody came near me until late at night. I took up a book 
 and tried to read. I heard the clock strike twelve, and was 
 still reading, without knowing what I read, when Agnes 
 touched me. 
 
 " You will be going early in the morning, Trotwood ! Let 
 us say good by, now ! " 
 
 She had been weeping, but her face then was so calm and 
 beautiful ! 
 
 "Heaven bless you ! " she said, giving me her hand. 
 
 " Dearest A gnes ! " I returned, " I see you ask me not to 
 speak of to-night but is there nothing to be done ? " 
 
 " There is God to trust in ! " she replied. 
 
 " Can / do nothing /, who come to you with my poor 
 sorrows ? " 
 
 "And make mine so much lighter," she replied. "Dear 
 Trotwood, no." 
 
 "Dear Agnes," I said, "it is presumptuous for me, who 
 am so poor in all in which you are so rich goodness, reso- 
 lution, all noble qualities to doubt or direct you ; but you 
 know how much I love you, and how much I owe you. You 
 will never sacrifice yourself to a mistaken sense of duty ? 
 Agnes ? " 
 
 More agitated for a moment than I had ever seen her, she 
 took her hand from me, and moved a step back. 
 
 "Say you have no such thought, dear Agnes ! Much more 
 than sister ! Think of the priceless gift of such a heart as 
 yours, of such a love as yours ! " 
 
 Oh ! long, long afterwards, I saw that face rise up before 
 me, with its momentary look, not wondering, not accusing, 
 not regretting. Oh, long, long afterwards, I saw that look 
 subside, as it did now, into the lovely smile, with which she 
 
156 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 told me she had no fear for herself I need have none for 
 her and parted from me by the name of Brother, and was 
 gone ! 
 
 It was dark in the morning when I got upon the coach at 
 the inn door. The day was just breaking when we were 
 about to start, and then, as I sat thinking of her, came strug- 
 gling up the coach side, through the mingled day and night, 
 Uriah's head. 
 
 " Copperfield ! " said he, in a croaking whisper, as he hung 
 by the iron on the roof, "I thought you'd be glad to hear 
 before you went off, that there are no squares broke between 
 us. I've been into his room already, and we've made it all 
 smooth. Why, though I'm umble, I'm useful to him, you 
 know; and he understands his interest when he isn't in 
 liquor ! What an agreeable man he is, after all, Master 
 Copperfield ! " 
 
 I obliged myself to say that I was glad he had made his 
 apology. 
 
 " Oh, to be sure ! " said Uriah. " When a person's umble, 
 you know, what's an apology ? So easy ! I say ! I suppose," 
 with a jerk, "you have sometimes plucked a pear before it 
 was ripe, Master Copperfield ? " 
 
 " I suppose I have," I replied. 
 
 " / did that last night," said Uriah ; " but it'll ripen yet ! 
 It only wants attending to. I can wait ! " 
 
 Profuse in his farewells, he got down again as the coachman 
 got up. For anything I know, he was eating something to 
 keep the raw morning air out ; but, he imade motions with his 
 mouth as if the pear were ripe already, and he were smacking 
 his lips over it. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 157 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE WANDERER. 
 
 WE had a very serious conversation in Buckingham Street 
 that night, about the domestic occurrences I have detailed in 
 the last chapter. My aunt was deeply interested in them, and 
 walked up and down the room with her arms folded, for 
 more than two hours afterwards. Whenever she was par- 
 ticularly discomposed, she always performed one of these 
 pedestrian feats ; and the amount of her discomposure might 
 always be estimated by the duration of her walk. On this 
 occasion she was so much disturbed in mind as to find it 
 necessary to open the bed-room door, and make a course for 
 herself, comprising the full extent of the bed-rooms from wall 
 to wall ; and while Mr. Dick and I sat quietly by the fire, she 
 kept passing in and out, along this measured track, at an 
 unchanging pace, with the regularity of a clock-pendulum. 
 
 When my aunt and I were left to ourselves by Mr. Dick's 
 going out to bed, I sat down to write my letter to the two 
 old ladies. By that time she was tired of walking, and sat 
 by the fire with her dress tucked up as usual. But instead of 
 sitting in her usual manner, holding her glass upon her knee, 
 she suffered it to stand neglected on the chimney-piece ; and, 
 resting her left elbow on her right arm, and her chin on her 
 left hand, looked thoughtfully at me. As often as I raised 
 my eyes from what I was about, I met hers. " I am in the 
 lovingest of tempers, my dear," she would assure me with a 
 nod, " but I am fidgetted and sorry ! " 
 
 I had been too busy to observe, until after she was gone to 
 bed, that she had left her night-mixture, as she always called 
 it, untasted on the chimney-piece. She came to her door, with 
 even more than her usual affection of manner, when I knocked 
 to acquaint h?\ with this discovery ; but only said, " I have 
 
158 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 not the heart to take it, Trot, to-night," and shook her head, 
 and went in again. 
 
 She read my letter to the two old ladies, in the morning, 
 and approved of it. I posted it, and had nothing to do then, 
 but wait, as patiently as. I could, for the reply. I was still in 
 this state of expectation, and had been, for nearly a week ; 
 when I left the Doctor's one snowy night, to walk home. 
 
 It had been a bitter day, and a cutting north-east wind had 
 blown for some time. The wind had gone down with the 
 light, and so the snow had come on. It was a heavy, settled 
 fall, I recollect, in great flakes ; and it lay thick. The noise 
 of wheels and tread of people were as hushed, as if the streets 
 had been strewn that depth with feathers. 
 
 My shortest way home and I naturally took the shortest 
 way on such a night was through Saint Martin's Lane. 
 Now, the church which gives its name to the lane, stood in a 
 less free situation at that time ; there being no open space before 
 it, and the lane winding down to the Strand. As I passed the 
 steps of the portico, I encountered, at the corner, a woman's 
 face. It looked in mine, passed across the narrow lane, and 
 disappeared. I knew it. I had seen it somewhere. But I could 
 not remember where. I had some association with it, that 
 struck upon my heart directly; but I was thinking of any- 
 thing else when it came upon me, and was confused. 
 
 On the steps of the church, there was the stooping figure of 
 a man, who had put down some burden on the smooth snow, 
 to adjust it; my seeing the face, and my seeing him, were 
 simultaneous. I don't think I had stopped in my surprise ; 
 but, in any case, as I went on, he rose, turned, and came down 
 towards me. I stood face to face with Mr. Peggotty ! 
 
 Then I remembered the woman. It was Martha, to whom 
 Emily had given the money that night in the kitchen. Martha 
 Endell side by side with whom, he would not have seen his 
 dear niece, Ham had told me, for all the treasures wrecked in 
 the sea. 
 
 We shook hands heartily. At first neither of us could 
 speak a word. 
 
 " Mas'r Davy ! " he said, gripping me tight, " it do my art 
 good to see you, sir. Well met, well met ! " 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 159 
 
 " Well met, my dear old friend ! " said I. 
 
 " I had my thowts o' coming to make inquiration for you, 
 sir, to-night," he said, "but knowing as your aunt was living 
 along wi' you for I've been down yonder Yarmouth way 
 I was afeerd it was too late. I should have come early in the 
 morning, sir, afore going away." 
 
 "Again?" said I. 
 
 " Yes, sir/' he replied, patiently shaking his head, " I'm 
 away to-morrow." 
 
 " Where were you going now ? " I asked. 
 
 " Well ! " he replied, shaking the snow out of his long hair, 
 " I was a going to turn in somewheers." 
 
 In those days there was a side-entrance to the stable-yard 
 of the Golden Cross, the inn so memorable to me in connection 
 with his misfortune, nearly opposite to where we stood. I 
 pointed out the gateway, put my arm through his, and we 
 went across. Two or three public rooms opened out of the 
 stable-yard : and looking into one of them, and finding it 
 empty, and a good fire burning, I took him in there. 
 
 When I saw him in the light, I observed, not only that his 
 hair was long and ragged, but that his face was burnt dark by 
 the sun. He was grayer, the lines in his face and forehead 
 were deeper, and he had every appearance of having toiled 
 and wandered through all varieties of weather ; but he looked 
 very strong, and like a man upheld by steadfastness of purpose, 
 whom nothing could tire out. He shook the snow from his 
 hat and clothes, and brushed it away from his face, while I 
 was inwardly making these remarks. As he sat down opposite 
 to me at a table, with his back to the door by which we had 
 entered, he put out his rough hand again, and grasped mine 
 warmly. 
 
 " I'll tell you, Mas'r Davy," he said, " wheer-all I've been, 
 and what-all we've heerd. I've been fur, and we've heerd 
 little; but I'll tell you!" 
 
 I rang the bell for something hot to drink. He would have 
 nothing stronger than ale ; and while it was being brought, 
 and being warmed at the fire, he sat thinking. There was a 
 fine massive gravity in his face, I did not venture to disturb. 
 
 " When she was a child," he said, lifting up his head soon 
 
160 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 after we were left alone, " 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. I 
 thowt, odd times, as her father being drownded, made her 
 think on it so much. I doen't know, you see, but maybe 
 she believed or hoped he had drifted out to them parts, 
 where the flowers is always a blowing, and the country 
 bright." 
 
 " It is likely to have been a childish fancy," I replied. 
 
 "When she was lost," said Mr. Peggotty, "I know'd in 
 my mind, as he would take her to them countries. 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 
 first, along o' sech like. When we see his mother, I know'd 
 quite well as I was right. I went across-channel to France, 
 and landed theer, as if I'd fell down from the sky." 
 
 I saw the door move, and the snow drift in. I saw it move 
 a little more, and a hand softly interpose to keep it open. 
 
 "I found out an English gentleman, as was in authority," 
 said Mr. Peggotty, " and told him I was a going to seek my 
 niece. He got me them papers as I wanted fur to carry me 
 through I doen't rightly know how they're called and he 
 would have give me money, but that I was thankful to have 
 no need on. I thank him kind, for all he done, I'm sure ! 
 * I've wrote afore you/ he says to me, ' and I shall speak to 
 many as will come that way, and many will know you, fur 
 distant from here, when you're a travelling alone. 7 I told 
 him, best as I was able, what my gratitoode was, and went 
 away through France." 
 
 " Alone, and on foot ? " said I. 
 
 "Mostly a-foot," he rejoined; "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," 
 said Mr. Peggotty, " nor he to me ; but we was company for 
 one another, too, along the dusty roads." 
 
 I should have known that by his friendly tone. 
 
 "When I come to any town," he pursued, "I found the 
 inn, and waited about the yard till some one turned up (some 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 161 
 
 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 man- 
 ner of gentlefolks was in the house, and I waited to see any 
 as seemed like her, going in or out. When it wanrt Em'ly, 
 I went on agen. By little and little, 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's 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 ! " 
 
 It was Martha at the door. I saw her haggard, listening 
 face distinctly. My dread was lest he should turn his head, 
 and see her too. 
 
 "They would often put their children partic'lar their 
 little girls," said Mr. Peggotty, "upon my knee; and many a 
 time you might have seen me sitting at their doors, when 
 night was coming on, a'most as if they'd been my Darling's 
 children. Oh, my Darling ! " 
 
 Overpowered by sudden grief, he sobbed aloud. I laid my 
 trembling hand upon the hand he put before his face. 
 "Thankee, sir," he said, "doen't take no notice." 
 
 In a very little while he took his hand away and put it in 
 his breast, and went on with his story. 
 
 "They often walk with me," he said, "in the morning, 
 maybe a mile or two upon my road ; and when we parted, and 
 I said, ' I'm very thankful to you ! God bless you ! ' they 
 always seemed to understand, and answered pleasant. 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 through, but that I got news of her 
 being seen among them Swiss mountains yonder. One as 
 know'd his servant see 'em there, all three, and told me how 
 they travelled, and where they was. I made for them moun- 
 tains, Mas'r Davy, day and night. Ever so fur as I went, 
 
 VOL. II 11 
 
162 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 ever so fur the mountains seemed to shift away from me. 
 But I come up with 'em, and I crossed 'em. When I got nigh 
 the place as I had been told of, I began to think within my 
 own self, ' What shall I do when I see her ? ' : 
 
 The listening face, insensible to the inclement night, still 
 drooped at the door, and the hands begged me prayed me 
 not to cast it forth. 
 
 " I never doubted her," said Mr. Peggotty. " No ! Not a 
 bit ! On'y let her see my face on'y let her heer my voice 
 
 on'y let my stanning still afore her bring to her thoughts 
 the home 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 ! Many a time in my 
 sleep had I heerd her cry out, ' Uncle ! ' and seen her fall like 
 death afore me. Many a time in my sleep had I raised her up, 
 and whispered to her, ' Em'ly, my dear, I am come fur to bring 
 forgiveness, and to take you home ! ' : 
 
 He stopped and shook his head, and went on with a sigh. 
 
 "He was nowt to me now. Em'ly was all. I bought a 
 country dress to put upon her ; and I know'd that, once found, 
 she would walk beside me over them stony roads, go where I 
 would, and never, never, leave me more. 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, and heal her bruised feet and her worse-bruised 
 heart was. all that I thowt of now. I doen't believe I should 
 have done so much as look at him. But, MasT 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." 
 
 "How long ago ? " I asked. 
 
 " A matter.o' fower days," said Mr. Peggotty. " I sighted 
 the old boat arter dark, and the light a shining in the winder. 
 When I come nigh and looked in through the glass, I see the 
 faithful creetur Missis Gummidge sittin' by the fire, as we 
 had fixed upon, alone. I called out, ' Doen't be afeerd ! It's 
 Dan'l ! ' and I went in. I never could have thowt the old boat 
 would have been so strange ! " 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 163 
 
 From some pocket in his breast, lie took out, with a very 
 careful hand, a small paper bundle containing two or three 
 letters or little packets, which he laid upon the table. 
 
 " This first one come," he said, selecting it from the rest, 
 " afore I had been gone a week. A fifty pound Bank note, in 
 a sheet of paper, directed to me, and put underneath the door 
 in the night. She tried to hide her writing, but she couldn't 
 hide it from Me ! " 
 
 He folded up the note again, with great patience and care, 
 in exactly the same form, and laid it on one side. 
 
 " This come to Missis Gurnmidge," he said, opening another, 
 "two or three months ago." After looking at it for some 
 moments, he gave it to me, and added in a low voice, " Be so 
 good as read it, sir.'' 
 
 I read as follows : 
 
 " Oh what will you feel when you see this writing, and know it comes 
 from my wicked hand ! But try, try not for my sake, but for uncle's 
 goodness, try to let your heart soften to me, only for a little, little time ! 
 Try, pray do, to relent towards a miserable girl, and write down on a bit 
 of paper whether he is well, and what he said about me before you left 
 off ever naming me among yourselves and whether, of a night, when it 
 is my old time of coming home, you ever see him look as if he thought of 
 one he used to love so dear. Oh, my heart is breaking when I think about 
 it ! I am kneeling down to you, begging and praying you not to be as 
 hard with me as I deserve as I well, well, know I deserve but to be 
 so gentle and so good, as to write down something of him, and to send 
 it to me. You need not call me Little, you need not call me by the name 
 I have disgraced ; but oh, listen to my agony, and have mercy on me so 
 far as to write me some word of uncle, never, never to be seen in this 
 world by my eyes again ! 
 
 ' ' Dear, if your heart is hard towards me justly hard, I know but, 
 Listen, if it is hard, dear, ask him I have wronged the most him whose 
 wife I was to have been before you quite decide against my poor, poor 
 prayer ! If he should be so compassionate as to say that you might write 
 something for me to read I think he would, oh, I think he would, if you 
 would only ask him, for he always was so brave and so forgiving tell 
 him then (but not else) , that when I hear the wind blowing at night, 
 I feel as if it was passing angrily from seeing him and uncle, and was 
 going up to God against me. Tell him that if I was to die to-morrow 
 (and oh, if I was fit, I would be so glad to die !) I would bless him and 
 uncle with my last words, and pray for his happy home with my last 
 breath ! " 
 
164 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 Some money was inclosed in this letter also. Five pounds. 
 It was untouched like the previous sum, and he refolded it in 
 the same way. Detailed instructions were added relative to 
 the address of a reply, which, although they betrayed the 
 intervention of several hands, and made it difficult to arrive 
 at any very probable conclusion in reference to her place of 
 concealment, made it at least not unlikely that she had written 
 from that spot where she was stated to have been seen. 
 
 " What answer was sent ? " I inquired of Mr. Peggotty. 
 
 "Missis Gummidge," he returned, "not being a good scholar, 
 sir, Ham kindly drawed it out, and she made a copy on it. 
 They told her I was gone to seek her, and what my parting 
 words was." 
 
 " Is that another letter in your hand ? " said I. 
 
 "It's money, sir," said Mr. Peggotty, unfolding it a little 
 way. " Ten pound, you see. And wrote inside, ' From a true 
 friend,' like the first. But the first was put underneath the 
 door, and this come by the post, day afore yesterday. I'm 
 going to seek her at the post-mark." 
 
 He showed it to me. It was a town on the Upper Rhine. 
 He had found out, at Yarmouth, some foreign dealers who 
 knew that country, and they had drawn him a rude map on 
 paper, which he could very well understand. He laid it 
 between us on the table ; and, with his chin resting on one 
 hand, tracked his course upon it with the other. 
 
 I asked him how Ham was ? He shook his head. 
 
 " He works," he said, " as bold as a man can. His name's 
 as good, in all that part, as any man's is, anywheres in the 
 wureld. Any one's hand is ready to help him, you understand, 
 and his is ready to help them. He's never been heerd fur to 
 complain. But my sister's belief is ('twixt ourselves) as it 
 has cut him deep." 
 
 " Poor fellow, I can believe it ! " 
 
 " He ain't no care, Mas'r Davy," said Mr. Peggotty in a 
 solemn whisper " keinder no care no-how for his life. When 
 a man's wanted for rough service in rough weather, he's theer. 
 W T hen there's hard duty to be done with danger in it, he steps 
 forward afore all his mates. And yet he's as gentle as any 
 child. There ain't a child in Yarmouth that doen't know him." 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 165 
 
 He gathered up the letters thoughtfully, smoothing them 
 with his hand ; put them into their little bundle ; and placed 
 it tenderly in his breast again. The face was gone from the 
 door. I still saw the snow drifting in ; but nothing else was 
 there. 
 
 " Well ! " he said, looking to his bag, " having seen you 
 to-night, Mas'r Davy (and that doos me good !) I shall away 
 betimes to-inorrow morning. You have seen what I've got 
 heer ; " putting his hand on where the little packet lay j " all 
 that troubles me is, to think that any harm might come to 
 me, afore that money was give back. If I was to die, and it 
 was lost, or stole, or elseways made away with, and it was 
 never know'd by him but what I'd took it, I believe the 
 t'other wureld wouldn't hold me ! I believe I must come 
 back ! " 
 
 He rose, and I rose too ; we grasped each other by the hand 
 again, before going out. 
 
 " I'd go ten thousand mile," he said, " I'd go till I dropped 
 dead, to lay that money down afore him. If I do that, and 
 find my Em'ly, I'm content. If I doen't find her, maybe she'll 
 come to hear, sometime, as her loving uncle only ended his 
 search for her when he ended his life ; and if I know her, even 
 that will turn her home at last ! " 
 
 As we went out into the rigorous night, I saw the lonely 
 figure flit away before us. I turned him hastily on some 
 pretence, and held him in conversation until it was gone. 
 
 He spoke of a traveller's house on the Dover road, where 
 he knew he could find a clean, plain lodging for the night. I 
 went with him over Westminster Bridge, and parted from him 
 on the Surrey shore. Everything seemed, to my imagination, 
 to be hushed in reverence for him, as he resumed his solitary 
 journey through the snow. 
 
 I returned to the inn yard, and, impressed by my remem- 
 brance of the face, looked awfully around for it. It was not 
 there. The snow had covered our late footprints ; my new 
 track was the only one to be seen ; and even that began to 
 die away (it snowed so fast) as I looked back over my 
 shoulder. 
 
166 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 CHAPTEK XII. 
 DORA'S AUNTS. 
 
 AT last, an answer came from the two old ladies. They 
 presented their compliments to Mr. Copperfield, and informed 
 him that they had given his letter their best consideration, 
 " with a view to the happiness of both parties " which I 
 thought rather an alarming expression, not only because of 
 the use they had made of it in relation to the family difference 
 before-mentioned, but because I had (and have all my life) 
 observed that conventional phrases are a sort of fireworks, 
 easily let off, and liable to take a great variety of shapes and 
 colors not at all suggested by their original form. The 
 Misses Spenlow added that they begged to forbear expressing, 
 "through the medium of correspondence," an opinion on the 
 subject of Mr. Copperfield' s communication ; but that if Mr. 
 Copperfield would do them the favor to call, upon a certain 
 day, (accompanied, if he thought proper, by a confidential 
 friend,) they would be happy to hold some conversation on 
 the subject. 
 
 To this favor, Mr. Coppe^field immediately replied, with his 
 respectful compliments, that he would have the honor of 
 waiting on the Misses Spenlow, at the time appointed ; accom- 
 panied, in accordance with their kind permission, by his 
 friend Mr. Thomas Traddles of the Inner Temple. Having 
 despatched which missive, Mr. Copperfield fell into a condition 
 of strong nervous agitation; and so remained until the day 
 arrived. 
 
 It was a great augmentation of my uneasiness to be bereaved, 
 at this eventful crisis, of the inestimable services of Miss 
 Mills. But Mr. Mills, who was always doing something or 
 other to annoy me or I felt as if he were, which was the 
 same thing had brought his conduct to a climax, by taking 
 it into his head that he would go to India. Why should he 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 167 
 
 go to India, except to harass me ? To be sure he had nothing 
 to do with any other part of the world, and had a good deal 
 to do with that part ; being entirely in the Indian trade, what- 
 ever that was (I had floating dreams myself concerning golden 
 shawls and elephants 7 teeth) ; having been at Calcutta in his 
 youth ; and designing now to go out there again, in the 
 capacity of resident partner. But this was nothing to me. 
 However, it was so much to him that for India he was bound, 
 and Julia with him ; and Julia went into the country to take 
 leave of her relations ; and the house was put into a perfect 
 suit of bills, announcing that it was to be let or sold, and 
 that the furniture (Mangle and all) was to be taken at a val- 
 uation. So, here was another earthquake of which I became 
 the sport, before I had recovered from the shock of its pred- 
 ecessor! 
 
 I was in several minds how to dress myself on the important 
 day. Being divided between my desire to appear to advan- 
 tage, and my apprehensions of putting on anything that might 
 impair my severely practical character in the eyes of the 
 Misses Spenlow, I endeavored to hit a happy medium between 
 these two extremes ; my aunt approved the result ; and Mr. 
 Dick threw one of his shoes after Traddles and me, for luck, 
 as we went down stairs. 
 
 Excellent fellow as I knew Traddles to be, and warmly 
 attached to him as I was, I could not help wishing, on that 
 delicate occasion, that he had never contracted the habit of 
 brushing his hair so very upright. It gave him a surprised 
 look not to say a hearth-broomy kind of expression which, 
 my apprehensions whispered, might be fatal to us. 
 
 I took the liberty of mentioning it to Traddles, as we were 
 walking to Putney; and saying that if he would smooth it 
 down a little 
 
 "My dear Copperfield," said Traddles, lifting off his hat, 
 and rubbing his hair all kinds of ways, " nothing would give 
 me greater pleasure. But it won't." 
 
 " Won't be smoothed down ? " said I. 
 
 "No," said Traddles. "Nothing will induce it. If I was to 
 carry a half-hundred weight upon it, all the way to Putney, 
 it would be up again the moment the weight was taken off. 
 
168 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 You have no idea what obstinate hair mine is, Copperfield. 
 I am quite a fretful porcupine." 
 
 I was a little disappointed, I must confess, but thoroughly 
 charmed by his good-nature too. I told him how I esteemed 
 his good-nature ; and said that his hair must have taken all 
 the obstinacy out of his character, for he had none. 
 
 " Oh ! " returned Traddles, laughing, " I assure you, it's quite 
 an old story, my unfortunate hair. My uncle's wife couldn't 
 bear it. She said it exasperated her. It stood very much in my 
 way, too, when I first fell in love with Sophy. Very much ! " 
 
 "Did she object to it?" 
 
 " She didn't," rejoined Traddles ; " but her eldest sister 
 the one that's the Beauty quite made game of it, I under- 
 stand. In fact, all the sisters laugh at it." 
 
 " Agreeable ! " said I. 
 
 "Yes," returned Traddles with perfect innocence, "it's a 
 joke for us. They pretend that Sophy has a lock of it in her 
 desk, and is obliged to shut it in a clasped book, to keep it 
 down. We laugh about it." 
 
 "By the by, my dear Traddles," said I, "your experience 
 may suggest something to me. When you became engaged 
 to the young lady whom you have just mentioned, did you 
 make a regular proposal to her family ? Was there anything 
 like what we are going through to-day, for instance ? " I 
 added, nervously. 
 
 " Why," replied Traddles, on whose attentive face a thought- 
 ful shade had stolen, " it was rather a painful transaction, Cop- 
 perfield, in my case. You see, Sophy being of so much use in 
 the family, none of them could endure the thought of her ever 
 being married. Indeed, they had quite settled among them- 
 selves that she never was to be married, and they called her 
 the old maid. Accordingly, when I mentioned it, with the 
 greatest precaution, to Mrs. Crewler " 
 
 " The mamma ? " said I. 
 
 " The mamma," said Traddles " Reverend Horace Crewler 
 when. I mentioned it with every possible precaution to Mrs. 
 Crewler, the effect upon her was such that she gave a scream 
 and became insensible. I couldn't approach the subject again, 
 for months." 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 169 
 
 "You did it at last ? " said I. 
 
 " Well, the Eeverend Horace did," said Traddles. " He is 
 an excellent man, most exemplary in every way ; and he 
 pointed out to her that she ought, as a Christian, to reconcile 
 herself to the sacrifice (especially as it was so uncertain), and 
 to bear no uncharitable feeling towards me. As to myself, 
 Copperfield, I give you my word, I felt a perfect bird of prey 
 towards the family." 
 
 " The sisters took your part, I hope, Traddles ? " 
 
 " Why, I can't say they did," he returned. " When we had 
 comparatively reconciled Mrs. Crewler to it, we had to break 
 it to Sarah. You recollect my mentioning Sarah, as the one 
 that has something the matter with her spine ? " 
 
 "Perfectly!" 
 
 " She clenched both her hands," said Traddles, looking at 
 me in dismay : " shut her eyes ; turned lead-color ; became 
 perfectly stiff ; and took nothing for two days, but toast-and- 
 water, administered with a teaspoon." 
 
 " What a very unpleasant girl, Traddles ! " I remarked. 
 
 "Oh, I beg your pardon, Copperfield!" said Traddles. 
 "She is a very charming girl, but she has a great deal of 
 feeling. In fact, they all have. Sophy told me afterwards, 
 that the self-reproach she underwent while she was in attend- 
 ance upon Sarah, no words could describe. I know it must 
 have been severe, by my own feelings, Copperfield; which 
 were like a criminal's. After Sarah was restored, we still had 
 to break it to the other eight; and 1*1 produced various effects 
 upon them of a most pathetic nature. The two little ones, 
 whom Sophy educates, have only just left off de-testing me." 
 
 " At any rate, they are all reconciled to it now, I hope ? " 
 said I. 
 
 "Ye yes, I should say they were, on the whole, resigned 
 to it," said Traddles, doubtfully. " The fact is, we avoid 
 mentioning the subject ; and my unsettled prospects and 
 indifferent circumstances are a great consolation to them. 
 There will be a deplorable scene, whenever we are married. 
 It will be much more like a funeral, than a wedding. And 
 they'll all hate me for taking her away ! " 
 
 His honest face, as he looked at me with a serio-comic shake 
 
170 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 of his head, impresses me more in the remembrance than it 
 did in the reality, for I was by this time in a state of such 
 excessive trepidation and wandering of mind, as to be quite 
 unable to fix my attention on anything. On our approaching 
 the house where the Misses Spenlow lived, I was at such a 
 discount in respect of my personal looks and presence of mind, 
 that Traddles proposed a gentle stimulant in the form of a 
 glass of ale. This having been administered at a neighboring 
 public-house, he conducted me, with tottering steps, to the 
 Misses Spenlow's door. 
 
 I had a vague sensation of being, as it were, on view, when 
 the maid opened it ; and of wavering, somehow, across a hall 
 with a weather-glass in it, into a quiet little drawing-room on 
 the ground-floor, commanding a neat garden. Also of sitting 
 down here, on a sofa, and seeing Traddles's hair start up, now 
 his hat was removed, like one of those obtrusive little figures 
 made of springs, that fly out of fictitious snuff-boxes when 
 the lid is taken off. Also of hearing an old-fashioned clock 
 ticking away on the chimney-piece, and trying to make it keep 
 time to the jerking of my heart, which it wouldn't. Also of 
 looking round the room for any sign of Dora, and seeing none. 
 Also of thinking that Jip once barked in the distance, and was 
 instantly choked by somebody. Ultimately I found myself 
 backing Traddles into the fireplace, and bowing in great con- 
 fusion to two dry little elderly ladies, dressed in black, and 
 each looking wonderfully like a preparation in chip or tan of 
 the late Mr. Spenlow. 
 
 " Pray," said one of the two little ladies, " be seated." 
 When I had done tumbling over Traddles, and had sat upon 
 something which was not a cat my first seat was I so far 
 recovered my sight, as to perceive that Mr. Spenlow had 
 evidently been the youngest of the family ; that there was a 
 disparity of six or eight years between the two sisters ; and 
 that the younger appeared to be the manager of the confer- 
 ence, inasmuch as she had my letter in her hand so familiar 
 as it looked to me, and yet so odd ! and was referring to it 
 through an eye-glass. They were dressed alike, but this sister 
 wore her dress with a more youthful air than the other ; and 
 perhaps had a trifle more frill, or tucker, or brooch, or bracelet, 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 171 
 
 or some little thing of that kind, which made her look more 
 lively. They were both upright in their carriage, formal, 
 precise, composed, and quiet. The sister who had not my let- 
 ter, had her arms crossed on her breast, and resting on each 
 other, like an Idol. 
 
 " Mr. Copperfield, I believe ? " said the sister who had got 
 my letter, addressing herself to Traddles. 
 
 This was a frightful beginning. Traddles had to indicate 
 that I was Mr. Copperfield, and I had to lay claim to myself, 
 and they had to divest themselves of a preconceived opinion 
 that Traddles was Mr. Copperfield, and altogether we were in 
 a nice condition. To improve it, we all distinctly heard Jip 
 give two short barks, and receive another choke. 
 
 " Mr. Copperfield ! " said the sister with the letter. 
 
 I did something bowed, I suppose and was all atten- 
 tion, when the other sister struck in. 
 
 " My sister Lavinia," said she, " being conversant with mat- 
 ters of this nature, will state what we consider most calculated 
 to promote the happiness of both parties." 
 
 I discovered afterwards that Miss Lavinia was an authority 
 in affairs of the heart, by reason of there having anciently ex- 
 isted a certain Mr. Pidger, who played short whist, and was sup- 
 posed to have been enamored 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, how- 
 ever, 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 overdoing 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 con- 
 cealment did not appear to have ever preyed upon. 
 
 "We will not," said Miss Lavinia, "enter on the past his- 
 tory of this matter. Our poor brother Francis's death has 
 cancelled that." 
 
 "We had not," said Miss Clarissa, "been in the habit of 
 frequent association with our brother Francis ; but there was 
 
172 
 
 no decided division or disunion between us. Francis took his 
 road ; we took ours. We considered it conducive to the happi- 
 ness of all parties that it should be so. And it was so." 
 
 Each of the sisters leaned a little forward to speak, shook 
 her head after speaking, and became upright again when 
 silent. Miss Clarissa never moved her arms. She sometimes 
 played tunes upon them with her fingers minuets and 
 inarches, I should think but never moved them. 
 
 " Our niece's position, or supposed position, is much changed 
 by our brother Francis's death," said Miss Lavinia; "and 
 therefore we consider our brother's opinions as regarded her po- 
 sition as being changed too. We have no reason to doubt, Mr. 
 Copperfield, that you are a young gentleman possessed of good 
 qualities and honorable character ; or that you have an affec- 
 tion or are fully persuaded that you have an affection 
 for our niece." 
 
 I replied, as I usually did whenever I had a chance, that 
 nobody had ever loved anybody else as I loved Dora. Trad- 
 dies came to my assistance with a confirmatory murmur. 
 
 Miss Lavinia was going on to make some rejoinder, when 
 Miss Clarissa, who appeared to be incessantly beset by a 
 desire to refer to her brother Francis, struck in again : 
 
 "If Dora's mamma," she said, "when she married our 
 brother Francis, had at once said that there was not room for 
 the family at the dinner-table, it would have been better for 
 the happiness of all parties." 
 
 " Sister Clarissa," said Miss Lavinia. " Perhaps we needn't 
 mind that now." 
 
 "Sister Lavinia," said Miss Clarissa, "it belongs to the 
 subject. With your branch of the subject, on which alone 
 you are competent to speak, I should not think of interfering. 
 On this branch of the subject I have a voice and an opinion. 
 It would have been better for the happiness of all parties, if 
 Dora's mamma, when she married our brother Francis, had 
 mentioned plainly what her intentions were. We should then 
 have known what we had to expect. We should have said 
 ' pray do not invite us, at any time ; ' and all possibility of 
 misunderstanding would have been avoided." 
 
 When Miss Clarissa had shaken her head, Miss Lavinia re- 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 173 
 
 sumed : again referring to my letter through her eye-glass. 
 They both had little bright round twinkling eyes, by the way, 
 which were like bird's eyes. They were not ' unlike birds, 
 altogether ; having a sharp, brisk, sudden manner, and a little 
 short, spruce way of adjusting themselves, like canaries. 
 
 Miss Lavinia, as I have said, resumed : 
 
 " You ask permission of my sister Clarissa and myself, Mr. 
 Copperfield, to visit here, as the accepted suitor of our niece." 
 
 "If our brother Francis," said Miss Clarissa, breaking out 
 again, if I may call anything so calm a breaking out, " wished 
 to surround himself with an atmosphere of Doctors' Commons, 
 and of Doctors' Commons only, what right or desire had we 
 to object ? None, I am sure. We have ever been far from 
 wishing to obtrude ourselves on any one. But why not say 
 so ? Let our brother Francis and his wife have their society. 
 Let my sister Lavinia and myself have our society. We can 
 find it for ourselves, I hope ! " 
 
 As this appeared to be addressed to Traddles and me, both 
 Traddles and I made some sort of reply. Traddles's was inau- 
 dible. I think I observed, myself, that it was highly credit- 
 able to all concerned. I don't in the least know what I meant. 
 
 " Sister Lavinia," said Miss Clarissa, having now relieved 
 her mind, "you can go on, my dear." 
 
 Miss Lavinia proceeded : 
 
 " Mr. Copperfield, my sister Clarissa and I have been very 
 careful indeed in considering this letter : and we have not 
 considered it without finally showing it to our niece, and dis- 
 cussing it with our niece. We have no doubt that you think 
 you like her very much." 
 
 " Think, ma'am," I rapturously began, " oh ! " 
 
 But Miss Clarissa giving me a look (just like a sharp 
 canary), as requesting .hat I would not interrupt the oracle, 
 I begged pardon. 
 
 " Affection," said Miss Lavinia, glancing at her sister for cor- 
 roboration, which she gave in the form of a little nod to every 
 clause, " mature affection, homage, devotion, does not easily ex- 
 press itself. Its voice is low. It is modest and retiring, it lies 
 in ambush, waits and waits. Such is the mature fruit. Some- 
 times a life glides away, and finds it still ripening in the shade." 
 
174 THE PERSONAL HISTOEY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 Of course I did not understand then that this was an allu- 
 sion to her supposed experience of the stricken Piclger ; but I 
 saw, from the gravity with which Miss Clarissa nodded her 
 head, that great weight was attached to these words. 
 
 " The light for I call them, in comparison with such sen- 
 timents, the light inclinations of very young people," pur- 
 sued Miss Lavinia, " are dust, compared to rocks. It is owing 
 to the difficulty of knowing whether they are likely to endure 
 or have any real foundation, that my sister Clarissa and 
 myself have been very undecided how to act, Mr. Copperfield, 
 and Mr. " 
 
 "Traddles," said my friend, finding himself looked at. 
 
 " I beg pardon. Of the Inner Temple, I believe ? " said 
 Miss Clarissa, again glancing at my letter. 
 
 Traddles said " Exactly so," and became pretty red in the 
 face. 
 
 Now, although I had not received any express encourage- 
 ment as yet, I fancied that I saw in the two little sisters, and 
 particularly in Miss Lavinia, an intensified enjoyment of this 
 new and fruitful subject of domestic interest, a settling down 
 to make the most of it, a disposition to pet it, in which there 
 was a good bright ray of hope. I thought I perceived that 
 Miss Lavinia would have uncommon satisfaction in superin- 
 tending two young lovers, like Dora and me ; and that Miss 
 Clarissa would have hardly less satisfaction in seeing her 
 superintend us, and in chiming in with her own particular 
 department of the subject whenever that impulse was strong 
 upon her. This gave me courage to protest most vehemently 
 that I loved Dora better than I could tell, or any one believe ; 
 that all my friends knew how I loved her; that my aunt, 
 Agnes, Traddles, every one who know me, knew how I loved 
 her, and how earnest my love had made me. For the truth 
 of this, I appealed to Traddles. And Traddles, firing up as 
 if he were plunging into a Parliamentary Debate, really did 
 come out nobly : confirming me in good round terms, and in 
 a plain sensible practical manner, that evidently made a 
 favorable impression. 
 
 " I speak, if I may presume to say so, as one who has some 
 little experience of such things," said Traddles, " being myself 
 
 
OF DAVID' COPPEEFIELD. 175 
 
 engaged to a young lady one of ten, down in Devonshire 
 and seeing no probability, at present, of our engagement com- 
 ing to a termination.' 7 
 
 " You may be able to confirm what I have said, Mr. Trad- 
 dies," observed Miss Lavinia, evidently taking a new interest 
 in him, " of the affection that is modest and retiring ; that 
 waits and waits ? " 
 
 "Entirely, ma'am," said Traddles. 
 
 Miss Clarissa looked at Miss Lavinia, and shook her head 
 gravely. Miss Lavinia looked consciously at Miss Clarissa, 
 and heaved a little sigh. 
 
 "Sister Lavinia," said Miss Clarissa, "take my smelling 
 bottle." 
 
 Miss Lavinia revived herself with a few whiffs of aromatic 
 vinegar Traddles and I looking on with great solicitude the 
 while ; and then went on to say, rather faintly : 
 
 " My sister and myself have been in great doubt, Mr. Trad- 
 dies, what course we ought to take in reference to the likings, 
 or imaginary likings, of such very young people as your friend 
 Mr. Copperfield, and our niece." 
 
 "Our brother Francis's child," remarked Miss Clarissa. 
 " If our brother Francis's wife had found it convenient in her 
 life-time (though she had an unquestionable right to act as 
 she thought best) to invite the family to her dinner-table, we 
 might have known our brother Francis's child better at the 
 present moment. Sister Lavinia, proceed." 
 
 Miss Lavinia turned my letter, so as to bring the super- 
 scription towards herstlf, and referred through her eye-glass 
 to some orderly looking nctes she had made on that part of it. 
 
 " It seems to us," said she, " prudent, Mr. Traddles, to bring 
 these feelings to the test of our own observation. At present 
 we know nothing of them, and are not in a situation to judge 
 how much reality there may be in them. Therefore we are 
 inclined so far to accede to Mr. Copperfield's proposal, as to 
 admit his visits here." 
 
 "I shall never, dear ladies," I exclaimed, relieved of an 
 immense load of apprehension, "forget your kindness I" 
 
 " But," pursued Miss Lavinia, " but, we would prefer to 
 regards those visits, Mr. Traddles, as made, at present, to us. 
 
176 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 We must guard ourselves from recognizing any positive en- 
 gagement between Mr. Copperfield and our niece, until we 
 have had an opportunity " 
 
 " Until you have had an opportunity, sister Lavinia," said 
 Miss Clarissa. 
 
 "Be it so/' assented Miss Lavinia, with a sigh, "until I 
 have had an opportunity of observing them." 
 
 " Copperfield," said Traddles, turning to me, " you feel, I am 
 sure, that nothing could be more reasonable or considerate." 
 
 " Nothing ! " cried I. " I am deeply sensible of it." 
 
 "In this position of affairs," said Miss Lavinia, again 
 referring to her notes, "and admitting his visits on this 
 understanding only, we must require from Mr. Copperfield a 
 distinct assurance, on his word of -honor, that no communica- 
 tion of any kind shall take place between him and our niece 
 without our knowledge. That no project whatever shall be 
 entertained with regard to our niece, without being first 
 submitted to us " 
 
 "To you, sister Lavinia," Miss Clarissa interposed. 
 
 "Be it so, Clarissa!" assented Miss Lavinia resignedly 
 "to me -and receiving our concurrence. We must make this 
 a most express and serious stipulation, not to be broken on 
 any account. We wished Mr. Copperfield to be accompanied 
 by some confidential friend to-day," with an inclination of her 
 head towards Traddles, who bowed, " in order that there might 
 be no doubt or misconception on this subject. If Mr. Copper- 
 field, or if you, Mr. Traddles, feel the least scruple, in giving 
 this promise, I beg you to take time to consider it." 
 
 I exclaimed, in a state of high ecstatic fervor, that not a 
 moment's consideration could be necessary. I bound myself 
 by the required promise, in a most impassioned manner ; called 
 upon Traddles to witness it; and denounced myself as the 
 most atrocious of characters if I ever swerved from it in the 
 least degree. 
 
 "Stay!" said Miss Lavinia, holding up her hand; "we 
 resolved, before we had the pleasure of receiving you two 
 gentlemen, to leave you alone for a quarter of an hour, to con- 
 sider this point. You will allow us to retire." 
 
 It was in vain for me to say that no consideration was 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 177 
 
 necessary. They persisted in withdrawing for the specified 
 time. Accordingly, these little birds hopped out with great 
 dignity ; leaving me to receive the congratulations of Traddles, 
 and to feel as if I were translated to regions of exquisite 
 happiness. Exactly at the expiration of the quarter of an 
 hour, they reappeared with no less dignity than they had 
 disappeared. They had gone rustling away as if their little 
 dresses were made of autumn leaves : and they came rustling 
 back, in like manner. 
 
 I then bound myself once more to the prescribed conditions. 
 
 " Sister Clarissa," said Miss Lavinia. " the rest is with you." 
 Miss Clarissa, unfolding her arms for the first time, took the 
 notes and glanced at them. 
 
 " We shall be happy," said Miss Clarissa, " to see Mr. Cop- 
 perfield to dinner, every Sunday, if it should suit his conven- 
 ience. Our hour is three." 
 
 I bowed. 
 
 " In the course of the week," said Miss Clarissa, " we shall 
 be happy to see Mr. Copperfield to tea. Our hour is half-past 
 six." 
 
 I bowed again. 
 
 " Twice in the week," said Miss Clarissa, " but, as a rule, 
 not oftener." 
 
 I bowed again. 
 
 "Miss Trotwood," said Miss Clarissa, "mentioned in Mr. 
 Copperfield's letter, will perhaps call upon us. When visiting 
 is better for the happiness of all parties, we are glad to receive 
 visits, and return them. When it is better for the happiness 
 of all parties that no visiting should take place, (as in the 
 case of our brother Francis, and his establishment,) that is 
 quite different." 
 
 I intimated that my aunt would be proud and delighted to 
 make their acquaintance ; though I must say I was not quite 
 sure of their getting on very satisfactorily together. The con- 
 ditions being now closed, I expressed my acknowledgments in 
 the warmest manner; and, taking the hand, first of Miss 
 Clarissa, and then of Miss Lavinia, pressed it, in each case, to 
 my lips. 
 
 Miss Lavinia then arose, and begging Mr. Traddles to 
 
 VOL. II 12 
 
excuse us for a minute, requested me to follow her. I 
 obeyed, all in a tremble, and was conducted into another room. 
 There, I found my blessed darling stopping her ears behind 
 the door, with her dear little face against the wall ; and Jip in 
 the plate-warmer, with his head tied up in a towel. 
 
 Oh ! How beautiful she was in her black frock, and how she 
 sobbed and cried at first, and wouldn't come out from behind 
 the door ! How fond we were of one another, when she did 
 come out at last ; and what a state of bliss I was in, when we 
 took Jip out of the plate-warmer, and restored him to the 
 light, sneezing very much, and were all three reunited ! 
 "My dearest Dora ! Now, -indeed, my own for ever ! " 
 " Oh DON'T ! " pleaded Dora. " Please ! " 
 " Are you not my own for ever, Dora ? ' 
 " Oh yes, of course I am ! " cried Dora, " but I am so 
 frightened ! " 
 
 " Frightened, my own ? " 
 
 "Oh yes! I don't like him," said Dora. "Why don't he 
 go?" 
 
 "Who, my life?" 
 
 " Your friend," said Dora. " It isn't any business of his. 
 What a stupid he must be ! " 
 
 " My love ! " (There never was anything so coaxing as her 
 childish ways.) " He is the best creature ! " 
 
 " Oh, but we don't want any best creatures ! " pouted Dora. 
 " My dear," I argued, " you will soon know him well, and 
 like him of all things. And here is my aunt coming soon ; 
 and you'll like her of all things too, when you know her." 
 
 " No, please don't bring her ! " said Dora, giving me a 
 horrified little kiss, and folding her hands. " Don't. I 
 know she's a naughty, mischief-making old thing ! Don't 
 let her come here, Doady ! " which was a corruption of David. 
 Remonstrance was of no use, then; so I laughed, and 
 admired, and was very much in love and very happy ; and 
 she showed me Jip's new trick of standing on his hind legs 
 in a corner which he did for about the space of a flash of 
 lightning, and then fell down and I don't know how long 
 I should have stayed there, oblivious of Traddles, if Miss 
 Lavinia had not come in to take me away. Miss Lavinia was 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEF1ELD. 179 
 
 very fond of Dora (she told me Dora was exactly like what 
 she had been herself at her age she must have altered a 
 good deal), and she treated Dora just as if she had been a 
 toy. I wanted to persuade Dora to come and see Traddles, 
 but on my -proposing it she ran off to her own room, and 
 locked herself in; so I went to Traddles without her, and 
 walked away with him on air. 
 
 " Nothing could be more satisfactory," said Traddles ; " and 
 they are very agreeable old ladies, I- am sure. I shouldn't 
 be at all surprised if you were to be married years before me, 
 Copperfield." 
 
 " Does your Sophy play on any instrument, Traddles ? " I 
 inquired, in the pride of my heart. 
 
 " She knows enough of the piano to teach it to her little 
 sisters," said Traddles. 
 
 " Does she sing at all ? " I asked. 
 
 " Why, she sings ballads, sometimes, to freshen up the 
 others a little when they're out of spirits," said Traddles. 
 " Nothing scientific." 
 
 " She doesn't sing to the guitar ? " said I. 
 
 " Oh dear no ! " said Traddles. 
 
 " Paint at all ? " 
 
 "Not at all," said Traddles. 
 
 I promised Traddles that he should hear Dora sing, and 
 see some of her flower-painting. He said he should like it 
 very much, and we went home arm in arm in great good 
 humor and delight. I encouraged him to talk about Sophy, 
 on the way ; which he did with a loving reliance on her that I 
 very much admired. I compared her in my mind with Dora, 
 with considerable inward satisfaction ; but I candidly admitted 
 to myself that she seemed to be an excellent kind of girl for 
 Traddles, too. 
 
 Of course my aunt was immediately made acquainted with 
 the successful issue of the conference, and with all that had 
 been said and done in the course of it. She was happy to see 
 me so happy, arid promised to call on Dora's aunts without 
 loss of time. But she took such a long walk up and down 
 our rooms that night, while I was writing to Agnes, that I 
 began to think she meant to walk till morning. 
 
180 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 My letter to Agnes was a fervent and grateful one, nar- 
 rating all the good effects that had resulted from my following 
 her advice. She wrote, by return of post, to me. Her letter 
 was hopeful, earnest, and cheerful. She was always cheerful 
 from that time. 
 
 I had my hands more full than ever, now. My daily jour- 
 neys to Highgate considered, Putney was a long way off ; and 
 I naturally wanted to go there as often as I could. The pro- 
 posed tea-drinkings being quite impracticable, I compounded 
 with Miss Lavinia for permission to visit every Saturday 
 afternoon, without detriment to my privileged Sundays. So, 
 the close of every week was a delicious time for me ; and I 
 got through the rest of the week by looking forward to it. 
 
 I was wonderfully relieved to find that my aunt and Dora's 
 aunts rubbed on, all things considered, much more smoothly 
 than I could have expected. My aunt made her promised 
 visit within a few days of the conference; and within a 
 few more days Dora's aunts called upon her, in due state 
 and form. Similar but more friendly exchanges took place 
 afterwards, usually at intervals of three or four weeks. 
 I know that my aunt distressed Dora's aunts very much, by 
 utterly setting at naught the dignity of fly-conveyance, and 
 walking out to Putney at extraordinary times, as shortly after 
 breakfast or just before tea ; likewise by wearing her bonnet 
 in any manner that happened to be comfortable to her head, 
 without at all deferring to the prejudices of civilization on 
 that subject. But Dora's aunts soon agreed to regard my aunt 
 as an eccentric and somewhat masculine lady, with a strong 
 understanding ; and although my aunt occasionally ruffled the 
 feathers of Dora's aunts, by expressing heretical opinions on 
 various points of ceremony, she loved me too well not to sacri- 
 fice some of her little peculiarities to the general harmony. 
 
 The only member of our small society, who positively 
 refused to adapt himself to circumstances, was Jip. He never 
 saw my aunt without immediately displaying every tooth in 
 his head, retiring under a chair, and growling incessantly: 
 with now and then a doleful howl, as if she really were too 
 much for his feelings. All kinds of treatment were tried with 
 nim, coaxing, scolding, slapping, bringing him to Buckingham 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 181 
 
 Street (where lie instantly dashed at the two cats, to the terror 
 of all beholders) ; but he never could prevail upon himself to 
 bear iny aunt's society. He would sometimes think he had 
 got the better of his objection, and be amiable for a few min- 
 utes ; and then would put up his snub nose, and howl to that 
 extent, that there was nothing for it but to blind him and put 
 him in the plate-warmer. At length, Dora regularly muffled 
 him in a towel and shut him up there, whenever my aunt was 
 reported at the door. 
 
 One thing troubled me much, after we had fallen into this 
 quiet train. It was, that Dora seemed by one consent to be 
 regarded like a pretty toy or plaything. My aunt, with whom 
 she gradually became familiar, always called her Little Blos- 
 som ; and the pleasure of Miss Lavinia' s life was to wait upon 
 her, curl her hair, make ornaments for her, and treat her like 
 a pet child. What Miss Lavinia did, her sister did as a mat- 
 ter of course. It was very odd to me ; but they all seemed to 
 treat Dora, in her degree, much as Dora treated Jip in his. 
 
 I made up my mind to speak to Dora about this ; and one 
 day when we were out walking (for we were licensed by Miss 
 Lavinia, after a while, to go out walking by ourselves), I said 
 to her that I wished she could get them to behave towards her 
 differently. 
 
 " Because you know, my darling," I remonstrated, " you are 
 not a child." 
 
 " There ! " said Dora. " Now you're going to be cross ! " 
 
 " Cross, my love ? " 
 
 " I am sure they're very kind to me," said Dora, " and I am 
 very happy." 
 
 " Well ! But my dearest life ! " said I, " you might be very 
 happy, and yet be treated rationally." 
 
 Dora gave me a reproachful look the prettiest look ! 
 and then began to sob, saying if I didn't like her, why had I 
 ever wanted so much to be engaged to her ? And why didn't 
 I go away now, if I couldn't bear her ? " 
 
 What could I do but kiss away her tears, and tell her how I 
 doted on her, after that ! 
 
 "I am sure I am very affectionate," said Dora; "you oughtn't 
 to be cruel to me, Doady ! " 
 
182 THti PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 "Cruel, iny precious love! As if I would or could be 
 cruel to you, for the world ! " 
 
 " Then don't find fault with me," said Dora, making a rose- 
 bud of her mouth ; " and I'll be good." 
 
 I was charmed by her presently asking me, of her own 
 accord, to give her that cookery-book I had once spoken of, 
 and to show her how to keep accounts, as I had once promised 
 I would. I brought the volume with me on my next visit ( [ 
 got it prettily bound, first, to make it look less dry and more 
 inviting) j and as we strolled about the Common, I showed 
 her an old house-keeping-book of my aunt's, and gave her a 
 set of tablets, and a pretty little pencil case, and box of leads, 
 to practise housekeeping with. 
 
 But the cookery-book made Dora's head ache, and the figures 
 made her cry. They wouldn't add up, she said. So she rubbed 
 them out, arid drew little nosegays, and likenesses of me and 
 Jip, all over the tablets. 
 
 Then I playfully tried verbal instruction in domestic mat- 
 ters, as we walked about on a Saturday afternoon. Sometimes, 
 for example, when we passed a butcher's shop, I would say : 
 
 "Now suppose, my pet, that we were married, and you were 
 going to buy a shoulder of mutton for dinner, would you know 
 how t buy it?" 
 
 My pretty little Dora's face would fall, and she would make 
 her mo th into a bud again, as if she would very much prefer 
 to shut mine with a kiss. 
 
 " Would you know how to buy it, my darling ? " I would 
 repeat, perhaps, if I were very inflexible. 
 
 Dora would think a little, and then reply, perhaps, with 
 great triumph : 
 
 "Why, the butcher would know how to sell it, and what 
 need / know ? Oh, you silly boy ! " 
 
 So, when I once asked Dora, with an eye to the cookery- 
 book, what she would do, if we were married, and I were to 
 say I should like a nice Irish stew, she replied that she would 
 tell the servant to make it ; and then clapped her little hands 
 together across my arm, and laughed in such a charming man- 
 ner that she was more delightful than ever. 
 
 Consequently, the principal use to which the cookery-book 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 183 
 
 was devoted, was being put down in the corner for Jip to stand 
 upon. But Dora was so pleased, when she had trained him to 
 stand upon it without offering to come off, and at the same 
 time to hold the pencil case in his mouth, that I was very glad 
 I had bought it. 
 
 And we fell back on the- guitar-case, and the flower-painting, 
 and the songs about never leaving off dancing, Ta ra la ! and 
 were as happy as the week was long. I occasionally wished 
 I could venture to hint to Miss Lavinia, that she treated the 
 darling of my heart a little too much like a plaything ; and I 
 sometimes awoke, as it were, wondering to find that I had 
 fallen into the general fault, and treated her like a plaything 
 too but not often. 
 
184 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 MISCHIEF. 
 
 1 FEEL as if it were not for me to record, even though this 
 manuscript is intended for no eyes but mine, how hard I 
 worked at that tremendous shorthand, and all improvement 
 appertaining to it, in my sense of responsibility to Dora and 
 her aunts. I will only add, to what I have already written of 
 my perseverance at this time of my life, and of a patient and 
 continuous energy which then began to be matured within me, 
 and which I know to be the strong part of my character, if it 
 have any strength at all, that there, on looking back, I find 
 the source of my success. I have been very fortunate in 
 worldly matters ; many men have worked much harder, and 
 not succeeded half so well ; but I never could have done what 
 I have done, without the habits of punctuality, order, and 
 diligence, without the determination to concentrate myself on 
 one object at a time, no matter how quickly its successor 
 should come upon its heels, which I then formed. Heaven 
 knows I write this in no spirit of self-laudation. The man 
 who reviews his own life, as I do mine, in going on here, from 
 page to page, had need to have been a good man indeed, if he 
 would be spared the sharp consciousness of many talents neg- 
 lected, many opportunities wasted, many erratic and perverted 
 feelings constantly at war within his breast, and defeating 
 him. I do not hold one natural gift, I dare say, that I have 
 not abused. My meaning simply is, that whatever I have 
 tried to do in life, I have tried with all my heart to do well ; 
 that whatever I have devoted myself to, I have devoted my- 
 self to completely ; that, in great aims and in small, I have 
 always been thoroughly in earnest. I have neVer believed it 
 possible that any natural or improved ability can claim immu- 
 nity from the companionship of the steady, plain, hard-working 
 qualities, and hope to gain its end. There is no such thing as 
 
DAVID COPPERFIELD. 185 
 
 such fulfilment on this earth. Some happy talent, and some 
 fortunate opportunity, may form the two sides of the ladder 
 on which some men mount, but the rounds of that ladder 
 must be made of stuff to stand wear and tear ; and there is no 
 substitute for thorough-going, ardent, and sincere earnestness. 
 Never to put one hand to anything, on which I could throw 
 my whole self ; and never to affect depreciation of my 
 work, whatever it was ; I find, now, to have .been my golden 
 rules. 
 
 How much of the practice I have just reduced to precept, 
 I owe to Agnes, I will not repeat here. My narrative pro- 
 ceeds to Agnes, with a thankful love. 
 
 She came on a visit of a fortnight to the Doctor's. Mr. 
 Wickfield was the Doctor's old friend, and the Doctor wished 
 to talk with him, and do him good. It had been matter of 
 conversation with Agnes when she was last in town, and this 
 visit was the result. She and her father came together. I 
 was not much surprised to hear from her that she had engaged 
 to find a lodging in the neighborhood for Mrs. Heep, whose 
 rheumatic complaint required change of air, and who would 
 be charmed to have it in such company. Neither was I sur- 
 prised when, on the very next day, Uriah, like a dutiful son, 
 brought his worthy mother to take possession. 
 
 " You see, Master Copperfield," said he, as he forced himself 
 upon my company for a turn in the Doctor's garden, " where 
 a person loves, a person is a little jealous leastways, anxious 
 to keep an eye on the beloved one." 
 
 " Of whom are you jealous, now ? " said I. 
 
 " Thanks to you, Master Copperfield," he returned, " of no 
 one in particular just at present no male person, at least." 
 
 " Do you mean that you are jealous of a female person ? ' ; 
 
 He gave me a sidelong glance out of his sinister red eyes, 
 and laughed. 
 
 "Really, Master Copperfield," he said, " I should say 
 Mister, but I know you'll excuse the abit I've got into 
 you're so insinuating, that you draw me like a corkscrew ! 
 Well, I don't mind telling you," putting his fish-like hand on 
 mine, "I'm not a lady's man in general, sir, and I never was, 
 with Mrs. Strong." 
 
186 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 His eyes looked green now, as they watched mine with a 
 rascally cunning. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " said I. 
 
 "Why, though I am a lawyer, Master Copperfield," he 
 replied, with a dry grin, "I mean, just at present, what I say." 
 
 "And what do you mean by your look ? " I retorted, quietly. 
 
 " By my look ? Dear me, Copperfield, that's sharp practice ! 
 What do I mean by my look ? " 
 
 " Yes," said I. " By your look." 
 
 He seemed very much amused, and laughed as heartily as 
 it was in his nature to laugh. After some scraping of his 
 chin with his hand, he went on to say, with his eyes cast 
 downward still scraping, very slowly : 
 
 " When I was but a numble clerk, she always looked down 
 upon me. She was for ever having my Agnes backwards and 
 forwards at her ouse, and she was for ever being a friend to 
 you, Master Copperfield ; but I was too far beneath her myself, 
 to be noticed." 
 
 " Well ? " said I ; " suppose you were ! " 
 
 " And beneath him, too," pursued Uriah, very distinctly, 
 and in a meditative tone of voice, as he continued to scrape 
 his chin. 
 
 "Don't you know the Doctor better," said I, "than to 
 suppose him conscious of your existence, when you were not 
 before him ? " 
 
 He directed his eyes at me in that sidelong glance again, 
 and he made his face very lantern-jawed, for the greater con- 
 venience of scraping, as he answered : 
 
 " Oh dear, I am not referring to the Doctor ! Oh 110, poor 
 man ! I mean Mr. Maldon ! " 
 
 My heart quite died within me. All my old doubts and 
 apprehensions on that subject, all the Doctor's happiness and 
 peace, all the mingled possibilities of innocence and compro- 
 mise, that I could not unravel, I saw, in a moment, at the 
 mercy of this fellow's twisting. 
 
 " He never could come into the office, without ordering and 
 shoving me about," said Uriah. " One of your fine gentlemen 
 he was! I was very meek and umble and I am. But I 
 didn't like that sort of thing and I don't ! " 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELb. 187 
 
 He left off scraping his chin, and sucked in his cheeks until 
 they seemed to meet inside ; keeping his sidelong glance upon 
 me all the while. 
 
 "She is one of your lovely women, she is," he pursued, 
 when he had slowly restored his face to its natural form ; 
 "and ready to be no friend to such as me, / know. She's 
 just the person as would put my Agnes up to higher sort of 
 game. Now, I ain't one of your lady's men, Master Copper- 
 field ; but I've had eyes in my ed, a pretty long time back. 
 We umble ones have got eyes, mostly speaking and we look 
 out of 'em." 
 
 I endeavored to appear unconscious and not disquieted, but, 
 I saw in his face, with poor success. 
 
 " Now, I'm not a going to let myself be run down, Copper- 
 field," he continued, raising that part of his countenance, 
 where his red eyebrows would have been if he had had any, 
 with malignant triumph, " and I shall do what I can to put 
 a stop to this friendship. I don't approve of it. I don't mind 
 acknowledging to you that I've got rather a grudging disposi- 
 tion, and want to keep off all intruders. I ain't a going, if I 
 know it, to run the risk of being plotted against." 
 
 "You are always plotting, and delude yourself into the 
 belief that everybody else is doing the like, I think," said I. 
 
 "Perhaps so, Master Copperfield," he replied. "But I've 
 got a motive, as my fellow-partner used to say ; and I go at it 
 tooth and nail. I musn't be put upon, as a numble person, too 
 much. I can't allow people in my way. Eeally they must 
 come out of the cart, Master Copperfield ! " 
 
 " I don't understand you," said I. 
 
 " Don't you, though ? " he returned with one of his jerks. 
 " I'm astonished at that, Master Copperfield, you being usually 
 so quick ! I'll try to be plainer, another time. Is that Mr. 
 Maldon a-norseback, ringing at the gate, sir ? " 
 
 " It looks like him," I replied, as carelessly as I could. 
 
 Uriah stopped short, put his hands between his great knobs 
 of knees, and doubled himself up with laughter. With per- 
 fectly silent laughter. Not a sound escaped from him. I 
 was so repelled by his odious behavior, particularly by this 
 concluding instance, that I turned away without any cere- 
 
188 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 mony ; and left him doubled up in the middle of the garden, 
 like a scarecrow in want of support. 
 
 It was not on that evening ; but, as I well remember, on the 
 next evening but one, which was a Saturday; that I took 
 Agnes to see Dora. I had arranged the visit beforehand, 
 with Miss Lavinia ; and Agnes was expected to tea. 
 
 I was in a flutter of pride and anxiety ; pride in my dear 
 little betrothed, and anxiety that Agnes should like her. All 
 the way to Putney, Agnes being inside the stage-coach, and I 
 outside, I pictured Dora to myself in every one of the pretty 
 looks I knew so well ; now making up my mind that I should 
 like her to look exactly as she looked at such a time, and then 
 dou 1 ting whether I should not prefer her looking as she 
 looked at such another time ; and almost worrying myself 
 into a fevp about it. 
 
 I was troubled by no doubt of her being very pretty, in any 
 case ; but it fel 1 out that I had never seen her look so well. 
 She was not in the drawing-room when I presented Agnes to 
 her little aunts, but was shyly keeping out of the way. I 
 knew where to look for her, now; and sure enough I found 
 her stopping her ears again, behind the same dull old door. 
 
 At first she wouldn't come at all ; and then she pleaded for 
 five minutes by my watch. When at length she put her arm 
 through mine, to be taken to the drawing-room, her charming 
 little face was flushed, and had never been so pretty. But, 
 when we went into the room, and it turned pale, she was ten 
 thousand times prettier yet. 
 
 Dora was afraid of Agnes. She had told me that she knew 
 Agnes was "too clever." But when she saw her looking at 
 once so cheerful and so earnest, . and so thoughtful, and so 
 good, she gave a faint little cry of pleased surprise, and just 
 put her affectionate arms round Agnes's neck, and laid her 
 innocent cheek against her face. 
 
 I never was so happy. I never was so pleased as when I 
 saw those two sit down together, side by side. As when I 
 saw my little darling looking up so naturally to those cordial 
 eyes. As when I saw the tender, beautiful regard which 
 Agnes cast upon her. 
 
 Miss Lavinia and Miss Clarissa partook, in their way, of 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 189 
 
 my joy. It was the pleasantest tea-table in the world. Miss 
 Clarissa presided. I cut and handed the sweet seed-cake 
 the little sisters had a bird-like fondness for picking up seeds 
 and pecking at sugar ; Miss Lavinia looked on with benignant 
 patronage, as if our happy love were all her work; and we 
 were -nerfectly contented with ourselves and one another. 
 
 The gentle cheerfulness of Agnes went to all their hearts. 
 Her quiet interest in everything that interested Dora; her 
 manner of making acquaintance with Jip (who responded 
 instantly); her pleasant way, when Dora was ashamed to 
 come over to her usual seat by me ; her modest grace and 
 ease, eliciting a crowd of blushing little marks of confidence 
 from Dora ; seemed to make our circle quite complete. 
 
 "I am so glad/ 7 said Dora, after tea, "that you like me. 
 I didn't think you would ; and I want, more than ever, to be 
 liked, now Julia Mills is gone." 
 
 I have omitted to mention it, by the by. Miss Mills had 
 sailed, and Dora and I had gone aboard a great East Indiaman 
 at G-ravesend to see her ; and we had had preserved ginger, and 
 guava, and other delicacies of that sort for lunch ; and we had 
 left Miss Mills weeping on a camp-stool on the quarter-deck, 
 with a large new diary under her arm, in which the original 
 reflections awakened by the contemplation of Ocean were to be 
 recorded under lock and key. 
 
 Agnes said, she was afraid I must have given her an un- 
 promising character ; but Dora corrected that directly. 
 
 " Oh no ! " she said, shaking her curls at me ; " it was all praise. 
 He thinks so much of your opinion, that I was quite afraid of it." 
 
 "My good opinion cannot strengthen his attachment to 
 some people whom he knows," said Agnes, with a smile ; " it 
 is not worth their having." 
 
 " But please let me have it," said Dora, in her coaxing way, 
 " if you can ! " 
 
 We made merry about Dora's wanting to be liked, and Dora 
 said I was a goose, and she didn't like me at any rate, and 
 the short evening flew away on gossamer-wings. The time 
 was at hand when the coach was to call for us. I was stand- 
 ing alone before the fire, when Dora came stealing softly in, 
 to give me that usual precious little kiss before I went. 
 
190 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " Don't you think if I had had her for a friend a long time 
 ago, Doady," said Dora, her bright eyes shining very brightly, 
 and her little right hand idly busying itself with one of the 
 buttons of my coat, "I might have been more clever per- 
 haps ? " 
 
 " My love ! " said I, " what nonsense ! " 
 
 " Do you think it is nonsense ? " returned Dora, without 
 looking at me. " Are you sure it is ? } ' 
 
 " Of course I am ! " 
 
 " I have forgotten," said Dora, still turning the button round 
 and round, " what relation Agnes is to you, you dear bad boy." 
 
 "No blood-relation," I replied; "but we were brought up 
 together, like brother and sister." 
 
 " I wonder why you ever fell in love with me ? " said Dora, 
 beginning on another button of my coat. 
 
 "Perhaps because I couldn't see you, and not love you, 
 Dora ! " 
 
 " Suppose you had never seen me at all," said Dora, going 
 to another button. 
 
 " Suppose we had never been born ! " said I, gaily. 
 
 I wondered what she was thinking about, as I glanced in 
 admiring silence at the little soft hand travelling up the row 
 of buttons on my coat, and at the clustering hair that lay 
 against my breast, and at the lashes of her downcast eyes, 
 slightly rising as they followed her idle fingers. At length 
 her eyes were lifted up to mine, and she stood on tiptoe to 
 give me, more thoughtfully than usual, that precious little kiss 
 once, twice, three times and went out of the room. 
 
 They all came back together within five minutes afterwards, 
 and Dora's unusual thoughtfulness was quite gone then. She 
 was laughingly resolved to put Jip through the whole of his 
 performances, before the coach came. They took some time 
 (not so much on account of their variety, as Jip's reluctance), 
 and were still unfinished when it was heard at the door. 
 There was a hurried but affectionate parting between Agnes 
 and herself ; and Dora was to write to Agnes (who was not 
 to mind her letters being foolish, she said), and Agnes was to 
 write to Dora ; and they had a second parting at the coach- 
 door, and a third when Dora, in spite of the remonstrances 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 191 
 
 of Miss Lavinia, would come running out once more to remind 
 Agnes at the coach-window about writing, and to shake her 
 curls at me on the box. 
 
 The stage-coach was to put us down near Covent Garden, 
 where we were to take another stage-coach for Highgate. I 
 was impatient for the short walk in the interval, that Agnes 
 might praise Dora to me. Ah ! what praise it was ! How 
 lovingly and fervently did it commend the pretty creature I 
 had won, with all her artless graces best displayed, to my 
 most gentle care ! How thoughtfully remind me, yet with no pre- 
 tence of doing so, of the trust in which I held the orphan child ! 
 
 Never, never, had I loved Dora so deeply and truly as I 
 loved her that night. When we had again alighted, and were 
 walking in the starlight along the quiet road that led to the 
 Doctor's house, I told Agnes it was her doing. 
 
 " When you were sitting by her," said I, " you seemed to be 
 no less her guardian angel than mine ; and you seem so now, 
 Agnes." 
 
 " A poor angel," she returned, " but faithful." 
 
 The clear tone of her voice going straight to my heart, made 
 it natural to me to say : 
 
 "The cheerfulness that belongs to you, Agnes (and to no 
 one else that ever I have seen), is so restored, I have observed 
 to-day, that I have begun to hope you are happier at home ? '' 
 
 " I am happier in myself," she said ; " I am quite cheerful 
 and light-hearted." 
 
 I glanced at the serene face looking upward, and thought it 
 was the stars that made it seem so noble. 
 
 " There has been no change at home," said Agnes, after a 
 few moments. 
 
 " No fresh reference," said I, "to I wouldn't distress you, 
 Agnes, but I cannot help asking to what we spoke of, when 
 we parted last ? " 
 
 "No, none," she answered. 
 
 " I have thought so much about it." 
 
 " You must think less about it. Kemember that I confide 
 in simple love and truth at last. Have no apprehensions for 
 me, Trotwood," she added, after a moment; "the step you 
 dread my taking, I shall never take." 
 
192 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 Although I think I had never really feared it, in any season 
 of cool reflection, it was an unspeakable relief to nie to have 
 this assurance from her own truthful lips. I told her so, 
 
 earnestly. 
 
 "And when this visit is over," said I, "for we may not 
 be alone another time, how long is it likely to be, my dear 
 Agnes, before you come to London again ? ' 
 
 "Probably a long time," she replied; "I think it will be 
 best for papa's sake to remain at home. We are not likely 
 to meet often, for some time to come ; but I shall be a good 
 correspondent of Dora's, and we shall frequently hear of one 
 another that way." 
 
 We were now within the little court-yard of the Doctor's 
 cottage. It was growing late. There was a light in the win- 
 dow of Mrs. Strong's chamber, and Agnes, pointing to it, bade 
 me good night. 
 
 "Do not be troubled," she said, giving me her hand, "by 
 our misfortunes and anxieties. I can be happier in nothing 
 than in your happiness. If you can ever give me help, rely 
 upon it I will ask you for it. God bless you always !" 
 
 In her beaming smile, and in these last tones of her cheerful 
 voice, I seemed again to see and hear my little Dora in her 
 company. I stood awhile, looking through the porch at the 
 stars, with a heart full of love and gratitude, and then walked 
 slowly forth. I had engaged a bed at a decent alehouse close 
 by, and was going out at the gate, when, happening to turn 
 my head, I saw a light in the Doctor's study. A half-re- 
 proachful fancy came into my mind, that he had been working 
 at the Dictionary without my help. With the view of seeing 
 if this were so, and, in any case, of bidding him good night, if 
 he were yet sitting among his books, I turned back, and going 
 softly across the hall, and gently opening the door, looked in. 
 
 The first person whom I saw, to my surprise, by the sober 
 light of the shaded lamp, was Uriah. He was standing close 
 beside it, with one of his skeleton hands over his mouth, and 
 the other resting on the Doctor's table. The Doctor sat in his 
 study chair, covering his face with his hands. Mr. Wickfield, 
 sorely troubled and distressed, was leaning forward, irreso- 
 lutely touching the Doctor's arm. 
 
OF DA VII} COPPERFIELD. 193 
 
 For a moment, I supposed that the Doctor was ill. I 
 hastily advanced a step under that impression, when I met 
 Uriah's eye, and saw what was the matter. I would have 
 withdrawn, but the Doctor made a jesture to detain me, and 
 I remained. 
 
 "At any rate," observed Uriah, with a writhe of his 
 ungainly person, " we may keep the door shut. We needn't 
 make it known to ALL the town." 
 
 Saying which, he went on his toes to the door, which I had 
 left open, and carefully closed it. He then came back, and 
 took up his former position. There was an obtrusive show of 
 compassionate zeal in his voice and manner, more intoler- 
 able at least to me than any demeanor he could have 
 assumed. 
 
 " I have felt it incumbent upon me, Master Copperfield," 
 said Uriah, " to point out to Doctor Strong what you and me 
 have already talked about. You didn't exactly understand 
 me, though ! " 
 
 I gave him a look, but no other answer ; and, going to my 
 good old master, said a few words that I meant to be words of 
 comfort and encouragement. He put his hand upon my shoul- 
 der, as it had been his custom to do when I was quite a little 
 fellow, but did not lift his gray head. 
 
 " As you didn't understand me, Master Copperfield," resumed 
 Uriah in the same officious manner, " I may take the liberty of 
 umbly mentioning, being among friends, that I have called 
 Dr. Strong's attention to the goings-on of Mrs. Strong. It's 
 much against the grain with me, I assure you, Copperfield, to 
 be concerned in anything so unpleasant ; but really, as it is, 
 we're all mixing ourselves up with what oughtn't to be. 
 That was what my meaning was, sir, when you didn't under- 
 stand me." 
 
 I wonder now, when I recall his leer, that I did not collar 
 him, and try to shake the breath out of his body. 
 
 " I dare say I didn't make myself very clear," he went on, 
 " nor you neither. Naturally, we was both of us inclined to 
 give such a subject a wide berth. Hows'ever, at last I have 
 made up my mind to speak plain ; and I have mentioned to 
 Doctor Strong that did you speak, sir ? " 
 
 VOL. II 13 
 
194 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 This was to the Doctor, who had moaned. The sound might 
 have touched any heart, I thought, but it had no effect upon 
 Uriah's. 
 
 " mentioned to Doctor Strong," he proceeded, " that any 
 one may see that Mr. Maldon, and the lovely and agreeable 
 lady as is Doctor Strong's wife, are too sweet on one another. 
 E/eally the time is come (we being at present all mixing our- 
 selves up with what oughtn't to be), when Doctor Strong must 
 be told that this was full as plain to everybody as the sun, 
 before Mr. Maldon went to India ; that Mr. Maldon made 
 excuses to come back, for nothing else ; and that he's always 
 here, for nothing else. When you come in, sir, I was just 
 putting it to my fellow partner," towards whom he turned, 
 " to say to Doctor Strong upon his word and honor, whether 
 he'd ever been of this opinion long ago, or not. Come, Mr. 
 Wickfield, sir ! Would you be so good as tell us ? Yes or no, 
 sir ? Come, partner ! " 
 
 " For God's sake, my dear Doctor," said Mr. Wickfield, again 
 laying his irresolute hand upon the Doctor's arm," don't attach 
 '',00 much weight to any suspicions I may have entertained." 
 
 " There ! " cried Uriah, shaking his head. " What a mel- 
 ancholy confirmation : ain't it ? Him ! Such an old friend ! 
 Bless your soul, when I was nothing but a clerk in his office, 
 Copperfield, I've seen him twenty times, if I've seen him once, 
 quite in a taking about it quite put out, you know (and very 
 proper in him as a father ; I'm sure / can't blame him), to 
 think that Miss Agnes was mixing herself up with what 
 oughtn't to be." 
 
 "My dear Strong," said Mr. Wickfield in a tremulous voice, 
 " my good friend, I needn't tell you that it has been my vice 
 to look for some one master motive in everybody, and to try 
 all actions by one narrow test. I may have fallen into such 
 doubts as I have had, through this mistake." 
 
 " You have had doubts, Wickfield," said the Doctor, without 
 lifting up his head. " You have had doubts." 
 
 " Speak up, fellow partner," urged Uriah. 
 
 " I had, at one time, certainly," said Mr. Wickfield. " I 
 God forgive me I thought you had." 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 195 
 
 " No, no, no ! " returned the Doctor, in a tone of most 
 pathetic grief." 
 
 " I thought, at one time," said Mr. Wickfield, " that you 
 wished to send Maldon abroad to effect a desirable separation." 
 
