LIFE AXD ADVENTUEES MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT I MACMILLAN AND CO., Limited LONDON ■ BOMBAY ■ CALCUTTA MELBOUKNE THE MACMILLAN COMPANY NEW YORK • nOSTON • CHICAGO ATLANTA • ?;AN FRANCISCO THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. TORONTO ■ \\H mM^\ •%^M£ ■ tif m^^ ^(^mm /' t fi" ^y*^i LIFE AXD ADYENTURES OF MAETIN CHUZZLEWIT (YJJ CHARLES DICKENS A REPRINT OF THE FIRST EDITION, WITH THE ILLUSTRATIONS, AND AN INTRODUCTION, BIOGRAPHICAL AND BIBLIOGRAPHICAL, BY CHARLES DICKENS THE YOUNGER. MACMILLAX AND CO., LIMITED ST. MARTINS STREET, LONDON 191U First Edition 1892 Reprinted 1899, 1903, 1910 eN6LIS»-T f ^^U'^ u/^^ J CONTENTS. PAGE Introduction xix CHAPTER I Introductory, concerning the Pedigree of the Chuzzlewit Family . 1 CHAPTER II "Wherein certain Persons are presented to the Reader, with whom he may, if he please, become better acquainted .... CHAPTER III In which certain other Persons are introduced ; on the same Terms as in the last Chapter 24 CHAPTER IV Prom which it will appear that if Union be Strength, and Family Aftection be jileasant to contemplate, the Chuzzlewits were the strongest and most agreeable Family in the World ... 42 CHAPTER V Containing a full Account of the Installation of Mr. Pecksniffs new Pupil into the Bosom of Mr. Pecksniffs Family. With all the Festivities held on that Occasion, and the great Enjoyment of Mr. Pinch . . . • 433G3i CONTENTS. CHAPTER VI PAGE Comprises, among other im])ortaiit Matters, Pecksuiffiau and Archi- tectural, an exact Relation of tlie Progress made by Mr. Pinch in the Confidence and Friendship of the New Pupil . CHAPTER VII In which Mr. Chevy Slyme asserts the Independence of his Spirit : and the Blue Dragon loses a Limb 98 CHAPTER VIII Accomjianies Mr. Pecksuilf and his charming Daughters to the City of London ; and relates what fell out, upon their way thither . 113 CHAPTER IX Town and Todgers's .... CHAPTER X Containing strange Matter ; on which many Events in this History may, for their good or evil Influence, chiefly depend . .149 CHAPTER XI AVherein a certain Gentleman becomes particular in his Attentions to a certain Lady ; and more Coming Events tli.ui one. cast their Shadows before 165 CHAPTER XII Will he seen in the Long Run, if not in the Short One, to concern Mr. Pinch and Others, nearly. Mr. Pecksniff asserts the Dig- nity of outraged Virtue ; and Voung Martin Chuzzlewit forms a desperate Resohttion 185 CHAPTER XIII Showing what became of Martin and his desperate Resolve after he left Mr. Pecksniff's House ; what Persons he Encountered ; what Anxieties he Suffered ; and what News he Heard . . 205 CONTENTS. CHAPTEH XIV In which Martin bids Adieu to the Lady of his Love ; and Honours an obscure Individual whose Fortune lie iuteuds to make, by connuending her to his Protection 226 CHAPTER XV The Burden whereof is Hail, Columbia ! 237 CHAPTER XVI ilartin 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 Transactions . . 246 CHAPTER XVII Martin enlarges his Circle of Acquaintance ; increases his Stock of AVisdom ; and has an excellent Opportunity of comparing his own Experiences with those of Lummy Ned of the Light Salis- burv, as related bv his Friend Mr. AVilliam Simmons . . 267 CHAPTER XVIII Does Business with the House of Anthony Chuzzlewit and Son, from which One of the Partners retires unexpectedly CHAPTER XIX The Reader is brought into Communication with some Professional Persons, and sheds a Tear over the Filial Piety of good Mr. Jonas 298 CHAPTER XX Is a Chapter of Love 313 CONTENTS. CHAPTER XXI More American Experiences. Martin takes a Partner, and makes a Purchase. Some Account of Eden, as it appeared on Paper. Also of the British Lion. Also of the kind of Sympathy pro- fessed and entertained by the Watertoast Association of United Sympathizers 32/ CHAPTER XXII From which it will be seen that Martin became a Lion on his own Account. Together with the Reason why .... 347 CHAPTER XXIII Martin and his Partner take Possession of their Estate. The Joyful Occasion involves some further Account of Eden . .35; CHAPTER XXIV Reports Progress in certain homely Matters of Love, Hatred, Jealousy, and Revenge ........ 367 CHAPTER XXV Is in part Professional ; and furnishes the Reader with some Valuable Hints in relation to the Management of a Sick Chamber . 384 CHAPTER XXVI An Unexpected Meeting, and a Promising Prospect .... 399 CHAPTER XXVII Showing that Old Friends may not only appear with New Faces, but in False Colours. That People are prone to Bite ; and that Biters may sometimes bo Bitten 408 CONTENTS. CHAPTER XXVIII PAOI Mr. Montagne at Home. And Mr. Jonas Chuzzlewit at Home . 429 CHAPTER XXIX Precocious, othe Ivsterious : all in their several "Way: In which some People are Precocious.^others Professional, and others ^^^ CHAPTER XXX Proves that Changes may be rung in the best-regulated Families, and that Mr. Pecksniff was a special hand at a Triple- Bob- ^^^ Major CHAPTER 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 . 4b& CHAPTER XXXII Treats of Todg^rs's again ; and of another Blighted Plant besides the Plants upon the Leads ^o-^ CHAPTER XXXIII Further Proceedings in Eden, and a Proceeding out of it. Martin makes a Discovery of some importance ^^^ CHAPTER XXXIV In which the Travellers move Homeward, and Encounter some Distinguished Characters upon the Way 507 CHAPTER XXXV Arrivint' iu England, Martin witnesses a Ceremony, from which he dertves the cheering Information that he has not been Forgotten in his Absence ' XIV CONTENTS. CHAPTER XXXVI PAGE Tom Pinch departs to seek his Fortune. What he fiiuls at starting 530 CHAPTER XXXYII Tom Pinch, going Astray, finds that he is not tlie only Person in that Predicament. He Retaliates upon a fallen Foe . . 551 CHAPTER XXXVIII Secret Service ... c^i CHAPTER XXXIX Containing some further Particulars of tlic Doraestir' Economy of the Pinches ; with strange News from the City, narrowly con- cerning Tom CHAPTER XI. The Pinches make a New Acquaintance, and haye fresh occasion for Surprise and "Wonder CHAPTER XLI Mr. Jonas and his Friend, arriying at a Pleasant Understanding set forth upon an Enterprise ^' qq^ CHAPTER XLI I Continuation of the Enterprise of Mr. Jonas and his Friend . .613 CHAPTER XLIII Has an Iiilhiencc on the Fortunes of several People. Mr Pecksnill' IS e.xhibited in the Plenitude of Power; and wird.ls tlie same with Fortitud.- an.l JIagnaniinity . . . go.3 CONTENTS. CHAPTER XLIV PAGE Further Continuation of the Enterprise of Jlr. Jonas and his Friend 646 CHAPTER XLV 111 which Tom Pinch and his Sister take a little Pleasure ; but quite in a Domestic Wav, and with no Ceremony about it . . 653 CHAPTER XLYI 111 which Miss Pecksniff makes Love, Mr. Jonas makes Wrath, Jlrs. (lamp makes Tea, and Mr. Chuffey makes Business . . .662 CHAPTER XLVII Conclusion of the Enterprise of Mr. Jonas and his Friend 685 CHAPTER XLVIII Bears Tidings of Martin, and of Mark, as well as of a Third Person not quite unknown to the Reader. Exhibits Filial Pietj' in an Ugly Aspect ; and casts a doubtful Ray of Light upon a very Dark Place 694 CHAPTER XLIX In which Mrs. Harris, assisted by a Teapot, is the cause of a Division between Friends 710 CHAPTER L Surprises Tom Pinch very much, and shows how certain Confidences passed between Him and his Sister ...... 724 CHAPTER LI " Sheds New and Brighter Light upon the very Dark Place ; and con- tains the Sequel of the Enterprise of Mr. Jonas and his Frieml 735 CONTENTS. CHAPTER LII In which the Tables are Turned, completely Upside Down CHAPTER LII I What John Westlock said to Tom Pinch's Sister ; what Tom Pinch's Sister said to John Westlock ; what Tom Pinch said to both of them ; and how they all passed the Remainder of the Day 775 CHAPTER LIY Gives the Author great Concern, For it is the Last in the Book ■84 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. FACilMILE OF FKONTISPIECK AND TrrLK I'AGE UV THE FIllST EDITION iv, V FACSI.MILE OF THE AVKAPPER TO THE OUIGINAL EDITION . XXxiii MEEKNESS OF Ml!. PECKSNIFF AND HIS CHAKMING DAUGHTERS . 17 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT SI'SPECTS THE LANDLADY AVITHOUT ANY KEASON 30 PLEASANT LITTLE FAMILY PAPTY AT MP.. PECKSNIFf'.S . . . 54 PINCH STARTS HOMEWAPD AVITH THE NEW PUPIL ... 75 MR. PINCH AND THE NEW PUPIL, ON A SOCIAL OCCASION . . 90 MARK BEGINS TO BE JOLLY UNDER CREDITABLE CIRCUMSTANCES . 112 M. TODGERS AND THE PECKSNIFFS, CALL UPON MISS PINCH . . 132 TRUTH PREVAILS AND VIRTUE IS TRIUMPHANT .... 154 MR. JONAS CHUZZLEWIT ENTERTAINS HIS COUSINS . , .177 MR. PECKSNIFF RENOUNCES THE DECEIVER 204 MARTIN MEETS AN ACQUAINTANCE, AT THE HOUSE OF A MUTUAL REL.\TION 213 MR. TAPLEY ACTS THIRD PARTY, WITH GREAT DISCRETION . . 228 MR. JEFFERSON BRICK PROPOSES AN APPROPRIATE SENTIMENT . 254 MR. TAPLEY SUCCEEDS IN FINDING A " JOLLY " SUBJECT FOR CON- TEMPLATION 271 THE DISSOLUTION OF PARTNERSHIP 295 MR. PECKSNIFF ON HIS MISSION 300 THE THRIVING CITY OF EDEN, AS IT APPEARED ON PAPER . . 340 THE THRIVING CITY OF EDEN, AS IT APPEARED IN FACT . . 366 HALM FOR THE WOUNDED ORPHAN 377 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. Page MRS. GAMP HAS HER EYE OX THE FUTURE 407 THE BOARD .... 417 EASY SHAVING 441 MR. PECKSNIFF DI.SCHARGES A DUTY WHICH HE OWES TO SOCIETY 481 MR. MODDLE IS BOTH PARTICULAR AND PECULIAR IX HIS ATTEXTIOX.S 489 MR. TAPLEY IS RECOGXIZED" BY SOME FELLOW-CITIZENS OF EDEN . 492 MARTIN IS MUCH GRATIFIED BY AX IMPOSING CEIIEMONY . 529 MR. PINCH DEPARTS TO SEEK HIS FORTUNE 535 MR. NADGETT BREATHES, AS USUAL, AN ATMO.SPUERE OF MYSTERY 569 MR. PINCH AND RUTH, UNCONSCIOUS OF A VISITOR . . . 577 MYSTERIOUS INSTALLATION OF MR. PIXCH 587 MR. JONAS EXHIBITS HIS PRESENCE OF MIND .... 619 MR. PECKSNIFF ANNOUNCES HIMSELF AS THE SHIELD OF VIRTUE . 634 MR. MODDLE IS LED TO THE CONTEMPLATION OF HIS DE.STINY . 664 MRS. GAMP MAKES TEA 674 MRS. GAMP PROPOGES A TOAST 717 MR. PINCH IS AMAZED BY AN UNEXPECTED APPARITION . . 734 WARM RECEPTION OF MR. PECKSNIFF BY HIS VENERABLE FRIEND 763 THE NUPTIALS OF MI.SS PECKSNIFF RECEIVE A TEMPORARY CHECK 793 INTRODUCTION. Towards the end of the year 1841 — it having been found necessary to discontinue MuMcr Humplireij's Clod; which had been started in April, 1840, and had been found to involve too great a strain on its author's powers — negotiations were entered into between Charles Dickens and his publishers, Messrs. Chapman and Hall, with a view to the settlement of their future business relations. The result was an agreement, which was signed on Tuesday, the 7th of September, in ]\Ir. Forster's chambers in Lincoln's Inn — Mr. Forster having acted in this matter, as in so many others, as Charles Dickens's adviser — and which was to the following effect : — At the termination of Barnabij Budge the Clock was to come to an end, and an engagement was made for a new story in twenty shilling numbers, after the fashion of Pichvick and Xickleby, which, however, was not to be commenced until November, 1842. Under this agreement Charles Dickens was to receive £200 per month, to be reckoned as part of the expenses, all of which were to be defrayed by the pub- lishers, who, out of the profits of each number, were to take one-fourth.^ This arrangement was to hold good until six months after the completion of the book, when, on pay- ment to Charles Dickens of one-fourth of the value of all then existing stock, the publishers were to be entitled to one- half of future profits. During the twelve months preceding the commencement of the book, the author was to be paid £150 per month by way of advance, which was to be repaid by him out of his fourth share of the profits. This agreement was scarcely so business-like on the author's side as it may have * Under the Clock agreement the publishers took one-half of the profits. h XX INTRODUCTION. looked at first sight, inasmucli as it practically left the publishers to decide what amount they should pay for their subsequent one-fourth share of the profits — the amount of stock at the end of the six months being a matter entirely within their own control — and there being also a clause. providing against the event of the profits being inadequate to the repayment of these advance payments, which was to cause a great deal of trouble, as we shall see, by and by. The only drawback which Charles Dickens's advisers could see to this agreement was a certain fear as to the manner in which he would employ the twelve months' leisure which lay before him — a fear, that is, that, instead of taking a really much -needed rest, he would dash into some other fatiguing and distracting enterprise. This fear was, indeed, well grounded, for within a fortnight he wrote to Mr. Forster announcing his intention of making that voyage to America — a rather serious undertaking in those days — which had been for some time in his mind, and, moreover, of starting as soon after Christmas "as it will be safe to go." The question of safety, involved no loss of time, and on the 4 th of January, 1842, the six months' trip began. On his return Charles Dickens worked at the American Notes during a summer visit to Broadstairs, and also spent some merry weeks in Cornwall, where he had had a strong desire to lay the opening scenes of the new book. During the whole of this time, however, nothing was settled about the story, and it was not until the 12th of November that Mr. Forster received from Charles Dickens the title — "Don't lose it," he said, " for I have no copy." Even then there Avas a good deal of hesitation, and not a little discussion, before the name Chuzzlewit — which had passed through the various preliminary stages of Sweezleden, Sweezleback, Sweezlewag, Chuzzletoe, Chuzzleboy, Chubblewig, and Chuzzlewig — was finally adopted. The title of the original edition was long and elaborate, and was fully set forth in the wrapper of the monthly parts. In later editions all the facetious elaboration was discarded, and the book was simply called The Life and Adventures of Martin ChuzdevAf. The first monthly number of Martin Chuzzleuit was pub- lished in January, 1843 — a facsimile of the first page of the IXTRODUCTIOX. xxi wrapper is given here on page xxxiii — and the uncertainty of constructive purpose witli which the story began troubled its author a great deal during a considerable portion of its com- position. " Beginning so hurriedly as at last he did," Mr. Forster says, " altering his course at the opening " — it was while the tliird number was in progress that he first devised old Martin's plot to degrade and punish Pecksniff — "and seeing little of the main track of its design," it is not surprising that he encountered difficulties serious enough to induce him to devote more care to the construction of his later stories, and to devote himself more closely to any design which he might have in his mind at the outset. In this connection it is not uninstructive to note that a very " superior " notice of Charles Dickens in the Contemporary Review for February, 1869, declared that "as well-framed stories, perhaps there are no better models than some of his earlier and greater novels — David Copperfield, Martin Chuzzleuit, or Domhey and Son" — while Mr. Forster's criticism far more justly says, "In construction and conduct of story Martin Chuzzlewit is defec- tive, character and description constituting the chief part of its strength." And it is clear that no one could possibly have had a more keen sense of these characters than Charles Dickens had himself — a sense of reality which, as I have had occasion to point out more than once before, was always present to him. Thus, of two of the principal characters in Martin Chuzzlewit, he wrote, " As to the way in which these characters have opened out, that is to me one of the most surprising processes of the mind in this sort of invention. Given what one knows, what one does not know springs up ; and I am as absolutely certain of its being true, as I am of the law of gravitation — if such a thing be possible, more so." The real origin of the book, Mr. Forster says, was the taking Pecksniff for a type of character ; but it is perhaps safer to follow the author himself, who tells us, plainly enough, in his preface that his object was to "show how Selfishness propagates itself ; and to what a grim giant it may grow from small beginnings." That the American experiences of Martin and Mark should have raised a prodigious outcry across the Atlantic, where the American Notes had already greatly excited public opinioji, is not altogether surprising, although the extreme strength of xxii IKTRODUCTION. the language used liy some of the more irate and less respon- sible critics was, to say the least of it, unusual to English readers. Some of these gentlemen, indeed, wrote as if they were, as Charles Dickens expressed it, "stark, staring, raving mad." For Martin's visit to America — which had nothing to do with the original plan of the story, such as it was, and the notion of which " Dickens adopted as suddenly as his hero " — was felt to be intended as a driving home of the nail, in answer to the challenges to justify his Notes which hostile American critics were constantly addressing to Charles Dickens, and, naturally enough, had the effect of making matters ten times worse than they had been before. But the storm blew over after a comparatively short time, one portion of tlie American public and press taking the easy line of pooh-poohing Elijah Pogram, and Colonel Diver, and Mr. Jefferson Brick, and Mrs. Hominy, and the rest, as mere caricatures ; while the other, and more sensible, readers very soon came to reflect that, however hard Charles Dickens had been in some of his American models, he had in no wise spared his own countrymen, and that, after all, there is very little to choose between Mr. Hannibal Chollop and Mrs. Gamp, between Zephaniah Scadder and Montague Tigg, or between the Eden Land Corporation and the Anglo -Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Insurance Company. According to Mr. Forster, by the way, the original of Eden was found somewhere between Harrisburgh and Pittsburgh on the journey over the Alleghany mountains, which is described in the Notes, but public opinion in America points, and more correctly, I think, to the city of Cairo on the Mississippi Eiver. Martin Chuzzlewit ran on uninterruptedly from January, 1843, to its conclusion in July, 1844 — parts nineteen and twenty were issued in the same wrapper — when it was re- published in one volume of six hundred and twenty-four pages, Avith forty illustrations by H. K. Browne, at one guinea, bound in cloth. A curious mistake was made in one of the first plates etched for the title-page, the amount of the reward offered by the notice on the sign-post being printed as 100£. This was altered in the other plates to £100. The parts with the 100£ are always considered the first issue. The book was dedicated to the Baroness Burdett- Coutts, then Miss Burdett-Coutts, in the following terms : — INTRODUCTION. xxiu TO MISS BURDETT COUTTS, THIS TALK IS DEDICATED, WITH THE TRUE AND EARNEST REGARD OF THE AUTHOR. The original preface ran as follows : — I attach a few preliminary words to the Life and Adventures OF Martin Chuzzlewit : more because I am unwilling to depart from any custom wliich 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 in 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 exaggeration ; for, as no m.in ever yet recognised an imitation of himself, no man will admit the correctness of a sketch in wliich his own character is delineated, however faitlifully. 