aF GINIA LIBRARY IVERSITY OF VIR | | | | 5 2Q¢ = RL an x UULIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA FROM THE BOOKS OF ALFRED D. PRESTONed ft i Bi| | | i |' HThe Fireside Dickens Complete Edition in Twenty-two Volumes With Illustrations by Cruikshank, ‘ Phiz,’ &c. Wartin Chuzzlewitk ; nea Rn nT ON nea a2 | | i OR eee aan TOOTThe Life &§ Adventures of J Martin Chuxxlewtt B y Charles ‘Dickens With Forty Illustrations B) €Phiz’ London Chapman ¢» Hall, Limited ; and Henry F:rowde : Oxford University Press American Branch 1 New Yor! 35 West 32nd Streetvs ~~ | | i i Printed by Horace HART University Press, Oxford a ee eR ea aPREFACE Wuat is exaggeration to one class of minds and perceptions, is plain truth to another. That which is commonly called a long-sight, perceives in a prospect innumerable features and bearings non-existent to a short-sighted person. I sometimes ask myself whether there may occasionally be a difference of this kind between some writers and some readers ; whether it is always the writer who colours highly, or whether it is now and then the reader whose eye for colour isa little dull? On this head of exaggeration I have a positive experience, more curious than the speculation I have just set down. It is this :—I have never touched a character precisely from the life, but some counterpart of that character has incredulously asked me: “ Now really, did I ever really, see one like it ?” All the Pecksniff family upon earth are quite agreed, I believe, that Mr. Pecksniff is an exaggeration, and that no such character ever existed. I will not offer any plea on his behalf to so powerful and genteel a body, but will make a remark on the character of Jonas Chuzzlewit. I conceive that the sordid coarseness and brutality of Jonas would be unnatural, if there had been nothing in his early education, and in the precept and example always before him, to engender and develope the vices that make him odious. But so born and so bred; admired for that which made him hateful, and justified from his cradle in cunning, treachery, and avarice; I claim him as the legitimate issue of the father upon whom those vices are seen to recoil. And I submit that their recoil upon that old man, in his unhonoured age,PARR INR SN rere aR r ie Te ea ee er ee eae Rae ere eee neta een ee 8 PREFACE is not a mere piece of poetical justice, but is the extreme exposition of a direct truth. I make this comment and solicit the reader’s attention to it in his or her consideration of this tale, because nothing is more common in real life than a want of profitable reflection on the causes of many vices and crimes that awaken general horror. What is substantially true of families in this respect, is true of a whole commonwealth. As we sow, we reap. Let the reader go into the children’s side of any prison in England, or, I grieve to add, of many workhouses, and judge whether those are monsters who disgrace our streets, people our hulks and penitentiaries, and overcrowd our penal colonies, or are creatures whom we have deliberately suffered to he bred for misery and ruin. The American portion of this story is in no other respect a caricature, than as it is an exhibition, for the most part, (Mr. Bevan excepted) of a ludicrous side, only, of the American character—of that side which was, four-and-twenty years ago, from its nature, the most obtrusive, and the most likely to be seen by such travellers as Young Martin and Mark Tapley. As I had never, in writing fiction, had any disposition to soften what is ridiculous or wrong at home, so I then hoped that the good-humoured people of the United States would not be generally disposed to quarrel with me for carrying the same usage abroad. I am happy to believe that my confidence in that great nation was not misplaced. When this book was first published, I was given to under- stand, by some authorities, that the Watertoast Association and eloquence were beyond all bounds of belief. Therefore I record the fact that all that portion of Martin Chuzzlewit’s experiences is a literal paraphrase of some reports of public proceedings in the United States (especially of the proceed- ings of a certain Brandywine Association), which were printed in the Times Newspaper in June and July 1843, at about the time when I was engaged in writing those partsPREFACE 9 of the book; and which remain on the file of the Times Newspaper, of course. In all my writings, I hope I have taken every available opportunity of showing the want of sanitary improvements in the neglected dwellings of the poor. Mrs. Sarah Gamp was, four-and-twenty years ago, a fair representation of the hired attendant on the poor in sickness. The Hospitals of London were, in many respects, noble Institutions ; in others, very defective. I think it not the least among the instances of their mismanagement, that Mrs. Betsey Prig was a fair specimen of a Hospital Nurse; and that the Hospitals, with their means and funds, should have left it to private humanity and enterprise to enter on an attempt to improve that class of persons—since, greatly improved through the agency of good women.ST aad er eed a Ca H z ; i t ‘ iN H 'CONTENTS CHAPTER I INTRODUCTORY, CONCERNING THE PEDIGREE OF THE CHUZZLEWIT FAMILY . : ‘ ‘ : : : : ‘ : CHAPTER II WHEREIN CERTAIN PERSONS ARE PRESENTED TO THE READER, WITH WHOM HE MAY, IF HE PLEASE, BECOME BETTER ACQUAINTED . CHAPTER Tf IX WHICH CERTAIN OTHER PERSONS ARE INTRODUCED ; ON THE SAMI TERMS AS IN THE LAST CHAPTER CHAPTER IV M WHICH IT WILL APPEAR THAT IF UNION BE STRENGTH, AND FAMILY AFFECTION BE PLEASANT TO CONTEMPLATE, THE CHUZ- ZLEWITS WERE THE STRONGEST AND MOST AGREEABLE FAMILY IN THE WoRLD yo RO CHAPTER V CONTAINING A FULL AccOoUNT OF THE INSTALLATION OF Mr. PEcK- sNIFr’s New Purit into THE Bosom or Mr. PECKSNIFF’S FAMILY. WHITH ALL THE FESTIVITIES HELD ON THAT OCCASION, AND THE GREAT ENJOYMENT OF Mr. P1ncH j ; ‘ ; CHAPTER VI COMPRISES. AMONG OTHER IMPORTANT MATTERS, PECKSNIFFIAN AND ARCHITECTURAL, AN EXACT RELATION OF THE PROGRESS MADE py Mr. Prixcu IN THE CONFIDENCE AND FRIENDSHIP OF THE NEw PupPI_ ; ; ; : ; : : : ; CHAPTER VII In wuich Mr. Cuevy StyME ASSERTS THE INDEPENDENCE OF HIS SPIRIT; AND THE Biur Dracon Loses A LIMB : ; é CHAPTER VIII AccompANIES Mr. PECKSNIFF AND HIS CHARMING DAUGHTERS TO THE City OF LONDON: AND RELATES WHAT FELL OUT UPON THEIR WAY THITHER CHAPTER IX Tope! RS'S Town AND to \O una aN a a RN a TTL ~~ RR een een Teen Oe CONTENTS CHAPTER X ConTAINING STRANGE MATTER; ON WHICH MANY EVENTS IN THIS History MAY, FOR THEIR GOOD OR EVIL INFLUENCE, CHIEFLY DEPEND . : ; : ; : : : CHAPTER XI WHEREIN A CERTAIN GENTLEMAN BECOMES PARTICULAR IN HIS ATTENTIONS TO A CERTAIN LADY ; AND MORE COMING EVENTS THAN ONE CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE : CHAPTER XII WILL BE SEEN IN THE Lona RUN, IF NOT IN THE SHORT ONE, TO CONCERN Mr. PincH AND OTHERS NEARLY. MR. PECKSNIFI ASSERTS THE DIGNITY OF OUTRAGED VIRTUE. YounG MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT FORMS A DESPERATE RESOLUTION. CHAPTER XIII SHOWING WHAT BECAME OF MARTIN AND HIS DESPERATE RESOLVE AFTER HE LEFT Mr. PeEcKsNIFF’s HOUSE; WHAT PERSONS HE ENCOUNTERED: WHAT ANXIETIES HE SUFFERED; AND WHAT NEws HE HEARD : : : ‘ : : . CHAPTER XIV In wuico Martin prps ADIEU To THE LADY OF HIS LOVE; AND HoNnoURS AN OBSCURE INDIVIDUAL, WHOSE FORTUNE HE INTENDS TO MAKE, BY COMMENDING HER TO HIS PROTECTION. : ; CHAPTER XV THE BuRDEN WHEREOF Is, Hair, CotumpBra! : : CHAPTER XYI MARTIN DISEMBARKS FROM THAT NOBLE AND FAST-SAILING LINE-OF- Packet Suip, THE SCREW, AT THE Port oF NEw YoRK, IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. HE MAKES SOME ACQUAIN- TANCES, AND Dines aT A BoARDING-HOUSE, THE PARTICULARS OF THOSE TRANSACTIONS . : : : ; CHAPTER XVII MARTIN ENLARGES HIS CrRcLE oF ACQUAINTANCE; INCREASES HIS Stock OF WISDOM; AND HAS AN EXCELLENT OPPORTUNITY O1 COMPARING HIS OWN EXPERIENCES WITH THOSE OF Lummy Nep OF THE LIGHT SALISBURY, AS RELATED BY HIS FRIEND Mr. WILLIAM SIMMONS . CHAPTER XVIII Dors Business wiTH THE HovusE or ANTHONY CHUZZLEWIT AND SoN, FROM WHICH ONE OF THE PARTNERS RETIRES UNEX- PECTEDLY . . : ‘ : : : : . PAGE Ly) Oo’ un 204 o Ww OV ~CONTENTS CHAPTER XIX THe READER IS BROUGHT INTO COMMUNICATION WITH SOME PROFES- SIONAL PERSONS, AND SHEDS A TEAR OVER THE FiniIAL PIETY OF GOOD Mr. JONAS e . . : ° e ° . CHAPTER XX Is a CHAPTER OF LOVE. : : E ; : : : CHAPTER XXI More AMERICAN EXPERIENCES. MARTIN TAKES A PARTNER, AND MAKES A PuRCHASE. SoME Account OF EDEN, AS IT APPEARED oN Paper. ALSO OF THE British Lion. ALSO OF THE KIND OF SYMPATHY PROFESSED AND ENTERTAINED BY THE WATER- TOAST ASSOCIATION OF UNITED SYMPATHISERS . : CHAPTER XXII FROM WHICH IT WILL BE SEEN THAT MARTIN BECAME A LION ON HIS OWN AccounT. 'TOGETHER WITH THE REASON WHY. ; CHAPTER. XXIELE MARTIN AND HIS PARTNER TAKE POSSESSION OF THEIR EstaTE. THE JoyFUL OCCASION INVOLVES SOME FURTHER AccouNnT OF EDEN CHAPTER. XX1V Reports PROGRESS IN CERTAIN HOMELY MATTERS OF LovE, HATRED, JEALOUSY, AND REVENGE. ; ; : : : : : CHAPTER XX V Is IN PART PROFESSIONAL; AND FURNISHES THE READER WITH SOME VALUABLE HINTS IN RELATION TO THE MANAGEMENT OF A SICK CHAMBER . ‘ . ; : : s ; CHAPL OM SAVE AN UNEXPECTED MEETING, AND A PROMISING PROSPECT. ‘ : CHAPTER XXVII SHOWING THAT OLD FRIENDS MAY NOT ONLY APPEAR WITH NEW Faces, BUT IN FALSE COLOURS: THAT PEOPLE ARE PRONE TO BITE : AND THAT BITERS MAY SOMETIMES BE BITTEN . CHAPTER. XXVIII Mr. MontaGvE AT Home. Anp Mr. Jonas CuuzziEwiT at Home CHAPTER XXIX IN WHICH SOME PEOPLE ARE PRECOCIOUS, OTHERS PROFESSIONAL, AND OTHERS MYSTERIOUS : ALL IN THEIR SEVERAL WaAyYS PAGE 394 409 433 444 477 494a a aN PN eee ae ee een eae 4 CONTENTS CHAPTER XXX PROVES THAT CHANGES MAY BE RUNG IN THE BEST-REGULATED FAMILIES, AND THAT Mr. PECKSNIFF WAS A SPECIAL HAND AT A TRIPLE-BoB-MaAjJoR CHAPTER XXXI Mr. PincH IS DISCHARGED OF A DUTY WHICH HE NEVER OWED ANYBODY: AND Mr. PECKSNIFF DISCHARGES A DuTY WHICH HI} OWES TO SOCIETY CHAPTER XXXII TREATS OF TODGERS’S AGAIN; AND ANOTHER BLIGHTED PLANT BESIDES THE PLANTS UPON THE LEADS . ; . ; CHAPTER XXXIII FurTHER ProceEpDINGS IN EDEN, AND A PROCEEDING OUT OF IT. MARTIN MAKES A DISCOVERY OF SOME IMPORTANCE. = CHAPTER XXXIV IN WHICH THE TRAVELLERS MOVE HOMEWARD, AND ENCOUNTER SOME DISTINGUISHED CHARACTERS UPON THE Way CHAPTER XXXV ARRIVING IN ENGLAND, MARTIN WITNESSES A CEREMONY, FROM WHICH HE DERIVES THE CHEERING INFORMATION THAT HE HAS NOT BEEN FORGOTTEN IN HIS ABSENCE CHAPTER XXXVI Tom PIncH DEPARTS TO SEEK HIS FORTUNE. WHAT HE FINDS AT STARTING CHA P RAR XX Ny PT Tom Pinoy, Going ASTRAY, FINDS THAT HE IS NOT THE ONLY PERSON IN THAT PREDICAMENT. HE RETALIATES UPON A FALLEN FOE. CHAPTER XXXVIITI SECRET SERVICE : ‘: ; : : ‘ ; ; ‘ ‘ GHAPTER XXXITX CONTAINING SOME FURTHER PARTICULARS OF THE Domestic Economy OF THE PINCHES: WITH STRANGE NEWS FROM THE CITY. NAR- ROWLY CONCERNING Tom . 5 2 ; ; CHAPTER XL Tur PIncHES MAKE A New ACQUAINTANCE, AND HAVE FRESH OCCA- SION FOR SURPRISE AND WONDER . : : : yt Ji 640 |CONTENTS CHAPTER XLI Mr. JonaS AND HIS FRIEND, ARRIVING AT A PLEASANT UNDER- STANDING, SET FORTH UPON AN ENTERPRISE ‘ ; ‘ ; CHAPTER XLII CONTINUATION OF THE ENTERPRISE OF Mr. JONAS AND HIS FRIEND CHAPTER XLIII Has AN INFLUENCE ON THE FORTUNES OF SEVERAL PEOPLE. MR. PECKSNIFF IS EXHIBITED IN THE PLENITUDE OF POWER, AND WIELDS THE SAME WITH FORTITUDE AND MAGNANIMITY . CHAPTER XLIV FURTHER CONTINUATION OF THE ENTERPRISE OF MR. JONAS AND His FRIEND CHAPTER XLV In wHicuw Tom PincH AND HIS SISTER TAKE A LITTLE PLEASURE ; BUT QUITE IN A Domestic Way, AND WITH NO CEREMONY ABOUT IT. : CHAPTER ALVI Ix wHico Miss Precksnirr MAKES Love, Mr. JoNAS MAKES WRATH, Mrs. Game MAKES TEA, AND Mr. CHUFFEY MAKES BUSINESS. CHAPTER XLVII CONCLUSION OF THE ENTERPRISE OF Mr, JONAS AND HIS FRIEND CHAPTER XLVIII Bears Trpines or Martin, AND OF Mark, AS WELL AS OF A THIRD PERSON NOT QUITE UNKNOWN TO THE READER. ExXuHipits FILIAL Prery IN AN UGLY ASPECT; AND CASTS A DOUBTFUL Ray 0! LIGHT UPON A VERY DARK PLACE CHAPTER XLIX Ix wHicH Mrs. Harris, ASSISTED BY A TEAPOT, 18S THE CAUSE OI A DIVISION BETWEEN FRIENDS. : CHAPTER L ScrprisEs Tom Pinch vERY MUCH, AND SHOWS HOW CERTAIN CON- FIDENCES PASSED BETWEEN HIM AND HIS SISTER : ‘ CHAPTER LI Sueps New AND BriGHTER LIGHT UPON THE VERY DARK PLACE ; AND CONTAINS THE SEQUEL OF THE ENTERPRISE OF MR. Jonas AND HIS FRIEND : mh, 0 805 22)f F 5 ; : MS ; i i q H i 16 CONTENTS CHAPTER LII IN WHICH THE TABLES ARE TURNED COMPLETELY UpstipDE Down CHAPTER LIII Wuat Joun WEstTLOocK sAIp To Tom Prncu’s SISTER; WHAT Tom Pincn’s SISTER SAID TO JOHN WESTLOCK; WHAT Tom PincH SAID TO BOTH OF THEM: AND HOW THEY ALL PASSED THE RE- MAINDER OF THE Day : : : : : : : CHAPTER LIV Gives THE AUTHOR GREAT CONCERN. FOR IT IS THE LAST IN THE Book : é : : 5; a; : : : ‘ PestscRIPtLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS FRONTISPIECE. A New Pupin ; ‘ : : ‘ F ; ; ‘ MEEKNESS OF Mr. PECKSNIFF AND HIS CHARMING DAUGHTERS ; MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT SUSPECTS THE LANDLADY WITHOUT ANY REASON PLEASANT LITTLE Famity Party at Mr. PEcKSNIFF’S PIncH sTARTS HOMEWARD WITH THE NEW Pupit. Mr. Princo AND THE NEw Pupit on A Soctat Occasion . : MARK BEGINS TO BE JOLLY UNDER CREDITABLE CIRCUMSTANCES ° Mrs. TopGERS AND THE PECKSNIFFS CALL UPON Miss PincH TRUTH PREVAILS, AND VIRTUE IS TR({UMPHANT . i : Mr. JoNAS CHUZZLEWIT ENTERTAINS HIS COUSINS Mr. PECKSNIFF RENOUNCES THE DECEIVER ; ; : MARTIN MEETS AN ACQUAINTANCE AT THE House or A MuTUAL RE- LATION . ‘ ; , : ‘ : : ; : ; Mr. Taprey acts THIRD PARTY WITH GREAT DISCRETION . . Mr. JEFFERSON BRICK PROPOSES AN APPROPRIATE SENTIMENT. Mr. TAPLEY SUCCEEDS IN FINDING A JOLLY SUBJECT FOR CONTEM- PLATION p ; : , : : : P : THe DISSOLUTION OF PARTNERSHIP. ; ‘ : ; 4 i Mr. PECKSNIFF ON HIS MISSION ; 7 ; - : ; “ THE THRIVING CITY OF EDEN AS IT APPEARED ON PAPER ; : THE THRIVING CiTy OF EDEN AS IT APPEARED IN Fact. ; ‘ 3ALM FOR THE WouUNDED URPHAN ‘ ‘ 3 ‘ ; i Mrs. GAMP HAS HER EYE ON THE FUTURE . ; : ‘ : THe Boarp . ; ‘ : ‘i ; ; : “ Easy SHAVING : j ; ; ; ; : : i Mr. PECKSNIFF DISCHARGES A DUTY WHICH HE OWES TO SOCIETY. Mr. Mopp1Le IS BOTH PARTICULAR AND PECULIAR IN HIS AT- TENTIONS . ‘ : : ; ; : : : ‘ 2 Mr. TAPLEY IS RECOGNISED BY SOME FELLOW-CITIZENS OF EDEN . MARTIN IS MUCH GRATIFIED BY AN Imposina CEREMONY PAGE to ~~] Ur to \O 1 37! 377a eee eee eee RT eee et ‘ 5 ; Fen ! i ; ; 3 ‘ H } , Ny 1G LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Mr. PINCH DEPARTS TO SEEK HIS FORTUNE Mr. NADGETT BREATHES, AS USUAL, AN ATMOSPHERE OI Mr. Pinch AnD RutTH UNCONSCIOUS OF A VISITOR. Mysrerious INSTALLATION oF Mr. Pincu Mr. JONAS EXHIBITS HIS PRESENCE OF MIND. Mr. PEcKSNIFF ANNOUNCES HIMSELF AS THE SHIELD OF VIRTUE Mr. MoppiE 18 LED TO THE CONTEMPLATION OF HIS DESTINY Mrs. GAMP MAKES TEA Mrs. GAMP PROPOGES A TOASI! Mr. PINcH IS AMAZED BY AN UNEXPECTED APPARITION. Warm ReEcEprIoN oF Mr. PEcCKSNIFF BY HIS VENERABLE FRIEND. THE Nupriats oF Miss PeckSNIF¥ RECEIVE A TEMPORARY CHECK, 860CHARACTERS BaiLey Junior, boots at Mrs. Todgers’s Commercial Boarding-house, afterwards * tiger’’ to Tigg Montague. Mr, Bevan, a warm-hearted Massachusetts boarding-house keeper. JEFFERSON Brick, war correspondent of The New York Rowdy Journal. Mr. Cuurrey, a weazen-faced old man; clerk to Anthony Chuzzlewit. GENERAL Cyrus CHOKE, an American militia officer. Mayor HannrpaL CHOoLtop, a ‘* worshipper of Freedom.” AntHony CuuzzLewI1T, father of Jonas, and brother of the elder Martin. Jonas CHUZZLEWIT, his son; a sly, cunning, scheming man. Martin CHUzzLEWIT, SENIOR, a rich and eccentric old gentleman. Martin CHUZZLEWIT, THE YouNGER, the hero of the story ; grandson of the preceding, by whom he is brought up. Davip CrimpLe, a pawnbroker; afterwards Secretary to the Anglo- Bengalee Assurance Company. CoLoneEL Driver, editor of The New York Rowdy Journal. Mr. Fries, a lawyer. GENERAL FLappock, a starched and punctilious American militia otficer. Docror Joun Josiinc, medical officer to the Anglo-Bengalee Assurance Company. Mr. La Fayerre Kert.e, an inquisitive, bombastic American, Mr. Lewsome, a degraded assistant to a London general medical prac- titioner. Mr. Aveustus Moppte, the “ youngest gentleman” at Mrs. Todgers’s. Mr. Movutp, an undertaker. Mr. Napeerr, Tom Pinch’s landlord, and a secret inquiry agent. Sern Pecxsnirr, a resident of Salisbury, ostensibly an architect and land surveyor, who receives Martin Chuzzlewit as a pupil. Tom Prycu, a timid and unpretentious, but high-souled man ; assistant to Mr. Pecksniff. Tue HonouraBLe EvisAn Pocram, a Member of Congress. ZEPHANIAH SCADDER, agent of the Eden Land Corporation. Curvy Styme, a poor and shiftless relative of old Martin Chuzzlewit. Mr, Sporrieror, a designing relative of old Martin Chuzzlewit.4 a aa ete oe ad Ren mana erecta era nid balcceanve aa) ; H ; i 3 & BS 20 CHARACTERS Pau SwEEDLEPIPE (‘‘ Poll’), a bird-fancier and hairdresser. Marx Taptey, hostler at the Blue Dragon Inn; afterwards man- servant to young Martin Chuzzlewit. Montague Trae, alias Trea Montacur, a needy sharper ; afterwards Chairman of the Anglo-Bengalee Assurance Company. Joun Westiock, a former pupil of Mr. Pecksniff’s, and a warm friend of Tom Pinch. Mrs. Jerrerson Briox, an American ‘“ matron.” Mrs. SarrEy Gamp, a professional nurse. Mary Granam, companion to old Martin Chuzzlewit, and betrothed to young Martin. Mrs. Hominy, an American literary celebrity. Cyarity Pecxsyirr (“Cherry”), Mr. Pecksniff’s elder daughter; a cold, spiteful, envious woman. Mrs. Lupin, landlady of the Blue Dragon, a village inn near Salisbury. Mercy Proxsnirr (‘‘ Merry”), Mr. Pecksniff’s younger daughter; a giddy, vain, and thoughtless girl. Ruru Princu, a governess at Camberwell ; sister to Tom Pinch. Bersey Pric, a nurse, and bosom-friend of Mrs. Gamp. Mrs. SporrieTor, one of old Martin Chuzzlewit’s expectant relatives, Mrs. Topeers, keeper of a commercial boarding-house in London,MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT WV CHAPTER I INTRODUCTORY, CONCERNING THE PEDIGREE OF THE CHUZZLEWIT FAMILY As no lady or gentleman, with any claims to polite breeding, can possibly sympathise with the Chuzzlewit Family without being first assured of the extreme antiquity of the race, it is a great satisfaction to know that it undoubtedly descended in a direct line from Adam and Eve; and was, in the very earliest times, closely connected with the agricultural interest. If it should ever be urged by grudging and malicious persons, that a Chuzzlewit, in any period of the family history, dis- played an overweening amount of family pride, surely the weakness will be considered not only pardonable but laud- able. when the immense superiority of the house to the rest of mankind, in respect of this its ancient origin, is taken into account. It is remarkable that as there was, in the oldest family of which we have any record, a murderer and a vagabond, so we never fail to meet, in the records of all old families, with innumerable repetitions of the same phase of character. Indeed, it may be laid down as a general principle, that the more extended the ancestry, the greater the amount ol violence and vagabondism ; for in ancient days those two amusements, combining a wholesome excitement with a promising means of repairing shattered fortunes, were at once the ennobling pursuit and the healthful recreation of the Quality of this land. Consequently, it is a source of inexpressible comfort and happiness to find, that in various periods of our history, thea a Ra one le el ke 22 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT Chuzzlewits were actively connected with divers slaughterous conspiracies and bloody frays. It is further recorded of them, that being clad from head to heel in steel of proof, they did on many occasions lead their Jeather-jerkined soldiers to the death with invincible courage, and afterwards return home eracefully to their relations and friends. ~ There can be no doubt that at least one Chuzzlewit came over with William the Conqueror. It does not appear that this illustrious ancestor ‘‘came over” that monarch, to employ the vulgar phrase, at any subsequent period: inas- much as the Family do not seem to have been ever greatly distinguished by the possession of landed estate. And it is well known that for the bestowal of that kind of property upon his favourites, the liberality and gratitude of the Norman were as remarkable as those virtues are usually found to be in great men when they give away what belongs to other people. Perhaps in this place the history may pause to congratulate itself upon the enormous amount of bravery, wisdom, eloquence, virtue, gentle birth, and true nobility, that appears to have come into England with the Norman Invasion: an amount which the genealogy of .every ancient family lends its aid to swell, and which would beyond all question have been found to be just as great, and to the full as prolific in giving birth to long lines of chivalrous descen- dants, boastful of their origin, even though William the Conqueror had been William the Conquered; a change of circumstances which, it is quite certain, would have made no manner of difference in this respect. There was unquestionably a Chuzzlewit in the Gunpowder Plot, if indeed the arch-traitor, Fawkes himself, were not a scion of this remarkable stock ; as he might easily have been, supposing another Chuzzlewit to have emigrated to Spain in the previous generation, and there intermarried with a Spanish lady, by whom he had issue, one olive-complexioned son. This probable conjecture is strengthened, if not absolutely confirmed, by a fact which cannot fail to be interesting to those who are curious in tracing the progress of hereditary tastes through the lives of their unconscious inheritors. It is a notable circumstance that in these later times, many Chuzzlewits, being unsuccessful in other pur- suits, have, without the smallest rational hope of enriching themselves, or any conceivable reason, set up as coal-mer-HISTORY OF THE CHUZZLEWIT FAMILY 23 chants ; and have, month after month, continued gloomily to watch a small stock of coals, without in any one instance, negotiating with a purchaser. The remarkable similarity between this course of proceeding and that adopt ted by their Great Ancestor beneath the vaults of the Parli: ament oe at Westminster, is too obvious and too full of interest. stand in need of comment. [t is also clearly proved by the oral traditions of the Family, that there existed, at some one period of its history which is not distinctly stated, a matron of such destructive principles, and so familiarised to the use and composition of inflammatory and combustible engines, that she was called ‘The Match Maker:” by which nickname and byword she is recognised in the Family legends to this day. Surely there can be no reasonable doubt that this was the Spanish lady, the mother of Chuzzlewit Fawkes. But there is one other piece of evidence, bearing immediate reference to their close connexion with this memorable event in Eng] ish 1 History, which must carry conviction, even to a mind (if abeE a mind there be) remaining unconvinced by these presumptive proofs. . There was, within a few years, in the possession of a highly respectable and in every way credible and unimpeachable member of the Chuzzlewit Family (for his bitterest enemy never dared to hint at his being otherwise than a we: althy man), a dark oe of undoubted antiquity ; rendered still more interesting by being, in shape and pattern, extremely like such as are in use at the present day. Now this gentleman, s’nce deceased, was at all times ready to make oath, and did again and again set forth upon his solemn asseveration, that he had frequently heard his grandmother say, when contemplating this venerable relic, ‘Aye, aye ! This was carried by my fourth son on the fifth of November, when he was a Guy Fawkes.” These remarkable words wrought (as well they might) a strong impression on his mind, and he was in the habit of repe: ting them very often. The just interpretation which they tees and the conclusion to which they lead, are triumphant and irresistible. The old lady, naturally strong-minded, was nevertheless frail and fading; she was notoriously subject to that confusion of ideas, or, to say the least, of speech, to which age and garrulity are liable. The slight, the very slight, confusion apparent in these expressions is manifest, and is ludicrouslyaa eb er ae ee ee eae eee 4 x . ; CA ee re arene ee eee 24 ) MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT easy of correction. “ Aye, aye,” quoth she, and it will be observed that no emendation whatever is necessary to be made in these two initiative remarks, “Aye, aye! This lantern was carried by my forefather ”"— not fourth son, which is preposterous—" on the fifth of November. And he was Guy Fawkes.” Here we have a remark at once consistent, clear, natural, and in strict accordance with the character of the speaker. Indeed the anecdote is so plainly susceptible of this meaning, and no other, that it would be hardly worth recording in its original state, were it not a proof of what mav be (and very often is) affected not only in historical prose but in imaginative poetry, by the exercise of a little ingenious labour on the part of a commentator. It has been said that there is no instance, in modern times, of a Chuzzlewit having been found on terms of intimacy with the Great. But here again the sneering detractors who weave such miserable figments from their malicious brains, are stricken dumb by evidence. For letters are yet in the possession of various branches of the family, from which it distinctly appears, being stated in so many words, that one Diggory Chuzzlewit was in the habit of perpetually dining with Duke Humphrey. So constantly was he a guest at that nobleman’s table, indeed ; and so unceasingly were His Grace’s hospitality and companionship forced, as it were, upon him; that we find him uneasy, and. full of constraint and reluctance: writing his friends to the effect that if they fail to do so and so by bearer, he will have no choice but to dine again with Duke Humphrey: and expressing himself in a very marked and extraordinary manner 23 one surteited of High Life and Gracious Company. It has been rumoured, and it is needless to say the rumour originated in the same base quarters, that a certain male Chuzzlewit, whose birth must be admitted to be involved in some obscurity, was of very mean and low descent. How stands the proof? When the son of that individual, to whom the secret of his father’s birth was supposed to haye been communicated by his father in his lifetime, lay upon his deathbed, this question was put to him in a distinct, solemn, and formal way: ‘‘ Toby Chuzzlewit, who was your grandfather?” To which he, with his last breath, no less distinctly, solemnly, and formally replied: and his words were taken down at the time, and signed by six witnesses, each with his name and address in full: ‘‘The Lord NoFAMILY GREATNESS 25 Zoo.” It may be said—it has been said, for human wick d- ness has no limits—that there is no Lord of that name, and that among the titles which have become extinct. none at all resembling this, in sound even, 1s to be discovered. But what is the irresistible inference ?— Rejecting a theory broached by some well-meaning but mistaken persons, that this Mr. Toby Chuzzlewit’s grandfather, to judge from his name, must surely have been a Mandarin (which is wholly insupportable, for there is no pretence of his grandmother ever having been out of this country, or of any Mandarin having been in it within some years of his father’s birth : except those in the tea-shops, which cannot for a moment be regarded as having any bearing on the question, one way or other), rejecting this hypothesis, is it not manifest that Mr. Toby Chuzzlewit had either received the name imperfectly from his father, or that he had forgotten it, or that he had mispronounced it? and that even at the recent period in question, the Chuzzlewits were connected by a bend sinister, or kind of heraldic over- the-left, with some unknown noble and illustrious House ? From documentary evidence, yet preserved in the family, the fact is clearly established that in the comparatively modern days of the Diggory Chuzzlewit before mentioned. one of its members had attained to very great wealth and influence. Throughout such fragments of his correspondence as have escaped the ravages of the moths (who, in right of their extensive absorption of the contents of deeds and papers, may be called the general registers of the Insect World), we find him making constant reference to an uncle. in respect of whom he would seem to have entertained great expectations, as he was in the habit of seeking to propitiate his favour by presents of plate, jewels, books, watches, and other valuable artic! s. Thus, he writes on one occasion to his brother in refew nce to a gravy-spoon, the brother’s pro- perty, which he (D’ggory) would appear to have borrowed or otherwise possessed himself of: “Do not be angry, I have parted with it—to my uncle.” On another occasion he expresses himself in a similar manner with regard to a child’s mug which had been entrusted to him to get repaired. On another occasion he says, ‘I have bestowed upon that irre- sistible uncle of mine everything I ever possessed.” And that he was in the habit of paying long and constant visits to this gentleman at his mansion, if, indeed, he did not wholly reside there, is manifest from the following sentence :a aaa ae —_—— ore A i ee es ‘ ; ao Sa ee et ee arene PN ee ena ee ea , F roy aba ye 26 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT ‘‘ With the exception of the suit of clothes I carry about with me, the whole of my wearing apparel is at present at my uncle’s.” This gentleman’s patronage and influence must have been very extensive, for his nephew writes, “* His interest is too high ”—‘‘ It is too much ”—“ It is tremendous” and the like. Still it does not appear (which is strange) to have procured for him any lucrative post at court or else- where, or to have conferred upon him any other distinction than that which was necessarily included in the countenance of so great a man, and the being invited by him to certain entertainments, so splendid and costly in their nature, that he calls them “ Golden Balls.” It is needless to multiply instances of the high and lofty station, and the vast importance of the Chuzzlewits, at different periods. If it came within the scope of reasonable probability that further proofs were required, they might be heaped upon each other until they formed an Alps of testimony, beneath which the boldest scepticism should be crushed and beaten flat. As a goodly tumulus is already collected, and decently battened up above the Family grave, the present chapter is content to leave it as it is: merely adding, by way of a final spadeful, that many Chuzzlewits, both male and female, are proved to demonstration, on the faith of letters written by their own mothers, to have had chiselled noses, undeniable chins, forms that might have served the sculptor for a model, exquisitely-turned limbs, and polished foreheads of so transparent a texture that the blue veins might be seen branching off in various directions, like so many roads on an ethereal map. This fact in itself, though it had been a solitary one, would have utterly settled and clenched the business in hand ; for it is well known, on the authority of all the books which treat of such matters, that every one of these phenomena, but especially that of the chiselling, are invariably peculiar to, and only make them- selves apparent in, persons of the very best condition. This history having, to its own perfect satisfaction, (and, consequently, to the full contentment of all its readers,) proved the Chuzzlewits to have had an origin, and to have been at one time or other of an importance which cannot fail to render them highly improving and acceptable acquain- tance to all right-minded individuals, may now proceed in earnest with its task. And haying shown that they must have had, by reason of their ancient birth, a pretty largePROTOTYPES OF THE GREAT WORLD 27 _— share in the foundation and increase of the human family, it will one day become its province to submit, that such of jts members as shall be introduced in these pages, have still many counterparts and prototypes ch the Great World about us. At present it contents itself with remarking, in a general way, on this head: Firstly, that it may be safely asserted, and yet without i implying any direct participation in the Monboddo doctrine touching the probability of the human race having once been monkeys, that men do play very strange and extr: ordinary tricks. Secondly, and yet without trenching on the Blumenbach theory as to the descendants of Adam having a vast number of qualities which belong more particularly to swine than to any other class of animals in the creation, that some men cert: Linly are remarkable for taking uncommon good care of themselves.- a a a Ce a a 2 LAP EAR POLE ta OE la calc (opneree ES dl a mall i ee eee a ee eae ere CHAPTER II WHEREIN CERTAIN PERSONS ARE PRESENTED TO THE READER, WITH WHOM HE MAY, IF HE PLEASE, BE- COME BETTER ACQUAINTED Tr was pretty late in the autumn of the year, when the declining sun, struggling through the mist which had ob- scured it all day, looked brightly down upon a little Wiltshire village, within an easy journey of the fair old town of Salisbury. Like a sudden flash of memory or spirit kindling up the mind of an old man, it shed a glory upon the scene, in which its departed youth and freshness seemed to live again. The wet grass sparkled in the light; the scanty patches of verdure in the hedges—where a few green twigs yet stood together bravely, resisting to the last the tyranny of nipping winds and early frosts—took heart and brightened up; the stream which had been dull and sullen all day long, broke out into a cheerful smile; the birds began to chirp and twitter on the naked boughs, as though the hopeful creatures half believed that winter had gone by, and spring had come already. The vane upon the tapering spire of the old church elistened from its lofty station in sympathy with the general gladness ; and from the ivy-shaded windows such gleams of light shone back upou the glowing sky, that it seemed as if the quiet buildings were the hoarding-place of twenty summers, and all their ruddiness and warmth were stored within. Even those tokens of the season which emphatically whispered of the coming winter, graced the landscape, and, for the moment, tinged its livelier features with no oppressive air of sadness. The fallen leaves, with which the ground was strewn, gave forth a pleasant fragrance, and subduing all harsh sounds of distant feet and wheels, created a repose in gentle unison with the light scattering of seed hither and thither by the distant husbandman, and with the noiselessA WILTSHIRE VILLAGE 29 passage of the plough as it turned up the rich brown earth, and wrought a graceful pattern in the stubbled fields. On the motionless branches of some trees, autumn berries hung like clusters of coral beads, as in those fabled orchards where the fruits were jewels ; others, stripped of all their garniture, stood, each the centre of its little heap of bright red leaves, watching their slow decay ; others again, still wearing theirs, had them all crunched and crackled up, as though they had been burnt; about the stems of some were piled, in ruddy mounds, the apples they had borne that year; while others (hardly evergreens this class) showed somewhat stern and gloomy in their vigour, as charged by nature with the admonition that it is not to her more sensitive and joyous favourites she grants the longest term of life. Still athwart their darker boughs, the sunbeams struck out paths of deeper gold; and the red light, mantling in among their swarthy branches, used them as foils to set its brightness off, and aid the lustre of the dying day. ; A moment, and its glory was no more. The sun went down beneath the long dark lines of hill and cloud which piled up in the west an airy city, wall heaped on wall, and battlement on battlement; the light was all withdrawn ; the shining church turned cold and dark ; the stream forgot to smile; the birds were silent; and the gloom of winter dwelt on everything. An evening wind uprose too, and the slighter branches cracked and rattled as they moved, in skeleton dances, to its moaning music. The withering leaves no longer quiet, hurried to and fro in search of shelter from its chill pursuit ; the labourer unyoked his horses, and with head bent down, trudged briskly home beside them; and from the cottage windows lights began to glance and wink upon the darken- ing fields. Then the village forge came out in all its bright impor- tance. The lusty bellows roared Ha ha! to the clear fire, which roared in turn, and bade the shining sparks dance gaily to the merry clinking of the hammers on the anvil. The gleaming iron, in its emulation, sparkled too, and shed its red-hot gems around profusely. The strong smith and his men dealt such strokes upon their work, as made even the melancholy night rejoice, and brought a glow into its dark face as it hovered about the door and windows, peeping curiously in above the shoulders of a dozen loungers, AsDre Raeiaae ren aea ea MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT T stood, spell-bound by the upon the darkness » upon the 30 to this idle company, there they place, and, casting now and then a glance heir rear, settled their lazy elbows more at eas no more disposed to tear been born to cluster in t sill. and leaned a little further in : themselves away than if they had round the blazing hearth like so many crickets. Out upon the angry wind! how from sighing, it began to bluster round the merry forge, banging at the wicket, and erumbling in the chimney, 4S if it bullied the jolly bellows for doing anything to order. And what an impotent swaggerer it was too, for all its noise: for if it had any influence on that hoarse companion, it was but to make him roar his cheerful song the louder, and make the fire burn the brighter, and the sparks to dance more gaily yet: at length, they whizzed so madly round and round, that it was too much for such a surly wind to hear: so off it flew with a howl: giving the old sign before the ale-house door such a cuff as it went, that the Blue Dragon was more rampant than usual ever afterwards, and indeed, before Christmas, reared clean out of its crazy frame, It was small tyranny for a respectable wind to go W reak- 1 poor creatures as the fallen leaves, bv consequence to ing its vengeance on such but this wind happening to come up with a great heap of them just after venting its humour on the insulted Dragon, did so disperse and scatter them that they fled away, p ll-mell, some here, some there, rolling over each other, whirling round and round upon their thin edges, taking frantic fliohts into the air, and playing all manner of extraordinary sambols in the extremity of their distress. Nor was this enough for its malicious fury: for not content with driving them abroad, it charged small parties of them and hunted them into the wheelwright’s saw-pit, and below the planks and timbers in the yard, and, scattering the sawdust in the air. it looked for them underneath, and when it did meet with any, whew! how it drove them on and followed at their heels! The scared leaves only flew the faster for all this, and a giddy chase it was: for they got into untr quented places, where there was no outlet, and where their pursuer kept them eddying round and round at his pleasure ; and they erept under the eaves of houses, and clung tightly to the sides of hay-ricks, like bats; and tore in at open chamber windows. and cowered close to hedges ; and in short wentA GREETING FOR MR. PECKSNIFF 31 anywhere for saf ty. But the oddest feat the wchieved was. to take advantage of the + sudden opening of Vr. Pecksniff’s ront-door, to dash wildly into his passage ; whither the wind following close upon them, and finding the back-door open, incon itinently blew out the lighted candle held by Miss Pecksniff, and slammed the front door against Mr. Pecksniff who was at that moment entering, with such iolence, that in the twinkling of an eye he lav at the bottom of the steps, Being . such trifling perfor mances, the boist ll ] | I on his back by this time weary of erous rover hurried away rejolcing, roaring over moor and meadow, hil] and flat, until it got out to sea, where jt met with other winds similarly disposed, and made a night of it. : In the meantime Mr. Pecksniff having received from a sharp angle in the bottom step but one, that sort of knock on the head which lights up, for the patient’s entertainment, an imaginary general illumination of very bright short- sixes, lay placidly staring at his own street-door. And it would seem to have been more suggestive in its aspect than street-doors usually are ; for he continued to lie there. rather a lengthy and unreasonable time, without so much as vondering whether he was hurt or no: neither. when Miss Pecksniff inquired through the key-hole in a shrill voice whi a might have belonged to a wind in its teens. “Who's there ?” di d he make any reply: nor, when Miss Pecksniff opens » door again, and shading the candle with her hand. pe fed out, and looked provokingly round him, and about him, and over him, and everywhere but at him, did he offer any remark, or indicate in any manner the least hint of esire to be picked up. ‘I see you,” cried Miss Pecksnit » the al inflicter of a runaway knock. “You'll catch i sirt’ Still Mr. Pecksniff. perhaps from aviad caught it already, said nothing One ‘You’re round the corner now.” cried Miss Pecksniff. She said it at a venture, but there was appropriate matter in it too; for Mr. Pecksniff, being in the act of extinguishing the candles before mentioned pretty rapidly, and of reducing the number of brass knobs on his street-doo1 from a or five hundred (which had previously been juggling of their own accord before his eyes in a very novel aniei to a liozen or so, might in one sense have been said to be coming round the corner, and just turning it.el eae a a aaa 32 MARTIN CHUZZLEWI I With a sharply-delivered warning re lative to the eage and the constable, and the stocks and the g callows, Miss Peckaai was about to close the door again, when Mr. Pecksniff (being still at the bottom of the steps) r aised himself on one ean and sneezed. ‘That voice!” cried Miss Pecksniff. ‘My parent!” At this exclamation, another Miss Pecksniff bounced out of the parlour: and the two Miss Pecksniffs, with many megane expressions, dragged Mr. Pecksniiff into an up- rig t posture. «Pal” they cried in concert. “4 not look so wild. my dearest Fa rs Sut as a centleman’s looks, u uch ase of all others, are by no means under his own ntrol. Mr. Pecksniff con- Speak, Pa! Do tinued to keep his mouth and ery wide open, and r the manner of a toy to drop his lower law, somew hat atte had fall n on, and his face was nut-eracker: and as his hat his coat muddy, the spectacle pale, and his hair erect, and 1e presented was so very doleful. that neither of the Miss Pecksniffs could repress an involuntary § reech, That'll do.” said Mr. Pecksniff. “I'm better.” ‘He’s come to himself!” cried the youngest Miss Peck- sniff. “ He speaks vain!” exclaimed the eldest. Wi ith the se JOY ful words tney KISS Mr. Pecksnift on either cheek : and bore him into the house, Presently, the youngest Miss Pecksniff ran out again to pick up his hat, his brown paper parcel, his umbrella, his gloves, and other small articles: and that done, and the door closed, both young ladies applied themselves to tending Mr, Pecksniifs wounds in the back parlow They were not very serious In th ature: being limited to abrasions on what the eldest Miss Pecksniff called “the knobby parts” of her parent’s anatomy, suen as his knees and elbows, and to the development of an entirely new organ, unknown to phrenologists, on the back of his head. These injuries having been comforted externally, with patches ot pickled brown paper, and Mr, Pecksniff haying been com- forted internally, with some stiff ss resnsdidas tine the eldest Miss Pecksniff sat down to make the tea, whieh was all ready. In the meantime the youngest Miss Pecksniff brought from the kitchen a smoking dish of ham and eggs, “ } and, setting the same before her father, took up her stationMERCY AND CHARITY PECKSNIFF 33 - cu low stool at his feet: thereby bringing her eyes on a level with the teaboard. | [t must not be inferred from this position of humility, that the youngest Miss Pecksniff was so young as to be, as one may say, forced to sit upon a stool, by reason of the short- ness of he oe gs. Miss Pecksniff sat upon a stool because of her sumplicity and innocence, which were very great: very creat. Miss Pecksniff sat upon a stool because she was all virlishness, and playfulness, and wildness, and kittenish huoyaney. She was the most arch and at the same time the most artless creature, was the youngest Miss Pecksniff, that you can possibly imagine. It was her great charm. She was too fresh and guileless, and too full of child-like vivacity, was the youngest Miss Pecksniff, to wear combs in her hair, or to turn it up, or to frizzle it, or braid it. She wore it in a crop, a loosely flowing crop, which had so many rows of curls in it, that the top row was only one curl. Moderately buxom was her shape, and quite womanly too; but some- times—yes, sometimes—she eyen wore a pinafore ; and how charming that was! Oh! she was indeed ‘‘a gushing thing” (as a young gentleman had observed in verse, in the Poet’s or Corner of a provincial newspaper), was the youngest Miss Pecksniff ! Mr. Pecksniff was a moral man: a grave man, a man of noble sentiments and speech: and he had had her christened Me rey. Mercy! oh, what a charming name for such a pure- souled being as the youngest Miss Pecksniff! Her sister’s hame Was Charity. : There was a good thing ! Mercy and Charity! And Charity, with her fine strong sense, and her mild, yet not reproachful gravity, was so well named, and did so well set off and illustrate her sister! What a pleasant sight was that, the contrast they presented: to see each loved and loving one sym pathisi ing with, and devoted to, and leaning on, and yet correcting and counter- -checking, and, as the other! To behold each damsel, in her very admiration of i r sister, setting up in business for herself on an entirely different principle, and announcing no connexion with over-the-way, and if the quality of eoods at that establishment don't please you, you are respectfully invited to favour mE with a call! And the crowning circum- ctance of the whole delightful catalogue was, that both the fair creatures were so utterly unconscious of fall this! They lad no idea of it. ‘They no more thought or dreamed of it it were, ant tidot ting, > X. BSO ot eee eee ee eee eae MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 34 than Mr. Pecksniff did. Nature. played them off against each other: they had no hand in it, the two Miss Pecksniffs. It has been remarked that Mr. Pecksniff was a moral man. So he was. Perhaps there never was a more moral man than Mr. Pecksniff: especially in his conversation and correspon- dence. It was once said of him by a homely admirer, that he had a Fortunatus’s purse of good sentiments in his inside. In this particular he was like the girl in the fairy tale, except that if they were not actual diamonds which fell from his lips, they were the very brightest paste, and shone pro- digiously. Hewasa most exemplary man; fuller of virtuous precept than a copy-book. Some people likened him to a direction-post, which is always telling the way to a place, and never goes there: but these were his enemies: the shadows cast by his brightness; that was all. His very throat was moral. You saw a good deal of it. You looked over a very low fence of white cravat (whereof no man had ever beheld the tie, for he fastened it behind). and there it lay, a valley between two jutting heights of collar, serene and whiskerless before you. It seemed to say, on the part of Mr. Pecksniff, ‘‘There is no deception, ladies and gentle- men, all is peace, a holy calm pervades me.” So did his hair, just grizzled with an iron-grey, which was all brushed off his forehead, and stood bolt upright, or slightly drooped in kindred action with his heavy eyelids. So did his person, which was sleek though free from corpuleney. So did his manner, Which was soft and oily. In a word, even his plain black suit, and state of widower, and dangling double eve- glass, all tended to the same purpose, and cried aloud, “ Behold the moral Pecksniff ! ” The brazen plate upon the door (which bein: Mr. Peck- sniffs; could not lie) bore this ins ription, “ ProKsnrrr, ARCHITECT,” to which Mr. Pecksniff. on his cards added, “ anp Lanp Surveyor.” In on sense, and only one. he may be said to have been a Land Surveyor on a pretty } ] } : Stretched out hetore ot business, large scale, as an extensive prospect lay the windows of his house. Of nothing was clearly known, except that he had never de- signed or built anything; but it was generally und rstood that his knowledge of the science was almost awful in its protundity, Mr. Pecksniff’s professional] cheagements, indeed were almost, if not entirely, confined to t] | his ar hites tural doings, le reception of pupils:A NEW PUPILi ' 1 ! y i Pe er Bee aeMR. PECKSNIFFS PUPILS 37 for the collection of rents, with which pursuit he occasion- ally varied and relieved his graver toils, can hardly be said to be a strictly architectural employment. His genius lay in ensnaring parents and guardians, and pocketing premiums. A young gentleman’s premium being paid, and the young gentleman come to Mr. Pecksniff’s house, Mr. Pecksnifi horrowed his case of mathematical instruments (if silver- mounted or otherwise valuable); entreated him, from that moment. to consider himself one of the family; compli- mented him highly on his parents or ouardians, as the case might be: and turned him loose in a spacious room on the two-pair front ; where, in the company of certain drawing- boards, parallel rulers, very stiff-legged compasses, and two, or perhaps three, other young gentlemen, he improved him- self. for three or five years, according to his articles, in making elevations of Salisbury Cathedral from every possible and in constructing in the air a vast quantity Parliament. and other Public Buildings. ) many gorgeous ~ point of sight ; of Castles, Houses of Perhaps in no place in the world were edifices of this class erected as under Mr. Pecksniff’s auspices ; and if but one-twentieth part of the churches which were built in that front room, with one or other of the Miss Pecksniffs at the altar in the act of marrying the architect, could only be made available by the parliamentary commis- churches would be want d for at least five c sjoners, no more centuries. “Even the worldly said Mr. Pecksniff, olancing finishe d. “‘eyen cream, sugar, tea, toast, ham,—’ “ And eggs,” suggested Charity in a low voice. “And eggs,” said Mr. Pecksniff, ‘‘even they have their Goo how they come and go! Every pleasure is We can’t even eat, long. If we indulge in harmless fluids, we get the dropsy ; if in exciting liquids, we get drunk. What a coothing reflection is that La urged the eldest Miss ss 5 voods of which we have just disposed round the table when he had moral. transitory. “Don’t say we get drunk, Pa,’ Pecksniff. ‘When I say we, my dear,” returned her father, ‘‘ I mean mankind in general ; the human race, considered as a body, and not as individuals. There is nothing I ersonal in morality, Even such a thing as this,” said Mr. Pecksniff, hand upon the brown paper slight casual baldness though my love. laving the fore-finger 01 his left patch on the top of his head, “Dee nee ee aaa eee z SOL FN ERROR 33 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT it be. reminds us that we are but ”—he was going to say “worms,” but reeollecting that worms were not remarkable for heads of hair, he substituted “flesh and blood.” “Which,” eried Mr. Pecksniff after a pause, during which he geemed-to have been casting about for a new moral, and not quite successfully, “which is also very soothing. Mercy, my dear, stir the fire and throw up the cinders.’ The young lady obeyed, and having done so, resumed her stool, reposed one arm upon her father’s knee, and laid her plooming cheek upon it. Miss Charity drew her chair nearer the fire, as one prepared for conversation, and looked towards her father. “Ves,” said Mr. Pecksniff, after a short pause, during which he had been silently smiling, and shaking his head at the fire: “I have again been fortunate in the attainment of my object. A new inmate will very shortly come among us.” “A youth, papa?” asked Charity. ““Ye-es, a youth,” said Mr. Pecksniff. ‘He will avail himself of the eligible opportunity which now offers, for uniting the advantages of the best practical architectural education with the comforts of a home, and the constant association with some who (however humble their sphere, and limited their capacity) are not unmindful of their moral responsibilities. ” “Oh Pa!” cried Mercy, holding up her finger archly. “See advertisement !” “ Playful—playful warbler,” said Mr. Pecksniff. It may be observed in connexion with his calling his daughter a ‘‘warbler,” that she was not at all vocal, but that Mr. Peck- sniff was in the frequent habit of using any word that occurred to him as having a good sound, and rounding a sentence well, without much care for its meaning. And he did this so boldly, and in such an imposing manner, that he would sometimes stagger the wisest people with his eloquence, and make them gasp again. His enemies asserted, by the way, that a strong trustfulness in sounds and forms was the master-key to Mr. Pecksniff’s character. ' ‘“‘Ig he handsome, Pa?” inquired the younger daughter. “Silly Merry!” said the eldest: Merry being fond for Mercy. ‘‘ What is the premium, Pa? tell us that.” ‘“Oh, good gracious, Cherry!” cried Miss Mercy, holding up her hands with the most winning giggle in the world,PECKSNIFFIANA 39 “what a mercenary girl you are! oh you naughty, thoughtful, prudent thing!” It was perfectly charming, and worthy of the Pastoral age, to see how the two Miss Pecksniffs slapped each other after this, and then subsided into an embrace expressive of their different dispositions. ‘He is well looking,” said Mr. Pecksniff, slowly and dis- tinctly: ‘well looking enough. I do not positively expect any immediate premium with him.” Notwithstanding their different natures, both Charity and Mercy concurred in opening their eyes uncommonly wide at this announcement, and in looking for the moment as blank as if their thoughts had actually had a direct bearing on the main chance. ‘“ But what of that!” said Mr. Pecksniff, still smiling at the fire. ‘There is disinterestedness in the world, I hope? We are not all arrayed in two opposite ranks: the offensive and the defensive. Some few there are who walk between ; who help the needy as they go; and take no part with either side. Umph!” There was something in these morsels of philanthropy which reassured the sisters. They exchanged glances, and brightened very much. “Oh! let us not be for ever calculating, devising, and plotting for the future,” said Mr. Pecksniff, smiling more and more, and looking at the fire as a man might, who was cracking a joke with it: ‘‘I am weary of such arts. If our inclinations are but good and open-hearted, let us gratify them boldly, though they bring upon us Loss instead of Profit. Eh, Charity?” Glancing towards his daughters for the first time since he had begun these reflections, and seeing that they both smiled, Mr. Pecksniff eyed them for an instant so jocosely (though still with a kind of saintly waggishness) that the younger one was moved to sit upon his knee forthwith, put her fair arms round his neck, and kiss him twenty times. During the whole of this affectionate display she laughed to a most immoderate extent: in which hilarious indulgence even the prudent Cherry joined. | “Tut, tut,” said Mr. Pecksniff, pushing his latest-born away and running his fingers through his hair, as he re- sumed his tranquil face. ‘* What folly is this! Let us take heed how we laugh without reason, lest we cry with it.a a eee ee 40 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT What is the domestic news since yesterday? John West- lock is gone, I hope ?” ‘Indeed, no,” said Charity. ‘And why not?” returned her father.“ His term expired yesterday. And his box was packed, I know ; for I saw it, in the morning, standing in the hall.” “He slept last night at the Dragon,” returned the young lady, ‘‘and had Mr. Pinch to dine with him. They spent the evening together, and Mr. Pinch was not home till very late.” ‘And when I saw him on the stairs this morning, Pa,” said Mercy with her usual sprightliness, “he looked, oh goodness, such a monster! with his face all manner of colours, and his eyes as dull as if they had been boiled, and his head aching dreadfully, I am sure from the look of it, and his clothes smelling, oh it’s impossible to say how strong, of” —here the young lady shuddered — “of smoke and punch.” ‘Now I think,” said Mr. Pecksniff with his accustomed gentleness, though still with the air of one who suffered under injury without complaint, “I think Mr. Pinch might have done better than choose for his companion one who, at the close of a long intercourse, had endeavoured, as he knew, to wound my feelings. Jam not quite sure that this was delicate in Mr. Pinch. I am not quite sure that this was kind in Mr. Pinch. I will go further and say, I am not quite sure that this was even ordinarily grateful in My. Pinch.” “But what can anyone expect from Mr. Pinch!” eried ‘Charity, with as strong and scornful an emphasis on the name as if it would have given her unspeakable pleasure to express it, in an acted charade, on the calf of that gentle- man’s leg. “ Aye, aye,” returned her father, raising his hand mildly : “it is very well to say what can we expect from Mr. Pinch, gut Mr. Pinch is a fellow-creature, my dear; Mr. Pinch is an item in the vast total of humanity, my love; and we have a right, it is our duty, to expect in Mr. Pinch some development of those better qualities, the possession of which in our own persons inspires our humble self-respect. No,” continued Mr. Pecksniff. ‘‘No! Heaven forbid that I should say, nothing can be expected from Mr. Pinch; or that I] should say, nothing can be expected from any man aliveMEEKNESS OF MR. PECKSNIFF AND HIS CHARMING DAUGHTERSMR. THOMAS PINCH 43 (even the most degraded, which Mr. Pinch is not, no really) ; but Mr. Pinch has disappointed me: he has hurt me: [I think a little the worse of him on this account, but not of human nature. Oh no, no!” “Hark!” said Miss Charity, holding up her finger, as a gentle rap was heard at the street-door. ‘There is the creature! Now mark my words, he has come back with John Westlock for his box, and is going to help him to take it to the mail. Only mark my words, if that isn’t his intention !” Even as she spoke, the box appeared to be in progress of conveyance from the house, but after a brief murmuring of question and answer, it was put down again, and somebody knocked at the parlour door. “Come in!” cried Mr. Pecksniff—not severely ; only vir- tuously. ‘Come in!” An ungainly, awkward-looking man, extremely short- sighted, and prematurely bald, availed himself of this per- mission ; and seeing that Mr. Pecksniff sat with his back towards him, gazing at the fire, stood hesitating, with the door in his hand. He was far from handsome certainly ; and was drest in a snuff-coloured suit, of an uncouth make at the best, which, being shrunk with long wear, was twisted and tortured into all kinds of odd shapes; but notwith- standing his attire, and his clumsy figure, which a great stoop in his shoulders, and a ludicrous habit he had of thrusting his head forward, by no means redeemed, one would not have been disposed (unless Mr. Pecksniff said so) to consider him a bad fellow by any means. He was perhaps about thirty, but he might have been almost any age between sixteen and sixty: being one of those strange creatures who never decline into an ancient appearance, but look their oldest when they are very young, and get it over at once. Keeping his hand upon the lock of the door, he glanced from Mr. Pecksniff to Mercy, from Mercy to Charity, and from Charity to Mr. Pecksniff again, several times; but the young ladies being as intent upon the fire as their father was, and neither of the three taking any notice of him, he was fain to say, at last, “Oh! I beg your pardon, Mr. Pecksniff: I beg your pardon for intruding ; but—” ‘“No intrusion, Mr. Pinch,” said that gentleman very sweetly, but without looking round, ‘‘ Pray be seated, Mr.Sa ee et ek eee eed rena ee eee ee ae rs aes Pe eee, eae EOE og 44 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT Pinch. Have. the goodness to shut the door; Mr. Pinch, if you please.” ‘“Qertainly, sir,’ said Pinch : not doing so, however, but holding it rather wider open than before, and beckoning nervously to somebody without: © Mr. Westlock, sir, hearing that you were come home— ” “Mr. Pinch, Mr. Pinch!” said Pecksniff, wheeling his chair about, and looking at him with an aspect of the deepest melancholy, “I did not expect this from you. I have not deserved this from you!” “No, but upon my word, sir”—urged Pinch. “The less you say, Mr. Pinch,” interposed the other, ‘the better. I utter no complaint. . Make no defence.”’ ‘No. but do have the goodness, sir,” cried Pinch, with great earnestness, “if you please. Mr. Westlock, sir, gomg away for good and all, wishes to leave none but friends behind him: Mr. Westlock and you,’sir, had a little difference the other day ; you have had many little differences.” ‘Little differences !” cried Charity. “Tuttle differences!” echoed Mercy. “My loves!” said Mr, Pecksniff, with the same serene upraising of his hand; ‘‘ My dears!” After a solemn pause he meekly bowed to Mr. Pinch, as who should say, “Proceed ;” but. Mr. Pinch was so very much at a loss how to resume, and looked so helplessly at the two Miss Pecksnifts, that the conversation would most probably have terminated there, if a good-looking youth, newly arrived at man’s estate, had not stepped forward from the doorway and taken up the thread of the discourse. “Come, Mr. Pecksniff,’” he said, with a smile, ‘don’t let there be any ill-blood between us, pray. I am sorry we have ever differed, and extremely sorry I have ever given you offence.. Bear me no ill-will at parting, sir.” ‘I bear,” answered Mr. Pecksniff, mildly, ‘no ill-will to any man on earth.” “T told you he didn’t,” said Pinch, in an under-tone; “I knew he didn’t! He always says he don’t.” “Then you will shake hands, sir?” cried Westlock, advancing a step or two, and bespeaking Mr. Pinch’s close attention by a. glance. ; Umph 1” said Mr. Pecksniff, in his most winning tone. ‘You will shake hands, sir.” ““No, John,” said Mr. Pecksniff, with a calmness quiteMR. WESTLOCK DECLINES’ FORGIVENESS 45 ethereal; ‘‘no, I will not shake hands, John. I have forgiven you. I had already forgiven you, even before you ceased to reproach and taunt me. I have embraced you, in the spirit, John, which is better than shaking hands.” “Pinch,” said the youth, turning towards him, with a hearty disgust of his late master, ‘“‘ what did I tell you?” Poor Pinch looked down uneasily at Mr. Pecksniff, whose eye was fixed upon him as it had been from the first : and looking up at the ceiling again, made no reply. ‘‘As to your forgiveness, Mr. Pecksniff,” said the youth, ‘*T’]l not have it upon such terms. I won't be forgiven.” ‘Won't you, John?” retorted Mr. Pecksniff, with a smile, “You must. You can’t help it. Forgiveness is a high quality ; an exaited virtue; far above your control or in- fluence, John. I will forgive you. You cannot move me to remember any wrong you have ever done me, John.” “Wrong!” cried the other, with all the heat and impetuosity of his age. ‘‘ Here's a pretty fellow! Wrong! Wrong I have done him! He'll not even remember the five hundred pounds he had with me under false pretences ; or the seventy pounds a year for board and lodging that would have been dear at seventeen! Here’s a martyr!” ‘Money, John,” said Mr. Pecksniff, “is the root of all evil. I grieve to see that it is already bearing evil fruit in you. But I will not remember its existence. I will not even remember the conduct of that misguided person ’— and here, although he spoke like one at peace with all the world, he used an emphasis that plainly said ‘I have my eye upon the rascal now’—‘‘ that misguided person who has brought you here to-night, seeking to disturb (it is a happi- ness to say, in vain) the heart’s repose and peace of one who would have shed his dearest blood to serve him.” The voice of Mr. Pecksniff trembled as he spoke, and sobs were heard from his daughters. Sounds floated on the air, moreover, as if two spirit voices had exclaimed : | one, “ Beast!” the other, “Savage ! “Forgiveness,” said Mr. Pecksniff, “‘entiré and pure for- giveness is not incompatible with a wounded: heart; per- chance when the heart is wounded, it becomes a greater virtue. With my breast still’ wrung and grieved to its inmost core by the ingratitude of that person, I am proud and glad to say that I forgive him. Nay! I beg,” cried Mr. Pecksniff, raisitig his voice, as Pinch appeared about. toere rere ene eee i ; e CE a ae ee a ee ms z 8 Pe re 46 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT speak, ‘“ I beg that individual not to offer a remark: he will truly oblige me by not uttering one word, just now. I am not sure that I am equal to the trial. In a very short space of time, I shall have sufficient fortitude, I trust, to converse with him as if these events had never happened. But not,” said Mr. Pecksniff, turning round again towards the fire, and waving his hand in the direction of the door, ‘not now.” Bah!” cried John Westlock, with the utmost disgust and disdain the monosyllable is capable of expressing. ‘Ladies, good evening. Come, Pinch, it’s not worth think- ing of. I was right and you were wrong. That’s a small matter ; you'll be wiser another time.” So saying, he clapped that dejected companion on the shoulder, turned upon his heel, and walked out into the passage, whither poor Mr. Pinch, after lingering irresolutely in the parlour for a few seconds, expressing in his counten- ance the deepest mental misery and gloom, followed him. Then they took up the box between them, and sallied out to meet the mail. That fleet conveyance passed, every night, the corner of a lane at some distance ; towards which point they bent their steps. For some minutes they walked along in silence, until at length young Westlock burst into a loud laugh, and at intervals into another, and another. Still there was no response from his companion. “Tl tell you what, Pinch!” he said abruptly, after another lengthened silence—‘‘ You haven’t half enough of the devil in you. Half enough! You haven't any.” “Well!” said Pinch with a sigh, ‘“‘I don’t know, I’m sure. It’s a compliment to say so. If I haven't, I suppose, I'm all the better for it.” ‘All the better!” repeated his companion tartly: ‘ All the worse, you mean to say.” “And yet,” said Pinch, pursuing his own thoughts and not this last remark on the part of his friend, ‘‘ I must have a good deal of what you call the devil in me, too, or how could I make Pecksniff so uncomfortable? I wouldn’t have occasioned him so much distress—don’t laugh, please—for a mine of money: and Heaven knows I could find good use for it too, John. How grieved he was!” ‘“ He grieved!” returned the other. “Why didn’t you observe that the tears were almost starting out of his eyes!” cried Pinch. “ Bless my soul,TOM PINCH’S GRATITUDE 47 John, is it nothing to see a man moved to that extent and know one’s self to be the cause! And did you hear him say that he could have shed his blood for me?” ‘“Do you want any blood shed for you?” returned his friend, with considerable irritation. ‘‘ Does he shed anything fer you that you do want? Does he shed employment for you, instruction for you, pocket-money for you? Does he shed even legs of mutton for you in any decent proportion to potatoes and garden stuff?” ‘I am afraid,” said Pinch, sighing again, “that I am a great eater: I can’t disguise from myself that ’m a great eater. Now, you know that, John.” ‘** You a great eater!” retorted his companion, with no less indignation than before. ‘‘ How do you know you are?” There appeared to be forcible matter in this inquiry, for Mr. Pinch only repeated in an under-tone that he had a strong misgiving on the subject, and that he greatly feared he was. ‘‘ Besides, whether I am or no,” he added, ‘‘ that has little or nothing to do with his thinking me ungrateful. John, there is scarcely a sin in the world that is in my eyes such a crying one as ingratitude: and when he taxes me with that, and believes me to be guilty of it, he makes me miserable and wretched.” ‘Do you think he don’t know that ?” returned the other scornfully. ‘‘ But come, Pinch, before I say anything more to you, just run over the reasons you have for being grateful to him at all, will you? change hands first, for the box is heavy. That'll do. Now, go on.” ‘‘Tn the first place,” said Pinch, “he took me as his pupil for much less than he asked.” ‘‘ Well,” rejoined his friend, perfectly unmoved by this instance of generosity. ‘‘ What in the second place?” ‘‘What in the second place?” cried Pinch, in a sort of desperation, “why, everything in the second place. My poor old grandmother died happy to think that she had put me with such an excellent man. I have grown up in his house, I am in his confidence, I am his assistant, he allows me a salary: when his business improves, my pros- pects are to improve too. All this, and a great deal more, is in the second place. And in the very prologue and pre- face to the first place, John, you must consider this, which nobody knows better than I: that I was born for much4 a aa a OL a a ti ace ea a a a a eS 48 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT plainer and poorer things, that Iam not a good hand for his kind. of; business, and have no talent. for it, or indeed for anything else but odds and ends that are of no use or service to anybody.’ He said this with so much earnestness, and in a tone so full of feeling, that his companion instinctively changed his manner ashe sat down on the box (they had by this time reached the finger-post at the end of the lane); motioned him to sit down beside him; and laid his hand upon his shoulder. “T believe you are one of the best fellows in the world,” he said, “Tom Pinch.” ‘Not at all,’ rejoined Tom. ‘If you only knew Peck- sniff as well as I do, you might say it of him, indeed, and say it truly.” “T’ll say anything of him, you like,” returned the other, ‘and not another word to his disparagement.” “Tt’s for my sake, then ; not his, I am afraid,” said Pinch, shaking his head gravely. ‘For whose you please, Tom, so that it does please you. Oh! He’s a famous fellow! He never scraped and clawed into his pouch all your poor grandmother’s hard savings— she was a housekeeper, wasn’t she, Tom?” “Yes,” said Mr. Pinch, nursing one of his large knees, and nodding his head: “a gentleman’s housekeeper.” ‘‘ He never scraped and clawed into his pouch all her hard savings ; dazzling her with prospects of your happiness and advancement, which he knew (and no man better) never would be realised! He never speculated and traded on her pride in' you, and her having educated you, and on her desire that you at least should live to be a gentleman. Not he, Tom!” ‘“No,” said Tom, looking into his friend’s face, as if he were a little doubtful of his meaning; “ of course not.” “So I say,” returned the youth, “of course he never did. He didn’t take less than he had asked, because that less was all she had, and more than he expected: not he, Tom! He doesn’t keep you as his assistant because you are of any use to him; because your wonderful faith in his pretensions is of inestimable service in all his mean disputes ; because your honesty reflects honesty on him; because your wan- dering about this little place all your spare hours, reading in ancient books and foreign tongues, gets noised abroad, evenDEPRECIATIVE OF THE GOOD MAN 49 as far as Salisbury, making of him, Pecksniff the master, a man of learning and of vast importance. He gets no credit from you, Tom, not he.” “Why, of course he don’t,” said. Pinch, gazing at his friend with a more troubled aspect than before... “‘ Pecksniff get credit from me! Well!” “Don’t I say that it’s ridiculous,” rejoined the other, “even to think of such a thing ?” ‘Why, it’s madness,” said Tom. ‘“Madness!” returned young Westlock. ‘Certainly it’s madness. Who but a madman would suppose he cares to hear it said on Sundays, that the volunteer who plays the organ in the church, and practises on summer evenings in the dark, is Mr. Pecksniff’s young man, eh, Tom? Who but a madman would suppose it is the game of such a man as he, to have his name in everybody’s mouth, connected with the thousand useless odds and ends you do (and which, of course, he taught you), eh, Tom? Who but a madman would suppose you advertised him hereabouts, much cheaper and much better than a chalker on the walls could, eh, Yom? As well might one suppose that he doesn’t on all occasions pour out his whole heart and soul to you; that he doesn’t make you a very liberal and indeed rather an extra- vagant allowance ; or, to be more wild and monstrous still, if that be possible, as well might one suppose,” and here, at every word, he struck him lightly on the breast, “that Pecksniff traded in your nature, and that your nature was to be timid and distrustful of yourself, and trustful of all other men, but most of all, of him who least deserves it. There would be madness, Tom!” Mr. Pinch had listened to all this with looks of bewilder- ment, which seemed to be in part occasioned by the matter of his companion’s speech, and in part by his rapid and vehement manner. Now that he had come to a close, he drew a very long breath; and gazing wistfully in his face as if he were unable to settle in his own mind what expres- sion it wore, and were desirous to draw from it as good a clue to his real meaning as it was possible to obtain in the dark, was about to answer, when the sound of the mail guard’s horn came cheerily upon their ears, putting an im- mediate end to the conference: greatly as it seemed to the satisfaction of the younger man, who jumped up briskly, and gave his hand to his companion.Pee Te ree et eae — oS Fi tint cca Crete ne SD 50 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT “ Both hands, Tom. I shall write to you from London, mind ! ” “Yes,” said Pinch. “Yes. Do, please. Good-bye. Good- bye. I can hardly believe you're going. It seems, now, but yesterday that you came. Good-bye! my dear old fellow !” John Westlock returned his parting words with no less heartiness of manner, and sprung up to his seat upon the roof. Off went the mail at a canter down the dark road : the lamps gleaming brightly, and the horn awakening all the echoes, far and wide. “Go your ways,” said Pinch, apostrophising the coach : “TI can hardly persuade myself but you're alive, and are some great monster who visits this place at certain intervals, to bear my friends away into the world. You’re more exult- ing and rampant than usual to-night, [think : and you may well crow over your prize ; for he is a fine lad, an ingenuous lad. and has but one fault that I know of: he don’t mean it, but he is most cruelly unjust to Pecksniff !”CHAPTER III IN WHICH CERTAIN OTHER PERSONS ARE INTRODUCED ; ON THE SAME TERMS AS IN THE LAST CHAPTER Mention has been already made more than once, of a certain Dragon who swung and creaked complainingly before the village ale-house door. A faded and an ancient dragon he was ; and many a wintry storm of rain, snow, sleet, and hail. had changed his colour from a gaudy blue to a faint lack- lustre shade of grey. But there he hung; rearing, in a state of monstrous imbecility, on his hind legs ; waxing, with every month that passed, so much more dim and Shapeless, that as you gazed at him on one side of the sign-board it seemed as if he must be gradually melting through it, and coming out upon the other. He was a courteous and considerate dragon, too; or had been in his distincter days ; for in the midst of his rampant feebleness, he kept one of his fore paws near his nose, as though he would say, ‘“ Don’t mind me—it’s only my fun ;” while he held out the other in polite and hospitable entreaty. Indeed it must be conceded to the whole brood of dragons of modern times, that they have made a great advance in civilisa- tion and refinement. Theyno longer demand a beautiful virgin for breakfast every morning, with as much regularity as any tame single gentleman expects his hot roll, but rest content with the society of idle bachelors and roving married men: and they are now remarkable rather for holding aloof from the softer sex and discouraging their visits (especially on Saturday nights), than for rudely insisting on their company without any reference to their inclinations, as they are known to have done in days of yore. Nor is this tribute to the reclaimed animals in question so wide a digression into the realms of Natural History as it may, at first sight, appear to be: for the present business of these pages is with the dragon who had his retreat in Mr. Pecksniff’s neighbourhood, and that courteous animalSaat eS ee ee eee ee ae 52 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT being already on the carpet, there is nothing in the way of its immediate transaction. For many years, then, he had swung and creaked, and flapped himself about, before the two windows of the best bedroom in that house of entertainment to which he lent his name: but never in all his swinging, creaking, and flapping, had there been such a stir within its dingy precincts, as on the evening next after that upon which the incidents, detailed in the last chapter, occurred ; when there was such a hurrying up and.down stairs of feet, such a glancing of lights, such a whispering of voices, such a smoking and sputtering of wood newly lighted in a damp chimney, such an airing of linen, such a scorching smell of hot warming-pans, such a domestic bustle and to-do, in short, as never dragon, griffin, unicorn, or other animal of that species presided over, since they first began to interest themselves in household affairs. An old gentleman and a young lady, travelling, unattended, in a rusty old chariot with post-horses ; coming nobody knew whence, and going nobody knew whither ; had turned out of the high road, and driven unexpectedly to the Blue Dragon : and here was the old gentleman, who had taken this step by reason of his sudden illness in the carriage, suffering the most horrible cramps and spasms, yet protesting and vowing in the very midst of his pain, that he wouldn’t have a doctor sent for. and wouldn’t take any remedies but those which the young lady administered from a small medicine-chest, and wouldn’t, in a word, do anything but territy the landlady out of her five wits, and obstinately refuse compliance with every suggestion that was made to him. Of all the five hundred proposals for his relief which the eood woman poured out in less than half-an-hour, he would entertain but one. That was, that he should go tobed. And it was in the preparation of his bed, and the arrangement of his chamber, that all the stir was made in the room behind the Dragon. He was, beyond all question, very ill, and suffered exceed- ingly: not the less, perhaps, because he was a strong and vigorous old man, with a will of iron, and a voice of: brass. But neither the apprehensions which he plainly entertained, at times, for his life, nor thegreat pain he underwent, influenced his resolution in the least degree. He would have no person sent for. The. worse he grew, the more rigid and inflexible he became in his determination. If they sent for any personTRAVELLERS. AT THE BLUE’ DRAGON 53 to attend him, man, woman, or child, he would leave the house directly (so he told them), though he quitted it on foot, and died upon the threshold of the door. Now, there being no medical practitioner actually resident in the village, but a poor apothecary who was also a grocer and general dealer, the landlady had, upon her own responsi- bility, sent for him, in the very first burst and outset of the disaster. Of course it followed, as a necessary result of his being wanted, that he was not at home. He had gone some miles away, and was not expected home until late at night ; so the landlady, being by this time pretty well beside hev- self, dispatched the same messenger in all haste for Mr. Pecksniff, as a learned man who could bear a deal of respon- sibility, and a moral man who could administer a world of eomfort to a troubled mind. That her guest had need of some efficient services under the latter head was obvious enough from the restless expressions, importing, however, rather a worldly than a spiritual anxiety, to which he gave frequent utterance. From this last-mentioned secret errand, the messenger returned with no better news than from the first; Mr. Pecksniff was not at home. However, they got the patient into bed without him; and in the course ef two hours, he gradually became so far better that there were much longer intervals than at first between his terms of suffering. By degrees, he ceased to suffer at all: though his exhaustion was occasionally so great that it suggested hardly less alarm than his actual endurance had done. It was in one of his intervals of repose, when, looking round with great caution, and reaching uneasily out of his nest of pillows, he endeavoured, with a strange air of secrecy and distrust,to make use of the writing materials which he had ordered to be placed on a table beside him, that the young lady and the mistress of the Blue Dragon found themselves sitting side by side before the fire in the sick chamber. The mistress of the Blue Dragon was in outward appear- ance just what a landlady should be: broad, buxom, com- fortable, and good-looking, with a face of elear red and white, which, by its jovial aspect, at once bore testimony to her hearty participation in the good things of the larder and cellar, and to their thriving and healthful influences. She was a widow, but years ago had passed through her state of weeds, and burst into flower again; and in full bloom sheee tee RT Rt Cea ee Tae on oo ts is ‘ - 54 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT had continued ever since; and in full bloom she was now ; with roses on her ample skirts, and roses on her bodice, roses in her cap, roses in her cheeks, —aye, and roses, worth the gathering too, on her lips, for that matter. She had still a bright black eye, and jet black hair; was comely, dimpled, plump, and tight as a gooseberry ; and though she was not exactly what the world calls young, you may make an affidavit, on trust, before any mayor or magistrate in Christendom, that there are a great many young ladies in the world (blessings on them, one and all!) whom you wouldn’t like half as well, or admire half as much, as the beaming hostess of the Blue Dragon. As this fair matron sat beside the fire, she glanced occasionally, with all the pride of ownership, about the room; which was a large apartment, such as one may see in country places, with a low roof and a sunken flooring, all down-hill from the door, and a descent of two steps on the inside so exquisitely unexpected, that strangers, despite the nost elaborate cautioning, usually dived in head first, as into a plunging-bath. It was none of your frivolous and preposterously bright bedrooms, where nobody can close an eye with any kind of propriety or decent regard to the association of ideas; but it was a good, dull, leaden, drowsy place, where every article of furniture reminded you that you came there to sleep, and that you were expected to go to sleep. There was no wakeful reflection of the fire there, as in your modern chambers, which upon the darkest nights have a watchful consciousness of French polish; the old Spanish mahogany winked at it now and then, as a dozing cat or dog might, nothing more. The very size and shape, and hopeless immovability of the bedstead, and wardrobe, and in a minor degree of even the chairs and tables, pro- voked sleep; they were plainly apoplectic and disposed to snore. There were no staring portraits to remonstrate with you for being lazy ; no round-eyed birds upon the curtains, disgustingly wide awake, and insufferably prying. The thick neutral hangings, and the dark blinds, and the heavy heap of bed-clothes, were all designed to hold in sleep, and act as non-conductors to the day and getting up. Even the old stuffed fox upon the top of the wardrebe was devoid of any spark of vigilance, for his glass eye had fallen out, and he slumbered as he stood. The wandering attention of the mistress of the BlueONE OF THE TRAVELLERS 55 Dragon roved to these things but twice or thrice, and then for but an instant at a time. It soon deserted them, and even the distant bed with its strange burden, for the young creature immediately before her, who, with her downcast eyes intently fixed upon the fire, sat wrapped in silent meditation. She was very young ; apparently no more than seventeen : timid and shrinking in her manner, and yet with a greater share of self-possession and control over her emotions than usually belongs to a far more advanced period of female life. This she had abundantly shown, but now, in her tending of the sick gentleman. She was short in stature; and her figure was slight, as became her years; but all the charms of youth and maidenhood set it off, and clustered on her gentle brow. Her face was very pale, in part no doubt from recent agitation. Her dark brown hair, disordered from the same cause, had fallen negligently from its bonds, and hung upon her neck: for which instance of its waywardness no male observer would have had the heart to blame it. Her attire was that of a lady, but extremely plain; and in her manner, even when she sat as still as she did then, there was an indefinable something which appeared to be in kindred with her scrupulously unpretending dress. She had sat, at first looking anxiously towards the bed; but seeing that the patient remained quiet, and was busy with his writing, she had softly moved her chair into its present place: partly, as it seemed, from an instinctive consciousness that he desired to avoid observation: and partly that she might, unseen by him, give some vent to the natural feelings she had hitherto suppressed. Of all this, and much more, the rosy landlady of the Blue Dragon took as accurate note and observation as only woman can take of woman. And at length she said, in a voice too low, she knew, to reach the bed: ‘You have seen the gentleman in this way before, miss ? Is he used to these attacks?” ‘I have seen him very ill before, but not so ill as he has been to-night.” ‘What a Providence!” said the landlady of the Dragon, ‘that you had the prescriptions and the medicines with you, miss !” “They are intended for such an emergency. We never travel without them.”atari onde aR a ala eal . ne Bea } Ps § ‘i 56 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT “Oh!” thought the hostess, “then we are in the habit of travelling, and of travelling together.” She was so conscious of expressing this in her face, that meeting the young lady’s eyes immediately afterwards, and being a very honest hostess, she was rather confused. “The gentleman—your grandpapa ”—she resumed, after a short pause, “ being so bent on having no assistance, must terrify you. very much, miss ? ss “T have been very much alarmed to-night. He—he is not my grandfather.” ‘‘ Father, I should have said,” returned the hostess, sensible of having made an awkward mistake. ‘Nor my father,” said the young lady. “Nor,” she added, slightly smiling with a quick perception of what the landlady was going to add, “Nor my uncle. We are not related.” “Oh dear me!” returned the landlady, still more embar- rassed than before: “how could I be so very much mistaken ; knowing, as anybody in their proper senses might, that when a gentleman is ill, he looks so muelh older than he really is? That I should have called you‘ Miss,’ too, Ma’am!” But when she had proceeded thus far, she glanced involuntarily at the third finger of the young lady’s lett hand, and faltered again: for there was no ring upon it. “When I told you we were not related,” said the other mildly, but not without confusion on her own part, ‘‘ I meant not in any way. Not even by marriage. Did you call me, Martin ?” “Call you?” cried the old man, looking quickly up, and hurriedly drawing beneath the coverlet the paper on which he had been writing. ‘ No.” She had moved a pace or two towards the bed, but stopped immediately, and went no farther. ‘No,” he repeated, with a petulant emphasis. “Why do you ask me? If I had called you, what need for such a question ? ” ‘ “Tt was the creaking of the sign outside, sir, I dare say,” observed the landlady: a suggestion by the way (as she felt a moment after she had made it), not at all complimentary to the voice of the old gentleman. ‘ ‘No matter what, ma’am,” he rejoined: “it wasn’t I. Why how you stand there, Mary, as if I had the plague ! But they’re all afraid of me,” he added, leaning helplesslyMARTIN CHUZZLEWIT SUSPECTS THE LANDLADY WITHOUT ANY REASONata ee ade eee ; H f | Hi i 5 ; ¥ H iy i ; t iASTONISHMENT OF MRS. LUPIN 59 backward on his pillow; “even she!. There isa curse upon me. What else have I to look for?” ‘Oh dear, no. Oh no, I’m sure,” said the good-tempered landlady, rising; and going towards: him. “Be of better cheer, sir. These are only sick fancies,” “What are only sick fancies?” he retorted. “What do you know about fancies? Who told you about fancies ? The old story! Fancies!” ‘Only see again there, how you take one up!” said the mistress of the Blue Dragon, with unimpaired good humour. ‘ Dear heart alive, there is no harm in the word. sir. if it is an old one. Folks in good health have their fancies, too, and strange ones, every day.” Harmless as this speech appeared to be, it acted on the traveller’s distrust, like oil on fire. He raised his head up in the bed, and, fixing on her two dark eyes whose brightness Was exaggerated by the paleness of his hollow cheeks, as they in turn, together with his straggling locks of long grey hair, were rendered whiter by the tight black velvet skull-cap which he wore, he searched her face intently. “Ah! you begin too soon,” he said, in so low a voice that he seemed to be thinking it, rather than addressing her. sut you lose no time. You do your errand, and you earn your fee. Now, who may be your client ?” The landlady looked in great astonishment at her whom he called Mary, and finding no rejoinder in the drooping face, looked back again at him. At first she had recoiled involuntarily, supposing him disordered in his mind: but the slow composure of his manner, and the settled purpose announced in his strong features, and gathering, most of all, about his puckered mouth, forbade the supposition. “Come,” he said, “tell me who is it? Being here, it is not very hard for me to guess, you may suppose.” ‘* Martin,” interposed the young lady, laying her hand upon his arm; “reflect how short a time we have been in this house, and that even your name is unknown here.” “ Unless,” he said, “you—” He was evidently tempted to express a suspicion of her having broken his confidence in favour of the landlady, but either remembering her tender nursing, or being moved in some sort by her face, he checked himself, and changing his uneasy posture in the bed, was silent. “There!” said Mrs. Lupin: for in that name the Blue Dragon was licensed to furnish entertainment, both to manx “al a A arte ee ee eae ewan c a ~ 2 ess pemmauagyt, sarees —_ ON ee eo cet ete aed ee ene en RES Serene amrangoet 60 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT and beast. ‘‘ Now, you will be well again, sir. You forgot, for the moment, that there were none but friends here.” “Oh!” eried the old man, moaning impatiently, as he tossed one restless arm upon the coverlet ; “why do you talk to me of friends! Can you or anybody teach me to know who are my friends, and who my enemies ?” “At least,” urged Mrs. Lupin, gently, “this young lady is your friend, I am sure.” “She has no temptation to be otherwise,” cried the old man, like one whose hope and confidence were utterly exhausted. ‘I suppose she is. Heaven knows. There: let me try to sleep. Leave the candle where it is.” As they retired from the bed. he drew forth the writing which had occupied him so long, and holding it in the flame of the taper burnt it to ashes. That done, he extinguished the light, and turning his face away with a heavy sigh, drew the coverlet about his head, and lay quite still. This destruction of the paper, both as being strangely inconsistent with the labour he had devoted to it and as involving considerable danger of fire to the Dragon, occa- sioned Mrs. Lupin not a little consternation. But the young lady evincing no surprise, curiosity, or alarm, whispered her, with many thanks for her solicitude and company, that she would remain there some time longer; and that she begged her not to share her watch, as she was well used to being alone, and would pass the time in reading. Mrs. Lupin had her full share and dividend of that large capital of curiosity which is inherited by her sex, and at another time it might have been difficult so to impress this hint upon her as to induce her to take it. But now, in sheer wonder and amazement at these mysteries, she with- drew at once, and repairing straightway to her own little parlour below stairs, sat down in her easy-chair with un- natural composure. At this very crisis, a step was heard in the entry, and Mr. Pecksniff, looking sweetly over the half-door of the bar, and into the vista of snug privacy beyond, murmured : 2 “ Good evening, Mrs. Lupin!” ‘Oh dear me, sir!” she cried, advancing to receive him, “T am go very glad you have come.” “And I am very glad I haye come,” said Mr. Pecksniff, ‘sf T ean be of service. I am very glad I have come. What is the matter, Mrs. Lupin?”THE GOOD MAN ARRIVES 61 ‘A gentleman taken ill upon the road, has been so very bad up-stairs, sir,” said the tearful hostess. * A gentleman taken ill upon the road, has been so very bad up-stairs, has he?” repeated Mr. Pecksniff. ** Well, well!” Now there was nothing that one may call decidedly original in this remark, nor can it be exactly said to have contained any wise precept theretofore unknown to mankind, or to have opened any hidden source of consolation: but Mr. Pecksniff’s manner was so bland, and he nodded his head so soothingly, and showed in everything such an affable sense of his own excellence, that any body would have been, as Mrs. Lupin was, comforted by the mere voice and _pre- sence of such a man; and, though he had merely said “a verb must agree with its nominative case in number and person, my good friend,” or * eight times eight are sixty-four, my worthy soul,” must have felt deeply grateful to him for his humanity and wisdom. * And how,” asked Mr. Pecksniff, drawing off his gloves and warming his hands before the fire, as benevolently as if they were somebody else’s, not his: “‘and how is he now ?” * He is better, and quite tranquil,” answered Mrs, Lupin. ‘He is better, and quite tranquil,” said Mr. Pecksniff. “Very well! ve-ry well!” Here again, though the statement was Mrs. Lupin’s and not Mr. Pecksniff's, Mr. Pecksniff made it his own and consoled her with it. It was not much when Mrs. Lupin said it, but it was a whole book when Mr. Pecksniff said it. I observe,” he seemed to say, “and through me, morality in general remarks, that he is better and quite tranquil.” “There must be weighty matters on his mind, though,” said the hostess, shaking her head, “for he talks, sir, in the strangest way you ever heard. He is far from easy in his thoughts, and wants some proper advice from those whose goodness makes it worth his having.” * Then,” said Mr. Pecksniff, “he is the sort of customer for me.” But though he said this in the plainest language, he didn’t speak a word. He only shook his head: disparagingly of himself too. “J am afraid, sir,” continued the landlady, first looking round to assure herself that there was nobody within hearing, and then looking down upon the floor. ‘I am very muchEE Te een ee eer ee aS ; cae ee ant gee are Oe eee eee eee ee i vale 62 MARTIN ~CHUZZLEWIT afraid, sir, that his conscience 1s troubled by his not being related to—or—or even married to—a very young lady—” “Mrs. Lupin!” said Mr. Pecksniff, holding up his hand with something in his manner. as nearly approaching to severity, as any expression of his, mild being that he was, could ever do. ‘‘ Person! Young person ?” “A very young person,” said Mrs. Lupin, curtseying and blushing: ‘‘—I beg your pardon, sir, but I have been so hurried to-night, that I don’t know what I say—who is with him now.” ‘Who is with him now,” ruminated Mr. Pecksniif, warm- yack (as he had warmed his hands) as if it were ing his | or an enemy’s back, or a widow’s back, or an orphan’s back, a back that any less excellent man would have suffered to be cold: ‘Oh dear me, dear me!” “At the same time I am bound to say, and I do say with all my heart,” observed the hostess, earnestly, “that her looks and manner almost disarm suspicion.” “Your suspicion, Mrs. Lupin,” said Mr. Pecksniff gravely, ‘is very natural.” Touching which remark, let it be written down to thei’ confusion, that the enemies of this worthy man unblushingly maintained that he always said of what was very bad, that it was very natural; and that he unconsciously betrayed his own nature in doing so. “Your suspicion, Mrs. Lupin,” he repeated, “is very natural, and [:have no doubt correct. I will wait upon these travellers.” With that he took off his great-coat, and having run his fingers through his hair, thrust one hand gently in the bosom of his waistcoat and meekly signed to her to lead the way. duie “Shall I knock?” asked Mrs. Lupin, when they reached the chamber door. “No,” said Mr. Pecksniff, “enter if you please.” They went in on tiptoe: or rather the hostess took that precaution, for Mr. Pecksniff always walked softly. The old gentleman was still asleep, and his young companion. still sat reading by the fire. “T am afraid,” said Mr. Pecksniff, pausing at the door, and giving his head a melancholy roll, “I am afraid that this looks artful. I am afraid, Mrs. Lupin, do you know, that. this looks very. artful 1”MR. PECKSNIFF’S SYMPATHY 63 As he finished this whisper, he advanced before the hostess ; and at the same time the young lady, hearing foot- steps, rose. My. Pecksniff glanced at the volume she held, and whispered Mrs. Lupin again: if possible, with increased despondency. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, “it is a good book. I was fearful of that beforehand. Iam apprehensive that this is a very deep thing indeed !” * What gentleman is this?” inquired the object of his virtuous doubts. ‘Hush! don’t trouble yourself, ma’am,” said Mr, Peck- sniff, as the landlady was about to answer. “This young” —ain spite of himself he hesitated when ‘ person’ rose to his lips, and substituted another word: “this young stranger, Mrs. Lupin, will excuse me for replying briefly, that I reside in this village ; it may be in an influential manner, however undeserved ; and that I have been summoned here by you. I am here, as I am everywhere, I hope, in sympathy for the sick and sorry.” With these impressive words, Mr. Pecksniff passed over to the bedside, where, after patting the counterpane once or twice in a very solemn manner, as if by that means he gained a clear insight into the patient’s disorder, he took his seat in a large arm-chair, and in an attitude of some thoughtfulness and much comfort, waited for his waking. Whatever objec- tion the young lady urged to Mrs. Lupin went no further, for nothing more was said to Mr. Pecksniff, and Mr. Peck- sniff said nothing more to anybody else. Full half-an-hour elapsed before the old man stirred, but at length he turned himself in bed, and, though not yet awake, gave tokens that his sleep was drawing to an end. By little and little he removed the bed-clothes from about his head, and turned still more towards the side where Mr. Peck- sniff sat. In course of time his eyes opened; and he lay for a few moments as people newly roused sometimes will, gazing indolently at his visitor, without any distinct con- sciousness of his presence, There was nothing remarkable in these proceedings, except the influence they worked on Mr. Pecksniff, which could hardly have been surpassed by the most marvellous of natural phenomena. Gradually his hands became tightly clasped upon the elbows of the chair, his eyes dilated with surprise, his mouth opened, his hair stood more erect upon his foreheadmy a eet eed eR ee ee Tae we an 0 et 64 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT than its custom was, until, at length, when the old man rose in bed, and stared at him with scarcely less emotion than he showed himself, the Pecksniff doubts were all resolved, and he exclaimed aloud : “You are Martin Chuzzlewit !” His consternation of surprise was so genuine, that the old man, with all the disposition that he clearly entertained to believe it assumed, was convinced of its reality. “Tam Martin Chuzzlewit,” he said, bitterly: ‘‘and Martin Chuzzlewit wishes you had been hanged, before you had come here to disturb him in his sleep. Why, I dreamed of this fellow!” he said, lying down again, and turning away his face, “before I knew that he was near me!” “My good cousin—” said Mr. Pecksniff. “There! His very first words!” cried the old man, shaking his grey head to and fro upon the pillow, and throwing up his hands. “In his very first words he asserts his relationship! I knew he would: they all do it! Near or distant, blood or water, it’s all one. Ugh! What a calendar of deceit, and lying, and false-witnessing, the sound of any word of kindred opens before me !” “Pray do not be hasty, Mr. Chuzzlewit,” said Pecksniff, in a tone that was at once in the sublimest degree com- yassionate and dispassionate; for he had by this time recovered from his surprise, and was in full possession of his virtuous self. “You will regret being hasty, I know you will.” ‘You know!” said Martin, contemptuously. “Yes.” retorted Mr. Pecksniff. “Aye, aye, Mr. Chuzzlewit : and don’t imagine that I mean to court or flatter you: for nothing is further from my intention. Neither, sir, need you entertain the least misgiving that I shall repeat that obnoxious word which has given you so much offence already. Why should I? What do I expect or want from you? There is nothing in your possession that J know of, Mr. Chuzzlewit, which is much to be coveted for the happiness it brings you.” ‘That’s true enough,” muttered the old man. “Apart from that consideration,” said Mr. Pecksniff, watchful of the effect he made, ‘it must be plain to you (I am sure) by this time, that if I had wished to insinuate myself into your good opinion, I should have been, of all things, careful not to address you as a relative: knowingINGENUOUS HONESTY 65 your humour, and being quite certain beforehand that I could not have a worse letter of recommendation.” Martin made not any verbal answer; but he as clearly implied, though only by a motion of his legs beneath the bed-clothes, that there was reason in this, and that he could not dispute it, as if he had said as much in good set terms. * No,” said Mr. Pecksniff, keeping his hand in his waist- coat as though he were ready, on the shortest notice, to produce his heart for Martin Chuzzlewit’s inspection, “I came here to offer my services to a stranger. I make no offer of them to you, because I know you would distrust me if I did. But lying on that bed, sir, I regard you as a stranger, and I have just that amount of interest in you which I hope I should feel in any stranger, cireumstanced as youare. Beyond that, I am quite as indifferent to you, Mr. Chuzzlewit, as you are to me.” Having said which, Mr. Pecksniff threw himself back in the easy-chair: so radiant with ingenuous honesty, that Mrs. Lupin almost wondered not to see a_ stained-glass Glory, such as the Saint wore in the church, shining about his head. A long pause succeeded. The old man, with increased restlessness, changed his posture several times. Mrs. Lupin and the young lady gazed in silence at the counterpane. Mr. Pecksniff toyed abstractedly with his eye-glass, and kept his eyes shut, that he might ruminate the better. “Eh?” he said at last: opening them suddenly, and looking towards the bed. ‘I beg your pardon. I thought you spoke. Mrs. Lupin,” he continued, slowly rising. ‘I am not aware that I can be of any service to you here. The gentleman is better, and you are as good a nurse as he can have. Eh?” This last note of interrogation bore reference to another change of posture on the old man’s part, which brought his face towards Mr. Pecksniff for the first time since he had turned away from him. “If you desire to speak to me before I go, sir,” continued that gentleman, after another pause, ‘‘ you may command my leisure; but I must stipulate, in justice to myself, that you do so as to a stranger: strictly as to a stranger.” Now if Mr. Pecksniff knew, from anything Martin Chuzzle- wit had expressed in gestures, that he wanted to speak to x, 6rt al NE ae ae RN Ra i Ue eal anced ee eres ) ’ ne eee eee nT eT OT 66 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT him, he could only have found it out on some such principle as prevails in melodramas, and in virtue of which the elderly farmer with the comic son always knows what the dumb girl means when she takes refuge in his garden, and relates her personal memoirs in incomprehensible pantomime. But without stopping to make any inquiry on this point, Martin Chuzzlewit signed to his young companion to withdraw, which she immediately did, along with the landlady: leaving him and Mr. Pecksniff alone together. For some time they looked at each other in silence; or rather the old man looked at Mr. Pecksniff, and Mr. Pecksniff, again closing his eves on all outward objects, took an inward survey of his own breast. That it amply repaid him for his trouble, and afforded a delicious and enchanting prospect, was clear from the expression of his face. ‘You wish me to speak to you as to a total stranger,” said the old man, ‘‘ do you?” Mr. Pecksniff replied, by a shrug of his shoulders and an apparent turning-round of his eyes in their sockets before he opened them, that he was still reduced to the necessity of entertaining that desire. ‘‘You shall be gratified,” said Martin. ‘Sir, I am a rich man. Not so rich as some suppose, perhaps, but yet wealthy. I am not a miser, sir, though even that charge is made against me, as I hear, and currently believed. I have no pleasure in hoarding. I have no pleasure in the possession of money. The deyil that we call by that name can give me nothing but unhappiness.” It would be no description of Mr. Pecksniff’s gventleness of manner to adopt the common parlance, and say that he looked at this moment as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. He rather looked as if any quantity of butter might have been made out of him, by churning the milk of human kindness, as it spouted upwards from his heart. ‘‘ For the same reason that I am not a hoarder of money,” said the old man, “ I am not lavish of it. Some people find their gratification in storing it up; and others theirs in parting with it; but I have no gratification connected with the thing. Pain and bitterness are the only goods it ever could procure for me. I hate it. It is a spectre walking before me through the world, and making every social pleasure hideous.” A thought arose in Mr. Pecksniff’s mind, which must haveCURSED WITH MONEY 67 instantly mounted to his face, or Martin Chuzzlewit would not have resumed as quickly and as sternly as he did : ‘You would advise me for my peace of mind, to get rid of this source of misery, and transfer it to some one who could bear it better. Even you, perhaps, would rid me of a burden under which I suffer so grievously. But, kind stranger,” said the old man, whose every feature darkened as he spoke, “good Christian stranger, that is a main part of my trouble. In other hands, I have known money do good: in other hands I have known it triumphed in, and boasted of with reason, as the master-key to all the brazen cates that close upon the paths to worldly honour, fortune, and enjoyment. ‘To what man or woman ; to what worthy, honest, incorruptible creature; shall I confide such a talisman, either now or when I die? Do you know any such person ? Your virtues are of course inestimable, but can you tell me of any other living creature who will bear the test of contact with myself? ‘Of contact with yourself, sir ?” echoed Mr. Pecksniff. “ Aye,” returned the old man, ‘the test of contact with me—with me. You have heard of him whose misery (the eratification of his own foolish wish) was, that he turned every thing he touched into gold. The curse of my existence, and the realisation of my own mad desire, is that by the golden standard which I bear about me, I am doomed to try the metal of all other men, and find it false and hollow.” Mr. Pecksniff shook his head, and said, ‘‘ You think so.” “Oh yes,” cried the old man, “I think so! and in your telling me ‘I think so,’ I recognise the true unworldly ring of your metal. I tell you, man,” he added, with increasing bitterness, “that I have gone, a rich man, among people of all grades and kinds; relatives, friends, and strangers ; among people in whom, when I was poor, I had confidence, and justly, for they never once deceived me then, or, to me, wronged each other. But I have never found one nature, no, not one, in which, being wealthy and alone, I was not forced to detect the latent corruption that lay hid within it, waiting for such as I to bring it forth. Treachery, deceit, and low design ; hatred of competitors, real or fancied, for my favour ; meanness, falsehood, baseness, and servility ; or,” and here he looked closely in his cousin’s eyes, “ or an assumption of honest independence, almost worse than all; these are the 93>eee a ” wi G : - y a a cer ze oe rene inate er aa ee ered 68 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT beauties which my wealth has brought to light. Brother against brother, child against parent, friends treading on the faces of friends, this is the social company by whom my way has been attended. ‘There are stories told—they may be true or false—of rich men who, in the garb of poverty, have found out virtue and rewarded it. They were dolts and idiots for their pains. They should have made the search in their own characters. They should have shown themselves fit objects to be robbed and preyed upon and plotted against and adulated by any knaves, who, but tor joy, would have spat upon their coffins when they died their dupes; and then their search would have ended as mine has done, and they would be what I am.” Mr. Pecksniff, not at all knowing what it might be best to sav in the momentary pause which ensued upon these remarks. made an elaborate demonstration of intending to deliver something very oracular indeed: trusting to the certainty of the old man interrupting him, before he should utter a word. Nor was he mistaken, for Martin Chuzzlewit having taken breath, went on to say : ‘Hear me to an end; judge what profit you are like to gain from any repetition of this visit ; and leave me. I have so corrupted and changed the nature of all those who have ever attended on me, by breeding avaricious plots and hopes within them; I have engendered such domestic strife and discord, by tarrying even with members of my own family ; I have been such a lighted torch in peaceful homes, kindling up all the inflammable gases and vapours in their moral atmosphere, which, but for me, might have proved harmless to the end; that I have, I may say, fled from all who knew me, and taking refuge in secret places have lived, of late, the life of one who is hunted. The young girl whom you just now saw—what! your eye lightens when I talk of her! You hate her already, do you ?” ‘Upon my word, sir!” said Mr. Pecksniff, laying his hand upon his breast, and dropping his eyelids. “T forgot,” cried the old man, looking at him with a keenness which the other seemed to feel, although he did not raise his eyes so as to see it. ‘‘I ask your pardon. I forgot you were a stranger. For the moment you reminded me of one Pecksniff, a cousin of mine. As I was saying— the young girl whom you just now saw, is an orphan child, whom, with one steady purpose, J have bred and educated,MR. PECKSNIFF HAS A DUTY TO DISCHARGE 69 or, if you prefer the word, adopted. For a year or more she has been my constant companion, and she is my only one. I have taken, as she knows, a solemn oath never to leave her sixpence when I die, but while I live, I make her an annual allowance: not extravagant in its amount and yet not stinted. There is 2. compact between us that no term of affectionate cajolery shall ever be addressed by either to the other, but that she name: I her, by hers. shall call me always by my Christian She is bound to me in life by ties of interest, and losing by my death, and having no expec- tation disappointed, will mourn it, perhaps: though for that I care little. This is the only kind of friend I have or will have. Judge from such premises what a profitable hour you have spent in coming here, and leave me: to return no more.” With these words, the old man fell slowly back upon his pillow. Mr. Pecksniff as slowly rose, and, with a prefatory hem, began as follows: ‘Mr. Chuzzlewit.” “There. Go!” interposed the other. ‘“ Enough of this. I am weary of you.” ‘IT am sorry for that, sir,” rejoined Mr. Pecksniff, “ because I have a duty to discharge, from which, depend upon it, I shall not shrink. No, sir, I shall not shrink.” It is a lamentable fact, that as Mr. Pecksniff stood erect beside the bed, in all the dignity of Goodness, and addressed him thus, the old man cast an angry glance towards the candlestick, as if he were possessed by a strong inclination to launch it at his cousin’s head. 3ut he constrained him- self, and pointing with his finger to the door, informed him that his road lay there. “Thank you,” said Mr. Pecksniff, “I am aware of that ; Iam going. But before I go, I crave your leave to speak, and more than that, Mr. Chuzzlewit, I must and will—yes indeed, I repeat it, must and will—be heard. I am not surprised, sir, at anything you have told me to-night. It is natural, very natural, and the greater part of it was known to me before. I will not say,” continued Mr. Pecksniff, drawing out his pocket-handkerchief, and winking with both eyes at once, as it were, against his will, “I will not say that you are mistaken in me. While you are in your pre- sent mood I would not say so for the world. I almost wish, indeed. that I had a different nature, that I might repressea RTT a all cada " ae ee aaa ree ert 7O MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT even this slight confession of weakness : which I cannot disguise from you: which I feel is humiliating: but which you will have the goodness to excuse. We will say, if you please,” added Mr. Pecksniff, with great tenderness of man- ner, “that it arises from a cold in the head, or is attributable to snuff, or smelling-salts, or onions, or anything but the real cause.” Here he paused for an instant, and concealed his face behind his pocket-handkerchief. Then, smiling faintly, and holding the bed-furniture with one hand, he resumed : “But, Mr. Chuzzlewit, while I. am forgetful of myself, I owe it to myself, and to my character—aye, sir, and I have a character which is very dear to me, and will be the best inheritance of my two daughters—to tell you, on behalf of another, that your conduct is wrong, unnatural, indefensible, monstrous. And I tell you, sir,” said Mr. Pecksniff, tower- ing on tiptoe among the curtains, as if he were literally rising above all worldly considerations, and were fain to hold on tight, to keep himself from darting skyward like a rocket, “I tell you without fear or favour, that it will not do for you to be unmindful of your erandson, young Martin, who has the strongest natural claim upon you. It will not do, sir,’ repeated Mr. Pecksniff, shaking his head. ‘‘ You may think it will do, but it won't. You must provide for that young man; you shall provide for him; you will pro- vide for him. I believe,” said Mr. Pecksniff, glancing at the pen-and-ink, “that in secret you have already done so. Bless you for doing so. Bless you for doing right, sir. Bless you for hating me. And good night!” So saying, Mr. Pecksniff waved his right hand with much solemnity; and once more inserting it in his waistcoat, departed. ‘There was emotion in his manner, but his step was firm. Subject to human weaknesses, he was upheld by conscience. Martin lay for some time, with an expression on his face of silent wonder, not unmixed with rage: at length he muttered in a whisper: | ‘What does this mean? Can the false-hearted boy have chosen such a tool as yonder fellow who has just sone out ? Why not! He has conspired against me, like the rest, and they are but birds of one feather. A new plot; a new plot! Oh self, self, self! At every turn nothing but self!” He fell to trifling, as he ceased to speak, with the ashes ofEVILS PRODUCED BY RICHES at the burnt paper in the candlestick. He did so, at first, in pure abstraction, but they presently became the subject of his thoughts. ‘Another will made and destroyed,” he said, “ nothing determined on, nothing done, and I might have died to- night! I plainly see to what foul uses all this money will be put at last,” he cried, almost writhing in the bed: ‘after filling me with cares and miseries all my life, it will per- petuate discord and bad passions when I am dead. So it always is. What lawsuits grow out of the graves of rich men, every day: sowing perjury, hatred, and lies among near kindred, where there should be nothing but love! Heaven help us, we have much to answer for! Oh self, self, self ! Every man for himself, and no creature for me!” Universal self! Was there nothing of its shadow in these reflections, and in the history of Martin Chuzzlewit, on his own showing ?a ee ee TT ee f CHAPTER IV FROM WHICH IT WILL APPEAR THAT IF UNION BE STRENGTH, AND FAMILY AFFECTION BE PLEASANT TO CONTEMPLATE, THE CHUZZLEWITS WERE THE STRONGEST AND MOST AGREEABLE FAMILY IN THE WORLD Treat worthy man Mr. Pecksniff having taken leave of his cousin in the solemn terms recited in the last chapter, with- drew to his own home, and remained there three whole days: not so much as going out for a walk beyond the boundaries of his own garden, lest he should be hastily summoned to the bedside of his penitent and remorseful relative, whom, in his ample benevolence, he had made up his mind to forgive unconditionally, and to love on any terms. But such was the obstinacy and such the bitter nature of that stern old man, that no repentant summons came; and the fourth day found Mr. Pecksniff apparently much farther from his Christian object than the first. During the whole of this interval, he haunted the Dragon at all times and seasons in the day and night, and, returning good for evil, evinced the deepest solicitude in the progress of the obdurate invalid; insomuch that Mrs. Lupin was fairly melted by his disinterested anxiety (for he often par- ticularly required her to take notice that he would do the same by any stranger or pauper in the like condition), and shed many tears of admiration and delight. Meantime, old Martin Chuzzlewit remained shut up in his own chamber, and saw no person but his young com- panion, saving the hostess of the Blue Dragon, who was, at certain times, admitted to his presence. So surely as she came into the room, however, Martin feigned to fall asleep. It was only when he and the young lady were alone, that he would utter a word, even in answer to the simplest in- quiry ; though Mr. Pecksniff could make out, by hard I'sten-A STRANGE GENTLEMAN 72 ing at the door, that they two being left together, he was talkative enough. It happened on the fourth evening, that Mr. Pecksniff walking, as usual, into the bar of the Dragon and finding no Mrs. Lupin there, went straight up-stairs ; purposing, in the fervour of his affectionate zeal, to apply his ear once more to the keyhole, and quiet his mind by assuring himself that the hard-hearted patient was going on well. It happened that Mr. Pecksniff, coming softly upon the dark passage into which a spiral ray of light usually darted through the same keyhole, was astonished to find no such ray visible; and it happened that Mr. Pecksniff, when he had felt his way to the chamber-door, stooping hurriedly down to ascertain by personal inspection whether the jealousy of the old man had caused this keyhole to be stopped on the inside, brought his head into such violent contact with another head, that he could not help uttering in an audible voice the monosyllable “Oh!” which was, as it were, sharply unscrewed and jerked out of him by very anguish. It happened then, and lastly, that Mr. Pecksniff found himself immediately collared by something which smelt like several damp umbrellas, a barrel of beer, a cask of warm brandy-and-water, and a small parlour-full of stale tobacco smoke, mixed ; and was straight- way led down-stairs into the bar from which he had lately come, where he found himself standing opposite to, and in the grasp of, a perfectly strange gentleman of still stranger appearance, who, with his disengaged hand, rubbed his own head very hard, and looked at him, Pecksniff, with an eyil countenance. The gentleman was of that order of appearance which is currently termed shabby-genteel, though in respect of his dress he can hardly be said to have been in any extremities, as his fingers were a long way out of his gloves, and the soles of his feet were at an inconvenient distance from the upper leather of his boots. His nether garments were of a bluish grey—violent in its colours once, but sobered now by age and dinginess—and were so stretched and strained in a tough conflict between his braces and his straps, that they appeared every moment in danger of flying asunder at the knees. His coat, in colour blue and of a military cut, was buttoned and frogged up to his chin. His cravat was, in hue and pattern, like one of those mantles which hair- dressers are accustomed to wrap about their clients, during a C3Neen en nee nn ne es 74 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT the progress of the professional mysteries. His hat had arrived at such a pass that it would have been hard to deter- mine whether it was originally white or black. But he wyore a moustache—a shaggy moustache too: nothing in the meek and merciful way, but quite in the fierce and scornful stylé: the regular Satanic sort of thing—and he wore, besides, a vast quantity of unbrushed hair. He was very dirty and very jaunty; very bold and very mean; very swaggering and very slinking ; very much like a man who might have been something better, and unspeakably like a man who deserved to be something worse. ‘You were eaves-dropping at that door, you vagabond!” said this gentleman. Mr. Pecksniff cast him off, as Saint George might have re- pudiated the Dragon in that animal’s last moments, and said: “Where is Mrs. Lupin, I wonder! can the good woman possibly be aware that there is a person here who— “Stay!” said the gentleman. ‘‘ Wait a bit. She does know. What then?” ‘What then, sir?” cried Mr. Pecksniff. ‘ What then ? Do you know, sir, that I am the friend and relative of that sick gentleman? That I am his protector, his guardian, his—’ ‘Not his niece’s husband,” interposed the stranger, ‘“ I'll be sworn ; for he was there before you.” “What do you mean?” said Mr. Pecksniff, with indig- nant surprise. ‘‘ What do you tell me, sir?” ‘Waitabit!” cried the other. ‘ Perhaps you are a cousin —the cousin who lives in this place ?” ‘*T am the cousin who lives in this place,” replied the man of worth. ‘Your name is Pecksniff?” said the gentleman. © its.” ‘*T am proud to know you, and I ask your pardon,” said the gentleman, touching his hat, and subsequently diving behind his cravat for a shirt-collar, which however he did not succeed in bringing to the surface. ‘* You behold in me, sur, one who has also an interest in that gentleman up-stairs. Wait a bit.” P As he said this, he touched the tip of his high nose, by way of intimation that he would let Mr. Pecksniff into a secret presently ; and pulling off his hat, began to search inside the crown among a mass of crumpled documents andMR. SLYMES CREDENTIALS 75 small pieces of what may be called the bark of broken cigars: whence he presently selected the cover of an old letter, begrimed with dirt and redolent of tobacco. “Read that,” he cried, giving it to Mr. Pecksniff. “This is addressed to Chevy Slyme, Esquire,” said that gentleman. * You know Chevy Slyme, Esquire, I believe?” returned the stranger. Mr. Pecksniff shrugged his shoulders as though he would say “I know there is such a person, and I am sorry tor it.” ‘*Very good,” remarked the gentleman. “That is my interest and business here.” With that he made another dive for his shirt-collar, and brought up a string. ‘Now this is very distressing, my friend,” said Mr. Peck- sniff, shaking his head and smiling composedly. * It is very distressing to me, to be compelled to say that you are not the person you claim to be. I know Mr. Slyme, my friend: this will not do: honesty is the best policy : you had better not ; you had indeed.” “Stop!” eried the gentleman, stretching forth his right arm, Which was so tightly wedged into his threadbare sleeve that it looked like a cloth sausage. ‘‘ Wait a bit!” He paused to establish himself immediately in front of the fire, with his back towards it. Then gathering the skirts of his coat under his left arm, and smoothing his moustache with his right thumb and forefinger, he resumed : ‘“T understand your mistake, and I am not ‘offended. Why? Because it’s complimentary. You suppose I would set myself up for Chevy Slyme. Sir, if there is a man on earth whom a gentleman would feel proud and honoured to be mistaken for, that man is my friend Slyme. For he is, without an exception, the highest-minded, the most in- dependent-spirited, most original, spiritual, classical, talented, the most thoroughly Shakspearian, if not Miltonic, and at the same time the most disgustingly-unappreciated dog I know. But, sir, I have not the vanity to attempt to pass for Slyme. Any other man in the wide world, I am equal to; but Slyme is, I frankly confess, a great many cuts above me. Therefore you are wrong.” “I judged from this,” said Mr. Pecksniff, holding out the cover of the letter. “No doubt you did,” returned the gentleman. “ But, Mr. Pecksniff, the whole thing resolves itself into an instance ofRRR EY a naa Pn eee eneraes eee ee ee ei i oe : 5 76 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT the peculiarities of genius. Every man of true genius has his peculiarity. Sir, “the peculiarity of my friend Slyme is, that he is always waiting round the corner. He is per- petually round the corner, sir. He is round the corner at this instant. Now,” said the gentleman, sh: aking his fore- finger before his nose, and planting his legs wider apart as he looked attentively in Mr. Pecksniff’s face, ‘ ‘that is a re markably curious and interesting trait in Mr. Slyme’s character: and whenever Slyme’s life — s to be written, that trait must be thoroughly worked out by his biographer, or society will not be satisfied. Observe me, society will not be satisfied ! ” Mr. Pecksniff coughed. ‘Slyme’s biographer, sir, whoever he may be,” resumed the gentleman, “‘ must apply to me ; or, if I am gone to that what’s-his-name from whic h no thingumbob comes back, he must apply to my executors for leave to search among my papers. I hi ive taken a few notes in my poor way, of some of that man’s proce edings—my adopte d brother, sir,—which would amaze you. He made use of an expression, sir, only on the fifteenth of last month when he couldn’t meet a little bill and the other party wouldn’t renew, which would have done honour to Napoleon Bonaparte in addressing the Fre nch army.” And pray,” asked Mr. Pec ksniff, obviously not quite at his ease, “what may be Mr. Slyme’s business here, if I may be permitted to inquire, who am compe led by a regard for my own character to disavow all interest in his proceedings?’ “In the first place,” returned the gentleman, “you will permit me to say, that I object to that remark, and that I strongly and indignantly protest against it on behalf of my friend Slyme. In the next place, you will give me leave to introduce myself. My name, sir, is Tigg. The name of Montague Tige will perhaps be familiar to you, in connexion with the most remarkable events of the Peninsular War?” Mr. Pecksniff gently shook his head. ‘No matter,” said the gentleman. ‘‘That man was my father, and I bear his name. JI am consequently proud— proud as Lucifer. Excuse me one moment. I desire my friend Slyme to be present at the remainder of this con- ference.” With this announcement he hurried away to the outer door of the Blue Dragon, and almost immediately returnedFRAILTIES OF GREAT MEN 77 with a companion shorter than himself, who was wrapped in an old blue camlet cloak with a lining of faded scarlet. His sharp features being much pinched and nipped by long waiting in the cold, and his straggling red whiskers and frowzy hair being more than usually dishevelled from the same cause, he certainly looked rather unwholesome and uncomfortable than Shakspearian or Miltonie. “ Now,” said Mr. Tigg, clapping one hand on the shoulder of his prepossessing friend, and calling Mr. Pecksniff’s atten- tion to him with the other, “you two are related; and relations never did agree, and never will: which is a wise dispensation and an inevitable thing, or there would be none but family parties, and everybody in the world would bore everybody else to death. If you were on gcood terms, I should consider you a most confoundedly unnatural pair ; but standing towards each other as you do, I look upon you as a couple of devilish deep-thoughted fellows, who may be reasoned with to any extent.” Here Mr. Chevy Slyme, whose great abilities seemed one and all to point towards the sneaking quarter of the moral compass, nudged his friend stealthily with his elbow, and whispered in his ear. ‘“Chiy.” said Mr. Tigg aloud, in the high tone of one who was not to be tampered with. “I shall come to that presently. I act upon my own responsibility, or not at all. To the extent of such a trifling loan as a crownpiece to aman of your talents, I look upon Mr. Pecksniff as certain:” and seeing at this juncture that the expression of Mr. Pecksnift’s face by no means betokened that he shared this certainty, Mr. Tigg laid his finger on his nose again for that gentle- man’s private and especial behoof: calling upon him thereby to take notice, that the requisition of small loans was another instance of the peculiarities of genius as developed in his friend Slyme ; that he, Tigg, winked at the same, because of the strong metaphysical interest which these weaknesses possessed; and that in reference to his own personal ad- vocacy of such small advances, he merely consulted the humour of his friend, without the least regard to his own advantage or necessities. ‘‘Oh, Chiv, Chiv!” added Mr. Tigg, surveying his adopted brother with an air of profound contemplation after dis- missing this piece of pantomime. ‘“‘ You are, upon ny life, a strange instance of the little frailties that beset a mightyee ee eee ee ee ee , : ‘ aerate ao eae 78 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT mind. If there had never been a telescope in the world, I should have been quite certain from my observation of vou, Chiv, that there were spots on the sun! I wish I may die. if this isn’t the queerest state of existence that we find ourselves forced into, without knowing why or wherefore, Mr. Pecksniff! Well, never mind! Moralise as we will, the world goes on. As Hamlet says, Hercules may lay about him with his club in every possible direction, but ne can’t prevent the cats from making a most intolerable row on the roofs of the houses, or the dogs from being shot in the hot weather if they run about the streets unmuzzled. Life’s a riddle: a most infernally hard riddle to guess, Mr. Pecksniff. My own opinion is, that like that celebrated conundrum, ‘Why’s a man in jail like a man out of jail?’ there’s no answer to it. Upon my soul and body, it’s the queerest sort of thing altogether—but there’s no use in talking about it. Ha! ha!” With which consolatory deduction from the gloomy premises recited, Mr. Tigg roused himself by a great effort, and proceeded in his former strain. “Now I'll tell you what it is. I’m a most confoundedly soft-hearted kind of fellow in my way, and I cannot stand by, and see you two blades cutting each other’s throats when there’s nothing to be got by it. Mr. Pecksniff, you’re the cousin of the testator up-stairs and we’re the nephew— I say we, meaning Chiy. Perhaps in all essential points, you are more nearly related to him than we are. Very good. Ifso,so be it. But you can’t get at him, neither can we. I give you my brightest word of honour, sir, that I’ve been looking through that keyhole, with short intervals of rest, ever since nine o’clock this morning, in expectation of receiving an answer to one of the most moderate and gentlemanly applications for a little temporary assistance— only fitteen pounds, and my security—that the mind of man can conceive. In the meantime, sir, he is perpetually closeted with, and pouring his whole confidence into the bosom of, a stranger. Now I say decisively, with regard to this state of circumstances, that it won’t do; that it won’t act; that it can’t be ; and that it must not be suffered to continue.” ‘Every man,” said Mr. Pecksniff, “has a right, an un- doubted right, (which I, for one, would not call in question for any earthly consideration: oh no!) to regulate his own proceedings by his own likings and dislikings, supposing theyA DIFFICULT QUESTION 79 are not immoral and not irreligious. I may feel in my own breast, that Mr. Chuzzlewit does not regard—me, for instance : say me—with exactly that amount of Christian love which should subsist between us; I may feel grieved and hurt at the circumstance ; still I may not rush to the conclusion that Mr. Chuzzlewit is wholly without a justification in all his coldnesses; Heaven forbid! Besides; how, Mr. Tigg,’ con- tinued Pecksniff even more gravely and impressively than he had spoken yet, “‘how could Mr. Chuzzlewit be prevented from having these peculiar and most extraordinary confidences ot which you speak ; the existence of which I must admit ; and which I cannot but deplore—for his sake? Consider, my good sir—” and here Mr. Pecksniff eyed him wistfully— ‘how very much at random you are talking.” “Why, as to that,” rejoined Tigg, ‘it certainly is a difficult question.” “Undoubtedly it is a difficult question,” Mr. Pecksniff answered. As he spoke he drew himself aloft, and seemed to grow more mindful, suddenly, of the moral gulf between himself and the creature he addressed. ‘‘ Undoubtedly it is a very difficult question. And I am far from feeling sure that it is a question any one is authorised to discuss. Good evening to you.” ‘You don’t know that the Spottletoes are here, I suppose?” said Mr. Tigg. ‘What do you mean, sir? what Spottletoes?” asked Pecksniff, stopping abruptly on his way to the door. “Mr. and Mrs. Spottletoe,” said Chevy Slyme, Esquire, speaking aloud for the first time, and speaking very sulkily: shambling with his legs the while. ‘‘ Spottletoe married my father’s brother’s child, didn’t he? And Mrs. Spottletoe is Chuzzlewit’s own niece, isn’t she? She was his favourite once. You may well ask what Spottletoes.” ‘Now, upon my sacred word!” cried Mr. Pecksniff, looking upwards. ‘‘ This is dreadful, The rapacity of these people is absolutely frightful!” “Tt’s not only the Spottletoes either, Tigg,” said Slyme, looking at that gentleman and speaking at Mr. Pecksniff. “ Anthony Chuzzlewit and his son have got wind of it, and have come down this afternoon. I saw’em not five minutes ago, when I was waiting round the corner.” : ‘‘Oh, Mammon, Mammon!” eried Mr. Pecksniff, smiting his forehead.eae he a en ea DET eC OTETE r e ee eee eee ad : "Ge, 80 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT “So there,” said Slyme, regardless of the interruption, ‘‘are his brother and another nephew for you, already.” “This is the whole thing, sir,” said Mr. Tigg; “this is the point and purpose at which I was gradually arriving, when my friend Slyme here, with six words, hit it full. Mr. Pecksniff, now that your cousin (and Chiv’s uncle) has turned up, some steps must be taken to prevent his disappearing again; and, if possible, to counteract the influence which is exercised over him now, by this designing favourite. Everybody who is interested feels it, sir. The whole family is pouring down to this place. The time has come when individual jealousies and interests must be forgotten for a time, sir, and union must be made against the common enemy. When the common enemy is routed, you will all set up for yourselves again ; every lady and gentleman who has a part in the game, will go in on their own account and bowl away, to the best of their ability, at the testator’s wicket ; and nobody will be in a worse position than before. Think of it. Don’t commit yourselfnow. You'll find us at the Half Moon and Seven Stars in this village, at any time, and open to any reasonable proposition. Hem! Chiy, my dear fellow, go out and see what sort of a night it is.” Mr. Slyme lost no time in disappearing, and, it is to be presumed, in going round the corner. Mr. Tigg, planting his legs as wide apart as he could be reasonably expected by the most sanguine man to keep them, shook his head at Mr. Pecksniff and smiled. “We must not be too hard,” he said, ‘upon the little eccentricities of our friend Slyme. You saw him whisper me?” Mr. Pecksniff had seen him. “You heard my answer, I think?” Mr. Pecksniff had heard it. ‘Five shillings, eh?” said Mr. Tigg, thoughtfully. ‘Ah! what an extraordinary fellow! Very moderate too!” Mr. Pecksniff made no answer. “Five shillings!” pursued Mr. Tigg, musing: “and to be punctually repaid next week; that’s the best of it. You heard that?” Mr. Pecksniff had not heard that. ‘No! You surprise me!” cried Tigg. ‘“ That’s the cream of the thing, sir. I never knew that man fail to redeem a promise, in my life. You’re not in want of change, are vou?” ssMR, TIGG TRIES TO NEGOTIATE A LOAN SI “No,” said Mr. Pecksniff, ‘thank you. Not at all.” “Just so,” returned Mr. Tigg. “If you had been, I’d have got it for you.” With that he began to whistle; but a dozen seconds had not elapsed when he stopped short, and, looking earnestly at Mr. Pecksniff, said : ‘‘Perhaps you’d rather not lend Slyme five shillings ?” ‘““T would much rather not,” Mr. Pecksniff rejoined. “FEgad!” cried Tigg, gravely nodding his head as if some eround of objection occurred to him at that moment for the first time, “it’s very possible you may be right. Would you entertain the same sort of objection to lending me five shillings, now?” “Yes, I couldn't do it, indeed,” said Mr. Pecksniff. ‘Not even half-a-crown, perhaps?” urged Mr. Tigg. ‘Not even half-a-crown.” ‘Why, then we come,” said Mr. Tigg, “to the ridiculously small amount of eighteenpence. Ha! ha!’ “And that,” said Mr. Pecksniff, “would be equally objectionable.” On receipt of this assurance, Mr. Tigg shook him heartily by both hands, protesting with much earnestness, that he was one of the most consistent and remarkable men he had ever met, and that he desired the honour of his better acquaintance. He moreover observed that there were many little characteristics about his friend Slyme, of which he could by no means, as a man of strict honour, approve ; but that he was prepared to forgive him all these slight draw- backs, and much more, in consideration of the great pleasure he himself had that day enjoyed in his social intercourse with Mr. Pecksniff, which had given him a far higher and more enduring delight than the successful negotiation of any small loan on the part of his friend could possibly have imparted. With which remarks he would beg leave, he said, to wish Mr. Pecksniff a very good evening. And so he took himself off: as little abashed by his recent failure as any gentleman would desire to be. The meditations of Mr. Pecksniff that evening at the bar of the Dragon, and that night in his own house, were very serious and graye indeed ; the more especially as the intelli- wence he had received from Messrs. Tigg and Slyme touching the arrival of other members of the family, were fully confirmed on more particular inquiry. For the Spottletoes had actually gone straight to the Dragon, where they were% aaa a ee ee cen RTS eT ea alae p ae ‘ 5 : ene ee 82 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT at that moment housed and mounting ouard, and where their appearance had occasioned such a vast sensation that Mrs. Lupin, scenting their errand before they had been under her roof half-an-hour, carried the news herself with all possible secrecy straight to Mr. Pecksniff’s house : indeed it was her great caution in doing so which occasioned her to miss that gentleman, who entered at the front door of the Dragon just as she emerged from the back one. More- over, Mr. Anthony Chuzzlewit and his son Jonas were economically quartered at the Half Moon and Seven Stars, which was an obscure ale-house; and by the very next coach there came posting to the scene of action, so many other affectionate members of the family (who quarrelled with each other, inside and out, all the way down, to the utter distraction of the coachman), that in less than four- and-twenty hours the scanty tavern accommodation was at a premium, and all the private lodgings in the place, amounting to full four beds and a sofa, rose cent. per cent. in the market. In a word, things came to that pass that nearly the whole family sat down before the Blue Dragon, and formally invested it: and Martin Chuzzlewit was in a state of siege. 3ut he resisted bravely; refusing to receive all letters, messages, and parcels; obstinately declining to treat with anybody ; and holding out no hope or promise of capitu- lation. Meantime the family forces were perpetually en- countering each other in divers parts of the neighbourhood : and, as no one branch of the Chuzzlewit tree had ever been known to agree with another within the memory of man, there was such a skirmishing, and flouting, and snapping off of heads, in the metaphorical sense of that expression ; such a bandying of words and calling of names ; such an upturning of noses and wrinkling of brows; such a formal interment of good feelings and violent resurrection of ancient grievances ; as had never been known in those quiet parts since the earliest record of their civilised existence, At length, in utter despair and hopelessness, some few of the belligerents began to speak to each other in only moderate terms of mutual aggravation; and nearly all addressed themselves with a show of tolerable decency to Mr. Pecksniff, in recognition of his high character and influential position. Thus by little and little they made common cause of Martin Chuzzlewit’s obduracy, until it was agreed (if such a word can be used in connexion with theA FAMILY COUNCIL AND CONFERENCE 83 Chuzzlewits) that there should be a general council and conference held at Mr. Pecksniff’s house upon a certain day at noon: which all members of the family who had brought themselves within reach of the summons, were forthwith bidden and invited, solemnly, to attend. If ever Mr. Pecksniff wore an apostolic look, he wore it on this memorable day. If ever his unruffled smile proclaimed the words, ‘‘ lam a messenger of peace!” that was its mission now. If ever man combined within himself all the mild qualities of the lamb with a considerable touch of the dove, and not a dash of the crocodile, or the least possible suggestion of the very mildest seasoning of the serpent, that man was he. And, oh, the two Miss Pecksniffs! Oh, the serene expression on the face of Charity, which seemed to say, “I know that all my family have injured me beyond the possibility of reparation, but I forgive them, for it is my duty so to do!” And, oh, the gay simplicity of Mercy: so charming, innocent, and infant-like, that if she had gone out walking by herself, and it had been a little earlier in the season, the robin-redbreasts might have covered her with leaves against her will, believing her to be one of the sweet children in the wood, come out of it, and issuing forth once more to look for blackberries in the young freshness of her heart! What words can paint the Pecksniffs in that trying hour? Oh, none: for words have naughty company among them, and the Pecksniffs were all goodness. But when the company arrived! That was the time. When Mr. Pecksniff, rising from his seat at the table’s head, with a daughter on either hand, received his guests in the best parlour and motioned them to chairs, with eyes so overflowing and countenance so damp with gracious perspira- tion, that he may be said to have been in a kind of moist meekness! And the company: the jealous, stony-hearted, distrustful company, who were all shut up in themselves, and had no faith in anybody, and wouldn’t believe anything, and would no more allow themselves to be softened or lulled asleep by the Pecksniffs than if they had been so many hedgehogs or porcupines ! First, there was Mr. Spottletoe, who was so bald and had such big whiskers, that he seemed to haye stopped his hair, by the sudden application of some powerful remedy, in the very act of falling off his head, and to have fastened it irrevocably on his face. Then there was Mrs. Spottletoe,4 LAAT TLE CL TI TONLE. 1, OTT SENET ANI ; ‘ : ae aT A ee ere n een een ne 84 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT who being much too slim for her years, and of a poetical constitution, was accustomed to inform her more intimate friends that the said whiskers were “the lodestar of her existence ;” and who could now, by reason of her strong affection for her uncle Chuzzlewit, and the shock it gave her to be suspected of testamentary designs upon him, do nothing but ery—except moan. Then there were Anthony Chuzzlewit, and his son Jonas: the face of the old man so sharpened by the wariness and cunning of his life, that it seemed to cut him a passage through the crowded room, as he edged away behind the remotest chairs ; while the son had so well profited by the precept and example of the father, that he looked a year or two the elder of the twain, as they stood winking their red_ eyes, side by side, and whispering to each other softly. ‘Then there was the widow of a deceased brother of Mr. Martin Chuzzlewit, who being almost supernaturally disagreeable, and having a dreary face and a bony figure and a masculine voice, was, in right of these qualities, what is commonly called a strong-minded woman: and who, if she could, would have established her claim to the title, and have shown herself, mentally speaking, a perfect Samson, by shutting up her brother-in-law in a private mad-house, until he proved his complete sanity by loving her very much. Beside her sat her spinster daughters, three in number, and of gentlemanly deportment, who had so mortified themselves with tight stays, that their tempers were reduced to something less than their waists, and sharp lacing was expressed in their very noses. Then there was a young gentleman, grand-nephew of Mr. Martin Chuzzlewit, very dark and very hairy, and apparently born for no particular purpose but to save looking-glasses the trouble of reflecting more than just the first idea and sketchy notion of a face, which had never been carried out. Then there was a Solitary female cousin who was remarkable for nothing but being very deaf, and living by herself, and always having the tooth-ache. Then there was George Chuzzlewit, a gay bachelor cousin, who claimed to be young but had been younger, and was inclined to corpulency, and rather over-fed himself: to that extent, indeed, that his eyes were strained in their sockets, as if with constant surprise; and he had such an obvious disposition to pimples, that the bright spots on his cravat, the rich pattern on his waistcoat, and even his glittering trinkets, seemed to have broken out upon him,INDIGNATION OF MR. SPOTTLETOE 85 and not to have come into existence comfortably. Last of all there were present Mr. Chevy Slyme and his friend Tige. And it is worthy of remark, that although each person present disliked the other, mainly because he or she did belong to the family, they one and all concurred in hating Mr. Tigg because he didn't. Such was the pleasant little family circle now assembled in Mr. Pecksniff’s best parlour, agreeably prepared to fall foul of Mr. Pecksniff or anybody else who might venture to say anything whatever upon any subject. “This,” said Mr. Pecksniff, rising and looking round upon them with folded hands, “does me good. It does my daughters good. We thank you for assembling here. We are grateful to you with our whole hearts. It is a blessed distinction that you have conferred upon us, and believe me:” it is impossible to conceive how he smiled here: “ we shall not easily forget it.” ‘I am sorry to interrupt you, Pecksniff,” remarked Mr. Spottletoe, with his whiskers in a very portentous state ; ‘but you are assuming too much to yourself, sir. Who do you imagine has it in contemplation to confer a distinction upon you, sir?” A general murmur echoed this inquiry, and applauded it. “Tf you are about to pursue the course with which you have begun, sir,” pursued Mr. Spottletoe in a great heat, and giving a violent rap on the table with his knuckles, “the sooner you desist, and this assembly separates, the better. I am no stranger, sir, to your preposterous desire to be regarded as the head of this family, but I can tell you, sir—” Oh yes, indeed! He tell. He! What? He was the head, was he? From the strong-minded woman downwards everybody fell, that instant, upon Mr. Spottletoe, who atter vainly attempting to be heard in silence was fain to sit down again, folding his arms and shaking his head most wrathfully, and giving Mrs. Spottletoe to understand in dumb show, that that scoundrel Pecksniff might go on for the present, but he would cut in presently, and annihilate him. ‘I am not sorry,” said Mr. Pecksniff in resumption of his address, “I am really not sorry that this little incident has happened. It is good to feel that we are met here without disguise. It is good to know that we have no reserve before each other, but are appearing freely in our own characters.”et ee a ee er eee 86 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT Here, the eldest daughter of the strong-minded woman rose a little way from her seat, and trembling violently from head to foot, more as it seemed with passion than timidity, expressed a general hope that some people would appear In their own characters, if it were only for such a proceeding having the attraction of novelty to recommend it: and that when they (meaning the some people before mentioned) talked about their relations, they would be careful to observe who was present in company at the time; otherwise it might come round to those relations’ ears, in a way they little expected ; and as to red noses (she observed) she had yet to learn that a red nose was any disgrace, inasmuch as people neither made nor coloured their own noses, but had that feature provided for them without being first consulted ; though even upon that’ branch of the subject she had great doubts whether certain noses were redder than other noses, or indeed half as red as some. This remark being received with a shrill titter by the two sisters of the speaker, Miss Charity Pecksniff begged with much politeness to be informed whether any of those very low observations were levelled at her: and receiving no more explanatory answer than was conveyed in the adage “Those the cap fits, let them wear it,” immediately commenced a somewhat acrimonious and personal retort, wherein she was much comforted and abetted by her sister Mercy, who laughed at the same with great heartiness: indeed far more naturally than life. And it being quite impossible that any difference of opinion can take place among women without every woman who is within hearing taking active part in it, the strong-minded lady and her two daughters, and Mrs. Spottletoe, and the deaf cousin (who was not at all disqualified from joining in the dispute by reason of being perfectly unacquainted with its merits), one and all plunged into the quarrel directly. The two Miss Pecksniffs being a pretty good match for the three Miss Chuzzlewits, and all five young ladies having, in the figurative language of the day, a great amount of steam to dispose of, the altercation would no doubt have been a long one but for the high valour and prowess of the strong-minded woman, who, in right of her reputation for powers of sarcasm, did so belabour and pummel Mrs. Spottletoe with taunting words that that poor lady, before the engagement was two minutes old, had no refuge but in tears. These she shed so plentifully, and so much to thePLEASANT LITTLE FAMILY PARTY AT MR. PECKSNIFF’SH i k | | 1 i § i i iMR. PECKSNIFF IN THE CHAIR 89 agitation and grief of Mr. Spottletoe, that that gentleman. after holding his clenched fist close to Mr. Pecksniff’s eves, as if it were some natural curiosity from the near inspection whereof he was likely to derive high gratification and im- provement, and after offering (for no particular reason that anybody could discover) to kick Mr. George Chuzzlewit for, and in consideration of, the trifling sum of sixpence, took his wife under his arm, and indignantly withdrew. This diversion, by distracting the attention of the combatants, put an end to the strife, which, after breaking out afresh some twice or thrice in certain inconsiderable spirts and dashes, died away in silence. [It was then that Mr. Pecksniff once more rose from his chair. It was then that the two Miss Pecksniffs composed themselves to look as if there were no such beings—not to say present, but in the whole compass of the world, as the three Miss Chuzzlewits: while the three Miss Chuzzlewits became equally unconscious of the existence of the two Miss Pecksniffs. ‘“‘Itis to be lamented,” said Mr. Pecksniff, with a forgiving recollection of Mr. Spottletoe’s fist, ‘that our friend should have withdrawn himself so very hastily, though we have cause for mutual congratulation even in that, since we are assured that he is not distrustful of us in regard to anything we may say or do while he is absent. Now that is very soothing, is it not?” ‘‘Pecksniff,” said Anthony, who had been watching the whole party with peculiar keenness from the first: ‘don’t you be a hypocrite.” ‘A what, my good sir?” demanded Mr. Pecksniff. ‘A hypocrite.” ‘Charity, my dear,” said Mr. Pecksniff, “‘ when I take my chamber candlestick to-night, remind me to be more than usually particular in praying for Mr. Anthony Chuzzlewit ; who has done me an injustice.” This was said in a very bland voice, and aside, as being addressed to his daughter’s private ear. With a cheerfulness of conscience, prompting almost a sprightly demeanour, he then resumed : “All our thoughts centring in our very dear but unkind relative, and he being as it were beyond our reach, we are met to-day, really as if we were a funeral party, except—a blessed exception—that there is no Body in the house.”er ee Pen ner ee : ro yi hs 12 eb dala cael at F go MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT The strong-minded lady was not at all sure that this was a blessed exception. Quite the contrary. = “Well, my dear madam !” said Mr. Pecksniff. “ Be that as it may. here we are; and being here, we are to consider whether it is possible by any justifiable means— ” 3 “Why, you know as well as I.” said the strong-minded lady, “that any means are justifiable in such a case, don’t you ?” ~ “Very good, my dear madam, very eood; whether it is possible by any means, we will say by any means, to open the eves of our valued relative to his present infatuation. Whether it is possible to make him acquainted by any means with the real character and purpose of that young female whose strange, whose very strange position, in reference to himself.” here Mr. Pecksniff sunk his voice to an impressive whisper, “really casts a shadow of disgrace and shame upon this family: and who, we know,” here he raised his voice again, ‘else why is she his companion ? harbours the very basest designs upon his weakness and his property.” In their strong feeling on this point, they, who agreed in nothing else, all concurred as one mind. Good Heaven, that she should harbour designs upon his property! ‘The strong-minded lady was for poison, her three daughters were for Bridewell and bread-and-water, the cousin with the tooth- ache advocated Botany Bay, the two Miss Pecksniffs suggested flogging. Nobody but Mr. Tigg, who, notwithstanding his extreme shabbiness, was still understood to be in some sort a lady’s man, in right of his upper lip and his frogs, indies ted a doubt of the justifiable nature of these measures; and he only ogled the three Miss Chuzzlewits with the least admix- ture of banter in his admiration, as though he would observe, “You are positively down upon her to too great an extent, my sweet creatures, upon my soul you are!” ‘‘ Now,” said Mr. Pecksniff, crossing his two fore-fingers in a manner which was at once conciliatory and argumentative : “T will not, upon the one hand, go so far as to say that she deserves all the inflictions which have been so very forably and hilariously suggested ;” one of his ornamental sentences ; ‘‘nor will I, upon the other, on any account compromise my common understanding as a man, by making the assertion that she does not. What I would observe is, that I think some practical means might be devised of inducing our respected, shall I say our revered— ?”SIRENS QI “No!” interposed the strong-minded woman in a loud voice. “Then I will not,” said Mr. Pecksniff. “You are quite right, my dear madam, and I appreciate and thank you for your discriminating objection—our respected relative to dis- pose himself to listen to the promptings of nature, and not to the- ‘Go on, pa!” cried Mercy. ‘“ Why, the truth is, my dear,” said Mr. Pecksniff, smiling upon his assembled kindred, “ that I am at a loss for a word. The name of those fabulous animals (pagan, I regret to say) who used to sing in the water, has quite escaped me.” Mr. George Chuzzlewit suggested ‘‘ Swans.” “No,” said Mr. Pecksniff. ‘‘Not swans. Very like swans, too. Thank you.” The nephew with the outline of a countenance, speaking for the first and last time on that occasion, propounded * Oysters.” “No,” said Mr. Pecksniff, with his own peculiar urbanity, “nor oysters. But by no means unlike oysters; a very excellent idea; thank you, my dear sir, very much. Wait! Sirens. Dear me! sirens, of course. I think, I say, that means might be devised of disposing our respected relative to listen to the promptings of nature, and not to the siren- like delusions of art. Now we must not lose sight of the fact that our esteemed friend has a grandson, to whom he was, until lately, very much attached, and whom I could have wished to see here to-day, for I have a real and deep regard for him. A fine young man: a very fine young man! I would submit to you, whether we might not remove Mr. Chuzzlewit’s distrust of us, and vindicate our own dis- interestedness by— ” “If Mr. George Chuzzlewit has anything to say to me,” interposed the strong-minded woman, sternly, “I beg him to speak out like a man; and not to look at me and my daughters as if he could eat us.” “ As to looking, I have heard it said, Mrs. Ned,” returned Mr. George, angrily, “that a cat is free to contemplate a monarch; and therefore I hope I have some right, having been born a member of this family, to look at a person who only came into it by marriage. As to eating, I beg to say, whatever bitterness your jealousies and disappointed ex- pectations may suggest to you, that I am not a cannibal, ma’am,”a ee ee ee é a Na a ne 92 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT ‘‘F don’t know that!” eried the strong-minded woman. “At all events, if I was a cannibal,” said Mr. George Chuzzlewit, greatly stimulated by this retort, “T think it would occur to me that a lady who had outlived three husbands, and suffered so very little from their loss, must be most uncommonly tough.” The strong minded woman immediate ny rose. ‘And I will further add,” said Mr. George, nodding his head violently at every second syllable ; ‘nat ming no names, and therefore hurting nobody but those whose consciences tell them they are alluded to, that I think it would be much more decent and becoming, if those who hooked and crooked themselves into this family by getting on the blind side of some of its members before marriage, and man- slaughtering them afterwards by crowing over them to that strong pitch that they were glad to die, would refrain from acting the part of vultures in regard to other members of this family who are living. I think it would be full as well, if not better, if those individuals would keep at home, con- tenting themselves with what they have got (luckily for them) already ; instead of hovering about, and thrusting their fingers into, a family pie, which they flavour much more than enough, I can tell them, when they are fifty miles away.” ‘‘T might have been prepared for this!” cried the strong- minded woman, looking about her with a disdainful smile as she moved towards the door, followed by her three daughters: ‘‘indeed I was fully prepared for it from the first. What else could I expect in such an atmosphere as this ! ” “Ton’t direct your half-pay-officer’s gaze at me, ma’am, if you please,” interposed Miss Charity; “for I won't bear it.” This was a smart stab at a pension enjoyed by the strong- minded woman, during her second widowhood and before her last coverture. It told immensely. ‘‘T passed from the memory of a grateful country, you very miserable minx,” said Mrs. Ned, “when I entered this family ; and I feel now, though I did not feel then, that it served me right, and that I lost my claim upon the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Lreland when I so degraded myself. Now, my dears, if you're begs ready, and have sufficiently improved yourselves by taking to heart theTHE BIRD FLOWN 93 genteel example of these two young ladies, I think we'll 20. Mr. Pecksniff, we are very much ob liged to you, really. We came to be entertained, and you have far surpassed our utmost expectations, in the amusement you have provided for us. Thank you. Good-bye! With such departing words, did this strong-minded female paralyse the Pecksniffian energies ; and so she sw ept out of the room, and out of the house, attended by her daughters, who, as with one accord, elevated their three noses in the air, and joined in a contemptuous titter. As they passed the parlour window on the outside, they were seen to counterfeit a perfect transport of delight among themselves ; and with this final blow and great discouragement for those within, they vanished. Before Mr. Pecksniff or any of his remaining visitors could offer a remark, another figure passed this window, coming, at a great rate, in the opposite direction: and immediately afterwards, Mr. Spottletoe burst into the cham- ber. Compared with his present state of heat, he had gone out a man of snow or ice. His head distilled such oil upon his whiskers, that they were rich and clogged with unctuous drops; his face was violently inflamed, his limbs trembled : and he gasped and strove for breath. “My good sir!” cried Mr. Pecksniff. * Oh yes!” returned the other: ‘Oh yes, certainly! Oh to be sure! Oh, of course! You hear him? You hear him ? all of you!” ‘What's the matter?” eried several voices. ‘Oh nothing!” cried Spottletoe, still gasping. ‘“ Nothing at all! It’s ofno consequence! Askhim! He'll tell you!” “I do not understand our friend,” said Mr. Pecksniff, looking about him in utter amazement. ‘I assure you that he is quite unintelligible to me.” ‘* Unintelligible, sir!” cried the other. ‘‘ Unintelligible! Do you mean to say, sir, that you don’t know what has happened! ‘That you haven’t decoyed us here, and laid a plot and a plan against us! Will you venture to say that you didn’t know Mr. Chuzzlewit was going, sir, and that you don’t know he’s gone, sir?” “Gone !” was the general cry. “Gone,” echoed Mr. Spottletoe. ‘“‘Gone while we were sitting here. Gone. Nobody knows where he’s gone. Oh, of course not! Nobody knew he was going. Oh, of course4 eT ait rt eee i ee Tala SS TIER ARR a 94 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT not! The landlady thought up to the very last moment that they were merely going for a ride; she had no other suspicion. Oh, of course not! She’s not this fellow’s creature. Oh, of course not!” Adding to these exclamations a kind of ironical howl, and gazing upon the company for one brief instant after- wards, in a sudden silence, the irritated gentleman started off again at the same tremendous pace, and was seen no more. It was in vain for Mr. Pecksniff to assure them that this new and opportune evasion of the family was at least as great a shock and surprise to him as to anybody else. Of all the bullyings and denunciations that were ever heaped on one unlucky head, none can ever have exceeded in energy and heartiness those with which he was complimented by each of his remaining relatives, singly, upon bidding him farewell. The moral position taken by Mr. Tigg was something quite tremendous; and the deaf cousin, who had the com plicated aggravation of seeing all the proceedings and hearing nothing but the catastrophe, actually scraped her shoes upon the scraper, and afterwards distributed impressions of them all over the top step, in token that she shook the dust from her feet before quitting that dissembling and perfidious mansion. Mr. Pecksniff had, in short, but one comfort, and that was the knowledge that all these his relations and friends had hated him to the very utmost extent before; and that he, for his part, had not distributed among them any more love than, with his ample capital in that respect, he could comfortably afford to part with. This view of his affairs yielded him great consolation ; and the fact deserves to be noted, as showing with what ease a good man may be con- soled under circumstances of failure and disappointment.CHAPTER V CONTAINING A FULL ACCOUNT OF THE INSTALLATION OF MR. PECKSNIFF’'S NEW PUPIL INTO THE BOSOM OF MR. PECKSNIFF’S FAMILY. WITH ALL THE FESTIVI- TIES HELD ON THAT OCCASION, AND THE GREAT ENJOYMENT OF MR, PINCH Tue best of architects and land surveyors kept a horse, in whom the enemies already mentioned more than once in these pages pretended to detect a fanciful resemblance to his master. Not in his outward person, for he was a raw- boned, haggard horse, always on a much shorter allowance of corn than Mr. Pecksniff; but in his moral character, wherein, said they, he was full of promise, but of no per- formance. He was always, in a manner, going to go, and never going. When at his slowest rate of travelling, he would sometimes lift up his legs so high, and display such mighty action, that it was difficult to believe he was doing less than fourteen miles an hour; and he was for ever so perfectly satisfied with his own speed, and so little discon- certed by opportunities of comparing himself with the fastest trotters, that the illusion was the more difficult of resistance. He was a kind of animal who infused into the breasts of strangers a lively sense of hope, and possessed all those who knew him better with a grim despair. In what respect, having these points of character, he might be fairly hkened to his master, that good man’s slanderers only can explain. But it is a melancholy truth, and a deplorable instance of the uncharitableness of the world, that they made the com- parison. In this horse, and the hooded vehicle, whatever its proper name might be, to which he was usually harnessed—it was more like a gig with a tumour, than anything else—all Mr. Pinch’s thoughts and wishes centred, one bright frosty morning: for with this gallant equipage he was about toen eR eet a - oe we sak ee eer ee et ae eT een ee ee SEs 96 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT drive to Salisbury alone, there to meet with the new pupil, and thence to bring him home in triumph. Blessings on thy simple heart, Tom Pinch, how proudly dost thou button up that scanty coat, called by a sad mis- nomer, for these many years, a ‘oreat” one; and how thoroughly, as with thy cheerful voice thou pleasantly ad- jurest Sam the hostler “not to let him go yet,” dost thou believe that quadruped desires to g0, and would go if he might! Who could repress a smile—of love for thee, Tom Pinch. and not in jest at thy expense, for thou art poor enough already, Heaven knows—to think that such a holiday as lies before thee, should awaken that quick flow and hurry of the spirits, in which thou settest down again, almost untasted, on the kitchen window-sill, that great white mug (put by, by thy own hands, last night, that breakfast might not hold thee late), and layest yonder crust upon the seat beside thee, to be eaten on the road, when thou art calmer in thy high rejoicing! Who, as thou drivest off, a happy man, and noddest with a grateful lovingness to Pecksniff in his nightcap at his chamber-window, would not cry: ‘‘Heaven speed thee, Tom, and send that thou wert going off for ever to some quiet home where thou mightst live at peace, and sorrow should not touch thee!” What better time for driving, riding, walking, moving through the air by any means, than a fresh, frosty morning, when hope runs cheerily through the veins with the brisk blood, and tingles in the frame from head to foot! This was the glad commencement of a bracing day in early winter, such as may put the languid summer season (speak- ing of it when it can’t be had) to the blush, and shame the spring for being sometimes cold by halves. The sheep-bells rang as clearly in the vigorous air, as if they felt its whole- some influence like living creatures; the trees, in lieu of leaves or blossoms, shed upon the ground a frosty rime that sparkled as it fell, and might have been the dust of diamonds. So it was to Tom. From cottage chimneys, smoke went streaming up high, high, as if the earth had lost its grossness, being so fair, and must not be oppressed by heavy vapour. The crust of ice on the else rippling brook was so transparent and so thin in texture, that the lively water might of its own free will have stopped—in Tom’s glad mind it had to look upon the lovely morning. And lest the sun should break this charm too eagerly, there moved between him andTOM PINCH'S GREETINGS 97 the ground, a mist like that which waits upon the moon on summer nights—the very same to Tom—and wooed him to dissolve it gently. Tom Pinch went on; not fast, but with a sense of rapid motion, which did just as well; and as he went, all kinds of things occurred to keep him happy. Thus when he came within sight of the turnpike, and was—Oh a long way off !- he saw the tollman’s wife, who had that moment checked a waggon, run back into the little house again like mad, to say (she knew) that Mr. Pinch was coming up. And she was right, fer when he drew within hail of the gate, forth rushed the tollman’s children, shrieking in tiny chorus, “Mr. Pinch !” to Tom’s intense delight. The very tollman, though an ugly chap in general, and one whom folks were rather shy of handling, came out himself to take the toll, and give him rough good morning: and that with all this, and a glimpse of the family breakfast on a little round table before the fire, the crust Tom Pinch had brought away with him acquired as rich a flavour as though it had been cut from a fairy loaf. li But there was more than this. It was not only the married people and the children who gave Tom Pinch a welcome as he passed. No, no. Sparkling eyes and snowy breasts came hurriedly to many an upper casement as he clattered by, and gave him back his greeting: not stinted either, but sevenfold, good measure. They were all merry. They all laughed. And some of the wickedest among them even kissed their hands as Tom looked back. For who minded poor Mr. Pinch? ‘There was no harm in him. And now the morning grew so fair, and all things were so wide awake and gay, that the sun seeming to say—T’om had no doubt he said—‘‘I can’t stand it any longer: I must have a look,” streamed out in radiant majesty. The mist, too shy and gentle for such lusty company, fled off, quite scared, before it ; and as it swept away, the hills and mounds and distant pasture lands, teeming with placid sheep and noisy crows, came out as bright as though they were unrolled bran new for the occasion. In compliment to which discovery, the brook stood still no longer, but ran briskly off to bear the tidings to the water-mill, three miles away. Myr. Pinch was jogging along, full of pleasant thoughts and cheerful influences, when he saw, upon the path before him, going in the same direction with himself, a traveller on foot, x. Di c RP rR RRR TEENIE a 0 ee : RANGA eee 98 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT and sang as he went: who walked with a light quick step, unmusically. He for certain in a very loud voice, but not was a young fellow, of some five or six-and-twenty perhaps, and was dressed in such a free and fly-away fashion, that the ° 7° . Sir. There sa little credit—not much—in being jolly, when such fellows as him is a-going about like roaring lions: if there is any breed of lions, at least, as is all roar and mane. What is there between him and Mrs. Lupin, sir? Why, there’s a score between him and Mrs. Lupin. And I thinkMARK TAPLEY AND MR. TIGG 143 Mrs. Lupin lets him and his friend off very easy in not charging ’em double prices for being a disgrace to the Dragon. That’s my opinion. I wouldn’t have any such Peter the Wild Boy as him in my house, sir, not if I was paid race-week prices for it. He’s enough to turn the very beer in the casks sour with his looks: heis! So he would, if it had judgment enough,” ‘You’re not answering my question, you know, Mark,” ybserved Mr. Pinch “Well, sir,” said Mark, “I don’t know as there’s much to answer further than that. Him and his friend goes and stops at the Moon and Stars till they’ve run a bill there; and then comes and stops with us and does the same. The running of bills is common enough, Mr. Pinch ; it an’t that as we object to; it’s the ways of this chap. Nothing's good enough for him; all the women is dying for him he thinks, and is over-paid if he winks at ’em; and all the men was made to be ordered about by him. This not ae aggra- vation enough, he says this morning to me, in his usual captivating way, ‘ We're going to-night, my man.’ ‘Are ae sir?’ says I. ‘Perhaps you'd like the bill got ready, sir?’ ‘Oh no, my man,’ he says; ‘you needn’t mind that. I'll give Pecksniff orders to see to that.’ In reply to which, the Dragon makes answer, ‘Thankee, sir, you're very kind to honour us so far, but as we don’t know any particular good of you, and you don’t tr avel with luggage, and Mr. Pecksniff an’t at home (which perhaps you mayn’t happen to be aware of, sir), we should prefer something more satisfactory ;” and that’s where the matter stands. ae I ask,” said Mr. Tapley, pointing, in conclusion, to Mr. Tigeg with his hat, * any lady or gentleman, re cninat strenoth of mind, to say whether he’s a disagreeable looking chap or not!” ‘Let me inquire,” said Martin, interposing between this candid speech and the delivery of some blighting anathema by Mr. Tog, ‘what the amount of this debt may be?” ‘In point of money, sir, very little,” answered Mark. “Only just turned of three pounds. But it an’t that; its the — oe ‘Yes, yes, you told us so before,” said Martin. + Pinch, a word with you.” ‘What is it?” asked Tom, retiring with him to a corner of the room.Ce eee eee ee ie k Se ana Sinan tees eae ann oc apiceienambialace in auliiiaie at tata Pear 144 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT “ Why, simply—I am ashamed to say—that this Mr. Slyme is a relation of mine, of whom I never heard anything pleasant ; and that I don’t want him here just now, and think he would be cheaply got rid of, perhaps, for three or four pounds. You haven't enough money to pay this bill, I suppose ? ” ’ Tom shook his head to an extent that left no doubt of his entire sincerity. “ That’s unfortunate, for I am poor too; and in case you had had it, ’d have borrowed it of you. But if we told this landlady we would see her paid, I suppose that would answer the same purpose ?” “Oh dear, ves!” said Tom. ‘She knows me, bless you !” ‘Then let us 20 down at once and tell her so; for the sooner we are rid of their company the better. As you have conducted the conversation with this gentleman hitherto, perhaps you'll tell him what we purpose doing; will you?” Mr. Pinch complying, at once imparted the intelligence to Mr. 'Tigg, who shook him warmly by the hand in return, assuring him that his faith in anything and everything was again restored. It was not so much, he said, for the temporary relief of this assistance that he prized it, as for its vindication of the high principle that Nature’s Nobs felt with Nature’s Nobs, and that true greatness of soul sympathised with true ereatness of soul, all the world over. It proved to him, he said. that like him they admired genius, even when it was coupled with the alloy occasionally visible in the metal of his friend Slyme; and on behalf of that friend, he thanked them; as warmly and heartily as if the cause were his own. Being cut short in these speeches by a general move towards the stairs, he took possession at the street-door of the lapel of Mr. Pinch’s coat, as a security against further interruption ; and entertained that gentleman with some highly improving discourse until they reached the Dragon, whither they were closely followed by Mark and the new pupil. ; The rosy hostess scarcely needed Mr. Pinch’s word as a preliminary to the release of her two visitors, of whom she was glad to be rid on any terms: indeed, their brief deten- tion had originated mainly with Mr. Tapley, who entertained a constitutional dislike to gentlemen out-at-elbows who flourished on false pretences ; and had conceived a particular aversion to Mr. Tigg and his friend, as choice specimens of the species. The business in hand thus easily settled, Mr.INTRODUCED TO MR. CHEVY SLYME T45 Pinch and Martin would have withdrawn immediately, but for the urgent entreaties of Mr. Tigg that they would allow him the honour of presenting them to his friend Slyme, which were so very difficult of resistance that, yielding partly to these persuasions and partly to their own curiosity, they suffered themselves to be ushered into the presence of that distinguished gentleman. He was brooding over the remains of yesterday’s decanter of brandy, and was engaged in the thoughtful occupation of making a chain of rings on the top of the table with the wet foot of his drinking-glass. Wretched and forlorn as he looked, Mr. Slyme had once been, in his way, the choicest of swaggerers: putting forth his pretensions, boldly, as a man of infinite taste and most undoubted promise. The stock-in-trade requisite to set up an amateur in this depart- ment of business is very slight, and easily got together; a trick of the nose and a curl of the lip sufficient to compound a tolerable sneer, being ample provision for any exigency. But, in an evil hour, this off-shoot of the Chuzzlewit trunk, being lazy, and ill qualified for any regular pursuit, and having dissipated such means as he ever possessed, had formally established himself as a professor of Taste for a livelihood ; and finding, too late, that something more than his old amount of qualifications was necessary to sustain him in this calling, had quickly fallen to his present level, where he retained nothing of his old self but his boastfulness and his bile, and seemed to have no existence separate or apart from his friend Tigg. And now so abject and so pitiful was he—at once so maudlin, insolent, beggarly, and proud—that even his friend and parasite, standing erect beside him, swelled into a Man by contrast. ‘Chiv,” said Mr. Tigg, clapping him on the back, ‘‘my friend Pecksniff not being at home, I have arranged our trifling piece of business with Mr. Pinch and friend. Mr. Pinch and friend, Mr. Chevy Slyme! Chiv, Mr. Pinch and friend !”’ “These are agreeable circumstances in which to be intro- duced to strangers,” said Chevy Slyme, turning his bloodshot eyes towards Tom Pinch. ‘I am the most miserable man in the world, I believe!” Tom begged he wouldn’t mention it; and finding him in this condition, retired, after an awkward pause, followed by Martin. But Mr. Tigg so urgently conjured them, by coughsnee ee Peer oa are enn ice ecaata a 146 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT and signs, to remain in the shadow of the door, that they stopped there. “T swear,” cried Mr. Slyme, giving the table an imbecile blow with his fist, and then feebly leaning his head upon his hand, while some drunken drops oozed from his eyes, “ that I am the wretchedest creature on record. Society is In a conspiracy against me. I’m the most literary man alive. [Tm full of scholarship ; I’m full of genius ; Pm full of informa- tion: I’m full of novel views on every subject ; yet look at my condition! I’m at this moment obliged to two strangers for a tavern bill!” Mr. Tigg replenished his friend’s glass, pressed it into his hand. and nodded an intimation to the visitors that they would see him in a better aspect immediately. ‘‘Obliged to two strangers for a tavern bill, eh!” repeated Mr. Slyme, after a sulky application to his glass. ‘* Very pretty! And crowds of impostors, the while, becoming famous: men who are no more on a level with me than—Tigg, I take you to witness that [ am the most persecuted hound on the face of the earth.” With a whine, not unlike the ery of the animal he named, in its lowest state of humiliation, he raised his olass to his mouth again. He found some encouragement in it ; for when he set it down he laughed scornfully. Upon that Mr. Tige gesticulated to the visitors once more, and with great expres- sion: implying that now the time was come when they would see Chiv in his greatness. “Ha, ha, ha,” laughed Mr. Slyme. “Obliged to two strangers for a tavern bill! Yet I think [ve a rich uncle, Tigg, who could buy up the uncles of fifty strangers! Have I. or have I not? I come of a good family, I believe! Do L or do I not? I’m nota man of common capacity or accom- plishments, I think! Am I, or am I not?” ‘“You are the American aloe of the human race, my dear Chiv,” said Mr. Tigg, “which only blooms once in a hundred years |” “Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Mr. Slyme again. ‘Obliged to two strangers for atavern bill! I! Obliged to two architect’s apprentices. Fellows who measure earth with iron chains, and build houses like bricklayers. Give me the names of those two apprentices. How dare they oblige me!” Mr. Tigg was quite lost in admiration of this noble trait in his friend’s character ; as he made known to Mr. Pinch inAN INDEPENDENT SPIRIT 147 a neat little ballet of action, spontaneously invented for the purpose. “Tl let °em know, and I'll let all men know,” cried Chevy Slyme, *‘that ’m none of the mean, grovelling, tame characters they meet with commonly. I have an independent spirit. I have a heart that swells in my bosom. I have a soul that rises superior to base considerations.” “Oh Chiv, Chiv,” murmured Mr. Tigg, “ you have a nobly independent nature, Chiv !” “You go and do your duty, sir,” said Mr. Slyme, angrily, “and borrow money for travelling expenses ; and whoever you borrow it of, let °em know that I possess a haughty spirit, and a proud spirit, and have infernally finely-touched chords in my nature, which won't brook patronage. Do you hear? Tell ’em I hate ’em, and that that’s the way I preserve my self-respect ; and tell ’em that no man ever respected himself more than I do!” He might have added that he hated two sorts of men; all those who did him favours, and all those who were better off than himself; as in either case their position was an insult to a man of his stupendous merits. But he did not; for with the apt closing words above recited, Mr. Slyme; of too haughty a stomach to work, to beg, to borrow, or to steal ; yet mean enough to be worked or borrowed, begged or stolen for, by any catspaw that would serve his turn; too insolent to lick the hand that fed him in his need, yet cur enough to bite and tear it in the dark; with these apt closing words Mr. Slyme fell forward with his head upon the table, and so declined into a sodden sleep. * Was there ever,” cried Mr. Tigg, joining the young men at the door, and shutting it carefully behind him, “such an independent spirit as is possessed by that extraordinary creature? Was there ever such a Roman as our friend Chiy ? Was there ever a man of such a purely classical turn of thought, and of such a toga-like simplicity of nature? Was there ever a man with such a flow of eloquence? Might he not, gents both, I ask, have sat upon a tripod in the ancient times, and prophesied to a perfectly unlimited extent, if previously supplied with gin-and-water at the public cost?” Mr. Pinch was about to contest this latter position with his usual mildness, when, observing that his companion had already gone down-stairs, he prepared to follow him. “You are not going, Mr. Pinch?” said Tige.a Soe ectareeryerreemmeen | a a eR oat te ner testcase IC CEC OOE LOLOL TS LGN A RA 148 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT “Thank you,” answered Tom. ‘Yes, Don’t come down.” “Do you know that I should like one little word in private with you, Mr. Pinch?” said Tigg, following him. “One minute of your company in the skittle-ground would very much relieve my mind. Might I beseech that favour ?” ‘¢Oh, certainly,” replied Tom, * if you really wish it.” So he accompanied Mr. Tigg to the retreat in question: on arriving at which place that centleman took from his hat what seemed to be the fossil remains of an antediluvian pocket- handkerchief, and wiped his eyes therewith. “You have not beheld me this day,” said Mr. Tigg, ‘in a favourable light.” “Don’t mention that,” said Tom, “I beg.” “But you have not,” eried Tigg. ‘‘I must persist in that opinion. If you could have seen me, Mr. Pinch, at the head of my regiment on the coast of Africa, charging in the form of a hollow square, with the women and children and the regimental plate-chest in the centre, you would not have known me forthe same man. You would have respected me, sir.” Tom had certain ideas of his own upon the subject of glory ; and consequently he was not quite so much excited by this picture as Mr. Tigg could have desired. ‘But no matter!” said that gentleman. “~ The school-boy writing home to his parents and describing the milk-and- water, said ‘This is indeed weakness.’ I repeat that assertion in reference to myself at the present moment: and I ask your pardon. Sir, you have seen my friend Slyme ?”’ “No doubt,” said Mr. Pinch. : “Sir, you have been impressed by my friend Slyme * y ‘Not very pleasantly, I must say,” answered Tom, after a little hesitation. “T am grieved but not surprised,” cried Mr. Tigg, detaining him with both hands, ‘‘to hear that you have come to that conclusion ; for it is my own. But, Mr. Pinch, though I am a rough and thoughtless man, I can honour Mind, | honour Mind in following my friend. ‘To you of all men, Mr. Pinch, I have a right to make appeal on Mind’s behalf, when it has not the art to push its fortune in the world. And so, sir not for myself, who have no claim upon you, but for my crushed, my sensitive and independent friend, who has—I ask the loan of three half-crowns. Iask you for the loan of three half-crowns, distinctly, and without a blush. I ask it, almostMR. TIGG NEGOTIATES A LOAN 149 as aright. And when I add that they will be returned by post, this week, I feel that you will blame me for that sordid stipulation.” Mr. Pinch took from his pocket an old-fashioned red-leather purse with a steel clasp, which had probably once belonged to his deceased grandmother. It held one half-sovereign and no more. All Tom’s worldly wealth until next quarter- day. “Stay !” cried Mr. Tigg, who had watched this proceeding keenly. ‘I was just about to say, that for the convenience of posting you had better make it gold. Thank you. A general direction, I suppose, to Mr. Pinch, at Mr. Pecksniff’s, will find you?” “That'll find me,” said Tom. “ You had better put Esquire to Mr. Pecksniff’s name, if you please. Direct to me, you know, at Seth Pecksniff’s, Esquire.” ‘* At Seth Pecksniff’s, Esquire,” repeated Mr. Tigg, taking an exact note of it with a stump of pencil. ‘“ We said this week, I believe ?’ “Yes: or Monday will do,” observed Tom. ‘‘No, no, I beg your pardon. Monday will not do,” said Mr. Tigg. ‘‘If we stipulated for this week, Saturday is the latest day. Did we stipulate for this week?” ‘Since you are so particular about it,” said ‘om, “I think we did.” Mr. Tigg added this condition to his memorandum ; read the entry over to himself with a severe frown; and that the transaction might be the more correct and business-like, ap- pended his initials to the whole. That done, he assured Mr. Pinch that everything was now perfectly regular ; and, after squeezing his hand with great fervour, departed. Tom entertained enough suspicion that Martin might pos- sibly turn this interview into a jest, to render him desirous to avoid the company of that young gentleman for the present. With this view he took a few turns up and down the skittle- eround, and did not re-enter the house until Mr. Tigg and his friend had quitted it, and the new pupil and Mark were watching their departure from one of the windows. “T was just a-saying, sir, that if one could live by it,” observed Mark, pointing after their late guests, * that would be the sort of service for me. Waiting on such individuals as them would be better than grave-digging, sir.” “And staying here would be better than either, Mark,”a eRe aa ote aelalel ial) eeeee oe § AR GERI N ERP T50 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT replied Tom. ‘So take my advice, and continue to swim easily in smooth water.” “Tis too late to take it now, sir,” said Mark. “ I have broke it to her, sir. I am off to-morrow morning.” “Off!” cried Mr. Pinch, ‘“‘ where to?” “T shall go up to London, sir.” ‘What to be?” asked Mr. Pinch. “Well! I don’t know yet, sir. Nothing turned up that day I opened my mind to you, as was at all likely to suit me. All them trades I thought of was a deal too jolly ; there was no credit at all to be got in any of ‘em. I must look for a private service, I suppose, sir. I might be brought out strong, perhaps, in a serious family, Mr. Pinch. 7 “Perhaps you might come out rather too strong for a serious family’s taste, Mark.” ‘“‘That’s possible, sir. If I could get intoa wicked family, I might do myself justice: but the difficulty is to make sure of one’s ground, because a young man can't very well advertise that he wants a place, and wages an’t so much an object as a wicked sitivation ; can he, sir?” ‘Why, no,” said Mr. Pinch, “I don’t think he can.” “An envious family,” pursued Mark, with a thoughtful face; “or a quarrelsome family, or a malicious family, or even a good out-and-out mean family, would open a field of action as I might do something in. ‘he man as would have suited me of all other men was that old gentleman as was took ill here, for he really was a trying customer. Howsever, | must wait and see what turns up, sir ; and hope for the worst.” “You are determined to go then?” said Mx. Pinch. “My box is gone already, sir, by the waggon, and I’m going to walk on to-morrow morning, and get a lift by the day coach when it overtakes me. So I wish you sood-bye, M r. Pinch—and you too, sir,—and all good luck and happiness !” They both returned his greeting laughingly, and walked home arm-in-arm ; Mr. Pinch imparting to his new friend, as they went, such further particulars of Mark Tapley’s whim- sical restlessness as the reader is already acquainted with. In the meantime Mark, having a shrewd notion that his mistress was in very low spirits, and that he could not exactly answer for the consequences of any lengthened téte-a-téte in the bar, kept himself obstinately out of her way all the after- noon and evening. In this piece of generalship he was very much assisted by the great influx of company into the tap-MARK TAPLEY AND MRS. LUPIN T5]1 room ; for the news of his intention having gone abroad, there was a perfect throng there all the evening, and much drinking of healths and clinking of mugs. At length the house was closed for the night ; and there being now no help for it, Mark put the best face he could upon the matter, and walked doggedly to the bar-door. “Tf I look at her,” said Mark to himself, “I’m done. I feel that I’m a-going fast.” ‘“You have come at last,” said Mrs, Lupin. Aye, Mark said: There he was. ‘‘And you are determined to leave us, Mark ?” cried Mrs. Lupin. “Why, yes; Lam,” said Mark ; keeping his eyes hard upon the floor. ‘‘T thought,” pursued the landlady, with a most engaging hesitation, “that you had been—fond—of the Dragon?” ‘So I am,” said Mark. ‘Then,” pursued the hostess: and it really was not an unnatural inquiry: “why do you desert it?” But as he gave no manner of answer to this question ; not even on its being repeated ; Mrs. Lupin put his money into his hand, and asked him—not unkindly, quite the contrary —what he would take? It is proverbial that there are certain things which flesh and blood cannot bear. Such a question as this, propounded in such a manner, at such a time, and by such a person, proved (at least, as far as Mark’s flesh and blood were con- cerned) to be one of them. He looked up in spite of himselt directly ; and having once looked up, there was no looking down again ; for of all the tight, plump, buxom, bright-eyed, dimple-faced Jandladies that ever shone on earth, there stood before him then, bodilyin that bar, the very pinkand pineapple. ‘Why, I tell you what,” said Mark, throwing off all his constraint in an instant, and seizing the hostess round the waist: at which she was not at all alarmed, for she knew what a good young man he was: “if I took what I liked most, I should take you. If I only thought what was best for me, I should take you. If I took what nineteen young fellows in twenty would be glad to take, and would take at any price, I should take you. Yes, I should,” cried Mr. Tapley, shaking his head expressively enough, and looking (in a momentary state of forgetfulness) rather hard at the hostess’s ripe lips. ‘And no man wouldn't wonder if I did!”6 i aie spe oem mern anny eS ROT TIE IIT LESTE ON 5/ | * 152 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT Mrs. Lupin said he amazed her. She was astonished how he could say such things. She had never thought it of him. ‘Why, I never thought it of myself till now!” said Mark, raising his eyebrows with a look of the merriest possible surprise. “ L always expected we should part, and never have no explanation: I meant to do it when I come in here just now; but there’s something about you, as makes a man sensible. Then let us have a word or two together: letting ‘t be understood beforehand,” he added this in a grave tone, to prevent the possibility of any mistake, “that Pm not a- going to make no love, you know.” There was for just one second a shade, though not by any means a dark one, on the landlady’s open brow. But it passed off instantly, in a laugh that came from her very heart. “Oh, very good!” she said; ‘if there is to be no love- making, you had better take your arm away.” “Lord, why should I!” cried Mark. ‘It’s quite innocent.” “Of course it’s innocent,” returned the hostess, “or I shouldn’t allow it.” “Very well!” said Mark. ‘Then let it be.” There was so much reason in this that the landlady laughed again, suffered it to remain, and bade him say what he had to say, and be quick about it. But he was an impudent fellow, she added. ‘Ha ha! I almost think I am!” cried Mark, “though | never thought so before. Why, I can say anything to-night !” “Say what you’re going to say if you please, and be quick,” returned the landlady, “ for I want to get to bed.” “Why, then, my dear good soul,” said Mark, “and a kinder woman than you are never drawed breath—let me see the man as says she did !