 " No, no, no ! " returned the Doctor. " To give Annie pleas- 
 ure, by making some provision for the companion of her child- 
 hood. Nothing else." 
 
 "So I found," said Mr. Wickfield. "I couldn't doubt it, 
 when you told me so. But I thought I implore you to 
 remember the narrow construction which has been my beset- 
 ting sin that, in a case where there was so much disparity in 
 point of years " 
 
 " That's the way to put it, you see, Master Copperfield ! " 
 observed Uriah, with fawning and offensive pity. 
 
 " a lady of such youth, and such attractions, however real 
 her respect for you, might have been influenced in marrying, 
 by worldly considerations only. I made no allowance for 
 innumerable feelings and circumstances that may have all 
 tended to good. For Heaven's sake remember that ! " 
 
 " How kind he puts it ! " said Uriah, shaking his head. 
 
 " Always observing her from one point of view," said Mr. 
 Wickfield ; " but by all that is dear to you, my old friend, I 
 entreat you to consider what it was ; I am forced to confess 
 now, having no escape " 
 
 " No ! There's no way out of it, Mr. Wickfield, sir," 
 observed Uriah, " when it's got to this." 
 
 " that I did," said Mr. Wickfield, glancing helplessly 
 and distractedly at his partner, " that I did doubt her, and 
 think her wanting in her duty to you ; and that I did some- 
 times, if I must say all, feel averse to Agnes being in such a 
 familiar relation towards her, as to see what I saw, or in my 
 diseased theory fancied that I saw. I never mentioned this 
 to any one. I never meant it to be known to any one. And 
 though it is terrible to you to hear," said Mr. Wickfield, quite 
 subdued, " if you knew how terrible it is to me to tell, you 
 would feel compassion for me ! " 
 
 The Doctor, in the perfect goodness of his nature, put out 
 his hand. Mr. Wickfield held it for a little while in his, with 
 his head bowed down. 
 
196 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " I am sure," said Uriah, writhing himself into the silence 
 like a Conger-eel, "that this is a subject full of unpleasant- 
 ness to everybody. But since we have got so far, I ought to 
 take the liberty of mentioning that Copperfield has noticed it 
 
 too." 
 
 I turned upon him, and asked him how he dared refer to 
 
 me ! 
 
 " Oh ! it's very kind of you, Copperfield," returned Uriah, 
 undulating all over, " and we all know what an amiable char- 
 acter yours is ; but you know that the moment I spoke to you 
 the other night, you knew what I meant. You know you 
 knew what I meant, Copperfield. Don't deny it ! You deny 
 it with the best intentions ; but don't do it, Copperfield." 
 
 I saw the mild eye of the good old Doctor turned upon me 
 for a moment, and I felt that the confession of my old mis- 
 givings and remembrances was too plainly written in my face 
 to be overlooked. It was of no use raging. I could not undo 
 that. Say what I would, I could not unsay it. 
 
 We were silent again, and remained so, until the Doctor rose 
 and walked twice or thrice across the room. Presently he 
 returned to where his chair stood ; and, leaning on the back of 
 it, and occasionally putting his handkerchief to his eyes, with 
 a simple honesty that did him more honor, to my thinking, 
 than any disguise he could have affected, said : 
 
 " I have been much to blame. I believe I have been very 
 much to blame. I have exposed one whom I hold in my heart, 
 to trials and aspersions I call them aspersions, even to 
 have been conceived in anybody's inmost mind of which she 
 never, but for me, could have been the object." 
 
 Uriah Heep gave a kind of snivel. I think to express 
 sympathy. 
 
 "Of which my Annie," said the Doctor, "never, but for 
 me, could have been the object. Gentlemen, I am old now, 
 as you know ; I do not feel, to-night, that I have much to 
 live for. But my life my Life upon the truth and honor 
 of the dear lady who has been the subject of this conversa- 
 tion!" 
 
 I do not think that the best embodiment of chivalry, the 
 realization of the handsomest and most romantic figure ever 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 197 
 
 imagined by painter, could have said this with a more impres- 
 sive and affecting dignity than the plain old Doctor did. 
 
 "But I am not prepared/' he went on, "to deny perhaps 
 I may have been, without knowing it, in some degree prepared 
 to admit that I may have unwittingly ensnared that lady 
 into an unhappy marriage. I am a man quite unaccustomed 
 to observe ; and I cannot but believe that the observation of 
 several people, of different ages and positions, all too plainly 
 tending in one direction (and that so natural), is better than 
 mine." 
 
 I have often admired, as I have elsewhere described, his 
 benignant manner towards his youthful wife ; but the respect- 
 ful tenderness he manifested in every reference to her on this 
 occasion, and the almost reverential manner in which he put 
 away from him the lightest doubt of her integrity, exalted 
 him, in my eyes, beyond description. 
 
 "I married that lady," said the Doctor, "when she was 
 extremely young. I took her to myself when her character 
 was scarcely formed. So far as it was developed, it had been 
 my happiness to form it. I knew her father well. I knew 
 her well. I had taught her what I could, for the love of all 
 her beautiful and virtuous qualities. If I did her wrong ; as 
 I fear I did, in taking advantage (but I never meant it) of 
 her gratitude and her affection ; I ask pardon of that lady, in 
 my heart ! " 
 
 He walked across the room, and came back to the same 
 place ; holding the chair with a grasp that trembled, like his 
 subdued voice, in its earnestness. 
 
 " I regarded myself as a refuge, for her, from the dangers 
 and vicissitudes of life. I persuaded myself that, unequal 
 though we were in years, she would live tranquilly and con- 
 tentedly with me. I did not shut out of my consideration the 
 time when I should leave her free, and still young and still 
 beautiful, but with her judgment more matured no, gentle- 
 men upon my truth ! " 
 
 His homely figure seemed to be lightened up by his fidelity 
 and generosity. Every word he uttered had a force that no 
 other grace could have imparted to it. 
 
 " My life with this lady has been very happy. Until to- 
 
198 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 night, I have had uninterrupted occasion to bless the day on 
 which I did her great injustice." 
 
 His voice, more and more faltering in the utterance of these 
 words, stopped for a few moments ; then he went on : 
 
 "Once awakened from my dream I have been a poor 
 dreamer, in one way or other, all my life I see how natural 
 it is that she should have some regretful feeling towards her 
 old companion and her equal. That she does regard him with 
 some innocent regret, with some blameless thoughts of what 
 might have been, but for me, is, I fear, too true. Much that I 
 have seen, but not noted, has come back upon me with new 
 meaning, during this last trying hour. But, beyond this, gen- 
 tlemen, the dear lady's name never must be coupled with a 
 word, a breath, of doubt." 
 
 For a little while, his eye kindled and his voice was firm ; 
 for a little while he was again silent. Presently, he pro- 
 ceeded as before : 
 
 "It only remains for me, to bear the knowledge of the un- 
 happiness I have occasioned, as submissively as I can. It is 
 she who should reproach; not I. To save her from miscon- 
 struction, cruel misconstruction, that even my friends have 
 not been able to avoid, becomes my duty. The more retired 
 we live, the better I shall discharge it. And when the time 
 comes may it coine soon, if it be His merciful pleasure! 
 when my death shall release her from constraint, I shall close 
 my eyes upon her honored face, with unbounded confidence 
 and love ; and leave her, with no sorrow then, to happier and 
 brighter days." 
 
 I could not see him for the tears which his earnestness and 
 goodness, so adorned by, and so adorning, the perfect simplic- 
 ity of his manner, brought into my eyes. He had moved to 
 the door, when he added : 
 
 " Gentlemen, I have shown you my heart. I am sure you 
 will respect it. What we have said to-night is never to be 
 said more. Wickfield, give me an old friend's arm up stairs ! " 
 
 Mr. Wickfield hastened to him. Without interchanging a 
 word they went slowly out of the room together, Uriah look- 
 ing after them. 
 
 "Well, Master Copperfield! " said Uriah, meekly turning to 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 199 
 
 me. " The thing hasn't took quite the turn that might have 
 been expected, for the old Scholar what an excellent man ! 
 is as blind as a brickbat j but this family's out of the cart, 
 I think!" 
 
 I needed but the sound of his voice to be so madly enraged 
 as I never was before, and never have been since. 
 
 " You villain," said I, " what do you mean by entrapping 
 me into your schemes ? How dare you appeal to me just 
 now, you false rascal, as if we had been in discussion to- 
 gether ? " 
 
 As we stood, front to front, I saw so plainly, in the stealthy 
 exultation of his face, what I already so plainly knew; I 
 mean that he forced his confidence upon me, expressly to 
 make me miserable, and had set a deliberate trap for me in 
 this very matter ; that I couldn't bear it. The whole of his 
 lank cheek was invitingly before me, and I struck it with my 
 open hand with that force that my fingers tingled as if I had 
 burnt them. 
 
 He caught the hand in his, and we stood in that connection, 
 looking at each other. We stood so, a long time ; long enough 
 for me to see the white marks of my fingers die out of the 
 deep red of his cheek, and leave it a deeper red. 
 
 " Copperfield," he said at length, in a breathless voice, 
 "have you taken leave of your senses ? " 
 
 "I have taken leave of you," said I, wresting my hand 
 away. " You dog, I'll know no more of you." 
 
 " Won't you ? ' said he, constrained by the pain of his 
 cheek to put his hand there. " Perhaps you won't be able to 
 help it. Isn't this ungrateful of you, now ? " 
 
 " I have shown you often enough," said I, " that I despise 
 you. I have shown you now, more plainly, that I do. Why 
 should I dread your doing your worst to all about you ? What 
 else do you ever do ? " 
 
 He perfectly understood this allusion to the considerations 
 that had hitherto restrained me in my communications with 
 him. I rather think that neither the blow, nor the allusion, 
 would have escaped me, but for the assurance I had had from 
 Agnes that night. It is no matter. 
 
 There was another long pause. His eyes, as he looked at 
 
JOO THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 me, seemed to take every shade of color that could make eyes 
 
 " Copperfield," he said, removing his hand from his cheek, 
 " you have always gone against me. I know you always used 
 to be against me at Mr. Wickfield's." 
 
 " You may think what you like," said I, still in a towering 
 rage. " If it is not true, so much the worthier you." 
 
 "And yet I always liked you, Copperfield," he rejoined. 
 
 I deigned to make him no reply; and, taking up my hat, 
 was going out to bed, when he came between me and the 
 door. 
 
 " Copperfield," he said, " there must be two parties to a 
 quarrel. I won't be one." 
 
 " You may go to the devil ! " said I. 
 
 " Don't say that ! " he replied. " I know you'll be sorry 
 afterwards. How can you make yourself so inferior to me, as 
 to show such a bad spirit ? But I forgive you." 
 
 " You forgive me ! " I repeated disdainfully. 
 
 " I do, and you can't help yourself," replied Uriah. " To 
 think of your going and attacking me, that have always been 
 a friend to you ! But there can't be a quarrel without two 
 parties, and I won't be one. I will be a friend to you, in spite 
 of you. So you know what you've got to expect." 
 
 The necessity of carrying on this dialogue (his part in 
 which was very slow ; mine very quick) in a low tone, that 
 the house might not be disturbed at an unseasonable hour, 
 did not improve my temper ; though my passion was cooling 
 down. Merely telling him that I should expect from him 
 what I always had expected, and had never yet been disap- 
 pointed in, I opened the door upon him, as if he had been a 
 great walnut put there to be cracked, and went out of the 
 house. But he slept out of the house too, at his mother's 
 lodging, and before I had gone many hundred yards, came up 
 with me. 
 
 " You know, Copperfield," he said, in my ear (I did not 
 turn my head), " you're in quite a wrong position ; " which I 
 felt to be true, and that made me chafe the more ; " you can't 
 make this a brave thing, and you can't help being forgiven. 
 I don't intend to mention it to mother, nor to any living soul. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 201 
 
 I'm determined to forgive you. But I do wonder that you 
 should lift your hand against a person that you knew to be so 
 umble ! " 
 
 I felt only less mean than he. He knew me better than I 
 knew myself. If he had retorted or openly exasperated me, 
 it would have been a relief and a justification; but he had 
 put me on a slow fire, on which I lay tormented half the 
 night. 
 
 In the morning when I came out, the early church bell was 
 ringing, and he was walking up and down with his mother. 
 He addressed me as if nothing had happened, and I could do 
 no less than reply. I had struck him hard enough to give him 
 the toothache, I suppose. At all events his face was tied up 
 in a black silk handkerchief, which, with his hat perched on 
 the top of it, was far from improving his appearance. I heard 
 that he went to a dentist's in London on the Monday morning, 
 and had a tooth out. I hope it was a double one. 
 
 The Doctor gave out that he was not quite well ; and he 
 remained alone, for a considerable part of every day, during 
 the remainder of the visit. Agnes and her father had been 
 gone a week, before we resumed our usual work. On the day 
 preceding its resumption, the Doctor gave me with his own 
 hands a folded note not sealed. It was addressed to myself ; 
 and laid an injunction on me, in a few affectionate words, never 
 to refer to the subject of that evening. I had confided it to 
 my aunt, but to no one else. It was not a subject I could dis- 
 cuss with Agnes, and Agnes certainly had not the least sus- 
 picion of what had passed. 
 
 Neither, I felt convinced, had Mrs. Strong then. Several 
 weeks elapsed before I saw the least change in her. It came 
 on slowly, like a cloud when there is no wind. At first, she 
 seemed to wonder at the gentle compassion with which the 
 Doctor spoke to her, and at his wish that she should have her 
 mother with her, to relieve the dull monotony of her life. 
 Often, when we were at work, and she was sitting by, I would 
 see her pausing and looking at him with that memorable face. 
 Afterwards, I sometimes observed her rise, with her eyes full 
 of tears, and go out of the room. Gradually, an unhappy 
 shadow fell upon her beauty, and deepened e^ery _ay. Mrs. 
 
202 THE PEE SON AL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 Markleham was a regular inmate of the cottage then ; but she 
 talked and talked and saw nothing. 
 
 As this change stole on Annie, once like sunshine in the 
 Doctor's house, the Doctor became older in appearance, and 
 more grave ; but the sweetness of his temper, the placid kind- 
 ness of his manner, and his benevolent solicitude for her, if 
 they were capable of any increase, were increased. I saw him 
 once, early on the morning of her birthday, when she came to 
 sit in the window while we were at work (which she had 
 always done, but now began to do with a timid and uncertain 
 air that I thought very touching), take her forehead between 
 his hands, kiss it, and go hurriedly away, too much moved to 
 remain. I saw her stand where he had left her, like a statue ; 
 and then bend down her head, and clasp her hands, and weep, 
 I cannot say how sorrowfully. 
 
 Sometimes, after that, I fancied that she tried to speak, 
 even to me, in intervals when we were left alone. But she 
 never uttered word. The Doctor always had some new pro- 
 ject for her participating in amusements away from home, 
 with her mother ; and Mrs. Markleham, who was very fond of 
 amusements, and very easily dissatisfied with anything else, 
 entered into them with great good will, and was loud in her 
 commendations. But Annie, in a spiritless unhappy way, 
 only went whither she was led, and seemed to have no care 
 for anything. 
 
 I did not know what to think. Neither did my aunt ; who 
 must have walked, at various times, a hundred miles in her 
 uncertainty. What was strangest of all was, that the only 
 real relief which seemed to make its way into the secret region 
 of this domestic unhappiness, made its way there in the person 
 of Mr. Dick. 
 
 What his thoughts were on the subject, or what his obser- 
 vation was, I am as unable to explain, as I daresay he would 
 have been to assist me in the task. But, as I have recorded 
 in the narrative of my school days, his veneration for the 
 Doctor was unbounded ; and there is a subtlety of perception 
 in real attachment, even when it is borne towards man by one 
 of the lower animals, which leaves the highest intellect behind. 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 203 
 
 To this mind of the heart, if I may call it so, in Mr. Dick, 
 some bright ray of the truth shot straight. 
 
 He had proudly resumed his privilege, in many of his spare 
 hours, of walking up and down the garden with the Doctor ; 
 as he had been accustomed to pace up and down The Doctor's 
 Walk at Canterbury. But matters were no sooner in this 
 state, than he devoted all his spare time (and got up earlier 
 to make it more) to these perambulations. If he had never 
 been so happy as when the Doctor read that marvellous per- 
 formance, the Dictionary, to him ; he was now quite miserable 
 unless the Doctor pulled it out of his pocket, and began. 
 When the Doctor and I were engaged, he now fell into the 
 custom of walking up and down with Mrs. Strong, and helping 
 her to trim her favorite flowers, or weed the beds. I dare say 
 he rarely spoke a dozen words in an hour : but his quiet 
 interest, and his wistful face, found immediate response in 
 both their breasts ; each knew that the other liked him, and 
 that he loved both ; and he became what no one else could be 
 a link between them. 
 
 When I think of him, with his impenetrably wise face, 
 walking up and down with the Doctor, delighted to be battered 
 by the hard words in the Dictionary; when I think of him 
 carrying huge watering-pots after Annie; kneeling down in 
 very paws of gloves, at patient microscopic work among the 
 little leaves ; expressing as no philosoper could have expressed, 
 in everything he did, a delicate desire to be her friend; 
 showering sympathy, trustfulness, and affection, out of every 
 hole in the watering-pot ; when I think of him never wander- 
 ing in that better mind of his to which unhappiness addressed 
 itself, never bringing the unfortunate King Charles into the 
 garden, never wavering in his grateful service, never diverted 
 from his knowledge that there was something wrong, or from 
 his wish to set it right I really feel almost ashamed of hav- 
 ing known that he was not quite in his wits, taking account 
 of the utmost I have done with mine. 
 
 " Nobody but myself, Trot, knows what that man is ! " my 
 aunt would proudly remark, when we conversed about it. 
 " Dick will distinguish himself yet ! " 
 
 I must refer to one other topic before I close this chapter. 
 
204 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE. 
 
 While the visit at the Doctor's was still in progress, I observed 
 that the postman brought two or three letters every morning 
 for Uriah Heep, who remained at Highgate until the rest 
 went back, it being a leisure time ; and that these were always 
 directed in a business-like manner by Mr. Micawber, who now 
 assumed a round legal hand. I was glad to infer, from these 
 slight premises, that Mr. Micawber was doing well ; and con- 
 sequently was much surprised to receive, about this time, the 
 following letter from his amiable wife. 
 
 " CANTERBURY, Monday Evening. 
 
 " You will doubtless be surprised, my dear Mr. Copperfield, 
 to receive this communication. Still more so, by its contents. 
 Still more so, by the stipulation of implicit confidence which 
 I beg to impose. But my feelings as a wife and mother require 
 relief; and as I do not wish to consult my family (already 
 obnoxious to the feelings of Mr. Micawber), I know no one of 
 whom I can better ask advice than my friend and former lodger. 
 
 " You may be aware, my dear Mr. Copperfield, that between 
 myself and Mr. Micawber (whom I will never desert), there 
 has always been preserved a spirit of mutual confidence. 
 Mr. Micawber may have occasionally given a bill without con- 
 sulting me, or he may have misled me as to the period when 
 that obligation would become due. This has actually hap- 
 pened. But, in general, Mr. Micawber has had no secrets 
 from the bosom of affection I allude to his wife and has 
 invariably, on our retirement to rest, recalled the events of 
 the day. 
 
 "You will picture to yourself, my dear Mr. Copperfield, 
 what the poignancy of my feelings must be, when I inform 
 you that Mr. Micawber is entirely changed. He is reserved. 
 He is secret. His life is a mystery to the partner of his joys 
 and sorrows I again allude to his wife and if I should 
 assure you that beyond knowing that it is passed from morn- 
 ing till night at the office, I now know less of it than I do 
 of the man in the south, connected with whose mouth the 
 thoughtless children repeat an idle tale respecting cold plum 
 porridge, I should adopt a popular fallacy to express an actual 
 fact. 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 205 
 
 "But this is not all. Mr. Micawber is morose. He is 
 severe. He is estranged from our eldest son and daughter, he 
 has no pride in his twins, he looks with an eye of coldness 
 even on the unoffending stranger who last became a member 
 of our circle. The pecuniary means of meeting our expenses, 
 kept down to the utmost farthing, are obtained from him with 
 great difficulty, and even under fearful threats that he will 
 Settle himself (the exact expression) j and he inexorably 
 refuses to give any explanation whatever of this distracting 
 policy. 
 
 " This is hard to bear. This is heart-breaking. If you will 
 advise me, knowing my feeble powers such as they are, how 
 you think it will be best to exert them in a dilemma so un- 
 wonted, you will add another friendly obligation to the many 
 you have already rendered me. With loves from the children, 
 and a smile from the happily unconscious stranger, I remain, 
 dear Mr. Copperfield, 
 
 " Your afflicted, 
 
 "EMMA MICAWBER." 
 
 I did not feel justified in giving a wife of Mrs. Micawber's 
 experience any other recommendation, than that she should 
 try to reclaim Mr. Micawber by patience and kindness (as I 
 knew she would in any case) ; but the letter set me thinking 
 about him very much. 
 
206 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 ANOTHER RETROSPECT. 
 
 ONCE again, let me pause upon a memorable period of my life. 
 Let me stand aside, to see the phantoms of those days go by 
 me, accompanying the shadow of myself, in dim procession. 
 
 Weeks, months, seasons, pass along. They seem little more 
 than a summer day and a winter evening. Now, the Common 
 where I walk with Dora is all in bloom, a field of bright gold ; 
 and now the unseen heather lies in mounds and bunches under- 
 neath a covering of snow. In a breath, the river that flows 
 through our Sunday walks is sparkling in the summer sun, is 
 ruined by the winter wind, or thickened with drifting heaps 
 of ice. Faster than ever river ran towards the sea, it flashes, 
 darkens, and rolls away. 
 
 Not a thread changes, in the house of the two little bird-like 
 ladies. The clock ticks over the fire-place, the weather-glass 
 hangs in the hall. Neither clock nor weather-glass is ever 
 right ; but we believe in both, devoutly. 
 
 I have come legally to man's estate. I have attained the 
 dignity of twenty-one. But this is a sort of dignity that may 
 be thrust upon one. Let me think what I have achieved. 
 
 I have tamed that savage stenographic mystery. I make a 
 respectable income by it. I am in high repute for my accom- 
 plishment in all pertaining to the art,, and am joined with 
 eleven others in reporting the debates in Parliament for a 
 Morning Newspaper. Night after night, I record predictions 
 that never come to pass, professions that are never fulfilled, 
 explanations that are only meant to mystify. I wallow in 
 words. Britannia, that unfortunate female, is always before 
 me, like a trussed fowl : skewered through and through with 
 office-pens, and bound hand and foot with red tape. I am suf- 
 ficiently behind the scenes to know the worth of political life. 
 I am quite an infidel about it, and shall never be converted. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEKFIELD. 207 
 
 My dear old Traddles has tried his hand at the same pur- 
 suit, but it is not in Traddles's way. He is perfectly good- 
 humored respecting his failure, and reminds me that he always 
 did consider himself slow. He has occasional employment on 
 the same newspaper, in getting up the facts of dry subjects, to 
 be written about and embellished by more fertile minds. He is 
 called to the bar ; and with admirable industry and self-denial 
 has scraped another hundred pounds together, to fee a con- 
 veyancer whose chambers he attends. A great deal of very hot 
 port wine was consumed at his call ; and, considering the figure, 
 I should think the Inner Temple must have made a profit by it. 
 
 I have come out in another way. I have taken with fear 
 and trembling to authorship. I wrote a little something, in 
 secret, and sent it to a magazine, and it was published in the 
 magazine. Since then, I have taken heart to write a good 
 many trifling pieces. Now, I am regularly paid for them. 
 Altogether, I am well off ; when I tell my income on the 
 fingers of my left hand, I pass the third finger and take in the 
 fourth to the middle joint. 
 
 We have removed from Buckingham Street, to a pleasant 
 little cottage very near the one I looked at, when my enthu- 
 siasm first came on. My aunt, however (who has sold the 
 house at Dover, to good advantage), is not going to remain 
 here, but intends removing herself to a still more tiny cottage 
 close at hand. What does this portend ? My marriage ? Yes ! 
 
 Yes ! I am going to be married to Dora ! Miss Lavinia 
 and Miss Clarissa have given their consent ; and if ever canary 
 birds were in a flutter, they are. Miss Lavinia, self-charged 
 with the superintendence of my darling's wardrobe, is constantly 
 cutting out brown-paper cuirasses, and differing in opinion 
 from a highly respectable young man, with a long bundle, and 
 a yard measure under his arm. A dressmaker, always stabbed 
 in the breast with a needle and thread, boards and lodges in 
 the house ; and seems to me, eating, drinking, or sleeping, 
 never to take her thimble off. They make a lay-figure of my 
 dear. They are always sending for her to come and try some- 
 thing on. We can't be happy together for five minutes in the 
 evening, but some intrusive female knocks at the door, and says, 
 " Oh, if you please, Miss Dora, would you step up stairs ! " 
 
208 THE PEE SON AL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 
 Miss Clarissa and my aunt roam all over London, to find out 
 articles of furniture for Dora and me to look at. It would be 
 better for them to buy the goods at once, without this cere- 
 mony of inspection ; for, when we go to see a kitchen fender 
 and meat-screen, Dora sees a Chinese house for Jip, with little 
 bells on the top, and prefers that. And it takes a long time 
 to accustom Jip to his new residence, after we have bought it ; 
 whenever he goes in or out, he makes all the little bells ring, 
 and is horribly frightened. 
 
 Peggotty comes up to make herself useful, and falls to work 
 immediately. Her department appears to be, to clean every- 
 thing over and over again. She rubs everything that can be 
 rubbed, until it shines, like her own honest forehead, with 
 perpetual friction. And now it is, that I begin to see her soli- 
 tary brother passing through the dark streets at night, and 
 looking, as he goes, among the wandering faces. I never 
 speak to him at such an hour. I know too well, as his grave 
 figure passes onward, what he seeks, and what he dreads. 
 
 Why does Traddles look so important when he calls upon 
 me this afternoon in the Commons where I still occasionally 
 attend, for form's sake, when I have time ? The realization 
 of my boyish day-dreams is at hand. I am going to take out 
 the license. 
 
 It is a little document to do so much ; and Traddles contem- 
 plates it, as it lies upon my desk, half in admiration, half in 
 awe. There are the names in the sweet old visionary connec- 
 tion, David Copperfield and Dora Spenlow ; and there, in the 
 corner, is that Parental Institution, the Stamp Office, which is 
 so benignantly interested in the various transactions of human 
 life, looking down upon our Union ; and there is the Arch- 
 bishop of Canterbury invoking a blessing on us in print, and 
 doing it as cheap as could possibly be expected. 
 
 Nevertheless, I am in a dream, a flustered, happy, hurried 
 dream. I can't believe that it is going to be ; and yet I can't 
 believe but that every one I pass in the street, must have some 
 kind of perception, that I am to be married the day after to- 
 morrow. The Surrogate knows me, when I go down to be 
 sworn j and disposes of me easily, as if there were a Masonic 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 209 
 
 understanding between us. Traddles is not at all wanted, but 
 is in attendance as my general backer. 
 
 " I hope the next time you come here, my dear fellow," I 
 say to Traddles, " it will be on the same errand for yourself. 
 And I hope it will be soon." 
 
 " Thank you for your good wishes, my dear Copperfield," he 
 replies. " I hope so too. It's a satisfaction to know that she'll 
 wait for me any length of time, and that she really is the dear- 
 est girl " 
 
 " When are you to meet her at the coach ? " I ask. 
 
 " At seven," says Traddles, looking at his plain old silver 
 watch the very watch he once took a wheel out of, at school, 
 to make a water-mill. " That is about Miss Wickfield's time, 
 is it not ? " 
 
 " A little earlier. Her time is half-past eight." 
 
 " I assure you, my dear boy," says Traddles, " I am almost 
 as pleased as if I were going to be married myself, to think 
 that this event is coming to such a happy termination. And 
 really the great friendship and consideration of personally 
 associating Sophy with the joyful occasion, and inviting her 
 to Be a bridesmaid in conjunction with Miss Wickfield, de- 
 mands my warmest thanks. I am extremely sensible of it." 
 
 I hear him, and shake hands with him; and we talk, and 
 walk, and dine, and so on ; but I don't believe it. Nothing is 
 real. 
 
 Sophy arrives at the house of Dora's aunts, in due course. 
 She has the most agreeable of faces, not absolutely beauti- 
 ful, but extraordinarily pleasant, and is one of the most 
 genial, unaffected, frank, engaging creatures I have ever seen. 
 Traddles presents her to us with great pride; and rubs his 
 hands for ten minutes by the clock, with every individual hair 
 upon his head standing on tiptoe, when I congratulate him in 
 a corner on his choice. 
 
 I have brought Agnes from the Canterbury coach, and her 
 cheerful and beautiful face is among us for the second time. 
 Agnes has a great liking for Traddles, and it is capital to see 
 them meet, and to observe the glory of Traddles as he com- 
 mends the dearest girl in the world to her acquaintance. 
 
 Still I don't believe it. We have a delightful evening, and 
 
 VOL. II 14 
 
210 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 are supremely happy : but I don't believe it yet. I can't col- 
 lect myself. I can't check off my happiness as it takes place. 
 I feel in a misty and unsettled kind of state ; as if I had got 
 up very early in the morning a week or two ago, and had never 
 been to bed since. I can't make out when yesterday was. I 
 seem to have been carrying the license about, in my pocket, 
 many months. 
 
 Next day, too, when we all go in a flock to see the house 
 our house Dora's and mine I am quite unable to regard 
 myself as its master. I seem to be there, by permission of 
 somebody else. I half expect the real master to come home 
 presently, and say he is glad to see me. Such a beautiful 
 little house as it is, with everything so bright and new ; with 
 the flowers on the carpets looking as if freshly gathered, and 
 the green leaves on the paper as if they had just come out ; 
 with the spotless muslin curtains, and the blushing rose- 
 colored furniture, and Dora's garden hat with the blue ribbon 
 do I remember, now, how I loved her in such another hat 
 when I first knew her ! already hanging on its little peg ; 
 the guitar-case quite at home on its heels in a corner ; and 
 everybody tumbling over Jip's Pagoda, which is much too 
 big for the establishment. 
 
 Another happy evening, quite as unreal as all the rest of 
 it, and I steal into the usual room before going away. Dora 
 is not there. I suppose they have not done trying on yet. 
 Miss Lavinia peeps in, and tells me mysteriously that she will 
 not be long. She is rather long, notwithstanding : but by and 
 by I hear a rustling at the door, and some one taps. 
 
 I say, " Come in ! " but some one taps again. 
 
 I go to the door, wondering who it is ; there, I meet a pair 
 of bright eyes, and a blushing face j they are Dora's eyes and 
 face, and Miss Lavinia has dressed her in to-morrow's dress, 
 bonnet and all, for me to see. I take my little wife to my 
 heart ; and Miss Lavinia gives a little scream because I tumble 
 the bonnet, and Dora laughs and cries at once, because I am 
 so pleased ; and I believe it less than ever. 
 
 " Do you think it pretty, Doady ? " says Dora. 
 
 Pretty ! I should rather think I did. 
 
 " And are you sure you like me very much ? " says Dora. 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 211 
 
 The topic is fraught with such danger to the bonnet, that 
 Miss Lavinia gives another little scream, and begs me to 
 understand that Dora is only to be looked at, and on no 
 account to be touched. So Dora stands in a delightful state 
 of confusion for a minute or two, to be admired ; and then 
 takes off her bonnet looking so natural without it ! and 
 runs away with it in her hand ; and comes dancing down again 
 in her old familiar dress, and asks Jip if I have got a beau- 
 tiful little wife, and whether he'll forgive her for being 
 married, and kneels down to make him stand upon the 
 cookery-book, for the last time in her single life. 
 
 I go home, more incredulous than ever, to a lodging that I 
 have hard by ; and get up very early in the morning, to ride 
 to the Highgate road and fetch my aunt. 
 
 I have never seen my aunt in such state. She is dressed 
 in lavender-colored silk, and has a white bonnet on, and is 
 amazing. Janet has dressed her, and is there to look at me. 
 Peggotty is ready to go to church, intending to behold the 
 ceremony from the gallery. Mr. Dick, who is to give my 
 darling to me at the altar, has had his hair curled. Traddles, 
 whom I have taken up by appointment at the turnpike, 
 presents a dazzling combination of cream color and light blue ; 
 and both he and Mr. Dick have a general effect about them of 
 being all gloves. 
 
 No doubt I see this, because I know it is so ; but I am 
 astray, and seem to see nothing. Nor do I believe anything 
 whatever. Still, as we drive along in an open carriage, this 
 fairy marriage is real enough to fill me with a sort of won- 
 dering pity for the unfortunate people who have no part in 
 it, but are sweeping out the shops, and going to their daily 
 occupations. 
 
 My aunt sits with my hand in hers all the way. When we 
 stop a little way short of the church, to put down Peggotty, 
 whom we have brought on the box, she gives it a squeeze, and 
 me a kiss. 
 
 " God bless you, Trot ! My own boy never could be dearer. 
 I think of poor dear Baby this morning." 
 
 " So do I. And of all I owe to you, dear aunt." 
 
 " Tut, child ! " says my aunt ; and gives her hand in over- 
 
212 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 flowing cordiality to Traddles, who then gives his to Mr. Dick, 
 who then gives his to me, who then give mine to Traddles, 
 and then we come to the church door. 
 
 The church is calm enough, I am sure ; but it might be 
 a steam-power loom in full action, for any sedative effect it 
 has on me. I am too far gone for that. 
 
 The rest is all a more or less incoherent dream. 
 
 A dream of their coming in with Dora ; of the pew-opener 
 arranging us, like a drill-sergeant, before the altar rails ; of 
 my wondering, even then, why pew-openers must always be 
 the most disagreeable females procurable, and whether there 
 is any religious dread of a disastrous infection of good humor 
 which renders it indispensable to set those vessels of vinegar 
 upon the road to Heaven. 
 
 Of the clergyman and clerk appearing; of a few boatmen 
 and some other people strolling in ; of an ancient mariner 
 behind me, strongly flavoring the church with rum; of the 
 service beginning in a deep voice, and our all being vgry at- 
 tentive. 
 
 Of Miss Lavinia, who acts as a semi-auxiliary bridesmaid, 
 being the first to cry, and of her doing homage (as I take it) 
 to the memory of Pidger, in sobs ; of Miss Clarissa applying 
 a smelling-bottle ; of Agnes taking care of Dora ; of my aunt 
 endeavoring to represent herself as a model of sternness, with 
 tears rolling down her face ; of little Dora trembling very 
 much, and making her responses in faint whispers. 
 
 Of our kneeling down together, side by side ; of Dora's 
 trembling less and less, but always clasping Agnes by the 
 hand ; of the service being got through, quietly and gravely ; 
 of our all looking at each other in an April state of smiles 
 and tears, when it is over ; of my young wife being hysterical 
 in the vestry, and crying for her poor papa, her dear papa. 
 
 Of her soon cheering up again, and our signing the register 
 all round. Of my going into the gallery for Peggotty to bring 
 her to sign it ; of Peggotty's hugging me in a corner, and tell- 
 ing me she saw my own dear mother married ; of its being 
 over, and our going away. 
 
 Of my walking so proudly and lovingly down the aisle with 
 my sweet wife upon my arm, through a mist of half-seen 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 213 
 
 people, pulpits, monuments, pews, fonts, organs, and church- 
 windows, in which there flutter faint airs of association with 
 my childish church at home, so long ago 
 
 Of their whispering, as we pass, what a youthful couple we 
 are, and what a pretty little wife she is. Of our all being so 
 merry and talkative in the carriage going back. Of Sophy 
 telling us that when she saw Traddles (whom I had entrusted 
 with the license) asked for it, she almost fainted, having been 
 convinced that he would contrive to lose it, or to have his 
 pocket picked. Of Agnes laughing gaily ; and of Dora being 
 so fond of Agnes that she will not be separated from her, but 
 still keeps her hand. 
 
 Of there being a breakfast, with abundance of things, pretty 
 and substantial, to eat and drink, whereof I partake, as I 
 should do in any other dream, without the least perception of 
 their flavor ; eating and drinking, as I may say, nothing but 
 love and marriage, and no more believing in the viands than 
 in anything else. 
 
 Of my making a speech in the same dreamy fashion, without 
 having an idea of what I want to say, beyond such as may be 
 comprehended in the full conviction that I haven't said it. 
 Of our being very sociably and simply happy (always in a 
 dream though) ; and of Jip's having wedding cake, and its 
 not agreeing with him afterwards. 
 
 Of the pair of hired post-horses being ready, and of Dora's 
 going away to change her dress. Of my aunt and Miss Clarissa 
 remaining with us ; and our walking in the garden ; and my 
 aunt, who has made quite a speech at breakfast touching 
 Dora's aunts, being mightily amused with herself, but a little 
 proud of it too. 
 
 Of Dora's being ready, and of Miss Lavinia's hovering about 
 her, loth to lose the pretty toy that has given her so much 
 pleasant occupation. Of Dora's making a long series of sur- 
 prised discoveries that she has forgotten all sorts of little 
 things; and of everybody's running everywhere to fetch 
 them. 
 
 Of their all closing about Dora, when at last she begins to 
 say good by, looking, with their bright colors and ribbons, 
 like a bed of flowers. Of my darling being almost smothered 
 
214 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 among the flowers, and coming out, laughing and crying both 
 together, to my jealous arms. 
 
 Of my wanting to carry Jip (who is to go along with us), 
 and Dora's saying no, that she must carry him, or else he'll 
 think she don't like him any more, now she is married, and 
 will break his heart. Of our going, arm in arm, and Dora 
 stopping and looking back, and saying, " If I have ever been 
 cross or ungrateful to anybody, don't remember it ! " and 
 bursting into tears. 
 
 Of her waving her little hand, and our going away once 
 more. Of her once more stopping and looking back, and 
 hurrying to Agnes, and giving Agnes, above all the others, 
 her last kisses and farewells. 
 
 We drive away together, and I awake from the dream. I 
 believe it at last. It is my dear, dear, little wife beside me 
 whom I love so well ! 
 
 " Are you happy now, you foolish boy ? " says Dora, " and 
 sure you don't repent ? " 
 
 I have stood aside to see the phantoms of those days go by 
 me. They are gone, and I resume the journey of my story. 
 
O.F DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 215 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 OUR HOUSEKEEPING. 
 
 IT was a strange condition of things, the honey-moon being 
 over, and the bridesmaids gone home, when I found myself 
 sitting down in my own small house with Dora ; quite thrown 
 out of employment, as I may say, in respect of the delicious 
 old occupation of making love. 
 
 It seemed such an extraordinary thing to have Dora always 
 there. It was so unaccountable not to be obliged to go out to 
 see her, not to have any occasion to be tormenting myself 
 about her, not to have to write to her, not to be scheming 
 and devising opportunities of being alone with her. Some- 
 times of an evening, when I looked up from my writing, and 
 saw her seated opposite, I would lean back in my chair, and 
 think how queer it was that there we were, alone together 
 as a matter of course nobody's business any more all the 
 romance of our engagement put away upon a shelf, to rust 
 no one to please but one another one another to please, 
 for life. 
 
 When there was a debate, and I was kept out very late, it 
 seemed so strange to me, as I was walking home, to think 
 that Dora was at home ! It was such a wonderful thing, at 
 first, to have her coming softly down to talk to me as I ate my 
 supper. It was such a stupendous thing to know for certain 
 that she put her hair in papers. It was altogether such an 
 astonishing event to see her do it ! 
 
 I doubt whether two young birds could have known less 
 about keeping house, than I and my pretty Dora did. We 
 had a servant, of course. She kept house for us. I have, 
 still a latent belief that she must have been Mrs. Crupp's 
 daughter in disguise, we had such an awful time of it with 
 Mary Anne. 
 
 Her name was Paragon. Her nature was represented to us, 
 
216 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 when we engaged her, as being feebly expressed in her name* 
 She had a written character, as large as a proclamation ; and, 
 according to this document, could do everything of a domestic 
 nature that ever I heard of, and a great many things that I 
 never did hear of. She was a woman in the prime of life ; of 
 a severe countenance; and subject (particularly in the arms) 
 to a sort of perpetual measles or fiery rash. She had a cousin 
 in the Life Guards, with such long legs that he looked like 
 the afternoon shadow of somebody else. His shell-jacket was 
 as much too little for him as he was too big for the premises. 
 He made the cottage smaller than it need have been, by being 
 so very much out of proportion to it. Besides which, the 
 walls were not thick, and whenever he passed the evening at 
 our house, we always knew of it by hearing one continual 
 growl in the kitchen. 
 
 Our treasure was warranted sober and honest. I am there- 
 fore willing to believe that she was in a fit when we found her 
 under the boiler ; and that the deficient teaspoons were attrib- 
 utable to the dustman. 
 
 But she preyed upon our minds dreadfully. We felt our 
 inexperience, and were unable to help ourselves. We should 
 have been at her mercy, if she had had any ; but she was a 
 remorseless woman, and had none. She was the cause of our 
 first little quarrel. 
 
 " My dearest life," I said one day to Dora, " do you think 
 Mary Anne has any idea of time ? " 
 
 " Why, Doady ? " inquired Dora, looking up, innocently, 
 from her drawing. 
 
 " My love, because it's five, and we were to have dined at four." 
 
 Dora glanced wistfully at the clock, and hinted that she 
 thought it was too fast. 
 
 " On the contrary, my love," said I, referring to my watch, 
 " it's a few minutes too slow." 
 
 My little wife came and sat upon my knee, to coax me to 
 be quiet, and drew a line with her pencil down the middle of 
 my nose ; but I couldn't dine off that, though it was very 
 agreeable. 
 
 " Don't you think, my dear," said I, " it would be better for 
 you to remonstrate with Mary Anne ? " 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 217 
 
 " Oh no, please ! I couldn't, Doady ! " said Dora. 
 
 " Why not, my love ? " I gently asked. 
 
 " Oh, because I am such a little goose," said Dora, " and she 
 knows I am ! " 
 
 I thought this sentiment so incompatible with the establish- 
 ment of any system of check on Mary Anne, that I frowned 
 a little. 
 
 " Oh, what ugly wrinkles in my bad boy's forehead ! " said 
 Dora, and still being on my knee, she traced them with her 
 pencil ; putting it to her rosy lips to make it mark blacker, 
 and working at my forehead with a quaint little mockery of 
 being industrious, that quite delighted me in spite of myself. 
 
 "There's a good child," said Dora, "it makes its face so 
 much prettier to laugh." 
 
 " But, my love," said I. 
 
 " No, no ! please ! " cried Dora, with a kiss, " don't be a 
 naughty Blue Beard ! Don't be serious ! " 
 
 " My precious wife," said I, " we must be serious sometimes. 
 Come ! Sit down on this chair, close beside me ! Give me 
 the pencil ! There ! Now let us talk sensibly. You know, 
 dear ; " what a little hand it was to hold, and what a tiny 
 wedding-ring it was to see ! " You know, my love, it is not 
 exactly comfortable to have to go out without one's dinner. 
 Now, is it ? " 
 
 " N n no ! " replied Dora, faintly. 
 
 " My love, how you tremble ! " 
 
 "Because I KNOW you're going to scold me," exclaimed 
 Dora, in a piteous voice. 
 
 " My sweet, I am only going to reason." 
 
 " Oh, but reasoning is worse than scolding ! " exclaimed Dora, 
 in despair. "I didn't marry to be reasoned with. If you 
 meant to reason with such a poor little thing as I am, you 
 ought to have told me so, you cruel boy ! " 
 
 I tried to pacify Dora, but she turned away her face, and 
 shook her curls from side to side, and said, " You cruel, cruel 
 boy ! " so many times, that I really did not exactly know what 
 to do : so I took a few turns up and down the room in my 
 uncertainty, and came back again. 
 
 " Dora, my darling ! " 
 
218 THE PERSONAL U1STORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " No, I am not your darling. Because you must be sorry 
 that you married me, or else you wouldn't reason with me ! " 
 returned Dora. 
 
 I felt so injured by the inconsequential nature of this charge, 
 that it gave me courage to be grave. 
 
 "Now, my own Dora," said I, "you are very childish, and 
 are talking nonsense. You must remember, I am sure, that I 
 was obliged to go out yesterday when dinner was half over j 
 and that, the day before, I was made quite unwell by being 
 obliged to eat underdone veal in a hurry ; to-day, I don't dine 
 at all and I am afraid to say how long we waited for break- 
 fast and then the water didn't boil. I don't mean to reproach 
 you, my dear, but this is not comfortable." 
 
 " Oh, you cruel, cruel boy, to say I am a disagreeable wife ! " 
 cried Dora. 
 
 "Now, my dear Dora, you must know that I never said 
 that ! " 
 
 " You said I wasn't comfortable ! " said Dora. 
 
 " I said the housekeeping was not comfortable." 
 
 " It's exactly the same thing ! " cried Dora. And she evi- 
 dently thought so, for she wept most grievously. 
 
 I took another turn across the room, full of love for my 
 pretty wife, and distracted by self-accusatory inclinations to 
 knock my head against the door. I sat down again, and said : 
 
 " I am not blaming you, Dora. We have both a great deal 
 to learn. I am only trying to show you, my dear, that you 
 must you really must" (I was resolved not to give this up) 
 " accustom yourself to look after Mary Anne. Likewise to 
 act a little for yourself, and me." 
 
 " I wonder, I do, at your making such ungrateful speeches," 
 sobbed Dora. " When you know that the other day, when you 
 said you would like a little bit of fish, I went out myself, miles 
 and miles, and ordered it, to surprise you." 
 
 " And it was very kind of you, my own darling," said I. 
 " I felt it so much that I wouldn't on any account have even 
 mentioned that you bought a Salmon which was too much 
 for two. Or that it cost one pound six which was more 
 than we can afford." 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 219 
 
 "You enjoyed it very much/' sobbed Dora. "And you said 
 I was a Mouse." 
 
 " And I'll say so again, my love/' I returned, " a thousand 
 times ! " 
 
 But I had wounded Dora's soft little heart, and she was not 
 to be comforted. She was so pathetic in her sobbing and 
 bewailing, that I felt as if I had said I don't know what to 
 hurt hej. I was obliged to hurry away ; I was kept out late ; 
 and I felt all night such pangs of remorse as made me miser- 
 able. I had the conscience of an assassin, and was haunted 
 by a vague sense of enormous wickedness. 
 
 It was two or three hours past midnight when I got home. 
 I found my aunt in our house, sitting up for me. 
 
 "Is anything the matter, aunt ? " said I, alarmed. 
 
 " Nothing, Trot," she replied. " Sit down, sit down. Little 
 Blossom has been rather out of spirits, and I have been keep- 
 ing her company. That's all." 
 
 I leaned my head upon my hand ; and felt more sorry and 
 downcast, as I sat looking at the fire, than I could have sup- 
 posed possible so soon after the fulfilment of my brightest 
 hopes. As I sat thinking, I happened to meet my aunt's eyes, 
 which were resting on my face. There was an anxious 
 expression in them, but it cleared directly. 
 
 "I assure you, aunt," said I, "I have been quite unhappy 
 myself all night, to think of Dora's being so. But I had no 
 other intention than to speak to her tenderly and lovingly 
 about our home-affairs." 
 
 My aunt nodded encouragement. 
 
 " You must have patience, Trot," said she. 
 
 "Of course. Heaven knows I don't mean to be unreason- 
 able, aunt ! " 
 
 "No, no," said my aunt. "But Little Blossom is a very 
 tender little blossom, and the wind must be gentle with her." 
 
 I thanked my good aunt, in my heart, for her tenderness 
 towards my wife ; and I was sure that she knew I did. 
 
 " Don't you think, aunt," said I, after some further contem- 
 plation of the fire, " that you could advise and counsel Dora a 
 little, for our mutual advantage, now and then ? " 
 
220 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " Trot/' returned my aunt, with some emotion, " no ! Don't 
 ask me such a thing ! " 
 
 Her tone was so very earnest that I raised my eyes in sur- 
 prise. 
 
 " I look back on my life, child," said my aunt, " and I think 
 of some who are in their graves, with whom I might have been 
 on kinder terms. If I judged harshly of other people's mis- 
 takes in marriage, it may have been because I had bitter reason 
 to judge harshly of my own. Let that pass. I have been a 
 grumpy, frumpy, wayward sort of a woman, a good many 
 years. I am still, and I always shall be. But you and I have 
 done one another some good, Trot, at all events, you have 
 done me good, my dear ; and division must not come between 
 us, at this time of day." 
 
 " Division between us ! " cried I. 
 
 " Child, child ! " said my aunt, smoothing her dress, " how 
 soon it might come between us, or how unhappy I might 
 make our Little Blossom, if I meddled in anything, a prophet 
 couldn't say. I want our pet to like me, and be as gay as a 
 butterfly. Remember your own home, in that second marriage ; 
 and never do both me and her the injury you have hinted at!" 
 
 I comprehended, at once, that my aunt was right ; and I 
 comprehended the full extent of her generous feeling towards 
 my dear wife. 
 
 " These are early days, Trot," she pursued, " and Rome was 
 not built in a day, nor in a year. You have chosen freely for 
 yourself ; " a cloud passed over her face for a moment, I 
 thought ; "and you, have chosen a very pretty and a very affec- 
 tionate creature. It will be your duty, and it will be your 
 pleasure too of course I know that ; I am not delivering a 
 lecture to estimate her (as you chose her) by the qualities 
 she has, and not by the qualities she may not have. The lat- 
 ter you must develop in her, if you can. And if you cannot, 
 child," here my aunt rubbed her nose, "you must just accus- 
 tom yourself to do without 'em. But remember, my dear, 
 your future is between you two. No one can assist you ; you 
 are to work it out for yourselves. This is marriage, Trot ; 
 and Heaven bless you both, in it, for a pair of babes in the 
 wood as you are ! " 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 221 
 
 . > 
 
 My aunt said this in a sprightly way, and gave me a kiss to 
 ratify the blessing. 
 
 " Now," said she, " light my little lantern, and see me into 
 my bandbox by the garden path ; " for there was a communi- 
 cation between our cottages in that direction. " Give Betsey 
 Trotwood's love to Blossom, when you come back ; and what- 
 ever you do, Trot, never dream of setting Betsey up as a 
 scarecrow, for if / ever saw her in the glass, she's quite grim 
 enough and gaunt enough in her private capacity ! " 
 
 With this my aunt tied her head up in a handkerchief, with 
 which she was accustomed to make a bundle of it on such 
 occasions ; and I escorted her home. As she stood in her gar- 
 den, holding up her little lantern to light me back, I thought 
 her observation of me had an anxious air again ; but I was 
 too much occupied in pondering on what she had said, and too 
 much impressed for the first time, in reality by the con- 
 viction that Dora and I had indeed to work out our future 
 for ourselves, and that no one could assist us, to take much 
 notice of it. 
 
 Dora came stealing down in her little slippers, to meet me, 
 now that I was alone ; and cried upon my shoulder, and said I 
 had been hard-hearted and she had been naughty ; and I said 
 much the same thing in effect, I believe ; and we made it up, 
 and agreed that our first little difference was to be our last, 
 and that we were never to have another if we lived a hundred 
 years. 
 
 The next domestic trial we went through, was the Ordeal of 
 Servants. Mary Anne's cousin deserted into our coal-hole, 
 and was brought out, to our great amazement, by a piquet of 
 his companions in arms, who took him away handcuffed in a 
 procession that covered our front-garden with ignominy. This 
 nerved me to get rid of Mary Anne, who went so mildly, on 
 receipt of wages, that I was surprised, until I found out about 
 the teaspoons, and also about the little sums she had borrowed 
 in my name of the tradespeople without authority. After an 
 interval of Mrs. Kidgerbury the oldest inhabitant of Kent- 
 ish Town, I believe, who went out charing, but was too feeble 
 to execute her conceptions of that art we found another 
 treasure, who was one of the most amiable of women, but 
 
222 THE PERSONAL HISTOEY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 who generally made a point of falling either up or down the 
 kitchen stairs with the tray, and almost plunged into the par- 
 lor, as into a bath, with the tea-things. The ravages com- 
 mitted by this unfortunate, rendering her dismissal necessary, 
 she was succeeded (with intervals of Mrs. Kidgerbury) by a 
 long line of Incapables ; terminating in a young person of 
 genteel appearance, who went to Greenwich Fair in Dora's 
 bonnet. After whom I remember nothing but an average 
 equality of failure. 
 
 Everybody we had anything to do with seemed to cheat us. 
 Our appearance in a shop was a signal for the damaged goods 
 to be brought out immediately. If we bought a lobster, it 
 was full of water. All our meat turned out to be tough, and 
 there was hardly any crust to our loaves. In search of the 
 principle on which joints ought to be roasted, to be roasted 
 enough, and not too much, I myself referred to the Cookery - 
 Book, and found it there established as the allowance of a 
 quarter of an hour to every pound, and say a quarter over. But 
 the principle always failed us by some curious fatality, and we 
 never could hit any medium between redness and cinders. 
 
 I had reason to believe that in accomplishing these failures 
 we incurred a far greater expense than if we had achieved a 
 series of triumphs. It appeared to me, on looking over the 
 tradesmen's books, as if we might have kept the basement 
 story paved with butter, such was the extensive scale of our 
 consumption of that article. I don't know whether the Excise 
 returns of the period may have exhibited any increase in the 
 demand for pepper ; but if our performances did not affect the 
 market, I should say several families must have left off using 
 it. And the most wonderful fact of all was, that we never had 
 anything in the house. 
 
 As to the washerwoman pawning the clothes, and coming 
 in a state of penitent intoxication to apologize, I suppose that 
 might have happened several times to anybody. Also the 
 chimney on fire, the parish engine, and perjury on the part of 
 the Beadle. But I apprehend that we were personally un- 
 fortunate in engaging a servant with a taste for cordials, who 
 swelled our running account for porter at the public-house by 
 such inexplicable items as "quartern rum shrub (Mrs. C.)' J 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 
 
 "Half-quartern gin and cloves (Mrs. C.)" "Glass rum and 
 peppermint (Mrs. C.)" the parenthesis always referring to 
 Dora, who was supposed, it appeared on explanation, to have 
 imbibed the whole of these refreshments. 
 
 One of our first feats in the housekeeping way was a little 
 dinner to Traddles. I met him in town, and asked him to 
 walk out with me that afternoon. He readily consenting, I 
 wrote to Dora, saying I would bring him home. It was 
 pleasant weather, and on the road we made my domestic hap- 
 piness the theme of conversation. Traddles was very full of 
 it ; and said, that, picturing himself with such a home, and 
 Sophy waiting and preparing for him, he could think of noth- 
 ing wanting to complete his bliss. 
 
 I could not have wished for a prettier little wife at the op- 
 posite end of the table, but I certainly could have wished 
 when we sat down, for a little more room. I did not know 
 how it was, but though there were only two of us, we were at 
 once always cramped for room, and yet had always room 
 enough to lose everything in. I suspect it may have been 
 because nothing had a place of its own, except Jip's pagoda, 
 which invariably blocked up the main thoroughfare. On the 
 present occasion, Traddles was so hemmed in by the pagoda 
 and the guitar-case> and Dora's flower-painting, and my writ- 
 ing-table, that I had serious doubts of the possibility of his 
 using his knife and fork ; but he protested, with his own good 
 humor, " Oceans of room, Copperfield ! I assure you, Oceans ! " 
 
 There was another thing I could have wished, namely, that 
 Jip had never been encouraged to walk about the table-cloth 
 during dinner. I began to think there was something disor- 
 derly in his being there at all, even if he had not been in the 
 habit of putting his foot in the salt or the melted-butter. On 
 this occasion he seemed to think he was introduced expressly 
 to keep Traddles at bay ; and he barked at my old friend, and 
 made short runs at his plate, with such undaunted pertinacity, 
 that he may be said to have engrossed the conversation. 
 
 However, as I knew how tender-hearted my dear Dora was, 
 and how sensitive she would be to any slight upon her favor- 
 ite, I hinted no objection. For similar reasons I made no 
 allusion to the skirmishing plates upon the floor ; or to the 
 
224 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 disreputable appearance of the castors, which were all at sixes 
 and sevens, and looked drunk ; or to the further blockade of 
 Traddles by wandering vegetable dishes and jugs. I could 
 not help wondering in my own mind, as I contemplated the 
 boiled leg of mutton before me, previous to carving it, how it 
 came to pass that our joints of meat were of such extraordi- 
 nary shapes and whether our butcher contracted for all the 
 deformed sheep that came into the world ; but I kept my re- 
 flections to myself. 
 
 " My love," said I to Dora, " what have you got in that 
 dish?" 
 
 I could Jiot imagine why Dora had been making tempting 
 little faces at me, as if she wanted to kiss me. 
 
 " Oysters, dear," said Dora, timidly. 
 
 " Was that your thought ? " said I, delighted. 
 
 " Ye-yes, Doady," said Dora. 
 
 " There never was a happier one ! " I exclaimed, laying 
 down the carving knife and fork. " There is nothing Traddles 
 likes so much ! " 
 
 " Ye-yes, Doady," said Dora, " and so I bought a beautiful 
 little barrel of them, and the man said they were very good. 
 But I I am afraid there's something the matter with them. 
 They don't seem right." Here Dora shook her head, and 
 diamonds twinkled in her eyes. 
 
 " They are only opened in both shells," said I. " Take the 
 top one off, my love." 
 
 " But it won't come off," said Dora, trying very hard, and 
 looking very much distressed. 
 
 "Do you know, Copperfield," said Traddles, cheerfully 
 examining the dish, " I think it is in consequence they are 
 capital oysters, but I thiiik it is in consequence of their 
 never having been opened." 
 
 They never had been opened ; and we had no oyster-knives 
 and couldn't have used them if we had ; so we looked at the 
 oysters and ate the mutton. At least we ate as much of it as 
 was done, and made up with capers. If I had permitted him, 
 I am satisfied that Traddles would hcive made a perfect savage 
 of himself, and eaten a plateful of raw meat, to express enjoy- 
 ment of the repast ; but I would hear of no such immolation 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 225 
 
 on the altar of friendship ; and we had a course of bacon in- 
 stead ; there happening, by good fortune, to be cold bacon in 
 the larder. 
 
 My poor little wife was in such affliction when she thought 
 I should be annoyed, and in such a state of joy when she 
 found I was not, that the discomfiture I had subdued very soon 
 vanished, and we passed a happy evening ; Dora sitting with 
 her arm on my chair while Traddles and I discussed a glass of 
 wine, and taking every opportunity of whispering in my ear 
 that it was so good of me not to be a cruel, cross old boy. By 
 and by she made tea for us ; which it was so pretty to see her 
 do, as if she was busying herself with a set of doll's tea-things, 
 that I was not particular about the quality of the beverage. 
 Then Traddles and I played a game or two at cribbage ; and 
 Dora singing to the guitar the while, it seemed to me as if 
 our courtship and marriage were a tender dream of mine, and 
 the night when I first listened to her voice were not yet over. 
 
 When Traddles went away, and I came back into the parlor 
 from seeing him out, my wife planted her chair close to mine, 
 and sat down by my side. 
 
 " I am very sorry," she said. " Will you try to teach me, 
 Doady ? " 
 
 " I must teach myself first, Dora," said I. " I am as bad as 
 you, love." 
 
 " Ah ! But you can learn," she returned ; " and you are a 
 clever, clever man ! " 
 
 " Nonsense, Mouse ! " said I. 
 
 " I wish," resumed my wife, after a long silence, " that I 
 could have gone down into the country for a whole year, and 
 lived with Agnes ! " 
 
 Her hands were clasped upon my shoulder, and her chin 
 rested on them, and her blue eyes looked quietly into mine. 
 
 " Why so ? " I asked. 
 
 " I think she might have improved me, and I think I might 
 have learnt from her" said Dora. 
 
 " All in good time, my love. Agnes has had her father to 
 take care of for these many years, you should remember. Even 
 when she was quite a child, she was the Agnes whom we 
 know," said T, 
 
 VOL. II 16 
 
226 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " Will you call me a name I want you to call me ? " inquired 
 Dora, without moving. 
 
 " What is it ? " I asked with a smile. 
 
 "It's a stupid name," she said, shaking her curls for a 
 moment. " Child-wife." 
 
 I laughingly 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 dis- 
 appointing, say, ' I knew, a long time ago, that she would 
 make but a child-wife ! ' When you miss what I should like 
 to be, and I think can never be, say, ' still my foolish child- 
 wife loves me ! ' 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 behavior ; 
 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 ; 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 speech was constantly 
 in my memory. I may not have used it to the best account ; I 
 was young and inexperienced ; but I never turned a deaf ear 
 to its artless pleading. 
 
 Dora told me, shortly afterwards, that she was going to be 
 a wonderful housekeeper. Accordingly, she polished the tab- 
 lets, pointed the pencil, bought an immense account-book, care- 
 fully stitched up with a needle and thread all the leaves of the 
 Cookery-Book which Jip had torn, and made quite a desperate 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 227 
 
 little attempt " to be good," as she called it. But the figures 
 had the old obstinate propensity they would not add up. 
 When she had entered two or three laborious items in the 
 account-book, Jip would walk over the page, wagging his tail, 
 and smear them all out. Her own little right-hand middle 
 finger got : ' steeped to the very bone in ink ; and I think that 
 was the only decided result obtained. 
 
 Sometimes, of an evening, when I was at home and at work 
 for I wrote a good deal now, and was beginning in a small 
 way to be known as a writer I would lay down my pen, and 
 watch my child-wife trying to be good. First of all, she would 
 bring out the immense account-book, and lay it down upon the 
 table, with a deep sigh. Then she would open it at the place 
 where Jip had made it illegible last night, and call Jip up to 
 look at his misdeeds. This would occasion a diversion in Jip's 
 favor, and some inking of his nose, perhaps, as a penalty. 
 Then she would tell Jip to lie down on the table instantly, 
 "like a lion" which was one of his tricks, though I cannot 
 say the likeness was striking and, if he were in an obedient 
 humor, he would obey. Then she would take up a pen, and 
 begin to write, and find a hair in it. Then she would take up 
 another pen, and begin to write, and find that it spluttered. 
 Then she would take up another pen, and begin to write, and 
 say in a low voice, " Oh, it's a talking pen, and will disturb 
 Doady !" And then she would give it up as a bad job, and 
 put the account-book away, after pretending to crush the lion 
 with it. 
 
 Or, if she were in a very sedate and serious state of mind, 
 she would sit down with the tablets, and a little basket of bills 
 and other documents, which looked more like curl-papers than 
 anything else, and endeavor to get some result out of them. 
 After severely comparing one with another, and making entries 
 on the tablets, and blotting them out, and counting all the 
 fingers of her left hand over and over again, backwards and 
 forwards, she would be so vexed and discouraged, and would 
 look so unhappy, that it gave me pain to see her bright face 
 clouded and for me ! and I would go softly to her, and 
 say: 
 
 "What's the matter, Dora?" 
 
Dora would look up hopelessly, and reply, " They won't 
 come right. They make my head ache so. And they won't 
 do anything I want ! " 
 
 Then I would say, " Now let us try together. Let me show 
 you, Dora." 
 
 Then I would commence a practical demonstration, to which 
 Dora would pay profound attention, perhaps for five minutes ; 
 when she would begin to be dreadfully tired, and would 
 lighten the subject by curling my hair, or trying the effect of 
 my face with my shirt collar turned down. If I tacitly 
 checked this playfulness, and persisted, she would look so 
 scared and disconsolate, as she became more and more be- 
 wildered, that the remembrance of her natural gaiety when I 
 first strayed into her path, and of her being my child-wife, 
 would come reproachfully upon me ; and I would lay the 
 pencil down, and call for the guitar. 
 
 I had a great deal of work to do, and had many anxieties, 
 but the same considerations made me keep them to myself. 
 I am far from sure, now, that it was right to do this, but I did 
 it for my child-wife's sake. I search my breast, and I commit 
 its secrets, if I know them, without any reservation to this 
 paper. The old unhappy loss or want of something had, I am 
 conscious, some place in my heart ; but not to the embitter- 
 ment of my life. When I walked alone in the fine weather, 
 and thought of the summer days when all the air had been 
 filled with my boyish enchantment, I did miss something of 
 the realization of my dreams ; but I thought it was a softened 
 glory of the Past, which nothing could have thrown upon the 
 present time. I did feel, sometimes, for a little while, that I 
 could have wished my wife had been my counsellor : had had 
 more character and purpose, to sustain me and improve me 
 by ; had been endowed with power to fill up the void which 
 somewhere seemed to be about me ; but I felt as if this were 
 an unearthly consummation of my happiness, that never had 
 been meant to be, and never could have been. 
 
 I was a boyish husband as to years. I had known the soft- 
 ening influence of no other sorrows or experiences than those 
 recorded in these leaves. If I did any wrong, as I may have 
 done much, I did it in mistaken love, and in my want of wis- 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 229 
 
 dom. I write the exact truth. It would avail me nothing to 
 extenuate it now. 
 
 Thus it was that I took upon myself the toils and cares of 
 our life, and had no partner in them. We lived much as 
 before, in reference to our scrambling household arrangements j 
 but I had got used to those, and Dora I was pleased to see 
 was seldom vexed now. She was bright and cheerful in the 
 old childish way, loved me dearly, and was happy with her old 
 trifles. 
 
 When the debates were heavy I mean as to length, not 
 quality, for in the last respect they were not often otherwise 
 and I went home late, Dora would never rest when she 
 heard my footsteps, but would always come down stairs to 
 meet me. When my evenings were unoccupied by the pursuit 
 for which I had qualified myself with so much pains, and I 
 was engaged in writing at home, she would sit quietly near 
 me, however late the hour, and be so mute, that I would often 
 think she had dropped asleep. But generally, when I raised 
 my head, I saw her blue eyes looking at me with the quiet 
 attention of which I have already spoken. 
 
 " Oh, what a weary boy ! " said Dora one night when I met 
 her eyes as I was shutting up my desk. 
 
 "What a weary girl!" said I. "That's more to the purpose. 
 You must go to bed another time, my love. It's far too late 
 for you." 
 
 " No, don't send me to bed ! " pleaded Dora, coming to my 
 side. "Pray don't do that ! " 
 
 To my amazement she was sobbing on my neck. 
 
 " Not well, my dear ! not happy ! " 
 
 " Yes ! quite well, and very happy ! " said Dora. " But say 
 you'll let me stop, and see you write." 
 
 "Why, what a sight for such bright eyes at midnight ! " I 
 replied. 
 
 " Are they bright, though ? " returned Dora, laughing. " I'm 
 so glad they're bright." 
 
 " Little Vanity ! " said I. 
 
 But it was not vanity ; it was only harmless delight in my 
 admiration. I knew that very well, before she told me so. 
 
230 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " If you think them pretty, say I may always stop, and 
 you write ! " said Dora. " Do you think them pretty ? ?; 
 
 "Very pretty." 
 
 " Then let me always stop and see you write." 
 
 " I am afraid that won't improve their brightness, Dora." 
 
 " Yes it will ! Becaase, you clever boy, you'll not forget 
 me then, while you are full of silent fancies. Will you mind 
 it, if I say something very, very silly ? more than usual ? " 
 inquired Dora, peeping over my shoulder into my face. 
 
 " What wonderful thing is that ? " said I. 
 
 " Please let me hold the pens ? " said Dora, " I want to 
 have something to do with all those many hours when you are 
 so industrious. May I hold the pens ? " 
 
 The remembrance of her pretty joy when I said yes, brings 
 tears into my eyes. The next time I sat down to write, and 
 regularly afterwards, she sat in her old place, with a spare 
 bundle of pens at her side. Her triumph in this connection 
 with my work, and her delight when I wanted a new pen 
 which I very often feigned to do suggested to me a new 
 way of pleasing my child-wife. I occasionally made a pre- 
 tence of wanting a page or two of manuscript copied. Then 
 Dora was in her glory. The preparations she made for thi3 
 great work, the aprons she put on, the bibs she borrowed from 
 the kitchen to keep off the ink, the time she took, the innu- 
 merable stoppages she made to have a laugh with Jip as if he 
 understood it all, her conviction that her work was incomplete 
 unless she signed her name at the end, and the way in which 
 she would bring it to me, like a school-copy, and then, when I 
 praised it, clasp me round the neck, are touching recollections 
 to me, simple as they might appear to other men. 
 
 She took possession of the keys soon after this, and went 
 jingling about the house with the whole bunch in a little 
 basket, tied to her slender waist. I seldom found that the 
 places to which they belonged were locked, or that they were 
 of any use except as a plaything for Jip but Dora was 
 pleased, and that pleased me. She was quite satisfied that a 
 good deal was effected by this make-belief of housekeeping ; 
 and was as merry as if we had been keeping a baby-house, for 
 a joke. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 231 
 
 So we went on. Dora was hardly less affectionate to my 
 aunt than to me, and often told her of the time when she was 
 afraid she was " a cross old thing." I never saw my aunt 
 unbend more systematically to any one. She courted Jip, 
 though Jip never responded; listened, day after day, to the 
 guitar, though I am afraid she had no taste for music ; never 
 attacked the Incapables, though the temptation must have 
 been severe ; went wonderful distances on foot to purchase, as 
 surprises, any trifles that she found out Dora wanted ; and 
 never came in by the garden, and missed her from the room, 
 but she would call out, at the foot of the stairs, in a voice that 
 sounded cheerfully all over the house : 
 
 "Where's Little Blossom 1" 
 
232 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 MR. DICK FULFILS MY AUNT'S PREDICTIONS. 
 
 IT was some time now, since I had left the Doctor. Living 
 in his neighborhood, I saw him frequently ; and we all went 
 to his house on two or three occasions to dinner or tea. The 
 Old Soldier was in permanent quarters under the Doctor's 
 roof. She was exactly the same as ever, and the same immor- 
 tal butterflies hovered over her cap. 
 
 I^ike some other mothers, whom I have known in the course 
 of my life, Mrs. Markleham was far more fond of pleasure than 
 her daughter was. She required a great deal' of amusement, 
 and, like a deep old soldier, pretended, in consulting her own 
 inclinations, to be devoting herself to her child. The Doctor's 
 desire that Annie should be entertained, was therefore partic- 
 ularly acceptable to this excellent parent, who expressed un- 
 qualified approval of his discretion. 
 
 I have no doubt, indeed, that she probed the Doctor's 
 wound without knowing it. Meaning nothing but a certain 
 matured frivolity and selfishness, not always inseparable from 
 full-blown years, I think she confirmed him in his fear that he 
 was a constraint upon his young wife, and that there was no 
 congeniality of feeling between them, by so strongly commend- 
 ing his design of lightening the load of her life. 
 
 " My dear soul," she said to him one day when I was pres- 
 ent, " you know there is no doubt it would be a little poky for 
 Annie to be always shut up here." 
 
 The Doctor nodded his benevolent head. 
 
 " When she comes to her mother's age," said Mrs. Markle- 
 ham, with a flourish of her fan, " then it'll be another thing. 
 You might put ME into a Jail, with genteel society and a 
 rubber, and I should never care to come out. But I am not 
 Annie, you know ; and Annie is not her mother." 
 
 " Surely, surely," said the Doctor. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 233 
 
 " You are the best of creatures no, I beg your pardon ! " 
 for the Doctor made a gesture of deprecation, " I must say 
 before your face, as I always say behind your back, you are 
 the best of creatures ; but of course you don't now do you ? 
 enter into the same pursuits and fancies as Annie ? " 
 
 " No," said the Doctor, in a sorrowful tone. 
 
 " No, of course not," retorted the Old Soldier. " Take your 
 Dictionary, for example. What a useful work a Dictionary 
 is ! What a necessary work ! The meanings of words ! With- 
 out Doctor Johnson, or somebody of that sort, we might have 
 been at this present moment calling an Italian-iron a bedstead. 
 But we can't expect a Dictionary especially when it's mak- 
 ing to interest Annie, can we ? " 
 
 The Doctor shook his head. 
 
 " And that's why I so much approve," said Mrs. Markleham, 
 tapping him on the shoulder with her shut-up fan, " of your 
 thoughtfulness. It shows that you don't expect, as many 
 elderly people do expect, old heads on young shoulders. You 
 have studied Annie's character, and you understand it. That's 
 what I find so charming ! " 
 
 Even the calm and patient face of Doctor Strong expressed 
 some little sense of pain, I thought, under the infliction of 
 these compliments. 
 
 " Therefore, my dear Doctor," said the Soldier, giving him 
 several affectionate taps, " you may command me, at all times 
 and seasons. Now, do understand that I am entirely at your 
 service. I am ready to go with Annie to operas, concerts, 
 ' exhibitions, all kinds of places ; and you shall never find that 
 I am tired. Duty, my dear Doctor, before every consideration 
 in the universe ! " 
 
 She was as good as her word. She was one of those people 
 who can bear a great deal of pleasure, and she never flinched 
 in her perseverance in the cause. She seldom got hold of the 
 newspaper (which she settled herself down in the softest chair 
 in the house to read through an eye-glass, every day, for two 
 hours), but she found out something that she was certain 
 Annie would like to see. It was in vain for Annie to protest 
 that she was weary of such things. Her mother's remon- 
 strance always was, " Now, my dear Annie, I am sure you 
 
know better ; and I must tell you, my love, that you are not 
 making a proper return for the kindness of Doctor Strong." 
 
 This was usually said in the Doctor's presence, and appeared 
 to nie to constitute Annie's principal inducement for with- 
 drawing her objections when she made any. But in general 
 she resigned herself to her mother, and went where the Old 
 Soldier would. 
 
 It rarely happened now that Mr. Maldon accompanied 
 them. Sometimes my aunt and Dora were invited to do so, 
 and accepted the invitation. Sometimes Dora only was asked. 
 The time had been when I should have been uneasy in her 
 going ; but reflection on what had passed that former night 
 in the Doctor's study, had made a change in my mistrust. 
 I believed that the Doctor was right, and I had no worse 
 suspicions. 
 
 My aunt rubbed her nose sometimes when she happened to 
 be alone with me, and said she couldn't make it out; she 
 wished they were happier; she didn't think our military 
 friend (so she always called the Old Soldier) mended the 
 matter at all. My aunt further expressed her opinion, " that 
 if our military friend would cut off those butterflies, and give 
 J em to the chimney-sweepers for May-day, it would look like 
 the beginning of something sensible on her part." 
 
 But her abiding reliance was on Mr. Dick. That man had 
 evidently an idea in his head, she said ; and if he could only 
 once pen it up into a corner, which was his great difficulty, he 
 would distinguish himself in some extraordinary manner. 
 
 Unconscious of this prediction, Mr. Dick continued to 
 occupy precisely the same ground in reference to the Doctor 
 and to Mrs. Strong. He seemed neither to advance nor to 
 recede. He appeared to have settled into his original founda- 
 tion, like a building ; and I must confess that my faith in his 
 ever moving, was not much greater than if he had been a 
 building. 
 
 But one night, when I had been married some months, Mr. 
 Dick put his head into the parlor, where I was writing alone 
 (Dora having gone out with my aunt to take tea with the two 
 little birds), and said, with a significant cough : 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 235 
 
 " You couldn't speak to me without inconveniencing your- 
 self, Trotwood, I am afraid ? r 
 
 " Certainly, Mr. Dick," said I ; " come in ! " 
 
 " Trotwood," said Mr. Dick, laying his finger on the side of 
 his nose, after he had shaken hands with me. "Before I 
 sit down, I wish to make an observation. You know your 
 aunt ? " 
 
 "A little," I replied. 
 
 " She is the most wonderful woman in the world, sir ! " 
 
 After the delivery of this communication, which he shot 
 out of himself as if he were loaded with it, Mr. Dick sat down 
 with greater gravity than usual, and looked at me. 
 
 "Now, boy," said Mr. Dick, "I am going to put a question 
 to you." 
 
 " As many as you please," said I. 
 
 " What do you consider me, sir ? " asked Mr. Dick, folding 
 his arms. 
 
 " A dear old friend," said I. 
 
 "Thank you, Trotwood," returned Mr. Dick, laughing, and 
 reaching across in high glee to shake hands with. me. "But 
 I mean, boy," resuming his gravity, "what do you consider 
 me in this respect ? " touching his forehead. 
 
 I was puzzled how to answer, but he helped me with a word. 
 
 " Weak ? " said Mr. Dick. 
 
 "Well," I replied, dubiously. " Kather so." 
 
 " Exactly ! " cried Mr. Dick, who seemed quite enchanted 
 by my reply. "That is, Trotwood, when they took some of 
 the trouble out of you-know-who's head, and put it you know 
 where, there was a " Mr. Dick made his two hands 
 revolve very fast about each other a great number of times, 
 and tLen brought them into collision, and rolled them over 
 and over one another, to express confusion. " There was that 
 sort of thing done to me somehow ? Eh?" 
 
 I nodded at him, and he nodded back again. 
 
 " In short, boy," said Mr. Dick, dropping his voice to a 
 whisper, "I am simple." 
 
 I would have qualified that conclusion, but he stopped me. 
 