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 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 jjut a strong constraint upon mysrlf from time to xxiv INTRODUCTION. time, in many places ; and 1 hope tlie story is the better for it, now. At any rate, if my readers have derived but half the pleasure and interest from its j^erusal, 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 Avhich I feel in dismissing them ; my success has been . complete, indeed. London, Twenty -Jifth June, 1844. ; Unfortunately Martin Chuzzlewit, the success of which has since ranked but little below that of Pickivick and David Copperfield, was the cause of no little disappointment on its first publication. Its early sale Avas, indeed, very far below the calculations and expectations of author and publishers alike. Why this should have been is not at all clear. Several reasons have been assigned — such as the change to weekly issues in the form of publication of the Old Curiosity Shop and Barnahy Budge ; the " temporary withdrawal " to America ; or mere caprice on the part of the reading public — which may or may not have been the real causes, but the fact remains that the great sales of its predecessors fell away to a very remarkable and serious extent. Indeed the circulation of the Chuzzleivit numbers never reached twenty-three thousand, as against the forty or fifty thousand of Pichvick and Nickleby, and the seventy thousand or so of the early numbers of Master Humphrey s Clock. As Charles Dickens himself said, arguing in favour of that sojourn abroad which was soon to follow, " You know, as well as I, that I think Ckuzzlewit in a hundred points immeasurably the best of my stories. That I feel my power now, more than I ever did. That I have greater confidence in myself than I ever had. That I know, if I have health, I could sustain my place in the minds of thinking men, though fifty writers started up to-morrow. But how many readers do not think ! How many take it upon trust from knaves and idiots, that one writes too fast, or runs a thing to death ! How coldly did this very book go oil for months, until it forced itself up in people's opinion, without forcing itself \\\) in sale ! " And this vexatious state of things w'as not only to be a INTRODUCTION. xxv source of severe disappointment to all concerned. It was, besides, to lead to a severance of tlie hitherto Aery friendly relations which had now existed for some years between author and publishers. "We have seen tiiat there was a clause in the Chuzzleicit agreement providing for the event of the profits of the book proving inadequate to provide for certain necessary repay- ments. Whether these repayments merely referred to the £150 a month for twelve months, on account of profits, which Charles Dickens Avas to draw before the publication of the book began, or Avhether some other business transactions are alluded to, is not clear. Mr. Forster says, " What he meant by the proposed repayment " — referring to a letter which I shall quote by and by — "will be understood by what formerly was said of his arrangements with those gentlemen on the repurchase of his early copyrights ;" but, unless this refers to the joint-purchase of the copyright of the Sketches by Boz from Macrone by Charles Dickens and Chapman and Hall, it throws little light on the matter. However that may be, this much is clear, that early in the career of Martin Chuzzlewit a certain sum of money was due from author to publishers. Under the provisions of the clause in the agreement which dealt with the possible insufliciency of profits — a point which was to be decided by the result of the first five numbers — the publishers were to have power to stop £50 a month out of the £200 payable for each number, and after the publication of the sixth number Mr. Hall dro^jped a hint that it might be necessary to enforce this right. It may be noted that Mr. Forster says that this clause had been introduced into the agreement with his knowledge, but that he "knew too much of the antecedent relations of the parties to regard it as other than a mere form to satisfy the attorneys in the case." If Mr. Forster's acquaintance Avith business had been a little more practical at that time he would have known that half the troubles and disputes in business life arise from just such "mere forms" as this, and that agreements should be drawn rather with a view to the possible subsequent, rather than to the actual antecedent, relations between the parties. Mr. Hall's hint had, notwithstanding the expressed regret XXVI INTRODUCTION. of Mr. Chapman, unexpectedly serious consequences. " I am so irritated," Charles Dickens wrote, "so rubbed in the tenderest part of my eyelids with bay-salt, by what I told you yesterday, that a Avrong kind of fire is burning in my head, and I don't think I can write. Nevertheless I am trying. ... I am bent on paying the money. And before going into the matter with anybody I should like you to propound from me the one preliminary question to Bradbury and Evans. It is more than a year and a half since Clowes wrote to urge me to give him a hearing, in case I should ever think of altering my plans. A printer is better than a book- seller, and it is quite as much the interest of one (if not more) to join me. But whoever it is, or Avhatever, I am bent upon paying Chapman and Hall doum. And when I have done that Mr. Hall shall have a piece of my mind." Messrs. Bradbury and Evans, who were at that time Charles Dickens's printers, not appearing at first inclined to accept unreservedly the proposals which were made to them, and the prospects of the Christmas Carol, which had been placed in Messrs. Chapman and Hall's hands for publication on commission, having to be considered, nothing was done at the moment. But the parting was inevitable. Besides the irritation produced by Mr. Hall's " inconsiderate hint," there arose dissatisfaction about the profits of the Carol, and notice having been given to Messrs. Chapman and Hall that Charles Dickens's publishing relations with them Avould close with the close of CJmzzIemt, fresh negotiations Avere opened Avith Messrs. Bradbury and Evans, Avhich resulted in an agreement under which, in consideration of an advance of £2800, Charles Dickens assigned to them a fourth share in Avhatever he might AA'rite during the ensuing eight years. It should be understood that the troubles which I have here briefly detailed Avere the only troubles Charles Dickens had had Avith Messrs. Chapman and Hall. How satisfactory his intercourse Avith them had been throughout he has him- self recorded in the folloAving Avords, Avhich formed part of a letter Avritten to them just before the A^sit to America in 1842:— Having disposed of the business part of this letter, I should not feel at ease un leaving England if I did not tell you once more INTRODUCTION. xxvii witlx my whole heart that your conduct to me on this and all other occasions has been honourable, manly, and generous, and that I have felt it a solemn duty, in the event of any accident happening to me while I am away, to place this testimony ujjon record. It forms part of a will I have made for the security of my children ; for I wish them to know it when they are capable of understanding your worth and my appreciation of it. The tirst cheap edition of Martin Chuzzlewit — which was the fifth of the series — was published by Messrs. Chapman and Hall iu 1850, in parts, and in a volume of four hundred and ninety-six pages at five shillings. It had a frontispiece from a drawing by Frank Stone, A.K.A., and a new preface, dated London, November, 1849, which ran as follows : — My main object in this story was, to exhibit in a variety of as2:)ects the commonest of all the vices ; to show how Selfishness proi^agates itself ; and to what a grim giant it may grow, from small beginnings. All the Pecksniff family upon earth are quite agreed, I believe, that no such character as Mr. Pecksniff ever existed. I will not offer any plea on his behalf to so powerful and genteel a body, but I wish to make a remark here on the character of Jonas Chuzzlewit. I conceive that the sordid coarseness and brutality of Jonas would be unnatural, if there had been nothing in his early educa- tion, and in the precept and example always before him, to engendei' and develop the vices that make him odious. But, so born and so bred ; admired for that which made him hateful, and justified from his cradle in cunning, treachery, and avarice ; I claim him as the legitimate issue of the father upon whom those vices are seen to recoil. And I submit that their recoil upon that old man, in his unhonoured age, is not a mere piece of poetical justice, but is the extreme exposition of a jjlain truth. I make this comment on the character, and solicit the reader's attention to it in his or her consideration of this tale, because nothing is more common in real life than a want of profitable reflection on the causes of many vices and crimes that awaken the general horror. What is substantially true of families in this respect, is true of a whole commonwealth. As we sow, we reap. Let the reader go into the children's side of any prison in England, or, I grieve to add, of many workhouses, and judge whether those are monsters who disgrace our streets, people our hulks and peni- tentiaries, and overcrowd oiu- penal colonies, or are creatures xxviii INTRODUCTION. whom we have deliberately suffered to be bred for misery and ruin. The American portion of this book is in no other respect a caricature than as it is an exhibition, for the most part, of the ludicrous side of the American character — of that side which is, from its very nature, the most obtrusive, and the most likely to be seen by such travellers as Young Martin and Mark Tapley. As I have never, in writing fiction, had any disposition to soften what is ridiculous or wrong at home, I hope (and believe) that the good- humoured people of the United States are not generally disposed to quarrel with me for carrying the same usage abroad. But I have been given to understand, by some authorities, that there are American scenes in these pages which are violent exaggerations ; and that the Watertoast Association and eloquence, for example, are beyond all bounds of belief. Now, I wish to record the fact that all that portion of Martin Chuzzlewit's American experiences is a literal jjaraphrase of some reports of public proceedings in the United States (especially of the proceedings of a certain Brandywine Association), which were printed in the Times Newspaper in June and July 1843 — at about the time when I was engaged in writing those parts of the book. There were at that period, on the part of a frothy Young American party, demonstrations making of "sympathy'' towards Ireland and hostility towards England, in which such out- rageous absurdities ran rampant, that, having the occasion ready to my hand, I ridiculed them. And this I did, not in any animosity towards America, but just as I should have done the same thing, if the same opportunity had arisen, in reference to London, or Dublin, or Paris, or Devonshire. In all the tales comprised in this cheap series, and in all my writings, I hope I have taken every possible oi^portunity of showing the want of sanitaiy improvements in the neglected dwellings of the poor. Mrs. Sarah Gamp is a representation of the hired attendant on the poor in sickness. The Hospitals of London are, in many respects, noble Institutions ; in others, very defective. I think it not the least among the instances of their mismanagement, that Mrs. Betsy Prig is a fair specimen of a Hospital Nurse ; and that the Hospitals, with their means and funds, should have left it to private humanity and enterprise, in tlie year Eighteen Hundred and Forty-nine, to enter on an attempt to improve that class of persons. London, November, 1849. Many other editions have since been j)ublishe(l, Messrs. Chapman and Hall's "Household Edition" of 1871 — four INTRODUCTION. xxix hundred and twenty -three pages, in paper covers three shillings, and in cloth four shillings— containing twenty-nine illustrations bv F. Barnard. The original manuscript of Martin Chuzzlemt is at South Kensington. The piratical raids which were customary at that tnne were of course made upon Martin Chuzzlewit, but, owing to decisive action on the part of the author, and the very strong view taken of the case by Vice- Chancellor Knight Bruce, who gave judgment without even hearing Serjeant Talfourd for Charles Dickens, the catchpenny i)ublications were suppressed, and the fraudulent publishers "beaten Hat, bruised, bloody, battered, smashed, squelched, and utterly undone." But, as is usually the case, although the offenders were ordered to pay all costs, the injured plaintiff had eventually the pleasure of paying his own, with the result that on a subsequent occasion, when he was advised to take proceedings in a similar case, he declined, saying, as many people have had to say before and since, " It is better to suffer a great wrong than to have recovu-se to the still greater wrong of the law," — a senti- ment which was to find more ample expression by and by in the pages of Bleak House. Of the many dramatic versions of 3Iartin Chuzzlewit that which was put together by Mr. Edward Stirling, and produced by :Mr. and Mrs. Keeley at the Lyceum Theatre on the 8th of July, 1844, was perhaps the most noticeable if only for the strength of its cast, which comprised Emery as Jonas, Frank Matthews as Pecksniff, Alfred Wigan as Montague Tigg, Mrs. Keeley as Master Bailey, Miss Fortescue as Mary Gr'aham, Miss Woolgar and Mrs. Alfred Wigan as Mercy and Charity, and Keeley as Mrs. Gamp. One rehearsal at least of this piece was superintended by Charles Dickens, who thus wrote of it to Keeley on the 24th of June, 1844:— I cannot, consistently with the opinion I hold and have always held, in reference to the principle of adapting novels for the stage, give you a prologue to " Chuzzlewit." But believe nie to be quite sincere in saying that if I felt I could reasonably do such a thing for any one, I would do it for you. I start for Italy on Monday next, but if you have the piece on the stage, and rehearse on Friday, I will glas Pecksniff inquired through the key- hole in a shrill voice, which might have belonged to a whid in its teens, "Who's there?" did he make any reply: uor, when Miss Pecksniff opened the door again, and shading the candle witli 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 ]\Iiss 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 tlie 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 ]\Iiss Pecksniff bounced out of the parlour : and the two Miss Pecksniffs, with many incoherent expressions, dragged Mr. Pecksniff into an upright posture. " Pa ! " they cried in 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 ftillen 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'll do," said Mr. Pecksniff. "I'm better." "He's come to himself!" cried the youngest Miss Pecksniff. " He speaks again ! " exclaimed the eldest. With whicli joyfid words they kissed Mr. Pecksniff on either cheek ; and bore him into the house. Presently, the youngest MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 11 Miss Pecksiiift' niii out again to pick up his liat, liis brown-paper parcel, his umbrella, his gloves, and other .small articles : and that do]ie, and the door closed, both young ladies applied them- selves to tending Mr. Pecksnift''s wounds in tlie back parlour. They were not very serious in their nature : being limited to abrasions on what the eldest j\Iiss Pecksniff called " the knobby parts" of her parent's anatomy, such as his knees and elbows, and to the development of an entirely new organ, luiknown to phrenologists, on the back of his head. These injuries having been comforted externally, with 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 lier 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 Avere very great : very great. Miss Peck- sniff sat upon a stool, because she was all girlishness, and play- fulness, and wildness, and kittenish buoyancy. 