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THE 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES 
 
 OF 
 
 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 
 

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 l_ O f-Y O O N . 
 
 n'DQ£:.G^LlllY. 
 
THE 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTUEES 
 
 OF 
 
 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 BY CHARLES DICKENS. 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY PHIZ. 
 
 LONDON: 
 CHAPMAN AND HALL, 186, STRAND. 
 
 MDCCCXLIV, 
 
LONDON : 
 
 BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRtARS. 
 
TO 
 
 MISS BURDETT COUTTS, 
 
 IS DEDICATED, 
 
 WITH TEE TRUE AND EARNEST REGARD 
 OP 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 I ATTACH a few preliminary words to the Life and Adventures 
 OP Martin Chuzzlewit : more because I am unwilling to depart 
 from any custom which has become endeared to me by having 
 prevailed between myself and my readers on former occasions 
 of the same kind, than because I have anything particular 
 to say. 
 
 Like a troublesome guest who lingers in the Hall after he 
 has taken leave, I cannot help loitering on the threshold of 
 my book, though those two words. The End : anticipated 
 through twenty months, yet sorrowfully penned at last : stare 
 at me, in capitals, from the printed page. 
 
 I set out, on this journey which is now concluded ; with the 
 design of exhibiting, in various aspects, the commonest of all 
 the vices. It is almost needless to add, that the commoner 
 the folly or the crime which an author endeavours to illustrate, 
 the greater is the risk he runs of being charged with exagge- 
 ration ; for, as no man ever yet recognised an imitation of 
 himself, no man will admit the correctness of a sketch in 
 which his own character is delineated, however faithfully. 
 
Viii PREFACE. 
 
 But, although Mr. Pecksniff will by no means concede to 
 me, that Mr. Pecksniff is natural ; I am consoled by finding 
 him keenly susceptible of the truthfulness of Mrs. Gamp. 
 And though Mrs. Gamp considers her own portrait to be 
 quite unlike, and altogether out of drawing ; she recompenses 
 me for the severity of her criticism on that failure, by awarding 
 unbounded praise to the picture of Mrs. Prig. 
 
 I have endeavoured in the progress of this Tale, to resist the 
 temptation of the current Monthly Number, and to keep a 
 steadier eye upon the general purpose and design. With this 
 object in view, I have put a strong constraint upon myself from 
 time to time, in many places ; and I hope the story is the better 
 for it, now. 
 
 At any rate, if my readers have derived but half the pleasure 
 and interest from its perusal, which its composition has afforded 
 me, I have ample reason to be gratified. And if they part 
 from any of my visionary friends, with the least tinge of that 
 reluctance and regret which I feel in dismissing them ; my 
 success has been complete, indeed. 
 
 London, 
 Twenty -Ji/th June, 1844. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Chapter I. — Introductory, concerning the Pedigree of the Chuzzlewit 
 
 Family .......•! 
 
 Chap. II. — Wherein certain Persons are presented to the Reader, with 
 
 whom he may, if he please, become better acquainted . . 6 
 
 Chap. III. — In which certain other Persons are introduced ; on the 
 
 same Terms as in the last Chapter . . . .19 
 
 Chap. 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 . . 33 
 
 Chap. V. — Containing a full Account of the Installation of Mr. Peck- 
 sniffs new Pupii into the Bosom of jMr. Pecksniff's Family. With 
 all the Festivities held on that Occasion, and the great Enjoyment 
 of Mr. Pinch ....... 48 
 
 Chap. VI. — Comprises, among other important Matters, Pecksniffian 
 and Architectural, an exact Relation of the Progress made by 
 Mr. Pinch in the Confidence and Friendship of the New Pupil . 65 
 
 Chap. VII. — In which Mr. Chevy Slyme asserts the Independence of 
 
 his Spirit ; and the Blue Dragon loses a Limb . . .76 
 
 Chap. VIII. — Accompanies Mr. Pecksniff and his charming Daughters 
 to the City of London ; and relates what fell out, upon their way 
 thither ........ 88 
 
 Chap. IX. — Town and Todgers's ..... 97 
 
 Chap. X. — Containing strange Matter ; on which many Events in this 
 
 History, may, for their good or evil Influence, chiefly depend . 117 
 
 Chap. XI. — Wherein a certain Gentleman becomes particular in his 
 Attentions to a certain Lady ; and more Coming Events than one, 
 cast their Shadows before . . . • ,129 
 
X CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Chap. XII. — Will be seen in the Long Run, if not in the Short One, to 
 concern Mr. Pinch and Others, nearly. Mr. Pecksniff asserts the 
 Dignity of outraged Virtue ; and Young Martin Chuzzlewit forms 
 a desperate Resolution . . . . . '145 
 
 Chap. XIIl. — 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 ........ 161 
 
 Chap. XIV. — In which Martin bids Adieu to the Lady of his Love ; 
 and Honours an obscure Individual whose Fortune he intends to 
 make, by commending her to his Protection . . .177 
 
 Chap. XV. — The Burden whereof, is Hail Columbia ! . . 186 
 
 Chap. XVI. — Martin Disembarks from that noble and fast-sailing Line 
 of Packet Ship, " The Screw," at the Port of New York, in the 
 United States of America. He makes soine Acquaintances, and 
 Dines at a Boarding-house. The Particulars of those Transactions 193 
 
 Chap. XVII. — Martin enlarges his Circle of Acquaintance ; increases 
 his Stock of Wisdom ; and has an excellent Opportunity of 
 comparing his own Experiences with those of Lummy Ned of 
 the Light Salisbury, as related by his Friend Mr. William Simmons 210 
 
 Chap. XVIII. — Does Business with the House of Anthony Chuzzlewit 
 
 and. Son, from which One of the Partners retires unexpectedly . 225 
 
 Chap. XIX. — The Reader is brought into Communication with some 
 Professional Persons, and sheds a Tear over the Filial Piety of 
 good Mr. Jonas ..,,.,, 233 
 
 Chap. XX. — Is„a Chapter of Love ., . . . . 246 
 
 Chap. XXI. — More American Experiences. Martin takes a Partner, 
 and makes a Purchase. Some Account of Eden, as it appeared on 
 Paper. Also of the British Lion. Also of the kind of Sympathy 
 professed and entertained, by the Watertoast Association of United 
 Sympathizers ....... 257 
 
 Chap. XXII. — From which it will be seen that Martin became a Lion 
 
 on his own Account. Together with the Reason why . . 273 
 
 Chap. XXIII. — Martin and his Partner take Possession of their Estate. 
 
 The Joyful Occasion involves some further Account of Eden • 281 
 
 Chap. XXIV.— Reports Progress in certain homely Matters of Love, 
 
 Hatred, Jealousy, and Revenge ..... 289 
 
 Chap. XXV. — Is in part Professional ; and furnishes the Reader with 
 some Valuable Hints in relation to the Management of a Sick 
 Chamber ..,,..., 302 
 
 Chap. XXVI. — An Unexpected Meeting, and a Promising Prospect . 314 
 
CONTENTS. XI 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Chap. XXVII. — Showing that Old Friends may not only appear with 
 New Faces, but in False Colours. That People are prone to 
 Bite ; and that Biters may sometimes be Bitten . . . 321 
 
 Chap. XXVIII. — Mr. Montague at Home. And Mr. Jonas Chuzzlewit 
 
 at Home ......... 337 
 
 Chap. XXIX. — In which some People are Precocious, others Pro- 
 fessional, and others Mysterious : all in their several Ways . 345 
 
 Chap. XXX. — Proves that Changes may be rung in the best-regulated 
 Families, and that IVIr. Pecksniff was a special hand at a Triple- 
 Bob-Major . . . ; . ; . 353 
 
 Chap. XXXI. — Mr. Pinch is discharged of a Duty which he never 
 owed to Anybody ; and Mr. Pecksniff discharges a Duty which 
 he owes to Society ...... 365 
 
 Chap. XXXII. — Treats of Todgers's again ; and of another Blighted 
 
 Plant besides the Plants upon the Leads .... 380 
 
 Chap. XXXIII. — Further Proceedings in Eden, and a Proceeding out 
 
 of it. Martin makes a Discovery of some importance . . 385 
 
 Chap. XXXIV. — In which the Travellers move Homeward, and 
 
 Encounter some Distinguished Characters upon the Way . 398 
 
 Chap. XXXV. — Arriving in England, Martin witnesses a Ceremony, 
 from which he derives the cheering Information that he has not 
 been Forgotten in his Absence ..... 411 
 
 Chap. XXXVI. — Tom Pinch departs to seek his Fortune. What 
 
 he finds at starting . . . . . ,417 
 
 Chap. XXX VII. — Tom Pinch, going Astray, finds that he is not the 
 only Person in that Predicament. He Retaliates upon a fallen 
 Foe "... 433 
 
 Chap. XXXVIII.— Secret Ser\'ice 441 
 
 Chap. XXXIX. — Containing some further Particulars of the Domestic 
 Economy of the Pinches ; with strange News from the City, 
 narrowly concerning Tom ..... 449 
 
 Chap. XL. — The Pinches make a New Acquaintance, and have fresh 
 
 occasion for Surprise and Wonder .... 462 
 
 Chap. XLI. — Mr. Jonas and his Friend, arriving at a Pleasant Under- 
 standing, set forth upon an Enterprise .... 473 
 
 Chap. XLII. — Continuation of the Entei-prise of Mr. Jonas and his 
 
 Friend . 481 
 
 Chap. 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 . • . 489 
 
Xll CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGS 
 
 Chap. XLIV. — Further Continuation of the Enterprise of Mr. Jonas 
 
 and his Friend ....... 505 
 
 Chap. XLV. — In which Tom Pinch and his Sister take a little Plea- 
 sure ; but quite in a Domestic Way, and with no Ceremony 
 about it ....... 513 
 
 Chap. XL VI. — In which Miss Pecksniff makes Love, Mr. Jonas 
 makes Wrath, Mrs. Gamp makes Tea, and Mr. Chuffey makes 
 Business ........ 520 
 
 Chap, XL VII. — Conclusion of the Enterprise of Mr. Jonas and his 
 
 Friend ........ 537 
 
 Chap. XLVIII. — Bears Tidings of Martin, and of Mark, as well as of 
 a Third Person not quite unknown to the Reader. Exhibits Filial 
 Piety in an Ugly Aspect ; and casts a doubtful Ray of Light upon 
 a very Dark Place ...... 545 
 
 Chap. XLIX. — In which Mrs. Harris, assisted by a Teapot, is the cause 
 
 of a Division between Friends ..... 558 
 
 Chap. L. — Surprises Tom Pinch very much, and shows how certain 
 
 Confidences passed between Him and his Sister . . . 568 
 
 Chap. LI. — Sheds New and Brighter Light upon the very Dark Place ; 
 and contains the Sequel of the Enterprise of Mr. Jonas and his 
 Friend ........ 577 
 
 Chap. LII. — In which the Tables are Turned, completely Upside 
 
 Dow^n ........ 593. 
 
 Chap. LIII. — What John Westlock said to Tom Pinch's Sister ; what 
 Tom Pinch's Sister said to John Westlock ; what Tom Pinch 
 ^aid to both of them ; and how they all passed the Remaindei" of 
 the Day ........ 608 
 
 Chap. LIV. — Gives the Author great Concern. For it is the Last 
 
 in the Book ....... 615 
 
LIST OF PLATES. 
 
 MEEKNESS OF MR. PECKSNIFF AND HIS CHARMING DAUGHTERS . 
 
 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT SUSPECTS THE LANDLADY WITHOUT ANY REASON 
 
 PLEASANT LITTLE FAMILY PARTY AT MR. PECKSNIFF'S 
 
 PINCH STARTS HOMEWARD WITH THE NEW PUPIL . « . . 
 
 MR. PINCH AND THE NEW PUPIL ON A SOCIAL OCCASION . 
 
 MARK BEGINS TO BE JOLLY UNDER CREDITABLE CIRCUMSTANCES 
 
 MRS. TODGERS AND THE PECKSNIFFS CALL UPON MISS PINCH 
 
 TROTH PREVAILS, AND VIRTUE IS TRIUMPHANT 
 
 MR. JONAS CHUZZLEWIT ENTERTAINS HIS COUSINS .... 
 
 MR. PECKSNIFF RENOUNCES THE DECEIVER 
 
 MARTIN MEETS AN ACQUAINTANCE AT THE HOUSE OF A MUTUAL RELATION 
 
 MR. TAPLEY ACTS THIRD PARTY WITH GREAT DISCRETION 
 
 MR. JEFFERSON BRICK PROPOSES AN APPROPRIATE SENTIMENT . 
 
 MR. TAPLEY SUCCEEDS IN FINDING A JOLLY SUBJECT FOR CONTEMPLATION 
 
 THE DISSOLUTION' OF PARTNERSHIP 
 
 MR. PECKSNIFF ON HIS MISSION , 
 
 THE THRIVING CITY OF EDEN AS IT APPEARED ON PAPER ^ . 
 
 THE THRIVING CITY OF EDEN AS IT APPEARED IN FACT ... 
 
 BALM FOR THE WOUNDED ORPHAN 
 
 MRS. GAMP HAS HER EVE ON THE FUTURE 
 
 THE BOARD 
 
 PAGE 
 H 
 
 24 
 
 42 
 58 
 70 
 88 
 103 
 120 
 138 
 IGO 
 166 
 178 
 190 
 212 
 232 
 235 
 268 
 283 
 296 
 320 
 327 
 
XIV LIST OF PLATES. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 EASY SHAVING , 34& 
 
 MR. MODDLE IS BOTH PARTICULAR AND PECULIAR IN HIS ATTENTIONS . . 384 
 
 MR. PECKSNIFF DISCHARGES A DUTY WHICH HE OWES TO SOCIETY . . 387 
 
 MR. TAPLEY IS RECOGNISED BY SOME FELLOW-CITIZENS OF EDEN . . 386- 
 
 MARTIN IS MUCH GRATIFIED BY AN IMPOSING CEREMONY . . . . 415 
 
 MR. PINCH DEPARTS TO SEEK HIS FORTUNE 419^^ 
 
 MR. NADGETT BREATHES, AS USUAL, AN ATMOSPHERE OF MYSTERY . . , 448 
 
 MR. PINCH AND RUTH UNCONSCIOUS OF A VISITOR 452 
 
 MYSTERIOUS INSTALLATION OF MR. PINCH . , 460 
 
 MR. JONAS EXHIBITS HIS PRESENCE OF MIND 485 
 
 MR. PECKSNIFF ANNOUNCES HIMSELF AS THE SHIELD OF VIRTUE , . . 497 
 
 MR. MODDLE IS LED TO THE CONTEMPLATION OF HIS DESTINY , , . 521 
 
 MRS. GAMP MAKES TEA . , ..», . .. .. 528 
 
 MRS. GAMP PROPOGES A TOAST , . ... 563 
 
 MR. PINCH IS AMAZED BY AN UNEXPECTED APPARITION 576 
 
 WARM RECEPTION OF MR. PECKSNIFF BY HIS VENERABLE FRIEND . , . 599 
 
 THE NUPTIALS OF MISS PECKSNIFF RECEIVE A TEMPORARY CHECK , . . 622 
 
ERRATA. 
 
 Page 5, line 24 from top, strike out the parenthetical mark after " consequently.'^ 
 
 Page 6, line 17 „ for " buildings" read " building." 
 
 Page 7, line 28 „ for " swagger," read " swaggerer." 
 
 Page 11, line 7 „ for " of pocketing premiums," strike out " of." 
 
 Page 49, line 40 „ for " she knew," read " he knew," ; for " she was light,'' 
 
 read " he was right." 
 Page 108, line 27 „ after " table " insert " beer." 
 Page 223, line 40 „ for '* appeared," read '^ appealed." 
 Page 297, line 41 „ for ** foundst," read " foundest ;" for " wheczcdst, " 
 
 read "wheezed;" bottom line, for "keptst," read 
 
 "kept." 
 Page 567, line 9 „ strike out the full stop after " his own," and before " I 
 
 have been." 
 Page 576, line 20 „ for " triumphed purpose," read " triumphant purpose." 
 
LIFE AND ADVENTURES 
 
 OF 
 
 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY, CONCERXIXG THE PEDIGREE 0? THE CIIUZZLEWIT 
 
 FAMILY. 
 
 As no lady or gentleman, -witli 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, 
 displayed an overweening amount of family pride, surely the weakness 
 will be considered not only pardonable but laudable, 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 
 of violence and vagabondism ; for in ancient days, those two amuse- 
 ments, 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, the 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 leather-jerkined soldiers to 
 the death, with invincible courage, and afterwards return home gracefully 
 to their relations and friends. 
 
 B 
 
2 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 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 monarchy to employ the vulgar phrase, at any sub- 
 sequent period : inasmuch 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 favorites, 
 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 descendants, 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 remark- 
 able stock ; as he might easily have been, supposing another Chuzzlewit 
 to have emigrated to Spain in the previous generation, and there inter- 
 married with a Spanish lady, by whom he had issue, one olive-com- 
 plexioned son. This probable conjecture is strengthened, if not abso- 
 lutely 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-merchants ; and have, month 
 after month, continued gloomily to watch a small stock of coals, without, 
 in any one instance, negociating with a purchaser. The remarkable 
 similarity between this course of proceeding and that adopted by their 
 Great Ancestor beneath the vaults of the Parliament House at West- 
 minster, is too obvious and too full of interest, to stand in need of 
 comment. 
 
 It is also clearly proved by the oral traditions of the Family, that 
 there existed, at some one period of its history which is not distinctly 
 stated, a matron of such destructive principles, and so familiarised ta 
 the use and composition of inflammatory and combustible engines, that 
 she was called " The Mat<;'h 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 English^ History, 
 which must carry conviction, even to a mind (if such a mind there be) 
 remaining unconvinced by these presumptive proofs. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 3 
 
 There was, within a few years, in the possession of a highly respectablo 
 and in every way credible and unimpeachable member of the Chuzzlewit 
 Family (for his bitterest enemy never dared to hint at his being other- 
 wise than a wealthy man), a dark lantern 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, since 
 deceased, was at all times ready to make oath, and did again and again 
 set forth upon his solemn asseveration, that he had frequently heard his 
 grandmother say, when contemplating this venerable relic, " Aye, aye J 
 This was carried by my fourth son on the fifth of November, when he 
 was a Guy Fawkes." These remarkable words wrought (as well they 
 might) a strong impression on his mind, and he was in the habit of 
 repeating them very often. The just interpretation which they bear, 
 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 
 ludicrously 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 may be (and very often is), 
 effected 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 
 Chuzzle^nt having been found on terms of intimacy with the Great. 
 But here again the sneering detractors who weave such miserable fig- 
 ments 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 companion- 
 ship 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 as one surfeited 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 Indi- 
 vidual, to whom the secret of his father's birth was supposed to have 
 
r:^/ 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 been communicated by his father in his lifetime, lay upon his death- 
 bed, this question was put to him, in a distinct, solemn, and formal way : 
 " Toby Chuzzlewit^ who was your grandfather f To which he, v\dth 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 No Zoo." It may be 
 said — it has been said, for human wickedness has no limits — that there 
 is no Lord of that name, and that among the titles which have become 
 extinct, none at all resembling this, in sound even, is to be discovered. 
 But what is the irresistible inference ? Rejecting a theory broached by 
 some well-meaning but mistaken persons, that this Mr. Toby Chuzzle- 
 wit'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 
 Ohuzzlewits 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 Dig- 
 gory 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 favor by presents of plate, jewels, books, watches, and 
 other valuable articles. Thus, he writes on one occasion to his brother 
 in reference to a gravy-spoon, the brother's property, which he (Diggory) 
 would appear to have borrowed or otherwise possessed himself of : " Do 
 not be angry I have parted with it — to my uncle." On another occa- 
 sion he expresses himself in a similar manner with regard to a child's 
 mug which had been entrusted to him to get repaired. On another 
 occasion he says, " I have bestowed upon that irresistible uncle of mine 
 everything I ever possessed." And that he was in the habit of 
 paying long and constant visits to this gentleman at his mansion, if 
 indeed, he did not wholly reside there, is manifest from the following 
 sentence : " With the exception of the suit of clothes I carry about with 
 me, the whole of my wearing apparel is at present at my uncle's." This 
 gentleman's patronage and influence must have been very 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 elsewhere, or to 
 have conferred upon him any other distinction than that which was 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 necessarily included in tlie countenance of so great a man, and the being 
 invited by him to certain entertainments, so splendid and costly in their 
 nature that he emphatically calls them " Golden Balls." 
 
 It is needless to multiply instances of the high and lofty station, and 
 the vast importance of the Chuzzlewits, at different periods. If it came 
 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 demon- 
 stration, 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 autho- 
 rity 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 themselves 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 
 acquaintance to all right-minded individuals, may now proceed in earnest 
 with its task. And having shown that they must have had, by reason of 
 their ancient birth, a pretty large share in the foundation and increase 
 of the human family, it will one day become its province to submit, that 
 such of its members as shall be introduced in these pages, have still 
 many counterparts and prototypes in the Great World about us. At 
 present it contents itself with remarking, in a general way, on this 
 head : Firstly, that it may be safely asserted and yet without implying 
 any direct participation in the Monboddo doctrine touching the proba- 
 bility of the human race having once been monkeys, that men do play 
 very strange and extraordinary tricks. Secondly, and yet without 
 trenching on the Blumenbach theory as to the descendants of Adam 
 having a vast number of qualities which belong more particularly to 
 swine than to any other class of animals in the creation, that some men 
 certainly are remarkable for taking uncommon good care of themselves. 
 
LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 WHEREIN CERTAIN PERSONS ARE PRESENTED TO THE READER, WITH 
 WHOM HE MAY, IF HE PLEASE, BECOME BETTER ACQUAINTED. 
 
 It was pretty late in tlie autumn of the year, when the declining sun, 
 struggling through the mist which had obscured 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 
 glistened from its lofty station in sympathy with the general gladness ; 
 and from the ivy-shaded windows such gleams of light shone back upon 
 the glowing sky, that it seemed as if the quiet buildings were the 
 hoarding-place of twenty summers, and all their ruddiness and warmth 
 were stored within. 
 
 Even those tokens of the season which 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 scatteiing of seed hither and thither by the 
 distant husbandman, and with the noiseless passage of the plough as it 
 turned up the rich brown earth, and wrought a graceful pattern in the 
 stubbled fields. On the motionless branches of some trees, autumn 
 berries hung like clusters of coral beads, as in those fabled orchards where 
 the fruits were jewels ; others, stripped of all their garniture, stood, each 
 the 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 (hardy 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 favorites, she grants the longest term of 
 life. Still athwart their darker boughs, the sun-beams struck out paths 
 of deeper gold ; and the red light, mantling in among their swarthy 
 branches, used them as foils to set its brightness off, and aid the lustre 
 of the dying day. 
 
 A moment, and its glory was no more. The sun went down beneath 
 the long dark lines of hill and cloud which piled up in the west an airy 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. / 
 
 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 darkening fields. 
 
 Then the village forge came out in all its bright importance. The 
 lusty bellows roared Ha ha ! to the clear fire, which roared in turn, and 
 bade the shining sparks dance gaily to the merry clinking of the ham- 
 mers on the anvil. The gleaming iron, in its emulation, sparkled too, 
 and shed its red-hot gems around profusely. The strong smith and his 
 men dealt such strokes upon their work, as made even the melancholy 
 night rejoice ; and brought a glow into its dark face as it hovered about 
 the door and windows, peeping curiously in above the shoulders of a 
 dozen loungers. As to this idle company, there they stood, spellbound 
 by the place, and, casting now and then a glance upon the darkness in 
 their rear, settled their lazy elbows more at ease upon the sill, and leaned 
 a little further in : no more disposed to tear themselves away, than if 
 they had been born to cluster round the blazing hearth like so many 
 crickets. 
 
 Out upon the angry wind ! how from sighing, it began to bluster 
 round the merry forge, banging at the wicket, and grumbling in the 
 chimney, as if it bullied the jolly bellows for doing anything to order. 
 And what an impotent swagger it was too, for all its noise : for if it had 
 any influence on that hoarse companion, it was but to make him roar 
 his cheerful song the louder, and by consequence to make the fire bum 
 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 
 wdnd to bear : so off it flew with a howl : giving the old sign before the 
 alehouse-door such a cufi" as it went, that the Blue Dragon was more 
 rampant than usual ever afterwards, and indeed, before Christmas, reared 
 clean out of his crazy frame. 
 
 It was small tyranny for a respectable wind to go wreaking its venge- 
 ance on such poor creatures as the fallen leaves, 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, pell-mell, some here, some there, rolling over each other, whirling 
 round and round upon their thin edges, taking frantic flights into the 
 air, and playing all maimer of extraordinary gambols in the extremity of 
 their distress. Nor was this enough for its malicious fury : for not con- 
 tent 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 saw-dust 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 ,' 
 
8 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 The scared leaves only flew the faster for all this : and a giddy chase 
 it was : for they got into unfrequented places^ where there was no outlet, 
 and where their pursuer kept them eddying round and round at his 
 pleasure j and they crept under the eaves of houses, and clung tightly ta 
 the sides of hay-ricks, like bats ; and tore in at open chamber windows, 
 and cowered close to hedges ; and in short went anywhere for safety. 
 Eut the oddest feat they achieved was, to take advantage of the sudden 
 opening of Mr. Pecksniff's front-door, to dash wildly into his passage ; 
 whither the wind following close upon them, and finding the back-door 
 open, incontinently blew out the lighted candle held by Miss Pecksniff, 
 and slammed the iront-door against Mr. Pecksniff who was at that mo- 
 ment entering, with such violence, that in the twinkling of an eye he lay 
 on his back at the bottom of the steps. Being by this time weary of 
 such trifling performances, the boisterous rover hurried away rejoicing, 
 roaring over moor and meadow, hill and flat, until it got out to sea, 
 where it met with other winds similarly disposed, and made a night 
 of it. 
 
 In the meantime Mr. Pecksniff, having 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 unrea- 
 sonable time, without so much as wondering whether he was hurt or no : 
 neither, when Miss Pecksniff inquired through the key-hole in a shrill 
 voice, which might have belonged to a wind in its teens, " Who's there ?" 
 did he make any reply : nor, when Miss Pecksniff opened the door again, 
 and shading the candle with her hand, peered out, and looked provokingly 
 round him, and about him, and over him, and everywhere but at him, 
 did he offer any remark, or indicate in any manner the least hint of a 
 desire to be picked up. 
 
 " / see you," cried Miss Pecksniff, to the ideal inflictor of a runaway 
 knock. " You'll catch it. Sir !" 
 
 Still Mr. Pecksniff, perhaps from having caught it already, said 
 nothing. 
 
 "You're round the corner now," cried Miss Pecksniff. She said it at 
 a venture, but there was appropriate matter in it too ; for Mr. Pecksniff, 
 being in the act of extinguishing the candles before mentioned pretty 
 rapidly, and of reducing the number of brass knobs on his street-door 
 from four or five hundred (which had previously been juggling of their 
 own accord before his eyes in a very novel manner) to a dozen or so, 
 might in one sense have been said to be coming round the corner, and 
 just turning it. 
 
 With a sharply-delivered warning relative to the cage and the constable, 
 and the stocks and the gallows. Miss Pecksniff was about to close the door 
 again, when Mr. Pecksniff (being still at the bottom of the steps) raised 
 himself on one elbow, and sneezed. 
 
 " That voice !" cried Miss Pecksniff, " my parent !" 
 
 At this exclamation, another Miss Pecksniff' bounced out of the parlour: 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 9 
 
 and tlie two Miss Pecksniffs, with many incoherent expressions, dragged 
 Mr. Pecksniff into an upright posture. 
 
 " Pa !" they cried iu concert. " Pa ! Speak; Pa ! Do not look so 
 wild, my dearest Pa !" 
 
 But as a gentleman's looks, in such a case of all others, are by no means 
 under his own control, Mr. Pecksniff continued to keep his mouth and his 
 eyes very wide open, and to drop his lower jaw, somewhat after -the 
 manner of a toy nut-cracker : and as his hat had fallen off, and his face was 
 pale, and his hair erect, and his coat muddy, the spectacle he presented 
 was so very doleful, that neither of the Miss Pecksniffs could repress an 
 involuntary screech. 
 
 " That '11 do," said Mr. Pecksniff. " I 'm better." 
 
 " He's come to himself !" cried the youngest Miss Pecksniff. 
 
 " He speaks again !" exclaimed the eldest. With which joyful words 
 they kissed Mr. Pecksniff on either cheek ; and bore him into the house. 
 Presently, the youngest Miss Pecksniff ran out again to pick up his hat, 
 his broAvn 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. Pecksniff's Vv^ounds in the back parlour. 
 
 They were not very serious in their nature : being limited to abrasions 
 on what the eldest Miss Pecksniff called " the knobby parts " of her 
 parent's anatomy, such as his knees and elbows, and to the develop- 
 ment of an entirely new organ, unknown to phrenologists, on the back 
 of his head. These injuries having been comforted externally, w4th 
 patches of pickled brown paper, and Mr. Pecksniff having been comforted 
 internally, with some stiff brandy-and-water, the eldest Miss Pecksniff 
 sat down to make the tea, which 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 
 station on a low stool at his feet : thereby bringing her eyes on a level 
 with the teaboard. 
 
 It 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 shortness of her legs. Miss Pecksniff 
 sat upon a stool, because of her simplicity and innocence, which were 
 very great : very great. Miss Picksniff sat upon a stool, because she 
 was ail girlishness, and playfulness, and wildness, and kittenish buoy- 
 ancy. 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 sometimes — yes, sometimes — she even wore a 
 pinafore ; and how charming that was ! Oh ! she was indeed " a gushing 
 thing " (as a young gentleman had observed in verse, in the Poet's-corner 
 of a provincial newspaper), was the youngest Miss Pecksniff ! 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff was a moral man : a grave man, a man of noble senti- 
 
10 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 ments, and speech : and he had had her christened Mercy. Mercy ! oh, 
 what a charming name for such a pure-souled Being as the youngest 
 Miss Pecksniff ! Her sister's name was Charity. There was a good 
 thing ! Mercy and Charity ! And Charity, with her fine strong sense, 
 and her mild, yet not reproachful gravity, was so well named, and did 
 so well set off and illustrate her sister ! AVhat a pleasant sight was that, 
 the contrast they presented : to see each loved and loving one sympa- 
 thising with, and devoted to, and leaning on, and yet correcting and 
 counter-checking, and, as it were, antidoting, the other ! To behold each 
 damsel, in her very admiration of her 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 goods at that establishment 
 don't please you, you are respectfully invited to favour me with a call ! 
 And the crowning circumstance of the whole delightful catalogue was, 
 that both the fair creatures were so utterly unconscious of all this ! They 
 had no idea of it. They no more thought or dreamed of it, than Mr. 
 Pecksniff did. Nature played them off against each other : they had no 
 hand in it, the two Miss Pecksniffs. 
 
 It has been remarked that Mr. Pecksniff was a moral man. So he 
 was. Perhaps there never was a more moral man than Mr. Pecksniff : 
 especially in his conversation and correspondence. 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 prodigiously. 
 He was a most exemplary man : fuller of virtuous precept than a copy- 
 book. Some people likened him to a direction-post, which is always 
 telling the way to a place, and never goes there : but these were his 
 enemies ; 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-gray, which was all brushed off his forehead, and 
 stood bolt upright, or slightly drooped in kindred action with his heavy 
 eyelids. So did his person, which was sleek though free from corpulency. 
 So did his manner, which was soft and oily. In a word, even his 
 plain black suit, and state of widower, and dangling double eye-glass, 
 all tended to the same purpose, and cried aloud, " Behold the moral 
 Pecksniff!" 
 
 The brazen plate upon the door (which being Mr. Pecksniff^s, could 
 not lie) bore this inscription, " Pecksniff, Architect," to which Mr. 
 Pecksniff, on his cards of business, added, " and Land Surveyor." In 
 one sense, and only one, he may be said to have been a Land Surveyor 
 on a pretty large scale, as an extensive prospect lay stretched out before 
 the windows of his house. Of his architectural doings, nothing was 
 clearly known, except that he had never designed or built anything ; 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 11 
 
 l)ut it was generally understood that his knowledge of the science was 
 almost awful in its profundity. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff's professional engagements, indeed, were almost, if not 
 entirely, confined to the reception of pupils ; for the collection of rents, 
 with which pursuit he occasionally varied and relieved his graver toils, 
 can hardly be said to be a strictly architectural employment. His genius 
 lay in ensnaring parents and guardians, and of pocketing premiums. 
 A young gentleman's premium being paid, and the young gentleman 
 come to Mr. Pecksniff's house, Mr. Pecksniff" borrowed his case of mathe- 
 matical instruments (if silver-mounted or othenvise valuable) ; entreated 
 him, from that moment, to consider himself one of the family ; compli- 
 mented him highly on his parents or guardians, 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 himself, for three or five years, according to his articles, in 
 making elevations of Salisbury Cathedral from every possible point of 
 sight ; and in constmcting in the air a vast quantity of Castles, Houses 
 of Parliament, and other Public Buildings. Perhaps in no place in the 
 world were so many gorgeous edifices of this class erected as under Mr. 
 Pecksniff's auspices ; and if but one 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 commissioners, no more churches would 
 be wanted for at least five centuries. 
 
 " Even the worldly goods of Avhich we have just disposed," said Mr. 
 Pecksniff, glancing round the table when he had finished; " even cream, 
 sugar, tea, toast, ham, — " 
 
 " And eggs," suggested Charity in a low voice. 
 
 " And eggs," said Mr. Pecksniff, " even they have their moral. See 
 how they come and go ! Every pleasure is transitory. We can't even 
 eat, long. If we indulge in harmless fluids, we get the dropsy ; if in 
 exciting liquids, we get drunk. What a soothing reflection is that !" 
 
 " Don't say we get drunk Pa," urged the eldest Miss 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 personal in morality, my love. Even such a thing as 
 this," said Mr. Pecksniff, laying the forefinger of his left hand upon the 
 brown paper patch on the top of his head, " slight casualty, baldness, 
 though it be, reminds us that we are but" — he was going to say 
 ^' worms," but recollecting that Avorms were not remarkable for heads of 
 hair, he substituted " flesh and blood." 
 
 " Which," cried Mr. Pecksniff after a pause, during which he seemed 
 to have been casting about for a new moral, and not quite successfully, 
 " which is also very soothing. Mercy, my dear, stir the fire and throw up 
 the cinders." 
 
 The young lady obeyed, and having done so, resumed her stool, re- 
 posed one arm upon her father's knee, and laid her blooming cheek upon 
 it. i\Iiss Charity drew her chair nearer the fire, as one prepared for 
 conversation, and looked towards her father. 
 
12 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Yes," said ]^Ir. Pecksniff, after a short pause, during wliicli 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 adver- 
 tisement !" 
 
 " Playful — playful warbler," said Mr. Pecksniff. It may be observed In 
 connexion with his calling his daughter " a warbler," that she was not at 
 all vocal, but that Mr. Pecksniff was in the frequent habit of using any 
 word that occurred to him as having a good sound, and rounding a 
 sentence well, without much care for its meaning. And he did this so 
 boldly, and in such an imposing 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. 
 
 " Is he handsome. Pa V enquired 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, " 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 distinctly : " well- 
 looking enough. I do not positively expect any immediate premium 
 with him." 
 
 Notwithstanding their different natures, both Charity and Mercy con- 
 curred 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 1 We are not all 
 arrayed in two opposite ranks : the o/fensive 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 V 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 13 
 
 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 waggish- 
 ness) that the younger one was moved to sit upon his knee forthwith^ 
 put her fair arms round his neck, and kiss him twenty times. During 
 the whole of this affectionate display she laughed to a most immoderate 
 extent : in which hilarious indulgence even the prudent Cherry joined. 
 
 " Tut, tut," said Mr. Pecksniff", pushing his latest-born away, and 
 running his fingers through his hair, as he resumed his tranquil face. 
 " What folly is this ! Let us take heed how we laugh without reason, 
 lest we cry with it. What is the domestic news since yesterday 1 John 
 Westlock is gone, I hope ]" 
 
 " Indeed no," said Charity. 
 
 " And why not V returned her father. " His term expired yesterday. 
 And his box was packed, I know ; for I saw it, in the morning, stand- 
 ing 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 1 
 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 suff"ered under injury without com- 
 plaint, " 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. I am 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 Mr. Pinch." 
 
 " But what can any one expect from Mr. Pinch !" cried 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, oa 
 the calf of that gentleman's leg. 
 
 " Ay, ay," returned her father, raising his hand mildly : '• it is very 
 "well to say what can we expect from Mr. Pinch, but Mr. Pinch is a 
 fellow-creature, my dear ; Mr. Pinch is an item in the vast total of 
 humanity, my love ; and we have a right, it is our duty, to expect in 
 Mr. Pinch some development of those better qualities, the possession of 
 which in our own persons inspires our humble self-respect. No," con- 
 tinued 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 alive (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 woi'se of him on this account, but not of human 
 nature. Oh no, no !" 
 
14 LIFS AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " 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 take it to the mail. Only mark my words, if that isn't his 
 intention 1" 
 
 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 virtuously. 
 " Come in 1" 
 
 An ungainly, awkward-looking man, extremely short-sighted, and 
 prematurely bald, availed himself of this permission ; and seeing that Mr. 
 Pecksniff sat with his back towards him, gazing at the fire, stood hesi- 
 tating, 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 shrunken with long wear, was twisted and tortured into all 
 kinds of odd shapes ; but notwithstanding his attire, and his clumsy 
 figure, which a great stoop in his 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. Peck- 
 sniff again, several times ; but the young ladies being as intent upon the 
 fire as their father was, and neither of the three taking any notice of him, 
 he was fain to say, at last, 
 
 " Oh ! I beg your pardon, Mr. Pecksniff : I beg your pardon for in- 
 truding : but — " 
 
 " No intrusion, Mr. Pinch," said that gentleman very sweetly, but 
 without looking round. " Pray be seated, Mr. Pinch. Have the good- 
 ness to shut the door, Mr. Pinch, if you please." 
 
 " Certainly, 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 1" said Pecksniff, wheeling his cha,ir 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 earnest- 
 ness, " if you please. Mr. Westlock, sir, going 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 j you have had many little 
 difierences." 
 
 " Little differences !" cried Charity. 
 
//^'r^^/-/^f^ {^/[yfC 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 15 
 
 ' " Little differences 1" 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 veiy much 
 at a loss how to resume, and looked so helplessly at the two Miss 
 Pecksniffs, that the conversation would most probaljly 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." 
 
 " I told you he didn't," said Pinch in an under tone ; "1 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 quite 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 V 
 
 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, " I'll not 
 have it upon such terms. I won't be forgiven." 
 
 " Won't you, John ?" retorted Mr. Pecksniff, with a smile. " You 
 must. You can't help it. Forgiveness is a high quality ; an exalted 
 virtue ; far above 7/our control or influence, John. I will forgive you. 
 You cannot move me to remember any wrong you have ever done me, 
 John." 
 
 " Wrong !" cried the other, with all the heat and impetuosity of his 
 age. " Here's a pretty fellow ! Wrong ! Wrong I have done him ! 
 He'll not even remember the five hundred pounds he had with me under 
 false pretences ; or the seventy pounds a-year for board and lodging 
 that would have been dear at seventeen ! Here's a martyr !" 
 
 " Money, John," said Mr. Pecksniff, " is the root of all evil. I grieve 
 to see that it is already bearing evil 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 happiness to say, in vain) the heart's repose 
 and peace of one who would have shed his dearest blood to serve him." 
 
16 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 The voice of Mr. Pecksniff trembled as he spoke, and sobs were beard 
 from bis daughters. Sounds floated on the air, moreover, as if two spirit 
 voices bad exclaimed : one, " Beast !" the other, " Savage !" 
 
 " Forgiveness," said Mr. Pecksniff, " entire and pure forgiveness is 
 not incompatible with a wounded heart ; perchance 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, 
 raising his voice, as Pinch appeared about to speak, " I beg that individual 
 not to offer a remark : he will truly oblige me by not uttering one word : 
 just now. I am not sure that I am equal to the trial. In a very short 
 space of time, I shall have sufficient fortitude, I trust, to converse with 
 him as if these events had never happened. But not," said Mr. Pecksniff, 
 turning round again towards the fire, and waving his hand in the 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 thinking of. I was right and you were wrong. 
 That's a small matter ; you'll be wiser another time." 
 
 So saying, he clapped that dejected companion on the shoulder, turned 
 upon his heel, and walked out into the passage, whither poor Mr. Pinch, 
 after lingering irresolutely in the parlour for a few seconds, expressing 
 in his countenance the deepest mental misery and gloom, followed him. 
 Then they took up the box between them, and sallied out to meet the 
 mail. 
 
 That fleet conveyance passed, every night, the 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. 
 
 " I '11 tell you what, Pinch !" he said abruptly, after another lengthened 
 silence — " You haven't half enough of the devil in you. Half enough ! 
 You haven't any." 
 
 " Well !" said Pinch with a sigh, " I don't know, I 'm sure. It *s a 
 compliment to say so. If I haven't, I suppose I 'm all the better for it." 
 
 " All the better !" repeated his companion tartly : " All the worse, you 
 mean to say." 
 
 " And yet," said Pinch, pursuing his own thoughts and not this last 
 remark on the part of his friend, " I must have a good deal of what you 
 call the devil in me, too, or how could I make Pecksniff so uncomfortable? 
 I wouldn't have occasioned him so much distress — don't laugh, please — 
 for a mine of money : and Heaven knows I could find good use for it too, 
 John. How grieved he was !" 
 
 "^ He grieved ! " returned the other. 
 
 " Why didn't you observe that the tears were almost starting out of 
 his eyes !" cried Pinch. "Bless my soul, John, is it nothing to see 
 a man moved to that extent and know one's self to be the cause ! And 
 did you hear him say that he could have shed his blood for me T 
 
 " Do you want any blood shed for you ?" returned his friend, with 
 considerable irritation. " Does he shed anything for you that you do 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 17 
 
 want ? Does lie shed employment for you, instruction for you, pocket- 
 money for you 1 Does he shed even legs of mutton for you in any decent 
 proportion to potatoes and garden stuff?" 
 
 " I am afraid," said Pinch, sighing again, " that I'm a great eater : 
 I can't disguise from myself that I'm a great eater. Now you know that, 
 John." 
 
 " You a great eater !" retorted his companion, with no less indignation 
 than before. " How do you know you are V 
 
 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 '11 do. Now, go on." 
 
 " In the first place," said Pinch, " he took me as his pupil for much 
 less than he asked," 
 
 " Well/' rejoined his friend, perfectly unmoved by this instance of 
 generosity. " What in the second place 1 " 
 
 " What in the second place ! " cried Pinch, in a sort of desperation, 
 " why, everything in the second place. My poor old grandmother died 
 happy to think that she had put me with such an excellent man. I 
 have grown up in his house, I am in his confidence, I am his assistant, 
 he allows me a salary : when his business improves, my prospects are to 
 improve too. All this, and a great deal more, is in the second place. 
 And in the very prologue and preface to the first place, John, you must 
 consider this, which nobody knows better than I : that I was born for 
 much plainer and poorer things, that I am not a good hand at his kind 
 of business, and have no talent for it, or 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 as he sat do-wn on 
 the box (they had by this time reached the finger-post at the end of the 
 lane) ; motioned him to sit down beside him ; and laid his hand upon 
 his shoulder. 
 
 " I believe you are one of the best fellows in the world," he said, 
 " Tom Pinch." 
 
 '•' Not at all," rejoined Tom. " If you only knew Pecksniff as well 
 as I do, you might say it of him, indeed, and say it truly." 
 
 " I'U say anything of him, you like," returned the other, " and not 
 another word to his disparagement." 
 
 " It 's for my sake, then ; not his, I am afraid," said Pinch, shaking 
 his head gravely. 
 
 " For whose you please, Tom, so that it does please you. Oh ! He 's 
 
 c 
 
18 LIFE AND ADYENTURES OF 
 
 a famous fellow ! He never scraped and clawed into his poucli 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 realized ! 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 wandering about this 
 little place all your spare hours, reading in ancient books, and foreign 
 tongues, gets noised abroad, even as far as Salisbury, making of him, 
 Pecksniff the master, a man of learning and of vast importance. He gets 
 no credit from you, Tom, not he." 
 
 " Why, of course he don't," said Pinch, gazing at his friend with a 
 more troubled aspect than before. " Pecksniff get credit from me ! 
 Well 1" 
 
 " 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 advertise him hereabouts, 
 much cheaper and much better than a chalker on the walls could, eh, 
 Tom % As well might one suppose that he doesn't on all occasions pour 
 out his whole heart and soul to you ; that he doesn't make you a very 
 liberal and indeed rather an extravagant allowance ; or, to be more wild 
 and monstrous still if that be possible, as well might one suppose," and 
 here, at every word, he struck him lightly on the breast, " that Pecksniff 
 traded in your nature, and that your nature was, to be timid and dis- 
 trustful 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 bewilderment, 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 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 19 
 
 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 expression it wore, 
 and w^ere 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 immediate end to the conference : greatly as it seemed to the satis- 
 faction of the younger man, who jumped up briskly, and gave his hand 
 to his companion. 
 
 " 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, apostrophizing the coach : " I can hardly 
 persuade myself but you're alive, and are some great monster who visits 
 this place at certain intervals, to bear my friends away into the world. 
 You're more exulting and rampant than usual to-night, I think : and 
 jou 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 1" 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 IN WHICH CERTAIN OTHER PERSONS ARE INTRODUCED j ON THE SAME 
 TERMS AS IN THE LAST CHAPTER. 
 
 Mention has been already made more than once, of a certain Dragon 
 who swung and creaked complainingly before the village ale-house door. 
 A faded, and an ancient dragon he was ; and many a wintry storm of 
 rain, snow, sleet, and hail, had changed his colour from a gaudy blue to 
 a faint lack-lustre shade of gray. But there he hung ; rearing in a state 
 of monstrous imbecility, on his hind legs ; waxing, with every month 
 that passed, so much more dim and shapeless, that as you gazed at him 
 on one side of the sign-board it seemed as if he must be gradually melting 
 through it, and coming out upon the other. 
 
 He was a courteous and considerate dragon too ; or had been in his 
 "distincter days ; for in the midst of his rampant feebleness, he kept one 
 of his fore paws near his nose, as though he would say, " Don't mind me — 
 it's only my fun/' while he held out the other, in polite and hospitable 
 entreaty. Indeed it must be conceded to the whole brood of dragons of 
 modern times, that they have made a great advance in civilization and 
 refinement. They no 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 
 
 c 2 
 
20 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 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 
 animal 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 pre- 
 cincts, 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 no- 
 body knew whither ; had turned out of the high road, and driven unex- 
 pectedly 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 terrify 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 good woman 
 poured out in less than half-an-hour, he would entertain but one. That 
 was, that he should go to bed. And it was in the preparation of his bed, 
 and the arrangement of his chamber, that all the stir was made in the room 
 behind the Dragon. 
 
 He was, beyond all question, very ill, and suffered exceedingly : not the 
 less, perhaps, because he was a strong and vigorous old man, with a will 
 of iron, and a voice of brass. But neither the apprehensions which he 
 plainly entertained, at times, for his life ; nor the great pain he under- 
 went ; 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 this determination. If they sent for any person to attend him, 
 man, woman, or child, he would leave the house directly (so he told them), 
 though he quitted it on foot, and died upon the threshold of the door. 
 
 Now there being no medical practitioner actually resident in the vil- 
 lage, but a poor apothecary who was also a grocer and general dealer, the 
 
MARTIN CHTTZZLEWIT. 
 
 21 
 
 landlady had upon her own responsibility 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 land- 
 lady, being by this time pretty well beside herself, despatched the same 
 messenger in all haste for Mr. Pecksniff, as a learned man who could 
 bear a deal of responsibility, and a moral man who could administer a 
 word of comfort to a troubled mind. That her guest had need of some 
 efficient services under the latter head was obvious enough from the rest- 
 less expressions, importing, however, rather a worldly than a spiritual 
 anxiety, to which he gave frequent utterance. 
 
 From this last-mentioned secret errand, the messenger returned with 
 no better news than from the first ; Mr. Pecksniff" was not at home. 
 Hov/ever, they got the patient into bed, without him ; and in the course 
 of two hours, he gradually became so far better that there were much 
 longer intervals than at first between his terms of suffering. By 
 deg-rees, he ceased to suffer at all : though his exhaustion was occa- 
 sionally 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 endea- 
 voured, 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 appearance just what 
 a landlady should be : broad, buxom, comfortable, and good-looking, with 
 a face of clear red and white, which by its jovial aspect, at once bore 
 testimony to her hearty participation in the good things of the larder 
 and the cellar, and to their thriving and healthful influences. She was 
 a widow, but years ago had passed through her state of weeds, and burst 
 into flower again ; and in full bloom she had continued ever since ', and 
 in full bloom she was now ; with roses on her ample skirts, and roses on 
 her boddice, roses in her cap, roses in her cheeks, — ay, and roses, worth 
 the gathering too, on her lips, for that matter. She had still a bright 
 black eye, and jet black hair ; was comely, dimpled, plump, and tight as 
 a gooseberry ; and though she was not exactly what the world calls young, 
 you may make an 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 apart- 
 ment, such as one may see in country places, v/ith a low roof and a 
 sunken flooring, all do^vn-hill from the door, and a descent of two steps 
 on the inside so exquisitely unexpected, that strangers, despite the most 
 elaborate cautioning, usually dived in head-first, as into a plunging-bath. 
 It was none of your frivolous and preposterously bright bedrooms, 
 where nobody can close an eye with any kind of propriety or decent 
 
22 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 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 
 immoveability, of the bedstead, and wardrobe, and in a minor degree of 
 even the chairs and tables, provoked sleep ; they were plainly apoplectic 
 and disposed to snore. There were no staring portraits to remonstrate 
 with you for being lazy j no round-eyed birds upon the curtains, dis- 
 gustingly wide awake, and insufferably prying. The thick neutral 
 hangings, and the dark blinds, and the heavy heap of bed-clothes, were 
 all designed to hold in sleep, and act as non-conductors to the day and 
 getting up. Even the old stuffed fox upon the top of the wardrobe was 
 devoid of any spark of vigilance, for his glass eye had fallen out, and he 
 slumbered as he stood. 
 
 The wandering attention of the mistress of the Blue Dragon roved to 
 these things but twice or thrice, and then for but an instant at a time. 
 It soon deserted them, and even the distant bed with its strange burden, 
 for the young creature immediately before her, who, with her downcast 
 eyes intently fixed upon the fire, sat wrapped in silent meditation. 
 
 She was very young ; apparently not more than seventeen ; timid and 
 shrinking in her manner, and yet with a greater share of self-possession 
 and control over her emotions than usually belongs to a far more 
 advanced period of female life. This she had abundantly shown, but now, 
 in her 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 man- 
 ner, even when she sat as still as she did then, there was an indefinable 
 something which appeared to be in kindred with her scrupulously unpre- 
 tending dress. She had sat, at first looking anxiously towards the bed ; 
 but seeing that the patient remained quiet, and was busy with his writ- 
 ing, she had softly moved her chair into its present place : partly, as it 
 seemed, from an instinctive consciousness that he desired to avoid obser- 
 vation ; 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 ! " 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 23 
 
 " They are intended for such an emergency. We never travel without 
 them." 
 
 " Oh ! " thought the hostess^ " then we are in the habit of trammelling, 
 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?" 
 
 " I have been very much alarmed to-night. He — he is not my grand- 
 father." 
 
 " 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 embarrassed than 
 before : " how could I be so very much mistaken ; knowing, as anybody 
 in their proper senses might, that when a gentleman is ill, he looks so 
 much older than he really is ! That I should have called you • Miss,' too, 
 Ma'am !" But when she had proceeded thus far, she glanced involun- 
 tarily at the third finger of the young lady's left hand, and faultered 
 again : for there was no ring upon it. 
 
 " When I told you we were not related," said the other mildly, but 
 not without confusion on her own part, " I meant not in any way. Not 
 even by marriage. Did you call me, Martin ?" 
 
 " Call you?" cried the old man, looking quickly up, and hurriedly 
 drawing beneath the coverlet, the paper on which he had been writing. 
 " No." 
 
 She had moved a pace or two towards the bed, but stopped immediately, 
 and went no further. 
 
 " No," he repeated, with a petulant emphasis. " Why do you ask me? 
 If I had called you, what need for such a question ?" 
 
 " It was the creaking of the sign outside, sir, I dare say," observed 
 the landlady : a suggestion by the way (as she felt a moment after she 
 had made it), not at all complimentary to the voice of the old gentleman. 
 
 " No matter what. Ma'am," he rejoined : " it wasn't I. Why how 
 you stand there, Mary, as if I had the plague ! But they're all afraid of 
 me," he added, leaning helplessly backward on his pillow, " even she ! 
 There is a curse upon me. What else have I to look for ! " 
 
 " 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." 
 
24 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 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. " But you lose no time. 
 You do your errand, and you earn your fee. Now, who may be your client '?" 
 
 The landlady looked in great astonishment at her whom he called 
 Mary, and finding no 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 man and beast. " Now, you 
 will be well again, sir. You forgot, for the moment, that there were 
 none but friends here." 
 
 " Oh !" cried the old man moaning impatiently, as he tossed one 
 restless arm upon the coverlet, " why do you talk to me of friends ! Can 
 you or anybody teach me to know who are my friends, and who my 
 enemies T 
 
 " 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, occasioned Mrs. Lupin not a little conster- 
 nation. 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 
 
zo'y/^^ {h^//j^yr//yi/j/^^^e^ /j^c. ./^i'yp'^^:^/^7^^, //^^//^^u/' r^ ?2.7^ /z/'^A^n 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 25 
 
 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 unnatural composure. At this very 
 crisis, a step was heard in the entry, and Mr. Pecksniff, looking sweetly 
 over the half-door of the bar, and into the vista of snug privacy beyond, 
 murmured : 
 
 " Good evening, Mrs. Lupin !" 
 
 " Oh dear me, sir !" she cried, advancing to receive him, " I am so very 
 glad you have come." 
 
 " And / am very glad I have come," said Mr. Pecksniff, " if I can be 
 of servdce. I am very glad I have come. What is the matter, Mrs. 
 Lupin r 
 
 " 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 r 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. Pecksniffs manner was so bland, and he nodded 
 his head so soothingly, and showed in everything such an affable sense of 
 his own excellence, that anybody would have been, as Mrs. Lupin was, 
 comforted by the mere voice and presence 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 I 
 ve-ry well !" 
 
 Here again, though the statement was Mrs. Lupin's and not Mr. Peck- 
 sniff'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. " / 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. 
 
26 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " I 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 much afraid, sir, that his conscience 
 is troubled by his not being related — or — or even married to — a very 
 young lady — " 
 
 " Mrs. Lupin !" said Mr. Pecksniff, holding up his hand with some- 
 thing in his manner as nearly approaching to severity, as any expression 
 of his, mild being that he was, could ever do. " Person ! young person 1" 
 
 " A very young person," said Mrs. Lupin, courtesying 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. Pecksniff, warming his back 
 (as he had warmed his hands) as if it were a widow's back, or an orphan's 
 back, or an enemy's back, or 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 their confusion, 
 that the enemies of this worthy man unblushingly maintained that he 
 always said of what was very bad, that it was very natural ; and that he 
 unconsciously betrayed his own nature in doing so. 
 
 " Your suspicion, Mrs. Lupin," he repeated, " is very natural, and I 
 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. 
 
 " 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. 
 
 " I 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 !" 
 
 As he finished this whisper, he advanced, before the hostess ; and at 
 the same time the young lady, hearing footsteps, rose, Mr. Pecksniff' 
 glanced at the volume she held, and whispered Mrs. Lupin again : if 
 possible, with increased despondency. 
 
 " Yes ma'am," he said, " it is a good book. I was fearful of that 
 beforehand. I am apprehensive that this is a very deep thing indeed ! " 
 
 " What gentleman is this ^ " inquired the object of his virtuous doubts. 
 
 " Hush 1 don't trouble yourself^ Ma'am," said Mr. Pecksniff, as the 
 landlady was about to answer. " This young" — in 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 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 27 
 
 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 
 objection the young lady urged to Mrs. Lupin went no further, for no- 
 thing more was said to Mr. Pecksniff, and Mr. Pecksniff said nothing 
 more to anybody else. 
 
 Full half-an-hour elapsed before the old man stirred, but at length 
 he turned himself in bed, and, though not yet awake, gave tokens that 
 his sleep was drawing to an end. By little and little he removed the 
 bed-clothes from about his head, and turned still more towards the side 
 where Mr. Pecksniff sat. In course of time his eyes opened ; and he 
 lay for a few moments as people newly roused sometimes will, gazing in- 
 dolently at his visitor, without any distinct consciousness 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 forehead than its custom was, until, at length, when the old man 
 rose in bed, and stared at him with scarcely less emotion than he showed 
 himself, the Pecksniff doubts were all resolved, and he exclaimed aloud : 
 
 " You are Martin Chuzzlewit ! " 
 
 His consternation of surprise was so genuine, that the old man, with 
 all the disposition that he clearly entertained to believe it assumed, was 
 convinced of its reality. 
 
 " I am Martin Chuzzlewit," he said, bitterly : " and Martin Chuzzle- 
 wit 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 
 gray 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 compassionate and dispassionate ; 
 for he had by this time recovered from his surprise, and was in full pos- 
 session of his virtuous "self. " You will regret being hasty, I know you 
 will." 
 
 " You know ! " said Martin, contemptuously. 
 
 " Yes," retorted Mr. Pecksniff. " Ay ay, Mr. Chuzzlewit : and don't 
 imagine that I mean to court or flatter you : for nothing is farther from 
 my intention. Neither, sir, need you entertain the least misgiving that 
 
28 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 I shall repeat that obnoxious word which has given you so much offence 
 already. Why should 1 1 What do I expect or want from you 1 There 
 is nothing in your possession that / 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 : knowing 
 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 he could not dispute it, as if he had said as much in good 
 set terms. 
 
 " No," said Mr. Pecksniff, keeping his hand in his waistcoat as though 
 he were ready, on the shortest notice, to produce his heart for Martin 
 Chuzzlewit's inspection, " I came here to offer my services to a stranger. 
 I make no offer of them to you, because I knoAv 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, circumstanced as you are. Beyond that, I am quite as 
 indifferent to you, Mr. Chuzzlewit, as you are to me." 
 
 Having said which, Mr. Pecksniff threw 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. Peck- 
 sniff 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 Chuzzlewit had 
 expressed in gestures, that he wanted to speak to him, he could only 
 have found it out on some such principle as prevails in melodramas, and 
 in virtue of which the elderly farmer with the comic son always knows 
 what the dumb-girl means when she takes refuge in his garden, and 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 29 
 
 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 eyes 
 on all outward objects, took an inward survey of his own breast. That 
 it amply repaid him for his trouble, and afforded a delicious and enchant- 
 ing prospect, was clear from the expression of his face. 
 
 " You wish me to speak to you as to a total stranger/' said the old 
 man, " do you 1 " 
 
 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 tlie 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 cur- 
 rently believed. I have no pleasure in hoarding. I have no pleasure in 
 the possession of money. The devil that we call by that name can give 
 me nothing but unhappiness." 
 
 It would be no description of Mr. Pecksniff's gentleness 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 grati- 
 fication connected with the thing. Pain and bitterness are the only goods 
 it ever could procure for me. I hate it. It is a spectre walking before 
 me through the world, and making every social pleasure hideous." 
 
 A thought arose in Mr. Pecksniff's mind, which must have instantly 
 mounted to his 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. 
 Eut, 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 gates that close upon the paths to worldly honour, 
 fortune, and enjoyment. To what man or woman ; to what worthy, 
 honest, incorruptible creature ; shall I confide such a 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 1" 
 
 " Of contact with yourself, sir," echoed Mr. Pecksniff. 
 ^ ^ Ay," returned the old man, " the test of contact with me — with 
 
30 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 me. You have heard of him whose misery (the gratification of his own 
 foolish wish) was, that he turned every thing he touched, to gold. The 
 curse of my existence, and the realization 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 ol 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 corrup- 
 tion 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 favor ; 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 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 com- 
 pany by which 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 for joy, 
 would have spat upon their cofiins when they died their dupes ; and 
 then their search would have ended as mine has done, and they would 
 be what I am." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff, not at all knowing what it might be best to say, in the 
 momentary pause which 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 breed- 
 ing 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 bad gases and vapours in their moral atmosphere, which, but for 
 me, might have proved harmless to the end ; that I have, I may say, fled 
 from all who knew me, and taking refage 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. PecksniiT, laying his hand upon his 
 breast, and dropping his eyelids. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 31 
 
 " I forgot," cried the old man, looking at him with a keenness which 
 the other seemed to feel, although he did not raise his ejes so as to see 
 it : "I ask your pardon. I forgot you were a stranger. For the mo- 
 ment you reminded me of one Pecksniff, a cousin of mine. As I was 
 saying — the young girl whom you just now saw, is an orphan child, whom, 
 with one steady purpose, I have bred and educated, or, if you prefer the 
 word, adopted. For a year or more she has been my constant companion, 
 and she is my only one. I have taken, as she knows, a solemn oath 
 never to leave her sixpence when I die, but while I live, I make her an 
 annual allowance : not extravagant in its amount and yet not stinted. 
 There is a compact between us that no term of affectionate cajolery shall 
 ever be addressed by either to the other, but that she call me always by 
 my Christian name, I her, by hers. She is bound to me in life by ties 
 of interest, and losing by my death, and having no expectation disap- 
 pointed, 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." 
 
 " I 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. But he con- 
 strained himself, and pointing with his finger to the door, informed him 
 that his road lay there. 
 
 " Thank you," said Mr. Pecksniff, " I am aware of that ; I am going. 
 But before I go, I crave your leave to speak, and more than that, Mr. 
 Chuzzlewit, I must and will — yes indeed, I repeat it, must and will — be 
 lieard. 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 mnking with both eyes at once, as it were, 
 against his \n\\, " I will not say that you are mistaken in me. ^Miile 
 you are in your present mood I would not say so for the world. I almost 
 wish, indeed, that I had a different nature, that I might repress even 
 this slight confession of weakness : which I cannot disguise from you ; 
 which I feel is humiliating : but which you will have the goodness to 
 excuse. We will say, if you please," added Mr. Pecksniff, with great 
 tenderness of manner, "that it arises from a cold in the head, or is 
 attributable to snuff, or smelling-salts, or onions, or anything but the 
 real cause." 
 
 Here he paused for an instant, and concealed his face behind his pocket- 
 
32 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 handkercliief. Then, smiling faintly, and holding the bed-furniture with 
 one hand, he resumed : 
 
 " But, Mr. Chuzzlewit, while I am forgetful of myself, I owe it to 
 myself, and to my character — ay sir, and I have a character which is very 
 dear to me, and will be the best inheritance of my two daughters— to tell 
 you, on behalf of another, that your conduct is wrong, unnatural, inde- 
 fensible, monstrous. And I tell you, sir," said Mr. Pecksniff, towering 
 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 skywards like a rocket, " I tell* you without fear or favor, that 
 it will not do for you to be unmindful of your grandson, young Martin, 
 who has the strongest natural claim upon you. It will not do, sir," 
 repeated Mr. PecksniiF, shaking his head. " You may t'hink it will do, 
 but it won't. You must provide for that young man ; you shall provide 
 for him ; you will provide for him. I believe," said Mr. Pecksniff, glancing 
 at the pen-and-ink, " that in secret you have 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 1 Can the false-hearted boy have chosen such 
 a tool as yonder fellow who has just gone out ? Why not ! He has 
 conspired against me, like the rest, and they but birds of one feather. 
 A new plot ; a new plot ! Oh self, self, self ! At every turn, nothing 
 but self!" 
 
 He fell to trifling, as he ceased to speak, with the ashes of the burnt 
 paper in the candlestick. He did so, at first in pure abstraction, but 
 they presently became the subject of his thoughts. 
 
 " Another will made and destroyed," he said, " nothing determined 
 on, nothing done, and I might have died to-night ! I plainly see to 
 what foul uses all this money will be put at last," he cried, almost writh- 
 ing in the bed : " after filling me with cares and miseries all my life, it 
 v/ill perpetuate discord and bad passions when I am dead. So it always 
 is. What lawsuits grow out of the graves of rich men, every day : sow- 
 ing 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 ? 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 33 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 PROM WHICH IT WILL APPEAR THAT IF UNION BE STRENGTH, AND 
 FAMILY AFFECTION BE PLEASANT TO CONTEMPLATE, THE CIIUZZLEWITS 
 WERE THE STRONGEST AND MOST AGREEABLE FAMILY IN THE WORLD. 
 
 That worthy man Mr. PecksnIiF having taken leave of his cousin in 
 the solemn terms recited in the last chapter, withdrew to his own home, 
 and remained there three whole days : not so much as going out for a 
 walk beyond the boundaries of his own garden, lest he should be hastily 
 summoned to the bedside of his penitent and remorseful relative, whom, 
 in his ample benevolence, he had made up his mind to forgive uncon- 
 ditionally, 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 further 
 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, andj returning good for evil, evinced 
 the deepest solicitude in the progress of the obdurate invalid ; inso- 
 much that Mrs. Lupin was fairly melted by his disinterested anxiety 
 (for he often particularly rec|uired her to take notice that he v/ould do 
 the same by any stranger or pauper in the like condition), and shed 
 many tears of admiration and delight. 
 
 Meantime, old Martin Chuzzlewit remained shut up in his own chamber, 
 and saw no person but his young companion, saving the hostess of the 
 Blue Dragon, who was, at certain times, admitted to his presence. So 
 surely as she came into the room, however, Martin feigned to fall asleep. 
 It was only when he and the young lady were alone, that he would utter 
 a word, even in answer to the simplest inquiry ; though Mr. Pecksniff 
 could make out, by hard listening at the door, that they two being left 
 together, he was talkative enough. 
 
 It happened on the fourth evening, that Mr. Pecksniff walking, as 
 usual, into the bar of the Dragon and finding no Mrs. Lupin there, 
 went straight up-stairs : purposing, in the fervor of his affectionate zeal, 
 to apply his ear once more to the keyhole, and cjuiet 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 this 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 
 
 D 
 
34 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 damp umbrellas, a barrel of beer, a cask of warm brandy-and-water, 
 and a small parlor-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 evil 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 blueish gray — violent in its colours once, but sobered now by age and 
 dinginess — and were so stretched and strained in a tough conflict between 
 his braces and 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 the progress of the professional 
 mysteries. His hat had arrived at such a pass that it would have been 
 hard to determine whether it was originally white or black. But he 
 wore a moustache — a shaggy moustache too : nothing in the meek and 
 merciful way, but quite in the fierce and scornful style : the regular 
 Satanic sort of thing — and he wore, besides, a vast quantity of unbrushed 
 hair. He was very dirty and very jaunty ; very bold and very mean ; 
 very swaggering and very slinking ; very much like a man who might 
 have been something better, and unspeakably like a man who deserved 
 to be something worse. 
 
 "You were eaves-dropping at that door, you vagabond 1" said this 
 gentleman. 
 
 Mr. Pecksnifl" cast him off", as Saint George might have repudiated 
 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. Pecksniffl " What then % Do you know, 
 sir, that I am the friend and relative of that sick gentleman 1 That I 
 am his protector, his guardian, his — " 
 
 "Not his niece's husband," interposed the stranger, " PU be sworn ; 
 for he was there before you." 
 
 "What do yc>u mean '?" said Mr. Pecksnifl', with indignant surprise. 
 " What do you tell me sir ? " 
 
 " Wait a bit ! " cried the other. " Perhaps you are a cousin — the 
 cousin who lives in this place T 
 
 "I am the cousin who lives in this place," replied the man of worth. 
 
 " Your name is Pecksnifl"?" said the gentleman. 
 
 "It is." 
 
 " I am proud to know you, and I ask your pardon," said the gentle- 
 man touching his hat, and subsequently diving behind his cravat for a 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 35 
 
 slilrt-collar, which however he did not succeed in bringing to the 
 surface. '' You behold in me, sir, one who has also an interest in that 
 gentleman up-stairs. Wait a bit." 
 
 As he said this, he touched the tip of his high nose, by way of inti- 
 mation that he would let Mr. Pecksniff into a secret presently ; and 
 pulling off his hat, began to search inside the cro^vn among a mass of 
 crumpled documents and small pieces of what may be called the bark of 
 broken cigars : whence he presently selected the cover of an old letter, 
 beofrimed 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 V returned the stmnger. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff shrugged his shoulders as though he would say '• I know 
 there is such a person, and I am sorry for it." 
 
 " Very good," remarked the gentleman. " That is my interest and 
 business here," With that he made another dive for his shirt-collar, 
 and brought up a string. 
 
 " Now this is very distressing, my friend," said Mr. Pecksniff, shaking 
 his head and smiling 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 !" cried the gentleman, stretching forth his right arm, which 
 was so tightly wedged into his threadbare sleeve that it looked like a 
 cloth sausao-e. " 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 fore- 
 finger, he resumed : 
 
 " I understand your mistake, and I am not offended. Why 1 Be- 
 cause it's complimentary. You suppose I Avould 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, tlie highest-minded, the most 
 independent-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 Sljnne 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. • Peck- 
 sniff, the whole thing resolves itself into an instance of the peculiarities 
 of genius. Every man of true genius has his peculiarity. Sir, the 
 peculiarity of my friend Sljone is, that he is always waiting round the 
 corner. He is perpetually round the corner, sir. He is round the 
 corner at this instant. Now," said the gentleman, shaking his fore- 
 finger before his nose, and planting his legs wider apart as he looked 
 
 d2 
 
S6 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 attentively in Mr. PecksnifTs face, " that is a remarkably curious and 
 interesting trait in Slyme's character ; and whenever Slynie's life comes 
 to be written, that trait must be thoroughly worked out by his biographer, 
 or society will not be satisfied. Observe me, society will not be satisfied !" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff coughed. 
 
 " Slyme's biographer, sir, whoever he may be," resumed the gentle- 
 man, " must apply to me ; or if I am gone to that what's-his-name 
 from which no thingumbob comes back, he must apply to my executors 
 for leave to search among my papers. I have taken a few notes in my 
 poor way, of some of that man's proceedings — my adopted brother, sir, 
 — which would amaze you. He made use of an expression, sir, only on 
 the fifteenth of last month when he couldn't meet a little bill and the 
 other party wouldn't renew, which would have done honour to Napoleon 
 Bonaparte in addressing the French army." 
 
 " And pray," asked Mr. Pecksniff, obviously not cjuite at his ease, 
 " what may be Mr. Slyme's business here, if I may be permitted to 
 inquire, who am compelled by a regard for my own character to dis- 
 avow all interest in his proceedings V 
 
 " 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 Tigg will perhaps be familiar to you, in connexion 
 with the most remarkable events of the Peninsular War T 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff gently shook his head. 
 
 " No matter," said the gentleman. " That man was my father, and 
 I bear his name. I am consequently proud — proud as Lucifer. Excuse 
 me one moment : I desire my friend Slyme to be present at the re- 
 mainder of this conference." 
 
 With this announcement he hurried away to the outer door of the 
 Blue Dragon, and almost immediately returned 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 Shak- 
 spearian or Miltonic. 
 
 " Now," said Mr. Tigg, clapping one hand on the shoulder of his 
 prepossessing friend, and calling Mr. Pecksniff's attention to him with 
 the other, " you two are related ; and relations never did agree, and 
 never will ; which is a wise dispensation and an inevitable thing, or 
 there would be none but family parties, and everybody in the world 
 would bore everybody else to death. If you were on good terms, I 
 should consider you a most confoundedly unnatural pair ; but standing 
 towards each other as you do, I look upon you as a couple of devilish 
 deep-thoughted fellows, who may be reasoned with to any extent." 
 
 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. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 37 
 
 " Chiv," 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 a man of your talents, I look upon Mr. Pecksniff as 
 certain :" and seeing at this juncture that the expression of Mr. 
 Pecksnin's face by no means betokened that he shared this certainty, 
 Mr. Tigg laid his finger on his nose again for that gentleman's private 
 and especial behoof : calling upon him thereby to take notice, that the 
 requisition of small loans was 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 advocacy 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, sun^eying his adopted brother 
 with an air of profound contemplation after dismissing this piece of 
 pantomime. '■• You are, upon my life, a strange instance of the little 
 frailties that beset a mighty mind. If there had never been a telescope 
 in the world, I should have been quite certain from my observation of 
 you, Chiv, that there were spots on the sun ! I wish I may die, if this 
 isn't the queerest state of existence that we find ourselves forced into, 
 without knov/ing 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 he can't 
 prevent the cats from making a most intolerable row on the roofs of the 
 houses, or the dogs from being shot in the hot weather if they run about 
 the streets 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 V 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 ! " 
 
 W itli which consolatory deduction from the gloomy premises recited, Mr. 
 Tigg roused himself by a great effort, and proceeded in his former strain. 
 
 " Now 111 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 vre 're 
 the nephew — I say we, meaning Chiv. Perhaps in all essential points, 
 you are more nearly related to him than we are. Yery good. If so, so be it. 
 But you can't get at him, neither can we. I give you my brightest honour, 
 sir, that I 've been 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 fifteen pound, and my security — that 
 the mind of man can conceive. In the mean time, 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 circum- 
 stances, that it won't do ; that it won't act ; that it can't be ; and that 
 it must not be suffered to continue." 
 
38 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Every man," said Mr. Pecksniff, " has a right, an undoubted rights 
 (which I, for one, would not call in question for any earthly considera- 
 tion : oh no !) to regulate his own proceedings by his own likings and 
 dislikings, supposing they 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 circum- 
 stance ; still, I may not rush to the conclusion that Mr. Chuzzlewit is 
 wholly without a justification in all his coldnesses : Heaven forbid I 
 Besides ; how, Mr. Tigg," continued 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 
 of which you speak ; the existence of which I must admit j 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 : and 
 as he spoke he drew himself aloof, and seemed to grow more mindful, 
 suddenly, of the moral gulf between himself and the creature he 
 addressed. " Undoubtedly it is a very difficult question. And I am far 
 from 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 V said 
 Mr. Tigg. 
 
 " What do you mean, sir 1 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 1" cried Mr. Pecksniff, looking upwards. 
 " This is dreadful. The rapacity of these people is absolutely frightful !" 
 
 " It'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 !" cried Mr. Pecksniff, smiting his forehead. 
 
 " 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 pur- 
 pose 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 whea 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 39 
 
 individual jealousies and interests must be forgotten for a time, sir, and 
 union must be made against tlie 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 yourself now. You'll find us at the Half-Moon and Seven 
 Stars in this village, at any time, and open to any reasonable proposition. 
 Hem ! Chiv, my dear fellow, go out and see what sort of a night it is." 
 
 Mr. 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 V 
 
 Mr. Pecksniif had seen him. 
 
 " You heard my answer, I think ?" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff had heard it. 
 
 "Five shillings, eh 1" 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 1" cried Tigg. " That 's the cream of the 
 thing, sir. I never knew that man fail to redeem a promise, in my life. 
 You 're not in want of change, are you V 
 
 " 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 1" 
 
 " I would much rather not," Mr. Pecksniff rejoined. 
 
 " Egad ! " cried Tigg, gravely nodding his head as if some ground of 
 objection occurred to him at that moment for the first time, " it's very 
 possible you may be right. Would you entertain the same sort of 
 objection to lending jne five shillings, now V 
 
 " 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 farther observed that there were 
 many little characteristics about his friend Slyme, of which he could by 
 
40 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 no means, as a man of strict honour, approve ; but that he was prepared 
 to forgive him all these slight drawbacks, and much more, in consider- 
 ation of the great pleasure he himself had that day enjoyed in his social 
 intercourse with Mr. Pecksniff, which had given him a far higher and 
 more enduring delight than the successful negotiation of any small loan 
 on the part of his friend could possibly have imparted. With which 
 remarks he would beg leave, he said, to wish Mr. Pecksniff a very good 
 evening. And so he took himself off : as little abashed by his recent 
 failure as any gentleman would desire to be. 
 
 The meditations of Mr. Pecksniff that evening at the bar of the Dragon, 
 and that night in his own house, were very serious and grave indeed ; 
 the more especially as the intelligence he had received from Messrs. 
 Tigg and Slyme touching the arrival of other members of the family, 
 was fully confirmed on more particular inquiry. For the Spottletoes 
 had actually gone straight to the Dragon, where they were at that 
 moment housed and mounting guard, and where their appearance had 
 occasioned such a vast sensation, that Mrs. Lupin, scenting their errand 
 before they had been under her roof half an hour, carried the news 
 herself with all possible secrecy straight to Mr. 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. Moreover, Mr. Anthony Chuzzlewit and 
 his son Jonas were economically quartered at the Half Moon and Seven 
 Stars, which was an obscure alehouse ; and by the very next coach there 
 came posting to the scene of action, so many other 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. But 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 capitulation. 
 Meantime the family forces were perpetually encountering each other in 
 divers parts of the neighbourhood : and, as no one branch of the 
 Chuzzlewit tree had ever been known to ao-ree 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 civilized existence. 
 
 At length in utter despair and hopelessness, some few of the bellige- 
 rents 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 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 41 
 
 Cliuzzlewit's obduracy, until it was agreed — if sucli a "word can be used 
 in connexion with the Chuzzlewits — that there should be a general 
 council and conference held at Mr. Pecksniff's house upon a certain day 
 at noon : which all members of the family who had brought themselves 
 within reach of the summons, were forthwith bidden and invited, 
 solemnly, to attend. 
 
 If ever Mr. Pecksniff wore an apostolic look, he wore it on this 
 memorable day. If ever his unruffled smile proclaimed the words, 
 *' I am a messenger of peace!" that was its mission now. If ever 
 man combined within himself all the mild qualities of the lamb with a 
 considerable touch of the dove, and not a dash of the crocodile, or the 
 least possible suggestion of the very mildest seasoning of the serpent, 
 that man was he. And, Oh, the two Miss Pecksniffs ! Oh, the serene 
 expression on the face of Charity, which seemed to say, " I know that 
 all my family have injured me beyond the possibility of reparation, but 
 I 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 herselfj 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 1 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 perspiration, that he may be said to have been in a kind of 
 moist meekness ! And the company : the jealous, stony-hearted, dis- 
 trustful 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 
 bad been so many hedgehogs or porcupines ! 
 
 First, there was Mr. Spottletoe, who was so bald and had such big- 
 whiskers, that he seemed to have stopped his hair, by the sudden appli- 
 cation 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, who being much too slim for her years, and of a poetical 
 constitution, was accustomed to inform her more intimate friends that 
 the said whiskers were " the lodestar of her existence ;" and who could 
 now, by reason of her strong affection for her uncle Chuzzlewit, and the 
 shock it gave her to be suspected of testamentary designs upon him, do 
 nothing but cry — except moan. Then there were Anthony Chuzzlewit, 
 and his son Jonas : the face of the old man so sharpened by the wari- 
 ness 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 
 
42 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 they stood winking tlieir 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 wo- 
 man ; and who, if she could, would have established her claim to the title, 
 and have shown herself, mentally speaking, a perfect Sampson, by shut- 
 ting up her brother-in-law in a private madhouse, until, he proved his 
 complete sanity by loving her very much. Beside her sat her spinster 
 daughters, three in number, and of gentlemanly deportment, who had 
 so mortified themselves with tight stays, that their tempers were reduced 
 to something less than their waists, and sharp lacing was expressed in 
 their very noses. Then there was a young gentleman, grand-nephew of 
 Mr. Martin 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 Chuz- 
 zlewit, 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 m 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, 
 and not to have come into existence comfortably. Last of all, there were 
 present Mr. Chevy Slyme and his friend Tigg. And it is worthy of 
 remark, that although each person present disliked the other mainly 
 because he or she did belong to the family, they one and all concurred 
 in hating Mr. Tigg because he didn't. 
 
 Such was the pleasant little family circle now assembled in Mr. Peck- 
 sniff's best parlour, agreeably prepared to fall foul of Mr. Pecksniff or any- 
 body else who might venture to say anything whatever upon any subject. 
 
 " This," said Mr. Pecksniff rising, and looking round upon them, with 
 folded hands, " does me good. It does my daughters good. We thank 
 you for assembling here. We are grateful to you with our whole hearts. 
 It is a blessed distinction that you have conferred upon us, and believe 
 me" — it is impossible to conceive how he smiled here — " we shall not 
 easily forget it." 
 
 " I am sorry to interrupt you, Pecksniff," 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 sirl" 
 
 A general murmur echoed this enquiry, and applauded it. 
 
 " If 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 tliis fiimily, but I can tell you sir — " 
 

 ./..#''^^^^ 
 
MARTIN CIIUZZLEWIT. 43 
 
 Oh yes indeed ! He tell. He ! What ! He was the head, was he 1 
 From the strong-minded woman downwards everybody fell, that instant, 
 upon Mr. Spottletoe, who after vainly attempting to be heard in silence 
 was fain to sit down again, folding his arms and shaking his head, most 
 wrathfully, and giving Mrs. Spottletoe to 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 disgiiise. It is good to know 
 that we have no reserve before each other, but are appearing freely in 
 our own characters." 
 
 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 Avith 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 alterca- 
 tion would no doubt have been a lono- one but for the his-h 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 taunt- 
 ing 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 the agitation and grief of Mr. Spottletoe, that that gentleman^ 
 
44 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 after holding liis clenclied fist close to Mr. Pecksniff's eyes, as if it were 
 some natural curiosity from the near inspection vrhereof he was likely to 
 derive high gratification and improvement, and after offering (for no 
 particular reason that anybody could discover) to kick Mr. George 
 Chuzzlewit for, and in consideration of, the trilling 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 incon- 
 siderable 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. 
 
 " It is to be lamented," said Mr. Pecksniff, with a forgiving recollection 
 of Mr. Spottletoe's fist, " that our friend should have withdrawn himself 
 so very hastily, though we have cause 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 V 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 centreing 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." 
 
 The strong-minded lady was not at all sure that this was a blessed 
 exception. Quite the contrary. 
 
 " Well, my dear madam !" said Mr. Pecksniff. " Be that as it may, 
 here we are ; and being here, we are to consider whether it is possible 
 by any justifiable means — " 
 
 " Why, you know as well as I," said the strong-minded lady, " that 
 any means are justifiable in such a case, don't you ?" 
 
 " Very good, my dear madam, very good — whether it is possible by 
 any means ; we will say by any means ; to open the eyes of our valued 
 relative to his present infatuation. Whether it is possible to make him 
 acquainted by any means with the real character and purpose of that 
 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. 
 
MARTIN CIIUZZLEWIT. 45 
 
 we know" — here he raised his voice again — " else why is she his com- 
 panion? 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, indicated a doubt of the justifiable nature 
 of these measures ; and he only ogled the three Miss Chuzzlewits with 
 the least admixture of banter in his admiration, as though he would 
 observe, " You are positively down upon her to 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 : " I will not, upon 
 the one hand, go so far as to say that she deserves all the inflictions 
 which have been so very forcibly and hilariously suggested ;" one of his 
 ornamental sentences ; "nor will I, upon the other, on any account com- 
 promise 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 — f 
 
 " No !" interposed the strong-minded woman in a loud voice. 
 
 " Then I will not," said Mr. Pecksniff. " You are quite right, my 
 dear madam, and I appreciate and thank you for, your discriminating 
 objection — our respected relative, to dispose himself to listen to the 
 promptings of nature, and not to the — " 
 
 " Go on, Pa !" 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. Pecksnifl'. " 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 sio-ht 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 vrould submit to you, whether we might 
 
46 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 not remove Mr. Chuzzlewit's distrust of us, and vindicate our own dis- 
 interestedness by — " 
 
 " If Mr. George Chuzzlewit has anything to say to we," 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 expec- 
 tations may suggest to you, that I am not a cannibal, ma'am." 
 
 " I don't know that ! " cried the strong-minded woman. 
 
 " At all events, if I was a cannibal," said Mr. George Chuzzlewit, 
 greatly stimulated by this retort, " I 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 immediately rose. 
 
 " And I will further add," said Mr. George, nodding his head violently 
 at every second syllable ; " naming no names, and therefore hurting 
 nobody but those whose consciences tell them they are alluded to, that 
 I think it would be much more decent and becoming, if those who 
 hooked and crooked themselves into this family by getting on the blind 
 side of some of its members before marriage, and manslaughtering them 
 afterwards by crowing over them to that strong pitch that they were 
 glad to die, would refrain from acting the part of vultures in regard to 
 other members of this family who are living. I think it would be full 
 as well, if not better, if those individuals would keep at home, content- 
 ing themselves with what they have got (luckily for them) already ; 
 instead of hovering about, and thrusting their fingers into, a family pie, 
 which they flavor much more than enough, I can tell them, when they 
 are fifty miles away." 
 
 " I might have been prepared for this !" cried the strong-minded 
 woman, looking about her with a disdainful smile as she moved to- 
 wards the door, followed by lier three daughters : " indeed I was fully 
 prepared for it, from the first. What else could I expect in such an 
 atmosphere as this !" 
 
 " Don't direct your halfpay-officer's gaze at me, ma'am, if you please," 
 interposed Miss Charity ; " for I won't bear it." 
 
 This was a smart stab at a pension enjoyed by the strong-minded 
 woman, during her second widowhood and before her last coverture. It 
 told immensely. 
 
 " I passed from the memory of a grateful country, you very miser- 
 able 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 Ireland when 
 I so degraded myself Now my dears, if you 're quite ready, and have 
 sufficiently improved yourselves by taking to heart the genteel example 
 of these two young ladies, I think we'll go. Mr. Pecksniff, we are 
 very much obliged to you, really. We came to be entertained, and you 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 47 
 
 have far surpassed our utmost expectations, in the amusement you have 
 provided for us. Thank you. Good bye 1" 
 
 With such departing words, did this strong-minded female paralyse 
 the Pecksniffian energies ; and so she swept out of the room, and out of 
 the house, attended by her daugliters, 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 chamber. Compared with his present state of heat, he 
 had gone out a man of snow or ice. His head distilled such oil upon 
 his whiskers, that they were rich and 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 I You hear him? all of you !" 
 
 " What 's the matter !" cried several voices. 
 
 " Oh nothing ! " cried Spottletoe, still gasping. " Nothing at all ! 
 It 's of no consequence ! Ask him ! He '11 tell you ! " 
 
 " I do not understand our friend," said Mr. Pecksniff, looking about him 
 in utter amazement. " I assure you that he is quite 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 V 
 
 " Gone ! " was the general cry. 
 
 " Gone," echoed Mr. Spottletoe. " Gone while we were sitting here. 
 Gone. Nobody knows where he 's gone. Oh of course not ! Nobody 
 knew he was going. Oh of course not ! The landlady thought up to 
 the very last moment that they were merely going for a ride ; she had 
 no other suspicion. Oh of course not ! She 's not this fellow 's creature. 
 Oh of course not ! " 
 
 Adding to these exclamations a kind of ironical howl, and gazing 
 upon the company for one brief instant afterwards, in a sudden silence, 
 the 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 oppor- 
 tune 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 farevrell. 
 
 The moral position taken by Mr. Tigg was something quite tremen- 
 dous ; and the deaf cousin, who had had the complicated aggravation of 
 
■48 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 seeing all the proceecfings 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 know- 
 ledge 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 consoled 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 3IR. PECKSNIFF'S FAMILY. WITH 
 ALL THE FESTIVITIES HELD ON THAT OCCASION, AND THE GREAT 
 ENJOYMENT OF MR. PINCH. 
 
 The best of architects and land-surveyors kept a horse, in whom the 
 enemies already mentioned more than once in these pages, pretended to 
 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 allow- 
 ance of corn than Mr. Pecksniff ; but in his moral character, wherein, 
 said they, he was full of promise, but of no performance. 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 disconcerted 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 likened to his master, that good 
 man's slanderers only can explain. But it is a melancholy truth, and a 
 deplorable instance of the uncharitableness of the world, that they made 
 the comparison. 
 
 In this horse, and the hooded vehicle, whatever its proper name might 
 be, to which he was usually harnessed — it was more like a gig with a 
 tumour, than anything else — all Mr. Pinch's thoughts and wishes 
 centred, one bright frosty morning : for with this gallant equipage he 
 was about to drive to Salisbury alone, there to meet with the new pupil, 
 and thence to bring him home in triumph. 
 
 Blessings on thy simple heart, Tom Pinch, how proudly dost thou button 
 up that scanty coat, caUed by a sad misnomer, for these many years, a 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 49 
 
 " great" one ; and how thoroughly as with thy cheerful voice thou 
 pleasantly adjurest Sam the hostler " not to let him go yet," dost thou 
 believe that quadruped desires to go, and would go if he might ! Who 
 could repress a smile — of love for thee, Tom Pinch, and not in jest 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 Pecksnifl" 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 (speaking of 
 it when it can't be had) to the blush, and shame the spring for being 
 sometimes cold by halves. The sheep-bells rang as clearly in the 
 vigorous air, as if they felt its wholesome influence like living creatures ; 
 the trees, in lieu of leaves or blossoms, shed upon the ground a frosty 
 rime that sparkled as it fell, and might have been the dust of diamonds 
 — so it was, to Tom. From cottage chimneys, smoke went streaming 
 up high, high, as if the earth had lost its 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 
 v.'ater might, of its own free will, have stopped — in Tom's glad mind it 
 had — to look upon the lovely morning. And lest the sun should break 
 this charm too eagerly, there moved between him and the ground a mist 
 like that Avhich waits upon the moon on summer nights — the very same 
 to Tom — and wooed him to dissolve it gently. 
 
 Tom Pinch went on ; not last, 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 ofi" ! — he saw the tollman's wife, who had that 
 moment checked a waggon, run back into the little house again like 
 m.ad, to say (she knew) that Mr. Pinch was coming up. And she was 
 right, for when he drew within hail of the gate, forth rushed the toll- 
 man'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 what with all 
 this, and a glimpse of the family breakfast on a little round table before 
 the fire, the crust Tom Pinch had brought away with him acquired as 
 rich a flavour as though it had been cut from off a fairy loaf 
 
 But there was more than this. It was not only the married people 
 
 E 
 
00 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 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 1 
 There was no harm in him. z 
 
 And now the morning grew so fair, and all things were so wide awake 
 and gay, that the sun seeming to say — Tom had no doubt he said — " I 
 can't stand it any longer : I must have a look " — streamed out in 
 radiant majesty. The mist, too shy and gentle for such lusty company, 
 fled off, quite scared, before it ; and as it swept away, the hills and 
 mounds and distant pasture lands, 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. 
 
 Mr. 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, who walked with a light, 
 quick step, and sang as he went — for certain in a very loud voice, but 
 not unmusically. He was a young fellow, of some five or six and-twenty 
 perhaps, and was drest in such a free and fly-away fashion, that the long 
 ends of his loose red neckcloth were streaming out behind him quite as 
 often as before ; and the bunch of bright winter berries in the button- 
 hole of his velveteen coat, was as visible to Mr. Pinch's rearward obser- 
 vation, as if he had worn that garment wrong side foremost. He continued 
 to sing with so much energy, that he did not hear the sound of wheels 
 until it was close behind him ; when he turned a whimsical face and very 
 merry pair of blue eyes on Mr. Pinch, and checked himself directly. 
 
 " Why, Mark ! " said Tom Pinch, stopping, " who'd have thought of 
 seeing you here 1 Well ! this is surprising ! " 
 
 Mark touched his hat, and said, with a very sudden decrease of 
 vivacity, that he was going to Salisbury. 
 
 " And how spruce you are, too ! "' said Mr. Pinch, surveying him with 
 great pleasure. " Really I didn't think you were half such a tight-made 
 fellow, Mark ! " 
 
 "Thankee, Mr. Pinch. Pretty well for that, I believe. It's not 
 my fault, you know. With regard to being spruce, sir, that's where it 
 is, you see." And here he looked particularly gloomy. 
 
 " Where what is 1 " Mr. Pinch demanded. 
 
 " Where the aggravation of it is. Any man may be in good spirits 
 and good temper when he's well drest. There ain't much credit 
 in that. If I was very ragged and very jolly, then I should begin to 
 feel I had gained a point, Mr. Pinch." 
 
 " So you were singing just now, to bear up, as it were, against being 
 well dressed, eh, Mark V said Pinch. 
 
 " Your conversation's always equal to print, sir," rejoined Mark with 
 a broad grin. " That was it." 
 
MARTIN CHTJZZLEWIT. 51 
 
 " Well ! " cried Pincli, " you are the strangest young man, jMark, I ever 
 knew in my life. I always thought so ; but now I am quite certain of 
 it. I am going to Salisbury, too. Will you get in ? I shall be very 
 glad of your company." 
 
 The young fellow made his acknowledgments and accepted the offer ; 
 stepping into the carriage directly, and seating himself on the very 
 edge of the seat with his body half out of it, to express his being there on 
 sufferance, and by the politeness of Mr. Pinch. As they went along, 
 the conversation proceeded after this manner. 
 
 " I more than half believed, just now, seeing you so very smart," 
 said Pinch, " that you must be going to be married, Mark." 
 
 " Well, sir, I've thought of that, too," he replied. " There might 
 be some credit in being jolly with a wife, 'specially if the children had 
 the measles and that, and vras very fractious indeed. But I'm a'most 
 afraid to try it. I don't see my way clear." 
 
 " You're not very fond of anybody, perhaps ?" said Pinch. 
 
 " Not particular, sir, I think." 
 
 " But the way would be, you know, Mark, according to your views of 
 things," said Mr. Pinch, " to marry somebody you didn't like, and who 
 was very disagreeable." 
 
 " So it would, sir, but that might be carrying out a principle a little 
 too far, mightn't it '? " 
 
 " Perhaps it might," said Mr. Pinch. At which they both laughed 
 gaily. 
 
 " Lord bless you, sir," said Mark, " you don't half know me, though. 
 I don't believe there ever was a man as could come out so strong under 
 circumstances that would make other men miserable, as I could, if I 
 could only get a chance. But I can't get a chance. It's my opinion, 
 that nobody never will know half of what's in me, unless something 
 very unexpected turns up. And I don't see any prospect of that. 
 I'm a going to leave the Dragon, sir." 
 
 " Going to leave the Dragon ! " cried Mr. Pinch, looking at him with 
 great astonishment. " Why, Mark, you take my breath away ! " 
 
 " Yes, sir," he rejoined, looking straight before him and a long way 
 off, as men do sometimes when they cogitate profoundly. " What's the 
 use of my stopping at the Dragon 1 It an't at all the sort of place for 
 me. When I left London (I'm a Kentish man by birth, though), and 
 took that sitivation here, I quite made up my mind that it was the 
 dullest little out-of-the-way corner in England, and that there would be 
 some credit in being jolly under such circumstances. But, Lord, there's 
 no dulness at the Dragon ! Skittles, cricket, quoits, nine-pins, comic 
 songs, choruses, company round the chimney corner every winter's 
 evening — any man could be jolly at the Dragon. There's no credit 
 in that.''' 
 
 " But if common report be true for once, Mark, as I think it is, 
 being able to confirm it by what I know myself," said Mr. Pinch, 
 *' you are the cause of half this merriment, and set it going." 
 
 " There may be something in that, too, sir," answered Mark. " But 
 that's no consolation." 
 
 e2 
 
52 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Well !" said Mr. Pinch, after a short silence, his usually subdued 
 tone being even more subdued than ever. " I can hardly think enough 
 of what you tell me. Why, what will become of Mrs. Lupin, Mark ?" 
 
 Mark looked more fixedly before him, and further off still, as he 
 answered that he didn't suppose it would be much of an object to her. 
 There were plenty of smart young fellows as would be glad of the place. 
 He knew a dozen himself. 
 
 " That's probable enough," said Mr. Pinch, " but I am not at all 
 sure that Mrs. Lupin would be glad of them. Why, I always supposed 
 that Mrs. Lupin and you would make a match of it, Mark : and so did 
 every one, as far as I know." 
 
 " I never," Mark replied, in some confusion, " said nothing as was in 
 a direct way courting-like to her, nor she to me, but I don't know 
 what I mightn't do one of these odd times, and what she mightn't say 
 in answer. Well, sir, that M'ouldn't suit." 
 
 " Not to be landlord of the Dragon, Mark ?" cried Mr. Pinch. 
 
 "No sir, certainly not," returned the other, withdrawing his gaze 
 from the horizon, and looking at his fellow-traveller. " Why, that 
 would be the ruin of a man like me. I go and sit down comfortably 
 for life, and no man never finds me out. What would be the credit of 
 the landlord of the Dragon's being jolly 1 why, he couldn't help it, if 
 he tried." 
 
 " Does Mrs. Lupin know you are going to leave her ? " Mr. Pinch 
 enquired. 
 
 " I haven't broke it to her yet, sir, but I must. I'm looking out this 
 morning for something new and suitable," he said, nodding towards 
 the city. 
 
 "What kind of thing now V Mr. Pinch demanded. 
 
 " I Avas thinking," Mark replied, " of sometliing in the grave-digging 
 way." 
 
 " Good Gracious, Mark ! " cried Mr. Pinch. 
 
 " It 's a good damp, wormy sort of business, sir," said Mark, shaking 
 his head, argumentatively, " and there might be some credit in being 
 jolly, with one's mind in that pursuit, unless grave-diggers is usually 
 given that way ; which would be a drawback. You don't happen to 
 know how that is, in general, do you, sir 1 " 
 
 " No," said Mr. Pinch, " I don't indeed. I never thought upon the 
 subject." 
 
 " In case of that not turning out as well as one could wish, you know," 
 said Mark, musing again, " there 's other businesses. Undertaking 
 now. That 's gloomy. There might be credit to be gained there. A 
 broker's man in a poor neighbourhood wouldn't be bad perhaps. A 
 jailer sees a deal of misery. A doctor's man is in the very midst of 
 murder. A bailiff's an't a lively oflice nat'rally. Even a tax-gatherer 
 must find his feelings rather worked upon, at times. There 's lots of 
 trades, in which I should have an opportunity, I think 1 " 
 
 Mr. Pinch was so perfectly overwhelmed by these remarks that he 
 could do nothing but occasionally exchange a word or two on some 
 indifferent subject, and cast sidelong glances at the bright face of his 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 53 
 
 odd friend (who seemed quite unconscious of his observation), until they 
 reached a certain corner of the road, close upon the outskirts of the 
 city, when Mark said he would jump down there, if he pleased. 
 
 " But bless my soul, Mark," said Mr. Pinch, who in the progress of 
 his observation just tlien made the discovery that the bosom of his 
 companion's shirt was as much exposed as if it were midsummer, and 
 was ruffled by every breath of air, " why don't you wear a waistcoat I" 
 
 "What's the good of one, sir?" asked Mark. 
 
 " Good of one ?" said Mr. Pinch. " Why, to keep your chest warm." 
 
 "Lord love you, sir !" cried Mark, "you don't know me. My chest 
 don't want no warming. Even if it did, what would no waistcoat 
 bring it to 1 Inflammation of the lungs, perhaps ? Well, there 'd be 
 some credit in being jolly, with an inflammation of the lungs." 
 
 As Mr. Pinch returned no other answer than such as was conveyed 
 in his drawing his breath very hard, and opening his eyes very wide, 
 and nodding his head very much, Mark thanked him for his ride, and 
 without troubling him to stop, jumped lightly down. And away he 
 fluttered, with his red neck-kerchief, and his open coat, down a cross lane : 
 turning back from time to time to nod to Mr. Pinch, and looking one 
 of the most careless, good-humoured, comical fellows in life. His late 
 companion, with a thoughtful face, pursued his way to Salisbury. 
 
 Mr. Pinch had a shrewd notion that Salisbury was a very desperate 
 sort of place ; an exceeding w'ild and dissipated city ; and w^hen he had 
 put up the horse, and given the hostler to understand that he would 
 look in again in the course of an hour or two to see him take his corn, 
 he set forth on a stroll about the streets wdth a vague and not unpleasant 
 idea that they teemed wdth all kinds of mystery and bedevilment. To 
 one of his quiet habits this little delusion was greatly assisted by the 
 circumstance of its being market-day, and the thoroughfares about the 
 market-place being filled with carts, horses, donkeys, baskets, w^aggons, 
 garden-stuff, meat, tripe, pies, poultry, and hucksters' wares of every 
 opposite description and possible variety of character. Then there were 
 young farmers and old farmers, wdth smock frocks, brown great-coats, 
 drab great-coats, red worsted comforters, leather-leggings, wonderful 
 shaped hats, hunting-whips, and rough sticks, standing about in groups, 
 or talking noisily together on the tavern steps, or paying and receiving 
 huge amounts of greasy wealth, with the assistance of such bulky pocket- 
 books that when they were in their pockets it was apoplexy to get them 
 out, and w^hen they were out, it was spasms to get them in again. Also 
 there were farmers' wives in beaver bonnets and red cloaks, riding 
 shaggy horses purged of all earthly passions, Avho went soberly into all 
 manner of places without desiring to know why, and who, if required, 
 would have stood stock still in a china-shop, with a complete dinner- 
 service at each hoof. Also a great many dogs, who were strongly inte- 
 rested in the state of the market and the bargains of their masters ; and 
 a great confusion of tongues, both brute and human. 
 
 Mr. Pinch regarded everything exposed for sale with great delight, 
 and was particularly struck by the itinerant cutlery, which he 
 considered of the very keenest kind, insomuch that he purchased a 
 
5i LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 pocket knife with seven blades in it, and not a cut (as lie afterwards 
 found out) among them. When he had exhausted the market-place, 
 and watched the farmers safe into the market dinner, he went back 
 to look after the horse. Having seen him eat unto his heart's content, 
 he issued forth again, to wander round the town and regale himself with 
 the shop windows : previously taking a long stare at the bank, and 
 wondering in what direction under-ground, the caverns might be, where 
 they kept the money ; and turning to look back at one or two young- 
 men who passed him, whom he knew to be articled to solicitors in the 
 town ; and who had a sort of fearful interest in his eyes, as jolly dogs 
 who knew a thing or two, and kept it up tremendously. 
 
 But the shops. First of all, there were the jewellers' shops, with all 
 the treasures of the earth displayed therein, and such large silver watches 
 hanging up in every pane of glass, that if they were anything but first- 
 rate goers it certainly was not because the works could decently com- 
 plain of want of room. In good sooth they were big enough, and 
 perhaps, as the saying is, ugly enough, to be the most correct of all 
 mechanical performers ; in Mr. Pinch's eyes, however, they were smaller 
 than Geneva ware ; and when he saw one very bloated watch announced 
 as a repeater, gifted with the uncommon power of striking every quarter 
 of an hour inside the pocket of its happy owner, he almost wished that 
 he were rich enough to buy it. 
 
 But what were even gold and silver, precious stones and clockwork, 
 to the bookshops, whence a pleasant smell of paper freshly pressed came 
 issuing forth, awakening instant recollections of some new grammar 
 had at school, long time ago, with "Master Pinch, Grove House 
 Academy," inscribed in faultless writing on the fly-leaf ! That whifF 
 of russia leather, too, and all those rows on rows of volumes, neatly 
 ranged wdthin — ^what happiness did they suggest ! And in the window 
 were the spick-and-span new works from London, with the title-pages, 
 and sometimes even the first page of the first chapter, laid wide open : 
 tempting unwary men to begin to read the book, and then, in the 
 impossibility of turning over, to rush blindly in, and buy it ! Here 
 too were the dainty frontispiece and . trim vignette, pointing like hand- 
 posts on the outskirts of great cities to the rich stock of incident beyond ; 
 and store of books, with many a grave portrait and time-honoured name, 
 whose matter he knew well, and would have given mines to have, in any 
 form, upon the narrow shelf beside his bed at Mr. Pecksniff's. What a 
 heart-breaking shop it was ! 
 
 There was another ; not quite so bad at first, but still a trying shop ; 
 where children's books were sold, and where poor Robinson Crusoe stood 
 alone in his might, with dog and hatchet, goat-skin cap and fowling- 
 pieces : calmly surveying Philip Quarll and the host of imitators round 
 him, and calling Mr. Pinch to witness that he, of all the crowd, 
 impressed one solitary foot-print on the shore of boyish memory, whereof 
 the tread of generations should not stir the lightest grain of sand. And 
 there too were the Persian Tales, with flying chests, and students of 
 enchanted books shut up for years in caverns : and there too was 
 Abudah, the merchant, with the terrible little old woman hobbling out 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 00 
 
 •of the box in his bedroom : and there the mighty talisman — the rare 
 Arabian Nights — with Cassim Baba, divided by four, like the ghost of 
 a dreadful sum, hanging up, all gory, in the robbers' cave. Which 
 matchless wonders, coming fast on Mr. Pinch's mind, did so rub up and 
 chafe that wonderful lamp within him, that when he turned his face 
 towards the busy street, a crowd of phantoms waited on his pleasure, 
 and he lived again, with new delight, the happy days before the Peck- 
 sniff era. 
 
 He had less interest now in the chemists' shops, with their great glowing 
 bottles (with smaller repositories of brightness in their very stoppers) ; and 
 in their agreeable compromises between medicine and perfumery, in the 
 shape of toothsome lozenges and virgin honey. Neither had he the least 
 regard (but he never had much) for the tailors', where the newest metro- 
 politan waistcoat patterns were hanging up, which by some strange 
 transformation always looked amazing there, and never appeared at all 
 like the same thing anyivhere else. But he stopped to read the playbill 
 at the theatre, and surveyed the doorway with a kind of awe, which was 
 not diminished when a sallow gentleman with long dark hair came out, 
 and told a boy to run home to his lodgings and bring down his broad- 
 sword. Mr. Pinch stood rooted to the spot on hearing this, and might 
 have stood there until dark, but that the old cathedral bell began to ring 
 for vesper service, on which he tore himself away. 
 
 Now, the organist's assistant was a friend of Mr. Pinch's, which was a 
 good thing, for he too was a very quiet, gentle soul, and had been, like 
 Tom, a kind of old-fashioned boy at school, though well-liked by the 
 noisy fellows too. As good luck would have it (Tom always said he 
 had great good luck) the assistant chanced that very afternoon to be on 
 duty by himself, with no one in the dusty organ-loft but Tom : so 
 while he played, Tom helped him with the stops ; and finally, the 
 service being just over, Tom took the organ himself. It was then 
 turning dark, and the yellow light that streamed in through the ancient 
 windows in the choir was mingled with a murky red. As the grand 
 tones resounded through the church, they seemed, to Tom, to find an 
 echo in the depth of every ancient tomb, no less than in the deep 
 mystery of his own heart. Great thoughts and hopes came crowding 
 on his mind as the rich music rolled upon the air, and yet among 
 them — something more grave and solemn in their purpose, but the 
 same — were all the images of that day, down to its very lightest recol- 
 lection of childhood. The feeling that the sounds awakened, in the 
 moment of their existence, seemed to include his whole life and being; 
 and as the surrounding realities of stone and wood and glass grew 
 dimmer in the darkness, these visions grew so much the brighter that 
 Tom might have forgotten the new pupil and the expectant master, 
 and have sat there pouring out his grateful heart till midnight, but 
 for a very earthy old verger insisting on locking up the cathedral forth- 
 with. So he took leave of his friend, with many thanks, groped his 
 way out, as well as he could, into the now lamp-lighted streets, and 
 hurried off to get his dinner. 
 
 All the farmers being by this time jogging homewards, there was 
 
56 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 nobody in tlie sanded parlour of the tavern where he had left the horse ; 
 so he had his little table drawn out close before the fire, and fell to work 
 upon a well-cooked steak and smoking hot potatoes, with a strong 
 appreciation of their excellence, and a very keen sense of enjoyment. 
 Beside him, too, there stood a jug of most stupendous Wiltshire beer ; 
 and the effect of the whole was so transcendent, that he was obliged 
 every now and then to lay down his knife and fork, rub his hands, and 
 think about it. By the time the cheese and celery came, Mr. Pinch 
 had taken a book out of his pocket, and could afford to trifle with the 
 viands ; now eating a little, now drinking a little, now reading a little, 
 and now stopping to wonder what sort of a young man the new pupil 
 would turn out to be. He had passed from this latter theme and was 
 deep in his book again, when the door opened, and another guest came 
 in, bringing with him such a quantity of cold air, that he positively 
 seemed at first to put the fire out. 
 
 " Very hard frost to-night, sir," said the new-comer, courteously 
 acknowledging Mr. Pinch's withdrawal of the little table, that he might 
 have place. " Don't disturb yourself, I beg." 
 
 Though he said this with a vast amount of consideration for Mr. 
 Pinch's comfort, he dragged one of the great leather-bottomed chairs to 
 the very centre of the hearth, notwithstanding ; and sat down in front 
 of tlie fire, with a foot on each hob. 
 
 " My feet are quite numbed. Ah ! Bitter cold to be sure." 
 
 '• You have been in the air some considerable time, I dare say 1" said 
 Mr. Pinch. 
 
 " All day. Outside a coach, too." 
 
 " That accounts for his making the room so cool," thought Mr. Pinch. 
 " Poor fellow ! How thoroughly chilled he must be !" 
 
 The stranger became thoughtful, likewise, and sat for five or ten 
 minutes looking at the fire in silence. At length he rose and divested 
 himself of his shawl and great-coat, which (far different from Mr. 
 Pinch's) was a very warm and thick one ; but he was not a whit more 
 conversational out of his great-coat than in it, for he sat down again in 
 the same place and attitude, and leaning back in his chair, began to 
 bite his nails. He was young — one-and-twenty, perhaps — and hand- 
 some ; with a keen dark eye, and a quickness of look and manner which 
 made Tom sensible of a great contrast in his own bearing, and caused 
 him to feel even more shy than usual. 
 
 There was a clock in the room, which the stranger often turned to 
 look at. Tom made frequent reference to it also : partly from a 
 nervous sympathy with his taciturn companion ; and partly because 
 the new pupil was to inquire for him at half after six, and the hands 
 were getting on towards that hour. Whenever the stranger caught 
 him looking at this clock, a kind of confusion came upon Tom as if he 
 had been found out in something ; and it was a perception of his 
 uneasiness which caused the younger man to say, perhaps, Avitli a smile : 
 
 " We both appear to be rather particular about the time. The fact 
 is, I have an engagement to meet a gentleman here." 
 
 " So have I," said Mr. Pinch. 
 
MARTIN CnUZZLETVIT. 57 
 
 " At half-past six," said the stranger. 
 
 " At half-past six," said Tom in the very same breath j whereupon 
 the other looked at him with some surprise. 
 
 " The young gentleman, I expect," remarked Tom, timidly, " was to 
 inquire at that time for a person of the name of Pinch." 
 
 " Dear me !" cried the other, jumping up. " And I have been 
 keeping the fire from you all this while ! I had no idea you were Mr. 
 Pinch. I am the Mr. Martin for whom you were to inquire. Pray 
 excuse me. How do you do 1 Oh, do draw nearer, pray !" 
 
 " Thank you," said Tom, " thank you. I am not at all cold ; and 
 you are ; and we have a cold ride before us. Well, if you wish it, I 
 will. I — I am very glad," said Tom, smiling with an embarrassed 
 frankness peculiarly his, and which was as plainly a confession of his 
 own imperfections, and an appeal to the kindness of the- person he 
 addressed, as if he had drawn one up in simple language and committed 
 it to paper : " I am very glad indeed that you turn out to be the 
 party I expected. I was thinking, but a minute ago, that I could wish 
 him to be like you." 
 
 " I am very glad to hear it," returned Martin, shaking hands with 
 him again ; " for I assure you, I was thinking there could be no such 
 luck as Mr. Pinch's turning out like ?/ou" 
 
 " No, really !" said Tom, with great pleasure. " Are you serious ?" 
 
 " Upon my word I am," replied his new acquaintance. " You and 
 I will get on excellently well, I know : which it's no small relief to me 
 to feel, for to tell you the truth, I am not at all the sort of fellow who 
 could get on with everybody, and that's the point on Avhich I had the 
 greatest doubts. But they're quite relieved now. — Do me the favour 
 to ring the bell, will you V 
 
 Mr. Pinch rose, and complied with great alacrity — the handle hung 
 just over Martin's head, as he warmed himself — and listened with a 
 smiling face to what his friend went on to say. It was : 
 
 " If you like punch, you'll allow me to order a glass a-piece, as hot 
 as it can be made, that we may usher in our friendship in a becoming 
 manner. To let you into a secret, Mr. Pinch, I never was so much in 
 want of something warm and cheering in my life ; but I didn't like to 
 run the chance of beins; found drinkins; it, without knowino; what kind 
 of person you were ; for first impressions, you know, often go a long 
 way, and last a long time." 
 
 Mr. Pinch assented, and the punch was ordered. In due course it 
 came : hot and strong. After drinking to each other in the steaming 
 mixture, thay became quite confidential. 
 
 " I'm a sort of relation of Pecksnift''s, you know," said the young man. 
 
 " Indeed !" cried Mr. Pinch. 
 
 " Yes. My grandfather is his cousin, so he's kith and kin to me, 
 somehow, if you can make that out. / can't." 
 
 "Then Martin is your Christian name?" said Mr. Pinch, thought- 
 fully. "Oh!" 
 
 " Of course it is," returned his friend : " I wish it was my surname, 
 for my own is not a very pretty one, and it takes a long time to sign. 
 Chuzzlewit is my name." 
 
58 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Dear me !" cried Mr. Pincli, with an involuntary start. 
 
 " You're not surprised at my having two names, I suppose 1" returned 
 the other, setting his glass to his lips. " Most people have." 
 
 " Oh, no," said Mr. Pinch, " not at all. Oh dear no ! Well !" And 
 then remembering that Mr. Pecksniff had privately cautioned him to 
 say nothing in reference to the old gentleman of the same name who 
 had lodged at the Dragon, but to reserve all mention of that person for 
 him, he had no better means of hiding his confusion, than by raising 
 his own glass to his mouth. They looked at each other out of their 
 respective tumblers for a few seconds, and then put them down empty. 
 
 " I told them in the stable to be ready for us ten minutes ago," said 
 Mr. Pinch, glancing at the clock again. " Shall we go V 
 
 " If you please," returned the other. 
 
 " Would you like to drive?" said Mr. Pinch ; his whole face beam- 
 ing with a consciousness of the splendour of his offer. " You shall, if 
 you wish." 
 
 " Why, that depends, Mr. Pinch," said Martin, laughing, " upon 
 what sort of horse you have. Because if he's a bad one, I would rather 
 keep my hands warm by holding them comfortably in my great-coat 
 pockets." 
 
 He appeared to think this such a good joke, that Mr. Pinch was 
 quite sure it must be a capital one. Accordingly, he laughed too, and 
 was fully persuaded that he enjoyed it very much. Then he settled 
 his bill, and Mr. Chuzzlewit paid for the punch ; and having wrapped 
 themselves up, to the extent of their respective means, they went out 
 together to the front door, where Mr. Pecksniff's property stopped the 
 way. 
 
 " I won't drive, thank you, Mr. Pinch," said Martin, getting into the 
 sitter's place. " By the bye, there's a box of mine. Can we manage to 
 take it ? " 
 
 " Oh, certainly," said Tom. " Put it in, Dick, anywhere !" 
 
 It was not precisely of that convenient size which would admit of its 
 being squeezed into any odd corner, but Dick the hostler got it in some- 
 how, and Mr. Chuzzlewit helped him. It was all on Mr. Pinch's side, 
 and Mr. Chuzzlewit said he was very much afraid it would encumber 
 him ; to which Tom said, " Not at all ; " though it forced him into 
 such an awkward position, that he had much ado to see anything but 
 his own knees. But it is an ill wind that blows nobody any good ; and 
 the wisdom of the saying was verified in this instance ; for the cold air 
 came from Mr. Pinch's side of the carriage, and by interposing a perfect 
 wall of box and man between it and the new pupil, he shielded that 
 young gentleman effectually : which was a great comfort. 
 
 It was a clear evening, with a bright moon. The whole landscape 
 was silvered by its light and by the hoar-frost ; and everything looked 
 exquisitely beautiful. At first, the great serenity and peace through 
 which they travelled, disposed them both to silence ; but in a very short 
 time the punch within them and the healthful air without, made them 
 loquacious, and they talked incessantly. When they were half-way 
 home, and stopped to give the horse some water, Martin (who was very 
 generous with his money) ordered another glass of punch, which they 
 
i'^^^^^y^Oi-ty^ i^c^?,-z^a/a. Z^^l.-^^c-.u^' 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 59 
 
 drank between tliem, and which had not the effect of making them less 
 conversational than before. Their principal topic of discourse was 
 naturally Mr. Pecksniff and his family ; of whom^ and of the great 
 obligations they had heaped upon him, Tom Pinch, with the tears stand- 
 ing m his eyes, drew such a picture, as would have inclined any one of 
 common feeling almost to revere them : and of which Mr. Pecksniff had 
 not the slightest foresight or preconceived idea, or he certainly (being- 
 very humble) would not have sent Tom Pinch to bring the pupil home. 
 
 In this way they went on, and on, and on — in the language of the 
 story-books — until at last the village lights appeared before them, and 
 the church spire cast a long reflection on the grave-yard grass : as if it 
 were a dial (alas the truest in the world !) marking, whatever light 
 shone out of Heaven, the flight of days and weeks and years, by some 
 new shadow on that solemn ground. 
 
 " A pretty church 1 " said Martin, observing that his companion 
 slackened the slack pace of the horse, as they approached. 
 
 " Is it not ? " cried Tom, with great pride. " There's the sweetest 
 little organ there you ever heard. I play it for them." 
 
 " Indeed 1 " said Martin. "It is hardly worth the trouble, I should 
 think. What do you get for that, now V 
 
 " Nothing," answered Tom. 
 
 " Well," returned his friend, "you are a very strange fellow 1" 
 
 To which remark there succeeded a brief silence. 
 
 " When I say nothing," observed Mr. Pinch, cheerfully, " I am wrong, 
 and don't say what I mean, because I get a great deal of pleasure from 
 it, and the means of passing some of the happiest hours I know. It led 
 to something else the other day — but you will not care to hear about 
 that, I dare say?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, I shall. What ?" 
 
 " It led to my seeing," said Tom, in a lower voice, " one of the loveliest 
 and most beautiful faces you can possibly picture to yourself." 
 
 " And yet I am able to picture a beautiful one," said his friend, 
 thoughtfully, " or should be, if I have any memory." 
 
 " She came," said Tom, laying his hand upon the other's arm, " for 
 the first time, very early in the morning, when it was hardly light ; and 
 when I saw her, over my shoulder, standing just within the porch, I 
 turned quite cold, almost believing her to be a spirit. A moment's 
 reflection got the better of that of course, and fortunately it came to my 
 relief so soon, that I didn't leave off playing." 
 
 "Why fortunately]" 
 
 " Why ? Because she stood there^ listening. I had my spectacles 
 on, and saw her through the chinks in the curtains as plainly as I see 
 you ; and she was beautiful. After a M'hile she glided off, and I con- 
 tinued to play until she was out of hearing." 
 
 "Why did you do that?" 
 
 "Don't you see?" responded Tom. "Because she might suppose I 
 hadn't seen her ; and might return." • 
 
 " And did she 1 " 
 
 " Certainly she did. Next morning, and next evening too : but 
 always when there were no people about, and always alone. I rose 
 
60 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 earlier and sat there later, that when she came, she might find the 
 church door open, and the organ playing, and might not be disappointed. 
 She strolled that way for some days, and always staid to listen. But 
 she is gone now, and of all unlikely things in this wide world, it is 
 perhaps the most improbable that I shall ever look upon her face again.'* 
 
 " You don't know anything more about her V 
 
 "No." 
 
 " And you never followed her, when she went away ?" 
 
 "Why should I distress her by doing that?" said Tom Pinch. "Is 
 it likely that she wanted my company 1 She came to hear the organ, 
 not to see me ; and would you have had me scare her from a place she 
 seemed to grow quite fond of? Now, Heaven bless her !" cried Tom, 
 " to have given her but a minute's pleasure every day, I would have 
 gone on playing the organ at those times until I was an old man : 
 quite contented if she sometimes thought of a poor fellow like me, as a 
 part of the music ; and more than recompensed if she ever mixed me up 
 with anything she liked as well as she liked that ! " 
 
 The new pupil was clearly very much amazed by Mr. Pinch's weak- 
 ness, and would probably have told him so, and given him some good 
 advice, but for their opportune arrival at Mr. Pecksniff's door : the 
 front door this time, on account of the occasion being one of ceremony 
 and rejoicing. The same man was in waiting for the horse who had 
 been adjured by Mr. Pinch in the morning not to yield to his rabid 
 desire to start ; and after delivering the animal into his charge, and 
 beseeching Mr. Chuzzlewit in a whisper never to reveal a syllable of 
 what he had just told him in the fulness of his heart, Tom led the pupil 
 in, for instant presentation. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff had clearly not expected them for hours to come : for 
 lie was surrounded by open books, and was glancing from volume to 
 volume, with a black-lead pencil in his mouth, and a pair of compasses 
 in his hand, at a vast number of mathematical diagrams, of such extra- 
 ordinary shapes that they looked like designs for fireworks. Neither 
 had Miss Charity expected them, for she was busied, with a capacious 
 wicker basket before her, in making impracticable nightcaps for the 
 poor. Neither had Miss Mercy expected them, for she was sitting upon 
 her stool, tying on the — oh good gracious ! — the petticoat of a large 
 doll that she was dressing for a neighbour's child : really, quite a 
 grown-up doll, which made it more confusing : and had its little bonnet 
 dangling by the ribbon from one of her fair curls, to which she had 
 fastened it, lest it should be lost, or sat upon. It would be difficult, if 
 not impossible, to conceive a family so thoroughly taken by surprise as 
 the Pecksniffs were, on this occasion. 
 
 " Bless my life ! " said Mr. Pecksniff, looking up, 'and gradually ex- 
 changing his abstracted face for one of joyful recognition. " Here already 1 
 Martin, my dear boy, I am delighted to welcome you to my poor house ! " 
 
 With this kind greeting, Mr. Pecksniff fairly took him to his arms, 
 and patted him several times upon the back with his right hand the 
 while, as if to express that his feelings during the embrace were too 
 much for utterance. 
 
 " But here," he said, recovering, " are my daughters, Martin : my 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 61 
 
 two only children, whom (if you ever saw them) you have not beheld — 
 ah, these sad family divisions ! — since you were infants together. Nay, 
 my dears, why blush at being detected in your every-day pursuits? ^Ye 
 had prepared to give you the reception of a visitor, Martin, in our little 
 room of state," said Mr. Pecksniff, smiling, " but I like this better — I 
 like this better 1" 
 
 Oh blessed star of Innocence, wherever you may be, how did you 
 glitter in your hiome of ether, when the two Miss Pecksniffs put forth, 
 each her lily hand, and gave the same, with mantling cheeks, to Martin ! 
 How did you twinkle, as if fluttering with sympathy, when Mercy 
 reminded of the bonnet in her hair, hid her fair face and turned her 
 head aside : the while her gentle sister plucked it out, and smote her, 
 with a sister's soft reproof, upon her buxom shoulder ! 
 
 " And how," said Mr. Pecksniff turning round after the contemplation 
 of these passages, and taking Mr. Pinch in a friendly manner by the 
 elbow, " how has our friend here used you, Martin ? " 
 
 " Very well indeed, sir. We are on the best terms, I assure you." 
 
 " Old Tom Pinch ! " said Mr. Pecksniff, looking on him with affec- 
 tionate sadness. " Ah ! It seems but yesterday that Thomas was a boy, 
 fresh from a scholastic course. Yet years have passed, I think, since 
 Thomas Pinch and I first walked the world together !" 
 
 Mr. Pinch could say nothing. He was too much moved. But he 
 pressed his master's hand, and tried to thank him. 
 
 " And Thomas Pinch and I," said Mr. Pecksniff, in a deeper voice, 
 " will walk it yet, in mutual faithfulness and friendship ! And if it 
 comes to pass that either of us be run over, in any of those busy crossings 
 which divide the streets of life, the other will convey him to the hospital 
 in Hope, and sit beside his bed in Bounty !" 
 
 "Well, well, well!" he added in a happier tone, as he shook Mr. 
 Pinch's elbow, hard. " No more of this ! Martin, my dear friend, that 
 you may be at home within these walls, let me show you how we live, 
 and where. Come !" 
 
 With that he took up a lighted candle, and, attended by his young 
 relative, prepared to leave the room. At the door, he stopped. 
 
 " You'll bear us company, Tom Pinch ?" 
 
 Ay, cheerfully, though it had been to death, would Tom ha-\'e 
 followed him : glad to lay down his life for such a man ! 
 
 " This," said Mr. Pecksniff, opening the door of an opposite parlour, 
 '' is the little room of state, I mentioned to you. My girls have pride 
 in it, Martin ! This," opening another door, " is the little chamber in 
 which my works (slight things at best) have been concocted. Portrait 
 of myself by Spiller. Bust by Spoker. The latter is considered a good 
 likeness. I seem to recoo-nise somethinjy about the left-hand corner of 
 the nose, myself." 
 
 Martin thought it was very like, but scarcely intellectual enough. 
 Mr. Pecksniff observed that the same fault had been found with it before. 
 It was remarkable it should have struck his young relation too. He was 
 glad to see he had an eye for art. 
 
 " Various books you observe," said Mr. Pecksniff, waving his hand 
 towards the wall, " connected with our pursuit. I have scribbled myself, 
 
62 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 but have not yet published. Be careful how you come up stairs. 
 This" opening another door, "is my chamber. I read here when the 
 family suppose I have retired to rest. Sometimes I injure my health, 
 rather more than I can quite justify to myself, by doing so ; but art is 
 long and time is short. Every facility you see for jotting down crude 
 notions, even here." 
 
 These latter words were explained by his pointing to a small round 
 table on which were a lamp, divers sheets of paper, a piece of India 
 rubber, and a case of instruments : all put ready, in case an archi- 
 tectural idea should come into Mr. PecksniiF's head in the night ; in 
 which event he would instantly leap out of bed, and fix it for ever. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff opened another door on the same floor, and shut it 
 again, all at once, as if it were a Blue Chamber. But before he had well 
 done so, he looked smilingly round, and said "Why not 1 " 
 
 Martin couldn't say why not, because he didn't know anything at all 
 about it. So Mr. Pecksniff answered himself, by throwing open the 
 door, and saying ; 
 
 " My daughters' room. A poor first-floor to us, but a bower to them. 
 Very neat. Very airy. Plants you observe ; hyacinths ; books again ; 
 birds." These birds, by the bye, comprised in all one staggering old 
 sparrow without a tail, which had been borrowed expressly from the 
 kitchen. " Such trifles as girls love, are here. Nothing more. Those 
 who seek heartless splendour, would seek here in vain." 
 
 With that he led them to the floor above. 
 
 " This," said Mr. Pecksniff, throwing wide the door of the memorable 
 two-pair front ; "is a room where some talent has been developed, I 
 believe. This is a room in which an idea for a steeple occurred to me, 
 that I may one day give to the world. We work here, my dear Martin. 
 Some architects have been bred in this room : — a few, I think, Mr. Pinch?" 
 
 Tom fully assented ; and, what is more, fully believed it. 
 
 " You see," said Mr. Pecksniff, passing the candle rapidly from roll to 
 roll of paper, " some traces of our doings here. Salisbury Cathedral 
 from the north. From the south. From the east. From the west. From 
 the south-east. From the nor'-west. A bridge. An alms-house. A jail. 
 A church. A powder-magazine. A wine-cellar. A portico. A summer- 
 house. An ice-house. Plans, elevations, sections, every kind of thing. 
 And this," he added, having by this time reached another large chamber 
 on the same story with four little beds in it, '• this is your room, of 
 which Mr. Pinch here, is the quiet sharer. A southern aspect ; a charm- 
 ing prospect ; Mr. Pinch's little library, you perceive; everything agree- 
 able and appropriate. If there is any additional comfort you would 
 desire to have here at any time, pray mention it. Even to strangers — 
 far less to you, my dear Martin — there is no restriction on that point." 
 
 It was undoubtedly true, and may be stated in corroboration of 
 Mr. Pecksniff, that any pupil had the most liberal permission to mention 
 any thing in this way that suggested itself to his fancy. Some young 
 gentlemen had gone on mentioning the very same thing for five years 
 without ever being stopped. 
 
 " The domestic assistants," said Mr. Pecksniff, " sleep above ; and that 
 is all." After which, and listening complacently as he went, to the 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 63 
 
 encomiums passed by his young friend on the arrangements generally, he 
 led the way to the parlour again. 
 
 Here a great change had taken place ; for festive preparations on 
 a rather extensive scale were already completed, and the two Miss 
 Pecksniffs were awaiting their return with hospitable looks. There were 
 two bottles of currant wine — white and red ; a dish of sandwiches (very 
 long and very slim) ; another of apples ; another of captains' biscuits 
 (which are always a moist and jovial sort of viand) ; a plate of oranges 
 cut up small and gritty; with powdered sugar, and a highly geological 
 home-made cake. The magnitude of these preparations quite took away 
 Tom Pinch's breath : for though the new pupils were usually let down 
 softly, as one may say, particularly in the wine department, which had 
 so many stages of declension, that sometimes a young gentleman was a 
 whole fortnight in getting to the pump ; still this was a banquet : a sort 
 of Lord Mayor's feast in private life : a something to think of, and hold 
 on by, afterwards. 
 
 To this entertainment, which, apart from its own intrinsic merits, had 
 the additional choice quality that it was in strict keeping with the night, 
 being both light and cool, Mr. Pecksniff besought the company to do 
 full justice. 
 
 " Martin," he said, " will seat himself between you two, my dears, and 
 Mr. Pinch will come by me. Let us drink to our new inmate, and may 
 we be happy together ! Martin, my dear friend, my love to you I 
 Mr. Pinch, if you spare the bottle we shall quarrel." 
 
 And trying (in his regard for the feelings of the rest) to look as if the 
 wine were not acid and didn't make him wink, Mr. Pecksniff did honour 
 to his own toast. 
 
 " This," he said, in allusion to the party, not the wine, " is a mingling 
 that repays one for much disappointment and vexation. Let us be merry." 
 Here he took a captain's biscuit. " It is a poor heart that never rejoices ; 
 and our hearts are not poor 1 No ! " 
 
 With such stimulants to merriment did he beguile the time, and do 
 the honours of the table ; while Mr. Pinch, perhaps to assure himself 
 that what he saw and heard was holiday reality, and not a charming dream, 
 ate of everything, and in particular disposed of the slim sandwiches to a 
 surprising extent. Nor was he stinted in his draughts of wine ; but on 
 the contrary, remembering Mr. Pecksniff's speech, attacked the bottle 
 with such vigour, that every time he filled his glass anew. Miss Charity, 
 despite her amiable resolves, could not repress a fLxed and stony glare, 
 as if her eyes had rested on a ghost. Mr. Pecksniff also became 
 thoughtful at those moments, not to say dejected : but, as he knew 
 the vintage, it is very likely he may have been speculating on the 
 probable condition of Mr. Pinch upon the morrow, and discussing within 
 himself the best remedies for colic. 
 
 Martin and the young ladies were excellent friends already, and com- 
 pared recollections of their childish days, to their mutual liveliness and 
 entertainment. Miss Mercy laughed immensely at everything that was 
 said; and sometimes, after glancing at the happy face of Mr. Pinch, 
 was seized with such fits of mirth as brought her to the very confines of 
 hysterics. But, for these bursts of gaiety,, her sister, in her better sense^ 
 
64 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 reproved her ; observing, in an angry whisper, that it was far from being 
 a theme for jest; and that she had no patience with the creature; though 
 it generally ended in her laughing too — but much more moderately — • 
 and saying, that indeed it was a little too ridiculous and intolerable to be 
 serious about. 
 
 At length it became high time to remember the first clause of that 
 great discovery made by the ancient philosopher, for securing health, 
 riches, and wisdom ; the infallibility of which has been for generations 
 verified by the enormous fortunes, constantly amassed by chimney- 
 sweepers and other persons who get up early and go to bed betimes. 
 The young ladies accordingly rose, and having taken leave of Mr. 
 Chuzzlewit with much sweetness, and of their father with much duty, 
 and of Mr. Pinch with much condescension, retired to their bower. 
 Mr. Pecksniff insisted on accompanying his young friend up-stairs, for 
 personal superintendence of his comforts ; and taking him by the arm, 
 conducted him once more to his bedroom, followed by Mr. Pinch, who 
 bore the light. 
 
 " Mr. Pinch," said Pecksniff", seating himself with folded arms on one 
 of the spare beds. " I don't see any snuffers in that candlestick. 
 Will you oblige me by going down, and asking for a pair 1" 
 
 Mr. Pinch, only too happy to be useful, went off* directly. 
 
 " You will excuse Thomas Pinch's want of polish, Martin," said Mr. 
 Pecksniff", with a smile of patronage and pity, as soon as he had left 
 the room. " He means well." 
 
 " He is a very good fellow, sir." 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Mr. Pecksniff". " Yes. Thomas Pinch means well. 
 He is very grateful. I have never regretted having befriended Thomas 
 Pinch." 
 
 " I should think you never would, sir." 
 
 " No," said Mr. Pecksniff". " No. I hope not. Poor fellow, he is 
 always disposed to do his best ; but he is not gifted. You will make 
 him useful to you, Martin, if you please. If Thomas has a fault, it is 
 that he is sometimes a little apt to forget his position. But that is 
 soon checked. Worthy soul ! You will find him easy to manage. 
 Good night !" 
 
 " Good night, sir." 
 
 By this time Mr. Pinch had returned with the snuff"ers. 
 
 " And good night to you, Mr. Pinch," said Pecksniff. " And sound 
 sleep to you both. Bless you ! Bless you !" 
 
 Invoking this benediction on the heads of his young friends with 
 great fervour, he withdrew to his own room ; while they, being tired, 
 soon fell asleep. If Martin dreamed at all, some clew to the matter of 
 his visions may possibly be gathered from the after-pages of this history. 
 Those of Thomas Pinch were all of holidays, church organs, and 
 seraphic Pecksniff's. It was some time before Mr. Pecksniff" dreamed at 
 all, or even sought his pillow, as he sat for full two hours before the 
 fire in his own chamber, looking at the coals and thinking deeply. But 
 he, too, slept and dreamed at last. Thus in the quiet hours of the 
 night, one house shuts in as many incoherent and incongruous fancies 
 as a madman's head. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 65 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 COMPRISES, AMONO OTHER IMPORTANT MATTERS, PECKSNIFFIAN AND ARCHI- 
 TECTURAL, AN EXACT RELATION OF THE PROGRESS MADE BY MR. PINCH 
 IN THE CONFIDENCE AND FRIENDSHIP OF THE NEW PUPIL. 
 
 It was morning ; and tlie beautiful Aurora, of whom so much hath 
 been written, said, and sung, did, with her rosy fingers, nip and tweak 
 Miss Pecksniffs nose. It was the frolicsome custom of the Goddess, in 
 her intercourse with the fair Cherry, so to do ; or in more prosaic phrase, 
 the tip of that feature in the sweet girl's countenance, was always very 
 red at breakfast-time. Por the most part, indeed, it wore, at that season 
 of the day, a scraped and frosty look, as if it had been rasped ; while a 
 similar phenomenon developed itself in her humour, which was then 
 observed to be of a sharp and acid quality, as though an extra lemon 
 (figuratively speaking) had been squeezed into the nectar of her dis- 
 position, and had rather damaged its flavour. 
 
 This additional pungency on the part of the fair young creature led, 
 on ordinary occasions, to such slight consequences as the copious dilution 
 of Mr. Pinch's tea, or to his coming off uncommonly short in respect of 
 butter, or tb other the like results. But on the morning after the 
 Installation Banquet, she suffered him to wander to and fro among the 
 eatables and drinkables, a perfectly free and unchecked man ; so utterly 
 to Mr. Pinch's wonder and confusion, that like the wretched captive 
 who recovered his liberty in his old ago, he could make but little use of 
 his enlargement, and fell into a strange kind of flutter for want of 
 some kind hand to scrape his bread, and cut him off" in the article of 
 sugar with a lump, and pay him those other little attentions to which he 
 was accustomed. There was something almost awful, too, about the 
 self-possession of the new pupil ; who " troubled" Mr. Pecksniff" for the 
 loaf, and helped himself to a rasher of that gentleman's own particular 
 and private bacon, with all the coolness in life. He even seemed to 
 think that he was doing quite a regular thing, and to expect that 
 Mr. Pinch would follov/ his example, since he took occasion to observe 
 of that young man "that he didn't get on":" a speech of so tremendous 
 a character, that Tom cast down his eyes involuntarily, and felt as if he 
 himself had committed some horrible deed and heinous breach of 
 Mr. Pecksniff"'s confidence. Indeed, the agony of having such an 
 indiscreet remark addressed to him before the assembled family, was 
 breakfast enough in itself, and would, without any other matter of 
 reflection, have settled Mr. Pinch's business and quenched his appetite, 
 for one meal, though he had been never so hungry. 
 
 The young ladies, however, and Mr. Pecksniff likewise, remained in 
 the very best of spirits in spite of these severe trials, though with 
 something of a mysterious understanding among themselves. When 
 the meal was nearly over, Mr. Pecksniff smilingly explained the cause 
 of their common satisfaction. 
 
 '• It is not often," he said, " Martin, that my daughters and I desert 
 
 F 
 
66 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 our quiet home to pursue the giddy round of pleasures that revolves 
 abroad. But we think of doing so to-day." 
 
 " Indeed, sir !" cried the new pupil.' 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Pecksniff, tapping his left hand with a letter which 
 he held in his right. " I have a summons here to repair to London ; on 
 professional business, my dear Martin ; strictly on professional business ; 
 and I promised my girls, long ago, that whenever that happened again, 
 they should accompany me. We shall go forth to-night by the heavy 
 coach — ^like the dove of old, my dear Martin — and it will be a week 
 before we again deposit our olive-branches in the passage. When I say 
 olive-branches," observed Mr. Pecksniff, in explanation, " I mean, our 
 unpretending luggage." 
 
 " I hope the young ladies will enjoy their trip," said Martin. 
 
 " Oh ! that I'm sure we shall ! " cried Mercy, clapping her hands. 
 " Good gracious, Cherry, my darling, the idea of London ! " 
 
 " Ardent child !" said Mr. Pecksniff, gazing on her in a dreamy way. 
 " And yet there is a melancholy sweetness in these youthful hopes ! It 
 is pleasant to know that they never can be realised. I remember 
 thinking once myself, in the days of my childhood, that pickled onions 
 grew on trees, and that every elephant was born w^ith an impregnable 
 castle on his back. I have not found the fact to be so ; far from it ; 
 and yet those visions have comforted me under circumstances of trial. 
 Even when I have had the anguish of discovering that I have nourished 
 in my breast an ostrich, and not a human pupil — even in that hour of 
 agony, they have soothed me." 
 
 At this dread allusion to John Westlock, Mr. Pinch precipitately 
 choked in his tea ; for he had that very morning received a letter from 
 him, as Mr. Pecksniff very well knew. 
 
 " You will take care, my dear Martin," said Mr. Pecksniff, resuming- 
 his former cheerfulness, " that the house does not run away in our absence. 
 We leave you in charge of everything. There is no mystery ; all is free 
 and open. Unlike the young man in the Eastern tale — who is described 
 as a one-eyed almanack, if I am not mistaken, Mr. Pinch ?" — 
 
 " A one-eyed calender, I think, sir," faultered Tom. 
 
 " They are pretty nearly the same thing, I believe," said Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, smiling compassionately ; " or they used to be in my time. Unlike 
 that young man, my dear Martin, you are forbidden to enter no corner 
 of this house ; but are requested to make yourself perfectly at home in 
 every part of it. You will be jovial, my dear Martin, and will kill the 
 fatted calf if you please ! " 
 
 There was not the least objection, doubtless, to the young man's 
 slaughtering and appropriating to his own use any calf, fat or lean, that 
 he might happen to find upon the premises ; but as no such animal 
 chanced at that time to be grazing on Mr. Pecksniffs estate, this request 
 must be considered rather as a polite compliment than a substantial 
 hospitality. It was the finishing ornament of the conversation ; for 
 when he had delivered it, Mr. Pecksniff rose, and led the way to that 
 hotbed of architectural genius, the two-pair front. 
 
 " Let me see," he said, searching among the papers, '•' how you can 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 67 
 
 best employ yourself, Martin, while I am absent. Suppose you were 
 to give me your idea of a monument to a Lord Mayor of London ; or 
 a tomb for a sheriff ; or your notion of a cow-house to be erected in 
 a nobleman's park. Do you know, now," said Mr. Pecksniff, folding 
 his hands, and looking at his young relation with an air of pensive 
 interest, " that I should very much like to see your notion of a cow- 
 house ? " 
 
 But Martin by no means appeared to relish this suggestion. 
 
 "A pump," said Mr. Pecksniff, "is very chaste practice. I have 
 found tliat a lamp-post is calculated to refine the mind and give it a 
 classical tendency. An ornamental turnpike has a remarkable effect 
 upon the imagination. What do you say to beginning with an orna- 
 mental turnpike \ " 
 
 " Wliatever Mr. Pecksniff pleased," said Martin, doubtfully. 
 
 " Stay," said that gentleman. " Come 1 as you're ambitious, and 
 are a very neat draughtsman, you shall — ha ha ! — you shall try your 
 hand on these proposals for a grammar-school : regulating your plan, of 
 course, by the printed particulars. Upon my word, now," said Mr. 
 Pecksniff, merrily, " I shall be very curious to see what you make of 
 the grammar-school. Who knows but a young man of your taste might 
 hit upon something, impracticable and unlikely in itself, but which I 
 could put into shape ? For it really is, my dear Martin, it really is 
 in the finishing touches alone, that great experience and long study in 
 these matters tell. Ha, ha, ha ! Now it really will be," continued Mr. 
 Pecksniff, clapping his young friend on the back in his droll humour, 
 " an amusement to me, to see what you make of the grammar-school." 
 
 Martin readily undertook this task, and Mr. Pecksniff forthwith pro- 
 ceeded to entrust him with the materials necessary for its execution : 
 dwelling meanwhile on the magical effect of a few finishing touches from 
 the hand of a master ; which, indeed, as some people said (and these 
 were the old enemies again !) was unquestionably very surprising, and 
 almost miraculous ; as there were cases on record in which the masterly 
 introduction of an additional back window, or a kitchen door, or half-a- 
 dozen steps, or even a water spout, had made the design of a pupil Mr. 
 Pecksniffs own work, and had brought substantial rewards into that 
 gentleman's pocket. But such is the magic of genius, which changes 
 all it handles into gold ! 
 
 " When your mind requires to be refreshed, by change of occupation," 
 said Mr. Pecksniff, " Thomas Pinch will instruct you in the art of 
 suiTeying the back garden, or in ascertaining the dead level of the road 
 between this house and the finger-post, or in any other practical and 
 pleasing pursuit. There are a cart-load of loose bricks, and a score or 
 two of old flower-pots, in the back yard. If you could pile them up, 
 my dear Martin, into any form which would remind me on my return — 
 say of St. Peter's at Rome, or the Mosque of St. Sophia at Constantinople 
 — it would be at once improving to you and agreeable to my feelings. 
 And now," said Mr. Pecksniff, in conclusion, " to drop, for the present, 
 our professional relations and advert to private matters, I shall be glad 
 to talk with you in my own room, while I pack up my portmanteau." 
 
 f2 
 
68 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Martin attended him ; and tliey remained in secret conference 
 together for an hour or more ; leaving Tom Pinch alone. When the 
 young man returned, he was very taciturn and dull, in which state he 
 remained all day ; so that Tom, after trying him once or twice with 
 indiiferent conversation, felt a delicacy in obtruding himself upon his 
 thoughts, and said no more. 
 
 He would not have had leisure to say much, had his new friend been 
 ever so loquacious : for first of all Mr. PecksniiF called him down to stand 
 upon the top of his portmanteau and represent ancient statues there, 
 until such time as it would consent to be locked ; and then Miss Charity 
 called him to come and cord her trunk ; and then Miss Mercy sent for 
 him to come and mend her box ; and then he wrote the fullest possible 
 cards for ail the luggage ; and then he volunteered to carry it all down- 
 stairs ; and after that to see it safely carried on a couple of barrows to 
 the old finger-post at the end of the lane ; and then to mind it till the 
 coach came up. In short, his day's work would have been a pretty 
 heavy one for a porter, but his thorough good-Avill made nothing of it ; and 
 as he sat upon the luggage at last, waiting for the Pecksniffs, escorted 
 by the new pupil, to come down the lane, his heart was light with the 
 hope of having pleased his benefactor. 
 
 " I was almost afraid," said Tom, taking a letter from his pocket, 
 and wiping his face, for he was hot with bustling about though it was a 
 cold day, " that I shouldn't have had time to write it, and that would 
 have been a thousand pities : postage from such a distance being a serious 
 consideration, when one's not rich. She will be glad to see my hand, 
 poor girl, and to hear that Pecksniff is as kind as ever. I would have 
 asked John Westlock to call and see her, and tell her all about me by 
 word of mouth, but I was afraid he might speak against Pecksniff" to her, 
 and make her uneasy. Besides, they are particular people where she is, 
 and it might have rendered her situation uncomfortable if she had had 
 a visit from a young man like John. Poor Ruth !" 
 
 Tom Pinch seemed a little disposed to be melancholy for half a minute 
 or so, but he found comfort very soon, and pursued his ruminations thus : 
 
 " I'm a nice man, I don't think, as John used to say (John was a 
 kind, merrj'-hearted fellow : I wish he had liked Pecksniff" better) to be 
 feeling Iom', on account of the distance between u^, when I ought to be 
 thinking, instead, of my extraordinary good-luck in having ever got 
 here. 1 must have been born with a silver spoon in my mouth, I am 
 sure, to have ever come across Pecksniff; And here have I fallen again 
 into my usual good-luck with the new pupil ! Such an affable, gene- 
 rous, free fellow, as he is, I never saAv. Why, Ave were companions 
 directly ! and he a relation of Pecksniff's too, and a clever, dashing 
 youth who might cut his way through the world as if it were a cheese ! 
 Here he comes while the words are on my lips," said Tom : " walking 
 down the lane as if the lane belonged to him." 
 
 In truth, the new pupil, not at all disconcerted by the honour of 
 having Miss Mercy Pecksniff" on his arm, or by the affectionate adieux of 
 that young lady, approached as Mr. Pinch spoke, followed by Miss 
 Charity and Mr. Pecksniff". As the coach appeared at the same moment, 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 69 
 
 Tom lost no time in entreating the gentleman last mentionecl, to under- 
 take tlie delivery of his letter. 
 
 " Oh ! " said ]\Ir. Pecksniff, glancing at the superscription. '• For your 
 sister, Thomas. Yes, oh yes, it shall be delivered, Mr. Pinch. Make 
 your mind easy upon that score. She shall certainly have it, Mr. Pinch." 
 
 He made the promise with so much condescension and patronage, 
 that Tom felt he had asked a great deal (this liad not occurred to his 
 mind before), and thanked him earnestly. The Miss Pecksniffs, accord- 
 ing to a custom they had, were amused beyond description, at the 
 mention of Mr. Pinch's sister. Oh the fright ! The bare idea of a Miss 
 Pinch ! Good heavens ! 
 
 Tom was greatly pleased to see them so merry, for he took it as a 
 token of their favour, and good-humoured regard. Therefore he laughed 
 too and rubbed his hands, and wished them a pleasant journey and safe 
 return, and was quite brisk. Even when the coach had rolled away 
 with the olive-branches in the boot and the family of doves inside, he 
 stood waving his hand and bowing : so much gratified by the unusually 
 courteous demeanour of the young ladies, that he was quite regardless, 
 for the moment, of Martin Chuzzlewit, who stood leaning thoughtfully 
 against the finger-post, and who after disposing of his fair charge had 
 hardly lifted his eyes from the ground. 
 
 The perfect silence which ensued upon the bustle and departure of the 
 coach, together with the sharp air of the wintry afternoon, roused them 
 both at the same time. They turned, as by mutual consent, and moved 
 off, arm-in-arm. 
 
 '•' How melancholy you are ! " said Tom ; " what is the matter ?" 
 
 " Nothing worth speaking of," said Martin. " Very little more than 
 was the matter yesterday, and much more, I hope, than will be the 
 matter to-morrow. I'm out of spirits. Pinch." 
 
 " Well," cried Tom, " now do you know I am in capital spirits to- 
 day, and scarcely ever felt more disposed to be good company. It was a 
 very kind thing in your predecessor, John, to write to me, was it not ?" 
 
 " Why, yes," said Martin carelessly : " I should have thought he would 
 have had enough to do to enjoy himself, without thinking of you, Pinch." 
 
 " Just what I felt to be so very likely," Tom rejoined : " but no, he 
 keeps his word, and says, ' My dear Pinch, I often think of you,' and all 
 sorts of kind and considerate things of that description." 
 
 '• He must be a devilish good-natured felloAV," said Martin, somewhat 
 peevishly : " because he can't mean that, you know." 
 
 " I don't suppose he can, eh V said Tom, looking wistfully in his 
 companion's face. " He says so to please me, you think ?" 
 
 " Why, is it likely," rejoined Martin, with greater earnestness, "that 
 a young man newly escaped from this kennel of a place, and fresh to all 
 the delights of being his own master in London, can have much leisure 
 or inclination to think favourably of anything or anybody he has left 
 behind him here 1 I put it to you. Pinch, is it natural ?" 
 
 After a short reflection, Mr. Pinch replied, in a more subdued tone, 
 that to be sure it was unreasonable to expect any such thing, and that 
 he had no doubt Martin knew best. 
 
70 • LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Of course I know best," Martin observed. 
 
 Yes, I feel that," said Mr. Pinch, mildly. " I said so." And when 
 he had made this rejoinder, they fell into a blank silence again, which 
 lasted until they reached home : by which time it was dark. 
 
 Now, Miss Charity Pecksniff, in consideration of the inconvenience of 
 carrying them with her in the coach, and the impossibility of preserving 
 them by artificial means until the family's return, had set forth, in a 
 couple of plates, the fragments of yesterday's feast. In virtue of which 
 liberal arrangement, they had the happiness to find awaiting them in the 
 parlour two chaotic heaps of the remains of last night's pleasure, consisting 
 of certain filmy bits of oranges, some mummied sandwiches, various 
 disrupted masses of the geological cake, and several entire captain's 
 biscuits. That choice liquor in which to steep these dainties might not 
 be wanting, the remains of the two bottles of currant-wine had been 
 poured together and corked with a curl-paper ; so that every material 
 was at hand for making quite a heavy night of it. 
 
 Martin Chuzzlewit beheld these roystering preparations with infinite 
 contempt, and stirring the fire into a blaze (to the great destruction of 
 Mr. Pecksniff's coals), sat moodily down before it, in the most comfort- 
 able chair he could find. That he might the better squeeze himself into 
 the small corner that was left for him, Mr. Pinch took up his position 
 on Miss Mercy Pecksniff's stool, and setting his glass down upon the 
 hearth-rug and putting his plate upon his knees, began to enjoy himself. 
 
 If Diogenes coming to life again could have rolled himself, tub and 
 all, into Mr. Pecksniff's parlour, and could have seen Tom Pinch as he 
 sat on Mercy Pecksniff's stool, with his plate and glass before him, he 
 could not have faced it out, though in his surliest mood, but must have 
 smiled good-temperedly. The perfect and entire satisfaction of Tom ; 
 his surpassing appreciation of the husky sandwiches, which crumbled 
 in his mouth like sawdust ; the unspeakable relish with which he 
 swallowed the thin wine by drops, and smacked his lips, as though it 
 were so rich and generous that to lose an atom of its fruity flavour were 
 a sin ; the look with which he paused sometimes, with vhis glass in his 
 hand, proposing silent toasts to himself ; and the anxious shade that 
 came upon his contented face when after wandering round the room, 
 exulting in its uninvaded snugness, his glance encountered the dull brow 
 of his companion ; no cynic in the world, though in his hatred of its men 
 a very griffin, could have withstood these things in Thomas Pinch. 
 
 Some men would have slapped him on the back, and pledged him in 
 a bumper of the currant-wine, though it had been the sharpest vinegar — 
 ay, and liked its flavour too ; some would have seized him by his honest 
 hand, and thanked him for the lesson that his simple nature taught 
 them. Some would have laughed with, and others would have laughed 
 at him ; of which last class was Martin Chuzzlewit, who, unable to 
 restrain himself at last, laughed loud and long. 
 
 " That 's right," said Tom, nodding approvingly. " Cheer up ! That 's 
 capital !" 
 
 At which encouragement, young Martin laughed again ; and said, as 
 soon as he had breath and gravity enough : 
 
. ■M:'J'^^'??^a^?^/^y9Z€^^//z^^ a. Jg^r^/ 0€YYi^'^<^i 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 71 
 
 " I never saw sucli a fellow as you are, Pincb. " 
 
 " Didn't you though 1 " said Tom. " Well, it 's very likely you do 
 find me strange, because I have hardly seen anything of the world, and 
 you have seen a good deal I dare say V 
 
 " Pretty well for ray time of life," rejoined Martin, drawing bis chair 
 still nearer to the fire, and spreading bis feet out on the fender. " Deuce 
 take it, I must talk openly to somebody. I '11 talk openly to you, 
 Pinch." 
 
 " Do ! " said Tom. " I shall take it as being very friendly of you." 
 
 " I'm not in your way, am I ? " inquired Martin, glancing down at Mr. 
 Pinch, who was by this time looking at the jB.re over his leg. 
 
 "Not at all!" cried Tom. 
 
 " You must know then, to make short of a long story," said Martin, 
 beginning with a kind of effort, as if the revelation were not agreeable 
 to him : " that I have been bred up from childhood ^nth great expecta- 
 tions, and have always been taught to believe that I should be, one day, 
 very rich. So I should have been, but for certain brief reasons which I 
 am going to tell you, and which have led to my being disinherited." 
 
 " By your father?" enquired Mr. Pinch, with open eyes. 
 
 " By my grandfather. I have had no parents these many years. 
 Scarcely within my remembrance." 
 
 " Neither have I," said Tom, touching the young man's hand with his 
 own and timidly withdrawing it again. " Dear me !" 
 
 " Why as to that you know. Pinch," pursued the other, stirring the fire 
 again, and speaking in his rapid, off-hand way : " it 's all very right and 
 proper to be fond of parents when we have them, and to bear them in 
 remembrance after they 're dead, if you have ever known anything of 
 them. But as I never did know anything about mine personally, you 
 know, why I can't be expected to be very sentimental about 'em. And 
 I am not : that 's the truth." 
 
 Mr. Pinch was just then looking though tflilly at the bars. But on 
 his companion pausing in this place, he started, and said '' Oh ! of 
 course" — and composed himself to listen again. 
 
 " In a word," said Martin, " I have been bred and reared all my life 
 by this grandfather of whom I have just spoken. Now, he has a great 
 many good points ; there is no doubt about that ; I '11 not disguise the 
 fact from you ; but he has two very great faults, which are the staple of 
 his bad side. In the first place, he has the most confirmed obstinacy 
 of character you ever met with in any human creature. In the second, 
 he is most abominably selfish." 
 
 " Is he indeed ? " cried Tom. 
 
 " In those two respects," returned the other, '-'there never was such a 
 man. I have often heard from those who know, that they have been, 
 time out of mind, the failings of our family ; and I believe there 's some 
 truth in it. But I can't say of my own knowledge. All I have to do, 
 you know, is to be very thankful that they haven't descended to me, and 
 to be very careful that I don't contract 'em." 
 
 " To be sure," said Mr. Pinch. " Very proper." 
 
 " Well, sir," resumed Martin, stirring the fire once more, and drawing 
 
72 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 his chair still closer to it, " his selfishness makes him exacting, you see ; 
 and his obstinacy makes him resolute in his exactions. The consequence 
 is that he has always exacted a great deal from me in the way of respect, 
 and submission, and self-denial when his wishes were in question, and so 
 forth. I have borne a great deal from him, because I have been under 
 obligations to him (if one can ever be said to be under obligations to 
 one's own grandfather), and because I have been really attached to him ; 
 but we have had a great many quarrels for all that, for I could not accom- 
 modate myself to his ways very often — not out of the least reference to 
 
 myself you understand, but because " he stammered here, and was 
 
 rather at a loss. 
 
 Mr. Pinch being about the worst man in the world to help anybody 
 out of a difficulty of this sort, said nothing. 
 
 " Well ! as you understand me," resumed Martin quickly, " I 
 needn't hunt for the precise expression I want. Now, I come to the cream 
 of my story, and the occasion of my being here. I am in love, Pinch." 
 
 Mr. Pinch looked n-p into his face with increased interest. 
 
 " I say I am in love. I am in love with one of the most beautiful 
 girls the sun ever shone upon. But she is wholly and entirely dependent 
 upon the pleasure of my grandfather ; and if he were to know that she 
 favoured my passion, she would lose her home and everything she possesses 
 in the world. There is nothing very selfish in that love, I think V 
 
 " Selfish ! " cried Tom. " You have acted nobly. To love her as I 
 am sure you do, and yet in consideration for her state of dependence, not 
 even to disclose " 
 
 " What are you talking about. Pinch ?" said Martin pettishly : " don't 
 make yourself ridiculous, my good fellow ! What do you mean by not 
 disclosing 1 " 
 
 " I beg your pardon," answered Tom. " I thought you meant that, or 
 I wouldn't have said it." 
 
 " If I didn't tell her I loved her, where would be the -use of my being 
 in love?" said Martin : "unless to keep myself in a perpetual state of 
 worry and vexation ?" 
 
 " That's true," Tom answered. '• Well ! I can guess what she said 
 when you told her ? " he added, glancing at Martin's handsome face. 
 
 "Why, not exactly. Pinch," he rejoined, with a slight frown : 
 " because she has some girlish notions about duty and gratitude, and 
 all the rest of it, which are rather hard to fathom j but in the main 
 you are right. Her heart was mine, I found." 
 
 "Just what I supposed," said Tom. "Qiiite natural ! " and, in his 
 great satisfaction, he took a long sip out of his wine-glass. 
 
 " Although I had conducted myself from the first with the utmost 
 circumspection," pursued Martin, " I had not managed matters so well 
 but that my grandfather, who is full of jealousy and distrust, suspected 
 me of loving her. He said nothing to her, but straightway attacked 
 me in private, and charged me with designing to corrupt the fidelity 
 to himself (there you observe his selfishness), of a young creature whom 
 he had trained and educated to be his only disinterested and faithful com- 
 panion when he should have disposed of me in marriage to his heart's 
 
MARTIN CIIUZZLEWIT, 73 
 
 content. Upon that, I took fire immediately, and told him that with his 
 good leave I would dispose of myself in marriage, and would rather not be 
 knocked down by him or any other auctioneer to any bidder whomsoever." 
 
 Mr. Pinch opened his eyes wider and looked at the fire harder than 
 he had done yet. 
 
 " You may be sure," said Martin, " that this nettled him, and that he 
 began to be the very reverse of complimentary to myself. Interview 
 succeeded interview ; words engendered words, as they always do ; and 
 the upshot of it was, that I was to renounce her, or be renounced by 
 him. Now you must bear in mind, Pinch, that I am not only despe- 
 rately fond of her (for though she is poor, her beauty and intellect would 
 reflect great credit on anybody, I don't care of what pretensions, who 
 might become her husband), but that a chief ingredient in my compo- 
 sition is a most determined — " 
 
 " Obstinacy," suggested Tom in perfect good faith. But the suggestion 
 was not so well received as he had expected ; for the young man imme- 
 diately rejoined, with some irritation, 
 
 " What a fellow you are, Pinch ! " 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Tom, " I thought you wanted a word." 
 
 "I didn't want that word," he rejoined. " I told you obstinacy was 
 no part of my character, did I not ? I was going to say, if you had 
 given me leave, that a chief ingredient in my composition is a most 
 determined firmness." 
 
 " Oh !" cried Tom, screwing up his mouth, and nodding. " Yes, yes ; 
 I see !" 
 
 " And being firm," pursued Martin, " of course I was not going to 
 yield to him, or give way by so much as tlie thousandth part of an inch." 
 
 " No, no," said Tom. 
 
 "On the contrary; the more he urged, the more I was determined 
 to oppose him." 
 
 "To be sure!" said Tom. 
 
 " Very well," rejoined Martin, throwing himself back in his chair, 
 with a careless wave of both hands, as if the subject were quite settled, 
 and nothing more could be said about it — " There is an end of the 
 matter, and here am I !" 
 
 Mr. Pinch sat staring at the fire for some minutes with a puzzled look, 
 such as he might have assumed if some uncommonly difficult conundrum 
 had been proposed, which he found it impossible to guess. At length 
 he said : 
 
 " Pecksniff, of course, you had known before V 
 
 " Only by name. No, I had never seen him, for my grandfather kept 
 not only himself but me, aloof from all his relations. But our separation 
 took place in a town in the adjoining county. From that place I came 
 to Salisbury, and there I saw Pecksniii's advertisement, which I answered, 
 having always had some natural taste, I believe, in the matters to which 
 it referred, and thinking it might suit me. As soon as I found it to be his, 
 I was doubly bent on coming to him if possible, on account of his being — ' 
 
 " Such an excellent man," interposed Tom, rubbing his hands : " so 
 he is. You were quite right." 
 
74 LIFE AND ADYENTURES OF 
 
 " Why not so much on that account, if the truth must be spoken," 
 returned Martin, " as because mj grandfather has an inveterate dislike 
 to him, and after the old man's arbitrary treatment of me I had a 
 natural desire to run as directly counter to all his opinions as I could. 
 Well ! as I said before, here I am. My engagement with the young 
 lady I have been telling you about, is likely to be a tolerably long one ; 
 for neither her prospects, nor mine, are very bright ; and of course I 
 shall not think of marrying until I am well able to do so. It would 
 never do, you know, for me to be plunging myself into poverty and 
 shabbiness and love in one room up three pair of stairs, and all that sort 
 of thing." 
 
 " To say nothing of her," remarked Tom Pinch, in a low voice. 
 
 "Exactly so," rejoined Martin, rising to warm his back, and leaning 
 against the chimney-piece. " To say nothing of her. At the same time, 
 of course it's not very hard upon her to be obliged to yield to the 
 necessity of the case : first, because she loves me very much ; and 
 secondly, because I have sacrificed a great deal on her account, and 
 might have done much better, you know." 
 
 It was a very long time before Tom said " Certainly ;" so long, that 
 he might have taken a nap in the interval, but he did say it at last. 
 
 " Now, there is one odd coincidence connected with this love-story," 
 said Martin, " which brings it to an end. You remember what you 
 told me last night as we were coming here, about your pretty visitor in 
 the church?" 
 
 " Surely I do," said Tom, rising from his stool, and seating himself 
 in the chair from which the other had lately risen, that he might see 
 his face. " Undoubtedly." 
 
 " That was she." 
 
 "I knew what you were going to say," cried Tom, looking fixedly 
 at him, and speaking very softly. " You don't tell me so 1 " 
 
 " That was she," repeated the young man. " After what I have 
 heard from Pecksniff", I have no doubt that she came and went with my 
 grandfather. — Don't you drink too much of that sour wine, or you'll 
 have a fit of some sort. Pinch, I see." 
 
 " It is not very wholesome, I am afraid," said Tom, setting down the 
 empty glass he had for some time held. " So that was she, was it ? " 
 
 Martin nodded assent : and adding, with a restless impatience, that 
 if he had been a few days earlier he would have seen her ; and that 
 now she might be, for anything he knew, hundreds of miles away ; 
 threw himself, after a few turns across the room, into a chair, and chafed 
 like a spoilt child. 
 
 Tom Pinch's heart was very tender, and he could not bear to see the 
 most indifferent person in distress ; still less one who had awakened an 
 interest in him, and who regarded him (either in fact, or as he supposed) 
 with kindness, and in a spirit of lenient construction. Whatever his 
 own thoughts had been a few moments before — and to judge from his 
 face they must have been pretty serious — he dismissed them instantly, 
 and gave his young friend the best counsel and comfort that occurred 
 to him. 
 
MARTIN CIIUZZLEWIT. 75 
 
 " All will be well in time/' said Tom, " I have no doubt ; and some 
 trial and adversity just now will only serve to make you more attached 
 to each other in better days. I have always read that the truth is so, 
 and I have a feeling within me, which tells me how natural and right it 
 is that it should be. What never ran smooth yet," said Tom, with a 
 smile, which despite the homeliness of his face, was pleasanter to see 
 than many a proud beauty's brightest glance : " what never ran smooth 
 jet, can hardly be expected to change its character for us ; so we must 
 take it as we find it, and fashion it into the very best shape we can, by 
 patience and good-humour. I have no power at all ; I needn't tell you 
 that ; but I have an excellent will ; and if I could ever be of use to you, 
 in any way whatever, how very glad I should be !" 
 
 " Thank you," said Martin, shaking his hand. " You 're a good 
 fellow, upon my word, and speak very kindly. Of course, you know," 
 he added, after a moment's pause, as he drew his chair towards the fire 
 again, " I should not hesitate to avail myself of your services if you 
 could help me at all ; but mercy on us ! " — Here he rumpled his hair 
 impatiently with his hand, and looked at Tom as if he took it rather ill 
 that he was not somebody else — " You might as well be a toasting-fork 
 or a frying-pan. Pinch, for any help you can render me." 
 
 ^' Except in the inclination," said Tom, gently. 
 
 " Oh ! to be sure. I meant that, of course. If inclination went for 
 anything, I shouldn't want help. I tell you what you may do, though, 
 if you will — at the present moment too." 
 
 " What is that V demanded Tom. 
 
 " Read to me." 
 
 " I shall be delighted," cried Tom, catching up the candle, with 
 enthusiasm. " Excuse my lea^dng you in the dark a moment, and I'll 
 fetch a book directly. What will you like 1 Shakspeare ?" 
 
 " Ay !" replied his friend, yawning and stretching himself. " He'll 
 do. I am tired with the bustle of to-day, and the novelty of everything 
 about me ; and in such a case, there 's no greater luxury in the world, I 
 think, than being read to sleep. You won't mind my going to sleep, 
 if I can?" 
 
 "Not at all!" cried Tom. 
 
 " Then begin as soon as you like. You needn't leave off when you 
 see me getting drowsy (unless you feel tired), for it 's pleasant to wake 
 gradually to the sounds again. Did you ever try that?" 
 
 " No, I never tried that," said Tom. 
 
 " Well ! You can, you know, one of these days when we 're both in 
 the right humour. Don't mind leaving me in the dark. Look sharp !" 
 
 Mr. Pinch lost no time in moving away ; and in a minute or two 
 returned with one of the precious volumes from the shelf beside his bed. 
 Martin had in the meantime made himself as comfortable as circum- 
 stances would permit, by constructing before the fire a temporary sofa 
 of three chairs with Mercy's stool for a pillow, and lying down at full- 
 length upon it. 
 
 " Don 't be too loud, please," he said to Pinch. 
 
 « No, no," said Tom. 
 
76 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " You 're sure you 're not cold ?" 
 
 "Not at all!" cried Tom. 
 
 " I am quite ready then." 
 
 Mr. Pinch accordingly, after turning over the leaves of his book with 
 as much care as if they were living and highly cherished creatures, made 
 his own selection, and began to read. Before he had completed fifty 
 lines, his friend was snoring. 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " said Tom, softly, as he stretched out his head to peep 
 at him over the backs of the chairs. " He is very young to have so 
 much trouble. How trustful and generous in him to bestow all this 
 confidence in me. And that was she, was it?" 
 
 But suddenly remembering their compact, he took up the poem at the 
 place where he had left off, and went on reading ; always forgetting to snuiF 
 the candle, until its wick looked like a mushroom. He gradually became 
 so much interested, that he quite forgot to replenish the fire ; and was 
 only reminded of his neglect by Martin Chuzzlewit starting up after the 
 lapse of an hour or so, and crying with a shiver : 
 
 " Why, it 's nearly out, I declare ! No wonder I dreamed of being 
 frozen. Do call for some coals. What a fellow you are, Pinch ! " 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 IN WHICH MR. CHEVY SLYME ASSERTS THE INDEPENDENCE OF HIS SPIRIT j 
 AND THE BLUE DRAGON LOSES A LIMB. 
 
 Martin began to work at the grammar-school next morning, with so 
 much vigour and expedition, that Mr. Pinch had new reason to do homage 
 to the natural endowments of that young gentleman, and to acknowledge 
 his infinite superiority to himself The new pupil received Tom's com- 
 pliments very graciously ; and having by this time conceived a real regard 
 for him, in his own peculiar -way, predicted that they would always be the 
 very best of friends, and that neither of them, he was certain (but particu- 
 larly Tom), would ever have reason to regret the day on which they became 
 acquainted. Mr. Pinch was delighted to hear him say this, and felt so 
 much flattered by his kind assurances of friendship and protection, that he 
 was at a loss how to express the pleasure they afibrded him. And indeed 
 it may be observed of this friendship, such as it was, that it had within 
 it more likely materials of endurance than many a sworn brotherhood 
 that has been rich in promise ; for so long as the one party found a 
 pleasure in patronising, and the other in being patronised (which was in 
 the very essence of their respective characters), it was of all possible 
 events among the least probable, that the twin demons. Envy and Pride, 
 would ever arise between them. So in very many cases of friendship, 
 or what passes for it, the old axiom is reversed, and like clings to unlike 
 more than to like. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 77 
 
 Tliey were botli very busy on the afternoon succeeding the family's 
 departure — Martin with the grammar-school, and Tom in balancing 
 certain receipts of rents, and deducting Mr. PecksnitFs commission 
 from the same ; in which abstruse employment he was much distracted 
 by a habit his new friend had of whistling aloud, while he was drawing — 
 when they were not a little startled by the unexpected obtrusion into 
 that sanctuary of genius, of a human head, which although a shaggy 
 and somewhat alarming head, in appearance, smiled affably upon them 
 from the doorway, in a manner that was at once waggish, conciliatory, 
 and expressive of approbation. 
 
 "I am not industrious myself, gents both," said the head, "but I 
 know how to appreciate that quality in others. I wish I may turn gray 
 and ugly, if it isn't, in my opinion, next to genius, one of the very 
 charmingest c(ualities of the human mind. Upon my soul, I am grateful 
 to my friend Pecksniff for helping me to the contemplation of such a 
 delicious picture as you present. You remind me of Whittington, after- 
 wards thrice Lord Mayor of London. I give you my unsullied word of 
 honour, that you very strongly remind me of that historical character. 
 You are a pair of Whittingtons, gents, without the cat ; which is a most 
 agreeable and blessed exception to me, for I am not attached to the 
 feline species. My name is Tigg; how do you do V 
 
 Martin looked to Mr. Pinch for an explanation ; and Tom, who had 
 never in his life set eyes on Mr. Tigg before, looked to that gentleman 
 himself 
 
 "Chevy Slyme?" said Mr. Tigg, interrogatively, and kissing his left 
 hand in token of friendship. " You will understand me when I say 
 that I am the accredited agent of Chevy Slyme — that I am the ambas- 
 sador from the court of Chiv 1 Ha ha !" 
 
 "Heyday!" asked Martin, starting at the mention of a name he 
 knew. " Pray, what does he want with me 1" 
 
 '■' If your name is Pinch " — Mr. Tigg began. 
 
 " It is not," said Martin, checking himself "' That is Mr. Pinch." 
 
 " If that is Mr. Pinch," cried Tigg, kissing his hand again, and 
 beginning to follow his head into the room, " he will permit me to say 
 that I greatly esteem and respect his character, which has been most 
 highly commended to me by my friend Pecksniff ; and that I deeply 
 appreciate his talent for the organ, notwithstanding that I do not, if I 
 may use the expression, grind, myself If that is Mr, Pinch, I will 
 venture to express a hope that I see him well, and that he is suffering 
 no inconvenience from the easterly wdnd ?" 
 
 " Thank you," said Tom. " I am very well." 
 
 "' That is a comfort," Mr. Tigg rejoined. " Then," he added, shielding 
 his lips with the palm of his hand, and applying them close to Mr. 
 Pinch's ear, " I have come for the letter." 
 
 " For the letter ]" said Tom, aloud. " What letter % " 
 
 " The letter," whispered Tigg, in the same cautious manner as before, 
 " which my friend Pecksniff addressed to Chevy Slyme, Esquire, and left 
 with you," 
 
 " lie didn't leave any letter with me," said Tom. 
 
78 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " Hush [" cried the other. " It's all the same thing, though not so 
 delicately done by my friend Pecksniff as I could have wished — the 
 money." 
 
 " The money!" cried Tom, quite scared. 
 
 " Exactly so," said Mr. Tigg. With which he rapped Tom twice or 
 thrice upon the breast and nodded several times, as though he would 
 say, that he saw they understood each other ; that it was unnecessary to 
 mention the circumstance before a third person ; and that he would take 
 it as a particular favour if Tom would slip the amount into his hand, 
 as quietly as possible. 
 
 Mr. Pinch, however, was so very much astounded by this (to him) 
 inexplicable deportment, that he at once openly declared there must be 
 some mistake, and that he had been entrusted with no commission 
 whatever having any reference to Mr. Tigg or to his friend either. — 
 Mr. Tigg received this declaration with a grave request that Mr. Pinch 
 would have the goodness to make it again ; and on Tom's repeating it in 
 a still more emphatic and unmistakeable manner, checked it off, sentence 
 for sentence, by nodding his head solemnly at the end of each. When 
 it had come to a close for the second time, Mr. Tigg sat himself down in 
 a chair and addressed the young men as follows : 
 
 " Then I tell you what it is, gents both. There is at this present 
 moment in this very place, a perfect constellation of talent and genius, 
 who is involved, through what I cannot but designate as the culpable 
 negligence of my friend Pecksniff, in a situation as tremendous, perhaps, 
 as the social intercourse of the nineteenth century will readily admit of. 
 There is actually at this instant, at the Blue Dragon in this village — an 
 alehouse observe ; a common, paltry, low-minded, clodhopping pipe- 
 smoking alehouse — an individual, of whom it may be said, in the 
 language of the Poet, that nobody but himself can in any way come up 
 to him ; who is detained there for his bill. Ha ! ha 1 For his bill. 
 I repeat it — for his bill. Now" said Mr. Tigg, " we have heard of Fox's 
 Book of Martyrs, I believe, and we have heard of the Court of Requests, 
 and the Star Chamber ; but I fear the contradiction of no man alive 
 or dead, when I assert that my friend Chevy Slyme being held in 
 pawn for a bill, beats any amount of cock-fighting with which I am 
 acquainted." 
 
 Martin and Mr. Pinch looked, first at each other, and afterwards at 
 Mr. Tigg, who with his arms folded on his breast surveyed them, half in 
 despondency and half in bitterness. 
 
 " Don't mistake me, gents both," he said, stretching forth his right 
 hand. " If it had been for anything but a bill, I could have borne it, 
 and could still have looked upon mankind with some feeling of respect : 
 but when such a man as my friend Slyme is detained for a score — a thing 
 in itself essentially mean ; a low performance on a slate, or possibly 
 chalked upon the back of a door — I do feel that there is a screw of such 
 magnitude loose somewhere, that the whole framework of society is 
 shaken, and the very first principles of things can no longer be trusted. 
 In short, gents both," said Mr. Tigg with a passionate flourish of his 
 hands and head, " when a man like Slyme is detained for such a thing 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT* 79 
 
 as a bill, I reject the superstitions of ages, and believe nothing, I 
 don't even believe that I dont believe, curse me if I do !" 
 
 " I am very sorry I am sure," said Tom after a pause, " but Mr. Peck- 
 sniff said nothing to me about it, and I couldn't act without his instruc- 
 tions. Wouldn't it be better, sir, if you were to go to — to wherever you. 
 came from — yourselfj and remit the money to your friend ? " 
 
 " How can that be done, when I am detained also 1 " said Mr. Tigg ; 
 "and when moreover, owing to the astounding, and I must add, guilty 
 negligence of my friend Pecksniff, I have no money for coach-hire V 
 
 Tom thought of reminding the gentleman (who, no doubt, in his 
 agitation had forgotten it) that there was a post-office in the land ; and 
 that possibly if he wrote to some friend or agent for a remittance it 
 might not be lost upon the road ; or at all events that the chance, 
 however desperate, was worth trusting to. But as his good-nature 
 presently suggested to him certain reasons for abstaining from this hint, 
 he paused again, and then asked : 
 
 " Did you say. Sir, that you were detained also V 
 
 " Come here," said Mr. Tigg, rising. " You have no objection to mj 
 opening this window for a moment V 
 
 " Certainly not," said Tom. 
 
 "Very good," said Mr. Tigg, lifting the sash. " You see a fellow 
 down there in a red neckcloth and no waistcoat ?" 
 
 " Of course I do," cried Tom. " That 's Mark Tapley." 
 
 "Mark Tapley is it?" said the gentleman. "Then Mark Tapley 
 had not only the great politeness to follow me to this house, but is waiting 
 now, to see me home again. And for that act of attention. Sir," added 
 Mr. Tigg, stroking his moustache, " I can tell you, that Mark Tapley 
 had better in his infancy have been fed to suffocation by Mrs. Tapley, 
 than preserved to this time." 
 
 Mr. Pinch was not so dismayed by this terrible threat, but that he 
 had voice enough to call to Mark to come in, and up stairs ; a summons 
 which he so speedily obeyed, that almost as soon as Tom and Mr. Tigg 
 had drawn in their heads and closed the window again, he the denounced 
 appeared before them. 
 
 " Come here, Mark !" said Mr. Pinch. "Good gracious me ! what 's 
 the matter between Mrs. Lupin and this gentleman ?" 
 
 "What gentleman. Sir?" said Mark. "I don't see no gentleman 
 here. Sir, excepting you and the new gentleman," to whom he made a 
 rough kind of bow — "and there's nothing wrong between Mrs. Lupin and 
 either of you, Mr. Pinch, I am sure." 
 
 "Nonsense, Mark !" cried Tom. "You see Mr. — " 
 
 " Tigg," interposed that gentleman. " Wait a bit. I shall crush him 
 soon. All in good time !" 
 
 " Oh him .'" rejoined Mark, with an air of careless defiance. " Yes, I 
 see Mm. I could see him a little better, if he 'd shave himself, and get 
 his hair cut." 
 
 Mr. Tigg shook his head with a ferocious look, and smote himself 
 once upon the breast. 
 
 " It 's no use/' said Mark. " If you knock ever so much in that 
 
80 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 quarter, you '11 get no answer. I know better. There 's nothing there 
 but padding : and a greasy sort it is." 
 
 " Nay, Mark," urged Mr. Pinch, interposing to prevent hostilities, 
 " tell me what I ask you. You're not out of temper, I hope ?" 
 
 " Out of temper, Sir ! " cried Mark, with a grin ; " why no. Sir. 
 There's a little credit — not much — in being jolly, when such fellows 
 as him is a going about like roaring lions : if there is any breed of 
 lions, at least, as is all roar and mane. What is there between him 
 and Mrs. Lupin, Sir 1 Why, there 's a score between him and Mrs. 
 Lupin. And I think Mrs. Lupin lets him and his friend off very easy in 
 not charging 'em double prices for being a disgrace to the Dragon. 
 That 's my opinion. I wouldn't have any such Peter the Wild Boy as 
 him in my house. Sir, not if I was paid race-week prices for it. He 's 
 enough to turn the very beer in the casks sour, with his looks : he is ! 
 So he would, if it had judgment enough." 
 
 " You 're not answering my question, you know, Mark," observed 
 Mr. Pinch. 
 
 " Well, sir," said Mark, " I don't know as there 's much to answer 
 further than that. Him and his friend goes and stops at the Moon and 
 Stars till they 've run a bill there ; and then comes and stops with us 
 and does the same. The 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 being aggravation enough, he says this morning to 
 me, in his usual captivating way, ' We 're going to night, my man.' 
 
 * Are you, sir V says I. ' Perhaps y<5u 'd like the bill got ready, sir 1 ' 
 
 * Oh no, my man,' he says ; ' you needn't mind that. I'll give PecksniiF 
 orders to see to that.' In reply to which, the Dragon makes answer, 
 
 * Thankee, sir, you 're very kind to honour us so far, but as we don't know 
 any particular good of you, and you don't travel with luggage, and Mr. 
 Pecksniff an't at home (which perhaps you mayn't happen to be avr^are 
 of, sir), we should prefer something more satisfactory ;' and that's where 
 the matter stands. And I ask," said Mr. Tapley, pointing, in conclu- 
 sion, to Mr. Tigg, with his hat, " any lady or gentleman, possessing 
 ordinary strength 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. Tigg, " what the 
 amount of this debt may be." 
 
 " In point of money, Sir, very little," answered Mark. " Only just 
 turned of three pounds. But it an't that ; it's the " 
 
 " Yes, yes, you told us so before," said Martin. " Pinch, a word 
 with you." 
 
 " What is it V asked Tom, retiring with him to a corner of the room. 
 
 " Why, simply — I am ashamed to say — that this Mr. Slyme is a 
 relation of mine, of whom I never heard anything pleasant ; and that I 
 don't want him here just now, and think he would be cheaply got rid of, 
 perhaps, for three or four pounds. You haven't enough money to pay 
 this bill, I suppose 1 " 
 
MARTIN CIIUZZLEWIT. 81 
 
 Tom shook his head to an extent that left no doubt of his entire 
 sincerity. 
 
 " That 's unfortunate, for I am poor too ; and in case you had had it, 
 I 'd have borrowed it of you. But if we told this landlady we would 
 see her paid, I suppose that would answer the same purpose V 
 
 " Oh dear, yes 1" said Tom. " She knows me, bless you !" 
 
 " Then, let us go down at once and tell her so ; for the sooner we are 
 rid of their company the better. As you have conducted the conversa- 
 tion 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 true greatness of soul sympathised with true 
 greatness 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 Ms 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 
 tlie 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 vrord as a preliminary to 
 the release of her two visitors, of whom she was glad to be rid on any 
 terms : indeed, their brief detention had originated mainly with Mr. 
 Tapley, who entertained a 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. 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 them- 
 selves 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 requi- 
 site to set up an amateur in this department of business, is very slight 
 and easily got together ; a trick of the nose and a curl of the lip suffi- 
 cient 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 
 
 G 
 
S2 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 professor of Taste for a livelihood ; and finding, too late, tliat 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 1" 
 
 " These are agreeable circumstances in which to be introduced 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 con- 
 dition, retired, after an awkward pause, followed by Martin. But Mr. 
 Tigg so urgently conjured them, by coughs and signs, to remain in the 
 shadow of the door, that they stopped there. 
 
 " I swear," cried Mr. Slyme, giving the table an imbecile blow with 
 his fist, and then feebly leaning his head upon his hand, while some 
 drunken drops oozed from his eyes, " that I am the wretchedest creature 
 on record. Society is in a conspiracy against me. I 'm the most 
 literary man alive. I 'm full of scholarship ; I 'm full of genius ; I 'm 
 full of information ; I 'm full of novel views on every subject ; yet look 
 at my condition ! I 'm at this moment obliged to two strangers for a 
 tavern bill !" 
 
 Mr. Tigg replenished his friend's glass, pressed it into his hand, and 
 nodded an intimation to the visitors that they would see him in a better 
 aspect immediately. 
 
 " Obliged to two strangers for a tavern bill, eh ! " repeated Mr. Slyme, 
 after a sulky 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 I am the most 
 persecuted hound on the face of the earth." 
 
 With a whine, not unlike the cry of the animal he named, in 
 its lowest state of humiliation, he raised his glass to his mouth again. 
 He found some encouragement in it ; for when he set it down, he laughed 
 scornfully. Upon that Mr. Tigg gesticulated to the visitors once more, and 
 with great expression : implying that now the time was come when they 
 would see Chiv in his greatness. 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! " laughed Mr. Slyme. " Obliged to two strangers for 
 a tavern bill ! Yet I think I've a rich uncle, Tigg, who could buy up 
 the uncles of fifty strangers ? Have I, or have I not '? I come of a good 
 family, I believe 1 Do I, or do I not 1 I'm not a man of common capacity 
 or accomplishments, 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, hal" laughed Mr. Slyme, again. " Obliged to two strangers 
 
MARTIN CnUZZLEWIT. 83 
 
 for a tavern bill ! I ! Obliged to two architect's apprentices — fellows 
 who measure earth with iron chains, and build houses like bricklayers. 
 <live 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 in a neat little ballet of 
 action, spontaneously invented for the purpose. 
 