 " Yes I am ! She pretends I am not. She won't hear of 
 it ; but I am. I know I am. If she hadn't stood my friend, 
 
236 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 sir, I should have been shut up, to lead a dismal life these 
 many years. .But I'll provide for her ! I never spend the 
 copying money. I put it in a box. I have made a will. Til 
 leave it all to her. She shall be rich noble ! " 
 
 Mr. Dick took out his pocket-handkerchief, and wiped his 
 eyes. He then folded it up with great care, pressed it smooth 
 between his two hands, put it in his pocket, and seemed to 
 put my aunt away with it. 
 
 " Now you are a scholar, Trotwood," said Mr. Dick. " You 
 are a fine scholar. You know what ~ learned man, what a 
 great man, the Doctor is. You know what honor he has 
 always done me. Not proud in his wisdom. Humble, humble 
 condescending even to poor Dick, who is simple and knows 
 nothing. I have sent his name up, on a scrap of paper, to the 
 kite, along the string, when it has been in the sky, among the 
 larks. The kite has been glad to receive it, sir, and the sky 
 has been brighter with it." 
 
 I delighted him by saying, most heartily, that the Doctor 
 was deserving of our best respect and highest esteem. 
 
 "And his beautiful wife is a star," said Mr. Dick. "A 
 shining star. I have seen her shine, sir. But," bringing his 
 chair nearer and laying one hand upon my knee "clouds, 
 sir clouds." 
 
 I answered the solicitude which his face expressed, by con- 
 veying the same expression into my own, and shaking rny head. 
 
 "What clouds ? " said Mr Dick. 
 
 He looked so wistfully into my face, and was so anxious to 
 understand, that I took great pains to answer him slowly and 
 distinctly, as I might have entered on an explanation to a 
 child. 
 
 "There is some unfortunate division between them," I 
 replied. " Some unhappy cause of separation. A secret. It 
 may be inseparable from the discrepancy in their years. It 
 may have grown up out of almost nothing." 
 
 Mr. Dick, who told off every sentence with a thoughtful 
 nod, paused when I had done, and sa considering, with his 
 eyes upon my face, and his hand upon my knee. 
 
 " Doctor not angry with her, Trotwood ? " he said, after 
 some time. 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 237 
 
 "No. Devoted to her." 
 
 " Then, I have got it, boy ! " said Mr. Dick. 
 
 The sudden exultation with which he slapped me on the 
 knee, and leaned back in his chair, with his eyebrows lifted 
 up as high as he could possibly lift them, made me think him 
 farther out of his wits than ever. He became as suddenly 
 grave again, and leaning forward as before, said first 
 respectfully taking out his pocket-handkerchief, as if it really 
 did represent my aunt : 
 
 "Most wonderful woman in the world, Trotwood. Why 
 has she done nothing to set things right ? " 
 
 " Too delicate and difficult a subject for such interference," 
 I replied. 
 
 " Fine scholar," said Mr. Dick, touching me with his finger. 
 " Why has he done nothing ? " 
 
 " For the same reason," I returned. 
 
 " Then I have got it, boy ! " said Mr. Dick. And he stood 
 up before me, more exultingly than before, nodding his head, 
 and striking himself repeatedly upon the breast, until one 
 might have supposed that he had nearly nodded and struck all 
 the breath out of his body. 
 
 " A poor fellow with a craze, sir," said Mr. Dick, " a simple- 
 ton, a weak-minded person present company, you know ! " 
 striking himself again, " may do what wonderful people may 
 not do. I'll bring them together, boy, I'll try. They'll not 
 blame me. They'll not object to me. They'll not mind what 
 / do, if it's wrong. I'm only Mr. Dick. And who minds 
 Dick ? Dick's nobody ! Whoo ! " He blew a slight, con- 
 temptuous breath, as if he blew himself away. 
 
 It was fortunate he had proceeded so far with his mystery, 
 for we heard the coach stop at the little garden gate, which 
 brought my aunt and Dora home. 
 
 " Not a word, boy ! " he pursued in a whisper ; " leave all 
 the blame with Dick simple Dick mad Dick. I have been 
 thinking, sir, for some time, that I was getting it, and now I 
 have got it. After what you have said to me, I am sure I 
 have got it. All right ! " 
 
 Not another word did Mr. Dick utter on the subject; but he 
 made a very telegraph of himself for the next half-hour (to 
 
238 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 the great disturbance of my aunt's rnind), to enjoin inviolable 
 secrecy on me. 
 
 To my surprise I heard no more about it for some two or 
 three weeks, though I was sufficiently interested in the result 
 of his endeavors'; descrying a strange gleam of good sense 
 I say nothing of good feeling, for that he always exhibited 
 in the conclusion to which he had come. At last I began to 
 believe, that, in the flighty and unsettled state of his mind, he 
 had either forgotten his intention or abandoned it. 
 
 One fair evening, when Dora was not inclined to go out, my 
 aunt and I strolled up to the Doctor's cottage. It was autumn, 
 when there were no debates to vex the evening air; and 1 
 remember how the leaves smelt like our garden at Blunder- 
 stone as we trod them under foot, and how the old, unhappy 
 feeling seemed to go by on the sighing wind. 
 
 It was twilight when we reached the cottage. Mrs. Strong 
 was just coming out of the garden, where Mr. Dick yet lin- 
 gered, busy with his knife, helping the gardener to point some 
 stakes. The Doctor was engaged with some one in his study ; 
 but the visitor would be gone directly, Mrs. Strong said, and 
 begged us to remain and see him. We went into the drawing- 
 room with her, and sat down by the darkening window. There 
 was never any ceremony about the visits of such old friends 
 and neighbors as we were. 
 
 We had not sat here many minutes, when Mrs. Markleham, 
 who usually contrived to be in a fuss about something, came 
 bustling in, with her newspaper in her hand, and said, out of 
 breath, " My goodness gracious, Annie, why didn't you tell me 
 there was some one in the study ! " 
 
 "My dear mamma," she quietly returned, "how could I 
 know that you desired the information ? " 
 
 " Desired the information ! " said Mrs. Markleham, sinking 
 on the sofa. " I never had such a turn in all my life ! " 
 
 " Have you been to the study, then, mamma ? " asked Annie. 
 
 " Been to the study, my dear ! " she returned emphatically. 
 " Indeed I have ! I came upon the amiable creature if you'll 
 imagine my feelings, Miss Trotwood and David in the act 
 of making his will." 
 
 Her daughter looked round from the window quickly. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 239 
 
 "In the act, my dear Annie," repeated Mrs. Markleham, 
 spreading the newspaper on her lap like a table-cloth, and 
 patting her hands upon it, " of making his last Will and Testa- 
 ment. The foresight and affection of the dear ! I must tell 
 you how it was. I really must, in justice to the darling for 
 he is nothing less ! tell you how it was. Perhaps you know, 
 Miss Trotwood, that there is never a candle lighted in this 
 house, until one's eyes are literally falling out of one's head 
 with being stretched to read the paper. And that there is not 
 a chair in this house, in which a paper can be what I call 
 read, except one in the study. This took me to the study, 
 where I saw a light. I opened the door. In company with 
 the dear Doctor were two professional people, evidently con- 
 nected with the law, and they were all three standing at the 
 table : the darling Doctor pen in hand. ' This simply ex- 
 presses then,' said the Doctor Annie, my love, attend to the 
 very words ( this simply expresses, then, gentlemen, the 
 confidence I have in Mrs. Strong, and gives her all uncondi- 
 tionally ? ' One of the professional people replied, ' And gives 
 her all unconditionally.' Upon that, with the natural feelings 
 of a mother, I said, ' Good God, I beg your pardon ! ' fell over 
 the door-step, and came away through the little back passage 
 where the pantry is." 
 
 Mrs. Strong opened the window, and went out into the 
 veranda, where she stood leaning against a pillar. 
 
 "But now isn't it, Miss Trotwood, isn't it, David, invigo- 
 rating," said Mrs. Markleham, mechanically following her 
 with her eyes, " to find a man at Doctor Strong's time of life, 
 with the strength of mind to do this kind of thing ? It only 
 shows how right I was. I said to Annie, when Doctor Strong 
 paid a very flattering visit to myself, and made her the subject 
 of a declaration and an offer, I said, i My dear, there is no 
 doubt whatever, in my opinion, with reference to a suitable 
 provision for you, that Doctor Strong will do more than he 
 binds himself to do.' ' 
 
 Here the bell rang, and we heard the sound of the visitors' 
 feet as they went out. 
 
 "It's all over, no doubt," said the Old Soldier, after listen- 
 ing ; "the dear creature has signed, sealed, and delivered, 
 
240 THE PEE SON AL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 and his mind's at rest. Well it may be ! What a mind ! 
 Annie, my love, I am going to the study with my paper, for 
 I am a poor creature without news. Miss Trotwood, David, 
 pray come and see the Doctor." 
 
 I was conscious of Mr. Dick's standing in the shadow of 
 the room, shutting up his knife, when we accompanied her 
 to the study ; and of my aunt's rubbing her nose violently, 
 by the way, as a mild vent for her intolerance of our military 
 friend ; but who got first into the study, or how Mrs. Markle- 
 ham settled herself in a moment in her easy chair, or how my 
 aunt and I came to be left together near the door (unless her 
 eyes were quicker than mine, and she held me back), I have 
 forgotten if I ever knew. But this I know, that we saw 
 the Doctor before he saw us, sitting at his table, among the 
 folio volumes in which he delighted, resting his head calmly 
 on his hand. That, in the same moment, we saw Mrs. Strong 
 glide in, pale and trembling. That Mr. Dick supported her on 
 his arm. That he laid his other hand upon the Doctor's arm, 
 causing him to look up with an abstracted air. That, as the 
 Doctor moved his head, his wife dropped clown on one knee 
 at his feet, and, with her hands imploringly lifted, fixed upon 
 his face the memorable look I had never forgotten. That at 
 this sight Mrs. Markleham dropped the newspaper, and stared 
 more like a figure-head intended for a ship to be called The 
 Astonishment, than anything else I can think of. 
 
 The gentleness of the Doctor's manner and surprise, the 
 dignity that mingled with the supplicating attitude of his 
 wife, the amiable concern of Mr. Dick, and the earnestness 
 with which my aunt said to herself, " That man mad ! " (tri- 
 umphantly expressive of the misery from which she had 
 saved him), I see and hear, rather than remember, as I write 
 about it. 
 
 "Doctor ! " said Mr. Dick. "What is it that's amiss ? Look 
 here!" 
 
 " Annie ! " cried the Doctor. " Not at my feet, my dear ! " 
 
 " Yes ! " she said. " I beg and pray that no one will leave 
 the room ! Oh, my husband and father, break this long si- 
 lence. Let us both know what it is that has come between 
 us!" 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 241 
 
 Mrs. Markleham, by this time recovering the power of 
 speech, and seeming to swell with family pride and motherly 
 indignation, here exclaimed, " Annie, get up immediately, and 
 don't disgrace everybody belonging to you by humbling your- 
 self like that, unless you wish to see me go out of my mind on 
 the spot ! " 
 
 " Mamma ! " returned Annie. " Waste no words on me, for 
 my appeal is to my husband, and even you are nothing here." 
 
 " Nothing ! " exclaimed Mrs. Markleham. " Me, nothing ! 
 The child has taken leave of her senses. Please to get me a 
 glass of water ! " 
 
 I was too attentive to the Doctor and his wife, to give any 
 heed to this request ; and it made no impression on anybody 
 else ; so Mrs. Markleham panted, stared, and fanned herself. 
 
 " Annie ! " said the Doctor, tenderly taking her in his 
 hands. " My dear ! If any unavoidable change has come, 
 in the sequence of time, upon our married life, you are not to 
 blame. The fault is mine, and only mine. There is no 
 change in my affection, admiration, and respect. I wish to 
 make you happy. I truly love and honor you. Rise, Annie, 
 pray ! " 
 
 But she did not rise. After looking at him for a little 
 while, she sank down closer to him, laid her arm across his 
 knee, and dropping her head upon it, said : 
 
 "If I have any friend here, who can speak one word for 
 me, or for my husband in this matter ; if I have any friend 
 here, who can give a voice to any suspicion that my heart has 
 sometimes whispered to me ; if I have any friend here, who 
 honors my husband, or has ever cared for me, and has any- 
 thing within his knowledge, no matter what it is, that may 
 help to mediate between us, I implore that friend to speak ! " 
 
 There was a profound silence. After a few moments of 
 painful hesitation, I broke the silence. 
 
 "Mrs. Strong," I said "there is something within my 
 knowledge, which I have been earnestly entreated by Doctor 
 Strong to conceal, and have concealed until to-night. But I 
 believe the time has come when it would be mistaken faith 
 and delicacy to conceal it any longer, and when your appeal 
 absolves me from his injunction." 
 
 VOL. II 16 
 
242 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 She turned her face towards me for a moment, and I knew 
 that I was right. I could not have resisted its entreaty, if 
 the assurance that it gave me had been less convincing. 
 
 "Our future peace/' she said, "may be in your hands. I 
 trust it confidently to your not suppressing anything. I know 
 beforehand that nothing you, or any one, can tell me, will 
 show my husband's noble heart in any other light than one. 
 Howsoever it may seem to you to touch me, disregard that. 
 I will speak for myself, before him, and before God, after- 
 wards." 
 
 Thus earnestly besought, I made no reference to the Doctor 
 for his permission, but, without any other compromise of the 
 truth than a little softening of the coarseness of Uriah Heep, 
 related plainly what had passed in that same room that night. 
 The staring of Mrs. Markleham during the whole narration, 
 and the shrill, sharp interjections with which she occasionally 
 interrupted it, defy description. 
 
 When I had finished, Annie remained, for some few mo- 
 ments, silent, with her head bent down as I have described. 
 Then, she took the Doctor's hand (he was sitting in the same 
 attitude as when we had entered the room), and pressed it to 
 her breast, and kissed it. Mr. Dick softly raised her ; and she 
 stood, when she began to speak, leaning on him, and looking 
 down upon her husband from whom she never turned her 
 eyes. 
 
 " All that has ever been in my mind since I was married," 
 she said in a low, submissive, tender voice, " I will lay bare 
 before you. I could not live and have one reservation, know- 
 ing what I know now." 
 
 "Nay, Annie," said the Doctor, mildly, "I have never 
 doubted you, my child. There is no need; indeed there is no 
 need, my dear." 
 
 "There is great need," she answered, in the same way, "that 
 I should open my whole heart before the soul of generosity 
 and truth, whom, year by year, and day by day, I have loved 
 and venerated more and more, as Heaven knows ! " 
 
 " Really," interrupted Mrs. Markleham, " if I have any 
 discretion at all " 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 243 
 
 ("Which you haven't, you Marplot," observed my aunt, in 
 an indignant whisper.) 
 
 " I must be permitted to observe that it cannot be requi- 
 site to enter into these details." 
 
 " No one but my husband can judge of that, mamma," said 
 Annie, without removing her eyes from his face, " and he will 
 hear me. If I say anything to give you pain, mamma, forgive 
 me. I have borne pain first, often and long, myself." 
 
 " Upon my word ! " gasped Mrs. Markleham. 
 
 " When I was very young," said Annie, " quite a little 
 child, my first associations with knowledge of any kind were 
 inseparable from a patient xriend and teacher the friend of 
 my dead father who was always dear to me. I can remem- 
 ber nothing that I know with ut remembering him. He 
 stored my mind with its first treasures, and stamped his 
 character upon them all. They never could have been, I 
 think, as good as they have been to me, if I had taken them 
 from any other hands." 
 
 " Makes her mother nothing ! " exclaimed Mrs. Markleham. 
 
 " Not so, mamma," said Annie ; " but I make him what he 
 was. I must do that. As I grew up, he occupied the same 
 place still. I was proud of his interest: deeply, fondly, 
 gratefully attached to him. I looked up to him I can hardly 
 describe how as a father, as a guide, as one whose praise 
 was different from all other praise, as one in whom I could 
 have trusted and confided, if I had doubted all the world. 
 You know, mamma, how young and inexperienced I was, when 
 you presented him before me, of a sudden, as a lover." 
 
 " I have mentioned the fact, filty times at least, to every- 
 body here ! " said Mrs. Markleham, 
 
 ("Then hold your tongue, for the Lord's sake, and don't 
 mention it any more !" muttered my aunt.) 
 
 " It was so great a change : so great a loss, I felt it at first," 
 said Annie, still preserving the same look and tone, " that I 
 was agitated and distressed. I was but a girl ; and when so 
 great change came in the character in which I had so long 
 looked up to him, I think I was sorry. But nothing could 
 have made him what he used to be again ; and I was proud 
 that he should think me so worthy, and we were married." 
 
" At Saint Alphage, Canterbury," observed Mrs. Markle- 
 ham. 
 
 ("Confound the woman!" said my aunt, "she won't be 
 quiet!") 
 
 "I never thought," proceeded Annie, with a heightened 
 color, " of any worldly gain that my husband would bring to 
 me. My young heart had no room in its homage for any such 
 poor reference. Mamma, forgive me when I say that it was 
 you who first presented to my mind the thought that any one 
 could wrong me, and wrong him, by such a cruel suspicion." 
 
 " Me ! " cried Mrs. Markleham. 
 
 (" Ah ! You, to be sure ! " observed my aunt, " and you 
 can't fan it away, my military friend ! ") 
 
 " It was the first unhappiness of my new life," said Annie. 
 "It was the first occasion of every unhappy moment I have 
 known. Those moments have been more, of late, than I can 
 count ; but not my generous husband ! not for the reason 
 you suppose ; for in my heart there is not a thought, a recol- 
 lection, or a hope, that any power could separate from you." 
 
 She raised her eyes, and clasped her hands, and looked as 
 beautiful and true, I thought, as any Spirit. The Doctor 
 looked on her, henceforth, as steadfastly as she on him. 
 
 " Mamma is blameless," she went on, " of having ever urged 
 you for herself, and she is blameless in intention every way, I 
 am sure, but when I saw how many importunate claims that 
 were no claims were pressed upon you in my name ; how you 
 were traded on in my name; how generous you were, and how 
 Mr. Wickfield, who had your welfare very much at heart, 
 resented it ; the first sense of my exposure to the mean sus- 
 picion that my tenderness was bought and sold to you, of all 
 men, on earth fell upon me, like unmerited disgrace, in 
 which I forced you to participate. I cannot tell you what it 
 was mamma cannot imagine what it was to have this 
 dread and trouble always on my mind, yet know in my own 
 soul that on my marriage-day I crowned the love and honor of 
 my life." 
 
 "A specimen of the thanks one gets," cried Mrs. Markle- 
 ham, in tears, " for taking care of one's family ! I wish I was 
 a Turk!" 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 245 
 
 (" I wish you were, with all my heart and in your native 
 country ! " said my aunt.) 
 
 " It was at that time that mamma was most solicitous about 
 my cousin Maldon. I had liked him : " she spoke softly, but 
 without any hesitation: "very much. We had been little 
 lovers once. If circumstances had not happened otherwise, I 
 might have come to persuade myself that I really loved him, 
 and might have married him, and been most wretched. There 
 can be no disparity in marriage like unsuitability of mind and 
 purpose." 
 
 I pondered on these words, even while I was studiously 
 attending to what followed, as if they had some particular 
 interest, or some strange application that I could not divine. 
 " There can be no disparity in marriage like unsuitability of 
 mind and purpose " " no disparity in marriage like unsuit- 
 ability of mind and purpose." 
 
 "There is nothing," said Annie, "that we have in common. 
 I have long found that there is nothing. If I were thankful 
 to my husband for no more, instead of for so much, I should 
 be thankful to him for having saved me from the first mistaken 
 impulse of my undisciplined heart." 
 
 She stood quite still, before the Doctor, and spoke with an 
 earnestness that thrilled me. Yet her voice was just as quiet 
 as before. 
 
 " When he was waiting to be the object of your munificence, 
 so freely bestowed for my sake, and when I was unhappy in the 
 mercenary shape I was made to wear, I thought it would have 
 become him better to have worked his own way on. I thought 
 that if I had been he, I would have tried to do it, at the cost 
 of almost any hardship. But I thought no worse of him, until 
 the night of his departure for India. That night I knew he 
 had a false and thankless heart. I saw a double meaning, 
 then, in Mr. Wickfield's scrutiny of me. I perceived, for the 
 first time, the dark suspicion that shadowed my life." 
 
 " Suspicion, Annie ! " said the Doctor. " No, no, no ! " 
 
 "In your mind there was none," I know, my husband ! " she 
 returned. "And when I came to you, that night, to lay down 
 all my load of shame and grief, and knew that I had to tell, 
 that, underneath your roof, one of my own kindred, to whom 
 
246 
 
 you had been a benefactor, for the love of me, had spoken to 
 me words that should have found no utterance, even if I had 
 been the weak and mercenary wretch he thought me my 
 mind revolted from the taint the very tale conveyed. It died 
 upon my lips, and from that hour till now has never passed 
 them." 
 
 Mrs. Markleham, with a short groan, leaned back in her 
 easy -chair ; and retired behind her fan, as if she were never 
 coming out any more. 
 
 " I have never, but in your presence, interchanged a word 
 with him from that time ; then, only when it has been neces- 
 sary for the avoidance of this explanation. Years have passed 
 since he knew from me, what his situation here was. The 
 kindnesses you have secretly done for his advancement, and 
 then disclosed to me, for my surprise and pleasure, have been, 
 you will believe, but aggravations of the unhappiness and 
 burden of my secret." 
 
 She sunk down gently at the Doctor's feet, though he did 
 his utmost to prevent her ; and said, looking up, tearfully, 
 into his face : 
 
 " Do not speak to me yet ! Let me say a little more ! 
 Right or wrong, if this were to be done again, I think I should 
 do just the same. You never can know what it was to be 
 devoted to you, with those old associations ; to find that any 
 one could be so hard as to suppose that the truth of my heart 
 was bartered away, and to be surrounded by appearances 
 confirming that belief. I was very young, and had no adviser. 
 Between mamma and me, in all relating to you, there was a 
 wide division. If I shrunk into myself, hiding the disrespect 
 I had undergone, it was because I honored you so much, and 
 so much wished that you should honor me ! " 
 
 " Annie, my pure heart ! " said the Doctor, " my dear girl ! " 
 
 " A little more ! a very few words more ! I used to think 
 there were so many whom you might have married, who would 
 not have brought such charge and trouble on you, and who 
 would have made your home a worthier home. I used to be 
 afraid that I had better have remained your pupil, and almost 
 your child. I used to fear that I was so unsuited to your 
 learning and wisdom. If all this made me shrink within 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 247 
 
 myself (as indeed it did), when I had that to tell, it was still 
 because I honored you so much, and hoped that you might 
 one day honor me." 
 
 " That day has shone this long time, Annie,' 7 said the Doc- 
 tor, " and can have but one long night, my dear. 7 ' 
 
 " Another word ! I afterwards meant steadfastly meant, 
 and purposed to myself to bear the whole weight of know- 
 ing the unworthiness of one to whom you had been so good. 
 And now a last word, dearest and best of friends ! The cause 
 of the late change in you, which I have seen with so much 
 pain and sorrow, and have sometimes referred to my old 
 apprehension at other times to lingering suppositions nearer 
 to the truth has been made clear to-night ; and by an acci- 
 dent I have also come to know, to-night, the full measure of 
 your noble trust in me, even under that mistake. I do not 
 hope that any love and duty I may render in return, will ever 
 make me worthy of your priceless confidence ; but with all 
 this knowledge fresh upon me, I can lift my eyes to this dear 
 face, revered as a father's, loved as a husband's, sacred to me 
 in my childhood as a friend's, and solemnly declare that in 
 my lightest thought I have never wronged you j never wav- 
 ered in the love and the fidelity I owe you ! " 
 
 She had her arms around the Doctor's neck, and he leant 
 his head down over her, mingling his gray hair with her dark 
 brown tresses. 
 
 " Oh, hold me to your heart, my husband ! Never cast me 
 out ! Do not think or speak of disparity between us, for there 
 is none, except in all my many imperfections. Every succeed- 
 ing year I have known this better, as I have esteemed you 
 more and more. Oh, take me to your heart, my husband, for 
 my love was founded on a rock, and it endures ! " 
 
 In the silence that ensued, my aunt walked gravely up to 
 Mr. Dick, without at all hurrying herself, and gave him a hug 
 and a sounding kiss. And it was very fortunate, with a view 
 to his credit, that she did so ; for I am confident that I 
 detected him at that moment in the act of making prepa- 
 rations to stand on one leg, as an appropriate expression of 
 delight. 
 
 " You are a very remarkable man, Dick ! " said my aunt, 
 
248 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 with an air of unqualified approbation ; " and never pretend 
 to be anything else, for I know better ! " 
 
 With that, my aunt pulled him by the sleeve, and nodded 
 to me ; and we three stole quietly out of the room, and came 
 away. 
 
 " That's a settler for our military friend, at any rate," said 
 my aunt, on the way home. "I should sleep the better for 
 that, if there was nothing else to be glad of ! " 
 
 " She was quite overcome, I am afraid," said Mr. Dick, with 
 great commiseration. 
 
 " What ! Did you ever see a crocodile overcome ? " in- 
 quired my aunt. 
 
 " I don't think I ever saw a crocodile," returned Mr. Dick, 
 mildly. 
 
 "There never would have been anything the matter, if it 
 hadn't been for that old Animal," said my aunt, with strong 
 emphasis. " It's very much to be wished that some mothers 
 would leave their daughters alone after marriage, and not be 
 so violently affectionate. They seem to think the only return 
 that can be made them for bringing an unfortunate young 
 woman into the world God bless my soul, as if she asked to 
 be brought, or wanted to come ! is full liberty to worry her 
 out of it again. What are you thinking of, Trot ? " 
 
 I was thinking of all that had been said. My mind was 
 still running on some of the expressions used. "There can 
 be no disparity in marriage like un suit ability of mind and 
 purpose." " The first mistaken impulse of an undisciplined 
 heart." " My love was founded on a rock." But we were at 
 home ; and the trodden leaves were lying underfoot, and the 
 autumn wind was blowing. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 249 
 
 CHAPTEE XVII. 
 
 INTELLIGENCE. 
 
 I MUST have been married, if I may trust to my imperfect 
 memory for dates, about a year or so, when one evening, as I 
 was returning from a solitary walk, thinking of the book I 
 was then writing for my success had steadily increased with 
 my steady application, and I was engaged at that time upon 
 my first work of fiction I came past Mrs. Steerforth's house. 
 I had often passed it before, during my residence in that 
 neighborhood, though never when I could choose another road. 
 Howbeit, it did sometimes happen that it was not easy to find 
 another, without making a long circuit ; and so I had passed 
 that way, upon the whole, pretty often. 
 
 I had never done more than glance at the house, as I went 
 by with a quickened step. It had been uniformly gloomy and 
 dull. None of the best rooms abutted on the road ; and the 
 narrow, heavily-framed, old-fashioned windows, never cheerful 
 under any circumstances, looked very dismal, close shut, and 
 with their blinds always drawn down. There was a covered 
 way across a little paved court, to an entrance that was never 
 used ; and there was one round staircase window, at odds with 
 all the rest, and the only one unshaded by a blind, which had 
 the same unoccupied blank look. I do not remember that I 
 ever saw a light in all the house. If I had been a casual 
 passer-by, I should have probably supposed that some child- 
 less person lay dead in it. If I had happily possessed no 
 knowledge of the place, and had seen it often in that change- 
 less state, I should have pleased my fancy with many ingenious 
 speculations, I dare say. 
 
 As it was, I thought as little of it as I might. But my 
 mind could not go by it and leave it, as my body did ; and it 
 usually awakened a long train of meditations. Coming before 
 me on this particular evening that I mention, mingled with 
 
250 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 the childish, recollections and later fancies, the ghosts of half- 
 formed hopes, the broken shadows of disappointments dimly 
 seen and understood, the blending of experience and imagina- 
 tion, incidental to the occupation with which my thoughts had 
 been busy, it was more than commonly suggestive. I fell into 
 a brown study as I walked on, and a voice at my side made 
 me start. 
 
 It was a woman's voice, too. I was not long in recollecting 
 Mrs. Steerforth's little parlor-maid, who had formerly worn 
 blue ribbons in her cap. She had taken them out now, to 
 adapt herself, I suppose, to the altered character of the 
 house ; and wore but one or two disconsolate bows of sober 
 brown. 
 
 "If you please, sir, would you have the goodness to walk 
 in, and speak to Miss Dartle ? " 
 
 "Has Miss Dartle sent you for me ? " I inquired. 
 
 " Not to-night, sir, but it's just the same. Miss Dartle saw 
 you pass a night or two ago ; and I was to sit at work on the 
 staircase, and when I saw you pass again, to ask you to step in 
 and speak to her." 
 
 I turned back, and inquired of my conductor, as we went 
 along, how Mrs. Steerforth was. She said her lady was but 
 poorly, and kept her own room a good deal. 
 
 When we arrived at the house, I was directed to Miss Dar- 
 tle in the garden, and left to make my presence known to her 
 myself. She was sitting on a seat at one end of a kind of 
 terrace, overlooking the great city. It was a sombre evening, 
 with a lurid light in the sky ; and as I saw the prospect scowl- 
 ing in the distance, with here and there some larger object 
 starting up into the sullen glare, I fancied it was no inapt 
 companion to the memory of this fierce woman. 
 
 She saw me as I advanced, and rose for a moment to receive 
 me. I thought her, then, still more colorless and thin than 
 when I had seen her last ; the flashing eyes still brighter, and 
 the scar still plainer. 
 
 Our meeting was not cordial. We had parted angrily on 
 the last occasion ; and there was an air of disdain about her, 
 which she took no pains to conceal. 
 
 " I am told you wish to speak to me, Miss Dartle ; " said I, 
 
OF DAVID COPPERF1ELD. 251 
 
 standing near her, with, my hand upon the back of the seat, 
 and declining her gesture of invitation to sit down. 
 
 " If you please," said she. " Pray has this girl been 
 found?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " And yet she has run away ! " 
 
 I saw her thin lips working while she looked at me, as if 
 they were eager to load her with, reproaches. 
 
 " Eun away ? " I repeated. 
 
 " Yes ! From him," she said with a laugh. " If she is nut 
 found, perhaps she never will be found. She may be dead ! " 
 
 The vaunting cruelty with which she met my glance, I never 
 saw expressed in any other face that ever I have seen. 
 
 "To wish her dead," said I, "may be the kindest wish that one 
 of her own sex could bestow upon her. I am glad that time 
 has softened you so much, Miss Dartle." 
 
 She condescended to make no reply, but, turning on me with 
 another scornful laugh, said : 
 
 " The friends of this excellent and much-injured young 
 lady are friends of yours. You are their champion, and 
 assert their rights. Do you wish to know what is known of 
 her?" 
 
 "Yes," said I. 
 
 She rose with an ill-favored smile, and, taking a few steps 
 towards a wall of holly that was near at hand, dividing the 
 lawn from a kitchen-garden, said, in a louder voice, "Come 
 here ! " as if she were calling to some unclean beast. 
 
 " You will restrain any demonstrative championship or 
 vengeance in this place, of course, Mr. Copperfield ? " said 
 she, looking over her shoulder at me with the same expres- 
 sion. 
 
 I inclined my head, without knowing what she meant ; and 
 she said, " Come here ! " again ; and returned, followed by the 
 respectable Mr. Littimer, who, with undiminished respectabil- 
 ity, made me a bow, and took up his position behind her. 
 The air of wicked grace : of triumph, in which, strange to say, 
 there was yet something feminine and alluring : with which 
 she reclined upon the seat between us, and looked at me, was 
 worthy of a cruel Princess in a Legend. 
 
252 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " Now/' said she, imperiously, without glancing at him, and 
 touching the old wound as it thrpbbed : perhaps, in this 
 instance, with pleasure rather than pain. " Tell Mr. Copper- 
 field about the flight." 
 
 "Mr. James and myself, ma'am " 
 
 " Don't address yourself to me ! " she interrupted, with a 
 frown. 
 
 " Mr. James and myself, sir " 
 
 " Nor to me, if you please," said I. 
 
 Mr. Littimer, without being at all discomposed, signified, by 
 a slight obeisance, that anything that was most agreeable to 
 us was most agreeable to him ; and began again : 
 
 " Mr. James and myself have been abroad with the young 
 woman, ever since she left Yarmouth under Mr. James's pro- 
 tection. We have been in a variety of places, and seen a deal 
 of foreign country. We have been in France, Switzerland, 
 Italy, in fact, almost all parts." 
 
 He looked at the back of the seat, as if he were addressing 
 himself to that ; and softly played upon it with his hands, as 
 if he were striking chords upon a dumb piano. 
 
 " Mr. James took quite uncommonly to the young woman ; 
 and was more settled, for a length of time, than I have known 
 him to be since I have been in his service. The young woman 
 was very improvable, and spoke the languages ; and wouldn't 
 have been known for the same country -person. I noticed that 
 she was much admired wherever we went." 
 
 Miss Dartle put her hand upon her side. I saw him steal a 
 glance at her, and slightly smile to himself. 
 
 " Very much admired, indeed, the young woman was. What 
 with her dress ; what with the air and sun ; what with being 
 made so much of ; what with this, that, and the other j her 
 merits really attracted general notice." 
 
 He made a short pause. Her eyes wandered restlessly over 
 the distant prospect, and she bit her nether lip to stop that 
 busy mouth. 
 
 Taking his hands from the seat, and placing one of them 
 within the other, as he settled himself on one leg, Mr. Littimer 
 proceeded, with his eyes cast down, and his respectable head 
 a little advanced, and a little on one side : 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 253 
 
 " The young woman went on in this manner for some time, 
 being occasionally low in her spirits, until I think she began 
 to weary Mr. James by giving way to her low spirits and tem- 
 pers of that kind ; and things were not so comfortable. Mr. 
 James he began to be restless again. The more restless he 
 got, the worse she got ; and I must say, for myself, that I had 
 a very difficult time of it indeed between the two. Still mat- 
 ters were patched up here, and made good there, over and over 
 again ; and altogether lasted, I am sure, for a longer time than 
 anybody could have expected." 
 
 Recalling her eyes from the distance, she looked at me 
 again now, with her former air. Mr. Littimer, clearing his 
 throat behind his hand with a respectable short cough, changed 
 legs, and went on : 
 
 "At last, when there had been, upon the whole, a good 
 many words and reproaches, Mr. James he set off one morning 
 from the neighborhood of Naples, where we had a villa (the 
 young woman being very partial to the sea), and, under pre- 
 tence of coining back in a day or so, left it in charge with me 
 to break it out, that, for the general happiness of all concerned, 
 he was " here an interruption of the short cough " gone. 
 But Mr. James, I must say, certainly did behave extremely 
 honorable ; for he proposed that the young woman should 
 marry a very respectable person, who was fully prepared to 
 overlook the past, and who was, at least, as good as anybody 
 the young woman could have aspired to in a regular way : her 
 connections being very common," 
 
 He changed legs again, and wetted his lips. I was con- 
 vinced that the scoundrel spoke of himself, and I saw my 
 conviction reflected in Miss Dartle's face. 
 
 " This I also had it in charge to communicate. I was will- 
 ing to do anything to relieve Mr. James from his difficulty, 
 and to restore harmony between himself and an affectionate 
 parent, who has undergone so much on his account. There- 
 fore I undertook the commission. The young woman's violence 
 when she came to, after I broke the fact of his departure, was 
 beyond all expectations. She was quite mad, and had to be 
 held by force ; or, if she couldn't have got to a knife, or got to 
 the sea, she'd have beaten her head against the marble floor." 
 
254 THE PERSONAL HISTORY ANT) EXPERIENCE 
 
 Miss Dartle, leaning back upon the seat, with a light of 
 exultation in her face, seemed almost to caress the sounds this 
 fellow had uttered. 
 
 "But when I came to the second part of what had been 
 entrusted to me," said Mr. Littimer, rubbing his hands, 
 uneasily, "which anybody might have supposed would have 
 been, at all events, appreciated as a kind intention, then the 
 young woman came out in her true colors. A more outra- 
 geous person I never did see. Her conduct was surprisingly 
 bad. She had no more gratitude, no more feeling, no more 
 patience, no more reason in her, than a stock or a stone. If 
 I hadn't been upon my guard, I am convinced she would have 
 had my blood." 
 
 " I think the better of her for it," said I, indignantly. 
 
 Mr. Littimer ben 1 : his head, as much as to say, " Indeed, 
 sir ? But you're young ; " and resumed l}is narrative. 
 
 " It was necessary, in short, for a time, to take away every- 
 thing nigh her, that she could do herself, or anybody else, an 
 injury with, and to shut her up close. Notwithstanding 
 which, she got out in the night; forced the lattice of a 
 window, that I had nailed up myself ; dropped on a vine that 
 was trailed below ; and never has been seen or heard of, to 
 my knowledge, since." 
 
 " She is dead, perhaps/' said Miss Dartle, with a smile, as 
 if she could have spurned the body of the ruined girl. 
 
 "She may have drowned herself, miss," returned Mr. 
 Littimer, catching at an excuse for addressing himself to 
 somebody. "It's very possible. Or, she may have had 
 assistance from the boatmen, and the boatmen's wives and 
 children. Being given to low company, she was very much 
 in the habit of talking to them on the beach, Miss Dartle, 
 and sitting by their boats. I have known her to do it, when 
 Mr. James has been away, whole days. Mr. James was far 
 from pleased to find out once, that she had told the children 
 she was a boatman's daughter, and that in her own country, 
 long ago, she had roamed about the beach, like them." 
 
 Oh, Emily ! Unhappy beauty ! What a picture rose before 
 me of her sitting on the far-off shore, among the children like/ 
 herself when she was innocent, listening to little voices such 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 255 
 
 as might have called her Mother had she been a poor man's 
 wife ; and to the great voice of the sea, Avith its eternal " Never 
 more ! " 
 
 "When it was clear that nothing could be done, Miss 
 Dartle " 
 
 " Did I tell you not to speak to me ? " she said, with stern 
 contempt. 
 
 " You spoke to me, miss," he replied. " I beg your pardon. 
 But it's my service to obey." 
 
 " Do your service," she returned. " Finish your story, and 
 go!" 
 
 "When it was clear," he said, with infinite respectability, 
 and an obedient bow, " that she was not to be found, I went 
 to Mr. James, at the place where it had been agreed that I 
 should write to him, and informed him of what had occurred. 
 Words passed between us in consequence, and I felt it due to 
 my character to leave him. I could bear, and I have borne, 
 a great deal from Mr. James; but he insulted me too far. 
 He hurt me. Knowing the unfortunate difference between 
 himself *and his mother, and what her anxiety of mind was 
 likely to be, I took the liberty of coming home to England, 
 and relating " 
 
 " For money which I paid him," said Miss Dartle to me. 
 
 " Just so, ma'am and relating what I knew. I am not 
 aware," said Mr. Littimer, after a moment's reflection, " that 
 there is anything else. I am at present out of employment, 
 and should be happy to meet with a respectable situation." 
 
 Miss Dartle glanced at me, as though she would inquire 
 if there were anything that I desired to ask. As there was 
 something which had occurred to my mind, I said in reply : 
 
 "I could wish to know from this creature," I could not 
 bring myself to utter any more conciliatory word, "whether 
 they intercepted a letter that was written to her from home, 
 or whether he supposes that she received it." 
 
 He remained calm and silent, with his eyes fixed on the 
 ground, and the tip of every finger of his right hand delicately 
 poised against the tip of every finger of his left. 
 
 Miss Dartle turned her head disdainfully towards him. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, miss," he said, awakening from his 
 
256 THE PERSONAL HISTOEY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 abstraction, "but, however submissive to you, I have my 
 position, though a servant. Mr. Copperfield and you, miss, 
 are different people. If Mr. Copperfield wishes to know any- 
 thing from me, I take the liberty of reminding Mr. Copperfield 
 that he can put a question to me. I have a character to 
 maintain." 
 
 After a momentary struggle with myself, I turned my eyes 
 upon him, and said, " You have heard my question. Consider 
 it addressed to yourself, if you choose. What answer do you 
 make ? " 
 
 " Sir," he rejoined, with an occasional separation and re- 
 union of those delicate tips, " my answer must be qualified ; 
 because, to betray Mr. James's confidence to his mother, and 
 to betray it to you, are two different a-ctions. It is not prob- 
 able, I consider, that Mr. James would encourage the receipt 
 of letters likely to increase low spirits and unpleasantness : 
 but further than that, sir, I should wish to avoid going." 
 
 " Is that all ? " inquired Miss Dartle of me. 
 
 I indicated that I had nothing more to say. " Except," I 
 added, as I saw him moving off, "that I understand this 
 fellow's part in the wicked story, and that, as I shall make it 
 known to the honest man who has been her father from her 
 childhood, I would recommend him to avoid going too much 
 into public." 
 
 He had stopped the moment I began, and had listened with 
 his usual repose of manner. 
 
 "Thank you, sir. But you'll excuse me if I say, sir, that 
 there are neither slaves nor slave-drivers in this country, and 
 that people are not allowed to take the law into their own 
 hands. If they do, it is more to their own peril, I believe, 
 than to other people's. Consequently speaking, I am not at 
 all afraid of going wherever I may wish, sir." 
 
 With that, he made a polite bow : and, with another to 
 Miss Dartle, went away through the arch in the wall of holly 
 by which he had come. Miss Dartle and I regarded each 
 other for a little while in silence ; her manner being exactly 
 what it was, when she had produced the man. 
 
 "He says besides," she observed, with a slow curling of 
 her lip, " that his master, as he hears, is coasting Spain ; and 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 257 
 
 this done, is away to gratify his seafaring tastes till he is 
 weary. But that is of no interest to you. Between these 
 two proud persons, mother and son, there is a wider breach 
 than before, and little hope of its healing, for they are one at 
 heart, and time makes each more obstinate arid imperious. 
 Neither is this of any interest to you ; but it introduces what 
 I wish to say. This devil whom you make an angel of, I 
 mean this low girl whom he picked out of the tide-mud," with 
 her black eyes full upon me, and her passionate ringer up, 
 " may be alive, for I believe some common things are hard 
 to die. If she is, you will desire to have a pearl of such price 
 found and taken care of. We desire that, too ; that he may 
 not by any chance be made her prey again. So far, we are 
 united in one interest ; and that is why I, who would do her 
 any mischief that so coarse a wretch is capable of feeling, 
 have sent for you to hear what you have heard." 
 
 I saw, by the change in her face, that some one was advanc- 
 ing behind me. It was Mrs. Steerforth, who gave me her 
 hand more coldly than of yore, and with an augmentation of 
 her former stateliness of manner but still, I perceived and 
 I was touched by it with an ineffaceable remembrance of my 
 old love for her son. She was greatly altered. Her fine figure 
 was far less upright, her handsome face was deeply marked, 
 and her hair was almost white. But when she sat down on the 
 seat, she was a handsome lady still; and well I knew the 
 bright eye with its lofty look, that had been a light in my 
 very dreams at school. 
 
 " Is Mr. Copperfield informed of everything, Eosa ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And has he heard Littimer himself ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I have told him why you wished it." 
 
 " You are a good girl. I have had some slight correspond- 
 ence with your former friend, sir," addressing me, " but it has 
 not restored his sense of duty or natural obligation. There- 
 fore I have no other object in this, than what Eosa has men- 
 tioned. If, by the course which may relieve the mind of the 
 decent man you brought here (for whom I am sorry I can 
 say no more), my son may be saved from again falling into 
 the snares of a designing enemy, well ! " 
 
 VOL. II 17 
 
258 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 She drew herself up, and sat looking straight before her, 
 far away. 
 
 " Madam," I said respectfully, " I understand. I assure you 
 I am in no danger of putting any strained construction on 
 your motives. But I must say, even to you, having known 
 this injured family from childhood, that if you suppose the 
 girl, so deeply wronged, has not been cruelly deluded, and 
 would not rather die a hundred deaths than take a cup of 
 water from your son's hand now, you cherish a terrible mis- 
 take." 
 
 " Well, Kosa, well ! " said Mrs. Steerforth, as the other was 
 about to interpose, " it is no matter. Let it be. You are 
 married, sir, I am told ? " 
 
 I answered that I had been some time married. 
 
 " And are doing well ? I hear little in the quiet life I lead, 
 but I understand you are beginning to be famous." 
 
 " I have been very fortunate," I said, " and find my name 
 connected with some praise." 
 
 " You have no mother ? " in a softened voice. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " It is a pity," she returned. " She would have been proud 
 of you. Good night ! " 
 
 I took the hand she held out with a dignified, unbending 
 air, and it was as calm in mine as if her breast had been in 
 peace. Her pride could still its very pulses it appeared, and 
 draw the placid veil before her face, through which she sat 
 looking straight before her on the far distance. 
 
 As I moved away from them along the terrace, I could not 
 help observing how steadily they both sat gazing on the pros- 
 pect, and how it thickened and closed around them. Here 
 and there, some early lamps were seen to twinkle in the dis- 
 tant city ; and in the eastern quarter of the sky the lurid light 
 still hovered. But, from the greater part of the broad valley 
 interposed, a mist was rising like a sea, which, mingling with 
 the darkness, made it seem as if the gathering waters would 
 encompass them. I have reason to remember this, and think 
 of it with awe ; for before I looked upon those two again, a 
 stormy sea had risen to their feet. 
 
 Reflecting on what had been thus told me, I felt it right 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 259 
 
 that it should be communicated to Mr. Peggotty. On the 
 following evening I went into London in quest of him. He 
 was always wandering about from place to place, with his one 
 object of recovering his niece before him ; but was more in 
 London than elsewhere. Often and often, now, had I seen 
 him in the dead of night passing along the streets, searching, 
 among the few who loitered out of doors at those untimely 
 hours, for what he dreaded to find. 
 
 He kept a lodging over the little chandler's shop in Hun- 
 gerford Market, which I have had occasion to mention more 
 than once, and from which he first went forth upon his errand 
 of mercy. Hither I directed my walk. On making inquiry 
 for him, I learned from the people of the house that he had 
 not gone out yet, and I should find him in his room up stairs. 
 
 He was sitting reading by a window in which he kept a few 
 plants. The room was very neat and orderly. I saw in a 
 moment that it was always kept prepared for her reception, 
 and that he never went out but he thought it possible he might 
 bring her home. He had not heard my tap at the door, and 
 only raised his eyes when I laid my hand upon his shoulder. 
 
 " Mas'r Davy ! Thankee, sir ! thankee hearty, for this visit ! 
 Sit ye down. You're kindly welcome, sir." 
 
 "Mr. Peggotty," said I, taking the chair he handed me, 
 "don't expect much! I have heard some news." 
 
 "Of Em'ly!" 
 
 He put his hand, in a nervous manner, on his mouth, and 
 turned pale, as he fixed his eyes on mine. 
 
 " It gives no clue to where she is ; but she is not with 
 him." 
 
 He sat down, looking intently at me, and listened in pro- 
 found silence to all I had to tell. I well remember the sense 
 of dignity, beauty even, with which the patient gravity of his 
 face impressed me, when, having gradually removed his eyes 
 from mine, he sat looking downward, leaning his forehead on 
 his hand. He offered no interruption, but remained through- 
 out perfectly still. He seemed to pursue her figure through 
 the narrative, and to let every other shape go by him, as if it 
 were nothing. 
 
 When I had done, he shaded his face, and continued silent. 
 
260 THE PEE SOS AL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 I looked out of the window for a little while, and occupied 
 myself with the plants. 
 
 " How do you fare to feel about it, Mas'r Davy ? " he in- 
 quired at length. 
 
 " I think that she is living," I replied. 
 
 " I doen't know. Maybe the first shock was too rough, and 
 in the wildness of her art ! That there blue water as she 
 used to speak on. Could she have thowt o' that so many year, 
 because it was to be her grave ! " 
 
 He said this, musing, in a low, frightened voice ; and walked 
 across the little room. 
 
 "And yet," he added, "Mas'r Davy, I have felt so sure as 
 she was living I have know'd, awake and sleeping, as it was 
 so trew that I should find her I have been so led on by it, 
 and held up by it that I doen't believe I can have been de- 
 ceived. No ! Em'ly's alive ! " 
 
 He put his hand down firmly on the table, and set his sun- 
 burnt face into a resolute expression. 
 
 " My niece, Ein'ly, is alive, sir ! " he said steadfastly. " I 
 doen't know wheer it comes from, or how 'tis, but / am told as 
 she's alive ! " 
 
 He looked almost like a man inspired, as he said it. I 
 waited for a few moments, until he could give me his undivided 
 attention ; and then proceeded to explain the precaution, that, 
 it had occurred to me last night, it would be wise to take. 
 
 " Now, my dear friend "I began. 
 
 " Thankee, thankee, kind sir," he said, grasping my hand in 
 both of his. 
 
 " If she should make her way to London, which is likely 
 for where could she lose herself so readily as in this vast city ; 
 and what would she wish to do, but lose and hide herself, if 
 she does not go home? " 
 
 " And she won't go home," he interposed, shaking his head 
 mournfully. " If she had left of her own accord, she might ; 
 not as 'twas, sir." 
 
 " If she should come here," said I, " I believe there is one 
 person, here, more likely to discover her than any other in the 
 world. Do you remember hear what I say, with fortitude 
 think of your great object ! do you remember Martha ? " 
 
OF DAVID COPPERF1ELD. 261 
 
 " Of our town ? " 
 
 I needed no other answer than his face. 
 
 " Do you know that she is in London ? " 
 
 "I have seen her in the streets/' he answered with a 
 shiver. 
 
 "But you don't know/' said I, "that Emily was charitable to 
 her, with Ham's help, long before she fled from home. Nor, 
 that, when we met one night, and spoke together in the room 
 yonder, over the way, she listened at the door." 
 
 " Mas'r Davy ? " he replied in astonishment. " That night 
 when it snew so hard ? " 
 
 " That night. I have never seen her since. I went back, 
 after parting from you, to speak to her, but she was gone. I 
 was unwilling to mention her to you then, and I am now ; but 
 she is the person of whom I speak, and with whom I think we 
 should communicate. Do you understand ? " 
 
 " Too well, sir," he replied. We had sunk our voices, almost 
 to a whisper, and continued to speak in that tone. 
 
 " You say you have seen her. Do you think that you could 
 find her ? I could only hope to do so by chance." 
 
 " I think, Mas'r Davy, I know wheer to look." 
 
 " It is dark. Being together, shall we go out now, and try 
 to find her to-night ? " 
 
 He assented, and prepared to accompany me. Without 
 appearing to observe what he was doing, I saw how carefully 
 he adjusted the little room, put a candle ready and the means 
 of lighting it, arranged the bed, and finally took out of a drawer 
 one of her dresses (I remember to have seen her wear it), 
 neatly folded with some other garments, and a bonnet, which 
 he placed upon a chair. He made no allusion to these clothes, 
 neither did I. There they had been waiting for her, many 
 and many a night, no doubt. 
 
 "The time was, Mas'r Davy," he said, as we came down 
 stairs, " when I thowt this girl, Martha, a'most like the dirt 
 underneath my Em'ly's feet. God forgive me, there's a differ- 
 ence now ! " 
 
 As we went along, partly to hold him in conversation, and 
 partly to satisfy myself, I asked him. about Ham. He said, 
 almost in the same words as formerly, that Ham was jast the 
 
262 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 same, " wearing away his life with, kiender no care nohow 
 for't ; but never murmuring, and liked by all." 
 
 I asked him what he thought Ham's state of mind was, in 
 reference to the cause of their misfortunes ? Whether he 
 believed it was dangerous ? What he supposed, for example, 
 Ham would do, if he and Steerforth ever should encounter ? 
 
 " I doen't know, sir," he replied. " I have thowt of it often- 
 times, but I can't arrize myself of it, no matters." 
 
 I recalled to his remembrance the morning after her depart- 
 ure, when we were all three on the beach. " Do you recollect," 
 said I, " a certain wild way in which he looked out to sea, and 
 spoke about ' the end of it ? ' 
 
 " Sure I do ! " said he. 
 
 " What do you suppose he meant ? " 
 
 " Mas'r Davy," he replied, " I've put the question to myself 
 a mort o' times, and never found no answer. And theer's one 
 curious thing that, though he is so pleasant, I wouldn't 
 fare to feel comfortable to try and get his mind upon 't. He 
 never said a wured to me as warn't as dootiful as dootiful 
 could be, and it ain't likely as he'd begin to speak any other 
 ways now ; but it's fur from being fleet water in his mind, 
 where them thowts lays. It's deep, sir, and I can't see 
 down." 
 
 " You are right," said I, " and that has sometimes made rne 
 
 anxious." 
 
 " And me too, Mas'r Davy," he rejoined. " Even more so, 
 I do assure you, than his ventersome ways, though both be- 
 longs to the alteration in him. I doen't know as he'd do vio- 
 lence under any circumstances, but I hope as them two may 
 be kep asunders." 
 
 We had come, through Temple Bar, into the city. Con- 
 versing no more now, and walking at my side, he yielded him- 
 self up to the one aim of his devoted life, and went on, with 
 that hushed concentration of his faculties which would have 
 made his figure solitary in a multitude. We were not far from 
 Blackfriars Bridge, when he turned his head and pointed to a 
 solitary female figure flitting along the opposite side of the 
 street. I knew it, readily, to be the figure that we sought. 
 
 We crossed the road, and were pressing on towards her, 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 263 
 
 when it occurred to me that she might be more disposed to 
 feel a woman's interest in the lost girl, if we spoke to her in 
 a quieter place, aloof from the crowd, and where we should be 
 less observed. I advised my companion, therefore, that we 
 should not address her yet, but follow her; consulting in this, 
 likewise, an indistinct desire I had, to know where she went. 
 
 He acquiescing, we followed at a distance : never losing 
 sight of her, but never caring to come very near, as she fre- 
 quently looked about. Once, she stopped to listen to a band 
 of music : and then we stopped too. 
 
 She went on a long way. Still we went on. It was evi- 
 dent, from the manner in which she held her course, that she 
 was going to some fixed destination ; and this, and her keep- 
 ing in the busy streets, and, I suppose the strange fascination 
 in the secrecy and mystery of so following any one, made me 
 adhere to my first purpose. At length she turned into a dull, 
 dark street, where the noise and crowd were lost ; and I said, 
 " We may speak to her now ; " and, mending our pace, we 
 went after her. 
 
264 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 MARTHA. 
 
 WE were now down in Westminster. We had turned back 
 to follow her, having encountered her coming towards us ; and 
 Westminster Abbey was the point at which she passed from 
 the lights and noise of the leading streets. She proceeded so 
 quickly, when she got free of the two currents of passengers 
 setting towards and from the bridge, ijiat, between this and 
 the advance she had of us when she struck off, we were in the 
 narrow water-side street by Millbank before we came up with 
 her. At that moment she crossed the road, as if to avoid the 
 footsteps that she heard so close behind ; and, without looking 
 back, passed on even more rapidly. 
 
 A glimpse of the river through a dull gateway, where some 
 wagons were housed for the night, seemed to arrest my feet. 
 I touched my companion without speaking, and we both 
 forbore to cross after her, and both followed on that opposite 
 side of the way ; keeping as quietly as we could in the shadow 
 of the houses, but keeping very near her. 
 
 There was, and is when I write, at the end of that low- 
 lying street, a dilapidated little wooden building, probably an 
 obsolete old ferry-house. Its position is just at that point 
 where the street ceases, and the road begins to lie between a 
 row of houses and the river. As soon as she came here, and 
 saw the water, she stopped as if she had come to her destina- 
 tion ; and presently went slowly along by the brink of the 
 river, looking intently at it. 
 
 All the way here, I had supposed that she was going to 
 some house ; indeed, I had vaguely entertained the hope that 
 the house might be in some way associated with the lost girl. 
 But, that one dark glimpse of the river, through the gateway, 
 had instinctively prepared me for her going no farther. 
 
 The neighborhood was a dreary one at that time ; as op- 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 265 
 
 pressive, sad, and solitary by night, as any about London. 
 There were neither wharves nor houses on the melancholy 
 waste of road near the great blank Prison. A sluggish ditch 
 deposited its mud at the prison walls. Coarse grass and rank 
 weeds straggled over all the marshy land in the vicinity. In 
 one part, carcasses of houses, inauspiciously begun and never 
 finished, rotted away. In another,. the ground was cumbered 
 with rusty iron monsters of steam-boilers, wheels, cranks, pipes, 
 furnaces, paddles, anchors, diving-bells, windmill-sails, and I 
 know not what strange objects, accumulated by some specu- 
 lator, and grovelling in the dust, underneath which having 
 sunk into the soil of their own weight in wet weather they 
 had the appearence of vainly trying to hide themselves. The 
 clash and glare of sundry fiery Works upon the river side, 
 arose by night to disturb everything except the heavy and 
 unbroken smoke that poured out of their chimneys. Slimy 
 gaps and causeways, winding among old wooden piles, with a 
 sickly substance clinging to the latter, like green hair, and the 
 rags of last year's handbills offering rewards for drowned men 
 fluttering above high-water mark, led down through the ooze 
 and slush to the ebb tide. There was a story that one of the 
 pits dug for the dead in the time of the Great Plague was 
 hereabout ; and a blighting influence seemed to have proceeded 
 from it over the whole place. Or else it looked as if it had 
 gradually decomposed into that night-mare condition, out of 
 the overflowings of the polluted stream. 
 
 As if she were a part of the refuse it had cast out, and left 
 to corruption and decay, the girl we had followed strayed 
 down to the river's brink, and stood in the midst of this night- 
 picture, lonely and still, looking at the water. 
 
 There were some boats and barges astrand in the mud, and 
 these enabled us to come within a few yards of her without 
 being seen. I then signed to Mr. Peggotty to remain where 
 he was, and emerged from their shade to speak to her. I did 
 not approach her solitary figure without trembling ; for this 
 gloomy end to her determined walk, and the way in which she 
 stood, almost within the cavernous shadow of the iron bridge, 
 looking at the lights crookedly reflected in the strong tide, 
 inspired a dread within me. 
 
266 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 I think she was talking to herself. I am sure, although 
 absorbed in gazing at the water, that her shawl was off her 
 shoulders, and that she was muffling her hands in it, in an 
 unsettled and bewildered way, more like the action of a sleep- 
 walker than a waking person. I know, and never can forget, 
 that there was that in her wild manner which gave me no 
 assurance but that she would sink before my eyes, until I had 
 her arm within my grasp. 
 
 At the same moment I said " Martha ! " 
 
 She uttered a terrified scream, and struggled with me with 
 such strength that I doubt if I could have held her alone. 
 But a stronger hand than mine was laid upon her ; and when 
 she raised her frightened eyes and saw whose it was, she made 
 but one more effort and dropped down between us. We carried 
 her away from the water to where there were some dry stones, 
 and there laid her down, crying and moaning. In a little 
 while she sat among the stones, holding her wretched head 
 with both her hands. 
 
 " Oh, the river ! " she cried passionately. " Oh, the river ! " 
 
 " Hush, hush ! " said I. " Calm yourself." 
 
 But she still repeated the same words, continually exclaim- 
 ing, " Oh, the river ! " over and over again. 
 
 " I know it's like me ! " she exclaimed. " I know that I 
 belong to it. I know that it's the natural company of such as 
 I am ! It comes from country places, where there was once 
 no harm in it and it creeps through the dismal streets, 
 defiled and miserable and it goes away, like my life, to a 
 great sea, that is always troubled and I feel that I must go 
 with it ! " 
 
 I have never known what despair was, except in the tone of 
 those words. 
 
 " I can't keep away from it. I can't forget it. It haunts me 
 day and night. It's the only thing in all the world that I am 
 fit for, or that's fit for me. Oh, the dreadful river ! " 
 
 The thought passed through my mind that in the face of my 
 companion, as he looked upon her without speech or motion, I 
 might have read his niece's history, if I had known nothing of 
 it. I never saw, in any painting or reality, horror and compas- 
 sion so impressively blended. He shook as if he would have 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 267 
 
 fallen; and his hand I touched it with my own, for his 
 appearance alarmed me was deadly cold. 
 
 " She is in a state of frenzy," I whispered to him. " She 
 will speak differently in a little time." 
 
 I don't know what he would have said in answer. He 
 made some motion with his mouth, and seemed to think he 
 had spoken; but he had only pointed to her with his out- 
 stretched hand. 
 
 A new burst of crying came upon her now, in which she 
 once more hid her face among the stones, and lay before us, 
 a prostrate image of humiliation and ruin. Knowing that 
 this state must pass, before we could speak to her with any 
 hope, I ventured to restrain him when he would have raised 
 her, and we stood by in silence until she became more tranquil. 
 
 "Martha," said I then, leaning down, and helping her to 
 rise she seemed to want to rise as if .with the intention of 
 going away, but she was weak, and leaned against a boat. 
 " Do you know who this is, who is with me ? " 
 
 She said faintly, " Yes." 
 
 "Do you know that we have followed you a long way to- 
 night?" 
 
 She shook her head. She looked neither at him nor at me, 
 but stood in a humbled attitude, holding her bonnet and shawl 
 in one hand, without appearing conscious of them, and press- 
 ing the other, clenched, against her forehead. 
 
 " Are you composed enough," said I, " to speak on the sub- 
 ject which so interested you I hope Heaven may remember 
 it ! that snowy night ? " 
 
 Her sobs broke out afresh, and she murmured some inar- 
 ticulate thanks to me for not having driven her away from 
 the door. 
 
 " I want to say nothing for myself," she said, after a few 
 moments. "I am bad, I am lost. I have no hope at all. 
 But tell him, sir," she had shrunk away from him, "if you 
 don't feel too hard to me to do it, that I never was in any way 
 the cause of his misfortune." 
 
 " It has never been attributed to you," I returned, earnestly 
 responding to her earnestness. 
 
 " It was you, if I don't deceive myself," she said, in a broken 
 
268 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 voice, " that came into the kitchen, the night she took such 
 pity on me ; was so gentle to me ; didn't shrink away from 
 me like all the rest, and gave me such kind help ! Was it 
 you, sir ? " 
 
 " It was," said I. 
 
 " I should have been in the river long ago," she said, glanc- 
 ing at it with a terrible expression, " if any wrong to her had 
 been upon my mind. I never could have kept out of it a 
 single winter's night, if I had not been free of any share in 
 that ! " 
 
 " The cause of her flight is too well understood," I said. 
 "You are innocent of any part in it, we thoroughly believe, 
 we know." 
 
 " Oh I might have been much the better for her, if I had 
 had a better heart ! " exclaimed the girl, with most forlorn 
 regret ; " for she was Always good to me ! She never spoke 
 a word to me but what was pleasant and right. Is it likely I 
 would try to make her what I am myself, knowing what I am 
 myself, so well ! When I lost everything that makes life 
 dear, the worst of all my thoughts was that I was parted for 
 ever from her ! " 
 
 Mr. Peggotty, standing with one hand on the gunwale of the 
 boat, and his eyes cast down, put his disengaged hand before 
 his face. 
 
 " And when I heard what had happened before that snowy 
 night, from some belonging to our town," cried Martha, " the 
 bitterest thought in all my mind was, that the people would 
 remember she once kept company with me, and would say I 
 had corrupted her ! When, Heaven knows, I would have died 
 to have brought back her good name ! " 
 
 Long unused to any self-control, the piercing agony of her 
 remorse and grief was terrible. 
 
 " To have died, would not have been much what can I 
 say ? I would have lived !" she cried. "I would have lived 
 to be old, in the wretched streets and to wander about, 
 avoided, in the dark and to see the day break on the ghastly 
 line of houses, and remember how the same sun used to shine 
 into my room, and wake me once I would have done even 
 that to save her ! " 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 269 
 
 Sinking on the stones, she took some in each hand, and 
 clenched them up, as if she would have ground them. She 
 writhed into some new posture constantly : stiffening her 
 arms, twisting them before her face, as though to shut out 
 from her eyes the little light there was, and drooping her 
 head, as if it were heavy with insupportable recollections. 
 
 " What shall I ever do ! " she said, fighting thus with her 
 despair. " How can I go on as I am, a solitary curse to myself, 
 a living disgrace to every one I come near ! " Suddenly she 
 turned to my companion. " Stamp upon me, kill me ! When 
 she was your pride, you would have thought I had done her 
 harm' if I had brushed against her in the street. You can't 
 believe why should you ? a syllable that comes out of my 
 lips. It would be a burning shame upon you, even now, if 
 she and I exchanged a word. I don't complain. I don't say 
 she and I are alike I know there is a long, long way between 
 us. I only say, with all my guilt and wretchedness upon my 
 head, that I am grateful to her from my soul, and love her. 
 Oh don't think that all the power I had of loving anything, is 
 quite worn out ! Throw me away, as all the world does. Kill 
 me for being what I am, and having ever known her; but 
 don't think that of me ! " 
 
 He looked upon her, while she made this supplication, in 
 a wild distracted manner ; and, when she was silent, gently 
 raised her. 
 
 " Martha," said Mr. Peggotty, "God forbid as I should 
 judge you. Forbid as I, of all men, should do that, my girl ! 
 You doen't know half the change that's come, in course of 
 time, upon me, when you think it likely. Well ! " he paused 
 a moment, then went on. " You doen't understand how 'tis 
 that this here gentleman and me has wished to speak to you. 
 You doen't understand what 'tis we has afore us. Listen 
 now ! " 
 
 His influence upon her was complete. She stood, shrink- 
 ingly, before him, as if she were afraid to meet his eyes ; but 
 her passionate sorrow was quite hushed and mute. 
 
 "If you heerd," said Mr. Peggotty, "owt of what passed 
 between Mas'r Davy and me, th' night when it snew so hard, 
 you know as I have been wheer not fur to seek my dear 
 
270 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 niece. My dear niece," he repeated steadily. "Fur she's 
 more dear to me now, Martha, than ever she was dear afore." 
 
 She put her hands before her face ; but otherwise remained 
 quiet. 
 
 " I have heerd her tell," said Mr. Peggotty, " as you was 
 early left fatherless and motherless, with no friend fur to take, 
 in a rough seafaring-way, their place. Maybe you can guess 
 that if you'd had such a friend, you'd have got into a way of 
 being fond of him in course of time, and that my niece was 
 kiender daughter-like to me." 
 
 As she was silently trembling, he put her shawl carefully 
 about her, taking it up from the ground for that purpose. 
 
 "Whereby," said he, "I know, both as she would go to the 
 wureld's furdest end with me, if she could once see me again ; 
 and that she would fly to the wureid's furdest end to keep off 
 seeing me. For though she ain't no call to doubt my love, and 
 doen't and doen't," he repeated, with a quiet assurance of 
 the truth of what he said, " there's shame steps in, and keeps 
 betwixt us." 
 
 I read, in every word of his plain impressive way of deliv- 
 ering himself, new evidence of his having thought of this one 
 topic, in every feature it presented. 
 
 "According to our reckoning," he proceeded, "Mas'r Davy's 
 here, and mine, she is like, one day, to make her own poor 
 solitary course to London. We believe Mas'r Davy, me, 
 and all of us that you are as innocent of everything that 
 has befel her, as the unborn child. You've spoke of her being 
 pleasant, kind, and gentle to you. Bless her, I knew she was ! 
 .1 knew she always was, to all. You're thankful to her, and 
 you love her. Help us all you can to find her, and may 
 Heaven reward you ! " 
 
 She looked at him hastily, and for the first time, as if she 
 were doubtful of what he had said. 
 
 " Will you trust me ? " she asked, in a low voice of aston- 
 ishment. 
 
 " Full and free ! " said Mr. Peggotty. 
 
 " To speak to her, if I should ever find her ; shelter her, if 
 I have any shelter to divide with her ; and then, without her 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 271 
 
 knowledge, come to you, and bring you to her ? " she asked 
 hurriedly. 
 
 We both replied together, " Yes ! " 
 
 She lifted up her eyes, and solemnly declared thatf she 
 would devote herself to this task, fervently and faithfully. 
 That she would never waver in it, never be diverted from it, 
 never relinquish it while there was any chance of hope. If 
 she were not true to it, might the object she now had in life, 
 which bound her to something devoid of evil, in its passing 
 away from her, leave her more forlorn and more despairing, 
 if that were possible, than she had been upon the river's 
 brink that night ; and then might all help, human and Divine, 
 renounce her evermore ! 
 
 She did not raise her voice above her breath, or address us, 
 but said this to the night sky ; then stood profoundly quiet, 
 looking at the gloomy water. 
 
 We judged it expedient, now, to tell her all we knew ; 
 which I recounted at length. She listened with great atten- 
 tion, and' with a face that often changed, but had the same 
 purpose in all its varying expressions. Her eyes occasionally 
 filled with tears, but those she repressed. It seemed as if her 
 spirit were quite altered, and she could not be too quiet. 
 
 She asked, when all was told, where we were to be com- 
 municated with, if occasion should arise. Under a dull lamp 
 in the road, I wrote our two addresses on a leaf of my pocket- 
 book, which I tore out and gave to her, and which she put in 
 her poor bosom. I asked her where she lived herself. She 
 said, after a pause, in no place long. It were better not to 
 know. 
 
 Mr. Peggotty suggesting to me, in a whisper, what had 
 already occurred to myself, I took out my purse ; but I could 
 not prevail upon her to accept any money, nor could I exact 
 any promise from her that she would do so at another time. 
 I represented to her that Mr. Peggotty could not be called, 
 for one in his condition, poor; and that the idea of her 
 engaging in this search, while depending on her own resources, 
 shocked us both. She continued steadfast. In this particular, 
 his influence upon her was equally powerless with mine. She 
 gratefully thanked him, but remained inexorable. 
 
272 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 "There may be work to be got/' she said. "I'll try." 
 
 "At least take some assistance," I returned, "until you 
 have tried." 
 
 "I could not do what I have promised, for money," she 
 replied. " I could not take it, if I was starving. To give 
 me money would be to take away your trust, to take away the 
 object that you have given me, to take away the only certain 
 thing that saves me from the river." 
 
 " In the name of the great Judge," said I, " before whom 
 you and all of us must stand at his dread time, dismiss that 
 terrible idea ! We can all do some good, if we will." 
 
 She trembled, and her lip shook, and her face was paler, as 
 she answered : 
 
 " It has been put into your hearts, perhaps, to save a 
 wretched creature for repentance. I am afraid to think so ; 
 it seems too bold. If any good should come of me, I might 
 begin to hope ; for nothing but harm has ever come of my 
 deeds yet. I am to be trusted, for the first time in a long 
 while, with my miserable life, on account of what you have 
 given me to try for. I know no more, and I can say no more." 
 
 Again she repressed the tears that had begun to flow ; and, 
 putting out her trembling hand, and touching Mr. Peggotty, 
 as if there was some healing virtue in him, went away along 
 the desolate road. She had been ill, probably for a long time. 
 I observed, upon that closer opportunity of observation, that 
 she was worn and haggard, and that her sunken eyes expressed 
 privation and endurance. 
 
 We followed her at a short distance, our way lying in the 
 same direction, until we came back into the lighted and popu- 
 lous streets. I had such implicit confidence in her declaration, 
 that I then put it to Mr. Peggotty, whether it would not seem, 
 In the onset, like distrusting her, to follow her any further. 
 He being of the same mind, and equally reliant on her, we 
 suffered her to take her own road, and took ours, which was 
 towards Highgate. He accompanied me a good part of the 
 way ; and when we parted, with a prayer for the success of 
 this fresh effort, there was a new and thoughtful compassion 
 in him that I was at no loss to interpret. 
 
 It was midnight when I arrived at home. I had reached 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 273 
 
 my own gate, and was standing listening for the deep bell of 
 Saint Paul's, the sound of which I thought had been borne 
 towards me among the multitude of striking clocks, when I 
 was rather surprised to see that the door of my aunt's cottage 
 was open, and that a faint light in the entry was shining out 
 across the road. 
 
 Thinking that my aunt might have relapsed into one of her 
 old alarms, and might be watching the progress of some imagi- 
 nary conflagration in the distance, I went to speak to her. It 
 was with very great surprise that I saw a man standing in her 
 little garden. 
 
 He had a glass and bottle in his hand, and was in the act 
 of drinking. I stopped short, among the thick foliage outside, 
 for the moon was up now, though obscured; and I recognized 
 the man whom I had once supposed to be a delusion of Mr. 
 Dick's, and had once encountered with my aunt in the streets 
 of the city. 
 
 He was eating as well as drinking, and seemed to eat with 
 a hungry appetite. He seemed curious regarding the cottage, 
 too, as if it were the first time he had seen it. After stooping 
 to put the bottle on the ground, he looked up at the windows, 
 and looked about ; though with a covert and impatient air, as 
 if he was anxious to be gone. 
 
 The light in the passage was obscured for a moment, and my 
 aunt came out. She was agitated, and told some money into 
 his hand. I heard it chink. 
 
 " What's the use of this ? " he demanded. 
 
 " I can spare no more," returned my aunt. 
 
 " Then I can't go," said he. " Here ! You may take it back ! " 
 
 " You bad man," returned my aunt, with great emotion ; 
 " how can you use me so ? But why do I ask ? It is because 
 you know how weak I am ! What have I to do, to free 
 myself forever of your visits, but to abandon you to your 
 deserts ? " 
 
 " And why don't you abandon me to my deserts ? " said he. 
 
 "'You ask me why!" returned my aunt. "What a heart 
 you must have ! " 
 
 He stood moodily rattling the money, and shaking his head, 
 until at length he said : 
 
 VOL. II 18 
 
274 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " Is this all you mean to give me, then ? " 
 
 " It is all I can give you," said my aunt. " You know I 
 have had losses, and am poorer than I used to be. I have 
 told you so. Having got it, why do you give me the pain of 
 looking at you for another moment, and seeing what you have 
 become ? " 
 
 " I have become shabby enough, if you mean that," he said. 
 " I lead the life of an owl." 
 
 " You stripped me of the greater part of all I ever had," 
 said my aunt. "You closed my heart against the whole 
 world, years and years. You treated me falsely, ungratefully, 
 and cruelly. Go, and repent of it. Don't add new injuries to 
 the long, long list of injuries you have done me ! " 
 
 " Ay ! " he returned. " It's all very fine ! Well ! I must 
 do the best I can, for the present, I suppose." 
 
 In spite of himself, he appeared abashed by my aunt's indig- 
 nant tears, and came slouching out of the garden. Taking two 
 or three quick steps, as if I had just come up, I met him at the 
 gate, and went in as he came out. We eyed one another nar- 
 rowly in passing, and with no favor. 
 
 " Aunt," said I, hurriedly. " This man alarming you again ! 
 Let me speak to him. Who is he ? " 
 
 " Child," returned my aunt, taking my arm, " come in, and 
 don't speak to me for ten minutes." 
 
 We sat down in her little parlor. My aunt retired behind 
 the round green fan of former days, which was screwed on the 
 back of a chair, and occasionally wiped her eyes, for about a 
 quarter of an hour. Then she came out, and took a seat 
 beside me. 
 
 " Trot," said my aunt, calmly, " it's my husband." 
 
 " Your husband, aunt ? I thought he had been dead ! " 
 
 " Dead to me," returned my aunt, " but living." 
 
 I sat in silent amazement. 
 
 "Betsey Trotwood don't look a likely subject for the tender 
 passion," said my aunt, composedly, " but the time was, Trot, 
 when she believed in that man most entirely. When she loved 
 him, Trot, right well. When there was no proof of attachment 
 and affection that she would not have given him. He repaid 
 her by breaking her fortune, and nearly breaking her heart. 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD, 275 
 
 So she put all that sort of sentiment, once and for ever in a 
 grave, and filled it up, and flattened it down." 
 
 " My dear, good aunt ! " 
 
 " I left him," my aunt proceeded, laying her hand as usual 
 on the back of mine, " generously. I may say at this distance 
 of time, Trot, that I left him generously. He had been so cruel 
 to me, that I might have effected a separation on easy terms 
 for myself; but I did not. He soon made ducks and drakes of 
 what I gave him, sank lower and lower, married another woman, 
 I believe, became an adventurer, a gambler, and a cheat. What 
 he is now, you see. But he was a fine-looking man when I mar- 
 ried him," said my aunt, with an echo of her old pride and ad- 
 miration in her tone ; " and I believed him I was a fool ! 
 to be the soul of honor ! " 
 
 She gave my hand a squeeze, and shook her head. 
 
 "He is nothing to me now, Trot, less than nothing. But, 
 sooner than have him punished for his offences (as he would 
 be if he prowled about in this country), I give him more 
 money than I can afford, at intervals when he reappears, to go 
 away. I was a fool when I married him ; and I am so far an 
 incurable fool on that subject, that, for the sake of what I once 
 believed him to be, I wouldn't have even this shadow of my 
 idle fancy hardly dealt with. For I was in earnest, Trot, if 
 
 ever a woman was." 
 
 My aunt dismissed the matter with a heavy sigh, and 
 smoothed her dress. 
 
 " There, my dear ! " she said. " ISTow, you know the begin- 
 ning, middle, and end, and all about it. We won't mention 
 the subject to one another any more ; neither, of course, will 
 you mention it to anybody else. This is my grumpy, frumpy 
 story, and we'll keep it to ourselves, Trot ! " 
 
276 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 DOMESTIC. 
 