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 Wiis ! Oh ! she Avas 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 sentiments, and speech : and he had had her christened IMercy. Mercy ! oh, what a charming name for such a pure-souled being as the youngest Miss Pecksniff! Her sister's name was Charity. There Avas a good thing ! Mercy and Charity ! And Charity, with her fine strong sense, and her mild, yet not reproachful gravity, Avas so well named, and did so Avell set off and illustrate her sister ! What a pleasant sight Avas that, the contrast they 12 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF ])resented : to see each loved and loving one sympathising with, and devoted to, and leaning on, and yet correcting and counter- checking, and, as it Avere, aiitidoting, tlie other ! To beiiold each damsel, in lier very admiration of her sister, setting up in business for herself on an entirely different principle, and announc- ing 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 : ihei/ 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 liad 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, tliey were the very brightest paste, and shone prodigiously. He was a most exemplary man : fuller of virtuous i^recept than a copy-book. Some peojDle likened him to a direction -post, which is always telling the w^ay to a place, and never goes there : but these were his enemies ; the shadows cast by his brightness ; that was all. His very throat Avas moral. You saw a good deal of it. You looked over a very low fence of Avhite cravat (whereof no man had ever beheld tlie 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 gentlemen, all is peace : a holy cahn pervades me." So did his hair, just grizzled with an iron-gray, which Avas all brushed off his forehead, and stood bolt upright, or slightly drooped in kindred action with his lieavy eyelids. So did his i)erson, Avhich Avas sleek though free from coi'pulency. So did his manner, which Avas soft and oily. In a Avord, even his ])lain black suit, and state of Avidower,- and dangling double (eyeglass, all tended to the same purjiose, and cried aloud, "Behold the moral Pecksniff!" The brazen jilate upon the door (which being Mr. Pecksniff's, could not lie) bore this inscription, "Pecksniff, Apx'hitect," to Avhich Mr. Pecksniff, on his cards of business, added, " and Land Surveyor." In one sense, and only one, he may be said to liave been a Land Surveyor on a pretty large scale, as an i MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 13 extensive prospect lay stretched out before tlic windows of his lionse. Of his architectural doings, nothing was clearly' known, except that he had never designed or built anything ; but 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 collec- tion of rents, with which pursuit he occasionally varied and relieved his graver toils, can hardly be said to be a strictly architectural employment. His genius lay in ensnaring parents and guardians, and pocketing prenuums. A young gentleman's premium being paid, and the young gentleman come to Mr. Pecksniff's house, Mr. Pecksniff borrowed his case of mathematical instruments (if silver-mounted or otherwise valuable) ; entreated him, from that moment, to consider himself one of the fiimily ; complimented 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; wdiere, in the company of certain drawing-boards, parallel rulers, very stiff-legged compasses, and two, or perhaps three, other yoimg 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 constructing 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. Pecksnift''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 Pecksniff's 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 w^orldly goods of which 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, ^^'e can't even eat, long. If we indulge in harmless fluids, we get the dropsy ; if in exciting liquids, we get drunk. AVhat a sooth- ing reflection is that ! " "Don't say ive get drunk. Pa," urged tlio eldest ]\Iiss 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 14 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF love. Even such a thing as this," said j\Ir. Pecksniff, haying the^ forefinger of his left hand upon the brown-paper patcli on the| top of his head, " slight casualty, baldness though it be, remindsj us that we are but" — he was going to say " woi'ms," but recollect-; ing that worms Avere not remarkable for heads of liair, he; substituted " tlesh and blood." , "Which," cried Mr. Pecksniff" after a pause, during which hel seemed to have been casting about for a new moral, and not quite successfully, "which is also very sootliing. Mercy, myi dear, stir the fire and throw up the cinders." i The young lady obeyed, and having done so, resumed heri stool, reposed one arm upon lier father's knee, and laid her bloom-! ing cheek upon it. Miss Cliarity drew her chair nearer the fire,' as one prepared for conversation, and looked towards her father. ; "Yes," said Mr. Pecksniff", after a short pause, during wliiclp he had been silently smiling, and shaking his head at the fire — ■ " I have again been fortunate in tlie 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 off'ers, 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 resijonsibilities." " Oh Pa ! " cried Mercy, holding up her finger arclily. " See advertisement ! " " Playful — playful warbler," said Mr. Pecksniff". It may be observed in connexion with his calling his daughter " a warbler," that she was not at all vocal, but that Mr. 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, tiiat he would sometimes stagger the wisest people witii his eloquence, and make them gasp again. His enemies asserted, by the way, that a strong trustfulness in sounds and forms, Avas the master-key to Mr. Pecksniff"'s character. "Is he handsome. Fill" inquired the younger daugliter. " Silly Merry ! " said the eldest : ]\Ierry being fond for Mercy. "What is tiie premium, Pa? tell us that." " Oil 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, though.tful, prudent thing 1 " MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 15 It was perfectly clianning, and wortliy of tlie Pastoral age, to see how the two J\Iiss Pecksniffs slajjped each other after this, and then subsided into an embrace expressive of their different dispositions. " He is well looking," saiil 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 concurred in opening their eyes uncommonly wide at this announcement, and in looking for the moment as blank as if their thoughts had actually had a direct bearing on the main-chance. "But what of that !" said Mr. Pecksniff, still smiling at the fire. " There is disinterestedness in the world, I hope ? We are not all arrayed iu two opposite ranks : the q/Tensive and the (defensive. Some few there are wlio walk between ; who help the needy as they go ; and take no part with either side : umph 'i " There was something iu these morsels of philanthropy which reassured the sisters. They exchanged glances, and brightened very much. " Oh ! let us not be for ever calculating, devising, and plotting for the future," said Mr. Pecksniff, smiling more and more, and looking at the fire as a man might, who was cracking a joke with it: "I am weary of such arts. If our inclinations are but good and open-hearted, let us gratify them boldly, though they bring upon us, Loss instead of Profit. Eh, Charity "? " Glancing towards his daughters for the first time since he had begun these reflections, and seeing that they both smiled, Mr. Pecksniff eyed them for an instant so jocosely (though still with a kind of saintly waggishness) that the younger one was moved to sit upon liis knee forthwith, put her fair arms round his neck, and kissed him twenty times. During the whole of this affec- tionate display she laughed to a most immoderate extent : in which hilarious indulgence even the prudent Cheri-y 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 ? John Westlock is gone, I hope 1 " " Indeed no," said Charity. "And why not?" returned her father. "His terra expired yesterday. And his box was packed, I know ; for I saw it, in the morning, standing in the hall." "He slept last night at the Dragon," returned the young lady, "and had Mr. Pinch to dine with him. They spent the evening together, and Mr. Piuch was not home till very late." 16 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. "And when I saw him on the stairs this morning, Pa," said Mercy with her usual sprightlincss, " he looked, oh goodness, such a monster ! with his face all manner of colDurs, 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, oli it's impossible to say how strong, of" — here the young lady shuddered — "of smoke and puncli." " Now I think," said Mr. Pecksniff with his accustomed gentleness, thougli still with the air of one who suffered under injury without complaint, " I think Mr. Pinch migiit have done better than choose for his companion one who, at tlie close of a long intercourse, had endeavoured, as he knew, to wound my feelings. I am not cjuite sure that this was delicate in ]\Ir. Pinch. I am not quite sure that tliis was kind in Mr. Pinch. I will go further and say, I am not c^uite sure that this was even ordinarily grateful in Mr. Pinch." " But what can anyone expect from I\Ir. 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, on tlie calf of that gentleman's leg. "Ay, ay," returned her fother, 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," continued Mr. Pecksniff. "No! Heaven fjrbid tliat I shovdd say, nothing can be expected from Mr. Pinch ; or tliat 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 liurt me : I think a little the worse of him on tliis account, but not of liuman nature. Oil no, no ! " " Hark ! " said Miss Charity, holding up licr finger, as a gentle rap was heard at the street-door. " There is the creature ! Now mark my words, he has come back with Jolni Westlock for his box, and is going to help him to take it to tlie mail. Only mark my words, if that isn't his intention ! " Even as she s])oke, 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 Mv. Pecksniff — not severely ; only virtuously. " Come in ! " MEEKNESS OF Mil. i'ECKSNlfi' AMD HI.-J CilAKMIXCi DAUGHTERS. 18 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 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 hesitating, with the door in his hand. He avus 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, Init 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 ujjon the lock of the door, he glanced from Mr. Pecksniff to Mercy, from Mercy to Charity, and from Charity to Mr. Pecksniff again, several times ; but the young ladies being as intent upon the fire as their father was, and neither of the three taking any notice of him, he was fain to say, at last, "Oh! I beg your i^ardon, Mr. Pecksniff: I beg your pardon for intruding ; but — " "No intrusion, Mr. Pinch," said that gentleman very sweetly, but wdthout looking round. " Pray be seated, Mr. Pinch. Have the goodness 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!" said Pecksniff, wheeling his chair about, and looking at him with an asjDect 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 yoii say, Mr. Pinch," interposed the other, " the better. I utter no complaint. Make no defence." " No, but do have the goodness, Sir," cried Pinch, with great earnestness, "if you please. Mr. Westlock, Sir, 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 ; you have had many little differences." " Little differences ! " cried Charity. " Little differences ! " echoed Mercy. MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 19 "My loves!" said Mr. Pecksniff, with the same serene upraisinf? of liis hand ; " JNIy dears ! " After a solemn pause lie meekly bowed to Mr. Pincli, as who should say, " Proceed ; " but Mr. Pinch was so very much at a loss how to resume, and looked so helplessly at the two Miss Pecksniffs, that tlie conversation would most probably have terminated tliere, 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 jDarting, 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 ; " I knew he didn't ! He always says he don't." " Then you will shake hands. Sir 1 " cried Westlock, advancing a step or two, and bespeaking I\lr. Pinch's close attention by a glance. "Umph !" 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 1 " Poor Pinch looked doAvn uneasily at I\Ir. Pecksnifl', whose eye •was fixed upon him as it liad been from the first : and looking up at the ceiling again, made no reply. "As to j'our forgiveness, Mr. Pecksniff," said the youth, " Fll not have it upon such terms. I won't be forgiven." "Won't you, Johni" retorted Mr. Pecksnift", with a smile. "You must. You can't help it. Forgiveness is a high quality ; an exalted virtue ; far above 7/onr control or influence, John. I toill 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 pomids 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 ! " 20 LIFE AND ADA^ENTURES OF V* "Money, Jolni," 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 emiihasis 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." The voice of Mr. Pecksniff trembled as he spoke, and sobs were heard from his daughters. Sounds floated on the air, moreover, as if two spirit voices had exclaimed : one, " Beast ! " the other, " Savage ! " " Forgiveness," said Mr. Pecksniff, " 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 sliort space of time, I shall liave sufficient fortitude, I trust, to converse with him as if these events had never happened. But not," said ]\Ir. Pecksnifi', 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 wortli thinking of. I was riglit 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. "Til tell you what, Pinch!" he said abruptly, after another MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 21 lengthened silence — " You haven't half enough of the devil in you. Half enougli ! You haven't an^'.' "Well!" said Pinch with a sigh, "I don't know, Tni sure. It's a compliment to say so. If I haven't, I suppose I'm all the better for it." '•AH the better!" repeated his companion tartly: "All the worse, you mean to say." " And yet," said Pinch, jnirsuing 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 Pecksnift" 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 % " " Do you imnt any blood shed for you \ " returned his friend, with considerable irritation. " Does he shed anything for you that you do want 1 Does he shed employment for you, instruction for you, pocket-money for you ? Does he shed even legs of mutton for you in any decent ijroportion to potatoes and garden stuff?" '•I am afraid," said Pinch, sighing again, "that I am a great eater : I can't disguise from myself that 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 1" There appeared to be forcible matter in this inquiry, for Mr. Pinch only repeated in an under-tone that he had a strong mis- giving 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 T' returned the other scornfully. " But come. Pinch, before I say anything more to you, just run over the. reasons you have for being grateful to him at all, will you ? change hands first, for the box is heavy. That'll do. Now, go on." "In the first place," said Pinch, "he took me as his pupil for much less than he asked." 22 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF "Well," rejoined his friend, i^erfectly unmoved by this instance of generosity. " What in the second place 1 " "What in the second jDlace ! " cried Pinch, in a sort of despera- tion, " why, everything in the second place. My poor old grand- mother died happy to tliink 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, wliich nobody knows better than I : that I was born for much plainer and poorer things, that I am not a good hand at liis 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 down on tlie bo.x (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 Pecksnitf as well as I do, you might say it of him, indeed, and say it truly." "I'll 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 liis head gravely. " For whose you please, Tom, so that it does please you. Oh ! He's a famous fellow ! He never scraped and clawed into his pouch all your poor grandmother's hard savings — she was a house- keeper, wasn't she, Tom 1 " "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 Avith prospects of your happiness and advancement, which he knew (and no man better) never would be realized ! Jle 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 lie, Tom ! " "No," said Tom, looking into his friend's face, as if he were a little doubtful of liis 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 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 23 liad, 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 preteusions 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 Salisbur)', making of him, Pecksnift" 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. " Pecksnilf get credit from me I Well ! " "Don't I say that it's ridiculous," rejoined the other, "even to think of such a thing 1 '' " 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 tlie organ in the church, and practises on summer evenings in the dark, is Mr. Pecksnift"s young man, eh, Tom 1 AVho 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 tauglit you), eh, Tom 1 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 Pecksnitt" traded in your nature, and that your nature was, to be timid and distrustful of yourself, and trustful of all other men, but most of all, of him who least deserves it. There would be madness, Tom ! " Mr. Pinch had listened to all this with looks of 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 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 were desirous to draw from it as good a clue to his real meaning as it was possible to obtain in the dark, was about to answer, when tlie 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 satisfaction of 24 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF the younger man, who jumped \\\) 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. Goodbye. Good bye. I can hardly believe you're going. It seems now but yesterday that you came. Good bye ! my dear old fellow ! " John AVestlock returned his parting words with no less hearti- ness of manner, and sprang up to his seat upon the roof. Off went the mail at a canter down the dark road : the lamps gleaming brightly, and the horn awakening all the echoes, far and wide. " Go your ways," said Pinch, apostrophising the coach : " 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 w^orld. You're more exulting and rampant than usual to-night, I think : and you may well crow over your prize ; for he is a fine lad, an ingenuous lad, and has but one fault that I know of: he don't mean it, but he is most cruelly mijust to Pecksniff ! " CHAPTER III. IN WHICH CERTAIN OTHER PERSONS ARE INTRODUCED; ON THE SAME TERMS AS IN THE LAST CHAPTER. Mention has been already made more than once, of a certain Dragon wdio swung and creaked comijlainingly 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 i^assed, 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, iu polite and hos])itable 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. Tliey no longer demand a beautiful vii'giu for breakfast every morning, with as much regularity as any tame single gentleman expects his MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 25 hot loU, but rest coiiteut with the society of idle bachelors and roving married men : and they are now remarkable rather for lidding aloof from the softer sex and discouraging their visits (especially on Saturday nights), than for rudely insisting on their comi)any 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 Avith 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 precincts, as on the evening next after that upon which the incidents, detailed in the last chapter, occurred ; when there was such a hurrying up and down stairs of feet, such a glancing of lights, such a Avhispering 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, griflin, unicorn, or other animal of that species presided over, since they first began to interest themselves in household aff"airs. An old gentleman and a young lady, travelling, unattended, in a rusty old chariot with ]jost-horses ; coming nobody knew whence, and going nobody knew wiiitlier ; had turned out of the high road, and driven unexpectedly to the Blue Dragon : and here was the old gentleman, who had taken this step by reason of his sudden illness in the carriage, suff"ering 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 Avould 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 Avas 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 26 LIFE AND ADVEXTURES OF 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 underwent, influenced his resolution in the least degree. He would have no person sent for. The worse he grew, the more rigid and inflexible he became in this deter- mination. 