 " I'll let 'em know, and I'll let all men know," cried Chevy Slyme, 
 ^' that I'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." 
 
 " 0, Chiv, Chiv," murmured Mr. Tigg, " you have a nobly indepen- 
 dent 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 1 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 mio'ht 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 m 
 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 — M'ith 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 1 Was there ever such a 
 Roman as our friend Chiv ? Was there ever a man of such a purely 
 classical turn of thought, and of such a toga-like simplicity of nature 1 
 ^Vas there ever a man with such a flow of eloquence i Might he not, 
 gents both, I ask, have sat upon a tripod in the ancient times, and pro- 
 phesied 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 1 " said Tigg. 
 
 " Thank you," answered Tom. " Yes. Don't come do^^^l." 
 
 " 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 1 " 
 
 " Oh, certainly," replied Tom, " if you really wish it." So he accom- 
 panied Mr. Tigg to the retreat in question : on arriving at which place 
 
 g2 
 
81 LIFE AND ADVENTURES ■ OF 
 
 that gentleman took from his hat what seemed to be the fossil remains 
 of an antediluvian pocket-handkerchief, and wiped his eyes therewith. 
 
 " You have not beheld me this day/' said Mr. Tisfg, ^' in a favourable 
 light." 
 
 " Don't mention that," said Tom, " I beg." 
 
 " But you have not,'' cried 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 for the same man. You would have respected me. Sir." 
 
 Tom had certain ideas of his own upon the subject of glory ; and con- 
 sequently 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 V 
 
 '' No doubt," said Mr. Pinch. 
 « " Sir, you have been impressed by my friend Slyme ?" 
 
 " Not very pleasantly, I must say," answered Tom, after a little 
 hesitation. 
 
 " I am grieved but not surprised," cried Mr. Tigg, detaining him by 
 both lapels, " to hear that you have come to that conclusion ; for it is 
 my own. But, Mr. Pinch, though I am a rough and thoughtless man, I 
 can honour Mind. I honour Mind in following my friend. To you of all 
 men, Mr. Pinch, I have a right to make appeal on Mind's behalf, when 
 it has not the art to push its fortune in the world. And so. Sir — not for 
 myself, who have no claim upon you, but for my crushed, my sensitive 
 and independent friend, who has — I ask the loan of three half-crowns. 
 I ask you for the loan of three half-crowns, distinctly, and without a blush. 
 I ask it, almost as a right. And when I add that they will be returned by 
 post, this week, I feel that you will blame me for that sordid stipulation." 
 
 Mr. Pinch took from his pocket an old-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 (piarter-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 tliat'lind you ?" 
 
 " That '11 find me," said Tom. " You had better put Esquire to Mr. 
 Pecksniff's name, if you please. Direct to me, you know, at Seth Peck- 
 sniff's, Esquire." 
 
 "At Seth Pecksniff's, Esquire," repeated Mr. Tigg, taking an exact 
 note of it, with a stump of pencil. "We 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 ?" 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. bO 
 
 " Since you are so particular about it," said Tom, " I think we did." 
 
 Mr. Tigg added this condition to his memorandum ; read the entry 
 over to himself "with a severe frovra ; and that the transaction might be 
 the more correct and business-like, appended his initials to the whole. 
 That done, he assured Mr. Pinch that everything was now perfectly 
 regular ; and, after squeezing his hand with great fervour, departed. 
 
 Tom entertained enough suspicion that Martin might possibly turn 
 this intei*view 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 do\vn the skittle-ground, 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. 
 
 " I 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," replied 
 Tom. " So take my advice, and continue to swim easily in smooth water." 
 
 " It's too late to take it now, sir," said Mark. " I have broke it to 
 her, sir. I am off to-morrow morning." 
 
 " Off !" cried Mr. Pinch, " where to 1 " 
 
 " I 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." 
 
 " Perhaps you might come out rather too strong for a serious family's 
 taste, Mark." 
 
 " That's possible, sir. If I could get into a wicked family, I might do 
 myself justice : but the difficulty is to make sure of one's ground, 
 because a young man can't very well advertise that he wants a place, and 
 wages an't so much an object as a wicked sitivation; can he, sir 1" 
 
 " 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. 
 The man as would have suited me of all other men was that old gentle- 
 man as was took ill here, for he really was a trying customer. Howsever, 
 I must wait and see what turns turns up, sir ; and hope for the worst." 
 
 ^•' You are determined to go then V said Mr. 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 Avhen it overtakes 
 me. So I wish you good b'ye, Mr. Pinch — and you too, sir, — and all 
 good luck and happiness ! " 
 
 They both returned his greeting laughingly, and walked home arm- 
 in-arm : Mr. Pinch imparting to his new friend, as they went, such 
 further particulars of Mark Tapley's whimsical restlessness as the reader 
 is already acquainted with. 
 
86 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 In tlie meantime Mark, having a shrewd notion that his mistress was 
 in very low spirits, and that he could not exactly answer for the conse- 
 quences of any lengthened tcte a tete in the bar, kept himself obstinately 
 put of her way all the afternoon and evening. In this piece of general- 
 ship he was very much assisted by the great influx of company into the 
 tap-room ; for the news of his intention having gone abroad, there was a 
 perfect throng there all the evening, and much drinking of healths and 
 clinking of mugs. At length the house was closed for the night ; and 
 there being now no help for it, Mark put the best face he could upon the 
 matter, and walked doggedly to the bar-door. 
 
 " If I look at her," said Mark to himself, " I'm done. I feel that I'm 
 a going fast." 
 
 " You have come at last," said Mrs. Lupin. 
 Aye, Mark said : There he was. 
 
 " And you are determined to leave us, Mark," cried Mrs. Lupin. 
 " Why, yes ; I am," said Mark ; keeping his eyes hard upon the floor. 
 " I 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 
 enquiry — "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 concerned) to be one of them. He looked up in spite ot 
 himself directly ; and having once looked up, there was no looking down 
 again ; for of all the tight, plump, buxom, bright-eyed, dimple-faced 
 landladies that ever shone on earth, there stood before him then, bodily 
 in that bar, the very pink and pine-apple. 
 
 " Why, I tell you what," said Mark, throwing off" all his constraint in 
 an instant, and seizing the hostess round the waist — at which she was 
 not at all alarmed, for she knew what a good young man he was — " if I 
 took what I liked most, I should take you. If I only thought of what 
 was best for me, I should take you. If I took what nineteen young 
 fellows in twenty would be glad to take, and would take at any price, I 
 should take you. Yes, I should," cried Mr. Tapley, shaking his head, 
 expressively enough, and looking (in a momentary state of forgetfulness) 
 rather hard at the hostess's ripe lips. " And no man wouldn't wonder if 
 I did !" 
 
 Mrs. Lupin said he amazed her. She was astonished how he could say 
 such things. She had never thought it of him. 
 
 " Why, I never thought it of myself till now !" said Mark, raising his 
 eyebrows with a look of the merriest possible surprise. "I always 
 expected we should part, and never have no explanation ; I meant to da 
 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 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 87 
 
 it be understood beforehand — " he added this in a grave tone, to pre- 
 vent the possibility of any mistake — " that I'm 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 oiF 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 av/ay." 
 
 " 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 I 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 1 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 1 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 Dragon door, and wanting to break away. 
 I don't know that it would be so," said Mark, "but I don't know 
 that it mightn't be. I am a roving sort of chap, I know. I'm fond of 
 change. I'm always a thinking that with my good health and spirits it 
 would be more creditable in me to be jolly w^here 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 con- 
 clusion, " 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 ever I have had in all my life." 
 
 " Oh ! as to that, you know," said Mark, " that's nonsense. But 
 love my heart alive ! " he added, looking at her in a sort of rapture, " if 
 
S8 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 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 ! " 
 
 With that piece of comfort, very ruefully uttered, he went, in any- 
 thing 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 his 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 fellow ! And Mr. Pinch 
 a-going to his organ — good by'e, sir ! And the terrier-bitch from over 
 the way — hie, then, lass ! And children enough to hand down human 
 natur to the latest posterity — good by'e, boys and girls ! There's some 
 credit in it now. I'm a-coming out strong at last. These are the cir- 
 cumstances as 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 ! " 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ACCOMPANIES MR. PECKSNIFF AND HIS CHARMING DAUGHTERS TO THE 
 CITY OF LONDON j AND RELATES WHAT FELL OUT, UPON THEIR WAY 
 THITHER. 
 
 When Mr. PecksniiF 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 them- 
 selves to the chin, and pulled up both windows — it is always satisfactory 
 to feel, in keen weather, that many other people are not as warm as you 
 are. And this, he said, was quite natural, and a very beautiful arrange- 
 ment ; 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 
 
^.-y/ca^m /^^6nj ^ /^- u?//?/, z///^/ c/Si -///r/Z'/e r/ y r// 721^1 /r^ ? - 
 
 "^f 
 
V 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 89 
 
 which certain conditions of men bear cold and hunger. And if we were 
 no better oif 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 V said Mr. Pecksniff, " but coaches 1 Some of us are 
 slowcoaches" — 
 
 " Goodness, Pa !" cried Charity. 
 
 '• Some of us, I say," resumed her parent with increased emphasis, 
 ^' are slow coaches ; some of us are fast coaches. Our passions are the 
 horses ; and rampant animals too !" — 
 
 "Pteally 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 jMother'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 vray ; 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 out- 
 side prices. It's quite understood that we won't pay more. Is it 1 " 
 
 " All right, sir," replied the guard. 
 
 " Is there anybody inside now '1 " 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 have gone outside. I should have died of the rheumatism ! " 
 
00 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Whetlier 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, without 
 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 com- 
 posure 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 mild- 
 ness, " 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 companions — will excuse me for an aj)parently 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 1 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?" 
 
 " If you please, my good sir ; if you please." 
 
 (' Why, the annoying quality in you, is," said the old man, " that you 
 never have a confederate or partner in your juggling; you would deceive 
 everybody, even those who practise the same art ; and have a way with 
 you, as if you — he, he, he ! — as if you really believed yourself. I'd lay 
 a handsome wager now," said the old man, " if I laid wagers, which I 
 don't and never did, that you keep up appearances by a tacit under- 
 standing, even before your own daughters here. Now I, when I have a 
 business scheme in hand, tell Jonas what it is, and we discuss it openly. 
 You're not offended, Pecksniff 1 " 
 
 " 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 have the 
 pleasure of your company all the way, I trust 1 " 
 
 " Oh ! ecod, you had better ask father that," said Jonas. " I am not 
 a going to commit myself." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff was, as a matter of course, greatly entertained 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 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 91 
 
 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 practicable, to kill two birds with 
 one stone, and never to throw away sprats, but as bait for whales. When 
 he had communicated, to Mr. Pecksniff, these pithy scraps of intelligence, 
 he said "That if it was all the same to him, he would turn him over to 
 father, and have a chat with the gals;" and in furtherance of this polite 
 scheme, he 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 maybe said to have been 
 unexceptionable. One of these flaws was, that having been long taught 
 by his father to over-reach everybody, 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 vrhatever to be going at 
 large, but ought to be secured in that particular description of iron 
 safe which is commonly called a coffin, and banked in the grave. 
 
 " Well, cousin ! " said Mr. Jonas — " Because we are cousins, you know, 
 a few times removed — So you 're going to London ?" 
 
 Miss Mercy replied in the affirmative, pinching her sister's arm at the 
 same time, and giggling excessively. 
 
 " Lots of beaux in London, cousin ! " said Mr. Jonas, slightly advancing 
 his elbow. 
 
 " Indeed, sir ! " cried the young lady. '■' They won't hurt us, sir, I 
 dare say." And having given him this answer with great demureness, 
 she was so overcome by her own humour, that she was fain to stifle her 
 merriment in her sister's shawl. 
 
 " Merry," cried that more prudent damsel, " really I am ashamed of 
 you. How can you go on so % you wild thing !" At which Miss Merry 
 only laughed the more, of course. 
 
 " I saw a wildness in her eye, t'other day," said Mr. Jonas, addressing-- 
 Charity. " But you 're the one to sit solemn ! I say — ^you were regularly 
 prim, cousin ! " 
 
 " Oh ! The old-fashioned fright ! " cried Merry, in a whisper. 
 " Cherry, my dear, upon my word you must sit next him. I shall die 
 outright if he talks to me any more ; I shall positively ! " To prevent 
 which fatal consequence, the buoyant creature skipped out of her seat as 
 she spoke, and squeezed her sister into the place from which she had risen. 
 
 " Don't mind crowding me," cried Mr. Jonas. " I like to be 
 crowded by gals. Come a little closer, cousin." 
 
 " No, thank you, sir," said Charity. 
 
 " There's that other one a laughing again," said Mr. Jonas ; " she's 
 a laughing at my father, I shouldn't wonder. If he puts on that old 
 
S2 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 flannel niglitcap of his, I don't know what she'll do ! Is that my 
 father a snoring, Pecksniff 1 " 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Jonas." 
 
 " Tread upon his foot, will you be so good ? " said the young gen- 
 tleman. " The foot next you's the gouty one." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff hesitating to perform this friendly office, Mr. Jonas 
 did it himself ; at the same time crying — 
 
 " Come, wake up, father, or you'll be having the nightmare, and 
 screeching out, / know. — Do you ever have the nightmare, cousin 1 " 
 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 ? " 
 
 " I don't know," replied Charity. " You had better ask her." 
 
 " She laughs so ; " said Jonas ; " there's no talking to her. Only 
 hark how's she a going on now ! You're the sensible one, cousin ! " 
 
 " Tut, tut ! " cried Charity. 
 
 " Oh ! But you are ! You know you are ! " 
 
 " Mercy is a little giddy," said Miss Charity. " But she'll sober 
 down in time." 
 
 " It '11 be a very long time, then, if she does at all," rejoined her 
 cousin. " Take a little more room." 
 
 " I am afraid of crowding you," said Charity. But she took it not- 
 withstanding j 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 unfavourable to the superior plumpness of the younger sister. 
 He allowed himself no great leisure for this kind of observation, how- 
 ever, being busily engaged with the supper, which, as he whispered in 
 his fair companion's ear, Vv^as 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 sixpennyworths of hot brandy-and-water, which the latter gentle- 
 man considered a more politic order than one shillingsworth ; there 
 being a chance of their getting more spirit out of the innkeeper under 
 this arrangement than if it were all in one glass. Having swallowed 
 his share of the enlivening fluid, Mr. Pecksniff, under pretence of going 
 to see if the coach were ready, went secretly to the bar, and had his o"wn 
 little bottle filled, in order that he might refresh himself at leisure in 
 the dark coach \nthout being observed. 
 
MARTIN CIIUZZLEWIT. 93 
 
 These arrangements concluded, and the coach being ready, 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. I do 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. Peck- 
 sniff, exulting, it may be presumed, in his moral utility, went to sleep 
 again. 
 
 The rest of the nio-ht wore awav 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 
 liad been travelling to all night up a magic beanstalk — and 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 to be called for afterwards, 
 Mr. Pecksniff, with one of the young ladies under each arm, dived across 
 the street, and then across other streets, and so up the queerest courts, 
 and down the strangest alleys and under the blindest archways, in a kind 
 of frenzy : now skipping over a kennel, now running for his life from a 
 coach and horses ; now thinking he had lost his way, now thinking he 
 had found it ; now in a 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 paved yard near the Monument. That 
 is to say, jlr. Pecksniff told them so ; for as to anything 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. 
 
94 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff looked about iiim for a moment, and then knocked at 
 tlie door of a very dingy edifice, even among the choice collection of 
 dingy edifices at hand ; on the front of which was a little oval board, 
 like a tea-tray, with this inscription — " Commercial Boarding House : 
 M. Todgers." 
 
 It seemed that M. Todgers was not up yet, for Mr. Pecksniff knocked 
 twice and rang thrice, without making any impression on anything but 
 a dog over the way. At last a chain and some bolts were withdrawn 
 with a rusty noise, as if 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 sur- 
 prised) rubbed the nose just mentioned with the back of a shoe-brush, 
 and said nothing. 
 
 " Still a-bed, my man V asked Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 " Still a-bed !" replied the boy. " I wish they wos still a-bed. They're 
 very noisy a-bed ; all calling for their boots at once. I thought you 
 wos the Paper, and wondered why you didn't shove yourself through the 
 grating as usual. What do you want 1 " 
 
 Considering his years, which were tender, the youth may be said to 
 have preferred this question sternly, and in something of a defiant 
 manner. But Mr. Pecksniff, without taking umbrage at his bearing, 
 put a card in his hand, and bade him take that up-stairs, and show them 
 in the meanwhile into a room where there was a fire. 
 
 " Or if there's one in the eating parlour," said Mr. Pecksniff, " I can 
 find it myself" So he led his daughters, Avithout waiting for any 
 further introduction, into a room on the ground floor, where a 
 table-cloth (rather a tight and scanty fit in reference to the table it 
 covered) was already spread for breakfast : displaying a mighty dish of 
 pink boiled beef ; an instance of that particular style of loaf which is 
 known to housekeepers as a slack-baked, crummy quartern ; a liberal 
 provision of cups and saucers ; and the usual appendages. 
 
 Inside the fender were some half dozen pairs of shoes and boots, of 
 various sizes, just cleaned and turned with the soles upward to dry ; and 
 a pair of short black gaiters, on one of which was chalked — in sport, it 
 would appear, by some gentleman who had slipped down for the pur- 
 pose, 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 con- 
 centrated 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 evergreens, 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 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 95 
 
 heavy tliat 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 dis- 
 trustfully 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 them- 
 selves at the fire ten minutes, when the sound of feet was heard upon the 
 stairs, and the presiding deity of the establishment came hurrying in. 
 
 M. Todgers was a lady — rather a bony and hard-featured lady — with 
 a row of curls in front of her head, shaped like little barrels of beer ; 
 and on the top of it something made of net — you couldn't call it a cap 
 exactly — which looked like a black cobweb. She had a little basket on 
 her arm, and in it a bunch of keys that jingled as she came. In her 
 other hand she bore a flaming tallow candle, which, after surveying Mr. 
 Pecksniff for one instant by its light, she put do^vn upon the table, to 
 the end that she might receive him with the greater 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 ? " 
 
 " As well as ever ; and as glad to see you, as ever ;" Mr. Pecksniff 
 made response. " Why, you are younger than you used to be I " 
 
 " Yon 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 anywhere. My dear Miss 
 Pecksniffs, how happy your Pa has made me ! " 
 
 She hugged them both ; and being by this time overpowered by her 
 feelings or the inclemency of the morning, jerked a little pocket hand- 
 kerchief out of the little basket, and applied the same to her face. 
 
 " Now, my good madam," said Mr. Pecksniff, " I know the rules of 
 your establishment, and that you only receive gentlemen boarders. But 
 it occurred to me, when I left home, that perhaps you would give my 
 daughters houseroom, and make an exception in their favour." 
 
 " Perhaps V cried Mrs. Todgers ecstatically. " Perhaps ?" 
 
 " I may say then, that I was sure you would," said Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
96 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " I know that you have a little room of your own, and that they can he 
 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 exception of one bed, which would now 
 be occupied by Mr. Pecksniff, 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. 
 
 " I 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 gentle- 
 men 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 commanded from a similar point of 
 sight another angle of the wall, and another side of the cistern. " Not 
 the damp side," said Mrs. Todgers. " That is Mr. Jinkins's." 
 
 In the first of these sanctuaries a fire was 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 ladies with her own hands, she withdrew to preside in the other 
 room ; where the joke at Mr. Jinkins's expense, seemed to be proceeding 
 rather noisily. 
 
 " I won't ask you yet, my dears," said Mr. Pecksniff, looking in at the 
 door, " how you like London. Shall I ? " 
 
 " We haven't seen much of it, Pa ! " cried Merry. 
 
 " Nothing, I hope," said Cherry. (Both 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 profes- 
 sional as he had given his new pupil to understand, we shall see, ta 
 adopt that worthy man's phraseology, " all in good time." 
 
MARTIN CHTTZZLEWIT. 97 
 
 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 relation- 
 ship 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 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 anti- 
 cipate them was hopeless. Instances were known of people who, being- 
 asked to dine at Todgers's, had travelled round and round it for a weary 
 time, with its very chimney-pots in view ; and finding it, at last, im- 
 possible of attainment, had gone home again with a gentle melancholy 
 on their spirits, tranquil and uncomplaining. Nobody had ever found 
 Todgers's on a verbal direction, though given within a minute's walk of 
 it. Cautious 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 him ; 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 labyrinth, whereof the mystery was known 
 but to a chosen few. 
 
 Several fruit-brokers had their marts near Todgers's ; and one of the 
 first impressions wrought upon the stranger's senses was of oranges — of 
 damaged oranges, with blue and green bruises on them, festering in 
 boxes, or mouldering away in cellars. All day long, a stream of porters 
 from the wharves beside the 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 church- 
 yard, all overgrown with such straggling vegetation as springs up 
 spontaneously from damp, and graves, and rubbish. In some of these 
 dingy resting-places, which bore much the same analogy to green 
 
 H 
 
98 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 cliurcliyards, 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 cranes. There were more trucks near 
 Todgers's than you would suppose a whole city could ever need ; not 
 active trucks, 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 
 very bells in the next church-tower vibrate again. In the throats and 
 maws of dark no-thoroughfares near Todgers's, individual wine-merchants 
 and wholesale dealers in grocery-ware had perfect little towns of their 
 own ; and, deep among the very foundations of these buildings, the ground 
 was undermined and burrowed out into stables, where cart-horses, troubled 
 by rats, might be heard on a quiet Sunday rattling their halters, as dis- 
 turbed spirits in tales of haunted houses are said to clank their chains. 
 
 To tell of half the queer old taverns that had a drowsy and secret 
 existence near 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 marvellously 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 mem- 
 ber of each little club who kept the keys of the nearest church, profes- 
 sionally, always attributed to the prevalence of dissent and irreligion ; 
 though the major part of the company inclined to the belief that virtue 
 went out with hair-powder, and that old England's greatness had de- 
 cayed amain with barbers. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 99 
 
 As to Todgers's itself — speaking of it only as a house in that neigh- 
 bourhood, and making no reference to its merits as a commercial board- 
 ing 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 pos- 
 sibly fall out, though all were cracked and broken twenty times. But 
 the grand mystery of Todgers's was the cellarage, approachable only by 
 a little back door and a rusty grating : which cellarage within the 
 memory of man had had no connexion with the house, but had always 
 been the freehold property of somebody else, and was reported to be full 
 of wealth : though in what shape — whether in silver, brass, or gold, or 
 butts of wine, or casks of gunpowder — was matter of profound uncertainty 
 and supreme indifference to Todgers's, and all its inmates. 
 
 The top of the house was worthy of notice. There was a sort of 
 terrace on the roof, with posts and fragments of rotten lines, once in- 
 tended to dry clothes upon ; and there 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 choaked from having looked, 
 perforce^ straight down the kitchen chimney ; but these two stages over, 
 there were things to gaze at from the top of Todgers's, well worth your 
 seeing too. For first and foremost, if the day were bright, you observed 
 upon the house-tops, stretching far away, a long dark path : the shadow 
 of the Monument : and turnino- 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, belfreys, 
 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 w^ere slight features in the midst of this 
 crowd of objects, which sprung out from the mass mthout any reason, 
 as it were, and took hold of the attention whether the spectator would 
 or no. Thus, the revolving chimney-pots on one great stack of build- 
 ings, 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 crook-backed shape, appeared to be 
 maliciously holding themselves askew, that they might shut the prospect 
 out and bafile 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 him- 
 self for this, and wondered how it was, the tumult swelled into a roar ; 
 the host of objects seemed to thicken and expand a hundredfold ; and 
 after gazing round him, quite scared, he turned into Todgers's again, 
 
 h2 
 
100 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 much more rapidly than he came out ; and ten to one he told 
 M. Todgers afterwards that if he hadn't done so, he would certainly 
 have come into the street by the shortest cut : that is to say, head- 
 foremost. 
 
 So said the two Miss PecksniiFs, 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 tlie second day of their stay in London, the Miss Pecksniffs 
 and Mrs. Todgers were by this time highly confidential, insomuch that 
 the last-named lady had already communicated the particulars of three 
 early disappointments of a tender 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. Todgers : " 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 in which there was a 
 dreamy shadowing forth of her own visage. 
 
 " It's a speaking likeness ! " cried the two Miss Pecksniffs. 
 
 " It was considered so once," said Mrs. Todgers, warming herself in a 
 gentlemanly manner at the fire : " but I hardly thought you would have 
 known it, my loves." 
 
 They would have known it anywhere. If they could have met with 
 it in the street, or seen it in a shop window, they would have cried, 
 " Good Gracious ! Mrs. Todgers ! " 
 
 " Presiding over an establishment like this, makes sad havoc with the 
 features, my dear Miss Pecksniffs," said Mrs. Todgers. "The gravy 
 alone, is enough to add twenty years to one's age, I do assure you." 
 
 " Lor ! " cried the two Miss Pecksniffs. 
 
 " The anxiety of that one item, my dears," said Mrs. Todgers, 
 " keeps the mind continually upon the stretch. There is no such 
 passion in human nature, as the passion for gravy among commercial 
 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 'l " 
 
 " Yes, my dear," giggled Merry, " but we have never given it him, 
 you know." 
 
 " You my dears, having to deal with your pa's pupils who can't help 
 themselves, are able to take your own way," said Mrs. Todgers, " but in 
 a commercial establishment, where any gentleman may say, any Saturday 
 
MARTIN CnUZZLEWIT. 101 
 
 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 good lady, " to invite me to take a ride 
 with you to-day ; and I think he mentioned that you were going to call 
 upon Miss Pinch. Any rehition to the gentleman you were speaking of 
 just now. Miss Pecksniff?" 
 
 " For goodness sake, Mrs. Todgers," interposed the lively Merry, "don't 
 call him a gentleman. My dear Cherry, Pinch a gentleman ! The 
 idea!" 
 
 "What a wicked girl you are !" cried Mrs. Todgers, embracing her 
 with great affection. " You're quite a quiz I do declare ! My dear 
 Miss Pecksniff, what a happiness your sister's spirits must be to your 
 pa and self!",. 
 
 " 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 charming 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 is 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 1 " 
 
 Mrs. Todgers almost screamed, for the little door of communication 
 between that room and the inner one being wide open, there was a full 
 disclosure of the sofa bedstead in all its monstrous impropriety. But she 
 had the presence of mind to close this portal in the twinkling of an eye ; 
 and having done so, said, though not without 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 intelligence, " to send a favourable reply to Mr. Jinkins's 
 round-robin 1 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 f' 
 
 " 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. Pecksniff. " 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." 
 
102 ■ LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 With tliese 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. Be this as it may, 
 Mr. Pecksniff went on to inform his daughters of the purport and history 
 of the round-robin aforesaid, which was in brief, that the commercial 
 gentlemen who helped to make up the sum and substance of that noun 
 of multitude or signifying many, called Todgers's, desired the honour of 
 their presence at the general table, so long as they remained in the 
 house, and besought that they would grace the board at dinner-time 
 next day, the same being Sunday, He further said, that Mrs. Todgers 
 being a consenting party to this invitation, he was willing, for his part, 
 to accept it ; and so left them that he might write his gracious answer, 
 the while they armed themselves with their best bonnets for the utter 
 defeat and overthrow of Miss Pinch. 
 
 Tom Pinch's sister was governess in a family, a lofty family ; perhaps 
 the wealthiest brass and copper founders' family known to mankind. 
 They lived at Camberwell ; in a house so big and fierce that its mere 
 outside, like the outside of a giant's castle, struck terror into vulgar 
 minds and made bold persons quail. There was a great front gate ; 
 with a great bell, whose handle was in itself a note of admiration ; and 
 a great lodge ; which being close to the house, rather spoilt the look-out 
 certainly, but made the look-in, tremendous. At this entry, a great 
 porter kept constant watch and ward ; and when he gave the visitor 
 high leave to pass, he rang a second great bell, responsive to whose 
 note a great footman appeared in due time at the great hall-door, with 
 such great tags upon his liveried shoulder that he was perpetually 
 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 fly. The foregoing cere- 
 monies 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 cleverly : with a nice discrimi- 
 nation between the cold respect with which he would have announced 
 visitors to the family, and the warm personal interest with which he 
 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 
 
-. yf^Aj ' y^yp/x-'A/: 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 103 
 
 pupil became alarmingly upright, and prepared herself to take mental 
 notes of all that might be said and done. For the lady of the establish- 
 ment 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 ; and a pretty little figure — slight and short, 
 but remarkable for its neatness. There was something of her brother, 
 much of him indeed, in a certain gentleness of manner, and in her look 
 of timid trustfulness ; but she was so far from being a fright, or a 
 dowdy, or a horror, or anything else, predicted by the two Miss Peck- 
 sniffs, that those young ladies naturally regarded her with great indigna- 
 tion, feeling that this Avas 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 emphasized these words as though he would have said, 
 * You see in me, young person, the benefactor of your race ; the patron 
 of your house ; the preserver of your brother, who is fed with manna daily 
 from my table ; and in right of whom there is a considerable balance in 
 my favour at present standing in the books beyond the sky. But I 
 have no pride, for I can afford to do without it ! ' 
 
 The poor girl felt it all as if it had been Gospel Truth. Her brother 
 writing in the fulness of his simple heart, had often told her so, and 
 how much more ! As Mr. Pecksniff ceased to speak, she hung her head, 
 and dropped a tear upon his hand. 
 
 " Oh very well, Miss Pinch ! " thought the sharp pupil, " crying before 
 strangers, as if you didn't like the situation !" 
 
 " Thomas is well," said Mr. Pecksniff ; " and sends his love and this 
 letter. I cannot say, poor fellow, that he will ever be distinguished in 
 our profession ; but he has the will to do well, which is the next thing 
 to having the power ; and, therefore, we must bear with him. Eh ? " 
 
 " I know he has the will, sir," said Tom Pinch's sister, " and I know 
 how kindly and considerately you cherish it, for which neither he nor I 
 can ever be grateful enough, as we very often say in writing to each 
 other. The young ladies too," she added, glancing gratefully at his two 
 daughters, " I know how much we owe to them." 
 
 " My dears," said Mr, Pecksniff, turning to them with a smile : 
 " Thomas's sister is saying something you will be glad to hear, I think." 
 
 " We can't take any merit to ourselves, papa !" cried Cherry, as they 
 
104 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 both apprised Tom Pinch's sister, with a curtsey, that they would feel 
 obliged if she would keep her distance. " Mr. Pinch's being so well 
 provided for is owing to you alone, and we can only say ho^y _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 ! " 
 
 " It was very kind of you," said Tom Pinch's sister, with Tom's own 
 simplicity, and Tom's own smile, " to come hete : very kind indeed : 
 though how great a kindn^ess you have done me in ' gratifying my wish 
 to see you, and to thank you with my own lips, you, who make so light 
 of benefits conferred, can "scarcely think." 
 
 " Very grateful ; very pleasant ; very proper," murmured Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 " It makes me happy too," said Ruth Pinch, who now that her first 
 surprise was oyer, 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 am situated here, and how 
 unnecessary it is that he should ever waste a regret on my being cast upon 
 my own resources. Dear me ! So long as I heard that he was happy, 
 and he heard that I was," said Tom's sister, " we could both bear, with- 
 out 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 wan- 
 dered to the pupil ; " certainly. And how do ?/ou do, my very interest- 
 ing child ^1" 
 
 " Quite well, I thank you, sir," replied that frosty innocent. 
 
 " A sweet face this, my dears," said Mr. Pecksniff, turning to his 
 daughters. " A charming manner ! " 
 
 Both young ladies had been in ecstacies with the scion of a wealthy 
 house (through whom the nearest road and shortest cut to her parents 
 might be supposed to lie) from the first. Mrs. Todgers vowed that 
 anything one quarter so angelic she had never seen. " She wanted 
 but a pair of wings, a dear," said that good woman, " to be a young 
 syrup," — meaning, possibly, young sylph, or 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 advance- 
 ment I have sacrificed a — a fortune — I shall be very much obliged to 
 
 you," 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 105 
 
 " Missises compiiments 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, young man. My dears, 
 we are interrupting the studies. Let us go." 
 
 Some confusion was occasioned for an instant by Mrs. Todgers's 
 unstrapping her little flat hand-basket, and hurriedly entrusting the 
 "youngman" with one of her own cards, which, in addition to -certain 
 detailed information relative to the terms of the commercial establish- 
 ment, bore a foot-note to the effect that M. T. took that opportunity of 
 thanking those gentlemen who had honoured hier with their favours, 
 and begged that they would have the goodness, if satisfied with the 
 table, to recommend her to their friends. But Mr. Pecksniff, with 
 admirable presence of mind, recovered this document, and buttoned it 
 up in his own pocket. 
 
 Then he said to Miss Pinch — with more condescension and kindness 
 than ever, for it was desirable the footman should expressly understand 
 that they were not friends of hers, but patrons : 
 
 " Good morning. Good bye, God bless you ! You may depend 
 upon my continued protection of your brother Thomas. Keep your mind 
 quite at ease, Miss Pinch ! " 
 
 " Thank you," said Tom's sister heartily : " a thousand times." 
 
 " Not at all," he retorted, patting her gently on the head. " Don't 
 mention it. You will make me angry if you do. My sweet child " — ■ 
 to the pupil, " farewell ! That fairy creature," said Mr. Pecksniff, 
 looking in his pensive mood hard at the footman, as if 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 '] " 
 
 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 ; fipr Mr. 
 Pecksniff's delight in the tastefulness of the house was such that he could 
 not help often stopping (particularly when they were, near the parlour 
 door) and giving it expression, in a loud voice and very learned terms. 
 Indeed, he delivered, between the study and the hall, a familiar 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. 
 
 " If 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 % I 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 
 
106 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 because tlie gentleman could hear him (for he certainly could not), but 
 as an appropriate accompaniment to his salutation. 
 
 " I have no doubt, my dears," said Mr. Pecksniff, feigning to point out 
 other beauties with his hand, " that that 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 !" cried Mr. Pecksniff, softly. " All right ! He has found 
 I'm professional. He heard me inside just now, I have no doubt. Don't 
 look ! With regard to the fluted pillars in the portico, my dears — ^" 
 
 " Hallo ! " cried the gentleman. 
 
 " Sir, your servant !" said Mr. Pecksniff, taking off his hat : " I am 
 proud to make your acquaintance." 
 
 " Come off the grass, will you !" roared the gentleman. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir," said Mr. Pecksniff, doubtful of his having 
 heard aright. " Did you — 1 " 
 
 " Come off the grass ! " repeated the gentleman, warmly. 
 
 " We are unwilling to intrude, sir," Mr. Pecksniff smilingly began. 
 
 " But you «re intruding," returned the other, " unwarrantably 
 intruding — trespassing. You see a gravel walk, don't you 1 What do 
 you think it 's meant for 1 Open the gate there ! Show that party out 1'* 
 
 With that, he clapped down the window again, and disappeared. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff put on his hat, and walked with great deliberation and 
 in profound silence to the fly, gazing at the clouds as he went, with great 
 interest. After helping his daughters and Mrs. Todgers into that con- 
 veyance, he stood looking at it for some moments, as if he were not quite 
 certain whether it was a carriage or a temple ; but, having settled this 
 point in his mind, he got into his place, spread his hands out on his 
 knees, and smiled upon the three beholders. 
 
 But his daughters, less tranquil-minded, burst into a torrent of indigna- 
 tion. This came, they said, of cherishing such creatures as the Pinches. 
 This came of lowering themselves to their level. This came of putting 
 themselves in the humiliating position of seeming to know such bold, 
 audacious, 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, 
 supposingthem to be Miss Pinch's friends, had acted, in their opinion, quite 
 correctly, and had done no more than, under such circumstances, might 
 reasonably 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 con- 
 junction 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 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 107 
 
 taken to task by the Seraph's mother for having such vulgar ac- 
 quaintances, that she was fain to retire 'to her own room in tears, which 
 her natural cheerfulness and submission, and the delight of having seen 
 Mr. Pecksniff, and having received a letter from her brother, were at first 
 insufficient to repress. 
 
 As to Mr. Pecksniff, he told them in the flj, that a good action was 
 its own reward ; and rather gave them to understand, that if he could 
 have been kicked in such a cause, he would have liked it all the better. 
 But this was no comfort to the young ladies, who scolded violently the 
 whole way back, and even exhibited, more than once, a keen desire to 
 attack the devoted Mrs. Todgers : on whose personal appearance, but 
 particularly on whose offending card and hand-basket, they were 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, and partly to the 
 excitement always inseparable in that house from Saturday night, when 
 €very 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 iron- 
 mongery and hardware being thrown at the boy. It was the custom of 
 that youth on Saturdays, to roll up his shirt sleeves to his shoulders, 
 and 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 neigh- 
 bouring alleys when he answered the door, and there to play at leap- 
 frog and other sports with vagrant lads, until pursued and brought back 
 by the hair of his head, or the lobe of his ear ; so that he was quite a 
 conspicuous feature among the peculiar incidents of the last day in the 
 week at Todgers's. 
 
 He was especially so, on this particular 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 ! " " An't it nice 1 " — 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 1 Oh ! not at all neither ! " 
 
 In the course of answering another knock, he thrust in his head again. 
 
 "I 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, 
 vnih this spectral warning, vanished again. 
 
 Bye and bye, he returned to lay the cloth for supper : it having been 
 
108 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 arranged between Mrs. Todgers and tlie young ladies, that tliey sliould 
 partake of an exclusive veal-cutlet together in the privacy of that apart- 
 ment. He entertained them on this occasion by thrusting the lighted 
 candle into his mouth, and exhibiting his face in a state of transparency ; 
 after the performance of which feat, he went on with his professional 
 duties ; brightening every knife as he laid it on the table, by breathing 
 on the blade and afterwards polishing the same on the apron already 
 mentioned. When he had completed his preparations, he grinned at 
 the sisters, and expressed his belief that the approaching collation would 
 be of " rather a spicy sort." 
 
 " Will it be long before it's ready, Bailey ? " asked Mercy. 
 
 " No," said Bailey, " it is cooked. When I come up, she was dodging 
 among the tender pieces with a fork, and eating of 'em." 
 
 But he had scarcely achieved the utterance of these words, when he 
 received a manual compliment on the head, which sent him staggering 
 against the wallj and Mrs. Todgers, dish in hand, stood indignantly 
 before him. 
 
 " Oh you little villain ! " said that lady. " Oh you bad, false boy ! " 
 
 " No worse than yeself," retorted Bailey, 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 go a lowerin 
 the table for then, and destroying my constitooshun V 
 
 "Go down stairs, you vicious boy," said Mrs. Todgers, holding the 
 door open. " Do you hear me 1 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. 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 Barn- 
 well, 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 sometimes, when current events were flat, they even 
 sought the pages of history for these distinctions ; as Mr. Pitt, Young 
 Brownrigg, and the like. At the period of which we write, he was gene- 
 rally known among the gentlemen as Bailey junior ; a name bestowed 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 109 
 
 upon him in contradistinction, perhaps, to Old Bailey ; and possibly as 
 involving the recollection of an unfortunate lady of the same name, who 
 perished by her own hand early in life, and has been immortalised in a 
 ballad. 
 
 The usual Sunday dinner-hour at Todgers's was two o'clock, — a suit- 
 able time, it was considered, for all parties ; convenient to Mrs. Todgers, 
 on account of the baker's ; and convenient to the gentlemen, with refer- 
 ence to their afternoon engagements. But on the Sunday which was to 
 introduce 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 occasion 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 gentleman 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, besought the honour of conducting them up stairs. 
 
 The drawing-room at Todgers's was out of the common style ; so 
 much so indeed, that you would hardly have taken it to be a drawing- 
 room, unless you were told so by somebody who was in the 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 
 in them, commanding the opposite archway, there was another window 
 looking point blank, without any compromise at all about it, into 
 Jinkins's bed-room ; and high up all along one side ot the wall was a 
 strip of panes of glass, two-deep, giving light to the staircase. There 
 were the oddest closets possible, with little casements in them like 
 eight-day clocks, lurking in the Avainscot and taking the shape of 
 the stairs ; and the very door itself (which was painted black) had 
 two great 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 cry of 
 " Hear, Hear ! " and " Bravo Jink ! " when Mr. Jinkins appeared with 
 Charity on his arm : which became quite rapturous as Mr, Uander 
 followed, escorting Mercy, and Mr. Pecksniff brought up the rear with 
 Mrs. Todoers. 
 
 Then the presentations took place. They included a gentleman 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 ot 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 gentle- 
 man of a vocal turn, and a gentleman of a smoking turn, and a gentleman 
 
110 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 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 commercially 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 j being a regular frequenter of the Parks on Sundays, 
 and knowing a great many carriages by sight. He spoke mysteriously, 
 too, of splendid women, and was suspected of having once committed 
 himself with a Countess. Mr. Gander was of a witty turn, being indeed 
 the gentleman who had originated the sally about " collars ;" which 
 sparkling pleasantry was now retailed from mouth to mouth, under the 
 title of Gander's Last, and was received in all parts of the room with great 
 applause. Mr. Jinkins, it may be added, was much the oldest of the 
 party : 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 conversation 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 banquet-hall ; 
 some of the more facetious spirits in the rear taking down gentlemen as 
 if they were ladies, in imitation of the fortunate possessors of the two 
 Miss Pecksniffs. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff said grace — a short and pious grace, invoking a blessing 
 on the appetites of those present, and committing all persons who had 
 nothing to eat, to the care of Providence : whose business (so said the 
 grace, in effect) it clearly was, to look after them. This done, they fell 
 to, with less ceremony than appetite ; the table groaning beneath the 
 weight, not only of the 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 house- 
 keepers 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 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT, 111 
 
 SO full of conversation, in their lives ; Mercy, in particular, was uncom- 
 monly brilliant, and said so many good things in the way of lively 
 repartee that she was looked upon as a prodigy. " In short," as that 
 young lady observed, " they felt now, indeed, that they were in London, 
 and for the first time too." 
 
 Their young friend Bailey 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 atten- 
 tion was diverted from his proceedings, with many nods and winks and 
 other tokens of recognition, and occasionally touching his nose with a 
 corkscrew, as if to express the Bacchanalian character of the meeting. 
 In truth, perhaps even the spirits of the two Miss Pecksniffs, and the 
 hungry watchfulness of Mrs. Todgers, were less worthy of note than the 
 proceedings of this remarkable boy, whom nothing disconcerted or put out 
 of his way. If any piece of crockery — a dish or 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, disturb 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 concoction of 
 half a dozen more of the same size. Good gracious, how they laughed ! 
 How they coughed when they sipped it, because it was so strong ; and 
 how they laughed again, when somebody vowed that but for its colour 
 it might have been mistaken, in regard of its innocuous qualities, for 
 new milk ! What a shout of " No ! " burst from the gentlemen when they 
 pathetically implored Mr. Jinkins to suffer them to qualify it with hot 
 water ; and how blushingly, by little and little, did each of them drink 
 her whole glassful, down to its very dregs ! 
 
 Now comes the trying time. The sun, as Mr. Jinkins says (gentle- 
 manly creature, Jinkins — never at a loss !), is about to leave the firma- 
 ment. " Miss Pecksniff !" says Mrs. Todgers, softly, " will you — " 
 " Oh dear, no more, Mrs. Todgers." Mrs. Todgers rises ; the two Miss 
 Pecksniffs rise ; all rise. Miss Mercy Pecksnifi" looks downward for her 
 scarf. Where is it ? Dear me, where cayi it be % Sweet girl, she has 
 it on — not on her fair neck, but loose upon her flowing figure. A dozen 
 
112 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 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 debating turn 
 rises in the midst, and suddenly lets loose a tide of eloquence which bears 
 down everything before it. He is reminded of a toast — a toast to which 
 they will respond. There is an individual present ; he has him in his 
 eje; 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 Peck- 
 sniffs lisped in language scarce intelligible, they called that individual 
 " Father ! " There is great applause. He gives them " Mr. Pecksniff, 
 and God bless him !" They all shake hands with Mr. Pecksniff, as they 
 drink the toast. The youngest gentleman in company does so with a 
 thrill ; for he feels that a mysterious influence pervades the man who 
 claims that being in the pink scarf for his daughter. 
 
 What saith Mr. Pecksniff in reply 1 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 character. The gentleman of a theatrical turn recites. 
 The vocal gentleman regales them with a song. Gander leaves the 
 Gander of all former feasts whole leagues behind. He rises to propose 
 a toast. It is. The Father of Todgers's. It is their 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 
 gratitude. One thing he will say. He hopes it has been shown that 
 Todgers's can be true to itself; and, an opportunity arising, that it can 
 come out quite as strong as its 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 invidious 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. Everybody's health is 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 113 
 
 drunk^ saving tlie 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 ; hiccups 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 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 wdth 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 his adora- 
 tion. 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 muflSn on his knee. 
 
 " And how have they used you, down-stairs, sir 1 " 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 !" 
 
 " I am a man, my dear Madam," said Mr. Pecksniff", shedding tears, 
 and speaking with an imperfect articulation, " but I am also a father. 
 I am 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." 
 
 I 
 
114 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " So I have heard," cried Mrs. Todgers with great sympathy. 
 
 " Those are her daughters," said Mr. Pecksniif, pointing out the 
 young ladies, with increased emotion. 
 
 Mrs. Todgers had no doubt of it. 
 
 " Mercy and Charity," said Mr. Pecksniff, " Charity and Mercy. Not 
 unholy names, I hope 1 " 
 
 " Mr. Pecksniff 1" cried Mrs. Todgers, " what a ghastly smile ! Are 
 you ill. Sir ?" 
 
 He pressed his hand upon her arm, and answered in a solemn manner, 
 and a faint voice, " Chronic." 
 
 " Cholic '? " cried the frightened Mrs. Todgers. 
 
 " Chron-ic," he repeated with some difficulty. " Chronic. A chronic 
 disorder. I have been its victim from childhood. It is carrying me to 
 my grave." 
 
 " Heaven forbid ! " cried Mrs. Todgers. 
 
 " Yes it is," said Mr. Pecksniff, reckless with despair. " I am rather 
 glad of it, upon the whole. You are like her, Mrs. Todgers." 
 
 " Don't squeeze me so tight, pray, Mr. Pecksniff. If any of the 
 gentlemen should notice us." 
 
 " For her sake," said Mr. Pecksniff. " Permit me — in honour of her 
 memory. For the sake of a voice from the tomb. You are ver?/ like her, 
 Mrs. Todgers ! What a world this is !" 
 
 " Ah ! Indeed you may say that ! " cried Mrs. Todgers. 
 
 " I'm afraid it's a vain and thoughtless world," said Mr. Pecksniff, 
 overflowing with despondency. " These young people about us. Oh ! 
 what sense have they of their responsibilities ? None. Give me your 
 other hand, Mrs. Todgers." 
 
 That lady hesitated, and said " she didn't like." 
 
 " Has a voice from the grave no influence'?" said Mr. Pecksniff, with 
 dismal tenderness. " This is irreligious ! My dear creature." 
 
 " Hush !" urged Mrs. Todgers. " Really you mustn't." 
 
 " It's not me," said Mr. Pecksniff. "Don't suppose it's me ; it's the 
 voice ; it's her voice." 
 
 Mrs. Pecksniff deceased, must have had an 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. 
 
 " It 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 1 " 
 
 " An excellent gentleman, Mr. Pecksniff," said Mrs. Todgers. 
 
 " There is consolation in that too," cried Mr. Pecksniff. " Am IV* 
 
 " 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." 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 115 
 
 " Always," said Mrs. Todgers. 
 
 " When they say they haven't improved, ma'am," whispered Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, looking at her with profound mystery, and motioning to her to 
 advance her ear a little closer to his mouth. " When they say they 
 haven't improved, ma'am, and the premium was too high, they lie ! I 
 shouldn't wish it to be mentioned ; you will 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 1 " 
 
 " The strictest, of course ! " cried that lady. 
 
 " To Parents and Guardians," repeated Mr. Pecksniff. " An eligible 
 opportunity now offers, which unites the advantages of the best practical 
 architectural education with the comforts of a home, and the constant 
 association with some, who, however humble their sphere and limited their 
 capacity — observe ! — are not unmindful of their moral responsibilities.'* 
 
 Mrs. Todgers looked a little puzzled to know what this might mean, 
 as well she might ; for it was, as the reader may perchance remember, 
 Mr. Pecksniff 's usual form of advertisement when he wanted a pupil ; 
 and seemed to have no particular reference, at present, to anything. 
 But Mr. 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 ^" 
 
 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 S. P., Post-ofRce, Salisbury. I don't know who he is, exactly. 
 Don't be alarmed, Mrs. Todgers," said Mr. Pecksniff, falling heavily against 
 her : " chronic — chronic ! Let's have a little drop of something to drink." 
 
 " Bless my life. Miss Pecksniffs ! " cried Mrs. Todgers, aloud, " your 
 dear pa's took very poorly ! " 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff straightened himself by a surprising effort, as every one 
 turned hastily towards him ; and standing on his feet, regarded the 
 tissembly with a look of ineffable wisdom. Gradually it gave place to a 
 smile ; a feeble, helpless, melancholy smile ; bland, almost to sickliness. 
 " Do not repine, my friends," said Mr. Pecksniff, tenderly. " Do not 
 weep for me. It is chronic." And with these words, after making a 
 futile 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- 
 devotion did the heavy work, and held up Mr. Pecksniff's head without 
 
 i2 
 
116 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 being taken any notice of by anybody. At last tliey 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 upon the road for a little drop of something to drink. It 
 seemed an idiosj^ncrasy. 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 left him. But before they had all gained 
 the bottom of the staircase, a vision of Mr. Pecksniff, strangely attired, 
 was seen to flutter on the top landing. He desired to collect their 
 sentiments, it seemed, upon the nature of human life. 
 
 " My friends," cried Mr. Pecksniff, looking over the banisters, 
 " let us improve our minds by mutual inquiry and discussion. Let us 
 be moral. Let us contemplate existence. Where is Jinkins 1 " 
 
 " Here," cried that gentleman. " Go to bed again ! " 
 
 "To bed!" said Mr. Pecksniff. "Bed! ' Tis the voice of the 
 sluggard ; I hear him complain ; you have woke me too soon ; I must 
 slumber again. If any young orphan will repeat the 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 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 117 
 
 end that he might keep watch outside the bedroom door with tolerable 
 comfort. 
 
 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 case 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 was 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, FOR THEIR GOOD OR EVIL INFLUENCE, CHIEFLY DEPEND. 
 
 But Mr. Pecksniff came to town on business. Had he forgotten that 1 
 Was he always taking his pleasure with Todgers's jovial brood, unmind- 
 ful of the serious demands, whatever they might be, upon his calm 
 consideration'? No. 
 
 Time and tide will wait for no man, saith the adage. But all men 
 have to wait for time and tide. That tide which, taken at the flood, 
 would lead Seth Pecksniff on to fortune, was marked down in the table, 
 and about to flow. No idle Pecksniff lingered far inland, unmindful 
 of the changes of the stream ; but there, upon the water's edge, over 
 his shoes already, stood the worthy creature, prepared to wallow in the 
 very mud, so that it slid towards the quarter of his hope. 
 
 The trustfulness of his two fair daughters was beautiful indeed. They 
 had that firm reliance on their parent's nature, which taught them to 
 feel certain that in all he did, he had his purpose straight and full 
 before him. And that its noble end and object was himself, which 
 almost of 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 morn- 
 ing, after the early breakfast, he repaired to the post-office and inquired 
 for letters. That task performed, his business for the day was over ; 
 and he again relaxed, until the rising of another sun proclaimed the 
 advent of another post. 
 
 This went on for four or five days. At length one morning. Mr. 
 Pecksnifi" returned with a breathless rapidity, strange to observe in him, 
 at other times so calm ; and, seeking immediate speech with his 
 daughters, shut himself up with them in private conference, for two 
 whole hours. Of all that passed in this period, only the following 
 words of Mr. PecksnifTs 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 
 
118 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 my thoughts upon the subject, but I will not impart them. It i* 
 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 gentleman tore off 
 the direction — scattering the rest in fragments to the winds — and 
 giving it to the coachman, bade him drive as near that place as he 
 could. In pursuance of these instructions he was driven to the Monu- 
 ment J where he again alighted, 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 reso- 
 lution 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. 
 
 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 refresh- 
 ment with his children, when he knocked at the door. 
 
 "Your daughters are welH" 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 recommend 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 ta 
 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 : 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 11& 
 
 " In the first place, let me thank yon 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. 
 
 " It 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 caprice. It is 
 built up on reason, proof, and cool comparison. Caprices never are. 
 Moreover, I am not a capricious man. I never was." 
 
 " Most assuredly not," said Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 " How do you know % " returned the other quickly. " You are to 
 begin to know it now. You are to test and prove it, in time to come. 
 You and yours are to find that I can be constant, and am not to be 
 diverted from my end. Do you hearl" 
 
 " Perfectly," said Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 " I 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 ; and, deserted by all 
 in whom I have ever trusted, hoodwinked and beset by all who should 
 help and sustain me ; I fly to you for refuge. I confide in you to be 
 my ally ; to attach yourself to me by ties of Interest and 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 conse- 
 quences of the very worst species of meanness, dissimulation, and 
 subtlety, on the right heads." 
 
 " My noble sir ! " cried Mr. Pecksniff, catching at his outstretched 
 hand. " And you regret the having harboured unjust thoughts of me I 
 you with those gray hairs ! " 
 
 " Regrets," said Martin, " are the natural property of gray hairs ; and 
 I 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. " I don't know 
 them. Are they like you V 
 
 " In the nose of my eldest and the chin of my youngest, Mr. Chuzzle- 
 wit," returned the widower, "• their sainted parent — not myself, their 
 mother-^ — lives again," 
 
120 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " I 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." 
 
 "I 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 the 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 V 
 
 " Here, my dear pa ! " replied the distant voice of Charity. 
 
 " Come down into the back parlour, if you please, my love," said 
 Mr. Pecksniff, " and bring your sister with you." 
 
 " Yes, my dear pa," cried 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. Chuzzlewit had said such kind and tender 
 words as pierced his very heart, the two Miss Pecksniffs cried with 
 one accord, " Thank Heaven for this !" and fell upon the old man's 
 neck. And when they had embraced him with such fervour of 
 affection that no words can 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 dowai. Your humble autographs are of no value in 
 themselves, but affection may prize them." 
 
 " Affection," said the old man, " will expend itself on the living 
 originals. Do not trouble yourselves, my girls. I shall not so easily 
 forget you. Charity and Mercy, as to need such tokens of remembrance. 
 
 Cousin !" 
 
 " Sir ! " said Mr. Pecksniff, with alacrity. 
 
 '^ Do you never sit down % " 
 
 « Why — yes — occasionally, sir," said Mr. Pecksniff, who had been 
 standing all this time. 
 
7". " , ^ 
 
MARTIN CnUZZLEWIT. 121 
 
 '■ Will you do so now ]" 
 
 " Can you ask me," returned Mr. Pecksniff, slipping into a chair 
 immediately, '•' whether I will do anything that you desire?" 
 
 " You talk confidently," said Martin, " and you mean well ; but I 
 fear you don't know what an old man's humours are. You don't know 
 what it is to be required to court his likings and dislikings ; adapt 
 yourself to his prejudices ; do his bidding, be it what it may ; 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 c«?i you talk in such 
 a painful strain ! What was more natural than that you should make 
 one slight mistake, when in all other respects you were so very correct, 
 and have had such reason — such very sad and undeniable reason — to 
 judge of 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 in- 
 creasing obsequiousness, " that while we mourned the heaviness of our 
 mi^ortune in being confounded with the base and mercenary, still we 
 could not wonder at it. My dears, you remember I " 
 
 Oh vividly ! A thousand times ! 
 
 " We uttered no complaint," said Mr. Pecksniff. '• Occasionally we 
 had the presumption to console ourselves with the remark that Truth 
 would in the end prevail, and Virtue be triumphant ; but not often. 
 My loves, you recollect V 
 
 Recollect 1 Could he doubt it ? Dearest pa, what strange, unne- 
 cessary 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?" 
 
 '• 1^0 — 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 circumstances that have come to my 
 knowledge, opened my eyes. You spoke to me, disinterestedly, on 
 behalf of — I needn't name him. You know whom I mean." 
 
 Trouble was expressed in Mr. Pecksniff^s visage, as he pressed his hot 
 hands together, and replied, with humility, " Quite disinterestedly, 
 sir, I assure you." 
 
 " I know it," said old Martin, in his quiet way. '"' I am sure of it. 
 I said so. It was disinterested too, in you, to draw that herd of harpies 
 off from me, and be their ^-ictim yourself; most other men would have 
 suffered them to display themselves in all their rapacity, and would have 
 striven to rise, by contrast, in my estimation. You felt for me, and drew 
 them off, for which I owe you many thanks. Although I left the place, 
 I know what passed behind my back, you see ! " 
 
 " You amaze me, sir ! " cried Mr. Pecksniff : 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 — " 
 
122 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Yes, sir," rejoined the arcliitect, " I have." 
 
 " He must quit it," said Martin. 
 
 " For — for yours ? " asked Mr. PecksniiF, with a quavering mildness. 
 
 *' For any shelter he can find," the old man answered. " He has 
 deceived you." 
 
 " I 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 demon- 
 stration of interest than had yet appeared m his features. His gaze- 
 again encountered Mr. Pecksniff, as he said, composedly : 
 
 " Of course you know that he has made his matrimonial choice 1" 
 
 " 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 T' repeated Martin. 
 
 ^' Surely not without his grandfather s consent and approbation, my 
 dear sir !" cried Mr. Pecksniff. " Don't tell me that. For the honour 
 of human nature, say you 're not about to tell me that ! " 
 
 " I thought he had suppressed it ! " said the old man. 
 
 The indignation felt by Mr. Pecksniff at this terrible disclosure, was 
 only to be equalled by the kindling anger of his daughters. What ! Had 
 they taken to their hearth and home a secretly contracted serpent j 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 1 Had he incurred no legal pains and 
 penalties 1 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 ! 
 
 " I am glad to find you second me so warmly," said the old man^ 
 holding up his hand to 'Stay the torrent of their wrath. " I will not 
 deny that it is a pleasure to me to find you so full of zeal. We will 
 consider that topic as disposed of." 
 
 " No, my dear sir," cried Mr. Pecksniff, " not as disposed of, until I 
 have purged my house of this pollution." 
 
 " That will follow," said the old man, " in its own time. I look upon 
 that as done." 
 
 " You are very good, sir," answered Mr. Pecksniff, shaking his 
 hand. " You do me 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 V 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 123 
 
 "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." 
 
 " I told you her history ;" said the old man. 
 
 " Which I also mentioned, you will recollect, my dears," cried Mr. 
 Pecksniff. " Silly girls, Mr. Chuzzlewit — quite moved by it, they were !" 
 
 " Why, look now !" said Martin, evidently pleased : " I feared I should 
 have had to urge her case upon you, and ask you to regard her favorably 
 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 arrange- 
 ment, and their cordial sympathy with its interesting object. 
 
 " If I could have anticipated what has come to pass between us four," 
 said the old man, thoughtfully : " but it is too late to think of that. 
 You would receive her courteously, young ladies, and be kind to her, if 
 need were?" 
 
 Where was the orphan whom the two Miss Pecksniffs would not have 
 cherished in their 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 stores of pure affection yearned to expend 
 themselves 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 painfully re- 
 hearsed it all, a hundred times. Even when his expressions were 
 warmest and his language most encouraging, he had retained the 
 same manner, without the least abatement. 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." 
 
 Vlr. Pecksniff looked benevolently sagacious, and at the same time far 
 above all earthly misconstruction, as he shook his head, and observed 
 that a great many things would be said of it, no doubt. 
 
 " A great many," rejoined the old man. " Some will say that I dote 
 in my old age ; that illness has shaken me ; that I have lost all strength 
 of mind ; and have grown childish. You can bear that V 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff answered that it would be dreadfully hard to bear, 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 mean- 
 nesses and vile endurances, as nothing could repay : no, not the legacy 
 of half the world we live in. You can bear that 1 " 
 
124 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff made reply that this would he also yery hard to bear, as 
 reflecting, in some degree, on the discernment of Mr. Chuzzlewit. Still 
 he had a modest confidence that he could sustain the calumny, with the 
 help of a good 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 I had ever put my trust in his affection ; roughly, for that 
 he broke it when I loved him most — God help me ! — and he without a 
 pang could throw me off, the while I clung about his heart ! Now," 
 said the old man, dismissing this passionate outburst, as suddenly as he 
 had yielded to it, " is your mind made up to bear this likewise l 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 ecstacy, " for such 
 a man as you have shown yourself to be this day ; for a man so injured, 
 yet so very humane ; for a man so — I am at a 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 pre- 
 sumption to say that I, and I am sure I may add my children also (my 
 dears, we perfectly agree in this, I think?), would bear anything what- 
 ever !" 
 
 " Enough," said Martin. " You can charge no consequences on me. 
 When do you return home 1 " 
 
 " Whenever you please, my dear sir. To-night, if you desire it." 
 
 " I desire nothing," returned the old man, " that is unreasonable. 
 Such a request would be. Will you be ready to return at the end of 
 this week?" 
 
 The very time of all others that Mr. Pecksniff would have suggested 
 if it had been left to him to make his own choice. As to his daughters 
 — the words, " Let us be at home on Saturday, dear pa," were actually 
 upon their lips. 
 
 " Your expenses, cousin," said Martin, taking a folded slip of paper 
 from his pocket-book, " may possibly exceed that amount. If so, let me 
 know the balance that I owe you, when we next meet. It would be 
 useless if I told you where I live just now : indeed, I have no fixed 
 abode. When I have, you shall know it. You and your daughters 
 may expect to see me before long : in the mean time I need not tell 
 you, that we keep our own confidence. What you will do when you get 
 home, is understood between us. Give me no account of it at any time ; 
 and never refer to it in any way. I ask that, as a favour. I am com- 
 monly a man of few words, cousin ; and all that need be said just now 
 is said, I think." 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 125 
 
 " One glass of wine — one morsel of this homely cake ?" cried Mr. 
 Pecksniff, venturing to detain him. " My dears ! — " 
 
 The sisters flew to wait upon him. 
 
 "Poor girls !" said Mr. Pecksniff. "You will excuse their agitation, 
 my dear sir. They 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 V 
 
 " Which is the youngest," asked the old man. 
 
 " Mercy, by five years," said Mr. Pecksniff. " We sometimes venture 
 to consider her rather a fine figure, sir. Speaking as an artist, I may 
 perhaps be permitted to suggest, that its outline 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 upon the best models." 
 
 " She seems to have a lively disposition," observed Martin. 
 
 " Dear me ! " said Mr, Pecksniff, " that is quite remarkable. You 
 have defined her character, my dear sir, as correctly as if you had 
 known her from her birth. She has a lively disposition. I assure you, 
 my dear sir, that in our unpretending home, her gaiety is delightful." 
 
 " No doubt," returned the old man. 
 
 " Charity, 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 !" 
 
 " I 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, good morning ! " 
 
 But this distant form of farewell was by no means tender enough for 
 the yearnings of the young ladies, who again embraced him with all 
 their hearts — with all their arms at any 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. Pecksniff, and withdrew, 
 followed to the door by both father and daughters, who stood there, 
 kissing their hand's, 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. 
 
126 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " If 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 ! " 
 
 This admonition had so little effect on Mercy, that she was obliged to 
 hold her handkerchief before her rosy lips, and to throw herself back in 
 her chair, with every demonstration of extreme amusement ; which want 
 of duty so offended Mr. Pecksniff that he reproved her in set terms, and 
 gave her his parental advice to correct herself in solitude and contem- 
 plation. 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 gentleman 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 anybody. And quite 
 right. There is no reason why you should give way to any gentleman. 
 Everybody must be well aware of that." 
 
 " I should think no more of admitting daylight into the fellow,'* 
 said the youngest gentleman, in a desperate voice, " than if 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 Jinkins, — a tragedy 
 will get into the papers. That 's all." 
 
 Again Mrs. Todgers moaned. 
 
 " I have borne this long enough," said the youngest gentleman, " but 
 now my soul rebels against it, and I won't stand it any longer. I left 
 home originally, because I had that within me which wouldn't be 
 domineered over by a sister ; and do you think I'm going to be put 
 down by him 1 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't he inter- 
 rupt and contradict me on every occasion ? Does he ever fail to inter- 
 pose himself between me and anything or anybody that he sees I have 
 set my mind upon % 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 !'* 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 127 
 
 The young gentleman was mistaken in this closing sentence, inasmuch 
 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 you'll 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." 
 
 " I'm not treated as if I was," said the youngest gentleman. 
 
 " There you make a great mistake, sir," returned Mrs. Todgers, In the 
 same strain. " As many of the gentlemen and I have often said, you 
 are too sensitive. That's where it is. You are of too susceptible a 
 nature ; it's in your spirit." 
 
 The young gentleman coughed. 
 
 " And as," said Mrs. Todgers, " as to Mr. Jinkins, I must 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 him. Mr. Jinkins is not such a boarder, sir," 
 added Mrs. Todgers, "that all considerations of private feeling and 
 respect give way before him. Quite the contrary, I assure you." 
 
 The young gentleman was so much mollified by these and similar 
 speeches on the part of Mrs. Todgers, that he and that lady gra- 
 dually 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 with- 
 drew 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 1" 
 
 " Never 1" said the two Miss Pecksnifis. 
 
128 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " 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 Mm — 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 illustrative of the youngest gentle- 
 man'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 gentle- 
 man contribute towards the support of these premises ?," 
 
 " Why, sir, for what he has, he pays about eighteen shillings a week," 
 said Mrs. Todgers. 
 
 " Eighteen shillings a week ! " repeated Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 " Taking one week with another ; as near that as possible," said Mrs. 
 Todgers. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff rose from his chair, folded his arms, looked at her, and 
 shook his head. 
 
 " And do you mean to say, ma'am — is it possible, Mrs. Todgers — that 
 for such a miserable consideration as eighteen shillings a week, a female 
 of your understanding can so far demean herself as to wear a double face, 
 even for an instant ?" 
 
 " I am forced to keep things on the square if I can, sir," faultered 
 Mrs. Todgers. " I must preserve peace among them, and keep my con- 
 nection together, if possible, Mr. Pecksniff. The profit is very small." 
 
 " The profit ! " cried that gentleman, laying great stress upon the word. 
 " The profit, Mrs. Todgers ! You amaze me !" 
 
 He was so severe, that Mrs. Todgers shed tears. 
 
 " The profit !" repeated Mr. Pecksniff. " The profit of dissimulation ! 
 To worship the golden calf of Baal, for eighteen shillings a week !" 
 
 " Don't in your own goodness be too hard upon me, Mr. Pecksniff," 
 cried Mrs. Todgers, taking out her handkerchief 
 
 " Oh Calf, Calf ! " cried Mr. Pecksniff 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 !" 
 
 He was so subdued and overcome by the reflection, that he imme- 
 diately 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 ! 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 129 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 WHEREIN A CERTAIN GENTLEMAN BECOMES PARTICULAR IN HIS ATTEN- 
 TIONS TO A CERTAIN LADY ; AND MORE COMING EVENTS THAN ONE, 
 CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE. 
 
 The family were within two or three days of their departure from 
 Mrs. Todgers's, and the commercial gentlemen were to a man despon- 
 dent and not to be comforted, because of the approaching separation, 
 when Bailey junior, at the jocund time of noon, presented himself 
 before Miss Charity Pecksniff, then sitting with her sister in the banquet 
 chamber, hemming six new pocket-handkerchiefs for Mr. Jinkins ; and 
 having expressed a hope, preliminary and pious, that he might be blest, 
 gave her, in his pleasant way, to understand that a visitor attended to 
 pay his respects to her, and was at that moment waiting in the draw- 
 ing-room. Perhaps this last announcement showed in a more striking 
 point of view than many lengthened speeches could have done, the 
 trustfulness and faith of Bailey's nature ; since he had, in fact, last 
 seen the visitor upon the door-mat, where, after signifying to him that 
 he would do well to go up-stairs, he had left him to the guidance of his 
 own sagacity. Hence it was at least an even chance that the visitor 
 was then wandering on the roof of the house, or vainly seeking to extri- 
 cate 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 is my gracious, a'nt it 1 Wouldn't I be 
 gracious neither, not if I wos him ! " 
 
 The remark was rendered somewhat obscure in itself, by reason (as the 
 reader may have observed) of a redundancy of negatives ; but accom- 
 panied by action expressive of a faithful 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 afiected to reprove so great a liberty ; 
 but she could not help smiling. He was a strange boy to be sure. 
 There was always some ground of probability and likelihood mingled 
 with his absurd behaviour. That was the best of it ! 
 
 " But I don't know any gentleman, Bailey," said Miss PecksniiT. " I 
 think you must have made a mistake." 
 
 IMr. 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 it odd ? I 
 
 have a great mind not to go to him really. So very strange you know ! " 
 
 The younger sister plainly considered that this appeal had its origin 
 
 in the pride of being called upon and asked for ; and that it was 
 
 intended as an assertion of superiority, and a retaliation upon her for 
 
 K 
 
130 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 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." 
 
 " I am afraid your head is turned, you silly thing," said Cherry. 
 
 " Do you know, my dear," said Merry, with engaging candour, " that 
 I have been afraid of that, myself, all along ! So much incense and 
 nonsense, and all the rest of it, is enough to turn a stronger head than 
 mine. What a relief it must be to you, my dear, to be so very com- 
 fortable in that respect, and not to be worried by those odious men ! 
 How do you do it. Cherry?" 
 
 This artless inquiry might have led to turbulent results, but for the 
 strong emotions of delight evinced by Bailey junior, whose relish in the 
 turn the conversation had lately taken was so acute, that it impelled and 
 forced him to the instantaneous performance of a dancing step, extremely 
 difficult in its nature, and only to be achieved in a moment of ecstacy, 
 which is commonly called The Frogs' Hornpipe. A manifestation so 
 lively, brought to their immediate recollection the great virtuous pre- 
 cept, " 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 his scalding tears with his apron, and afterwards feigning 
 to wring a vast amount of water from that garment, held the door open 
 while Miss Charity passed out ; and so that damsel went in state up-stairs 
 to receive her mysterious adorer. 
 
 By some strange concurrence 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'll be bound. Well ! how do you find yourself by this time V 
 
 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 1 I say — how's the other one V 
 
 " My sister is very well, I believe," returned the young lady. " I have 
 not heard her complain of any indisposition, sir. Perhaps you would 
 like to see her, and ask her yourself?" 
 
 " No, no, cousin !" said Mr. Jonas, sitting down beside her on the 
 window-seat. " Don't be in a hurry. There 's no occasion for that, you 
 know. What a cruel girl you are !" 
 
 " It's impossible for yow 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." 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 131 
 
 ■'■^^-i didn't think at all about it," answered Cherry. 
 
 " Didn't you, though ?" said Jonas, pondering upon this strange reply. 
 "Did the other one r' 
 
 " I am sure it's impossible for me to say what my sister may, or may 
 not have thought on such a subject," cried Cherry. " She never said 
 anything to me about it, one way 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 ?" 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 if?" 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 oif, that 
 morning ! " 
 
 '•' I was amenable to my Papa's directions," said Miss Charity. 
 
 " I 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 I hadn't met him in the street this morning. "\\ hat a 
 sleek, sly chap he is ! Just like a tom-cat, an't he 1" 
 
 " I must trouble you to have the goodness to speak more respectfully 
 of my Papa, Mr. Jonas," said Charity. " I can't allow such a tone as 
 that, even in jest." 
 
 ' Ecod, you may say what you like of m?/ 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 V 
 
 " Old, no doubt," replied Miss Charity ; " but a fine old gentleman." 
 
 " A fine old gentleman !" repeated Jonas, giving the crown 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 !" 
 
 '■' Is he, indeed ?" said the young lady. 
 
 " And ecod," cried Jonas, " now he's gone so far without giving in, I 
 don't see much to prevent his being ninety ; no, nor even a hundred. 
 Why, a man with any feeling ought to be ashamed of being eighty — let 
 alone more. Where's his religion I should like to know, when he goes 
 flying in the face of the Bible like that ! Threescore-and-ten's the 
 mark ; 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 1 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 ga 
 
 k2 
 
132 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 putting one's-self out of tlie way by talking about Mm. 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 
 am content 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. 
 
 "Oh, you're a sharp gal !" said Mr. Jonas. " She's a regular teazer, 
 an't she, cousin 1 " 
 
 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 ill become her to admit the 
 existence of any creature with such ' an unceremonious name in her 
 family ; far less in the person of a beloved sister, " whatever," 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 adjournment, and the same being 
 carried unanimously, they departed from the house straightway. On the 
 door-step, Mr, Jonas gave an arm to each cousin ; which act of gallantry 
 being observed by Bailey junior, from the garret window, was by him 
 saluted with a loud and 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 tliat 
 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 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 133 
 
 shows, in respect of wliich 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 Mr. 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 superioi: 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, 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 
 Yf arehousemen, 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 morning very gloomy; and where light porters 
 watered the pavement, each before his own employer's premises, in 
 fixntastic 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 bed-rooms 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, strewn upon the ground ; while the meagre 
 bedsteads, washing-stands, and scraps of carpet, were huddled away into 
 corners as objects of secondary consideration, not to be thought of but 
 as disagreeable necessities, furnishing no profit, and intruding on the 
 one afiair 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 strad- 
 dling 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 
 
134 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 liad 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. 
 
 An ancient proverb warns us that we should not expect to find old 
 heads upon young shoulders ; to which it may be added that we seldom 
 meet with that unnatural combination, but we feel a strong desire to 
 knock them off ; merely from an inherent love we have of seeing tilings 
 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 1 " 
 
 " I should think it was," rejoined the old man. 
 
 "What's the good of that?" rejoined the son. "/should think it 
 was. I want to know." 
 
 " Ah ! I don't know for certain," said Anthony. 
 
 "You don't know for certain," rejoined his son in a lower tone. 
 " No. You don't know anything for certain, ?/ou 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 compliments to his father, until they and the dinner appeared 
 together. The repast consisted of a hot leg of mutton with greens and 
 potatoes ; and the dishes having been set upon the table by a slipshod 
 old woman, they were left to enjoy it after their own manner. 
 
 " Bachelor's Hall you know, cousin," said Mr. Jonas to Charity. " I 
 say — the other one will be having a laugh at this when she gets home, 
 won't she 1 Here ; you sit on the right side of me, and I'll have her 
 upon the left. Other one, Avill you come here V 
 
 " You're such a fright," replied Mercy, " that I know I shall have no 
 appetite if I sit so near you ; but I suppose I must." 
 
 "An't she lively?" whispered Mr. Jonas to the elder sister, with his 
 favourite elbow emphasis. 
 
 " Oh I really don't know!" replied Miss Pecksniff, tartly. "I am 
 tired of being asked such ridiculous questions." 
 
 " What's that precious old father of mine about now ? " said Mr. 
 Jonas, seeing that his parent was travelling up and down the room, 
 instead of taking his seat at table. " What are you looking for?" 
 
 " I've lost my glasses, Jonas," said old Anthony. 
 
 " Sit down without your glasses, can't you V 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 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 135 
 
 called. As he spoke, the door of a small glass office, which was par- 
 titioned 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, apparently intending to make a bow. But he sat down 
 once more, without having made it, and breathing on his shrivelled hands 
 to warm them, remained with his poor blue nose immoveable above his 
 plate, looking at nothing, with eyes that saw nothing, and a face that 
 meant nothing. Take him in that state, and he was an embodiment of 
 nothing. Nothing else. 
 
 " Our clerk," said Mr. Jonas, as host and master of the ceremonies : 
 '^ Old Chuffey." 
 
 " Is he deaf?" inquired one of the young ladies. 
 
 " No, I don't know that he is. He an't deaf, is he father?" 
 
 *' I never heard him say he was," replied the old man. 
 
 " Blind 1 " inquired the young ladies. 
 
 " N — no. I never understood that he was at all blind," said Jonas, 
 carelessly. " You don't consider him so, do you father?" 
 
 " Certainly not," replied Anthony. 
 
 "What is he then?" 
 
 " Why, I'll tell you what he is," said Mr. Jonas, apart to the young 
 ladies, " he's precious old, for one thing ; and I an't best pleased with 
 him for that, for I think my father must have caught it of him. He 's 
 a strange old chap, for another," he added in a louder voice, " and don't 
 understand any one hardly, but him!" He pointed to his honoured parent 
 with the carving-fork, in order that they might know whom he meant. 
 
 " How very strange ! " cried the sisters. 
 
 " Why, you see," said Mr. Jonas, " he's been addling his old brains 
 with figures and book-keeping all his life ; and twenty year 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 un- 
 derstands 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." u,^:??? ci- 
 
136 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 "Has lie no appetite?" asked Merrv. 
 
 " Oh yes," said Jonas, plying his own knife and fork very fast. " He 
 eats — when he's helped. But he don't care whether he waits a minute or 
 an hour, as long as father's here ; so when I'm at all sharp set, as I am 
 to-day, I come to him after I've taken the edge off my own hunger you 
 know. Now Chuffey, stupid, are you ready?" 
 
 Chuffey remained immoveable. 
 
 " Always a perverse old file, he was," said Mr. Jonas, coolly helping 
 himself to another slice. " Ask him, father." 
 
 " Are you ready for your dinner, Chuffey ?" asked the old man. 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Chuffey, lighting up into a sentient human 
 creature at the first sound of the voice, so that it was at once a curious 
 and quite a moving sight to see him. " Yes, yes. Quite ready, Mr. 
 Chuzzlewit. Quite ready. Sir. All ready, all ready, all ready." With 
 that he stopped, smilingly, and 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 '11 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 1 If it hadn't been 
 for the joke of it, I wouldn't have let him come in to-day; but I 
 thought he'd amuse you." 
 
 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, even to himself, fiJled him with a 
 stealthy glee : causing him to rub his hands and chuckle covertly, as if 
 he said in his sleeve, " / taught him. / 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. 
 
MARTIN CIIUZZLEWIT. 137 
 
 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 person that he had better " peg away at his 
 bread :" which Anthony did. 
 
 " Aye, aye ! " cried the old man, brightening up as before, when this 
 was communicated to him in the same voice ; " quite right, quite right. 
 He's your own son, Mr. Chuzzlewit ! 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, Cliuffey 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. 
 
 " I shall drink," said Anthony, " to Pecksniff. Your father, my 
 dears. A clever man, Pecksniff. A wary man ! A hypocrite, though, 
 eh 1 A hypocrite, girls, eh 1 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 — I say ! " 
 
 " Good gracious me ! " said Cherry, in a petulant manner. " You 
 can tell her yourself, if you wish, can't you 1 " 
 
 " She seems to make such game of one," replied Mr. 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 that Avouldn'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 
 
138 LIFE AND ADYENTURES OP 
 
 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 association, 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 Chuifey fell back into a dark corner on one side of the fire-place, 
 where he always spent his evenings, and was neither seen nor heard 
 again that night ; save once, when a cup of tea was given him, in which 
 he was seen to soak his bread mechanically. There was no reason to 
 suppose that he went to sleep at these seasons, or that he heard, or saw, 
 or felt, or thought. He remained, as it were, frozen up — if any term 
 expressive of such a vigorous process can be applied to him — until he 
 was again thawed for the moment by a word or 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 exclusively theirs, that she silently deplored the commercial 
 gentlemen — at that moment, no doubt, wearying for her return — and 
 yawned over yesterday's newspaper. As to Anthony, he went to sleep 
 outright, so Jonas and Cherry had a clear stage to themselves as long as 
 they chose to keep possession of it. 
 
 When the tea-tray was taken away, as it was at last, Mr. Jonas pro- 
 duced 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 groundwork 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 profligate 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 sometimes neutralize another, when wholesome remedies would not 
 avail, so he was restrained by a bad passion from quaffing his full measure 
 ^f evil, when virtue might have sought to hold him back in vain, '♦aioifc 
 
-^^ /oTZ^;^ ' ^^A^/A^^A^lAi/\s,9t^J-a^y9U ^6^ c^uJ^-?^. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 139 
 
 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 uuAvilling 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 owTi hospitable and earnest way. When all his efforts to detain 
 them were fruitless, he put on his hat and great-coat preparatory to 
 escorting them to Todgers's ; remarking that he knew they would 
 rather walk thither than ride ; and that for his part he was quite of 
 their opinion. 
 
 " Good night," said Anthony. " Good night ; remember me to — ha, 
 lia, 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 ! Pm 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 cruel to 
 poor Merry any more, or she (Charity) would positively be obliged to 
 hate him. Mercy, who really had her share of good-humour, only 
 retorted with a laugh ; and they walked home in consequence without 
 any angry passages of words upon the way. Mr. Jonas being in the 
 middle, and having a cousin on each arm, sometimes squeezed the ^vrong 
 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 atten- 
 tion, 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 therCy 
 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 sunshine in the shady breast 
 of Jinkins, was to be seen no more ; when it was to be packed like a 
 brown paper parcel, or a fish-basket, or an oyster-barrel, or a fat gentle- 
 man, or any other dull 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 believe the gentlemen will be the gentlemen 
 
140 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 they were, or anything like it — no, not for weeks to come. You have a 
 great deal to answer for ; both of you." 
 
 They modestly disclaimed any wilful agency in this disastrous state of 
 things, and regretted it very much. 
 
 "Your pious Pa, too !" said Mrs. Todgers. "There's a loss! My 
 dear Miss Pecksniffs, your Pa is a perfect missionary of peace and love." 
 
 Entertaining an uncertainty as to the particular kind of love supj^osed 
 to be comprised in Mr. Pecksniff's mission, the young ladies received 
 this compliment rather coldly. 
 
 " If I dared," said Mrs. Todgers, perceiving this, " to violate a confi- 
 dence 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 interested. But I musn't do it, for I 
 promised Mr. Jinkins faithfully that I would be as silent as the tomb." 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Todgers ! what can you mean ?" 
 
 " Why then, my sweet Miss Pecksniffs," said the lady of the house ; 
 " my own loves, if you will allow me the privilege of taking that 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 arrange- 
 ment ; 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 av,'akened sometime 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. He didn't blow much out of it, but that was all the better. 
 If the two Miss Pecksniffs and Mrs. Todgers had perished by spontaneous 
 combustion, and the serenade had been in honour of their ashes, it would 
 have been impossible to surpass the unutterable despair expressed in 
 that one chorus, "Go where glory waits thee !" It was a requiem, a 
 dirge, a moan, a howl, a wail, a lament ; an abstract of everything that 
 is sorrowful and hideous in sound. The flute of the youngest gentleman 
 was wild and fitful. It came and went in gusts, like the wind. For a 
 long time together he seemed to have left off, and when it was quite settled 
 by Mrs. Todgers and the young ladies, that, overcome by his 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 
 
MARTIN CHTJZZLEWIT. 141 
 
 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 have 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 favour too, mark the villain in that — not to play. Yes ; he 
 said so ; not to play. The breathing of the youngest gentleman was 
 heard through the keyhole of the door. He didnt 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, M'ho, for the reasons afore- 
 said, maintained a fearful silence. The song (which was of a classical 
 nature) invoked the oracle of Apollo, and demanded to know what would 
 become of Todgers's when Chahitt and Mercy were banished from its 
 walls. The oracle delivered no opinion particularly 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 
 Pecksniffs were nearly related to Rule Britannia, and that if Great 
 Britain hadn't been an island there could have been no Miss Pecksniffs. 
 And being now on a nautical tack, it closed with this verse : 
 
 All hail to the vessel of Pecksniff the sire ! 
 
 And favouring bi'eezes 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 gentle- 
 men 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 
 tlieir 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 you 're a going home, are 
 you ; worse luck "?" 
 
 " Yes, Bailey, vre 're going home," returned Mercy. 
 
 "A'nt you a going to leave none of 'em a lock of your hairl" 
 inquired the youth. " It's real, an't it f 
 
 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 've gone behind her at dinner-time and pulled it; 
 
142 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 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 enquired 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 ! " cried the young ladies, with a laugh. 
 
 ''^ Ah !" said Bailey, "why not 1 There's a many drummers in the 
 Tower. I 'm acquainted with 'em. Don't their country set a valley on 
 'em, mind you ! Not at all !" 
 
 " You '11 be shot, I see," observed Mercy. 
 
 " Well !" cried Mr. Bailey, " wot if I am? There 's something gamey 
 in it, young ladies, an't there 1 I 'd sooner be hit with a cannon-ball 
 than a rolling-pin, and she 's always 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 m?/ fault, is it ?" 
 
 " Surely no one says it is," said Mercy. 
 
 " Don't they though f 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 every 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, / know." 
 
 The young ladies, on behalf of Mr. Pecksniff and themselves, acted 
 on this thoughtful advice ; and in consideration of their private friend- 
 ship, 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 ebullitions ; for besides crushing a bandbox, with a bonnet in it, 
 he seriously damaged Mr. Pecksniff's luggage, by ardently hauling it 
 down from the top of the house ; and in short evinced, by every means 
 in his power, a lively sense of the favours he had 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 half-holiday, on purpose ; thus 
 gaining an immense advantage over the youngest gentleman and the 
 rest, whose time, as it perversely chanced, was all bespoke, until the 
 evening. The bottle of wine was Mr. Pecksniff's treat, and they were 
 very sociable indeed ; though full of lamentations on the necessity of 
 parting. While they were in the midst of their enjoyment, old Anthony 
 and his 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 V 
 
^'MAETIN CHUZZLEWIT. 143 
 
 "Unanimity, my good sir," rejoined Mr. Pecksniff, "is always 
 delightful." 
 
 " I don't know about that," said the old man, " for there are some 
 people I would rather differ from than agree with. But you know my 
 opinion of you." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff, still having "hypocrite" in his mind, only replied by 
 a motion of his head, which was something between an affirmative bow, 
 and a negative shake. 
 
 " Complimentary," said Anthony. " 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. Pecksniff's 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. 
 
 "Lookye!" said Anthony in his ear. "I think he is sweet upon 
 your daughter." 
 
 " Tut, my good sir," said Mr. Pecksniff, with his eyes still closed ; 
 " young people — young people — a kind of cousins, too — no more sweet- 
 ness than is in that, sir." 
 
 " Why, there is very little sweetness in that, according to our expe- 
 rience," returned Anthony. " Isn't there a trifle more here ? " 
 
 " Impossible to say," rejoined Mr. Pecksniff. " Quite impossible i 
 You surprise me." 
 
 " Yes, I know that," said the old man, dryly. " 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." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff, smiling gently, was about to speak, but Anthony 
 stopped him. 
 
 " I know what you are going to say. It's quite unnecessary. You 
 have never thought of this for a moment ; and in a point so nearly 
 affecting the happiness of your dear child, you couldn't, as a tender 
 father, express an opinion ; and so forth. Yes, quite right. And like 
 you ! But it seems to me, my dear Pecksniff," added Anthony, laying 
 his hand upon his sleeve, " that if you and I kept up the joke of pre- 
 tending 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 
 
144 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 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. PecksniiF 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. 
 
 But the night-coach had a punctual character, and it was time to 
 join it at the office ; which was so near at hand, that they had already 
 sent their luggage, and arranged to walk. Thither the whole party 
 repaired, therefore, after no more delay than sufficed for the equipment 
 of the Miss Pecksniffs and Mrs. Todgers. They found the coach already 
 at its starting-place, and the horses in ; there, too, were a large majority 
 of the 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 parting 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 gentleman ; and by the light of the coach-lamps caught such 
 brief snatches and glimpses of the good man's face, as the constant inter- 
 position of Mr. Jinkins allowed. For Jinkins, to the last the youngest 
 gentleman's rock a-head in life, stood upon the coach-step talking to 
 the ladies. Upon the other step was Mr. Jonas, who maintained that 
 position in right of his cousinship ; whereas the youngest gentleman, 
 who had been first upon the ground, was deep in the booking-office 
 among the black and red placards, and the portraits of fast coaches, 
 where he was ignominiously harassed by porters, and had to contend 
 and strive perpetually with heavy baggage. This false position, 
 combined with his nervous excitement, brought about the very consum- 
 mation and catastrophe of his miseries ; for when, in the moment of 
 parting, he aimed a flower — a hothouse flower, that had cost money — at 
 the fair hand of Mercy, it reached, 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 ephe- 
 meral 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. 
 
MARTIN CnUZZLEWIT. 145 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 WILL BE SEEN m THE LONG RUIT, IF NOT IN THE SHORT ONE, TO CONCERN 
 MR. riNCH AND OTHERS, NEARLY. MR. PECKSNIFF ASSERTS THE 
 DIGNITY OF OUTRAGED VIRTUE ; AND YOUNG MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 
 FORMS A DESPERATE RESOLUTION. 
 
 Mr. Pinch and Martin, little dreaming of the stormy weather that 
 impended, made themselves very comfortable in the Pecksniffian halls, 
 and improved their friendship daily. Martin's facility, both of 
 invention and execution, being remarkable, the grammar-school pro- 
 ceeded 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 
 v/ith much complacency, " I '11 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." 
 
 " I 'd 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 ! " 
 
 " Now, I don't think," said Mr. Pinch, " upon my word, that 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. " I 'd do it — I 'd provide for you." 
 
 " I am afraid," said Tom, shaking his head, " that I should be a mighty 
 awkward person to provide for." 
 
 "Pooh, pooh !" rejoined Martin. " Never mind that. If I took it 
 in my head to say, ' Pinch is a clever fellow ; I approve of Pinch ; ' I 
 should like to know the man who would venture to put himself in oppo- 
 sition to me. Besides, confound it Tom, you could be useful to me in a 
 hundred ways." 
 
 " If I were not useful in one or two, it shouldn't be for want of 
 trying," said Tom. 
 
 " For instance," pursued Martin, after a short reflection, "you 'd be a 
 
 L 
 
146 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 capital fellow, now, to see that mj 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 infor- 
 mation 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. 
 
 " I should be married to her then Tom, of course," said Martin. 
 
 What was that which checked Tom Pinch so suddenly, in the high 
 flow of his gladness : 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 ! 
 
 " I 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." 
 
 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 miglit 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. 
 
 " I can tell exactly what she would think of you," said Martin, leaning 
 his chin upon his hand, and looking through the window-glass as if he 
 read there what he said ; " I know her so well. She would smile, Tom, 
 often at first when you spoke to her, or when she looked at you — merrily 
 too — but you wouldn't mind that. A brighter smile you never saw !" 
 
 " No, no," said Tom, " I wouldn't mind that." 
 
 " She would be as tender with you, Tom," said Martin, " as if you were 
 a child 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, whi^h she knew 
 you were burning 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 vfould understand you far more delicately 
 
MARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 147 
 
 than I ever shall ; and would often say, I know, that you were a harmless, 
 gentle, well-intentioned, good fellow." 
 
 How silent Tom Pinch Avas ! 
 
 " 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 '11 look rather knowing in a recess at 
 one end. There you shall play away, Tom, till you tire yourself; 
 and, as you like to do so in the dark, it shall be dark ; and many 's the 
 summer evening she and I will sit and listen to you, Tom ; be sure of 
 that !" 
 
 It may have required a stronger effort on Tom Pinch's part to leave 
 the seat on which he sat, and shake his friend by both hands, with 
 nothing but serenity and grateful feeling painted on his face ; it may 
 have required a stronger effort to perform this simple act with a pure 
 heart, than to achieve many and many a deed to which the doubtful 
 trumpet blown by Fame has lustily resounded. Doubtful, because 
 from its long hovering over scenes of violence, the smoke and steam of 
 death have clogged the keys of that brave instrument ; and it is not 
 always that its notes are either true or tuneful. 
 
 " It 's a proof of the kindness of human nature," said Tom, charac- 
 teristically 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 I am not ungrateful — that I never forget — 
 and that, if I can ever prove the truth of my words to you, I will." 
 
 " That 's all right," observed Martin, leaning back in his chair with a 
 hand in each pocket, and yawning drearily. " Very fine talking, Tom ; 
 but I 'm at Pecksniff's, I remember, and perhaps a mile or so out of the 
 high-road to fortune just at this minute. So you 've heard again this 
 morning from what 's his name, eh % " 
 
 " Who may that be 1 " asked Tom, seeming to enter a mild protest on 
 behalf of the dignity of an absent person. 
 
 " You know. What is it ? 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 
 ihat all the mystery you were to tell me?" 
 
 " No," said Tom ; " not ^11." 
 What 's the rest !" asked Martin. 
 
 For the matter of that," said Tom, " it 's no mystery, and you won't 
 think much of it ; but it's very pleasant to me. John always used to 
 say when he was here, ' Mark my words, Pinch. When my father's 
 
 l2 
 
148 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 executors cash up ' — lie used strange expressions now and tlien, but tliat 
 was liis 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 you 11 make me nervous if you 
 tell me so. I 'm afraid you have put me out a little now, for I forget 
 what I was going to say." 
 
 " Yf hen John's father's executors cashed up" — said Martin impatiently. 
 
 " Oh yes, to be sure," cried Tom ; " yes. ' Then,' says John, ' I '11 give 
 you a dinner. Pinch, and come down to Salisbury on purpose.' Now, 
 when John wrote the other day — the morning Pecksniff left, you know — 
 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 Salis- 
 bury 1 I wrote and said, any day this w^eek ; and I told him besides, 
 that there was a new pupil here, and v/liat a fine fellow you were, and 
 what friends we had become. Upon which John v»^rites back this letter" — 
 Tom produced it — " fixes to-morrow ; sends his compliments to you ; 
 and begs that we three may have the pleasure of dining together — not at 
 the house where you and I were, either ; but at the very first hotel in 
 the town. Read what he says." 
 
 " Very well," said Martin, glancing over it with his customary coolness ; 
 " much oblio-ed to him. I 'm ao-reeable." 
 
 Tom could have wished him to be a little more astonished, a little more 
 pleased, or in some form or other a little more interested in such a great 
 event. But he was perfectly self-possessed : and, falling into liis favourite 
 solace of whistling, took another turn at the grammar-school^ as if 
 nothing at all had happened. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniffs horse being regarded in the light of a sacred animal, 
 only to be driven by him, the chief priest of that temple, or by some 
 person distinctly nominated for the time being to that high office by 
 himself, the two young men agreed to walk to Salisbury ; and so, when 
 the time came, they set off on foot ; which was, after all, a better mode 
 of travelling than in the gig, as the weather was very cold and very dry. 
 
 Better ! a rare strong, hearty, healthy walk — four statute miles an 
 hour — preferable to that rumbling, tumbling, jolting, shaking, scraping, 
 creaking, villanous old gig ? Why, the two things will not admit of 
 comparison. It is an insult to the walk, to set them side by side. 
 Where is an instance of a gig having ever circulated a man's blood, 
 unless when, putting him in danger of his neck, it awakened in his veins 
 and in his ears, and all along his spine, a tingling heat, much more 
 peculiar than agreeable '? When did a gig ever sharpen anybody's wits 
 and energies, unless it was when the horse bolted, and, crashing madly 
 down a steep hill with a stone wall at the bottom, his desperate circum- 
 stances suggested to the only gentleman left inside, some novel and 
 unheard-of mode of dropping out behind 1 Better than the gig ! ^ 
 
 The air was cold, Tom ; so it was, there is no denying it ; but would 
 it have been more genial in the gig 1 The blacksmith's fire burned very 
 bright, and leaped up high, as though it wanted men to warm ; but 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 149 
 
 would it have been less tempting, looked at from the clammj cusliions 
 of a gig ? The wind blew keenly, nipping the features of the hardy 
 wight who fought his way along ; blinding him with his own hair if he 
 had enough of it, and with 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 1 when v/ere they so good- 
 humouredly and merrily bloused 1 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 it engendered ? 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 footboard. Ha, ha, ha 1 
 Who would exchange this rapid hurry of the blood for yonder stagnant 
 misery, though its pace were twenty miles for one ? 
 
 Better than the gig ! No man in a gig could have such interest in 
 the milestones. Xo 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 dovrns, it tracks its flight in darkening ripples on the grass, and 
 smoothest shadows on the hills ! Look round and round upon this bare 
 bleak plain, and see even here, upon a winter's day, how beautiful the 
 shadows are 1 Alas ! it is the nature of their kind to be so. The loveliest 
 things in life, Tom, arc 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 bye and 
 bye they come into the sheltered streets, made strangely silent by their 
 white carpet ; and so to the Inn for which they are bound ; where they 
 present such flushed and burning faces to the cold waiter, and are so 
 brimful of vigour, that he almost feels assaulted by their presence ; and^ 
 having nothing to oppose to the attack (being fresh, or rather stale, 
 from the blazing fire in the coffee-room), is quite put out of his pale 
 countenance. 
 
 A famous Inn ! the hall a very grove of dead game, and dangling 
 joints of mutton ; and in one corner an illustrious larder, '^vith 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 dra^^Ti, 
 
150 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 a fire piled lialf-way up the chimney, plates wanning 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 having 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 very glad to see 
 him ! " — John had an off-hand manner of his own ; so they shook hand& 
 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 !" 
 
 " Why, it 's not so very long ago, you know," said Tom Pinch, " after 
 all." 
 
 " It seems an age to me," cried John ; " and so it ought to seem ta 
 you, you dog." And then he pushed Tom down into the easiest chair, 
 and clapped him on the back so heartily, and so like his old self in their 
 old bed-room at old Pecksniff's, that it was a toss-up with Tom Pinch 
 whether he should laugh or cry. Laughter won it ; and they all three 
 laughed together. 
 
 " I have ordered everything for dinner, that we used to say we 'd 
 have, Tom," observed John Westlock. 
 
 " No ! " said Tom Pinch, " Have you ?" 
 
 " Everything. Don't laugh, if you can help it, before the waiters. / 
 couldn't when I was ordering it. It 's like a 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 approaching the reality of that entertain- 
 ment 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 en- 
 deavouring to appear preternaturally solemn, lest the waiters should 
 conceive he wasn't used to it. Some of the things they brought him to 
 carve, were such outrageous practical jokes, though, that it was impos- 
 sible to stand it ; and when Tom Pinch insisted, in spite of the defe- 
 rential advice of an attendant, not only on breaking down the outer 
 wall of a raised pie with a tablespoon, but on trying to eat it afterwards, 
 John lost all dignity, and sat behind the gorgeous dish-cover at the 
 head of the table, roaring to that extent that he was audible in the 
 kitchen. Nor had he the least objection to laugh at himself, as he 
 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,. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 151 
 
 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 oif 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. Peck- 
 sniff's house. This naturally led him to dwell upon Tom's character, 
 and to hint that Mr. Pecksniff understood it pretty well. He only 
 hinted this, and very distantly : knowing that it pained Tom Pinch 
 to have that gentleman disparaged, and thinking it would be as well to 
 leave the new pupil to his own discoveries. 
 
 " Yes," said Martin, " It 's impossible to like Pinch better than I 
 do, or to do greater justice to his good qualities. He 's the most willing- 
 fellow I ever saw." 
 
 " He 's rather too willing," observed John, who was quick in observa- 
 tion. " It 's quite a fault in him." 
 
 " So it is," said Martin. " Very true. There was a fellow only a 
 week or so ago — a Mr. Tigg — who borrowed all the money he had, on a 
 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 '11 never see it again." 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " said John, who had been very attentive to these 
 few words. '• Perhaps you have not had an opportunity of observing 
 that, in his own pecuniary transactions, Tom's proud." 
 
 " You don't say so ! No, I haven't. What do you mean ? Won't he 
 borrow 1 " 
 
 John Westlock shook his head. 
 
 " That's very odd," said Martin, setting down his empty glass. 
 " He 's a strange compound, to be sure." 
 
 " As to receiving money as a gift," resumed John Westlock ; " I think 
 he 'd die first." 
 
 " He 's made up of simplicity," said Martin. '• Help yourself." 
 
 " You, however," pursued John, filling his own glass, and looking at 
 his companion with some curiosity, "who are older than the majority of 
 Mr. Pecksniff 's assistants, and have evidently had much more experience, 
 understand him, I have no doubt, and see how liable he is to be imposed upon." 
 
 " Certainly," said Martin, stretching out his legs, and holdmg 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. 
 
152 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 '' Bj the bye," said Martin, " tLat reminds me. What 's your opinion 
 of Pecksniff? How did he use you 1 What do you think of him now 1 
 — Coolly, yoa know, when it 's all over ? " 
 
 "Ask Pinch," returned the old pupil. " Pie knows what my 
 sentiments used to be upon the subject. They are not changed, I 
 assure you." 
 
 "No, no," said Martin, "I'd rather have them from you." 
 
 " But Pinch says they are unjust," urged John with a smile. 
 
 " Oh ! well ! Then I know what course they take beforehand," said 
 Martin ; " and, therefore, you can have no delicacy in speaking j)lainly. 
 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. I have some ability, I believe, in that way ; and the obliga- 
 tion, if any, will most likely be on his side and not mine. At the lowest 
 mark, the balance will be even and there '11 be no obligation at all. So 
 you may talk to me, as if I had no connexion with him." 
 
 " If you press me to give my opinion " — returned John Westlock. 
 
 " Yes, I do," said Martin. " You '11 oblige me." 
 
 " I should say," resumed the other, " that he is the most consummate 
 scoundrel on the face of the earth." 
 
 " Oh !" said Martin, as coolly as ever. "That's rather strong." 
 
 " Not stronger than he deserves," said John ; " and if he called upon 
 me to express my opinion of him to his face, I would do so in the very 
 same terms, v/ithout the least qualification. 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 knavery, 
 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 v/as 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. 
 
 " I 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 tliere. 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 1 said before. I have 
 taken my own way with him so far, and shall continue to do so, even 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 153 
 
 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 aiford to lose me. I 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 1 " 
 
 '•' The fortunate youth, born under an auspicious star," returned John 
 Westlock, laughing; "whose parents, or guardians, are destined to be 
 hooked by the advertisement. What ! don't you know that he has 
 advertised again 1 " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Oh, yes. I read it just before dinner in the old newspaper. I know 
 it 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 
 hi7n ? Not a word more, or we shall spoil his whole enjoyment." 
 
 Tom entered as the words were spoken, with a radiant smile upon his 
 face ; and rubbing his hands, more from a sense of delight than because 
 he was cold (for he had been running fast), sat down in his warm corner 
 again, and was as happy as — as only Tom Pinch could be. There is no 
 other simile that will express his state of mind. 
 
 " And so," he said, when he had gazed at his friend for some time in 
 silent pleasure, " so you 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 1 may turn out, in time." 
 
 " I 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 I *? " retorted John. " That 's all you know about it, 
 Pinch. It must be a very lieavy box that I wouldn't carry to get away 
 from Pecksniff's, Tom." 
 
 "There!" cried Pinch, turning to Martin, " I told you so. The 
 great fault in his character is his injustice to Pecksniff. You musn't mind 
 a word he says on that subject. His prejudice is most extraordinary." 
 
 " The absence of anything like prejudice on Tom's part, you know," 
 said John Westlock, laughing heartily, as he laid his hand on I\Ir. 
 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'." 
 
 "' Vrhy, 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 feel- 
 ings when you went away !" 
 
 " If I had known whereabout his feelings lay," retorted young West- 
 lock, "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." 
 
154 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 Mr. Pinch, being unwilling to protract a discussion whicli miglit possibly 
 corrupt Martin, forbore to say anything in reply to this speech ; but 
 John Westlock, whom nothing short of an iron gag would have silenced 
 when Mr. Pecksniff's merits were once in question, continued notwith- 
 standing. 
 
 ^^Hls feelings ! Oh, he's a tender-hearted man. His feelings ! 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. 
 
 " I can't bear it," said Tom, shaking his head. " No. I really can- 
 not. You must excuse me, John. I have a great esteem and friend- 
 ship for you ; I love you very much ; and have 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 unchanged." 
 
 " Not in this respect," said Tom Pinch. " You must excuse me, John. 
 I cannot, really ; I will not. It's very wrong ; you should be more 
 guarded 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." 
 
 " Y ou are quite right ! " exclaimed the other, exchanging looks with 
 Martin ; " and I am quite wrong, Tom. I don't know how the deuce- 
 we fell on this unlucky theme. I beg your pardon with all my 
 heart." 
 
 "You have a free and manly temper, I know," said Pinch ; "and 
 therefore, your being so 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 ! Pecksnifi''s pardon, then," said young Westlock. " x^nything, 
 Tom, or anybody. Pecksnifi"'s pardon — will that do ? Here ! let us 
 drink Pecksniff"s health !" 
 
 " Thank you," cried Tom, shaking hands with him eagerly, and 
 filling a bumper. " Thank you ; I 11 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 general 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 illustrated 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 cordially he felt towards him, and his friendly regard seemed of a 
 graver and more thoughtful kind than before. The new one, on the- 
 
MAETIN CnUZZLEWIT. 155 
 
 other hand, had no impulse but to laugh at the recollection of Tom's 
 extreme absurdity ; and mingled with his amusement there was some- 
 thing slighting and contemptuous, 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, ruminating 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 1 " 
 
 " Bless you, no ! not I. I was thinking of you," replied Tom, opening 
 the door. " Gome in." 
 
 " I am 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. Tigg, Tom, I believe?" 
 
 " Tigg !" cried Tom. " Tigg ! The gentleman who borrowed some 
 money of me 1 " 
 
 " Exactly," said John Westlock. " He begged me to present his 
 compliments, and to return it with many thanks. Here it is. I 
 suppose it 's a good one, but he is rather a doubtful kind of customer, 
 Tom." 
 
 Mr. Pinch received the little piece of gold, with a face whose bright- 
 ness might have shamed the metal ; and said he had no fear about that. 
 He was glad, he added, to find Mr. Tigg so prompt and honourable in 
 his dealings ; very glad. 
 
 " Why, to tell you the truth, Tom," replied his friend, " he is not 
 always so. If you'll take my advice, youll 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." 
 
 " 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 
 ior YOU, Tom," 
 
 " I say, John," quoth ^Ir. Pinch, as his countenance fell, and he shook 
 his head in a dejected manner, *• I hope you 're 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, John. You may laugh, but I don't 
 consider it by any means a laughing matter, I assure you." 
 
 " No, no," returned his friend, composing his features, " Quite right. 
 It is not, certainly," 
 
 " You know, John," said Mr, Pinch, '^ your very good nature and 
 kindness of heart make you thoughtless ; and you can't be too careful 
 
156 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 on siicli a point as this. Upon my word, if I thought you were falling 
 among bad companions, I should be quite wretched, for I know how 
 difficult you would find it to shake them off. I would much rather 
 have lost this money, John, than I would have had it back again on 
 such terms." 
 
 " I tell you, my dear good old fellow," cried his friend, shaking him 
 to and fro with both hands, and smiling at him with a cheerful, open 
 countenance, that would have carried conviction to a mind much more 
 suspicious than Tom's ; " I tell you there is no danger." 
 
 " Well !" cried Tom, " I am glad to hear it ; I am overjoyed to hear 
 it. I am sure there is not, when you say so in that manner. You won't 
 take it ill, John, that I said what I did just now ]" 
 
 " 111 !" said the other, giving his hand a hearty squeeze ; "why what 
 do you think I am 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 V 
 
 " Quite," said Tom. 
 
 " Then once more, good night !" 
 
 " Good night ! " cried Tom ; " and such pleasant dreams to you, as 
 should attend the sleep of the best fellow in the world!" 
 
 " Except Pecksniff," said his friend, stopping at the door for a moment, 
 and looking gaily back. 
 
 " Except Pecksniff," answered Tom, with great gravity ; " of course." 
 
 And thus they parted for the night ; John Westlock full of light- 
 heartedness and good humour ; and poor Tom Pinch quite satisfied, 
 though still, as he turned over on his side in bed, he muttered to 
 himself, " I really do wish, for all that, though, that he wasn't acquainted 
 with Mr. Tigg !" 
 
 They breakfasted together very early next morning, for the two 
 young men desired to get back again in good season ; and John West- 
 lock was to return to London by the coach that day. As he had some 
 hours to spare, he bore them company for three or four miles on their 
 walk ; and only parted from them at last in sheer necessity. The 
 parting was an unusually hearty one, not only as between him and 
 Tom Pinch, but on the side of Martin also, who had found in the old 
 pupil a very different sort of person from the milksop he had prepared 
 himself to expect. 
 
 Young Westlock stopped upon a rising ground, when he had gone a 
 little distance, and looked back. They were walking at a brisk pace, 
 and Tom appeared to be talking earnestly. Martin had taken ofi' 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 resist- 
 ance, 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 tliem, until they were hidden from his view ; 
 when he shook his head, as if he were troubled by some uneasy reflection, 
 and thoughtfully retraced his steps to Salisbury. 
 
 In the mean time, Martin and Tom pursued their way, until they 
 halted, safe and sound, at Mr. Pecksniff's house, where a brief epistle 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 157 
 
 from that good gentleman to Mr. Pinch, announced the family's return 
 bj that night's coach. As it would pass the corner of the lane at about 
 six o'clock in the morning, Mr. Pecksniff requested that the gig might 
 be in waiting at the finger-post about that time, together with a cart 
 for the luffo-affe. And to the end that he mioht 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 go 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 gig, the cart, and its reeking driver, he did nothing but 
 grumble ; and, but that it is indispensable to any dispute that there 
 should be two parties to it, he would certainly have picked a quarrel 
 with Tom. 
 
 At length the noise of wheels was faintly 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 umbrella ; and the coachman, guard, and horses, in a 
 fellowship of dripping wretchedness. Immediately on its stopping, Mr. 
 Pecksnifi' let down the window-glass and hailed Tom Pinch. 
 
 " Dear me, Mr. Pinch ! is it possible that you are out upon this rery 
 inclement morning V 
 
 "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, 
 w^ho had advanced to offer his assistance, but was repulsed by Mr. Peck- 
 sniff'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 coacji had driven away, at Mr. Pinch and the luggage j until the 
 cart moved off too ; when he said to Tom : 
 
158 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Now, Vv'ill you have tlie goodness to tell me what this portends V 
 
 " What r' 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." 
 
 " It is no matter," said Martin. " Come ! Let us m.ake haste back." 
 And without another word he 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 impression under which 
 he felt convinced so great a favourite as the new pupil must unquestion- 
 ably 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, and was so lavish in his atten- 
 tions 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 
 
 o 
 
 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, Mr. Pinch," said Pecksniff. " Take a chair, if you 
 please. How have things gone on in our absence, Mr. Pinch?" 
 
 " You — ^you will be very much pleased with the grammar-school, sir," 
 said Tom. " It 's nearly finished." 
 
 " If you will have the goodness, Mr. Pinch," said Pecksniff, waving his 
 hand and smiling, " we will not discuss anything connected with that 
 <][uestion 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 yourself, 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 V 
 
 When he had repeated this inquiry, ho 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 wits' end what to say between the two, and 
 
MARTIN CnUZZLEWIT. 159 
 
 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 have 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 1" 
 
 " I 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 
 involuntary attraction of his right hand in the direction of Mr. Peck- 
 sniff's cravat. 
 
 " I 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." 
 
 " Go on," said Martin, with a scornful smile. " I understand you 
 now. What more?" 
 
 " Thus much more, sir," cried Mr. Pecksniff, trembling from head to 
 foot, and trying to rub his hands, as though he were only cold. " Thus 
 much more, if you force me to publish your shame before a third party, 
 which I was unwilling and indisposed to do. This lowly roof, sir, must 
 not be contaminated by the presence of one, who has deceived, and cruelly 
 ■deceived, an honourable, beloved, venerated, 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," 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 
 
160 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 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 1 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 digni- 
 fied in man, certainly. Still he was Pecksniff; it was impossible to 
 deprive him of that unique and paramount appeal to Tom, And he 
 returned Tom's glance, as if he would have said, " 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 ! " 
 
 " I tell you," said Martin, "that as he lies there, disgraced, bought, used ; 
 a cloth for dirty hands ; a mat for dirty feet ; a lying, fawning, servile 
 hound ; he is the very last and worst among the vermin of the world. 
 And mark me. Pinch. The day will come — he knows it : see it written on 
 his face, the while I speak ! — when even you will find him out, and will 
 know him as I do, and as he knows I do. lie 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 fling- 
 ing 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 ?" 
 
 " Going !" he echoed. " Going !" 
 
 " I 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 V cried Tom, " Oh where will you go 1" 
 
 " I don't know," he said. — " Yes I do. I'll go to America ! " 
 
 " No, no," cried Tom, in a kind of agony. " Don't go there. Pray 
 don't ! Think better of. it. Don't be so dreadfully regardless of your- 
 self. Don't go to America !" 
 
 " My mind is made up," he said. " Your friend was right. I '11 go 
 to America. God bless you. Pinch !" 
 
 " Take this ! " cried Tom, pressing a book upon him in great agi- 
 tation. " 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. 
 

 /^ey 62^.i 
 
 'u:>e6^y€yV: 
 
MARTIN CIIUZZLEWIT. 161 
 
 CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 SHOWING, WHAT BECAME OF MARTIN AND HIS DESPERATE RESOLVE, 
 AFTER HE LEFT MR. PECKSNIFF's HOUSE ; VrilAT PERSONS HE EN- 
 COUNTERED ; WHAT ANXIETIES HE SUFFERED ; AND WHAT NEWS 
 HE HEARD. 
 
 Carrying 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 very 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 realizing them ; his 
 most vindictive enemy might have been satisfied with the extent of his 
 troubles. To add to his other miseries, he was by this time sensible of 
 being wet to the skin, and cold at his very heart. 
 
 In this deplorable condition, he remembered Mr. Pinch's book ; more 
 because it was rather troublesome to carry, than from any hope of being- 
 comforted by that parting-gift. He looked at the dingy lettering on 
 the back, and finding it to be an odd volume of the " Bachelor of Sala- 
 manca," 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 vexa- 
 tion, when he bethought himself that Tom had referred him to a leaf, 
 turned down ; and opening it, at that place, that he might have addi- 
 tional 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 it to the leaf. These 
 
 M 
 
162 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 words were scrawled in pencil on the inside : " 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, cold, bitter, taunting 
 truths, wherein your worldlj 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 altogether 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 fellow 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 alehouse ; and resting upon a high-backed settle before the 
 fire, pulled off his coat, and hung it before the cheerful blaze, to dry. 
 It was a 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, became now quite a choice hotel ; 
 while his dish of eggs and bacon, and his mug of beer, were not by any 
 means the coarse fare he had supposed, but fully bore out the inscrip- 
 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 signpost over against the house, and overflowing the 
 horse-trough ; and then he looked at the fire again, and seemed to 
 descry a doubly-distant London, retreating among the fragments of the 
 burning wood. 
 
 He had repeated this process in just the same order, many times, as 
 if it were a matter of 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 
 
MARTIN CnUZZLEWIT. 163 
 
 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 stamp- 
 ing and shaking the wet oiF his hat and coat, into the room where 
 Martin sat. 
 
 He was a red-faced hurly 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. 
 
 " I don't know as ever I see a wetter." 
 
 " I never felt one," said Martin. 
 
 The driver glanced at Martin's soiled dress, and 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. 
 : " I should have been if I owned a horse; but I don't," returned Martin. 
 
 " That 's bad," said the driver. 
 
 " And may be worse," said Martin. 
 
 Now, the driver said " That 's bad," not so much because Martin 
 didn't own a horse, as because he said he didn't with all the reckless 
 desperation of his mood and circumstances, and so left a great deal 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 j changed his tune, and whistled 
 a little louder. 
 
 " 1 'm 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, ' Ay ; to be sure he was.' 
 
 " Why, then," said Martin, " I'll be plain with you. You may sup- 
 pose from my dress that I have money to spare. I have not. All I 
 can afibrd for coach-hire is a crown, for I have but two. If you can 
 take me for that, and my w^aistcoat, or this silk handkerchief, do. If 
 you can't, leave it alone." 
 
 m2 
 
164 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Short and sweet," remarked the driver. 
 
 " You want more 1 " said Martin. " Then I haven't got more, and 
 I can't get it, so there's an end of that." Whereupon he began to 
 whistle again. 
 
 " I didn't say I wanted more, did I ? " asked the driver, with some- 
 thing like indignation. 
 
 " You didn't say my offer was enough," rejoined Martin. 
 
 " Why how could I, when you wouldn't let me 1 In regard to the 
 waistcoat, I wouldn't have a man's waistcoat, much less a gentleman's 
 waistcoat, on my mind, for no consideration ; but the silk handker- 
 chief's another thing ; and if you was satisfied w^hen we got to Hounslow, 
 I shouldn't object to that as a gift." 
 
 " Is it a bargain, then 1 " 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 fiill 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 William Sim- 
 mons, better known as Bill ; and his spruce appearance 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 
 mouthpiece to drain it ; " Lummy Ned of the Light Salisbury, he was 
 the one for musical talents. He icas a guard. What you may call a 
 Guardian Angel, was Ned." 
 
 " Is 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 sup- 
 posed 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 1 " asked Martin, with sudden interest. '• When 1 " 
 
 " Five year ago, or thenabout," said Bill. '-' He had set up in the 
 
MARTIN CHTJzZLEWIT. 165 
 
 public line here, and couldn't meet his engagements, so he cut off to 
 Liverpool one day without saying anything about it, and went and 
 shipped himself for the U-nited States." 
 
 " Well 1 " said Martin. 
 
 " Well ! as he landed there without a penny to bless himself -with, of 
 course they wos very glad to see him in the U-nited States." 
 
 " What do you mean 1 " asked Martin, with some scorn. 
 
 " What do I mean 1 " said Bill. " Why, tf/at. All men are alike in the 
 U-nited States, an't they ? It makes no odds whether a man has a 
 thousand pounds, 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 Avivid in consequence 
 of being so exactly unlike it in every respect. I don't understand wot 
 particular business Ned turned his mind to, when he got there ; but he 
 wrote home that him and his friends was always a singing, Ale Co- 
 lumbia, and blowing up the President, so I suppose it was something in the 
 public line, or free-and-easy way, again. Any how, he made his fortune." 
 
 " No ! " cried 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 v>^as 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. 
 
 " There you're right," said Bill, " especially as it was all in paper, and 
 he might have took care of it so very easy, by folding it up in a small 
 parcel." 
 
 Martin said nothing in reply, but soon 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, con- 
 nected with the coachino; on that line of road — that it was midnio-ht 
 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 
 
166 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 handkerchief upon liis honest friend, notwithstanding the many protesta- 
 tions that he didn't wish to deprive him of it, with which he tried to 
 give the lie to his longing looks. That done, they parted company ; 
 and when the van 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 recol- 
 lection of Mr. PecksniiF 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 ; and arriving there in the middle of 
 the night, and not knowing where to find a tavern open, was fain to 
 stroll about the streets and market-places until morning. 
 
 He found himself, about an hour before dawn, in the humbler regions 
 of the Adelphi ; and addressing himself to a man in a fur-cap who was 
 taking down the shutters of an obscure public-house, informed him that 
 he was a stranger, and inquired if he could have a bed there. It hap- 
 pened, 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 pawn- 
 broker ; and 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 
 without a breakfast. 
 
 He passed more Golden Balls than all the jugglers in Europe have 
 juggled with, in the course of their united performances, 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," w^ere repeated in a ghastly transparency, 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. 
 
 "You 're always full of your chaff," said the shopman, rolling up the 
 article (which looked like a shirt) quite as a matter of course, and nibbing 
 his pen upon the counter. 
 
 " I 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 I" 
 
^a/^/n^^/p-iee^ 6i^i (7/^^a^.<^//^z//ceia'/r/^^./;r)//^i^ a^^7^/^//i/f^a/ 're/i2-^€>n . 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 167 
 
 "It'll never be the last time till it's quite worn out," rejoined the 
 shopman. " It 's grown yellow in the service, as it is." 
 
 " 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?" 
 
 " I'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 establish- 
 ment from thirty-eight. May fair, to number fifteen-hundred-and-forty- 
 two. Park-lane." 
 
 " Come, I'm not going to put down that, you know," said the shop- 
 man, with a grin. 
 
 " You may put down what you please, my friend," quoth Mr. Tigg. 
 ^' The fact is still the same. The apartments for the under-butler and 
 the fifth footman being of a most confounded low and vulgar kind at 
 thirty-eight, Mayfair, I have been compelled, in my regard for the 
 feelings which do them so much honour, to take on lease, for seven, 
 fourteen, or twenty-one years, 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 immediately, by the gaslight, recognised Martin. 
 
 " I wish I may die," said Mr. Tigg, stretching out his body so far that 
 his head was as much in Martin's little cell as Martin's own head was, 
 " but this is one of the most tremendous meetings in Ancient or Modern 
 History ! How are you ? What is the news from the agricultural dis- 
 tricts ? How are our friends the P.'s ? Ha, ha ! David, pay particular 
 -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 excessive sympathy. 
 "David, you will have the goodness to do your very utmost for my 
 friend, who wants money sorely. You will deal with my friend as if he 
 were myself. A gold hunting-watch, David, engine-turned, capped and 
 jewelled in four holes, escape movement, horizontal lever, and warranted 
 to perform correctly, upon my personal reputation, who have observed 
 it narrowly for many years, under the most trying circumstances — " 
 here he winked at Martin, that he might understand this recommenda- 
 tion would have an immense eifect upon the shopman : " what do you 
 say, David, to my friend ? Be very particular to deserve my custom 
 and recommendation, Davidf 
 
 " I can lend you three pound on this, if you like," said the shopman 
 to Martin, confidentially. " It 's very old-fashioned. I couldn't say more." 
 
168 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " And devilisli handsome, too," cried Mr. Tigg. " Two-twelve-six for 
 tlie watch, and seven-and-§ix 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, signified his acquiescence by 
 a nod of his head, and presently came out with the cash in his pocket. 
 He was joined in the entry by Mr, Tigg, who warmly congratulated him, 
 as he took his arm and accompanied him into the street, on the success- 
 ful issue of the negociation. 
 
 " As for my part in the same," said Mr. Tigg, " don't mention it. 
 Don't compliment me, for I can't bear it !" 
 
 " I have no such intention, I assure you," 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 : 
 
 " I need scarcely tell you, after what you have just seen, that I have 
 nothing to bestow upon your friend, Mr. Slyme. And it is quite as 
 unnecessary for me to tell you that I don't desire the honour of your 
 company." 
 
 " Stop !" cried Mr. Tigg, holding out his hand. " Hold ! There is 
 a most remarkably long-headed, flowing-bearded, and patriarchal 
 proverb, which observes that it is the duty of a man to be just before he 
 is generous. Be just now, and you can be generous presently. Do not 
 confuse me with the man 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 I expect a trifle 
 (which I shall bestow in Charity) as commission upon tlie pecuniary 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 169 
 
 advance, in whicli 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 Earl or Marquis 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 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 separation between himself and Slyme, that 
 would at least prevent his circumstances (so Martin argued) from being 
 known to any member of his family, the bare possibility of which filled 
 him with shame and wounded pride. Abstractedly, there was greater 
 reason, perhaps, for supposing any declaration of Mr. Tigg's to be false, 
 than for attaching the least credence to it ; but 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 probability : at all events, Martin hoped so ; 
 and that went a long way. 
 
 His first step, now that he had a supply of ready money for his 
 present necessities, was, to retain his bed at the public-house until 
 further notice, and to write a formal note to Tom Pinch (for he knew 
 Pecksniff would see it) requesting to have his clothes forwarded to 
 London by coach, with a direction to be left at the office until called 
 for. These measures taken, he passed the interval before the box 
 arrived — three days — in making inquiries relative to American vessels, 
 at the offices of various shipping-agents in the city ; and in lingering 
 about the docks and wharves, with the faint hope of stumbling upon 
 some engagement for the voyage, as clerk or supercargo, or custodian 
 of something or somebody, which would enable him to procure a free 
 passage. But finding soon that no such means of employment w^ere likely 
 to present themselves, and dreading the consequences 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 narrowest 
 limits consistent wdth 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 lost his delicacy and 
 self-respect, and gradually came to do that as a matter of course, with- 
 out the least compunction, which but a few short days before had galled 
 
170 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 him to tlie 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 hack 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, slip- 
 shod 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 miser- 
 able indifference, fifty times a day. At first, he came out from his 
 lodging with an uneasy sense of being observed — even by those chance 
 passers-by, on whom he had never looked before, and hundreds to one 
 would never see again — 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 sunning 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 grain of dust in Grod's 
 highway, so smooth below your carriage-wheels, so rough beneath the 
 tread of naked feet, — bethink yourselves in looking on the swift descent 
 of men who have lived in their own esteem, that there are scores of 
 thousands breathing now, and breathing thick with painful toil, who 
 in that high respect have never lived at all, or 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 M^as 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 neglect, and say 
 can any hopeful plant spring up in air so foul that it extinguishes the 
 soul's bright torch as fast as it is kindled ! And, oh ! ye Pharisees of 
 the nineteen hundredth year of Christian Knowledge, who soundingly 
 appeal to human nature, see that it be human first. Take heed it has 
 not been transformed, during your slumber and the sleep of generations, 
 into the nature of the Beasts ! 
 
 rive 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 unsuccessfully. He was years and years too old for a 
 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, 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 171 
 
 totally without money, lie had not enough left now for a steerage 
 passage and the poorest provisions 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 cer- 
 tainty 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 circumstances, 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 of meeting with 
 him. But, although he failed in this ; and although he would not have 
 scrupled to borrow money of him ; and although he believed that John 
 would have lent it ; yet still he could not bring his mind to write to 
 Pinch and inquire where he was to be found. For although, as we 
 have seen, he was fond of Tom after his own fashion, he could not 
 endure the thought (feeling so superior to Tom) of making him the 
 stepping-stone to his fortune, or being anything to him but a patron ; 
 and his pride so revolted from the idea, that it restrained him, 
 even now. 
 
 It might have yielded, however ; and no doubt must have yielded 
 soon, but for a very strange and unlooked-for occurrence. 
 
 The five weeks had quite run out, and he was in a truly desperate 
 plight, when one evening, having just returned to his lodging, and being 
 in the act of lighting his candle at the gas jet in the bar before stalking 
 moodily up stairs to his own room, his landlord called him by his name. 
 Now, as he had never told it to the man, but had scrupulously kept it 
 to himself, he was not a little startled by this ; and so plainly showed 
 his agitation, that the landlord, to reassure him, said " it was only a 
 letter." 
 
 " A letter !" cried Martin. 
 
 " For Mr. Martin Chuzzlewit," said the landlord, reading the super- 
 scription of one he held in his hand. *'Noon. Chief Office. Paid." 
 
 Martin took it from him, thanked him, and walked up stairs. It was 
 not sealed, but pasted close ; the handwriting was quite unknown to 
 him. He opened it, and found enclosed, without any name, address, or 
 other inscription or 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 
 
172 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 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 attri- 
 butable to two causes : firstly, to the flue being naturally vicious and a 
 smoker ; and secondly, to their having forgotten, in lighting the fire, an 
 odd sack or two and some other trifles, which had been put up the 
 chimney to keep the rain out. They had already remedied this over- 
 sight, however ; and propped up the window-sash with a bundle of fire- 
 wood to keep it open ; so that, except in being rather inflammatory 
 to the eyes and choking to the lungs, the apartment was quite com- 
 fortable. 
 
 Martin was in no vein to quarrel with it, if it had been in less tolerable 
 order, especially when a gleaming pint of porter was set upon the table, 
 and the servant-girl withdrew, bearing with her particular instructions 
 relative to the production of something hot, when he should ring the 
 bell. The cold meat being wrapped in a play-bill, Martin laid the cloth 
 by spreading that document on the little round table with the print 
 downwards ; and arranging the collation upon it. The foot of the bed, 
 which was very close to the fire, answered for a sideboard ; and when he 
 had completed these preparations, he squeezed an old arm-chair into the 
 warmest corner, and sat down to enjoy himself 
 
 He had begun to eat with a great appetite, glancing round the room 
 meanwhile with a triumphant anticipation of quitting it for ever on the 
 morrow, when his attention was arrested by a stealthy footstep on the 
 stairs, and presently by a knock at his chamber door, which although it 
 was a gentle knock enough, communicated such a start to the bundle of 
 firewood that it instantly leaped out of window, and plunged into the 
 street. 
 
 " More coals, I suppose," said Martin. " Come in ! " 
 
 " It an't a liberty, sir, though it seems so," rejoined a man's voice. 
 " Your servant, sir. Hope you 're pretty well, sir." 
 
 Martin stared at the face that was bowing in the doorway : perfectly 
 remembering the features and expression, but quite forgetting to whom 
 they belonged. 
 
 " Tapley, sir," said his visitor. " Him as 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 V asked Martin. 
 
 " Why, sir," said Mark, " I 've passed you once or twice in the street 
 if I 'm not mistaken ; and when I was a looking in at the beef-and-ham 
 shop just now, along with a hungry sweep, as was very much calculated 
 to make a man jolly, sir — I see you a buying that." 
 
 Martin reddened as he pointed to the table, and said, somewhat 
 hastily : 
 
 "Well! what then?" 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 173 
 
 " 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 a'nt," said Mark. " That was what you may call a pious 
 fraud, sir, that was." 
 
 Martin cast an angry look at him : but there was something 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, " I '11 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." 
 
 "If you don't sit down," retorted Martin, "I'll 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." 
 
 " If you don't take it now, you '11 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 having 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. 
 
 " I want a place," said Mark. 
 
 " I am sorry for you," said Martin. 
 
 " — To attend upon a single gentleman," resumed Mark. " If from 
 the country, the more desirable. Make-shifts would be preferred. 
 Wages no object." 
 
 He said this so pointedly, that Martin stopped in his eating, and said : 
 
 " If 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 imme- 
 diately." 
 
 " Well, sir," returned Mark, quite unmoved by this intelligence, 
 " from all that ever I heard about it, I should say America 's a very 
 likely sort of 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 ! I 've had 
 my eye upon you any time this fortnight. I see well enough that 
 there 's a screw loose in your affairs. I know'd well enough the first 
 
174 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 time I see you dowTi 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 liking 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 1 " 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 1 for go I will, somehow or another. Now that you've said America, 
 I see clear at once, that that's the place for me to be jolly in. There- 
 fore, if I don't pay my own passage in the ship you go in, sir, I'll pay 
 my own passage in another. And mark my words, if I go alone it shall 
 be, to carry out the principle, in the rottenest, craziest, leakingest 
 tub of a wessel that a place can be got in for love 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 knocks at it, too, or never trust me ! " 
 
 " This is mere folly," said Martin. 
 
 " Very good, sir," returned Mark. " I'm glad to hear it, because if 
 you don't mean to let me go, you'll be more comfortable, 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 beast- 
 liest, old cockleshell as goes out of port, I'm " 
 
 " You don't mean what you say, I'm sure 1" 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 vray there as a gimblet 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. " Everybody 
 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 residences there, and moving further off; and it's clear 
 they must have houses to live in.", 
 
 " I should say, sir," observed Mark, " that that's a state of things as 
 opens one of the j oiliest look-outs for domestic architecture that ever I 
 heerd tell on." 
 
 Martin glanced at him hastily, not feeling quite free from a suspicion 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 175 
 
 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, 
 
 " Now tell me the truth. Do you know anything about that 1 " 
 
 Mark turned it over and over ; held it near his eyes ; held it away 
 from him at arm's length ; held it with the superscription upwards, and 
 with the superscription downwards ; and shook his head with such a 
 genuine expression of 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, indeed, your 
 knowing about it would not be more extraordinary than its being here. 
 Come, Tapley," he added, after a moment's thought, " I'll 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." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir," said Mark ; " but afore you enter upon it, 
 will you take me if I choose to go 1 Will you turn ofi" me — Mark 
 Tapley — formerly of the Blue Dragon, as can be well recommended by 
 Mr. Pinch, and as wants a gentleman of your strength of mii\d 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 1 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 consider 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 con- 
 descension which was inexpressibly delicious to him, after his recent 
 humiliation : 
 
 " We'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 ; and with that view 
 made as light of his love affair as he could, and referred to it in very 
 few words. But here h^ reckoned without his host ; for Mark's interest 
 was keenest in this part of the business, and prompted him to ask sundry 
 questions in relation to it ; for which he apologised as one in some 
 measure privileged to do so, from having seen (as Martin explained to 
 him) the young lady at the Blue Dragon. 
 
176 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " 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. " I don't mean to say she was 
 any the happier, without you ; but I thought she M'as 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 amazement, from 
 the bedstead. 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me she 's in London now 1 " 
 
 " Most likely, sir. I mean to say she was, a week ago." 
 
 " And you know where ?" 
 
 " Yes !" cried Mark. " What ! Don't you ?" 
 
 " My good fellow !" exclaimed Martin, clutching him by both arms, 
 " I have never seen her since I left my grandfather's house." 
 
 "Why then 1" 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- 
 yard in the city, getting myself into a jolly state, didn't I see your 
 grandfather a toddling to and fro for pretty nigh a mortal hour ! Didn't 
 I watch him into Codgers's commercial boarding-house, and watch him 
 out, and watch him home to his hotel, and go and tell him as his was the 
 service for my money, and I had said so, afore I left the Dragon ! 
 Wasn't the young lady a sitting with him then, and didn't she fall a 
 laughing in a manner as was beautiful to see ! Didn't your grandfather 
 say, ' Come back again next week ; ' and didn't I go next week ; and 
 didn't he say that he couldn't make up his mind to trust nobody no 
 more, and therefore wouldn't engage me ; but at the same time stood 
 something to drink as was handsome ! Why," cried Mr. Tapley, with 
 a comical mixture of delight and chagrin, " where 's the credit of a 
 man's being jolly under such circumstances ! who could help it, when 
 things come about like this !" 
 
 For some moments, Martin stood gazing at him, as if he really 
 doubted the evidence of his senses, and co^d 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 I can !" cried Mark. " T/iink I can ! Here, sit down, 
 sir. Write it out, sir 1" 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 177 
 
 With tliat 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. " Make it strong, sir. Let it be wery 
 pointed, sir. Do I think so '? / 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 fireplace and arrange the room : 
 talking to himself 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. A lively old bedstead, I'll be bound ; popilated by lots of wam- 
 pires, no doubt. Come ! my spirits is a getting up again. An un- 
 common ragged nightcap this. A very good sign. We shall do yet ! 
 Here Jane, my dear," calling down the stairs, " bring up that there 
 hot tumbler for my master, as was a mixing when I come in. That's 
 right, sir," to Martin. " Go at it as if you meant it, sir. Be very tender, 
 sir, if you please. You can't make it too strong, sir !" 
 
 CHAPTEH XIY. 
 
 IN WHICH MAllTIN BIDS ADIEU TO THE LADY OF HIS LOVE ; AND HONOSS 
 AN OBSCURE INDIVIDUAL WHOSE FORTUNE HE INTENDS TO 3IAKE, EY 
 COMMENDING HER TO IIIS PROTECTION. 
 
 The letter being duly signed, sealed, and delivered, was handed to 
 Mark Tapley, for immediate conveyance if possible. And he succeeded 
 so well in his embassy as to be enabled to return that same night, just 
 as the house was closing : with the welcome intelligence that he had 
 sent it up stairs to the young lady, enclosed in a small manuscript of 
 his own, purporting to contain his further petition to be engaged in Mr. 
 Chuzzlewit's service ; and that she had herself come down and told him, 
 in great haste and agitation, that she would meet the gentleman at 
 eight o'clock to-morrow morning in St. James's Park. It was then 
 agreed between the new master and the new man, that Mark should be 
 in waiting near the hotel in good time, to escort the young lady to the 
 place of appointment ; and when they had parted for the night with 
 this understanding, Martin took up his pen again ; and before he went 
 to bed wrote another letter, whereof more will be seen presently. ^ 
 
 He was up before day -break, and came upon the Park with the 
 morning, which was clad in the least engaging of the three hundred and 
 sixty-five dresses in the wardrobe of the year. It was raw, damp, 
 dark, and dismal ; the clouds were as muddy as the ground j and the 
 
178 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 short perspective of every street and avenue, was closed up by the mist 
 as by a filthy curtain. 
 
 " Fine weather indeed," Martin bitterly soliloquized, " to be wan- 
 dering up and down here in, like a thief ! Fine weather indeed, for a 
 meeting of lovers in the open air, and in a public walk ! I need be 
 departing, with all speed, for another country ; for I have come to a 
 pretty pass in this 1 " 
 
 He might perhaps have gone on to reflect that of all mornings in 
 the year, it was not the best calculated for a young lady's coming forth 
 on such an errand, either. But he was stopped on the road to this re- 
 flection, if his thoughts tended that way, by her appearance at a short 
 distance, on which he hurried forward to meet her. Her squire, Mr. 
 Tapley, at the same time fell discreetly back, and surveyed the fog 
 above him with an appearance of attentive interest. 
 
 " My dear Martin !" said Mary. 
 
 " My dear Mary," said Martin ; and lovers are such a singular kind 
 of people that this is all they did say just then, though Martin took her 
 arm, and her hand too, and they paced up and down a short walk that 
 was least exposed to observation, half-a-dozen times. 
 
 *' If you have changed at all, my love, since we parted," said Martin 
 at length, as he looked upon her with a proud delight, " it is only to be 
 more beautiful than ever 1" 
 
 Had she been of the common metal of love-worn young ladies, she 
 would have denied this in her most interesting manner ; and would 
 have told him that she knew she had become a perfect fright ; or that 
 she had wasted away with weeping and anxiety ; or that she was 
 ■dwindling gently into an early grave; or that her mental sufferings 
 were unspeakable ; or would either by tears or words, or a mixture of 
 both, have furnished him with some other information to that effect, 
 and made him as miserable as possible. But she had been reared up in 
 a sterner school than the minds of most young girls are formed in ; she 
 had had her nature strengthened by the hands of hard endurance and 
 necessity; had come out from her young trials constant, self-denying, 
 earnest, and devoted ; had acquired in her maidenhood — whether hap- 
 pily in the end, for herself or him, is foreign to our present purpose to 
 inquire — something of that nobler quality of gentle hearts which is 
 developed often by the sorrows and struggles of matronly years, but 
 often by their lessons only. Unspoiled, unpampered in her joys or 
 griefs ; with frank, and full, and deep affection for the object of her 
 early love ; she saw in him one who for her sake was an outcast from his 
 home and fortune, and she had no more idea of bestowing that love 
 upon him in other than cheerful and sustaining words, full of high hope 
 and grateful trustfulness, than she had of being unworthy of it, in 
 her lightest thought or deed, for any base temptation that the world 
 could offer. 
 
 " What change is there in you, Martin," she replied ; " for that 
 concerns me nearest 1 You look more anxious and more thoughtful 
 than you used." 
 
 " Why as to that, my love," said Martin, as he drew her waist within 
 
/ .y 
 
 9- /cW.y-^- )/ . 
 
MARTIN CHFZZLEWIT. l79 
 
 liis arm, first looking round to see that there were no observers near, and 
 beholding Mr. Taplej more intent than ever on the fog ; " it would be 
 strange if I did not ; for my life — especially of late — has been a hard one.'* 
 
 " I know it must have been," she answered. " When have I forgotten 
 'to think of it and you ?" 
 
 " Not often, I hope," said Martin. " Not often, I am sure. Not 
 ■often, I have some right to expect, Mary ; for I have undergone a great 
 deal of vexation and privation, and I naturally look for that return, 
 you know." 
 
 " A very, very poor return," she answered with a fainter smile. " But 
 you have it, and will have it always. You have paid a dear price for a 
 poor heart, Martin ; but it is at least your own, and a true one." 
 
 " Of course I feel quite certain of that," said Martin, '• or I shouldn't 
 have put myself in my present position. And don't say a poor heart, 
 Mary, for I say a rich one. Now, I am about to break a design to you, 
 -dearest, which will startle you at first, but which is undertaken for your 
 sake. I am going," he added slowly, looking far into the deep wonder 
 of her bright dark eyes, " abroad." 
 
 "Abroad, Martin!" 
 
 " Only to America. See now — how you droop directly !" 
 
 " If I do, or, I hope I may say, if I did," she answered, raising her 
 liead after a short silence, and looking once more into his face, " it was 
 for grief to think of what you are resolved to undergo for me. I would 
 not venture to dissuade you, Martin ; but it is a long, long distance ; 
 there is a wide ocean to be crossed ; illness and want are sad calamities 
 in any place, but in a foreign country dreadful to endure. Have you 
 thought of all this r' 
 
 " Thought of it 1" cried Martin, abating, in his fondness — and he was 
 very fond of her — hardly an iota of his usual impetuosity. " What am 
 I to do 1 It 's very well to say. Have I thought of it % my love ; but 
 you should ask me in the same breath, have I thought of starving at 
 home ; have I thought of doing porter s work for a living ; have I 
 thought of holding horses in the streets to earn my roll of bread from 
 day to day ? Come, come," he added, in a gentler tone, " do not hang- 
 down your head, my dear, for I need the encouragement that your sweet 
 face alone can give me. Why, that 's well ! Now you are brave again." 
 
 " I am endeavouring to be," she answered, smiling through her tears. 
 
 " Endeavouring to be anything that 's good, and being it, is, with you, 
 all one. Don't I know that of old?" cried Martin, gaily. "So! 
 That 's famous ! Now I can tell you all my plans as cheerfully as if you 
 were my little wife already, Mary." 
 
 She hung more closely on his arm, and looking upward in his face, 
 b)ade him speak on. 
 
 " You see," said ^lartin, playing with the little hand upon his wrist, 
 *' that my attempts to advance myself at home have been bafiled and 
 rendered abortive. I will not say by whom, Mary, for that would give 
 pain to us both. But so it is. Have you heard him speak of late of 
 any relative of mine or his, called Pecksniff ? Only tell me what I ask 
 you, no more." 
 
 n2 
 
180 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " I have heard, to my surprise, that he is a better man than was 
 supposed." 
 
 " I thought so," interrupted Martin. 
 
 " And that it is likely we may come to know him, if not to visit and 
 reside with him and — I think — his daughters. He has daughters, has 
 he, love?" 
 
 " A pair of them," Martin answered. " A precious pair ! Gems of 
 the first water ! " 
 
 " Ah ! You are jesting !" 
 
 " There is a sort of jesting which is very much in earnest, and includes 
 some pretty serious disgust," said Martin. " I jest in reference to Mr. 
 Pecksniff (at whose house I have been living as his assistant, and at 
 whose hands I have received insult and injury), in that vein. Whatever 
 betides, or however closely you may be brought into communication with 
 his family, never forget that, Mary ; and never for an instant, whatever 
 appearances may seem to contradict me, lose sight of this assurance — 
 Pecksniff is a scoundrel." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 " In thought, and in deed, and in everything else. A scoundrel from 
 the topmost hair of his head, to the nethermost atom of his heel. Of 
 his daughters I will only say that, to the best of my knowledge and 
 belief, they are dutiful young ladies, and take after their father, closely. 
 This is a digression from the main point, and yet it brings me to what 
 I was going to say." 
 
 He stopped to look into her eyes again, and seeing, in a hasty glance 
 over his shoulder, that there was no one near, and that Mark was still 
 intent upon the fog, not only looked at her lips too, but kissed them into 
 the bargain. 
 
 " Now, I am going to America, with great prospects of doing well, and 
 of returning home myself very soon ; it may be to take you there for a 
 few years, but, at all events, to claim you for my wife ; which, after 
 such trials, I should do with no fear of your still thinking it a duty to 
 cleave to him who will not suffer me to live (for this is true), if he can 
 help it, in my own land. How long I may be absent is, of course, 
 uncertain ; but it shall not be very long. Trust me for that." 
 
 " In the meantime, dear Martin " 
 
 " That 's the very thing I am coming to. In the meantime you shall 
 hear, constantly, of all my goings-on. Thus." 
 
 He paused to take from his pocket the letter he had written over- 
 night, and then resumed : 
 
 " In this fellow's employment, and living in this fellow's house, (by 
 fellow, I mean Mr. Pecksniff, of course), there is a certain person of the 
 name of Pinch — don't forget it ; a poor, strange, simple oddity, Mary ; 
 but thoroughly honest and sincere ; full of zeal ; and with a cordial 
 regard for me ; which I mean to return one of these days, by setting 
 him up in life in some way or other." 
 
 " Your old kind nature, Martin 1" 
 
 " Oh !" said Martin, " that 's not worth speaking of, my love.,, He 's 
 very grateful and desirous to serve me ; and I am more than repaid. Now 
 
■^•' MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 181 
 
 one night I told this Pinch my history, and all about myself and you ; 
 in which he was not a little interested, I can tell you, for he knows you ! 
 Aye, you may look surprised — and the longer the better, for it becomes 
 you — but you have heard him play the organ in the church of that 
 village before now ; and he has seen you listening to his music ; and has 
 caught his inspiration from you, too !" 
 
 " Was he the organist 1 " cried Mary. " I thank him from my heart." 
 
 " Yes he was," said Martin, " and is, and gets nothing for it either. 
 There never was such a simple fellow ! Quite an infant ! But a very 
 good sort of creaiure, I assure you." 
 
 " I am sure of that," she said, with great earnestness. " He must 
 be!" 
 
 " Oh, yes, no doubt at all about it," rejoined Martin, in his usual care- 
 less way. " He is. Well ! It has occurred to me — but stay, if I read 
 you what I have written and intend sending to him by post to-night, 
 it will explain itself ' My dear Tom Pinch.' That 's rather familiar, 
 perhaps," said Martin, suddenly remembering that he was proud when 
 they had last met, "but I call him my dear Tom Pinch, because he likes 
 it, and it pleases him." 
 
 " Very right, and very kind," said Mary. 
 
 "Exactly so!" cried Martin. " It 's as well to be kind whenever one 
 can ; and, as I said before, he really is an excellent fellow. ' My dear 
 Tom Pinch, — I address this under cover to Mrs. Lupin, at the Blue 
 Dragon, and have begged her in a short note to deliver it to you 
 without saying anything about it elsewhere ; and to do the same with 
 all future letters she may receive from me. My reason for so doing 
 will be at once apparent to you.' I don't know that it will be, by 
 the bye," said Martin, breaking oiF, " for he 's slow of comprehension, 
 poor fellow ; but he '11 find it out in time. My reason simply is, that 
 I don't want my letters to be read by other people ; and particularly 
 by the scoundrel whom he thinks an angel." 
 
 " Mr. Pecksniff again V asked Mary. 
 
 " The same," said Martin : " ' — will be at once apparent to you. I 
 have completed my arrangements for going to America ; and you will 
 be surprised to hear that I am to be accompanied by Mark Tapley, 
 upon whom I have stumbled strangely in London, and who insists 
 on putting himself under my protection' — meaning, my love," said 
 Martin, breaking off again, " our friend in the rear, of course." 
 
 She was delighted to hear this, and bestowed a kind glance upon 
 Mark, which he brought his eyes down from the fog to encounter, and 
 received with immense satisfaction. She said in his hearing, too, that 
 he was a good soul and a merry creature, and would be faithful, she 
 was certain ; commendations which Mr. Tapley inwardly resolved to 
 deserve, from such lips, if he died for it, 
 
 " ' Now, my dear Pinch,'" resumed Martin, proceeding with his letter ; 
 " ' I am going to repose great trust in you, knowing that I may do so 
 with perfect reliance on your honour and secrecy, and having nobody 
 else just now to trust in.' " 
 
 " I don't think I would say that, Martin." 
 
182 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 "Wouldn't you? Well! I'll take that out. It's perfectly true, 
 though." 
 
 " But it might seem ungracious, perhaps." 
 
 " Oh, I don't mind Pinch," said Martin. " There's no occasion to 
 stand on any ceremony with Mm. However, I '11 take it out, as you 
 wish it, and make the full stop '■ at secrecy.' Very well ! * I shall not 
 only ' — this is the letter again, you know." 
 
 " I understand." 
 
 " * I shall not only inclose my letters to the young lady of whom I 
 have told you, to your charge, to be forwarded as she may request ;. 
 but I most earnestly commit her, the young lady herself, to your 
 care and regard, in the event of your meeting in my absence. I 
 have reason to think that the probabilities of your encountering eacli 
 other — perhaps very frequently — are now neither remote nor few ; and 
 although in your position you can do very little to lessen the uneasiness 
 of hers, I trust to you implicitly to do that much, and so deserve the 
 confidence I have reposed in you.' You see, my dear Mary," said 
 Martin, " it will be a great consolation to you to have anybody, no 
 matter how simple, with whom you can speak about me ; and the very 
 first time you talk to Pinch, you '11 feel at once, that there is no more 
 occasion for any embarrassment or hesitation in talking to him, than if 
 he were an old woman." 
 
 " However that may be," she returned, smiling, " he is your friend,, 
 and that is enough." 
 
 " Oh, yes, he 's my friend," said Martin, " certainly. In fact, I have- 
 told him in so many words that we'll always take notice of him, 
 and protect him : and it 's a good trait in his character that he 's 
 grateful — ^very grateful indeed. You '11 like him of all things, my love, 
 I know. You'll observe very much that's comical and old-fashioned 
 about Pinch, but you needn't mind laughing at him j for he '11 not 
 care about it. He'll rather like it, indeed ! " 
 
 " I don't think I shall put that to the test, Martin." 
 
 "You won't if you can help it, of course," he said, " but I think 
 you'll find him a little too much for your gravity. However that's 
 neither here nor there, and it certainly is not the letter ; which ends 
 thus : '■ Knowing that I need not impress the nature and extent of 
 that confidence upon you at any greater length, as it is already suffi- 
 ciently established in your mind, I will only say in bidding you fare- 
 well, and looking forward to our next meeting, that I shall charge 
 myself from this time, through all changes for the better, with your 
 advancement and happiness, as if they were my own. You may rely 
 upon that. And always believe me, my dear Tom Pinch, faithfully your 
 friend, Martin Chuzzlewit. P.S. I enclose the amount which you so. 
 kindly' — Oh," said Martin, checking himself, and folding up the letter, 
 ^'that's nothing!" 
 
 At this crisis Mark Tapley interposed, with an apology for remarking 
 that the clock at the Horse Guards was striking. 
 
 " Which I shouldn't have said nothing about, sir," added Mark, " i£' 
 the young lady hadn't begged me to be particular in mentioning it." ; 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 183 
 
 ' " I did," said Marj. " Thank you. You are quite right. In another 
 minute I shall be ready to return. We have time for a very few words 
 more, dear Martin, and although I had much to say, it must remain 
 unsaid until the happy time of our next meeting. Heaven send it may 
 come speedily and prosperously ! But I have no fear of that." 
 
 " Fear ! " cried Martin. " Why, who has 1 What are a few months 1 
 What is a whole year ? When I come gaily back, with a road through 
 life hewn out before me, then indeed, looking back upon this parting, 
 it may seem a dismal one. But now ! I swear I wouldn't have it hap- 
 pen under more favourable auspices, if I could : for then I should be 
 less inclined to go, and less impressed with the necessity." 
 
 " Yes, yes. I feel that too. When do you go V 
 
 " To-night. We leave for Liverpool to-night. A vessel sails from 
 that port, as I hear, in three days. In a month, or less, we shall be 
 there. Why, what's a month ! How many months have flown by 
 since our last parting !" 
 
 "Long to look back upon," said Mary, echoing his cheerful tone, 
 '^but nothing in their course !" 
 
 "Nothing at all ! " cried Martin. " I shall have change of scene and 
 change of place ; change of people, change of manners, change of cares 
 and hopes ! Time will wear wings indeed ! I can bear anything, so 
 that I have swift action, Mary." 
 
 Was he thinking solely of her care for him, when he took so little 
 heed of her share in the separation ; of her quiet monotonous endur- 
 ance, and her slow anxiety from day to day 1 Was there nothing jar- 
 ring and discordant even in his tone of courage, with this one note self 
 for ever audible, however high the strain? Not in her ears. It had 
 been better otherwise, perhaps, but so it was. She heard the same bold 
 spirit which had flung away as dross all gain and profit for her sake, 
 making light of peril and privation that she might be calm and happy ; 
 and she heard no more. That heart where self has found no place and 
 raised no throne, is slow to recognise its ugly presence when it looks 
 upon it. As one possessed of an evil spirit was held in old time to be 
 alone conscious of the lurking demon in the breasts of other men, so 
 kindred vices know each other in their hiding-places every day, when 
 Virtue is incredulous and blind. 
 
 " The quarter's gone !" cried Mr. Tapley, in a voice of admonition. 
 
 " I shall be ready to return immediately," she said. " One thing, 
 dear Martin, I am bound to tell you. You intreated me a few minutes 
 since only to answer what you asked me in reference to one theme, but 
 you should and must know — otherwise I could not be at ease — that 
 since that separation of which I was the unhappy occasion, he has never 
 once uttered your name ; has never coupled it, or any faint allusion to 
 it, with passion or reproach ; and has never abated in his kindness 
 to me." 
 
 " I thank him for that last act," said Martin, " and for nothing else. 
 Though on consideration I may thank him for his other forbearance also, 
 inasmuch as I neither expect nor desire that he will mention my name 
 again. He may once, perhaps — to couple it with reproach — in his will. 
 
184 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Let him, if lie please ! By the time ifc reaches me, he will be in his 
 grave : a satire on his own anger, God help him 1" 
 
 " Martin ! If you would but sometimes, in some quiet hour ; beside 
 the winter fire ; in the summer air ; when you hear gentle music, or 
 think of Death, or Home, or Childhood ; if you would at such a season 
 resolve to think, but once a month, or even once a year, of him, or any 
 one who ever wronged you, you would forgive him in your heart, I know !" 
 
 " If I believed that to be true, Mary," he replied, " I would resolve at 
 no such time to bear him in my mind : wishing to spare myself the 
 shame of such a weakness. I was not born to be the toy and puppet of 
 any man, far less his ; to whose pleasure and caprice, in return for any 
 good he did me, my whole youth was sacrificed. It became between 
 us two a fair exchange — a barter — and no more : and there is no such 
 balance against me that I need throw in a mawkish forgiveness to poise 
 the scale. He has forbidden all mention of me to you, I know," he 
 added hastily. " Come ! Has he not?" 
 
 " That was long ago," she returned ; " immediately after your parting ; 
 before you had left the house. He has never done so since." 
 
 " He has never done so since, because he has seen no occasion," said 
 Martin ; " but that is of little consequence, one way or other. Let all 
 allusion to him between you and me be interdicted from this time forth. 
 And therefore, love — " he drew her quickly to him, for the time of 
 parting had now come — " in the first letter that you write to me through 
 the Post-ofiice, addressed to New York ; and in all the others that you 
 send through Pinch ; remember he has no existence, but has become to 
 us as one who is dead. Now, God bless you ! This is a strange place 
 for such a meeting and such a parting ; but our next meeting shall be in 
 a better, and our next and last parting in a worse." 
 
 " One other question, Martin, I must ask. Have you provided money 
 for this journey T' 
 
 " Have I ?" cried Martin ; it might have been in his pride ; it might 
 have been in his desire to set her mind at ease : " Have I provided 
 money 1 Why, there's a question for an emigrant's wife ! How could 
 I move on land or sea without it, love ?" 
 
 "I mean, enough." 
 
 " Enough ! More than enough. Twenty times more than enough. 
 A pocket-full. Mark and I, for all essential ends, are quite as rich 
 as if we had the purse of Fortunatus in our baggage." 
 
 "The half-hour's a going !" cried Mr. Tapley. 
 
 " Good bye a hundred times !" cried Mary, in a trembling voice. 
 
 But how cold the comfort in Good bye ! Mark Tapley knew it per- 
 fectly. Perhaps he knew it from his reading, perhaps from his ex- 
 perience, perhaps from intuition. It is impossible to say ; but however 
 he knew it, his knowledge instinctively suggested to him the wisest 
 course of proceeding that any man could have adopted under the cir- 
 cumstances. He was taken with a violent fit of sneezing, and was obliged 
 to turn his head another way. In doing which, he, in a manner, 
 fenced and sci^eened the lovers into a comer by the:nsclves. 
 
 There was a short pause, but Mark had an undefined sensation that 
 
MARTIN CnUZZLEWIT. 185 
 
 it was a satisfactory one in its way. Then Mary, with her veil lowered, 
 passed him wdth a quick step, and beckoned him to follow. She stopped 
 once more before they lost that corner ; looked back ; and waved her 
 hand to Martin. He made a start towards them at the moment as if 
 he had some other farewell words to say ; but she only hurried off the 
 faster, and Mr. Tapley followed as in duty bound. 
 
 When he rejoined Martin again in his own chamber, he found that 
 gentleman seated moodily before the dusty grate, with his two feet on 
 the fender, his two elbows on his knees, and his chin supported, in a not 
 very ornamental manner, on the palms of his hands. 
 
 "Well, Markr' 
 
 " Well, sir," said Mark, taking a long breath, " I see the young lady 
 safe home, and I feel pretty comfortable after it. She sent a lot of kind 
 words, sir, and this," handing him a ring, " for a parting keepsake." 
 
 " Diamonds !" said Martin, kissing it — let us do him justice, it 
 was for her sake ; not for theirs — and putting it on his little finger. 
 " Splendid diamonds. My grandfather is a singular character, Mark. 
 He must have given her this, now." 
 
 Mark Tapley knew as well that she had bought it, to the end that 
 that unconscious speaker might carry some article of sterling value 
 w^th him in his necessity ; as he knew that it was day, and not night. 
 Though he had no more acquaintance of his own knowledge with the 
 history of the glittering trinket on Martin's outspread finger, than 
 Martin himself had, he was as certain that in its purchase she had ex- 
 pended her whole stock of hoarded money, as if he had seen it paid 
 down coin by coin. Her lover's strange obtuseness in relation to this 
 little incident, promptly suggested to Mark's mind its real cause and 
 root ; and from that moment he had a clear and perfect insight into 
 the one absorbing principle of Martin's character. 
 
 '• She is worthy of the sacrifices I have made," said Martin, folding 
 his arms, and looking at the ashes in the stove, as if in resumption of 
 some former thoughts. " Well worthy of them. No riches," — here he 
 stroked his chin, and mused — " could have compensated for the loss of 
 such a nature. Not to mention that in gaining her affection, I have 
 followed the bent of my own wishes, and baulked the selfish schemes of 
 others who had no right to form them. She is quite worthy — more 
 than worthy — of the sacrifices I have made. Yes, she is. No doubt 
 of it." 
 
 These ruminations might or might not have reached Mark Tapley ; 
 for though they were by no means addressed to him, yet they were 
 softly uttered. In any case, he stood there, watching Martin, with an 
 indescribable and most involved expression on his visage, until that 
 young man roused himself and looked towards him ; when he turned 
 away as being suddenly intent on certain preparations for the journey, 
 and, without giving vent to any articulate sound, smiled with surpassing 
 ghastliness, and seemed by a twist of his features and a motion of his 
 lips, to release himself of this word : 
 
 "Jolly!" 
 
186' LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE BURDEN WHEREOF, IS HAIL COLUMBIA ! 
 
 A DARK and dreary night ; people nestling in their beds or circling 
 late about the fire ; Want, colder than Charity, shivering at the street 
 corners ; church-towers humming with the faint vibration of their own 
 tongues, but newly resting from the ghostly preachment 'One!' The 
 earth covered with a sable pall as for the burial of yesterday ; the clumps 
 of dark trees, its giant plumes of funeral feathers waving sadly to and 
 fro : all hushed, all noiseless, and in deep repose, save the swift clouds 
 that skim across the moon, and the cautious wind, as, creeping after them 
 upon the ground, it stops to listen, and goes rustling on, and stops 
 again, and follows, like a savage on the trail. 
 
 Whither go the clouds and wind, so eagerly ? If like guilty spirits 
 they repair to some dread conference with powers like themselves, in 
 what wild region do the elements hold council, or where unbend in 
 terrible disport ? 
 
 Here ! Free from that cramped prison called the earth, and out upon 
 the waste of waters. Here, roaring, raging, shrieking, howling, all night 
 long. Hither come the sounding voices from the caverns on the coast 
 of that small island, sleeping a thousand miles away so quietly in the 
 midst of angry waves ; and hither, to meet them, rush the blasts from 
 unknown desert places of the world. Here in the fury of their un- 
 checked liberty, they storm and buffet with each other, until the sea, 
 lashed into passion like their own, leaps up in ravings mightier than 
 theirs, and the whole scene is whirling madness. 
 
 On, on, on, over the countless miles of angry space roll the long 
 heaving billows. Mountains and caves are here, and yet are not ; for 
 what is now the one, is now the other ; then all is but a boiling heap of 
 rushing water. Pursuit, and flight, and mad return of wave on wave, 
 and savage struggle, ending in a spouting-up of foam that whitens the 
 black night ; incessant change of place, and form, and hue ; constancy 
 in nothing, but eternal strife ; on, on, on, they roll, and darker grows 
 the night, and louder howl the winds, and more clamorous and fierce 
 become the million voices in the sea, when the wild cry goes forth upon 
 the storm " A ship ! " 
 
 Onward she comes, in gallant combat with the elements, her tall masts 
 trembling, and her timbers starting on the strain ; onward she comes, 
 now high upon the curling billows, now low down in the hollows of the 
 sea as hiding for the moment from its fury ; and every storm-voice in 
 the air and water, cries more loudly yet, " A ship ! " 
 
 Still she comes striving on : and at her boldness and the spreading 
 cry, the angry waves rise up above each other's hoary heads to look ; 
 and round about the vessel, far as the mariners on her decks can pierce 
 into the gloom, they press upon her, forcing each other down, and 
 starting up, and rushing forward from afar, in dreadful curiosity. High 
 over her they break ; and round her surge and roar ; and giving place 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 187 
 
 to others, meaningly depart, and dash themselves to fragments in their 
 baffled anger : still she comes onward bravely. And though the eager 
 multitude crowd thick and fast upon her all the night, and dawn of 
 day discovers the untiring train yet bearing down upon the ship in an 
 eternity of troubled water, onward she comes, with dim lights burning in 
 her hull, and people there, asleep : as if no deadly element were peering 
 in at every seam and chink, and no drowned seaman's grave, with but a 
 plank to cover it, were yawning in the unfathomable depths below. 
 
 Among these sleeping voyagers were Martin and Mark Tapley, who, 
 rocked into a heavy drowsiness by the unaccustomed motion, were as- 
 insensible to the foul air in which they lay, as to the uproar without. 
 It was broad day, when the latter awoke with a dim idea that he was 
 dreaming of having gone to sleep in a four-post bedstead which had 
 turned bottom upwards in the course of the night. There was more 
 reason in this too, than in the roasting of eggs ; for the first objects Mr. 
 Tapley recognised when he opened his eyes were his own heels — looking 
 down at him, as he afterwards observed, from a nearly perpendicular 
 elevation. 
 
 " Well ! " said Mark, getting himself into a sitting posture, after 
 various ineffectual straggles with the rolling of the ship. " This is the 
 first time as ever I stood on my head all night." 
 
 " You shouldn't go to sleep upon the ground with your head to lee- 
 ward, then," growled a man in one of the berths. 
 
 " With my head to where ? " asked Mark. 
 
 The man repeated his previous sentiment. 
 
 " No, I won't another time," said Mark, " when I know whereabouts 
 on the map that country is. In the meanwhile I can give you a better 
 piece of advice. Don't you nor any other friend of mine never go ta 
 sleep with his head in a ship, any more." 
 
 The man gave a grunt of discontented acquiescence, turned over in 
 his berth, and drew his blanket over his head. 
 
 " — For," said Mr. Tapley, pursuing the theme by way of soliloquy, in 
 a low tone of voice ; " the sea is as nonsensical a thing as anything 
 going. It never knows what to do with itself. It hasn't got no em- 
 ployment for its mind, and is always in a state of vacancy. Like them 
 Polar bears in the wild-beast-shows as is constantly a nodding their 
 heads from side to side, it never can be quiet. Which is entirely owing to- 
 its uncommon stupidity." 
 
 " Is that you, Mark ?" asked a faint voice from another berth. 
 
 '" It 's as much of me as is left, sir, after a fortnight of this work," 
 Mr. Tapley replied. " What with leading the life of a fly ever since 
 I 've been aboard — for I 've been perpetually holding-on to something or 
 other, in a upside-down position — what with that, sir, and putting a very 
 little into myself, and taking a good deal out in various ways, there 
 an't too much of me to swear by. How do j/oic find yourself this 
 morning, sirl" 
 
 " Very miserable," said Martin, with a peevish groan. " Ugh ! This 
 is wretched, indeed !" 
 
 '* Creditable," muttered Mark, pressing one hand upon his aching 
 head, and looking round him with a rueful grin. " That 's the great 
 
188 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 comfort. It is creditable to keep up one's spirits here. Virtue's its 
 own reward. So 's jollity." 
 
 Mark was so far right, that unquestionably any man who retained his 
 cheerfulness among the steerage accommodations of that noble and fast 
 sailing line of packet-ship, " The Screw," was solely indebted to his own 
 resources, and shipped his good humour, like his provisions, without any 
 contribution or assistance from the owners. A dark, low, stifling cabin, 
 surrounded by berths all filled to overflowing with men, women, and- 
 children, in various stages of sickness and misery, is not the liveliest 
 palace of assembly at any time ; but when it is so crowded (as the 
 steerage cabin of the " Screw " was, every passage out), that mattresses 
 and beds are heaped upon the floor, to the extinction of everything like 
 comfort, cleanliness, and decency, it is liable to operate not only as a 
 pretty strong barrier against amiability of temper, but as a positive 
 encourager of selfish and rough humours. Mark felt this, as he sat 
 looking about him ; and his spirits rose proportionately. 
 
 There were English people, Irish people, Welsh people, and Scotch 
 people there ; all with their little store of coarse food and shabby clothes ; 
 and nearly all, with their families of children. There were children of 
 all ages ; from the baby at the breast, to the slattern-girl who was 
 as much a grown woman as her mother. Every kind of domestic 
 suffering that is bred in poverty, illness, banishment, sorrow, and long 
 travel in bad weather, was crammed into the little space ; and yet was 
 there infinitely less of complaint and querulousness, and infinitely more 
 of mutual assistance and general kindness to be found in that unwhole- 
 some ark, than in many brilliant ball-rooms. 
 
 Mark looked about him wistfully, and his face brightened as he looked. 
 Here an old grandmother was crooning over a sick child, and rocking 
 it to and fro, in arms hardly more wasted than its own young limbs ; 
 here a poor woman with an infant in her lap, mended another little 
 creature's clothes, and quieted another who was creeping up about her 
 from their scanty bed upon the floor. Here were old men awkwardly 
 engaged in little household offices, wherein they would have been ridi- 
 culous but for their good-will and kind purpose ; and here were 
 swarthy fellows — giants in their way — doing such little acts of tender- 
 ness for those about them, as might have belonged to gentlest-hearted 
 dwarfs. The very idiot in the corner who sat mowing there, all day, 
 had his faculty of imitation roused by what he saw about him j and 
 snapped his fingers, to amuse a crying child. 
 
 " Now, then," said Mark, nodding to a woman who was dressing her 
 three children at no great distance from him — and the grin upon his 
 face had by this time spread from ear to ear — " Hand over one of them 
 young uns according to custom." 
 
 " I wish you'd get breakfast, Mark, instead of worrying with people 
 who don't belong to you," observed Martin, petulantly. 
 
 "All right," said Mark. '' S/ie'W do that. It's a fiiir division of 
 labour, sir. I wash her boys, and she makes our tea. I never could 
 make tea, but any one can wash a boy." 
 
 The woman, who was delicate and ill, felt and understood his kind- 
 ness, as well she might, for she had been covered every night with his 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 189 
 
 greatcoat, while he had had for his own bed the bare boards and a rug. 
 But Martin, who seldom got up or looked about him, was quite incensed 
 by the folly of this speech, and expressed his dissatisfaction, by an 
 impatient groan. 
 
 " So it is, certainly," said Mark, brushing the child's hair as coolly as 
 if he had been born and bred a barber. 
 
 "What are you talking about, now?" asked Martin. 
 
 " What you said," replied Mark ; " or what you meant, when you 
 gave that there dismal vent to your feelings. I quite go along with it, 
 sir. It is very hard upon her." 
 
 "What is?" 
 
 " Making the voyage by herself along with these young impediments 
 here, and going such a way at such a time of year to join her husband. 
 If you don't want to be driven mad with yellow soap in your eye, 
 young man," said Mr. Tapley to the second urchin, who was by this time 
 under his hands at the basin, " you'd better shut it." 
 
 " Where does she join her husband ] " asked Martin, yawning. 
 
 "Why, I'm very much afraid," said Mr. Tapley, in a low voice, "that 
 she don't know. I hope she mayn't miss him. But she sent her last 
 letter by hand, and it don't seem to have been very clearly understood 
 between 'em without it, and if she don't see him a waving his pocket- 
 handkerchief on the shore, like a picter out of a song-book, my opinion 
 is, she'll break her heart." 
 
 " Why, how, in Folly's name, does the woman come to be on board 
 ship on such a wild-goose venture ! " cried Martin. 
 
 Mr. Tapley glanced at him for a moment as he lay prostrate in his 
 berth, and then said, very quietly, 
 
 " Ah ! How, indeed ! I can't think ! He's been aAvay from her for 
 two year ; she's been very poor and lonely in her own country ; and has 
 always been a looking forward to meeting him. It's very strange she 
 should be here. Quite amazing ! A little mad, perhaps ! There can't 
 be no other way of accounting for it." 
 
 Martin was too far gone in the lassitude of sea-sickness to make any 
 reply to these words, or even to attend to them as they were spoken. 
 And the subject of their discourse returning at this crisis with some hot 
 tea, effectually put a stop to any resumption of the theme by Mr. Tapley ; 
 who, when the meal was over and he had adjusted Martin's bed, went up 
 on deck to wash the breakfast service, which consisted of two half-pint tin 
 mugs, and a shaving-pot of the same metal. 
 
 It is due to Mark Tapley to state, that he suffered at least as much 
 from sea-sickness as any man, woman, or child, on board ; and that he 
 had a peculiar faculty of knocking himself about on the smallest provo- 
 cation, and losing his legs at every lurch of the ship. But resolved, in 
 his usual phrase, to " come out strong" under disadvantageous circum- 
 stances, he was the life and soul of the steerage, and made no more of 
 stopping in the middle of a facetious conversation to go away and be 
 excessively ill by himself, and afterwards come back in the very best 
 and gayest of tempers to resume it, than if such a course of proceeding 
 had been the commonest in the world. 
 J, It cannot be said that as his illness wore off, his cheerfulness and 
 
190 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 good-nature increased, because they would hardly admit of augmentation ; 
 but his usefulness among the weaker members of the party was much 
 enlarged ; and at all times and seasons there he was exerting it. If a 
 gleam of sun shone out of the dark sky, down Mark tumbled into the 
 cabin, and presently up he came again with a woman in his arms, or 
 half-a-dozen children, or a man, or a bed, or a saucepan, or a basket, or 
 something animate or inanimate, that he thought would be the better 
 for the air. If an hour or two of fine weather in the middle of the 
 day, tempted those who seldom or never came on deck at other times, 
 to crawl into the long-boat, or lie down upon the spare spars, and 
 try to eat, there in the centre of the group was Mr. Tapley, handing 
 about salt beef and biscuit, or dispensing tastes of grog, or cutting up 
 the children's provisions with his pocket-knife, for their greater ease 
 and comfort, or reading aloud from a venerable newspaper, or singing 
 some roaring old song to a select party, or writing the beginnings 
 of letters to their friends at home for people who couldn't write, or 
 cracking jokes with the crew, or nearly getting blown over the side, 
 or emerging, half-drowned, from a shower of spray, or lending a hand 
 somewhere or other : but always doing something for the general 
 ■entertainment. At night, when the cooking-fire was lighted on the 
 deck, and the driving sparks that flew among the rigging, and the 
 cloud of sails, seemed to menace the ship with certain annihilation by 
 fire, in case the elements of air and water failed to compass her destruc- 
 tion ; there again was Mr. Tapley, with his coat ofl' and his shirt- 
 sleeves turned up to his elbows, doing all kinds of culinary offices ; 
 compounding the strangest dishes ; recognised by every one as an 
 established authority ; and helping all parties to achieve something, 
 which left to themselves, they never could have done, and never would 
 have dreamed of. In short, there never was a more popular character 
 than Mark Tapley became on board that noble and fast-sailing line-of- 
 packet ship, the Screw ; and he attained at last to such a pitch of uni- 
 versal admiration, that he began to have grave doubts within himself 
 whether a man might reasonably claim any credit for being jolly under 
 such exciting circumstances. 
 
 " If this was going to last," said Mr. Tapley, " there'd be no great 
 difierence as I can perceive, between the Screw and the Dragon. I 
 never am to get any credit, I think. I begin to be afraid that the 
 Pates is determined to make the world easy to me." 
 
 " Well, Mark," said Martin, near whose berth he had ruminated to 
 this effect. " When will this be over ?" 
 
 " Another week, they say, sir," returned Mark, " will most likely bring 
 us into port. The ship's going along at present, as sensible as a ship can, 
 sir j though I don't mean to say as that's any very high praise." 
 
 " I don't think it is, indeed," groaned Martin. 
 
 " You'd feel all the better for it, sir, if you was to turn out," observed 
 Mark. 
 
 " And be seen by the ladies and gentlemen on the after-deck,'* 
 returned Martin, with a scornful emphasis upon the words, " mingling 
 with the beggarly crowd that are stowed away in this vile hole. I should 
 be greatly the better for that, no doubt !" 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 191 
 
 " I'm thankful that I can't say from my o"wti experience what the 
 feelings of a gentleman may be," said Mark, " but I should have thougkt, 
 sir, as a gentleman "vvould feel a deal more uncomfortable down here, 
 than up in the fresh air, especially when the ladies and gentlemen in the 
 after-cabin know just as much about him, as he does about them, and 
 are likely to trouble their heads about him in the same proportion. I 
 should have thought that, certainly." 
 
 "I tell you, then," rejoined Martin, " you would have thought wrong, 
 and do think wrong." 
 
 " Very likely, sir," said Mark, with imperturbable good temper. " I 
 often do." 
 
 " As to lying here," cried Martin, raising himself on his elbow, and 
 looking angrily at his follower. " Do you suppose it's a pleasure to 
 lie here 1 " 
 
 " All the madhouses in the world," said Mr. Tapley, " couldn't produce 
 such a maniac as the man must be who could think that." 
 
 " Then why are you for ever goading and urging me to get up 1 " 
 asked Martin. " I lie here because I don't wish to be recognised in the 
 better days to which I aspire, by any purse-proud citizen, as the man who 
 came over with him among the steerage passengers. I lie here, because 
 I wish to conceal my circumstances and myself, and not to arrive in a new 
 world badged and ticketed as an utterly poverty-stricken man. If I could 
 have afforded a passage in the after-cabin, I should have held up my 
 head with the rest. As I couldn't, I hide it. Do you understand that <" 
 
 " I am very sorry, sir," said Mark. " I didn't know you took it so 
 much to heart as this comes to." 
 
 '• Of course you didn't know," returned his master. " How should 
 you know, unless I told you? It's no trial to ?/ou, Mark, to make 
 yourself comfortable and to bustle about. It 's as natural for you to 
 do so under the circumstances as it is for me not to do so. Why, you 
 don't suppose there is a living creature in this ship who can by possi- 
 bility have half so much to undergo on board of her as / have ? Do 
 you?" he asked, sitting upright in his berth and looking at Mark, with 
 an expression of great earnestness not unmixed with wonder. 
 
 Mark twisted his face into a tight knot, and with his head very much 
 on one side pondered upon this question as if he felt it an extremely 
 difficult one to answer. He was relieved from his embarrassment by 
 Martin himself, who said, as he stretched himself upon his back again 
 and resumed the book he had been reading : 
 
 " But what is the use of my putting such a case to you, when the very 
 essence of what I have been saying, is, that you cannot by possibility 
 understand it ! Make me a little brandy-and-water — cold and very 
 weak — and give me a biscuit, and tell your friend, who is a nearer 
 neighbour of ours than I could wish, to try and keep her children 
 a little quieter to-night than she did last night, that 's a good fellow." 
 
 Mr. Tapley set himself to obey these orders with great alacrity, and 
 pending their execution, it may be presumed his flagging spirits revived : 
 inasmuch as he several times observed, below his breath, that in respect 
 of its power of imparting a credit to jollity, the Screw unquestionably had 
 some decided advantages over the Dragon. He also remarked, that it 
 
192 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 was a high gratification to him to reflect that he would carry its main 
 excellence ashore with him, and have it constantly beside him wherever 
 • he went ; but what he meant by these consolatory thoughts he did not 
 explain. 
 
 And now a general excitement began to prevail on board ; and various 
 predictions relative to the precise day, and even the precise hour at 
 which they would reach New York, were freely broached. There was 
 infinitely more crowding on deck and looking over the ship's side than 
 there had been before ; and an epidemic broke out for packing up things 
 every morning, which required unpacking again every night. Those 
 who had any letters to deliver, or any friends to meet, or any settled 
 plans of going anywhere or doing anything, discussed their prospects a 
 hundred times a day ; and as this class of passengers was very small, 
 and the number of those who had no prospects whatever was very 
 large, there were plenty of listeners and few talkers. Those who had 
 been ill all along got well now, and those who had been well got better. 
 An American gentleman in the after-cabin, who had been wrapped up 
 in fur and oilskin the whole passage, unexpectedly appeared in a very 
 shiny, tall, black hat, and constantly overhauled a very little valise of 
 pale leather, which contained his clothes, linen, brushes, shaving appa- 
 ratus, books, trinkets, and other baggage. He likcAvise stuck his hands 
 deep into his pockets, and walked the deck with his nostrils dilated, as 
 already inhaling the air of Freedom which carries death to all tyrants, 
 and can never (under any circumstances worth mentioning) be breathed 
 by slaves. An English gentleman who was strongly suspected of having 
 run away from a bank, with something in his possession belonging to its 
 strong-box besides the key, grew eloquent upon the subject of the rights 
 of man, and hummed the Marseillaise Hymn constantly. In a word, one 
 great sensation pervaded the whole ship, and the soil of America lay 
 close before them : so close at last, that, upon a certain starlight night, 
 they took a pilot on board, and within a few hours afterwards lay to 
 until the morning, awaiting the arrival of a steam-boat in which the 
 passengers were to be conveyed ashore. 
 
 Off she came, soon after it was light next morning, and, lying along- 
 side an hour or more — during which period her very firemen were 
 objects of hardly less interest and curiosity, than if they had been so 
 many angels, good or bad — took all her living freight aboard. Among 
 them, Mark, who still had his friend and her three children under his 
 close protection ; and Martin, who had once more dressed himself in his 
 usual attire, but wore a soiled, old cloak above his ordinary clothes, 
 until such time as he should separate for ever from his late companions. 
 
 The steamer — which, with its machinery on deck, looked, as it 
 worked its long slim legs, like some enormously magnified insect or 
 antediluvian monster — dashed at great speed up a beautiful bay ; and 
 presently they saw some heights, and islands, and a long, flat, straggling 
 city. 
 
 " And this," said Mr. Tapley, looking far ahead, " is the Land of 
 Liberty, is it ? Very well. I'm agreeable. Any land will do for me, 
 after so much water !" 
 
MARTIN CHTIZZLEWIT. 193 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 MARTIN DISEMBARKS FROM THAT NOBLE AND FAST-SAILING LINE OF 
 PACKET SHIP, THE SCREW, AT THE PORT OF NEW YORK, IN THE 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. HE MAKES SOME ACQUAINTANCES, AND 
 DINES AT A BOARDING-HOUSE. THE PARTICULARS OF THOSE TRANS- 
 ACTIONS. 
 
 Some trifling excitement prevailed upon the very brink and margin 
 of the land of liberty ; for an alderman had been elected the day before ; 
 and Party Feeling naturally running rather high on such an exciting 
 occasion, the friends of the disappointed candidate had found it neces- 
 sary to assert the great principles of Purity of Election and Freedom of 
 Opinion by breaking a few legs and arms, and furthermore pursuing one 
 obnoxious gentleman through the streets with the design of slitting his 
 nose. These good-humoured little outbursts of the popular fancy were 
 not in themselves sufficiently remarkable to create any great stir, after 
 the lapse of a whole night; but they found fresh life and notoriety in 
 the breath of the news-boys, who not only proclaimed them with shrill 
 yells in all the highways and byeways of the town, upon the wharves and 
 among the shipping, but on the deck and down in the cabins of the 
 steam-boat; which, before she touched the shore, was boarded and over- 
 run by a legion of those young citizens. 
 
 " Here's this morning's New York Sewer!" cried one. " Here's this 
 morning's New York Stabber! Here's the New York Family Spy! 
 Here's the New York Private Listener ! Here's the New York Peeper ! 
 Here's the New York Plunderer! Here's the New York Keyhole Re- 
 porter! Here's the New York Rowdy Journal! Here's all the New 
 York papers ! Here's full particulars of the patriotic loco-foco move- 
 ment yesterday, in which the whigs was so chawed up ; and the last 
 Alabama gouging case ; and the interesting Arkansas dooel with Bowie 
 knives ; and all the Political, Commercial, and Fashionable News. 
 Here they are ! Here they are! Here's the papers, here's the papers !" 
 
 " Here's the Sewer ! " cried another. " Here's the New York Sewer ! 
 Here's some of the twelfth thousand of to-day's Sewer, with the best ac- 
 counts of the markets, and all the shipping news, and four whole 
 columns of country correspondence, and a full account of the Ball at 
 Mrs. White's last night, where all the beauty and fashion of New York 
 was assembled, with the Sewer's own particulars of the private lives of 
 all the ladies that was there ! Here's the Sewer ! Here's some of the 
 twelfth thousand of the New York Sewer ! Here's the Sewer's exposure 
 of the Wall Street Gang, and the Sewer's exposure of the Washington 
 Gang, and the Sewer's exclusive account of a ilagrant act of dishonesty 
 committed by the Secretary of State when he was eight years old ; now 
 communicated, at a great expense, by his own nurse. Here's the Sewer ! 
 Here's the New York Sewer, in its twelfth thousand, with a whole 
 
 o 
 
194 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 column of New Yorkers to be shown up, and all their names printed t 
 Here's the Sewer's article upon the Judge that tried him, day afore 
 yesterday, for libel, and the Sewer's tribute to the independent Jury 
 that didn't convict him, and the Sewer's account of what they might 
 have expected if they had ! Here's the Sewer, here's the Sewer ! Here's 
 the wide-awake Sewer ; always on the look-out ; the leading Journal 
 of the United States, now in its twelfth thousand, and still a printing 
 off: — Here's the New York Sewer!" 
 
 " It is in such enlightened means," said a voice, almost in Martin's 
 ear, " that the bubbling passions of my country find a vent." 
 
 Martin turned involuntarily, and saw, standing close at his side, a 
 sallow gentleman, with sunken cheeks, black hair, small twinkling eyes, 
 and a singular expression hovering about that region of his face, which 
 was not a frown, nor a leer, and yet might have been mistaken at the 
 first glance for either. Indeed it would have been difficult on a much 
 closer acquaintance, to describe it in any more satisfactory terms than as 
 a mixed expression of vulgar cunning and conceit. This gentleman 
 wore a rather broad-brimmed hat for the greater wisdom of his appear- 
 ance ; and had his arms folded for the greater impressiveness of his atti- 
 tude. He was somewhat shabbily dressed in a blue surtout reaching 
 nearly to his ancles, short loose trousers of the same colour, and a 
 faded buff waistcoat, through which a discoloured shirt-frill struggled to 
 force itself into notice, as asserting an equality of civil rights with the 
 other portions of his dress, and maintaining a declaration of Indepen- 
 dence on its own account. His feet, which were of unusually large pro- 
 portions, were leisurely crossed before him as he half leaned against, half 
 sat upon, the steam-boat's side; and his thick cane, shod with a mighty 
 ferrule at one end and armed with a great metal knob at the other, de- 
 pended from a line-and-tassel on his wrist. Thus attired, and thus com- 
 posed into an aspect of great profundity, the gentleman twitched up the 
 right-hand corner of his mouth and his right eye, simultaneously, and 
 said, once more: 
 
 " It is in such enlightened means, that the bubbling passions of my 
 country find a vent." 
 
 As he looked at Martin, and nobody else was by, Martin inclined his 
 head, and said : 
 
 " You allude to—" 
 
 " To the Palladium of rational Liberty at home, sir, and the dread of 
 Poreign oppression abroad," returned the gentleman, as he pointed with 
 his cane to an uncommonly dirty news-boy with one eye. " To the Envy of 
 the world, sir, and the leaders of Human Civilisation. Let me ask you, 
 sir," he added, bringing the ferrule of his stick heavily upon the deck 
 with the air of a man who must not be equivocated with, " how do you 
 like my Country ?" 
 