 I LABORED hard at my book, without allowing it to interfere 
 with the punctual discharge of my newspaper duties ; and it 
 came out and was very successful. I was not stunned by the 
 praise which sounded in my ears, notwithstanding that I was 
 keenly alive to it, and thought better of my own performance, 
 I have little doubt, than anybody else did. It has always 
 been in my observation of human nature, that a man who has 
 any good reason to believe in himself never flourishes himself 
 before the faces of other people in order that they may believe 
 in him. For this reason, I retained my modesty in every 
 self-respect ; and the more praise I got, the more I tried to 
 deserve. 
 
 It is not my purpose, in this record, though in all other 
 essentials it is my written memory, to pursue the history of 
 my own fictions. They express themselves, and I leave them 
 to themselves. When I refer to them, incidentally, it is only 
 as a part of my progress. 
 
 Having some foundation for believing, by this time, that 
 nature and accident had made me an author, I pursued my 
 vocation with confidence. Without such assurance I should 
 certainly have left it alone, and bestowed my energy on some 
 other endeavor. I should have tried to find out what nature and 
 accident really had made me, and to be that, and nothing else. 
 
 I had been writing, in the newspaper and elsewhere, so 
 prosperously, that when my new success was achieved, I con- 
 sidered myself reasonably entitled to escape from the dreary 
 debates. One joyful night, therefore, I noted down the music 
 of the parliamentary bagpipes for the last time, and I have 
 never heard it since ; though I still recognize the old drone 
 in the newspapers, without any substantial variation (except, 
 perhaps, that there is more of it) all the livelong session. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 277 
 
 I now write of the time when I had been married, I suppose, 
 about a year and a half. After several varieties of experi- 
 ment, we had given up the housekeeping as a bad job. The 
 house kept itself, and we kept a page. The principal function 
 of this retainer was to quarrel with the cook ; in which respect 
 he was a perfect Whittington, without his cat, or the remotest 
 chance of being made Lord Mayor. 
 
 He appears to me to have lived in a hail of saucepan-lids. 
 His whole existence was a scuffle. He would shriek for help 
 on the most improper occasions, as when we had a little 
 dinner party, or a few friends in the evening, and would 
 come tumbling out of the kitchen, with iron missiles flying 
 after him. We wanted to get rid of him, but he was very 
 much attached to us, and wouldn't go. He was a tearful boy, 
 and broke into such deplorable lamentations, when a cessation 
 of our connection was hinted at, that we were obliged to keep 
 him. He had no mother no anything in the way of a rela- 
 tive, that I could discover, except a sister, who fled to America 
 the moment we had taken him off her hands ; and he became 
 quartered on us like a horrible young changeling. He had a 
 lively perception of his own unfortunate state, and was always 
 rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket, or stopping to 
 blow his nose 011 the extreme corner of a little pocket-hand- 
 kerchief, which he never would take completely out of his 
 pocket, but always economized and secreted. 
 
 This unlucky page, engaged in an evil hour at six pounds 
 ten per annum, was a source of continual trouble to me. I 
 watched him as he grew and he grew like scarlet beans 
 with painful apprehensions of the time when he would begin 
 fco shave ; even of the days when he would be bald or gray. 
 I saw no prospect of ever getting rid of him ; and, projecting 
 myself into the future, used to think what an inconvenience he 
 would be when he was an old man. 
 
 I never expected anything less, than this unfortunate's 
 manner of getting me out of my difficulty. He stole Dora's 
 watch, which, like everything else belonging to us, had no 
 particular place of its own; and, converting it into money, 
 .spent the produce (he was always a weak-minded boy) in 
 incessantly riding up and down between London and Uxbridge 
 
278 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 outside the coach. He was taken to Bow Street, as well as I 
 remember, on the completion of his fifteenth journey ; when 
 four-and-sixpence, and a second-hand fife which he couldn't 
 play, were found upon his person. 
 
 The surprise and its consequences would have been much 
 less disagreeable to me if he had not been penitent. But he 
 was very penitent indeed, and in a peculiar way not in the 
 lump, but by instalments. For example : the day after that 
 on which I was obliged to appear against him, he made certain 
 revelations touching a hamper in the cellar, which we believed 
 to be full of wine, but which had nothing in it except bottles 
 and corks. We supposed he had now eased his mind, and told 
 the worst he knew of the cook ; but, a day or two afterwards, 
 his conscience sustained a new twinge, and he disclosed how 
 she had a little girl, who, early every morning, took away our 
 bread ; and also how he himself had been suborned to main- 
 tain the milkman in coals. In two or three days more, I was 
 informed by the authorities of his having led to the discovery 
 of sirloins of beef among the kitchen-stuff, and sheets in the 
 rag-bag. A little while afterwards, he broke out in an entirely 
 new direction, and confessed to a knowledge of burglarious 
 intentions as to our premises, on the part of the pot-boy, who 
 was immediately tajken up. I got to be so ashamed of being 
 such a victim, that I would have given him any money to hold 
 his tongue, or would have offered a round bribe for his being 
 permitted to run away. It was an aggravating circumstance 
 in the case that he had no idea of this, but conceived that he 
 was making me amends in every new discovery : not to say, 
 heaping obligations on my head. 
 
 At last I ran away myself, whenever I saw an emissary of 
 the police approaching with some new intelligence ; and lived 
 a stealthy life until he was tried and ordered to be transported. 
 Even then he couldn't be quiet, but was always writing us 
 letters ; and wanted so much to see Dora before he went away, 
 that Dora went to visit him, and fainted when she found her- 
 self inside the iron bars. In short, I had no peace of my life 
 until he was expatriated, and made (as I afterwards heard) a 
 shepherd of, " up the country " somewhere ; I have no geo- 
 graphical idea where. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 279 
 
 All this led me into some serious reflections, and presented 
 our mistakes in a new aspect; as I could not help communi- 
 cating to Dora one evening, in spite of my tenderness for her. 
 
 " My love/' said I, " it is very painful to me to think that 
 our want of system and management, involves not only our- 
 selves (which we have got used to), but other people." 
 
 "You have been silent for a long time, and now you are 
 going to be cross ! " said Dora. 
 
 " No my dear, indeed ! Let me explain to you what I 
 mean." 
 
 " I think I don't want to know," said Dora. 
 
 "But I want you to know, my love. Put Jip down." 
 
 Dora put his nose to mine, and said " Boh ! " to drive my 
 seriousness away ; but, not succeeding, ordered him into his 
 Pagoda, and sat looking at me, with her hands folded, and a 
 most resigned little expression of countenance. 
 
 " The fact is, my dear," I began, " there is contagion in us. 
 We infect every one about us." 
 
 I might have gone on in this figurative manner, if Dora's 
 face had not admonished me that she was wondering with all 
 her might whether I was going to propose any new kind of 
 vaccination, or other medical remedy, for this unwholesome 
 state of ours. Therefore I checked myself, and made my 
 meaning plainer. 
 
 "It is not merely, my pet," said I, "that we lose money 
 and comfort, and even temper sometimes, by not learning to 
 be more careful ; but that we incur the serious responsibility 
 of spoiling every one who comes into our service, or has any 
 dealings with us. I begin to be afraid that the fault is not 
 entirely on one side, but that these people all turn out ill 
 because we don't turn out very well ourselves." 
 
 " Oh, what an accusation," exclaimed Dora, opening her 
 eyes wide, " to say that you ever saw me take gold watches ! 
 Oh!" 
 
 "My dearest," I remonstrated, "don't talk preposterous 
 nonsense ! Who has made the least allusion to gold 
 watches ? " 
 
 " You did," returned Dora. " You know you did. You said 
 I hadn't turned out well, and compared me to him." 
 
280 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " To whom ? " I asked. 
 
 "To the page," sobbed Dora. "Oh, you cruel fellow, to 
 compare your affectionate wife to a transported page ! Why 
 didn't you tell me your opinion of me before we were 
 married ? Why didn't you say, you hard-hearted thing, 
 that you were convinced I was worse than a transported 
 page ? " Oh, what a dreadful opinion to have of me ! Oh, 
 my goodness ! " 
 
 " Now Dora, my love," I returned, gently trying to remove 
 the handkerchief she pressed to her eyes, "this is not only 
 very ridiculous of you, but very wrong. In the first place, 
 it's not true." 
 
 " You always said he was a story-teller," sobbed Dora. 
 " And now you say the same of me ! Oh, what shall I do ! 
 What shall I do ! " 
 
 "My darling girl," I retorted, "I really must entreat you 
 to be reasonable, and listen to what I did say, and do say. My 
 dear Dora, unless we learn to do our duty to those whom we 
 employ, they will never learn to do their duty to us. I am 
 afraid we present opportunities to people to do wrong, that 
 never ought to be presented. Even if we were as lax as we 
 are, in all our arrangements, by choice which we are not 
 even if we liked it, and found it agreeable to be so which we 
 don't I am persuaded we should have no ' right to go on in 
 this way. We are positively corrupting people. We are 
 bound to think of that. I can't help thinking of it, Dora. It 
 is a reflection I am unable to dismiss, and it sometimes makes 
 me very uneasy. There, dear, that's all. Come now. Don't 
 be foolish ! " 
 
 Dora would not allow me, for a long time, to remove the 
 handkerchief. She sat sobbing and murmuring behind it, 
 that, if I was uneasy, why had I ever been married ? Why 
 hadn't I said, even the day before we went to church, that I 
 knew I should be uneasy, and I would rather not ? If I 
 couldn't bear her, why didn't I send her away to her aunts at 
 Putney, or to Julia Mills in India ? Julia would be glad to 
 see her, and would not call her a transported page ; Julia 
 never had called her anything of the sort. In short, Dora 
 was so afflicted, and so afflicted me by being in that condition, 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 281 
 
 that I felt it was of no use repeating this kind of effort, though 
 never so mildly, and I must take some other course. 
 
 What other course was left to take ! To " form her mind ! " 
 This was a common phrase of words which had a fair and 
 promising sound, and I resolved to form Dora's mind. 
 
 I began immediately. When Dora was very childish, and 
 I would have infinitely preferred to humor her, I tried to 
 be grave and disconcerted her, and myself too. I talked to 
 her on the subjects which occupied my thoughts ; and I read 
 Shakespeare to her and fatigued her to the last degree. I 
 accustomed myself to giving her, as it were quite casually, 
 little scraps of useful information, or sound opinion and she 
 started from them when I let them off, as if they had been 
 crackers. No matter how incidentally or naturally I endeav- 
 ored to form my little wife's mind, I could not help seeing that 
 she always had an instinctive perception of what I was about, 
 and became a prey to the keenest apprehensions. In partic- 
 ular, it was clear to me, that she thought Shakespeare a terrible 
 fellow. The formation went on very slowly. 
 
 I pressed Traddles into the service without his knowledge ; 
 and whenever he came to see us, exploded my mines upon him 
 for the edification of Dora at second hand. The amount of 
 practical wisdom I bestowed upon Traddles in this manner 
 was immense, and of the best quality ; but it had no other 
 effect upon Dora than to depress her spirits, and make her 
 always nervous with the dread that it would be her turn next. 
 I found myself in the condition of a schoolmaster, a trap, a 
 pitfall; of always playing spider to Dora's fly, and always 
 pouncing out of my hole to her infinite disturbance. 
 
 Still, looking forward through this intermediate stage, to 
 the time when there should be a perfect sympathy between 
 Dora and me, and when I should have " formed her mind " to 
 my entire satisfaction, I persevered, even for months. Find- 
 ing at last, however, that, although I had been all this time a 
 very porcupine or hedgehog, bristling all over with determina- 
 tion, I had effected nothing, it began to occur to me that 
 perhaps Dora's mind was already formed. 
 
 On farther consideration this appeared so likely, that I 
 abandoned my scheme, which had had a more promising 
 
282 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 appearance in words than in action ; resolving henceforth to 
 be satisfied with ray child-wife, and to try to change her into 
 nothing else by any process. I was heartily tired of being 
 sagacious and prudent by myself, and of seeing my darling 
 under restraint ; so, I bought a pretty pair of ear-rings for her, 
 and a collar for Jip, and went home one day to make myself 
 agreeable. 
 
 Dora was delighted with the little presents, and kissed me 
 joyfully; but, there was a shadow between us, however slight, 
 and I had made up my mind that it should not be there. If 
 there must be such a shadow anywhere, I would keep it for 
 the future in my own breast. 
 
 I sat down by my wife on the sofa, and put the ear-rings in 
 her ears ; and then I told her that I feared we had not been 
 quite as good company lately as we used to be, and that the fault 
 was mine. Which I sincerely felt, and which indeed it was. 
 
 " The truth is, Dora, my life," I said ; " I have been trying 
 to be wise." 
 
 "And to make me wise too," said Dora, timidly. "Haven't 
 you, Doady ? " 
 
 I nodded assent to the pretty inquiry of the raised eyebrows, 
 and kissed the parted lips. 
 
 " It's of not a bit of use," said Dora, shaking her head, until 
 the ear-rings rang again. " You know what a little thing 
 I am, and what I wanted you to call me from the first. If 
 you can't do so, I am afraid you'll never like me. Are you 
 sure you don't think, sometimes, it would have been better to 
 have " 
 
 " Done what, my dear ? " For she made no effort to proceed. 
 
 " Nothing ! " said Dora. 
 
 " Nothing ? " I repeated. 
 
 She put her arms round my neck, and laughed, and called 
 herself by her favorite name of a goose, and hid her face on my 
 shoulder in such a profusion of curls that it was quite a task 
 to clear them away and see it. 
 
 "Don't I think it would have been better to have done 
 nothing, than to have tried to form my little wife's mind?'' 
 said I, laughing at myself. " Is that the question ? Yes, 
 indeed, I do." 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 283 
 
 
 
 " Is that what you have been trying ? " cried Dora. " Oh, 
 what a shocking boy ! " 
 
 " But I shall never try any more/' said I. " For I love her 
 dearly as she is." 
 
 " Without a story really ? " inquired Dora, creeping closer 
 to me. 
 
 "Why should I seek to change," said I, "what has been 
 so precious to me for so long ! You never can show better 
 than as your own natural self, my sweet Dora ; and we'll try 
 no conceited experiments, but go back to our old way, and be 
 happy." 
 
 " And be happy ! " returned Dora. " Yes ! All day ! And 
 you won't mind things going a tiny morsel wrong, some- 
 times?" 
 
 " No, no," said I. " We must do the best we can." 
 
 "And you won't tell me, any more, that we make other 
 people bad," coaxed Dora ; " will you ? Because you know 
 it's so dreadfully cross." 
 
 " No, no," said I. 
 
 " It's better for me to be stupid than uncomfortable, isn't 
 it ? " said Dora. 
 
 "Better to be naturally Dora than anything else in the 
 world." 
 
 " In the world ! Ah Doady, it's a large place ! " 
 
 She shook her head, turned her delighted bright eyes up to 
 mine, kissed me, broke into a merry laugh, and sprang away 
 to put on Jip's new collar. 
 
 So ended my last attempt to make any change in Dora. 
 I had been unhappy in trying it ; I could not endure my own 
 solitary wisdom ; I could not reconcile it with her former 
 appeal to me as my child-wife. I resolved to do what I could, 
 in a quiet way, to improve our proceedings myself; but I 
 foresaw that my utmost would be very little, or I must de- 
 generate into the spider again, and be forever lying in wait. 
 
 And the shadow I have mentioned, that was not to be 
 between us any more, but was to rest wholly on my own 
 heart ? How did that fall ? 
 
 The old unhappy feeling pervaded my life. It was deep- 
 ened, if it were changed at all ; but it was as undefined as 
 
284 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 9 
 
 ever, and addressed me like a strain of sorrowful music 
 faintly heard in the night. I loved my wife dearly, and I 
 was happy ; but the happiness I had vaguely anticipated, once, 
 was not the happiness I enjoyed, and there was always some- 
 thing wanting. 
 
 In fulfilment of the compact I have made with myself, to 
 reflect my mind on this paper, I again examine it, closely, and 
 bring its secrets to the light. What I missed, I still regarded 
 I always regarded as something that had been a dream 
 of my youthful fancy ; that was incapable of realization ; that 
 I was now discovering to be so, with some natural pain, as all 
 men did. But, that it would have been better for me if my wife 
 could have helped me more, and shared the many thoughts in 
 which I had no partner ; and that this might have been ; I knew. 
 
 Between these two irreconcilable conclusions : the one, 
 that what I felt, was general and unavoidable ; the other, 
 that it was particular to me, and might have been different ; 
 I balanced curiously, with no distinct sense of their opposition 
 to each other. When I thought of the airy dreams of youth 
 that are incapable of realization, I thought of the better state 
 preceding manhood that I had outgrown ; and then the con- 
 tented days with Agnes, in the dear old house, arose before 
 me, like spectres of the dead, that might have some renewal in 
 another world, but never never more could be reanimated here. 
 
 Sometimes, the speculation came into my thoughts, What 
 might have happened, or what would have happened, if Dora 
 and I had never known each other ? But, she was so in- 
 corporated with my existence, that it was the idlest of all 
 fancies, and would soon rise out of my reach and sight, like 
 gossamer floating in the air. 
 
 I always loved her. What I am describing, slumbered, and 
 half awoke, and slept again, in the innermost recesses of my 
 mind. There was no evidence of it in me ; I know of no 
 influence it had in anything I said or did. I bore the weight 
 of all our little cares, and all my projects ; Dora held the 
 pens ; and we both felt that our shares were adjusted as the 
 case required. She was truly fond of me, and proud of me ; 
 and when Agnes wrote a few earnest words in her letters to 
 Dora, of the pride and interest with which my old friends 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 285 
 
 heard of my growing reputation, and read my book as if they 
 heard me speaking its contents, Dora read them out to me 
 with tears of joy in her bright eyes, and said I was a dear 
 old clever, famous boy. 
 
 "The first mistaken impulse of an undisciplined heart." 
 These words of Mrs. Strong's were constantly recurring to me, 
 at this time; were almost always present to my mind. I 
 awoke with them, often, in the night ; I remember to have 
 even read them, in dreams, inscribed upon the walls of houses. 
 For I knew, now, that my own heart was undisciplined when 
 it first loved Dora; and that if it had been disciplined, it 
 never could have felt, when we were married, what it had 
 felt in its secret experience. 
 
 " There can be no disparity in marriage, like unsuitability 
 of mind and purpose." Those words I remembered too. I 
 had endeavored to adapt Dora to myself, and found it im- 
 practicable. It remained for me to adapt myself to Dora; 
 to share with her what I could, and be happy ; to bear on my 
 own shoulders what I must, and be happy still. This was the 
 discipline to which I tried to bring my heart, when I began to 
 think. It made my second year much happier than my first ; 
 and, what was better still, made Dora's life all sunshine. 
 
 But, as that year wore on, Dora was not strong. I had 
 hoped that lighter hands than mine would help to mould her 
 character, and that a baby- smile upon her breast might change 
 my child-wife to a woman. It was not to be. The spirit flut- 
 tered for a moment on the threshold of its little prison, and, 
 unconscious of captivity, took wing. 
 
 " When I can run about again, as I used to do, aunt," said 
 Dora, " I shall make Jip race. He is getting quite slow and lazy." 
 
 " I suspect, my dear," said my aunt, quietly working by her 
 side, " he has a worse disorder than that. Age, Dora." 
 
 " Do you think he is old ? " said Dora, astonished. " Oh, 
 how strange it seems that Jip should be old ! " 
 
 " It's a complaint we are all liable to, Little One, as we get 
 on in life," said my aunt, cheerfully ; " I don't feel more free 
 from it than I used to be, I assure you." 
 
 " But Jip," said Dora, looking at him with compassion, 
 " even little Jip ! Oh, poor fellow ! " 
 
286 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " I dare say he'll last a long time yet, Blossom/' said my 
 aunt, patting Dora on the cheek, as she leaned out of her 
 couch to look at Jip, who responded by standing on his hind 
 legs, and baulking himself in various asthmatic attempts to 
 scramble up by the head and shoulders. " He must have a 
 piece of flannel in his house this winter, and I shouldn't won- 
 der if he came out quite fresh again, with the flowers in the 
 spring. Bless the little dog ! " exclaimed my aunt, " if he had 
 as many lives as a cat, and was on the point of losing ? em all, 
 he'd bark at me with his last breath, I believe ! " 
 
 Dora had helped him up on the sofa ; where he really was 
 defying my aunt to such a furious extent, that he couldn't 
 keep straight, but barked himself sideways. The more my 
 aunt looked at him, the more he reproached her ; for, she had 
 lately taken to spectacles, and for some inscrutable reason he 
 considered the glasses personal. 
 
 Dora made him lie down by her, with a good deal of persua- 
 sion ; and when he was quiet, drew one of his long ears through 
 and through her hand, repeating thoughtfully, " Even little Jip ! 
 Oh, poor fellow ! " 
 
 " His lungs are good enough," said my aunt gaily, " and his 
 dislikes are not at all feeble. He has a good many years be- 
 fore him, no doubt. But if you want a dog to race with, 
 Little Blossom, he has lived too well for that, and I'll give you 
 one." 
 
 " Thank you, aunt," said Dora, faintly. " But don't, 
 please ! " 
 
 " No ? " said my aunt, taking off her spectacles. 
 
 " I couldn't have any other dog but Jip," said Dora. " It 
 would be so unkind to Jip ! Besides, I couldn't be such 
 friends with any other dog but Jip ; because he wouldn't have 
 known me before I was married, and wouldn't have barked at 
 Doady when he first came to our house. I couldn't care for 
 any other dog but Jip, I am afraid, aunt." 
 
 " To be sure ! " said my aunt, patting her cheek again. 
 " You are right." 
 
 " You are not offended," said Dora. " Are you ? " 
 
 " Why, what a sensitive pet it is ! " cried my aunt, bending 
 over her affectionately. " To think that I could be offended ! " 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 287 
 
 " No, no, I didn't really think so," returned Dora ; " but I 
 am a little tired, and it made me silly for a moment I am 
 always a silly little thing, you know ; but it made me more 
 silly to talk about Jip. He has known me in all that has 
 happened to me, haven't you, Jip ? And I couldn't bear to 
 slight him, because he was a little altered could I, Jip ? " 
 
 Jip nestled closer to his mistress, and lazily licked her hand. 
 
 " You are not so old, Jip, are you, that you'll leave your 
 mistress yet," said Dora. " We may keep one another com- 
 pany, a little longer ! " 
 
 My pretty Dora ! When she came down to dinner on the 
 ensuing Sunday, and was so glad to see old Traddles (who al- 
 ways dined with us on Sunday), we thought she would be 
 " running about as she used to do," in a few days. But they 
 said, wait a few days more ; and then, wait a few days more ; 
 and still she neither ran nor walked. She looked very pretty, 
 and was very merry ; but the little feet that used to be so nim- 
 ble when they danced round Jip, were dull and motionless. 
 
 I began to carry her down stairs every morning, and up 
 stairs every night. She would clasp me round the neck and 
 laugh, the while, as if I did it for a wager. Jip would bark 
 and caper round us, and go on before, and look back on the 
 landing, breathing short, to see that we were coming. My 
 aunt, the best and most cheerful of nurses, would trudge after 
 us, a moving mass of shawls and pillows. Mr. Dick would 
 not have relinquished his post of candle-bearer to any one 
 alive. Traddles would be often at the bottom of the staircase, 
 looking on, and taking charge of sportive messages from Dora 
 to the dearest girl in the world. We made quite a gay proces- 
 sion of it, and my child-wife was the gayest there. 
 
 But, sometimes, when I took her up, and felt that she was 
 lighter in my arms, a dead blank feeling came upon me, as if 
 I were approaching to some frozen region yet unseen, that 
 numbed my life. I avoided the recognition of this feeling by 
 any name, or by any communing with myself ; until one night, 
 when it was very strong upon me, and my aunt had left her 
 with a parting cry of " Good night, Little Blossom," I sat down 
 at my desk alone, and cried to think, what a fatal name it 
 was, and how the blossom withered in its bloom upon the tree J 
 
288 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 CHAPTEE XX. 
 
 I AM INVOLVED IX MYSTERY. 
 
 I RECEIVED one morning by the post, the following letter, 
 dated Canterbury, and addressed to me at Doctors' Commons, 
 which I read with some surprise : 
 
 " MY DEAR SIR, 
 
 " Circumstances beyond my individual control have, 
 for a considerable lapse of time, effected a severance of that 
 intimacy which, in the limited opportunities conceded to me 
 in the midst of my professional duties, of contemplating the 
 scenes and events of the past, tinged by the prismatic hues of 
 memory, has ever afforded me, as it ever must continue to 
 afford, gratifying emotions of no common description. This 
 fact, my dear sir, combined with the distinguished elevation 
 to which your talents have raised you, deters me from pre- 
 suming to aspire to the liberty of addressing the companion of 
 my youth, by the familiar appellation of Copperfield ! It is 
 sufficient to know that the name to which I do myself the 
 honor to refer, will ever be treasured among the muniments 
 of our house (I allude to the archives connected with our 
 former lodgers, preserved by Mrs. Micawber), with sentiments 
 of personal esteem amounting to affection. 
 
 " It is not for one situated, through his original errors and 
 a fortuitous combination of unpropitious events, as is the 
 foundered Bark (if he may be allowed to assume so maritime 
 a denomination), who now takes up the pen to address you- 
 it is not, I repeat, for one so circumstanced, to adopt the lan- 
 guage of compliment, or of congratulation. That, he leaves 
 to abler and to purer hands. 
 
 " If your more important avocations should admit of your 
 ever tracing these imperfect characters thus far which may 
 be, or may not be, as circumstances arise you will naturally 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 289 
 
 inquire by what object am I influenced, then, in inditing the 
 present missive ? Allow me to say that I fully defer to the 
 reasonable character of that inquiry, and proceed to develop 
 it; premising that it is not an object of a pecuniary nature. 
 
 " Without more directly referring to any latent ability that 
 may possibly exist on my part, of wielding the thunderbolt, 
 or directing the devouring and avenging flame in any quarter, 
 I may be permitted to observe, in passing, that my brightest 
 visions are for ever dispelled that my peace is shattered 
 and my power of enjoyment destroyed that my heart is 
 no longer in the right place and that I no more walk erect 
 before my fellow man. The canker is in the flower. The cup 
 is bitter to the brim. The worm is at his work, and will soon 
 dispose of his victim. The sooner the better. But I will not 
 digress. 
 
 "Placed in a mental position of peculiar painfulness, beyond 
 the assuaging reach even of Mrs. Micawber's influence, though 
 exercised in the tripartite character of woman, wife, and mother, 
 it is my intention to fly from myself for a short period, and 
 devote a respite of eight-and-forty-hours to revisiting some 
 metropolitan scenes of past enjoyment. Among other havens 
 of domestic tranquillity and peace of mind, my feet will natu- 
 rally tend towards the King's Bench Prison. In stating that 
 I shall be (D.V.) on the outside of the south wall of that place 
 of incarceration on civil process, the day after to-morrow, at seven 
 in the evening, precisely, my object in this epistolary commu- 
 nication is accomplished. 
 
 " T do not feel warranted in soliciting my former friend Mr. 
 Copperfield, or my former friend Mr. Thomas Traddles of the 
 Inner Temple, if that gentleman is still existent and forth- 
 coming, to condescend to meet me, and renew (so far as may 
 be) our past relations of the olden time. I confine myself to 
 throwing out the observation, that, at the hour and place I have 
 indicated, may be found such ruined vestiges as yet 
 
 " Bemain, 
 "Of 
 "A 
 
 "Fallen Tower, 
 
 " WlLKINS MlCAWBEB. 
 VOL. II 19 
 
290 
 
 "P.S. It may be advisable to superadd to the above, the 
 statement that Mrs. Micawber is not in confidential possession 
 of my intentions." 
 
 I read the letter over several times. Making due allowance 
 for Mr. Micawber's lofty style of composition, and for the 
 extraordinary relish with which he sat down and wrote long 
 letters on all possible and impossible occasions, I still believed 
 that something important lay hidden at the bottom of this 
 roundabout communication. I put it down, to think about 
 it ; and took it up again, to read it once more ; and was still 
 pursuing it, when Traddles found me in the height of my per- 
 plexity. 
 
 "My dear fellow," said I, " I never was better pleased to see 
 you. You come to give me the benefit of your sober judgment 
 at a most opportune time. I have received a very singular 
 letter, Traddles, from Mr. Micawber." 
 
 " No ? " cried Traddles. " You don't say so ? And I have 
 received one from Mrs. Micawber ! " 
 
 With that, Traddles, who was flushed with walking, and 
 whose hair, under the combined effects of exercise and excite- 
 ment, stood on end as if he saw a cheerful ghost, produced his 
 letter and made an exchange with me. I watched him into 
 the heart of Mr. Micawber's letter, and returned the elevation 
 of eyebrows with which he said " ' Wielding the thunderbolt, 
 or directing the devouring and avenging flame ! ' Bless me, 
 Copperfield ! " and then entered on the perusal of Mrs. 
 Micawber's epistle. 
 
 It ran thus : 
 
 " My best regards to Mr. Thomas Traddles, and if he should 
 still remember one who formerly had the happiness of being 
 well acquainted with him, may I beg a few moments of his 
 leisure time ? I assure Mr. T. T. that I would not intrude 
 upon his kindness, were I in any other position than on the 
 confines of distraction. 
 
 " Though harrowing to myself to mention, the alienation of 
 Mr. Micawber (formerly so domesticated) from his wife and 
 family, is the cause of my addressing my unhappy appeal to 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 291 
 
 Mr. Traddles, and soliciting his best indulgence. Mr. T. can 
 form no adequate idea of the change in Mr. Micawber's con- 
 duct, of his wildness, of his violence. It has gradually aug- 
 mented, until it assumes the appearance of aberration of intel- 
 lect. Scarcely a day passes, I assure Mr. Traddles, on which 
 some paroxysm does not take place. Mr. T. will not require 
 me to depict my feelings, when I inform him that I have 
 become accustomed to hear Mr. Micawber assert that he has 
 sold himself to the D. Mystery and secrecy have long been 
 his principal characteristic, have long replaced unlimited con- 
 fidence. The slightest provocation, even being asked if there 
 is anything he would prefer for dinner, causes him to express 
 a wish for a separation. Last night on being childishly solic- 
 ited for twopence, to buy ' lemon-stunners' a local sweetmeat 
 he presented an oyster-knife at the twins ! 
 
 " I entreat Mr. Traddles to bear with me in entering into 
 these details. Without them, Mr. T. would indeed find it 
 difficult to form the faintest conception of my heart-rending 
 situation. 
 
 "May I now venture to confide to Mr. T. the purport of 
 my letter ? Will he now allow me to throw myself on his 
 friendly consideration ? Oh yes, for I know his heart ! 
 
 " The quick eye of affection is not easily blinded, when of 
 the female sex. Mr. Micawber is going to London. Though 
 he studiously concealed his hand, this morning before break- 
 fast, in writing the direction-card w^hich he attached to the 
 little brown valise of happier days, the eagle-glance of matri- 
 monial anxiety detected d, o, n, distinctly traced. The West- 
 End destination of the coach, is the Golden Cross. Dare I 
 fervently implore Mr. T. to see my misguided husband, and to 
 reason with him ? Dare I ask Mr. T. to endeavor to step in 
 between Mr. Micawber and his agonized family ? Oh no, for 
 that would be too much ! 
 
 " If Mr. Copperfield should yet remember one unknown to 
 fame, will Mr. T. take charge of my unalterable regards and 
 similar entreaties ? In any case, he will have the benevolence 
 to consider this communication strictly private, and on no account 
 whatever to be alluded to, however distantly, in the presence of 
 Mr. Micawber. If Mr. T. should ever reply to it (which I 
 
292 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 cannot but feel to be most improbable), a letter addressed to 
 M. E., Post Office, Canterbury, will be fraught with less pain- 
 ful consequences than any addressed immediately to one, who 
 subscribes herself, in extreme distress, 
 
 " Mr. Thomas Traddles's respectful friend and suppliant, 
 
 "EMMA MICAWBER." 
 
 " What do you think of that letter ? " said Traddles, casting 
 his eyes upon me, when I had read it twice. 
 
 " What do you think of the other ? " said I. For he was 
 still reading it with knitted brows. 
 
 "I think that the two together, Copperfield," replied 
 Traddles, "mean more than Mr. and Mrs. Micawber usually 
 mean in their correspondence but I don't know what. They 
 are both written in good faith, I have no doubt, and without 
 any collusion. Poor thing ! " he was now alluding to Mrs. 
 Micawber' s letter, and we were standing side by side compar- 
 ing the two; "it will be a charity to write to her, at all 
 events, and tell her that we will not fail to see Mr. Micawber." 
 
 I acceded to this, the more readily, because I now reproached 
 myself with having treated her former letter rather lightly. 
 It had set me thinking a good deal at the time, as I have men- 
 tioned in its place ; but my absorption in my own affairs, my 
 experience of the family, and my hearing nothing more, had 
 gradually ended in my dismissing the subject. I had often 
 thought of the Micawbers, but chiefly to wonder what " pecun- 
 iary liabilities " they were establishing in Canterbury, and 
 to recall how shy Mr. Micawber was of me when he became 
 clerk to Uriah Heep. 
 
 However, I now wrote a comforting letter to Mrs. Micawber, 
 in our joint names, and we both signed it. As we walked 
 into town to post it, Traddles and I held a long conference, 
 and launched into a number of speculations, which I need not 
 repeat. We took my aunt into our counsels in the afternoon ; 
 but our only decided conclusion was, that we would be very 
 punctual in keeping Mr. Micawber's appointment. 
 
 Although we appeared at the stipulated place a quarter of 
 an hour before the time, we found Mr. Micawber already there. 
 He was standing with his arms folded, over against the wall, 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 293 
 
 looking at the spikes on the top, with a sentimental expres- 
 sion, as if they were the interlacing boughs of trees that had 
 shaded him in his youth. 
 
 When we accosted him, his manner was something more 
 confused, and something less genteel than of yore. He had 
 relinquished his legal suit of black for the purposes of this 
 excursion, and wore the old surtout and tights, but not quite 
 with the old air. He gradually picked up more and more of 
 it as we conversed with him ; but, his very eye-glass seemed 
 to hang less easily, and his shirt collar, though still of the old 
 formidable dimensions, rather drooped. 
 
 " Gentlemen ! " said Mr. Micawber, after the first salutations, 
 "you are friends in need, and friends indeed. Allow me to 
 offer my inquiries with reference to the physical welfare of 
 Mrs. Copperfield in esse, and Mrs. Traddles in posse, pre- 
 suming, that is to say, that my friend Mr. Traddles is not 
 yet united to the object of his affections, for weal and for 
 woe." 
 
 We acknowledged his politeness, and made suitable replies. 
 He then directed our attention to the wall, and was beginning 
 "I assure you gentlemen," when I ventured to object to that 
 ceremonious form of address, and to beg that he would speak 
 to us in the old way. 
 
 "My dear Copperfield," he returned, pressing my hand, 
 " your cordiality overpowers me. This reception of a shattered 
 fragment of the Temple once called Man if I may be per- 
 mitted so to express myself bespeaks a heart that is an 
 honor to our common nature. I was about to observe that I 
 again behold the serene spot where some of the happiest hours 
 of my existence fleeted by." 
 
 "Made so, I am sure, by Mrs. Micawber," said I. "I hope 
 she is well ? " 
 
 " Thank you," returned Mr. Micawber, whose face clouded 
 at this reference, " she is but so-so. And this," said Mr. 
 Micawber, nodding his head sorrowfully, "is the Bench! 
 Where, for the first time in many revolving years, the over- 
 whelming pressure of pecuniary liabilities was not proclaimed, 
 from day to day, by importunate voices declining to vacate 
 the passage ; where there was no knocker on the door for any 
 
294 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 creditor to appeal to ; where personal service of process was 
 not required, and detainers were merely lodged at the gate ! 
 Gentlemen," said Mr. Micawber, "when the shadow of that 
 ironwork on the summit of the brick structure has been re- 
 flected on the gravel of the Parade, I have seen my children 
 thread the mazes of the intricate pattern, avoiding the dark 
 marks. I have been familiar with every stone in the place. 
 If I betray weakness, you will know how to excuse me." 
 
 "We have all got on in life since then, Mr. Micawber," 
 said I. 
 
 " Mr. Copperfield," returned Mr. Micawber, bitterly, " when 
 I was an inmate of that retreat I could look my fellow man in 
 the face, and punch his head if he offended me. My fellow 
 man and myself are no longer on those glorious terms ! " 
 
 Turning from the building in a downcast manner, Mr. 
 Micawber accepted my proffered arm on one side, and the 
 proffered arm of Traddles on the other, and walked away 
 between us. 
 
 "There are some landmarks," observed Mr. Micawber, look- 
 ing fondly back over his shoulder, " on the road to the tomb, 
 which, but for the impiety of the aspiration, a man would 
 wish never to have passed. Such is the Bench in my chequered 
 
 career." 
 
 " Oh, you are in low spirits, Mr. Micawber," said Traddles. 
 
 " I am, sir," interposed Mr. Micawber. 
 
 " I hope," said Traddles, " it is not because you have con- 
 ceived a dislike to the law for I am a lawyer myself, you 
 know." 
 
 Mr. Micawber answered not a word. 
 
 " How is our friend Heep, Mr. Micawber," said I, after a 
 silence. 
 
 " My dear Copperfield," returned Mr. Micawber, bursting 
 into a state of much excitement, and turning pale, " if you ask 
 after my employer as your friend, I am sorry for it ; if you 
 ask after him as my friend, I sardonically smile at it. In 
 whatever capacity you ask after my employer, I beg, without 
 offence to you, to limit my reply to this that whatever his 
 state of health may be, his appearance is foxy : not to say 
 diabolical. You will allow me, ass a private individual, to 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 295 
 
 decline pursuing a subject which has lashed me to the utmost 
 verge of desperation in my professional capacity." 
 
 I expressed my regret for having innocently touched upon 
 a theme that roused him so much. "May I ask," said I, 
 " without any hazard of repeating the mistake, how my old 
 friends Mr. and Miss Wickfield are ? " 
 
 " Miss Wickfield," said Mr. Micawber, now turning red, 
 " is, as she always is, a pattern, and a bright example. My 
 dear Copperfield, she is the only starry spot in a miserable 
 existence. My respect for that young lady, my admiration of 
 her character, my devotion to her for her love and truth, and 
 goodness ! Take me," said Mr. Micawber, " down a turning, 
 for, upon my soul, in my present state of mind I am not equal 
 to this ! " 
 
 We wheeled him off into a narrow street, where he took out 
 his pocket-handkerchief, and stood with his back to a wall. If 
 I looked as gravely at him as Traddles did, he must have 
 found our company by no means inspiriting. 
 
 "It is my fate," said Mr. Micawber, unfeignedly sobbing, 
 but doing even that, with a shadow of the old expression of 
 doing something genteel ; " it is my fate, gentlemen, that the 
 finer feelings of our nature have become reproaches to me. 
 My homage to Miss Wickfield, is a flight of arrows in my 
 bosom. You had better leave me, if you please, to walk the 
 earth as a vagabond. The worm will settle my business in 
 double-quick time." 
 
 Without attending to this invocation, we stood by, until he 
 put up his pocket-handkerchief, pulled up his shirt-collar, and, 
 to delude any person in the neighborhood who might have 
 been observing him, hummed a tune with his hat very much 
 on one side. I then mentioned not knowing what might be 
 lost if we lost sight of him yet that it would give me great 
 pleasure to introduce him to my aunt, if he would ride out to 
 Highgate, where a bed was at his service. 
 
 " You shall make us a glass of your own punch, Mr. Micaw- 
 ber," said I, " and forget whatever you have on your mind, in 
 pleasanter reminiscences." 
 
 " Or, if confiding anything to friends will be more likely tc 
 
296 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 relieve you, you shall impart it to us, Mr. Micawber," said 
 Traddles, prudently. 
 
 " Gentlemen," returned Mr. Micawber, " do with me as you 
 will ! I am a straw upon the service of the deep, and am 
 tossed in all directions by the elephants I beg your pardon ; 
 I should have said the elements." 
 
 We walked on, arm-in-arm, again ; found the coach in the 
 act of starting ; and arrived at Highgate without encountering 
 any difficulties by the way. I was very uneasy and very 
 uncertain in my mind what to say or do for the best so was 
 Traddles, evidently. Mr. Micawber was for the most part 
 plunged into deep gloom. He occasionally made an attempt 
 to smarten himself, and hum the fag-end of a tune ; but his 
 relapses into profound melancholy were only made the more 
 impressive by the mockery of a hat exceedingly on one side, 
 and a shirt-collar pulled up to his eyes. 
 
 We went to my aunt's house rather than to mine, because 
 of Dora's not being well. My aunt presented herself on 
 being sent for, and welcomed Mr. Micawber with gracious 
 cordiality. Mr. Micawber kissed her hand, retired to the 
 window, and pulling out his pocket-handkerchief, had a mental 
 wrestle with himself. 
 
 Mr. Dick was at home. He was by nature so exceedingly 
 compassionate of any one who seemed to be ill at ease, and 
 was so quick to find any such person out, that he shook hands 
 with Mr. Micawber, at least half-a-dozen times in five minutes. 
 To Mr. Micawber, in his trouble, this warmth, on the part of 
 a stranger, was so extremely touching, that he could only say, 
 on the occasion of each successive shake, " My dear sir, you 
 overpower me!" Which gratified Mr. Dick so much, that he 
 went at it again with greater vigor than before. 
 
 "The friendliness of this gentleman," said Mr. Micawber 
 to my aunt, " if you will allow me, ma'am, to cull a figure of 
 speech from the vocabulary of our coarser national sports 
 floors me. To a man, who is struggling with a complicated 
 burden of perplexity and disquiet, such a reception is trying, 
 I assure you." 
 
 " My friend Mr. Dick," replied my aunt, proudly, " is not a 
 common man." 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 297 
 
 "That I am convinced of," said Mr. Micawber. "My dear 
 sir ! " for Mr. Dick was shaking hands with him again ; " I am 
 deeply sensible of your cordiality ! " 
 
 " How do you find yourself ? " said Mr. Dick, with an 
 anxious look. 
 
 " Indifferent, my dear sir," returned Mr. Micawber, sighing. 
 
 " You must keep up your spirits," said Mr. Dick, " and 
 make yourself as comfortable as possible." 
 
 Mr. Micawber was quite overcome by these friendly words, 
 and by finding Mr. Dick's hand again within his own. " It 
 has been my lot," he observed, "to meet, in the diversified 
 panorama of human existence, with an occasional oasis, but 
 never with one so green, so gushing, as the present ! " 
 
 At another time I should have been amused by this ; but I 
 felt that we were all constrained and uneasy, and I watched 
 Mr. Micawber so anxiously, in his vacillations between an 
 evident disposition to reveal something, and a counter-dispo- 
 sition to reveal nothing, that I was in a perfect fever. Trad- 
 dies, sitting on the edge of his chair, with his eyes wide open, 
 and his hair more emphatically erect than ever, stared by 
 turns at the ground and at Mr. Micawber, without so much as 
 attempting to put in a word. My aunt, though I saw that 
 her shrewdest observation was concentrated on her new guest, 
 had more useful possession of her wits than either of us; 
 for she held him in conversation, and made it necessary for 
 him to talk, whether he liked it or not. 
 
 " You are a very old friend of my nephew's, Mr. Micawber," 
 said my aunt. " I wish I had had the pleasure of seeing you 
 before." 
 
 " Madam," returned Mr. Micawber, " I wish I had had the 
 honor of knowing you at an earlier period. I was not always 
 the wreck you at present behold." 
 
 " I hope Mrs. Micawber and your family are well, sir," said 
 my aunt. 
 
 Mr. Micawber inclined his head. "They are as well, 
 ma'am," he desperately observed, after a pause, "as Aliens 
 and Outcasts can ever hope to be." 
 
 " Lord bless you, sir ! " exclaimed my aunt in her abrupt 
 way. " What are you talking about ? " 
 
298 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 "The subsistence of my family, ma'am/' returned Mr. 
 Mieawber, " trembles in the balance. My employer " 
 
 Here Mr. Micawber provokingly left off ; and began to peel 
 the lemons that had been under my directions set before him, 
 together with all the other appliances he used in making punch. 
 
 "Your employer, you know," said Mr. Dick, jogging his arm 
 as a gentle reminder. 
 
 "My good sir," returned Mr. Micawber, "yon recall me. I 
 am obliged to you." They shook hands again. " My employer, 
 ma'am Mr. Heep once did me the favor to observe to me, 
 that if I were not in the receipt of the stipendiary emoluments 
 appertaining to my engagement with him, I should probably 
 be a mountebank about the country, swallowing a sword-blade, 
 and eating the devouring element. For anything that I can 
 perceive to the contrary, it is still probable that my children 
 may be reduced to seek a livelihood by personal contortion, 
 while Mrs. Micawber abets their unnatural feats, by playing 
 the barrel-organ." 
 
 Mr. Micawber, with a random but expressive flourish of his 
 knife, signified that these performances might be expected to 
 take place after he was no more ; then resumed his peeling 
 with a desperate air. 
 
 My aunt leaned her elbow on the little round table that she 
 usually kept beside her, and eyed him attentively. Notwith- 
 standing the aversion with which I regarded the idea of 
 entrapping him into any disclosure he was not prepared to 
 make voluntarily, I should have taken him up at this point, 
 but for the strange proceedings in which I saw him engaged ; 
 whereof his putting the lemon-peel into the kettle, the sugar 
 into the snuffer-tray, the spirit into the empty jug, and confi- 
 dently attempting to pour boiling water out of a candlestick, 
 were among the most remarkable. I saw that a crisis was at 
 hand, and it came. He clattered all his means and implements 
 together, rose from his chair, pulled out his pocket-handker- 
 chief, and burst into tears. 
 
 " My dear Copperfield," said Mr. Micawber, behind his hand- 
 kerchief, "this is an occupation, of all others, requiring an 
 untroubled mind, and self-respect. I cannot perform it. It is 
 out of the question." 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 299 
 
 " Mr. Micawber," said I, " what is the matter ? Pray speak 
 out. You are among friends." 
 
 "Among friends, sir!" repeated Mr. Micawber; and all he 
 had reserved came breaking out of him. " Good heavens, it is 
 principally because I am among friends that my state of mind 
 is what it is. What is the matter, gentlemen ? What is not 
 the matter ? Villany is the matter ; baseness is the matter ; 
 deception, fraud, conspiracy, are the matter ; and the name of 
 the whole atrocious mass is HEEP ! " 
 
 My aunt clapped her hands, and we all started up as if we 
 were possessed. 
 
 " The struggle is over ! " said Mr. Micawber, violently 
 gesticulating with his pocket-handkerchief, and fairly striking 
 out from time to time with both arms, as if he were swimming 
 under superhuman difficulties. " I will lead this life no longer. 
 I am a wretched being, cut off from everything that makes life 
 tolerable. I have been under a Taboo in that infernal scoun- 
 drel's service. Give me back my wife, give me back my family, 
 substitute Micawber for the petty wretch who walks about in 
 the boots at present on my feet, and call upon me to swallow a 
 sword to-morrow, and I'll do it. With an appetite ! " 
 
 I never saw a man so hot in my life. I tried to calm him, 
 that we might come to something rational ; but he got hotter 
 and hotter, and wouldn't hear a word. 
 
 " I'll put my hand in no man's hand," said Mr. Micawber, 
 gasping, puffing, and sobbing, to that degree, that he was like 
 a man fighting with cold water, "until I have blown to 
 fragments the a detestable serpent HEEP ! I'll par- 
 take of no one's hospitality, until I have a moved Mount 
 Vesuvius to eruption on a the abandoned rascal 
 HEEP! Refreshment a underneath this roof particu- 
 larly punch would a choke me unless I had pre- 
 viously choked the eyes out of the head a of 
 interminable cheat, and liar HEEP ! I a I'll know 
 nobody and a say nothing and a live nowhere 
 until I have crushed to a undiscoverable atoms the 
 transcendent and immortal hypocrite and perjurer HEEP ! " 
 
 I really had some fear of Mr. Micawber's dying on the spot. 
 The manner in which he struggled through these inarticulate 
 
300 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 sentences, and, whenever he found himself getting near the 
 name of Heep, fought his way on to it, dashed at it in a faint- 
 ing state, and brought it out with a vehemence little less than 
 marvellous, was frightful ; but now, when he sank into a chair, 
 steaming, and looked at us, with every possible color in his 
 face that had no business there, and an endless procession of 
 lumps following one another in hot haste up his throat, 
 whence they seemed to shoot into his forehead, he had the 
 appearance of being in the last extremity. I would have gone 
 to his assistance, but he waived me off, and wouldn't hear a 
 word. 
 
 " No, Copperfield ! No communication a until Miss 
 Wickfield a redress from wrongs inflicted by consummate 
 scoundrel HEEP ! " (I am quite convinced he could not 
 have uttered three words, but for the amazing energy with 
 which this word inspired him when he felt it coming.) " Invio- 
 lable secret a from the whole world a no exceptions 
 
 this day week a at breakfast time a everybody 
 present including aunt a and extremely friendly gentle- 
 man to be at the hotel at Canterbury a where Mrs. 
 Micawber and myself Auld Lang Syne in chorus and a 
 
 will expose intolerable ruffian HEEP ! No more to say a 
 
 or listen to persuasion go immediately not capable 
 a bear society upon the track of devoted and doomed 
 traitor HEEP ! " 
 
 With this last repetition of the magic word that had kept 
 him going at all, and in which he surpassed all his previous 
 efforts, Mr. Micawber rushed out of the house ; leaving us in 
 a state of excitement, hope, and wonder, that reduced us to a 
 condition little better than his own. But even then his 
 passion for writing letters was too strong to be resisted ; for 
 while we were yet in the height of our excitement, hope, and 
 wonder, the following pastoral note was brought to me from a 
 neighboring tavern, at which he had called to write it : 
 
 " Most secret and confidential. 
 "MY DEAR SIR, 
 
 " I beg to be allowed to convey, through you, my 
 apologies to your excellent aunt for my late excitement. An 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 301 
 
 explosion of a smouldering volcano long suppressed, was the 
 result of an internal contest more easily conceived than 
 described. 
 
 "I trust I rendered tolerably intelligible my appointment 
 for the morning of this day week, at the house of public 
 entertainment at Canterbury, where Mrs. Micawber and myself 
 had once the honor of uniting our voices to yours, in the well- 
 known strain of the Immortal exciseman nurtured beyond the 
 Tweed. 
 
 " The duty done, and act of reparation performed, which can 
 alone enable me to contemplate my fellow mortal, I shall be 
 known no more. I shall simply require to be deposited in 
 that place of universal resort, where 
 
 " ' Each in Ms narrow cell for ever laid, 
 
 " 'The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep,' 
 
 " With the plain Inscription, 
 
 MICAWBER." 
 
302 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 MB. PEGGOTTY'S DREAM COMES TRUE. 
 
 BY this time, some months had passed since our interview 
 on the bank of the river with Martha. I had never seen her 
 since, but she had communicated with Mr. Peggotty on several 
 occasions. Nothing had come of her zealous intervention ; 
 nor could I infer, from what he told me, that any clue had 
 ever been obtained, for a moment, to Emily's fate. I confess 
 that I began to despair of her recovery, and gradually to sink 
 deeper and deeper into the belief that she was dead. 
 
 His conviction remained unchanged. So far as I know 
 and I believe his honest heart was transparent to me he 
 never wavered again, in his solemn certainty of finding her. 
 His patience never tired. And, although I trembled for the 
 agony it might one day be to him to have his strong assurance 
 shivered at a blow, there was something so religious in it, so 
 affectingly expressive of its anchor being in the purest depths 
 of his fine nature, that the respect and honor in which I held 
 him were exalted every day. 
 
 His was not a lazy trustfulness that hoped, and did no more. 
 He had been a man of sturdy action all his life, and he knew 
 that in all things wherein he wanted help he must do his own 
 part faithfully, and help himself. I have known him set out 
 in the night, on a misgiving that the light might not be, by 
 some accident, in the window of the old boat, and walk to 
 Yarmouth. I have known him, on reading something in the 
 newspaper, that might apply to her, take up his stick, and go 
 forth on a journey of three or four score miles. He made his 
 way by sea to Naples, and back, after hearing the narrative 
 to which Miss Dartle had assisted me. All his journeys were 
 ruggedly performed ; for he was always steadfast in a purpose 
 of saving money for Emily's sake, when she should be found. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 303 
 
 In all this long pursuit, I never heard him repine; I never 
 heard him say he was fatigued, or out of heart. 
 
 Dora had often seen him since our marriage, and was quite 
 fond of him. I fancy his figure before me now, standing near 
 her sofa, with his rough cap in his hand, and the blue eyes of 
 my child-wife raised, with a timid wonder, to his face. Some- 
 times of an evening, about twilight, when he came to talk 
 with me, I would induce him to smoke his pipe in the garden, 
 as we slowly paced to and fro together ; and then, the picture 
 of his deserted home, and the comfortable air it used to have in 
 my childish eyes of an evening when the fire was burning, and 
 the wind moaning round it, came most vividly into my mind. 
 
 One evening, at this hour, he told me that he had found 
 Martha waiting near his lodging on the preceding night when 
 he came out, and that she had asked him not to leave London 
 on any account, until he should have seen her again. 
 
 "Did she tell you why ? " I inquired. 
 
 " I asked her, Mas'r Davy," he replied, " but it is but few 
 words as she ever says, and she on'y got my promise and so 
 went away." 
 
 " Did she say when you might expect to see her again ? " 
 I demanded. 
 
 " No, Mas'r Davy," he returned, drawing his hand thought- 
 fully down his face. " I asked that too ; but it was more (she 
 said) than she could tell." 
 
 As I had long forborne to encourage him with hopes that 
 hung on threads, I made no other comment on this information 
 than that I supposed he would see her soon. Such specula- 
 tions as it engendered within me I kept to myself, and those 
 were faint enough. 
 
 I was walking alone in the garden, one evening, about a 
 fortnight afterwards. I remember that evening well. It was 
 the second in Mr. Micawber's week of suspense. There had 
 been rain all day, and there was a damp feeling in the air. 
 The leaves were thick upon the trees, and heavy with wet ; 
 but the rain had ceased, though the sky was still dark ; and 
 the hopeful birds were singing cheerfully. As I walked to 
 and fro in the garden, and the twilight began to close around 
 me, their little voices were hushed ; and that peculiar silence 
 
104 
 
 which belongs to such an evening in the country when the 
 lightest trees are quite still, save for the occasional droppings 
 from their boughs, prevailed. 
 
 There was a little green perspective of trellis-work and ivy 
 at the side of our cottage, through which I could see, from the 
 garden where I was walking, into the road before the house. 
 I happened to turn my eyes towards this place, as I was think- 
 ing of many things ; and I saw a figure beyond, dressed in a 
 plain cloak. It was bending eagerly towards me, and beckoning. 
 
 " Martha ! " said I, going to it. 
 
 " Can you come with me ? " she inquired, in an agitated 
 whisper. "I have been to him, and he is not at home. I 
 wrote down where he was to come, and left it on his table 
 with my own hand. They said he would not be out long. I 
 have tidings for him. Can you corne directly ? " 
 
 My answer was to pass out at the gate immediately. She 
 made a hasty gesture with her hand, as if to entreat my pa- 
 tience and my silence, and turned towards London, whence, 
 as her dress betokened, she had come expeditiously on foot. 
 
 I asked her if that were not our destination ? On her 
 motioning Yes, with the same hasty gesture as before, I 
 stopped an empty coach that was coming by, and we got into 
 it. When I asked her where the coachman was to drive, she 
 answered "Anywhere near Golden Square! And quick!" 
 then shrunk into a corner, with one trembling hand before 
 her face, and the other making the former gesture, as if she 
 could not bear a voice. 
 
 Now much disturbed, and dazzled with conflicting gleams 
 of hope and dread, I looked at her for some explanation. 
 But, seeing how strongly she desired to remain quiet, and 
 feeling that it was my own natural inclination too, at such a 
 time, I did not attempt to . break the silence. We proceeded 
 without a word being spoken. Sometimes she glanced out of 
 the window, as though she thought we were going slowly, 
 though indeed we were going fast; but otherwise remained 
 exactly as at first. 
 
 We alighted at one of the entrances to the Square she had 
 mentioned, where I directed the coach to wait, not knowing 
 but that we might have some occasion for it. She laid her 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 305 
 
 hand on my arm, and hurried me on to one of the sombre 
 streets, of which there are several in that part, where the 
 houses were once fair dwellings in the occupation of single 
 families, but have, and had, long degenerated into poor lodg- 
 ings let off in rooms. Entering at the open door of one of 
 these, and releasing my arm, she beckoned me to follow her 
 up the common staircase, which was like a tributary channel 
 to the street. 
 
 The house swarmed with inmates. As we went up, doors 
 of rooms were opened and people's heads put out; and we 
 passed other people on. the stairs, who were coming down. 
 In glancing up from the outside, before we entered, I had 
 seen women and children lolling at the windows over flower- 
 pots ; and we seemed to have attracted their curiosity, fbr 
 these were principally the observers who looked out of their 
 doors. It was a broad panelled staircase, with massive 
 balustrades of some dark wood ; cornices above the doors, 
 ornamented with carved fruit and flowers ; and broad seats in 
 the windows. But all these tokens of past grandeur were 
 miserably decayed and dirty ; rot, damp, and age, had weak- 
 ened the flooring, which in many places was unsound and 
 even unsafe. Some attempts had been made, I noticed, to 
 infuse new blood into this dwindling frame, by repairing the 
 costly old wood-work here and there with common deal ; but 
 it was like the marriage of a reduced old noble to a plebeian 
 pauper, and each party to the ill-assorted union shrunk away 
 from the other. Several of the back windows on the staircase 
 had been darkened or wholly blocked up. In those that re- 
 mained, there was scarcely any glass ; and, through the crum- 
 bling frames by which the bad air seemed always to come in, 
 and never to go out, I saw, through other glassless windows, 
 into other houses in a similar condition, and looked giddily 
 down into a wretched yard, which was the common dust-heap 
 of the mansion. 
 
 We proceeded to the top-story of the house. Two or three 
 times, by the way, I thought I observed in the indistinct light 
 the skirts of a female figure going up before us. As we 
 turned to ascend the last flight of stairs between us and 
 the roof, we caught a full view of this figure, pausing for a 
 VOL. n 20 
 
306 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 moment, at a door. Then it turned the handle, and went 
 in. 
 
 " What's this ! " said Martha, in a whisper. " She has 
 gone into my room. I don't know her ! " 
 / knew her. I had recognized her with amazement, for 
 Miss Dartle. 
 
 I said something to the effect that it was a lady whom I 
 had seen before, in a few words, to my conductress ; and had 
 scarcely done so when we heard her voice in the room, though 
 not, from where we stood, what she was saying. Martha, with 
 an astonished look, repeated her former action, and softly 
 led me up the stairs ; and then, by a little back door which 
 seemed to have no lock, and which she pushed open with a 
 touch, into a small empty garret with a low sloping roof : little 
 better than a cupboard. Between this, and the room she had 
 called hers, there was a small door of communication, standing 
 partly open. Here we stopped, breathless with our ascent, 
 and she placed her hand lightly on my lips. I could only see, 
 of the room beyond, that it was pretty large ; that there was 
 a bed in it ; and that there were some common pictures of ships 
 upon the walls. I could not see Miss Dartle or the person 
 whom we had heard her address. Certainly, my companion 
 could not, for my position was the best. 
 
 A dead silence prevailed for some moments. Martha kept 
 one hand on my lips, and raised the other in a listening atti- 
 tude. 
 
 " It matters little to me her not being at home," said Eosa 
 Dartle, haughtily, " I know nothing of her. It is you I come 
 to see." 
 
 " Me ? " replied a soft voice. 
 
 At the sound of it, a thrill went through my frame. For it 
 was Emily's ! 
 
 "Yes," returned Miss Dartle, "I have come to look at you. 
 What ? You are not ashamed of the face that has done so 
 much ? " 
 
 The resolute and unrelenting hatred of her tone, its cold 
 stern sharpness, and its mastered rage, presented her before 
 me, as if I had seen her standing in the light. I saw the flashing 
 black eyes, and the passion- wasted figure ; and I saw the scar, 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIEL'D. 307 
 
 with its white track cutting through her lips, quivering and 
 throbbing as she spoke. 
 
 " I have come to see," she said, " James Steerf orth's fancy ; 
 the girl who ran away with him, and is the town-talk of the 
 commonest people of her native place; the bold, flaunting, 
 practised companion of persons like James Steerforth. I want 
 to know what such a thing is like." 
 
 There was a rustle, as if the unhappy girl, on whom she 
 heaped these taunts, ran towards the door, and the speaker 
 swiftly interposed herself before it. It was succeeded by a 
 moment's pause. 
 
 When Miss Dartle spoke again, it was through her set teeth, 
 and with a stamp upon the ground. 
 
 " Stay there ! " she said, " or I'll proclaim you to the house, 
 and the whole street ! If you try to evade me, I'll stop you, if 
 it's by the hair, and raise the very stones against you ! " 
 
 A frightened murmur was the only reply that reached my 
 ears. A silence succeeded. I did not know what to do. 
 Much as I desired to put an end to the interview, I felt that I 
 had no right to present myself ; that it was for Mr. Peggotty 
 alone to see her and recover her. Would he never come ? I 
 thought impatiently. 
 
 " So ! " said Kosa Dartle, with a contemptuous laugh, 
 " I see her at last ! Why, he was a poor creature to be 
 taken by that delicate mock-modesty, and that hanging 
 head!" " 
 
 " Oh, for Heaven's sake, spare me ! " exclaimed Emily. " Who- 
 ever you are, you know my pitiable story, and for Heaven's sake 
 spare me, if you would be spared yourself ! " 
 
 "If 1 would be spared!" returned the other fiercely; "what 
 is there in common between us, do you think ? " 
 
 " Nothing but our sex," said Emily, with a burst of tears. 
 
 "And that," said Rosa Dartle, "is so strong a claim, preferred 
 by one so infamous, that if I had any feeling in my breast but 
 scorn and abhorrence of you, it would freeze it up. Our sex ! 
 You are an honor to our sex ! " 
 
 " I have deserved this," cried Emily, " but it's dreadful. Dear, 
 dear lady, think what I have suffered, and how I am fallen ! 
 Oh, Martha, come back ! Oh, home, home ! " 
 
308 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 Miss Dartle placed herself in a chair, within view of the door, 
 and looked downward, as if Emily were crouching on the floor 
 before her. Being now between me and the light, I could see 
 her curled lip, and her cruel eyes intently fixed on one place, 
 with a greedy triumph. 
 
 " Listen to what I say ! " she said ; " and reserve your false 
 arts for your dupes. Do you hope to move me by your tears ? 
 No more than you could charm me by your smiles, you pur- 
 chased slave." 
 
 " Oh, have some mercy on me ! " cried Emily. " Show me 
 some compassion, or I shall die mad ! " 
 
 "It would be no great penance," said Rosa Dartle, "for your 
 crimes. Do you know what you have done ? Do you ever 
 think of the home you have laid waste ? " 
 
 " Oh, is there ever, night or day, when I don't think of it ! " 
 cried Emily; and now I could just see her, on her knees, 
 with her head thrown back, her pale face looking upward, her 
 hands wildly clasped and held out, and her hair streaming 
 about her. " Has there ever been a single minute, waking or 
 sleeping, when it hasn't been before me, just as it used to be- 
 in the lost days when I turned my back upon it for ever and 
 for ever ! Oh, home, home ! Oh, dear, dear uncle, if you- ever 
 could have known the agony your love would cause me when 
 I fell away from good, you never would have shown it to me 
 so constant, much as you felt it ; but would have been angry 
 to me, at least once in my life, that I might have had some 
 comfort ! I have none, none, no comfort upon earth, for all 
 of them were always fond of me ! " She dropped on her face, 
 before the imperious figure in the chair, with an imploring 
 effort to clasp the skirt of her dress. 
 
 Eosa Dartle sat looking down upon her, as inflexible as a 
 figure of brass. Her lips were tightly compressed, as if she 
 knew that she must keep a strong constraint upon herself I 
 write what I sincerely believe or she would be tempted to 
 strike the beautiful form with her foot. I saw her, distinctly, 
 and the whole power of her face and character seemed forced 
 into that expression. Would he never come ? 
 
 " The miserable vanity of these earth-worms ! " she said, 
 when she had so far controlled the angry heavings of her 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 309 
 
 breast, that she could trust herself to speak. " Your home ! 
 Do you imagine that I bestow a thought on it, or suppose you 
 could do any harm to that low place, which money would not 
 pay for, and handsomely ? Your home ! You were a part of 
 the trade of your home, and were bought and sold like any 
 other vendible thing your people dealt in." 
 
 " Oh, not that ! " cried Emily. " Say anything of me ; but 
 don't visit my disgrace and shame, more than I have done, on 
 folks who are as honorable as you ! Have some respect for 
 them, as you are a lady, if you have no mercy for me." 
 
 " I speak," she said, not deigning to take any heed of this 
 appeal, and drawing away her dress from the contamination 
 of Emily's touch, "I speak of his home where I live. Here," 
 she said, stretching out her hand with her contemptuous laugh, 
 and looking down upon the prostrate girl, " is a worthy cause 
 of division between lady-mother and gentleman-son ; of grief 
 in a house where she wouldn't have been admitted as a kitchen- 
 girl ; of anger, and repining, an'd reproach. This piece of pol- 
 lution, picked up from the water-side, to be made much of for 
 an hour, and then tossed back to her original place ! " 
 
 " No ! no ! " cried Emily, clasping her hands together. 
 " When he first came into my way that the day had never 
 dawned upon me, and he had met me being carried to my 
 grave ! I had been brought up as virtuous as you or any 
 lady, and was going to be the wife of as good a man as you 
 or any lady in the world can ever marry. If you live in his 
 home and know him, you know perhaps, what his power with 
 a weak, vain girl might be. I don't defend myself, but I know- 
 well, and he knows well, or he will know when he comes to 
 die, and his mind is troubled with it, that he used all his 
 power to deceive me, and that I believed him, trusted him, 
 and loved him ! " 
 
 Eosa Dartle sprang up from her seat; recoiled; and in 
 recoiling struck at her, with a face of such malignity, so dark- 
 ened and disfigured by passion, that I had almost thrown 
 myself between them. The blow, which had no aim, fell upon 
 the air. As she now stood panting, looking at her with the 
 utmost detestation that she was capable of expressing, and 
 trembling from head to foot with rage and scorn, I thought 
 
310 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 I had never seen such a sight, and never could see such 
 another. 
 
 " You love him ? You?" she cried, with her clenched hand, 
 quivering as if it only wanted a weapon to stab the object of 
 her wrath. 
 
 Emily had shrunk out of my view. There was no reply. 
 
 "And tell that to me," she added, "with your shameful 
 lips ? Why don't they whip these creatures ! If I could order 
 it to be done, I would have this girl whipped to death." 
 
 And so she would, I have no doubt. I would not have 
 trusted her with the rack itself, while that furious look lasted. 
 
 She slowly, very slowly, broke into a laugh, and pointed at 
 Emily with her hand, as if she were a sight of shame for gods 
 and men. 
 
 " She love ! " she said. " That carrion ! And he ever cared 
 for her, she'd tell me ? Ha, ha ! The liars that these traders 
 are ! " 
 
 Her mockery was worse than her undisguised rage. Of the 
 two, I would have much preferred to be the object of the 
 latter. But, when she suffered it to break loose, it was only 
 for a moment. She had chained it up again, and, however it 
 might tear her within, she subdued it to herself. 
 
 " I am here, you pure fountain of love," she said, " to see 
 as I began by telling you what such a thing as you was 
 like. I was curious. I am satisfied. Also to tell you, that 
 you had best seek that home of yours, with all speed, and 
 hide your head among those excellent people who are expect- 
 ing you, and whom your money will console. When it's all 
 gone, you can believe, and trust, and love again, you know! 
 I thought you a broken toy that had lasted its time ; a worth- 
 less spangle that was tarnished, and thrown away. But, find- 
 ing you true gold, a very lady, and an ill-used innocent, with 
 a fresh heart full of love and trustfulness which you look 
 like, and is quite consistent with your story ! I have some- 
 thing more to say. Attend to it ; for what I say, I'll do. Do 
 you hear me, you fairy spirit ? What I say, I mean to do ! " 
 
 Her rage got the better of her again, for a moment ; but it 
 passed over her face like a spasm, and left her smiling. 
 
 " Hide yourself," she pursued, " if not at home, somewhere. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 311 
 
 Let it be somewhere beyond reach ; in some obscure life or, 
 
 better still, in some obscure death. I wonder, if your loving 
 heart will not break, you have found no way of helping it to 
 be still ! I have heard of such means sometimes. I believe 
 they may be easily found." 
 
 A low crying on the part of Emily, interrupted her here. 
 She stopped, and listened to it as if it were music. 
 
 " I am of a strange nature, perhaps/ 7 Eosa Dartle went on ; 
 " but I can't breathe freely in the air you breathe. I find it 
 sickly. Therefore, I will have it cleared ; I will have it puri- 
 fied of you. If you live here to-morrow, I'll have your story 
 and your character proclaimed on the common stair. There 
 are decent women in the house, I am told ; and it is a pity 
 such a light as you should be among them, and concealed. If, 
 leaving here, you seek any refuge in this town in any charac- 
 ter but your true one (which you are welcome to bear, without 
 molestation from me) ; the same service shall be done you, if 
 I hear of your retreat. Being assisted by a gentleman who 
 not long ago aspired to the favor of your hand, I am sanguine 
 as to that." 
 
 Would he never, never come ? How long was I to bear 
 this ? How long could I bear it ? 
 
 " Oh me, oh me ! " exclaimed the wretched Emily, in a tone 
 that might have touched the hardest heart, I should have 
 thought j but there was no relenting in Kosa Dartle's smile. 
 " What, what, shall I do ! " 
 
 " Do ? ' ; returned the other. " Live happy in your own 
 reflections ! Consecrate your existence to the recollection of 
 James Steerforth's tenderness he would have made you his 
 serving-man's wife, would he not ? or to feeling grateful to 
 the upright and deserving creature who would have taken you 
 as his gift. Or, if those proud remembrances, and the con- 
 sciousness of your own virtues, and the honorable position to 
 which they have raised you in the eyes of everything that 
 wears the human shape, will not sustain you, marry that good 
 man, and be happy in his condescension. If this will not do 
 either, die ! ' There are doorways and dust-heaps for such 
 deaths, and such despair find one, and take your flight to 
 Heaven ! " 
 
312 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 I heard a distant foot upon the stairs. I knew it, I was cer- 
 tain. It was his, thank God ! 
 
 She moved slowly from before the door when she said this, 
 and passed out of my sight. 
 
 " But mark ! " she added, slowly and sternly, opening the 
 other door to go away, " I am resolved, for reasons that I 
 have and hatreds that I entertain, to cast you out, unless you 
 withdraw from my reach altogether, or drop your pretty mask. 
 This is what I had to say ; and what I say, I mean to do ! " 
 
 The foot upon the stairs came nearer nearer passed her 
 as she went down rushed into the room ! 
 
 Uncle ! " 
 
 A fearful cry followed the word. I paused a moment, and 
 looking in, saw him supporting her insensible figure in his 
 arms. He gazed for a few seconds in the face ; then stooped 
 to kiss it oh, how tenderly ! and drew a handkerchief be- 
 fore it. 
 
 " Mas'r Davy," he said, in a low tremulous voice, when it 
 was covered, "I thank my Heav'nly Father as my dream's 
 come true ! I thank Him hearty for having guided of me, in 
 His own ways, to my darling ! " 
 
 With those words he took her up in his arms ; and, with 
 the veiled face lying on his bosom, and addressed towards his 
 own, carried her, motionless and unconscious, down the stairs. 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 313 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE BEGINNING OF A LONGER JOURNEY. 
 
 IT was yet early in the morning of the following day, when, 
 as I was walking in my garden with my aunt (who took little 
 other exercise now, being so much in attendance on my dear 
 Dora), I was told that Mr. Peggotty desired to speak with 
 me. He came into the garden to meet me half-way, on my 
 going towards the gate ; and bared his head as it was always 
 his custom to do when he saw my aunt, for whom he had a 
 high respect. I had been telling her all that had happened 
 over-night. Without saying a word, she walked up with a 
 cordial face, shook hands with him, and patted him on the 
 arm. It was so expressively done, that she had no need to 
 say a word. Mr. Peggotty understood her quite as well as if 
 she had said a thousand. 
 
 " I'll go in now, Trot," said my aunt, " and look after Little 
 Blossom, who will be getting up presently." 
 
 " Not along of my being heer, ma'am, I hope ? " said Mr. 
 Peggotty. "Unless my wits is gone a band's neezing" by 
 which Mr. Peggotty meant to say, bird's nesting "this 
 morning, 'tis along of me as you're a going to quit us ? " 
 
 "You have something to say, my good friend," returned my 
 aunt, " and will do better without me." 
 
 " By your leave, ma'am," returned Mr. Peggotty, " I should 
 take it kind, pervising you doen't mind my clicketten, if you'd 
 bide heer." 
 
 "Would you?" said my aunt, with short good-nature. 
 " Then 1 am sure I will ! " 
 
 So, she drew her arm through Mr. Peggotty's, and walked 
 with him to a leafy little summer-house there was at the bot- 
 tom of the garden, where she sat down on a bench, and I 
 beside her. There was a seat for Mr. Peggotty too, but he 
 preferred to stand, leaning his hand on the small rustic table. 
 
314 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 As lie stood, looking at his cap for a little while before begin- 
 ning to speak, I could not help observing what power and 
 force of character his sinewy hand expressed, and what a good 
 and trusty companion it was to his honest brow and iron-gray 
 hair. 
 
 "I took my dear child away last night," Mr. Peggotty 
 began, as he raised his eyes to ours, "to my lodging, wheer I 
 have a long time been expecting of her and preparing fur her. 
 It was hours afore she knowed me right ; and when she did, 
 she kneeled down at my feet, and kiender said to me, as if it 
 was her prayers, how it all come to be. You may believe me, 
 when I heerd her voice, as I had heerd at home so playful 
 and see her humbled, as it might be, in the dust our Saviour 
 wrote in with his blessed hand I felt a wownd go to my 'art, 
 in the midst of all its thankfulness." 
 
 He drew his sleeve across his face, without any pretence of 
 concealing why ; and then cleared his voice. 
 
 " It warn't for long as I felt that ; for she was found. I 
 had on'y to think as she was found, and it was gone. I doeii't 
 know why I do so much as mention of it now, I'm sure. I 
 didn't have it in my mind a minute ago, to say a word about 
 myself ; but it come up so nat'ral, that I yielded to it afore I 
 
 was aweer." 
 
 "You are a self-denying soul," said my aunt, "and will 
 have your reward." 
 
 Mr. Peggotty, with the shadows of the leaves playing 
 athwart his face, made a surprised inclination of the head 
 towards my aunt, as an acknowledgment of her good opinion ; 
 then, took up the thread he had relinquished. 
 
 "When my Em'ly took flight," he said, in stern wrath for 
 the moment, " from the house wheer she was made a pris'ner 
 by that theer spotted snake as Mas'r Davy see, and his 
 story's trew, and may GOD confound him ! she took flight in 
 the night. It was a dark night, with a many stars a shining. 
 She was wild. She ran along the sea beach, believing the old 
 boat was theer ; and calling out to us to turn away our faces, 
 for she was a coming by. She heerd herself a crying out, like as 
 if it was another person ; and cut herself on them sharp-pinted 
 stones and rocks, and felt it no more than if she had been rock 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 315 
 
 herself. Ever so fur she run, and there was fire afore her 
 eyes and roarings in her ears. Of a sudden or so she thowt, 
 you unnerstand the day broke, wet and windy, and she was 
 lying b'low a heap of stone upon the shore, and a woman was 
 a speaking to her, saying, in the language of that country, 
 what was it as had gone so much amiss ? ?; 
 
 He saw everything he related. It passed before him, as he 
 spoke, so vividly, that, in the intensity of his earnestness, he 
 presented what he described to me with greater distinctness 
 than I can express. I can hardly believe, writing now long 
 afterwards, but that I was actually present in these scenes ; they 
 are impressed upon me with such an astonishing air of fidelity. 
 
 "As Em'ly's eyes which was heavy see this woman 
 better," Mr. Peggotty went on, " she know'd as she was one 
 of them as she had often talked to on the beach. Fur, though 
 she had run (as I have said) ever so fur in the night, she had 
 oftentimes wandered long ways, partly afoot, partly in boats 
 and carriages, and know'd all that country, 'long the coast, 
 miles and miles. She hadn't no children of her own, this 
 woman, being a young wife ; but she was a looking to have one 
 afore long. And may my prayers go up to Heaven that 'twill 
 be a happ'ness to her, and a comfort, and a honor, all her life ! 
 May it love her and be dootiful to her, in her old age ; helpful 
 of her at the last ; a Angel to her heer, and heerafter ! " 
 
 " Amen ! " said my aunt. 
 
 " She had been summat timorous and down," said Mr. 
 Peggotty, " and had sat, at first, a little way off, at her 
 spinning, or such work as it was, when Em'ly talked to the 
 children. But Em'ly had took notice of her, and had gone 
 and spoke to her ; and as the young woman was partial to the 
 children herself, they had soon made friends. Sermuchser, 
 that when Em'ly went that way, she always giv Em'ly flowers. 
 This was her as now asked what it was that had gone so much 
 amiss. Em'ly told her, and she took her home. She did 
 indeed. She took her home," said Mr. Peggotty, covering his 
 face. 
 