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 village, but a poor apothecary who was also a grocer and general dealer, the 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 Avas not at home. He had gone some miles away, and was not expected home until late at night; so the landlady, being by this time pretty well beside 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 restless expressions, importing, however, rather a worldly than a spiritual anxiety, to which he gave frequent utterance. From this last-mentioned secret errand, the messenger returned with no better news than from the first ; Mr. Pecksniti" was not at home. However, they got the jxitient 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 degrees, he ceased to suffer at all : though his exhaustion was occasionally so great, that it suggested hardly less alarm than his actual endurance had done. It was in one of his intervals of repose, when, looking round with great caution, and reaching uneasily out of his nest of pillows, he endeavoured, with a strange air of secrecy and distrust, to make use of the writing-materials which he had ordered to be placed on a table beside him, that the young lady and the mistress of the Blue Dragon, found themselves sitting side by side before the fire in the sick chamber. The mistress of the Blue Dragon was in outward 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 infiuences. She was a widow, but years ago had passed through her state of weeds, and burst into flower again ; MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 27 and iu 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. Slie 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 tlie world (blessings on them, one and all ! ) whom you Avouldn'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 ; wdiich Avas a lai-ge apartment, such as one may see in country jilaces, with a low- roof and a sunken flooring, all down-hill from the door, and a descent of two steps on the inside so exquisitely unexpected, that strangers, despite the most elaborate cautioning, usually dived in head-first, as into a iduuging-bath. It was none of your frivolous and preposterously bright bedrooms, where nobody can close an eye with any kind of propriety or decent regard to the association of ideas ; but it Avas 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 sha])e, and hopeless inimoveability, of the bedstead, and ward- robe, and iu 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 ; no round-eyed liirds upon the curtains, disgustingly wide awake, and insufferably prying. The thick neutral hangings, and the dark blinds, and the heavy heap of bed-clothes, were all designed to hold in sleep, and act as non-conductors to the day and getting up. Even the old stufted fox upon tlie top of tlie 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 tluni, 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. 28 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF She was very young ; api^areiitly not more tb.an seventeen ; timid and shrinking in her manner, and yet witli a greater sliare 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 ofi", and clustered on her gentle brow. Her face was very jJale, 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 wayward- ness, no male observer would have had the heart to blame it. Her attire was that of a lady, but extremely plain ; and in her manner, even when she sat as still as she did then, there was an indefinable something which appeared to be in kindred with her scrupulously unpretending dress. She had sat, at first looking anxiously towards the bed ; but seeing that the patient remained quiet, and was busy with his writing, she had softly moved her chair into its present place : partly, as it seemed, from an instinctive consciousness that he desired to avoid observation ; and partly that she might, unseen by him, give some vent to the natural feelings she had hitherto suppressed. Of all this, and much more, the rosy landlady of the Blue Dragon took as accurate note and observation as only woman can take of woman. And at length she said, in a voice too low, she knew, to reach the bed : "You have seen the gentleman in this way before. Miss? Is he used to these attacks ? " " I have seen him very ill before, but not so ill as he has been to-night." "What a Providence ! " said the landlady of the Dragon, "that you had the jn-escriptions and the medicines with you. Miss ! " " They are intended for such an emergency. We never travel without them." "Oh!" thought the hostess, "then we are in the habit of travelling, and of travelling together." She was so conscious of expressing this in her face, that meeting the young lady's eyes immediately afterwards, and being a very honest hostess, she was rather confused. " The gentleman — your grandpapa " — she resumed, after a short pause, "being so bent on having no assistance, must terrify you very much. Miss?" " I have been very much alarmed to-night. He — he is not my grandfather." JIARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 29 "Father, I should liave .said,' returned the liostess, 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 ! " retiu-ned the landlady, still more embarrassed tlian 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 involuntarily at the third finger of the young lady's left hand, and faltered again : for there was no ring upon it. "When I told you we were not related," said the other mildly, but not without confusion on her owni part, " I meant not in any way. Not even by marriage. Did you call me, Martin 1 " "Call you?" cried the old man, looking quickly up, and hurriedly drawing Ijeneath the coverlet, the paper on which he had been writing. " No." She had moved a pace or two towards the bed, but stopped immediately, and went no farther. " No," he repeated, with a petulant emphasis. " Why do you ask me 1 If I had called you, what need for such a question 1 " "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, jMary, 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 ! " "Oh dear, no. Oh no, I'm sure," said the good-tempered land- lady, 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 t/ou about fancies? The old story ! Fancies ! " " Only see again there, how you take one up ! " said tiie mistress of the Blue Dragon, with unimpaired good humour. " Dear heart alive, there is no harm in the word. Sir, if it is an old one. Folks in good health have their fancies too, and strange ones, every day." Harmless as this speech appeared to be, it acted on the MARTIN CHfZZLEWIT SVSPLLTs 1 11 1; L.\..NDL.VD\ M 111101,1 \\Y REASOX. LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 31 traveller's distrust, like oil on fire. He raised his head »ip in tlie bed, and, fixing on her two dark eyes wliose brightness was exaggerated by the paleness of his hollow cheeks, as they in turn, togetlier with liis straggling locks of long gray liair, were rendered whiter by tlie tiglit black velvet skull-cap whicli lie wore, he searclied her fiice 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 tlie drooping face, looked back again at him. At first she had recoiled involuntarily, supposing him disordered iu 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 1 Being here, it is not very hard for me to guess, you may suppose." "Martin," interposed the young lady, 1-aying 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 j\Irs. Lupin : for in tliat 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 1 " "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 Avhere it is." As they retired from the bed, he drew forth the writing which had occupied him so long, and holding it in tlie flame of the taper burnt it to ashes. That done, he extinguished the light, and 32 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF turning his face away witli a heavy sigh, drew the coverlet about his liead, and lay quite still. This destruction of tlie paper, both as being strangely incon- sistent with the lal)our ho had devoted to it and as involving considerable danger of fire to the Dragon, occasioned Mrs. Lupin not a little consternation. But the young lady evincing no surprise, curiosity, or alarm, whispered her, with many thanks for her solicitude and company, that slie would remain tliere some time longer ; and that she begged her not to share her watch, as she was well used to being alone, and would pass the time in reading. IVIrs. Lupin had her full share and dividend of that large capital of curiosity which is inherited by her sex, and at another time it niiglit 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 withdrew at once, and repairing straight- way to her own little parlour below-stairs, sat down in her easy- chair with unnatm-al composure. At this very crisis, a step was heard in the entry, and Mr. Pecksniff, looking sweetly over tlie half-door of the bar, and into the vista of snug privacy beyond, murnuu'ed : "Good evening, Mrs. Lupin!" " Oh dear me, Sir ! " she cried, advancing to receive him, " I aip so very glad you have come." "And /am very glad I have come," said Mr. Pecksniff, "if I can be of service. I am very glad I have come. What is the matter, Mrs. Lupin 1 " " A gentleman taken ill upon the road, has been so very bad np-stairs. Sir," said the tearful hostess. "A gentleman taken ill upon the road, has been so very bad up-stairs, has he?" repeated Mr. Pecksniff. "Well, well ! " Now there was nothing that one may call decidedly original in this remark, nor can it be exactly said to have contained any wise precept theretofore unknown to mankind, or to have opened any hidden source of consolation : but Mr. Pecksniff's manner was so bland, and he nodded his head so soothingly, and sliowed in every- thing 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 1 " MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 3n "He is better, ami (juite tran(|nil,"' answered I\[rs. Lupin. " He is better, and (luite tranciuil," .said I\Ir. rec-ksniti; " Very well ! ve -ry well ! " Here again, though the statement was Mrs. Lupin's and not Mr. Pecksnitl"s, Mr. Pecksniff made it his own and consoled her with it. It was not mucii when Mis. Lupin said it, but it was a whole book when Mr. Pccksnitfsaid 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 thougli," 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 him- self too. "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 veiy 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 something in his manner as nearly ajjproaching 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 blush- ing : " 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 wnich remark, let it he written down to their confusion, that tlie enemies of this worthy man unblu.■ miles away. Mr. Pinch was jogging along, full of pleasant thoughts and cheerfid influences, when he saw, upon the path before him, going iu 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 buttonhole of his velveteen coat, was as visible to j\Ii-. Pinch's rearward observation, a.s 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. " ^^'ho'd have thought of seeing you here 1 Well ! this is surprising ! " ]\Iark 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, IMark ! " " 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 " J\lr. 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 nuich credit in that. If I was very ragged and very jolly, thou I should begin to feel I had gained a point, ]\Ir. Pinch." " So you were singing just now, to bear up, as it were, against being well dres.sed, eh, Markl" said Pinch. , MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 65 "Your conversation's always equal to j^rint, Sir," rejoined Mark, with a broad grin. "That was it." "Well!" cried Pinch, "you are the strangest j'oung man, Mark, 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 nuist be going to be married, Mark." "Well, Sir, Pve 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 was very fractious indeed. But Pm a'most afraid to try it. I don't see my way clear." " You're not very fond of anybody, perhaps 1 " said Pinch. "Xot 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 1 " " 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 miser- able, 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. Pm 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 breatii away ! " "Yes, Sir," he rejoined, looking straight before him and a long way off, as men do sometimes when they cogitate profnuidiy. "What's the use of my stopping at the Dragon? It an't at all the sort of place for vie. Wlien 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 F G6 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF corner in England, and tliat there would be some credit in being jolly under such circujnstances. 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." " 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 oft' 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," ]\Lark 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. AVell, Sir, that wouldn'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 1 " 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. "Wlrat kind of thing now?" Mr. Pinch demanded. "I was thinking," ]\Iark replied, "of something in the grave- digging way." " Good Gracious, Mark ! " cried ]\Ir. Pinch. "It's a good (lamp, wormy sort of business, Sir," said Mark, iMARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 67 ohaking liis head, arguinontativcly, "and there might be some credit in being jolly, Avith one's mind in that pursuit, unless grave-diggers is usually given that way; whicli 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 jailor sees a deal of misery. A doctor's man is in the very midst of murder. A bailiff's an't a lively office 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 j-ierfectly overwlielmed 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 odd friend (who seemed quite unconscious of his ob- servation), 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 pro- gress of his observation just then 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 1 " " What's the good of one. Sir 1 " 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. J/y chest don't want no warming. Even if it did, what would no waist coat bring it to 1 Inflammation of the lungs, peihaps 1 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 con- veyed in his drawing his breath very hard, and opening his eyes very wide, and nodding his head very much, ]\Iark thanked him for his ride, and without troubling him to stop, jumped lightly down. And away he fluttered, with his red neckerchief, 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. 68 LIFE AXD ADVENTURES OF ]Mr. Pincli had a shrewd notion that Salisbury was a very desperate sort of pUice ; an exceeding wild and dissipated city; and when he had put up the horse, and given the hostler to understand tliat he would look in again in the course of ati hour or two to see him take his corn, he set forth on a stroll about the streets with a vague and not unpleasant idea that they teemed with 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, waggons, 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, with 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 when 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 eartlily passions, who 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 interested 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 pocket knife with seven blades in it, and not a cut (as he afterwards found out) among them. "When he had ex- hausted 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 underground, 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. MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 69 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 complain 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 perforiuers ; in I\Ir. 