 " I am hardly prepared to answer that question yet," said Martin, 
 " seeing that I have not been ashore." 
 
 " Well, I should expect you were not prepared, sir," said the gentle- 
 man, " to behold such signs of National Prosperity as those ?" 
 
 He pointed to the vessels lying at the wharves; and then gave a vague 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 195 
 
 flourish with his stick, as if he would include the air and water, gene- 
 rally, in this remark. 
 
 " Really," said Martin, " I don't know. Yes. I think I was." 
 
 The gentleman glanced at him with a knowing look, and said he 
 liked his policy. It was natural, he said, and it pleased him as a phi- 
 losopher to observe the prejudices of human nature. 
 
 " You have brought, I see, sir," he said, turning round towards Martin, 
 and resting his chin on the top of his stick, " the usual amount of misery 
 and poverty, and ignorance and crime, to be located in the bosom of the 
 Great Republic. Well, sir ! let 'em come on in ship-loads from the 
 old country : when vessels are about to founder, the rats are said to 
 leave 'em. There is considerable of truth, I find, in that remark." 
 
 " The old ship will keep afloat a year or two longer yet, perhaps," 
 said Martin with a smile, partly occasioned by what the gentleman said, 
 and partly by his manner of saying it, which was odd enough, for he 
 emphasized all the small words and syllables in his discourse, and left 
 the others to take care of themselves : as if he thought the larger parts 
 of speech could be trusted alone, but the little ones required to be con- 
 stantly looked after. 
 
 " Hope is said by the poet, sir," observed the gentleman, '•' to be the 
 nurse of Young Desire." 
 
 Martin signified that he had heard of the cardinal virtue in question 
 serving occasionally in that domestic capacity. 
 
 " She will not rear her infant in the present instance, sir, you'll find," 
 observed the gentleman. 
 
 ^•' Time will show," said Martin. 
 
 The gentleman nodded his head, gravely ; and said " What is your 
 name, sir?" 
 
 Martin told him. 
 
 " How old are you, sir ?" 
 
 Martin told him. 
 
 " What 's your profession, sir 1" 
 
 Martin told him that, also. 
 
 " What is your destination, sir ?" inquired the gentleman. 
 
 " Really," said Martin, laughing, " I can't satisfy you in that par- 
 ticular, for I don't know it myself." 
 
 " Yes ?" said the gentleman. 
 
 « No," said Martin. 
 
 The gentleman adjusted his cane under his left arm, and took a more 
 deliberate and complete survey of Martin than he had yet had leisure 
 to make. When he had completed his inspection, he put out his right 
 hand, shook Martin's hand, and said : 
 
 " My name is Colonel Diver, sir. I am the Editor of the New York 
 Rowdy Journal." 
 
 Martin received the communication with that degree of respect which 
 an announcement so distinguished appeared to demand. 
 
 " The New York Rowdy Journal, sir," resumed the colonel, " is, as I 
 expect you know, the organ of our aristocracy in this city." 
 
 " Oh ! there is an aristocracy here, then ?" said Martin. " Of what is 
 it composed f o 2 
 
196 LIFE AND ADYENTUHES OF 
 
 '• Of intelligence, sir," replied the colonel ; '• of intelligence and virtue. 
 And of tlieir necessary consequence in this republic — dollars, sir." 
 
 Martin was very glad to hear this, feeling well assured that if intelli- 
 gence and virtue led, as a matter of course, to the acquisition of dollars, 
 he would speedily become a great capitalist, lie was about to express 
 the gratification such news afforded him, v,'hen he was interrupted by 
 the captain of the ship, who came up at the moment to shake hands 
 with the colonel ; and who, seeing a well-dressed stranger on the deck 
 (for Martin had thrown aside his cloak), shook hands with him also. 
 This was an unspeakable relief, to Martin, who, in spite of the acknow- 
 ledged supremacy of Intelligence and Virtue in that happy countr}-, 
 would have been deeply mortified to appear before Colonel Diver in the 
 poor character of a steerage passenger. 
 
 " Well, cap'en !" said the colonel. 
 
 " Well, colonel 1" cried the captain. " You're looking most uncom- 
 mon bright, sir. I can hardly realise its being you, and that's a fact." 
 
 " A good passage, cap'en ?" inquired the colonel, taking him aside. 
 
 "Well now ! It was a pretty spanking run, sir," said, or rather sung, tlie 
 captain, who was a genuine New Englander : " con-siderin the weather." 
 
 " Yes 1 " said the colonel. 
 
 " Well ! It was, sir," said the captain. " I've just now sent a boy 
 up to your office with the passenger-list, colonel." 
 
 " You haven't got another boy to spare, p'raps, cap'en ?" said the 
 colonel, in a tone almost amounting to severity. 
 
 " I guess there air a dozen if you Avant 'em, colonel," said the captain. 
 
 " One moderate big 'un could convey a dozen of champagne, perhaps" 
 observed the colonel, musing, " to my office. You said a spanking run, 
 I think r 
 
 " Well ! so I did," was the reply. 
 
 " It's very nigh you know," observed the colonel. " I'm glad it was 
 a spanking run, cap'en. Don't mind about quarts if you're short of 'em. 
 The boy can as well bring four-and-twenty pints, and travel twice as 
 once. — A first-rate spanker, cap'en, was it ? Yes ?" 
 
 " A most e — tarnal spanker," said the skipper. 
 
 " I admire at your good fortune, cap'en. You might loan me a 
 cork-screw at the same time, and half-a-dozen glasses if you liked. 
 However bad the elements combine against my country's noble packet- 
 ship the Screw, sir," said the colonel, turning to Martin, and drawing a 
 flourish on the surface of the deck with his cane, " her passage either 
 way, is almost certain to eventuate a spanker ! " 
 
 The captain, who had the Sewer below at that moment lunching 
 expensively in one cabin, while the amiable Stabber was drinking him- 
 self into a state of blind madness in another, took a cordial leave of 
 his friend and captain the colonel, and hurried away to despatch the 
 champagne : well-knowing (as it afterwards appeared) that if he failed 
 to conciliate the editor of the Rowdy Journal, that potentate would 
 denounce him and his ship in large capitals before he was a day older ; 
 and would probably assault the memory of his mother also, who had 
 not been dead more than twenty years. The colonel being again left 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 197 
 
 alone with Martin, cliecked him as he was moving away, and offered, in 
 consideration of his being an Englishman, to show him the town and to 
 introduce him, if such were his desire, to a genteel boarding-house. 
 But before they entered on these proceedings (he said), he would beseech 
 the honor of his company at the office of the Rowdy Journal, to partake 
 of a bottle of champagne of his own importation. 
 
 All this was so extremely kind and hospitable, that Martin, though 
 it was quite early in the morning, readily acquiesced. So, instructing 
 Mark, who was deeply engaged with his friend and her three children, — 
 when he had done assisting them, and had cleared the baggage, to 
 wait for farther orders at the Rowdy Journal Office, — he accompanied 
 his new friend on shore. 
 
 They made their way as they best could through the melancholy 
 crowd of emigrants upon the wharf — who, grouped about tlieir beds 
 and boxes with the bare ground below them and the bare sky above, 
 might have fallen from another planet, for anything they knew of the 
 country — and walked for some short distance along a busy street, 
 bounded on one side by the quays and shipping ; and on the other 
 by a long row of staring red-brick storehouses and offices, ornamented 
 with more black boards and white letters, and more white boards and 
 black letters, than Martin had ever seen before, in fifty times the space. 
 Presently they turned up a narrow street, and presently into other 
 narrow streets, until at last they stopped before a house whereon was 
 painted in great characters, " Rowdy Journal." 
 
 The colonel, who had walked the whole way with one hand in his 
 breast, his head occasionally wagging from side to side, and his hat 
 thrown back upon his ears — ^like a man who was oppressed to inconve- 
 nience by a sense of his own greatness — led the way up a dark and 
 dirty flight of stairs into a room of similar character, all littered and 
 bestrewn with odds and ends of newspapers and other crumpled frag- 
 ments, both in proof and manuscript. Behind a mangy old writing- 
 table in this apartment, sat a figure with the stump of a pen in its 
 mouth and a great pair of scissors in its right hand, clipping and slicing 
 at a file of Rowdy Journals ; and it was such a laughable figure that 
 Martin had some difficulty in preserving his gravity, though conscious 
 of the close observation of Colonel Diver. 
 
 The individual who sat clipping and slicing as aforesaid at the 
 Rowdy Journals, was a small young gentleman of very juvenile appear- 
 ance, and unwholesomely pale in the face ; partly, perhaps, from intense 
 thought, but partly, there is no doubt, from the excessive use of tobacco, 
 which he was at that moment chewing vigorously. He wore his shirt- 
 collar turned do^^Ti over a black ribbon, and his lank hair — a fragile crop 
 — was not only smoothed and parted back from his brow, that none of 
 the Poetry of his aspect might be lost, but had here and there been 
 grubbed up by the roots ; which accounted for his loftiest developments 
 being somewhat pimply. He had that order of nose on which the envy 
 of mankind has bestowed the appellation " snub," and it was very much 
 turned up at the end, as with a lofty scorn. Upon the upper lip of this 
 young gentleman, were tokens of a sandy down — so very, very smooth 
 
198 ' LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 and scant, that tliough encouraged to the utmost, it looked more like a 
 recent trace of gingerbread, than the fair promise of a moustache ; and 
 this conjecture, his apparently tender age went far to strengthen. He 
 was intent upon his work ; and every time he snapped the great pair of 
 scissors, he made a corresponding motion with his jaws, which gave him 
 a very terrible appearance. 
 
 Martin was not long in determining within himself that this must be 
 Colonel Diver's son j the hope of the family, and future mainspring of 
 the Rowdy Journal. Indeed he had begun to say that he presumed this 
 was the colonel's little boy, and that it was very pleasant to see him 
 playing at Editor in all the guilelessness of childhood ; when the colonel 
 proudly interposed, and said : 
 
 " My War Correspondent, sir — Mr. Jefferson Brick !" 
 
 Martin could not help starting at this unexpected announcement, and 
 the consciousness of the irretrievable mistake he had nearly made. 
 
 Mr. Brick seemed pleased with the sensation he produced upon the 
 stranger, and shook hands with him with an air of patronage designed to 
 reassure him, and to let him know that there M'as no occasion to be 
 frightened, for he (Brick) wouldn't hurt him. 
 
 " You have heard of Jeiferson Brick I see, sir," quoth the colonel, with 
 a smile. " England has heard of Jefferson Brick. Europe has heard of 
 Jefferson Brick. Let me see. When did you leave England, sir?" 
 
 " Five weeks ago," said Martin. 
 
 " Five weeks ago," repeated the colonel, thoughtfully ; as he took his 
 seat upon the table, and swung his legs. " Now let me ask you, sir, 
 which of Mr. Brick's articles had become at that time the most 
 obnoxious to the British Parliament and the court of Saint James's 1" 
 
 " Upon my word," said Martin, " I — " 
 
 " I have reason to know, sir," interrupted the colonel, " that the 
 aristocratic circles of your country quail before the name of Jefferson 
 Brick. I should like to be informed sir, from your lips, which of his 
 sentiments has struck the deadliest blow — " 
 
 " — At the hundred heads of the Hydra of Corruption now grovelling 
 in the dust beneath the lance of Reason, and spouting up to the universal 
 arch above us, its sanguinary gore," said Mr. Brick, putting on a little 
 blue cloth cap with a glazed front, and quoting his last article. 
 
 " The libation of freedom. Brick" — hinted the colonel. 
 
 " — Must sometimes be quaffed in blood, colonel," cried Brick. And 
 when he said 'blood,' he gave the great pair of scissors a sharp snap, as 
 if they said blood too, and were quite of his opinion. 
 
 This done they both looked at Martin, pausing for a reply. 
 
 " Upon my life," said Martin, who had by this time quite recovered 
 his usual coolness, " I can't give you any satisfactory information about 
 it ; for the truth is that I — " 
 
 " Stop !" cried the colonel, glancing sternly at his war correspondent, 
 and giving his head one shake after every sentence. " That you never 
 heard of Jefferson Brick, sir. That you never read Jefferson Brick, sir. 
 That you never saw the Howdy Journal, sir. That you never knew, sir, 
 of its mighty influence upon the cabinets of Europe — Yes T 
 
'/F/l(^Aot)-^i^J a^?i ^z^^^>:^^>^ii<^>^r;/^,i^;/'/'/^'>^/. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 199 
 
 " That's what I was about to observe, certainly, " said Martin. 
 
 " Keep cool, Jefferson," said the colonel gravely. " Don't bust ! oh 
 you Europeans ! Arter that, let's have a glass of wine 1" So saying, he 
 got down from the table, and produced from a basket outside the door, 
 a bottle of champagne, and three glasses. 
 
 " Mr. Jefferson Brick, sir," said the colonel, filling Martin's glass and 
 his own, and pushing the bottle to that gentleman, " will give us a 
 sentiment." 
 
 '• Well sir I" cried the war correspondent, " since you have concluded 
 to call upon me, I will respond. I will give you, sir. The Kowdy Journal 
 and its bretheren ; the well of Truth, whose waters are black from being 
 composed of printers' ink, but are quite clear enough for my country to 
 behold the shadow of her Destiny reflected in." 
 
 " Hear, hear !" cried the colonel, with great complacency. " There are 
 flowery components, sir, in the language of my friend 1 " 
 
 " Very much so, indeed," said Martin. 
 
 " There is to-day's Rowdy, sir," observed the colonel, handing him a 
 paper. " You'll find Jefferson Brick at his usual post in the van of 
 human civilisation and moral purity." 
 
 The colonel was by this time seated on the table again. i\Ir. Brick 
 also took up a position on that same piece of furniture ; and they fell to 
 drinking pretty hard. They often looked at Martin as he read the 
 paper, and then at each other ; and when he laid it down, which was 
 not until they had finished a second bottle, the colonel asked him what 
 he thought of it. 
 
 " Why, it's horribly personal," said Martin. 
 
 The colonel seemed much flattered by this remark; and said he hoped 
 it was. 
 
 " We are independent here, sir," said Mr. Jefferson Brick. '•' We do 
 as we like." 
 
 " If I may judge from this specimen," returned Martin, "there must 
 be a few thousands here rather the reverse of independent, who do as 
 they don't like." 
 
 '■' Well ! They yield to the mighty mind of the Popular Instructor, 
 sir," said the colonel. " They rile up, sometimes ; but in general we 
 have a hold upon our citizens both in public and in private life, which 
 is as much one of the ennobling institutions of our happy country as — " 
 
 " As nigger slavery itself," suggested ]\Ir. Brick. 
 
 " Ea — tirely so," remarked the colonel. 
 
 " Pray," said Martin, after some hesitation, " may I venture to ask, 
 wdth reference to a case I observe in this paper of yours, whether the 
 Popular Instructor often deals in — I am at a loss to express it without 
 giving you offence — in forgery 1 In forged letters, for instance," he pur- 
 sued, for the colonel was perfectly calm and quite at his ease, '• solemnly 
 purporting to have been written at recent periods by living men V 
 
 " Well, sir ! " replied the colonel. " It does, now and then." 
 
 " And the popular instructed — what do they do I" asked Martin. 
 
 " Buy 'em ; " said the colonel. 
 
 Mr. Jefferson Brick expectorated and laughed ; the former copiously, 
 the latter approvingly. 
 
200 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Buy 'em by hundreds of tliousands," resumed tlie colonel. " We 
 are a smart people here, and can appreciate smartness." 
 
 " Is smartness American for forgery 1 '' asked Martin. 
 
 " Well ! " said the colonel, " I expect it's American for a good many 
 things that you call by other names. But you can't help yourselves 
 in Europe. We can." 
 
 " And do, sometimes," thought Martin. " You help yourselves with 
 very little ceremony, too !" 
 
 " At all events, whatever name we choose to employ," said the colonel, 
 stooping down to roll the third empty bottle into a corner after the 
 other two, " I suppose the art of forgery was not invented here, sir?" 
 
 " I suppose not," replied Martin. 
 
 "Nor any other kind of smartness, I reckon V 
 
 " Invented ! No, I presume not." 
 
 " Well !" said the colonel ; " then we got it all from the old country, 
 and the old country's to blame for it, and not the new 'un. There 's an 
 end of t/mt. Now if Mr. Jefferson Brick and you will be so good as 
 clear, I'll come out last, and lock the door." 
 
 Rightly interpreting this as the signal for their departure, Martin 
 walked down stairs after the war correspondent, who preceded him with 
 great majesty. The colonel following, they left the Rowdy Journal Office 
 and walked forth into the streets : Martin feeling doubtful whether 
 he ought to kick the colonel for having presumed to speak to him, 
 or whether it came within the bounds of possibility that he and his 
 establishment could be among the boasted usages of that regenerated 
 land. 
 
 It was clear that Colonel Diver, in the security of his strong position, 
 and in his perfect understanding of the public sentiment, cared very 
 little what Martin or anybody else thought about him. His high-spiced 
 wares were made to sell, and they sold ; and his thousands of readers 
 could as rationally charge their delight in filth upon him, as a glutton 
 can shift upon his cook the responsibility of his beastly excess. Nothing 
 would have delighted the colonel more than to be told that no such 
 man as he could walk in high success the streets of any other country 
 in the world : for that would only have been a logical assurance to him 
 of the correct adaptation of his labours to the prevailing taste, and of 
 his being strictly and peculiarly a national feature of America. 
 
 They walked a mile or more along a handsome street which the 
 colonel said was called Broadway, and which Mr. Jefferson Brick said 
 " whipped the universe." Turning, at length, into one of the numerous 
 streets which branched from this main thoroughfare, they stopped before 
 a rather mean-looking house with jalousie blinds to every windovr; a 
 flight of steps before the green street-door ; a shining white ornament 
 on the rails on either side like a petrified pine-apple, polished ; a little 
 oblong plate of the same material over the knocker, whereon the name 
 of " Pawkins" was engraved ; and four accidental pigs looking down the 
 area. 
 
 The colonel knocked at this house with the air of a man who lived 
 there ; and an Irish girl popped her head out of one of the top win- 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 201 
 
 dows to see -who it was. Pending her journey dovm. stairs, the pigs 
 were joined by two or three friends from the next street, in company 
 with whom they lay down sociably in the gutter. 
 
 " Is the major in-doors ?" inquired the colonel, as he entered. 
 
 "Is it the master, sir?" returned the girl, with a hesitation which 
 seemed to imply that they were rather flush of majors in that establish- 
 ment. 
 
 " The master !" said Colonel Diver, stopping short and looking round 
 at his war correspondent. 
 
 " Oh ! The depressing institutions of that British empire, colonel ! " 
 said Jeiferson Brick, " Master !" 
 
 "What's the matter with the word?" asked Martin. 
 
 " I should hope it was never heard in our country, sir : that's all," 
 said Jeiferson Brick : " except when it is used by some degraded Help, 
 as new to the blessings of our form of government, as this Help is. 
 There are no masters here." 
 
 "All ' owners,' are they ?" said Martin. 
 
 Mr. Jefferson Brick followed in the Kovv'dy Journal's footsteps without 
 returning any answer. Martin took the same course, thinking as he 
 went, that perhaps the free and independent citizens, who in their 
 moral elevation, owned the colonel for their master, might render better 
 homage to the goddess. Liberty, in nightly dreams upon the oven of a 
 Russian Serf. 
 
 The colonel led the way into a room at the back of the house upon 
 the ground-floor, light, and of fair dimensions, but exquisitely uncom- 
 fortable : having nothing in it but the four cold white Avails and ceiling, 
 a mean carpet, a dreary waste of dining-table reaching from end to end, 
 and a bewllderlno- collection of cane-bottomed chairs. In the further 
 region of this banqueting-hall was a stove, garnished on either side 
 Avith a great brass spittoon, and shaped in itself like three little iron 
 barrels set up on end in a fender, and joined together on the principle 
 of the Siamese Twins. Before it, swinging himself in a rocking-chair, 
 lounged a large gentleman with his hat on, who amused himself by 
 spitting alternately into the spittoon on the right hand the stove, and 
 the spittoon on the left, and then working his way back again in the 
 same order. A negro lad in a soiled white jacket was busily engaged in 
 placing on the table two long rows of knives and forks, relieved at inter- 
 vals by jugs of water ; and as he travelled down one side of this festive 
 board, he straightened with his dirty hands the dirtier cloth, which was all 
 askew, and had not been removed since breakfast. The atmosphere of 
 this room was rendered intensely hot and stifling by the stove : but 
 being further flavoured by a sickly gush of soup from the kitchen, and by 
 such remote suggestions of tobacco as lingered within the brazen recep- 
 tacles already mentioned, it became, to a stranger's senses, almost 
 insupportable. 
 
 The gentleman in the rocking-chair having his back towards them, 
 and being much engaged in his intellectual pastime, was not aware of 
 their approach until the colonel walking up to the stove, contributed his 
 mite towards the support of the left-hand spittoon, just as the major — 
 
202 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 for it was the major — bore down upon it. Major Pawkins tlien reserved his 
 fire, and looking upward, said, with a peculiar air of quiet weariness, like 
 a man who had been up all night — an air which Martin had already 
 observed both in the colonel and Mr. Jefferson Brick — 
 
 " Well, colonel ! " 
 
 " Here is a gentleman from England, major," the colonel replied, 
 *'who has concluded to locate himself here if the amount of compensa- 
 tion suits him." 
 
 " I am glad to see you, sir," observed the major, shaking hands with 
 Martin, and not moving a muscle of his face. " You are pretty bright, 
 I hope?" 
 
 " Never better," said Martin. 
 
 "You are never likely to be," returned the major. " You will see 
 the sun shine hereT 
 
 " I think I remember to have seen it shine at home, sometimes," said 
 Martin, smiling. 
 
 "I think not," replied the major. He said so with a stoical indif- 
 ference certainly, but still in a tone of firmness which admitted of no 
 further dispute on that point. When he had thus settled the question, 
 he put his hat a little on one side for the greater convenience of scratching 
 his head, and saluted Mr. Jefierson Brick with a lazy nod. 
 
 Major Pawkins (a gentleman of Pennsylvanian origin) was distin- 
 guished by a very large skull, and a great mass of yellow forehead ; 
 in deference to which commodities, it was currently held in bar-rooms 
 and other such places of resort, that the major was a man of huge 
 sagacity. He was further to be known by a heavy eye and a dull slow 
 manner ; and for being a man of that kind who — mentally speaking — 
 requires a deal of room to turn himself in. But in trading on his stock 
 of wisdom, he invariably proceeded on the principle of putting all the 
 goods he had (and more) into his window ; and that went a great way 
 with his constituency of admirers. It went a great way, perhaps, with 
 Mr. Jefferson Brick, who took occasion to whisper in Martin's ear ; 
 
 " One of the most remarkable men in our country, sir ! " 
 
 It must not be supposed, however, that the perpetual exhibition in 
 the market-place of all his stock in trade for sale or hire, was the 
 major's sole claim to a very large share of sympathy and support. He 
 was a great politician ; and the one article of his creed, in reference to 
 all public obligations involving the good faith and integrity of his 
 country, was, " run a moist pen slick through everything, and start fresh." 
 This made him a patriot. In commercial affairs he was a bold specu- 
 lator. In plainer words he had a most distinguished genius for swindling, 
 and could start a bank, or negociate a loan, or form a land-jobbing com- 
 pany (entailing ruin, pestilence, and death, on hundreds of families), 
 with any gifted creature in the Union. This made him an admirable 
 man of business. He could hang about a bar-room, discussing the 
 affairs of the nation, for twelve hours together ; and in that time could 
 hold forth with more intolerable dulness, chew more tobacco, smoke 
 more tobacco, drink more rum-toddy, mint-julep, gin-sling, and cocktail, 
 than any private gentleman of his acquaintance. This made him an 
 
MAETIN CHIJZZLEWIT. 203 
 
 orator and a man of the people. In a word, the major was a rising 
 character, and a popular character, and was in a fair way to be sent by 
 the popular party to the State House of New York, if not in the end 
 to Washington itself. But as a man's private prosperity does not 
 always keep pace with his patriotic devotion to public affairs ; and as 
 fraudulent transactions have their downs as Avell as ups ; the major was 
 occasionally under a cloud. Hence, just now, Mrs. Pawkins kept a 
 boarding-house, and Major Pawkins rather " loafed " his time away, 
 than otherwise. 
 
 " You have come to visit our country, sir, at a season of great com- 
 mercial depression," said the major. 
 
 " At an alarming crisis," said the colonel. 
 
 " At a period of unprecedented stagnation," said Mr. Jefferson Brick. 
 
 '• I am sorry to hear that," returned Martin. " It's not likely to last, 
 
 I hope r 
 
 Martin knew nothing about America, or he would have known 
 perfectly well that if its individual citizens, to a man, are to be believed, 
 it always is depressed, and always is stagnated, and always is at an 
 alarming crisis, and never was otherwise ; though as a body they are 
 ready to make oath upon the Evangelists at any hour of the day or night, 
 that it is the most thriving and prosperous of all countries on the 
 habitable globe. 
 
 " It's not likely to last, I hope V said Martin. 
 
 " Well I" returned the major, " I expect we shall get along somehow, 
 and come right in the end." 
 
 " We are an elastic country," said the Rowdy Journal. 
 
 " We are a young lion," said Mr. Jefferson Brick. 
 
 "We have revivifying and vigorous principles within ourselves," 
 observed the major. " Shall we drink a bitter afore dinner, colonel ?" 
 
 The colonel assenting to this proposal with great alacrity. Major 
 Pawkins proposed an adjournment to a neighbouring bar-room, which, 
 as he observed, was '• only in the next block." He then referred Martin 
 to Mrs. Pawkins for all particulars connected with the rate of board and 
 lodging, and informed him that he would have the pleasure of seeing 
 that lady at dinner, which would soon be ready, as the dinner hour was 
 two o'clock, and it only wanted a quarter now. This reminded him that 
 if the bitter were to be taken at all, there was no time to lose ; so he 
 walked off without more ado, and left them to follow if they thought 
 proper. 
 
 When the major rose from his rocking-chair before the stove and 
 so disturbed the hot air and balmy whiff of soup which fanned their 
 brows, the odour of stale tobacco became so decidedly prevalent as to 
 leave no doubt of its proceeding mainly from that gentleman's attire. 
 Indeed as Martin walked behind him to the bar-room, he could not 
 help thinking that the great square major, in his listlessness and 
 languor, looked very much like a stale weed himself, such as might be 
 hoed out of the public garden with great advantage to the decent growth, 
 of that preserve, and tossed on some congenial dunghill. 
 
 They encountered more weeds in the bar-room, some of whom (being 
 
204 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 thirsty souls as well as dirty) were pretty stale in one sense, and pretty 
 fresh in another. Among them was a gentleman who, as Martin 
 gathered from the conversation that took place over the bitter, started 
 that afternoon for the Far West on a six months' business tour ; and 
 who, as his outfit and equipment for this journey, had just such another 
 shiny hat and just such another little pale valise, as had composed the 
 luggage of the gentleman who came from England in the Screw. 
 
 They were walking back very leisurely ; Martin arm-in-arm with 
 Mr, Jefferson Brick, and the major and the colonel side-by-side before 
 them ; when, as they came within ahouse or two of the major's residence, 
 they heard a bell ringing violently. The instant this sound struck upon 
 their ears, the colonel and the major darted off, dashed up the steps and 
 in at the street-door (which stood ajar) like lunatics ; while Mr. Jeffer- 
 son Brick, detaching his arm from Martin's, made a precipitate dive in 
 the same direction, and vanished also. 
 
 "Good Heaven!" thought Martin, "the premises are on fire! It 
 was an alarm-bell !" 
 
 But there was no smoke to be seen, nor any flame, nor was there any 
 smell of fire. As Martin faultered on the pavement, three more gentle- 
 men, with horror and agitation depicted in their faces, came plunging 
 v/ildly round the street corner; jostled each other on the steps ; struggled 
 for an instant ; and rushed into the house in a confused heap of arms 
 and legs. Unable to bear it any longer, Martin followed. Even in his 
 rapid progress, he was run down, thrust aside, and passed, by two more 
 gentlemen, stark mad, as it appeared, with fierce excitement. 
 
 "Where is it?" cried Martin, breathlessly, to a negro whom he en- 
 countered in the passage. 
 
 " In a eatin room sa. 'Kernel sa, him kept a seat 'side himself sa." 
 
 " A seat ! " cried Martin. 
 
 " For a dinnar sa." 
 
 Martin stared at him for a moment, and burst into a hearty laugh; to 
 which the negro, out of his natural good humour and desire to please, so 
 heartily responded, that his teeth shone like a gleam of light. " You're 
 the pleasantest fellow I have seen yet," said Martin, clapping him on 
 the back, " and give me a better appetite than bitters." 
 
 V/ith this sentiment he walked into the dining-room and slipped into 
 a chair next the colonel, which that gentleman (by this time nearly 
 through his dinner) had turned down, in reserve for him, with its baclc 
 against the table. 
 
 It was a numerous company — eighteen or twenty, perhaps. Of these 
 some five or six were ladies, who sat wedged together in a little phalanx 
 by themselves. All the knives and forks were working away at a rate 
 that was quite alarming ; very few words were spoken ; and everybody 
 seemed to eat his utmost in self-defence, as if a famine were expected to 
 set in before breakfast time to-morrow morning, and it had become high 
 time to assert the first law of nature. The poultry, which may perhaps be 
 considered to have formed the staple of the entertainment — for there was 
 a turkey at the top, a pair of ducks at the bottom, and two fowls in the 
 middle — disappeared as rapidly as if every bird had had the use of its 
 
MARTIN CIIUZZLEWIT. 205 
 
 wings, and had flown in desperation down a human throat. The oysters, 
 stewed and pickled, leaped from their capacious reservoirs, and slid by 
 scores into the mouths of the assembly. The sharpest pickles vanished ; 
 whole cucumbers at once, like sugar-plums ; and no man winked his 
 eye. Great heaps of indigestible matter melted away as ice before the 
 sun. It was a solemn and an awful thing to see. Dyspeptic individuals 
 bolted their food in wedges ; feeding, not themselves, but broods of 
 nightmares, who were continually standing at livery within them. Spare 
 men, with lank and rigid cheeks, came out unsatisfied from the destruc- 
 tion of heavy dishes, and glared with watchful eyes upon the pastry. 
 What Mrs. Pawkins felt each day at dinner-time is hidden from all 
 human knowledge. But she had one comfort. It was very soon over. 
 
 When the colonel had finished his dinner, which event took place 
 while Martin, who had sent his plate for some turkey, was waiting to 
 begin, he asked him what he thought of the boarders, who were from 
 all parts of the Union, and whether he would like to know any par- 
 ticulars concerning them. 
 
 " Pray," said Martin, " who is that sickly little girl opposite, with the 
 tight round eyes ? I don't see anybody here, who looks like her mother, 
 or who seems to have charge of her." 
 
 "Do you mean the matron in blue, sir?" asked the colonel, with 
 emphasis. " That is Mrs. Jefferson Brick, sir." 
 
 " No, no," said Martin, " I mean the little girl, like a doll — directly 
 opposite." 
 
 "Well, sir !" cried the colonel. " That is Mrs. Jefferson Brick." 
 
 Martin glanced at the colonel's face, but he was quite serious. 
 
 " Bless my soul ! I suppose there will be a young Brick then, one of 
 these days 1 " said Martin. 
 
 " There are two young Bricks already, sir," returned the colonel. 
 
 The matron looked so uncommonly like a child herself, that Martin 
 could not help saying as much. " Yes, sir," returned the colonel, " but 
 some institutions develop human natur : others retard it." 
 
 " Jefferson Brick," he observed after a short silence, in commen- 
 dation of his correspondent, " is one of the most remarkable men in 
 our country, sir ! " 
 
 This had passed almost in a whisper, for the distinguished gentleman 
 alluded to, sat on Martin's other hand. 
 
 " Pray Mr. Brick," said Martin turning to him, and asking a question 
 more for conversation's sake than from any feeling of interest in its 
 subject, " who is that " he was going to say " young " but thought it 
 prudent to eschew the word — " that very short gentleman yonder, with 
 the red nose ] " 
 
 " That is Pro — fessor Mullit, sir," replied Jefferson. 
 
 " May I ask what he is Professor of?" asked Martin. 
 
 " Of education, sir," said Jefferson Brick. 
 
 " A sort of schoolmaster, possibly V Martin ventured to observe. 
 
 " He is a man of fine moral elements, sir, and not commonly 
 endowed," said the war correspondent. "He felt it necessary, at the 
 last eleqtipn for President, to repudiate and denounce his father, who 
 
206 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 voted on the wrong interest. lie has since written some poweifal 
 pamphlets, under the signature of ^ Suturb/ or Brutus reversed. He is 
 one of the most remarkable men in our country, sir." 
 
 " There seem to be plenty of 'em, " thought Martin, " at any rate." 
 
 Pursuing his inquiries, Martin found that there were no fewer 
 than four majors present, two colonels, one general and a captain, so 
 that he could not help thinking how strongly officered the American 
 militia must be ; and wondering very much whether the officers com- 
 manded each other ; or if they did not, where on earth the privates 
 came from. There seemed to be no man there without a title : for 
 those who had not attained to military honours were either doctors, pro- 
 fessors, or reverends. Three very hard and disagreeable gentlemen were 
 on missions from neighbouring States ; one on monetary affairs, one on 
 political, one on sectarian. Among the ladies, there were Mrs. Pawkins, 
 who was very straight, bony, and silent ; and a wiry-faced old damsel, 
 who held strong sentiments touching the rights of women, and had 
 diffused the same in lectures ; but the rest were strangely devoid of 
 individual traits of character, insomuch that any one of them might 
 have changed minds with the other, and nobody would have found it out. 
 These, by the way, were the only members of the party who did not 
 appear to be among the most remarkable people in the country. 
 
 Several of the gentlemen got up, one by one, and walked off as they 
 swallowed their last morsel ; pausing generally by the stove for a 
 minute or so to refresh themselves at the brass spittoons. A few seden- 
 tary characters, however, remained at table full a quarter of an hour, 
 and did not rise until the ladies rose, when all stood up. 
 
 " Where are they going 1 " asked Martin, in the ear of Mr. Jefferson 
 Brick. 
 
 " To their bed-rooms, sir." 
 
 " Is there no dessert, or other interval of conversation 1 " asked 
 Martin, who was disposed to enjoy himself after his long voyage. 
 
 " We are a busy people here, sir, and have no time for that," was the 
 reply. 
 
 So the ladies passed out in single file ; Mr. Jefferson Brick and such 
 other married gentlemen as were left, acknowledging the departure of 
 their other halves by a nod ; and there was an end of them. Martin 
 thought this an uncomfortable custom, but he kept his opinion to 
 himself for the present, being anxious to hear, and inform himself by, 
 the conversation of the busy gentlemen, who now lounged about the 
 stove as if a great weight had been taken off their minds by the with- 
 drawal of the other sex ; and who made a plentiful use of the spittoons 
 and their toothpicks. 
 
 It was rather barren of interest, to say the truth ; and the greater part of 
 it may be summed up in one word — dollars. All their cares, hopes, joys, 
 affections, virtues, and associations, seemed to be melted down into dollars. 
 Whatever the chance contributions that fell into the slow cauldron of 
 their talk, they made the gruel thick and slab with dollars. Men were 
 weighed by their dollars, measures gauged by their dollars ; life was 
 auctioneered, appraised, put up, and knocked down for its dollars. The 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 207 
 
 next respectable thing to dollars was any venture having tlieir attainment 
 for its end. The more of that Avorthless ballast, honour and fair-dealing, 
 which any man cast overboard from the ship of his Good Name and Good 
 Intent, the more ample stowage-room he had for dollars. Make com- 
 merce one huge lie and mighty theft. Deface the banner of the nation 
 for an idle rag ; pollute it star by star ; and cut out stripe by stripe as 
 from the arm of a degraded soldier. Do anything for dollars ! What 
 is a flag to them ! 
 
 One who rides at all hazards of limb and life in the chase of a fox, 
 will prefer to ride recklessly at most times. 80 it was with these gen- 
 tlemen. He Avas the greatest patriot, in their eyes, who brawled the 
 loudest, and who cared the least for decency. He was their cham- 
 pion, who in the brutal fury of his own pursuit, could cast no stigma 
 upon them, for the hot knavery of theirs. Thus, J\Iartin learned in the 
 live minutes' straggling talk about the stove, that to carry pistols into 
 legislative assemblies, and swords in sticks, and other such peaceful toys ; 
 to seize opponents by the throat, as dogs or rats might do ; to bluster, 
 bully, and overbear by personal assailment ; were glowing deeds. Not 
 thrusts and stabs at Freedom, striking far deeper into her House of Life 
 than any sultan's scimetar could reach ; but rare incense on her altars, 
 having a grateful scent in patriotic nostrils, and curling upward to the 
 seventh heaven of Fame. 
 
 Once or twice, when there was a pause, Martin asked such questions 
 as naturally occurred to him, being a stranger, about the national poets, 
 the theatre, literature, and the arts. But the information which these 
 gentlemen were in a condition to give him on such topics, did not extend 
 beyond the effusions of such master-spirits of the time, as Colonel Diver, 
 Mr. Jefferson Brick, and others ; renowned, as it appeared, for excel- 
 lence in the achievement of a peculiar style of broadside-essay called 
 " a screamer." 
 
 " We are a busy people, sir," said one of the captains, who was from 
 the West, "and have no time for reading mere notions. We don't mind 
 'em if they come to us in newspapers along with almighty strong stuff 
 of another sort, but darn your books." 
 
 Here the general, who appeared to quite grow faint at the bare 
 thought of reading anything which was neither mercantile nor political, 
 and was not in a newspaper, inquired " if any gentleman would drink 
 some ? " Most of the company, considering this a very choice and 
 seasonable idea, lounged out one by one to the bar-room in the next 
 block. Thence they probably went to their stores and counting-houses ; 
 thence to the bar-room airain, to talk once more of dollars, and enlaro-e 
 their minds with the perusal and discussion of screamers ; and thence 
 each man to snore in the bosom of his own family. 
 
 " Which would seem," said Martin, pursuing the current of his own 
 thoughts, "to be the principal recreation they enjoy in common." With 
 that, he fell a-musing again on dollars, demagogues, and bar-rooms ; 
 debating within himself whether busy people of this class were really 
 as busy as they claimed to be, or only had an inaptitude for social and 
 domestic pleasure. 
 
208 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 It was a difficult question to solve ; and the mere fact of its being 
 strongly presented to his mind by all that he had seen and heard, was 
 not encouraging. He sat down at the deserted board, and becoming 
 more and more despondent, as he thought of all the uncertainties and 
 difficulties of his precarious situation, sighed heavily. 
 
 Now, there had been at the dinner-table a middle-aged man with a 
 dark eye and a sunburnt face, who had attracted Martin's attention by 
 having something very engaging and honest in the expression of his 
 features ; but of whom he could learn nothing from either of his neigh- 
 bours, who seemed to consider him quite beneath their notice. He had 
 taken no part in the conversation round the stove, nor had he gone 
 forth with the rest; and now, when he heard Martin sigh for the third 
 or fourth time, he interposed with some casual remark, as if he desired, 
 without obtruding himself upon a stranger's notice, to engage him in 
 cheerful conversation if he could. His motive was so obvious, and yet 
 so delicately expressed, that Martin felt really grateful to him, and 
 showed him so, in the manner of his reply. 
 
 " I will not ask you," said this gentleman with a smile, as he rose and 
 moved towards him, " how you like my country, for I can quite 
 anticipate your real feeling on that point. But, as I am an American, 
 and consequently bound to begin with a question, I'll ask you how do 
 you like the colonel V 
 
 " You are so very frank," returned Martin, " that I have no hesitation 
 in saying I don't like him at all. Though I must add that I am 
 beholden to him for his civility in bringing me here — and arranging for 
 my stay, on pretty reasonable terms, by the way," he added : remember- 
 ing that the colonel had whispered him to that effect, before going out. 
 
 " Not much beholden," said the stranger drily. " The colonel occa- 
 sionally boards packet-ships, I have heard, to glean the latest informa- 
 tion for his journal ; and he occasionally brings strangers to board here, 
 I believe, with a view to the little per-centage which attaches to those 
 good offices ; and which the hostess deducts from his weekly bill. I 
 don't offend you, I hope?" he added, seeing that Martin reddened. 
 
 " My dear sir," returned Martin, as they shook hands, " how is that 
 possible ! to tell you the truth, I — am — " 
 
 " Yes ?" said the gentleman, sitting down beside him. 
 
 " 1 am rather at a loss, since I must speak plainly," said Martin, 
 getting the better of his hesitation, " to know how this colonel escapes 
 being beaten." 
 
 " Well ! He has been beaten once or twice," remarked the gentleman 
 quietly. " He is one of a class of men, in whom our own Franklin, so 
 long ago as ten years before the close of the last century, foresaw our 
 danger and disgrace. Perhaps you don't know that Franklin, in very 
 severe terms, published his opinion that those who were slandered by 
 such fellows as this colonel, having no sufficient remedy in the adminis- 
 tration of this country's laws or in the decent and right-minded feeling 
 of its people, were justified in retorting on such public nuisances by 
 means of a stout cudgel V 
 
 " I was not aware of that," said Martin, '• but I am very glad to know 
 
MARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 209 
 
 it, and I think it \vorthy of his memory ; especially" — here he hesitated 
 a2:ain. 
 
 " Go on," said the other, smiling as if he knew what stuck in Mar- 
 tin's throat. 
 
 " Especially," pursued Martin, " as I can already understand that it 
 may have required great courage even in his lime to write freely on any 
 question which was not a party one in this very free country." 
 
 " Some courage, no doubt," returned his new friend. " Do you think 
 it would require any to do so, now ?" 
 
 " Indeed I think it would ; and not a little," said Martin. 
 
 '^ You are right. So very right, that I believe no satirist could 
 breathe this air. If another Juvenal or Swift could rise up among us 
 to-morrow, he would be hunted down. If you have any knowledge of 
 our literature, and can give me the name of any man, American born 
 and bred, who has anatomised our follies as a people, and not as this or 
 that party; and has escaped the foulest and most brutal slander, the 
 most inveterate hatred and intolerant pursuit ; it M-ill be a strange name 
 in my ears, believe me. In some cases I could name to you, where a 
 native writer has ventured on the most harmless and good-humoured 
 illustrations of our vices or defects, it has been found necessary to 
 announce, that in a second edition the passage has been expunged, or 
 altered, or explained away, or patched into praise," 
 
 "And how has this been brought about T' asked Martin, in dismay. 
 
 " Think of what you have seen and heard to-day, beginning with 
 the colonel," said his friend, " and ask yourself. How the?/ came about 
 is another question. Heaven forbid that they should be samples of the 
 intelligence and virtue of America, but they come uppermost ; and 
 in great numbers too; and too often represent it. Will you walkT' 
 
 There was a cordial candour in his manner, and an engaging confi- 
 dence that it would not be abused; a manly bearing on his own part, 
 and a simple reliance on the manly faith of a stranger; which Martin 
 had never seen before. He linked his arm readily in that of the 
 American gentleman, and they walked out together. 
 
 It was perhaps to men like this, his new companion, that a traveller 
 of honoured name, who trod those shores now nearly forty years ago, and 
 woke upon that soil, as many have done since, to blots and stains upon 
 its high pretensions, which in the brightness of his distant dreams were 
 lost to view ; appealed in these words — 
 
 Oh but for such, Columbia's days were done ; 
 Rank witliout ripeness, quickened without sun, 
 Crude at the surface, rotten at the core, 
 Her fruits would full before her Spring were o'er ! 
 
210 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 MARTIN ENLARGES HIS CIRCLE OF ACQUAINTANCE ; INCREASES HIS STOCK 
 OF WISDOM ; AND HAS AN EXCELLENT OPPORTUNITY OF COMPARING 
 HIS OWN EXPERIENCES WITH THOSE OF LUMMY NED OF THE LIGHT 
 SALISBURY, AS RELATED BY HIS FRIEND MR. WILLIAM SIMMONS. 
 
 It was characteristic of Martin, that all this while he had either for- 
 gotten Mark Tapley as completely as if there had been no such person 
 in existence, or, if for a moment the figure of that gentleman rose before 
 his mental vision, had dismissed it as something by no means of a press- 
 ing nature, which might be attended to by-and-by, and could wait his 
 perfect leisure. But being now in the streets again, it occurred to him 
 as just coming within the bare limits of possibility that Mr. Tapley might, 
 in course of time, grow tired of waiting on the threshold of the Rowdy 
 Journal Office ; so he intimated to his new friend, that if they could 
 conveniently walk in that direction, he would be glad to get this piece 
 of business off his mind. 
 
 " And speaking of business," said Martin, " may I ask, in order that 
 I may not be behind-hand with questions either, whether your occupa- 
 tion holds you to this city, or, like myself, you are a visitor here 1 " 
 
 " A visitor," replied his friend. " I was ' raised ' in the State of Mas- 
 sachusetts, and reside there still. My home is in a quiet country toMii. 
 I am not often in these busy places ; and my inclination to visit them 
 does not increase with our better acquaintance, I assure you." 
 
 " You have been abroad 1 " asked Martin. 
 
 " Oh yes." 
 
 "And, like most people who travel, have become more than ever 
 attached to your home and native country," said Martin, eyeing him 
 curiously. 
 
 " To my home — yes," rejoined his friend. " To my native country 
 as my home — ^}'es, also." 
 
 " You imply some reservation," said Martin. 
 
 " Well," returned his new friend, " if you ask me whether I came 
 back here with a greater relish for my country's faults ; with a greater 
 fondness for those who claim (at the rate of so many dollars a day) to be 
 her friends ; with a cooler indifference to the growth of principles among 
 us in respect of public matters and of private dealings between man and 
 man, the advocacy of which, beyond the foul atmosphere of a criminal 
 trial, would disgrace your own Old Bailey lawyers ; why, then I answer 
 plainly. No." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Martin ; in so exactly the same key as his friend's No, 
 that it sounded like an echo. 
 
 " If you ask me," his companion pursued, " whether I came back here 
 better satisfied with a state of things which broadly divides society into 
 two classes — whereof one, the great mass, asserts a spurious independence, 
 most miserably dependent for its mean existence on the disregard of 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 211 
 
 humanizing conventionalities of manner and social custom, so that the 
 coarser a man is, the more distinctly it shall appeal to his taste ; while 
 the other, disgusted with the low standard thus set up and made adapt- 
 able to everything, takes refuge among the graces and refinements it can 
 bring to bear on private life, and leaves the public weal to such fortune 
 as may betide it in the press and uproar of a general scramble — then 
 again I answer. No." 
 
 And again Martin said " Oh ! " in the same odd way as before, 
 being anxious and disconcerted ; not so much, to say the truth, on 
 public grounds, as with reference to the fading prospects of domestic 
 architecture. 
 
 " In a word," resumed the other, " I do not find and cannot believe, 
 and therefore will not allow that we are a model of wisdom, and an 
 example to the world, and the perfection of human reason ; and a great 
 deal more to the same purpose, which you may hear any hour in the 
 day ; simply because we began our political life with two inestimable 
 advantages." 
 
 "What were they?" asked Martin. 
 
 " One, that our history commenced at so late a period as to escape 
 the ages of bloodshed and cruelty through which other nations have 
 passed ; and so had all the light of their probation, and none of its dark- 
 ness. The other, that we have a vast territory, and not — as yet — too 
 many people on it. These facts considered, we have done little enough, 
 I think." 
 
 " Education ?" suggested Martin, faintly. 
 
 " Pretty well on that head," said the other, shrugging his shoulders, 
 " still no mighty matter to boast of ; for old countries, and despotic 
 countries too, have done as much, if not more, and made less noise about 
 it. We shine out brightly in comparison with England, certainly, but 
 hers is a very extreme case. You complimented me on my frankness, 
 you know," he added, laughing. 
 
 " Oh ! I am not at all astonished at your speaking thus openly when 
 my country is in question," returned Martin. " It is your plain-speaking 
 in reference to your own that surprises me." 
 
 " You will not find it a scarce quality here, I assure you, saving 
 among the Colonel Divers, and Jefferson Bricks, and Major Pawkinses — 
 though the best of us are something like the man in Goldsmith's 
 Comedy, who wouldn't suffer anybody but himself to abuse his master. 
 Come ! " he added, '• let us talk of something else. You have come here 
 on some design of improving your fortune, I dare say ; and I should 
 grieve to put you out of heart. I am some years older than you, 
 besides ; and may, on a few trivial points, advise you, perhaps." 
 
 There was not the least curiosity or impertinence in the manner of this 
 ofier, which was open-hearted, unaffected, and good-natured. As it was 
 next to impossible that he should not have his confidence awakened by a 
 deportment so prepossessing and kind, Martin plainly stated what had 
 brought him into those parts, and even made the very difficult avowal 
 that he was poor. He did not say how poor, it must be admitted, 
 rather throwing ofi" the declaration with an air which might have 
 
 p 2 
 
212 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 implied that he liad money enough for six months, instead of as many 
 weeks ; hut poor he said he was, and grateful he said he would be, for 
 any counsel that his friend would give him. 
 
 It would not have been very difficult for any one to see ; but it was 
 particularly easy for Martin, whose perceptions were sharpened by his 
 circumstances, to discern ; that the stranger's face grew infinitely longer 
 as the domestic-architecture project was developed. Nor, although he 
 made a great effort to be as encouraging as possible, could he prevent his 
 head from shaking once involuntarily, as if it said in the vulgar tongue, 
 upon its own account, " No go ! " But he spoke in a cheerful tone, and 
 said, that although there was no such opening as Martin wished in that 
 city, he would make it matter of immediate consideration and enquiry 
 where one was most likely to exist ; and then he made Martin acquainted 
 with his name, which was Bevan ; and with his profession, which was 
 physic, though he seldom or never practised ; and with other circum- 
 stances connected with himself and family, which fully occupied the time, 
 until they reached the Bowdy Journal Office. 
 
 Mr. Tapley appeared to be taking his ease on the landing of the first- 
 floor j for sounds as of some gentleman established in that region, whist- 
 ling " Bule Britannia" with all his might and main, greeted their ears 
 before they reached the house. On ascending to the spot from whence 
 this music proceeded, they found him recumbent in the midst of a forti- 
 fication of luggage, apparently performing his national anthem for the 
 gratification of a grey-haired black man, who sat on one of the outworks 
 (a portmanteau), staring intently at Mark, while Mark, with his head reclin- 
 ing on his hand, returned the compliment in a thoughtful manner, and 
 whistled all the time. He seemed to have recently dined, for his knife, 
 a case-bottle, and certain broken meats in a handkerchief, lay near at 
 hand. He had employed a portion of his leisure in the decoration of 
 the Bowdy Journal door, whereon his own initials now appeared in 
 letters nearly half a foot long, together with the day of the month in 
 smaller type : the whole surrounded by an ornamental border, and 
 looking very fresh and bold. 
 
 " I was a'most afraid you was lost, sir ! " cried Mark, rising, and 
 stopping the tune at that point where Britons generally are supposed to 
 declare (when it is whistled) that they never, never, never, — 
 
 " Nothing gone wrong, I hope, sir." 
 
 " No, Mark. Where's your friend V 
 
 " The mad woman, sir V said Mr. Tapley. " Oh ! she's all right, sir." 
 
 " Did she find her husband "?" 
 
 " Yes, sir. Least ways she's found his remains," said Mark correcting 
 himself 
 
 " The man's not dead, I hope ?" 
 
 " Not altogether dead, sir," returned Mark ; " but he's had more 
 fevers and agues than is quite reconcileable with being alive. When 
 she didn't see him a waiting for her, I thought she'd have died herself, 
 I did !" 
 
 " Was he not here, then ! " 
 
 "He wasn't here. There was a feeble old shadow come a creeping 
 
':%^^^^ v.v7^v77^ /^7.?<^?<7 '^-W^, 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 213 
 
 down at last, as much like his substance when she know'd him, as your 
 shadow when it's drawn out to its veiy finest and longest by the sun, 
 is like you. But it was his remains, there's no doubt about that. She 
 took on with joy, poor thing, as much as if it had been all of him T* 
 
 " Had he bought land ?" asked Mr. Bevan. 
 
 " Ah ! He'd bought land," said Mark, shaking his head, " and paid 
 for it too. Every sort of nateral advantage was connected "with it, the 
 agents said ; and there certainly was one, quite unlimited. No end to 
 the water ! " 
 
 " It 's a thing he couldn't have done without, I suppose," observed 
 Martin, peevishly. 
 
 " Certainly not, sir. There it was, any way ; always turned on, and 
 no water-rate. Independent of three or four slimy old rivers close by, it 
 varied on the farm from four to six foot deep in the dry season. He 
 couldn't say how deep it was in the rainy time, for he never had any- 
 thing long enough to sound it with." 
 
 " Is this true V asked Martin of his companion. 
 
 " Extremely probable," he answered. " Some Mississippi or Missouri 
 lot, I dare say." 
 
 " However," pursued Mark, " he came from I-don't-know-where-and- 
 all, down to New York here to meet his wife and children ; and they 
 started off again in a steamboat this blessed afternoon, as happy to be 
 along with each other, as if they was going to Heaven. I should 
 think they was, pretty straight, if I may judge from the poor man's 
 looks." 
 
 " And may I ask," said Martin, glancing, but not with any displeasure, 
 from Mark to the negro, " who this gentleman is % Another friend 
 of yours ? " 
 
 " Why, sir," returned Mark, taking him aside, and speaking confi- 
 dentially in his ear, " he's a man of color, sir." 
 
 " Do you take me for a blind man," asked Martin, somewhat impa- 
 tiently, " that you think it necessary to tell me that, when his face is 
 the blackest that ever was seen ?" 
 
 '' No, no ; when I say a man of color," returned Mark, " I mean that 
 he's been one of them as there's picters of in the shops. A man and a 
 brother, you know, sir," said Mr. Tapley, favoring his master with a 
 significant indication of the figure so often represented in tracts and 
 cheap prints. 
 
 " A slave !" cried Martin, in a whisper. 
 
 " Ah !" said Mark in the same tone. " Nothing else. A slave. "^^Tiy, 
 when that there man was young — don't look at him, while I'm a telling 
 it — he was shot in the leg -, gashed in the arm ; scored in his live limbs, 
 like pork ; beaten out of shape ; had his neck galled with an iron collar, 
 and wore iron rings upon his wrists and ancles. The marks are on 
 him to this day. When I was having my dinner just now, he stripped 
 off his coat, and took away my appetite." 
 
 " Is this true ?" asked Martin of his friend, who stood beside them. 
 " I have no reason to doubt it," he answered, looking down, and shak- 
 ing his head. " It very often is." 
 
214 LIFE AND ADVENTIJIIES OP 
 
 " Bless you," said Mark^ " I know it is, from hearing Lis whole story. 
 That master died ; so did his second master from having his head cut 
 open with a hatchet by another slave, who, when he'd done it, went and 
 drowned himself : then he got a better one : in years and years he saved 
 up a little money, and bought his freedom, which he got pretty cheap 
 at last, on account of his strength being nearly gone, and he being ill. 
 Then he come here. And now he's a saving up to treat himself afore 
 he dies to one small purchase — it's nothing to speak of ; only his own 
 daughter; that's all !" cried Mr. Tapley, becoming excited. "Liberty 
 for ever ! Hurrah !" 
 
 " Hush ! " cried Martin, clapping his hand upon his mouth : " and 
 don't be an idiot. What is he doing here ?" 
 
 " Waiting to take our luggage off upon a truck," said Mark. " He'd 
 have come for it by-and-by, but I engaged him for a very reasonable 
 charge — out of my own pocket — to sit along with me and make me jolly ; 
 and I am jolly; and if I was rich enough to contract with him to wait 
 upon me once a day, to be looked at, I'd never be anything else." 
 
 The fact may cause a solemn impeachment of Mark's veracity, but it 
 must be admitted nevertheless, that there was that in his face and 
 manner at the moment, which militated strongly against this emphatic 
 declaration of his state of mind. 
 
 " Lord love you, sir," he added, " they're so fond of Liberty in this 
 part of the globe, that they buy her and sell her and carry her to market 
 with 'em. They 've such a passion for Liberty, that they can't help 
 taking liberties with her. That 's what it 's owing to." 
 
 " Very well," said Martin, wishing to change the theme. " Having 
 come to that conclusion, Mark, perhaps you '11 attend to me. The place 
 to which the luggage is to go, is printed on this card. Mrs. Pawkins's 
 Boarding House." 
 
 " Mrs. Pawkins's boarding-house," repeated Mark. " Now, Cicero.'^ 
 " "Is that his name ?" asked Martin. 
 
 " That 's his name, sir," rejoined Mark. And the negro grinning 
 assent from under a leathern portmanteau, than which his own face Avas 
 many shades deeper, hobbled down stairs with his portion of their 
 worldly goods : Mark Tapley having already gone before with his share. 
 
 Martin and his friend followed them to the door below, and were 
 about to pursue their walk, when the latter stopped, and asked, with 
 some hesitation, whether that young man was to be trusted. 
 
 " Mark ! Oh certainly ! with anything." 
 
 " You don't understand me, — I think he had better go with us. He 
 is an honest fellow, and speaks his mind so very plainly." 
 
 " Why, the fact is," said Martin smiling, " that being unaccustomed 
 to a free republic, he is used to do so." 
 
 " I think he had better go with us," returned the other. " He may 
 get into some trouble otherwise. This is not a slave State ; but I am 
 ashamed to say that the spirit of Tolerance is not so common anywhere 
 in these latitudes as the form. We are not remarkable for behaving 
 very temperately to each other when we differ : but to strangers ! no, 
 I really think he had better go with us." 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 215 
 
 Martin called to Miii immediately to be of their party ; so Cicero and 
 the truck went one way ; and they three went another. 
 
 They walked about the city for two or three hours ; seeing it from 
 the best points of view, and pausing in the principal streets, and before 
 such public buildings as Mr. Bevan pointed out. Night then coming 
 on apace, Martin proposed that they should adjourn to Mrs. Pawkins's 
 establishment for coffee ; but in this he was overruled by his new 
 acquaintance, who seemed to have set his heart on carrying him, though 
 it were only for an hour, to the house of a friend of his who lived hard 
 by. Feeling (however disinclined he was, being weary) that it would 
 be in bad taste, and not very gracious, to object that he was unintro- 
 duced, when this open-hearted gentleman v/as so ready to be his sponsor, 
 Martin — for once in his life, at all events — sacrificed his own will and 
 pleasure to the wishes of another, and consented with a fair grace. So 
 travelling had done him that much good, already. 
 
 Mr. Bevan knocked at the door of a very neat house of moderate size, 
 from the parlour windows of which, lights were shining brightly into 
 the now dark street. It was quickly opened by a man with such a 
 thoroughly Irish face, that it seemed as if he ought, as a matter of right 
 and principle, to be in rags, and could have no sort of business to be 
 looking cheerfully at anybody out of a whole suit of clothes. 
 
 Commending Mark to the care of this phenomenon — for such he may 
 be said to have been in Martin's eyes — Mr. Bevan led the way into the 
 room which had shed its cheerfulness upon the street, to whose occu- 
 pants he introduced Mr. Chuzzlewit as a gentleman from England, whose 
 acquaintance he had recently had the pleasure to make. They gave 
 him welcome in all courtesy and politeness ; and in less than five 
 minutes' time he found himself sitting very much at his ease, by the 
 fireside, and becoming vastly well acquainted with the whole family. 
 
 There were two young ladies — one eighteen; the other twenty — both 
 very slender, but very pretty ; their mother, who looked, as Martin 
 thought, much older and more faded than she ought to have looked ; 
 and their grandmother, a little sharp-eyed, quick old woman, who 
 seemed to have got past that stage, and to have come all right again. 
 Besides these, there were the young ladies' father, and the young ladies' 
 brother ; the first engaged in mercantile affairs ; the second, a student 
 at college — both, in a certain cordiality of manner, like his own friend ; 
 and not unlike him in face, which was no great wonder, for it soon 
 appeared that he was their near relation. Martin could not help tracing 
 the family pedigree from the two young ladies, because they were fore- 
 most in his thoughts : not only from being, as aforesaid, very pretty, 
 but by reason of their wearing miraculously small shoes, and the thinnest 
 possible silk stockings : the which their rocking-chairs developed to a 
 distracting extent. 
 
 There is no doubt that it was a monstrous comfortable circumstance 
 to be sitting in a snug well-furnished room, warmed by a cheerful fire, 
 and full of various pleasant decorations, including four small shoes, and 
 
 the like amount of silk stockings, and yes, why not ? — the feet 
 
 and legs therein enshrined. And there is no doubt that Martin was 
 
216 LIFE AND ADVENTUEES OF 
 
 monstrous well-disposed to regard liis position in that light, after liis 
 recent experience of the Screw, and of Mrs. Pawkins's boarding-house. 
 The consequence was, that he made himself very agreeable indeed ; and 
 by the time the tea and coffee arrived (with sweet preserves, and cun- 
 ning teacakes in its train), was in a highly genial state, and much 
 esteemed by the whole family. 
 
 Another delightful circumstance turned up before the first cup of tea 
 was drunk. The whole family had been in England. There was a 
 pleasant thing ! But Martin was not quite so glad of this, when he 
 found that they knew all the great dukes, lords, viscounts, marquesses, 
 duchesses, knights, and baronets, quite affectionately, and were beyond 
 everything interested in the least particular concerning them. However, 
 when they asked after the wearer of this or that coronet, and said ' Was 
 he quite well?' Martin answered 'Yes, oh yes. Never better;' and 
 when they said his Lordship's mother, ' the Duchess, was she much 
 changed]' Martin said, ' Oh dear no, they would know her anywhere 
 if they saw her to-morrow;' and so got on pretty well. In like manner 
 when the young ladies questioned him touching the Gold Fish in that 
 Grecian fountain in such and such a nobleman's conservatory, and 
 whether there were as many as there used to be, he gravely reported, after 
 mature consideration, that there must be at least twice as many : and as 
 to the exotics, ' Oh ! well ! it was of no use talking about them; they must 
 be seen to be believed;' which improved state of circumstances reminded 
 the family of the splendour of that brilliant festival (comprehending 
 the whole British Peerage and Court Calendar) to which they were 
 specially invited, and which indeed had been partly given in their 
 honour : and recollections of what Mr. Norris the father had said to the 
 Marquess, and of what Mrs. Norris the mother had said to the Marchioness, 
 and of what the Marquess and Marchioness had both said, when they 
 said that upon their words and honours they wished Mr. Norris the 
 father and Mrs. Norris the mother, and the Misses Norris the daughters, 
 and Mr. Norris Junior, the son, would only take up their permanent 
 residence in England, and give them the pleasure of their everlasting 
 friendship, occupied a very considerable time. 
 
 Martin thought it rather strange, and in some sort inconsistent, that 
 during the whole of these narrations, and in the very meridian of their 
 enjoyment thereof, both Mr. Norris the father, and Mr. Norris Junior, 
 the son (who corresponded, every post, with four members of the English 
 Peerage), enlarged upon the inestimable advantage of having no such 
 arbitrary distinctions in that enlightened land, where there were no noble- 
 men but nature's noblemen, and all society was based on one broad level 
 of brotherly love and natural equality. Indeed Mr. Norris the father 
 gradually expanding into an oration on this swelling theme was becom- 
 ing tedious, when Mr. Bevan diverted his thoughts, by happening to 
 make some casual inquiry relative to the occupier of the next house ; in 
 reply to which, this same Mr. Norris the father observed, that " that per- 
 son entertained religious opinions of which he couldn't approve; and 
 therefore he hadn't the honour of knowing the gentleman." Mrs. Norris 
 the mother added another reason of her own, the same in effect, but 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 217 
 
 varying in words ; to wit, that slie believed the people were well enough 
 in their way, but they were not genteel. 
 
 Another little trait came out, which impressed itself on Martin 
 forcibly. Mr. Bevan told them about Mark and the negro, and then it 
 appeared that all the Norrises were abolitionists. It was a great relief 
 to hear this, and Martin was so much encouraged on finding himself in 
 such company, that he expressed his sympathy with the oppressed and 
 wretched blacks. Now, one of the young ladies — the prettiest and most 
 delicate one — was mightily amused at the earnestness with which he 
 spoke ; and on his craving leave to ask her why, was quite unable for a 
 time to speak for laughing. As soon however as she could, she told 
 him that the negroes were such a funny people ; so excessively ludicrous 
 in their manners and appearance ; that it was wholly impossible for 
 those who knew them well, to associate any serious ideas with such a 
 very absurd part of the creation. Mr. Norris the father, and Mrs. Norris 
 the mother, and Miss Norris the sister, and Mr. Norris Junior the 
 brother, and even Mrs. Norris Senior the grandmother, were all of this 
 opinion, and laid it down as an absolute matter of fact — as if there were 
 nothing in suffering and slavery grim enough to cast a solemn air on 
 any human animal ; though it were as ridiculous, physically, as the most 
 grotesque of apes ; or, morally, as the mildest Nimrod among tuft- 
 hunting republicans ! 
 
 " In short," said Mr. Norris the father, settling the question com- 
 fortably, " there is a natural antipathy between the races." 
 
 " Extending," said Martin's friend, in a low voice, " to the cruellest 
 of tortures, and the bargain and sale of unborn generations." 
 
 Mr. Norris the son said nothing, but he made a wry face, and dusted 
 his fingers as Hamlet might after getting rid of Yorick's skull: just as 
 though he had that moment touched a negro, and some of the black had 
 come off upon his hands. 
 
 In order that their talk might fall again into its former pleasant 
 channel, Martin dropped the subject, with a shrewd suspicion that it 
 would be a dangerous theme to revive under the best of circumstances : 
 and again adxiressed himself to the young ladies, who were very gor- 
 geously attired in very beautiful colours, and had every article of dress 
 on the same extensive scale as the little shoes and the thin silk stockinsrs. 
 
 o 
 
 This suggested to him that they were great proficients in the French 
 fashions, which soon turned out to be the case, for though their informa- 
 tion appeared to be none of the newest, it was very extensive : and the 
 eldest sister in particular, who was distinguished by a talent for meta- 
 physics, the laws of hydraulic pressure, and the rights of human kind, 
 had a novel vray of combining these acquirements and bringing them to 
 bear on any subject from Millinery to the Millennium, both inclusive : 
 which was at once improving and remarkable, — so much so, in short, 
 that it was usually observed to reduce foreigners to a state of temporary 
 insanity in five minutes. 
 
 Martin felt his reason going ; and as a means of saving himself, 
 besought the other sister (seeing a piano in the room) to sing. With 
 this request she willingly complied ; and a bravura concert, solely sus- 
 
218 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 tained by the Misses Norris, presently began. They sang in all languages 
 except their own. German, French, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, Swiss ; 
 but nothing native ; nothing so low as native. For in this respect 
 languages are like many other travellers — ordinary and common-place 
 enough at home, but 'specially genteel abroad. 
 
 There is little doubt that in course of time the Misses Norris would 
 have come to Hebrew, if they had not been interrupted by an announce- 
 ment from the Irishman, who flinging open the door, cried in a loud 
 voice — 
 
 "Jiniral Fladdock !" 
 
 "My!" cried the sisters, desisting suddenly. "The General come 
 back !" 
 
 As they made the exclamation, the General, attired in full uniform for 
 a ball, came darting in with such precipitancy that, hitching his boot in 
 the carpet, and getting his sword between his legs, he came down head- 
 long, and presented a curious little bald place on the crown of his head 
 to the eyes of the astonished company. Nor was this the worst of it ; for 
 being rather corpulent and very tight, the General, being down, could not 
 get up again, but lay there, writhing and doing such things with his 
 boots, as there is no other instance of in military history. 
 
 Of course there was an immediate rush to his assistance ; and the 
 General was promptly raised.] But his uniform was so fearfully and 
 wonderfully made that he came up stiff and without a bend in him, 
 like a dead Clown, and had no command whatever of himself until he 
 was put quite flat upon the soles of his feet, when he became animated 
 as by a miracle, and moving edgewise that he might go in a narrower 
 compass and be in less danger of fraying the gold lace on his epaulettes 
 by brushing them against anything, advanced with a smiling visage to 
 salute the lady of the house. 
 
 To be sure, it would have been impossible for the family to tes- 
 tify purer delight and joy than at this unlooked-for appearance of 
 General Fladdock ! The General was as warmly received as if New 
 York had been in a state of siege and no other General was to be got, 
 for love or money. He shook hands with the Norrises three times all 
 round, and then reviewed them from a little distance as a brave com- 
 mander might, with his ample cloak drawn forward over the right 
 shoulder and thrown back upon the left side to reveal his manly breast. 
 
 " And do I then," cried the General, " once again behold the choicest 
 spirits of my country ! " 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Norris the father. " Here we are. General." 
 
 Then all the Norri^es pressed round the General, inquiring how and 
 where he had been since the date of his last letter, and how he had 
 enjoyed himself in foreign parts, and, particularly and above all, to what 
 extent he had become acquainted with the great dukes, lords, viscounts, 
 marquesses, duchesses, knights, and baronets, in whom the people of 
 those benighted countries had delight. 
 
 " Well then, don't ask me," said the General, holding up his hand. 
 "I was among 'em all the time, and have got public journals in my 
 trunk with my name printed" — he lowered his voice and was very 
 
MARTIN CHTJZZLEWIT. 219 
 
 impressive here — " among the fashionable news. But, oh the conven- 
 tionalities of that a-mazing Europe !" 
 
 "Ah !" cried Mr. Norris the father, giving his head a melancholy 
 shake, and looking towards Martin as though he would say, " I can't 
 deny it, sir. I would if I could." 
 
 " The limited diffusion of a moral sense in that country !" exclaimed 
 the General. " The absence of a moral dignity in man ! " 
 
 " Ah !" sighed all the Norrises, quite overwhelmed with despondency. 
 
 " I couldn't have realised it," pursued the General, " without being 
 located on the spot. Norris, your imagination is the imagination of a 
 strong man, but you couldn't have realised it, without being located on the 
 spot T 
 
 " Never," said Mr. Norris. 
 
 " The ex-clusiveness, the pride, the form, the ceremony," exclaimed 
 the General, emphasizing the article more vigorously at every repetition. 
 " The artificial barriers set up between man and man ; the division of 
 the human race into court cards and plain cards, of every denomination, 
 into clubs, diamonds, spades — anything but hearts !" 
 
 "Ah !" cried the whole family. " Too true. General !" 
 
 " But stay ! " cried ]\Ir. Norris the father, taking him by the arm. 
 " Surely you crossed in the Screw, General V 
 
 " Well ! so I did," was the reply. 
 1 "Possible !" cried the young ladies. " Only think !" 
 
 The General seemed at a loss to understand why his having come 
 home in the Screw should occasion such a sensation, nor did he seem 
 at all clearer on the subject when Mr. Norris, introducing him to 
 Martin, said — 
 
 " A fellow-passenger of yours, I think % " 
 
 " Of mine ! " exclaimed the General ; " No ! " 
 
 He had never seen Martin, but Martin had seen him, and recognised 
 him, now that they stood face to face, as the gentleman who had stuck 
 his hands in his pockets towards the end of the voyage, and walked the 
 deck with his nostrils dilated. 
 
 Everybody looked at Martin. There was no help for it. The truth 
 must out. 
 
 " I came over in the same ship as the General," said Martin, " but 
 not in the same cabin. It being necessary for me to observe strict 
 economy, I took my passage in the steerage." 
 
 If the General had been carried up bodily to a loaded cannon, and 
 required to let it off that moment, he could not have been in a state 
 of greater consternation than when he heard these words. He, Flad- 
 dock, — Fladdock in full militia uniform, Fladdock the General, Fladdock 
 the caressed of foreign noblemen, — expected to know a fellow who had 
 come over in the steerage of a line-of-packet ship, at a cost of four 
 pound ten ! and meeting that fellow in the very sanctuary of New 
 York fashion, and nestling in the bosom of the New York aristocracy ! 
 He almost laid his hand upon his sword. 
 
 A death-like stillness fell upon the Norrises. If this story should get 
 wind, their country relation had, by his imprudence, for ever disgraced 
 
220 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OE 
 
 tliem. They were tlie bright particular stars of an exalted New York 
 sphere. There were other fashionable spheres above them, and other 
 fashionable spheres below, and none of the stars in any one of these 
 spheres had anything to say to the stars in any other of these spheres. 
 But, through all the spheres it would go forth, that the Norrises, 
 deceived by gentlemanly manners and appearances, had, falling from 
 their high estate, " received " a dollarless and unknown man. guar- 
 dian eagle of the pure Republic, had they lived for this ! 
 
 " You will allow me," said Martin, after a terrible silence, " to take 
 my leave. I feel that I am the cause of at least as much embarrassment 
 here, as I have brought upon myself. But I am bound, before I go, to 
 exonerate this gentleman, who, in introducing me to such society, was 
 quite ignorant of my unworthiness, I assure you." 
 
 With that he made his bow to the Norrises, and walked out like a 
 man of snow, very cool externally, but pretty hot within. 
 
 " Come, come," said Mr. Norris the father, looking with a pale face 
 on the assembled circle as Martin closed the door, " the young man has 
 this night beheld a refinement of social manner, and an easy magni- 
 ficence of social decoration, to which he is a stranger in his own country. 
 Let us hope it may awake a moral sense within him." 
 
 If that peculiarly transatlantic article, a moral sense, — for if native 
 statesmen, orators, and pamphleteers, are to be believed, America 
 quite monopolizes the commodity, — if that peculiarly transatlantic 
 article be supposed to include a benevolent love of all mankind, cer- 
 tainly Martin's would have borne just then a deal of waking : for as he 
 strode along the street, with Mark at his heels, his immoral sense was 
 in active operation ; prompting him to the utterance of some rather 
 sanguinary remarks, which it was well for his own credit that nobody over- 
 heard. He had so far cooled down however, that he had begun to laugh 
 at the recollection of these incidents, when he heard another step behind 
 him, and turning round encountered his friend Bevan, quite out of breath. 
 
 He drew his arm through Martin's, and entreating him to walk 
 slowly, was silent for some minutes. At length he said : 
 
 " I hope you exonerate me in another sense ?" 
 
 " How do you mean 1 " asked Martin. 
 
 " I hope you acquit me of intending or foreseeing the termination of 
 our visit. But I scarcely need ask you that." 
 
 " Scarcely indeed," said Martin. " I am the more beholden to you 
 for your kindness, when I find what kind of stuff the good citizens here 
 are made of." 
 
 " I reckon," his friend returned, " that they are made of pretty much 
 the same stuff as other folks, if they would but own it, and not set up 
 on false pretences." 
 
 " In good faith, that 's true," said Martin. 
 
 " I dare say," resumed his friend, " you might have such a scene as 
 that in an English comedy, and not detect any gross improbability or 
 anomaly in the matter of it 1 " 
 
 " Yes indeed ! " 
 
 •^' Doubtless it is more ridiculous here than anywhere else," said his 
 
MAETIN CHUZZLEWIT. 221 
 
 companion ; " but our professions are to blame for that. So far as I 
 myself am concerned, I may add that I was perfectly aware from the first 
 that you came over in the steerage^ for I had seen the list of passengers^ 
 and knew it did not comprise your name." 
 
 " I feel more obliged to you than before/' said Martin. 
 
 " Norris is a very good fellow in his way," observed Mr. Bevan. 
 
 " Is he 1 " said Martin drily. 
 
 " Oh yes ! there are a hundred good points about him. If you or 
 anybody else addressed him as another order of being, and sued to him 
 in forma pauperis, he would be all kindness and consideration." 
 
 "I needn't have travelled three thousand miles from home to find 
 such a character as that,''' said Martin. Neither he nor his friend said 
 anything more on the way back ; each appearing to find sufficient 
 occupation in his own thoughts. 
 
 The tea, or the supper, or whatever else they called the evening meal, 
 was over when they reached the Major's; but the cloth, ornamented with a 
 few additional smears and stains, Avas still upon the table. At one end 
 of the board Mrs. Jefierson Brick and two other ladies were drinking 
 tea — out of the ordinary course, evidently, for they were bonneted and 
 shawled, and seemed to have just come home. By the light of three flaring 
 candles of different lengths, in as many candlesticks of different 
 patterns, the room showed to almost as little advantage as in broad day. 
 
 These ladies were all three talking together in a very loud tone when 
 Martin and his friend entered ; but, seeing those gentlemen, they 
 stopped directly, and became excessively genteel, not to say frosty. As 
 they went on to exchange some few remarks in whispers, the very water 
 in the tea-pot might have fallen twenty degrees in temperature beneath 
 their chilling coldness. 
 
 " Have you been to meeting, Mrs. Brick ? " asked Martin's friend, 
 with something of a roguish twinkle in his eye. 
 
 " To lecture, sir." 
 
 " I beg your pardon. I forgot. You don't go to meeting, I think ?" 
 
 Here the lady on the right of Mrs. Brick gave a pious cough, as much 
 as to say "/do !" — as, indeed, she did, nearly every night in the week. 
 
 " A good discourse, ma'am?" asked Mr. Bevan, addressing this lady. 
 
 The lady raised her eyes in a pious manner, and answered " Yes." 
 She had been much comforted by some good, strong, peppery doctrine, 
 which satisfactorily disposed of all her friends and acquaintances, and 
 quite settled their business. Her bonnet, too, had far outshone every 
 bonnet in the congregation : so she was tranquil on all accounts. 
 
 "What course of lectures are you attending now, ma'am?" said 
 Martin's friend, turning again to ]Mrs. Brick. 
 
 " The Philosophy of the Soul — on Wednesdays." 
 
 " On Mondays ?" 
 
 " The Philosophy of Crime." 
 
 "On Fridays?" 
 
 " The Philosophy of Vegetables." 
 
 "You have forgotten Thursdays — the Philosophy of Government, 
 my dear," observed the third lady. 
 
222 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 « No," said Mrs. Brick. " That's Tuesdays." 
 
 " So it is !" cried the ladj. " The Philosophy of Matter on Thurs- 
 days, of course." 
 
 " You see, Mr. Chuzzlewit, our ladies are fully employed," said Bevan. 
 
 " Indeed you have reason to say so," answered Martin. " Between 
 these very grave pursuits abroad, and family duties at home, their time 
 must be pretty well engrossed." 
 
 Martin stopped here, for he saw that the ladies regarded him with no 
 very great favour, though what he had done to deserve the disdainful 
 expression which appeared in their faces he was at a loss to divine. But 
 on their going up stairs to their bed-rooms — which they very soon did — 
 Mr. Bevan informed him that domestic drudgery was far beneath 
 the exalted range of these Philosophers, and that the chances were 
 a hundred to one that neither of the three could perform the easiest 
 woman's work for herself, or make the simplest article of dress for 
 any of her children. 
 
 " Though whether they might not be better employed with even such 
 blunt instruments as knitting-needles, than wdth these edge-tools," he 
 said, " is another question ; but I can answer for one thing — they don' t 
 often cut themselves. Devotions and lectures are our balls and concerts. 
 They go to these places of resort, as an escape from monotony ; look at 
 each other's clothes ; and come home again." 
 
 " When you say ' home,' do you mean a house like this ?" 
 
 " Very often. But I see you are tired to death, and will wish you 
 good night. We wdll discuss your projects in the morning. You cannot 
 but feel already that it is useless staying here, wdth any hope of 
 advancing them. You will have to go farther." 
 
 " And to fare worse ?" said Martin, pursuing the old adage. 
 
 " Well, I hope not. But sufficient for the day, you know — Good 
 night !" 
 
 They shook hands heartily, and separated. As soon as Martin was 
 left alone, the excitement of novelty and change which had sustained 
 him through all the fatigues of the day, departed ; and he felt so 
 thoroughly dejected and worn out, that he even lacked the energy to 
 crawl up stairs to bed. 
 
 In twelve or fifteen hours, how great a change had fallen on his hopes 
 and sanguine plans ! New and strange as he was to the ground on 
 which he stood, and to the air he breathed, he could not — recalling all 
 that he had crowded into that one day — but entertain a strong mis- 
 giving that his enterprise was doomed. Bash and ill-considered as it 
 had often looked on ship-board, but had never seemed on shore, it wore 
 a dismal aspect now that frightened him. Whatever thoughts he called 
 up to his aid, they came upon him in depressing and discouraging- 
 shapes, and gave him no relief. Even the diamonds on his finger 
 sparkled with the brightness of tears, and had no ray of hope in all 
 their brilliant lustre. 
 
 He continued to sit in gloomy rumination by the stove — unmindful of 
 the boarders who dropped in one by one from their stores and counting- 
 houses, or the neighbouring bar-rooms, and after taking long pulls from 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 223 
 
 a great white water-jug upon the sideboard, and lingering with a kind 
 of hideous fascination near the brass spittoons, lounged heavily to bed — 
 until at length Mark Tapley came and shook him by the arm, supposing 
 him asleep. 
 
 " Mark !" he cried, starting. 
 
 " All right, sir," said that cheerful follower, snuffing with his fingers 
 the candle he bore. " It ain't a very large bed, your'n, sir ; and a 
 man as wasn't thirsty might drink, afore breakfast, all the water you've 
 got to wash in, and afterwards eat the towel. But you'll sleep without 
 rocking to-night, sir." 
 
 " I feel as if the house were on the sea/' said Martin, staggering when 
 he rose ; " and am utterly wretched." 
 
 " I'm as jolly as a sandboy, myself, sir," said Mark. "But, Lord, I 
 have reason to be ! I ought to have been born here ; that's my opinion. 
 Take care hoAV you go" — for they were now ascending the stairs. '-You 
 recollect the gentleman aboard the Screw as had the very small trunk, 
 sir?" 
 
 " The valise ? Yes." 
 
 *' Well, sir, there's been a delivery of clean clothes from the wash to- 
 night, and they're put outside the bed-room doors here. If you take 
 notice as we go up, what a very few shirts there are, and what a many 
 fronts, you'll penetrate the mystery of his packing." 
 
 But Martin was too weary and despondent to take heed of anything, 
 so had no interest in this discovery. Mr. Tapley, nothing dashed by 
 iiis indifference, conducted him to the top of the house, and into the bed- 
 chamber prepared for his reception : which was a very little narrow room, 
 with half a window in it j a bedstead like a chest without a lid ; two 
 chairs ; a piece of carpet, such as shoes are commonly tried upon at a 
 ready-made establishment in England ; a little looking-glass nailed 
 against the wall ; and a Avashing-table, with a jug and ewer, that might 
 have been mistaken for a milk-pot and slop-basin. 
 
 " I suppose they polish themselves with a dry cloth in this country," 
 said Mark. " They've certainly got a touch of the 'phoby, sir." 
 
 " I wish you would pull off my boots for me," said Martin, dropping 
 into one of the chairs. " I am quite knocked up — dead beat, Mark." 
 
 " You won't say that to-morrow morning, sir," returned Mr. Tapley ; 
 " nor even to-night, sir, when you've made a trial of this." With which 
 he produced a very large tumbler, piled up to the brim with little 
 blocks of clear transparent ice, through which one or two thin slices of 
 lemon, and a golden liquid of delicious appearance, appeared from the 
 still depths below, to the loving eye of the spectator. 
 
 " What do you call this ?" said Martin. 
 
 But Mr. Tapley made no answer : merely plunging a reed into the 
 mixture — which caused a pleasant commotion among the pieces of ice — 
 and signifying by an expressive gesture that it was to be pumped up 
 through that agency by the enraptured drinker. 
 
 Martin took the glass, with an astonished look ; applied his lips to the 
 reed ; and cast up his eyes once in ecstacy. He paused no more until 
 the goblet was drained to the last drop. 
 
224: LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " There, sir ! " said Mark, taking it from him with a triumphant face ; 
 " If ever you should happen to be dead beat again, when I ain't in the 
 way, all you've got to do is, to ask the nearest man to go and fetch a 
 cobbler." 
 
 "To go and fetch a cobbler !" repeated Martin. 
 
 "This wonderful invention, sir," said Mark, tenderly patting the empty 
 glass, " is called a cobbler. Sherry cobbler when you name it long ; 
 cobbler, when you name it short. Now you're equal to having your 
 boots took off, and are, in every particular worth mentioning, another 
 man." 
 
 Having delivered himself of this solemn preface, he brought the boot- 
 jack. 
 
 " Mind ! I am not going to relapse, Mark," said Martin ; " but, good 
 Heaven, if we should be left in some wild part of this country without 
 goods or money !" 
 
 " Well, sir 1 " replied the imperturbable Tapley ; " from what we've 
 seen already, I don't know whether, under those circumstances, we 
 shouldn't do better in the wild parts than in the tame ones." 
 
 " Oh, Tom Pinch, Tom Pinch !" said Martin, in a thoughtful tone ; 
 " what would I give to be again beside you, and able to hear your voice, 
 though it were even in the old bed-room at Pecksniff's ! " 
 
 " Oh, Dragon, Dragon !" echoed Mark cheerfully, " if there warn't any 
 water between you and me, and nothing faint-hearted-like in going back, 
 I don't know that I mightn't say the same. But here am I, Dragon, in 
 New York, America ; and there are you in Wiltshire, Europe ; and 
 there's a fortune to make. Dragon, and a beautiful young lady to make 
 it for ; and whenever you go to see the Monument, Dragon, you mustn't 
 give in on the door-steps, or you'll never get up to the top !" 
 
 " Wisely said, Mark," cried Martin. " We must look forward." 
 
 " In all the story-books as ever I read, sir, the people as looked back- 
 ward was turned into stones," replied Mark ; " and my opinion always 
 was, that they brought it on themselves, and it served 'em right. I wish 
 you good night, sir, and pleasant dreams !" 
 
 " They must be of home, then," said Martin, as he lay down in bed. 
 
 " So I say, too," whispered Mark Tapley, when he was out of hearing 
 and in his own room ; ''for if there don't come a time afore we're well 
 out of this, when there'll be a little more credit in keeping up one's 
 jollity, I'm a United Statesman !" 
 
 Leaving them to blend and mingle in their sleep the shadows of 
 objects afar off, as they take fantastic shapes upon the wall in the dim 
 light of thought without control, be it the part of this slight chronicle 
 — a dream within a dream — as rapidly to change the scene, and cross 
 the ocean to the English shore. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 225 
 
 CHAPTER XVIIL 
 
 DOES BUSINESS "WITH THE HOUSE OF ANTHONY CHUZZLEWIT AND SON, 
 FROM WHICH ONE OF THE PARTNERS RETIRES UNEXPECTEDLY. 
 
 Change begets change. Nothing propagates so fast. If a man 
 habituated to a narrow circle of cares and pleasures, out of which he 
 seldom travels, step beyond it, though for never so brief a space, his 
 departure from the monotonous scene on w^hich he has been an actor of 
 importance, would seem to be the signal for instant confusion. As if, in 
 the gap he had left, the wedge of change were driven to the head, rend- 
 ing what was a solid mass to fragments ; things cemented and held 
 together by the usages of years, burst asunder in as many weeks. 
 The mine which Time has slowly dug beneath familiar objects, is 
 sprung in an instant ; and what was rock before, becomes but sand 
 and dust. 
 
 Most men at one time or other have proved this in some degree. The 
 extent to which the natural laws of change asserted their supremacy in 
 that limited sphere of action which Martin had deserted, shall be faith- 
 fully set down in these pages. 
 
 " What a cold spring it is !" whimpered old Anthony, drawing near 
 the evening fire. "It was a warmer season, sure, when I was young !" 
 
 " You needn't go scorching your clothes into holes, whether it was or 
 not," observed the amiable Jonas, raising his eyes from yesterday's news- 
 paper. " Broadcloth ain't so cheap as that comes to." 
 
 '•'A good lad !" cried the father, breathing on his cold hands, and 
 feebly chafing them against each other. " A prudent lad ! He never 
 delivered himself up to the vanities of dress. No, no ! " 
 
 " I don't know but I would though, mind you, if I could do it for 
 nothing," said his son, as he resumed the paper. 
 
 " Ah !" chuckled the old man. "7/^ indeed ! — But it 's very cold." 
 
 " Let the fire be !" cried Mr. Jonas, stopping his honoured parent's 
 hand in the use of the poker. " Do you mean to come to want in your 
 old age, that you take to wasting now 1 " 
 
 " There 's not time for that, Jonas," said the old man. 
 
 " Not time for what 1 " bawled his heir. 
 
 " For me to come to want. I wish there was ! " 
 
 " You always were as selfish an old blade as need be," said Jonas, in a 
 voice too low for him to hear, and looking at him with an angry frown. 
 " You act up to your character. You wouldn't mind coming to want, 
 wouldn't you 1 I dare say you w^ouldn't. And your own flesh and 
 blood might come to want too, might they, for anything you cared 1 Oh 
 you precious old flint ! " 
 
 After this dutiful address, he took his tea-cup in his hand — for 
 that meal was in progress, and the father and son and Chuffey were 
 partakers of it. Then, looking steadfastly at his father, and stopping 
 now and then to carry a spoonful of tea to his lips, he proceeded in the 
 same tone, thus : 
 
 Q 
 
22 G LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Want, indeed ! You 're a nice old man to be talking of want at 
 this time of day. Beginning to talk of want are you ? Well, I declare t 
 There is n't time ? No, I should hope not. But you 'd live to be a 
 couple of hundred if you could ; and after all be discontented. / 
 know you !" 
 
 The old man sighed, and still sat cowering before the fire. 
 Mr. Jonas shook his Britannia-metal teaspoon at him, and taking a 
 loftier position went on to argue the point on high moral grounds. 
 
 " If you 're in such a state of mind as that," he grumbled, but in the 
 same subdued key, " why don't you make over your property 1 Buy an 
 annuity cheap, and make your life interesting to yourself and everybody 
 else that watches the speculation. But no, that wouldn't suit i/oic. 
 That would be natural conduct to your own son, and you like to be 
 unnatural, and to keep him out of his rights. Why, I should be 
 ashamed of myself if I was you, and glad to hide my head in the what 
 you may call it." 
 
 Possibly this general phrase supplied the place of grave, or tomb, or 
 sepulchre, or cemetery, or mausoleum, or other such word which the 
 filial tenderness of Mr. Jonas made him delicate of pronouncing. He 
 pursued the theme no further ; for GhufFey, somehow discovering, from 
 his old corner by the fireside, that Anthony was in the attitude of a 
 listener, and that Jonas appeared to be speaking, suddenly cried out, 
 like one inspired : 
 
 " He is your own son, Mr. Chuzzlewit. Your own son, sir ! " 
 
 Old Chuffey little suspected what depth of application these words 
 had, or that, in the bitter satire which they bore, they might have sunk 
 into the old man's very soul, could he have known what words were hang- 
 ing on his own son's lips, or what was passing in his thoughts. But 
 the voice diverted the current of Anthony's reflections, and roused him. 
 
 " Yes, yes, Chuffey, Jonas is a chip of the old block. It 's a very 
 old block now, Chuffey," said the old man, with a strange look of 
 discomposure. 
 
 "Precious old," assented Jonas. 
 
 " No, no, no," said Chuffey. " No, Mr. Chuzzlewit. Not old at 
 all, sir." 
 
 " Oh ! He 's worse than ever, you know ! " cried Jonas, quite 
 disgusted. " Upon my soul, father, he 's getting too bad. Hold your- 
 tongue, will you 1 " 
 
 " He says you 're wrong ! " cried Anthony to the old clerk. 
 
 "Tut, tut !" was Chuffey's answer. "I know better. I say /le's 
 wrong. I say ke 's wrong. He 's a boy. That 's what he is. So are 
 you, Mr. Chuzzlewit — -a kind of boy. Ha ! ha ! ha ! You 're quite a 
 boy to many [ have known ; you 're a boy to me ; you 're a boy to- 
 hundreds of us. Don 't mind him ! " 
 
 With which extraordinary speech — for in the case of Chuffey this was a 
 burst of eloquence without a parallel — the poor old shadow drew through 
 his palsied arm his master's hand, and held it there, with his own folded; 
 upon it, as if he would defend him. 
 
 " I grow deafer e\ery day, Chuff," said Anthony, with as much softness 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 227 
 
 of manner, or, to describe it more correctly, with as little hardness as he 
 was capable of expressing. 
 
 " No, no," cried Chuffey. "No you don't. What if you did ? I've 
 been deaf this twenty year." 
 
 " I grow blinder, too," said the old man, shaking his head. 
 " That's a good sign ! " cried Chuffey. " Ha ! ha ! The best sign in 
 the world ! You saw too well before." 
 
 He patted Anthony upon the hand as one might comfort a child, and 
 drawing the old man's arm still further through his own, shook his 
 trembling fingers towards the spot where Jonas sat, as though he would 
 wave him off. But Anthony remaining quite still and silent, he relaxed 
 his hold by slow degrees and lapsed into his usual niche in the corner : 
 merely putting forth his hand at intervals and touching his old employer 
 gently on the coat, as with the design of assuring himself that he was 
 yet beside him. 
 
 Mr. Jonas was so very much amazed by these proceedings that he 
 could do nothing but stare at the two old men, until Chuffey had fallen 
 into his usual state, and Anthony had sunk into a doze ; when he gave 
 some vent to his emotions by going close up to the former personage, and 
 making as though he would, in vulgar parlance, " punch his head." 
 
 " They 've been carrying on this game," thought Jonas in a brown 
 study, " for the last two or three weeks. I never saw my father take so 
 much notice of him as he has in that time. What! You're legacy- 
 hunting are you, Mister Chuff '.^ Eh T' 
 
 But Chuffey was as little conscious of the thought as of the bodily 
 advance of Mr. Jouas's clenched fist, which hovered fondly about his ear. 
 When he had scowled at him to his heart's content, Jonas took the candle 
 from the table, and walking into the glass office, produced a bunch of 
 keys from his pocket. With one of these he opened a secret drawer in 
 the desk : peeping stealthily out, as he did so, to be certain that the two 
 old men were still before the fire. 
 
 " All as right as ever," said Jonas, propping the lid of the desk open 
 with his forehead, and unfolding a paper. "Here's the will, blister 
 Cliuff. Thirty pound a year for your maintenance, old boy, and all the 
 rest to his only son, Jonas. You needn't trouble yourself to be too 
 affectionate. You won't get anything by it. What's that ?" 
 
 It was startling, certainly. A face on the other side of the glass par- 
 tition looking curiously in : and not at him but at the paper in his hand. 
 For the eyes were attentively cast down upon the writing, and were 
 swiftly raised when he cried out. Then they met his own, and were as 
 the eyes of Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 Sufferino; the lid of the desk to fall with a loud noise, but not forget- 
 ting even then to lock it, Jonas, pale and breathless, gazed upon this 
 phantom. It moved, opened the door, and walked in. 
 
 " What 's the matter ?" cried Jonas, falling back. " Who is it ? Where 
 do you come from 1 What do you want V 
 
 " Matter ! " cried the voice of Mr. Pecksniff, as Pecksniff in the flesh 
 smiled amiably upon him. " The matter Mr. Jonas!" 
 
 " What are you prying and peering about here for V said Jonas, 
 
 <^ 2 
 
228 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 angrily. " What do you mean by coming up to town in tliis \Yay, and 
 taking one unawares ] It 's precious odd a man can't read the — the 
 newspaper in his own office without being startled out of his wits by 
 people coming in without notice. Why didn't you knock at the door?" 
 
 " So I did Mr. Jonas," answered Pecksniff, " but no one heard me. I 
 was curious," he added in his gentle way as he laid his hand upon the 
 young man's shoulder, " to find out what part of the newspaper inter- 
 ested you so much ; but the glass was too dim and dirty," 
 
 Jonas glanced in haste at the partition. Well. It wasn't very clean. 
 So far he spoke the truth. 
 
 " Was it poetry now V said Mr. Pecksniff, shaking the forefinger of his 
 right hand with an air of cheerful banter. " Or was it politics 1 or was it the 
 price of stocks ? The main chance Mr. Jonas, the main chance I suspect." 
 i " You ain't far from the truth," answered Jonas, recovering himself and 
 snuffing the candle : " but how the deuce do you come to be in London 
 again ? Ecod ! it 's enough to make a man stare, to see a fellow looking 
 at him all of a sudden, who he thought was sixty or seventy miles away.'* 
 
 " So it is," said Mr. Pecksniff. " No doubt of it my dear Mr. Jonas. 
 For while the human mind is constituted as it is — " 
 
 " Oh bother the human mind," interrupted Jonas with impatience, 
 " what have you come up for 1 " 
 
 " A little matter of business," said Mr. Pecksniff, " which has arisen 
 quite unexpectedly." 
 
 " Oh ! " cried Jonas, " is that all 1 Well ! Here 's father in the next 
 room. Hallo father, here 's Pecksniff ! He gets more addle-pated every 
 day he lives, I do believe," muttered Jonas, shaking his honoured parent 
 roundly. " Don't I tell you Pecksniff's here, stupid-head V 
 
 The combined effects of the shaking and this loving remonstrance soon 
 awoke the old man, who gave Mr. Pecksniff a chuckling welcome, which 
 was attributable in part to his being glad to see that gentleman, and in 
 part to his unfading delight in the recollection of having called him a 
 hypocrite. As Mr. Pecksniff had not yet taken tea (indeed he had but 
 an hour before arrived in London) the remains of the late collation, with 
 a rasher of bacon, were served up for his entertainment ; and as Mr. 
 Jonas had a business appointment in the next street, he stepped out to 
 keep it : promising to return before Mr, Pecksniff could finish his repast. 
 
 " And now my good sir," said Mr. Pecksniff to Anthony : " now that 
 we are alone, pray tell me what I can do for you. I say alone, because 
 I believe that our dear friend Mr. Chuffey is, metaphysically speaking, 
 a — shall I say a dummy ?" asked Mr. Pecksniff with his sweetest smile, 
 and his head very much on one side. 
 
 " He neither hears us," replied Anthony, " nor sees us," 
 
 " Why then," said Mr, Pecksniff, " I will be bold to say, with the 
 utmost sympathy for his afllictions, and the greatest admiration of those 
 excellent qualities which do equal honour to his head and to his heart, 
 that he is what is playfully termed a dummy. You were going to 
 observe, my dear sir — " 
 
 " I was not going to make any observation that I know of," replied 
 the old man. 
 
MARTIlSr CHUZZLEWIT.' 229 
 
 "/was," said Mr. Pecksniff, mildly. 
 
 " Oh ! you were ? What was it ? " 
 
 " That I never/' said Mr. Pecksniff, previously rising to see that the 
 door was shut, and arranging his chair when he came back, so that it 
 could not be opened in the least without his immediately becoming aware 
 of the circumstance : " that I never in my life was so astonished as by 
 the receipt of your letter yesterday. That you should do me the honor 
 to wish to take counsel with me on any matter, amazed me ; but that 
 you should desire to do so to the exclusion even of Mr. Jonas, showed an 
 amount of confidence in one to whom you had done a verbal injury — 
 merely a verbal injury, you were anxious to repair — which gratified, 
 which moved, which overcame me. " 
 
 He was always a glib speaker, but he delivered this short address very 
 glibly ; having been at some pains to compose it outside the coach. 
 
 Although he paused for a reply, and truly said that he was there at 
 Anthony's request, the old man sat gazing at him in profound silence 
 and with a perfectly blank flice. Nor did he seem to have the least 
 desire or impulse to pursue the conversation, though Mr. Pecksniff 
 looked towards the door, and pulled out his watch, and gave him many 
 other hints that their time was short, and Jonas, if he kept his word, 
 would soon return. But the strangest incident in all this strange 
 behaviour was, that of a sudden — in a moment — so swiftly that it was 
 impossible to trace how, or to observe any process of change — his features 
 fell into their old expression, and he cried, striking his hand passion- 
 ately upon the table as if no interval at all had taken place : 
 
 " Will you hold your tongue. Sir, and let me speak % " 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff deferred to him with a submissive bow ; and said 
 within himself, " I knew his hand was changed, and that his writing 
 staggered. I said so yesterday. Ahem ! Dear me !" 
 
 " Jonas is sweet upon your daughter, Pecksniff," said the old man, in 
 his usual tone. 
 
 " We spoke of that, if you remember, Sir, at Mrs. Todgers's," replied 
 the courteous architect. 
 
 " You needn't speak so loud," retorted Anthony. " I'm not so deaf 
 as that." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff had certainly raised his voice pretty high : not so much 
 because he thought Anthony was deaf, as because he felt convinced that 
 his perceptive faculties were waxing dim : but this quick resentment of 
 his considerate behaviour greatly disconcerted him, and, not knowing 
 what tack to shape his course upon, he made another inclination of the 
 head, yet more submissive than the last. 
 
 " I have said," repeated the old man, " that Jonas is sweet upon your 
 dauo-hter." 
 
 " A charming girl, sir," murmured Mr. Pecksniff, seeing that he 
 waited for an answer. " A dear girl, Mr. Chuzzlewit, though I say it 
 who should not." 
 
 " You know better," cried the old man, advancing his weazen face at 
 least a yard, and starting forward in his chair to do it. " You lie 1 
 What, you will be a hypocrite, will you ?" 
 
230 LTFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " My good sir," Mr. Pecksniff began. 
 
 " Don't call me a good sir," retorted Antlionj, " and don't claim to be 
 one yourself. If your daughter was what you would have me believe, 
 she wouldn't do for Jonas. Being what she is, I think she will. He 
 might be deceived in a wife. She might run riot, contract debts, and 
 waste his substance. Now when I am dead — ^" 
 
 His face altered so horribly as he said the word, that Mr. Pecksniff 
 really was fain to look another way. 
 
 "■ It will be worse for me to know of such doings, than if I was alive : 
 for to be tormented for getting that together, which even while I suffer 
 for its acquisition is flung into the very kennels of the streets, would 
 be insupportable torture. No," said the old man hoarsely, "let that be 
 saved at least, let there be something gained, and kept fast hold of, when 
 so much is lost." 
 
 " My dear Mr. Chuzzlewit," said Pecksniff, " these are unwholesome 
 fancies ; quite unnecessary, sir, quite uncalled for, I am sure. The 
 truth is, my dear sir, that you are not well !" 
 
 " Not dying though ! " cried Anthony, with something like the snarl 
 of a wild animal. " Not yet ! There are years of life in me. Why, 
 look at him," pointing to his feeble clerk. " Death has no right to 
 leave him standing, and to mow me down." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff was so much afraid of the old man, and so completely 
 taken aback by the state in which he found him, that he had not even 
 presence of mind enough to call up a scrap of morality from the great 
 storehouse within his own breast. Therefore he stammered out that no 
 doubt it was, in fairness and decency, Mr. Chuffey's turn to expire ; and 
 that from all he had heard of Mr. Chuffey, and the little he had the 
 pleasure of knowing of that gentleman, personally, he felt convinced in 
 his own mind that he would see the propriety of expiring with as little 
 delay as possible. 
 
 " Come here ! " said the old man, beckoning him to draw nearer. 
 ''Jonas will be my heir, Jonas will be rich, and a great catch for you. 
 You know that. Jonas is sweet upon your daughter." 
 
 " I know that too," thought Mr. Pecksniff, " for you have said it often 
 enough." 
 
 " He might get more money than with her," said the old man, " but 
 she will help him to take care of what they have. She is not too young 
 or heedless, and comes of a good hard griping stock. But don't you 
 play too fine a game. She only holds him by a thread ; and if you 
 draw it too tight (I know his temper) it '11 snap. Bind him when he 's 
 in the mood, Pecksniff; bind him. You're too deep. In your way of 
 leading him on, you '11 leave him miles behind. Bah, you man of oil, 
 have I no eyes to see how you have angled with him from the first?" 
 
 " Now I wonder," thought Mr. Pecksniff, looking at him with a 
 wistful face, "whether this is all he has to say !" 
 
 Old Anthony rubbed his hands and muttered to himself; complained 
 again that he was cold ; drew his chair before the fire ; and, sitting with 
 his back to Mr. Pecksniff, and his chin sunk down upon his breast, was, 
 in another minute, quite regardless or forgetful of his presence. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 231 
 
 Uncouth and unsatisfactory as this short interview had been, it had 
 furnished Mr. Pecksniff with a hint which, supposing nothing further 
 were imparted to him, repaid the journey up, and home again. For 
 the good gentleman had never (for want of an opportunity) dived into 
 the depths of Mr. Jonas's nature ; and any recipe for catching such a 
 son-in-law (much more, one written on a leaf out of his own father's 
 book) was worth the having. In order that he might lose no chance of 
 improving so fair an opportunity by allowing Anthony to fall asleep 
 before he had finished all he had to say, Mr. Pecksniff, in the disposal of 
 the refreshments on the table — a work to which he now. applied himself 
 in earnest — resorted to many ingenious contrivances for attracting his 
 attention, such as coughing, sneezing, clattering the teacups, sharpening 
 the knives, dropping the loaf, and so forth. But all in vain, for Mr. 
 Jonas returned, and Anthony had said no more. 
 
 " What ! my father asleep again ? " he cried, as he hung up his hat, 
 and cast a look at him. " Ah ! and snoring. Only hear ! " 
 
 '• He snores very deep," said Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 " Snores deep 1 " repeated Jonas. " Yes j let him alone for that. 
 He '11 snore for six, at any time." 
 
 " Do you know, Mr. Jonas," said Pecksniff, " that I think your 
 father is — don't let me alarm you — breaking ? " 
 
 " Oh, is he though," replied Jonas, with a shake of the head which 
 expressed the closeness of his dutiful observation. " Ecod, you don't 
 know how tough he is. lie ain't upon the move yet.'' 
 
 " It struck me that he was changed, both in his appearance and 
 manner," said Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 " That 's all you knoAV about it," returned Jonas, seating himself with 
 a melancholy air. " He never was better than he is now. How are 
 they all at home 1 How 's Charity V 
 
 " Blooming, Mr. Jonas, blooming." 
 
 " And the other one — how 's she V 
 
 "Volatile trifler !" said Mr. Pecksniff, fondly musing. "She is 
 well — she is well. Roving from parlour to bed-room, Mr. Jonas, like 
 the bee ; skimming from post to pillar, like the butterfly ; dipping her 
 young beak into our currant wine, like the humming-bird ! Ah ! were 
 she a little less giddy than she is ; and had she but the sterling 
 qualities of Cherry, my young friend !" 
 
 " Is she so very giddy, then V asked Jonas. 
 ■ " Well, well ! " said Mr. Pecksniff, with great feeling ; " let me not 
 "be hard upon my child. Beside her sister Cherry she appears so. A 
 strange noise that, Mr. Jonas !" 
 
 " Something wrong in the clock, I suppose," said Jonas, glancing 
 toAvards it. " So the other one ain't your favourite, ain't she ?" 
 
 The fond father was about to reply, and had already summoned into 
 his face a look of the intensest sensibility, when the sound he had 
 already noticed was repeated. 
 
 " Upon ray word, Mr. Jonas, that is a very extraordinary clock," 
 -said Pecksniff". 
 
 It would have been, if it had made the noise which startled them : 
 
232 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 but another kind of time-piece was fast running down, and from that the 
 sound proceeded. A scream from ChufFey, rendered a hundred times 
 more loud and formidable by his silent habits, made the house ring 
 from roof to cellar ; and, looking round, they saw Anthony Chuzzlewit 
 extended on the floor, with the old clerk upon his knees beside him. 
 
 He had fallen from his chair in a fit, and lay there, battling for each 
 gasp of breath, with every shrivelled vein and sinew starting in its 
 place, as it were bent on bearing witness to his age, and sternly pleading 
 with Nature against his recovery. It was frightful to see how the 
 principle of life, shut up within his withered frame, fought like a 
 strong devil, mad to be released, and rent its ancient prison-hous'e. 
 A young man in the fulness of his vigour, struggling with so much 
 strength of desperation, would have been a dismal sight ; but an old, 
 old, shrunken body, endowed with preternatural might, and giving the 
 lie in every motion of its every limb and joint to its enfeebled aspect, 
 was a hideous spectacle indeed. 
 
 They raised him up, and fetched a surgeon with all haste, who bled 
 the patient, and applied some remedies ; but the fits held him so 
 long, that it was past midnight when they got him — quiet now, but 
 quite unconscious and exhausted — into bed. 
 
 " Don't go," said Jonas, putting his ashy lips to Mr. Pecksniff's ear, 
 and whispering across the bed. " It v/as a mercy you were present 
 when he was taken ill. Some one might have said it was my doing." 
 
 " Your doing ! " cried Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 " I don't know but they might," he replied, wiping the moisture 
 from his white face. " People say such things. How does he look 
 now ?" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff shook his head. 
 
 " I used to joke, you know," said Jonas : " but I — I never wished 
 him dead. Do you think he 's very bad?" 
 
 " The doctor said he was. You heard," was Mr. Pecksniff's answer. 
 
 '^ Ah ! but he might say that to charge us more, in case of his getting 
 well," said Jonas. " You mustn't go away, Pecksniff. Now it 's come 
 to this, I wouldn't be without a witness for a thousand pound." 
 
 ChufFey said not a word, and heard not a word. He had sat himself 
 down in a chair at the bedside, and there he remained, motionless ; 
 except that he sometimes bent his head over the pillow, and seemed to- 
 listen. He never changed in this. Though once in the dreary night 
 Mr. Pecksniff, having dozed, awoke with a confused impression that he 
 had heard him praying, and strangely mingling figures — not of speech, 
 but arithmetic — with his broken prayers. 
 
 Jonas sat there, too, all night : not where his father could have seen 
 him, had his consciousness returned, but hiding, as it were, behind him,, 
 and only reading how he looked in Mr. Pecksniff's eyes. He, the 
 coarse upstart, who had ruled the house so long — that craven cur, 
 who was afraid to move, and shook so that his very shadow fluttered on 
 the wall ! 
 
 It was broad, bright, stirring day when, leaving the old clerk to- 
 watch him, they went down to breakfast. People hurried up and down 
 
^>i^^ iri!!^<:^kic>^./66>?iy cj/" ^iz/dAn^^^i6A 
 
> 
 
 b 
 
MARTIN CHFZZLEWIT. Jdo 
 
 the street ; windows and doors were opened ; tliieves and beggars took 
 their usual posts ; workmen bestirred themselves ; tradesmen set forth 
 their shops ; bailiffs and constables were on the watch ; all kinds of 
 human creatures strove, in their several ways, as hard to live, as the one 
 sick old man who combated for every grain of sand in his fast-emptying 
 glass, as eagerly as if it were an empire. 
 
 " If anything happens, Pecksniff','' said Jonas, " you must promise 
 me to stop here till it's all over. You shall see that I do what's right." 
 
 " I know that you will do what's right, Mr. Jonas," said Pecksniff. 
 
 " Yes, yes, but I won't be doubted. No one shall have it in his power 
 to say a syllable against me," he returned. " I know how people will 
 talk. — Just as if he wasn't old, or I had the secret of keeping him 
 alive !" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff promised that he would remain, if circumstances should 
 render it in his esteemed friend's opinion desirable ; and they were 
 finishing their meal in silence, when suddenly an apparition stood before 
 them, so ghastly to the view, that Jonas shrieked aloud, and both recoiled 
 in horror. 
 
 Old Anthony, dressed in his usual clothes, was in the room — beside 
 the table. He leaned upon the shoulder of his solitary friend ; and on 
 his livid face, and on his horny hands, and in his glassy eyes, and traced 
 by an eternal finger in the very drops of sweat upon his brow, was one 
 word — Death. 
 
 He spoke to them — in something of his own voice too, but sharpened 
 and made hollow, like a dead man's face. What he would have said, 
 God knows. He seemed to utter words, but they were such as man had 
 never heard. And this was the most fearful circumstance of all, to see 
 him standing there, gabbling in an unearthly tongue. 
 
 "He's better now," said ChufFey. "Better now. Let him sit in his 
 old chair, and he'll be well again. I told him not to mind. I said so, 
 yesterday." 
 
 They put him in his easy-chair, and wheeled it near the window ; 
 then setting open the door, exposed him to the free current of morning 
 air. But not all the air that is, nor all the winds that ever blew 'twixt 
 Heaven and Earth, could have brought new life to him. Plunge him to 
 the throat in golden pieces now, and his heavy fingers should not close 
 on one. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE READER IS BROUGHT INTO COMMUNICATION WITH SOME PROFESSIONAL 
 PERSONS, AND SHEDS A TEAR OVER THE FILIAL PIETY OP GOOD MR. 
 JONAS. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff was in a hackney cabriolet, for Jonas Chuzzlewit had 
 said " Spare no expense." Mankind is evil in its thoughts and in its 
 base constructions, and Jonas was resolved it should not have an inch 
 to stretch into an ell against him. It never should be charged upon 
 his father's son that he had grudged the money for his father's funeral. 
 
234 LIFE AXD ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Hence, until tlie obsequies should be concluded, Jonas bad taken for bis 
 motto " Spend, and spare not !" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff had been to the undertaker, and was now upon bis waj 
 to another otHcer in the train of mourning — a female functionary, a nurse, 
 and watcher, and performer of nameless offices about the persons of the 
 dead — whom he had recommended. Her name, as Mr. Pecksniff 
 gathered from a scrap of writing in bis band, was Gamp ; her residence 
 in Kingsgate Street, High Holborn. So Mr. Pecksniff, in a backnej 
 cab, was rattling over Holborn stones, in quest of Mrs, Gamp. 
 
 This lady lodged at a bird-fancier's ; next door but one to the cele- 
 brated mutton-pie shop, and directly opposite to the original cat's 
 meat warehouse ; the renown of which establishments was duly heralded 
 on their respective fronts. It was a little house, and this was the more 
 convenient ; for Mrs. Gamp being, in her highest walk of ai't, a monthly 
 nurse, or, as her sign-board boldly had it, "Midwife," and lodging in the 
 first-floor-front, was easily assailable at night by pebbles, walking-sticks, 
 and fragments of tobacco pipe : all much more efficacious than the 
 street-door knocker, which was so constructed as to wake the street Avitli 
 ease, and even spread alarms of fire in Holborn, without making the 
 smallest impression on the premises to which it was addressed. 
 
 It chanced on this particular occasion that Mrs. Gamp had been up 
 all the previous night, in attendance upon a ceremony to which the 
 usage of gossips has given that name which expresses, in two syllables, 
 the curse pronounced on Adam. It chanced that Mrs. Gamp bad not 
 been regularly engaged, but had been called in at a crisis, in consequence 
 of her great repute, to assist anothfer professional lady with her advice ; 
 and thus it happened that, all points of interest in the case being over, 
 Mrs. Gamp had come home again to the bird-fancier's, and gone to bed. 
 So when Mr. Pecksniff drove up in the hackney cab, Mrs. Gamp's cur- 
 tains were drawn close, and Mrs. Gamp was fast asleep behind them. 
 
 If the bird-fancier had been at home, as he ought to have been, there 
 would have been no great harm in this ; but he was out, and his shop 
 was closed. The shutters were down certainly ; and in every pane of 
 glass there was at least one tiny bird in a tiny bird-cage, twittering and 
 hopping his little ballet of despair, and knocking his bead against the 
 roof j while one unhappy goldfinch who lived outside a red villa with 
 his name on the door, drew the water for his own drinking, and mutely 
 appealed to some good man to drop a farthing's worth of poison in it. 
 Still, the door was shut. Mr. Pecksniff tried the latch, and shook it, 
 causing a cracked bell inside to ring most mournfully ; but no one came. 
 The bird-fancier was an easy shaver also, and a fashionable hair-dresser 
 also ; and perhaps he had been sent for, express, from the court end of 
 the town, to trim a lord, or cut and curl a lady ; but however that might 
 be, there, upon his own ground, he was not ; nor was there any more 
 distinct trace of him to assist the imagination of an enquirer, than a 
 professional print or emblem of his calling (much favored in the trade), 
 representing a hair-dresser of easy manners curling a lady of distin- 
 guished fashion, in the presence of a patent upright grand piano. 
 
 Noting these circumstances, Mr. Pecksniff, in the innocence of bis 
 
i 
 
ec/c/yn-^// iPT^y n^^ ..//i/Jd/^oTi 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 265 
 
 heart, applied himself to the knocker ; but at the very first double 
 knock, every window in the street became alive with female heads ; and 
 "before he could repeat the performance, whole troops of married ladies 
 (some about to trouble Mrs. Gamp themselves, very shortly) came flock- 
 ing round the steps ; all crying out with one accord, and with uncom- 
 mon interest, " Knock at the winder, sir, knock at the winder. Lord 
 bless you, don't lose no more time than you can help — knock at the 
 winder ! " 
 
 Acting upon this suggestion, and borrowing tlie driver's whip for the 
 purpose, Mr. Pecksniff soon made a commotion among the first-floor 
 flower-pots, and roused Mrs. Gamp, whose voice — to the great satisfac- 
 tion of the matrons — was heard to say, " I'm coming." 
 
 " He 's as pale as a muffin," said one lady, in allusion to Mr. Pecksniff*. 
 
 " So he ought to be, if he 's the feelings of a man," observed another, 
 
 A third lady (with her arms folded) said she wished he had chosen 
 •any other time for fetching Mrs. Gamp, but it alwaj-s happened so with 
 Jier. 
 
 It gave Mr. Pecksniff much uneasiness to find from these remarks 
 that he was supposed to have come to Mrs. Gamp upon an errand touch- 
 ing — not the close of life, but the other end. jMrs. Gamp herself was 
 under the same impression, for throwing open the window, she cried 
 behind the curtains, as she hastily attired herself — 
 
 " Is it Mrs. Perkins ? " 
 
 "Nal" returned Mr. Pecksniff, sharply, "nothing of the sort.'' 
 
 "What, Mr. Whilks!" cried Mrs^Gamp. "Don't say it's you, 
 Mr. Whilks, and that poor creetur Mrs. Whilks with not even a pin- 
 cushion ready. Don't say it 's you, Mr. Whilks ! " 
 
 " It isn^- Mr. Whilks," said Pecksniff. " I don't know the man. 
 Nothing of the kind. A gentleman is dead ; and some person being 
 wanted in the house, you have been recommended by Mr. Mould, the 
 undertaker." 
 
 As she was by this time in a condition to appear, Mrs. Gamp, who 
 had a face for all occasions, looked out of window with her mourning 
 countenance, and said she would be down directly. But the matrons 
 took it very ill, that Mr. Pecksniff's mission was of so unimportant a 
 kind j and the lady with her arms folded rated him in good round 
 terms, signifying that she would be glad to know what he meant by 
 terrifying delicate females " with his corpses ; " and giving it as her 
 opinion that he was c^uite ugly enough to know better. The other 
 ladies were not at all behind-hand in expressing similar sentiments ; 
 and the children, of whom some scores had now collected, hooted and 
 defied Mr. Pecksniff quite savagely. So when Mrs. Gamp appeared, 
 the unoffending gentleman was glad to hustle her with very little 
 ceremony into the cabriolet, and drive off overwhelmed with popular 
 execration. 
 
 Mrs. Gamp had a large bundle with her, a pair of pattens, and a 
 species of gig umbrella ; the latter article in colour like a faded leaf, 
 except where a circular patch of a lively blue had been dexterously let 
 in at the top. She was much flurried by the haste she had made, and 
 
236 LIFE AND ADVENTURES CF 
 
 laboured under the most erroneous views of cabriolets, wliich she appeared 
 to confound with mail-coaches or stage-waggons, inasmuch as she was con- 
 stantly endeavouring for the first half mile to force her luggage through 
 the little front window, and clamouring to the driver to " put it in the 
 boot." When she was disabused of this idea, her whole being resolved 
 itself into an absorbing anxiety about her pattens, with which she played 
 innumerable games at quoits, on Mr. Pecksniff's legs. It was not until 
 they were close upon the house of mourning that she had enough 
 composure to observe — 
 
 " And so the gentleman 's dead, sir ! Ah ! The more's the pity " — 
 she didn't even know his name. " But it 's w^hat we must all come to. 
 It 's as certain as being born, except that we can't make our calculations 
 as exact. Ah ! Poor dear ! " 
 
 She was a fat old woman, this Mrs. Gamp, with a husky voice and a 
 moist eye, which she had a remarkable power of turning up, and only 
 showing the white of. Having very little neck, it cost her some trouble 
 to look over herself, if one may say so, at those to whom she talked. 
 She wore a very rusty black gown, rather the worse for snuff, and a 
 shawl and bonnet to correspond. In these dilapidated articles of dress 
 she had, on principle, arrayed herself, time out of mind, on such occa- 
 sions as the present ; for this at once expresed a decent amount of 
 veneration for the deceased, and invited the next of kin to present her 
 with a fresher suit of weeds : an appeal so frequently successful, that 
 the very fetch and ghost of Mrs. Gamp, bonnet and all, might be seen 
 hanging up, any hour in the day, in at least a dozen of the second-hand 
 clothes shops about Holborn. The face of Mrs. Gamp — the nose in 
 particular — was somewhat red and swoln, and it was difficult to enjoy 
 her society without becoming conscious of a smell of spirits. Like most 
 persons who have attained to great eminence in their profession, she 
 took to hers very kindly ; insomuch, that setting aside her natural pre- 
 dilections as a woman, she went to a lying-in or a laying-out with equal 
 zest and relish. 
 
 " Ah ! " repeated Mrs. Gamp ; for it was always a safe sentiment in 
 cases of mourning. " Ah dear ! When Gamp was summonsed to his 
 long home, and I see him a lying in Guy's Hospital with a penny-piece 
 on each eye, and his wooden leg under his left arm, I thought I should 
 have fainted away. But I bore up." 
 
 If certain whispers current in the Kingsgate Street circles had any 
 truth in them, she had indeed borne up surprisingly ; and had exerted 
 such uncommon fortitude, as to dispose of Mr. Gamp's remains for the 
 benefit of science. But it should be added, in fairness, that this had 
 happened twenty years ago ; and that Mr. and Mrs. Gamp had long 
 been separated, on the ground of incompatibility of temper in their 
 drink. 
 
 " You have become indifferent since then, I suppose ? " said Mr. 
 Pecksniff. " Use is second nature, Mrs. Gamp." 
 
 " You may well say second nater, sir," returned that lady. " One's 
 first ways is to find sich things a trial to the feelings ; and so is one's 
 lasting custom. If it wasn't for the nerve a little sip of liquor gives me 
 
MARTIN CIIUZZLEWIT. 237 
 
 (I never Avas able to do more than taste it) I never could go through 
 with what I sometimes have to do. ' Mrs. Harris/ I sajs, at the very 
 last case as ever I acted in, which it was but a young person ; ' Mrs. 
 Harris,' I says, ' leave the bottle on the chimley-piece, and don't ask me 
 to take none, but let me put my lips to it when I am so dispoged, and 
 then I will do what I 'm engaged to do, according to the best of my 
 ability.' ' Mrs. Gamp,' she says, in answer, ' if ever there v/as a sober 
 creetur to be got at eighteen pence a day for working people, and three 
 and six for gentlefolks — night watching,' " said Mrs. Gamp, with 
 emphasis, "'being a extra charge — you are that inwalable person.' 
 ' Mrs. Harris,' I says to her, don't name the charge, for if I could afford 
 to lay all my feller creeturs out for nothink, I would gladly do it ; sich 
 is the love I bear 'em. But what I always says to them as has the 
 management of matters, Mrs. Harris ' " — here she kept her eye on 
 Mr. Pecksniff — " ' be they gents or be they ladies — is, don't ask me 
 whether I won't take none, or whether I will, but leave the bottle on 
 the chimley piece, and let me put my lips to it when I am so dispoged.' " 
 
 The conclusion of this affecting narrative brought them to the house. 
 In the passage they encountered Mr. Mould the undertaker : a little 
 elderly gentleman, bald, and in a suit of black ; with a note-book in 
 his hand, a massive gold watch-chain dangling from his fob, and a face 
 in which a queer attempt at melancholy was at odds with a smirk of 
 satisfaction; so that he looked as a man might who, in the very act 
 of smacking his lips over choice old wine, tried to make believe it was 
 physic. 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Gamp, and how are you, Mrs. Gamp V said this gentle- 
 man, in a voice as soft as his step. 
 
 " Pretty well, I thank you, sir," dropping a curtsey. 
 
 '' You '11 be very particular here, Mrs. Gamp. This is not a common 
 case, Mrs. Gamp. Let everything be very nice and comfortable, Mrs. 
 Gamp, if you please," said the undertaker, shaking his head with a 
 solemn air. 
 
 " It shall be, sir," she replied, curtseying again. " You knows me of 
 old, sir, I hope." 
 
 " I hope so, too, Mrs. Gamp," said the undertaker ; " and I think 
 so also." Mrs. Gamp curtseyed again. " This is one of the most im- 
 pressive cases, sir," he continued, addressing Mr. Pecksniff, '-'that I 
 have seen in the whole course of my professional experience." 
 
 "Indeed, Mr. Mould !" cried that gentleman. 
 
 " Such affectionate regret, sir, I never saw. There is no limitation 
 — there is positively no limitation, '" — opening his eyes wide, and 
 standing on tiptoe, " in point of expense. I have orders, sir, to put 
 on my whole establishment of mutes ; and mutes come very dear, 
 Mr. Pecksniff ; not to mention their drink. To provide silver-plated 
 handles of the very best description, ornamented with angels' heads 
 from the most expensive dies. To be perfectly profuse in feathers. In 
 short, sir, to turn out something absolutely gorgeous." 
 
 " My friend Mr. Jonas is an excellent man," said Mr. Pecksniff. 
 ' " I have seen a good deal of what is filial in my time, sir," retorted 
 
238 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Mould, " and of what is unfilial too. It is our lot. We come into the 
 knowledge of those secrets. But anything so filial as this ; anything 
 so honourable to human nature ; so calculated to reconcile all of us to 
 the world we live in ; never yet came under my observation. It only 
 proves, sir, v/hat was so forcibly observed by the lamented theatrical poet 
 buried — at Stratford — that there is good in everything." 
 
 "It is very pleasant to hear you say so, Mr. Mould," observed 
 Pecksniff. 
 
 " You are very kind, sir. And what a man Mr. Chuzzlewit was, 
 sir ! Ah ! what a man he was. You may talk of your lord mayors,"^ 
 said Mould, waving his hand at the public in general, " your sheriffs, 
 your common councilmen, your trumpery; but show me a man in this 
 city who is worthy to walk in the shoes of the departed Mr. Chuzzlewit. 
 No, no," cried Mould, with bitter sarcasm. " Hang 'em up, hang 'em 
 up ; sole 'em and heel 'em, and have 'em ready for his son against he 'a 
 old enough to wear 'em ; but don't try 'em on yourselves, for they won't 
 fit you. We knew him," said Mould, in the same biting vein, as he 
 pocketed his note-book ; " we knew him, and are not to be caught with 
 chaff. Mr. Pecksniff, sir, good morning." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff returned the compliment ; and Mould, sensible of 
 having distinguished himself, was going away with a brisk smile, when 
 he fortunately remembered the occasion. Quickly becoming depressed 
 again, he sighed ; looked into the crown of his hat, as if for comfort ; 
 put it on without finding any ; and slowly departed. 
 
 Mrs. Gamp and Mr. Pecksniff then ascended the staircase ; and the 
 former, having been shown to the chamber in which all that remained of 
 Anthony Chuzzlewit lay covered up, with but one loving heart, and that 
 a halting one, to mourn it, left the latter free to enter the darkened 
 room below, and rejoin Mr. Jonas, from whom he had now been absent- 
 nearly two hours. 
 
 He found that example to bereaved sons and pattern in the eyes of all 
 performers of funerals, musing over a fragment of writing-paper on the 
 desk, and scratching figures on it with a pen. The old man's chair, and 
 hat, and walking-stick, were removed from their accustomed places, and 
 put out of sight ; the window-blinds, as yellow as November fogs, were 
 drawn down close ; Jonas himself was so subdued, that he could scarcely 
 be heard to speak, and only seen to walk across the room. 
 
 " Pecksniff," he said, in a whisper, " you shall have the regulation of 
 it all, mind. You shall be able to tell anybody who talks about it that 
 everything was correctly and freely done. There is n't any one you 'd 
 like to ask to the funeral, is there 1 " 
 
 " No, Mr. Jonas, I think not." 
 
 " Because if there is, you know," said Jonas, " ask him. We don't 
 want to make a secret of it." 
 
 " No," repeated Mr. Pecksniff, after a little reflection. " I am not 
 the less obliged to you on that account, Mr. Jonas, for your liberal hos- 
 pitiility ; but there really is no one." 
 
 " Very well," said Jonas ; " then you, and I, and Chuffey, and the 
 doctor, will be just a coachful. We '11 have the doctor, Pecksniff, because 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 239 
 
 he knows wliafc was tlie matter with him, and that it couldn't be 
 helped." 
 
 " Where is our dear friend, Mr. GhufFey ? " asked Pecksniff, looking 
 round the chamber, and winking both his eyes at once — for he was over- 
 come by his feelings. 
 
 But here he was interrupted by Mrs. Gamp, who, divested of her bonnet 
 and shawl, came sidling and bridling into the room ; and, with some 
 sharpness, demanded a conference outside the door with Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 " You may say whatever you wish to say here, Mrs. Gamp," said that 
 gentleman, shaking his head with a melancholy expression. 
 
 " It is not much as I have to say, when people is a mourning for the 
 dead and gone," said Mrs. Gamp ; " but what I have to say is to the 
 pint and purpose, and no offence intended, must be so considered. I 
 have been at a many places in my time, gentlemen, and I hope I knows 
 what my duties is, and how the same should be performed : in course, 
 if I did not, it would be very strange, and very wrong in sich a gentle- 
 man as Mr. Mould, which has undertook the highest families in this 
 land, and given every satisfaction, so to recommend me as he does. I 
 have seen a deal of trouble my own self," said Mrs. Gamp, laying greater 
 and greater stress upon her words, " and I can feel for them as has 
 their feelings tried : but I am not a Rooshan or a Prooshan, and conse- 
 quently cannot suffer Spies to be set over me." 
 
 Before it was possible that an answer could be returned, Mrs. Gamp, 
 now growing redder in the face, went on to say : 
 
 " It is not a easy matter, gentlemen, to live when you are left a 
 widder woman ; particular when your feelings works upon you to that 
 extent that you often find yourself a going out on terms which is a 
 certain loss, and never can repay. But, in whatever way you earns your 
 bread, you may have rules and regulations of your own, which cannot be 
 broke through. Some people," said Mrs. Gamp, again entrenching her- 
 self behind her strong point, as if it were not assailable by human 
 ingenuity, " may be Rooshans, and some may be Prooshans ; they are 
 born so, and will please themselves. Them which is of other naturs 
 thinks different." 
 
 "If I understand this good lady," said Mr. Pecksniff, turning to 
 Jonas, '- Mr. Chuffey is troublesome to her. Shall I fetch him down ? " 
 
 " Do," said Jonas. " I was going to tell you he was up there, when 
 she came in. I 'd go myself and bring him down, only — only I 'd 
 rather you went, if you don't mind it," 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff promptly departed, followed by Mrs. Gamp, who, seeing 
 that he took a bottle and glass from the cupboard, and carried it in 
 his hand, was much softened. 
 
 " I am sure," she said, " that if it was n't for his own happiness, I 
 should no more mind his being there, poor dear, than if he was a fly. 
 But them as is n't used to these things, thinks so much of 'em after- 
 wards, that it 's a kindness to 'em not to let 'em have their wish. And 
 even," said Mrs. Gamp, probably in reference to some flowers of speech 
 she had already strewn on Mr. Chuffey, " even if one calls 'em names, 
 it 's only done to rouse 'em." 
 
24:0 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Whatever epithets she had bestowed upon the old clerk, they had not 
 roused ki77i. He sat beside the bed, in the chair he had occupied all the 
 previous night, with his hands folded before him, and his head bowed 
 down ; and neither looked up, on their entrance, nor gave any sign of 
 consciousness, until Mr. Pecksniff took him by the arm, when he meekly 
 rose. 
 
 " Three score and ten," said Chuff ey, " ought and carry seven. Some 
 men are so strong that they live to fourscore — four times ought's an 
 ought, four times two's eight— eighty. Oh ! why — why — why — didn't 
 he live to four times ought's an ought, and four times two's eight — 
 eighty 1 " 
 
 " Ah ! what a wale of grief ! " cried Mrs. Gamp, possessing herself of 
 the bottle and glass. 
 
 " Why did he die before liis poor old, crazy servant ! " said ChufFey, 
 clasping his hands and looking up in anguish. " Take him from me, 
 and what remains 1 " 
 
 " Mr. Jonas," returned Pecksniff, " Mr. Jonas, my good friend." 
 
 " I loved him," cried the old man, weeping. " He was good to me. 
 We learnt Tare and Tret together, at school. I took him down once, six 
 boys, in the arithmetic class. God forgive me 1 Plad I the heart to 
 take him down ! " 
 
 " Come, Mr. Chuff ey," said Pecksniff, " come with me. Summon up 
 your fortitude, Mr. Chuffey." 
 
 " Yes, I will," returned the old clerk. " Yes. Ill sum up my forty — 
 How many time's forty — Oh, Chuzzlewit and Son — Your own son, 
 Mr. Chuzzlewit ; your own son. Sir ! " 
 
 He yielded to the hand that guided him, as he lapsed into this 
 familiar expression, and submitted to be led away. Mrs. Gamp, with 
 the bottle on one knee, and the glass in the other, sat upon a stool, 
 shaking her head for a long time, until, in a moment of abstraction, she 
 poured out a dram of spirits, and raised it to her lips. It was suc- 
 ceeded by a second, and by a third, and then her eyes — either in the sadness 
 of her reflections upon life and death, or in her admiration of the liquor — 
 were so turned up as to be quite invisible. But she shook her head still. 
 
 Poor Chuffey was conducted to his accustomed corner, and there he 
 remained, silent and quiet, save at long intervals, when he would rise, 
 and walk about the room, and wring his hands, or raise some strange 
 and sudden cry. For a whole week they all three sat about the hearth 
 and never stirred abroad. Mr. Pecksniff would have walked out in the 
 evening time, but Jonas was so averse to his being absent for a 
 minute, that he abandoned the idea, and so, from morning until night, 
 they brooded together in the dark room, without relief or occupation. 
 
 The weight of that which was stretched out stiff and stark, in the 
 awful chamber above stairs, so crushed and bore down Jonas, that 
 he bent beneath the load. During the whole long seven days and 
 nights, he was always oppressed and haunted by a dreadful sense of 
 Its presence in the house. Did the door move, he looked towards it 
 with a livid face and starting eye, as if he fully believed that ghostly 
 fingers clutched the handle. Did the fire flicker in a draught ol 
 
MARTIN CIIUZZLEWIT. 241 
 
 air, he glanced over Kis shoulder, as almost dreading to behold some 
 shrouded figure fanning and flapping at it with its fearful dress. The 
 lightest noise disturbed him ; and once, in the night, at the sound of a 
 footstep over-head, he cried out that the dead man was walking — tramp, 
 tramp, tramp — about his coffin. 
 
 He lay at night upon a mattress on the floor of the sitting-room ; his 
 own chamber having been assigned to Mrs. Gamp ; and Mr. Pecksniff 
 was similarly accommodated. The howling of a dog before the house, 
 filled him with a terror he could not disguise. He avoided the reflec- 
 tion in the opposite window's of the light that burned above, as though 
 it had been an angry eye. He often, in every night, rose up from 
 his fitful sleep, and looked and longed for dawn ; all directions and 
 arrangements, even to the ordering of their daily meals, he abandoned to 
 Mr. Pecksniff. That excellent gentleman, deeming that the mourner 
 wanted comfort, and that high-feeding was likely to do him infinite 
 service, availed himself of these opportunities to such good purpose that 
 they kept quite a dainty table during this melancholy season ; with 
 sweetbreads, stewed kidneys, oysters, and other such light viands for 
 supper every night ; over which, and sundry jorums of hot punch, 
 Mr. Pecksniff delivered such moral reflections and spiritual consolation 
 as might have converted a Heathen — especially if he had had but an 
 imperfect acquaintance with the English tongue. 
 
 Nor did Mr. Pecksniff alone indulge in the creature comforts during 
 this sad time. Mrs. Gamp proved to be very choice in her eating, and 
 repudiated hashed mutton with scorn. In her drinking too, she was 
 very punctual and particular, requiring a pint of mild porter at lunch, 
 a pint at dinner, half a pint as a species of stay or holdfast between dinner 
 and tea, and a pint of the celebrated staggering ale, or Real Old Brighton 
 Tipper, at supper ; besides the bottle on the chimney-piece, and such 
 casual invitations to refresh herself with wine as the good-breeding of 
 her employers might prompt them to offer. In like manner, Mr. Mould's 
 men found it necessary to drown their gnef, like a young kitten in the 
 morning of its existence ; for which reason they generally fuddled them- 
 selves before they began to do anytliing, lest it should make head and 
 get the better of them. In short, the whole of that strange week was a 
 round of dismal joviality and grim enjoyment ; and every one, except 
 poor Chuffey, who came within the shadow of Anthony Chuzzlcwit's 
 grave, feasted like a Ghoule. 
 
 At length the day of the funeral, pious and truthful ceremony that 
 it was, arrived. Mr, Mould, with a glass of generous port between his 
 eye and the light, leaned against the desk in the little glass office with 
 his gold watch in his unoccupied hand, and conversed with Mrs. Gamp ; 
 two mutes were at the house-door, looking as mournful as could be rea- 
 sonably expected of men with such a thriving job in hand ; the whole of 
 Mr, Mould's establishment were on duty within the house or without; fea- 
 tliers waved, horses snorted, silks and velvets fluttered ; in a word, as Mr. 
 Mould emphatically said, *■• everything that money could do, was done.' 
 
 "And what can do more, Mrs. Gamp?" exclaimed the undertaker, as 
 he emptied his glass, and smacked his lips. 
 
 R 
 
242 LIFE AXD ADYENTUEES OF 
 
 ''^ Kotliing in the world, sir." 
 
 " Nothing in the world," repeated Mr. Mould. " You are right, Mrs. 
 Gamp. Why do people spend more money" — here he filled his glass 
 again — " upon a death, Mrs. Gamp, than upon a birth 1 Come, that 's 
 in your way ; you ought to know. Hoav do you account for that now 1 " 
 
 " Perhaps it is because an undertaker's charges comes dearer than a 
 nurse's charges, sir," said Mrs. Gamp, tittering, and smoothing down her 
 new black dress with her hands. 
 
 " Ha, ha !" laughed Mr. Mould. " You have been breakfasting at 
 somebody's expense this morning, Mrs. Gamp." But seeing, by the 
 aid of a little shaving-glass which hung opposite, that he looked merry, 
 he composed his features and became sorrowful. 
 
 " Many's the time tliat I 've not breakfasted at my OAvn expense 
 along of your kind recommending, sir ; and many 's the time I hope to 
 do the same in time to come," said Mrs. Gamp, with an apologetic curtsey. 
 
 " So be it," replied Mr. Mould, " please Providence. No, Mrs. Gamp ; 
 I '11 tell you why it is. It 's because the laying out of money with a 
 well-conducted establishment, where the thing is performed upon the 
 very best scale, binds the broken heart, and sheds balm upon the 
 wounded spirit. Hearts want binding, and spirits want balming when 
 people die : not when people are born. Look at this gentleman to-day ; 
 look at him." 
 
 " An open-handed gentleman ! " cried Mrs. Gamp, with enthusiasm. 
 
 *' No, no," said the undertaker ; " not an open-handed gentleman in 
 ■general, by any means. There you mistake him : but an afHicted gen- 
 tleman, an affectionate gentleman, who knows what it is in the power 
 of money to do, in giving him relief, and in testifying his love and 
 veneration for the departed. It can give him," said Mr. Mould, waving 
 his watch-chain slowly round and round, so that he described one circle 
 after every item ; '•' it can give him four horses to each vehicle ; it can 
 give him velvet trappings ; it can give him drivers in cloth cloaks and 
 top-boots; it can give him the plumage of the ostrich, dyed black j it can 
 give him any number of walking attendants, drest in the first style of 
 funeral fashion, and carrying batons tipped with brass ; it can give him 
 a handsome tomb ; it can give him a place in Westminster Abbey itself, 
 if he choose to invest it in such a purchase. Oh ! do not let us say that 
 .:gold is dross, when it can buy such things as these, Mrs. Gamp." 
 
 " But what a blessing, sir," said Mrs. Gamp, " that there are such 
 as you, to sell or let 'em out on hire ! " 
 
 " Ay, Mrs. Gamp, you are right," rejoined the undertaker. "We 
 should be an honoured calling. We do good by stealth, and blush to 
 have it mentioned in our little bills. How much consolation may I — 
 €ven I" — cried Mr. Mould, " have diffused among my fellow-creatures 
 by means of my four long-tailed prancers, never harnessed under ten 
 pund ten !" 
 
 Mrs. Gamp had begun to make a suitable reply, when she was inter- 
 rupted by the appearance of one of Mr. Mould's assis tants — his chief mourner 
 in fact — an obese person, with his waistcoat in closer connection with 
 his legs than is quite reooncileable with the established ideas of grace ; 
 
MARTIN CHFZZLEWIT. 243 
 
 with that cast of feature whicli is figuratively called a bottle-nose ; and 
 with a face covered all over v.'ith pimples. He had been a tender plant 
 once upon a time, but from constant blowing in the fat atmosphere of 
 funerals, had run to seed. 
 
 " Well, Tacker," said Mr. Mould, "is all ready below ?" 
 
 '' A beautiful show, sir," rejoined Tacker. '• The horses are prouder 
 and fresher than ever I see 'em ; and toss their heads, they do, as if 
 they knowed how much their plumes cost. One, two, three, four," said 
 Mr. Tacker, heaping that number of black cloaks upon his left arm. 
 
 "Is Tom there, with the cake and wine V asked Mr. Mould. 
 
 " Ready to come in at a moment's notice, sir," said Tacker. 
 
 " Then," rejoined Mr. ]\Iould, putting up his watch, and glancing at 
 liimself in the little shaving-glass, that he might be sure his face had 
 the right expression on it : " then I think we may proceed to business. 
 Give me the paper of gloves, Tacker. Ah what a man he was ! 
 Ah Tacker, Tacker, what a man he was !" 
 
 ]\Ir. Tacker, who from his great experience in the performance of 
 funerals, would have made an excellent pantomime actor, vrinked at 
 Mrs. Gamp without at all disturbing the gravity of his countenance, 
 and followed his master into the next room. 
 
 It was a great point with Mr. Mould, and a part of his professional 
 tact, not to seem to know the doctor — though in reality they were near 
 neighbours, and very often, as in the present instance, worked together. 
 So he advanced to fit on his black kid gloves as if he had never seen him 
 in all his life ; while the doctor, on his part, looked as distant and 
 unconscious as if he had heard and read of undertakers, and had passed 
 their shops, but had never before been brought into communication 
 with one. 
 
 " Gloves, eh f said the doctor. " Mr. Pecksniff, after you." 
 
 " I could n't think of it," returned Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 " You are very good," said the doctor, taking a pair. " "Well, sir, as 
 I was saying — I was called up to ^attend that case at about half-past one 
 o'clock. Cake and wine, eh ? which is port ? Thank you." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff tcok some also. 
 
 " At about half-past one o'clock in the morning, sir," resumed the 
 doctor, " I was called up to attend that case. At the first pull of the night- 
 bell I turned out, threw up the window, and put out my head. Cloak, 
 €h 1 Don't tie it too tight. That '11 do." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff having been likewise inducted into a similar garment, 
 the doctor resumed. 
 
 " And put out my head, — hat, eh 1 My good friend, that is not mine. 
 j\Ir. Pecksniff, I beg your pardon, but I think we have unintentionally 
 made an exchange. Thank you. Well, sir, I was going to tell you" — 
 
 " We are quite ready," interrupted Mould in a low voice. 
 
 "Pi-eady, eh ?" said the doctor. "Very good. jMr. Pecksniff, I'll 
 take an opportunity of relating the rest in the coach. It's rather 
 curious. Ready, eh 1 No rain, I hope?" 
 
 " Quite fair, sir," returned Mould. 
 
 " I was afraid the ground would have been wet," said the doctor, " for 
 
244 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 my glass fell yesterday. We may congratulate ourselves upon our good 
 fortune." But seeing by this time that Mr. Jonas and Chuffey were 
 going out at the door, he put a white pocket-handkerchief to his face as 
 if a violent burst of grief had suddenly come upon him, and walked 
 down side by side with Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 Mr. Mould and his men had not exaggerated the grandeur of the 
 arrangements. They were splendid. The four hearse-horses especially, 
 reared and pranced, and showed their highest action, as if they knew a 
 man was dead, and triumphed in it. " They break us, drive us, ride us ; 
 ill treat, abuse, and maim us for their pleasure — But they die ; Hurrah, 
 they die ! " 
 
 So through the narrow streets and winding city ways, went Anthony 
 Chuzzlewit's funeral : Mr. Jonas glancing stealthily out of the coach- 
 window now and then, to observe its effect upon the crowd ; Mr. Mould 
 as he walked along, listening with a sober pride to the exclamations of 
 the bystanders ; the doctor whispering his story to Mr. Pecksniff, with- 
 out appearing to come any nearer the end of it ; and poor old Chuffey 
 sobbing unregarded in a corner. But he had greatly scandalised Mr. 
 Mould at an early stage of the ceremony by carrying his handkerchief in 
 his hat in a perfectly informal manner, and wiping his eyes with his 
 knuckles. And as Mr. Mould himself had said already, his behaviour 
 was indecent, and quite unworthy of such an occasion ; and he never 
 ought to have been there. 
 
 There he was, however ; and in the churchyard there he was, also, 
 conducting himself in a no less unbecoming manner, and leaning for 
 support on Tacker, who plainly told him that he was fit for nothing 
 better than a walking funeral. But Chuffey, Heaven help him ! heard 
 no sound but the echoes, lingering in his own heart, of a voice for ever 
 silent. 
 
 " I loved him," cried the old man, sinking down upon the grave when 
 all was done. " He was very good to me. Oh, my dear old friend and 
 master ! " 
 
 " Come, come, Mr. Chuffey," said the doctor, " this won't do ; it 's a 
 clayey soil, Mr. Chuffey. You must n't, really." 
 
 " If it had been the commonest thing we do, and Mr. Chuffey had been 
 a Bearer, gentlemen," said Mould, casting an imploring glance upon them, 
 as he helped to raise him, " he could n't have gone on worse than this." 
 
 " Be a man, Mr. Chuffey," said Pecksniff. 
 
 " Be a gentleman, Mr. Chuffey," said Mould. 
 
 " Upon my word, my good friend," murmured the doctor, in a tone of 
 stately reproof, as he stepped up to the old man's side, "this is 
 worse than weakness. This is bad, selfish, very wrong, Mr. Chuffey. 
 You should take example from others, my good sir. You forget that 
 you were not connected by ties of blood with our deceased friend ; and 
 that he had a very near and very dear relation, Mr. Chuffey." 
 
 " Ay, his own son !" cried the old man, clasping his hands with 
 remarkable passion. " His own, own, only son ! " 
 
 "He's not right in jiis head, you know," said Jonas, turning pale. 
 "You're not to mind anything he says. I shouldn't wonder if 
 
MARTIN CnUZZLEWIT. 245 
 
 he was to talk some precious nonsense. But don't you mind hira, any 
 of you. I don't. My father left him to my charge ; and whatever he 
 says or does, that 's enough. / '11 take care of him." 
 
 A hum of admiration rose from the mourners (including Mr. Mould 
 and his merry men) at this new instance of magnanimity and kind-feeling 
 on the part of Jonas. But ChufFey put it to the test no farther. He 
 said not a word more, and being left to himself for a little while, crept 
 back again to the coach. 
 
 It has been said that Mr. Jonas turned pale when the behaviour of 
 the old clerk attracted general attention ; his discomposure, however, 
 was but momentary, and he soon recovered. But these were not the 
 only changes he had exhibited that day. The curious eyes of Mr. 
 Pecksniff had observ^ed that as soon as they left the house upon their 
 mournful errand, he began to mend ; that as the ceremonies proceeded 
 he gradually, by little and little, recovered his old condition, his old 
 looks, his old bearing, his old agreeable characteristics of speech and 
 manner, and became, in all respects, his old pleasant self And Jiovr 
 that they were seated in the coach on their return home ; and more 
 when they got there, and found the windows open, the light and air 
 admitted, and all traces of the late event removed ; he felt so well 
 convinced that Jonas was again the Jonas he had known a week ago, 
 and not the Jonas of the intervening time, that he voluntarily gave up 
 his recently-acquired power without one faint attempt to exercise it, 
 and at once fell back into his former position of mild and deferential 
 guest. 
 
 Mrs. Gamp went home to the bird-fancier's, and was knocked up 
 again that very night for a birth of twins ; Mr. Mould dined gaily in 
 the bosom of his family, and passed the evening facetiously at his club ; 
 the hearse, after standing for a long time at the door of a roystering 
 public-house, repaired to its stables with the feathers inside and twelve 
 red-nosed undertakers on the roof, each holding on by a dingy peg, to 
 which, in times of state, a waving plume was fitted ; the various trappings 
 of sorrow were carefully laid by in presses for the next hirer ; the fiery 
 steeds were quenched and quiet in their stalls ; the doctor got merry 
 with wine at a wedding-dinner, and forgot the middle of the story which 
 had no end to it ; the pageant of a few short hours ago was written 
 nowhere half so legibly as in the undertaker's books. 
 
 Not in the churcliyard? Not even there. The gates were closed ; the 
 night was dark and wet ; and the rain fell silently, among the stagnant 
 weeds and nettles. One new mound was there which had not been last 
 night. Time, burrowing like a mole below the ground, had marked his 
 track by throwing up another heap of earth. And that was all. 
 
246 LIFE AND ADYENTURES OF 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 IS A CHAPTER OF LOVE. ' 
 
 " Pecksniff," said Jonas, taking off his liat, to see that the black crape 
 band was all right ; and finding that it was, putting it on again, compla- 
 cently j " what do you mean to give your daughters when they marry % " 
 
 " My dear Mr. Jonas," cried the affectionate parent, with an ingenuous 
 smile, " what a very singular inquiry ! " 
 
 " Xow, don't you mind whether it 's a singular inquiry or a plural 
 one," retorted Jonas, eyeing Mr. Pecksniff with no great favour, " but 
 answer it, or let it alone. One or the other." 
 
 " Hum ! The question, my dear friend," said Mr. Pecksniff, laying his 
 hand tenderly upon his kinsman's knee, " is involved with many con- 
 siderations. What would I give them 1 Eh ? " 
 
 " Ah ! what would you give 'em 1 " repeated Jonas. 
 
 " Why, that," said Mr. Pecksniff, " would naturally depend in a great 
 measure upon the kind of husbands they might choose, my dear young 
 friend." 
 
 Mr. Jonas was evidently disconcerted, and at a loss how to proceed. 
 It was a good answer. It seemed a deep one, but such is the wisdom of 
 simplicity ! 
 
 " My standard for the merits I would require in a son-in-law," said 
 Mr. Pecksniff, after a short silence, " is a high one. Forgive me, my dear 
 Mr. Jonas," he added, greatly moved, " if I say that you have spoiled 
 me, and made it a fanciful one ; an imaginative one ; a prismaticaily 
 tinged one, if I may be permitted to call it so." 
 
 " What do you mean by that V growled Jonas, looking at him with 
 increased disfavour. 
 
 " Indeed, my dear friend," said Mr. Pecksniff, " you may well inquire. 
 The heart is not always a royal mint, with patent machinery, to work 
 its metal into current coin. Sometimes it throws it out in strange 
 forms, not easily recognised as coin at all. But it is sterling gold. It 
 has at least that merit. It is sterling gold." 
 
 " Is it V grumbled Jonas, with a doubtful shake of the head. 
 
 " Ay !" said Mr. Pecksniff, warming with his subject, " it is. To be 
 plain with you, Mr. Jonas, if I could find two such sons-in-law as you 
 will one day make to some deserving man, capable of appreciating a 
 nature such as yours, I would — forgetful of myself — bestow upon my 
 daughters, portions reaching to the very utmost limit of my means." 
 
 This was strong language, and it was earnestly delivered. But who 
 can wonder that such a man as Mr. Pecksniff, after all he had seen and 
 heard of Mr. Jonas, should be strong and earnest upon such a theme ; 
 a theme that touched even the worldly lips of undertakers with the 
 honey of eloquence ! 
 
 Mr. Jonas was silent, and looked thoughtfully at the landscape. For 
 they were seated on the outside of the coach, at the back, and were 
 
MARTIN CllUZZLEWIT. 247 
 
 travelling clown into the country. He accompanied Mr, Pecksnifi home 
 for a few days' change of air and scene after his recent trials. 
 
 " Well/' he said, at last^ with captivating bluntness^ " suppose you 
 got one such son-in-law as me, what then ?" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff regarded him at first with inexpressible surprise ; then 
 gradually breaking into a sort of dejected vivacity, said : 
 
 " Then well I know whose husband he would be !" 
 
 " Whose ?" asked Jonas, drily. 
 
 " My eldest girl's, Mr. Jonas," replied Pecksniff, with moistening 
 eyes. " My dear Cherry's : my staff, my scrip, my treasure, Mr, Jonas. 
 A hard struggle, but it is in the nature of things ! I must one day 
 part with her to a husband. I know it, my dear friend. I am pre- 
 pared for it." 
 
 " Ecod ! you've been prepared for that, a pretty long time, I should 
 think," said Jonas. 
 
 Many have sought to bear her from me," said Mr. Pecksniff, " All 
 have failed. 'I never will give my hand, papa,' — those were her 
 words, ' unless my heart is won.' She has not been quite so happy as 
 she used to be, of late. I don't know why." 
 
 Again Mr, Jonas looked at the landscape ; then at the coachman ; 
 then at the luggage on the roof ; finally, at Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 " I suppose you '11 have to part with the other one, some of these 
 days ^ " he observed, as he caught that gentleman's eye. 
 
 " Probably," said the parent. " Years will tame down the wildness 
 of my foolish bird, and then it will be caged. But Cherry, Mr. Jonas, 
 Cherry—" 
 
 " Oh, ah ! " interrupted Jonas. " Years have made her all right 
 enough. Nobody doubts that. But you haven't answered what I asked 
 you. Of course, you 're not obliged to do it, you know, if you don't like. 
 You 're the best judge." 
 
 There was a warning sulkiness in the manner of this speech, which 
 admonished Mr. Pecksniff that his dear friend was not to be trifled with 
 or fenced off, and that he must either return a straight-forward reply to 
 his question, or plainly give him to understand that he declined to 
 enlighten him upon the subject to which it referred. Mindful in this 
 dilemma of the caution old Anthony had given him almost wdth his 
 latest breath, he resolved to speak to the point, and so told Mr. Jonas — 
 enlarging upon the communication as a proof of his great attachment 
 and confidence — that in the case he had put, to wit, in the event of 
 such a man as he proposing for his daughter's hand, he would endovv' 
 her with a fortune of four thousand pounds. 
 
 " I should sadly pinch and cramp myself to do so," was his fathei'ly 
 remark ; " but that would be my duty, and my conscience would reward 
 me. For myself, my conscience is my bank. I have a trifle invested 
 there — a mere trifle, Mr. Jonas — but I prize it as a store of value, I 
 assure you." 
 
 The good man's enemies would have divided upon this question into 
 two parties. One would have asserted without scruple that if Mr. Peck- 
 sniff 's conscience were his bank, and he kept a running account there, he 
 
248 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 must have overdrawn it beyond all mortal means of computation. The 
 other would have contended that it was a mere fictitious form ; a per- 
 fectly blank book ; or one in which entries were only made with a peculiar 
 kind of invisible ink to become legible at some indefinite time ; and that 
 he never troubled it at all. 
 
 " It would sadly pinch and cramp me, my dear friend," repeated 
 Mr. Pecksniff, " but Providence — perhaps I may be permitted to say a 
 special Providence — has blessed my endeavours, and I could guarantee 
 to make the sacrifice." 
 
 A question of philosophy arises here, whether Mr. Pecksniff had or had 
 not good reason to say, that he was specially patronised and encouraged in 
 his undertakings. All his life long he had been walking up and down the 
 narrow ways and bye-places, with a hook in one hand and a crook in the 
 other, scraping all sorts of valuable odds and ends into his pouch. Now, 
 there being a special Providence in the fall of a sparrow, it follows (so 
 Mr. Pecksniff might have reasoned, perhaps), that there must also be 
 a special Providence in the alighting of the stone, or stick, or other 
 substance which is aimed at the sparrow. And Mr. Pecksniff's hook, or 
 crook, having invariably knocked the sparrow on the head and brought 
 him down, that gentleman may have been led to consider himself as 
 specially licensed to bag sparrows, and as being specially seised and 
 possessed of all the birds he had got together. That many undertakings, 
 national as well as individual — but especially the former — are held to 
 be specially brought to a glorious and successful issue, which never could 
 be so regarded on any other process of reasoning, must be clear to all 
 men. Therefore the precedents would seem to show that Mr. Pecksniff 
 had good argument for what he said, and might be permitted to say it, 
 and did not say it presumptuously, vainly, or arrogantly, but in a spirit 
 of high faith and great wisdom meriting all praise. 
 
 Mr. Jonas, not being much accustomed to perplex his mind with 
 theories of this nature, expressed no opinion on the subject. Nor did 
 he receive his companion's announcement with one solitary syllable, 
 good, bad, or indifferent. He preserved this taciturnity for a quarter of 
 an hour at least, and during the whole of that time appeared to be 
 steadily engaged in subjecting some given amount to the operation of 
 every known rule in figures ; adding to it, taking from it, multiplying 
 it, reducing it by long and short division ; working it by the rule of 
 three direct and inversed; exchange or barter; practice; simple interest; 
 compound interest ; and other means of arithmetical calculation. The 
 result of these labours appeared to be satisfactory, for when he did break 
 silence, it was as one who had arrived at some specific result, and freed 
 himself from a state of distressing uncertainty. 
 
 "Come, old Pecksniff 1" — such was his jocose address, as he slapped 
 that gentleman on the back, at the end of the stage — " let 's have some- 
 thing !" 
 
 " With all my heart," said Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 " Let 's treat the driver," cried Jonas. 
 
 " If you think it won't hurt the man, or render him discontented with 
 his station — certainly," faultered Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
MARTIN CnUZZLEWlT. 2-19 
 
 Jonas only lauglied at tliis, and getting- down from tlie coacli-top with 
 great alacrity, cut a cumbersome kind of caper in the road. After which, 
 he went into the public-house, and there ordered spirituous drink to 
 such an extent that Mr. Pecksniff had some doubts of his perfect sanity, 
 until Jonas set them quite at rest by saying, when the coach could wait 
 no longer : 
 
 "I've been standing treat for a whole week and more, and letting you 
 have all the delicacies of the season. Yo?i sliall pay for this, Pecksniff." 
 It was not a joke either, as Mr. Pecksniff at first supposed ; for he went 
 off to the coach without further ceremony, and left his respected victim 
 to settle the bill. 
 
 But Mr. Pecksniff was a man of meek endurance, and Mr. Jonas was 
 his friend. Moreover, his regard for that gentleman was founded, as we 
 know, on pure esteem, and a knoAvledge of the excellence of his character. 
 He came out from the tavern with a smiling face, and even went so far 
 as to repeat the performance, on a less expensive scale, at the next ale- 
 house. There was a certain wildness in the spirits of Mr. Jonas (not 
 usually a part of his character) which was far from being subdued by 
 these means, and, for the rest of the journey, he was so very buoyant — it 
 may be said, boisterous — that Mr. Pecksniff had some difficulty in 
 keeping pace with him. 
 
 They were not expected — oh dear, no ! Mr. Pecksniff had proposed 
 in London to give the girls a surprise, and had said he wouldn't write a 
 word to prepare them on any account, in order that he and Mr. Jonas 
 might take them unawares, and just see what they were doing, when 
 they thought their dear papa was miles and miles away. As a con- 
 sequence of this playful device, there was nobody to meet them at the 
 finger-post, but that was of small consequence, for they had come down by 
 the day coach, and Mr. Pecksniff had only a carpet-bag, while Mr. Jona^ 
 had only a portmanteau. They took the portmanteau between them, 
 put the bag upon it, and walked off up the lane without delay : Mr. 
 Pecksniff already going on tiptoe, as if, without this precaution, his fond 
 children, being then at the distance of a couple of miles or so, would 
 have some filial sense of his approach. 
 
 It was a lovely evening, in the spring-time of the year ; and in the 
 soft stillness of the twilight, all nature was very calm and beautiful. 
 The day had been fine and Avarm ; but at the coming on of night, the 
 air grew cool, and in the mellowing distance, smoke was rising gently 
 from the cottage chimneys. There were a thousand pleasant scents dif- 
 fused around, from young leaves and fresh buds ; the cuckoo had been 
 singing all day long, and was but just now hushed ; tlie smell of earth, 
 newly-upturned — first breath of hope to the first labourer, after his 
 garden withered — was fragrant in the evening breeze. It was a time 
 when most men cherish good resolves, and sorrow for the wasted past : 
 when most men, looking on the shadows as they gather, think of that 
 -evening which must close on all, and that to-morrow which has none 
 beyond. 
 
 " Precious dull," said Mr. Jonas, looking about. '• It's enough to make 
 a man go melancholy mad." 
 
250 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " We shall have lights and a fire soon," observed Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 " We shall need 'em bj the time we get there," said Jonas. " Why 
 the devil don't you talk ?• What are you thinking of?" 
 
 " To tell you the truth, Mr. Jonas," said Pecksniff with great solemnity, 
 " my mind was running at that moment on our late dear friend, your 
 departed father." 
 
 Mr. Jonas immediately let his burden fall, and said, threatening him 
 with his hand : 
 
 "Drop that, Pecksniff!" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff, not exactly knowing whether allusion was made to the 
 subject or the portmanteau, stared at his friend in unaffected surprise. 
 
 "Drop it, I say ! " cried Jonas, fiercely. " Do you ]iear ? Drop it 
 — now and for ever. You had better, I give you notice ! " 
 
 " It was quite a mistake," urged Mr. Pecksniff, very much dismayed ; 
 " though I admit it was foolish. I might have known it was a tender 
 string." 
 
 "Don't talk to me about tender strings," said Jonas, wiping his 
 forehead with the cuff of his coat. " I 'm not going to be crowed over 
 by you, because I don't like dead company." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff had got out the words " Crowed over, Mr. Jonas ! " 
 when that young man, with a dark expression in his countenance, cut 
 him short once more : 
 
 " Mind ! " he said, " I won't have it. I advise you not to revive 
 the subject, neither to me nor anybody else. You can take a hint, it 
 you choose, as well as another man. There 's enough said about it. 
 Come along ! " 
 
 Taking up his part of the load again, when he had said these words, 
 he hurried on so fast that Mr. Pecksniff, at the other end of the port- 
 manteau, found himself dragged forward in a very inconvenient and 
 ungraceful manner, to the great detriment of what is called by fancy 
 gentlemen " the bark " upon his shins, which were most unmercifully 
 bumped against the hard leather and the iron buckles. In the course 
 of a few minutes, however, Mr. Jonas relaxed his speed, and suffered 
 his companion to come up with him, and to bring the portmanteau into 
 a tolerably straight position. 
 
 It was pretty clear that he regretted his late outbreak, and that he 
 mistrusted its effect on Mr. Pecksniff; for as often as that gentleman 
 glanced towards Mr. Jonas, he found Mr. Jonas glancing at him, which 
 was a new source of embarrassment. It was but a short-lived one 
 though, for Mr. Jonas soon began to whistle, whereupon Mr. Pecksniff, 
 taking his cue from his friend, began to hum a tune melodiously, 
 
 " Pretty nearly there, ain't we % " said Jonas, when this had lasted 
 some time. 
 
 " Close, my dear friend," said Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 " What '11 they be doing, do you suppose ?" asked Jonas. 
 
 " Impossible to say," cried Mr. Pecksniff. " Giddy truants ! They 
 may be away from home, perhaps. I was going to — he ! he ! he ! — I 
 was going to propose," said Mr. Pecksniff, " that we should enter by 
 the back way, and come upon them like a clap of thunder, Mr. Jonas." 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 251 
 
 It might not have been easy to decide in respect of which of their 
 manifold properties, Jonas, Mr. Pecksniff, the carpet-bag, and the port- 
 manteau, could be likened to a clap of thunder. But Mr. Jonas giving 
 his assent to this proposal, they stole round into the back yard, and 
 softly advanced towards the kitchen window, through which the mingled 
 light of fire and candle shone upon the darkening night. 
 
 Truly Mr. Pecksniff is blessed in his children — in one of them, at 
 any rate. The prudent Cherry — staff, and scrip, and treasure of her 
 doting father — there she sits, at a little table white as driven snow, 
 before the kitchen fire, making up accounts ! See the neat maiden, as 
 with pen in hand, and calculating look addressed towards the ceiling, 
 and bunch of keys within a little basket at her side, she checks the 
 housekeeping expenditure ! From flat-iron, dish-cover, and warming- 
 pan ; from pot and kettle, face of brass footman, and black-leaded 
 stove ; bright glances of approbation wink and glow upon her. The 
 very onions dangling from the beam mantle and shine like cherubs' 
 cheeks. Something of the influence of those vegetables sinks into Mr. 
 Pecksniff's nature. He weeps. 
 
 It is but for a moment, and he hides it from the obsei-vation of his 
 friend — very carefully — by a somewhat elaborate use of his pocket 
 handkerchief, in fact : for he would not have his weakness known. 
 
 " Pleasant," he murmured — " pleasant to a father's feelings ! My 
 dear girl ! Shall we let her know we are here, Mr. Jonas ?" 
 
 " Why, I suppose you don't mean to spend the evening in the stable 
 or the coach-house," he returned. 
 
 " That, indeed, is not such hospitality as I would show to you, my 
 friend," cried Mr. Pecksniff, pressing his hand. And then he took a 
 long breath, and tapping at the window, shouted with stentorian 
 blandness : 
 
 "Boh!" 
 
 Cherry dropped her pen and screamed. But innocence is ever bold 
 — or should be. As they opened the door, the valiant girl exclaimed 
 in a firm voice, and with a presence of mind which even in that trying 
 moment did not desert her, " Who are you % What do you w^ant % 
 Speak ! or I will call my Pa," 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff held out his arms. She knew him instantly, and 
 rushed into his fond embrace. 
 
 " It was thoughtless of us, Mr. Jonas, it was very thoughtless," said 
 Pecksniff, smoothing his daughter's hair. " My darling, do you see that 
 I am not alone ! " 
 
 Not she. She had seen nothing but her father until now. She saw 
 Mr. Jonas now, though j and blushed, and hung her head down, as she 
 gave him welcome. 
 
 But where was Merry % Mr. Pecksniff didn't ask the question in 
 reproach, but in a vein of mildness touched with a gentle sorrow. She 
 w^as upstairs, reading on the parlour couch. Ah ! Domestic details 
 had no charm for her. " But call her down," said Mr. Pecksniff, with a 
 placid resignation. " Call her down, my love." 
 
 She was called and came, all flushed and tumbled from reposing on 
 
252 LIFE AND ADYSNTUHES OF 
 
 the sofa ; but none the worse for that. IN o, not at all. Eather the 
 better, if anything. 
 
 " Oh my goodness me !" cried the arch girl, turning to her cousin 
 when she had kissed her father on both cheeks, and in her frolicsome 
 nature had bestowed a supernumerary salute upon the tip of his nose, 
 ^^ you here, fright ! Well, I'm very thankful that you won't trouble 
 7ne much !" 
 
 "What! you're as lively as ever, are you ]" said Jonas. "Oh! 
 You 're a wicked one !" 
 
 " There, go along !" retorted Merry, pushing him away. "I'm sure 
 I don't know what I shall ever do, if I have to see much of you. Go 
 along, for gracious' sake 1" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff striking in here, with a request that Mr. Jonas would im- 
 mediately walk up stairs, he so far complied with the young lady's adjura- 
 tion as to go at once. But though he had the fair Cherry on his arm, 
 he could not help looking back at her sister, and exchanging some further 
 dialogue of the same bantering description, as they all four ascended to 
 the parlour ; where — for the young ladies happened, by good fortune, 
 to be a little later than usual that night — the tea-board was at that 
 moment being set out. 
 
 Mr. Pinch was not at home, so they had it all to themselves, and 
 were very snug and talkative, Jonas sitting between the two sisters, 
 and displaying his gallantry in that engaging manner which was peculiar 
 to him. It was a hard thing, Mr. Pecksniff said, when tea was done 
 and cleared away, to leave so pleasant a little party, but having some im- 
 portant papers to examine in his own apartment, he must beg them to 
 excuse him for half an hour. With this apology he withdrew, singing 
 a careless strain as he went. lie had not been gone five minutes, when 
 Merry, who had been sitting in the window, apart from Jonas and her 
 sister, burst into a half-smothered laugh, and skipped towards the door. 
 
 " Hallo 1" cried Jonas. " Don't go." 
 
 " Oh, I dare say 1" rejoined Merry, looking back. "You're very- 
 anxious I should stay, fright, ain't you ?" 
 
 " Yes, I am," said Jonas. " Upon my word I am. I want to speak 
 to you." But as she left the room notwithstanding, he ran out after her, 
 and brought her back, after a short struggle in the passage which 
 scandalized Miss Cherry very much, 
 
 " Upon my word. Merry," urged that young lady, " I wonder at 
 you ! There are bounds even to absurdity, my dear." 
 
 " Thank you my sweet," said Merry, pursing up her rosy lips. 
 "Much obliged to it for its advice. Oh! do leave me alone, you 
 monster, do !" This entreaty was wrung from her by a new proceeding 
 on the part of Mr. Jonas, who pulled her down, all breathless as she was, 
 into a seat beside him on the sofa, having at the same time Miss 
 Cherry upon the other side. 
 
 " Now," said Jonas, clasping the waist of each : " I have got both 
 arms full, haven't If 
 
 " One of them will be black and blue to-morrow, if you don't let me 
 go," cried the playful Merry. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 253 
 
 " Ah ! I don't mind your pinching," grinned Jonas, " a bit." 
 
 " Pinch him for me, Cherry, pray," said ^fercy. " I never did hate 
 anybody so much as I hate this creature, I declare !" 
 
 " No, no, don't say that," urged Jonas, " and don't pinch either, 
 because I want to be serious. I say — Cousin Charity — " 
 
 " Well ! what % "she answered, sharply. 
 
 "I want to have some sober talk," said Jonas : "I want to prevent 
 any mistakes, you know, and to put everything upon a pleasant under- 
 standing. That's desirable and proper, ain't it ?" 
 
 Neither of the sisters spoke a word. Mr. Jonas paused and cleared 
 his throat, which was very dry. 
 
 " She '11 not believe what I 'm going to say, will she cousin % " said 
 Jonas, timidly squeezing Miss Charity. 
 
 " Really Mr. Jonas I don't know, until I hear what it is. It 's quite 
 impossible !" 
 
 " Why, you see," said Jonas, " her way always being to make game 
 of people, I know she '11 laugh, or pretend to — I know that, beforehand. 
 But you can tell her I 'm in earnest, cousin ; can't you % You 'II confess 
 you know, won't you ? You '11 be honourable, I 'm sure," he added 
 persuasively. 
 
 No answer. His throat seemed to grow hotter and hotter, and to be 
 more and more difficult of controul. 
 
 " You see. Cousin Charity," said Jonas, " nobody but you can tell her 
 what pains I took to get into her company when you were both at the 
 boarding-house in the city, because nobody 's so well aware of it, you 
 know. Nobody else can tell her how hard I tried to get to know you 
 better, in order that I might get to know her without seeming to wish 
 it ; can they % I always asked you about her, and said where had she 
 gone, and when would she come, and how lively she was, and all 
 that ; didn't I, cousin % I know you '11 tell her so, if you have n't told 
 her so already, and — and — I dare say you have, because I 'm sure you 're 
 honourable, ain't you ? ' ' 
 
 Still not a word. The right arm of Mr. Jonas — the elder sister sat 
 upon his right — may have been sensible of some tumultuous throbbing 
 which was not within itself ; but nothing else apprised him that his 
 words had had the least effect. 
 
 "Even if you kept it to yourself, and haven't told her," resumed 
 Jonas, " it don't much matter, because you '11 bear honest witness now ; 
 won't you % We 've been very good friends from the first ; have n't we % 
 and of course we shall be quite friends in future, and so I don't mind 
 speaking before you a bit. Cousin Mercy, you 've heard what I 've been 
 saying. She '11 confirm it, every word j she must. Will you have me 
 for your husband % Eh T' 
 
 As he released his hold of Charity, to put this question with better 
 effect, she started up and hurried away to her own room, marking her 
 progress as she went by such a train of passionate and incoherent sound, 
 as nothing but a slighted woman in her anger could produce. 
 
 " Let me go away. Let me go after her," said Merry, pushing him 
 off, and giving him — to tell the truth — more than one sounding slap 
 upon his outstretched face. 
 
254 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 '• Xot till you say yes. You have n't told me. Will you have me 
 for your husband ?" 
 
 " No, I wont. I can't bear the sight of you. I have told you so a 
 hundred times. You are a fright. Besides, I ahvays thought you liked 
 my sister best. We all thought so." 
 
 " But that was n't my fault," said Jonas. 
 
 " Yes, it was : you know it was." 
 
 " Any trick is fair in love," said Jonas. " She may have thought 
 I liked her best, but you did n't." 
 
 "Ididl" 
 
 " No, you clid n't. You never could have thought 1 liked her best, 
 Vv'hen you were by." 
 
 " There 's no accounting for tastes," said Merry ; " at least I did n't 
 mean to say that. I don't know what I mean. Let me go to her." 
 
 " Say ' Yes,' and then I will." 
 
 " If I ever "brought myself to say so, it should only be, that I might 
 hate and tease you all my life." 
 
 " That 's as good," cried Jonas, " as saying it right out. It 's a bar- 
 gain, cousin. We 're a pair, if ever there was one." 
 
 This gallant speech was succeeded by a confused noise of kissing and 
 slapping ; and then the fair, but much dishevelled Merry, broke away, 
 and followed in the footsteps of her sister. 
 
 Now, whether Mr. Pecksniff had been listening — which in one of his 
 character appears impossible : or divined almost by inspiration what 
 the matter was — which, in a man of his sagacity is far more probable : 
 or happened by sheer good fortune to find himself in exactly the right 
 place, at precisely the right time — which, under the special guardianship 
 in which he lived might very reasonably happen : it is quite certain that 
 at the moment when the sisters came together in their own room, he 
 appeared at the chamber door. And a marvellous contrast it was — 
 they so heated, noisy, and vehement ; he so calm, so self-possessed, so 
 cool and full of peace, that not a hair upon his head was stirred. 
 
 "Children !" said Mr. Pecksniff, spreading out his hands in wonder, 
 but not before he had shut the door, and set his back against it. 
 " Girls ! Daughters ! What is this T' 
 
 " The wretch; the apostate; the false, mean, odious villain; has before 
 my very face proposed to Mercy !" was his elder daughter's answer. 
 "Who has proposed to Mercy?" said Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 "He has. That thing. Jonas, down stairs." 
 
 "Jonas proposed to Mercy!" said Mr. Pecksniff. "Aye, aye! 
 Indeed !" 
 
 " Have you nothing else to say ? " cried Charity. " Am I to be 
 driven mad, papa % He has proposed to Mercy, not to me." 
 
 "Oh, fie! For shame!" said Mr. Pecksniff, gravely. "Oh, for 
 shame ! Can the triumph of a sister move you to this terrible display, 
 my child % Oh, really this is very sad ! I am sorry ; I am surprised 
 and hurt to see you so. Mercy, my girl, bless you ! See to her. Ah, 
 envy, envy, what a passion you are ! " 
 
 Uttering this apostrophe in a tone full of grief and lamentation, Mr. 
 Pecksniff left the room (taking care to shut the door behind him), and 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. ZOO 
 
 walked down stairs into the parlour. There he found his intended son- 
 in-law, whom he seized by both hands. 
 
 " Jonas ! " cried Mr. Pecksniff', " Jonas ! the dearest wish of m v heart 
 is now fulfilled !" 
 
 " Very well ; I 'm glad to hear it," said Jonas. " That '11 do. I 
 say, as it ain't the one you 're so fond of, you must come down with 
 another thousand, Pecksniff. You must make it up five. It 's worth 
 that to keep your treasure to yourself, you know. You get off very 
 cheap that way, and have n't a sacrifice to make." 
 
 The grin with which he accompanied this, set off his other attractions 
 to such unspeakable advantage, that even Mr. Pecksniff lost his presence 
 of mind for the moment, and looked at the young man as if he were 
 quite stupified with wonder and admiration. But he quickly regained 
 his composure, and was in the very act of changing the subject, when a 
 hasty step was heard without, and Tom Pinch, in a state of great 
 excitement, came darting into the room. 
 
 On seeing a stranger there, apparently engaged with Mr. Pecksniff in 
 private conversation, Tom was very much abashed, though he still 
 looked as if he had something of great importance to communicate, 
 which would be a sufficient apology for his intrusion. 
 
 " Mr. Pinch," said Pecksniff, '■ this is hardly decent. You will 
 excuse my saying that I think your conduct scarcely decent, Mr. Pinch." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir," replied Tom, " for not knocking at the 
 door." 
 
 "Rather beg this gentleman's pardon, Mr. Pinch," said Pecksniff. 
 " / know you ; he does not. — My young man, Mr. Jonas." 
 
 The son-in-law that Avas to be gave him a slight nod — not actively 
 disdainful or contemptuous, only passively : for he was in a good 
 humour. 
 
 '- Could I speak a word with you, sir, if you please ?" said Tom. "'It 's 
 rather pressing." 
 
 " It should be very pressing to justify this strange behaviour, Mr. 
 Pinch," returned his master. " Excuse me for one moment, my dear 
 friend. Now, sir, what is the reason of this rough intrusion V.' 
 
 " I am very sorry, sir, I am sure," said Tom, standing, cap in hand, 
 before his patron in the passage : " and I know it must have a very 
 rude appearance — " 
 
 " It //as a very rude appearance, Mr. Pinch." 
 
 "Yes, I feel that, sir; but the truth is, I was so surprised to see them, 
 and knew you would be too, that I ran home very fast indeed, and 
 really had n't enough command over myself to know what I was doing 
 very well. I was in the church just now, sir, touching the organ for my 
 own amusement, when I happened to look round, and saw a gentleman 
 and lady standing in the aisle listening. They seemed to be strangers, 
 sir, as well as I could make out in the dusk : and I thought I did n't 
 know them : so presently I left off, and said, would they walk up into 
 the organ-loft, or take a seat ] No, they said, they would n't do that ; 
 but they thanked me for the music they had heard — in fact," observed 
 Tom, blushing — " they said, ' Delicious music !' at least, she did ; and I 
 am sure that was a greater pleasure and honour to me, than any com- 
 
256 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 pliment I could have had. I — I — beg your pardon, sir;" he was all in 
 a tremble, and dropped his hat for the second time; "but I — I'm rather 
 flurried, and I fear I've wandered from the point." 
 
 " If you will come back to it, Thomas," said Mr. Pecksniff, with an 
 icy look, " I shall feel obliged." 
 
 " Yes, sir," returned Tom, " certainly. They had a posting carriage 
 at the porch, sir, and had stopped to hear the organ, they said, and then 
 they said — she said, I mean, ' I believe you live with Mr. Pecksnifij 
 sir?' I said I had that honour, and I took the liberty, sir," added Tom, 
 raising his eyes to his benefactor's face, " of saying, as I always will and 
 must, with your permission, that I was under great obligations to you, 
 and never could express my sense of them sufficiently." 
 
 " That," said Mr. Pecksniff, " was very, very wrong. Take your time 
 Mr. Pinch." 
 
 " Thank you, sir," cried Tom. " On that they asked me — she asked, 
 I mean — ' Wasn't there a bridle-road to Mr. Pecksniff's house, — ' 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff suddenly became full of interest. 
 
 " ' Without going by the Dragon % ' When I said there was, and said 
 how happy I should be to show it 'em, they sent the carriage on by the 
 road, and came with me across the meadows. I left 'em at the turnstile 
 to run forward and tell you they were coming, and they'll be here, sir, 
 in — in less than a minute's time, I should say," added Tom, fetching his 
 breath with difficulty. 
 
 " Now who," said Mr. Pecksniff, pondering, " who may these 
 people be !" 
 
 " Bless my soul, sir !" cried Tom, " I meant to mention that at first 
 I thought I had. I knew them — her, I mean — directly. The gentle- 
 man who was ill at the Dragon, sir, last winter ; and the young lady 
 who attended him." 
 
 Tom's teeth chattered in his head, and he positively staggered with 
 amazement, at witnessing the extraordinary effect produced on Mr. Peck- 
 sniff by these simple words. The dread of losing the old man's favour 
 almost as soon as they were reconciled, through the mere fact of having 
 Jonas in the house ; the impossibility of dismissing Jonas, or shutting 
 him up, or tying him hand and foot and putting him in the coal-cellar, 
 without offending him beyond recall ; the horrible discordance prevailing 
 in the establishment, and the impossibility of reducing it to decent 
 harmony, with Charity in loud hysterics, Mercy in the utmost disorder, 
 Jonas in the parlour, and Martin Chuzzlewit and his young charge upon the 
 very door-steps ; the total hopelessness of being able to disguise or feasibly 
 explain this state of rampant confusion ; the sudden accumulation over 
 his devoted head of every complicated perplexity and entanglement — for 
 his extrication from which he had trusted to time, good fortune, chance, 
 and his own plotting — so filled the entrapped architect with dismay, that 
 if Tom could have been a Gorgon staring at Mr. Pecksniff, and Mr. 
 Pecksniff could have been a Gorgon staring at Tom, they could not have 
 horrified each other half so much as in their OAvn bewildered persons. 
 
 "Dear, dear !" cried Tom, "what have I done? I hoped it would 
 be a pleasant surprise, sir. I thought you would like to know." 
 
 But at that moment a loud knocking was heard at the hall-door. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 257 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 MORE AMERICAN EXPERIENCES. MARTIN TAKES A PARTNER, AND MAKES 
 A PURCHASE. SOME ACCOUNT OF EDEN, AS IT APPEARED ON PAPER. 
 ALSO OP THE BRITISH LION. ALSO OF THE KIND OF SYMPATHY PRO- 
 FESSED AND ENTERTAINED, BY THE WATERTOAST ASSOCIATION OF UNITED 
 SYMPATHIZERS. 
 
 The knocking at Mr. PecksnifTs door, though loud enough, bore no 
 resemblance whatever to the noise of an American railway train at full 
 speed. It may be well to begin the present chapter with this frank 
 admission, lest the reader should imagine that the sounds now deafening 
 this history's ears have any connection with the knocker on Mr. Peck- 
 sniff's door, or with the great amount of agitation pretty equally divided 
 between that worthy man and Mr. Pinch, of which its strong perform- 
 ance was the cause. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniif's house is more than a thousand leagues away ; and 
 again this happy chronicle has Liberty and Moral Sensibility for its high 
 companions. Again it breathes the blessed air of Independence ; again 
 it contemplates with pious awe that moral sense which renders unto 
 Csesar nothing that is his ; again inhales that sacred atmosphere which 
 was the life of him — oh noble patriot, wdth many followers ! — who 
 dreamed of Freedom in a slave's embrace, and waking sold her offspring 
 and his own in public markets. 
 
 How the wheels clank and rattle, and the tram-road shakes, as the 
 train rushes on ! And now the engine yells, as it were lashed and tor- 
 tured like a living labourer, and writhed in agony. A poor fancy ; for 
 steel and iron are of infinitely greater account, in this commonwealth, 
 than flesh and blood. If the cunning work of man be urged beyond its 
 power of endurance, it has within it the elements of its own revenge ; 
 whereas the wretched mechanism of the Divine Hand is dangerous with 
 no such property, but may be tampered with, and crushed, and broken, 
 at the driver's pleasure. Look at that engine 1 It shall cost a man 
 more dollars in the way of penalty and fine, and satisfaction of the 
 outraged law, to deface in wantonness that senseless mass of metal, than 
 to take the lives of twenty human creatures ! Thus the stars wink 
 upon the bloody stripes ; and Liberty pulls down her cap upon her eyes, 
 and owns Oppression in its vilest aspect, for her sister. 
 