 He was more effected by this act of kindness, than I had 
 ever seen him affected by anything since the night she went 
 away. My aunt and I did not attempt to disturb him. 
 
316 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " It was a little cottage, you may suppose," he said, pres- 
 ently, " but she found space for Em'ly in it, her husband 
 was away at sea, and she kep it secret, and prevailed upon 
 such neighbors as she had (they was not many near) to keep 
 it secret too. Em'ly was took bad with fever, and what is 
 very strange to me is, maybe 'tis not so strange to scholars, 
 the language of that country went out of her head, and 
 she could only speak her own, that no one unnerstood. She 
 recollects, as if she had dreamed it that she lay there, always 
 a talking her own tongue, always believing as the old boat was 
 round the next pint in the bay, and begging and imploring of 
 ? em to send theer and tell how she was dying, and bring back 
 a message of forgiveness, if it was on'y a wured. A'most the 
 whole time, she thowt, now, that him as I made mention on 
 just now was lurking for her unnerneath the winder: now 
 that him as had brought her to this was in the room, and 
 cried to the good young woman not to give her up, and know'd 
 at the same time, that she couldn't unnerstand, and dreaded 
 that she must be took away. Likewise the fire was afore her 
 eyes, and the roarings in her ears ; and there was no to-day, 
 nor yesterday, nor yet to-morrow ; but everything in her life 
 as ever had been, or as ever could be, and everything as never 
 had been, and as never could be, was a crowding on her all at 
 once, and nothing clear nor welcome, and yet she sang and 
 laughed about it ! How long this lasted, I doen't know ; but 
 then there come a sleep ; and in that sleep, from being a many 
 times stronger than her own self, she fell into the weakness of 
 the littlest child." 
 
 Here he stopped, as if for relief from the terrors of his own 
 description. After being silent for a few moments, he pursued 
 his story. 
 
 " It was a pleasant afternoon when she awoke ; and so 
 quiet, that there warn't a sound but the rippling of that blue 
 sea without a tide, upon the shore. It was her belief, at first, 
 that she was at home upon a Sunday morning ; but, the vine 
 leaves as she see at the winder, and the hills beyond, warn't 
 home, and contradicted of her. Then, come in her friend, to 
 watch alongside of her bed ; and then she know'd as the old 
 boat warn't round that next pint in the bay no more, but was 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 317 
 
 fur off ; and know'd where she was, and why ; and broke out 
 a crying on that good young woman's bosom, wheer I hope 
 her baby is a lying now, a cheering of her with its pretty 
 eyes ! " 
 
 He could not speak of this good friend of Emily's without 
 a flow of tears. It was in vain to try. He broke down again, 
 endeavoring to bless her ! 
 
 " That done my Em'ly good," he resumed, after such emo- 
 tion as I could not behold without sharing in ; and as to my 
 aunt, she wept with all her heart ; " that done Em'ly good, 
 and she begun to mend. But, the language of that country 
 was quite gone from her, and she was forced to make signs. 
 So she went on, getting better from day to day, slow, but sure, 
 and trying to learn the names of common things names as 
 she seemed never to have heerd in all her life till one even- 
 ing come, when she was a setting at her window, looking at a 
 little girl at play upon the beach. And of a sudden this child 
 held out her hand, and said, what would be in English, ' Fish- 
 erman's daughter, here's a shell ! ' for you are to unnerstand 
 that they used at first to call her ' Pretty lady,' as the general 
 way in that country is, and that she had taught 'em to call 
 her ' Fisherman's daughter ' instead. The child says of a sud- 
 den, ' Fisherman's daughter, here's a shell ! ' Then Em'ly 
 unnerstands her ; and she answers, bursting out a crying j and 
 it all comes back ! 
 
 " When Em'ly got strong again," said Mr. Peggotty, after 
 another short interval of silence, "she cast about to leave that 
 good young creetur, and get to her own country. The hus- 
 band was come home, then; and the two together put her 
 aboard a small trader bound to Leghorn, and from that to 
 France. She had a little money, but it was less than little as 
 they would take for all they done. I'm a'most glad on it, 
 though they was so poor ! What they done, is laid up wheer 
 neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and wheer thieves do not 
 break through nor steal. Mas'r Davy, it'll outlast all the 
 treasure in the wureld. 
 
 "Em'ly got to France, and took service to wait on travel- 
 ling ladies at a inn in the port. Theer, theer come, one day, 
 that snake. Let him never come nigh me. I doen't know 
 
318 THE PERSONAL HI8TOEY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 what hurt I might do him ! Soon as she see him, without 
 him seeing her, all her fear and wildness returned upon her, 
 and she fled afore the very breath he draw'd. She come to 
 England, and was set ashore at Dover. 
 
 " I doen't know," said Mr. Peggotty, " for sure, when her 
 'art begun to fail her; but all the way to England she had 
 thowt to come to her dear home. Soon as she got to England 
 she turned her face tow'rds it. But, fear of not being forgiv, 
 fear of being pinted at, fear of some of us being dead along of 
 her, fear of many things, turned her from it, kiender by force, 
 upon the road : i Uncle, uncle,' she says to me, ' the fear of 
 not being worthy to do, what my torn and bleeding breast so 
 longed to do, was the most f right'ning fear of all ! I turned 
 back, when my 'art was full of prayers that I might crawl to 
 the old doorstep, in the night, kiss it, lay my wicked face 
 upon it, and theer be found dead in the morning/ 
 
 " She come," said Mr. Peggotty, dropping his voice to an 
 awe-stricken whisper, "to London. She as had never seen 
 it in her life alone without a penny young so pretty 
 come to London. A'most the moment as she lighted heer, 
 all so desolate, she found (as she believed) a friend ; a decent 
 woman as spoke to her about the needle-work as she had 
 been brought up to do, about finding plenty of it fur her, about 
 a lodging for the night, and making secret inquiration concern- 
 ing of me and all at home, to-morrow. When my child," he 
 said aloud, and with an energy of gratitude that shook him 
 from head to foot, " stood upon the brink of more than I can 
 say or think on Martha, trew to her promise, saved her ! " 
 
 I could not repress a cry of joy. 
 
 " Mas'r Davy ! " he said, griping my hand in that strong 
 hand of his, " it was you as first made mention of her to me. 
 I thankee, sir ! She was arnest. She had know'd of her bitter 
 knowledge wheer to Avatch and what to do. She had done it. 
 And the Lord was above all ! She come, white and hurried, 
 upon Em'ly in her sleep. She says to her, 'Rise up from 
 worse than death, and come with me ! ' Them belonging to 
 the house would have stopped her, but they might as soon have 
 stopped the sea. ' Stand away from me,' she says, ' I am a 
 ghost that calls her from beside her open grave ! ' She told 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 319 
 
 Em'ly she had seen me, and know'd I loved her, and forgiv 
 her. She wrapped her, hasty, in her clothes. She took her, 
 faint and trembling, on her arm. She heeded no more what 
 they said, than if she had had no ears. She walked among 
 'em with my child, minding only her ; and brought her safe 
 out, in the dead of the night, from that black pit of ruin ! 
 
 "She attended on Em'ly," said Mr. Peggotty, who had 
 released my hand, and put his own hand on his heaving 
 chest; "she attended to my Em'ly, lying wearied out, and 
 wandering betwixt whiles, till late next day. Then she went 
 in search of me; then in search of you, Mas'r Davy. She 
 didn't tell Em'ly what she come out fur, lest her 'art should 
 fail, and she should think of hiding of herself. How the 
 cruel lady know'd of her being theer, I can't say. Whether 
 him as I have spoke so much of, chanced to see 'em going 
 theer, or whether (which is most like to my thinking) he had 
 heerd it from the woman, I doen't greatly ask myself. My 
 niece is found. 
 
 "All night long," said Mr. Peggotty, "we have been 
 together, Em'ly and me. 'Tis little (considering the time) as 
 she has said, in wureds, through them broken-hearted tears ; 
 'tis less as I have seen of her dear face, as grow'd into a 
 woman's at my hearth. But, all night long, her arms has 
 been about my neck ; and her head was laid heer ; and we 
 knows full well, as we can put our trust in one another ever 
 more." 
 
 He ceased to speak, and his hand upon the table rested there 
 in perfect repose, with a resolution in it that might have con- 
 quered lions. 
 
 "It was a gleam of light upon me, Trot," said my aunt, 
 drying her eyes, " when I formed the resolution of being god- 
 mother to your sister Betsey Trotwood, who disappointed me ; 
 but, next to that, hardly anything would have given me greater 
 pleasure, than to be godmother to that good young creature's 
 baby ! " 
 
 Mr. Peggotty nodded his understanding of my aunt's feel- 
 ings, but could not trust himself with any verbal reference to 
 the subject of her commendation. We all remained silent, and 
 occupied with our own reflections (my aunt drying her eyes, 
 
320 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 and now sobbing convulsively, and now laughing and calling 
 herself a fool) ; until I spoke. 
 
 "You have quite made up your mind," said I to Mr. Peg- 
 gotty, " as to the future, good friend ? I need scarcely ask 
 you." 
 
 " Quite, Mas'r Davy," he returned ; " and told Em'ly, Theer's 
 mighty countries, fur from heer. Our future life lays over 
 the sea." 
 
 " They will emigrate together, aunt," said I. 
 
 "Yes !" said Mr. Peggotty, with a hopeful smile. "Xo one 
 can't reproach my darling in Australia. We will begin a new 
 life over theer ! " 
 
 I asked him if he yet proposed to himself any time for 
 going away. 
 
 "I was down at the Docks early this morning, sir," he 
 returned, "to get information concerning of them ships. In 
 about six weeks or two months from now, there'll be one sail- 
 ing I see her this morning went aboard and we shalJ 
 take our passage in her." 
 
 " Quite alone ? " I asked. 
 
 " Ay, Mas'r Davy ! " he returned. " My sister, you see, she's 
 that fond of you and yourn, and that accustomed to think on'y 
 of her own country, that it wouldn't be hardly fair to let her 
 go. Besides which, theer's one she has in charge, Mas'r Davy, 
 as doen't ought to be forgot." 
 
 "Poor Ham!" said I. 
 
 "My good sister takes care of his house, you see, ma'am, 
 and he takes kindly to her," Mr. Peggotty explained for my 
 aunt's better information. " He'll set and talk to her, with a 
 calm spirit, wen it's like he couldn't bring himself to open his 
 lips to another. Poor fellow ! " said Mr. Peggotty, shaking his 
 head, " theer's not so much left him, that he could spare the 
 little as he has ! " 
 
 " And Mrs. Gummidge ? " said I. 
 
 "Well, I've had a mort of con-sideration, I do tell you," 
 returned Mr. Peggotty, with a perplexed look which gradually 
 cleared as he went on, " concerning of Missis Gummidge. You 
 see. wen Missis Gummidge falls a thinking of the old 'un, she 
 an't what you may call good company. Betwixt you and me, 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 321 
 
 Mas'r Davy and you, ma'am wen Missis G-ummidge takes 
 to wimicking," our old county word for crying, "she's liar 
 ble to be considered to be, by them as didn't know the old 'un, 
 peevish-like. Now I did know the old 'un," said Mr. Peggotty, 
 "and I know'd his merits, so I unnerstan' her; but 'tan't, 
 entirely so, you see, with others nat'rally can't be !" 
 
 My aunt and I both acquiesced. 
 
 " Wheerby," said Mr. Peggotty, "my sister might I doen't 
 say she would, but might find Missis Gummidge give her a 
 leetle trouble iiow-and-again. Theerfur 'tan't my intentions to 
 moor Missis Grummidge 'long with them, but to find a Beein' fur 
 her wheer she can fisherate fur herself." (A Beein' signifies, 
 in that dialect, a home, and to fisherate is to provide.) " Fur 
 which purpose," said Mr. Peggotty, " I means to make her a 
 'lowance afore I go, as'll leave her pretty comfort'ble. She's 
 the faithfullest of creeturs. 'Tan't to be expected, of course, 
 at her time of life, and being lone and lorn, as the good 
 old Mawther is to be knocked about aboardship, and in the 
 woods and wilds of a new and fur-away country. So that's 
 what I'm a going to do with her" 
 
 He forgot nobody. He thought of everybody's claims and 
 strivings, but his own. 
 
 "Em'ly," he continued, "will keep along with me poor 
 child, she's sore in need of peace and rest ! until such time 
 as we goes upon our voyage. She'll work at them clothes, 
 as must be made ; and I hope her troubles will begin to seem 
 longer ago than they was, wen she finds herself once more by 
 her rough but loving uncle." 
 
 My aunt nodded confirmation of this hope, and imparted 
 great satisfaction to Mr. Peggotty. 
 
 "Theer's one thing furder, Mas'r Davy," said he, putting 
 his hand in his breast-pocket, and gravely taking out the little 
 paper bundle I had seen before, which he unrolled on the 
 table. " Theer's these heer bank-notes fifty pound, and ten. 
 To them I wish to add the money as she come away with. 
 I've asked her about that (but not saying why), and have 
 added of it up. I an't a scholar. Would you be so kind as 
 see how 'tis ? " 
 
 He handed me, apologetically for his scholarship, a piece of 
 
 VOL. II 21 
 
322 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 paper, and observed me while I looked it over. It was quite 
 right. 
 
 " Thankee, sir," he said, taking it back. " This money, if 
 you doen't see objections, Mas'r Davy, I shall put up jest afore 
 I go, in a cover d'rected to him ; and put that up in another 
 d'rected to his mother. I shall tell her, in no more wureds 
 than I speak to you, what it's the price on ; and that Fm gone, 
 and past receiving of it back." 
 
 I told him that I thought it would be right to do so that 
 I was thoroughly convinced it would be, since he felt it to be 
 right. 
 
 " I said that theer was ori'y one thing furder," he proceeded 
 with a grave smile, when he had made up his little bundle 
 again, and put it in his pocket ; " but theer was two. I warn't 
 sure in my mind, wen I come out this morning, as I could go 
 and break to Ham, of my own self, what had so thankfully 
 happened. So I writ a letter while I was out, and put it in 
 the post-office, telling of 'em how all was as 'tis ; and that I 
 should come down to-morrow to unload my mind of what lit- 
 tle needs a doing of down theer, and, most-like, take my fare- 
 well leave of Yarmouth." 
 
 " And do you wish me to go with you ? " said I, seeing that 
 he left something unsaid. 
 
 "If you could do me that kind favor, Mas'r Davy," he 
 replied, "I know the sight on you would cheer 'em up a bit." 
 
 My little Dora being in good spirits, and very desirous that 
 I should go as I found on talking it over with her I 
 readily pledged myself to accompany him in accordance with 
 his wish. Next morning consequently, we were on the Yar- 
 mouth coach, and again travelling over the old ground. 
 
 As we passed along the familiar street at night Mr. Peg- 
 gotty, in despite of all my remonstrances, carrying my bag 
 I glanced into Omer and Joram's shop, and saw my old friend 
 Mr. Omer there, smoking his pipe. I felt reluctant to be 
 present, when Mr. Peggotty first met his sister and Ham ; and 
 made Mr. Omer my excuse for lingering behind. 
 
 " How is Mr. Orner after this long time ? " said I, going in. 
 
 He fanned away the smoke of his pipe, that he might get a 
 better view of me, and soon recognized me with great delight. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 323 
 
 " I should get up, sir, to acknowledge such an honor as this 
 visit," said he, " only my limbs are rather out of sorts, and I 
 am wheeled about. With the exception of my limbs and my 
 breath, hows'ever, I am as hearty as a man can be, I'm thank- 
 ful to say." 
 
 I congratulated him on his contented looks and his good 
 spirits, and saw, now, that his easy chair went on wheels. 
 
 " It's an ingenious thing, ain't it ? " he inquired, following 
 the direction of my glance, and polishing the elbow with his 
 arm. " It runs as light as a feather, and tracks as true as a 
 mail-coach. Bless you, my little Minnie my grand-daughter 
 you know, Minnie's child puts her little strength against the 
 back, gives it a shove, and away we go, as clever and merry as 
 ever you see anything ! And I tell you what it's a most 
 uncommon chair to smoke a pipe in." 
 
 I never saw such a good old fellow to make the best of a 
 thing, and find out the enjoyment of it, as Mr. Omer. He 
 was as radiant, as if his chair, his asthma, and the failure of 
 his limbs, were the various branches of a great invention for 
 enhancing the luxury of a pipe. 
 
 "I see more of the world, I can assure you," said Mr. 
 Omer, "in this chair, than ever I see out of it. You'd be 
 surprised at the number of people that looks in of a day to 
 have a chat. You really would ! There's twice as much in 
 the newspaper, since I've taken to this chair, as there used to 
 be. As to general reading, dear me, what a lot of it I do get 
 through ! That's what I feel so strong, you know ! If it had 
 been my eyes, what should I have done ? If it had been my 
 ears, what should I have done ? Being my limbs, what does 
 it signify ? Why, my limbs only made my breath shorter 
 when I used 'em. And now, if I want to go out into the 
 street or down -to the sands, I've only got to call Dick, Joram's 
 youngest 'prentice, and away I go in my own carriage, like the 
 Lord Mayor of London." 
 
 He half suffocated himself with laughing here. 
 
 " Lord bless you ! " said Mr. Omer, resuming his pipe, " a 
 man must take the fat with the lean; that's what he must 
 make up his mind to in this life. Joram does a fine business. 
 Ex-cellent business ! " 
 
324 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " I am very glad to hear it," said I. 
 
 " I knew you would be," said Mr. Omer. " And Joram and 
 Minnie are like valentines. What more can a man expect ? 
 What's his limbs to that I " 
 
 His supreme contempt for his own limbs, as he sat smoking, 
 was one of the pleasantest oddities I have ever encountered. 
 
 "And since I've took to general reading, you've took to 
 general writing, eh, sir ? " said Mr. Omer, surveying me ad- 
 miringly. " What a lovely work that was of yours ! What 
 expressions in it ! I read it every word every word. And 
 as to feeling sleepy ! Not at all ! " 
 
 I laughingly expressed my satisfaction, but I must confess 
 that I thought this association of ideas significant. 
 
 " I give you my word and honor sir," said Mr. Omer, " that 
 when I lay that book upon the table, and look at it outside ; 
 compact in three separate and indiwidual wollumes one, two, 
 three ; I am as proud as Punch to think that I once had the 
 honor of being connected with your family. And dear me, 
 it's a long time ago, now, ain't it? Over at Blunderstone. 
 With a pretty little party laid along with the other party. 
 And you quite a small party then, yourself. Dear, dear ! " 
 
 I changed the subject by referring to Emily. After assuring 
 him that I did not forget how interested he had always been 
 in her, and how kindly he had always treated her, I gave him 
 ft general account of her restoration to her uncle by the aid 
 of Martha ; which I knew would please the old man. He 
 listened with the utmost attention, and said, feelingly, when I 
 had done : 
 
 "I am rejoiced at it, sir ! It's the best news I have heard 
 for many a day. Dear, dear, dear ! And what's going to be 
 undertook for that unfortunate young woman, Martha, now ? ' ; 
 
 " You touch a point that my thoughts have been dwelling 
 on since yesterday," said I, " but on which I can give you no 
 information yet, Mr. Omer. Mr. Peggotty has not alluded to 
 it, and I have a delicacy in doing so. I am sure he has not 
 forgotten it. He forgets nothing that is disinterested and 
 good." 
 
 "Because you know," said Mr. Omer, taking himself up, 
 where he had left off, " whatever is done, I should wish to be 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 325 
 
 a member of. Put me down for anything you may consider 
 right, and let me know. I never could think the girl all bad, 
 and I'm glad to find she's not. So will my daughter Minnie 
 be. Young women are contradictory creatures in some things 
 her mother was just the same as her but their hearts are 
 soft and kind. It's all show with Minnie, about Martha. 
 Why she should consider it necessary to make any show, I 
 don't undertake to tell you. But it's all show, bless you. 
 She'd do her any kindness in private. So, put me down for 
 whatever you may consider right, will you be so good ? and 
 drop me a line where to forward it. Dear me ! " said Mr. 
 Omer, " when a man is drawing on to a time of life, where the 
 two ends of life meet ; when he finds himself, however hearty 
 he is, being wheeled about for the second time, in a speeches 
 of go-cart ; he should be over-rejoiced to do a kindness if he 
 can. He wants plenty. And I don't speak of myself, par- 
 ticular," said Mr. Omer, " because sir, the way I look at it is, 
 that we are all drawing on to the bottom of the hill, whatever 
 age we are, on account of time never standing still for a single 
 moment. So let us always do a kindness, and be over-rejoiced. 
 To be sure ! " 
 
 He knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and put it on a ledge 
 in the back of his chair, expressly made for its reception. 
 
 "There's Em'ly's cousin, him that she was to have been 
 married to,' 7 said Mr. Omer, rubbing his hands feebly, "as 
 fine a fellow as there is in Yarmouth ! He'll come and talk 
 or read to me, in the evening, for an hour together sometimes. 
 That's a kindness, I should call it ! All his life's a kindness." 
 
 " I am going to see him now," said I. 
 
 "Are you ? " said Mr. Omer. " Tell him I was hearty, and 
 sent my respects. Minnie and Joram's at a ball. They would 
 be as proud to see you as I am, if they was at home. Minnie 
 won't hardly go out at all, you see, < on account of father/ as 
 she says. So I swore to-night, that if she didn't go, Pd go to 
 bed at six. In consequence of which," Mr. Omer shook him- 
 self and his chair, with laughter at the success of his device, 
 " she and Joram's at a ball." 
 
 I shook hands with him, and wished him good night. 
 
 "Half a minute, sir," said Mr. Omer. "If you was to go 
 
326 
 
 without seeing my little elephant, you'd lose the best of sights. 
 You never see such a sight ! Minnie ! " 
 
 A musical little voice answered, from somewhere up stairs, 
 " I am coming, grandfather ! " and a pretty little girl with 
 long, flaxen, curling hair, soon came running into the shop. 
 
 " This is my little elephant, sir," said Mr. Omer, fondling 
 the child. " Siamese breed, sir. Now, little elephant ! " 
 
 The little elephant set the door of the parlor open, enabling 
 me to see that, in these latter days, it was converted into a 
 bedroom for Mr. Omer, who could not be easily conveyed up 
 stairs ; and then hid her pretty forehead, and tumbled her long 
 hair, against the back of Mr. Omer's chair. 
 
 " The elephant butts, you know, sir," said Mr. Omer, wink- 
 ing, " when he goes at a object. Once, elephant. Twice. 
 Three times ! " 
 
 At this signal, the little elephant, with a dexterity that was 
 next to marvellous in so small an animal, whisked the chair 
 round with Mr. Omer in it, and rattled it off, pell-mell, into 
 the parlor, without touching the doorpost: Mr. Omer indescrib- 
 ably enjoying the performance, and looking back at me on 
 the road as if it were the triumphant issue of his life's 
 exertions. 
 
 After a stroll about the town, I went to Ham's house. 
 Peggotty had now removed here for good; and had let her 
 own house to the successor of Mr. Barkis in the carrying busi- 
 ness, who had paid her very well for the goodwill, cart, and 
 horse. I believe the very same slow horse that Mr. Barkis 
 drove was still at work. 
 
 I found them in the neat kitchen, accompanied by Mrs. 
 Gum midge, who had been fetched from the old boat by Mr. 
 Peggotty himself. I doubt if she could have been induced to 
 desert her post, by any one else. He had evidently told them 
 all. Both Peggotty and Mrs. Gummidge had their aprons to 
 their eyes, and Ham had just stepped out " to take a turn on 
 the beach." He presently came home, very glad to see me ; 
 and I hope they were all the better for my being there. We 
 spoke, with some approach to cheerfulness, of Mr. Peggotty's 
 growing rich in a new country, and of the wonders he would 
 describe in his letters. We said nothing of Emily by name, 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 327 
 
 but distantly referred to her more than once. Ham was the 
 serenest of the party. 
 
 But Peggotty told me, when she lighted me to a little 
 chamber where the Crocodile book was lying ready for me on 
 the table, that he always was the same. She believed (she 
 told me, crying) that he was broken-hearted ; though he was 
 as full of courage as of sweetness, and worked harder and 
 better than any boat-builder in any yard in all that part. 
 There vere times, she said, of an evening, when he talked of 
 their old life in the boat-house ; and then he mentioned Emily 
 as a child. But, he never mentioned her as a woman. 
 
 I thought I had read in his face that he would like to speak 
 to me alone. I therefore resolved to put myself in his way 
 next evening, as he came home from his work. Having settled 
 this with myself, I fell asleep. That night, for the first time 
 in all those many nights, the candle was taken out of the 
 window, Mr. Peggotty swung in his old hammock in the old 
 boat, and the wind murmured with the old sound round his 
 head. 
 
 All next day, he was occupied in disposing of his fishing- 
 boat and tackle ; in packing up, and sending to London by 
 wagon, such of his little domestic possessions as he thought 
 would be useful to him ; and in parting with the rest, or 
 bestowing them on Mrs. Gummidge. She was with him all 
 day. As I had a sorrowful wish to see the old place once 
 more, before it was locked up, I engaged to meet them there 
 in the evening. But I so arranged it, as that I should meet 
 Ham first. 
 
 It was easy to come in his way, as I knew where he worked. 
 I met him at a retired part of the sands which I knew he 
 would cross, and turned back with him, that he might have 
 leisure to speak to me if he really wished. I had not mis- 
 taken the expression of his face. We had walked but a little 
 way together, when he said, without looking at me : 
 
 " Mas'r Davy, have you seen her ? " 
 
 "Only for a moment, when she was in a swoon," I softly 
 answered. 
 
 We walked a little farther, and he said : 
 
 " Mas'r Davy, shall you see her, d'ye think ? " 
 
328 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " It would be too painful to her, perhaps," said I. 
 
 " I have thowt of that," he replied. " So 'twould, sir, so 
 'twould." 
 
 "But, Ham," said I, gently, "if there is anything that I 
 could write to her, for you, in case I could not tell it ; if there 
 is anything you would wish to make known to her through me ; 
 I should consider it a sacred trust." 
 
 " I am sure on't. I thankee, sir, most kind ! I think theer 
 is something I could wish said or wrote." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 We walked a little farther in silence, and then he spoke. 
 
 "'Tan't that I forgive her. 'Tan't that so much. 'Tis more 
 as I beg of her to forgive me, for having pressed my affections 
 upon her. Odd times, I think that if I hadn't had her promise 
 fur to marry me, sir, she was that trustful of me, in a friendly 
 way, that she'd have told me what was struggling in her mind, 
 and would have counselled with me, and I might have saved 
 her." 
 
 I pressed his hand. " Is that all ? " 
 
 "Theer's yet a something else," he returned, "if I can say 
 it, Mas'r Davy." 
 
 We walked on, farther than we had walked yet, before he 
 spoke again. He was not crying when he made the pauses I 
 shall express by lines. He was merely collecting himself to 
 speak very plainly. 
 
 " I loved her and I love the mem'ry of her too deep 
 to be able to lead her to believe of my own self as I'm a 
 happy man. I could only be happy by forgetting of her 
 and I'm afeerd I couldn't hardly bear as she should be told I 
 done that. But if you, being so full of learning, Mas'r Davy, 
 could think of anything to say as might bring her to believe I 
 wasn't greatly hurt : still loving of her, and mourning for her : 
 anything as might bring her to believe as I was not tired of 
 my life, and yet was hoping fur to see her without blame, 
 wheer the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at 
 rest anything as would ease her sorrowful mind, and yet not 
 make her think as I could ever marry, or as 'twas possible that 
 any one could ever be to me what she was I should ask of 
 you to say that with my prayers for her that was so dear." 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 329 
 
 I pressed his manly hand again, and told him I would charge 
 myself to do this as well as I could. 
 
 " I thankee, sir," he answered. " 'Twas kind of you to meet 
 me. 'Twas kind of you to bear him company down. Mas'r 
 Davy, I unnerstan' very well, though my aunt will come to 
 Lon'on afore they sail, and they'll unite once more, that I am 
 not like to see him agen. I fare to feel sure on't. We doen't 
 say so, but so 'twill be, and better so. The last you see on 
 him the very last will you give him the lovingest duty 
 and thanks of the orphan, as he was ever more than a father 
 to?" 
 
 This I also promised, faithfully. 
 
 " I thankee again, sir," he said, heartily shaking hands. " I 
 know wheer you're a going. Good by ! " 
 
 With a slight wave of his hand, as though to explain to me 
 that he could not enter the old place, he turned away. As I 
 looked after his figure, crossing the waste in the moonlight, I 
 saw him turn his face towards a strip of silvery light upon the 
 sea, and pass on, looking at it, until he was a shadow in the 
 distance. 
 
 The door of the boat-house stood open when I approached ; 
 and, on entering, I found it emptied of all its furniture, saving 
 one of the old lockers, on which Mrs. Gummidge, with a bas- 
 ket on her knee, was seated, looking at Mr. Peggotty. He 
 leaned his elbow on the rough chimney-piece, and gazed 
 upon a few expiring embers in the grate ; but he raised his 
 head, hopefully, on my coming in, and spoke in a cheery 
 manner. 
 
 " Come, according to promise, to bid farewell to't, eh, Mas'r 
 Davy ! " he said, taking up the candle. " Bare enough, now, 
 an't'it?" 
 
 " Indeed you have made good use of the time," said I. 
 
 "Why we have not been idle, sir. Missis Gummidge has 
 worked like a I doen't know what Missis Gummidge an't 
 worked like," said Mr. Peggotty, looking at her, at a loss for a 
 sufficiently approving simile. 
 
 Mrs. Gummidge, leaning on her basket, made no observation. 
 
 " Theer's the very locker that you used to sit on, 'long with 
 Em'ly ! " said Mr. Peggotty, in a whisper. " I'm a going to 
 
330 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 carry it away with me, last of all. And heer's your old little 
 bedroom, see, Mas'r Davy ? A'most as bleak to-sight, as 'art 
 could wish ! " 
 
 In truth, the wind, though it was low, had a solemn sound, 
 and crept around the deserted house with a whispered wailing 
 that was very mournful. Everything was gone, down to the 
 little mirror with the oyster-shell frame. I thought of myself, 
 lying here, when that first great change was being wrought at 
 home. I thought of the blue-eyed child who had enchanted 
 me. I thought of Steerforth : and a foolish, fearful fancy 
 came upon me of his being near at hand, and liable to be met 
 at any turn. 
 
 "'Tis like to be long," said Mr. Peggotty, in a low voice, 
 " afore the boat finds new tenants. They look upon 't down 
 heer, as being unfort'nate now ! " 
 
 " Does it belong to anybody in the neighborhood ? " I asked. 
 
 "To a mast-maker up town," said Mr. Peggotty. "I'm a 
 going to give the key to him to-night." 
 
 We looked into the other little room, and came back to Mrs. 
 Gummidge, sitting on the locker, whom Mr. Peggotty, putting 
 the light on the chimney-piece, requested to rise, that he 
 might carry it outside the door before extinguishing the 
 candle. 
 
 " Dan'l," said Mrs. Gummidge, suddenly deserting her 
 basket, and clinging to his arm, " my dear Dan'l, the parting 
 words I speak in this house is, I mustn't be left behind. 
 Doen't 3^6 think of leaving me behind, Dan'l ! Oh, doen't ye 
 ever do it ! " 
 
 Mr. Peggotty, taken aback, looked from Mrs. Gummidge to 
 me, and from me to Mrs. Gummidge, as if he had been 
 awakened from a sleep. 
 
 " Doen't ye, dearest Dan'l, doen't ye ! " cried Mrs. Gum- 
 midge, fervently. "Take me 'long with you, Dan'l, take me 
 'long with you and Em'ly ! I'll be your servant, constant and 
 trew. If there's slaves in them parts where you're a going, 
 I'll be bound to you for one, and happy, but doen't ye leave 
 me behind, Dan'l, that's a deary dear ! " 
 
 "My good soul," said Mr. Peggotty, shaking his head, "you 
 doen't know what a long voyage, and what a hard life 'tis ! " 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 331 
 
 " Yes I do, Dan'l ; I can guess ! " cried Mrs. Gummidge. 
 " But my parting words under this roof is, I shall go into the 
 house and die, if I am not took. I can dig, Dan'l. I can 
 work. I can live hard. I can be loving and patient now 
 more than you think, Dan'l, if you'll on'y try me. I wouldn't 
 touch the 'lowance, not if I was dying of want, Dan'l Peg- 
 gotty ; but I'll go with you and Em'ly, if you'll on'y let me, 
 to the world's end ! I know how 'tis ; I know you think that 
 I am lone and lorn; but deary love, 'tant so no more ! I an't 
 sat here, so long, a watching, and a thinking of your trials, 
 without some good being done me. Mas'r Davy, speak to him 
 for me; I knows his ways, and Em'ly's, and I knows their 
 sorrows, and can be a comfort to 'em, some odd times, and 
 labor for 'em allus ! Dan'l, deary Dan'l, let me go 'long with 
 you ! " 
 
 And Mrs. Gummidge took his hand, and kissed it with a 
 homely pathos and affection, in a homely rapture of devotion 
 and gratitude, that he well deserved. 
 
 We brought the locker out, extinguished the candle, fast- 
 ened the door on the outside, and left the old boat close shut 
 up, a dark speck in the cloudy night. Next day, when we 
 were returning to London outside the coach, Mrs. Gummidge 
 and her basket were on the seat behind, and Mrs. Gummidge 
 was happy. 
 
332 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 I ASSIST AT AN EXPLOSION. 
 
 WHEN the time Mr. Micawber had appointed so mysteriously, 
 was within four-aiid-tweiity hours of being come, my aunt and 
 I consulted how we should proceed ; for my aunt was very 
 unwilling to leave Dora. Ah ! how easily I carried Dora up 
 and down stairs, now ! 
 
 We were disposed, notwithstanding Mr. Micawber' s stipula- 
 tion for my aunt's attendance, to arrange that she should stay 
 at home, and be represented by Mr. Dick and me. In short, 
 we had resolved to take this course, when Dora again unsettled 
 us by declaring that she never would forgive herself, and never 
 would forgive her bad boy, if my aunt remained behind on any 
 pretence. 
 
 " I won't speak to you," said Dora, shaking her curls at my 
 aunt. " I'll be disagreeable ! I'll make Jip bark at you all 
 day. I shall be sure that you really are a cross old thing, if 
 you don't go ! " 
 
 " Tut, Blossom ! " laughed my aunt. " You know you can't 
 do without me ! " 
 
 " Yes, I can," said Dora. " You are no use to me at all. 
 You never run up and down stairs for me, all day long. You 
 never sit and tell me stories about Doady, when his shoes were 
 worn out, and he was covered with dust oh, what a poor lit- 
 tle mite of a fellow ! You never do anything at all to please 
 me, do you, dear ? " Dora made haste to kiss my aunt, and 
 say, " Yes, you do ! I'm only joking ! " lest my aunt should 
 think she really meant it. 
 
 " But, aunt," said Dora, coaxingly, " now listen. You must 
 go. I shall tease you, till you let me have my own way about 
 it. I shall lead my naughty boy such a life, if he don't make 
 you go. I shall make myself so disagreeable and so will 
 Jip ! You'll wish you had gone like a good thing, for ever 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 333 
 
 and ever so long, if you don't go. Besides/' said Dora, put- 
 ting back her hair, and looking wonderingly at my aunt and 
 me, " why shouldn't you both go ? I am not very ill indeed. 
 Am I ? " 
 
 " Why, what a question ! " cried my aunt. 
 
 "What a fancy !" said I. 
 
 " Yes ! I know I am a silly little thing ! " said Dora, slowly 
 looking from one of us to the other, and then putting up her 
 pretty lips to kiss us as she lay upon her couch. " Well, then, 
 you must both go, or I shall not believe you ; and then I shall 
 cry ! " 
 
 I saw, in my aunt's face that she began to give way now, and 
 Dora brightened again, as she saw it too. 
 
 " You'll come back with so much to tell me, that it'll take 
 at least a week to make me understand ! " said Dora. "Because 
 I know I shan't understand, for a length of time, if there's any 
 business in it. And there's sure to be some business in it ! 
 If there's anything to add up, besides, I don't know when I 
 shall make it out ; and my bad boy will look so miserable all 
 the time. There ! Now you'll go, won't you ? You'll only 
 be gone one night, and Jip will take care of me while you are 
 gone. Doady will carry me up stairs before you go, and I 
 won't come down again till you come back ; and you shall take 
 Agnes a dreadfully scolding letter from me because she has 
 never been to see us ! " 
 
 We agreed, without any more consultation, that we would 
 both go, and that Dora was a little Impostor, who feigned to be 
 rather unwell, because she liked to be petted. She was greatly 
 pleased, and very merry ; and we four, that is to say, my aunt, 
 Mr. Dick, Traddles, and I, went down to Canterbury by the 
 Dover mail that night. 
 
 At the hotel, where Mr. Micawber had requested us to 
 await him, which we got into, with some trouble, in the middle 
 of the night, I found a letter, importing that he would appear 
 in the morning punctually at half-past nine. After which, we 
 went shivering, at that uncomfortable hour, to our respective 
 beds, through various close passages ; which smelt as if they 
 had been steeped, for ages, in a solution of soup and stables. 
 
 Early in the morning, I sauntered through the dear old 
 
334 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 tranquil streets, and again mingled with the shadows of the 
 venerable gateways and churches. The rooks were sailing 
 about the cathedral towers ; and the towers themselves, over- 
 looking many a long, unaltered mile of the rich country and 
 its pleasant streams, were cutting the bright morning air, as 
 if there were no such thing as change on earth. Yet the bells, 
 when they sounded, told me sorrowfully of change in every- 
 thing; told me of their own age, and my pretty Dora's youth ; 
 and of the many, never old, who had lived and loved and died, 
 while the reverberations of the bells had hummed through the 
 rusty armor of the Black Prince hanging up within, and, motes 
 upon the deep of Time, had lost themselves in air, as circles 
 do in water. 
 
 I looked at the old house from the corner of the street, but 
 did not go nearer to it, lest, being observed, I might unwit- 
 tingly do any harm to the design I had come to aid. The 
 early sun was striking edgewise on its gables and lattice-win- 
 dows, touching them with gold; and some beams of its old 
 peace seemed to touch my heart. 
 
 I strolled into the country for an hour or so, and then 
 returned by the main street, which in the interval had shaken 
 off its last night's sleep. Among those who were stirring in 
 the shops, I saw my ancient enemy, the butcher, now advanced 
 to top-boots and a baby, and in business for himself. He was 
 nursing the baby, and appeared to be a benignant member of 
 society. 
 
 We all became very anxious and impatient, when we sat 
 down to breakfast. As it approached nearer and nearer to 
 half-past nine o'clock, our restless expectation of Mr. Micaw- 
 ber increased. At last we made no more pretence of attending 
 to the meal, which, except with Mr. Dick, had been a mere 
 form from -the first; but my aunt walked up and down the 
 room, Traddles sat upon the sofa affecting to read the paper 
 with his eyes on the ceiling ; and I looked out of the window 
 to give early notice of Mr. Micawber's coming. Nor had I 
 long to watch, for, at the first chime of the half-hour, he 
 appeared in the street. 
 
 " Here he is," said I, " and not in his legal attire ! " 
 
 My aunt tied the strings of her bonnet (she had come down 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 335 
 
 to breakfast in it), and put on her shawl, as if she were ready 
 for anything that was resolute and uncompromising. Traddles 
 buttoned his coat with a determined air. Mr. Dick, disturbed 
 by these formidable appearances, but feeling it necessary to 
 imitate them, pulled his hat, with both hands, as firmly over 
 his ears as he possibly could ; and instantly took it off again, 
 to welcome Mr. Micawber. 
 
 " Gentlemen, and madam," said Mr. Micawber, " good morn- 
 ing! My dear sir," to Mr. Dick, who shook hands with him 
 violently, "you are extremely good." 
 
 "Have you breakfasted?" said Mr. Dick. "Have a chop!" 
 
 "Not for the world, my good sir!" cried Mr. Micawber, 
 stopping him on his way to the bell ; " appetite and myself, 
 Mr. Dixon, have long been strangers." 
 
 Mr. Dixon was so well pleased with his new name, and 
 appeared to think it so very obliging in Mr. Micawber to confer 
 it upon him, that he shook hands with him again, and laughed 
 rather childishly. 
 
 " Dick," said my aunt, " attention ! " 
 
 Mr. Dick recovered himself, with a blush. 
 
 "Now, sir," said my aunt to Mr. Micawber, as she put on 
 her gloves, "we are ready for Mount Vesuvius, or anything 
 else, as soon as you please." 
 
 " Madam," returned Mr. Micawber, " I trust you will shortly 
 witness an eruption. Mr. Traddles, I have your permission, 
 I believe, to mention here that we have been in communica- 
 tion together ? " 
 
 t "It is undoubtedly the fact, Copperfield," said Traddles, to 
 whom I looked in surprise. "Mr. Micawber has consulted 
 me, in reference to what he has in contemplation ; and I have 
 advised him to the best of my judgment." 
 
 "Unless I deceive myself, Mr. Traddles," pursued Mr. 
 Micawber, " what I contemplate is a disclosure of an important 
 nature." 
 
 " Highly so," said Traddles. 
 
 "Perhaps, under such circumstances, madam and gei- tie- 
 men," said Mr. Micawber, "you will do me the favor to sub- 
 mit yourselves, for the moment, to the direction of one, who, 
 however unworthy to be regarded in any other light but as a 
 
336 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 Waif and Stray upon the shore of human nature, is still 
 your fellow man, though crushed out of his original form by 
 individual errors, and the accumulative force of a combination 
 of circumstances?" 
 
 " We have perfect confidence in you, Mr. Micawber," said I, 
 " and will do what you please." 
 
 "Mr. Copperfield," returned Mr. Micawber, "your confi- 
 dence is not, at the existing juncture, ill-bestowed. I would 
 beg to be allowed a start of five minutes by the clock ; and 
 then to receive the present company, inquiring for Miss 
 Wickfield, at the office of Wickfield and Keep, whose 
 Stipendiary I am." 
 
 My aunt and I looked at Traddles, who nodded his approval. 
 
 " I have no more," observed Mr. Micawber, " to say at 
 present." 
 
 With which, to my infinite surprise, he included us all in 
 a comprehensive bow, and disappeared ; his manner being 
 extremely distant, and his face extremely pale. 
 
 Traddles only smiled, and shook his head (with his hair 
 standing upright on the top of it), when I looked to him for 
 an explanation ; so I took out my watch, and, as a last re- 
 source, counted off the five minutes. My aunt with her own 
 watch in her hand did the like. When the time was expired, 
 Traddles gave her his arm ; and we all went out together to 
 the old house, without saying one word on the way. 
 
 We found Mr. Micawber at his desk, in the turret office on 
 the ground floor, either writing, or pretending to write, hard. 
 The large office-ruler was stuck into his waistcoat, and was 
 not so well concealed but that a foot or more of that instru- 
 ment protruded from his bosom, like a new kind of shirt-frill. 
 
 As it appeared to me that I was expected to speak, I said 
 aloud : 
 
 " How do you do, Mr. Micawber ? " 
 
 "Mr. Copperfield," said Mr. Micawber, gravely, "I hope I 
 see you well ? " 
 
 " Is Miss Wickfield at home ? " said I. 
 
 " Mr. Wickfield is unwell in bed, sir, of a rheumatic fever," 
 he returned ; " but Miss Wickfield, I have no doubt, will be 
 happy to see old friends. Will you walk in, sir ? J; 
 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 337 
 
 He preceded us to the dining-room the first room I had 
 entered in that house and flinging open the door of Mr. 
 Wickfield's former office, said, in a sonorous voice : 
 
 " Miss Trotwood, Mr. David Copperfield, Mr. Thomas 
 Tr addles, and Mr. Dixon ! " 
 
 I had not seen Uriah Heep since the time of the blow. 
 Our visit astonished him, evidently ; not the less, I dare say, 
 because it astonished ourselves. He did not gather his eye- 
 brows together, for he had none worth mentioning; but he 
 frowned to that degree that he almost closed his small eyes, 
 while the hurried raising of his grisly hand to his chin be- 
 trayed some trepidation or surprise. This was only when we 
 were in the act of entering his room, and when I caught a 
 glance at him over my aunt's shoulder. A moment after- 
 wards, he was as fawning and as humble as ever. 
 
 "Well, I am sure," he said. "This is indeed an unex- 
 pected pleasure ! To have, as I may say, all friends round 
 Saint Paul's, at once, is a treat unlocked for ! Mr. Copper- 
 field, I hope I see you well, and if I may umbly express 
 self so friendly towards them as is ever your friends, 
 whether or not. Mrs. Copperfield, sir, I hope she's getting 
 on. We have been made quite uneasy by the poor accounts 
 we have had of her state, lately, I do assure you." 
 
 I felt ashamed to let him take my hand, but I did not know 
 yet what else to do. 
 
 " Things are changed in this office, Miss Trotwood, since I 
 was an umble clerk, and held your pony ; ain't they ? " said 
 Uriah, with his sickliest smile. " But / am not changed, 
 Miss Trotwood." 
 
 " Well, sir," returned my aunt, " to tell you the truth, I 
 think you are pretty constant to the promise of your youth ; 
 if that's any satisfaction to you." 
 
 " Thank you, Miss Trotwood," said Uriah, writhing in his 
 ungainly manner, " for your good opinion ! Micawber, tell 
 ? em to let Miss Agnes know and mother. Mother will be 
 quite in a state, when she sees the present company ! " said 
 Uriah, setting chairs. 
 
 " You are not busy. Mr. Heep ? " said Traddles, whose eye 
 
 VOL. ii 22 
 
338 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 the cunning red eye accidentally caught, as it at once scruti- 
 nized and evaded us. 
 
 "No, Mr. Traddles," replied Uriah, resuming his official 
 seat, and squeezing his bony hands, laid palm to palm between 
 his bony knees. " Not so much as I could wish. But lawyers, 
 sharks, and leeches, are not easily satisfied, you know ! Not 
 but what myself and Micawber have our hands pretty full in 
 general, on account of Mr. Wickfield's being hardly fit for any 
 occupation, sir. But it's a pleasure as well as a duty, I am 
 sure, to work for him. You've not been intimate with Mr. 
 Wickfield, I think, Mr. Traddles ? I believe I've only had 
 the honor of seeing you once myself ? " 
 
 " No, I have not been intimate with Mr. Wickfield," returned 
 Traddles ; "or I might perhaps have waited on you long ago, 
 Mr. Keep." 
 
 There was something in the tone of this reply, which made 
 Uriah look at the speaker again, with a very sinister and 
 suspicious expression. But, seeing only Traddles, with his 
 good-natured face, simple manner, and hair on end, he dis- 
 missed it as he replied, with a jerk of his whole body, but 
 especially his throat: 
 
 "I am sorry for that, Mr. Traddles. You would have 
 admired him as much as we all do. His little failings would 
 only have endeared him to you the more. But if you would 
 like to hear my fellow-partner eloquently spoken of, I should 
 refer you to Copperfield. The family is a subject he's very 
 strong upon, if you never heard him." 
 
 I was prevented from disclaiming the compliment (if I 
 should have done so, in any case), by the entrance of Agnes, 
 now ushered in by Mr. Micawber. She was not quite so self- 
 possessed as usual, I thought ; and had evidently undergone 
 anxiety and fatigue. But her earnest cordiality, and her quiet 
 beauty, shone with the gentler lustre for it. 
 
 I saw Uriah watch her while she greeted us ; and he re- 
 minded me of an ugly and rebellious genie watching a good 
 spirit. In the meanwhile, some slight sign passed between 
 Mr. Micawber and Traddles ; and Traddles, unobserved except 
 by me, went out. 
 
 " Don't wait, Micawber," said Uriah. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 339 
 
 Mr. Micawber, with his hand upon the ruler in his breast, 
 stood erect before the door, most unmistakably contemplating 
 one of his fellow-men, and that man his employer. 
 
 " What are you waiting for ? " said Uriah. " Micawber ! 
 did you hear me tell you not to wait ? " 
 
 " Yes ! " replied the immovable Mr. Micawber. 
 
 " Then why do you wait ? " said Uriah. 
 
 "Because I in short choose," replied Mr. Micawber, with 
 a burst. 
 
 Uriah's cheeks lost color, and an unwholesome paleness, still 
 faintly tinged by his pervading red, overspread them. He 
 looked at Mr. Micawber attentively, with his whole face breath- 
 ing short and quick in every feature. 
 
 " You are a dissipated fellow, as all the world knows," he 
 said, with an effort at a smile, " and I am afraid you'll oblige 
 me to get rid of you. Go along ! I'll talk to you presently." 
 
 " If there is a scoundrel on this earth," said Mr. Micawber, 
 suddenly breaking out again with the utmost vehemence, 
 " with whom I have already talked too much, that scoundrel's 
 name is HEEP ! " 
 
 Uriah fell back, as if he had been struck or stung. Looking 
 slowly round upon us with the darkest and wickedest expres- 
 sion that his face could wear, he said, in a lower voice : 
 
 " Oho ! This is a conspiracy ! You have met here, by 
 appointment ! You are playing Booty with my clerk, are 
 you, Copperfield ? Now, take care. You'll make nothing of 
 this. We understand each other, you and me. There's no 
 love between us. You were always a puppy with a proud 
 stomach, from your first coming here ; and you envy me my 
 rise, do you? None of your plots against me; I'll counter- 
 plot you ! Micawber, you be off. I'll talk to you presently." 
 
 " Mr. Micawber," said I, " there is a sudden change in this 
 fellow, in more respects than the extraordinary one of his 
 speaking the truth in one particular, which assures me that 
 he is brought to bay. Deal with him as he deserves ! " 
 
 " You are a precious set of people, ain't you ? " said Uriah, 
 in the same low voice, and breaking out into a clammy heat, 
 which he wiped from his forehead, with his long lean hand, 
 " to buy over my clerk, who is the very scum of society, as 
 
340 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 you yourself were, Copperfield, you know it, before any one 
 had charity on you, to defame nie with his lies ? Miss Trot- 
 wood, you had better stop this ; or I'll stop your husband 
 shorter than will be pleasant to you. I won't know your story 
 professionally, for nothing, old lady ! Miss Wickfield, if you 
 have any love for your father, you had better not join that 
 gang. I'll ruin him, if you do. Now, come ! I have got some 
 of you under the harrow. Think twice, before it goes over 
 you. Think twice, you, Micawber, if you don't want to be 
 crushed. I recommend you to take yourself off, and be talked 
 to presently, you fool ! while there's time to retreat. Where's 
 mother ! " he said, suddenly appearing to notice, with alarm, 
 the absence of Traddles, and pulling down the bell-rope. 
 " Fine doings in a person's own house ! " 
 
 " Mrs. Heep is here, sir," said Traddles, returning with that 
 worthy mother of a worthy son. " I have taken the liberty of 
 making myself known to her." 
 
 " Who are you to make yourself known ? " retorted Uriah. 
 " And what do you want here ? " 
 
 "I am the agent and friend of Mr. Wickfield, sir/' said 
 Traddles, in a composed business-like way. "And I have a 
 power of attorney from him in my pocket, to act for him in all 
 matters." 
 
 "The old ass has drunk himself into a state of dotage," 
 said Uriah, turning uglier than before, " and it has been got 
 from him by fraud ! " 
 
 "Something has been got from him by fraud, I know," 
 returned Traddles quietly ; " and so do you, Mr. Heep. We 
 will refer that question, if you please, to Mr. Micawber." 
 
 " Ury ! " Mrs. Heep began, with an anxious gesture. 
 
 " You hold your tongue, mother," he returned ; " least said, 
 soonest mended." 
 
 "But my Ury " 
 
 "Will you hold your tongue, mother, and leave it to me ? " 
 
 Though I had long known that his servility was false, and 
 all his pretences knavish and hollow, I had had no adequate 
 conception of the extent of his hypocrisy, until I now saw him 
 with his mask off. The suddenness with which he dropped 
 it, when he perceived that it was useless to him ; the malice, 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 341 
 
 insolence, and hatred he revealed; the leer with which he 
 exulted, even at this moment, in the evil he had done all 
 this time being desperate too, and at his wit's end for the 
 means of getting the better of us though perfectly consist- 
 ent with the experience I had of him, at first took even me 
 by surprise, who had known him so long, and disliked him so 
 heartily. 
 
 I say nothing of the look he conferred on me, as he stood 
 eyeing us, one after another ; for I had always understood 
 that he hated me, and I remembered the marks of my hand 
 upon his cheek. But when his eyes passed on to Agnes, and 
 I saw the rage with which he felt his power over her slipping 
 away, and the exhibition, in their disappointment, of the 
 odious passions that had led him to aspire to one whose vir- 
 tues he could never appreciate or care for, I was shocked by 
 the mere thought of her having lived, an hour, within sight of 
 such a man. 
 
 After some rubbing of the lower part of his face, and some 
 looking at us with those bad eyes, over his grisly fingers, he 
 made one more address to me, half whining, and half abusive. 
 
 " You think it justifiable, do you, Copperfield, you who 
 pride yourself so much on your honor and all the rest of it, 
 to sneak about my place, eaves-dropping with my clerk ? If it 
 had been me, I shouldn't have wondered; for I don't make 
 myself out a gentleman (though I never was in the streets 
 either, as you were, according to Micawber), but being you! 
 And you're not afraid of doing this, either ? You don't 
 think at all of what I shall do, in return ; or of getting your- 
 self into trouble for conspiracy and so forth ? Very well. 
 We shall see ! Mr. What's-your-name, you were going to refer 
 some question to Micawber. There's your referee. Why don't 
 you make him speak ? He has learnt his lesson, I see." 
 
 Seeing that what he said had no effect on me or any of us, 
 he sat on the edge of his table with his hands in his pockets, 
 and one of his splay feet twisted round the other leg, waiting 
 doggedly for what might follow. 
 
 Mr. Micawber, whose impetuosity I had restrained thus far 
 with the greatest difficulty, and who had repeatedly interposed 
 with the first syllable of ScouN-drel ! without getting to the 
 
342 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 second, now burst forward, drew the ruler from his breast 
 (apparently as a defensive weapon), and produced from his 
 pocket a foolscap document, folded in the form of a large 
 letter. Opening this packet, with his old flourish, and glanc- 
 ing at the contents, as if he cherished an artistic admiration 
 of their style of composition, he began to read as follows : 
 
 " ' Dear Miss Trotwood and gentlemen ' ; 
 
 " Bless and save the man ! " exclaimed my aunt in a low 
 voice. " He'd write letters by the ream, if it was a capital 
 offence ! " 
 
 Mr. Micawber, without hearing her, went on. 
 
 " ' In appearing before you to denounce probably the most 
 consummate Villain that has ever existed,' " Mr. Micawber, 
 without looking off the letter, pointed the ruler, like a ghostly 
 truncheon, at Uriah Heep, " 1 1 ask no consideration for myself. 
 The victim, from my cradle, of pecuniary liabilities to which 
 I have been unable to respond, I have ever been the sport and 
 toy of debasing circumstances. Ignominy, Want, Despair, 
 and Madness, have, collectively or separately, been the attend- 
 ants of my career.' ' 
 
 The relish with which Mr. Micawber described himself, as 
 a prey to these dismal calamities, was only to be equalled by 
 the emphasis with which he read his letter ; and the kind of 
 homage he rendered to it with a roll of his head, when he 
 thought he had hit a sentence very hard indeed. 
 
 " ' In an accumulation of Ignominy, Want, Despair, and 
 Madness, I entered the office or, as our lively neighbor the 
 Gaul would term it, the Bureau of the Firm, nominally con- 
 ducted under the appellation of Wickfield and HEEP, but, in 
 reality, wielded by HEEP, alone. HEEP, and only HEEP, is 
 the mainspring of that machine. HEEP, and only HEEP, is the 
 Forger and the Cheat.' " 
 
 Uriah, more blue than white at these words, made a dart at 
 the letter, as if to tear it in pieces. Mr. Micawber, with a per- 
 fect miracle of dexterity or luck, caught his advancing knuckles 
 with the ruler, and disabled his right hand. It dropped at the 
 wrist, as if it were broken. The blow sounded as if it had fal- 
 len on wood 
 
O.F DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 343 
 
 " The Devil take you ! " said Uriah, writhing in a new way 
 With pain. " I'll be even with you." 
 
 "Approach me again, you you you HEEP of infamy," 
 gasped Mr. Micawber, " and if your head is human, I'll break 
 it. Coine on, come on ! " 
 
 I think I never saw anything more ridiculous I was sensi- 
 ble of it, even at the time than Mr. Micawber making broad- 
 sword guards with the ruler, and crying, "Come on!" while 
 Traddles and I pushed him back into a corner, from which, 
 as often as we got him into it, he persisted in emerging again. 
 
 His enemy, muttering to himself, after wringing his wounded 
 hand for some time, slowly drew off his neck-kerchief and 
 bound it up ; then, held it in his other hand, ana sat upon his 
 table with his sullen face looking down. 
 
 Mr. Micawber, when he was sufficiently cool, proceeded with 
 his letter. 
 
 " ' The stipendiary emoluments in consideration of which I 
 entered into the service of HEEP,' " always pausing before 
 that word, and uttering it with astonishing vigor, " ' were not 
 defined, beyond the pittance of twenty-two shillings and six 
 per week. The rest was left contingent on the value of my 
 professional exertions ; in other and more expressive words, 
 on the baseness of my nature, the cupidity of my motives, the 
 poverty of my family, the general moral (or rather immoral) 
 resemblance between myself and HEEP. Need I say, that 
 it soon became necessary for me to solicit from HEEP 
 pecuniary advances towards the support of Mrs. Micawber, 
 and our blighted but rising family ! Need I say that this 
 necessity had been foreseen by HEEP ? That those advances 
 were secured by I. 0. U.'s and other similar acknowledgments, 
 known to the legal institutions of this country. And that I 
 thus became immeshed in the web he had spun for my recep- 
 tion ? > " 
 
 Mr. Micawber's enjoyment of his epistolary powers, in 
 describing this unfortunate state of things, really seemed to 
 outweigh any pain or anxiety that the reality could have caused 
 him. He read on : 
 
 " 'Then it was that HEEP began to favor me with just 
 so much of his confidence, as was necessary to the discharge 
 
344 THE PEE SON AL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 of his infernal business. Then it was that I began, if I may 
 so Shakespearianly express myself, to dwindle, peak, and 
 pine. I found that my services were constantly called into 
 requisition for the falsification of business, and the mystifica- 
 tion of an individual whom I will designate as Mr. W. That 
 Mr. W. was imposed upon, kept in ignorance, and deluded, 
 in every possible way; yet, that all this while, the ruffian - 
 HEEP was professing unbounded gratitude to, and unbounded 
 friendship for, that much abused gentleman. This was bad 
 enough j but, as the philosophic Dane observes, with that uni- 
 versal applicability which distinguishes the illustrious orna- 
 ment of the Elizabethan Era, worse remains behind ! ' 
 
 Mr. Micawber was so very much struck by this happy round- 
 ing off with a quotation, that he indulged himself, and us, with 
 a second reading of the sentence, under pretence of having lost 
 his place. 
 
 " ' It is not my intention,' " he continued, reading on, " ' to 
 enter on a detailed list, within the compass of the present 
 epistle (though it is ready elsewhere), of the various malprac- 
 tices of a minor nature, affecting the individual whom I have 
 denominated Mr. W., to which I have been a tacitly consent- 
 ing party. My object, when the contest within myself between 
 stipend and no stipend, baker and no baker, existence and non- 
 existence, ceased, was to take advantage of my opportunities 
 to discover and expose the major malpractices committed, to 
 that gentleman's grievous wrong and injury, by HEEP. 
 Stimulated by the silent monitor within, and by a no less 
 touching and appealing monitor without to whom I will 
 briefly refer as Miss W. I entered on a not unlaborious task 
 of clandestine investigation, protracted now, to the best of my 
 knowledge, information, and belief, over a period exceeding 
 twelve calendar months.' ' 
 
 He read this passage, as if it were from an Act of Parlia- 
 ment ; and appeared majestically refreshed by the sound of 
 the words. 
 
 "'My charges against HEEP,'" he read on, glancing at 
 him, and drawing the ruler into a convenient position under 
 his left arm, in case of need, "'are as follows." 
 
 We all held our breath, I think. I am sure Uriah held his. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 345 
 
 " ' First/ " said Mr. Micawber. " ' When Mr. W.'s faculties 
 and memory for business became, through causes into which 
 it is not necessary or expedient for me to enter, weakened and 
 confused, KEEP designedly perplexed and complicated 
 the whole of the official transactions. When Mr. W. was 
 least fit to enter on business, HEEP was always at hand to 
 force him to enter on it. He obtained Mr. W.'s signature 
 under such circumstances to documents of importance, repre- 
 senting them to be other documents of no importance. He 
 induced Mr. W. to empower him to draw out, thus, one par- 
 ticular sum of trust-money, amounting to twelve six fourteen, 
 two, and nine, and employed it to meet pretended business 
 charges and deficiencies which were either already provided 
 for, or had never really existed. He gave this proceeding, 
 throughout, the appearance of having originated in Mr. W.'s 
 own dishonest intention, and of having been accomplished by 
 Mr. W.'s own dishonest act ; and has used it, ever since, to 
 torture and constrain him.' ' 
 
 " You shall proye this, you Copperfield ! " said Uriah, with 
 a threatening shake of the head. " All in good time ! " 
 
 " Ask HEEP Mr. Traddles, who lived in his house after 
 him," said Mr. Micawber, breaking off from the letter ; " will 
 you ? " 
 
 " The fool himself and lives there now," said Uriah, dis- 
 dainfully. 
 
 "Ask HEEP if he ever kept a pocket-book in that 
 house," said Mr. Micawber j " will you ? " 
 
 I saw Uriah's lank hand stop, involuntarily, in the scraping 
 of his chin. 
 
 "Or ask him," said Mr. Micawber, "if he ever burnt one 
 there ? If he says yes, and asks you where the ashes are, 
 refer him to Wilkins Micawber, and he will hear of something 
 not at all to his advantage ! " 
 
 The triumphant flourish with which Mr. Micawber delivered 
 himself of these words, had a powerful effect in alarming the 
 mother ; who cried out in much agitation : 
 
 " Ury, Ury ! Be umble, and make terms, my dear ! " 
 
 " Mother ! " he retorted, " will you keep quiet ? You're in 
 a fright, and don't know -what you say or mean. Umble ! " he 
 
346 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 repeated, looking at me, with a snarl ; " I've umbled some of 
 ? em for a pretty long time back, umble as I was ! " 
 
 Mr. Micawber, genteelly adjusting his chin in his cravat, 
 presently proceeded with his composition. 
 
 " ' Second. HEEP has, on several occasions, to the best of 
 my knowledge, information, and belief ' ' 
 
 " But that won't do," muttered Uriah, relieved. " Mother, 
 you keep quiet." 
 
 "We will endeavor to provide something that WILL do, 
 and do for you finally, sir, very shortly," replied Mr. Micaw- 
 ber. 
 
 " ' Second. HEEP has, on several occasions, to the best of 
 my knowledge, information, and belief, systematically forged, 
 to various entries, books, and documents, the signature of Mr. 
 W. ; and has distinctly done so in one instance, capable of 
 proof by me. To wit, in manner following, that is to say ' 
 
 Again, Mr. Micawber had a relish in this formal piling up 
 of words, which, however ludicrously displayed in his case, 
 was, I must say, not at all peculiar to him. I have observed 
 it, in the course of my life, in numbers of men. It seems to 
 me to be a general rule. In the taking of legal oaths, for 
 instance, deponents seem to enjoy themselves mightily when 
 they come to several good words in succession, for the expres- 
 sion of one idea ; as, that they utterly detest, abominate, and 
 abjure, or so forth ; and the old anathemas were made relish- 
 ing on the same principle. We talk about the tyranny of 
 words, but we like to tyrannize over them too ; we are fond of 
 having a large superfluous establishment of words to wait 
 upon us on great occasions ; we think it looks important, and 
 sounds well. As we are not particular about the meaning of 
 our liveries on state occasions, if they be but fine and numer- 
 ous enough, so the meaning or necessity of our words is a 
 secondary consideration, if there be but a great parade of 
 them. And as individuals get into trouble by making too 
 great a show of liveries, or as slaves when they are too 
 numerous rise against their masters, so I think I could men- 
 tion a nation that has got into many great difficulties, and will 
 get into many greater, from maintaining too large a retinue of 
 words. 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 347 
 
 Mr. Micawber read on, almost smacking his lips : 
 
 " ' To wit, in manner following, that is to say. Mr. W. 
 being infirm, and it being within the bounds of probability 
 that his disease might lead to some discoveries, and to the 
 downfall of HEEP'S power over the W. family, as I, 
 Wilkins Micawber, the undersigned, assume unless the filial 
 affection of his daughter could be secretly influenced from 
 allowing any investigation of the partnership affairs to be 
 ever -made, the said HEEP deemed it expedient to have a 
 bond ready by him, as from Mr. W., for the before-mentioned 
 sum of twelve six fourteen, two and nine, with interest, stated 
 therein to have been advanced by HEEP to Mr. W. to save 
 Mr. W. from dishonor ; though really the sum was never ad- 
 vanced by him, and has long been replaced. The signatures 
 to this instrument, purporting to be executed by Mr. W. and 
 attested by Wilkins Micawber, are forgeries by HEEP. I 
 have, in my possession, in his hand and pocket-book, several 
 similar imitations of Mr. W.'s signature, here and there de- 
 faced by fire, but legible to any one. I never attested any 
 such document. And I have the document itself, in nay pos- 
 session. 7 " 
 
 Uriah Heep, with a start, took out of his pocket a bunch of 
 keys, and opened a certain drawer ; then suddenly bethought 
 himself of what he was about, and turned again towards us, 
 without looking in it. 
 
 "'And I have the document,"' Mr. Micawber read again, , 
 looking about as if it were the text of a sermon, " ( in my pos- 
 session/ that is to say, I had, early this morning, when this 
 was written, but have since relinquished it to Mr. Traddles." 
 
 " It is quite true," assented Traddles. 
 
 "Ury, Ury ! " cried the mother, "be umble and make terms. 
 I know my son will be umble, gentlemen, if you'll give him 
 time to think. Mr. Copperfield, I'm sure you know that he 
 was always very umble, sir ! " 
 
 It was singular to see how the mother still held to the old 
 trick, when the son had abandoned it as useless. 
 
 " Mother," he said, with an impatient bite at the handker- 
 chief in which his hand was wrapped, "you had better take 
 and fire a loaded gun at ine." 
 
348 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " But I love you, Ury," cried Mrs. Heep. And I have 110 
 doubt she did ; or that he loved her, however strange it may 
 appear ; though, to be sure, they were a congenial couple. 
 " And I can't bear to hear you provoking the gentleman, and 
 endangering of yourself more. I told the gentleman at first, 
 when he told me up stairs it was come to light, that I would 
 answer for your being umble, and making amends. Oh, see 
 how unable Jam, gentlemen, and don't mind him! " 
 
 "Why, there's Copperfield, mother," he angrily retorted, 
 pointing his lean finger at me, against whom all his animosity 
 was levelled, as the prime mover in the discovery ; and I did 
 not undeceive him; "there's Copperfield, would have given 
 you a hundred pound to say less than you've blurted out ! " 
 
 " I can't help it, Ury," cried his mother. " I can't see you 
 running into danger, through carrying your head so high. 
 Better be umble, as you always was." 
 
 He remained for a little, biting the handkerchief, and then 
 said to me with a scowl : 
 
 " What more have you got to bring forward ? If anything, 
 go on with it. What do you look at me for ? " 
 
 Mr. Micawber promptly resumed his letter, only too glad to 
 revert to a performance with which he was so highly satisfied. 
 
 " ' Third. And last. I am now in a condition to show, by 
 HEEP'S false books, and HEEP'S real memoranda, 
 beginning with the partially destroyed pocket-book (which I 
 was unable to comprehend, at the time of its accidental dis- 
 covery by Mrs. Micawber, on our taking possession of our 
 present abode, in the locker or birin devoted to the reception 
 of the ashes calcined on our domestic hearth), that the weak- 
 nesses, the faults, the very virtues, the parental affections, 
 and the sense of honor, of the unhappy Mr. W. have been 
 for years acted on by, and warped to the base purposes of 
 HEEP. That Mr. W. has been for years deluded and plun- 
 dered, in every conceivable manner, to the pecuniary aggran- 
 dizement of the avaricious, false, and grasping HEEP. That 
 the engrossing object of HEEP was, next to gain, to sub- 
 due Mr. and Miss W. (of his ulterior views in reference to 
 the latter I say nothing) entirely to himself. That his last 
 act, completed but a few months since, was to induce Mr. W. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 349 
 
 to execute a relinquishment of his share in the partnership, 
 and even a bill of sale on the very furniture of his house, in 
 consideration of a certain annuity, to be well and truly paid 
 by HEEP on the four common quarter-days in each and 
 every year. That these meshes ; beginning with alarming and 
 falsified accounts of the estate of which Mr. W. is the receiver, 
 at a period when Mr. W. had launched into imprudent and ill- 
 judged speculations, and may not have had the money, for 
 which he was morally and legally responsible, in hand ; going 
 on with pretended borrowings of money at enormous interest, 
 really coming from HEEP and by HEEP fraudulently 
 obtained or withheld from Mr. W. himself, on pretence of 
 such speculations or otherwise ; perpetuated by a miscella- 
 neous catalogue of unscrupulous chicaneries gradually thick- 
 ened, until the unhappy Mr. W. could see no world beyond. 
 Bankrupt, as he believed, alike in circumstances, in all other 
 hope, and in honor, his sole reliance was upon the monster in 
 the garb of man/ " Mr. Micawber made a good deal of this, 
 as a new turn of expression, " ' who, by making himself 
 necessary to him, had achieved his destruction. All this I 
 undertake to show. Probably much more ! ' ; 
 
 I whispered a few words to Agnes, who was weeping, half 
 joyfully, half-sorrowfully, at my side ; and there was a move- 
 ment among us, as if Mr. Micawber had finished. He said, 
 with exceeding gravity, " Pardon me," and proceeded, with a 
 mixture of the lowest spirits and the most intense enjoyment, 
 to the peroration of his letter. 
 
 " < I have now concluded. It merely remains for me to 
 substantiate these accusations; and then, with my ill-starred 
 family, to disappear from the landscape on which we appear 
 to be an incumbrance. That is soon done. It may be rea- 
 sonably inferred that our baby will first expire of inanition, as 
 being the frailest member of our circle ; and that our twins 
 will follow next in order. So be it ! For myself, my Canter- 
 bury Pilgrimage has done much ; imprisonment on civil process, 
 and want, will soon do more. I trust that the labor and hazard 
 of an investigation of which the smallest results have been 
 slowly pieced together, in the pressure of arduous avocations, 
 under grinding penurious apprehensions, at rise of morn, at 
 
350 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 dewy eve, in the shadows of night, under the watchful eye of 
 one whom it were superfluous to call Demon combined with 
 the struggle of parental Poverty to turn it, when completed, 
 to the right account, may be as the sprinkling of a few drops 
 of sweet water on my funereal pyre. I ask no more. Let it be, 
 in justice, merely said of me, as of a gallant and eminent 
 naval Hero, with whom I have no pretensions to cope, that 
 what I have done, I did, in despite of mercenary and selfish 
 objects, 
 
 For England, home and Beauty. 
 
 "'Kemainmg always, &c. &c., WILKIXS MICAWBER." 
 
 Much affected, but still intensely enjoying himself, Mr. 
 Micawber folded up his letter, and handed it with a bow to 
 my aunt, as something she might like to keep. 
 
 There was, as I had noticed on my first visit long ago, an 
 iron safe in the room. The key was in it. A hasty suspicion 
 seemed to strike Uriah ; and with a glance at Mr. Micawber, 
 he went to it, and threw the doors clanking open. It was 
 empty. 
 
 " Where are the books ! " he cried, with a .frightful face. 
 " Some thief has stolen the books ! " 
 
 Mr. Micawber tapped himself with the ruler. " / did, when 
 I got the key from you as usual but a little earlier and 
 opened it this morning." 
 
 " Don't be uneasy," said Traddles. " They have come into 
 my possession. I will take care of them, under the authority 
 I mentioned." 
 
 " You receive stolen goods, do you ? " cried Uriah. 
 
 "Under such circumstances," answered Traddles, "yes." 
 
 What was my astonishment when I beheld my aunt, who 
 had been profoundly quiet and attentive, make a dart at Uriah 
 Heep, and seize him by the collar with both hands ! 
 
 " You know what J want ? " said my aunt. 
 
 " A strait-waistcoat," said he. 
 
 " No. My Property ! " returned my aunt. " Agnes, my 
 dear, as long as I believed it had been really made away with 
 by your father, I wouldn't and, my dear, I didn't, even to 
 Trot, as he knows, breathe a syllable of its having been 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 351 
 
 placed here for investment. But, now I know this fellow's 
 answerable for it, and I'll have it ! Trot, corne and take it 
 away from him ! " 
 
 Whether my aunt supposed, for the moment, that he kept 
 her property in his neck-kerchief, I am sure I don't know ; 
 but she certainly pulled at it as if she thought so. I hastened 
 to put myself between them, and to assure her that we would 
 all take care that he should make the utmost restitution of 
 everything he had wrongly got. This, and a few moments' 
 reflection, pacified her ; but she was not at all disconcerted by 
 what she had done (though I cannot say as much for her 
 bonnet) and resumed her seat composedly. 
 
 During the last few minutes, Mrs. Heep had been clamoring 
 to her son to be "umble;" and had been going down on her 
 knees to all of us in succession, and making the wildest prom- 
 ises. Her son sat her down in his chair ; and, standing sulkily 
 by her, holding her arm with his hand, but not rudely, said 
 to me, with a ferocious look : 
 
 " What do you want done ? " 
 
 " I will tell you what must be done," said Traddles . 
 
 "Has that Copperfield no tongue?" muttered Uriah. "I 
 would do a good deal for you if you could tell me, without 
 lying, that somebody had cut it out." 
 
 " My Uriah means to be umble ! " cried his mother. " Don't 
 mind what he says, good gentlemen ! " 
 
 " What must be done," said Traddles, " is this. First, the 
 deed of relinquishment, that we have heard of, must be given 
 over to me now here." 
 
 " Suppose I haven't got it," he interrupted. 
 
 " But you have," said Traddles ; " therefore, you know, we 
 won't suppose so." And I cannot help avowing that this Was 
 the first occasion on which I really did justice to the clear 
 head, and the plain, patient, practical good sense, of my old 
 schoolfellow. " Then," said Traddles, " you must prepare to 
 disgorge all that your rapacity has become possessed of, and 
 to make restoration to the last farthing. All the partnership 
 books and papers must remain in our possession ; all your 
 books and papers ; all money accounts and securities, of both 
 kinds. In short, everything here." 
 
352 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " Must it ? I don't know that," said Uriah. " I must have 
 time to think about that." 
 
 " Certainly," replied Traddles ; " but, in the meanwhile, and 
 until everything is done to our satisfaction, we shall maintain 
 possession of these things ; and beg you in short, compel 
 you to keep your own room, and hold no communication 
 with any one." 
 
 " I won't do it ! " said Uriah, with an oath. 
 
 " Maidstone Jail is a safer place of detention," observed 
 Traddles ; " and though the law may be longer in righting us, 
 and may not be able to right us so completely as you can, there 
 is no doubt of its punishing you. Dear me, you know that 
 quite as well as I ! Copperfield, will you go round to the 
 Guildhall, and bring a couple of officers ? " 
 
 Here, Mrs. Heep broke out again, crying on her knees to 
 Agnes to interfere in their behalf, exclaiming that he was 
 very humble, and it was all true, and if he didn't do what we 
 wanted, she would, and much more to the same purpose ; being 
 half frantic with fears for her darling. To inquire what he 
 might have done, if he had had any boldness, would be like 
 inquiring what a mongrel cur might do, if it had the spirit of 
 a tiger. He was a coward, from head to foot; and showed 
 his dastardly nature through his sullenness and mortification, 
 as much as at any time of his mean life. 
 
 " Stop ! " he growled to me ; and wiped his hot face with 
 his hand. " Mother, hold your noise. Well ! Let 'em have 
 that deed. Go and fetch it ! " 
 
 " Do you help her, Mr. Dick," said Traddles, " if you please." 
 
 Proud of his commission, and understanding it, Mr. Dick 
 accompanied her as a shepherd's dog might accompany a sheep. 
 But, Mrs. Heep gave him little trouble ; for she not only re- 
 turned with the deed, but with the box in which it was, where 
 we found a banker's book and some other papers that were 
 afterwards serviceable. 
 
 "Good!" said Traddles, when this was brought. "Now, 
 Mr. Heep, you can retire to think : particularly observing, if 
 you please, that I declare to you, on the part of all present, 
 that there is only one thing to be done ; that it is what I have 
 explained ; and that it must be done without delay." 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 353 
 
 Uriah, without lifting his eyes from the ground, shuffled 
 across the room with his hand to his chin, and pausing at the 
 door, said: 
 
 " Copperfield, I have always hated you. You've always been 
 an upstart, and you've always been against me." 
 