—what would be the likely consequence of us two being- ‘‘Oh nonsense!” cried Mrs. Lupin. ‘Don’t talk about that any more.” ‘‘No, no, but it an’t nonsense,” said Mark; “and I wish you'd attend. . What would be the likely consequence of us two being married? If I can’t be content and comfortable in this here lively Dragon now, is it to be looked for as I should be then? By no means. Very good. Then you, even with your good humour, would be always on the fret and worrit, always uncomfortable in your own mind, always a-thinking as you was getting too old for my taste, always a-picturing me to yourself as being chained up to the DragonADIEU TO THE DRAGON rH 2 J door, and wanting to break away. I don’t know that it would be so,” said Mark, “ but I don’t know that it mightn’t be. I am a roving sort of chap, I know. I’m fond of change. I’m always a-thinking that with my good health and spirits it would be more creditable in me to be jolly where there’s things a-going on to make one dismal. It may be a mistake of mine, you see, but nothing short of trying how it acts will set it right. Then an’t it best that I should go: particular when your free way has helped me out to say all this, and we can part as good friends as we have ever been since first I entered this here noble Dragon, which,” said Mr. Tapley in conclusion, ‘“‘has my good word and my good wish to the day of my death !” The hostess sat quite silent for a little time, but she very soon put both her hands in Mark’s and shook them heartily. ‘For you are a good man,” she said ; looking into his face with a smile, which was rather serious for her. ‘‘ And I do believe have been a better friend to me to-night than eyer I have had in all my life.” “Oh! as to that, you know,” said Mark, “that’s nonsense. But love my heart alive!” he added, looking at her in a sort of rapture, “if you are that way disposed, what a lot of suitable husbands there is as you may drive distracted !” She laughed again at this compliment; and, once more shaking him by both hands, and bidding him, if he should ever want a friend, to remember her, turned gaily from the little bar and up the Dragon staircase. ‘Humming a tune as she goes,” said Mark, listening, ‘in case I should think she’s at all put out, and should be made down-hearted. Come, here’s some ‘credit in being jolly, at last 1” With that piece of comfort, very ruefully uttered, he went, in anything but a jolly manner, to bed. He rose early next morning, and was a-foot soon after sunrise. But it was of no use; the whole place was up to see Mark Tapley off: the boys, the dogs, the children, the old men, the busy people and the idlers: there they were, all calling out ‘‘Good-by’e, Mark,” after their own manner, and all sorry he was going. Somehow he had a kind of sense that his old mistress was peeping from her chamber-window, but he couldn’t make up his mind to look back. ‘““Good-by’e one, good-by’e all!” cried Mark, waving hisea teal ee eae % 7 L * EI caterer CGC IAC eee ee a nN ae 154 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT hat on the top of his walking-stick, as he strode at a quick pace up the little street. ‘Hearty chaps them wheelwrights ~-hurrah! Here’s the butcher’s dog a-coming out of the garden—down, old follow! And Mr. Pinch a-going to his organ—good-by’e, sir! And the terrier-bitch from over the way—hie, then, lass! And children enough to hand down human natur to the latest posterity -ood-by’e, boys and girls! There’s some credit in it now. I’m a-coming out strong at last. These are the circumstances that would try a ordinary mind; but I’m uncommon jolly. Not quite as jolly as I could wish to be, but very near. Good-by’e! good-by’e 7?MARK BEGINS TO BE JOLLY UNDER CREDITABLE CIRCUMSTANCESI te aan al ee ee ecard ee!CHAPTER VIII ACCOMPANIES .MR. PECKSNIFF AND ‘HIS CHARMING DAUGHTERS TO THE CITY OF-LONDON5 AND RELATES WHAT FELL OUT UPON THEIR WAY THITHER Wuen Mr. Pecksniff and the two young ladies got into the heavy coach at the end of the lane, they found it empty, which was a great comfort ; particularly as the outside was quite full and the passengers looked very frosty. For as Mr. Pecksniff justly observed—when he and his daughters had burrowed their feet deep in the straw, wrapped themselves to the chin, and pulled up both windows—it is always satis- factory to feel, in keen weather, that many other people are not as warm as youare. And this, he said, was quite natural, and a very beautiful arrangement ; not confined to coaches, but extending itself into many social ramifications. ‘ For” (he observed), ‘‘if every one were warm and well-fed, we should lose the satisfaction of admiring the fortitude with which certain conditions of men bear cold and hunger. And if we were no better off than anybody else, what would become of our sense of gratitude ; which,” said Mr. Pecksniff with tears in his eyes, as he shook his fist at a beggar who wanted to get up behind, “is one of the holiest feelings of our common nature.” His children heard with becoming reverence these moral precepts from the lips of their father, and signified their acquiescence in the same, by smiles. That he might the better feed and cherish that sacred flame of gratitude in his breast, Mr. Pecksniff remarked that he would trouble his eldest daughter, even in this early stage of their journey, for the brandy-bottle. And from the narrow neck of that stone vessel he imbibed a copious refreshment. “What are we?” said Mr. Pecksniff, ‘‘ but coaches? Some of us are slow coaches ”*— ‘Goodness, Pa!” cried Charity.ee creer miaiaam atacand rs alone Eee nae _Qur passions are the horses ; and rampant animals too !”— 158 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT “Some of us, I say,” resumed her parent with increased emphasis, “‘are slow coaches ; some of us are fast coaches. ‘Really, Pa!” cried both the daughters at once. ‘‘ How very unpleasant.” ‘And rampant animals too!” repeated Mr. Pecksniff with so much determination; that he may be said to have exhibited, at the moment, a sort of moral rampancy himself: “and Virtue is the drag. We start from The Mother’s Arms, and we run to The Dust Shovel.” When he had said this, Mr. Pecksniff, being exhausted, took some further refreshment. When he had done that, he corked the bottle tight, with the air of a man who had effectually corked the subject also; and went to sleep for three stages. The tendency of mankind when it falls asleep in coaches, is to wake up cross ; to find its legs in its way ; and its corns an aggravation. Mr. Pecksniff not being exempt from the common lot of humanity, found himself, at the end of his nap, so decidedly the victim of these infirmities, that he had an irresistible inclination to visit them upon his daughters ; which he had already begun to do in the shape of divers random kicks, and other unexpected motions of his shoes, when the coach stopped, and after a short delay the door was opened. ‘Now mind,” said a thin sharp voice in the dark. “I and my son go inside, because the roof is full, but you agree only to charge us outside prices. It’s quite understood that we won't pay more. Is it?” ‘All right, sir,” replied the guard. ‘Ts there anybody inside now ?” inquired the voice. ‘‘Three passengers,” returned the guard. ‘‘Then I ask the three passengers to witness this bargain, if they will be so good,” said the voice. ‘‘ My boy, I think we may safely get in,” In pursuance of which opinion, two people took their seats in the vehicle, which was solemnly licensed by Act of Parliament to carry any six persons who could be got in at the door. “That was lucky!” whispered the old man, when they moved on again. ‘“‘And a great stroke of policy in you to observe it. He, he, he! We couldn’t haye gone outside. I should have died of the rheumatism !”RELATIVES IN THE COACH 159 Whether it occurred to the dutiful son that he had in some degree over-reached himself by contributing to the prolongation of his father’s days; or whether the cold had affected his temper; is doubtful. But he gave his father such a nudge in reply, that that good old gentleman was taken with a cough which lasted for full five minutes with- out intermission, and goaded Mr. Pecksniff to that pitch of irritation, that he said at last: and very suddenly: “There is no room! There is really no room in this coach for any gentleman with a cold in his head!” “Mine,” said the old man, after a moment’s pause, ‘is upon my chest, Pecksniff.” The voice and manner, together, now that he spoke out ; the composure of the speaker; the presence of his son; and his knowledge of Mr. Pecksniff ; afforded a clue to his identity which it was impossible to mistake. ‘‘Hem! I thought,” said Mr. Pecksniff, returning to his usual mildness, ‘“‘that I addressed a stranger. I find that I address a relative. Mr. Anthony Chuzzlewit and his son Mr. Jonas—for they, my dear children, are our travelling com- panions—will excuse me for an apparently harsh remark, It is not my desire to wound the feelings of any person with whom I am connected in family bonds. I may be a Hypocrite,” said Mr. Pecksniff, cuttingly, ‘but I am not a Brute.” “Pooh, pooh!” said the old man. ‘“ What signifies that word, Pecksniff? Hypocrite! why, we are all hypocrites. We were all hypocrites t’other day. I am sure I felt that to be agreed upon among us, or I shouldn’t have called you one. We should not have been there at all, if we had not been hypocrites. The only difference between you and the rest was—shall I tell you the difference between you and the rest now, Pecksniff? ” “Tf you please, my good sir; if you please.” “Why, the annoying quality in you, is,” said the old man, “that you never have a confederate or partner in your juggling; you would deceive everybody, even those who practise the same art ; and have a way with you, as if you— he, he, he!—as if you really believed yourself. Td lay a handsome wager now,” said the old man, ‘‘if I laid wagers, which I don’t and never did, that you keep up appearances by a tacit understanding, even before your own daughters here. Now I, when I have a business scheme in hand, tella ET a a a lalaan aia eae a La ER ee nT Te ne arent mn 160 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT Jonas what it is, and we discuss it openly. You're not offended, Pecksniff?” ‘Offended, my good sir!” cried that gentleman, as if he had received the highest compliments that language could convey. “ Are you travelling to London, Mr. Pecksniff?” asked the son. “Yes, Mr. Jonas, we are travelling to London. We shall haye the pleasure of your company all the way, I trust?” “Oh! ecod, you had better ask father that,” said Jonas. “T am not a-going to commit myself.” Mr. Pecksniff was, as a matter of course, greatly enter- tained by this retort. His mirth having subsided, Mr. Jonas gave him to understand that himself and parent were in fact travelling to their home in the metropolis : and that, since the memorable day of the great family gathering, they had been tarrying in that part of the country, watching the sale of certain eligible investments, which they had had in their copartnership eye when they came down ; for it was their custom, Mr. Jonas said, whenever such a thing was prac- ticable, to kill two birds with one stone, and never to throw away sprats, but as bait for whales. When he had com- municated to Mr. Pecksniff these pithy scraps of intelligence, he said, “That if it was all the same to him, he would turn him over to father, and have a chat with the gals;” and in furtherance of this polite scheme, he vacated his seat adjoining that gentleman, and established himself in the opposite corner, next to the fair Miss Mercy. The education of Mr. Jonas had been conducted from his cradle on the strictest principles of the main chance. The very first word he learnt to spell was “ gain,” and the second (when he got into two syllables), ‘‘money.” But for two results, which were not clearly foreseen perhaps by his watchful parent in the beginning, his training may be said to have been unexceptionable. One of these flaws was, that having been long taught by his father to over-reach every- body, he had imperceptibly acquired a love of over-reaching that venerable monitor himself. The other, that from his early habits of considering everything as a question of property, he had gradually come to look, with impatience, on his parent as a certain amount of personal estate, which had no right whatever to be going at large, but ought to be secured in that particular description of iron safe which is commonly called a coffin, and banked in the grave.COUSIN JONAS 161 “Well, cousin!” said Mr. Jonas: “Because we are cousins, you know, a few times removed: so youre going to London ?” : Miss Mercy replied in the affirmative, pinching her sister’s arm at the same time, and giggling excessively. ‘* Lots of beaux in London, cousin ! ” said Mr. Jonas, slightly advancing his elbow. ee “Indeed, sir!” cried the young lady. “They won’t hurt us, sir, I dare say.” And having given him this answer with great demureness, she was so overcome by her own humour, that she was fain to stifle her merriment in her sister’s shawl. “Merry,” cried that more prudent damsel, “really I am ashamed of you. How can you goonso? You wild thing!” At which Miss Merry only laughed the more, of course. “ I saw a wildness in her eye, t’other day,” said Mr. Jonas, addressing Charity. “But you’re the one to sit solemn! I say! You were regularly prim, cousin!” “Oh! The old-fashioned fright !” cried Merry, in a whisper. ‘Cherry, my dear, upon my word you must sit next him. I shall die outright if he talks to me any more; I shall, posi- tively!” To prevent which fatal consequence, the buoyant creature skipped out of her seat as she spoke, and squeezed her sister into the place from which she had risen. “Don’t mind crowding me,” cried Mr. Jonas. “I like to be crowded by gals. Come a little closer, cousin.” ‘No, thank you, sir,” said Charity. *'There’s that other one a-laughing again,” said Mr. Jonas ; ‘she’s a-laughing at my father, I shouldn’t wonder. If he puts on that old flannel nightcap of his, I don’t know what she'll do! Is that my father a-snoring, Pecksniff?” “Yes, Mr. Jonas.” “Tread upon his foot, will you be so good?” said the young gentleman. “The foot next you’s the gouty one.” Mr. Pecksniff hesitating to perform this friendly office, Mr. Jonas did it himself; at the same time crying: ‘“Come, wake up, father, or you’ll be having the nightmare, and screeching out, J know.—Do you ever have the night- mare, cousin?” he asked his neighbour, with characteristic gallantry, as he dropped his voice again. Sometimes,” answered Charity. ‘‘ Not often.” ‘The other one,” said Mr. Jonas, after a pause. ‘‘ Does she ever have the nightmare?” x FNene eee ne en nee ae 162 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT on “I don’t know,” replied Charity. ‘‘ You had better ask her.” ‘She laughs so ;” said Jonas; ~ there’s no talking to her. Only hark how she’s a-going on now! You’re the sensible one, cousin!” “Tut, tut!” eried Charity. “Oh! But you are! You know you are! 26 ‘Mercy is a little giddy,” said Miss Charity. ‘‘ But she'll sober down in time.” “It'll be a very long time, then, if she does at all,” rejoined her cousin. “Take a little more room.” “T am afraid of crowding you,” said Charity. But she took it notwithstanding; and after one or two remarks on the extreme heaviness of the coach, and the number of places it stopped at, they fell into a silence which remained unbroken by any member of the party until supper-time. Although Mr. Jonas conducted Charity to the hotel and sat himself beside her at the board, it was pretty clear that he had an eye to “the other one” also, for he often glanced across at Mercy, and seemed to draw comparisons between the personal appearance of the two, which were not unfayour- able to the superior plumpness of the younger sister. He allowed himself no great leisure for this kind of observation, however, being busily engaged with the supper, which, as he whispered in his fair companion’s ear, was a contract business, and therefore the more she ate, the better the bargain was. His father and Mr. Pecksniff, probably acting on the same wise principle, demolished everything that came within their reach, and by that means acquired a greasy expression of countenance, indicating contentment, if not repletion, which it was very pleasant to contemplate. When they could eat no more, Mr. Pecksniff and Mr. Jonas subscribed for two sixpenny-worths of hot brandy-and-water, which the latter gentleman considered a more politic order than one shilling’s-worth; there being a chance of their getting more spirit out of the innkeeper under this arrange- ment than if it were all in one glass. Having swallowed his share of the enlivening fluid, Mr. Pecksniff, under pretence of going to see if the coach were ready, went secretly to the bar, and had his own little bottle filled, in order that he might refresh himself at leisure in the dark coach without being observed, These arrangements concluded, and the coach being ready oS J?ARRIVAL IN THE CITY 163 they got into their old places and jogged on again. But before he composed himself for a nap, Mr. Pecksniff delivered a kind of grace after meat, in these words: “The process of digestion, as I have been informed by anatomical friends, is one of the most wonderful works of nature. Ido not know how it may be with others, but it is a great satisfaction to me to know, when regaling on my humble fare, that I am putting in motion the most beautiful machinery with which we have any acquaintance. I really feel at such times as if I was doing a public service. "When I have wound myself up, if I may employ such a term,” said Mr. Pecksniff with exquisite tenderness, ‘and know that I am Going, I feel that in the lesson afforded by the works within me, I am a Benefactor to my Kind!” As nothing could be added to this, nothing was said ; and Mr. Pecksniff, exulting, it may be presumed, in his moral utility, went to sleep again. The rest of the night wore away in the usual manner. Mr. Pecksniff and Old Anthony kept tumbling against each other and waking up much terrified, or crushed their heads in opposite corners of the coach and strangely tattooed the surface of their faces—Heaven knows how—in their sleep. The coach stopped and went on, and went on and stopped, times out of number. Passengers got up and passengers got down, and fresh horses came and went and came again, with scarcely any interval between each team as it seemed to those who were dozing, and with a gap of a whole night between every one as it seemed to those who were broad awake. At length they began to jolt and rumble over horribly uneven stones, and Mr. Pecksniff looking out of window said it was to-morrow morning, and they were there. Very soon afterwards the coach stopped at the office in the city ; and the street in which it was situated was already in a bustle, that fully bore out Mr. Pecksniff’s words about its being morning, though for any signs of day yet appearing in the sky it might have been midnight. There was a dense fog too: as if it were a city in the clouds, which they had been travelling to all night up a magic beanstalk ; and there was a thick crust upon the pavement like oil-cake: which, one of the outsides (mad, no doubt) said to another (his keeper, of course), was Snow. Taking a confused leave of Anthony and his son, and leaving the luggage of himself and daughters at the office toPe ea OT mata alee eA? ae a aa ee 164 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT be called for afterwards, Mr. Pecksniff, with one of the young ladies under each arm, dived across the street, and then across other streets, and so up the queerest courts, and down the strangest alleys and under the blindest archways, in a kind of frenzy : now skipping over a kennel, now running for his life from a coach and horses ; now thinking he had lost his wav, now thinking he had found it; now in a state of the highest confidence, now despondent to the last degree, but always In a great perspiration and flurry ; until at length they stopped in a kind of payed yard near the Monument. That is to say, Mr. Pecksniff told them s0; for as to any- thing they could see of the Monument, or anything else but the buildings close at hand, they might as well have been playing blindman’s buff at Salisbury. Mr. Pecksniff looked about him for a moment, and then knocked at the door of a very dingy edifice, even among the choice collection of dingy edifices at hand; on the front of wwhich was a little oval board like a tea-tray, with this inserip- tion: “Commercial Boarding-House. M. Todgers.” It seemed that M. Todgers was not up yet, for Mr. Peck- sniff knocked twice and rang thrice, without making any impression on anything but a dog over the way. At last a chain and some bolts were withdrawn with a rusty noise, as ‘f the weather had made the very fastenings hoarse, and a small boy with a large red head, and no nose to speak of, and a very dirty Wellington boot on his left arm, appeared ; who (being surprised) rubbed the nose just mentioned with the back of a shoe-brush, and said nothing. “Still a-bed, my man?” asked Mr. Pecksniff. “Still a-bed !” replied the boy. ° I wish they wos still a-bed. They’re very noisy a-bed; all calling for their boots at once. I thought you was the Paper, and wondered why you didn’t shove yourself through the grating as usual. What do you want?” Considering his years, which were tender, the youth may be said to have preferred this question sternly, and in some- thing of a defiant manner. But Mr. Pecksniff, without taking umbrage at his bearing, put a card in his hand, and bade him take that up-stairs, and show them in the meanwhile into a room where there was a fire. “Or if there’s one in the eating parlour,” said Mr, Peck- sniff, “I can find it myself.” So he led his daughters, with- out waiting for any further introduction, into a room on theTODGERS'S COMMERCIAL BOARDING-HOUSE 165 ground-floor, where a table-cloth (rather a tight and scanty fit in reference to the table it covered) was already spread for breakfast: displaying a mighty dish of pink boiled beef: an instance of that particular style of loaf which is known to housekeepers as a slack-baked, crummy quartern; a liberal provision of cups and saucers; and the usual appendages. Inside the fender were some half-dozen pairs of shoes and boots, of various sizes, just cleaned and turned with the soles upwards to dry; and a pair of short black gaiters, on one of which was chalked—in sport, it would appear, by some gentleman who had slipped down for the purpose, pending his toilet, and gone up again—“ Jinkins’s Particular,” while the other exhibited a sketch in profile, claiming to be the portrait of Jinkins himself. M. Todgers’s Commercial Boarding-House was a house of that sort which is likely to be dark at any time; but that morning it was especially dark, There was an odd smell in the passage, as if the concentrated essence of all the dinners that had been cooked in the kitchen since the house was built, lingered at the top of the kitchen stairs to that hour, and, like the Black Friar in Don Juan, “ wouldn’t be driven away.” In particular, there was a sensation of cabbage ; as if all the greens that had ever been boiled there, were ever- greens, and flourished in immortal strength. The parlour was wainscoted, and communicated to strangers a magnetic and instinctive consciousness of rats and mice. The staircase was very gloomy and very broad, with balustrades so thick and heavy that they would have served for a bridge. In a sombre corner on the first landing, stood a gruff old giant of a clock, with a preposterous coronet of three brass balls on his head ; whom few had ever seen—none ever looked in the face—and who seemed to continue his heavy tick for no other reason than to warn heedless people from running into him accidentally. It had not been papered or painted, hadn’t Todgers’s, within the memory of man. It was very black, begrimed, and mouldy. And, at the top of the staircase, was an old, disjointed, rickety, ill-favoured skylight, patched and mended in all kinds of ways, which looked distrustfully down at everything that passed below, and covered Todgers’s up as if it were a sort of human cucumber-frame, and only people of a peculiar growth were reared there. Mr. Pecksniff and his fair daughters had not stood warming themselves at the fire ten minutes, when the sound of feetaa eee ae ana eel 166 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT was heard upon the stairs, and the presiding deity of the establishment came hurrying in. M. Todgers was a lady, rather a bony and hard-featured lady, with a row of curls in front of her head, shaped like little barrels of beer; and on the top of it something made of net—you couldn’t call it a cap exactly—which looked like a black cobweb. She had a little basket on her arm, and in it a bunch of keys that jingled as she came. In her other hand she bore a flaming tallow candle, which, after surveying Mr, Pecksniff for one instant by its light, she put down upon the table. to the end that she might receive him with the ereater cordiality. “Mr. Pecksniff!” cried Mrs. Todgers. “Welcome to London! Who would have thought of such a visit as this, after so—dear, dear!—so many years! How do you do, Mr. Pecksniff?” “Ag well as ever; and as glad to see you, as ever; Mr. Pecksniff made response. ‘‘ Why, you are younger than you used to be!” “ Vou are. I am sure!” said Mrs. Todgers. ‘“‘ You're not a bit changed.” ‘‘ What do you say to this ?” cried Mr. Pecksniff, stretching out his hand towards the young ladies. “ Does this make me no older?” “Not your daughters!” exclaimed the lady, raising her hands and clasping them. ‘Oh, no, Mr. Pecksniff! Your second, and her bridesmaid !” Mr. Pecksniff smiled complacently ; shook his head; and said, “My daughters, Mrs. Todgers. Merely my daughters.” “Ah!” sighed the good lady, “I must believe you, for now I look at ’em I think I should have known ‘em any- where. My dear Miss Pecksniffs, how happy your Pa has made me!” She hugged them both; and being by this time over- powered by her feelings or the inclemency of the morning, jerked a little pocket handkerchief out of the little basket, and applied the same to her face. “Now, my good madam,” said Mr. Pecksniff, “‘ 1 know the rules of your establishment, and that you only receive centle- men boarders. But it oceurred to me, when I left home, that perhaps you would give my daughters house-room, and make an exception in their favour.” “ Perhaps?” cried Mrs. Todgers ecstatically. “ Perhaps ?”MRS. TODGERS'S WELCOME 167 “I may say then, that I was sure you would,” said Mr, Pecksniff. ‘I know that you have a little room of your own, and that they can be comfortable there, without appearing at the general table.” “Dear girls!” said Mrs. Todgers. ‘I must take that liberty once more.” Mrs. Todgers meant by this that she must embrace them once more, which she accordingly did with great ardour. But the truth was that, the house being full with the excep- tion of one bed, which would now be occupied by Mr. Peck- sniff, she wanted time for consideration ; and so much time too (for it was a knotty point how to dispose of them), that even when this second embrace was over, she stood for some moments gazing at the sisters, with affection beaming in one eye, and calculation shining out of the other. “TI think I know how to arrange it,” said Mrs. Todgers, at length. ‘A sofa bedstead in the little third room which opens from my own parlour—Oh, you dear girls!” Thereupon she embraced them once more, observing that she could not decide which was most like their poor mother (which was highly probable : seeing that she had never beheld that lady), but that she rather thought the youngest was; and then she said that as the gentlemen would be down directly, and the ladies were fatigued with travelling, would they step into her room at once? It was on the same floor; being, in fact, the back parlour ; and had, as Mrs. Todgers said, the great advantage (in London) of not being overlooked; as they would see when the fog cleared off. Nor was this a vain-glorious boast, for it commanded at a perspective of two feet, a brown wall with a black cistern on the top. The sleeping apartment designed for the young ladies was approached from this chamber by a mightily convenient little door, which would only open when fallen against by a strong person. It com- manded from a similar point of sight another angle of the wall, and another side of the cistern. ‘ Not the damp side,” aid Mrs. Todgers. ‘ That is Mr. Jinkins’s.” In the first of these sanctuaries a fire was speedily kindled by the youthful porter, who, whistling at his work in the absence of Mrs. Todgers (not to mention his sketching figures on his corduroys with burnt firewood), and being afterwards taken by that lady in the fact, was dismissed with a box on his ears. Having prepared breakfast for the young ladies168 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT with her own hands, she withdrew to preside in the other room; where the joke at Mr. Jinkins’s expense seemed to be proceeding rather noisily. “JT won’t ask you yet, my dears,” said Mr. Pecksniff, look- ing in at the door, “how you like London. Shall I?” “We haven’t seen much of it, Pa!” eried Merry. ‘Nothing, I hope,” said Cherry. (Both very miserably.) “Indeed,” said Mr. Pecksniff, “ that’s true. We have our pleasure, and our business too, before us. All in good time. All in good time !” Whether Mr. Pecksniff’s business in London was as strictly professional as he had given his new pupil to understand, we shall see, to adopt that worthy man’s phraseology, “all in good time.”CHAPTER Ix TOWN AND TODGERS’S SuRELY there never was, in any other borough, city, or hamlet in the world, such a singular sort of a place as Todgers’s. And surely London, to judge from that part of it which hemmed Todgers’s round, and hustled it, and crushed it, and stuck its brick-and-mortar elbows into it, and kept the air from it, and stood perpetually between it and the light, was worthy of Todgers’s, and qualified to be on terms of close relationship and alliance with hundreds and thousands of the odd family to which Todgers’s belonged. You couldn’t walk about in Todgers’s neighbourhood, as you could in any other neighbourhood. You groped your way for an hour through lanes and bye-ways, and court-yards, and passages; and you never once emerged upon anything that might be reasonably called a street. A kind of resigned distraction came over the stranger as he trod those devious mazes, and, giving himself up for lost, went in and out and round about and quietly turned back again when he came to a dead wall or was stopped by an iron railing, and felt that the means of escape might possibly present themselves in their own good time, but that to anticipate them was hopeless, Instances were known of people who, being asked to dine at Todgers’s, had travelled round and round for a weary time, with its very chimney-pots in view ; and finding it, at last, impossible of attainment, had gone home again with a gentle melancholy on their spirits, tranquil and un- complaining. Nobody had ever found Todgers’s on a verbal direction, though given within a minute’s walk of it. Cautious emigrants from Scotland or the North of England had been known to reach it safely, by impressing a charity-boy, town- bred, and bringing him along with them; or by clinging tenaciously to the postman; but these were rare exceptions, and only went to prove the rule that Todgers’s was in a laby- rinth, whereof the mystery was known but to a chosen few. Ki F 3Fen PS RERLENMOE S a nT a a race ariceiaceh aan I7O MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT Several fruit-brokers had their marts near Todgers’s ; and one of the first impressions wrought upon the stranger's senses was of oranges—of damaged oranges, with blue and ereen bruises on them, festering In boxes, or mouldering away in cellars. All day long, a stream of porters from the wharves beside the river, each bearing on his back a bursting chest of oranges, poured slowly through the narrow passages ; while underneath the archway by the public-house, the knots of those who rested and regaled within, were piled from morning until night. Strange solitary pumps were found near Todgers's hiding themselves for the most part in blind alleys, and keeping company with fire-ladders. There were churches also by dozens, with many a ghostly little churchyard, all overgrown with such straggling vegetation as springs up spon- taneously from damp, and graves, and rubbish. In some of these dingy resting-places, which bore much the same analogy to green churchyards, as the pots of earth for mignonette and wall-flower in the windows overlooking them did to rustic gardens, there were trees ; tall trees ; still putting forth their leaves in each succeeding year, with such a languishing remembrance of their kind (so one might fancy, looking on their sickly boughs) as birds in cages have of theirs. Here, paralysed old watchmen guarded the bodies of the dead at night, year after year, until at last they joined that solemn brotherhood : and, saving that they slept below the ground a sounder sleep than even they had ever known above it, and were shut up in another kind of box, their condition can hardly be said to have undergone any material change when they in turn were watched themselves. Among the narrow thoroughfares at hand, there lingered, here and there, an ancient doorway of carved oak, from which, of old, the sounds of revelry and feasting often came; but now these mansions, only used for storehouses, were dark and dull, and, being filled with wool, and cotton, and the like— such heavy merchandise as stifles sound and stops the throat of echo—had an air of palpable deadness about them which, added to their silence and desertion, made them very grim. In like manner, there were gloomy court-yards in these parts, into which few but belated wayfarers ever strayed, and where vast bags and packs of goods, upward or downward bound, were for ever dangling between heaven and earth from lofty eyanes. There were more trucks near Todgers’s than you would suppose a whole city could ever need ; not active trucks,TODGERSS SURROUNDINGS Ey but a vagabond race, for ever lounging in the narrow lanes before their masters’ doors and stopping up the pass; so that when a stray hackney-coach or lumbering waggon came that way, they were the cause of such an uproar as enlivened the whole neighbourhood, and made the bells in the next church- tower vibrate again. In the throats and maws of dark no- thoroughfares near Todgers’s, individual wine-merchants and wholesale dealers in grocery-ware had perfect little towns of their own ; and, deep among the foundations of these build- ings, the ground was undermined and burrowed out into stables, where cart-horses, troubled by rats, might be heard on a quiet Sunday rattling their halters, as disturbed spirits in tales of haunted houses are said to clank their chains. To tell of half the queer old tayerns that had a drowsy and secret existence near Todgers’s, would fill a goodly book ; while a second volume no less capacious might be devoted to an account of the quaint old guests who frequented their dimly-lighted parlours. These were, in general, ancient inhabitants of that region; born, and bred there from boy- hood ; who had long since become wheezy and asthmatical, and short of breath, except in the article of story-telling: in which respect they were still maryellously long-winded. These gentry were much opposed to steam and all new- fangled ways, and held ballooning to be sinful, and deplored the degeneracy of the times; which that particular member of each little club who kept the keys of the nearest church professionally, always attributed to the prevalence of dissent and irreligion: though the major part of the company inclined to the belief that virtue went out with hair-powder, and that Old England’s greatness had decayed amain with barbers, As to Todgers’s itself—speaking of it only as a house in that neighbourhood, and making no reference to its merits as a commercial boarding establishment—it was worthy to stand where it did. There was one staircase-window in it: at the side of the house, on the ground-floor: which tradition said had not been opened for a hundred years at least, and which, abutting on an always dirty lane, was so begrimed and coated with a century’s mud, that no one pane of glass could possibly fall out, though all were cracked and broken twenty times. But the grand mystery of Todgers’s was the cellarage, approachable only by a little back door and a rusty grating: which cellarage within the memory of man hada enn ta . a t i ; Spencers See ee eens Peace s "ya MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT always been the had no connexion with the house, but had s reported to be freehold property of somebody else, and wa full of wealth: though in what shape—whether in silver, or casks of gunpowder—was brass, or gold, or butts of wine, and supreme indifference to matter of profound uncertainty Todgers’s, and all its inmates. The top of the house was worthy of notice. There was roof, with posts and fragments of a sort of terrace on the and there rotten lines, once intended to dry clothes upon ; were two or three tea-chests out there, full of earth, with forgotten plants in them, like old walking-sticks. Whoever climbed to this observatory, was stunned at first from having knocked his head against the little door in coming out ; and after that, was for the moment choked from having looked, perforce, straight down the kitchen chimney ; but these two stages over, there were thines to gaze at from the top of Todgers’s, well worth your seeing too. For first and fore- most, if the day were bright, you observed upon the house: tops, stretching far away, a long dark path: the shadow of the Monument: and turning round, the tall original was close beside you, with every hair erect upon his golden head, as if the doings of the city frightened him. ‘Then there were steeples, towers, beltries, shining vanes, and masts of ships: a very forest. Gables, housetops, garret-windows, wilderness upon wilderness. Smoke and noise enough for all the world at once. After the first glance, there were slight features in the midst of this crowd of objects, which sprung out from the mass without any reason, as it were, and took hold of the attention whether the spectator would or no. Thus, the reyolying chimney-pots on one great stack of buildings seemed to be turning gravely to each other every now and then, and whispering the result of their separate observation of what was going on below. Others, of a erook-backed shape, appeared to be maliciously holding themselves askew, that they might shut the prospect out and baffle Todgers’s. The man who was mending a pen at an upper window over the way, became of paramount importance in the scene, and made a blank in it, ridiculously disproportionate in its extent, when he retired. The gambols of a piece of cloth upon the dyer’s pole had far more interest for the moment than all the changing motion of the crowd. Yet even while the looker-on felt angry with himself for this, and wonderedA SPEAKING LIKENESS 173 how it was, the tumult swelled into a roar: the hosts of objects seemed to thicken and expand a hundredfold ; and after gazing round him, quite scared, he turned into Todgers’s again, much more rapidly than he came out; and ten to one he told M. Tod Igers afterwards that if he hadn’t done so, he would certainly have come into the street by the shortest cut; that is to say, head-foremost. So said the two Miss Pecksniffs, when they retired with Mrs. Todgers from this place of espial, leaving the youthful porter to close the door and follow them down-stairs: who being of a playful temperament, and contemplating with a delight peculiar to his sex and time of life, any chance of dashing himself into small fragments, lingered behind to walk upon the parapet. It being the second day of their stay in London. the Miss Pecksniffs and Mrs. Todgers were by this time high ly con- fidential, insomuch that the last-named lady had already communicated the particulars of three early disappointme nts of a tender nature ; and had furthermore possessed her young friends with a general summary of the life, conduct, and character of Mr. Todgers. Who, it seemed, had cut his matrimonial career rather short, by unlawfully running away from his happiness, and establishing himself in foreign countries as a bachelor. ‘Your pa was once a little particular in his attentions, my dears,” said Mrs. Tedgers: ‘‘but to be your ma was too much happiness denied me. You’d hardly know who this was done for, perhaps ?” She called their attention to an oval miniature, like a little blister, which was tacked up over the kettle-holder, and which there was a dreamy shadowing forth of her own visage. ‘“Tt’s a speaking likeness!” cried the two Miss ee ‘It was considered so once,” said Mrs. Todgers, warming herself in a gentlemanly manner at the fire: “but I hard lly thought you would have known it, my loves.” They would have known it anywhere. If they could have met with it in the street, or seen it in a shop window, they would have cried: “Good gracious! Mrs. Todgers !” “ Presiding over an establishment like this, makes sad havoc with the features, my dear Miss Pecksniffs,” said Mrs. Todgers. “The gravy alone, is enough to add twenty years to one’s age, I do assure you.”1th epee crane IT OOO TERT TN ee era ne 174 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT “Lor!” eried the two Miss Pecksnifts. “The anxiety of that one item, my dears,” said Mrs. Todgers, “keeps the mind continually upon the stretch. There is no such passion in human nature, as the passion for gravy among commercial gentlemen. It’s nothing to say a joint won't yield—a whole animal wouldn’t yield—the amount of gravy they expect each day at dinner. And what I have undergone in consequence,” cried Mrs. Todgers, raising her eyes and shaking her head. ‘‘no one would believe !” ‘Just like Mr. Pinch, Merry!” said Charity. ‘‘ We have always noticed it in him, you remember ?”’ rivgled Merry, “ but we have never given “Ves, my dear,” g it him, you know.” ‘You, my dears, having to deal with your pa’s pupils who can’t help themselves, are able to take your own way,” said Mrs. Todgers, “but in a commercial establishment, where any gentleman may say, any Saturday evening, ‘ Mrs. Todgers, this day week we part, in consequence of the cheese,’ it is not so easy to preserve a pleasant understanding. Your pa was kind enough,” added the ood lady, ‘“‘to invite me to take a ride with you to-day ; and I think he mentioned that you were going to call upon Miss Pinch. Any relation to the gentleman you were speaking ol just now, Miss Pecksniff ?” “Bor goodness sake, Mrs. Todgers,” interposed the lively Merry, ‘‘ don’t eall hima gentleman. My dear Cherry, Pinch a gentleman! The idea! 7 “What a wicked girl you are!” cried Mrs. Todgers, embracing her with great affection. © You are quite a quiz, I do declare! My dear Miss Pecksniff, what a happiness your sister’s spirits must be to your pa and self!” ‘‘ He’s the most hideous, goggle-eyed creature, Mrs. Todgers, in existence,” resumed Merry: ‘‘ quite an ogre. The ugliest, awkwardest, frightfullest being, you can imagine. This is his sister, so I leave you to suppose what she is. I shall be obliged to laugh outright, I know I shall!” cried the charm- ing girl, ‘I never shall be able to keep my countenance. The notion of a Miss Pinch presuming to exist at all is sufficient to kill one, but to see her—oh my stars!” Mrs. Todgers laughed immensely at the dear love’s humour, and declared she was quite afraid of her, that she was. She Was So very severe. ‘Who is severe?” cried a voice at the door. ‘There isMR. JINKINS’S ROUND-ROBIN 175 no such thing as severity in our family, I hope!” And then Mr. Pecksniff peeped smilingly into the room, and said, ‘May I come in, Mrs. Todgers?” Mrs. Todgers almost screamed, for the little door of com- munication between that room and the inner one being wide open, there was a full disclosure of the sofa bedstead in all its monstrous impropriety. But she had the presence of mind to close this portal in the twinkling of an eye; and having done so, said, though not without confusion, “ Oh yes, Mr. Pecksniff, you can come in, if you please.” ‘‘ How are we to-day,” said: Mr: Pecksniff, jocosely ; ‘“ and what are our plans? Are we ready to go and see Tom Pinch’s sister? Ha, ha, ha! Poor Thomas Pinch!” * Are we ready,” returned Mrs. Todgers, nodding her head with mysterious intelligenze, ‘‘ to send a favourable reply to Mr. Jinkins’s round-robin.’ That’s the first question, Mr. Pecksniff.” “Why Mr. Jinkins’s robin, my dear madam ?” asked Mr. Pecksniff, putting one arm round Mercy, and the other round Mrs. Todgers: whom he seemed, in the abstraction of the moment, to mistake for Charity. ‘“ Why Mr. Jinkins’s?” “Because he began to get it up, and indeed always takes the lead in the house,” said Mrs. Todgers, playfully. ‘‘ That’s why, sir.” ‘‘ Jinkins is a man of superior talents,” observed Mr. Peck- sniff. ‘I have conceived a great regard for Jinkins, I take Jinkins’s desire to pay polite attention to my daughters, as an additional proof of the friendly feeling of Jinkins, Mrs, Todgers.” “Well now,” returned that lady, “having said so much, you must say the rest, Mr. Pecksniff: so tell the dear young ladies all about it.” With these words, she gently eluded Mr. Pecksniff’s grasp, and took Miss Charity into her own embrace; though whether she was impelled to this proceeding solely by the irrepressible affection she had conceived for that young lady, or whether it had any reference to a lowering, not to say distinctly spiteful expression which had been visible in her face for some moments, has never been exactly ascertained. 3e this as it may, Mr. Pecksniff went on to inform his daughters of the purport and history of the round-robin aforesaid, which was in brief, that the commercial gentlemen who helped to make up the sum and substance of that nouneen emer ee rs capes Ee eae 176 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT of multitude or signifying many, called Todgers’s, desired the honour of their presence at the general table, so long as they remained in the house, and besought that they would grace the board at dinnertime next day, the same being Sunday. He further said, that Mrs. Todgers being a con- senting party to this invitation, he was willing, for his part, to accept it; and so left them that he might write his eracious answer, the while they armed themselves with their best bonnets for the utter defeat and overthrow of Miss Pinch. Tom Pinch’s sister was governess in a family, a lofty family ; perhaps the wealthiest brass and copper founders’ family known to mankind. They lived at Camberwell; in a house so big and fierce, that its mere outside, like the out- side of a giant’s castle, struck terror into vulgar minds and made bold persons quail, There was a great front gate ; with a great bell, whose handle was in itself a note of admiration: and a great lodge; which being close to the house, rather spoilt the look-out certainly, but made the look-in tremendous. At this entry, a great porter kept constant watch and ward; and when he gave the visitor high leave to pass, he rang a second great bell, responsive to whose note a great footman appeared in due time at the great hall-door, with such great tags upon his liveried shoulder that he was perpetually entangling and hooking himself among the chairs and tables, and led a life of torment which could scarcely have been surpassed, if he had been a blue-bottle in a world of cobwebs. To this mansion Mr. Pecksniff, accompanied by his daughters and Mrs. Todgers, drove gallantly in a one-horse fiy. The foregoing ceremonies having been all performed, they were ushered into the house; and so, by degrees, they got at last into a small room with books in it, where Mr. Pinch’s sister was at that moment instructing her eldest pupil: to wit, a premature little woman of thirteen years old, who had already arrived at such a pitch of whalebone and education that she had nothing girlish about her: which was a source of great rejoicing to all her relations and friends. ‘Visitors for Miss Pinch!” said the footman. He must have been an ingenious young man, for he said it very eleverly: with a nice discrimination between the cold respect with which he would have announced visitors to‘“VISITORS FOR MISS PINCH!” 177 the family, and the warm personal interest with which would have announced visitors to the cook. “Visitors for Miss Pinch!” Miss Pinch rose hastily ; with such tokens of agitation as plainly declared that her list of callers was not numerous. At the same time, the little pupil became alarmingly upright, and prepared herself to take mental notes of all that might be said and done. For the lady of the establishment was curious in the natural history and habits of the animal called Governess, and encouraged her daughters to report thereon Whenever occasion served; which was, in reference to all parties concerned, very laudable, improving, and pleasant. It is a melancholy fact ; but it must be related, that Mr. Pinch’s sister was not at all ugly. On the contrary, she had a good face ; a very mild and prepossessing face: anda pretty little figure—slight and short, but remarkable for its neat- ness. There was something of her brother, much of him indeed, in a certain gentleness of manner, and in her look of timid trustfulness; but she was so far from being a fright, or a dowdy, or a horror, or anything else, predicted by the two Miss Pecksniffs, that those young ladies naturally re- garded her with great indignation, feeling that this was by no means what they had come to see. Miss Mercy, as having the larger share of gaiety, bore up the best against this disappointment, and carried it off, in outward show at least, with a titter; but her sister, not caring to hide her disdain, expressed it pretty openly in her looks. As to Mrs. Todgers, she leaned on Mr. Pecksniff’s arm and preserved a kind of genteel grimness, suitable to any state of mind, and involving any shade of opinion. “Don’t be alarmed, Miss Pinch,” said Mr. Pecksniff. taking her hand condescendingly in one of his, and patting it with the other. “I have called to see you, in pursuance of a promise given to your brother, Thomas Pinch. My name—compose yourself, Miss Pinch—is Pecksniff.” The good man emphasised these words as though he would have said, “You see in me, young person, the benefactor of your race ; the patron of your house; the preserver of your brother, who is fed with manna daily from my table; and in right of whom there is a considerable balance in my favour at present standing in the books beyond thesky. But I have no pride, for I can afford to do without it!” The poor girl felt it all as if it had been Gospel Truth. heen ee Eon - Fr Hg, ee at eet ree teeny an anne an anna nO ee eee 178 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT Her brother writing in the fulness of his simple heart, had often told her so, and how much more! As Mr. Pecksniff ceased to speak, she hung her head, and dropped a tear upon his hand. “Oh very well, Miss Pinch!” thought the sharp pupil, “‘ crying before strangers, as if you didn’t like the situation !” “Thomas is well,” said Mr. Pecksniff ; “and sends his love and this letter. I cannot say, poor fellow, that he will ever be distinguished in our profession ; but he has the will to do well, which is the next thing to having the power ; and, therefore, we must bear with him. Eh?” “JT know he has the will, sir.” said Tom Pinch’s sister, ‘and I know how kindly and considerately you cherish it, for which neither he nor I can ever be grateful enough, as we very often say in writing to each other. The young ladies too,” she added, olancing eratefully at his two “JT know how much we owe to them.” Pecksniff, turning to them with 1g something you will be daughters, “My dears,” said Mr. a smile: ‘“Thomas’s sister 1S sayll glad to hear, | think.” ‘We can’t take any merit to ourselves, papa!” cried Cherry, as they both apprised Tom Pinch’s sister, with a curtsey, that they would feel o} sliced if she would keep her distance. ‘* Mr. Pinch’s being so well provided for is owing to you alone, and we can only say how glad we are to hear that he is as grateful as he ought to be.” “Oh very well, Miss Pinch!” thought the pupil again. “Got a grateful brother, living on other people’s kindness ! : “Tt was very kind of you,” said Tom Pinch’s sister, with Tom’s own simplicity and Tom's own smile, ‘‘to come here: kind indeed: though how great a kindness you have very wish to see you, and to thank you done me in gratifying my ' with my own lips, you, who make so light of benefits con- ferred, can scarcely think.” “Very grateful; very pleasant; very proper,” murmured Mr. Pecksniff. ‘Tt makes me happy too,” said Ruth Pinch, who now that her first surprise was over, had a chatty, cheerful way with her, and a single-hearted desire to look upon the best side of everything, which was the very moral and image of Tom ; ‘very happy to think that you will be able to tell him how more than comfortably I amsituated here, and how unnecessary +t is that he should ever waste a regret on my being castMRS. TODGERS AND THE PECKSNIFFS CALL UPON MISS~§ i ; 5A VERY INTERESTING CHILD 181 upon my own resources. Dear me! So long as I heard that he was happy, and he heard that I was,” said Tom’s sister, “we could both bear, without one impatient or complaining thought, a great deal more than ever we have had to endure, I am very certain.” And if ever the plain truth were spoken on this occasionally false earth, Tom’s sister spoke it when she said that. “Ah!” cried Mr. Pecksniff, whose eyes had in the mean- time wandered to the pupil; “certainly. And how do you do, my very interesting child ?” “Quite well, I thank you, sir,” replied that frosty inno- cent. ‘A sweet face this, my dears,” said Mr. Pecksniff, turning to his daughters. ‘A charming manner!” Both young ladies had been in ecstasies with the scion of a wealthy house (through whom the nearest road and shortest cut to her parents might be supposed to lie) from the first. Mrs, Todgers vowed that anything one quarter so angelic she had never seen. ‘She wanted but a pair of wings, a dear,” said that good woman, ‘‘to be a young syrup:” meaning, possib'y, young sylph, or seraph. “If you will give that to your distinguished parents, my amiable little friend,” said Mr. Pecksniff, producing one of his professional cards, ‘and will say that I and my daughters— ” ‘And Mrs. Todgers, pa,” said Merry. “And Mrs. Todgers, of London,” added Mr. Pecksniff : “that I, and my daughters, and Mrs. Todgers, of London, did not intrude upon them, as our object simply was to take some notice of Miss Pinch, whose brother is a young man in my employment; but that I could not leave this very chaste mansion, without adding my humble tribute, as an Architect, to the correctness and elegance of the owner’s taste, and to his just appreciation of that beautiful art to the cultivation of which I have devoted a life, and to the promotion of whose glory and advancement I have sacrificed a—a fortune—I shall be very much obliged to you.” ‘Missis’s compliments to Miss Pinch,” said the footman, suddenly appearing, and speaking in exactly the same key as before, ‘‘and begs to know wot my young lady is a-learning of just now.” “Oh!” said Mr. Pecksniff, “‘ Here is the young man. He will take the card. With my compliments, if you please,SM TED FEIT MSIIAT i 2 RA 182 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT young man. My dears, we are interrupting the studies. Let us go.” Some confusion was occasioned for an instant by Mrs. Todger’s unstrapping her little flat hand-basket, and hurriedly entrusting the “young man” with one of her own cards, which, in addition to certain detailed information relative to the terms of the commercial establishment, bore a foot-note to the effect that M. T. took that opportunity of thanking those gentlemen who had honoured her with their favours, and begged they would have the goodness, if satisfied with the table, to recommend her to their friends. But Mr. Pecksniff, with admirable presence of mind, recovered this document, and buttoned it up in his own pocket. Then he said to Miss Pinch: with more condescension and kindness than ever, for it was desirable the footman should expressly understand that they were not friends of hers, but patrons : “@ood morning. Good-bye. God bless you! You may depend upon my continued protection of your brother Thomas. Keep your mind quite at ease, Miss Pinch!” “Thank you,” said Tom’s sister heartily: “a thoasand times.” “Not at all.” he retorted, patting her gently on the head. ‘Don’t mention it. You will make me angry if you do. My sweet child,” to the pupil, “farewell! That fairy creature,” said Mr. Pecksniff, looking in his pensive mood hard at the footman, as if he meant him, “has shed a vision on my path, refulgent in its nature, and not easily to be obliterated. My dears, are you ready ?” i They were not quite ready yet, for they were still caressing the pupil. But they tore themselves away at length; and sweeping past Miss Pinch with each a haughty inclination of the head and-a curtsey strangled in its birth, flounced into the passage. The young man had rather a long job in showing them out: for Mr. Pecksniff’s delight in the tastefulness of the house was such that he could not help often stopping (par- ticularly when they were near the parlour door) and giving it expression, in a loud voice and very learned terms. Indeed, he delivered, between the study and the hall, a familar exposition of the whole science of architecture as applied to dwelling-houses, and was yet in the freshness of his eloquence when they reached the garden.AN IGNOMINIOUS DISMISSAL 183 “Tf you look,” said Mr. Pecksniff, backing from the steps, with his head on one side and his eyes half-shut that he might the better take in the proportions of the exterior: “If you look, my dears, at the cornice which supports the roof, and observe the airiness of its construction, especially where it sweeps the southern angle of the building, you will feel with me—How do you do, sir? JI hope you're well ?” Interrupting himself with these words, he very politely bowed to a middle-aged gentleman at an upper window, to whom he spoke: not because the gentleman could hear him (for he certainly could not), but as an appropriate accompani- ment to his salutation. ‘I have no doubt, my dears,” said Mr. Pecksniff, feigning to point out other beauties with his hand, ‘‘ that this is the proprietor. I should be glad to know him. It might lead to something. Is he looking this way, Charity ?” “He is opening the window, pa!” “Ha, ha!” eried Mr. Pecksniff softly. “Allright! He has found I’m professional. He heard me inside just now, I have no doubt. Don’t look! With regard to the fluted pillars in the pertico, my dears— ” “Hallo!” cried the gentleman. “Sir, your servant!” said Mr. Pecks«iff, taking off his hat. ‘Iam proud to make your acquaintance.” “ Come off the grass, will you!” roared the gentleman. “JT beg your pardon, sir,” said Mr. Pecksniff, doubtful of his having heard aright. ‘‘ Did you—?” “Come off the grass!” repeated the gentleman, warmly. ‘We are unwilling to intrude, sir,” Mr. Pecksniff smilingly began. “But you are intruding,” returned the other, “ unwarrant- ably intruding. Trespassing. You see a gravel walk, don’t you? What do you think it’s meant for? Open the gate there! Show that party out!” With that he clapped down the window again, and dis- appeared. Mr. Pecksniff put on his hat, and walked with great delibera- tion and in profound silence to the fly, gazing at the clouds as he went, with great interest. After helping his daughters and Mrs. Todgers into that conveyance, he stood looking at it for some moments, as if he were not quite certain whether it was a carriage or a temple; but, having settled this pointeen eee nay tater pee % , 184 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT in his mind, he got into his place, spread his hands out on his knees, and smiled upon the three beholders. But his daughters, less tranquil-minded, burst into a torrent of indignation. This came, they said, of cherishing such ereatures as the Pinches. This came of lowering themselves to their level. This came of putting themselves in the humiliating position of seeming to know such bold, auda- cious, cunning, dreadful girls as that. They had expected this. They had predicted it to Mrs. Todgers, as she (Todgers) could depone, that very morning. To this, they added, that the owner of the house, supposing them to be Miss Pinch’s friends. had acted, in their opinion, quite correctly, and had done no more than, under such circumstances, might reason- ably have been expected. To that they added (with a trifling inconsistency), that he was a brute and a bear; and then they merged into a flood of tears, which swept away all wandering epithets before it. Perhaps Miss Pinch was scarcely so much to blame in the matter as the Seraph, who, immediately on the withdrawal of the visitors, had hastened to report them at head-quarters, with a full account of their having presumptuously charged her with the delivery of a message afterwards consigned to the footman; which outrage, taken in conjunction with Mr. Pecksniff’s unobtrusive remarks on the establishment, might possibly have had some share in their dismissal. Poor Miss Pinch, however, had to bear the brunt of it with both parties: being so severely taken to task by the Seraph’s mother for having such vulgar acquaintances, that she was fain to retire to her own room in tears, which her natural cheerfulness and submission, and the delight of having seen Mr. Pecksnitf, and having received a letter from her brother, were at first insufficient to repress. As to Mr. Pecksniff, he told them in the fly, that a good action was its own reward; and rather gave them to under- stand, that if he could have been kicked in such a cause, he would have liked it all the better. But this was no comfort to the young ladies, who scolded violently the whole way back, and even exhibited, more than once, a keen desire to attack the devoted Mrs. Todgers : on whose personal appearance, but particularly on whose offending card and hand-basket, they were secretly inclined to lay the blame of half their failure. Todgers’s was in a great bustle that evening, partly owing to some additional domestic preparations for the morrow, andSATURDAY NIGHT AT TODGERS’S 185 partly to the excitement always inseparable in that house from Saturday night, when every gentleman’s linen arrived at a different hour in its own little bundle, with his private account pinned on the outside. There was always a great clinking of pattens down-stairs, too, until midnight or so, on Saturdays ; together with a frequent gleaming of mysterious lights in the area; much working at the pump; and a constant jangling of the iron handle of the pail. Shrill altercations from time to time arose between Mrs. Todgers and unknown females in remote back kitchens; and sounds were occasionally heard, indicative of small articles of ironmongery and hardware being thrown at the boy. It was the custom of that youth on Satur- days, to roll up his shirt sleeves to his shoulders, and pervade all parts of the house in an apron of coarse green baize: moreover, he was more strongly tempted on Saturdays than on other days (it being a busy time), to make excursive bolts into the neighbouring alleys when he answered the door, and there to play at leap-frog and other sports with vagrant lads, until pursued and brought back by the hair of his head or the lobe of his ear; thus he was quite a conspicuous feature among the peculiar incidents of the last day in the week at Todgers’s. He was especially so on this particular Saturday evening, and honoured the Miss Pecksniffs with a deal of notice; seldom passing the door of Mrs. Todgers’s private room, where they sat alone before the fire, working by the light of a solitary candle, without putting in his head and greeting them with some such compliments as, ‘There you are agin!” ‘‘Ant it nice?” and similar humorous attentions. “I say,” he whispered, stopping in one of his journeys to and fro, “young ladies, there’s soup to-morrow. She’s a- making it now. An’t she a-putting in the water? Oh! not at all neither!” In the course of answering another knock, he thrust in his head again. “T say! There’s fowls to-morrow. Not skinny ones. Oh no!” Presently he called through the key-hole: ‘There’s a fish to-morrow. Just come. Don’t eat none of him!” And, with this special warning, vanished again. By-and-bye, he returned to lay the cloth for supper: it haying been arranged between Mrs. Todgers and the young ladies, that they should partake of an exclusive veal-cutleta Senet ete ar, om 5. Tar tae eet eee 186 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT together in the privacy of that apartment. He entertained them on this occasion by thrusting the lighted candle ‘nto his mouth, and exhibiting his face in a state of transparency ; after the performance of which feat, he went on with his professional duties ; brightening every knife as he laid it on the table, by breathing on the blade and after- wards polishing the same on the apron already mentioned. When he had completed his preparations, he erinned at the sisters, and expressed his belief that the approaching colla- tion would be of “rather a spicy sort.” ‘“ Will it be long before it’s ready, Bailey ?” asked Mercy. “No,” said Bailey, “it is cooked. When I come up, she was dodging among the tender pieces with a fork, and eating of ’em.” But he had scarcely achieved the utterance of these words, when he received a manual compliment on the head, which sent him staggering against the wall; and Mrs. Todgers, dish in hand, stood indignantly before him. “Oh you little villain!” said that lady. “Oh you bad, false boy!” ‘No worse than yerself,” retorted Bailey, guarding his head, on a principle invented by Mr. Thomas Cribb. “Ah! Come now! Do that agin, will yer?” ‘ He’s the most dreadful child,” said Mrs. Todgers, setting down the dish, “I ever had to deal with. The gentlemen spoil him to that extent, and teach him such things, that I'm afraid nothing but hanging will ever do him any good.” “Won't it!” cried Bailey. “Oh! Yes! Wot do you eo a-lowerin the table-beer for then, and destroying my constitooshun ?” “Go down-stairs, you vicious boy,” said Mrs. Todgers, holding the door open. ‘‘Do you hear me? Go along !” After two or three dexterous feints, he went, and was seen no more that night, save once, when he brought up some tumblers and hot water, and much disturbed the two Miss Pecksniffs by squinting hideously behind the back of the unconscious Mrs. Todgers. Having done this justice to his wounded feelings, he retired underground : where, in company with a swarm of black beetles and a kitchen candle, he employed his faculties in cleaning boots and brushing clothes until the night was far advanced. : Benjamin was supposed to be the real name of this young retainer, but he was known by a great variety of names.BAILEY JUNIOR 187 Benjamin, for instance, had been converted into Uncle Ben. and that again had been corrupted into Uncle ; which, by an easy transition, had again passed into Barnwell, in memory of the celebrated relative in that degree who was shot by his nephew George, while meditating in his garden at Camberwell. The gentlemen at Todgers’s had a merry habit, too, of bestowing upon him, for the time being, the name of any notorious malefactor or minister: and some- times when current events were flat, they even sought the pages of history for these distinctions; as Mr. Pitt, Young 3rownrigg, and the like. At the period of which we write, he was generally known among the gentlemen as Bailey junior; a name bestowed upon him in contradistinction, perhaps, to Old Bailey; and possibly as involving the re- collection of an unfortunate lady of the same name, who perished by her own hand early in life, and has been im- mortalised in a ballad. The usual Sunday dinner-hour at Todgers’s was two o'clock ; a suitable time, it was considered, for all parties ; convenient to Mrs. Todgers, on account of the baker’s: and convenient to the gentlemen, with reference to their after- noon engagements. But on the Sunday which was to intro- duce the two Miss Pecksniffs to a full knowledge of Todgers’s and its society, the dinner was postponed until five, in order that everything might be as genteel as the oceasion demanded. When the hour drew nigh, Bailey junior, testifying great excitement, appeared in a complete suit of cast-off clothes several sizes too large for him, and in particular, mounted a clean shirt of such extraordinary magnitude, that one of the gentlemen (remarkable for his ready wit) called him “collars” on the spot. At about a quarter before five, a deputation, consisting of Mr. Jinkins, and another gentle- man whose name was Gander, knocked at the door of Mrs. Todgers’s room, and, being formally introduced to the two Miss Pecksniffs by their parent who was in waiting, be- sought the honour of conducting them up-stairs. The drawing-room at Todgers’s was out of the common style ; so much so indeed, that you would hardly have taken it to be a drawing-room, unless you were told so by some- body who was in the secret. It was floor-clothed all over ; and the ceiling, including a great beam in the middle, was papered, Besides the three little windows, with seats inPe ae ara eae = * senescence emit epee n rI CRON SOOO CR CBRE SI rt en Pere eer 188 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT archway, there was another them, commanding the opposite i any compromise at all window looking point blank, without about it, into Jinkins’s bedroom ; and high up, all along one side of the wall, was a strip of panes of glass, two-deep, giving light to the staircase. ‘There were the oddest closets possible, with little easements in them like eight-day clocks, lurking in the wainscot and taking the shape of the stairs: and the very door itself (which was painted black) had two ereat glass eyes in its forehead, with an inquisitive green pupil in the middle of each. Here the gentlemen were all assembled. There was a general ery of “ Hear, hear!” and “ Bravo Jink!” when Mr. Jinkins appeared with Charity on his arm: which became quite rapturous as Mr. Gander followed, escorting Mercy, and Mr. Pecksniff brought up the rear with Mrs. Todgers. Then the presentations took place. They included a centleman of a sporting turn, who propounded questions on jockey subjects to the editors of Sunday papers, which were regarded by his friends as rather stiff things to answer ; and they included a gentleman of a theatrical turn, who had once entertained serious thoughts of ‘coming out,” but had been kept in by the wickedness of human nature ; and they included a gentleman of a debating turn, who was strong at speech-making ; and a gentleman of a literary turn, who wrote squibs upon the rest, and knew the weak side of everybody’s character but his own. There was a gentleman of a vocal turn, and a gentleman of a smoking turn, and a gentleman of a convivial turn; some of the gentlemen had a turn for whist, and a large proportion of the gentlemen had a strong turn for billiards and betting. They had all, it may be presumed, a turn for business ; being all com- mercially employed in one way or other; and had, every one in his own way, a decided turn for pleasure to boot. Mr. Jinkins was of a fashionable turn; being a regular frequenter of the Parks on Sundays, and knowing a great many carriages by sight. He spoke mysteriously, too, of splendid women, and was suspected of haying once com- mitted himself with a Countess. Mr. Gander was of a witty turn, being indeed the gentleman who had originated the sally about ‘collars ;” which sparkling pleasantry was now retailed from mouth to mouth, under the title of Gander’s Last, and was received in all parts of the room with great applause. Mr. Jinkins, it may be added, was much theGREAT DINNER PARTY AT TODGERS’S 189 oldest of the party: being a fish-salesman’s book-keeper, aged forty. He was the oldest boarder also; and in right of his double seniority, took the lead in the house, as Mrs. Todgers had already said. There was considerable delay in the production of dinner, and poor Mrs. Todgers, being reproached in confidence by Jinkins, slipped in and out, at least twenty times to see about it; always coming back as though she had no such thing upon her mind, and hadn’t been out at all. But there was no hitch in the conversation, nevertheless: for one gentleman, who travelled in the perfumery line, exhibited an interesting nick-nack, in the way of a remarkable cake of shaving soap which he had lately met with in Germany; and the gentleman of a literary turn repeated (by desire) some sarcastic stanzas he had recently produced on the freezing of the tank at the back of the house. These amusements, with the miscellaneous conyersation arising out of them, passed the time splendidly, until dinner was announced by Bailey junior in these terms: “The wittles is up!’ On which notice they immediately descended to the ban- quet-hall; some of the more facetious spirits in the rear taking down gentlemen as if they were ladies, in imitation of the fortunate possessors of the two Miss Pecksniffs. Mr. Pecksniff said grace: a short and pious grace, in- yoking a blessing on the appetites of those present, and committing all persons who had nothing to eat, to the care of Providence ; whose business (so said the grace, in effect) it clearly was, to look after them. This done, they fell to with less ceremony than appetite; the table groaning be- neath the weight, not only of the delicacies whereof the Miss Pecksniffs had been previously forewarned, but of boiled beef, roast veal, bacon, pies, and abundance of such heavy vegetables as are favourably known to housekeepers for their satisfying qualities. Besides which, there were bottles of stout, bottles of wine, bottles of ale, and divers other strong drinks, native and foreign. All this was highly agreeable to the two Miss Pecksniffs, who were in immense request ; sitting one on either hand of Mr. Jinkins at the bottom of the table; and who were called upon to take wine with some new admirer every minute. They had hardly ever felt so pleasant, and so full of con- versation, in their lives; Mercy, in particular, was uncom-en te eee ee teh i a este ; Igo MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT monly brilliant, and said so many eood things mm the way of lively repartee that she was looked upon as a prodigy. ~ In short,” as that young lady observed, “they felt now, indeed, that they were in London, and for the first time too.” Their young friend Bailey sympathised in these feelings to the fullest extent, and, abating nothing of his patronage, gave them every encouragement in his power: favouring them, when the general attention was diverted from his proceedings, with many nods and winks and other tokens of recognition, and occasionally touching his nose with a cork- screw, as if to express the Bacchanalian character of the meeting. In truth, perhaps even the spirits of the two Miss Pecksniffs, and the hungry watchfulnmess of Mrs. Todgers, were less worthy of note than the proceedings of this remarkable boy, whom nothing disconcerted or put out of his way. If any piece of crockery, a dish or otherwise, chanced to slip through his hands (which happened once or twice), he let it go with perfect good breeding, and never added to the painful emotions of the company by exhibiting the least regret. .Nor did he, by hurrying to and fro, dis- turb the repose of the assembly, as many well-trained servants do; on the contrary, feeling the hopelessness of waiting upon so large a party, he left the gentlemen to help themselves to what they wanted, and seldom stirred from behind Mr. Jinkins’s chair: where, with his hands in his pockets, and his legs planted pretty wide apart, he led the laughter, and enjoyed the conversation. The dessert was splendid. No waiting either. The pudding- plates had been washed in a little tub outside the door while cheese was on, and though they were moist and warm with friction, still there they were again, up to the mark, and true to time. Quarts of almonds; dozens of oranges ; pounds of raisins: stacks of biffins; soup-plates full of nuts. Oh, Todgers’s could do it when it chose! Mind that. Then more wine came on; red wines and white wines ; and a large china bowl of punch, brewed by the gentleman of a convivial turn, who adjured the Miss Pecksniffs not to be despondent on account of its dimensions, as there were materials in the house for the decoction of half a dozen more of the same size. Good gracious, how they laughed! How they coughed when they sipped it, because it was so strong 3 and how they laughed again when somebody vowed that but for its colour it might have been mistaken, in regard ofAFTER-DINNER ELOQUENCE IQ! its Imnocuous qualities, for new milk! What a shout of “No!” burst from the gentlemen when they pathetically implored Mr. Jinkins to suffer them to qualify it with hot water ; and how blushingly, by little and little, did each of them drink her whole glassful, down to its very dregs! Now comes the trying time. The sun, as Mr. Jinkins says (gentlemanly creature, Jinkins—never at a loss!) js about to leave the firmament. “Miss Pecksniff!” says Mrs. Todgers, softly, “will you—?” ‘Oh dear. no more, Mrs. Todgers.” Mrs. Todgers rises: the two Miss Peck- sniffs rise ; all rise. Miss Mercy Pecksniff looks downward for her scarf. Where is it? Dear me, where can it be? Sweet girl, she has it on; not on her fair neck, but loose upon her flowing figure. A dozen hands assist her. She is all confusion. The youngest gentleman in company thirsts to murder Jinkins. She skips and joins her sister at the door. Her sister has her arm about the waist of Mrs. Todgers. She winds her arm around her sister. Diana, what a picture! The last things visible are a shape and a skip. “Gentlemen, let us drink the ladies!’ The enthusiasm is tremendous. The gentleman of a de- bating turn rises in the midst, and suddenly lets loose a tide of eloquence which bears down everything before it. He is reminded of a toast: a toast to which they will respond. There is an individual present ; he has him in his eye; to whom they owe a debt of gratitude. He repeats it, a debt of gratitude. Their rugged natures have been softened and ameliorated that day, by the society of lovely woman. There is a gentleman in company whom two accomplished and delightful females regard with veneration, as the fountain of their existence, Yes, when yet the two Miss Pecksnifts lisped in language scarce intelligible, they called that indi- vidual “ Father!” There is great applause. He gives them “Mr. Pecksniff, and God bless him !’’ They all shake hands with Mr. Pecksniff, as they drink the toast. The youngest gentleman in company does so with a thrill: for he feels that a mysterious influence pervades the man who claims that being in the pink scarf for his daughter. What saith Mr. Pecksniff in reply? Or rather let the question be, What leaves he unsaid? Nothing. More punch is called for, and produced, and drunk. Enthusiasm mounts still higher. Every man comes out freely in his own char- acter. The gentleman of a theatrical turn recites, TheTee ee aS ree eae 192 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT vocal gentleman regales them with a song. Gander leaves the Gander of all former feasts whole leagues behind. He rises to propose a toast. It is, The Father of Todgers’s. It is their common friend Jink. It is Old Jink, if he may call him by that familiar and endearing appellation. The youngest gentleman in company utters a frantic negative. He won’t have it, he can’t bear it, it mustn’t be. But his depth of feeling is misunderstood. He is supposed to be a little elevated ; and nobody heeds him. Mr. Jinkins thanks them from his heart. It is, by many degrees, the proudest day in his humble career. When he looks around him on the present occasion, he feels that he wants words in which to express his eratitude. One thing he will say. He hopes it has been shown that Todgers’s can be true to itself; and that, an opportunity arising, it can come out quite as strong as its neighbours—perhaps stronger. He reminds them, amidst thunders of encouragement, that they have heard of a somewhat similar establishment in Cannon Street; and that they have heard it praised. He wishes to draw no inyidious comparisons ; he would be the last man to do it; but when that Cannon Street establish- ment shall be able to produce such a combination of wit and beauty as has graced that board that day, and shall be able to serve up (all things considered) such a dinner as that of which they have just partaken, he will be happy to talk to it. Until then, gentlemen, he will stick to Todgers’s. More punch, more enthusiasm, more speeches. Lvery- body’s health is drunk, saving the youngest gentleman’s in company. He sits apart, with his elbow on the back of a vacant chair, and glares disdainfully at Jinkins. Gander, in a convulsing speech, gives them the health of Bailey junior ; hiceups are heard; and a glass is broken. Mr. Jinkins feels that it is time to join the ladies. He proposes, as a final sentiment, Mrs. Todgers. She is worthy to be remembered separately. Hear, hear. So she is: no doubt of it. They all find fault with her at other times; but every man feels, now, that he could die in her defence. They go up-stairs, where they are not expected so soon ; for Mrs. Todgers is asleep, Miss Charity is adjusting her hair, and Mercy, who has made a sofa of one of the window-seats, is in a gracefully recumbent attitude. She is rising hastily, when Mr. Jinkins implores her, for all their sakes, not to stir: she looks too graceful and too lovely, he remarks, to ?STRANGE CONDUCT OF MR. PECKSNIFF 193 be disturbed. She laughs, and yields, and fans herself, and drops her fan, and there is a rush to pick it up. Being now installed, by one consent, as the beauty of the party, she is cruel and capricious, and sends gentlemen on messages to other gentlemen, and forgets all about them before they can return with the answer, and invents a thousand tortures. rending their hearts to pieces. Bailey brings up the tea and coffee. There is a small cluster of admirers round Charity ; but they are only those who cannot get near her sister. The youngest gentleman in company is pale, but collected, and still sits apart; for his spirit loves to hold communion with itself, and his soul recoils from noisy revellers. She has a consciousness of his presence and adoration. He sees it flashing sometimes in the corner of her eye. Have a care, Jinkins, ere you provoke a desperate man to frenzy! Mr. Pecksniff had followed his younger friends up-stairs, and taken a chair at the side of Mrs. Todgers. He had also spilt a cup of coffee over his legs without appearing to be aware of the circumstance; nor did he seem to know that there was muffin on his knee. ‘‘And how have they used you down-stairs, sir?” asked the hostess. “'Their conduct has been such, my dear madam,” said Mr. Pecksniff, “as I can never think of without emotion, or remember without a tear. Oh, Mrs. Todgers!” “My goodness!” exclaimed that lady. “ How low you are in your spirits,. sir!” “IT am a man, my dear madam,” said Mr. Pecksniff, shedding tears, and speaking with an imperfect articulation, ‘but I am also a father. Jam also a widower. My feelings, Mrs. Todgers, will not consent to be entirely smothered, like the young children in the Tower. They are grown up, and the more I press the bolster on them, the more they look round the corner of it.” He suddenly became conscious of the bit of muffin, and stared at it intently: shaking his head the while, in a forlorn and imbecile manner, as if he regarded it as his evil genius, and mildly reproached it. “She was beautiful, Mrs. Todgers,” he said, turning his glazed eye again upon her, without the least preliminary notice. ‘‘She had a small property.” “So I have heard,” cried Mrs. Todgers with great sympathy. = G4 ee eer ee ES as P eee eat ee i na ene eS 194 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT “Those are her daughters,” said Mr. Pecksniff, pointing out the young ladies, with increased emotion. Mrs. Todgers had no doubt of it. “Mercy and Charity,” said Mr. Mercy. Not unholy names, I hope?” “Mr. Pecksniff!” cried Mrs. Todgers. “What a ghastly Pecksniff, ‘“ Charity and smile?’ Are you ill, sir?” He pressed his hand upon her solemn manner, and a faint voice, ‘‘Cholic 2?” cried the frightened Mrs. Todgers. “ Chron-ic,” he repeated with some difficulty. ‘‘ Chron-ic. A chronic disorder. I have been its victim from childhood. It is carrying me to my erave.” ‘‘ Heaven forbid!” cried Mrs. Todgers. “Ves, it is,” said Mr. Pecksniff, reckless with despair. “J am rather glad of it, upon the whole, You are like her, Mrs. Todgers.”’ “Don’t squeeze me so tight, pray, Mr. Pecksniff. It any of the gentlemen should notice us.” “For her sake,” said Mr. Pecksniff. “Permit me. In honour of her memory. For the sake of a voice from the A tomb. You are very like her, Mrs. Todgers ! What a world arm, and answered in a ‘‘ Chronic.” this is! ‘Ah! Indeed you may say that!” cried Mrs. Todgers. “Tm afraid it is a vain and thoughtless world,” said Mr. Pecksniff, overflowing with despondency. * These young people about us. Oh! what sense have they of their responsi- bilities? None. Give me your other hand, Mrs. Todgers.” That lady hesitated, and said ‘‘she didn’t like.” ; ‘Has a voice from the grave no influence?” said Mr. Pecksniff, with dismal tenderness. ‘‘This 1s irreligious ! My dear creature.” “Hush!” urged Mrs. Todgers. “ Really you mustn’t.” “Tt’s not me,” said Mr. Pecksniff. ‘Don’t suppose it’s me: it’s the voice ; it’s her voice.” Mrs. Pecksniff deceased, must have had an unusually thick and husky voice for a lady, and rather a stuttering voice, and to say the truth somewhat of a drunken voice, if it had ever borne much resemblance to that in which Mr. Pecksniff spoke just then. But perhaps this was delusion on his part. “Tt has been a day of enjoyment, Mrs. Todgers, but still it has been a day of torture. It has reminded me of my loneliness. What am I in the world?”A CONFUSED STATE OF MIND 195 ‘“An excellent gentleman, Mr. Pecksniff,” said Mrs. Todgers. ‘There is consolation in that too,” cried Mr. Pecksniff. ‘Am Lb?’ ‘There is no better man living,” said Mrs. Todgers, “I am sure. Mr. Pecksniff smiled through his tears, and slightly shook his head. ‘‘ You are very good,” he said, ‘‘ thank you. It is a great happiness to me, Mrs. Todgers, to make young people happy. The happiness of my pupils is my chief object. I dote upon ’em. They dote upon me too. Sometimes.” ‘** Always,” said Mrs. Todgers. ‘* When they say they haven't improved, ma’am,” whispered Mr. Pecksniff, looking at her with profound mystery, and motioning to her to advance her ear a little closer to his mouth. ‘When they say they hayven’t improved, ma’am, and the premium was too high, they lie! I shouldn’t wish it to be mentioned ; you will understand me; but I say to you as to an old friend, they lie.” ‘‘ Base wretches they must be!” said Mrs. Todgers. ‘‘Madam,” said Mr. Pecksniff, ‘you are right. I respect you for that observation. A word in your ear. To Parents and Guardians. ‘This is in confidence, Mrs. Todgers ?” “The strictest, of course!” cried that lady. “To Parents and Guardians,” repeated Mr. Pecksniff. ‘An eligible opportunity now offers, which unites the advantages of the best practical architectural education with the comforts of a home, and the constant association with some, who, how- ever humble their sphere and limited their capacity— observe ! —are not unmindful of their moral responsibilities.” Mrs. Todgers looked a little puzzled to know what this might mean, as well she might; for it was, as the reader may perchance remember, Mr. Pecksniff’s usual form of advertisement when he wanted a pupil ; and seemed to have no particular reference, at present, to anything. But Mr. Pecksniff held up his finger as a caution to her not to interrupt him. ‘*Do you know any parent or guardian, Mrs. Todgers,” said Mr. Pecksniff, ‘“‘ who desires to avail himself of such an opportunity for a young gentleman? An orphan would be preferred. Do you know of any orphan with three or four hundred pound ?”Sn ae tea 4 7 7 cata ee ar eT En at ea eee ea een eee ae Ee ne ne Tn 196 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT Mrs. Todgers reflected, and shook her head. ‘When you hear of an orphan with three or four hundred pound,” said Mr. Pecksniff, “let that dear orphan’s friends apply, by letter post-paid, to 8. P., Post Office, Salisbury. I don’t know who he is, exactly. Don’t be alarmed, Mrs. Todgers,” said Mr. Pecksniff, falling heavily against her: ‘‘@hronic—chronic! Let’s have a little drop of something to drink.” “Bless my life, Miss Pecksniffs!’’ cried Mrs. Todgers, aloud, “your dear pa’s took very poorly !” Mr. Pecksniff straightened himself by a surprising effort, as every one turned hastily towards him ; and standing on his feet, regarded the assembly with a look of ineffable wisdom. Gradually it gave place to a smile ; a feeble, help- less, melancholy smile ; bland, almost to sickliness. “Do not repine, my friends,” said Mr. Pecksniff, tenderly. “Do not weep for me. It is chronic.” And with these words, after making a futile attempt to pull off his shoes, he fell into the fire-place. The youngest gentleman in company had him out in a second. Yes, before a hair upon his head was singed, he had him on the hearth-rug.