 The engine-driver of the train whose noise awoke us to the present 
 chapter, was certainly troubled with no such reflections as these ; nor is 
 it very probable that his mind was disturbed by any reflections at all. 
 He leaned with folded arms and crossed leo's ao-ainst the side of the car- 
 
 o o 
 
 riage, smoking ; and, except when he expressed, by a grunt as short 
 as his pipe, his approval of some particularly dexterous aim on the part 
 of his colleague, the fireman, who beguiled his leisure by throwing logs 
 of wood from the tender at the numerous stray cattle on the line, he 
 preserved a composure so immovable, and an indifference so complete, 
 that if the locomotive had been a sucking-pig, he could not have been 
 
 s 
 
258 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 more perfectly indiiferent to its doings. Notwithstanding tlie tran- 
 quil state of this officer, and his unbroken peace'of mind, the train was pro- 
 ceeding with tolerable rapidity ; and the rails being but poorly laid, the 
 jolts and bumps it met with in its progress were neither slight nor few. 
 
 There were three great caravans or cars attached. The ladies' car, 
 the gentlemen's car, and the car for negroes : the latter painted black, 
 as an appropriate compliment to its company. Martin and Mark Tapley 
 were in the first, as it was the most comfortable j and, being far from 
 full, received other gentlemen who, like them, were unblessed by the 
 society of ladies of their own. They were seated side by side, and were 
 engaged in earnest conversation. 
 
 " And so, Mark," said Martin, looking at him with an anxious expres- 
 sion, — " and so you are glad we have left New York far behind us, are 
 you ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Mark. "I am. Precious glad." 
 
 " Were you not ^ jolly ' there ?" asked Martin. 
 
 " On the contrairy, sir," returned Mark. " The j oiliest week as ever 
 I spent in my life, was that there week at Pawkins's." 
 
 " What do you think of our prospects '?" inquired Martin, with an 
 air that plainly said he had avoided the question for some time. 
 
 " Uncommon bright, sir," returned Mark. " Impossible for a place 
 to have a better name, sir, than the Walley of Eden. No man couldn't 
 think of settling in a better place than the Walley of Eden. And I 'm 
 told," added Mark after a pause, " as there's lots of serpents there, so 
 we shall come out, quite complete and reg'lar." 
 
 So far from dwelling upon this agreeable piece of information with 
 the least dismay, Mark's face grew radiant as he called it to mind : so 
 very radiant, that a stranger might have supposed he had all his life 
 been yearning for the society of serpents, and now hailed with delight 
 the approaching consummation of his fondest Welshes. 
 
 " Who told you that ?" asked Martin, sternly. 
 
 " A military officer," said Mark. 
 
 " Confound you for a ridiculous fellow !" cried Martin, laughing 
 heartily in spite of himself. " What military officer ? you know they 
 spring up in every field " — 
 
 " As thick as scarecrows in England, sir," interposed Mark, " which 
 is a sort of militia themselves, being entirely coat and wescoat, with 
 a stick inside. Ha, ha ! — Don't mind me, sir ; it 's my way sometimes. 
 I can't help being jolly. — Why it was one of them inwading conquerors 
 at Pawkins's, as told me. ' Am I rightly informed,' he says — not 
 exactly through his nose, but as if he'd got a stoppage in it, very 
 high up — ' that you're a going to the Walley of Eden V ' I heard 
 some talk on it,' I told him. ' Oh !' says he, ' if you should ever happen 
 to go to bed there — you ma?/, you know,' he says, ' in course of time as 
 civilisation progresses — don't forget to take a axe with you.' I looks 
 at him tolerable hard. 'Fleas V says I. ' And more,' says he. ' Wam- 
 pires V says I. ' And more,' says he. ' Musquitoes, perhaps V says I. 
 ' And more,' says he. * What more V says I. ' Snakes more,' says 
 he; rattlesnakes. You're right to a certain extent, stranger; there 
 
MARTIN CIIUZZLEWIT. 259 
 
 air some catawampous chawers in the small way too, as graze upon a 
 human pretty strong ; but don't mind them — they're company. It's 
 snakes' he says, ' as you '11 object to : and whenever you wake and see 
 one in a upright poster on your bed,' he says, ' like a corkscrew with the 
 handle off' a sittin' on its bottom ring, cut him down, for he means 
 wenom.' " 
 
 " Why didn't you tell me this before !" cried Martin, with an ex- 
 pression of face which set off the cheerfulness of Mark's visage to great 
 advantage. 
 
 " I never thought on it, sir," said Mark. " It come in at one ear, and 
 went out at the other. But Lord love us, he was one of another Company 
 I dare say, and only made up the story that we might go to his Eden, 
 and not the opposition one." 
 
 " There 's some probability in that," observed Martin. " I can honestly 
 say that I hope so, with all my heart." 
 
 " I've not a doubt about it, sir," returned Mark, who, full of the 
 inspiriting influence of the anecdote upon himself, had for the moment 
 forgotten its probable effect upon his master : " anyhow, we must live, 
 you know, sir." 
 
 " Live ! " cried Martin. " Yes, it's easy to say live ; but if we should 
 happen not to wake when rattlesnakes are making corkscrews of them- 
 selves upon our beds, it may not be so easy to do it." 
 
 " And that 's a fact," said a voice so close in his ear that it tickled him. 
 " That 's dreadful true." 
 
 Martin looked round, and found that a gentleman, on the seat behind, 
 had thrust his head between himself and Mark, and sat with his chin 
 resting on the back rail of their little bench, entertaining himself with 
 their conversation. He was as languid and listless in his looks, as most 
 of the gentlemen they had seen ; his cheeks were so hollow that he 
 seemed to be always sucking them in ; and the sun had burnt him — not 
 a wholesome red or brown, but dirty yellow. He had bright dark 
 eyes, which he kept half closed ; only peeping out of the corners, and 
 even then with a glance that seemed to say, " Now you won't overreach 
 me: you want to, but you won't." His arms rested carelessly on 
 his knees as he leant forward ; in the palm of his left hand, as English 
 rustics have their slice of cheese, he had a cake of tobacco ; in his right 
 a penknife. He struck into the dialogue with as little reserve as if he 
 had been specially called in, days before, to hear the arguments on both 
 sides, and favour them with his opinion ; and he no more contemplated 
 or cared for the possibility of their not desiring the honour of his 
 acquaintance or interference in their private affairs, than if he had been 
 a bear or a bufflilo. 
 
 " That," he repeated, nodding condescendingly to Martin, as to an 
 outer barbarian and foreigner, " is dreadful true. Darn all manner of 
 vermin." 
 
 Martin could not help frowning for a moment, as if he were disposed 
 to insinuate that the gentleman had unconsciously " darned " himself. 
 But rememberino^ the wisdom of doin<r at Kome as Romans do, he smiled 
 with the pleasantest expression he could assume upon so short a notice. 
 
 s 2 
 
260 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Their new friend said no more just then, being busily employed in 
 cutting a quid or plug from his cake of tobacco, and whistling softly to 
 himself the while. When he had shaped it to his liking, he took out his 
 old plug, and deposited the same on the back of the seat between Mark 
 and Martin, while he thrust the new one into the hollow of his cheek, 
 where it looked like a large walnut, or tolerable pippin. Finding it 
 quite satisfactory, he stuck the point of his knife into the old plug, and 
 holding it out for their inspection, remarked with the air of a man who 
 had not lived in vain, that it was " used up considerable." Then he 
 tossed it away ; put his knife into one pocket and his tobacco into 
 another ; rested his chin upon the rail as before ; and approving of the 
 pattern on Martin's waistcoat, reached out his hand to feel the texture of 
 that garment. 
 
 " What do you call this now 1 " he asked. 
 
 "Upon my word," said Martin, "I don't know what it 's called." 
 
 " It '11 cost a dollar or more a yard, I reckon 1 " 
 
 " I really don't know." 
 
 " In my country," said the gentleman, " we know the cost of our ov,^n 
 pro-duce. 
 
 Martin not discussing the question, there was a pause. 
 
 " Well ! " resumed their new friend, after staring at them intently 
 during the whole interval of silence : " how 's the unnat'ral old parent 
 by this time 1 " 
 
 Mr. Tapley, regarding this enquiry as only another version of the 
 impertinent English question — " How 's your mother 1 " — would have 
 resented it instantly, but for Martin's prompt interposition. 
 
 " You mean the old country "? " he said. 
 
 "Ah!" was the reply. "How's she! Progressing back'ards, I 
 expect, as usual 1 Well ! How 's Queen Victoria ?" 
 
 " In good health, I believe," said Martin. 
 
 " Queen Victoria v/on't shake in her royal shoes at all, when she hears 
 to-morrow named," observed the stranger. " No." 
 
 " Not that I am aware of. Why should she 1 " 
 
 " She won't be taken with a cold chill, when she realises what is being 
 done in these diggings," said the stranger. " No." 
 
 " No," said Martin. " I think I could take my oath of that." 
 
 The strange gentleman looked at him as if in pity for his ignorance 
 or prejudice, and said : 
 
 " Well, sir, I tell you this — there ain't a en-gine with its biler bust, 
 in God A'mighty's free U-nited States, so fixed, and nipped, and frizzled 
 to a most e-tarnal smash, as that young critter, in her luxurious lo-cation 
 in the Tower of London, will be, when she reads the next double-extra 
 Watertoast Gazette." 
 
 Several other gentlemen had left their seats and gathered round 
 during the foregoing dialogue. They were highly delighted with this 
 speech. One very lank gentleman, in a loose limp white cravat, a long 
 white v/aistcoat, and a bhick great-coat, who seemed to be in authority 
 among them, felt called upon to acknowledge it. 
 
 " Hem ! Mr. La Fayette Kettle," he said, taking off his hat. 
 
 \ 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 261 
 
 There was a grave murmur of " Hush ! " 
 
 " Mr. La Fayette Kettle ! Sir !" 
 
 Mr. Kettle bowed. 
 
 " In the name of this company, sir, and in the name of our common 
 country, and in the name of that righteous cause of holy sympathy in 
 which we are engaged, I thank you. I thank you, sir, in the name of 
 the Watertoast Sympathizers ; and I thank you, sir, in the name of the 
 Watertoast Gazette ; and I thank you, sir, in the name of the star- 
 spangled banner of the Great United States, for your eloquent and 
 categorical exposition. And if, sir," said the speaker, poking Martin 
 with the handle of his umbrella to bespeak his attention, for he was 
 listening to a whisper from Mark ; " if, sir, in such a place, and at such 
 a time, I might venture to con-elude with a sentiment, glancing — how- 
 ever slantin'dicularly — at the subject in hand, I would say, sir. May 
 the British Lion have his talons eradicated by the noble bill of the 
 American Eagle, and be taught to play upon the Irish Harp and the 
 Scotch Fiddle that music which is breathed in every empty shell that 
 lies upon the shores of green Co-lurabia !" 
 
 Here the lank gentleman sat down again, amidst a great sensation ; 
 and every one looked very grave. 
 
 " General Choke," said Mr. La Fayette Kettle, " you warm my heart ; 
 sir, you warm my heart. But the British Lion is not unrepresented 
 here, sir ; and I should be glad to hear his answer to those remarks." 
 
 " Upon my word," cried Martin, laughing, " since you do me the 
 honour to consider me his representative, I have only to say that I ne^er 
 heard of Queen Victoria reading the What's-his-name Gazette, and that 
 I should scarcely think it probable," 
 
 General Choke smiled upon the rest, and said, in patient and 
 benignant explanation : 
 
 " It is sent to her, sir. It is sent to her. Per Mail." 
 
 " But if it is addressed to the Tower of London, it would hardly come 
 to hand, I fear," returned Martin : "for she don't live there." 
 
 " The Queen of England, gentlemen," observed j\lr. Tapley, affecting 
 the greatest politeness, and regarding them with an immoveable face, 
 " usually lives in the Mint, to take care of the money. She has lodgings, 
 in virtue of her office, with the Lord Mayor at the Mansion-House ; but 
 don't often occupy them, in consequence of the parlour chimney smoking." 
 
 " Mark," said Martin, " I shall be very much obliged to you if you '11 
 have the goodness not to interfere wdth preposterous statements, however 
 jocose they may appear to you. I was merely remarking, gentlemen — 
 though it 's a point of very little import — that the Queen of England 
 does not happen to live in the Tower of London." 
 
 " General !" cried Mr. La Fayette Kettle. " You hear V 
 
 " General !" echoed several others. " General !" 
 
 " Hush ! Pray, silence !" said General Choke, holding up his hand, 
 and speaking with a patient and complacent benevolence that Avas quite 
 touching. " I have always remarked it as a very extraordinary cir- 
 cumstance, which I impute to the natur' of British Institutions and 
 their tendency to suppress that popular inquiry and information which 
 
262 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 air so widely diffused even in the trackless forests of this vast Continent 
 of the Western Ocean ; that the knowledge of Britishers themselves on 
 such points is not to be compared with that possessed by our intelligent 
 and locomotive citizens. This is interesting, and confirms my observ- 
 ation. When you say, sir," he continued, addressing Martin^ " that your 
 Queen does not reside in the Tower of London, you fall into an error, 
 not uncommon to your countrymen, even when their abilities and 
 moral elements air such as to command respect. But, sir, you air wrong. 
 She does live there — " 
 
 " When she is at the Court of Saint James's j" interposed Kettle. 
 
 " When she is at the Court of Saint James's, of course," returned 
 the General, in the same benignant w^ay : " for if her location was in 
 Windsor Pavilion it could n't be in London at the same time. Your 
 Tower of London, sir," pursued the General, smiling with a mild con- 
 sciousness of his knowledge, " is nat'rally your royal residence. Being 
 located in the immediate neighbourhood of your Parks, your Drives, your 
 Triumphant Arches, your Opera, and your Royal Almacks, it nat'rally 
 suggests itself as the place for holding a luxurious and thoughtless court. 
 And, consequently," said the General, " consequently, the court is held 
 there." 
 
 " Have you been in England 1 " asked Martin. 
 
 " In print I have, sir," said the General, " not otherwise. We air 
 a reading people here, sir. You will meet with much information 
 among us that will surprise you, sir." 
 
 " I have not the least doubt of it," returned Martin. But here he 
 was interrupted by Mr. La Fayette Kettle, who whispered in his ear : 
 
 " You know General Choke 1 " 
 
 "No," returned Martin, in the same tone. 
 
 " You know what he is considered ? " 
 
 " One of the most remarkable men in the country 1 " said Martin, at 
 a venture. 
 
 " That 's a fact," rejoined Kettle. " I was sure you must have heard 
 of him ! " 
 
 " I think," said Martin, addressing himself to the General again, 
 " that I have the pleasure of being the bearer of a letter of introduction 
 to you, sir. From Mr. Bevan, of Massachusetts," he added, giving it 
 to him. 
 
 The General took it and read it attentively : now and then stopping 
 to glance at the two strangers. When he had finished the note, he 
 came over to Martin, sat down by him, and shook hands. 
 
 " Well !" he said, " and you think of settling in Eden 1 " 
 
 " Subject to your opinion, and the agent's advice," replied Martin. 
 " I am told there is nothing to be done in the old towns." 
 
 " I can introduce you to the agent, sir," said the General. " I know 
 him. In fact, I am a member of the Eden Land Corporation myself." 
 
 This was serious news to Martin, for his friend had laid great stress 
 upon the General's having no connection, as he thought, with any land 
 company, and therefore being likely to give him disinterested advice. 
 The General explained that he had joined the Corporation only a few 
 
JIARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 263 
 
 weeks ago, and tliat no communication had passed between himself and 
 Mr. Bevan since. 
 
 " We have very little to venture," said Martin anxiously — " only a 
 few pounds — but it is our all. Now, do you think that for one of my 
 profession, this would be a speculation with any hope or chance in it 1 " 
 
 " Well ! " observed the General, gravely, " if there was n't any hope 
 or chance in the speculation, it would n't have engaged my dollars, I 
 opinionate." 
 
 " I don't mean for the sellers," said Martin. '• For the buyers — for 
 the buyers !" 
 
 " For the buyers, sir 1 " observed the General, in a most impressive 
 manner. " Well ! you come from an old country : from a country, 
 sir, that has piled up golden calves as high as Babel, and worshipped 
 'em for ages. We are a new country, sir ; man is in a more primeval 
 state here, sir ; we have not the excuse of having lapsed in the slow 
 course of time into degenerate practices ; we have no false gods ; man, 
 sir, here, is man in all his dignity. We fought for that or nothing. 
 Here am I, sir," said the General, setting up his umbrella to represent 
 himself j and a villanous-looking umbrella it was ; a very bad counter to 
 stand for the sterling coin of his benevolence : " here am I with gray 
 hairs, sir, and a moral sense. Would I, with my principles, invest capital 
 in this speculation if I did n't think it full of hopes and chances for my 
 brother man 1 " 
 
 Martin tried to look convinced, but he thought of New York, and 
 found it difficult. 
 
 " What are the Great United States for, sir," pursued the General, " if 
 not for the regeneration of man 1 But it is nat'ral in you to make such 
 an enquerry, for you come from England, and you do not know my 
 country." 
 
 " Then you think," said Martin, " that allowing for the hardships we 
 are prepared to undergo, there is a reasonable — Heaven knows we don't 
 expect much — a reasonable opening in this place V 
 
 " A reasonable opening in Eden, sir ! But see the agent, see the agent ; 
 see the maps, and plans, sir ; and conclude to go or st;iy, according to the 
 natur' of the settlement. Eden hadn't need to go a begging yet, sir," 
 remarked the General. 
 
 " It is an awful lovely place, sure-ly. And frightful wholesome, 
 likewise !" said Mr. Kettle, who had made himself a party to this 
 conversation as a matter of course. 
 
 Martin felt that to dispute such testimony, for no better reason than 
 because he had his secret < misgivings on the subject, would be ungen- 
 tlemanly and indecent. So he thanked the General for his promise to 
 put him in personal communication with the agent ; and " concluded" 
 to see that officer next morning. He then begged the General to inform 
 him who the Watertoast Sympathizers were, of whom he had spoken in 
 addressing Mr. La Fayette Kettle, and on what grievances they bestowed 
 their Sympathy. To which the General, looking very serious, made 
 answer, that he might fully enlighten himself on those points to-morrow 
 by attending a Great Meeting of the Body, which would then be held at the 
 
264 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 town to wliicli tliey were travelling : " over which, sir," said the General, 
 " my fellow-citizens have called on me to preside." 
 
 They came to their journey's end late in the evening. Close to the 
 railway was an immense white edifice, like an ugly hospital, on which 
 was painted " National Hotel." There was a wooden gallery or 
 verandah in front, in which it was rather startling, when the train stop- 
 ped, to behold a great many pairs of boots and shoes, and the smoke of 
 a great many cigars, but no other evidences of human habitation. By 
 slow degrees, however, some heads and shoulders appeared, and connecting 
 themselves with the boots and shoes, led to the discovery that certain 
 gentlemen boarders, who had a fancy for putting their heels where the 
 gentlemen boarders in other countries usually put their heads, were 
 enjoying themselves after their own manner, in the cool of the evening. 
 
 There was a great bar-room in this hotel, and a great public room in 
 which the general table was being set out for supper. There were inter- 
 minable whitewashed staircases, long whitewashed galleries up stairs and 
 down stairs, scores of little whitewashed bedrooms, and a four-sided 
 verandah to every story in the house, which formed a large brick square 
 with an uncomfortable court- yard in the centre : where some clothes 
 were drying. Here and there, some yawning gentlemen lounged up and 
 down with their hands in their pockets ; but within the house and 
 without, wherever half a dozen people were collected together, there, in 
 their looks, dress, morals, manners, habits, intellect and conversation, 
 were Mr. Jefferson Brick, Colonel Diver, Major Pawkins, General Choke, 
 and Mr. La Fayette Kettle, over, and over, and over again. They did 
 the same things ; said the same things ; judged all subjects by, and 
 reduced all subjects to, the same standard. Observing how they lived, 
 and how they were always in the enchanting company of each other, 
 Martin CYcn began to comprehend their being the social, cheerful, 
 winning, airy men they were. 
 
 At the sounding of a dismal gong, this pleasant company went troop- 
 ing down from all parts of the house to the public room ; while from 
 the neighbouring stores other guests came flocking in, in shoals ; for half 
 the town, married folks as well as single, resided at the National Hotel. 
 Tea, coffee, dried meats, tongue, ham, pickles, cake, toast, preserves, and 
 bread and butter, were swallowed with the usual ravaging speed ; and 
 then, as before, the company dropped off by degrees, and lounged away 
 to the desk, the counter, or the bar-room. The ladies had a smaller 
 ordinary of their own, to which their husbands and brotliers were admitted 
 if they chose; and in all other respects they enjoyed themselves as at 
 Pawkins's. 
 
 " Now Mark, my good fellow," said Martin, closing the door of his 
 little chamber, " we must hold a solemn council, for our fate is decided 
 to-morrow morning. You are determined to invest these savings of 
 yours in the common stock, are you ?" 
 
 " If I hadn't been determined to make that wentur, sir," answered 
 Mr. Tapley, " I shouldn't have come." 
 
 " How much is there here, did you say ? " asked Martin, holding up 
 a little bag. 
 
MAETIN CnUZZLEWIT. 2Q5 
 
 " Thirty-seven pound ten and sixpence. The Savings' Bank said so, 
 at least. I never counted it. But the// know, bless you," said Mark, 
 with a shake of the head expressive of his unbounded confidence in the 
 wisdom and arithmetic of those Institutions. 
 
 " The money we brought with us," said Martin, " is reduced to a few 
 shillings less than eight pounds." 
 
 Mr. Tapley smiled, and looked all manner of ways, that he might not 
 be supposed to attach any importance to this fact. 
 
 " Upon the ring — her ring, Mark," said Martin, looking ruefully at 
 His empty finger — 
 
 " Ah ! " sighed Mr. Tapley. " Beg your pardon, sir." 
 
 " We raised, in English money, fourteen pounds. So, even with that, 
 your share of the stock is still very much the larger of the two, you 
 see. Now Mark," said Martin, in his old way, just as he might have 
 spoken to Tom Pinch, '• I have thought of a means of making this up 
 to you, — more than making it up to you, I hope, — and very materially 
 elevating your prospects in life." 
 
 " Oh ! don't talk of that, you know, sir," returned Mark. " I don't 
 want no elevating, sir. I'm all right enough, sir, / am." 
 
 " No, but hear me," said Martin, " because this is very important to 
 you, and a great satisfaction to me. Mark, you shall be a partner in 
 the business : an equal partner with myself. I will put in, as my 
 additional capital, my professional knowledge and ability ; and half the 
 annual profits, as long as it is carried on, shall be yours." 
 
 Poor Martin ! for ever building castles in the air. For ever, in his 
 very selfishness, forgetful of all but his own teeming hopes and sanguine 
 plans. Swelling, at that instant, with the consciousness of patronising 
 and most munificently rewarding Mark ! 
 
 "I don't know, sir," Mark rejoined, much more sadly than his custom 
 was, though from a very different cause than Martin supposed, " what I 
 can say to this, in the way of thanking you. I '11 stand by you, sir, to 
 the best of my ability, and to the last. That's all." 
 
 "We quite understand each other, my good fellow," said Martin, 
 rising in self-approval and condescension. " We are no longer master 
 and servant, but friends and partners ; and are mutually gratified. If 
 we determine on Eden, the business shall be commenced as soon as we 
 get there. Under the name," said Martin, who never hammered upon 
 an idea that wasn't red hot, " under tlie name of Chuzzlewit and 
 Tapley." 
 
 " Lord love you, sir," cried Mark, " don't have my name in it. I ain't 
 acquainted with the business, sir. I must be Co., I must. I 've often 
 thought," he added, in a low voice, " as I should like to know a Co. j 
 but I little thought as ever I should live to be one." 
 
 " You shall have your own way, Mark." 
 
 " Thanke'e, sir. If any country gentleman thereabouts, in the public 
 way, or otherwise, wanted such a thing as a skittle-ground made, I 
 could take that part of the bis'ness, sir." 
 
 " Against any architect in the States," said Martin. " Get a couple 
 of sherry-cobblers, Mark, and we '11 drink success to the firm." 
 
266 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Either lie forgot already (and often afterwards), tliat they were no 
 longer master and servant, or considered this kind of duty to be among 
 the legitimate functions of the Co. But Mark obeyed with his usual 
 alacrity ; and before they parted for the night, it was agreed between 
 them that they should go together to the agent's in the morning, but 
 that Martin should decide the Eden question, on his own sound judg- 
 ment. And Mark made no merit, even to himself in his jollity, of this 
 concession ; perfectly well knowing that the matter would come to that 
 in the end, any way. 
 
 The General was one of the party at the public table next day, and 
 after breakfast suggested that they should wait upon the agent without 
 loss of time. They, desiring nothing more, agreed ; so off they all four 
 started for the office of the Eden Settlement, which was almost within 
 rifle-shot of the National Hotel. 
 
 It was a small place — something like a turnpike. But a great deal 
 of land may be got into a dice-box, and why may not a whole territory 
 be bargained for, in a shed ? It was but a temporary office too ; for the 
 Edeners were '• going " to build a superb establishment for the transaction 
 of their business, and had already got so far as to mark out the site : 
 which is a great way in America. The office-door was wide open, and 
 in the door-way was the agent : no doubt a tremendous fellow to get 
 through his work, for he seemed to have no arrears, but was swinging 
 backwards and forwards in a rocking-chair, with one of his legs planted 
 high up against the door-post, and the other doubled up under him, as 
 if he were hatching his foot. 
 
 He was a gaunt man in a huge straw hat, and a coat of green stulQP. 
 The weather being hot, he had no cravat, and wore his shirt collar wide 
 open ; so that every time he spoke something was seen to twitch and 
 jerk up in his throat, like the little hammers in a harpsichord when the 
 notes are struck. Perhaps it was the Truth feebly endeavouring to leap 
 to his lips. If so, it never reached them. 
 
 Two gray eyes lurked deep within this agent's head, but one of them 
 had no sight in it, and stood, stock still. With that side of his face he 
 seemed to listen to what the other side was doing. Thus each profile 
 had a distinct expression ; and when the moveable side was most in 
 action, the rigid one was in its coldest state of watchfulness. It was like 
 turning the man inside out, to pass to that view of his features in 
 his liveliest mood, and see how calculating and intent they were. 
 
 Each long black hair upon his head hung down as straight as any 
 plummet line, but rumpled tufts were on the arches of his eyes, as if the 
 crow whose foot was deeply printed in the corners, had pecked and torn 
 them in a savage recognition of his kindred nature as a bird of prey. 
 
 Such was the man whom they now approached, and whom the 
 General saluted by the name of Scadder. 
 
 " Well, Gen'ral," he returned, " and how are you ?" 
 
 " Ac-tive and spry, sir, in my country's service and the sympathetic 
 cause. Two gentlemen on business, Mr. Scadder." 
 
 He shook hands with each of them — nothing is done in America 
 without shaking hands — then went on rocking. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 267 
 
 " I tliink I know what bis'ness you have brought these straugers here 
 upon, then, Gen'ral 1 " 
 
 " "Well, sir. I expect you may." 
 
 " You air a tongue-y person, Gen'ral. For you talk too much, and 
 that 's a fact," said Scadder. '• You speak a-larming well in public, but 
 you didn't ought to go ahead so fast in private. Now !" 
 
 " If I can realise your meaning, ride me on a rail ! " returned the 
 General, after pausing for consideration. 
 
 " You know we didn't wish to sell the lots off right away to any loafer 
 as might bid," said Scadder ; " but had con-eluded to reserve 'em for 
 Aristocrats of Natur'. Yes ! " 
 
 " And they are here, sir ! " cried the General with warmth. " They 
 are here, sir ! " 
 
 " If they air here," returned the agent, in reproachful accents, " that 's 
 enough. But you didn't ought to have your dander ris with 77ie, 
 Gen'ral." 
 
 The General whispered Martin that Scadder was the honestest fellow 
 in the world, and that he wouldn't have given him offence designedly, 
 for ten thousand dollars. 
 
 " I do my duty ; and I raise the dander of my feller critturs, as I wish 
 to serve," said Scadder in a low voice, looking down the road and rocking 
 still. " They rile up rough, along of my objecting to their selling Eden 
 off too cheap. That 's human natur' ! Well ! " 
 
 " Mr. Scadder," said the General, assuming his oratorical deportment. 
 " Sir ! Here is my hand, and here my heart. I esteem you, sir, and 
 ask your pardon. These gentlemen air friends of mine, or I would not 
 have brought 'em here, sir, being well aware, sir, that the lots at present 
 go entirely too cheap. But these air friends, sir ; these air partick'ler 
 friends." 
 
 Mr. Scadder was so satisfied by this explanation, that he shook the 
 General warmly by the hand, and got out of the rocking-chair to do it. 
 He then invited the General's particular friends to accompany him into 
 the ofhce. As to the General, he observed, with his usual benevolence, 
 that being one of the company, he wouldn't interfere in the transaction 
 on any account ; so he appropriated the rocking-chair to himself, and 
 looked at the prospect, like a good Samaritan waiting for a traveller. 
 
 " Heyday ! " cried Martin, as his eye rested on a great plan which 
 occupied one whole side of the ofRce. Indeed, the office had little else 
 in it, but some geological and botanical specimens, one or two rusty 
 ledgers, a homely desk, and a stool. '^ Heyday ! what 's that ? " 
 
 " That's Eden," said Scadder, picking his teeth with a sort of young 
 bayonet that flew out of his knife when he touched a spring. 
 
 " Why, I had no idea it was a city." 
 
 " Had n't you 1 Oh, it 's a city." 
 
 A flourishing city, too ! An architectural city ! There were banks, 
 churches, cathedrals, market-places, factories, hotels, stores, mansions, 
 wharves ; an exchange, a theatre ; public buildings of all kinds, do^vn 
 to the office of the Eden Stinger, a daily journal j all faithfully depicted 
 in the view before them. ; 
 
268 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Dear me ! It 's really a most important place ! " cried Martin, 
 turning round. 
 
 " Oh ! it 's very important," observed the agent. 
 
 " But, I am afraid," said Martin, glancing again at the Public Build- 
 ings, " that there 's nothing left for me to do." 
 
 " Well ! it ain't all built," replied the agent. " Not quite." 
 
 This was a great relief. 
 
 " The market-place, now," said Martin. " Is that built V 
 
 " That 1 " said the agent, sticking his toothpick into the weathercock 
 on the top. " Let me see. No : that ain't built." 
 
 " Bather a good job to begin with, — eh, Mark ?" whispered Martin, 
 nudging him with his elbow. 
 
 Mark, who, with a very stolid countenance had been eyeing the plan 
 and the agent by turns, merely rejoined " Uncommon !" 
 
 A dead silence ensued, Mr. Scadder in some short recesses or vaca- 
 tions of his toothpick, whistled a few bars of Yankee Doodle, and blew 
 the dust off the roof of the Theatre. 
 
 " I suppose," said Martin, feigning to look more narrowly at the 
 plan, but showing by his tremulous voice how much depended, in his 
 mind, upon the answer; "I suppose there are — several architects there?" 
 
 '' There ain't a single one," said Scadder. 
 
 " Mark," whispered Martin, pulling him by the sleeve, " do you hear 
 that ? But whose work is all this before us, then ?" he asked aloud. 
 
 " The soil being very fruitful, public buildings grows spontaneous, 
 perhaps," said Mark. 
 
 He was on the agent's dark side as he said it ; but Scadder instantly 
 changed his place, and brought his active eye to bear upon him. 
 
 " Feel of my hands, young man," he said. 
 
 "What for V asked Mark : declining. 
 
 " Air they dirty, or air they clean, sir?" said Scadder, holding them out. 
 
 In a physical point of view they were decidedly dirty. But it being 
 obvious that Mr. Scadder offered them for examination in a figurative 
 sense, as emblems of his moral character, Martin hastened to pronounce 
 them pure as the driven snow. 
 
 " I entreat, Mark," he said, with some irritation, "that you will not 
 obtrude remarks of that nature, which, however harmless and well- 
 intentioned, are quite out of place, and cannot be expected to be very 
 agreeable to strangers. I am quite surprised." 
 
 " The Co.'s a putting his foot in it already," thought Mark. "' He 
 must be a sleeping partner — fast asleep and snoring — Co. must : / see." 
 
 Mr. Scadder said nothing, but he set his back against the plan, and 
 thrust his toothpick into the desk some twenty times : looking at Mark 
 all the while as if he were stabbing him in effigy. 
 
 " You have n't said whose work it is," Martin ventured to observe, 
 at length, in a tone of mild propitiation. 
 
 " Well, never mind whose work it is, or is n't," said the agent sulkily. 
 " No matter how it did eventuate. P'raps he cleared off", handsome, 
 with a heap of dollars ; p'rhaps he was n't worth a cent. P'raps he was 
 a loafin' rowdy ; p'raps a ring-tailed roarer. Now ! " 
 
^€..^^^^t^ ^^'^^^^i< a^.^a/yi.sa^(P7Z^?^2/ze^. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 269 
 
 " All your doing, Mark ! " said Martin. 
 
 " P'raps," pursued the agent, " them an't plants of Eden's raising. 
 No ! P'raps that desk and stool ain't made from Eden lumber. No ! 
 P'raps no end of squatters ain't gone out there. No ! P'raps there ain't 
 no such lo-cation in the territoarj of the Great U-nited States. Oh, no !" 
 
 " I hope you 're satisfied with the success of your joke, Mark," said 
 Martin. 
 
 But here, at a most opportune and happy time, the General inter- 
 posed, and called out to Scadder from the doorway to give his friends 
 the particulars of that little lot of fifty acres with the house upon it ; 
 which, having belonged to the company formerly, had lately lapsed 
 again into their hands. 
 
 " You air a deal too open-handed, Gen'ral," was the answer. " It is 
 a lot as should be rose in price. It is." 
 
 He grumblingly opened his books notwithstanding, and always keep- 
 ing his bright side towards Mark, no matter at what amount of incon- 
 venience to himself, displayed a certain leaf for their perusal. Martin 
 read it greedily, and then inquired : 
 
 " Now where upon the plan may this place be 1 " 
 
 " Upon the plan 1 " said Scadder. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 He turned towards it, and reflected for a short time, as if, having 
 been put upon his mettle, he was resolved to be particular to the very 
 minutest hair's breadth of a shade. At length, after wheeling his tooth- 
 pick slowly round and round in the air, as if it were a carrier pigeon 
 just thrown up, he suddenly made a dart at the drawing, and pierced 
 the very centre of the main wharf, through and through. 
 
 " There ! " he said, leaving his knife quivering in the wall ; " that 's 
 where it is ! " 
 
 Martin glanced with sparkling eyes upon his Co., and his Co. saw that 
 the thing was done. 
 
 The bargain was not concluded as easily as might have been expected 
 though, for Scadder was caustic and ill-humoured, and cast much 
 unnecessary opposition in the way : at one time requesting them to 
 think of it, and call again in a week or a fortnight ; at another, pre- 
 dicting that they would n't like it ; at another, offering to retract and 
 let them off, and muttering strong imprecations upon the folly of the 
 General. But the whole of the astoundingly small sum total of purchase 
 money — it was only one hundred and fifty dollars, or something more 
 than thirty pounds of the capital brought by Co. into the architectural 
 concern — was ultimately paid down ; and Martin's head was two inches 
 nearer the roof of the little wooden office, with the consciousness of 
 being a landed proprietor in the thriving city of Eden. 
 
 " If it shouldn't happen to fit," said Scadder, as he gave Martin the 
 necessary credentials on receipt of his money, " don't blame me." 
 
 " No, no," he replied merrily. " We '11 not blame you. General, are 
 you going 1 " 
 
 " I am at your service, sir ; and I wish you," said the General, giving 
 him his hand with grave cordiality, "joy of your po-session. You air 
 
270 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 now, sir, a denizen of the most powerful and highly-civilised do-minion 
 that has ever graced the world ; a do-minion, sir, where man is bound 
 to man in one vast bond of equal love and truth. May you, sir, be 
 worthy of your a-dopted country ! " 
 
 Martin thanked him, and took leave of Mr. Scadder ; who had resumed 
 his post in the rocking-chair, immediately on the General's rising from 
 it, and was once more swinging away as if he had never been disturbed. 
 Mark looked back several times as they went down the road towards the 
 ]S[ational Hotel, but now his blighted profile was towards them, and 
 nothing but attentive thoughtfulness was written on it. Strangely 
 different to the other side ! He was not a man much given to laughing, 
 and never laughed outright ; but every line in the print of the crow's foot, 
 and every little wiry vein in that division of his head, was wrinkled up into 
 a grin ! The compound figure of Death and the Lady at the top of the old 
 ballad was not divided with a greater nicety, and hadn't halves more mon- 
 strously unlike each other, than the two profiles of Zephaniah Scadder. 
 
 The General posted along at a great rate, for the clock was on the 
 stroke of twelve ; and at that hour precisely, the Great JMeeting of the 
 Watertoast Sympathisers was to be holden in the public room of the 
 National Hotel. Being very curious to witness the demonstration, and 
 know what it was all about, Martin kept close to the General : and, 
 keeping closer than ever when they entered the Hall, got by that means 
 upon a little platform of tables at the upper end : where an arm-chair 
 was set for the General, and Mr. La Fayette Kettle, as secretary, was 
 making a great display of some foolscap documents — Screamers, no doubt. 
 
 "Well, sir!" he said, as he shook hands with Martin, "here is a 
 spectacle calc'lated to make the British Lion put his tail between his 
 legs, and howl with anguish, I expect !" 
 
 Martin certainly thought it possible that the British Lion might have 
 been rather out of his element in that Ark : but he kept the idea to 
 himself. The General was then voted to the chair, on the motion of a 
 pallid lad of the Jefferson Brick school : who forthwith set in for a high- 
 spiced speech, with a good deal about hearths and homes in it, and 
 unriveting the chains of Tyranny. 
 
 Oh but it was a clincher for the British Lion, it was ! The indignation 
 of the glowing young Columbian knew no bounds. If he could only 
 have been one of his own forefathers, he said, wouldn't he have peppered 
 that same Lion, and been to him as another Brute Tamer with a wire 
 whip, teaching him lessons not easily forgotten. " Lion ! (cried that young 
 Columbian) where is he 1 Who is he? What is he ? Show him to me. 
 Let me have him here. Here ! " said the young Columbian, in a wrestling 
 attitude, " upon this sacred altar. Here ! " cried the young Columbian, 
 idealising the dining-table, " upon ancestral ashes, cemented with the 
 glorious blood poured out like water on our native plains of Chickabiddy 
 Lick ! Bring forth that Lion ! " said the young Columbian. " Alone, 
 I dare him ! I taunt that Lion. I tell that Lion, that Freedom's hand 
 once twisted in his mane, he rolls a corse before me, and the Eagles of 
 the Great Republic laugh ha, ha ! " 
 
 When it was found that the Lion didn't come, but kept out of the 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 271 
 
 way ; that the young Columbian stood there, with folded arms, alone in 
 his glory ; and consequently that the Eagles were no doubt laughing 
 wildly on the mountain tops, — such cheers arose as might have shaken 
 the hands upon the Horse-Guards' clock, and changed the very mean time 
 of the day in England's capital. 
 
 " Who is this V Martin telegraphed to La Fayette. 
 
 The Secretary wrote . something, very gravely, on a piece of paper, 
 twisted it up, and had it passed to him from hand to hand. It was an 
 improvement on the old sentiment : " Perhaps as remarkable a man as 
 any in our country." 
 
 This young Columbian was succeeded by another, to the full as eloquent 
 as he, who drew down storms of cheers. But both remarkable youths, 
 in their great excitement (for your true poetry can never stoop to details), 
 forgot to say with whom or what the Watertoasters sympathised, and like- 
 wise why or wherefore they were sympathetic. Thus, Martin remained 
 for a long time as completely in the dark as ever ; until at length a ray 
 of light broke in upon him through the medium of the Secretary, who, 
 by reading the minutes of their past proceedings, made the matter some- 
 what clearer. He then learned that the Watertoast Association sym- 
 pathised with a certain Public Man in Ireland, who held a contest upon 
 certain points with England : and that they did so, because they did n't 
 love England at all — not by any means because they loved Ireland 
 much : being indeed horribly jealous and distrustful of its people always, 
 and only tolerating them because of their working hard, which made 
 them very useful ; labour being held in greater indignity in the simple 
 republic than in any other country upon earth. This rendered Martin 
 curious to see what grounds of sympathy the Watertoast Association 
 put forth ; nor was he long in suspense, for the General rose to read 
 a letter to the Public Man, which with his own hands he had written. 
 
 " Thus," said the General, "thus, my friends and fellow-citizens, it runs : 
 
 " ' Sir, 
 
 " ' I address you on behalf of the Watertoast Association of United 
 Sympathisers. It is founded, sir, in the great republic of America ! 
 and now holds its breath, and swells the blue veins in its forehead nigh 
 to bursting, as it watches, sir, with feverish intensity and sympathetic 
 ardour, your noble efforts in the cause of Freedom.' " 
 
 At the name of Freedom, and at every repetition of that name, all 
 the Sympathisers roared aloud ; cheering with nine times nine, and 
 nine times over. 
 
 " ' In Freedom's name, sir — holy Freedom — I address you. In 
 Freedom's name, I send herewith a contribution to the funds of your 
 Society. In Freedom's name, sir, I advert with indignation and disgust 
 to that accursed animal, with gore-stained whiskers, whose rampant 
 cruelty and fiery lust have ever been a scourge, a torment, to the world. 
 The naked visitors to Crusoe's Island, sir ; the flying wives of Peter 
 Wilkins ; the fruit-smeared children of the tangled bush ; nay, even 
 the men of large stature, anciently bred in the mining districts of Corn- 
 wall ; alike bear witness to its savage nature. Where, sir, are the 
 
272 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Cormorans, tlie Blunderbores, the Great Feefofums, named in History ? 
 all, all, exterminated by its destroying hand. 
 
 " ' I allude, sir, to the British Lion. 
 
 " * Devoted, mind and body, heart and soul, to Freedom, sir — to 
 Freedom, blessed solace to the snail upon the cellar-door, the oyster in 
 his pearly bed, the still mite in his home of cheese, the very winkle 
 of your country in his shelly lair — in her unsullied name, we offer 
 you our sympathy. Oh, sir, in this our cherished and our happy land, 
 her fires burn bright and clear and smokeless : once lighted up in yours, 
 the lion shall be roasted whole. 
 
 " ' I am, sir, in Freedom's name, 
 
 " ' Your affectionate friend and faithful Sympathiser, 
 " ' Cyrus Choke. 
 
 "'General, U. S. M.'" 
 
 It happened that just as the General began to read this letter, the 
 railroad train arrived, bringing a new mail from England ; and a packet 
 had been handed in to the Secretary, which during its perusal and the 
 frequent cheerings in homage to freedom, he had opened. Now, its con- 
 tents disturbed him very much, and the moment the General sat down, 
 he hurried to his side, and placed in his hand a letter and several printed 
 extracts from English ncAvspapers ; to which, in a state of infinite excite- 
 ment, he called his immediate attention. 
 
 The General, being greatly heated by his own composition, was in a 
 fit state to receive any inflammable influence ; but he had no sooner 
 possessed himself of the contents of these documents, than a change 
 came over his face, involving such a huge amount of clioler and passion, 
 that the noisy concourse were silent in a moment, in very wonder at 
 the sight of him. 
 
 " My friends ! " cried the General, rising ; '• my friends and fellow- 
 citizens, we have been mistaken in this man." 
 
 " In what man 1 " was the cry. 
 
 " In this," panted the General, holding up the letter he had read aloud 
 a few minutes before. " I find that he has been, and is, the advocate 
 — consistent in it always too — of Nigger emancipation ! " 
 
 If anything beneath the sky be real, those Sons of Freedom would 
 have pistolled, stabbed — in some way slain — that man by coward hands 
 and murderous violence, if he had stood among them at that time. The 
 most confiding of their own countrymen, would not have wagered then ; 
 no, nor would they ever peril ; one dunghill straw, upon the life of any 
 man in such a strait. They tore the letter, cast the fragments in the 
 air, trod down the pieces as they fell ; and yelled, and groaned, and hissed, 
 till they could cry no longer. 
 
 " I shall move," said the General, when he could make himself heard, 
 " that the Watertoast Association of United Sympathisers be imme- 
 diately dissolved ! " 
 
 Down with it ! Away with it ! Don't hear of it ! Burn its records ! 
 Pull the room down ! Blot it out of human memory ! 
 
 " But, my fellow countrymen ! " said the General, " the contributions. 
 We have funds. What is to be done with the funds ?" 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 273 
 
 It was hastily resolved that a piece of plate should be presented to a 
 certain constitutional Judge, who had laid down from the Bench the 
 noble principle, that it was lawful for any white mob to murder any black 
 man ; and that another piece of plate, of similar value, should be pre- 
 sented to a certain Patriot, who had declared from his high place in the 
 Legislature, that he and his friends would hang, without trial, any 
 Abolitionist who might pay them a visit. For the surplus, it was agreed 
 that it should be devoted to aiding the enforcement of those free and 
 equal laws, which render it incalculably more criminal and dangerous 
 to teach a negro to read and write, than to roast him alive in a public 
 city. These points adjusted, the meeting broke up in great disorder : 
 and there was an end of the Watertoast Sympathy. 
 
 As Martin ascended to his bedroom, his eye was attracted by the 
 Republican banner, which had been hoisted from the house-top in 
 honour of the occasion, and was fluttering before a window which he 
 passed. 
 
 " Tut ! " said Martin. " You're a gay flag in the distance. But let a 
 man be near enough to get the light upon the other side, and see 
 through you ; and you are but sorry fustian ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. ^ 
 
 FROM WHICH IT WILL BE SEEN THAT MARTIN BECASIE A LION ON HIS 
 OWN ACCOUNT. TOGETHER WITH THE REASON WHY. 
 
 As soon as it was generally known in the National Hotel, that the 
 young Englishman, Mr. Chuzzlewit, had purchased '"a lo-cation" in the 
 Valley of Eden, and intended to betake himself to that earthly Paradise 
 by the next Steamboat ; he became a popular character. Why this 
 should be, or how it had come to pass, Martin no more knew than 
 Mrs. Gamp of Kingsgate-street, High Holborn, did ; but that he was 
 for the time being, the lion, by popular election, of the Watertoast 
 community, and that his society was in rather inconvenient request, 
 there could be no kind of doubt. 
 
 The first notification he received of this change in his position, was the 
 following epistle, written in a thin running hand, — with here and there 
 a fat letter or two, to make the general effect more striking, — on a sheet 
 of paper, ruled with blue lines. 
 
 *^ National Hotel, 
 
 " Dear Sir, " Monday ]\IornIng. 
 
 " When I had the privillidge of being your fellow-traveller in 
 the cars, the day before yesterday, you offered some remarks upon the 
 subject of the Tower of London, which (in common with my fellow- 
 citizens generally) I could wish to hear repeated to a public audience. 
 
 " As secretary to the Young Mens' Watertoast Association of this toAvn, 
 I am requested to inform you that the Society will be proud to hear you 
 deliver a lecture upon the Tower of London, at their Hall to-morrow 
 
 T 
 
274 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 evening, at seven o'clock ; and as a large issue of quarter-dollar tickets 
 may be expected, your answer and consent by bearer will be considered 
 obliging. 
 
 " Dear Sir, 
 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 " La Fayette Kettle. 
 " The Honorable M. Chuzzlewit. 
 
 " P.S. — The Society would not be particular in limiting you to the 
 Tower of London. Permit me to suggest that any remarks upon the 
 Elements of Geology, or (if more convenient) upon the Writings of your 
 talented and witty countryman, the honourable Mr. Miller, would be well 
 received." 
 
 Very much aghast at this invitation, Martin wrote back, civilly 
 declining it ; and had scarcely done so, when he received another letter. 
 
 " No. 47, Bunker Hill Street, 
 " Private. " Monday Morning. 
 
 " Sir, 
 
 " I was raised in those interminable solitudes where our 
 mighty Mississippi (or Father of Waters) rolls his turbid flood. 
 
 •' I am young, and ardent. For there is a poetry in wildness, and every 
 alligator basking in the slime is in himself an Epic, self-contained. I 
 aspirate for fame. It is my yearning and my thirst. 
 
 " Are you, sir, aware of any member of Congress in England, who 
 would undertake to pay my expenses to that country, and for six months 
 after my arrival 1 
 
 " There is something within me which gives me the assurance that this 
 enlightened patronage would not be thrown away. In literature or art ; 
 the bar, the pulpit, or the stage • in one or other, if not all, I feel that 
 I am certain to succeed. 
 
 " If too much engaged to write to any such yourself, please let me 
 have a list of three or four of those most likely to respond, and I will 
 address them through the Post Ofiice. May I also ask you to favour me 
 with any critical observations that have ever presented themselves to 
 your reflective faculties, on ' Cain, a Mystery,' by the Right Honourable 
 Lord Byron? 
 
 " I am, Sir, 
 
 " Yours (forgive me if I add, soaringly), 
 
 "Putnam Smif. 
 '•'P.S. — Address your answer to America Junior, Messrs. Hancock & 
 Floby, Dry Goods Store, as above." 
 
 Both of which letters, together with Martin's reply to each, were, 
 according to a laudable custom, much tending to the promotion of gen- 
 tlemanly feeling and social confidence, published in the next number of 
 the Watertoast Gazette. 
 
 He had scarcely got through this correspondence, when Captain 
 Kedgick, the landlord, kindly came up stairs to see how he was getting 
 on. The Captain sat down upon the bed before he spoke; and finding 
 it rather hard, moved to the pillow. 
 
 "Well, sir !" said the Captain, putting his hat a little more on one 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 275 
 
 side, for it was rather tight in the crown : " You 're quite a public man, 
 I calc'late." 
 
 " So it seems," retorted Martin, who was very tired. 
 
 " Our citizens, sir," pursued the Captain, " intend to pay their respects 
 to you. You will have to hold a sort of le — vee, sir, while you 're here." 
 
 "Powers above!" cried Martin, "I couldn't do that, my good 
 fellow !" 
 
 " I reckon you 7nicst then," said the Captain. 
 
 " Must is not a pleasant word, Captain," urged Martin. 
 
 " Well ! I didn't fix the mother language, and I can't unfix it," said 
 the Captain, coolly : " else I'd make it pleasant. You must re-ceive. 
 That 's all." 
 
 " But why should I receive people who care as much for me as I care 
 for them 1 " asked Martin. 
 
 " Well ! because I have had a muniment put up in the bar," returned 
 the Captain. 
 
 "A what ?" cried Martin. 
 
 "A muniment," rejoined the Captain. 
 
 Martin looked despairingly at Mark, who informed him that the 
 Captain meant a written notice that Mr. Chuzzlewit would receive the 
 Watertoasters that day, at and after two o'clock : which was, in effect, 
 then hanging in the bar, as Mark from ocular inspection of the same 
 could testify. 
 
 " You wouldn't be unpop'lar, / know," said the Captain, paring his 
 nails. " Our citizens an't long of riling up, I tell you ; and our 
 Gazette could flay you like a wild cat." 
 
 Martin was going to be very wroth, but he thought better of it, and 
 said : 
 
 " In Heaven's name let them come, then." 
 
 "Oh, i/ie2/'\l come," returned the Captain. "I have seen the big 
 room fixed a'purpose, with my eyes." 
 
 " But will you," said Martin, seeing that the Captain was about to 
 go ; " will you at least tell me this. What do they want to see me 
 for 1 what have I done 1 and how do they happen to have such a sudden 
 interest in me '? " 
 
 Captain Kedgick put a thumb and three fingers to each side of the 
 brim of his hat ; lifted it a little way off his head ; put it on again 
 carefully ; passed one hand all down his face, beginning at the forehead 
 and ending at the chin ; looked at Martin ; then at Mark ; then at 
 Martin again ; winked ; and walked out. 
 
 " Upon my life, now !" said Martin, bringing his hand heavily upon 
 the table ; " such a perfectly unaccountable fellow as that, I never saw. 
 Mark, what do you say to this *?" 
 
 " Why, sir," returned his partner, " my opinion is that we must have 
 got to the MOST remarkable man in the country, at last. So I hope 
 there's an end of the breed, sir." 
 
 Although this made Martin laugh, it couldn't keep off two o'clock. 
 Punctually, as the hour struck, Captain Kedgick returned to hand 
 hira to the room of state ; and he had no sooner got him safe there, 
 
 T 2 
 
276 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 than lie bawled down the staircase to his fellow-citizens below, that 
 Mr. Chuzzlewit was "receiving." 
 
 Up they came with a rush. Up they came until the room was full, 
 and, through the open door, a dismal perspective of more to come was 
 shown upon the stairs. One after another, one after another, dozen 
 after dozen, score after score, more, more, more, up they came : all 
 shaking hands with Martin. Such varieties of hands, the thick, the 
 thin, the short, the long, the fat, the lean, the coarse, the fine ; such 
 differences of temperature, the hot, the cold, the dry, the moist, the 
 flabby ; such diversities of grasp, the tight, the loose, the short-lived, 
 and the lingering ! Still up, up, up, more, more, more : and ever and 
 anon the Captain's voice Avas heard above the crowd — " There's more 
 below ; there's more below. Now, gentlemen, you that have been intro- 
 duced to Mr. Chuzzlewit, will you clear, gentlemen 1 Will you clear ? 
 Will you be so good as clear, gentlemen, and make a little room for more?" 
 
 Regardless of the Captain's cries, they didn't clear at all, but stood 
 there, bolt upright and staring. Two gentlemen connected with the 
 Watertoast Gazette had come express to get the matter for an article on 
 Martin. They had agreed to divide the labour. One of them took 
 him below the waistcoat ; one above. Each stood directly in front of 
 his subject with his head a little on one side, intent on his department. 
 If Martin put one boot before the other, the lower gentleman was down 
 upon him j he rubbed a pimple on his nose, and the upper gentleman 
 booked it. He opened his mouth to speak, and the same gentleman was 
 on one knee before him, looking in at his teeth, with the nice scrutiny of 
 a dentist. Amateurs in the physiognomical and phrenological sciences 
 roved about him with watchful .eyes and itching fingers, and sometimes 
 one, more daring than the rest, made a mad grasp at the back of his head, 
 and vanished in the crowd. They had him in all points of view : in 
 front, in profile, three-quarter face, and behind. Those who were not 
 professional or scientific, audibly exchanged opinions on his looks. New 
 lights shone in upon him, in respect of his nose. Contradictory rumours 
 were abroad on the subject of his hair. And still the Captain's voice 
 was heard — so stifled by the concourse, that he seemed to speak from 
 underneath a feather-bed — exclaiming, " Gentlemen, you that have been 
 introduced to Mr. Chuzzlev»^it, will you clear 1 " 
 
 Even when they began to clear, it was no better ; for then a stream 
 of gentlemen, every one with a lady on each arm (exactly like the 
 chorus to the National Anthem when Royalty goes in state to the play), 
 lame gliding in — every new group fresher than the last, and bent on 
 staying to the latest moment. If they spoke to him, which was not 
 often, they invariably asked the same questions, in the same tone ; 
 with no more remorse, or delicacy, or consideration, than if he had 
 been a figure of stone, purchased, and paid for, and set up there, for 
 their delight. Even when, in the slow course of time, these died off, 
 it was as bad as ever, if not worse ; for then the boys grew bold, and 
 came in as a class of themselves, and did everything that the grown-up 
 people had done. Uncouth stragglers too appeared ; men of a ghostly 
 kind, who being in, didn't know how to get out again : insomuch 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 277 
 
 that one silent gentleman with glazed and fishy eyes, and only one 
 button on his waistcoat (which was a very large metal one, and shone 
 prodigiously), got behind the door, and stood there, like a Clock, long- 
 after everybody else was gone, 
 
 Martin felt, from pure fatigue, and heat, and worry, as if he could 
 have fallen on the ground and willingly remained there, if they would 
 but have had the mercy to leave him alone. But as letters and mes- 
 sages threatening his public denouncement if he didn't see the senders, 
 poured in like hail ; and as more visitors came while he took his 
 coffee by himself; and as Mark, with all his vigilance, was unable to 
 keep them from the door; he resolved to go to bed — not that he felt 
 at all sure of bed being any protection, but that he might not leave 
 a forlorn hope untried. 
 
 He had communicated this design to Mark, and was on the eve of 
 escaping, when the door was thrown open in a great hurry, and an 
 elderly gentleman entered : bringing with him a lady who certainly 
 could not be considered young — that was matter of fact ; and probably 
 could not be considered handsome — but that was matter of opinion. 
 She was very straight, very tall, and not at all flexible in face or figure. 
 On her head she wore a great straw bonnet, with trimmings of the 
 same, in which she looked as if she had been thatched by an unskilful 
 labourer; and in her hand she held a most enormous fan. 
 
 " Mr. Chuzzlewit, I believe?" said the gentleman. 
 
 " That is my name." 
 
 " Sir," said the gentleman, " I am pressed for time." 
 
 " Thank God !" thought Martin. 
 
 " I go back Toe my home, sir," pursued the gentleman, " by the 
 return train, which starts immediate. Start is not a word you use in 
 your country, sir." 
 
 " Oh yes, it is," said I\Iartin. 
 
 " You air mistaken, sir," returned the gentleman, vrith great deci- 
 sion : "but we will not pursue the subject, lest it should awake your 
 preJLi — dice. Sir, Mrs. Hominy." 
 
 Martin bowed. 
 
 " Mrs. Hominy, sir, is the lady of Ma,jor Hominy, one of our chicest 
 spirits ; and belongs Toe one of our most aristocratic families. You 
 air, p'raps, acquainted, sir, with Mrs. Hominy's writings V 
 
 Martin couldn't say he was. 
 
 " You have much Toe learn, and Toe enjoy, sir," said the gentleman. 
 " Mrs. Hominy is going Toe stay until the end of the Fall, sir, with 
 her married daughter at the settlement of New Thermopylae, three days 
 this side of Eden. Any attention, sir, that you can show Toe Mrs. 
 Hominy upon the journey, will be very grateful Toe the Major and our 
 fellow-citizens. Mrs. Hominy, I wish you good night, ma'am, and a 
 pleasant pro-gress on your rout !" 
 
 Martin could scarcely believe it ; but he had gone, and Mrs. Hominy 
 was drinking the milk. 
 
 " A'most used-up I am, I do declare !" she observed. " The jolting in 
 the cars is pretty nigh as bad as if the rail was full of snags and sawyers." 
 
278 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 "Snags and sawyers, ma'am V said Martin. 
 
 " Well, then, I do suppose you '11 hardly realise my meaning, sir/* 
 said Mrs. Hominy. " My ! Only think ! Do tell ! " 
 
 It did not appear that these expressions, although they seemed to 
 conclude with an urgent entreaty, stood in need of any answer ; for 
 Mrs. Hominy, untying her bonnet-strings, observed that she would with- 
 draw to lay that article of dress aside, and would return immediately. 
 
 " Mark !" said Martin. " Touch me, will you. Am I awake ?" 
 
 " Hominy is, sir," returned his partner — " Broad awake ! Just the 
 sort of woman, sir, as would be discovered with her eyes wide open, and 
 her mind a-working for her country's good, at any hour of the day or 
 night." 
 
 They had no opportunity of saying more, for Mrs. Hominy stalked in 
 again — ^very erect, in proof of her aristocratic blood ; and holding in her 
 clasped hands a red cotton pocket-handkerchief, perhaps a parting gift 
 from that choice spirit, the Major. She had laid aside her bonnet, and 
 now appeared in a highly aristocratic and classical cap, meeting beneath 
 her chin : a style of head-dress so admirably adapted to her countenance, 
 that if the late Mr. Grimaldi had appeared in the lappets of Mrs. 
 Siddons, a more complete effect could not have been produced. 
 
 Martin handed her to a chair. Her first words arrested him before 
 he could get back to his own seat. 
 
 " Pray, sir !" said Mrs. Hominy, " where do you hail from ?" 
 
 " I am afraid I am dull of comprehension," answered Martin, " being 
 extremely tired ; but, upon my word, I don't understand you." 
 
 Mrs. Hominy shook her head with a melancholy smile that said, not 
 inexpressively, " They corrupt even the language in that old country 1" 
 and added then, as coming down a step or two to meet his low capacity, 
 " Where was you rose ?" 
 
 " Oh !" said Martin, " I was born in Kent." 
 
 " And how do you like our country, sir ?" asked Mrs. Hominy. 
 
 " Very much indeed," said Martin, half asleep. " At least — that is — 
 pretty well, ma'am." 
 
 " Most strangers — and partick'larly Britishers — are much surprised 
 by what they see in the U-nited States," remarked Mrs. Hominy. 
 
 " They have excellent reason to be so, ma'am," said Martin. " I never 
 was so much surprised in all my life." 
 
 " Our institutions make our people smart much, sir 1 " Mrs. Hominy 
 remarked. 
 
 " The most short-sighted man could see that at a glance, with his 
 naked eye," said Martin. 
 
 Mrs. Hominy was a philosopher and an authoress, and consequently 
 had a pretty strong digestion ; but this coarse, this indecorous phrase, 
 was almost too much for her. For a gentleman sitting alone with a 
 lady — although the door 2cas open — to talk about a naked eye ! 
 
 A long interval elapsed before even she — woman of masculine and 
 towering intellect though she was — could call up fortitude enough to 
 resume the conversation. But Mrs. Hominy was a traveller. Mrs. Hominy 
 was a writer of reviews and analytical disquisitions. Mrs. Hominy had 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 279 
 
 had her letters from abroad, beginning "My ever dearest blank," and 
 signed " The Mother of the Modern Gracchi" (meaning the married 
 Miss Hominy), regularly printed in a public journal, with all the indig- 
 nation in capitals, and all the sarcasm in italics. Mrs. Hominy had 
 looked on foreign countries with the eye of a perfect republican hot 
 from the model oven ; and Mrs. Hominy could talk (or write) about 
 them by the hour together. So Mrs. Hominy at last came down on 
 Martin heavily, and as he was fast asleep, she had it all her own way 
 and bruised him to her heart's content. 
 
 It is no great matter what Mrs. Hominy said, save that she had learnt it 
 from the cant of a class, and a large class, of her fellow-countrymen, 
 who, in their every word, avow themselves to be as senseless to the 
 high principles on which America sprang, a nation, into life, as any 
 Orson in her legislative halls. Who are no more capable of feeling, 
 or of caring if they did feel, that by reducing their own country to the 
 ebb of honest men's contempt, they put in hazard the rights of nations 
 yet unborn, and very progress of the human race, than are the swine 
 who wallow in their streets. Who think that crying out to other nations, 
 old in their iniquity, " We are no worse than you ! " (No worse !) is 
 high defence and 'vantage ground enough for that Republic, but yes- 
 terday let loose upon her noble course, and but to-day so maimed and 
 lame, so full of sores and ulcers, foul to the eye and almost hopeless to 
 the sense, that her best friends turn from the loathsome creature with 
 disgust. Who, having by their ancestors declared and won their Inde- 
 pendence, because they would not bend the knee to certain Public 
 vices and corruptions and would not abrogate the truth, run riot in 
 the Bad, and turn their backs upon the Good ; and lying down 
 contented with the wretched boast that other Temples also are of 
 glass, and stones which batter theirs may be flung back ; show them- 
 selves, in that alone, as immeasurably behind the import of the trust 
 they hold, and as unworthy to possess it, as if the sordid huckster- 
 ings of all their little governments — each one a kingdom in its small 
 depravity — were brought into a heap for evidence against them. 
 
 Martin by degrees became so far awake, that he had a sense of a 
 terrible oppression on his mind ; an imperfect dream that he had 
 murdered a particular friend, and couldn't get rid of the body. When 
 his eyes opened it was staring him full in the face. There was the hor- 
 rible Hominy, talking deep truths in a melodious snufile, and pouring 
 forth her mental endowments to such an extent that the Major's bitterest 
 enemy, hearing her, would have forgiven him from the bottom of his 
 heart. Martin might have done something desperate if the gong had 
 not sounded for supper ; but sound it did most opportunely ; and having 
 stationed Mrs. Hominy at the upper end of the table, he took refuge at 
 the lower end himself ; whence, after a hasty meal, he stole away, while 
 the lady was yet busied with dried beef and a whole saucer-full of pickled 
 fixings. 
 
 It would be difficult to give an adequate idea of Mrs. Hominy's 
 freshness next day, or of the avidity with which she went headlong into 
 moral philosophy at breakfast. Some little additional degree of asperity^ 
 
280 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 perhaps, was visible in her features, but not more tlian the pickles would 
 have naturally produced. All that day, she clung to Martin. She 
 sat beside him while he received his friends — for there was another 
 Reception, yet more numerous than the former — propounded theories, 
 and answered imaginary objections : so that Martin really began to 
 think he must be dreaming, and speaking for two ; quoted interminable 
 passages from certain essays on government, written by herself; used the 
 Major's pocket-handkerchief as if the snuffle were a temporary malady, 
 of which she was determined to rid herself by some means or other ; 
 and, in short, was such a remarkable companion, that Martin quite 
 settled it between himself and his conscience, that in any new settlement 
 it would be absolutely necessary to have such a person knocked on the 
 head for the general peace of society. 
 
 In the mean time Mark was busy, from early in the morning until 
 late at night, in getting on board the steamboat such provisions, tools, 
 and other necessaries, as they had been forewarned it would be wise to 
 take. The purchase of these things, and the settlement of their bill at 
 the National, reduced their finances to so low an ebb, that if the captain 
 had delayed his departure any longer, they would have been in almost 
 as bad a plight as the unfortunate poorer emigrants, who (seduced on 
 board by solemn advertisement) had been living on the lower deck a 
 whole week, and exhausting their miserable stock of provisions before 
 the voyage commenced. There they were, all huddled together, with 
 the engine and the fires. Farmers who had never seen a plough ; 
 woodmen who had never used an axe ; builders who couldn't make a box ; 
 cast out of their own land, with not a hand to aid them : newly come 
 into an unknown world, children in helplessness, but men in wants — with 
 younger children at their backs, to live or die as it might happen ! 
 
 The morning came ; and they would start at noon. Noon came, and 
 they would start at night. But nothing is eternal in this world : not even 
 the procrastination of an American skipper : and at night all was ready. 
 
 Dispirited and weary to the last degree, but a greater lion than ever 
 (he had done nothing all the afternoon but answer letters from strangers : 
 half of them about nothing : half about borrowing money : and all 
 requiring an instantaneous reply), Martin walked down to the wharf, 
 through a concourse of people, with Mrs. Hominy upon his arm ; and 
 went on board. But Mark was bent on solving the riddle of this 
 lionship, if he could ; and so, not without the risk of being left behind, 
 ran back to the hotel. 
 
 Captain Kedgick was sitting in the colonnade, with a julep on his 
 knee, and a cigar in his mouth. He caught Mark's eye, and said : 
 
 " Why, what the 'Tarnal brings you here V 
 
 " I '11 tell you plainly what it is. Captain," said Mark. " I want to 
 ask you a question." 
 
 " A man may ask a question, so he may," returned Kedgick : 
 strongly implying that another man might not answer a question, so he 
 mightn't. 
 
 " Wliat have they been making so much of him for, now*?" said 
 Mark slyly. "Come!" 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 281 
 
 " Our people like ex-citement," answered Kedgick, sucking his cigar. 
 
 " But how has he excited 'em ?" asked Mark. 
 
 The captain looked at him as if he were half inclined to unburden 
 his mind of a capital joke. 
 
 " You air a going ?" he said. 
 
 "Going !" cried Mark. "Ain't every moment precious ?" 
 
 " Our people like ex-citement," said the Captain, whispering. " He 
 ain't like emigrants in gin'ral ; and he ex-cited 'em along of this ;" he 
 winked and burst into a smothered laugh ; "along of this. Scadder is 
 a smart man, and — and — nobody as goes to Eden ever comes back 
 a-live !" 
 
 The wharf was close at hand, and at that instant Mark could hear 
 them shouting out his name — could even hear Martin calling to him to 
 make haste, or they would be separated. It was too late to mend the 
 matter, or put any face upon it but the best. He gave the Captain a 
 parting benediction, and ran off like a racehorse. 
 
 "Mark! Mark !" cried Martin. 
 
 " Here am I, sir !" shouted Mark, suddenly replying from the edge of 
 the quay, and leaping at a bound on board. " Never was half so jolly, 
 sir. All right ! Haul in ! Go a-head ! " 
 
 The sparks from the wood fire streamed upward from the two chim- 
 neys, as if the vessel were a great firework just lighted ; and they 
 roared away upon the dark water. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 MARTIN AND HIS PARTNER TAKE POSSESSION OF THEIR ESTATE. THE 
 JOYFUL OCCASION INVOLVES SOME FURTHER ACCOUNT OF EDEN. 
 
 There happened to be on board the steamboat several gentlemen 
 passengers, of the same stamp as Martin's New York friend j\Ir. Bevan ; 
 and in their society he was cheerful and happy. They released him as 
 well as they could from the intellectual entanglements of Mrs. Hominy ; 
 and exhibited, in all they said and did, so much good sense and high 
 feeling, that he could not like them too well. " If this were a republic 
 of Intellect and Worth," he said, " instead of vapouring and jobbing, 
 they would not want the levers to keep it in motion." 
 
 " Having good tools, and using bad ones," returned Mr. Tapley, 
 "would look as if they was rather a poor sort of carpenters, sir, 
 wouldn't it r 
 
 Martin nodded, " As if their work were infinitely above their powers 
 and purpose, Mark ; and they botched it in consequence." 
 
 " The best on it is," said Mark, " that when they do happen to make 
 a decent stroke ; such as better workmen, with no such opportunities, 
 make every day of their lives and think nothing of ; they begin to sing 
 out so surprising loud. Take notice of my words, sir. If ever the default- 
 ing part of this here country pays its debts — along of finding that not 
 paying 'em won't do in a commercial point of view, you see, and is incon- 
 
282 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 venient in its consequences — they 11 take such a shine out of it, and 
 make such bragging speeches, that a man might suppose no borrowed 
 money had ,ever been paid afore, since the world was first begun. 
 That 's the way they gammon each other, sir. Bless you, / know 'em. 
 Take notice of my words, now !" 
 
 " You seem to be growing profoundly sagacious !" cried Martin, 
 laughing. 
 
 "Whether that is," thought Mark, "because I 'm a day's journey 
 nearer Eden, and am brightening up, afore I die, I can't say. P'raps by 
 the time I get there, I shall have growed into a prophet." 
 
 He gave no utterance to these sentiments ; but the excessive joviality 
 they inspired within him, and the merriment they brought upon his 
 shining face, were quite enough for Martin. Although he might some- 
 times profess to make light of his partner's inexhaustible cheerfulness, 
 and might sometimes, as in the case of Zephaniah Scadder, find him too 
 jocose a commentator, he was always sensible of the effect of his example 
 in rousing him to hopefulness and courage. Whether he were in the 
 humour to profit by it, mattered not a jot. It was contagious, and he 
 could not choose but be afiected. 
 
 At first they parted with some of their passengers once or twice a day, 
 and took in others to replace them. But by degrees, the towns upon their 
 route became more thinly scattered; and for many hours together they 
 would see no other habitations than the huts of the wood-cutters, where 
 the vessel stopped for fuel. Sky, wood, and water, all the livelong day; 
 and heat that blistered everything it touched. 
 
 On they toiled through great solitudes, where the trees upon the banks 
 grew thick and close ; and floated in the stream ; and held up shrivelled 
 arms from out the river's depths ; and slid down from the margin of the 
 land : half growing, half decaying, in the miry water. On through the 
 weary day and melancholy night : beneath the burning sun, and in the 
 mist and vapour of the evening : on, until return appeared impossible, 
 and restoration to their home a miserable dream. 
 
 They had now but few people on board, and these few were as flat, as 
 dull, and stagnant, as the vegetation that oppressed their eyes. No 
 sound of cheerfulness or hope was heard ; no pleasant talk beguiled the 
 tardy time ; no little group made common cause against the dull depres- 
 sion of the scene. But that, at certain periods, they swallowed food 
 together from a common trough, it might have been old Charon's boat,, 
 conveying melancholy shades to judgment. 
 
 At length they drew near New Thermopylae ; where, that same evening, 
 Mrs. Hominy would disembark. A gleam of comfort sunk into Martin's 
 bosom when she told him this. Mark needed none ; but he was not 
 displeased. 
 
 It was almost night when they came alongside the landing-place — a 
 steep bank with an hotel, like a barn, on the top of it ; a wooden store 
 or two ; and a few scattered sheds. 
 
 " You sleep here to-night, and go on in the morning, I suppose, 
 ma'am 1 " said Martin. 
 
 " Where should I go on to?" cried the mother of the modern Gracchi* 
 
 " To New Thermopylae." 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 283 
 
 " My ! ain't I tliere ?" said Mrs. Hominy. 
 
 Martin looked for it all round the darkening panorama; but lie 
 couldn't see it, and was obliged to say so. 
 
 "Why, that 'sit!" cried Mrs. Ilominy, pointing to the sheds just 
 mentioned. 
 
 " That .'" exclaimed ^lartin. 
 
 " Ah ! that ; and work it which way you will, it whips Eden," said 
 Mrs. Hominy, nodding her head with great expression. 
 
 The married Miss Hominy, who had come on board with her hus- 
 band, gave to this statement her most unqualified support, as did that 
 gentleman also. Martin gratefully declined their invitation to regale 
 himself at their house during the half-hour of the vessel's stay ; and 
 having escorted Mrs. Hominy and the red pocket-handkerchief (which 
 was still on active service) safely across the gangway, returned in a 
 thoughtful mood to watch the emigrants as they removed their goods 
 ashore. 
 
 Mark, as he stood beside him, glanced in his face from time to time ; 
 anxious to discover what effect this dialogue had had upon him, and 
 not unwilling that his hopes should be dashed before they reached their 
 destination, so that the blow he feared, might be broken in its fall. 
 But saving that he sometimes looked up quickly at the poor erections 
 on the hill, he gave him no clue to what was passing in his mind, until 
 they were again upon their way. 
 
 " Mark," he said then, " are there really none but ourselves on board 
 this boat who are bound for Eden ?" 
 
 " None at all, sir. Most of 'em, as you know, have stopped short ; 
 and the few that are left are going further on. What matters that ! 
 More room there for us, sir." 
 
 " Oh, to be sure !" said Martin. " But I was thinking" — and there 
 he paused. 
 
 " Yes, sir V observed Mark. 
 
 " How odd it was that the people should have arranged to try their 
 fortune at a wretched hole like that, for instance, when there is such a 
 much better, and such a very different kind of place, near at hand, as 
 one may say." 
 
 He spoke in a tone so very different from his usual confidence, and 
 with such an obvious dread of Mark's reply, that the good-natured 
 fellow was full of pity. 
 
 " Why, you know, sir," said Mark, as gently as he could by any 
 means insinuate the observation, "we must guard against being too 
 sanguine. There 's no occasion for it, either, because we 're determined 
 to make the best of everything, after we know the worst of it. Ain't we, 
 sirr' 
 
 Martin looked at him, but answered not a word. 
 
 " Even Eden, you know, ain't all built," said Mark. 
 
 " In the name of Heaven, man," cried Martin angrily, " don't talk of 
 Eden in the same breath with that place. Are you mad 1 There — 
 God forgive me ! — don't think harshly of me for my temper ! " 
 
 After that, he turned away, and walked to and fro upon the deck full 
 two hours. Nor did he speak again, except to say " Good night," 
 
284 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 until next daj ; nor even then upon this subject, but on other topics 
 quite foreign to the purpose. 
 
 As they proceeded further on their track, and came more and more 
 towards their journey's end, the monotonous desolation of the scene in- 
 creased to that degree, that for any redeeming feature it presented to their 
 eyes, they might have entered, in the body, on the grim domains of Giant 
 Despair. A flat morass, bestrewn with fallen timber ; a marsh on which 
 the good growth of the earth seemed to have been wrecked and cast 
 away, that from its decomposing ashes vile and ugly things might rise ; 
 where the very trees took the aspect of huge weeds, begotten of the slime 
 from which they sprung, by the hot sun that burnt them up ; where 
 fatal maladies, seeking whom they might infect, came forth, at night, 
 in misty shapes, and creeping out upon the water, hunted them like 
 spectres until day ; where even the blessed sun, shining down on fester- 
 ing elements of corruption and disease, became a horror ; this was the 
 realm of Hope through which they moved. 
 
 At last they stopped. At Eden too. The waters of the Deluge 
 might have left it but a week before : so choked with slime and matted 
 growth was the hideous swamp which bore that name. 
 
 There being no depth of water close in shore, they landed from the 
 vessel's boat, with all their goods beside them. There were a few log- 
 houses visible among the dark trees ; the best, a cow-shed or a rude 
 stable j but for the wharves, the market-place, the public buildings — 
 
 " Here comes an Edener," said Mark. " He'll get us help to carry 
 these things up. Keep a good heart, sir. Hallo there ! " 
 
 The man advanced towards them through the thickening gloom, very 
 slowly : leaning on a stick. As he drew nearer, they observed that he 
 was pale and worn, and that his anxious eyes were deeply sunken in his 
 head. His dress of homespun blue hung about him in rags ; his feet 
 and head were bare. He sat down on a stump half-way, and beckoned 
 them to come to him. When they complied, he put his hand upon his 
 side as if in pain, and while he fetched his breath stared at them, 
 wondering. 
 
 " Strangers ! " he exclaimed, as soon as he could speak. 
 
 " The very same," said Mark. " Hoav are you, sir? " 
 
 " I've had the fever very bad," he answered faintly. " I haven't stood 
 upright these many weeks. Those are your notions I see," pointing to 
 their property. 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Mark, " they are. You couldn't recommend us some 
 one as would lend a hand to help carry 'em up to the — to the town, 
 could you, sir ? " 
 
 " My eldest son would do it if he could," replied the man ; " but to- 
 day he has his chill upon him, and is lying wrapped up in the blankets. 
 My youngest died last week." 
 
 " I'm sorry for it, governor, with all my heart," said Mark, shaking 
 him by the hand. " Don't mind us. Come along with me, and I'll give you 
 an arm back. The goods is safe enough, sir," — to Martin, — " there ain't 
 many people about, to make away with 'em. What a comfort that is ! " 
 
 " No," cried the man. " You must look for such folk here," knocking 
 his stick upon the ground, " or yonder in the bush, towards the north. 
 
MARTIN CnUZZLEWIT. 285 
 
 We've buried most of 'em. The rest have gone away. Them that we 
 have here, don't come out at night." 
 
 " The night air ain't quite wholesome, I suppose ? " said Mark. 
 '' It 's deadly poison," was the settler's answer. 
 
 Mark showed no more uneasiness than if it had been commended to 
 him as ambrosia ; but he gave the man his arm, and as they went along 
 explained to him the nature of their purchase, and inquired where it lay. 
 Close to his own log-house, he said: so close that he had used their 
 dwelling as a store-house for some corn : they must excuse it that night, 
 but he would endeavour to get it taken out upon the morrow. He then 
 gave them to understand, as an additional scrap of local chit-chat, that 
 he had buried the last proprietor with his own hands ; a piece of infor- 
 mation which Mark also received without the least abatement of his 
 equanimity. 
 
 In a word, he conducted them to a miserable cabin, rudely constructed 
 of the trunks of trees ; the door of which had either fallen down or been 
 carried away long ago ; and which was consequently open to the wild 
 landscape and the dark night. Saving for the little store he had 
 mentioned, it was perfectly bare of all furniture j but they had left a 
 chest upon the landing-place, and he gave them a rude torch in lieu 
 of candle. This latter acquisition Mark planted in the hearth, and 
 then declaring that the mansion " looked quite comfortable," hurried 
 Martin off again to help bring up the chest. And all the way to the 
 landing-place and back, Mark talked incessantly : as if he would infuse 
 into his partner's breast some faint belief that they had arrived under 
 the most auspicious and cheerful of all imaginable circumstances. 
 
 But many a man who would have stood within a home dismantled, 
 strong in his passion and design of vengeance, has had the firmness of 
 his nature conquered by the razing of an air-built castle. When the log- 
 hut received them for the second time, Martin lay down upon the ground, 
 and wept aloud. 
 
 " Lord love you, sir!" cried Mr. Tapley, in great terror; " don't do that! 
 Don't do that, sir ! Anything but that ! It never helped man, woman, 
 or child over the lowest fence yet, sir, and it never will. Besides its being 
 of no use to you, it's worse than of no use to me, for the least sound of it 
 will knock me flat down. I can't stand up agin it, sir. Anything but that." 
 
 There is no doubt he spoke the truth, for the extraordinary alarm 
 with which he looked at Martin as he paused upon his knees before 
 the chest, in the act of unlocking it, to say these words, sufficiently con- 
 firmed him. 
 
 " I ask your forgiveness a thousand times, my dear fellow," said 
 Martin. " I couldn't have helped it, if death had been the penalty." 
 
 '• Ask my forgiveness !" said Mark, with his accustomed cheerfulness ; 
 as he proceeded to unpack the chest. " The head partner a asking for- 
 giveness of Co., eh ? There must be something wrong in the firm when 
 that happens. I must have the books inspected, and the accounts gone 
 over immediate. Here we are. Everything in its proper place. 
 Here's the salt pork. Here's the biscuit. Here's the whiskey — uncommon 
 good it smells too. Here's the tin pot. This tin pot's a small fortun in 
 itself ! Here's the blankets. Here's the axe. Who says we ain't got 
 
286 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 a first-rate fit out 1 I feel as if I was a cadet gone out to Indy, and my 
 noble father was chairman of the Board of Directors. Now, when I 've 
 got some water from the stream afore the door and mixed the grog," 
 cried Mark, running out to suit the action to the word, " there 's a supper 
 ready, comprising every delicacy of the season. Here we are, sir, all 
 complete. For what we are going to receive, et cetrer. Lord bless you, 
 sir, it's very like a gipsy party !" 
 
 It was impossible not to take heart, in the company of such a man as 
 this. Martin sat upon the ground beside the box ; took out his knife ; 
 and ate and drank sturdily. 
 
 " Now you see," said Mark, when they had made a hearty meal ; 
 ^' with your knife and mine, I sticks this blanket right afore the door, or 
 where, in a state of high civilisation, the door would be. And very neat 
 it looks. Then I stops the aperture below, by putting the chest agin it. 
 And very neat that looks. Then there 's your blanket, sir. Then here 's 
 mine. And what's to hinder our passing a good night?" 
 
 For all his light-hearted speaking, it was long before he slept himself. 
 He wrapped his blanket round him, put the axe ready to his hand, and 
 lay across the threshold of the door : too anxious and too watchful to 
 close his eyes. The novelty of their dreary situation, the dread of some 
 rapacious animal or human enemy, the terrible uncertainty of their means 
 of subsistence, the apprehension of death, the immense distance and the 
 hosts of obstacles between themselves and England, were fruitful sources 
 of disquiet in the deep silence of the night. Though Martin would have 
 had him think otherwise, Mark felt that he was waking also, and a prey 
 to the same reflections. This was almost worse than all, for if he began 
 to brood over their miseries instead of trying to make head against them, 
 there could be little doubt that such a state of mind would powerfully 
 assist the influence of the pestilent climate. Never had the light of 
 day been half so welcome to his eyes, as when awaking from a fitful doze, 
 Mark saw it shining through the blanket in the doorway. 
 
 He stole out gently, for his companion was sleeping now ; and having 
 refreshed himself by washing in the river, where it flowed before the door, 
 took a rough survey of the settlement. There were not above a score of 
 cabins in the whole ; half of these appeared untenanted ; all were rotten 
 and decayed. The most tottering, abject, and forlorn among them, was 
 called, with great propriety, the Bank, and National Credit Oflice. It 
 had some feeble props about it, but was settling deep down in the mud, 
 past all recovery. 
 
 Here and there, an effurt had been made to clear the land; and some- 
 thing like a field had been marked out, where, among the stumps and 
 ashes of burnt trees, a scanty crop of Indian corn was growing. In some 
 quarters, a snake or zigzag fence had been begun, but in no instance had 
 it been completed; and the fallen logs, half hidden in the soil, lay 
 mouldering away. Three or four meagre dogs, wasted and vexed with 
 hunger ; some long-legged pigs, wandering away into the woods in search 
 of food ; some children, nearly naked, gazing at him from the huts ; 
 were all the living things he saw. A fetid vapour, hot and sickening 
 as the breath of an oven, rose up from the earth, and hung on every- 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 287 
 
 thing around ; and as his foot-prints sunk into the marshy ground, a 
 black ooze started forth to blot them out. 
 
 Their own land was mere forest. The trees had grown so thick and 
 'Olose that they shouldered one another out of their places, and the 
 weakest, forced into shapes of strange distortion, languished like cripples. 
 The best were stunted, from the pressure and the want of room ; and high 
 about the stems of all, grew long rank grass, dank weeds, and frowzy 
 underwood : not divisible into their separate kinds, but tangled all to- 
 gether in a heap ; a jungle deep and dark, with neither earth nor water 
 at its roots, but putrid matter, formed of the pulpy offal of the two, and 
 of their own corruption. 
 
 He went down to the landing-place where they had left their goods 
 last night ; and there he found some half-dozen men — wan, and forlorn 
 to look at, but ready enough to assist — who helped him to carry them 
 to the log-house. They shook their heads in speaking of the settlement, 
 and had no comfort to give him. Those who had the means of going 
 away, had all deserted it. They who were left, had lost their wives, 
 their children, friends, or brothers there, and suffered much themselves. 
 Most of them were ill then ; none were the men they had been once. 
 They frankly offered their assistance and advice, and, leaving him for 
 that time, went sadly off upon their several tasks. 
 
 Martin was by this time stirring ; but he had greatly changed, even 
 in one night. He was very pale and languid ; he spoke of pains and 
 weakness in his limbs, and complained that his sight was dim, and his 
 voice feeble. Increasing in his own briskness as the prospect grew more and 
 more dismal, Mark brought away a door from one of the deserted houses, 
 and fitted it to their own habitation ; then went back again for a rude 
 bench he had observed, with which he presently returned in triumph ; 
 and having put this piece of furniture outside the house, arranged the 
 notable tin-pot and other such movables upon it, that it might repre- 
 sent a dresser or a sideboard. Greatly satisfied with this arrangement, 
 he next rolled their cask of flour into the house, and set it up on end in 
 one corner, where it served for a side-table. No better dinins:-table 
 could be required than the chest, which he solemnly devoted to that 
 useful service thenceforth. Their blankets, clothes, and the like, 
 he hung on pegs and nails. And lastly, he brought forth a great 
 placard (which Martin in the exultation of his heart had prepared 
 with his own hands at the National Hotel), bearing the inscrip- 
 tion, Chuzzlewit & Co., Architects and Surveyors, which he dis- 
 played upon the most conspicuous part of the premises, with as much 
 gravity as if the thriving city of Eden had had a real existence, and 
 they expected to be overwhelmed with business. 
 
 " These here tools," said Mark, bringing forward Martin's case ot 
 instruments, and sticking the compasses upright in a stump before the 
 door, " shall be set out in the open air to show that we come provided. 
 And now, if any gentleman wants a house built, he'd better give his 
 orders, afore we're other ways bespoke." 
 
 Considering the intense heat of the weather, this was not a bad 
 morning's work ; but without pausing for a moment, though he was 
 streaming at every pore, Mark vanished into the house again, and 
 
288 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 presently reappeared witli a hatchet : intent on performing some im- 
 possibilities with that implement. 
 
 " Here 's a ugly old tree in the way, sir," he observed, " which '11 be 
 all the better down. We can build the oven in the afternoon. There 
 never was such a handy spot for clay as Eden is. That's convenient, 
 anyhow." 
 
 But Martin gave him no answer. He had sat the whole time with 
 his head upon his hands, gazing at the current as it rolled swiftly by ; 
 thinking, perhaps, how fast it moved towards the open sea, the high, 
 road to the home he never would behold a2;ain. 
 
 Not even the vigorous strokes which Mark dealt at the tree, awoke 
 him from his mournful meditation. Finding all his endeavours to rouse 
 him of no use, Mark stopped in his work and came towards him. 
 
 " Don't give in, sir," said Mr. Tapley. 
 
 " Oh, Mark," returned his friend, " what have I done in all my life 
 that has deserved this heavy fate ?" 
 
 " Why, sir," returned Mark, " for the matter of that, ev'rybody as 
 is here might say the same thing ; many of 'em with better reason 
 p'raps than you or me. Hold up, sir. Do something. Couldn't you 
 ease your mind, now, don't you think, by making some personal obser- 
 wations in a letter to Scadder ? " 
 
 " No," said Martin, shaking his head sorrowfully : " I am past that." 
 
 " But if you 're past that already," returned Mark, " you must be ill 
 and ought to be attended to." 
 
 " Don't mind me," said Martin. " Do the best you can for yourself. 
 You '11 soon have only yourself to consider. And then God speed you 
 home, and forgive me for bringing you here ! I am destined to die 
 in this place. I felt it the instant I set foot upon the shore. Sleeping 
 or waking, Mark, I dreamed it all last night." 
 
 " I said you must be ill," returned Mark, tenderly, " and now I'm 
 sure of it. A touch of fever and ague caught on these rivers, I dare 
 say ; but bless you, that 's nothing. It 's only a seasoning ; and we 
 must all be seasoned, one way or another. That 's religion, that is, you 
 know," said Mark. 
 
 He only sighed and shook his head. 
 
 " Wait half a minute," said Mark cheerily, " till I run up to one of 
 our neighbours and ask what 's best to be took, and borrow a little of 
 it to give you ; and to-morrow you '11 find yourself as strong as ever 
 again. I won't be gone a minute. Don't give in, while I 'm away, 
 whatever you do !" 
 
 Throwing down his hatchet, he sped away immediately, but stopped 
 when he had gone a little distance, and looked back : then hurried on 
 again. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Tapley," said Mark, giving himself a tremendous blow in 
 the chest by way of reviver, "just you attend to what I Ve got to say. 
 Things is looking about as bad as they can look, young man. You '11 
 not have such another opportunity for showing your jolly disposition, 
 my fine fellow, as long as you live. And therefore, Tapley, Now 's your 
 time to come out strong ; or Never !" 
 
^..y^Ae/,^'u/i/i/pta. ^{/^ (:^ (Oa^'Pt', a^ ^ ci/^ea/i€^y6^'n^ /ac-c . 
 
I 
 
MAETIN CHUZZLEWIT. 289 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 EEPORTS PROGRESS IN CERTAIN HOMELY MATTERS OF LOVE, HATRED, 
 JEALOUSY, AND REVENGE. 
 
 "Hallo, Pecksniff!" cried Mr. Jonas from the parlour. "Isn't 
 somebody a going to open that precious old door of yours?" 
 
 "Immediately, Mr. Jonas. Immediately." 
 
 " Ecod," muttered the orphan, " not before it 's time neither. Whoever 
 it is, has knocked three times, and each one loud enough to wake the — " 
 he had such a repugnance to the idea of waking the Dead, that he 
 stopped even then with the words upon his tongue, and said, instead, 
 " the Seven Sleepers." 
 
 " Immediately, Mr. Jonas ; immediately," repeated Pecksniff. "Thomas 
 Pinch" — he couldn't make up his mind, in his great agitation, whether 
 to call Tom his dear friend or a villain, so he shook his fist at him jpro 
 tern. — " go up to my daughter's room, and tell them who is here. Say, 
 Silence. Silence ! Do you hear me, sir?" 
 
 "Directly, sir !" cried Tom, departing, in a state of much amazement, 
 on his errand. 
 
 " You '11 — ha ha ha ! — you '11 excuse me, Mr. Jonas, if I close this door 
 a moment, will you ?" said Pecksniff. " This may be a professional call. 
 Indeed I am pretty sure it is. Thank you." Then Mr. Pecksniff, gently 
 warbling a rustic stave, put on his garden hat, seized a spade, and opened 
 the street-door : calmly appearing on the threshold, as if he thought, he 
 had, from his vineyard, heard a modest rap, but was not quite certain. 
 
 Seeing a gentleman and lady before him, he started back in as much 
 confusion as a good man with a crystal conscience might betray in mere 
 surprise. Recognition came upon him the next moment, and he cried : 
 
 " Mr. Chuzzlevvit ! Can I believe my eyes ! My dear sir ; my good sir ! 
 A joyful hour ; a happy hour indeed. Pray, my dear sir, walk in. You 
 find me in my garden-dress. You will excuse it, I know. It is an ancient 
 pursuit, gardening. Primitive, my dear sir ; for, if I am not mistaken, 
 Adam was the first of our calling. My Eve, I grieve to say, is no more, sir; 
 but" — here he pointed to his spade, and shook his head, as if he were 
 not cheerful without an effort — " but I do a little bit of Adam still." 
 
 He had by this time got them into the best parlour, where the portrait 
 by Spiller, and the bust by Spoker, were. 
 
 "My daughters," said Mr. Pecksniff, "will be overjoyed. If I could 
 feel weary upon such a theme, I should have been worn out long ago, 
 my dear sir, by their constant anticipation of this happiness, and their 
 repeated allusions to our meeting at Mrs. Todgers's. Their fair young 
 friend, too," said Mr. Pecksniff, " whom they so desire to know and love 
 — indeed to know her, i& to love — I hope I see her well. I hope in 
 saying, 'Welcome to my humble roof!' I find some echo in her own 
 sentiments. If features are an index to the heart, I have no fears of 
 that. An extremely engaging expression of countenance, Mr. Chuzzlewit- 
 my dear sir — very much so !" 
 
 u 
 
290 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " Mary," said tlie old man, " Mr. Pecksniff flatters you. But flattery 
 from him is worth the having. He is not a dealer in it, and it comes 
 from his heart. We thought Mr. " 
 
 " Pinch," said Mary. 
 
 " Mr. Pinch would have arrived before us, Pecksniff." 
 
 " He did arrive before you, my dear sir," retorted Pecksnifl", raising 
 his voice for the edification of Tom upon the stairs, " and was about, I 
 dare say, to tell me of your coming, when I begged him first to knock at 
 my daughters' chamber, and inquire after Charity, my dear child, who 
 is not so well as I could wish. No," said Mr. Pecksniff, answering their 
 looks, " I am sorry to say, she is not. It is merely an hysterical affec- 
 tion ; nothing more. I am not uneasy. Mr. Pinch ! Thomas !" ex- 
 claimed Pecksniff, in his kindest accents. " Pray come in. I shall make 
 no stranger of you. Thomas is a friend of mine of rather long-standing, 
 Mr. Chuzzlewit, you must know." 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said Tom. " You introduce me very kindly, and 
 speak of me in terms of which I am very proud." 
 
 " Old Thomas ! " cried his master, pleasantly, " God bless you ! " 
 
 Tom reported that the young ladies would appear directly, and 
 that the best refreshments which the house afforded were even then in 
 preparation, under their joint superintendence. While he was speaking, 
 the old man looked at him intently, though with less harshness than 
 was common to him ; nor did the mutual embarrassment of Tom and 
 the young lady, to whatever cause he attributed it, seem to escape his 
 observation. 
 
 " Pecksniff," he said after a pause, rising and taking him aside 
 towards the window, " I was much shocked on hearing of my brother's 
 death. We had been strangers for many years. My only comfort is, 
 that he must have lived the happier and better man for having asso- 
 ciated no hopes or schemes with me. Peace to his memory ! We were 
 playfellows once ; and it would have been better for us both if we had 
 died then." 
 
 Finding him in this gentle mood, Mr. Pecksniff began to see another 
 way out of his difficulties, besides the casting overboard of Jonas. 
 
 " That any man, my dear sir, could possibly be the happier for not 
 knowing you," he returned, " you will excuse my doubting. But that 
 Mr. Anthony, in the evening of his life, was happy in the affection of 
 his excellent son — a pattern, my dear sir, a pattern to all sons — and in 
 the care of a distant relation, who, however lowly in his means of serving 
 him, had no bounds to his inclination ; I can inform you." 
 
 '• How 's this 1 " said the old man. " You are not a legatee 1 " 
 
 " You don't," said Mr. Pecksniff, with a melancholy pressure of his 
 hand, " quite understand my nature yet, I find. No, sir, I am not a 
 legatee. I am proud to say I am not a legatee. I am proud to say 
 that neither of my children is a legatee. And yet, sir, I was with him 
 at his own request. He understood me somewhat better, sir. He wrote 
 and said, *I am sick. I am sinking. Come to me !' I went to him. 
 I sat beside his bed, sir, and I stood beside his grave. Yes, at the risk 
 cf offending even ?/ou, I did it, sir. Though the avowal should lead to 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 291 
 
 our instant separation, and to the severing of those tender ties between 
 us which have recently been formed, I make it. But I am not a 
 legatee," said Mr. Pecksniff, smiling dispassionately ; " and I never 
 expected to be a legatee. I knew better ! " 
 
 " His son a pattern ! " cried old Martin. " How can you tell me 
 that ? My brother had in his wealth the usual doom of wealth, and 
 root of misery. He carried his corrupting influence with him, go 
 where he would ; and shed it round him, even on his hearth. It made 
 of his own child a greedy expectant, who measured every day and hour 
 the lessening distance between his father and the grave, and cursed 
 his tardy progress on that dismal road." 
 
 " No ! " cried Mr. Pecksniff, boldly. " Not at all, sir ! " 
 
 " But I saw that shadow in his house," said Martin Chuzzlewit, " the 
 last time we met, and warned him of its presence. I know it when I 
 see it, do I not 1 I, who have lived within it all these years ! " 
 
 " I deny it," Mr. Pecksniff answered, warmly. " I deny it altogether. 
 That bereaved young man is now in this house, sir, seeking in change 
 of scene the peace of mind he has lost. Shall I be backward in 
 doing justice to that young man, when even undertakers and cofhn- 
 makers have been moved by the conduct he has exhibited ; when even 
 mutes have spoken in his praise, and the medical man hasn't known 
 what to do with himself in the excitement of his feelings ! There is a 
 person of the name of Gamp, sir — Mrs. Gamp — ask her. She saw Mr. 
 Jonas in a trying time. Ask ker, sir. She is respectable, but not 
 sentimental, and will state the fact. A line addressed to Mrs. Gamp, 
 at the Bird Shop, Kingsgate Street, High Holborn, London, will meet 
 with every attention, I have no doubt. Let her be examined, my good 
 sir. Strike, but hear ! leap, Mr, Chuzzlewit, but look ! Forgive me, 
 my dear sir," said Mr. Pecksniff taking both his hands, "if I am 
 warm ; but I am honest, and must state the truth." 
 
 In proof of the character he gave himself, Mr. Pecksniff suffered 
 tears of honesty to ooze out of his eyes. 
 
 The old man gazed at him for a moment with a look of wonder^ 
 repeating to himself, " Here now ! In this house ! " But he mastered 
 his surprise, and said, after a pause : 
 
 " Let me see him." 
 
 " In a friendly spirit, I hope ? " said Mr. Pecksniff. " Forgive me, 
 sir, but he is in the receipt of my humble hospitality." 
 
 " I said," replied the old man, " let me see him. If I were disposed 
 to regard him in any other than a friendly spirit, I should have said, 
 keep us apart." 
 
 " Certainly, my dear sir. So you would. You are frankness itself, 
 I know. I will break this happiness to him," said Mr. Pecksniff as he 
 left the room, " if you will excuse me for a minute — gently." 
 
 He paved the way to the disclosure so very gently, that a quarter of 
 an hour elapsed before he returned with Mr. Jonas. In the mean time 
 the young ladies had made their appearance, and the table had been set 
 out for the refreshment of the travellers. 
 
 Now, however well Mr. Pecksniff, in his morality, had taught Jonas 
 
 u2 
 
292 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 the lesson of dutiful behaviour to his uncle, and however perfectly 
 Jonas, in the cunning of his nature, had learnt it, that young man's 
 bearing, when presented to his father's brother, was anything but 
 manly or engaging. Perhaps, indeed, so singular a mixture of defiance 
 and obsequiousness, of fear and hardihood, of dogged suUenness and an 
 attempt at cringing and propitiation, never was expressed in any one 
 human figure as in that of Jonas, when, having raised his downcast 
 eyes to Martin's face, he let them fall again, and uneasily closing and 
 unclosing his hands without a moment's intermission, stood swinging 
 himself from side to side, waiting to be addressed. 
 
 " Nephew," said the old man. " You have been a dutiful son, I hear." 
 " As dutiful as sons in general, I suppose," returned Jonas, looking up 
 and down once more. " I don't brag to have been any better than other 
 sons ; but I haven't been any worse I dare say." 
 
 '' A pattern to all sons, I am told," said the old man, glancing towards 
 Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 " Ecod ! " said Jonas, looking up again for a moment, and shaking 
 his head, " I 've been as good a son as ever you were a brother. It 's 
 the pot and the kettle, if you come to that." 
 
 "You speak bitterly, in the violence of your regret," said Martin, after 
 a pause. " Give me your hand." 
 
 Jonas did so, and was almost at his ease. " Pecksniff," he whispered, 
 as they drew their chairs about the table ; " I gave him as good as he 
 brought, eh ? He had better look at home, before he looks out of 
 window, I think ? " 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff only answered by a nudge of the elbow, which might 
 either be construed into an indignant remonstrance or a cordial assent ; 
 but which, in any case, was an emphatic admonition to his chosen son- 
 in-law to be silent. He then proceeded to do the honours of the house 
 with his accustomed ease and amiability. 
 
 But not even Mr. Pecksniff's guileless merriment could set such a 
 party at their ease, or reconcile materials so utterly discordant and con- 
 fiicting as those with which he had to deal. The unspeakable jealousy 
 and hatred which that night's explanation had sown in Charity's breast, 
 was not to be so easily kept down; and more than once it showed itself 
 in such intensity, as seemed to render a full disclosure of all the circum- 
 stances then and there, impossible to be avoided. The beauteous Merry, 
 too, with all the glory of her conquest fresh upon her, so probed and 
 lanced the rankling disappointment of her sister by her capricious airs 
 and thousand little trials of Mr. Jonas's obedience, that she almost 
 goaded her into a fit of madness, and obliged her to retire from table in 
 a burst of passion, hardly less vehement than that to which she had 
 abandoned herself in the first tumult of her wrath. The constraint 
 imposed upon the family by the presence among them for the first time 
 of Mary Graham (for by that name old Martin Chuzzlewit had introduced 
 her) did not at all improve this state of things : gentle and quiet though 
 her manner was. Mr. Pecksniff's situation was peculiarly trying : for, 
 what with having constantly to keep the peace between his daughters ; 
 to maintain a reasonable show of afiection and unity in his household ; 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 293 
 
 to curb the growing ease and gaiety of Jonas, whicli vented itself in 
 sundry insolences towards Mr. Pinch, and an indefinable coarseness of 
 manner in reference to Mary (they being the two dependants) ; to make 
 no mention at all of his having perpetually to conciliate his rich old 
 relative, and to smooth down, or explain avv'ay, some of the ten thousand 
 bad appearances and combinations of bad appearances, by which they 
 were surrounded on that unlucky evening — what with having to do this, 
 and it would be difficult to sum up how much more, without the least 
 relief or assistance from anybody, it may be easily imagined that Mr. 
 Pecksniff had in his enjoyment something more than that usual portion 
 of alloy which is mixed up with the best of men's delights. Perhaps 
 he had never in his life felt such relief as when old Martin, looking at 
 his watch, announced that it was time to go. 
 
 " We have rooms," he said, " at the Dragon, for the present. I have 
 a fancy for the evening walk. The nights are dark just now : perhaps 
 Mr. Pinch would not object to light us home ?" 
 
 " My dear sir !" cried Pecksniff, " / shall be delighted. Merry, my 
 child, the lantern." 
 
 "The lantern, if you please, my dear," said Martin ; "but I couldn't 
 think of taking your father out of doors to-night ; and, to be brief, I 
 won't." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff already had his hat in his hand, but it was so em- 
 phatically said that he paused. 
 
 " I take Mr. Pinch, or go alone," said Martin. " Which shall it be ?" 
 " It shall be Thomas, sir," cried Pecksniff, " since you are so resolute 
 upon it. Thomas, my friend, be very careful, if you please." 
 
 Tom was in some need of this injunction, for he felt so nervous, and 
 trembled to such a degree, that he found it difficult to hold the lantern. 
 How much more difficult when, at the old man's bidding, she drew her 
 hand through his — Tom Pinch's — arm ! 
 
 " And so, Mr. Pinch," said Martin, on the way, " you are very comfort- 
 ably situated here ; are you 1" 
 
 Tom answered, with even more than his usual enthusiasm, that he was 
 under oblio-ations to Mr. Pecksniff which the devotion of a lifetime 
 would but imperfectly repay. 
 
 *' How long have you known my nephew ?" asked Martin. 
 "Your nephew, sir !" faltered Tom. 
 " Mr. Jonas Chuzzlewit," said Mary. 
 
 " Oh dear, yes," cried Tom, greatly relieved, for his mind was running 
 upon Martin. " Certainly. I never spoke to him before to-night, sir." 
 " Perhaps half a lifetime will suffice for the acknowledgment of his 
 kindness," observed the old man. 
 
 Tom felt that this was a rebuff for him, and could not but understand 
 it as a left-handed hit at his employer. So he was silent. Mary felt 
 that Mr. Pinch was not remarkable for presence of mind, and that he 
 could not say too little under existing circumstances. So she was silent. 
 The old man, disgusted by what in his suspicious nature he considered 
 a shameless and fulsome puff of Mr. Pecksniff, which was a part of Tom's 
 hired service and in which he was determined to persevere, set him 
 
294 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 down at once for a deceitful, servile, miserable fawner. So he was silent. 
 And though they were all sufficiently uncomfortable, it is fair to say that 
 Martin was perhaps the most so ; for he had felt kindly towards Tom at 
 first, and had been interested by his seeming simplicity. 
 
 " You 're like the rest," he thought, glancing at the face of the un- 
 conscious Tom. " You had nearly imposed upon me, but you have lost 
 your labour. You 're too zealous a toadeater, and betray yourself, Mr. 
 Pinch." 
 
 During the whole remainder of the walk, not another word was 
 spoken. First among the meetings to which Tom had long looked 
 forward with a beating heart, it was memorable for nothing but embar- 
 rassment and confusion. They parted at the Dragon door ; and sighing 
 as he extinguished the candle in the lantern, Tom turned back again 
 over the gloomy fields. 
 
 As he approached the first stile, which was in a lonely part, made 
 very dark by a plantation of young firs, a man slipped past him and 
 went on before. Coming to the stile he stopped, and took his seat upon 
 it. Tom was rather startled, and for a moment stood still ; but he 
 stepped forward again immediately, and went close up to him. 
 
 It was Jonas ; swinging his legs to and fro, sucking the head of a 
 stick, and looking with a sneer at Tom. 
 
 "Good gracious me!" cried Tom, "who would have thought of its 
 being you ! You followed us, then % " 
 
 " What's that to you ?" said Jonas. " Go to the devil !" 
 
 " You are not very civil, I think," remarked Tom. 
 
 " Civil enough for you,'"' retorted Jonas. " Who are you ?" 
 
 " One who has as good a right to common consideration as another," 
 said Tom, mildly. 
 
 " You 're a liar," said Jonas. " You have n't a right to any consider- 
 ation. You have n't a right to anything. You 're a pretty sort of fellow 
 to talk about your rights, upon my soul ! Ha, ha ! — rights, too !" 
 
 " If you proceed in this way," returned Tom, reddening, " you will 
 oblige me to talk about my wrongs. But I hope your joke is over." 
 
 " It 's the way with you curs," said Mr. Jonas, " that when you know 
 a man's in real earnest, you pretend to think he's joking, so that you 
 may turn it off. But that won't do with me. It 's too stale. Now 
 just attend to me for a bit, Mr. Pitch, or Witch, or Stich, or whatever 
 your name is." 
 
 " My name is Pinch," observed Tom. " Have the goodness to call 
 me by it." 
 
 " What ! You must n't even be called out of your name, must n't you !" 
 cried Jonas. " Pauper 'prentices are looking up, I think. Ecod, we 
 manage 'em a little better in the city !" 
 
 " Never mind what you do in the city," said Tom. " What have you 
 got to say to me '? " 
 
 " Just this, Mister Pinch," retorted Jonas, thrusting his face so close 
 to Tom's that Tom was obliged to retreat a step, " I advise you to keep 
 your own counsel, and to avoid tittle-tattle, and not to cut in where 
 you 're not wanted. I 've heard something of you, my friend, and your 
 
MARTIN CIIUZZLEWIT. 295 
 
 meek ways ; and I recommend you to forget 'em till I 'm married to one 
 of Pecksniff's gals, and not to curry favour among my relations, but to 
 leave the course clear. You know, when curs won't leave the course 
 clear, they 're whipped off ; so this is kind advice. Do you understand ? 
 Eh? Damme, who are you," cried Jonas, with increased contempt, 
 " that you should walk home with them, unless it was behind 'em, like 
 any other servant out of livery V^ 
 
 " Come ! " cried Tom, " I see that you had better get off the stile, and 
 let me pursue my way home. Make room for me, if you please." 
 
 " Don't think it !" said Jonas, spreading out his legs. " Not till I 
 choose. And I don't choose now. What ! You 're afraid of my 
 making you split upon some of your babbling just now, are you. 
 Sneak T 
 
 " I am not afraid of many things, I hope," said Tom ; " and certainly 
 not of anything that you will do. I am not a tale-bearer, and I despise 
 all meanness. You quite mistake me. Ah !" cried Tom, indignantly. 
 " Is this manly from one in your position to one in mine ? Please to 
 make room for me to pass. The less I say, the better." 
 
 " The less you say !" retorted Jonas, dangling his legs the more, and 
 taking no heed of this request. " You say very little, don't you 1 Ecod, 
 I should like to know what goes on between you and a vagabond member 
 of my family. There 's very little in that, too, I dare say !" 
 
 " I know no vagabond member of your family," cried Tom, stoutly. 
 
 " You do f said Jonas. 
 
 " I don't," said Tom. " Your uncle's namesake, if you mean him, is 
 no vagabond. Any comparison between you and him " — Tom snapped 
 his fingers at him, for he was rising fast in wrath — " is immeasurably 
 to your disadvantage." 
 
 " Oh indeed !" sneered Jonas. " And what do you think of his 
 deary — his beggarly leavings, eh. Mister Pinch ? 
 
 " I don't mean to say another word, or stay here another instant," 
 replied Tom. 
 
 " As I told you before, you 're a liar," said Jonas, coolly. " You '11 stay 
 here till I give you leave to go. Now keep where you are, will you !" 
 
 He flourished his stick over Tom's head ; but in a moment, it was 
 spinning harmlessly in the air, and Jonas himself lay sprawling in the 
 ditch. In the momentary struggle for the stick, Tom had brought it into 
 violent contact with his opponent's forehead ; and the blood welled out 
 profusely from a deep cut on the temple. Tom was first apprised of this 
 by seeing that he pressed his handkerchief to the wounded part, and 
 staggered as he rose : being stunned. 
 
 " Are you hurt V said Tom. " I am very sorry. Lean on me for a 
 moment. You can do that without forgiving me, if you still bear me 
 malice. But I don't know why ; for I never offended you before we 
 met on this spot." 
 
 He made him no answer : not appearing at first to understand him, 
 or even to know that he was hurt, though he several times took his 
 handkerchief from the cut to look vacantly at the blood upon it. After 
 one of these examinations, he looked at Tom, and then there was an 
 
296 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 expression in Lis features, which showed that he understood what had 
 taken place, and would remember it. 
 
 Nothing more passed between them as they went home. Jonas kept 
 a little in advance, and Tom Pinch sadly followed : thinking of the grief 
 which the knowledge of this quarrel must occasion his excellent bene- 
 factor. When Jonas knocked at the door, Tom's heart beat high ; 
 higher when Miss Mercy answered it, and, seeing her wounded lover, 
 shrieked aloud ; higher when he followed them into the family parlour ; 
 higher than at any other time when Jonas spoke. 
 
 " Don't make a noise about it," he said. " It 's nothing worth men- 
 tioning. I didn't know the road ; the night 's very dark ; and just as 
 I came up with Mr. Pinch" — he turned his face towards Tom, but not 
 his eyes — " I ran against a tree. It 's only skin-deep." 
 
 " Cold water, Merry, my child !" cried Mr. Pecksniff. " Brown paper ! 
 Scissors ! A piece of old linen ! Charity, my dear, make a bandage. 
 Bless me, Mr. Jonas !" 
 
 " Oh, bother ^our nonsense," returned the gracious son-in-law elect. 
 " Be of some use if you can. If you can't, get out !" 
 
 Miss Charity, though called upon to lend her aid, sat upright in one 
 corner, with a smile upon her face, and didn't move a finger. Though 
 Mercy laved the wound herself ; and Mr. Pecksniff held the patient's 
 head between his two hands, as if without that assistance it must 
 inevitably come in half ; and Tom Pinch, in his guilty agitation, shook 
 a bottle of Dutch Drops until they were nothing but English Froth, and 
 in his other hand sustained a formidable carving-knife, really intended 
 to reduce the swelling, but apparently designed for the ruthless infliction 
 of another wound as soon as that was dressed ; Charity rendered not 
 the least assistance, nor uttered a word. But when Mr. Jonas's head was 
 bound up, and he had gone to bed, and everybody else had retired, and 
 the house was quiet, Mr. Pinch, as he sat mournfully on his bedstead, 
 ruminating, heard a gentle tap at his door ; and opening it, saw her, to 
 his great astonishment, standing before him with her finger on her lip. 
 
 " Mr. Pinch," she whispered. " Dear Mr. Pinch ! tell me the truth ! 
 You did that 1 There was some quarrel between you, and you struck 
 him ? I am sure of it !" 
 
 It was the first time she had ever spoken kindly to Tom, in all the 
 many years they had passed together. He was stupefied with amazement. 
 
 " Was it so, or not?" she eagerly demanded. 
 
 " I was very much provoked," said Tom. 
 
 " Then it was?" cried Charity, with sparkling eyes. 
 
 *' Ye-yes. We had a struggle for the path," said Tom. " But I 
 didn't mean to hurt him so much." 
 
 " Not so much !" she repeated, clenching her hand and stamping her 
 foot, to Tom's great wonder. "Don't say that. It was brave of you. 
 I honour you for it. If you should ever quarrel again, don't spare him 
 for the world, but beat him down and set your shoe upon him. Not a 
 word of this to anybody. Dear Mr. Pinch, I am your friend from to- 
 night. I am always your friend from this time." 
 
 She turned her flushed face upon Tom to confirm her words by its 
 
yy-^^^ymyfo■^yM■fy^^^/(?t€^_^ 
 
 ^■^y X^(?tc^..^ie<;6^ c^iA/?^ 
 
 C^/z/?,yi-r/y 
 
MARTIN CnUZZLEWIT. 297 
 
 kindling expression ; and seizing his right hand, pressed it to her 
 breast, and kissed it. And there was nothing personal in this to render 
 it at all embarrassing, for even Tom, whose power of observation was 
 by no means remarkable, knew from the energy with which she did it 
 that she would have fondled any hand, no matter how bedaubed or 
 dyed, that had broken the head of Jonas Chuzzlewit. 
 
 Tom went into his room, and went to bed, full of uncomfortable 
 thoughts. That there should be any such tremendous division in the 
 family as he knew must have taken place to convert Charity Pecksniff 
 into his friend, for any reason, but, above all, for that which was clearly the 
 real one ; that Jonas, who had assailed him with such exceeding coarse- 
 ness, should have been sufficiently magnanimous to keep the secret of 
 their quarrel ; and that any train of circumstances should have led to 
 the commission of an assault and battery by Thomas Pinch upon any 
 man calling himself the friend of Seth Pecksniff ; were matters of such 
 deep and painful cogitation, that he could not close his eyes. His own 
 violence, in particular, so preyed upon the generous mind of Tom, that 
 coupling it with the many former occasions on which he had given Mr. 
 Pecksniff pain and anxiety (occasions of which that gentleman often 
 reminded him), he really began to regard himself as destined by 
 a mysterious fate to be the evil genius and bad angel of his patron. 
 But he fell asleep at last, and dreamed — new source of waking un- 
 easiness — that he had betrayed his trust, and run away with Mary 
 Graham. 
 
 It must be acknowledged that, asleep or awake, Tom's position in 
 reference to this young lady was full of uneasiness. The more he saw 
 of her, the more he admired her beauty, her intelligence, the amiable 
 qualities that even won on the divided house of Pecksniff, and in a few 
 days restored at all events the semblance of harmony and kindness 
 between the angry sisters. When she spoke, Tom held his breath, so 
 eagerly he listened ; when she sang, he sat like one entranced. She 
 touched his organ, and from that bright epoch even it, the old companion 
 of his happiest hours, incapable as he had thought of elevation, began 
 a new and deified existence. 
 
 God's love upon thy patience, Tom ! Who that had beheld thee, for 
 three summer weeks, poring through half the deadlong night over the 
 jingling anatomy of that inscrutable old harpsichord in the back parlour, 
 could have missed the entrance to thy secret heart : albeit it was dimly 
 known to thee ! Who that had seen the glow upon thy cheek when 
 leaning down to listen, after hours of labour, for the sound of one incor- 
 rigible note, thou foundst that it had a voice at last, and wheezedst out 
 a flat something distantly akin to what it ought to be, — would not have 
 known that it was destined for no common touch, but one that smote, 
 though gently as an angel's hand, upon the deepest chord within thee ! 
 And if a friendly glance — ay, even though it were as guileless as thine 
 own, Dear Tom — could but have pierced the twilight of that evening, 
 when, in a voice well tempered to the time, sad, sweet, and low, yet 
 hopeful, she first sang to the altered instrument, and wondered at the 
 change ; and thou, sitting apart at the open window, keptst a glad silence 
 
298 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 and a swelling heart — must not that glance have read perforce the dawn- 
 ing of a story, Tom, that it were well for thee had never been begun ! 
 
 Tom Pinch's situation was not made the less dangerous or difficult, by 
 the fact of no one word passing between them in reference to Martin. 
 Honourably mindful of his promise, Tom gave her opportunities of all 
 kinds. Early and late he was in the church ; in her favourite walks ; 
 in the village, in the garden, in the meadows ; and in any or all of 
 these places he might have spoken freely. But no : at all such times 
 she carefully avoided him, or never came in his way unaccompanied. It 
 could not be that she disliked or' distrusted him, for by a thousand little 
 delicate means, too slight for any notice but his own, she singled him 
 out when others were present, and showed herself the very soul of kind- 
 ness. Could it be that she had broken with Martin, or had never 
 returned his aifection, save in his own bold and heightened fancy ? Tom's 
 cheek grew red with self-reproach, as he dismissed the thought. 
 
 All this time old Martin came and went in his own strange manner, 
 or sat among the rest absorbed within himself, and holding little inter- 
 course with any one. Although he was unsocial, he was not wilful in 
 other things, or troublesome, or morose : being never better pleased than 
 when they left him quite unnoticed at his book, and pursued their own 
 amusements in his presence, unreserved. It was impossible to discern in 
 whom he took an interest, or whether he had an interest in any of them. 
 Unless they spoke to him directly, he never showed that he had ears or 
 eyes for anything that passed. 
 
 One day the lively Merry, sitting with downcast eyes under a shady 
 tree in the churchyard, whither she had retired after fatiguing herself by 
 the imposition of sundry trials on the temper of Mr. Jonas, felt that a 
 new shadow came between her and the sun. Raising her eyes in the 
 expectation of seeing her betrothed, she was not a little surprised to see 
 old Martin instead. Her surprise was not diminished when he took his 
 seat upon the turf beside her, and opened a conversation thus : 
 
 " When are you to be married 1 " 
 
 " Oh ! dear Mr. Chuzzlewit, my goodness me ! I 'm sure I don't 
 know. Not yet awhile, I hope." 
 
 " You hope ?" said the old man. 
 
 It was very gravely said, but she took it for banter, and giggled 
 excessively. 
 
 " Come !" said the old man, with unusual kindness, "you are young, 
 good-looking, and I think good-natured ! Frivolous you are, and love 
 to be, undoubtedly ; but you must have some heart." 
 
 " I have not given it all away, I can tell you," said Merry, nodding 
 her head shrewdly, and plucking up the grass. 
 
 " Have you parted with any of it V 
 
 She threw the grass about, and looked another way, but said nothing. 
 
 Martin repeated his question. 
 
 " Lor, my dear Mr. Chuzzlewit ! really you must excuse me ! How 
 very odd you are." 
 
 " If it be odd in me to desire to know whether you love the young 
 man whom I understand you are to marry, I am very odd," said Martin. 
 " For that is certainly my wish." 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 299 
 
 " He 's such a monster, you know," said Merry, pouting. 
 
 " Then you don't love him ?" returned the old man. " Is that your 
 meaning ?" 
 
 " Why, my dear Mr. Chuzzlewit, I 'm sure I tell him a hundred times 
 a day that I hate him. You must have heard me tell him that." 
 
 " Often," said Martin. 
 
 " And so I do," cried Merry. " I do positively." 
 
 " Being at the same time engaged to marry him," observed the old 
 man. 
 
 "Oh yes," said Merry. "But I told the wretch — my dear Mr. 
 Chuzzlewit, I told him when he asked me — that if I ever did marry 
 him, it should only be that I might hate and teaze him all my life." 
 
 She had a suspicion that the old man regarded Jonas with anything 
 but favour, and intended these remarks to be extremely captivating. 
 He did not appear, however, to regard them in that light by any means ; 
 for when he spoke again, it was in a tone of severity. 
 
 " Look about you," he said, pointing to the graves ; " and remember 
 that from your bridal hour to the day which sees you brought as low as 
 these, and laid in such a bed, there will be no appeal against him. 
 Think, and speak, and act, for once, like an accountable creature. Is 
 any control put upon your inclinations ? Are you forced into this 
 match 1 Are you insidiously advised or tempted to contract it, by any 
 one 1 I will not ask by whom : by any one 1" 
 
 " No," said Merry, shrugging her shoulders. " I don't know that 
 I am." 
 
 " Don't know that you are ! Are you ?" 
 
 " No," replied Merry. " Nobody ever said anything to me about it. 
 If any one had tried to make me have him, I would n't have had him 
 at all." 
 
 " I am told that he was at first supposed to be your sister's admirer," 
 said Martin. 
 
 " Oh, good gracious ! My dear Mr. Chuzzlewit, it would be very hard 
 to make him, though he is a monster, accountable for other people's 
 vanity," said Merry. " And poor dear Cherry is the vainest darling 1" 
 
 " It was her mistake then ?" 
 
 " I hope it was," cried Merry; " but, all along, the dear child has been 
 80 dreadfully jealous and so cross, that, upon my word and honour, it 's 
 impossible to please her, and it 's of no use trying." 
 
 "Not forced, persuaded, or controlled," said Martin, thoughtfully. 
 " And that 's true, I see. There is one chance yet. You may have 
 lapsed into this engagement in very giddiness. It may have been the 
 wanton act of a light head. Is that so V 
 
 " My dear Mr. Chuzzlewit," simpered Merry, " as to light-headedness, 
 there never was such a feather of a head as mine. It 's a perfect balloon, 
 I declare ! You never did, you know !" 
 
 He waited quietly till she had finished, and then said, steadily and 
 slowly, and in a softened voice, as if he would still invite her con- 
 fidence : 
 
 " Have you any msh — or is there anything within your breast that 
 
300 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 •wliispers you may form the wish, if you have time to think — to be 
 released from this engagement?" 
 
 Again Miss Merry pouted, and looked down, and plucked the grass, 
 and shrugged her shoulders. No. She didn't know that she had. She 
 was pretty sure she hadn't. Quite sure, she might say. She " didn't 
 mind it." 
 
 " Has it ever occurred to you," said Martin, " that your married life 
 may perhaps be miserable, full of bitterness, and most unhappy 1 " 
 
 Merry looked down again ; and now she tore the grass up by the 
 roots. 
 
 " My dear Mr. Chuzzlewlt, what shocking words ! Of course, I shall 
 quarrel with him ; I should quarrel with any husband. Married people 
 always quarrel, I believe. But as to being miserable, and bitter, and all 
 those dreadful things, you know, why I couldn't be absolutely that, 
 unless he always had the best of it ; and I mean to have the best of it 
 myself. I always do now," cried Merry, nodding her head, and giggling 
 very much ; " for I make a perfect slave of the creature." 
 
 " Let it go on," said Martin, rising. " Let it go on ! I sought to 
 know your mind, my dear, and you have shown it me. I wish you 
 joy. Joy !" he repeated, looking full upon her, and pointing to the 
 wicket-gate where Jonas entered at the moment. And then, without 
 waiting for his nephew, he passed out at another gate, and went away. 
 
 " Oh you terrible old man !" cried the facetious Merry to herself. 
 " What a perfectly hideous monster to be wandering about churchyards 
 in the broad daylight, frightening people out of their wits 1 Don't come 
 here. Griffin, or I'll go away directly." 
 
 Mr. Jonas was the Griffin. He sat down upon the grass at her side, 
 in spite of this warning, and sulkily inquired : 
 
 " What 's my uncle been a talking about ?" 
 
 "About you," rejoined Merry. "He says you're not half good 
 enough for me." 
 
 " Oh yes, I dare say ! We all know that. He means to give you 
 some present worth having, I hope. Did he say anything that looked 
 like it r 
 
 " That he didn't I" cried Merry, most decisively. 
 
 " A stingy old dog he is," said Jonas. " Well ?" 
 
 " Griffin !" cried Miss Mercy, in counterfeit amazement ; " what are 
 you doing, Griffin 1" 
 
 " Only giving you a squeeze," said the discomfited Jonas. " There 's 
 no harm in that, I suppose '?" 
 
 " But there is a great deal of harm in it, if I don't consider it agree- 
 able," returned his cousin. " Do go along, will you 1 You make me 
 so hot !" 
 
 Mr. Jonas withdrew his arm ; and for a moment looked at her more 
 like a murderer than a lover. But he cleared his brow by degrees, and 
 broke silence with : 
 
 " I say, Mel !" 
 
 " What do you say, you vulgar thing — you low savage ]" cried his 
 fair betrothed. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 301 
 
 " "When is it to be ? I can't afford to go on dawdling about here half 
 my life, I needn't tell you, and Pecksniff says that father's being so 
 lately dead makes very little odds ; for we can be married as quiet as 
 we please down here, and my being lonely is a good reason to the 
 neighbours for taking a wife home so soon, especially one that He knew. 
 As to crossbones (my uncle, I mean), he 's sure not to put a spoke in the 
 wheel, whatever we settle on, for he told Pecksniff only this morning, 
 that if you liked it, he 'd nothing at all to say. So, Mel," said Jonas, 
 venturing on another squeeze ; " when shall it be T 
 
 " Upon my word," cried Merry. 
 
 " Upon my soul, if you like," said Jonas. " What do you say to next 
 week, now?" 
 
 " To next week ! If you had said next quarter, I should have wondered 
 at your impudence." 
 
 " But I didn't say next quarter," retorted Jonas. " I said next week." 
 
 " Then, Griffin," cried Miss Merry, pushing him off, and rising. " I 
 say no ! not next week. It shan't be till I choose — and I may not 
 choose it to be for months. There 1" 
 
 He glanced up at her from the ground, almost as darkly as he had 
 looked at Tom Pinch ; but held his peace. 
 
 " No fright of a Griffin with a patch over his eye, shall dictate to me, 
 or have a voice in the matter," said Merry. " There !" 
 
 Still Mr. Jonas held his peace. 
 
 " If it's next month, that shall be the very earliest ; but I won't say 
 when it shall be till to-morrow; and if you don't like that, it shall never 
 be at all," said Merry ; " and if you follow me about and won't leave me 
 alone, it shall never be at all. There ! And if you don't do everything 
 I order you to do, it shall never be at all. So don't follow me. There, 
 Griffin !" 
 
 And with that, she skipped away, among the trees. 
 
 " Ecod, my lady !" said Jonas, looking after her, and biting a piece of 
 straw, almost to powder ; " you '11 catch it for this, when you are 
 married ! It's all very well now — it keeps one on, somehow, and you 
 know it — but I '11 pay you off scot and lot by and bye. This is a plaguey 
 dull sort of place for a man to be sitting by himself in. I never could 
 abide a mouldy old churchyard." 
 
 As he turned into the avenue himself, Miss Merry, who was far ahead, 
 happened to look back. 
 
 "Ah!" said Jonas with a sullen smile, and a nod that was not 
 addressed to her ; " make the most of it while it lasts. Get in your hay 
 while the sun shines. Take your own way as long as it's in your power, 
 my lady !" 
 
302 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 IS IN PART PROFESSIONAL ; AND FURNISHES THE READER WITH SOME 
 VALUABLE HINTS IN RELATION TO THE MANAGEMENT OF A SICK 
 CHAMBER. 
 
 Mr. Mould was surrounded by his household gods. He was enjoying 
 the sweets of domestic repose, and gazing on them with a calm delight. 
 The day being sultry, and the window open, the legs of Mr. Mould 
 were on the window-seat, and his back reclined against the shutter. 
 Over his shining head a handkerchief was drawn, to guard his baldness 
 from the flies. The room was fragrant with the smell of punch, a 
 tumbler of which grateful compound stood upon a small round table, 
 convenient to the hand of Mr. Mould j so deftly mixed, that as his eye 
 looked down into the cool transparent drink, another eye, peering 
 brightly from behind the crisp lemon-peel, looked up at him, and 
 twinkled like a star. 
 
 Deep in the city, and within the ward of Cheap, stood Mr. Mould's 
 establishment. His Harem, or, in other words, the common sitting- 
 room of Mrs. Mould and family, was at the back, over the little 
 counting-house behind the shop : abutting on a churchyard, small and 
 shady. In this domestic chamber Mr. Mould now sat ; gazing, a placid 
 man, upon his punch and home. If, for a moment at a time, he sought 
 a wider prospect, whence he might return with freshened zest to these 
 enjoyments, his moist glance wandered like a sunbeam through a rural 
 screen of scarlet runners, trained on strings before the window ; and he 
 looked down, with an artist's eye, upon the graves. 
 
 The partner of his life, and daughters twain, were Mr. Mould's com- 
 panions. Plump as any partridge was each Miss Mould, and Mrs. M. 
 was plumper than the two together. So round and chubby were their 
 fair proportions, that they might have been the bodies once belonging 
 to the angels' faces in the shop below, grown up, with other heads 
 attached to make them mortal. Even their peachy cheeks were 
 puffed out and distended, as though they ought of right to be performing 
 on celestial trumpets. The bodiless cherubs in the shop, who were 
 depicted as constantly blowing those instruments for ever and ever 
 without any lungs, played, it is to be presumed, entirely by ear. 
 
 Mr. Mould looked lovingly at Mrs. Mould, who sat hard by, and was 
 a helpmate to him in his punch as in all other things. Each seraph 
 daughter, too, enjoyed her share of his regards, and smiled upon him 
 in return. So bountiful were Mr. Mould's possessions, and so large his 
 stock in trade, that even there, within his household sanctuary, stood 
 a cumbrous press, whose mahogany maw was filled with shrouds, and 
 winding-sheets, and other furniture of funerals. But, though the Misses 
 Mould had been brought up, as one may say, beneath its eye, it had 
 cast no shadow on their timid infancy or blooming youth. Sporting 
 behind the scenes of death and burial from cradlehood, the Misses 
 Mould knew better. Hatbands, to them, were but so many yards of 
 
MARTIN CnUZZLEWIT. 303 
 
 silk or crape ; the final robe but such a quantity of iinen. The Misses 
 Mould could idealize a player's habit, or a court-lady's petticoat, or 
 even an act of parliament. But they were not to be taken in by palls. 
 They made them sometimes. 
 
 The premises of Mr. Mould were hard of hearing to the boisterous 
 noises in the great main streets, and nestled in a quiet corner, where 
 the city strife became a drowsy hum, that sometimes rose and sometimes 
 fell and sometimes altogether ceased : suggesting to a thoughtful mind 
 a stoppage in Cheapside. The light came sparkling in among the 
 scarlet runners, as if the churchyard winked at Mr. Mould, and said, 
 " We understand each other ;" and from the distant shop a pleasant 
 sound arose of coffin-making with a low melodious hammer, rat, tat, 
 tat, tat, alike promoting slumber and digestion. 
 
 " Quite the buzz of insects," said Mr. Mould, closing his eyes in a 
 perfect luxury. " It puts one in mind of the sound of animated nature 
 in the agricultural districts. It 's exactly like the woodpecker tapping." 
 
 " The woodpecker tapping the hollow elm tree," observed Mrs. Mould, 
 adapting the words of the popular melody to the description of w^ood 
 commonly used in the trade. 
 
 "Ha ha!" laughed Mr. Mould. "Not at all bad, my dear. We 
 shall be glad to hear from you again, Mrs. M. Hollow elm tree, eh 1 
 Ha ha ! Very good indeed. I 've seen worse than that in the Sunday 
 papers, my love." 
 
 Mrs. Mould, thus encouraged, took a little more of the punch, and 
 handed it to her daughters, who dutifully followed the example of their 
 mother. 
 
 "Hollow elm tree, eh ?" said Mr. Mould, making a slight motion 
 with his legs in his enjoyment of the joke. " It 's beech in the song. 
 Elm, eh ? Yes, to be sure. Ha, ha, ha ! Upon my soul, that 's one 
 of the best things I know !" He was so excessively tickled by the jest 
 that he couldn't forget it, but repeated twenty times, " Elm, eh ? Yes, 
 to be sure. Elm, of course. Ha, ha, ha ! Upon my life, you know, 
 that ought to be sent to somebody who could make use of it. It 's one 
 of the smartest things that ever was said. Hollow elm tree, eh 1 Of 
 course. Very hollow. Ha, ha, ha !" 
 
 Here a knock was heard at the room door. 
 
 " That 's Tacker, / know," said Mrs. Mould, " by the wheezing he 
 makes. Who that hears him now, would suppose he 'd ever had wind 
 enough to carry the feathers on his head ! Come in, Tacker." 
 
 " Beg your pardon, ma'am," said Tacker, looking in a little way. " I 
 thought our Governor was here." 
 
 " Well ! So he is," cried Mould. 
 
 " Oh ! I didn't see you, I 'm sure," said Tacker, looking in a little 
 farther. " You wouldn't be inclined to take a walking one of two, with 
 the plain wood and a tin plate, I suppose 1 " 
 
 " Certainly not," replied Mr. Mould, " much too common. Nothing 
 to say to it." 
 
 " I told 'em it was precious low," observed Mr. Tacker. 
 
 "' Tell 'em to go somewhere else. We don't do that style of business 
 
304 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 here," said Mr. Mould. " Like their impudence to propose it. Who 
 is it?" 
 
 " Why," returned Tacker, pausing, " that 's where it is, you see. It 's 
 the beadle's son-in-law." 
 
 " The beadle's son-in-law, eh ?" said Mould. " Well ! 1 11 do it if 
 the beadle follows in his cocked hat ; not else. We may carry it off 
 that way, by looking official, but it '11 be low enough then. His cocked 
 hat, mind !" 
 
 "I'll take care, sir," rejoined Tacker. "Oh ! Mrs. Gamp 's below, 
 and wants to speak to you." 
 
 " Tell Mrs. Gamp to come up stairs," said Mould. " Now, Mrs. 
 Gamp, what 's your news ?" 
 
 The lady in question was by this time in the doorway, curtseying to 
 Mrs. Mould. At the same moment a peculiar fragrance was borne upon 
 the breeze, as if a passing fairy had hiccoughed, and had previously been 
 to a wine-vaults. 
 
 Mrs. Gamp made no response to Mr. Mould, but curtseyed to Mrs. 
 Mould again, and held up her hands and eyes, as in a devout thanks- 
 giving that she looked so well. She was neatly, but not gaudily attired, 
 in the weeds she had worn when Mr. Pecksniff had the pleasure of 
 making her acquaintance j and was perhaps the turning of a scale more 
 snuffy. 
 
 " There are some happy creeturs," Mrs. Gamp observed, " as time 
 runs back'ards with, and you are one, Mrs. Mould ; not that he need do 
 nothing except use you in his most owldacious way for years to come, 
 I 'm sure ; for young you are and will be. I says to Mrs. Harris," 
 Mrs. Gamp continued, " only t'other day ; the last Monday evening 
 fortnight as ever dawned upon this Piljian's Projiss of a mortal wale ; 
 I says to Mrs. Harris when she says to me, ' Years and our trials, Mrs. 
 Gamp, sets marks upon us all ' — ' Say not the words, Mrs. Harris, if 
 you and me is to continual friends, for sech is not the case. Mrs. Mould,' 
 I says, making so free, I will confess, as use the name," (she curtseyed 
 here), " ' is one of them that goes agen the obserwation straight ; and 
 never, Mrs. Harris, whilst I 've a drop of breath to draw, will I set by, 
 and not stand up, don't think it.' — 'I ast your pardon, ma'am,' says 
 Mrs. Harris, ' and I humbly grant your grace ; for if ever a woman 
 lived as would see her feller creeturs into fits to serve her friends, well 
 do I know that woman's name is Sairey Gamp.' " 
 
 At this point she was fain to stop for breath ; and advantage may 
 be taken of the circumstance, to state that a fearful mystery surrounded 
 this lady of the name of Harris, whom no one in the circle of Mrs. 
 Gamp's acquaintance had ever seen ; neither did any human being 
 know her place of residence, though Mrs. Gamp appeared on her own 
 showing to be in constant communication with her. There were con- 
 flicting rumours on the subject ; but the prevalent opinion was that she 
 was a phantom of Mrs. Gamp's brain — as Messrs. Doe and Roe are 
 fictions of the law — created for the express purpose of holding visionary 
 dialogues with her on all manner of subjects, and invariably winding up 
 with a compliment to the excellence of her nature. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 305 
 
 " And likeways what a pleasure/' said Mrs. Gamp^ turning with a 
 tearful smile towards the daughters, " to see them two young ladies as 
 I know'd afore a tooth in their pretty heads was cut, and have many a 
 day seen — ah, the sweet creeturs ! — playing at berryins down in the shop, 
 and follerin' the order-book to its long home in the iron safe ! But 
 that's all past and over, Mr. Mould ;" as she thus got in a carefully 
 regulated routine to that gentleman, she shook her head waggishly j 
 " That's all past and over now, sir, an't it ?" 
 
 " Changes, Mrs. Gamp, changes ! " returned the undertaker. 
 
 " More changes too, to come, afore we 've done with changes, sir," 
 said Mrs. Gamp, nodding yet more waggishly than before. " Young 
 ladies with such faces thinks of something else besides berryins, don't 
 they, sir?" 
 
 " I am sure I don't know, Mrs. Gamp," said Mould, with a chuckle. 
 — " Not bad in Mrs. Gamp, my dear ?" 
 
 "Oh yes, you do know, sir!" said Mrs. Gamp, "and so' does Mrs. 
 Mould, your ansome pardner too, sir ; and so do I, although the blessing 
 of a daughter was deniged me ; which, if we had had one. Gamp would 
 certainly have drunk its little shoes right off its feet, as with our precious 
 boy he did, and arterwards send the child a errand to sell his wooden leg 
 for any money it would fetch as matches in the rough, and bring it home 
 in liquor : which was truly done beyond his years, for ev'ry individgle 
 penny that child lost at toss or buy for kidney ones ; and come home 
 arterwards quite bold, to break the news, and oifering to drown himself 
 if that would be a satisfaction to his parents. — Oh yes, you do know, 
 sir," said Mrs. Gamp, wiping her eye with her shawl, and resuming the 
 thread of her discourse. " There 's something besides births and berryins 
 in the newspapers, an't there, Mr. Mould?" 
 
 Mr. Mould winked at Mrs. Mould, whom he had by this time taken 
 on his knee, and said : " No doubt. A good deal more, Mrs. Gamp. 
 Upon my life, Mrs. Gamp is very far from bad, my dear !" 
 
 " There's marryings, an't there, sir ?" said Mrs. Gamp, while both 
 the daughters blushed and tittered. " Bless their precious hearts, and 
 well they knows it ! Well you know'd it too, and well did Mrs. Mould, 
 when you was at their time of life ! But my opinion is, you 're all of 
 one age now. I'or as to you and Mrs. Mould sir, ever having grand- 
 children — " 
 
 " Oh ! Fie, fie ! Nonsense, Mrs. Gamp," replied the undertaker. 
 "Devilish smart, though. Ca-pi-tal !" — this was in a whisper. "My 
 dear — " aloud again — " Mrs, Gamp can drink a glass of rum I dare say. 
 Sit down Mrs. Gamp, sit down." 
 
 Mrs. Gamp took the chair that was nearest the door, and casting up 
 her eyes towards the ceiling, feigned to be wholly insensible to the fact 
 of a glass of rum being in preparation, until it was placed in her hand 
 by one of the young ladies, when she exhibited the greatest surprise. 
 
 " A thing," she said, " as hardly ever, Mrs. Mould, occurs with me 
 unless it is when I am indispoged, and find my half a pint of porter settling 
 heavy on the chest. Mrs. Harris often and often says to me, ' Sairey 
 Gamp,' she says, ' you raly do amaze me ! ' ' Mrs. Harris,' I says to her, 
 
 X 
 
306 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 * why SO ? Give it a name, I beg.' * Telling the truth then, ma'am/ 
 says Mrs. Harris, ' and shaming him as shall be nameless betwixt you 
 and me, never did I think till I know'd you, as any woman could sick- 
 nurse and monthly likeways, on the little that you takes to drink.' ' Mrs. 
 Harris,' I says to her, ' none on us knows what we can do till we tries ; 
 and wunst, when me and Gamp kept ouse, I thought so too. But now,' 
 I says, ' my half a pint of porter fully satisfies ; perwisin', Mrs. Harris, 
 that it is brought reg'lar, and draw'd mild. Whether I sicks or monthlies, 
 ma'am, I hope I does my duty, but I am but a poor woman, and I earns 
 my living hard ; therefore I do require it, which I makes confession, to 
 be brought reg'lar and draw'd mild.' " 
 
 The precise connexion between these observations and the glass of rum, 
 did not appear ; for Mrs. Gamp proposing as a toast " The best of lucks 
 to all," took off the dram in quite a scientific manner, without any 
 further remarks. 
 
 " And what's your news, Mrs. Gamp?" asked Mould again, as that lady 
 wiped her lips upon her shawl, and nibbled a corner oif a soft biscuit, 
 which she appeared to carry in her pocket as a provision against contin- 
 gent drams. " How 's Mr. Chuffey 1" 
 
 " Mr. Chuffey, sir," she replied, " is jest as usual ; he an't no better 
 and he an't no worse. I take it very kind in the gentleman to have 
 wrote up to you and said, ' let Mrs. Gamp take care of him till I come 
 home ;' but ev'ry think he does is kind. There an't a many like him. 
 If there was, we should n't want no churches." 
 
 " What do you want to speak to me about, Mrs. Gamp % " said Mould, 
 coming to the point. 
 
 " Jest this, sir," Mrs. Gamp returned, "with thanks to you for asking. 
 There is a gent sir, at the Bull in Holborn, as has been took ill there, 
 and is bad abed. They have a day nurse as was recommended from 
 Bartholomew's ; and well I knows her, Mr. Mould, her name bein' Mrs. 
 Prig, the best of creeturs. But she is otherways engaged at night, 
 and they are in wants of night- watching ; consequent she says to them, 
 having reposed the greatest friendliness in me for twenty year, ' The 
 soberest person going, and the best of blessings in a sick room, is Mrs. 
 Gamp. Send a boy to Kingsgate Street,' she says, ' and snap her up at 
 any price, for Mrs. Gamp is worth her weight and more in goldian 
 guineas.' My landlord brings the message down to me, and says, ' bein' 
 in a light place where you are, and this job promising so well, why not 
 unite the two 1 ' ' No, sir,' I says, ' not unbeknown to Mr. Mould, and 
 therefore do not think it. But I will go to Mr. Mould,' I says, ' and ast 
 him, if you like.' " Here she looked sideways at the undertaker, and 
 came to a stop. 
 
 " Night- watching, eh 1 " said Mould, rubbing his chin. 
 
 " From eight o'clock till eight, sir : I will not deceive you," Mrs. 
 Gamp rejoined. 
 
 " And then go back, eh V said Mould. 
 
 " Quite free then, sir, to attend to Mr. Chuffey. His ways bein' quiet, 
 and his hours early, he 'd be abed, sir, nearly all the time. I will not 
 deny," said Mrs. Gamp with meekness, " that I am but a poor woman. 
 
MAETIN CHUZZLEWIT. 307 
 
 and that the money is a object, but do not let tbat act upon you, 
 Mr. Mould. Rich folks may ride on camels, but it an't so easy 
 for 'em to see out of a needle's eye. That is my comfort, and I hope 
 I knows it." 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Gamp," observed Mould, " I don't see any particular 
 objection to your earning an honest penny under such circumstances. I 
 should keep it quiet, I think, Mrs. Gamp. I wouldn't mention it to Mr. 
 Chuzzlewit on his return, for instance, unless it were necessary, or he 
 asked you point-blank." 
 
 "The very words was on my lips, sir," Mrs. Gamp rejoined. " Sup- 
 poging that the gent should die, I hope I might take the liberty of 
 saying as I know'd some one in the undertaking line, and yet give no 
 offence to you, sir ? " 
 
 " Certainly, Mrs. Gamp," said Mould, with much condescension. " You 
 may casually remark, in such a case, that we do the thing pleasantly and 
 in a great variety of styles, and are generally considered to make it as 
 agreeable as possible to the feelings of the survivors. But don't obtrude 
 it — don't obtrude it. Easy, easy ! My dear, you may as well give Mrs. 
 Gamp a card or two, if you please." 
 
 Mrs. Gamp received them, and scenting no more rum in the wdnd (for 
 the bottle was locked up again) rose to take her departure. 
 
 " Wishing ev'ry happiness to this happy family," said Mrs. Gamp, 
 " with all my heart. Good arternoon, Mrs. Mould ! If I was Mr. 
 Mould, I should be jealous of you, ma'am ; and I 'm sure, if I was you, 
 I should be jealous of Mr. Mould." 
 
 " Tut, tut ! Bah, bah ! Go along, Mrs. Gamp !" cried the delighted 
 undertaker. 
 
 " As to the young ladies," said Mrs. Gamp, dropping a curtsey, " bless 
 their sweet looks — how they can ever reconsize it with their duties to be 
 so grown up with such young parents, it an't for sech as me to give a 
 guess at." 
 
 " Nonsense, nonsense. Be off, Mrs. Gamp ! " cried Mould. But in the 
 height of his gratification, he actually pinched Mrs. Mould, as he said it. 
 
 " I '11 tell you what, my dear," he observed, when Mrs. Gamp had at 
 last withdrawn, and shut the door, "that's a ve-ry shrewd woman. 
 That 's a woman whose intellect is immensely superior to her station in 
 life. That 's a woman who observes and reflects in an uncommon man- 
 ner. She 's the sort of woman now," said Mould, drawing his silk hand- 
 kerchief over his head again, and composing himself for a nap, " one 
 would almost feel disposed to bury for nothing : and do it neatly, too !" 
 
 Mrs. Mould and her daughters fully concurred in these remarks ; the 
 subject of which had by this time reached the street, where she expe- 
 rienced so much inconvenience from the air, that she was obliged to stand 
 under an archway for a short time, to recover herself. Even after this 
 precaution, she walked so unsteadily as to attract the compassionate 
 regards of divers kind-hearted boys, who took the liveliest interest in her 
 disorder ; and in their simple language, bade her be of good cheer, for 
 she was " only a little screwed." 
 
 Whatever she was, or whatever name the vocabulary of medical science 
 
 X 2 
 
308 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 would have bestowed upon her malady, Mrs. Gamp was perfectly 
 acquainted with the way home again ; and arriving at the house of 
 Anthony Chuzzlewit & Son, lay down to rest. Remaining there until 
 seven o'clock in the evening, and then persuading poor old ChufFey to 
 betake himself to bed, she sallied forth upon her new engagement. First, 
 she went to her private lodgings in Kingsgate-street, for a bundle of robes 
 and wrappings comfortable in the night season ; and then repaired to the 
 Bull in Holborn, which she reached as the clocks were striking eight. 
 
 As she turned into the yard, she stopped ; for the landlord, landlady, and 
 head chambermaid, v^^ere all on the threshold together, talking earnestly 
 with a young gentleman who seemed to have just come or to be just 
 going away. The first words that struck upon Mrs. Gamp's ear obviously 
 bore reference to the patient; and it being expedient that all good 
 attendants should know as much as possible about the case on which their 
 skill is brought to bear, Mrs. Gamp listened as a matter of duty. 
 
 "No better, then?" observed the gentleman. 
 
 "Worse !" said the landlord. 
 
 " Much worse," added the landlady. 
 
 " Oh ! a deal badder," cried the chambermaid from the back-ground, 
 opening her eyes very wide, and shaking her head. 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " said the gentleman, " I am sorry to hear it. The 
 worst of it is, that I have no idea what friends or relations he has, or 
 where they live, except that it certainly is not in London." 
 
 The landlord looked at the landlady ; the landlady looked at the land- 
 lord; and the chambermaid remarked, hysterically, " that of all the many 
 wague directions she had ever seen or heerd of (and they wasn't few in 
 an hotel), that was the waguest." 
 
 " The fact is, you see," pursued the gentleman, " as I told you yester- 
 day when you sent to me, I really know very little about him. We 
 were schoolfellows together ; but since that time I have only met him 
 twice. On both occasions I was in London for a boy's holiday (having 
 come up for a week or so from Wiltshire), and lost sight of him again, 
 directly. The letter bearing my name and address which you found 
 upon his table, and which led to your applying to me, is in answer, you 
 will observe, to one he wrote from this house the very day he was taken 
 ill, making an appointment with him at his own request. Here is his 
 letter, if you wish to see it." 
 
 The landlord read it : the landlady looked over him. The chamber- 
 maid, in the back-ground, made out as much of it as she could, and 
 invented the rest ; believing it all from that time forth as a positive 
 piece of evidence. 
 
 "He has very little luggage, you say?" observed the gentleman, wha 
 was no other than our old friend, John Westlock. 
 
 "Nothing but a portmanteau," said the landlord; "and very little 
 in it." 
 
 "A few pounds in his purse, though?" 
 
 " Yes. It 's sealed up, and in the cash-box. I made a memorandum 
 of the amount, which you 're welcome to see." 
 
 "Well 1" said John, "as the medical gentleman says the fever must 
 
MARTIN CHTTZZLEWIT. 309 
 
 take Its course, and notliing can be done just now beyond giving him bis 
 drinks regularly and having him carefully attended to, nothing more 
 can be said that I know of, until he is in a condition to give us some 
 information. Can you suggest anything elseT' 
 
 " N-no," replied the landlord, " except — " 
 
 "Except, who 's to pay, I suppose?" said John, 
 
 " Why," hesitated the landlord, " it would be as well." 
 
 " Quite as well," said the landlady. 
 
 " Not forcrettinof to remember the servants," said the chambermaid in 
 a bland whisper. 
 
 " It is but reasonable, I fully admit," said John Westlock. " At all 
 events, you have the stock in hand to go upon for the present ; and I 
 will readily undertake to pay the doctor and the nurses." 
 
 " Ah !" cried Mrs. Gamp, " A rayal gentleman !" 
 
 She groaned her admiration so audibly, that they all turned round. 
 Mrs, Gamp felt the necessity of advancing, bundle in hand, and intro- 
 ducing herself. 
 
 " The night-nurse," she observed, "from Kingsgate-street, well beknown 
 to Mrs, Prig the day-nurse, and the best of creeturs. How is the poor 
 dear gentleman, to-night ? If he an't no better yet, still that is what 
 must be expected and prepared for. It an't the fust time by a many 
 score, ma'am," dropping a curtesy to the landlady, "that Mrs, Prig and 
 me has nussed together, turn and turn about, one oiF, one on, We 
 knows each other's ways, and often gives relief when others fail. Our 
 charges is but low, sir " — Mrs, Gamp addressed herself to John on this 
 head — " considerin' the nater of our painful dooty. If they wos made 
 xiccordin' to our wishes, they would be easy paid." 
 
 Regarding herself as having now delivered her inauguration address, 
 Mrs. Gamp curtseyed all round, and signified her wish to be conducted 
 to the scene of her official duties. The chambermaid led her, through 
 a variety of intricate passages, to the top of the house ; and pointing at 
 length to a solitary door at the end of a gallery, informed her that 
 yonder was the chamber where the patient lay. That done, she hurried 
 oflf with all the speed she could make. 
 
 Mrs, Gamp traversed the gallery in a great heat from having carried 
 her large bundle up so many stairs, and tapped at the door, which was 
 immediately opened by Mrs, Prig, bonneted and shawled and all im- 
 patience to be gone, Mrs, Prig was of the Gamp build, but not so fat ; 
 and her voice was deeper and more like a man's. She had also a beard* 
 
 " I began to think you warn't a coming 1 " Mrs. Prig observed, in 
 some displeasure. 
 
 " It shall be made good to-morrow night," said Mrs. Gamp, "honor- 
 able. I had to go and fetch my things," She had begun to make 
 signs of enquiry in reference to the position of the patient and his 
 -overhearing them — for there was a screen before the door — when Mrs. 
 Prig settled that point easily. 
 
 " Oh !" she said aloud, " he's quiet, but his wits is gone. It an't 
 no matter wot you say." 
 
 " Anythin' to tell afore you goes, my dear 1 " asked Mrs, Gamp, 
 
310 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 setting lier bundle down inside the door, and looking aifectionately at 
 her partner. 
 
 " The pickled salmon," Mrs. Prig replied, " is quite delicious. I 
 can partick'ler recommend it. Don't have nothink to say to the cold 
 meat, for it tastes of the stable. The drinks is all good." 
 
 Mrs. Gamp expressed herself much gratified. 
 
 " The physic and them things is on the drawers and mankleshelf," 
 said Mrs. Prig, cursorily. " He took his last slime draught at seven. 
 The easy-chair an't soft enough. You '11 want his piller." 
 
 Mrs. Gamp thanked her for these hints, and giving her a friendly 
 good night, held the door open until she had disappeared at the other 
 end of the gallery. Having thus performed the hospitable duty of 
 seeing her safely off, she shut it, locked it on the inside, took up her 
 bundle, walked round the screen, and entered on her occupation of the 
 sick chamber. 
 
 " A little dull, but not so bad as might be," Mrs. Gamp remarked. 
 " I 'm glad to see a parapidge, in case of fire, and lots of roofs and 
 chimley-pots to walk upon." 
 
 It will be seen from these remarks that Mrs. Gamp was looking out 
 of window. AVhen she had exhausted the prospect, she tried the easy- 
 chair, which she indignantly declared was " harder than a brickbadge." 
 Next she pursued her researches among the physic-bottles, glasses, 
 jugs, and tea-cups ; and when she had entirely satisfied her curiosity 
 on all these subjects of investigation, she untied her bonnet-strings and 
 strolled up to the bedside to take a look at the patient. 
 
 A young man — dark and not ill-looking — with long black hair, that 
 seemed the blacker for the whiteness of the bed-clothes. His eyes were 
 partly open, and he never ceased to roll his head from side to side upon 
 the pillow, keeping his body almost quiet. He did not utter words ; 
 but every now and then gave vent to an expression of impatience or 
 fatigue, sometimes of surprise ; and still his restless head — oh, weary, 
 weary hour ! — went to and fro without a moment's intermission. 
 
 Mrs. Gamp solaced herself with a pinch of snuff, and stood looking at 
 him with her head inclined a little sideways, as a connoisseur might 
 gaze upon a doubtful work of art. By degrees, a horrible remembrance 
 of one branch of her calling took possession of the woman ; and stoop- 
 ing down, she pinned his wandering arms against his sides, to see how 
 he would look if laid out as a dead man. Hideous as it may appear, her 
 fingers itched to compose his limbs in that last marble attitude. 
 
 "Ah !" said Mrs. Gamp, walking away from the bed, "he'd make 
 a lovely corpse ! " 
 
 She now proceeded to unpack her bundle ; lighted a candle with the 
 aid of a fire-box on the drawers ; filled a small kettle, as a preliminary 
 to refreshing herself with a cup of tea in the course of the night ; laid 
 what she called " a little bit of fire," for the same philanthropic pur- 
 pose j and also set forth a small teaboard, that nothing might be wanting 
 for her comfortable enjoyment. These preparations occupied so long, 
 that when they were brought to a conclusion it was high time to think 
 about supper j so she rang the bell and ordered it. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 311 
 
 " I think, young woman," said Mrs. Gamp to tlie assistant chamber- 
 maid, in a tone expressive of weakness, " that I could pick a little bit 
 of pickled salmon, with a nice little sprig of fennel, and a sprinkling 
 of white pepper. I takes new bread, my dear, with jest a little pat of 
 fresh butter, and a mossel of cheese. In case there should be such a 
 thing as a cowcumber in the 'ouse, will you be so kind as bring it, 
 for I 'm rather partial to 'em, and they does a world of good in a sick 
 room. If they draws the Brighton Tipper here, I takes that ale at 
 night, my love ; it bein' considered wakeful by the doctors. And 
 whatever you do, young woman, don't bring more than a shilling's- 
 worth of gin and water warm when I rings the bell a second time : for 
 that is always my allowance, and I never takes a drop beyond ! " 
 
 Having preferred these moderate requests, Mrs. Gamp observed that 
 she would stand at the door until the order was executed, to the end 
 that the patient might not be disturbed by her opening it a second 
 time ; and therefore she would thank the young woman to " look 
 sharp." 
 
 A tray was brought with everything upon it, even to the cucumber ; 
 and Mrs. Gamp accordingly sat down to eat and drink in high good 
 humour. The extent to which she availed herself of the vinegar, and 
 supped up that refreshing fluid with the blade of her knife, can scarcely 
 be expressed in narrative. 
 
 " Ah ! " sighed Mrs. Gamp, as she meditated over the warm shilling's- 
 worth, " what a blessed thing it is — living in a wale — to be contented ! 
 What a blessed thing it is to make sick people happy in their beds, and 
 never mind one's self as long as one can do a service ! I don't believe 
 a finer cowcumber was ever grow'd. I 'm sure I never see one ! " 
 
 She moralised in the same vein until her glass was empty, and then 
 administered the patient's medicine, by the simple process of clutching 
 his windpipe to make him gasp, and immediately pouring it down his 
 throat. 
 
 " I a'most forgot the piller, I declare ! " said Mrs. Gamp, drawing it 
 away. " There ! Now he 's as comfortable as he can be, / 'm sure ! I 
 must try to make myself as much so as I can." 
 
 With this view, she went about the construction of an extemporaneous 
 bed in the easy-chair, with the addition of the next easy one for her 
 feet. Having formed the best couch that the circumstances admitted of, 
 she took out of her bundle a yellow nightcap, of prodigious size, in 
 shape resembling a cabbage ; which article of dress she fixed and tied 
 on with the utmost care, previously divesting herself of a row of bald 
 old curls that could scarcely be called false, they were so very innocent 
 of anything approaching to deception. From the same repository she 
 brought forth a night-jacket, in which she also attired herself Finally, 
 she produced a watchman's coat, which she tied round her neck by the 
 sleeves, so that she became two people ; and looked, behind, as if she 
 were in the act of being embraced by one of the old patrol. 
 
 All these arrangements made, she lighted the rushlight, coiled herself 
 up on her couch, and went to sleep. Ghostly and dark the room became, 
 and full of lowering shadows. The distant noises in the streets were 
 
312 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 gradually hushed ; the house was quiet as a sepulchre ; the dead of 
 night was coffined in the silent city. 
 
 Oh, weary, weary hour ! Oh, haggard mind, groping darkly through 
 the past ; incapable of detaching itself from the miserable present ; 
 dragging its heavy chain of care through imaginary feasts and revels, and 
 scenes of awful pomp ; seeking but a moment's rest among the long- 
 forgotten haunts of childhood, and the resorts of yesterday ; and dimly 
 finding fear and horror everywhere ! Oh, weary, weary hour ! What 
 were the wanderings of Cain, to these ! 
 
 Still, without a moment's interval, the burning head tossed to and 
 fro. Still, from time to time, fatigue, impatience, suiFering, and surprise, 
 found utterance upon that rack, and plainly too, though never once in 
 words. At length, in the solemn hour of midnight, he began to talk ; 
 waiting awfully for answers sometimes ; as though invisible companions 
 were about his bed ; and so replying to their speech and questioning again. 
 
 Mrs. Gamp awoke, and sat up in her bed : presenting on the wall the 
 shadow of a gigantic night constable, struggling with a prisoner. 
 
 " Come ! Hold your tongue ! " she cried, in sharp reproof. " Don't 
 make none of that noise here." 
 
 There was no alteration in the face, or in the incessant motion of the 
 head, but he talked on wildly. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Mrs. Gamp, coming out of the chair with an impatient 
 shiver ; " I thought I was a sleepin' too pleasant to last ! The devil 's 
 in the night, I think, it's turned so chilly." 
 
 " Don't drink so much ! " cried the sick man. " You '11 ruin us all. 
 Don't you see how the fountain sinks 1 Look at the mark where the 
 sparkling water was just now ! " 
 
 " Sparkling water indeed ! " said Mrs. Gamp. " I '11 have a sparkling 
 cup o' tea, I think. I wish you 'd hold your noise ! " 
 
 He burst into a laugh, which, being prolonged, fell off into a dismal 
 wail. Checking himself, with fierce inconstancy he began to count — fast. 
 
 " One — two — three — four — five — six." 
 
 " ' One, two, buckle my shoe,' " said Mrs. Gamp, who was now on her 
 knees, lighting the fire, " ^ three, four, shut the door' — I wish you 'd shut 
 your mouth, young man — ' five, six, picking up sticks.' If I 'd got a 
 few handy, I should have the kettle biling all the sooner." 
 
 Awaiting this desirable consummation, she sat down so close to the 
 fender (which was a high one) that her nose rested upon it ; and for 
 some time she drowsily amused herself by sliding that feature backwards 
 and forwards along the brass top, as far as she could, without changing 
 her position to do it. She maintained, all the while, a running com- 
 mentary upon the wanderings of the man in bed. 
 
 " That makes five hundred and twenty-one men, all dressed alike, 
 and with the same distortion on their faces, that have passed in at the 
 window, and out at the door," he cried, anxiously. " Look there !' Five 
 hundred and twenty-two — twenty-three — twenty-four. Do you see 
 them ! " 
 
 " Ah ! I see 'em," said Mrs. Gamp ; " all the whole kit of 'em 
 numbered like hackney-coaches — an't they 1 " 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 313 
 
 " Toucli me ! Let me be sure of this. Touch me !" 
 
 " You '11 take your next draught when I 've made the kettle bile," 
 retorted Mrs. Gamp, composedly, " and you '11 be touched then. You 'II 
 be touched up, too, if you don't take it quiet." 
 
 " Five hundred and twenty-eight, five hundred and twenty-nine, five 
 hundred and thirty. — Look here 1" 
 
 " What 's the matter now?" said Mrs. Gamp. 
 
 " They 're coming four abreast, each man with his arm entwined in the 
 next man's, and his hand upon his shoulder. What 's that upon the 
 arm of every man, and on the flag'?" 
 
 " Spiders, p'raps," said Mrs. Gamp. 
 
 "Crape ! Black crape ! Good God ! why do they wear it outside 1" 
 
 " Would you have 'em carry black crape in their insides?" Mrs. Gamp 
 retorted. " Hold your noise, hold your noise." 
 
 The fire beginning by this time to impart a grateful warmth, Mrs. 
 Gamp became silent ; gradually rubbed her nose more and more slowly 
 along the top of the fender ; and fell into a heavy doze. She was awakened 
 by the room ringing (as she fancied) with a name she knew : 
 
 "Chuzzlewit!" 
 
 The sound was so distinct and real, and so full of agonised entreaty, 
 that Mrs. Gamp jumped up in terror, and ran to the door. She expected 
 to find the passage filled with people, come to tell her that the house ia 
 the city had taken fire. But the place was empty : not a soul was 
 there. She opened the window, and looked out. Dark, dull, dingy, 
 and desolate house-tops. As she passed to her seat again, she glanced at 
 the patient. Just the same ; but silent. Mrs. Gamp was so warm now, 
 that she threw ofi" the watchman's coat, and fanned herself. 
 
 " It seemed to make the wery bottles ring," she said. " What could I 
 have been a-dreaming of? That dratted Chuffey, I '11 be bound." 
 
 The supposition was probable enough. At any rate, a pinch of snufF, 
 and the song of the steaming kettle, quite restored the tone of Mrs. Gamp's 
 nerves, which were none of the weakest. She brewed her tea ; made 
 some buttered toast j and sat down at the tea-board, with her face to the 
 fire. 
 
 When once asrain, in a tone more terrible than that which had vibrated 
 in her slumbering ear, these words were shrieked out : 
 
 "Chuzzlewit! Jonas! No!" 
 
 Mrs. Gamp dropped the cup she was in the act of raising to her lips, 
 and turned round with a start that made the little teaboard leap. The 
 cry had come from the bed. 
 
 It was bright morning the next time Mrs. Gamp looked out of window, 
 and the sun was rising cheerfully. Lighter and lighter grew the sky, and 
 noisier the streets ; and high into the summer air uprose the smoke of 
 newly kindled fires, until the busy day was broad awake. 
 
 Mrs. Prig relieved punctually, having passed a good night at her other 
 patient's. Mr. Westlock came at the same time, but he was not admitted, 
 the disorder being infectious. The doctor came too. The doctor shook his 
 head. It was all he could do, under the circumstances, and he did it well. 
 
 " What sort of a night, nurse 1" 
 
314 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Restless, sir," said Mrs. Gamp. 
 
 " Talk mucli V 
 
 " Middling, sir," said Mrs. Gamp. 
 
 " Nothing to the purpose, I suppose ]" 
 
 " Oh bless you no, sir. Only jargon." 
 
 " Well !" said the doctor, " we must keep him quiet ; keep the room 
 cool ; give him his draughts regularly j and see that he 's carefully looked 
 to. That's all !" 
 
 " And as long as Mrs. Prig and me waits upon him, sir, no fear of that," 
 said Mrs. Gamp. 
 
 " I suppose," observed Mrs. Prig, when they had curtsied the doctor 
 out : " there 's nothin' new ?" 
 
 ''•^^ " Nothin' at all, my. dear," said Mrs. Gamp. "He's rather wearin' 
 in his talk from making up a lot of names ; elseways you need n't 
 mind him." 
 
 " Oh, I shan't mind him," Mrs. Prig returned. " I have somethin' else 
 to think of." 
 
 " I pays my debts to-night, you know, my dear, and comes afore my 
 time," said Mrs. Gamp. " But Betsey Prig " — speaking with great 
 feeling, and laying her hand upon her arm — " try the cowcumbers, God 
 bless you ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED MEETING, AND A PROMISING PROSPECT. 
 
 The laws of sympathy between beards and birds, and the secret 
 source of that attraction which frequently impels a shaver of the one to 
 be a dealer in the other, are questions for the subtle reasoning of 
 scientific bodies : not the less so, because their investigation would 
 seem calculated to lead to no particular result. It is enough to know 
 that the artist who had the honour of entertaining Mrs. Gamp as his 
 first-floor lodger, united the two pursuits of barbering and bird-fancying ; 
 and that it was not an original idea of his, but one in which he had, 
 dispersed about the bye-streets and suburbs of the town, a host of rivals. 
 
 The name of this householder was Paul Sweedlepipe. But he was 
 commonly called Poll Sweedlepipe ; and was not uncommonly believed 
 to have been so christened, among his friends and neighbours. 
 
 With the exception of the staircase, and his lodger's private apart- 
 ment. Poll Sweedlepipe's house was one great bird's nest. Game-cocks 
 resided in the kitchen ; pheasants wasted the brightness of their golden 
 plumage on the garret ; bantams roosted in the cellar ; owls had pos- 
 session of the bed-room ; and specimens of all the smaller fry of birds 
 chirrupped and twittered in the shop. The staircase was sacred to 
 rabbits. There, in hutches of all shapes and kinds, made from old 
 packing-cases, boxes, drawers, and tea-chests, they increased in a prodi- 
 gious degree, and contributed their share towards that complicated 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 315 
 
 whifF wtlcli, quite impartially, and without distinction of persons, 
 saluted every nose that "was put into Sweedlepipe's easy shaving- 
 shop. 
 
 Many noses found their way there, for all that, especially on a Sunday 
 morning, before church-time. Even Archbishops shave, or must be 
 shaved, on a Sunday, and beards icill grow after twelve o'clock on 
 Saturday night, though it be upon the chins of base mechanics : who, 
 not being able to engage their valets by the quarter, hire them by the 
 job, and pay them — -oh, the wickedness of copper coin ! — in dirty pence. 
 Poll Sweedlepipe, the sinner, shaved all comers at a penny each, and 
 cut the hair of any customer for twopence ; and being a lone unmarried 
 man, and having some connection in the bird line, Poll got on tolerably 
 well. 
 
 He was a little elderly man, with a clammy cold right hand, from 
 which even rabbits and birds could not remove the smell of shaving- 
 soap. Poll had something of the bird in his nature ; not of the hawk 
 or eagle, but of the sparrow, that builds in chimney-stacks, and inclines 
 to human company. He was not quarrelsome, though, like the sparrow j 
 but peaceful, like the dove. In his walk he strutted ; and, in this respect, 
 he bore a faint resemblance to the pigeon, as well as in a certain prosi- 
 ness of speech, which might, in its monotony, be likened to the cooing 
 of that bird. He was very inquisitive ; and when he stood at his 
 shop-door in the evening-tide, watching the neighbours, with his head 
 on one side, and his eye cocked knowingly, there was a dash of the raven 
 in him. Yet, there was no more wickedness in Poll than in a robin. 
 Happily, too, when any of his ornithological properties were on the verge 
 of going too far, they were quenched, dissolved, melted down, and 
 neutralised in the barber ; just as his bald head — otherwise, as the head 
 of a shaved magpie — lost itself in a wig of curly black ringlets, parted 
 on one side, and cut away almost to the crown, to indicate immense 
 capacity of intellect. 
 
 Poll had a very small, shrill, treble voice, which might have led the 
 wags of Kingsgate Street to insist the more upon his feminine designa- 
 tion. He had a tender heart, too ; for, when he had a good commis- 
 sion to provide three or four score sparrows for a shooting-match, he 
 would observe, in a compassionate tone, how singular it was that 
 sparrows should have been made expressly for such purposes. The 
 question, whether men were made to shoot them, never entered into 
 Poll's philosophy. 
 
 Poll wore, in his sporting character, a velveteen coat, a great deal of 
 blue stocking, ankle boots, a neckerchief of some bright colour, and 
 a very tall hat. Pursuing his more quiet occupation of barber, he 
 generally subsided into an apron not over-clean, a flannel jacket, and 
 corduroy knee-shorts. It vras in this latter costume, but with his apron 
 girded round his waist, as a token of his having shut up shop for the 
 night, that he closed the door one evening, some weeks after the occur- 
 rences detailed in the last chapter, and stood upon the steps, in Kings- 
 gate Street, listening until the little cracked bell within should leave 
 off ringing. For, until it did — this was Mr. Sweedlepipe's reflection — 
 the place never seemed quiet enough to be left to itself. 
 
316 LIFE AND ADYENTUEES OP 
 
 " It's the greediest little bell to ring," said Poll, " that ever was. 
 But it's quiet at last." 
 
 He rolled his apron up a little tighter as he said these words, and 
 hastened down the street. Just as he was turning into Holborn, he ran 
 against a young gentleman in a livery. This youth was bold, though 
 small, and, with several lively expressions of displeasure, turned upon him 
 instantly. 
 
 "Now, Stoo-PiD !" cried the young gentleman. "Can't you look 
 where you 're a going to — eh 1 Can't you mind where you 're a coming 
 to — eh ? What do you think your eyes was made for — eh 1 Ah ! Yes. 
 Oh! Now then!" 
 
 The young gentleman pronounced the two last words in a very loud 
 tone and with frightful emphasis, as though they contained within them- 
 selves the essence of the direst aggravation. But he had scarcely done so, 
 when his anger yielded to surprise, and he cried, in a milder tone : 
 
 "What! Polly!" 
 
 " Why it an't you, sure !" cried Poll. " It can't be you !" 
 
 " No. It an't me," returned the youth. " It 's my son : my oldest 
 one. He's a credit to his father; ain't he, Polly?" With this delicate 
 little piece of banter, he halted on the pavement, and went round and 
 round in circles, for the better exhibition of his figure : rather to the in- 
 convenience of the passengers generally, who were not in an equal state 
 of spirits with himself. 
 
 "I wouldn't have believed it," said Poll. "What! You've left 
 your old place, then 1 Have you 1 " 
 
 " Have I !" returned his young friend, who had by this time stuck his 
 hands into the pockets of his white cord breeches, and was swaggering 
 along at the barber's side. " D'ye know a pair of top-boots when you 
 gee 'em, Polly? — look here !" 
 
 "Beau-ti-ful !" cried Mr. Sweedlepipe. 
 
 "D'ye know a slap-up sort of button, w^hen you see it?" said the 
 youth. " Don't look at mine, if you ain't a judge, because these lions' 
 heads was made for men of taste : not snobs." 
 
 "Beau-ti-ful!" cried the barber again. " A grass-green frock-coat, 
 too, bound with gold ! and a cockade in your hat." 
 
 " / should hope so," replied the youth. " Blow the cockade, though ; 
 for, except that it don't turn round, its like the wentilator that used to 
 be in the kitchin winder at Todgers's. You ain't seen the old lady's 
 name in the Gazette, have you ?" 
 
 " No," returned the barber. " Is she a bankrupt ?" 
 
 " If she ain't, she will be," retorted Bailey. " That bis'ness never can 
 be carried on without 77ie. Well ! How are you?" 
 
 " Oh ! I'm pretty well," said Poll. "Are you living at this end of 
 the town, or were you coming to see me ? Was that the bis'ness that 
 brought you to Holborn ? " 
 
 " I haven't got no bis'ness in Holborn," returned Bailey, with some 
 displeasure. " All my bis'ness lays at the West End. I've got the 
 right sort of Governor now. You can't see his face for his whiskers, and 
 can't see his whiskers for the dye upon 'em. That's a gentleman, a'nt 
 it 1 You wouldn't like a ride in a cab, would you ? Why, it wouldn't 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 317 
 
 be safe to offer it. You'd faint away, only to see me a comin' at a mild 
 trot round the corner." 
 
 To convey a slight idea of the effect of this approach, Mr. Bailey coun- 
 terfeited in his own person the action of a high-trotting horse, and threw 
 up his head so high, in backing against a pump, that he shook his hat off. 
 
 " Why, he's own uncle to Capricorn," said Bailey, " and brother to 
 Cauliflower. He 's been through the winders of two chancy shops since 
 we've had him, and wos sold for killin' his missis. That's a horse, 
 I hope?" 
 
 " Ah ! you '11 never want to buy any more red-polls, now," observed 
 Poll, looking on his young friend with an air of melancholy. " You '11 
 never want to buy any more red-polls now, to hang up over the sink, 
 will you V 
 
 " / should think not," replied Bailey. " Reether so. I wouldn't 
 have nothin' to say to any bird below a Peacock ; and he 'd be wulgar. 
 Well, how are you V 
 
 " Oh ! I 'm pretty well," said Poll. He answered the question again 
 because Mr. Bailey asked it again ; Mr. Bailey asked it again, because — 
 accompanied with a straddling action of the white cords, a bend of the 
 knees, and a striking-forth of the top-boots — it was an easy, horse-fleshy, 
 turfy sort of thing to do. 
 
 "Wot are you up to, old feller?" asked Mr. Bailey, with the same 
 graceful rakishness. He was quite the man-about-town of the conversa- 
 tion, while the easy-shaver was the child. 
 
 " Why, I am going to fetch my lodger home," said Paul. 
 
 " A woman !" cried Mr. Bailey, " for a twenty-pun' note ! " 
 
 The little barber hastened to explain that she was neither a young 
 woman, nor a handsome woman, but a nurse, who had been acting as a 
 kind of housekeeper to a gentleman for some weeks past, and left her 
 place that night, in consequence of being superseded by another and a 
 more legitimate housekeeper : to wit, the gentleman's bride. 
 
 " He 's newly-married, and he brings his young wife home to-night," 
 said the barber. " So I 'm going to fetch my lodger away — Mr. Chuz- 
 zlewit's, close behind the Post-office — and carry her box for her." 
 
 "Jonas Chuzzlewit's ?" said Bailey. 
 
 " Ah 1 " returned Paul : " that 's the name, sure enough. Do you 
 know him?" 
 
 "Oh, no !" cried Mr. Bailey; "not at all. And I don't know her? 
 Not neither ? Why, they first kept company through me, a'most." 
 
 "Ah?" said Paul. 
 
 "Ah !" said Mr. Bailey, with a wink; "and she ain't bad-looking, 
 mind you. But her sister was the best. She was the merry one. I 
 often used to have a bit of fun with her, in the hold times !" 
 
 Mr. Bailey spoke as if he already had a leg and three-quarters in the 
 grave, and this had happened twenty or thirty years ago. Paul 
 Sweedlepipe, the meek, was so perfectly confounded by his precocious self- 
 possession, and his patronising manner, as well as by his boots, cockade, 
 and livery, that a mist swam before his eyes, and he saw — not the Bailey of 
 acknowledged juvenility, from Todgers's Commercial Boarding House, 
 
318 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 who had made his acquaintance within a twelvemonth, by purchasing, at 
 sundry times, small birds at twopence each — but a highly-condensed 
 embodiment of all the sporting grooms in London ; an abstract of all the 
 stable-knowledge of the time ; a something at a high-pressure that must 
 have had existence many years, and was fraught with terrible experiences. 
 And truly, though in the cloudy atmosphere of Todgers's Mr. Bailey's ge- 
 nius had ever shone out brightly in this particular respect, it now eclipsed 
 both time and space, cheated beholders of their senses, and worked 
 on their belief in defiance of all natural laws. He walked along the 
 tangible and real stones of Holborn-hill, an under-sized boy; and yet he 
 winked the winks, and thought the thoughts, and did the deeds, and 
 said the sayings, of an ancient man. There was an old principle within 
 him, and a young surface without. He became an inexplicable creature ; 
 a breeched and booted Sphinx. There was no course open to the 
 barber but to go distracted himself, or to take Bailey for granted : and 
 he wisely chose the latter. 
 
 Mr. Bailey was good enough to continue to bear him company, and 
 to entertain him, as they went, with easy conversation on various 
 sporting topics ; especially on the comparative merits, as a general prin- 
 ciple, of horses with white stockings, and horses without. In regard 
 to the style of tail to be preferred, Mr. Bailey had opinions of his own, 
 which he explained, but begged they might by no means influence his 
 friends, as here he knew he had the misfortune to differ from some 
 excellent authorities. He treated Mr. Sweedlepipe to a dram, compounded 
 agreeably to his own directions, which he informed him had been invented 
 by a member of the Jockey Club ; and, as they were by this time near 
 the barber s destination, he observed that, as he had an hour to spare, and 
 knew the parties, he would, if quite agreeable, be introduced to Mrs. Gamp. 
 
 Paul knocked at Jonas Chuzzlewit's ; and, on the door being opened 
 by that lady, made the two distinguished persons known to one another. 
 It was a happy feature in Mrs. Gamp's twofold profession, that it gave 
 her an interest in everything that was young as well as in everything that 
 was old. She received Mr. Bailey with much kindness. 
 
 " It 's very good, I 'm sure, of you to come," she said to her landlord, 
 " as well as bring so nice a friend. But I 'm afraid that I must trouble 
 you so far as to step in, for the young couple has not yet made 
 appearance." 
 
 " They 're late, ain't they?" inquired her landlord, when she had 
 conducted them down stairs into the kitchen. 
 
 " Well, sir, considerin' the Wings of Love, they are," said Mrs. Gamp. 
 
 Mr. Bailey inquired whether the Wings of Love had ever won a 
 plate, or could be backed to do anything remarkable ; and being in- 
 formed that it was not a horse, but merely a poetical or figurative 
 expression, evinced considerable disgust. Mrs. Gamp was so very much 
 astonished by his affable manners and great ease, that she was about to 
 propound to her landlord in a whisper the staggering inquiry, whether 
 he was a man or a boy, when Mr. Sweedlepipe, anticipating her design, 
 made a timely diversion. 
 
 " He knows Mrs. Chuzzlewit," said Paul aloud. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 319 
 
 " There 's nothin' he don't know ; that 's my opinion," observed Mrs. 
 Gamp. " All the wickedness of the world is Print to him." 
 
 Mr. Bailey received this as a compliment, and said, adjusting his 
 cravat, " reether so." 
 
 " As you knows Mrs. Chuzzlewit, you knows, p'raps, what her chris'en 
 name is?" Mrs. Gamp observed. 
 
 " Charity," said Bailey. 
 
 " That it ain't !" cried Mrs. Gamp. 
 
 " Cherry, then," said Bailey. " Cherry's short for it. It's all the same. 
 
 " It don't begin with a C at all," retorted Mrs. Gamp, shaking her 
 head. " It begins with a M." 
 
 " Whew !" cried Mr. Bailey, slapping a little cloud of pipeclay out of 
 his left leg, " then he 's been and married the merry one ! " 
 
 As these words were mysterious, Mrs. Gamp called upon him to 
 explain, which Mr. Bailey proceeded to do : that lady listening greedily 
 to everything he said. He was yet in the fulness of his narrative when 
 the sound of wheels, and a double knock at the street door, announced 
 the arrival of the newly-married couple. Begging him to reserve what 
 more he had to say, for her hearing on the way home, Mrs. Gamp took up 
 the candle, and hurried away to receive and welcome the young mistress 
 of the house. 
 
 " Wishing you appiness and joy with all my art," said Mrs. Gamp 
 dropping a curtsey as they entered the hall ; " and you too, sir. Your 
 lady looks a little tired with the journey, Mr. Chuzzlewit, a pretty dear !" 
 
 " She has bothered enough about it," grumbled Mr. Jonas. " Now, 
 show a light, will you ! " 
 
 " This way, ma'am, if you please," said Mrs. Gamp, going up-stairs 
 before them. " Things has been made as comfortable as they could be ; 
 but there 's many things you '11 have to alter your own self when you 
 gets time to look about you. Ah ! sweet thing ! But you don't," 
 added Mrs. Gamp, internally, " you don't look much like a merry one, 
 I must say ! " 
 
 It was true ; she did not. The death that had gone before the 
 bridal seemed to have left its shade upon the house. The air was 
 heavy and oppressive ; the rooms were dark ; a deep gloom filled up 
 every chink and corner. Upon the hearthstone, like a creature of ill 
 omen, sat the aged clerk, with his eyes fixed on some withered branches 
 in the stove. He rose and looked at her. 
 
 " So there you are, Mr. Chuff," said Jonas carelessly, as he dusted his 
 boots ; "■ still in the land of the living, eh ? " 
 
 " Still in the land of the living, sir," retorted Mrs. Gamp. " And Mr. 
 Chuffey may thank you for it, as many and many a time I 've told him." 
 
 Mr, Jonas was not in the best of humours, for he merely said, as he 
 looked round, "We don't want you any more, you know, Mrs. Gamp." 
 
 " I 'm a going immediate, sir," returned the nurse ; " unless there 's 
 nothink I can do for you, ma'am. Ain't there," said Mrs, Gamp, with 
 a look of great sweetness, and rummaging all the time in her pocket ; 
 " ain't there nothink I can do for you, my little bird 1 " 
 
 " No," said Merry, almost crying. " You had better go away, please !" 
 
320 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 With a leer of mingled sweetness and slyness ; witli one eye on tlie 
 future, one on the bride ; and an arch expression in her face, partly 
 spiritual, partly spirituous, and wholly professional and peculiar to her 
 art ; Mrs. Gamp rummaged in her pocket again, and took from it a 
 printed card, whereon was an inscription copied from her sign-board. 
 
 " Would you be so good, my darling dovey of a dear young married 
 lady," Mrs. Gamp observed, in a low voice, " as put that somewheres 
 where you can keep it in your mind ? I 'm well beknown to many 
 ladies, and it 's my card. Gamp is my name, and Gamp my nater. 
 Livin' quite handy, I will make so bold as call in now and then, and 
 make inquiry how your health and spirits is, my precious chick !" 
 