 " As I think I told you once before," said I, " it is you who 
 have been, in your greed and cunning, against all the world. 
 It may be profitable to you to reflect, in future, that there 
 never were greed and cunning in the world yet, that did not 
 do too much, and over-reach themselves. It is as certain as 
 death." 
 
 " Or as certain as they used to teach at school (the same 
 school where I picked up so much umbleness), from nine 
 o'clock to eleven, that labor was a curse ; and from eleven 
 o'clock to one, that it was a blessing and a cheerfulness, and 
 a dignity, and I don't know what all, eh ? " said he with a 
 sneer. " You preach, about as consistent as they did. Won't 
 umbleness go down ? I shouldn't have got round my gentle- 
 man fellow-partner without it, I think. Micawber, you old 
 bully, I'll pay you ! " 
 
 Mr. Micawber, supremely defiant of him and his extended 
 finger, and making a great deal of his chest until he had slunk 
 out at the door, then addressed himself to me, and proffered 
 me the satisfaction of "witnessing the re-establishment of 
 mutual confidence between himself and Mrs. Micawber." After 
 which, he invited the company generally to the contemplation 
 of that affecting spectacle. 
 
 "The veil that has long been interposed between Mrs. 
 Micawber and myself, is now withdrawn," said Mr. Micawber ; 
 "and my children and the Author of their Being can once 
 more come in contact on equal terms." 
 
 As we were all very grateful to him, and all desirous to 
 show that we were, as well as the hurry and disorder of our 
 spirits would permit, I dare say we should all have gone, but 
 that it was necessary for Agnes to return to her father, as yet 
 unable to bear more than the dawn of hope ; and for some one 
 else to hold Uriah in safe keeping. So Traddles remained 
 for the latter purpose, to be presently relieved by Mr. Dick ; 
 and Mr. Dick, my aunt, and I went home with Mr. Micawber. 
 VOL. ii 23 
 
354 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 As I parted hurriedly from the dear girl to whom I owed so 
 much, and thought from what she had been saved, perhaps, 
 that morning her better resolution notwithstanding I felt 
 devoutly thankful for the miseries of my younger days which 
 had brought me to the knowledge of Mr. Micawber. 
 
 His house was not far off ; and as the street-door opened 
 into the sitting-room, and he bolted in with a precipitation 
 quite his own, we found ourselves at once in the bosom of the 
 family. Mr. Micawber exclaiming, " Emma ! my life ! " rushed 
 into Mrs. Micawber's arms. Mrs. Micawber shrieked, and 
 folded Mr. Micawber in her embrace. Miss Micawber, nursing 
 the unconscious stranger of Mrs. Micawber's last letter to me, 
 was sensibly affected. The stranger leaped. The twins tes- 
 tified their joy by several inconvenient but innocent demon- 
 strations. Master Micawber, whose disposition appeared to have 
 been soured by early disappointment, and whose aspect had 
 become morose, yielded to his better feelings, and blubbered. 
 
 " Emma ! " said Mr. Micawber. " The cloud is past from 
 my mind. Mutual confidence, so long preserved between us 
 once, is restored, to know no farther interruption. Now, wel- 
 come poverty ! " cried Mr. Micawber, shedding tears. " Wel- 
 come misery, welcome houselessness, welcome hunger, rags, 
 tempest, and beggary ! Mutual confidence will sustain us to 
 the end. 
 
 With these expressions, Mr. Micawber placed Mrs. Micaw- 
 ber in a chair, and embraced the family all round j welcoming 
 a variety of bleak prospects, which appeared, to the best of 
 my judgment, to be anything but welcome to them ; and calling 
 upon them to come out into Canterbury and sing a chorus, as 
 nothing else was left for their support. 
 
 But Mrs. Micawber having, in the strength of her emotions, 
 fainted away, the first thing to be done, even before the chorus 
 could be considered complete, was to recover her. This, my 
 aunt and Mr. Micawber did ; and then my aunt was introduced, 
 and Mrs. Micawber recognized me. 
 
 "Excuse me, dear Mr. Copperfield," said the poor lady, 
 giving me her hand, " but I am not strong ; and the removal 
 of the late misunderstanding between Mr. Micawber and myself 
 was at first too much for me." 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 355 
 
 " Is this all your family, ma'am ? " said my aunt. 
 
 "There are no more at present," returned Mrs. Micawber. 
 
 " Good gracious, I didn't mean that, ina'am," said my aunt. 
 " I mean are all these yours ? " 
 
 " Madam," replied Mr. Micawber, " it is a true bill." 
 
 "And that eldest young gentleman, now," said my aunt, 
 musing, " What has he been brought up to ? " 
 
 " It was my hope when I came here," said Mr. Micawber, 
 " to have got Wilkins into the Church : or perhaps I shall 
 express my meaning more strictly, if I say the Choir. But 
 there was no vacancy for a tenor in the venerable Pile for 
 which this city is so justly eminent; and he has in short, 
 he has contracted a habit of singing in public-houses, rather 
 than in sacred edifices." 
 
 " But he means well," said Mrs. Micawber, tenderly. 
 
 "I dare say, my love," rejoined Mr. Micawber, "that he 
 means particularly well; but I have not yet found that he 
 carries out his meaning, in any given direction whatsoever." 
 
 Master Micawber's moroseness of aspect returned upon him 
 again, and he demanded, with some temper, what he was to 
 do ? Whether he had been born a carpenter, or a coach 
 painter, any more than he had been born a bird ? Whether 
 he could go into the next street, and open a chemist's shop ? 
 Whether he could rush to the next assizes, and proclaim him- 
 self a lawyer ? Whether he could come out by force at the 
 opera, and succeed by violence ? Whether he could do any- 
 thing, without being brought up to something ? 
 
 My aunt mused a little while, and then said : 
 
 "Mr. Micawber, I wonder you have never turned your 
 thoughts to emigration." 
 
 "Madam," returned Mr. Micawber, "it was the dream of 
 my youth, and the fallacious aspiration of my riper years." 
 I am thoroughly persuaded, by the by, that he had never 
 thought of it in his life. 
 
 " Ay ? " said my aunt, with a glance at me. " Why, what 
 a thing it would be for yourselves and your family, Mr. and 
 Mrs. Micawber, if you were to emigrate now." 
 
 "Capital, madam, capital," urged Mr. Micawber, gloomily. 
 
356 
 
 "That is the principal, I may say the only difficulty, my 
 dear Mr. Copperfield," assented his wife. 
 
 " Capital ? " cried my aunt. " But you are doing us a great 
 service have done us a great service, I may say, for surely 
 much will come out of the fire and what could we do for 
 you, that would be half so good as to find the capital ? " 
 
 " I could not receive it as a gift," said Mr. Micawber, full 
 of fire and animation, "but if a sufficient sum could be ad- 
 vanced, say at five per cent interest per annum, upon my 
 personal liability say my notes of hand, at twelve, eighteen, 
 and twenty-four months, respectively, to allow time for some- 
 thing to turn up " 
 
 " Could be ? Can be and shall be, on your own terms," 
 returned my aunt, " if you say the word. Think of this now, 
 both of you. Here are some people David knows, going out 
 to Australia shortly. If you decide to go, why shouldn't you 
 go in the same ship ? You may help each other. Think of 
 this now, Mr. and Mrs. Micawber. Take your time, and weigh 
 it well." 
 
 " There is but one question, my dear ma'am, I could wish 
 to ask," said Mrs. Micawber. "The climate, T believe, is 
 healthy." 
 
 " Finest in the world ! " said my aunt. 
 
 "Just so," returned Mrs. Micawber. "Then my question 
 arises. Now, are the circumstances of the country such, that 
 a man of Mr. Micawber's abilities would have a fair chance 
 of rising in the social scale ? I will not say, at present, might 
 he aspire to be Governor, or anything of that sort ; but would 
 there be a reasonable opening for his talents to develop them- 
 selves that, would be amply sufficient and find their own 
 expansion ? " 
 
 " No better opening anywhere," said my aunt, " for a man 
 who conducts himself well, and is industrious." 
 
 "For a man who conducts himself well," repeated Mrs. 
 Micawber, with her clearest business manner, " and is indus- 
 trious. Precisely. It is evident to me that Australia is the 
 legitimate sphere of action for Mr. Micawber ! " 
 
 "I entertain the conviction, my dear madam," said Mr. 
 Micawber, "that it is, under existing circumstances, the land, 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 357 
 
 the only land, for myself and family ; and that something of 
 an extraordinary nature will turn up on that shore. It is no 
 distance comparatively speaking ; and though consideration 
 is due to the kindness of your proposal, I assure you that is a 
 mere matter of form." 
 
 Shall I ever forget how, in a moment, he was the most 
 sanguine of men, looking on to fortune ; or how Mrs. Micaw- 
 ber presently discoursed about the habits of the kangaroo ! 
 Shall I ever recall that street of Canterbury on a. market day, 
 without recalling him, as he walked back with us ; expressing, 
 in the hardy roving manner he assumed, the unsettled habits 
 of a temporary sojourner in the land ; and looking at the 
 bullocks, as they came by, with the eye of an Australian 
 farmer ! 
 
358 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 ANOTHER RETROSPECT. 
 
 I MUST pause yet once again. O, my child-wife, there is a 
 figure in the moving crowd before my memory, quiet and still, 
 saying in its innocent love and childish beauty, Stop to think 
 of me turn to look upon the little blossom, as it flutters to 
 the ground ! 
 
 I do. All else grows dim, and fades away. I am again with 
 Dora, in our cottage. I do not know how long she has been 
 ill. I am so used to it in feeling, that I cannot count the time. 
 It is not really long, in weeks or months ; but, in my usage 
 and experience, it is a weary, weary while. 
 
 They have left off telling me to "wait a few days more." 
 I have begun to fear, remotely, that the day may never shine, 
 when I shall see my child-wife running in the sunlight with 
 her old friend Jip. 
 
 He is, as it were suddenly, grown very old. It may be, that 
 he misses in his mistress, something that enlivened him and 
 made him younger ; but he mopes, and his sight is weak, and 
 his limbs are feeble, and my aunt is sorry that he objects to 
 her no more, but creeps near her as he lies on Dora's bed 
 she sitting at the bedside and mildly licks her hand. 
 
 Dora lies smiling on us, and is beautiful, and utters no hasty 
 or complaining word. She says that we are very good to her ; 
 that her dear old careful boy is tiring himself out, she knows ; 
 that my aunt has no sleep, ^et is always wakeful, active, and 
 kind. Sometimes, the little bird-like ladies come to see her ; 
 and then we talk about our wedding-day, and all that happy 
 time. 
 
 What a strange rest and pause in my 'life there seems to be 
 and in all life, within doors and without when I sit in 
 the quiet, shaded, orderly room, with the blue eyes of my 
 child-wife turned towards me, and her little fingers twining 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 359 
 
 round iny hand ! Many and many an hour I sit thus ; but, 
 of all those times, three times come the freshest on my mind. 
 
 It is morning ; and Dora, made so trim by my aunt's hands, 
 shows me how her pretty hair will curl upon the pillow yet, 
 and how long and bright it is, and how she likes to have it 
 loosely gathered in that net she wears. 
 
 "Not that I am vain of it, now, you mocking boy,' 7 she 
 says, when I smile ; "but because you used to say you thought 
 it so beautiful ; and because, when I first began to think about 
 you, I used to peep in the glass, and wonder whether you 
 would like very much to have a lock of it. Oh what a foolish 
 fellow you were, Doady, when I gave you one ! " 
 
 " That was on the day when you were painting the flowers 
 I had given you, Dora, and when I told you how much in love 
 I was." 
 
 " Ah ! but I didn't like to tell you," says Dora, " then, how 
 I had cried over them, because I believed you really liked me ! 
 When I can run about again as I used to do, Doady, let us go 
 and see those places where we were such a silly couple, shall 
 we ? And take some of the old walks ? And not forget poor 
 papa ? " 
 
 "Yes, we will, and have some happy days. So you must 
 make haste to get well, my dear." 
 
 " Oh, I shall soon do that ! I am so much better, you don't 
 know ! " 
 
 It is evening ; and I sit in the same chair, by the same bed, 
 with the same face turned towards me. We have been silent, 
 and there is a smile upon her face. I have ceased to carry 
 my light burden up and down stairs now. She lies here all 
 the day. 
 
 " Doady ! " 
 
 " My dear Dora ! " 
 
 "You won't think what I am going to say, unreasonable, 
 after what you told me, such a little while ago, of Mr. Wick- 
 field's not being well ? I want to see Agnes. Very much I 
 want to see her." 
 
 " I will write to her, my dear. ? " 
 
360 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 "Will you?" 
 
 "Directly." 
 
 " What a good, kind boy ! Doady, take me on your arm. 
 Indeed, my dear, it's not a whim. It's not a foolish fancy. 
 I want very much indeed, to see her ! " 
 
 " I am certain of it. I have only to tell her so, and she is 
 sure to come." 
 
 " You are very lonely when you go down stairs, now ? " 
 Dora whispers, with her arm about my neck. 
 
 " How can I be otherwise, my own love, when I see your 
 empty chair ? ' : 
 
 " My empty chair ! " She clings to me for a little while, 
 in silence. " And you really miss me, Doady ? " looking up, 
 and brightly smiling. " Even poor, giddy, stupid me ? " 
 
 " My heart, who is there upon earth that I could miss so 
 much ? " 
 
 " Oh, husband ! I am so glad, yet so sorry ! " creeping 
 closer to me, and folding me in both her arms. She laughs 
 and sobs, and then is quiet, and quite happy. 
 
 " Quite ! " she says. " Only give Agnes my dear love, and 
 tell her that I want very, very, much to see her ; and I have 
 nothing left to wish for." 
 
 " Except to get well again, Dora." 
 
 " Ah, Doady ! Sometimes I think you know I always 
 was a silly little thing ! that that will never be ! " 
 
 " Don't say so, Dora ! Dearest love, don't think so ! " 
 
 " I won't, if I can help it, Doady. But I am very happy ; 
 though my dear boy is so lonely by himself, before his child- 
 wife's empty chair ! " 
 
 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; but I am far from sure that I have taken that truth 
 to heart. I cannot master it. I have withdrawn by myself, 
 
. 
 
 ' 
 
 MY CHILD-WIFE'S OLD COMPANION 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 361 
 
 many times to-day, to weep. I have remembered Who wept 
 for a parting between the living and the dead. I have be- 
 thought 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 I 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 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. " Per- 
 haps ! 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 
 been 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 down stairs, Doady ? 7J 
 
 "Very! Very!" 
 
 " Don't cry ! Is my chair there ? " 
 
 " In its old place." 
 
 " Oh, how my poor boy cries ! Hush, hush ! Now, make 
 me one promise. I want to speak to Agnes. When you go 
 down stairs, 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 she 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 ! " 
 
 Agnes is down stairs, when I go into the parlor ; and I give 
 her the message. She disappears, leaving me alone with Jip. 
 
 His Chinese house is by the fire ; and he lies within it, on 
 his bed of flannel, querulously trying to sleep. The bright 
 moon is high and clear. As I look out on the night, my tears 
 fall fast, and my undisciplined heart is chastened heavily 
 heavily. 
 
 I sit down by the fire, thinking with a blind remorse of all 
 those secret feelings I have nourished since my marriage. I 
 think of every little trifle between me and Dora, and feel the 
 truth, that trifles make the sum of life. Ever rising from the 
 sea of my remembrance, is the image of the dear child as I 
 knew her first, graced by my young love, and by her own, with 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 363 
 
 every fascination wherein such love is rich. Would it, indeed, 
 have been better if we had loved each other as a boy and girl, 
 and forgotten it ? Undisciplined heart, reply ! 
 
 How the time wears, I know not ; until I am recalled by my 
 child-wife's old companion. More restless than he was, he 
 crawls out of his house, and looks at me, and wanders to the 
 door, and whines to go up stairs. 
 
 " Not to-night, Jip ! Not to-night ! " 
 
 He comes very slowly back to me, licks my hand, and lifts 
 his dim eyes to my face. 
 
 " 0, Jip ! It may be, never again ! " 
 
 He lies down at my feet, stretches himself out as if to sleep, 
 and with a plaintive cry, is dead. 
 
 " Agnes ! Look, look, here ! " 
 
 That face, so full of pity, and of grief, that rain of tears, 
 that awful mute appeal to me, that solemn hand upraised 
 towards Heaven ! 
 
 " Agnes ? " 
 
 It is over. Darkness comes before my eyes ; and, for a time, 
 all things are blotted out of my remembrance. 
 
364 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 MB. MICAWBER'S TRANSACTIONS. 
 
 THIS is not "the time at which I am to enter on the state of 
 my mind beneath its load of sorrow. I came to think that the 
 Future was walled up before me, that the energy and action of 
 my life were at an end, that I never could find any refuge but in 
 the grave. I came to think so, I say, but not in the first shock 
 of my grief. It slowly grew to that. If the events I go on to 
 relate, had not thickened around me, in the beginning to con- 
 fuse, and in the end to augment, my affliction, it is possible 
 (though I think not probable), that I might have fallen at once 
 into this condition. As it was, an interval occurred before I 
 fully knew my own distress ; an interval, in which I even sup- 
 posed that its sharpest pangs were past ; and when my mind 
 could soothe itself by resting on all that was most innocent 
 and beautiful, in the tender story that was closed for ever. 
 
 When it was first proposed that I should go abroad, or how 
 it came to be agreed among us that I was to seek the resto- 
 ration of my peace in change and travel, I do not, even now, 
 distinctly know. The spirit of Agnes so pervaded all we 
 thought, and said, and did, in that time of sorrow, that I 
 assume I may refer the project to her influence. But her 
 influence was so quiet that I know no more. 
 
 And now, indeed, I began to think that in my old association 
 of her with the stained-glass window in the church, a prophetic 
 foreshadowing of what she would be to me, in the calamity 
 that was to happen in the f illness of time, had found a way 
 into my mind. In all that sorrow, from the moment, never to 
 be forgotten, when she stood before me with her upraised hand, 
 she was like a sacred presence in my lonely house. When the 
 Angel of Death alighted there, my child-wife fell asleep 
 they told me so when I could bear to hear it on her bosom, 
 with a smile. From my swoon, I first awoke to a conscious- 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 365 
 
 ness of her compassionate tears, her words of hope and peace, 
 her gentle face bending down as from a purer region nearer 
 Heaven, over my undisciplined heart, and softening its pain. 
 
 Let me go on. 
 
 I was to go abroad. That seemed to have been determined 
 among us from the first. The ground now covering all that 
 could perish of my departed wife, I waited only for what 
 Mr. Micawber called the " final pulverization of Heep," and for 
 the departure of the emigrants. 
 
 At the request of Traddles, most affectionate and devoted of 
 friends in my trouble, we returned to Canterbury : I mean my 
 aunt, Agnes, and I. We proceeded by appointment straight 
 to Mr. Micawber's house ; where, and at Mr. Wickfield's, my 
 friend had been laboring ever since our explosive meeting. 
 When poor Mrs. Micawber saw me come in, in my black 
 clothes, she was sensibly affected. There was a great deal of 
 good in Mrs. Micawber's heart, which had not been dunned out 
 of it in all those many years. 
 
 " Well, Mr. and Mrs. Micawber," was my aunt's first saluta- 
 tion after we were seated. "Pray, have you thought about 
 that emigration proposal of mine ? " 
 
 "My dear madam," returned Mr. Micawber, "perhaps I 
 cannot better express the conclusion at which Mrs. Micawber, 
 your humble servant, and I may add our children, have jointly 
 and severally arrived, than by borrowing the language of an 
 illustrious poet, to reply that our Boat is on the shore, and our 
 Bark is on the sea." 
 
 " That's right," said my aunt. " I augur all sorts of good 
 from your sensible decision." 
 
 "Madam, you do us a great deal of honor," he rejoined. 
 He then referred to a memorandum. " With respect to the 
 pecuniary assistance enabling us to launch our frail canoe 
 on the ocean of enterprise, I have reconsidered that important 
 business-point ; and would beg to propose my notes of hand 
 drawn, it is needless to stipulate, on stamps of the amounts 
 respectively required by the various Acts of Parliament apply- 
 ing to such securities at eighteen, twenty-four, and thirty 
 months. The proposition I originally submitted, was twelve, 
 eighteen, and twenty-four ; but I am apprehensive that such 
 
366 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 an arrangement might not allow sufficient time for the requisite 
 amount of Something to turn up. We might not," said 
 Mr. Micawber, looking round the room as if it represented 
 several hundred acres of highly cultivated land, " on the first 
 responsibility becoming due, have been successful in our har- 
 vest, or we might not have got our harvest in. Labor, I 
 believe, is sometimes difficult to obtain in that portion of our 
 colonial possessions where it will be our lot to combat with 
 the teeming soil." 
 
 "Arrange it in any way you please, sir," said my aunt. 
 
 "Madam," he replied, "Mrs. Micawber and myself are 
 deeply sensible of the very considerate kindness of our 
 friends and patrons. What I wish is, to be perfectly busi- 
 ness-like, and perfectly punctual. Turning over, as we are 
 about to turn over, an entirely new leaf ; and falling back, as 
 we are now in the act of falling back, for a Spring of no com- 
 mon magnitude ; it is important to my sense of self-respect, 
 besides being an example to my son, that these arrangements 
 should be concluded as between man and man." 
 
 I don't know that Mr. Micawber attached any meaning to 
 this last phrase ; I don't know that anybody ever does, or 
 did ; but he appeared to relish it uncommonly, and repeated, 
 with an impressive cough, " as between man and man." 
 
 " I propose," said Mr. Micawber, " Bills a convenience 
 to the mercantile world, for which, I believe, we are originally 
 indebted to the Jews, who appear to me to have had a devilish 
 deal too much to do with them ever since because they are 
 negotiable. But if a Bond, or any other description of secur- 
 ity, would be preferred, I should be happy to execute any such 
 instrument. As between man and man." 
 
 My aunt observed, that in a case where both parties were 
 willing to agree to anything, she took it for granted there 
 would be no difficulty in settling this point. Mr. Micawber 
 was of her opinion. 
 
 "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 
 neighboring establishment, to acquire the process if process 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 367 
 
 it may be called of milking cows. My younger children 
 are instructed to observe, as closely as circumstances will per- 
 mit, the habits of the pigs and poultry maintained in the 
 poorer parts of this city : a pursuit from which they have, on 
 two occasions, been brought home, within an inch of being 
 run over. I have myself directed some attention, during the 
 past week, to the art of baking; and my son Wilkins has 
 issued forth with a walking-stick and driven cattle, when per- 
 mitted, 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, was not often ; he 
 being generally warned, with imprecations, to desist." 
 
 "All very right, indeed," said my aunt, encouragingly. 
 " Mrs. Micawber has been busy, too, I have no doubt." 
 
 "My dear madam," returned Mrs. Micawber, with her 
 business-like air, " I am free to confess, that I have not been 
 actively engaged in pursuits immediately connected with culti- 
 vation or with stock, though well aware that both will claim 
 my attention on a foreign shore. Such opportunities as I 
 have been enabled to alienate from my domestic duties, I have 
 devoted to corresponding at some length with my family. For 
 I own it seems to me, my dear Mr. Copperfield," said Mrs. 
 Micawber, who always fell back on me, I suppose from old 
 habit, to whomsoever else she might address her discourse at 
 starting, " that the time is come when the past should be 
 buried in oblivion ; when my family should take Mr. Micaw- 
 ber by the hand, and Mr. Micawber should take my family by 
 the hand ; when the lion should lie down with the lamb, and 
 my family be on terms with Mr. Micawber." 
 
 I said I thought so too. 
 
 "This, at least, is the light, my dear Mr. Copperfield," 
 pursued Mrs. Micawber, "in which /view the subject. When 
 I lived at home with my papa and mamma, my papa was 
 accustomed to ask, when any point was under discussion in 
 our limited circle, 'In what light does my Emma view the 
 subject?' That my papa was too partial, I know; still, on 
 such a point as the frigid coldness which has ever subsisted 
 between % Mr. Micawber and my family, I necessarily have 
 formed an opinion, delusive though it may be." 
 
368 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 "Xo doubt. Of course you have, ma'am," said my aunt. 
 
 " Precisely so," assented Mrs. Micawber. " Xow, 1 may be 
 wrong in my conclusions ; it is very likely that I am ; but my 
 individual impression is, that the gulf between my family and 
 Mr. Micawber may be traced to an apprehension, on the part 
 of my family, that Mr. Micawber would require pecuniary 
 accommodation. I cannot help thinking," said Mrs. Micaw- 
 ber, with an air of deep sagacity, "that there are members of 
 my family who have been apprehensive that Mr. Micawber 
 would solicit them for their names. I do not mean to be con- 
 ferred in Baptism upon our children, but to be inscribed on 
 Bills of Exchange, and negotiated in the Money Market." 
 
 The look of penetration with which Mrs. Micawber an- 
 nounced this discovery, as if no one had ever thought of it 
 before, seemed rather to astonish my aunt, who abruptly 
 replied, " Well, ma'am, upon the whole, I shouldn't wonder if 
 you were right ! " 
 
 " Mr. Micawber being now on the eve of casting off the 
 pecuniary shackles that have so long enthralled him," said 
 Mrs. Micawber, " and of commencing a new career in a country 
 where there is sufficient range for his abilities, which, in my 
 opinion, is exceedingly important" 1 ; Mr. Micawber's abilities 
 peculiarly requiring space, it seems to me that my family 
 should signalize the occasion by coming forward. What I 
 could wish to see, would be a meeting between Mr. Micawber 
 and my family at a festive entertainment, to be given at my 
 family's expense ; where Mr. Micawber's health and prosperity 
 being proposed, by some leading member of my family, Mr. 
 Micawber might have an opportunity of developing his views." 
 
 " My dear," said Mr. Micawber, with some heat, " it may be 
 better for me to state distinctly, at once, that if I were to 
 develop my views to that assembled group, they would possi- 
 bly be found of an offensive nature ; my impression being that 
 your family are, in the aggregate, impertinent Snobs ; and, in 
 detail, unmitigated Kuffians." 
 
 " Micawber," said Mrs. Micawber, shaking her head, " no ! 
 You have never understood them, and they have never under- 
 stood you." 
 
 Mr. Micawber coughed. 
 

 OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 369 
 
 "They have never understood you, Micawber," said his 
 wife. " They may be incapable of it. If so, that is their mis- 
 fortune. I can pity their misfortune." 
 
 " I am extremely sorry, my dear Emma," said Mr. Micawber, 
 relenting, "to have been betrayed into any expressions that 
 might, even remotely, have the appearance of being strong 
 expressions. All I would say, is, that I can go abroad without 
 your family coming forward to favor me, in short, with a 
 parting Shove of their cold shoulders ; and that, upon the 
 whole, I would rather leave England with such impetus as I 
 possess, than derive any acceleration of it from that quarter. 
 At the same time, my dear, if they should condescend to reply 
 to your communications which our joint experience renders 
 most improbable far be it from me to be a barrier to your 
 wishes." 
 
 The matter being thus amicably settled, Mr. Micawber gave 
 Mrs. Micawber his arm, and, glancing at the heap of books and 
 papers lying before Traddles on the table, said they would 
 leave us to ourselves ; which they ceremoniously did. 
 
 " My dear Copperfield," said Traddles, leaning back in his 
 chair when they were gone, and looking at me with an affec- 
 tion that made his eyes red, and his hair all kinds of shapes, 
 " I don't make any excuse for troubling you with business, 
 because I know you are deeply interested in it, and it may 
 divert your thoughts. My dear boy, I hope you are not worn 
 out ? " 
 
 " I am quite myself," said I, after a pause. " We have more 
 cause to think of my aunt than of any one. You know how 
 much she has done." 
 
 "Surely, surely," answered Traddles. "Who can forget 
 it!" 
 
 "But even that is not all," said I. "During the last fort- 
 night, some new trouble has vexed her ; and she has been in 
 and out of London every day. Several times she has gone out 
 early, and been absent until evening. Last night, Traddles, 
 with this journey before her, it was almost midnight before she 
 came home. You know what her consideration for others is. 
 She will not tell me what has happened to distress her." 
 
 My aunt, very pale, and with deep lines in her face, sat 
 VOL. ii 24 
 
370 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 immovable until I had finished ; when some stray tears found 
 their way to her cheeks, and she put her hand on mine. 
 
 " It's nothing, Trot ; it's nothing. There will be no more of 
 it. You shall know by and by. Now, Agnes, my dear, let us 
 attend to these affairs." 
 
 "I must do Mr. Micawber the justice to say," Traddles 
 began, " that although he would appear not to have worked 
 to any good account for himself, he is a most untiring man 
 Avhen he works for other people. I never saw such a fellow. 
 If he always goes on in the same way, he must be, virtually, 
 about two hundred years old, at present. The heat into which 
 he has been continually putting himself ; and the distracted 
 and impetuous manner in which he has been diving, day and 
 night, among papers and books ; to say nothing of the immense 
 number of letters he has written me between this house and 
 Mr. Wickfield's, and often across the table when he has been 
 sitting opposite, and might much more easily have spoken ; is 
 quite extraordinary." 
 
 " Letters ! " cried my aunt. " I believe he dreams in 
 letters!" 
 
 " There's Mr. Dick, too," said Traddles, " has been doing 
 wonders ! As soon as he was released from overlooking Uriah 
 Heep, whom he kept in such charge as / never saw exceeded, 
 he began to devote himself to Mr. Wickfield. And really his 
 anxiety to be of use in the investigations we have been mak- 
 ing, and his real usefulness in extracting, and copying, and 
 fetching, and carrying, have been quite stimulating to us." 
 
 " Dick is a very remarkable man," exclaimed my aunt ; 
 " and I always said he was. Trot, you know it ! " 
 
 " I am happy to say, Miss Wickfield," pursued Traddles, at 
 once with great delicacy and with great earnestness, '"that 
 in your absence Mr. Wickfield has considerably improved. 
 Relieved of the incubus that had fastened upon him for so 
 long a time, and of the dreadful apprehensions under which he 
 had lived, he is hardly the same person. At times, even his 
 impaired power of concentrating his memory and attention on 
 particular points of business, has recovered itself very much ; 
 and he has been able to assist us in making some things clear, 
 that we should have found very difficult indeed, if not hope- 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 371 
 
 less, without him. But, what I have to do is to come to 
 results ; which are short enough j not to gossip on all the hope- 
 ful circumstances I have observed, or I shall never have done." 
 
 His natural manner and agreeable simplicity made it trans- 
 parent that he said this to put us in good heart, and to enable 
 Agnes to hear her father mentioned with greater confidence ; 
 but it was not the less pleasant for that. 
 
 "Now, let me see," said Traddles, looking among the papers 
 on the table. "Having counted our funds, and reduced to 
 order a great mass of unintentional confusion in the first place, 
 and of wilful confusion and falsification in the second, we 
 take it to be clear that Mr. Wickfield might now wind up his 
 business, and his agency-trust, and exhibit no deficiency or 
 defalcation whatever." 
 
 " Oh, thank Heaven ! " cried Agnes, fervently. 
 
 " But," said Traddles, " the surplus that would be left as his 
 means of support and I suppose the house to be sold, even 
 in saying this would be so small, not exceeding in all proba- 
 bility some hundreds of pounds, that perhaps, Miss Wickfield, 
 it would be best to consider whether he % might not retain his 
 agency of the estate to which he has so long been receiver. 
 His friends might advise him you know ; now he is free. You 
 yourself, Miss Wickfield Copperfield I " 
 
 "I have considered it, Trotwood," said Agnes, looking to 
 me, " and I feel that it ought not to be, and must not be ; even 
 on the recommendation of a friend to whom I am so grateful, 
 and owe so much." 
 
 " I will not say that I recommend it," observed Traddles. 
 " I think it right to suggest it. No more." 
 
 " I am happy to hear you say so," answered Agnes, steadily, 
 " for it gives me hope, almost assurance, that we think alike. 
 Dear Mr. Traddles and dear Trotwood, papa once free with 
 honor, what could I wish for! I have always aspired, if I 
 could have released him from the toils in which he was held, 
 to render back some little portion of the love and care I owe 
 him, and to devote my life to him. It has been, for years, the 
 utmost height of my hopes. To take our future on myself, 
 wDl be the next great happiness the next to his release from 
 all trust and responsibility that I can know." 
 
372 THE PEESONAL HISTOEY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 "Have you thought how, Agnes ? " 
 
 " Often ! I am not afraid, dear Trotwood. I am certain of 
 success. So many people know me here, and think kindly of 
 me, that I am certain. Don't mistrust me. Our wants are 
 not many. If I rent the dear old house, and keep a school, I 
 shall be useful and happy." 
 
 The calm fervor of her cheerful voice brought back so 
 vividly, first the dear old house itself, and' then my solitary 
 home, that my heart was too full for speech. Traddles pre- 
 tended for a little while to be busily looking among the papers. 
 
 " Next, Miss Trotwood," said Traddles, " that property of 
 yours." 
 
 " Well, sir," sighed my aunt. " All I have got to say about 
 it, is, that if it's gone, I can bear it ; and if it's not gone, I shall 
 be glad to get it back." 
 
 "It was originally, I think, eight thousand pounds, Con- 
 sols ? " said Traddles. 
 
 " Eight ! " replied my aunt. 
 
 " I can't account for more than five," said Traddles, with an 
 air of perplexity. 
 
 " thousand, do you mean ? " inquired my aunt, with 
 uncommon composure, " or pounds ? " 
 
 " Five thousand pounds," said Traddles. 
 
 " It was all there was," returned my aunt. " I sold three, 
 myself. One, I paid for your articles, Trot, my dear ; and the 
 other two I have by me. When I lost the rest, I thought it 
 wise to say nothing about that sum, but to keep it secretly for 
 a rainy day. I wanted to see how you would come out of the 
 trial, Trot ; and you came out nobly persevering, self-reliant, 
 self-denying ! So did Dick. Don't speak to me, for I find my 
 nerves a little shaken ! " 
 
 Nobody would have thought so, to see her sitting upright, 
 with her arms folded ; but she had wonderful self-command. 
 
 " Then I am delighted to say," cried Traddles, beaming with 
 joy, " that we have recovered the whole money ! " 
 
 " Don't congratulate me, anybody ! " exclaimed my aunt. 
 "How so, sir?" 
 
 "You believed it had been misappropriated by Mr. Wick- 
 field ? " said Traddles. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 373 
 
 " Of course I did," said my aunt, " and was therefore easily 
 silenced. Agnes, not a word ! " 
 
 " And indeed," said Traddles, " it was sold, by virtue of the 
 power of management he held from you ; but I needn't say by 
 whom sold, or on whose actual signature. It was afterwards 
 pretended to Mr. Wickfield, by that rascal, and proved, too, 
 by figures, that he had possessed himself of the money (on 
 general instructions, he said) to keep other deficiencies and 
 difficulties from the light. Mr. Wickfield, being so weak and 
 helpless in his hands as to pay you, afterwards, several sums 
 of interest on a pretended principal which he knew did not 
 exist, made himself, unhappily, a party to the fraud." 
 
 " And at last took the blame upon himself," added my aunt ; 
 "and wrote me a mad letter, charging himself with robbery, 
 and wrong unheard of. Upon which I paid him a visit early 
 one morning, called for a candle, burnt the letter, and told 
 him if he ever could right me and himself, to do it ; and if he 
 couldn't, to keep his own counsel for his daughter's sake. If 
 anybody speaks to me, I'll leave the house ! " 
 
 We all remained quiet ; Agnes covering her face. 
 
 " Well, my dear friend," said my aunt, after a pause, " and 
 you have really extorted the money back from him ? " 
 
 " Why, the fact is," returned Traddles, " Mr. Micawber had 
 so completely hemmed him in, and was always ready with so 
 many new points if an old one failed, that he could not escape 
 from us. A most remarkable circumstance is, that I really 
 don't think he grasped this sum even so much for the gratifi- 
 cation of his avarice, which was inordinate, as in the hatred 
 he felt for Copperfield. He said so to me, plainly. He said 
 he would even have spent as much, to baulk or injure Copper- 
 field." 
 
 " Ha ! " said my aunt, knitting her brows thoughtfully, and 
 glancing at Agnes. " And what's become of him ? " 
 
 " I don't know. He left here," said Traddles, " with his 
 mother, who had been clamoring, and beseeching, and disclos- 
 ing, the whole time. They went away by one of the London 
 night coaches, and I know no more about him; except that 
 his malevolence to me at parting was audacious. He see-med 
 to consider himself hardly less indebted to me, than to Mr. 
 
374 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 Micawber ; which I consider (as I told him) quite a compli- 
 ment." 
 
 " Do you suppose he has any money, Traddles ? " I asked. 
 
 " Oh dear, yes, I should think so," he replied, shaking his 
 head, seriously. " I should say he must have pocketed a good 
 deal, in one way or other. But, I think you would find, Cop- 
 pertield, if you had an opportunity of observing his course, 
 that money would never keep that man out of mischief. He 
 is such an incarnate hypocrite, that whatever object he pur- 
 sues, he must pursue crookedly. It's his only compensation 
 for the outward restraints he puts upon himself. Always 
 creeping along the ground to some small end or other, he will 
 always magnify every object in the way ; and consequently 
 will hate and suspect everybody that comes, in the most inno- 
 cent manner, between him and it. So, the crooked courses will 
 become crookeder, at any moment, for the least reason or for 
 none. It's only necessary to consider his history here," said 
 Traddles, "to know that." 
 
 " He's a monster of meanness ! " said my aunt. 
 
 " Really I don't know about that," observed Traddles, 
 thoughtfully. " Many people can be very mean, when they 
 give their minds to it." 
 
 " And now, touching Mr. Micawber," said my aunt. 
 
 " Well, really," said Traddles, cheerfully, " I must, once 
 more, give Mr. Micawber high praise. But for his having 
 been so patient and persevering for so long a time, we never 
 could have hoped to do anything worth speaking of. And T 
 think we ought to consider that Mr. Micawber did right, for 
 right's sake, when we reflect what terms he might have made 
 with Uriah Heep himself, for his silence." 
 
 " I think so too," said I. 
 
 " Now, what would you give him ? " inquired my aunt. 
 
 " Oh ! Before you come to that," said Traddles, a little 
 disconcerted, " I am afraid I thought it discreet to omit (not 
 being able to carry everything before me) two points, in 
 making this lawless adjustment for it's perfectly lawless 
 from beginning to end of a difficult affair. Those I. 0. U.'s, 
 and so forth, which Mr. Micawber gave him for the advances 
 he had " 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 375 
 
 " Well ! They must be paid," said my aunt. 
 
 "Yes, but I don't know when they may be proceeded on, 
 or where they are," rejoined Traddles, opening his eyes; "and 
 I anticipate, that, between this time and his departure, Mr. 
 Micawber will be constantly arrested, or taken in execution." 
 
 "Then he must be constantly set free again, and taken 
 out of execution," said my aunt. " What's the amount alto- 
 gether ? " 
 
 " Why, Mr. Micawber has entered the transactions he 
 calls them transactions with great form, in a book," rejoined 
 Traddles, smiling ; " and he makes the amount a hundred and 
 three pounds, five." 
 
 " Now, what shall we give him, that sum included ? " said 
 my aunt. " Agnes, my dear, you and I can talk about division 
 of it afterwards. What should it be ? Five hundred pounds ? " 
 
 Upon this, Traddles and I both struck in at once. We 
 both recommended a small sum in money, and the payment, 
 without stipulation to Mr. Micawber, of the Uriah claims as 
 they came in. We proposed that the family should have 
 their passage and their outfit, and a hundred pounds ; and 
 that Mr. Micawber's arrangement for the repayment of the 
 advances should be gravely entered into, as it might be whole- 
 some for him to suppose himself under that responsibility. To 
 this, I added the suggestion, that I should give some explana- 
 tion of his character and history to Mr. Peggotty, who I knew 
 could be relied on ; and that to Mr. Peggotty should be 
 quietly entrusted the discretion of advancing another hundred. 
 I further proposed to interest Mr. Micawber in Mr. Peggotty, 
 by confiding so much of Mr. Peggotty's story to him as I 
 might feel justified in relating, or might think expedient ; 
 and to endeavor to bring each of them to bear upon the other, 
 for the common advantage. We all entered warmly into 
 these views ; and I may mention at once, that the principals 
 themselves did so, shortly afterwards, with perfect good will 
 and harmony. 
 
 Seeing that Traddles now glanced anxiously at my aunt 
 again, I reminded him of the second and last point to which 
 he had adverted. 
 
 " You and your aunt will excuse me, Copperfield, if I touch 
 
376 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 upon a painful theme, as I greatly fear I shall," said Traddles, 
 hesitating ; " but I think it necessary to bring it to your rec- 
 ollection. On the day of Mr. Micawber's memorable denuncia- 
 tion, a threatening allusion was made by Uriah Heep to your 
 aunt's husband." 
 
 My aunt, retaining her stiff position, and apparent com- 
 posure, assented with a nod. 
 
 "Perhaps," observed Traddles, "it was mere purposeless 
 impertinence ? " 
 
 " No," returned my aunt. 
 
 "There was pardon me really such a person, and at all 
 in his power ? " hinted Traddles. 
 
 " Yes, my good friend," said my aunt. 
 
 Traddles, with a perceptible lengthening of his face, explained 
 that he had not been able to approach this subject; that it 
 had shared the fate of Mr. Micawber's liabilities, in not being 
 comprehended in the terms he had made ; that we were no 
 longer of any authority with Uriah Heep; and that if he 
 could do us, or any of us, any injury or annoyance, no doubt 
 he would. 
 
 My aunt remained quiet ; until again some stray tears found 
 their way to her cheeks. 
 
 " You are quite right," she said. " It was very thoughtful 
 to mention it." 
 
 " Can I or Copperfield do anything ? " asked Traddles, 
 gently. 
 
 " Nothing," said my aunt. " I thank you many times. Trot, 
 my dear, a vain threat ! Let us have Mr. and Mrs. Micawber 
 back. And don't any of you speak to me ! " With that she 
 smoothed her dress, and sat, with her upright carriage, look- 
 ing at the door. 
 
 " Well, Mr. and Mrs. Micawber ! " said my aunt, when they 
 entered. "We have been discussing your emigration, with 
 many apologies to you for keeping you out of the room so 
 long; and I'll tell you what arrangements we propose." 
 
 These she explained, to the unbounded satisfaction of the 
 family, children and all being then present, and so much 
 to the awakening of Mr. Micawber's punctual habits in the 
 opening stage of all bill transactions, that he could not be dis- 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 377 
 
 suaded from immediately rushing out, in the highest spirits, 
 to buy the stamps for his notes of hand. But, his joy received 
 a sudden check ; for within five minutes, he returned in the 
 custody of a sheriff's officer, informing us, in a flood of tears, 
 that all was lost. We, being quite prepared for this event, 
 which was of course a proceeding of Uriah Heep's, soon paid 
 the money ; and in five minutes more Mr. Micawber was 
 seated at the table, filling up the stamps with an expression 
 of perfect joy, which only that congenial employment, or the 
 making of punch, could impart in full completeness to his 
 shining face. 'To see him at work on the stamps, with the 
 relish of an artist, touching them like pictures, looking at 
 them sideways, taking weighty notes of dates and amounts in 
 his pocket-book, and contemplating them when finished, with 
 a high sense of their precious value., was a sight indeed. 
 
 " Now, the best thing you can do, sir, if you'll allow me to 
 advise you," said my aunt, after silently observing him, " is to 
 abjure that occupation for evermore." 
 
 " Madam," replied Mr. Micawber, "it is my intention to 
 register such a vow on the virgin page of the future. Mrs. 
 Micawber will attest it. I trust," said Mr. Micawber, sol- 
 emnly, " that my son Wilkins will ever bear in mind, that he 
 had infinitely better put his fist in the fire, than use it to 
 handle the serpents that have poisoned the life-blood of his 
 unhappy parent ! " Deeply affected, and changed in a moment 
 to the image of despair, Mr. Micawber regarded the serpents 
 with a look of gloomy abhorrence (in which his late admira- 
 tion of them was not quite subdued), folded them up and put 
 them in his pocket. 
 
 This closed the proceedings of the evening. We were weary 
 with sorrow and fatigue, and my aunt and I Were to return to 
 London on the morrow. It was arranged that the Micawbers 
 should follow us, after effecting a sale of their goods to a 
 broker ; that Mr. Wickfield's affairs should be brought to a 
 settlement, with all convenient speed, under the direction of 
 Traddles ; and that Agnes should also come to London, pend- 
 ing those arrangements. We passed the night at the old house, 
 which, freed from the presence of the Keeps, seemed purged 
 
378 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 of a disease ; and I lay in my old room, like a shipwrecked 
 wanderer come home. 
 
 We went back next day to my aunt's house not to mine ; 
 and when she and I sat alone, as of old, before going to bed, 
 she said : 
 
 " Trot, do you really wish to know what I have had upon 
 my mind lately ? " 
 
 " Indeed I do. aunt. If there ever was a time when I felt 
 unwilling that you should have a sorrow or anxiety which I 
 could not share, it is now." 
 
 "You have had sorrow enough, child/' said my aunt, 
 affectionately, " without the addition of my little miseries. I 
 could have no other motive, Trot, in keeping anything from 
 you." 
 
 " I know that well," said I. " But tell me now." 
 
 " Would you ride with me a little way to-morrow morning? " 
 asked my aunt. 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " At nine," said she. " I'll tell you then, my dear." 
 
 At nine, accordingly, we went out in a little chariot, and 
 drove to London. We drove a long way. through the streets 
 until we came to one of the large hospitals. Standing hard by 
 the building was a plain hearse. The driver recognized my 
 aunt, and in obedience to a motion of her hand at the window, 
 drove slowly off; we following. 
 
 "You understand it now, Trot," said my aunt. "He is 
 gone ! " 
 
 " Did he die in the hospital ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 She sat immovable beside me ; but, again I saw the stray 
 tears on her face. 
 
 " He was there once before," said my aunt presently. " He 
 was ailing a long time a shattered, broken man, these many 
 years. When he knew his state in this last illness, he asked 
 them to send for me. He was sorry then. Very sorry." 
 
 "You went, I know, aunt." 
 
 " I went. I was with him a good deal afterwards." 
 
 " He died the night before we wont to Canterbury ? '' 
 said I. 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 379 
 
 My aunt nodded. "No one can harm him now," she said. 
 " It was a vain threat." 
 
 We drove away, out of town, to the churchyard at Hornsey. 
 "Better here than in the streets," said my aunt. "He was 
 born here." 
 
 We alighted; and followed the plain coffin to a corner I 
 remember well, where the service was read consigning it to 
 the dust. 
 
 " Six-and-thirty years ago, this day, my dear," said my aunt, 
 as we walked back to the chariot, " I was married. God for- 
 give us all ! " 
 
 We took our seats in silence ; and so she sat beside me for a 
 long time, holding my hand. At length she suddenly burst 
 into tears, and said : 
 
 " He was a fine-looking man when I married him, Trot 
 and he was sadly changed ! " 
 
 It did not last long. After the relief of tears, she soon 
 became composed, and even cheerful. Her nerves were a little 
 shaken, she said, or she would not have given way to it. God 
 forgive us all ! 
 
 So we rode back to her little cottage at Highgate, where we 
 found the following short note, which had arrived by that 
 morning's post from Mr. Micawber : 
 
 " Canterbury, 
 
 "Friday. 
 " My dear Madam, and Copperfield, 
 
 " The fair land of promise lately looming on the horizon 
 is again enveloped in impenetrable mists, and for ever with- 
 drawn from the eyes of a drifting wretch whose Doom is 
 sealed ! 
 
 "Another writ has been issued (in His Majesty's High 
 Court of King's Bench at Westminster), in another cause of 
 HEEP v. MICAWBER, and the defendant in that cause is the 
 prey of the sheriff having legal jurisdiction in this bailiwick. 
 
 1 Now's the day, and now's the hour, 
 See the front of battle lower, 
 See approach proud EDWARD'S power 
 
 Chains and slavery 1 ' 
 
380 TEE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " Consigned to which, and to a speedy end (for mental torture 
 is not supportable beyond a certain point, and that point I feel 
 I have attained), my course is run. Bless you, bless you ! 
 Some future traveller, visiting, from motives of curiosity, not 
 unmingled, let us hope, with sympathy, the place of confine- 
 ment allotted to debtors in this city, may, and I trust will, 
 Ponder, as he traces on its wall inscribed with a rusty nail, 
 
 " The obscure initials 
 
 " W. M. 
 
 "P.S. I re-open this to say that our common friend, Mr. 
 Thomas Traddles (who has not yet left us, and is looking ex- 
 tremely well), has paid the debt and costs, in the noble name 
 of Miss Trotwood; and that myself and family are at the 
 height of earthly bliss." 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 381 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 TEMPEST. 
 
 I NOW approach an event in my life, so indelible, so awful, 
 so bound by an infinite variety of ties to all that has preceded 
 it, in these pages, that, from the beginning of my narrative, 
 I have seen it growing larger and larger as I advanced, like 
 a great tower in a plain, and throwing its fore-cast shadow 
 even on the incidents of my childish days. 
 
 For years after it occurred, I dreamed of it often. I have 
 started up so vividly impressed by it, that its fury has yet 
 seemed raging in my quiet room, in the still night. I dream 
 of it sometimes, though at lengthened and uncertain intervals, 
 to this hour. I have an association between it and a stormy 
 wind, or the lightest mention of a sea-shore, as strong as any 
 of which my mind is conscious. As plainly as I behold what 
 happened, I will try to write it down. I do not recall it, but 
 see it done ; for it happens again before me. 
 
 The time drawing on rapidly for the sailing of the emigrant- 
 ship, my good old nurse (almost broken-hearted for me, when 
 we first met) came up to London. I was constantly with her, 
 and her brother, and the Micawbers (they being very much 
 together) ; but Emily I never saw. 
 
 One evening when the time was close at hand, I was alone 
 with Peggotty and her brother. Our conversation turned on 
 Ham. She described to us how tenderly he had taken leave 
 of her, and how manfully and quietly he had borne himself. 
 Most of all, of late, when she believed he was most tried. It 
 was a subject of which the affectionate creature never tired ; 
 and our interest in hearing the many examples which she, 
 who was so much with him, had to relate, was equal to hers 
 in relating them. 
 
 My aunt and I were at that time vacating the two cottages 
 at Highgate ; I intending to go abroad, and she to return to 
 
382 
 
 her house at Dover. We had a temporary lodging in Coven t 
 Garden. As I walked home to it, after this evening's con- 
 versation, reflecting on what had passed between Hani and 
 myself when I was last at Yarmouth, I wavered in the original 
 purpose I had formed, of leaving a letter for Emily when I 
 should take leave of her uncle on board the ship, and thought 
 it would be better to write to her now. She might desire, I 
 thought, after receiving my communication, to send some 
 parting word by me to her unhappy lover. I ought to give 
 her the opportunity. 
 
 I therefore sat down in my room, before going to bed, and 
 wrote to her. I told her that I had seen him, and that he had 
 requested me to tell her what I have already written in its 
 place in these sheets. I faithfully repeated it. I had no 
 need to enlarge upon it, if I had had the right. Its deep 
 fidelity and goodness were not to be adorned by me or any 
 man. I left it out, to be sent round in the morning ; with a 
 line to Mr. Peggotty, requesting him to give it to her ; and 
 went to bed at daybreak. 
 
 I was weaker than I knew then ; and, not falling asleep 
 until the sun was up, lay late, and unrefreshed, next day. I 
 was roused by the silent presence of my aunt at my bedside. 
 I felt it in my sleep, as I suppose we all do feel such things. 
 
 "Trot, my dear," she said, when I opened my eyes, "I 
 couldn't make up my mind to disturb you. Mr. Peggotty is 
 here ; shall he come up ? " 
 
 I replied yes, and he soon appeared. 
 
 "Mas'r Davy," he said, when we had shaken hands, "I 
 giv Em'ly your letter, sir, and she writ this heer ; and begged 
 of me fur to ask you to read it, and if you see no hurt in't, to 
 be so kind as take charge on't." 
 
 " Have you read it ? " said I. 
 
 He nodded sorrowfully. I opened it, and read as follows : 
 
 " I have got your message. Oh, what can I write, to thank you for 
 your good and blessed kindness to me ! 
 
 " I have put the words close to my heart. I shall keep them till I die. 
 They are sharp thorns, but they are such comfort. I have prayed over 
 them, oh, I have prayed so much. When I find what you are, and what 
 uncle is, I think what God must be, and can cry to him. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 383 
 
 " Good by for ever. Now, my dear, my friend, good by for ever in 
 this world. In another world, if I am forgiven, I may wake a child, and 
 come to you. All thanks and blessings. Farewell, evermore." 
 
 This, blotted with tears, was the letter. 
 
 "May I tell her as you doen't see no hurt in't, and as 
 you'll be so kind as take charge on't, Mas'r Davy ? ' said 
 Mr. Peggotty, when I had read it. 
 
 " Unquestionably," said I " but I am thinking " 
 
 Yes, Mas'r Davy ? " 
 
 " I am thinking," said I, " that I'll go down again to Yar- 
 mouth. There's time, and to spare, for me to go and come 
 back before the ship sails. My mind is constantly running 
 on him, in his solitude ; to put this letter of her writing in 
 his hand at this time, and to enable you to tell her, in the 
 moment of parting, that he has got it, will be a kindness to 
 both of them. I solemnly accepted his commission, dear 
 good fellow, and cannot discharge it too completely. The 
 journey is nothing to me. I am restless, and shall be better 
 in motion. I'll go down to-night." 
 
 Though he anxiously endeavored to dissuade me, I saw that 
 he was of my mind ; and this, if I had required to be con- 
 firmed in my intention, would have had the effect. He went 
 round to the coach-office, at my request, and took the box- 
 seat for me on the mail. In the evening I started, by that 
 conveyance, down the road I had traversed under so many 
 vicissitudes. 
 
 " Don't you think that," I asked the coachman, in the first 
 stage out of London, " a very remarkable sky ? I don't 
 remember to have seen one like it." 
 
 " Nor I not equal to it," he replied. " That's wind, sir. 
 There'll be mischief done at sea, I expect, before long." 
 
 It was a murky confusion here and there blotted with a 
 color like the color 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 
 
384 
 
 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 overspreading 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 approach- 
 ing 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 4 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 
 while we changed horses, told us of great sheets of lead having 
 been ripped off a high church-tower, and flung into a by- 
 street, which they then blocked up. Others had to tell of 
 country people, coming in from neighboring 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 naraer. 
 
 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 flat 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 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 385 
 
 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 streaming 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 ; 
 staggering along the street, which was strewn with sand and 
 sea-weed, and with flying blotches of sea-foam ; afraid of 
 falling slates and tiles ; and holding by people I met at angry 
 corners. Coming near the beach, I saw, not only the boat- 
 men, but half the people of the town, lurking behind build- 
 ings ; 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 hus- 
 bands 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 ; shipowners, 
 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 with a 
 hoarse roar, it seemed to scoop out deep caves in the beach, 
 as if its purpose were to undermine the earth. When some 
 white-headed billows thundered 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 up to hills ; masses of water shivered and 
 shook the beach with a booming sound ; every shape tumultu- 
 VOL. ii 25 
 
386 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 ously rolled on, as soon as made, to change its shape and 
 place, and beat another shape and place away ; the ideal 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. It was shut ; and as no one 
 answered to my knocking, I went by back ways and by-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 ; 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 laboring 
 hard in the Roads, and trying, in great distress, to keep off 
 shore. Mercy on them, and on all poor sailors, said he, if we 
 had another night like the last ! 
 
 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 v the clear arrange- 
 ment 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 who 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 ; and they were particularly distinct and 
 vivid. 
 
 In this state, the waiter's dismal intelligence about the 
 ships immediately connected itself, without any effort of my 
 volition, with my uneasiness about Ham. I was persuaded 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 387 
 
 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 sea- 
 
 farin ". 
 
 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 fearful than in the morning. But there 
 was now a great darkness besides; 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 answer- 
 ing 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 re- 
 fresh myself with a glass or two of wine. In vain. I fell into 
 a dull slumber before the fire, without losing my conscious- 
 ness, either of the uproar out of doors, or of the place in 
 which I was. Both became overshadowed by a new and inde- 
 finable horror ; and when I awoke or rather when I 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 
 
388 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 to the awful noises : looked at faces, scenes, and figures in the 
 fire. At length, the steady ticking of the undisturbed 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 sensations 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 ; im- 
 agining, now, that I heard shrieks out at sea ; now, that I dis- 
 tinctly 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 reflection 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 down stairs. In the large 
 kitchen, where I dimly saw bacon and ropes of onions hang- 
 ing 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 discussing, 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 assistance 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, 
 
OF. DAVID COPPERFIELD. 389 
 
 it was always blowing in my dream. At length, I lost that 
 feeble hold upon reality, and was engaged with 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 sprung out of bed, and asked what wreck ? 
 
 " A schooner, from Spain or Portugal, laden with fruit and 
 wine. Make haste, sir, if you want to see her ! It's thought, 
 down on the beach, she'll go to pieces every moment." 
 
 The excited voice went clamoring along the staircase ; and 
 I wrapped myself in my clothes as quickly as I could, and ran 
 into the street. 
 
 Numbers of people were there before me, all running in one 
 direction, to the beach. I ran the same way, outstripping a 
 good many, and soon came facing the wild sea. 
 
 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 agita- 
 tion 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 con- 
 fused 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 his 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 ! 
 
390 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 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, 
 conspicuous 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 under- 
 stood him to add that she was parting amidships, and I could 
 readily suppose so, for the rolling and beating were too tre- 
 mendous 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, clinging 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 whol'e sweep of her deck, as she turned on her beam-ends 
 towards the shore, now nothing but her keel, as she sprung 
 wildly over and turned towards the sea, the bell rang ; and its 
 sound, the knell of those unhappy men, 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 where no help could be. I found myself one 
 of these, frantically imploring a 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 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 391 
 
 know how, for the little I could hear I was scarcely composed 
 enough to understand that the life-boat had been bravely 
 manned an hour ago, and could do 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 sea exactly the same look as I remembered in connection 
 with the morning after Emily's flight awoke me to a knowl- 
 edge 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 
 that 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 en- 
 treated the wind. "Mas'r Davy,' 7 he said, cheerily grasping 
 me by both hands, " if my time is come, 'tis come. If 'tan't, 
 I'll bide it. Lord above bless you, and bless all ! Mates, 
 make me ready ! I'm a going off ! " 
 
 I was swept away, but not unkindly, to some distance, 
 where the people around me made me stay ; urging, as I con- 
 fusedly 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 cap- 
 stan 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 trowsers : a rope in his hand, or slung to 
 his wrist : another round his body : and several of the best 
 
392 
 
 men holding, at a little 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 color; 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 dis- 
 tracted, 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 was a great retiring wave, when, with a backward glanc* 
 at those who held the rope which was made fast round his 
 body, he dashed in after it, and in a moment was buffetting 
 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 he 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 now he made for the wreck, rising with the hills, fall- 
 ing with the valleys, lost beneath the rugged foam, borne in 
 towards the shore, borne on towards the ship, striving hard 
 and valiantly. The distance 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 vigor- 
 ous strokes he would be clinging to it, when, a high, green, 
 vast 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. Consternation was in every face. They drew him 
 to my very feet insensible dead. He was carried to the 
 nearest house ; and, no one preventing me now, I remained 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 393 
 
 near him, busy, while every means of restoration were tried ; 
 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 children, and ever snrce, 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 some 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. 
 
394 THE PEE SO^ AL HISTORY AXD EXPERIENCE 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE NEW WOUND, AND THE OLD. 
 
 No need, Steerforth, to have said, when we last spoke 
 together, in that hour which I so little deemed to be our 
 parting-hour no need to have said, "Think of me at my 
 best ! " I had done that ever ; and could I change now, looking 
 on this sight ! 
 
 They brought a hand-bier, and laid him on it, and covered 
 him with a flag, and took - him up and bore him on towards 
 the houses. All the men who carried him had known him, 
 and gone sailing with him, and seen him merry and bold. 
 They carried him through the wild roar, a hush in the midst 
 of all the tumult ; and took him to the cottage where Death 
 was already. 
 
 But, when they set the bier down on the threshold, they 
 looked at one another, and at me, and whispered. I knew 
 why. They felt as if it were not right to lay him down in 
 the same quiet room. 
 
 We went into the town, and took our burden to the inn. 
 So soon as I could at all collect my thoughts, I sent for Joram. 
 and begged him to provide me a conveyance in which it could 
 be got to London in the night. I knew that the care of it, and 
 the hard duty of preparing his mother to receive it, could only 
 rest with me ; and I was anxious to discharge that duty as 
 faithfully as I could. 
 
 I chose the night for the journey, that there might be less 
 curiosity when I left the town. But, although it was nearly 
 midnight when I came out of the yard in a chaise, followed 
 by what I had in charge, there were many people waiting. 
 At intervals, along the town, and even a little way out upon 
 the road, I saw more ; but at length only the bleak night and 
 the open country were around me, and the ashes of my youthful 
 friendship. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 395 
 
 Upon a mellow autumn day, about noon, when the ground 
 was perfumed by fallen leaves, and many more, in beautiful 
 tints of yellow, red, and brown, yet hung upon the trees, 
 through which the sun was shining, I arrived at Highgate. 
 I walked the last mile, thinking as I went along of what I 
 had to do ; and left the carriage that had followed me all 
 through the night, awaiting orders to advance. 
 
 The house, when I came up to it, looked just the same. 
 Not a blind was raised ; no sign of life was in the dull paved 
 court, with its covered way leading to the disused door. The 
 wind had quite gone down, and nothing moved. 
 
 I had not, at first, the courage to ring at the gate; and 
 when I did ring, my errand seemed to me to be expressed in 
 the very sound of the bell. The little parlor-maid came out, 
 with the key in her hand ; and looking earnestly at me as she 
 unlocked the gate, said : 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir. Are you ill ? " 
 
 " I have been much agitated, and am fatigued." 
 
 " Is anything the matter, sir ? Mr. James ? " 
 
 "Hush!" said I. "Yes, something has happened, that I 
 have to break to Mrs. Steerforth. She is at home ? " 
 
 The girl anxiously replied that her mistress was very seldom 
 out now, even in a carriage ; that she kept her room ; that she 
 saw no company, but would see me. Her mistress was up, 
 she said, and Miss Dartle was with her. What message should 
 she take up stairs ? 
 
 Giving her a strict charge to be careful of her manner, and 
 only to carry in my card and say I waited, I sat down in the 
 drawing-room (which we had now reached) until she should 
 come back. Its former pleasant air of occupation was gone, 
 and the shutters were half closed. The harp had not been 
 used for many and many a day. His picture, as a boy, was 
 there. The cabinet in which his mother had kept his letters 
 was there. I wondered if she ever read them now j if she 
 would ever read them more ! 
 
 The house was so still, that I heard the girl's light step 
 up stairs. On her return, she brought a message, to the 
 effect that Mrs. Steerforth was an invalid and could not come 
 down j but that, if I would excuse her being in her chamber, 
 
396 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 she would be glad to see me. In a few moments I stood 
 before her. 
 
 She was in his room ; not in her own. I felt, of course, 
 that she had taken to occupy it, in remembrance of him ; and 
 that the many tokens of his old sports and accomplishments, 
 by which she was surrounded, remained there, just as he had 
 left them, for the same reason. She murmured, however, 
 even in her reception of me, that she was out of her own 
 chamber because its aspect was unsuited to her infirmity ; and 
 with her stately look repelled the least suspicion of the truth. 
 
 At her chair, as usual, was Kosa Dartle. From the first 
 moment of her dark eyes resting on me, I saw she knew I was 
 the bearer of evil tidings. The scar sprung into view that 
 instant. She withdrew herself a step behind the chair, to 
 keep her own face out of Mrs. Steerforth' s observation ; and 
 scrutinized me with a piercing gaze that never faltered, never 
 shrunk. 
 
 " I am sorry to observe you are in mourning, sir," said Mrs. 
 Steerforth. 
 
 " I am unhappily a widower," said I. 
 
 " You are very young to know so great a loss," she returned. 
 " I am grieved to hear it. I am grieved to hear it. I hope 
 Time will be good to you." 
 
 "I hope Time," said I, looking at her, "will be good to all 
 of us. Dear Mrs. Steerforth, we must all trust to that, in our 
 heaviest misfortunes." 
 
 The earnestness of my manner, and the tears in my eyes, 
 alarmed her. The whole course of her thoughts appeared to 
 stop, and change. 
 
 I tried to command my voice in gently saying his name, 
 but it trembled. She repeated it to herself, two or three 
 times, in a low tone. Then, addressing me, she said, with 
 enforced calmness : 
 
 " My son is ill." 
 
 "Very ill." 
 
 " You have seen him ? " 
 
 " I have." 
 
 " Are you reconciled ? " 
 
 I could not say Yes, I could not say No. She slightly 
 
(XF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 397 
 
 turned her head towards the spot where Eosa Dartle had been 
 standing at her elbow, and in that moment I said, by the 
 motion of my lips, to Rosa " Dead ! " 
 
 That Mrs. Steerforth might not be induced to look behind 
 her, and read, plainly written, what she was not yet prepared 
 to know, I met her look quickly ; but I had seen Eosa Dartle 
 throw her hands up in the air with vehemence of despair and 
 horror, and then clasp them on her face. 
 
 The handsome lady so like, so like ! regarded me 
 with a fixed look, and put her hand to her forehead. I 
 besought her to be calm, and prepare herself to bear what I 
 had to tell ; but I should rather have entreated her to weep, 
 for she sat like a stone figure. 
 
 " When I was last here, 7 ' I faltered, " Miss Dartle told me 
 he was sailing here and there. The night before last was a 
 dreadful one at sea. If he were at sea that night, and near 
 a dangerous coast, as it is said he was ; and if the vessel that 
 was seen should really be the ship which " 
 
 " Eosa ! " said Mrs. Steerforth, " come to me ! " 
 
 She came, but with no sympathy or gentleness. Her eyes 
 gleamed like fire as she confronted his mother, and broke into 
 a frightful laugh. 
 
 " Now," she said, " is your pride appeased, you madwoman ? 
 Now has he made atonement to you with his life ! Do you 
 hear? --His life!" 
 
 Mrs. Steerforth, fallen back stiffly in her chair, and making 
 no sound but a moan, cast her eyes upon her with a wide 
 stare. 
 
 " Ay ! " cried Eosa, smiting herself passionately on the 
 breast, " look at me ! Moan, and groan, and look at me ! 
 Look here ! " striking the scar, " at your dead child's handy 
 work ! " 
 
 The moan the mother uttered, from time to time, went to 
 my heart. Always the same. Always inarticulate and 
 stifled. Always accompanied with an incapable motion of the 
 head, but with no change of face. Always proceeding from 
 a rigid mouth and closed teeth, as if the jaw were locked and 
 the face frozen up in pain. 
 
 "Do you remember when he did this?" she proceeded. 
 
398 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE. 
 
 "Do you remember when, in his inheritance of your nature, 
 and in your pampering of his pride and passion, he did this, 
 and disfigured me for life ? Look 'at me, marked until I die 
 with his high displeasure ; and moan and groan for what you 
 made him ! " 
 
 " Miss Dartle," I entreated her. " For Heaven's sake " 
 
 " I will speak ! " she said, turning on me with her lightning 
 eyes. " Be silent, you ! Look at me, I say, proud mother 
 of a proud false son ! Moan for your nurture of him, moan 
 for your corruption of him, moan for your loss of him, moan 
 for mine ! " 
 
 She clenched her hand, and trembled through her spare 
 worn figure, as if her passion were killing her by inches. 
 
 "You resent his selfwill!" she exclaimed. "You, injured 
 by his haughty temper! You, who opposed to both, when 
 your hair was gray, the qualities which made both when you 
 gave him birth ! You, who from his cradle reared him to be 
 what he was, and stunted what he should have been ! Are 
 you rewarded, now, for your years of trouble ? " 
 
 " Miss Dartle, shame ! cruel ! " 
 
 " I tell you," she returned, " I will speak to her. No power 
 on earth should stop me, while I was standing here ! Have 
 I been silent all these years, and shall I not speak now ? I 
 loved him better than you ever loved him ! " turning on her 
 fiercely. " I could have loved him, and asked no return. If I 
 had been his wife, I could have been the slave of his caprices 
 for a word of love a year. I should have been. Who knows 
 it better than I ? You were exacting, proud, punctilious, 
 selfish. My love would have been devoted would have trod 
 your paltry whimpering under foot ! " 
 
 With flashing eyes, she stamped upon the ground as if she 
 actually did it. 
 
 " Look here ! " she said, striking the scar again, with a 
 relentless hand. " When he grew into the better understand- 
 ing of what he had done, he saw it, and repented of it ! I 
 could sing to him, and talk to him, and show the ardor that 
 I felt in all he did, and attain with labor to such knowledge 
 as most interested him ; and I attracted him. When he was 
 freshest and truest, he loved me. Yes, he did ! Many a time, 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 399 
 
 when you were put off with a slight word, he has taken Me to 
 his heart ! " 
 
 She said it with a taunting pride in the midst of her frenzy 
 -for it was little less yet with an eager remembrance of it, 
 in which the smouldering embers of a gentler feeling kindled 
 for the moment. 
 
 "I descended as I might have known I should, but that 
 he fascinated me with his boyish courtship into a doll, a 
 trifle for the occupation of an idle hour, to be dropped, and 
 taken up, and trifled with, as the inconstant humor took him. 
 When he grew weary, I grew weary. As his fancy died out, 
 I would no more have tried to strengthen any power I had, 
 than I would have married him on his being forced to take me 
 for his wife. We fell away from one another without a word. 
 Perhaps you saw it, and were not sorry. Since then, I have 
 been a mere disfigured piece of furniture between you both ; 
 having no eyes, no ears, no feelings, no remembrances. Moan ? 
 Moan for what you made him ; not for your love. I tell you 
 that the time was, when I loved him better than you ever 
 did!" 
 
 She stood with her bright angry eyes confronting the wide 
 stare, and the set face ; and softened no more, when the moan- 
 ing was repeated, than if the face had been a picture. 
 
 "Miss Dartle," said I, "if you can be so obdurate as not to 
 feel for this afflicted mother " 
 
 " Who feels for me ? " she sharply retorted. " She has 
 sown this. Let her moan for the harvest that she reaps 
 to-day ! " 
 
 " And if his faults "I began. 
 
 " Faults ! " she cried, bursting into passionate tears. " Who 
 dares malign him ? He had a soul worth millions of the 
 friends to whom he stooped ! " 
 
 "No one can have loved him better, no one can hold him 
 in dearer remembrance than I," I replied. " I meant to say, 
 if you have no compassion for his mother ; or if his faults 
 you have been bitter on them " 
 
 "It's false," she cried, tearing her black hair; "I loved 
 him ! " 
 
 " cannot," I went on, "be banished from your remem- 
 
400 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 brance, in such an hour ; look at that figure, even as one you 
 have never seen before, and render it some help ! " 
 
 All this time, the figure was unchanged, and looked un- 
 changeable. Motionless, rigid, staring; moaning in the same 
 dumb way, from time to time, with the same helpless motion 
 of the head ; but giving no other sign of life. Miss Dartle 
 suddenly kneeled down before it, and began to loosen the 
 dress. 
 
 " A curse upon you ! " she said, looking round at me, with 
 a mingled expression of rage and grief. " It was in an evil 
 hour that you ever came here ! A curse upon you ! Go ! " 
 
 After passing out of the room, I hurried back to ring the 
 bell, the sooner to alarm the servants. She had then taken 
 the impassive figure in her arms, and, still, upon her knees, 
 was weeping over it, kissing it, calling to it, rocking it to and 
 fro upon her bosom like a child, and trying every tender 
 means to rouse the dormant senses. No longer afraid of leav- 
 ing her, I noiselessly turned back again; and alarmed the 
 house as I went out. 
 
 Later in the day, I returned, and we laid him in his 
 mother's room. She was just the same, they told me ; Miss 
 Dartle never left her; doctors were in attendance, many 
 things had been tried; but she lay like a statue, except for 
 the low sound now and then. 
 
 I went through the dreary house, and darkened the win- 
 dows. The windows of the chamber where he lay, I darkened 
 last. I lifted up the leaden hand, and held it to my heart ; 
 and all the world seemed death and silence, broken only by his 
 mother's moaning. 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 401 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVIII. 
 
 THE EMIGRANTS. 
 
 ONE thing more, I had to do, before yielding myself to the 
 shock of these emotions. It was, to conceal what had occurred, 
 from those who were going away ; and to dismiss them on 
 their voyage in happy ignorance. In this, no time was to be 
 lost. 
 
 I took Mr. Micawber aside that same night, and confided to 
 him the task of standing between Mr. Peggotty and intelligence 
 of the late catastrophe. He zealously undertook to do so, and 
 to intercept any newspaper through which it might, without 
 such precautions, reach him. 
 
 " If it penetrates to him, sir," said Mr. Micawber, striking 
 himself on the breast, " it shall first pass through this body ! " 
 
 Mr. Micawber, I must observe, in his adaptation of himself 
 to a new state of society, had acquired a bold buccaneering air, 
 not absolutely lawless, but defensive and prompt. One might 
 have supposed him a child of the wilderness, long accustomed 
 to live out of the confines of civilization, and about to return 
 to his native wilds. 
 
 He had provided himself, among other things, with a com- 
 plete suit of oil-skin, and a straw hat with a very low crown, 
 pitched or caulked on the outside. In this rough clothing, 
 with a common mariner's telescope under his arm, and a shrewd 
 trick of casting up his eye at the sky as looking out for dirty 
 weather, he was far more nautical, after his manner, than Mr. 
 Peggotty. His whole family, if I may so express it, were 
 cleared for action. I found Mrs. Micawber in the closest and 
 most uncompromising of bonnets, made fast under the chin ; 
 and in a shawl which tied her up (as I had been tied up, when 
 my aunt first received me) like a bundle, and was secured 
 behind at the waist, in a strong knot. Miss Micawber I found 
 made snug for stormy weather, in the same manner; with 
 VOL. ii 26 
 
402 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 nothing superfluous about her. Master Micawber was hardly 
 visible in a Guernsey shirt, and the shaggiest suit of slops I 
 ever saw; and the children were done up, like preserved 
 meats, in impervious cases. Both Mr. Micawber and his 
 eldest son wore their sleeves loosely turned back at the wrists, 
 as being ready to lend a hand in any direction, and to " tumble 
 up,' 7 or sing out, " Yeo Heave Yeo ! " on the shortest 
 notice. 
 
 Thus Traddles and I found them at nightfall, assembled on 
 the wooden steps, at that time known as Hungerford Stairs, 
 watching the departure of a boat with some of their property 
 on board. I had told Traddles of the terrible event, and it 
 had greatly shocked him ; but there could be no doubt of the 
 kindness of keeping it a secret, and he had come to help me 
 in this last service. It was here that I took Mr. Micawber 
 aside, and received his promise. 
 
 The Micawber family were lodged in a little, dirty, tumble- 
 down public house, which in those days was close to the stairs, 
 and whose protruding wooden rooms overhung the river. The 
 family, as emigrants, being objects of some interest in and 
 about Hungerford, attracted so many beholders, that we were 
 glad to take refuge in their room. It was one of the wooden 
 chambers up stairs, with the tide flowing underneath. My 
 aunt and Agnes were there, busily making some little extra 
 comforts, in the way of dress, for the children. Peggotty 
 was quietly assisting, with the old insensible work-box, yard 
 measure, and bit of wax-candle before her, that had now out- 
 lived so much. 
 
 It was not easy to answer her inquiries ; still less to whisper 
 Mr. Peggotty, when Mr. Micawber brought him in, that I had 
 given the letter, and all was well. But I did both, and made 
 them happy. If I showed any trace of what I felt, my own 
 sorrows were sufficient to account for it. 
 
 " And when does the ship sail, Mr. Micawber ? " asked my 
 aunt. 
 
 Mr. Micawber considered it necessary to prepare either my 
 aunt or his wife, by degrees, and said, sooner than he had 
 expected yesterday. 
 
 " The boat brought you word, I suppose ? " said my aunt. 
 
DAVID COPPEEF1ELD. 403 
 
 " It did, ma'am/' he returned. 
 
 " Well ? " said my aunt. " And she sails " 
 
 " Madam," he replied, " I am informed that we must posi- 
 tively be on board before seven to-morrow morning." 
 
 " Heyday ! " said my aunt, " that's soon. Is it a sea-going 
 fact, Mr. Peggotty ? " 
 
 "'Tis so, ma'am. She'll drop down the river with that 
 theer tide. If Mas'r Davy and my sister comes aboard at 
 Gravesen', arternoon o' next day, they'll see the last on us." 
 