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 jwcket 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 clock- work, to the bookshops, whence a pleasant smell of paper freshly pressed came issuing forth, awakening instant recollections of some new grammer had at school, long time ago, with "Master Pinch, Grove House Academy," inscribed in faultless writing on the fiy-leaf ! That whift' of Russia leather, too, and all those rows on rows of volumes, neatly ranged within— what happiness did they suggest ! And in the window were the spick-and-si)an 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 M'ere 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 bod 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-ykin 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 cro\yd, 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 two 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 terrilile little old woman hobbling out 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 70 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF chafe that wonderful lamp within him, that when he turned liis face towards the busy street, a crowd of phantoms waited on his pleasure, and he lived again, with new delight, tlie happy days before the Pecksnift" era. He had less interest now in the chemists' sho^DS, with their great glowing bottles (with smaller repositories of briglitness in their very stoppers) ; and in their agreeable compromises between medicine and perfumery, in the shape of tootlisome lozenges and virgin honey. Neither had he the least regard (but he never had much) for the tailors', where tlie newest metropolitan waistcoat patterns were hanging up, which by some strange transformation always looked amazing there, and never appeared at all like the same thing anywhere else. But he stopped to read the playljill 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 broadsword. Mr. Pinch stood rooted to the spot on hearing tliis, 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 Avhile 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 liis 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 recollection of childhood. The feeling that the sounds awakened, in tlie moment of their existence, seemed to include his whole life and being ; and as the surrounding realities of stone and Avood and glass grew dimmer in the darkness, these visions grew so nuich 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 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 7l locking up the cathedral foitliwith. So lie tuok leave of his friend, with many thanks, groped his way out, as well as he coidd, into the now lanipdighted streets, and hurried otl' to get his dinner. All the farmers being by this time jogging homewards, there was nobody in the sanded parlour of the tavern where lie 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 efl'ect 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 witii 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, notwitlistauding ; and sat down in front of the fire, with a foot on each hob. " ]\ry 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 ditterent from Mr. Pinch's) was a very warm and thick one ; but he was uot 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 wms young — one- and-twenty, perhaps — and handsome ; with a keen dark eye, and a quickne.ss of look and manner wliicli made Tom sensible of a great contrast in his own bearing, and caused him to feel even more shy than usual. 72 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF There was a clock in tlie room, which tlie strauger often turiRM] to look at. Tom made frequent reference to it also : partly frum a nervous sympathy with its taciturn companion ; and partly because the new pupil was to inquire for him at half after six, ami tlie hands were getting on towards that hour. "Whenever the stranger caught him looking at this clock, a kind of confusinn 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, with a smile : " We both appear to be rather i)articular about the time. Tlie fact is, I have an engagement to meet a gentleman here." "So have I," said Mr. Pinch. "At half-past six," said the stranger. "At half-past six," said Tom in the very same breath ; where- upon the other looked at him with some surjjrise. " The young gentleman, I expect," remarked Tom, timidly, "Avas 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'? 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 jjlainly 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 IMartin, 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 ycni." "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 which I had the greatest doubts. But they're quite relieved now. — Do me the favour to ring the bell, will you?" IVIr. 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 Avas ; MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 73 " If you like punch, you'll allow nio to order a glass a-piecc, as hot as it cau be made, that we may usher in our iVieiulsliip in a becoming manner. To let you into a secret, IMr. Pinch, I never was so nuicli in want of something warm and cheering in my liie ; but I didn't like to run the chance of being found drinking it, without knowing what kind of person you Avere ; for first impres- sions, 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 tlie steaming mixture, they became quite confidential. "I'm a sort of relation of Pecksuifi''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 JMartin is your Christian name 1 " said IMr. Pinch, thoughtfully. " 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." " Dear me ! " cried Mr. Pinch, with an involuntary start. "You're not surprised at my having two names, I suppose?" 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 tlie stable to be ready for us ten minutes ago," said Mr. Pinch, glancing at the clock again. "Shall we go'?" " If you ijlease," returned the other. " Would you like to drive 1 " said Mr. Pinch ; his whole face beaming with a consciousness of the splendour of his ofier. " You shall, if you wish." "Why, that depends, Mr. Pincli," said Martin, laugliing, " 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 74 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. he settled his bill, and Mr. Chuzzlewit paid for the punch ; and having Avrapped themselves up, to the extent of their respective means, they went out togetlier to the front door, where Mr. Pecksnifl"'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 Ave manage to take it 1 " " 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 somehow, and Mr. Chuzzlewit helped him. It was all on Mr. Pinch's side, and Mr. Chuzzlewit said he was very niu( li 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 Avas verified in this instance; for the cold air came from lAlr. Pinch's side of the caniage, and by interposing a perfect wall uf box and man between it and the new pupil, he shielded that young gentleman effectually : Avhicli was a great comfort. It was a clear evening, with a bright moon. The whole laud- scape was silvered by its light and by the hoar-frost ; and every- thing looked exquisitely beautiful. At fiist, 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 drank between them, and which had not the eflect of making them less conversa- tional 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 standing in his eyes, drew such a picture, as would have inclined any one of common feeling almost to revere them : and of which Llr. Pecksniff had not the slightest foresight or preconceived idea, or he certainly (being very humble) Avould not have sent Tom Pinch to bring the l)upil 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 liglit shone out of Heaven, the flight of days and weeks and years, by some new shadow on that solemn ground. I'INCH .STAiaS UUMKWAlllJ WITH THE NKW VVVIL. 76 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF " A pretty church ! " said Martin, observing that his comiDauion slackened the slack pace of the horse, as they approached. " Is it not 1 " cried Tom, with great pride. " There's the sweetest little organ there you ever heard. I play it for them." "Indeed?" said Martin. "It is hardly worth the trouble, I should think. What do you get for that, now 1 " " Nothing," answered Tom. "Well," returned his friend, "you are a very strange fellow !" 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 tlie other day — but you Avill 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 Avas hardly light ; and when I saw her, over my shoulder, standing just within the porch, I turned cpiite cold, almost believing her to be a spirit. A moment's reflection got tlie better of that of course, and fortu- nately it came to my relief so soon, that I didn't leave ott" playing." " Why fortunately 1 " "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 while she glided off", and I contiiuied 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?" "Certainly she did. Next morning, and next evening too: but always when there were no people about, and always alone. I rose earlier and sat there later, that when she came, she might find the church door open, and tlie 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 ? " MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT, 77 " No." "And you never followed her, when she went away?" " Why should I distress her by doing that 1 " said Tom Pimdi. " Is it likely that she wanted my company ? She came to hoar the organ, not to see me ; and would you have had me seare 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 ohl man : quite contented if she sometimes tliought 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 jMr. Pinch's weakness, and would probably have told him so, and gi\-en him some good advice, but for their opportune arrival at i\Ir. 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 I the horse who had been adjured by IVIr. Pinch in the morning not 1 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 I in the fulness of his heart, Tom led the pupil in, for instant j presentation. i Mr. Pecksniff hod clearly not expected them for hours to come : ; for he was surrounded by open books, and was glancing from volume to volume, with a black-lead pencil in his mouth, and a 1 pair of compasses in his hand, at a vast number of mathematical diagrams, of such extraordinary 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 impracticalde 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 u|), and gradually exchanging his abstracted face for one of j^yfid recognition. " Here already ! jNIartin, my dear buy, I am delighted to welcome you to my jwor house ! " With this kind greeting, ]\Ir. Pecksniff fairly took him to his 78 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF arms, and patted him several times upon the back with his right hand the while, as if to express tliat his feelings during the embrace were too much for iitterance. "But here," he said, recovering, "are my daughters, Martin: my two only children, whom (if you ever saw tlieni) you have not beheld — ah, these sad fomily divisions! — since you Avere infants together. Nay, my dears, why blush at being detected in your' everyday pursuits ? We had prepared to give you the reception of a visitor, Martin, in our little room of state," said Mr. Pecksniff, • smiling, "but I like tliis better — I like this better ! " Oh blessed star of Innocence, Avherever you may be, how did 1 you glitter in your home 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 symjiathy, 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 affectionate 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 Avalk 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 tlie streets of life, the other will convey him to the hospital in Hojie, and sit beside Ins bed in Bounty ! " " Well, well, well ! " he added in a happier tone, as lie shook Mr. Pinch's elbow, hard. " No more of this ! Martin, my dear friend, that you may be at home witliin these walls, let me sliow you how we live, and where. Come ! " With tliat he took up a lighted candle, and, attended by liis young relative, prepared to leave the room. At tlie door, he stopped. " You'll bear us company, Tom Pinch ? " MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 79 li I Ay, cheerfully, thouu'h it had been to death, M-ould 'J'oiii have l\ 1 followed him : ghul to lay down Iiis life for such a man ! I "This,"' said Mr. Pecksniff, opening the door of an opposite ;: ! parlour, " is the little room of state, I mentioned to you. My LTirls 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. Tlie latter is considered a good likeness. I seem to recognise something about the left-hand corner of tlie nose, myself" ]\Iartin thought it was very like, but scarcely intellectual enough. IMr. Pecksniff observed that the same fault had been if I found with it before. It was remarkable it should have struck i;l| his j'oung relation too. He was glad to see he had an eye for art. i|l "Various books you observe," said Mr. Pecksniff', waving his 'il\ hand towards the wall, "connected with our pursuit. I have \\\ scribbled myself, but have not yet published. Be careful how you (;i come up stairs. This," opening another door, "is my chamber. I i I read here when the family suppose I have retired to rest. Some- ifi times 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 i)iece of India rubber, and a case of instruments : all put ready, in case i an architectural idea should come into Mr. Pecksiiiff''s head in the night; in which event he would instantly leap out of bed, and fix it for ever. ]\Ir. Pecksniff opened another door on the same floor, and shut i 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 notT' 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 : " j\Iy 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 develoi^ed, I believe. This is a room in which an idea for a steeple 80 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF occurred to me, tliat I may one clay give to the world. We work here, my dear Slartin. Some arcliitects have been bred in this room : a few, I think, Mr. Pinch 1 " Tom fully assented ; and, what is more, fully believed it. " You see," said I\Ir. Pecksniff, passing the candle rapidly from roll to roll of paper, "some traces of our doings hei'e. 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 smiimer-house. An ice-liouse. 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 charming prospect ; Mr. Pinch's little library, you perceive ; everything agreeable 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 — tliere is no restriction on that point." It Avas undoubtedly true, and may be stated in corroboration of Mr. Pecksniff, that any pupil had tlie most liberal permission to mention anything 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. " Tlie domestic assistants," said Mr. Pecksniff, "sleep above; and that is all." After which, and listening complacently as he Avent, to tiie encomiums passed by his young friend on the arrangements generally, he led tlie 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 captain's 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 irew 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 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 81 foi merits, had tlic additional olioico quality that it was in strict keeping with tiie ni^ht, being both light and cool, ]\[r. Pocksnifi" 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 ! Mi: 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. No !" "With such stinudants to merriment did he beguile the time, and do the honours of the table ; while ]\Ir. 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 tiie slim sandwiches to a surprising extent. Nor was he stinted in his draughts of wine ; but on the contrary, remem- bering Mr. Pecksniff's speech, attacked the bottle with sucli vigour, that every time he filled his glass anew, Miss Charity, despite her amiable resolves, could not repress a fixed and stony glare, as if her eyes had rested on a ghost. Mr. Pecksniff also became thoughtfid 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 witiiin himself the best remedies for colic. Martin and the young ladies were excellent friends already, and compared recollections of their childisli days, to their mutual liveliness and entertainment. ]\Iiss ]\Iercy 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, 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 intoleralile to be serious aliout. 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 G 82 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF for generations verified by tlie enormous fortunes, constantly amassed by chimney-sweepers and other persons who get uj early and go to bed ])etimes. 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. Pincli with mucl condescension, retired to their bower. Mr. Pecksniff insisted oi accompanying his young friend up-stairs, for personal superintend ence of his comforts ; and taking him by the arm, conducted bin once more to his bedroom, followed by IMr. 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 snufters in thai candlestick. Will you oblige me by going down, and asking foi! a pair 1 " ' Mr. Pinch, only too happy to be useful, Avent off directly. ! "You will excuse Thomas Pinch's want of polisli, Martin,' | said Mr. Pecksniff, with a smile of patronage and pity, as soon m] he had left the room. " He means well." : " He is a very good fellow. Sir." "Oh, yes," said Mr. Pecksniff. "Yes. Thomas Pinch meanj' well. He is very grateful. I have never regretted having be' friended Thomas Pinch." "I should think you never Avould, 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, ]\Iartin, if you please. If Tiiomas' 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 snuffers. "And good night to i/oii, Mr. Pinch," said Pecksniff. "And sound sleep to you botli. 