 And with innumerable leers, winks, coughs, nods, smiles, and curt- 
 sies, all leading to the establishment of a mysterious and confidential 
 understanding between herself and the bride, Mrs. Gamp, invoking a 
 blessing upon the house, leered, winked, coughed, nodded, smiled, and 
 curtsied herself out of the room. 
 
 " But I will say, and I would if I was led a Martha to the Stakes for 
 it," Mrs. Gamp remarked below-stairs, in a whisper, " that she don't 
 look much like a merry one at this present moment of time." 
 
 " Ah ! wait till you hear her laugh 1" said Bailey. 
 
 " Hem !" cried Mrs. Gamp, in a kind of groan. "I will, child." 
 
 They said no more in the house, for Mrs. Gamp put on her bonnet, 
 Mr. Sweedlepipe took up her box, and Mr. Bailey accompanied them 
 towards Kingsgate Street ; recounting to Mrs. Gamp, as they went along, 
 the origin and progress of his acquaintance with Mrs. Chuzzlewit and 
 her sister. It was a pleasant instance of this youth's precocity, that he 
 fancied Mrs. Gamp had conceived a tenderness for him, and was much 
 tickled by her misplaced attachment. 
 
 As the door closed heavily behind them, Mrs. Jonas sat down in a 
 chair, and felt a strange chill creep upon her, whilst she looked about the 
 room. It was pretty much as she had known it, but appeared more 
 dreary. She had thought to see it brightened to receive her. 
 
 " It ain't good enough for you, I supposed " said Jonas, watching her looks. 
 
 " Why, it is dull," said Merry, trying to be more herself. 
 
 " It '11 be duller before you 're done with it," retorted Jonas, " if you 
 give me any of your airs. You 're a nice article, to turn sulky on 
 first coming home ! 'Ecod, you used to have life enough, when you 
 could plague me with it. The gal's down stairs. Eing the bell for 
 supper, while I take my boots oif !" 
 
 She roused herself from looking after him as he left the room, to do 
 what he had desired : when the old man Chuffey laid his hand softly on 
 her arm. 
 
 " You are not married ?" he said eagerly. " Not married ?" 
 
 " Yes. A month ago. Good Heaven, what is the matter 1" 
 
 He answered nothing was the matter ; and turned from her. But 
 in her fear and wonder, turning also, she saw him raise his trembling 
 hands above his head, and heard him say : 
 
 " Oh ! woe, woe, woe, upon this wicked house !" 
 
 It was her welcome, — Home. 
 

 "^ Ua/mAyAa^ d&'i' .£yi/ey^/2y.Me^/^^^^^. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 321 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 SHOWING THAT OLD FRIENDS MAY NOT ONLY APPEAR WITH NEW FACES, 
 BUT IN FALSE COLOURS. THAT PEOPLE ARE PRONE TO BITE j AND 
 THAT BITERS MAY SOMETIMES BE BITTEN. 
 
 Mr. Bailey, Junior — for the sporting character, whilom of general 
 utility at Todgers's, had now regularly set up in life under that name, 
 without troubling himself to obtain from the legislature a direct licence 
 in the form of a Private Bill, which of all kinds and classes of bills is 
 without exception the most unreasonable in its charges — Mr. Bailey, 
 Junior, just tall enough to be seen by an inquiring eye, gazing indolently 
 at society from beneath the apron of his master's cab, drove slowly 
 up and down Pall Mall about the hour of noon, in waiting for his 
 " Governor." The horse of distinguished family, who had Capricorn for 
 his nephew, and Cauliflower for his brother, showed himself worthy of 
 his high relations by champing at the bit until his chest was white with 
 foam, and rearing like a horse in heraldry ; the plated harness and the 
 patent leather glittered in the sun ; pedestrians admired ; Mr. Bailey 
 was complacent, but unmoved. He seemed to say, " A barrow, good 
 people, a mere barrow ; nothing to what we could do, if we chose ! " 
 and on he went, squaring his short green arms outside the apron, as if 
 he were hooked on to it by his armpits. 
 
 Mr. Bailey had a great opinion of Brother to Cauliflower, and esti- 
 mated his powers highly. But he never told him so. On the contrary, 
 it was his practice, in driving that animal, to assail him with disrespectful, 
 if not injurious, expressions, as, " Ah ! would you ! " " Did you think 
 it then ? " " Where are you going to now ?" " No you won't, my lad !'* 
 and similar fragmentary remarks. These being usually accompanied 
 by a jerk of the rein, or a crack of the whip, led to many trials of 
 strength between them, and to many contentions for the upper hand, 
 terminating, now and then, in china-shops, and other unusual goals, as 
 Mr. Bailey had already hinted to his friend Poll Sweedlepipe. 
 
 On the present occasion Mr. Bailey, being in spirits, was more than 
 commonly hard upon his charge ; in consequence of which that fiery 
 animal confined himself almost entirely to his hind legs in displaying 
 his paces, and constantly got himself into positions with reference to the 
 cabriolet that very much amazed the passengers in the street. But 
 Mr. Bailey, not at all disturbed, had still a shower of pleasantries to 
 bestow on any one who crossed his path : as calling to a full-grown 
 coalheaver in a wagon, who for a moment blocked the way, "Now, 
 young 'un, who trusted you with a cart ?" inquiring of elderly ladies 
 who wanted to cross, and ran back again, " Why they didn't go to the 
 workhouse and get an order to be buried ;" tempting boys, with friendly 
 words, to get up behind, and immediately afterwards cutting them 
 down : and the like flashes of a cheerful humour, which he would 
 occasionally relieve by going round St. James's Square at a hand gallop, 
 and coming slowly into Pall Mall by another entry, as if, in the interval, 
 his pace had been a perfect crawl. 
 
322 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 It was not until these amusements had been very often repeated, 
 and the apple-stall at the corner had sustained so many miraculous 
 escapes as to appear impregnable, that Mr. Bailey was summoned 
 to the door of a certain house in Pall Mall, and turning short, 
 obeyed the call and jumped out. It was not until he had held the 
 bridle for some minutes longer, every jerk of Cauliflower's brother's 
 head, and every twitch of Cauliflower's brother's nostril, taking him off 
 his legs in the meanwhile, that two persons entered the vehicle, one of 
 whom took the reins and drove rapidly off. Nor was it until Mr. Bailey 
 had run after it some hundreds of yards in vain, that he managed to 
 lift his short leg into the iron step, and Anally to get his boots upon 
 the little footboard behind. Then, indeed, he became a sight to see : 
 and — standing now on one foot and now upon the other ; now trying to 
 look round the cab on this side, now on that; and now endeavouring 
 to peep over the top of it, as it went dashing in among the carts and 
 coaches — was from head to heel Newmarket. 
 
 The appearance of Mr. Bailey's governor as he drove along, fully justi- 
 fied that enthusiastic youth's description of him to the wondering Poll. 
 He had a world of jet-black shining hair upon his head, upon his cheeks, 
 upon his chin, upon his upper lip. His clothes, symmetrically made, were 
 of the newest fashion and the costliest kind. Flowers of gold and blue, 
 and green and blushing red, were on his waistcoat ; precious chains and 
 jewels sparkled on his breast ; his fingers, clogged with brilliant rings, 
 were as unwieldy as summer flies but newly rescued from a honey-pot. 
 The daylight mantled in his gleaming hat and boots as in a polished 
 glass. And yet, though changed his name, and changed his outward 
 surface, it was Tigg. Though turned and twisted upside down, and 
 inside out, as great men have been sometimes known to be ; though no 
 longer Montague Tigg, but Tigg Montague ; still it was Tigg : the 
 same Satanic, gallant, military Tigg. The brass was burnished, lac- 
 quered, newly-stamped ; yet it was the true Tigg metal notwithstanding. 
 
 Beside him sat a smiling gentleman, of less pretensions and of 
 business looks, whom he addressed as David. Surely not the David of 
 the — how shall it be phrased ? — the triumvirate of golden balls? Not 
 David, tapster at the Lombards' Arms ? Y es. The very man. 
 
 " The secretary's salary, David," said Mr. Montague, " the office 
 being now established, is eight hundred pounds per annum, with his 
 house-rent, coals, and candles free. His five-and-twenty shares he 
 holds, of course. Is that enough?" 
 
 David smiled and nodded, and coughed behind a little locked port- 
 folio which he carried ; with an air that proclaimed him to be the 
 secretary in question. 
 
 " If that 's enough," said Montague, " I will propose it at the Board 
 to-day, in my capacity as chairman." 
 
 The secretary smiled again ; laughed, indeed, this time ; and said, 
 rubbing his nose slyly with one end of the portfolio : 
 
 " It was a capital thought, wasn't it ?" 
 
 " What was a capital thought, David ?" Mr. Montague inquired. 
 " The Anglo-Bengalee," tittered the secretary. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 323 
 
 " The Anglo-Bengalee Disiaterested Loan and Life Insurance Com- 
 pany, is rather a capital concern, I hope, David," said jMontague. 
 
 " Capital indeed !" cried the secretary, with another laugh — " in one 
 sense." 
 
 " In the only important one," observed the chairman ; " which is 
 number one, David." 
 
 " What," asked the secretary, bursting into another laugh, " what 
 will be the paid up capital according to the next prospectus V 
 
 " A figure of two, and as many oughts after it as the printer can get 
 into the same line," replied his friend. " Ha, ha !" 
 
 At this they both laughed ; the secretary so vehemently, that in 
 kicking up his feet, he kicked the apron open, and nearly started 
 Cauliflower s brother into an oyster-shop ; not to mention Mr. Bailey's 
 receiving such a sudden swing, that he held on for the moment, quite a 
 young Fame, by one strap and no legs. 
 
 " What a chap you are !" exclaimed David admiringly, w^hen this 
 little alarm had subsided. 
 
 " Say genius, David, genius." 
 
 " Well, upon my soul, you are a genius then," said David. " I 
 always knew you had the gift of the gab, of course ; but I never believed 
 you were half the man you are. How could I ?" 
 
 " I rise with circumstances, David. That 's a point of genius in 
 itself," said Tigg. " If you were to lose a hundred pound wager to me 
 at this minute, David, and were to pay it (which is most confoundedly 
 improbable), I should rise, in a mental point of view, directly." 
 
 It is due to Mr. Tigg to say. that he had really risen with his oppor- 
 tunities ; and peculating on a grander scale, had become a grander man, 
 altogether. 
 
 " Ha, ha," cried the secretary, laying his hand, with growing fa- 
 miliarity, upon the chairman's arm. " When I look at you, and think 
 of your property in Bengal being — ha, ha, ha ! — " 
 
 The half-expressed idea seemed no less ludicrous to Mr. Tigg than to 
 his friend, for he laughed too, heartily. 
 
 " — Being," resumed David, " being amenable — your property in 
 Bengal being amenable — to all claims upon the company : when I look 
 at you and think of that, you might tickle me into fits by waving the 
 feather of a pen at me. Upon my soul you might ! " 
 
 " It 's a devilish fine property," said Tigg Montague, " to be amenable 
 to any claims. The preserve of tigers alone is worth a mint of money 
 David." 
 
 David could only reply in the intervals of his laughter, " Oh, what a 
 chap you are ! " and so continued to laugh, and hold his sides, and wipe 
 his eyes, for some time, without offering any other observation. 
 
 " A capital idea 1 " said Tigg, returning after a time to his com- 
 panion's first remark: " no doubt it was a capital idea. It was my idea.'* 
 
 " No, no. It was my idea," said David. '' Hang it, let a man have 
 some credit. Didn't I say to you that I 'd saved a few pounds 1 — " 
 
 " You said ! Didn't I say to you," interposed Tigg, " that / had 
 come into a few pounds 1 " 
 
 Y'2 
 
324 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Certainly you did," returned David, warmly, " but that 's not the 
 idea. Who said, that if we put the money together we could furnish an 
 office, and make a show 1 " 
 
 " And who said," retorted Mr. Tigg, " that, providing we did it on 
 a sufficiently large scale, we could furnish an office and make a show, 
 without any money at all 1 Be rational, and just, and calm, and tell me 
 whose idea was that." 
 
 " Why there," David was obliged to confess, " you had the advantage 
 of me, I admit. But I don't put myself on a level with you. I only 
 want a little credit in the business." 
 
 " All the credit you deserve, you have," said Tigg. " The plain 
 work of the company, David — figures, books, circulars, advertisements, 
 pen ink and paper, sealing-wax and wafers — is admirably done by you. 
 You are a first-rate groveller. I don't dispute it. But the ornamental 
 department, David ; the inventive and poetical department — " 
 
 ' Is entirely yours," said his friend. " No question of it. But with 
 such a swell turn-out as this, and all the handsome things you 've got 
 about you, and the life you lead, I mean to say it 's a precious com- 
 fortable department too." 
 
 " Does it gain the purpose 1 Is it Anglo-Bengalee 1 " asked Tigg. 
 . « Yes," said David. 
 
 " Could you undertake it yourself 1 " demanded Tigg. 
 " No," said David. 
 
 " Ha, ha ! " laughed Tigg. " Then be contented with your station 
 and your profits, David, my fine fellow, and bless the day that made us 
 acquainted across the counter of our common uncle, for it was a golden 
 day to you." 
 
 It will have been already gathered from the conversation of these 
 worthies, that they were embarked in an enterprise of some magnitude, 
 in which they addressed the public in general from the strong position 
 of having everything to gain, and nothing at all to lose ; and which, 
 based upon this great principle, was thriving pretty comfortably. 
 
 The Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Insurance Company, 
 started into existence one morning, not an Infant Institution, but a 
 Grown-up Company running alone at a great pace, and doing business 
 right and left : with a " branch " in a first floor over a tailor's at the 
 west-end of the town, and main offices in a new street in the city, com- 
 prising the upper part of a spacious house, resplendent in stucco and 
 plate-glass, with wire blinds in all the windows, and " Anglo-Bengalee " 
 worked into the pattern of every one of them. On the door-post was 
 painted again in large letters, " Offices of the Anglo-Bengalee Disin- 
 terested Loan and Life Insurance Company," and on the door was a 
 large brass plate with the same inscription : always kept very bright, as 
 courting inquiry ; staring the city out of countenance after office-hours 
 on working days, and all day long on Sundays ; and looking bolder than 
 the Bank. Within, the offices were newly plastered, newly painted, 
 newly papered, newly countered, newly floor-clothed, newly tabled, newly 
 chaired, newly fitted-up in every way, with goods that were substantial 
 and expensive, and designed (like the company) to last. Business ! Look 
 at the green ledgers with red backs, like strong cricket-balls beaten flat ; 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 325 
 
 the court-guides, directories, day-books, almanacks, letter-boxes, weighing- 
 macbines for letters, rows of fire-buckets for dashing out a conflagration 
 in its first spark, and saving the immense -wealtli in notes and bonds 
 belonging to the company ; look at the iron safes, the clock, the office 
 seal — in its capacious self, security for anything. Solidity ! Look at the 
 massive blocks of marble in the chimney-pieces, and the gorgeous parapet 
 on the top of the house ! Publicity ! Why, Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested 
 Loan and Life Insurance Company, is painted on the very coal-scuttles. 
 It is repeated at every turn until the eyes are dazzled with it, and the 
 head is giddy. It is engraved upon the top of all the letter-paper, and it 
 makes a scroll-work round the seal, and it shines out of the porter's buttons, 
 and it is repeated twenty times in every circular and public notice wherein 
 one David Crimple, Esquire, Secretary and resident Director, takes the 
 liberty of inviting your attention to the accompanying statement of the 
 advantages offered by the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life 
 Insurance Company : and fully proves to you that any connection on your 
 part with that establishment must result in a perpetual Christmas Box 
 and constantly increasing Bonus to yourself, and that nobody can run any 
 risk by the transaction except the office, which, in its great liberality, is 
 pretty sure to lose. And this, David Crimple, Esquire, submits to you 
 (and the odds are heavy you believe him), is the best guarantee that can 
 reasonably be suggested by the Board of Management for its permanence 
 and stability. 
 
 This gentleman's name, by the way, had been originally Crimp : but 
 as the word was susceptible of an awkward construction and might be 
 misrepresented, he had altered it to Crimple. 
 
 Lest with all these proofs and confirmations, any man should be sus- 
 picious of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Insurance 
 Company ; should doubt in tiger, cab, or person, Tigg Montague Esquire 
 (of Pall Mall and Bengal), or any other name in the imaginative List of 
 Directors ; there was a porter on the premises — a wonderful creature, in 
 a vast red waistcoat and a short-tailed pepper-and-salt coat — who carried 
 more conviction to the minds of sceptics than the whole establisliment 
 without him. No confidences existed between him and the Directorship ; 
 nobody knew where he had served last ; no character or explanation had 
 been given or required. No questions had been asked on either side. 
 This mysterious being, relying solely on his figure, had applied for the 
 situation, and had been instantly engaged on his own terms. They were 
 high ; but he knew, doubtless, that no man could carry such an extent 
 of waistcoat as himself, and felt the full value of his capacity to such an 
 institution. When he sat upon a seat erected for him in a corner of the 
 office, with his glazed hat hanging on a peg over his head, it was im- 
 possible to doubt the respectability of the concern. It went on doubling 
 itself with every square inch of his red waistcoat until, like the problem 
 of the nails in the horse's shoes, the total became enormous. People had 
 been known to apply to effect an insurance on their lives for a thousand 
 pounds, and looking at him, to beg, before the form of proposal was filled 
 up, that it might be made two. And yet he was not a giant. His coat 
 v.-as rather small than otherwise. The whole charm was in his waistcoat. 
 
326 • LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Respectability, competence, property in Bengal or anywhere else, responsi- 
 bility to any amount on the part of the company that employed him, 
 were all expressed in that one garment. 
 
 Rival offices had endeavoured to lure him away ; Lombard-street 
 itself had beckoned to him ; rich companies had whispered " Be a 
 Beadle!" but he still continued faithful to the Anglo-Bengalee. 
 Whether he was a deep rogue, or a stately simpleton, it was impossible 
 to make out, but he appeared to believe in the Anglo-Bengalee. He 
 was grave with imaginary cares of office ; and having nothing whatever 
 to do, and something less to take care of, would look as if the pressure 
 of his numerous duties, and a sense of the treasure in the company's 
 strong-room, made him a solemn and a thoughtful man. 
 
 As the cabriolet drove up to the door, this officer appeared bare- 
 headed on the pavement, crying aloud " Room for the chairman, room 
 for the chairman, if you please ! " much to the admiration of the by- 
 standers, who, it is needless to say, had their attention directed to the 
 Anglo-Bengalee Company thenceforth, by that means. Mr. Tigg leaped 
 gracefully out, followed by the Managing Director (who was by this time 
 very distant and respectful), and ascended the stairs, still preceded by 
 the porter : who cried as he went, " By your leave there ! by your 
 leave ! The chairman of the Board, Gentle — men !' In like manner, 
 but in a still more stentorian voice, he ushered the chairman through 
 the public office, where some humble clients were transacting business, 
 into an awful chamber, labelled Board-room : the door of which sanctuary 
 immediately closed, and screened the great capitalist from vulgar eyes. 
 
 The boardroom had a Turkey carpet in it, a sideboard, a portrait of Tigg 
 Montague Esquire as chairman ; a very imposing chair of office, garnished 
 with an ivory hammer and a little hand-bell ; and a long table, set out at 
 intervals with sheets of blotting-paper, foolscap, clean pens, and ink- 
 stands. The chairman having taken his seat with great solemnity, the 
 secretary supported him on his right hand, and the porter stood bolt 
 upright behind them, forming a warm background of waistcoat. This 
 was the board : everything else being a light-hearted little fiction. 
 
 "Bullamy !" said Mr. Tigg. 
 
 "Sir!" replied the Porter. 
 
 " Let the Medical Officer know, with my compliments, that I wish to 
 see him." 
 
 Bullamy cleared his throat, and bustled out into the office, crying 
 " The Chairman of the Board wishes to see the Medical Officer. By 
 your leave there ! by your leave !" He soon returned with the gentle- 
 man in question ; and at both openings of the boardroom door — at his 
 coming in and at his going out — simple clients were seen to stretch their 
 necks and stand upon their toes, thirsting to catch the slightest glimpse 
 of that mysterious chamber. 
 
 " Jobling, my dear friend ! " said Mr. Tigg, " how are you 1 Bullamy, 
 wait outside. Crimple, don't leave us. Jobling, my good fellow, I am 
 glad to see you." 
 
 "And how are yow, Mr. Montague, eh f said the Medical Officer, 
 throwing himself luxuriously into an easy chair (they were all easy 
 
c . , "^fie ' ^ycJo-^y^ a 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 327 
 
 chairs in the board-room), and taking a handsome gold snuffbox from the 
 pocket of his black satin waistcoat. " How are you 1 A little worn 
 with business, eh ? If so, rest. A little feverish from wine, humph ? 
 If so, water. Nothing at all the matter, and quite comfortable 1 Then 
 take some lunch. A very wholesome thing at this time of day to 
 strengthen the gastric juices with lunch, Mr. Montague." 
 
 The medical officer (he was the same medical officer who had followed 
 poor old Anthony Chuzzlewit to the grave, and who had attended Mrs. 
 Gamp's patient at the Bull) smiled in saying these words ; and casually 
 added, as he brushed some grains of snuff from his shirt-frill, " I 
 always take it myself about this time of day, do you knowl" 
 
 " Bullamy ! " said the chairman, ringing the little bell. 
 
 "Sir!" 
 
 " Lunch." 
 
 " Not on my account, I hope ? " said the doctor. " You are very 
 good. Thank you. I 'm quite ashamed. Ha, ha ! if I had been a 
 sharp practitioner, Mr. Montague, I shouldn't have mentioned it with- 
 out a fee; for you may depend upon' it, 'my dear sir, that if you don't 
 make a point of taking lunch, you '11 very soon come under my hands. 
 Allow me to illustrate this. In Mr. Crimple's leg — " 
 
 The resident Director gave an involuntary start, for the Doctor, in 
 the heat of his demonstration, caught it up and laid it across his own, 
 as if he were going to take it off, then and there. 
 
 " In Mr. Crimple's leg, you '11 observe," pursued the Doctor, turning 
 back his cuffs and spanning the limb with both hands, " where Mr. 
 Crimple's knee fits into the socket, here, there is — that is to say, between 
 the bone and the socket — a certain quantity of animal oil." 
 
 " What do you pick my leg out for ?" said Mr. Crimple, looking with 
 something of an anxious expression at his limb. " It 's the same with 
 other legs, ain't it ?" 
 
 " Never you mind, my good sir," returned the Doctor, shaking his 
 head, " whether it is the same with other legs, or not the same." 
 
 " But I do mind," said David. 
 
 " I take a particular case, Mr. Montague," returned the Doctor, " as 
 illustrating my remark, you observe. In this portion of Mr. Crimple's 
 leg, sir, there is a certain amount of animal oil. In every one of Mr. 
 Crimple's joints, sir, there is more or less of the same deposit. Very good. 
 If Mr. Crimple neglects his meals, or fails to take his proper quantity of 
 rest, that oil wanes, and becomes exhausted. What is the consequence ? 
 Mr. Crimple's bones sink down into their sockets, sir, and Mr. Crimple 
 becomes a weazen, puny, stunted, miserable man !" 
 
 The Doctor let Mr. Crimple's leg fall suddenly, as if he were already 
 in that agreeable condition : turned down his wristbands again, and 
 looked triumphantly at the chairman. 
 
 " We know a few secrets of nature in our profession, sir," said the 
 Doctor. " Of course we do. We study for that ; we pass the Hall and 
 the College for that ; and we take our station in society bf/ that. It 's 
 extraordinary how little is known on these subjects generally. Where 
 do you suppose, now " — the doctor closed one eye, as he leaned back 
 smilingly in his chair, and formed a triangle with his hands, of which 
 
328 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 his two thumbs composed the base — " where do you suppose Mr. 
 Crimple's stomach is ?" 
 
 Mr. Crimple, more agitated than before, clapped his hand immediately 
 below his waistcoat. 
 
 " Not at all," cried the Doctor ; " not at all. Quite a popular mis- 
 take ! My good sir, you 're altogether deceived." 
 
 " I feel it there, when it 's out of order j that 's all I know," said 
 Crimple. 
 
 " You think you do," replied the Doctor ; " but science knows 
 better. There was a patient of mine once," touching one of the many 
 mourning rings upon his fingers, and slightly bowing his head, " a 
 gentleman who did me the honour to make a very handsome mention 
 of me in his will — ' in testimony,' as he was pleased to say, ' of the 
 unremitting zeal, talent, and attention of my friend and medical atten- 
 dant, John Jobling, Esquire, M.KC.S.' — who was so overcome by the 
 idea of having all his life laboured under an erroneous view of the locality 
 of this important organ, that when I assured him, on my professional 
 reputation, he was mistaken, he burst into tears, put out his hand, and 
 said, * Jobling, God bless you!' Immediately afterwards he became 
 speechless, and was ultimately buried at Brixton." 
 
 " By your leave there !" cried BuUamy, without. " By your leave ! 
 refreshment for the Board-room !" 
 
 " Ha !" said the doctor, jocularly, as he rubbed his hands, and drew 
 his chair nearer to the table. " The true Life Insurance, Mr. Montague. 
 The best Policy in the world, my dear sir. We should be provident, 
 and eat and drink whenever we can. Eh, Mr. Crimple V 
 
 The resident Director acquiesced rather sulkily, as if the gratification 
 of replenishing his stomach had been impaired by the unsettlement of 
 his preconceived opinions in reference to its situation. But the appear- 
 ance of the porter and under porter with a tray covered with a snow- 
 white cloth, which, being thrown back, displayed a pair of cold roast 
 fowls, flanked by some potted meats and a cool salad, quickly restored 
 his good humour. It was enhanced still further by the arrival of a bottle 
 of excellent madeira, and another of champagne : and he soon attacked 
 the repast with an appetite scarcely inferior to that of the medical officer. 
 
 The lunch was handsomely served, with a profusion of rich glass, 
 plate, and china ; which seemed to denote that eating and drinking on 
 a showy scale formed no unimportant item in the business of the Anglo- 
 Bengalee Directorship. As it proceeded, the medical officer grew more 
 and more joyous and red-faced, insomuch that every mouthful he ate, 
 and every drop of wine he swallowed, seemed to impart new lustre to 
 his eyes, and to light up new sparks in his nose and forehead. 
 
 In certain quarters of the city and its neighbourhood, Mr. Jobling^ 
 was, as we have already seen in some measure, a very popular character. 
 He had a portentously sagacious chin, and a pompous voice, with a rich 
 huskiness in some of its tones that went directly to the heart, like a ray 
 of light shining through the ruddy medium of choice old burgundy. 
 His neck-kerchief and shirt-frill were ever of the whitest, his clothes of 
 the blackest and sleekest, his gold watch-chain of the heaviest, and his 
 seals of the largest. His boots, which were always of the brightest 
 
MARTIN CHTJZZLEWIT. 329 
 
 creaked as he walked. Perhaps he could shake his head, rub his hands, 
 or warm himself before a fire, better than any man alive ; and he had 
 a peculiar way of smacking his lips and saying, " Ah ! " at intervals 
 while patients detailed their symptoms, which inspired great confidence. 
 It seemed to express, " I know what you 're going to say better than 
 you do ; but go on, go on." As he talked on all occasions whether he 
 had anything to say or not, it was unanimously observed of him that he 
 was " full of anecdote ; " and his experience and profit from it were 
 considered, for the same reason, to be something much too extensive for 
 description. His female patients could never praise him too highly ; 
 and the coldest of his male admirers would always say this for him 
 to their friends, " that whatever Jobling's professional skill might be 
 (and it could not be denied that he had a very high reputation), he was 
 one of the most comfortable fellows you ever saw in your life ! " 
 
 Jobling was for many reasons, and not last in the list because 
 his connection lay principally among tradesmen and their families, 
 exactly the sort of person whom the Anglo-Bengalee company wanted 
 for a medical officer. But Jobling was far too knowing to connect him- 
 self with the company in any closer ties than as a paid (and well-paid) 
 functionary, or to allow his connection to be misunderstood abroad, if he 
 could help it. Hence he always stated the case to an inquiring patient, 
 after this manner : 
 
 " Why, my dear sir, with regard to the Anglo-Bengalee, my infor- 
 mation, you see, is limited : very limited. I am the medical officer, in 
 consideration of a certain monthly payment. The labourer is worthy of 
 his hire ; Bis dat qui cito dat " — (" classical scholar, Jobling ! " thinks 
 the patient, " Well read man ! ") — " and I receive it regularly. There- 
 fore I am bound, so far as my own knowledge goes, to speak well of the 
 establishment." (" Nothing can be fairer than Jobling's conduct," thinks 
 the patient, who has just paid Jobling's bill himself.) " If you put 
 any question to me, my dear friend," says the doctor, " touching the 
 responsibility or capital of the company, there I am at fault ; for I have 
 no head for figures, and not being a shareholder, am delicate of showing 
 any curiosity whatever on the subject. Delicacy — ^your amiable lady 
 will agree with me I am sure — should be one of the first characteristics 
 of a medical man." (" Nothing can be finer or more gentlemanly than 
 Jobling's feeling," thinks the patient.) " Very good, my dear sir, so 
 the matter stands. You don't know Mr. Montague ? I 'm sorry for it. 
 A remarkably handsome man, and quite the gentleman in every respect. 
 Property, I am told, in India. House, and everything belonging to him, 
 beautiful. Costly furniture on the most elegant and lavish scale. And 
 pictures, which, even in an anatomical point of view, are per — fection. 
 In case you should ever think of doing anything with the company, 
 I '11 pass you, you may depend upon it. I can conscientiously report 
 you a healthy subject. If I understand any man's constitution, it is 
 yours ; and this little indisposition has done him more good, ma'am," 
 says the doctor, turning to the patient's wife, " than if he had swallowed 
 the contents of half the nonsensical bottles in my surgery. For they 
 are nonsense — to tell the honest truth, one half of them are nonsense 
 — compared with such a constitution as his ! " — (" Jobling is the most 
 
330 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 friendly creature I ever met with in my life/' thinks the patient; 
 " and upon my word and honour, 1 11 consider of it ! ") 
 
 " Commission to you, Doctor, on four new policies, and a loan this 
 morning, eh 1 " said Crimple looking, when they had finished lunch, 
 over some papers brought in by the porter. " Well done !" 
 
 " Jobling, my dear friend," said Tigg, " long life to you." 
 
 "No, no. Nonsense. Upon my word I've no right to draw the 
 commission," said the doctor, " I haven't really. It 's picking your 
 pocket. I don't recommend anybody here. I only say what I know. 
 My patients ask me what I know, and I tell 'em what I know. Nothing 
 else. Caution is my weak side, that 's the truth ; and always was from 
 a boy. That is," said the doctor, filling his glass, " caution in behalf 
 of other people. Whether I would repose confidence in this company 
 myself, if I had not been paying money elsewhere for many years — that 's 
 quite another question." 
 
 He tried to look as if there were no doubt about it j but feeling 
 that he did it but indifferently, changed the theme, and praised the 
 wine. 
 
 " Talking of wine," said the doctor, " reminds me of one of the finest 
 glasses of old light port I ever drank in my life ; and that was at a 
 funeral. You have not seen anything of — of that party, Mr. Mon- 
 tague, have you ?' handing him a card. 
 
 " He is not buried, I hope f said Tigg, as he took it. " The honour 
 of his company is not requested if he is." 
 
 " Ha, ha !" laughed the doctor. " No ; not quite. He was honour- 
 ably connected with that very occasion though." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Tigg, smoothing his moustache, as he cast his eyes upon 
 the name. " I recollect. No. He has not been here." 
 
 The words were on his lips, when BuUamy entered, and presented a 
 card to the Medical Ofiicer. ^ 
 
 " Talk of the what's his name — " observed the doctor, rising. 
 
 " And he's sure to appear, eh V said Tigg. 
 
 " Why, no, Mr. Montague, no," returned the Doctor. " We will not 
 say that in the present case, for this gentleman is very far from it." 
 
 " So much the better," retorted Tigg. " So much the more adaptable 
 to the Anglo-Bengalee. Bullamy, clear the table and take the things 
 out by the other door. Mr. Crimple, business." 
 , " Shall I introduce him 1 " asked Jobling. 
 
 " I shall be eternally delighted," answered Tigg,' kissing his hand and 
 smiling sweetly. 
 
 The doctor disappeared into the outer ofiice, and immediately 
 returned with Jonas Chuzzlewit. 
 
 "Mr. Montague," said Jobling. "Allow me. My friend Mr. 
 Chuzzlewit. My dear friend — our chairman. Now do you know," he 
 added, checking himself with infinite policy, and looking round with a 
 smile : " that's a very singular instance of the force of example. 
 It really is a very remarkable instance of the force of example. I 
 say o?(r chairman. Why do I say our chairman 1 Because he is not mi/ 
 chairman, you know. I have no connection with the company, farther 
 than giving them, for a certain fee and reward, my poor opinion as a 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 331 
 
 medical man, precisely as I may give it any day to Jack Noakes or Tom 
 Styles. Then why do I say our chairman 1 Simply because I hear the 
 phrase constantly repeated about me. Such is the involuntary opera- 
 tion of the mental faculty in the imitative biped man. Mr. Crimple, I 
 believe you never take snuff? Injudicious. You should." 
 
 Pending these remarks on the part of the doctor, and the lengthened 
 and sonorous pinch with which he followed them up, Jonas took a 
 seat at the board : as ungainly a man as ever he has been within the 
 reader's knowledge. It is too common with all of us, but it is especially 
 in the nature of a mean mind, to be overawed by fine clothes and fine 
 furniture. They had a very decided influence on Jonas. 
 
 " Now you two gentlemen have business to discuss, I know," said the 
 doctor, •' and your time is precious. So is mine ; for several lives are 
 waiting for me in the next room, and I have a round of visits to make 
 after — after I have taken 'em. Having had the happiness to introduce 
 you to each other, I may go about my business. Good bye. But 
 allow me, Mr. Montague, before I go, to say this of my friend who sits 
 beside you : That gentleman has done more, sir," rapping his snuff- 
 box solemnly, " to reconcile me to human nature, than any man alive 
 or dead. Good bye !" 
 
 With these words Jobling bolted abruptly out of the room, and pro- 
 ceeded, in his own official department, to impress the lives in waiting 
 with a sense of his keen conscientiousness in the discharge of his duty, 
 and the great difficulty of getting into the Anglo-Bengalee ; by feeling 
 their pulses, looking at their tongues, listening at their ribs, poking them 
 in the chest, and so forth ; though, if he didn't well know beforehand 
 that whatever kind of lives they were, the Anglo-Bengalee would accept 
 them readily, he was far from being the Jobling that his friends 
 considered him ; and was not the original Jobling, but a spurious 
 imitation. 
 
 Mr. Crimple also departed on the business of the morning ; and Jonas 
 Chuzzlewit and Tigg were left alone. 
 
 " I learn from our friend," said Tigg, drawing his chair towards Jonas 
 with a winning ease of manner, " that you have been thinking — " 
 
 " Oh ! Ecod then he 'd no right to say so," cried Jonas, interrupting. 
 ^' I didn't tell him my thoughts. If he took it into his head that I was 
 coming here for such or such a purpose, why, that's his look-out. I 
 don't stand committed by that." 
 
 Jonas said this offensively enough ; for over and above the habitual 
 distrust of his character, it was in his nature to seek to revenge himself 
 on the fine clothes and the fine furniture, in exact proportion as he had 
 been unable to withstand their influence. 
 
 " If I come here to ask a question or two, and get a document or two 
 to consider of, I don't bind myself to anything. Let's understand that, 
 you know," said Jonas. 
 
 " My dear fellow ! " cried Tigg, clapping him on the shoulder, " I 
 applaud your frankness. If men like you and I speak openly at first, 
 all possible misunderstanding is avoided. Why should I disguise what 
 you know so well, but what the crowd never dream of? We companies 
 are all birds of prey : mere birds of prey. The only question is. 
 
332 LIFE AND ADVENTUEES OF 
 
 whether in serving our own turn, we can serve yours too ; whether 
 in double-lining our own nest, we can put a single lining into yours. 
 Oh; you 're in our secret. You 're behind the scenes. We '11 make a 
 merit of dealing plainly with you, when we know we can't help it." 
 
 It was remarked, on the first introduction of Mr. Jonas into these 
 pages, that there is a simplicity of cunning, no less than a simplicity of 
 innocence, and that in all matters involving a faith in knavery, he was 
 the most credulous of men. If Mr. Tigg had preferred any claim to 
 high and honourable dealing, Jonas would have suspected him though he 
 had been a very model of probity ; but when he gave utterance to Jonas's 
 own thoughts of everything and everybody, Jonas began to feel that he 
 was a pleasant fellow, and one to be talked to freely. 
 
 He changed his position in his chair ; not for a less awkward, but for 
 a more boastful attitude ; and smiling in his miserable conceit, rejoined : 
 
 " You an't a bad man of business, Mr. Montague. You know how to 
 set about it, I will say." 
 
 " Tut, tut," said Tigg, nodding confidentially, and showing his white 
 teeth : " we are not children, Mr. Chuzzlewit ; we are grown men, I 
 hope." 
 
 Jonas assented, and said after a short silence, first spreading out his 
 legs, and sticking one arm akimbo to show how perfectly at home he was, 
 
 " The truth is—" 
 
 " Don't say, the truth," interposed Tigg, with another grin. " It 's so 
 like humbug." 
 
 Greatly charmed by this, Jonas began again. 
 
 " The long and the short of it, is — " 
 
 " Better," muttered Tigg. " Much better !" 
 
 « — That I didn't consider myself very well used by one or two of the 
 old companies in some negotiations I have had with 'em — once had, I 
 mean. They started objections they had no right to start, and put 
 questions they had no right to put, and carried things much too high 
 for my taste." 
 
 As he made these observations he cast down his eyes, and looked 
 curiously at the carpet. Mr. Tigg looked curiously at him. 
 
 He made so long a pause, that Tigg came to the rescue, and said, in 
 his pleasantest manner : 
 
 " Take a glass of wine ?" 
 
 " No, no," returned Jonas, with a cunning shake of the head ; " none 
 of that, thankee. No wine over business. All very well for you, but 
 it wouldn't do for me." 
 
 " What an old hand you are, Mr. Chuzzlewit ! " said Tigg, leaning 
 back in his chair, and leering at him through his half-shut eyes. 
 
 Jonas shook his head again, as much as to say, " You're right there ;'' 
 and then resumed, jocosely : 
 
 " Not such an old hand, either, but that I 've been and got married. 
 That 's rather green, you '11 say. Perhaps it is, especially as she 's 
 young. But one never knows what may happen to these women, so 
 I 'm thinking of insuring her life. It is but fair, you know, that a 
 man should secure some consolation in case of meeting with such a 
 loss." 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 333 
 
 " If anything can console him under such heart-breaking circum- 
 stances," murmured Tigg, with his eyes shut up as before. 
 
 " Exactly," returned Jonas ; " if anything can. Now, supposing I 
 did it here, I should do it cheap, I know, and easy, without bothering 
 her about it ; which I 'd much rather not do, for it 's just in a woman's 
 way to take it into her head, if you talk to her about such things, that 
 she 's going to die directly." 
 
 " So it is," cried Tigg, kissing his hand in honour of the sex. 
 " You 're quite right. Sweet, silly, fluttering little simpletons ! " 
 
 " Well," said Jonas, " on that account, you know, and because offence 
 has been given me in other quarters, I wouldn't mind patronising this 
 Company. But I want to know what sort of security there is for the 
 Company's going on. That 's the — ^" 
 
 " Not the truth ]" cried Tigg, holding up his jewelled hand. " Don't 
 use that Sunday School expression, please !" 
 
 " The long and the short of it," said Jonas. " The long and the short 
 of it is, what 's the security % " 
 
 " The paid-up capital, my dear sir," said Tigg, referring to some papers 
 on the table, " is, at this present moment — " 
 
 " Oh ! I understand all about paid-up capitals, you know," said Jonas. 
 
 "You do ?" cried Tigg, stopping short. 
 
 " I should hope so." 
 
 He turned the papers down again, and moving nearer to him, said in 
 his ear : 
 
 "I know you do. I know you do. Look at me !" 
 
 It was not much in Jonas's way to look straight at anybody ; but 
 thus requested, he made shift to take a tolerable survey of the chair- 
 man's features. The chairman fell back a little, to give him the better 
 opportunity. 
 
 " You know me V he inquired, elevating his eyebrows. " You recol- 
 lect % You 've seen me before % " 
 
 " Why, I thought I remembered your face when I first came in," 
 said Jonas, gazing at it ; " but I couldn't call to mind where I had 
 seen it. No. I don't remember, even now. Was it in the street ?" 
 
 " Was it in Pecksniff's parlour ?" said Tigg. 
 
 "In Pecksniff's parlour!" echoed Jonas, fetching a long breath. 
 " You don't mean when — " 
 
 " Yes," cried Tigg, " when there was a very charming and delightful 
 little family party, at which yourself and your respected father assisted." 
 
 "Well, never mind himl' said Jonas. " He's dead, and there's 
 no help for it." 
 
 " Dead, is he !" cried Tigg. " Venerable old gentleman, is he dead ! 
 You 're very like him." 
 
 Jonas received this compliment with anything but a good grace : 
 perhaps because of his own private sentiments in reference to the 
 personal appearance of his deceased parent ; perhaps because he was 
 not best pleased to find that Montague and Tigg were one. That gen- 
 tleman perceived it, and tapping him familiarly on the sleeve, beckoned 
 him to the window. From this moment, Mr. Montague's jocularity and 
 flow of spirits, were remarkable. 
 
334 LIFE AND ADVENTUEES OF 
 
 "Do you find me at all changed since that time?" he asked. " Speak 
 plainly." 
 
 Jonas looked hard at his waistcoat and jewels ; and said, " Kather 
 ecod !" 
 
 " Was I at all seedy in those days ?" asked Montague. 
 
 " Precious seedy," said Jonas. 
 
 Mr. Montague pointed down into the street, where Bailey and the 
 cab were in attendance. 
 
 " Neat : perhaps dashing. Do you know whose it is ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Mine. Do you like this room ?" 
 
 " It must have cost a lot of money," said Jonas. 
 
 " You 're right. Mine too. Why don't you " — he whispered this, 
 and nudged him in the side with his elbow — " why don't you take 
 premiums, instead of paying 'em. That 's what a man like you should 
 do. Join us !" 
 
 Jonas stared at him in amazement. 
 
 " Is that a crowded street ?" asked Montague, calling his attention to 
 the multitude without. 
 
 " Very," said Jonas, only glancing at it, and immediately afterwards 
 looking at him again. 
 
 " There are printed calculations," said his companion, " which will 
 tell you pretty nearly how many people will pass up and down that 
 thoroughfare in the course of a day. / can tell you how many of 'em 
 will come in here, merely because they find this office here ; knowing 
 no more about it than they do of the Pyramids. Ha, ha ! Join us. 
 You shall come in cheap." 
 
 Jonas looked at him harder and harder. 
 
 " I can tell you," said Tigg in his ear, " how many of 'em will buy 
 annuities, effect insurances, bring us their money in a hundred shapes 
 and ways, force it upon us, trust us as if we were the Mint ; yet know 
 no more about us than you do of that crossing-sweeper at the corner. 
 Not so much. Ha, ha !" 
 
 Jonas gradually broke into a smile. 
 
 " Yah !" said Montague, giving him a pleasant thrust in the breast ; 
 " you 're too deep for us, you dog, or I wouldn't have told you. Dine 
 with me to-morrow, in Pall Mall !" 
 
 " I will," said Jonas. 
 
 " Done !" cried Montague. " Wait a bit. Take these papers with 
 you, and look 'em over. See," he said, snatching some printed forms 
 from the table. " B is a little tradesman, clerk, parson, artist, author ; 
 any common thing you like." 
 
 " Yes," said Jonas, looking greedily over his shoulder. " Well !" 
 
 " B wants a loan. Say fifty or a hundred pound ; perhaps more ; no 
 matter. B proposes self and two securities. B is accepted. Two 
 securities give a bond. B insures his own life for double the amount, and 
 brings two friends' lives also — just to patronise the office. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 Is that a good notion ?" 
 
 " Ecod, that 's a capital notion !" cried Jonas. " But does he really 
 do it V 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 335 
 
 " Do it !" repeated the chairman. " B 's har J-up, my good fellow, 
 and will do anything. Don't you see ? It 's my idea." 
 " It does you honour. I 'm blest if it don't," said Jonas. 
 " I think it does," replied the chairman, " and I 'm proud to hear you 
 say so. B pays the highest lawful interest — " 
 " That an't much," interrupted Jonas. 
 
 " Right ! quite right ! " retorted Tigg. " And hard it is upon 
 the part of the law that it should be so confoundedly down upon us 
 unfortunate victims ; when it takes such amazing good interest for itself 
 from all its clients. But charity begins at home, and justice begins 
 next door. Well! The law being hard upon us, we're not exactly 
 soft upon B ; for besides charging B the regular interest, we get B's 
 premium, and B's friends' premiums, and we charge B for the bond, 
 and, whether we accept him or not, we charge B for " inquiries " (we 
 keep a man, at a pound a week, to make 'em), and we charge B a trifle 
 for the secretary • and, in short, my good fellow, we stick it into B up 
 hill and down dale, and make a devilish comfortable little property out 
 of him. Ha, ha, ha ! I drive B, in point of fact," said Tigg, pointing 
 to the cabriolet, " and a thorough-bred horse he is. Ha, ha, ha !" 
 
 Jonas enjoyed this joke very much indeed. It was quite in his 
 peculiar vein of humour. 
 
 " Then," said Tigg Montague, " we grant annuities on the very lowest 
 and most advantageous terms, known in the money market ; and the 
 old ladies and gentlemen down in the country, buy 'em. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 And we pay 'em too — perhaps. Ha, ha, ha ! " 
 
 " But there's responsibility in that," said Jonas, looking doubtful. 
 " I take it all myself," said Tigg Montague. " Here I am, responsi- 
 ble for everything. The only responsible person in the establishment ! 
 Ha, ha, ha ! Then there are the Life Insurances without loans : the 
 common policies. Very profitable, very comfortable. Money down, you 
 know ; repeated every year ; capital fun !" 
 
 " But when they begin to fall in " observed Jonas. " It 's all very 
 well, while the office is young, but when the policies begin to die — 
 that 's what I am thinking of" 
 
 " At the first start, my dear fellow," said Montague, " to show you 
 how correct your judgment is, we had a couple of unlucky deaths that 
 brought us down to a grand piano." 
 
 " Brought you down where ? " cried Jonas. 
 
 " I give you my sacred word of honour," said Tigg Montague, " that 
 I raised money on every other individual piece of property, and was 
 left alone in the world with a grand piano. And it was an upright- 
 grand too, so that I couldn't even sit upon it. But my dear fellow we 
 got over it. We granted a great many new policies that week (liberal 
 allowance to solicitors, by the bye), and got over it in no time. When- 
 ever they should chance to fall in heavily, as you very justly observe 
 they may, one of these days ; then — " he finished the sentence in so low 
 a whisper, that only one disconnected word was audible, and that 
 imperfectly. But it sounded like " Bolt." 
 
 " Why, you're as bold as brass !" said Jonas, in the utmost admiration. 
 " A man can well afford to be as bold as brass, my good fellow, when 
 
336 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 he gets gold in exchange !" cried the Chairman, with a laugh that 
 shook him from head to foot. " You 11 dine with me to-morrow ?" 
 
 " At what time ? " asked Jonas. 
 
 " Seven. Here 's my card. Take the documents. I see you 11 
 join us ! " 
 
 " I don't know ahout that," said Jonas. " There 's a good deal to be 
 looked into first." 
 
 " You shall look," said Montague, slapping him on the back, " into 
 anything and everything you please. But you 11 join us, I am con- 
 vinced. You were made for it. Bullamy !" 
 
 Obedient to the summons and the little bell, the waistcoat appeared. 
 Being charged to show Jonas out, it went before ; and the voice within 
 it cried, as usual, " By your leave there, by your leave ! Gentleman 
 from the board-room, by your leave ! " 
 
 Mr. Montague being left alone, pondered for some moments, and then 
 said, raising his voice, 
 
 " Is Nadgett in the office there ? " 
 
 " Here he is, sir." And he promptly entered : shutting the board- 
 room door after him, as carefully as if he were about to plot a murder. 
 
 He was the man at a pound a week who made the inquiries. It was 
 no virtue or merit in Nadgett that he transacted all his Anglo-Bengalee 
 business secretly and in the closest confidence ; for he was born to be a 
 secret. He was a short, dried-up, withered, old man, who seemed to 
 have secreted his very blood ; for nobody would have given him credit 
 for the possession of six ounces of it in his whole body. How he lived 
 was a secret ; where he lived was a secret ; and even what he was, was a 
 secret. In his musty old pocket-book he carried contradictory cards, 
 in some of which he called himself a coal-merchant, in others a wine- 
 merchant, in others a commission-agent, in others a collector, in others 
 an accountant : as if he really didn't know the secret himself. He was 
 always keeping appointments in the city, and the other man never 
 seemed to come. He would sit on 'Change for hours, looking at every- 
 body who walked in and out, and would do the like at Garraway's, and 
 in other business coffee-rooms, in some of which he would be occasionally 
 seen drying a very damp pocket-handkerchief before the fire, and still 
 looking over his shoulder for the man who never appeared. He was 
 mildewed, threadbare, shabby ; always had flue upon his legs and back • 
 and kept his linen so secret by buttoning up and wrapping over, that 
 he might have had none — perhaps he hadn't. He carried one stained 
 beaver glove, which he dangled before him by the forefinger as he 
 walked or sat ; but even its fellow was a secret. Some people said he 
 had been a bankrupt, others that he had gone an infant into an ancient 
 Chancery suit which was still depending, but it was all a secret. He 
 carried bits of sealing-wax and a hieroglyphical old copper seal in his 
 pocket, and often secretly indited letters in corner boxes of the trysting- 
 places before mentioned ; but they never appeared to go to anybody, for 
 he would put them into a secret place in his coat, and deliver them to 
 himself weeks afterwards, very much to his own surprise, quite yellow. 
 He was that sort of man that if he had died worth a million of money, 
 or had died worth twopence halfpenny, everybody would have been 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 337 
 
 perfectly satisfied, and would have said it was just as they expected. 
 And yet he belonged to a class ; a race peculiar to the city ; who are 
 secrets as profound to one another, as they are to the rest of mankind. 
 
 " Mr. Nadgett," said Montague, copying Jonas Chuzzlewit's address 
 upon a piece of paper, from the card which was still lying on the table, 
 " any information about this name, I shall be glad to have myself. 
 Don't you mind what it is. Any you can scrape together, bring me. 
 Bring it to rue, Mr. Nadgett." 
 
 Nadgett put on his spectacles, and read the name attentively; then 
 looked at the chairman over his glasses, and bowed ; then took them 
 off, and put them in their case ; and then put the case in his pocket. 
 When he had done so, he looked, without his spectacles, at the paper as 
 it lay before him, and at the same time produced his pocket-book from 
 somewhere about the middle of his spine. Large as it was, it was very 
 full of documents, but he found a place for this one ; and having clasped 
 it carefully, passed it by a kind of solemn legerdemain into the same 
 rea'ion as before. 
 
 He withdrew with another bow and without a word ; opening the 
 door no wider than was sufficient for his passage out ; and shutting 
 it as carefully as before. The chairman of the board employed the 
 rest of the morning in affixing his sign-manual of gracious acceptance 
 to various new proposals of annuity-purchase and insurance. The 
 Company was looking-up, for they flowed in gaily. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 ME. MONTAGUE AT HOME. AND MR. JONAS CHUZZLEWIT AT HOME. 
 
 There were many powerful reasons for Jonas Chuzzlewit being strongly 
 prepossessed in favour of the scheme v/hich its great originator had so 
 boldly laid open to him ; but three among them stood prominently 
 forward. Firstly, there was money to be made by it. Secondly, the 
 money had the peculiar charm of being sagaciously obtained at other 
 people's cost. Thirdly, it involved much outward show of homage and 
 distinction : a board being 'an awful institution in its own sphere, and 
 a director a mighty man. " To make a swingeing profit, have a lot of 
 chaps to order about, and get into regular good society by one and the 
 same means, and them so easy to one's hand, ain't such a bad look-out," 
 thought Jonas. The latter considerations were only second to his 
 avarice ; for, conscious that there was nothing in his person, conduct, 
 character, or accomplishments, to command respect, he was greedy of 
 power, and was, in his heart, as much a tyrant as any laurelled con- 
 queror on record. 
 
 But he determined to proceed with cunning and caution, and to be 
 very keen in his observation of the gentility of Mr, Montague's private 
 establishment. For it no more occurred to this shallow knave that 
 Montague wanted him to be so, or he wouldn't have invited him while 
 his decision was yet in abeyance, than the possibility of that genius 
 being able to overreach him in any way, pierced through his self-conceit 
 
 z 
 
338 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 by the inlet of a needle's point. He had said, in the outset, that Jonas 
 was too sharp for him ; and Jonas, who would have been sharp enough 
 to believe him in nothing else, though he had solemnly sworn it, believed 
 him in that instantly. 
 
 It was with a faultering hand, and yet with an imbecile attempt at 
 a swagger, that he knocked at his new friend's door in Pall Mall when 
 the appointed hour arrived. Mr. Bailey quickly answered to the sum- 
 mons. He was not proud, and was kindly disposed to take notice of 
 Jonas ; but Jonas had forgotten him. 
 
 "Mr. Montague at home?" 
 
 " I should hope he wos at home, and waiting dinner, too," said Bailey, 
 with the ease of an old acquaintance. " Will you take your hat up 
 along with you, or leave it here V 
 
 Mr. Jonas preferred leaving it there. 
 
 " The hold name, I suppose ?" said Bailey, with a grin. 
 
 Mr. Jonas stared at him, in mute indignation. 
 
 " What, don't you remember hold Mother Todgers's 1" said Mr. 
 Bailey, with his favourite action of the knees and boots. " Don't you 
 remember my taking your name up to the young ladies, when you come 
 a courting there ? A reg'lar scaly old shop, warn't it 1 Times is changed, 
 ain't they? I say, how you've growed !" 
 
 Without pausing for any acknowledgment of this compliment, he 
 ushered the visitor up stairs ; and having announced him, retired with 
 a private wink. 
 
 The lower story of the house was occupied by a wealthy tradesman, 
 but Mr. Montague had all the upper portion, and splendid lodging 
 it was. The room in which he received Jonas was a spacious and 
 elegant apartment, furnished with extreme magnificence : decorated 
 with pictures, copies from the antique in alabaster and marble, china 
 vases, lofty mirrors, crimson hangings of the richest silk, gilded 
 carvings, luxurious couches, glistening cabinets inlaid with precious 
 woods : costly toys of every sort in negligent abundance. The only 
 guests besides Jonas were the Doctor, the resident Director, and two 
 other gentlemen, whom Montague presented in due form. 
 
 " My dear friend, I am delighted to see you. Jobling you know, I 
 believe?" 
 
 " I think so," said the Doctor pleasantly, as he stepped out of the 
 circle to shake hands. " I trust I have that honour. I hope so. My 
 dear sir, I see you well. Quite well ? That's well ! " 
 
 " Mr. Wolf," said Montague, as soon as the Doctor would allow him 
 to introduce the two others, "Mr. Chuzzlewit. Mr. Pip, Mr. 
 Chuzzlewit." 
 
 Both gentlemen were exceedingly happy to have the honour of making 
 Mr. Chuzzlewit's acquaintance. The Doctor drew Jonas a little apart, 
 and whispered behind his hand : 
 
 " Men of the world, my dear sir — men of the world. Hem ! Mr. 
 Wolf — literary character — ^you needn't mention it — remarkably clever 
 weekly paper — oh, remarkably clever ! Mr. Pip — theatrical man — 
 capital man to know — oh, capital man !" 
 
 " Well ! " said Wolf, folding his arms and resuming a conversation 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 339 
 
 whicli the arrival of Jonas had interrupted. "And what did Lord 
 Nobley say to that 1" 
 
 "Why," returned Pip, with an oath, "he didn't know what to 
 say. Damme, sir, if he wasn't as mute as a poker. But you know 
 what a good fellow Nobley is ! " 
 
 " The best fellow in the world ! " cried Wolf " It was only last week 
 that Nobley said to me, ' By Gad, Wolf, I 've got a living to bestow, and 
 if you had but been brought up at the University, strike me blind if I 
 wouldn't have made a parson of you ! ' " 
 
 " Just like him," said Pip with another oath. " And he 'd have 
 done it ! " 
 
 " Not a doubt of it," said Wolf. " But you were going to tell us " — 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " cried Pip. " To be sure. So I was. At first he was 
 dumb — sewn up, dead, sir — but after a minute he said to the Duke, 
 ^ Here's Pip. Ask Pip. Pip 's our mutual friend. Ask Pip. He 
 knows.' ' Damme ! ' said the Duke, ' I appeal to Pip then. Come 
 Pip. Bandy or not bandy ? Speak out ! ' ' Bandy, your Grrace, by the 
 Lord Harry! ' said I. ' Ha, ha !' laughed the Duke. ' To be sure she 
 is. Bravo Pip. Well said Pip. I wish I may die if you 're not a 
 trump, Pip. Pop me down among your fashionable visitors whenever 
 I 'm in town, Pip.' And so I do, to this day." 
 
 The conclusion of this story gave immense satisfaction, which was in 
 no degree lessened by the announcement of dinner. Jonas repaired to 
 the dining-room, along with his distinguished host, and took his seat at 
 the board between that individual and his friend the Doctor. The rest 
 fell into their places like men who were well accustomed to the house ; 
 and dinner was done full justice to, by all parties. 
 
 It was as good a one as money (or credit, no matter which) could pro- 
 duce. The dishes, wines, and fruits were of the choicest kind. Every- 
 thing was elegantly served. The plate was gorgeous. Mr. Jonas was 
 in the midst of a calculation of the value of this item alone, when his 
 host disturbed him. 
 
 " A glass of wine ? " 
 
 "' Oh ! " said Jonas, who had had several glasses already. " As much 
 of that, as you like ! It 's too good to refuse." 
 
 " Well said, Mr. Chuzzlewit ! " cried Wolf. 
 
 " Tom Gag, upon my soul ! " said Pip. 
 
 " Positively, you know, that 's — ha, ha, ha ! " observed the Doctor, 
 laying down his knife and fork for one instant, and then going to 
 work again, pell-mell — " that's epigrammatic ; quite ! " 
 
 " You 're tolerably comfortable, I hope 1 " said Tigg, apart to 
 Jonas. 
 
 " Oh ! You need n't trouble your head about 7ne,'' he replied. 
 '' Famous ! " 
 
 " I thought it best not to have a party," said Tigg. " You feel that ?" 
 
 " Why, what do you call this 1 " retorted Jonas. " You don't mean 
 to say you do this every day, do you 1 " 
 
 " My dear fellow," said Montague, shrugging his shoulders, " every 
 day of my life, when I dine at home. This is my common style. It 
 was of no use having anything uncommon for you. You 'd have seen 
 
 z 2 
 
340 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 through it. ' You 11 have a party ? ' said Crimple. ' No, I won't/ I 
 said; ' he shall take us in the rough ! '" 
 
 " And pretty smooth too, ecod ! " said Jonas, glancing round the 
 table. " This don't cost a trifle." 
 
 " Why, to be candid with you, it does not," returned the other. " But 
 I like this sort of thing. It 's the way I spend my money." 
 
 Jonas thrust his tongue into his cheek, and said, " Was it 1 " 
 
 " When you join us, you won't get rid of your share of the profits in 
 the same way 1 " said Tigg. 
 
 " Quite different," retorted Jonas. 
 
 " Well, and you're right," said Tigg, with friendly candour. " You 
 needn't. It 's not necessary. One of a Company must do it to hold the 
 connexion together ; but, as I take a pleasure in it, that 's my department. 
 You don't mind dining expensively at another man's expense, I hope V 
 
 " Not a bit," said Jonas. 
 
 " Then I hope you'll often dine with me ?" 
 
 " Ah !" said Jonas, " I don't mind. On the contrary." 
 
 " And I '11 never attempt to talk business to you over wine, I take 
 my oath," said Tigg. " Oh deep, deep, deep of you this morning ! I 
 must tell 'em that. They're the very men to enjoy it. Pip, my good 
 fellow, I 've a splendid little trait to tell you of my friend Chuzzlewit, 
 who is the deepest dog I know : I give you my sacred word of honour 
 he is the deepest dog I know, Pip !" 
 
 Pip swore a frightful oath that he was sure of it already ; and the 
 anecdote, being told, was received with loud applause, as an iucon- 
 testible proof of Mr. Jonas's greatness. Pip, in a natural spirit of 
 emulation, then related some instances of his own depth ; and Wolf, 
 not to be left behind-hand, recited the leading points of one or two 
 vastly humorous articles he was then preparing. These lucubrations, 
 being of what he called " a warm complexion," were highly approved ; 
 and all the company agreed that they were full of point. 
 
 " Men of the world, my dear sir," Jobling whispered to Jonas ; 
 " thorough men of the world ! To a professional person like myself, it's 
 quite refreshing to come into this kind of society. It's not only agree- 
 able — and nothing caji be more agreeable — but it's philosophically 
 improving. It's character, my dear sir ; character !" 
 
 It is so pleasant to find real merit appreciated, whatever its particular 
 walk in life may be, that the general harmony of the company was 
 doubtless much promoted by their knowing that the two men of the 
 world were held in great esteem by the upper classes of society, and by 
 the gallant defenders of their country in the army and navy, but par- 
 ticularly the former. The least of their stories had a colonel in it ; 
 lords were as plentiful as oaths ; and even the Blood Royal ran in the 
 muddy channel of their personal recollections. 
 
 " Mr. Chuzzlewit didn't know him, I'm afraid," said Wolf, in reference 
 to a certain personage of illustrious descent, who had previously figured 
 in a reminiscence. 
 
 " No," said Tmy, « But we must brins' him into contact with this 
 
 p CO o 
 
 sort of fellows." 
 
 " He was very fond of literature," observed Wolf. . 
 
MARTIN CliUZZLEWIT. ' 341 
 
 " Was he V said Tigg. 
 
 " Oh, yes ; he took my paper regularly foi many years. Dc you 
 know he said some good things now and then ? He asked a certain 
 Viscount, who's a friend of mine — Pip knows him — 'What's the 
 editor's name, what 's the editor's name T ' Wolf ' Wolf, eh 1 Sharp 
 hiter. Wolf. We must keep the wolf from the door, as the proverb says/ 
 It was very well. And being complimentary, I printed it." 
 
 " But the Viscount 's the boy !" cried Pip, who invented a new 
 oath for the introduction of everything he said. " The Viscount 's the 
 boy ! He came into our place one night to take Her home ; rather 
 slued, but not much ; and said, ^ Where 's Pip 1 I want to see Pip. 
 Produce Pip!' — 'What's the row, my lord?' — ' Shakspeare 's an 
 infernal humbug, Pip ! What 's the good of Shakspeare, Pip ? I 
 never read him. What the devil is it all about, Pip 1 There 's a lot of 
 feet in Shakspeare's verse, but there an't any legs worth mentioning in 
 Shakspeare's plays, are there, Pip ? Juliet, Desdemona, Lady Mac- 
 beth, and all the rest of 'em, whatever their names are, might as well 
 have no legs at all, for anything the audience know about it, Pip. 
 Why, in that respect they're all Miss Biffins to the audience, Pip. I 11 
 tell you what it is. What the people call dramatic poetry is a collection of 
 sermons. Do I go to the theatre to be lectured 1 No, Pip. If I wanted 
 that, I 'd go to church. What's the legitimate object of the drama, Pip 1 
 Human nature. What are legs 1 Human nature. Then let us have 
 plenty of leg pieces, Pip, and I'll stand by you, my buck !' And I am 
 proud to say," added Pip, " that he did stand by me, handsomelj^" 
 
 The conversation now becoming general, Mr. Jonas's opinion was 
 requested on this subject ; and as it was in full accordance with the 
 sentiments of Mr. Pip, that gentleman was extremely' gratified. 
 Indeed, both himself and Wolf had so much in common with Jonas, 
 that they became very amicable ; and between their increasing friendship 
 and the fumes of wine, Jonas grew talkative. 
 
 It does not follow in the case of such a person that the more talkative 
 he becomes, the more agreeable he is ; on the contrary, his merits show to 
 most advantage, perhaps, in silence. Having no means, as he thought, of 
 putting himself on an equality with the rest, but by the assertion of that 
 depth and sharpness on which he had been complimented, Jonas exhibited 
 that faculty to the utmost ; and was so deep and so sharp that he lost 
 himself in his own profundity, and cut his fingers with his own edge-tools. 
 
 It was especially in his way and character to exhibit his quality at 
 his entertainer's expense ; and while he drank of the sparkling wines, 
 and partook of his monstrous profusion, to ridicule the extravagance 
 which had set such costly fare before him. Even at such a wanton 
 board, and in such more than doubtful company, this might have proved 
 a disagreeable experiment, but that Tigg and Crimple, studying to 
 understand their man thoroughly, gave him what license he chose : 
 knowing that the more he took, tlie better for their purpose. And thus 
 while the blundering cheat — gull that he was, for all his cunning — 
 thought himself rolled up hedge-hog fashion, with his sharpest points 
 towards them, he was, in fact, betraying all his vulnerable parts to 
 their unwinking watchfulness. 
 
342 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Whether the two gentlemen who contributed so much to the Doctor's 
 philosophical knowledge (by the way, the Doctor slipped off quietly, 
 after swallowing his usual amount of wine) had had their cue distinctly 
 from the host, or took it from what they saw and heard, they acted their 
 parts very well. They solicited the honour of Jonas's better acquaint- 
 ance ; trusted that they would have the pleasure of introducing him 
 into that elevated society in which he was so well qualified to shine ; and 
 informed him, in the most friendly manner, that the advantages of their 
 respective establishments were entirely at his control. In a word, they 
 said " Be one of us ! " And Jonas said he was infinitely obliged to 
 them, and he would be ; adding within himself, that so long as they 
 " stood treat," there was nothing he would like better. 
 
 After coffee, which was served in the drawing-room, there was a short 
 interval (mainly sustained by Pip and Wolf) of conversation ; rather 
 highly spiced and strongly seasoned. When it flagged, Jonas took it 
 up, and showed considerable humour in appraising the furniture ; 
 inquiring whether such an article was paid for ; what it had originally 
 cost ; and the like. In all of this, he was, as he considered, desperately 
 hard on Montague, and very demonstrative of his own brilliant parts. 
 
 Some Champagne Punch gave a new though temporary fillip to the 
 entertainments of the evening. For after leading to some noisy pro- 
 ceedings, which were not at all intelligible, it ended in the unsteady 
 departure of the two gentlemen of the world, and the slumber of Mr. 
 Jonas upon one of the sofas. 
 
 As he could not be made to understand where he was, Mr. Bailey 
 received orders to call a hackney-coach, and take him home : which 
 that young gentleman roused himself from an uneasy sleep in the hall, 
 to do. It being now almost three o'clock in the morning. 
 
 " Is he hooked, do you think ?" whispered Crimple, as himself and 
 partner stood in a distant part of the room observing him as he lay. 
 
 " Ay ! " said Tigg, in the same tone. " With a strong iron, per- 
 haps. Has Nadgett been here to-night 1 " 
 
 " Yes. I went out to him. Hearing you had company, he went 
 away." 
 
 " Why did he do that ? " 
 
 " He said he would come back early in the morning, before you were 
 out of bed." 
 
 " Tell them to be sure and send him up to my bedside. Hush I 
 Here 's the boy ! Now Mr. Bailey, take this gentleman home, and see 
 him safely in. Hallo here ! Why Chuzzlewit, halloa ! " 
 
 They got him upright with some difficulty, and assisted him down 
 stairs, where they put his hat upon his head, and tumbled him into the 
 coach. Mr. Bailey having shut him in, mounted the box beside the 
 coachman, and smoked his cigar with an air of particular satisfaction ; 
 the undertaking in which he was engaged having a free and sporting 
 character about it, which was quite congenial to his taste. 
 
 Arriving in due time at the house in the city, Mr. Bailey jumped 
 down, and expressed the lively nature of his feelings, in a knock : the 
 like of which had probably not been heard in that quarter since the 
 great fire of London. Going out into the road to observe the effect of 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 343 
 
 this feat, he saw that a dim light, previously visible at an upper window, 
 had been already removed and was travelling down-stairs. To obtain a 
 foreknowledge of the bearer of this taper, Mr. Bailey skipped back to the 
 door again, and put his eye to the keyhole. 
 
 It was the merry one herself But sadly, strangely altered ! So careworn 
 and dejected, so faultering and full of fear ; so fallen, humbled, broken ; 
 that to have seen her, quiet in her coffin, would have been a less surprise. 
 She set the light upon a bracket in the hall, and laid her hand upon 
 her heart ; upon her eyes ; upon her burning head. Then she came 
 on towards the door,'with such a wild and hurried step, that Mr. Bailey 
 lost his self-possession, and still had his eye where the keyhole had been, 
 when she opened it. 
 
 " Aha 1" said Mr. Bailey, with an effort. " There you are, are you 1 
 What's the matter 1 Ain't you well, though V 
 
 In the midst of her astonishment as she recognised him in his altered 
 dress, so much of her old smile came back to her face that Bailey was 
 glad. But next moment he was sorry again, for he saw tears standing 
 in her poor dim eyes. 
 
 " Don't be frightened," said Bailey. " There ain't nothing the matter. 
 I 've brought home Mr. Chuzzlewit. He ain't ill. He 's only a little 
 swipey you know." Mr. Bailey reeled in his boots, to express intoxication. 
 " Have you come from Mrs. Todgers's?" asked Merry, trembling. 
 " Todgers's, bless you ! No !" cried Mr. Bailey. '• I haven't got nothing 
 to do with Todgers's. I cut that connexion long ago. He's been a 
 dining with my governor at the west-end. Didn't you know he was a 
 comin' to see us?" 
 
 " No," she said, faintly. 
 
 " Oh yes ! We 're heavy swells too, and so I tell you. Don't you 
 come out, a catching cold in your head, /'ll wake him !" And Mr. 
 Bailey expressing in his demeanour a perfect confidence that he could 
 carry him in with ease, if necessary, opened the coach-door, let do"\ATi the 
 steps, and giving Jonas a shake, cried " We 've got home, my flower I 
 Tumble up then !" 
 
 He was so far recovered as to be able to respond to this appeal, and to 
 come stumbling out of the coach in a heap, to the great hazard of Mr. 
 Bailey's person. When he got upon the pavement, Mr. Bailey first 
 butted at him in front, and then dexterously propped him up behind ; 
 and having steadied him by these means, he assisted him into the house. 
 " You go up first with the light," said Bailey to Mrs. Jonas, " and 
 we'llfoller. Don't tremble so. He won't hurt you. When /'ve had a 
 drop too much, I 'm full of good natur myself" 
 
 She went on before ; and her husband and Bailey, by dint of tumbling 
 over each other, and knocking themselves about, got at last into the 
 sitting-room above stairs, where Jonas staggered into a seat. 
 
 "There!" said Mr. Bailey. "He's all right now. You ain't got 
 nothing to cry for, bless you ! He's righter than a trivet !" 
 
 The ill-favoured brute, with dress awry, and sodden face, and rumpled 
 hair, sat blinking and drooping, and rolling his idiotic eyes about, until, 
 becoming conscious by degrees, he recognised his wife, and shook his fist 
 at her. 
 
344 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " AK ! " cried Mr. Bailey, squaring his arms with a sudden emotion. 
 " What, you 're wicious, are you ? Would you though ! You 'd better 
 not!" 
 
 " Pray, go away!" said Merry. "Bailey, my good boy, go home. 
 Jonas !" she said ; timidly laying her hand upon his shoulder, and 
 bending her head down, over him ; "Jonas !" 
 
 " Look at her !" cried Jonas, pushing her off with his extended arm. 
 " Look here ! Look at her ! Here 's a bargain for a man !" 
 
 " Dear Jonas !" 
 
 " Dear Devil !" he replied, with a fierce gesture. " You're a pretty 
 clog to be tied to a man for life, you mewling, white-faced cat I Get out 
 of my sight!" 
 
 "I know you don't mean it, Jonas. You wouldn't say it if you 
 were sober." 
 
 With affected gaiety she gave Bailey a piece of money, and again 
 implored him to be gone. Her entreaty was so earnest, that the boy 
 had not the heart to stay there. But he stopped at the bottom of the 
 stairs, and listened. 
 
 " I wouldn't say it if I was sober!" retorted Jonas. "You know 
 oetter. Have I never said it when I was sober?" 
 
 "Often, indeed !" she answered through her tears. 
 
 " Hark ye !" cried Jonas, stamping his foot upon the ground. " You 
 made me bear your pretty humours once, and ecod I '11 make you bear 
 mine now. I always promised myself I would. I married you that I 
 might. I '11 know who 's master, and w^ho 's slave ! " 
 
 " Heaven knows I am obedient!" said the sobbing girl. "Much 
 more so than I ever thought to be !" 
 
 Jonas laughed in his drunken exultation. " What ! you 're finding- 
 it out, are you ! Patience, and you will in time ! Griffins have claws, 
 my girl. There 's not a pretty slight you ever put upon me, nor a 
 pretty trick you ever played me, nor a pretty insolence you ever showed 
 me, that I w^on't pay back a hundred-fold. VV^hat else did I marry you 
 for. You, too ! '' he said, with coarse contemj^t. 
 
 It might have softened him — indeed it might — to hear her turn a 
 little fragment of a song he used to say he liked ; trying, with a heart 
 so full, to win him back. 
 
 " Oho !" he said, " you 're deaf, are you 1 You don't hear me, eli ? 
 So much the better for you. I hate you. I hate myself, for having 
 been fool enough to strap a pack upon my back for the pleasure of 
 treading on it whenever I choose. Why, things have opened to me, now, 
 so that I might marry almost where I liked. But I wouldn't ; I 'd keep 
 single. I ought to be single, among the friends / know. Instead of 
 that, here I am, tied like a log to you. Pah ! Why do you show your 
 pale face when I come home 1 Am I never to forget you V 
 
 "How late it is !" she said cheerfully : opening the shutter, after an 
 interval of silence. " Broad day, Jonas ! " 
 
 " Broad day or black night, what do / care !" was the kind rejoinder. 
 
 " The night passed quickly, too. I don't mind sitting up, at all." 
 
 "Sit up for me again, if you dare !" growled Jonas. 
 
 " I was reading," she proceeded, " all night long. I began when 
 
MARTIN" CHUZZLEWIT. 345 
 
 you went out, and read till you came home again. The strangest 
 story, Jonas ! And true, the book says. I '11 tell it you to-morrow." 
 
 " True, was it ?" said Jonas, doggedly. 
 
 " So the book says." 
 
 " Was there anything In it, about a man's being determined to con- 
 quer his wife, break her spirit, bend her temper, crush all her humours 
 like so many nutshells — kill her, for aught I know f said Jonas. 
 
 " No. Not a word," she answered quickly. 
 
 " Ah !" he returned. " That '11 be a true story though, before long ; 
 for all the book says nothing about it. It 's a lying book, I see. A 
 fit book for a lying reader. But you 're deaf. I forgot that." 
 
 There was another interval of silence ; and the boy was stealing away, 
 when he heard her footstep on the floor, and stopped. She went up to 
 him, as it seemed, and spoke lovingly : saying that she would defer to 
 him in everything, and would consult his wishes and obey them, and 
 they might be very happy if he would be gentle with her. He 
 answered with an imprecation, and — 
 
 Not with a blow 1 Yes. Stern truth against the base-souled villain : 
 with a blow. 
 
 No angry cries ; no loud reproaches. Even her weeping and her sobs 
 were stifled by her clinging round him. She only said, repeating it in 
 agony of heart. How could he, could he, could he — and lost utterance 
 in tears. 
 
 Oh woman, God beloved in old Jerusalem ! The best among us need 
 deal lightly with thy faults, if only for the punishment thy nature will 
 endure, in bearing heavy evidence against us, on the Day of Judgment ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 IN WHICH SOME PEOPLE ARE PRECOCIOUS, OTHERS PROFESSIONAL, AND 
 OTHERS MYSTERIOUS : ALL IN THEIR SEVERAL WAYS. 
 
 It may have been the restless remembrance of what he had seen and 
 heard over-night, or it may have been no deeper mental operation than 
 the discovery that he had nothing to do, which caused Mr. Bailey, on 
 the following afternoon, to feel particularly disposed for agreeable 
 society, and prompted him to pay a visit to his friend Poll Sweedlepipe. 
 On the little bell giving clamorous notice of a visitor's approach (for 
 Mr. Bailey came in at the door with a lunge, to get as much sound out 
 of the bell as possible). Poll Sweedlepipe desisted from the contempla- 
 tion of a favourite owl, and gave his young friend hearty welcome. 
 
 " Why, you look smarter by day," said Poll, " than you do by candle- 
 light. I never see such a tight young dasher." 
 
 " Pteether so, Polly. How 's our fair friend Sairah 1 " 
 « Oh, she 's pretty well," said Poll. " She 's at home." 
 " There 's the remains of a fine woman about Sairah, Poll," observed 
 Mr. Bailey, with genteel indiflerence. 
 
 "Oh 1" thought Poll, "he's old. He must be very old !" 
 " Too much crumb, you know," said Mr. Bailey ; '- too fat. Poll. 
 But there's many worse at her time of life." 
 
346 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 "The very owl's a opening his eyes!" thought Poll. "I don't 
 wonder at it, in a bird of his opinions." 
 
 He happened to have been sharpening his razors, which were lying 
 open in a row, while a huge strop dangled from the wall. Glancing at 
 these preparations, Mr. Bailey stroked his chin, and a thought appeared 
 to occur to him. 
 
 "Poll," he said, "I ain't as neat as I could wish about the gills. 
 Being here, I may as well have a shave, and get trimmed close." 
 
 The barber stood aghast ; but Mr. Bailey divested himself of his 
 neckcloth, and sat down in the easy shaving chair with all the dignity 
 and confidence in life. There was no resisting his manner. The evi- 
 dence of sight and touch became as nothing. His chin was as smooth 
 as a new-laid egg or a scraped Dutch cheese ; but Poll Sweedlepipe 
 wouldn't have ventured to deny, on affidavit, that he had the beard of 
 a Jewish rabbi. 
 
 " Go with the grain. Poll, all round, please," said Mr. Bailey, screwing 
 up his face for the reception of the lather. " You may do wot you like 
 with the bits of whisker. I don't care for 'em." 
 
 The meek little barber stood gazing at him with the brush and soap- 
 dish in his hand, stirring them round and round in a ludicrous uncer- 
 tainty, as if he were disabled by some fascination from beginning. At 
 last he made a dash at Mr. Bailey's cheek. Then he stopped again, as 
 if the ghost of a beard had suddenly receded from his touch ; but 
 receiving mild encouragement from Mr. Bailey, in the form of an adju- 
 ration to " Go in and win," he lathered him bountifully. Mr. Bailey 
 smiled through the suds in his satisfaction. 
 
 " Gently over the stones. Poll. Go a-tiptoe over the pimples ! " 
 
 Poll Sweedlepipe obeyed, and scraped the lather off again with parti- 
 cular care. Mr. Bailey squinted at every successive dab, as it was 
 deposited on a cloth on his left shoulder, and seemed, with a microscopic 
 eye, to detect some bristles in it ; for he murmured more than once, 
 " Beether redder than I could wish. Poll." The operation being con- 
 cluded, Paul fell back and stared at him again, while Mr. Bailey, wiping 
 his face on the jack-towel, remarked, " that arter late hours nothing 
 freshened up a man so much as a easy shave." 
 
 He was in the act of tying his cravat at the glass, without his coat, 
 and Poll had wiped his razor, ready for the next customer, when Mrs. 
 Gamp, coming down stairs, looked in at the shop-door to give the barber 
 neighbourly good day. Feeling for her unfortunate situation, in having 
 conceived a regard for himself which it was not in the nature of things 
 that he could return, Mr. Bailey hastened to soothe her with words of 
 kindness. 
 
 "Hallo!" he said, " Sairah ! I needn't ask you how you've been 
 this long time, for you 're in full bloom. All a blowin' and a growin' ; 
 ain't she, Polly V 
 
 " Why, drat the Bragian boldness of that boy ! " cried Mrs. Gamp, 
 though not displeased. " What a imperent young sparrow it is ! I 
 wouldn't be that creetur s mother not for fifty pound ! " 
 
 Mr. Bailey regarded this as a delicate confession of her attachment, 
 and a hint that no pecuniary gain could recompense her for its being 
 
Jp 
 
 CaaJ-^Qy%^ 
 
 %^'^^'7- 
 
5IARTIN CIIUZZLEWIT. 347 
 
 rendered hopeless. He felt flattered. Disinterested affection is always 
 flattering. 
 
 " Ah, dear !" moaned Mrs. Gamp, sinking into the shaving chair, 
 " That there blessed Bull, Mr. Sweedlepipe, has done his wery best to 
 conker me. Of all the trying invalieges in this wally of the shadder, 
 that one beats 'em black and blue." 
 
 It was the practice of Mrs. Gamp and her friends in the profession, to 
 say this of all the easy customers ; as having at once the effect of dis- 
 couraging competitors for office, and accounting for the necessity of high 
 living on the part of the nurses. 
 
 " Talk of constitooshun !" Mrs. Gamp observed. " A person's con- 
 stitooshun need be made of Bricks to stand it. Mrs. Harris jestly says 
 to me, but t'other day, ' Oh ! Sairey Gamp,' she says, ' how is it done T 
 ' Mrs. Harris, ma'am,' I says to her, ' we gives no trust ourselves, and 
 puts a deal o' trust elsevere ; these is our religious feelins, and we finds 
 'em answer.' ' Sairey,' says Mrs. Harris, ' sech is life. Vich likeways 
 is the hend of all things !' " 
 
 The barber gave a soft murmur, as much as to say that Mrs. Harris's 
 remark, though perhaps not quite so intelligible as could be desired 
 from such an authority, did equal honour to her head and to her heart. 
 
 " And here," continued Mrs. Gamp, " and here am I a goin twenty 
 mile in distant, on as wentersome a chance as ever any one as monthlied 
 ever run, I do believe. Says Mrs. Harris, with a woman's and a 
 mother's art a beatin in her human breast, says she to me, ' You 're not 
 a goin, Sairey, Lord forgive you !' ' Why am I not a going, Mrs. 
 Harris V I replies. ' Mrs. Gill,' I says, ' wos never wrong with six ; 
 and is it likely, ma'am — I ast you as a mother — that she will begin 
 to be unreg'lar now. Often and often have I heerd him say,' I says to 
 Mrs. Harris, 'meaning Mr. Gill, that he would back his wife agen 
 Moore's almanack, to name the very day and hour, for ninepence farden. 
 Is it likely, ma'am,' I says, ' as she will fail this once ?' Says Mrs. 
 Harris, ' No, ma'am, not [in the course of nater. But,' she says, the 
 tears a fillin in her eyes, ' you knows much betterer than me, with your 
 experienge, how little puts us out. A Punch's show,' she says, ' a 
 chimbley sweep, a newfunlandog, or a drunkin man, a comin round the 
 comer sharp, may do it.' So it may, Mr. Sweedlepipes," said Mrs. 
 Gamp, " there 's no deniging of it ; and though my books is clear for full 
 a week, I takes a anxious art along with me, I do assure you, sir." 
 
 " You 're so full of zeal, you see ! " said Poll. "You worrit yourself so." 
 
 '•'Worrit myself !" cried Mrs. Gamp, raising her hands and turning up 
 her eyes. " You speak the truth in that, sir, if you never speaks no 
 more, 'twixt this and when two Sundays jines together. I feels the 
 sufferins of other people more than I feels my own, though no one mayn't 
 suppoge it. The families I've had," said Mrs. Gamp, "if all wos 
 knowd, and credit done where credit's doo, would take a week to 
 chris'en at Saint Polge's fontin !" 
 
 " Where 's the patient going?" asked Sweedlepipe. 
 
 " Into Harfordshire, which is his native air. But native airs nor 
 native graces neither," Mrs. Gamp observed, " won't bring /n'?u round." 
 
 " So bad as that ?" inquired the wistful barber. " Indeed !" 
 
348 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Mrs. Gamp shook her head mysteriously, and pursed up her lips. 
 " There 's fevers of the mind," she said, " as well as body. You may 
 take your slime drafts till you flies into the air with efferwescence ; but 
 you won't cure that." 
 
 "Ah !" said the barber, opening his eyes, and putting on his raven 
 aspect, " Lor !" 
 
 " No. You may make yourself as light as any gash balloon," said 
 Mrs. Gamp. " But talk, when you 're wrong in your head and when 
 you 're in your sleep, of certain things ; and you '11 be heavy in your 
 mind." 
 
 " Of what kind of things now 1" inquired Poll, greedily biting his 
 nails in his great interest. " Ghosts ?" 
 
 Mrs. Gamp, who perhaps had been already tempted further than she 
 had intended to go, by the barber's stimulating curiosity, gave a sniff of 
 uncommon significance, and said, it didn't matter. 
 
 " I'm a going down with my patient in the coach this arternoon," 
 she proceeded. " I 'm a going to stop with him a day or so, till he gets 
 a country nuss (drat them country nusses, much the orkard hussies 
 knows about their bis'ness) ; and then I 'm a comin' back ; and that 's 
 my trouble, Mr. Sweedlepipes. But I hope that everythink '11 only go 
 on right and comfortable as long as I 'm away ; perwisin which, as 
 Mrs. Harris says, Mrs. Gill is welcome to choose her own time : all 
 times of the day and night bein' equally the same to me." 
 
 During the progress of the foregoing remarks, which Mrs. Gamp had 
 addressed exclusively to the Barber, Mr. Bailey had been tying his 
 cravat, getting on his coat, and making hideous faces at himself in the 
 glass. Being now personally addressed by Mrs. Gamp, he turned 
 round, and mingled in the conversation. 
 
 " You ain't been in the city, I suppose, sir, since we was all three 
 there together," said Mrs. Gamp, "at Mr. Ohuzzlewit's 1" 
 
 " Yes I have, Sairah. I was there, last night." 
 
 " Last night ! " cried the Barber. 
 
 " Yes, Poll, reether so. You can call it this morning if you like to be 
 particular. He dined with us." 
 
 " Who does that young Limb mean by ' hus 1 ' " said Mrs. Gamp, 
 with most impatient emphasis. 
 
 " Me and my Governor, Sairah. He dined at our house. We vros 
 very merry, Sairah. So much so, that I was obliged to see him home 
 in a hackney coach at three o'clock in the morning." It was on the tip 
 of the boy's tongue to relate what had followed ; but remembering how 
 easily it might be carried to his master's ears, and the repeated cautions 
 he had had from Mr. Crimple " not to chatter," he checked himself : 
 adding only, " She was sitting up, expecting him," 
 
 " And all things considered," said Mrs. Gamp sharply, " she might 
 have know'd better than to go a tiring herself out, by doin' anythink of 
 the sort. Did they seem pretty pleasant together, sir 1 " 
 
 " Oh, yes," answered Bailey, " pleasant enough." 
 
 " I'm glad on it," said Mrs. Gamp, with a second sniff of significance. 
 
 " They haven't been married so long," observed Poll, rubbing his 
 hands, " that they need be anything but pleasant yet awhile." 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 349 
 
 " No," said Mrs. Gamp, with a third significant signal. 
 
 " Especially," pursued the Barber, " when the gentleman bears such a 
 character as you gave him." 
 
 " I speak as I find, Mr. Sweedlepipes," said Mrs. Gamp. " Forbid 
 it should be otherv/ays ! But we never knows wot's hidden in each 
 others hearts ; and if we had glass winders there, we'd need to keep the 
 shetters up, some on us, I do assure you ! " 
 
 " But you don't mean to say " — Poll Sweedlepipe began. 
 
 " No, " said Mrs. Gamp, cutting him very short, " I don't. Don't 
 think I do. The torters of the Imposition shouldn't make me own I 
 did. All I says is," added the good woman rising and folding her 
 shawl about her, " that the Bull's a waitin, and the precious moments is 
 a flyin' fast."^^ 
 
 The little barber having in his eager curiosity a great desire to see 
 Mrs. Gamp's patient, proposed to Mr. Bailey that they should accompany 
 her to the Bull, and witness the departure of the coach. That young 
 gentleman assenting, they all went out together. 
 
 Arri\dng at the tavern, Mrs. Gamp (who was full-dressed for the 
 journey, in her latest suit of mourning) left her friends to entertain them- 
 selves in the yard, while she ascended to the sick room, where her fellow- 
 labourer Mrs. Prig was dressing the invalid. 
 
 He was so wasted, that it seemed as if his bones would rattle when 
 they moved him. His cheeks were sunken, and his eyes unnaturally 
 large. He lay back in the easy chair like one more dead than living ; 
 and rolled his languid eyes towards the door when Mrs. Gamp appeared, 
 as painfully as if their weight alone were burdensome to move. 
 
 " And how are we by this time ?" Mrs. Gamp observed. " We looks 
 charming." 
 
 " We looks a deal charminger than we are, then," returned Mrs. Prig, 
 a little chafed in her temper. " We got out of bed back'ards, I think, 
 for we're as cross as two sticks. I never see sich a man. He wouldn't 
 have been washed, if he'd had his own way." 
 
 " She put the soap in my mouth," said the unfortunate patient, 
 feebly. 
 
 " Couldn't you keep it shut then ?" retorted Mrs. Prig. " Who do 
 you think's to wash one feater, and miss another, and wear one's eyes out 
 with all manner of fine-work of that -description, for half-a-crown a day] 
 If you wants to be tittivated, you must pay accordin." 
 
 " Oh dear me ! " cried the patient, " oh dear, dear ! " 
 
 " There ! " said Mrs. Prig, " that's the way he 's been a conducting 
 of himself, Sarah, ever since I got him out of bed, if you '11 believe it." 
 
 " Instead of being grateful," Mrs. Gamp observed, " for all our little 
 ways. Oh, fie for shame, sir, fie for shame ! " 
 
 Here Mrs. Prig seized the patient by the chin, and began to rasp 
 his unhappy head with a hair-brush. 
 
 " I suppose you don't like that, neither ! " she observed, stopping to 
 look at him. 
 
 It was just possible that he didn't, for the brush was a specimen of 
 the hardest kind of instrument producible by modern art ; and his very 
 eye-lids were red with the friction. Mrs. Prig was e-ratified to observe 
 
350 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 the correctness of her supposition, and said triumphantly, " she know'd 
 as-much." 
 
 When his hair was smoothed down comfortably into his eyes, Mrs. 
 Prig and Mrs. Gamp put on his neckerchief : adjusting his shirt-collar 
 with great nicety, so that the starched points should also invade those 
 organs, and afflict them with an artificial ophthalmia. His waistcoat 
 and coat were next arranged : and as every button was wrenched into a 
 wrong button-hole, and the order of his boots was reversed, he pre- 
 sented on the whole rather a melancholy appearance. 
 
 " I don't think it's right," said the poor weak invalid. " I feel as if 
 I was in somebody else's clothes. I'm all on one side ; and you've 
 made one of my legs shorter than the other. There's a bottle in my 
 pocket too. What do you make me sit upon a bottle for 1 " 
 
 " Deuce take the man ! " cried Mrs. Gamp, drawing it forth. " If 
 he ain't been and got my night-bottle here. I made a little cupboard 
 of his coat when it hung behind the door, and quite forgot it, Betsey. 
 You'll find a ingun or two, and a little tea and sugar in his t'other 
 pocket, my dear, if you'll jest be good enough to take 'em out." 
 
 Betsey produced the property in question, together with some other 
 articles of general chandlery ; and Mrs. Gamp transferred them to her 
 own pocket, which was a species of nankeen pannier. Refreshment then 
 arrived in the form of chops and strong ale, for the ladies, and a basin 
 of beef-tea for the patient : which refection was barely at an end when 
 John Westlock appeared. 
 
 " Up and dressed ! " cried John, sitting down beside him. " That's 
 brave. How do you feel 1 " 
 
 " Much better. But very weak." 
 
 " No wonder. You have had a hard bout of it. But country air, 
 and change of scene," said John, " will make another man of you ! Why, 
 Mrs, Gamp," he added, laughing, as he kindly arranged the sick man's 
 garments, "you have odd notions of a gentleman's dress !" 
 
 " Mr. Leewsome an't a easy gent to get into his clothes, sir," Mrs. 
 Gamp replied with dignity ; " as me and Betsey Prig can certify afore 
 the Lord Mayor and Uncommon Counsellors, if needful ! " 
 
 John was at that moment standing close in front of the sick man, in 
 the act of releasing him from the torture of the collars before mentioned, 
 when he said in a whisper : 
 
 " Mr. Westlock ! I don't wish to be overheard. I have something 
 very particular and strange to say to you ; something that has been a 
 dreadful weight on my mind, through this long illness." 
 
 Quick in all his motions, John was turning round to desire the 
 women to leave the room : when the sick man held him by the sleeve. 
 
 " Not now. I've not the strength. I've not the courage. May I tell 
 it when I have 1 May I write it, if I find that easier and better ? " 
 .- " May you ! " cried John. " Why, Leewsome, what is this ! " 
 
 " Don't ask me what it is. It's unnatural and cruel. Frightful to 
 think of. Frightful to tell. Frightful to know. Frightful to have 
 helped in. Let me kiss your hand for all your goodness to me. Be 
 kinder still, and don't ask me what it is ! " 
 
 At first, John gazed at him, in great surprise ; but remembering how 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 351 
 
 very much reduced lie was, and how recently his brain had been on fire 
 with fever, believed that he was labouring under some imaginary horror, 
 or despondent fancy. For farther information on this point, he took an 
 opportunity of drawing Mrs. Gamp aside, while Betsey Prig was wrapping 
 him in cloaks and shawls, and asked her whether he was quite col- 
 lected in his mind. 
 
 " Oh bless you, no !" said Mrs. Gamp. " He hates his nusses to this 
 hour. They always does it, sir. It 's a certain sign. If you could 
 have heerd the poor dear soul a findin' fault with me and Betsey Prig, 
 not half an hour ago, you would have wondered how it is we don't get 
 fretted to the tomb." 
 
 This almost confirmed John in his suspicion ; so, not taking what had 
 passed into any serious account, he resumed his former cheerful manner, 
 and assisted by Mrs. Gamp and Betsey Prig, conducted Leewsome down- 
 stairs to the coach : just then upon the point of starting. 
 
 Poll Sweedlepipe was at the door with his arms tight folded and his 
 •eyes wide open, and looked on with absorbing interest, while the sick 
 man was slowly moved into the vehicle. His bony hands and haggard 
 face impressed Poll wonderfully ; and he informed Mr. Bailey, in confi- 
 dence, that he wouldn't have missed seeing him for a pound. Mr. Bailey, 
 who was of a different constitution, remarked, that he would have staid 
 away for five shillings. 
 
 It was a troublesome matter to adjust Mrs. Gamp's luggage to her 
 satisfaction ; for every package belonging to that lady had the in- 
 convenient property of requiring to be put in a boot by itself, and to 
 have no other luggage near it, on pain of actions at law for heavy 
 damages against the proprietors of the coach. The umbrella with the 
 circular patch was particularly hard to be got rid of, and several times 
 thrust out its battered brass nozzle from improper crevices and chinks, 
 to the great terror of the other passengers. Indeed, in her intense 
 anxiety to find a haven of refuge for this chattel, Mrs. Gamp so often 
 moved it, in the course of five minutes, that it seemed not one umbrella 
 but fifty. At length it was lost, or said to be ; and for the next five 
 minutes she was face to face with the coachman, go wherever he might, 
 protesting that it should be " made good," though she took the question 
 to the House of Commons. 
 
 At last, her bundle, and her pattens, and her basket, and everything 
 €lse, being disposed of, she took a friendly leave of Poll and Mr. Bailey, 
 dropped a curtsey to John Westlock, and parted as from a cherished 
 member of the sisterhood with Betsey Prig. 
 
 " Wishin' you lots of sickness, my darling creetur," Mrs. Gamp ob- 
 served, " and good places. It won't be long, I hope, afore we works 
 together, ofi" and on, again, Betsey ; and may our next meetin' be at a 
 large family's, where they all takes it reg'lar, one from another, turn and 
 turn about, and has it business-like." 
 
 " I don't care how soon it is," said Mrs. Prig ; " nor how many weeks 
 it lasts." 
 
 Mrs. Gamp with a reply in a congenial spirit was backing to the 
 coach, when she came in contact with a lady and gentleman who were 
 passing along the footway. 
 
352 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Take care, take care here ! " cried the gentleman. " Halloo ! My 
 dear ! Why, it's Mrs. Gamp ! " 
 
 "What, Mr. Mould !" exclaimed the nurse. " And Mrs. Mould ! who 
 would have thought as we should ever have a meetin' here, I'm sure !" 
 
 " Going out of town, Mrs. Gamp ? " cried Mould. " That's unusual, 
 isn't it ?" 
 
 " It is unusual, sir," said Mrs. Gamp. " But only for a day or two at 
 most. The gent," she whispered, " as I spoke about." 
 
 " What, in the coach ! " cried Mould. " The one you thought of 
 recommending ? Very odd. My dear, this will interest you. The gen- 
 tleman that Mrs. Gamp thought likely to suit us, is in the coach, my 
 love." 
 
 Mrs. Mould was greatly interested. 
 
 " Here, my dear. You can stand upon the door-step," said Mould, 
 " and take a look at him. Ha ! There he is. Where's my glass ? 
 Oh ! all right, I've got it. Do you see him, my dear 1 " 
 
 " Quite plain," said Mrs. Mould. 
 
 " Upon my life you know, this is a very singular circumstance," said 
 Mould, quite delighted. " This is the sort of thing, my dear, I wouldn't 
 have missed on any account. It tickles one. It's interesting. It's 
 almost a little play, you know. Ah ! There he is ! To be sure. 
 Look's poorly, Mrs. M., don't he ? " 
 
 Mrs. Mould assented. 
 
 " He's coming our way, perhaps, after all," said Mould. " 'Who 
 knows ! I feel as if I ought to show him some little attention, really. 
 He don't seem a stranger to me. I'm very much inclined to move my 
 hat, my dear." 
 
 "He's looking hard this way," said Mrs. Mould. 
 
 " Then I will ! " cried Mould. " How d'ye do, sir % I wish you good 
 day. Ha ! He bows too. Very gentlemanly. Mrs. Gamp has the 
 cards in her pocket, I have no doubt. This is very singular, my dear — 
 and very pleasant. I am not superstitious, but it really seems as if one 
 was destined to pay him those little melancholy civilities which belong- 
 to our peculiar line of business. There can be no kind of objection to 
 your kissing your hand to him, my dear." 
 
 Mrs. Mould did so. 
 
 " Ha ! " said Mould. " He 's evidently gratified. Poor fellow ! I 'm 
 quite glad you did it, my love. Bye bye, Mrs. Gamp !" waving his 
 hand. " There he goes ; there he goes i" 
 
 So he did ; for the coach rolled off as the words were spoken. Mr. 
 and Mrs. Mould, in high good humour, went their merry way. Mr. Bailey 
 retired with Poll Sweedlepipe as soon as possible ; but some little time 
 elapsed before he could remove his friend from the ground, owing to the 
 impression wrought upon the barber's nerves by Mrs. Prig, whom he 
 pronounced, in admiration of her beard, to be a woman of transcendent 
 charms. 
 
 When the light cloud of bustle hanging round the coach was thus 
 dispersed, Nadgett was seen in the darkest box of the Bull coffee-room, 
 looking wistfully up at the clock — as if the man who never appeared, 
 were a little behind his time. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 353 
 
 CHAPTEE, XXX. 
 
 PROVES THAT CHANGES MAY BE RUNG IN THE BEST-REGULATED FAMILIES, 
 AND THAT MR. PECKSNIFF WAS A SPECIAL HAND AT A TRIPLE-BOB- 
 MAJOR. 
 
 As the surgeon's first care after amputating a limb is to take up the 
 arteries the cruel knife has severed, so it is the duty of this history, 
 which in its remorseless course has cut from the Pecksniffian trunk its 
 right arm, Mercy, to look to the parent stem, and see how in all its 
 various ramifications it got on without her. 
 
 And first of Mr. Pecksniff, it may be observed, that having provided 
 for his younger daughter that choicest of blessings, a tender and 
 indulgent husband ; and having gratified the dearest wish of his parental 
 heart by establishing her in life so happily; he renewed his youth, and 
 spreading the plumage of his own bright conscience, felt himself equal 
 to all kinds of flights. It is customary with fathers in stage-plays, 
 after giving their daughters to the men of their hearts, to congratulate 
 themselves on having no other business on their hands but to die 
 immediately : though it is rarely found that they are in a hurry to do 
 it. Mr. Pecksnifi", being a father of a more sage and practical class, 
 appeared to think that his immediate business was to live; and having 
 deprived himself of one comfort, to surround himself with others. 
 
 But however much inclined the good man was, to be jocose and play- 
 ful, and in the garden of his fancy to disport himself (if one may say so), 
 like an architectural kitten, he had one impediment constantly opposed to 
 him. The gentle Cherry, stung by a sense of slight and injury, which 
 far from softening down or wearing out, rankled and festered in her 
 heart — the gentle Cherry was in fiat rebellion. She waged fierce war 
 against her dear Papa ; she led her parent what is usually called, for 
 want of a better figure of speech, the life of a dog. But never did that 
 dog live, in kennel, stable-yard, or house, whose life was half as hard 
 as Mr. Pecksnifi''s with his gentle child. 
 
 The father and daughter were sitting at their breakfast. Tom had 
 retired, and they were alone. Mr. Pecksnifi" frowned at first ; but hav- 
 ing cleared his brow, looked stealthily at his child. Her nose was 
 very red indeed, and screwed up tight, with hostile preparation. 
 
 " Cherry," cried Mr. Pecksniff", " what is amiss between us 1 My 
 child, why are we disunited?" 
 
 Miss Pecksniff"'s answer was scarcely a response to this gush of affec- 
 tion, for it was simply, "Bother, Pa!" 
 
 "Bother!" repeated Mr. Pecksniff", in a tone of anguish. 
 
 " Oh ! 'tis too late. Pa," said his daughter, calmly, " to talk to me 
 like that. I know what it means, and what its value is." 
 
 "This is hard!" cried Mr. Pecksniff", addressing his breakfr.st-cup. 
 " This is very hard ! She is my child. I carried her in my arms, 
 
 A A 
 
354 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 when slie wore shapeless worsted shoes — I might say, mufflers — many 
 years ago ! " 
 
 " You need n't taunt me with that, Pa," retorted Cherry, with a spite- 
 ful look. " I am not so many years older than my sister, either, though 
 she is married to your friend !" 
 
 "Ah, human nature, human nature! Poor human nature!" said 
 Mr. Pecksniff, shaking his head at human nature as if he did n't belong 
 to it. " To think that this discord should arise from such a cause ! oh 
 dear, oh dear!" 
 
 " From such a cause indeed!" cried Cherry. " State the real cause, 
 Pa, or I '11 state it myself Mind ! I will !" 
 
 Perhaps the energy with which she said this was infectious. However 
 that may be, Mr. Pecksniff changed his tone and the expression of his 
 face, for one of anger if not downright violence, when he said : 
 
 " You will ! you have. You did yesterday. You do always. You 
 have no decency ; you make no secret of your temper ; you have exposed 
 yourself to Mr. Chuzzlewit, a hundred times." 
 
 " Myself ! " cried Cherry, with a bitter smile. " Oh indeed ! I don't 
 mind that." 
 
 " Me too, then," said Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 His daughter answered with a scornful laugh. 
 
 " And since we have come to an explanation. Charity," said Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, rolling his head portentously, " let me tell you that I won't allow 
 it. None of your nonsense. Miss ! I won't permit it to be done." 
 
 " I shall do," said Charity, rocking her chair backwards and forwards, 
 and raising her voice to a high pitch, " I shall do. Pa, what I please 
 and what I have done. I am not going to be crushed in everything, 
 depend upon it. I 've been more shamefully used than anybody ever 
 was in this world," here she began to cry and sob, " and may expect 
 the worst treatment from you, I know. But I don't care for that. No 
 I don't !" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff was made so desperate by the loud tone in which she 
 spoke, that, after looking about him in frantic uncertainty for some 
 means of softening it, he rose and shook her until the ornamental bow 
 of hair upon her head nodded like a plume. She was so very much 
 astonished by this assault, that it really had the desired effect. 
 
 " I '11 do it again !" cried Mr. Pecksniff as he resumed his seat, and 
 fetched his breath, " if you dare to talk in that loud manner. How 
 do you mean about being shamefully usedl If Mr. Jonas chose your 
 sister in preference to you, who could help it, I should wish to know ? 
 What have / to do with it ?" 
 
 " Was n't I made a convenience of? Were n't my feelings trifled with ? 
 Didn't he address himself to me first?" sobbed Cherry, clasping her 
 hands ; " and oh good gracious, that I should live to be shook ! " 
 
 " You '11 live to be shaken again," returned her parent, " if you drive 
 me to that means of maintaining the decorum of this humble roof You 
 surprise me. I wonder you have not more spirit. If Mr. Jonas did n't 
 care for you, how could you wish to have him ?" 
 
 " / wish to have him ! " exclaimed Cherry. " / wish to have him, Pa ! " 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 355 
 
 " Then wliat are you niakiug all tliis piece of work for," retorted her 
 father, " if you did n't wish to have him ?" 
 
 " Because I was treated with duplicity," said Cherry ; " and because 
 my own sister and my own father conspired against me. I am not 
 angry with her,'" said Cherry, looking much more angry than ever. " I 
 pity her. I 'm sorry for her. I know the fate that 's in store for her, 
 with that Wretch." 
 
 " Mr. Jonas will survive your calling him a wretch, my child, I dare 
 say," said Mr. Pecksniff with returning resignation : " hut call him what 
 you like and make an end of it." 
 
 " Not an end Pa," said Charity. " No, not an end. That 's not the 
 only point on which we're not agreed. I won't submit to it. It's 
 better you should know that, at once. No ; I Avon't submit to it 
 indeed Pa ! I am not quite a fool, and I am not blind. All I have 
 got to say, is, I won't submit to it." 
 
 Whatever she meant, she shook Mr. Pecksniff now ; for his lame 
 attempt to seem composed, was melancholy in the last degree. His 
 anger changed to meekness, and his words were mild and fawning. 
 
 " My dear," he said ; " if in the short excitement of an angry moment 
 I resorted to any unjustifiable means of suppressing a little outbreak cal- 
 culated to injure you as well as myself — it 's possible I may have done 
 so ; perhaps I did — I ask your pardon. A father asking pardon of his 
 child" said Mr. Pecksniff "is, I believe, a spectacle to soften the most 
 rugged nature." 
 
 But it did n't at all soften Miss Pecksniff : perhaps because her nature 
 was not rugged enough. On the contrary she persisted in saying, over 
 and over again, that she wasn't quite a fool, and wasn't blind, and 
 Avould n't submit to it. 
 
 "You labour under some mistake, my child !" said Mr. Pecksniff: 
 " but I will not ask you what it is ; I don't desire to know. No, pray !" 
 he added, holding out his hand and colouring again, " let us avoid the 
 subject my dear, whatever it is !" 
 
 " It 's quite right that the subject should be avoided between us, Sir,'* 
 said Cherry. " But I wish to be able to avoid it altogether, and conse- 
 quently must beg you to provide me with a home." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff looked about the room, and said " A home, my child !" 
 
 " Another home. Papa," said Cherry with increasing stateliness. 
 " Place me at Mrs. Todgers's or somewhere, on an independent footing j 
 but I will not live here, if such is to be the case." 
 
 It is possible that Miss Pecksniff saw in Mrs. Todgers's, a vision of 
 enthusiastic men, pining to fall, in adoration, at her feet. It is possible 
 that Mr. Pecksniff, in his new-born juvenility, saw in the suggestion of 
 that same establishment, an easy means of relieving himself from an irk- 
 some charge in the way of temper and watchfulness. It is undoubtedly 
 a fact that in the attentive ears of Mr. Pecksniff, the proposition did not 
 sound quite like the dismal knell of all his hopes. 
 
 But he was a man of great feeling, and acute sensibility ; and he 
 squeezed his pocket-handkerchief against his eyes with both hands — as 
 such men always do : especially when they are observed " One of my 
 
 A A 2 
 
356 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 birds," Mr. Pecksniff said, " has left me for the stranger's breast ; the 
 other would take wing to Todgers's ! Well, well, what am 11 I don't 
 know what I am, exactly. Never mind !" 
 
 Even this remark, made more pathetic perhaps bj his breaking 
 down in the middle of it, had no effect upon Charity. She was grim, 
 rigid, and inflexible. 
 
 " But I have ever," said Mr. Pecksniff, " sacrificed my children's happi- 
 ness to my own — I mean my own happiness to my children's — and I will 
 not begin to regulate my life by other rules of conduct now. If you 
 can be happier at Mrs. Todgers's than in your father's house, my dear, 
 go to Mrs. Todgers's ! Do not think of me, my girl !" said Mr. Pecksniff, 
 M'ith emotion : " I shall get on pretty well, no doubt." 
 
 Miss Charity, who knew he had a secret pleasure in the contemplation 
 of the proposed change, suppressed her own, and went on to negociate 
 the terms. His views upon this subject were at first so very limited 
 that another difference, involving possibly another shaking, threatened 
 to ensue ; but by degrees they came to something like an understanding, 
 and the storm blew over. Indeed Miss Charity's idea was so agreeable 
 to both, that it would have been strange if they had not come to an 
 amicable agreement. It was soon arranged between them that the project 
 should be tried, and that immediately ; and that Cherry's not being well, 
 and needing change of scene, and wishing to be near her sister, should 
 form the excuse for her departure, to Mr. Chuzzlewit and Mary, to both 
 of whom she had pleaded indisposition for some time past. These pre- 
 mises agreed on, Mr. Pecksniff gave her his blessing, with all the dignity 
 of a self-denying man who had made a hard sacrifice, but comforted 
 himself with the reflection that virtue is its own reward. Thus they were 
 reconciled for the first time since that not easily forgiven night, when 
 Mr. Jonas, repudiating the elder, had confessed his passion for the 
 younger sister, and Mr. Pecksniff had abetted him on moral grounds. 
 
 But how happened it — in the name of an unexpected addition to that 
 small family, the Seven Wonders of the World, whatever and wherever 
 they may be, how happened it — that Mr. Pecksniff and his daughter 
 were about to part 1 How happened it that their mutual relations were 
 so greatly altered ? Why was Miss Pecksniff so clamorous to have it 
 understood that she was neither blind nor foolish, and she wouldn't bear 
 it 1 It is not possible that Mr. Pecksniff had any thoughts of marrying 
 again ! or that his daughter, with the sharp eye of a single woman, 
 fathomed his desio:n ! 
 
 Let us inquire into this. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff, as a man without reproach, from whom the breath of 
 slander passed like common breath from any other polished surface, 
 could afford to do what common men could not. He knew the purity 
 of his own motives ; and when he had a motive worked at it as only a 
 very good man (or a very bad one) can. Did he set before himself any 
 strong and palpable motives for taking a second wife 1 Yes : and not 
 one or two of them, but a combination of very many. 
 
 Old Martin Chuzzlewit had gradually undergone an important change. 
 Even upon the night when he made such an ill-timed arrival at Mr. 
 
MARTIN CnUZZLEWIT. 3o7 
 
 Pecksniff's house, lie was comparatively subdued and easy to deal with. 
 This Mr. Pecksniff attributed, at the time, to the effect his brother s 
 death had had upon him. But from that hour his character seemed to 
 have modified by regular degrees and. to have softened down into a 
 dull indifference for almost every one but Mr. Pecksniff. His looks 
 were much the same as ever, but his mind was singularly altered. 
 It was not that this or that passion stood out in brighter or in 
 dimmer hues ; but that the colour of the whole man was faded. As 
 one trait disappeared, no other trait sprung up to take its place. 
 His senses dwindled too. He was less keen of sight ; was deaf 
 sometimes ; took little notice of what passed before him ; and would be 
 profoundly taciturn for days together. The process of this alteration 
 was so easy, that almost as soon as it began to be observed it was com- 
 plete. But Mr. Pecksniff saw it first, and having Anthony Chuzzlewit 
 fresh in his recollection, saw in his brother Martin the same process of 
 decay. 
 
 To a gentleman of Mr. Pecksniff^s tenderness, this was a very mourn- 
 ful sight. He could not but foresee the probability of his respected 
 relative being made the victim of designing persons, and of his riches 
 falling into worthless hands. It gave him so much pain that he resolved 
 to secure the property to himself ; to keep bad testamentary suitors at a 
 distance ; to wall up the old gentleman, as it were, for his own use. By 
 little and little, therefore, he began to try whether Mr. Chuzzlewit gave 
 any promise of becoming an instrument in his hands ; and finding 
 that he did, and indeed that he was very supple in his plastic fingers, he 
 made it the business of his life — kind soul ! — to establish an ascendancy 
 over him : and every little test he durst apply meeting with a success 
 beyond his hopes, he began to think he heard old Martin's cash already 
 chinking in his own unworldly pockets. 
 
 But when Mr. Pecksniff pondered on this subject (as, in his zealous 
 way he often did), and thought with an uplifted heart of the train of 
 circumstances which had delivered the old gentleman into his hands for 
 the confusion of evil-doers and the triumph of a righteous nature, he 
 always felt that Mary Uraham was his stumbling-block. Let the old 
 man say what he would, Mr. Pecksniff knew he had a strong affection 
 for her. He knew that he showed it in a thousand little ways ; that he 
 liked to have her near him, and was never quite at ease when she was 
 absent long. That he had ever really sworn to leave her nothing in 
 his will, Mr. Pecksniff greatly doubted. That even if he had, there were 
 many ways by which he could evade the oath and satisfy his conscience, 
 Mr. Pecksniff knew. That her unprotected state was no light burden 
 on the old man's mind, he also knew, for Mr. Chuzzlewit had plainly 
 told him so. " Then," said Mr. Pecksniff', " what if I married her ! 
 "What," repeated Mr. Pecksniff, sticking up his hair and glancing at his 
 bust by Spoker : " What if, making sure of his approval first — he is 
 nearly imbecile, poor gentleman — I married her !" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff had a lively sense of the Beautiful : especially in women. 
 His manner towards the sex, was remarkable for its insinuating cha- 
 racter. It is recorded of him in another part of these pages, that he 
 
358 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 embraced Mrs. Todgers on the smallest provocation : and it was a way he 
 had : it was a part of the gentle placidity of his disposition. Before any 
 thought of matrimony was in his mind, he had bestowed on Mary many 
 little tokens of his spiritual admiration. They had been indignantly 
 received, but that was nothing. True, as the idea expanded within him, 
 these had become too ardent to escape the piercing eye of Cherry, who 
 read his scheme at once ; but he had always felt the power of Mary's 
 charms. So Interest and Inclination made a pair, and drew the curricle 
 of Mr. PecksniiF's plan. 
 
 As to any thought of revenging himself on young Martin for his in- 
 solent expressions when they parted, and of shutting him out still more 
 effectually from any hope of reconciliation with his grandfather, Mr. 
 Pecksniff was much too meek and forgiving to be suspected of harbouring 
 it. As to being refused by Mary, Mr. Pecksniff was quite satisfied that 
 in her position she could never hold out if he and Mr. Chuzzlewit were 
 both against her. As to consulting the wishes of her heart in such a 
 case, it formed no part of Mr. Pecksniff's moral code ; for he knew what 
 a good man he was, and what a blessing he must be, to anybody. His 
 daughter having broken the ice, and the murder being out between 
 them, Mr. Pecksniff had now only to pursue his design as cleverly as he 
 could, and by the craftiest approaches. 
 
 " Well, my good Sir," said Mr. Pecksniff meeting old Martin in the 
 garden, for it was his habit to walk in and out by that way, as the 
 fancy took him : " and how is my dear friend this delicious morning V^ 
 
 " Do you mean me ?" asked the old man. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Mr. Pecksniff, " one of his deaf days, I see. Gould I 
 mean any one else, my dear Sir 1" 
 
 " You might have meant Mary," said the old man. 
 
 "Indeed I might. Quite true. I might speak of her as a dear, 
 dear friend, I hope?" observed Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 "I hope so," returned old Martin. " I think she deserves it." - 
 
 " Think ! " cried Pecksniff. " Think, Mr. Chuzzlewit !" 
 
 " You are speaking I know," returned Martin, " but I don't catch 
 what you say. Speak up !" 
 
 " He 's getting deafer than a flint," said Pecksniff. " I was saying, 
 my dear Sir, that I am afraid I must make up my mind to part with 
 Cherry." 
 
 " What has she been doing ? " asked the old man. 
 
 "He puts the most ridiculous questions I ever heard !" muttered Mr. 
 Pecksniff. " He 's a child to-day." After which he added, in a mild 
 roar ; " She hasn 't been doing anything, my dear friend." 
 
 "What are you going to part with her for 1" demanded Martin. 
 
 " She hasn 't her health by any means," said Mr. Pecksniff. " She 
 misses her sister, my dear Sir; they doated on each other from the cradle. 
 And I think of giving her a run in London for a change. A good long 
 run Sir, if I find she likes it." 
 
 " Quite right," cried Martin. " It 's judicious." 
 
 " I am glad to hear you say so. I hope you mean to bear me com- 
 pany in this dull part, while she's away?" said Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 350 
 
 " I have no intention of removing from it," was Martin's answer. 
 
 '• Then why," said Mr. Pecksniff, taking the okl man's arm in his, and 
 walking slowly on: "Why, my good Sir, can't you come and stay 
 with me ? I am sure I could surround you with more comforts — lowly 
 as is my Cot, than you can obtain at a village house of entertainment. 
 And pardon me, Mr. Chuzzlewit, pardon me if I say that such a place 
 as the Dragon, however well-conducted (and, as far as I know, Mrs. 
 Lupin is one of the worthiest creatures in this county), is hardly a home 
 for Miss Graham." 
 
 Martin mused a moment : and then said, as he shook him by the 
 hand, 
 
 " No. You 're quite right ; it is not." 
 
 " The very sight of skittles," Mr. Pecksniff eloquently pursued, " is 
 far from being congenial to a delicate mind." 
 
 " It 's an amusement of the vulgar," said old Martin, " certainly." 
 
 " Of the very vulgar," Mr. Pecksniff answered. " Then why not 
 bring Miss Graham here. Sir? Here is the house ! Here am I alone 
 in it, for Thomas Pinch I do not count as any one. Our lovely friend 
 shall occupy my daughter's chamber ; you shall choose your own ; we 
 shall not quarrel, I hope !" 
 
 " We are not likely to do that," said Martin. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff pressed his hand. " We understand each other, my 
 dear Sir, I see ! — I can wind him," he thought, Avith exultation, '• round 
 my little finger ! " 
 
 " You leave the recompense to me ?" said the old man, after a minute's 
 silence. 
 
 " Oh ! Do not speak of recompense ! " cried Pecksniff. 
 
 " I say," repeated Martin, with a glimmer of his old obstinacy, " you 
 leave the recompense to me. Do you 1" 
 
 " Since you desire it, my good Sir." 
 
 " I always desire it," said the old man. " You know I always desire 
 it. I wish to pay as I go, even when I buy of you. Not that I do not 
 leave a balance to be settled one day, Pecksniff." 
 
 The architect was too much overcome to speak. He tried to drop a 
 tear upon his patron's hand, but could n't find one in his dry 
 distillery. 
 
 " May that day be very distant !" was his pious exclamation. " Ah 
 Sir ! If I could say how deep an interest I have in you and yours ! 
 I allude to our beautiful young friend." 
 
 " True," he answered. " True. She need have some one interested 
 in her. I did her wrong to train her as I did. Orphan though she 
 was, she would have found some one to protect her whom she might have 
 loved again. When she was a child, I pleased myself with the thought 
 that in gratifying my whim of placing her between me and false- 
 hearted knaves, I had done her a kindness. Now she is a woman, 
 I have no such comfort. She has no protector but herself. I have put 
 her at such odds with the world, that any dog may bark or fawn upon 
 her at his pleasure. Indeed she stands in need of delicate consideration. 
 Yes ; indeed she does !" 
 
360 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 "If her position could be altered and defined, Sir?" Mr. Pecksniff 
 liinted. 
 
 " How can that be done 1 Should I make a seamstress of her, or a 
 governess 1 " 
 
 " Heaven forbid !" said Mr. Pecksniff. "My dear Sir, there are other 
 ways. There are indeed. But I am much excited and embarrassed at 
 present, and would rather not pursue the subject. I scarcely know what 
 I mean. Permit me to resume it at another time." 
 
 "You are not unwell ?" asked Martin anxiously. 
 
 " No, no !" cried Pecksniff. " No. Permit me to resume it at another 
 time. I'll walk a little. Bless you !" 
 
 Old Martin blessed him in return, and squeezed his hand. As he turned 
 away, and slowly walked towards the house, Mr. Pecksniff stood gazing 
 after him : being pretty well recovered from his late emotion, which, in 
 any other man, one might have thought had been assumed as a machinery 
 for feeling Martin's pulse. The change in the old man found such a 
 slight expression in his figure, that Mr. Pecksniff, looking after him, 
 could not help saying to himself, 
 
 "And I can wind him round my little finger ! Only think !" 
 
 Old Martin happening to iurn his head, saluted him affectionately. 
 Mr. Pecksniff returned the gesture. 
 
 " Why the time was," said Mr. Pecksniff ; " and not long ago, when 
 he would n't look at me ! How soothing is this change. Such is the 
 delicate texture of the human heart : so complicated is the process of its 
 being softened ! Externally he looks the same, and I can wind him 
 round my little finger. Only think !" 
 
 In sober truth, there did appear to be nothing on which Mr. Peck- 
 sniff might not have ventured with Martin Chuzzlewit ; for whatever 
 Mr. Pecksniff said or did was right, and whatever he advised was done. 
 Martin had escaped so many snares from needy fortune-hunters, and had 
 withered in the shell of his suspicion and distrust for so many years, but 
 to become the good man's tool and plaything. With the happiness of 
 this conviction painted on his face, the architect went forth upon his 
 morning walk. 
 
 The summer weather in his bosom was reflected in the breast of 
 Nature. Through deep green vistas where the boughs arched over-head, 
 and showed the sunlight flashing in the beautiful perspective ; through 
 dewy fern from which the startled hares leaped up, and fled at his 
 approach ; by mantled pools, and fallen trees, and down in hollow places, 
 rustling among last year's leaves whose scent was Memory ; the placid 
 Pecksniff strolled. By meadow gates and hedges fragrant with wild 
 roses; and bythatched-roofed cottages whose inmates humbly bowed before 
 him as a man both good and wise; the worthy Pecksniff walked in tran- 
 quil meditation. The bee passed onward, humming of the work he had 
 to do; the idle gnats for ever going round and round in one contracting 
 and expanding ring, yet always going on as fast as he, danced merrily 
 before him ; the colour of the long grass came and went, as if the light 
 clouds made it timid as they floated through the distant air. The birds, 
 so many Pecksniff consciences, sang gaily upon every branch ; and 
 
MAKTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 3G1 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff paid his homage to the day by ruminating on his projects 
 as he walked along. 
 
 Chancing to trip, in his abstraction, over the spreading root of an old 
 tree, he raised his pious eyes to take a survey of the ground before him. 
 It startled him to see the embodied imasfe of his thouo-hts not far a-head. 
 Mary herself. And alone. 
 
 At first Mr. Pecksniff stopped, as if with the intention of avoiding 
 her ; but his next impulse was, to advance, which he did at a brisk pace ; 
 carolling as he went, so sweetly and with so much innocence, that he 
 only wanted feathers and wings to be a bird. 
 
 Hearing notes behind her, not belonging to the songsters of the grove, 
 she looked round. Mr. Pecksniff kissed his hand, and was at her side 
 immediately. 
 
 "Communing with Nature?" said Mr. Pecksniff. "So am I." 
 
 She said the morning was so beautiful that she had walked further 
 than she intended and would return. Mr. Pecksniff said it was exactly 
 his case, and he would return with her. 
 
 " Take my arm, sweet girl," said Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 Mary declined it, and walked so very fast that he remonstrated. " You 
 were loitering when I came upon you," Mr. Pecksniff said. "Why be so 
 cruel as to hurry now ! You would not shun me, would you V 
 
 " Yes, I would," she answered, turning her glowing cheek indignantly 
 upon him, "you know I would. Release me, Mr. Pecksniff. Your 
 touch is disagreeable to me." 
 
 His touch ! What, that chaste patriarchal touch which Mrs. Todgers 
 — surely a discreet lady — had endured, not only without complaint, 
 but with apparent satisfaction ! This was positively wrong. Mr. Peck- 
 sniff was sorry to hear her say it. 
 
 " If you have not observed," said Mary, " that it is so, pray take the 
 assurance from my lips, and do not, as you are a gentleman, continue to 
 offend me." 
 
 "'Well, well !" said Mr. Pecksniff, mildly, "I feel that I might con- 
 sider this becoming in a daughter of my own, and why should I object 
 to it in one so beautiful ! It 's harsh. It cuts me to the soul," said 
 Mr. Pecksniff : " but I cannot quarrel with you, Mary." 
 
 She tried to say she was sorry to hear it, but burst into tears. Mr. 
 Pecksniff now repeated the Todgers performance on a comfortable scale, 
 as if he intended it to last some time ; and in his disengaged hand, 
 catching hers, employed himself in separating the fingers with his own, 
 and sometimes kissing them, as he pursued the conversation thus : 
 
 " I am glad we met. I am very glad we met. I am able now to 
 ease my bosom of a heavy load, and speak to you in confidence. Mary," 
 said Mr, Pecksniff, in his tenderest tones : indeed, they were so very 
 tender that he almost squeaked : " My soul ! I love you !" 
 
 A fantastic thing, that maiden affectation ! She made-believe to shudder, 
 
 " I love you," said Mr, Pecksniff, " my gentle life, with a devotion 
 which is quite surprising, even to myself, I did suppose that the sen- 
 sation was buried in the silent tomb of a lady, only second to you in 
 qualities of the mind and form ; but I find I am mistaken," 
 
362 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 She tried to disengage her hand, but might as well have tried to free 
 herself from the embrace of an affectionate boa constrictor : if anything 
 so wily may be brought into comparison with Pecksniff. 
 
 " Although I am a widower/' said Mr. Pecksniff, examining the rings 
 upon her fingers, and tracing the course of one delicate blue vein with his 
 fat thumb, " a widower with two daughters, still I am not encumbered, 
 my love. One of them, as you know, is married. The other, by her 
 own desire, but with a view, I will confess — why not 1 — to my altering 
 my condition, is about to leave her father's house. I have a character, I 
 hope. People are pleased to speak well of me, I think. My person and 
 manner are not absolutely those of a monster, I trust. Ah, naughty 
 Hand ! " said Mr. Pecksniff, apostrophising the reluctant prize, " why 
 did you take me prisoner ! Go, go ! " 
 
 He slapped the hand to punish it ; but relenting, folded it in his 
 waistcoat, to comfort it again. 
 
 " Blessed in each other, and in the society of our venerable friend, 
 my darling," said Mr. Pecksniff, "we shall be happy. When he is 
 wafted to a haven of rest, we will console each other. My pretty prim- 
 rose, what do you say ?" 
 
 " It is possible," Mary answered, in a hurried manner, " that I ought 
 to feel grateful for this mark of your confidence. I cannot say that I 
 do, but I am willing to suppose you may deserve my thanks. Take 
 them ; and pray leave me, Mr. Pecksniff." 
 
 The good man smiled a greasy smile : and drew her closer to him. 
 
 " Pray, pray release me, Mr. Pecksniff. I cannot listen to your pro- 
 posal. I cannot receive it. There are many to whom it may be accept- 
 able, but it is not so to me. As an act of kindness and an act of pity, 
 leave me !" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff walked on with his arm round her waist, and her hand 
 in his, as contentedly as if they had been all in all to each other, and 
 were joined together in the bonds of truest love. 
 
 " If you force me by your superior strength," said Mary,- who finding 
 that good words had not the least effect upon him, made no further effort 
 to suppress her indignation : " if you force me by your superior strength 
 to accompany you back, and to be the subject of your insolence upon the 
 way, you cannot constrain the expression of my thoughts. I hold you 
 in the deepest abhorrence. I know your real nature and despise it." 
 
 " No, no," said Mr. Pecksniff, sweetly. " No, no, no ! " 
 
 " By what arts or unhappy chances you have gained your influence 
 over Mr. Chuzzlewit, I do not know," said Mary : " it may be strong 
 enough to soften even this, but he shall know of this, trust me. Sir." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff raised his heavy eyelids languidly, and let them fall 
 again. It was sajdng with perfect coolness, "Aye, aye ! Indeed !" 
 
 " Is it not enough," said Mary, " that you warp and change his 
 nature, adapt his every prejudice to your bad ends, and harden a heart 
 naturally kind by shutting out the truth and allowing none but false 
 and distorted views to reach it ; is it not enough that you have the 
 power of doing this, and that you exercise it, but must you also be so 
 coarse, so cruel, and so cowardly to me 1 " 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 3G3 
 
 Still Mr. Pecksniff led lier calmly on, and looked as mild as any lamb 
 that ever pastured in the fields. 
 
 " Will nothing move you, sir ! " cried Mary. 
 
 " My dear," observed Mr. Pecksniff, -with a placid leer, " a habit of 
 self-examination, and the practice of — shall I say of virtue 'i " 
 
 " Of hypocrisy," said Mary. 
 
 " No, no," resumed Mr. Pecksniff, chafing the captive hand reproach- 
 fully: "of virtue — have enabled me to set such guards upon myself, 
 that it is really diflicult to ruffle me. It is a curious fact, but it is diffi- 
 cult, do you know, for any one to ruffle me. And did she think," said 
 Mr. Pecksniff, with a playful tightening of his grasp, " that s//e could ! 
 How little did she know his heart !" 
 
 Little indeed ! Her mind was so strangely constituted that she would 
 have preferred the caresses of a toad, an adder, or a serpent : nay, the 
 hug of a bear : to the endearments of Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 " Come, come," said that good gentleman, " a word or two will set this 
 matter right, and establish a pleasant understanding between us. I am 
 not angry, my love." 
 
 " You angry !" 
 
 " No," said Mr. Pecksniff, " I am not. I say so. Neither are you." 
 
 There was a beating heart beneath his hand that told another story 
 though. 
 
 " I am sure you are not," said Mr. Pecksniff : " and I will tell you 
 why. There are two Martin Chuzzlewits, my dear ; and your carrying 
 your anger to one might have a serious effect, who knows, upon the 
 other. You wouldn't wish to hurt him, would you !" 
 
 She trembled violently, and looked at him with such a proud disdain 
 that he turned his eyes away. No doubt lest he should be offended with 
 her in spite of his better self. 
 
 " A passive quarrel, my love," said Mr. Pecksniff, " may be changed 
 into an active one, remember. It would be sad to blight even a disin- 
 herited young man in his already blighted prospects : but how easy to 
 do it. Ah, how easy ! Have I influence with our venerable friend, 
 do you think 1 Well, perhaps I have. Perhaps I have." 
 
 He raised his eyes to hers ; and nodded with an air of banter that 
 was charming. 
 
 " No," he continued, thoughtfully. " Upon the whole, my sweet, if 
 I were you, I 'd keep my secret to myself I am not at all sure : very 
 far from it : that it would surprise our friend in any way, for he and I 
 have had some conversation together only this morning, and he is 
 anxious, very anxious, to establish you in some more settled manner. 
 But whether he was surprised or not surprised, the consequence of your 
 imparting it might be the same. Martin, junior, might suffer severely. 
 I 'd have compassion on Martin, junior, do you know !" said Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, with a persuasive smile. " Yes. He don't deserve it, but I would." 
 
 She wept so bitterly now, and was so much distressed, that he thought 
 it prudent to unclasp her waist, and hold her only by the hand. 
 
 " As to our own share in the precious little mystery," said Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, " we will keep it to ourselves, and talk of it between ourselves, 
 
364 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 and you shall think it over. You will consent, my love; you will con- 
 sent, I know. Whatever you may think ; you will. I seem to remem- 
 ber to have heard: I really don't know where, or how:" he added, 
 with bewitching frankness, " that you and Martin junior, when you 
 were children, had a sort of childish fondness for each other. When we 
 are married, you shall have the satisfaction of thinking that it did n't 
 last, to ruin him, but passed away, to do him good ; for we '11 see then, 
 what we can do to put some trifling help in Martin junior's way. 
 Have I any influence with our venerable friend ? Well ! Perhaps I 
 have. Perhaps I have." 
 
 The outlet from the wood in which these tender passages occurred, 
 was close to Mr. Pecksnifl"'s house. They were now so near it that he 
 stopped, and holding up her little finger, said in playful accents, as a 
 parting fancy : 
 
 " Shall I bite it ?" 
 
 Pbeceiving no reply he kissed it instead ; and then stooping down, 
 inclined his flabby face to hers — he had a flabby face, although he v^as 
 a good man — and with a blessing, which from such a source was quite 
 enough to set her up in life, and prosper her for that time forth, per- 
 mitted her to leave him. 
 
 Gallantry in its true sense is supposed to ennoble and dignify a man ; 
 and love has shed refinements on innumerable Cymons. But Mr. Peck- 
 sniff : perhaps because to one of his exalted nature these were mere 
 grossnesses : certainly did not appear to any unusual advantage, nov/ 
 that he was left alone. On the contrary, he seemed to be shrunk and 
 reduced ; to be trying to hide himself within himself ; and to be wretched 
 at not having the power to do it. His shoes looked too large ; his sleeves 
 looked too long; his hair looked too limp; his hat looked too little; his 
 features looked too mean ; his exposed throat looked as if a halter would 
 have done it good. For a minute or two, in fact, he was hot, and pale, 
 and mean, and shy, and slinking, and consequently not at all Peck- 
 sniflian. But after that, he recovered himself, and went home with as 
 beneficent an air as if he had been the High Priest of the summer 
 weather. 
 
 " I have arranged to go, Papa," said Charity, " to-morrow." 
 
 " So soon, my child!" 
 
 " I can't go too soon," said Charity, " under the circumstances. I 
 have written to Mrs. Todgers to propose an arrangement, and have 
 requested her to meet me at the coach, at all events. You '11 be quite 
 your own master now, Mr. Pinch ! " 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff" had just gone out of the room, and Tom had just come 
 into it. 
 
 " My own master!" repeated Tom. 
 
 " Yes, you'll have nobody to interfere with you," said Charity. " At 
 least I hope you won't. Hem! It's a changing world." 
 
 "What! are — are yoii going to be married. Miss Pecksniff*?" asked 
 Tom in great surprise. 
 
 " Not exactly," faltered Cherry. " I have n't made up my mind to 
 be. I believe I could be, if I chose, Mr. Pinch." 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 365 
 
 "Of course you could!" said Tom. And he said it in perfect good 
 faith. He believed it from the bottom of his heart. 
 
 " No," said Cherry. " /am not going to be married. Nobody is, that 
 I know of. Hem ! But I am not going to live with Papa. I have 
 my reasons, but it's all a secret. I shall always feel very kindly 
 towards you, I assure you, for the boldness you showed that night. 
 As to you and me, Mr. Pinch, ice. part the best friends, possible !" 
 
 Tom thanked her for her confidence, and for her friendship, but there 
 was a mystery in the former, which perfectly bewildered him. In his 
 extravagant devotion to the family, he had felt the loss of Merry more 
 than any one but those who knew that for all the slights he underwent he 
 thought his own demerits were to blame, could possibly have understood. 
 He had scarcely reconciled himself to that, when here was Charity about 
 to leave them. She had grown up, as it were under Tom's eye. The 
 sisters were a part of Pecksniff, and a part of Tom ; items in Pecksniff's 
 goodness, and in Tom's service. He could n't bear it : not two hours' 
 sleep had Tom that night, through dwelling in his bed upon these dreadful 
 changes. 
 
 When morning dawned, he thought he must have dreamed this piece 
 of ambiguity ; but no, on going down stairs he found them packing 
 trunks and cording boxes, and making other preparations for Miss 
 Charity's departure, which lasted all day long. In good time for the 
 evening-coach. Miss Charity deposited her housekeeping keys with much 
 ceremony upon the parlour table ; took a gracious leave of all the house ; 
 and quitted her paternal roof — a blessing, for which the Pecksniffian 
 servant was observed by some profane persons to be particularly active 
 in the thanksgiving at church next Sunday. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 MR. PINCH IS DISCHARGED OF A DUTY WHICH HE NEVER OWED TO ANT- 
 BODY ; AND MR. PECKSNIFF DISCHARGES A DUTY WHICH HE OWES TO 
 SOCIETY. 
 
 The closing words of the last chapter, lead naturally to the com- 
 mencement of this, its successor; for it has to do with a church. With 
 the church so often mentioned heretofore, in which Tom Pinch played 
 the organ for nothing. 
 
 One sultry afternoon, about a week after Miss Charity's departure for 
 London, Mr. Pecksniff being out walking by himself, took it into his 
 head to stray into the churchyard. As he was lingering among the 
 tombstones, endeavouring to extract an available sentiment or two 
 from the epitaphs — for he never lost an opportunity of making up a 
 few moral crackers, to be let off as occasion served — Tom Pinch began to 
 practise. Tom could run down to the church and do so whenever he 
 had time to spare ; for it was a simple little organ, provided with wind 
 by the action of the musician's feet ; and he was independent, even of a 
 
366 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 bellows-blower. Though if Tom had wanted one at any time, there was 
 not a man or boy in all the village, and away to the turnpike (tollman 
 included), but would have blown away for him till he was black in the 
 face. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff had no objection to music ; not the least. He was 
 tolerant of everything — he often said so. He considered it a vagabond 
 kind of trifling, in general, just suited to Tom's capacity. But in regard 
 to Tom's performance upon this same organ, he was remarkably lenient, 
 singularly amiable ; for when Tom played it on Sundays, Mr. Pecksniff 
 in his unbounded sympathy felt as if he played it himself, and were a 
 benefactor to the congregation. So whenever it was impossible to devise 
 any other means of taking the value of Tom's wages out of him, Mr. 
 Pecksniff gave him leave to cultivate this instrument. For which mark 
 of his consideration, Tom was very grateful. 
 
 The afternoon was remarkably warm, and Mr. Pecksniff had been 
 strolling a long way. He had not what may be called a fine ear for 
 music, but he knew when it had a tranquillising influence on his soul ; 
 and that was the case now, for it sounded to him like a melodious snore. 
 He approached the church, and looking through the diamond lattice of 
 a window near the porch, saw Tom, with the curtains in the loft drawn 
 back, playing away with great expression and tenderness. 
 
 The church had an inviting air of coolness. The old oak roof sup- 
 ported by cross-beams, the hoary walls, the marble tablets, and the 
 cracked stone pavement, were refreshing to look at. There were leaves 
 of ivy tapping gently at the opposite windows; and the sun poured 
 in through only one : leaving the body of the church in tempting shade. 
 But the most tempting spot of all, was one red-curtained and soft- 
 cushioned pew, wherein the official dignitaries of the place (of whom 
 Mr. Pecksniff was the head and chief) enshrined themselves on Sundays. 
 Mr. Pecksniffs seat was in the corner: a remarkably comfortable corner : 
 where his very large Prayer-Book was at that minute making the most 
 of its quarto self upon the desk. He determined to go in and rest. 
 
 He entered very softly ; in part because it was a church ; in part 
 because his tread was always soft; in part because Tom played a solemn 
 tune; in part because he thought he would surprise him when he stopped. 
 Unbolting the door of the high pew of state, he glided in and shut it 
 after him; then sitting in his usual place, and stretching out his legs 
 upon the hassocks, he composed himself to listen to the music. 
 
 It is an unaccountable circumstance that he should have felt drowsy 
 there, where the force of association might surely have been enough to 
 keep him wide awake ; but he did. He had not been in the snug little 
 corner five minutes before he began to nod. He had not recovered him- 
 self one minute before he began to nod again. In the very act of open- 
 ing his eyes indolently, he nodded again. In the very act of shutting 
 them, he nodded again. So he fell out of one nod into another until at 
 last he ceased to nod at all, and was as fast as the church itself 
 
 He had a consciousness of the organ, long after he fell asleep, though 
 as to its being an organ he had no more idea of that, than he had of its 
 being a Bull. After a while he began to have at intervals the same 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. JO/ 
 
 dreamy impression of voices ; and awakening to an indolent curiosity 
 upon the subject, opened his eyes. 
 
 He was so indolent, that after glancing at the hassocks and the pew, 
 he was already half-way off to sleep again, when it occurred to him that 
 there really were voices in the church : low voices, talking earnestly 
 hard by: while the echoes seemed to mutter responses. He roused 
 himself, and listened. 
 
 Before he had listened half a dozen seconds, he became as broad awake 
 as ever he had been in all his life. With eyes, and ears, and mouth, 
 wide open, he moved himself a very little with the utmost caution, and 
 gathering the curtain in his hand, peeped out. 
 
 Tom Pinch and Mary. Of course. He had recognised their voices, and 
 already knew the topic they discussed. Looking like the small end of a 
 guillotined man, with his chin on a level with the top of the pew, so 
 that he might duck down immediately in case of either of them turning 
 round, he listened. Listened with such concentrated eagerness, that his 
 very hair and shirt-collar stood bristling up to help him. 
 
 " No," cried Tom. " No letters have ever reached me, except that 
 one from New York. But don't be uneasy on that account, for it's very 
 likely they have gone away to some far-off place, where the posts are 
 neither regular nor frequent. He said in that very letter that it might 
 be so, even in that city to which they thought of travelling — Eden, you 
 know." 
 
 " It is a great weight upon my mind," said Mary. 
 
 " Oh, but you must n't let it be," said Tom. " There's a true saying 
 that nothing travels so fast as ill news ; and if the slightest harm had 
 happened to Martin, you may be sure you would have heard of it long 
 ago. I have often wished to say this to you," Tom continued with an 
 embarrassment that became him very well, " but you have never given 
 me an opportunity." 
 
 " I have sometimes been almost afraid," said Mary, " that you might 
 suppose I hesitated to confide in you, Mr. Pinch." 
 
 " No," Tom stammered, " I — I am not aware that I ever supposed 
 that. I am sure that if I have, I have checked the thought directly, as 
 an injustice to you. I feel the delicacy of your situation in having to 
 confide in me at all," said Tom, " but I would risk my life to save you 
 from one day's uneasiness : indeed I would !" 
 
 Poor Tom ! 
 
 " I have dreaded sometimes," Tom continued, " that I might have 
 displeased you by — by having the boldness to try and anticipate }'our 
 wishes now and then. At other times I have fancied that your kindness 
 prompted you to keep aloof from me." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 " It was very foolish : very presumptuous and ridiculous : to think 
 so," Tom pursued : " but I feared you might suppose it possible that I 
 — I — should admire you too much for my own peace ; and so denied 
 yourself the slight assistance you would otherwise have accepted from 
 me. If such an idea has ever presented itself to you," faltered Tom, 
 " pray dismiss it. I am easily made happy : and I shall live contented 
 
368 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 here long after you and Martin have forgotten me. I am a poor, shy, 
 awkward, creature : not at all a man of the world : and you should 
 think no more of me, bless you, than if I were an old friar !" 
 
 If friars bear such hearts as thine, Tom, let friars multiply ; though 
 they have no such rule in all their stern arithmetic. 
 
 " Dear Mr. Pinch ! " said Mary, giving him her hand ; " I cannot tell 
 you how your kindness moves me. I have never wronged you by the 
 lightest doubt, and have never for an instant ceased to feel that you 
 were all ; much more than all ; that Martin found you. Without the 
 silent care and friendship I have experienced from you, my life here 
 would have been unhappy. But you have been a good angel to me ; 
 filling me with gratitude of heart, hope, and courage." 
 
 " I am as little like an angel, I am afraid," replied Tom, shaking his 
 head, "as any stone cherubim among the gravestones ; and I don't 
 think there are many real angels of t/iat pattern. But I should like to 
 know (if you will tell me) why you have been so very silent about Martin." 
 
 " Because I have been afraid," said Mary. " of injuring you." 
 
 "Of injuring me !" cried Tom. 
 
 " Of doing you an injury with your employer. 
 
 The gentleman in question dived. 
 
 "With Pecksniif!" rejoined Tom, with cheerful confidence. "Oh 
 dear, he 'd never think of us ! He 's the best ot men. The more at 
 ease you were, the happier he woiald be. Oh dear, you need n't be afraid 
 of Pecksniff. He is not a spy." 
 
 Many a man in Mr. Pecksniff's place, if he could have dived through 
 the floor of the pew of state and come out at Calcutta or any inhabited 
 region on the other side of the earth, would have done it instantly. 
 Mr. Pecksniff sat down upon a hassock, and listening more attentively 
 than ever, smiled. 
 
 Mary seemed to have expressed some dissent in the meanwhile, for 
 Tom went on to say, wdth honest energy : 
 
 " Well, I don't know how it is, but it always happens, whenever I 
 express myself in this way, to anybody almost, that I find they won't do 
 justice to Pecksniff. It is one of the most extraordinary circumstances 
 that ever came within my knowledge, but it is so. There's John West- 
 lock, who used to be a pupil here, one of the best-hearted young men in 
 the world, in all other matters — I really believe John would have Peck- 
 sniff flogged at the cart's tail if he could. And John is not a solitary 
 case, for every pupil we have had in my time has gone away w^ith the 
 same inveterate hatred of him. There was Mark Tapley, too, quite in 
 another station of life," said Tom : " the mockery he used to make of 
 Pecksniff when he was at the Dragon was shocking. Martin too : 
 Martin was worse than any of 'em. But I forgot. He prepared you to 
 dislike Pecksniff, of course. So you came with a prejudice, you know, 
 Miss Graham, and are not a fair witness." 
 
 Tom triumphed very much in this discovery, and rubbed his hands 
 with great satisfaction. 
 
 "Mr. Pinch," said Mary, "you mistake him." 
 
 " No, no !" cried Tom. " You mistake him. But," he added, with a 
 
MARTIN CnUZZLEWlT. 369 
 
 rapid change in his tone, " what is the matter ? Miss Graham, what is 
 the matter !" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff brought up to the top of the pew, by slow degrees, his 
 hair, his forehead, his eyebrow, his eye. She was sitting on a bench 
 beside the door with her hands before her face ; and Tom w^as bending 
 over her. 
 
 " What is the matter ! " cried Tom. " Have I said anything to hurt 
 you 1 Has any one said anything to hurt you ? Don't cry. Pray tell 
 me what it is. I cannot bear to see you so distressed. Mercy on us, I 
 never was so surprised and grieved in all my life !" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff kept his eye in the same place. He could have moved 
 it now for nothing short of a gimlet or a red-hot wire. 
 
 " I wouldn't have told you, Mr. Pinch," said Mary, " if I could have 
 helped it ; but your delusion is so absorbing, and it is so necessary that 
 we should be upon our guard ; that you should not be compromised ; and 
 to that end that you should know by whom I am beset ; that no alterna- 
 tive is left me. I came here purposely to tell you, but I think I should 
 have wanted courage if you had not chanced to lead me so directly to the 
 object of my coming." 
 
 Tom gazed at her stedfastly, and seemed to say, " What else 1 " But 
 he said not a word. 
 
 " That person whom you think the best of men," said Mary, looking 
 up, and speaking with a quivering lip and flashing eye : 
 
 '^ Lord bless me ! muttered Tom, staggering back. " Wait a moment. 
 That person wdiom I think the best of men ! You mean Pecksniff, of 
 course. Yes, I see you mean Pecksniff. Good gracious me, don't speak 
 without authority. What has he done ? If he is not the best of men, 
 what is he V 
 
 " The worst. The falsest, craftiest, meanest, cruelest, most sordid, 
 most shameless," said the trembling girl — trembling with her indig- 
 nation. 
 
 Tom sat down on a seat, and clasped his hands. 
 
 " What is he," said Mary, " who receiving me in his house as his guest : 
 his unwilling guest : knowing my history, and how defenceless and 
 alone I am, presumes before his daughters to affront me so that if I had 
 a brother but a child, who saw it, he would instinctively have helped 
 me r 
 
 " He is a scoundrel !" exclaimed Tom. " Whoever he may be, he is a 
 scoundrel." 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff dived again. 
 
 " What is he," said Mary, " who, when my only friend : a dear and 
 kind one too : was in full health of mind, humbled himself before him, 
 but was spurned away (for he knew him then) like a dog. W ho, in his 
 forgiving spirit, now that that friend is sunk into a failing state, can crawl 
 about him again, and use the influence he basely gains, for every base and 
 wicked purpose, and not for one — not one — that 's true or good V 
 
 " I say he is a scoundrel," answered Tom. 
 
 " But what is he : oh Mr. Pinch, what is he : who, thinking he could 
 compass these designs the better were I his wife, assails me with the 
 
 B B 
 
370 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 coward's argument tliat if I marry him, Martin, on whom I have brought 
 so much misfortune, shall be restored to something of his former hopes ; 
 and if I do not, shall be plunged in deeper ruin ? What is he who makes 
 my very constancy to one I love with all my heart a torture to myself 
 and wrong to him ; who makes me, do what I will, the instrument to 
 hurt a head I would heap blessings on ! What is he who, winding all 
 these cruel snares about me, explains their purpose to me, with a smooth 
 tongue and a smiling face, in the broad light of day : dragging me on 
 the while in his embrace, and holding to his lips a hand," pursued the 
 agitated girl, extending it, " which I would have struck off, if with it 
 I could lose the shame and degradation of his touch 1"' 
 
 " I say, " cried Tom, in great excitement, " he is a scoundrel and a 
 villain. I don't care who he is, I say he is a double-dyed and most 
 intolerable villain !" 
 
 Covering her face with her hands again, as if the passion which had 
 sustained her through these disclosures lost itself in an overwhelming 
 sense of shame and grief, she abandoned herself to tears. 
 
 Any sight of distress was sure to move the tenderness of Tom, but 
 this especially. Tears and sobs from her, were arrows in his heart. He 
 tried to comfort her ; sat down beside her ; expended all his store of 
 homely eloquence ; and spoke in words of praise and hope of Martin. 
 Ay, though he loved her from his soul with such a self-denying love as 
 woman seldom wins : he spoke from first to last of Martin. Not the 
 wealth of the rich Indies would have tempted Tom to shirk one mention 
 of her lover's name. 
 
 - When she was more composed, she impressed upon Tom that this 
 man she had described, was Pecksniff in his real colours ; and word by 
 word and phrase by phrase, as well as she remembered it, related what 
 had passed between them in the wood : which was no doubt a source of 
 high gratification to that gentleman himself, who in his desire to see 
 and his dread of being seen, was constantly diving down into the 
 state pew, and coming up again like the intelligent householder in 
 Punch's Show, who avoids being knocked on the head with a cudgel. 
 When she had concluded her account, and had besought Tom to be ver}^ 
 distant and unconscious in his manner towards her after this expla- 
 nation, and had thanked him very much, they parted on the alarm of 
 footsteps in the burial-ground ; and Tom was left alone in the church 
 again. 
 
 And now the full agitation and misery of the disclosure, came rushing 
 upon Tom indeed. The star of his whole life from boyhood, had 
 become, in a moment, putrid vapour. It was not that Pecksniff : Tom's 
 Pecksniff: had ceased to exist, but that he never had existed. In his 
 death, Tom would have had the comfort of remembering what he used 
 to be, but in this discovery, he had the anguish of recollecting what he 
 never was. For as Tom's blindness in this matter had been total and 
 not partial, so was his restored sight. His Pecksniff could never have 
 worked the wickedness of which he had just now heard, but any other 
 Pecksniff could ; and the Pecksniff who could do that, could do anything, 
 and no doubt had been doing anything and everything except the right 
 
.MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 371 
 
 tiling, all through his career. From the lofty height on which poor 
 Tom had placed his idol it was tumbled down headlong, and 
 
 Not all the king's horses nor all the king's men 
 Could have set Mr. Pecksniff up again. 
 
 Legions of Titans could n't have got him out of the mud ; and serve him 
 right. But it was not he who suffered ; it was Tom. His compass was 
 broken, his chart destroyed, his chronometer had stopped, his masts 
 were gone by the board ; his anchor was adrift, ten thousand leagues 
 away. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff watched him with a lively interest, for he divined the 
 purpose of Tom's ruminations, and was curious to see how he conducted 
 himself. For some time, Tom wandered up and down the aisle like a 
 man demented, stopping occasionally to lean against a pew and think it 
 over ; then he stood staring at a blank old monument bordered taste- 
 fully with skulls and cross-bones, as if it were the finest work of Art he 
 had ever seen, although at other times he held it in unspeakable con- 
 tempt ; then he sat down ; and then walked to and fro again ; and then 
 went wandering up into the organ-loft, and touched the keys. But their 
 minstrelsy was changed, their music gone ; and sounding one long 
 melancholy chord, Tom drooped his head upon his hands, and gave it 
 up as hopeless. 
 
 " I would n't have cared," said Tom Pinch, rising from his stool, and 
 looking down into the church as if he had been the Clergyman, " I 
 would n't have cared for anything he might have done to Me, for I have 
 tried his patience often, and have lived upon his sufferance, and have 
 never been the help to him that others could have been. I would n t 
 have minded, Pecksniff," Tom continued, little thinking who heard him, 
 " if you had done Me any wrong ; I could have found plenty of excuses 
 for that ; and though you might have hurt me, could have still gone on 
 respecting you. But why did you ever fall so low as this in my esteem ! 
 Oh Pecksniff, Pecksniff, there is nothing I would not have given to have 
 had you deserve my old opinion of you j nothing !" 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff sat upon the hassock pulling up his shirt-collar, while 
 Tom, touched to the quick, delivered this apostrophe. After a pause he 
 heard Tom coming down the stairs, jingling the church keys ; and 
 bringing his eye to the top of the pew again, saw him go slowly out, and 
 lock the door. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff durst not issue from his place of concealment ; for 
 through the windows of the church, he saw Tom passing on among the 
 graves, and sometimes stopping at a stone, and leaning there, as if he 
 were a mourner who had lost a friend. Even when he had left the 
 churchyard, Mr. Pecksniff still remained shut up : not being at all 
 secure but that in his restless state of mind Tom might come wandering 
 back. At length he issued forth, and walked with a pleasant counte- 
 nance into the vestry ; where he knew there was a window near the 
 ground, by which he could release himself by merely stepping out. 
 
 He was in a curious frame of mind, Mr. Pecksniff: being in no hurry 
 to go, but rather inclining to a dilatory trifling with the time, which 
 
 B b2 
 
372 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 prompted him to open the vestry cupboard, and look at himself in the 
 parson's little glass that hung within the door. Seeing that his hair 
 was rumpled, he took the liberty of borrowing the canonical brush and 
 arranging it. He also took the liberty of opening another cupboard ; 
 but he shut it up again quickly, being rather startled by the sight of a 
 black and a white surplice dangling against the wall ; which had very much 
 the appearance of two curates who had committed suicide by hanging 
 themselves. Remembering that he had seen in the first cupboard 
 a port-wine bottle and some biscuits, he peeped into it again, and helped 
 himself with much deliberation : cogitating all the time though, in a 
 very deep and weighty manner, as if his thoughts were otherwise employed. 
 
 He soon made up his mind, if it had ever been in doubt ; and putting 
 back the bottle and biscuits, opened the casement. He got out into the 
 churchyard without any difficulty ; shut the window after him ; and 
 walked straisrht home. 
 
 "Is Mr. Pinch in-doors ?" asked Mr. Pecksniff of his serving-maid. 
 
 " Just come in. Sir." 
 
 " Just come in, eh ?" repeated Mr. Pecksniff, cheerfully. " And gone 
 up-stairs, I suppose?" 
 
 "Yes, Sir. Gone up-stairs. Shall I call him. Sir?" 
 
 " No," said Mr. Pecksniff, " no. You needn't call him, Jane. Thank 
 you, Jane. How are your relations, Jane?" 
 
 " Pretty well, I thank you, Sir." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it. Let them know I asked about them, Jane. 
 Is Mr. Chuzzlewit in the way, Jane ?" 
 
 " Yes, Sir. He 's in the parlour, reading." 
 
 "He's in the parlour, reading, is he, Jane'?" said Mr. Pecksniff. 
 " Very well. Then I think I '11 go and see him, Jane." 
 
 Never had Mr. Pecksniff been beheld in a more pleasant humour ! 
 
 But when he walked into the parlour where the old man was engaged 
 as Jane had said ; with pen and ink and paper on a table close at hand 
 (for Mr. Pecksniff was always very particular to have him well supplied 
 with writing materials) ; he became less cheerful. He was not angry, 
 he was not vindictive, he was not cross, he was not moody, but he was 
 grieved : he was sorely grieved. As he sat down by the old man's side, 
 two tears : not tears like those with which recording angels blot their 
 entries out, but drops so precious that they use them for their ink : 
 stole down his meritorious cheeks. 
 
 "What is the matter?" asked old Martin. "Pecksniff, what ails 
 you, man ?" 
 
 " I am sorry to interrupt you, my dear Sir, and I am still more sorry 
 for the cause. My good, my worthy friend, I am deceived." 
 
 " You are deceived !" 
 
 " Ah !" cried Mr. Pecksniff, in an agony, " deceived in the tenderest 
 point. Cruelly deceived in that quarter, Sir, in which I placed the 
 most unbounded confidence. Deceived, Mr. Chuzzlewit, by Thomas 
 Pinch." 
 
 " Oh ! bad, bad, bad ! " said Martin, laying down his book. " Very 
 bad. I hope not. Are you certain ?" 
 
MAnilN CHUZZLEWIT. 373 
 
 " Certain, my good Sir ! My eyes and ears are "witnesses. I wouldn 't 
 have believed it otherwise. I wouldn't have believed it, Mr. Chuzzle- 
 wit, if a Fiery Serpent had proclaimed it from the top of Salisbury 
 Cathedral. I would have said," cried Mr. Pecksniff, " that the Serpent 
 lied. Such was my faith in Thomas Pinch, that I would have cast the 
 falsehood back into the Serpent's teeth, and would have taken Thomas 
 to my heart. But I am not a Serpent, Sir, myself, I grieve to say, and 
 no excuse or hope is left me." 
 
 Martin was greatly disturbed to see him so much agitated, and to 
 hear such unexpected news. Pie begged him to compose himself, and 
 asked upon what subject Mr. Pinch's treachery had been developed. 
 
 " That is almost the worst of all, Sir," Mr. Pecksniif answered. " On 
 a subject nearly concerning you. Oh ! is it not enough," said Mr. 
 Pecksniff, looking upward, " that these blows must fall on me, but must 
 they also hit my friends !" 
 
 " You alarm me," cried the old man, changing colour. " I am not so 
 strong as I w^as. You terrify me, Pecksniff ! " 
 
 " Cheer up, my noble Sir," said Mr. Pecksniff, taking courage, " and 
 we will do what is required of us. You shall know all. Sir, and shall be 
 righted. But first excuse me. Sir, ex — cuse me. I have a duty to dis- 
 charge, which I owe to society." 
 
 He rang the bell, and Jane appeared. 
 
 " Send Mr. Pinch here, if you ple-ase, Jane !" 
 
 Tom came. Constrained and altered in his manner, downcast and 
 dejected, visibly confused \ not liking to look Pecksniff in the face. 
 
 The honest man bestowed a glance on Mr. Chuzzlewit, as who should 
 say " You see !" and addressed himself to Tom in these terms : 
 
 " Mr. Pinch, I have left the vestry-window unfastened. Will you do 
 me the favour to go and secure it ; then bring the keys of the sacred 
 edifice to me !" 
 
 " The vestry-window. Sir !" cried Tom. 
 ■ " You understand me Mr. Pinch, I think" returned his patron. " Yes 
 ]\Ir. Pinch, the vestry-window. I grieve to say that sleeping in the 
 church after a fatiguing ramble, I overheard just now some fragments" 
 he emphasised that word " of a dialogue between two parties ; and one 
 of them locking the church when he went out, I was obliged to leave it 
 myself by the vestry-wdndow. Do me the favour to secure that vestry- 
 window, Mr. Pinch, and then come back to me." 
 
 No physiognomist that ever dwelt on earth could have construed 
 Tom's face when he heard these words. Wonder was in it, and a mild 
 look of reproach, but certainly no fear or guilt, although a host of strong 
 emotions struggled to display themselves. He bowed, and without 
 saying one word, good or bad, withdrew. 
 
 " Pecksniff," cried Martin, in a tremble, " what does all this mean % 
 You are not going to do anything in haste, you may regret ! " 
 
 " No, my good Sir," said Mr. Pecksniff, firmly, " No. But I have a 
 duty to discharge w^hich I owe to society ; and it shall be discharged, 
 my friend, at any cost !" 
 
 Oh late-remembered, much-forgotten, mouthing, braggart duty, always 
 
374 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 owed, and seldom paid in any other coin than punishment and wrath, 
 when will mankind begin to know thee ! When will men acknowledge 
 thee in thy neglected cradle, and thy stunted youth, and not begin their 
 recognition in thy sinful manhood and thy desolate old age ! Oh ermined 
 Judge whose duty to society is now to doom the ragged criminal to 
 punishment and death, hadst thou never, Man, a duty to discharge in 
 barring up the hundred open gates that wooed him to the felon's dock, 
 and throwing but ajar the portals to a decent life ! Oh prelate, prelate, 
 whose duty to society it is to mourn in melancholy phrase the sad 
 degeneracy of these bad times in which thy lot of honours has been cast, 
 did nothing go before thy elevation to the lofty seat, from which thou 
 dealest out thy homilies to other tarriers for dead men's shoes, whose 
 duty to society has not begun ! Oh magistrate, so rare a country gentle- 
 man and brave a squire, had you no duty to society, before the ricks 
 were blazing and the mob were mad ; or did it spring up armed and 
 booted from the earth, a corps of yeomanry, full-grown ! 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff's duty to society could not be paid till Tom came back. 
 The interval which preceded the return of that young man, he occupied 
 in a close conference with his friend ; so that when Tom did arrive, he 
 found the two quite ready to receive him. Mary was in her own room 
 above, whither Mr. Pecksniff, always considerate, had besought old 
 Martin to entreat her to remain some half-hour longer, that her feelings 
 might be spared. 
 
 When Tom came back, he found old Martin sitting by the window, 
 and Mr. Pecksniff in an imposing attitude at the table. On one side of 
 him was his pocket-handkerchief ; and on the other, a little heap (a very 
 little heap) of gold and silver, and odd pence. Tom saw, at a glance, 
 that it was his own salary for the current quarter. 
 
 " Have you fastened the vestry- window, Mr. Pinch?" said Pecksniff. 
 
 « Yes Sir." 
 
 " Thank you. Put down the keys if you please, Mr. Pinch." 
 
 Tom placed them on the table. He held the bunch by the key of 
 the organ-loft (though it was one of the smallest) and looked hard at it 
 as he laid it down. It had been an old, old friend of Tom's ; a kind 
 companion to him, many and many a day„ 
 
 " Mr. Pinch," said Pecksniff, shaking his head : " Oh Mr. Pinch ! I 
 wonder you can look* me in the face ! " 
 
 Tom did it though ; and notwithstanding that he has been described 
 as stooping generally, he stood as upright then as man could stand. 
 
 " Mr. Pinch," said Pecksniff, taking up his handkerchief, as if he felt 
 that he should want it soon, " I will not dwell upon the past. I will 
 spare you, and I will spare myself, that pain at least." 
 
 Tom's was not a very bright eye, but it was a very expressive one 
 when he looked at Mr. Pecksniff, and said : 
 
 " Thank you Sir. I am very glad you will not refer to the past." 
 
 " The present is enough," said Mr. Pecksniff, dropping a penny, " and 
 the sooner that is past, the better. Mr. Pinch, I will not dismiss you 
 without a word of explanation. Even such a course would be quite 
 justifiable under the circumstances ; but it might wear an appearance of 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 3/0 
 
 hurry, and I will not do it ; for I am," said Mr. Pecksniff, knocking 
 down another penny, " perfectly self-possessed. Therefore I will say to 
 you, what I have already said to Mr. Chuzzlewit." 
 
 Tom glanced at the old gentleman, who nodded now and then as 
 approving of Mr. Pecksniff's sentences and sentiments, but interposed 
 between them in no other way. 
 
 " From fragments of a conversation which I overheard in the 
 church, just now, Mr. Pinch," said Pecksniff, " between yourself and Miss 
 Graham — ^I say fragments, because I was slumbering at a considerable 
 distance from you, when I was roused by your voices — and from what I 
 saw, I ascertained (I would have given a great deal not to have ascer- 
 tained, Mr. Pinch) that you, forgetful of all ties of duty and of honour 
 Sir ; regardless of the sacred laws of hospitality, to which you were 
 pledged as an Inmate of this house ; have presumed to address Miss 
 Graham with un-returned professions of attachment and proposals of 
 love." 
 
 Tom looked at him steadily. 
 
 "Do you deny it Sir?" asked Mr. Pecksniff, dropping one pound two 
 and fourpence, and making a great business of picking it up again. 
 
 " No Sir," replied Tom. " I do not." 
 
 " You do not," said Mr. Pecksniff, glancing at the old gentleman. 
 " Oblige me by counting this money, Mr. Pinch, and putting your name 
 to this receipt. You do not?" 
 
 No, Tom did not. He scorned to deny it. He saw that Mr. Peck- 
 sniff having overheard his own disgrace, cared not a jot for sinking 
 lower yet in his contempt. He saw that he had devised this fiction as 
 the readiest means of getting rid of him at once, but that it must end 
 in that any way. He saw that Mr. Pecksniff reckoned on his not 
 denying it, because his doing so and explaining, would incense the old 
 man more than ever against Martin, and against Mary : while Pecksniff 
 himself would only have been mistaken in his " fragments." Deny 
 it ! No. 
 
 " You find the amount correct, do you Mr. Pinch ?" said Pecksniff. 
 
 " Quite correct Sir," answered Tom. 
 
 " A person is waiting in the kitchen," said Mr. Pecksniff, " to 'carry 
 your luggage wherever you please. We part, Mr. Pinch, at once, and 
 are strangers from this time." 
 
 Something without a name ; compassion, sorrow, old tenderness, mis- 
 taken gratitude, habit : none of these, and yet all of them ; smote upon 
 Tom's gentle heart, at parting. There was no such soul as Pecksniff's 
 in that carcase ; and yet, though his speaking out had not involved the 
 compromise of one he loved, he could n't have denounced the very 
 shape and figure of the man. Not even then. 
 
 " I will not say," cried Mr. Pecksniff, shedding tears, " what a blow 
 this is. I will not say how much it tries me ; how it works upon my 
 nature ; how it grates upon my feelings. I do not care for that. I 
 can endure as well as another man. But what I have to hope, and 
 what you have to hope, Mr. Pinch (otherwise a great responsibility rests 
 upon you), is, that this deception may not alter my ideas of humanity ; 
 
376 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 that it may not impair my freshness, or contract, if I may use the 
 expression, my Pinions. I hope it will not ; I don't think it Avill. It 
 may be a comfort to you, if not now, at some future time, to know, that 
 I shall endeavour not to think the worse of my fellow-creatures in 
 general, for what has passed between us. Farewell !" 
 
 Tom had meant to spare him one little puncturation with a lancet, 
 which he had it in his power to administer, but he changed his mind on 
 hearing this, and said ; 
 
 " I think you left something in the church, Sir." 
 " Thank you, Mr. Pinch," said PecksniiF. " I am not aware that 
 I did." 
 
 " This is your double eye-glass, I believe ?" said Tom. 
 "Oh!" cried Pecksniff, with some degree of confusion. "I am 
 obliged to you. Put it down if you please." 
 
 " I found it," said Tom, slowly — " when I went to bolt the vestry- 
 window — in the Pew." 
 
 So he had. Mr. Pecksniff had taken it off when he was bobbing up 
 and down, lest it should strike against the pannelling : and had for- 
 gotten it. Going back to the church with his mind full of having been 
 watched, and wondering very much from what part, Tom's attention 
 was caught by the door of the state pew standing open. Looking into 
 it he found the glass. And thus he knew, and by returning it gave 
 Mr. Pecksniff the information that he knew, where the listener had 
 been ; and that instead of overhearing fragments of the conversation, he 
 must have rejoiced in every word of it. 
 
 " I am glad he's gone," said Martin, drawing a long breath when Tom 
 had left the room. 
 
 " It is a relief," assented Mr. Pecksniff. " It is a great relief. But 
 having discharged : I hope with tolerable firmness : the duty which I 
 owed to society, I will now, my dear Sir, if you will give me leave, retire 
 to shed a few tears in the back garden, as an humble individual." 
 
 Tom went upstairs ; cleared his shelf of books : packed them up 
 "vvith his music and an old fiddle in his trunk ; got out his clothes (they 
 were not so many that they made his head ache) ; put them on the top 
 of his books ; and went into the workroom for his case of instruments. 
 There was a ragged stool there, with the horsehair all sticking out of 
 the top like a wig : a very Beast of a stool in itself : on which he had 
 taken up his daily seat, year after year, during the whole period of his 
 service. They had grown older and shabbier in company. Pupils had 
 served their time ; seasons had come and gone ; Tom and the worn-out 
 stool had held together through it all. That part of the room was tra- 
 ditionally called " Tom's Corner." It had been assigned to him at first 
 because of its being situated in a strong draught, and a great way from 
 the fire ; and he had occupied it ever since. There were portraits of 
 him on the wall, with all his weak points monstrously portrayed. 
 Diabolical sentiments, foreign to his character, were represented as 
 issuing from his mouth in fat balloons. Every pupil had added some- 
 thing, even unto fancy portraits of his father with one eye, and of his 
 mother with a disproportionate nose, and especially of his sister : who 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 377 
 
 always being presento 1 as extremely beautiful, made full amends to 
 Tom for any other joke. Under less uncommon circumstances, it 
 would have cut Tom to the heart to leave these things, and think that 
 he saw them for the last time ; but it didn't now. There was no Peck- 
 sniff ; there never had been a Pecksniff ; and all his other griefs were 
 swallowed up in that. 
 
 So when he returned into the bedroom, and having fastened up his 
 box and a carpet-bag, had put on his walking gaiters, and his great-coat, 
 and his hat, and taken his stick in his hand, he looked round it for the 
 last time. Early on summer mornings, and by the light of private 
 candle-ends on winter nights, he had read himself half blind in this 
 same room. He had tried in this same room to learn the fiddle under 
 the bedclothes, but yielding to objections from the other pupils, had re- 
 luctantly abandoned the design. At any other time he would have parted 
 from it with a pang, thinking of all he had learned there, of the many 
 hours he had passed there : for the love of his very dreams. But there was 
 no Pecksniff ; there never had been a Pecksniff ; and the unreality of 
 Pecksniff extended itself to the chamber, in which, sitting on one par- 
 ticular bed, the thing supposed to be that Great Abstraction had ofcen 
 preached morality with such effect, that Tom had felt a moisture in his 
 eyes, while hanging breathless on the words. 
 
 The man engaged to bear his box : Tom knew him well. A Dragon 
 man : came stamping up the stairs, and made a roughish bow to 
 Tom (to whom in common times he would have nodded with a grin) as 
 though he were aware of what had happened, and wished him to perceive 
 it made no difference in him. It was clumsily done ; he was a mere 
 waterer of horses ; but Tom liked the man for it, and felt it more than 
 going away. 
 
 Tom would have helped him with the box, but he made no more of it, 
 tliough it was a heavy one, than an elephant would have made of a 
 castle : just swinging it on his back and bowling down stairs as if, being 
 naturally a heavy sort of fellow, he could carry a box infinitely better than 
 he could go alone. Tom took the carpet-bag, and went down stairs along 
 with him. At the outer door stood Jane, crying with all her might ; 
 and on the steps was Mrs. Lupin, sobbing bitterly, and putting out her 
 hand for Tom to shake. 
 
 " You 're coming to the Dragon, Mr. Pinch 1 " 
 
 " No," said Tom, "no. I shall walk to Salisbury to-night. I couldn't 
 stay here. For goodness' sake, don't make me so unhappy, Mrs. Lupin." 
 
 " But you '11 come to the Dragon, Mr. Pinch. If it's only for to-night. 
 To see me, you know : not as a traveller." 
 
 " God bless my soul ! " said Tom, wiping his eyes. " The kindness of 
 people is enough to break one's heart ! I mean to go to Salisbury to-night, 
 my dear good creature. If you'll take care of my box for me, till I 
 write for it, I shall consider it the greatest kindness you can do me." 
 
 " I wish," cried Mrs. Lupin, " there were twenty boxes, Mr. Pinch, 
 that I might have 'em all." 
 
 " Thank 'ee " said Tom. " It's like you. Good bye. Good bye." 
 
 There were several people, young and old, standing about the door, 
 
378 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 some of whom cried with. Mrs. Lupin ; wliile others tried to keep up a 
 stout heart as Tom did ; and others were absorbed in admiration of Mr. 
 Pecksniff — a man who could build a church, as one may say, by squint- 
 ing at a sheet of paper ; and others were divided between that feeling, 
 and sympathy with Tom. Mr. Pecksniff had appeared on the top of the 
 steps, simultaneously with his old pupil, and while Tom was talking 
 with Mrs. Lupin kept his hand stretched out, as though he said "Go 
 forth ! " When Tom went forth, and had turned the corner, Mr. Peck- 
 sniff shook his head, shut his eyes, and heaving a deep sigh, likewise 
 shut the door. On which, the best of Tom's supporters said he must have 
 done some dreadful deed, or such a man as Mr. Pecksniff never could 
 have felt like that. If it had been a common quarrel (they observed) 
 he would have said something, but when he did n't, Mr. Pinch must have 
 shocked him dreadfully. 
 
 Tom was out of hearing of their shrewd opinions, and plodded on as 
 steadily as he could go, until he came within sight of the turnpike where 
 the tollman's family had cried out "Mr. Pinch !" that frosty morning, 
 when he went to meet young Martin. He had got through the village, 
 and this tollbar was his last trial ; but when the infant toll-takers came 
 screeching out, he had half a mind to run for it, and make a bolt across 
 the country. 
 
 " Why deary Mr. Pinch ! oh deary Sir ! " exclaimed the tollman's wife. 
 " What an unlikely time for you to be a going this way with a bag!" 
 
 " I'm going to Salisbury," said Tom. 
 
 "Why, goodness, where's the gig then?" cried the tollman's wife, 
 looking down the road, as if she thought Tom might have been upset 
 without observing it. 
 
 " I have n't got it," said Tom. " I — " he couldn't evade it : he felt 
 she would have him in the next question, if he got over this one. " I 
 have left Mr. Pecksniff." 
 
 The tollman — a crusty customer, always smoking solitary pipes in a 
 Windsor chair, inside, set artfully between two little windows that looked 
 up and down the road, so that when he saw anything coming up, he 
 might hug himself on having toll to take, and when he saw it going 
 down, might hug himself on having taken it — the tollman was out in an 
 instant. 
 
 " Left Mr. Pecksniff!" cried the tollman. 
 
 " Yes," said Tom, " left him." 
 
 The tollman looked at his wife, uncertain whether to ask her if she 
 had anything to suggest, or to order her to mind the children. Asto- 
 nishment making him surly, he preferred the latter, and sent her into 
 the toll-house, with a flea in her ear. 
 
 " You left Mr. Pecksniff!" cried the tollman, folding his arms, and 
 spreading his legs. " I should as soon have thought of his head leaving 
 him." 
 
 " Ay !" said Tom, " so should I, yesterday. Good night !" ' 
 
 If a heavy drove of oxen had n't come by, immediately, the tollman 
 would have gone down to the village straight to inquire into it. As 
 things turned out, he smoked another pipe, and took his wife into his 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 379 
 
 confidence. But their united sagacity could make nothing of it, and 
 they went to bed — metaphorically — in the dark. But several times 
 that night, when a waggon or other vehicle came through, and the 
 driver asked the tollkeeper " What news ?" he looked at the man by the 
 light of his lantern, to assure himself that he had an interest in the 
 subject, and then said, wrapping his watch-coat round his legs : 
 
 " You've heerd of Mr. Pecksniff down yonder ? " 
 
 "Ah! sure-ly!" 
 
 " And of his young man Mr. Pinch p'raps ? " 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 " They've parted." 
 
 After every one of these disclosures, the tollman plunged into his 
 house again, and was seen no more, while the other side went on, in 
 great amazement. 
 
 But this was long after Tom was abed, and Tom was now with his 
 face towards Salisbury, doing his best to get there. The evening was 
 beautiful at first, but it became cloudy and dull at sunset, and the rain 
 fell heavily soon afterwards. For ten long miles he plodded on, wet 
 through, until at last the lights appeared, and he came into the welcome 
 precincts of the city. 
 
 He went to the inn where he had waited for Martin, and briefly 
 answering their enquiries after Mr. Pecksniff, ordered a bed. He had 
 no heart for tea or supper, meat or drink of any kind, but sat by himself 
 before an empty table in the public-room while the bed was getting 
 ready : revolving in his mind all that had happened that eventful day, 
 and wondering what he could or should do for the future. It was a 
 great relief when the chambermaid came in, and said the bed was ready. 
 
 It was a low four-poster shelving downward in the centre like a 
 trough, and the room was crowded with impracticable tables and 
 exploded chests of drawers, full of damp linen. A graphic representation 
 in oil of a remarkably fat ox hung over the fire-place, and the portrait of 
 some former landlord (who might have been the ox's brother, he was so 
 like him) stared roundly in, at the foot of the bed. A variety of queer 
 smells were partially quenched in the prevailing scent of very old laven- 
 der ; and the window had not been opened for such a long space of time, 
 that it pleaded immemorial usage, and wouldn't come open now. 
 
 These were trifles in themselves, but they added to the strangeness of 
 the place, and did not induce Tom to forget his new position. Pecksniff 
 had gone out of the world — had never been in it — and it was as much 
 as Tom could do to say his prayers without him. But he felt happier 
 afterwards, and went to sleep, and dreamed about him as he Never Was. 
 
380 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 TREATS OF TODGERs's AGAIN ; AND OF ANOTHER BLIGHTED PLANT 
 BESIDES THE PLANTS UPON THE LEADS. 
 
 Early on the day next after that on which she bade adieu to the 
 halls of her youth and the scenes of her childhood, Miss Pecksniff, 
 arriving safely at the coach-office in London, was there received, and 
 conducted to her peaceful home beneath the shadow of the Monument, 
 by Mrs. Todgers. M. Todgers looked a little worn by cares of gravy 
 and other such solicitudes arising out of her establishment, but displayed 
 her usual earnestness and warmth of manner. 
 
 " And how, my sweet Miss Pecksniif," said she, " how is your 
 princely pa ?" 
 
 Miss Pecksniff signified (in confidence) that he contemplated the 
 introduction of a princely ma ; and repeated the sentiment that she 
 wasn't blind, and wasn't quite a fool, and wouldn't bear it. 
 
 Mrs. Todgers was more shocked by the intelligence than any one 
 could have expected. She was quite bitter. She said there was no 
 truth in man, and that the warmer he expressed himself, as a general 
 principle, the falser and more treacherous he was. She foresaw with 
 astonishing clearness that the object of Mr. Pecksniff's attachment was 
 designing, worthless, and wicked ; and receiving from Charity the fullest 
 confirmation of these views, protested with tears in her eyes that she 
 loved Miss Pecksniff like a sister, and felt her injuries as if they were 
 her own. 
 
 " Your real darling sister, I have not seen more than once since her 
 marriage," said Mrs. Todgers, " and then I thought her looking poorly. 
 My sweet Miss Pecksniff, I always thought that you was to be the lady." 
 
 " Oh dear no !" cried Cherry, shaking her head. " Oh no, Mrs. 
 Todgers. Thank you. No ! not for any consideration he could offer." 
 
 " I dare say you are right," said Mrs. Todgers, with a sigh. " I 
 feared it all along. But the misery we have had from that match, here 
 among ourselves, in this house, my dear Miss Pecksniff, nobody would 
 believe." 
 
 " Lor, Mrs. Todgers !" 
 
 " Awful, awful !" repeated Mrs. Todgers, with strong emphasis. 
 " You recollect our youngest gentleman, my dear f 
 
 " Of course I do," said Cherry. 
 
 " You might have observed," said Mrs. Todgers, " how he used to 
 watch your sister ; and that a kind of stony dumbness came over him 
 whenever she was in company 1 " 
 
 " I am sure I never saw anything of the sort," said Cherry, in a 
 peevish manner. " What nonsense, Mrs. Todgers !" 
 
 " My dear," returned that lady in a hollow voice, " I have seen him, 
 again and again, sitting over his pie at dinner, with his spoon a perfect 
 fixture in his mouth, looking at your sister. I have seen him standing 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 381 
 
 in a corner of our drawing-room, gazing at her, in such a lonely, melan- 
 choly state, that he was more like a Pump than a man, and might have 
 drawed tears." 
 
 " I never saw it !" cried Cherry ; "that's all I can say." 
 
 " But when the marriage took place," said Mrs. Todgers, proceeding 
 with her subject, "when it was in the paper, and was read out here at 
 breakfast, I thought he had taken leave of his senses, I did indeed. The 
 violence of that young man, my dear Miss Pecksniff ; the frightful 
 opinions he expressed upon the subject of self-destruction ; the extraor- 
 dinary actions he performed with his tea ; the clenching way in which 
 he bit his bread and butter ; the manner in which he taunted Mr. Jin- 
 kins ; all combined to form a picture never to be forgotten." 
 
 " It's a pity he did n't destroy himself, I think," observed Miss Peck- 
 sniff. 
 
 "Himself!" said Mrs. Todgers, " it took another turn at night. He 
 was for destroying other people then. There was a little chaffing going 
 on — I hope you don't consider that a low expression. Miss Pecksniff ; it 
 is always in our gentlemen's mouths — a little chaffing going on, my dear, 
 among 'em, all in good nature, when suddenly he rose up, foaming with 
 his fury, and but for being held by three, would have had Mr. Jinkins's 
 life with a boot-jack !" 
 
 Miss Pecksniff's face expressed supreme indifference. 
 
 " And now," said Mrs. Todgers, " now he is the meekest of men. You 
 can almost bring the tears into his eyes by looking at him. He sits 
 with me the whole day long on Sundays, talking in such a dismal way 
 that I find it next to impossible to keep my spirits up equal to the 
 accommodation of the boarders. His only comfort is in female society. 
 Pie takes me half-price to the play, to an extent which I sometimes fear 
 is beyond his means ; and I see the tears a standing in his eyes during 
 the whole performance : particularly if it is anything of a comic nature. 
 The turn I experienced only yesterday," said Mrs. Todgers, putting her 
 hand to her side, " when the housemaid threw his bedside carpet out 
 of the window of his room, while I was sitting here, no one can imagine. 
 I thought it was him, and that he had done it at last !" 
 
 The contempt with which Miss Charity received this pathetic account 
 of the state to which the youngest gentleman in company was reduced, 
 did not say much for her power of sympathising with that unfortunate 
 character. She treated it with great levity, and went on to inform her- 
 self, then and afterwards, whether any other changes had occurred in the 
 commercial boarding-house. 
 
 Mr. Bailey was gone, and had been succeeded (such is the decay of 
 human greatness !) by an old woman whose name was reported to be 
 Tamaroo : which seemed an impossibility. Indeed it appeared in the 
 fulness of time that the jocular boarders had appropriated the word from 
 an English ballad, in which it is supposed to express the bold and fiery 
 nature of a certain hackney-coachman ; and that it was bestowed upon 
 Mr. Bailey's successor by reason of her having nothing fiery about her, 
 except an occasional attack of that fire which is called St. Anthony's. 
 This ancient female had been engaged, in fulfilment of a vow, registered 
 by Mrs. Todgers, that no more boys should darken the commercial doors; 
 
382 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 and she was chiefly remarkable for a total absence of all comprehension 
 upon every subject whatever. She was a perfect Tomb for messages and 
 small parcels ; and when despatched to the Post-office with letters, had 
 been frequently seen endeavouring to insinuate them into casual chinks 
 in private doors, under the delusion that any door with a hole in it 
 would answer the purpose. She was a very little old woman, and always 
 wore a very coarse apron with a bib before and a loop behind, together 
 with bandages on her wrists, which appeared to be afflicted with an 
 everlasting sprain. She was on all occasions chary of opening the street- 
 door, and ardent to shut it again ; and she waited at table in a bonnet. 
 