 " And that we shall do," said I, " be sure ! " 
 
 " Until then, and until we are at sea," observed Mr. Micaw- 
 ber, with a glance of intelligence at me, " Mr. Peggotty and 
 myself will constantly keep a double look-out together, on our 
 goods and chattels. Emma, my love," said Mr. Micawber, 
 clearing his throat in his magnificent way, "my friend Mr. 
 Thomas Traddles is so obliging as to solicit, in my ear, that 
 he should have the privilege of ordering the ingredients neces- 
 sary to the composition of a moderate portion of that Beverage 
 which is peculiarly associated, in our minds, with the Roast 
 Beef of Old England. I allude to -- - in short, Punch. Under 
 ordinary circumstances, I should scruple to entreat the indul- 
 gence of Miss Trotwood and Miss Wickfield, but ' 
 
 "I can only say for myself," said my aunt, "that I will 
 drink all happiness and success to you, Mr. Micawber, with 
 the utmost pleasure." 
 
 " And I too ! " said Agnes, with a smile. 
 
 Mr. Micawber immediately descended to the bar, where he 
 appeared to be quite at home : and in due time returned with 
 a steaming jug. I could not but observe that he had been 
 peeling the lemons with his own clasp-knife, which, as became 
 the knife of a practical settler, was about a foot long; and 
 which he wiped, not wholly without ostentation, on the sleeve 
 of his coat. Mrs. Micawber and the two elder members of 
 the family I now found to be provided with similar formidable 
 instruments, while every child had its own wooden spoon 
 attached to its body by a strong line. In a similar anticipa- 
 tion of life afloat, and in the Bush, Mr. Micawber, instead of 
 helping Mrs. Micawber and his eldest son and daughter to 
 punch, in wine-glasses, which he might easily have done, for 
 
404 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 there was a shelf-full in the room, served it out to them in 
 a series of villainous little tin pots ; and I never saw him 
 enjoy anything so much as drinking out of his own particular 
 pint pot, and putting it in his pocket at the close of the 
 evening. 
 
 " The luxuries of the old country," said Mr. Micawber, with 
 an intense satisfaction in their renouncement, "we abandon. 
 The denizens of the forest cannot, of course, expect to partici- 
 pate in the refinements of the land of the Free." 
 
 Here a boy came in to say that Mr. Micawber was wanted 
 down stairs. 
 
 " I have a presentiment," said Mrs, Micawber, setting down 
 her tin pot, "that it is a member of my family ! " 
 
 "If so, my dear," observed Mr. Micawber, with his usual 
 suddenness of warmth on that subject, "as the member of 
 your family whoever he, she, or it may be has kept us 
 waiting for a considerable period, perhaps the Member may 
 now wait my convenience." 
 
 " Micawber," said his wife, in a low tone, " at such a time 
 as this " 
 
 " ' It is not meet,' " said Mr. Micawber, rising, " ' that every 
 nice offence should bear its comment ! ' Emma, I stand 
 reproved." 
 
 "The loss, Micawber," observed his wife, "has been my 
 family's, not yours. If my family are at length sensible of 
 the deprivation to which their own conduct has, in the past, 
 exposed them, and now desire to extend the hand of fellow- 
 ship, let it not be repulsed." 
 
 " My dear," he returned, " so be it ! " 
 
 " If not for their sakes ; for mine, Micawber," said his wife. 
 
 " Emma," he returned, " that view of the question is, at such 
 a moment, irresistible. I cannot, even now, distinctly pledge 
 myself to fall upon your family's neck ; but the member of 
 your family, who is now in attendance, shall have no genial 
 warmth frozen by me." 
 
 Mr. Micawber withdrew, and was absent some little time, in 
 the course of which Mrs. Micawber was not wholly free from 
 an apprehension that words might have arisen between him 
 and the Member. At length the same boy reappeared, and 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 405 
 
 presented me with a note written in pencil, and headed, in a 
 legal manner, "Heep v. Micawber." From this document, I 
 learned that Mr, Micawber, being again arrested, was in a 
 final paroxysm of despair ; and that he begged me to send him 
 his knife and pint pot, by bearer, as they might prove service- 
 able during the brief remainder of his existence, in jail. He 
 also requested, as a last act of friendship, that I would see his 
 family to the Parish Workhouse, and forget that such a Being 
 ever lived. 
 
 Of course I answered this note by going down with the boy 
 to pay the money, where I found Mr. Micawber sitting in a 
 corner, looking darkly at the Sheriff's Officer who had effected 
 the capture. On his release, he embraced me with the utmost 
 fervor; and made an entry of the transaction in his pocket- 
 book being very particular, I recollect, about a halfpenny I 
 inadvertently omitted from my statement of the total. 
 
 This momentous pocket-book was a timely reminder to him 
 of another transaction. On our return to the room up stairs 
 (where he accounted for his absence by saying that it had 
 been occasioned by circumstances over which he had no con- 
 trol), he took out of it a large sheet of paper, folded small, 
 and quite covered with long sums, carefully worked. From 
 the glimpse I had of them, I should say that I never saw such 
 sums out of a school ciphering-book. These, it seemed, were 
 calculations of compound interest on what he called "the 
 principal amount of forty-one, ten, eleven and a half," for 
 various periods. After a careful consideration of these, and 
 an elaborate estimate of his resources, he had come to the con- 
 clusion to select that sum which represented the amount with 
 compound interest to two years, fifteen calendar months, and 
 fourteen days, from that date. For this he had drawn a 
 note-of-hand with great neatness, which he handed over to 
 Traddles on the spot, su discharge of his debt in full (as 
 between man and man), with many acknowledgments. 
 
 "I have still a presentiment," said Mrs. Micawber, pen- 
 sively shaking hsr head, "that my family will appear on 
 board, before we finally depart." 
 
 Mr. Micawber evidently had his presentiment on the subject 
 too, but he put it in his tin pot and swallowed it. 
 
406 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " If you have any opportunity of sending letters home, on 
 your passage, Mrs. Micawber." said my aunt, "you must let us 
 hear from you, you know." 
 
 " My dear Miss Trotwood," she replied, " I shall only be too 
 happy to think that any one expects to hear from us. I shall 
 not fail to correspond. Mr. Copperfield, I trust, as an old and 
 familiar friend, will not object to receive occasional intelli- 
 gence, himself, from one who knew him when the twins were 
 yet unconscious ? ' 
 
 I said that I should hope to hear, whenever she had an 
 opportunity of writing. 
 
 "Please Heaven, there will be many such opportunities," 
 said Mr. Micawber. " The ocean, in these times, is a perfect 
 fleet of ships ; and we can hardly fail to encounter many, in 
 running over. It is merely crossing," said Mr. Mieawber, 
 trifling with his eye-glass, " merely crossing. The distance is 
 quite imaginary." 
 
 I think, now, how odd it was, but how wonderfully like Mr. 
 Micawber, that, when he went from London to Canterbury, he 
 should have talked as if he were going to the farthest limits 
 of the earth ; and, when he went from England to Australia, as 
 if he were going for a little trip across the channel. 
 
 " On the voyage, I shall endeavor," said Mr. Micawber, 
 " occasionally to spin them a yarn ; and the melody of my son 
 Wilkins will, I trust, be acceptable at the galley-fire. When 
 Mrs. Micawber has her sea-legs on an expression in which I 
 hope there is no conventional impropriety she will give 
 them, I dare say, Little Tafflin. Porpoises and dolphins, I 
 believe, will be frequently observed athwart our Bows, and, 
 either on the Starboard or the Larboard Quarter, objects of 
 interest will be continually descried. In short," said Mr. Micaw- 
 ber, with the old genteel air, "the probability is, all will be 
 found so exciting, alow and aloft, tjjat when the lookout, sta- 
 tioned in the main-top, cries Land-ho ! we shall be very con- 
 siderably astonished ! " 
 
 With that he flourished off the contents of his little tin pot, 
 as if he had made the voyage, and had passed a first-class 
 examination before the highest naval authorities. 
 
 " What / chiefly hope, my dear Mr. Copperiield," said Mrs. 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 407 
 
 Micawber, " is, that in some branches of our family we may 
 live again in the old country. Do not frown, Micawber ! I do 
 not now refer to my own family, but to our children's children. 
 However vigorous the sapling," said Mrs. Micawber, shaking 
 her head, " I cannot forget the parent-tree ; and when our race 
 attains to eminence and fortune, I own I should wish that for- 
 tune to flow into the coffers of Britannia." 
 
 " My dear," said Mr. Micawber, " Britannia must take her 
 chance. I am bound to say that she has never done much for 
 me, and that I have no particular wish upon the subject." 
 
 "Micawber," returned Mrs. Micawber, "there you are 
 wrong. You are going out, Micawber, to this distant clime, 
 to strengthen, not to weaken, the connection between yourself 
 and Albion." 
 
 " The connection in question, my love," rejoined Mr. Micaw- 
 ber, "has not laid me, I repeat, under that load of personal 
 obligation, that I am at all sensitive as to the formation of 
 another connection." 
 
 " Micawber," returned Mrs. Micawber. " There, I again say, 
 you are wrong. You do not know your power, Micawber. It 
 is that which will strengthen, even in this step you are about 
 to take, the connection between yourself and Albion." 
 
 Mr. Micawber sat in his elbow-chair, with his eyebrows 
 raised; half receiving and half repudiating Mrs. Micawber's 
 views as they were stated, but very sensible of their fore- 
 sight. 
 
 "My dear Mr. Copperfield," said Mrs. Micawber, "I wish 
 Mr. Micawber to feel his position. It appears to me highly 
 important that Mr. Micawber should, from the hour of his 
 embarkation, feel his position. Your old knowledge of me, 
 iny dear Mr. Copperfield, will have told you that I have not 
 the sanguine disposition of Mr. Micawber. My disposition is, 
 if I may say so, eminently practical. I know that this is a long 
 voyage. I know that it will involve many privations and 
 inconveniences. I cannot shut my eyes to those facts. But, 
 I also know what Mr. Micawber is. I know the latent power 
 of Mr. Micawber. And therefore I consider it vitally impor- 
 tant that Mr. Micawber should feel his position." 
 
 " My love," he observed, " perhaps you will allow me to 
 
408 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 remark that it is barely possible that I do feel my position at 
 the present moment." 
 
 "I think not, Micawber," she rejoined. "Not fully. My 
 dear Mr. Copperfield, Mr. Micawber's is not a common case. 
 Mr. Micawber is going to a distant country, expressly in order 
 that he may be fully understood and appreciated for the first 
 time. I wish Mr. Micawber to take his stand upon that vessel's 
 prow, and firmly say, i This country I am come to conquer ! 
 Have you honors ? Have you riches ? Have you posts of 
 profitable pecuniary emolument ? Let them be brought for- 
 ward. They are mine ! ' 
 
 Mr. Micawber, glancing at us all, seemed to think there was 
 a good deal in this idea. 
 
 "I wish Mr." Micawber, if I make myself understood," said 
 Mrs. Micawber, in her argumentative tone, " to be the Caesar 
 of his own fortunes. That, my dear Mr. Copperfield, appears 
 to me to be his true position. From the first moment of this 
 voyage, I wish Mr. Micawber to stand upon that vessel's prow 
 and say, ' Enough of delay : enough of disappointment : 
 enough of limited means. That was in the old country. 
 This is the new. Produce your reparation. Bring it for- 
 ward ! ' " 
 
 Mr. Micawber folded his arms in a resolute manner, as if 
 he were then stationed on the figure-head. 
 
 "And doing that," said Mrs. Micawber, " feeling his 
 position am I not right in saying that Mr. Micawber will 
 strengthen, and not weaken, his connection with Britain ? 
 An important public character arising in that hemisphere, 
 shall I be told that its influence will not be felt at home ? 
 Can I be so weak as to imagine that Mr. Micawber, wielding 
 the rod of talent and of power in Australia, will be nothing 
 in England ? I arn but a woman ; but I should be unworthy 
 of myself, and of my papa, if I were guilty of such absurd 
 weakness." 
 
 Mrs. Micawber's conviction that her arguments were unan- 
 swerable, gave a moral elevation to her tone which I think I 
 had never heard in it before. 
 
 " And therefore it is," said Mrs. Micawber, " that I the 
 more wish, that, at a future period, we may live again on the 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 409 
 
 parent soil. Mr. Micawber may be I cannot disguise from 
 myself that the probability is, Mr. Micawber will be a page 
 of History; and he ought then to be represented in the 
 country which gave him birth, and did not give him employ- 
 ment!" 
 
 "My love," observed Mr. Micawber, "it is impossible for 
 me not to be touched by your affection. I am always willing 
 to defer to your good sense. What will be will be. Heaven 
 forbid that I should grudge my native country any portion of 
 the wealth that may be accumulated by our descendants ! " 
 
 "That's well," said my aunt, nodding towards Mr. Peggotty, 
 " and I drink my love to you all, and every blessing and suc- 
 cess attend you ! " 
 
 Mr. Peggotty put down the two children he had been 
 nursing, one on each knee, to join Mr. and Mrs. Micawber in 
 drinking to all of us in return; and when he and the 
 Micawbers cordially shook hands as comrades, and his brown 
 face brightened with a smile, I felt that he would make his 
 way, establish a good name, and be beloved, go where he 
 
 would. 
 
 Even the children were instructed, each to dip a wooden 
 spoon into Mr. Micawber's pot, and pledge us in its contents. 
 When this was done, my aunt and Agnes rose, and parted 
 from the emigrants. It was a sorrowful farewell. They were 
 all crying; the children hung about Agnes to the last; and 
 we left poor Mrs. Micawber in a very distressed condition, 
 sobbing and weeping by a dim candle, that must have made 
 the room look, from the river, like a miserable lighthouse. 
 
 I went down again next morning to see that they were 
 away. They had departed, in a boat, as early as five o'clock. 
 It was a wonderful instance to me of the gap such partings 
 make, that although my association of them with the tumble- 
 down public-house and the wooden stairs dated only from last 
 night, both seemed dreary and deserted, now that they were 
 
 gone. 
 
 In the afternoon of the next day, my old nurse and I went 
 down to Gravesend. We found the ship in the river, sur- 
 rounded by a crowd of boats ; a favorable wind blowing ; the 
 signal for sailing at her mast head. I hired a boat directly, 
 
410 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 and we put off to her ; and getting through the little vortex 
 of confusion of which she was the centre, went on board. 
 
 Mr. Peggotty was waiting for us on deck. He told me that 
 Mr. Micawber had just now been arrested again (and for the 
 last time) at the suit of Heep, and that, in compliance with a 
 request I had made to him, he had paid the money : which I 
 repaid him. He then took us down between decks ; and 
 there, any lingering fears I had of his having heard any ru- 
 mours of what had happened were dispelled by Mr. Micaw- 
 ber's coming out of the gloom, taking his arm with an air 
 of friendship and protection, and telling me that they had 
 scarcely been asunder for a moment, since the night before 
 last. 
 
 It was such a strange scene to me, and so confined and dark, 
 that, at first, I could make out hardly anything ; but, by 
 degrees, it cleared, as my eyes became more accustomed to the 
 gloom, and I seemed to stand in a picture by OSTADE. Among 
 the great beams, bulks, and ringbolts of the ship, and the 
 emigrant-berths, and chests, and bundles, and barrels, and 
 heaps of miscellaneous baggage lighted up, here and there, 
 by dangling lanterns ; and elsewhere by the yellow day-light 
 straying down a windsail or a hatchway were crowded 
 groups of people, making new friendships, taking leave of one 
 another, talking, laughing, crying, eating, and drinking ; some, 
 already settled down into the possession of their few feet of 
 space, with their little households arranged, and tiny children 
 established on stools, or in dwarf elbow-chairs ; others, de- 
 spairing of a resting-place, and wandering disconsolately. 
 From babies who had but a week or two of life behind them, 
 to crooked old men and women who seemed to have but a 
 week or two of life before them ; and from ploughmen bodily 
 carrying out soil of England on their boots, to smiths taking 
 away samples of its soot and smoke upon their skins ; every 
 age and occupation appeared to be crammed into the narrow 
 compass of the 'tween decks. 
 
 As my eye glanced round this place, I thought I saw sitting, 
 by an open port, with one of the Micawber children near her, 
 a figure like Emily's ; it first attracted my attention, by another 
 figure parting from it with a kiss; and as it glided calmly 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 411 
 
 away through the disorder, reminding me of Agnes ! But 
 in the rapid motion and confusion, and in the unsettlement of 
 my own thoughts, I lost it again ; and only knew that the time 
 was come when all visitors were being warned to leave the 
 ship ; that my nurse was crying on a chest beside me ; and 
 that Mrs. Gummidge, assisted by some younger stooping 
 woman in black, was busily arranging Mr. Peggotty's goods. 
 
 " Is there any last wured, Mas'r Davy ? " said he. " Is there 
 any one forgotten thing afore we part ? '' 
 
 " One thing ! " said I. " Martha ! " 
 
 He touched the younger woman I have mentioned on the 
 shoulder, and Martha stood before me. 
 
 " Heaven bless you, you good man!" cried I. "You take 
 her with you ! " 
 
 She answered for him, with a burst of tears. I could speak 
 no more, at that time, but I wrung his hand ; and if ever I 
 have loved and honored any man, I loved and honored that 
 man in my soul. 
 
 The ship was clearing fast of strangers. The greatest trial 
 that I had, remained. I told him what the noble spirit that 
 was gone, had given me in charge to say at parting. It moved 
 him deeply. But when he charged me, in return, with many 
 messages of affection and regret for those deaf ears, he moved 
 me more. 
 
 The time was come. I embraced him, took my weeping 
 nurse upon my arm, and hurried away. On deck, I took leave 
 of poor Mrs. Micawber. She was looking distractedly about 
 for her family, even then ; and her last words to me were, that 
 she never would desert Mr. Micawber. 
 
 We went over the side into our boat, and lay at a little dis- 
 tance to see the ship wafted on her course. It was then calm, 
 radiant sunset. She lay between us, and the red light ; and 
 every taper line and spar was visible against the glow. A 
 sight at once so beautiful, so mournful, and so hopeful, as the 
 glorious ship, lying, still, on the flushed water, with all the 
 life on board her crowded at the bulwarks, and there cluster- 
 ing, for a moment, bare-headed and silent, I never saw. 
 
 Silent, only for a moment. As the sails rose to the wind, 
 and the ship began to move, there broke from all the boats 
 
412 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 three resounding cheers, which those on board took up, and 
 echoed back, and which were echoed and re-echoed. My heart 
 burst out when I heard the sound, and beheld the waving of 
 the hats and handkerchiefs and then I saw her ! 
 
 Then, I saw her, at her uncle's side, and trembling on his 
 shoulder. He pointed to us with an eager hand ; and she saw 
 us, and waved her last good by to me. Aye, Emily, beautiful 
 and drooping, cling to him with the utmost trust of thy bruised 
 heart ; for he has clung to thee, with all the might of his great 
 love ! 
 
 Surrounded by the rosy light, and standing high upon the 
 deck, apart together, she clinging to him, and he holding her, 
 they solemnly passed away. The night had fallen on the 
 Kentish hills when we were rowed ashore and fallen darkly 
 upon me. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 413 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 ABSENCE. 
 
 IT was a long and gloomy night that gathered on me, 
 haunted by the ghosts of many hopes, of many dear remem- 
 brances, many errors, many unavailing sorrows and regrets. 
 
 I went away from England ; not knowing, even then, how 
 great the shock was, that I had to bear. I left all who were 
 dear to me, and went away ; and believed that I had borne it, 
 and it was past. As a man upon a field of battle will receive 
 a mortal hurt, and scarcely know that he is struck, so I, when 
 I was left alone with my undisciplined heart, had no conception 
 of the wound with which it had to strive. 
 
 The knowledge came upon me, not quickly, but little by lit- 
 tle, and grain by grain. The desolate feeling with which I 
 went abroad, deepened and widened hourly. At first it was a 
 heavy sense of loss and sorrow, wherein I could distinguish 
 little else. By imperceptible degrees, it became a hopeless con- 
 sciousness of all that I had lost love, friendship, interest; of 
 all that had been shattered my first trust, my first affection, 
 the whole airy castle of my life ; of all that remained a ruined 
 blank and waste, lying wide around me, unbroken, to the dark 
 horizon. 
 
 If my grief were selfish, I did not know it to be so. I 
 mourned for my child-wife, taken from- her blooming world, so 
 young. I mourned for him who might have won the love and 
 admiration of thousands, as he had won mine long ago. I 
 mourned for the broken heart that had found rest in the 
 stormy sea ; and for th wandering remnants of the simple 
 home, where I had heard the night-wind blowing, when I was 
 a child. 
 
 From the accumulated sadness into which I fell, I had at 
 length no hope of ever issuing again. I roamed from place to 
 place, carrying my burden with me everywhere. I felt its whole 
 
414 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 weight now ; and I drooped beneath it, and I said in my heart 
 that it could never be lightened. 
 
 When this despondency was at its worst, I believed that I 
 should die. Sometimes, I thought that I would like to die at 
 home ; and actually turned back on my road, that I might get 
 there soon. At other times, I passed on farther away, from 
 city to city, seeking I know not what, and trying to leave I 
 know not what behind. 
 
 It is not in my power to retrace, one by one, all the weary 
 phases of distress of mind through which I passed. There 
 are some dreams that can only be imperfectly and vaguely de- 
 scribed ; and when I oblige myself to look back on this time 
 of my life, I seem to be recalling such a dream. I see myself 
 passing on among the novelties of foreign towns, palaces, 
 cathedrals, temples, pictures, castles, tombs, fantastic streets 
 the old abiding places of History and Fancy as a dreamer 
 might ; bearing my painful load through all, and hardly con- 
 scious of the objects as they fade before me. Listlessness to 
 everything, but brooding sorrow, was the night that fell on my 
 undisciplined heart. Let me look up from it as at last I 
 did, thank Heaven ! and from its long, sad, wretched dream, 
 to dawn. 
 
 For many months I travelled with this ever-darkening cloud 
 upon my mind. Some blind reasons that I had for not 
 returning home reasons then struggling within me, vainly, 
 for more distinct expression kept me on my pilgrimage. 
 Sometimes, I had proceeded restlessly from place to place, 
 stopping nowhere ; sometimes, I had lingered long in one 
 spot. I had had no purpose, no sustaining soul within me, 
 anywhere. 
 
 I was in Switzerland. I had come out of Italy, over one of 
 the great passes of the Alps, and had since wandered with a 
 guide among the by-ways of the mountains. If those awful 
 solitudes had spoken to my heart, I did not know it. I had 
 found sublimity and wonder in the dread heights and precipices, 
 in the roaring torrents, and the wastes of ice and snow; but as 
 yet, they had taught me nothing else. 
 
 I came, one evening before sunset, down into a valley, where 
 I was to rest. In the course of my descent to it, by the wind- 
 
OF DAVID COPP&RFIELD. 415 
 
 ing track along the mo an tain-side, from which I saw it shining 
 far below, I think some long unwonted sense of beauty and 
 tranquillity, some softening influence awakened by its peace, 
 moved faintly in my breast. I remember pausing once, with 
 a kind of sorrow that was not all oppressive, not quite despair- 
 ing. I remember almost hoping that some better change was 
 possible within me. 
 
 I came into the valley, as the evening sun was shining on 
 the remote heights of snow, that closed it in, like eternal 
 clouds. The bases of the mountains forming the gorge in 
 which the little village lay, were richly green; and high 
 above this gentler vegetation, grew forests of dark fir, cleav- 
 ing the wintry snow-drift, wedge-like, and stemming the ava- 
 lanche. Above these, were range upon range of craggy steeps, 
 gray rock, bright ice, and smooth verdure-specks of pasture, 
 all gradually blending with the crowning snow. Dotted here 
 and there on the mountain's side, each tiny dot a home, were 
 lonely wooden cottages, so dwarfed by the towering heights 
 that they appeared too small for toys. So did even the clus- 
 tered village in the valley, with its wooden bridge across the 
 stream, where the stream tumbled over broken rocks, and 
 roared away among the trees. In the quiet air there was a 
 sound of distant singing shepherd voices ; but, as one bright 
 evening cloud floated midway along the mountain's-side, I 
 could almost have believed it came from there, and was not 
 earthly music. All at once, in this serenity, great Nature 
 spoke to me ; and soothed me to lay down my weary head upon 
 the grass, and weep as I had not wept yet, since Dora died ! 
 
 I had found a packet of letters awaiting me but a few 
 minutes before, and had strolled out of the village to read 
 them while my supper was making ready. Other packets had 
 missed me, and I had received none for a long time. Beyond 
 a line or two, to say that I was well, and had arrived at such 
 a place, I had not had fortitude or constancy to write a letter 
 since I left home. 
 
 The packet was in my hand. I opened it, and read the 
 
 writing of Agnes. 
 
 She was happy and useful, was prospering as she had hopea. 
 That was all she told me of herself. The rest referred to me. 
 
416 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 She gave me no advice ; she urged no duty on me ; she only 
 told me, 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 I had undergone. She, who so gloried in 
 my fame, and so looked forward to its augmentation, well 
 knew that I would labor on. She knew that in me, sorrow 
 could not be weakness, but must be strength. As the endur- 
 ance of my childish days had done its part to make me what 
 I was, so greater calamities would nerve me on, to be 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 ; 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. 
 
 I put the letter in my breast, and thought what had I been 
 an hour ago ! When I heard the voices die away, and saw the 
 quiet evening cloud grow dim, and all the colors in the valley 
 fade, and the golden snow upon the mountain tops become a 
 remote part of the pale night sky, yet felt that the night was 
 passing from my mind, and all its shadows clearing, there was 
 no name for the love I bore her, dearer to me, henceforward, 
 than ever until then. 
 
 I read her letter, many times. I wrote to her before I 
 slept. I told her that I had been in sore need of her help ; 
 that without her I was not, and I never had been, what she 
 thought me ; but, that she inspired me to be that, and I would 
 try. 
 
 I did try. In three months more, a year would have passed 
 since the beginning of my sorrow. I determined to make no 
 resolutions until the expiration of those three months, but to 
 try. I lived in that valley, and its neighborhood, all the time. 
 
 The three months gone, I resolved to remain away from 
 home for some time longer ; to settle myself for the present 
 in Switzerland, which was growing dear to me in the remem- 
 brance of that evening ; to resume my pen ; to work. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 417 
 
 I resorted humbly whither Agnes had commended me j I 
 sought out Nature, never sought in vain ; and I admitted to 
 my breast the human interest I had lately shrunk from. It 
 was not long, before I had almost as many friends in the 
 valley as in Yarmouth : and when I left it, before the winter 
 set in, for Geneva, and came back in the spring, their cordial 
 greetings had a homely sound to me, although they were not 
 conveyed in English words. 
 
 I worked early and late, patiently and hard. I wrote a 
 Story, with a purpose growing, not remotely, out of my 
 experience, and sent it to Traddles, and he arranged for its 
 publication very advantageously for me ; and the tidings of 
 my growing reputation began to reach me from travellers 
 whom I encountered by chance. After some rest and change 
 I fell to work, in my old ardent way, on a new fancy, which 
 took strong possession of me. As I advanced in the execution 
 of this task, I felt it more and more, and roused my utmost 
 energies to do it well. This was my third work of fiction. 
 It was not half written, when, in an interval of rest, I thought 
 of returning home. 
 
 For a long time, though studying and working patiently, I 
 had accustomed myself to robust exercise. My health, severely 
 impaired when I left England, was quite restored. I had 
 seen much. I had been in many countries, and I hope I had 
 improved my store of knowledge. 
 
 I have now recalled all that I think it needful to recall, 
 here, of this term of absence with one reservation. I have 
 made it, thus far, with no purpose of suppressing any of my 
 thoughts ; for, as I have elsewhere said, this narrative is my 
 written memory. I have desired to keep the most secret 
 current of my mind apart, and to the last. I enter on it now. 
 
 I cannot so completely penetrate the mystery of my own 
 heart, as to know when I began to think that I might have set 
 its earliest and brightest hopes on Agnes. I cannot say at 
 what stage of my grief it first became associated with the 
 reflection, that, in my wayward boyhood, I had thrown away 
 the treasure of her love. I believe I may have heard some 
 whisper of that distant thought, in the old unhappy loss or 
 want of something never to be realized, of which I had been 
 VOL. ii 27 
 
418 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 sensible. But the thought caine into my mind as a new 
 reproach and new regret, when I was left so sad and lonely 
 in the world. 
 
 If, at that time, I had been much with her, I should, in the 
 weakness of my desolation, have betrayed this. It was what 
 I remotely dreaded when I was first impelled to stay away 
 from England. I could not have borne to lose the smallest 
 portion of her sisterly affection ; yet, in that betrayal, I should 
 have set a constraint between us hitherto unknown. 
 
 I could not forget that the feeling with which she now 
 regarded me had grown up in my own free choice and course. 
 That if she had ever loved me with another love and I some- 
 times thought the time was when she might have done so I 
 had cast it away. It was nothing, now, that I had accustomed 
 myself to think of her, when we were both mere children, as 
 one who was far removed from my wild fancies. I had 
 bestowed my passionate tenderness upon another object ; and 
 what I might have done, I had not done ; and what Agnes 
 was to me, I and her own noble heart had made her. 
 
 In the beginning of the change that gradually worked iri me, 
 when I tried to get a better understanding of myself and be a 
 better man, I did glance, through some indefinite probatipri, to 
 a period when I might possibly hope to cancel the mistaken 
 past, and to be so blessed as to marry her. But, as time wore 
 on, this shadowy prospect faded, and departed from me. If 
 she had ever loved me, then, I should hold her the more sacred, 
 remembering the confidences I had reposed in her, her know- 
 ledge of my errant heart, the sacrifice she must have made to 
 be my friend and sister, and the victory she had won. If she 
 had never loved me, could I believe that she would love me 
 now ? 
 
 I had always felt my weakness, in comparison with her 
 constancy and fortitude ; and now I .felt it more and more. 
 Whatever I might have been to her, or she to me, if I had 
 been more worthy of her long ago, I was not now, and she was 
 not. The time was past. I had let it go by, and had 
 deservedly lost her. 
 
 That I suffered much in these contentions, that they filled 
 me with unhappiness and remorse, and yet that I had 9- 
 
OF j)AV'ID COPPEEFIELD 419 
 
 sustaining sense that it was required of me, ,n right and honor, 
 to keep away from myself, with shame, thf, thought of turning 
 to the dear girl in the withering of my hopes, from whom I 
 had frivolously turned when they were bright and fresh 
 which consideration was at the root of every thought I had 
 concerning her is all equally true. I made no effort to 
 conceal from myself, now, that I loved her, that I was devoted 
 to her ; but I brought the assurance home to myself, that it 
 was now too late, and that our long-subsisting relation must 
 be undisturbed. 
 
 I had thought, much and often, of my Dora's shadowing 
 out to me what might have happened, in those years that were 
 destined not to try us. I had considered how the things that 
 never happen, are often as much realities to .us, in. their 
 effects, as those that are accomplished. The very years she 
 spoke of, were realities now, for my correction; and would 
 have been, one day, a little later perhaps, though we had 
 parted in our earliest folly. I endeavored to convert what 
 might have been between myself and Agnes, into a means of 
 making me more self-denying, more resolved, more conscious 
 of myself, and my defeats and errors. Thus, through the 
 reflection that it might Lave been, I arrived at the conviction 
 that it could never be. 
 
 These, with their perplexities and inconsistencies, were 
 the shifting quicksands of my mind, from the time of my 
 departure to the time of my return home, three years after- 
 wards. Three years had elapsed since the sailing of the 
 emigrant ship ; when, at that same hour of sunset, and in 
 the same place, I stood on the deck of the packet vessel that 
 brought me home, looking on the rosy water where I had seen 
 the image of that ship reflected. 
 
 Three years. Long in the aggregate, though short as they 
 went by. And home was very dear to me, and Agnes too 
 but she was not mine she was never to be mine. She 
 might have been ; but that was past ! 
 
420 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 CHAPTEE XXX. 
 
 RETURN. 
 
 in London on a wintry autumn evening. It was 
 dark and raining, and I saw more fog and mud in a minute 
 than I had seen in a year. I walked from the Custom House 
 to the Monument before I found a coach ; and although the 
 very house-fronts, looking on the swollen gutters, were like 
 old friends to me, I could not but admit that they were very 
 dingy friends. 
 
 I have often remarked I suppose everybody has that 
 one's going away from a familiar place, would seem to be the 
 signal for change in it. As I looked out of the coach-window, 
 and observed that an old house on Fish-street Hill, which had 
 stood untouched by painter, carpenter, or bricklayer, for a 
 century, had been pulled down in my absence ; and that a 
 neighboring- street, of time-honored insalubrity and incon- 
 venience, was being drained and widened ; I half expected to 
 find St. Paul's Cathedral looking older. 
 
 For some changes in the fortunes of my friends, I wa*s 
 prepared. My aunt had long been re-established at Dover, 
 and Traddles had begun to get into some little practice at the 
 Bar, in the very first term after my departure. He had 
 chambers in Gray's Inn, now ; and had told me, in his last 
 letters, that he was not without hopes of being soon united to 
 the dearest girl in the world. 
 
 They expected me home before Christmas ; but had no idea 
 of my returning so soon. I had purposely misled them, that 
 I might have the pleasure of taking them by surprise. And 
 yet, I was perverse enough to feel a chill and disappointment 
 in receiving no welcome, and rattling, alone and silent, through 
 the misty streets. 
 
 The well-known shops, however, with their cheerful lights, 
 did something for me ; and when I alighted at the door of the 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 
 
 Gray's Inn Coffee-house, I had recovered my spirits. It re- 
 called, at first, that so-different time when I had put up at the 
 Golden Cross, and reminded me of the changes that had come 
 to pass since then ; but that was natural. 
 
 " Do you know where Mr. Traddles lives in the Inn ? ' ' I 
 asked the waiter, as I warmed myself by the coffee-room fire. 
 
 ' Holborn Court, sir. Number two." 
 
 " Mr. Traddles has a rising reputation among the lawyers, I 
 believe ? " said I. 
 
 "Well, sir," returned the waiter, "probably he has, sir; 
 but I am not aware of it myself." 
 
 This waiter, who was middle-aged and spare, looked for help 
 to a waiter of more authority a stout, potential old man, 
 with a double-chin, in black breeches and stockings, who came 
 out of a place like a churchwarden's pew, at the end of the 
 coffee-room, where he kept company with a cash-box, a Direc- 
 tory, a Law-list, and other books and papers. 
 
 " Mr. Traddles," said the spare waiter. " Number two in 
 
 the Court." 
 
 The potential waiter waved him away, and turned, gravely, 
 
 to me. 
 
 " I was inquiring," said I, " whether Mr. Traddles at num- 
 ber two in the Court, has not a rising reputation among the 
 lawyers ? '' 
 
 " Never heard his name," said the waiter, in a rich, husky 
 
 voice. 
 
 I felt quite apologetic for Traddles. 
 
 " He's a young man, sure ? " said the portentous waiter, 
 fixing his eyes severely on me. " How long has he been in 
 the Inn ? " 
 
 "Not above three years," said I. 
 
 The waiter, who I supposed had lived in his churchwarden's 
 pew for forty years, could not pursue such an insignificant 
 subject. He asked me what I would have for dinner ? 
 
 I felt I was in England again, and really was quite cast 
 down on Traddles's account. There seemed to be no hope for 
 him. I meekly ordered a bit of fish and a steak, and stood 
 before the fire musing on his obscurity. 
 
 As I followed the chief waiter with my eyes, I could not 
 
422 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 ]ielp thinking that the garden in which he had gradually blown 
 to be the flower he was, was an arduous place to rise in. It 
 had such a prescriptive, stiff-necked, long-established, solemn, 
 elderly air. I glanced about the room, which had had its 
 sanded floor sanded, no doubt, in exactly the same manner 
 when the chief waiter was a boy if he ever was a boy, which 
 appeared improbable j and at the shining tables, where I saw 
 myself reflected, in unruffled depths of old mahogany ; and at 
 the lamps, without a flaw in their trimming or cleaning; and 
 at the comfortable green curtains, with their pure brass rods, 
 snugly enclosing the boxes ; and at the two large coal fires, 
 brightly burning ; and at the rows of decanters, burly as if 
 with the consciousness of pipes of expensive old port wine 
 below ; and both England, and the law, appeared to me to be 
 very difficult indeed to be taken by storm. I went up to my 
 bed-room to change my wet clothes ; and the vast extent of 
 that old wainscotted apartment (which was over the archway 
 leading to the Inn, I remember), and the sedate immensity of 
 the four-post bedstead, and the indomitable gravit}^ of the 
 chests of drawers, all seemed to unite in sternly frowning on 
 the fortunes of Traddles, or on any such daring youth. I came 
 down again to my dinner ; and even the slow comfort of the 
 meal, and the orderly silence of the place which was bare of 
 guests, the Long Vacation not yet being over were eloquent 
 on the audacity of Traddles, and his small hopes of a liveli- 
 hood for twenty years to come. 
 
 I had seen nothing like this since I went away, and it quite 
 dashed my hopes for my friend. The chief waiter had had 
 enough of me. He came near me no more ; but devoted him- 
 self to an old gentleman in long gaiters, to meet whom a pint 
 of special port seemed to come out of the cellar of its own 
 accord, for he gave no order. The second waiter informed me, 
 in a whisper, that this old gentleman was a retired convey- 
 ancer living in the Square, and worth a mint of money, which 
 it was expected he would leave to his laundress's daughter ; 
 likewise that it was rumored that he had a service of plate in 
 a bureau, all tarnished with lying by, though more than one 
 spoon and a fork had never yet been beheld in his chambers 
 by mortal vision. By this time, I quite gave Traddles up for 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 42o 
 
 lost ; and settled in my own mind that there was no hope for 
 him. 
 
 Being very anxious to see the dear old fellow, nevertheless. 
 I despatched my dinner, in a manner not at all calculated to 
 raise me in the opinion of the chief water, and hurried out by 
 the back way. Number two in the Court was soon reached , 
 and an inscription on the door-post informing me that Mr, 
 Traddles occupied a set of chambers on the top story, I 
 ascended the staircase. A crazy old staircase I found it to be, 
 feebly lighted on each landing by a club-headed little oil wick, 
 dying away in a little dungeon of dirty glass. 
 
 In the course of my stumbling up stairs, I fancied I heard 
 a pleasant sound of laughter; and not the laughter of an 
 attorney or barrister, or attorney's clerk or barrister's clerk, 
 but of two or three merry girls. Happening, however, as I 
 stopped to listen, to put my foot in a hole where the Honorable 
 Society of Gray's Inn had left a plank deficient, I fell down 
 with some noise, and when I recovered my footing all was 
 silent. 
 
 Groping my way more carefully, for the rest of the journey, 
 my heart beat high when I found the outer door, which had 
 MR. TRADDLES painted on it, open. I knocked. A consider- 
 able scuffling within ensued, but nothing else. I therefore 
 knocked again. 
 
 A small sharp-looking lad, half-footboy and half-clerk, who 
 was very much out of breath, but who looked at me as if he 
 defied me to prove it legally, presented himself. 
 
 " Is Mr. Traddles within ? " I said. 
 
 " Yes, sir, but he's engaged." 
 
 " I want to see him." 
 
 After a moment's survey of me, the sharp-looking lad 
 decided to let me in; and opening the door wider for that 
 purpose, admitted me, first, into a little closet of a hall, and 
 next into a little sitting-room ; where I came into the presence 
 of my old friend (also out of breath), seated at a table, and 
 bending over papers. 
 
 "Good God!" cried Traddles, looking up. "It's Copper- 
 field ! " and rushed into my arms, where I held him tight. 
 
 " All well, my dear Traddles ? '' 
 
424 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " All well, my dear, dear Copperfield, and nothing but good 
 news ! " 
 
 We cried with pleasure, both of us. 
 
 " My dear fellow," said Traddles, rumpling his hair in his 
 excitement, which was a most unnecessary operation, "my 
 dearest Copperfield, my long-lost and most welcome friend, 
 how glad I am to see you ! How brown you are ! How glad 
 I am! Upon my life and honor, I never was so rejoiced, my 
 beloved Copperfield, never ! " 
 
 I was equally at a loss to express my emotions. I was quite 
 unable to speak, at first. 
 
 " My dear fellow ! " said Traddles. " And grown so fa- 
 mous ! My glorious Copperfield ! Good gracious me, ivhen 
 did you come, where have you came from, what have you been 
 doing ? " 
 
 Never pausing for an answer to anything he said, Traddles, 
 who had clapped me into an easy chair ' by the fire, all this 
 time impetuously stirred the fire with one hand, and pulled at 
 my neck-kerchief with the other, under some wild delusion 
 that it was a great coat. Without putting down the poker, he 
 now hugged me again ; and I hugged him ; and, both laugh- 
 ing, and both wiping our eyes, we both sat down, and shook 
 hands across the hearth. 
 
 " To think," said Traddles, " that you should have been so 
 nearly coming home as you must have been, my dear old boy, 
 and not at the ceremony ! " 
 
 " What ceremony, my dear Traddles ? " 
 
 " Good gracious me ! " cried Traddles, opening his eyes in 
 his old way. " Didn't you get my last letter ? " 
 
 "Certainly not, if it referred to any ceremony." 
 
 "Why, my dear Copperfield," said Traddles, sticking his 
 hair upright with both hands, and then putting his hands on 
 his knees, " I am married ! " 
 
 "Married ! " I cried joyfully ! 
 
 " Lord bless me, yes ! " said Traddles " by the Rev. 
 Horace to Sophy down in Devonshire. Why, my dear 
 boy, she's behind the window curtain ! Look here ! " 
 
 To my amazement, the dearest girl in the world came at 
 that same instant, laughing and blushing, from her place of 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 426 
 
 concealment. And a more cheerful, amiable, honest, happy, 
 bright-looking bride, I believe (as I could not help saying on 
 the spot) the world never saw. I kissed her as an old 
 acquaintance should, and wished them joy with all my might 
 of heart. 
 
 " Dear me," said Traddles, " what a delightful re-union this 
 is ! You are so extremely brown, my dear Copperfield ! God 
 bless iny soul, how happy I am ! " 
 
 "And so am I," said I. 
 
 " And I am sure I am ! " said the blushing and laughing 
 Sophy. 
 
 " We are all as happy as possible ! " said Traddles. " Even 
 the girls are happy. Dear me, I declare I forgot them ! " 
 
 " Forgot ? " said I. 
 
 "The girls," said Traddles. "Sophy's sisters. They are 
 staying with us. They have come to have a peep at London. 
 The fact is, when was it you that tumbled up stairs, Cop- 
 perfield ? " 
 
 " It was," said I, laughing. 
 
 "Well then, when you tumbled up stairs," said Traddles, 
 "I was romping with the girls. In point of fact, we were 
 playing at Puss in the Corner. But as that wouldn't do in 
 Westminster Hall, and as it wouldn't look quite professional 
 if they were seen by a client, they decamped. And they are 
 now listening, I have no doubt," said Traddles, glancing at 
 the door of another room. 
 
 "I am sorry," said I, laughing afresh, "to have occasioned 
 such a dispersion." 
 
 "Upon my word," rejoined Traddles, greatly delighted, "if 
 you had seen them running away, and running back again, 
 after you had knocked, to pick up the combs they had dropped 
 out of their hair, and going on in the maddest manner, you 
 wouldn't have said so. My love, will you fetch the girls ? r - 
 
 Sophy tripped away, and we heard her received in the 
 adjoining room with a peal of laughter. 
 
 "Eeally musical, isn't it, my dear Copperfield?" said 
 Traddles. " It's very agreeable to hear. It quite lights up 
 these old rooms. To an unfortunate bachelor of a fellow who 
 has lived alone all his life, you know, it's positively delicious. 
 
426 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 It's charming. Poor tilings, they have had a great loss in 
 Sophy who, I do assure you, Copperfield, is, and ever was, 
 the dearest girl! and it gratifies me beyond expression to 
 find them in such good spirits. The society of girls is a very 
 delightful thing, Copperfield. It's not professional, but it's 
 very delightful." 
 
 Observing that he slightly faltered, and comprehending that 
 in the goodness of his heart he was fearful of giving me some 
 pain by what he had said, I expressed my concurrence with a 
 heartiness that evidently relieved and pleased him greatly. 
 
 " But then," said Traddles, " our domestic arrangements are, 
 to say the truth, quite unprofessional altogether, my dear 
 Copperfield. Even Sophy's being here, is unprofessional. 
 And we have no other place of abode. We have put. to sea in 
 a cockboat, but we are quite prepared to rough it. And 
 Sophy's an extraordinary manager ! You'll be surprised how 
 those girls are stowed away. I am sure I hardly know how 
 it's done." 
 
 "Are many of the young ladies with you ? " I inquired. 
 
 " The eldest, the Beauty is here," said Traddles, in a low 
 confidential voice, "Caroline. And Sarah's here the one I 
 mentioned 'to you as having something the matter with her 
 spine, you know. Immensely better ! And the two youngest 
 that Sophy educated are with us. And Louisa's here." 
 
 " Indeed ! " cried I. 
 
 " Yes," said Traddles. " Now the whole set I mean the 
 chambers is only three rooms; but Sophy arranges for the 
 girls in the most wonderful way, and they sleep as comfort- 
 ably as possible. Three in that room," said Traddles, point- 
 ing. "Two in that." 
 
 I could not help glancing round, in search of the accommo- 
 dation remaining for Mr. and Mrs. Traddles. Traddies under- 
 stood me. 
 
 "Well !" said Traddles, "we are prepared to rough it, as I 
 said just now, and we did improvise a bed last week, upon the 
 floor here. But there's a little room in the roof a very nice 
 room, when you're up there which Sophy papered herse 1 f , 
 to surprise me ; and that's our room at present. It's a capital 
 little gipsy sort of place. There's quite a view from it." 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 427 
 
 " And you are happily married at last, my dear Traddles," 
 said I. " How rejoiced I am ! " 
 
 Thank you, my dear Copperfield," said Traddles, as we 
 shook hands once more. " Yes, I am as happy as it's possible 
 to be. There's your old friend, you see," said Traddles, nod- 
 ding triumphantly at the flower-pot and stand; "and there's 
 the table with the marble top! All the other furniture is 
 plain and serviceable, you perceive. And as to plate, Lord 
 bless you, we haven't so much as a tea-spoon." 
 " All to be earned ? " said T, cheerfully. 
 "Exactly so," replied Traddles, "all to be earned. Of 
 course we have something in the shape of tea-spoons, because 
 we stir our tea. But they're Britannia metal." 
 
 " The silver will be the brighter when it comes," said I. 
 " The very thing we say ! " cried Traddles. " You see, my 
 dear Copperfield," falling again into the low confidential tone, 
 " after I had delivered my argument in DOE dem. JIPES versus 
 WIGZELL, which did me great service with the profession, I 
 went down into Devonshire, and had some serious conversation 
 in private with the Reverend Horace. I dwelt upon the fact 
 that Sophy who I do assure you, Copperfield, is the dearest 
 girl!" 
 
 " I am certain she is ! " said I. 
 
 "She is, indeed!" rejoined Traddles. "But I am afraid 
 I am wandering from the subject. Did I mention the Reverend 
 Horace ? " 
 
 " You said that you dwelt upon the fact " 
 " True ! Upon the fact that Sophy and I had been engaged 
 for a long period, and that Sophy, with the permission of her 
 parents, was more than content to take me in short," said 
 Traddles, with his old frank smile, " on our present Britannia- 
 metal footing. Very well. I then proposed to the Reverend 
 Horace who is a most excellent clergyman, Copperfield, and 
 ought to be a Bishop ; or at least ought to have enough to live 
 upon, without pinching himself that if I could turn the 
 corner, say of two hundred and fifty pounds, in one year; and 
 could see my way pretty clearly to that, or something better, 
 next year; and could plainly furnish a little place like this, 
 besides ; then, and in that case, Sophy and I should be united. 
 
428 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 I took the liberty of representing that we had been patient 
 for a good many years ; and that the circumstance of Sophy's 
 being extraordinarily useful at home, ought not to operate 
 with her affectionate parents, against her establishment in life 
 don't you see ? " 
 
 " Certainly it ought not," said I. 
 
 "I am glad you think so, Copperfield," rejoined Traddles, 
 " because, without any imputation on the Reverend Horace, 
 T do think parents, and brothers, and so forth, are sometimes 
 rather selfish in such cases. Well ! I also pointed out, that 
 my most earnest desire was to be useful to the family ; and 
 that if I got on in the world, and anything should happen to 
 him I refer to the Keverend Horace " 
 
 " I understand," said I. 
 
 " Or to Mrs. Crewler it would be the utmost gratifica- 
 tion of my wishes, to be a parent to the girls. He replied in 
 a most admirable manner, exceedingly flattering to my feel- 
 ings, and undertook to obtain the consent of Mrs. Crewler to 
 this arrangement. They had a dreadful time of it with her. 
 It mounted from her legs into her chest, and then into her 
 head " 
 
 "What mounted ? " I asked. 
 
 " Her grief," replied Traddles, with a serious look. " Her 
 feelings generally. As I mentioned on a former occasion, she 
 is a very superior woman, but has lost the use of her limbs. 
 Whatever occurs to harass her, usually settles in her legs ; but 
 on this occasion it mounted to the chest, and then to the head, 
 and, in short, pervaded the whole system in a most alarming 
 manner. However, they brought her through it by unremit- 
 ting and affectionate attention ; and we were married yesterday 
 six weeks. You have no idea what a Monster I felt, Copper- 
 field, when I saw the whole family crying and fainting away 
 in every direction ! Mrs. Crewler couldn't see me before we 
 left couldn't forgive me, then, for depriving her of her child 
 but she is a good creature, and has done so since. I had a 
 delightful letter from her, only this morning. 
 
 " And in short, my dear friend," said I, " you feel as blest 
 as you deserve to feel ! " 
 
 "Oh! That's your partiality !" laughed Traddles. "But, 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 429 
 
 indeed, I ain in a most enviable state. I work hard, and read 
 Law insatiably. I get up at five every morning, and don't 
 mind it at all. I hide the girls in the day-time, and make 
 merry with them in the evening. And I assure you I am 
 quite sorry that they are going home on Tuesday, which is 
 the day before the first day of Michaelmas Term. But here," 
 said Traddles, breaking off in his confidence, and speaking 
 aloud, "are the girls! Mr. Copperfield, Miss Crewler Miss 
 Sarah Miss Louisa Margaret and Lucy ! " 
 
 They were a perfect nest of roses; they looked so whole- 
 some and fresh. They were all pretty, and Miss Caroline was 
 very handsome; but there was a loving, cheerful, fireside 
 quality in Sophy's bright looks, which was better than that, 
 and which assured me that my friend had chosen well. We 
 all sat round the fire ; while the sharp boy, who I now divined 
 had lost his breath in putting the papers out, cleared them 
 away again, and produced the tea-things. After that, he 
 retired for the night, shutting the outer door upon us with a 
 bang. Mrs. Traddles, with perfect pleasure and composure 
 beaming from her household eyes, having made the tea, then 
 quietly made the toast as she sat in a corner by the fire. 
 
 She had seen Agnes, she told me, while she was toasting. 
 " Tom " had taken her down into Kent for a wedding trip, 
 and there she had seen my aunt, too; and both my aunt and 
 Agnes were well, and they had all talked of nothing but me. 
 '' Tom " had never had me out of his thoughts, she really 
 believed, all the time I had been away. "Tom" was the 
 authority for everything. " Tom " was evidently the idol of 
 her life ; never to be shaken from his pedestal by any commo- 
 tion ; always to be believed in, and done homage to with the 
 whole faith of her heart, come what might. 
 
 The deference which both she and Traddles showed towards 
 the Beauty, pleased me very much. I don't know that I 
 thought it very reasonable ; but I thought it very delightful, 
 and essentially a part of their character. If Traddles ever 
 for an instant missed the tea-spoons that were still to be won, 
 I have no doubt it was when he handed the Beauty her tea. 
 If his sweet-tempered wife could have got up any self-assertion 
 against any one, I am satisfied it could only have been because 
 
430 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 she was the Beauty's sister. A few slight indications of a 
 rather petted and capricious manner, which I observed in the 
 Beauty, were manifestly considered, by Traddles and his wife, 
 as her birthright and natural endowment. If she had been 
 born a Queen Bee, and they laboring Bees, they could not have 
 been more satisfied of that. 
 
 But their self-forgetfulness charmed me. Their pride in 
 these girls, and .their submission of themselves to all their 
 whims, was the pleasantest little testimony to their own worth 
 I could have desired to see. If Traddles were addressed as " a 
 darling,' 7 once in the course of that evening ; and besought to 
 bring something here, or carry something there, or take some- 
 thing up, or put something down, or find something, or fetch 
 something, he was so addressed, by one or other of his sisters- 
 in-law, at least twelve times in an hour. Neither could they 
 do anything without Sophy. Somebody's hair fell down, and 
 nobody but Sophy could put it up. Somebody forgot how a 
 particular tune went, and nobody but Sophy could hum that 
 tune right. Somebody wanted to recall the name of a place 
 in Devonshire, and only Sophy knew it. Something was 
 wanted to be written home, and Sophy alone could be trusted 
 to write before breakfast in the morning.' Somebody broke 
 down in a piece of knitting, and no one but Sophy was able 
 to put the defaulter in the right direction. They were entire 
 mistresses of the place, and Sophy and Traddles waited on 
 them. How many children Sophy could have taken care of 
 in her time, I can't imagine ; but she seemed to be famous for 
 knowing every sort of song that ever was addressed to a child 
 in the English tongue ; and she sang dozens to order with the 
 clearest little voice in the world, one after another (every 
 sister issuing directions for a different tune, and the Beauty 
 generally striking in last), so that I was quite fascinated. 
 The best of all was, that, in the midst of their exactions, all 
 the sisters had a great tenderness and respect both for Sophy 
 and Traddles. I am sure, when I took my leave, and Traddles 
 was coming out to walk with me to the coffee-house, I thought 
 I had never seen an obstinate head of hair, or any other head 
 of hair, rolling about in such a shower of kisses. 
 
 Altogether, it was a scene I could not help dwelling on with 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 431 
 
 pleasure, for a long time after I got back and had wished 
 Traddles good night. If I had beheld a thousand roses blow- 
 ing in a top set of chambers, in that withered Gray's Inn, they 
 could not have brightened it half so much. The idea of 
 those Devonshire girls, among the dry law-stationers and the 
 attorney's offices ; and of the tea and toast, and children's 
 songs, in that grim atmosphere of pounce and parchment, red- 
 tape, dusty wafers, ink-jars, brief and draft paper, law reports, 
 writs, declarations, and bills of costs, seemed almost as pleas- 
 antly fanciful as if I had dreamed that the Sultan's famous 
 family had been admitted on the roll of attorneys, and had 
 brought the talking-bird, the singing-tree, and the golden 
 water into Gray's Inn Hall. Somehow, I found that I had 
 taken leave of Traddles for the night, and come back to the 
 coffee-house, with a great change in my despondency about 
 him. I began to think he would get on, in spite of all the 
 many orders of chief waiters in England. 
 
 Drawing a chair before one of the coffee-room fires to think 
 about him at my leisure, I gradually fell from the considera- 
 tion of his happiness to tracing prospects in the live-coals, and 
 to thinking, as they broke and changed, of the principal 
 vicissitudes and separations that had marked my life. I had 
 not seen a coal fire, since I had left England three years ago : 
 though many a wood fire had I watched, as it crumbled into 
 hoary ashes, and mingled with the feathery heap upon the 
 hearth, which not inaptly figured to me, in my despondency, 
 my own dead hopes. 
 
 I could think of the past now, gravely, but not bitterly ; and 
 could contemplate the future in a brave spirit. Home, in its 
 best sense, was for me no more. She in whom I might have 
 inspired a dearer love, I had taught to be my sister. She 
 would marry, and would have new claimants on her tender- 
 ness : and in doing it, would never know the love for her that 
 had grown up in my heart. It was right that I should pay 
 the forfeit of my headlong passion. What I reaped, I had 
 sown. 
 
 I was thinking. And had I truly disciplined my heart to 
 this, and could I resolutely bear it, and calmly hold the place 
 in her home which she had calmly held in mine, when I 
 
432 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 found my eyes resting on a countenance that might have 
 arisen out of the fire, in its association with my early remem- 
 brances. 
 
 Little Mr. Chillip the Doctor, to whose good offices I was 
 indebted in the very first chapter of this history, sat reading a 
 newspaper in the shadow of an opposite corner. He was tol- 
 erably stricken in years by this time ; but, being a mild, meek, 
 calm little man, had worn so easily, that I thought he looked 
 at that moment just as he might have looked when he sat in 
 our parlor, waiting for me to be born. 
 
 Mr. Chillip had left Blunderstone six or seven years ago, 
 and I had never seen him since. He sat placidly perusing the 
 newspaper, with his little head on one side, and a glass of 
 warm sherry negus at his elbow. He was so extremely con- 
 ciliatory in his manner that he seemed to apologize to the very 
 newspaper for taking the liberty of reading it. 
 
 I walked up to where he was sitting, and said, "How do 
 you do, Mr. Chillip ? " 
 
 He was greatly fluttered by this unexpected address from a 
 stranger, and replied, in his slow way, " I thank you, sir, you 
 are very good. Thank you, sir. I hope you are well." 
 
 " You don't remember me ? " said I. 
 
 " Well, sir," returned Mr. Chillip, smiling very meekly, and 
 shaking his head as he surveyed me. " I have a kind of an 
 impression that something in your countenance is familiar to 
 me, sir ; but I couldn't lay my hand upon your name, really." 
 
 "And yet you knew it, long before I knew it myself," I 
 returned. 
 
 "Did I indeed, sir ? " said Mr. Chillip. "Is it possible that 
 I had the honor, sir, of officiating when ? " 
 
 "Yes," said I. 
 
 " Dear me ! " cried Mr. Chillip. " But no doubt you are a 
 good deal changed since then, sir ? " 
 
 "Probably," said I. 
 
 " Well, sir," observed Mr. Chillip, " I hope you'll excuse me, 
 if I am compelled to ask the favor of your name." 
 
 On my telling him my name, he was really moved. He 
 quite shook hands with me which was a violent proceeding 
 for him, his usual course being to slide a tepid little fish-slice, 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 433 
 
 an inch or two in advance of his hip, and evince the greatest 
 discomposure when anybody grappled with it. Even now, he 
 put his. hani in his coat pocket as soon as he could disengage 
 it, and seemed relieved when he had got it safe back. 
 
 "Dear me, sir?" said Mr. Chillip, surveying me with his 
 head on one side. "And it's Mr. Copperfield, is it? Well, 
 sir, I think I should have known you, if I -had taken the lib- 
 erty of looking more closely at you. There's a strong resem- 
 blance between you and your poor father, sir." 
 
 "I never had the happiness of seeing my father," I 
 observed. 
 
 "Very true, sir," said Mr. Chillip, in a soothing tone. "And 
 very much to be deplored it was, on all accounts ! We are not 
 ignorant, sir," said Mr. Chillip, slowly shaking his little head 
 again, " down in our part of the country, of your fame. There 
 must be great excitement here, sir," said Mr. Chillip, tapping 
 himself on the forehead with his forefinger. " You must find 
 it a trying occupation, sir ! " 
 
 " What is your part of the country now ? " I asked, seating 
 myself near him. 
 
 " I am established within a few miles of Bury St. Edmunds, 
 sir," said Mr. Chillip. " Mrs. Chillip coming into a little prop- 
 erty in that neighborhood, under her father's will, I bought a 
 practice down there, in which you will be glad to hear I am 
 doing well. My daughter is growing quite a tall lass now, sir," 
 said Mr. Chillip, giving his little head another little shake. 
 "Her mother let down two tucks in her frocks only last 
 week. Such is time, you see, sir ! " 
 
 As the little man put his now empty glass to his lips, when 
 he made this reflection, I proposed to him to have it refilled, 
 and I would keep him company with another. "Well, sir," 
 he returned, in his slow way, "it's more than I am accus- 
 tomed to; but I can't deny myself the pleasure of your 
 conversation. It seems but yesterday that I had the honor of 
 attending you in the measles. You came through them 
 charmingly, sir ! " 
 
 I acknowledged this compliment, and ordered the negus, 
 which was soon produced. "Quite an uncommon dissipa- 
 
 VOL. ii 28 
 
434 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 tion ! " said Mr. Chillip, stirring it, " but I can't resist so 
 extraordinary an occasion. You have no family, sir V* ' 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 "I was aware that you sustained a bereavement, sir, some 
 time ago," said Mr. Chillip. "I heard it from your father- 
 in-law's sister. Very decided character there, sir ? " 
 
 " Why, yes," said I, " decided enough. Where did you see 
 her, Mr. Chillip?" 
 
 "Are you not aware, sir," returned Mr. Chillip, with his 
 placidest smile, " that your father-in-law is again a neighbor 
 of mine?" 
 
 " No," said I. 
 
 " He is indeed, sir ! " said Mr. Chillip. " Married a young 
 lady of that part, with a very good little property, poor thing. 
 And this action of the brain now, sir ? Don't you find it 
 fatigue you ? " said Mr. Chillip, looking at me like an admiring 
 Robin. 
 
 I waived that question, and returned to the Murdstones. 
 " I was aware of his being married again. Do you attend the 
 family ? " I asked. 
 
 "Not regularly. I have been called in," he replied. 
 " Strong phrenological development of the organ of firmness, 
 in Mr. Murdstone and his sister, sir." 
 
 I replied with such an expressive look, that Mr. Chillip was 
 emboldened by that, and the negus together, to give his head 
 several short shakes, and thoughtfully exclaim, "Ah, dear 
 me ! We remember old times, Mr. Copperfield ! " 
 
 " And the brother and sister are pursuing their old course, 
 are they ? " said I. 
 
 Well, sir," replied Mr. Chillip, "a medical man, being 
 so much in families, ought to have neither eyes nor ears for 
 anything but his profession. Still, I must say, they are very 
 severe, sir : both as to this life and the next." 
 
 "The next will be regulated without much reference to 
 them, I dare say," I returned : " what are they doing as to 
 this ? " 
 
 Mr. Chillip shook his head, stirred his negus, and sipped it. 
 
 " She was a charming woman, sir ! " he observed in a plain- 
 tive manner. 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 435 
 
 "The present Mrs. Murdstone ? " 
 
 "A charming woman indeed, sir," said Mr. Chillip ; "as 
 amiable, I am sure, as it was possible to be ! Mrs. Chillip's 
 opinion is, that her spirit has been entirely broken since her 
 marriage, and that she is all but melancholy mad. And 
 the ladies," observed Mr. Chillip, timorously, "are great 
 observers, sir." 
 
 "I suppose she was to be subdued and broken to their 
 detestable mould, Heaven help her!" said I. "And she 
 has been." 
 
 "Well, sir, there were violent quarrels at first, I assure 
 you," said Mr. Chillip; "but she is quite a shadow now. 
 Would it be considered forward if I was to say to you, sir, 
 in confidence, that since the sister came to help, the brother 
 and sister between them have nearly reduced her to a state 
 of imbecility." 
 
 I told him I could easily believe it. 
 
 " I have no hesitation in saying," said Mr. Chillip, forti- 
 fying himself with another sip of negus, " between you and 
 me, sir, that her mother died of it or that tyranny, gloom, 
 and worry have made Mrs. Murdstone nearly imbecile. She 
 was a lively young woman, sir, before marriage, and their 
 gloom and austerity destroyed her. They go about with 
 her, now, more like her keepers than her husband and 
 sister-in-law. That was Mrs. Chillip's remark to me, only 
 last week. And I assure you, sir, the ladies are great 
 observers. Mrs. Chillip herself is a great observer ! " 
 
 "Does he gloomily profess to be (I am ashamed to use the 
 word in such association) religious still ? " I inquired. 
 
 " You anticipate, sir," said Mr. Chillip, his eyelids getting 
 quite red with the unwonted stimulus in which he was 
 indulging. " One of Mrs. Chillip's most impressive remarks. 
 Mrs. Chillip," he proceeded, in the calmest and slowest 
 manner, "quite electrified me, by pointing out that Mr. 
 Murdstone sets up an image of himself, and calls it the 
 Divine Nature. You might have knocked me down on the 
 flat of my back, sir, with the feather of a pen, I assure you, 
 when Mrs. Chillip said so. The ladies are great observers, 
 sir ? " 
 
436 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 "Intuitively," said I, to his extreme delight. 
 
 " I am very happy to receive such support in my opinion, 
 sir," he rejoined. " It is not often that I venture to give a 
 non-medical opinion, I assure you. Mr. Murdstone delivers 
 public addresses sometimes, and it is said, in short, sir, it is 
 said by Mrs. Chillip, that the darker tyrant he has lately 
 been, the more ferocious is his doctrine." 
 
 " I believe Mrs. Chillip to be perfectly right," said I. 
 
 "Mrs. Chillip does go so far as to say," pursued the meek- 
 est of little men, much encouraged, " that what such people 
 miscall their religion, is a vent for their bad humors and arro- 
 gance. And do you know I must say, sir," he continued, mildly 
 laying his head on one side, " that I don't find authority for 
 Mr. and Miss Murdstone in the New Testament ? " 
 
 " I never found it either ! " said I. 
 
 " In the mean time, sir," said Mr. Chillip, " they are much 
 disliked ; and as they are very free in consigning everybody 
 who dislikes them to perdition, we really have a good deal of 
 perdition going on in our neighborhood ! However, as Mrs. 
 Chillip says, sir, they undergo a continual punishment ; for 
 they are turned inward, to feed upon their own hearts, and 
 their own hearts are very bad feeding. Now, sir, about that 
 brain of yours, if you'll excuse my returning to it. Don't you 
 expose it to a good deal of excitement, sir ? " 
 
 I found it not difficult, in the excitement of Mr. Chillip's 
 own brain, under his potations of negus, to divert his attention 
 from this topic to his own affairs, on which, for the next half 
 hour, he was quite loquacious ; giving me to understand, among 
 other pieces of information, that he was then at the Gray's Inn 
 Coffee-house to lay his professional evidence before a Commis- 
 sion of Lunacy, touching the state of mind of a patient who 
 had become deranged from excessive drinking. 
 
 " And I assure you, sir," he said, " I am extremely nervous 
 on such occasions. I could not support being what is called 
 Bullied, sir. It would quite unman me. Do you know it was 
 some time before I recovered the conduct of that alarming lady, 
 on the night of your birth, Mr. Copperfield ? " 
 
 I told him that I was going down to my aunt, the Dragon of 
 that night, early in the morning ; and that she was one of the 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELI). 437 
 
 most tender-hearted and excellent of women, as he would know 
 full well if he knew her better. The mere notion of the pos- 
 sibility of his ever seeing her again, appeared to terrify him. 
 He replied, with a small pale smile, " Is she so, indeed, sir ? 
 Keally ? " and almost immediately called for a candle, and 
 went to bed, as if he were not quite safe anywhere else. He 
 did not actually stagger under the negus ; but I should think 
 his placid little pulse must have made two or three more 
 beats in a minute, than it had done since the great night of 
 my aunt's disappointment, when she struck at him with her 
 bonnet. 
 
 Thoroughly tired, I went to bed too, at midnight ; passed 
 the next day on the Dover coach ; burst safe and sound into 
 my aunt's old parlor while she was at tea (she wore spectacles 
 now) ; and was received by her, and Mr. Dick, and dear old 
 Peggotty, who acted as housekeeper, with open arms and tears 
 of joy. My aunt was mightily amused, when we began to talk 
 composedly, by my account of my meeting with Mr. Chillip, 
 and of his holding her in such dread remembrance ; and both 
 she and Peggotty had a great deal to say about my poor mother's 
 second husband, and " that murdering woman of a sister," 
 on whom I think no pain or penalty would have induced my 
 aunt to bestow any Christian or Proper Name, or any other 
 designation. 
 
488 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 CHAPTEK XXXI. 
 
 AGNES. 
 
 MY aunt and I, when we were left alone, talked far into the 
 ^ight. How the emigrants never wrote home, otherwise than 
 cheerfully and hopefully ; how Mr. Micawber had actually 
 remitted divers small sums of money, on account of those 
 " pecuniary liabilities," in reference to which he had been so 
 business-like as between man and man ; how Janet, returning 
 into my aunt's service when she came back to Dover, had 
 finally carried out her renunciation of mankind by entering 
 into wedlock with a thriving tavern-keeper ; and how my aunt 
 had finally set her seal on the same great principle, by aiding 
 and abetting the bride, and crowning the marriage-ceremony 
 with her presence ; were among our topics already more or 
 less familiar to me through the letters I had had. Mr. Dick, 
 as usual, was not forgotten. My aunt informed me how he 
 incessantly occupied himself in copying everything he could 
 lay his hands on, and kept King Charles the First at a respect- 
 ful distance by that semblance of employment ; how it was 
 one of the main joys and rewards of her life that he was free 
 and happy, instead of pining in monotonous restraint ; and 
 how (as a novel general conclusion) nobody but she could ever 
 fully know what he was. 
 
 "And when, Trot," said my aunt, patting the back of my 
 hand, as we sat in our old way before the fire, " when are you 
 going over to Canterbury ? " 
 
 " I shall get a horse, and ride over to-morrow morning, aunt, 
 unless you will go with me." 
 
 " No ! " said my aunt, in her short abrupt way. " I mean 
 to stay where I am." 
 
 Then, I should ride, I said. I could not have come through 
 Canterbury to-day without stopping, if I had been coming to 
 any one but her. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 439 
 
 She was pleased, but answered, "Tut, Trot; my old bones 
 would have kept till to-morrow ! " and softly patted my hand 
 again, as I sat looking thoughtfully at the fire. 
 
 Thoughtfully, for I could not be here once more, and so 
 near Agnes, without the revival of those regrets with which I 
 had so long been occupied. Softened regrets they might be, 
 teaching me what I had failed to learn when my younger life 
 was all before me, but not the less regrets. " Oh, Trot," I 
 seemed to hear my aunt say once more ; and I understood her 
 better now " Blind, blind, blind ! " 
 
 We both kept silence for a few minutes. When I raised 
 my eyes, I found that she was steadily observant of me. Per- 
 haps she had followed the current of my mind ; for it seemed 
 to me an easy one to track now, wilful as it had been once. 
 
 " You will find her father a white-haired old man," said my 
 aunt, " though a better man in all other respects a reclaimed 
 man. Neither will you find him measuring all human inter- 
 ests, and joys, and sorrows, with his one poor little inch-rule 
 now. Trust me, child, such things must shrink very much, 
 before they can be measured off in that way." 
 
 " Indeed they must," said I. 
 
 " You will find her," pursued my aunt, " LS good, as beauti- 
 ful, as earnest, as disinterested, as she has always been. If I 
 knew higher praise, Trot, I would bestow it on her." 
 
 There was no higher praise for her ; no higher reproach for 
 me. 0, how had I strayed so far away ! 
 
 " If she trains the young girls whom she has about her, to 
 be like herself," said my aunt, earnest even to the filling of 
 her eyes with tears, "Heaven knows, her life will be well 
 employed ! Useful and happy, as she said that day ! How 
 could she be otherwise than useful and happy ! " 
 
 "Has Agnes any " I was thinking aloud, rather than 
 speaking. 
 
 " Well ? Hey ? Any what ? " said my aunt, sharply. 
 
 "Any lover," said I. 
 
 " A score," cried my aunt, with a kind of indignant pride. 
 " She might have married twenty times, my dear, since you 
 have been gone ! " 
 
440 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 "No doubt/' said I. "No doubt. But has she any lover 
 who is worthy of her ? Agnes could care for no other." 
 
 My aunt sat musing for a little while, with her chin upon 
 her hand. Slowly raising her eyes to mine, she said : 
 
 " I suspect she has an attachment, Trot." 
 
 " A prosperous one ? " said I. 
 
 " Trot," returned my aunt gravely, " I can't say. I have no 
 right to tell you even so much. She has never confided it to 
 me, but I suspect it." 
 
 She looked so attentively and anxiously at me (I even saw 
 her tremble), that I felt now, more than ever, that she had 
 followed my late thoughts. I summoned all the resolutions 
 I had made, in all those many days and nights, and all those 
 many conflicts of my heart. 
 
 " If it should be so," I began, " and I hope it is " 
 
 " I don't know that it is," said my aunt curtly. " You 
 must not be ruled by my suspicions. You must keep them 
 secret. They are very slight, perhaps. I have no right to 
 speak." 
 
 " If it should be so," I repeated, " Agnes will tell me at her 
 own good time. A sister to whom I have confided so much, 
 aunt, will not be reluctant to confide in me." 
 
 My aunt withdrew her eyes from mine, as slowly as she had 
 turned them upon me ; and covered them thoughtfully with 
 her hand. By and by she put her other hand on my shoulder ; 
 and so we both sat looking into the past, without saying another 
 word, until we parted for the night. 
 
 I rode away, early in the morning, for the scene of my old 
 school days. I cannot say that I was yet quite happy, in the 
 hope that I was gaining a victory over myself ; even in the 
 prospect of so soon looking on her face again. 
 
 The well-remembered ground was soon traversed, and I 
 came into the quiet streets, where every stone was a boy's book 
 to me. I went on foot to the old house, and went away with 
 a heart too full to enter. I returned ; and looking, as I passed, 
 through the low window of the turret-room where first Uriah 
 Heep, and afterwards Mr. Micawber, had been wont to sit, saw 
 that it was a little parlor now, and that there was no office. 
 Otherwise the staid old house was, as to its cleanliness and 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 441 
 
 order, still just as it had been when I first saw it. I requested 
 the new maid who admitted me, to tell Miss Wickfield that a 
 gentleman who waited on her from a friend abroad, was there ; 
 and I was shown up the grave old staircase (cautioned of the 
 steps I knew so well), into the unchanged drawing-room. The 
 books that Agnes and I had read together, were on their 
 shelves ; and the desk where I had labored at my lessons, 
 many a night, stood yet at the same old corner of the table. 
 All the little changes that had crept in when the Heeps were 
 there, were changed again. Everything was as it used to be, 
 in the happy time. 
 
 I stood in a window, and looked across the ancient street at 
 the opposite houses, recalling how I had watched them on wet 
 afternoons, when I first came there ; and how I had used to 
 speculate about the people who appeared at any of the win- 
 dows, and had followed them with my eyes up and down stairs, 
 while women went clinking along the pavement in pattens, 
 and the dull rain fell in slanting lines, and poured out of the 
 waterspout yonder, and flowed into the road. The feeling 
 with which I used to watch the tramps, as they came into the 
 town on those wet evenings, at dusk, and limped past, with 
 their bundles drooping over their shoulders at the ends of 
 sticks, came freshly back to me ; fraught, as then, with the 
 smell of damp earth, and wet leaves and briar, and the sensa- 
 tion of the very airs that blew upon me in my own toilsome 
 journey. 
 
 The opening of the little door in the panelled wall made me 
 start and turn. Her beautiful serene eyes met mine as she 
 came towards me. She stopped, and laid her hand upon her 
 bosom, and I caught her in my arms. 
 
 "Agnes ! my dear girl ! I have come too suddenly upon you." 
 
 "No, no ! I am so rejoiced to see you, Trot wood ! " 
 
 "Dear Agnes, the happiness it is to me, to see you once 
 again ! " 
 
 I folded her to my heart, and for a little while we were 
 both silent. Presently we sat down, side by side ; and her 
 angel-face was turned upon me with the welcome I had dreamed 
 of, waking and sleeping, for whole years. 
 
 She was so true, she was so beautiful, she was so good, I 
 
442 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 owed her so much gratitude, she was so dear to me, that I could 
 find no utterance for what I felt. I tried to bless her, tried to 
 thank her, tried to tell her (as I had often done in letters) 
 what an influence she had upon me ; but all my efforts were 
 in vain. My love and joy were dumb. 
 
 With her own sweet tranquillity, she calmed my agitation ; 
 led me back to the time of our parting ; spoke to me of Emily, 
 whom she had visited, in secret, many times ; spoke to me ten- 
 derly of Dora's grave. TVith the unerring instinct of her 
 noble heart, she touched the chords of my memory so softly 
 and harmoniously, that not one jarred within me ; I could 
 listen to the sorrowful, distant music, and desire to shrink 
 from nothing it awoke. How could I, when, blended with it 
 all, was her dear self, the better angel of my life ? 
 
 " And you, Agnes," I said, by and by. " Tell me of your- 
 self. You have hardly ever told me of your own life, in all 
 this lapse of time ! " 
 
 " What should I tell ? " she answered, with her radiant 
 smile. " Papa is well. You see us here, quiet in our own 
 home ; our anxieties set at rest, our home restored to us : and 
 knowing that, dear Trotwood, you know all." 
 
 "All, Agnes?" said I. 
 
 She looked at me, with some fluttering wonder in her face. 
 
 " Is there nothing else, Sister ? " I said. 
 
 Her color, which had just now faded, returned, and faded 
 again. She smiled ; with a quiet sadness, I thought ; and 
 shook her head. 
 
 I had sought to lead her to what my aunt had hinted at ; 
 for, sharply painful to me as it must be to receive that confi- 
 dence, I was to discipline my heart, and do my duty to her. 
 I saw, however, that she was uneasy, and I let it pass. 
 
 " You have much to do, dear Agnes ? " 
 
 " With my school ? " said she, looking up again, in all her 
 bright composure. 
 
 " Yes. It is laborious, is it not ? " 
 
 " The labor is so pleasant," she returned, " that it is scarcely 
 grateful in me to call it by that name." 
 