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 tlie 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 Pecksniffs. It was some time before Mr. Pecksniff dreamed at all, or even sought his pillow, as he sat for full two houi-s 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 mad- man's head. MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. CHAPTER VI. COMPRISES*, AMONG OTHER IMPORTANT MATTERS, PECKSNIFFI.VN AND ARCHITECTURAL, AN EXACT RELATION OF THE PROGRESS MADE BY MR. PINCH IN THE CONFIDENCE AND FRIENDSHIP OF THE NEW PUPIL. It was iiiorning ; ami the beautiful Aurora, of whom so much ifj hath been written, said, and sung, did, with her rosy fingers, nip I and tweak IMiss Pecksnifl:"s nose. It was the frolicsome custom ' of the Goddess, in her intercourse Avith the fair Cherry, so to do ; or in more prosaic phrase, the tip of that feature in the sweet girl's i countenance, was always very red at breakfast -time. For the I most part, indeed, it w^ore, at that season of the day, a scraped I and frosty look, as if it had been rasped ; while a similar [ phenomenon developed itself in her humour, which was then I observed to be of a sharp and acid quality, as though an extra ' lemon (figuratively speaking) had been squeezed into the nectar of her disposition, 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 un- commoidy short in respect of butter, or to 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 re- covered his liberty in his old age, 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 oft" in the article of sugar with a lump, and pay him those other little attentions to wdiich he was accustomed. There was something almost awful, too, about the self-possession of the new pupil ; who " troubled " ^Ir. 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 tliink that he was doing quite a regular thing, and to expect that Mr. Pinch would follow his example, since he took occasion to observe of that young man " that he didn't get on : " a speech of so tremendous a char- acter, that Ton) cast down his eyes involuntarily, and felt as if he himself had committed some horrible deed and heinous breach of 84 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF Mr. Pecksniff's confidence. Indeed, tlie agony of having such an indiscreet remark adchessed to him before the assembled fiimily, 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 tliese 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 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 with an impregnal)le castle on his back. I have not found the fact to be so ; far from it ; and yet those visions have com- forted 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, tliey have soothed me." At this dread alhisinn 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 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 85 away in our absence. We leave you in cliart,^c 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, ]\Ir. Pinch ? " "A one-eyed caleiuler, I think, Sir," faltered Tom. " They are pretty nearly the same thing, I believe," said ]\lr. Pecksniff, smiling compassionately ; " or they used to be in my time. Unlike that young man, my dear Martin, you are forbidden 'j to enter no corner of this house; but are requested to make your- I self perfectly at home in every part of it. You will be jovial, my dear ]\Iartin, 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. Peck- sniff's estate, this i-equest must be considered rather as a polite compliment than a substantial hospitality. It Avas 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-i)air front. " Let me see," he said, searching among the papers, " how you can best employ yourself, Martin, while I am absent. Suppose you "were to give me your idea of a monument to a Lord JMayor of London; or a tomb for a sheriff; or your notion of a cow-house to be erected in a noblcnuiu's park. Do you know, now," said Mr. Pecksnifi' folding his hands, and luoking 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 ]\Iartin by no means appeared to relish this suggestion. "A pump," said Mr. Pecksnifi", "is very chaste practice. I have found that a lamp-post is calculated to refine the mind and give it a classical tendency. An ornamental turnpike has a remarkable efi'ect upon the imagination. What do you say to beginning with an ornamental turnpike ? " " AVhatever i\Ir. Pecksnifi' pleased," said Martin, doubtfully. "Stay," said that gentleman, "Come! 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 ]\Ir. Pecksnifi", 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 86 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 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 Mv. Pecksniff forthwith proceeded 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 ; Avhich, 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. Peck- snift''s 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 Avill instruct you in the art of sm-veying 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 cartload 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 pro- fessional relations and advert to private matters, I shall be glad to talk with you in my own room, while I pack up my portmanteau." Martin attended him ; and they remained in seciet conference together for an hour or more ; leaving Tom Pinch alone. When the young man returned, he was very taciturn and dull, in Avhich state he remained all day ; so that Tom, after trying him once or twice with indifterent conversation, felt a delicacy in obtruding liimself 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. Pecksniff" 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 all the luggage ; and then he voluntered to carry it all down stairs ; and after that to see it safely carried on a couple of barrows to the old 1 MARTIN CIIUZZLEWIT. 87 finger-post at the end of tlie lane ; and then to miiul it till the coach came up. lu short, his clay's work would have been a pretty heavy one for a porter, but his thorough good -will made nothing of it ; and as lie 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 bene- factor. "I was almost afraid," saitl 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 Imve had time to write it, and that Mould have been a thousand pities : postage from such a distance being a serious consideration, wdien 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 i)uisued his rununations thus : " I'm a nice man, I don't think, as John used to say (John was a kind, merry -hearted fellow : I wish he had liked Pecksniff better), to be feeling low, on account of the distance between us, when I ought to be thinking, instead, of my extraordinary good- luck in having ever got here. I 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, generous, free fellow, as he is, I never saw. Why, we 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 dow-n the lane as if the lane belonged to hhn." In truth, tlie new pupil, not at all disconcerted by the honour of having Miss Mercy Pecksniff on his arm, or by the affectionate adieu.x of that young lady, approached as Mr. Pinch spoke, followed by Miss Charity and Mr. Pecksniff. As the coach appeared at the same moment, Tom lost no time in entreating the gentleman last mentioned, to undertake the delivery of his letter. " Oh ! " said j\Ir. Pecksniff, glancing at the superscription. " For your sister, Thomas. Yes, oh yes, it shall be delivered, ]\Ir. 88 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF Pinch. ]\Iake your niiud easy upon that score. She shall certainly have it, Mr. Pinch." He made the promise Avith so much condescension and patronage, that Tom felt he had asked a great deal (this had not occurred to his mind before), and thanked him earnestly. The Miss Pecksniffs, according to a custom they had, were amused beyond desci-iption, at the mention of ]\Ir. Pinch's sister. Oh the fright ! The bare idea of a IMiss Pinch ! Good heavens ! Tom was greatly pleased to see tliem 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 foir 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 ; " ^hat is the matter 1 " " Nothing worth speaking of,'' said Martin. " Very little more than was the matter yesterday, and much more, I hope, tlian will be the matter to-morrow. Fm 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 A^rite to me, was it not .' " "AVhy, yes,"' said I\Iartin carelessly: '"I should have thought he would have had enough to do to enjoy himself, without tliiuking of you. Pinch." "Just what I felt to be so very likely," Tom rejoined : "but no, he keeps liis Avord, and says, * ]\Iy dear Pinch, I often think of you,' and all sorts of kind and considerate things of that description." "He must he a devilish good-natured fellow," said i\Iartin, somewhat peevishly : " because he can't mean that, you know." " I don't suppose he can, eh ■? " said Tom, looking wistfully in his companion's face. "He says so to {jlease me, you think 1" "Why, is it likely," rejoined Martin, with greater earnestness, "that a young man newly escaped from this kennel of a place, MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 89 aud fresh to all the delights uf being his own master in London, can have much leisure or iiu-linatiou to think favourably of anything or anybody he has left behind him here ? I put it to you, Pineh, is it natural V After a short retlection, Mr. Pinch replied, in a more subdued tone, that to be sure it Avas unreasonable to exj^ect any such thing, and that he had no doubt Martin knew best. "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. Xow, INIiss Charity Pecksnit!", in consideration of the inconveni- ence of carrying tliem 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 wdiich 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-pajjer ; 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 comfortable chair he could find. That he nu'ght 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 lie 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 goodtemperedly. The perfect and entire satisfaction of Tom ; his surpassing appreciation of the husky sandwiches, which crumi)led in his mouth like sawdust ; the un-speakable relish with which he swallowed the thin wine by drops, and smacked his lips, as though it were so rich and geneious that to lose an atom of its fruity flavour were a sin : the look with which he paused sometimes, with his glass in his MK. riMLH AM) lilh M.\V i'Ll'lL, UN A SOCIAL UCCASIOX. LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF .AIARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 91 hand, proposing silent toasts to himself ; and the anxious shade that came upon his contented face wlien 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 grittin, could have withstood these things in Tiiomas 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 shai-pest 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 laughedl with, and others would have laughed at him; of which last class] was ]\Iartin 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 j said, as soon as he had breath and gravity enough : " I never saw such a fellow as you are. Pinch." "Didn't you though T' 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 1 " "Pretty Avell for my time of life," rejoined Martin, drawing his chair still nearer to the fire, and spreading his feet out on the fender. " Deuce take it, I nmst talk openly to somebody. I'll talk openly to you, Pinch." " Do ! " said Tom. " I shall take it as being very friendly of you." " Pm not in your way, am 1 1 " inquired JMartin, glancing down at Mr. Pinch, who was by this time looking at the fii"e 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 with great expectations, 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?" incpiired Mr. Pinch, with ojjen eyes. " By my grandfather. I have had no parents these many years. Scarcely within my remembrance." "Xeither have I," said Tom, touching the young man's hand with his own and timidly withdrawing it again. " Dear me ! " 92 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF "Why as to that you know, Pinch," pursued the other, stirring tlie fire again, and speaking in his rapid, oft-hand way : "it's all very right and proper to be fond of parents when we have them, and to bear tlieni in remembrance after they're dead, if you have ever known anything, of them. But as I never did know anytliing about mine personally, you know, why I can't be expected to be very sentimental about 'em. And I am not : that's the trutli." Mr. Pinch was just then looking thoughtfully at the bars. But on his companion i^ausing 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 ])oints ; there is no doubt about that ; I'll 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 these two respects," returned the other, "there never was such a man. I have often lieard from those who know, that they have been, time out of mind, the failings of our family ; and I be- lieve there's some truth in it. But I can't say of my own know- ledge. 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. " Yerj'- proper." " Well, Sir," resumed Martin, stirring the fire once more, and drawing 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 grand- father), and because I have been really attached to him ; but we have had a great many quarrels for all that, for I could not accommodate 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 any- body out of a ditticulty of this sort, said nothing. "Well! as you understand me," resumed Martin quickly, "I needn't hunt for the precise expression I want. Kow, I come to MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 93 the cream of my stoiy, ami the occasion of my lieiii.Ef here. I am in love, Pinch." Mr. Pinch looked np 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 i^leasure of my grandfather; and if he were to know that she favoured my passion, siie would lose her home and every thing she possesses in the world. There is nothing very selfish in that love, I think ? " " Selfish ! " cried Tom. " You have acted nobly. To love her as I am sure you do, and yet in consideration for lier state of dependence, not even to disclose " "AVhat are you talking about. Pinch 1" said IMartin i)ettishly : " don't make yourself ridiculous, my good fellow ! What do you mean by not disclosing "? " "I beg your pardon," answered Tom. "I tliought 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 loveT' said Martin: "uidess to keep myself in a per- petual state of worry and vexation 1 " " That's true," Tom answered. "Well! I can guess what s/^e 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 ; but in the main you are right. Her heart was mine, I found." "Just what I supposed," said Tom. "Quite 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 straigiitway 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 lie had trained and educated to be his only disinterested and faithful companion when he sliould have disposed of me in marriage to his heart's 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." ]\[r. Pinch opened his eyes wider and looked at the fire harder than he had done yet. 94 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF "You may be sure," said Martin, "that tliis nettled him, and that he began to be tlie 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 desperately 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 composition is a most determined — " " Obstinacy," suggested Tom in peifect good faith. But the suggestion was not so well received as he had expected ; for the young man immediately 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 1 I was going to say, if you had given me leave, that a chief ingredient iu 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 the thousandth part of an inch." " No, no," said Tom. " On the contrary ; the more he urged, the more I was deter- mined 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 impos- sible to guess. At length he said : " Pecksnift', of course, you had known before '? " " 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 Pecksnitt^'s adver- tisement, which I answered, having always had some natural taste, I believe, in the matters to which it referred, and thinking it might suit mc. As soon as I found it to be his, I was doubly bent on coming to him if possible, on account of his being — " MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 95 "Such an excellent man," intcriwsed Tom, rubhini;- his liands : "so he is. You were quite right." "Why not so mucli on that account, if tlie trutli must he spoken,'"' returned jMartin, "as because my grandfatlier has an in- veterate 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 en- gagement 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 marry- ing until I am well able to do so. It would never do, you know, foi" me to be plunging myself into jDoverty and shabbiness and love in one room up three pair of stairs, and all that sort of tiling." j "To say nothing of her," remarked Tom Pinch, in a low voicc.| " Exactly so," rejoined jMartin, 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. " Xow, 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 1 " "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 wliat you were going to say," cried Tom, looking fixedly at him, and speaking very softly. "You don't tell me so ? " "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 1 " Martin nodded assent : and adding, with a restless impatience, 96 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 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 con- struction. 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. "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 yet, can hardly be ex- pected 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." "AVhat is thatT' demanded Tom. " Read to me." " I shall be delighted," cried Tom, catching up the candle, with enthusiasm. "Excuse my leaving you in the dark a moment, and I'll fetch a book directlj-. What will you like? Shakspeare?" " Ay ! " replied his friend, yawning and stretching himself. MARTIN CllUZZLEWlT. 07 • He'll do. I am tiroil with the Inistle uf to-day, and tlio novelty nl every tlnng- about lue ; and in .sueh a ease, there's no greater liiKury in the world, I think, than being read to sleep. You won't miud my going to sleep, if I can 1 "' '' Not at all ! " cried Tom. ■• Then begin as soon as you like. You needn't leave off when V'lu see me getting drowsy (unless you feel tired), for it's pleasant to wake gradually to the sounds again. Did you ever try thatl" •• Xo, I never tried that," said Tom. '• Well ! You can, you know, one of these days wlien we're li.nh in the right humour. I)ou"t miud leaving me in the dark. Li.