 This was the only great change over and above the change which had 
 fallen on the youngest gentleman. As for him, he more than corrobo- 
 rated the account of Mrs. Todgers : possessing greater sensibility than 
 even she had given him credit for. He entertained some terrible notions 
 of Destiny, among other matters, and talked much about people's " Mis- 
 sions :" upon which he seemed to have some private information not 
 generally attainable, as he knew it had been poor Merry's mission to 
 crush him in the bud. He was very frail, and tearful ; for being aware 
 that a shepherd's mission was to pipe to his flocks, and that a boatswain's 
 mission was to pipe all hands, and that one man's mission was to be a paid 
 piper, and another man's mission was to pay the piper, so he had got it 
 into his head that his own peculiar mission was to pipe his eye. Which 
 he did perpetually. 
 
 He often informed Mrs. Todgers that the sun had set upon him ; 
 that the billows had rolled over him ; that the Car of Juggernaut had 
 crushed him ; and also that the deadly Upas tree of Java had blighted 
 him. His name was Moddle. 
 
 Towards this most unhappy Moddle, Miss Pecksnifi" conducted herself 
 at first with distant haughtiness, being in no humour to be entertained 
 with dirges in honour of her married sister. The poor young gentleman 
 was additionally crushed by this, and remonstrated with Mrs. Todgers on 
 the subject. 
 
 " Even she turns from me, Mrs. Todgers," said Moddle. 
 
 " Then why don't you try and be a little bit more cheerful Sir 1 " 
 retorted Mrs. Todgers. 
 
 " Cheerful Mrs. Todgers ! Cheerful ! " cried the youngest gentleman : 
 " when she reminds me of days for ever fled, Mrs. Todgers !" 
 
 " Then you had better avoid her for a short time if she does," said Mrs. 
 Todgers, "and come to know her again, by degrees. That's my advice." 
 
 " But I can't avoid her," replied Moddle. " I haven't strength of mind 
 to do it. Oh Mrs. Todgers, if you knew what a comfort her nose is 
 to me ! " 
 
 " Her nose. Sir ! " Mrs. Todgers cried. 
 
 " Her profile in general," said the youngest gentleman, " but particu- 
 larly her nose. It's so like ;" here he yielded to a burst of grief; " It's so 
 like hers who is Another's, Mrs. Todgers ! " 
 
 The observant matron did not fail to report this conversation to 
 Charity, who laughed at the time, but treated Mr. Moddle that very 
 evening with increased consideration, and presented her side-face to him 
 as much as possible. Mr. Moddle was not less sentimental than usual ; 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 383 
 
 was rather more so, if anything ; but lie sat and stared at her with 
 glistening eyes, and seemed grateful. 
 
 " Well, Sir ! " said the lady of the Boarding-House next day, " you 
 held up your head last night. You're coming round, I think." 
 
 " Only because she 's so like her who is Another's, Mrs. Todgers," 
 rejoined the youth. " When she talks, and when she smiles, I think 
 I'm looking on her brow again, Mrs. Todgers." 
 
 This was likewise carried to Charity, who talked and smiled next 
 evening in her most engaging manner, and rallying Mr, Moddle on the 
 lowness of his spirits, challenged him to play a rubber at cribbage. Mr. 
 Moddle taking up the gauntlet, they played several rubbers for sixpences, 
 and Charity won them all. This may have been partially attributable 
 to the gallantry of the youngest gentleman, but it was certainly refer- 
 able to the state of his feelings also ; for his eyes being frequently 
 dimmed by tears, he thought that aces were tens, and knaves queens, 
 which at times occasioned some confusion in his play. 
 
 On the seventh night of cribbage, when Mrs. Todgers, sitting by, 
 proposed that instead of gambling they should play for "love," Mr. 
 Moddle was seen to change colour. On the fourteenth night, he kissed 
 Miss Pecksniff's snuffers, in the passage, when she went up stairs to bed: 
 meaning to have kissed her hand, but missing it. 
 
 In short, Mr. Moddle began to be impressed with the idea that Miss 
 Pecksniff's mission was to comfort him ; and Miss Pecksniff began to 
 speculate on the probability of its being her mission to become ulti- 
 mately Mrs. Moddle. He was a young gentleman (Miss Pecksniff was 
 not a very young lady) with rising prospects, and " almost" enough to 
 live on. Really it looked very well. 
 
 Besides — besides — he had been regarded as devoted to Merry. Merry 
 had joked about him, and had once spoken of it to her sister as a con- 
 quest. He was better looking, better shaped, better spoken, better 
 tempered, better mannered than Jonas. He was easy to manage, could 
 be made to consult the humours of his Betrothed, and could be shown 
 off like a lamb when Jonas was a bear. There was the rub ! 
 
 In the meantime the cribbage went on, and Mrs. Todgers went off; for 
 the youngest gentleman, dropping her society, began to take Miss Pecksniff 
 to the play. He also began, as Mrs, Todgers said, to slip home " in his 
 dinner-times," and to get away from "the office" at unholy seasons; and 
 twice, as he informed Mrs. Todgers himself, he received anonymous letters, 
 inclosing cards from Furniture Warehouses — clearly the act of that 
 ungentlemanly ruffian Jinkins : only he had n't evidence enough to call 
 him out upon. All of which, so Mrs. Todgers told Miss Pecksniff, spoke 
 as plain English as the shining sun, 
 
 " My dear Miss Pecksniff, you may depend upon it," said Mrs, Todgers, 
 " that he is burning to propose." 
 
 " My goodness me, why don't he then ! " cried Cherry, 
 
 " Men are so much more timid than we think 'em, my dear," returned 
 Mrs. Todgers, " They baulk themselves continually, I saw the words 
 on Todgers's lips for months and months and months, before he said 'em." 
 
 Miss Pecksniff submitted that Todgers might not have been a fair 
 specimen. 
 
384 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF ■" 
 
 " Oh yes he was. Oh bless you, yes my dear. I was very particular 
 in those days, I assure you," said Mrs. Todgers, bridling. " No, no. You 
 give Mr. Moddle a little encouragement. Miss Pecksniff, if you wish him 
 to speak ; and he'll speak fast enough, depend upon it." 
 
 " I am sure I don't know what encouragement he would have, Mrs. 
 Todgers," returned Charity. " He walks with me, and plays cards with 
 me, and he comes and sits alone with me." 
 
 " Quite right," said Mrs. Todgers. " That's indispensable, my dear." 
 
 " And he sits very close to me." 
 
 " Also quite correct," said Mrs. Todgers. 
 
 " And he looks at me." 
 
 " To be sure he does," said Mrs. Todgers. 
 
 " And he has his arm upon the back of the chair or sofa, or whatever 
 it is — behind me, you know." 
 
 " / should think so," said Mrs. Todgers. 
 
 " And then he begins to cry !" 
 
 Mrs. Todgers admitted that he might do better than that ; and might 
 undoubtedly profit by the recollection of the great Lord Nelson's signal 
 at the battle of Trafalgar. Still, she said, he would come round, or, not 
 to mince the matter, would be brought round, if Miss Pecksniff took up 
 a decided position, and plainly showed him that it must be done. 
 
 Determining to regulate her conduct by this opinion, the young lady 
 received Mr. Moddle, on the earliest subsequent occasion, with an air of 
 constraint; and gradually leading him to inquire, in a dejected manner, 
 why she was so changed, confessed to him that she felt it necessary for 
 their mutual peace and happiness to take a decided step. They had 
 been much together lately, she observed, much together, and had tasted 
 the sweets of a genuine reciprocity of sentiment. She never could forget 
 him, nor could she ever cease to think of him with feelings of the liveliest 
 friendship; but people had begun to talk, the thing had been observed; 
 and it was necessary that they should be nothing more to each other, 
 than any gentleman and lady in society usually are. She was glad she 
 had had the resolution to say thus much before her feelings had been 
 tried too far; they had been greatly tried, she would admit; but though 
 she was weak and silly, she would soon get the better of it, she hoped. 
 
 Moddle, who had by this time become in the last degree maudlin, and 
 who wept abundantly, inferred from the foregoing avowal, that it was 
 his mission to communicate to others the blight which had fallen on 
 himself ; and that, being a kind of unintentional Vampire, he had had 
 Miss Pecksniff assigned to him by the Fates, as Victim Number One. 
 Miss Pecksniff controverting this opinion as sinful, Moddle was goaded 
 on to ask whether she could be contented with a blighted heart; and it 
 appearing on further examination that she could be, plighted his dismal 
 troth, which was accepted and returned. 
 
 He bore his good fortune with the utmost moderation. Instead of 
 being triumphant, he shed more tears than he had ever been known to 
 shed before : and, sobbing, said : 
 
 " Oh, what a day this has been ! I can't go back to the office this 
 afternoon. Oh, what a trying day this has been, Good Gracious !" 
 
 I 
 
Yiyfl 
 
 '4^, 
 
 'Za^y- 
 
 Y6^zz^ cn^' 1^6^) aJ^^i^i^yu 
 
MARTIN CHFZZLEWIT. 385 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 FURTHER PROCEEDINGS IN EDEN, AND A PROCEEDING OUT OF IT. 
 MARTIN MAKES A DISCOVERY OF SOME IMPORTANCE. 
 
 From Mr. Moddle to Eden is an easy and natural transition. Mr. 
 Moddle, living in the atmosphere of Miss Pecksniff's love, dwelt (if 
 he had but known it) in a terrestrial Paradise. The thriving city of 
 Eden was also a terrestrial Paradise, upon the showing of its proprie- 
 tors. The beautiful Miss Pecksniff might have been poetically described 
 as a something too good for man ,'in his fallen and degraded state. 
 That was exactly the character of the thriving city of Eden, as poetically 
 heightened by Zephaniah Scadder, General Choke, and other worthies : 
 part and parcel of the talons of that great American Eagle, which is 
 always airing itself sky-high in purest a?ther, and never, no never, 
 never, tumbles down, with draggled wings, into the mud. 
 
 When Mark Tapley, leaving Martin in the architectural and sur- 
 veying offices, had effectually strengthened and encouraged his own 
 spirits by the contemplation of their joint misfortunes, he proceeded, 
 with new cheerfulness, in search of help : congratulating himself, as he 
 went along, on the enviable position to which he had at last attained. 
 
 " I used to think, sometimes," said Mr. Tapley, " as a desolate island 
 would suit me, but I should only have had myself to provide for there, 
 and being naterally a easy man to manage, there would n't have been 
 much credit in l/mt. Now here I 've got my partner to take care on, 
 and he 's something like the sort of man for the purpose. I want a man 
 as is always a sliding off his legs when he ought to be on 'em. I want 
 a man as is so low down in the school of life, that he 's always a making 
 figures of one in his copy-book, and can't get no further. I want a 
 man as is his own great coat and cloak, and is always a wrapping him- 
 self up in himself. And I have got him too," said Mr. Tai^ley, after a 
 moment's silence. " What a happiness 1" 
 
 Pie paused to look round, uncertain to vv'hich of the log-houses he 
 should repair. 
 
 " I don't know which to take," he observed ; " that 's the truth. 
 They 're equally prepossessing outside, and equally commodious, no 
 doubt, within ; being fitted up with every convenience that a Alligator, 
 in a state of natur', could possibly require. Let me see ! The citizen 
 as turned out last night lives under water, in the right hand dog-kennel 
 at the corner. I don't want to trouble him if I can help it, poor man, 
 for he is a melancholy object : a reg'lar Settler in every respect. There 's 
 a house with a winder, but I 'm afraid of their being proud. I don't 
 know whether a door ain't too aristocratic ; but here goes for the first 
 one ! " 
 
 He went up to the nearest cabin, and knocked with his hand. Being 
 desired to enter, he complied. 
 
 c c 
 
386 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Xeighbour," said Mark ; " for I am a neighbour, tliougli you don't 
 
 know me ; I 've come a begging. Hallo ! lial — lo ! Am I a-bed, 
 
 and dreaming ! " 
 
 He made this exclamation on hearing his own name pronounced, and 
 finding himself clasped about the skirts by two little boys, whose faces 
 he had often washed, and whose suppers he had often cooked, on board 
 of that noble, and fast-sailing line of packet ship, the Screw. 
 
 " My eyes is wrong !" said Mark. " I don't believe 'em. That ain't 
 my fellow-passenger yonder, a nursing her little girl, who, I am sorry to 
 see, is so delicate ; and that ain't her husband as come to New York to 
 fetch her. Nor these," he added, looking down upon the boys, " ain't 
 them two young shavers as was so familiar to me j though they are 
 uncommon like 'em. That I must confess." 
 
 The woman shed tears, in very joy to see him ; the man shook both 
 his hands, and would not let them go ; the two boys hugged his legs ; the 
 sick child, in the mother's arms, stretched out her burning little fingers, 
 and muttered, in her hoarse, dry throat, his well-remembered name. 
 
 It was the same family, sure enough. Altered by the salubrious air 
 of Eden. But the same. 
 
 " This is a new sort of a morning call," said Mark, drawing a long 
 breath. " It strikes one all of a heap. Wait a little bit ! I 'm a 
 coming round, fast. That '11 do ! These gentlemen ain't my friends. 
 Are they on the wisiting list of the house 1 " 
 
 The inquiry referred to certain gaunt pigs, who had walked in after 
 him, and were much interested in the heels of the family. As they did 
 not belong to the mansion, they were expelled by the two little boys. 
 
 " I ain't superstitious about toads," said Mark, looking round the 
 room, " but if you could prevail upon the two or three I see in company, 
 to step out at the same time, my young friends, I think they 'd find the 
 open air refreshing. Not that I at all object to 'em. A very handsome 
 animal is a toad," said Mr. Tapley, sitting down upon a stool : " very 
 spotted ; very like a partickler style of old gentleman about the throat ; 
 very bright-eyed, very cool, and very slippy. But one sees 'em to the 
 best advantage out of doors perhaps." 
 
 While pretending, with such talk as this, to be perfectly at his ease, 
 and to be the most indifferent and careless of men, Mark Tapley had an 
 eye on all around him. The wan and meagre aspect of the family, the 
 changed looks of the poor mother, the fevered child she held in her 
 lap, the air of great despondency and little hope on everything, were 
 plain to him, and made a deep impression on his mind. He saw it all 
 as clearly and as quickly, as with his bodily eyes he saw the rough 
 shelves supported by pegs driven between the logs, of wliich the house 
 was made ; the flour-cask in the corner, serving also for a table ; the 
 blankets, spades, and other articles against the walls ; the damp that 
 blotched the ground ; or the crop of vegetable rottenness in every crevice 
 of the hut. 
 
 " How is it that you have come here ? " asked the man, when their 
 first expressions of surprise were over. 
 
 " Why, we come by the steamer last night," replied Mark. " Our 
 
 ( 
 

 y / 
 
 
7^ ,7 / 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 387 
 
 intention is to make our fortuns with punctuality and dispatch ; and 
 to retire upon our property as soon as ever it's realised. But how are 
 you all ? You 're looking noble ! " 
 
 " We are but sickly now," said the poor woman, bending over her 
 child. " But we shall do better when we are seasoned to the place." 
 
 " There are some here," thought Mark, " whose seasoning will last for 
 ever." 
 
 But he said cheerfully, " Do better ! To be sure you will. We shall 
 all do better. What we 've got to do, is, to keep up our spirits, and be 
 neighbourly. We shall come all right in the end, never fear. That 
 reminds me, by the bye, that my partner's all wrong just at present ; 
 and that I looked in, to beg for him. I wish you'd come, and give me 
 your opinion of him, master." 
 
 That must have been a very unreasonable request on t?ie part of 
 Mark Tapley, with which, in their gratitude for his kind offices on 
 board the ship, they would not have complied instantly. The man rose 
 to accompany him without a moment's delay. Before they went, ]\Iark 
 took the sick child in his arms, and tried to comfort the mother ; but 
 the hand of death was on it then, he saw. 
 
 They found Martin in the house, lying wrapped up in his blanket on 
 the ground. He was, to all appearance, very ill indeed, and shook and 
 shivered horribly : not as people do from cold, but in a frightful kind 
 of spasm or convulsion, that racked his whole body. Mark's friend 
 pronounced his disease an aggravated kind of fever, accompiinied Avith 
 ague ; which was very common in those parts, and which he predicted 
 would be worse to-morrow, and for many more to-morrows. He had 
 had it himself off and on, he said, for a couple of years or so ; but 
 he was thankful that, while so many he had known had died about 
 him, he had escaped with life. 
 
 " And with not too much of that," thought Mark, surveying his 
 emaciated form. " Eden for ever ! " 
 
 They had some medicine in their chest ; and this man of sad expe- 
 rience showed Mark how and when to administer it, and how he could 
 best alleviate the sufferings of Martin. His attentions did not stop 
 there; for he was backwards and forwards constantly, and rendered Mark 
 good service in all his brisk attempts to make their situation more 
 endurable. Hope or comfort for the future he could not bestow. The 
 season was a sickly one ; the settlement a grave. His child died that 
 night ; and Mark, keeping the secret from Martin, helped to bury it, 
 beneath a tree, next day. 
 
 With all his various duties of attendance upon Martin (who became 
 the more exacting in his claims, the worse he grew), Mark vrorked out 
 of doors, early and late ; and with the assistance of his friend and 
 others, laboured to do something with their land. Not that he had the 
 least strength of heart or hope, or steady purpose in so doing, beyond 
 the habitual cheerfulness of his disposition, and his amazing power of 
 self-sustainment ; for within himself, he looked on their condition as 
 beyond all hope, and, in his own words, " came out strong " in con- 
 sequence. 
 
 cc2 
 
388 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " As to coming out as strong as I could wish, Sir," he confided to 
 Martin in a leisure moment ; that is to say, one evening, while he was 
 w^ashing the linen of the establishment, after a hard day's work, " that 
 I give up. It 's a piece of good fortune as never is to happen to me, I 
 see ! 
 
 "Would you wish for circumstances stronger than these?" Martin 
 retorted with a groan, from underneath his blanket. 
 
 " Why, only see how easy they might have been stronger, Sir," said 
 Mark, " if it wasn't for the envy of that uncommon fortun of mine, 
 which is always after me, and tripping me up. The night we landed 
 here, I thought things did look pretty jolly. I won't deny it. I thought 
 they did look pretty jolly." 
 
 " How do they look now ?" groaned Martin. 
 
 " Ah !" said Mark, " Ah to be sure. That's the question. How do 
 they look now ! On the very first morning of my going out, what do I 
 do 1 Stumble on a family I know, who are constantly assisting of us in 
 all sorts of ways, from that time to this ! That won't do, you know : 
 that ain't what I'd aright to expect. If I had stumbled on a serpent, 
 and got bit ; or stumbled on a first-rate patriot, and got bowie-knifed ; 
 or stumbled on a lot of Sympathizers with inverted shirt-collars, and got 
 made a lion of ; I might have distinguished myself, and earned some 
 credit. As it is, the great object of my voyage is knocked on the head. 
 So it would be, v/herever I went. How do you feel to-night Sir?" 
 
 " Worse than ever," said poor Martin. 
 
 " That's something," returned Mark, " but not enough. Nothing but 
 being very bad myself, and jolly to the last, will ever do me justice." 
 
 " in Heaven s name, don't talk of that," said Martin, with a thrill of 
 terror. "What should I do, Mark, if you were taken ill !" 
 
 Mr. Tapley's spirits appeared to be stimulated by this remark, although 
 it was not a very flattering one. He proceeded with his washing in a 
 brighter mood ; and observed " that his glass was a-rising." 
 
 " There's one good thing in this place. Sir," said Mr. Tapley, scrubbing 
 away at the linen, " as disposes me to be jolly ; and that is, that it's a 
 reg'lar little United States in itself. There 's two or three American 
 settlers left ; and they coolly comes over one, even here Sir, as if it was 
 the wholesomest and loveliest spot in the world. But they 're like the 
 Cock that went and hid himself to save his life, and was found out by 
 the noise he made. They can 't help crowing. They was born to do it ; 
 and do it they must, whatever comes of it." 
 
 Glancing from his work, out at the door, as he said these words, 
 Mark's eyes encountered a lean person in a blue frock and a straw hat, 
 with a short black pipe in his mouth, and a great hickory stick, studded 
 all over with knots, in his hand ; who, smoking and chewing as he came 
 along, and spitting frequently, recorded his progress by a train of 
 decomposed tobacco on the ground. 
 
 " Here 's one on 'em," cried Mark, " Hannibal Chollop." 
 
 " Don't let him in," said Martin, feebly. 
 
 " He won't want any letting in," replied Mark. " He'll come in. Sir." 
 
 Which turned out to be quite true, for he did. His face was almost 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 389 
 
 as hard and knobby as liis stick ; and so were bis hands. His bead was 
 like an old black hearth-broom. He sat down on the chest with his hat 
 on ; and crossing his legs and looking up at Mark, said, without removing 
 his pipe : 
 
 " Well Mr. Co ! and how do you git along, Sir ?" 
 
 It may be necessary to observe that Jlr. Tapley had gravely introduced 
 himself to all strangers, by that name. 
 
 " Pretty well, Sir ; pretty well," said Mark. 
 
 " If this ain't Mr. Chuzzlewit, ain't it !" exclaimed the visitor. " How 
 do you git along, Sirl" 
 
 Martin shook his head, and drew the blanket over it involuntarily ; 
 for he felt that Hannibal was going to spit ; and his eye, as the song 
 says, was upon him. 
 
 " You need not regard me, Sir," observed iMr. Chollop, complacently. 
 "I am fever-proof, and likewise agur." 
 
 " Mine was a more selfish motive," said Martin, looking out again. 
 " I was afraid you were going to " 
 
 "I can calc'late my distance. Sir," returned Mr. Chollop, "to an 
 inch." 
 
 With a proof of which happy faculty he immediately favoured him. 
 
 " I re-quire, Sir," said Hannibal, " two foot clear in a circ'lar di-rection 
 and can engage my-self toe keep within it. I have gone ten foot, in a 
 circ'lar di-rection, but that was for a wager." 
 
 " I hope you won it, Sir," said Mark. 
 
 " Well Sir, I realised the stakes," said Chollop. "Yes Sir." 
 
 He was silent for a time, during which he was actively engaged in 
 the formation of a magic circle round the chest on which he sat. When 
 it was completed, he began to talk again. 
 
 " How do you like our country, Sir ?" he inquired, looking at Martin. 
 
 " Not at all," was the invalid's reply. 
 
 Chollop continued to smoke without the least appearance of emotion, 
 until he felt disposed to speak again. That time at length arriving, he 
 took his pipe from his mouth, and said : 
 
 " I am not surprised to hear you say so. It re-quires An elevation, 
 and A preparation of the intellect. The mind of man must be prepared 
 for Freedom, Mr. Co." 
 
 He addressed himself to Mark : because he saw that Martin, who 
 wished him to go, being already half-mad with feverish irritation which 
 the droning voice of this new horror rendered almost insupportable, 
 had closed his eyes, and turned on his uneasy bed. 
 
 " A little bodily preparation wouldn't be amiss, either, would it Sir,"^ 
 said Mark, " in the case of a blessed old swamp like this ?" 
 
 " Do you con-sider this a swamp, Sir 1" inquired Chollop gravely. 
 
 " Why yes. Sir," returned Mark. " I have n't a doubt about it, 
 myself." 
 
 "The sentiment is quite Europian," said the Major, "and does not 
 surprise me : what would your English millions say to such a swamp in 
 England, Sir T 
 
 " They 'd say it was an uncommon nasty one, I should think," said 
 
390 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Mark ; " and tliat tliey would rather be inoculated for fever in some 
 other way," 
 
 "Europian!" remarked Chollop^ with sardonic pity. "Quite 
 Europian !" 
 
 And there he sat. Silent and cool, as if the house were his ; smoking 
 away like a factory chimney. 
 
 Mr. Chollop was, of course, one of the most remarkable men in the 
 country ; but he really was a notorious person besides. He was 
 usually described by his friends, in the South and West, as " a splendid 
 sample of our na-tive raw material, Sir," and was much esteemed for 
 his devotion to rational Liberty ] for the better propagation whereof he 
 usually carried a brace of revolving-pistols in his coat pocket, with 
 seven barrels apiece. He also carried, amongst other trinkets, a sword- 
 stick, which he called his " Tickler ;" and a great knife, which (for he 
 was a man of a pleasant turn of humour) he called " Ripper," in allusion 
 to its usefulness as a means of ventilating the stomach of any adversary 
 in a close contest. He had used these weapons with distinguished effect 
 in several instances ; all duly chronicled in the newspapers ; and was 
 greatly beloved for the gallant manner in which he had "jobbed out" the 
 eye of one gentleman, as he was in the act of knocking at his own street- 
 door. 
 
 Mr. Chollop was a man of a roving disposition ; and, in any less 
 advanced community, might have been mistaken for a violent vagabond. 
 But his fine qualities being perfectly understood and appreciated in 
 those regions where his lot was cast, and where he had many kindred 
 spirits to consort with, he may be regarded as having been born under 
 a fortunate star, which is not always the case with a man so much 
 before the age in which he lives. Preferring, with a view to the 
 gratification of his tickling and ripping fancies, to dwell upon the out- 
 skirts of society, and in the more remote towns and cities, he was in the 
 habit of emigrating from place to place, and establishing in each some 
 business — -usually a newspaper — which he presently sold : for the 
 most part closing the bargain by challenging, stabbing, pistolling, or 
 gouging, the new editor, before he had quite taken possession of the 
 property. 
 
 He had come to Eden on a speculation of this kind, but had abandoned 
 it, and was about to leave. He always introduced himself to strangers 
 as a worshipper of Freedom ; was the consistent advocate of Lynch law, 
 and slavery ; and invariably recommended, both in print and speech, 
 the "tarring and feathering" of any unpopular person who differed 
 from himself. He called this " planting the standard of civilisation in 
 the wilder gardens of My country." 
 
 There is little doubt that Chollop would have planted this standard 
 in Eden at Mark's expense, in return for his plainness of speech (for the 
 genuine Freedom is dumb save when she vaunts herself), but for the 
 utter desolation and decay prevailing in the settlement, and his own 
 approaching departure from it. As it was, he contented himself with 
 showing Mark one of the revolving-pistols, and asking him what he 
 thought of that weapon. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 391 
 
 " It ain't long, since I shot a man down with that, Sir, in the State 
 of Illinoj/," observed Chollop. 
 
 " Did you, indeed !" said Mark, without the smallest agitation. " Very 
 free of you. And very independent !" 
 
 " I shot him down Sir," pursued Chollop, "for asserting in the 
 Spartan Portico, a tri- weekly journal, that the ancient Athenians Avent 
 a-iiead of the present Locofoco Ticket." 
 " And what 's that T ' asked Mark. 
 
 " Europian not to know," said Chollop, smoking placidly. " Europian 
 quite!" 
 
 After a short devotion to the interests of the magic circle, he resumed 
 the conversation by observing : 
 
 " You won't half feel yourself at home in Eden, now 1 " 
 ^'No," said Mark, "1 don't." 
 
 " You miss the imposts of your country. You miss the house dues ?" 
 ■•observed Chollop. 
 
 " And the houses — rather," said Mark. 
 " No window dues here Sir," observed Chollop. 
 " And no windows to put 'em on," said Mark. 
 
 " No stakes, no dungeons, no blocks, no racks, no scaffolds, no thumb- 
 screws, no pikes, no pillories," said Chollop. 
 
 " Nothing but rewolvers and bowie knives," returned Mark. " And 
 what are they ? Not worth mentioning ! " 
 
 The man who had met them on the night of their arrival came crawl- 
 ing up at this juncture, and looked in at the door. 
 
 "Well, Sir !" said Chollop. " How do j/ou git along f 
 He had considerable difficulty in getting along at all, and said as 
 much in reply. 
 
 " Mr. Co And me, Sir," observed Chollop, " are disputating a piece. 
 He ought to be slicked up pretty smart, to disputate between the Old 
 World and the New, I do expect?" 
 
 " Well !" returned the miserable shadow. " So he had." 
 " I was merely observing, Sir," said Mark, addressing this new visitor, 
 " that I looked upon the city in w^hich we have the honour to live, as 
 being swampy. What's your sentiments ?" 
 
 " I opinionate it's moist, perhaps, at certain times," returned the man. 
 " But not as moist as England, Sir T' cried Chollop, with a fierce 
 expression in his face. 
 
 " Oh ! Not as moist as England ; let alone its Institutions," said the 
 man. 
 
 " I should hope their ain't a swamp in all Americay, as don't w^hip 
 that small island into mush and molasses," observed Chollop, decisively. 
 "You bought slick, straight, and right away, of Scadder, Sir?" to 
 Mark. 
 
 He answered in the affirmative. Mr. Chollop winked at the other 
 citizen. 
 
 " Scadder is a smart man. Sir 1 He is a rising man 1 He is a man 
 as will come up'ards, right side up Sir ] " Mr. Chollop winked again at 
 the other citizen. 
 
392 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " He should have his right side very high up, if I had my way/' said 
 Mark. '• As high up as the top of a good tall gallows, perhaps." 
 
 Mr. ChoUop was so delighted at the smartness of his excellent country- 
 man having been too much for the Britisher, and at the Britisher's 
 resenting it, that he could contain himself no longer, and broke forth in 
 a shout of delight. But the strangest exposition of this ruling passion 
 was in the other : the pestilence-stricken, broken, miserable shadow of a 
 man : who derived so much entertainment from the circumstance, that 
 he seemed to forget his own ruin in thinking of it, and laughed outright 
 when he said " that Scadder was a smart man, and had drawd a lot of 
 British capital that way, as sure as sun-up." 
 
 After a full enjoyment of this joke, Mr. Hannibal Chollop sat smoking 
 and improving the circle, without making any attempts either to con- 
 verse, or to take leave ; apparently labouring under the not uncommon 
 delusion, that for a free and enlightened citizen of the United States to 
 convert another man's house into a spittoon for two or three hours 
 together, was a delicate attention, full of interest and politeness, of which 
 nobody could ever tire. At last he rose. 
 
 " I am a going easy," he observed. 
 
 Mark entreated him to take particular care of himself. 
 
 " Afore I go," he said sternly, " I have got a leetle word to say to you. 
 You are damnation 'cute, you are." 
 
 Mark thanked him for the compliment. 
 
 " But you are much too 'cute to last. I can't con-ceive of any spotted 
 Painter in the bush, as ever was so riddled through and through as you 
 will be, I bet." 
 
 '^ What for?" asked Mark. 
 
 '- We must be cracked-up, Sir," retorted Chollop, in a tone of menace. 
 " You are not now in A despotic land. We are a model to the airth, and 
 must be jist cracked-up, I tell you." 
 
 ''What, I speak too free, do I ?" cried Mark. 
 
 " I have draw'd upon A man, and fired upon A man for less," said 
 Chollop, frowning. " I have know'd strong men obleeged to make 
 themselves uncommon skase for less. I have know'd men Lynched for 
 less, and beaten into punkin'-sarse for less, by an enlightened people. 
 We are the intellect and virtue of the airth, the cream Of human natur', 
 and the flower Of moral force. Our backs is easy ris. We must be 
 cracked-up, or they rises, and we snarls. We shows our teeth, I tell you, 
 fierce. You 'd better crack us up, you had ! " 
 
 After the delivery of this caution, Mr. Chollop departed ; with Ripper, 
 Tickler, and the revolvers, all ready for action on the shortest notice. 
 
 " Come out from under the blanket, Sir," said Mark, " he 's gone. 
 V/hat 's this ! " he added softly : kneeling down to look into his 
 partner's face, and taking his hot hand. " What 's come of all that 
 chattering and swaggering ?■ He 's wandering in his mind to-night, and 
 don't know me ! " 
 
 Martin indeed was dangerously ill ; very near his death. He lay in 
 that state many days, during which time Mark's poor friends, regardless 
 of themselves, attended him. Mark, fatigued in mind and body ; work- 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 393 
 
 ing all tlie day and sitting up at night ; worn with hard living and the 
 unaccustomed toil of his new life ; surrounded by dismal and discourag- 
 ing circumstances of every kind ; never complained or yielded in the 
 least degree. If ever he had thought Martin selfish or inconsiderate, or 
 had deemed him energetic only by fits and starts, and then too passive 
 for their desperate fortunes, he now forgot it all. He remembered 
 nothing but the better qualities of his fellow-wanderer, and was devoted 
 to him, heart and hand. 
 
 Many weeks elapsed before Martin was strong enough to move about 
 with the help of a stick and Mark's arm ; and even then his recovery, for 
 want of wholesome air and proper nourishment, was very slow. He was 
 yet in a feeble and weak condition, when the misfortune he had so much 
 dreaded fell upon them. Mark was taken ill. 
 
 i\Iark fought against it ; but the malady fought harder, and his 
 efforts were in vain. 
 
 " Floored for the present, Sir," he said one morning, sinking back 
 upon his bed : " but jolly !" 
 
 Floored indeed, and by a heavy blow ! As any one but Martin might 
 have known beforehand. 
 
 If Mark's friends had been kind to Martin (and they had been very), 
 they were twenty times kinder to Mark. And now it was Martin's 
 turn to work, and sit beside the bed and watch, and listen through the 
 long, long nights, to every sound in the gloomy wilderness ; and hear 
 poor ]\Ir. Tapley, in his wandering fancy, playing at skittles in the 
 Dragon, making love-remonstrances to Mrs. Lupin, getting his sea-legs 
 on aboard the Screw, travelling with old Tom Pinch on English roads, 
 and burning stumps of trees in Eden, all at once. 
 
 But whenever Martin gave him drink or medicine, or tended him in 
 any way, or came into the house returning from some drudgery without, 
 the patient Mr. Tapley brightened up, and cried: "I'm jolly, sir: 
 I'm jolly!" 
 
 Now, when Martin began to think of this, and to look at Mark as he 
 lay there ; never reproaching him by so much as an expression of regret ; 
 never murmuring ; always striving to be manful and staunch ; he began 
 to think, how was it that this man who had had so few advantages, was so 
 much better than he who had had so many 1 And attendance upon a sick 
 bed, but especially the sick bed of one whom we have been accustomed 
 to see in full activity and vigour, being a great breeder of reflection, he 
 began to ask himself in what they diftered. 
 
 He was assisted in coming to a conclusion on this head by the frequent 
 presence of Mark's friend, their fellow-passenger across the ocean : which 
 suggested to him that in regard to having aided her, for example, they 
 had differed very much. Somehow he coupled Tom Pinch with this 
 train of reflection ; and thinking that Tom would be very likely to have 
 struck up the same sort of acquaintance under similar circumstances, 
 began to think in what respects two people so extremely different were 
 like each other, and were unlike him. At first sight there was nothing- 
 very distressing in these meditations, but they did undoubtedly distress 
 him for all that. 
 
394 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Martin's nature was a frank and generous one ; but he liad been 
 bred up in liis grandfather's house ; and it will usually be found, that 
 the meaner domestic vices propagate themselves to be their own antago- 
 nists. Selfishness does this especially; so do suspicion, cunning, stealth, 
 and covetous propensities. Martin had unconsciously reasoned as a 
 child, " My guardian takes so much thought of ^himself, that unless 
 I do the like by 77i?/se[i] I shall be forgotten." So he had grown 
 selfish. 
 
 But he had never known it. If any one had taxed him with the 
 vice, he would have indignantly repelled the accusation, and conceived 
 himself unworthily aspersed. He never would have known it, but that 
 being newly risen from a bed of dangerous sickness, to w^atch by such 
 another couch, he felt how nearly Self had dropped into the grave, and 
 what a poor, dependent, miserable thing it was. 
 
 It was natural for him to reflect — he had months to do it in — upon 
 his own escape, and Mark's extremity. This led him to consider which 
 of them could be the better spared, and w^iy ■? Then the curtain slowly 
 rose a very little way ; and Self, Self, Self, was shown below. 
 
 He asked himself, besides, when dreading Mark's decease (as all men 
 do and must, at such a time), whether he had done his duty by him, and 
 had deserved and made a good response to his fidelity and zeal. No. 
 Short as their companionship had been, he felt in many, many instances, 
 that there was blame against himself; and still inquiring why, the 
 curtain slowly rose a little more, and Self, Self, Self, dilated on the scene. 
 
 It was long before he fixed the knowledge of himself so firmly in his 
 mind that he could thoroughly discern the truth ; but in the hideous 
 solitude of that most hideous j)lace, with Hope so far removed. Ambition 
 quenched, and Death beside him rattling at the very door, reflection 
 came, as in a plague-beleaguered town ; and so he felt and knew the 
 failing of his life, and saw distinctly w^hat an ugly spot it was. 
 
 Eden was a hard school to learn so hard a lesson in ; but there were 
 teachers in the swamp and thicket, and the pestilential air, who had a 
 searching method of their own. 
 
 He made a solemn resolution that when his strength returned he 
 would not dispute the point or resist the conviction, but would look 
 upon it as an established fact, that selfishness was in his breast, and 
 must be rooted out. He was so doubtful (and wdth justice) of his own 
 character, that he determined not to say one word of vain regret or good 
 resolve to Mark, but steadily to keep his purpose before his own eyes 
 solely : and there was not a jot of pride in this; nothing but humility and 
 stedfastness : the best armour he could wear. So low had Eden brought 
 him down. So high had Eden raised him up. 
 
 After a long and lingering illness (in certain forlorn stages of w^hich, 
 when too far gone to speak, he had feebly written "jolly !" on a slate), 
 Mark showed some symptoms of returning health. They came, and 
 went, and flickered for a time ; but he began to mend at last decidedly ; 
 and after that, continued to improve from day to day. 
 
 As soon as he w^as well enough to talk without fatigue, Martin con- 
 sulted him upon a project he had in his mind, and which a few months 
 
T.IARTIN CnUZZLEWIT. 395 
 
 back he would have carried into execution without troubling anybody's 
 head but his own. 
 
 " Ours is a desperate case," said Martin. " Plainly. The place is 
 deserted ; its failure must have become known ; and selling what we 
 have bought to any one, for anything, is hopeless, even if it were honest. 
 We left home on a mad enterprise, and have failed. The only hope left 
 us : the only one end for which we have now to try, is to quit this 
 settlement for ever, and get back to England. Any how ! by any 
 means ! Only to get back there, Mark." 
 
 " That 's all. Sir," returned Mr. Tapley, with a significant stress upon 
 the words : " only that ! " 
 
 " Now, upon this side of the water," said Martin, " we have but one 
 friend who can help us, and that is Mr. Bevan." 
 
 " I thought of him when you was ill," said Mark. 
 
 " But for the time that would be lost, I would even write to my 
 grandfather," Martin went on to say, " and implore him for money to 
 free us from this trap into which we were so cruelly decoyed. Shall I 
 try Mr. Bevan first ?" 
 
 " He 's a very pleasant sort of a gentleman," said Mark. " I think so." 
 
 " The few goods we bought here, and in which we spent our money, 
 would produce something if sold," resumed Martin; " and whatever they 
 realise shall be paid him instantly. But they can't be sold here." 
 
 " There 's nobody but corpses to buy 'em," said Mr. Tapley, shaking 
 his head with a rueful air, " and pigs." 
 
 " Shall I tell him so, and only ask him for money enough to enable 
 us by the cheapest means to reach New York, or any port from which 
 we may hope to get a passage home, by serving in any capacity 1 Ex- 
 plaining to him at the same time how I am connected, and that I will 
 endeavour to repay him, even through my grandfather, immediately on 
 our arrival in England 1 " 
 
 " AVhy to be sure," said Mark : " he can only say no, and he may say 
 yes. If you don't mind trying him, Sir — " 
 
 " ^lind !" exclaimed Martin. " I am to blame for coming here, and 
 I would do anything to get away. I grieve to think of the past. If I 
 had taken your opinion sooner, Mark, we never should have been here, I 
 am certain," 
 
 Mr. Tapley was very much surprised at this admission, but protested, 
 with great vehemence, that they would have been there all the same ; 
 and that he had set his heart upon coming to Eden, from the first word 
 he had ever heard of it. 
 
 Martin then read him a letter to Mr. Bevan, which he had already 
 prepared. It was frankly and ingenuously written, and described their 
 situation without the least concealment ; plainly stated the miseries they 
 had undergone ; and preferred their request in modest but straight- 
 forward terms. Mark highly commended it ; and they determined to 
 despatch it by the next steam-boat going the right way, that might call 
 to take in wood at Eden, — where there was plenty of wood to spare. Not 
 knowing how to address Mr. Bevan at his own place of abode, Martin 
 superscribed it to the care of the memorable Mr, Norris of New York, 
 
396 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 and wrote upon tlie cover an entreaty that it miglit be forwarded without 
 delay. 
 
 More than a week elapsed before a boat appeared ; but at length the}'- 
 were awakened very early one morning by the high-pressure snorting of 
 the " Esau Slodge : " named after one of the most remarkable men in 
 the country, who had been very eminent somewhere. Hurrying down to 
 the landing-place, they got it safe on board ; and waiting anxiously to 
 see the boat depart, stopped up the gangway : an instance of neglect 
 which caused the " Capting " of the Esau Slodge to " wish he might be 
 sifted fine as flour, and whittled small as chips ; that if they didn't come 
 off that there fixing, right smart too, he'd spill 'em in the drink :" 
 whereby the Capting metaphorically said he 'd throw them in the river. 
 
 They were not likely to receive an answer for eight or ten weeks at 
 the earliest. In the meantime they devoted such strength as they had, 
 to the attempted improvement of their land ; to clearing some of it, and 
 preparing it for useful purposes. Monstrously defective as their farming 
 was, still it was better than their neighbours' ; for Mark had some prac- 
 tical knowledge of such matters, and Martin learned of him ; whereas 
 the other settlers who remained upon the putrid swamp (a mere handful, 
 and those withered by disease), appeared to have wandered there with 
 the idea that husbandry was the natural gift of all mankind. They 
 helped each other after their own manner in these struggles, and in all 
 others ; but they worked as hopelessly and sadly as a gang of convicts in 
 a penal settlement. 
 
 Often at night when Mark and Martin were alone, and lying down 
 to sleep, they spoke of home, familiar places, houses, roads, and people 
 whom they knew ; sometimes in the lively hope of seeing them again, 
 and sometimes with a sorrowful tranquillity, as if that hope were dead. 
 It was a source of great amazement to Mark Tapley to find, pervading 
 all these conversations, a singular alteration in Martin. 
 
 " I don't know what to make of him," he thought one night, " he 
 ain't what I supposed. He don't think of himself half as much. I '11 
 try him again. Asleep Sir *? " 
 
 " No, Mark." 
 
 " Thinking of home Sir 1 " 
 
 " Yes, Mark." 
 
 " So was I Sir. I was wonderino; how Mi\ Pinch and Mr. Pecksniff 
 gets on now." 
 
 " Poor Tom ! " said Martin, thoughtfully. 
 
 " Weak-minded man Sir," observed Mr. Tapley. " Plays the organ 
 for nothing Sir. Takes no care of himself ? " 
 
 " I wish he took a little more, indeed," said Martin. " Though I don't 
 know why I should. We should n't like him half as well, perhaps." 
 
 " He gets put upon Sir," hinted Mark. 
 
 " Yes," said Martin, after a short silence. " I know that, Mark." 
 
 He spoke so regretfully, that his partner abandoned the theme, and 
 was silent for a short time, until he had thought of another. 
 
 " Ah, Sir ! " said Mark, with a sigh. " Dear me ! You 've^ventured 
 a good deal for a young lady's love ! " 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 397 
 
 " I tell you what. I 'm not so sure of tliat, Mark," was the reply : 
 so hastily and energetically spoken, that Martin sat up in his bed to 
 give it. " I begin to be far from clear upon it. You may depend upon 
 it, she is very unhappy. She has sacrificed her peace of mind ; she has 
 endangered her interests very much ; she can't run away from those 
 who are jealous of her, and opposed to her, as I have done. She has to 
 endure, Mark : to endure without the possibility of action, poor girl ! I 
 begin to think she has more to bear than ever I have had. Upon my 
 soul I do ! " 
 
 Mr. Tapley opened his eyes wide, in the dark ; but did not interrupt. 
 
 " And I '11 tell you a secret, Mark," said Martin, " since we are upon 
 this subject. That ring — " 
 . " Which ring. Sir ? " Mark inquired : opening his eyes still wider. 
 
 " That ring she gave me when we parted, Mark. She bought it ; 
 bought it ; knowing I was poor and proud (Heaven help me ! Proud !) 
 and wanted money." 
 
 " Who says so. Sir ? " asked Mark. 
 
 " I say so. I know it. I thought of it, my good fellow, hundreds of 
 times, while you were lying ill. And like a beast, I took it from her 
 hand, and wore it on my own, and never dreamed of this even at the 
 moment when I parted with it, when some faint glimmering of the 
 truth might surely have possessed me ! But it 's late," said Martin, 
 checking himself, " and you are weak and tired, I know. You only 
 talk to cheer me up. Good night ! God bless you, Mark ! " 
 
 " God bless you. Sir ! But I 'm reg'larly defrauded," thought Mr. 
 Tapley, turning round, with a happy face. " It 's a swindle. I never 
 entered for this sort of service. There'll be no credit in being jolly 
 with Mm ! " 
 
 The time wore on, and other steam-boats coming from the point on 
 which their hopes were fixed, arrived to take in wood ; but still no 
 answer to the letter. Eain, heat, foul slime, and noxious vapour, 
 with all the ills and filthy things they bred, prevailed. The earth, the 
 air, the vegetation, and the water that they drank, all teemed with 
 deadly properties. Their fellow-passenger had lost two children long 
 before ; and buried now her last. Such things are much too common 
 to be widely known or cared for. Smart citizens grow rich, and 
 friendless victims smart and die, and are forgotten. That is all. 
 
 At last, a boat came panting up the ugly river, and stopped at Eden. 
 Mark was waiting at the wood hut, when it came, and had a letter 
 handed to him from on board. He bore it ofi" to Martin. They looked 
 at one another, trembling. 
 
 " It feels heavy," faltered Martin. And opening it, a little roll of 
 dollar-notes fell out upon the ground. 
 
 What either of them said, or did, or felt, at first, neither of them 
 knew. All Mark could ever tell was, that he was at the river's bank 
 again out of breath, before the boat had gone, inquiring when it would 
 retrace its track, and put in there. 
 
 The answer was, in ten or twelve days : notwithstanding which, they 
 began to get their goods together and to tie them up, that very night. 
 
398 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 When this stage of excitement was passed, each of them believed (they 
 found this out, in talking of it afterwards) that he would surely die 
 before the boat returned. 
 
 They lived, however, and it came, after the lapse of three long 
 crawling weeks. At sunrise, on an autumn day, they stood upon her 
 deck. 
 
 " Courage ! We shall meet again ! " cried Martin, waving his hand to 
 two thin figures on the bank. " In the old world ! " 
 
 " Or in the next one," added Mark below his breath. " To see them 
 standing side by side, so quiet, is a'most the worst of all ! " 
 
 They looked at one another, as the vessel moved away, and then 
 looked backward at the spot from which it hurried fast. The log- 
 house, with the open door, and drooping trees about it ; the stagnant 
 morning mist, and red sun, dimly seen beyond ; the vapour rising up 
 from land and river ; the quick stream making the loathsome banks it 
 washed, more flat and dull : how often they returned in dreams ! How 
 often it was happiness to wake, and find them Shadows that had vanished ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 IN WHICH THE TRAVELLERS MOVE HOMEWARD, AND ENCOUNTER SOME 
 DISTINGUISHED CHARACTERS UPON THE WAY. 
 
 Among the passengers on board the steam-boat, there was a faint 
 gentleman sitting on a low camp-stool, with his legs on a high barrel of 
 flour, as if he were looking at the prospect with his ankles ; who 
 attracted their attention speedily. 
 
 He had straight black hair, parted up the middle of his head, and 
 hanging down upon his coat ; a little fringe of hair upon his chin ; 
 wore no neckcloth ; a white hat ; a suit of black, long in the sleeves, 
 and short in the legs ; soiled brown stockings, and laced shoes. His 
 complexion, naturally muddy, was rendered muddier by too strict an 
 economy of soap and water ; and the same observation will apply to the 
 washable part of his attire, which he might have changed with comfort 
 to himself, and gratification to his friends. He was about five-and-thirty ; 
 was crushed and jammed up in a heap, under the shade of a large green 
 cotton umbrella ; and ruminated over his tobacco-plug like a cow. 
 
 He was not singular, to be sure, in these respects ; for every gentleman 
 on board appeared to have had a difference with his laundress, and to 
 have left off washing himself in early youth. Every gentleman, too, was 
 perfectly stopped up with tight plugging, and was dislocated in the 
 greater part of his joints. But about this gentleman there was a pecu- 
 liar air of sagacity and wisdom, which convinced Martin that he was no 
 common character ; and this turned out to be the case. 
 
 " How do you do. Sir ?" said a voice in Martin's ear. 
 
 "How do you do. Sir?" said Martin. 
 
 It was a tall thin gentleman who spoke to him, with a carpet-cap on^ 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 399 
 
 and a long loose coat of green baize, ornamented about the pockets with 
 black velvet. 
 
 " You air from Europe, Sir ?" 
 
 " I am," said Martin. 
 
 " You air fortunate, Sir." 
 
 Martin thought so too : but he soon discovered that the gentleman 
 and he attached different meanings to this remark. 
 
 " You air fortunate. Sir, in having an opportunity of beholding our 
 Elijah Pogram, Sir." 
 
 "Your Elijahpogram !" said Martin, thinking it was all one word, 
 and a building of some sort. 
 
 '•' Yes, Sir." 
 
 Martin tried to look as if he understood him, but he could n't make 
 it out. 
 
 " Yes, Sir," repeated the gentleman. "Our Elijah Pogram, Sir, is, at 
 this minute, identically settin' by the en-gine biler." 
 
 The gentleman under the umbrella put his right forefinger to his 
 eyebrow, as if he were revolving schemes of state. 
 
 " That is Elijah Pogram, is it V said Martin. 
 
 " Yes, Sir," replied the other. " That is Elijah Pogram." 
 
 " Dear me !" said Martin. " I am astonished." But he had not the 
 least idea who this Elijah Pogram was ; having never heard the name 
 in all his life. 
 
 " If the biler of this vessel was Toe bust, Sir," said his new acquaint- 
 ance, " and Toe bust now, this would be a fesTival day in the calendar of 
 despotism ; pretty nigh equallin', Sir, in its eifects upon the human 
 race, our Fourth of glorious July. Yes, Sir, that is the Honourable 
 Elijah Pogram, Member of Congress ; one of the master-minds of our 
 country. Sir. There is a brow, Sir, there !" 
 
 " Quite remarkable," said Martin. 
 
 " Yes, Sir. Our ovm immortal Chiggle, Sir,' is said to have observed, 
 when he made the celebrated Pogram statter in marble, which rose so 
 much con-test and preju-dice in Europe, that the brow was more than 
 mortal. This was before the Pogram Defiance, and was, therefore, a 
 pre-diction, cruel smart." 
 
 " What is the Pogram Defiance?" asked Martin, thinking, perhaps, 
 it was the sign of a public-house. 
 
 " An o-ration, Sir," returned his friend. 
 
 " Oh ! to be sure," cried Martin. " What am I thinking of ! It 
 defied—" 
 
 " It defied the world, Sir," said the other gravely. " Defied the 
 world in genral to com-pete with our country upon any hook ; and 
 devellop'd our internal resources for making war upon the universal 
 airth. You would like to know Elijah Pogram, Sir ?" 
 
 " If you please," said Martin. 
 
 " Mr. Pogram," said the stranger — Mr. Pogram having overheard 
 every word of the dialogue — " this is a gentleman from Europe Sir ; 
 from England Sir. But gen'rous ene-mies may meet upon the neutral 
 sile of private life, I think." 
 
400 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 The languid Mr. Pogram sliook hands with Martin, like a clock-work 
 figure that was just running down. But he made amends by chewing- 
 like one that was just wound up. 
 
 " Mr. Pogram," said the introducer, " is a public servant. Sir. When 
 Congress is recessed, he makes himself acquainted with those free United 
 States, of which he is the gifted son." 
 
 It occurred to Martin, that if the Honourable Elijah Pogram had 
 staid at home, and sent his shoes upon a tour, they would have answered 
 the same purpose ; for they were the only part of him in a situation to 
 see anything. 
 
 In course of time, however, Mr. Pogram rose ; and having ejected 
 certain plugging consequences which would have impeded his articula- 
 tion, took up a position where there was something to lean against, and 
 began to talk to Martin : shading himself with the green umbrella all 
 the time. 
 
 As he began with the words, " How do you like — ? " Martin took him 
 up, and said : 
 
 " The country I presume ? " 
 
 " Yes Sir/' said Elijah Pogram. A knot of passengers gathered 
 round to hear what followed ; and Martin heard his friend say, as he 
 whispered to another friend, and rubbed his hands, " Pogram will 
 smash him into sky-blue fits, I know ! " 
 
 " Why," said Martin, after a moment's hesitation, ^' I have learned 
 vj experience, that you take an unfair advantage of a stranger, when 
 you ask that question. You don't mean it to be answered, except in 
 one way. Now, I don't choose to answer it in that way, for I cannot 
 honestly answer it in that way. And therefore, I would rather not 
 answer it at all." 
 
 But Mr. Pogram was going to make a great speech in the next session 
 about foreign relations, and was going to write strong articles on the 
 subject ; and as he greatly favoured the free and independent custom 
 (a very harmless and agreeable one) of procuring information of any 
 sort in any kind of confidence, and afterwards perverting it publicly in 
 any manner that happened to suit him, he had determined to get at 
 Martin's opinions somehow or other. Eor, if he could have got nothing- 
 out of him, he would have had to invent it for him, and that would 
 have been laborious. He made a mental note of his answer, and went 
 in again. 
 
 " You are from Eden Sir 1 How did you like Eden 1 " 
 
 Martin said what he thought of that part of the country, in pretty 
 strong terms. 
 
 " It is strange," said Pogram, looking round upon the group, " this 
 hatred of our country, and her Institutions ! This national antipathy 
 is deeply rooted in the British mind ! " 
 
 " Good Heaven, Sir ! " cried Martin. " Is the Eden Land Corpora- 
 tion, with Mr. Scadder at its head ; and all the misery it has worked, 
 at its door ; an Institution of America ? A part of any form of govern- 
 ment that ever was known or heard of ? " 
 
 " I con-sider the cause of this to be," said Pogram, looking round 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 401 
 
 again, and taking himself up where Martin had interrupted him, " partly 
 jealousy and preju-dice, and partly the nat'ral unfitness of the British 
 people to appreciate the ex-alted Institutions of our native land. I 
 expect Sir," turning to Martin again, " that a gentleman named Chollop 
 happened in upon you during your lo-cation in tlie town of Eden 1 " 
 
 " Yes," answered Martin ; " but my friend can answer this better 
 than I can, for I was very ill at the time. Mark ! the gentleman is 
 speaking of Mr. Chollop." 
 
 " Oh. Yes Sir. Yes. / see him," observed Mark. 
 
 " A splendid example of our na-tive raw material, Sir ? " said Pogram, 
 interrogatively. 
 
 " Indeed Sir ! " cried Mark. 
 
 The Honourable Elijah Pogram glanced at his friends as though he 
 would have said, " Observe this ! See what follows ! " and they ren- 
 dered tribute to the Pogram genius, by a gentle murmur. 
 
 "Our fellow-countryman is a model of a man, quite fresh from Natur's 
 mould !" said Pogram, with enthusiasm. "He is a true-born child of 
 this free hemisphere ! Verdant as the mountains of our country ; 
 bright and flowing as our mineral Licks ; unspiled by withering con- 
 ventionalities as air our broad and boundless Perearers ! Ptough he may 
 be. So air our Barrs. Wild he may be. So air our BufFalers. But 
 he is a child of Natur', and a child of Freedom ; and his boastful 
 answer to the Despot and the Tyrant is, that his bright home is in the 
 Settin Sun." 
 
 Part of this referred to Chollop, and part to a western postmaster, 
 who, being a public defaulter not very long before (a character not 
 at all uncommon in America), had been removed from office ; and on 
 whose behalf Mr. Pogram (he voted for Pogram) had thundered the 
 last sentence from his seat in Congress, at the head of an unpopular 
 President. It told brilliantly ; for the bystanders were delighted, and 
 one of them said to Martin, " that he guessed he had now seen some- 
 thing of the eloquential aspect of our country, and was chawed up pritty 
 small." 
 
 Mr. Pogram waited until his hearers were calm again, before he said 
 to Mark : 
 
 " You do not seem to coincide. Sir?" 
 
 " Why," said Mark, " I did n't like him much ; and that 's the truth. 
 Sir. I thought he was a bully ; and I did n't admire his carryin' them 
 murderous little persuaders, and being so ready to use 'em." 
 
 "It's singler 1" said Pogram, lifting his umbrella high enough to 
 look all round from under it. " It 's strange ! You observe the settled 
 opposition to our institutions which pervades the British mind !" 
 
 " What an extraordinary people you are !" cried Martin. " Are Mr. 
 Chollop and the class he represents, an Institution here ? Are pistols 
 with revolving barrels, sword-sticks, bowie knives, and such things, 
 Institutions on which you pride yourselves 1 Are bloody duels, brutal 
 combats, savage assaults, shootings down and stabbing in the streets, your 
 Institutions ! Why, I shall hear next, that Dishonour and Fraud are 
 among the Institutions of the great republic !" 
 
 D D 
 
402 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 The moment tlie words passed his lips, the Honourable Elijah Pogram 
 looked round again. 
 
 "This morbid hatred of our Institutions," he observed, "is quite a 
 study for the phjschological observer. He 's alludin to Repudiation 
 now ! " 
 
 " Oh ! You may make anything an Institution if you like," said 
 Martin, laughing, " and I confess you had me there, for you certainly have 
 made that, one. But the greater part of these things are one Institution 
 with us, and we call it by the generic name of Old Bailey !" 
 
 The bell being rung for dinner at this moment, everybody ran away 
 into the cabin, whither the Honourable Elijah Pogram lied with such 
 precipitation that he forgot his umbrella was up, and fixed it so tightly 
 in the cabin door that it could neither be let down nor got out. For a 
 minute or so this accident created a perfect rebellion among the hungry 
 passengers behind, who, seeing the dishes and hearing the knives and 
 forks at work, well knew what would happen unless they got there 
 instantly, and were nearly mad : while several virtuous citizens at the 
 table were in deadly peril of choking themselves in their unnatural 
 eiforts to get rid of all the meat before these others came. 
 
 They carried the umbrella by storm, however, and rushed in at the 
 breach. The Honourable Elijah Pogram and Martin found themselves, 
 after a severe struggle, side by side, as they might have come together in 
 the pit of a London theatre ; and for four whole minutes afterwards, 
 Pogram was snapping up great blocks of everything he could get hold 
 of, like a raven. When he had taken this unusually protracted dinner, 
 he began to talk to Martin ; and begged him not to have the least 
 delicacy in speaking with perfect freedom to him, for he was a calm 
 philosopher. Which Martin was extremely glad to hear ; for he had 
 begun to speculate on Elijah being a disciple of that other school of 
 republican philosophy, whose noble sentiments are carved with knives 
 upon a pupil's body, and written, not with pen and ink, but tar and 
 feathers. 
 
 "What do you think of my countrymen who are present, Sir?" 
 inquired Elijah Pogram. 
 
 " Oh ! very pleasant," said Martin. 
 
 They were a very pleasant party. No man had spoken a word ; every 
 one had been intent, as usual, on his own private gorging ; and the 
 greater part of the company were decidedly dirty feeders. 
 
 The Honourable Elijah Pogram looked at Slartin as if he thought 
 " You don 't mean that, I know ! " And he was soon confirmed in this 
 opinion. 
 
 Sitting opposite to them was a gentleman in a high state of tobacco, who 
 wore quite a little beard, composed of the overflowings of that weed, as 
 they had dried about his mouth and chin : so common an ornament that 
 it scarcely attracted Martin's observation: but this good citizen, burning 
 to assert his equality against all comers, sucked his knife for some 
 moments, and made a cut with it at the butter, just as Martin was in 
 the act of taking some. There was a juicyness about the deed that 
 might have sickened a scavenger. 
 
MAETIN CHUZZLEWIT. 403 
 
 When Elijah Pogram (to whom this was an every-day incident) saw 
 that Martin put the plate away, and took no butter, he was quite 
 delighted, and said : 
 
 " Well ! The morbid hatred of you British to the Institutions of our 
 country, is as-TONishin !" 
 
 " Upon my life ! " cried Martin, in his turn, " this is the most won- 
 derful community that ever existed. A man deliberately makes a hog 
 of himself, and thaf''s an Institution !" 
 
 " We have no time to ac-quire forms, Sir," said Elijah Pogram. 
 
 "Acquire!" cried Martin. "But it's not a question of acquiring 
 anything. It 's a question of losing the natural politeness of a savage, 
 and that instinctive good breeding which admonishes one man not to 
 offend and disgust another. Don't you think that man over the way, 
 for instance, naturally knows better, but considers it a very fine and 
 independent thing to be a brute in small matters V 
 
 " He is a na-tive of our country, and is nat'rally bright and spry, of 
 course," said Mr. Pogram. 
 
 " Now, observe what this comes to, Mr. Pogram," pursued Martin. 
 " The mass of your countrymen begin by stubbornly neglecting little 
 social observances, which have nothing to do with gentility, custom, usage, 
 government, or country, but are acts of common, decent, natural, human 
 politeness. You abet them in this, by resenting all attacks upon their 
 social offences as if they were a beautiful national feature. From disre- 
 garding small obligations they come in regular course to disregard great 
 ones ; and so refuse to pay their debts. What they may do, or what 
 they may refuse to do next, I don't know ; but any man may see if he 
 will, that it will be something following in natural succession, and a part 
 of one great growth, which is rotten at the root." 
 
 The mind of Mr. Pogram was too philosophical to see this ; so they 
 went on deck again, where, resuming his former post, he chewed until he 
 was in a lethargic state, amounting to insensibility. 
 
 After a weary voyage of several days, they came again to that same 
 wharf where Mark had been so nearly left behind on the night of start- 
 ing for Eden. Captain Kedgick, the landlord, was standing there, and 
 was greatly surprised to see them coming from the boat. 
 
 " Why, what the 'tarnal !" cried the captain. " Well ! I do admire 
 at this, I do!" 
 
 " We can stay at your house until to-morrow, Captain, I suppose?" 
 said Martin. 
 
 " I reckon you can stay there for a twelvemonth if you like," retorted 
 Kedgick coolly. " But our people won't best like your coming back." 
 
 " Won't like it. Captain Kedgick !" said Martin. 
 
 " They did ex-pect you was a-going to settle," Kedgick answered, as 
 he shook his head. " They 've been took in, you can't deny 1" 
 
 " What do you mean ?" cried Martin. 
 
 " You did n't ought to have received 'em," said the captain. " No 
 you did n't ! " 
 
 " My good friend," returned Martin, " did I want to receive them 1 
 Was it any act of mine ? Did n't you tell me they would rile up, and 
 
 dd2 
 
404 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 that I should be flayed like a wild cat ; and threaten all kinds of 
 vengeance, if I didn't receive them?" 
 
 " I don't know about that," returned the captain. " But when our 
 people's frills is out, they 're starched up pretty stiff, I tell you ! " 
 
 With that, he fell into the rear to walk with Mark, while Martin and 
 Elijah Pogram went on to the National. 
 
 " We've come back alive, you see !"said Mark. 
 
 " It ain't the thing I did expect," the captain grumbled. " A man 
 ain't got no right to be a public man, unless he meets the public views. 
 Our fashionable people would n't have attended his le-vee, if they had 
 know'd it." 
 
 Nothing mollified the captain, who persisted in taking it very ill that 
 they had not both died in Eden. The boarders at the National felt 
 strongly on the subject too ; but it happened by good fortune that they 
 had not much time to think about this grievance, for it was suddenly 
 determined to pounce upon the Honourable Elijah Pogram, and give 
 Mm a le-vee forthwith. 
 
 As the general evening meal of the house was over before the arrival 
 of the boat, Martin, Mark, and Pogram, were taking tea and fixings at 
 the public table by themselves, when the deputation entered, to announce 
 this honour : consisting of six gentlemen boarders, and a very shrill boy. 
 
 " Sir !" said the spokesman. 
 
 " Mr. Pogram !" cried the shrill boy. 
 
 The spokesman thus reminded of the shrill boy's presence, introduced 
 him. " Doctor Ginery Dunkle, Sir. A gentleman of great poetical 
 elements. He has recently jined us here, Sir, and is an acquisition to 
 us. Sir, I do assure you. Yes, Sir. Mr. Jodd, Sir. Mr. Izzard, Sir. 
 Mr. Julius Bib, Sir." 
 
 " Julius Washington Merryweather Bib," said the gentleman himself 
 to himself 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Sir. Ex-cuse me. Mr. Julius Washington Merry- 
 weather Bib, Sir ; a gentleman in the lumber line, Sir, and much 
 esteemed. Colonel Groper, Sir. Pro-fessor Piper, Sir. My own name. 
 Sir, is Oscar Buffum." 
 
 Each man took one slide forward as he was named \ butted at the 
 Honourable Elijah Pogram with his head j shook hands, and slid back 
 again. The introductions being completed, the spokesman resumed. 
 
 "Sir!" 
 
 "Mr. Pogram !" cried the shrill boy. 
 
 " Perhaps," said the spokesman, with a hopeless look, " you will be 
 so good. Doctor Ginery Dunkle, as to charge yourself with the execution 
 of our little office, Sir?" 
 
 As there was nothing the shrill boy desired more, he immediately 
 stepped forward. 
 
 " Mr. Pogram ! Sir ! A handful Of your fellow citizens. Sir, hearing 
 Of your arrival at the National Hotel ; and feeling the patriotic character 
 Of your public services j wish, Sir, to have the gratification Of beholding 
 you j and mixing with you. Sir; and unbending with you. Sir, in those 
 moments which — " 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 405 
 
 " Air," suggested Buffum. '^' 
 
 " Which air so peculiarly the lot, sir. Of our great and happy country. ' 
 
 " Hear ! " cried Colonel Groper, in a loud voice. " Good ! Hear him ! 
 Good !" 
 
 " And therefore. Sir," pursued the Doctor, " they request ; as A mark 
 Of their respect j the honor of your company at a little le-Vee, Sir, in 
 the ladies' ordinary, at eight o'clock." 
 
 Mr. Pogram bowed, and said : 
 
 " Fellow countrymen !" 
 
 " Good !" cried the Colonel. " Hear him ! Good !" 
 
 Mr. Pogram bowed to the Colonel individually, and then resumed : 
 
 " Your approbation of My labors in the common cause, goes to My 
 heart. At all times and in all places j in the ladies' ordinary. My 
 friends, and in the Battle Field " — 
 
 " Good, very good ! Hear him ! Hear him !" said the Colonel. 
 
 " The name Of Pogram will be proud to jine you. And may it, My 
 friends, be written on My tomb, ' He was a member of the Con-gress of 
 our common country, and was ac-Tive in his trust.' " 
 
 " The Com-mittee, Sir," said the shrill boy, " will wait upon you at 
 five minutes afore eight. I take My leave, Sir !' 
 
 Mr. Pogram shook hands with him, and everybody else, once more ; 
 and when they came back again at five minutes before eight, they said, 
 one by one, in a melancholy voice, " How do you do, Sir 1" and shook 
 hands with Mr. Pogram all over again, as if he had been abroad for a 
 twelvemonth in the meantime, and they met, now, at a funeral. 
 
 But by this time Mr. Pogram had freshened himself up, and had 
 composed his hair and features after the Pogram statue, so that any one 
 with half an eye might cry out, " There he is ! as he delivered the 
 Defiance ! " The Committee were embellished also ; and when they 
 entered the ladies' ordinary in a body, there was much clapping of hands 
 from ladies and gentlemen, accompanied by cries of " Pogram ! Pogram ! " 
 and some standing up on chairs to see him. 
 
 The object of the popular caress looked round the room as he walked 
 up it, and smiled : at the same time observing to the shrill boy, that he 
 knew something of the beauty of the daughters of their common country, 
 but had never seen it in such lustre and perfection as at that moment. 
 Which the shrill boy put in the paper next day ; to Elijah Pogram's great 
 surprise. 
 
 " We will re-quest you. Sir, if you please," said Buffum, laying hands 
 on Mr. Pogram as if he were taking his measure for a coat, " to stand up 
 with your back agin the wall right in the furthest corner, that there may 
 be more room for our fellow cit-izeus. If you could set your back right 
 slap agin that curtain-peg, Sir, keepin your left leg everlastingly behind 
 the stove, we should be fixed quite slick." 
 
 Mr. Pogram did as he was told, and wedged himself into such a little 
 corner, that the Pogram statue would'nt have known him. 
 
 The entertainments of the eveninsr then began. Gentlemen brought 
 ladies up, and brought themselves up, and brought each other up ; and 
 a;sked Elijah Pogram what he thought of this politica] question, and 
 
406 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 what he thought of that ; and looked at him, and looked at one another,^ 
 and seemed very unhappy indeed. The ladies on the chairs looked at 
 Elijah Pogram through their glasses, and said audibly, " I wish he 'd 
 speak. Why don't he speak. Oh, do ask him to speak !" And Elijah 
 Pogram looked sometimes at the ladies and sometimes elsewhere, 
 delivering senatorial opinions, as he was asked for them. But the great 
 end and object of the meeting seemed to be, not to let Elijah Pogram 
 out of the corner on any account : so there they kept him, hard and fast. 
 
 A great bustle at the door, in the course of the evening, announced 
 the arrival of some remarkable person ; and immediately afterwards an 
 elderly gentleman, much excited, was seen to precipitate himself upon 
 the crowd, and battle his way towards the Honourable Elijah Pogram. 
 Martih, who had found a snug place of observation in a distant corner, 
 where he stood with Mark beside him (for he did not so often forget 
 him now as formerly, though he still did sometimes), thought he knew 
 this gentleman, but had no doubt of it, when he cried as loud as he 
 could, with his eyes starting out of his head : 
 
 " Sir, Mrs. Hominy !" 
 
 " Lord bless that woman, Mark. She has turned up again !" 
 
 " Here she comes. Sir," answered Mr. Tapley. " Pogram knows her. 
 A public character ! Always got her eye upon her country. Sir ! If 
 that there lady's husband is of my opinion, what a jolly old gentleman 
 he must be !" 
 
 A lane was made ; and Mrs. Hominy, with the aristocratic stalk, 
 the pocket handkerchief, the clasped hands, and the classical cap, came 
 slowly up it, in a procession of one. Mr. Pogram testified emotions 
 of delight on seeing her, and a general hush prevailed. For it was known 
 that when a woman like Mrs. Hominy encountered a man like Pogram^ 
 something interesting must be said. 
 
 Their first salutations were exchanged in a voice too low to reach the 
 impatient ears of the throng ; but they soon became audible, for Mrs. 
 Hominy felt her position, and knew what was expected of her. 
 
 Mrs. H. was hard upon him at first ; and put him through a rigid 
 catechism, in reference to a certain vote he had given, which she had 
 found it necessary, as the mother of the modern Gracchi, to deprecate in 
 a line by itself, set up expressly for the purpose in German text. But 
 Mr. Pogram evading it by a well-timed allusion to the star-spangled 
 banner, which, it appeared, had the remarkable peculiarity of flouting 
 the breeze whenever it was hoisted where the wind blew, she forgave 
 him. They now enlarged on certain questions of tariff, commercial 
 treaty, boundary, importation, and exportation, with great effect. And 
 Mrs. Hominy not only talked, as the saying is, like a book, but actually 
 did talk her own books, word for word. 
 
 " My ! what is this ?" cried Mrs. Hominy, opening a little note 
 which was handed her by her excited gentleman-usher. " Do tell ! oh,. 
 well, now ! on'y think ! " 
 
 And then she read aloud, as follows : 
 
 " Two literary ladies present their compliments to the mother of the 
 modern Gracchi, and claim her kind introduction, as their talented 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 407 
 
 countrywoman, to the honourable (and distinguished) Elijah Pogram, 
 whom the two L.L.'s have often contemplated in the speaking marble of 
 the soul-subduing Chiggle. On a verbal intimation from the mother of 
 the M. Q., that she will comply with the request of the two L.L.'s, they 
 will have the immediate pleasure of joining the galaxy assembled to do 
 honour to the patriotic conduct of a Pogram. It may be another bond 
 of union between the two L. L.'s and the mother of the M. Gr. to observe, 
 that the two L.L.'s are Transcendental." 
 
 Mrs. Hominy promptly rose, and proceeded to the door, whence she 
 returned, after a minute's interval, with the two L.L.'s, whom she led, 
 through the lane in the crowd, with all that stateliness of deportment 
 which was so remarkably her own, up to the great Elijah Pogram. It 
 was (as the shrill boy cried out in an ecstacy) quite the Last Scene from 
 Coriolanus. 
 
 One of the L.L.'s wore a brown wig of uncommon size. Sticking on 
 the forehead of the other, by invisible means, was a massive cameo, in 
 size and shape like the raspberry tart which is ordinarily sold for a 
 penny, representing on its front, the capitol at Washington. 
 
 " Miss Toppit, and Miss Codger ! " said Mrs. Hominy. 
 
 " Codger' s the lady so often mentioned in the English newspapers, 
 I should think. Sir," whispered Mark. " The oldest inhabitant, as 
 never remembers anything." 
 
 " To be presented to a Pogram," said Miss Codger, " by a Hominy, 
 indeed, a thrilling moment is it in its impressiveness on what we call 
 our feelings. But why we call tliem so, or why impressed they are, 
 or if impressed they are at all, or if at all we are, or if there really is, oh 
 gasping one ! a Pogram or a Hominy, or any active principle, to which 
 we give those titles, is a topic Spirit searching, light abandoned, much 
 too vast to enter on, at this unlocked for crisis." 
 
 " Mind and matter," said the lady in the wig, " glide swift into the 
 vortex of immensity. Howls the sublime, and softly sleeps the calm 
 Ideal, in the Avhispering chambers of Imagination. To hear it, sweet 
 it is. But then, outlaughs the stern philosopher, and saith to the Gro- 
 tesque, ' What ho ! arrest for me that Agency.' Go bring it here ! ' And 
 so the vision fadeth." 
 
 After this, they both took Mr. Pogram by the hand, and pressed it 
 to their lips, as a patriotic palm. That homage paid, the mother of the 
 modern Gracchi called for chairs, and the three literary ladies went to 
 work in earnest, to bring poor Pogram out, and make him show himself 
 in all his brilliant colours. 
 
 How Pogram got out of his depth instantly, and how the three L.L.'s 
 were never in theirs, is a piece of history not worth recording. Suffice 
 it, that being all four out of their depths, and all unable to swim, they 
 splashed up words in all directions, and floundered about famously. On 
 the whole, it was considered to have been the severest mental exercise 
 ever heard in the National Hotel. Tears stood in the shrill boy's eyes 
 several times ; and the whole company observed that their heads ached 
 with the eifort — as well they might. 
 
 When it at last became necessary to release Elijah Pogram from the 
 
408 1 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 corner, and the Committee saw him safely back again to the next room, 
 they were fervent in their admiration. 
 
 " Which," said Mr. Buifum, " must have vent, or it will bust. Toe 
 you, Mr. Pogram, I am grateful. Toe-wards you, Sir, I am inspired 
 with lofty veneration, and with deep e-mo-tion. The sentiment Toe 
 which I would propose to give ex-pression, Sir, is this : ' May you ever 
 be as firm, Sir, as your marble statter ! May it ever be as great a terror 
 Toe its ene-mies as you.' " 
 
 There is some reason to suppose that it was rather terrible to its 
 friends j being a statue of the Elevated or Goblin School, in which the 
 Honourable Elijah Pogram was represented as in a very high wind, with 
 his hair all standing on end, and his nostrils blown wide open. But 
 Mr. Pogram thanked his friend and countryman for the aspiration to 
 which he had given utterance, and the Committee, after another solemn 
 shaking of hands, retired to bed, except the Doctor ; who immediately 
 repaired to the newspaper-office, and there wrote a short poem suggested 
 by the events of the evening, beginning with fourteen stars, and headed, 
 " A Fragment. Suggested by witnessing the Honourable Elijah Pogram 
 engaged in a philosophical disputation with three of Columbia's 
 fairest daughters. By Doctor Ginery Dunkle. Of Troy." 
 
 If Pogram was as glad to get to bed as Martin was, he must have been 
 well rewarded for his labours. They started off again next day (Martin 
 and Mark previously disposing of their goods to the storekeepers of 
 whom they had purchased them, for anything they would bring), and 
 were fellow-travellers to within a short distance of New York. When 
 Pogram was about to leave them he grew thoughtful, and after ponder- 
 ing for some time, took Martin aside. 
 
 " We air going to part. Sir," said Pogram. 
 
 " Pray don't distress yourself," said Martin : "we must bear it." 
 
 " It ain't that. Sir," returned Pogram, " not at all. But I should 
 wish you to accept a copy of My oration." 
 
 " Thank you," said Martin, " you are very good. I shall be most 
 happy." 
 
 " It ain't quite that. Sir, neither," resumed Pogram : " air you bold 
 enough to introduce a copy into your country 1 " 
 
 " Certainly," said Martin. " Why not 1 " 
 
 " Its sentiments air strong. Sir," hinted Pogram, darkly. 
 
 " That makes no difference," said Martin. " I '11 take a dozen if you 
 like." 
 
 " No, Sir," retorted Pogram. " Not A dozen. That is more than I 
 require. If you are content to run the hazard. Sir, here is one for your 
 Lord Chancellor," producing it, " and one for Your principal Secretary 
 of State. I should wish them to see it. Sir, as expressing what my 
 opinions air. That they may not plead ignorance at a future time. But 
 don't get into danger. Sir, on my account ! " 
 
 " There is not the least danger, I assure you," said Martin. So he 
 put the pamphlets in his pocket, and they parted. 
 
 Mr. Bevan had written in his letter that at a certain time, which 
 fell out happily just then, he would be at a certain hotel in the city, 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 409 
 
 anxiously expecting to see them. To this place they repaired without a 
 moment's delay. They had the satisfaction of finding him within ; 
 and of being received, by their good friend, with his own warmth and 
 heartiness. 
 
 " I am truly sorry and ashamed," said Martin, "to have begged of you. 
 But look at us. See what we are, and judge to what we are reduced ! " 
 
 " So far from claiming to have done you any service," returned the 
 other, " I reproach myself with having been, unwittingly, the original 
 cause of your misfortunes. I no more supposed you would go to Eden 
 on such representations as you received; or, indeed, that you would do 
 anything but be dispossessed, by the readiest means, of your idea that 
 fortunes were so easily made here ; than I thought of going to Eden 
 myself." 
 
 " The fact is, I closed with the thing in a mad and sanguine manner," 
 said Martin, " and the less said about it the better for me. Mark, 
 here, hadn't a voice in the matter." 
 
 " Well ! But he hadn't a voice in any other matter, had he 1 " returned 
 Mr. Bevan : laughing with an air that showed his understanding of 
 Mark and Martin too. 
 
 " Not a very powerful one, I am afraid," said Martin with a blush. 
 " But live and learn, Mr. Bevan ! Nearly die and learn : and we learn 
 the quicker." 
 
 " Now," said their friend, '• about your plans. You mean to return 
 home at once 1 " 
 
 " Oh, I think so," returned Martin hastily, for he turned pale at the 
 thought of any other suggestion. " That is your opinion too, I hope? " 
 
 " Unquestionably. For I don't know why you ever came here ; though 
 it's not such an unusual case, I am sorry to say, that we need go any 
 further into that. You don't know that the ship in which you came 
 over, with our friend General Eladdock, is in Port ; of course ? " 
 
 " Indeed ! " said Martin. 
 
 " Yes. And is advertised to sail to-morrow." 
 
 This was tempting news, but tantalising too : for Martin knew that 
 his getting any employment on board a ship of that class, was hopeless. 
 The money in his pocket would not pay one-fourth of the sum he had 
 already borrowed, and if it had been enough for their passage-money, 
 he could hardly have resolved to spend it. He explained this to Mr. 
 Bevan, and stated what their project was. 
 
 " Why, that 's as wild as Eden every bit," returned his friend. " You 
 must take your passage like a Christian ; at least, as like a Christian as 
 a fore-cabin passenger can; and owe me a few more dollars than you 
 intend. If Mark will go down to the ship and see what passengers 
 there are, and finds that you can go in her, without being actually 
 suffocated ; my advice is, go ! You and I will look about us in the 
 meantime (we won't call at the Norris's, unless you like), and we will 
 all three dine together, in the afternoon." 
 
 Martin had nothing to express but gratitude, and so it was arranged. 
 But he went out of the room after Mark, and advised him to take their 
 passage in the Screw, though they lay upon the bare deck ; which Mr. 
 
410 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Tapley, who needed no entreaty on the subject, readily promised 
 to do. 
 
 When he and Martin met again, and were alone, he was in high 
 spirits, and evidently had something to communicate, in which he gloried 
 very much. 
 
 " I 've done Mr. Bevan, Sir," said Mark. 
 
 " Done Mr. Bevan ! " repeated Martin. 
 
 " The cook of the Screw went and got married yesterday, Sir," said 
 Mr. Tapley. 
 
 Martin looked at him for farther explanation. 
 
 " And when I got on board, and the word was passed that it was me,"" 
 said Mark, " the mate he comes and asks me whether I 'd engage to 
 take this said cook's place upon the passage home. ' For you 're used 
 to it,* he says : ' you were always a cooking for everybody on your pas- 
 sage out.' And so I was," said Mark, " although I never cooked before, 
 I '11 take my oath." 
 
 " What did you say 1 " demanded Martin. 
 
 " Say ! " cried Mark. " That I 'd take anything I could get. ' If 
 that's so,' says the mate, ^why, bring a glass of rum;' which they 
 brought according. And my wages, Sir," said Mark in high glee, " pays 
 your passage ; and, I've put the rolling-pin in your berth to take it (its 
 the easy one up in the corner) ; and there we are, Rule Britannia, and 
 Britons strike home ! " 
 
 "There never was such' a good fellow as you are!" cried Martin,, 
 seizing him by the hand. " But what do you mean by ' doing ' Mr. 
 Bevan, Markf' 
 
 " Why, don't you see," said Mark. " We don't tell him, you know. 
 We take his money, but we don't spend it, and we don't keep it. What 
 we do is, write him a little note, explaining this engagement, and roll 
 it up, and leave it at the bar, to be given to him after we are gone. 
 Don't you see?" 
 
 Martin's delisrht in this idea was not inferior to Mark's. It was all 
 done as he proposed. They passed a cheerful evening ; slept at the 
 hotel ; left the letter as arranged ; and went off to the ship betimes next 
 morning, with such light hearts, as the weight of their past misery 
 engendered. 
 
 "Good bye ! a hundred thousand times good bye !" said Martin to 
 their friend. " How shall I remember all your kindness ! How shall I 
 ever thank you !" 
 
 " If you ever become a rich man, or a powerful one," returned his 
 friend, " you shall try to make your Government more careful of its 
 subjects when they roam abroad to live. Tell it what you know of 
 emigration in your own case, and impress upon it how much suiFering 
 may be prevented with a little pains !" 
 
 Cheerily lads, cheerily ! Anchor weighed. Ship in full sail. Her 
 sturdy bowsprit pointing true to England. America a cloud upon the 
 sea behind them ! 
 
 " Why Cook ! what are you thinking of so steadily ?" said Martin. 
 
 " Why I was a thinking. Sir," returned Mark, " that if I was a 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 411 
 
 painter, and was called upon to paint the American Eagle, how should I 
 
 doit?" 
 
 " Paint it as like an Eagle as you could, I suppose." 
 
 " No," said Mark. " That would n't do for me, Sir. I should want 
 
 to draw it like a Bat, for its short-sightedness ; like a Bantam, for its 
 
 bragging ; like a Magpie, for its honesty ; like a Peacock, for its vanity ; 
 
 like an Ostrich, for its putting its head in the mud, and thinking 
 
 nobody sees it — " 
 
 " And like a Phoenix, for its power of springing from the ashes of its 
 
 faults and vices, and soaring up anew into the sky 1" said Martin, 
 
 " Well, Mark. Let us hope so." 
 
 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. 
 
 It was mid-day, and high water in the English port for which the 
 Screw was bound, when, borne in gallantly upon the fulness of the tide, 
 she let go her anchor in the river. 
 
 Bright as the scene was ; fresh, and full of motion ; airy, free, and 
 sparkling ; it was nothing to the life and exultation in the breasts of 
 the two travellers, at sight of the old churches, roofs, and darkened chim- 
 ney stacks of Home. The distant roar, that swelled up hoarsely from 
 the busy streets, was music in their ears ; the lines of people gazing from 
 the wharves, were friends held dear ; the canopy of smoke that overhung 
 the town, was brighter and more beautiful to them, than if the richest 
 silks of Persia had been waving in the air. And though the water, 
 going on its glistening track, turned, ever and again, aside, to dance 
 and sparkle round great ships, and heave them up ; and leaped from off 
 the blades of oars, a shower of diving diamonds ; and wantoned with the 
 idle boats, and swiftly passed, in many a sportive chase, through obdurate 
 old iron rings, set deep into the stone- work of the quays ; not even it, was 
 half so buoyant, and so restless, as their fluttering hearts, when yearning 
 to set foot, once more, on native ground. 
 
 A year had passed, since those same spires and roofs had faded from 
 their eyes. It seemed to them a dozen years. Some trifling changes, 
 here and there, they called to mind ; and wondered that they were so few 
 and slight. In health and fortune, prospect and resource, they came 
 back poorer men than they had gone away. But it was home. And 
 though home is a name, a word, it is a strong one ; stronger than magi- 
 cian ever spoke, or spirit answered to, in strongest conjuration. 
 
 Being set ashore, with very little money in their pockets, and no defi- 
 nite plan of operation in their heads, they sought out a cheap tavern, 
 where they regaled upon a smoking steak, and certain flowing mugs of 
 beer, as only men just landed from the sea can revel in the generous 
 
412 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 dainties of the earth. When they had feasted, as two grateful-tempered 
 giants might have done, they stirred the fire, drew back the glowing 
 curtain from the window, and making each a sofa for himself, by union 
 of the great unwieldy chairs, gazed blissfully into the street. 
 
 Even the street was made a fairy street, by being half hidden in an 
 atmosphere of steak, and strong, stout, stand-up English beer. For on 
 the window-glass hung such a mist, that Mr. Tapley was obliged to rise 
 and wipe it with his handkerchief, before the passengers appeared like 
 common mortals. And even then, a spiral little cloud went curling up 
 from their two glasses of hot grog, which nearly hid them from each other. 
 
 It was one of those unaccountable little rooms which are never seen 
 anywhere but in a tavern, and are supposed to have got into taverns by 
 reason of the facilities afforded to the architect for getting drunk 
 while engaged in their construction. It had more corners in it than 
 the brain of an obstinate man ; was full of mad closets, into which 
 nothing could be put that was not specially invented and made for that 
 purpose ; had mysterious shelvings and bulk-heads, and indications of 
 staircases in the ceiling ; and was elaborately provided with a bell that 
 rung in the room itself, about two feet from the handle, and had no 
 connection whatever with any other part of the establishment. It was 
 a little below the pavement, and abutted close upon it ; so that pas- 
 sengers grated against the window-panes with their buttons, and scraped 
 it with their baskets ; and fearful boys suddenly coming between a 
 thoughtful guest and the light, derided him, or put out their tongues as 
 if he were a physician ; or made white knobs on the ends of their noses 
 by flattening the same against the glass, and vanished awfully, like 
 spectres. 
 
 Martin and Mark sat looking at the people as they passed, debating 
 every now and then what their first step should be. 
 
 " We want to see Miss Mary, of course," said Mark. 
 
 " Of course," said Martin. " But I don't know where she is. Not 
 having had the heart to write in our distress — you yourself thought 
 silence most advisable — and consequently, never having heard from her 
 since we left New York the first time, I don't know where she is, my 
 good fellow." 
 
 " My opinion is. Sir," returned Mark, " that what we 've got to do, is 
 to travel straight to the Dragon. There 's no need for you to go there, 
 where you 're known, unless you like. You may stop ten mile short of 
 it. 1 11 go on. Mrs. Lupin will tell me all the news. Mr. Pinch will 
 give me every information that we want : and right glad Mr. Pinch 
 will be to do it. My proposal is : To set off walking this afternoon. 
 To stop when we are tired. To get a lift when we can. To walk 
 when we can't. To do it at once, and do it cheap." 
 
 " Unless we do it cheap, we shall have some difficulty in doing it at 
 all," said Martin, pulling out the bank, and telling it over in his hand. 
 
 " The greater reason for losing no time. Sir," replied Mark. 
 '^ Whereas, when you 've seen the young lady ; and know what state of 
 mind the old gentleman's in, and all about it ; then you '11 know what 
 to do next." 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 413 
 
 " No doubt/' said Martin. "You are quite right." 
 
 They were raising their glasses to their lips, when their hands stopped 
 midway, and their gaze was arrested by a figure, which slowly, very 
 slowly, and reflectively, passed the window at that moment. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff. Placid, calm, but proud. Honestly proud. Dressed 
 with peculiar care, smiling with even more than usual blandness, pon- 
 dering on the beauties of his art with a mild abstraction from all sordid 
 thoughts, and gently travelling across the disc, as if he were a figure in 
 a magic lantern. 
 
 As Mr. Pecksniff passed, a person coming in the opposite direction 
 stopped to look after him with great interest and respect : almost with 
 veneration : and the landlord bouncing out of the house, as if he had 
 seen him too, joined this person, and spoke to him, and shook his head 
 gravely, and looked after Sir. Pecksniff likewise. 
 
 Martin and Mark sat staring at each other, as if they could not 
 believe it ; but there stood the landlord, and the other man still. In 
 spite of the indignation with which this glimpse of Mr. Pecksniff had 
 inspired him, Martin could not help laughing heartily. Neither could 
 Mark. 
 
 " We must inquire into this ! " said Martin. " Ask the landlord in, 
 Mark." 
 
 Mr. Tapley retired for that purpose, and immediately returned with 
 their large-headed host in safe convoy. 
 
 " Pray landlord ! " said Martin, '• who is that gentleman who passed 
 just now, and whom you were looking after ?" 
 
 The landlord poked the fire as if, in his desire to make the most of 
 his answer, he had become indifferent even to the price of coals ; and 
 putting his hands in his pockets, said, after inflating himself to give still 
 further effect to his reply : 
 
 " That, gentlemen, is the great Mr. Pecksniff ! The celebrated archi- 
 tect, gentlemen ! " 
 
 He looked from one to the other while he said it, as if he were ready 
 to assist the first man who might be overcome by the intelligence. 
 
 " The great Mr. Pecksniff, the celebrated architect, gentlemen," said 
 the landlord, " has come down here, to help lay the first stone of a new 
 and splendid public building." 
 
 "Is it to be built from his designs?" asked Martin. 
 
 "The great Mr. Pecksniff, the celebrated architect, gentlemen," 
 returned the landlord, who seemed to have an unspeakable delight in 
 the repetition of these words, " carried off the First Premium, and will 
 erect the building." 
 
 " Who lays the stone 1 " asked Martin. 
 
 " Our member has come down express," returned the landlord. " No 
 scrubs would do for no such a purpose. Nothing less would satisfy our 
 Directors than our member in the House of Commons, who is returned 
 upon the Gentlemanly Interest." 
 
 " Which interest is that ? " asked Martin. 
 
 " What, don't you know ! " returned the landlord. 
 
 It was quite clear the landlord didn't. They always told him at election 
 
414 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 time, that it was tlie Gentlemanly side, and lie immediately put on his 
 top-boots, and voted for it. 
 
 " When does the ceremony take place 1 " asked Martin. 
 
 " This day," replied the landlord. Then pulling out his watch, he 
 added impressively, " almost this minute." 
 
 Martin hastily inquired whether there was any possibility of getting 
 in to witness it; and finding that there would be no objection to the 
 admittance of any decent person, unless indeed the ground were full, 
 hurried off with Mark, as hard as they could go. 
 
 They were fortunate enough to squeeze themselves into a famous 
 corner on the ground, where they could see all that passed, without much 
 dread of being beheld by Mr. Pecksniff in return. They were not a 
 minute too soon, for as they were in the act of congratulating each 
 other, a great noise was heard at some distance, and everybody looked 
 towards the gate. Several ladies prepared their pocket handkerchiefs 
 for waving ; and a stray teacher belonging to the charity school being 
 much cheered by mistake, was immensely groaned at when detected. 
 
 " Perhaps he has Tom Pinch with him," Martin whispered Mr. Tapley. 
 
 " It would be rather too much of a treat for him, wouldn't it, Sirf 
 whispered Mr. Tapley in return. 
 
 There was no time to discuss the probabilities either way, for the 
 charity school, in clean linen, came filing in two and two, so much to the 
 self-approval of all the people present who didn 't subscribe to it, that 
 many of them shed tears. A band of music followed, led by a consci- 
 entious drummer who never left off". Then came a great many gentlemen 
 with wands in their hands, and bows on their breasts, whose share in the 
 proceedings did not appear to be distinctly laid down, and who trod upon 
 each other, and blocked up the entry for a considerable period. These 
 were followed by the Mayor and Corporation, all clustering round the 
 member for the Gentlemanly Interest ; who had the great Mr. Pecksniff, 
 the celebrated architect, on his right hand, and conversed with him 
 familiarly as they came along. Then the ladies waved their handker- 
 chiefs, and the gentlemen their hats, and the charity children shrieked, 
 and the member for the Gentlemanly Interest bowed. 
 
 Silence being restored, the member for the Gentlemanly Interest 
 rubbed his hands, and wagged his head, and looked about him pleasantlyj 
 and there was nothing this member did, at which some lady or other did 
 not burst into an ecstatic waving of her pocket-handkerchief. When he 
 looked up at the stone, they said how graceful ! when he peeped into the 
 hole, they said how condescending ! when he chatted with the Mayor, 
 they said how easy ! when he folded his arms they cried with one accord, 
 how statesman-like ! 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff was observed too ; closely. When he talked to the 
 Mayor, they said. Oh, really, what a courtly man he was ! When 
 he laid his hand upon the mason's shoulder, giving him directions, how 
 pleasant his demeanour to the working classes : just the sort of man 
 who made their toil a pleasure to them, poor dear souls ! 
 
 But now a silver trowel was brought ; and when the member for the 
 Gentlemanly Interest, tucking up his coat-sleeve, did a little sleight-of- 
 
u^y/Zzr/yi^ '9^F.-t'y^)/y ^:'r7///4''r.^^/y a/7i^z^^A^ c^-/r7?'i<97Z^ 
 
 97Z^2^ 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 415 
 
 hand with the mortar, the air was rent, so loud was the applause. The 
 workman-like manner in which he did it was amazing. No one could 
 conceive where such a gentlemanly creature could have picked the 
 knowledge up. 
 
 When he had made a kind of dirt-pie under the direction of the 
 mason, they brought a little vase containing coins, the which the member 
 for the Gentlemanly Interest jingled, as if he were going to conjure. 
 Whereat they said how droll, how cheerful, what a flow of spirits ! This 
 put into its place, an ancient scholar read the inscription, which was in 
 Latin : not in English : that would never do. It gave great satisfaction ; 
 especially every time there was a good long substantive in the third 
 declension, ablative case, with an adjective to match ; at which periods 
 the assembly became very tender, and were much affected. 
 
 And now the stone was lowered down into its place, amidst the shouting 
 of the concourse. When it was firmly fixed, the member for the 
 Gentlemanly Interest struck upon it thrice with the handle of the 
 trowel, as if inquiring, with a touch of humour, whether anybody was at 
 home. Mr. Pecksniff then unrolled his Plans (prodigious plans they 
 were), and people gathered round to look at and admire them. 
 
 Martin, who had been fretting himself — quite unnecessarily, as Mark 
 thought — during the whole of these proceedings, could no longer restrain 
 his impatience; but stepping forward among several others, looked straight 
 over the shoulder of the unconscious Mr. Pecksniff, at the designs and 
 plans he had unrolled. He returned to Mark, boiling with rage. 
 
 "Why, what 's the matter. Sir V cried Mark. 
 
 " Matter ! This is my building." 
 
 "Your building, Sir !" said Mark. 
 
 " My grammar-school. I invented it. I did it all. He has only 
 put four windows in, the villain, and spoilt it !" 
 
 Mark could hardly believe it at first, but being assured that it was 
 really so, actually held him to prevent his interference foolishly, until 
 his temporary heat was past. In the mean time, the member addressed 
 the company on the gratifying deed which he had just performed. 
 
 He said that since he had sat in Parliament to represent the Gentle- 
 manly Interest of that town ; and he might add, the Lady Interest he 
 hoped, besides (pocket handkerchiefs) ; it had been his pleasant duty to 
 come among them, and to raise his voice on their behalf in Another Place 
 (pocket handkerchiefs and laughter), often. But he had never come 
 among them, and had never raised his voice, with half such pure, such 
 deep, such unalloyed delight, as now. " The present occasion," he said, 
 ''will ever be memorable to me : not only for the reasons I have assigned, 
 but because it has afforded me an opportunity of becoming personally 
 known to a gentleman — " 
 
 Here he pointed the trowel at Mr. Pecksniff, who was greeted with 
 vociferous cheering, and laid his hand upon his heart. 
 
 " To a gentleman who, I am happy to believe, will reap both distinction 
 and profit from this field : whose fame had previously penetrated to me 
 — as to whose ears has it not ! — but whose intellectual countenance I 
 never had the distinguished honor to behold until this day, and whose 
 
416 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 intellectual conversation I had never before the improving pleasure 
 to enjoy. 
 
 Everybody seemed very glad of this, and applauded more than ever. 
 
 " But I hope my Honourable Friend," said the Gentlemanly member 
 — of course he added ' if he will allow me to call him so,' and of course 
 Mr. Pecksniff bowed — " will give me many opportunities of cultivating 
 the knowledge of him ; and that I may have the extraordinary gratifica- 
 tion of reflecting in after time that I laid on this day two first stones, 
 both belonging to structures which shall last my life !" 
 
 Great cheering again. All this time, Martin was cursing Mr. Peck- 
 sniff up hill and down dale. 
 
 " My friends !" said Mr. Pecksniff, in reply. " My duty is to build, 
 not speak ; to act, not talk ; to deal with marble, stone, and brick : 
 not language. I am very much affected. God bless you !" 
 
 This address, pumped out apparently from Mr. Pecksniff's very heart, 
 brought the enthusiasm to its highest pitch. The pocket handkerchiefs 
 were waved again ; the charity children were admonished to grow up 
 Pecksniffs, every boy among them ; the corporation, gentlemen with 
 wands, member for the Gentlemanly Interest, all cheered for Mr. Peck- 
 sniff. Three cheers for Mr. Pecksniff! Three more for Mr. Pecksniff! 
 Three more for Mr. Pecksniff, gentlemen, if you please ! One more, 
 gentlemen, for Mr. Pecksniff, and let it be a good one to finish with ! 
 
 In short, Mr. Pecksniff was supposed to have done a great work, and 
 was very kindly, courteously, and generously rewarded. When the pro- 
 cession moved away, and Martin and Mark were left almost alone upon 
 the ground, his merits and a desire to acknowledge them formed the 
 common topic. He was only second to the Gentlemanly member. 
 
 "Compare that fellow's situation to-day, with ours!" said Martin, 
 bitterly. 
 
 " Lord bless you Sir !" cried Mark, "what 's the use ! Some architects 
 are clever at making foundations, and some architects are clever at 
 building on 'em when they 're made. But it '11 all come right in the 
 end Sir ; it '11 all come right ! " 
 
 " And in the mean time," began Martin. 
 
 " In the mean time, as you say Sir, we have a deal to do, and far to 
 go. So sharp's the word, and Jolly !" 
 
 "You are the best master .in the world, Mark," said Martin, "and I 
 will not be a bad scholar if I can help it, I am resolved.! So come ! 
 Best foot foremost, old fellow ! " 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 417 
 
 CHAPTER XXXYI. 
 
 TOM PINCH DEPARTS TO SEEK HIS FORTUNE. WHAT HE FINDS AT 
 
 STARTING. 
 
 Oh ! what a different town Salisbury was in Tom Pinch's eyes to be 
 sure, when the substantial Pecksniff of his heart melted away into an 
 idle dream ! He possessed the same faith in the wonderful shops, 
 the same intensified appreciation of the mystery and wickedness of the 
 place ; made the same exalted estimate of its wealth, population and 
 resources ; and yet it was not the old city nor anything like it. He 
 •walked into the market while they were getting breakfast ready for him 
 at the Inn : and though it was the same market as of old, crowded by 
 the same buyers and sellers ; brisk with the same business ; noisy with 
 the same confusion of tongues and cluttering of fowls in coops ; fair with 
 the same display of rolls of butter, newly made, set forth in linen cloths of 
 dazzling whiteness ; green with the same fresh show of dewy vegetables ; 
 dainty with the same array in higglers' baskets of small shaving-glasses, 
 laces, braces, trouser-straps, and hardware ; savoury with the same 
 unstinted show of delicate pigs' feet and pies made precious by the 
 pork that once had walked upon them : still it was strangely changed 
 to Tom. For in the centre of the market-place he missed a statue he 
 had set up there, as in all other places of his personal resort ; and it 
 looked cold and bare without that ornament. 
 
 The change lay no deeper than this, for Tom was far from being sage 
 enough to know, that, having been disappointed in one man, it would 
 have been a strictly rational and eminently wise proceeding to have 
 revenged himself upon mankind in general, by mistrusting them one and 
 all. Indeed this piece of justice, though it is upheld by the authority 
 of divers profound poets and honorable men, bears a nearer resemblance 
 to the justice of that good Vizier in the Thousand-and-one Nights, who 
 issues orders for the destruction of all the Porters in Bagdad because 
 one of that unfortunate fraternity is supposed to have misconducted 
 himself, than to any logical, not to say Christian system of conduct, 
 known to the world in later times. 
 
 Tom had so long been used to steep the Pecksniff of his fancy in his 
 tea, and spread him out upon his toast, and take him as a relish with 
 his beer, that he made but a poor breakfast on the first morning after 
 his expulsion. Nor did he much improve his appetite for dinner by 
 seriously considering his own affairs, and taking counsel thereon with 
 his friend the organist's assistant. 
 
 The organist's assistant gave it as his decided opinion that whatever 
 Tom did, he must go to London ; for there was no place like it. Which 
 may be true in the main, though hardly perhaps, in itself, a sufiicient 
 reason for Tom's going there. 
 
 E E 
 
418 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 But Tom had thouglit of London before, and had coupled with it 
 thoughts of his sister, and of his old friend John Westlock, whose advice 
 he naturally felt disposed to seek in this important crisis of his fortunes. 
 To London, therefore, he resolved to go ; and he went away to the coach- 
 office at once, to secure his place. The coach being already full, he was 
 obliged to postpone his departure until the next night ; but even this 
 circumstance had its bright side as well as its dark one, for though it 
 threatened to reduce his poor purse with unexpected country-charges, 
 it afforded him an opportunity of writing to Mrs. Lupin and appointing 
 his box to be brought to the old finger-post at the old time ; which 
 would enable him to take that treasure with him to the metropolis, and 
 save the expense of its carriage. " So," said Tom, comforting himself, 
 "it's very nearly as broad as it's long." 
 
 And it cannot be denied that, when he had made up his mind to even 
 this extent, he felt an unaccustomed sense of freedom — a vague and 
 indistinct impression of holiday-making — which was very luxurious. 
 He had his moments of depression and anxiety, and they were, with good 
 reason, pretty numerous ; but still, it was wonderfully pleasant to reflect 
 that he was his own master, and could plan and scheme for himself. It 
 was startling, thrilling, vast, difficult to understand ; it was a stu- 
 pendous truth, teeming with responsibility and self-distrust; but, in spite 
 of all his cares, it gave a curious relish to the viands at the Inn, and 
 interposed a dreamy haze between him and his prospects, in which they 
 sometimes showed to magical advantage. 
 
 In this unsettled state of mind, Tom went once more to bed in the 
 low four-poster, to the same immoveable surprise of the effigies of the 
 former landlord and the fat ox ; and in this condition, passed the whole 
 of the succeeding day. When the coach came round at last, with 
 " London" blazoned in letters of gold upon the boot, it gave Tom such 
 a turn, that he was half disposed to run away. But he didn't do it ; for 
 he took his seat upon the box instead, and looking down upon the four 
 grays, felt as if he were another gray himself, or, at all events, a part of 
 the turn-out ; and was quite confused by the novelty and splendour of 
 his situation. 
 
 And really it might have confused a less modest man than Tom to 
 find himself sitting next that coachman ; for of all the swells that ever 
 flourished a whip, professionally, he might have been elected emperor. 
 He didn't- handle his gloves like another man, but put them on — even 
 when he was standing on the pavement, quite detached from the coach 
 — as if the four grays were, somehow or other, at the ends of the fingers. 
 It was the same with his hat. He did things with his hat, which 
 nothing but an unlimited knowledge of horses and the wildest freedom 
 of the road, could ever have made him perfect in. Valuable little par- 
 cels were brought to him with particular instructions, and he pitched 
 them into this hat, and stuck it on again ; as if the laws of gravity did 
 not admit of such an event as its being knocked off or blown off, and 
 nothing like an accident could befal it. The guard, too ! Seventy breezy 
 miles a-day were written in his very whiskers. His manners were a 
 canter ; his conversation a round trot. He was a fast coach upon a 
 
^>i^. 
 
 j^ Aee/> A-6^ /cyd^i 
 
 'l/Z€ 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 419 
 
 down-hill turnpike road ; he was all pace. A waggon couldn't have 
 moved slowly, with that guard and his key-bugle on the top of it. 
 
 These were all foreshadowings of London, Tom thought, as he sat 
 upon the box, and looked about him. Such a coachman, and such a 
 guard, never could have existed between Salisbury and any other place. 
 The coach was none of your steady-going, yokel coaches, but a swag- 
 gering, rakish, dissipated, London coach ; up all night, and lying by 
 all day, and leading a devil of a life. It cared no more for Salisbury 
 than if it had been a hamlet. It rattled noisily through the best streets, 
 defied the Cathedral, took the worst corners sharpest, went cutting in 
 everywhere, making everything get out of its way ; and spun along the 
 open country-road, blowing a lively defiance out of its key-bugle, as its 
 last glad parting legacy. 
 
 It was a charming evening. Mild and bright. And even with the 
 weight upon his mind which arose out of the immensity and uncertainty 
 of London, Tom could not resist the captivating sense of rapid motion 
 through the pleasant air. The four grays skimmed along, as if they 
 liked it quite as well as Tom did ; the bugle was in as high spirits as 
 the grays ; the coachman chimed in sometimes with his voice ; the 
 wheels hummed cheerfully in unison ; the brass- work on the harness 
 was an orchestra of little bells ; and thus, as they went clinking, jingling, 
 rattling, smoothly on, the whole concern, from the buckles of the leaders' 
 coupling-reins, to the handle of the hind boot, was one great instrument 
 of music. 
 
 Yoho, past hedges, gates, and trees ; past cottages and barns, and 
 people going home from work. Yoho, past donkey-chaises, drawn aside 
 into the ditch, and empty carts with rampant horses, whipped up at a 
 bound upon the little watercourse, and held by struggling carters close 
 to the five-barred gate, until the coach had passed the narrow turning in 
 the road. Yoho, by churches dropped down by themselves in quiet 
 nooks, with rustic burial-grounds about them, where the graves are 
 green, and daisies sleep — for it is evening — on the bosoms of the dead. 
 Yoho, past streams, in which the cattle cool their feet, and where the 
 rushes grow ; past paddock-fences, farms, and rick-yards ; past last 
 year's stacks, cut, slice by slice, away, and showing, in the waning light, 
 like ruined gables, old and brown. Yoho, down the pebbly dip, and 
 through the merry water-splash, and up at a canter to the level road 
 again. Yoho ! Yoho ! 
 
 Was the box there, when they came up to the old finger-post ? The 
 box ! Was Mrs. Lupin herself? Had she turned out magnificently as 
 a hostess should, in her own chaise-cart, and was she sitting in a mahogany 
 chair, driving her own horse Dragon (who ought to have been called 
 Dumpling), and looking lovely 1 Did the stage-coach pull up beside 
 her, shaving her very wheel, and even while the guard helped her man 
 up with the trunk, did he send the glad echoes of his bugle careering 
 down the chimneys of the distant Pecksniff", as if the coach expressed its 
 exultation in the rescue of Tom Pinch ? 
 
 " This is kind indeed ! " said Tom, bending down to shake hands with 
 her. " I didn't mean to give you this trouble." 
 
 E E 2 
 
420 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Trouble, Mr. Pincli ! " cried the hostess of the Dragon. 
 
 " Well ! It 's a pleasure to you, I know," said Tom, squeezing her 
 hand heartily. "Is there any news ? " 
 
 The hostess shook her head. 
 
 " Say you saw me," said Tom, " and that I was very bold and cheer- 
 fn\ and not a bit down-hearted ; and that I entreated her to be the 
 same, for all is certain to come right at last. Good bye ! " 
 
 " You '11 write when you get settled, Mr. Pinch 1 " said Mrs. Lupin. 
 
 " When I get settled 1 " cried Tom, with an involuntary opening of 
 his eyes. " Oh, yes, I '11 write when I get settled. Perhaps I had better 
 write before, because I may find that it takes a little time to settle 
 myself: not having too much money, and having only one friend. I 
 shall give your love to the friend, by the way. You were always 
 great with Mr. Westlock, you know. Good bye ! " 
 
 " Good bye ! " said Mrs. Lupin, hastily producing a basket with a long 
 bottle sticking out of it. " Take this. Good bye 1 " 
 
 " Do you want me to carry it to London for you ? " cried Tom. 
 She was already turning the chaise-cart round. 
 
 " No, no," said Mrs. Lupin. " It 's only a little something for refresh- 
 ment on the road. Sit fast, Jack. Drive on, sir. All right ! Good bye ! " 
 
 She was a quarter of a mile off, before Tom collected himself ; and then 
 he was waving his hand lustily ; and so was she. 
 
 " And that 's the last of the old finger-post," thought Tom, straining 
 his eyes, " where I have so often stood, to see this very coach go by, and 
 where I have parted with so many companions ! I used to compare this 
 coach to some great monster that appeared at certain times to bear my 
 friends away into the world. And now it 's bearing me away, to seek 
 my fortune, Heaven knows where and how !" 
 
 It made Tom melancholy to picture himself walking up the lane and 
 back to Pecksnifi''s 2^s of old ; and being melancholy, he looked down- 
 wards at the basket on his knee, which he had for the moment forgotten. 
 
 " She is the kindest and most considerate creature in the world," 
 thought Tom. " Now I know that she particularly told that man of 
 her's not to look at me, on purpose to prevent my throwing him a 
 shilling ! I had it ready for him all the time, and he never once looked 
 towards me ; whereas that man naturally (for I know him very well), 
 would have done nothing but grin and stare. Upon my word, the kind- 
 ness of people perfectly melts me." 
 
 Here he caught the coachman's eye. The coachman winked. " Ee- 
 markable fine woman for her time of life," said the coachman. 
 
 " I quite agree with you," returned Tom. "So she is." 
 
 " Finer than many a young one, I mean to say," observed the coach- 
 man. "Eh?" 
 
 " Than many a young one," Tom assented. 
 
 " I don't care for 'em myself when they're too young," remarked 
 the coachman. 
 
 This was a matter of taste, which Tom did not feel himself called 
 upon to discuss. 
 
 " You'll seldom find 'em possessing correct opinions about refresh- 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLET7IT. 
 
 ment, for instance, when they're too young', you know," said the 
 coachman : "a woman must have arrived at maturity, before her mind's 
 equal to coming provided with a basket like that." 
 
 " Perhaps you would like to know what it contains ?" said Tom, 
 smiling. 
 
 As the coachman only laughed, and as Tom was curious himself, he 
 unpacked it, and put the articles, one by one, upon the footboard. A 
 cold roast fowl, a packet of ham in slices, a crusty loaf, a piece of cheese, 
 a paper of biscuits, half a dozen apples, a knife, some butter, a screw of 
 salt, and a bottle of old sherry. There was a letter besides, which Tom 
 put in his pocket. 
 
 The coachman was so earnest in his approval of Mrs. Lupin's provi- 
 dent habits, and congratulated Tom so warmly on his good fortune, 
 that Tom felt it necessary, for the lady's sake, to explain that the 
 basket was a strictly Platonic basket, and had merely been presented to 
 him in the way of friendship. When he had made the statement with 
 perfect gravity ; for he felt it incumbent on him to disabuse the mind of 
 this lax rover of any incorrect impressions on the subject; he signified 
 that he would be happy to share the gifts with him, and proposed that 
 they should attack the basket in a spirit of good fellowship at any time 
 in the course of the night which the coachman's experience and know- 
 ledge of the road might suggest, as being best adapted to the purpose. 
 Prom this time they chatted so pleasantly together, that although Tom 
 knew infinitely more of unicorns than horses, the coachman informed his 
 friend the guard, at the end of the next stage, " that rum as the box- 
 seat looked, he was as good a one to go, in point of conversation, as ever 
 he 'd wish to sit by." 
 
 Yoho, among the gathering shades ; making of no account the deep 
 reflections of the trees, but scampering on through light and darkness, 
 all the same, as if the light of London fifty miles away, were quite 
 enough to travel by, and some to spare. Yoho, beside the village-green, 
 where cricket-players linger yet, and every little indentation made in 
 the fresh grass by bat or wicket, ball or player's foot, sheds out its per- 
 fume on the night. Away with four fresh horses from the Bald-faced 
 Stag, where topers congregate about the door admiring ; and the last 
 team with traces hanging loose, go roaming ofi* towards the pond, 
 until observed and shouted after by a dozen throats, while volunteering 
 boys pursue them. Now with a clattering of hoofs and striking out of 
 fiery sparks, across the old stone bridge, and down again into the 
 shadowy road, and through the open gate, and far away, away, into the 
 wold. Yoho ! 
 
 Yoho, behind there, stop that bugle for a moment ! Come creep- 
 ing over to the front, along the coach-roof, guard, and make one at 
 this basket ! Not that we slacken in our pace the while, not we : we 
 rather put the bits of blood upon their mettle, for the greater glory of 
 the snack. Ah ! It is Ions; since this bottle of old wine was brouo-ht 
 into contact with the mellow breath of night, you may depend, and rare 
 good stuff it is to wet a bugler's whistle with. Only try it. Don't 
 be afraid of turning up your finger. Bill, another pull ! Now, take 
 
422 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 your breath, and try the bugle, Bill. There 's music ! There's a tone ! 
 " Over the hills and far away," indeed. Yoho ! The skittish mare is 
 all alive to-night. Yoho ! Yoho ! 
 
 See the bright moon ! High up before we know it : making the 
 earth reflect the objects on its breast like water. Hedges, trees, low 
 cottages, church steeples, blighted stumps and flourishing young slips, 
 have all grown vain upon the sudden, and mean to contemplate their 
 own fair images till morning. The poplars yonder rustle, that their 
 quivering leaves may see themselves upon the ground. Not so the 
 oak ; trembling does not become him ; and he watches himself in his 
 stout old burly stedfastness, without the motion of a twig. The moss- 
 grown gate, ill-poised upon its creaking hinges, crippled and decayed, 
 swings to and fro before its glass, like some fantastic dowager ; while 
 our own ghostly likeness travels on, Yoho ! Yoho ! through ditch and 
 brake, upon the ploughed land and the smooth, along the steep hill- 
 side and steeper wall, as if it were a phantom-Hunter. 
 
 Clouds too ! And a mist upon the Hollow ! Not a dull fog that hides 
 it, but a light airy gauze-like mist, which in our eyes of modest admira- 
 tion gives a new charm to the beauties it is spread before : as real 
 gauze has done ere now, and would again, so please you, though we 
 were the Pope. Yoho ! Why now we travel like the Moon herself. 
 Hiding this minute in a grove of trees ; next minute in a patch of 
 vapour j emerging now upon our broad clear course ; withdrawing now, 
 but always dashing on, our journey is a counterpart of hers. Yoho ! A 
 match against the Moon. Yoho, yoho ! 
 
 The beauty of the night is hardly felt, when Day comes leaping up. 
 Yoho ! Two stages, and the country roads are almost changed to a 
 continuous street. ''Yoho, past market-gardens, rows of houses, villas, 
 crescents, terraces, and squares j past waggons, coaches, carts j past 
 early workmen, late stragglers, drunken men, and sober carriers o* 
 loads ; past brick and mortar in its every shape ; and in among the 
 rattling pavements, where a jaunty-seat upon a coach is not so easy to 
 preserve ! Yoho, down countless turnings, and through countless mazy 
 ways, until an old Inn-yard is gained, and Tom Pinch, getting down, 
 quite stunned and giddy, is in London ! 
 
 " Five minutes before the time, too !" said the driver, as he received 
 his fee of Tom. 
 
 " Upon my word," said Tom, " I should not have minded nqtj much, 
 if we had been five hours after it ; for at this early hour I don't know 
 where to go, or what to do with myself." 
 
 " Don't they expect you then T inquired the driver. 
 
 " Who r said Tom. 
 
 " Why, them," returned the driver. 
 
 His mind was so clearly running on the assumption of Tom's having 
 come to town to see an extensive circle of anxious relations and friends, 
 that it would have been pretty hard work to undeceive him. Tom did 
 not try. He cheerfully evaded the subject, and going into the Inn fell 
 fast asleep before a fire in one of the public rooms opening from the 
 yard. When he awoke, the people in the house were all astir, so he 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 423 
 
 washed and dressed himself; to his great refreshment after the journey; 
 and, it being by that time eight o'clock, went forth at once to see his 
 old friend John. 
 
 John Westlock lived in Furnival's Inn, High Holborn, which was within 
 a quarter of an hour's walk of Tom's starting point, but seemed a long 
 way off, by reason of his going two or three miles out of the straight 
 road to make a short cut. When at last he arrived outside John's door, 
 two stories up, he stood faltering with his hand upon the knocker, and 
 trembled from head to foot. For he was rendered very nervous by the 
 thought of having to relate what had fallen out between himself and 
 Pecksniff; and he had a misgiving that John would exult fearfully in 
 the disclosure. 
 
 " But it must be made," thought Tom, " sooner or later ; and I had 
 better get it over." 
 
 Hat tat. 
 
 " I am afraid that 's not a London knock," thought Tom. " " It 
 didn't sound bold. Perhaps that 's the reason why nobody answers the 
 door." 
 
 It is quite certain that nobody came, and that Tom stood looking at the 
 knocker : wondering whereabouts in the neighbourhood a certain gentle- 
 man resided, who was roaring out to somebody "Come in !" with all his 
 might. 
 
 " Bless my soul !" thought Tom at last. " Perhaps he lives here, and 
 is calling to me. I never thought of that. Can I open the door from 
 the outside, I wonder. Yes, to be sure I can." 
 
 To be sure he could, by turning the handle : and to be sure when he 
 did turn it, the same voice came rushing out, crying " Why don't you 
 come in ? Come in, do you hear 1 What are you standing there for ^" 
 quite violently. 
 
 Tom stepped from the little passage into the room from which these 
 sounds proceeded, and had barely caught a glimpse of a gentleman in a 
 dressing-gown and slippers (with his boots beside him ready to put on), 
 sitting at his breakfast with a newspaper in his hand, when the said 
 gentleman, at the imminent hazard of oversetting his tea table, made a 
 plunge at Tom, and hugged him. 
 
 " Why, Tom my boy !" cried the gentleman. "Tom !" 
 
 " How glad I am to see you, Mr. Westlock !" said Tom Pinch, shak- 
 ing both his hands, and trembling more than ever. " How kind 
 you are !" 
 
 " Mr. Westlock 1 " repeated John, " what do you mean by that. Pinch 1 
 You have not forgotten my Christian name, I suppose?" 
 
 " No John, no. I have not forgotten it," said Thomas Pinch. " Good 
 gracious me, how kind you are ! " 
 
 " I never saw such a fellow in all my life !" cried John. " What do 
 you mean by saying that over and over again 1 What did you expect 
 me to be, I wonder ! Here, sit down Tom, and be a reasonable creature. 
 How are you, my boy. I am delighted to see you !" 
 
 " And I am delighted to see ?/o?^" said Tom. 
 
 " It 's mutual of course," returned John. '■' It always was, I hope. 
 
424 LIFE AND ADVENTUEES OF 
 
 If I had known you liad been coming, Tom, I would liave had some- 
 thing for breakfast. I would rather have such a surprise than the best 
 breakfast in the world, myself; but yours is another case, and I have 
 no doubt you are as hungry as a hunter. You must make out as well 
 as you can, Tom, and we 11 recompense ourselves at dinner time. You 
 take sugar I know : I recollect the sugar at Pecksniff's. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 How is Pecksniff ? When did you come to town 1 Do begin at some- 
 thing or other, Tom. There are only scraps here, but they are not at 
 all bad. Boar's Head potted. Try it, Tom ! Make a beginning what- 
 ever you do. What an old Blade you are ! I am delighted to see 
 
 you."_ 
 
 While he delivered himself of these words in a state of great commo- 
 tion, John was constantly running backwards and forwards to and from 
 the closet, bringing out all sorts of things in pots, scooping extraordinary 
 quantities of tea out of the caddy, dropping French rolls into his boots, 
 pouring hot water over the butter, and making a variety of similar 
 mistakes without disconcerting himself in the least. 
 
 "There !" said John, sitting down for the fiftieth time, and instantly 
 starting up again to make some other addition to the breakfast. " Now 
 we are as well off as we are likely to be 'till dinner. And now let us 
 have the news Tom. Imprimis, how's Pecksniff?" 
 
 " I don't know how he is," was Tom's grave answer. 
 
 John Westlock put the teapot down, and looked at him, in astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 " I don't know how he is," said Thomas Pinch ; " and saving that I 
 wish him no ill, I don't care. I have left him, John. I have left him 
 for ever." 
 
 "Voluntarily?" 
 
 "Why no, for he dismissed me. But I had first found out that 
 I was mistaken in him ; and I could not have remained with him 
 under any circumstances. I grieve to say that you were right in your 
 estimate of his character, it may be a ridiculous weakness, John, 
 but it has been very painful and bitter to me to find this out, I do 
 assure you." 
 
 Tom had no need to direct that appealing look towards his friend, in 
 mild and gentle deprecation of his answering with a laugh. John 
 Westlock would as soon have thought of striking him down upon the 
 floor. 
 
 "It was all a dream of mine," said Tom, "and it is over. I'll tell 
 you how it happened, at some other time. Bear v/ith my folly, John. 
 I do not, just now, like to think or speak about it." 
 
 " I swear to you, Tom," returned his friend, with great earnestness of 
 manner, after remaining silent for a few moments, " that when I see, as 
 I do now, how deeply you feel this, I don't know whether to be glad or 
 sorry, that you have made the discovery at last. I reproach myself 
 with the thought that I ever jested on the subject ; I ought to have 
 known better." 
 
 " My dear friend," said Tom, extending his hand, " it is very generous 
 and gallant in you to receive me and my disclosure in this spirit ; it 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 425 
 
 makes me blusH to think that I should have felt a moment's uneasiness 
 as I came along. You can't think what a weight is lifted off my 
 mind," said Tom, taking up his knife and fork again, and looking very 
 cheerful. " I shall punish the Boar's Head dreadfully." 
 
 The host, thus reminded of his duties, instantly betook himself to 
 piling up all kinds of irreconcilable and contradictory viands in Tom's 
 plate, and a very capital breakfast Tom made, and very much the better 
 for it, Tom felt. 
 
 " That 's all right," said John, after contemplating his visitor's pro- 
 ceedings, with infinite satisfaction. " Now, about our plans. You are 
 going to stay with me, of course. Where 's your box V 
 
 " It 's at the Inn," said Tom. " I did'nt intend ." 
 
 " Never mind what you didn't intend," John Westlock interposed. 
 "What you did intend is more to the purpose. You intended, in 
 coming here, to ask my advice, did you not Tom ?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 " And to take it when I gave it to you ?" 
 
 "Yes," rejoined Tom, smiling, " if it were good advice, which, being 
 yours, I have no doubt it will be." 
 
 " Very well. Then don't be an obstinate old humbug in the outset, 
 Tom, or I shall shut up shop and dispense none of that invaluable 
 commodity. You are on a visit to me. I wish I had an organ for you, 
 Tom ! " 
 
 " So do the gentlemen down stairs, and the gentlemen overhead, I 
 have no doubt," was Tom's reply. 
 
 " Let me see. In the first place, you will wish to see your sister this 
 morning," pursued his friend, " and of course you will like to go there 
 alone. I '11 Avalk part of the way with you ; and see about a little 
 business of my own, and meet you here again in the afternoon. Put 
 that in your pocket, Tom. It 's only the key of the door. If you come 
 home first, you '11 want it." 
 
 " Really," said Tom, " quartering one's self upon a friend in this 
 way — " 
 
 " Why, there are two keys," interposed John Westlock. " I can't open 
 the door with them both at once, can I ? What a ridiculous fellow you 
 are, Tom ! Nothing particular you 'd like for dinner, is there ? " 
 
 "Oh dear no," said Tom. 
 
 " Very well, then you may as well leave it to me. Have a glass of 
 cherry brandy, Tom 1 " 
 
 " Not a drop ! What remarkable chambers these are ! " said Pinch, 
 " there 's everything in 'em ! " 
 
 " Bless your soul, Tom, nothing but a few little bachelor contrivances ! 
 the sort of improptu arrangements that might have suggested themselves 
 to Philip Quarll or Robinson Crusoe : that 's all. What do you say ? 
 Shall we walk ? " 
 
 " By all means," cried Tom. " As soon as you like." 
 
 Accordingly, John Westlock took the French rolls out of his boots, 
 and put his boots on, and dressed himself : giving Tom the paper to 
 
4:26 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 read in the meanwhile. When he returned, equipped for walking, he 
 found Tom in a brown study, with the paper in his hand. 
 
 " Dreaming, Tom ? " 
 
 " No," said Mr. Pinch, " No. I have been looking over the advertising 
 sheet, thinking there might be something in it, which would be likely 
 to suit me. But, as I often think, the strange thing seems to be that 
 nobody is suited. Here are all kinds of employers wanting all sorts of 
 servants, and all sorts of servants wanting all kinds of employers, and 
 they never seem to come together. Here is a gentleman in a public 
 office in a position of temporary difficulty, who wants to borrow five 
 hundred pounds ; and in the very next advertisement here is another 
 gentleman who has got exactly that sum to lend. But he '11 never lend 
 it to him, John, you '11 find. Here is a lady possessing a moderate 
 independence, who wants to board and lodge with a quiet, cheerful 
 family ; and here is a family describing themselves in those very words, 
 * a quiet cheerful family,' who want exactly such a lady to come and live 
 with them. But she '11 never go, John. Neither do any of these single 
 gentlemen who want an airy bedroom, with the occasional use of a parlour, 
 ever appear to come to terms with these other people who live in a rural 
 situation, remarkable for its bracing atmosphere, within five minutes' 
 walk of the Koyal Exchange. Even those letters of the alphabet, who are 
 always running away from their friends and being entreated at the tops 
 of columns to come back, never do come back, if we may judge from the 
 number of times they are asked to do it, and don't. It really seems," 
 said Tom, relinquishing the paper, with a thoughtful sigh, " as if people 
 had the same gratification in printing their complaints as in making 
 them known by word of mouth ; as if they found it a comfort and con- 
 solation to proclaim ' I want such and such a thing, and I can't get it, 
 and I don't expect I ever shall ! ' " 
 
 John Westlock laughed at the idea, and they went out together. So 
 many years had passed since Tom was last in London, and he had known 
 so little of it then, that his interest in all he saw was very great. He was 
 particularly anxious, among other notorious localities, to have those 
 streets pointed out to him which were appropriated to the slaughter of 
 countrymen ; and was quite disappointed to find, after half-an-hour's 
 walking, that he had'nt had his pocket picked. But on John Westlock's 
 inventing a pickpocket for his gratification, and pointing out a highly 
 respectable stranger as one of that fraternity, he was much delighted. 
 
 His friend accompanied him to within a short distance of Camberwell, 
 and having put him beyond the possibility of mistaking the wealthy 
 brass-and-copper founder's, left him to make his visit. Arriving before 
 the great bell-handle, Tom gave it a gentle pull. The porter appeared. 
 
 " Pray does Miss Pinch live here % " said Tom. 
 
 " Miss Pinch is Governess here," replied the porter. 
 
 At the same time he looked at Tom from head to foot, as if he would 
 have said, ' You are a nice man, yo7i are ; where did you com.e from ! ' 
 
 " It 's the same young lady," said Tom. " It 's quite right. Is she 
 at home ? " 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 4:27 
 
 " I don't know, I 'm sure," rejoined the porter. 
 
 " Do you think you could have the goodness to ascertain ? " said Tom. 
 He had quite a delicacy in offering the suggestion, for the possibility of 
 such a step did not appear to present itself to the porter's mind at all. 
 
 The fact was that the porter in answering the gate-bell had, according 
 to usage, rung the house-bell (for it is as well to do these things in the 
 Baronial style while you are about it), and that there the functions of 
 his office had ceased. Being hired to open and shut the gate, and not 
 to explain himself to strangers, he left this little incident to be deve- 
 loped by the footman with the tags, vrho, at this juncture, called out 
 from the door steps : 
 
 " Hollo, there ! wot are you up to ! This way, young man ! " 
 
 " Oh ! " said Tom, hurrying towards him. " I did'nt observe that 
 there was anybody else. Pray is Miss Pinch at home 1 " 
 
 " She 's in," replied the footman. As much as to say to Tom : ' But 
 if you think she has anything to do with the proprietorship of this 
 place, you had better abandon that idea.' 
 
 " I wish to see her if you please," said Tom. 
 
 The footman being a lively young man, happened to have his atten- 
 tion caught at that moment by the flight of a pigeon, in which he took 
 so warm an interest, that his gaze was rivetted on the bird until it was 
 quite out of sight. He then invited Tom to come in, and showed him 
 into a parlour. 
 
 " Hany neem 1 " said the young man, pausing languidly at the 
 door. 
 
 It was a good thought : because without providing the stranger, in case 
 he should happen to be of a warm temper, with a sufficient excuse for 
 knocking him down, it implied this young man's estimate of his quality, 
 and relieved his breast of the oppressive burden of rating him in secret 
 as a nameless and obscure individual. 
 
 " Say her brother, if you please," said Tom. 
 
 " Mother ? " drawled the footman. 
 
 "Brother," repeated Tom, slightly raising his voice. "And if you 
 will say, in the first instance, a gentleman, and then say her brother, I 
 shall be obliged to you, as she does not expect ine, or know I am in 
 London, and I do not wish to startle her." 
 
 The young man's interest in Tom's observations had ceased long 
 before this time, but he kindly waited until now ; when shutting the 
 door, he withdrew. 
 
 " Dear me ! " said Tom. " This is very disrespectful and uncivil 
 behaviour. I hope these are new s^ervants here, and that Kuth is very 
 differently treated." 
 
 His cogitations were interrupted by the sound of voices in the 
 adjoining room. They seemed to be engaged in high dispute, or in 
 indignant reprimand of some offender ; and gathering strength occa- 
 sionally, broke out into a perfect whirlwind. It was in one of these 
 gusts, as it appeared to Tom, that the footman announced him ; for an 
 abrupt and unnatural calm took place, and then a dead silence. He 
 was standing before the window, wondering what domestic c|uarrel might 
 
428 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 have caused these sounds, and hoping Ruth had nothing to do with it, 
 when the door opened, and his sister ran into his arms. 
 
 " Why. bless my soul ! " said Tom, looking at her with great pride, 
 when they had tenderly embraced each other, " how altered you are, 
 Kuth ! I should scarcely have known you, my love, if I had seen you 
 anywhere else, I declare ! You are so improved," said Tom, with inex- 
 pressible delight : " you are so womanly ; you are so — positively, you 
 know, you are so handsome ! " 
 
 " li ?/oic think so, Tom — " 
 
 " Oh, but everybody must think so, you know," said Tom, gently 
 smoothing down her hair. " It 's matter of fact ; not opinion. But 
 what 's the matter V said Tom, look at her more intently, " how flushed 
 you are ! and you have been crying." 
 
 " No, I have not, Tom." 
 
 " Nonsense," said her brother stoutly. " That 's a story. Don't tell 
 me ! I know better. What is it, dear ? I 'm not with Mr. Pecksniff 
 now ; I am going to try and settle myself in London ; and if you are 
 not happy here (as I very much fear you are not, for I begin to think 
 you have been deceiving me with the kindest and most affectionate 
 intention) you shall not remain here." 
 
 Oh ! Tom's blood was rising ; mind that. Perhaps the Boar's Head 
 had something to do with it, but certainly the footman had. So had 
 the sight of his pretty sister — a great deal to do with it. Tom could 
 bear a good deal himself, but he was proud of her, and pride is a 
 sensitive thing. He began to think, " there are more Pecksniff's than 
 one, perhaps," and by all the pins and needles that run up and down 
 in angry veins, Tom was in a most unusual tingle all at once. 
 
 " We will talk about it, Tom," said Ruth, giving him another kiss to 
 pacify him. " I am afraid I cannot stay here." 
 
 " Cannot ! " replied Tom. " Why then, you shall not, my love. 
 Heyday ! You are not an object of charity ! Upon my word ! " 
 
 Tom was stopped in these exclamations by the footman, who brought 
 a message from his master, importing that he wished to speak with him 
 before he went, and with Miss Pinch also. 
 
 " Show the way," said Tom. " I'll wait upon him at once." 
 
 Accordingly they entered the adjoining room from which the noise of 
 altercation had proceeded ; and there they found a middle-aged gentle- 
 man, with a pompous voice and manner, and a middle-aged lady, with 
 what may be termed an exciseable face, or one in which starch and 
 vinegar were decidedly employed. There was likewise present that 
 eldest pupil of Miss Pinch, whom Mrs. Todgers, on a previous occasion, 
 had called a syrup, and who was now weeping and sobbing spitefully. 
 
 " My brother, sir," said Ruth Pinch, timidly presenting Tom. 
 
 "Oh !" cried the gentleman, surveying Tom attentively. " You really 
 are Miss Pinch's brother, I presume 1 You will excuse my asking. 1 
 don't observe any resemblance." 
 
 " Miss Pinch has a brother, I know," observed the lady. 
 
 " Miss Pinch is always talking about her brother, when she ought to 
 be engaged upon my education," sobbed the pupil. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 429 
 
 " Sophia ! Hold your tongue ! " observed the gentleman. " Sit down, 
 if you please," addressing Tom. 
 
 Tom sat down, looking from one face to another, in mute surprise. 
 
 "Remain here, if you please, Miss Pinch,"' pursued the gentleman, 
 looking slightly over his shoulder. 
 
 Tom interrupted him here, by rising to place a chair for his sister. 
 Having done which, he sat down again. 
 
 " I am glad you chance to have called to see your sister to-day, sir," 
 resumed the brass and copper founder. " For although I do not approve, 
 as a principle, of any young person engaged in my family, in the capacity 
 of a governess, receiving visitors, it happens in this case to be well-timed. 
 I am sorry to inform you that we are not at all satisfied with your sister." 
 
 " We are very much o'/ssatisfied with her," observed the lady. 
 
 " I 'd never say another lesson to Miss Pinch if I was to be beat to 
 death for it ! " sobbed the pupil. 
 
 " Sophia ! " cried her father. " Plold your tongue ! " 
 
 " Will you allow me to inquire what your ground of dissatisfaction is ?" 
 asked Tom. 
 
 " Yes," said the gentleman, " I will. I don't recognise it as a right ; 
 but I will. Your sister has not the slightest innate power of command- 
 ing respect. It has been a constant source of difference between us. 
 Although she has been in this family for some time, and although the 
 young lady who is now present, has almost, as it were, grown up under 
 her tuition, that young lady has no respect for her. Miss Pinch has 
 been perfectly unable to command my daughter's respect, or to win my 
 daughter's confidence. Now," said the gentleman, allowing the palm of 
 his hand to fall gravely down upon the table : " I maintain that there is 
 something radically wrong in that ! You, as her brother, may be 
 disposed to deny it — " 
 
 "I beg your pardon, sir," said Tom. "lam not at all disposed to 
 deny it. I am sure that there is something radically wrong : radically 
 monstrous : in that." 
 
 " Good Heavens ! " cried the gentleman, looking round the room with 
 dignity, " what do I find to be the case ! what results obtrude them- 
 selves upon me as flowing from this weakness of character on the part of 
 Miss Pinch ! W^hat are my feelings as a father, when, after my desire 
 (repeatedly expressed to Miss Pinch, as I think she will not venture 
 to deny) that my daughter should be choice in her expressions, genteel 
 in her deportment, as becomes her station in life, and politely distant to 
 her inferiors in society, I find her, only this very morning, addressing 
 Miss Pinch herself, as a beggar ! " 
 
 " A beggarly thing," observed the lady, in correction. 
 
 " Which is worse," said the gentleman, triumphantly ; " which is 
 worse. A beggarly thing ! A low, coarse, despicable expression ! " 
 
 " Most despicable," cried Tom. " I am glad to find that there is a 
 just appreciation of it here." 
 
 " So just, sir," said the gentleman, lowering his voice to be the more 
 impressive. "So just, that, but for my knowing Miss Pinch to be an 
 unprotected young person, an orphan, and without friends, I would, as 
 
430 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 I assured Miss Pinch, upon my veracity and personal character, a few 
 minutes ago, I would have severed the connection between us at that 
 moment and from that time." 
 
 "Bless my soul, sir!" cried Tom, rising from his seat; for he was 
 now unable to contain himself any longer ; " don't allow such considera- 
 tions as those to influence you, pray. They don't exist, sir. She is 
 not unprotected. She is ready to depart this instant. Ruth, my dear, 
 get your bonnet on ! " 
 
 " Oh, a pretty family ! " cried the lady. " Oh, he 's her brother ! 
 There 's no doubt about that ! " 
 
 " As little doubt, madam," said Tom, " as that the young lady yonder 
 is the child of your teaching, and not my sister's. Ruth, my dear, get 
 your bonnet on ! " 
 
 " When you say, young man," interposed the brass-and-copper founder, 
 haughtily, " with that impertinence which is natural to you, and which 
 I therefore do not condescend to notice further, that the young lady, my 
 eldest daughter, has been educated by any one but Miss Pinch, you — I 
 needn't proceed. You comprehend me fully. I have no doubt you 
 are used to it." 
 
 " Sir ! " cried Tom, after regarding him in silence for some little 
 time. " If you do not understand what I mean, I will tell you. If 
 you do understand what I mean, I beg you not to repeat that mode of 
 expressing yourself in answer to it. My meaning is, that no man can 
 expect his children to respect what he degrades." 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! " laughed the gentleman. ." Cant ! cant ! The common 
 cant!" 
 
 " The common story, sir!" said Tom ; " the story of a common mind. 
 Your governess cannot win the confidence and respect of your children, 
 forsooth ! Let her begin by winning yours, and see what happens then." 
 
 "Miss Pinch is getting her bonnet on, I trust, my dear ? " said the 
 gentleman. 
 
 " I trust she is," said Tom, forestalling the reply. " I have no doubt 
 she is. In the meantime, I address myself to you, sir. You made your 
 statement to me, sir ; you required to see me for that purpose ; and I 
 have a right to answer it. I am not loud or turbulent," said Tom, 
 which was quite true, " though I can scarcely say as much for you, in 
 your manner of addressing yourself to me. And I wish, on my sister's 
 behalf, to state the simple truth." 
 
 " You may state anything you like, young man," returned the gentle- 
 man, affecting to yawn. " My dear ! Miss Pinch's money." 
 
 " When you tell me," resumed Tom, who was not the less indignant 
 for keeping himself quiet, " that my sister has no innate power of com- 
 manding the respect of your children, I must tell you it is not so ; and 
 that she has. She is as well bred, as well taught, as well qualified by 
 nature to command respect, as any hirer of a governess you know. But 
 when you place her at a disadvantage in reference to every servant in 
 your house, how can you suppose, if you have the gift of common sense, 
 that she is not in a tenfold worse position in reference to your 
 daughters ? " 
 
MARTIN CIIUZZLEWIT. 431 
 
 " Pretty well ! Upon my word," exclaimed the gentleman, " this is 
 pretty well !" 
 
 " It is very ill, sir," said Tom. " It is very bad and mean, and wrong 
 and cruel. Respect ! I believe young people are quick enough to observe 
 and imitate ; and why or how should they respeco whom no one else 
 respects, and everybody slights 1 And very partial they must grow : 
 oh, very partial : to their studies, when they see to what a pass profi- 
 ciency in those same tasks has brought their governess ! Respect ! Put 
 anything the most deserving of respect before your daughters in the 
 light in which you place her, and you will bring it down as low, no 
 matter what it is { " 
 
 " You speak with extreme impertinence, young man," observed the 
 gentleman. 
 
 " I speak without passion, but with extreme indignation and contempt 
 for such a course of treatment, and for all who practise it," said Tom. 
 " Why, how can you, as an honest gentleman, profess displeasure or sur- 
 prise, at your daughter telling my sister she is something beggarly and 
 humble, when you are for ever telling her the same thing yourself in 
 fifty plain, out-speaking ways, though not in words ; and when your very 
 porter and footman make the same delicate announcment to all comers 1 
 As to your suspicion and distrust of her : even of her word : if she is 
 not above their reach, you have no right to employ her." 
 
 " No right ! " cried the brass-and-copper founder. 
 
 " Distinctly not," Tom answered. " If you imagine that the payment 
 of an annual sum of money gives it to you, you immensely exaggerate 
 its power and value. Your money is the least part of your bargain in 
 such a case. You may be punctual in that to half a second on the clock, 
 and yet be Bankrupt. I have nothing more to say," said Tom, much 
 flushed and flustered, now that it was over, " except to crave permission 
 to stand in your garden until my sister is ready." 
 
 Not waiting to obtain it, Tom walked out. 
 
 Before he had well begun to cool, his sister joined him. She was 
 crying ; and Tom could not bear that any one about the house should 
 see her doing that. 
 
 " They will think you are sorry to go," said Tom. " You are not 
 sorry to go ?" 
 
 " No, Tom, no. I have been anxious to go for a very long time." 
 
 " Very well, then ! Don't cry !" said Tom. 
 
 " I am so sorry for ?/oii, dear," sobbed Tom's sister. 
 
 " But you ought to be glad on my account," said Tom. " I shall be 
 twice as happy with you for a companion. Hold up your head. There ! 
 Now we go out as we ought. Not blustering, you know, but firm and 
 confident in ourselves." 
 
 The idea of Tom and his sister blustering, under any circumstances, 
 was a splendid absurdity. But Tom was very far from feeling it to be 
 so, in his excitement ; and passed out at the gate with such severe 
 determination written in his face that the porter hardly knew him again. 
 
 It was not until they had walked some short distance, and Tom found 
 himself getting cooler and more collected, that he was quite restored to 
 
432 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 himself by an inquiry, from his sister, who said in her pleasant little 
 voice : 
 
 " Where are we going, Tom ?" 
 
 "Dear me !" said Tom, stopping, " I don't know." 
 
 " Don't you — don't you live anywhere, dear ? " asked Tom's sister, 
 looking wistfully in his face. 
 
 " No," said Tom. " Not at present. Not exactly. I only arrived 
 this morning. We must have some lodgings." 
 
 He didn't tell her that he had been going to stay with his friend 
 John, and could on no account think of billeting two inmates upon him, 
 of whom one was a young lady ; for he knew that would make her un- 
 comfortable, and would cause her to regard herself as being an incon- 
 venience to him. Neither did he like to leave her anywhere while he 
 called on John and told him of this change in his arrangements ; for 
 he was delicate of seeming to encroach upon the generous and hospitable 
 nature of his friend. Therefore he said again, " We must have some 
 lodgings, of course ;" and said it as stoutly as if he had been a perfect 
 Directory and Guide-Book to all the lodgings in London. 
 
 " Where shall we go and look for 'em ?" said Tom, " What do you 
 think r 
 
 Tom's sister was not much wiser on such a topic than he was. So she 
 squeezed her little purse into his coat-pocket, and folding the little hand 
 with which she did so on the other little hand with which she clasped 
 his arm, said nothing. 
 
 " It ought to be a cheap neighbourhood," said Tom, " and not too far 
 from London. Let me see. Should you think Islington a good place ?" 
 
 " I should think it was an excellent place, Tom." 
 
 " It used to be called Merry Islington, once upon a time," said Tom. 
 Perhaps it 's merry now ; if so, it 's all the better. Eh ?" 
 
 " If it 's not too dear," said Tom's sister. 
 
 " Of course, if it 's not too dear," assented Tom. " Well, where is 
 Islington 1 We can't do better than go there, I should think. Let 's go !" 
 
 Tom's sister would have gone anywhere with him ; so they walked 
 offj arm in arm, as comfortably as possible. Finding presently that 
 Islington was not in that neighbourhood, Tom made inquiries respecting 
 a public conveyance thither : which they soon obtained. As they rode 
 along, they were very full of conversation indeed, Tom relating what had 
 happened to him, and Tom's sister relating what had happened to her, 
 and both finding a great deal more to say than time to say it in : for 
 they had only just begun to talk, in comparison with what they had to 
 tell each other, when they reached their journey's end. 
 
 " Now," said Tom, " we must first look out for some very unpretending 
 streets, and then look out for bills in the windows." 
 
 So they walked oiF again, quite as happily as if they had just stepped 
 out of a snug little house of their own, to look for lodgings on account of 
 somebody else. Tom's simplicity was unabated. Heaven knows ; but 
 now that he had somebody to rely upon him, he was stimulated to 
 rely a little more upon himself, and vras, in his own opinion, quite a 
 desperate fellow. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 433 
 
 After roaming up and down for hours, looking at some scores of 
 lodgings, tliej began to find it rather fatiguing, especially as they saw 
 none which were at all adapted to their pur23ose. At length, however, 
 in a singular little old-fashioned house, up a blind street, they discovered 
 two small bed-rooms and a triangular parlour, which promised to suit 
 them well enough. Their desiring to take possession immediately was 
 a suspicious circumstance, but even this was surmounted by the pay- 
 ment of their first week's rent, and a reference to John Westlock, 
 Escjuire, Furnival's Inn, High Ilolborn. 
 
 Ah ! It was a goodly sight, wdien this important point was settled, to 
 behold Tom and his sister trotting round to the baker's, and the butcher's, 
 and the grocer's, with a kind of dreadful delight in the unaccustomed 
 cares of housekeeping ; taking secret counsel together as they gave their 
 small orders, and distracted by the least suggestion on the part of the 
 shopkeeper ! When they got back to the triangular parlour, and Tom's 
 sister, bustling to and fro, busy about a thousand pleasant nothings, 
 stopped every now and then to give old Tom a kiss, or smile upon him ; 
 Tom rubbed his hands, as if all Islington were his. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon now, though, and high time for Tom to 
 keep his appointment. So, after agreeing with his sister that in con- 
 sideration of not having dined, they would venture on the extravagance 
 of chops for supper at nine, he walked out again to narrate these 
 marvellous occurrences to John. 
 
 " I am c[uite a family man all at once," thought Tom. " If I can only 
 get something to do, how comfortable Ruth and I may be ! Ah, that if ! 
 But it 's of no use to despond. I can but do that when I have tried 
 everything and failed ; and even then it won't serve me much. Upon 
 my word," thought Tom, quickening his pace, " I don't know what John 
 will think has become of me. He '11 beoin to be afraid I have straved 
 into one of those streets where the countrymen are murdered ; and that 
 I have been made meat pies of, or some horrible thing. " 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 TOM PINCH, GOING ASTRAY, FINDS THAT HE IS NOT THE ONLY PERSON 
 IN THAT PREDICAMENT. HE RETALIATES UPON A FALLEN FOE. 
 
 Tom's evil genius did not lead him into the dens of any of those 
 preparers of cannibalic pastry, who are represented in many standard 
 country legends, as doing a lively retail business in the Metropolis ; nor 
 did it mark him out as the prey of ring-droppers, pea and thimble- 
 riggers, duffers, touters, or any of those bloodless sharpers, who are, per- 
 haps, a little better known to the Police. He fell into conversation ^vith 
 no gentleman, who took him into a public-house, where there happened 
 to be another gentleman, w^ho swore he had more money than any gen- 
 tleman, and very soon proved he had more money than one gentleman, 
 by taking his away from him : neither did he fall into any other of the 
 
 F F 
 
434 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 numerous man-traps which are set up, without notice, in the public 
 grounds of this city. But he lost his way. He very soon did that ; 
 and in trying to find it again, he lost it more and more. 
 
 Now Tom, in his guileless distrust of London, thought himself very 
 knowing in coming to the determination that he would not ask to be 
 directed to Furnival's Inn, if he could help it ; unless, indeed, he should 
 happen to find himself near the Mint, or the Bank of England ; in which 
 case, he would step in, and ask a civil question or two, confiding in the 
 perfect respectability of the concern. So on he went, looking up all the 
 streets he came near, and going up half of them ; and thus, by dint of 
 not being true to Goswell Street, and filing ofif into Aldermanbury, and 
 bewildering himself in Barbican, and being constant to the wrong point 
 of the compass in London Wall, and then getting himself crosswise into 
 Thames Street, by an instinct that would have been marvellous if he 
 had had the least desire or reason to go there, he found himself, at last, 
 hard by the Monument. 
 
 The Man in the Monument was quite as mysterious a being to Tom 
 as the Man in the Moon. It immediately occurred to him that the 
 lonely creature who held himself aloof from all mankind in that pillar, 
 like some old hermit, was the very man of whom to ask his way. 
 Cold, he might be ; little sympathy he had, perhaps, with human 
 passion — the column seemed too tall for that ; but if Truth didn't live 
 in the base of the Monument, notwithstanding Pope's couplet about 
 the outside of it^, where in London (Tom thought) was she likely to 
 be found ! 
 
 Coming close below the pillar, it was a great encouragement to Tom 
 to find that the Man in the Monument had simple tastes ; that stony and 
 artificial as his residence was, he still preserved some rustic recollec- 
 tions ; that he liked plants, hung up bird-cages, was not wholly cut off 
 from fresh groundsel, and kept young trees in tubs. The Man in the 
 Monument, himself, was sitting outside the door — his own door : the 
 Monument-door : what a grand idea ! — and was actually yawning, as if 
 there were no Monument to stop his mouth, and give him a perpetual 
 interest in his own existence. 
 
 Tom was advancing towards this remarkable creature, to inquire the 
 way to Furnival's Inn, when two people came to see the Monument. 
 They were a gentleman and a lady ; and the gentleman said, " How 
 much a-piece "? " 
 
 The Man in the Monument replied, " A Tanner." 
 
 It seemed a low expression, compared with the Monument. 
 
 The gentleman put a shilling into his hand, and the Man in the 
 Monument opened a dark little door. When the gentleman and lady had 
 passed out of view, he shut it again, and came slowly back to his chair. 
 
 He sat doAvn and laughed. 
 
 " They don't know what a many steps there is ! " he said. It 's worth 
 twice the money to stop here. Oh, my eye ! " 
 
 The Man in the Monument was a Cynic ; a worldly man ! Tom 
 couldn't ask his way of him. He was prepared to put no confidence in 
 anything he said. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 435 
 
 " My Gracious ! " cried a well-known voice behind Mr. Pinch. " Whj, 
 to be sure it is ! " 
 
 At the same time he was poked in the back by a parasol. Turning 
 round to inquire into this salute, he beheld the eldest daughter of his 
 late patron. 
 
 " Miss Pecksniff !" said Tom. 
 
 " Why, my goodness, Mr. Pinch ! " cried Cherry. " What are you 
 doing here 1 " 
 
 " I have rather wandered from my way," said Tom. " I — " 
 
 " I hope you have run away," said Charity. " It would be quite 
 spirited and proper if you had, when my Papa so far forgets himself." 
 
 " I have left him," returned Tom. " But it was perfectly understood 
 on both sides. It was not done clandestinely." 
 
 " Is he married V asked Cherry, with a spasmodic shake of her chin. 
 
 " No, not yet," said Tom, colouring : " to tell you the truth, I 
 don't think he is likely to be, if— if Miss Graham is the object of his 
 passion." 
 
 " Tcha, Mr. Pinch ! " cried Charity, with sharp impatience, " you 're 
 very easily deceived. You don't know the arts of which such a creature 
 is capable. Oh ! it 's a wicked world." 
 
 " You are not married ^" Tom hinted, to divert the conversation. 
 
 " No — no ! " said Cherry, tracing out one particular paving stone in 
 Monument Yard with the end of her parasol. " I — but really it 's quite 
 impossible to explain. Won't you walk in ?" 
 
 " You live here, then ?" said Tom. 
 
 " Yes, returned Miss Pecksniff, pointing with her parasol to Todgers's : 
 *' I reside with this lady, at present'' 
 
 The great stress on the two last words suggested to Tom that he was 
 expected to say something in reference to them. So he said : 
 
 " Only at present ! Are you going home again, soon ?" 
 
 "No, Mr. Pinch," returned Charity. "No, thank you. No! A 
 mother-in-law who is younger than — I mean to say, who is as nearly as 
 possible about the same age as one's self, would not quite suit my spirit. 
 Not quite !" said Cherry, with a spiteful shiver. 
 
 " I thought from your saying at present" — Tom observed. 
 
 " Really upon my word ! I had no idea you would press me so very 
 closely on the subject, Mr. Pinch," said Charity, blushing, "or I should 
 not have been so foolish as to allude to — Oh really ! — won't you walk in ?" 
 
 Tom mentioned, to excuse himself, that he had an appointment in 
 Furnival's Inn, and that coming from Islington he had taken a few 
 wrong turnings, and arrived at the Monument instead. Miss Pecksniff 
 simpered very much when he asked her if she knew the way to Furnival's 
 Inn, and at length found courage to reply : 
 
 " A gentleman who is a friend of mine, or at least who is not exactly 
 a friend so much as a sort of acquaintance — Oh, upon my word, I hardly 
 know what I say, Mr. Pinch ; you must n't suppose there is any engage- 
 ment between us ; or at least if there is, that it is at all a settled thing 
 as yet — is going to Furnival's Inn immediately, I believe upon a little 
 business, and I am sure he would be very glad to accompany you, so as 
 
 F p2 
 
436 LIFE AND ADVENTUKES OF 
 
 to prevent your going wrong again. You had Letter walk in. You "will 
 very likely find my sister Merry here/' she said, with a curious toss of 
 her head, and anything but an agreeable smile. 
 
 " Then, I think, 1 11 endeavour to find my way alone," said Tom ; 
 " for I fear she would not be very glad to see me. That unfortunate 
 occurrence, in relation to which you and I had some amicable words 
 together, in private, is not likely to have impressed her with any friendly 
 feeling towards me. Though it really was not my fault." 
 
 " She has never heard of that, you may depend," said Cherry, gather- 
 ing up the corners of her mouth, and nodding at Tom. " I am far from 
 sure that she would bear you any mighty ill will for it, if she had." 
 
 "You don't say so?" cried Tom, who was really concerned by this 
 insinuation. 
 
 " I say nothing," said Charity. " If I had not already known what 
 shocking things treachery and deceit are in themselves, Mr. Pinch, I 
 might perhaps have learnt it from the success they meet with — from the 
 success they meet with." Here she smiled as before. "But I don't say 
 anything. On the contrary, I should scorn it. You had better walk in ! " 
 
 There was something hidden here, which piqued Tom's interest and 
 troubled his tender heart. When, in a moment's irresolution he looked 
 at Charity, he could not but observe a struggle in her face between a 
 sense of triumph and a sense of shame ; nor could he but remark how, 
 meeting even his eyes, which she cared so little for, she turned away her 
 own, for all the splenetic defiance in her manner. 
 
 An uneasy thought entered Tom's head ; a shadowy misgiving that 
 the altered relations between himself and Pecksniff, were somehow to 
 involve an altered knowledge on his part of other people, and were to 
 give- him an insight into much of which he had had no previous 
 suspicion. And yet he put no definite construction upon Charity's 
 proceedings. He certainly had no idea that as he had been the audience 
 and spectator of her mortification, she grasped with eager delight at 
 any opportunity of reproaching her sister with his presence in her far 
 deeper misery ; for he knew nothing of it, and only pictured that sister 
 as the same giddy, careless, trivial creature she always had been, with 
 the same slight estimation of himself which she had never been at the 
 least pains to conceal. In short, he had merely a confused impression 
 that Miss Pecksniff was not quite sisterly or kind ; and being curious 
 to set it right, accompanied her, as she desired. 
 
 The house-door being opened, she went in before Tom, requesting 
 him to follow her ; and led the way to the parlour door. 
 
 " Oh, Merry ! " she said, looking in, " I am so glad you have not gone 
 home. Who do you think I have met in the street, and brought to see 
 you ! Mr. Pinch ! There. Now you are surprised, I am sure ! " 
 
 Not more surprised than Tom was, when he looked upon her. Not 
 so much. Not half so much. 
 
 " Mr. Pinch has left Papa, my dear," said Cherry, " and his prospects 
 are quite flourishing. I have promised that Augustus, who is going 
 that way, shall escort him to the place he wants. Augustus, my child, 
 where are you % " 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 437 
 
 With W'liicli Miss Pecksniff screamed out of the parlour, calling on 
 Augustus Moddle to appear ; and left Tom Pinch alone with her. 
 
 If she had always been his kindest friend ; if she had treated him 
 through all his servitude with such consideration as was never yet 
 received by struggling man ; if she had lightened every moment of 
 those many years, and had ever spared and never wounded him ; his 
 honest heart could not have swelled before her with a deeper pity, or a 
 purer freedom from all base remembrance than it did then. 
 
 " My gracious me ! You are really the last person in the world I 
 should have thought of seeing, I am sure ! " 
 
 Tom was sorry to hear her speaking in her old manner. lie had 
 not expected that. Yet he did not feel it a contradiction that he 
 should be sorry to see her so unlike her old self, and sorry at the same 
 time to hear her speaking in her old manner. The two things seemed 
 quite natural. 
 
 " I wonder you find any gratification in coming to see me, I can't 
 think what put it in your head. I never had much in seeing you. 
 There was no love lost between us, Mr. Pinch, at any time, I think." 
 
 Her bonnet lay beside her on the sofa, and she was very busy M'ith 
 the ribbons as she spoke. Much too busy to be conscious of the work 
 her fingers did. 
 
 " We never quarrelled," said Tom. — Tom was right in that, for one 
 person can no more quarrel without an adversary, than one person can 
 play at chess, or fight a duel. " I hoped you would be glad to shake 
 hands with an old friend. Don't let us rake up byegones," said Tom. 
 " If I ever offended you, forgive me." 
 
 She looked at him for a moment ; dropped her bonnet from her 
 hands ; spread them before her altered face ; and burst into tears. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Pinch ! " she said, " although I never used you well, I 
 did believe your nature was forgiving. I did not think you could 
 be cruel." 
 
 She spoke as little like her old self now, for certain, as Tom could 
 possibly have wished. But she seemed to be appealing to him reproach- 
 fully, and he did not understand her. 
 
 " I seldom shewed it — never — I know that. But I had that belief 
 in you, that if I had been asked to name the person in the world least 
 likely to retort upon me, I would have named you, confidently." 
 
 " Would have named me ! " Tom repeated. 
 
 " Yes," she said with energy, " and I have often thought so." 
 
 After a moment's reflection, Tom sat himself upon a chair beside her. 
 
 " Do you believe," said Tom, " oh can you think, that what I said 
 just now, I said with any but the true and plain intention which my 
 words professed ? I mean it, in the spirit and the letter. If I ever 
 offended you, forgive me ; I may have done so, many times. You 
 never injured or offended me. How, then, could I possibly retort, if 
 even I were stern and bad enough to wish to do it ! " 
 
 After a little while she thanked him, through her tears and sobs, and 
 told him she had never been at once so sorry and so comforted, since she 
 left home. Still she wept bitterly ; and it was the greater pain to 
 
438 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Tom to see her weeping, from her standing in especial need, just then, 
 of sympathy and tenderness. 
 
 " Come, come 1 " said Tom, " you used to be as cheerful as the day 
 was long." 
 
 " Ah ! used ! " she cried, in such a tone as rent Tom's heart. 
 
 "And will be again," said Tom. 
 
 " No, never more. No, never, never more. If you should talk with 
 old Mr. Chuzzlewit, at any time," she added looking hurriedly into 
 his face — " I sometimes thought he liked you, but suppressed it — will 
 you [promise me to tell him that you saw me here, and that I said I 
 bore in mind the time we talked together in the churchyard 1 " 
 
 Tom promised that he would. 
 
 " Many times since then, when I have wished I had been carried 
 there before that day, I have recalled his words. I vv^ish that he should 
 know how true they were, although the least acknowledgment to that 
 effect has never passed my lips, and never will." 
 
 Tom promised this, conditionally, too. He did not tell her how 
 improbable it was that he and the old man would ever meet again, 
 because he thought it might disturb her more. 
 
 " If he should ever know this, through your means, dear Mr. Pinch," 
 said Mercy, " tell him that I sent the message, not for myself, but that 
 he might be more forbearing, and more patient, and more trustful to 
 some other person, in some other time of need. Tell him that if he 
 could know how my heart trembled in the balance that day, and what 
 a very little would have turned the scale, his own would bleed with 
 pity for me." 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Tom, " I will." 
 
 " When I appeared to him the most unworthy of his help, I was — I 
 know I was, for I have often, often, thought about it since — the most 
 inclined to yield to what he showed me. Oh ! If he had relented but a 
 little more ; if he had thrown himself in my way for but one other quarter 
 of an hour ; if he had extended his compassion for a vain, unthink- 
 ing miserable girl in but the least degree ; he might, and I believe he 
 would, have saved her ! Tell him that I don't blame him, but am grate- 
 ful for the effort that he made ; but ask him for the love of God, and 
 youth, and in a merciful consideration for the struggle which an ill- 
 advised and unawakened nature makes to hide the strength it thinks 
 its weakness — ask him never never to forget this, when he deals with 
 one again ! " 
 
 Although Tom did not hold the clue to her full meaning, he could 
 guess it pretty nearly. Touched to the quick, he took her hand and 
 said, or meant to say, some words of consolation. She felt and under- 
 stood them, whether they were spoken or no. He was not quite certain 
 afterwards but that she had tried to kneel down at his feet, and bless him. 
 
 He found that he was not alone in the room when she had left it. 
 Mrs. Todgers was there, shaking her head. Tom had never seen Mrs. 
 Todgers, it is needless to say, but he had a perception of her being the 
 lady of the house ; and he saw some genuine compassion in her eyes, 
 that won his good opinion. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 439 
 
 " Ah, sir ! You are an old friend, I see," said Mrs. Todgers. 
 
 " Yes," said Tom. 
 
 " And yet," quoth Mrs. Todgers, shutting the door softly, " she 
 hasn't told you what her troubles are, I 'm certain." 
 
 Tom was struck by these words, for the}'- were quite true. " Indeed," 
 he said, " she has not." 
 
 " And never would," said Mrs. Todgers, " if you saw her daily. She 
 never makes the least complaint to me, or utters a single word of expla- 
 nation or reproach. But I know," said Mrs. Todgers, drawing in her 
 breath, " 1 know ! " 
 
 Tom nodded sorrowfully, " so do I." 
 
 " I fully believe," said Mrs. Todgers, taking her pocket-handkerchief 
 from the flat reticule, " that nobody can tell one half of what that poor 
 young creature has to undergo. But though she comes here, constantly, 
 to ease her poor full heart without his knowing it ; and saying, ' Mrs. 
 Todgers, I am very low to-day ; I think that I shall soon be dead,' sits 
 crying in my room until the fit is past ; I know no more from her. 
 And, I believe," said Mrs. Todgers, putting back her handkerchief 
 again, " that she considers me a good friend too." 
 
 Mrs. Todgers might have said her best friend. Commercial gentlemen 
 and gravy had tried Mrs. Todgers's temper ; the main chance — it was 
 such a very small one in her case, that she might have been excused for 
 looking sharp after it, lest it should entirely vanish from her sight — had 
 taken a firm hold on ]\Irs. Todgers's attention. But in some odd nook 
 of Mrs. Todgers's breast, up a great many steps, and in a corner easy to 
 be overlooked, there was a secret door, with 'Woman' written on the 
 spring, which at a touch from Mercy's hand had flown wide open, and 
 admitted her for shelter. 
 
 When boarding-house accounts are balanced with all other ledgers, and 
 the books of the Recording Angel are made up for ever, perliaps there 
 may be seen an entry to thy credit, lean Mrs. Todgers, which shall 
 make thee beautiful ! 
 
 She was growing beautiful so rapidly in Tom's eyes ; for he saw that 
 she was poor, and that this good had sprung up in her from among the 
 sordid strivings of her life ; that she might have been a very Venus in 
 a minute more, if Miss Pecksnifl* had not entered with her friend. 
 
 " Mr. Thomas Pinch ! " said Charity, performing the ceremony of 
 introduction with evident pride, " Mr. Moddle. Where 's my sister '? " 
 
 " Gone, Miss Pecksnifi"," Mrs. Todgers answered. " She had appointed 
 to be home." 
 
 " Ah ! " sighed Charity, looking at Tom. " Oh, dear me ! " 
 
 " She 's greatly altered since she 's been Anoth — since she 's been 
 married, Mrs. Todgers ! " observed Moddle. 
 
 " My dear Augustus ! " said Miss Pecksnifl", in a low voice, " I verily 
 believe you have said that fifty thousand times, in my hearing. What 
 a Prose you are ! " 
 
 This was succeeded by some trifling love passages, which appeared to 
 originate with, if not to be wholly carried on by. Miss Pecksniff". At 
 any rate, Mr. Moddle was much slower in his responses than is customary 
 
440 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 witli young lovers, and exhibited a lowness of spirits wliicli was quite 
 oppressive. 
 
 He did not improve at all when Tom and he were in the streets, but 
 sighed so dismally that it was dreadful to hear him. As a means of 
 cheering him up, Tom told him that he wished him joy. 
 
 " Joy ! " cried Moddle. " Ha, ha ! " 
 
 " What an extraordinary young man ! " thought Tom. 
 
 " The Scorner has not set his seal upon you. You care what becomes 
 of you?" said Moddle. 
 
 Tom admitted that it was a subject in which he certainly felt some 
 interest. 
 
 '•' I don't," said Mr. Moddle. " The Elements may have me when they 
 please. I 'm ready." 
 
 Tom inferred from these, and other expressions of the same nature, 
 that he was jealous. Therefore he allowed him to take his own course; 
 which was such a gloomy one, that he felt a load removed from his mind 
 when they parted company at the gate of Furnival's Inn. 
 
 It was now a couple of hours past John Westlock's dinner-time ; and 
 he was walking up and down the room, quite anxious for Tom's safety. 
 The table w^as spread ; the wine was carefully decanted ; and the dinner 
 smelt delicious. 
 
 " Why, Tom, old boy, where on earth have you been ? Your box is 
 here. Get your boots off instantly, and sit down ! " 
 
 " I am sorry to say I can't stay, John," replied Tom Pinch, who was 
 breathless with the haste he had made in running up the stairs. 
 
 " Can't stay ! " 
 
 " If you '11 go on with your dinner," said Tom, " I '11 tell you my 
 reason the Mobile. I mustn't eat myself, or I shall have no appetite for 
 the chops." 
 
 " There are no chops here, my good fellow." 
 
 " No. But there are, at Islington," said Tom. 
 
 John Westlock was perfectly confounded by this reply, and vowed he 
 would not touch a morsel until Tom had explained himself fully. So 
 Tom sat down, and told him all ; to which he listened with the greatest 
 interest. 
 
 He knew Tom too well, and respected his delicacy too much, to ask 
 him why he had taken these measures without communicating vrith him 
 first. He quite concurred in the expediency of Tom's immediately 
 returning to his sister, as he knew so little of the place in which he had 
 left her ; and good-humouredly proposed to ride back with him in a cab, 
 in which he might convey his box. Tom's proposition that he should 
 sup with them that night, he flatly rejected, but made an appointment 
 with him for the morrow, " And now Tom," he saia, as they rode along, 
 " I have a question to ask you, to which I expect a manly and straight- 
 forward answer. Do you want any money ? I am pretty sure you do." 
 
 " I don't indeed," said Tom. 
 
 " I believe you are deceiving me." 
 
 " No. With many thanks to you, I am quite in earnest," Tom replied. 
 " My sister has some money, and so have I. If I had nothing else, John, 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 441 
 
 I have a five-pound note, whicli that good creature, Mrs. Lupin, of the 
 Dragon, handed up to me outside the coach, in a letter, begging me to 
 borrow it ; and then drove off as hard as she could go." 
 
 "And a blessing on every dimple in her handsome face, say I 1" cried 
 John, " though why you should give her the preference over me, I don't 
 know. Never mind. I bide my time, Tom." 
 
 " And I hope you '11 continue to bide it," returned Tom gaily. " For 
 I owe you more already, in a hundred other ways, than I can ever hope 
 to pay." 
 
 They parted at the door of Tom's new residence. John Westlock, 
 sitting in the cab, and, catching a glimpse of a blooming little busy 
 creature darting out to kiss Tom and to help him with his box, would 
 not have had the least objection to change places with him. 
 
 Well ! she was a cheerful little thing ; and had a quaint, bright 
 quietness about her, that was infinitely pleasant. Surely she was the 
 best sauce for chops ever invented. The potatoes seemed to take a 
 pleasure in sending up their grateful steam before her ; the froth upon 
 the pint of porter pouted to attract her notice. But it was all in vain. 
 She saw nothina* but Tom. Tom was the first and last thinsr in the 
 world. 
 
 As she sat opposite to Tom at supper, fingering one of Tom's pet 
 tunes upon the table cloth, and smiling in his face, he had never been 
 so happy in his life. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 SECRET SERVICE. 
 
 In walking from the City with his sentimental friend, Tom Pinch 
 had looked into the face, and brushed against the threadbare sleeve, of 
 Mr. Nadgett, man of mystery to the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested 
 Loan and Life Insurance Company. Mr. Nadgett naturally passed 
 away from Tom's remembrance, as he passed out of his view j for he 
 didn't know him, and had never heard his name. 
 
 As there are a vast number of people in the huge metropolis of Eng- 
 land who rise up every morning, not knowing where their heads will 
 rest at night, so there are a multitude who shooting arrows over houses 
 as their daily business, never know on vrhom they fall. Mr. Nadgett 
 might have passed Tom Pinch ten thousand times ; might even have 
 been quite familiar with his face, his name, pursuits, and character ; yet 
 never once have dreamed that Tom had any interest in any act or 
 mystery of his. Tom might have done the like by him, of course. But 
 the same private man out of all the men alive, was in the mind of each 
 at the same moment ; was prominently connected, though in a different 
 manner, with the day's adventures of both ; and formed, when they 
 passed each other in the street, the one absorbing topic of their 
 thougrhts. 
 
442 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Why Tom tiad Jonas Chuzzlewit in his mind requires no explana- 
 tion. Why Mr. Nadgett should have had Jonas Chuzzlewit in his, is 
 quite another thing. 
 
 But somehow or other that amiable and worthy orphan had become 
 a part of the mystery of Mr. Xadgett's existence. Mr. Nadgett took an 
 interest in his lightest proceedings ; and it never flagged or wavered. 
 He watched him in and out of the Insurance Office, where he was now 
 formally installed as a Director ; he dogged his footsteps in the streets ; 
 he stood listening when he talked ; he sat in coflee-rooms entering his 
 name in the great pocket-book, over and over again ; he wrote letters 
 to himself about him constantly ; and when he found them in his pocket 
 put them in the fire, with such distrust and caution that he would bend 
 down to watch the crumpled tinder while it floated upward, as if his 
 mind misgave him, that the mystery it had contained might come out 
 at the chimney-pot. 
 
 And yet all this was quite a secret. Mr. Nadgett kept it to himself, 
 and kept it close. Jonas had no more idea that Mr. Nadgett's eyes 
 were fixed on him, than he had that he was living under the daily 
 inspection and report of a whole order of Jesuits. Indeed Mr. Nadgett's 
 eyes were seldom fixed on any other objects than the ground, the clock, 
 or the fire ; but every button on his coat might have been an eye : he 
 saw so much. 
 
 The secret manner of the man disarmed suspicion in this wise ; sug- 
 gesting, not that he was watching any one, but that he thought some 
 other man was watching him. He went about so stealthily, and kept 
 himself so wrapped up in himself, that the whole object of his life 
 appeared to be, to avoid notice, and preserve his own mystery. Jonas 
 sometimes saw him in the street, hovering in the outer office, waiting at 
 the door for the man who never came, or slinking ofl" with his immoveable 
 face and drooping head, and the one beaver glove dangling before him : 
 but he would as soon have thought of the cross upon the top of St, Paul's 
 Cathedral taking note of what he did, or slowly winding a great net 
 about his feet, as of Nadgett's being engaged in such an occupation. 
 
 Mr. Nadgett made a mysterious change about this time in his 
 mysterious life : for whereas he had, until now, been first seen every 
 morning coming down Cornhill, so exactly like the Nadgett of the day 
 before as to occasion a popular belief that he never went to bed or took 
 his clothes off", he was now first seen in Holborn, coming out of 
 Kingsgate-street j and it was soon discovered that he actually went every 
 morning to a barber's shop in that street to get shaved ; and that the 
 barber's name was Sweedlepipe. He seemed to make appointments with 
 the man who never came, to meet him at this barber's ; for he would 
 frequently take long spells of waiting in the shop, and would ask for pen 
 and ink, and pull out his pocket-book, and be very busy over it for an 
 hour at a time. Mrs. Gamp and Mr. Sweedlepipe had many deep dis- 
 coursings on the subject of this mysterious customer ; but they usually 
 agreed that he had speculated too much and was keeping out of the way. 
 
 He must have appointed the man who never kept his word, to meet 
 him at another new place too ; for one day he was found, for the first 
 
MARTIN CnUZZLEWIT. 443 
 
 time, by the waiter at the Mourning Coach-IIorse, the House-of-call for 
 Undertakers, down in the City there, making figures with a pipe-stem 
 in the sawdust of a clean spittoon ; and declined to call for anything, on 
 the ground of expecting a gentleman presently. As the gentleman was 
 not honourable enough to keep his engagement, he came again next day, 
 with his pocket-book in such a state of distention that he was regarded 
 in the bar as a man of large property. After that, he repeated his visits 
 every day, and had so much writing to do, that he made nothing of 
 emptying a capacious leaden inkstand in two sittings. Although he 
 never talked much, still by being there among the regular customers, he 
 made their acquaintance ; and in course of time became quite intimate 
 with Mr. Tacker, Mr. Mould's foreman ; and even with Mr. Mould him- 
 self, who openly said he was a long-headed man, a dry one, a salt fish, a 
 deep file, a rasper : and made him the subject of many other flattering- 
 encomiums. 
 
 At the same time, too, he told the people at the Insurance Ofhce, in 
 his own mysterious way, that there was something wrong (secretly 
 wrong, of course) in his liver, and that he feared he must put himself 
 under the doctor's hands. He was delivered over to Jobling upon this 
 representation ; and though Jobling could not find out where his liver 
 was wrong, wrong Mr. Nadgett said it was ; observing, that it was his 
 own liver, and he hoped he ought to know. Accordingly, he became 
 Mr. Jobling's patient ; and detailing his symptoms in his slow and secret 
 way, was in and out of that gentleman's room a dozen times a-day. 
 
 As he pursued all these occupations at once; and all steadily; and 
 all secretly; and never slackened in his watchfulness of everything that 
 Mr. Jonas said and did, and left unsaid and undone : it is not improbable 
 that they were, secretly, essential parts of some great secret scheme which 
 Mr. Nadgett had on foot. 
 
 It was on the morning of this very day on which so much had 
 happened to Tom Pinch, that Nadgett suddenly appeared before 
 Mr. Montague's house in Pall Mall — he always made his appearance as 
 if he had that moment come up a trap — when the clocks were striking- 
 nine. He rang the bell in a covert under-handed way, as though it were 
 a treasonable act ; and passed in at the door, the moment it was opened 
 wide enough to receive his body. That done, he shut it immediately, 
 with his own hands. 
 
 Mr. Bailey, taking up his name without delay, returned with a request 
 that he would follow him into his master's chamber. The chairman of 
 the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Insurance Board was 
 dressing, and received him as a business person who was often backwards 
 and forwards, and was received at all times for his business' sake. 
 
 V Well, Mr. Nadgett ! " 
 
 Mr. Nadgett put his hat upon the ground and coughed. The boy 
 having withdrawn and shut the door, he went to it softly, examined the 
 handle, and returned to within a pace or two of the chair in which Mr. 
 Montague sat. 
 
 " Any news Mr. Nadgett?" 
 
 " I think we have some news at last, Sir." 
 
444 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " I am happy to hear it. I began to fear you were off the scent, 
 Mr. Nadgett." 
 
 " No; Sir. It grows cold occasionally. It will sometimes. We can't 
 help that." 
 
 " You are Truth itself, Mr. Nadgett. Do you report a great success ?" 
 
 " That depends upon your judgment and construction of it," was his 
 a,nswer, as he put on his spectacles. 
 
 " What do you think of it yourself. Have you pleased yourself? " 
 
 Mr. Nadgett rubbed his hands slowly, stroked his chin, looked round 
 the room, and said, " Yes, yes, I think it 's a good case. I am disposed 
 to think it 's a good case. Will you go into it at once 1" 
 
 " By all means." 
 
 Mr. Nadgett picked out a certain chair from among the rest, and hav- 
 ing planted it in a particular spot, as carefully as if he had been going to 
 vault over it, placed another chair in front of it : leaving room for his 
 own legs between them. He then sat down in chair number two, and 
 laid his pocket-book, very carefully, on chair number one. He then 
 untied the pocket-book, and hung the string over the back of chair 
 number one. He then drew both the chairs a little nearer Mr. Mon- 
 tague, and opening the pocket-book spread out its contents. Finally, he 
 selected a certain memorandum from the rest, and held it out to his 
 employer, who, during the whole of these preliminary ceremonies, had 
 been making violent efforts to conceal his impatience. 
 
 " I wish you wouldn't be so fond of making notes, my excellent 
 friend," said Tigg Montague with a ghastly smile. " I wish you would 
 consent to give me their purport by word of mouth." 
 
 " I don't like word of mouth," said Mr. Nadgett, gravely. "We never 
 know who 's listening." 
 
 Mr. Montague was going to retort, when Nadgett handed him the 
 paper, and said, with quiet exultation in his tone, " We '11 begin at the 
 beginning, and take that one first, if you please, sir." 
 
 The chairman cast his eyes upon it, coldly, and with a smile which 
 did not render any great homage to the slow and methodical habits of 
 his spy. But he had not read half-a-dozen lines when the expression 
 of his face began to change, and before he had finished the perusal of 
 the paper, it was full of grave and serious attention. 
 
 "Number Two," said Mr. Nadgett, handing him another, and receiving 
 back the first. " Head Number Two, sir, if you please. There is more 
 interest as you go on." 
 
 Tigg Montague leaned backward in his chair, and cast upon his 
 emissary such a look of vacant wonder (not unmingled with alarm), 
 that Mr. Nadgett considered it necessary to repeat the request he had 
 already twice preferred : with the view of recalling his attention to the 
 point in hand. Profiting by the hint, Mr. Montague went on With 
 Number Two, and afterwards with Numbers Three, and Four, and Five, 
 and so on. 
 
 These documents were all in Mr. Nadgett's writing, and were appa- 
 rently a series of memoranda, jotted down from time to time upon the 
 backs of old letters, or any scrap of paper that came first to hand. 
 
MARTIN CIIUZZLEWIT. 445 
 
 Loose straggling scrawls ihej were, and of very uninviting exterior ; 
 but they had weighty purpose in them, if the chairman's face were any 
 index to the character of their contents. 
 
 The progress of Mr. Padgett's secret satisfaction arising out of the 
 effect they made, kept pace with the emotions of the reader. At first, 
 Mr. Nadgett sat with his spectacles low down upon his nose, looking 
 over them at his employer, and nervously rubbing his hands. After a 
 little while, he changed his posture in his chair for one of greater ease, 
 and leisurely perused the next document he held ready, as if an occa- 
 sional glance at his employer's face were now enough, and all occasion for 
 anxiety or doubt were gone. And finally he rose and looked out of the 
 window, where he stood, with a triumphant air, until Tigg Montague 
 had finished. 
 
 " And tliis is tlie last, Mr. Nadgett ! " said that gentleman, drawing 
 a long breath. 
 
 " That, Sir, is the last." 
 
 " You are a wonderful man, Mr. Nadgett ! " 
 
 " I think it is a pretty good case," he returned, as he gathered up his 
 papers. " It cost some trouble. Sir." 
 
 " The trouble shall be well rewarded, Mr, Nadgett." Nadgett bowed. 
 '• There is a deeper impression of Somebody's Hoof here, than I had 
 expected, Mr. Nadgett. I may congratulate myself upon your being- 
 such a good hand at a secret." 
 
 " Oh ! nothing has an interest to me that 's not a secret," replied 
 Nadgett, as he tied the string about his pocket-book, and put it up. 
 " It almost takes away any pleasure I may have had in this inquiry even 
 to make it known to you." 
 
 " A most invaluable constitution," Tigg retorted. " A great gift for 
 a gentleman employed as you are, Mr. Nadgett. Much better than dis- 
 cretion : though you possess that quality also in an eminent degree, 
 I think I heard a double knock. Will you put your head out of 
 window, and tell me whether there is anybody at the door 1 " 
 
 Mr. Nadgett softly raised the sash, and peered out from the very corner, 
 as a man might who was looking^ down into a street from whence a brisk 
 discharge of musketry might be expected at any moment. Drawing in his 
 head with equal caution, he observed, not altering his voice or manner : 
 
 " Mr. Jonas Chuzzlewit ! " 
 
 " I thought so," Tigg retorted. 
 
 "Shall Igor' 
 
 " 1 think you had better. Stay though ! No ! rcinain here, Mr. 
 Nadgett, if you please." 
 
 It was remarkable how pale and flurried he had become in an instant. 
 There was nothing to account for it. His eye had fallen on his razors : 
 but what of them ! 
 
 Mr. Chuzzlewit was announced. 
 
 " Show him up directly, Nadgett ! Don't you leave us alone together. 
 Mind you don't, now ! By the Lord ! " he added in a whisper to him- 
 self : " We don't know what may happen," 
 
 Saying this, he hurriedly took up a couple of hair-brushes, and began 
 to exercise them on his own head, as if his toilet had not been interrupted. 
 
446 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Mr. Nadgett withdrew to the stove in which there was a small fire for 
 the convenience of heating curling-irons ; and taking advantage of so 
 favourable an opportunity for drying his pocket-handkerchief, produced 
 it without loss of time. There he stood, during the whole interview, 
 holding it before the bars, and sometimes, but not often, glancing over 
 his shoulder. 
 
 " My dear Chuzzlewit ! " cried Montague, as Jonas entered : " you 
 rise with the lark. Though you go to bed with the nightingale, you 
 rise with the lark. You have superhuman energy, my dear Chuz- 
 zlewit ! " 
 
 " Ecod ! " said Jonas, with an air of languor and ill-humour, as he 
 took a chair, " I should be very glad not to get up with the lark, if I 
 could help it. But I am a light sleeper ; and it 's better to be up, than 
 lying awake, counting the dismal old church-clocks, in bed." 
 
 " A light sleeper ! " cried his sriend. " Now, what is a light sleeper ? 
 I often hear the expression, but upon my life I have not the least concep- 
 tion what a light sleeper is." 
 
 " Hallo ! " said Jonas, " Who 's that ? Oh, old what 's-his-name : 
 looking (as usual) as if he wanted to skulk up the chimney." 
 
 " Ha, ha ! I have no doubt he does." 
 