 " Nothing good is difficult to you/ 7 said I. 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 443 
 
 Her color came and went once more ; and once more, as she 
 bent her head, I saw the same sad smile. 
 
 You will wait and see papa," said Agnes, cheerfully, " and 
 pass the day with us ? Perhaps you will sleep in your own 
 room ? We always call it yours. 7 ' 
 
 I could not do that, having promised to ride back to my 
 aunt's, at night ; but I would pass the day there, joyfully. 
 
 "I must be a prisoner for a little while," said Agnes, "but 
 here are the old books, Trotwood, and the old music." 
 
 Even the old flowers are here," said I, looking round ; or 
 
 the old kinds." 
 
 I have found a pleasure," returned Agnes, smiling, " while 
 you have been absent, in keeping everything as it used to be 
 when we were children. For we were very happy then, I 
 
 think." 
 
 " Heaven knows we were ! " said I. 
 
 "And every little thing that has reminded me of my 
 brother," said Agnes, with her cordial eyes turned cheerfully 
 upon me, "has been a welcome companion. Even this," 
 showing me the basket-trifle, full of keys, still hanging at her 
 side, " seems to jingle a kind of old tune ! " 
 
 She smiled again, and went out at the door by which she 
 
 had come. 
 
 It was for me to guard this sisterly affection with religious 
 care. It was all that I had left myself, and it was a treasure. 
 If I once shook the foundations of the sacred confidence and 
 usage, in virtue of which it was given to me, it was lost, and 
 could never be recovered. I set this steadily before myself. 
 The better I loved her, the more it behoved me never to 
 
 forget it. 
 
 I walked through the streets ; and, once more seeing my 
 old adversary the butcher now a constable, with his staff 
 hanging up in the shop went down to look at the place 
 where I had fought him ; and there meditated on Miss Shep- 
 herd and the eldest Miss Larkings, and all the idle loves and 
 likings, and dislikings, of that time. Nothing seemed to have 
 survived that time but Agnes; and she, ever a star above me, 
 was brighter and higher. 
 
 When I returned, Mr. Wickfield had come home, from a 
 
444 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 garden he had, a couple of miles or so out of the town, where he 
 now employed himself almost every day. I found him as my 
 aunt had described him. We sat down to dinner, with some 
 half-dozen little girls ; and he seemed but the shadow of his 
 handsome picture on the wall. 
 
 The tranquillity and peace belonging, of old, to that quiet 
 ground in my memory, pervaded it again. When dinner was 
 done, Mr. Wickfield taking no wine, and I desiring none, we 
 went up stairs ; where Agnes and her little charges sang and 
 played, and worked. After tea the children left us ; and we 
 three sat together, talking of the bygone days. 
 
 " My part in them," said Mr. Wickfield, shaking his white 
 head, "has much matter for regret for deep regret, and 
 deep contrition, Trotwood, you well know. But I would not 
 cancel it, if it were in my power." 
 
 I could readily believe that, looking at the face beside him. 
 
 " I should cancel with it," he pursued, " such patience and 
 devotion, such fidelity, such a child's love, as I must not for- 
 get, no ! even to forget myself." 
 
 " I understand you, sir," I softly said. " I hold it I have 
 always held it in veneration." 
 
 "But no one knows, not even you," he returned, "how 
 much she has done, how much she has undergone, how hard 
 she has striven. Dear Agnes ! " 
 
 She had put her hand entreatingly on his arm, to stop him ; 
 and was very, very pale. 
 
 " Well, well ! " he said with a sigh, dismissing, as I then 
 saw, some trial she had borne, or was yet to bear, in connection 
 with what my aunt had told me. " Well ! I have never told 
 you, Trotwood, of her mother. Has any one ? " 
 
 "Never, sir." 
 
 " It's not much though it was much to suffer. She mar- 
 ried me in opposition to her father's wish, and he renounced 
 her. She prayed him to forgive her, before my Agnes came 
 into this world. He was a very hard man, and her mother 
 had long been dead. He repulsed her. He broke her heart." 
 
 Agnes leaned upon his shoulder, and stole her arm about 
 his neck. 
 
 " She had an affectionate and gentle heart," he said ; " and 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEF1ELD. 445 
 
 it was broken. I knew its tender nature very well. No one 
 could, if I did not. She loved me dearly, but was never happy. 
 She was always laboring, in secret, under this distress ; and 
 being delicate and downcast at the time of his last repulse 
 for it was not the first, by many pined away and died. 
 She left me Agnes, two weeks old; and the gray hair that 
 you recollect me with, when you first came." 
 
 He kissed Agnes on her cheek. 
 
 "My love for my dear child was a diseased love, but my 
 mind was all unhealthy then. I say no more of that. I am 
 not speaking of myself, Trotwood, but of her mother, and of 
 her. If I give you any clue to what I am, or to what I have 
 been, you will unravel it, I know. What Agnes is, I need 
 not say. I have always read something of her poor mother's 
 story, in her character ; and so I tell it you to-night, when we 
 three are again together, after such great changes. I have 
 told it all." 
 
 His bowed head, and her angel face and filial duty, derived 
 a more pathetic meaning from it than they had had before. 
 If I had wanted anything by which to mark this night of our 
 reunion, I should have found it in this. 
 
 Agnes rose up from her father's side, before long ; and going 
 softly to her piano, played some of the old airs to which we 
 had often listened in that place. 
 
 "Have you any intention of going away again?" Agnes 
 asked me, as I was standing by. 
 
 " What does my sister say to that ? " 
 
 " I hope not." 
 
 " Then I have no such intention, Agnes." 
 
 " I think you ought not, Trotwood, since you ask me," she 
 said, mildly. " Your growing reputation and success enlarge 
 your power of doing good ; and if / could spare my brother," 
 with her eyes upon me, " perhaps the time could not." 
 
 " What I am, you have made me, Agnes. You should know 
 best." 
 
 ^ / made you Trotwood ? " 
 
 " Yes ! Agnes, my dear girl ! " I said, bending over her. " I 
 tried to tell you, when we met to-day, something that has been 
 in my thoughts since Dora died. You remember, when you 
 
446 THE PEE SON AL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 came down to me in our little room pointing upward, 
 Agnes ? " 
 
 " Oh, Trotwood ! " she returned, her eyes filled with tears. 
 " So loving, so confiding, and so young ! Can I ever forget ? " 
 
 " As you were then, my sister, I have often thought since, 
 you have ever been to me. Ever pointing upward, Agnes; 
 ever leading me to something better ; ever directing me to 
 higher things ! " 
 
 She only shook her head ; through her tears I saw the same 
 sad quiet smile. 
 
 "And I am so grateful to you for it, Agnes, so bound to 
 you, that there* is no name for the affection of my heart. I 
 want you to know, yet don't know how to tell you, that all 
 my life long I shall look up to you, and be guided by you, as 
 I have been through the darkness that is past. Whatever 
 betides, whatever new ties you may form, whatever changes 
 may come between us, I shall always look to you, and love 
 you, as I do now, and have always done. You will always 
 be my solace and my resource as you have always been. 
 Until I die, my dearest sister, I shall see you always before 
 me, pointing upward ! " 
 
 She put her hand in mine, and told me she was proud of 
 me, and of what I said ; although I praised her very far 
 beyond her worth. Then she went on softly playing, but 
 without removing her eyes from me. 
 
 "Do you know, what I have heard to-night, Agnes," said 
 I, " strangely seems to be a part of the feeling with which I 
 regarded you when I saw you first with which I sat beside 
 you in my rough school-da}~s ? " 
 
 "You knew I had no mother," she replied with a smile, 
 "'and felt kindl}' towards me." 
 
 " More than that, Agnes, I knew, almost as if I had known 
 this story, that there was something inexplicably gentle and 
 softened, surrounding you ; something that might have been 
 sorrowful in some one else (as I can now understand it was), 
 but was not so in you." 
 
 She softly played on, looking at me still. 
 
 "Will you laugh at my cherishing such fancies, Agnes ? " 
 
 "No!" 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 447 
 
 " Or at my saying that I really believe I felt, even then, 
 that you could be faithfully affectionate against all discourage- 
 ment, and never cease to be so, until you cease to live ? Will 
 you laugh at such a dream ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ! Oh, no ! " 
 
 For an instant, a distressful shadow crossed her face ; but, 
 even in the start it gave me, it was gone ; and she was playing 
 on, and looking at me with her own calm smile. 
 
 As I rode back in the lonely night, the wind going by me 
 like a restless memory, I thought of this, and feared she was 
 not happy. / was not happy ; but, thus far, I had faithfully 
 set the seal upon the Past, and, thinking of her, pointing 
 upward, thought of her as pointing to that sky above me, 
 where, in the mystery to come, I might yet love her with a 
 love unknown on earth, and tell her what the strife had been 
 within me when I loved her here. 
 
448 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 I AM SHOWN TWO INTERESTING PENITENTS. 
 
 FOR a time at all events until my book should be com- 
 pleted, which would be the work of several months I took 
 up my abode in my aunt's house at Dover ; and there, sitting 
 in the window from which I had looked out at the moon upon 
 the sea, when that roof first gave me shelter, I quietly pursued 
 my task. 
 
 In pursuance of my intention of referring to my own fictions 
 only when their course should incidentally connect itself with 
 the progress of my story, I do not enter on the aspirations, 
 the delights, anxieties, and triumphs of my art. That I truly 
 devoted myself to it with my strongest earnestness, and 
 bestowed upon it every energy of my soul, I have already 
 said. If the books I have written be of any worth, they will 
 supply the rest. I shall otherwise have written to poor pur- 
 pose, and the rest will be of interest to no one. 
 
 Occasionally I went to London ; to lose myself in the swarm 
 of life there, or to consult with Traddles on some business 
 point. He had managed for me, in my absence, with the 
 soundest judgment ; and my worldly affairs were prospering. 
 As my notoriety began to bring upon me an enormous quantity 
 of letters from people of whom I had no knowledge chiefly 
 about nothing, and extremely difficult to answer I agreed 
 with Traddles to have my name painted up on his door. There, 
 the devoted postman on that beat delivered bushels of letters 
 for me ; and there, at intervals, I labored through them, like 
 a Home Secretary of State without the salary. 
 
 Among this correspondence, there dropped in, every now 
 and then, an obliging proposal from one of the numerous 
 outsiders always lurking about the Commons, to practise 
 under cover of my name (if I would take the necessary steps 
 remaining to make a proctor of myself), and pay me a percent- 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 449 
 
 age on the profits. But I declined these offers ; being already 
 aware that there were plenty of such covert practitioners in 
 existence, and considering the Commons quite bad enough, 
 without my doing anything to make it worse. 
 
 The girls had gone home, when my name burst into bloom 
 on Traddles's door ; and the sharp boy looked, all day, as if he 
 had never heard of Sophy, shut up in a back room, glancing 
 down from her work into a sooty little strip of garden with a 
 pump in it. But, there I always found her, the same bright 
 housewife; often humming her Devonshire ballads when no 
 strange foot was coming up the stairs, and blunting the sharp 
 boy in his official closet with melody. 
 
 I wondered, at first, why I so often found Sophy writing in 
 a copy-book ; and why she always shut it up when I appeared, 
 and hurried it into the table-drawer. But the secret soon 
 came out. One day, Traddles (who had just come home 
 through the drizzling sleet from Court) took a paper out of his 
 desk, and asked me what I thought of that handwriting ? 
 
 " Oh, don't Tom ! " cried Sophy, who was warming his slip- 
 pers before the fire. 
 
 "My dear," returned Tom, in a delighted state, "why not? 
 What do you say to that writing, Copperfield ?" 
 
 "It's extraordinarily legal and formal," said I. "I don't 
 think I ever saw such a stiff hand." 
 
 " Not like a lady's hand, is it ? " said Traddles. 
 "A lady's!" I repeated. "Bricks and mortar are more 
 like a lady's hand ! " 
 
 Traddles broke into a rapturous laugh, and informed me 
 that it was Sophy's writing; that Sophy had vowed and 
 declared he would need a copying-clerk soon, and she would 
 be that clerk ; that she had acquired this hand from a pattern ; 
 and that she could throw off I forget how many folios an 
 hour. Sophy was very much confused by my being told all 
 this, and said that when " Tom " was made a judge he wouldn't 
 be so ready to proclaim it. Which " Tom " denied ; averring 
 that he should always be equally proud of it, under all cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 "What a thoroughly good and charming wife she is, my 
 dear Traddles ! " said I, when she had gone away, laughing-. 
 VOL. ii 29 
 
450 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " My dear Copperfield," returned Traddles, " she is, without 
 any exception, the dearest girl ! The way she manages this 
 place; her punctuality, domestic knowledge, economy, and 
 order ; her cheerfulness, Copperfield ! " 
 
 "Indeed, you have reason to commend her!" I returned. 
 "You are a happy fellow. I believe you make yourselves, 
 and each other, two of the happiest people in the world." 
 
 "I am sure we are two of the happiest people," returned 
 Traddles. "I admit that, at all events. Bless my soul, when 
 I see her getting up by candle-light on these dark mornings, 
 busying herself in the day's arrangements, going out to market 
 before the clerks come into the Inn, caring for no weather, 
 devising the most capital little dinners out of the plainest 
 materials, making puddings and pies, keeping everything in 
 its right place, always so neat and ornamental herself, sitting 
 up at night with me if it's ever so late, sweet-tempered and 
 encouraging always, and all for me, I positively sometimes 
 can't believe it, Copperfield ! " 
 
 He was tender of the very slippers she had been warming, 
 as he put them on, and stretched his feet enjoyingly upon the 
 fender. 
 
 "I positively sometimes can't believe it," said Traddles. 
 " Then, our pleasures ! Dear me, they are inexpensive, but 
 they are quite wonderful ! When we are at home here, of an 
 evening, and shut the outer door, and draw those curtains 
 which she made where could we be more snug? When its 
 fine, and we go out for a walk in the evening, the streets 
 abound in enjoyment for us. We look into the glittering win- 
 dows of the jewellers' shops ; and I show Sophy, which of 
 the diamond-eyed serpents, coiled up on white satin rising 
 grounds, I would give her if I could afford it ; and Sophy 
 shows me which of the gold watches that are caped and 
 jewelled and engine-turned, and possessed of the horizontal 
 lever-escape-movement, and all sorts of things, she would buy 
 for me if she could afford it ; and we pick out the spoons and 
 forks, fish-slices, butter-knives, and sugar-tongs, we should 
 both prefer if we could both afford it ; and really we go away 
 as if we had got them ! Then, when we stroll into the 
 squares, and great streets, and see a house to let, sometimes 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 451 
 
 we look up at it, and say, how would that do, if I was made a 
 iudo-e? And we parcel it out such a room for us, such 
 rooms for the girls, and so forth; until we settle to our satis- 
 faction that it would do, or it wouldn't do, as the case may be. 
 Sometimes, we go at half-price to the pit of the theatre the 
 very smell of which is cheap, in my opinion, at the money 
 and there we thoroughly enjoy the play : which Sophy believes 
 every word of, and so do I. In walking home, perhaps we 
 buy a little bit of something at a cook's-shop, or a little lob- 
 ster at the fishmongers, and bring it here, and make a splen- 
 did supper, chatting about what we have seen. Now, you 
 know, Copperfield, if I was Lord Chancellor, we couldn't do 
 
 this!" 
 
 "You would do something, whatever you were, my dear 
 Traddles," thought I, that would be pleasant and amiable ! 
 And by the way," I said aloud, "I suppose you never draw 
 any skeletons now ? 9i 
 
 "Beally," replied Traddles, laughing, and reddening, ' 
 can't wholly deny that I do, my dear Copperfield. For, being 
 in one of the back rows of the King's Bench the other day, 
 with a pen in hand, the fancy came into my head to try how 
 I had preserved that accomplishment. And I am afraid 
 there's a skeleton in a wig on the ledge of the desk." 
 
 After we had both laughed heartily, Traddles wound up by 
 looking with a smile at the fire, and saying, in his forgiving 
 way, Old Creakle ! " 
 
 "I have a letter from that old Rascal here," said 1. -b< 
 I never was less disposed to forgive him the way he used to 
 batter Traddles, than when I saw Traddles so ready to forgive 
 
 him himself. 
 
 "From Creakle the schoolmaster?' 1 exclaimed Traddles. 
 
 "No!" 
 
 " Among the persons who are attracted to me in my rising 
 fame and fortune," said I, looking over my letters, "and who 
 discover that they were always much attached to me, is the 
 self-same Creakle. He is not a schoolmaster now, Traddles. 
 He is retired. He is a Middlesex Magistrate." 
 
 I thought Traddles might be surprised to hear it, but he 
 was not so at all. 
 
452 THE PEE SON AL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " How do you suppose lie comes to be a Middlesex Magis- 
 trate ? " said I. 
 
 " Oil dear me ! " replied Traddles, " it would be very diffi- 
 cult to answer that question. Perhaps he voted for somebody, 
 or lent money to somebody, or bought something of somebody, 
 or otherwise obliged somebody, or jobbed for somebody, who 
 knew somebody who got the lieutenant of the county to 
 nominate him for the commission.' 7 
 
 " On the commission he is, at any rate," said I. " And he 
 writes to me here, that he will be glad to show me, in opera- 
 tion, the only true system of prison discipline ; the only 
 unchallengeable way of making sincere and lasting converts 
 and penitents which, you know, is by solitary confinement. 
 What do you say? " 
 
 " To the system ? " inquired Traddles, looking grave. 
 
 "ISTo. To my accepting the offer, and your going with 
 me?" 
 
 "I don't object," said Traddles. 
 
 " Then I'll write to say so. You remember (to say nothing 
 of our treatment) this same Creakle turning his son out of 
 doors, I suppose, and the life he used to lead his wife and 
 daughter ? " 
 
 " Perfectly," said Traddles. 
 
 " Yet, if you'll read his letter, you'll find he is the tenderest 
 of men to prisoners convicted of the whole calendar of fel- 
 onies," said I; "though I can't find that his tenderness extends 
 to any other class of created beings." 
 
 Traddles shrugged his shoulders, and was not at all sur- 
 prised. I had not expected him to be, and was not surprised 
 myself; or my observation of similar practical satires would 
 have been but scanty. We arranged the time of our visit, and 
 I wrote accordingly to Mr. Creakle that evening. 
 
 On the appointed day I think it was the next day, but no 
 matter Traddles and T repaired to the prison where Mr. 
 Creakle was powerful. It was an immense and solid building, 
 erected at a vast expense. I could not help thinking, as we 
 approached the gate, what an uproar would have been made 
 in the country, if any deluded man had proposed to spend one 
 half the money it had cost, on the erection of an industrial 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 453 
 
 school for the young, or a house of refuge for the deserving 
 old. 
 
 In an office that might have been on the ground-floor of the 
 Tower of Babel, it was so massively constructed, we were 
 presented to our old schoolmaster ; who was one of a group, 
 composed of two or three of the busier sort of magistrates, 
 and some visitors they had brought. He received me, like a 
 man who had formed my mind in bygone years, and had 
 always loved me tenderly. On my introducing Traddles, Mr. 
 Creakle expressed, in like manner, but in an inferior degree, 
 that he had always been Traddles's guide, philosopher, and 
 friend. Our venerable instructor was a great deal older, and 
 not improved in appearance. His face was as fiery as ever ; 
 his eyes were as small, and rather deeper set. The scanty, 
 wet-looking gray hair, by which I remembered him, was 
 almost gone; and the thick veins in his bald head were none 
 the more agreeable to look at. 
 
 After some conversation among these gentlemen, from which 
 I might have supposed that there was nothing in the world to 
 be legitimately taken into account but the supreme comfort of 
 prisoners, at any expense, and nothing on the wide earth to be 
 done outside prison-doors, we began our inspection. It being 
 then just dinner-time, we went, first into the great kitchen, 
 where every prisoner's dinner was in course of being set out 
 separately (to be handed to him in his cell), with the regu- 
 larity and precision of clock-work. I said aside, to Traddles, 
 that I wondered whether it occurred to anybody, that there 
 was a striking contrast between these plentiful repasts of 
 choice quality, and the dinners, not to say of paupers, but of 
 soldiers, sailors, laborers, the great bulk of the honest, work- 
 ing community ; of whom not one man in five hundred ever 
 dined half so well. But I learned that the " system " required 
 high living ; and, in short, to dispose of the system, once for 
 all; I found that on that head and on all others, "the system" 
 put an end to all doubts, and disposed of all anomalies. 
 Nobody appeared to have the least idea that there was any 
 other system, but the system, to be considered. 
 
 As we were going through some of the magnificent passages, 
 I inquired of Mr. Creakle and his friends what were supposed 
 
454 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 to be the main advantages of this all-governing and universally 
 over-riding system ? I found them to be the perfect isolation 
 of prisoners so that no one man in confinement there, knew 
 anything about another ; and the reduction of prisoners to a 
 wholesome state of mind, leading to sincere contrition and 
 repentance. 
 
 Now, it struck me, when we began to visit individuals in 
 their cells, and to traverse the passages in which those cells 
 were, and to have the manner of the going to chapel and so 
 forth, explained to us, that there was a strong probability of 
 the prisoners knowing a good deal about each other, and of 
 their carrying on a pretty complete system of intercourse. 
 This, at the time I write, has been proved, I believe, to be 
 the case ; but, as it would have been flat blasphemy against the 
 system to have hinted such a doubt then, I looked out for the 
 penitence as diligently as I could. 
 
 And here again, I had great misgivings. I found as preva- 
 lent a fashion in the form of the penitence, as I had left out- 
 side in the forms of the coats and waistcoats in the windows 
 of the tailors' shops. I found a vast amount of profession, 
 varying very little in character : varying very little (which I 
 thought exceedingly suspicious), even in words. I found a 
 great many foxes, disparaging whole vineyards of inaccessible 
 grapes ; but I found very few foxes whom I would have 
 trusted within reach of a bunch. Above all, I found that the 
 most professing men were the greatest objects of interest ; 
 and that their conceit, their vanity, their want of excitement, 
 and their love of deception (which many of them possessed to 
 an almost incredible extent, as their histories showed), all 
 prompted to these professions, and were all gratified by them. 
 
 However, I heard so repeatedly, in the course of our goings 
 to and fro, of a certain Number Twenty Seven, who was the 
 Favorite, and who really appeared to be a Model Prisoner? 
 that I resolved to suspend my judgment until I should see 
 Twenty Seven. Twenty Eight, I understood, was also a 
 bright particular star ; but it was his misfortune to have his 
 glory a little dimmed by the extraordinary lustre of Twenty 
 Seven. I heard so much of Twenty Seven, of his pious admo- 
 nitions to everybody around him, and of the beautiful letters 
 
OF DAVID COPPEBFIELD. 455 
 
 he constantly wrote to his mother (whom he seemed to con- 
 sider in a very bad way), that I became quite impatient to see 
 
 him. 
 
 I had to restrain my impatience for some time, on account 
 of Twenty Seven being reserved for a concluding effect. But, 
 at last, we came to the door of his cell ; and Mr. Creakle, look- 
 ing through a little hole in it, reported to us, in a state of 
 the greatest admiration, that he was reading a Hymn Book. 
 
 There was such a rush of heads immediately, to see Number 
 Twenty Seven reading his Hymn Book, that the little hole 
 was blocked up, six or seven heads deep. To remedy this 
 inconvenience, and give us an opportunity of conversing with 
 Twenty Seven in all his purity, Mr. Creakle directed the door 
 of the cell to be unlocked, and Twenty Seven to be invited out 
 into the passage. This was done, and whom should Traddles 
 and I then behold, to our amazement, in this converted Num- 
 ber Twenty Seven, but Uriah Keep ! 
 
 He knew us directly; and said, as he came out with the 
 
 old writhe, 
 
 "How do you do, Mr. Copperfield? How do you do, Mr. 
 
 Traddles?" * 
 
 This recognition caused a general admiration in the party. 
 I rather thought that every one was struck by his not being 
 proud, and taking notice of us. 
 
 " Well, Twenty Seven," said Mr. Creakle, mournfully ad- 
 miring him. " How do you find yourself to-day ? " 
 
 " I am very umble, sir ! " replied Uriah Heep. 
 
 " You are always so, Twenty Seven," said Mr. Creakle. 
 
 Here another gentleman asked, with extreme anxiety: "Are 
 you quite comfortable ? ' : 
 
 " Yes, I thank you, sir ! " said Uriah Heep, looking in that 
 direction. "Far more comfortable here, than ever I was 
 outside. I see my follies now, sir. That's what makes me 
 comfortable." 
 
 Several gentlemen were much affected ; and a third ques- 
 tioner, forcing himself to the front, inquired with extreme 
 feeling : " How do you find the beef ? ' 
 
 " Thank you, sir," replied Uriah, glancing in the new direc- 
 tion of this voice, "it was tougher yesterday than I could 
 
456 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 wish; but it's my duty to bear. I have committed follies, 
 gentlemen," said Uriah, looking round with a meek smile, 
 " and I ought to bear the consequences without repining." 
 
 A murmur, partly of gratification at Twenty Seven's celes- 
 tial state of mind, and partly of indignation against the Con- 
 tractor who had given him* any cause of complaint (a note of 
 which was immediately made by Mr. Creakle), having sub- 
 sided, Twenty Seven stood in the midst of us, as if he felt 
 himself the principal object of merit in a highly meritorious 
 museum. That we, the neophytes, might have an excess of 
 light shining upon us all at once, orders were given to let out 
 Twenty Eight. 
 
 I had been so much astonished already, that I only felt a 
 kind of resigned wonder when Mr. Littimer walked forth, 
 reading a good book ! 
 
 "Twenty Eight," said a gentleman in spectacles, who had 
 not yet spoken, " you complained last week, my good 'fellow, 
 of the cocoa. How has it been since ? " 
 
 " I thank you, sir," said Mr. Littimer, " it has been better 
 made. If I might take the liberty of saying so, sir, I don't 
 think the milk which is boiled with it is quite genuine ; but I 
 am aware, sir, that there is great adulteration of milk, in 
 London, and that the article in a pure state is difficult to be 
 obtained." 
 
 It appeared to me that the gentleman in spectacles backed 
 his Twenty Eight against Mr. Creakle's Twenty Seven, for 
 each of them took his own man in hand. 
 
 " What is your state of mind, Twenty Eight ? " said the 
 questioner in spectacles. 
 
 " I thank you, sir," returned Mr. Littimer ; " I see my 
 follies now, sir. I am a good deal troubled when I think of 
 the sins of my former companions, sir ; but I trust they may 
 find forgiveness." 
 
 "You are quite happy yourself ? " said the questioner, 
 nodding encouragement. 
 
 "I am much obliged to you, sir," returned Mr. Littimer. 
 "Perfectly so." 
 
 " Is there anything at all on your mind, now ? " said the 
 questioner. " If so, mention it, Twenty Eight." 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 457 
 
 " Sir/' said Mr. Littimer, without looking up, " if my eyes 
 have not deceived me, there is a gentleman present who was 
 acquainted with me in my former life. It may be profitable 
 to that gentleman to know, sir, that I attribute my past fol- 
 lies, entirely to having lived a thoughtless life in the service 
 of young men; and to having allowed myself to be led by 
 them into weaknesses, which I had not the strength to resist. 
 I hope that gentleman will take warning, sir, and will not be 
 offended at my freedom. It is for his good. I am conscious 
 of my own past follies. I hope he may repent of all the 
 wickedness and sin, to which he has been a party." 
 
 I observed that several gentlemen were shading their eyes, 
 each, with one hand, as if they had just come into church. 
 
 " This does you credit, Twenty Eight," returned the ques- 
 tioner. " I should have expected it of you. Is there anything 
 else?" 
 
 "Sir," returned Mr. Littimer, slightly lifting up his eye- 
 brows, but not his eyes, "there was a young woman who 
 fell into dissolute courses, that I endeavored to save, sir, but 
 could not rescue. I beg that gentleman, if he has it in his 
 power, to inform that young woman from me that I forgive 
 her her bad conduct towards myself; and that I call her to 
 repentance if he will be so good." 
 
 " I have no doubt, Twenty Eight," returned the questioner, 
 " that the gentleman you refer to feels very strongly as we 
 all must what you have so properly said. We will not 
 detain you." 
 
 " I thank you, sir," said Mr. Littimer. " Gentlemen, I wish 
 you a good day, and hoping you and your families will also 
 see your wickedness, and amend ! " 
 
 With this, Number Twenty Eight retired, after a glance 
 between him and Uriah, as if they were not altogether un- 
 known to each other, through some medium of communica- 
 tion ; and a murmur went round the group, as his door shut 
 upon him, that he was a most respectable man, and a beau- 
 tiful case. 
 
 " Now, Twenty Seven," said Mr. Creakle, entering on a clear 
 stage with his man, " is there anything that any one can do for 
 you ? If so 5 mention it." 
 
458 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 " I would uiubly ask, sir," returned Uriah, with a jerk of 
 his malevolent head, " for leave to write again to mother." 
 
 " It shall certainly be granted," said Mr. Creakle. 
 
 " Thank you, sir ! I am anxious about mother. I am afraid 
 she ain't safe." 
 
 Somebody incautiously asked, what from ? But there was a 
 scandalized whisper of " Hush ! " 
 
 " Immortally safe, sir," returned Uriah, writhing in the 
 direction of the voice. " I should wish mother to be got into 
 my state. I never should have been got into my present state 
 if I hadn't come here. I wish mother had come here. It 
 would be better for everybody, if they got took up, and was 
 brought here." 
 
 This sentiment gave unbounded satisfaction greater satis- 
 faction, I think, than anything that had passed yet. 
 
 " Before I come here," said Uriah, stealing a look at us, as 
 if he would have blighted the outer world to which we 
 belonged, if he could, " I was given to follies ; but now I am 
 sensible of my follies. There's a deal of sin outside. There's 
 a deal of sin in mother. There's nothing but sin everywhere 
 
 except here." 
 
 " You are quite changed ? " said Mr. Creakle. 
 
 " Oh dear, yes, sir ! " cried this hopeful penitent. 
 
 " You wouldn't relapse, if you were going out ? *' asked 
 somebody else. 
 
 " Oh de-ar no, sir ! " 
 
 " Well ! " said Mr. Creakle, " this is very gratifying. You 
 have addressed Mr. Copperfield, Twenty Seven. Do you wish 
 to say anything further to him ? " 
 
 "You knew me a long time before I came here and was 
 changed, Mr. Copperfield," said Uriah, looking at me ; and a 
 more villanous look I never saw, even on his visage. " You 
 knew me when, in spite of my follies, I was umble among 
 them that was proud, and meek among them that was violent 
 
 you was violent to me yourself, Mr. Copperfield. Once, you 
 struck me a blow in the face, you know." 
 
 General commiseration. Several indignant glances directed 
 at me. 
 
 "But I forgive you, Mr. Copperfield," said Uriah, making 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 459 
 
 his forgiving nature the subject of a most impious and awful 
 parallel, which I shall not record. " I forgive everybody. It 
 would ill become me to bear malice. I freely forgive you, and 
 I hope you'll curb your passions in future. I hope Mr. W. 
 will repent, and Miss W., and all of that sinful lot. You've 
 been visited with affliction, and I hope it may do you good ; 
 but you'd better have come here. Mr. W. had better have 
 come here, and Miss W. too. The best wish I could give you, 
 Mr. Copperfield, and give all of you gentlemen, is, that you 
 could be took up and brought here. When I think of my past 
 follies, and my present state, I am sure it would be best for 
 you. I pity all who ain't brought here ! " 
 
 He sneaked back into his cell, amidst a little chorus of appro- 
 bation; and both Traddles and I experienced a great relief 
 when he was locked in. 
 
 It was a characteristic feature in this repentance, that I was 
 fain to ask what these two men had done, to be there at all. 
 That appeared to be the last thing about which they had any- 
 thing to say. I addressed myself to one of the two warders, 
 who, I suspected, from certain latent indications in their faces, 
 knew pretty well what all this stir was worth. 
 
 "Do you know," said I, as we walked along the passage, 
 " what felony was Number Twenty Seven's last ' folly ' ? " 
 The answer was that it was a Bank case. 
 " A fraud on the Bank of England ? " I asked. 
 " Yes, sir. Fraud, forgery, and conspiracy. He and some 
 others. He set the others on. It was a deep plot for a large 
 sum. Sentence, transportation for life. Twenty Seven was 
 the knowingest bird of the lot, and had very nearly kept him- 
 self safe ; but not quite. The Bank was just able to put salt 
 upon his tail and only just." 
 
 " Do you know Twenty Eight's offence ? " 
 " Twenty Eight," returned my informant, speaking through- 
 out in a low tone, and looking over his shoulder as we walked 
 along the passage, to guard himself from being overheard, in 
 such an unlawful reference to these Immaculates, by Creakle 
 and the rest; "Twenty Eight (also transportation) got a place, 
 and robbed a young master of a matter of two hundred and 
 fifty pounds in money and valuables, the night before they 
 
460 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 were going abroad. I particularly recollect his case from his 
 being took by a dwarf." 
 
 " A what ? " 
 
 " A little woman. I have forgot her name." 
 
 "Not Mowcher?" 
 
 "That's it! He had eluded pursuit, and was going to 
 America in a flaxen wig and whiskers, and such a complete 
 disguise as never you see in all your born days ; when the lit- 
 tle woman, being in Southampton, met him walking along the 
 street picked him out with her sharp eye in a moment 
 ran betwixt his legs to upset him and held on to him like 
 grim Death." 
 
 " Excellent Miss Mowcher ! " cried I. 
 
 " You'd have said so, if you had seen her, standing on a chair 
 in the witness-box at his trial, as I did," said my friend. " He 
 cut her face right open, and pounded her in the most brutal 
 manner, when she took him ; but she never loosed her hold 
 till he was locked up. She held so tight to him, in fact, that 
 the officers were obliged to take 'em both together. She gave 
 her evidence in the gamest way, and was highly complimented 
 by the Bench, and cheered right home to her lodgings. She said 
 in Court that she'd have took him single-handed (on account 
 of what she knew concerning him), if he had been Samson. 
 And it's my belief she would ! " 
 
 It was mine too, and I highly respected Miss Mowcher for it. 
 
 We had now seen all there was to see. It would have been 
 in vain to represent to such a man as the Worshipful Mr. Creakle, 
 that Twenty Seven and Twenty Eight were perfectly consistent 
 and unchanged ; that exactly what they were then, they had 
 always been ; that the hypocritical knaves were just the sub- 
 jects to make that sort of profession in such a place ; that they 
 knew its market-value at least as well as we did, in the imme- 
 diate service it would do them when they were expatriated ; 
 in a word, that it was a rotten, hollow, painfully-suggestive 
 piece of business altogether. We left them to their system 
 and themselves, and went home wondering. 
 
 " Perhaps it's a good thing, Traddles," said I, " to have an 
 unsound Hobby ridden hard ; for it's the sooner ridden to death." 
 
 " I hope so," replied Traddles. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 461 
 
 CHAPTEK XXXIII. 
 
 A LIGHT SHINES ON MY WAY. 
 
 THE year came round to Christmas-time, and I had been at 
 home above two months. I had seen Agnes frequently. How- 
 ever loud the general voice might be in giving me encourage- 
 ment, and however fervent the emotions and endeavors to 
 which it roused me, I heard her lightest word of praise as I 
 heard nothing else. 
 
 At least once a week, and sometimes oftener, I rode over 
 there, and passed the evening. I usually rode back at night ; 
 for the old unhappy sense was always hovering about me now 
 most sorrowfully when I left her and I was glad to be up 
 and out, rather than wandering over the past in weary wake- 
 fulness or miserable dreams. I wore away the longest part of 
 many wild sad nights, in those rides ; reviving, as I went, the 
 thoughts that had occupied me in my long absence. 
 
 Or, if I were to say rather that I listened to the echoes of 
 those thoughts, I should better express the truth. They spoke 
 to me from afar off. I had put them at a distance, and ac- 
 cepted my inevitable place. When I read to Agnes what I 
 wrote ; when I saw her listening face ; moved her to smiles or 
 tears ; and heard her cordial voice so earnest on the shadowy 
 events of that imaginative world in which I lived ; I thought 
 what a fate mine might have been but only thought so, as I 
 had thought after I was married to Dora, what I could have 
 wished my wife to be. 
 
 My duty to Agnes, who loved me with a love, which, if I 
 disquieted, I wronged most selfishly and poorly, and could 
 never restore ; my matured assurance that I, who had worked 
 out my own destiny, and won what I had impetuously set my 
 heart on, had no right to murmur, and must bear ; comprised 
 what I felt and what I had learned. But I loved her : and 
 now it even became some consolation to me, vaguely to con- 
 
462 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 ceive a distant clay when I might blamelessly avow it, when 
 all this should be over ; when I could say, " Agnes, so it was 
 when I came home ; and now I am old, and I never have 
 loved since ! " 
 
 She did not once show me any change in herself. What 
 she always had been to me, she still was ; wholly unaltered. 
 
 Between my aunt and me there had been something, in this 
 connection, since the night of my return, which I cannot call 
 a restraint, or an avoidance of the subject, so much as an 
 implied understanding that we thought of it together, but did 
 not shape our thoughts into words. When, according to our 
 old custom, we sat before the fire at night, we often fell into 
 this train ; as naturally, and as consciously to each other, as 
 if we had unreservedly said so. But we preserved an unbroken 
 silence. I believed that she had read, or partly read, my 
 thoughts that night ; and that she fully comprehended why I 
 gave mine no more distinct expression. 
 
 This Christmas-time being come, and Agnes having reposed 
 no new confidence in me, a doubt that had several times arisen 
 in my mind whether she could have that perception of the 
 true state of my breast, which restrained her with the appre- 
 hension of giving me pain began to oppress me heavily. If 
 that were so, my sacrifice- was nothing; my plainest obligation 
 to her unfulfilled ; and every poor action I had shrunk from, 
 I was hourly doing. I resolved to set this right beyond all 
 doubt ; if such a barrier were between us, to break it down 
 at once with a determined hand. 
 
 It W as what lasting reason have I to remember it ! a 
 cold, harsh, winter day. There had been snow, some hours 
 before ; and it lay, not deep, but hard-frozen on the ground. 
 Out at sea, beyond my window, the wind blew ruggedly from 
 the north. I had been thinking of it, sweeping over those 
 mountain wastes of snow in Switzerland, then inaccessible to 
 any human foot; and had been speculating which was the 
 lonelier, those solitary regions, or a deserted ocean. 
 
 " Eiding to-day, Trot ? " said my aunt, putting her head in 
 at the door. 
 
 "Yes," said I, "I am going over to Canterbury. It's a 
 good day for a ride." 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 463 
 
 " I hope your horse may think so too," said my aunt ; 
 "but at present he is holding down his head and his ears, 
 standing before the door there, as if he thought his stable 
 preferable." 
 
 My aunt, I may observe, allowed my horse on the forbidden 
 ground, but had not at all relented toward the donkeys. 
 
 " He will be fresh enough, presently ! " said I. 
 
 " The ride will do his master good, at all events," observed 
 my aunt, glancing at the papers on my table. "Ah, child, you 
 pass a good many hours here ! I never thought, when I used 
 to read books, what work it was to write them." 
 
 "It's work enough to read them, sometimes," I returned. 
 "As to the writing, it has its own charms, aunt." 
 
 " Ah ! I see ! " said my aunt. " Ambition, love of appro- 
 bation, sympathy, and much more, I suppose ? Well : go along 
 with you ! " 
 
 " Do you know anything more," said I, standing composedly 
 before her she had patted me on the shoulder, and sat down 
 in my chair, " of that attachment of Agnes ? " 
 
 She looked up in my face a little while, before replying : 
 
 " I think I do, Trot." 
 
 " Are you confirmed in your impression ? " I inquired. 
 
 " I think I am, Trot." 
 
 She looked so steadfastly at me : with a kind of doubt, or 
 pity, or suspense in her affection : that I summoned the 
 stronger determination to show her a perfectly cheerful face. 
 
 " And what is more, Trot " said my aunt. 
 
 " Yes ! " 
 
 " I think Agnes is going to be married." 
 
 " God bless her ! " said I, cheerfully. 
 
 " God bless her ! " said my aunt, " and her husband too ! " 
 
 I echoed it, parted from my aunt, went lightly down stairs, 
 mounted, and rode away. There was greater reason than 
 before to do what I had resolved to do. 
 
 How well I recollect the wintry ride ! The frozen particles 
 of ice, brushed from the blades of grass by the wind, and 
 borne across my face ; the hard clatter of the horse's hoofs, 
 beating a tune upon the ground; the stiff -tilled soil; the 
 snow-drift, lightly eddying in the chalk-pit as the breeze 
 
464 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 ruffled it ; the smoking team with the wagon of old hay, 
 stopping to breathe on the hill-top, and shaking their bells 
 musically ; the whitened slopes and sweeps of Down-land 
 lying against the dark sky, as if they were drawn on a huge 
 slate ! 
 
 I found Agnes alone. The little girls had gone to their 
 own homes now, and she was alone by the fire, reading. She 
 put down her book on seeing me come in ; and having wel- 
 comed me as usual, took her work-basket and sat in one of the 
 old-fashioned windows. 
 
 I sat beside her on the window-seat, and we talked of what 
 I was doing, and when it would be done, and of the progress 
 I had made since my last visit. Agnes was very cheerful; 
 and laughingly predicted that I should soon become too famous 
 to be talked to, on such subjects. 
 
 " So I make the most of the present time, you see," said 
 Agnes, " and talk to you while I may." 
 
 As I looked at her beautiful face, observant of her work, 
 she raised her mild clear eyes, and saw that I was looking at 
 her. 
 
 " You are thoughtful to-day, Trotwood ! " 
 
 "Agnes, shall I tell you what about ? I came to tell you/' 
 
 She put aside her work, as she was used to do when we 
 were seriously discussing anything ; and gave me her whole 
 attention. 
 
 " My dear Agnes, do you doubt my being true to you ? 
 
 " No ! " she answered, with a look of astonishment. 
 
 " Do you doubt my being what I always have been to you ? " 
 
 " No ! " she answered, as before. 
 
 " Do you remember that I tried to tell you, when I came 
 home, what a debt of gratitude I owed you, dearest Agnes, and 
 how fervently I felt towards you ? " 
 
 " I remember it," she said, gently, " very well." 
 You have a secret," said I. " Let me share it, Agnes." 
 
 She cast down her eyes, and trembled. 
 
 " I could hardly fail to know, even if I had not heard but 
 from other lips than yours, Agnes, which seems strange that 
 there is some one upon whom you have bestowed the treasure 
 of your love. Do not shut me out of what concerns your 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 465 
 
 happiness so nearly ! If you can trust me as you say you can, 
 and as I know you may, let me be your friend, your brother, in 
 this matter, of all others ! " 
 
 With an appealing, almost a reproachful, glance, she rose 
 from the window ; and hurrying across the room as if without 
 knowing where, put her hands before her face, and burst into 
 such tears as smote me to the heart. 
 
 And yet they awakened something in me, bringing promise 
 to my heart. Without my knowing why, these tears allied 
 themselves with the quietly sad smile which was so fixed in 
 my remembrance, and shook me more with hope than fear or 
 sorrow. 
 
 " Agnes ! Sister ! Dearest ! What have I done ! " 
 
 "Let me go away, Trotwood. I am not well. I am not 
 myself. I will speak to you by and by another time. I will 
 write to you. Don't speak to me now. Don't ! don't ! " 
 
 I sought to recollect what she had said, when I had spoken 
 to her on that former night, of her affection needing no 
 return. It seemed a very world that I must search through in 
 a moment. 
 
 " Agnes, I cannot bear to see you so, and think that I have 
 been the cause. My dearest girl, dearer to me than anything 
 in life, if you are unhappy, let me share your unhappiness. 
 If you are in need of help or counsel, let me try to give it to 
 you. If you have indeed a burden on your heart, let me try 
 to lighten it. For whom do I live now, Agnes, if it is not 
 for you ! " 
 
 " Oh, spare me ! I am not myself ! Another time ! " was 
 all I could distinguish. 
 
 Was it a selfish error that was leading me away ? Or, having 
 once a clue to hope, was there something opening to me that 
 I had not dared to think of ? 
 
 " I must say more. I cannot let you leave me so ! For 
 Heaven's sake, Agnes, let us not mistake each other after all 
 these years, and all that has come and gone with them ! I must 
 speak plainly. If you have any lingering thought that I 
 could envy the happiness you will confer; that I could not 
 resign you to a dearer protector, of your own choosing ; that 
 I could not, from my removed place, be a contented witness of 
 VOL. ii 30 
 
466 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 your joy; dismiss it, for I don't deserve it! I have not 
 suffered quite in vain. You have not taught me quite in vain. 
 There is no alloy of self in what I feel for you." 
 
 She was quiet now. In a little time, she turned her pale 
 face towards me, and said in a low voice, broken here and 
 there, but very clear, 
 
 "I owe it to your pure friendship for me, Trotwood 
 which, indeed, I do not doubt to tell you, you are mistaken. 
 I can do no more. If I have sometimes, in the course of years, 
 wanted help and counsel, they have come to me. If I have 
 sometimes been unhappy, the feeling has passed away. If I 
 have ever had a burden on my heart, it has been lightened 
 for me. If I have any secret, it is no new one; and is 
 not what you suppose. I cannot reveal it, or divide it. It 
 has long been mine, and must remain mine.' 7 
 
 " Agnes ! Stay ! A moment ! " 
 
 She was going away, but I detained her. I clasped my 
 arm about her waist. " In the course of years ! " " It is 
 not a new one ! " New thoughts and hopes were whirling 
 through my mind, and all the colors of my life were chang- 
 ing. 
 
 " Dearest Agnes ! Whom I so respect and honor whom 1 
 so devotedly love ! When I came here to-day, I thought that 
 nothing could have wrested this confession from me. I thought 
 I could have kept it in my bosom all our lives, till we were 
 old. But, Agnes, if I have indeed any new-born hope that I 
 may ever call you something more than Sister, widely different 
 from Sister ! " 
 
 Her tears fell fast; but they were not like those she had 
 lately shed, and I saw my hope brighten in them. 
 
 " Agnes ! Ever my guide, and best support ! If you had 
 been more mindful of yourself, and less of me, when we grew 
 up here together, I think my heedless fancy never would have 
 wandered from you. But you were so much better than I, so 
 necessary to me in every boyish hope and disappointment, 
 that to have you to confide in, and rely upon in everything, 
 became a second nature, supplanting for the time the first and 
 greater one of loving you as I do ! " 
 
 Still weeping, but not sadly joyfully ! And clasped in my 
 
OF DAVID COPPERF1ELD. 467 
 
 arms as she had never been, as I had thought she never was 
 
 to be! 
 
 " When I loved Dora fondly, Agnes, as you know " 
 
 " Yes ! " she cried, earnestly. " I am glad to know it ! " 
 
 "When I loved her even then, my love would have been 
 incomplete, without your sympathy. I had it, and it was 
 perfected. And when I lost her, Agnes, what should I have 
 been without you, still ! " 
 
 Closer in my arms, nearer to my heart, her trembling hand 
 upon my shoulder, her sweet eyes shining through her tears, 
 on mine ! 
 
 "I went away, dear Agnes, loving you. I stayed away, 
 loving you. I returned home, loving you ! " 
 
 And now, I tried to tell her of the struggle I had had, and 
 the conclusion I had come to. I tried to lay my mind before 
 her, truly and entirely. I tried to show her, how I had hoped 
 I had come into the better knowledge of myself and of her ; 
 how I had resigned myself to what that Better knowledge 
 brought ; and how I had come there, even that day, in my 
 fidelity to this. If she did so love me (I said) that she could 
 take me for her husband, she could do so, on no deserving of 
 mine, except upon the truth of my love for her, and the trou- 
 ble in which it had ripened to be what it was ; and hence it 
 was that I revealed it. And 0, Agnes, even out of thy true 
 eyes, in that same time, the spirit of my child-wife looked 
 upon me, saying it was well ; and winning me, through thee, 
 to tenderest recollections of the Blossom that had withered in 
 its bloom ! 
 
 " I am so blest, Trotwood my heart is so overcharged 
 but there is one thing I must say." 
 
 "Dearest, what?" 
 
 She laid her gentle hands upon my shoulders, and looked 
 calmly in my face. 
 
 " Do you know, yet, what it is ? " 
 
 " I am afraid to speculate on what it is. Tell me, my dear." 
 
 " I have loved you all my life ! " 
 
 0, we were happy, we were happy ! Cur tears were not for 
 the trials (hers so much the greater) through which we had 
 
468 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 come to be thus, but for the rapture of being thus, never to be 
 divided more ! 
 
 We walked, that winter evening, in the fields togetner ; and 
 the blessed calm within us seemed to be partaken by the frosty 
 air. The early stars began to shine while we were lingering 
 On, and looking up to them we thanked our GOD for having 
 guided us to this tranquillity. 
 
 We stood together in the same old-fashioned window at 
 night, when the moon was shining ; Agnes with her quiet 
 eyes raised up to it ; I following her glance. Long miles of 
 road then opened out before my mind ; and, toiling on, I saw 
 a ragged way-worn boy forsaken and neglected, who should 
 come to call even the heart now beating against mine, his own. 
 
 It was nearly dinner-time next day when we appeared before 
 my aunt. She was up in my study, Peggotty said : which it 
 was her pride to keep in readiness and order for me. We found 
 her, in her spectScles, sitting by the fire. 
 
 " Goodness me ! " said my aunt, peering through the dusk, 
 " who's this you're bringing home ? " 
 
 " Agnes," said I. 
 
 As we had arranged to say nothing at first, my aunt was 
 not a little discomfited. She darted a hopeful glance at me, 
 when I said " Agnes ; " but seeing that I looked as usual, she 
 took off her spectacles in despair, and rubbed her nose with them. 
 
 She greeted Agnes heartily, nevertheless ; and we were soon 
 in the lighted parlor down stairs, at dinner. My aunt put on 
 her spectacles twice or thrice, to take another look at me, but 
 as often took them off again, disappointed, and rubbed her nose 
 with them. Much to the discomfiture of Mr. Dick, who knew 
 this to be a bad symptom. 
 
 " By the by, aunt," said I, after dinner ; " I have been 
 speaking to Agnes about what you told me." 
 
 "Then, Trot," said my aunt, turning scarlet, "you did 
 wrong, and broke your promise." 
 
 " You are not angry, aunt, I trust ? I am sure you won't be, 
 when you learn that Agnes is not unhappy in any attachment." 
 
 " Stuff and nonsense ! " said my aunt. 
 
 As my aunt appeared to be annoyed, I thought the best 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 469 
 
 way was to cut her annoyance short. I took Agnes in my 
 arm to the back of her chair, and we both leaned over her. 
 My aunt with one clap of her hands, and one look through her 
 spectacles, immediately went into hysterics, for the first and 
 only time in all my knowledge of her. 
 
 The hysterics called up Peggotty. The moment my aunt 
 was restored, she flew at Peggotty, and calling her a silly old 
 creature, hugged her with all her might. After that, she 
 hugged Mr. Dick (who was highly honored, but a good deal 
 surprised) ; and after that, told them why. Then we were all 
 happy together. 
 
 I could not discover whether my aunt, in her last short con- 
 versation with me, had fallen on a pious fraud, or had really 
 mistaken the state of my mind. It was quite enough, she 
 said, that she had told me Agnes was going to be married ; 
 and that I now knew better than any one how true it was. 
 
 We were married within a fortnight. Traddles and Sophy, 
 and Doctor and Mrs. Strong, were the only guests at our quiet 
 wedding. We left them full of joy ; and drove away together. 
 Clasped in my embrace, I held the source of every worthy 
 aspiration I had ever had ; the centre of myself, the circle of 
 my life, my own, my wife ; my love of whom was founded on 
 a rock ! 
 
 " Dearest husband ! " said Agnes. " Now that I may call 
 you by that name, I have one thing more to tell you." 
 
 " Let ine hear it, love." 
 
 " It grows out of the night when Dora died. She sent you 
 for me." 
 
 "She did." 
 
 " She told me that she left me something. Can you think 
 what it was ? " 
 
 I believed I could. I drew the wife who had so long loved 
 me, closer to my side. 
 
 " She told me that she made a last request to me, and left 
 me a last charge." 
 
 " And it was " 
 
 '' That only I would occupy this vacant place." 
 
 And Agnes laid her head upon my breast, and wept ; and 
 I wept with her, though we were so happy. 
 
470 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 A VISITOR. 
 
 WHAT I have purposed to record is nearly finished; but 
 there is yet an incident conspicuous in my memory, 011 which 
 it often rests with delight, and without which one thread in 
 the web I have spun, would have a ravelled end. 
 
 I had advanced in fame and fortune, my domestic joy was 
 perfect, I had been married ten happy years. Agnes and I 
 were sitting by the fire, in our house in London, one night in 
 spring, and three of our children were playing in the room, 
 when I was told that a stranger wished to see me. 
 
 He had been asked if he came on business, and had answered 
 No ; he had come for the pleasure of seeing me, and had come 
 a long way. He was an old man, my servant said, and looked 
 like a farmer. 
 
 As this sounded mysterious to the children, and moreover 
 was like the beginning of a favorite story Agnes used to tell 
 them, introductory to the arrival of a wicked old Fairy in a 
 cloak who hated everybody, it produced some commotion. 
 One of our boys laid his head in his mother's lap to be out of 
 harm's way, and little Agues (our eldest child) left her doll in 
 a chair to i present her, and thrust out her little heap of 
 golden curls from between the window-curtains, to see what 
 happened next. 
 
 " Let him come in here ! " said I 
 
 There soon appeared, pausing in the dark doorway as he 
 entered, a hale, gray-haired old man. Little Agnes, attracted 
 by his looks, had run to bring him in, and I had not yet clearly 
 seen his face, when my wife, starting up, cried out to me, in a 
 pleased and agitated voice, that it was Mr. Peggotty ! " 
 
 It teas Mr. Peggotty. An old man now, but in a ruddy, 
 hearty, strong old age. When our first emotion was over, 
 and he sat before the fire with the children on his knees, and 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 471 
 
 the blaze shining on his face, he looked, to me, as vigorous 
 and robust, withal as handsome, an old man, as ever I had 
 seen. 
 
 " Mas'r Davy," said he. And the old name in the old tone 
 fell so naturally on my ear ! " Mas'r Davy, 'tis a joyful hour 
 as I see you, once more 'long with your own trew wife !" 
 
 "A joyful hour indeed, old friend ! " cried I. 
 
 "And these heer pretty ones," said Mr. Peggotty. "To 
 look at these heer flowers ! Why, Mas'r Davy, you was but 
 the heighth of the littlest of these, when I first see you ! When 
 Em'ly warn't no bigger, and our poor lad were but a lad ! " 
 
 " Time has changed me more than it has changed you since 
 then," said I. "But let these dear rogues go to bed; and as 
 no house in England but this must hold you, tell me where to 
 send for your luggage (is the old black bag among it, that 
 went so far, I wonder!), and then, over a glass of Yarmouth 
 grog, we will have the tidings of ten years ! " 
 
 " Are you alone ? " asked Agnes. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," he said, kissing her hand, " quite alone." 
 
 We sat him between us, not knowing how to give him wel- 
 come enough ; and as I began to listen to his old familiar 
 voice, I could have fancied he was still pursuing his long 
 journey in search of his darling niece. 
 
 . "It's a mort of water," said Mr. Peggotty, "fur to come 
 across, and on'y stay a matter of fower weeks. But water 
 ('specially when 'tis salt) comes nat'ral to me ; and friends is 
 dear, and I am heer. Which is verse," said Mr. Peggotty, 
 surprised to find it out, "though I hadn't such intentions." 
 
 "Are you going back those many thousand miles, so soon ? " 
 asked Agnes. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," he returned. " I giv the promise to Em'ly, 
 afore I come away. You see, I doen't grow younger as the 
 years comes round, and if I hadn't sailed as 'twas, most like I 
 shouldn't never have done't. And it's allus been on my mind, 
 as I must come and see Mas'r Davy and your own sweet bloom- 
 ing self, in your wedded happiness, afore I got to be too old." 
 
 He looked at us, as if he could never feast his eyes on us 
 sufficiently. Agnes laughingly put back some scattered locks 
 of his gray hair, that he might see us better. 
 
472 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AXD EXPERIENCE 
 
 " And now tell us," said I, " everything relating to your 
 fortunes." 
 
 "Our fortuns, Mas'r Davy," he rejoined, "is soon told. 
 We haven't fared nohows, but fared to thrive. We've allus 
 thrived. We've worked as we ought to't, and maybe we lived 
 a leetle hard at first or so, but we have allus thrived. What 
 with sheep-farining, and what with stock-farming, and what 
 with one thing and what with t' other, we are as well to do, 
 as well could be. Theer's been kinder a blessing fell upon 
 us," said Mr. Peggotty, reverentially inclining his head, " and 
 we've done nowt but prosper. That is, in the long run. If 
 not yesterday, why then to-day. If not to-day, why then 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "And Emily ?" said Agnes and I, both together. 
 
 " Em'ly," said he, " arter you left her, ma'am and I never 
 heerd her saying of her prayers at night, t' other side the can- 
 vas screen, when we was settled in the Bush, but what I 
 heerd your name and arter she and me lost sight of Mas'r 
 Davy, that theer shining sundown was that low, at first, 
 that, if she had know'd then what Mas'r Davy kep from us so 
 kind and thowtful, 'tis my opinion she'd have drooped away. 
 But theer was some poor folks aboard as had illness among 
 'em, and she took care of them ; and theer was the children in 
 our company, and she took care of them; and so she got to be 
 busy, and to be doing good, and that helped her." 
 
 " When did she first hear of it ? " I asked. 
 
 " I kep it from her arter I heerd on't," said Mr. Peggotty, 
 "going on nigh a year. We was living then in a solitary 
 place, but among the beautifullest trees, and with the roses a 
 covering our Beein to the roof. Theer come along one day, 
 when I was out a working on the land, a traveller from our 
 own Norfolk or Suffolk in England (I doen't rightly mind 
 which), and of course we took him in, and giv him to eat and 
 drink, and made him welcome. We all do that, all the colony 
 over. He'd got an old newspaper with him, and some other 
 account in print of the storm. That's how she know'd it. 
 When I come home at night, I found she know'd it." 
 
 He dropped his voice as he said these words, and the gravity 
 I so well remembered overspread his face. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 473 
 
 " Did it change her much ? " we asked. 
 
 " Ay, for a good long time," he said, shaking his head ; " if 
 not to this present hour. But I think the solitoode done her 
 good. And she had a deal to mind in the way of poultry 
 and the like, and minded of it, and come through. I wonder," 
 he said thoughtfully, "if you could see my Em'ly now, Mas'r 
 Davy, whether you'd know her ! " 
 " Is she so altered ? " I inquired. 
 
 " I doen't know. I see her ev'ry day, and doen't know ; 
 but, odd-times, I have thowt so. A slight figure," said Mr. 
 Peggotty, looking at the fire, " kiender worn j soft, sorrowful, 
 blue eyes; a delicate face; a pritty head, leaning a little 
 down; a quiet voice and way timid a'most. That's Em'ly!" 
 We silently observed him as he sat, still looking at the fire. 
 "Some thinks," he said, "as her affection is ill-bestowed; 
 some, as her marriage was broke off by death. No one knows 
 how 'tis. She might have married well a mort of times, 
 < but, uncle,' she says to me, ' that's gone forever.' Cheerful 
 along with me ; retired when others is by ; fond of going any 
 distance fur to teach a child, or fur to tend a sick person, or 
 fur to do some kindness tow'rds a young girl's wedding (and 
 she's done a many, but has never seen one) ; fondly loving of 
 her uncle ; patient ; liked by young and old ; sowt out by all 
 that has any trouble. That'* Ern'ly ! " 
 
 He drew his hand across his face, and with a half-srppressed 
 sigh looked up from the fire. 
 
 " Is Martha with you yet ? " I asked. 
 
 "Martha," he replied, "got married, Mas'r Davy, in the 
 second year. A young man, a farm-laborer, as come by us on 
 his way to market with his mas'r's drays a journey of over 
 five hundred mile, theer and back made offers fur to take 
 her fur his wife (wives is very scarce theer), and then to set 
 up fur their two selves in the Bush. She spoke to me fur to 
 tell him her trew story. I did. They was married, and they 
 live fower hundred mile away from any voices but their own 
 and the singing birds." 
 
 " Mrs. Gummidge ? " I suggested. 
 
 It was a pleasant key to touch, for Mr. Peggotty suddenly 
 burst into a roar of laughter, and rubbed his hands up and 
 
iT4 THE PERSONAL HISTOR? 4^I> EXPEBIESCE 
 
 down his legs, as lie had been accustomed to do when he 
 enjoyed himself in the long-shipwrecked boat. 
 
 " Would you believe it ! " he said. " Why, sometm even 
 made offers fur to marry her I If a ship's cook that was turn- 
 ing settler, Mas'r Davy, didn't make offers fur to marry Missis 
 Gummidge, I'm Gormed and I can't say no fairer than 
 that!" 
 
 I never saw Agnes laugh so. This sudden ecstasy on the 
 part of Mr. Peggotty was so delightful to her, that she could 
 not leave off laughing ; and the more she laughed the more 
 she made me laugh, and the greater Mr. Peggotty's ecstasy 
 became, and the more he rubbed his legs. 
 
 " And what did Mrs. Gummidge say ? " I asked, when I was 
 grave enough. 
 
 "If you'll believe me," returned Mr. Peggotty, "Missis 
 Gummidge, 'stead of saying l thank you, I'm much obleeged to 
 you, I ain't a going fur to change my condition at my time of 
 life,' up'd with a bucket as was standing by, and laid it over 
 that theer ship's cook's head 'till he sung out fur help, and I 
 went in and reskied of him." 
 
 Mr. Peggotty burst into a great roar of laughter, and Agnes 
 and I both kept him company. 
 
 "But I must say this for the good creetur," he resumed, 
 wiping his face when we were quite exhausted; "she has been 
 all she said she'd be to us, and more. She's the willingest, 
 the trewest, the honestest-helping woman, Mas'r Davy, as ever 
 draw'd the breath of life. I have never know'd her to be lone 
 and lorn, for a single minute, not even when the colony was 
 all afore us, and we was new to it. And thinking of the old 
 'un is a thing she never done, I do assure you, since she left 
 England ! " 
 
 "Now, last, not least, Mr. Micawber," said I. "He has 
 paid off every obligation he incurred here even to Traddles's 
 bill, you remember, my dear Agnes and therefore we may 
 take it for granted that he is doing well. But what is the 
 latest news of him ? " 
 
 Mr. Peggotty, with a smile, put his hand in his breast- 
 pocket, and produced a flat-folded, paper parcel, from which 
 he took out, with much care, a little odd-looking newspaper. 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 476 
 
 " You are to unnerstan', Mas'r Davy/' said he, " as we have 
 left the Bush now, being so well to do; and have gone right 
 away round to Port Middlebay Harbor, wheer theer's what we 
 
 call a town." 
 
 " Mr. Micawber was in the Bush near you ? " said I. 
 
 "Bless you, yes," said Mr. Peggotty, "and turned to, with 
 a will. I never wish to meet a better gen'lman for turning to, 
 with a will. I've seen that theer bald head of his, a per- 
 spiring in the sun, Mas'r Davy, 'till I a'inost thowt it would 
 have melted away. And now he's a magistrate." 
 
 " A Magistrate, eh ? " said I. 
 
 Mr. Peggotty pointed to a certain paragraph in the news- 
 paper, where I read aloud as follows, from the "Port Middle- 
 bay Times": 
 
 " (gp^ The public dinner to our distinguished fellow-colonist 
 and townsman, WILKINS MICAWBER, ESQUIRE, Port Middle- 
 bay District Magistrate, came off yesterday in the large room 
 of the Hotel, which was crowded to suffocation. It is esti- 
 mated that not fewer than forty-seven persons must have been 
 accommodated with dinner at one time, exclusive of the 
 company in the passage and on the stairs. The beauty, 
 fashion, and exclusiveness of Port Middlebay, flocked to do 
 honor to one so deservedly esteemed, so highly talented, and 
 so widely popular. Doctor Mell (of Colonial Salem-House 
 Grammar School, Port Middlebay) presided, and on his right 
 sat the distinguished guest. After the removal of the cloth, 
 and the singing of Non Nobis (beautifully executed, and in 
 which we were at no loss to distinguish the bell-like notes of 
 that gifted amateur, WILKINS MICAWBER, ESQUIRE, JUNIOR), 
 the usual loyal and patriotic toasts were severally given and 
 rapturously received. Dr. Mell, in a speech replete with feel- 
 ing, then proposed ' Our distinguished Guest, the ornament of 
 our town. May he never leave us but to better himself, and 
 may his success among us be such as to render his bettering 
 himself impossible ! ' The cheering with which the toast was 
 received defies description. Again and again it rose and fell, 
 like the waves of ocean. At length all was hushed, and 
 WILKINS MICAWBER, ESQUIRE, presented himself to return 
 
476 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 thanks. Far be it from us, in the present comparatively im- 
 perfect state of the resources of our establishment, to en- 
 deavor to follow our distinguished townsman through the 
 smoothly flowing periods of his polished and highly ornate 
 address ! Suffice it to observe, that it was a master-piece of 
 eloquence ; and that those passages in which he more particu- 
 larly traced his own successful career to its source, and 
 warned the younger portion of his auditory from the shoals 
 of ever incurring pecuniary liabilities which they were unable 
 to liquidate, brought a tear into the manliest eye present. 
 The remaining toasts were DR. MELL ; MRS. MICAWBER (who 
 gracefully bowed her acknowledgments from the side-door, 
 where a galaxy of beauty was elevated on chairs, at once to 
 witness and adorn the gratifying scene) ; MRS. RIDGER BEGS 
 (late Miss Micawber) ; MRS. MELL ; WILKINS MICAWBER, 
 ESQUIRE, JUNIOR (who convulsed the assembly by humor- 
 ously remarking that he found himself unable to return 
 thanks in a speech, but would do so, with their permission, in 
 a song) ; MRS. MICAWBER'S FAMILY (well known, it is need- 
 less to remark, in the mother country), &c., &c., &c. At the 
 conclusion of the proceedings the tables were cleared as if by 
 art-magic for dancing. Among the votaries of TERPSICHORE, 
 who disported themselves until Sol gave warning for depart- 
 ure, Wilkins Micawber, Esquire, Junior, and the lovely and 
 accomplished Miss Helena, fourth daughter of Dr. Mell, were 
 particularly remarkable." 
 
 I was looking back to the name of Dr. Mell, pleased to have 
 discovered, in these happier circumstances, Mr. Mell, formerly 
 poor pinched usher to my Middlesex magistrate, when Mr. 
 Peggotty, pointing to another part of the paper, my eyes 
 rested on my own name, and I read thus : 
 
 "TO DAVID COPPERFIELD, ESQUIEE, 
 
 "THE EMINENT AUTHOR. 
 "MY DEAR SIR, 
 
 " Years have elapsed, since I had an opportunity 
 of ocularly perusing the lineaments, now familiar to the imag 
 inations of a considerable portion of the civilized world. 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 477 
 
 "But, my dear sir, though estranged (by the force of cir- 
 umstances over which I have had no control) from the per- 
 sonal 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' roared, 
 
 (BURNS) from participating in the intellectual feasts he has 
 spread before us. 
 
 " I cannot, therefore, allow of the departure from this place 
 of an individual whom we mutually respect and esteem, 
 without, my dear sir, taking this public opportunity of thank- 
 ing you, on my own 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 ministering agent. 
 
 "Go on, my dear sir! You are not unknown here, you 
 are not unappreciated. Though 'remote/ we are neither 
 ' unfriended/ ' melancholy/ 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 life, 
 
 "The 
 "Eye 
 " Appertaining to 
 
 "WlLKINS MlCAWBEB, 
 
 " 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, touching a bridge ; there was an 
 advertisement of a collection of similar letters by him, to be 
 shortly republished, in a neat volume, "with considerable 
 additions ; " and, unless I am very much mistaken, the Leading 
 Article was his also. 
 
 We talked much of Mr. Micawber, on many other evenings 
 while Mr. Peggotty remained with us. He lived with us 
 during the whole term of his stay, which, I think, was 
 
478 THE PEE SON AL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 something less than a month, and his sister and my aunt 
 came to London to see him. Agnes and I parted from him 
 aboard-ship, when he sailed ; and we shall never part from 
 him more, on earth. 
 
 But before he left, he went with me to Yarmouth, to see a 
 little tablet I had put up in the churchyard to the memory of 
 Ham. While I was copying the plain inscription for him at 
 his request, I saw him stoop, and gather a tuft of grass from 
 the grave, and a little earth. 
 
 "For Em'ly," he said, as he put it in his breast. "I promised, 
 Mas'r Davy." 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 479 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXV. 
 
 A LAST RETROSPECT. 
 
 AND now my written story ends. I look back, once more 
 for the last time before I close these leaves. 
 
 I see myself, with Agnes at my side, journeying along the 
 road of life. I see our children and our friends around us ; 
 and I hear the roar of many voices, not indifferent to me as I 
 travel on. 
 
 What faces are the most distinct to me in the fleeting 
 crowd ? Lo, these j all turning to me as I ask my thoughts 
 the question ! 
 
 Here is my aunt, in stronger spectacles, an old woman of 
 fourscore years and more, but upright yet, and a steady walker 
 of six miles at a stretch in winter weather. 
 
 Always with her, here conies Peggotty, my good old nurse, 
 likewise in spectacles, accustomed to do needlework at night 
 very close to the lamp, but never sitting down to it without a 
 bit of wax candle, a yard measure in a little house, and a 
 work-box with a picture of St. Paul's upon the lid. 
 
 The cheeks and arms of Peggotty, so hard and red in my 
 childish days, when I wondered why the birds didn't peck her 
 in preference to apples, are shrivelled now; and her eyes, 
 that used to darken their whole neighborhood in her face, 
 are fainter (though they glitter still) ; but her rough fore- 
 finger, which I once associated with a pocket nutmeg-grater, 
 is just the same, and when I see my least child catching at it 
 as it totters from my aunt to her, I think of our little parlor 
 at home, when I could scarcely walk. My aunt's old disap- 
 pointment is set right, now. She is godmother to a real 
 living Betsey Trotwood; and Dora (the next in order) says 
 she spoils her. 
 
 There is something bulky in Peggotty's pocket. It is 
 nothing smaller than the Crocodile-Book, which is in rather 
 
480 
 
 a dilapidated condition by this time, with divers of the leaves 
 torn and stitched across, but which Peggotty exhibits to the 
 children as a ^precious relic. I find it very curious to see 
 my own infant face looking up at me from the Crocodile 
 stories ; and to be reminded by it of my old acquaintance 
 Brooks of Sheffield. 
 
 Among my boys, this summer holiday time, I see an old 
 man making giant kites, and gazing at them in the air, with a 
 delight for which there are no words. He greets me rap- 
 turously, and whispers, with many nods and winks, "Trot- 
 wood, you will be glad to hear that I shall finish the Memorial 
 when I have nothing else to do, and that your aunt's the most 
 extraordinary woman in the world, sir ! " 
 
 Who is this bent lady, supporting herself by a stick, and 
 showing me a countenance in which there are some traces of 
 old pride and beauty, feebly contending with a querulous, im- 
 becile, fretful wandering of the mind ? She is in a garden ; 
 and near her stands a sharp, dark, withered woman, with a 
 white scar on her lip. Let me hear what they say. 
 
 " Eosa, I have forgotten this gentleman's name." 
 
 Eosa bends over her, and calls to her, " Mr. Copperfield." 
 
 "I am glad to see you, sir. I am sorry to observe you are 
 in mourning. I hope Time will be good to you." 
 
 Her impatient attendant scolds her, tells her I am not in 
 mourning, bids her look again, tries to rouse her. 
 
 " You have seen my son, sir," says the elder lady. " Are 
 you reconciled ? " 
 
 Looking fixedly at me, she puts her hand to her forehead, 
 and moans. Suddenly, she cries, in a terrible voice, "Eosa, 
 come to me. He is dead ! " Eosa, kneeling at her feet, by 
 turns caresses her, and quarrels with her; now fiercely telling 
 her, " I loved him better than you ever did ! " now soothing 
 her to sleep on her breast, like a sick child. Thus I leave 
 them ; thus I always find them ; thus they wear their time 
 away, from year to year. 
 
 What ship comes sailing home from India, and what Eng- 
 lish lady is this, married to a growling old Scotch Croesus with 
 great flaps of ears. Can this be Julia Mills ? 
 
 Indeed it is Julia Mills, peevish and fine, with a black man 
 
OF DAVID COPPERFIELD. 481 
 
 to carry cards and letters to her on a golden salver, and a 
 copper-colored woman in linen, with a bright handkerchief 
 round her head, to serve her Tiffin in her dressing-room. But 
 Julia keeps no diary in these days ; never sings Affection's 
 Dirge; eternally quarrels with the old Scotch Croesus, who is 
 a sort of yellow bear with a tanned hide. Julia is steeped in 
 money to the throat, and talks and thinks of nothing else. I 
 liked her better in the Desert of Sahara. 
 
 Or perhaps this is the Desert of Sahara ! For, though Julia 
 has a stately house, and mighty company, and sumptuous din- 
 ners every day, I see no green growth near her ; nothing that 
 can ever come to fruit or flower. What Julia calls " society," 
 I see ; among it Mr. Jack Maldon, from his Patent Place, 
 sneering at the hand that gave it him, and speaking to me of 
 the Doctor, as "so charmingly antique." But when society 
 is the name for such hollow gentlemen and ladies, Julia, and 
 when its breeding is professed indifference to everything that 
 can advance or can retard mankind, I think we must have lost 
 ourselves in that same Desert of Sahara, and had better find 
 the way out. 
 
 And lo, the Doctor, always our good friend, laboring at his 
 Dictionary (somewhere about the letter D), and happy in 
 his home and wife. Also the old soldier, on a considerably 
 reduced footing, and by no means so influential as in days of 
 yore ! 
 
 Working at his chambers in the Temple, with a busy aspect, 
 and his hair (where he is not bald) made more rebellious 
 than ever by the constant friction of his lawyer's wig, I come, 
 in a later time, upon my dear old Traddles. His table is 
 covered with thick piles of papers ; and I say, as I look 
 around me : 
 
 " If Sophy were your clerk, now, Traddles, she would have 
 enough to do ! " 
 
 " You may say that, my dear Copperfield ! But those were 
 capital days, too, in Holborn Court ! Were they not ? " 
 
 " When she told you you would be a Judge ? But it was 
 not the town talk then ! " 
 
 " At all events," says Traddles, "if I ever am one " 
 
 " Why, you know you will be." 
 
 VOL. II 31 
 
482 THE PERSONAL HISTORY AND EXPERIENCE 
 
 "Well, my dear Copperfield, when I am one, I shall tell the 
 story, as I said I would." 
 
 We walk away, arm-in-arm. I am going to have a family 
 dinner with Traddles. It is Sophy's birthday ; and, on our 
 road, Traddles discourses to me of the good fortune he has 
 enjoyed. 
 
 " I really have been able, my dear Copperfield, to do all 
 that I had most at heart. There's the Reverend Horace 
 promoted to that living at four hundred and fifty pounds a 
 year ; there are our two boys receiving the very best educa- 
 tion, and distinguishing themselves as steady scholars and 
 good fellows ; there are three of the girls married very com- 
 fortably ; there are three more living with us ; there are three 
 more keeping house for the Reverend Horace since Mrs. 
 Crewler's decease; and all of them happy." 
 
 " Except "I suggest. 
 
 " Except the Beauty," says Traddles. " Yes. It was very 
 unfortunate that she should marry such a vagabond. But 
 there was a certain dash and glare about him that caught her. 
 However, now we have got her safe at our house, and got rid 
 of him, we must cheer her up again." 
 
 Traddles's house is one of the very houses or it easily 
 may have been which he and Sophy used to parcel out, in 
 their evening walks. It is a large house ; but Traddles keeps 
 his papers in his dressing-room, and his boots with his papers ; 
 and he and Sophy squeeze themselves into upper rooms, 
 reserving the best bed-rooms for the Beauty and the girls. 
 There is no room to spare in the house; for more of "the 
 girls" are here, and always are here, by some accident or 
 other, than I know how to count. Here, when we go in, is 
 a crowd of them, running down to the door, and handing 
 Traddles about to be kissed, until he is out of breath. Here, 
 established in perpetuity, is the poor Beauty, a widow with a 
 little girl ; here, at dinner on Sophy's birthday, are the three 
 married girls with their three husbands, and one of the hus- 
 band's brothers, and another husband's cousin, and another 
 husband's sister, who appears to me to be engaged to the 
 cousin. Traddles, exactly the same simple, unaffected fellow 
 as he ever was, sits at the foot of the large table like a Patri- 
 
OF DAVID COPPEEFIELD. 483 
 
 arch; and Sophy beams upon him, from the head, across a 
 cheerful space that is certainly not glittering with Britannia 
 metal. 
 
 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 which I see all other objects, is above 
 them and beyond them all. And that remains. 
 
 I turn my head, and see it, in its beautiful serenity, beside 
 me. My lamp burns low, and I have written far into the 
 night ; but the dear presence, without which I were nothing, 
 bears me company. 
 
 Agnes, 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 ! 
 
 THE END. 
 
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