—Her father ! She was almost beside herself. So was her sister. Jinkins consoled them both. They all consoled them. Everybody had something to say, except the youngest gentleman in company, who with a noble self-deyotion did the heavy work, and held up Mr. Pecksnift’s head without being taken notice of by anybody. At last they gathered round, and agreed to carry him up-stairs to bed. The youngest gentleman in company was rebuked by Jinkins for tearing Mr. Pecksniff’s coat! Ha, ha! But no matter. They carried him up-stairs, and crushed the youngest gentleman at every step. His bedroom was at the top of the house, and it was a long way; but they got him there in course of time. He asked them frequently on the road for a little drop of something to drink. It seemed an idiosynerasy. The youngest gentleman in company proposed a draught of water. Mr. Pecksniff called him opprobrious names for the suggestion. Jinkins and Gander took the rest upon themselves, and made him as comfortable as they could, on the outside of his bed: and when he seemed disposed to sleep, they lett him. But before they had all gained the bottom of theMR. PECKSNIFF BECOMES IRREPRESSIBLE 197 staircase, a vision of Mr. Pecksniff, strangely attired, was seen to flutter on the top landing. He desired to collect their sentiments, it seemed, upon the nature of human life. ‘* My friends,” cried Mr. Pecksniff, looking over the banisters. “let us improve our minds by mutual inquiry and discussion. Let us be moral. Let us contemplate existence. Where is Jinkins ?” ‘ Here,” cried that gentleman. ‘Go to bed again!” “To bed!” said Mr. Pecksniff. “Bed! ’Tis the voice of the sluggard, I hear him complain, you have woke me too soon, [ must slumber again. If any young orphan will repeat the remainder of that simple piece from Doctor Watts’s collection an eligible opportunity now offers.” Nobody volunteered. ‘This is very soothing,” said Mr. Pecksniff, after a pause. ‘Extremely so. Cool and refreshing; particularly to the legs! The legs of the human subject, my friends, are a beautiful production. Compare them with wooden legs, and observe the difference between the anatomy of nature and the anatomy of art. Do you know,” said Mr. Pecksniff, leaning over the banisters, with an odd recollection of his familiar manner among new pupils at home, “that I should very much like to see Mrs. Todgers’s notion of a wooden leg, if perfectly agreeable to herself !” As it appeared impossible to entertain any reasonable hopes of him after this speech, Mr. Jinkins and Mr. Gander went up-stairs again, and once more got him into bed. But they had not descended to the second floor before he was out again ; nor, when they had repeated the process, had they descended the first flight, before he was out again. In a word, as often as he was shut up in his own room, he darted out afresh, charged with some new moral sentiment, which he continually repeated over the banisters, with extraordinary relish, and an irrepressible desire for the improvement of his fellow creatures that nothing could subdue. Under these circumstances, when they had got him into bed for the thirtieth time or so, Mr. Jinkins held him, while his companion went down-stairs in search of Bailey junior, with whom he presently returned. That youth, having been apprised of the service required of him, was in great spirits, and brought up a stool, a candle, and his supper; to the end that he might keep watch outside the bedroom door with tolerable comfort.4 aa Os eat Shapewear opener oe Tey i a ‘i 5 ; e 3 ! nnn ne ne erate 198 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT When he had completed his arrangements, they locked Mr. Pecksniff in, and left the key on the outside; charging the young page to listen attentively for symptoms of an apoplectic nature, with which the patient might be troubled, and, in ease of any such presenting themselves, to Summon them without delay. To which Mr. Bailey modestly replied that “he hoped he knowed wot o’clock it wos in gineral, and didn’t date his letters to his friends, from Todgers’s, for nothing.”CHAPTER X CONTAINING STRANGE MATTER; ON WHICH MANY EVENTS IN THIS. HISTORY MAY: EOR THEIE GOOD OR. EVIE INFLUENCE, CHIEFLY DEPEND But Mr. Pecksniff came to town on business. Had he forgotten that? Was he always taking his pleasure with Todgers’s jovial brood, unmindful of the serious demands, whatever they might be, upon his calm consideration? No. Time and tide will wait for no man, saith the adage. But all men have to wait for time and tide. That tide which, taken at the flood, would lead Seth Pecksniff on to fortune, was marked down in the table, and about to flow. No idle Pecksniff lingered far inland, unmindful of the changes of the stream ; but there, upon the water’s edge, over his shoes already, stood the worthy creature, prepared to wallow in the very mud, so that it slid towards the quarter of his hope. The trustfulness of his two fair daughters was beautiful indeed. They had that firm reliance on their parent’s nature, which taught them to feel certain that in all he did he had his purpose straight and full before him. And that its noble end and object was himself, which almost of necessity included them, they knew. The devotion of these maids was perfect. Their filial confidence was rendered the more touching, by their having no knowledge of their parent’s real designs, in the present instance. All that they knew of his proceedings was, that every morning, after the early breakfast, he repaired to the post office and inquired for letters. That task per- formed, his business for the day was over; and he again relaxed, until the rising of another sun proclaimed the advent of another post. This went on for four or five days. At length, one morning, Mr. Pecksniff returned with a breathless rapidity, strange toeae eee ere ee : , ; . o Ear eae eee ae aT Rca 200 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT observe in him, at other times so calm ; and, seeking imme- diate speech with his daughters, shut himself up with them in private conference for two whole hours. Of all that passed in this period, only the following words of Mr. Peck- sniff’s utterance are known. “ How he has come to change so very much (if it should turn out as I expect, that he has), we needn’t stop to inquire. My dears, I have my thoughts upon the subject, but I will not impart them. It is enough that we will not be proud, resentful, or unforgiving. If he wants our friendship he shall have it. We know our duty, I hope!” That same day at noon, an old gentleman alighted from a hackney-coach at the post office, and, giving his name, inquired for a letter addressed to himself, and directed to be left till called for. It had been lying there some days. The superscription was in Mr. Pecksniff’s hand, and it was sealed with Mr. Pecksniff’s seal. It was very short, containing indeed nothing more than an address “with Mr. Pecksniff’s respectful, and (notwithstanding what has passed) sincerely affectionate regards.” The old ventleman tore off the direction -secattering the rest in fragments to the winds—and giving it to the coachman, hade him drive as near that place as he could. In pursuance of these instructions he was driven to the Monument ; where he again alighted, and dismissed the vehicle, and walked towards Todgers’s. Though the face, and form, and gait of this old man, and even his grip of the stout stick on which he leaned, were all expressive of a resolution not easily shaken, and a purpose (it matters little whether right or wrong, just now) such as in other days might have survived the rack, and had its strongest life in weakest death ; still there were grains of hesitation in his mind, which made him now avoid the house he sought, and loiter to and fro in a gleam of sunlight, that brightened the little churchyard hard by. There may have been, in the presence of those idle heaps of dust among the busiest stir of life, something to increase his wavering ; but there he walked, awakening the echoes as he paced up and down, until the church clock, striking the quarters for the second time since he had been there, roused him from his meditation. Shaking off his incertitude as the air parted with the sound of the bells, he walked rapidly to the house, and knocked at the door. ;A VISITOR TO TODGERS’S 201 Mr. Pecksniff was seated in the landlady’s little room, and his visitor found him reading—by an accident: he apologised for it—an excellent theological work. There were cake and wine upon a little table—by another accident, for which he also apologised. Indeed he said, he had given his visitor up, and was about to partake of that simple refreshment with his children, when he knocked at the door. ‘Your daughters are well?” said old Martin, laying down his hat and stick. Mr. Pecksniff endeavoured to conceal his agitation as a father, when he answered, Yes, they were. They were good girls, he said, very good. He would not venture to recom- mend Mr. Chuzzlewit to take the easy-chair, or to keep out of the draught from the door. If he made any such suggestion, he would expose himself, he feared, to most unjust suspicion. He would, therefore, content himself with remarking that there was an easy-chair in the room; and that the door was far from being air-tight. This latter imperfection, he might perhaps venture to add, was not uncommonly to be met with in old houses. The old man sat down in the easy-chair, and after a few moments’ silence, said : “In the first place, let me thank you for coming to London so promptly, at my almost unexplained request: I need scarcely add, at my cost.” “At your cost, my good sir!” cried Mr. Pecksniff, in a tone of great surprise. “Jt is not,” said Martin, waving his hand impatiently, ‘‘ my habit to put my— well! my relatives—to any personal expense to gratify my caprices.” ‘‘Caprices, my good sir!” cried Mr. Pecksniff, ‘That is scarcely the proper word either, in this instance,” said the old man. ‘No, You are right.” Mr. Pecksniff was inwardly very much relieved to hear it, though he didn’t at all know why. “You are right,” repeated Martin. “It is not a ecaprice. It is built up on reason, proof, and cool comparison. Caprices never are. Moreover, I am not a capricious man, I never was.” “Most assuredly not,” said Mr. Pecksniff. ‘“ How do you know ?” returned the other quickly. ‘You are to begin to know it now. You are to test and prove it, in time to come. You and yours are to find that I can be Xx. G3a ee en ee i : eee ame ee eee een Ca ap ve ae a eae ne ees 202 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT constant, and am not to be diverted from my end. Do you hear ?” | ‘‘ Perfectly,” said Mr. Pecksniff. “T very much regret,” Martin resumed, looking steadily at him, and speaking in a slow and measured tone: ‘I very much regret that you and I held such a conversation together, as that which passed between us at our last meeting. I very much regret that I laid open to you what were then my thoughts of you, so freely as I did. The intentions that I bear towards you now are of another kind; deserted by all in whom I have ever trusted ; hoodwinked and beset by all who should help and sustain me ; I fly to you for refuge. I confide in you to be my ally ; to attach yourself to me by ties of Interest and Expectation ;” he laid great stress upon these words, though Mr. Pecksniff particularly begged him not to mention it; “and to help me to visit the consequences of the very worst species of meanness, dissimulation, and subtlety, on the right heads.” “My noble sir!” cried Mr, Pecksniff, catching at his out- stretched hand. “And you regret the having harboured unjust thoughts of me! you with those grey hairs!” “Regrets,” said Martin, “are the natural property of grey hairs; and [ enjoy, in common with all other men, at least my share of such inheritance. And so enough of that. I regret having been severed from you so long. If I had known you sooner, and sooner used you as you well deserve, I might have been a happier man.” Mr. Pecksniff looked up to the ceiling, and clasped his hands in rapture. ‘Your daughters,” said Martin, after a short silence. ‘“‘L don’t know them. Are they like you?” “In the nose of my eldest and the chin of my youngest, Mr. Chuzzlewit,” returned the widower, “ their sainted parent (not myself, their mother) lives again.” ‘TI don’t mean in person,” said the old man. ‘ Morally, morally.” “Tis not for me to say,” retorted Mr. Pecksniff with a gentle smile. “I have done my best, sir.” ‘‘T could wish to see them,” said Martin; ‘‘are they near at hand ?” ; They were, very near; for they had in fact been listening at the door, from the beginning of this conversation until now, when they precipitately retired. Having wiped theJOY OF THE TWO MISS PECKSNIFFS 203 signs of weakness from his eyes, and so given them time to get up-stairs, Mr. Pecksniff opened the door, and mildly cried in the passage, ‘My own darlings, where are you?” ‘Here, my dear pa!” replied the distant yoice of Charity. ‘Come down into the back parlour, if you please, my love,” said Mr. Pecksniff, “and bring your sister with you.” * Yes, my dear pa,” cried Merry; and down they came directly (being all obedience), singing as they came. Nothing could exceed the astonishment of the two Miss Pecksniffs when they found a stranger with their dear papa. Nothing could surpass their mute amazement when he said. * My children, Mr. Chuzzlewit!” But when he told them that Mr. Chuzzlewit and he were friends, and that Mr. Chuzzle- wit had said such kind and tender words as pierced his very heart, the two Miss Pecksniffs cried with one accord, ‘Thank Heaven for this!” and fell upon the old man’s neck, And when they had embraced him with such fervour of affection that no words can describe it, they grouped themselves about his chair, and hung over him: as figuring to themselves no earthly joy like that of ministering to his wants, and crowding into the remainder of his life, the love they would have diffused over their whole existence, from infancy, if he—dear obdurate! -had but consented to receive the precious offering. The old man looked attentively from one to the other, and then at Mr. Pecksniff, several times. “What,” he asked of Mr. Pecksniff, happening to catch his eye in its descent; for until now it had been piously upraised, with something of that expression which the poetry of ages has attributed to a domestic bird. when breathing its last amid the ravages of an electric storm: ‘‘ What are their names ?” Mr, Pecksniff told him, and added, rather hastily ; his calumniators would have said, with a view to any testamentary thoughts that might be flitting through old Martin’s mind ; ‘‘ Perhaps, my dears, you had better write them down. Your humble autographs are of no value in themselves, but affec- tion may prize them.” ‘‘ Affection,” said the old man, “ will expend itself on the living originals, Do not trouble yourselves, my girls, I shall not so easily forget you, Charity and Mercy, as to need such tokens of remembrance. Cousin!” “Sir!” said Mr. Pecksniff, with alacrity.204 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT “Do you never sit down?” “Why, yes: occasionally, sir,” said Mr. Pecksniff, who had been standing all this time. “Will you do so now?” “Can you ask me,” returned Mr. Pecksniff, slipping into 2 chair immediately, ‘ whether I will do anything that you desire ?” “You talk confidently,” said Martin, ‘‘and you mean well ; but I fear you don’t know what an old man’s humours are, You don’t know what it is to be required to court his likings and dislikings ; to adapt yourself to his prejudices ; to do his bidding, be it what it may; to bear with his distrusts and jealousies ; and always still be zealous in his service. When I remember how numerous these failings are in me, and judge of their occasional enormity by the injurious thoughts I lately entertained of you, I hardly dare to claim you for my friend.” “My worthy sir,” returned his relative, * how can you talk in such a painful strain! What was more natural than that you should make one slight mistake, when in all other respects you were so yery correct, and have had such reason, such very sad and undeniable reason, to Judge of every one about you in the worst light!” “True,” replied the other. ‘“ You are very lenient with me.” “We always said, my girls and I,” cried Mr. Pecksniff with increasing obsequiousness, “ that while we mourned the heaviness of our misfortune in being confounded with the base and mercenary, still we could not wonder at it. My dears, you remember ?” Oh vividly! A thousand times! “We uttered no complaint,” said Mr. Pecksniff. “* Occa- sionally we had the presumption to console ourselves with the remark that Truth would in the end prevail, and Virtue be triumphant ; but not often. My loves, you recollect ?” Recollect! Could he doubt it? Dearest pa, what strange unnecessary questions ! ‘And when I saw you,” resumed Mr. Pecksniff, with still greater deference, “in the little, unassuming village where we take the liberty of dwelling, I said you were mistaken in me, my dear sir: that was all, I think?” “No, not all,” said Martin, who had been sitting with his hand upon his brow for some time past, and now looked up again: “you said much more, which, added to other circum-TRUTH PREVAILS, AND VIRTUE IS TRIUMPHANT7. 1 t ; 1 Q N eaeVERY IMPORTANT CONVERSATION 207 stances that have come to my knowledge, opened my eyes. You spoke to me, disinterestedly, on behalf of—I needn’t name him. You know whom I mean.” Trouble was expressed in Mr. Pecksniffs visage, as he pressed his hot hands together, and replied, with humility, “Quite disinterestedly, sir, I assure you.” “T know it,” said old Martin, in his quiet way. “I am sure of it. I said so. It was disinterested too, in you, to draw that herd of harpies off from me, and be their victim yourself; most other men would have suffered them to display themselves in all their rapacity, and would have striven to rise, by contrast, in my estimation. You felt for me, and drew them off, for which 1 owe you many thanks. Although I left the place, I know what passed behind my back, you see!’ “You amaze me, sir!” cried Mr. Peeksniff; which was true enough. ‘“My knowledge of your proceedings,” said the old man, ‘does not stop at this. You have a new inmate in your house.” ‘Yes, sir,” rejoined the architect, “ I have.’ “He must quit it,” said Martin. ‘“‘For—for yours ?” asked Mr. Pecksniff, with a quavering mildness. ‘For any shelter he can find,” the old man answered. ‘He has deceived you.” “T hope not,” said Mr. Pecksniff, eagerly, “I trust not. I have been extremely well disposed towards that young man. I hope it cannot be shown that he has forfeited all claim to my protection. Deceit, deceit, my dear Mr. Chuzzlewit, would be final. I should hold myself bound, on proof of deceit, to renounce him instantly.” The old man glanced at both his fair supporters, but especially at Miss Mercy, whom, indeed, he looked full in the face, with a greater demonstration of interest than had yet appeared in his features. His gaze again encountered Mr. Pecksniff, as he said, composedly : “Of course you know that he has made his matrimonial choice ?”’ “Oh dear!” cried Mr. Pecksniff, rubbing his hair up very stiff upon his head, and staring wildly at his daughters. “This is becoming tremendous!” ‘You know the fact?” repeated Martin. ,rf ae eRe aca cclaaat a aes ae ee ee eT a : = Sane 208 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT “Surely not without his grandfather’s consent and appro- bation, my dear sir!” cried Mr. Pecksniff. ‘‘ Don’t tell me that. For the honour of human nature, say youre not about to tell me that!” ‘“‘T thought he had suppressed it,” said the old man. The indignation felt by Mz. Pecksniff at this terrible disclosure, was only to be equalled by the kindling anger of his daughters. What! Had they taken to their hearth and home a secretly contracted serpent; a crocodile, who had made a furtive offer of his hand; an imposition on society ; a bankrupt bachelor with no effects, trading with the spinster world on false pretences! And oh, to think that he should have disobeyed and practised on that sweet, that venerable gentleman, whose name he bore; that kind and tender guardian; his more than father (to say nothing at all of mother), horrible, horrible! To turn him out with ignominy would be treatment much too good. Was there nothing else that could be done to him? Had he incurred no legal pains and penalties? Could it be that the statutes of the land were so remiss as to have affixed no punishment to such delinquency? Monster; how basely had they been deceived ! “Tam glad to find you second me so warmly,” said the old man, holding up his hand to stay the torrent of their wrath. ‘‘T will not deny that it is a pleasure to me to find you so full of zeal. We will consider that topic as disposed of.” ua No, my dear sir.” eried Mr. Pecksniff, ** T1¥0t) as disposed of, until I have purged my house of this pollution.” “That will follow,” said the old man, “in its own time. I look upon that as done.” “You are very good, sir,” answered Mr. Pecksniff, shaking his hand. ‘You dome honour. You may look upon it as done, I assure you.” ‘There is another topic,” said Martin, ‘on which I hope you will assist me. You remember Mary, cousin?” “The young lady that I mentioned to you, my dears, as having interested me so very much,” remarked Mr. Pecksniff. “Excuse my interrupting you, sir.” ‘“‘T told you her history ;” said the old man. “Which I also mentioned, you will recollect, my dears,” eried Mr. Pecksniff. “Silly girls, Mr. Chuzzlewit. Quite moved by it, they were!” “Why, look now!” said Martin, evidently pleased: “ICOMING TO AN UNDERSTANDING 209 feared I should have had to urge her case upon you, and ask you to regard her favourably for my sake. But I find you have no jealousies! Well! You have no cause for any, to be sure, She has nothing to gain from me, my dears, and she knows it.’ The two Miss Pecksniffs murmured their approval of this wise arrangement, and their cordial sympathy with its intere sting object. “If I could have anticipated what has come to pass he- tween us four,” said the old man, thoughtfully : “but it is too late to think of that. You would receive her courte ously, young ladies, and be kind to her, if need were ?” Where was the orphan whom the two Miss Pecksniffs would not have cherished in their sisterly bosom! But when that orphan was commended to their care by one on whom the dammed-up love of years was gushing forth, what exhaustless store s of pure affection yearned to expend them- selves upon her An interval ensued, during which Mr. Chuzzlewit, in an absent frame of mind, sat gazing at the ground, without uttering a word; and as it was plain that he had no desire to be interrupted in his meditations, Mr. Pecksniff and his daughters were profoundly silent also. During the whole of the foregoing dialogue, he had borne his part with a cold, passionless promptitude, as though he had learned and pain- fully’ rehearsed it all a hundred times. Even when his expressions were warmest and his language most encour: aging, he had retained the same manner, without the least abate- ment. But now there was a keener brightness in his eye, and more expression in his voice, as he said, awakening from his thoughtful mood: “You know what will be said of this? Have you reflected ?” “Said of what, my dear sir?” Mr. Pecksniff asked. “ Of this new understanding between us.” Mr. Pecksniff looked benevolently sagacious, and at the same time far aboye all earthly mise onstruction, as he shook his head, and observed that a great many things would be said of it, no doubt. “A great many,” rejoined the old man. “Some will say that I doles in my old age; that illness has shaken me; that [ have lost all strength of mind ; and have grown childish. You can bear that?”aa aa Re cali ila eee eee , NEO ees 210 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT Mr. Pecksniff answered that ++ would be dreadfully hard to pear, but he thought he could, if he made a great effort. “Others will say—I speak of disappointed, angry people only—that you have lied, and fawned, and wormed yourself through dirty ways into my favour; by such concessions and such crooked deeds, such meannesses and vile enduranees, as nothing could repay: no, not the legacy of half the world we live in. You can bear that v Mr. Pecksniff made reply that this would be also very hard to bear, as reflecting, in some degree, on the discern- ment of Mr. Chuzzlewit. Still he had a modest confidence that he could sustain the calumny, with the help of a.good conscience, and that gentleman's friendship. “With the great mass of slanderers,” said old Martin, leaning back in his chair, “ the tale, as I clearly foresee, will run thus: That to mark my contempt for the rabble whom I despised, I chose from among them the very worst, and made him do my will, and pampered and enriched him at the cost of all the rest. That, after casting about for the means of a punishment which should rankle in the bosoms of these kites the most, and strike into their gall, I devised this scheme at a time when the last link in the chain of grateful love and duty, that held me to my race, was roughly snapped asunder ; roughly, for I loved him well; roughly, for | had ever put my trust in his affection ; roughly, for that he broke it when I loved him most, God help me! and he without a pang could throw me off, while I clung about his heart! Now,” said the old man, dismissing this passion- ate outburst as suddenly as he had yielded to it, “1s your mind made up to bear this likewise? Lay your account with having it to bear, and put no trust in being set right by me.” “My dear Mr. Chuzzlewit.” cried Pecksniff in an ecstasy, “for such a man as you have shown yourself to be this day ; for a man so injured, yet so very humane ; for a man so es am at a loss what precise term to use—yet at the same time SO remarkably—I don’t know how to express my meaning : for such a man as I have described, I hope it is no presump- tion to say that I, and I am sure I may add my children also (my dears, we perfectly agree in this, I think 2), would bear anything whatever !” “Bnough,” said Martin. “You can charge no conse- quences on me. When do you return home ?”END OF THE CONFERENCE 2II “Whenever you please, my dear sir. To-night if you desire it.” “TI desire nothing,” returned the old man, “that is un- reasonable. Such a request would be. Will you be ready to return at the end of this week?” The very time of all others that Mr. Pecksniff would have suggested if it had been left to him to make his own choice. As to his daughters, the words, ‘‘ Let us be at home on Saturday, dear pa,” were actually upon their lips. “Your expenses, cousin,” said Martin, taking a folded slip of paper from his pocket-book, “‘may possibly exceed that amount. If so, let me know the balance that I owe you, when we next meet. It would be useless if I told you where I live just now: indeed, I have no fixed abode. When I have, you shall know it. You and your daughters may expect to see me before long: in the meantime I need not tell you that we keep our own confidence. What you will do when you get home is understood between us. Give me no account of it at any time; and never refer to it in any way. I ask that as a favour. I am commonly a man of few words, cousin; and all that need be said just now is said, I think.” “One glass of wine, one morsel of this homely cake?” eried Mr. Pecksniff, venturing to detain him. ‘‘ My dears!” The sisters flew to wait upon him. ‘* Poor girls!” said Mr. Pecksniff. ‘‘ You will excuse their agitation, my dear sir. They are made up of feeling. A bad commodity to go through the world with, Mr. Chuzzlewit ! My youngest daughter is almost as much of a woman as my eldest, is she not, sir?” ‘‘ Which is the youngest ?” asked the old man. ‘Mercy, by five years,” said Mr. Pecksniff. ‘‘ We some- times venture to consider her rather a fine figure, sir. Speak- ing as an artist, I may perhaps be permitted to suggest that its outline is graceful and correct. I am naturally,” said Mr. Pecksniff, drying his hands upon his handkerchief, and looking anxiously in his cousin’s face at almost every word, ‘proud, if I may use the expression, to have a daughter who is constructed on the best models.” ‘‘She seems to have a lively disposition,” observed Martin. “Dear me!” said Mr. Pecksniff. ‘That is quite remark- able. You have defined her character, my dear sir, as correctly as if you had known her from her birth. She hasen aN aR ade — sain 0 4 212 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT a lively disposition. I assure you, my dear sir, that in our unpretending home her gaiety 1s delightful.” “No doubt,” returned the old man. “Oharity, upon the other hand.” said Mr. Pecksniff, ‘is remarkable for strong sense, and for rather a deep tone of sentiment, if the partiality of a father may be excused in saying so. A wonderful affection between them, my dear sir! Allow me to drink your health. Bless you!” “J little thought,” retorted Martin, “but a month ago, that I should be breaking bread and pouring wine with you. I drink to you.” Not at all abashed by the extraordinary abruptness with which these latter words were spoken, Mr. Pecksniff thanked him devoutly. “Now let me go,” said Martin, putting down the wine when he had merely touched it with his lips. “My dears, ood morning!” But this distant form of farewell was by no means tender enough for the yearnings of the young ladies, who again embraced him with all their hearts—with all their arms at any rate—to which parting caresses their new-found friend submitted with a better grace than might have been expected from one who, not a moment before, had pledged their parent in such a very uncomfortable manner. These endearments terminated, he took a hasty leave of Mr. Pecksnift and with- drew. followed to the door by both father and daughters, who stood there kissing their hands and beaming with affection until he disappeared: though, by the way, he never once looked back, after he had crossed the threshold. When they returned into the house, and were again alone in Mrs. Todgers’s room, the two young ladies exhibited an unusual amount of gaiety ; insomuch that they clapped their hands, and laughed, and looked with roguish aspects and a bantering air upon their dear papa. This conduct was so very unaccountable, that Mr. Pecksniff (being singularly grave himself) could scarcely choose but ask them what it meant ; and took them to task, in his gentle manner, for yielding to such light emotions. : ; ‘Tf it was possible to divine any cause for this merriment, even the most remote,” he said, “‘I should not reprove you. But when you can have none whatever—oh, really, really ig: This admonition had so little effect on Mercy, that she was obliged to hold her handkerchief before her rosy lips, and to o oTHREATS OF THE YOUNGEST GENTLEMAN 213 throw herself back in her chair, with every demonstration of extreme amusement ; which want of duty so offended Mr. Pecksniff that he reproved her in set terms, and gave her his parental advice to correct herself in solitude and contempla- tion. But at that juncture they were disturbed by the sound of voices in dispute ; and as it proceeded from the next room, the subject matter of the altercation quickly reached their ears, ‘I don’t care that! Mrs. Todgers,” said the young gentle- man who had been the youngest gentleman in company on the day of the festival; “I don’t care that, ma’am,” said he, snapping his fingers, “for Jinkins. Don’t suppose I do.” ‘I am quite certain you don’t, sir,” replied Mrs. Todgers. ‘You have too independent a spirit, I know, to yield to any- body. And quite right. There is no reason why you should give way to any gentleman. Everybody must be well aware of that.” ‘J should think no more of admitting daylight into the fellow,” said the youngest gentleman, in a desperate voice, “than if he was a bull-dog.” Mrs. Todgers did not stop to inquire whether, as a matter of principle, there was any particular reason for admitting daylight even into a bull-dog, otherwise than by the natural channel of his eyes: but she seemed to wring her hands, and she moaned. ‘Let him be careful,” said the youngest gentleman. “I give him warning. No man shall step between me and the current of my vengeance. I know a Cove—” he used that familiar epithet in his agitation, but corrected himself by adding, “‘a gentleman of property, I mean—who practises with a pair of pistols (fellows too,) of his own. If I am driven to borrow ’em, and to send a friend to dinkins, a tragedy will get into the papers. That’s all.” Again Mrs. Todgers moaned. ‘I have borne this long enough,” said the youngest gentle- man, ‘but now my soul rebels against it, and I won’t stand it any longer. I left home originally, because I had that within me which wouldn’t be domineered over by a sister ; and do you think I’m going to be put down by him? No.” “It is very wrong in Mr. Jinkins: I know it is perfectly inexcusable in Mr. Jinkins, if he intends it,” observed Mrs. Todgers. ‘If he intends it!” cried the youngest gentleman. ‘“ Don’tTa ann i ala dual TE een ene a A eat ease et eS en Pe fe! 214 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT adict me on every occasion ? Does he Jimself between me and anything or anybody that he sees I have set my mind upon 2 Does he make a point of always pretending to forget me, when he’s pouring out the beer? Does he make bragging remarks about his razors, and insulting allusions to people who have no necessity to shave more than once a week? But let him look out! He’ll find himself shaved, pretty close, before long, and so I tell him.” The young gentleman was mistaken in this closing sentence, ‘nasmuch as he never told it to Jinkins, but always to Mrs. Todgers. However,” he said, ‘‘these are not proper subjects for ladies’ ears. All I’ve got to say to you, Mrs. Todgers, is, a week’s notice from next Saturday. The same house can’t contain that miscreant and me any longer. If we get over the intermediate time without bloodshed, you may think yourself pretty fortunate. I don’t myself expect we shall.” “Dear, dear!” cried Mrs. Todgers, “what would I have given to have prevented this? To lose you, sir, would be like losing the house’s right-hand. So popular as you are among the gentlemen ; so generally looked up to; and so much liked! I do hope youll think better of it; if on nobody else’s account, on mine.” “There’s Jinkins,” said the youngest gentleman, moodily. “Your favourite. He’ll console you, and the gentlemen too, for the loss of twenty such as me. I’m not understood in this house. I never have been.” “Don’t run away with that opinion, sir!” cried Mrs. Todgers, with a show of honest indignation. “‘ Don't make such a charge as that against the establishment, I must beg of you. It is not so bad as that comes to, sir. Make any remark you please against the gentlemen, or against me ; but don’t say you're not understood in this house.” “Tm not treated as if I was,” said the youngest gentle- he interrupt and contr ever fail to interpose | man. “There you make a great mistake, sir,” returned Mrs. Todgers, in the same strain. “As many of the gentlemen and 1 have often said, you are too sensitive. That’s where it is. You are of too susceptible a nature ; it’s in your spirit.” The young gentleman coughed. “ And as,” said Mrs. Todgers, “as to Mr. Jinkins, I mustMRS. TODGERS IN TROUBLE 215 beg of you, if we are to part, to understand that I don’t abet Mr. Jinkins by any means. Far from it. I could wish that Mr. Jinkins would take a lower tone in this establishment. and would not be the means of raising differences between me and gentlemen that I can much less bear to part with than I could with Mr. Jinkins. Mr. Jinkins is not such a boarder, sir,” added Mrs. Todgers, ‘‘ that all considerations of private feeling and respect give way before him. Quite the contrary, I assure you.” The young gentleman was so much mollified by these and similar speeches on the part of Mrs. Todgers, that he and that lady gradually changed positions; so that she became the injured party, and he was understood to be the injurer ; but in a complimentary, not in an offensive sense ; his cruel conduct being attributable to his exalted nature, and to that alone. So, in the end, the young gentleman withdrew his notice, and assured Mrs. Todgers of his unalterable regard : and having done so, went back to business. “Goodness me, Miss Pecksniffs!” cried that lady, as she came into the back room, and sat wearily down, with her basket on her knees, and her hands folded upon it, ‘‘ what a trial of temper it is to keep a house like this! You must have heard most of what has just passed. Now did you ever hear the like? ” ‘* Never!” said the two Miss Pecksniffs. “Of all the ridiculous young fellows that ever I had to deal with,” resumed Mrs. Todgers, ‘ that is the most ridiculous and unreasonable. Mr. Jinkins is hard upon him sometimes, but not half as hard as he deserves. To mention such a gentleman as Mr. Jinkins in the same breath with him. You know it’s too much! And yet he’s as jealous of him, bless you, as if he was his equal.” The young ladies were greatly entertained by Mrs. Todgers’s account, no less than with certain anecdotes illus- trative of the youngest gentleman’s character, which she went on to tell them. But Mr. Pecksniff looked quite stern and angry: and when she had concluded, said in a solemn voice: “Pray, Mrs. Todgers, if I may inquire, what does that young gentleman contribute towards the support of these premises ?”’ ; “Why, sir, for what he has, he pays about eighteen shillings a week!” said Mrs. Todgers. 2 ‘“‘Highteen shillings a week!” repeated Mr. Pecksniff.nae ee ee & ad a SSCA TEM 216 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT “Taking one week with another ; as near that as possible,” said Mrs. Todgers. Mr. Pecksniff rose from his chair, folded his arms, looked at her, and shook his head. ‘And do you mean to say, Todgers, that for such a miserable consideration as eighteen shillings a week, a female of your understanding can so far demean herself as to wear a double face, even for an in- stant?” “JT am forced to keep things on the square if I’can, sir,” faltered Mrs. Todgers. “I must preserve peace among them, and keep my connexion together, if possible, Mx. Pecksniff. ma’am, is it possible, Mrs. The profit is very small.” “The profit!” eried that gentleman, laying ereat stress upon the word. “The profit, Mrs. Todgers! You amaze me!” He was so severe, that Mrs. Todgers shed tears. “The profit!” repeated Mr. Pecksniff. ‘The profit of dissimulation! ‘To worship the golden calf of Baal, for eighteen shillings a week! i “Don’t in your own goodness be too hard upon me, Mr. Pecksniff,” cried Mrs. Todgers, taking out her handkerchief. “Oh Calf, Calf!” eried Mr. Pecksniff mournfully. ‘‘ Oh, Baal, Baal! Oh my friend, Mrs. Todgers! To barter away that precious jewel, self-esteem, and cringe to any mortal creature—for eighteen shillings a week! ie He was so subdued and overcome by the reflection, that he immediately took down his hat from its peg in the passage, and went out for a walk, to compose his feelings. Anybody passing him in the street might have known him for a good man at first sight ; for his whole figure teemed with a consciousness of the moral homily he had read to Mrs. Todgers. : Eighteen shillings a week! Just, most just, thy censure, upright Pecksniff! Had it been for the sake of a ribbon, star, or garter ; sleeves of lawn, a great man’s smile, a seat in parliament, a tap upon the shoulder from a courtly sword; a place, a party, or a thriving lie, or eighteen thousand pounds, or even eighteen hundred ;—but to worship the golden calf for eighteen shillings a week! Oh pitiful, pitiful!CHAPTER XI WHEREIN A CERTAIN GENTLEMAN BECOMES PARTICULAR IN HIS ATTENTIONS TO A CERTAIN LADY: AND MORE COMING EVENTS THAN ONE, CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE Tue family were within two or three days of their depar- ture from Mrs. Todgers’s, and the commercial gentlemen were to a man despondent and not to be comforted, because of the approaching separation, when Bailey junior, at the jocund time of noon, presented himself before Miss Ch: arity Pecksniff, then sitting with her sister in the banquet chamber, hemming six new powkes -t-handkerchiefs for Mr. Jinkins ; and haying expressed + . hope, preliminary and pious, that he might be blest, gave her in his pleasant way to understand that a visitor attend ed to pay his respects to her, and was at that moment waiting in the drawing-room. Perhaps this last announcement showed in a more striking point of view than many lengthened speeches could have done, the trust- fulness and faith of Bailey’s nature; since he had, in fact, last seen the visitor on the door-mat, where, after signifying to him that he would do well to go up-stairs, he had left him to the guidance of his own sagacity. Hence it was at least an even chance that the visitor was then wandering on the roof of the house, or vainly seeking to extricate himself from a maze of bedrooms; Todgers’s being precisely that kind of establishment in which an unpiloted stranger is pretty sure to find himself in some place where he least expects and least desires to be. ‘A gentleman for me!” cried Charity, pausing in her work; “my gracious, Bailey ! “Ah!” said Bailey. “It 7s my gracious, an’t it? Wouldn't I be gracious neither, not if I wos him!” The remark was rendered somewhat obscure in itself, byFe eR a an leat ek ie hee a a a ee 218 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT reason (as the reader may have observed) of a redundancy of negatives ; but accompanied by action expressive of a faith- ful couple walking arm-in-arm towards a parochial church, mutually exchanging looks of love, it clearly signified this youth’s conviction that the caller’s purpose was of an amorous tendency. Miss Charity affected to reprove so great a liberty ; but she could not help smiling. He was a strange boy, to be sure. There was always some sround of probability and likelihood mingled with his absurd behaviour. That was the best of it! “But I don’t know any gentleman, Bailey,” said Miss Pecksniff. ‘(I think you must have made a mistake.” Mr. Bailey smiled at the extreme wildness of such a supposition, and regarded the young ladies with unimpaired affability. “My dear Merry,” said Charity, “who can it be? Isn’t ‘t odd? I havea great mind not to go to him really. So very strange, you know!” The younger sister plainly considered that this appeal had its origin in the pride of being ealled upon and asked for ; and that it was intended as an assertion of superiority, and a retaliation upon her for having captured the commercial gentlemen. Therefore, she replied, with great affection and politeness, that it was, no doubt, very strange indeed ; and that she was totally at a loss to conceive what the ridiculous person unknown could mean by it. “Quite impossible to divine!” said Charity, with some sharpness, “though still, at the same time, you needn’t be angry, my dear.” “Thank you,” retorted Merry, singing at her needle. “I am quite aware of that, my love.” “Tam afraid your head is turned, you silly thing,” said Cherry. “Do you know, my dear,” said Merry, with engaging eandour. “that I have been afraid of that, myself, all along! So much incense and nonsense, and all the rest of it, is enough to turn a stronger head than mine. What a relief it must be to you, my dear, to be so very comfortable in that respect, and not to be worried by those odious men! How do you do it, Cherry ?” This artless inquiry might have led to turbulent results, but for the strong emotions of delight evinced by Bailey junior, whose relish in the turn the conversation had latelyA VISIT FROM COUSIN JONAS 219 taken was so acute, that it impelled and forced him to the instantaneous performance of a dancing step, extremely difficult in its nature, and only to be achieved in a moment of ecstasy, which is commonly called The Frog’s Hornpipe. A manifestation so lively, brought to their immediate recollection the great virtuous precept, ‘‘ Keep up appearances whatever you do,” in which they had been educated. They forbore at once, and jointly signified to Mr. Bailey that if he should presume to practise that figure any more in their presence, they would instantly acquaint Mrs. Todgers with the fact, and would demand his condign punishment at the hands of that lady. The young gentleman having expressed the bitterness of his contrition by affecting to wipe away scalding tears with his apron, and afterwards feigning to wring a vast amount of water from that garment, held the door open while Miss Charity passed out : and so that damsel went in state up-stairs to receive her mysterious adorer. By some strange occurrence of favourable circumstances he had found out the drawing-room, and was sitting there alone. ‘“Ah, cousin!” he said. ‘‘Here I am, you see. You thought I was lost, I'l] be bound. Well! how do you find yourself by this time ?” Miss Charity replied that she was quite well, and gave Mr. Jonas Chuzzlewit her hand. “That’s right,” said Mr. Jonas, “and you've got over the fatigues of the journey, have you? Isay. How’s the other one?” ‘““My sister is very well, I believe,” returned the young lady. “Ihave not heard her complain of any indisposition, sir. Perhaps you would like to see her, and ask her your- self?” ‘“No, no, cousin!” said Mr. Jonas, sitting down beside her on the window-seat. “ Don’t bein ahurry. There’s no occasion for that, you know. What a cruel girl you are!” “It’s impossible for you to know,” said Cherry, ‘‘ whether I am or not.” ‘‘'Well, perhaps it is,” said Mr. Jonas. “I say! Did you think I was lost? You haven’t told me that.” ““T didn’t think at all about it,” answered Cherry. “Didn’t you though?” said Jonas, pondering upon this strange reply. ‘‘—Did the other one?” “T am sure it’s impossible for me to say what my sisterrd saiphitersenapneronns-vimmnionancrnes: i, EM SE Steer a a aaa renee en aaa 220 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT ight on such a subject,” cried may, or may not have tho about it, one way Cherry. “She never said anything to me or other.” “ Didn’t she laugh about it?” inquired Jonas. “No. She didn’t even laugh about it,” answered Charity. ‘“She’s a terrible one to laugh, an’t she 2?” said Jonas, lowering his voice. “She is very lively,” said Cherry. ‘‘Liveliness is a pleasant thing—when it don’t lead to spending money. An't it?” asked Mr. Jonas. “Very much so, indeed,” said Cherry, with a demureness of manner that gave a very disinterested character to her assent. ‘‘ Such liveliness as yours I mean, you know,” observed Mr. Jonas, as he nudged her with his elbow. “I should have come to see you before, but I didn’t know where you was. How quick you hurried off, that morning!” “I was amenable to my papa’ directions,” said Miss Charity. “J wish he had given me his direction,” returned her cousin, “and then I should have found you out before. Why, I shouldn’t have found you even now, if 1 hadn’t met him in the street this morning. Whata sleek, sly chap he is! Just like a tom.cat, an’t he?” “JT must trouble you to have the goodness to speak more respectfully of my papa, Mr. Jonas,” said Charity. ‘‘I can't allow such a tone as that, even in jest.” ‘Eeod, you may say what you like of my father, then, and so I give you leave,” said Jonas. © I think it’s liquid aggravation that circulates through his veins, and not regular blood. How old should you think my father was, cousin ? ” “Qld, no doubt,” replied Miss Charity ; “but a fine old gentleman.” “A fine old gentleman!” repeated Jonas, giving the erown of his hat an angry knock. “* Ah! It’s time he was thinking of being drawn out a little finer too. "Why, he’s eighty!” ‘‘Ts he, indeed ?” said the young lady. “ And ecod,” cried Jonas, “now he’s gone so far without giving in, I don’t see much to prevent his being ninety ; no, nor even a hundred. Why, a man with any feeling ought to be ashamed of being eighty, let alone more. Where’s his religion, I should like to know, when he goes flying in the face of the Bible like that? Three-score-and-ten’s the mark ;JONAS AND MISS MERCY 221 and no man with a conscience, and a proper sense of what’s expected of him, has any business to live longer.” Is any one surprised at Mr. Jonas making such a reference to such a book for such a purpose? Does any one doubt the old saw, that the Devil (being a layman) quotes Scripture for his own ends? If he will take the trouble to look about him, he may find a greater number of confirmations of the fact in the occurrences of any single day, than the steam-gun can discharge balls in a minute. * But there’s enough of my father,” said Jonas; ‘‘it’s of no use to go putting one’s-self out of the way by talking about him. I called to ask you to come and take a walk, cousin, and see some of the sights; and to come to our house afterwards, and have a bit of something. Pecksniff will most likely look in in the evening, he says, and bring you home. See, here’s his writing; I made him put it down this morning, when he told me he shouldn’t be back before I came here; in case you wouldn’t believe me. There’s nothing like proof, is there? Ha, ha! I say—you’'ll bring the other one, you know!” Miss Charity cast her eyes upon her father’s autograph, which merely said: “Go, my children, with your cousin. Let there be union among us when it is possible ;” and after enough of hesitation to impart a proper value to her consent, withdrew to prepare her sister and herself for the excursion. She soon returned, accompanied by Miss Mercy, who was by no means pleased to leave the brilliant triumphs of Todgers’s for the society of Mr. Jonas and his respected father. ‘‘ Aha!” cried Jonas. ‘‘There you are, are you ?”’ “Yes, fright,” said Mercy, “here I am; and I would much rather be anywhere else, I assure you.” “You don’t mean that,” cried Mr. Jonas. ‘‘ You can't, you know. It isn’t possible.” “You can have what opinion you like, fright,” retorted Mercy. ‘I amcontent to keep mine; and mine is that you are a very unpleasant, odious, disagreeable person.” Here she laughed heartily, and seemed to enjoy herself very much. ‘‘Qh, you’re a sharp gal!” said Mr. Jonas. ‘‘She’s a regular teazer, an’t she, cousin?” Miss Charity replied in effect, that she was unable to say what the habits and propensities of a regular teazer might be ; and that even if she possessed such information, it would 5 ill become her to admit the existence of any creature with222 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT such an unceremonious name in her family ; far less in the person of a beloved sister: ‘* whatever,” added Cherry with an angry glance, ‘‘ whatever her real nature may be.” «Well. my dear,” said Merry, “the only observation I have to make is, that if we don't go out at once, I shall certainly take my bonnet off again, and stay at home.” This threat had the desired effect of preventing any farther altercation, for Mr. Jonas immediately proposed an adjourn- ment, and the same being carried unanimously, they departed from the house straightway. On the door-step, Mr. Jonas gave an arm to each cousin; which act of gallantry being observed by Bailey junior, from the garret window, was by him saluted with a loud and violent fit of coughing, to which paroxysm he was still the victim when they turned the corner. Mr. Jonas inquired in the first instance if they were good walkers, and being answered,“ Yes,” submitted their pedestrian powers to a pretty severe test : for he showed them as many sights, in the way of bridges, churches, streets, outsides of theatres, and other free spectacles, in that one forenoon, as most people see in a twelvemonth. It was observable in this gentleman, that he had an insurmountable distaste to the insides of buildings; and that he was perfectly acquainted with the merits of all shows, in respect of which there was any charge for admission, which it seemed were every one detestable, and of the very lowest grade of merit. He was so thoroughly possessed with this opinion, that when Miss Charity happened to mention the circumstance of their having been twice or thrice to the theatre with Mz. Jinkins and party, he inquired, as a matter of course, ‘‘ where the orders came from ?” and being told that Mr. Jinkins and party paid, was beyond description entertained, observing that ‘ they must be nice flats, certainly;” and often in the course of the walk, bursting out again into a perfect convulsion of laughter at the surpassing silliness of those gentlemen, and (doubtless) at his own superior wisdom. When they had been out for some hours and were thoroughly fatigued, it being by that time twilight, Mr. Jonas intimated that he would show them one of the best pieces of fun with which he was acquainted. This joke was of a practical kind, and its humour lay in taking a hackney- coach to the extreme limits of possibility for a shilling. Happily it brought them to the place where Mr, Jonas dwelt,ANTHONY CHUZZLEWIT AND SON 223 or the young ladies might have rather missed the point and cream of the jest. The old-established firm of Anthony Chuzzlewit and Son, Manchester Warehousemen, and so forth, had its place of business in a very narrow street somewhere behind the Post Office ; where every house was in the brightest summer morn- ing very gloomy; and where light porters watered the pave- ment, each before his own employ ers premises, in fantastic patterns, in the dog-days ; and where spruce gentlemen with their hands in the pockets of symmetrical trousers, were always to be seen in warm weather, contemplating their undeniable boots in dusty warehouse doorways; which appeared to be the hardest work they did, except now and then carrying pens behind their ears. A dim, dirty, smoky, tumble-down, rotten old house it was, as anybody would desire to see; but there the firm of Anthony Chuzzlewit and Son transacted all their business and their pleasure too, such as it was; for neither the young man nor the old had any other residence, or any care or thought beyond its narrow limits. Business, as may be readily supposed, was the main thing in this establishment; insomuch indeed that it shouldered comfort out of doors, and jostled the domestic arrangements at every turn. Thus in the miserable bedrooms there were files of moth-eaten letters hanging up against the walls; and linen rollers, and fragments of old patterns, and odds and ends of spoiled goods, strewed upon the ground; while the meagre bedsteads, washing-stands, and scraps of carpet, were huddled away into corners as objects of secondary considera- tion, not to be thought of but as disagreeable necessities, furnishing no profit, and intruding on the one affair of life. The single sitting-room was on the same principle, a chaos of boxes and old papers, and had more counting-house stools in it than chairs: not to mention a great monster of a desk straddling over the middle of the floor, and an iron safe sunk into the wall above the fire-place. The solitary little table for purposes of refection and social enjoyment, bore as fair a proportion to the desk and other business furniture, as the graces and harmless relaxations of life had ever done, in the persons of the old man and his son, to their pursuit of wealth. it was meanly laid out now for dinner ; and in a chair before the fire sat Anthony himself, who rose to greet his son and his fair cousins as they entered.en rn nN eee ere ane 224 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT An ancient proverb warns us that we should not expect to fnd old heads upon young shoulders ; to which it may he added that we seldom meet with that unnatural combina- tion, but we feel a strong desire to knock them off; merely from an inherent love we have of seeing things in their right places. It is not improbable that many men, in no wise choleric by nature, felt this impulse rising up within them, when they first made the acquaintance of Mr. Jonas; but if they had known him more intimately in his own house, and had sat with him at his own board, it would assuredly have been paramount to all other considerations. ‘Well, ghost!” said Mr. Jonas, dutifully addressing his parent by that title. © Is dinner nearly ready ?” “JT should think it was,” rejoined the old man. ‘What's the good of that?” rejoined the son. I should think it was. I want to know.” “ Ah! I don’t know for certain,” said Anthony. ‘You don’t know for certain,” rejoined his son in a lower tone, “No. You don’t know anything for certain, you don't. Give me your candle here. I want it for the gals.” Anthony handed him a battered old office candlestick, with which Mr. Jonas preceded the young ladies to the nearest bedroom, where he left them to take off their shawls and bonnets: and returning, occupied himself in opening a bottle of wine, sharpening the carving-knife, and muttering com- pliments to his father, until they and the dinner appeared together. The repast consisted of a hot leg of mutton with ereens and potatoes ; and the dishes having been set upon the table by a slipshod old woman, they were left to enjoy it after their own Manner. “Bachelor’s Hall, you know, cousin,” said Mr. Jonas to Charity. ‘I say—the other one will be having a laugh at this when she gets home, won’t she? Here ; you sit on the right side of me, and I'll have her upon the left. Other one, will you come here ?” ‘““Vou’re such a fright,” replied Mercy, “ that I know I shall have no appetite if I sit so near you: but I suppose Lonust,?’ “ An’t she lively ?” whispered Mr. Jonas to the elder sister, with his favourite elbow emphasis. ‘Oh I really don’t know!” replied Miss Pecksniff, tartly. ‘I am tired of being asked such ridiculous questions.” “What's that precious old father of mine about now? rOLD CHUFFEY 225 said Mr. Jonas, seeing that his parent was travelling up and down the room, instead of taking his seat at table. ‘‘ What are you looking for?” ‘‘T’ve lost my glasses, Jonas,” said old Anthony. “Sit down without your glasses, can’t you?” returned his son. ‘You don’t eat or drink out of ’em,I think; and where’s that sleepy-headed old Chuffey got to! Now, stupid. Oh! you know your name, do you ?” It would seem that he didn’t, for he didn’t come until the father called. As he spoke, the door of a small glass office, which was partitioned off from the rest of the room, was slowly opened, and a little blear-eyed, weazen-faced, ancient man came creeping out. He was of a remote fashion, and dusty, like the rest of the furniture; he was dressed in a decayed suit of black ; with breeches garnished at the knees with rusty wisps of ribbon, the very paupers of shoe-strings ; on the lower portion of his spindle legs were dingy worsted stockings of the same colour. He looked as if he had been put away and forgotten half a century before, and somebody had just found him in a lumber-closet. Such as he was, he came slowly creeping on towards the table, until at last he crept into the vacant chair, from which, as his dim faculties became conscious of the presence of strangers, and those strangers ladies, he rose again, ap- parently intending to make a bow. But he sat down once more without having made it, and breathing on his shrivelled hands to warm them, remained with his poor blue nose immovable about his plate, looking at nothing, with eyes that saw nothing, and a face that meant nothing. Take him in that state, and he was an embodiment of nothing. Nothing else. ‘Our clerk,” said Mr. Jonas, as host and master of the ceremonies: ‘* Old Chuffey.” “Ts he deaf?” inquired one of the young ladies, ‘No, I don’t know that he is. He an’t deaf father ?”’ ‘‘T never heard him say he was,” replied the old man. “Blind ?” inquired the young ladies. ‘““N—no. I never understood that he was at all blind said Jonas, carelessly. ‘‘ You don’t consider him so, do you, father ?” “Certainly not,” replied Anthony. “What is he, then ?” ‘ ~ is he, ss 5 Hea a al aE eR ce eae re eT a a as, dine eee 226 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT ‘Why, I'll tell you what he is,” said Mr. Jonas, apart to the young ladies, “he’s precious dld, for one thing ; and Lan’t best pleased with him for that, for I think my father must have caught it of him. He’s a strange old chap, for another,” he added in a louder voice, ‘‘and don’t understand any one hardly, but him!” He pointed to his honoured parent with the carving-fork, in order that they might know whom he meant. ‘‘ How very strange!” cried the sisters. “ Why, you see,” said Mr. Jonas, ‘he’s been addling his old brains with figures and book-keeping all his life; and twenty years ago or so he went and took a fever. All the time he was out of his head (which was three weeks) he never left off casting up; and he got to so many million at last that I don’t believe he’s ever been quite right since. We don’t do much business now though, and he an’t a bad clerk.” “A very good one,” said Anthony. ‘‘ Well! He an’t a dear one at all events,” observed Jonas ; ‘‘and he earns his salt, which is enough for our look-out. I was telling you that he hardly understands any one except my father; he always understands him, though, and wakes up quite wonderful. He’s been used to his ways so long, you see! Why, I’ve seen him play whist, with my father for a partner; and a good rubber too; when he had no more notion what sort of people he was playing against, than you have.” ‘Has he no appetite?” asked Merry. ‘Oh, yes,” said Jonas, plying his own knife and fork very fast. ‘He eats—when he’s helped. But he don’t care whether he waits a minute or an hour, as long as father’s here; so when I’m at all sharp set, as I am to-day, I come to him after I’ve taken the edge off my own hunger, youknow. Now, Chuffey, stupid, are you ready ?” Chuffey remained immovable. ‘‘ Always a perverse old file, he was,” said Mr. Jonas, coolly helping himself to another slice. ‘* Ask him, father.” “ Are you ready for your dinner, Chuffey ?” asked the old man. “ Yes, yes,” said Chuffey, lighting up into a sentient human creature at the first sound of the voice, so that it was at once a curious and quite a moving sight to see him. ‘* Yes, yes. Quite ready, Mr. Chuzzlewit. Quite ready, sir. All ready, all ready, all ready.” With that he stopped, smilingly, andSHARPNESS OF JONAS CHUZZLEWIT 227 listened for some further address; but being spoken to no more, the light forsook his face by little and little, until he was nothing again. “He'll be very disagreeable, mind,” said Jonas, addressing his cousins as he handed the old man’s portion to his father. ‘He always chokes himself when it an’t broth. Look at him, now! Did you ever see a horse with such a wall-eyed expression as he’s got? If it hadn’t been for the joke of it f wouldn’t have let him come in to-day; but I thought he’d amuse you.” ‘ The poor old subject of this humane speech was, happily for himself, as unconscious of its purport as of most other remarks that were made in his presence. But the mutton being tough, and his gums weak, he quickly verified the statement relative to his choking propensities, and underwent so much in his attempts to dine, that Mr. Jonas was in- finitely amused: protesting that he had seldom seen him better company in all his life, and that he was enough to make a man split his sides with laughing. Indeed, he went so far as to assure the sisters, that in this point of view he considered Chuffey superior to his own father; which, as he significantly added, was saying a great deal. It was strange enough that Anthony Chuzzlewit, himself so old a man, should take a pleasure in these gibings of his estimable son, at the expense of the poor shadow at their table. But he did, unquestionably : though not so much— to do him justice—with reference to their ancient clerk. as in exultation at the sharpness of Jonas. For the same reason that young man’s coarse allusions, eyen to himself, filled him with a stealthy glee: causing him to rub his hands and chuckle covertly, as if he said in his sleeve, “‘Z taught him. J trained him. This is the heir of my bringing-up. Sly, cunning, and covetous, he’ll not squander my money. I worked for this; I hoped for this; it has been the great end and aim of my life.” What a noble end and aim it was to contemplate in the attainment, truly! But there be some who manufacture idols after the fashion of themselves, and fail to worship them when they are made ; charging their deformity on outraged nature. Anthony was better than these at any rate. Chuffey boggled over his plate so long, that Mr. Jonas, losing patience, took it from him at last with his own hands, and requested his father to signify to that venerable personDe re Te a Ee 228 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT that he had better ‘“ peg away at his bread: ” which Anthony did. “ Ave. ave!” eried the old man, brightening up as before, when this was communicated to him in the same voice ; “quite right, quite right. He’s your own son, Mr. Chuzzle- wit! Bless him for a sharp lad! Bless him, bless him!” Mr. Jonas considered this so particularly childish (perhaps with some reason), that he only laughed the more, and told his cousins that he was afraid one of these fine days, Chuffey would be the death of him. The cloth was then removed, and the bottle of wine set upon the table, from which Mr. Jonas filled the young ladies’ glasses, calling on them not to spare it, as they might be certain there was plenty more where that came from. But he added with some haste after this sally that it was only his joke, and they wouldn’t suppose him to be in earnest, he was sure. ‘T shall drink,” said Anthony, ‘‘to Pecksniff. Your father, my dears. A clever man, Pecksniff. A waryman! A hypo- erite, though, eh? A hypocrite, girls, eh? Ha, ha, ha! Well, so he is. Now, among friends, he is. I don’t think the worse of him for that, unless it is that he overdoes it. You may overdo anything, my darlings. You may overdo even hypocrisy. Ask Jonas!” “You can’t overdo taking care of yourself,” observed that hopeful gentleman with his mouth full. “Do you hear that, my dears?” cried Anthony, quite enraptured. ‘ Wisdom, wisdom! A good exception, Jonas. No. It’s not easy to overdo that.” “Except,” whispered Mr. Jonas to his favourite cousin, “except when one lives too long. Ha, ha! Tell the other one that. Isay!” ‘Good gracious me!” said Cherry, in a petulant manner. “You can tell her yourself, if you wish, can’t you?” ‘She seems to make such game of one,” replied My. Jonas. “Then why need you trouble yourself about her?” said Charity. “I am sure she doesn’t trouble herself much about you.” ‘Don’t she though ?” asked Jonas. ‘“Good gracious me, need I tell you that she don’t?” returned the young lady. Mr. Jonas made no verbal rejoinder, but he glanced at Mercy with an odd expression in his face; and said thatHOPEFUL PRINCIPLES 229 wouldn’t break his heart, she might depend upon it. Then he looked on Charity with even greater favour than before. and besought her, as his polite manner was, to “come a little closer.” * There’s another thing that’s not easily overdone, father,” remarked Jonas, after a short silence. * What’s that?” asked the father ; grinning already in anticipation. ‘‘A bargain,” said the son. “ Here’s the rule for bargains. ‘Do other men, for they would do you.’ That’s the true business precept. All others are counterfeits,” The delighted father applauded this sentiment to the echo: and was so much tickled by it, that he was at the pains of imparting the same to his ancient clerk, who rubbed his hands, nodded his palsied head, winked his watery eyes, and cried in his whistling tones, “‘Good! good! Your own son. Mr. Chuzzlewit !” with every feeble demonstration of delight that he was capable of making. But this old man’s enthusiasm had the redeeming quality of being felt in sympathy with the only creature to whom he was linked by ties of long associa- tion, and by his present helplessness. And if there had been anybody there, who cared to think about it, some dregs of a better nature unawakened, might perhaps have been descried through that very medium, melancholy though it was, yet lingering at the bottom of the worn-out cask called Chuffey. As matters stood, nobody thought or said anything upon the subject ; so Chuffey fell back into a dark corner on one side of the fire-place, where he always spent his evenings, and was neither seen nor heard again that night ; save once, when a cup of tea was given him, in which he was seen to soak his bread mechanically. There was no reason to sup- pose that he went to sleep at these seasons, or that he heard, or saw, or felt, or thought. He remained, as it were, frozen up—if any term expressive of such a vigorous process can be applied to him—until he was again thawed for the moment by a word or touch from Anthony. Miss Charity made tea by desire of Mr. Jonas, and felt and looked so like the lady of the house that she was in the prettiest confusion imaginable: the more so from Mr. Jonas sitting close beside her, and whispering a variety of admiring expressions in her ear. Miss Mercy, for her part, felt the entertainment of the evening to be so distinctly and ex-Fi Wz 4 CR cae eee ected aa rn re a ee 230 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT clusively theirs, that she silently deplored the commercial sentlemen—at that moment, no doubt, wearying for her return—and yawned over yesterday’s newspaper. As to Anthonv, he went to sleep outright, so Jonas and Cherry had a clear stage to themselves as long as they chose to keep yossession of it. When the tea-tray was taken away, as it was at last, Mr. Jonas produced a dirty pack of cards, and entertained the sisters with divers small feats of dexterity: whereof the main purpose of every one was, that you were to decoy somebody into laying a wager with you that you couldn’t do it; and were then immediately to win and pocket his money. Mr. Jonas informed them that these accomplishments were in high vogue in the most intellectual circles, and that large amounts were constantly changing hands on such hazards. And it may be remarked that he fully believed this ; for there is a simplicity of cunning no less than a simplicity of innocence; and in all matters where a lively faith in knavery and meanness was required as the ground-work of belief, Mr. Jonas was one of the most credulous of men. His ignorance, which was stupendous, may be taken into account, if the reader pleases, separately. This fine young man had all the inclination to be a profli- gate of the first water, and only lacked the one good trait in the common catalogue of debauched vices—open-handedness to be a notable vagabond. But there his griping and penurious habits stepped in; and as one poison will some- times neutralise another, when wholesome remedies would not avail, so he was restrained by a bad passion from quaffing his full measure of evil, when virtue might have sought to hold him back in vain. | By the time he had unfolded all the peddling schemes he knew upon the cards, it was growing late in the evening; and Mr. Pecksniff not making his appearance, the young ladies expressed a wish to return home. But this, Mr. Jonas, in his gallantry, would by no means allow, until they had partaken of some bread and cheese and porter ; and even then he was excessively unwilling to allow them to depart ; often beseeching Miss Charity to come a little closer, or to stop a little longer, and preferring many other complimentary petitions of that nature in his own hospitable and earnest way. When all his efforts to detain them were fruitless, he put on his hat and great-coat preparatory to escorting themJONAS CHUZZLEWIT ENTERTAINS HIS COUSINSneat saa hi alia orm ael a a ea a ie tH i i rs i i t Fe awn eeJONAS ESCORTS HIS COUSINS HOME 233 to Todgers’s; remarking that he knew they would rather walk thither than ride ; and that for his part he was quite of their opinion. ‘Good night,” said Anthony. ‘Good night ; remember me to—ha, ha, ha !—to Pecksniff. Take care of your cousin, my dears; beware of Jonas; he’s a dangerous fellow. Don’t quarrel for him, in any case!” ‘‘ Oh, the creature!” cried Mercy. ‘The idea of quarrelling for him! You may take him, Cherry, my love, all to yourself. I make you a present of my share.” : “What! I’m a sour grape, am I, cousin?” said Jonas. Miss Charity was more entertained by this repartee than one would have supposed likely, considering its advanced age and simple character. But in her sisterly affection she took Mr. Jonas to task for leaning so very hard upon a broken reed, and said that he must not be so eruel to poor Merry any more, or she (Charity) would positively be obliged to hate him. Merey, who really had her share of good humour, only retorted with a laugh ; and they walked home in conse- quence without any angry passages of words upon the way. Mr. Jonas being in the middle, and haying a cousin on each arm, sometimes squeezed the wrong one; so tightly too, as to cause her not a little inconvenience; but as he talked to Charity in whispers the whole time, and paid her great attention, no doubt this was an accidental circumstance. When they arrived at Todgers’s, and the door was opened, Mercy broke hastily from them, and ran up-stairs; but Charity and Jonas lingered on the steps talking together for more than five minutes; so, as Mrs. Todgers observed next morning, to a third party, “It was pretty clear what was going on there, and she was glad of it, for it really was high time Miss Pecksniff thought of settling.” And now the day was coming on, when that bright vision which had burst on Todgers’s so suddenly, and made a sun- shine in the shady breast of Jinkins, was to be seen no more ; when it was to be packed, like a brown paper parcel, or a fish-basket, or an oyster-barrel, or a fat gentleman, or any other dull reality of life, in a stage-coach, and carried down into the country. ‘* Never, my dear Miss Pecksniffs,” said Mrs. Todgers, when they retired to rest on the last night of their stay; ‘“ never have I seen an establishment so perfectly broken-hearted as mine is at this present moment of time. I don’t belieye the X H 3ra ee Ne i ae ee Te ae Ean ti 2 ES, 234 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT eentlemen will be the gentlemen they were, or anything like it——no. not for weeks to come. You have a great deal to answer for; both of you.” They modestly disclaimed any wilful agency in this disas- trous state of things, and regretted it very much. ‘Your pious pa, too,” said Mrs. Todgers. ‘“ There’s a loss! My dear Miss Pecksniffs, your pa is a perfect missionary of peace and love.” Entertaining an uncertainty as to the particular kind of loye supposed to be comprised in Mr. Pecksniff’s mission, the young ladies received the compliment rather coldly. * “Tf dared,” said Mrs. Todgers, perceiving this, “to violate a confidence which has been reposed in me, and to tell you why I must beg of you to leave the little door between your room and mine open to-night, I think you would be in- terested. But I mustn’t do it, for I promised Mr. Jinkins faithfully, that I would be as silent as the tomb.” < ‘Dear Mrs. Todgers! What can you mean?” “Why then, my sweet Miss Pecksniffs,” said the lady of the house; “my own loves, if you will allow me the privilege of taking that freedom on the eve of our separation, Mr. Jinkins and the gentlemen have made up a little musical party among themselves, and do intend, in the dead of this night, to perform a serenade upon the stairs outside the door. I could have wished, I own,” said Mrs. Todgers, with her usual foresight, “that it had been fixed to take place an hour or two earlier; because when gentlemen sit up late they drink, and when they drink they’re not so musical, perhaps, as when they don’t. But this is the arrangement; and I know you will be gratified, my dear Miss Pecksniffs, by such a mark of their attention.” The young ladies were at first so much excited by the news, that they vowed they couldn’t think of going to bed, until the serenade was over. But half an hour of cool waiting so altered their opinion that they not only went to bed, but fell asleep; and were, moreover, not ecstatically charmed to be awakened some time afterwards by certain dulcet strains breaking in upon the silent watches of the night. It was very affecting, very. Nothing more dismal could have been desired by the most fastidious taste. The gentleman of a vocal turn was head mute, or chief mourner ; Jinkins took the bass; and the rest took anything they could get. The youngest gentleman blew his melancholy into a flute. HeSERENADE AT TODGERS'S 235 didn’t blow much out of it, but that was all the better. If the two Miss Pecksniffs and Mrs. Todgers had perished by spontaneous combustion, and the serenade had been in honour of their ashes, it would have been impossible to surpass the unutterable despair expressed in that one chorus, ‘‘ Go where glory waits thee!” It was a requiem, a dirge, a moan, a how], a wail, a lament, an abstract of everything that is sorrowful and hideous in sound. The flute of the youngest gentleman was wild and fitful. It came and went in gusts, like the wind. For a long time together he seemed to have left off, and when it was quite settled by Mrs. Todgers and the young ladies that, overcome by his feelings, he had retired in tears, he unexpectedly turned up again at the very top of the tune, gasping for breath. He was a tremendous performer. There was no knowing where to have him ; and exactly when you thought he was doing nothing at all, then was he doing the very thing that ought to astonish you most. There were several of these concerted pieces ; perhaps two or three too many, though that, as Mrs. Todgers said, was a fault on the right side. But even then, even at that solemn moment, when the thrilling sounds may be presumed to haye penetrated into the very depths of his nature, if he had any depths, Jinkins couldn’t leave the youngest gentleman alone. He asked him distinctly, before the second song began—as a personal fayour too, mark the villain in that—not to play. Yes; hesaidso; not to play. The breathing of the youngest gentleman was heard through the key-hole of the door. He didn't play. What vent was a flute for the passions swelling up within his breast? A trombone would have been a world too mild. The serenade approached its close. Its crowning interest was at hand. The gentleman of a literary turn had written a song on the departure of the ladies, and adapted it to an old tune. They all joined, except the youngest gentleman in company, who, for the reasons aforesaid, maintained a fearful silence. The song (which was of a classical nature) inyoked the oracle of Apollo, and demanded to know what would become of Todgers’s when Cuaritry and Mercy were banished from its walls. The oracle delivered no opinion par- ticularly worth remembering, according to the not infrequent practice of oracles from the earliest ages down to the present time. In the absence of enlightenment on that subject, the strain deserted it, and went on to show that the Miss Peck.é a a eet oe 236 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT sniffs were nearly related to Rule Britannia, and that if Great Britain hadn’t been an island, there could have been no Miss Pecksniffs. And being now on a nautical tack, it closed with this verse: ‘All hail to the vessel of Pecksniff the sire! And favouring breezes to fan ; While Tritons flock round it, and proudly admire The architect, artist, and man!” As they presented this beautiful picture to the imagination, the gentlemen gradually withdrew to bed to give the music the effect of distance ; and so it died away, and Todgers’s was left to its repose. Mr. Bailey reserved his vocal offering until the morning, when he put his head into the room as the young ladies were kneeling before their trunks, packing up, and treated them to an imitation of the voice of a young dog in trying circumstances: When that animal is supposed by persons of a lively fancy, to relieve his feelings by calling for pen and ink. “Well, young ladies,” said the youth, ‘so youre a-going home, are you, worse luck ? ‘Yes, Bailey, we’re going home,” returned Mercy. “An’t you a-going to leave none of ’em a lock of your hair?” inquired the youth. ‘It’s real, an’t 16?” They laughed at this, and told him of course it was. “Oh is it of course though ?” said Bailey. “I know better than that. Hers an’t. Why, I see it hanging up once, on that nail by the winder. Besides, I have gone behind her at dinner-time and pulled it; and she never know’d. I say, young ladies, I’m a-going to leave. I an’t a-going to stand being called names by her no longer.” Miss Mercy inquired what his plans for the future might be; in reply to whom, Mr. Bailey intimated that he thought of going, either into top-boots, or into the army. “Into the army!” eried the young ladies, with a laugh. “Ah!” said Bailey, ‘‘why not? There’s a many drummers in the Tower. D’macquainted with’em. Don’t their country set a valley on em, mind you! Not at all!” ‘You'll be shot, I see,” observed Mercy. “Well!” cried Mr. Bailey, ‘‘ wot if lam? There’s some- thing gamey in it, young ladies, an’t there? I’d sooner be hit with a cannon-ball than a rolling-pin, and she’s alwaysPREPARATIONS FOR DEPARTURE 237 a-catching up something of that sort, and throwing it at me, wen the gentlemans’ appetites is good. Wot,’ said Mr. Bailey, stung by the recollection of his wrongs, “ wot, if they do con- sume the per-vishuns. It an’t my fault, is it?” “Surely no one says it is,” said Mercy. ‘Don’t they though?” retorted the youth. ‘No. Yes. Ah! Oh! No one mayn’t say it is! but some one knows it is. But I an’t a-going to have ey ery rise in prices wisited on me. I an’t a-going to be killed because the markets is dear. I won’t stop. And therefore,” added Mr. Bailey, relenting into a smile, “‘ wotever you mean to give me, you’d better give me all at once, becos if ever you come back agin, I shan’t be here; and as to the other boy, he won’t deserve nothing, J know.” The young ladies, on behalf of Mr. Pecksniff and themselves, acted on this thoughtful advice ; and in consideration of their private friendship, presented Mr. Bailey with a gratuity so liberal that he could hardly do enough to show his gratitude which found but an imperfect vent, during the remainder of the day, in divers secret slaps upon his pocket, and other such facetious pantomime. Nor was it confined to these ebulli- tions ; for besides crushing a bandbox, with a bonnet in it. he seriously damaged Mr. Pecksniff’s luggage, by ardently hauling it down from the top of the house; and in short evinced, by every means in his power, a lively sense of the favours he had received from that gentleman and his family. Mr. Pecksniff and Mr. Jinkins came home to dinner arm- in-arm ; for the latter gentleman had made ee on purpose; thus gaining an immense advantage over the youngest gentleman and the rest, whose time, as it perversely chanced, was all bespoke, until the evening. The bottle of wine was Mr. Pecksniff’s treat, and they were very sociable indeed; though full of lamentations on the necessity of parting. W hile they were in the midst of their enjoyment, old Anthony and his son were announced; much to the surprise of Mr. Pecksniff, and greatly to the discomfiture of Jinkins. ‘Come to say good-bye, you see,” said Anthony, in a low voice, to Mr. Pecksniff, as they took their seats apart at the table, while the rest conversed among themselves. ‘* Where’s the use of a division between you and me? We are the two halves of a pair of scissors, when apart, Pecksniff; but together we are something. Eh?”238 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT “Unanimity, my good sir,” rejoined Mr. Pecksniff, “is always delightful.” ‘T don’t know about that,” said the old man, “for there are some people I would rather differ from than agree with. But you know my opinion of you.” Mr. Pecksniff, still having ‘ Hypocrite ” in his mind, only replied by a motion of his head, which was something between an affirmative bow, and a negative shake. “Complimentary,” said Anthony. ‘Complimentary, upon my word. It was an involuntary tribute to your abilities, even at the time; and it was not a time to suggest compliments either. But we agreed in the coach, you know, that we quite understood each other.” “Oh, quite!” assented Mr. Pecksniff, in a manner which implied that he himself was misunderstood most cruelly, but would not complain. Anthony glanced at his son as he sat beside Miss Charity, and then at Mr. Pecksniff, and then at his son again, very many times. It happened that Mr. Pecksniffs glances took a similar direction; but when he became aware of it, he first cast down his eyes, and then closed them; as if he were determined that the old man should read nothing there. ‘¢ Jonas is a shrewd lad,” said the old man. ‘“He appears,” rejoined Mr. Pecksniff in his most candid manner, “to be very shrewd.” ‘* And careful,” said the old man. “ And careful, I have no doubt,” returned Mr. Pecksniff. “TLookye!” said Anthony in his ear. ‘J think he is sweet upon your daughter.” “Tut, my good sir,” said Mr. Pecksniff, with his eyes still closed; ‘young people, young people. A kind of cousins, too. No more sweetness than is in that, sir.” ‘Why, there is very little sweetness in that, according to our experience,” returned Anthony. ‘‘Isn’t there a trifle more here ?”’ ‘Impossible to say,” rejoined Mr. Pecksniff. ‘Quite impossible! You surprise me.” ‘Yes, I know that,” said the old man, drily. “It may last ; I mean the sweetness, not the surprise; and it may die off. Supposing it should last, perhaps (you having feathered your nest pretty well, and I having done the same) we might have a mutual interest in the matter.” .LIGHTS OF TODGERSS EXTINGUISHED 239 Mr. Pecksniff, smiling gently, was about to speak, but Anthony stopped him. ‘“T know what you are going to say. It’s quite unnecessary. You have never thought of this for a moment; and in a point so nearly affecting the happiness of your dear child, you couldn’t, as a tender father, express an opinion; and so forth. Yes, quite right. And like you! But it seems to me, my dear Pecksniff,” added Anthony, laying his hand upon his sleeve, “that if you and I kept up the joke of pretending not to see this, one of us might possibly be placed in a position of disadvantage ; and as I am very unwilling to be that party myself, you will excuse my taking the liberty of putting the matter beyond a doubt thus early; and having it distinctly understood, as it is now, that we do see it, and do know it. Thank you for your attention. We are now upon an equal footing: which is agreeable to us both, I am sure.” He rose as he spoke; and giving Mr. Pecksniff a nod of intelligence, moved away from him to where the young people were sitting: leaving that good man somewhat puzzled and discomfited by such very plain dealing, and not quite free from a sense of having been foiled in the exercise of his familiar weapons. 3ut the night-coach had a punctual character, and it was time to join it at the office; which was so near at hand that they had already sent their luggage and arranged to walk. Thither the whole party repaired, therefore, after no more delay than sufficed for the equipment of the Miss Pecksnifts and Mrs. Todgers. They found the coach already at its start- ing-place, and the horses in ; there, too, were a large majority of the commercial gentlemen, including the youngest, who was visibly agitated, and in a state of deep mental dejection. Nothing could equal the distress of Mrs. Todgers in part- ing from the young ladies, except the strong emotions with which she bade adieu to Mr. Pecksniff. Never surely was a pocket-handkerchief taken in and out of a flat reticule so often as Mrs. Todgers’s was, as she stood upon the pavement by the coach-door, supported on either side by a commercial gentle- man: and by the light of the coach-lamps caught such brief snatches and glimpses of the good man’s face, as the constant interposition of Mr. Jinkins allowed. For Jinkins, to the last the youngest gentleman’s rock ahead in life, stood upon the coach-step talking to the ladies. Upon the other step was Mr. Jonas, who maintained that position in right of hiseR a cae eae a ees * pO SORA OR en 4 | iH i 4 1 ; yi i 240 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT cousinship ; whereas the youngest oentleman, who had been first upon the ground, was deep in the booking-office among the black and red placards, and the portraits of fast coaches, where he was ignominiously harassed by porters, and had to contend and strive perpetually with heavy baggage. ‘This false position, combined with his nervous excitement, brought about the very consummation and catastrophe of his miseries ; for when in the moment of parting he aimed a flower, a hot- house flower that had cost money, at the fair hand of Mercy, it reached, instead, the coachman on the box, who thanked him kindly, and stuck it in his button-hole. They were off now ; and Todgers’s was alone again. The two young ladies, leaning back in their separate corners, resigned themselves to their own regretful thoughts. But Mr. Pecksniff, dismissing all ephemeral considerations of social pleasure and enjoyment, concentrated his meditations on the one great virtuous purpose before him, of casting out that ingrate and deceiver, whose presence yet troubled his domestic hearth, and was a sacrilege upon the altars of his household gods.CHAPTER XII WILL BE SEEN IN THE LONG RUN, IF NOT IN THE SHORT ONE, TO CONCERN MR. PINCH AND OTHERS, NEARLY. MR. PECKSNIFF ASSERTS THE DIGNITY OF OUTRAGED VIRTUE. YOUNG MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT FORMS A DESPERATE RESOLUTION Mr. Pixcu and Martin, little dreaming of the stormy weather that impended, made themselves very comfortable in the Pecksniffian halls, and improyed their friendship daily. Martin’s facility, both of invention and execution. being remarkable, the grammar-school proceeded with great Vigour ; and Tom repeatedly declared, that if there were anything like certainty in human affairs, or impartiality in human judges, a design so new and full of merit could not fail to carry off the first prize when the time of competition arrived, Without being quite so sanguine himself. Martin had his hopeful anticipations too; and they served to make him brisk and eager at his task. “If I should turn out a great architect, Tom,” said the new pupil one day, as he stood at a little distance from his drawing, and eyed it with much complacency, “I'll tell you what should be one of the things I’d build.” “Aye!” cried Tom. ‘ What?” “Why, your fortune.” “No!” said Tom Pinch, quite as much delighted as if the thing were done. ‘Would you though? How kind of you to say so.” “Td build it up, Tom,” returned Martin, ‘on such a strong foundation, that it should last your life—aye, and your children’s lives too, and their children’s after them. I'd be your patron, Tom. I'd take you under my protection. Let me see the man who should give the cold shoulder to anybody I chose to protect and patronise, if I were at the top of the tree, Tom!”eet , v m he oi iam aaa Shite a eee 242 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT “Now, I don’t think,” said Mr. Pinch, “upon my word, ‘hat I was ever more gratified than by this. I really don’t.” “Oh! I mean what I say,” retorted Martin, with a manner as free and easy in its condescension to, not to say in its compassion for, the other, as if he were already First Architect in Ordinary to all the Crowned Heads in Europe. “Fd doit. Id provide for you.” ‘“‘T am afraid,” said Tom, shaking his head, “ that I should be a mighty awkward person to provide for.” “Pooh, pooh!” rejoined Martin. “ Never mind that. If I took it in my head to say, ‘Pinch is a clever fellow ; I approve of Pinch ;’ I should like to know the man who would venture to put himself in opposition to me. Besides, con- found it, Tom, you could be useful to me in a hundred ways. ” “Tf JT were not useful in one or two, it shouldn’t be for want of trying,” said Tom. “Por instance,” pursued Martin, after a short reflection, ‘“vou’d be a capital fellow, now, to see that my ideas were properly carried out; and to overlook the works in their progress before they were sufficiently advanced to be very interesting to me, and to take all that sort of plain sailing. Then you’d be a splendid fellow to show people over my studio, and to talk about Art to ’em, when I couldn’t be bored myself, and all that kind of thing. For it would be devilish creditable, Tom (I’m quite in earnest, I give you my word), to have a man of your information about one, instead of some ordinary blockhead. Oh, I’d take care of you. You’d be useful, rely upon it!” To say that Tom had no idea of playing first fiddle in any social orchestra, but was always quite satisfied to be set down for the hundred and fiftieth violin in the band, or thereabouts, is to express his modesty in very inadequate terms. He was much delighted, therefore, by these observations. ‘‘T should be married to her then, Tom, of course,” said Martin. What was that which checked Tom Pinch so suddenly, in the high flow of his gladness: bringing the blood into his honest cheeks, and a remorseful feeling to his honest heart, as if he were unworthy of his friend’s regard ? | ‘‘T should be married to her then,” said Martin, looking with a smile towards the light: “and we should have, I hope, children about us. They'd be very fond of you, Tom.” ;ANTICIPATIONS 243 But not a word said Mr. Pinch. The words he would have uttered, died upon his lips, and found a life more spiritual in self-denying thoughts. “All the children hereabouts are fond of you, Tom, and mine would be, of course,” pursued Martin. ‘Perhaps I might name one of ’em after you. Tom, eh? Well, I don’t know. ‘Tom’s not a bad name. Thomas Pinch Chuzzlewit. T. P. C. on his pinafores. No objection to that, I should say ?” Tom cleared his throat, and smiled. “She would like you, Tom, I know,” said Martin. “Aye!” cried Tom Pinch, faintly. ‘“‘T can tell exactly what she would think of you,” said Martin, leaning his chin upon his hand, and looking through the window-glass as if he read there what he said; “I know her so well. She would smile, Tom, often at first when you spoke to her, or when she looked at you—merrily too— but you wouldn’t mind that. A brighter smile you never saw.” ‘No, no,” said Tom. ‘I wouldn’t mind that.” “She would be as tender with you, Tom,” said Martin, ‘as if you were a child yourself. So you are almost, in some things, an’t you, Tom ?” Mr. Pinch nodded his entire assent. “She would always be kind and good-humoured, and glad to see you,” said Martin ; ‘“‘and when she found out exactly what sort of fellow you were (which she’d do very soon), she would pretend to give you little commissions to execute, and to ask little services of you, which she knew you were burn- ing to render; so that when she really pleased you most, she would try to make you think you most pleased her. She would take to you uncommonly, Tom; and would under- stand you far more delicately than I ever shall; and would often say, I know, that you were a harmless, gentle, well- intentioned, good fellow.” How silent Tom Pinch was! “In honour of old times,” said Martin, ‘‘and of her having heard you play the organ in this damp little church down here—for nothing too—we will have one in the house. I shall build an architectural music-room on a plan of my own, and it’ll look rather knowing in a recess at one end. ‘There you shall play away, Tom, till you tire yourself; and, as you like to do so in the dark, it shall be dark; and many’s theee ‘ a hatte ee Ne en nee Tee een Le 244 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT summer evening she and I will sit and listen to you, Tom ; be sure of that!” It may have required a stronger effort on Tom Pinch’s part to leave the seat on which he sat, and shake his friend bv both hands, with nothing but serenity and grateful feeling painted on his face; it may have required a stronger effort to perform this simple act with a pure heart, than to achieve many and many a deed to which the doubtful trumpet blown by Fame has lustily resounded. Doubtful, because from its long hovering over scenes of violence, the smoke and steam of death have clogged the keys of that brave instrument ; and it is not always that its notes are either true or tuneful. “Tt’s a proof of the kindness of human nature,” said Tom, characteristically putting himself quite out of sight in the matter, “that everybody who comes here, as you have done, is more considerate and affectionate to me than I should have any right to hope, if I were the most sanguine creature in the world : or should have any power to express, if I were the most eloquent. It really overpowers me. But trust me,” said Tom, ‘that Iam not ungrateful; that I never forget ; and that, if I ean ever prove the truth of my words to you, I will.” “That’s all right.” observed Martin, leaning back in his chair with a hand in each pocket, and yawning drearily. ‘Very fine talking, Tom ; but I’m at Pecksnift’s, I remem- ber, and perhaps a mile or so out of the high-road to fortune just at this minute. 5o you've heard again this morning from what’s his name, eh?” : “Who may that be?” asked Tom, seeming to enter a mild protest on behalf of the dignity of an absent person. “You know. Whatisit? Northkey.” ““Westlock,” rejoined Tom, in rather a louder tone than usual. ‘“Ah! to be sure,” said Martin, ‘“ Westlock. I knew it was something connected with a point of the compass and a door. Well! and what says Westlock ?” ‘Oh! he has come into his property,” answered Tom, nodding his head, and smiling. ‘‘He’s a lucky dog,” said Martin. ‘I wish it were mine instead. Is that all the mystery you were to tell me?” “No,” said Tom: “not all.” ‘““What’s the rest ?” asked Martin. ‘For the matter of that,” said Tom, ‘it’s no mystery, andA LETTER FROM JOHN WESTLOCK 245 you won't think much of it; but it’s very pleasant to me. John always used to say when he was here, ‘Mark my words, Pinch. When my father’s executors cash up ’—he used strange expressions now and then, but that was his way.” “Cash-up’s a very good expression,” observed Martin. ‘‘when other people don’t apply it to you. Well? What a slow fellow you are, Pinch!” ‘Yes, I am I know,” said Tom; “but youll make me nervous if you tell me so. I’m afraid you haye put me out a little now, for I forget what I was going to say.” “When John’s father’s executors cashed up,” said Martin impatiently. ‘Oh yes, to be sure,” cried Tom; “yes, ‘Then,’ says John, ‘I’ll give you a dinner, Pinch, and come down to Salisbury on purpose.’ Now, when John wrote the other day—the morning Pecksniff left, you know—he said his business was on the point of being immediately settled, and as he was to receive his money directly, when could I meet him at Salisbury? I wrote and said, any day this week ; and I told him besides, that there was anew pupil here, and what a fine fellow you were, and what friends we had be- come. Upon which John writes back this letter ”—Tom produced it—‘‘fixes to-morrow; sends his compliments to you; and begs that we three may have the pleasure of dining together ; not at the house where you and I were, either; but at the very first hotelin the town. Read what he says.” “Very well,” said Martin, glancing over it with his cus- tomary coolness: “much obliged to him. I’m agreeable.” Tom could have wished him to be a little more astonished, a little more pleased, or in some form or other a little more interested in such a great event. But he was pertectly self-possessed: and falling into his favourite solace of whistling, took another turn at the grammar-school, as if nothing at all had happened. Mr. Pecksniff’s horse being regarded in the light of a sacred animal, only to be driven by him, the chief priest of that temple, or by some person distinctly nominated for the time being to that high office by himself, the two young men agreed to walk to Salisbury; and so, when the time came, they set off on foot ; which was, after all, a better mode of travelling than in the gig, as the weather was very cold and very dry.CE eh aa te eee SPN a eae ee ee 246 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT Better! A rare strong, hearty, healthy walk—four statute miles an hour—preferable to that rumbling, tumbling, jolting, shaking, scraping, creaking, villanous old gig? Why, the two things will not admit of comparison. It is an insult to the walk, to set them side by side. Where is an instance of a gig having ever circulated a man’s blood, unless when, putting him in danger of his neck, it awakened ‘1 his veins and in his ears, and all along his spine, a tingling heat, much more peculiar than agreeable ? When did a gig eyer sharpen anybody’s wits and energies, unless it was when the horse bolted, and, crashing madly down a steep hill with a stone wall at the bottom, his desperate cireum- stances suggested to the only gentleman left inside, some novel and unheard-of mode of dropping out behind? Better than the gig! The air was cold, Tom; so it was, there was no denying ‘t+ but would it have been more genial in the gig? The blacksmith’s fire burned very bright, and leaped up high, as though it wanted men to warm ; but would it have been less tempting, looked at from the clammy cushions of a gig? The wind blew keenly, nipping the features of the hardy wight who fought his way along ; blinding him with his own hairif he had enough of it, and wintry dust if he hadn’t; stopping his breath as though he had been soused in a cold bath: tearing aside his wrappings-up, and whistling in the very marrow of his bones ; but it would have done all this a hundred times more fiercely to a man in a gig, wouldn’t it? A fig for gigs! Better than the gig! When were travellers by wheels and hoofs seen with such red-hot cheeks as those? when were they so good-humouredly and merrily bloused ? when did their laughter ring upon the air, as they turned them round, what time the stronger gusts came sweeping up; and, facing round again as they passed by, dashed on, in such a glow of ruddy health as nothing could keep pace with, but the high spirits itengendered ? Better than the gig! Why, here is a man in a gig coming the same way now. Look at him as he passes his whip into his left hand, chafes his numbed right fingers on his granite leg, and beats those marble toes of his upon the foot-board. Ha, ha, ha! Who would exchange this rapid hurry of the blood for yonder stagnant misery, though its pace were twenty miles for one ? Better than the gig! No man in a gig could have such cA FAMOUS INN 247 interest in the milestones. No man in a gig could see, or feel, or think, like merry users of their legs. How, as the wind sweeps on,.upon these breezy downs, it tracks its flight in darkening ripples on the grass, and smoothest shadows on the hills!) Look round and round upon this bare bleak pl: ae and see e here, upon a winter’s day, how beautiful the shadows are! Alas! it is the nature of their kind to be so. The es things in life, Tom, are but shadows: and they come and go, and change and fade away, as rapidly as these ! Another mile, and then begins a fall of snow, making the crow, who skims away so close above the ground to shirk the wind, a blot of ink upon the landscape. But though it drives and drifts against them as they walk, stiffening on their skirts, and freezing in the lashes of their eyes, they wouldn’t have it fall more sparingly, no, not so much as by a single flake, although they had to go a score of miles, And, lo! the towers of the Old Cathedral rise before them, even now! and by-and-bye they come into the sheltered streets, made strangely silent by their white ec: arpet ; and so to the Inn for which they are bound; where they present such flushed and burning faces to the cold waiter, and are so brimful of vigour, that he almost feels assaulted by their presence ; and, having nothing to oppose to the attack (being fresh, or rather stale, from the blazing fire in the coffee-room), is quite put out of his pale countenance. A famous Inn! the halla very grove of dead game, and dangling joints of mutton; and in one corner an illustrious larder, with glass doors, developing cold fowls and noble joints, and tarts wherein the raspberry jam coyly withdrew itself, as such a precious creature should, behind a lattice work of pastry. And behold, on the first floor, at the court- end of the house, in a room with all the window-curtains drawn, a fire piled half-way up the chimney, plates warming before it, wax candles gleaming everywhere, and a table spread for three, with silver and glass enough for thirty- John Westlock! Not the old John of Pecksniff’s, but a proper gentleman: looking another and a grander person, with the consciousness of being his own master and h: aving money in the bank: and yet in some respects the old John too, for he seized Tom Pinch by both his hands the instant he appeared, and fairly hugged him, in his cordial welcome. ‘And this,” said John, “is Mr. Chuzzlewit. I am very248 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT glad to see him!” John had an off-hand manner of his own; so they shook hands warmly, and were friends in no time. ‘Stand off a moment, Tom,” cried the old pupil, laying one hand on each of Mr. Pinch’s shoulders, and holding him out at arm’s length. “Let me look at you! Just the same! Not a bit changed is “Why, it’s not so very long ago, you know,” said Tom Pinch, ‘after all.” “Tt seems an age to me,” cried John; “and so it ought to seem to you, you dog.” And then he pushed Tom down ‘nto the easiest chair, and clapped him on the back so heartily, and so like his old self in their old bedroom at old Pecksniff’s that it was a toss-up with Tom Pinch whether he should laugh or ery. Laughter won it; and they all three laughed together. ‘‘T have ordered everything for dinner, that we used to say we'd have, Tom,” observed John Westlock. “No!” said Tom Pinch. ‘Have you?” “ Eyerything. Don’t laugh, if you can help it, before the waiters, £couldn’t when I was ordering it. It’s ikea dream.” John was wrong there, because nobody ever dreamed such soup as was put upon the table directly afterwards ; or such fish: or such side-dishes ; or such a top and bottom; or such a course of birds and sweets; or in short anything ap- proaching the reality of that entertainment at ten-and-six- pence a head, exclusive of wines. As to them, the man who can dream such iced champagne, such claret, port, or sherry, had better go to bed and stop there. But perhaps the finest feature of the banquet was, that nobody was half so much amazed by everything as John himself, who in his high delight was constantly bursting into fits of laughter, and then endeavouring to appear preter- naturally solemn, lest the waiters should conceive he wasn't used to it. Some of the things they brought him to carve, were such outrageous practical jokes, though, that it was impossible to stand it; and when Tom Pinch insisted, in spite of the deferential advice of an attendant, not only on breaking down the outer wall of a raised pie with a table- spoon, but on trying to eat it afterwards, John lost all dignity, and sat behind the gorgeous dish-cover at the head of the table, roaring to that extent that he was audible in the kitchen. Nor had he the least objection to laugh at himself,THE DINNER AND AFTER IT 249 as he demonstrated when they had all three gathered round the fire, and the dessert was on the table; at which period the head waiter inquired with respectful solicitude whether that port, being a light and tawny wine, was suited to his taste, or whether he would wish to try a fruity port with greater body. To this John gravely answered that he was well satisfied with what he had, which he esteemed, as one might say, a pretty tidy vintage: for which the waiter thanked him and withdrew. And then John told his friends, with a broad grin, that he supposed it was all right, but he didn’t know; and went off into a perfect shout. They were very merry and full of enjoyment the whole time, but not the least pleasant part of the festival was when they all three sat about the fire. cracking nuts, drinking wine and talking cheerfully. It happened that Tom Pinch had a word to say to his friend the organist’s assistant. and so deserted his warm corner for a few minutes at this season. lest it should grow too late ; leaving the other two young men together. They drank his health in his absence, of course: and John Westlock took that opportunity of saying, that he had never had even a peevish word with Tom during the whole term of their residence in Mr. Pecksniff’s house. This naturally led him to dwell upon Tom’s character, and to hint that Mr. Pecksniff understood it pretty well. He only hinted this, and very distantly : knowing that it pained Tom Pinch to have that gentleman disparaged, and thinking it would be as well to leave the new pupil to his own dis- coveries, “Yes,” said Martin. ‘It’s impossible to like Pinch better than I do, or to do greater justice to his good qualities, He is the most willing fellow I ever saw.” ‘* He’s rather too willing,” observed John, who was quick in observation. ‘It’s quite a fault in him.” “So it is,’ said Martin. “Verytrue. There was a fellow only a week or so ago—a Mr. Tigg—who borrowed all the money he had, on a promise to repay it in a few days. It was but half a sovereign, to be sure; but it’s well it was no more, for he'll never see it again.” ‘Poor fellow!” said John, who had been very attentive to these few words. “Perhaps you have not had an oppor- tunity of observing that, in his own pecuniary transactions, Tom’s proud.”250 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT “ You don’t say so! No, I haven't. What do you mean ? Won't he borrow ?” John Westlock shook his head. “That’s very odd,” said Martin, setting down his empty glass. ‘‘ He’s a strange compound, to be sure.” “ Ag to receiving money as a gift,” resumed John West- lock : “I think he’d die first.” ‘He's made up of simplicity,” said Martin. ‘‘ Help your- self.” ‘You, however,” pursued John, filling his own glass, and looking at his companion with some curiosity, ‘‘ who are older than the majority of Mr. Pecksniff’s assistants, and have evidently had much more experience, understand him, I have no doubt, and see how liable he is to be imposed upon.” “Certainly,” said Martin, stretching out his legs, and holding his wine between his eye and the light. ‘Mr. Pecksniff knows that too. So do his daughters. Eh?” John Westlock smiled, but made no answer. “ By-the-bye,” said Martin, “that reminds me. What's your opinion of Pecksniff 2? How did he use you? What do you think of him now? Coolly, you know, when it’s all over?” “ Ask Pinch,” returned the old pupil. ‘“ He knows what my sentiments used to be upon the subject. They are not changed, I assure you.” “No, no.” said Martin, “I’d rather have them from you.” “But Pinch says they are unjust,” urged John with a smile. “Oh! well! Then I know what course they take before- hand,” said Martin; ‘‘and, therefore, you can have no delicacy in speaking plainly. Don’t mind me, I beg. I don't like him, I tell you frankly. I am with him because it happens from particular circumstances to suit my con- venience. Ihave some ability, I believe, in that way ; and the obligation, if any, will most likely be on his side and not mine. At the lowest mark, the balance will be even, and there'll be no obligation at all. So you may talk to me, as if I had no connexion with him.” “Tf you press me to give my opinion—” returned John Westlock. ‘Yes, I do.” said Martin. ‘‘ You'll oblige me.” “JT should say,” resumed the other, “that he is the most consummate scoundrel on the face of the earth.”JOHN WESTLOCK SPEAKS OUT 25I “Oh!” said Martin, as coolly as ever. ‘“That’s rather strong.” ‘‘ Not stronger than he deserves,” said John; ‘‘and if he called upon me to express my opinion of him to his face, I would do so in the very same terms, without the least qualifi- cation. His treatment of Pinch is in itself enough to justify them ; but when I look back upon the five years I passed in that house, and remember the hypocrisy, the knavyery, the meannesses, the false pretences, the lip service of that fellow, and his trading in saintly semblances for the very worst realities; when I remember how often I was the witness of all this, and how often I was made a kind of party to it, by the fact of being there, with him for my teacher; I swear to you that I almost despise myself.” Martin drained his glass, and looked at the fire. “T don’t mean to say that is a right feeling,” pursued John Westlock, “ because it was no fault of mine; and I can quite understand—you, for instance, fully appreciating him, and yet being forced by circumstances to remain there. I tell you simply what my feeling is; and even now, when, as you say, it’s all over; and when I have the satisfaction of knowing that he always hated me, and we always quarrelled, and I always told him my mind; even now, I feel sorry that I didn’t yield to an impulse I often had, as a boy, of running away from him and going abroad.” ‘Why abroad ?” asked Martin, turning his eyes upon the speaker. “In search,” replied John Westlock, shrugging his shoulders, ‘of the livelihood I couldn’t have earned at home. There would have been something spirited in that. But, come! Fill your glass, and let us forget him.” ‘As soon as you please,” said Martin. “ In reference to myself and my connexion with him, I have only to repeat what I said before. I have taken my own way with him so far, and shall continue to do so, even more than ever; for the fact is, to tell you the truth, that I believe he looks to me to supply his defects, and couldn’t afford to lose me. JI had a notion of that in first going there. Your health!” “Thank you,” returned young Westlock. “ Yours. And may the new pupil turn out as well as you can desire!” ‘What new pupil ?” e “The fortunate youth, born under an auspicious star, returned John Westlock, laughing; ‘‘ whose parents, orDT a eae a aa SS TT ee PPR te eens 252 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT guardians, are destined to be hooked by the advertisement. What! Don’t you know that he has advertised again ?” Noi” “Oh, yes. I read it just before dinner in the old news- paper. I knowit to be his; having some reason to remember the style. Hush! Here’s Pinch. Strange, is it not, that the more he likes Pecksniff (if he can like him better than he does), the greater reason one has to like him? Nota word more, or we shall spoil his whole enjoyment.” Tom entered as the words were spoken, with a radiant and rubbing his hands, more from a he was cold (for he had been again, and was smile upon his face ; sense of delight than because running fast), sat down in his warm corner as happy as only Tom Pinch could be. There is no other simile that will express his state of mind. “ And so,” he said, when he had gazed at his friend for some time in silent pleasure, “so you really are a gentleman at last, John. Well, to be sure !”’ “Trying to be, Tom ; trying to be,” he rejoined good- humouredly. ‘There is no saying what I may turn out, in time.” “JT suppose you wouldn't carry your own box to the mail now?” said Tom Pinch, smiling ; “although you lost it altogether by not taking it.” “Wouldn’t 1?” retorted John. ‘“‘That’s all you know about it, Pinch. It must be a very heavy box that I wouldn't carry to get away from Pecksniff’s, Tom.” “Phere!” cried Pinch, turning to Martin, “I told you so. The great fault in his character is his injustice to Pecksniff. You mustn’t mind a word he says on that subject. His prejudice is most extraordinary.” The absence of anything like prejudice on Tom's part, you know,” said John Westlock, laughing heartily, as he laid his hand on Mr. Pinch’s shoulder, “‘is perfectly wonderful. If one man ever had a profound knowledge of another, and saw him in a true light, and in his own proper colours, Tom has that knowledge of Mr. Pecksniff.” “Why, of course I have,” cried Tom. ‘‘That’s exactly what I have so often said to you. If you knew him as well as I do—John, I’d give almost any money to bring that about—you’d admire, respect, and reverence him. You couldn’t help it. Oh, how you wounded his feelings when 1? you went away:TOM PINCH’S PROTESTS 253 “Tf I had know n whereabout his feelings lay,” retorted young Westlock, ‘‘I’d have done my best, Tom, with that end in view, you may depend upon it. But as I couldn’t wound him in what he has not, and in what he knows nothing of, except in his ability to probe them to the quick in other people, I am afraid I can lay no claim to your compliment.” Mr. Pinch, being unwilling to protract a discussion which might possibly corrupt Martin, forbore to s say anything in reply to this speech; but John Westlock, whom nothing short of an Iron gag would have silenced when Mr. Pecksniff’s merits were once in question, continued notwithstanding. ‘* His feelings! Oh, he’s a tender-hearted man. His fee]- ings! Oh, he’s a considerate, conscientious, self-examining, moral vagabond, he is! His feelings! Oh!—what’s the matter, Tom ?” Mr, Pinch was by this time erect upon the hearth-rug, buttoning his coat with great energy. “T cant bear it,” said Tom, shaking his head. “No, I really cannot. You must excuse me, John. I have a great esteem and friendship for you; I love you very much; and nave been perfectly charmed and overjoyed to-day, to find you just the same as ever; but I cannot listen to this,’ “Why, it’s my old way, Tom; and you say yourself that you are glad to find me unch: unged,” ‘“Not in this respect,” said Tom Pinch. “You must excuse me, John. I cannot, really: I will not. It’s very wrong; you should be more ee in your expressions. It was bad enough when you and I used to be alone together, but under existing circumstances, I can’t endure it, “really. No. I cannot, indeed.” ‘You are quite right!” exclaimed the other, exchanging looks with Martin; ‘‘and I am quite wrong, Tom. I don’t know how the deuce we fell on this unlucky theme. I beg your pardon with all my heart.” ‘You have a free and m: unly temper, I know,” said Pinch “and therefore, your being so ungenerous in this one solitary instance, only grieves me the more. It’s not my pardon you have to ask, John. You have done me nothing but kindnesses.” “Well! Pecksniff’s pardon, then,” said young Westlock. “ Anything, Tom, or anybody, Pecksniff’s pardon, Will that do? Here! ! let us drink Pecksniffs health!”eee eet oe ey amen etree i ea ee era ee 254 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT “Thank you,” cried Tom, shaking hands with him eagerly, and filling a bumper. “Thank you ; Ill drink it with all my heart, John. Mr. Pecksniff’s health, and prosperity to him!” John Westlock echoed the sentiment, or nearly so; for he drank Mr. Pecksniff’s health, and something to him; but what, was not quite audible. The eeneral unanimity being then completely restored, they drew their chairs closer round the fire, and conversed in perfect harmony and enjoyment until bed-time. No slight circumstance, perhaps, could have better illus- trated the difference of character between John Westlock and Martin Chuzzlewit, than the manner in which each of the young men contemplated Tom Pinch, after the little rupture just described. There was a certain amount of jocularity in the looks of both, no doubt, but there all resemblance ceased. The old pupil could not do enough to show Tom how cor- dially he felt towards him, and his friendly regard seemed of a graver and more thoughtful kind than before. The new one, on the other hand, had no impulse but to laugh at the recollection of Tom’s extreme absurdity ; and mingled with his amusement there was something slighting and con- temptuous, indicative, as it appeared, of his opinion that Mr. Pinch was much too far gone in simplicity to be ad- mitted as the friend, on serious and equal terms, of any rational man. John Westlock, who did nothing by halves, if he could help it, had provided beds for his two guests in the hotel ; and after a very happy evening, they retired. Mr. Pinch was sitting on the side of his bed with his cravat and shoes off, ruminatine on the manifold good qualities of his old friend, when he was interrupted by a knock at his chamber door, and the voice.of John himself. “You're not asleep yet, are you, Tom ?” “Bless you, no! not I. I was thinking of you,” replied Tom, opening the door. “‘ Come in.” “Tam not going to detain you,” said John; ‘‘ but I have forgotten all the evening a little commission I took upon myself; and I am afraid I may forget it again, if I fail to discharge it at once. You know a Mr. Tige, Tom, I believe ?” * “Tiog!? cried Tom. ‘“‘Tigg! The gentleman who bor- rowed some money of me?”TOM PINCH IS A LITTLE UNEASY 255 “Exactly,” said John Westlock. “He begged me to present his compliments, and to return it with many thanks, Here it is. I suppose it’s a good one, but he is rather doubtful kind of customer, Tom.” Mr. Pinch received the little piece of gold with a face whose brightness might have shamed the metal; and said he had no fear about that. He was glad, he added, to find Mr. Tigg so prompt and honourable in his dealings ; very glad. “Why, to tell you the truth, Tom,” replied his friend, “he is not alwaysso. If you'll take my advice, you'll avoid him as much as you can, in the event of your encountering him again. And by no means, Tom—pray bear this in mind, for I am very serious—by no means lend him money any more.” a “Aye, aye!” said Tom, with his eyes wide open. “He is very far from being a reputable acquaintance,” returned young Westlock ; ‘‘and the more you let him know you think so, the better for you, T’om.” “I say, John,” quoth Mr. Pinch, as his countenance fell, and he shook his head in a dejected manner. “I hope you are not getting into bad company.” ‘No, no,” he replied laughing. ‘ Don’t be uneasy on that score, “Oh, but I am uneasy,” said Tom Pinch: “I can’t help it, when I hear you talking in that way. If Mr. Tigg is what you describe him to be, you have no business to know him, Jchn. You may laugh, but I don’t consider it by any means a laughing matter, I assure you.” “No, no,” returned his friend, composing his features, “Quite right. It is not, certainly.” “You know, John,” said Mr. Pinch, “your very good nature and kindness of heart make you thoughtless; and you can’t be too careful on such a point as this. Upon my word, if I thought you were falling among bad com- panions, I should be quite wretched, for I know how difficult you would find it to shake them off. I would much rather have lost this money, John, than I would have had it back again on such terms.” “I tell you, my dear good old fellow,” cried his friend, shaking him to and fro with both hands, and smiling at him with a cheerful, open countenance, that would have carried conviction to a mind much more suspicious than Tom’s ; “I tell you there is no danger,”r onda oa eden ee fi nn RE lead a SDT Tn ee ne ea ee ea ces 256 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT “Well!” cried Tom, “I am lad to hear it; IT am over- joyed to hear it. Jam sure there is not, when you say So in that manner. You won't take it ill, John, that I said what I did just now!” “TIL!” said the other, giving his hand a hearty squeeze ; “why what do you think Lam made of? Mr. Tigg and I are not on such an intimate footing that you need be at all uneasy, I give you my solemn assurance of that, Tom. You are quite comfortable now a “Quite,” said Tom. “Then once more, good night !” “@ood night!” cried Tom; ‘‘and such pleasant dreams to you as should attend the sleep of the best fellow in the world!” «__Except Pecksniff,” said his friend, stopping at the door for a moment, and looking gaily back. “Except Pecksniff,” answered Tiom, with great gravity ; ‘of course.” And thus they parted for the night ; John Westlock full of lizht-heartedness and cood humour, and poor Tom Pinch quite satisfied; though still, as he turned over on his side in bed, he muttered to himself, “I really do wish, for all that, though, that he wasn’t acquainted with Mr. Ties? They breakfasted together very early next morning, for the two young men desired to get back again in cood season; and John Westlock was to return to London by the coach that day. As he had some hours to spare, he bore them company for three or four miles on their walk, and only parted from them at last in sheer necessity. The parting was an un- usually hearty one, not only as between him and Tom Pinch, but on the side of Martin also, who had found in the old pupil a very different sort of person from the milksop he had prepared himself to expect. Young Westlock stopped upon a rising ground, when he had gone a little distance, and looked back. They were walking at a brisk pace, and Tom appeared to be talking earnestly. Martin had taken off his great-coat, the wind being now behind them, and carried it upon his arm. As he looked, he saw Tom relieve him of it, after a faint resistance, and, throwing it upon his own, encumber himself with the weight of both. This trivial incident impressed the old pupil mightily, for he stood there, gazing after them, until they were hidden from his view ; when he shook his head, as ifOUT OF SORTS 257 he were troubled by some uneasy reflection, and thoughtfully retraced his steps to Salisbury. In the meantime, Martin and Tom pursued their way, until they halted, safe and sound, at Mr. Pecksniff’s house. where a brief epistle from that good gentleman to Mr. Pinch announced the family’s return by that night’s coach. As it would pass the corner of the lane at about six o’clock in the morning, Mr. Pecksniff requested that the gig might be in 5 waiting at the finger-post about that time, together with a cart for the luggage. And to the end that he might be received with the greater honour, the young men agreed to rise early, and be upon the spot themselves. It was the least cheerful day they had yet passed together. Martin was out of spirits and out of humour, and took every opportunity of comparing his condition and prospects with those of young Westlock: much to his own disadvantage always. This mood of his depressed Tom: and neither that morning’s parting, nor yesterday’s dinner, helped to mend the matter, So the hours dragged on heavily enough ; and they were glad to 20 TO bed early, They were not quite so glad to get up again at half-past four o’clock, in all the shivering discomfort of a dark winter’s morning; but they turned out punctually, and were at the finger-post full half-an-hour before the appointed time. It was not by any means a lively morning, for the sky was black and cloudy, and it rained hard; but Martin said there Was some satisfaction in seeing that brute of a horse (by this, he meant Mr. Pecksniff’s Arab steed) getting very wet: and that he rejoiced, on his account, that it rained so fast. From this it may be inferred that Martin’s spirits had not improved, as indeed they had not; for while he and Mr. Pinch stood waiting under a hedge, looking at the rain, the rig, the cart, and its reekinge driver, he did nothing but grumble; and,.but that it is indispensable to any dispute hat there should be two parties to it, he would certainly have picked a quarrel with Tom. At length the noise of wheels was faintly audible in the distance, and presently the coach came splashing through the mud and mire, with one miserable outside passenger crouching down among wet straw, under a saturated um- brella ; and the coachman, guard, and horses, in a fellowship of dripping wretchedness. Immediately on its stopping, Mr. Pecksniff let down the window-glass and hailed Tom Pinch. x; I 8 99 otDeanne en ee bs a Se aes er eee Ne a eee ee eran RTO nr 258 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT “Dear me, Mr. Pinch! Is it possible that you are out upon this very inclement morning ?” “ Yes, sir,” cried Tom, advancing eagerly, “ Mr. Chuzzlewit and I, sir.” “Oh!” said Mr. Pecksniff, looking not so much at Martin as at the spot on which he stood. “ Oh! Indeed! Do me the favour to see to the trunks, if you please, Mr. Pinch.” Then Mr. Pecksniff descended, and helped his daughters to alight; but neither he nor the young ladies took the slightest notice of Martin, who had advanced to offer his assistance, but was repulsed by Mr. Pecksniff’s standing immediately before his person, with his back towards him. In the same manner, and in profound silence, Mr. Pecksniff handed his daughters into the gig; and following himself and taking the reins, drove off home. Lost in astonishment, Martin stood staring at the coach, and when the coach had driven away, at Mr. Pinch and the luggage, until the cart moved off too : when he said to ‘Tom: “Now will you have the goodness to tell me what this portends ?” “What?” asked Tom. “This fellow’s behaviour. Mr. Pecksniff’s, I mean. You saw it?” ‘No. Indeed I did not,” cried Tom. “I was busy with the trunks.” “Tt is no matter,” said Martin. ‘‘Come! Let us make haste back.” And without another word started off at such a pace, that Tom had some difficulty in keeping up with him. He had no care where he went, but walked through little heaps of mud and little pools of water with the utmost indifference; looking straight before him, and sometimes laughing in a strange manner within himself. Tom felt that anything he could say would only render. him the more obstinate, and therefore trusted to Mr. Pecksniff's manner when they reached the house, to remove the mistaken impres- sion under which he felt convinced so great a favourite as the new pupil must unquestionably be labouring. But he was not a little amazed himself, when they did reach it, and entered the parlour where Mr. Pecksniff was sitting alone before the fire, drinking some hot tea, to find that instead of taking favourable notice of his relative, and keeping him, Mr. Pinch, in the background, he did exactly the reverse,MARTIN GETS THE COLD SHOULDER 259 and was so lavish in his attentions to Tom, that Tom was thoroughly confounded. ‘‘'Take some tea, Mr. Pinch, take some tea,” said Pecksniff, stirring the fire. ‘“ You must be very cold and damp. Pray take some tea, and come into a warm place, Mr. Pinch.” Tom saw that Martin looked at Mr. Pecksniff as though he could have easily found it in his heart to give him an invitation to a very warm place ; but he was quite silent, and standing opposite that gentleman at the table, regarded him attentively. ‘Take a chair, Pinch,” said Pecksniff. ‘Take a chair, if you please. How have things gone on in our absence, Mr. Pineh ¢ ” ‘‘ You—you will be very much pleased with the grammar- school, sir,” said Tom. ‘It’s nearly finished.” ‘Tf you will have the goodness, Mr. Pinch,” said Pecksniff, waving his hand and smiling, ‘“ we will not discuss anything connected with that question at present. What have you been doing, Thomas, humph ?” Mr. Pinch looked from master to pupil, and from pupil to master, and was so perplexed and dismayed that he wanted presence of mind to answer the question. In this awkward interval, Mr. Pecksniff (who was perfectly conscious of Martin’s gaze, though he had never once glanced towards him) poked the fire very much, and when he couldn’t do that any more, drank tea assiduously. ‘Now, Mr. Pecksniff,” said Martin at last, in a very quiet voice, “‘if you have sufficiently refreshed and recovered your- self, I shall be glad to hear what you mean by this treatment of me.” ‘* And what,” said Mr. Pecksniff, turning his eyes on Tom Pinch, even more placidly and gently than before, “ what have you been doing, Thomas, humph ?” When he had repeated this inquiry, he looked round the walls of the room as if he were curious to see whether any nails had been left there by accident in former times. Tom was almost at his wit’s end what to say between the two, and had already made a gesture as if he would call Mr. Pecksniff’s attention to the gentleman who had last addressed him, when Martin saved him further trouble by doing so himself. “Mr. Pecksniff,” he said, softly rapping the table twice or thrice, and moving a step or two nearer, so that he could have2s arena oor SOR Re 4 eer an eat ae en ee eer n ee En er a ea 260 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT touched him with his hand; ‘‘ you heard what I said just now. Do me the favour to reply, if you please. I ask you:” he raised his voice a little here: ‘‘ what you mean by this ?” “<< will talk to you, sir,” said Mr. Pecksniff in a severe voice, as he looked at him for the first time, “ presently.” ‘You are very obliging,” returned Martin ; ~ presently will not do. I must trouble you to talk to me at once.” Mr. Pecksniff made a feint of being deeply interested in his pocket-book, but it shook in his hands; he trembled so. “Now.” retorted Martin, rapping the table again. “‘ Now. Presently will not do. Now!” “Do you threaten me, sir?” cried Mr. Pecksniff. Martin looked at him, and made no answer ; but a curious observer might have detected an ominous twitching at his mouth, and perhaps an inyoluntary attraction of his right hand in the direction of Mr. Pecksnifi’s cravat. “T lament to be obliged to say, sir,” resumed Mr. Pecksniff, ‘that it would be quite in keeping with your character if you did threaten me. You have deceived me. You have imposed upon a nature which you knew to be confiding and unsuspicious. You have obtained admission, sir,” said Mr. Pecksniff, rising, ‘to this house, on perverted statements and on false pretences.” “Qo on,” said Martin, with a scornful smile. ‘I under- stand you now. What more?” “Thus much more, sir,” cried Mr. Pecksniff, trembling from head to foot, and trying to rub his hands, as though he were only cold. ‘Thus much more, if you force me to publish your shame before a third party, which I was un- willing and indisposed to do. This lowly roof, sir, must not be contaminated by the presence of one who has de- ceived, and cruelly deceived, an honourable, beloved, vene- rated, and venerable gentleman ; and who wisely suppressed that deceit from me when he sought my protection and favour, knowing that, humble as I am, I am an honest man, seeking to do my duty in this carnal universe, and setting my face against all vice and treachery. I weep for your depravity, sir,” said Mr. Pecksniff; “I mourn over your corruption, I pity your voluntary withdrawal of yourself from the flowery paths of purity and peace;” here he struck himself upon his breast, or moral garden; ‘but I cannot have a leper and a serpent for an inmate. Go forth,”MR. PECKSNIFF RENOUNCES THE DECEIVER| . Dee a ere eeTHE NEW PUPIL RENOUNCED 263 said Mr. Pecksniff, stretching out his hand: “ go forth, young man! Like all who know you, I renounce you!” With what intention Martin made a stride forward at these words, it is impossible to say. It is enough to know that Tom Pinch caught him in his arms, and that, at the same moment, Mr. Pecksniff stepped back so hastily, that he missed his footing, tumbled over a chair, and fell in a‘sitting posture on the ground; where he remained without an effort to get up again, with his head in a corner: perhaps considering it the safest place. “Let me go, Pinch!” cried Martin, shaking him away. “Why do you hold me? Do you think a blow could make him a more abject creature than he is? Do you think that if I spat upon him, I could degrade him to a lower level than his own? Look at him. Look at him, Pinch!” Mr. Pinch involuntarily did so. Mr. Pecksniff sitting, as has been already mentioned, on the carpet, with his head in an acute angle of the wainscot, and all the damage and detriment of an uncomfortable journey about him, was not exactly a model of all that is prepossessing and dignified in man, certainly. Still he was Pecksniff; it was impossible to deprive him of that unique and paramount appeal to Tom. And he returned Tom’s glance, as if he would have said, “Aye, Mr. Pinch, look at me! Here I am! You know what the Poet says about an honest man; and an honest man is one of the few great works that can be seen for nothing! Look at me!” ‘“T tell you,” said Martin, “that as he lies there, disgraced, bought, used; a cloth for dirty hands, a mat for dirty feet, a lying, fawning, servile hound, he is the very last and worst among the vermin of the world. And mark me, Pinch! The day will come—he knows it: see it written on his face, while I speak !—when even you will find him out, and will know him as I do, and as he knows I do. He renounce me! Cast your eyes on the Renouncer, Pinch, and be the wiser for the recollection !” He pointed at him as he spoke, with unutterable contempt, and flinging his hat upon his head, walked from the room and from the house. He went so rapidly that he was already clear of the village, when he heard Tom Pinch calling breathlessly after him in the distance. ‘Well! what now?” he said, when Tom came up. ‘Dear, dear!” cried Tom, are you going?”fa RT aR eee aaa _ : nee aaa ia a a a al | | Pn eer 264 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT “Going!” he echoed. “Going! . ‘‘T didn’t so much mean that, as were you going now at once, in this bad weather, on foot, without your clothes, with no money ?” cried Tom. “Yes,” he answered sternly, “I am.” ‘And where?” eried Tom. ‘‘Oh where will you go pe “T don’t know,” he said. “ Yes, I do. Dll go to America!” “No. no.” cried Tom, in a kind of agony. “Don't go there. Pray don’t. Think better of it. Don’t be so dread- fully regardless of yourself. Don’t go to America!” “My mind is made up,” he said. © Your friend was right. I'll go to America. God bless you, Pinch !” “Take this!” eried Tom, pressing a book upon him in great agitation. ‘‘I must make haste back, and can’t say anything I would. Heaven be with you. Look at the leaf I have turned down. Good-bye, good-bye!” The simple fellow wrung him by the hand, with tears stealing down his cheeks; and they parted hurriedly upon their separate Ways.CHAPTER XIII SHOWING WHAT BECAME OF MARTIN AND HIS DESPERATE RESOLVE AFTER HE LEFT MR. PECKSNIFF’S HOUSE WHAT PERSONS HE ENCOUNTERED; WHAT ANXIETIES HE SUFFERED; AND WHAT NEWS HE HEARD Carryine Tom Pinch’s book quite unconsciously under his arm, and not even buttoning his coat as a protection against the heavy rain, Martin went doggedly forward at the same quick pace, until he had passed the finger-post, and was on the high road to London. He slackened very little in his speed even then, but he began to think, and look about him,: and to disengage his senses from the coil of angry passions which hitherto had held them prisoner. It must be confessed that, at that moment, he had no yery agreeable employment either for his moral or his physical perceptions, The day was dawning from a patch of watery light in the east, and sullen clouds came driving up before it, from which the rain descended in a thick, wet mist. It streamed from every twig and bramble in the hedge; made little gullies in the path ; ran down a hundred channels in the road; and punched innumerable holes into the face of every pond and gutter. It fell with an oozy, slushy sound among the grass ; and made a muddy kennel of every furrow in the ploughed fields. No living creature was anywhere to be seen. The prospect could hardly have been more desolate if animated nature had been dissolved in water, and poured down upon the earth again in that form. The range of view within the solitary traveller was quite as cheerless as the scene without. Friendless and penniless ; incensed to the last degree; deeply wounded in his pride and self-love; full of independent schemes, and perfectly destitute of any means of realising them ; his most vindic- tive enemy might have been satisfied with the extent of his troubles. To add to his other miseries, he was by this time x. rsee ce ae fi ees Sa eae 266 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT sensible of being wet to the skin, and cold at his very heart. In this deplorable condition he remembered Mr. Pinch’s book : more because it was rather troublesome to carry, than from anv hope of being comforted by that parting oift. He looked at the dingy lettering on the back, and finding it to he an odd volume of the “Bachelor of Salamanca,” in the French tongue, cursed Tom Pinch’s folly twenty times. He was on the point of throwing it away, in his ill-humour and vexation, when he bethought himself that Tom had referred him to a leaf, turned down; and opening it at that place, that he might have additional cause of complaint against him for supposing that any cold scrap of the Bachelor’s wisdom could cheer him in such circumstances, found— Well. well! not much, but Tom’s all. The half-sovereign. He had wrapped it hastily in a piece of paper, and pinned ‘+ to the leaf. These words were scrawled in pencil on the ‘nside: “I don’t want it, indeed. I should not know what to do with it if I had it.” There are some falsehoods, Tom, on which men mount, as on bright wings, towards Heaven. ‘There are some truths, eold bitter taunting truths, wherein your worldly scholars are very apt and punctual, which bind men down to earth with leaden chains. Who would not rather have to fan him, in his dying hour, the lightest feather of a falsehood such as thine, than all the quills that have been plucked from the sharp porcupine, reproachful truth, since time began ! Martin felt keenly for himself, and he felt this good deed of Tom’s keenly. After a few minutes it had the effect of raising his spirits, and reminding him that he was not alto- cether destitute, as he had left a fair stock of clothes behind him. and wore a gold hunting-watch in his pocket. He found a curious gratification, too, in thinking what a winning fallow he must be to have made such an impression on Tom: and in reflecting how superior he was to Tom, and how much more likely to make his way in the world. Animated by these thoughts, and strengthened in his design of endeavouring to push his fortune in another country, he resolved to get to London as a rallying-point, in the best way he could ; and to lose no time about it. He was ten good miles from the village made illustrious by being the abiding-place of Mr. Pecksniff, when he stopped to breakfast at a little road-side ale-house ; and resting uponAT A WAYSIDE INN 267 a high-backed settle before the fire, pulled off his coat, and hung it before the cheerful blaze to dry. It was a very different place from the last tavern in which he had regaled: boasting no greater extent of accommodation than the brick- floored kitchen yielded: but the mind so soon accommodates itself to the necessities of the body, that this poor waggoner’s house-of-call, which he would have despised yesterday, be- came now quite a choice hotel; while his dish of eggs and bacon, and his mug of beer, were not by any means the coarse fare he had supposed, but fully bore out the inserip- tion on the window-shutter, which proclaimed those viands to be ‘Good entertainment for Travellers.” He pushed away his empty plate; and with a second mug upon the hearth before him, looked thoughtfully at the fire until his eyes ached. Then he looked at the highly-coloured scripture pieces on the walls, in little black frames like common shaving-glasses, and saw how the Wise Men (with a strong family likeness among them) worshipped in a pink manger ; and how the Prodigal Son came home in red rags to a purple father, and already feasted his imagination on a sea-green calf. Then he glanced through the window at the falling rain, coming down aslant upon the sign-post over against the house, and overflowing the horse-trough; and then he looked at the fire again, and seemed to descry a doubly-distant London, retreating among the fragments of the burning wood. He had repeated this process in just the same order, many times, as if it were a matter of necessity, when the sound of wheels called his attention to the window out of its regular turn ; and there he beheld a kind of light van drawn by four horses, and laden, as well as he could see (for it was covered in), with corn and straw. The driver, who was alone, stopped at the door to water his team, and presently came stamping and shaking the wet off his hat and coat, into the room where Martin sat. He was a red-faced burly young fellow ; smart in his way, and with a good-humoured countenance. As he advanced towards the fire he touched his shining forehead with the forefinger of his stiff leather glove, by way of salutation ; and said (rather unnecessarily) that it was an uncommon wet day. ‘Very wet,” said Martin. “T don’t*know as ever I see a wetter.”eh ere ee 268 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT ‘‘T never felt one,” said Martin. The driver glanced at Martin’s soiled dress, and his damp shirt-sleeves, and his coat hung up to dry: and said, after a pause, as he warmed his hands : ‘You have been caught in it, sir?” “Yes,” was the short reply. “Out riding, maybe?” said the driver. “JT should have been, if I owned a horse ; but I don’t,” returned Martin. ‘¢That’s bad,” said the driver. ‘“ And may be worse,” said Martin. Now the driver said “That’s bad,” not so much because Martin didn’t own a horse, as because he said he didn’t with all the reckless desperation of his mood and circumstances, and so left a great deal to be inferred. Martin put his hands in his pockets and whistled, when he had retorted on the driver: thus giving him to understand that he didn’t care a pin for Fortune ; that he was above pretending to be her favourite when he was not; and that he snapped his fingers at her, the driver, and everybody else. The driver looked at him stealthily for a minute or so; and in the pauses of his warming whistled too. At length he asked, as he pointed his thumb towards the road, “Up or down ?” ‘Which is up?” said Martin. ‘‘ London, of course,” said the driver. “Up then,” said Martin. He tossed his head in a careless manner afterwards, as if he would have added, “ Now you know all about it;” put his hands deeper into his pockets ; changed his tune, and whistled a little louder. “Tm going up,” observed the driver; “ Hounslow, ten miles this side London.” “Are you?” cried Martin, stopping short and looking at him. The driver sprinkled the fire with his wet hat until it hissed again, and answered, ‘‘ Aye, to be sure he was.” “ Why, then,” said Martin, “ I'll be plain with you. You may suppose from my dress that I have money to spare. Ihave not. All I can afford for coach-hire is a crown, for I have but two. If you can take me for that, and my waist- coat, or this silk handkerchief, do. If you can’t, leave it alone.” ; ‘Short and sweet,” remarked the driver.A BARGAIN STRUCK 269 “You want more?” said Martin. “Then I haven’t got more, and I can’t get it, so there’s an end of that.” Where- upon he began to whistle again. ‘““T didn’t say I wanted more, did I?” asked the driver, with something like indignation. ‘You didn’t say my offer was enough,” rejoined Martin. “Why, how could I, when you wouldn’t let me? In regard to the waistcoat, I wouldn’t have a man’s waistcoat, much less a gentleman’s waistcoat, on my mind, for no con- sideration ; but the silk handkerchiefs another thing; and if you was satisfied when we got to Hounslow, I shouldn’t object to that as a gift.” ‘‘Ts it a bargain, then?” said Martin. ‘Yes, it is,” returned the other. ‘Then finish this beer,” said Martin, handing him the mug, and pulling on his coat with great alacrity ; “and let us be off as soon as you like.” In two minutes more he had paid his bill, which amounted to a shilling; was lying at full length on a truss of straw, high and dry at the top of the van, with the tilt a little open in front for the convenience of talking to his new friend ; and was moving along in the right direction with a most satisfactory and encouraging briskness. The driver’s name, as he soon informed Martin, was Wil- liam Simmons, better known as Bill ; and his spruce appear- ance was sufficiently explained by his connexion with a large stage-coaching establishment at Hounslow, whither he was conveying his load from a farm belonging to the concern in Wiltshire. He was frequently up and down the road on such errands, he said, and to look after the sick and rest horses, of which animals he had much to relate that occupied a long time in the telling. He aspired to the dignity of the regular box, and expected an appointment on the first vacancy. He was musical besides, and had a little key-bugle in his pocket, on which, whenever the conversation flagged, he played the first part of a great many tunes, and regularly broke down in the second. “Ah!” said Bill, with a sigh, as he drew the back of his hand across his lips, and put this instrument in his pocket, after screwing off the mouth-piece to drain it ; “ Lummy Ned of the Light Salisbury, he was the one for musical talents. He was a guard. What you may eall a Guard’an Angel, was Ned.”et % en RC eh ee ee ke OR ee ene Te eT i ee Tee lca clad 270 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT ‘“‘Ts he dead?” asked Martin. “Dead!” replied the other, with a contemptuous emphasis. ‘Not he. You won’t catch Ned a-dying easy. No, no. He knows better than that.” “You spoke of him in the past tense,” observed Martin, ‘so I supposed he was no more.” ‘‘He’s no more in England,” said Bill, “if that’s what you mean. He went to the U-nited States.” “Did he?” asked Martin, with sudden interest. ‘‘ When?” “Five year ago, or thenabout,” said Bill. “He had set up in the public line here, and couldn’t meet his engage- ments, so he cut off to Liverpool one day, without saying anything about it, and went and shipped himself for the U-nited States.” ‘Well ?” said Martin. ‘“ Well! as he landed there without a penny to bless him- self with, of course they was very glad to see him in the U-nited States.” ‘What do you mean?” asked Martin, with some scorn. ‘“ What do I mean ?” said Bill. ‘“ Why, that. All men are alike in the U-nited States, an’t they? It makes no odds whether a man has a thousand pound, or nothing, there. Particular in New York, I’m told, where Ned landed.” “ New York, was it?” asked Martin, thoughtfully. ‘““Yes,” said Bill. “New York. I know that, because he sent word home that it brought Old York to his mind, quite wivid, in consequence of being so exactly unlike it in every respect. I don’t understand what particular business Ned turned his mind to, when he got there ; but he wrote home that him and his friends was always a-singing, Ale Columbia, and blowing up the President, so I suppose it was something in the public line, or free-and-easy way again. Anyhow. he made his fortune.” “No!” eried Martin. ‘Yes, he did,” said Bill. ‘I know that, because he lost it all the day after, in six-and-twenty banks as broke. He settled a lot of the notes on his father, when it was ascertained that they was really stopped, and sent ’em over with a dutiful letter. I know that, because they was shown down our yard for the old gentleman’s benefit, that he might treat himself with tobacco in the workus.” : ‘He was a foolish fellow not to take care of his money when he had it,” said Martin, indignantly.ARRIVAL IN LONDON 271 “There you're right,” said Bill, “especially as it was all in paper, and he might have took care of it so very easy by folding it up in a small parcel.” i re Martin said nothing in reply, but soon afterwards fell asleep, and remained so for an hour or more. When he awoke, finding it had ceased to rain, he took his seat beside the driver, and asked him several questions; as how long had the fortunate guard of the Light Salisbury been in crossing the Atlantic; at what time of the year had he sailed ; what was the name of the ship in which he made the voyage; how much had he paid for passage-money ; did he suffer greatly from sea-sickness? and so forth. But on these points of detail his friend was possessed of little or no information ; either answering obviously at random, or acknowledging that he had never heard, or had forgotten ; nor, although he returned to the charge very often, could he obtain any useful intelligence on these essential particulars. They jogged on all day, and stopped so often—now to refresh, now to change their team of horses, now to exchange or bring away a set of harness, now on one point of business, and now upon another, connected with the coaching on that line of road—that it was midnight when they reached Hounslow. A little short of the stables for which the van was bound, Martin got down, paid his crown, and forced his silk handkerchief upon his honest friend, notwithstanding the many protestations that he didn’t wish to deprive him of it, with which he tried to give the lie to his longing looks. That done, they parted company; and when the yan had driven into its own yard and the gates were closed, Martin stood in the dark street, with a pretty strong sense of being shut out, alone, upon the dreary world, without the key of it. But in this moment of despondency, and often afterwards, the recollection of Mr. Pecksniff operated as a cordial to him ; awakening in his breast an indignation that was very wholesome in nerving him to obstinate endurance. Under the influence of this fiery dram he started off for London without more ado. Arriving there in the middle of the night, and not knowing where to find a tavern open, he was fain to stroll about the streets and market-places until morning. He found himself, about an hour before dawn, in the humbler regions of the Adelphi; and addressing himself to a man in a fur-cap who was taking down the shutters of anSe TR ean ead ee ak ek ees i ee eee eee aT ee eT er ae To oe eae 272 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT obscure public-house, informed him that he was a stranger, and inquired if he could have a bed there. It happened by good luck that he could. Though none of the gaudiest, it was tolerably clean, and Martin felt very glad and grateful when he crept into it, for warmth, rest, and forgetfulness. It was quite late in the afternoon when he awoke; and by the time he had washed and dressed, and broken his fast, it was growing dusk again. This was all the better, for it was now a matter of absolute necessity that he should part with his watch to some obliging pawnbroker. He would have waited until after dark for this purpose, though it had been the longest day in the year, and he had begun it with- out a breakfast. He passed more Golden Balls than all the jugglers in Europe have juggled with in the course of their united per- formances, before he could determine in favour of any particular shop where those symbols were displayed. In the end he came back to one of the first he had seen, and entering by a side-door in a court, where the three balls, with the legend ‘‘ Money Lent,” were repeated in a ghastly trans- parency, passed into one of a series of little closets, or private boxes, erected for the accommodation of the more bashful and uninitiated customers. He bolted himself in; pulled out his watch ; and laid it on the counter. “Upon my life and soul!” said a low voice in the next box to the shopman who was in treaty with him, ‘you must make it more: you must make it a trifle more, you must indeed! You must dispense with one half-quarter of an ounce in weighing out your pound of flesh, my best of friends, and make it two-and-six.” Martin drew back involuntarily, for he knew the voice at once. “Youre always full of your chaff,” said the shopman, rolling up the article (which looked like a shirt) quite as a matter of course, and nibbing his pen upon the counter. ‘IT shall never be full of my wheat,” said Mr. Tigg, ‘‘as long as I come here. Ha, ha! Not bad! Make it two- and-six, my dear friend, positively for this occasion only. Half-a-crown is a delightful coin. Two-and-six. Going at two-and-six! For the last time at two-and-six!” ‘““Ttll never be the last time till it’s quite worn out,” rejoined the shopman. “It’s grown yellow in the service as it is.” » 99 .AT THE PAWNBROKER’S 273 ‘Its master has grown yellow in the service, if you mean that, my friend,” said Mr. Tigg; ‘‘in the patriotic service of an ungrateful country. You are making it two-and-six, I think ?” ‘‘T’m making it,” returned the shopman, “ what it always has been—two shillings. Same name as usual, I suppose ? ” “Still the same name,” said Mr. Tigg; “my claim to the dormant peerage not being yet established by the House of Lords.” ‘“ The old address ?” ‘Not at all,” said Mr. Tigg; “I have removed my town establishment from thirty-eight Mayfair, to number fifteen- hundred-and-forty-two Park Lane.” “Come, ’m not going to put down that, you know,” said the shopman with a grin. “You may put down what you please, my friend,” quoth Mr. Tigg. ‘‘ The fact is stillthe same. The apartments for the under-butler and the fifth footman being of a most con- founded low and vulgar kind at thirty-eight Mayfair, I have been compelled, in my regard for the feelings which do them so much honour, to take on lease for seven, fourteen, or twenty-one years, renewable at the option of the tenant, the elegant and commodious family mansion, number fifteen- hundred-and-forty-two Park Lane. Make it two-and-six, and come and see me!” The shopman was so highly entertained by this piece of humour, that Mr. Tigg himself could not repress some little show of exultation. It vented itself, in part, in a desire to see how the occupant of the next box received his pleasantry ; to ascertain which he glanced round the partition, and im- mediately, by the gaslight, recognised Martin. “T wish I may die,” said Mr. Tigg, stretching out his body so far that his head was as much in Martin’s little cell as Martin’s own head was, “but this is one of the most tremendous meetings in Ancient or Modern History! How are you? What is the news from the agricultural districts ? How are our friends the P.’s? Ha, ha! David, pay par- ticular attention to this gentleman immediately, as a friend of mine, I beg.” ‘Here! Please to give me the most you can for this,” said Martin, handing the watch to the shopman, ‘‘I want money sorely.” : ‘He wants money, sorely!” cried Mr. Tigg with excessiverl aera er eat eS ee ene a ee a eecepemarebien mati atten 274 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT sympathy. ‘David, will you have the goodness to do your very utmost for my friend, who wants money sorely. You will deal with my friend as if he were myself. A gold hunt- ing-watch, David, engine-turned, capped and jewelled in four holes, escape movement, horizontal lever, and warranted to perform correctly, upon my personal reputation, who have observed it narrowly for many years, under the most trying circumstances :” here he winked at Martin, that he might understand this recommendation would have an immense effect upon the shopman: ‘‘what do you say, David, to my friend? Be very particular to deserve my custom and re- commendation, David.” “Tean lend you three pound on this, if you like,” said the shopman to Martin, confidentially. “It’s very old-fashioned. I couldn’t say more.”’ “And devilish handsome, too,” cried Mr. Tigg. “ Two- twelve-six for the watch, and seven-and-six for personal regard. I am gratified: it may be weakness, but I am. Three pound will do. We take it. The name of my friend is Smivey: Chicken Smivey, of Holborn, twenty-six-and-a- half B: lodger.” Here he winked at Martin again, to apprise him that all the forms and ceremonies prescribed by law were now complied with, and nothing remained but the receipt of the money. In point of fact, this proved to be the case, for Martin, who had no resource but to take what was offered him, sig- nified his acquiescence by a nod of his head, and presently came out with the cash in his pocket. He was joined in the entry by Mr. Tigg, who warmly congratulated him, as he took his arm and accompanied him into the street, on the successful issue of the negotiation. “As for my part in the same,” said Mr. Tigg, “don't mention it. Don’t compliment me, for I can’t bear it !” “T have no such intention, I assure you,” retorted Martin, releasing his arm and stopping. “You oblige me very much,” said Mr. Tigg. ‘‘ Thank you. “ Now, sir,” observed Martin, biting his lip, ‘‘ this is a large town, and we can easily find different ways in it. If you will show me which is your way, I will take another.” : Mr. Tigg was about to speak, but Martin interposed : ‘“T need scarcely tell you, after what you have just seen, that I have nothing to bestow upon your friend Mr, Slyme. ?MARTIN MEETS AN ACQUAINTANCE AT THE HOUSE OF A MUTUAL RELATIONeae ; t | k | | 5 : ; , NYMR. TIGGS COMPANY NOT DESIRED 277 And it is quite as unnecessary for me to tell you that I don’t desire the honour of your company.” “Stop!” eried Mr. Tigg, holding out his hand. ‘“ Hold! There is a most remarkably long-headed, flowing-bearded, and patriarchal proverb, which observes that it is the duty of a man to be just before he is generous. Be just now, and you can be generous presently. Do not confuse me with the man Slyme. Do not distinguish the man Slyme as a friend of mine, for he is no such thing. I have been compelled, sir, to abandon the party whom you call Slyme. I have no knowledge of the party whom you call Slyme. I am, sir,” said Mr. Tigg, striking himself upon the breast, ‘‘a premium tulip, of a very different growth and cultivation from the cabbage Slyme, sir.” “It matters very little to me,” said Martin coolly, ‘“‘ whether you have set up as a vagabond on your own account, or are still trading on behalf of Mr. Slyme. I wish to hold no correspondence with you. In the devil’s name, man,” said Martin, scarcely able, despite his vexation, to repress a smile, as Mr. Tigg stood leaning his back against the shutters of-a shop window, adjusting his hair with great composure, ‘‘ will you go one way or other?” “ You will allow me to remind you, sir,” said Mr. Tigg, with sudden dignity, “‘that you—not I—that you—I say emphatically, you—have reduced the proceedings of this evening to a cold and distant matter of business, when I was disposed to place them on a friendly footing. It being made a matter of business, sir, I beg to say that 1 expect a trifle (which I shall bestow in charity) as commission upon the pecuniary advance in which I have rendered you my humble services. After the terms in which you have addressed me, sir,” concluded Mr. Tigg, ‘‘ you will not insult me, if you please, by offering more than half-a-crown.” Martin drew that piece of money from his pocket, and tossed it towards him. Mr. Tigg caught it, looked at it to assure himself of its goodness, spun it in the air after the manner of a pieman, and buttoned it up. Finally, he raised his hat an inch or two from his head with a military air, and, after pausing a moment with deep gravity, as to decide in which direction he should go, and to what Karl or Mar- quis among his friends he should give the preference in his next call, stuck his hands in his skirt-pockets and swaggered round the corner. Martin took the directly* ee RT Es ae nC eee * 2 o nn ee tee Saran aT een ea 278 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT opposite course ; and so, to his great content, they parted company. It was with a bitter sense of humiliation that he cursed, again and again, the mischance of having encountered this man in the pawnbroker’s shop. ‘The only comfort he had in the recollection was, Mr. Tigg’s voluntary avowal of a separa- tion between himself and Slyme, that would at least prevent his circumstances (so Martin argued) from being known to anv member of his family, the bare possibility of which filled him with shame and wounded pride. Abstractedly there was greater reason, perhaps, for supposing any declaration of Mr. Tige’s to be false, than for attaching the least cre- dence to it: but remembering the terms on which the intimacy between that gentleman and his bosom friend had subsisted, and the strong probability of Mr. Tigg’s having established an independent business of his own on Mr. Slyme’s connexion, it had a reasonable appearance of proba- bility: at all events, Martin hoped so; and that went a long way. His first step, now that he had a supply of ready money for his present necessities, was, to retain his bed at the public-house until further notice, and to write a formal note to Tom Pinch (for he knew Pecksniff would see it) request- ing to have his clothes forwarded to London by coach, with a direction to be left at the office until called for. These measures taken, he passed the interval before the box arrived —three days—in making inquiries relative to American vessels, at the offices of various shipping-agents in the city ; and in lingering about the docks and wharves, with the faint hope of stumbling upon some engagement for the voyage, as clerk or supercargo, or custodian of something or somebody, which would enable him to procure a free pas- sage. But finding, soon, that no such means of employment were likely to present themselves, and dreading the conse- quences of delay, he drew up a short advertisement, stating what he wanted, and inserted it in the leading newspapers. Pending the receipt of the twenty or thirty answers which he vaguely expected, he reduced his wardrobe to the nar- rowest limits consistent with decent respectability, and carried the overplus at different times to the pawnbroker’s shop, for conversion into money. And it was strange, very strange, even to himself, to find how, by quick though almost imperceptible degrees, he lostA RAPID DESCENT 279 his delicacy and self-respect, and gradually came to do tha as a matter of course, without the least compunction, which but a few short days before had galled him to the quick. The first time he visited the pawnbroker’s, he felt on his way there as if every person whom he passed suspected whither he was going; and on his way back again, as if the whole human tide he stemmed, knew well where he had come from. When did he care to think of their discernment now ! In his first wanderings up and down the weary streets, he counterfeited the walk of one who had an object in his view ; but soon there came upon him the sauntering, slipshod gait of listless idleness and the lounging at street-corners, and plucking and biting of stray bits of straw, and strolling up and down the same place, and looking into the same shop- windows, with a miserable indifference, fifty times a day, At first, he came out from his lodging with an uneasy sense of being observer ry those chance passers-by, on whom he had never looked before, and hundreds to one would never see again—issuing ‘in the morning from a public-house; but now, in his comings-out and goings-in he did not mind to lounge about the door, or to stand sun- ning himself in careless thought beside the wooden stem, studded from head to heel with pegs, on which the beer- pots dangled like so many boughs upon a pewter-tree. And yet it took but five weeks to reach the lowest round of this tall ladder ! Oh, moralists, who treat of happiness and self-respect, innate in every sphere of life, and shedding light on every erain of dust in God’s highway, so smooth below your earriage-wheels, so rough beneath the tread of naked feet, bethink yourselves in looking on the swift descent of men who have lived in their own esteem, that there are scores of thousands breathing now, and breathing thick with painful toil, who in that high respect have never lived at all, nor had a chance of life! Go ye, who rest so placidly upon the sacred Bard who had been young, and when he strung his harp was old, and had never seen the righteous forsaken, or his seed begging their bread; go, Teachers of content and honest pride, into the mine, the mill, the forge, the squalid depths of deepest ignorance, and uttermost abyss of man’s Sdclcell and say can any hopeful plant spring up in air so foul that it extinguishes the soul’s bright torch as fast as it is kindled! And, ‘oh! ye Pharisees of the nineteen hundredthtee RTC ae a tt ae een aT 280 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT year of Christian Knowledge, who soundingly appeal to human nature, see first that it be human. Take heed it has not been transformed, during your slumber and the sleep of generations, into the nature of the Beasts. Five weeks! Of all the twenty or thirty answers, not one had come. His money, even the additional stock he had raised from the disposal of his spare clothes (and that was not much, for clothes, though dear to buy, are cheap to pawn), was fast diminishing. Yet what could he do? At times an agony came over him in which he darted forth again, though he was but newly home, and, returning to some place where he had been already twenty times, made some new attempt to gain his end, but always unsuccess- fully. He was years and years too old fora cabin-boy, and years upon years too inexperienced to be accepted as a common seaman. His dress and manner, too, militated fatally against any such proposal as the latter; and yet he was reduced to making it; for even if he could have contemplated the being set down in America totally without money, he had not enough left now for a steerage passage and the poorest pro- visions upon the voyage. It is an illustration of a very common tendency in the mind of man, that all this time he never once doubted, one may almost say the certainty of doing great things in the New World, if he could only get there. In proportion as he became more and more dejected by his present circum- , stances, and the means of gaining America receded from his grasp, the more he fretted himself with the conviction that that was the only place in which he could hope to achieve any high end, and worried his brain with the thought that men going there in the meanwhile might anticipate him in the attainment of those objects which were dearest to his heart. He often thought of John Westlock, and besides looking out for him on all occasions, actually walked about London for three days together for the express purpose ol meeting with him. But although he failed in this; and although he would not have serupled to borrow money of him ; and although he believed that John would have lent it ; yet still he could not bring his mind to write to Pinch and inquire where he was to be found. For although, as we have seen, he was fond of Tom after his own fashion, he could not endure the thought (feeling so superior to Tom) of making him the stepping-stone to his fortune, or being any-TIMELY ASSISTANCE ARRIVES 281 thing to him but a patron; and his pride so revolted from the idea that it restrained him even now. It might haye yielded, however ; and no doubt must have yielded soon, but for a very strange and unlooked-for occur- rence, The five weeks had quite run out, and he was in a truly desperate plight, when one evening, having just returned to his lodging, and being in the act of lighting his candle at the gas jet in the bar before stalking moodily up-stairs to his own room, his landlord called him by his name. Now as he had never told it to the man, but had scrupulously kept it to himself, he was not a little startled by this; and so plainly showed his agitation that the landlord, to re-assure him, said ‘it was only a letter.” “A letter!” cried Martin. “For Mr. Martin Chuzzlewit,” said the landlord. reading the superscription of one he held in his hand. ‘Noon. Chief office. Paid.” Martin took it from him, thanked him, and walked up- stairs. It was not sealed. but pasted close ; the handwriting was quite unknown to him. He opened it and found en- closed, without any name, address, or other inscription or explanation of any kind whatever, a Bank of England note for Twenty Pounds. To say that he was perfectly stunned with astonishment and delight ; that he looked again and again at the note and the wrapper; that he hurried below stairs to make quite certain that the note was a good note; and then hurried up again to satisfy himself for the fiftieth time that he had not overlooked some scrap of writing on the wrapper; that he exhausted and bewildered himself with conjectures: and could make nothing of it but that there the note was. and he was suddenly enriched; would be only to relate so many matters of course to no purpose. The final upshot of the business at that time was, that he resolved to treat himself to a comfortable but frugal meal in his own chamber: and having ordered a fire to be kindled, went out to purchase it forthwith. He bought some cold beef, and ham, and French bread, and butter, and came back with his pockets pretty heavily laden. It was somewhat of a damping circumstance to find the room full of smoke, which was attributable to two causes: firstly, to the flue being naturally vicious and a1 en el a : bi a ‘ a De en rere eer TOOT ea 282 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT smoker; and secondly, to their having forgotten, in lighting the fire, an odd sack or two and some trifles, which had been put up the chimney to keep the rain out. They had already remedied this oversight, however ; and propped up the window-sash with a bundle of firewood to keep it open; so that except in being rather inflammatory to the eyes and choking to the lungs, the apartment was quite comfortable. Martin was in no vein to quarrel with it, if it had been in less tolerable order, especially when a gleaming pint of porter was set upon the table, and the servant-girl withdrew, bearing with her particular instructions relative to the pro- duction of something hot when he should ring the bell. The cold meat being wrapped in a play-bill, Martin laid the cloth by spreading that document on the little round table with the print downwards, and arranging the collation upon it. The foot of the bed, which was very close to the fire, answered for a sideboard ; and when he had completed these preparations, he squeezed an old arm-chair into the warmest corner, and sat down to enjoy himself. He had begun to eat with great appetite, glancing round the room meanwhile with a triumphant anticipation of quit- ting it for ever on the morrow, when his attention was arrested by a stealthy footstep on the stairs, and presently by a knock at his chamber door, which, although it was a gentle knock enough, communicated such a start to the bundle of firewood, that it instantly leaped out of window, and plunged into the street. ‘More coals, I suppose,” said Martin. “Come in!” “Tt an’t a liberty, sir, though it seems so,” rejoined a man’s voice. ‘Your servant, sir. Hope you’re pretty well, sir. Martin stared at the face that was bowing in the doorway : perfectly remembering the features and expression, but quite forgetting to whom they belonged. “Tapley, sir,” said his visitor. ‘‘ Him as formerly lived at the Dragon, sir, and was forced to leave in consequence of a want of jollity, sir.” ‘To be sure!” cried Martin. ‘‘ Why, how did you come here ?” ; “Right through the passage, and up the stairs, sir,” said Mark. “How did you find me out, I mean?” asked Martin. “Why, sir,” said Mark, “I’ve passed you once or twice inA CHEERFUL VISITOR 283 the street if ’m not mistaken ; and when I was a-looking in at the beef-and-ham shop just now, along with a hungry sweep, aS was very much calculated to make a man jolly, sir, I see you a-buying that.” Martin reddened as he pointed to the table, and said, some- what hastily : *Welll What then 27 ‘Why, then, sir,” said Mark, “I made bold to foller; and as I told ’em down-stairs that you expected me, I was let up.” ‘Are you charged with any message, that you told them you were expected ?” inquired Martin. ‘‘ No, sir, I an’t,” said Mark. “That was what you may eall a pious fraud, sir, that was.” Martin cast an angry look at him: but there was some- thing in the fellow’s merry face, and in his manner, which with all its cheerfulness was far from being obtrusive or familiar, that quite disarmed him. He had lived a solitary life too, for many weeks, and the voice was pleasant in his ear. “Tapley,” he said, “Ill deal openly with you. From all I can judge, and from all I have heard of you through Pinch, you are not a likely kind of fellow to have been brought here by impertinent curiosity or any other offensive motive. Sit down. I’m glad to see you.” “Thankee, sir,” said Mark. ‘‘I’d as lieve stand.” “Tf you don’t sit down,” retorted Martin, “ Dll not talk to you.” “Very good, sir,” observed Mark. ‘“ Your will’s a law, sir. Down it is;” and he sat down accordingly, upon the bedstead. ‘“ Help yourself,” said Martin, handing him the only knife. “'Thankee, sir,” rejoined Mark. ‘“ After you’ve done.” “Tf you don’t take it now, you'll not have any,” said Martin. “Very good, sir,” rejoined Mark. ‘That being your desire—now it is.” With which reply he gravely helped himself, and went on eating. Martin haying done the like for a short time in silence, said abruptly: “What are you doing in London ?” “Nothing at all, sir,” rejoined Mark. ‘‘ How’s that ?” asked Martin. ““T want a place,” said Mark. “‘T’m sorry for you,” said Martin.a a at eee eC A a RL EL ener en Te er a aac 284 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT ‘_To attend upon a single gentleman,” resumed Mark. “Tf from the country the more desirable. Makeshifts would be preferred. Wages no object.” He said this so pointedly, that Martin stopped in his eat- ing, and said: “Tf you mean me—” ‘Yes, I do, sir,” interposed Mark. ‘Then you may judge from my style of living here, of my means of keeping a man-servant. Besides, I am going to America immediately.” “Well, sir,” returned Mark, oe unmoved by this intelli- gence, ‘from all that ever I heard about it, I should say America is a very likely sort of place for me to be jolly in!’ Again Martin looked at him angrily ; and again his anger melted away in spite of himself. “Lord bless you, sir,” said Mark, “what is the use of us a-going round and round, and hiding behind the corner, and dodging up and down, when we can come straight to the point in six words? [ve had my eye upon you any time this fortnight. I see well enough there’s a screw loose in your affairs. I know’d well enough the first time I see you down at the Dragon that it must be so, sooner or later. Now, sir, here am I, without a sitiwation; without any want of wages for a year to come; for I saved up (I didn’t mean to do it, but I couldn’t help it) at the Dragon—here am I with a lking for what’s wentersome, and a liking for you, and a wish to come out strong under circumstances as would keep other men down: and will you take me, or will you leave me?” ‘How can I take you?” cried Martin. “When I say take,” rejoined Mark, ‘I mean will you let me go? and when I say will you let me go, I mean will you let me go along with you? for go I will, somehow or another. Now th fat you ve said Americ a, I see clear at once, that that’s the place for me to be jolly in. Therefore, if I don’t pay my own passage in the ship you go in, sir, I'll pay my own paren in another. And mark my words, if I go alone it shall be, to carry out the principle, in the rottenest, craziest, idaleeeeat tub of a wessel that a place can be got in for lave or money. So if I’m lost upon the way, sir, there'll be a drowned man at your door—and always a-knocking double knoc ks at it, too, or never trust me !” ‘This is mere folly,” said Martin.MARK FINDS A JOLLY OPENING 285 “Very good, sir,” returned Mark. ‘I’m glad to hear it. because if you don’t mean to let me go, you'll be more com- fortable, perhaps, on account of thinking so. Therefore I contradict no gentleman. But all I say is, that if I don’t emigrate to America in that case, in the beastliest old cockle- shell as goes out of port, I’m ‘ You don’t mean what you say, I’m sure,’ said Martin. “Yes I do,” cried Mark. * I tell you I know better,” rejoined Martin. * Very good, sir,” said Mark, with the same air of perfect satisfaction. ‘‘ Let it stand that way at present, sir, and wait and see how it turns out. Why, love my heart alive! the only doubt I have is, whether there’s any credit in going with a gentleman like you, that’s as certain to make his way there as a gimlet is to go through soft deal.” This was touching Martin on his weak point, and having him at a great advantage. He could not help thinking, either, what a brisk fellow this Mark was, and how great a change he had wrought in the atmosphere of the dismal little room already, “Why, certainly, Mark,” he said, “I have hopes of doing well there, or I shouldn’t go.. I may have the qualifications for doing well, perhaps.” ‘ Of course you have, sir,” returned Mark Tapley. ‘‘Every- body knows that.” ‘** You see,” said Martin, leaning his chin upon his hand, and looking at the fire, ‘‘ ornamental architecture applied to domestic purposes, can hardly fail to be in great request in that country; for men are constantly changing their resi- dences there, and moving further off; and it’s clear they must have houses to live in.” ““T should say, sir,” observed Mark, “ that that’s a state of things as opens one of the jolliest look-outs for domestic architecture that ever I heerd tell on.” Martin glanced at him hastily, not feeling quite free from a suspicion that this remark implied a doubt of the successful issue of his plans. But Mr. Tapley was eating the boiled beef and bread with such entire good faith and singleness of purpose expressed in his visage, that he could not but be satisfied. Another doubt arose in his mind, however, as this one disappeared. He produced the blank cover in which the note had been enclosed, and fixing his eyes on Mark as he put it in his hands, said,RTC PERRIS Oa ameter tLe OEM Rrra mera rmearam sane tnimetameent pase Sn en era TT aT a 286 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT ‘Now tell me the truth. Do you know anything about that ?” Mark turned it over and over; held it near his eyes; held it away from him at arm’s length; held it with the super- seription upwards, and with the superscription downwards ; and shook his head with such a genuine expression of astonishment at being asked the question, that Martin said, as he took it from him again: “No, I see you don’t. How should you? Though, in- deed, your knowing about it would not be more extraordinary than its being here. Come, Tapley,” he added, after a moment’s thought, “Tl trust you with my history, such as it is, and then you'll see more clearly what sort of fortunes you would link yourself to, if you followed me.” “T beg your pardon, sir,” said Mark ; ‘‘ but afore you enter upon it, will you take me if I choose to go? Will you turn off me, Mark Tapley, formerly of the Blue Dragon, as ean be well recommended by Mr. Pinch, and as wants a gentleman of your strength of mind to look up to? or will you, in climbing the ladder as you're certain to get to the top of, take me along with you at a respectful distance ? Now, sir,” said Mark, ‘it’s of very little importance to you, I know; there’s the difficulty ; but it’s of very great importance to me, and will you be so good as to con- sider of it ?” If this were meant as a second appeal to Martin’s weak side, founded on his observation of the effect of the first, Mr. Tapley was a skilful and shrewd observer. Whether an intentional or an accidental shot, it hit the mark full; for Martin, relenting more and more, said, with a condescension which was inexpressibly delicious to him, after his recent humiliation : ‘““Wei'll see about it, Tapley. You shall tell me in what disposition you find yourself to-morrow.” “Then, sir,’ said Mark, rubbing his hands, “the job’s done. Go on, sir, if you please. I’m all attention.” Throwing himself back in his arm-chair, and looking at the fire, with now and then a glance at Mark, who at such times nodded his head sagely, to express his profound interest and attention; Martin ran over the chief points in his history, to the same effect as he had related them, weeks before, to Mr. Pinch. But he adapted them, according to the best of his judgment, to Mr. Tapley’s comprehension ;MARK MAKES A JOLLY DISCLOSURE 287 and with that view made as light of his love affair as he could, and referred to it in very few words. But here he reckoned without his host ; for Mark’s interest was keenest in this part of the business, and prompted him toask sundry questions in relation to it ; for which he apologised as one in some Measure priv ileged to do so, from having seen (as Martin explained to him) the young lady at the Blue Dragon. “And a young lady as any gentleman ought to feel more proud of being in love with,” said Mark, energetically, “‘ don’t draw breath.” “Aye! You saw her when she was not happy,” said Martin, gazing at the fire again. ‘If you had seen her in the old times, indeed-—” ‘Why, she certainly was a little down-hearted, sir, and something paler in her colour than I could have wished,” said Mark, “but none the worse in her looks for that. I think she seemed better, sir, after she come to London.” Martin withdrew his eyes from the fire; stared at Mark as if he thought he had suddenly gone mad ; and asked him what he meant. ‘No offence intended, sir,” urged Mark. ‘JI don’t mean to say she was any the happier without you: but I thought she was a-looking better, sir.” ‘Do you mean to tell me she has been in London?” asked Martin, rising hurriedly, and pushing back his chair. ‘Of course I do,” said Mark, rising too, in great amaze- ment from the bedstead. ‘‘Do you mean to tell me she is in London now ?’ ‘Most likely, sir. I mean to say she was, a week ago.” “ And you know where ? ” “Yes!” eried Mark. “What! Dont you?” ‘My good fellow!” exclaimed Martin, clutching him by both arms, ‘‘I have never seen her since I left my grand- father’s house.” ‘Why, then!” cried Mark, giving the little table such a blow with his clenched fist that the slices of beef and ham danced upon it, while all his features seemed, with delight, to be going up into his forehead, and never coming back again any more, “if I an’t your nat’ral born servant, hired by Fate, there an’t such a thing in natur’ as a Blue Dragon. What ! when I was a-rambling up and down a old church- rard in the City, getting myself into a jolly state, didn't I see your gr: andfather a-toddling to and fro for prettyx eT ae Se ee ed eel eee are mn ee eres 288 nigh a mortal hour! Didn’t I watch him into Todgers’s commercial boarding-house, and watch him out, and watch him home to his hotel, and go and tell him as his was the seryice for my money, and I had said so, afore I left the Dragon! Wasn’t the young lady a-sitting with him then, and did’nt she fall a-laughing in a manner as was beautiful to see! Didn’t your grandfather say, ‘Come back again next week,’ and didn’t I go next week; and didn’t he say that he couldn’t make up his mind to trust nobody no more ; and therefore wouldn’t engage me; but at the same time stood something to drink as was handsome! Why,” cried Mr. Ti apley, with a comical mixture of delight and chagrin, ‘‘where’s the credit of a man’s being jolly under such circumstances! Who could help it, when things come about like this!” For some moments Martin stood gazing at him, as if he really doubted the evidence of his senses, and could not believe that Mark stood there, in the body, before him. At length he asked him whether, if the young lady were still in London, he thought he could contrive to deliver a letter to her secretly. ‘Do I think lean?” cried Mark. ‘“ Think I can?. Here, sit down, sir. Write it out, sir!’ With that he cleared the table by the summary process of tilting everything upon it into the fire-place ; snatched some writing materials from the mantel-shelf; set Martin’s chair before them; forced him down into it; dipped a pen into the ink; and put it in his hand. “Cut away, sir!” cried Mark. “ Makeit strong, sir. Let it be wery pinted, sir. Do I think so? J should think so. Go to work, sir!” Martin required no further adjuration, but went to work at a great rate; while Mr. Tapley, installing himself without any more formalities into the functions of his valet and general attendant, divested himself of his coat, and went on to clear the fire-place and arrange the room ; talking to him- self in a low voice the whole time. ‘Jolly sort of lodgings,” said Mark, rubbing his nose with the knob at the end of the fire-shovel, and looking round the poor chamber: “that’s a comfort. The rain’s come through the roof too. That an’t bad. THE DOCTORS STORY 745 Jonas, in his vivacity, made a sudden sawing in the air, so close behind the doctor’s jugular that he turned quite red. Then Jonas (in the same strange spirit of vivacity) burst into a loud discordant laugh. ‘No, no,” said the doctor, shaking his head: “ edge-tools, edge-tools ; never play with ’em. A very remarkable instance of the skilful use of edge-tools, by the way, occurs to me at this moment. It was a case of murder. I am afraid it was a case of murder, committed by a member of our profession ; it was so artistically done.” “Aye!” said Jonas. ‘‘ How was that ?” “Why, sir,” returned Jobling, ‘“‘the thing les in a nut- shell. A certain gentleman was found, one morning, in an obscure street, lying in an angle of a doorway—Il should rather say, leaning, in an upright position, in the angle of a doorway, and supported consequently by the doorway. Upon his waistcoat there was one solitary drop of blood. He was dead and cold; and had been murdered, sir.” “Only one drop of blood!” said Jonas. ‘Six, that man,” replied the doctor, “had been stabbed to the heart. Had been stabbed to the heart with such dexterity, sir. that he had died instantly, and had bled internally. It was supposed that a medical friend of his (to whom suspicion attached) had engaged him in conversation on some pretence ; had taken him, very likely, by the button in a conversational manner: had examined his ground at leisure with his other hand; had marked the exact spot ; drawn out the instrument, 93 . whatever it was, when he was quite prepared ; and “And done the trick,” suggested Jonas. “ Exactly so,” replied the doctor. It was quite an opera- tion in its way, and very neat. The medical friend never turned up; and, as I tell you, he had the credit of it. Whether he did it or not I can’t say. 3ut, having had the honour to be called in with ‘two or three of my pro- fessional brethren on the occasion, and having assisted to make a careful examination of the wound, | have no hesita- tion in saying that it would have reflected credit on any medical man: and that in an unprofessional person it could not but be considered, either as an extraordinary work of art, or the result of a still more extraordinary, happy, and favour- able conjunction of circumstances.” His hearer was so much interested in this case, that the doctor went on to elucidate it with the assistance of his own Aa 3 X-aaa cca erm FT ncaa ieee rent TE 746 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT finger and thumb and waistcoat ; and at Jonas’s request, he took the further trouble of going into a corner of the room, and alternately representing the murdered man and the murderer ; which he did with great effect. The bottle being emptied and the story done, Jonas was in precisely the same boisterous and unusual state as when they had sat down. If, as Jobling theorised, his good digestion were the cause, he must have been a very ostrich. At dinner it was just the same; and after dinner too; though wine was drunk in abundance, and various rich meats eaten, At nine o’clock it was still the same. There being a lamp in the carriage, he swore they would take a pack of cards, and a bottle of wine: and with these things under his cloak, went down to the door. “Out of the way, Tom Thumb, and get to bed!” This was the salutation he bestowed on Mr. Bailey, who, booted and wrapped up, stood at the carriage-door to help him in. ‘To bed, sir! I’m a-going, too,” said Bailey. He alighted quickly, and walked back into the hall, where Montague was lighting a cigar: conducting Mr. Bailey with him, by the collar. ‘You are not a-going to take this monkey of a boy, are you?” “Yes,” said Montague. He gave the boy a shake, and threw him roughly aside. ™Mhere was more of his familiar self in the action, than in anything he had done that day ; but he broke out laughing immediately afterwards, and making a thrust at the doctor with his hand, in imitation of his representation .of the medical friend, went out to the carriage again, and took his seat. His companion followed immediately. Mr. Bailey climbed into the rumble. “Tt will be a stormy night!” exclaimed the doctor, as they started.CHAPTER XLII CONTINUATION OF THE ENTERPRISE OF MR. JONAS AND HIS FRIEND Tur Doctor’s prognostication in reference to the weather was speedily verified. Although the weather was not a patient of his, and no third party had required him to give an opinion on the case, the quick fulfilment of his prophecy may be taken as an instance of his professional tact ; for, aniess the threatening aspect of the night had been per- fectly plain and unmistakable, Mr. Jobling would never have compromised his reputation by delivering any senti- ments on the subject. He used this principle in Medicine with too much success to be unmindful of it in his com- monest transactions. It was one of those hot, silent nights, when people sit at wyindows listening for the thunder which they know will shortly break ; when they recall dismal tales of hurricanes and earthquakes ; and of lonely travellers on open plains, and lonely ships at sea, struck by lightning. Lightning flashed and quivered on the black horizon even now; and hollow murmurings were in the wind. as though it had been blowing where the thunder rolled, and still was charged with its exhausted echoes. But the storm, though gathe ing swiftly, had not yet come up ; and the prevailing sti ness was the more solemn, from the dull intelligence that seemed to hover in the air, of noise and conflict afar off. It was very dark ; but in the murky sky there were masses of cloud which shone with a lurid light, like monstrous heaps of copper that had been heated in a furnace, and were grow- ing cold. These had been advancing steadily and slowly, but they were now motionless, or nearly so. As the car- riage clattered round the corners of the streets, it passed at every one a knot of persons who had come there—many from their houses close at hand, without hats—to look up at that quarter of the sky. And now a very few large +)" i IL- id drops of rain began to fall, and thunder rumbled in the distance.—————— es SP an ae aa ie 748 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT Jonas sat in a corner of the carriage with his bottle rest- ing on his knee, and gripped as tightly in his hand as if he would have ground its neck to powder if he could. Instine- tively attracted by the night, he had laid aside the pack of cards upon the cushion: and with the same involuntary im- pulse, so intelligible to both of them as not to occasion a remark on either side, his companion had extinguished the lamp. ‘The front glasses were down; and they sat looking silently out upon the gloomy scene before them. They were clear of London, or as clear of it as travellers can be whose way hes on the Western Road, within a stage of that enormous city. Occasionally they encountered a foot-passenger, hurrying to the nearest place of shelter; or some unwieldy cart proceeding onward at a heavy trot, with the same end in view. Little clusters of such vehicles were gathered round fhe stable-yard or baiting-place of every way- side tavern; while their drivers watched the weather from the doors and open windows, or made merry within. Every- where the people were disposed to bear each other com- pany rather than sit alone; so that groups of watchful faces seemed to be looking out upon the night and them from almost every house they passed. It may appear strange that this should have disturbed Jonas, or rendered him uneasy: but it did. After mutter- ing to himself, and often changing his position, he drew up the blind on his side of the carriage, and turned his shoulder sulkily towards it. But he neither looked at his companion, nor broke the silence which prevailed between them, and which had fallen so suddenly upon himself, by addressing a word to him. The thunder rolled, the lightning flashed ; the rain poured down like Heaven’s wrath. Surrounded at one moment by intolerable light, and at the next by pitchy darkness, they still pressed forward on their journey. Even when they arrived at the end of the stage, and might have tarried, they did not ; but ordered horses out immediately. Nor had this any reference to some five minutes’ lull, which at that time seemed to promise a cessation of the storm. They held their course as if they were impelled and driven by its fury. Although they had not exchanged a dozen words, and might have tarried very well, they seemed to feel, by joint consent, that onward they must go. Louder and louder the deep thunder rolled, as throughA WILD NIGHT 749 “ the myriad halls of some vast temple in the sky ; fiercer and brighter became the lightning; more and more heavily the rain poured down. The horses (they were travelling now with a single pair) plunged and started from the rills of quivering fire that seemed to wind: along the ground before them: but there these two men sat, and forward they went as if they were led on by an invisible attraction. The eye, partaking of the quickness of the flashing light, saw in its every gleam a multitude of objects which it could not see at steady noon in fifty times that period. Bells in steeples, with the rope and wheel that moved them ; ragged nests of birds in cornices and nooks ; faces full of consterna- tion in the tilted waggons that came tearing past: their frightened teams ringing out a warning which the thunder drowned: harrows and ploughs left out in fields; miles upon miles of hedge-divided country, with the distant fringe of trees as obvious as the scarecrow in the beanfield close’ at hand: in a trembling, vivid, flickering instant, every- thing was clear and plain: then came a flush of red into the yellow light; a change to blue; a brightness so intense that there was nothing else but light; and then the deepest and profoundest darkness. The lightning being very crooked and very dazzling may have presented or assisted a curious optical illusion, which suddenly rose before the startled eyes of Montague in the carriage, and as rapidly disappeared. He thought he saw Jonas with his hand lifted, and the bottle clenched in it like 2 hammer, making as if he would aim a blow at his head. At the same time he observed (or so believed) an expression in his face: a combination of the unnatural excitement he had shown all day, with a wild hatred and fear: which might have rendered a wolf a less terrible companion. He uttered an involuntary exclamation, and called to the driver, who brought his horses to a stop with all speed. It could hardly have been as he supposed, for although he had not taken his eyes off his companion, and had not seen him move, he sat reclining in his corner as before. ‘“ What’s the matter?” said Jonas. “Is that your general way of waking out of your sleep ?” “TT could swear,” returned the other, “that I have not closed my eyes!” “When you have sworn it,” said Jonas, composedly, ‘* we had better go on again, if you have only stopped for that.”en rn oa aliiieliede ha cealaaenieel r en foe este p RTL ET SANIT a nae a ena Rae 750 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT He uncorked the bottle with the help of his teeth; and putting it to his lips, took a long draught. ‘“T wish we had never started on this journey. This is not,” said Montague, recoiling instinctively, and speaking in a voice that betrayed his agitation: “this is not a night to travel in.” ‘“Beod! you’re right there,” returned Jonas: “and we shouldn’t be out in it but for you. If you hadn’t kept me waiting all day, we might have been at Salisbury by this time; snug abed and fast asleep. What are we stopping Lorre” His companion put his head out of window for a moment, and drawing it in again, observed (as if that were his cause of anxiety), that the boy was drenched to the skin. ‘Serve him right,” said Jonas. ‘I’m glad of it. What the devil are we stopping for? Are you going to spread him out to dry ?” “JT have half a mind to take him inside,” observed the other with some hesitation. “Oh! thankee!” said Jonas. ‘‘ We don’t want any damp boys here; especially a young imp like him. Let him be where he is. He ain’t afraid of a little thunder and lght- ning, I dare say ; whoever else is. Go on, driver. We had better have him inside perhaps,” he muttered with a laugh ; ‘‘and the horses!” ‘Don’t go too fast,” cried Montague to the postillion ; “and take care how you go. You were nearly in the ditch when I called to you.” This was not true; and Jonas bluntly said so, as they moved forward again. Montague took little or no heed of what he said, but repeated that it was not a night for travelling, and showed himself, both then and afterwards, unusually anxious. From this time Jonas recovered his former spirits, if such a term may be employed to express the state in which he had left the city. He had his bottle often at his mouth ; roared out snatches of songs, without the least regard to time or tune or voice, or anything but loud discordance ; and urged his silent friend to be merry with him. ‘“You’re the best company in the world, my good fellow,” said Montague with an effort, “and in general irresistible ; but to-night—do you hear it ? ” “Ecod! I hear and see it too,” cried Jonas, shading his >JONAS IN GOOD SPIRITS 751 eyes, for the moment, from the lightning which was flashing, not in any one direction, but all around them. ‘ What of that? It don’t change you, nor me, nor our affairs. Chorus, chorus. It may lighten and storm, Till it hunt the red worm From the grass where the gibbet is driven ; But it can’t hurt the dead, And it won’t save the head That is doom’d to be rifled and riven. That must be a precious old song,” he added with an oath, as he stopped short in a kind of wonder at himself. “I havent heard it since I was a boy, and how it comes into my head now, unless the lightning put it there, I don’t know. ‘Can’t hurt the dead’! No, no. ‘And won’t save the head’! No, no. No! Ha, ha, hart? His mirth was of such a savage and extraordinary character, and was, in an inexplicable way, at once so suited to the night, and yet such a coarse intrusion on its terrors, that his fellow-traveller, always a coward, shrunk from him in positive fear. Instead of Jonas being his tool and instru- ment, their places seemed to be reversed. But there was reason for this too, Montague thought; since the sense of his debasement might naturally inspire such a man with the wish to assert a noisy independence, and in that licence to forget his real condition. Being quick enough, in reference to such subjects of contemplation, he was not long in taking this argument into account, and giving it its full weight. But still, he felt a vague sense of alarm, and was depressed and uneasy. He was certain he had not been asleep ; but his eyes might have deceived him; for, looking at Jonas now in any in- terval of darkness, he could represent his figure to himself in any attitude his state of mind suggested. On the other hand. he knew full well that Jonas had no reason to love him; and eyen taking the piece of pantomime which had so impressed his mind to be a real gesture, and not the working of his fancy, the most that could be said of it was, that it was quite in keeping with the rest of his diabolical fun. and had the same impotent expression of truth in it. “T£ he could kill me with a wish,” thought the swindler, ‘I should not live long.” He resolved that when he should have had his use of Jonas, he would restrain him with an iron curb: in theees aS - med ia ews Oe ncaa 752 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT meantime, that he could not do better than leave him to take his own way, and preserve his own peculiar description of good-humour, after his own uncommon manner. It was no great sacrifice to bear with him: “ for when all is got that can be got,” thought Montague, “I shall decamp across the water, and have the laugh on my side—and the gains.” Such were his reflections from hour to hour; his state of mind being one in which the same thoughts constantly pre- sent themselves over and over again in wearisome repetition ; while Jonas, who appeared to have dismissed reflection al- together, entertained himself as before. They agreed that they would go to Salisbury, and would cross to Mr. Peck- sniffs in the morning ; and at the prospect of deluding that worthy gentleman, the spirits of his amiable son-in-law became more boisterous than ever. As the night wore on, the thunder died away, but still rolled gloomily and mournfully in the distance. The light- ning too, though now comparatively harmless, was yet bright and frequent. The rain was quite as violent as it had ever been. It was their ill-fortune, at about the time of dawn and in the last stage of their journey, to have a restive pair of horses. These animals had been greatly terrified in their stable by the tempest; and coming out into the dreary interval between night and morning, when the glare of the lightning was yet unsubdued by day, and the various ob- jects in their view were presented in indistinct and exag- gerated shapes which they would not have worn by night, they gradually became less and less capable of control ; until, taking a sudden fright at something by the roadside, they dashed off wildly down a steep hill, flung the driver from his saddle, drew the carriage to the brink of a ditch, stumbled headlong down, and threw it crashing over. The travellers had opened the carriage door, and had either jumped or fallen out. Jonas was the first to stagger to his feet. He felt sick and weak, and very giddy, and reeling to a five-barred gate, stood holding by it: looking drowsily about as the whole landscape swam before his eyes. But. by degrees, he grew more conscious, and presently o bserved that Montague was lying senseless in the road, within a few feet of the horses. In an instant, as if his own faint body were suddenly animated by a demon, he ran to the horses’ heads; andMR. JONAS EXHIBITS HIS PRESENCE OF MINDBi nena alee | tps ak Maa le Sn er aMONTAGUES NARROW ESCAPE 755 pulling at their bridles with all his force, set them struggling and plunging with such mad violence as brought their hoofs at every effort nearer to the skull of the prostrate man ; and must have led in half a minute to his brains being dashed out on the highway. As he did this, he fought and contended with them like a man possessed : making them wilder by his cries. “Whoop!” cried Jonas. ‘‘ Whoop! again! another! A little more, a little more! Up, ye devils! Hillo!” As he heard the driver, who had risen and was hurrying up, crying to him to desist, his violence increased. ‘‘Hillo! Hillo!” eried Jonas. “Bor God’s sake!” cried the driver. ‘The gentleman— in the road—he’ll be killed !” The same shouts and the same struggles were his only answer. But the man darting in at the peril of his own life, saved Montague’s, by dragging him through the mire and water out of the reach of present harm. That done, he ran to Jonas: and with the aid of his knife they very shortly disengaged the horses from the broken chariot, and got them. cut and bleeding, on their legs again. The postillion and Jonas had now leisure to look at each other, which they had not had yet. ‘Presence of mind, presence of mind!” cried Jonas, throwing up his hands wildly. ‘‘ What would you have done without me?” “The other gentleman would have done badly without me” yeturned the man, shaking his head. ‘You should have moved him first. I gave him up for dead.” “ Presence of mind, you croaker, presence of mind !” eried Jonas. with a harsh loud laugh. ‘‘ Was he struck, do you think ?” They both turned to look at him. Jonas muttered some- thing to himself, when he saw him sitting up beneath the hedge, looking vacantly round. ‘“What’s the matter?” asked Montague. “Is any body hurt ?”