> )k sharp ! " 3Ir. Pinch lost no time in moving away ; and in a minute or two returned witli one of the precious volumes from tlie shelf beside his bed. Martin had in the meantime made himself as comfortable as circumstances would i)ermit, by constructing before tlie tire 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. ••Xo, no," said Tom. " You're sure you're not cold 1 " '■ Not at all ! " cried Tom. ••I am quite ready then." ]Mr. Pinch accordingly, after turning over the leaves of his took with as nuich care as if they were living and highly cherished creatures, jiiade his own selection, and began to read. Before he had completed fifty lines, his friend was snoring. " Poor fellow I " said Tom, softly, as he stretched out his head tu ]ieep 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 tliat was she, was iti" But suddenly remembering tlieir campact, he took up the poem at the place where he had left off, and Ment on reading ; always f^ructting to snuff the candle, until its wick looked like a iiii'ohroom. He gradually became so much interested, that he unite forgot to replenish the fire; and was only reminded of his iieu'lect by Martin Chuzzlewit starting up after tlie lapse of an hour or so, and crying with a shiver : " Why, it's nearly out, I declare ! Xo wonder I dreamed of liring frozen. Do call for some coals. What a fellow you are, I'iiicli ! " LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF CHAPTER VII. IN WHICH MR. CHEVY SLYME ASSERTS THE INDEPENDENCE OF HIS SPIRIT ; 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 tlie natural endowments of that young gentleman, and to acknowledge his infinite superiority to himself. The new pupil received Tom's compliments 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 particularly 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 aftbrded 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 patron- ising, 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. They were both 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. Pecksniff's commission from the same ; in which abstruse employment he was much distracted by a habit his new friend had of wliistling 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 otiiers. I wish I may turn gray and ugly, if it isn't, in my opinion, next to genius, one of the very charmingest qualities of the human mind. Upon MARTIN CflUZZLEWIT. 99 my soul, I am grateful to my friend Pecksnitf for iielping mo to the contemplation of such a clelicious picture as you present. You remind me of Whittington, afterwards thrice Lord i\Iayor of Lonilon. 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 ? " jMartiu looked to Mr. Pinch for an explanation ; aiul Tom, who had never in his life set eyes on Mv. Tigg before, looked to that gentleman himself. " Ciievy 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 ambassador 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?" "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 tliat I deeply appreciate his talent for the oigan, 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 wind 1" " Thank you," said Tom, " I am very well." "That is a comfort," IMr. Tigg rejoined. "Then," he added, shielding his lips with the palm of his hand, and applying tliem close to Mr. Pinch's ear, " I have come for the letter." " For the letter 1 " said Tom, aloud. " What letter 1 " " The letter," whispered Tigg, in the same cautious manner as before, " which my friend Pecksniff addressed to Chevy Slyme, Esquire, and left with you." "He didn't leave any letter with me," said Tom. " Hush ! " cried the other. " It's all the same thing, though not so delicately done by my friend Pecksniff as I could have Avished — 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 100 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF thougli he would ,say, tluit he saw they uiulerstood each other ; tliat it was unnecessary to meutiou tlie 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 lunnistakable manner, checked it oft*, 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 iu 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 jjlace, 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 ; w^ho is detained there for his bill. Ha ! ha ! For his bill. I repeat it — for his bill. Nt)w," 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 i^awn 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, lialf 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 S{-rew 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 MARTIN CHU/JZi^E^VIT. 101 short, goiit« both," said ]\Ir. Tigg with a passionate tiounsli of his hands and head, '• when a man like 81ynie is detained for such a thing as a bill, I reject the superstitions of ages, and believe nothing. I don't even believe that I don't believe, curse nic if I do ! " "I am very sorry, I am sure," said Tom after a pause, "but Mr. Pecksniff said nothing to me about it, and I couldn't act without his instructions. Wouldn't it be better, Sir, if you were to go to — to wherever you came from — yourself, and remit the money to your friend ? " "How can that be done, when I am detained also?" sniil 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 ? "' 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 ngent 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 Avere detained also 1 " "Come here," said Mr. Tigg, rising. "You have no objection to my opening this Avindow^ for a moment ? " " 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 liis moustache, " I can tell you, that ]\Iark Tapley had better in his infancy have been fed to suttbcation by Mrs. Tapley, than preserved to this time." ]\Ir. 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 j\Ir. Tigg had drawni in their heads and closed the window again, he the denounced apjjcared 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 sec no gentle- man 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, I\lr. Pinch, T am sure." ^02 , . . , LIFK AND ADVENTURES OF "Nonsense, Mark !" cried Tom. "You see Mr. — " "Tigg," interposed that gentleman. " AVait a bit. I shall crush him soon. All in good time ! " "Oh him!" rejoined Mark, with an air of careless defiance. "Yes, I see him. 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 quarter, you'll 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 Avhat I ask you. You're not out of temj^er, 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 ? 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 Avould, if it had judgment enough." "You're not answering my question, you know, Mai-k," 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 chaj). 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 abont 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 ? ' says I. ' Peihaps you'd like the bill got ready. Sir?' 'Oh no, my man,' he says; 'you needn't mind that. I'll give Pecksniff orders to see to that.' In reply to which, the Dragon makes answer, ' Thankee, Sir, you're very kind to honour us so far, but as Ave don't know any i)articular good of you, and you don't travel with luggage, and Mr. Pecksniff an't at home MARTIN OHUZZLEWIT. 103 (which ixTliap.-; you inayirt ha|)])eii to be aware of, Sir), we shuuUl jiicfer something more satislactory ; " and tliat's ■where the matter stands. And I ask," said Mr. TapU-y, pointing, in conelusion, to Mr. Tigg, Avitli liis liat, " any lady or gentleman, po.sscssing didinary 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 IMartin. "Pinch, a word with you." " AVhat is it 'I "' asked Tom, retiring with him to a corner of the room. "AVhy, simply — I am ashamed to say — that this Mr. Slyme is a relation of nnne, of whom I never heard anything ^jleasant ; and that I don't want him here just now, and think he would be rlieaply got rid of, perhaps, for three or four poiuids. You haven't ( nough money to pay this bill, I suppose ? " Tom shook his head to an extent that left no doubt of his entire sincerity. " That's unfortunate, for I am poor too • iuid in case you had liad it, I'd have borrowed it of you. But if we told this landlady we would see her paid, I suppose that Avould answer the same purpose 1 " " Oh dear, yes ! " said Tom. " She knows me, bless you ! " " Then, let us go doAvn at once and tell her so ; for the sooner we are rid of their company the better. As you have conducted the conversation Avith this gentleman hitherto, perhaps you'll tell him what we purpose doing ; will you 1 " Mr. Pinch complying, at once imparted the intelligence to Mr. Tigg, who shook him warndy l)y the hand in return, assuring him that his faith in anything and everything was again restored. It was not so much, lie said, for the temporaiy relief of this assist- ance that he prized it, as for its vindication of the liigh i)rinciple that Nature's Nobs felt Avith 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 his friend Slyme ; and on behalf of that friei;d, he thanked them ; as warmly and heartily as if the cause were his own. Being cut sliort in these sjjeeches by a general move towards __the stairs, he took i)o-isession at the street-door of the lapel of 104 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF Mr. Pinch's coat, as a security against fiirtiier iiiterrujitiou; and entertained tliat gentleman with some highly improving discourse until they reached the Dragon, Avhither they Avcre closely followed by Llark and the new pupil. The rosy hostess scarcely needed Mr. Pinch's word as a preliminary to the release of her two visitors, of whom she was glad to be rid on any terms : indeed, their brief detention had originated mainly with Mr. Tapley, who entertained a constitu- tional 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 immediatelj", but for the urgent entreaties of JMr. Tigg that they would allow him the honour of presenting them to his friend Slyme, which were so very difficult of resistance that, yield- ing partly to these persuasions and partly to their own curiosity, they suffered themselves to be ushered into the presence of that distinguished gentleman. He was brooding over the lemains 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 wdth the wet foot of liis drinking-glass. Wretched and forlorn as he looked, Mr. Slyme had once been, in his wa}-^, the choicest of swaggerers : ]jutting forth his pretensions, boldly, as a man of infinite taste and most undoubted promise. The stock-in-trade requisite to set up an amateur in tliis department of business is very slight, and easily got together ; a trick of the nose and a curl of the lip sufficient to compoimd a tolerable sneer, being am])le i^rovision for any exigency. But, in an evil hour, this off-shoot of the Chuzzlewit trunk, being lazy, and ill qualified for any regular pursuit, and having dissipated such means as he ever possessed, had formally established himself as a professor of Taste for a livelihood ; and finding, too late, that something more than his old amount of qualifications Avas necessary to sustain him in this calling, had quickly fallen to liis present level, wliere 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 ])itiful was he — at once so maudlin, insolent, beggarly, and proud — that even his friend and jjarasite, standing erect beside him, swelled into a I\Ian by contrast. "Cliiv," 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 : " MAKTIX GHUZ/LEWIT. inr. " These arc agreeable circumstaiK'OS ill whicli to be iiitiudueed to strangers," said Chevy Slyme, turning liis Woodsliut eyes towards Tom Pinch. ''I am tlie most miserable man in the worhl, I believe ! " Tom begged he woukhrt mention it ; and finding him in this condition, 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 INIr. Slyme, giving the table an imbecile blow with his fist, and then feebly leaning his head upon his hand, wiiile 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 ]\Ir. Slyme, after a sulky application to his glass. "Very pretty! Aud 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 loAvest state of humiliation, he raised his glass to his m.outh again. He found some encouragement in it ; for when he set it down, he laughed scornfully. Uiwu that ]\Ir. Tigg gesticulated to the visitors once more, and with great expression : implying that now tlie time w-as come when they would see Chiv in his greatness. " Ha, ha, ha ! " laughed Mr. Slyme. " Obliged to two strangers for a tavern bill 1 Yet I think I've a rich uncle, Tigg, who could buy up the uncles of fifty strangers ? Have I, or have I not 1 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 accomi)lisliments, 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, lia ! " laughed Mr. Slyme, again. '• Obliged to two strangers for a tavern bill! I! Obliged to two architect's apprentices — fellows who measure earth with iron chains, and build houses like bricklayers. Give me the names of those two apprentices. How dare they ol)ligc me ! " 106 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 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 pui-pose. " 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." " Oh, Chiv, Chiv," murmured Mr. Tigg, " you liave a nobly independent nature, Chiv ! " "You go and do your duty, Sir," said Mr. Slyme, angrily, " and borrow money for travelling expenses ; and whoever you borrow it of, let 'em know that I possess a haughty spirit, and a proud spirit, and have infernally finely-touched chords in my nature, which won't brook patronage. Do you hear 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 might have added that he hated two sorts of men ; all those who did him favours, and all those who were better off than himself; as in either case their position was an insult to a man of his stupendous merits. But he did not ; for with the apt closing words above recited, Mr. Slyme— of too haughty a stomach to work, to beg, to borrow, or to steal ; yet mean enough to be worked or borrowed, begged or stolen for, by any catsjmw that would serve his turn ; too insolent to lick the hand that fed him in his need, yet cur enough to bite and tear it in the dark — with these apt closing words, Mr. Slyme fell forward with his head upon the table, and so declined into a sodden sleep. "Was there ever," cried Mr. Tigg, joining the young men at the door, and shutting it carefully behind him, "such an in- dependent spirit as is possessed by that extraordinary creature ? 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'? AVas there ever a man with such a flow of eloquence? Might he not, gents both, I ask, have sat upon a tripod in the ancient times, and jn'ophesied to a perfectly unlimited extent, if previously sujiplied Avith 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 arc not going, Mr. Pinch 1 " said Tigg. "Thank you," answered Tom. "Yes. Don't come down." "Do you know that I should like one little word in private JIARTIN CHrZ/LKWlT. 107 with you, Mr. Pincli T" said Tigg, following' him. " One iniimte if your company in the skittlo-ground would vciy much relieve my mind. Might I l)eseech that favour?" •'Oh, certainly," replied Tom, "if you leally wish it." 80 he accompanit'd Mr. Tigg to the retreat in question : on arriving at which place that gentleman took from his hat what seemed to he the fossil remains of an antediluvian jnicket- handkerchief, and wi})cd his eyes therewith. "You have not beheld me this day," said JMr. Tigg, "in a favourable light." "Don't mention that," said Tom, "I beg." " But you have not" cried Tigg. " I must persist in that npinion. 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 litillow sc[uare with the women and children and the regimental plate-chest iu the centre, you wotdd not have known me for the s.ime man. You would have respected me, Sir." Tom had certain ideas of his own upon the subject of glory ; and consequently he was not quite so much excited by this picture as ^Ir. Tigg could have desired. "But no matter!" said that gentleman. "The school -boy writing home to his parents and describing the milk-and-water, .^aid ' 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 ? " " Iso doubt," said Mr. Pinch. " Sir, you have been impressed by my fi lend Slyme ? " "Not very pleasantly, I must say," answered Tom, after a little hesitation. "I am grieved but not surprised," cried Mr. Tigg, detaining liim by both lapels, " to hear that you have come to that conclusion ; Inr it is my own. But, Mr. Pinch, though I am a I'ough and tlioughtless man, I can honom- Mind. I honoiu' Mind in follow- ing my friend. To you of all men, Mr. Pinch, I have a right to make appeal on ]\Iind"s behalf, when it has not the art to push its fortime in the world. And so, Sir — not for myself, who have wo rlaim njion you, but for my crushed, my sensitive and independent iViend, 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 Idanie me for that sordid stipulation." ]\Ir. Pinch took from his ])ockct iin old fashioned red-leather purse with a steel clasp, which had probably uiicc belonged tn his 108 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF deceased grandmother. It held one half-sovereign and no more. All Tom's worldly wealth until next quarter-day. " Stay ! " cried Mr. Tigg, who had watched this proceeding keenly. "I was just about to say, that for the convenience of posting you had better make it gold. Thank you. A general direction, I suppose, to Mr. Pinch, at Mr. Pecksniff's — will that find you 1 " "That'll find me," said Tom. " You had better put Esquire to Mr, Pecksnift"'s name, if you please. Direct to me, you know, at Seth Pecksniff's, Esquire." "At Seth Pecksnift"'s, Esquire," repeated Mr. Tigg, taking an exact note of it, with a stump of pencil. "We said this week, I believe 1 " "Yes : or Monday will do," observed Tom. "No, no, I beg your pardon. Monday will not do," said Mr. Tigg. " If we stipulated for this week, Saturday is the latest day. Did we stipulate for this week ? " " Since you are so particular about it," said Tom, "I think we did." Mr, Tigg added this condition to his memorandum ; read the entry over to himself with a severe frown ; and that the transaction might be the more correct and business-like, 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 enougli suspicion that Martin might possibly turn this interview into a jest, to render him desirous to avoid the company of that young gentleman for the present. With this view he took a few turns up and down the skittle-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 sucli individuals as them, woidd be better than grave-digging. Sir." " And staying here would be better than either, Mark," rejAicd Tom. " So take my advice, and continue to swim easily in smooth water." "It's too late to take it now, Sir," said Llark. " I have broke it to her, Sir. I am off to-morrow morning," "Off"!" cried Mr. Pinch, "where to?" " 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 MARTIX CHU/ZLKWIT. 