 " Well ! He 's not wanted here, I suppose. He may go, mayn't he? " 
 
 " Oh, let him stay, let him stay ! " said Tigg. " He 's a mere piece 
 of furniture. He has been making his report, and is waiting for further 
 orders. He has been told," said Tigg, raising his voice, " not to lose 
 sight of certain friends of ours, or to think that he has done with them 
 by any means. He understands his business." 
 
 " He need," replied Jonas : " for of all the precious old dummies in 
 appearance that ever I saw, he 's about the worst. He 's afraid of me, 
 I think." 
 
 " It 's my belief," said Tigg, " that you are Poison to him. Nadgett ! 
 give me that towel ! " 
 
 He had as little occasion for a towel as Jonas had for a start. But 
 Kadgett brought it quickly ; and, having lingered for a moment, fell 
 back upon his old post by the fire. 
 
 " You see, my dear fellow," resumed Tigg, " you are too what 's 
 
 the matter with your lips 1 How white they are ! " 
 
 " I took some vinegar just now," said Jonas. " I had oysters for my 
 breakfast. Where are they white 1" he added, muttering an oath, and 
 rubbing them upon his handkerchief " I don't believe they are white." 
 
 " Now I look again, they are not," replied his friend. " They are 
 coming right again." 
 
 " Say what you were going to say," cried Jonas, angrily, " and let my 
 face be ! As long as I can shew my teeth when I want to (and I can 
 do that pretty well), the colour of my lips is not material." 
 
 " Quite true," said Tigg ! " I was only going to say that you are 
 too quick and active for our friend. He is too shy to cope with such a 
 man as you, but does his duty well. Oh very well ! But what is a 
 light sleeper ?" 
 
 " Hang a light sleeper !" exclaimed Jonas, pettishly. 
 
 " No, no," interrupted Tigg. " No. We '11 not do that." 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 447 
 
 " A light sleeper an't a heavy one/' said Jonas in his sulky way : 
 ^' don't sleep much, and don't sleep well, and don't sleep sound." 
 
 " And dreams," said Tigg, " and cries out in an ugly manner ; and 
 when the candle burns down in the night, is in an agony ; and all that 
 sort of thing. I see !" 
 
 They were silent for a little time. Then Jonas spoke : 
 
 " Now we 've done with child's talk, I want to have a word with you. 
 I want to have a word with you before we meet up yonder to-day. I 
 am not satisfied with the state of affairs." 
 
 " Not satisfied ! " cried Tigg. " The money comes in well." 
 
 " The money comes in well enough," retorted Jonas : " but it don't 
 come out well enough. It can't be got at, easily enough. I haven't 
 sufficient power ; it 's all in your hands. Ecod ! what with one of your 
 bye-laws, and another of your bye-laws, and your votes in this capacity, 
 and your votes in that capacity, and your official rights, and your indi- 
 vidual rights, and other people's rights who are only you again, there are 
 no rights left for me. Everybody else's rights are my wrongs. What 's 
 the use of my having a voice if it 's always drowned 1 I might as well be 
 dumb, and it would be much less aggravating. I 'm not agoing to stand 
 that, you know." 
 
 " No ?" said Tigg in an insinuating tone. 
 
 " No ! " returned Jonas, " I 'ra not indeed. I '11 play Old Gooseberry 
 with the office, and make you glad to buy me out at a good high figure, 
 if you try any of your tricks with me." 
 
 " I give you my honor ^" Montague began. 
 
 " Oh ! confound your honor," interrupted Jonas, who became more 
 coarse and quarrelsome as the other remonstrated, which may have been 
 a part of Mr. Montague's intention : " I want a little more control over 
 the money. You may have all the honor, if you like ; I '11 never bring 
 you to book for that. But I 'm not agoing to stand it, as it is now. If 
 you should take it into your honorable head to go abroad with the 
 bank, I don't see much to prevent you. Well ! That won't do. I 've 
 had some very good dinners here, but they 'd come too dear on such 
 terms : and therefore, that won't do," 
 
 " I am unfortunate to find you in this humour," said Tigg, with a 
 remarkable kind of smile : "for I was going to propose to you — for 
 your own advantage ; solely for your own advantage — that you should 
 venture a little more with us." 
 
 " Was you, by G — V said Jonas, with a short laugh. 
 
 " Yes. And to suggest," pursued Montague, " that surely you have 
 friends ; indeed, I know you have ; who would answer our purpose 
 admirably, and whom we should be delighted to receive." 
 
 " How kind of you ! You 'd be delighted to receive *em, would 
 you ]" said Jonas, bantering. 
 
 " I give 'you my sacred honor, quite transported. As your friends, 
 observe ! " 
 
 " Exactly," said Jonas : " as my friends, of course. You '11 be very 
 much delighted when you get 'em, I have no doubt. And it '11 be all 
 to my advantage, won't it ? " 
 
 " It will be very much to your advantage," answered Montague, 
 
448 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 poising a briisli in each hand, and looking steadily upon him. " It 
 will be very much to your advantage, I assure you." 
 
 " And you can tell me how," said Jonas, '' can't you 1 " 
 
 " Shall I tell you how ? " returned the other. 
 
 " I think you had better," said Jonas. " Strange things have been 
 done in the Insurance way before now, by strange sorts of men, and 
 I mean to take care of myself" 
 
 " Chuzzlewit ! " replied Montague, leaning forward, with his arms 
 upon his knees, and looking full into his face. " Strange things have 
 been done, and are done every day ; not only in our way, but in a 
 variety of other waj'^s ; and no one suspects them. But ours, as you 
 say, my good friend, is a strange way ; and we strangely happen, some- 
 times, to come into the knowledge of very strange events." 
 
 He beckoned to Jonas to bring his chair nearer ; and looking slightly 
 round, as if to remind him of the presence of Nadgett, whispered in his ear. 
 
 From red to white ; from white to red again ; from red to yellow ; 
 then to a cold, dull, awful, sweat-bedabbled blue. In that short whis- 
 per, all these changes fell upon the face of Jonas Chuzzlewit ; and when 
 at last he laid his hand upon the whisperer's mouth, appalled, lest any 
 syllable of what he said should reach the ears of the third person 
 present, it was as bloodless, and as heavy as the hand of Death. 
 
 He drew his chair away, and sat a spectacle of terror, misery and 
 rage. He was afraid to speak, or look, or move, or sit still. Abject, 
 crouching, and miserable, he was a greater degradation to the form he 
 bore, than if he had been a loathsome wound from head to heel. 
 
 His companion leisurely resumed his dressing, and completed it, 
 glancing sometimes with a smile at the transformation he had effected, 
 but never speaking once. 
 
 " You 11 not object," he said, when he was quite equipped, " to ven- 
 ture further with us, Chuzzlewit, my friend ? " 
 
 His pale lips faintly stammered out a " No." 
 
 " Well said ! That 's like yourself. Do you know, I was thinking 
 yesterday thfit your father-in-law, relying on your advice as a man of 
 great saga-city in money matters, as no doubt you are, would join us, if 
 the thing were well presented to him. He has money ? " 
 
 " Yes, he has money." 
 
 " Shall I leave I\Ir. Pecksniff to you ? Will you undertake for 
 Mr. Pecksniff?" 
 
 " 1 11 try. 1 11 do my best." 
 
 " A thousand thanks," replied the other, clapping him upon the 
 shoulder. " Shall we walk down stairs ? Mr. Nadgett ! Follow us, if 
 you please." 
 
 They went down in that order. Whatever Jonas felt in reference to 
 Montague ; whatever sense he had of being caged, and barred, and 
 trapped, and having fallen down into a pit of deepest ruin ; whatever 
 thoughts came crowding on his mind even at that early time, of one 
 terrible chance of escape, of one red glimmer in a sky of blackness ; he 
 no more thought that the slinking figure half a dozen stairs behind 
 him was his pursuing Fate, than that the other figure at his side was 
 his Good Angel. 
 
■tyVa^)^!a^^^^^/^.6J, aJ /.^^H/^, a^z a/??t^?£^^A^y!!(r^ oi^ynz-j^^A- 
 
I 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 449 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 CONTAINING SOME FURTHER PARTICULARS OF THE DOMESTIC ECONOMY 
 OF THE PINCHES ; WITH STRANGE NEWS FROM THE CITY, NARROWLY 
 CONCERNING TOM. 
 
 Pleasant little Ruth ! Cheerful, tidy, bustlin<^, quiet little Rutli I 
 No doirs-house ever yielded greater delight to its young mistress, than 
 little Ruth derived from her glorious dominion over the triangular 
 parlour and the two small bed-rooms. 
 
 To be Tom's housekeeper. What dignity ! Housekeeping, upon the 
 commonest terms, associated itself with elevated responsibilities of all sorts 
 and kinds ; but housekeeping for Tom, implied the utmost complication 
 of grave trusts and mighty charges. Well might she take the keys out 
 of the little chiffonnier which held the tea and sugar ; and out of the tAvo 
 little damp cupboards down by the fire-place, where the very black 
 beetles got mouldy, and had the shine taken out of their backs by envious 
 mildew ; and jingle them upon a ring before Tom's eyes when he came 
 down to breakfast ! Well might she, laughing musically, put them up 
 in that blessed little pocket of her s with a merry pride ! For it was 
 such a grand novelty to be mistress of anything, that if she had Ifeen the 
 most relentless and despotic of all little housekeepers, she might have 
 pleaded just that much for her excuse, and have been honourably 
 acquitted. 
 
 So far from being despotic, however, there was a coyness about her 
 very way of pouring out the tea, which Tom quite revelled in. And 
 when she asked him what he would like to have for dinner, and faltered 
 out "chops" as a reasonably good suggestion after their last night's 
 successful supper, Tom grew quite facetious and rallied her desperately. 
 
 " I don't know Tom," said his sister, blushing, " I am not quite con- 
 fident, but I think I could make a beef-steak pudding, if I tried, Tom." 
 
 " In the whole catalogue of cookery, there is notliing I should like 
 so much as a beef-steak pudding ! " cried Tom ; slapping his leg to give 
 the greater force to this reply. 
 
 " Yes, dear, that 's excellent ! But if it should happen not to come 
 quite right the first time," his sister faltered ; " if it should happen 
 not to be a pudding exactly, but should turn out a stew, or a soup, or 
 something of that sort, you '11 not be vexed Tom, will you ? " 
 
 The serious way in which she looked at Tom ; the way in which Tom 
 looked at her ; and the way in which she gradually broke into a merry 
 laugh at her own expense ; would have enchanted you. 
 
 " Why," said Tom, " this is capital. It gives us a new, and quite 
 an uncommon interest in the dinner. We put into a lottery for a beef- 
 steak pudding, and it is impossible to say what we may get. We may 
 make some wonderful discovery, perhaps, and produce such a dish as 
 never was known before." 
 
 " I shall not be at all surprised if we do, Tom," returned his sister, 
 still laughing merrily, " or if it should prove to be such a dish as we 
 
 G G 
 
450 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 shall not feel very anxious to produce again ; but the meat must come 
 out of the saucepan at last, somehow or other, you know. We can't 
 cook it into nothing at all ; that 's a great comfort. So if you like to 
 venture, /will." 
 
 "I have not the least doubt," rejoined Tom, "that it will come out 
 an excellent pudding ; or at all events, I am sure that I shall think it 
 so. There is naturally something so handy and brisk about you, Ruth, 
 that if you said you could make a bowl of faultless turtle soup, I should 
 believe you." 
 
 And Tom was right. She was precisely that sort of person. Nobody 
 ought to have been able to resist her coaxing manner ; and nobody had 
 any business to try. Yet she never seemed to know it was her manner 
 at all. That was the best of it. 
 
 Well ! she washed up the breakfast cups, chatting away the whole 
 time, and telling Tom all sorts of anecdotes about the brass and copper 
 founder ; put everything in its place ; made the room as neat as herself ; 
 — you must not suppose its shape was half as neat as her's though, or 
 anything like it ; and brushed Tom's old hat round and round and 
 round again, until it was as sleek as Mr. Pecksniff. Then she discovered, 
 all in a moment, that Tom's shirt-collar was frayed at the edge ; and 
 flying up stairs for a needle and thread, came flying down again with 
 her thimble on, and set it right with wonderful expertness ; never once 
 sticking the needle into his face, although she was humming his pet 
 tune from first to last, and beating time with the fingers of her left 
 hand upon his neckcloth. She had no sooner done this, than off she 
 was again ; and there she stood once more, as brisk and busy as a bee, 
 tying that compact little chin of her's into an equally compact little 
 bonnet : intent on bustling out to the butcher's, without a minute's loss 
 of time ; and inviting Tom to come and see the steak cut with his own 
 eyes. As to Tom, he was ready to go anywhere : so off they trotted, 
 arm-in-arm, as nimbly as you please : saying to each other what a 
 quiet street it was to lodge in, and how very cheap, and what an airy 
 situation. 
 
 To see the butcher slap the steak, before he laid it on the block, and 
 gave his knife a sharpening, was to forget breakfast instantly. It was 
 agreeable, too — it really was — to see him cut it off, so smooth and juicy. 
 There was nothing savage in the act, although the knife was large and 
 keen ; it was a piece of art, high art ; there was delicacy of touch, clear- 
 ness of tone, skilful handling of the subject, fine shading. It was the 
 triumph of mind over matter ; quite. 
 
 Perhaps the greenest cabbage-leaf ever grown in a garden was wrapped 
 about this steak, before it was delivered over to Tom. But the butcher 
 had a sentiment for his business, and knew how to refine upon it. When 
 he saw Tom putting the cabbage-leaf into his pocket awkwardly, he 
 begged to be allowed to do it for him ; " for meat," he said, with some 
 emotion, " must be humoured, not drove." 
 
 Back they went to the lodgings again, after they had bought some 
 eggs, and flour, and such small matters ; and Tom sat gravely down to 
 write, at one end of the parlour table, while Ruth prepared to make the 
 pudding, at the other end : for there was nobody in the house but an 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 451 
 
 old woman (tlie landlord being a mysterious sort of man, who went out 
 early in the morning, and was scarcely ever seen) ; and, saving in mere 
 household drudgery, they waited on themselves. 
 
 "What are you writing, Tom V inquired his sister, laying her hand 
 upon his shoulder. 
 
 " Why, you see, my dear," said Tom, leaning back in his chair, and 
 looking up in her face, " I am very anxious, of course, to obtain some 
 suitable employment ; and, before Mr. Westlock comes this afternoon, I 
 think I may as well prepare a little description of myself and my 
 qualifications ; such as he could shew to any friend of his." 
 
 "You had better do the same for me, Tom, also," said his sister, 
 casting down her eyes. " I should dearly like to keep house for you, and 
 take care of you, always, Tom ; but we are not rich enough for that." 
 
 "We are not rich," returned Tom, "certainly; and we may be much 
 poorer. But we will not part, if we can help it. No, no : we will make 
 lip our minds, lluth, that, unless we are so very unfortunate as to render 
 me quite sure that you would be better off away from me than with me, 
 we will battle it out together. I am certain we shall be happier if we 
 can battle it out together. Don't you think we shall ? " 
 "Think, Tom!" 
 
 " Oh, tut, tut ! " interposed Tom, tenderly. " You must n't cry." 
 " No, no ; I won't, Tom. But you can't afford it, dear. You can't, 
 indeed." 
 
 " We don't know that," said Tom. " How are we to know that yet 
 awhile, and without trying? Lord bless my soul ! " ; Tom's energy became 
 quite grand ; " There is no knowing v/hat may happen, if we try hard. 
 And I am sure we can live contentedly upon a very little — if we can 
 only get it." 
 
 " Yes : that I am sure we can, Tom." 
 
 " Why, then," said Tom, " we must try for it. My friend, John 
 AVestlock, is a capital fellow, and very shrewd and intelligent. I '11 take 
 his advice. We '11 talk it over with him — both of us together. You '11 
 like John very much, when you come to know him, I am certain. Don't 
 cry, don't cry. You make a beef-steak pudding, indeed ! " said Tom, 
 giving her a gentle push. " Why, you have n't boldness enough for a 
 dumpling !" 
 
 " You 2cill call it a pudding, Tom. Mind ! I told you not ! " 
 " I may as well call it that, 'till it proves to be something else," said 
 Tom. " Oh, you are going to work in earnest, are you 1 " 
 
 Aye, aye ! That she was. And in such pleasant earnest, moreover, 
 that Tom's attention wandered from his writing, every moment. First, 
 she tripped down stairs into the kitchen for the flour, then for the pie- 
 board, then for the eggs, then for the butter, then for a jug of water, 
 then for the rolling-pin, then for a pudding-basin, then for the pepper, 
 then for the salt : making a separate journey for everything, and laugh- 
 ing every time she started off afresh. When all the materials were 
 collected, she was horrified to find she had no apron on, and so ran 
 2(p stairs, by way of variety, to fetch it. She didn't put it on up stairs, 
 but came dancing down with it in her hand ; and being one of those 
 little women to whom an apron is a most becoming little vanity, it took 
 
 GG 2 
 
45^ LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 an immense time to arrange ; having to be carefully smoothed clown 
 beneath — Oh, heaven, what a wicked little stomacher ! — and to be 
 gathered up into little plaits by the strings before it could be tied, and 
 to be tapped, rebuked, and wheedled, at the pockets, before it would set 
 right, which at last it did, and when it did — but never mind ; this^s a 
 sober chronicle ; Oh, never mind ! And then there were her cuffs to be 
 tucked up, for fear of flour ; and she had a little ring to pull off her 
 finger, which wouldn't come oif (foolish little ring !) ; and during the whole 
 of these preparations she looked demurely every now and then at Tom, 
 from under her dark eye-lashes, as if they were all a part of the pud- 
 ding, and indispensable to its composition. 
 
 For the life and soul of him, Tom could get no further in his writing 
 than, " A respectable young man aged thirty-five," and this, notwith- 
 standing the show she made of being supernaturally quiet, and going 
 about on tiptoe, lest she should disturb him : which only served as an 
 additional means of distracting his attention, and keeping it upon her. 
 
 " Tom," she said at last, in high glee. " Tom ! " 
 
 " What now 1 " said Tom, repeating to himself, " aged thirty-five ! 
 
 " Will you look here a moment, please." 
 
 As if he had n't been looking all the time ! 
 
 " I am going to begin, Tom. Don't you wonder why I butter the 
 inside of the basin 1 " said his busy little sister. " Eh, Tom ? " 
 
 " Not more than you do, I dare say," replied Tom, laughing. " For 
 I believe you don't know anything about it." 
 
 " What an infidel you are, Tom ! How else do you think it would 
 turn out easily when it was done ? For a civil-engineer and land-sur- 
 veyor not to know that. My goodness, Tom ! " 
 
 It was wholly out of the question to try to write. Tom lined out 
 " A respectable young man, aged thirty-five ; " and sat looking on, pen 
 in hand, with one of the most loving smiles imaginable. 
 
 Such a busy little woman as she was ! So full of self-importance, and 
 trying so hard not to smile, or seem uncertain about anything ! It 
 w^as a perfect treat to Tom to see her with her brows knit, and her rosy 
 lips pursed up, kneading away at the crust, rolling it out, cutting it up 
 into strips, lining the basin with it, shaving it oif fine round the rim ; 
 chopping up the steak into small pieces, raining down pepper and salt 
 upon them, packing them into the basin, pouring in cold water for 
 gravy ; and never venturing to steal a look in his direction, lest her 
 gravity should be disturbed ; until at last, the basin being quite full and 
 only wanting the top crust, she clapped her hands, all covered with 
 paste and flour, at Tom, and burst out heartily into such a charming 
 iittle laugh of triumph, that the pudding need have had no other sea- 
 soning to commend it to the taste of any reasonable man on earth. 
 
 " Where 's the pudding 'i " said Tom. For he was cutting his jokes, 
 Tom was. 
 
 " Where ! " she answered, holding it up with both hands. " Look 
 at it ! " 
 
 " T/iat a pudding ! " said Tom. 
 
 "It will be, you stupid fellow, when it 's covered in," returned his 
 sister. Tom still pretending to look incredulous, she gave him a tap on 
 

 
 //TlCOTZ^^hT'/C^^^ ^/ ^' -^ 
 
 ZH^Z-cS^t 
 
 «< 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 4C)3 
 
 the head witli tlie rolling-pin, and still laughing merrily, had returned 
 to the composition of the top-crust, when she started and turned very 
 red. Tom started, too, for following her eyes, he saw John Westlock in 
 the room. 
 
 " Why, my goodness, John ! How did ijou come in % " 
 
 " I beg pardon," said John — " your sister's pardon especially : but I 
 met an old lady at the street door, who requested me to enter here ; 
 and as you didn't hear me knock, and the door was open, I made bold 
 to do so. I hardly know," said John, with a smile, ''why any of us 
 should be disconcerted at my having accidentally intruded upon such an 
 agreeable domestic occupation, so very agreeably and skilfully pursued ; 
 but I must confess that / am. Tom, will you kindly come to my relief % " 
 
 " Mr. John Westlock," said Tom. " My sister." 
 
 " I hope, that as the sister of so old a friend," said John, laughing, 
 " you will have the goodness to detach your first impressions of me from 
 my unfortunate entrance." 
 
 " My sister is not indisposed perhaps to say the same to you on her 
 own behalf," retorted Tom. 
 
 John said, of course, that this was quite unnecessary, for he had been 
 transfixed in silent admiration ; and he held out his hand to i\liss Pinch; 
 who could n't take it, however, by reason of the flour and paste upon 
 her own. This, which might seem calculated to increase the general 
 confusion and render matters worse, had in reality the best effect in the 
 world, for neither of them could help laughing ; and so they both found 
 themselves on easy terms immediately. 
 
 " I am delighted to see you," said Tom. "Sit doAvn." 
 
 " I can only think of sitting down, on one condition," returned his 
 friend : " and that is, that your sister goes on with the pudding, as if 
 you were still alone." 
 
 " That I am sure she will," said Tom. " On one other condition, and 
 that is, that you stay and help us to eat it." 
 
 Poor little Ruth was seized with a palpitation of the heart when Tom 
 -committed this appalling indiscretion, for she felt that if the dish turned 
 out a failure, she never would be able to hold up her head before John 
 Westlock again. Quite unconscious of her state of mind, John accepted 
 the invitation with all imaginable heartiness ; and after a little more 
 pleasantry concerning this same pudding, and the tremendous expecta- 
 tions he made belief to entertain of it, she blushingly resumed her 
 occupation, and he took a chair. 
 
 " I am here much earlier than I intended, Tom ; but I will tell you 
 what brings me, and I think I can answer for your being glad to hear 
 it. Is that anything you wish to show me % " 
 
 " Oh dear no !" cried Tom, who had forgotten the blotted scrap of 
 paper in his hand, until this inquiry brought it to his recollection. 
 .^' ' A respectable young man, aged thirty-five' — The beginning of a 
 description of myself. That 's all." 
 
 " I don't think you will have occasion to finish it, Tom. But how is 
 it, you never told me you had friends in London f 
 
 Tom looked at his sister with all his might ; and certainly his sister 
 looked with all her mifrht at him. 
 
 o 
 
454 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " Friends in London !" echoed Tom. 
 
 " Ah !" said Westlock, " to be sure." 
 
 " Have you any friends in London, Ruth, my dear "?" asked Tom. 
 
 " No, Tom." 
 
 " I am very happy to hear that / have," said Tom, '' but it 's news ta 
 me. I never knew it. They must be capital people to keep a secret, 
 John." 
 
 " You shall judge for yourself," returned the other. " Seriously, 
 Tom, here is the plain state of the case. As I was sitting at breakfast 
 this morning, there comes a knock at my door." 
 
 " On which you cried out, very loud, ' Come in ! ' " suggested Tom. 
 
 " So I did. And the person who knocked, not being a respectable 
 young man aged thirty-five, from the country, came in when he was 
 invited, Tom, instead of standing gaping and staring about him on the 
 landing. Well ! when he came in, I found he was a stranger ; a 
 grave, business-like, sedate-looking, stranger. '■ Mr, Westlock ?' said 
 he. ' That is my name,' said I. ' The favour of a few words with you ? ^ 
 said he. ' Pray be seated, sir,' said I." 
 
 Here John stopped for an instant, to glance towards the table, where 
 Tom's sister, listening attentively, was still busy with the basin, which 
 by this time made a noble appearance. Then he resumed : 
 
 " The pudding having taken a chair, Tom" — 
 
 "What!" cried Tom. 
 
 " Having taken a chair." 
 
 " You said a pudding." 
 
 "No, no," replied John, colouring rather; "a chair. The Idea of 
 a stranger coming into my rooms at half-past eight o'clock in the 
 morning, and taking a pudding ! Having taken a chair, Tom a chair — 
 amazed me by opening the conversation thus : ' I believe you are- 
 acquainted, sir, with Mr. Thomas Pinch % ' " 
 
 "No!" cried Tom. 
 
 " His very words, I assure you. I told him that I was. Did I know 
 where you were at present ' residing % Yes. In London % Yes. He 
 had casually heard, in a roundabout way, that you had left your situa- 
 tion with Mr. Pecksniff. Was that the fact % Yes, it was. Did you 
 want another ? Yes, you did." 
 
 " Certainly," said Tom, nodding his head. 
 
 " Just M'hat I impressed upon him. You may rest assured that I set 
 that point beyond the possibility of any mistake, and gave him distinctly 
 to understand that he might make up his mind about it. Very well. 
 * Then,' said he, * I think I can accommodate him.' " 
 
 Tom's sister stopped short. 
 
 " Lord bless me ! " cried Tom. " Euth, my dear, ^ think I can 
 accommodate him.' " 
 
 " Of course I begged him," pursued John Westlock, glancing at Tom's 
 sister, who was not less eager in her interest than Tom himself, " to pro- 
 ceed, and said that I would undertake to see you immediately. He 
 replied that he had very little to say, being a man of few words, but 
 such as it was, it was to the purpose : and so, indeed, it turned out : for 
 he immediately went on to tell me that a friend of his was in want of a 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 455 
 
 kind of secretary and librarian ; and that although the salary was small, 
 being only a hundred pounds a year, with neither board nor lodging, 
 still the duties were not heavy, and there the post was. Vacant, and 
 ready for your acceptance." 
 
 " Good gracious me ! " cried Tom ; " a hundred pounds a year ! My 
 dear John ! Kuth, my love ! A hundred pounds a year ! " 
 
 " But the strangest part of the story," resumed John Westlock, laying 
 his hand on Tom's wrist, to bespeak his attention, and repress his ecstacies 
 for the moment : " the strangest part of the story, Miss Pinch, is this. 
 I don't know this man from Adam ; neither does this man know Tom." 
 
 " He can't," said Tom, in great perplexity, " if he 's a Londoner. 
 I don't know any one in London." 
 
 " And on my observing," John resumed, still keeping his hand upon 
 Tom's wrist, " that I had no doubt he would excuse the freedom I took, 
 in inquiring who directed him to me ; how he came to know of the 
 change which had taken place in my friend's position ; and how he came 
 to be acquainted with my friend's peculiar fitness for such an office as 
 he had described ; he drily said that he was not at liberty to enter into 
 any explanations." 
 
 " Not at liberty to enter into any explanations ! " repeated Tom, 
 drawing a long breath. 
 
 " ' I must be perfectly aware,' he said," John added, " ' that to any 
 person who had ever been in Mr. PecksniiF's neighbourhood, Mr. Thomas 
 Pinch and his acquirements were as well known as the Church steeple, 
 or the Blue Dragon," 
 
 " The Blue Dragon ! " replied Tom, staring alternately at his friend 
 and his sister. 
 
 " Aye ; think of that ! He spoke as familiarly of the Blue Dragon, 
 I ' give you my word, as if he had been Mark Tapley. I opened my 
 eyes, I can tell you, when he did so ; but I could not fancy I had ever 
 seen the man before, although he said with a smile, ' You know the Blue 
 Dragon, Mr. Westlock ; you kept it up there, once or twice, yourself.' 
 Kept it up there ! So I did. You remember, Tom ?" 
 
 Tom nodded with great significance, and, falling into a state of deeper 
 perplexity than before, observed that this was the most unaccountable 
 and extraordinary circumstance he had ever heard of in his life. 
 
 " Unaccountable ! " his friend repeated. " I became afraid of the man. 
 Though it was broad day, and bright sunshine, I was positively afraid 
 of him. I declare I half suspected him to be a supernatural visitor, and 
 not a mortal, until he took out a commonplace description of pocket- 
 book, and handed me this card." 
 
 " Mr. Fips," said Tom, reading it aloud. " Austin Friars. Austin 
 Friars sounds ghostly, John." 
 
 " Fips don't, I think," was John's reply. " But there he lives, Tom, 
 and there he expects us to call this morning. And now you know as 
 much of this strange incident as I do, upon my honour." 
 
 Tom's face, between his exultation in the hundred pounds a year, and 
 his wonder at this narration, was only to be equalled by the face of his 
 sister, on Avhich there sat the very best expression of blooming surprise 
 that any painter could have wished to see. What the beef-steak pudding 
 
4:5Q LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 would have come to, if it had not been by this time finished, astrology 
 itself could hardly determine. 
 
 " Tom," said Ruth, after a little hesitation, " Perhaps Mr. Westlock, 
 in his friendship for you, knows more of this than he chooses to tell." 
 
 " No, indeed !" cried John, eagerly. " It is not so, I assure you. 
 I wish it were. I cannot take credit to myself, Miss Pinch, for any 
 such thing. All that I know, or, so far as I can judge, am likely to 
 know, I have told you." 
 
 " Could n't you know more if you thought proper !" said Ruth, scrap- 
 ing the pie-board industriously. 
 
 " No," retorted John. " Indeed, no. It is very ungenerous in you, 
 to be so suspicious of me, when I repose implicit faith in you. I have 
 unbounded confidence in the pudding, Miss Pinch." 
 
 She laughed at this, but they soon got back into a serious vein, and 
 discussed the subject with profound gravity. Whatever else was obscure 
 in the business, it appeared to be quite plain that Tom was offered a 
 salary of one hundred pounds a year ; and this being the main point, 
 the surrounding obscurity rather set it off than otherwise. 
 
 Tom, being in a great flutter, wished to start for Austin Friars 
 instantly, but they waited nearly an hour, by John's advice, before they 
 departed. Tom made himself as spruce as he could before leaving home, 
 and when John Westlock, through the half- opened parlour door, had 
 glimpses of that brave little sister brushing the collar of his coat in the 
 passage, taking up loose stitches in his gloves, and hovering lightly about 
 and about him, touching him up here and there in the height of her 
 quaint, little, old-fashioned tidiness, he called to mind the fancy-portraits 
 of her on the wall of the Pecksniffian work-room, and decided with 
 uncommon indignation that they were gross libels, and not half pretty 
 enough : though, as hath been mentioned in its place, the artists always 
 made those sketches beautiful, and he had drawn at least a score 
 of them with his own hands. 
 
 " Tom," he said, as they were walking along, " I begin to think you 
 must be somebody's son." 
 
 " I suppose I am," Tom answered in his quiet way. 
 
 " But I mean somebody's of consequence." 
 
 "Bless your heart," replied Tom. "My poor father was of no 
 consequence, nor my mother either." 
 
 " You remember them perfectly, then ?" 
 
 " Remember them 1 oh dear yes. My poor mother was the last. She 
 died when Ruth was a mere baby, and then we both became a charge 
 upon the savings of that good old grandmother I used to tell you of. 
 You remember ! Oh ! There 's nothing romantic in our history, John." 
 
 " Very well," said John in quiet despair. " Then there is no way of 
 accounting for my visitor of this morning. So we'll not try, Tom." 
 
 They did try notwithstanding, and never left off trying until they 
 got to Austin Friars, where, in a very dark passage on the first floor, 
 oddly situated at the back of a house, across some leads, they found a 
 little blear-eyed glass door up in one corner, with Mr. Fips painted 
 on it in characters which were meant to be transparent. There was 
 also a wicked old sideboard hiding in the gloom hard by, meditating 
 
MARTIN CIIUZZLEWIT. 457 
 
 designs upon the ribs of visitors ; and an old mat, worn into lattice 
 work, which, being useless as a mat (even if anybody could have seen it, 
 which was impossible), had for many years directed its industry into 
 another channel, and regularly tripped up every one of Mr. Fips's clients. 
 
 Mr. Fips, hearing a violent concussion between a human hat and his 
 office door, was apprised, by the usual means of communication, that some- 
 body had come to call upon him, and giving that somebody admission, 
 observed that it was " rather dark." 
 
 " Dark indeed," John whispered in Tom Pinch's ear. " Not a 
 bad place to dispose of a countryman in, I should think, Tom." 
 
 Tom had been already turning over in his mind the possibility of their 
 having been tempted into that region to furnish forth a pie ; but 
 the sight of Mr. Fips, who was small and spare, and looked peaceable, 
 and wore black shorts and powder, dispelled his doubts. 
 
 " Walk in," said Mr. Fips. 
 
 They walked in. And a mighty yellow-jaundiced little office Mr. Fips 
 had of it : with a great, black, sprawling splash upon the floor in one 
 corner, as if some old clerk had cut his throat there, years ago, and had 
 let out ink instead of blood. 
 
 " I have brought my friend Mr. Pinch, sir," said John Westlock. 
 
 " Be pleased to sit," said Mr. Fips. 
 
 They occupied the two chairs, and Mr. Fips took the office stool, 
 from the stuffing whereof he drew forth a piece of horsehair of immense 
 length, which he put into his mouth with a great appearance of 
 appetite. 
 
 He looked at Tom Pinch curiously, but with an entire freedom from 
 any such expression as could be reasonably construed into an unusual 
 display of interest. After a short silence, during which Mr. Fips was 
 so perfectly unembarrassed as to render it manifest that he could have 
 broken it sooner without hesitation, if he had felt inclined to do so, he 
 asked if Mr. Westlock had made his offer fully known to Mr. Pinch. 
 
 John answered in the affirmative. 
 
 " And you think it worth your while, sir, do you ?" Mr. Fips inquired 
 of Tom. 
 
 " I think it a piece of great good fortune, sir," said Tom. " I am 
 exceedingly obliged to you for the offer." 
 
 " Not to me," said Mr. Fips. " I act upon instructions.'* 
 
 " To your friend, sir, then," said Tom. " To the gentleman with 
 whom I am to engage, and whose confidence I shall endeavour to 
 deserve. When he knows me better, sir, I hope he will not lose his good 
 opinion of me. He will find me punctual and vigilant, and anxious to 
 do what is right. That I think I can answer for, and so," looking 
 towards him, " can Mr. Westlock." 
 
 " Most assuredly," said John. 
 
 Mr. Fips appeared to have some little difficulty in resuming the con- 
 versation. To relieve himself, he took up the wafer-stamp, and began 
 stamping capital F's all over his legs. 
 
 " The fact is," said Mr. Fips, " that my friend is not, at this present 
 moment, in town." 
 
 Tom's countenance fell ; for he thought this equivalent to telling him 
 
458 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 that liis appearance did not answer ; and that Tips must look out for 
 somebody else. 
 
 " When do you think he will be in town, sir ?" he asked. 
 
 " I can't say ; it 's impossible to tell. I really have no idea. But," 
 said Fips, taking off a very deep impression of the wafer-stamp upon the 
 calf of his left leg, and looking steadily at Tom, " I don't know that 
 it 's a matter of much consequence." 
 
 Poor Tom inclined his head deferentially, but appeared to doubt that. 
 
 " I say," repeated Mr. Fips, " that I don't know it 's a matter of much 
 consequence. The business lies entirely between yourself and me, 
 Mr. Pinch. With reference to your duties, I can set you going ; and 
 with reference to your salary, I can pay it. Weekly," said Mr. Fips, 
 putting down the wafer-stamp, and looking at John Westlock and Tom 
 Pinch by turns, " weekly ; in this office ; at any time between the hours 
 of four and five o'clock in the afternoon." As Mr. Fips said this, he 
 made up his face as if he were going to whistle. But he didn't. 
 
 " You are very good," said Tom, whose countenance was now suffused 
 with pleasure : " and nothing can be more satisfactory or straight- 
 forward. My attendance will be required — " 
 
 " From half-past nine to four o'clock or so, I should say," interrupted 
 Mr. Fips. " About that." 
 
 " I did not mean the hours of attendance," retorted Tom," whidh are- 
 light and easy, I am sure ; but the place." 
 
 " Oh, the place ! The place is in the Temple." 
 
 Tom was delighted. 
 
 " Perhaps," said Mr. Fips, " you would like to see the place 1 " 
 
 " Oh dear !" cried Tom. " I shall only be too glad to consider myself 
 engaged, if you will allow me ; without any further reference to the place." 
 
 " You may consider yourself engaged, by all means," said Mr. Fips : 
 "you couldn't meet me at the Temple-Gate in Fleet-street, in an hour 
 from this time, I suppose, could you ?" 
 
 Certainly Tom could. 
 
 " Good," said Mr. Fips, rising. " Then I will show you the place ; 
 and you can begin your attendance to-morrow morning. In an hour, 
 therefore. I shall see you, too, Mr. Westlock ? Very good. Take care 
 how you go. It 's rather dark." 
 
 With this remark, which seemed superfluous, he shut them out upon 
 the staircase, and they groped, their way into the street again. 
 
 The interview had done so little to remove the mystery in which 
 Tom's new engagement was involved, and had done so much to thicken 
 it, that neither could help smiling at the puzzled looks of the other. 
 They agreed, however, that the introduction of Tom to his new office and 
 office companions could hardly fail to throw a light upon the subject ; 
 and therefore postponed its further consideration until after the fulfil- 
 ment of the appointment they had made with Mr. Fips. 
 
 After looking in at John Westlock's chambers, and devoting a few 
 spare minutes to the Boar's Head, they issued forth again to the place of 
 meeting. The time agreed upon had not quite come ; but Mr. Fips was 
 already at the Temple Gate, and expressed his satisfaction at their 
 punctuality. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 459 
 
 He led tlie way througli sundry lanes and courts, into one more quiet 
 and more gloomy than the rest, and, singling out a certain house, ascended 
 a common staircase : taking from his pocket, as he went, a bunch of rusty 
 keys. Stopping before a door upon an upper story, which had nothing 
 but a yellow smear of paint where custom would have placed the tenant's 
 name, he began to beat the dust out of one of these keys, very delibe- 
 rately, upon the great broad hand-rail of the balustrade. 
 
 " You had better have a little plug made," he said, looking round at 
 Tom, after blowing a shrill whistle into the barrel of the key. " It 's 
 the only way of preventing them from getting stopped up. You '11 find 
 the lock go the better, too, I dare say, for a little oil." 
 
 Tom thanked him ; but was too much occupied wit?i his 'own specu- 
 lations, and John Westlock's looks, to be very talkative. In the 
 meantime, Mr. Fips opened the door, which yielded to his hand very 
 unwillingly, and with a horribly discordant sound. He took the key 
 out when he had done so and gave it to Tom. 
 
 " Aye, aye ! " said Mr. Fips. " The dust lies rather thick here." 
 
 Truly, it did. Mr. Fips might have gone so far as to say, very 
 thick. It had accumulated everywhere ; lay deep on everything ; and 
 in one part, where a ray of sun shone through a crevice in the shutter 
 and struck upon the opposite wall, it went twirling round and round 
 like a gigantic squirrel-cage. 
 
 Dust was the only thing in the place that had any motion about it. 
 When their conductor admitted the light freely, and lifting up the 
 heavy window-sash, let in the summer air, he showed the mouldering- 
 furniture, discoloured wainscoting and ceiling, rusty stove, and ashy 
 hearth, in all their inert neglect. Close to the door there stood a 
 candlestick, with an extinguisher upon it, as if the last man who had 
 been there, had paused, after securing a retreat, to take a parting look 
 at the dreariness he left behind, and then had shut out light and 
 life together, and closed the place up like a tomb. 
 
 There were two rooms on that floor ; and in the first or outer one a 
 narrow staircase, leading to two more above. These last were fitted up as 
 bed-chambers. Neither in them, nor in the rooms below, was any scarcity 
 of convenient furniture observable, although the fittings were of a by-gone 
 fashion ; but solitude and want of use seemed to have rendered it unfit 
 for any purposes of comfort, and to have given it a grisly, haunted air. 
 
 Moveables of every kind lay strewn about, without the least attempt 
 at order, and were intermixed with boxes, hampers, and all sorts of lumber. 
 On all the floors were piles of books, to the amount perhaps of some thou- 
 sands of volumes : these still in bales : those wrapped in paper, as they 
 had been purchased : others scattered singly or in heaps : not one upon the 
 shelves which lined the walls. To these, Mr. Fips called Tom's attention. 
 
 " Before anything else can be done, we must have them put in order, 
 catalogued, and ranged upon the book-shelves, Mr. Pinch. That will 
 do to begin with, I think, sir." 
 
 Tom rubbed his hands in the pleasant anticipation of a task so con- 
 genial to his taste, and said : 
 
 " An occupation full of interest for me, I assure you. It will occupy 
 me, perhaps, until Mr. " 
 
■460 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Until Mr. ^" repeated Fips ; as mucli as to ask Tom what lie was 
 
 stopping for. 
 
 " I forgot that you had not mentioned the gentleman's name," 
 said Tom. 
 
 " Oh !/' cried Mr. Fips, pulling on his glove, " didn't I ? No, by-the- 
 bye, I don't think I did. Ah ! I dare say he '11 be here soon. You will 
 get on very well together, I have no doubt. I wish you success, I am sure. 
 You won't forget to shut the door ? It '11 lock of itself if you slam it. 
 Half-past nine, you know. Let us say from half-past nine to four, or 
 half-past four, or thereabouts ; one day, perhaps, a little earlier, another 
 day perhaps a little later, according as you feel disposed, and as you 
 arrange your work. Mr. Fips, Austin Friars, of course you'll remem- 
 ber ? And you won* t forget to slam the door, if you please 1 " 
 
 He said all this in such a comfortable, easy manner, that Tom could 
 only rub his hands, and nod his head, and smile in acquiescence, which 
 he was still doing, when Mr. Fips walked coolly out. 
 
 " Why, he 's gone," cried Tom. 
 
 " And what 's more, Tom," said John Westlock, seating himself upon 
 a pile of books, and looking up at his astonished friend, "he is 
 evidently not coming back again : so here you are installed. Under 
 rather singular circumstances, Tom ! " 
 
 It was such an odd affair throughout, and Tom standing there among 
 the books with his hat in one hand and the key in the other, looked so 
 prodigiously confounded, that his friend could not help laughing 
 heartily. Tom himself was tickled : no less by the hilarity of his 
 friend, than by the recollection of the sudden manner in which he had 
 been brought to a stop, in the very height of his urbane conference 
 with Mr. Fips ; so by degrees Tom burst out laughing too ; and each 
 making the other laugh more, they fairly roared. 
 
 When they had had their laugh out, which did not happen very soon, 
 for, give John an inch in that way, and he was sure to take several ells, 
 being a jovial, good-tempered fellow, they looked about them more closely, 
 groping among the lumber for any 'stray means of enlightenment that 
 might turn up. But no scrap or shred of information could they find. The 
 books were marked with a variety of owners' names, having, no doubt, 
 been bought at sales, and collected here and there at diiferent times ; 
 but whether any one of these names belonged to Tom's employer, and, 
 if so, which of them, they had no means whatever of determining. 
 It occurred to John as a very bright thought, to make inquiry at the 
 steward's office, to whom the chambers belonged, or by whom they were 
 held ; but he came back no wiser than he went, the answer being, 
 " Mr. Fips, of Austin Friars." 
 
 " After all, Tom, I begin to think it lies no deeper than this. Fips 
 is an eccentric man ; has some knowledge of Pecksniff; despises him, 
 of course ; has heard or seen enough of you to know that you are the 
 man he w^ants ; and engages you in his own whimsical manner." 
 
 " But why in his own whimsical manner 1 " asked Tom. 
 
 " Oh ! why does any man entertain his own whimsical taste 1 Why 
 does Mr. Fips wear shorts and powder, and Mr. Fips's next door 
 neighbour boots and a wig 1 " 
 
i'!:i::.i' 
 
 lllfe^ 
 
 (?//>/ciyZ^oi^<y 
 
 f^/'z<y^^a//r^/^r?r, o/,. ^M/'.- ^^^rc. v/ 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 4G1 
 
 Tom, being in that state of mind in which any explanation is a 
 great relief, adopted this last one (which indeed was quite as feasible 
 as any other) readily, and said he had no doubt of it. Nor was his faith 
 at all shaken by his having said exactly the same thing to each sugges- 
 tion of his friend's in turn, and being perfectly ready to say it again if 
 he had had any new solution to propose. 
 
 As he had not, Tom drew down the window sash, and folded the 
 shutter ; and they left the rooms. He closed the door heavily, as 
 Mr. Fips had desired him ; tried it, found it all fast, and put the key 
 in his pocket. 
 
 They made a pretty wide circuit in going back to Islington, as they 
 had time to spare ; and Tom was never tired of looking about him. 
 It was well he had John Westlock for his companion, for most people 
 would have becm weary of his perpetual stoppages at shop-windows, and 
 his frequent dashes into the crowded carriage-way at the peril of his 
 life, to get the better view of church steeples, and other public buildings. 
 But John was charmed to see him so much interested, and every time 
 Tom came back with a beaming face from among the wheels of carts 
 and hackney-coaches, wholly unconscious of the personal congratulations 
 addressed to him by the drivers, John seemed to like him better than 
 before. 
 
 There was no flour on Ruth's hands when she received them in the 
 triangular parlour, but there were pleasant smiles upon her face, and a 
 crowd of welcomes shining out of every one, and gleaming in her bright 
 eyes. By-the-bye, how bright they were ! Looking into them for but a 
 moment, when you took her hand, you saw in each such a capital 
 miniature of yourself, representing you as such a restless, flashing, eager, 
 brilliant little fellow — 
 
 Ah ! if you could only have kept them for your own miniature ! But 
 wicked, roving, restless, too impartial eyes, it was enough for any one 
 to stand before them, and straightway, there he danced and sparkled 
 quite as merrily as you. 
 
 The table was already spread for dinner ; and though it was spread 
 with nothing very choice in the way of glass or linen, and with green- 
 handled knives, and very mountebanks of two-pronged forks, which 
 seemed to be trying how far asunder they could possibly stretch their 
 legs, without converting themselves into double the number of iron 
 toothpicks j it wanted neither damask, silver, gold, nor china : no, nor 
 any other garniture at all. There it was : and, being there, nothing 
 else would have done as well. 
 
 The success of that initiative dish : that first experiment of hers in 
 cookery : was so entire, so unalloyed and perfect, that John Westlock 
 and Tom agreed she must have been studying the art in secret for a long 
 time past ; and urged her to make a full confession of the fact. They 
 were exceedingly merry over this jest, and many smart things were said 
 concerning it ; but John was not as fair in his behaviour as might have 
 been expected, for, after luring Tom Pinch on for a long time, he 
 suddenly went over to the enemy, and swore everything his sister said. 
 However, as Tom observed the same night before going to bed, it was only 
 in joke, and John had always been famous for being polite to ladies, 
 
462 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 even wlien he was quite a boy. Buth said, f Oh! indeed ! "' She didn't 
 say anything else. 
 
 It is astonishing how much three people may find to talk about. 
 They scarcely left off talking once. And it was not all lively chat which 
 occupied them ; for when Tom related how he had seen Mr. Pecksniff's 
 daughters) and what a change had fallen on the younger, they were 
 very serious. 
 
 John Westlock became quite absorbed in her fortunes ; asking many 
 questions of Tom Pinch about her marriage, inquiring whether her 
 husband was the gentleman whom Tom had brought to dine with him 
 at Salisbury ; in what degree of relationship they stood towards each 
 other, being different persons ; and taking, in short, the greatest inte- 
 rest in the subject. Tom then went into it, at full length ; he told 
 how Martin had gone abroad, and had not been heard of for a long 
 time ; how Dragon Mark had borne him company ; how Mr. Peck- 
 sniff had got the poor old doting grandfather into his power ; and 
 how he basely sought the hand of Mary Graham. But not a word 
 said Tom of what lay hidden in his heart ; his heart, so deep, and true, 
 and full of honour, and yet with so much room for every gentle and 
 unselfish thought ; not a word. 
 
 Tom, Tom ! The man in all this world most confident in his sagacity 
 and shrewdness ; the man in all this world most proud of his distrust of 
 other men, and having most to show in gold and silver as the gains 
 belonging to his creed j the meekest favourer of that wise doctrine, 
 Every man for himself, and God for us all (there being high wisdom 
 in the thought that the Eternal Majesty of Heaven ever was, or can be, 
 on the side of selfish lust and love !) : shall never find ; oh, never find, 
 be sure of that : the time come home to him, when all his wisdom is an 
 idiot's folly, weighed against a simple heart ! 
 
 Well, well, Tom, it was simple, too, though simple in a different way, 
 to be so eager touching that same theatre, of which John said, when tea 
 was done, he had the absolute command, so far as taking parties in 
 without the payment of a sixpence, was concerned ; and simpler yet, 
 perhaps, never to suspect that when he went in first, alone, he paid the 
 money ! Simple in thee, dear Tom, to laugh and cry so heartily, at such 
 a sorry show so poorly shown ; simple, to be so happy and loquacious 
 trudging home with Ruth ; simple, to be so surprised to find that merry 
 present of a cookery-book, awaiting her in the parlour next morning, 
 with the beefsteak-pudding-leaf turned down, and blotted out. There ! 
 Let the record stand ! Thy quality of soul was simple, simple j quite 
 contemptible, Tom Pinch ! 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 THE PINCHES MAKE A NEW ACQUAINTANCE, AND HAVE FRESH OCCASION 
 FOR SURPRISE AND WONDER. 
 
 There was a ghostly air about these uninhabited chambers in the 
 Temple, and attending every circumstance of Tom's employment there, 
 which had a strange charm in it. Every morning when he shut his 
 door at Islington, he turned his face towards an atmosphere of unac- 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 463 
 
 countable fascination, as sorely as he turned it to tlie London smoke ; 
 and from that moment, it thickened round and round him all day long, 
 until the time arrived for going home again, and leaving it, like a 
 motionless cloud, behind. 
 
 It seemed to Tom, every morning, that he approached this ghostly 
 mist, and became enveloped in it, by the easiest succession of degrees 
 imaginable. Passing from the roar and rattle of the streets into the 
 quiet court-yards of the Temple, was the first preparation. Every echo 
 of his footsteps sounded to him like a sound from the old walls and 
 pavements, wanting language to relate the histories of the dim, dismal 
 rooms ; to tell him what lost documents were decaying in forgotten 
 corners of the shut-up cellars, from whose lattices such mouldy sighs 
 came breathing forth as he went past ; to whisper of dark bins of rare 
 old wine, bricked up in vaults among the old foundations of the Halls ; 
 or mutter in a lower tone yet darker legends of the cross-legged knights, 
 whose marble effigies were in the church. With the first planting of 
 his foot upon the staircase of his dusty ofiice, all these mysteries increased ; 
 until ascending step by step, as Tom ascended, they attained their full 
 growth in the solitary labours of the day. 
 
 Every day brought one recurring, never-failing source of speculation. 
 This employer ; would he come to-day, and what would he be like ^ 
 Por Tom could not stop short at Mr. Eips ; he quite believed that Mr. 
 Eips had spoken truly, when he said he acted for another ; and what 
 manner of man that other was, became a full-blown flower of wonder in 
 the garden of Tom's fancy, which never faded or got trodden down. 
 
 At one time he conceived that Mr. Pecksnifi", repenting of his false- 
 hood, might, by exertion of his influence with some third person, have 
 devised these means of giving him employment. He found this idea so 
 insupportable after what had taken place between that good man and 
 himself, that he confided it to John Westlock on the very same day ; 
 informing John that he would rather ply for hire as a porter, than fall 
 so low in his own esteem as to accept the smallest obligation from the 
 hands of Mr. Pecksniff". But John assured him that he (Tom Pinch) was 
 far from doing justice to the character of Mr. Pecksniff yet, if he supposed 
 that gentleman capable of performing a generous action ; and that he 
 might make his mind quite easy on that head, until he saw the sun turn 
 green and the moon black, and at the same time distinctly perceived 
 with the naked eye, twelve first-rate comets careering round those 
 planets. In which unusual state of things, he said (and not before), 
 it might become not absolutely lunatic to suspect Mr. Pecksniff" of 
 anything so monstrous. In short he laughed the idea down, com- 
 pletely ; and Tom, abandoning it, was thrown upon his beam-ends again 
 for some other solution. 
 
 In the meantime Tom attended to his duties daily, and made consi- 
 derable progress with the books : which were already reduced to some 
 sort of order, and made a great appearance in his fairly-written cata- 
 logue. During his business hours, he indulged himself occasionally 
 with snatches of reading ; which were often indeed a necessary part of 
 his pursuit ; and as he usually made bold to carry one of these goblin 
 volumes home at night (always bringing it back again next morning, in 
 
4G4 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 case his strange employer should appear and ask what had become of 
 it), he led a happy, quiet, studious kind of life, after his own heart. 
 
 But though the books were never so interesting, and never so full of 
 novelty to Tom, they could not so enchain him, in those mysterious cham- 
 bers, as to render him unconscious for a moment of the lightest sound. 
 Any footstep on the flags without, set him listening attentively, and 
 when it turned into that house, and came up, up, up, the stairs, he 
 always thought with a beating heart, " Now I am coming face to face 
 with him, at last ! " But no footstep ever passed the floor immediately 
 below : except his own. 
 
 This mystery and loneliness engendered fancies in Tom's mind, the 
 folly of which his common sense could readily discover, but which his 
 common sense was quite unable to keep away, notwithstanding ; that 
 quality being with most of us, in such a case, like the old French Police 
 — quick at detection, but very weak as a preventive power. Misgivings, 
 undefined, absurd, inexplicable, that there was some one hiding in the 
 inner room ; walking softly overhead, peeping in through the door- 
 chink ; doing something stealthy, anywhere where he was not ; came 
 over him a hundred times a day : making it pleasant to throw up the sash, 
 and hold communication even with the sparrows who had built in the roof 
 and water-spout, and were twittering about the windows all day long. 
 
 He sat with the outer door wide open at all times, that he might hear 
 the footsteps as they entered, and turned oif into the chambers on the 
 lower floors. He formed odd prepossessions too, regarding strangers in the 
 streets ; and would say within himself of such or such a man, who struck 
 him as having anything uncommon in his dress or aspect, " I should n't 
 wonder now if that were he ! " But it never was. And though he actually 
 turned back and followed more than one of these suspected individuals, 
 in a singular belief that they were going to the place he was then upon 
 his way from, he never got any other satisfaction by it, than the satis- 
 faction of knowing it was not the case. 
 
 Mr. Tips, of Austin Friars, rather deepened than illumined the 
 obscurity of his position ; for on the first occasion of Tom's waiting on 
 him to receive his weekly pay, he said : 
 
 " Oh ! by-the-bye, Mr. Pinch, you need n't mention it, if you please ! '* 
 
 Tom thought he was going to tell him a secret ; so he said that he 
 would n't on any account, and that Mr. Fips might entirely depend 
 upon him. But as Mr. Fips said " Very good," in reply, and nothing 
 more, Tom prompted him : 
 
 " Not on any account," repeated Tom. 
 
 Mr. Fips repeated " Very good." 
 
 " You were going to say" — Tom hinted. 
 
 " Oh dear no !" cried Fips. " Not at all." However, seeing Tom con- 
 fused, he added, "I mean that you needn't mention any particulars about 
 your place of employment, to people generally. You'll find it better not.'^ 
 
 " I have not had the pleasure of seeing my employer yet, sir," observed 
 Tom, putting his week's salary in his pocket. 
 
 " Have n't you ? " said Fips. " No, I don't suppose you have though. 
 
 " I should like to thank him, and to know that what I have done so 
 far, is done to his satisfaction," faltered Tom. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 4G5 
 
 " Quite right," said islr. Fips, witli a yawn. " Highly creditable. 
 Very proper." 
 
 Tom hastily resolved to try him on another tack. 
 
 " I shall soon have finished with the books," he said. " I hope that 
 will not terminate my engagement, sir, or render me useless." 
 
 " Oh dear no ! " retorted Fips. " Plenty to do : plen-ty to do ! Be 
 careful how you go. It 's rather dark." 
 
 This was the very utmost extent of information Tom could ever get 
 out of him. So it was dark enough in all conscience ; and if j\Ir. Fips 
 expressed himself with a double meaning, he had good reason for doing so. 
 
 But now a circumstance occurred, which helped to divert Tom's 
 thoughts from even this mystery, and to divide them between it and a 
 new channel, which was a very Nile in itself. 
 
 The way it came about was this. Having always been an early riser, 
 and having now no Organ to engage him in sweet converse every morn- 
 ing, it was his habit to take a long walk before going to the Temple ; 
 and naturally inclining, as a stranger, towards those parts of the town 
 which were conspicuous for the life and animation pervading them, he 
 became a great frequenter of the market-places, bridges, quays, and 
 especially the steam-boat wharves ; for it was very lively and fresh to see 
 the people hurrying away upon their many schemes of business or plea- 
 sure ; and it made Tom glad to think that there was that much change 
 and freedom in the monotonous routine of city lives. 
 
 In most of these morning excursions Euth accompanied him. As their 
 landlord was always up and away at his business (whatever that might be, 
 no one seemed to know) at a very early hour, the habits of the people 
 of the house in which they lodged corresponded with their own. Thus, 
 they had often finished their breakfast, and were out in the summer-air, 
 by seven o'clock. After a two hours' stroll they parted at some conve- 
 nient point : Tom going to the Temple, and his sister returning home, 
 as methodically as you please. 
 
 Many and many a pleasant stroll they had in Coven t-Garden Market : 
 snuffing up the perfume of the fruits and flowers, wondering at the 
 magnificence of the pine-apples and melons ; catching glimpses down 
 side-avenues, of rows and rows of old women, seated on inverted baskets 
 shelling peas ; looking unutterable things at the fat bundles of asparagus 
 with which the dainty shops were fortified as with a breastwork ; and, 
 at the herbalists' doors, gratefully inhaling scents as of veal-stuffing yet 
 uncooked, dreamily mixed up with capsicums, brown-paper, seeds : even 
 with hints of lusty snails and fine young curly leeches. Many and many 
 a pleasant stroll they had among the poultry markets, where ducks 
 and fowls, with necks unnaturally long, lay stretched out in pairs, 
 ready for cooking ; where there were speckled eggs in mossy baskets ; 
 white country sausages beyond impeachment by surviving cat or dog, 
 or horse or donkey ; new cheeses to any wild extent ; live birds in coops 
 and cages, looking much too big to be natural, in consequence of those 
 receptacles being much too little ; rabbits, alive and dead, innumerable. 
 Many a pleasant stroll they had among the cool, refreshing, silvery fish- 
 stalls, with a kind of moonlight effect about their stock in trade, except- 
 ing always for the ruddy lobsters. ]\Iany a pleasant stroll among the 
 waggon-loads of fragrant hay, beneath which dogs and tired waggoners lay 
 
 H H 
 
465 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 fast asleep, oblivious of. the pieman and the public-house. But never half 
 so good a stroll, as down among the steam-boats on a bright morning. 
 
 There they lay, alongside of each other ; hard and fast for ever, to all 
 appearance, but designing to get out somehow, and quite confident of 
 doing it ; and in that faith shoals of passengers, and heaps of luggage, 
 were proceeding hurriedly on board. Little steamboats dashed up and 
 down the stream incessantly. Tiers upon tiers of vessels, scores of masts, 
 labyrinths of tackle, idle sails, splashing oars, gliding row-boats, lumber- 
 ing barges ; sunken piles, with ugly lodgings for the water-rat within their 
 mud-discoloured nooks ; church steeples, warehouses, house-roofs, arches, 
 bridges, men and women, children, casks, cranes, boxes, horses, coaches, 
 idlers, and hard-labourers : there they were, all jumbled up together, any 
 summer morning, far beyond Tom's power of separation. 
 
 In the midst of all this turmoil, there was an incessant roar from 
 every packet's funnel, which quite expressed and carried out the upper- 
 most emotion of the scene. They all appeared to be perspiring and 
 bothering themselves, exactly as their passengers did ; they never left off 
 fretting and chafing, in their own hoarse manner, once ; but were always 
 panting out, without any stops, " Come along do make haste I 'm very 
 nervous come along oh good gracious we shall never get there how 
 late you are do make haste I 'm off directly come along !" Even when 
 they had left off, and had got safely out into the current, on the smallest 
 provocation they began again : for the bravest packet of them all, being 
 stopped by some entanglement in the river, would immediately begin to 
 fume and pant afresh, " Oh here 's a stoppage what 's the matter do go 
 on there I 'm in a hurry it 's done on purpose did you ever oh my 
 goodness do go on there !" and so, in a state of mind bordering on dis- 
 traction, would be last seen drifting slowly through the mist into the 
 summer light beyond, that made it red. 
 
 Tom's ship, however ; or, at least, the packet-boat in which Tom and 
 his sister took the greatest interest on one particular occasion ; was not 
 off yet, by any means ; but was at the height of its disorder. The press 
 of passengers was very great ; another steam-boat lay on each side of her; 
 the gangways were choked up ; distracted women, obviously bound for 
 Gravesend, but turning a deaf ear to all representations that this parti- 
 cular vessel was about to sail for Antwerp, persisted in secreting baskets 
 of refreshments behind bulk-heads and water-casks, and under seats ; 
 and very great confusion prevailed. 
 
 It was so amusing, that Tom, with Pvuth upon his arm, stood looking 
 down from the wharf, as nearly regardless as it was in the nature of. 
 flesh and blood to be, of an elderly lady behind him, who had brought a 
 large umbrella with her, and didn't know what to do with it. This 
 tremendous instrument had a hooked handle ; and its vicinity was first 
 made known to him by a painful pressure on the windpipe, consequent 
 upon its having caught him round the throat. Soon after disengaging 
 himself with perfect good humour, he had a sensation of the ferrule in 
 his back ; immediately afterwards, of the hook entangling his ankles ; 
 then of the umbrella generally, wandering about his hat, and flapping 
 at it like a great bird j and, lastly, of a poke or thrust below the ribs, 
 which gave him such exceeding anguish, that he could not refrain from 
 turning round, to offer a mild remonstrance. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 467 
 
 Upon his turning round, he found the owner of the umbrella strug- 
 gling, on tiptoe, with a countenance expressive of violent animosity, to 
 look down upon the steamboats ; from which he inferred that she had at- 
 tacked him : standingin the front row : by design, and as her natural enemy. 
 
 " What a very ill-natured person you must be !" said Tom. 
 
 The lady cried out fiercely, " Where 'sthe pelisse !" — meaning the con- 
 stabulary — and went on to say, shaking the handle of the umbrella at 
 Tom, that but for them fellers never being in the way when they was 
 wanted, she 'd have given him in charge, she would. 
 
 " If they greased their whiskers less, and minded the duties which 
 they're paid so heavy for, a little more," she observed, " no one needn't 
 be drove mad by scrouding so ! " 
 
 She had been grievously knocked about, no doubt, for her bonnet was 
 bent into the shape of a cocked hat. Being a fat little woman, too, she 
 was in a state of great exhaustion and intense heat. Instead of pursu- 
 ing the altercation, therefore, Tom civilly inquired what boat she wanted 
 to go on board of. 
 
 " I suppose," returned the lady, " as nobody but yourself can want 
 to look at a steam package, without wanting to go a boarding of it, can 
 they! Booby!" 
 
 " ^^Tiich one do you want to look at then ? " said Tom. « We '11 
 make room for you if we can. Don't be so ill-tempered." 
 
 " No blessed creetur as ever I was with in trying times," returned 
 the lady, somewhat softened, " and they 're a many in their numbers, 
 ever brought it as a charge again myself that I was anythin but mild 
 and equal in my spirits. Never mind a contradicting of me, if you seems 
 to feel it does you good, ma'am, I often says, for well you know that Sairey 
 maybe trusted not to give it back again. But I will not denige that I 
 am worrited and wexed this day, and with good reagion, Lord forbid ! " 
 
 By this time, Mrs. Gamp (for it was no other than that experienced 
 practitioner) had, with Tom's assistance, squeezed and worked herself into 
 a small corner between Ruth and the rail ; where, after breathing very hard 
 for some little time, and performing a short series of dangerous evolutions 
 with the umbrella, she managed to establish herself pretty comfortably. 
 
 " And which of all them smoking monsters is the Ankworks boat, 
 I wonder. Goodness me ! " cried Mrs. Gamp. 
 
 " What boat did you want V asked Ruth. 
 
 " The Ankworks package," iNIrs. Gamp replied. " I will not deceive 
 you, my sweet. Why should I ?" 
 
 " That is the Antwerp packet in the middle," said Ruth. 
 
 " And I wish it was in Jonadge's belly, I do," cried Mrs. Gamp ; 
 appearing to confound the prophet with the whale in this miraculous 
 aspiration. 
 
 Ruth said nothing in reply ; but as Mrs. Gamp, laying her chin 
 against the cool iron of the rail, continued to look intently at the 
 Antwerp boat, and every now and then to give a little groan, she 
 inquired whether any child of hers was going abroad that morning ? 
 Or perhaps her husband, she said kindly. 
 
 " Which shows," said Mrs, Gamp, casting up her eyes, " what a little 
 way you 've travelled into this wale of life, my dear young creetur. As 
 a good friend of mine has frequent made remark to me, which her 
 
 H H 2 
 
468 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 name, my love, is Harris, Mrs. Harris through the square and up the 
 steps a turnin round by the tobacker shop, ' Oh Sairey, Sairey, little do 
 we know wot lays afore us ! ' * Mrs. Harris ma'am,' I says, ' not much, 
 it 's true, but more than you suppoge. Our calcilations ma'am,' I says, 
 ' respectin wot the number of a family will be, comes most times within 
 one, and oftener than you would suppoge, exact.' ' Sairey,' says Mrs. 
 Harris, in a awful way, ' Tell me wot is my individgle number.' * No, 
 Mrs. Harris,' I says to her, * ex-cuge me, if you please. My own,' 
 I says, ' has fallen out of three-pair backs, and had damp doorsteps 
 settled on their lungs, and one was turned up smilin in a bedstead, un- 
 beknown. Therefore, ma'am,' I says, ' seek not to proticipate, but take 
 'em as they come and as they go.' Mine," said Mrs. Gamp, " mine is all 
 gone, my dear young chick. And as to husbands, there 's a wooden leg 
 gone likeways home to its account, which in its constancy of walkin 
 into wine vaults, and never comin out again 'till fetched by force, was 
 quite as weak as flesh, if not weaker." 
 
 When she had delivered this oration, Mrs. Gamp leaned her chin upon 
 the cool iron again; and looking intently at the Antwerp packet, shook 
 her head and groaned. 
 
 " I would n't" said Mrs. Gamp, " I would n't be a man and have such a 
 think upon my mind ! — but nobody as owned the name of man,could do it!" 
 
 Tom and his sister glanced at each other ; and Ruth, after a moment's 
 hesitation, asked Mrs. Gamp what troubled her so much. 
 
 " My dear," returned that lady, dropping her voice, " you are single, 
 aVtyou?" 
 
 Ftuth laughed, blushed, and said " Yes." 
 
 " Worse luck," proceeded Mrs. Gamp, " for all parties ! But others 
 is married, and in the marriage state ; and there is a dear young creetur 
 a comin' down this mornin' to that very package, which is no more fit to 
 trust herself to sea, than nothiu' is !" 
 
 She paused here, to look all over the deck of the packet in question, 
 and on the steps leading down to it, and on the gangways. Seeming to 
 have thus assured herself that the object of her commiseration had not 
 yet arrived, she raised her eyes gradually up to the top of the escape- 
 pipe, and indignantly apostrophised the vessel : 
 
 " Oh drat you !" said Mrs. Gamp, shaking her umbrella at it, "you 're 
 a nice spluttering noisy monster for a delicate young creetur to go and 
 be a passinger by ; a'n't you ! " You never do no harm in that way, 
 do you 1 With your hammering, and roaring, and hissing, and lamp- 
 iling, you brute ! Them Confusion steamers," said Mrs. Gamp, shaking 
 her umbrella again, " has done more to throw us out of our reg'lar 
 work and bring ewents on at times when nobody counted on 'em (espe- 
 cially them screeching railroad ones), than all the other frights that ever 
 was took. I have heerd of one young man, a guard upon a railway, 
 only three year opened — well does Mrs. Harris know him, which indeed 
 he is her own relation by her sister's marriage with a master sawyer — as 
 is godfather at this present time to six-and-tvventy blessed little strangers, 
 equally unexpected, and all on 'um named after the Ingeins as was the 
 cause. Ugh !" said Mrs. Gamp, resuming her apostrophe, "one might 
 easy know you was a man's invention, from your disregardlessness of 
 the weakness of our naturs, so one might, you brute 1" 
 
MARTIN CIIUZZLEWIT. 469 
 
 It would not Iiave been unnatural to suppose, from the first part of 
 Mrs. Gamp's lamentations, that she was connected with the stage coach- 
 ing or post-horsing trade. She had no means of judging of the effect 
 of her concluding remarks upon her young companion ; for she inter- 
 rupted herself at this point, and exclaimed : 
 
 " There she identically goes ! Poor sweet young creetur, there she 
 goes, like a lamb to the sacrifige ! If there 's any illness when that 
 wessel gets to sea," said Mrs. Gamp, prophetically, "it's murder, and 
 I'm the witness for the persecution." 
 
 She was so very earnest on the subject, that Tom's sister (being as 
 kind as Tom himself), could not help saying something to her in reply. 
 
 " Pray which is the lady," she inquired, " in whom you are so much 
 interested?" 
 
 " There ! " groaned Mrs. Gamp. " There she goes ! A crossin' the 
 little wooden bridge at this minute. She's a slippin' on a bit of orange- 
 peel !" tightly clutching her umbrella. "What a turn it give me!" 
 
 " Do you mean the lady who is with that man wrapped up from head 
 to foot in a large cloak, so that his face is almost hidden 1 " 
 
 " Well he may hide it ! " Mrs. Gamp replied. " He 's good call to be 
 ashamed of himself Did you see him a jerking of her wrist, then ?" 
 
 " He seems to be hasty with her, indeed." 
 
 " Now he's a taking of her down into the close cabin !" said Mrs. Gamp, 
 impatiently. " What 's the man about ! The deuce is in him I think. 
 Why can't he leave her in the open air ? " 
 
 He did not, whatever his reason was, but led her quickly down and 
 disappeared himself, without loosening his cloak, or pausing on the 
 crowded deck one moment longer than was necessary to clear their way 
 to that part of the vessel. 
 
 Tom had not heard this little dialogue ; for his attention had been 
 engaged in an unexpected manner. A hand upon his sleeve had caused 
 him to look round just when Mrs. Gamp concluded her apostrophe to 
 the steam-engine ; and on his right arm, Kuth being on his left, he 
 found their landlord ; to his great surprise. 
 
 He was not so much surprised at the man's being there, as at his having 
 got close to him so quietly and swiftly j for another person had been at 
 his elbow one instant before ; and he had not in the meantime been 
 conscious of any change or pressure in the knot of people among whom 
 he stood. He and Ruth had frequently remarked how noiselessly this 
 landlord of theirs came into and went out of his own house ; but Tom 
 was not the less amazed to see him at his elbow now. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Mr. Pinch," he said in his ear. " I am rather in- 
 firm, and out of breath, and my eyes are not very good. I am not as young 
 as I was, sir. You don't see a gentleman in a large cloak down yonder, 
 with a lady on his arm ; a lady in a veil and a black shawl ; do you 1 " 
 
 If /w did not, it was curious that in speaking he should have singled 
 out from all the crowd the very people whom he described : and should 
 have glanced hastily from them to Tom, as if he were burning to direct 
 his wandering eyes. 
 
 "A gentleman in a large cloak !" said Tom, "and a lady in a black 
 shawl ! Let me see ! " 
 . " Yes, yes ! " replied the other, with keen impatience. "'A gentleman 
 
470 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 muffled up from liead to foot — strangely muffled up for such a morning 
 as this — like an invalid, with his hand to his face at this minute, perhaps. 
 No, no, no ! not there," he added, following Tom's gaze ; " the other 
 way ; in that direction ; down yonder." Again he indicated, but this 
 tipae in his hurry, with his outstretched finger, the very spot on which 
 the progress of these persons was checked at that moment. 
 
 "There are so many people, and so much motion, and so many 
 objects," said Tom, "that I find it difficult to — no, I really don't see a 
 gentleman in a large cloak, and a lady in a black shawl. There 's a 
 lady in a red shawl over there ! " 
 
 " No, no, no ! " cried his landlord, pointing eagerly again, " not 
 there. The other way : the other way. Look at the cabin steps. To 
 the left. They must be near the cabin steps. Do you see the cabin 
 steps 1 There 's the bell ringing already ! Do you see the steps 1 " 
 
 " Stay ! " said Tom, " you 're right. Look ! there they go now. Is 
 that the gentleman you mean 1 Descending at this minute j with the 
 folds of a great cloak trailing down after him 1 " 
 
 " The very man ! " returned the other, not looking at what Tom 
 pointed out, however, but at Tom's own face. " Will you do me a kind- 
 ness, sir, a great kindness 1 Will you put that letter in his hand ? Only: 
 give him that 1 He expects it. I am charged to do it by my employers, 
 but I am late in finding him, and, not being as young as I have been, 
 should never be able to make my way on board and off the deck again 
 in time. Will you pardon my boldness, and do me that great kind- 
 ness ?" 
 
 His hands shook, and his face bespoke the utmost interest and 
 agitation, as he pressed the letter upon Tom, and pointed to its destina- 
 tion, like the Tempter in some grim old carving. 
 
 To hesitate in the performance of a good-natured or compassionate 
 office, was not in Tom's way. He took the letter ; whispered Ruth to 
 wait till he returned, which would be immediately ; and ran down 
 the steps with all the expedition he could make. There were so many 
 people going down, so many others coming up, such heavy goods in 
 course of transit to and fro, such a ringing of bells, blowing-off of steam, 
 and shouting of men's voices, that he had much ado to force his way, 
 or keep in mind to which boat he was going. But he reached the 
 right one with good speed, and going down the cabin-stairs immediately, 
 descried the object of his search standing at the further end of the 
 saloon, with his back towards him, reading some notice which was hung 
 against the wall. As Tom advanced to give him the letter, he started, 
 hearing footsteps, and turned round. 
 
 What was Tom's astonishment to find in him the man with whom 
 he had had the conflict in the field, poor Mercy's husband. Jonas ! 
 
 Tom understood him to say, what the devil did he want ; but it was 
 not easy to make out what he said ; he spoke so indistinctly. 
 
 " I want nothing with you for myself ; " said Tom, " I was asked a 
 moment since to give you this letter. You were pointed out to me, but 
 I did'nt know you in your strange dress. Take it ! " 
 
 He did so, opened it, and read the writing on the inside. The contents 
 were evidently very brief; not more perhaps than one line; but they 
 struck upon him like a stone from a sling. He reeled back as he read. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 471 
 
 His emotion was so different from any Tom had ever seen before, 
 that he stopped involuntarily. Momentary as his state of indecision 
 was, the bell ceased while he stood there ; and a hoarse voice calling 
 down the steps, inquired if there was any one to go ashore. 
 
 "Yes," cried Jonas, "I — I am coming. Give me time. Where's 
 that woman ! Come back ; come back here." 
 
 He threw open another door as he spoke, and dragged, rather than 
 led, her forth. She was pale and frightened, and amazed to see her old 
 acquaintance ; but had no time to speak, for they were making a great 
 stir above ; and Jonas drew her rapidly towards the deck, 
 
 " Where are we going 1 What is the matter ? " 
 
 " We are going back," said Jonas, wildly. " I've changed my mind. 
 I can't go. Don't question me, or I shall be the death of you, or some 
 one else. Stop there ! Stop ! We 're for the shore. Do you hear 1 We 're 
 for the shore ! " 
 
 He turned, even in the madness of his hurry, and scowling darkly back 
 at Tom, shook his clenched hand at him. There are not many human 
 faces capable of the expression with which he accompanied that gesture. 
 
 He dragged her up, and Tom followed them. Across the deck, over 
 the side, along the crazy plank, and up the steps, he dragged her 
 fiercely ; not bestowing any look on her, but gazing upwards all the while 
 -among the faces on the wharf. Suddenly he turned again, and said to 
 Tom with a tremendous oath : 
 
 '' Where is he 1 " 
 
 Before Tom, in his indignation and amazement, could return an 
 answer to a question he so little understood, a gentleman approached 
 Tom behind, and saluted Jonas Chuzzlewit by name. He was a gentle- 
 man of foreign appearance, with a black moustache and whiskers ; and 
 addressed him with a polite composure, strangely different from his own 
 distracted and desperate manner. 
 
 " Chuzzlewit, my good fellow ! " said the gentleman, raising his hat 
 in compliment to Mrs. Chuzzlewit, " I ask your pardon twenty thousand 
 times. I am most unwilling to interfere between you and a domestic 
 trip of this nature (always so very charming and refreshing, I know, 
 although I have not the happiness to be a domestic man myself, which 
 is the great infelicity of my existence) : but the bee-hive, my dear friend, 
 the bee-hive — will you introduce me ? " 
 
 "This is Mr. Montague," said Jonas, whom the words appeared to choke. 
 
 "' The most unhappy and most penitent of men, Mrs. Chuzzlewit," 
 pursued that gentleman, " for having been the means of spoiling this 
 excursion ; but as I tell my friend, the bee-hive ; the bee-hive. You 
 projected a short little continental trip, my dear friend, of course 1 " 
 
 Jonas maintained a dogged silence. 
 
 " May I die ! " cried IMontague, "but I am shocked. Upon my soul 
 I am shocked. But that confounded bee-hive of ours in the city must be 
 paramount to every other consideration, when there is honey to be 
 made ; and that is my best excuse. Here is a very singular old female 
 dropping curtseys on my right," said Montague, breaking off in his 
 discourse, and looking at Mrs. Gamp, " who is not a friend of mine. 
 Does anybody know her 1 " 
 
 " Ah 1 Well they knows me, bless their precious hearts I " said 
 
472 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 Mrs. Gamp ; " not forgettin' your own merry one, sir, and long may it 
 be so ! Wishin' as every one," (she delivered this in the form of a toast 
 or sentiment) " was as merry, and as handsome-looking, as a little bird 
 has whispered me a certain gent is, which I will not name for fear 
 I give offence where none is due ! My precious lady," here she stopped 
 short in her merriment, for she had until now affected to be vastly 
 entertained, " you 're too pale by half ! " 
 
 " You are here too, are you 1 " muttered Jonas. " Ecod, there are 
 enough of you." 
 
 " I hope, sir," returned Mrs. Gamp, dropping an indignant curtsey, 
 " as no bones is broke by me and Mrs. Harris walkin' down upon a 
 public wharf. Which was the very words she says to me (although they 
 was the last I ever had to speak) was these : ' Sairey,' she says, ' is it a 
 public wharf ? ' ' Mrs. Harris,' I makes answer, ' can you doubt it ? 
 You have know'd me, now, ma'am, eight and thirty year ; and did you 
 ever know me go, or wish to go, where I was not made welcome, say the 
 words.' ' No, Sairey,' Mrs. Harris says, ' contrairy quite.' And well she 
 knows it, too. I am but a poor woman, but I 've been sought arter, sir, 
 though you may not think it. I 've been knocked up at all hours of the 
 night, and warned out by a many landlords, in consequence of being 
 mistook for Fire. I goes out working for my bread, 'tis true, but I 
 maintains my indepency, with your kind leave, and which I will till 
 death. I has my feelins as a woman, sir, and I have been a mother 
 likeways ; but touch a pipkin as belongs to me, or make the least 
 remarks on what I eats or drinks, and though you was the favouritest 
 young, for'ard, hussy of a servant-gal as ever come into a house, either you 
 leaves the place, or me. My earnins is not great, sir, but I will not be 
 impoged upon. Bless the babe, and save the mother, is my motter, sir ; 
 but I makes so free as add to that, Don't try no impogician with the 
 Nuss, for she will not abear it ! " 
 
 Mrs. Gamp concluded by drawing her shawl tightly over herself with 
 both hands, and, as usual, referring to Mrs. Harris for full corroboration 
 of these particulars. She had that peculiar trembling of the head, which, in 
 ladies of her excitable nature, may be taken as a sure indication of their 
 breaking out again very shortly; when Jonas made a timely interposition. 
 
 " As you are here," he said, "you had better see to her, and take her 
 home. I am otherwise engaged." He said nothing more ; but looked 
 at Montague, as if to give him notice that he was ready to attend him. 
 
 " I am sorry to take you away," said Montague. 
 
 Jonas gave him a sinister look, which long lived in Tom's memory, 
 and which he often recalled afterwards. 
 
 " I am, upon my life," said Montague. " ^Vhy did you make it 
 necessary 1 " 
 
 With the same dark glance as before, Jonas replied, after a moment's 
 silence, 
 
 " The necessity is none of my making. You have brought it about 
 yourself." 
 
 He said nothing more. He said even this as if he were bound, and in 
 the other's power, but had a sullen and suppressed devil within him, 
 which he could not quite resist. His very gait, as they walked away 
 together, was like that of a fettered man ; but, striving to work out at 
 
MAUTIN CHUZZLEWIT. " 473 
 
 his clenclied liands, knitted brows, and fast-set lips, was the same 
 imprisoned devil still. 
 
 They got into a handsome cabriolet, which was waiting for them, 
 and drove away. 
 
 The whole of this extraordinary scene had passed so rapidly, and the 
 tumult which prevailed around was so unconscious of any impression 
 from it, that although Tom had been one of the chief actors, it was like 
 a dream. No one had noticed him after they had left the packet. He 
 had stood behind Jonas, and so near him, that he could not help hearing 
 all that passed. He had stood there, with his sister on his arm, expect- 
 ing and hoping to have an opportunity of explaining his strange share 
 in this yet stranger business. But Jonas had not raised his eyes from 
 the ground ; no one else had even looked towards him ; and before he 
 could resolve on any course of action, they were all gone. 
 
 He gazed round for his landlord. But he had done that more than 
 once already ; and no such man was to be seen. He was still pursuing 
 this search with his eyes, when he saw a hand beckoning to him from a 
 hackney-coach ; and hurrying towards it, found it was i\Ierry's. She 
 addressed him hurriedly, but bent out of the window, that she might not 
 be overheard by her companion, Mrs. Gamp. 
 
 " What is it ! " she said, " Good Heaven, what is it 1 "Why did he 
 tell me last night to prepare for a long journey, and why have you 
 brought us back like criminals 1 Dear Mr. Pinch ! " she clasped her 
 hands, distractedly, " be merciful to us. Whatever this dreadful secret 
 is, be merciful, and God will bless you ! " 
 
 " If any power of mercy lay with me," cried Tom, " trust me, you 
 should n't ask in vain. But I am far more ignorant and weak than you." 
 
 She withdrew into the coach again, and he saw the hand waving 
 towards him for a moment ; but whether in reproachfulness or in- 
 credulity, or misery, or grief, or sad adieu, or what else, he could 
 not, being so hurried, understand. She was gone now j and Ruth and 
 he were left to walk away, and wonder. 
 
 Had Mr. Nadgett appointed the man who never came, to meet him 
 upon London Bridge, that morning 1 He was certainly looking over the 
 parapet, and down upon the steamboat-wharf at that moment. It could 
 not have been for pleasure ; he never took pleasure. No. He must 
 have had some business there. 
 
 CHAPTER XLL 
 
 MR. JONAS AND HIS FRIEND, ARRIVING AT A PLEASANT UNDERSTANDING;, 
 SET FORTH UPON AN ENTERPRISE. 
 
 The office of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Insur- 
 ance Company being near at hand ; and Mr. Montague driving Jonas 
 straight there ; they had very little way to go. But the journey 
 might have been one of several hours' duration, without provoking a 
 remark from either : for it was clear that Jonas did not mean to break 
 the silence which prevailed betvv'een them, and that it was not, as yet, 
 his dear friend's cue to tempt him into conversation. 
 
474 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 He had thrown aside Jbis cloak, as having now no motive for con- 
 cealment, and with that garment huddled on his knees, sat as far 
 removed from his companion as the limited space in such a carriage 
 would allow. There was a striking difference in his manner, compared 
 with what it had been, within a few minutes, when Tom encountered 
 him so unexpectedly on board the packet, or when the ugly change had 
 fallen on him in Mr. Montague's dressing-room. He had the aspect of 
 a man found out, and held at bay ; of being baffled, hunted, and beset ; 
 but there was now a dawning and increasing purpose in his face, which 
 changed it very much. It was gloomy, distrustful, lowering ; pale with 
 -anger, and defeat ; it still was humbled, abject, cowardly, and mean ; 
 but let the conflict go on as it would, there was one strong purpose 
 wrestling with every emotion of his mind, and casting the whole series 
 down as they arose. 
 
 ' Not prepossessing in appearance, at the best of times, it may be 
 readily supposed that he was not so now. He had left deep marks of 
 his front teeth in his nether lip ; and those tokens of the agitation he 
 had lately undergone, improved his looks as little as the heavy corru- 
 gations in his forehead. But he was self-possessed now ; unnaturally 
 self-possessed, indeed, as men quite otherwise than brave are known to 
 be in desperate extremities ; and when the carriage stopped, he waited 
 for no invitation, but leaped hardily out, and went up stairs. 
 
 The chairman followed him ; and closing the board-room door as 
 soon as they had entered, threw himself upon a sofa. Jonas stood before 
 the window, looking down into the street j and leaned against the sash ; 
 resting his head upon his arms. 
 
 " This is not handsome, Chuzzlewit 1 " said Montague, at length. 
 *' Not handsome, upon my . ■ 1 ! " 
 
 " What would you ^ .lo ?" he answered, looking round abruptly ; 
 
 " what do you expe 
 
 " Confidence, my gv^od fellow. Some confidence 1 " said Montague, 
 in an injured tone. 
 
 "Ecod! You show great confidence in me," retorted Jonas. "Don't you?" 
 
 " Do I not 1 " said his companion, raising his head, and looking at 
 him, but he had turned again. " Do I not ? Have I not confided to 
 you the easy schemes I have formed for our advantage ; our advantage, 
 mind ; not mine alone ; and what is my return 1 Attempted flight 1 " 
 
 " How do you know that 1 Who said I meant to fly ? " 
 
 " Who said ! Come, come. A foreign boat, my friend, an early hour, 
 a figure wrapped up for disguise ! Who said ! If you didn't mean to 
 jilt me, why were you there ? If you didn't mean to jilt me, why did 
 you come back *? " 
 
 " I came back," said Jonas, " to avoid disturbance." 
 
 " You were wise," rejoined his friend. 
 
 Jonas stood quite silent : still looking down into the street, and 
 resting his head upon his arms. 
 
 " Now, Chuzzlewit," said Montague, " notwithstanding what has 
 passed, I will be plain with you. Are you attending to me, there 1 I 
 only see your back." 
 
 " / hear you. Go on ! " 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 475 
 
 " I say tliafc notwithstanding what has passed, I will be plain with 
 you." 
 
 " You said that before. And I have told you once, I heard you say 
 it. Go on." 
 
 " You are a little chafed, but I can make allowances for that ; and 
 am, fortunately, myself in the very best of tempers. Now, let us see 
 how circumstances stand. A day or two ago, I mentioned to you, my 
 dear fellow, that I thought I had discovered " 
 
 " Will you hold your tongue ? " said Jonas, looking fiercely round, 
 and glancing at the door. 
 
 " Well, well ! " said Montague. " Judicious ! Quite correct ! My 
 discoveries being published, would be like many other men's dis- 
 coveries in this honest world ; of no further use to me. You 
 see, Chuzzlewit, how ingenuous and frank I am in showing you 
 the weakness of my own position ! To return. I make, or think I 
 make, a certain discovery, which I take an early opportunity of men- 
 tioning in your ear, in that spirit of confidence which I really hoped 
 did prevail between us, and was reciprocated by you. Perhaps there is 
 something in it ; perhaps there is nothing. I have my knowledge and 
 opinion on the subject. You have yours. We will not discuss the 
 question. But, my good fellow, you have been weak ; what I wish to 
 point out to you is, that you have been weak. I may desire to turn 
 this little incident to my account (indeed, I do. I '11 not deny it) 
 but my account does not lie in probing it, or using it against you." 
 
 " What do you call using it against me '? " asked Jonas, who had not 
 jet changed his attitude. 
 
 " Oh ! " said Montague, with a laugh. " We '11 not enter into that." 
 
 " Using it, to make a beggar of me. 1 ' '^t the use you mean ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Ecod," muttered Jonas, bitterly. " Thu use in which your 
 
 account does lie. You speak the truth there.' 
 
 " I wish you to venture (it 's a very safe venture) a little more with 
 us, certainly, and to keep quiet," said Montague. You promised me you 
 would ; and you must. I say it plainly, Chuzzlewit, you must. Reason 
 the matter. If you don't, my secret is worthless to me ; and being so, 
 it may as well become the public property as mine : better, for I shall 
 gain some credit, bringing it to light. I want you, besides, to act as a 
 •decoy in a case I have already told you of. You don't mind that, I 
 know. You care nothing for the man (you care nothing for any man ; 
 you are too sharp ; so am I, I hope) ; and could bear any loss of his with 
 pious fortitude. Ha, ha, ha ! You have tried to escape from the first 
 consequence. You cannot escape it, I assure you. I have shown you 
 that to-day. Now, I am not a moral man, you know. I am not the least 
 in the world affected by anything you may have done ; by any little indis- 
 cretion you may have committed ; but I wish to profit by it, if I can ; 
 and to a man of your intelligence I make that free confession. I am not 
 at all singular in that infirmity. Everybody profits by the indiscretion 
 of his neighbour ; and the people in the best repute, the most. Why 
 do you give me this trouble '] It must come to a friendly agreement,, 
 or an unfriendly crash. It must. If the former, you are very little 
 
476 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 hurt. If the latter — well ! you know Lest what is likely to happen 
 then." 
 
 Jonas left the window, and walked up close to him. He did not look 
 him in the face ; it was not his habit to do that ; but he kept his eyes 
 towards him — on his breast, or thereabouts — and was at great pains to 
 speak slowly and distinctly, in reply. Just as a man in a state of 
 conscious drunkenness might be. 
 
 " Lying is of no use, now," he said. " I did think of getting away 
 this morning, and making better terms with you from a distance." 
 
 " To be sure ! To be sure ! " replied Montague. " Nothing more 
 natural. I foresaw that, and provided against it. But I am afraid I 
 am interrupting you." 
 
 " How the devil," pursued Jonas, with a still greater effort, " you 
 made choice of your messenger, and where you found him, I '11 not ask 
 you. I owed him one good turn before to-day. If you are so careless 
 of men in general, as you said you were just now, you are quite 
 indifferent to what becomes of such a crop-tailed cur as that, and will 
 leave me to settle my account with him in my own manner." 
 
 If he had raised his eyes to his companion's face, he would have seen 
 that Montague was evidently unable to comprehend his meaning. But 
 continuing to stand before him, with his furtive gaze directed as before, 
 and pausing here, only to moisten his dry lips with his tongue, the^fact 
 was lost upon him. It might have struck a close observer that this 
 fixed and steady glance of Jonas's was a part of the alteration which had 
 taken place in his demeanour. He kept it rivetted on one spot, with 
 which his thoughts had manifestly nothing to do ; like as a juggler 
 walking on a cord or wire to any dangerous end, holds some object in 
 his sight to steady him, and never wanders from it, lest he trip. 
 
 Montague was quick in his rejoinder, though he made it at a venture. 
 There was no difference of opinion between him and his friend on that 
 point. Not the least. 
 
 *' Your great discovery," Jonas proceeded, with a savage sneer that 
 got the better of him for the moment, " may be true, and may be false. 
 Whichever it is, I dare say I 'm no worse than other men." 
 
 " Not a bit," said Tigg. " Not a bit. We 're all alike — or nearly so." 
 
 "I want to know this," Jonas went on to say; "is it your own? 
 You '11 not wonder at my asking the question." 
 
 " My own ! " repeated Montague. 
 
 " Aye !" returned the other, gruffly. "Is it known to anybody else? 
 Come ! Don't waver about that." 
 
 " No ! " said Montague, without the smallest hesitation. " What 
 would it be worth, do you think, unless I had the keeping of it 1 " 
 
 Now, for the first time, Jonas looked at him. After a pause, he put 
 out his hand, and said, with a laugh : 
 
 " Come ! make things easy to me, and I'm yours. I don't know that 
 I may not be better off here, after all, than if I had gone away this 
 morning. But here I am, and here I'll stay now. Take your oath ! " 
 
 He cleared his throat, for he was speaking hoarsely, and said in a, 
 lighter tone : 
 
 "Shall I go to Pecksniff? When? Say when ! " 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 477 
 
 "Immediately ! " cried Montague. " He cannot be enticed too soon." 
 
 " Ecod ! " cried Jonas, with a wild laugh. " There 's some fun in 
 catching that old hypocrite. I hate him. Shall I go to-night 1 " 
 
 " Aye ! This," said Montague, ecstatically, '- is like business ! We 
 understand each other now ! To-night, my good fellow, by all means." 
 
 " Come with me ! " cried Jonas. " We must make a dash : go down 
 in state, and carry documents, for he 's a deep one to deal with, and 
 must be drawn on with an artful hand, or he '11 not follow. I know him. 
 As I can't take your lodgings or your dinners down, I must take you. 
 Will you come to-night 1 " 
 
 His friend appeared to hesitate ; and neither to have anticipated this 
 proposal, nor to relish it very much. 
 
 " We can concert our plans upon the road," said Jonas. " We must 
 not go direct to him, but cross over from some other place, and turn out 
 of our way to see him, I may not want to introduce you, but I must 
 have you on the spot. I know the man, I tell you." 
 
 " But, what if the man knows me 1 " said Montague, shrugging his 
 shoulders. 
 
 " He know ! " cried Jonas, " Don't you run that risk with fifty men 
 a day ! Would your father know you ? Did I know you ? Ecod, you 
 were another figure when I saw you first. Ha, ha ha ! I see the rents and 
 patches now ! No false hair then, no black dye ! You were another sort 
 of joker in those days, you were! You even spoke different, then. You've 
 acted the gentleman so seriously since, that you've taken in yourself. 
 If he should know you, what does it matter ? Such a change is a proof 
 of your success.! You know that, or you would not have made yourself 
 known to me. Will you come 1 " 
 
 " My good fellow," said Montague, still hesitating, " I can trust 
 you alone." 
 
 " Trust me ! Ecod, you may trust me now far enough. I'll try to go 
 away no more — no more ! " He stopped, and added in a more sober tone, 
 " I can't get on without you. Will you come ? " 
 
 "I will," said Montague, "if that's your opinion." And they shook 
 hands upon it. 
 
 The boisterous manner which Jonas had exhibited during the latter 
 part of this conversation, and which had gone on rapidly increasing with 
 almost every word he had spoken ; from the time when he looked his 
 honourable friend in the face until now ; did not now subside, but, remain- 
 ing at its height, abided by him. Most unusual with him at any period ; 
 most inconsistent with his temper and constitution; especially unnatural 
 it would appear in one so darkly circumstanced ; it abided by him. It 
 was not like the effect of wine, or any ardent drink, for he was perfectly 
 coherent. It even made him proof against the usual influence of 
 such means of excitement ; for, although he drank deeply several times 
 that day, with no reserve or caution, he remained exactly the same 
 man, and his spirits neither rose nor fell in the least observable degree. 
 
 Deciding, after some discussion, to travel at night, in order that the 
 day's business might not be broken in upon, they took counsel together 
 in reference to the means. Mr. Montague being of opinion that four 
 horses were advisable, at all events for the first stage, as throwing a 
 
478 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 great deal of dust into people's eyes, in more senses than one, a 
 travelling chariot and four lay under orders for nine o'clock. Jonas did 
 not go home : observing, that his being obliged to leave town on business 
 in so great a hurry, would be a good excuse for having turned back so 
 unexpectedly in the morning. So he wrote a note for his portmanteau, 
 and sent it by a messenger, who duly brought his luggage back, with a 
 short note from that other piece of luggage, his wife, expressive of her 
 wish to be allowed to come and see him for a moment. To this request 
 he sent for answer, " she had better ; " and one such threatening affirm- 
 ative being sufficient, in defiance of the English grammar, to express a. 
 negative, she kept away. 
 
 Mr. Montague, being much engaged in the course of the day, Jonas, 
 bestowed his spirits chiefly on the doctor, with whom he lunched in the 
 medical officer's own room. On his way thither, encountering Mr, 
 Nadgett in the outer office, he bantered that stealthy gentleman on 
 always appearing anxious to avoid him, and inquired if he were afraid 
 of him. Mr. Nadgett shyly answered, " No, but he believed it must be^ 
 his way, as he had been charged with much the same kind of thing before.'* 
 
 Mr. Montague was listening to : or, to speak with greater elegance, he 
 overheard this dialogue. As soon as Jonas was gone, he beckoned 
 Nadgett to him with the feather of his pen, and whispered in his ear, 
 
 " Who gave him my letter this morning ? " 
 
 " My lodger, sir," said Nadgett, behind the palm of his hand. 
 
 " How came that about ? " 
 
 " I found him on the wharf, sir. Being so much hurried, and yoix 
 not arrived, it was necessary to do something. It fortunately occurred 
 to me, that if I gave it him myself, I could be of no further use. I should 
 have been blown upon immediately." 
 
 " Mr. Nadgett, you are a jewel," said Montague, patting him on the 
 back. " What 's your lodger's name 1 " 
 
 " Pinch, sir. Mr. Thomas Pinch." 
 
 Montague reflected for a little while, and then asked : 
 
 " From the country, do you know 1 " 
 
 " From Wiltshire, sir, he told me." 
 
 They parted without another word. To see Mr. Nadgett's bow when 
 Montague and he next met, and to see Mr. Montague acknowledge it, 
 anybody might have undertaken to swear that they had never spoken 
 to each other confidentially, in all their lives. 
 
 In the meanwhile, Mr. Jonas and the doctor made themselves very 
 comfortable up stairs, over a bottle of the old Madeira, and some sand- 
 wiches ; for the doctor having been already invited to dine below at 
 six o'clock, preferred a light repast for lunch. It was advisable, he said, 
 in two points of view : First, as being healthy in itself. Secondly, as 
 being the better preparation for dinner. 
 
 " And you are bound for all our sakes to take particular care of your 
 digestion, Mr. Chuzzlewit, my dear sir," said the doctor, smacking his 
 lips after a glass of wine ; " for depend upon it, it is worth preserving. 
 It must be in admirable condition, sir ; perfect chronometer-work. 
 Otherwise your spirits could not be so remarkable. Your bosom's lord 
 sits lightly on its throne, Mr. Chuzzlewit, as what's-his-name says in the 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 479 
 
 plaj. I wisli he said it in a play which did anything like common 
 justice to our profession, by-the-bye. There is an apothecary in that 
 drama, sir, which is a low thing ; vulgar, sir ; out of nature altogether." 
 
 Mr. Jobling pulled out his shirt-frill of fine linen, as though he would 
 have added, " This is what I call nature in a medical man, sir ;" and 
 looked at Jonas for an observation. 
 
 Jonas not being in a condition to pursue the subject, took up a case 
 of lancets that was lying on the table, and opened it. 
 
 " Ah ! " said the doctor, leaning back in his chair, " I always take 
 'em out of my pocket before I eat. My pockets are rather tight. 
 Ha, ha, ha ! " 
 
 Jonas had opened one of the shining little instruments ; and was 
 scrutinising it with a look as sharp and eager as its own bright edge. 
 
 " Good steel, doctor. Good steel ! Eh ?" 
 
 " Ye-es,'' replied the doctor, with the faltering modesty of ownership. 
 " One might open a vein pretty dexterously with that, Mr. Chuzzlewit." 
 
 "It has opened a good many in its time, I suppose?" said Jonas, 
 looking at it with a growing interest. 
 
 " Not a few, my dear sir, not a few. It has been engaged in a — in a 
 pretty good practice, I believe I may say," replied the doctor, coughing as 
 if the matter-of-fact were so very dry and literal that he couldn 't help it. 
 " In a pretty good practice," repeated the doctor, putting another glass 
 of wine to his lips. 
 
 " Now, could you cut a man's throat with such a thing as this 1 "" 
 demanded Jonas. 
 
 " Oh certainly, certainly, if you took him in the right place," returned 
 the doctor. " It all depends upon that." 
 
 " Where you have your hand now, hey ?" cried Jonas, bending forward 
 to look at it. 
 
 " Yes," said the doctor ; " that 's the jugular." 
 
 Jonas, in his vivacity, made a sudden sawing in the air, so close behind 
 the doctor's jugular, tliat 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 lies in a nut-shell. A 
 certain gentleman was found, one morning, in an obscure street, stand- 
 ing upright in an angle of a doorway — I should rather say, leaning, in 
 an upright position, in the angle of a doorway, and supported conse- 
 quently b?/ 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. 
 
 " Sir, 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 medi- 
 cal friend of his (to whom suspicion attached) had engaged him in 
 
480 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 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 instru- 
 ment, whatever it was, when he was quite prepared ; and " 
 
 " And done the trick," suggested Jonas. 
 
 " Exactly so," replied the doctor. " It was quite an operation in its 
 way, and very neat. The medical friend never turned up ; and, as I 
 tell you, he had the credit of it. Whether he did it or not, I can't say. 
 But having had the honour to be called in with two or three of my 
 professional brethren on the occasion, and having assisted to make a 
 careful examination of the wound, I have no hesitation in saying that 
 it would have reflected credit on any medical man ; and that in an 
 unprofessional person, it could not but be considered, either as an extra- 
 ordinary work of art, or the result of a still more extraordinary, happy, 
 and favourable conjunction of circumstances." 
 
 His hearer was so much interested in this case, that the doctor went 
 on to elucidate it with the assistance of his own finger and thumb and 
 waistcoat ; and at Jonas's request, he took the further trouble of standing 
 wp in one 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 1" 
 
 " Yes," said Montague, " I am." 
 
 He gave the boy a shake, and threw him roughly aside. There was 
 more of his familiar self in the action, than in anything he had done 
 that day ; but he broke out laughing immediately afterwards ; and 
 making a thrust at the doctor with his hand in imitation of his 
 representation of the medical friend,' went out to the carriage again, 
 and took his seat. His companion followed immediately. Mr. Bailey 
 climbed into the rumble. 
 
 " It will be a stormy night !" exclaimed the doctor, as they started. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 481 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 CONTINUATION OF THE ENTERPRISE OF MR. JONAS AND HIS FRIEND. 
 
 The Doctor's prognostication in reference to the weather, was speedily 
 verified. Although the weather was not a patient of his, and no third 
 party had required him to give an opinion on the case, the quick fulfil- 
 ment of his prophecy may be taken as an instance of his professional 
 tact ; for unless the threatening aspect of the night had been perfectly 
 plain and unmistakeable, Mr. Jobling would never have compromised 
 his reputation by delivering any sentiments on the subject. He used 
 this principle in Medicine with too much success, to be unmindful of it 
 in his commonest transactions. 
 
 It was one of those hot, silent, nights, when people sit at windows, 
 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 gathering swiftly, had not yet come up ; 
 and the prevailing stillness was the more solemn, from the dull 
 intelligence that seemed to hover in the air, of noise 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 growing cold. These had been 
 advancing steadily and slowly, but they were now motionless, or nearly 
 so ; and as the carriage clattered round the corners of the streets, it 
 passed, 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 
 c|uarter of the sky. And now a very few large drops of rain began to 
 fall : and thunder rumbled in the distance. 
 
 Jonas sat in a corner of the carriage, with his bottle resting on his 
 knee, and gripped as tightly in his hand, as if he would have ground its 
 neck to powder if he could. Instinctively attracted by the night, he had 
 laid aside the pack of cards upon the cushion; and with the same 
 involuntary impulse, so intelligible to both of them as not to occasion 
 a remark on either side, his companion had extinguished the lamp. 
 The front glasses were down ; and they sat looking silently out upon the 
 gloomy scene before them. 
 
 They were clear of London : or as clear of it as travellers can be, 
 whose way lies on the Western Road, within a stage of that enormous 
 city. 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 the stable-yard or baiting-place of every way-side 
 
 1 1 
 
482 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 tavern; while their drivers watched the weather from the doors and open 
 windows, or made merry within. Everywhere the people were disposed 
 to bear each other company, 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 muttering 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 through 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 consternation 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 scare- 
 crow in the beanfield close at hand : in a trembling, vivid, flickering 
 instant, everything 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 pre- 
 sented 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 a 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 
 
MARTIN CHIJZZLEWIT. 483 
 
 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 ? " 
 
 '' I 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." 
 
 He uncorked the bottle with the help of his teeth ; and putting it to 
 his lips, took a long draught. 
 
 " I wish we had never started on this journey. This is not," said 
 Montague, recoiling instinctively, and speaking in a voice that betrayed 
 his agitation : " this is not a night to travel in." 
 
 " Ecod ! you 're right there," returned Jonas : " and we shouldn't be 
 out in it but for you. If you hadn't kept me waiting all day, we might 
 have been at Salisbury by this time ; snug abed and fast asleep. What 
 are we stopping now for ? " 
 
 His companion put his head out of window for a moment, and drawing 
 it in again, observed (as if that were his cause of anxiety), that the boy 
 was drenched to the skin. 
 
 " Serve him right," said Jonas. " I'm glad of it. What the devil are 
 we stopping now, for ? Are you going to spread him out to dry ?" 
 
 " I 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 aint 
 afraid of a little thunder and lightning, 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 discor- 
 dance ; 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 j but to-night — 
 do you hear it ? " 
 
 " Ecod I hear and see it too," cried Jonas, shading his eyes, for the 
 moment, from the lightning which was flashing, not in any one direction, 
 
 I I 2 
 
484 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 but all round 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 wo'nt save the head 
 That is doom'd to be i-ifled and riven. 
 
 That must be a precious old song," he added with an oath, as he stopped 
 short in a kind of wonder at himself. " I haven't heard it since I w^as a 
 boj, 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 ha ! " 
 
 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 instrument, their places seemed to be reversed. Eut 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 license 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 interval of darkness, he 
 could represent his figure to himself in any attitude his state of mind 
 suggested. On the other hand, he knew full well that Jonas had no 
 reason to love him ; and even taking the piece of pantomime which had 
 so impressed his mind to be a real 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 expres- 
 sion of truth in it. " If 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 the mean time, 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 present themselves over and 
 over again in w^earisome repetition ; while Jonas, who appeared to have 
 dismissed reflection altogether, entertained himself as before. They 
 agreed that they would go to Salisbury, and would cross to Mr. Pecksniff's 
 in the morning ; and at the prospect of deluding that worthy gentleman, 
 the spirits of his amiable son-in-law became more boisterous than ever. 
 

 p. 
 
 
 -mi^ s 
 
 
 Of 4^ e^v, 
 
 ^y/U''^/.^j /ri.-i ,/?ylt\uy/^<'< <.'■/ //unu . 
 
MARTIN CimZZLEWIT. 485 
 
 As the niglitwore on, the thunder died away, but still rolled gloomily 
 and mournfully in the distance. The lightning too, though now com- 
 paratively 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 objects in 
 their view were presented in indistinct and exaggerated shapes which 
 they would not have worn by night, they gradually became less and less 
 capable of controul ; 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 hold- 
 ing by it : looking drowsily about, as the whole landscape swam before his 
 eyes. But by degrees he grew more conscious, and presently observed 
 that Montague was lying senseless in the road, within a few feet of the 
 horses. 
 
 In an instant, as if his own faint body were suddenly animated by a 
 demon, he ran to the horses' heads j and pulling at their bridles with 
 all his force, set them struggling and plunging with such mad violence 
 as brought their hoofs at every effort nearer to the skull of the prostrate 
 man, and must have led in half a minute to his brains being dashed 
 out on the highw^ay. 
 
 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 ! " cried Jonas. 
 
 " For God's sake ! " cried the driver. — " The gentleman — In the road 
 —he '11 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 veiy 
 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,'" returned 
 the man, shaking his head. " You should have moved him first. I 
 gave him up for dead." 
 
db86 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Presence of mind, you croaker, presence of mind !" cried Jonas, 
 witli a harsh loud laugh. " Was he struck, do you think 1" 
 
 They both turned to look at him. Jonas muttered something to 
 himself, when he saw him sitting up beneath the hedge, looking vacantly 
 round. 
 
 " What 's the matter 1 " asked Montague. " Is anybody hurt ?" 
 
 " Ecod !" said Jonas, " it don't seem so. There are no bones broke, 
 after all." 
 
 They raised him, and he tried to walk. He was a good deal shaken, 
 and trembled very much. But with the exception of a few cuts and 
 bruises, this was all the damage he had sustained. 
 
 " Cuts and bruises, eh ?" said Jonas. " We 've all got them. Only 
 cuts and bruises, eh ?" 
 
 " I 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 !" 
 
 " Ecod, I forgot that monkey," said Jonas. " What's become of him !" 
 A very brief search settled that question. The unfortunate Mr. Bailey 
 had been thrown sheer over the hedge or the five barred gate ; and was 
 lying in the neighbouring field, to all appearance dead. 
 
 " When I said to-night, that I wished I had never started on this 
 journey," cried his master, " I knew it was an ill-fated one. Look at 
 this boy !" 
 
 " Is that all ?" growled Jonas. " If you call thai a sign of it — ^" 
 
 " W^hy, what should I call a sign of it ?" asked Montague, hurriedly. 
 *' What do you mean ?" 
 
 " I mean," said Jonas, stooping down over the body, " that I never 
 heard you were his father, or had any particular reason to care much 
 about him. Halloa. Hold up here !" 
 
 But the boy was past holding up, or being held up, or giving any other 
 sign of life, than a faint and fitful beating of the heart. After some dis- 
 cussion, the driver mounted the horse which had been least injured, and 
 took the lad in his arms, as well as he could ; while Montague and Jonas 
 leading the other horse, and carrying a trunk between them, walked by 
 his side towards Salisbury. 
 
 " You'd get there in a few minutes, and be able to send assistance to 
 meet us, if you went forward, post-boy," said Jonas. " Trot on I" 
 
 " No, no," cried Montague, hastily ; " we'll keep together." 
 
 " Why, what a chicken you are ! You are not afraid of being robbed ; 
 are you 1" said Jonas. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 487 
 
 " I am not afraid of anything," replied the other, whose looks and 
 manner were in flat contradiction to his words. "But we'll keep 
 together." 
 
 " You were mighty anxious about the boy, a minute ago," said Jonas. 
 ^' I suppose you know that he may die in the mean time f 
 
 "Aye, aye. I know. But we '11 keep together." 
 
 As it was clear that he was not to be moved from this determination, 
 Jonas made no other rejoinder than such as his face expressed ; and they 
 proceeded in company. They had three or four good miles to travel ; 
 and the way was not made easier by the state of the road, the burden by 
 which they were embarrassed, or their own stiff and sore condition. 
 After a sufficiently long and painful walk, they arrived at the Inn ; and 
 having knocked the people up (it being yet very early in the morning), 
 sent out messengers to see to the carriage and its contents, and roused a 
 surgeon from his bed to tend the chief sufferer. All the service he could 
 render, he rendered promptly and skilfully. But he gave it as his 
 opinion that the boy was labouring under a severe concussion of the 
 brain, and that Mr. Bailey's mortal course was run. 
 
 If Montague's strong interest in the announcement could have been 
 considered as unselfish, in any degree ; it might have been a redeeming 
 trait in a character that had no such lineaments to spare. But it w^as 
 not difficult to see that for some unexpressed reason best appreciated by 
 himself, he attached a strange value to the company and presence of this 
 mere child. When, after receiving some assistance from the surgeon 
 himself, he retired to the bed-room prepared for him, and it was broad 
 •day, his mind was still dwelling on this theme. 
 
 " I would rather have lost," he said, " a thousand pounds than lost 
 the boy just now. But I '11 return home alone ; I am resolved upon 
 that. Chuzzlewit shall go forward first, and I will follow in my own 
 time. I '11 have no more of this," he added, wiping his damp forehead. 
 *' Twenty-four hours of this would turn my hair gray ! " 
 
 After examining his chamber, and looking under the bed, and in the 
 cupboards, and even behind the curtains, with unusual caution ; although 
 it was, as has been said, broad day ; he double-locked the door by which 
 he had entered, and retired to rest. There was another door in the 
 room, but it was locked on the outer side ; and with what place it 
 communicated, he knew not. 
 
 His fears or evil conscience reproduced this door in all his dreams. 
 He dreamed that a dreadful secret was connected with it : a secret which 
 he knew, and yet did not know, for although he was heavily responsible 
 for it, and a party to it, he was harassed even in his vision by a dis- 
 tracting uncertainty in reference to its import. Incoherently entwined 
 with this dream was another, which represented it as the hiding-place 
 of an enemy, a shadow, a phantom ; and made it the business of his 
 life to keep the terrible creature closed up, and prevent it from forcing 
 its way in upon him. With this view Nadgett, and he, and a strange 
 man with a bloody smear upon his head (who told him that he had 
 been his playfellow, and told him, too, the real name of an old school- 
 mate, forgotten until then), worked with iron plates and nails to make 
 
488 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 the door secure ; but though they worked never so hard, it was all in vain, 
 for the nails broke, or changed to soft twigs, or, what was worse, to 
 worros, between their fingers ; the wood of the door splintered and 
 crumbled, so that even nails would not remain in it ; and the iron plates 
 curled up like hot paper. All this time the creature on the other side — 
 whether it was in the shape of man, or beast, he neither knew nor 
 sought to know — was gaining on them. But his greatest terror was 
 when the man with the bloody smear upon his head demanded of him 
 if he knew this creature's name, and said that he would whisper it. 
 At this the dreamer fell upon his knees, his whole blood thrilling with 
 inexplicable fear, and held his ears. But looking at the speaker's lips, 
 he saw that they formed the utterance of the letter " J ;" and crying 
 out aloud that the secret was discovered, and they were all lost, he 
 awoke. 
 
 Awoke to find Jonas standing at his bedside watching him. And 
 that very door wide open. 
 
 As their eyes met, Jonas retreated a few paces, and Montague sprang 
 out of bed. 
 
 " Heyday ! " said Jonas. " You 're all alive this morning." 
 
 " Alive ! " the other stammered, as he pulled the bell-rope violently : 
 " What are you doing here ? " 
 
 " It 's your room to be sure," said Jonas ; " but I 'm almost inclined 
 to ask you what you are doing here. My room is on the other side of 
 that door. No one told me last night not to open it. I thought it led 
 into a passage, and was coming out to order breakfast. There 's — there 's 
 no bell in my room." 
 
 Montague had in the mean time admitted the man with his hot water 
 and boots, who hearing this, said, yes, there was ; and passed into 
 the adjoining room to point it out, at the head of the bed. 
 
 " I couldn't find it, then," said Jonas : " it's all the same. Shall I 
 order breakfast ?" 
 
 Montague answered in the affirmative. When Jonas had retired, 
 whistling, through his own room, he opened the door of communication, 
 to take out the key and fasten it on the inner side. But it was taken 
 out already. 
 
 He dragged a table against the door and sat down to collect himself, 
 as if his dreams still had some influence upon his mind. 
 
 " An evil journey," he repeated several times. " An evil journey. 
 But I'll travel home alone. I'll have no more of this ! " 
 
 His presentiment, or superstition, that it was an evil journey, did not 
 at all deter him from doing the evil for which the journey was under- 
 taken. With this in view, he dressed himself more carefully than 
 usual, to make a favourable impression on Mr. Pecksnifi" : and, reassured 
 by his own appearance, the beauty of the morning, and the flashing of 
 the wet boughs outside his window in the merry sunshine, he was soon. 
 sufficiently inspirited to swear a few round oaths, and hum the fag-end 
 of a song. 
 
 But he still muttered to himself at intervals, for all that : " I '11 
 travel home alone ! " 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 489 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 HAS AX INFLUENCE ON THE FORTUNES OF SEVERAL PEOPLE. MR. PECK- 
 SNIFF IS EXHIBITED IN THE PLENITUDE OF POAVER ; AND WIELDS 
 THE SAME WITH FORTITUDE AND MAGNANIMITY. 
 
 On the night of the storm, Mrs. Lupin, hostess of the Blue Dragon, 
 sat by herself in her little bar. Her solitary condition, or the bad 
 weather, or both united, made Mrs. Lupin thoughtful, not to say 
 sorrowful; and as she sat with her chin upon her hand, looking out 
 through a low back lattice, rendered dim in the brightest day-time by 
 clustering vine-leaves, she shook her head very often, and said, " Dear 
 me ! ah, dear, dear me ! " 
 
 It was a melancholy time, even in the snugness of the Dragon bar. 
 The rich expanse of corn-field, pasture-land, green slope, and gentle 
 undulation, with its sparkling brooks, its many hedgerows, and its 
 clumps of beautiful trees, was black and dreary, from the diamond panes 
 of the lattice away to the far horizon, where the thunder seemed to roll 
 along the hills. The heavy rain beat down the tender branches of vine 
 and jessamine, and trampled on them in its fury ; and when the light- 
 ning gleamed, it showed the tearful leaves shivering and cowering 
 together at the window, and tapping at it urgently, as if beseeching to 
 be sheltered from the dismal night. 
 
 As a mark of her respect for the lightning, Mrs. Lupin had removed 
 her candle to the chimney-piece. Her basket of needlework stood 
 unheeded at her elbow ; her supper, spread on a round table not far off, 
 was untasted ; and the knives had been removed for fear of attraction. 
 She had sat for a long time with her chin upon her hand, saying to 
 herself at intervals, " Dear me ! Ah, dear, dear me ! " 
 
 She was on the eve of saying so, once more, when the latch of the 
 house-door (closed to keep the rain out), rattled on its well-worn catch, 
 and a traveller came in, who, shutting it after him, and walking 
 straight up to tlie half-door of the bar, said, rather gruffly : 
 
 " A pint of the best old beer here." 
 
 He had some reason to be gruff, for if he had passed the day in 
 a waterfall, he could scarcely have been wetter than he was. He was 
 wrapped up to the eyes in a rough blue sailor's coat, and had an oil-skin 
 hat on, from the capacious brim of which, the rain fell trickling down 
 upon his breast, and back, and shoulders. Judging from a certain 
 liveliness of chin — he had so pulled down his hat, and pulled up his 
 collar, to defend himself from the weather, that she could only see his 
 chin, and even across that he drew the wet sleeve of his shaggy coat, as 
 she looked at him — Mrs. Lupin set him doAvn for a good-natured 
 fellow, too.' 
 
 " A bad night I " observed the hostess cheerfully. 
 
 The traveller shook himself like a Newfoundland dog, and said ifc 
 was, rather. 
 
490 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " There 's a fire in the kitchen," said Mrs. Lupin, " and very good 
 company there. Hadn't you better go and dry yourself? " 
 
 " No, thankee," said the man, glancing towards the kitchen as he 
 spoke : he seemed to know the way, 
 
 " It 's enough to give you your death of cold," observed the hostess. 
 
 " I don't take my death easy," returned the traveller ; "or I should 
 most likely have took it afore to-night. Your health, ma'am ! " 
 
 Mrs. Lupin thanked him ; but in the act of lifting the tankard to his 
 mouth, he changed his mind, and put it down again. Throwing his 
 body back, and looking about him stiffly, as a man does who is wrapped 
 up, and has his hat low down over his eyes, he said, 
 
 " What do you call this house ? Not the Dragon, do you 1 " 
 
 Mrs. Lupin complacently made answer, " Yes, the Dragon." 
 
 " Why, then, you 've got a sort of relation of mine here, ma'am," 
 said the traveller : " a young man of the name of Tapley. What ! Mark, 
 my boy ! " apostrophising the premises, "have I come upon you at 
 last, old buck ! " 
 
 This was touching Mrs. . Lupin on a tender point. She turned to 
 trim the candle on the chimney-piece, and said, with her back towards 
 the traveller : 
 
 " Nobody should be made more welcome at the Dragon, master, than 
 any one who brought me news of Mark. But it 's many and many a long 
 day and month since he left here and England. And whether he 's 
 alive or dead, poor fellow. Heaven above us only knows ! " 
 
 She shook her head, and her voice trembled ; her hand must have 
 •done so too, for the light required a deal of trimming. 
 
 " Where did he go, ma'am ? " asked the traveller, in a gentler voice. 
 
 " He went," said Mrs. Lupin, with increased distress, " to America. 
 He was always tender-hearted and kind, and perhaps at this moment 
 may be lying in prison under sentence of death, for taking pity on 
 some miserable black, and helping the poor runaway creetur to escape. 
 How could he ever go to America ! Why didn't he go to some of those 
 countries which are not quite barbarous ; where the savages eat each 
 other fairly, and give an equal chance to every one ! " 
 
 Quite subdued by this time, Mrs. Lupin sobbed, and was retiring to a 
 chair to give her grief free vent, when the traveller caught her in his 
 arms, and she uttered a glad cry of recognition. 
 
 " Yes, I will ! " cried Mark, " another — one more — twenty more ! 
 You didn't know me in that hat and coat ? I thought you would have 
 known me anywhere ! Ten more ! " 
 
 " So I should have known you, if I could have seen you ; but I couldn't, 
 ;and you spoke so gruiF. I didn 't think you could speak gruff to me, 
 Mark, at first coming back." 
 
 " Fifteen more ! " said Mr. Tapley. " How handsome and how young 
 you look ! Six more ! The last half-dozen warn't a fair one, and 
 must be done over again. Lord bless you, what a treat it is to see you ! 
 One more ! Well, I never was so jolly. Just a few more, on account 
 of there not being any credit in it ! " 
 
 When Mr. Tapley stopped in these calculations in simple addition, 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 491 
 
 he did it, not because he was at all tired of the exercise, but because he 
 was out of breath. The pause reminded him of other duties. 
 
 " Mr. Martin Chuzzlewit 's outside," he said. " I left him under the 
 cart-shed, while I came on to see if there was anybody here. We want 
 to keep quiet to-night, 'till we know the news from you, and what it 's 
 best for us to do." 
 
 " There 's not a soul in the house except the kitchen company," 
 returned the hostess. " If they were to know you had come back, 
 Mark, they 'd have a bonfire in the street, late as it is." 
 
 " But they mustn't know it to-night, my precious soul," said Mark : 
 " so have the house shut, and the kitchen fire made up ; and when 
 it 's all ready, put a light in the winder, and we '11 come in. One more ! 
 I long to hear about old friends. You '11 tell me all about 'em, won't 
 you : Mr. Pinch, and the butcher's dog down the street, and the terrier 
 over the way, and the wheelwright's, and every one of 'em. When I 
 first caught sight of the church to-night, I thought the steeple would 
 have choked me, I did. One more ! Won't you '? Not a very little 
 one to finish ofi" with ? " 
 
 " You have had plenty, I am sure," said the hostess. " Go along with 
 your foreign manners ! " 
 
 "That ^aint foreign, bless you !" cried Mark. "Native as oysters, 
 that is ! One more, because it 's native ! As a mark of respect for 
 the land we live in ! This don't count as between you and me, you 
 understand," said Mr. Tapley. " I a'n't a kissin' you now, you'll 
 observe. I have been among the patriots : I'm a kissin' my country."' 
 
 It would have been very unreasonable to complain of the exhibi- 
 tion of his patriotism with which he followed up this explanation, that 
 it was all lukewarm or indifferent. When he had given full expres- 
 sion to his nationality, he hurried off to Martin ; while Mrs. Lupin, in 
 a state of great agitation and excitement, prepared for their reception. 
 
 The company soon came tumbling out : insisting to each other that 
 the Dragon clock was half an hour too fast, and that the thunder 
 must have affected it. Impatient, wet, and weary, though they were, 
 Martin and IMark were overjoyed to see these old faces, and watched 
 them with delighted interest, as they departed from the house, and 
 passed close by them. 
 
 " There 's the old tailor, Mark ! " whispered Martin. 
 
 " There he goes. Sir ! A little bandyer than he was, I think. Sir, 
 ^int he ? His figure 's so far altered, as it seems to me, that you might 
 wheel a rather larger barrow between his legs as he walks, than you 
 could have done conveniently, when we know'd him. There 's Sam a 
 coming out. Sir." 
 
 " Ah, to be sure ! " cried Martin : " Sam, the hostler. I wonder 
 whether that horse of Pecksniff's is alive still ? " 
 
 " Not a doubt on it, Sir," returned Mark. " That 's a description of 
 animal. Sir, as will go on in a bony way peculiar to himself for a long 
 time, and get into the newspapers at last under the title of ' Sing'lar 
 Tenacity of Life in a Quadruped.' As if he had ever been alive in 
 all his life, worth mentioning ! There 's the clerk, Sir, — wery drunk, 
 sls usual." 
 
492 LIFE AND ADVENTUEES OF 
 
 " I see him ! " said Martin, laughing. " But, m j life, how wet you 
 are, Mark ! " 
 
 " / am ! What do you consider yourself. Sir ? " 
 
 " Oh, not half as bad," said his fellow-traveller, with an air of great 
 vexation. " I told you not to keep on the windy side, Mark, but to 
 let us change and change about. The rain has been beating on you, 
 ever since it began.'' 
 
 " You don't know how it pleases me. Sir," said Mark, after a short 
 silence : " if I may make so bold as say so, to hear you a going on in that 
 there uncommon considerate way of yours ; which I don't mean to attend 
 to, never, but which, ever since that time when I was floored in Eden, 
 you have shewed." 
 
 "Ah Mark ! " sighed Martin, "the less we say of that the better. 
 Do I see the light yonder 1 " 
 
 " That 's the light ! " cried Mark. " Lord bless her, what briskness 
 she possesses ! Now for it, sir. Neat wines, good beds, and first-rate 
 entertainment for man or beast." 
 
 The kitchen fire burnt clear and red, the table was spread out, the 
 kettle boiled, the slippers were there, the boot-jack too, sheets of ham 
 were cooking on the gridiron, half-a-dozen eggs were poaching in the 
 frying-pan ; a plethoric cherry-brandy bottle was winking at a foaming 
 jug of beer upon the table ; rare provisions were dangling from the 
 rafters as if you had only to open your mouth, and something exquisitely 
 ripe and good would be but too glad of the excuse for tumbling into it. 
 Mrs. Lupin, who for their sakes had dislodged the very cook, high 
 priestess of the temple, with her own genial hands was dressing their 
 repast. 
 
 It was impossible to help it — a ghost must have hugged her. The 
 Atlantic Ocean and the Red Sea being, in that respect, all one, Martin 
 hugged her instantly. Mr. Tapley (as if the idea were quite novel, and 
 had never occurred to him before), followed, with much gravity, on the 
 same side. 
 
 " Little did I ever think," said Mrs. Lupin, adjusting her cap and 
 laughing heartily ; yes, and blushing too ; " often as I have said that 
 Mr. Pecksniff 's young gentlemen were the life and soul of the Dragon, 
 and that without them it would be too dull to live in — little did I ever 
 think, I am sure, that any one of them would ever make so free as you, 
 Mr. Martin ! And still less that I shouldn't be angry with him, but 
 should be glad with all my heart, to be the first to welcome him home 
 from America, with Mark Tapley, for his — " 
 
 " For his friend, Mrs. Lupin," interposed Martin hastily. 
 
 " For his friend," said the hostess, evidently gratified by this dis- 
 tinction, but at the same time admonishing Mr. Tapley with a fork, to 
 remain at a respectful distance. " Little did I ever think that ! But 
 still less, that I should ever have the changes to relate that I shall 
 have to tell you of, when you have done your supper ! " 
 
 " Good Heaven ! " cried Martin, changing colour, " What changes" 1 " 
 
 " Me," said the hostess, " is quite well, and now at Mr. Pecksniff"'s. 
 Don't be at all alarmed about her. She is everything you could wish. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLBWIT. 493 
 
 It 's of no use mincing matters or making secrets, is it ? " added Mrs. 
 Lupin. " I know all about it, you see ! " 
 
 " My good creature," returned Martin, " you are exactly the person 
 who ought to know all about it. I am delighted to think you do know 
 all about it. But what changes do you hint at 1 Has any death 
 occurred *? " 
 
 " No, no ! " said the hostess. " Not so bad as that. But I declare 
 now that I will not be drawn into saying another word till you have 
 had your supper. If you ask me fifty questions in the mean time, I won't 
 answer one." 
 
 She was so positive that there was nothing for it but to get the supper 
 over as quickly as possible ; and as they had been walking a great 
 many miles, and had fasted since the middle of the day, they did no 
 great violence to their own inclinations in falling on it tooth and nail. 
 It took rather longer to get through than might have been expected ; 
 for, half-a-dozen times, when they thought they had finished, Mrs. Lupin 
 exposed the fallacy of that impression triumphantly. But at last, in 
 the course of time and nature, they gave in. Then, sitting with their 
 slippered feet stretched out upon the kitchen hearth (which was wonder- 
 fully comforting, for the night had grown by this time raw and chilly), 
 and looking with involuntary admiration at their dimpled, buxom, 
 blooming hostess, as the firelight sparkled in her eyes and glimmered 
 in her raven hair, they composed themselves to listen to her news. 
 
 Many were the exclamations of surprise which interrupted her, when 
 she told them of the separation between Mr. Pecksniff' and his daughters, 
 and between the same good gentleman and Mr. Pinch. But these were 
 nothing to the indignant demonstrations of Martin, when she related, 
 as the common talk of the neighbourhood, what entire possession he had 
 obtained over the mind and person of old Mr. Chuzzlewit, and what high 
 honour he designed for Mary. On receipt of this intelligence, Martin's 
 slippers flew off* in a twinkling, and he began pulling on his wet boots 
 with that indefinite intention of going somewhere instantly, and doing 
 something to somebody, which is the first safety-valve of a hot temper. 
 
 " He !" said Martin, "smooth-tongued villain that he is 1 He ! Give 
 me that other boot, Mark ! " 
 
 " Where was you a thinking of going to, sir ? " inquired Mr. Tapley, 
 drying the sole at the fire, and looking coolly at it as he spoke, as if it 
 were a slice of toast. 
 
 " Where ! " repeated Martin. " You don't suppose I am going to 
 remain here, do you ? " 
 
 The imperturbable Mark confessed that he did. 
 
 " You do ! " retorted Martin angrily. " I am much obliged to you. 
 What do you take me for 1 " 
 
 " I take you for what you are, sir," said Mark ; " and, consequently, 
 am quite sure that whatever you do, will be right and sensible. The 
 boot, sir." 
 
 Martin darted an impatient look at him, without taking it, and 
 walked rapidly up and down the kitchen several times, with one boot 
 and a stocking on. But, mindful of his Eden resolution, he had already 
 
494 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 gained many victories over himself when Mark v/as in the case, and he 
 resolved to conquer now. So he came back to the boot-jack, laid his 
 hand on Mark's shoulder to steady himself, pulled the boot off, picked 
 up his slippers, put them on, and sat down again. He could not help 
 thrusting his hands to the very bottom of his pockets, and muttering 
 at intervals, " Pecksniff too ! That fellow ! Upon my soul ! In-deed I 
 What next ? " and so forth : nor could he help occasionally shaking his 
 iist at the chimney, with a very threatening countenance : but this 
 did not last long ; and he heard Mrs. Lupin out, if not with composure, 
 at all events in silence. 
 
 "As to Mr. Pecksniff himself," observed the hostess in conclusion, 
 spreading out the skirts of her gown with both hands, and nodding her 
 head a great many times as she did so, " I don't know what to say. 
 Somebody must have poisoned his mind, or influenced him in some 
 extraordinary way. I cannot believe that such a noble-spoken gentle- 
 man would go and do wrong of his own accord ! " 
 
 How many people are there in the world, who, for no better reason, 
 uphold their Pecksniffs to the last, and abandon virtuous men, when. 
 Pecksniffs breathe upon them ! 
 
 " As to Mr. Pinch," pursued the landlady, " if ever there was a dear, 
 good, pleasant, w^orthy, soul alive, Pinch, and no other, is his name. 
 But how do we know that old Mr. Chuzzlewit himself was not the cause 
 of difference arising between him and Mr. Pecksniff ? No one but 
 themselves can tell : for Mr. Pinch has a proud spirit, though he has 
 such a quiet way ; and when he left us, and was so sorry to go, he 
 scorned to make his story good, even to me." 
 
 " Poor old Tom ! " said Martin, in a tone that sounded like 
 remorse. 
 
 " It 's a comfort to know," resumed the landlady, " that he has his 
 sister living with him, and is doing well. Only yesterday he sent me 
 back, by post, a little" — here the colour came into her cheeks — "a little 
 trifle I was bold enough to lend him when he went away : saying, with 
 many thanks, that he had good employment, and didn't want it. It 
 was the same note ; he hadn't broken it. I never thought I could have 
 been so little pleased to see a bank-note come back to me, as I was 
 to see that." 
 
 " Kindly said, and heartily ! " said Martin. " Is it not, Mark ? " 
 
 " She can't say anything as does not possess them qualities," returned 
 Mr. Tapley ; " which as much belong to the Dragon as its license. And 
 now that we have got quite cool and fresh, to the subject again. Sir : 
 what will you do ? If you 're not proud, and can make up your mind 
 to go through with what you spoke of, coming along, that 's the course 
 for you to take. If you started wrong with your grandfather : (which, 
 you '11 excuse my taking the liberty of saying, appears to have been the 
 case), up with you. Sir, and tell him so, and make an appeal to his 
 affections. Don't stand out. He 's a great deal older than you, and if 
 he was hasty, you was hasty too: Give way. Sir, give way." 
 
 The eloquence of Mr. Tapley was not without its effect on Martin, 
 but he still hesitated, and expressed his reason thus : 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 495 
 
 " That's all very true, and perfectly correct, Mark ; and if it were a 
 mere question of humbling myself before him, I would not consider it 
 twice. But don't you see, that being wholly under this hypocrite's 
 government, and having (if what we hear be true) no mind or will of 
 his own, I throw myself, in fact, not at his feet, but at the feet of Mr. 
 Pecksniff? And when I am rejected and spurned away," said Martin,^ 
 turning crimson at the thought, " it is not by him : my own blood 
 stirred against me : but by Pecksniff — Pecksniff, Mark ! " 
 
 " Well, but we know beforehand," returned the politic Mr. Tapley^ 
 "that Pecksniff is a wagabond, a scoundrel, and a willain." 
 
 " A most pernicious villain ! " said Martin. 
 
 " A most pernicious willain. We know that beforehand, sir ; and^ 
 consequently, it 's no shame to be defeated by Pecksniff. Blow Pecksniff!' 
 cried Mr. Tapley, in the fervour of his eloquence. " Who's he! It 's not. 
 in the natur of Pecksniff to shame us, unless he agreed with us, or 
 done us a service ; and, in case he offered any outdacity of that descrip- 
 tion, we could express our sentiments in the English language, I hope 1 
 Pecksniff ! " repeated Mr. Tapley, with ineffable disdain. " What 's 
 Pecksniff, who 's Pecksniff, where 's Pecksniff, that he 's to be so much, 
 considered ? We 're not a calculating for ourselves ; " he laid uncommon 
 emphasis on the last syllable of that word, and looked full in Martin's 
 face ; " we 're making a effort for a young lady likewise as has undergone 
 her share ; and whatever little hope we have, this here Pecksniff is not 
 to stand in its way, I expect, I never heerd of any act of Parliament 
 as was made by Pecksniff. Pecksniff ! Why, I wouldn't see the man 
 myself ; I wouldn't hear him ; I wouldn't choose to know he was in 
 company. I'd scrape my shoes on the scraper of the door, and call that 
 Pecksniff, if you liked ; but I wouldn't condescend no further." 
 
 The amazement of Mrs. Lupin, and indeed of Mr. Tapley himself 
 for that matter, at this impassioned flow of language, was immense. 
 But Martin, after looking thoughtfully at the fire for a short time, said : 
 
 " You are right, Mark. Right or wrong, it shall be done. I '11 do it." 
 
 " One word more Sir," returned Mark. " Only think of him so far, 
 as not to give him a handle against you. Don't you do anything secret, 
 that he can report before you get there. Don't you even see Miss Mary 
 in the morning, but let this here dear friend of ours ; " Mr. Taplej^ 
 bestowed a smile upon the hostess ; " prepare her for what 's a going to 
 happen, and carry any little message as may be agreeable. She knows 
 how. Don't you V Mrs. Lupin laughed and tossed her head. " Then 
 you go in, bold and free as a gentleman should. ^ I haven't done 
 nothing under-handed,' says you. ' I haven't been a skulking about the 
 premises, here I am, for-give me, I ask your pardon, God Bless You !" 
 
 Martin smiled, but felt that it was good advice notwithstanding, and 
 resolved to act upon it. When they had ascertained from Mrs. Lupin 
 that Pecksniff had already returned from the great ceremonial at which 
 they had beheld him in his glory ; and when they had fully arranged 
 the order of their proceedings ; they went to bed, intent upon the 
 morrow. 
 
 In pursuance of their project as agreed upon at this discussion; ]\Ir. 
 
496 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Tapley issued fortk next morning, after breakfast, charged with a letter 
 from Martin to his grandfather, requesting leave to wait upon him for a 
 few minutes. And postponing as he went along the congratulations of 
 his numerous friends until a more convenient season, he soon arrived at 
 Mr. Pecksniffs house. At that gentleman's door : with a face so 
 immoveable that it would have been next to an impossibility for the 
 most acute physiognomist to determine what he was thinking about, or 
 whether he was thinking at all : he straightway knocked. 
 
 A person of Mr. Tapley's observation could not long remain insensible 
 to the fact, that Mr. Pecksniff was making the end of his nose very blunt 
 against the glass of the parlour window, in an angular attempt to discover 
 who had knocked at the door. Nor was Mr. Tapley slow to baffle this 
 movement on the part of the enemy, by perching himself on the top 
 step, and presenting the crown of his hat in that direction. But possibly 
 Mr. Pecksniff had already seen him, for Mark soon heard his shoes 
 creaking, as he advanced to open the door with his own hands. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff was as cheerful as ever, and sang a little song in the 
 passage. 
 
 " How d'ye do Sir ?" said Mark. 
 
 "Ohl" cried Mr. Pecksniff. "Tapley, I believe? The Prodigal 
 returned ! We don't want any Beer, my friend." 
 
 " Thankee Sir," said Mark. " I couldn't accommodate you, if you 
 did. A letter Sir. Wait for an answer." 
 
 " For me ?" cried Mr. Pecksniff. " And an answer, eh ?" 
 
 " Not for you I think Sir," said Mark, pointing out the direction. 
 "Chuzzlewit, I believe the name is. Sir." 
 
 " Oh !" returned Mr. Pecksniff. " Thank you. Yes. Who's it from, 
 my good young man "?" 
 
 " The gentleman it comes from, wrote his name inside Sir," returned 
 Mr, Tapley with extreme politeness. " I see him a signing of it at the 
 end, while I was a waitin'." 
 
 " And he said he wanted an answer did he ]" asked Mr. Pecksniff in 
 his most persuasive manner. 
 
 Mark replied in the affirmative. 
 
 " He shall have an answer. Certainly," said Mr. Pecksniff, tearing the 
 ktter into small pieces as mildly as if that were the most flattering 
 attention a correspondent could receive. " Have the goodness to give 
 him that, with my compliments, if you please. Good morning!" 
 Whereupon, he handed Mark the scraps ; retired ; and shut the door. 
 
 Mark thought it prudent to subdue his personal emotions, and return 
 to Martin, at the Dragon. They were not unprepared for such a recep- 
 tion, and suffered an hour or so to elapse before making another attempt. 
 When this interval had gone by, they returned to Mr. Pecksniff's house 
 in company. Martin knocked this time, while Mr. Tapley prepared 
 himself to keep the door open with his foot and shoulder, when anybody 
 came, and by that means secure an enforced parley. But this precaution 
 was needless, for the servant-girl appeared almost immediately. Brushing 
 quickly past her as he had resolved in such a case to do, Martin (closely 
 followed by his faithful ally) opened the door of that parlour in which 
 
fi/^ 'L^^ /'/:/f/>^/i^/7 a^/^^^//^//r^ 
 
 '^//r€,<> M^ /?L4t'// iZJ m^r-^^^^' ^/ >^^>^/^ 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 497 
 
 he knew a visitor was most likely to be found ; passed at once into the 
 room ; and stood, without a word of notice or announcement, in the pre- 
 sence of his grandfather. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff also was in the room ; and Mary. In the swift instant 
 of their mutual recognition, Martin saw the old man droop his gray 
 head, and hide his face in his hands. 
 
 It smote him to the heart. In his most selfish and most careless day, 
 this lingering remnant of the old man's ancient love, this buttress of a 
 ruined tower he had built up in the time gone by, with so much pride 
 and hope, would have caused a pang in Martin's heart. But now, 
 changed for the better in his worst respect ; looking through an altered 
 medium on his former friend, the guardian of his childhood, so broken 
 and bowed down ; resentment, suUenness, self-confidence, and pride, were 
 all swept away, before the starting tears upon the withered cheeks. He 
 could not bear to see them. He could not bear to think they fell at 
 sight of him. He could not bear to view reflected in them, the reproach- 
 ful and irrevocable Past. 
 
 He hurriedly advanced, to seize the old man's hand in his, when Mr. 
 Pecksniff interposed himself between them. 
 
 "No, young man !•" said Mr. Pecksniff, striking himself upon the 
 breast, and stretching. out his other arm towards his guest as if it were 
 a wing to shelter him. " No Sir. None of that. Strike here Sir, here ! 
 Launch your arrows at Me sir, if you'll have the goodness ; not at Him !" 
 
 " Grandfather ! " cried Martin. " Hear me ! I implore you, let me 
 speak !" 
 
 " Would you Sir ! Would you ! " said Mr. Pecksniff, dodging about, 
 so as to keep himself always between them. " Is it not enough. Sir, that 
 you come into my house like a thief in the night, or I should rather say, 
 for we can never be too particular on the subject of Truth, like a thief 
 in the day-time ; bringing your dissolute companions with you, to plant 
 themselves with their backs against the insides of parlour doors, and pre- 
 vent the entrance or issuing forth of any of my household ; " Mark had 
 taken up this position, and held it quite unmoved ; " but would you also 
 strike at venerable Virtue 1 Would you 1 Know that it is not defenceless. 
 I will be its shield young man Assail me. Come on Sir. Fire away ! " 
 
 " Pecksniff," said the old man, in a feeble voice. " Calm yourself. 
 Be quiet." 
 
 " I can't be calm," cried Mr. Pecksniff, " and I won't be quiet. My 
 benefactor and my friend ! Shall even my house be no refuge for your 
 hoary pillow ! " 
 
 " Stand aside ! " said the old man, stretching out his hand ; " and let 
 me see what it is, I used to love so dearly." 
 
 " It is right that you should see it, my friend," said Mr. Pecksniff. 
 " It is well that you should see it, my noble Sir. It is desirable that you 
 should contemplate it in its true proportions. Behold it ! There it is 
 Sir. There it is ! " 
 
 Martin could hardly be a mortal man, and not express in his face, 
 something of the anger and disdain, with which Mr. Pecksniff inspired 
 him. But beyond this he evinced no knowledge whatever of that 
 
 K K 
 
498 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 gentleman's presence or existence. True, he had once, and that at first, 
 glanced at him involuntarily, and with supreme contempt ; but for any 
 other heed he took of him, there might have been nothing in his place 
 save empty air. 
 
 As Mr. Pecksniff withdrew from between them, agreeably to the wish 
 just now expressed (which he did, during the delivery of the observations 
 last recorded), old Martin, who had taken Mary Graham's hand in his, 
 and whispered kindly to her, as telling her she had no cause to be 
 alarmed, gently pushed her from him, behind his chair ; and looked 
 steadily at his grandson. 
 
 " And that," he said, " is he. Ah ! that is he 1 Say what you wish 
 to say. But come no nearer." 
 
 " His sense of justice is so fine," said Mr. Pecksniff, "that he will hear 
 even him; although he knows beforehand that nothing can come of it. In- 
 genuous mind !" Mr. Pecksniff did not address himself immediately to any 
 person in saying this, but assuming the position of the Chorus in a Greek 
 Tragedy, delivered his opinion as a commentary on the proceedings. 
 
 " Grandfather !" said Martin, with great earnestness. " From a painful 
 journey, from a hard life, from a sick bed, from privation and distress, 
 from gloom and disappointment, from almost hopelessness and despair, 
 I have come back to you." 
 
 " Ptovers of this sort," observed Mr. Pecksniff as Chorus, "very com- 
 monly come back when they find they don't meet with the success they 
 expected in their marauding ravages." 
 
 " But for this faithful man," said Martin, turning towards Mark, 
 " whom I first knew in this place, and who went away with me volun- 
 tarily, as a servant, but has been, throughout, my zealous and devoted 
 friend ; but for him, I must have died abroad. Par from home, far 
 from any help or consolation ; far from the probability even of my 
 wretched fate being ever known to any one who cared to hear it — oh 
 that you would let me say, of being known to you ! " 
 
 The old man looked at Mr. Pecksniff. Mr. Pecksniff looked at him. 
 " Did you speak my worthy Sir 1 " said Mr. Pecksniff, with a smile. 
 The old man answered in the negative. " I know what you thought," 
 said Mr. Pecksniff, with another smile. " Let him go on, my friend. 
 The development of self-interest in the human mind is always a curious 
 study. Let him go on, Sir." 
 
 " Go on ! " observed the old man ; in a mechanical obedience, it 
 appeared, to Mr. Pecksniff's suggestion. 
 
 " I have been so wretched and so poor," said Martin, " that I am 
 indebted to the charitable help of a stranger in a land of strangers, for 
 the means of returning here. All this tells against me in your mind, I 
 know. I have given you cause to think I have been driven here wholly 
 by want, and have not been led on, in any degree, by affection or regret. 
 When I parted from you, Grandfather, I deserved that suspicion, buf 
 I do not now. I do not now." 
 
 The Chorus put its hand in its waistcoat, and smiled. " Let him go 
 on, my worthy Sir," it said. " I know what you are thinking of, but 
 don't express it prematurely." 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 499 
 
 Old Martin raised his eyes to Mr. Pecksniff's face, and appearing to 
 derive renewed instruction from his looks and words, said, once again : 
 
 "Go on!" 
 
 " I have little more to say," returned Martin. " And as I say it 
 now, with little or no hope, Grandfather ; whatever dawn of hope I 
 had on enterino^ the room : believe it to be true. At least believe it 
 to be true." 
 
 " Beautiful Truth ! " exclaimed the Chorus, looking upward. *^ How 
 is your name profaned by vicious persons ! You don't live in a well, 
 my holy principle, but on the lips of false mankind. It is hard to bear 
 •with mankind, dear Sir," — addressing the elder Mr. Chuzzlewit; "but 
 let us do so, meekly. It is our duty so to do. Let us be among the 
 Pew who do their duty. If," pursued the Chorus, soaring up into a 
 lofty flight, " as the poet informs us, England expects Every man to 
 do his duty, England is the most sanguine country on the face of the 
 earth, and will find itself continually disappointed." 
 
 " Upon that subject," said Martin, looking calmly at the old man as 
 he spoke, but glancing once at Mary, whose face was now buried in her 
 hands, upon the back of his easy chair : "upon that subject, which first 
 occasioned a division between us, my mind and heart are incapable of 
 change. Whatever influence they have undergone, since that unhappy 
 time, has not been one to weaken but to strengthen me. I cannot pro- 
 fess sorrow for that, nor irresolution in that, nor shame in that. Nor 
 would you wish me, I know. But that I might have trusted to your 
 love, if I had thrown myself manfully upon it ; that I might have 
 won you over with ease, if I had been more yielding, and more con- 
 siderate ; that I should have best remembered myself in forgetting 
 myself, and recollecting you ; reflection, solitude, and misery, have 
 taught me. I came resolved to say this, and to ask your forgiveness : 
 not so much in hope for the future, as in regret for the past : for all 
 that I would ask of you, is, that you would aid me to live. Help me 
 to get honest work to do, and I would do it. My condition places me 
 at the disadvantage of seeming to have only my selfish ends to serve, 
 but try if that be so, or not. Try if I be self-wdlled, obdurate, and 
 haughty, as I was ; or have been disciplined in a rough school. Let 
 the voice of nature and association plead between us, Grandfather; and 
 do not, for one fault, how^ever thankless, quite reject me 1 " 
 
 As he ceased, the gray head of the old man drooped again j and he 
 concealed his face behind his outspread fingers. 
 
 " My dear Sir," cried Mr. Pecksniff", bending over him, " you must 
 not give way to this. It is very natural, and very amiable, but you 
 must not allow the shameless conduct of one whom you long ago cast 
 off", to move you so far. Rouse yourself. Think," said Mr. Pecksnifif, 
 ■" think of Me, my friend." 
 
 " I will," returned old Martin, looking up into his face. " You 
 recall me to myself. I will." 
 
 " Why, what," said Mr. Pecksniff", sitting down beside him in a chair 
 which he drew up for the purpose, and tapping him playfully on the 
 arm, " what is the matter with my strong-minded compatriot, if I may 
 
 K K 2 
 
500 LIFE A>'D ADVENTURES OP 
 
 venture to take tlie liberty of calling him by that endearing expression 1 
 Shall I have to scold my coadjutor, or to reason with an intellect like 
 his ? I think not." 
 
 " i^o, no. There is no occasion," said the old man. " A momentary 
 feeling. Nothing more." 
 
 " Indignation," observed Mr. Pecksniff, " will bring the scalding tear 
 into the honest eye, I know " — he wiped his own elaborately. " But 
 we have higher duties to perform than that. Rouse yourself, Mr. 
 Chuzzlewit. Shall I give expression to your thoughts, my friend ? " 
 
 " Yes," said old Martin, leaning back in his chair, and looking at 
 him, half in vacancy and half in admiration, as if he were fascinated by 
 the man. " Speak for me, Pecksniff. Thank you. You are true to 
 me. Thank you!" 
 
 " Do not unman me, Sir," said Mr. Pecksniff, shaking his hand 
 vigorously, " or I shall be unequal to the task. It is not agreeable to my 
 feelings, my good Sir, to address the person who is now before us, for when 
 I ejected him from this house, after hearing of his unnatural conduct 
 from your lips, I renounced communication with him for ever. But you 
 desire it ; and that is sufficient. Young man ! The door is imme- 
 diately behind the companion of your infamy. Blush if you can ; 
 begone without a blush, if you can't." 
 
 Martin looked as steadily at his grandfather as if there had been a 
 dead silence all this time. The old man looked no less steadily at 
 Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 " When I ordered you to leave this house upon the last occasion of 
 your being dismissed from it with disgrace," said Mr. Pecksniff: "when, 
 stung and stimulated beyond endurance by your shameless conduct to 
 this extraordinarily noble-minded individual, I exclaimed ' Go forth ! ' 
 I told you that I wept for your depravity. Do not suppose that the 
 tear which stands in my eye at this moment, is shed for you. It is shed 
 for him. Sir. It is shed for him." 
 
 Here Mr. Pecksniff, accidentally dropping the tear in question on a 
 bald part of Mr. Chuzzlewit's head, wiped the place with his pocket- 
 handkerchief, and begged pardon. 
 
 " It is shed for him, Sir, whom you seek to make the victim of your 
 arts," said Mr. Pecksniff : " whom you seek to plunder, to deceive, and 
 to mislead. It is shed in sympathy with him, and admiration of him ; 
 not in pity for him, for happily he knows what you are. You shall not 
 wrong him further, Sir, in anyway," said Mr. Pecksniff, quite transported 
 with enthusiasm, " while I have Life. You may bestride my senseless 
 corse, sir. That is very likely. I can imagine a mind like yours 
 deriving great satisfaction from any measure of that kind. But while 
 I continue to be called upon to exist. Sir, you must strike at him through 
 me. Aye ! " said Mr. Pecksniff, shaking his head at Martin with 
 indignant jocularity ; " and in such a cause you will find me, my young 
 sir, an Ugly Customer ! " 
 
 Still Martin looked steadily and mildly at his grandfather. " Will 
 you give me no answer," he said, at length, " not a word ? " 
 
 " You hear what has been said," replied the old man, without 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 501 
 
 averting his ejes from the face of Mr. Pecksniff : who nodded encou- 
 ragingly. 
 
 " I have not heard your voice. I have not heard your spirit," returned 
 Martin. 
 
 " Tell him again," said the old man, still gazing up in Mr. Pecksniff's 
 face. 
 
 " I only hear," replied Martin, strong in his purpose from the first, 
 and stronijer in it as he felt how Pecksniff winced and shrunk beneath 
 his contempt ; " I only hear what you say to me, grandfather." 
 
 Perhaps it was well for Mr. Pecksniff that his venerable friend found 
 in his (Mr. Pecksniff's) features an exclusive and engrossing object of con- 
 templation, for if his eyes had gone astray, and he had compared young 
 Martin's bearing v/ith that of his zealous defender, the latter disinterested 
 gentleman would scarcely have shown to greater advantage than on the 
 memorable afternoon when he took Tom Pinch's last receipt in full of all 
 demands. One really might have thought there was some quality in 
 Mr. Pecksniff — an emanation from the brightness and purity within him 
 perhaps — which set off and adorned his foes: they looked so gallant and 
 60 manly beside him. 
 
 "Xot a word ? " said Martin, for the second time. 
 
 " I remember that I have a word to say, Pecksniff," observed the old 
 man. " But a word. You spoke of being indebted to the charitable 
 help of some stranger for the means of returning to England. Who 
 is he ? And what help, in money, did he render you 1 " 
 
 Although he asked this question of Martin, he did not look towards 
 him, but kept his eyes on Mr. Pecksniff as before. It appeared to have 
 become a habit with him, both in a literal and figurative sense, to look 
 to Mr. Pecksniff alone. 
 
 Martin took out his pencil, tore a leaf from his pocket-book, and 
 hastily wrote down the particulars of his debt to Mr. Bevan. The old 
 man stretched out his hand for the paper, and took it ; but his eyes did 
 not wander from Mr. Pecksniff's face. 
 
 "It would be a poor pride and a false humility," said Martin, in a 
 low voice, " to say, I do not wish that to be paid, or that I have any 
 present hope of being able to pay it. But I never felt my poverty so 
 deeply as 1 feel it now." 
 
 " Read it to me, Pecksniff," said the old man. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff, after approaching the perusal of the paper as if it were 
 a manuscript confession of a murder, complied. 
 
 "I think, Pecksniff," said old Martin, "I could wish that to be 
 discharged. I should not like the lender, who was abroad ; who had 
 no opportunity of making inquiry, and who did (as he thought) a kind 
 action j to suffer." 
 
 " An honourable sentiment, my dear Sir. Your own entirely. But a 
 dangerous precedent," said Mr. Pecksniff, " permit me to suggest." 
 
 " It shall not be a precedent," returned the old man. " It is the only 
 recognition of him. But we will talk of it again. You shall advise 
 me. There is nothino: else 1 " 
 
 " Nothing else," said Mr. Pecksniff, buoyantly, " but for you to 
 
502 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 recover this intrusion : this cowardly and indefensible outrage on your 
 feelings : with all possible dispatch ; and smile again." 
 
 " You have nothing more to say ? " enquired the old man, laying his 
 hand with unusual earnestness on Mr. Pecksniff 's sleeve. 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff would not say what rose to his lips. For reproaches, he 
 observed, were useless. 
 
 " You have nothing at all to urge 1 You are sure of that 1 If you 
 have ; no matter what it is ; speak freely. I will oppose nothing that 
 you ask of me," said the old man. 
 
 The tears rose in such abundance to Mr. Pecksniff's eyes at this proof 
 of unlimited confidence on the part of his friend, that he was fain to 
 clasp the bridge of his nose convulsively before he could at all compose 
 himself. When he had the power of utterance again, he said, with great 
 emotion, that he hoped he should live to deserve this ; and added, that 
 he had no other observation whatever to make. 
 
 For a few moments the old man sat looking at him, with that blank 
 and motionless expression which is not uncommon in the faces of those 
 whose faculties are on the wane, in age. But he rose up firmly too, and 
 walked towards the door, from which Mark withdrew to make way 
 for him. 
 
 The obsequious Mr. Pecksniff proffered his arm. The old man took 
 it. Turning at the door, he said to Martin, waving him off with his hand, 
 
 " You have heard him. Go away. It is all over. Gro ! " 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff murmured certain cheering expressions of sympathy and 
 encouragement as they retired ; and Martin, awakening from the stupor 
 into which the closing portion of this scene had plunged him, to the 
 opportunity afforded by their departure, caught the innocent cause of all 
 in his embrace, and pressed her to his heart. 
 
 " Dear girl !" said Martin. " He has not changed you. Why, what 
 an impotent and harmless knave the fellow is !" 
 
 " You have restrained yourself so nobly ! You have borne so much !" 
 
 " Restrained myself !" cried Martin, cheerfully. " You were by, and 
 were unchanged, I knew. What more advantage did I want ? The sight of 
 me was such bitterness to the dog, that I had my triumph in his being 
 forced to endure it. But tell me, love — for the few hasty words we can 
 exchange now, are precious — what is this, which has been rumoured to 
 me 1 Is it true that you are persecuted by this knave's addresses." 
 
 " I was, dear Martin, and to some extent am now ; but my chief 
 source of unhappiness has been anxiety for you. Why did you leave 
 us in such terrible suspense ?' 
 
 " Sickness, distance ; the dread of hinting at our real condition, the 
 impossibility of concealing it except in perfect silence ; the knowledge 
 that the truth would have pained you infinitely more than uncertainty 
 and doubt," said Martin, hurriedly ; as indeed everything else was 
 done and said, in those few hurried moments, "were the causes 
 of my writing only once. But Pecksniff? You needn't fear to tell 
 me the whole tale : for you saw me with him face to face, hearing him 
 speak, and not taking him by the throat : what is the history of hi» 
 pursuit of you ? Is it known to my grandfather 1" 
 
■P. 
 
 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 503 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And lie assists him in it ?" 
 
 " No," she answered eagerly. 
 
 " Thank Heaven !" cried Martin, " that it leaves his mind unclouded 
 In that one respect !" 
 
 " I do not think," said Marj, "it was known to him at first. When this 
 man had sufficiently prepared his mind, he revealed it to him by degrees. 
 I think so, but I only know it, from my own impression : not from 
 anything they told me. Then he spoke to me alone." 
 
 " My grandfather did V said Martin. 
 
 " Yes — spoke to me alone, and told me — " 
 
 " What the hound had said," cried Martin. " Don't repeat it." 
 
 " And said I knew well what qualities he possessed ; that he was 
 moderately rich; in good repute ; and high in his favour and confidence. 
 But seeing me very much distressed, he said that he would not controul 
 or force my inclinations, but would content himself with telling me the 
 act. He would not pain me by dwelling on it, or reverting to it : nor 
 has he ever done so since, but has truly kept his word." 
 
 " The man himself ? — " asked Martin. 
 
 " He has had few opportunities of pursuing his suit. I have never 
 walked out alone, or remained alone an instant in his presence. Dear 
 Martin, I must tell you," she continued, " that the kindness of your 
 grandfather to me, remains unchanged. I am his companion still. An 
 indescribable tenderness and compassion seem to have mingled them- 
 selves with his old regard ; and if I were his only child, I could not have 
 a gentler father. What former fancy or old habit survives in this, when 
 his heart has turned so cold to you, is a mystery I cannot penetrate ; but 
 it has been, and it is, a happiness to me, that I remained true to him ; 
 that if he should wake from his delusion, even at the point of death, I 
 am here, love, to recall you to his thoughts." 
 
 Martin looked with admiration on her glowing face, and pressed his 
 lips to hers. 
 
 " I have sometimes heard, and read," she said, " that those whose 
 powers had been enfeebled long ago, and whose lives had faded, as it 
 were, into a dream, have been known to rouse themselves before death, 
 and inquire for familiar faces once very dear to them ; but forgotten, 
 unrecognised, hated even, in the meantime. Think, if with his old 
 impressions of this man, he should suddenly resume his former self, 
 and find in him his only friend !" 
 
 " I would not urge you to abandon him, dearest," said Martin, 
 " though I could count the years we are to wear out asunder. But the 
 influence this fellow exercises over him, has steadily increased, I fear.'* 
 
 She could not help admitting that. Steadily, imperceptibly, and 
 surely, until now it was paramount and supreme. She herself had 
 none ; and yet he treated her with more affection than at any 
 previous time. Martin thought the inconsistency a part of his weakness 
 and decay. 
 
 " Does the influence extend to fear ?" said Martin. " Is he timid of 
 asserting his own opinion in the presence of this infatuation ? I fancied 
 so just now." 
 
504 LLFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " I have tliouglit so, often. Often when we are sitting alone, almost 
 as we used to do, and I have been reading a favourite book to him or 
 he has been talking quite cheerfully, I have observed that the entrance 
 of Mr. Pecksniff has changed his whole demeanour. He has broken off 
 immediately, and become what you have seen to-day. When we first 
 came here he had his impetuous outbreaks, in which it was not easy 
 for Mr. Pecksniff with his utmost plausibility to appease him. But 
 these have long since dwindled away. He defers to him in everything, 
 and has no opinion upon any question, but that which is forced upon 
 him by this treacherous man." 
 
 Such was the account ; rapidly furnished in whispers, and inter- 
 rupted, brief as it was, by many false alarms of Mr. Pecksniff 's return ; 
 which Martin received of his grandfather's decline, and of that good 
 gentleman's ascendancy. He heard of Tom Pinch too, and Jonas too, 
 with not a little about himself into the bargain ; for though lovers are 
 remarkable for leaving a great deal unsaid on. all occasions, and very 
 properly desiring to come back and say it, they are remarkable also for 
 a wonderful power of condensation ; and can, in one way or other, give 
 utterance to more language — eloquent language — in any given short 
 space of time, than all the six hundred and fifty-eight members in the 
 Commons House of Parliament of the United Kingdom of Great Britain 
 and Ireland ; who are strong lovers, no doubt, but of their country only, 
 which makes all the difference ; for in a passion of that kind (which is 
 not always returned), it is the custom to use as many words as possible, 
 and express nothing whatever. 
 
 A caution from Mr. Tapley ; a hasty interchange of farewells, and of 
 something else which the proverb says must not be told of afterwards ; 
 a white hand held out to Mr. Tapley himself, which he kissed with the 
 devotion of a knight-errant ; more farewells, more something else's ; a 
 parting word from Martin that he would write from London and would 
 do great things there yet (Heaven knows what, but he quite believed it) ; 
 and Mark and he stood on the outside of the Pecksniflian halls. 
 
 " A short interview after such an absence 1 " said Martin, sorrowfully. 
 " But we are well out of the house. We might have placed ourselves in 
 a false position by remaining there, even so long, Mark." 
 
 " I don't know about ourselves. Sir," he returned ; " but somebody 
 else would have got into a false position, if he had happened to come 
 back again, while we was there. I had the door all ready. Sir. If Pecksniff 
 had showed his head, or had only so much as listened behind it, I should 
 have caught him like a walnut. He 's the sort of man," added Mr. Tapley, 
 musing, " as would squeeze soft, I know." 
 
 A person who was evidently going to Mr. Pecksniff's house, passed 
 them at this moment. He raised his eyes at the mention of the archi- 
 tect's name ; and when he had gone on a few yards, stopped, and gazed 
 at them. Mr. Tapley, also, looked over his shoulder, and so did Martin; 
 for the stranger, as he passed, had looked very sharply at them. 
 
 "Who may that be, I wonder! " said Martin. "The face seems familiar 
 to me, but I don't know the man." 
 
 " He seems to have a amiable desire that his face should be tolerable 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 505 
 
 familiar to us," said Mr. Tapley, " for lie 's a staring pretty hard. He'd 
 better not waste liis beauty, for he aint got much to spare," 
 
 Coming in sight of the Dragon, they saw a travelling carriage at 
 the door. 
 
 " And a Salisbury carriage, eh ! " said Mr. Tapley. " That "s what 
 he came in, depend upon it. What 's in the wind now '? A new pupil, 
 I shouldn't wonder. P'raps it 's a order for another grammar-school, 
 of the same pattern as the last." 
 
 Before they could enter at the door, Mrs. Lupin came running out ; 
 and beckoning them to the carriage showed them a portmanteau with 
 the name of Chuzzlewit upon it. 
 
 " Miss Pecksniff's husband that was," said the good woman to Martin. 
 " I didn't know what terms you might be on, and was quite in a worry 
 till you came back." 
 
 " He and I have never interchanged a word yet," observed Martin ; 
 " and as I have no wish to be better or worse acquainted with him, I will 
 not put myself in his way. We passed him on the road, I have no 
 doubt. I am glad he timed his coming, as he did. Upon my word ! 
 Miss Pecksniff's husband travels gaily ! " 
 
 "A very fine-looking gentleman with him — in the best room now," 
 whispered Mrs. Lupin, glancing up at the window as they went into the 
 house. " He has ordered everything that can be got for dinner ; and 
 has the glossiest mustaches and whiskers that ever you saw." 
 
 " Has he 1 " cried Martin, " why then we '11 endeavour to avoid him 
 too, in the hope that our self-denial may be strong enough for the sacri- 
 fice. It is only for a few hours," said Martin, dropping wearily into a 
 chair behind the little screen in the bar. " Our visit has met with no 
 success, my dear Mrs. Lupin, and I must go to London." 
 
 '■ Dear, dear ! " cried the hostess. 
 
 " Yes. One foul wind no more makes a winter, than one swallow 
 makes a summer. — I '11 try it again. Tom Pinch has succeeded. With his 
 advice to guide me, I may do the same, I took Tom under my protection 
 once, God save the mark ! " said Martin, with a melancholy smile ; "and 
 promised I would make his fortune. Perhaps Tom will take me under 
 /lis protection now, and teach me how to earn my bread." 
 
 CHAPTER XLIY, 
 
 FURTHER CONTINUATION OF THE ENTERPRISE OF MR. JONAS AND HIS 
 
 FRIEND. 
 
 It was a special quality, among the many admirable qualities possessed 
 by Mr. Pecksniff, that the more he was found out, the more hypocrisy 
 he practised. Let him be discomfited in one quarter, and he refreshed 
 and recompensed himself by carrying the war into another. If his 
 workings and windings were detected by A, so much the greater reason 
 was there for practising without loss of time on B, if it were only to 
 keep his hand in. He had never been such a saintly and improving 
 
506 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 spectacle to all about him, as after his detection by Thomas Pinch. He 
 had scarcely ever been at once so tender in his humanity, and so digni- 
 fied and exalted in his virtue, as when young Martin's scorn was fresh 
 and hot upon him. 
 
 Having this large stock of superfluous sentiment and morality on 
 hand which must positively be cleared off at any sacrifice, Mr. Pecksniff 
 no sooner heard his son-in-law announced, than he regarded him as a 
 kind of wholesale or general order, to be immediately executed. De- 
 scending, therefore, swiftly to the parlour, and clasping the young man 
 in his arms, he exclaimed, with looks and gestures that denoted the 
 perturbation of his spirit : 
 
 " Jonas ! My child — she is well ? There is nothing the matter ? " 
 
 " What you 're at it again, are you ?" replied his son-in-law. " Even 
 with me ? Get away with you, will you ? " 
 
 " Tell me she is well, then," said Mr. Pecksniff. " Tell me she is- 
 well, my Boy 1 " . 
 
 " She's well enough," retorted Jonas, disengaging himself. "There's 
 nothing the matter with Aer." 
 
 " There is nothing the matter with her ! " cried Mr. Pecksniff, sitting 
 down in the nearest chair, and rubbing up his hair. " Fie upon my 
 weakness ! I cannot help it Jonas. Thank you. I am better now. 
 How is my other child ; my eldest ; my Cherry werrychigo 1 " said 
 Mr. Pecksniff, inventing a playful little name for her, in the restored 
 lightness of his heart. 
 
 " She 's much about the same as usual," returned Mr. Jonas. " She 
 sticks pretty close to the vinegar-bottle. You know she 's got a 
 sweetheart, I suppose ? " 
 
 " I have heard of it," said Mr. Pecksniff, " from head-quarters ; from 
 my child herself, I will not deny that it moved me to contemplate the 
 loss of my remaining daughter, Jonas — I am afraid we parents are selfish ; 
 I am afraid we are — but it has ever been the study of my life to qualify 
 them for the domestic hearth ; and it is a sphere which Cherry will adorn.'^ 
 
 " She need adorn some sphere or other," observed his son-in-law, with 
 charming frankness. " For she aint very ornamental in general." 
 
 " My girls are now provided for," said Mr. Pecksniff. " They are 
 now happily provided for ; and I have not laboured in vain ! " 
 
 This is exactly what Mr. Pecksniff would have said, if one of his 
 daughters had drawn a prize of thirty thousand pounds in the lottery, 
 or the other had picked up a valuable purse in the street, which nobody 
 appeared to claim. In either of these cases, he would have invoked a 
 patriarchal blessing on the fortunate head, with great solemnity, and 
 would have taken immense credit to himself, as having meant it from 
 the infant's cradle. 
 
 " Suppose we talk about something else, now," observed Jonas,, 
 drily ; "just for a change. Are you quite agreeable?" 
 
 " Quite," said Mr. Pecksniff. " Ah, you wag, you naughty wag t 
 You laugh at poor old fond papa. Well ! He deserves it. And he 
 don't mind it either, for his feelings are their own reward. You have 
 come to stay with me, Jonas 1 " 
 
MAETIN CHUZZLEWIT. 507 
 
 " No. I Ve got a friend with me," said Jonas. 
 
 " Bring your friend ! " cried Mr. Pecksniff, in a gush of hospitality^ 
 *' Bring any number of your friends ! " 
 
 " This aint the sort of man to be brought/' said Jonas, contemptu- 
 ously. I think I see myself ' bringing ' him to your house, for a treat t 
 Thank'ee all the same ; but he 's a little too near the top of the tree for 
 that, Pecksniff." 
 
 The good man pricked up his ears ; his interest was awakened. A 
 position near the top of the tree was greatness, virtue, goodness, sense, 
 genius ; or, it should rather be said, a dispensation from all, and in itself 
 something immeasurably better than all ; with Mr. Pecksniff. A man 
 who was able to look down upon Mr. Pecksniff could not be looked up 
 at, by that gentleman, with too great an amount of deference, or from a 
 position of too much humility. So it always is with great spirits. 
 
 "I'll tell you what you may do, if you like," said Jonas : "you may 
 come and dine with us at the Dragon. We were forced to come down, 
 to Salisbury last night, on some business, and I got him to bring me 
 over here this morning, in his carriage ; at least, not his own carriage, 
 for we had a break-down in the night, but one we hired instead ; it 's all 
 the same. Mind what your 're about, you know. He 's not used to all 
 sorts ; he only mixes with the best ! " 
 
 " Some young nobleman who has been borrowing money of you at 
 good interest, eh 1 " said Mr. Pecksniff, shaking his forefinger facetiously- 
 " I shall be delighted to know the gay sprig." 
 
 " Borrowing ! " echoed Jonas. " Borrowing ! When you 're a twentieth 
 part as rich as he is, you may shut up shop ! We should be pretty well 
 off, if we could buy his furniture, and plate, and pictures, by clubbing 
 together. A likely man to borrow : Mr. Montague ! Why, since I 
 was lucky enough (come ! and I'll say, sharp enough, too) to get a share 
 in the Insurance Office that he 's President of, I 've made — never 
 mind what I 've'made," said Jonas, seeming to recover all at once his usual 
 caution. " You know me pretty well, and I don't blab about such things. 
 But, Ecod, I 've made a trifle." 
 
 " Really, my dear Jonas," cried Mr. Pecksniff, with much warmth, 
 " a gentleman like this should receive some attention. Would he like 
 to see the church ? Or if he has a taste for the fine arts — which I have 
 no doubt he has, from the description you give of his circumstances — 
 I can send him down a few portfolios. Salisbury Cathedral, my dear 
 Jonas," said Mr. Pecksniff; the mention of the portfolios, and his 
 anxiety to display himself to advantage, suggesting his usual phrase- 
 ology in that regard ; " is an edifice replete with venerable associations, 
 and strikingly suggestive of the loftiest emotions. It is here we con- 
 template the work of bygone ages. It is here we listen to the swelling 
 organ, as we stroll through the reverberating aisles. We have drawings 
 of this celebrated structure from the North, from the South, from the 
 East, from the West, from the South-East, from the Nor'-West " 
 
 During this digression, and indeed during the whole dialogue, 
 Jonas had been rocking on his chair, with his hands in his pockets, and 
 his head thrown cunningly on one side. He looked at Mr. Pecksniff 
 
508 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 now with such shrewd meaning twinkling in his eyes, that Mr. Peck- 
 sniff stopped, and asked him what he was going to say. 
 
 " Ecod ! " he answered. " Pecksniff, if I knew how you meant to leave 
 your money, I could put you in the way of doubling it, in no time. It 
 wouldn't be bad to keep a chance like this snug in the family. But 
 you 're such a deep one ! " 
 
 " Jonas ! " cried Mr. Pecksniff, much affected, " I am not a diploma- 
 tical character : my heart is in my hand. By far the greater part of the 
 inconsiderable savings I have accumulated in the course of — I hope — a 
 not dishonourable or useless career, is already given, devised, and 
 bequeathed (correct me, my dear Jonas, if I am technically wrong), 
 with expressions of confidence, which I will not repeat ; and in securities 
 which it is unnecessary to mention ; to a person, whom I cannot, whom 
 I will not, whom I need not, name." Here he gave the hand of his son- 
 in-law a fervent squeeze, as if he would have added, " God bless you ; be 
 very careful of it when you get it !" 
 
 Mr. Jonas only shook his head and laughed, and, seeming to think 
 better of what he had had in his mind, said, " No. Pie would keep his 
 own counsel." But as he observed that he would take a walk, Mr. Peck- 
 sniff insisted on accompanying him, remarking that he could leave a card 
 for Mr. Montague, as they went along, by way of gentleman-usher to 
 himself at dinner-time. Which he did. 
 
 In the course of their walk, Mr. Jonas affected to maintain that close 
 reserv^e which had operated as a timely check upon him during the fore- 
 going dialogue. And as he made no attempt to conciliate Mr. Peck- 
 sniff, but, on the contrary, was more boorish and rude to him than usual, 
 that gentleman, so far from suspecting his real design, laid himself out 
 to be attacked with advantage. For it is in the nature of a knave 
 to think the tools with which he works indispensable to knavery ; 
 and knowing what he would do himself in such a case, Mr. Pecksniff 
 argued, " if this young man wanted anything of me for his own ends, 
 he would be polite and deferential." 
 
 The more Jonas repelled him in his hints and inquiries, the more 
 solicitous, therefore, Mr. Pecksniff became to be initiated into the golden 
 mysteries at which he had obscurely glanced. Why should there be cold 
 and worldly secrets, he observed, between relations ? What was life 
 without confidence 1 If the chosen husband of his daughter, the man 
 to whom he had delivered her with so much pride and hope, such bound- 
 ing and such beaming joy : if he were not a green spot in the barren 
 waste of life, where was that Oasis to be found 1 
 
 Little did Mr. Pecksniff think on what a very green spot he planted 
 one foot at that moment ! Little did he foresee when he said, " All is 
 but dust ! " how very shortly he would come down with his own ! 
 
 Inch by inch, in his grudging and ill-conditioned way : sustained to 
 the life, for the hope of making Mr. Pecksniff suffer in that tender 
 place, the pocket, where Jonas smarted so terribly himself, gave him an 
 additional and malicious interest in the wiles he was set on to practise : 
 inch by inch, and bit by bit, Jonas rather allowed the dazzling 
 prospects of the Anglo-Bengalee establishment to escape him, than 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 509 
 
 paraded them before liis greedy listener. And in the same niggardly 
 spirit, he left Mr. Pecksniff to infer, if he chose (which he did choose^ 
 of course), that a consciousness of not having any great natural gifts of 
 speech and manner himself, rendered him desirous to have the credit 
 of introducing to Mr. Montague some one who was well endowed in. 
 those respects, and so atone for his own deficiencies. Otherwise, he 
 muttered discontentedly, he would have seen his beloved father-in- 
 law " far enough off, " before he would have taken him into his con- 
 fidence. 
 
 Primed in this artful manner, Mr. Pecksniff presented himself at 
 dinner-time in such a state of suavity, benevolence, cheerfulness, polite- 
 ness, and cordiality, as even he had perhaps never attained before. 
 The frankness of the country gentleman, the refinement of the artist, 
 the good-humoured allowance of the man of the world ; philanthropy, 
 forbearance, piety, toleration, all blended together in a flexible adap- 
 tability to anything and everything; were expressed in Mr. Pecksniff, 
 as he shook hands with the great speculator and capitalist. 
 
 " Welcome, respected Sir, " said Mr. Pecksniff, " to our humble 
 village ! We are a simple people ; primitive clods, Mr. Montague ; but 
 we can appreciate the honour of your visit, as my dear son-in-law can 
 testify. It is very strange," said Mr. Pecksniff, pressing his hand almost 
 reverentially, " but I seem to know you. That towering forehead, my 
 dear Jonas," said Mr. Pecksniff aside, " and those clustering masses of 
 rich hair — I must have seen you, my dear sir, in the sparkling throng." 
 
 Nothing was more probable, they all agreed. 
 
 " I could have wished," said Mr. Pecksniff, " to have had the honour 
 of introducing you to an elderly inmate of our house": to the uncle of 
 our friend. Mr. Chuzzlewit, sir, would have been proud indeed to have 
 taken you by the hand." 
 
 " Is the gentleman here now ? " asked Montague, turning deeply red. 
 
 "He is," said Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 " You said nothing about that, Chuzzlewit." 
 
 " I didn't suppose you 'd care to hear of it," returned Jonas. " Yom 
 wouldn't care to know him, I can promise you." 
 
 " Jonas 1 my dear Jonas ! " remonstrated Mr. Pecksniff. " Really !" ' 
 
 " Oh ! it 's all very well for you to speak up for him," said Jonas. 
 " You have nailed him. You '11 get a fortune by him." 
 
 " Oho! Is the wind in that quarter!" cried Montague. "Ha, ha, ha!" 
 and here they all laughed — especially Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 " No, no ! " said that gentleman, clapping his son-in-law playfully 
 upon the shoulder. " You must not believe all that my young relative 
 says, Mr. Montague. You may believe him in official business, and 
 trust him in official business, but you must not attach importance to his 
 flights of fancy." 
 
 " Upon my life, Mr. Pecksniff," cried Montague, " I attach the 
 greatest importance to that last observation of his. I trust and hope it 's 
 true. Money cannot be turned and turned again quickly enough in the 
 ordinary course, Mr. Pecksniff. There is nothing like building our 
 fortunes on the weaknesses of mankind." 
 
510 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 "Oh fie ! Oil fie ! Oh fie, for shame!" cried Mr. Pecksniff. But they 
 all laughed again — especially Mr. Pecksniff. 
 
 " I give you my honour that we do it," said Montague. 
 " Oh fie, fie ! " cried Mr. Pecksniff. " You are very pleasant. That 
 I am sure you don't ! That I am sure you don't ! How can you, 
 jou know % " 
 
 Again they all laughed in concert j and again Mr. Pecksniff laughed 
 -especially. 
 
 This was very agreeable indeed. It was confidential, easy, straight- 
 forward : and still left Mr. Pecksniff in the position of being in a gentle 
 way the Mentor of the party. The greatest achievements in the article 
 of cookery that the Dragon had ever performed, were set before them ; 
 the oldest and best wines in the Dragon's cellar saw the light on that 
 occasion; a thousand bubbles, indicative of the wealth and station of 
 Mr. Montague in the depths of his pursuits, were constantly rising to 
 the surface of the conversation ; and they were as frank and merry as 
 three honest men could be. Mr. Pecksniff thought it a pity ; he said so ; 
 that Mr. Montague should think lightly of mankind and their weak- 
 nesses. He was anxious upon this subject ; his mind ran upon it ; 
 in one way or other he was constantly coming back to it ; he must make 
 a convert of him, he said. And as often as Mr. Montague repeated his 
 sentiment about building fortunes on the weaknesses of mankind, and 
 added frankly, " We do it ! " just as often Mr. Pecksniff repeated " Oh 
 "fie ! Oh fie, for shame ! I am sure you don't. How can you, you know 1" 
 laying a greater stress each time on those last words. 
 
 The frequent repetition of this playful inquiry on the part of Mr. 
 Pecksniff, led at last to playful answers on the part of Mr. Montague ; 
 but after some little sharp-shooting on both sides, Mr. Pecksniff became 
 grave, almost to tears ; observing that if Mr. Montague would give 
 him leave, he would drink the health of his young kinsman, Mr. 
 Jonas : congratulating him upon the valuable and distinguished friendship 
 he had formed, but envying him, he would confess, his usefulness to his 
 fellow-creatures. For if he understood the objects of that Institution 
 "with which he was newly and advantageously connected — knowing them 
 but imperfectly — they were calculated to do Good ; and for his (Mr. 
 Pecksniff's) part, if he could in any way promote them, he thought he 
 would be able to lay his head upon his pillow every night, with an 
 absolute certainty of going to sleep at once. 
 
 The transition from this accidental remark (for it was quite accidental, 
 and had fallen from Mr. Pecksniff in the openness of his soul), to the 
 discussion of the subject as a matter of business, was easy. Books, 
 papers, statements, tables, calculations of various kinds, were soon spread 
 out before them ; and as they were all framed with one object, it is not 
 surprising that they should all have tended to one end. But still, when- 
 ever Montague enlarged upon the profits of the office, and said that as 
 long as there were gulls upon the wing it must succeed, Mr. Pecksniff 
 mildly said " Oh fie ! " — and might indeed have remonstrated with him, 
 but that he knew he was joking. Mr. Pecksniff did know he was 
 joking ; because he said so. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 511 
 
 There never had been before, and there never would be again, such 
 an opportunity for the investment of a considerable sum (the rate of 
 advantage increased in proportion to the amount invested), as at that 
 moment. The only time that had at all approached it, was the time 
 when Jonas had come into the concern ; which made him ill-natured 
 now, and inclined him to pick out a doubt in this place, and a flaw in 
 that, and grumblingly to advise Mr. Pecksniff to think better of it. The 
 sum which would complete the proprietorship in this snug concern, was 
 nearly equal to Mr. Pecksniff's M^hole hoard : not counting Mr. Chuzzle- 
 wit, that is to say, whom he looked upon as money in the Bank, the 
 possession of which inclined him the more to make a dash with his 
 own private sprats for the capture of such a whale as Mr. Montague 
 described. The returns began almost immediately, and were immense. 
 The end of it was, that Mr. Pecksniff agreed to become the last partner 
 and proprietor in the Anglo-Bengalee, and made an appointment to 
 dine with Mr. Montague, at Salisbury, on the next day but one, then 
 and there to complete the negotiation. 
 
 It took so long to bring the subject to this head, that it was nearly 
 midnight when they parted. When Mr. Pecksniff walked down stairs 
 to the door, he found Mrs. Lupin standing there : looking out. 
 
 " Ah, my good friend ! " he said : " not a-bed yet ! Contemplating 
 the stars, Mrs. Lupin 1 " 
 
 " It's a beautiful starlight' night, sir." 
 
 "A beautiful starlight night," said Mr. Pecksniff, looking up. 
 
 " Behold the planets, how they shine ! Behold the those two persons 
 
 who were here this morning, have left your house, I hope, Mrs. Lupin 1" 
 
 " Yes, sir. They are gone." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it," said Mr. Pecksniff. " Behold the wonders 
 of the firmament, Mrs. Lupin ! How glorious is this scene ! When I 
 look up at those shining orbs, I think that each of them is winking to 
 the other to take notice of the vanity of men's pursuits. My fellow- 
 men ! " cried Mr. Pecksniff, shaking his head in pity ; " you are much 
 mistaken ; my wormy relatives, you are much deceived ! The stars are 
 perfectly contented (I suppose so) in their several spheres. Why are not 
 you '? Oh ! do not strive and struggle to enrich yourselves, or to get the 
 better of each other, my deluded friends, but look up there, with me ! " 
 
 Mrs. Lupin shook her head, and heaved a sigh. It was very affecting. 
 
 " Look up there, with me ! " repeated Mr. Pecksniff, stretching out 
 his hand ; "■ with me, an humble individual who is also an Insect like 
 yourselves. Can silver, gold, or precious stones, sparkle like those con- 
 stellations ? I think not. Then do not thirst for silver, gold, or 
 precious stones; but look up there, with me ! " 
 
 With these words, the good man patted Mrs. Lupin's hand between 
 his own, as if he would have added " think of this, my good woman ! " 
 und walked away in a sort of ecstasy or rapture, with his hat under 
 his arm. 
 