? “Eeod!” said Jonas, “it don’t seem so. There are no bones broke, after all.” They raised him, and he tried to walk. He was a good deal shaken, and trembled very much. But with the excep- tion of a few cuts and bruises this was all the damage he had sustained.nailed a} sa ete ad 1h elaine . ne atic niall . a mean a een nas 750 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT ‘Guts and bruises, eh?” said Jonas. ‘“ We’ve all got them. Only cuts and bruises, eh?” “T wouldn’t have given sixpence for the gentleman’s head in half-a-dozen seconds more, for all he’s only cut and bruised,” observed the post-boy. “If ever you’re in an accident of this sort again, sir; which I hope you won’t be ; never you pull at the bridle of a horse that’s down, when there’s a man’s head in the way. That can’t be done twice without there being a dead man in the case; it would have ended in that, this time, as sure as ever you were born, if I hadn’t come up just when I did.” Jonas replied by advising him with a curse to hold his tongue, and to go somewhere, whither he was not very likely to go of his own accord. But Montague, who had listened eagerly to every word, himself diverted the subject, by exclaiming: ‘‘ Where’s the boy ?” “Eeod! I forgot that monkey,” said Jonas. ‘‘ What’s be- come of him?” aa saad h a er a —" ee Se eas i iS ‘ ; : Hy ; cf 794 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT he had finished his writing, and had dried it on the blotting paper in his travelling-desk; he looked up, and tossed the pen towards him. “What, not a day’s grace, not a day’s trust, eh?” said Jonas, bitterly. ‘‘Not after the pains I have taken with to-night’s work ? ” “To-night’s work was a part of our bargain,” replied Mon- tague; “and so was this.” ‘‘You drive a hard bargain,” said Jonas, advancing to the table. ‘‘ You know best. Give it here!” Montague gave him the paper. After pausing as if he could not make up his mind to put his name to it, Jonas dipped his pen hastily in the nearest inkstand, and began to write. But he had scarcely marked the paper when he started back, in a panic. “Why, what the devil’s this?” he said. ‘It’s bloody!” He had dipped the pen, as another moment showed, into red ink. But he attached a strange degree of importance to the mistake. Heasked how it had come there, who had brought it, why it had been brought; and looked at Mon- tague, at first, as if he thought he had put a trick upon him. Even when he used a different pen, and the right ink, he made some scratches on another paper first, as half believing they would turn red also. ‘Black enough, this time,” he said, handing the note to Montague. ‘“ Good-bye.” “Going now! How do you mean to get away from here?” “T shall cross early in the morning to the high road, before you are out of bed; and catch the day-coach, going up. Good-bye!” “You are in a hurry!” “T have Something to do,” said Jonas. ‘‘ Good-bye!” His friend looked after him as he went out, in surprise, which gradually gave place to an air of satisfaction and relief. “Tt happens all the better. It brings about what I wanted, without any difficulty. I shall travel home alone.”CHAPTER XLV IN WHICH TOM PINCH AND HIS SISTER TAKE A LITTLE PLEASURE; BUT QUITE IN A DOMESTIC WAY, AND WITH NO CEREMONY ABOUT IT Tom Prxcu and his sister having to part, for the dispatch of the morning’s business, Immediately after the dispersion of the other actors in the scene upon the Wharf with which the reader has been already made acquainted, had no oppor- tunity of discussing the subject at that time. But Tom, in his solitary office, and Ruth, in the triangular parlour, thought about nothing else all day ; and, when their hour of meeting in the afternoon approached, they were very full of it, to be sure. There was a little plot between them, that Tom should always come out of the Temple by one way ; and that was past the fountain. Coming through Fountain Court, he was just to glance down the steps leading into Garden Court, and to look once all round him; and if Ruth had come to meet him, there he would see her; not sauntering, you understand (on account of the clerks), but coming briskly up, with the best little laugh upon her face that ever played in opposition to the fountain, and beat it all to nothing. For, fifty to one, Tom had been looking for her in the wrong direction, and had quite given her up, while she had been tripping towards him from the first: jingling that little reticule of hers (with all the keys in it) to attract his wandering observation. Whether there was life enough left in the slow vegetation of Fountain Court for the smoky shrubs to have any con- sciousness of the brightest and purest-hearted little woman in the world, is a question for gardeners, and those who are learned in the loves of plants. But, that it was a good thing for that same paved yard to have such a delicate little figure flitting through it; that it passed like a smile from the grimy old houses, and the worn flagstones, and left them duller, darker, sterner than before ; there is no sort of doubt. The Temple fountain might have leaped up twenty feet to greet the spring of hopeful maidenhood, that in her person stolea ena 796 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT on, sparkling, through the dry and dusty channels of the Law; the chirping sparrows, bred in Temple chinks and crannies, might have held their peace to listen to imaginary skylarks, as so fresh a little creature passed; the dingy boughs, unused to droop, otherwise than in their puny growth, might have bent down in a kindred graceful- ness to shed their benedictions on her graceful head; old love letters, shut up in iron boxes in the neighbouring offices, and made of no account among the heaps of family papers into which they had strayed, and of which, in their degeneracy, they formed a part, might have stirred and fluttered with a moment’s recollection of their ancient ten- derness, as she went lightly by. Anything might have happened that did not happen, and never will, for the love of Ruth. Something happened, too, upon the afternoon of which the history treats. Not for her love. Oh no! quite by accident, and without the least reference to her at all. Hither she was a little too soon, or Tom was a little too late—she was so precise in general, that she timed it to half a minute—but no Tom was there. Well! But was anybody else there, that she blushed so deeply, after looking round, and tripped off down the steps with such unusual expedition ? Why, the fact is, that Mr. Westlock was passing at that moment. The Temple is a public thoroughfare ; they may write up on the gates that it is not, but so long as the gates are left open it is, and will be; and Mr. Westlock had as good a right to be there as anybody else. But why did she run away, then? Not being ill dressed, for she was much too neat for that, why did she run away? The brown hair that had fallen down beneath her bonnet, and had one im- pertinent imp of a false flower clinging to it, boastful of its licence before all men, that could not have been the cause, for it looked charming. Oh! foolish, panting, HBeRLOB eS little heart, why did she run away Merrily the tiny fountain played, and merrily the one sparkled on its sunny face, John Westlock hurried after her. Softly the whispering water broke and fell; and roguishly the dimples twinkled, as he stole upon her footsteps. Oh, foolish, panting, timid little heart, why did she feign to be unconscious of his coming! Why wish herself so far away, yet be so flutteringly happy there! ee é oe re eeeBY THE TEMPLE FOUNTAIN 7197 “T felt sure it was you,” said John, when he overtook her in the sanctuary of Garden Court. “ I knew I couldn’t be mistaken.” She was so Surprised. “You are waiting for your brother,” said John. “ Let me bear you company.” : So light was the touch of the coy little hand, that he glanced down to assure himself he had it on his arm. But his glance, stopping for an instant at the bright eyes, forgot its first design, and went no farther. They walked up and down three or four times, speaking about Tom and his mysterious employment. Now that was a yery natural and innocent subject, surely. Then why, whenever Ruth lifted up her eyes, did she let them fall again immediately, and seek the uncongenial pavement of the court? They were not such eyes as shun the light ; they were not such eyes as require to be hoarded to enhance their value. They were much too precious and too genuine to stand in need of arts like those. Somebody must have been looking at them ! They found out Tom, though, quickly enough. This pair of eyes descried him in the distance, the moment he ap- peared. He was staring about him, as usual, in all directions put the right one; and was as obstinate in not looking towards them, as if he had intended it. As it was plain that, being left to himself, he would walk away home, John Westlock darted off to stop him. This made the approach of poor little Ruth, by herself, one of the most embarrassing of circumstances. There was Tom, manifesting extreme surprise (he had no presence of mind, that Tom, on small occasions); there was John, making as light of it as he could, but explaining at the same time with most unnecessary elaboration ; and here was she, coming towards them, with both of them looking at her, conscious of blushing to a terrible extent, but trying to throw up her eyebrows carelessly, and pout her rosy lips, as if she were the coolest and most unconcerned of little women. Merrily the fountain plashed and plashed, until the dimples, merging into one another, swelled into a general smile, that covered the whole surface of the basin. “ What an extraordinary meeting !” said Tom. “ I should never have dreamed of seeing you two together here.” ‘Quite accidental,” John was heard to murmur.ee deinen Femara Nea RR TER a cine ae ; 798 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT “ Exactly,” cried Tom; ‘that’s what I mean, you know. If it wasn’t accidental, there would be nothing remarkable Elbe ‘To be sure,” said John. “Such an out-of-the-way place for you to have met in,” pursued Tom, quite delighted. ‘Such an unlikely spot!” John rather disputed that. On the contrary, he considered it a very likely spot, indeed. He was constantly passing to and fro there, he said. He shouldn’t wonder if it were to happen again. His only wonder was, that it had never happened before. By this time Ruth had got round on the farther side of her brother, and had taken his arm. She was squeezing it now, as much as to say, “ Are you going to stop here all day, you dear old blundering Tom?” Tom answered the squeeze as if it had been a speech. “ John,” he said, ‘if you'll give my sister your arm, we'll take her between us, and walk on. I havea curious cireum- stance to relate to you. Our meeting could not have happened better.” Merrily the fountain leaped and danced, and merrily the miling dimples twinkled and expanded more and more, until hey broke into a laugh against the basin’s rim, and vanished. “Tom,” said his friend, as they turned into the noisy street, ‘‘I have a proposition to make. It is, that you and your sister—if she will so far honour a poor bachelor’s dwelling—give me a great pleasure, and come and dine with me.” ** What, to-day ?”’ cried Tom. ‘“Yes, to-day. It’s close by, you know. Pray, Miss Pinch, insist upon it. It will be very disinterested, for { have nothing to give you.” “Oh! you must not believe that, Ruth,” said Tom. ‘‘ He is the most tremendous fellow, in his housekeeping, that I ever heard of, for a single man. He ought to be Lord Mayor. Well! what do you say? Shall we go?” “If you please, Tom,” rejoined his dutiful little sister. ** But I mean,” said Tom, regarding her with smiling admiration: “is there anything you ought to wear, and haven't got? J am sure I don’t know, John: she may not be able to take her bonnet off, for anything I can tell.” There was a great deal of laughing at this, and there were divers compliments from John Westlock—not compliments S t ee ee qAN INVITATION TO DINNER 799 he said at least (and really he was right), but good, plain, honest truths, which no one could deny. Ruth laughed, and all that, but she made no objection; so it was an engagement. “Tf I had known it a little sooner,” said John, “I would have tried another pudding. Not in rivalry ; but merely to exalt that famous one. J wouldn’t on any account have had it made with suet.” ‘Why not?” asked Tom. “Because that cookery-book advises suet,” said John Westlock ; “‘and ours was made with flour and eggs.” ‘Oh good gracious!” cried Tom. ‘Ours was made with flour and eggs, was it? Ha, ha, ha! A beefsteak pudding made with flour and eggs! Why anybody knows better than that. JI know better than that! Ha, ha, ha!” It is unnecessary to say that Tom had been present at the making of the pudding, and had been a devoted believer in it all through. But he was so delighted to have this joke against his busy little sister, and was tickled to that degree at having found her out, that he stopped in Temple Bar to laugh; and it was no more to Tom, that he was anathematised and knocked about by the surly passengers, than it would have been to a post; for he continued to exclaim with unabated good humour, “ flour and eggs! A beefsteak pudding made with flour and eggs!” until John Westlock and his sister fairly ran away from him, and left him to have his laugh out by himself; which he had ; and then came dodging across the crowded street to them, with such sweet temper and tenderness (it was quite a tender joke of Tom’s) beaming in his face, God bless it, that it might have purified the air, though Temple Bar had been, as in the golden days gone by, embellished with a row of rotting human heads. There are snug chambers in those Inns where the bachelors live, and, for the desolate fellows they pretend to be, it is quite surprising how well they get on. John was very pathetic on the subject of his dreary life, and the deplorable makeshifts and apologetic contrivances it involved ; but he really seemed to make himself pretty comfortable. His rooms were the perfection of neatness and convenience at any rate; and if he were anything but comfortable, the fault was certainly not theirs. He had no sooner ushered Tom and his sister into his bestnn eagiiinal or ream elce 800 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT room (where there was a beautiful little vase of fresh flowers on the table, all ready for Ruth.—Just as if he had expected her, Tom-said), than seizing his hat, he bustled out again, in his most energetically bustling way; and presently came hurrying back, as they saw through the half-opened door, attended by a fiery-faced matron attired in a crunched bonnet, with particularly long strings to it hanging down her back ; in conjunction with whom he instantly began to lay the cloth for dinner, polishing up the wine-glasses with his own hands, brightening the silver top of the pepper-castor on his coat-sleeve, drawing corks and filling decanters, with a skill and expedition that were quite dazzling. And as if, in the course of this rubbing and polishing, he had rubbed an enchanted lamp or a magic ring, obedient to which there were twenty thousand supernatural slaves at least, suddenly there appeared a being in a white waistcoat, carrying under his arm a napkin, and attended by another being with an oblong box upon his head, from which a banquet, piping hot, was taken out and set upon the table. Salmon, lamb, peas, innocent young potatoes, a cool salad, sliced cucumber, a tender duckling, and a tart—all there. They all came at the right time. Where they came from, didn’t appear; but the oblong box was constantly going and coming, and making its arrival known to the man in the white waistcoat by bumping modestly against the out- side of the door; for, after its first appearance, it entered the room no more. He was never surprised, this man; he never seemed to wonder at the extraordinary things he found in the box; but took them out with a face expressive of a steady purpose and impenetrable character, and put them on the table. He was a kind man; gentle in his manners, and much interested in what they ate and drank. He was a learned man, and knew the flavour of John West- lock’s private sauces, which he softly and feelingly described, as he handed the little bottles round. He was a grave man, and a noiseless; for dinner being done, and wine and fruit arranged upon the board, he vanished, box and all, hke something that had never been. “ Didn’t I say he was a tremendous fellow in his house- keeping?” cried Tom. ‘‘ Bless my soul! It’s wonderful.” * Ah, Miss Pinch,” said John. “This is the bright side of the life we lead in such a place. It would be a dismal life, indeed, if it didn’t brighten up to-day.” Ree ee ea j /A BACHELORS HOUSEKEEPING SOT “Don’t believe a word he:{ says,” .cried:Lom,'. .‘f He lives here like a monarch, and wouldn’t change his mode of life for any consideration. He only pretends to grumble.” No, John really did not appear to pretend; for he was uncommonly earnest in his desire to have it understood that he was as dull, solitary, and uncomfortable on ordinary occasions as an unfortunate young man could, in reason, be. It was a wretched life, he said, a miserable life. He thought of getting rid of the chambers as soon as possible; and meant, in fact, to put a bill up very shortly. “ Well!” said Tom Pinch, “I don’t know where you can go, John, to be more comfortable. That’s all I can say. What do you say, Ruth ?” Ruth trifled with the cherries on her plate, and said that she thought Mr. Westlock ought to be quite happy, and that she had no doubt he was. Ah, foolish, panting, frightened little heart, how timidly she said it! ‘But you are forgetting what you had to tell, Tom: what occurred this morning,” she added in the same breath. “So Lam,” said Tom. ‘‘ We have been so talkative on other topics, that I declare I have not had time to think of it. I'l tell it you at once, John, in case I should forget it altogether.” On Tom’s relating what had passed upon the wharf, his friend was yery much surprised, and took such a great interest in the narrative as Tom could not quite understand. He believed he knew the old lady whose acquaintance they had made, he said; and that he might venture to say, from their description of her, that her name was Gamp. But of what nature the communication could have been which Tom had borne so unexpectedly ; why its delivery had been en- trusted to him; how it happened that the parties were involved together ; and what secret lay at the bottom of the whole affair; perplexed him very much. Tom had heen sure of his taking some interest in the matter ; but was not prepared for the strong interest he showed. It held John Westlock to the subject even after Ruth had left the room ; and evidently made him anxious to pursue it further than as a mere subject of conversation, “JT shall remonstrate with my landlord, of course,” said Tom: “though he is a very singular secret sort of man, and = Geeen nael a aoa TT 802 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT not likely to afford me much satisfaction; even if he knew what was in the letter.” ‘Which you may swear he did,” John interposed. ““-You think so?” “T am certain of it.” “Well!” said Tom, ‘‘I shall renionstrate with him when I see him (he goes in and out in a strange way, but I will try to catch him to-morrow morning), on his having asked me to execute such an unpleasant commission. And I have been thinking, John, that if I went down to Mrs. What’s- her-name’s in the City, where I was before, you know— Mrs. Todgers’s—to-morrow morning, I might find poor Mercy Pecksniff there, perhaps, and be able to explain to her how I came to have any hand in the business.” ‘You are perfectly right, Tom,” returned his friend, after a short interval of reflection. ‘‘ You cannot do better. It is quite clear to me that whatever the business is, there is little good in it; and it is so desirable for you to disentangle yourself from any appearance of wilful connexion with it, that I would counsel you to see her husband, if you can, and wash your hands of it by a plain statement of the facts. I have a misgiving that there is something dark at work here, Tom. I will tell you why, at another time: when I have made an inquiry or two myself.” All this sounded very mysterious to Tom Pinch. But as he knew he could rely upon his friend, he resolved to follow this advice. Ah, but it would have been a good thing to have had a coat of invisibility, wherein to have watched little Ruth, when she was left to herself in John Westlock’s chambers, and John and her brother were talking thus, over their wine! The gentle way in which she tried to get up a little conver- sation with the fiery-faced matron in the crunched bonnet, who was waiting to attend her; after making a desperate rally in regard of her dress, and attiring herself in a washed- out yellow gown with sprigs of the same upon it, so that it looked like a tesselated work of pats of butter. That would have been pleasant. The grim and griffin-like inflexibility with which the fiery-faced matron repelled these engaging advances, as proceeding from a hostile and dangerous power, who could have no business there, unless it were to deprive her of a customer, or suggest what became of the self-con- suming tea and sugar, and other general trifles. ‘That would,AN ENCHANTED EVENING 803 have been agreeable. The bashful, winning, glorious curiosity, with which little Ruth, when fiery-face was gone, peeped into the books and nick-nacks that were lying about, and had a particular interest in some delicate paper-matches on the chimney-piece: wondering who could have made them. That would have been worth seeing. The faltering hand with which she tied those flowers together ; with which, almost blushing at her own fair self as imaged in the glass, she arranged them in her breast, and looking at them with her head aside. now half resolved to take them out again, now half resolved to leave them where they were. That would have been delightful ! John seemed to think it all delightful: for coming in with Tom to tea, he took his seat beside her lke a man en- chanted. And when the tea-service had been removed, and Tom, sitting down at the piano, became absorbed in some of his old organ tunes, he was still beside her at the open window, looking out upon the twilight. There is little enough to see in Furnival’s Inn, It isa shady, quiet place, echoing to the footsteps of the stragglers who have business there ; and rather monotonous and gloomy on summer evenings. What gave it such a charm to them, that they remained at the window as unconscious of the flight of time as Tom himself, the dreamer, while the melo- dies which had so often soothed his spirit were hovering again about him! What power infused into the fading light, the gathering darkness ; the stars that here and there appeared; the evening air, the City’s hum and stir, the very chiming of the old church clocks ; such exquisite en- thralment, that the divinest regions of the earth spread out before their eyes could not have held them captive Mm a stronger chain ? The shadows deepened, deepened, and the room became quite dark. Still Tom’s fingers wandered over the keys of the piano ; and still the window had its pair of tenants. At length, her hand upon his shoulder, and her breath upon his forehead, roused Tom from his reverie. ‘Dear me!” he cried, desisting with a start. ‘‘ lam afraid I have been very inconsiderate and unpolite.” Tom little thought how much consideration and politeness he had shown! “Sine something to us, my dear,” said Tom. “Let us hear your voice. Come!”804 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT John Westlock added his entreaties with such earnestness that a flinty heart alone could have resisted them. Hers was not a flinty heart. O dear no! Quite another thing. So down she sat, and in a pleasant voice began to sing the ballads Tom loved well. Old rhyming stories, with here and there a pause for a few simple chords, such as a harper might have sounded in the ancient time while looking up- ward for the current of some half-remembered legend ; words of old poets, wedded to such measures that the strain of music might have been the poet’s breath, giving utter- ance and expression to his thoughts; and now a melody so joyous and light-hearted, that the singer seemed incap- able of sadness, until in her inconstancy (oh wicked little singer !) she relapsed, and broke the listeners’ hearts again: these were the simple means she used to please them. And that these simple means prevailed, and she did please them, let the still darkened chamber, and its long-deferred illumina- tion witness. The candles came at last, and it was time for moving homeward. Cutting paper carefully, and rolling it about the stalks of those same flowers, occasioned some delay ; but even this was done in time, and Ruth was ready. “Good night!” said Tom. ‘A memorable and delightful visit, John! Good night!” John thought he would walk with them. ‘‘No, no. Don’t!” said Tom. ‘What nonsense! We can get home very well alone. I couldn’t think of taking you out.” But John said he would rather. ‘Are you sure you would rather?” said Tom. ‘““T am afraid you only say so out of politeness.” John being quite sure, gave his arm to Ruth, and led her out. Fiery-face, who was again in attendance, acknowledged her departure with so cold a curtsey that it was hardly visible ; and cut Tom dead. Their host was bent on walking the whole distance, and would not listen to Tom’s dissuasions. Happy time, happy walk, happy parting, happy dreams! But there are some sweet day-dreams, so there are, that put the visions of the night to shame. Busily the Temple fountain murmured in the moonlight, while Ruth lay sleeping, with her flowers beside her; and John Westlock sketched a portrait—whose ?— from memory. GEGRALACHAPTER XLVI IN WHICH MISS PECKSNIFF MAKES LOVE, MR. JONAS MAKES WRATH, MRS. GAMP MAKES TEA, AND MR. CHUFFEY MAKES BUSINESS On the next day’s official duties coming to a close, Tom hurried home without losing any time by the way ; and after dinner and a short rest, sallied out again, accompanied by Ruth, to pay his projected visit to Todgers’s. Tom took Ruth with him, not only because it was a great pleasure to him to have her for his companion whenever he could, but because he wished her to cherish and comfort poor Merry ; which she, for her own part (having heard the wretched history of that young wife from Tom), was all eagerness to do. ‘She was so glad to see me,” said Tom, “that I am sure she will be glad to see you. Your sympathy is certain to be much more delicate and acceptable than mine.” “JT am very far from being certain of that, Tom,” she replied ; ‘“‘and indeed you do yourself an injustice. Indeed you do. But I hope she may like me, Tom.” “Oh, she is sure to do that!” cried Tom, confidently. ‘What a number of friends I should have, if everybody was of your way of thinking. Shouldn’t I, Tom, dear? ” said his little sister, pinching him upon the cheek. Tom laughed, and said that with reference to this particular case he had no doubt at all of finding a disciple in Merry. “For you women,” said Tom, “‘you women, my dear, are So kind, and in your kindness have such nice perception ; you know so well how to be affectionate and full of solicitude without appearing to be; your gentleness of feeling is like your touch: so light and easy, that the one enables you to deal with wounds of the mind as tenderly as the other enables you to deal with wounds of the body. You are such “My goodness, Tom!” his sister interposed. ‘‘ You ought to fall in love immediately.”” ee ee ea ai clined , Te ete PERT! 3 aco areensprre nti en reo ama 806 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT Tom put this observation off good humouredly, but some- what gravely too; and they were soon very chatty again on some other subject. As they were passing through a street in the City, not very far from Mrs. Todgers’s place of residence, Ruth checked Tom before the window of a large Upholstery and Furniture Ware- house, to call his attention to something very magnificent and ingenious, displayed there to the best advantage, for the admiration and temptation of the public. Tom had hazarded some most erroneous and extravagantly wrong guess in relation to the price of this article, and had joined his sister in laughing heartily at his mistake, when he pressed her arm in his, and pointed to two persons at a little distance, who were looking in at the same window with a deep interest in the chests of drawers and tables. “Hush!” Tom whispered. ‘‘ Miss Pecksniff, and the young gentleman to whom she is going to be married.”’ ‘Why does he look as if he was going to be buried, Tom ?” inquired his little sister. ‘Why, he is naturally a dismal young gentleman, I believe,”’ said Tom: ‘but he is very civil and inoffensive.” “JT suppose they are furnishing their house,” whispered Ruth. ‘Yes, I suppose they are,” replied Tom. ‘‘ We had better avoid speaking to them.” They could not very well avoid looking at them, however, especially as some obstruction on the pavement, at a little distance, happened to detain them where they were for a few moments. Miss Pecksniff had quite the air of haying taken the unhappy Moddle captive, and brought him up to the contemplation of the furniture lke a lamb to the altar. He offered no resistance, but was perfectly resigned and quiet. The melancholy depicted in the turn of his languishing head, and in his dejected attitude, was extreme ; and though there was a full-sized four-post bedstead in the window, such a tear stood trembling in his eye, as seemed to blot it out. ‘‘ Augustus, my love,” said Miss Pecksniff, ‘‘ ask the price of the eight rosewood chairs, and the loo table.” ‘ Perhaps they are ordered already,” said Augustus. ‘“ Per- haps they are Another’s.” ‘“They can make more like them, if they are,” rejoined Miss Pecksniff. ‘No, no, they can’t,” said Moddle. “It’s impossible!” GREET YY : | ,MR, MODDLE IS LED TO THE CONTEMPLATION OF HIS DESTINY{ : PY GEERT YPERSONS ABOUT TO MARRY 809 He appeared, for the moment, to be quite overwhelmed and stupefied by the prospect of his approaching happiness ; but recovering, entered the shop. He returned immediately : saying in a tone of despair: ‘Twenty-four pound ten!” MissPecksniff, turningtoreceive this announcement, became conscious of the observation of Tom Pinch and his sister. “Oh, really!” cried Miss Pecksniff, glancing about her, as if for some convenient means of sinking into the earth. “Upon my word, [—there never was such a—to think that one should be so very—Mr. Augustus Moddle, Miss Pinch!” Miss Pecksniff was quite gracious to Miss Pinch in this triumphant introduction ; exceedingly gracious. She was more than gracious ; she was kind and cordial. Whether the recollection of the old service Tom had rendered her in knock- ing Mr. Jonas on the head had wrought this change in her opinions ; or whether her separation from her parent had reconciled her to all human-kind, or to all that increasing portion of human-kind w hich was not friendly to him; or whether the delight of having some new female acquaintance to whom to communicate her interesting prospects was para- mount to every other consideration ; cordial and kind Miss Pecksniff was. And twice Miss Pecksniff kissed Miss Pinch upon the cheek. “ Augustus—Mr. Pinch, you know. My dear girl!” said Miss Pecksniff, aside. ‘‘ I never was so ashamed in my life.” Ruth begged her not to think of it. “J mind your brother less than anybody else,” simpered Miss Pecksniff. ‘But the indelicacy of meeting any gentleman under such circumstances ! Augustus, my child, did you Here Miss Pecksniff whispered in his ear, The suffering Moddle repeated : “Twenty-four pound ten!” ‘Oh, you silly man! I don’t mean them,” said Miss Peck- sniff. “Iam speaking of the Here she whispered him again. ‘Tf it’s the same patterned chintz as that in the window ; thirty-two, twelve, six,” said Moddle, with a sigh. ‘“ And very dear.” Miss Pecksniff stopped him from giving any further ex- planation by laying her hand upon his lps, and betraying a soft embarrassment, She then asked Tom Pinch which way he was going. x. Ce 3. — + insane tise renmnnermte= ete ee 8ro MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT ‘““T was going to see if I could find your sister,” answered Tom, ‘“‘to whom I wished to say a few words. We were going to Mrs. Todgers’s, where I had the pleasure of seeing her before.” “It’s of no use your going on, then,” said Cherry, “for we have not long left there; and I know she is not at home. But Pl take you to my sister’s house, if you please. Augustus —Mr. Moddle, I mean—and myself, are on our way to tea there, now. You needn’t think of him,” she added, nodding her head, as she observed some hesitation on Tom’s part. ‘He is not at home.” **Are you sure?” asked Tom. “Oh, I am quite sure of that. I don’t want any more revenge,” said Miss Pecksniff, expressively. ‘‘ But, really, I must beg you two gentlemen to walk on, and allow me to follow with Miss Pinch. My dear, I never was so taken by surprise |” In furtherance of this bashful arrangement, Moddle gave his arm to Tom; and Miss Pecksniff linked her own in Ruth’s. “Of course, my loye,” said Miss Pecksniff, “it would be useless for me to disguise, after what you have seen, that I am about to be united to the gentleman who is walking with your brother. It would be in vain to conceal it. What do you think of him? Pray, let me have your candid opinion.” Ruth intimated that, as far as she could judge, he was a very eligible swain. ‘Tam curious to know,” said Miss Pecksniff, with loquacious frankness, ‘‘whether you have observed, or fancied, in this very short space of time, that he is of a rather melancholy turn ?” “So very short a time,” Ruth pleaded. ““No, no; but don’t let that interfere with your answer,” returned Miss Pecksniff. ‘I am curious to hear what you say.” Ruth acknowledged that he had impressed her at first sight as looking ‘“‘ rather low.” ‘No, really ?” said Miss Pecksniff. “Well! that is quite remarkable! Everybody says the same. Mrs. Todgers says the same ; and Augustus informs me that it is quite a joke among the gentlemen in the house. Indeed, but for the positive commands I have laid upon him, I believe it would have been the occasion of loaded fire-arms being resorted to more than once. What do you think is the cause of his appearance of depression ?” Ruth thought of several things ; such as his digestion, hisCAUSE OF MR. MODDLE'S DEPRESSION S11 tailor, his mother, and the like. But hesitating to give utter- ance to any one of them, she refrained from expressing an opinion. “My dear,” said Miss Pecksniff ; ‘I shouldn’t wish it to be known, but I don’t mind mentioning it to you, having known your brother for so many years—I refused Augustus three times. He is of a most amiable and sensitive nature ; always ready to shed tears if you look at him, which is extremely charming; and he has never recovered the effect of that cruelty. For it was cruel,” said Miss Pecksniff, with a self- convicting candour that might have adorned the diadem of her own papa. ‘There is no doubt of it. I look back upon my conduct now with blushes. I always liked him. I felt that he was not to me what the crowd of young men who had made proposals had been, but something very different. Then what right had I to refuse him three times ?” “Tt was a severe trial of his fidelity, no doubt,” said Ruth. “My dear,” veturned Miss Pecksniff. “ It was wrong. But such is the caprice and thoughtlessness of our sex! Let me be a warning to you. Don't try the feelings of any one who makes you an offer, as I have tried the feelings of Augustus ; but if you ever feel towards a person as I really felt towards him. at the very time when I was driving him to distraction, let that feeling find expression, if that person throws himself at your feet, as Augustus Moddle did at mine. Think,” said Miss Pecksniff, ‘‘ what my feelings would have been, if I had goaded him to suicide, and it had got into the papers !” Ruth observed that she would have been full of remorse, no doubt. “Remorse !’ fortable penitence. even after making rep > cried Miss Pecksniff, in a sort of snug and com- “What my remorse is at this moment, aration by accepting him, it would be impossible to tell you! Looking back upon my giddy self, my dear, now that I am sobered down and made thoughtful, by treading on the very brink of matrimony ; and contem- plating myself as I was when I was like what you are now ; I shudder. I shudder. What ‘5 the consequence of my past Until Augustus leads me to the altar he is not sure of me. I haye blighted and withered the affections of his heart to that extent that he is not sure of me. I see that preying on his mind and feeding on his vitals. What are the reproaches of my conscience, when I see this in the man I love!” conduct ?en aaatiielaal r a a Foe ati careers OT nana 8i2 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT Ruth endeavoured to express some sense of her unbounded and flattering confidence ; and presumed that she was going to be married soon. ‘Very soon indeed,” returned Miss Pecksniff. “As soon as our house is ready. We are furnishing now as fast as We can.” In the same vein of confidence Miss Pecksniff ran through a general inventory of the articles that were already bought, with the articles that remained to be purchased ; what garments she intended to be married in, and where the ceremony was to be performed; and gave Miss Pinch, in short (as she told her), early and exclusive information on all points of interest connected with the event. While this was going forward in the rear, Tom and Mr. Moddle walked on, arm in arm, in the front, in a state of profound silence, which Tom at last broke: after thinking for a long time what he could say that should refer to an indifferent topic, in respect of which he might rely, with some degree of certainty, on Mr. Moddle’s bosom being unruffled. “IT wonder,” said Tom, “that in these crowded streets the foot-passengers are not oftener run over.” Mr. Moddle, with a dark look, replied : ‘The drivers won’t do it.” ‘Do you mean ?” Tom began— *'That there are some men,” interrupted Moddle, with a hollow laugh, ‘who can’t get run over. They live a charmed life. Coal waggons recoil from them, and even cabs refuse to run them down. Ah!” said Augustus, marking Tom’s astonishment. ‘There are such men. One of ’em is a friend of mine.” “Upon my word and honour,” thoug] it Tom, “this young gentleman is in a state of mind which is very serious indeed ! ” Abandoning all idea of conversation, he did not venture to say another word ; but he was careful to keep a tight hold upon Augustus’s arm, lest he should fly into the road, and making another and a more successful attempt, should get up a private little Juggernaut before the eyes of his betrothed. Tom was so afraid of his committing this rash act, that he had scarcely ever experienced such mental relief as when they arrived in safety at Mrs. Jonas Chuzzlewit’s house. * Walk up, pray, Mr. Pinch,” said Miss Pecksniff : for Tom halted, irresolutely, at the door . .A VISIT TO MERRY 813 “T am doubtful whether I should be welcome,” replied Tom, “or, I ought rather to say, I have no doubt about it. I will send up a message, I think.” “But what nonsense that is!” returned Miss Pecksniff, speaking apart to Tom. ‘“‘ He is not at home, I am certain ; I know he is not; and Merry hasn’t the least idea that you ever 5 ; “No,” interrupted Tom. “Nor would I have her know it, on any account. I am not so proud of that scuffle, I assure you.” “Ah, but then you are so modest, you see,” returned Miss Pecksniff, with a smile. ‘“ But pray walk up. If you don't wish her to know it, and do wish to speak to her, pray walk up. Pray walk up, Miss Pinch. Don’t stand here.” Tom still hesitated ; for he felt that he was in an awkward position. But Cherry passing him at this juncture, and lead- ing his sister up-stairs, and the house-door being at the same time shut behind them, he followed without quite knowing whether it was well or ill-judged so to do. “Merry, my darling !” said the fair Miss Pecksniff, opening the door of the usual sitting-room. ‘‘ Here are Mr. Pinch and his sister come to see you! I thought we should find you here, Mrs. Todgers! How do you do, Mrs. Gamp? And how do you do, Mr. Chuffey, though it’s of no use asking you the question, I am well aware.” Honouring each of these parties, as she severally addressed them, with an acid smile, Miss Charity presented Mr. Moddle. “TI believe you have seen him before,” she pleasantly observed. “ Augustus, my sweet child, bring me a chair.” The sweet child did as he was told; and was then about to retire into a corner to mourn in secret, when Miss Charity, calling him in an audible whisper “a little pet,” gave him leave to come and sit beside her. It is to be hoped, for the general cheerfulness of mankind, that such a doleful little pet wvas never seen as Mr. Moddle looked when he complied. So despondent was his temper, that he showed no outward thrill of ecstasy when Miss Pecksniff placed her lily hand in his, and concealed this mark of her favour from the vulgar gaze by covering it with a corner of her shawl. Indeed, he was infinitely more rueful then than he had been before ; and, sitting uncomfortably upright in his chair, surveyed the company with watery eyes, which seemed to say, without thea es ened ie iedllaeemid 2" yore awe ee en caine ee acs eee 814 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT aid of language, “Oh, good gracious! look here! Won’t some kind Christian help me!” But the ecstasies of Mrs. Gamp were sufficient to have furnished forth a score of young lovers: and they were chiefly awakened by the sight of Tom Pinch and his sister. Mrs, Gamp was a lady of that happy temperament which can be ecstatic without any other stimulating cause than a general desire to establish a large and profitable connexion. She added daily so many strings to her bow, that she made a perfect harp of it; and upon that instrument she now began to perform an extemporaneous concerto. ‘““Why, goodness me!” she said, ‘“‘ Mrs. Chuzzlewit ! To think as I should see beneath this blessed ouse, which well I know it, Miss Pecksniff, my sweet young lady, to be a ouse as there is not a many like, worse luck, and wishin’ it ware not so, which then this tearful wailey would be changed into a flowerin’ guardian, Mr. Chuffey ; to think as I should see beneath this indiwidgle roof, identically comin’, Mr. Pinch (I take the liberty, though almost unbeknown), and do assure you of it, sir, the smilinest and sweetest face as ever, Mrs. Chuzzlewit, I see, exceptin’ yourn, my dear good lady, and your good lady’s too, sir, Mr. Moddle, if I may make so bold as speak so plain of what is plain enough to them as needn’t look through millstones, Mrs. Todgers, to find out wot is wrote upon the wall behind. Which no offence is meant, ladies and gentlemen; none bein’ took, I hope. To think as I should see that smilinest and sweetest face which me and another friend of mine, took notige of among the packages down London Bridge, in this promiscous place, is a surprige in-deed ! ” Having contrived, in this happy manner, to invest every member of her audience with an individual share and imme- diate personal interest in her address, Mrs. Gamp dropped several curtseys to Ruth, and smilingly shaking her head a great many times, pursued the thread of her discourse: ‘* Now, ain’t we rich in beauty this here joyful arternoon, I'm sure. I knows a lady, which her name, I'll not deceive you, Mrs. Chuzzlewit, is Harris, her husband’s brother bein’ six foot three, and marked with a mad bull in Wellington boots upon his left arm, on account of his precious mother havin’ been worrited by one into a shoemaker’s shop, when in a sitiwation which blessed is the man as has his quiver full of sech, as many times I’ve said to Gamp when words hasMRS. GAMP AND MR. CHUFFEY 815 roge betwixt us on account of the expense—and often have I said to Mrs. Harris, ‘Oh, Mrs. Harris, ma’am! your counte- nance is quite a angel’s |’ Which, but for Pimples, it would be. ‘No, Sairey Gamp,’ says she, “you best of hard-working and industrious creeturs as ever Was underpaid at any price, which underpaid you are, quite diff’rent. Harris had it done afore marriage at ten and six,’ she says, ‘and wore it faithful next his heart ’till the colour run, when the money was declined to be give back, and no arrangement could be come to. But he never said it was a angel’s, Sairey, wotever he might have thought.’ If Mrs. Harris’s husband was here now,” said Mrs. Gamp, looking round, and chuckling as she dropped a general curtsey, ‘“he’d speak out plain, he would, and his dear wife would be the last to blame him! For if ever a woman lived as know’d not wot it was to form a wish to pizon them as had good looks, and had no reagion give her by the best of husbands, Mrs. Harris is that ev’nly dispogician !”” With these words the worthy woman, who appeared to have dropped in to take tea as a delicate little attention, rather than to have any engagement on the premises In an official capacity, crossed to Mr. Chuffey, who was seated in the same corner as of old, and shook him by the shoulder. “Rouge yourself, and look up! Come!” said Mrs. Gamp. “ Here’s company, Mr. Chuffey.” “Tam sorry for it,” cried the old man, looking humbly round the room. “I know I’m in the way. I ask pardon, but I’ve nowhere else to go to. Where is she?” Merry went to him. “Ah!” said the old man, patting her on the cheek. ‘‘ Here she is, Here she is! She's never hard on poor old Chuftey. Poor old Chuff!” As she took her seat upon a low chair by the old man’s side, and put herself within the reach of his hand, she looked up once at Tom, It was a sad look that she cast upon him, though there was a faint smile trembling on her face. It was a speaking look, and Tom knew what it said. ‘You see how misery has changed me. I can feel for a dependant now, and set some value on his attachment.” “Aye, aye!” cried Chuffey in a soothing tone. ‘“* Aye, aye, aye! Never mind him. It’s hard to bear, but never mind him. He'll die one day. There are three hundred and sixty-five days in the year-—three hundred and sixty-six in leap year— and he may die on any one of ’em.”’anata ee To ioe 816 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT ‘You're a wearing old soul, and that’s the sacred truth,” said Mrs. Gamp, contemplating him from a little distance with anything but favour, as he continued to mutter to him- self, “It’s a pity that you don’t know wot you say, for you’d tire your own patience out if you did, and fret yourself into a happy releage for all as knows you.” “His son,” murmured the old man, lifting up his hand. * His son !” ‘Well, I’m sure!” said Mrs. Gamp, “you’re a-settlin’ of it, Mr. Chuffey. To your satigefaction, sir, I hope. But I wouldn't lay a new pin-cushion on it myself, sir, though you are so well informed. Drat the old creetur. he’s a-layin’ down the law tolerable confident, too! A deal he knows of sons! Or darters either ! Suppose you was to favour us with some remarks on twins, sir, would you be so good!” The bitter and indignant sarcasm which Mrs, Gamp con- veyed into these taunts was altogether lost on the unconscious Chuffey, who appeared to be as little cognizant of their delivery as of his having given Mrs. Gamp offence... But that high-minded woman being sensitively alive to any invasion of her professional province, and imagining that Mr. Chuffey had given utterance to some prediction on the subject of sons, which ought to have emanated in the first instance from her- self as the only lawful authority, or which should at least have been on no account proclaimed without her sanction and concurrence, was not so easily appeased. She continued to sidle at Mr. Chuffey with looks of sharp hostility, and to defy him with many other ironical remarks, uttered in that low key which commonly denotes Suppressed indignation ; until the entrance of the tea-board, and a request from Mrs. Jonas that she would make tea at a side-table for the party that had unexpectedly assembled, restored her to herself. She smiled again, and entered on her ministration with her own particular urbanity. “And quite a family it is to make tea for.” said Mrs. Gamp; “and wot a happiness to do it! My good young ‘ooman ”—to the servant-girl—“ praps somebody would like to try a new-laid egg or two, not biled too hard. Likeways, a few rounds o’ buttered toast, first cuttin’ off the crust, in consequence of tender teeth, and not too many of ’em; which Gamp himself, Mrs. Chuzzlewit. at one blow, being in liquor, struck out four, two single and two double, as was took by Mrs. Harris for a keepsake, and is carried in her ew GaSe; j : i i MRS. GAMP MAKES TEA Speenaad alae aaa eee eae | nr Pe OCMRS. GAMP PRESIDES 819 pocket at this present hour, along with two cramp-bones, a bit o’ ginger, and a grater like a blessed infant's shoe, in tin, with a little heel to put the nutmeg in: as many times I’ve seen and said, and used for caudle when required, within the month.” As the privileges of the side-table—besides including the small prerogatives of sitting next the toast, and taking two cups of tea to other people’s one, and always taking them at a crisis, that is to say, before putting fresh water into the tea-pot, and after it had been standing for some time—also comprehended a full view of the company, and an opportunity of addressing them as from a rostrum, Mrs. Gamp discharged the functions entrusted to her with extreme good-humour and affability. Sometimes resting her saucer on the palm of her outspread hand, and supporting her elbow on the table, she stopped between her sips of tea to favour the circle with a smile, a wink, a roll of the head, or some other mark of notice ; and at those periods her countenance was lighted up with a degree of intelligence and vivacity, which it was almost impossible to separate from the benignant influence of dis- tilled waters. But for Mrs. Gamp, it would have been a curiously silent party. Miss Pecksniff only spoke to her Augustus, and to him in whispers. Augustus spoke to nobody, but sighed for every one, and occasionally gave himself such a sounding slap upon the forehead as would make Mrs. Todgers, who was rather nervous, start in her chair with an involuntary excla- mation. Mrs. Todgers was occupied in knitting, and seldom spoke. Poor Merry held the hand of cheerful little Ruth between her own, and listening with evident pleasure to all she said, but rarely speaking herself, sometimes smiled, and sometimes kissed her on the cheek, and sometimes turned aside to hide the tears that trembled in her eyes. Tom felt this change in her so much, and was so glad to see how tenderly Ruth dealt with her, and how she knew and answered to it, that he had not the heart to make any movement towards their departure, although he had long since given utterance to all he came to say. The old clerk, subsiding into his usual state, remained profoundly silent, while the rest of the little assembly were thus occupied, intent upon the dreams, whatever they might be, which hardly seemed to stir the surface of his sluggish thoughts. The bent of these dull fancies combining probablyee aetna 4 ee — ———— ee perenne ek aia 820 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT with the silent feasting that was going on about him, and some struggling recollection of the last approach to revelry he had witnessed, suggested a strange question to his mind. He looked round upon a sudden, and said, ‘“Who’s lying dead up-stairs ?” “No one,” said Merry, turning to him. ‘‘ What is the matter? We are all here.” ‘All here!” cried the old man. “All here! Where is he then—my old master, Mr. Chuzzlewit, who had the only son ? Where is he ?’ ‘“Hush! Hush!” said Merry, speaking kindly to him. “That happened long ago. Don’t you recollect ?” ‘“Recollect!” rejoined the old man, with a ery of grief. ‘As if I could forget! As if I ever could forget!” He put his hand up to his face for a moment; and then repeated, turning round exactly as before, ‘““Who’s lying dead up-stairs ? ” ‘““No one!” said Merry. At first he gazed angrily upon her, as upon a stranger who endeavoured to deceive him; but peering into her face, and seeing that it was indeed she, he shook his head in sorrowful compassion. ‘You think not. But they don’t tell you. No, no, poor thing! They don’t tell you. Who are these, and why are they merry-making here, if there is no one dead? Foul play! Go see who it is!” She made a sign to them not to speak to him, which indeed they had little inclination to do; and remained silent herself. So did he for a short time; but then he repeated the same question with an eagerness that had a peculiar terror in it. ‘'There’s some one dead,” he said, ‘‘ or dying ; and I want to know who it is. Go see, go see! Where’s Jonas? ‘In the country,” she replied. The old man gazed at her as if he doubted what she said, or had not heard her; and, rising from his chair, walked across the room and up-stairs, whispering as he went, “ Foul play!” They heard his footsteps overhead, going up into that corner of the room in which the bed stood (it was there old Anthony had died); and then they heard him coming down again immediately. His fancy was not so strong or wild that it pictured to him anything in the deserted hed- chamber which was not there; for he returned much calmer, and appeared to have satisfied himself. Geek CCACHUFFEY WANDERS STRANGELY 821 “They don’t tell you,” he said to Merry in his quayering voice, as he sat down again, and patted her upon the head. ‘They don’t tell me either ; but I'll watch, I'll watch. They shall not hurt you ; don’t be frightened. When you have sat up watching, I have sat up watching too. Aye, aye, I have!” he piped out, clenching his weak, shrivelled hand. ‘“* Many a night I have been ready ! ” He said this with such trembling gaps and pauses in his want of breath, and said it in his jealous secrecy so closely in her ear, that little or nothing of it was understood by the visitors. But they had heard and seen enough of the old man to be disquieted, and to have left their seats and gathered about him ; thereby affording Mrs. Gamp, whose professional coolness was not so easily disturbed, an eligible opportunity for concentrating the whole resources of her powerful mind and appetite upon the toast and butter, tea and eggs. She had brought them to bear upon those viands with such vigour that her face was in the highest state of inflammation, when she now (there being nothing left to eat or drink) saw fit to interpose. “Why, highty tighty, sir!” cried Mrs. Gamp, “is these your manners? You want a pitcher of cold water throw’d over you to bring you round ; that’s my belief; and if you was under Betsey Prig you'd have it, too, I do assure you, Mr. Chuffey. Spanish Flies is the only thing to draw this nonsense out of you; and if anybody wanted to do you a kindness, they'd clap a blister of °em on your head, and put a mustard poultige on your back. Who’s dead, indeed! It wouldn’t be no grievous loss if some one was, I think!” ** He’s quiet now, Mrs. Gamp,” said Merry. ‘ Don’t disturb him.” “Oh, bother the old wictim, Mrs. Chuzzlewit,” replied that zealous lady, ‘‘I ain’t no patience with him. You give him his own way too much by half. A worritin’ wexagious creetur !” No doubt with the view of carrying out the precepts she enforced, and ‘“‘ bothering the old wictim ” in practice as well as in theory, Mrs. Gamp took him by the collar of his coat, and gave him some dozen or two of hearty shakes backward and forward in his chair; that exercise being considered by the disciples of the Prig school of nursing (who are very numerous among professional ladies) as exceedingly conducive to repose, and highly beneficial to the performance of thesaan, PT in nie onal a 822 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT nervous functions. Its effect in this instance was to render the patient so giddy and addle-headed, that he could say nothing more; which Mrs. Gamp regarded as the triumph of her art. “There!” she said, loosening the old man’s cravat, in conse- quence of his being rather black in the face, after this scientific treatment. ‘Now, I hope, you’re easy in your mind. If you should turn at all faint we can soon rewive you, sir, I promige you. Bite a person’s thumbs, or turn their fingers the wrong way,” said Mrs. Gamp, smiling with the consciousness of at once imparting pleasure and instruction to her auditors, “‘ and they comes to, wonderful, Lord bless you ay? As this excellent woman had been formally entrusted with the eare of Mr. Chuffey on a previous occasion, neither Mrs. Jonas nor anybody else had the resolution to interfere directly with her mode of treatment : though all present (Tom Pinch and his sister especially) appeared to be disposed to differ from her views. For such is the rash boldness of the uninitiated, that they will frequently set up some monstrous abstract principle, such as humanity, or tenderness, or the like idle folly, in obstinate defiance of all precedent and usage ; and will even venture to maintain the same against the persons who have made the precedents and established the usage, and who must therefore be the best and most impartial Judges of the subject. “ Ah. Mr. Pinch!” said Miss Pecksniff. “It all comes of this unfortunate marriage. If my sister had not been so precipitate, and had not united herself to a Wretch, there would have been no Mr. Chuffey in the house.” “Hush!” cried Tom. ‘‘She’ll hear you.” “J should be very sorry if she did hear me, Mr. Pincha said Cherry, raising her voice a little: ‘‘for it 1s not In my nature to add to the uneasiness of any person: far less of my own sister. J know what a sister’s duties are, Mr. Pinch, and I hope Lalways showed it in my practice. Augustus, my dear child, find my pocket-handkerchief, and give it to me.” ; Augustus obeyed, and took Mrs. Todgers aside to pour his griefs into her friendly bosom. “T am sure, Mr. Pinch,” said Charity, looking after her betrothed and glancing at her sister, “that I ought to be very grateful for the blessings I enjoy, and those which are yet in store for me. When I contrast Augustus ”’_here she HEGEL OYMISS PECKSNIFF ENCOUNTERS JONAS 823 was modest and embarrassed—‘ who, I don’t mind saying to you, is all softness, mildness, and devotion, with the detest- able man who is my sister’s husband; and when I think, Mr. Pinch, that in the dispensations of this world, our cases might have been reversed ; I have much to be thankful for, indeed, and much to make me humble and contented.” Contented she might have been, but humble she assuredly was not. Her face and manner experienced something so widely different from humility, that Tom could not help understanding and despising the base motives that were working in her breast. He turned away, and said to Ruth, that it was time for them to go, ‘“T will write to your husband,” said Tom to Merry, “ and explain to him, as I would have done if I had met him here, that if he has sustained any inconvenience through my means, it is not my fault: a postman not being more inno- cent of the news he brings, than I was when I handed him that letter.”’ “T thank you!” said Merry. “It may do some good.” She parted tenderly from Ruth, who with her brother was in the act of leaving the room, when a key was heard in the lock of the door below, and immediately afterwards a quick footstep in the passage. Tom stopped, and looked at Merry. It was Jonas, she said timidly. “Thad better not meet him on the stairs, perhaps,” said Tom, drawing his sister’s arm through his, and coming back a step or two. “I'll wait for him here, a moment.” He had scarcely said it when the door opened, and Jonas entered. His wife came forward to receive him ; but he put her aside with his hand, and said in a surly tone: ‘“T didn’t know you'd got a party.” As he looked, at the same time, either by accident or design, towards Miss Pecksniff; and as Miss Pecksniff was only too delighted to quarrel with him, she instantly resented it. “Oh dear!” she said, rising. ‘‘ Pray don’t let us intrude upon your domestic happiness! That would be a pity. We have taken tea here, sir, in your absence ; but if you will have the goodness to send us a note of the expense, receipted, we shall be happy to pay it. Augustus, my love, we will go, if you please. Mrs. Todgers, unless you wish to remain here, we shall be happy to take you with us. It would be a pity,Pais ae eee — a manana SP a oie eat ae 824 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT indeed, to spoil the bliss which this gentleman always brings with him: especially into his own home.” “ Charity ! Charity!” remonstrated her sister, in such a heartfelt tone that she might have been imploring her to show the cardinal virtue whose name she bore. ‘“Merry, my dear, I am much obliged to. you for your advice,” returned Miss Pecksniff, with a stately scorn: by the way, she had not been offered any: “ but J am not his slave- “No, nor wouldn’t have been if you could,” interrupted Jonas. ‘“ We know all about it.” ‘““ What did you say, sir?” cried Miss Pecksniff, sharply. “Didn't you hear?” retorted Jonas, lounging down upon a chair. ‘Iam not a-going to say it again. If you like to stay, you may stay. If you like to go, you may go. But if you stay, please to be civil.” ‘‘Beast!” cried Miss Pecksniff, sweeping past him. “ Augustus! He is beneath your notice!” Augustus had been making some faint and sickly demonstration of shaking his fist. ‘Come away, child,” screamed Miss Pecksniff, ‘“T command you!” The scream was elicited from her by Augustus manifesting an intention to return and grapple with him. But Miss Pecksniff giving the fiery youth a pull, and Mrs. Todgers giving him a push, they all three tumbled out of the room together, to the music of Miss Pecksniff’s shrill remon- strances. All this time Jonas had seen nothing of Tom and his sister ; for they were almost behind the door when he opened it. and he had sat down with his back towards them, and had purposely kept his eyes upon the opposite side of the street during his altercation with Miss Pecksniff, in order that his seeming carelessness might increase the exasperation of that wronged young damsel. His wife now faltered out that Tom had been waiting to see him; and Tom advanced. The instant he presented himself, Jonas got up from his chair, and swearing a great oath, caught it in his grasp, as if he would have felled Tom to the ground with it. As he most unquestionably would have done, but that his very passion and surprise made him irresolute, and gave Tom, in his calmness, an opportunity of being heard. “ You have no cause to be violent, sir,” said Tom. “ Though EGA UL A !JONAS IN A RAGE WITH TOM 825 what I wish to say relates to your own affairs, I know nothing of them, and desire to know nothing of them.” Jonas was too enraged to speak. He held the door open ; and stamping his foot upon the ground, motioned Tom away. ‘‘As you cannot suppose,” said Tom, “that I am here with any view of conciliating you or pleasing myself, I am quite indifferent to your reception of me, or your dismissal of me. Hear what I have to say, if you are nota madman! I gave you a letter the other day, when you were about to go abroad.” “You Thief, you did!” retorted Jonas. “I'll pay you for the carriage of it one day, and settle an old score besides. IT will!” “Tut, tut,” said Tom, ‘‘ you needn’t waste words or threats. I wish you to understand—plainly because I would rather keep clear of you and everything that concerns you: not because I have the least apprehension of your doing me any injury : which would be weak indeed—that I am no party to the contents of that letter. That I know nothing of it. That I was not even aware that it was to be delivered to you ; and that I had it from a “By the Lord !” cried Jonas, fiercely catching up the chair, “111 knock your brains out, if you speak another word.” Tom, nevertheless, persisting in his intention, and opening his lips to speak again, Jonas set upon him like a savage ; and in the quickness and ferocity of his attack would have surely done him some grievous injury, defenceless as he was, and embarrassed by having his frightened sister clinging to his arm, if Merry had not run between them, crying to Tom for the love of Heaven to leave the house. The agony of this poor creature, the terror of his sister, the impossibility of making himself audible, and the equal impossibility of bearing up against Mrs. Gamp, who threw herself upon him like a feather-bed, and forced him backwards down the stairs by the mere oppression of her dead weight, prevailed. ‘Tom shook the dust of that house off his feet, without having mentioned Nadgett’s name. If the name could have passed his lips; if Jonas, in the insolence of his vile nature, had never roused him to do that old act of manliness, for which (and not for his last offence) he hated him with such malignity; if Jonas could have learned, as then he could and would have learned, through Tom’s means, what unsuspected spy there was upon him ;eae ncaa emanate 826 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT he would have been saved from the commission of a Guilty Deed, then drawing on towards its black accomplishment. But the fatality was of his own working; the pit was of his own digging; the gloom that gathered round him was the shadow of his own life. His wife had closed the door, and thrown herself before it, on the ground, upon her knees. She held up her hands to him now, and besought him not to be harsh with her, for she had interposed in fear of bloodshed. “So, so!” said Jonas, looking down upon her, as he fetched his breath. ‘‘ These are your friends, are they, when Tam away? You plot and tamper with this sort of people, do you ?” ‘No, indeed! I have no knowledge of these secrets, and no clue to their meaning. I have never seen him since I left home but once—but twice—before to-day.” “Oh!” sneered Jonas, catching at this correction. ‘ But once, but twice,eh? Which do you mean? Twice and once perhaps. Three times! How many more, you lying jade?” As he made an angry motion with his hand, she shrunk down hastily. Mrs, Gamp replied. ‘As well cried Mrs. Gamp. ‘A deal madder Pe take care that he does no harm ; and act of repeating all she had ig in support of her memory and nendations selected from among the most remarkable opinions of the celebrated Mrs. Harris, he descended to the little room prepared for him, and pulling and his boots, put them outside the door before 5 ” retorted Jonas. He’s as mad as a March4 Ne aed en a eee 830 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT he locked it. In locking it, he was careful so to adjust the key as to baffle any curious person who might try to peep in through the key-hole; and when he had taken these pre- cautions, he sat down to his supper. “Mr, Chuff,” he muttered, ‘‘it’ll be pretty easy to be even with you. It’s of no use doing things by halves, and as long as I stop here, Pll take good care ‘of you. When I’m off you may say what you please. But it’s a d—d strange thing,” he added, pushing avery his untouched plate, and striding moodily to and fro, “that his drivellings should have taken this turn just now.” After pacing the little room from end to end several times, he sat down in another chair. “I say just now, but for anything I know, he may have been carrying on the same game all along. Old dog! He shall be gagged ! A He paced the room again in the same restless and unsteady way ; and then sat down upon the bedstead, leaning his chin upon his hand, and looking at the table. When he had looked at it for a long time, he remembered his supper; and resuming the chair he had first occupied, began to eat with great rapacity: not like a hungry man, but as if he were determined to do it. He drank too, roundly; sometimes stopping in the middle of a draught to walk, and change his seat and walk again, and dart back to the table and fall to, in a ravenous hurry, as before. It was now growing dark. As the gloom of evening, deepening into night, came on, another dark shade emere- ing from within ‘him seemed to overspread his face, and slowly change it. Slowly, slowly; darker and darker; more and more haggard; creeping over him by little and little ; until it was black night within him and without. The room in which he had shut himself up, Was on the ground floor, at the back of the house. It was lighted by a dirty skylight, and had a door in the wall, opening into a narrow covered passage or blind-alley, very little frequented after five or six o’clock in the evening, and not in much use as a thoroughfare at any hour. But it had an outlet in a neighbouring street. The ground on which this chamber stood had, at one time, not within his recollection, been a yard; and had been converted to its present purpose for use as an office. But the occasion for it died with the man who built it; andJONAS IN STRANGE ATTIRE 831 saving that it had sometimes served as an apology for a spare bedroom, and that the old clerk had once held it (but that was years ago) as his recognised apartment, it had been little troubled by Anthony Chuzzlewit and Son. It was a blotched, stained, mouldering room, like a vault; and there were water-pipes running through it, which at un- expected times in the night, when other things were quiet, clicked and gurgled suddenly, as if they were choking. The door into the court had not been open for a long, long time; but the key had always hung in one place, and there it hung now. He was prepared for its being rusty ; for he had a little bottle of oil in his pocket and the feather of a pen, with which he lubricated the key, and the lock too, carefully. All this while he had been without his coat, and had nothing on his feet but his stockings. He now got softly into bed in the same state, and tossed from side to side to tumble it. In his restless condition that was easily done. When he arose, he took from his portmanteau, which he had caused to be carried into that place when he came home, a pair of clumsy shoes, and put them on his feet; also a pair of leather leggings, such as countrymen are used to wear, with straps to fasten them to the waistband. In these he dressed himself at leisure. Lastly, he took out a common frock of coarse dark jean, which he drew over his own underclothing ; and a felt hat—he had purposely left his own up-stairs. He then sat himself down by the door, with the key in his hand, waiting. He had no light; the time was dreary, long, and awful. The ringers were practising in a neighbouring church, and the clashing of the bells was almost maddening. Curse the clamouring bells, they seemed to know that he was listening at the door, and to proclaim it in a crowd of voices to all the town! Would they neyer be still? They ceased at last, and then the silence was so new and terrible that it seemed the prelude to some dreadful noise. Footsteps in the court! ‘Two men. He fell back from the door on tiptoe, as if they could haye seen him through its wooden panels. They passed on, talking (he could make out) about a skeleton which had been dug up yesterday, in some work of excavation near at hand, and was supposed to be that of a murdered man. ‘So murder is not always found832 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT out, you see,” thev said to one another as they turned the corner. Hush! He put the key into the lock, and turned it. The door resisted for a while, but soon came stiffly open; mingling with the sense of fever in his mouth, a taste of rust, and dust, and earth, and rotting wood. He looked out; passed out ; locked it after him. All was clear and quiet, as he fled away. | ST ha oem RE PRE OR fi oeCHAPTER XLVII CONCLUSION OF THE ENTERPRISE OF MR. JONAS AND HIS FRIEND Drp no men passing through the dim streets shrink without knowing why, when he came stealing up behind them? As he glided on, had no child in its sleep an indistinet perception of a guilty shadow falling on its bed, that troubled its innocent rest? Did no dog howl, and strive to break its rattling chain, that it might tear him; no burrowing rat, scenting the work be had in hand, essay to gnaw a passage after him, that it might hold a greedy revel at the feast of his providing ? When he looked back, across his shoulder, was it to see if his quick footsteps still fell dry upon the dusty pavement, or were already moist and clogged with the red mire that stained the naked feet of Cain! He shaped his course for the main western road, and soon reached it: riding a part of the way, then alighting and walk- ing on again. He travelled for a considerable distance upon the roof of a stage-coach, which came up while he was afoot ; and when it turned out of his road, bribed the driver of a return post-chaise to take him on with him ; and then made across the country at a run, and saved a mile or two before he struck again into the road. At last, as his plan was, he came up with a certain lumbering, slow, night-coach, which stopped wherever it could, and was stopping then at a public-house, while the guard and coachman ate and drank within. He bargained for a seat outside this coach, and took it. And he quitted it no more until it was within a few miles of its destination, but occupied the same place all night. All night! Itis a common fancy that nature seems to sleep by night. It is a false fancy, as who should know better than he? The fishes slumbered in the cold, bright, glistening streams and rivers, perhaps; and the birds roosted on the branches > pdetn eae a — a oo fee eee TETHER eee pate MOT A EOE ALLL LL IO 834 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT of the trees ; and in their stalls and pastures beasts were quiet ; and human creatures slept. But what of that, when the solemn night was watching, when it never winked, when its darkness watched no less than its light! The stately trees, the moon and shining stars, the softly-stirring wind, the over-shadowed lane, the broad, bright country-side, they all kept watch. There was not a blade of growing grass or corn, but watched ; and the quieter it was, the more intent and fixed its watch upon him seemed to be. And yet he slept. Riding on among those sentinels of God, he slept, and did not change the purpose of his journey. If he forgot it in his troubled dreams, it came up steadily, and woke him. But it never woke him to remorse, or to abandon- ment of his design. He dreamed at one time that he was lying calmly in his bed, thinking of a moonlight night and the noise of wheels, when the old clerk put his head in at the door, and beckoned him. At this signal he arose immediately: being already dressed in the clothes he actually wore at that time: and accompanied him into a strange city, where the names of the streets were written on the walls in characters quite new to him; which gaye him no surprise or uneasiness, for he remembered in his dream to have been there before. Although these streets were very precipitous, insomuch that to get from one to another it was necessary to descend great heights by ladders that were too short, and ropes that. moved deep bells, and swung and swayed as they were clung to, the danger gave him little emotion beyond the first thrill of terror: his anxieties being concentrated on his dress, which was quite unfitted for some festival that was about to be holden there, and in which he had come to take a part. Already, great crowds began to fill the streets, and in one direction myriads of people came rushing down an in- terminable perspective, strewing flowers and making way for others on white horses, when a terrible figure started from the throng, and cried out that it was the Last Day for all the world. The cry being spread, there was a wild hurrying on to Judgment; and the press became so great that he and his companion (who was constantly changing, and was never the same man two minutes together, though he never saw one man come or another go), stood aside in a porch, fearfully surveying the multitude ; in which there were many faces that he knew, and many that he did not know, but dreamed he s é PD PP ar a Pa ee eeJONAS INTENT ON HIS PURPOSE 835 did; when all at once a struggling head rose up among the rest—livid and deadly, but the same as he had known it— end denounced him as having appointed that direful day to happen. They closed together. As he strove to free the hand in which he held a club, and strike the blow he had so often thought of, he started to the knowledge of his waking purpose and the rising of the sun. The sun was welcome to him. There were life and motion, and a world astir, to divide the attention of Day. It was the eye of Night: of wakeful, watchful, silent, and attentive Night, with so much leisure for the observation of his wicked thoughts: that he dreaded most. There is no glare in the night. Even Glory shows to small advantage in the night, upon a crowded battle-field. How then shows Glory’s blood- relation, bastard Murder ! Aye! He made no compromise, and held no secret with himself now. Murder. He had come to do it. ‘Let me get down here,” he said. ‘Short of the town, eh!” observed the coachman. “IT may get down where I please, I suppose ?” “You got up to please yourself, and may get down to please yourself. It won't break our hearts to lose you, and +t wouldn’t have broken ’em if we’d never found you. Be a little quicker. That’s all.” The guard had alighted, and was waiting in the road to take his money. In the jealousy and distrust of what he contemplated, he thought this man looked at him with more than common curiosity. ‘What are you staring at?” said Jonas. “Not at a handsome man,” returned the guard. “Tf you want your fortune told, Pll tell you a bit of it. You won't be drowned. That’s a consolation for you.” Before he could retort or turn away, the coachman put an end to the dialogue by giving him a cut with his whip, and bid him get out for a surly dog. The guard jumped up to his seat at the same moment, and they drove off, laughing ; leaving him to stand in the road and shake his fist at them. He was not displeased though, on second thoughts, to have been taken for an ill-conditioned common country fellow ; but rather congratulated himself upon it as a proof that he was well disguised. Wandering into a copse by the road-side—but not in that place: two or three miles off—he tore out from a fence ara cre n 836 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT thick, hard, knotted stake ; and, sitting down beneath a hay- rick, spent some time in shaping it, in peeling off the bark, and fashioning its jagged head with his knife. The day passed on. Noon, afternoon, evening. Sunset. At that serene and peaceful time two men, riding in a gig, came out of the city by a road not much frequented. It was the day on which Mr. Pecksniff had agreed to dine with Mon- tague. He had kept his appointment, and was now going home. His host was riding with him for a short distance ; meaning to return by a pleasant track, which Mr. Pecksniff had engaged to show him, through some fields. Jonas knew their plans. He had hung about the inn-yard while they were at dinner and had heard their orders given. They were loud and merry in their conversation, and might have been heard at some distance: far above the sound of their earriage Wheels or horses’ hoofs. They came on noisily, to where a stile and footpath indicated their point of separation. Here they stopped. ‘“ Tt’s too soon. Much too soon,” said Mr. Pecksniff. ‘‘ But this is the place, my dear sir. Keep the path, and go straight through the little wood you'll come to. The path is narrower there, but you can’t miss it. When shall f see you again? Soon I hope?” “T hope so,” replied Montague. “Good night!” “Good night. And a pleasant ride!” So long as Mr. Fecksniff was in sight, and turned his head at intervals to salute him, Montague stood in the road smiling, and waving his hand. But when his new partner had dis- appeared, and this show was no longer necessary, he sat down on the stile with looks so altered, that he might have grown ten years older in the meantime. He was flushed with wine, but not gay. His scheme had succeeded, but he showed no triumph. The effort of sustain- ing his difficult part before his late companion had fatigued him, perhaps, or it may be that the evening whispered to his conscience, or it may be (as it has been) that a shadowy veil was dropping round him, closing out all thoughts but the presentiment and vague foreknowledge of impending doom. If there be fluids, as we know there are, which, conscious of a coming wind, or rain, or frost, will shrink and strive to hide themselves in their glass arteries; may not that subtle liquor of the blood perceive, by properties within itself, that Pee Ge : :A LONELY WALK 837 hands are raised to waste and spill it; and in the veins of men run cold and dull as his did, in that hour! So cold, although the air was warm: so dull, although the sky was bright: that he rose up shivering from his seat, and hastily resumed his walk. He checked himself as hastily : undecided whether to pursue the footpath, which was lonely and retired, or to go back by the road. He took the footpath. The glory of the departing sun was on his face. The music of the birds was in his ears. Sweet wild flowers bloomed about him. Thatched roofs of poor men’s homes were in the distance ; and an old grey spire, surmounted by a Cross, rose up between him and the coming night. He had never read the lesson which these things conveyed ; he had ever mocked and turned away from it; but, before going down into a hollow place, he looked round, once, upon the evening prospect, sorrowfully. Then he went down, down, down, into the dell. It brought him to the wood ; a close, thick, shadowy wood, through which the path went winding on, dwindling away into a slender sheep-track. He paused before entering ; for the stillness of this spot almost daunted him. The last rays of the sun were shining in, aslant, making a path of golden light along the stems and branches in its range, which, even as he looked, began to die away, yielding gently to the twilight that came creeping on. It was so very quiet that the soft and stealthy moss about the trunks of some old trees, seemed to have grown out of the silence, and to be its proper offspring. Those other trees which were subdued by blasts of wind in winter time, had not quite tumbled down, but being caught by others, lay all bare and scathed across their leafy arms, as if unwilling to disturb the general repose by the crash of their fall. Vistas of silence opened everywhere, into the heart and innermost recesses of the wood ; beginning with the likeness of an aisle, a cloister, or a ruin open to the sky ; then tangling off into a deep green rustling mystery, through which gnarled trunks, and twisted boughs, and ivy- covered stems, and trembling leaves, and bark-stripped bodies of old trees stretched out at length, were faintly seen in beautiful confusion. As the sunlight died away, and evening fell upon the wood, he entered it. Moving, here and there, a bramble or a drooping bough which stretched across his path, he slowlyail FT ai: cree a 838 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT disappeared. At intervals a narrow opening showed him passing on, or the sharp cracking of some tender branch denoted where he went; then he was seen or heard no more. Never more beheld by mortal eye or heard by mortal ear: one man excepted. That man, parting the leaves and branches on the other side, near where the path emerged again, came leaping out soon afterwards. What had he left within the wood, that he sprang out of it as if it were a hell! The body of a murdered man. In one thick solitary spot, it lay among the last year’s leaves of oak and beech, just as it had fallen headlong down. Sopping and soaking in among the leaves that formed its pillow ; oozing down into the boggy ground, as if to cover itself from human sight ; forcing its way between and through the curling leaves, as if those sense- less things rejected and forswore it, and were coiled up in abhorrence; went a dark, dark stain that dyed the whole summer night from earth to heaven. The doer of this deed came leaping from the wood so fiercely, that he cast into the air a shower of fragments of young boughs, torn away in his passage, and fell with violence upon the grass. But he quickly gained his feet again, and keeping underneath a hedge with his body bent, went running on towards the road. The road once reached, he fell into a rapid walk, and set on towards Londen. And he was not sorry for what he had done. He was frightened when he thought of it—when did he not think of it !—but he was not sorry. He had had a terror and dread of the wood when he was in it; but being out of it, and haying committed the crime, his fears were now diverted, strangely, to the dark room he had left shut up at home. He had a greater horror, infinitely greater, of that room than of the wood. Now that he was on his return to it, it seemed beyond comparison more dismal and more dreadful than the wood. His hideous secret was shut up in the room, and all its terrors were there; to his thinking it was not in the wood at all. He walked on for ten miles ; and then stopped at an ale- house for a coach, which he knew would pass through, on its way to London, before long; and which he also knew was not the coach he had travelled down by, for it came from another place. He sat down outside the door here, on a bench, beside a man who was smoking his pipe. Having called EKEETLAA 1 \ iTHE WICKED DEED ACCOMPLISHED 839 for some beer, and drunk, he offered it to this companion, who thanked him, and took a draught. He could not help thinking that, if the man had known all, he might scarcely have relished drinking out of the same cup with him. ‘‘A fine night, master!” said this person. “And a rare sunset.” ‘“‘T didn’t see it,” was his hasty answer. ‘“‘Didn’t see it?” returned the man. “Flow the devil could I see it, if I was asleep ?”’ “ Asleep! Aye, aye.” The man appeared surprised by his unexpected irritability, and saying no more, smoked his pipe in silence, They had not sat very long, when there was a knocking within. ‘“What’s that?” cried Jonas. ‘‘Can’t say, I’m sure,” replied the man. He made no further inquiry, for the last question had escaped him, in spite of himself. But he was thinking, at the moment, of the closed-up room ; of the possibility of their knocking at the door on some special occasion ; of their being alarmed at receiving no answer ; of their bursting it open ; of their finding the room empty ; of their fastening the door into the court, and rendering it impossible for him to get into the house without showing himself in the garb he wore; which would lead to rumour, rumour to detection, detection to death. At that instant, as if by some design and order of circumstances, the knocking had come. It still continued ; like a warning echo of the dread reality he had conjured up. As he could not sit and hear it, he paid for his beer and walked on again. And having slunk about, in places unknown to him, all day ; and being out at night, in a lonely road, in an unusual dress, and in that wandering and unsettled frame of mind ; he stopped more than once to look about him, hoping he might be in a dream. Sti]] he was not sorry. No. He had hated the man too much, and had heen bent, too desperately and too long, on setting himself free. If the thing could have come over again, he would have done it again. His malignant and revengeful passions were not so easily Jaid. There was no more peni- tence or remorse within him now than there had been while the deed was brewing. Dread and fear were upon him, to an extent he had never counted on, and could not manage in the least degree. He was so horribly afraid of that infernal room at home. Thiseae ene ra oes et 840 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT made him, in a gloomy, murderous, mad way, not only fearful for himself, but of himself; for being, as it were, a part of the room : a something supposed to be there, yet missing from it: he invested himself with its mysterious terrors ; and when he pictured in his mind the ugly chamber, false and quiet, false and quiet, through the dark hours of two nights ; and the tumbled bed, and he not in it, though believed to be; he became in a manner his own ghost and phantom, and was at once the haunting spirit and the haunted man. When the coach came up, which it soon did, he got a place outside, and was carried briskly onward towards home. Now, in taking his seat among the people behind, who were chiefly country people, he conceived a fear that they knew of the murder, and would tell him that the body had been found ; which, considering the time and place of the commission of the crime, were events almost impossible to have happened yet, as he very well knew. But although he did know it, and had therefore no reason to regard their ignorance as anything but the natural sequence to the facts, still this very ignorance of theirs encouraged him. So far encouraged him, that he began to believe the body never would be found, and began to speculate on that probability. Setting off from this point, and measuring time by the rapid hurry of *his guilty thoughts, and what had gone before the bloodshed, and the troops of incoherent and disordered images of which he was the constant prey ; he came by daylight to regard the murder as an old murder, and to think himself comparatively safe, because it had not been discovered yet. Yet! When the sun which looked into the wood, and gilded with its rising light a dead man’s face, had seen that man alive, and sought to win him to a thought of Heaven, on its going down last night! But here were London streets again. Hush! It was but five o’clock. He had time enough to reach his own house unobserved, and before there were many people in the streets, if nothing had happened so far, tending to his discovery. He slipped down from the coach without troubling the driver to stop his horses: and hurrying across the road, and in and out of every by-way that lay near his course, at length approached his own dwelling. He used additional caution in his immediate neighbourhood ; halting first to look all down the street before him ; then gliding swiftly through that one, and stopping to survey the next; and so on. é re x a eC ee 6 a he | i: "THE MURDERER REACHES HOME 841 The passage-way was empty when his murderer's face looked into it. He stole on to the door on tiptoe, as if he dreaded to disturb his own imaginary rest. He listened. Notasound. As he turned the key with a trembling hand, and pushed the door softly open with his knee, a monstrous fear beset his mind. What if the murdered man were there before him ! He cast a fearful glance all round. But there was nothing there. He went in, locked the door, drew the key through and through the dust and damp in the fire-place to sully it again, and hung it up as of old. He took off his disguise, tied it up in a bundle ready for carrying away and sinking in the river before night, and locked it up in a cupboard. These precautions taken, he undressed and went to bed. The raging thirst, the fire that burnt within him as he lay beneath the clothes, the augmented horror of the room when they shut it out from his view; the agony of listening, in which he paid enforced regard to every sound, and thought the most unlikely one the prelude to that knocking which should bring the news ; the starts with which he left his couch, and looking in the glass, imagined that his deed was broadly written in his face, and lying down and burying himself once more beneath the blankets, heard his own heart beating Murder, Murder, Murder, in the bed; what words can paint tremendous truths like these ! The morning advanced. There were footsteps in the house. He heard the blinds drawn up, and shutters opened ; and now and then a stealthy tread outside his own door. He tried to call out, more than once, but his mouth was dry as if it had been filled with sand. At last he sat up in his bed, and erled : ‘¢ Who’s there!” It was his wife. He asked her what it was o’clock? Nine. “Did—did no one knock at my door yesterday?” he faltered. ‘‘Something disturbed me; but unless you had knocked the door down, you would have got no notice from me.” “No one,” she replied. That was well. He had waited, almost breathless, for her answer. It was a relief to him, if anything could be. “Mr. Nadgett wanted to see you,” she said, “but I told x. pd3erent ct CPI os a lie 842 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT him you were tired, and had requested not to be disturbed. He said it was of little consequence, and went away. As I Was opening my window to let in the cool air, I saw him passing through the street this morning, very early; but he hasn’t been again.” Passing through the street that morning? Very early! Jonas trembled at the thought of having had a narrow chance of seeing him himself: even him, who had no object but to avoid people, and sneak on unobserved, and keep his own secrets: and who saw nothing. He called to her to get his breakfast ready, and prepared to go up-stairs: attiring himself in the clothes he had taken off when he came into that room, which had been, ever since, outside the door. In his secret dread of meeting the house- hold for the first time, after what he had done, he lingered at the door on slight pretexts that they might see him without looking in his face; and left it ajar while he dressed; and ealled out to have the windows opened, and the pavement watered, that they might become accustomed to his voice. Even when he had put off the time, by one means or other, so that he had seen or spoken to them all, he could not muster courage for a long while to go in among them, but stood at his own door listening to the murmur of their distant conversation. He could not stop there for ever, and so joined them. His last glance at the glass had seen a tell-tale face, but that might have been because of his anxious looking in it. He dared not look at them to see if they observed him, but he thought them very silent. And whatsoever guard he kept upon himself, he could not help listening, and showing that he listened. Whether he attended to their talk, or tried to think of other things, or talked himself, or held his peace, or resolutely counted the dull tickings of a hoarse clock at his back, he always lapsed, as if a spell were on him, into eager listening. For he knew it must come; and his present punishment, and torture, and distraction, were, to listen for its coming, Hush!CHAPTER XLVIII BEARS TIDINGS OF MARTIN, AND OF MARK, AS WELL AS OF A THIRD PERSON NOT QUITE UNKNOWN TO THE READER. EXHTEITS Pitdaue Plecy IN SNe Vere ASPECT; AND CASTS A- DOUBTFUL RAY OF LIGHT UPON A VERY DARK PLACE Tom Prxycu and Ruth were sitting at their early breakfast, with the window open, and a row of the freshest little plants ranged before it on the inside by Ruth’s own hands; and Ruth had fastened a sprig of geranium in Tom’s button-hole, to make him very smart and summer-like for the day (it was obliged to be fastened in, or that dear old Tom was certain to lose it); and people were crying flowers up and down the street ; and a blundering bee, who had got himself in between the two sashes of the window, was bruising his head against the glass, endeavouring to force himself out into the fine morn- ing, and considering himself enchanted because he couldn’t do it; and the morning was as fine a morning as ever was seen; and the fragrant air was kissing Ruth and rustling about Tom, as if it said, “How are you, my dears: I came all this way on purpose to salute you;” and it was one of those glad times when we form, or ought to form, the wish that every one on earth were able to be happy, and catching glimpses of the summer of the heart, to feel the beauty of the summer of the year. It was even a pleasanter breakfast than usual ; and it was always a pleasant one. For little Ruth had now two pupils to attend, each three times a week, and each two hours at a time; and besides this, she had painted some screens and card- racks, and, unknown to Tom (was there ever anything so delightful !) had walked into a certain shop which dealt in such articles, after often peeping through the window ; and had taken courage to ask the mistress of that shop whether she would buy them. And the mistress had not only boughtee enemnel 4, r Pn a ee : ee ee ar nr 844 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT them, but had ordered more; and that very morning Ruth had made confession of these facts to Tom, and had handed him the money in a little purse she had worked expressly for the purpose. They had been ina flutter about this, and per- haps had shed a happy tear or two for anything the history knows to the contrary; but it was all over now; and a brighter face than Tom’s, or a brighter face than Ruth’s, the bright sun had not looked on, since he went to bed last night. “My dear girl,” said Tom, coming so abruptly on the subject, that he interrupted himself in the act of cutting a slice of bread, and left the knife sticking in the loaf, ‘‘ what a queer fellow our landlord is! I don’t believe he has been home once since he got me into that unsatisfactory scrape. I begin to think he will never come home again. What a mysterious life that man does lead, to be sure!” “Very strange. Is it not, Tom!” “Really,” said Tom, “I hope it is only strange. I hope there may be nothing wrong in it. Sometimes I begin to be doubtful of that. I must have an explanation with him,” said Tom, shaking his head as if this were a most tremendous threat, ‘when I can catch him!” A short double knock at the door put Tom’s menacing looks to flight, and awakened an expression of surprise instead. “Heyday!” said Tom. “An early hour for visitors! It must be John, I suppose.” ‘‘T__J—don’t think it was his knock, Tom,” observed his little sister. “No?” said Tom. “It surely can’t be my employer suddenly arrived in town; directed here by Mr. Fips; and come for the key of the office. It’s somebody inquiring for me, I declare! Come in, if you please!” But when the person came in, Tom Pinch, instead of saying, “Did you wish to speak with me, sir?” or, “My name is Pinch, sir ; what is your business, may I ask?” or addressing him in any such distant terms; cried out, ‘ Good gracious Heaven!” and seized him by both hands, with the liveliest manifestations of astonishment and pleasure. The visitor was not less moved than Tom himself, and they shook hands a great many times, without another word being spoken on either side. Tom was the first to find his voice. Ve Gece iEARLY VISITORS 845 “Mark Tapley, too!” said Tom, running towards the door, and shaking hands with somebody else. “My dear Mark, come in. How are you, Mark? He don’t look a day older than he used to do at the Dragon. How are you, Mark?” “Uncommonly jolly, sir, thank’ee,” returned Mr. Tapley, all smiles and bows. “I hope I see you well, sir.” “Good gracious me!” cried Tom, patting him tenderly on the back. “ How delightful it is to hear his old voice again ! My dear Martin, sit down. My sister, Martin. Mr. Chuzzle- wit, my love. Mark Tapley from the Dragon, my dear. Good gracious me, what a surprise this is! Sit down. Lord bless me!” Tom was in such a state of excitement that he couldn’t keep himself still for a moment, but was constantly running between Mark and Martin, shaking hands with them alter- nately, and presenting them over and over again to his sister, ‘‘T remember the day we parted, Martin, as well as if it were yesterday,” said Tom. ‘What a day it was! and what a passion you were in! And don’t you remember my overtaking you in the road that morning, Mark, when I was going to Salisbury in the gig to fetch him, and you were looking out for a situation? And don’t you recollect the dinner we had at Salisbury, Martin, with John Westlock, eh? Good gracious me! Ruth, my dear, Mr. Chuzzlewit. Mark Tapley, my love, from the Dragon. More cups and saucers, if you please. Bless my soul, how glad I am to see you both!” And then Tom (as John Westlock had done on his arrival) ran off to the loaf to cut some bread and butter for them ; and before he had spread a single slice, remembered something else, and came running back again to tell it; and then he shook hands with them again; and then he introduced his sister again; and then he did everything he had done already all over again ; and nothing Tom could do, and nothing Tom could say, was half sufficient to express his Joy at their safe return. Mr. Tapley was the first to resume his composure. Ina very short space of time he was discovered to have somehow installed himself in office as waiter, or attendant upon the party ; a fact which was first suggested to them by his tem- porary absence in the kitchen, and speedy return with a kettle of boiling water, from which he replenished the tea-pot with a self-possession that was quite his own.846 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT ‘““Sit down, and take your breakfast, Mark,” said Tom. ‘‘Make him sit down and take his breakfast, Martin.” “Oh! I gave him up, long ago, as incorrigible,’ Martin replied. ‘‘ He takes his own way, Tom. You would excuse him, Miss Pinch, if you knew his value.” ‘‘She knows it, bless you!” said Tom. ‘‘I have told her all about Mark Tapley. Have I not, Ruth?” “Yes, Tom.” ‘“‘Not all,” returned Martin, in a low voice. “The best of Mark Tapley is only known to one man, Tom; and but for Mark he would hardly be alive to tell it.” ‘““Mark!” said Tom Pinch, energetically: ‘if you don’t sit down this minute, I'll swear at you!” “Well, sir,” returned Mr. Tapley, ‘sooner than you should do that, Pl com-ply. It’s a considerable invasion of a man’s jollity to be made so partickler welcome, but a Werb is a word as signifies to be, to do, or to suffer (which is all the grammar, and enough too, as ever I wos taught); and if there’s a Werb alive, ’mit. For I’m always a-bein’, come- times a-doin’, and continually a-sufferin’.” “Not jolly yet?” asked Tom, with a smile. ‘“ Why, I was rather so, over the water, sir,” returned Mr. Tapley ; ‘‘and not entirely without credit. But Human Natur’ is in a conspiracy again’ me; I can’t get on. I shall ’ have to leave it in my will, sir, to be wrote upon my tomb: ‘He was a man as might have come out strong if he could have got a chance. But it was denied him.’” Mr. Tapley took this occasion of looking about him with a grin, and subsequently attacking the breakfast, with an appetite not at all expressive of blighted hopes, or insurmount- able despondency. In the meanwhile, Martin drew his chair a little nearer to Tom and his sister, and related to them what had passed at Mr. Pecksniff’s house; adding in few words a general summary of the distresses and disappointments he had undergone since he left England. “For your faithful stewardship in the trust I left with you, Tom,” he said, ‘‘and for all your goodness and disinterested- ness, I can never thank you enough. When I add Mary’s thanks to mine Ah, Tom! The blood retreated from his cheeks, and came rushing back, so violently, that it was pain to feel it; ease though, ease, compared with the aching of his wounded heart. a ai acid « ceomeenenettnateaeet een anna Pee Ga aeTOM PINCH S ADVICE SOUGHT 847 “When I add Mary’s thanks to mine,” said Martin, “JT have made the only poor acknowledgment it is in our power to offer; but if you knew how much we feel, Tom, you would set some store by it, I am:sure;;: And if they had known how much Tom felt—but that no human creature ever knew—they would have set some store by him. Indeed they would. Tom changed the topic of discourse. He was sorry he could not pursue it, as it gave Martin pleasure ; but he was unable, at that moment. No drop of envy or bitterness was in his soul; but he could not master the firm utterance of her name. He inquired what Martin’s projects were. “No longer to make your fortune, Tom,” said Martin, ‘but to try to live. I tried that once in London, Tom; and failed. If you will give me the benefit of your advice and friendly counsel, I may succeed better under your guidance. I will do anything, Tom, anything, to gain a livelihood by my own exertions. My hopes do not soar above that, now.” High-hearted, noble Tom! Sorry to find the pride of his old companion humbled, and to hear him speaking in this altered strain, at once, at once, he drove from his breast the inability to contend with its deep emotions, and spoke out bravely. “Your hopes do not soar above that! * cried Tom. “ Yes they do. How can you talk so! They soar up to the time when you will be happy with her, Martin. They soar up to the time when you will be able to claim her, Martin. They soar up to the time when you will not be able to believe that you were ever cast down in spirit, or poor in pocket, Martin. Advice, and friendly counsel! Why, of course. But you shall have better advice and counsel (though you cannot have more friendly) than mine. You shall consult John Westlock. "We'll go there immediately. It is yet so early that I shall have time to take you to his chambers before I go to business; they are in my way; and I can leave you there, to talk over your affairs with him. So come along. Come along. I am a man of occupation now, you know,” said Tom, with his pleasantest smile ; ‘(and have no time to lose. Your hopes don’t soar higher than that ? I dare say they don’t. J know you, pretty well. They'll be soaring out of sight soon, Martin, and leaving all the rest of us leagues behind.”848 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT “Aye! ButI may be a little changed,” said Martin, “since you knew me pretty well, Tom.” ‘What nonsense!” exclaimed Tom. ‘Why should you be changed? You talk as if you were an old man. I never heard such a fellow! Come to John Westlock’s, come. Come along, Mark Tapley. It’s Mark’s doing, I have no doubt; and it serves you right for having such a grumbler for your companion.” “There’s no credit to be got through being jolly with you, Mr. Pinch, anyways,” said Mark, with his face all wrinkled up with grins. ‘A parish doctor might be jolly with you. There’s nothing short of goin’ to the U-nited States for a second trip, as would make it at all creditable to be jolly, arter seein’ you again ! ” Tom laughed, and taking leave of his sister, hurried Mark and Martin out into the street, and away to John Westlock’s by the nearest road; for his hour of business was very near at hand, and he prided himself on always being exact to his time. John Westlock was at home, but, strange to say, was rather embarrassed to see them ; and when Tom was about to go into the room where he was breakfasting, said he had a stranger there. It appeared to be a mysterious stranger, for John shut that door as he said it, and led them into the next room. He was very much delighted, though, to see Mark Tapley ; and received Martin with his own frank courtesy. But Martin felt that he did not inspire John Westlock with any unusual interest ; and twice or thrice observed that he looked at Tom Pinch doubtfully ; not to say compassionately. He thought, and blushed to think, that he knew the cause of this. ‘IT apprehend you are engaged,” said Martin, when Tom had announced the purport of their visit. ‘If you will allow me to come again at your own time, I shall be glad to do so.” ‘‘T am engaged,” replied John, with some reluctance; “but the matter on which I am engaged is one, to say the truth, more immediately demanding your knowledge than mine.” ‘“‘ Indeed!” cried Martin. ‘It relates to a member of your family, and is of a serious nature. If you will have the kindness to remain here, it will be a satisfaction to me to have it privately communicated to you, in order that you may judge of its importance for yourself.” ee ni ERAS BRTTHE MATRIMONIAL LINE 849 “And in the meantime,” said Tom, “I must really take myself off, without any further ceremony.” “Is your business so very particular,” asked Martin, “ that you cannot remain with us for half an hour? I wish you eould. What is your business, Tom?” It was Tom’s turn to be embarrassed now: but he plainly said, after a little hesitation: “Why, I am not at liberty to say what it is, Martin: though I hope soon to be in a condition to do so, and am aware of no other reason to prevent my doing so now, than the request of my employer. It’s an awkward position to be placed in,” said Tom, with an uneasy sense of seeming to doubt his friend, “‘as I feel every day ; but I really cannot help it, can I, John?” John Westlock replied in the negative; and Martin, expressing himself perfectly satisfied, begged them not to say another word: though he could not help wondering very much what curious office Tom held, and why he was so secret, and embarrassed, and unlike himself, in reference to it. Nor could he help reverting to it, in his own mind, several times after Tom went away, which he did as soon as this conversation was ended, taking Mr. Tapley with him, who, as he laughingly said, might accompany him as far as Fleet Street without injury. ‘‘ And what do you mean to do, Mark?” asked Tom, as they walked on together. ‘‘Mean to do, sir?” returned Mr. Tapley. “Aye. What course of life do you mean to pursue?” “Well, sir,” said Mr. Tapley. ‘The fact is, that I have been a-thinking rather of the matrimonial line, sir.” “You don’t say so, Mark!” cried Tom. ‘Yes sir. I’ve been a-turnin’ of it over.” ‘And who is the lady, Mark?” ‘‘The which, sir?” said Mr. Tapley. “The lady. Come! You know what I said,” replied Tom, laughing, “as well as I do!” Mr. Tapley suppressed his own inclination to laugh ; and with one of his most whimsically-twisted looks, replied, ‘You couldn’t guess, I suppose, Mr. Pinch?” “How is it possible?” said Tom. ‘I don’t know any of your flames, Mark. Except Mrs. Lupin, indeed.” “Well, sir!” retorted Mr. Tapley. ‘And supposing it was her!”ane kin ella e* i ee nae nn nana ear eneas 850 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT Tom stopping in the street to look at him, Mr. Tapley for a moment presented to his view an utterly stolid and expres- sionless face: a perfect dead wall of countenance. But opening window after window in it with astonishing rapidity, and lighting them all up as for a general illumination, he repeated: ‘““Supposin’, for the sake of argument, as it was her, sir!” “Why, I thought such a connexion wouldn’t suit you, Mark, on any terms!” cried Tom. ‘Well, sir, I used to think so myself, once,” said Mark. “But I ain’t so clear about it now. A dear, sweet creetur, gir b? “A dear, sweet creature? To be sure she is,” cried Tom. ‘‘ But she always was a dear sweet creature, was she not?” ‘“ Was she not!” assented Mr. Tapley. “Then why on earth didn’t you marry her at first, Mark, instead of wandering abroad, and losing all this time, and leaving her alone by herself, liable to be courted by other people ?”’ “Why, sir,” retorted Mr. Tapley, in a spirit of unbounded confidence, ‘‘ Ill tell you how it come about. You know me, Mr. Pinch, sir; there ain’t a gentleman alive as knows me better. You're acquainted with my constitution, and you’re acquainted with my weakness. My constitution is, to be jolly ; and my weakness is, to wish to find a credit in it. Wery good, sir. In this state of mind, I gets a notion in my head that she looks on me with a eye of—with what you may call a favourable sort of a eye in fact,” said Mr. Tapley, with modest hesitation. “No doubt,” replied Tom. ‘ We knew that perfectly well when we spoke on this subject long ago; before you left the Dragon.” Mr. Tapley nodded assent. ‘“ Well, sir! But bein’ at that time full of hopeful wisions, I arrives at the conclusion that no credit is to be got out of such a way of life as that, where everything agreeable would be ready to one’s hand. Lookin’ on the bright side of human life in short, one of my hopeful wisions is, that there’s a deal of misery a-waitin’ for me; in the midst of which I may come out tolerable strong, and be jolly under circumstances as reflects some credit. I goes into the world, sir, wery boyant, and I tries this. I goes aboard ship first, and wery soon discovers (by the ease with which I’m jolly, mind you) as there’s no credit to be got there. I might have took warning by this, and gave it up; but ’MARK DECEIVED IN MARTIN 851 I didn’t. I. gets to the U-nited States; and then I do begin, I won’t deny it, to feel some little credit in sustaining my spirits. What follows? Jest as I’m a-beginning to come out, and am a-treadin’ on the werge, my master deceives me.” “Deceives you!” cried Tom. “‘ Swindles me,” retorted Mr. Tapley, with a beaming face. ‘Turns his back on evrything as made his service a credit- able one, and leaves me, high and dry, without a leg to stand upon. In which state I returns home. Wery good. Then all my hopeful wisions bein’ crushed ; and findin’ that there ain’t no credit for me nowhere; I abandons myself to despair, and says, ‘Let me do that as has the least credit in it of all: marry a dear, sweet creetur, as is wery fond of me: me bein’, at the same time, wery fond of her: lead a happy life, and struggle no more again’ the blight which settles on my prospects.’ ” “Tf your philosophy, Mark,” said Tom, who laughed heartily at this speech, “be the oddest I ever heard of, it is not the least wise. Mrs. Lupin has said ‘yes,’ of course?” “Why, no, sir,” replied Mr. Tapley ; “ she hasn’t gone so far as that yet. Which I attribute principally to my not havin’ asked her. But we was wery agreeable together— comfortable, I may say—the night I come home. It’s all right, sir.” “ Well!” said Tom, stopping at the Temple Gate. ‘I wish you joy, Mark, with all my heart. I shall see you again to-day, I dare say. Good-bye for the present.” “Good-bye, sir! Good-bye, Mr. Pinch!” he added, by way of soliloquy, as he stood looking after him: ‘ Although you are a damper to a honourable ambition. You little think it, but you was the first to dash my hopes. Pecksniff would have built me up for life, but your sweet temper pulled me down. Good-bye, Mr. Pinch!” While these confidences were interchanged between Tom Pinch and Mark, Martin and John Westlock were very differently engaged. They were no sooner left alone together than Martin said, with an effort he could not disguise : ‘My. Westlock, we have met only once before, but you have known Tom a long while, and that seems to render you familiar to me. I cannot talk freely with you on any subject unless I relieve my mind of what oppresses it just now. I see with pain that you so far mistrust me that you thinkene + areencrsenten NTRS OM RE a ie 852 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT me likely to impose on Tom’s regardlessness of himself, or on his kind nature, or some of his good qualities.” “I had no intention,” replied John, “of conveying any such impression to you, and am exceedingly sorry to have done so.” “But you entertain it?” said Martin. ‘You ask me so pointedly and directly,” returned the other, “that I cannot deny the having accustomed myself to regard you as one who, not in wantonness but in mere thoughtless- ness of character, did not sufficiently consider his nature and did not quite treat it as it deserves to be treated. It is much easier to slight than to appreciate Tom Pinch.” This was not said warmly, but was energetically spoken too; for there was no subject in the world (but one) on which the speaker felt so strongly. “I grew into the knowledge of Tom,” he pursued, “as I grew towards manhood; and I have learned to love him as something infinitely better than myself. I did not think that you understood him when we met before. I did not think that you greatly cared to understand him. The instances of this which I observed in you were, like my opportunities for observation, very trivial—and were very harmless, I dare say. But they were not agreeable to me, and they forced themselves upon me; for I was not upon the watch for them, believe me. You will say,” added John, with a smile, as he subsided into more of his accustomed manner, “that I am not by any means agreeable to you. I can only assure you, in reply, that I would not have originated this topic on any account.” “I originated it,” said Martin; “and so far from having any complaint to make against you, highly esteem the friend- ship you entertain for Tom, and the very many proofs you have given him of it. Why should I endeavour to conceal from you:” he coloured deeply though: “that I neither understood him nor cared to understand him when I was his companion ; and that I am very truly sorry for it now!” It was so sincerely said, at once so modestly and manfully, that John offered him his hand as if he had not done so before ; and Martin giving his in the same open spirit, all constraint between the young men vanished. ‘Now pray,” said John, ‘“‘when I tire your patience very much in what I am going to say, recollect that it has an end to it, and that the end is the point of the story.”THE BULL'S PATIENT AGAIN 853 With this preface, he related all the circumstances con- nected with his having presided over the illness and slow recovery of the patient at the Bull; and tacked on to the skirts of that narrative Tom’s own account of the business on the wharf. Martin was not a little puzzled when he came to an end, for the two stories seemed to have no connexion with each other, and to leave him, as the phrase is, all abroad. “Tf you will excuse me for one moment,” said John, rising, “TJ will beg you almost immediately to come into the next room.” Upon that, he left Martin to himself, in a state of con- siderable astonishment; and soon came back again to fulfil his promise. Accompanying him into the next room, Martin found there a third person; no doubt the stranger of whom his host had spoken when Tom Pinch introduced him. He was a young man; with deep black hair and eyes. He was gaunt and pale; and evidently had not long re- covered from a severe illness. He stood as Martin entered, but sat again at John’s desire. His eyes were cast down- ward ; and but for one glance at them both, half in humilia- tion and half in entreaty, he kept them so, and sat quite still and silent. “This person’s name is Lewsome,” said John Westlock, ‘whom I have mentioned to you as having been seized with an illness at the Inn near here, and undergone so much. He has had a very hard time of it, ever since he began to recover; but, as you see, he is now doing well.” As he did not move or speak, and John Westlock made a pause, Martin, not knowing what to say, said that he was glad to hear it. “The short statement that I wish you to hear from his own lips, Mr. Chuzzlewit,” John pursued : looking attentively at him, and not at Martin: “he made to me for the first time yesterday, and repeated to me this morning, without the least variation of any essential particular. I have already told you that he informed me before he was removed from the Inn, that he had a secret to disclose to me which lay heavy on his mind. But, fluctuating between sickness and health, and between his desire to relieve himself of it, and his dread of involving himself by revealing it, he has, until yesterday, avoided the disclosure. I never pressed him for it (having no idea of its weight or import, or of my right to do: ee nn ees ane cree 854 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT so), until within a few days past ; when, understanding from him, on his own voluntary avowal, in a letter from the country, that it related to a person whose name was Jonas Chuzzlewit ; and thinking that it might throw some light on that little mystery which made Tom anxious now and then ; I urged the point upon him, and heard his statement, as you will now, from his own lips. It is due to him to say, that in the apprehension of death, he committed it to writing sometime since, and folded it in a sealed paper, addressed to me: which he could not resolve, however, to place of his own act in my hands. He has the paper in his breast, I believe, at this moment.” The young man touched it hastily ; in corroboration of the fact. “Tt will be well to leave that in our charge, perhaps,” said John. ‘“ But do not mind it now.” As he said this, he held up his hand to bespeak Martin’s attention. It was already fixed upon the man before him, who, after a short silence said, in a low, weak, hollow voice: ‘* What relation was Mr. Anthony Chuzzlewit, who— ” “Who died—to me?” said Martin. “He was my grandfather’s brother.” ‘TI fear he was made away with. Murdered!” “My God!” said Martin. “By whom?” The young man, Lewsome, looked up in his face, and casting down his eyes again, replied: “T fear, by me.” ‘* By you?” cried Martin. ‘* Not by my act, but I fear by my means.” “Speak out!” said Martin, ‘‘and speak the truth.” ‘“‘T fear this is the truth.” Martin was about to interrupt him again, but John West- lock saying softly, ‘‘ Let him tell his story in his own way,” Lewsome went on thus: “I have been bred a surgeon, and for the last few years have served a general practitioner in the City, as his assistant. While I was in his employment I became ac- quainted with Jonas Chuzzlewit. He is the principal in this deed.” ‘What do you mean?” demanded Martin, sternly... “Do you know he is the son of the old man of whom you have spoken ?” ‘*T do,” he answered. EGR ABECHUFFEY NOT SO VERY MAD 855 He remained silent for some moments, when he resumed at the point where he had left off. “T have reason to know it; for I have often heard him wish his old father dead, and complain of his being weari- some to him, and a drag upon him. He was in the habit of doing so, at a place of meeting we had—three or four of us —at night. There was no good in the place, you may suppose, when you hear that he was the chief of the party. I wish I had died myself, and never seen it!” He stopped again ; and again resumed as before. ‘We met to drink and game ; not for large sums, but for sums that were large to us. He generally won. Whether or no, he lent money at interest to those who lost ; and in this way, though I think we all secretly hated him, he came to be the master of us. To propitiate him, we made a jest of his father: it began with his debtors; I was one: and we used to toast a quicker journey to the old man, and a swift inheritance to the young one.” He paused again. ‘One night he came there in a very bad humour. He had been greatly tried, he said, by the old man that day. He and I were alone together: and he angrily told me, that the old man was in his second childhood; that he was weak, imbecile, and drivelling ; as unbearable to himself as he was to other people; and that it would be a charity to put him out of the way. He swore that he had often thought of mixing something with the stuff he took for his cough, which should help him to die easily. People were sometimes smothered who were bitten by mad dogs, he said ; and why not help these lingering old men out of their troubles too? He looked full at me as he said so, and I looked full at him: but it went no farther that night.” He stopped once more, and was silent for so long an interval that John Westlock said “Go on.” Martin had never removed his eyes from his face, but was so absorbed ‘n horror and astonishment that he could not speak. “Tt may have been a week after that, or it may have been less, or more—the matter was in my mind all the time, but I cannot recollect the time, as I should any other period— when he spoke to me again, We were alone then, too ; being there before the usual hour of assembling. There was no appointment between us ; but I think I went there to meet him, and I know he came there to meet me. He wasre rg bs aii alae i itl pe secant eden migepmertestt te ca eal 856 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT there first. He was reading a newspaper when I went in, and nodded to me without looking up, or leaving off reading. I sat down opposite and close to him, He said, immediately, that he wanted me to get him some of two sorts of drugs. One that was instantaneous in its effect; of which he wanted very little. One that was slow, and not suspicious in appear- ance ; of which he wanted more. While he was speaking to me he still read the newspaper. He said ‘ Drugs,’ and never used any other word. Neither did I.” “This all agrees with what I have heard before,” observed John Westlock. ‘‘T asked him what he wanted the drugs for? He said for no harm ; to physic cats; what did it matter to me? I was going out to a distant colony (I had recently got the appoint- ment, which, as Mr. Westlock knows, I have since lost by my sickness, and which was my only hope of salvation from ruin), and what did it matter to me? He could get them without my aid at half a hundred places, but not so easily as he could get them of me. This was true. He might not want them at all, he said, and he had no present idea of using them; but he wished to have them by him. All this time he still read the newspaper. We talked about the price. He was to forgive me a small debt—I was quite in his power—and to pay me five pounds; and there the matter dropped, through others coming in. But, next night, under exactly similar circumstances, I gave him the drugs, on his saying I was a fool to think that he should ever use them for any harm; and he gave me the money. We have never met since. I only know that the poor old father died soon after- wards, just as he would have died from this cause: and that I have undergone, and suffer now, intolerable misery. Nothing,” he added, stretching out his hands, “can paint my misery! It is well deserved, but nothing can paint it.” With that he hung his head, and said no more. Wasted and wretched, he was not a creature upon whom to heap reproaches that were unavailing. “Let him remain at hand,” said Martin, turning from him; ‘but out of sight, in Heaven’s name!” ‘He will remain here,” John whispered. ‘Come with me!” Softly turning the key upon him as they went out, he conducted Martin into the adjoining room, in which they had been before. Martin was so amazed, so shocked, and confounded by Pe 6a eeAN AMAZING STORY 857 what he had heard, that it was some time before he could reduce it to any order in his mind, or could sufficiently comprehend the bearing of one part upon another, to take in all the details at one view. When he, at length, had the whole narrative clearly before him, John Westlock went on to point out the great probability of the guilt of Jonas being known to other people, who traded in it for their own benefit, and who were, by such means, able to exert that control over him which Tom Pinch had accidentally witnessed, and unconsciously assisted. This appeared so plain, that they agreed upon it without difficulty ; but instead of deriving the least assistance from this source, they found that it embarrassed them the more. They knew nothing of the real parties who possessed this power. The only person before them was Tom’s landlord. They had no right to question Tom’s landlord, even if they could find him, which, according to Tom’s account, it would not be easy to do. And granting that they did question him, and he answered (which was taking a good deal for granted), he had only to say, with reference to the adventure on the wharf, that he had been sent from such and such a place to summon Jonas back on urgent business, and there was an end of it. Besides, there was the great difficulty and responsibility of moving at all in the matter. Lewsome’s story might be false: in his wretched state it might be greatly heightened by a diseased brain; or admitting it to be entirely true, the old man might have died a natural death. Mr. Pecksniff had been there at the time; as Tom immediately remembered, when he came back in the afternoon, and shared their counsels ; and there had been no secrecy about it. Martin’s orandfather was of right the person to decide upon the course that should be taken; but to get at his views would be impossible, for Mr. Pecksniff’s views were certain to be his. And the nature of Mr. Pecksniff’s views in reference to his own son-in-law might be easily reckoned upon. Apart from these considerations, Martin could not endure the thought of seeming to grasp at this unnatural charge against his relative, and using it as a stepping-stone to his srandfather’s favour. But that he would seem to do so, if he presented himself before his grandfather im Mr. Pecksniff’s house again, for the purpose of declaring it ; and that Mr. Pecksniff, of all men, would represent his conduct in thatnailinl ie ua ee 858 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT despicable light, he perfectly well knew. On the other hand, to be in possession of such a statement, and take no measures of further inquiry in reference to it, was tantamount to being a partner in the guilt it professed to disclose. In a word, they were wholly unable to discover any outlet from this maze of difficulty, which did not lie through some perplexed and entangled thicket. And although Mr. Tapley was promptly taken into their confidence ; and the fertile imagination of that gentleman suggested many bold ex- pedients, which, to do him justice, he was quite ready to carry into instant operation on his own personal responsi- bility ; still *bating the general zeal of Mr. Tapley’s nature, nothing was made particularly clearer by these offers of service. It was in this position of affairs that Tom’s account of the strange behaviour of the decayed clerk, on the night of the tea-party, became of great moment, and finally convinced them that to arrive at a more accurate knowledge of the workings of that old man’s mind and memory, would be to take a most important stride in their pursuit of the truth. So, having first satisfied themselves that no communication had ever taken place between Lewsome and Mr. Chuffey (which would have accounted at once for any suspicions the latter might entertain), they unanimously resolved that the old clerk was the man they wanted. But, like the unanimous resolution of a public meeting, which will oftentimes declare that this or that grievance is not to be borne a moment longer, which is nevertheless borne for a century or two afterwards, without any modifica- tion, they only reached in this the conclusion that they were all of one mind. For it was one thing to want Mr. Chuffey, and another thing to get at him; and to do that without alarming him, or without alarming Jonas, or without being discomfited by the difficulty of striking, in an instrument so out of tune and so unused, the note they sought, was an end as far from their reach as ever. The question then became, who of those about the old clerk had had most influence with him that night? Tom said his young mistress clearly. But Tom and all of them shrunk from the thought of entrapping her, and making her the innocent means of bringing retribution on her cruel husband. Was there nobody else? Why yes. In a very different way, Tom said, he was influenced by Mrs. Gamp,CHUFFEY BECOMES IMPORTANT 859 the nurse: who had once had the control of him, as he understood, for some time. They caught at this immediately. Here was a new way out, developed in a quarter until then overlooked. John Westlock knew Mrs. Gamp; he had given her employment ; he was acquainted with her place of residence: for that good lady had obligingly furnished him, at parting, with a pack of her professional cards for general distribution. It was decided that Mrs. Gamp should be approached with caution, but approached without delay ; and that the depths of that discreet matron’s knowledge of Mr. Chuffey, and means of bringing them, or one of them, into communication with him, should be carefully sounded. On this service, Martin and John Westlock determined to proceed that night; waiting on Mrs. Gamp first, at her lodgings; and taking their chance of finding her in the repose of private life, or of having to seek her out, elsewhere, in the exercise of her professional duties. Tom returned home, that he might lose no opportunity of having an inter- view with Nadgett, by being absent in the event of his reappearance. And Mr. Tapley remained (by his own par- ticular desire) for the time being in Furnival’s Inn, to look after Lewsome ; who might safely have been left to himself, however, for any thought he seemed to entertain of giving them the slip. Before they parted on their several errands, they caused him to read aloud, in the presence of them all, the paper which he had about him, and the declaration he had attached to it, which was to the effect that he had written it voluntarily, in the fear of death and in the torture of his mind. And when he had done so, they all signed it, and taking it from him, of his free will, locked it in a place of safety. Martin also wrote, by John’s advice, a letter to the trustees of the famous Grammar School, boldly claiming the successful design as his, and charging Mr. Pecksniff with the fraud he had committed. In this proceeding also, John was hotly interested: observing with his usual irreverence, that Mr. Pecksniff had been a successful rascal all his life through, and that it would be a lasting source of happiness to him (John) if he could help to do him justice in the smallest particular. A busy day! But Martin had no lodgings yet; so whenCO ne ieee ose sent — 1 aeenerenrntenti te RIM ane | Sn aaa 850 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT these matters were disposed of, he excused himself from dining with John Westlock and was fain to wander out alone, and look for some. He succeeded, after great trouble, in engaging two garrets for himself and Mark, situated in a court in the Strand, not far from Temple Bar. Their luggage, which was waiting for them at a coach-office, he conveyed to this new place of refuge ; and it was with a glow of satisfaction, which as a selfish man he never could have known and never had, that, thinking how much pains and trouble he had saved Mark, and how pleased and astonished Mark would be, he afterwards walked up and down, in the Temple, eating a meat-pie for his dinner,CHAPTER XLIX IN WHICH MRS. HARRIS, ASSISTED BY A TEAPOT, IS THE CAUSE OF A DIVISION BETWEEN FRIENDS Mrs. Gamp’s apartment in Kingsgate Street, High Holborn, wore, metaphorically speaking, a robe of state. It was swept and garnished for the reception of a visitor. That visitor was Betsey Prig: Mrs. Prig, of Bartlemy’s: or as some said Barklemy’s, or as some said Bardlemy’s ; for by all these en- dearing and familiar appellations, had the hospital of Saint Bartholomew become a household word among the sisterhood which Betsey Prig adorned. Mrs. Gamp’s apartment was not a spacious one, but, to a contented mind, a closet is a palace ; and the first-floor front at Mr. Sweedlepipe’s may have been, in the imagination of Mrs. Gamp, a stately pile. If it were not exactly that, to restless intellects, it at least comprised as much accommoda- tion as any person, not sanguine to insanity, eculd have looked for in a room of its dimensions. For only keep the bedstead always in your mind; and you were safe. That was the grand secret. Remembering the bedstead, you might even stoop to look under the little round table for anything you had dropped, without hurting yourself much against the chest of drawers, or qualifying as a patient of Saint Bartholomew, by falling into the fire. Visitors were much assisted in their cautious efforts to pre- serve an unflagging recollection of this piece of furniture, by its size: which was great. It was not a turn-up bedstead, nor yet a French bedstead, nor yet a four-post bedstead, but what is poetically called a tent: the sacking whereof was low and bulgy, insomuch that Mrs. Gamp’s box would not go under it, but stopped half-way, in a manner which, while it did violence to the reason, likewise endangered the legs of a stranger. The frame too, which would have supported the canopy and hangings if there had been any, was ornamented with divers pippins carved in timber, which on the slightesta ema Scien 862 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT provocation, and frequently on none at all, came tumbling down ; harassing the peaceful guest with inexplicable terrors. The bed itself was decorated with a patchwork quilt of great antiquity ; and at the upper end, upon the side nearest to the door, hung a scanty curtain of blue check, which prevented the Zephyrs that were abroad in Kingsgate Street, from visiting Mrs. Gamp’s head too roughly. Some rusty gowns and other articles of that lady’s wardrobe depended from the posts ; and these had so adapted themselves by long usage to her figure, that more than one impatient husband coming in precipitately, at about the time of twilight, had been for an instant stricken dumb by the supposed discovery that Mrs. Gamp had hanged herself. One gentleman, coming on the usual hasty errand, had said indeed, that they looked like guardian angels ‘‘ watch- ing of her in her sleep.” But that, as Mrs. Gamp said, ‘‘ was his first ;” and he never repeated the sentiment, though he often repeated his visit. The chairs in Mrs. Gamp’s apartment were extremely large and broad-backed, which was more than a sufficient reason for there being but two in number. They were both elbow- chairs, of ancient mahogany ; and were chiefly valuable for the slippery nature of their seats, which had been originally horsehair, but were now covered with a shiny substance of a bluish tint, from which the visitor began to slide away with a dismayed countenance, immediately after sitting down. What Mrs. Gamp wanted in chairs she made up in bandboxes; of which she had a great collection, devoted to the reception of various miscellaneous valuables, which were not, however, as well protected as the good woman, by a pleasant fiction, seemed to think: for, though every bandbox had a carefully closed lid, not one among them had a bottom: owing to which cause the property within was merely, as it were, extinguished. The chest of drawers having been originally made to stand upon the top of another chest, had a dwarfish, elfin look, alone ; but in regard of its security it had a great advantage over the bandboxes, for as all the handles had been long ago pulled off, it was very difficult to get at its contents. This indeed was only to be done by one of two devices; either by tilting the whole structure forward until all the drawers fell out together, or by opening them singly with knives, lke oysters. Mrs. Gamp stored all her household matters in a little cup- board by the fire-place ; beginning below the surface (as in f » “we . ’ Pee eS | /MRS. GAMP PREPARES FOR A VISITOR 863 nature) with the coals, and mounting gradually upwards to the spirits, which, from motives of delicacy, she kept in a teapot. The chimney-piece was ornamented with a small almanack, marked here and there in Mrs. Gamp’s own hand with a memorandum of the date at which some lady was expected to fall due. It was also embellished with three profiles: one, in colours, of Mrs. Gamp herself in early life ; one, in bronze, of a lady in feathers, supposed to be Mrs. Harris, as she appeared when dressed for a ball ; and one, in black, of Mr. Gamp, deceased. The last was a full length, in order that the likeness might be rendered more obvious and forcible by the introduction of the wooden leg. A pair of bellows, a pair of pattens, a toasting-fork, a kettle, a pap-boat, a spoon for the administration of medicine to the refractory, and lastly, Mrs. Gamp’s umbrella, which as some- thing of great price and rarity, was displayed with particular ostentation, completed the decorations of the chimney-piece and adjacent wall. Towards these objects Mrs. Gamp raised her eyes in satisfaction when she had arranged the tea-board, and had concluded her arrangements for the reception of Betsey Prig, even unto the setting forth of two pounds of Newcastle salmon, intensely pickled. “There! Now drat you, Betsey, don’t be long!” said Mrs. Gamp, apostrophising her absent friend. “ For I can’t abear to wait, I do assure you. To wotever place I goes, I sticks to this one mortar, ‘I’m easy pleased ; it is but little as I wants; but I must have that little of the best, and to the minute when the clock strikes, else we do not part as I could wish, but bearin’ malice in our aes Her own preparations were of the best, for they compre- hended a delicate new loaf, a plate of fresh butter, a basin of fine white sugar, and other arrangements on the same scale. Even the snuff with which she now refreshed herself, was so choice in quality that she took a second pinch. ‘There’s the little bell a-ringing now,” said Mrs. Gamp, hurrying to the stair-head and looking over. ‘‘ Betsey Prig, my—why it’s that there disapintin’ Sweedlepipes, I do believe.” “Yes, it’s me,” said the barber in a faint voice: ‘“ I’ve just come in.” ‘‘ You're always a-comin’ in, I think,” muttered Mrs. Gamp to herself, ‘except wen youre a-goin’ out. I ha’n’t neo patience with that man usee seme nitro penne a, 5 864. MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT ‘Mrs. Gamp,” said the barber. “I say! Mrs. Gamp!” “Well,” cried Mrs. Gamp, impatiently, as she descended the stairs. “What is it? Is the Thames a-fire, and cooking its own fish, Mr. Sweedlepipes? Why wot’s the man gone and been a-doin’ of to himself? He’s as white as chalk!” She added the latter clause of inquiry, when she got down- stairs, and found him seated in the shaying-chair, pale and disconsolate. “You recollect,” said Poll. ‘You recollect young—” “Not young Wilkins!” cried Mrs. Gamp. ‘Don’t say young Wilkins, wotever you do. If young Wilkins’s wife is took— ” “Tt isn’t anybody’s wife,” exclaimed the little barber. ‘‘ Bailey, young Bailey !” “Why, wot do you mean to say that chit’s been a-doin’ of?” retorted Mrs. Gamp, sharply. “Stuff and nonsense, Mr. Sweedlepipes !” ‘He hasn’t been a-doing anything!” exclaimed poor Poll, quite desperate. ‘What do you catch me up so short for, when you see me put out to that extent that I can hardly speak? He'll never do anything again. He’sdone for. He’s killed. The first time I ever see that boy,” said Poll, “I charged him too much for a red-poll. J asked him three- halfpence for a penny one, because I was afraid he’d beat me down. But he didn’t. And now he’s dead; and if you was to crowd all the steam-engines and electric fluids that ever was, into this shop, and set ’em every one te work their hardest, they couldn’t square the account, though it’s only a ha’penny !” Mr. Sweedlepipe turned aside to the towel, and wiped his eyes with it. ‘‘And what a clever boy he was!” he said. ‘What a surprising young chap he was! How he talked! and what a deal he know’d! Shaved in this very chair he was; only for fun ; it was all his fun ; he was full of it. Ah! to think that he’ll never be shaved in earnest! The birds might every one have died, and welcome,” cried the little barber, looking round him at the cages, and again applying to the towel, “ sooner than I’d have heard this news!” ‘“How did you ever come to hear it?” said Mrs. Gamp. “Who told you?” ‘I went out,” returned the little barber, ‘into the City, to meet a sporting gent upon the Stock Exchange, that wantedNEWS FROM THE CITY 865 a few slow pigeons to practise at; and when I’d done with him, I went to get a little drop of beer, and there I heard everybody a-talking about it. It’s in the papers.” “You are in a nice state of confugion, Mr. Sweedlepipes, you are!” said Mrs. Gamp, shaking her head; “and my opinion is, as half-a-dudgeon fresh young lively leeches on your temples, wouldn’t be too much to clear your mind, which so I tell you. Wot were they a-talkin’ on, and wot was in the papers?” ‘All about it!” cried the barber. ‘‘ What else do you suppose? Him and his master were upset on a journey, and he was carried to Salisbury, and was breathing his last when the account came away. He never spoke afterwards. Nota single word. That’s the worst of it tome; but that ain’t all. His master can’t be found. The other manager of their office in the city: Crimple, David Crimple : has gone off with the money, and is advertised for, with a reward, upon the walls. Mr. Montague, poor young Bailey’s master (what a boy he was!) is advertised for, too. Some say he’s slipped off, to join his friend abroad ; some say he mayn’t have got away yet; and they’re looking for him high and low. ‘Their office is a smash; a swindle altogether. But what’s a Life Assurance Office to a Life! And what a Life Young Bailey's was !” “He was born into a wale,” said Mrs. Gamp, with philo- sophical coolness ; ‘‘and he lived in a wale; and he must take the consequences of sech a sitiwation. But don’t you hear nothink of Mr. Chuzzlewit in all this ?” No.” said Poll, ‘nothing to speak of. His name wasn't printed as one of the board, though some people say it was just going to be. Some believe he was took in, and some believe he was one of the takers-in; but however that may be, they can’t prove nothing against him. This morning he went up of his own accord afore the Lord Mayor or some of them City big-wigs, and complained that he’d been swindled, and that these two persons had gone off and cheated him, and that he had just found out that Montague’s name wasn't even Montague, but something else. And they do say that he looked like Death, owing to his losses. But, Lord forgive me.” cried the barber, coming back again to the subject of his individual grief, “what’s his looks to me! He might have died and welcome, fifty times, and not been such a loss as Bailey!” x, heLs Dei nna oceanatiien ta: ieee nL ies Te aan rin aren rae ear 866 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT At this juncture the little bell rang, and the deep voice of Mrs. Prig struck into the conversation. “Oh! You're a-talkin’ about it, are you!” observed that lady. ‘‘ Well, I hope you’ve got it over, for I ain’t interested in it myself.” ‘““My precious Betsey,” said Mrs. Gamp, “‘ how late you are!” The worthy Mrs. Prig replied, with some asperity, “‘that if perwerse people went off dead, when they was least expected, it warn’t no fault of her’n.” And further, “that it was quite aggrawation enough to be made late when cone was dropping ron one’s tea, W ithawt hearing on it again.’ Mrs. Gamp, deriving from ‘this exhibition of repartee some clue to the state of Mrs. Prig’s feelings, instantly conducted her up-stairs : deeming that the sight of pickled salmon might work a softening change. But Betsey Prig expected pickled salmon. It was obvious that she did; for her first words, after glancing at the table, were: ‘TI know’d she wouldn’t have a cowcumber !” Mrs. Gamp changed colour, and sat down upon the bedstead. ‘‘Lord bless you, Betsey Prig, your words is true. I quite forgot it!” Mrs. Prig, looking steadfastly at her friend, put her hand in her pocket, and with an air of surly triumph drew forth either the oldest of lettuces or youngest of cabbages, but at any rate, a green vegetable of an expansive nature, and of such magnificent proportions that she was obliged to shut it up like an umbrella before she could pull it out. She also produced a handful of mustard and cress, a trifle of the herb ealled dandelion, three bunches of radishes, an onion rather larger than an average turnip, three substantial slices of beet- root, and a short prong or antler of celery ; the whole of this garden-stuff having been publicly exhibited, but a short time before, as a twopenny salad, and purchased by Mrs. Prig on condition that the vendor could get it all into her pocket. Which had been happily accomplished, in High Holborn, to the breathless interest of a hackney-coach stand. And she laid so little stress on this surprising forethought, that she did not even smile, but returning her pocket into its accus- tomed sphere, merely recommended that these productions of nature should be sliced up, for immediate consumption, in plenty of vinegar.MRS. GAMP AND MRS. PRIG AT TEA 867 “And don’t go a-droppin’ none of your snuff in it,” said Mrs. Prig. “In gruel, barley-water, apple-tea, mutton-broth, and that, it don’t signify. It stimilates a patient. But I don’t relish it myself.” “Why, Betsey Prig!” cried Mrs. Gamp, “how can you talk so!” “Why, ain’t your patients, wotever their diseases is, always a-sneezin’ their wery heads off, along of your snuff?” said Mrs. Prig. ‘* And wot if they are!” said Mrs. Gamp. ‘Nothing if they are,” said Mrs. Prig. ‘“ But don’t deny it, Sairah.” ‘Who deniges of it?” Mrs. Gamp inquired. Mrs. Prig returned no answer. “Who deniges of it, Betsey?” Mrs. Gamp inquired again. Then Mrs. Gamp, by reversing the question, imparted a deeper and more awful character of solemnity tothe same. “Betsey, who deniges of it?” It was the nearest possible approach to a very decided difference of opinion between these ladies; but Mrs. Prig’s impatience for the meal being greater at the moment than her impatience of contradiction, she replied, for the present, “ Nobody, if you don’t, Sairah,” and prepared herself for tea. For a quarrel can be taken up at any time, but a limited quantity of salmon cannot. Her toilet was simple. She had merely to “chuck” her bonnet and shawl upon the bed; give her hair two pulls, one upon the right side and one upon the left, as if she were ringing a couple of bells; and all was done. The tea was already made, Mrs. Gamp was not long over the salad, and they were soon at the height of their repast. The temper of both parties was improved, for the time being, by the enjoyments of the table. When the meal came to a termination (which it was pretty long in doing), and Mrs. Gamp having cleared away, produced the teapot from the top-shelf, simultaneously with a couple of wine- glasses, they were quite amiable. ‘ Ff898 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT Mrs. Gamp looked at him in an odd way without returning any answer, but appeared to understand the question too. ‘What is her name?” repeated Jonas. “Her name,” said Mrs. Gamp, “is Harris.” It was extraordinary how much effort it cost Mrs. Gamp to pronounce the name she was commonly so ready with. She made some three or four gasps before she could get it out; and, when she had uttered it, pressed her hand upon her side, and turned up her eyes, as if she were going to faint away. But, knowing her to labour under a complication of internal disorders, which rendered a few drops of spirits indispensable at certain times to her existence, and which came on very strong when that remedy was not at hand, Jonas merely supposed her to be the victim of one of these attacks. “Well!” he said, hastily, for he felt how incapable he was of confining his wandering attention to the subject. ‘* You and she have arranged to take care of him, have you?” Mrs. Gamp replied in the affirmative, and softly discharged herself of her familiar phrase, ‘‘ Turn and turn about ; one off, one on.” But she spoke so tremulously that she felt called upon to add, “which fiddlestrings is weakness to expredge my nerves this night ! ” Jonas stopped to listen. Then said, hurriedly: ‘We shall not quarrel about terms. Let them be the same as they were before. Keep him close, and keep him quiet. He must be restrained. He has got it in his head to-night that my wife’s dead, and has been attacking me as if I had killed her. It’s—it’s common with mad people to take the worst fancies of those they like best. Isn’t it?” Mrs. Gamp assented with a short groan. ‘Keep him close, then, or in one of his fits he'll be doing me a mischief. And don’t trust him at any time; for when he seems most rational, he’s wildest in his talk. But that you know already. Let me see the other.” ‘“The t’?other person, sir?” said Mrs. Gamp. ‘“Aye! Go you to him and send theother. Quick! Tm busy.” Mrs. Gamp took two or three backward steps towards the door, and stopped there. ‘It is your wishes, Mr. Chuzzlewit,” she said, in a sort of quayering croak, ‘“‘to see the t’other person. Is it?” But the ghastly change in Jonas told her that the other person was already seen. Before she could look round towards ~ poe reek ct pebdiienemedl a -™ seat aaa fs caries * £ aud if) EGERJONAS CONFRONTED WITH LEWSOME 899 the door, she was put aside by old Martin’s hand; and Chuffey and John Westlock entered with him. ‘“ Let no one leave the house,” said Martin. “This man is my brother’s son. Tll-met, ill-trained, ill-begotten. If he moves from the spot on which he stands, or speaks a word above his breath to any person here, open the window, and call for help!” “What right have you to give such directions in this house ?” asked Jonas faintly. “The right of your wrong-doing. Come in there!” An irrepressible exclamation burst from the lips of Jonas, as Lewsome entered at the door. It was not a groan, or a shriek, or a word, but was wholly unlike any sound that had ever fallen on the ears of those who heard it, while at the same time it was the most sharp and terrible expression of what was working in his:guilty breast, that nature could haye invented. He had done murder for this! He had girdled himself about with perils, agonies of mind, innumerable fears, for this ! He had hidden his secret in the wood ; pressed and stamped it down into the bloody ground ; and here it started up when least expected, miles upon miles away ; known to many ; pro- claiming itself from the lips of an old man who had renewed his strength and vigour as by a miracle, to give it voice against him ! He leaned his hand on the back of a chair, and looked at them. It was in vain to try to do so scornfuily, or with his usual insolence. He required the chair for his support. But he made a struggle for it. “I know that fellow,” he said, fetching his breath at every word, and pointing his trembling finger towards Lewsome. “ He’s the greatest liar alive. What's his last tale? Ha, ha! Youre rare fellows, too! Why, that uncle of mine is childish ; he’s even a greater child than his brother, my father, was, in his old age; or than Chuffey is. What the devil do you mean.” he added, looking fiercely at John Westlock and Mark Tapley (the latter had entered with Lewsome), ‘‘by coming here, and bringing two idiots and a knave with you to take my house by storm? Hallo, there! Open the door! Turn these strangers out!” “T tell you what,” cried Mr. Tapley, coming forward, * if it wasn’t for your name, I’d drag you through the streets of my own accord, and single-handed, I would! Ah, I would!cara ee Ahn ae ELAR goo MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT Don’t try and look bold at me. You can’t do it! Now g0 on, sir,” this was to old Martin. * Bring the murderin’ wagabond upon his knees! If he wants noise, he shall have enough of it ; for as sure as he’s a shiverin’ from head to foot, Pll raise a uproar at this winder that shall bring half London in, Go on, sir! Let him try me once, and see whether I’m a man of my word or not.” With that, Mark folded his arms, and took his seat upon the window-ledge, with an air of general preparation for any- thing, which seemed to imply that he was equally ready to jump out himself, or to throw Jonas out, upon receiving the slightest hint that it would be agreeable to the company. Old Martin turned to Lewsome: “This is the man,” he said, extending his hand towards Jonas. of Is it.2?’ “You need do no more than look at him to be sure of that, or of the truth of what I haye sald,” was the reply. ‘‘ He is my witness,” “Oh, brother!” cried old Martin, clasping his hands and lifting up his eyes. ‘Oh, brother, brother! Were we strangers half our lives that you might breed a wretch like this, and I make life a desert by withering every flower that grew about me! Is it the natural end of your precepts and mine, that this should be the creature of your rearing, train- ing, teaching, hoarding, striving for: and I the means of bringing him to punishment, when nothing can repair the wasted past!” He sat down upon a chair as he spoke, and turning away his face, was silent for a few moments, Then with recovered energy he proceeded : ‘But the accursed harvest of our mistaken lives shall be troddendown, Itis not too late for that. You are confronted with this man, yon monster there ; not to be spared, but to be dealt with justly. Hear what he says! Reply, be silent, contradict, repeat, defy, do what you please. My course will be the same. Go on! And you,” he said to Chuffey, “for the love of your old friend, speak out, good fellow !” “I have been silent for his love!” cried the old man. “He urged me to it. He made me promise it upon his dying bed. I never would have spoken, but for your finding out so much, I have thought about it ever since: I couldn’t help that : and sometimes I have had it all before me in a dream : but in the day-time, not in sleep. Is there such a kind of = gam | GE GRANCHUFFEY TELLS HIS TALE got dream?” said Chuffey, looking anxiously in old Martin’s face. As Martin made him an encouraging reply, he listened attentively to his voice, and smiled. “Ah, aye!” he cried. “He often spoke to me like that. We were at school together, he and J. I couldn’t turn against his son, you know—his only son, Mr. Chuzzlewit !” ‘“T would to Heaven you had been his son!” said Martin. “You speak so like my dear old master,” cried the old man with a childish delight, “that I almost think I hear him. I can hear you quite as well as I used to hear him. It makes me young again. He never spoke unkindly to me, and I always understood him. I could always see him too, though my sight was dim. Well, well! He’s dead, he’s dead. He was very good to me, my dear old master!” He shook his head mournfully over the brether’s hand. At this moment Mark, who had been glancing out of the window, left the room. “TI couldn’t turn against his only son, you knew,” said Chuffey. ‘He has nearly driven me to do it sometimes; he very nearly did to-night. Ah!” cried the old man, with a sudden recollection of the cause. “Where is she? She’s not come home!” ‘Do you mean his wife?” said Mr. Chuzzlewit. Pea? “T have removed her. She is in my care, and will be spared the present knowledge of what is passing here. She has known misery enough, without that addition.” Jonas heard this with a sinking heart. He knew that they were on his heels, and felt that they were resolute to run him to destruction. Inch by inch the ground beneath him was sliding from his feet; faster and faster the encireling ruin contracted and contracted towards himself, its wicked centre, until it should close in and crush him. And now he heard the voice of his accomplice stating to his face, with every circumstance of time and place and incident ; and openly proclaiming, with no reserve, suppression, passion, or concealment; all the truth. The truth, which nothing would keep down ; which blood would not smother, and earth would not hide; the truth, whose terrible inspiration seemed to change dotards into strong men; and on whose avenging wings, one whom he had supposed to be at the extremest corner of the earth came swooping down upon him.—— nearest ee LAO RP anata a aaa go2 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT He tried to deny it, but his tongue would not move. He conceived some desperate thought of rushing away, and tearing through the streets; but his limbs would as little answer to his will as his stark, stiff, staring face. All this time the voice went slowly on, denouncing him. It was as if every drop of blood in the wood had found a voice to jeer him with. ° When it ceased, another voice took up the tale, but strangely : for the old clerk, who had watched, and listened to the whole, and had wrung his hands from time to time, as if he knew its truth and could confirm it, broke in with these words : ‘No, no, no! you’re wrong; you’re wrong—all wrong together! Have patience, for the truth is only known to me!” ‘How can that be,” said his old master’s brother, ‘‘ after what you have heard? Besides, you said just now, above- stairs, when I told you of the accusation against him, that you knew he was his father’s murderer.” “Aye, yes! and so he was!” cried Chuffey, wildly. ‘‘ But not as you suppose—not as you suppose. Stay! Give mea moment’s time. I have it all here—all here! It was foul, foul, cruel, bad; but not as you suppose. Stay, stay!” He put his hands up to his head, as if it throbbed or pained him. After looking about him in a wandering and vacant manner for some moments, his eyes rested upon Jonas, when they kindled up with sudden recollection and intelligence. “Yes!” eried old Chuffey, ‘“‘ yes! That’s how it was. It’s all upon me now. He—he got up from his bed before he died, to be sure, to say that he forgave him; and he came down with me into this room ; and when he saw him—his only son, the son he loved—his speech forsook him: he had no speech for what he knew—and no one understood him except me. But I did—lI did!” Old Martin regarded him in amazement ; so did his com- panions. Mrs. Gamp, who had said nothing yet; but had kept two-thirds of herself behind the door, ready for escape, and one-third in the room, ready for siding with the strongest party ; came a little further in and remarked, with a sob, that Mr. Chuffey was ‘‘the sweetest old creetur goin’.” ‘‘ He bought the stuff,” said Chuffey, stretching out his arm towards Jonas, while an unwonted fire shone in his eye, and rae Gee e | :HOPE BREAKS IN ON JONAS 903 lightened up his face ; “he bought the stuff, no doubt, as you have heard, and brought it home. He mixed the stuff— look at him !—with some sweetmeat in a jar, exactly as the medicine for his father’s cough was mixed, and put it in a drawer ; in that drawer yonder in the desk ; he knows which drawer L mean! He kept it there locked up. But his courage failed him, or his heart was touched—my God! I hope it was his heart!. He was his only son !—and he did not put it in the usual place, where my old master would have taken it twenty times a day.” The trembling figure of the old man shook with the strong emotions that possessed him. But, with the same light in his eye, and with his arm outstretched, and with his grey hair stirring on his head, he seemed to grow in size, and was like a man inspired. Jonas shrunk from looking at him, and cowered down into the chair by which he had held. It seemed as if this tremendous Truth could make the dumb speak. “T know it every word now!” eried Chuffey. “ Every word! He put it in that drawer, as I have said. He went so often there, and was so secret, that his father took notice of it: and when he was out, had it opened. We were there together, and we found the mixture—Mr. Chuzzlewit and I. He took it into his possession, and made light of it at the time: but in the night he came to my bedside, weeping, and told me that his own son had it in his mind to poison him. ‘Oh, Chuff,’ he said, ‘oh, dear old Chuff! a voice came into my room to-night, and told me that this crime began with me. It began when I taught him to be too covetous of what I have to leave, and made the expectation of it his great business ! ° Those were his words; aye, they are his very words! If he was a hard man now and then, it was for his only son. He loved his only son, and he was always good to me!” Jonas listened with increased attention. Hope was break- ing in upon him. “<¢Fe shall not weary for my death, Chuff:’ that was what he said next,” pursued the old clerk, as he wiped his eyes; ‘‘that was what he said next, crying like a little child: ‘He shall not weary for my death, Chuff. He shall have it now; he shall marry where he has a fancy, Chuff, although it don’t please me ; and you and I will go away and live upon a little. I always loved him ; perhaps he'll904 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT love me then. It’s a dreadful thing to have my own child thirsting for my death. But I might have known it. I have sown, and I must reap. He shall believe that I am taking this; and when I see that he is sorry, and has all he wants, [ll tell him that I found it out, and I'll forgive him. Hell make a better man of his own son, and be a better man himself, perhaps, Chuff!’” Poor Chuffey paused to dry his eyes again. Old Martin’s face was hidden in his hands. Jonas listened still more keenly, and his breast heaved like a swollen water, but with hope. With growing hope. “My dear old master made believe next day,” said Chuffey, ‘that he had opened the drawer by mistake with a key from the bunch, which happened to fit it (we had one made and hung upon it); and that he had been surprised to find his fresh supply of cough medicine in such a place, but supposed it had been put there in a hurry when the drawer stood open. We burnt it ; but his son believed that he was taking it—he knows he did. Once Mr. Chuzzlewit to try him took heart to say it had a strange taste: and he got up directly, and went out.” Jonas gave a short, dry cough ; and, changing his position for an easier one, folded his arms without looking at them, though they could now see his face. ‘‘ Mr. Chuzzlewit wrote to her father ; I mean the father of the poor thing who’s his wife :” said Chuffey ; “and got him to come up: intending to hasten on the marriage. But his mind, like mine, went a little wrong through grief, and then his heart broke. He sank and altered from the time when he came to me in the night; and never held up his head again. It was only a few days, but he had never changed so much in twice the years. ‘Spare him, Chuff!’ he said, before he died. They were the only words he could speak. ‘Spare him, Chuff!’ I promised him I would. I’ve tried to do it. He’s his only son.” In his recollection of the last scene in his old friend’s life, poor Chuffey’s voice, which had grown weaker and weaker, quite deserted him. Making a motion with his hand, as if he would have said that Anthony had taken it, and had died with it in his, he retreated to the corner where he concealed his sorrows ; and was silent, Jonas could look at his company now, and vauntingly too. “Well!” he said, after a pause. ‘Are you satisfied? Or usually PRR ES) ” Fee etna ey |JONASS BASE EXULTATION 905 have you any more of your plots to broach? Why that fellow, Lewsome, can invent ’em for you by the score. Is this all? Have you nothing else?” Old Martin looked at him steadily. ‘Whether you are what you seemed to be at Pecksniti's, or are something else and a mountebank, I don’t know and I don’t care,” said Jonas, looking downward with a smile, “but I don’t want you here. You were here so often when your brother was alive, and were always so fond of him (your dear, dear brother, and you would have been cuffing one another before this, ecod!), that I am not surprised at your being attached to the place ; but the place is not attached to you, and you can’t leave it too soon, though you may leave it too late. And for my wife, old man, send her home straight, or it will be the worse for her. Ha, ha!» Xou carry it with a high hand too! But it isn’t hanging yet for a man to keep a penn’orth of poison for his own purposes, and have it taken from him by two old crazy jolter-heads who go and act a play about it. Ha, ha! Do you see the door?” His base triumph, struggling with his cowardice, and shame, and guilt, was so detestable, that they turned away from him, as if he were some obscene and filthy animal, repugnant to the sight. And here that last black crime was busy with him too; working within him to his perdition. But for that, the old clerk’s story might have touched him, though never so lightly ; but for that, the sudden removal of so great a load might have brought about some wholesome change even in him, With that deed done, however; with that un- necessary wasteful danger haunting him ; despair was in his yery triumph and relief ; wild, ungovernable, raging despair, for the uselessness of the peril into which he had plunged ; despair that hardened him and maddened him, and set his teeth a-grinding in a moment of his exultation. “My good friend!” said old Martin, laying his hand on Chuffey’s sleeve. “This is no place for you to remain in, Come with me.” “ Just his old way!” cried Chuffey, looking up into his face. “almost believe it’s Mr. Chuzzlewit alive again. Yes! Take me with you! Stay, though, stay.” “For what?” asked old Martin. “TJ ean’t leave her, poor thing!” said Chuffey. ‘She has been very good to me. I can't leave her, Mr. Chuzzlewit.. rr 3 X.pecan minatemmanmgeereat at ST cn ae ena go6 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT Thank you kindly. Jl] remain here. I hav’n’t long to remain ; it’s no great matter.” As he meekly shook his poor, grey head, and thanked old Martin in these words, Mrs. Gamp, now entirely in the room, was affected to tears. “The merey as it is!” she said, “‘as sech a dear, good, reverend creetur never got into the clutches of Betsey Prig, which but for me he would haye done, undoubted, facts bein’ stubborn and not easy drove!” ‘You heard me speak to you just now, old man,” said Jonas to his uncle. ‘Tl have no more tampering with my people, man or woman. Do you see the door?” ‘‘ Do you see the door ?” returned the voice of Mark, coming from that direction. “Look at it!” He looked, and his gaze was nailed there. Fatal, ill-omened, blighted threshold, cursed by his father’s footsteps in his dying hour, cursed by his young wife’s sorrowing tread, cursed by the daily shadow of the old clerk’s figure, cursed by the crossing of his murderer’s feet-—what men were standing in the doorway ! Nadgett foremost. Hark! It came on, roaring like a sea! Hawkers burst into the street, crying it up and down; windows were thrown open that the inhabitants might hear it; people stopped to listen in the road and on the pavement; the bells, the same bells, began to ring: tumbling over one another in a dance of boisterous joy at the discovery (that was the sound they had in his distempered thoughts), and making their airy play- ground rock. ‘That is the man,” said Nadgett. ‘By the window!” Three others came in, laid hands upon him, and secured him. It was so quickly done, that he had not lost sight of the informer’s face for an instant when his wrists were manacled together. ; “Murder,” said Nadgett, looking round on the astonished group. ‘ Let no one interfere.” The sounding street repeated Murder; barbarous and dreadful Murder ; Murder, Murder, Murder. Rolling on from house to house, and echoing from stone to stone, until the voices died away into the distant hum, which seemed to mutter the same word ! They all stood silent: listening, and gazing in each other’s faces, as the noise passed on.NEMESIS 907 Old Martin was the first to speak. ‘‘ What terrible history is this?” he demanded. “ Ask him,” said Nadgett. ‘“ You're his friend, six. He can tell you, if he will. He knows more of it than I do, though IT know much.” ‘How do you know much?” “T have not been watching him so long for nothing,” returned Nadgett. ‘I never watched a man so close as I have watched him.” Another of the phantom forms of this terrific Truth! Another of the many shapes in which it started up about him, out of vacancy. This man, of all men in the world, a spy upon him ; this man, changing his identity : casting off his shrinking, purblind, unobservant character, and springing up into a watchful enemy! The dead man might have come out of his grave, and not confounded and appalled him more. The game was up. The race was at an end ; the rope was woven for his neck. If, by a miracle, he could escape from this strait, he had but to turn his face another way, no matter where, and there would rise some new avenger front to front with him ; some infant in an hour grown old, or old man in an hour grown young, or blind man with his sight restored, or deaf man with his hearing given him. There was no chance, He sank down in a heap against the wall, and never hoped again from that moment. “Tam not his friend, although I have the dishonour to be his relative,” said Mr. Chuzzlewit. “ You may speak to me. Where have you watched, and what have you seen 2 ‘‘ T have watched in many places,” returned Nadgett, ‘night and day. I have watched him lately, almost without rest or relief ;” his anxious face and bloodshot eyes confirmed it. ‘I little thought to what my watching was to lead. As little as he did when he slipped out in the night, dressed in those clothes which he afterwards sunk in a bundle at London Bridge!” Jonas moyed upon the ground like a man in bodily torture. He uttered a suppressed groan, as if he had been wounded by some cruel weapon; and plucked at the iron band upon his wrists, as though (his hands being free) he would have torn himself. “Steady, kinsman!” said the chief officer of the party. “Don’t be violent.” ‘Whom do you call kinsman?” asked old Martin sternly.908 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT “You,” said the man, ‘among others.” Martin turned his scrutinising gaze upon him. He was sitting lazily across a chair with his arms resting on the back ; eating nuts, and throwing the shells out of window as he cracked them; which he still continued to do while speaking. ‘* Aye,” he said, with a sulky nod. “ You may deny your nephews till you die, but Chevy Slyme is Chevy Slyme still, all the world over. Perhaps even you may feel it some disgrace to your own blood to be employed in this way. [Pm to be bought off.” ‘At every turn!” cried Martin. “Self, self, self. Every one among them for himself!” “You had better save one or two among them the trouble then, and be for them as well as yourself,” replied his nephew. “Look here at me! Can you see the man of your family who has more talent in his little finger than all the rest in their united brains, dressed as a police officer without being ashamed? I took up with this trade on purpose to shame you. I didn’t think I should have to make a capture in the family, though.” “Tf your debauchery, and that of your chosen friends, nas really brought you to this level,” returned the old man, ‘‘ keep it. You are living honestly, I hope, and that’s something.”’ “Don’t be hard upon my chosen friends,” returned Slyme, “for they were sometimes your chosen friends too. Don’t say you neyer employed my friend Tigg, for I know better. We quarrelled upon it.” ‘‘T hired the fellow,” retorted Mr. Chuzzlewit, “and I paid him.” ‘“Tt’s well you paid him,” said his nephew, ‘‘ for it would be too late to do so now. He has given his receipt in full— or had it forced from him rather.” The old man looked at him as if he were curious to know what he meant, but scorned to prolong the conversation. ‘“‘T have always expected that he and I would be brought together again in the course of business,” said Slyme, taking a fresh handful of nuts from his pocket; “ but I thought he would be wanted for some swindling job; it never entered my head that I should hold a warrant for the apprehension of his murderer.” ‘ His murderer!” cried Mr. Chuzzlewit, looking from one to another. Va ee wee) |MR. NADGETT PUBLISHES HIS NOTES 909 “His or Mr. Montague’s,” said Nadgett. ‘‘ They are the same, Iam told. I accuse him yonder of the murder of Mr. Montague, who was found last night, killed, ina wood. You will ask me why I accuse him, as you haye already asked me how I know so much. I'll tell you. It can’t remain a secret long.” The ruling passion of the man expressed itself even then, in the tone of regret in which he deplored the approaching publicity of what he knew. “T told you I had watched him,” he proceeded. “I was instructed to do so by Mr. Montague, in whose employment I have been for some time. We had our suspicions of him ; and you know what they pointed at, for you have been dis- cussing it since we have been waiting here, outside the room. If you care to hear now it’s all over, in what our suspicions began, I'll tell you plainly: in a quarrel (it first came to our oars through a hint of his own) between him and another office in which his father’s life was insured, and which had so much doubt and distrust upon the subject, that he compounded with them, and took half the money ; and was glad to do it. Bit by bit, I ferreted out more circumstances against him, and not a few. It required a little patience, but it’s my calling. I found the nurse—here she is to confirm me ; IE found the doctor, I found the undertaker, I found the under- taker’s man. I found out how the old gentleman there, Mr. Chuffey, had behaved at the funeral ; and I found out what this man,” touching Lewsome on the arm, “had talked about in his fever. I found out how he conducted himself before his father’s death, and how since, and how at the time; and writing it all down, and putting it carefully together, made case enough for Mr. Montague to tax him with the crime, which(as he himself believed untilto-night) he had committed. I was by when this was done. You see him now. He is only worse than he was then.” Oh, miserable, miserable fool! oh, insupportable, excru- ciating torture! To find alive and active—a party to it all —the brain and right-hand of the secret he had thought to crush! In whom, though he had walled the murdered man up, by enchantment in a rock, the story would have lived and walked abroad! He tried to stop his ears with his fettered arms, that he might shut out the rest. As he crouched upon the floor, they drew away from him as if a pestilence were in his breath. They fell off, one bygio MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT one, from that part of the room, leaving him alone upon the ground. Even those who had him in their keeping shunned him, and (with the exception of Slyme, who was still occupied with his nuts) kept apart. “From that garret-window opposite,” said Nadgett, pointing across the narrow street, “ I have watched this house and him for days and nights. From that garret-window opposite I saw him return home, alone, from a journey on which he had set out with Mr. Montague. That was my token that Mr. Montague’s end was gained; and I might rest easy on my watch, though I was not to leave it until he dismissed me. But, standing at the door opposite, after dark that same night, I saw a countryman steal out of this house, by a side- door in the court, who had never entered it. I knew his walk, and that it was himself, disguised. I followed him immediately. I lost him on the western road, still travelling westward.” Jonas looked up at him for an instant, and muttered an oath. “T could not comprehend what this meant,” said Nadgett : “but, having seen so much, I resolved to see it out, and through. And I did. Learning, on inquiry at his house from his wife, that he was supposed to be sleeping in the room from which I had seen him go out, and that he had given strict orders not to be disturbed, I knew that he was coming back; and for his coming back I watched. I kept my watch in the street—in doorways, and such places—all that night; at the same window, all next day; and when night came on again, in the street once more. For I knew he would come back, as he had gone out, when this part of the town was empty. He did. LHarly in the morning, the same countryman came creeping, creeping, creeping home.” ‘*Look sharp!” interposed Slyme, who had now finished his nuts. ‘This is quite irregular, Mr. Nadgett.” “T kept at the window all day,” said Nadgett, without heeding him. “I think I never closed my eyes. At night, I saw him come out with a bundle. I followed him again. He went down the steps at London Bridge, and sunk it in the river. I now began to entertain some serious fears, and made a communication to the Police, which caused that bundle to be—” ‘To be fished up,” interrupted Slyme. ‘‘Be alive, Mr. Nadgett.”NADGETT CONCLUDES git ‘Tt contained the dress I had seen him wear,” said Nadgett ; ‘stained with clay, and spotted with blood. Information of the murder was received in town last night. The wearer of that dress is already known to have been seen near the place ; to have been lurking in that neighbourhood ; and to have alighted from a coach coming from that part of the country, at a time exactly tallying with the very minute when I saw him returning home. The warrant has been out, and these officers have been with me, some hours. We chose our time ; and seeing you come in, and seeing this person at the window—” ‘“Beckoned to him,” said Mark, taking up the thread of the narrative, on hearing this allusion to himself, ‘‘ to open the door; which he did with a deal of pleasure.” “That’s all at present,” said Nadgett, putting up his great pocket-book, which from mere habit he had produced when he began his revelation, and had kept in his hand all the time: “but there is plenty more to come. You asked me for the facts, so far I have related them, and need not detain these gentlemen any longer. Are you ready, Mr. Slyme?” ‘And something more,” replied that worthy, rising. “If you walk round to the office, we shall be there as soon as you. Tom! Geta coach!” The officer to whom he spoke departed for that purpose. Old Martin lingered for a few moments, as if he would have addressed some words to Jonas ; but looking round, and seeing him still seated on the floor, rocking himself in a savage manner to and fro, took Chuffey’s arm, and slowly followed Nadgett out. John Westlock and Mark Tapley accompanied them. Mrs. Gamp had tottered out first, for the better display of her feelings, in a kind of walking swoon ; for Mrs. Gamp performed swoons of different sorts, upon a moderate notice, as Mr. Mould did Funerals. ‘“Ha!” muttered Slyme, looking after them. © Upon my soul! As insensible of being disgraced by having such a nephew as myself, in such a situation, as he was of my being an honour and a credit to the family! That’s the return I get for having humbled my spirit—such a spirit as mine—to earn a livelihood, is it?” He got up from his chair, and kicked it away indignantly. “ And such a livelihood too! When there are hundreds of men, not fit to hold a candle to me, rolling in carriages and living on their fortunes. Upon my soul it’s a nice world!”neers nt Seat a nema erates gi2 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT His eyes encountered Jonas, who looked earnestly towards him, and moved his lips as if he were whispering. “Kh?” said Slyme. Jonas glanced at the attendant whose back was towards him, and made a clumsy motion with his bound hands towards the door. ‘““Humph!” said Slyme, thoughtfully. “I couldn’t hope to disgrace him into anything when you have shot so far ahead of me though. I forgot that.” Jonas repeated the same look and gesture. “Jack!” said Slyme. “ Hallo!” returned his man. “Go down to the door, ready for the coach. Call out when it comes. I'd rather have you there. Now then,” he added, turning hastily to Jonas, when the man was gone. ‘“What’s the matter?” Jonas essayed to rise, “Stop a bit,” said Slyme. “It’s not so easy when your wrists are tight together. Now then! Up! What is it?” “Put your hand in my pocket. Here! The breast pocket, on the left! ” said Jonas. He did so ; and drew out a purse. ‘“'There’s a hundred pound in it,” said Jonas, whose words were almost unintelligible ; as his face, in its pallor and agony, was scarcely human. Slyme looked at him; gaye it into his hands; and shook his head. “Tcan’t. Idaren’t. I couldn’t if I dared. Those fellows below— ” ‘“Escape’s impossible,” said Jonas. ‘I know it. One hundred pound for only five minutes in the next room!” ‘What to do?” he asked. The face of his prisoner as he advanced to whisper in his ear, made him recoil involuntarily. But he stopped and listened to him. The words were few, but his own face changed as he heard them. “I have it about me,” said Jonas, putting his hands to his throat, as though whatever he referred to were hidden in his neckerchief. ‘How should you know of it? How could you know? A hundred pound for only five minutes in the next room! The time’s passing. Speak!” ‘“Ttwould be more—more creditable to the family,” observed Slyme, with trembling lips. “I wish you hadn’t told me halfFIVE MINUTES GRACE 913 somuch. Less would have served your purpose. You might have kept it to yourself.” ‘A hundred pound for only five minutes in the next room ! Speak!” cried Jonas, desperately. He took the purse. Jonas, with a wild unsteady step, retreated to the door in the glass partition. “Stop!” eried Slyme, catching at his skirts. “I don’t know about this. Yet it must end so at last. Are you guilty ?” “Yes!” said Jonas. ‘‘ Are the proofs as they were told just now ?” “Yes!” said Jonas. “ Will you—will you engage to say a something of that sort?” faltered Slyme. Jonas broke from him without replying, and closed the door between them. Slyme listened at the keyhole. After that, he crept away on tiptoe, as far off as he could ; and looked awfully towards the place. He was roused by the arrival of the coach, and their letting down the steps. ‘‘He’s getting a few things together,” he said, leaning out of window, and speaking to the two men below, who stood in the full light of a street-lamp. ‘Keep your eye upon the back, one of you, for form’s sake.” One of the men withdrew into the court. The other, seat- ing himself on the steps of the coach, remained in conversation with Slyme at the window: who perhaps had risen to be his superior, in virtue of his old propensity (one so much lauded by the murdered man) of being always round the corner. A useful habit in his present calling. “Where is he?” asked the man. Slyme looked into the room for an instant and gave his head a jerk, as much as to say, ‘Close at hand. I see him.” ‘‘ He’s booked,” observed the man. “Through,” said Slyme. They looked at each other, and up and down the street. The man on the coach-steps took his hat off, and put it on again, and whistled a litle. ““T say! He’s taking his time!” he remonstrated. ‘‘T allowed him five minutes,” said Slyme. ‘ Time’s more than up, though. Il bring him down.” He withdrew from the window accordingly, and walked on tiptoe to the door in the partition. He listened. There was a Prayer, now, orai aim tee il x ene te ae enn ce a \ | i i H ‘ 5 } ¥ O14 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT not a sound within. He set the candles near it, that they might shine through the glass. It was not easy, he found, to make up his mind to the opening of the door. But he flung it wide open suddenly, and with a noise; then retreated. After peeping in and listening again, he entered. He started back as his eyes met those of Jonas, standing in an angle of the wall, and staring at him. His neckerchief was off; his face was ashy pale. “You’re too soon,” said Jonas, with an abject whimper. ‘“T’ve not had time. I have not been able to do it. I—five minutes more—two minutes more !—Only one!” Slyme gave him no reply, but thrusting the purse upon him and forcing it back into his pocket, called up his men. He whined, and cried, and cursed, and entreated them, and struggled, and submitted, in the same breath, and had no power to stand. They got him away and into the coach, where they put him on a seat; but he soon fell moaning down among the straw at the bottom, and lay there. The two men were with him; Slyme being on the box with the driver; and they let him lie. Happening to pass a fruiterer’s on their way ; the door of which was open, though the shop was by this time shut ; one of them remarked how faint the peaches smelt. The other assented at the moment, but presently stooped down in quick alarm, and looked at the prisoner. “Stop the coach! He has poisoned himself! The smell comes from this bottle in his hand!” The hand had shut upon it tight. With that rigidity of grasp with which no living man, in the full strength and energy of life, can clutch a prize he has won. They dragged him out into the dark street; but jury, judge, and hangman, could have done no more, and could do nothing now. Dead, dead, dead.CHAPTER LII IN WHICH THE TABLES ARE TURNED COMPLETELY UPSIDE DOWN Otp Manrtiy’s cherished projects, so long hidden in his own breast, so frequently in danger of abrupt disclosure through the bursting forth of the indignation he had hoarded up during his residence with Mr. Pecksniff, were retarded, but not beyond a few hours, by the occurrences just now related. Stunned as he had been at first by the intelligence conveyed to him through Tom Pinch and John Westlock, of the supposed manner of his brother’s death; overwhelmed as he was by the subsequent narratives of Chuffey and Nadgett, and the forging of that chain of circumstances ending in the death of Jonas, of which catastrophe he was immediately informed ; scattered as his purposes and hopes were for the moment, by the crowd- ing in of all these incidents between him and his end ; still their very intensity and the tumult of their assemblage nerved him to the rapid and unyielding execution of hisscheme. In every single circumstance, whether it were cruel, cowardly, or false. he saw the flowering of the same pregnant seed. Self; grasping, eager, narrow-ranging, over-reaching self ; with its long train of suspicions, lusts, deceits, and all their growing consequences ; was the root of the vile tree. Mr. Pecksniff had so presented his character before the old man’s eyes, that he—the good, the tolerant, enduring Pecksniff—had become the incarnation of all selfishness and treachery ; and the more odious the shapes in which those vices ranged themselves before him now, the sterner consolation he had in his design of setting Mr. Pecksniff right, and Mr. Pecksniff’s victims too. To this work he brought, not only the energy and deter- mination natural to his character (which, as the reader may have observed in the beginning of his or her acquaintance with this gentleman, was remarkable for the strong develop- ment of those qualities), but all the forced and unnaturallynails niginicent viaiermasnperctes cae 916 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT nurtured energy consequent upon their long suppression. And these two tides of resolution setting into one and sweep- ing on, became so strong and vigorous, that, to prevent them- selves from being carried away before it, Heaven knows where, was as much as John Westlock and Mark Tapley together (though they were tolerably energetic too) could manage to effect. He had sent for John Westlock immediately on his arrival ; and John, under the conduct of Tom Pinch, had waited on him. Having a lively recollection of Mr. Tapley, he had caused that gentleman’s attendance to be secured, through John’s means, without delay; and thus, as we have seen, they had all repaired together to the City. But his grandson he had refused to see until to-morrow, when Mr. Tapley was instructed to summon him to the Temple at ten o’clock in the forenoon. Tom he would not allow to be employed in anything, lest he should be wrongfully suspected ; but he was a party to all their proceedings, and was with them until late at night—until after they knew of the death of Jonas ; when he went home to tell all these wonders to little Ruth, and to prepare her for accompanying him to the Temple in the morning, agreeably to Mr. Chuzzlewit’s particular injunction. It was characteristic of old Martin, and his looking on to something which he had distinctly before him, that he com- municated to them nothing of his intentions, beyond such hints of reprisal on Mr. Pecksniff as they gathered from the game he had played in that gentleman’s house, and the brightening of his eyes whenever his name was mentioned. Even to John Westlock, in whom he was evidently disposed to place great confidence (which may indeed be said of every one of them), he gave no explanation whatever. He merely requested him to return in the morning ; and with this for their utmost satisfaction, they left him, when the night was far advanced, alone. The events of such a day might have worn out the body and spirit of a much younger man than he, but he sat in deep and painful meditation until the morning was bright. Nor did he even then seek any prolonged repose, but merely slumbered in his chair, until seven o’clock, when Mr. Tapley had appointed to come to him by his desire: and came—as fresh and clean and cheerful as the morning itself. ‘* You are punctual,” said Mr. Chuzzlewit, opening the doorMARK TAPLEY IN OFFICE OI7 to him in reply to his light knock, which had roused him instantly. ‘“My wishes, sir,” replied Mr. Tapley, whose mind would appear from the context to have been running on the matri- monial service, ‘is to love, honour, and obey. The clock’s a-striking now, sir.” ‘Come in!” “Thank’ee, sir,” rejoined Mr. Tapley, ‘““what could I do for you first, sir?’ “You gave my message to Martin?” said the old man, bending his eyes upon him. “J did, sir,” returned Mark ; “‘and you never see a gentle- man more surprised in all your born days than he was.” ‘What more did you tell him?” Mr. Chuzzlewit inquired. “Why, sir,” said Mr. Tapley, smiling, “ I should have liked to tell him a deal more, but not being able, sir, I didn’t tell it him.” ‘You told him all you knew ?” “But it was precious little, sir,” retorted Mr. Tapley. ‘There was very little respectin’ you that I was able to tell him, sir. I only mentioned my opinion that Mr. Pecksniff would find himself deceived, sir, and that you would find your- self deceived, and that he would find himself deceived, sir.” “In what?” asked Mr. Chuzzlewit. “Meaning him, sir?” ‘Meaning both him and me.” ‘Well. sir,” said Mr. Tapley. ‘In your old opinions of each other. As to him, sir, and his opinions, I know he’s a altered man. I know it. I know it long afore he spoke to you t’other day, and I must say it. Nobody don’t know half as much of him as I do. Nobody can't. There was always a deal of good in him, but a little of it got crusted over, somehow. I can’t say who rolled the paste of that ’ere crust myself, put ‘¢Go on,” said Martin. ‘“ Why do you stop ree ‘But it—well! I beg your pardon, but I think it may have been you, sir. Unintentional 1 think it may have been you. I don’t believe that neither of you gave the other quite a fair chance. There! Now I’ve got nd on it,” said Mr. Tapley in a fit of desperation : “I can’t go a-carryin’ it about in my own mind, bustin’ myself with it ; yesterday was quite long enough. It’s out now. I can’t help it. I’m sorry for it. Don’t wisit it on him, sir, that’s all.”satiety LTTE Si neath ein ieeaeeel ht alle na rea ere 918 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT It was clear that Mark expected to be ordered out imme- diately, and was quite prepared to go. “So you think,” said Martin, ‘‘that his old faults are, in some degree, of my creation, do you?” ‘Well, sir,” retorted Mr. Tapley, ‘I?m wery sorry, but I can’t unsay it. It’s hardly fair of you, sir, to make a ignorant man conwict himself in this way, but I do think so. Iam as respectful disposed to you, sir, as a man can be; but I do think so.” The light of a faint smile seemed to break through the dull steadiness of Martin’s face, as he looked attentively at him, without replying. “Yet you are an ignorant man, you say,” he observed after a long pause. ‘“Wery much so,” Mr. Tapley replied. ‘And I a learned, well-instructed man, you think ?” ‘‘ Likewise wery much so,” Mr. Tapley answered. The old man, with his chin resting on his hand, paced the room twice or thrice before he added : “You have left him this morning ?” ‘Come straight from him now, sir.” ‘For what: does he suppose ? ” ‘He don’t know what to suppose, sir, no more than myself. I told him jest wot passed yesterday, sir, and that you had said to me, ‘Can you be here by seven in the morning ?’ and that you had said to him, through me, ‘Can you be here by ten in the morning?’ and that I had said ‘ Yes’ to both. That’s all, sir.”. His frankness was so genuine that it plainly was all. ‘‘ Perhaps,” said Martin, ‘‘ he may think you are going to desert him, and to serve me ?” ‘‘T have served him in that sort of way, sir,” replied Mark, without the loss of any atom of his self-possession ; ‘* and we have been that sort of companions in misfortune, that my opinion is, he don’t believe a word on it. No more than you do;*sir.”’ ‘Will you help me to dress? and get me some breakfast from the hotel?” asked Martin. ‘‘ With pleasure, sir,” said Mark. “And by-and-bye,” pursued Martin, “remaining in the room, as I wish you to do, will you attend to the door yonder— give admission to visitors, I mean, when they knock?” “Certainly, sir,” said Mr. Tapley.MARK TAPLEY MYSTIFIED QI9 ‘You will not find it necessary to express surprise at their appearance,” Martin suggested. ‘Oh dear no, sir!” said Mr. Tapley, ‘‘ not at all.” Although he pledged himself to this with perfect confidence, he was in a state of unbounded astonishment even now. Martin appeared to observe it, and to have some sense of the ludicrous bearing of Mr. Tapley under these perplexing cir- cumstances ; for in spite of the composure of his voice and the gravity of his face, the same indistinct light flickered on the latter several times. Mark bestirred himself, however, to execute the offices with which he was entrusted ; and soon lost all tendency to any outward expression of his surprise, in the occupation of being brisk and busy. But when he had put Mr. Chuzzlewit’s clothes in good order for dressing, and when that gentleman was dressed and sitting at his breakfast, Mr. Tapley’s feelings of wonder began to return upon him with great violence ; and, standing beside the old man with a napkin under his arm (it was as natural and easy a joke to Mark to be a butler in the Temple, as it had been to volunteer as cook on board the Screw), he found it difficult to resist the temptation of casting sidelong glances at him very often. Nay, he found it impossible ; and accordingly yielded to this impulse so often, that Martin caught him in the fact some fifty times. The extraordinary things Mr. Tapley did with his own face when any of these detections occurred; the sudden occasions he had to rub his eyes or his nose or his chin; the look of wisdom with which he immediately plunged into the deepest thought, or became intensely interested in the habits and customs of the flies upon the ceiling, or the sparrows out of doors; or the over- whelming politeness with which he endeavoured to hide his confusion by handing the muffin ; may not unreasonably be assumed to have exercised the utmost power of feature that even Martin Chuzzlewit the elder possessed. But he sat perfectly quiet and took his breakfast at his leisure, or made a show of doing so, for he scarcely ate or drank, and frequently lapsed into long intervals of musing. When he had finished, Mark sat down to his breakfast at the same table; and Mr. Chuzzlewit, quite silent still, walked up and down the room. Mark cleared away in due course, and set a chair out for him, in which, as the time drew on towards ten o’clock, he took his seat, leaning his hands upon his stick, and clenchingeens en tee Pn cram el i 920 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT them upon the handle, and resting his chin on them again. All his impatience and abstraction of manner had vanished now; and as he sat there, looking, with his keen eyes, steadily towards the door, Mark could not help thinking what a firm, square, powerful face it was; or exulting in the thought that Mr. Pecksniff, after playing a pretty long game of bowls with its owner, seemed to be at last in a very fair way of coming in for a rubber or two. Mark’s uncertainty in respect of what was going to be done or said, and by whom to whom, would have excited him in itself. But knowing for a certainty besides, that young Martin was coming, and in a very few minutes must arrive, he found it by no means easy to remain quiet and silent. But, excepting that he occasionally coughed in a hollow and unnatural manner to relieve himself, he behaved with great decorum through the longest ten minutes he had ever known. A knock at the door. Mr. Westlock. Mr. Tapley, in admitting him, raised his eyebrows to the highest possible pitch, implying thereby that he considered himself in an unsatisfactory position. Mr. Chuzzlewit received him very courteously. Mark waited at the door for Tom Pinch and his sister, who were coming up the stairs. The old man went to meet them; took their hands in his; and kissed her on the cheek. As this looked promising, Mr. Tapley smiled benignantly. Mr. Chuzzlewit had resumed his chair before young Martin, who was close behind them, entered. The oldman, scarcely looking at him, pointed to a distant seat. This was less encouraging ; and Mr. Tapley’s spirits fell again. He was quickly summoned to the door by another knock. He did not start, or cry, or tumble down, at sight of Miss Graham and Mrs. Lupin, but he drew a very long breath, and came back perfectly resigned, looking on them and on the rest with an expression which seemed to say, that nothing could surprise him any more; and that he was rather glad to have done with that sensation for ever. The old man received Mary no less tenderly than he had received Tom Pinch’s sister. A look of friendly recognition passed between himself and Mrs, Lupin, which implied the existence of a perfect understanding between them. It engendered no astonishment in Mr. Tapley ; for, as he after- eae ee }A STRANGE ASSEMBLAGE O21 wards observed, he had retired from the business, and sold off the stock. Not the least curious feature in this assemblage was, that everybody present was so much surprised and embarrassed by the sight of everybody else, that nobody ventured to speak. Myr. Chuzzlewit alone broke silence. “Set the door open, Mark!” he said; “‘and come here.” Mark obeyed. The last appointed footstep sounded now upon the stairs. They all knew it. It was Mr. Pecksniff’s ; and Mr. Pecksniff was in a hurry too, for he came bounding up with such uncommon expedition that he stumbled twice or thrice. ‘Where is my venerable friend?” he cried upon the upper landing; and then with open arms came darting in. Old Martin merely looked at him; but Mr. Pecksniff started back as if he had received the charge of an electric battery. ‘‘My venerable friend is well?” cried Mr. Pecksniff. “ Quite well.” It seemed to reassure the anxious inquirer. He clasped his hands, and, looking upwards with a pious joy, silently expressed his gratitude. He then looked round on the assembled group, and shook his head reproachfully. For such a man severely, quite severely. “Oh, vermin!” said Mr. Pecksniff. ‘Oh, bloodsuckers! Is it not enough that you have embittered the existence of an individual, wholly unparalleled in the biographical records of amiable persons; but must you now, even now, when he has made his election, and reposed his trust in a Numble, but at least sincere and disinterested relative; must you now, vermin and swarmers (I regret to make use of these strong expressions, my dear sir, but there are times when honest indignation will not be controlled), must you now, vermin and swarmers (for I w1iu repeat it), taking advantage of his unprotected state, assemble round him from all quarters, as wolves and vultures, and other animals of the feathered tribe assemble round—I will not say round carrion or a carcass, for Mr. Chuzzlewit is quite the contrary—but round their prey—their prey—to rifle and despoil; gorging their voracious maws, and staining their offensive beaks, with every description of carnivorous enjoyment!” As he stopped to fetch his breath, he waved them off, in a solemn manner, with his hand.. Eo ae ial canal FT a eee at 922 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT “Horde of unnatural plunderers and robbers!” he con- tinued; “leave him! leave him, I say! Begone! Abscond! You had better be off! Wander over the face of the earth, young sirs, like vagabonds as you are, and do not presume to remain in a spot which is hallowed by the grey hairs of the patriarchal gentleman to whose tottering limbs I have the honour to act as an unworthy, but I hope an unassuming, prop and staff. And you, my tender sir,” said Mr. Pecksniff, addressing himself in a tone of gentle remonstrance to the old man, “how could you ever leave me, though even for this short period! You have absented yourself, I do not doubt, upon some act of kindness to me; bless you for it: but you must not do it; you must not be so venturesome. I should really be angry with you if I could, my friend!” He advanced with outstretched arms to take the old man’s hand. But he had not seen how the hand clasped and clutched the stick within its grasp. As he came smiling on, and got within his reach, old Martin, with his burning indignation crowded into one vehement burst, and flashing out of every line and wrinkle in his face, rose up, and struck him down upon the ground. With such a well-directed nervous blow, that down he went, as heavily and true as if the charge of a Life-Guardsman had tumbled him out of a saddle. And whether he was stunned by the shock, or only confused by the wonder and novelty of this warm reception, he did not offer to get up again; but lay there, looking about him with a disconcerted meekness in his face so enormously ridiculous, that neither Mark Tapley nor John Westlock could repress a smile, though both were actively interposing to prevent a repetition of the blow; which the old man’s gleaming eyes and vigorous attitude seemed to render one of the most probable events in the world. “Drag him away! Take him out of my reach!” said Martin; “or I can’t help it. The strong restraint I have put upon my hands has been enough to palsy them. Iam not master of myself while he is within their range. Drag him away!” Seeing that he still did not rise, Mr. Tapley, without any compromise about it, actually did drag him away, and stick him up on the floor, with his back against the opposite wall. ‘Hear me, rascal!” said Mr. Chuzzlewit. “I have sum- moned you here to witness your own work. Ihave summoned Vee ee Kee |RECEPTION OF MR. PECKSNIFF HIS: VENERABLE FRIEND WARM| | anand cena TannaMR. PECKSNIFF BROUGHT LOW 925 you here to witness it, because I know it will be gall and wormwood to you! I have summoned you here to witness it, because I know the sight of everybody here must be a dagger in your mean, false heart! What! do you know me as I am, at last!” ; Mr. Pecksniff had cause to stare at him, for the triumph in his face and speech and figure was a sight to stare at. “Look there!” said the old man, pointing at him, and appealing to the rest. ‘Look there! And then—come hither, my dear Martin—look here! here! here!” At every repetition of the word he pressed his grandson closer to his breast. “The passion I felt, Martin, when I dared not do this,” he said, ‘“‘ was in the blow I struck just now. Why did we ever part! How could we ever part! How could you ever fly from me to him!” Martin was about to answer, but he stopped him, and went on. “The fault was mine no less than yours. Mark has told me so to-day, and I have known it long; though not so long as I might have done. Mary, my love, come here.” As she trembled and was very pale, he sat her in his own chair, and stood beside it with her hand in his ; and Martin standing by him. ‘The curse of our house,” said the old man, looking kindly down upon her, ‘‘has been the love of self; has ever been the love of self. How often have I said so, when I never knew that I had wrought it upon others!” He drew one hand through Martin’s arm, and standing so, between them, proceeded thus: “You all know how I bred this orphan up, to tend me. None of you can know by what degrees I have come to regard her as a daughter; for she has won upon me, by her self-forgetfulness, her tenderness, her patience, all the good- ness of her nature, when Heaven is her witness that I took but little pains to draw it forth. It blossomed without cultivation, and it ripened without heat. I cannot find it in my heart to say that I am sorry for it now, or yonder fellow might be holding up his head.” Mr. Pecksniff put his hand into his waistcoat, and slightly shook that part of him to which allusion had been made: as if to signify that it was still uppermost. ‘There is a kind of selfishness,” said Martin: “I have3 ee nae ear aees 926 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT learned it in my own experience of my own breast: which is constantly upon the watch for selfishness in others; and holding others at a distance by suspicions and distrusts, wonders why they don’t approach, and don’t confide, and calls that selfishness in them. Thus I once doubted those about me—not without reason in the beginning—and thus IT once doubted you, Martin.” ‘‘Not without reason,” Martin answered ; “ either.” “ Listen, hypocrite! Listen, smooth-tongued, servile, craw]l- ing knave!” said Martin. “ Listen, you shallow dog. What! When I was seeking him, you had already spread your nets ; you were already fishing for him, were ye? When I lay ill in this good woman’s house, and your meek spirit pleaded for my grandson, you had already caught him, had ye? Counting on the restoration of the love you knew I bore him, you designed him for one of your two daughters, did ye? Or failing that, you traded in him as a speculation which at any rate should blind me with the lustre of your charity, and found a claim upon me! Why, even then I knew you, and I told you so. Did I tell you that I knew you, even then?” “Tam not angry, sir,” said Mr. Pecksniff, softly. ‘ I can bear a great deal from you. I will never contradict you, Mr. Chuzzlewit.” ‘“‘Observe!” said Martin, looking round. “I put myself in that man’s hands on terms as mean and base, and as degrading to himself as I could render them in words. I stated them at length to him, before his own children, syllable by syllable, as coarsely as I could, and with as much offence, and with as plain an exposition of my contempt, as words—not looks and manner merely—could convey. If I had only called the angry blood into his face, I would have wavered in my purpose. If I had only stung him into being a man for a minute I would have abandoned it. If he had offered me one word of remonstrance, in favour of the grandson whom he supposed I had disinherited ; if he had pleaded with me, though never so faintly, against my appeal to him to abandon him to misery and cast him from his house; I think I could have borne with him for ever after- wards. But not a word, not a word. Pandering to the worst of human passions was the office of his nature; and faithfully he did his work!” “T am not angry,” observed Mr. Pecksniff. ‘‘I am hurt, Pe € eaeMR. PECKSNIFF IS NOT ANGRY 927 Mr. Chuzzlewit: wounded in my feelings: but I am not angry, my good sir.” Mr. Chuzzlewit resumed. “Once resolyed to try him, I was resolute to pursue the trial to the end; but while I was bent on fathoming the depth of his duplicity, I made a sacred compact with myself that I would give him credit on the other side for any latent spark of goodness, honour, forbearance—any virtue—that might glimmer in him. From first to last there has been no such thing. Not once. He cannot say I have not given him opportunity. He cannot say I have ever led him on. He cannot say I have not left him freely to himself in all things ; or that I have not been a passive instrument in his hands, which he might have used for good as easily as evil. Or if he can, he Lies! And that’s his nature too.” “Mr. Chuzzlewit,” interrupted Pecksniff, shedding tears. ‘‘T am not angry, sir. I cannot be angry with you. But did you never, my dear sir, express a desire that the un- natural young man who by his wicked arts has estranged your good opinion from me, for the time being: only for the time being: that your grandson, Mr. Chuzzlewit, should be dismissed my house? Recollect yourself, my Christian friend.” ‘‘T have said so, have I not?” retorted the old man, sternly. “JT could not tell how far your specious hypocrisy had deceived him, knave; and knew no better way of opening his eyes than by presenting you before him in your own servile character. Yes. I did express that desire. And you leaped to meet it; and you met it; and turning in an instant on the hand you had licked and beslavered, as only such hounds can, you strengthened, and confirmed, and justified me in my scheme.” Mr. Pecksniff made a bow; a submissive, not to say a grovelling and an abject bow. If he had been complimented on his practice of the loftiest virtues, he never could have bowed as he bowed then. “The wretched man who has been murdered,” Mr. Chuzzle- wit went on to say; “then passing by the name of ‘ “Ties,” suggested Mark. “Of Tigg—brought begging messages to me on behalf of a friend of his, and an unworthy relative of mine; and finding him a man well enough suited to my purpose, I employed him to glean some news of you, Martin, for me.ca aia earned ee al fee TPIT OTIS Se anand es a a aac 928 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT It was from him I learned that you had taken up your abode with yonder fellow. It was he, who meeting you here, in town, one evening—you remember where ? ” * At the pawnbroker’s shop,” said Martin. “Yes; watched you to your lodging, and enabled me to send you a Bank note.” “T little thought,” said Martin, greatly moved, ‘‘that it had come from you. [I little thought that you were interested in my fate. If I had 2 “Tf you had,” returned the old man, sorrowfully, “you would have shown less knowledge of me as I seemed to be, and as I really was. I hoped to bring you back, Martin, penitent and humbled. I hoped to distress you into coming back to me. Much as I loved you, I had that to acknowledge which I could not reconcile it to myself to avow, then, unless you made submission to me first. Thus it was I lost you. If I have had, indirectly, any act or part in the fate of that unhappy man, by putting means, however small, within his reach ; Heaven forgive me! I might have known, perhaps, that he would misuse money ; that it was ill-bestowed upon him ; and that sown by his hands it could engender mischief only. But I never thought of him at that time as having the disposition or ability to be a serious impostor, or otherwise than as a thoughtless, idle-humoured, dissipated spendthrift, sinning more against himself than others, and frequenting low haunts and indulging vicious tastes, to his own ruin only.” ‘ Beggin’ your pardon, sir,” said Mr. Tapley, who had Mrs. Lupin on his arm by this time, quite agreeably: “if I may make so bold as say so, my opinion is, as you was quite correct, and that he turned out perfectly nat’ral for all that. There’s a surprisin’? number of men, sir, who as long as they’ve only got their own shoes and stockings to depend upon, will walk down-hill, along the gutters quiet enough, and by themselves, and not do much harm. But set any on ‘em up with a coach and horses, sir; and it’s wonderful what a knowledge of drivin’ he’ll show, and how he’ll fill his wehicle with passengers, and start off in the middle of the road, neck or nothing, to the Devil! Bless your heart, sir, there’s ever so many Tiggs a-passin’ this here Temple-gate any hour in the day, that only want.a chance to turn out full-blown Montagues every one!” ‘Your ignorance, as you call it, Mark,” said Mr. Chuzzle- wit, ‘is wiser than some men’s enlightenment, and mine Fee 6 eee)OLD MARTIN'S DESIGN 929 among them. You are right; not for the first time to-day. Now hear me out, my dears. And hear me, you, who, if what I have been told be accurately stated, are Bankrupt in pocket no less than in good name! And when you have heard me, leave this place, and poison my sight no more !” Mr. Pecksniff laid his hand upon his breast, and bowed again. “The penance I have done in his house,” said Mr. Chuzzle- wit, “has carried this reflection with it constantly, above all others. That if it had pleased Heaven to visit such infirmity on my old age as really had reduced me to the state in which I feigned to be, I should have brought its misery upon myself. Oh you whose wealth, like mine, has been a source of continual unhappiness, leading you to distrust the nearest and dearest, and to dig yourself a living grave of suspicion and reserve; take heed that, having cast off all whom you might have bound to you, and tenderly, you do not become in your decay the instrument of such a man as this, and waken in another world to the knowledge of such wrong as would embitter Heaven itself, if wrong or you could ever reach it!” And then he told them how he had sometimes thought, in the beginning, that love might grow up between Mary and Martin ; and how he had pleased his fancy with the picture of observing it when it was new, and taking them to task, apart, in counterfeited doubt, and then confessing to them that it had been an object dear to his heart; and by his sympathy with them, and generous provision for their young fortunes, establishing a claim on their affection and regard which nothing should wither, and which should surround his old age with means of happiness. How in the first dawn of this design, and when the pleasure of such a scheme for the happiness of others was new and indistinct within him, Martin had come to tell him that he had already chosen for himself ;- knowing that he, the old man, had some faint project on that head, but ignorant whom it concerned, . How it was little comfort to him to know that Martin had chosen Her, because the grace of his design was lost, and because finding that she had returned his love, he tortured himself with the reflection that they, so young, to whom he had been so kind a benefactor, were already like the world, and bent on their own selfish, stealthy ends. How in the bitterness of = Gsae eiaecaninanerrpapees oeeemapncmnenen oem Pe MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 987 this impression, and of his past experience, he had reproached Martin so harshly (forgetting that he had never invited his confidence on such a point, and confounding what he had meant to do with what he had done), that high words sprung up between them, and they separated in wrath. How he loved him still, and hoped he would return. How on the night of his illness at the Dragon, he had secretly written tenderly of him, and made him his heir, and sanctioned his marriage with Mary; and how, after his interview with Mr. Pecksniff, he had distrusted him again, and burnt the paper to ashes, and had lain down in his bed distracted by sus- picions, doubts, and regrets. And then he told them how, resolved to probe this Peck- sniff, and to prove the constancy and truth of Mary (to him- self no less than Martin), he had conceived and entered on his plan; and how, beneath her gentleness and patience, he had softened more and more; still more and more beneath the goodness and simplicity, the honour and the manly faith of Tom. And when he spoke of Tom, he said God bless him ; and the tears were in his eyes; for he said that Tom, mistrusted and disliked by him at first, had come like summer rain upon his heart ; and had disposed it to believe in better things. And Martin took him by the hand, and Mary too, and John, his old friend, stoutly too: and Mark, and Mrs. Lupin, and his sister, little Ruth. And peace of mind, deep, tranquil peace of mind was on Tom Pinch. The old man then related how nobly My. Pecksniff had performed the duty in which he stood indebted to society, in the matter of Tom’s dismissal; and how, having often heard disparagement of Mr. Westlock from Pecksniffian lips, and knowing him to be a friend to Tom, he had used, through his confidential agent, and solicitor, that little artifice which had kept him in readiness to receive his unknown friend in London. And he called on Mr. Pecksniff (by the name of Scoundrel) to remember that there again he had not trapped him to do evil, but that he had done it of his own free will and agency ; nay, that he had cautioned him against it. And once again he called on Mr. Pecksniff (by the name of Hang- dog) to remember that when Martin coming home at last, an altered man, had sued for the forgiveness which awaited him, he, Pecksniff, had rejected him in language of his own, and had remorselessly stepped in between him and the least touch ef natural tenderness. ‘‘ For which,” said the old man, ‘‘ifMARK INVENTS A SIGN 931 the bending of my finger would remove a halter from your neck, I wouldn’t bend it!” “Martin,” he added, “your rival has not been a dangerous one, but Mrs. Lupin here has played duenna for some weeks ; not so much to watch your love as to watch her lover. For that Ghoul ”—his fertility in finding names for Mr. Pecksniff was astonishing—‘ would have crawled into her daily walks otherwise, and polluted the fresh air. What's this? Her hand is trembling strangely. See if you can hold it.” Hold it! If he clasped it half as tightly as he did her waist. Well, well! But it was good in him that even then, in his high fortune and happiness, with her lips nearly printed on his own, and her proud young beauty in his close embrace, he had a hand still left to stretch out to Tom Pinch. “Oh, Tom! Dear Tom! Isaw you, accidentally, coming here. Forgive me!” “Forgive!” cried Tom. “I'll never forgive you as long as I live, Martin, if you say another syllable about it. Joy to you both! Joy, my dear fellow, fifty thousand times.” Joy! There is not a blessing on earth that Tom did not wish them. There is not a blessing on earth that Tom would not have bestowed upon them, if he could. “T beg your pardon, sir,” said Mz. Tapley, stepping for- ward, ‘but you was mentionin’, just now, a lady of the name of Lupin, sir.” “T was,” returned old Martin. “Yes sir. It’s a pretty name, sir?” “A very good name,” said Martin. “Tt seems a’most a pity to change such a name into Tapley. Don’t it, sir?” said Mark. “That depends upon the lady. What is her opinion?” “Why, sir,” said Mr, Tapley, retiring, with a bow, towards the buxom hostess, “ her opinion is as the name ain’t a change for the better, but the indiwidual may be, and therefore, if nobody ain’t acquainted with no jest cause or impediment, et cetrer, the Blue Dragon will be con-werted into the Jolly Tapley. A sign of my own inwention, sir. Wery new, conwivial, and expressive!” The whole of these proceedings were so agreeable to Mr. Pecksniff, that he stood with his eyes fixed upon the floor and his hands clasping one another alternately, as if a host of penal sentences were being passed upon him. Not onlycane ate 932 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT did his figure appear to have shrunk, but his discomfiture seemed to have extended itself even to his dress, His clothes seemed to have grown shabbier, his linen to have turned yellow, his hair to have become lank and frowsy ; his very boots looked villanous and dim, as if their gloss had departed with his own. Feeling, rather than seeing, that the old man now pointed to the door, he raised his eyes, picked up his hat, and thus addressed him : ‘Mr. Chuzzlewit,-sir! you have partaken of my hospi- tality.” ‘And paid for it,” he observed. “Thank you. That savours,” said Mr, Pecksniff, taking out his pocket-handkerchief, ‘‘ of your old familiar frankness. You have paid for it. I was about to make the remark. You have deceived me, sir. Thank youagain. Jam glad of it. ‘To see you in the possession of your health and faculties on any terms, is, in itself, a sufficient recompense. To have been deceived implies a trusting nature. Mine is a trusting nature. Jam thankful for it. JI would rather have a trust- ing nature, do you know, sir, than a doubting one!” Here Mr. Pecksniff, with a sad smile, bowed, and wiped his eyes, “There is hardly any person present, Mr. Chuzzlewit,” said Pecksniff, ‘‘by whom I have not been deceived. I have forgiven those persons on the spot. That was my duty; and, of course, I have done it. Whether it was worthy of you to partake of my hospitality, and to act the part you did act in my house, that, sir, is a question which I leave to your own conscience. And your conscience does not acquit you. No, sir; nod” Pronouncing these last words in a loud and solemn voice, Mr. Pecksniff was not so absolutely lost in his own fervour as to be unmindful of the expediency of getting a little nearer to the door. ‘J have been struck this day,” said Mr. Pecksniff, “‘ with a walking-stick (which I have every reason to believe has knobs upon it), on that delicate and exquisite portion of the human anatomy—the brain. Several blows have been in- flicted, sir, without a walking-stick, upon that tenderer portion of my frame—my heart. You have mentioned, sir, my being bankrupt in my purse. Yes, sir, Iam. By an unfortunate. speculation, combined with treachery, I find rae ea eee | | qMR. PECKSNIFF RETIRES FROM HISTORY 933 myself reduced to poverty ; at a time, sir, when the child of my bosom is widowed, and afiliction and disgrace are in my family.” Here Mr. Pecksniff wiped his eyes again, and gave himself two or three little knocks upon the breast, as if he were answering two or three other little knocks from within, given by the tinkling hammer of his conscience, to express ‘Cheer up, my boy !” “IT know the human mind, although I trust it. That is my weakness. Do I not know, sir;” here he became ex- ceedingly plaintive, and was observed to glance towards Tom Pinch; ‘‘that my misfortunes bring this treatment on me? Do I not know, sir, that but for them I never should have heard what I have heard to-day ? Do I not know that in the silence and the solitude of night, a little voice will whisper in your ear, Mr. Chuzzlewit, ‘This was not well. This was not well, sir!’ Think of this, sir (if you will have the good- ness), remote from the impulses of passion, and apart from the specialities, if I may use that strong remark, of prejudice. And if you ever contemplate the silent tomb, sir, which you will excuse me for entertaining some doubt of your doing, after the conduct into which you have allowed yourself to Le betrayed this day ; if you ever contemplate the silent tomb, sir, think of me. If you find yourself approaching to the silent tomb, sir, think of me. If you should wish to have anything inscribed upon your silent tomb, sir, let it be, that I—ah, my remorseful sir! that I—the humble individual who has now the honour of reproaching you, forgave you. That I forgaye you when my injuries were fresh, and when my bosom was newly wrung. It may be bitterness to you to hear it now, sir, but you will live to seek a consolation in it. May you find a consolation in it when you want it, sir! Good morning !”’ With this sublime address, Mr. Pecksniff departed. But the effect of his departure was much impaired by his being immediately afterwards run against, and nearly knocked down, by a monstrously-excited little man in velveteen shorts and a very tall hat ; who came bursting up the stairs, and straight into the chambers of Mr. Chuzzlewit, as if he were deranged. ‘Is there anybody here that knows him ?” cried the little man. ‘Is there anybody here that knows him? Oh, my stars, is there anybody here that knows him ?”a a em nn cen aces 934 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT They looked at each other for an explanation ; but nobody knew anything more than that here was an excited little man with a very tall hat on, running in and out of the room as hard as i could go; making his single pair of bright blue stockings appear at least a dozen; and constantly repeating in a shrill voice, “‘ Zs there any body here that knows him ?” “Tf your brains is not turned topjy turjey, Mr. Sweedle- pipes!” exclaimed another voice, “‘hold that there nige of yourn, I beg you, sir.” At the same time Mrs. Gamp was seen in the doorway ; out of breath from coming up so many stairs, and panting fearfully ; but dropping curtseys to the last. “Excuge the weakness of the man,” said Mrs. Gamp, eyeing Mr. Sweedlepipe with great indignation ; ‘and well I might expect it, as I should have know’ d, and wishin’ he was drownded in the Thames afore I had brought him here, which not a blessed hour ago he nearly shaved the noge off from the father of as lovely a family as ever, Mr. Chuzzlewit, was born three sets of twins, and would have done it, only he see it a-goin’ in the glass, and dodged the rager. And never, Mr. Sweedlepipes, I do assure you, sir, did I so well know what a misfortun it was to be acquainted with you, as now I do, which so I say, sir, and I don’t deceive you!” “T ask your pardon, ladies and gentlemen all,” cried the little barber, taking off his hat, “and yours too, Mrs. Gamp. But—but,” he added this half laughing and half erying, “ Js there anybody here that knows him?” As the barber said these words, a something in top-boots, with its head bandaged up, staggered into the room, and began going round and round and round, apparently under the impression that it was walking straight forward. “Took at him!” cried the excited little barber. ‘‘ Here heis! That’ll soon wear off, and then he'll be all right again. He’s no more dead than I am. He’s all alive and hearty. Ain't you, Bailey?” _“R—r—reether so, Poll!” replied that gentleman. ‘Look here!” cried the little barber, laughing and crying in the same breath. ‘‘ When I steady him he comes all right. There! He’s all right now. Nothing’s the matter with him now, except that he’s a little shook and rather giddy; is there, Bailey? ‘‘R—yr—reether shook, Poll—reether so!” said Mr. Bailey. ‘What, my lovely Sairey! There you air!” rae eke eoMRS. GAMP STATES HER BUSINESS 935 “What a boy he is!” cried the tender-hearted Poll, actually sobbing over him. “I never see sech a boy! It’s all his fun. He’s full of it. He shall go into the business along with me. J am determined he shall. We'll make it Sweedlepipe and Bailey. He shall have the sport- ing branch (what a one he'll be for the matches !) and me the shavin’. I’ll make over the birds to him as soon as ever he’s well enough. He shall have the little bullfinch in the shop, and all. He’s sech a boy! I ask your pardon, ladies and gentlemen, but I thought there might be some one here that know’d him !” Mrs. Gamp had observed, not without jealousy and scorn, that a favourable impression appeared to exist in behalf of Mr. Sweedlepipe and his young friend ; and that she had fallen rather into the background in consequence. She now struggled to the front, therefore, and stated her business. “Which, Mr. Chuzzlewit,” she said, ‘is well beknown to Mrs. Harris as has one sweet infant (though she do not wish it known) in her own family by the mother’s side, kep in spirits in a bottle ; and that sweet babe she see at Greenwich Fair, a-travellingin company with the pink-eyed lady, Prooshan dwarf, and livin’ skelinton, which judge her feelins when the barrel organ played, and she was showed her own dear sister’s child, the same not bein’ expected from the outside picter, where it was painted quite contrairy in a livin’ state, a many sizes larger, and performing beautiful upon the Arp, which never did that dear child know or do: since breathe it never did, to speak on, in this wale! And Mrs. Harris, Mr. Chuzzlewit, has knowed me many year, and can give you information that the lady which is widdered can’t do better and may do worse, than let me wait upon her, which I hope to do. Permittin’ the sweet faces as I see afore me.” “Oh!” said Mr. Chuzzlewit. “Is that your business ? Was this good person paid for the trouble we gave her?” “T paid her, sir,” returned Mark Tapley ; “liberal.” “The young man’s words is true,” said Mrs. Gamp, ‘and thank you kindly.” “Then here we will close our acquaintance, Mrs. Gamp,” retorted Mr. Chuzzlewit. “And Mr. Sweedlepipe—is that your name?” “That is my name, sir,” replied Poll, accepting with 4 profusion of gratitude, some chinking pieces which the old man slipped into his hand.egpceneeso7 24th aes a a a eae 935 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT “Mr. Sweedlepipe, take as much care of your lady-lodger as you can, and give her a word or two of good advice now and then. Such,” said old Martin, looking gravely at the astonished Mrs. Gamp, ‘“‘as hinting at the expediency of a little less liquor, and a little more humanity, and a little less regard for herself, and a little more regard for her patients, and perhaps a trifle of additional honesty. Or when Mrs. Gamp gets into trouble, Mr. Sweedlepipe, it had better not be at a time when I am near enough to the Old Bailey to volunteer myself as a witness to her character. Kndeavour to impress that upon her at your leisure, if you please.” Mrs. Gamp clasped her hands, turned up her eyes until they were quite invisible, threw back her bonnet for the admission of fresh air to her heated brow ; and in the act of saying faintly—‘‘ Less liquor !—Sairey Gamp—Bottle on the chimney-piece, and let me put my lips to it, when I am so dispoged !”—fell into one of the walking swoons; in which pitiable state she was conducted forth by Mr. Sweedlepipe, who, between his two patients, the swooning Mrs. Gamp and the revolving Bailey, had enough to do, poor fellow. The old man looked about him, with a smile, until his eyes rested on Tom Pinch’s sister ; when he smiled the more. “We will all dine here together,” he said; “and as you and Mary have enough to talk of, Martin, you shall keep house for us until the afternoon, with Mr. and Mrs. Tapley. [ must see your lodgings in the meanwhile, Tom.” Tom was quite delighted. So was Ruth. She would go with them. “Thank you, my love,” said Mr. Chuzzlewit. ‘But Iam afraid I must take Tom a little out of the way, on business. Suppose you go on first, my dear?” . Pretty little Ruth was equally delighted to do that. “But not alone,” said Martin, ‘not alone. Mr. Westlock, I dare say, will escort you.” Why, of course he would: what else had Mr. Westlock in his mind? How dull these old men are! ‘“ You are sure you haye no engagement ?” he persisted. Engagement! As if he could have any engagement ! So they went off arm-in-arm. When Tom and Mr. Chuzzlewit went off arm-in-arm a few minutes after them, the latter was still smiling: and really, for a gentleman of his habits, in rather a knowing manner. Pie ee tet aCHAPTER LIII WHAT JOHN WESTLOCK SAID TO TOM PINCH’S SISTER ; WHAT TOM PINCH’S SISTER SAID TO JOHN WEST~ LOCK; WHAT TOM PINCH, SAID TO BOTH, OF THEM; AND HOW THEY ALL PASSED THE REMAINDER OF THE DAY BriiuiAntiy the Temple Fountain sparkled in the sun, and laughingly its liquid music played, and merrily the idle drops of water danced and danced, and peeping out in sport among the trees, plunged lightly down to hide themselves, as little Ruth and her companion came towards it. And why they came towards the Fountain at all is a mystery; for they had no business there. It was not in their way. It was quite out of their way. They had no more to do with the Fountain, bless you, than they had with -_with Love, or any out-of-the-way thing of that sort. It was all very well for Tom and his sister to make appointments by the Fountain, but that was quite another affair. Because, of course, when she had to wait a minute or two, it would have been very awkward for her to have had to wait in any but a tolerably quiet spot; but that was as quiet a spot, everything considered, as they could choose. But when she had John Westlock to take care of her, and was going home with her arm in his (home being in a different direction altogether), their coming anywhere near that Fountain was quite extraordinary. However, there they found themselves. And another extraordinary part of the matter was, that they seemed to have come there, by a silent understanding. Yet when they vot there, they were a little confused by being there, which was the strangest part of all; because there is nothing naturally confusing in a Fountain. We all know that. What a good old place it was! John said. “With quite an earnest affection for it. a G83eal en hia 938 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT ‘‘A pleasant place indeed,” said little Ruth. ‘So shady!” Oh wicked little Ruth ! They came to a stop when John began to praise it. The day was exquisite ; and stopping at all, it was quite natural —nothing could be more so—that they should glance down Garden Court; because Garden Court ends in the Garden, and the Garden ends in the River, and that glimpse is very bright and fresh and shining on a summer’s day. Then, oh little Ruth, why not look boldly at it! Why fit that tiny precious, blessed little foot into the cracked corner of an insensible old flagstone in the pavement; and be so very anxious to adjust it to a nicety ! If the Fiery-faced matron in the crunched bonnet could have seen them as they walked away, how many years’ purchase might Fiery Face have been disposed to take for her situation in Furniyal’s Inn as laundress to Mr, West- lock ! They went away, but not through London’s streets! Through some enchanted city, where the pavements were of air; where all the rough sounds of a stirring town were softened into gentle music; where everything was happy ; where there was no distance, and no time. There were two good-tempered burly draymen letting down big butts of beer into a cellar, somewhere; and when John helped her— almost lifted her—the lightest, easiest, neatest thing you ever saw—across the rope, they said he owed them a good turn for giving him the chance. Celestial draymen ! Green pastures in the summer tide, deep-littered straw- yards in the winter, no stint of corn and clover, ever, to that noble horse who would dance on the payement with a gig behind him, and who frightened her, and made her clasp his arm with both hands (both hands: meeting one upon the other so endearingly !), and caused her to implore him to take refuge in the pastry-cook’s; and afterwards to peep out at the door so shrinkingly; and then: looking at him with those eyes: to ask him was he sure—now was he sure —they might go safely on! Oh for a string of rampant horses! For a lion, for a bear, for a mad bull, for anything to bring the little hands together on his arm, again! They talked, of course. They talked of Tom, and all these changes, and the attachment Mr. Chuzzlewit had conceived for him, and the bright prospects he had in such a friend, and a great deal more to the same purpose. The more they & EGR MAST i iJOHN DECLARES HIS LOVE 939 talked, the more afraid this fluttering little Ruth became of any pause; and sooner than have a pause she would say the same things over again ; and if she hadn't courage or presence of mind enough for that (to say the truth she very seldom had), she was ten thousand times more charming and irresis- tible than she had been before. “Martin will be married very soon now, I suppose?” said John. She supposed he would. Never did a bewitching little \yoman suppose anything in such a faint voice as Ruth sup- posed that. But seeing that another of those alarming pauses was approaching, she remarked that he would have a beautiful wife. Didn’t Mr. Westlock think so? ‘Ye—yes,” said John; “oh, yes.” She feared he was rather hard to please—he spoke so coldly. “Rather say already pleased,” said John, * I have scarcely seen her. I had no care tosee her. I had no eyes for her, this morning.’ Oh, good gracious ! It was well they had reached their destination. She never could have gone any further. It would have been impos- sible to walk in such a tremble. Tom had not come in. They entered the triangular par- lour together, and alone. Fiery Face, Fiery Face, how many years’ purchase now ! She sat down on the little sofa, and untied her bonnet- strings. He sat down by her side, and very near her: very, very near her. Oh, rapid, swelling, bursting little heart, you knew that it would come to this, and hoped it would. Why beat so wildly, heart ! “Dear Ruth! Sweet Ruth! If I had loved you less, I could have told you that I loved you, long ago. I have loved you from the first. There never was a creature in the world more truly loved than you, dear Ruth, by me!” She clasped her little hands before her face. The gushing tears of joy, and pride, and hope, and innocent affection, would not be restrained. Fresh from her full young heart they came to answer him, “My dear love! If this is—I almost dare to hope it is, now—not painful or distressing to you, you make me happier than I can tell, or you imagine. Darling Ruth!a aaa a a alia 940 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT My own good, gentle, winning Ruth! I hope I know the value of your heart, I hope I know the worth of your angel nature. Let me try and show you that I do; and you will make me happier, Ruth ; ‘Not happier,” she sobbed, “than you make me. No one can be happier, John, than you make me!” Fiery Face, provide yourself! The usual wages or the usual warning. It’s all over, Fiery Face. We needn’t trouble you any further. The little hands could meet each other now, without a rampant horse to urge them. There was no occasion for lions, bears, or mad bulls. It could all be done, and infinitely better, without their assistance, No burly drayman or big butts of beer, were wanted for apologies. No apology at all was wanted. The soft light touch fell coyly, but quite naturally, upon the lover’s shoulder; the delicate waist, the drooping head, the blushing cheek, the beautiful eyes, the exquisite mouth itself, were all as natural as possible. If all the horses in Araby had run away at once, they couldn’t have improved upon it. They soon began to talk of Tom again. “I hope he will be glad to hear of it!” said John, with sparkling eyes. Ruth drew the little hands a little tighter when he said it, and looked up seriously into his face. ‘IT am never to leave him, am I, dear? I could never leave Tom. I am sure you know that.” ‘Do you think I would ask you?” he returned, with a— well! Never mind with what. ‘I am sure you never would,” she answered, the bright tears standing in her eyes. “And I will swear it, Ruth, my darling, if you please. Leave Tom! That would be a strange beginning. Leave Tom, dear! If Tom and we be not inseparable, and Tom (God bless him) have not all honour and all love in our home, my little wife, may that home never be! And that’s a strong oath, Ruth.” Shall it be recorded how she thanked him? Yes, it shall. In all simplicity and innocence and purity of heart, yet with a timid, graceful, half-determined hesitation, she set a little rosy seal upon the vow, whose colour was reflected in her face, and flashed up to the braiding of her dark brown hair. ‘Tom will beso happy, and so proud, and glad,” she GSES GABOUT TELLING TOM g41 said, clasping her little hands. ‘But so surprised! I am sure he had never thought of such a thing.” Of course John asked her immediately—because you know they were in that foolish state when great allowances must be made—when she had begun to think of such a thing, and this made a little diversion in their talk; a charming diversion to them, but not so interesting to us; at the end of which, they came back to Tom again. — . “Ah! dear Tom!” said Ruth. ‘I suppose I ought to tell you everything now. I should haye no secrets from you. Should I, John, love?” It is of no use saying how that preposterous John answered her, because he answered in a manner which is untranslatable on paper, though highly satisfactory in itself. But what he conveyed was, No no no, sweet Ruth ; or some- thing to that effect. Then she told him Tom’s great secret ; not exactly saying how she had found it out, but leaving him to understand it if he liked; and John was sadly grieved to hear it, and was full of sympathy and sorrow. But they would try, he said, only the more, on this account, to make him happy, and to beguile him with his favourite pursuits. And then, im all the confidence of such a time, he told her how he-had a capital opportunity of establishing himself in his old pro- fession in the country; and how he had been thinking, in the event of that happiness coming upon him which had actually come—there was another slight diversion here— how he had been thinking that it would afford occupation to Tom. and enable them to live together in the easiest manner, without any sense of dependence on Tom’s part ; and to be as happy as the day was long. And Ruth receiving this with joy, they went on catering for Tom to that extent that they had already purchased him a select library and built him an organ, on which he was performing with the greatest satisfaction: when they heard him knock- ing at the door. Though she longed to tell him what had happened, poor little Ruth was greatly agitated by his arrival ; the more so because she knew that Mr. Chuzzlewit was with him. ‘So she said, all in a tremble: “What shall I do, dear John! I can’t bear that he should hear it from any one but me, and I could not tell him, unless we were alone.”ee ee eameed A; ara eet OPA AALAND Q42 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT “Do, my love,” said John, ‘‘whatever is natural to you on the impulse of the moment, and I am sure it will be right.” He had hardly time to say thus much, and Ruth had hardly time to—just to get a little farther off upon the sofa, when Tom and Mr. Chuzzlewit came in. Mr. Chuzzle- wit came first, and Tom was a few seconds behind him. Now Ruth had hastily resolved that she would beckon Tom up-stairs after a short time, and would tell him in his little bedroom. But when she saw his dear old face come in, her heart was so touched that she ran into his arms, and laid her head down on his breast, and sobbed out, ‘‘ Bless me, Tom! My dearest brother!” Tom looked up, in surprise, and saw John Westlock close beside him, holding out his hand. “John!” cried Tom. ‘John!” ‘‘Dear Tom,” said his friend, ‘give me your hand. We are brothers, Tom.” Tom wrung it with all his force, embraced his sister fer- vently, and put her in John Westlock’s arms. ‘Don’t speak to me, John. Heaven is very good to us. i ”* Tom could find no further utterance, but left the room; and Ruth went after him. And when they came back, which they did by-and-bye, she looked more beautiful, and Tom more good and true (if that were possible) than ever. And though Tom could not speak upon the subject even now; being yet too newly glad: he put both his hands in both of John’s with emphasis sufficient for the best speech ever spoken. “Tam glad you chose to-day,” said Mr. Chuzzlewit to John; with the same knowing smile as when they had left him. “I thought you would. I hoped Tom and I lingered behind a discreet time. It’s so long since I had any prac- tical knowledge of these subjects, that I have been anxious, TI assure you.” “Your knowledge is still pretty accurate, sir,” returned John, laughing, ‘“‘if it led you to foresee what would happen to-day.” “Why, I am not sure, Mr. Westlock,” said the old man, “that any great spirit of prophecy was needed, after seeing you and Ruth together. Come hither, pretty one. See what Tom and I purchased this morning, while you were dealing in exchange with that young merchant there.” HEGELA BEAUTIFUL PRESENT 943 The old man’s way of seating her beside him, and humour- ing his voice as if she were a child, was whimsical enough, but full of tenderness, and not ill adapted, somehow, to little Ruth. “See here!” he said, taking a case from his pocket, “ what a beautiful necklace. Ah! How it glitters! Earrings, too, and bracelets, and a zone for your waist. This set is yours, and Mary has another like it. Tom couldn’t understand why I wanted two. What a short-sighted Tom! Earrings and bracelets, and a zone for your waist! Ah! beautiful ! Let us see how brave they look. Ask Mr. Westlock to clasp them on.” It was the prettiest thing to see her holding out her round, white arm; and John (oh deep, deep J ohn !) pretending that the bracelet was very hard to fasten; it was the prettiest thing to see her girding on the precious little zone, and yet obliged to have assistance because her fingers were in such terrible perplexity ; it was the prettiest thing to see her so confused and bashful, with the smiles and blushes playing brightly on her face, like the sparkling light upon the jewels ; it was the prettiest thing that you would see, in the common experiences of a twelvemonth, rely upon it. “The set of jewels and the wearer are so well matched,” said the old man, “that I don’t know which becomes the other most. Mr. Westlock could tell me, I have no doubt, but ll not ask him, for he is bribed. Health to wear them, my dear, and happiness to make you forgetful of them, except as a remembrance from a loving friend!” He patted her upon the cheek, and said to Tom : “T must play the part of a father here, Tom, also. There are not many fathers who marry two such daughters on the same day: but we will overlook the improbability for the gratification of an old man’s fancy. I may claim that much indulgence,” he added, “for I have gratified few fancies enough in my life tending to the happiness of others, Heaven knows!” These various proceedings had occupied so much time, and they fell into such a pleasant conversation now, that it was within a quarter of an hour of the time appointed for dinner before any of them thought about it. A hackney- coach soon carried them to the Temple, however ; and there they found everything prepared for their reception. Mr. Tapley having been furnished with unlimited creden-Perera ete Aer tape GARI LN 944 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT tials relative to the ordering of dinner, had so exerted him- self for the honour of the party, that a prodigious banquet was served, under the joint direction of himself and his Intended. Mr. Chuzzlewit would haye had them of the party, and Martin urgently seconded his wish, but Mark could by no means be persuaded to sit down at table ; observing, that in having the honour of attending to their comforts, he felt himself, indeed, the landlord of the Jolly Tapley, and could almost delude himself into the belief that the entertainment was actually being held under the Jolly Tapley’s roof. For the better encouragement of himself in this fable, Mr, Tapley took it upon him to issue divers general directions to the waiters from the hotel, relative to the disposal of the dishes and so forth ; and as they were usually in direct oppo- sition to all precedent, and were always issued in his most facetious form of thought and speech, they occasioned great merriment among those attendants; in which Mr. Tapley participated, with an infinite enjoyment of his own humour. He likewise entertained them with short anecdotes of his travels, appropriate to the occasion ; and now and then with some comic passage or other between himself and Mrs, Lupin; so that explosive laughs were constantly issuing from the side-board, and from the backs of chairs; and the head-waiter (who wore powder, and knee-smalls, and was usually a grave man) got to be a bright scarlet in the face, and broke his waistcoat-strings audibly. Young Martin sat at the head of the table, and Tom Pinch at the foot; and if there were a genial face at that board. it was Tom’s. They all took their tone from Tom. Kvery- body drank to him, everybody looked to him. everybody thought of him, everybody loved him. If he so much as laid down his knife and fork, somebody put out a hand to shake with him. Martin and Mary had taken him aside before dinner, and spoken to him so heartily of the time to come: laying such fervent stress upon the trust they had in his completion of their felicity, by his society and closest friendship: that Tom was positively moyed to tears. He couldn’t bear it. His heart was full, he said, of happiness. And so it was. Tom spoke the honest truth. It was, Large as thy heart was, dear Tom Pinch, it had no room that day for anything but happiness and sympathy ! And there was Fips, old Fips of Austin Friars, present at SRC ES EE @ENLASY |TOMS UNUTTERABLE JOY 945 the dinner, and turning out to be the jolliest old dog that ever did violence to his convivial sentiments by shutting him- self up in a dark office. ‘“ Where is he?” said Fips, when he came in. And then he pounced on Tom, and told him that he wanted to relieve himself of all his old constraint: and in the first place shook him by one hand, and in the second place shook him by the other, and in the third place nudged him in the waistcoat, and in the fourth place said, “ How are you?” and in a great many other places did a great many other things to show his friendliness and joy. And he sang songs, did Fips; and made speeches, did Fips ; and knocked off his wine pretty handsomely, did Fips; and in short, he showed himself a perfect Trump, did Fips, in all respects. But ah! the happiness of strolling home at night— obstinate little Ruth, she wouldn’t hear of riding !—as they had done on that dear night, from Furnival’s Inn! The happiness of being able to talk about it, and to confide their happiness to each other! The happiness of stating all their little plans to Tom, and seeing his bright face grow brighter as they spoke! When they reached home, Tom left John and his sister in the parlour, and went up-stairs into his own room, under pretence of seeking a book, And Tom actually winked to himself when he got up-stairs: he thought it such a deep thing to have done. “They like to be by themselves, of course,” said Tom ; ‘and I came away so naturally, that I have no doubt they are expecting me, every moment, to return, That’s capital!” But he had not sat reading very long, when he heard a tap at his door. “May I come in?” said John. “Oh, surely!” Tom replied. “Don’t leave us, Tom. Don’t sit by yourself, We want to make you merry; not melancholy.” “My dear friend,” said Tom, with a cheerful smile. “Brother, Tom. Brother.” “My dear brother,” said Tom ; * there is no danger of my being melancholy, how can I be melancholy, when I know that you and Ruth are so blest in each other! I think I can find my tongue to-night, John,” he added, after a moment's pause. ‘ But I never can tell you what unutterable joy this day has given me. It would be unjust to you to speak of your having chosen a portionless girl, for I feel that youa anand en: en coe man a 946 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT know her worth; I am sure you know her worth. Nor will it diminish in your estimation, John, which money might.” ‘Which money would, Tom,” he returned. ‘‘ Her worth! Oh, who could see her here, and not love her! Who could know her, Tom, and not honour her! Who could ever stand possessed of such a heart as hers, and grow indifferent to the treasure! Who could feel the rapture that I feel to-day, and love as I love her, Tom, without knowing something of her worth! Your joy unutterable! No, no, Tom. It’s mine, it’s mine.” “No, no, John,” said Tom. ‘It’s mine, it’s mine.” Their friendly contention was brought to a close by little Ruth herself, who came peeping in at the door. And oh, the look, the glorious, half-proud, half-timid look she gave Tom, when her lover drew her to his side! As much as to say, “Yes, indeed, Tom, he will do it. But then he has aright, you know. Because I am fond of him, Tom.” As to Tom, he was perfectly delighted. He could have sat and looked at them, just as they were, for hours. “T have told Tom, love, as we agreed, that we are not going to permit him to run away, and that we cannot possibly allow it. The loss of one person, and such a person as Tom, too, out of our small household of three, is not to be endured ; and so I have told him. Whether he is considerate, or whether he is only selfish, I don’t know. But he needn’t be considerate, for he is not the least restraint upon us. Is he, dearest Ruth ?” Well! He really did not seem to be any particular restraint upon them. Judging from what ensued. Was it folly in Tom to be so pleased by their remembrance of him at such a time? Was their graceful love a folly, were their dear caresses follies, was their lengthened parting folly? Was it folly in him to watch her window from the street, and rate its scantiest gleam of light above all dia- monds ; folly in her to breathe his name upon her knees, and pour out her pure heart before that Being, from whom such hearts and such affections come ? If these be follies, then Fiery Face go on and prosper! If they be not, then Fiery Face avaunt! But set the crunched bonnet at some other single gentleman, in any case, for one is lost to thee for ever!CHAPTER LIV GIVES THE AUTHOR GREAT CONCERN. FOR IT IS THE LAST IN THE BOOK TopeErs’s was in high feather, and mighty preparations for a late breakfast were astir in its commercial bowers. The blissful morning had arrived when Miss Pecksniff was to be united in holy matrimony to Augustus. Miss Pecksniff was in a frame of mind equally becoming to herself and the occasion. She was full of clemency and conciliation. She had laid in several chaldrons of live coals, and was prepared to heap them on the heads of her enemies. She bore no spite nor malice in her heart. Not the least. Quarrels, Miss Pecksniff said, were dreadful things in families ; and though she never could forgive her dear papa, she was willing to receive her other relations. They had been separated, she observed, too long. It was enough to call down a judgment upon the family. She believed the death of Jonas was a judgment on them for their internal dissensions. And Miss Pecksniff was confirmed in this belief, by the lightness with which the visitation had fallen on herself. By way of doing sacrifice—not in triumph ; not, of course, in triumph, but in humiliation of spirit—this amiable young person wrote, therefore, to her kinswoman of the strong mind. and informed her that her nuptials would take place on such a day. That she had been much hurt by the unnatural conduct of herself and daughters, and hoped they might not have suffered in their consciences. That being desirous to forgive her enemies, and make her peace with the world before entering into the most solemn of covenants with the most devoted of men, she now held out the hand of friendship. That if the strong-minded woman took that hand, in the temper in which it was extended to her, she, Miss Pecksniff, did invite her to be present at the ceremony of her marriage, and did furthermore invite the three red-nani secre exter on ance 948 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT nosed spinsters, her daughters {but Miss Pecksniff did not particularise their noses), to attend as bridesmaids. The strong-minded woman returned for answer, that her- self and daughters were, as regarded their consciences, in the enjoyment of robust health, which she knew Miss Pecksniff would be glad to hear. That she had received Miss Peck- sniffs note with unalloyed delight, because she never had attached the least importance to the paltry and insignificant jealousies with which herself and circle had been assailed : otherwise than as she found them, in the contemplation, a harmless source of innocent mirth. That she would joy- fully attend Miss Pecksnift’s bridal ; and that her three dear daughters would be happy to assist on so interesting, and so very unexpected—which the strong-minded woman under- lined—so very wnexpected an occasion, On the receipt of this gracious reply, Miss Pecksniff ex- tended her forgiveness and her invitations to Mr. and Mrs. Spottletoe ; to Mr. George Chuzzlewit the bachelor cousin ; to the solitary female who usually had the tooth-ache; and to the hairy young gentleman with the outline of a face; surviving remnants of the party that had once assembled in Mr. Pecksniff’s parlour. After which Miss Pecksniff remarked, that there was a sweetness in doing our duty, which neutralised the bitter in our cups. The wedding guests had not yet assembled, and indeed it was so early that Miss Pecksniff herself was in the act of dressing at her leisure, when a carriage stopped near the Monument; and Mark, dismounting from the rumble assisted Mr. Chuzzlewit to alight. The carriage remained in waiting; so did Mr. Tapley. Mr. Chuzzlewit betook himself to Todgers’s. He was shown, by the degenerate successor of Mr. Bailey, into the dining-parlour ; where—for his visit was expected— Mrs. Todgers immediately appeared. “ You are dressed, I see, for the wedding,” he said. Mrs. Todgers, who was greatly flurried by the preparations, replied in the affirmative. “It goes against my wishes to have it in progress just now, I assure you, sir,” said Mrs. Todgers; ‘but Miss Pecksniff’s mind was set upon it, and it really is time that Miss Pecksniff was married. That cannot be denied, sir,” “ No,” said Mr. Chuzzlewit, “assuredly not. Her sister takes no part in the proceedings ?” eet eee ESE GEUAYESOLD MARTIN CONSOLES POOR MERRY 949 _ ‘Oh dear, no, sir, Poor thing!” said Mrs. Todgers, shak- ing her head, and dropping her voice. “Since she has known the worst, she has never left my room ; the next room.” ‘‘Is she prepared to see me? ” he inquired. ‘Quite prepared, sir.” ‘Then let us lose no time.” Mrs. Todgers conducted him into the little back chamber commanding the prospect of the cistern; and there, sadly different from when it had first been her lodging, sat poor Merry, in mourning weeds. The room looked very dark and sorrowful; and so did she; but she had one friend beside her, faithful to the last. Old Chuffey. When Mr. Chuzzlewit sat down at her side, she took his hand and put it to her lips. She was in great grief. He too was agitated ; for he had not seen her since their parting in the churchyard. “I judged you hastily,” he said, in a low voice. “I fear I judged you cruelly. Let me know that I have your forgiveness.” She kissed his hand again ; and retaining it in hers, thanked him. in a broken voice, for all his kindness to her since. “Tom Pinch,” said Martin, “has faithfully related to me all that you desired him to convey; at a time when he deemed it very improbable that he would ever have an opportunity of delivering your message. Believe me, that if I ever deal again with an ill-advised and unawakened nature, hiding the strength it thinks its weakness, I will have long and merciful consideration for it.” “You had for me; even for me,” she answered. ‘*T quite believe it. I said the words you have repeated, when my distress was very sharp and hard to bear; I say them now for others; but I cannot urge them for myself. You spoke to me after you had seen and watched me day by day. There was great consideration in that. You might have spoken, perhaps, more kindly; you might have tried to invite my confidence by greater gentleness ; but the end would have been the same.” He shook his head in doubt, and not without some inward self-reproach. “How can I hope,” she said, “that your interposition would have prevailed with me, when I know how obdurate I was! I never thought at all; dear Mr. Chuzzlewit, I never thought at all; I had no thought, no heart, noFi aia is aan cel eee 950 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT care to find one; at that time. It has grown out of my trouble. I have felt it in my trouble. I wouldn’t recall my trouble, such as it is and has been—and it is light in comparison with trials which hundreds of good people suffer every day, I know—I wouldn’t recall it to-morrow, if I could. It has been my friend, for without it no one could have changed me; nothing could have changed me. Do not mis- trust me because of these tears; I cannot help them. I am grateful for it, in my soul. Indeed I am!” “Indeed she is!” said Mrs. Todgers. ‘‘I believe it, sir.” ‘And so do I!” said Mr. Chuzzlewit. ‘‘ Now, attend to me, my dear. Your late husband’s estate, if not wasted by the confession of a large debt to the broken office (which document, being useless to the runaways, has been sent over to England by them: not so much for the sake of the creditors as for the gratification of their dislike to him, whom they suppose to be still living), will be seized upon by law; for it is not exempt, as I learn, from the claims of those who have suffered by the fraud in which he was engaged. Your father’s property was all, or nearly all, em- barked in the same transaction. If there be any left, it will be seized on in like manner. There is no home there.” ‘“T couldn’t return to him,” she said, with an instinctive reference to his having forced her marriage on. ‘I could not return to him!” “T know it,” Mr. Chuzzlewit resumed; “and I am here because I know it. Come with me! From all who are about me, you are certain (I have ascertained it) of a generous welcome. But until your health is re-established, and you are sufficiently composed to bear that welcome, you shall have your abode in any quiet retreat of your own choosing, near London; not so far removed but that this kind-hearted lady may still visit you as often as she pleases. You have suffered much; but you are young, and have a brighter and a better future stretching out before you. Come with me. Your sister is careless of you, I know. She hurries on and publishes her marriage, in a spirit which (to say no more of it) is barely decent, is unsisterly, and bad. Leave the house before her guests arrive. She means to give you pain. Spare her the offence, and come with me!” Mrs. Todgers, though most unwilling to part with her, added her persuasions. Even poor old Chuffey (of course included in the project) added his. She hurriedly attired EGETra MISS PECKSNIFF'S NUPTIALS 95 herself, and was ready to depart, when Miss Pecksniff dashed into the room. Miss Pecksniff dashed in so suddenly, that she was placed in an embarrassing position. For though she had com- pleted her bridal toilette as to her head, on which she wore a bridal bonnet with orange flowers, she had not completed it as to her skirts, which displayed no choicer decoration than a dimity bedgown. She had dashed in, in fact, about half-way through, to console her sister in her affliction with a sight of the aforesaid bonnet ; and being quite unconscious of the presence of a yisitor, until she found Mr. Chuzzlewit standing face to face with her, her surprise was an uncom- fortable one. “So, young lady!” said the old man, eyeing her with strong disfavour. ‘‘ You are to be married to-day !” ‘Yes, sir,” returned Miss Pecksniff, modestly. ‘‘I am. I—my dress is rather—really, Mrs. Todgers!” “Your delicacy,” said old Martin, ‘is troubled, I per- ceive. JI am not surprised to find it so. You have chosen the period of your marriage unfortunately.” ‘“T beg your pardon, Mr. Chuzzlewit,” retorted Cherry ; very red and angry in a moment: “but if you have any- thing to say on that subject, I must beg to refer you to Augustus. You will scarcely think it manly, I hope, to force an argument on me, when Augustus is at all times ready to discuss it with you. I have nothing to do with any deceptions that may have been practised on my parent,” said Miss Pecksniff, pointedly ; ‘‘and as I wish to be on good terms with everybody at such a time, I should have been glad if you would have favoured us with your com- pany at breakfast. But I will not ask you as it is: seeing that you have been prepossessed and set against me in another quarter. I hope I haye my natural affections for another quarter, and my natural pity for another quarter ; but I cannot always submit to be subservient to it, Mr. Chuzzle- wit. That would be a little too much. I trust I have more respect for myself, as well as for the man who claims me as his Bride.” “Your sister, meeting—as I think: not as she says, for she has said nothing about it—with little consideration from you, is going away with me,” said Mr. Chuzzlewit. “Tam yery happy to find that she has some good fortune at last,” returned Miss Pecksniff, tossing her head. “I con-deel pe mientras aaah 952 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT vratulate her, Iam sure. I am not surprised that this event should be painful to her—painful to her—but I can’t help that, Mr. Chuzzlewit. It’s not my fault.” “Come, Miss Pecksniff!” said the old man, quietly. ‘I should like to see a better parting between you. I should like to see a better parting on your side, in such circum- stances. It would make me your friend. You may want a friend one day or other.” “Every relation of life) Mr. Chuzzlewit, begging your pardon: and every friend in life:” returned Miss Peck- sniff, with dignity, “is now bound up and cemented in Augustus. So long as Augustus is my own, I cannot want a friend. When you speak of friends, sir, I must beg, once for all, to refer you to Augustus. That is my impression of the religious ceremony in which I am so soon to take a part at that altar to which Augustus will conduct me. I bear no malice at any time, much less in a moment of triumph, towards any one; much less towards my sister. On the contrary, I congratulate her. If you didn’t hear me say so, I am not to blame. And as I owe it to Augustus, to be punctual on an occasion when he may naturally be sup- posed to be—to be impatient—really, Mrs. Todgers !—I must beg your leave, sir, to retire.” After these words the bridal bonnet disappeared ; with as much state as the dimity bedgown left in it. Old Martin gave his arm to the younger sister without speaking ; and led her out. Mrs. Todgers, with her holiday garments fluttering in the wind, accompanied them to the carriage, clung round Merry’s neck at parting, and ran back to her own dingy house, crying the whole way. She had a lean lank body, Mrs. Todgers, but a well-conditioned soul within. Perhaps the Good Samaritan was lean and lank, and found it hard to Lye. Who knows! Mr. Chuzzlewit followed her so closely with his eyes, that, until she had shut her own door, they did not encounter Mr. Tapley’s face. “Why, Mark!” he said, as soon as he observed it, ‘““what’s the matter ?” “The wonderfullest ewent, sir!” returned Mark, pumping at his voice in a most laborious manner, and hardly able to articulate with all his efforts. “A coincidence as never was equalled! I’m blessed if here ain’t two old neighbours of ourn, sir!” & EGKALAS i i i iEDEN IN MONUMENT YARD 953 “What neighbours ?” cried old Martin, looking out of window. ‘“‘ Where?” ; “ T was a-walkin’ up and down not five yards from this spot,” said Mr. Tapley, breathless, ‘‘and they come upon me like their own ghosts, as I thought they was! It’s the wonderfullest ewent that ever happened. Bring a feather, somebody, and knock me down with it!” “What do you mean!” exclaimed old Martin, quite as much excited by the spectacle of Mark’s excitement as that strange person was himself. ‘‘ Neighbours, where?” “Here, sir!” replied Mr. Tapley. ‘Here in the city of London! Here upon these very stones! Here they are, sir! Don’t I know ’em? Lord love their welcome faces, don’t I know ’em!”’ With which ejaculations Mr. Tapley not only pointed to a decent-looking man and woman standing by, but com- menced embracing them alternately, over and oyer again, in Monument Yard. “ Neighbours, WHERE?” old Martin shouted: almost mad- dened by his ineffectual efforts to get out at the coach-door. “Neighbours in America! Neighbours in Eden!” cried Mark. ‘Neighbours in the swamp, neighbours in the bush, neighbours in the fever. Didn’t she nurse us! Didn’t he help us! Shouldn’t we both have died without ’em! Hay’n’t they come a-strugglin’ back, without a single child for their consolation! And talk to me of neighbours!” Away he went again, in a perfectly wild state, hugging them, and skipping round them, and cutting in between them, as if he were performing some frantic and outlandish dance. Mr. Chuzzlewit no sooner gathered who these people were, than he burst open the coach-door somehow or other, and came tumbling out among them; and as if the lunacy of Mr. Tapley were contagious, he immediately began to shake hands too, and exhibit every demonstration of the liveliest joy. “Get up, behind!” he said. “Get up in the rumble. Come along with me! Go you on the box, Mark. Home! Home!” ‘ Home!” cried Mr. Tapley, seizing the old man’s hand “1 a burst of enthusiasm. ‘(Exactly my opinion, sir. Home for ever! Excuse the liberty, sir, I can’t help it. Success to the Jolly Tapley! There’s nothin’ in the houseee nies a canals MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 954 they shan’t have for the askin’ for, except a bill. Home to be sure! Hurrah!” Home they rolled accordingly, when he had got the old man in again, as fast as they could go; Mark abating nothing of his fervour by the way, but allowing it to vent itself as unrestrainedly as if he had been on Salisbury Plain. And now the wedding party began to assemble at Todgers’s. Mr. Jinkins, the only boarder invited, was on the eround first. He wore a white favour in his button-hole, and a bran new extra super double-milled blue saxony dress coat (that was its description in the bill), with a variety of tortuous embellishments about the pockets, invented by the artist to do honour to the day. The miserable Augustus no longer felt strongly even on the subject of Jinkins. He hadn’t strength of mind enough to do it. ‘‘ Let him come!” he had said, in answer to Miss Pecksniff, when she urged the point. ‘‘Let him come! He has ever been my rock ahead through life. °Tis meet he should be there. Ha, ha! Oh, yes! let Jinkins come!” Jinkins had come with all the pleasure in life; and there he was. For some few minutes he had no companion but the breakfast, which was set forth in the drawing-room, with unusual taste and ceremony. But Mrs. Todgers soon joined him; and the bachelor cousin, the hairy young gentleman, and Mr. and Mrs. Spottletoe, arrived in quick succession. Mr. Spottletoe honoured Jinkins with an encouraging bow. “Glad to know you, sir,” he said. ‘‘ Give you joy!” Under the impression that Jinkins was the happy man. Mr. Jinkins explained. He was merely doing the honours for his friend Moddle, who had ceased to reside in the house, and had not yet arrived. “Not arrived, sir!” exclaimed Spottletoe, in a great heat. “Not yet,” said Mr. Jinkins. “Upon my soul!” cried Spottletoe. ‘‘He begins well! Upon my life and honour this young man begins well! But I should very much like to know how it is that every one who comes into contact with this family is guilty of some gross insult to it. Death! Not arrived yet. Not here to receive us!” The nephew with the outline of a countenance, suggested & EGE TARYTHE WEDDING GUESTS ASSEMBLE 955 that perhaps he had ordered a new pair of boots, and they hadn’t come*home. “Don’t talk to me of Boots, sir!” retorted Spottletoe, with immense indignation. ‘He is bound to come here in his slippers then; he is bound to come here barefoot. Don't offer such a wretched and evasive plea to me on behalf of your friend, as Boots, sir.” ‘He is not my friend,” said the nephew. “I never saw him.” “Very well, sir,” returned the fiery Spottletoe. * Then don’t talk to me!” The door was thrown open at this juncture, and Miss Pecksniff entered, tottering, and supported by her three bridesmaids. The strong-minded woman brought up the rear; having waited outside until now, for the purpose of spoiling the effect. “How do you do, ma’am!” said Spottletoe to the strong- minded woman in a tone of defiance. “I believe you see Mrs. Spottletoe, ma’am ?” The strong-minded woman with an air of great interest in Mrs. Spottletoe’s health, regretted that she was not more easily seen. Nature erring, in that lady’s case, upon the slim side. “Mrs. Spottletoe is at least more easily seen than the bridegroom, ma’am,” returned that lady’s husband. ‘* That is. unless he has confined his attentions to any particular part or branch of this family, which would be quite in keeping with its usual proceedings.” “Tf you allude to me, sir began. “Pray,” interposed Miss Pecksniff, ‘do not allow Augustus, at this awful moment of his life and mine, to be the means of disturbing that harmony which it is ever Augustus’s and mv wish to maintain. Augustus has not been introduced to any of my relations now present. He preferred not.” “Why. then, I venture to assert.” eried Mr. Spottletoe, “that the man who aspires to join this family, and ‘prefers not’ to be introduced to its members, 1s an impertinent Puppy. That is my opinion of him!” The strong-minded woman remarked with great suavity, that she was afraid he must be. Her three daughters ob- served aloud that it was ‘shameful !” “You do not know Augustus,” said Miss Pecksniff, tear- * the strong-minded womana epee 956 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT fully, ‘indeed you do not know him. Augustus is all mild- ness and humility. Wait till you see Augustus, and I am sure he will conciliate your affections.” ‘“The question arises,” said Spottletoe, folding his arms: ‘‘ How long we are to wait. I am not accustomed to wait ; that’s the fact. And I want to know how long we are ex- pected to wait.” ‘Mrs. Todgers!”’ said Charity, ‘‘ My. Jinkins! Iam afraid there must be some mistake. I think Augustus must have gone straight to the Altar!” As such a thing was possible, and the church was close at hand, Mr. Jinkins ran off to see: accompanied by Mr. George Chuzzlewit the bachelor cousin, who preferred anything to the aggravation of sitting near the breakfast, without being able to eat it. But they came back with no other tidings than a familiar message from the clerk, importing that if they wanted to be married that morning they had _ better look sharp, as the curate wasn’t going to wait there all day. The bride was now alarmed; seriously alarmed. Good Heavens, what could haye happened! Augustus! Dear Augustus ! Mr. Jinkins volunteered to take a cab, and seek him at the newly-furnished house. The strong-minded woman adminis- tered comfort to Miss Pecksniff. ‘‘It was a specimen of what she had to expect. It would do her good. It would dispel the romance of the affair.” The red-nosed daughters also administered the kindest comfort. ‘‘ Perhaps he’d come,” they said. The sketchy nephew hinted that he might have fallen off a bridge. The wrath of Mr. Spottletoe resisted all the entreaties of his wife. Everybody spoke at once, and Miss Pecksniff, with clasped hands, sought consolation every- where and found it nowhere, when Jinkins, having met the postman at the door, came back with a letter : which he put into her hand. Miss Pecksniff opened it; glanced at it; uttered a piercing shriek; threw it down upon the ground; and fainted away. They picked it up; and crowding round, and looking over one another’s shoulders, read, in the words and dashes follow- ing, this communication :THE NUPTIALS OF MISS PECKSNIFF RECEIVE A TEMPORARY CHECK} Ps a Seni a nh sence ma ant TrenTHE BRIDEGROOM FORBIDS THE BANNS 959 ‘‘Orr GRAVESEND. ‘CLIPPER SCHOONER, CUPID. “ Wednesday night. “ EVER-INJURED Miss PEcKSNIEFF, “Bre this reaches you, the undersigned will be—if not a corpse—on the way to Van Dieman’s Land. Send not in pursuit. I never will be taken alive! “The burden—3oo tons per register—forgive, if in my distraction, I allude to the ship—on my mind—has, been truly dreadful. Frequently—when you have sought to soothe my brow with kisses—has self-destruction flashed across me. Frequently—incredible as it may seem—have I abandoned the idea. “T love another. She is Another’s. Everything appears to be somebody else’s. Nothing in the world is mine—not even my Situation—which I have forfeited—by my rash con- duct—in running away. ‘If you ever loved me, hear my last appeal! The last appeal of a miserable and blighted exile. Forward the inclosed—it is the key of my desk—to the office—by hand. Please address to Bobbs and Cholberry—I mean to Chobbs and Bolberry—but my mind is totally unhinged. I left a penknife—with a buckhorn handle—in your work-box. It will repay the messenger. May it make him happier than ever it did me! ‘Oh, Miss Pecksniff, why didn’t you leave me alone! Was it not cruel, cruel! Oh, my goodness, have you not been a witness of my feelings—have you not seen them flowing from my eyes—did you not, yourself, reproach me with weeping more than usual on that dreadful night when last we met—in that house—where I once was peaceful—though blighted—in the society of Mrs. Todgers! “But it was written—in the Talmud—that you should involye yourself in the inscrutable and gloomy Fate which it is my mission to accomplish, and which wreathes itself —e’en now—about my—temples. I will not reproach, for I have wronged you. May the Furniture make some amends! ‘“Parewell! Be the proud bride of a ducal coronet, and forget me! Long may it be before you know the anguish with which I now subscribe myself—amid the tempestuous howlings of the—sailors, ‘ Unalterably, never yours, ‘“ AUGUSTUS.”eR aad g6o MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT They thought as little of Miss Pecksniff, while they greedily perused this letter, as if she were the very last person on earth whom it concerned. But Miss Pecksniff really had fainted away. The bitterness of her mortification; the bitterness of having summoned witnesses, and such witnesses, to behold it; the bitterness of knowing that the strong-minded woman and the red-nosed daughters towered triumphant in this hour of their anticipated overthrow ; was too much to be borne. Miss Pecksniff had fainted away in earnest. What sounds are these that fall so grandly on the ear! What darkening room is this! And that mild figure seated at an organ, who is he! Ah Tom, dear Tom, old friend! Thy head is prematurely grey, though Time has passed between thee and our old association, Tom. But, in those sounds with which it is thy wont to bear the twilight company, the music of thy heart speaks out: the story of thy life relates itself. Thy life is tranquil, calm, and happy, Tom. In the soft strain which ever and again comes stealing back upon the ear, the memory of thine old love may find a voice perhaps ; but it is a pleasant, softened, whispering memory, like that in which we sometimes hold the dead, and does not pain or grieve thee, God be thanked ! Touch the notes lightly, Tom, as lightly as thou wilt, but never will thine hand fall half so lightly on that Instrument as on the head of thine old tyrant brought down very, very low ; and never will it make as hollow a response to any touch of thine, as he does always. For a drunken, squalid, begging-letter-writing man, called Pecksniff (with a shrewish daughter), haunts thee, Tom; and when he makes appeals to thee for cash, reminds thee that he built thy fortunes better than his own; and when he spends it, entertains the alehouse company with tales of thine ingratitude and his munificence towards thee once upon a time ; and then he shows his elbows worn in holes, and puts his soleless shoes up on a bench, and begs his auditors look there, while thou art comfortably housed and clothed. All known to thee, and yet all borne with, Tom! So, with a smile upon thy face, thou passest gently to another measure—to a quicker and more joyful one—and rae aR nd Pr eae!A DEAR OLD FRIEND 961 little feet are used to dance about thee at the sound, and bright young eyes to glance up into thine. And there is one slight creature, Tom—her child ; not Ruth’s—whom thine eyes follow in the romp and dance : who, wondering sometimes to see thee look so thoughtful, runs to climb up on thy knee, and put her cheek to thine: who loves thee, Tom, above the rest, if that can be: and falling sick once, chose thee for her nurse, and never knew impatience, Tom, when Thou wert by her side. Thou glidest now, into a graver air; an air devoted to old friends and bygone times; and in thy lingering touch upon the keys, and the rich swelling of the mellow harmony, they vise before thee. The spirit of that old man dead, who delighted to anticipate thy wants, and never ceased to honour thee, is there, among the rest: repeating, with a face composed and calm, the words he said to thee upon his bed, and blessing thee! And coming from a garden, Tom, bestrewn with flowers by children’s hands, thy sister, little Ruth, as light of foot and heart as in old days, sits down beside thee. From the Present, and the Past, with which she is so tenderly entwined in all thy thoughts, thy strain soars onward to the Future. As it resounds within thee and without, the noble music, rolling round ye both, shuts out the grosser prospect of an earthly parting, and uplifts ye both to Heaven! THE ENDn> nn ene ae POSTSCRIPT Av a Public Dinner given to me on Saturday the 18th of April, 1868, in the City of New York, by two hundred representatives of the Press of the United States of America, I made the following observations among others : “So much of my voice has lately been heard in the land, that I might have been contented with troubling you no further from my present standing-point, were it not a duty with which I henceforth charge myself, not only here but on every suitable occasion, whatsoever and wheresoeyer, to express my high and grateful sense of my second reception in America, and to bear my honest testimony to the national generosity and magnanimity. Also, to declare how astounded I have been by the amazing changes I have seen around me on every side,—changes moral, changes physical, changes in the amount of land subdued and peopled, changes in the rise of vast new cities, changes in the growth of older cities almost out of recognition, changes in the graces and amenities of life, changes in the Press, without whose advancement no advancement can take place anywhere. Nor am I, believe me, so arrogant as to suppose that in five and twenty years there have been no changes in me, and that I had nothing to learn and no extreme impressions to correct when I was here first. And this brings me to a point on which I have, ever since I landed in the United States last November, observed a strict silence, though sometimes tempted to break it, but in reference to which I will, with your good leave, take you into my con- fidence now. Even the Press, being human, may be some- times mistaken or misinformed, and I rather think that I have in one or two rare instances observed its information to be not strictly accurate with reference to myself. Indeed, I have, now and again, been more surprised by printed news that I have read of myself, than by any printed news that I have ever read in my present state of existence. Thus, the vigour and perseverance with which I have for some months past been collecting materials for, and hammering away at, Pee aeee963 a new book on America has much astonished me ; seeing that all that time my declaration has been perfectly well known to my publishers on both sides of the Atlantic, that no con- sideration on earth would induce me to write one. But what I have intended, what I have resolved upon (and this is the confidence I seek to place in you) is, on my return to England, in my own person, in my own Journal, to bear, for the behoof of my countrymen, such testimony to the gigantic changes in this country as I have hinted at to-night. Also, to record that wherever I have been, in the smallest places equally with the largest, I have been received with unsurpassable polite- ness, delicacy, sweet temper, hospitality, consideration, and with unsurpassable respect for the privacy daily enforced upon ne by the nature of my avocation here and the state of my health. This testimony, so long as I live, and so long as my descendants have any legal right in my books, I shall cause to be republished, as an appendix to every copy of those two books of mine in which I have referred to America. And this I will do and cause to be done, not in mere love and thankfulness, but because I regard it as an act of plain justice and honour.” I said these words with the greatest earnestness that I could lay upon them, and I repeat them in print here with equal earnestness. So long as this book shall last, I hope that they will form a part of it, and will be fairly read as inseparable from my experiences and impressions of America. CHARLES DICKENS. May, 1868.| : a oe pelii 4 Hy ia ® Naa oo ea cuemnsiawiaiaae| t ; Renner era Pee Tener} ST anne “9 meat ae eeecet st) ! i 1PE th wpa sone HN SA este siesta Sverre aati