 Jonas sat in the attitude in which Mr. Pecksniff had left him, gazing 
 moodily at his friend : who, surrounded by a heap of documents, was 
 writing something on an oblong slip of paper. 
 
512 LIFE AXD ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " You mean to wait at Salisbury over the day after to-morrow, do you, 
 then 1 " said Jonas. 
 
 " You heard our appointment," returned Montague, without raising 
 his eyes. " In any case I should have waited to see after the boy." 
 
 They appeared to have changed places again ; Montague being in 
 high spirits ; and Jonas gloomy and lowering. 
 
 " You don't want me, I suppose 1 " said Jonas. 
 
 " I want you to put your name here," he returned, glancing at him 
 with a smile, " as soon as I have filled up the stamp. I may as well 
 have your note of hand for that extra capital. That 's all I want. If 
 you wish to go home, I can manage Mr. Pecksniff now, alone. There is 
 a perfect understanding between us." 
 
 Jonas sat scowling at him as he WTote, in silence. When he had 
 finished his writing, and had dried it on the blotting-paper in his travel- 
 ling-desk ; he looked up, and tossed the pen towards him. 
 
 " What, not a day's grace, not a day's trust, eh 1 " said Jonas, bitterly. 
 " Not after the pains I have taken with to-night's work "? " 
 
 " To-night's work was a part of our bargain," replied Montague ; " and 
 so was this." 
 
 " You drive a hard bargain," said Jonas, 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 1 " he said. " It 's bloody ! " 
 
 He had dipped the pen, as another moment shewed, into red ink. 
 But he attached a strange degree of importance to the mistake. He 
 asked how it had come there, who had brought it, why it had been 
 brought ; and looked at Montague, at first, as if he thought he had 
 put a trick upon him. Even when he used a different pen, and the 
 right ink, he made some scratches on another paper first, as half- 
 believing they would turn red also. 
 
 " Black enough, this time," he said, handing the note to Montague. 
 « Good-bye ! " 
 
 " Going now ! How do you mean to get away from here 1 '* 
 
 " I shall cross early in the morning, to the high road, before you are 
 out of bed ; and catch the day-coach, going up. Good-bye ! " 
 
 " You are in a hurry ! " 
 
 " I have Something to do," said Jonas. " Good-bye ! " 
 
 His friend looked after him as he went out, in surprise, which gra- 
 dually gave place to an air of satisfaction and relief. 
 
 " It happens all the better. It brings about what I wanted, without 
 any difficulty. I shall travel home alone." 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT, " 513 
 
 CHAPTER XLY. 
 
 IN WHICH TOM PINCH AND HIS SISTER, TAKE A LITTLE PLEASURE j BUT 
 QUITE IN A DOMESTIC WAY, AND WITH NO CEREMONY ABOUT IT. 
 
 Tom Pinch 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 opportunity of discussing the subject at that 
 time. But Tom, in his solitary ofiice, 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. Eor, 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 consciousness of the brightest 
 and purest-hearted little woman in the world, is a question for gardeners, 
 and those who are learned in the loves of plants. But, that it was a 
 good thing for that same paved yard to have such a delicate little figure 
 fiitting 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 stole 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 grace- 
 fulness, 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 tenderness, 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 
 
 L L 
 
514 " LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 treats. Not for her love. Oh no ! quite by accident, and without the 
 least reference to her at all. 
 
 Either 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 t 
 
 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 
 Vr'hy did she run away, then ? Not being ill dressed, for she was much 
 too neat for that, why did she run away 1 The brown hair that had 
 fxUen down beneath her bonnet, and had one impertinent imp of a false 
 flower clinging to it, boastful of its license before all men, that could not 
 have been the cause, for it looked charming. Oh ! foolish, panting, 
 frightened little heart, why did she run away ! 
 
 Merrily the tiny fountain played, and merrily the dimples sparkled 
 on its sunny face. John Westlock hurried after her. Softly the whis- 
 pering 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 uncon- 
 scious of his coming ! • Why vv^ish herself so far away, yet be so flutteringly 
 happy there ! 
 
 " I felt sure it was you," said John, when he overtook her, in the 
 sanctuary of Garden Court. "I knew I couldn't be mistaken." 
 
 She was so surprised. 
 
 " You are waiting for your brother," said John. " Let me bear yoa 
 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 very natural and 
 innocent subject, surely. Then why, whenever Huth lifted up her eyes, 
 did she let them fall again immediately, and seek the uncongenial pave- 
 ment of the court 1 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 appeared. He was 
 staring about him, as usual, in all directions but the right one ; and 
 was as obstinate in not looking towards them, as if he had intended it. 
 As it was plain that, being left to himself, he would walk away home, 
 John Westlock darted off to stop him. 
 
 This made 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 occa- 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 515 
 
 ■sions) ; there was Jolin, 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 care- 
 lessly, and pout her rosy lips, as if she were the coolest and most 
 Tinconcerned 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. 
 
 " Exactly," cried Tom ; " that 's what I mean, you know. If it 
 wasn't accidental, there would be nothing remarkable in it." 
 
 " To be sure," said John. 
 
 " Such an out-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, 
 ihat it had never happened before. 
 
 By this time Ruth had got round on the further side of her brother, 
 and had taken his arm. She was squeezing it now, as much as to say, 
 " Are you going to stop here ail day, you dear, old, blundering Tom V 
 
 Tom answered the squeeze as if it had been a speech. " John," he 
 said, " if you '11 give my sister your arm, v.^e '11 take her betvv^een us, 
 and walk on. I have a curious circumstance to relate to you. Our 
 meeting could not have happened better." 
 
 Merrily the fountain leaped and danced, and merrily the smiling 
 dimples twinkled and expanded more and more, until they 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 r' cried Tom. 
 
 " Yes, to-day. It 's close by, you know. Pray, Miss Pinch, insist 
 upon it. It will be very disinterested, for I have nothing to give you." 
 
 " Oh ! you must not believe that, Ruth," said Tom. " He is the most 
 tremendous fellow, in his housekeeping, that I ever heard of, for a sino-le 
 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 1 I 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, he said at least 
 
 LL 2 
 
516 LIFE AXD ADVENTURES OF 
 
 (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. 
 
 " If 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. 
 I wouldn't on any account have had it made wdth suet." 
 
 " Why not f asked Tom. 
 
 " Because that cookery book advises suet," said John Westlock ; 
 " and ours was made with flour and eggs." 
 
 " Oh good gracious !" cried Tom. "Our's 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. / 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 w^as 
 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 anathe- 
 matized 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, Avith such sAveet temper and tender- 
 ness (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 wdth 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 make-shifts 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 best room 
 (where there was a beautiful little vase of fresh flowers on the table, all 
 ready for Buth. 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 
 Avith 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> 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 517. 
 
 carrying under his arm a napkin, and attended by another being ^vith 
 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 
 cucum1)er, guinea fowl, and 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 outside 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 extra- 
 ordinary 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 Westlock'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, like something that 
 had never been. 
 
 "Didn't I say he was a tremendous fellow in his housekeeping 1 " 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." 
 
 " Don't believe a word he says," cried Tom. ''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, 
 Ruthr' 
 
 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 I am," said Tom. " We have been so talkative on other topics, 
 that I declare I have not had time to think of it. I '11 tell it you at 
 once, John, in case I should forget it altogether." 
 
 On Tom's relating what had passed upon the wharf, his friend was 
 very 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 
 
518 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 to say, from their description of lier, tliat her name was Gamp. But of 
 what nature the communication could have been which Tom had borne 
 so unexpectedly ; why its delivery had been entrusted to him ; how- 
 it happened that the parties were involved together j and what secret 
 lay at the bottom of the whole affair ; perplexed him very much. 
 Tom had been sure of his taking some interest in the matter ; but was 
 not prepared for the strong interest he shewed. 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. 
 
 " I shall remonstrate with my landlord, of course," said Tom : 
 " though he is a very singular secret sort of man, and 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 r' 
 
 " I am certain of it." 
 
 " Well !" said Tom, " I shall remonstrate with him when I see him 
 (he goes in and out in a strange way, but I will try to catch him to- 
 morrow morning), on his having asked me to execute such an unpleasant 
 commission. And I have been thinking, John, that if 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 
 connection 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 invisi- 
 bility, wherein to have watched little Buth, when she was left to herself in 
 John Westlock's chambers, and John and her brother M^ere talking thus, 
 over their wine ! The gentle way in which she tried to get up a little 
 conversation with the fiery-faced matron in the crunched bonnet, who 
 was waiting to attend her : after making a desperate rally 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-consuming tea and sugar, 
 and other general trifles. That Avould have been agreeable. The bashful, 
 winning, glorious curiosity, with which little Ptuth, when fiery-face was. 
 
MAETIN CHUZZLEWIT. 519 
 
 gone, peeped into tlie 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 flov/ers 
 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 vrhere they vrere. 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 like a man enchanted. And Avhen the tea- 
 service had been removed, and Tom, sitting down at the piano, became 
 absorbed in some of his old organ tunes, he was still beside her at the 
 open window, looking out upon the twilight. 
 
 There is little enough to see, in Furnival's Inn. It is a shadv, 
 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 melodies which had so often soothed his spirit, were 
 hovering again about him ! "What power infused into the fading light, 
 the gathering darkness; the stars that here and there appeared ; the 
 evening air, the. city's hum and stir, the very chiming of the old church 
 clocks ; such exquisite enthralment, that the divinest regions of the 
 earth spread out before their eyes could not have held them captive in 
 a stronger chain ! 
 
 The shadows deepened ; deepened ; and the room became quite dark. 
 Still Tom's fingers wandered over the keys of the piano ; and still the 
 window had its pair of tenants. 
 
 At length, her hand upon his shoulder, and her breath upon his fore- 
 head, roused Tom from his reverie. 
 
 " Dear me ! " he cried, desisting with a start. " I am afraid I have 
 been very inconsiderate and unpolite." 
 
 Tom little thought how much consideration and politeness he had 
 shown ! 
 
 " Sing something to us, my dear," said Tom. " Let us hear your 
 voice. Come ! " 
 
 John Westlock added his entreaties, with such earnestness that a 
 flinty heart alone could have resisted them. Her 's was not a flinty 
 heart. Oh dear no ! Quite another thing. 
 
 So down she sat, and in a pleasant voice began to sing the ballads 
 Tom loved well. Old rhyming stories, with here and there a pause for 
 a few simple chords, such as a harper might have sounded in the ancient 
 time while looking upward for the current of some half-remembered 
 legend ; words of old poets, wedded to such measures that the strain of 
 music might have been the poet's breath, giving utterance and expression 
 to his thoughts ; and now a melody so joyous and light-hearted, that 
 the singer seemed incapable of sadness, until in her inconstancy (oh 
 wicked little singer I) she relapsed, and broke the listeners' hearts again i 
 
520 LIFE AND ADVENTUKES OF 
 
 these were tlie simple means she used to please them. And that these 
 simple means prevailed, and she did please them, let the still darkened 
 chamber, and its long-deferred illumination witness ! 
 
 The candles came at last, and it was time for moving homeward. 
 Cutting paper carefully, and rolling it about the stalks of these same 
 flowers, occasioned some delay ; but even this was done in time, and 
 Euth 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. " I am afraid you 
 only say so out of politeness." 
 
 John being quite sure, gave his arm to Ruth, and led her out. 
 Fiery-face, who was again 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 herj and John Westlock sketched a 
 portrait — whose 1 — from memory. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 IN WHICH MISS PECKSNIFF MAKES LOVE, MR. JONAS MAKES WRATIT, 
 MRS. GAMP MAKES TEA, AND MR. CHUFFEY MAKES BUSINESS. 
 
 On the next day's oflicial 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." 
 
 " I am very far from being certain of that, Tom," she replied ; " and 
 indeed you do yourself an injustice. Indeed you do. But I hope she 
 may like me, Tom." 
 
 " Oh, she is sure to do that ! " cried Tom, confidently. 
 
 " What a number of friends I should have, if everybody was of your 
 
^ 
 
 y .^ym?r//://ry yj /^^^ /^.ty (r^^.-7^/^^-iAui//c' 
 
 ' ^/''yf/l7lU 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 521 
 
 way of tliinklng. Shouldn't I, Tom, deir ] " said his little sister, 
 pinching him upon the cheek. 
 
 Tom laughed, and said that with reference to this particuliar 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." 
 
 Tom put this observation off good-humouredly, but somewhat gravely 
 too ; and they were soon very chatty again on some other subject. 
 
 As they were passing through a street in the City, not very far from 
 Mrs. Todgers's place of residence, Ruth checked Tom before the window 
 of a large Upholstery and Furniture Warehouse, to call his attention to 
 something very magnificent and ingenious, displayed there to the best 
 advantage, for the admiration and temptation of the public. Tom had 
 hazarded some most erroneous and 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, Toml" inquired 
 his little sister. 
 
 "Why, he is naturally a dismal young gentleman, I believe," said 
 Tom : " but he is very civil and inoffensive." 
 
 " I suppose they are furnishing their house," whispered Ruth. 
 
 " Yes, I suppose they are," replied Tom. " We had better avoid 
 speaking to them." 
 
 They could not very well avoid looking at them, however, especially 
 as some obstruction on the pavement, at a little distance, happened to 
 detain them where they were for a few moments. Miss Pecksniff had 
 quite the air of having taken the unhappy Moddle captive, and brought 
 him up to the contemplation of the furniture like a lamb to the altar. 
 He offered no resistance, but was perfectly resigned and quiet. The 
 melancholy depicted in the turn of his languishing head, and in his 
 dejected attitude, was extreme; and though there was a fall-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. " Perhaps they 
 are Another's." 
 
 "They can make more like them, if they are," rejoined Miss Pecksniff. 
 
 ^' No, no, they can't," said Moddle. " It 's impossible 1 " 
 
522 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 He appeared, for the moment, to be quite overwhelmed and stupified 
 by the prospect of his approaching hajDpiness ; but recovering, entered 
 the shop. He returned immediately : saying in a tone of despair, 
 
 " Twenty-four pound ten ! " 
 
 Miss Pecksniff, turning to receive this announcement, became conscious 
 of the observation of Tom Pinch and his sister. 
 
 " Oh, really !" cried Miss Pecksniii, glancing about her, as if for some 
 convenient means of sinking into the earth. " Upon my word, I — 
 there never was such a — to think that one should be so very — 
 Mr. Augustus ^loddle : 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 knocking Mr. Jonas on the head, had WTOught 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, w^as paramount to every other consideration j cordial 
 and kind Miss Pecksniff was. And twice Miss Pecksniff kissed ]\iiss 
 Pinch upon the cheek. 
 
 " Augustus — Mr. Pinch, you know. My dear girl ! " said Miss Peck- 
 sniff, aside. " I never was so ashamed in my life." 
 
 Ruth begged her not to think of it. 
 
 " I 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 Pecksniff. " I 
 am speaking of the 
 
 Here she whispered him again. 
 
 " If it 's the same patterned chintz as that in the window ; thirty-two, 
 twelve, six," said Moddle, with a sigh. " And very dear." 
 
 Miss Pecksniff stopped him from giving any further explanation by 
 laying her hand upon his lips, and betraying a soft embarrassment. 
 She then asked Tom Pinch Avhich way he was going. 
 
 '' I was going to see if I could find your sister," answered Tom, " to 
 whom I wished to say a few words. V/e were going to Mrs. Todgers's, 
 Avhere 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 I '11 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 ki?n,''* 
 she added, nodding her head, as she observed some hesitation on Tom's 
 part. " He is not at home." 
 
 " Are you sure 1 " asked Tom. 
 
 " Oh, I am quite sure of that. I don't w^ant any 7nore revenge," 
 
MAKTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 523 
 
 said Miss PecksniiF, 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 ta 
 Tom ; and Miss PecksniiF linked her own in Ruth's. 
 
 " Of course, my love," said Miss Pecksniff, " it would be useless for 
 me to disguise, after Vv'hat you have seen, that I am about to be united 
 to the gentleman who is walking with your brother. It would be in 
 vain to conceal it. What do you think of him ? Pray, let me have 
 your candid opinion." 
 
 Ruth intimated that, as far as she could judge, he was a very eligible 
 swain. 
 
 " I am curious to know," said Miss Pecksniff, with loquacious frank- 
 ness, " 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 t 
 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, his tailor, his 
 mother, and the like. But, hesitating to give utterance 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 icas cruel," said Miss Pecksniff, with a 
 self-convictiuff candour that mij^ht have adorned the diadem of her own 
 papa. " There is no doubt of it. I look back upon my conduct now 
 wdth 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 V 
 
 "It was a severe trial of his fidelity, no doubt,"" said Ruth. 
 
 " My dear," returned Miss Pecksniff. " It was wrong. But such is 
 the caprice and thoughtlessness of our sex ! Let me be a warning to 
 you. Don't try the feelings of any one who makes you an ofter, 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 
 
524 LIFE AND ADVEXTURES OF 
 
 Miss Pecksniff, '- what my feelings would have been, if I had goaded him 
 to suicide, and it had got into the papers !" 
 
 Euth observed that she -would have been full of remorse, no doubt. 
 
 " Remorse ! " cried Miss Pecksniff, in a sort of snug and comfortable 
 penitence. " What my remorse is at this moment, even after making 
 reparation 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 is the consequence of my past conduct 1 Until 
 Augustus leads me to the altar, he is not sure of me. I have blighted 
 and withered the affections of his heart to that extent that he is not 
 sure of me. I see that preying on his mind and feeding on his vitals. 
 What are the reproaches of my conscience, when I see this in the man 
 I love !" 
 
 Ruth endeavoured to express some sense of her unbounded and flat- 
 tering 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, and 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. 
 
 " I 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 T 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. Ay !" said 
 Augustus, marking Tom's astonishment. " There are such men. One 
 of 'em is a friend of mine." 
 
 " Upon my word and honour," thought Tom, " this young gentleman 
 is in a state of mind, which is very serious indeed !" xibandoning 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 a mental relief as when they arrived in safety at 
 Mrs. Jonas Chuzzlewit's house. 
 
MARTIN CHrzZLEWIT. 525 
 
 " Walk up, pray, Mr. Pincli," said Miss Pecksniff. For Tom halted, 
 irresolutely, at the door. 
 
 " I am doubtful whether I should be welcome," replied Tom, " or, I 
 ought rather to say, I have no doubt about it. I will send up a message, 
 I think." 
 
 "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 " 
 
 " Ko," 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 leading his sister upstairs; 
 and the house-door being at the same time shut behind them ; he fol- 
 lowed 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. 
 
 "I 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 was never seen as Mr. Moddle looked when 
 he complied. So despondent was his temper, that he showed no out- 
 ward thrill of ecstasy, when Miss Pecksniff placed her lily hand in his, 
 and concealed this mark of her favour from the vulgar gaze, by cover- 
 ing it with a corner of her shawl. Indeed, he was infinitely more 
 rueful then than he had been before ; and, sitting uncomfortably up- 
 right in his chair, surveyed the company with watery eyes, which seemed 
 to say, without the 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 connection. She 
 added daily so many strings to her bow, that she made a perfect harp of 
 it ; and upon that instrument she now began to perform an extempo- 
 raneous concerto. 
 
 "Why, goodness me !" she said. "Mrs. Chuzzlewit ! To think as 
 
526 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 I should see beneath this blessed ouse, which well I know it, Miss 
 Pecksniff, mj sweet young ladjj^- to be a ouse as there is not a many 
 like, worse luck and wishin' it ware not so, which then this tearful 
 walley 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 ?/ozfr 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 
 JBridge, 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 immediate personal interest in her 
 address, Mrs. Gamp dropped several curtseys to Ruth, and smilingly shak- 
 ing 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 Wellinton 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 has roge betwixt us 
 on account of the expense — and often have I said to Mrs. Harris, ' Oh, 
 Mrs. Harris, ma'am ! your countenance 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." 
 
 " I am sorry for it," cried the old man, looking humbly round the 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 527' 
 
 room. " I know I 'm in the way. I ask pardon, but I 've nowliere 
 else to go to. Where is she 1 " 
 
 Merrj went to him immediately. 
 
 " Ah ! " said the old man, patting her on the cheek. " Here she is. 
 Here she is ! She 's never hard on poor old ChufFey. Poor old Chuff ! " 
 
 As she took her seat upon a low chair by the old man's side, and put 
 herself Avithin the reach of his hand, she looked up once at Tom. It 
 was a sad look that she cast upon him, though there vfas 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." 
 
 "Ay, ay !" cried ChufFey in a soothing tone. " Ay, ay, ay ! Never 
 mind him. It 's hard to bear, but never mind him. He 'II die one 
 day. There are three hundred and sixty-five days in the year — 
 three hundred and sixty-six in leap-year — and he may die on any one 
 of 'em." 
 
 " You 're a wearing old soul, and that 's the sacred truth," said 
 Mrs. Gamp, contemplating him from a little distance with anything but 
 favour, as he continued to mutter to himself. " It 's a pity 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 liftins^ ud 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 pincushion 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 favor 
 us with some remarks on twins. Sir, would you be so good !" 
 
 The bitter and indignant sarcasm which Mrs. Gamp conveyed into 
 these taunts was altogether lost on the unconscious Chuffey, who appeared 
 to be as little cognizant of their delivery as of his 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 herself as 
 the only lawful authority, or which should at least have been on no 
 account proclaimed without her sanction and concurrence, was not so 
 easily appeased. She continued to sidle at Mr. ChufFey with looks of 
 sharp hostility, and to defy him with many other ironical remarks, 
 uttered in that low key which commonly denotes suppressed indigna- 
 tion ; 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 unex- 
 pectedly assembled, restored her to herself. She smiled again, and 
 entered on her ministration with her own particular urbanity. 
 
 " And quite a family it is to make tea for," said Mrs. Gamp ; " and 
 wot a happiness to do it ! My good young 'ooman " — to the servant- 
 girl — " p'raps somebody would like to try a new-laid egg or two, not 
 biled too hard. Likeways, a few rounds o' buttered toast, first cuttin' 
 off the crust, in consequence of tender teeth, and not too many of 'em ; 
 
528 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 which Gamp himself, Mrs. Chuzzlewit, at one blow, being In llquop 
 struck out four, two single, and two double, as was took by Mrs. Harris for 
 a keepsake, and is carried In her pocket at this present hour, along with 
 two cramp-bones, a bit o' ginger, and a grater like a blessed infant's 
 shoe, in tin, with a little heel to put the nutmeg in : as many times 
 I 've seen and said, and used for caudle when required within the month." 
 
 As the privileges of the side-table ; besides including the small pre- 
 rogatives of sitting next the toast, and taking two cups of tea to other 
 people's one, and always taking them at a crisis, that is to say, before 
 putting fresh water into the teapot, and after it had been standing for 
 some time ; also comprehended a full view of the company, and an 
 opportunity of addressing them as from a 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 distilled waters. 
 
 But for Mrs. Gamp, it M'ould 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 up in her chair with an 
 involuntary exclamation. Mrs. Todgers was occupied in knitting, and 
 seldom spoke. Poor Merry held the hand of cheerful little Ruth 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 probably 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 upstairs 1 " 
 
 " 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 1 Where is he 1 " 
 
 '•Hush ! Hush !" said Merry, speaking kindly to him. "That happened 
 long ago. Don't you recollect 1 " 
 
-^. 
 
 a^p?i//>' '7/ia/f^< 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. ' 529 
 
 • *' Kecollect ! " rejoined the old man, with a cry of grief. "As if I 
 X30uld 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 upstairs ? " 
 
 " 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 1 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 1 " 
 
 " 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 
 ■upstairs, whispering as he w^ent, "Foul play!" They heard his footsteps 
 over-head, going up into that corner of the room in which the bed stood 
 (it was there old Anthony had died) ; and then they heard him coming 
 down again immediately. His fancy was not so strong or wild that it 
 pictured to him anything in the deserted bed-chamber which was not 
 there ; for he returned much calmer, and appeared to have satisfied 
 himself. 
 
 " They don't tell you," he said to Merry in his quavering voice, as he 
 sat down again, and patted her upon the head. " They don't tell me 
 either; but I'll watch, I'll watch. They shall not hurt you ; don't be 
 frightened. When you have sat up w^atching, I have sat up watching 
 too. Ay, ay, 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 man- 
 ners 1 You want a pitcher of cold water throw'd over you to bring you 
 round ; that 's my belief ; and if you was under Betsy Prig you 'd have 
 it, too, I do assure you, Mr. Chuffey. Spanish Flies is the only thing 
 
 M M 
 
530 
 
 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 to draw this nonsense out of you ; and if any body wanted to do you a 
 kindness, tliey '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 
 grievious 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. ChuzzleAvit," replied that zealous 
 lady, " I ain't no patience with him. You give him his own way too 
 much by half. A worritin' Avexagious creeter !" 
 
 No doubt with the view of carrying out the precepts she enforced^ 
 and 'bothering the old victim' 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 the 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 consequence 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 con- 
 sciousness of at once imparting pleasure and instruction to her auditors, 
 " and they comes to, wonderful, Lord bless you ! " 
 
 As this excellent woman had been formally entrusted with the care 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 unfor- 
 tunate 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 11 hear you." 
 
 " I should be very sorry if she did hear me, Mr. Pinch," said Cherry, 
 raising her voice a little : " for it is not in my nature to add to the un- 
 easiness of any person : far less of my own sister. / know what a 
 sister's duties are, Mr. Pinch, and I hope I always 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. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 531 
 
 "I am sure, Mr. Pinch," said Charity, looking after her betrothed 
 and glancing at her sister, " that I ought to be very grateful for the bless- 
 ings I enjoy, and those which are yet in store for me. When I contrast 
 Augustus " — here she was modest and embarrassed — '• who, I don't mind 
 saying to you, is all softness, mildness, and devotion, with the detestable 
 man who is my sister's husband ; and when I think, Mr. Pinch, that in 
 the dispensations of this world, our cases might have been reversed ; I 
 have much to be thankful for, indeed, and much to make me humble 
 and contented." 
 
 Contented she might have been, but humble she assuredly was not. 
 Her face and manner 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 Ptutli, that it was time for them to go. 
 
 " I will write to your husband," said Tom to Merry, " and explain to 
 him, as I would have done if I had met him here, that if he has sus- 
 tained any inconvenience through my means, it is not my fault : a 
 postman not being more innocent of the news he brings than I was when 
 I handed him that letter." 
 
 "I thank you!" said Merry. "It may do some good. Heaven 
 bless you !" 
 
 She parted tenderly from Ruth, who with her brother was in the act 
 of leaving the room, when a key was heard in the lock of the door 
 below, and immediately afterwards a quick footstep in the passage. Tom 
 stopped, and looked at Merry. 
 
 It was Jonas, she said timidly. 
 
 " I had better not meet him on the stairs, perhaps," said Tom, draw- 
 ing 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 : 
 
 " I 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 1 That would be a pity. We have taken tea here, 
 sir, in your absence ; but if you will have the goodness to send us a 
 note of the expense, receipted, we shall be happy to pay it. Augustus, 
 my love, we will go, if you please. Mrs. Todgers, unless you wish to 
 remain here, we shall be happy to take you with us. It would be a pity, 
 indeed, to spoil the bliss which this gentleman always brings with him : 
 especially into his own home." 
 
 " Charity 1 Charity 1" 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 / am not his slave " 
 
 M M 2 
 
532 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " 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 bear ?" retorted Jonas, lounging down upon a cbair. " I 
 am not a-going to say it again. If you like to stay, you may stay. If 
 you like to go, you may go. But if you stay, please to be civil." 
 
 " Beast !" cried Miss Pecksniff, sweeping past him. " Augustus ! He 
 is beneath your notice !" Augustus had been making some faint and 
 sickly demonstration of shaking his fist. " Come away, child," screamed 
 Miss Pecksniff, " I command you !" 
 
 The scream was elicited from her by Augustus manifesting an inten- 
 tion 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 
 remonstrances. 
 
 All this time, Jonas had seen nothing of Tom and his sister ; for they 
 were almost behind the door when he opened it, and he had sat down 
 with his back towards them, and had purposely kept his eyes upon the 
 opposite side of the street during his altercation with Miss Pecksniff, in 
 order that his seeming carelessness might 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 leaped 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 what I 
 wish to say relates to your own affairs, I know nothing of them, and 
 desire to know nothing of them." 
 
 Jonas was too enraged to speak. He held the door open ; and 
 stamping his foot upon the ground, motioned Tom away. 
 
 " As you cannot suppose," said Tom, " that I am here, with any view 
 of conciliating you or pleasing myself, I am quite indifferent to your 
 reception of me, or your dismissal of me. Hear what I have to say, if 
 you are not a madman. I gave you a letter the other day, when you 
 were about to go abroad." 
 
 " You Thief, you did !" retorted Jonas. " I '11 pay you for the carriage 
 of it one day, and settle an old score besides. I will." 
 
 " Tut, tut," said Tom, " you needn't waste foul words or idle threats. 
 I wish you to 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 " 
 
 " By the Lord 1" cried Jonas, fiercely catching up the chair, " I 'II 
 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 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 533 
 
 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 him- 
 self 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 ; 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 I am away ? You 
 plot and tamper with this sort of people, do you 1 " 
 
 " 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. 
 A suggestive action ! Full of a cruel truth ! 
 
 " How many more times "? " he repeated. 
 
 " No more. The other morning, and to-day, and once besides." 
 
 He was about to retort upon her, when the clock struck. He 
 started, stopped, and listened : appearing to revert to some engage- 
 ment, or to some other subject, a secret within his own breast, recalled 
 to him by this record of the progress of the hours. 
 
 " Don't lie there. Get up I " 
 
 Having helped her to rise, or rather hauled her up by the arm, he 
 went on to say: 
 
 " Listen to me, young lady ; and don't whine when you have no occa- 
 sion, or I may make some for you. If I find him in my house again, 
 or find that you have seen him in anybody else's house, you '11 repent 
 it. If you are not deaf and dumb to everything that concerns me, 
 unless you have my leave to hear and speak, you '11 repent it. If you 
 don't obey exactly what I order, you 11 repent it. Now, attend. Wh it 's 
 the time 1 " 
 
 " It struck Eight a minute ago." 
 
534 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 He looked towards lier intently ; and said, v/ith a laboured distinctness, 
 as if he had got the words off by heart : 
 
 " I have been travelling day and night, and am tired. I have lost some 
 money, and that don't improve me. Put my supper in the little off- 
 room below, and have the truckle-bed made. I shall sleep there to-night, 
 and maybe to-morrow night ; and if I can sleep all day to-morrow, so 
 much the better, for I 've got trouble to sleep off, if I can. Keep the 
 house quiet, and don't call me. Mind ! Don't call me. Don't let 
 anybody call me. Let me lie there." 
 
 She said it should be done. Was that all 1 
 
 " What ! you must be prying and questioning 1 " he angrily retorted. 
 "^What more do you want to know 1 " 
 
 " I want to know nothing, Jonas, but what you tell me. All hope of 
 confidence between us, has long deserted me." 
 
 " Bcod, I should hope so ! " he muttered. 
 
 " But if you will tell me what you wish, I will be obedient, and will 
 try to please you. I make no merit of that, for I have no friend in my 
 father or my sister, but am quite alone. I am very humble and sub- 
 missive. You told me you would break mj spirit, and you have done 
 so. Do not break my heart too ! " 
 
 She ventured, as she said these words, to lay her hand upon his 
 shoulder. He suffered it to rest there, in his exultation ; and the whole 
 mean, abject, sordid, pitiful soul of the man, looked at her, for the 
 moment, through his wicked eyes. 
 
 For the moment only : for, with the same hurried return to something 
 within himself, he bade her, in a surly tone, show her obedience by exe- 
 cuting his commands without delay. When she had withdrawn, he paced 
 up and down the room several times ; but always with his right hand 
 clenched, as if it held something; which it did not, being empty. When 
 he was tired of this, he threw himself into a chair, and thoughtfully turned 
 up the sleeve of his right arm, as if he were rather musing about its 
 strength than examining it ; but even then, he kept the hand clenched. 
 
 He was brooding in this chair, with his eyes cast down upon the 
 ground, when Mrs. Gamp came in to tell him that the little room was 
 ready. Not being quite sure of her reception after interfering in the 
 quarrel, Mrs. Gamp, as a means of interesting and propitiating her 
 patron, affected a deep solicitude in Mr. Chuffey. 
 
 " How is he now, sir?" she said. 
 
 "WhoT' cried Jonas, raising his head, and staring at her. 
 
 "To be sure?" returned the matron with a smile and a curtsey. 
 " What am I a thinking of ! You wasn't here, sir, when he was took so 
 strange. I never see a poor dear creetur took so strange in all my life, 
 except a patient much about the same age, as I once nussed, which his 
 calling was the custom-'us, and his name was Mrs. Harris's own 
 father, as pleasant a singer, J\Ir. Chuzzlewlt, as ever you heerd, with a 
 voice like a Jew's-harp in the bass notes, that it took six men to hold 
 at sech times, foaming frightful." 
 
 " Chuffey, eh 1" said Jonas carelessly, seeing that she went up to the 
 old clerk, and looked at him. " Ha !" 
 
 " The creetur's head 's so hot," said Mrs. Gamp, " that you might eat a 
 ilat-iron at it. And no wonder, I am sure,considerin' the things he said!" 
 
MARTIN CHXJZZLEWIT. 535 
 
 « Said !" cried Jonas. " What did he say 1 " 
 
 Mrs. Gamp laid her hand upon her heart, to put some check upon 
 its palpitations, and turning up her eyes replied in a faint voice : 
 
 " The awfuUest things, Mr. Chuzzlewit, as ever I heerd ! Which Mrs. 
 Harris's father never spoke a word when took so, some does and some 
 don't, except sayin' when he come round, ' Where is Sairey Gamp 1 ' 
 But raly, sir, when Mr. Chuffey comes to ask who's lyin' dead upstairs^ 
 and " 
 
 "Who's lying dead up-stairs !" repeated Jonas, standing aghast. 
 
 Mrs. Gamp nodded, made as if she were swallowing, and went on. 
 
 " Who 's lying dead up stairs; sech was his Bible language ; and where 
 was Mr. Chuzzlewit as had the only son ; and when he goes up stairs 
 a looking in the beds and wandering about the rooms, and comes down 
 again a whisperin' softly to his-self about foul play and that; it give me 
 sich a turn, I don't deny it, Mr. Chuzzlewit, that I never coUld have 
 kep myself up but for a little drain o' spirits, which I seldom touches, 
 but could always wish to know where to find, if so dispoged, never 
 knowin' wot may happen next, the world bein' so uncertain." 
 
 "Why, the old fool 's mad !" cried Jonas, much disturbed. 
 
 " That 's my opinion, sir," said Mrs. Gamp, " and I will not deceive 
 you. I believe as Mr. Chuffey, sir, rekwires attention (if I may make 
 so bold), and should not have his liberty to wex and worrit your sweet 
 lady as he does." 
 
 " Why, who minds what he says ? " retorted Jonas. 
 
 " Still he is worritin sir," said Mrs. Gamp. " No one don't mind him, 
 but he is a ill conwenience." 
 
 " Ecod you 're right," said Jonas, looking doubtfully at the subject of 
 this conversation. " I have half a mind to shut him up." 
 
 Mrs. Gamp rubbed her hands, and smiled, and shook her head, and 
 sniffed expressively, as scenting a job. 
 
 " Could you — could you take care of such an idiot, now, in some 
 spare room up stairs 'I " asked Jonas. 
 
 " Me and a friend of mine, one off, one on, could do it, Mr. Chuzzlewit," 
 replied the nurse ; " our charges not bein' high, but wishin' they was 
 lower, and allowance made considerin' not strangers. Me and Betsey 
 Prig, sir, would undertake Mr. Chuffey, reasonable," said Mrs. Gamp, 
 looking at him with her head on one side, as if he had been a piece of 
 goods, for which she was driving a bargain ; " and give every satige- 
 faction. Betsey Prig has nussed a many lunacies, and well she knows 
 their ways, which puttin' 'em right close afore the fire, when fractious, 
 is the certainest and most compoging." 
 
 While Mrs. Gamp discoursed to this effect, Jonas was walking up 
 and down the room again : glancing covertly at the old clerk, as he did 
 so. He now made a stop, and said : 
 
 " I must look after him, I suppose, or I may have him doing some 
 mischief. What say you 1 " 
 
 " Nothin' more likely ! " Mrs. Gamp replied. " As well I have 
 experienged, I do assure you, sir." 
 
 " Well ! Look after him, for the present, and — let me see — three 
 'd^ys from this time let the other woman come here, and we '11 see if 
 
536 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 we can make a bargain of it. • About nine or ten o'clock at niglit, say. 
 Keep your eye upon him in the meanwhile, and don't talk about it. 
 He 's as mad as a March hare ! " 
 
 " Madder ! " cried Mrs. Gamp. " A deal madder ! " 
 
 " See to him, then ; take care that he does no harm ; and recollect 
 what I have told you." 
 
 Leaving Mrs. Gamp in the act of repeating all she had been told, and 
 of producing in support of her memory and trustworthiness, many 
 commendations selected from among the most remarkable opinions of 
 the celebrated Mrs. Harris, he descended to the little room prepared for 
 him, and pulling off his coat and his boots, put them outside the door 
 before he locked it. In locking it, he was careful so to adjust the key, as- 
 to baffle any curious person who might try to peep in through the keyhole;, 
 and when he had taken these precautions, he sat down to his supper. 
 
 " Mr. Chuff," he muttered, " it'll be pretty easy to be even with you^ 
 It's of no use doing things by halves, and as long as I stop here, I'll take- 
 good care of you. When I am off, you may say what you please. But 
 its a d — d strange thing," he added, pushing away his untouched plate, 
 and striding moodily to and fro, " that his drivellings should have taken 
 this turn just now." 
 
 After pacing the little room from end to end several times, he sat 
 down in another chair. 
 
 "I say just now, but for anything I know, he may have been carry- 
 ing on the same game all along. Old dog ! He shall be gagged !" 
 
 He paced the room again in the same restless and unsteady way ; 
 and then sat down upon the bedstead, leaning his chin upon his hand, 
 and 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 occu- 
 pied, began to eat with great rapacity : not like a hungry man, but as 
 if he were determined to do it. He drank too, roundly ; sometimes, 
 stopping in the middle of a draught to walk, and change his seat and 
 walk again, and dart back to the table and fall to, in a ravenous hurry, 
 as before. 
 
 It was now growing dark. As the gloom of evening, deepening 
 into night, came on, another dark shade emerging from within him 
 seemed to overspread his face, and slowly change it. 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 neiojhbourino: 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 : and savinsf that it had sometimes served as- 
 an apology for a spare bed-room, and that the old clerk had once held 
 it (but that was years ago) as his recognised apartment 3 it had been 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 537 
 
 little troubled by Antliony Chuzzlewit and Son. It was a blotched, 
 stained, mouldering room, like a vault ; and there were water-pipes 
 running through it, which at unexpected 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 opened for a long, long time ; 
 but the key had always hung in one place, and there it hung now. He 
 was prepared for its being rusty ; for 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 waist- 
 band ; in which he dressed himself at leisure. Lastly, he took out a 
 common frock of coarse dark jean, which he drew over his own under- 
 clothing; and a felc hat — he had purposely left his own upstairs. He 
 then sat 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 never 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 have 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 
 found out, you see," they said to one another as they turned the corner. 
 
 Hush ! 
 
 He put the key into the lock, and turned it. The door resisted for a 
 while, but soon came 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. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 CONCLUSION OF THE ENTERPRISE OF 3IR. JONAS AND HIS FRIEND. 
 
 Did no men passing through the dim streets shrink without knowing 
 why, when he came stealing up behind them 1 As he glided on, had no 
 child in its sleep an indistinct perception of a guilty shadow falling on 
 its bed, that troubled its innocent rest ? Did no dog howl, and strive 
 to break its rattling chain, that it might tear him j no burrowing rat^ 
 
538 LIFE AND ADVENl'URES OF 
 
 scenting the work he had in hand, essay to gnaw a passage after him, 
 that it might hold a greedy revel at the feast of his providing 1 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 Gain ! 
 
 He shaped his course for the main w^estern road, and soon reached it : 
 riding a part of the way, then alighting and walking on again. He 
 travelled for a considerable distance upon the roof of a stage-coach, which 
 came up while he was a-foot ; and when it turned out of his road, 
 bribed the driver of a return post-chaise to take him on with him ; and 
 then made across the country at a run, and saved a mile or two before 
 he struck again into the road. At last, as his plan was, he came up 
 with a certain 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 ! It is 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 of the trees j 
 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 1 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 w^as not a blade of growing grass or corn, but w^atched ; and the 
 quieter it was, the more intent and fixed its watch upon him seemed to be. 
 
 And yet he slept. Riding on among these sentinels of Grod, 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 abandonment of his design. 
 
 He dreamed at one time that he was lying calmly in his bed, thinking 
 of a moonlight night and the noise of wheels, when the old clerk put 
 his head in at the door, and beckoned him. At this signal he rose 
 immediately : being already dressed, in the clothes he actually wore at 
 that time : and accompanied him into a strange city, where the names 
 of the streets were written on the walls in characters quite new to him ; 
 which gave him no surprise or uneasiness, for he 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 
 w^as about to be holden there, and in which he had come to take a part. 
 Already, great crowds began to fill the streets, and in one direction 
 myriads of people came rushing down an interminable perspective 
 strewing flowers and making way for others on white horses, when a 
 
MARTIN CHTJZZLEWIT. 539 
 
 terrible fii^ure started from the throne;, and cried out that it was the Last 
 Day for all the world. The crj being spread, there was a wild hurry- 
 ing on to Judgment ; and the press became so great that he and his 
 companion (who Avas constantly changing, and was never the same man 
 two minutes to2;ether, thouofh he never saw one man come or another 
 go), stood aside in a porch, fearfully surveying the multitude ; in which 
 there were many faces that he knew, and many that he did not know, but 
 dreamed he did ; Avhen all at once a struggling head rose up among 
 the rest — livid and deadly, but the same as he had known it — and 
 denounced him as having appointed that 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 thous^ht of, he started to the know- 
 ledge of his v/aking 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 thoudits : that he dreaded most. 
 There is no glare in the night. Even Glory shews . to small advantage 
 in the night, upon a crowded battle-iield. How then shows Glory's 
 blood-relation, bastard Murder ! 
 
 Ay ! 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 1 " observed the coachman. 
 
 " I may get down where I please, I suppose." 
 
 " You got up to please yourself, and may get down to please yourself 
 It won't break our hearts to lose you, and it wouldn't have broken 'em if 
 we 'd never found you. Be a little quicker. That 's all." 
 
 The guard had alighted, and was waiting in the road to take his 
 money. In the jealousy and distrust of what he contemplated, he 
 thought this man looked at him with more than common curiosity. 
 
 "What are you staring at V said Jonas. 
 
 " Not at a handsome man," returned the guard. " If you want your 
 fortune told, I '11 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 bidding him get out 
 for a surly dog. The guard jumped up to his seat at the same moment, 
 and ^they drove off, laughing ; leaving him to stand in the road, and 
 shake his fist at them. He was not displeased though, on second 
 thoughts, to have been taken for an ill-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 a 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 
 
540 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff had agreed to dine with Montague. He had kept his 
 appointment, and was now going home. His host was riding with him 
 for a short distance ; meaning to return bj 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 
 dinnerj 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 carriage wheels 
 or horse's hoofs. They came on noisily, to where a stile and footpath 
 indicated their point of separation. Here they stopped. 
 
 " It '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 '11 come to. The path is narrower there, but you can't 
 miss it. When shall I see you again ? Soon, I hope 1 " 
 
 " I hope so," replied Montague. 
 
 « Good-night ! " 
 
 " Good-night. And a pleasant ride ! " 
 
 So long as Mr. Pecksniff was in sight, and turned his head, at 
 intervals, to salute him, Montague stood in the road smiling, and 
 waving his hand. But when his new partner had disappeared, and this 
 show was no longer necessary, he sat down on the stile with looks so 
 altered, that he might have grown ten years older in the meantime. 
 
 He was flushed with wine, but not gay. His scheme had suc- 
 ceeded, but he shewed no triumph. The effort of sustaining his 
 difficult part before his late companion, had fatigued him, perhaps, 
 or it may be, that the evening whispered to his 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 pro- 
 perties within itself, that hands are raised to waste and spill it ; and in 
 the veins of men run cold and dull as his did, in that hour ! 
 
 So cold, although the air was warm : so dull, although the sky was 
 bright : that he rose up shivering, from his seat, and hastily resumed 
 his walk. He checked himself as hastily : undecided whether to pur- 
 sue 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 eare. 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 sorrow- 
 fully. 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- 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 541 
 
 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 
 <;reeping 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 
 oaught 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 oiF 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 Avood, he 
 entered it. Moving here and there a bramble or a drooping bough which 
 stretched across his path, he slowly disappeared. At intervals a narrow 
 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 
 liuman sight ; forcing its way between and through the curling leaves, 
 as if those senseless things rejected and foreswore it, and were coiled up 
 in abhorrence ; went a dark, dark stain that dyed and scented the 
 whole summer night from earth to heaven. 
 
 The doer of this deed came leaping from the wood so fiercely, that 
 he 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 London. 
 
 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 having 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 
 
54t2 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 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 alehouse for a 
 coach; which he knew would pass through, on its way to London, before 
 long ; and which he also knew was not the coach he had travelled down 
 by, for it came from another place. He sat down outside the door here, 
 on a bench, beside a man who Avas smoking his pipe. Having called for 
 some beer, and drunk, himself, he oifered 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." 
 " I didn't see it," was his hasty answer. 
 "Didn't see it?" returned the man. 
 " How the devil could I see it, if I was asleep ?" 
 "Asleep! Ay, ay." The man appeared surprised by his unex- 
 pected 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 j of the possibility of their knocking at the door on some special 
 occasion ; of their being alarmed at receiving no answer ; of their burst- 
 ing 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 shewing 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. 
 
 Still he was not sorry. No. He had hated the man too much, and 
 had been bent, too desperately and too long, on setting himself free. 
 If the thing could have come over again, he would have done it again. 
 His malignant and revengeful passions were not so easily laid. There 
 was no more penitence 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 hor- 
 ribly afraid of that infernal room at home. This made him, in a 
 gloomy, murderous, mad way, not only fearful, /or himself but of him- 
 self ; for being, as it were, a part of the room : a something supposed to 
 be there, yet missing from it : he invested himself M'ith 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 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. ' 543 
 
 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 onw^ard 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 1 
 "When the sun w^hich looked into the wood, and gilded with its rising 
 light a dead man's face, had seen that man alive, and sought to win him 
 to one thought of Heaven, on its going down last night ! 
 
 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 j then gliding swiftly through that one, and stopping to 
 survey the next ; and so on. 
 
 The passage-way w^as 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. Not a sound. As he turned the key with a trembling 
 hand, and pushed the door softly open with his knee, a monstrous fear 
 beset his mind. 
 
 What if the murdered man were there before him ! 
 
 He cast a fearful glance all round. But there was nothing 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 oif 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 cup- 
 board. 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 wdth which he left 
 
544 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 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 burning sand. 
 At last he sat up in his bed, and cried, 
 
 " Who 's there ! " 
 
 It was his wife. 
 
 He asked her what it was o'clock. Nine. 
 
 " Did — did no one knock at my door, 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 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 household for the first time, after what he 
 had done, he lingered at the door on slight pretexts that they might see 
 him without looking in his face ; and left it ajar while he dressed ; and 
 called out to have the 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 con- 
 versation. 
 
 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 ^ared 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 listen- 
 ing, 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 old 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 dis- 
 traction, was, to listen for its coming. 
 
 Hush! 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLETVIT. 5i5 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 BEARS TIDINGS OF MARTIN, AND OF MARK, AS WELL AS OF A THIRD PERSON 
 NOT QUITE UNKNOWN TO THE READER. EXHIBITS FILIAL PIETY IN AN 
 UGLY ASPECT j AND CASTS A DOUBTFUL RAY OF LIGHT UPON A VERY 
 DARK PLACE. 
 
 Tom Pinch and Ruth were sitting at their early breakfast, with the 
 window open, and a row of the freshest little plants arranged 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, endea- 
 vouring to force himself out into the fine morning, and considering 
 himself enchanted because he couldn't do it ; and the morning was as 
 fine a mornino^ as ever was seen : and the frafjrant air was kissins^ 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 bought them, but had ordered 
 more j 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 in a flutter about this, and 
 perhaps had shed a happy tear or two for an^'thing 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 nis-ht. 
 
 " 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 unsatis- 
 factory scrape. I begin to think he will never come home again. 
 What a mysterious life that man does lead, to be sure 1" 
 
 " 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 
 
 N N 
 
546 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 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." 
 
 " I — I — 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 1 " 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. 
 
 " Mark Tapley, too !" said Tom, running towards the door, and shak- 
 ing 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 «re you, Mark !" 
 
 " Uncommon 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. Chuzzlewit, my love. Mark Tapley 
 from the Dragon, my dear. Good gracious me, what a surprise this is ! ■ 
 Sit down. Lord bless me !" 
 
 Tom was in such a state of excitement that he couldn't keep himself 
 still for a moment, but was constantly running between Mark and 
 Martin, shaking hands with them alternately, and presenting them over 
 and over asrain to his sister. 
 
 " I remember the day we parted, Martin, as well as if it were yester- 
 day," 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 -v^as going to Salisbury in the gig to fetch him, 
 and you were looking out for a situation 1 And don't you recollect 
 the dinner we had at Salisbury, Martin, with John Westlock, eh 1 
 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. 
 
MARTIN CHIJZZLEWIT. 547 
 
 Mr. Tapley was the first to resume his composure: In a 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 temporary absence in the kitchen, and speedy 
 return with a kettle of boiling water, from which he replenished the 
 tea-pot with a self-possession that was quite his own. 
 
 " Sit down, and take your breakfast, Mark," said Tom. " Make him 
 sit down and take his breakfast, Martin." 
 
 " Oh ! I gave him up, long 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, Iluth 1 " 
 
 " Yes, Tom." 
 
 " Not all," returned Martin, in a low voice. " The best of Mark 
 Tapley is only known to one man, Tom ; and but for Mark he would 
 hardly be alive to tell it." 
 
 "Mark!" said Tom Pinch, energetically: " If you don't sit down 
 this minute, I'll swear at you ! " 
 
 "Well, sir," returned Mr. Tapley, "sooner than you should do that, 
 I'll com-ply. It 's a 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 sufi'er (which is all the grammar, and enough too, as ever I wos 
 taught) ; and if there's a Werb alive, I 'm it. For I'm always a bein', 
 sometimes 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 insurmountable despondency. 
 
 In the meanwhile, Martin drew his chair a little nearer to Tom and 
 his sister, and related to them what had passed at Mr. Pecksniff's house ; 
 adding in few words a general summary of the distresses and disap- 
 pointments 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 disinterestedness, I can never 
 thank you enough. When I add Mary's thanks to mine " 
 
 Ah, Tom ! The blood retreated from his cheeks, and came rushing 
 back, so violently, that it was pain to feel it ; ease though, ease to 
 the aching of his wounded heart. 
 
 " When I add Mary's thanks to mine," said Martin, " I have made 
 the only poor acknowledgment it is in our power to ofi'er ; 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 
 
 N N 2 
 
548 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 creature ever knew — they would have set some store by him. Indeed 
 they would. 
 
 Tom changed the topic of discourse. lie was sorry he could not 
 pursue it, as it gave Martin pleasure ; hut he was unable, at that 
 moment, i^o 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. 
 
 " Xo 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 com- 
 panion 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 M'hen 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 '11 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 afiairs with him. So come 
 along. Gome 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 1 I dare say they don't. / know you, 
 pretty well. They '11 be soaring out of sight soon, Martin, and leaving 
 all the rest of us leagues behind." 
 
 " Ay ! But I may be a little changed," said Martin, " since you 
 knew me pretty well, Tom." 
 
 '• What nonsense !" exclaimed Tom. " Why should you be changed? 
 You talk as if you were an old man. I never heard such a fellow ! 
 Come to John Westlock's, come. Come along, Mark Tapley. It's 
 Mark's doing, I have no doubt ; and it serves you right for having 
 such a grumbler for your companion." 
 
 "There's no credit to be got through being jolly with 7/ou, 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 embar- 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 549 
 
 rassed to see tliem ; and when Tom was about to go into the room where 
 he was breakfasting, said he had a straDger 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. 
 
 " I apprehend you are engaged," said IMartin, vrhen Tom had 
 announced the purport of their visit. " If you will allow me to come 
 again at your ov/n time, I shall be glad to do so." 
 
 " I 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." 
 
 " 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 could. What is 
 your business, TomT' 
 
 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 
 prv^vent my doing so now, than the request of my employer. It's an 
 awkward position to be placed in," said Tom, with an uneasy sense of 
 seeming to doubt his friend, " as I feel every day ; but I really cannot 
 help it, can I, John^" 
 
 John Westlock replied in the negative ; and Martin, expressing him- 
 self 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 t/ou mean to do, Mark ? " asked Tom, as they walked 
 on together. 
 
 "Mean to do, sir?" returned Mr. Tapley. 
 
 " Ay. What course of life do you mean to pursue 1 " 
 
 " 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. 
 
550 LIFE AND ADVE5TTUIIES OP 
 
 " 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 ! " 
 
 Tom stopping in the street to look at him, Mr. Tapley for a moment 
 presented to his view, an utterly stolid and expressionless face : a perfect 
 dead wall of countenance. But opening window after window in it, with 
 astonishing rapidity, and lighting them all up as for a general illumina- 
 tion, 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 an't 
 so clear about it now. A dear, sweet creetur, sir ! " 
 
 " A dear, sweet creature 1 To be sure she is," cried Tom. " But she 
 always was a dear sweet creature, was she not 1 " 
 
 " 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, 
 " I '11 tell you how it come about. You know me, Mr. Pinch, sir ; there- 
 an't a gentleman alive as knows me better. You 're acquainted with 
 my constitution, and you 're acquainted with my weakness. My consti- 
 tution is, to be jolly; and my weakness is, to wish to find a credit in it.. 
 Wery good, sir. In this state of mind, I gets a notion in my head that 
 she looks on me with a eye of — with what you may call a favourable 
 sort of eye in fact," said Mr. Tapley, with modest hesitation. 
 
 " No doubt," replied Tom. " We knew that perfectly well when we 
 spoke on this subject long ago ; before you left the Dragon." 
 
 Mr. Tapley nodded assent, " Well sir ! But bein' at that time full 
 of hopeful wisions, I arrives at the con-elusion that no credit is to be got 
 out of such a way of life as that, where everything agreeable would be 
 ready to one's hand. Lookin' on the bright side of human life in short, 
 one of my hopeful wisions is, that there 's a deal of 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 tke?-e. I might have took warning by this, and gave it 
 up ; but I didn't. I gets to the XJ-nited States ; and then I do begin, 
 I won't deny it, to feel some little credit in sustaining my spirits. What 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 551 
 
 follows 1 Jest as I 'm 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 ev'ry thing as made his service a creditable 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 an't no credit for me nowhere ; I abandons myself 
 to despair, and says, ' Let me do that as has the least credit in it, of all ; 
 marry a dear, sweet creetur, as is wery fond of me : me being, at the 
 same time, wery fond of her : lead a happy life ; and struggle no more 
 again' the blight which settles on my prospects." 
 
 " If your philosophy, Mark," said Tom, who laughed heartily at this 
 speech, " be the oddest I ever heard of, it is not the least wise. Mrs. Lupin 
 has said ' yes,' of course ? " 
 
 " Why, no, sir," replied Mr. Tiipley ; " 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 ai^e a 
 damper to a honorable ambition. Y(Su 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 disOTise : 
 
 " Mr. Westlock, we have met only once before, but you have known 
 Tom a long while, and that seems to render you familiar to me. I 
 cannot talk freely vvith 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 think 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 impres- 
 sion 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 thoughtlessness of character, did not 
 sufficiently consider his nature and did not quite treat it as it deserves 
 to be treated. It is much easier to slight than to appreciate Tom Pinch." 
 
 This was not said warmly, but vras 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 
 
552 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 towards manhood ; and I liave learned to love liim 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 j 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 com- 
 plaint to make against you, highly esteem the friendship you entertain 
 for Tom, and the very many proofs you have given him of it. Why 
 should I endeavour to conceal from you : " he coloured deeply though : 
 " that I neither understood him nor cared to understand him when I 
 was his companion ; and that I am very truly sorry for it now ! " 
 
 It was so sincerely said, at once so modestly and manfully, that John 
 offered him his hand as if he had not done so before ; and Martin 
 giving his in the same open spirit, all constraint between the young 
 men vanished. 
 
 " Kow pray," said John, when I tire your patience very much in 
 what I am going to say, recollect that it has an end to it, and that the 
 end is the point of the story." 
 
 With this preface, he related all the circumstances connected with his 
 having presided over the illness and slow recovery of the patient at the 
 Bull ; and tacked on to the skirts of that narrative Tom's own account of 
 the business on .the wharf. Martin was not a little puzzled when he 
 came to an end, for the two stories seemed to have no connexion with 
 each other, and to leave him., as the phrase is, all abroad. 
 
 " If you will excuse me for one moment," said John, rising, " I will 
 beg you almost immediately to come into the next room." 
 
 Upon that, he left Martin to himself, in a state of considerable 
 astonishment ; and soon came back again to fulfil his promise. Accom- 
 panying 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 recovered from a severe illness. He 
 stood as Martin entered, but sat again at John's desire. His eyes were 
 cast downward ; and but for one glance at them both, half in humilia- 
 tion and half in entreaty, he kept them so, and sat quite still and silent. 
 
 "This person's name is Lewsome," said John W^estlock, "whom I 
 have mentioned to you as having been seized with illness at the inn 
 near here, and undergone so much. He has had a very hard time 
 of it, ever since he began to recover ; but as you see he is now doing 
 well." 
 
 As he did not move or speak, and John Westlock made a pause, 
 Martm, not knowino: what to sav, said that he was ixlad to hear it.' 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 00 3 
 
 " The sliori; statement that I wish you to hear from his own lips, 
 IMr. 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 parti- 
 cular. 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 so), until within a few days past ; when under- 
 standing 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. 
 
 " It 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- M^as 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 1 " said Mariin. " He was my grandfather's 
 brother." 
 
 " I 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 
 Lis eyes again, replied : 
 
 " I 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." 
 
 " I fear this is the truth." 
 
 Martin was about to interrupt him again, but John Westlock 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 acquainted with Jonas Chuzzlewit. He is the 
 principal in this deed." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" demanded Martin, sternly. "Do you know 
 he is the son of the old man of whom you have spoken ?" 
 
 " I do," he answered. 
 
 He remained silent for some moments ; when he resumed at the point 
 where he had left off. 
 
554 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 " I have reason to know it ; for I have often heard him wish his old 
 father dead, and complain of his being wearisome to him, and a drag 
 upon him. He was in the habit of doing so, at a place of 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 m^e, that the old man was in his 
 second childhood ; that he was weak, imbecile, and drivelling ; as unbear- 
 able 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 1 He looked full at me as he said so, and I 
 looked full at him j 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 in horror and astonishment, that he 
 could not speak. 
 
 " It may have been a week after that, or it may have been less, or 
 more : the matter was in my mind all the time, but I cannot recollect 
 the time, as I should any other period : when he spoke to me again. 
 We were alone then, too ; being there before the usual hour of assembling. 
 There was no appointment between us ; but I think I went there tO' 
 meet him, and 1 know he came there to meet me. He was there first. 
 He was reading a newspaper when I went in, and nodded to me without 
 looking up, or leaving off reading. I sat down opposite and close to 
 him. He said, 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. 
 
 " I asked him what he wanted them for ? He said for no harm ; to 
 physic cats ; what did it matter to me ? I was going out to a distant 
 colony (I had recently got the appointment, which, as Mr. Westlock 
 knows, I have since lost by my sickness, and which was my only hope 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 5,55 
 
 of salvation from ruin), and what did it matter to me 1 He could get 
 them without mj 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. Eut 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 soen afterwards : 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 j " 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 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 acci- 
 dentally 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. Lewsorae'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 
 
555 LIFE AND ADTENTFRES OF 
 
 tliere had been no secrecy about it. Martin's grandfatlier was of right 
 the person to decide upon the course that sliould 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 grandfather's favour. But that he 
 would seem to do so, if he presented himself before his grandfather in 
 Mr. Pecksniff's house again, for the purpose of declaring it ; and that 
 Mr. Pecksniff, of all men, would represent his conduct in that despicable 
 light j he perfectly well knew. On the other hand, to be in possession 
 of such a statement, and to take no measures of further inquiry in 
 reference to it, was tantamount to being a partner in the guilt it pro- 
 fessed 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 expedients, which, to do him justice, he was quite ready to 
 carry into instant operation on his own personal responsibility ; still, 
 'bating the general zeal of Mr. Tapley's nature, nothing was made parti- 
 cularly 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, upon the night of the tea-party, became 
 of great moment, and finally convinced them that to arrive at a more 
 accurate knowledge of the 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. 
 
 Eut 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 after- 
 wards, without any modification ; they only reached in this the conclu- 
 sion 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 entrap- 
 ping her, and making her the innocent means of bringing retribution on 
 Ler cruel husband. AVas there nobody else 1 Why yes. In a very 
 different way, Tom said, he was influenced by Mrs, Gamp, the nurse : 
 who had once had the controul of him as he understood, for some time. 
 
MARTIN CIIUZZLEWIT. 557 
 
 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 ap- 
 proached v/ithout 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 
 interview with Nadgett, by being absent in the event of his re- 
 appearance. And Mr. Tapley remained (by his own particular 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. 
 
 But 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. Pecksnifi" 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 when 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 knovv'n and never had, that : 
 thinking how much pains and trouble he had saved Mark, and how 
 pleased and astonished i\Iark would be : he afterwards walked up and 
 down, in the Temple, eating a meat-pie for his dinner. 
 
558 LIFE AND ADVENTURES 0¥ 
 
 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 Bard- 
 lemy's : for by all these endearing 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 
 accommodation as any person, not sanguine to insanity, could have 
 looked for, in a room of its dimensions. For only keep the bedstead 
 always in your mind ; and you were safe. That was the grand secret. 
 Ptemembering the bedstead, you might even stoop to look under the 
 little round table for anything you had dropped, without hurting your- 
 self 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 eiforts to preserve 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 sack- 
 ing 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 slightest provocation and frequently on none at 
 all, came tumbling down ; harrassing the peaceful guest with inexpli- 
 cable terrors. 
 
 The bed itself was decorated with a patchwork quilt of great anti- 
 quity ; 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 preci- 
 pitately, at about the time of twilight, had been for an instant stricken 
 dumb by the supposed discovery that Mrs. Gamp had hanged herself. 
 One gentleman, coming on the usual hasty errand, had said indeed, that 
 they looked like guardian angels "watching of her in her sleep." But 
 that, as Mrs. Gamp said, " was his first ;" and he never repeated the 
 sentiment though he often repeated his visit. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 559 
 
 The cTiairs in Mrs. Gamp's apartment were extremely large and broad- 
 backed, which was more than a sufficient reason for their 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 horse-hair, but were now covered with a shiny substance 
 of a blueish tint, from which the visitor began to slide away with a dis- 
 mayed countenance, immediately after sitting down. AVhat 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 care- 
 fully 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 secu- 
 rity 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 : like oysters. 
 
 Mrs. Gamp stored all her household matters in a little cupboard by 
 the fire-place ; beginning below the surface (as in nature) with the 
 €oals, and mounting gradually upwards to the spirits, which, from 
 motives of delicacy, she kept in a tea-pot. 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 
 w^as 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 something of great price and 
 rarity was displayed with particular ostentation; completed the deco- 
 rations 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 JS^ewcastle 
 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, T sticks to this one mortar, ' I'm 
 oasy pleased ; it is but little as I wants ; but T must have that little 
 of the best, and to the minit when the clock strikes, else we do not 
 part as I could wish, but bearin' malice in our arts.' " 
 
 Her own preparations were of the best, for they comprehended a deli- 
 cate new loaf, a plate of fresh butter, a basin of fine white sugar and 
 
560 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 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. "Betsy Prig, my — why it's -ihat 
 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 her- 
 self, " except wen you 're a-going out. I ha' n't no patience with 
 that man !" 
 
 " 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 1 Why wot's the man gone and been a-doin of to himself? 
 He 's as white as chalk ! " 
 
 She added the latter clause of inquiry, when she got down stairs, and 
 found him seated in the shaving-chair, pale and disconsolate. 
 
 " You recollect," said Poll. " You recollect young " 
 
 " Not young Wilkins ! " cried Mrs. Gamp. " Don't say young 
 Wilkins, wotever you do. If young Wilkins's wife is took " 
 
 "It 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 go short for, when you see me 
 put out, to that extent, that I can hardly speak 1 He '11 never do 
 anything again. He 's done for. He 's killed. The first time I ever 
 see that boy," said Poll, " I charged him too much for a redpoll. I 
 asked him three-halfpence for a penny one, because I was afraid he'd 
 beat me down. But he did'nt. And now he 's dead ; and if you was 
 to crowd all the steam-engines and electric fluids that ever Avas, into 
 this shop, and set 'em every one to work their hardest, they couldn't 
 square the account, though it 's only a ha'penny ! " 
 
 Mr. Sweedlepipe turned aside to the towel, and waped 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 1 
 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 '11 never be shaved in earnest I 
 The birds might every one have died, and welcome,"- cried the little 
 barber, looking round him at the cages, and again appl}'ing 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 wanted a few slow 
 pigeons to practise at ; and when I 'd done with him, I went to get a 
 little drop of beer, and there I heard everybody a-talking about it. It 's 
 in tl e papers. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 5G1 
 
 " 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 1 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 1 
 Him and his master were upset on a journey, and he was carried to 
 Salisbury, and was breathing his last when the account came away. 
 He never spoke afterwards. Not a single word. That 's the worst of 
 it to me ; but that an't 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 Insurance Office to a Life ! And what a Life Young 
 Bailey's was ! " 
 
 " He was born into a wale," said Mrs. Gamp, with philosophical cool- 
 ness ; " 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 1 " 
 
 " No," said Poll, " nothing to speak of. His name wasn't printed as 
 one of the board, though some people say it was just going to be. 
 Some believe he was took in, and some believe he was one of the 
 takers-in ; but however that may be, they can't prove nothing against 
 him. This morning he went up of his own accord afore the Lord Mayor 
 or some of them city big-wigs, and complained that he 'd been swindled, 
 and that these two persons had gone off and cheated him, and that he 
 had just found out that Montague's name wasn't even Montague, but 
 something else. And they do say that he looked like Death, owing to 
 his losses. But, Lord forgive me," cried the barber, coming back again to 
 the subject of his individual grief, " what 's his looks to me ! He might 
 have died and welcome, fifty times, and not been such a loss as Bailey ! " 
 
 At this juncture the little bell rang, and the deep voice of Mrs. 
 Prig struck into the conversation. 
 
 " Oh ! You 're a talkin about it, are you ! " observed that lady. 
 " Well, I hope you 've got it over, for I an't interested in it myself." 
 
 " My precious Betsey," said Mrs. Gamp, " how late you are ! " 
 
 The worthy Mrs. Prig replied, with some asperity, '• that if perwerse 
 people went off dead, when they was least expected, it warn't no fault of 
 her'n." And further, " that it was quite aggrawation enough to be made 
 late when one was dropping for one's tea, without hearing on it again." 
 
 Mrs. Gamp, deriving from this exhibition of repartee some clue to the 
 state of Mrs. Prig s feelings, instantly conducted her up stairs : 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 : 
 
 " I know'd she wouldn't have a coucumber 1 " 
 
 Mrs. Gamp changed colour, and sat down upon the bedstead. 
 
 
 
562 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " 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 called 
 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-stuif 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 accustomed sphere, merely recommended 
 that these productions of nature should be sliced up, for immediate con- 
 sumption, in plenty of vinegar. 
 
 " And don't go a dropping none of your snuff in it," said Mrs. Prig. 
 " In gruel, barley-water, apple-tea, mutton-broth, and that, it don't 
 signify. It stimilates a patient. But I don't relish it myself." 
 
 " Why, Betsey Prig ! " cried Mrs. Gamp, " how ca7i you talk so ! " 
 
 " What, an't your patients, wotever their diseases is, always a sneezin 
 their wery heads oif, 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 1 " 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 to the same. " Betsey, who deniges of it?" 
 
 It was the nearest possible approach to a very decided difference of 
 opinion between these ladies ; but Mrs. Prig's impatience for the meal 
 being greater at the moment than her impatience of contradiction, she 
 replied, for the present, " Nobody, if you don't, Sairah," and prepared 
 herself for tea. For a quarrel can \)Q taken up at any time, but a 
 limited quantity of salmon can not. 
 
 Her toilet was simple. She had merely to " chuck " her bonnet and 
 shawl upon the bed ; give her hair two pulls, one upon the right side and 
 one upon the left, as if she were ringing a couple of bells ; and all was 
 done. The tea was already made, Mrs. Gamp was not long over the 
 salad, and they were soon at the height of their repast. 
 
 The temper of both parties was improved, for the time being, by the 
 enjoyments of the table. When the meal came to a termination (which 
 it was pretty long in doing), and Mrs. Gamp having cleared away, pro- 
 duced the tea-pot from the top shelf, simultaneously with a couple of 
 wine-glasses, they were quite amiable. 
 
 " Betsey," said Mrs. Gamp, filling her own glass, and passing tho 
 tea-pot, "I will now propoge a toast. My frequent pardner, Betsey Prig 1" 
 
<7y7?'Z-// ' yf V r yr t </ f > / ^t c c 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 563 
 
 " Which, altering the name to Sairah Gamp ; I drink," said Mrs. 
 Prig, "with love and tenderness." 
 
 From this moment, symptoms of inflammation began to lurk in the 
 nose of each lady; and perhaps, notwithstanding all appearances to the 
 contrary, in the temper also. 
 
 "Now Sairah," said Mrs. Prig, "joining business with pleasure, wot 
 is this case in which you wants me 1 " 
 
 Mrs. Gamp betraying in her face some intention of returning an 
 evasive answer, Betsey added : 
 
 " Is It Mrs. Harris ? " 
 
 "No, Betsey Prig, it an't," was Mrs. Gamp's reply. 
 
 "Well ! " said Mrs. Prig, with a short laugh. " I'm glad of that, at 
 any rate." 
 
 " Why should you be glad of that Betsey ? " Mrs. Gamp retorted, 
 warmly. " She is unbeknown to you except by hearsay, why should you 
 be glad 1 If you have anythink to say contrairy to the character of 
 Mrs. Harris, which well I knows behind her back afore her face or 
 anywheres is not to be impeaged, out with it, Betsey. I have know'd that 
 sweetest and best of women," said Mrs. Gamp, shaking her head, and shed- 
 ding tears, " ever since afore her First, which Mr. Harris who was dread- 
 ful timid went and stopped his ears in a empty dog-kennel, and never 
 took his hands away or come out once till he was showed the baby, wen 
 bein took with fits, the doctor collared him and laid him on his back upon 
 the airy stones, and she was told to ease her mind, his owls was organs. 
 And I have know'd her, Betsey Prig, wen he has hurt her feelin art by 
 sayin of his Ninth that it was one too many, if not two, while that dear 
 innocent was cooln in his face, which thrive it did though bandy, but I 
 have never know'd as you had occagion to be glad, Betsey, on accounts of 
 Mrs. Harris not requiring you. Require she never will, depend upon it, 
 for her constant words in sickness is, and will be, ' Send for Sairey ! ' " 
 
 During this touching address, Mrs. Prig adroitly feigning to be the 
 victim of that absence of mind which has its origin in excessive attention 
 to one topic, helped herself from the tea-pot without appearing to 
 observe it. Mrs. Gamp observed it, however, and came to a premature 
 close In consequence. 
 
 " Well it an't her, it seems," said Mrs. Prig, coldly : " who Is it, 
 then 1 " 
 
 "You have heerd me mention, Betsey," Mrs. Gamp replied, after 
 glancing in an expressive and marked manner at the tea-pot, " a person 
 as I took care on at the time as you and me was pardners off and on, in 
 that there fever at the Bull ? " 
 
 " Old Snuffey," Mrs. Prig observed. 
 
 Sarah Gamp looked at her with an eye of fire, for she saw in this 
 mistake of Mrs. Prig, another wilful and malignant stab at that same 
 weakness or custom of hers, an ungenerous allusion to which, on the 
 part of Betsey, had first disturbed their harmony that evening. And 
 she saw it still more clearly, when, politely but firmly correcting that 
 lady by the distinct enunciation of the word " Chuffey," Mrs. Prig 
 received the correction with a diabolical laugh. 
 
 oo2 
 
564 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 The best amoug us have their failings, and it must be conceded of 
 Mrs. Prig, that if there were a blemish in the goodness of her disposition, 
 it was a habit she had of not bestowing all its sharp and acid properties 
 upon her patients (as a thoroughly amiable woman would have done), 
 but of keeping a considerable remainder for the service of her friends. 
 Highly pickled salmon, and lettuces chopped up in vinegar, may, as 
 viands possessing some acidity of their own, have encouraged and 
 increased this failing in Mrs. Prig ; and every application to the tea- 
 pot, certainly did ; for it was often remarked of her by her friends, that 
 she was most contradictory when most elevated. It is certain that her 
 countenance became about this time derisive and defiant, and that she 
 sat with her arms folded, and one eye shut up : in a somewhat offensive, 
 because obtrusively intelligent, manner. 
 
 Mrs. Gamp observing this, felt it the more necessary that Mrs. Prig 
 should know her place, and be made sensible of her exact station in 
 society, as well as of her obligations to herself. She therefore assumed 
 an air of greater patronage and importance, as she went on to answer 
 Mrs. Prig a little more in detail. 
 
 " Mr. Chuffey, Betsey," said Mrs. Gamp, " is weak in his mind. Ex- 
 cuge me if I makes remark, that he may neither be so weak as people 
 thinks, nor people may not think he is so weak as they pretends, and 
 what I knows, I knovv^s ; and what you don't, you don't ; so do not ask 
 me, Betsey. But Mr. GhufFey's friends has made propojals for his bein 
 took care on, and has said to me, ' Mrs. Gamp, will you undertake it ? 
 We couldn't think,' they says, ^ of trustin him to nobody but you, 
 for, Sairey, you are gold as has passed through the furnage. Will you 
 undertake it, at your own price, day and night, and by your own self % ' 
 ' No,' I says, ' I will not. Do not reckon on it. There is,' I says, ' but 
 one creetur in the world as I would undertake on sech terms, and her 
 name is Harris. But,' I says, ' I am acquainted with a friend, whose 
 name is Betsey Prig, that I can recomm.end, and will assist me. Betsey,' 
 I says, ' is always to be trusted, under me, and will be guided as I 
 could desire.'" 
 
 Plere Mrs. Prig, without any abatement of her offensive manner, again 
 counterfeited abstraction of mind, and stretched out her hand to the 
 tea-pot. It was more than Mrs. Gamp could bear. She stopped the 
 hand of Mrs. Prig with her own, and said, with great feeling : 
 
 " No, Betsey ! Drink fair, wotever you do !" 
 
 Mrs. Prig, thus baffled, threw herself back in her chair, and closing 
 the same eye more emphatically, and folding her arms tighter, suffered 
 lier head to roll slowly from side to side, while she surveyed her friend 
 with a contemptuous smile. 
 
 Mrs. Gamp resumed : 
 
 " Mrs. Harris, Betsey ^" 
 
 " Bother Mrs. Harris ! " said Betsey Prig. 
 
 Mrs. Gamp looked at her with amazement, incredulity, and indig- 
 nation ; when Mrs. Prig, shutting her eye still closer, and folding her 
 arms still tighter, uttered these memorable and tremendous words : 
 
 "I don't believe there 's no sich a person !" 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 5Q5 
 
 After tlie utterance of whicli expressions, slie leaned forward, and 
 snapped her fingers once, twice, thrice ; each time nearer to the face of 
 Mrs. Gamp ; and then rose to put on her bonnet, as one who felt that 
 there was now a gulf between them, which nothing could ever bridge 
 across. 
 
 The shock of this blow was so violent and sudden, that Mrs. Gamp 
 sat staring at nothing with uplifted eyes, and her mouth open as if she 
 w^ere gasping for breath, until Betsey Prig had got on her bonnet and her 
 shawl, and was gathering the latter about her throat. Then Mrs. Gamp 
 rose — morally and physically rose — and denounced her. 
 
 "What!" said Mrs. Gamp, "you bage creetur, have I know'd Mrs. 
 Harris five and thirty year, to be told at last that there an't no sech 
 a person livin 1 Have I stood her friend in all her troubles, great and 
 small, for it to come at last to sech a end as this, which her own sweet 
 picter hanging up afore you all the time, to shame your Bragian 
 words ! But well you mayn't believe there's no sech a creetur, for she 
 wouldn't demean herself to look at you, and often has she said, when 
 I have made mention of your name, which, to my sinful sorrow, I have 
 done, ' What, Sairey Gamp ! debage yourself to //er ! ' Go along with you ! " 
 
 " I 'm a goin, ma'am, ain't I?" said Mrs. Prig, stopping as she said it. 
 
 " You had better, ma'am," said Mrs. Gamp. 
 
 " Do you know who you 're talking to, ma'am ? " inquired her visitor. 
 
 " Aperiently," said Mrs. Gamp, surveying her with scorn from head 
 to foot, " to Betsey Prig. Aperiently so. I know her. No one better. 
 Go along with you, do ! " 
 
 " And you was a going to take me under you ! " cried Mrs. Prig, sur- 
 veying Mrs. Gamp from head to foot in her turn. " You was, was you ! 
 Oh, how kind ! Why, deuce take your imperence," said Mrs. Prig, with 
 a rapid change from banter to ferocity, " what do you mean ! " 
 
 " Go along with you ! " said Mrs. Gamp. " I blush for 5^ou." 
 
 " You had better blush a little for yourself, while you are about it ! " 
 said Mrs. Prig. " You and your Chuffeys ! What, the poor old creetur 
 isn't mad enough, isn't he ? Aha ! " 
 
 " He 'd very soon be mad enough, if you had anythink to do with 
 him," said Mrs. Gamp. 
 
 " And that 's what I was wanted for, is it ? " cried Mrs. Prig, 
 triumphantly. " Yes. But you '11 find yourself deceived. I won't go 
 near him. We shall see how you get on without me. I won't have 
 nothink to do with him." 
 
 " You never spoke a truer word than that ! " said Mrs. Gamp. " Go 
 along with you ! " 
 
 She was prevented from witnessing the actual retirement of Mrs. Prig 
 from the room, notwithstanding the great desire she had expressed to 
 behold it, by that lady, in her angry withdrawal, coming into contact 
 with the bedstead, and bringing dov/n the previously-mentioned pippins ; 
 three or four of which came rattling on the head of Mrs. Gamp so 
 smartly, that when she recovered from this wooden shower-bath, 
 Mrs. Prig was gone. 
 
 She had the satisfaction, however, of hearing the deep voice of Betsey, 
 proclaiming her injuries and her determination to have nothing to do 
 
56Q LIFE AND ADVENTTJEES OP 
 
 with Mr. ChufFey, down the stairs, and along the passage, and even out 
 in Kingsgate-street, Likewise, of seeing in her own apartment, in the 
 place of Mrs. Prig, Mr. Sweedlepipe and two gentlemen. 
 
 " Why, bless my life ! " exclaimed the little barber, " What 's amiss 1 
 The noise you ladies have been making, Mrs. Gamp ! Why, these two 
 gentlemen have been standing on the stairs, outside the door, nearly all 
 the time, trying to make you hear, while you were pelting away, hammer 
 and tongs ! It 11 be the death of the little bulfinch in the shop, that 
 draws his own water. In his fright, he 's been a straining himself all to 
 bits, drawing more water than he could drink in a twelvemonth. He 
 must have thought it was Fire ! " 
 
 Mrs. Gamp had in the meanwhile sunk into her chair, from whence, 
 turning up her overflowing eyes, and clasping her hands, she delivered 
 the following lamentation : 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Sweedlepipes, which Mr. Westlock also, if my eyes do not 
 deceive me, and a friend not havin the pleasure of bein beknown, wot 
 I have took from Betsey Prig this blessed night, no mortial creetur 
 knows ! If she had abuged me, bein in liquor, which I thought I 
 smelt her wen she come, but could not so believe, not bein used myself " 
 — Mrs. Gamp, by the way, was pretty far gone, and the fragrance of the 
 tea-pot was strong in the room — " I could have bore it with a thankful 
 art. But the words she spoke of Mrs. Harris, lambs could not forgive. 
 No, Betsey 1 " said Mrs. Gamp, in a violent burst of feeling, " nor 
 worms forget ! " 
 
 The little barber scratched his head, and shook it, and looked at the 
 teapot, and gradually got out of the room. John Westlock, taking a 
 chair, sat down on one side of Mrs. Gamp. Martin, taking the foot of 
 the bed, supported her on the other. 
 
 " You wonder what we want, I dare say," observed John. " I '11 tell 
 you presently, when you have recovered. It 's not pressing, for a few 
 minutes or so. How do you find yourself 1 Better ? " 
 
 Mrs. Gamp shed more tears, shook her head, and feebly pronounced 
 Mrs. Harris's name. 
 
 " Have a little — " John was at a loss what to call it. 
 
 " Tea," suggested Martin. 
 
 " It ain't tea," said Mrs. Gamp. 
 
 " Physic of some sort, I suppose," cried John. " Have a little." 
 
 Mrs. Gamp was prevailed upon to take a glassful. " On condition," 
 she passionately observed, " as Betsey never has another stroke of work 
 from me." 
 
 " Certainly not," said John. " She shall never help to nurse me.''^ 
 
 " To think," said Mrs. Gamp, " as she should ever have helped to 
 nuss that friend of yourn, and been so near of hearing things that— « 
 Ah!" 
 
 John looked at Martin. 
 , *' Yes," he said. " That was a narrow escape, Mrs. Gamp." 
 
 " Narrer, in-deed !" she returned. " It was only my having the night, 
 and hearin of him in his wanderins ; and her the day, that saved it. Wot 
 would she have said and done, if she had know'd what / know ; that 
 perfeejus wretch ! Yet, oh good gracious me ! " cried Mrs. Gamp, tramp- 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 567 
 
 ling on the floor, in the absence of Mrs. Prig, " that I should hear from 
 that same woman's lips what I have heerd her speak of Mrs. Harris 1 " 
 " Never mind," said John. " You know it is not true." 
 " Isn't true ! " cried Mrs. Gamp. " True ! Don't I know as that 
 ■dear woman is expectin of me at this minnit, Mr. Westlock, and is a 
 lookin out of winder down the street, with little Tommy Harris in her 
 arms, as calls me his own Gammy, and truly calls for bless the mottled 
 little legs of that there precious child (like Canterbury Brawn his own 
 dear father says, which so they are) his own. I have been, ever since I 
 found him, Mr. Westlock, with his small red worsted shoe a gurglin in 
 his throat, where he had put it in his play, a chick, wile they was 
 leavin of him on the floor a lookin for it through the ouse and him a 
 choakin sweetly in the parlor! Oh, Betsey Prig, wot wickedness you've 
 shewed this night, but never shall you darken Sairey's doors agen, you 
 twining serpiant 1 " 
 
 " You were always so kind to her, too!" said John, consolingly. 
 " That 's the cuttin part. That 's where it hurts me, Mr. Westlock," 
 Mrs. Gamp replied ; holding out her glass unconsciously, while Martin 
 filled it. 
 
 "Chosen to help you with Mr. Lewsome !" said John. "Chosen to 
 help you with Mr. Chufley!" 
 
 " Chose once, but chose no more," cried Mrs. Gamp. " No pardner- 
 ship with Betsey Prig agen sir ! " 
 
 " No no," said John. " That would never do." 
 
 " I don't know as it ever would have done, sir," Mrs. Gamp replied, 
 with the solemnity peculiar to a certain stage of intoxication. " Now 
 that the marks," by which Mrs. Gamp is supposed to have meant mask, 
 " is ofl" that creetur's face, I do not think it ever would have done. 
 There are reagions in families for keepin things a secret, Mr. Westlock, 
 and havin only them about you as you knows you can repoge in. Who 
 could repoge in Betsey Prig, arter her words of Mrs. Harris, settin in 
 that chair afore my eyes ! " 
 
 " Quite true," said John : " quite. I hope you have time to find 
 another assistant, Mrs. Gamp ] " 
 
 Betv/een her indignation and the tea-pot, her powers of comprehend- 
 ing what was said to her began to fail. She looked at John with 
 tearful eyes, and murmuring the well-remembered name which Mrs. Prig 
 had challenged — as if it were a talisman against all earthly sorrows — 
 seemed to wander in her mind. 
 
 "I hope," repeated John, "that you have time to find another 
 assistant ? " 
 
 " Which short it is, indeed," cried Mrs. Gamp, turning up her languid 
 eyes, and clasping Mr, Westlock's wrist with matronly aflection. " To- 
 morrow evenin, sir, I waits upon his friends. Mr. Chuzzlewit apinted 
 it from nine to ten." 
 
 " From nine to ten," said John, with a significant glance at Martin j 
 ^' and then Mr. Chufley retires into safe keeping, does he 1 " 
 
 " He needs to be kep safe, I do assure you," Mrs. Gamp replied, with 
 a mysterious air. " Other people besides me has had a happy deliverance 
 from Betsey Prig. I little know'd that woman. She'd have let it out i" 
 
568 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Let him out, you mean," said John. 
 
 " Do I ! " retorted Mrs. Gamp. " Oh ! " 
 
 The severely ironical character of this reply was strengthened by a very 
 slow nod, and a still slower drawing dovni of the corners of Mrs, Gamp's 
 mouth. She added with extreme stateliness of manner, after indulging 
 in a short doze : 
 
 " But I am a keepin of you gentlemen, and time is precious." 
 
 Mingling with that delusion of the tea-pot which inspired her with 
 the belief that they wanted her to go somewhere immediately, a shrewd 
 avoidance of any further reference to the topics into which she had 
 lately strayed, Mrs. Gamp rose ; and putting away the tea-pot in its 
 accustomed place, and locking the cupboard with much gravity, pro- 
 ceeded to attire herself for a professional visit. 
 
 This preparation was easily made, as it required nothing more than 
 the snuffy black bonnet, the snuffy black shawl, the pattens, and the 
 indispensable umbrella, without which neither a lying-in nor a laying- 
 out could by any possibility be attempted. When Mrs. Gamp had 
 invested herself with these appendages she returned to her chair, and 
 sitting down again, declared herself quite ready. 
 
 " It 's a appiness to know as one can benefit the poor sweet creetur," 
 she observed, " I 'm sure. It isn't all as can. The torters Betsy Prig 
 inflicts is frightful." 
 
 Closing her eyes as she made this remark, in the acuteness of her 
 commiseration for Betsy's patients, she forgot to open them again until 
 she dropped a patten. Her nap was also broken at intervals, like the 
 fabled slumbers of Friar Bacon, by the dropping of the other patten, 
 and of the umbrella ; but when she had got rid of these incumbrances, 
 her sleep was peaceful. 
 
 The two young men looked at each other, ludicrously enough ; and 
 Martin, stifling his disposition to laugh, whispered in John West- 
 lock's ear : 
 
 " What shall we do now ? " 
 
 " Stay here," he replied. 
 
 Mrs. Gamp was heard to murmur " Mrs. Harris ! " in her sleep. 
 
 " Rely upon it," whispered John, looking cautiously towards her, 
 "that you shall question this old clerk, though you go as Mrs. Harris 
 herself. We know quite enough to carry her our own way now, at all 
 events ; thanks to this quarrel, which confirms the old saying that, 
 when rogues fall out, honest people get what they want. Let Jonas 
 Chuzzlewit look to himself ; and let her sleep as long as she likes. We 
 shall gain our end in good time." 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 SURPRISES TOM PINCH VERY MUCH, AND SHOWS HOW CERTAIN CONFIDENCES 
 PASSED BETWEEN HIM AND HIS SISTER. 
 
 It was the next evening ; and Tom and his sister were sitting together 
 before tea, talking, in their usual quiet way, about a great many things, 
 but not at all about Lewsome's story or anything connected with it ; for 
 
MARTIN CliUZZLEWIT. 569 
 
 John Westlock — really John, for so young a man, was one of the most 
 considerate fellows in the world — had particularly advised Tom not to 
 mention it to his sister just yet, in case it should disquiet her. " And 
 I wouldn't, Tom," he said, with a little hesitation, " I wouldn't have a 
 shadow on her happy face, or an uneasy thought in her gentle heart, 
 for all the wealth and honours of the universe !" Really John was 
 uncommonly kind ; extraordinarily kind. If he had been her father, 
 Tom said, he could not have taken a greater interest in her. 
 
 But although Tom and his sister were extremely conversational, they 
 were less lively, and less cheerful, than usual. Tom had no idea that 
 this originated with Ruth, but took it for granted that he was rather 
 dull himself. In truth he was ; for the lightest cloud upon the Heaven 
 of her quiet mind, cast its shadow upon Tom. 
 
 And there was a cloud on little Ruth that evening. Yes, indeed. 
 When Tom was looking in another direction, her bright eyes, stealing 
 on towards his face, would sparkle still more brightly than their custom 
 was, and then grow dim. When Tom was silent, looking out upon the 
 summer weather, she would sometimes make a hasty movement, as if 
 she were about to throw herself upon his neck ; then check the impulse, 
 and when he looked round, show a laughing face, and speak to him 
 very merrily. When she had anything to give Tom, or had any excuse 
 for coming near him, she would flutter about him, and lay her little 
 bashful hand upon his shoulder, and not be willing to withdraw it ; and 
 would show by all such means that there was something on her heart 
 which in her great love she longed to say to him, but had not the 
 courage to utter. 
 
 So they were sitting, she with her work before her, but not working, 
 and Tom with his book beside him, but not reading, when Martin 
 knocked at the door. Anticipating who it was, Tom went to open it ; 
 and he and Martin came back into the room together. Tom looked 
 surprised, for in answer to his cordial greeting Martin had hardly spoken 
 a word. 
 
 Ruth also saw that there was something strange in the manner of 
 their visitor, and raised her eyes inquiringly to Tom's face, as if she 
 were seeking an explanation there. Tom shook his head, and made the 
 same mute appeal to Martin. 
 
 Martin did not sit down, but walked up to the window, and stood 
 there, looking out. He turned round after a few moments to speak, 
 but hastily averted his head again, without doing so. 
 
 " What has happened, Martin ?" Tom anxiously inquired. " My dear 
 fellow, what bad news do you bring]" 
 
 " Oh Tom ! " replied Martin, in a tone of deep reproach. " To hear 
 you feign that interest in anything that happens to me, hurts me even 
 more than your ungenerous dealing." 
 
 " My ungenerous dealing ! Martin ! My — " Tom could get no 
 further. 
 
 " How could you Tom, how could you suffer me to thank you so fer- 
 vently and sincerely for your friendship ; and not tell me, like a man, 
 that you had deserted me ! Was it true, Tom ! Was it honest ! Was 
 it worthy of what you used to be : of what I am sure you used to be : 
 
570 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 to tempt me, when you had turned against me, into pouring out my 
 heart! Oh Tom !" 
 
 His tone was one of such strong injury and yet of so much grief for 
 the loss of a friend he had trusted in ; it expressed such high past love 
 for Tom, and so much sorrow and compassion for his supposed unwor- 
 thiness ; that Tom, for a moment, put his hand before his face, and had 
 no more power of justifying himself, than if he had been a monster of 
 deceit and falsehood. 
 
 " I protest, as I must die," said Martin, " that I grieve over the loss 
 of what I thought you ; and have no anger in the recollection of my 
 own injuries. It is only at such a time, and after such a discovery, 
 that we know the full measure of our old regard for the subject 
 of it. And I swear, little as I showed it ; little as I know I showed it ; 
 that when I had the least consideration for you, Tom, I loved you like 
 a brother." 
 
 Tom was composed by this time, and might have been the Spirit of 
 Truth, in a homely dress — it very often wears a homely dress, thank 
 €rod ! — when he replied to him : 
 
 " Martin," he said, " I don't know what is in your mind, or who has 
 abused it, or by what extraordinary means. But the means are false. 
 There is no truth whatever in the impression under which you labour. 
 It is a delusion from first to last ; and I warn you that you will deeply 
 regret the wrong you do me. I can honestly say that I have been true 
 to you, and to myself. You will be very sorry for this. Indeed, you 
 will be very sorry for it, Martin." 
 
 " I am sorry," returned Martin, shaking his head. *' I never knew 
 what it was to be sorry in my heart, until now." 
 
 " At least," said Tom, " if I had always been what you charge me 
 with being now, and had never had a place in your regard, but had 
 always been despised by you, and had always deserved it, you would 
 tell me in what you have found me to be treacherous ; and on what 
 grounds you proceed. I do not intreat you, therefore, to give me that 
 satisfaction as a favour, Martin ; but I ask it of you as a right." 
 
 " My own eyes are my witnesses," returned Martin. " Am I to 
 believe them 1 " 
 
 " No," said Tom, calmly. " Not if they accuse me." 
 
 " Your own words. Your own manner," pursued Martin. " Am I 
 to believe themT'' 
 
 " No," replied Tom, calmly. " Not if they accuse me. But they 
 never have accused me. Whoever has perverted them to such a purpose, 
 has wronged me, almost as cruelly j " his calmness rather failed him 
 here ; " as you have done." 
 
 " I came here," said Martin ; " and I appeal to your good sister to 
 hear me " 
 
 " Not to her," interrupted Tom. " Pray, do not appeal to her. She 
 will never believe you." 
 
 He drew her arm through his own, as he said it. 
 
 "/believe it, Tom!" 
 
 " No, no," cried Tom, " of course not. I said so. Why, tut, tut, 
 tut. What a silly little thing you are !" 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 571 
 
 "I never meant," said Martin, hastily, "to appeal to you against 
 jour brother. Do not think me so unmanly and unkind. I merely 
 appealed to you to hear my declaration, that I came here for no purpose 
 of reproach : I have not one to vent : but in deep regret. You could 
 not know in what bitterness of regret, unless you knew how often I 
 have thought of Tom ; how long in almost hopeless circumstances, I 
 have looked forward to the better estimation of his friendship ; and 
 how stedfastly I have believed and trusted in him," 
 
 " Tut, tut," said Tom, stopping her as she was about to speak. " He 
 is mistaken. He is deceived. Why should you mind ? He is sure to 
 be set right at last." 
 
 "Heaven bless the day that sets me right!" cried Martin, "if it 
 could ever come !" 
 
 "' Amen ! " said Tom. " And it will !" 
 
 Martin paused, and then said in a still milder voice : 
 
 " You have chosen for yourself, Tom, and will be relieved by our 
 parting. It is not an angry one. There is no anger on my side — " 
 
 " There is none on mine," said Tom. 
 
 " — It is merely what you have brought about, and worked to bring 
 about. I say again, you have chosen for yourself. You have made the 
 choice that might have been expected in most people situated as you 
 are, but which I did not expect in you. For that, perhaps, I should 
 blame my own judgment more than you. There is wealth and favour 
 worth having, on one side ; and there is the worthless friendship of an 
 abandoned, struggling fellow, on the other. You were free to make 
 your election, and you made it ; and the choice was not difficult. But 
 those who have not the courage to resist such temptations, should have 
 the courage to avow that they have yielded to them ; and I do blame 
 you for this, Tom : that you received me with a show of warmth, 
 encouraged me to be frank and plain-spoken, tempted me to confide in 
 you, and professed that you were able to be mine ; when you had sold 
 yourself to others. I do not believe," said Martin, with great emo- 
 tion : " hear me say it from my heart ; I cannot believe, Tom, now that 
 I am standing face to face with you, that it would have been in your 
 nature to do me any serious harm, even though I had not discovered, 
 by chance, in whose employment you were. But I should have incum- 
 bered you ; I should have led you into more double-dealing ; I should 
 have hazarded your retaining the favour for which you have paid so 
 high a price, bartering away your former self ; and it is best for both 
 of us that I have found out what you so much desired to keep secret." 
 
 " Be just," said Tom ; who had not removed his mild gaze from Mar- 
 tin's face since the commencement of this last address ; " be just even 
 in your injustice, Martin. You forget. You have not yet told me 
 what your accusation is ! " 
 
 " Why should IV returned Martin, waving his hand, and moving 
 towards the door. " You could not know it the better for my dwell- 
 ing on it, and though it would be really none the worse, it might 
 seem to me to be. No, Tom. Bygones shall be bygones between 
 us. I can take leave of you at this moment, and in this place : 
 in which you are so amiable and so good : as heartily, if not as 
 
572 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 clieerfully, as ever I have done since we first met. All good go with 
 you, Tom ! — I — " 
 
 " You leave me so 1 You can leave me so, can you 1 " said Tom. 
 
 « I — you — you have chosen for yourself, Tom ! I — I hope it was a 
 rash choice," Martin faltered. " I think it was. I am sure it was ! 
 Good bye ! " 
 
 And he was gone. 
 
 Tom led his little sister to her chair, and sat down in his own. He 
 took his book, and read, or seemed to read. Presently he said aloud : 
 turning a leaf as he spoke : " He will be very sorry for this." And a 
 tear stole down his face, and dropped upon the page. 
 
 Ruth nestled down beside him on her knees, and clasped her arms 
 about his neck. 
 
 " No Tom ! No no ! Be comforted ! Dear Tom ! " 
 
 " I am quite — comforted," said Tom. " It will be set right." 
 
 " Such a cruel, bad return ! " cried Pbuth. 
 
 " No no," said Tom. '*' He believes it. I cannot imagine why. But 
 it will be set right." 
 
 More closely yet, she nestled down about him; and wept as if her 
 heart would break. 
 
 " Don't. Don't," said Tom. " Why do you hide your face, my dear !" 
 
 Then in a burst of tears, it all broke out at last. 
 
 " Oh Tom, dear Tom, I know your secret heart. I have found it out ; 
 you couldn't hide the truth from me. Why didn't you tell me ] I am 
 sure I could have made you happier, if you had ! You love her Tom, 
 so dearly ! " 
 
 Tom made a motion with his hand as if he would have put his sister 
 hurriedly away ; but it clasped upon hers, and all his little history was 
 written in the action. All its pathetic eloquence was in the silent touch. 
 
 " In spite of that," said Ruth, " you have been so faithful and so good, 
 dear ; in spite of that, you have been so true and self-denying, and 
 have struggled with yourself ; in spite of that, you have been so gentle, 
 and so kind, and even-tempered, that I have never seen you give a 
 hasty look, or heard you say one irritable word. In spite of all, you 
 have been so cruelly mistaken. Oh Tom, dear Tom, loved as no other 
 brother can be, will this be set right too ! Will it Tom ! Will you 
 always have this sorrow in your breast : you who deserve to be so 
 happy : or is there any hope ! " 
 
 And still she hid her face from Tom, and clasped him round the neck, 
 and wept for him, and poured out all her woman's heart and soul in the 
 relief and pain of this disclosure. 
 
 It was not very long before she and Tom were sitting side by side, 
 and she was looking with an earnest quietness in Tom's face. Then 
 Tom spoke to her thus : cheerily, though gravely. 
 
 " I am very glad, my dear, that this has passed between us. Not 
 because it assures me of your tender affection (for I was well assured of 
 that, before), but because it relieves my mind of a great weight." 
 
 Tom's eyes glistened when he spoke of her affection ; and he kissed 
 her on the cheek. 
 
 " My dear girl," said Tom : " with whatever feeling I regard her ; " 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 573 
 
 they seemed to avoid the name by mutual consent ; " I have long ago 
 — I am sure I may say from the very first — looked upon it as a dream. 
 As something that might possibly have happened under very different 
 circumstances, but which can never be. Now, tell me. What would 
 you have set right 1 " 
 
 She gave Tom such a significant little look, that he was obliged to 
 take it for an answer whether he would or no ; and to go on. 
 
 " By her own choice and free consent, my love, she is betrothed to 
 Martin ; and was, long before either of them knew of my existence. 
 You would have her betrothed to me?" 
 
 " Yes," she said directly. 
 
 " Yes," rejoined Tom, " but that might be setting it wrong, instead of 
 right. Do you think," said Tom, with a grave smile, " that even if she 
 had never seen him, it is very likely she would have fallen in love with Mel" 
 
 " Why not,- dear Tom ? " 
 
 Tom shook his head, and smiled again. 
 
 " You think of me, Ruth," said Tom, " and it is very natural that ypu 
 should, as if I were a character in a book ; and you make it a sort of 
 poetical justice that I should, by some impossible means or other, come, 
 at last, to marry the person I love. But there is a much higher justice 
 than poetical justice my dear, and it does not order events upon the 
 same principle. Accordingly people who read about heroes in books, 
 and choose to make heroes of themselves out of books, consider it 
 a very fine thing to be discontented and gloomy, and misanthropical, 
 and perhaps a little blasphemous, because they cannot have everything 
 ordered for their individual accommodation. Would you like me to 
 become one of that sort of people 1 " 
 
 " No, Tom. But still I know," she added timidly, " that this is a 
 sorrow to you in your own better way." 
 
 Tom thought of disputing the position. But it would have been 
 mere folly, and he gave it up. 
 
 " My dear," said Tom, " I will repay your affection with the Truth, 
 and all the Truth. It is a sorrow to me. I have proved it to be so 
 sometimes, though I have always striven against it. But somebody 
 who is precious to you may die, and you may dream that you are in 
 heaven with the departed spirit, and you may find it a sorrow to wake 
 to the life on earth, which is no harder to be borne than when you fell 
 asleep. It is sorrowful to me to contemplate my dream, which I always 
 knew was a dream, even when it first presented itself; but the realities 
 about me are not to blame. They are the same as they were. My 
 sister, my sweet companion, who makes this place so dear, is she less 
 devoted to me, Ruth, than she would have been, if this vision had never 
 troubled me ? My old friend John, who might so easily have treated 
 me with coldness and neglect, is he less cordial to me 1 The world 
 about me, is there less good in that 1 Are my words to be harsh and 
 my looks to be sour, and is my heart to grow cold, because there has 
 fiillen in my way a good and beautiful creature, who but for the selfish 
 regret that I cannot call her my own, would, like all other good and 
 beautiful creatures, make me happier and better ! No, my dear sister. 
 No," said Tom, stoutly. "Remembering all my means of happiness, I 
 
574 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 hardly dare to call this lurking something, a sorrow ; hut whatever 
 name it may justly bear, I thank Heaven that it renders me more 
 sensible of affection and attachment, and softens me in fifty ways. Not 
 less happy. Not less happy, Ruth ! " 
 
 She could not speak to him, but she loved him, as he well deserved. 
 Even as he deserved, she loved him. 
 
 " She will open Martin's eyes," said Tom, with a glow of pride, " and 
 that (which is indeed wrong) will be set right. Nothing will persuade 
 her, I know, that I have betrayed him. It will be set right through her, 
 and he will be very sorry for it. Our secret, Ruth, is our own, and lives- 
 and dies with us. I don't believe I ever could have told it you," said 
 Tom, with a smile, " but how glad I am to think you have found it out ! " 
 
 They had never taken such a pleasant walk as they took that night. 
 Tom told her all so freely, and so simply, and was so desirous to return 
 her tenderness with his fullest confidence, that they prolonged it far 
 beyond their usual hour, and sat up late v/hen they came home. And 
 when they parted for the night there was such a tranquil, beautiful 
 expression in Tom's face, that she could not bear to shut it out, but 
 going back on tip-toe to his chamber-door, looked in, and stood there 
 till he saw her, and then embracing him again, withdrew. And in her 
 prayers, and in her sleep — good times to be remembered with such 
 fervor, Tom ! — his name was uppermost. 
 
 When he was left alone, Tom pondered very much on this discovery 
 of her's, and greatly wondered what had led her to it. " Because," 
 thought Tom, " I have been so very careful. It was foolish and 
 unnecessary in me, as I clearly see now, when I am so relieved by her 
 knowing it ; but I have been so very careful to conceal it from her. 
 Of course I knew that she was intelligent and quick, and for that reason 
 was more upon my guard ; but I was not in the least prepared for this. 
 I am sure her discovery has been sudden too. Dear me ! " said Tom. 
 " It's a most singular instance of penetration !" 
 
 Tom could not get it out of his head. There it was, when his head 
 was on his pillow. 
 
 " How she trembled when she began to tell me she knew it ! " thought 
 Tom, recalling all the little incidents and circumstances ; " and how her 
 face flushed ! But that was natural. Oh quite natural ! That needs 
 no accounting for." 
 
 Tom little thought how natural it was. Tom little knew that there 
 was that in Ruth's own heart, but newly set there, which had helped 
 her to the reading of his mystery. Ah Tom ! He didn't understand 
 the whispers of the Temple Fountain, though he passed it every day. 
 
 Who so lively and cheerful as busy Ruth next morning ! Her early 
 tap at Tom's door, and her light foot outside, would have been music to 
 him though she had not spoken. But she said it was the brightest 
 morning ever seen ; and so it was ; and if it had been otherwise, she 
 AYOuld have made it so to Tom. 
 
 She was ready with his neat breakfast when he went down stairs, and 
 had her bonnet ready for the early walk, and was so full of news, that 
 Tom was lost in wonder. She might have been up all night, collecting- 
 it for his entertainment. There was Mr. Nadgett not come home yet. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 575 
 
 and there was bread down a penny a loaf, and tliere was twice as much 
 strength in this tea as in the last, and the milkwoman's husband had 
 come out of the hospital cured, and the curly-headed child over the 
 way had been lost all yesterday, and she was going to make all sorts 
 of preserves in a desperate hurry, and there happened to be a saucepan 
 in the house which was the very saucepan for the purpose ; and she 
 knew all about the last book Tom had brought home, all through, though 
 it was a teazer to read ; and she had so much to tell him that she had 
 finished breakfast first. Then she had her little bonnet on, and the tea 
 and sugar locked up, and the keys in her reticule, and the flower, as 
 usual, in Tom's coat, and was in all respects quite ready to accompany 
 him, before Tom knew she had begun to prepare. And in short, as Tom 
 said, with a confidence in his own assertion which amounted to a defiance 
 of the public in general, there never was such a little woman. 
 
 She made Tom talkative. It was impossible to resist her. She put 
 such enticing questions to him : about books, and about dates of 
 churches, and about organs, and about the Temple, and about all kinds 
 of things. Indeed, she lightened the way (and Tom's heart with it) 
 to that degree, that the Temple looked quite blank and solitary when 
 he parted from her at the gate. 
 
 " No Mr. Fips's friend to-day, I suppose," thought Tom, as he 
 ascended the stairs. 
 
 Not yet, at any rate, for the door was closed as usual, and Tom 
 opened it with his key. He had got the books into perfect order now, 
 and had mended the torn leaves, and pasted up the broken backs, and 
 substituted neat labels for the worn-out letterings. It looked a different 
 place, it was so orderly and neat : Tom felt some pride in contemplating 
 the change he had wrought, though there was no one to approve or 
 disapprove of it. 
 
 He was at present occupied in making a fair copy of his draught of 
 the catalogue ; on which, as there was no hurry, he was painfully con- 
 centrating all the ingenious and laborious neatness he had ever expended 
 on map or plan in Mr. Pecksnifi''s workroom. It was a very marvel of 
 a catalogue ; for Tom sometimes thought he was really getting his 
 money too easily, and he had determined within himself that this 
 document should take a little of his superfluous leisure out of him. 
 
 So, with pens and ruler, and compasses and india-rubber, and pencil, 
 and black ink, and red ink, Tom worked away all the morning. He 
 thought a good deal about Martin and their interview of yesterday, and 
 would have been far easier in his mind if he could have resolved ta 
 confide it to his friend John, and to have taken his opinion on the sub- 
 ject. But besides that he knew what John's boiling indignation would 
 be, he bethought himself that he was helping Martin now in a matter 
 of great moment, and that to deprive the latter of his assistance at such 
 a crisis of aflairs, would be to inflict a serious injury upon him. 
 
 "So I'll keep it to myself," said Tom, with a sigh. "I'll keep it to 
 myself." 
 
 And to work he went again, more assiduously than ever, with the 
 pens, and the ruler, and the india-rubber, and the pencil, and the black 
 ink; and the red ink, that he might forget it. 
 
576 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 He had laboured away for another hour or more, when he heard a 
 footstep in the entry, down below. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Tom, looking towards the door, " time was, not long ago 
 either, when that would have set me wondering and expecting. But I 
 have left off now." 
 
 The footstep came on, up the stairs. 
 
 "Thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight," said Tom, counting. "Now 
 you'll stop. Nobody ever comes past the thirty-eighth stair." 
 
 The person did stop, certainly, but only to take breath ; for up the 
 footstep came again. Forty, forty-one, forty-two, and so on. 
 
 The door stood open. As the tread advanced, Tom looked impatiently 
 and eagerly towards it. When a figure came upon the landing, and 
 arriving in the doorway, stopped and gazed at him, he rose up from his 
 chair, and half believed he saw a spirit. 
 
 Old Martin Chuzzlewit. The same whom he had left at Mr. Peck- 
 sniff's, weak and sinking. 
 
 The same ! No, not the same, for this old man, though old, was 
 strong, and leaned upon his stick with a vigorous hand, while with the 
 other he signed to Tom to make no noise. One glance at the resolute 
 face, the watchful eye, the vigorous hand upon the staff, the triumphed 
 purpose in the figure, and such a light broke in on Tom as blinded him. 
 
 " You have expected me," said Martin, " a long time." 
 
 " I was told that my employer would arrive soon," said Tom ; "but — " 
 
 " I know. You were ignorant who he was. It was my desire. I am 
 glad it has been so well observed. I intended to have been with you 
 much sooner. I thought the time had come. I thought I could know 
 no more, and no worse, of him, than I did on that day when I saw 
 you last. But I was WTong." 
 
 He had by this time come up to Tom, and now he seized his hand. 
 
 "I have lived in his house, Pinch, and had him fawning on me days 
 and weeks, and months. You know it. I have suffered him to treat 
 me like his tool and instrument. You know it ; you have seen me 
 there. I have undergone ten thousand times as much as I could have 
 endured if I had been the miserable weak old man he took me for. 
 You know it. I have seen him offer love to Mary. You know it ; who 
 better — who better, my true heart ! I have had his base soul bare before 
 me, day by day, and have not betrayed myself once. I never could 
 have undergone such torture but for looking forward to this time." 
 
 He stopped, even in the passion of his speech ; if that can be called 
 passion which was so resolute and steady ; to press Tom's hand again. 
 Then he said, in great excitement : 
 
 " Close the door, close the door. He will not be long after me, but 
 may come too soon. The time now drawing on," said the old man, 
 hurriedly : his eyes and whole face brightening as he spoke : " will make 
 amends for all. I wouldn't have him die or hang himself for millions 
 of golden pieces ! Close the door ! " 
 
 Tom did so ; hardly knowing yet whether he was awake, or in a 
 dream. 
 
c.,.-''^^^c-^<^:^ii^^3»^ .-^ ^yTn^te^ay y^^ a>92yyt^^?^€arA,s€-^/:z^ aA/uiyi^^^ff^^d-n^'. 
 
MAETIN CHUZZLEWIT. 577 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 SHEDS NEW AND BRIGHTER LIGHT FPON THE VERY DARK PLACE j AND CON- 
 TAINS THE SEQUEL OF THE ENTERPRISE OF MR. JONAS AND HIS FRIEND. 
 
 The night had now come, when the old clerk was to be delivered over 
 to his keepers. In the midst of his guilty distractions, Jonas had not 
 forgotten it. 
 
 It was a part of his guilty state of mind to remember it ; for on 
 his persistance in the scheme depended one of his precautions for his 
 own safety. A hint, a word, from the old man, uttered at such a 
 moment in attentive ears, might fire the train of suspicion, and destroy 
 him. His watchfulness of every avenue by which the discovery of his 
 guilt might be approached, sharpened with his sense of the danger by 
 which he was encompassed. With murder on his soul, and its innu- 
 merable alarms and terrors dragging at him night and day, he would have 
 repeated the crime, if he had seen a path of safety stretching out beyond. 
 It was in his punishment ; it was in his guilty condition. The very 
 deed which his ffears rendered insupportable, his fears would have 
 impelled him to commit again. 
 
 But keeping the old man close, according to his design, would serve 
 his turn. His purpose was, to escape, when the first alarm and wonder 
 had subsided ; and when he could make the attempt without awakening 
 instant suspicion. In the meanwhile these women would keep him 
 quiet ; and if the talking humour came upon him, would not be easily 
 startled. He knew their trade. 
 
 Nor had he spoken idly when he said the old man should be gagged. 
 He had resolved to ensure his silence ; and he looked to the end, not 
 the means. He had been rouo^h and rude and cruel to the old man all 
 his life ; and violence was natural to his mind in connexion with him. 
 " He shall be gagged if he speaks, and pinioned if he writes," said 
 Jonas looking at him; for they sat alone together. " He is mad enough 
 for that j I '11 go through with it ! " 
 
 Hush ! 
 
 Still listening ! To every sound. He had listened ever since, and it 
 had not come yet. The exposure of the Insurance ofiice ; the flight of 
 Crimple and Bullamy with the plunder, and among the rest, as he feared, 
 with his own bill, which he had not found in the pocket-book of the 
 murdered man, and which with Mr. Pecksniff's money had probably 
 been remitted to one or other of those trusty friends for safe deposit at 
 the banker's ; his immense losses, and peril of being still called to account 
 as a partner in the broken firm ; all these things rose in his mind at 
 one time and always, but he could not contemplate them. He was aware 
 of their presence, and of the rage, discomfiture, and despair, they brought 
 along with them ; but he thought — of his own controlling power and 
 direction he thought — of the one dread question only. When they would 
 find the body in the wood. 
 
 PP 
 
578 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 He tried — he had never left off trying — not to forget it was there,, 
 for that was impossible, but to forget to weary himself by drawing vivid 
 pictures of it in his fancy : by going softly about it and about it among 
 the leaves, approaching it nearer and nearer through a gap in the 
 boughs, and startling the very flies that were thickly sprinkled all over 
 it, like heaps of dried currants. His mind was fixed and fastened on 
 the discovery, for intelligence of which he listened intently to every cry 
 and shout j listened when any one came in, or went out ; watched from 
 the window the people who passed up and down the street ; and mis- 
 trusted his own looks and words. And the more his thoughts were set 
 upon the discovery, the stronger was the fascination which attracted 
 them to the thing itself : lying alone in the wood. He was for ever 
 showing and presenting it, as it were, to every creature whom he saw. 
 " Look here ! Do you know of this 1 Is it found ? Do you suspect 
 me 1 " If he had been condemned to bear the body in his arms, and 
 lay it down for recognition at the feet of every one he met, it could not 
 have been more constantly with him, or a cause of more monotonous and 
 dismal occupation than it was in this state of his mind. 
 
 Still he was not sorry. It was no contrition or remorse for what he 
 had done that moved him ; it was nothing but alarm for his own 
 security. The vague consciousness he possessed of having wrecked his 
 fortune in the murderous venture, intensified his hatred and revenge, 
 and made him set the greater store by what he had gained. The man 
 was dead j nothing could undo that. He felt a triumph yet, in the 
 reflection. 
 
 He had kept a jealous watch on Chuffey, ever since the deed j seldom 
 leaving him but on compulsion, and then for as short intervals a& 
 possible. They were alone together now. It was twilight, and the 
 appointed time drew near at hand. Jonas walked up and down th& 
 room. The old man sat in his accustomed corner. 
 
 The slightest circumstance was matter of disquiet to the murderer, 
 and he was made uneasy at this time by the absence of his wife, who 
 had left home early in the afternoon, and had not returned yet. No 
 tenderness for her was at the bottom of this ; but he had a misgiving 
 that she might have been waylaid, and tempted into saying something 
 that would criminate him when the news came. For anything he knew, 
 she might have knocked at the door of his room, while he was away, 
 and discovered his plot. Confound her, it was like her pale face, to be 
 wandering up and down the house ! Where was she now 1 
 
 " She went to her good friend, Mrs. Todgers," said the old man, when 
 he asked the question with an angry oath. 
 
 Aye ! To be sure ! always stealing away into the company of that 
 woman. She was no friend of his. Who could tell what devil's mischief 
 they might hatch together ! Let her be fetched home directly. 
 
 The old man, muttering some words softly, rose as if he would have 
 gone himself, but Jonas thrust him back into his chair with an impa- 
 tient imprecation, and sent a servant-girl to fetch her. When he had 
 charged her with her errand he walked to and fro again, and never 
 stopped till she came back, which she did pretty soon : the way being 
 short, and the woman having made good haste. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 579 
 
 Well ! Where was slie ? Had she come 1 
 
 No. She had left there, full three hours. 
 
 " Left there ! Alone 1 " 
 
 The messenger had not asked ; taking that for granted. 
 
 " Curse you for a fool. Bring candles ! " 
 
 She had scarcely left the room, when the old clerk, who had been 
 unusually observant of him ever since he had asked about his wife, came 
 suddenly upon him. 
 
 " Give her up !" cried the old man. " Come ! Give her up to me ! 
 Tell me what you have done with her. Quick ! I have made no 
 promises on that score. Tell me what you have done with her." 
 
 He laid his hands upon his collar as he spoke, and grasped it : 
 tightly too. 
 
 " You shall not leave me !" cried the old man. " I am strong enough 
 to cry out to the neighbours, and I will, unless you give her up. Give 
 her up to me !" 
 
 Jonas was so dismayed and conscience-stricken, that he had not even 
 hardihood enough to unclench the old man's hands with his own ; but 
 stood looking at him as well as he could in the darkness, without 
 moving a finger. It was as much as he could do to ask him what he 
 meant. 
 
 " I will know what you have done with her !" retorted ChufFey. " If 
 you hurt a hair of her head, you shall answer it. Poor thing ! Poor 
 thing ! Where is she ?" 
 
 " Why, you old madman !" said Jonas, in a low voice, and with 
 trembling lips. " What Bedlam fit has come upon you now V 
 
 " It is enough to make me mad, seeing what I have seen in this 
 house !" cried ChufFey. " Where is my dear old master ! Where is his 
 only son that I have nursed upon my knee, a child ! Where is she, 
 she who was the last ; she that I 've seen pining day by day, and heard 
 M'eeping in the dead of night ! She was the last, the last of all my 
 friends ! Heaven help me, she was the very last !" 
 
 Seeing that the tears were stealing down his face, Jonas mustered 
 courage to unclench his hands, and push him off before he answered : 
 
 " Did you hear me ask for her 1 Did you hear me send for her 1 How 
 can I give you up what I hav'n't got, idiot ! Ecod, I 'd give her up to 
 you and welcome, if I could ; and a precious pair you 'd be !" 
 
 " If she has come to any harm," cried ChufFey, " mind ! I 'm old and 
 silly ; but I have my memory sometimes ; and if she has come to any 
 harm — " 
 
 " Devil take you," interrupted Jonas, but in a suppressed voice still ; 
 " what harm do you suppose she has come to ? I know no more where 
 she is than you do ; I wish I did. Wait till she comes home, and see ; 
 she can't be long. Will that content you V 
 
 " Mind !" exclaimed the old man. " Not a hair of her head ! not a, 
 hair of her head ill used ! I won't bear it. I — I — have borne it too 
 long, Jonas. I am silent, but I — I — I can speak. I — I — I can speak — " 
 he stammered, as he crept back to his chair, and turned a threatening, 
 though a feeble, look upon him. 
 
 " You can speak, can you !" thought Jonas. " So, so, we '11 stop your 
 
 pp2 
 
580 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 speaking. It 's well I knew of this in good time. Prevention is better 
 than cure." 
 
 He had made a poor show of playing the Bully and evincing a desire 
 to conciliate at the same time, but was so afraid of the old man that 
 great drops had started out upon his brow ; and they stood there yet. 
 His unusual tone of voice and agitated manner had sufficiently expressed 
 his fear ; but his face would have done so now, without that aid, as he 
 again walked to and fro, glancing at him by the candle-light. 
 
 He stopped at the window to think. An opposite shop was lighted 
 up ; and the tradesman and a customer were reading some printed bill 
 together across the counter. The sight brought him back, instantly, to 
 the occupation he had forgotten. " Look here ! Do you know of this 1 
 Is it found 1 Do you suspect me ?" 
 
 A hand upon the door. " What 's that ! " 
 
 " A pleasant evenin," said the voice of Mrs. Gamp, " though warm, 
 which, bless you Mr. Chuzzlewit, we must expect when cowcumbers is 
 three for twopence. How does Mr. Chuffey find his self to-night. Sir V 
 
 Mrs. Gamp kept particularly close to the door in saying this, and 
 curtseyed more than usual. She did not appear to be quite so much at 
 her ease as she generally was. 
 
 " Get him to his room," said Jonas, walking up to her, and speaking 
 in her ear. " He has been raving to-night — stark mad. Don't talk 
 while he 's here, but come down again." 
 
 " Poor sweet dear ! " cried Mrs. Gamp, with uncommon tenderness. 
 " He 's all of a tremble." 
 
 " Well he may be," said Jonas, " after the mad fit he has had. Get 
 him up stairs." 
 
 She was by this time assisting him to rise. 
 
 " There 's my blessed old chick ! " cried Mrs. Gamp, in a tone that 
 was at once soothing and encouraging. " There 's my darlin' Mr. ChufFey ! 
 Now come up to your own room. Sir, and lay down on your bed a bit ; 
 for you 're a shakin' all over, as if your precious jints was hung upon 
 wires. That 's a good creetur ! come with Sairey !" 
 
 " Is she come home 1" inquired the old man. 
 
 " She '11 be here directly minnit," returned Mrs. Gamp. " Come with 
 Sairey, Mr. Chuffey. Come with your own Sairey !" 
 
 The good woman had no reference to any female in the world in pro- 
 mising this speedy advent of the person for whom Mr. Chuffey inquired, 
 but merely threw it out as a means of pacifying the old man. It had 
 its effect, for he permitted her to lead him away ; and they quitted the 
 room together. 
 
 Jonas looked out of the window again. They were still reading 
 the printed paper in the shop opposite, and a third man had joined in the 
 perusal. What could it be, to interest them so 1 
 
 A dispute or discussion seemed to arise among them, for they all looked 
 up from their reading together, and one of the three, who had been 
 glancing over the shoulder of another, stepped back to explain or illus- 
 trate some action by his gestures. 
 
 Horror ! How like the blow he had struck in the wood ! 
 
 It beat him from the window as if it had lighted on himself. As he 
 
MARTIN CnUZZLEWIT. 581 
 
 staggered into a cliair he thought of the change in Mrs. Gamp, exhibited 
 in her new-born tenderness to her charge. Was that because it was 
 found ? — because she knew of it ? — because she suspected him 1 
 
 " Mr. Chuffey is a lyin' down," said Mrs. Gamp, returning, " and 
 much good may it do him, Mr. Ghuzzlewit, which harm it can't and 
 good it may : be joyful !" 
 
 " Sit down," said Jonas, hoarsely, " and let us get this business done. 
 " Where is the other woman ?" 
 
 " The other person 's with him now," she answered. 
 
 " That 's right," said Jonas. " He is not fit to be left to himself. 
 Why, he fastened on me to-night j here, upon my coat ; like a savage 
 dog. Old as he is, and feeble as he is usually, I had some trouble to 
 shake him off. You — Hush ! — It 's nothing. You told me the other 
 woman's name. I forget it." 
 
 " I mentioned Betsey Prig," said Mrs. Gamp. 
 
 " She is to be trusted, is she 1" 
 
 " That she ain't !" said Mrs. Gamp ; " nor have I brought her, Mr. 
 Chuzzlewit. I 've brought another, which engages to give every satige- 
 faction." 
 
 " What is her name ?" asked Jonas. 
 
 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 fiddle- 
 strings is weakness to expredge my nerves this night !" 
 
 Jonas stopped to listen. Then said, hurriedly : 
 
 " We shall not quarrel about terms. Let them be the same as they 
 were before. Keep him close, and keep him quiet. He must be 
 restrained. He has got it in his head to-night that my 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. 
 Is n't it?" 
 
 Mrs. Gamp assented with a short groan. 
 
 " Keep him close, then, or in one of his fits he '11 be doing me a 
 mischief. And don't trust him at any time ; for when he seems most 
 
582 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 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. 
 
 " Ay ! Go you to him and send the other. Quick ! I 'm 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 quavering 
 croak, " to see the t'other person. Is it 1 " 
 
 But the ghastly change in Jonas told her that the other person was 
 already seen. Before she could look round towards 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. Ill met, ill-trained, ill-begotten. If he moves from the 
 spot on which he stands, or speaks a word above his breath to any 
 person here, fling up the window, and call for help !" 
 
 " What right have you to give such directions in this house ? " asked 
 Jonas faintly. 
 
 " The right 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 
 have 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 ; proclaiming itself from the lips of an old man 
 who had renewed his strength and vigour as by a miracle, to give it 
 voice against him ! 
 
 He leaned his hand on the back of a chair, and looked at them. It 
 was in vain to try to do so, scornfully; or with his usual 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 ! You 're 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 ! " 
 
 " I tell you what," cried Mr. Tapley, coming forward, " if it was n't 
 for your name, I 'd drag you through the streets of my own accord, and 
 single-handed, I would ! Ah, I would ! Don't try and look bold at 
 me. You can't do it ! Now go on. Sir," this was to old Martin. " Bring 
 the murderin' 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, I '11 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 583 
 
 raise a uproar at this winder that shall bring half London in. Go on Sir I 
 Let him try me once, and see whether I 'm a man of my word or not." 
 
 With that, Mark folded his arms, and took his seat upon the window- 
 ledge, with an air of general preparation for anything, which seemed to 
 imply that he was equally ready to jump out himself j or to throw Jonas 
 out, upon receiving the slightest hint that it would be agreeable to the 
 company. 
 
 Old Martin turned to Lewsome : 
 
 " This is the man," he said, extending his hand towards Jonas. " Is it?" 
 
 " You need do no more than look at him to be sure of that, or of the 
 truth of what I have said," was the reply. " He is my witness." 
 
 " Oh, brother !" cried old Martin, clasping his hands and lifting up 
 his eyes. " Oh, brother, 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, 
 training, teaching, hoarding, striving for : and I the means of bringing 
 him to punishment, when nothing can repair the wasted past !" 
 
 He sat down upon a chair as he spoke, and turning away his face, was 
 silent for a few moments. Then with recovered energy he proceeded : 
 
 " But the accursed harvest of our mistaken lives shall be trodden 
 down. It is not too late for that. You are confronted with this man, 
 yon monster there; not to be spared, but to be dealt with justly. Hear 
 what he says ! Reply, be silent, contradict, repeat, defy, do what you 
 please. My course shall be the same. Go on ! And you," he said to 
 Chuffey, " for the love of your old friend, speak out, good fellow 1 " 
 
 " 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 could n't help that : and sometimes I have had it all 
 before me in a dream : but in the day-time, not in sleep. Is there such 
 a kind of dream?" said Chuffey, looking anxiously in old Martin's face. 
 
 As Martin made him an encouraging reply, he listened attentively to 
 his voice ; and smiled. 
 
 " Ah, ay!" he cried. "He often spoke to me like that. We were at 
 school together, he and I. I could n't turn against his son, you know — 
 his only son, Mr. Chuzzlewit ! " 
 
 " I would to heaven you had been his son !" said Martin. 
 
 " You speak so like my dear old master," cried the old man with a 
 childish delight, "that I almost think I hear him. lean 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 brother's hand. At this 
 moment Mark, who had been glancing out of the window, left the room. 
 
 " I could n't turn against his only son, you know," said Chuffey. " He 
 has nearly driven me to do it sometimes ; he very nearly did to-night. 
 Ah !" cried the old man, with a sudden recollection of the cause. "Where 
 is she ! She 's not come home 1" 
 
584 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 "Do you mean his wife ?" said Mr. Chuzzlewit. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I have removed her. She is in my care, and will be spared the 
 present knowledge of what is passing here. She has known misery- 
 enough, without that addition." 
 
 Jonas heard this with a sinking heart. He knew that they were on 
 his heels, and felt that they were resolute to run him to destruction. 
 Inch by inch the ground beneath him was sliding from his feet ; faster 
 and faster the encircling ruin contracted and contracted towards himself, 
 its wicked centre, until it should close in and crush him. 
 
 And now he heard the voice of his accomplice stating to his face, 
 with every circumstance of time and place and incident ; and openly 
 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. 
 
 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." 
 
 " Ay, yes ! and so he was !" cried Chuifey, wildly. " But not as you 
 suppose — not as you suppose. Stay ! Give me a moment's time. I 
 have it all here — all here ! It was foul, foul, cruel, bad ; but not as you 
 suppose. Stay, stay ! " 
 
 He put his hands up to his head, as if it throbbed or pained him. 
 After looking about him in a wandering and vacant manner for some 
 moments, his eyes rested upon Jonas, when they kindled up with sudden 
 recollection and intelligence. 
 
 " Yes !" cried old Chuffey, " yes ! That 's how it was. It 's all upon 
 me now. He — he got up from his bed before he died, to be sure, to say- 
 that he forgave him ; and he came down with me into this room ; and 
 when he saw him — his only son, the son he loved — his speech forsook 
 him : he had no speech for what he knew — and no one understood him 
 except me. But I did — I did !" 
 
 Old Martin regarded him in amazement ; so did his companions. Mrs. 
 Gamp, who had said nothing yet ; but had kept two-thirds of herself 
 behind the door, ready for escape, and one-third in the room, ready for 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 585 
 
 siding with the strongest party ; came a little further in and remarked, 
 with a sob, that Mr. Ghuhey 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 lightened up his 
 face j " he bought the stuff, no doubt, as you have heard, and brought it 
 home. He mixed the stuff — look at him ! — with some sweetmeat in a 
 jar, exactly as the medicine for his father's cough was mixed, and put it 
 in a drawer ; in that drawer yonder ; in the desk ; he knows which 
 drawer I mean ! He kept it there locked up. But his courage failed 
 him, or his heart was touched — my God ! 1 hope it was his heart ! He 
 was his only son ! — and he did not put it in the usual place, where my 
 old master would have taken it twenty times a-day." 
 
 The trembling figure of the old man shook with the strong emotions 
 that possessed him. But, with the same light in his eye, and with his 
 arm outstretched, and with his gray hair stirring on his head, he seemed 
 to grow in size, and was like a man inspired. Jonas shrunk from look- 
 ing at him, and cowered down into the chair by which he had held. It 
 seemed as if this tremendous Truth could make the dumb speak. 
 
 "I know it every word now !" cried Chuffey. "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 ; ay, they are his very words ! 
 If he was a hard man now and then, it was for his only son. He 
 loved his only son, and he was always good to me ! " 
 
 Jonas listened with increased attention. Hope was breaking in upon 
 him. 
 
 " ' He 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 '11 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, 1 11 tell him that I found it out, and I '11 forgive him. He 'II 
 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 
 
dSG LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 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 wthout 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: intend- 
 ing 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, Chufi"!' 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 
 Chufiey's voice, which had grown weaker and weaker, quite deserted 
 him. Making a motion with his hand, as if he would have said that 
 Anthony had taken it, and had died with it in his, he retreated to the 
 corner where he usually concealed his sorrows ; and was silent. 
 
 Jonas could look at his company now, and vauntingly too. "Well!" 
 he said, after a pause. " Are you satisfied 1 Or have you any more of 
 your plots to broach 1 Why that fellow, Lewsome, can invent 'em for 
 you by the score. Is this all ? Have you nothing else 1 " 
 
 Old Martin looked at him steadily. 
 
 " Whether you are what you seemed to be at Pecksniff's, or are some- 
 thing 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'm not surprised at your being attached to the 
 place ; but the place is not attached to you, and you can't leave it too 
 soon, though you may leave it too late. And for my wife, old man, send 
 her home straight, or it will be the worse for her. Ha ha ! You carry 
 it with a high hand too ! But it 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 M'ithin him to his 
 perdition. But for that, the old clerk's story might have touched him, 
 though never so lightly ; but for that, the sudden removal of so great a 
 load might have brought about some wholesome change even in him. 
 With that deed done, however ; with that unnecessary wasteful danger 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 587 
 
 "haunting him ; despair was in his very triumph and relief : wild, 
 ungovernable, raging despair, for the uselessness of the peril into which 
 he had plunged ; despair that hardened him and maddened him, and 
 set his teeth a grinding in the moment of his exultation. 
 
 " My good friend ! " said Martin, laying his hand on Chuffey's sleeve. 
 *' This is no place for you to remain in. Come with me." 
 
 " Just his old way !" cried Chuffey, looking up into his face. " I 
 almost believe it 's Mr. Chuzzlewit alive again. Yes ! Take me with 
 you ! Stay though, stay." 
 
 " For what?" asked Martin. 
 
 " I can't leave her, poor thing ! " said Chuifey, " She has been very 
 good to me. I can't leave her, Mr. Chuzzlewit. Thank you kindly. 
 I'll remain here. I hav'n't long to remain ; it's no great matter." 
 
 As he meekly shook his poor, gray head, and thanked old Martin 
 in these words, Mrs. Gamp, now entirely in the room, was affected to 
 tears. 
 
 " The mercy as it is ! " she said, " as sech a dear, good, reverend 
 creetur, never got into the cludges of Betsey Prig, which but for 
 me he would have done, undoubted : facts bein stubborn and not easy 
 drove ! " 
 
 " You heard me speak to you just now, old man," said Jonas to 
 his uncle. " I '11 have no more tampering with my people, man or 
 woman. Do you see the door 1 " 
 
 " Do you see the door ]" returned the voice of Mark, coming from 
 that direction. " Look at it ! " 
 
 He looked, and his gaze was nailed there. Fatal, ill-omened, blighted 
 thresh-hold, cursed by his father's footsteps in his dying hour, cursed 
 by his young wife's sorrowing tread, cursed by the daily shadow of the 
 old clerk's figure, cursed by the crossing of his murderer's feet — what 
 men were standing in the doorway ! 
 
 Nadgett, foremost. 
 
 Hark ! It came on, roaring like a sea ! Hawkers burst into the 
 street, crying it up and down ; 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 
 playground 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. 
 
588 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 Martin was the first to speak. " Wliat terrible history is this ? " he 
 demanded. 
 
 " Ask him,^'' said Nadgett. " You 're his friend, Sir. He can tell 
 you, if he will. He knows more of it than I do, though I know much." 
 " How do you know much % " 
 
 " I have not been watching him so long for nothing," returned 
 Nadgett. " I never watched a man so close as I have watched him." 
 
 Another of the phantom forms of this terrific Truth ! Another of the 
 many shapes in which it started up about him, out of vacancy. This 
 man, of all men in the world, a spy upon him ; this man, changing his 
 identity : casting off his shrinking, purblind, unobservant character, 
 and springing up into a watchful enemy ! The dead man might have 
 come out of his grave, and not confounded and appalled him so. 
 
 The game was up. The race was at an end ; the rope was woven for 
 his neck. If by a miracle he could escape from this strait, he had but 
 to turn his face another way, no matter where, and there would rise 
 some new avenger front to front with him : some infant in an hour 
 grown old, or old man in an hour grown young, or blind man with his 
 sight restored, or deaf man with his hearing given him. There was no 
 chance. He sank down in a heap against the wall, and never hoped 
 again, from that moment. 
 
 " I am not his friend, although I have the dishonour to be his 
 relative," said Mr. Chuzzlewit. " You may speak to me. Where have 
 you watched, and what have you seen % " 
 
 " I have watched in many places," returned Nadgett, " night and 
 day. I have watched him lately, almost without rest or relief : " his 
 anxious face and bloodshot eyes confirmed it. " I little thought to what 
 my watching was to lead. As little as he did when he slipped out in the 
 night, dressed in those clothes which he afterwards sunk in a bundle at 
 London Bridge ! " 
 
 Jonas moved upon the ground like a man in bodily torture. He 
 uttered a suppressed groan, as if he had been wounded by some cruel 
 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 P*lartin sternly. 
 
 " You," said the man, " among others." 
 
 Martin turned his scrutinising gaze upon him. He was sitting lazily 
 across a chair with his arms resting on the back ; eating nuts, and 
 throwing the shells out of window as he cracked them, which he still 
 continued to do, while speaking. 
 
 " Ay," he said, with a sulky nod. " You may deny your nephews till 
 you die j but Chevy Slyme is Chevy Slyme still, all the world over. 
 Perhaps even you may feel it some disgrace to your own blood to be 
 employed in this way. I 'm to 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 ^^oz^rself," replied his nephew. " Look here at 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 589 
 
 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 did n't think I should have to make a capture in the 
 family, though." 
 
 " If your debauchery, and that of your chosen friends, has 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 never employed 
 my friend Tigg, for I know better. We quarrelled upon it." 
 
 " I hired the fellow," retorted Mr. Chuzzlewit, " and I paid him." 
 
 " It 's well you paid him," said his nephew, " for it would be too late 
 to do so now. He has given his receipt in full ; or had it forced from 
 him rather." 
 
 The old man looked at him as if he were curious to know what he 
 meant, but scorned to prolong their conversation. 
 
 " I 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. 
 
 " His or Mr. Montague's," said Nadgett. " They are the same, I am 
 told. I accuse him yonder of the murder of Mr. Montague, who was 
 found last night, killed, in a wood. You will ask me why I accuse him, 
 as you have already asked me how I know so much. I '11 tell you. It 
 can't remain a secret long." 
 
 The ruling passion of the man expressed itself even l;hen, in the tone 
 of regret in which he deplored the approaching publicity of what he 
 knew. 
 
 " I told you I had watched him," he proceeded. " I was instructed 
 to do so by Mr. Montague, in whose employment I have been for some 
 time. We had our suspicions of him ; and you know what they pointed 
 at, for you have been discussing it since we have been waiting here, outside 
 the room. If you care to hear, now it 's all over, in what our suspicions 
 began, I '11 tell you plainly : in a quarrel (it first came to our ears 
 through a hint of his own) between him and another ofiice 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 ; I found the 
 doctor, I found the undertaker, I found the undertaker's man. I found 
 out how the old gentleman there, Mr. Chufiey, 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 
 
590 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 himself believed until to-night) he had committed. I was by when this 
 was done. You see him now. He is only worse than he was then." 
 
 Oh, niiserable, miserable fool ! oh, insupportable, excruciating torture ! 
 To find alive and active — a party to it all — the brain and right-hand of 
 the secret he had thought to crush ! In whom, though he had walled 
 the murdered man up, by enchantment in a rock, the story would have 
 lived 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 by 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. 
 " I 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 j and for his coming back I watched. I kept my watch in the 
 street — in doorways, and such places — all that night ; at the same 
 window, all next day ; and when night came on again, in the street once 
 more. For I knew he would come back, as he had gone out, when this 
 part of the town was empty. He did. Early in the morning, the same 
 countryman came creeping, creeping, creeping home." 
 
 " Look sharp !" interposed Slyme, who had now finished his nuts. 
 " This is quite irregular, Mr. Nadgett." 
 
 " I 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.'' 
 "It 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 neigh- 
 bourhood ; and to have alighted from a coach coming from that part of 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 591 
 
 the country, at a time exactly tallying witli 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 revela- 
 tion, 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 ! Get a coach 1" 
 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 Chuifey's arm, and 
 slowly followed Nadgett out. John Westlock and Mark Tapley accompa- 
 nied 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 V 
 
 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 ! " 
 
 His eyes encountered Jonas, who looked earnestly towards him, and 
 moved his lips as if he were whispering. 
 " Eh ] " said Slyme. 
 
 Jonas glanced at the attendant whose back was towards him, and 
 made a clumsy motion with his bound hands towards the door. 
 
 " Humph ! " said Slyme, thoughtfully. " I could n't hope to dis- 
 grace him into anything when you have shot so far ahead of me though. 
 I forgot that." 
 
 Jonas repeated the sariie 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 1 " 
 
 " Put your hand in my pocket. Here ! The breast-pocket, on the 
 left ! " said Jonas. 
 
592 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 He did so ; and drew out a purse. 
 
 " There 's a hundred pound in it/' said Jonas, whose words were almost 
 unintelligible ; as his face, in its pallor and agony, was scarcely human. 
 
 Slyme looked at him ; gave it into his hands ; and shook his head. 
 
 " I can't. I daren't. I couldn't if I dared. Those fellows below " 
 
 " Escape 's impossible/' said Jonas. " I know it. One hundred 
 pound for only five minutes in the next room ! " 
 
 " What to do ! " he asked. 
 
 The face of his prisoner as he advanced to whisper in his ear, made 
 him recoil involuntarily. But he stopped and listened to him. The 
 words were few, but his own face changed as he heard them. 
 
 " I have it about me," said Jonas, putting his hands to his throat, as 
 though whatever he referred to, were hidden in his neck-kerchief " How 
 should you know of it ? How could you know ? A hundred pound for 
 only five minutes in the next room ! The time 's passing. Speak ! " 
 
 " It would be more — more creditable to the family," observed Slyme, 
 with trembling lips. " I wish you had n't told me half so much. Less 
 would have served your purpose. You might have kept it to yourself" 
 
 " A hundred pound for only five minutes in the next room ! Speak ! " 
 cried Jonas, desperately. 
 
 He took the purse. Jonas with a wild unsteady step, retreated to 
 the door in the glass partition. 
 
 " Stop ! " cried Slyme, catching at his skirts. " I don't know about 
 this. Yet it must end so at last. Are you guilty 1 " 
 
 " Yes ! " said Jonas. 
 
 " Are the proofs as they were told just now 1- " 
 
 " Yes ! " said Jonas. 
 
 " Will you — will you engage to say a — a Prayer, or something of that 
 sort ? " faltered Slyme. 
 
 Jonas broke from him without replying, and closed the door between 
 them. 
 
 Slyme listened at the keyhole. After that, he crept away on tiptoe, 
 as far off as he could ; and looked awfully towards the place. He was 
 roused by the arrival of the coach, and their letting down the steps. 
 
 " He 's getting a few things together," he said, leaning out of window, 
 and speaking to the two men below, who stood in the full light of a 
 street-lamp. " Keep your eye upon the back, one of you, for form's sake." 
 
 One of the men withdrew into the court. The other, seating him- 
 self 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 (once so much lauded by the murdered man) of being 
 always round the corner. A useful habit in his present calling. 
 
 " Where is he ? " asked the man. 
 
 Slyme looked into the room for an instant and gave his head a jerk, 
 as much as to say, " Close at hand. I see him." 
 
 " He 's booked," observed the man. 
 
 " Through," said Slyme. 
 
 They looked at each other, and up and down the street. The 
 man on the coach-steps took his hat off, and put it on again, and 
 whistled a little. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 593 
 
 " I say ! he 's taking his time ! " he remonstrated. 
 
 " I allowed him five minutes," said Slyme. " Time 's more than up, 
 though, I '11 bring him down." 
 
 He withdrew from the window accordingly, and walked on tiptoe to the 
 door in the partition. He listened. There was 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 neck-kerchief was off; his face vras 
 ashy pale. 
 
 " You 're too soon," said Jonas, with an abject whimper. "I Ve not 
 had time. I have not been able to do it. I — five minutes more — two 
 minutes more ! — Only one ! " 
 
 Slyme gave him no reply, but thrusting the purse upon him and 
 forcing it back into his pocket, called up his men. 
 
 He whined, and cried, and cursed, and entreated them, and struggled, 
 and submitted, in the same breath, and had no power to stand. But 
 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 
 "svhich 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. 
 
 Old Martin'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 "VVestlock, of the supposed 
 manner of his brother's death ; overwhelmed as he was by the subsequent 
 
594: LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 narratives of Chuffey and Nadgett, and tlie forging of that chain of cir- 
 cumstances 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 crowding 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 his scheme. 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. Pecksniif 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 determination 
 natural to his character (which, as the reader may have observed in the 
 beginning of his or her acquaintance with this gentleman, was remark- 
 able for the strong development of those qualities), but all the forced 
 and unnaturally nurtured energy consequent upon their long suppres- 
 sion. And these two tides of resolution setting into one and sweeping 
 on, became so strong and vigorous, that, to prevent themselves from 
 being carried away before it. Heaven knows where, was as much as John 
 Westlock and Mark Tapley together (though they were tolerably 
 energetic too), could manage to effect. 
 
 He had sent for John Westlock immediately on his arrival ; and 
 John, under the conduct of Tom Pinch, had waited on him. Having a 
 lively recollection of Mr. Tapley, he had caused that gentleman's 
 attendance to be secured, through John's means, without delay ; and 
 thus, as we have seen, they had all repaired, together, to the city. But 
 his grandson he had refused to see until to-morrow, when Mr. Tapley 
 was instructed to summon him to 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 pro- 
 ceedings, 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. Chuzzle wit's particular injunction. 
 
 It was characteristic of old Martin, and his looking on to something 
 which he had distinctly before him, that he communicated to them 
 nothing of his intentions, beyond such hints of reprisal on Mr. Pecksniif 
 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 dny might have worn out the body and spirit of 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 595 
 
 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 door to him in 
 reply to his light knock, which had roused him instantly. 
 
 " My wishes. Sir," replied Mr. Tapley, whose mind would appear 
 from the context to have been running on the matrimonial service, " is 
 to love, honour, and obey. The clock 's a striking now. Sir." 
 
 "Come in!" 
 
 " Thank 'ee, Sir," rejoined Mr. Tapley, "what could I do for you 
 first. Sir?" 
 
 " You gave my message to Martin 1 " said the old man bending his 
 eyes upon him. 
 
 " I did, Sir," returned Mark ; " and you never see a gentleman more 
 surprised in all your born days than he was." 
 
 "What more did you tell him?" Mr. Chuzzlewit inquired. 
 
 " Why, Sir," said Mr. Tapley, smiling, " I should have liked to tell 
 him a deal more, but not being able. Sir, I did n't tell it him." 
 
 " You told him all you knew 1 " 
 
 " But it was precious little, Sir," retorted Mr. Tapley. " There was 
 very little respectin' you that I was able to tell him. Sir. I only men- 
 tioned my opinion that Mr. Pecksniif would find himself deceived. Sir, 
 and that you would find yourself deceived, and that he would find 
 himself deceived, Sir." 
 
 " In what ? " asked Mr. Chuzzlewit. 
 
 " Meaning him. Sir ? " 
 
 " Meaning both him and me." 
 
 " Well, Sir," said Mr. Tapley. " In your old opinions of each other. 
 As to him. Sir, and his opinions, I know he 's a altered man. I know it. 
 I know'd it long afore he spoke to you t'other day, and I must say it. 
 Nobody don't know half as much of him as I do. Nobody can't. 
 There was always a deal of good in him, but a little of it got crusted 
 over somehow. I can't say who rolled the paste of that 'ere crust 
 myself, but " 
 
 " Go on," said Martin. " Why do you stop ? " 
 
 " But it — well ! I beg your pardon, but I think it may have been 
 3''ou, Sir. Unintentional I think it may have been you. I don't 
 believe that neither of you gave the other quite a fair chance. There ! 
 Now I 've got rid on it," said Mr. Tapley in a fit of desperation : " I 
 can't go 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." 
 
 It was clear that Mark expected to be ordered out immediately, and 
 was quite prepared to go. 
 
 " So you think," said Martin, " that his old faults are, in some degree, 
 of my creation, do you 1 " 
 
 " 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 
 
 QQ 2 
 
596 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 in tins way, but I do think so. I am 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 1 " 
 
 " He don't know wot to suppose. Sir, no more than myself. I told 
 him jest wot passed yesterday. Sir, and that you had said to me, ' Can 
 you be here by seven in the morning 1 ' and that you had said to him^ 
 through me, * Can you be here by ten in the morning V and that I had 
 said ' Yes' to both. That 's all. Sir." 
 
 His frankness was so genuine that it plainly was all. 
 
 " Perhaps," said Martin, " he may think you are going to desert him, 
 and to serve me ?" 
 
 " I have served him in that sort of way, Sir," replied Mark, without th«^ 
 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-by," 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. 
 
 " You will not find it necessary to express surprise at their appear- 
 ance," 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 circumstances ; 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 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT* 597 
 
 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. I^aj, 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 overwhelming 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 clenching them upon the handle, and 
 resting his chin on them again. All his impatience and abstraction of 
 manner had vanished now ; and as he sat there, looking, with his keen 
 eyes, steadily towards the door, Mark could not help thinking what a 
 firm, square, powerful face it was ; or exulting in the thought that Mr. 
 Pecksniff, after playing a pretty long game of bowls with its owner, 
 seemed to be at last in a very fair way of coming in for a rubber or two. 
 
 Mark's uncertainty in respect of what was going to be done or said, 
 and by whom to whom, would have excited him in itself But knowing for 
 a certainty, besides, that young Martin was coming, and in a very few 
 minutes must arrive, he found it by no means easy to remain quiet and 
 silent. But, excepting that he occasionally coughed in a hollow and 
 unnatural 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 her 
 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 old man, 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 
 
598 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 say, that notliing 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 under- 
 standing between them. It engendered no astonishment in Mr. Tapley ; 
 for, as he afterwards 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. Mr. Chuzzlewit alone broke silence. 
 
 " Set the door open, Mark !" he said ; " and come here."^ 
 
 Mark obeyed. 
 
 The last appointed footstep sounded now upon the stairs. They all 
 knew it. It was Mr. 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 upward with a pious joy, silently expressed his gratitude. 
 He then looked round on the assembled group, and shook his head 
 reproachfully. For such a man severel}', quite severely. 
 
 " Oh, vermin !" said Mr. Pecksniff. " Oh, blood-suckers ! Is it not 
 enough that you have embittered the existence of an individual, wholly 
 unparalleled in the biographical records of 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 expres- 
 sions, my dear Sir, but there are times when honest indignation will 
 not be controlled), must you now, vermin and swarmers (for I will 
 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. 
 
 " Horde of unnatural plunderers and robbers !" he continued ; 
 " Leave him ! leave him, I say ! Begone ! Abscond ! You had better be 
 off ! Wander over the face of the earth, young Sirs, like vagabonds as 
 you are, and do not presume to remain in a spot which is hallowed by the 
 gray hairs of the patriarchal gentleman to whose tottering limbs I have 
 the honour to act as an unworthy, but I hope an unassuming, prop and 
 
600 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " The curse of our house," said the old man, looking kindlj 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 bj what degrees I have come to regard her as a daughter ; for 
 she has won upon me, by her self-forgetfulness, her tenderness, her 
 patience, all the goodness of her nature, when Heaven is her witness that 
 I took but little pains to draw it forth. It blossomed without cultivation, 
 and it ripened without heat. I cannot find it in my heart to say that I 
 am sorry for it now, or yonder fellow might be holding up his head." 
 
 Mr. PecksniiF 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 have learned it 
 in my own experience of my own breast : which is constantly upon the 
 watch for selfishness in others ; and holding others at a distance by 
 suspicions and distrusts, wonders why they don't approach, and don't 
 confide, and calls that selfishness in them. Thus I once doubted those 
 about me — not without reason in the beginning — and thus I once 
 doubted you, Martin." 
 
 " Not without reason," Martin answered ; " either." 
 
 " Listen, hypocrite! Listen, smooth-tongued, servile, crawling knave! " 
 said Martin. " Listen, you shallow dog. What ! When I was seek- 
 ing 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 1 Or failing 
 that, you traded in him as a speculation which at any rate should blind 
 me with the lustre of your charity, and found a claim upon me ! Why, 
 even then I knew you, and I told you so. Did I tell you that I knew 
 you, even then ? " 
 
 " I am not angry. Sir," said Mr. Pecksniff, softly. " I can bear a great 
 deal from you. I will never contradict you, Mr. Chuzzlewit." 
 
 " Observe ! " said Martin, looking round. " I put myself in that 
 man's hands on terms as mean and base, and as degrading to himself as 
 I could render them in words. I stated them at length to him, before 
 his own children, syllable by syllable, as coarsely as I could, and with as 
 much offence, and wdth 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 remon- 
 strance, in favour of the grandson whom he supposed I had disinherited ; 
 if he had pleaded wdth me, though never so faintly, against my appeal 
 to him to abandon him to misery and cast him from his house; I think 
 I could have borne with him for ever afterwards. But not a word, not 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 601 
 
 a word. Pandering to fhe worst of human passions was tlie ofRce of 
 Lis nature ; and faithfully he did his work ! " 
 
 " I am not angry," observed Mr. Pecksniff. " I am hurt, Mr. Chuz- 
 zlewit : wounded in my feelings : but I am not angry, my good Sir." 
 
 Mr. Chuzzlewit resumed. 
 
 " Once resolved 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 oppor- 
 tunity. 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. " I am not 
 angry, Sir. I cannot be angry with you. But did you never, my dear 
 Sir, express a desire that the unnatural 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 1 llecollect yourself, my christian friend." 
 
 " I have said so, have I not 1 " retorted the old man sternly. " I could 
 not tell how far your specious hypocrisy had deceived him, knave ; and 
 knew no better way of opening his eyes than by presenting you before 
 him in your own servile character. Yes. I did express that desire. 
 And you leaped to meet it ; and you met it ; and 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. Chuzzlewit went 
 on to say ; " then passing by the name of " 
 
 " Tigg," 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. 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 1 " 
 
 " At the pawnbroker's shop," said Martin. 
 
 " Yes ; watched you to your lodging, and enabled me to send you a 
 Bank note." 
 
 '' I lately thought," said Martin, greatly moved, " that it had come 
 from you. I little thought that you were interested in my fate. If I 
 had " 
 
 " If you had," returned the old man, sorrowfully, " you would have 
 shev/n 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 ycu, I had that 
 
602 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 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, 
 w^ho 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 Tl shew, and how he 11 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 passing 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. Chuzzlewit, " is 
 wiser than some men's enlightenment, and mine among them. You 
 are right ; not for the first time to-day. Now hear me out, my dears. 
 And hear me, you, who, if what I have been told be accurately stated, 
 are Bankrupt in pocket no less than in good name ! And when you have 
 heard me, leave this place, and poison my sight no more ! " 
 
 Mr. Pecksniff laid his hand upon his breast, and bowed again. 
 
 " The penance! have done in his house," said Mr. Chuzzlewit, "has 
 carried this reflection with it constantly, above all others. That if it had 
 pleased Heaven to visit such infirmity on my old age as really had 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 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 603 
 
 should wither, and whlcli 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 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 hoWy 
 after his interview with Mr. Pecksnifi", he had distrusted him again, 
 and burnt the paper to ashes, and had lain down in his bed distracted 
 by suspicions, doubts, and regrets. 
 
 And then he told them how, resolved to probe this Pecksnifi", and to- 
 prove the constancy and truth of Mary (to himself no less than Martin), 
 he had conceived and entered on his plan ; and how, beneath her gentle- 
 ness 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 in Tom's heart. 
 
 The old man then related how nobly Mr. 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. Pecksnifi" (by the- 
 name of Hangdog) 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 remorse- 
 lessly stepped in between him and the least touch of natural tenderness. 
 " For which," said the old man, "if the bending of my finger would 
 remove a halter from your neck, I would n't bend it ! " 
 
 " Martin," he added, " your rival has not been a dangerous one, but. 
 
604 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OP 
 
 Mrs. Lupin here^ has played duenna for some weeks ; not so mucli to 
 ■watch your love as to watch her lover. For that Ghoule " — his fertility 
 in finding names for Mr. PecksniiF was astonishing — " would have 
 crawled into her daily walks otherwise, and polluted the fresh air. 
 What 's this? Her hand is trembling strangely. See if you can hold it." 
 
 Hold it ! If he clasped it half as tightly as he did her waist. 
 
 Well, well ! That 's dangerous. 
 
 But it was good in him that even then, in his high- fortune and 
 Jtiappiness, 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 ! I saw you, accidentally, coming here. For- 
 give me ! " 
 
 " Forgive ! " cried Tom. " I '11 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. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Sir," said Mr. Tapley, stepping forward ; " but 
 you was mentionin', just now, a lady of the name of Lupin, Sir." 
 
 " I was," returned old Martin. 
 
 " Yes, Sir. It 's a pretty name. Sir 1 " 
 
 " A very good name," said Martin. 
 
 " It seems a'most a pity to change such a name into Tapley. Don't 
 it, Sir ? " said Mark. 
 
 " That depends upon the lady. What is he?' opinion 1 " 
 
 "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 only did his figure appear to have shrunk, but his 
 <liscomfiture seemed to have extended itself, even to his dress. His 
 clothes seemed to have grown shabbier, his linen to have turned yellow, 
 liis hair to have become lank and frowzy; 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 hospitality." 
 
 " 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 you again. I am glad of it. To see you in the possession of 
 your health and faculties on any terms, is, in itself, a sufficient recom- 
 
MARTIN CHtrZZLEWIT. 605 
 
 pense. To liave been deceived, implies a trusting nature. Mine is a 
 trustino' nature. I am thankful for it. I would rather have a trustinor 
 
 o o 
 
 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, no !" 
 
 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. 
 
 " I 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 inflicted. 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, I am. By an unfortunate speculation, 
 combined with treachery, I find myself reduced to poverty ; at a time. 
 Sir, when the child of my bosom is widowed, and affliction and disgrace 
 are in my family." 
 
 Here Mr. Pecksniff wiped his eyes again, and gave himself two or 
 three little knocks upon the breast, as 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 !" 
 
 " I know the human mind, although I trust it. That is my w^eakness. 
 Do I not know. Sir ;" here he became exceedingly plaintive, and was 
 observed to glance towards Tom Pinch ; " that my misfortunes bring 
 this treatment on 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 goodness), 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 be betrayed 
 this day ; if you ever contemplate the silent tomb, Sir, think of me. If 
 you find yourself approaching to the silent tomb, Sir, think of me. If 
 you should wish to have 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 
 forgave 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 
 
606 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 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 1" cried the little man. " Is 
 there anybody here that knows him? Oh, my stars, is there anybody 
 here that knows him !" 
 
 They looked at each other for an explanation ; but nobody knew any- 
 'thing 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 he could go ; making 
 his single pair of bright blue stockings appear at least a dozen ; and 
 constantly repeating, in a shrill voice, " Is there anybody here that 
 knows him ?" 
 
 "If your brains is not turned topjy turjey, Mr. Sweedlepipes !" ex- 
 claimed 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. Ghuzzlewit, 
 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 !" 
 
 " I 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-crying, " Is there anybody here that knows him 1" 
 
 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. 
 
 " Look at him!" cried the excited little barber. " Here he is ! 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 ?" 
 
 " B — r — reether so. Poll 1" 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 ?" 
 
 " B — r — reether shook. Poll — reether so !" said Mr. Bailey. " What, 
 my lovely Sairey ! There you air ! " 
 
 " What a boy he is !" cried the tender-hearted Poll, actually sobbing 
 over him. " I never see such a boy ! It 's all his fun. He 's full of it. 
 He shall go into the business along with me. I am determined he shall. 
 We 11 make it Sweedlepipe and Bailey. He shall have the sporting- 
 branch (what a one he '11 be for the matches !) and me the shavin'. 1 11 
 make over the birds to him as soon as ever he 's well enough. He shall 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 607 
 
 Lave the little bullfinch in the shop, and all. He 's sech a boy ! I ask 
 jour 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. 8weedlepipe 
 and his young friend ; and that she had fallen rather into the back- 
 ground in consequence. She now struggled to the front, therefore, and 
 stated her business. 
 
 " Which, Mr. Chuzzlewit," she said, " is well beknown to Mrs. Harris 
 as has one sweet infant (though she do not wish it known) in her own 
 family by the mother's side, kep in spirits in a bottle ; and that sweet 
 babe she see at Greenwich Fair, a travellin in company vith the pink- 
 ■eyed lady, Prooshan dwarf, and livin skelinton, which judge her feelins 
 wen the barrel organ played, and she was showed her own dear sister's 
 child, the same not bein expected from the outside picter, where it was 
 painted quite contrairy in a livin state, a many sizes larger, and per- 
 forming beautiful upon the Arp, which never did that dear child know 
 or do : since breathe it never did, to speak on, in this wale ! And Mrs. 
 Harris, Mr. Chuzzlewit, has knowed me many year, and can give you 
 information that the lady which is widdered can't do better and may do 
 worse, than let me wait upon her, which I hope to do. Permittin 
 the sweet faces as I see afore me." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Mr. Chuzzlewit. '^ Is that your business ? Was this 
 good person paid for the trouble we gave her ? " 
 
 " I paid her. Sir," returned Mark 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 1 " 
 
 " That is my name, Sir," replied Poll, accepting with a profusion 
 of gratitude, some chinking pieces which the old man slipped into his 
 hand. 
 
 " Mr. Sweedlepipe, take as much care of your lady-lodger as you 
 can, and give her a word or two of good advice now and then. Such," 
 said old Martin, looking gravely at the astonished Mrs. Gamp, " as 
 hinting at the expediency of a little less liquor, and a little more 
 humanity, and a little less regard for herself, and a little more regard 
 for her patients, and perhaps a trifle of additional honesty. Or when 
 Mrs. Gamp gets into trouble, Mr. Sweedlepipe, it had better not be at 
 a time when I am near enough to the Old Bailey, to volunteer myself 
 as a witness to her character. Endeavour to impress that upon her at 
 your leisure, if you please." 
 
 Mrs. Gamp clasped her hands, turned up her eyes 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 chimley-piece, and let me put my lips to 
 it, when I am so dispoged ! " — fell into one of the walking swoons : in 
 which pitiable state she was conducted forth by Mr. Sweedlepipe, who 
 between his two patients, the swooning Mrs. Gamp and the revolving 
 Bailey, had enough to do, poor fellow. 
 
608 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 The old man looked about him, with a smile, until his ejes 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 after- 
 noon, with Mr. and Mrs. Tapley. I must see your lodgings in the 
 meanwhile, Tom." 
 
 Tom was quite delighted. So was Ruth. She would go with them. 
 
 " Thank you, my love," said Mr. Chuzzlewit. " But I am afraid I 
 must take Tom a little out of the way, on business. Suppose you go 
 on first, my dear ? " 
 
 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 have no engagement 1 " 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. 
 
 CHAPTER LIII. 
 
 WHAT JOHN WESTLOCK SAID TO TOM PINCH's SISTER ; WHAT TOM PINCh's 
 SISTER SAID TO JOHN WESTLOCK j WHAT TOM PINCH SAID TO BOTH OF 
 THEM j AND HOW THEY ALL PASSED THE REMAINDER OP THE DAY. 
 
 Brilliantly the Temple Fountain sparkled in the sun, and laugh- 
 ingly 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 awk- 
 ward for her to have had to wait in any but a tolerably quiet spot ; and 
 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 got there, they were a little con- 
 
MAETIN CHUZZLETTIT. 609 
 
 fused hj being there, wliich was tlie 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 pleasant place, indeed," said little Ptuth. " 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 flas-stone 
 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 Furnival's Inn as 
 laundress to Mr. Westlock ! 
 
 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 every 
 thing was happy ; where there was no distance, and no time. There 
 were, two good-tempered burly draymen letting down big butts of beer 
 into a cellar, somewhere; and when John helped her — almost lifced 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 icould 
 dance on the pavement 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 1), and caused her to implore him to take 
 refuge in the pastry-cook's ; and afterwards to peep out at the door 
 so shrinkingly ; and then : looking at him with those eyes : to ask him 
 was he sure — now was he sure — they might go safely on ! Oh for a 
 string of rampant horses ! For a lion, for a bear, a mad bull, any 
 thing to bring the little hands 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 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 irresistible 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 woman 
 suppose anything in such a faint voice as Ruth supposed that. 
 
 But feeling that another of those alarming pauses was approaching, 
 
 R R 
 
610 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 she remarked that he would have a beautiful wife. Didn't Mr. Westlock 
 think so 1 
 
 " 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 to see her. I had no eyes for //er, this morning." 
 
 Oh, good gracious ! 
 
 It was well they had reached their destination. She never could 
 have gone any further. It would have been impossible to walk in such 
 a tremble. 
 
 Tom had not come in. They entered the triangular parlour together, 
 and alone. Fiery Face, Fiery Face, how many years' purchase oiow f 
 
 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, T 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 ! 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 little 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. 
 
 " I 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 1 " he returned, with a — well ! 
 Never mind with what. 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 611 
 
 " 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 bjless 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 1 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 be so happy, and so proud, and glad," she said, clasping 
 her little hands. " But so surprised ! I am sure he has never thought 
 of such a 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 every- 
 thing now. I should have no secrets from you. Should I John, love?" 
 
 It is of no use saying how that preposterous John answered her, 
 because he answered in a manner which is untranslateable on paper, 
 though highly satisfactory in itself. But what he conveyed was. No no 
 no, sweet Ruth ; or something to that effect. 
 
 Then she told him Tom's great secret ; not exactly saying how she 
 had found it out, but leaving him to understand it if he liked ; and 
 John was sadly grieved to hear it, and was full of sympathy and sorrow. 
 Rut 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, 
 in all the confidence of such a time, he told her how he had a capital 
 opportunity of establishing himself in his old profession 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 afibrd 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 knocking 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." 
 
 " 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 
 
 E B 2 
 
612 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 — -just to get a little farther off — upon the sofa, when Tom and Mr. 
 Chuzzlevvit came in. Mr. Chuzzlewit came first, and Tom was a few 
 seconds behind him. 
 
 Now Ruth had hastily resolved that she would beckon Tom up stairs 
 after a short 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 fervently, and 
 put her in John Westlock's arms. 
 
 " Don't speak to me, John. Heaven is very good to us. I " 
 
 Tom could find no further utterance, but left the room ; and Ruth went 
 after him. 
 
 And when they came back, which they did by-and-by, she looked 
 more beautiful, and Tom more good and true (if that were possible) 
 than ever. And though Tom could not speak upon the subject even 
 now : being yet too newly glad : he put both his hands in both of John's 
 with emphasis sufficient for the best speech ever spoken. 
 
 " I am glad you chose to-day," said Mr. Chuzzlewit to John ; with 
 the same knowing smile as when they had left him. " I thought you 
 would. I hope Tom and I lingered behind a discreet time. It 's so long 
 since I had any practical knowledge of these subjects, that I have been 
 anxious, I assure you." 
 
 " Your knowledge is still pretty accurate, Sir," returned John 
 laughing, " if it led you to foresee what would happen to-day." 
 
 " Why, I am not sure, Mr. Westlock," said the old man, " that 
 any great spirit of prophesy was needed, after seeing you and Ruth 
 together. Come hither, pretty one. See what Tom and I purchased 
 this morning, while you were dealing in exchange with that young 
 merchant there." 
 
 The old man's way of seating her beside him, and humouring his voice 
 as if she were a child, was whimsical enough, but full of tenderness, and 
 not ill adapted, somehow, to charming little Ruth. 
 
 " See here ! " he said, taking a case from his pocket, " what a beauti- 
 ful necklace. Ah ! How it glitters ! Ear-rings, too, and bracelets, 
 and a zone for your waist. This set is yours, and Mary has another 
 like it. Tom couldn't understand why I wanted two. What a short- 
 sighted Tom ! Ear-rings and bracelets, and a zone for your waist ! 
 Ah ! beautiful ! Let us see how brave they look. Ask Mr. Westlock 
 to clasp them on." 
 
 It was the prettiest thing to see her holding out her round, white 
 arm ; and John (oh deep, deep John !) pretending 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 j it was the prettiest thing to 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. G13 
 
 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 I'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 : 
 
 " I must play the part of father here, Tom, also. There are not many 
 fe-thers who marry two such daughters on the same day; but we will over- 
 look 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 credentials relative 
 to the ordering of dinner, had so exerted himself for the honour of the 
 party, that a prodigious bancpet was served, under the joint direction of 
 himself and his Intended. Mr. Chuzzlewit would have had them of the 
 party, and Martin urgently seconded his wish, but Mark could by no 
 means be persuaded to sit down at table ; observing, that in having the 
 honour of attending to their comforts, he felt himself, indeed, the landlord 
 of the Jolly Tapley, and could almost delude himself into the belief that 
 the entertainment was actually being held under the Jolly Tapley 's roof. 
 
 I" or 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 opposition to all precedent, and were always 
 issued in his most facetious form of thought and speech, they occasioned 
 great merriment among these attendants ; in which Mr. Tapley par- 
 ticipated, with an infinite enjoyment of his own humour. He like- 
 wise entertained them with short anecdotes of his travels, appropriate 
 to the occasion ; and now and then with some comic passage or 
 other betvreen himself and Mrs. Lupin ; so that explosive laughs v^-ere 
 constantly issuing from the sideboard, 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. Everybody drank to him, every- 
 body 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 : 
 
614 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 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 moved to tears. He couldn't bear it. His heart was full, 
 he said, of happiness. And so it was. Tom spoke the honest truth. 
 It was. Large as thy heart was, dear Tom Pinch, it had no room that 
 day, for anything but happiness and sympathy ! 
 
 And there was Fips, old Fips of Austin Friars, present at the dinner^ 
 and turning out to be the j oiliest old dog that ever did violence to his 
 convivial sentiments by shutting himself up in a dark office. " Where 
 is he ! " said Fips, when he came in. And then he pounced on Tom, 
 and told him that he wanted to relieve himself of all his old constraint : 
 and in the first place shook him by one hand, and in the second place 
 shook him by the other, and in the third place nudged him in the 
 waistcoat, and in the fourth place, said, " How are you ! " and in a 
 great many other places did a great many other things to shew 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 was a perfect Trump, was Fips, in all respects. 
 
 But ah ! the happiness of strolling home at night — obstinate little 
 Euth, 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 upstairs into his' own room, under pretence of seeking a book* 
 And Tom actually winked to himself, when he got upstairs : he thought 
 it such a deep thing to have done. 
 
 " They like to be by themselves'^of course," said Tom ; " and I came 
 away so naturally, that I have no doubt they are expecting me, every 
 moment, to return. That 's capital 1" 
 
 But he had not sat reading very long, when he heard a tap at his door. 
 " May I come in T said John. 
 " Oh, surely 1" 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 you 
 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 her's, and grow indifferent to the treasure. Who could feel the 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. •; 615 
 
 rapture that I feel to-day, and love as I love her, Tom ; ^vitllout 
 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 a right you know. Because I am fond of him, Tom." 
 
 As to Tom, he was perfectly delighted. He could have sat and 
 looked at them, just as they were, for hours. 
 
 " I have told Tom, love ; as we agreed ; that we are not going to 
 permit him to run away, and that we cannot possibly allow it. The 
 loss of one person, and such a person as Tom, too, out of our small 
 household of three, is not to be endured ; and so 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 diamonds ; folly in her to breathe his name upon her 
 knees, and pour out her pure heart before that Being, from whom such 
 hearts and such affections come ! 
 
 If these be follies, then Fiery Face go on and prosper ! If they be 
 not, then Fiery Face avaunt ! But set the crunched bonnet at some 
 other single gentleman, in any case, for one is lost to thee for ever ! 
 
 CHAPTER LIV. 
 
 GIVES THE AUTHOR GREAT CONCERN. FOR IT IS THE LAST IN THE BOOK. 
 
 ToDGERs's was in high feather, and mighty preparations for a late 
 breakfast were astir in its commercial bowers. The blissful morning 
 had arrived when Miss Pecksniff was to be united, in holy matrimony, 
 to Augustus. 
 
 Miss Pecksniff was in a frame of mind, equally becoming to herself 
 and the occasion. She was full of clemency and conciliation. She had 
 laid in several chaldrons of live coals, and was prepared to heap thenx 
 on the heads of her enemies. She bore no spite or malice in her heart, 
 Not the least. 
 
 Quarrels, Miss Pecksniff said, were dreadful things in families ; and 
 though she never could forgive her dear papa, she was willing to receive 
 her other relations. They had been separated, she obseiTed, too long. 
 It was enough to call down a judgment upon the family. She believed 
 
616 LIFE AND ADYENTIJRES OF 
 
 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 
 
 Bj way of doing sacrifice— not in triumph; not, of course, in triumph, 
 but in humiliation of spirit — this amiable young person wrote, there- 
 fore, to her kinswoman of the strong mind, and informed her, that her 
 nuptials would take place on such a day. That she had been much hurt 
 by the unnatural conduct of herself and 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-nosed spinsters, her daughters (but Miss 
 Pecksniff did not particularise their noses), to attend as bridesmaids. 
 
 The strong-minded woman returned for answer, that herself 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 Pecksniff's 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 joyfully attend Miss Peck- 
 sniff's bridal ; and that her three dear daughters would be happy to 
 assist, on so interesting, and so very unexj^ected — which the strong- 
 minded woman underlined — so very unexpected an occasion. 
 
 On the receipt of this gracious reply. Miss Pecksniff extended 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 toothache ; and to the hairy young gentleman with the 
 outline of a face ; surviving remnants of the party that had once assem- 
 bled 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 l^Iiss 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 wait- 
 ing ; 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 im- 
 mediately appeared, 
 
 " You are dressed, I see, for the wedding," he said. 
 
 Mrs. Todgers, who was greatly flurried by the preparations, replied 
 in the affirmative. 
 
 " It goes against my wishes to have it in 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 Pecksnift' was married. That cannot 
 be denied. Sir." 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. G17 
 
 " No/' said Mr. Chuzzlewit, " assuredly not. Her sister takes no part 
 in the proceedings ?" 
 
 " Oil dear, no, Sir. Poor thing !" said Mrs. Todgers, shaking 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 Chuff ey. 
 
 When j\lr. 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 lono; and 
 merciful consideration for it." 
 
 " You had for me ; even for me," she answered. " I quite believe it. 
 I said the words you have repeated, wdien 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, no care to find one ; at that time. It has grown out of my 
 trouble. I have felt it in my trouble. I vrouldn'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 
 mistrust me because of these tears; 1 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 
 
618 LIFE AND ADYE5^TrRES OF 
 
 been sent over to England by them : not so much for tlie 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, 
 embarked in the same transaction. If there be any left, it will be seized 
 on, in like manner. There is no home there" 
 
 " I couldn't return to him," she said, with an instinctive reference to 
 his having forced her marriage on. "I could not return to him ! " 
 
 " I 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 this marriage, in a spirit which (to say no 
 more of it) is barely decent, is unsisterly, and bad. Leave the house before 
 her guests arrive. She means to give you pain. Spare her the offence ; 
 and come with me ! " 
 
 Mrs. 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 herself, and was ready to depart, when 
 Miss Pecksniff dashed into the room. 
 
 Miss Pecksniff dashed in so suddenly, that she was placed in an 
 embarrassing position. For though she had completed her bridal 
 toilette as to her head, on which she 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 visiter, until she found Mr. Chuzzlewit standing face to 
 face with her, her suprise was an uncomfortable 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 perceive. I am not 
 surprised to find it so. You have chosen the period of your marriage, 
 unfortunately." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Mr. Chuzzlewit," retorted Cherry ; very red and 
 angry in a moment: "but if you have anything 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 company 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 619 
 
 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 1 have 
 my natural affections for another quarter, and my natural pity for 
 another quarter ; but I cannot always submit to be subservient to it, 
 Mr. Chuzzlewit. 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, 
 
 " I am very happy to find that she has some good fortune at last," 
 returned Miss Pecksniff, tossing her head. " I congratulate her, I am sure. 
 I am not surprised that this event should be painful to her : painful to 
 her : but I can't help that, Mr. Chuzzlewit. It 's not my fault." 
 
 " Come, Miss Pecksniff ! " said the old man, quietly. " I should like to 
 see a better parting between you. I should like to see a better parting 
 on your side, in such circumstances. It would make me your friend. 
 You may want a friend one day or other." 
 
 " Every relation of life, Mr. Chuzzlewit, begging your pardon : and 
 every friend in life : " returned Miss Pecksniff, with dignity, " is now 
 bound up and cemented in Augustus. So long as Augustus is my own, 
 I cannot want a friend. When you speak of friends, sir, I must beg, 
 once for all, to refer you to Augustus. That is my impression of the 
 religious ceremony in which I am so soon to take a part at that altar to 
 which Augustus will conduct me. I bear no malice at any time, much 
 less in a moment of triumph, towards any one ; much less towards my 
 sister. On the contrary, I congratulate her. If you didn't hear me say 
 so, I am not to blame. And as I owe it to Augustus, to be punctual on 
 an occasion when he may naturally be supposed to be— to be impatient 
 — really, Mrs. Todgers ! — I must beg your leave. Sir, to retire." 
 
 After these words the bridal bonnet 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 live. Who knows ! 
 
 Mr. Chuzzlewit followed her so closely with his eyes, that, until she 
 had shut her own door, they did not encounter Mr. Tapley's face. 
 
 " Why, Mark ! " he said, as soon as he observed it, " what 's the 
 matter!" 
 
 " The wonderfullest ewent, sir ! " returned Mark, pumping at his 
 voice in a most laborious manner, and hardly able to articulate with all 
 his efforts. " A coincidence as never was equalled ! I'm blessed if here 
 aint two old neighbours of ourn, sir !" 
 
 "What neighbours!" cried old Martin, looking out of window, 
 "Where !" 
 
 " I was a walkin' up and down not five yards from this spot," said 
 Mr. Tapley, breathless, " and they come upon me like their own ghosts. 
 
620 ■ LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 
 
 as I thought they was ! It 's the wonderfullest ewent that ever hap- 
 pened. 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 him- 
 self. " Neighbours where ! " 
 
 " Here, sir ! " replied Mr. Tapley. " Here in the city of London ! 
 Here upon these very stones ! Here they are, sir ! Don't I know 'em ! 
 Lord love their welcome faces, don't I know 'em ! " 
 
 With which ejaculations Mr. Tapley not only pointed to a decent- 
 looking man and woman standing by, but commenced embracing them 
 alternately, over and over again, in Monument Yard. 
 
 "Neighbours, where !" old Martin shouted : almost maddened by 
 his ineffectual efforts to get out at the coach-door. 
 
 " Neighbours in America ! Neighbours in Eden ! " cried Mark. 
 " 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 ! Hav'n't they come a strugglin' back, without 
 a single child for their consolation ! And talk to me of neighbours !" 
 
 Away he went again, in a perfectly wild state, hugging them, and 
 skipping round them, and cutting in between them, as if he were per- 
 forming 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 in a burst of 
 enthusiasm. " Exactly my opinion. Sir. Home, for ever ! Excuse 
 the libert}^. Sir, I can't help it. Success to the Jolly Tapley ! There 's 
 nothin' in the house they sha'n't have for the askin' for, except a bill. 
 Home to be sure ! Hurrah !" 
 
 Home they rolled accordingly, when he had got the old man in again, 
 as fast as they could go ; Mark abating nothing of his fervor 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 ground first. He wore a 
 white favor 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 
 
MAETIN CHUZZLEWIT. 621 
 
 was set fortli 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 
 Mod die, who had ceased to reside in the house^ and had not yet arrived, 
 
 " Not arrived, Sir ! " exclaimed Spottletoe, in a great heat. 
 J "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 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 con- 
 fined his attentions to any particular part or branch of this family, which 
 would be quite in keeping with its usual proceedings." 
 
 " If you allude to me, Sir " the strong-minded woman began. 
 
 " Pray," interposed Miss Pecksniff, " do not allow Augustus, at this 
 awful moment of his life and mine, to be the means of disturbing that 
 harmony which it is ever Augustus's and my wish to maintain. 
 Augustus has not been introduced to any of my relations now present. 
 He preferred not." 
 
 " Why, then, I venture to assert," cried Mr. Spottletoe, " that the man 
 who aspires to join this family, and 'prefers not ' to be introduced to its 
 members, is an impertinent Puppy. That is my opinion oi him .'" 
 
 The strong-minded woman remarked with great suavity, that she was 
 afraid he must be. Her three daughters observed aloud that it was 
 " Shameful ! " 
 
 " You do not know Augustus," said Miss Pecksniff, tearfully, 
 
€22 LIFE AND ADVENTUEES OP 
 
 " indeed you do not know him. Augustus is all mildness and humility. 
 Wait 'till you see Augustus, and I'm 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 expected to wait." 
 
 " Mrs. Todgers ! " said Charity, " Mr. Jinkins ! I am afraid there 
 must be some mistake. I think Augustus must have gone straight to 
 the Altar ! " 
 
 As such a thing was possible, and the church was close at hand, 
 Mr. Jinkins ran off to see : accompanied by Mr. George Chuzzlewit the 
 bachelor cousin, who preferred anything to the aggravation of sitting 
 near the breakfast, 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 have happened ! Augustus ! Dear Augustus ! 
 
 Mr. Jinkins volunteered to take a cab, and seek him at the newly- 
 furnished house. The strong-minded woman administered comfort to 
 Miss Pecksniff. " It was a specimen of what she had to expect. It 
 would do her good. It would dispel the romance of the affair." The 
 red-nosed daughters also administered the kindest comfort. " 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 everywhere 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 following, this com- 
 munication : 
 
 "Off Gravesend. 
 
 " Clipper Schooner, Cupid. 
 
 " Wednesday night. 
 
 *' Ever injured Miss Pecksniff, 
 
 " Ere this reaches you, the undersigned will be — if not a 
 corpse — on the way to Van Diemen's Land. Send not in pursuit. I 
 never will be taken alive ! 
 
 " The burden — 300 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. 
 
 " I love another. She is another's. Everything appears to be some- 
 body else's. Nothing in the world is mine — not even my Situation — 
 which I have forfeited— by my rash conduct — in running away. 
 
^/i£y<yl!^/i/lai^l 6j/^^'f/^o^s<ryi)7'^-//^ a/ ^^?'zA<?^a^^ c^/z^^". 
 
MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 623 
 
 " If you ever loved me, liear 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 buck-horn 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 w^eeping more than usual on that dreadful 
 night when last we met — in that house — where I once was peaceful — 
 though blighted — in the society of Mrs. Todgers ! 
 
 " But it was written — in the Talmud — that you should involve yourself 
 in the inscrutable and gloomy Fate w^hich 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 ! 
 
 " Farewell ! Be the proud bride of a ducal coronet, and forget me ! 
 Long may it be before you know the anguish with which I now sub- 
 scribe myself — amid the tempestuous bowlings of the — sailors, 
 
 " Unalterably, 
 
 " Never yours, 
 
 " Augustus." 
 
 They thought as little of Miss Pecksniff, while they greedily perused 
 this letter, as if she were the very last person on earth whom it con- 
 cerned. 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 dark- 
 ening 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 
 ^nd our old association, Tom. But in those sounds wdth 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, whis- 
 pering memory, like that in w^hich we sometimes hold the dead, and 
 does not pain or grieve thee, God be thanked ! 
 
 Touch the notes lightly, Tom, as lightly as thou wdlt, 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. 
 
624: LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 For a drunken, begging, squalid-letter-writing man, called Peck- 
 snifF : with a shrewish daughter : haunts thee, Tom ; and when he 
 makes appeals to thee for cash, reminds thee that he built thy for- 
 tunes better than his own ; and when he spends it, entertains the ale- 
 house company, with tales of thine ingratitude and his munificence 
 towards thee once upon a time ; and then he shews his elbows worn 
 in holes, and puts his soleless shoes up, on a bench, and begs his 
 auditors look there ; while thou art comfortably housed and clothed. 
 All known to thee, and yet all borne with, Tom ! 
 
 So, with a smile upon thy face, thou passest gently to another 
 measure ; to a quicker and more joyful one ; and little feet are used to 
 dance about thee at the sound ; and bright young eyes to glance up 
 into thine. And there is one slight creature, Tom — her child ; not 
 Ruth's — whom thine eyes follow in the romp and dance : who, won- 
 dering 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 byegone times ; and in thy lingering touch upon the keys, and the 
 rich swelling of the mellow harmony, they rise 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 bless- 
 ing thee ! 
 
 And coming from a garden, Tom : bestrewn with flowers by children's 
 hands : thy sister little Ruth, as light of foot and heart as in old days, 
 sits down beside thee. From the Present, and the Past, with which she 
 is so tenderly entwined in all thy thoughts, thy strain soars onward 
 to the Future. As it resounds within thee and without, thy kindling 
 face looks on her with a Love and Trust, that knows it cannot die. 
 The noble music, rolling round her in a cloud of melody, shuts out 
 the grosser prospect of an earthly parting, and uplifts her, Tom, to 
 Heaven ! 
 
 THE END. 
 
 LONDON : 
 BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHJTEFRIARS. 
 
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