109 opened my mind to yoii, as wa.s at all likely to suit me. All tlioiii trades I thought of was a deal too jnlly ; there was no credit at all to be got in any of 'em. I nuist look for a private service, I sup- pose, Sir. I might be brought out strong, perhaps, in ji serious family, Mr. Pinch." " Perhaps you might come out rather too strong for a serious family's taste, JNIark." " That's possible, Sir. If I could get into a wicked family, 1 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 famil}'^," 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 gentleman as was took ill here, for he really was a trying customer. Howsever, I must wait and see what turns up, Sir ; and hope for the worst." " You are determined to go then 1 " 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 when it overtakes me. So I wish you good by'e, 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. In the mean time IVIark, having a shrewd notion that his mis- tress was in very low spirits, and that he could not exactly answer for the consequences of any lengthened tete-a-ii'te in the bar, kept himself obstinately out of her way all the afternoon and evening. In this piece of generalship he was very much assisteil by the great influx of company into the tap-room ; for the news of his intention having gone abroad, tliere 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, ]\Iark put the best face he could upon the matter, and walked doggedly to the bar-door. " If I look at her," said ]\Iark to himself, " I'm done. I feel that I'm a going fast." " You have come at last," said Mrs. Lupin. Ay, Mark snid : There he was. no LIFE AND ADVEXTURES OF " And you are deternnned to leave us, ^Nlark 1 " 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 hesi- tation, " that you had been — fond — of the Dragon 1 " " So I am," said Mark. " Then," pursued the hostess — and it really was not an unnatural inquiry — " why do you desert it 1 "' 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 of 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 lum then, bodily in that bar, the very pink and piue-apple. "Why, I tell you what," said Mark, throwing oft' all his con- straint 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 Avhat 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," critnl 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 do it when I come in here just now ; but there's some- thing about you, as makes a man sensible. Then let us have a word or two together : letting it be understood beforehand — " he added this in a grave tone, to prevent the possibility of any mistake — " that I'm not a going to make no love, you know." There wa^ for just one second a shade — though not by any means a dark one — on the landlady's open lirow. But it passed oft" instantly, in a laugh that came from her very heart. MATxTIN CHUZZLEWIT. Ill "Oh, very good ! " she said ; " if there is to be no love-making, you had lietter take your arm away." "Lord, why should I ! '" cried Mark. " It's quite innocent." "Of course it's innocent," returned the hostess, "or I sliouldn't allow it." " Very well ! " said Mark. " Then let it be." There was so much reason in tins, 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 tliink I am ! " cried Mark, " though I never thought so before. Why, I can say anything to-niglit ! " "Say what you're going to say if you please, and be quick," re- turned 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 — " " Oil 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 yon, 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 thatMitli my good health and spirits it would be more creditable in me to be jolly where there's things a going on to make one dismal. It may be a mistake of mine, you see, but nothing short of trying how it acts, will set it right. Then an't it best that I should go : particular when your free way has helped me out to say all this, and we can part as good friends as we huve ever been since first I entered this here noble Dragon, which," said Mr. Tapley in conclnsion, " has my good word and my good wish, to the tlay of my death ! " . The hostess sat quite silent for a little time, but she very soon put botli her hands in Llark'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 MAKK liliGIXS TO BE JOLLY UNDER CUEDITAKLE CIRCUMSTANCES. LIFK AM) ADVEXTUKES OF ^FARTIX CIIU/ZLEWn'. 11:'. been a better fiieiitl to lue to-uight than ever I liave lia'l in all niv life." "Oh! as to that, you know," said Mark, " that".s nonsense. But love my heart alive ! " he added, looking at iier in a sort of rapture, "if you are that Avay disposed, what a lot of suitable husbands there is as you may drive distracted ! " She laughed again at this coniplinient ; 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 I " With that piece of comfort, very ruefully uttered, he went, in anything but a jolly manner, to bed. He rose early next morning, and was a-foot soon after sunrise. But it was of no use ; the whole place was up to see ]\Iark 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 I Here's the butcher's dog a-coming out of the garden — down, old fellow I And Mr. Pinch a-going to his organ — good liy'e. Sir 1 And the terrier-bitch from over the way — hie, then, lass ! And children luough to hand down human natur to the latest posterity — good by'e, boys and girls ! There's .'^ome credit in it now. I'm u-coming out strong at last. These are the circumstances as would try a ordinary mind ; but Fm uncommon jolly ; not quite as jolly as I couhl wish to be, but very near. G to visit them upon liis daughters ; wliirii he iiad already begun to do iu the shape of divers random kicks, and other unexpected motions of his slioes, when the coaeli stopped, and after a short delaj', tlie door was opened. "Now mind,"' sai(l a tliin sharp voice in the dark. " I and my son go inside, because the roof is full, but you agree only to cliarge us outside prices. It's quite untlerstood that we won't pay more. Is it 1 " "All right. Sir,"' rejJied the guard. " Is tliere 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. " IMy boy, I think we may safely get in." In pursuance of which opinion, two people took their scats 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 ! " "Whether it occurred to the dutiful son that he had in some degree over-reached himself by contributing to the prolongation of his father's days ; or whether the cold had affected his temper ; is doubtful. But he gave his father such a nudge in reply, that that good old gentleman was taken with a cough which lasted for full five minutes, without intermission, and goaded Mr. Pecksniti" to that pitch of irritation, that he said at last — and very suddenly — "There is no room ! There is really no room in tliis coach for any gentleman with a cold in his head ! "' " Mine," said the ohl man, after a moment's pause, " is \ipon my chest, Pecksnitf." The voice and manner, together, now that he spoke out ; the composure of the speaker ; the presence of his son : and his knowledge of Mr. Pecksnitf; afforded a clue to his identity which it was impossible to mistake. " Hem ! I thought," said Mr. Pecksniff, returning to his usual mildness, " that I addressed a stranger. I find that I address a relative. Mr. Anthony Chuzzlewit and his son Mr. Jonas — for they, my dear children, are our travelling companions— will excuse me for an apparently harsh remark. It is not m>/ 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." 116 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF "Pooli, pooh !" said the old man. "What sigiiities that word, Pecksnitf ? Hypocrite ! why, we are all hypocrites. We were all hypocrites t'other day. I am sure I felt that to be agreed upon among us, or I shouldn't have called you one. We should not have been there at all, if we had not been hypocrites. Tlie only difference between you and the rest was — shall I tell you the differ- ence between you and tlie 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 Avagers, which I don't and never did, that you keep up appearances by a tacit understanding, even before your own daughters here. Now I, when I have a business scheme in hand, tell Jonas what it is, and we discuss it openly. You're not offended, Pecksniff?" "Offended, my good Sir!" cried that gentleman, as if he had received the highest compliments that language could convey. -J " Are you travelling to London, Mr. Pecksniff' 1 " asked the son. " Yes, Mr. Jonas, we are travelling to London. We shall have the pleasure of your company all the way, I trust % " " Oh ! ecod, you had better ask Mher 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 mirtli having subsided, Mr. Jonas gave him to understand that himself and parent were in fact travelling to their home in the metropolis : and that, since the memorable day of the great family gathering, they had been tarrying in that part of the country, watching the sale of certain eligible investments, which they had had in their copartnership eye when they came down ; for it was their custom, Mr. Jonas said, Avhenever 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 ftither, 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 n the strictest principles of the main chance. The very first Word he learnt to spell was "gain," and the second (when he got MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 117 into tAvo syllables), " mouey.'' But for two results, which were I not clearly foreseen perhaps by his watchful parent in the begin- i ning, his training may be said to have been unexceptionable. One I of these flaws was, tliat having been long taught by his father to j over-reach everybody, he had imperceptibly acquired a love of over- j 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 imjxatience, on his parent as a certain amount of personal estate, which had no riglit whatever to be going at large, but ought to be secured in that particular description of iron safe which is commonly called a coffin, and banked in the grave. "Well, cousin!'' said Mr. Jonas — "Because we arc cousins, you know, a few times removed — so you're going to London ? " Miss IMercy replied in the aflirmative, 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. " Lideed, 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 wliich ]\Iiss Merry only laughed the more, of course. " I saw- a wiklness in her eye, t'other day," said Mr. Jonas, addressing Charity. " But you're the one to sit solemn ! I say — you were regidarly prim, cousin ! " " Oh ! The old-feshioned fright ! " cried Merry, in a whisper. " Cherry, my dear, upon my word you must sit next him. I sliall die outi-ight 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 slie had risen. "Don't mind crowding me," cried Mr. Jonas. "I like to be crowded by gals. Come a little closer, cousin." " No, thank you, Sir," said Charity. "There's that other one a laughing again," said Mr. Jonas; " she's a laughing at my father, I shouldn't wonder. If he puts on that old flannel nightcap of his, I don't know what she'll do ! Is tliat my father a snoring, Pecksnift'?" " Yes, Mr. Jonas." "Tread upon his foot, will you be so good?" said the young gentleman. "The foot next you's the gouty one."' 118 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF Mr. Pecksiiitt' hesitating to perforin 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 screecliing out, / know. — Do you ever have tlie nightmare, cousin ? " he asked his neighbour, with characteristic gallantry, as he dropped his voice again. "Sometimes," answered Charity. "Not often.'' "The other one," said Mr. Jonas, after a jmuse. "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 she's 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'll 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,'S(said Charity. But she took it notwithstanding ; and after one or two remarks on the extreme heaviness of the coach, and the number of places it stopped at, they fell into a silence which remained unbroken by any member of the party until supper-time. Although Mr. Jonas conducted Charity to the hotel and sat himself beside her at the board, it was pretty clear that he had an eye to "the other one" also, for he often glanced across at Mercy, and seemed to draw comparisons between the personal appearance of the two, which were not unfavourable to the superior plumpness of the younger sister. He allowed himself no great leisure for this kind of observation, however, being busily ^ngaged with the supper, which, as he whispered in his fair ' companion's ear, was a contract business, and therefore the more - she ate, the better the bargain was. His father and Mr. Pecksniff, probably acting on the same wise principle, demolished everything that came within their reach, and by that means accpured a greasy expression of countenance, indicating contentment, if not re2)letion, 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 gentleman considered a more politic order than one shillingsworth ; there being a chance of their getting more spirit I out of the innkeeper under this arrangement than if it were all in li one glass. Having swallowed his share of the enlivening fluid, MARTIN CHU/ZLEAVIT. 119 'II Mr. Pecksniff, under pretence uf going to ' ready, -went secretly to the bar, and had his I ant I ( see if tlie coacii were own little bottle filled, ill order that he might refresh himself at leisure in the dark coacli without being observed. These arrangements concluded, and the coach being ready, they got into their old places and jogged on again. But before he composed himself fur a nap, Mr. Pecksniff delivered a kind of grace after meat, in these words : The process of digestion, as I have been infurmed by anatomical friends, is one of the most wonderful works of nature. 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 w^as doing a jjublic service. When I have wound myself up, if I may employ such a term," said Mr. Pecksniff" ^\•ith excpiisite tenderness, "and know that I am Going, I feel that in the lesson afforded by the Avorks within me, I am a Benefactor to my Kind ! " As nothing could be added to this, nothing was said ; and ]\[r. Pecksniff" e.^ulting, it may be presumed, in his moral utility, went to sleep again. The rest of the night wore aM-ay in the usual manner. Mv. Pecksniff and old Anthony kept tumbling against each other and waking up much territied ; or crushed their heads in opposite corners of the coach and strangely tattooed the surfoce of their ftices — 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 passengere 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 mnrning, and they were theie. Veiy soon afterwards the coach stopped at the office in the City ; and the street in which it was situated was already in a bustle, that fully bore out Mr. Pecksniff''s words about its being morning, though for any signs of day yet appearing in the sky it might have been midnight. There was a dense fog too — as if it were a city in the clouds, which they had been travelling to all night up a magic beanstalk — and 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 iiis sun, and leaving the 120 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF luggage of liimself 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 sti-angest 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, ]\Ir. Pecksniff told them so ; for as to anything they could see of the jMonument, or anything else but the buildings close at hand, they might as well have been playing blindman's buff at Salisbuiy. ]\Ir. Pecksniff looked about him for a moment, and then knocked at the door of a very dingy edifice, even among the choice collection of dingy edifices at hand ; on the front of which Avas 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 Avitli a rusty noise, as if the weather had made the very fastenings hoarse, and a small boy witli a large red head, and no nose to speak of, and a very dirty Wellington boot on his left arm, appeared ; who (being surpi-ised) rubbed the nose just mentioned with the back of his shoe-brush, and said nothing. " Still a-bed, my man 1 " asked Mr. Pecksniff. "Still a-bed ! " replied the boy. "I wish they wos still a-bed. They're very noisy a-bed ; all calling for their boots at once. I thought you was the Paper, and wondered why you didn't shove yourself through the grating as usual. What do you Avanf?" Considering his years, which were tender, the youtii may be said to have preferred this question sternly, and in something of a defiant manner. Put Mr. Pccksnifi', Avithout taking umbrage at his bearing, j)ut 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. Pecksnift", " I can find it myself." So he led his daugliters, without waiting for any further introduction, into a room on the ground-fioor, 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 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 121 loaf ■\vhith is known to liousekeepers as a sluck-bakod, i-niiiuiiy quartern; a liberal ])rovi.sion of cups and saucers; and the usual jippendages. Inside the fender uere some half-dozen pairs of shoes and boots, of various sizes, just cleaned and turned with the soles uj)wards to dry ; and a p)air of short black gaiters, on one of which was chalked — in sport, it would appear, by some gentleman who had slipped down for the jiurpose, pending his toilet, and gone up again — "Jinkins's Particular," wiiile the other exhibited a sketch in l^rofile, claiming to be the portrait of Jiukins himself. M. Todgers's Commercial Boarding-House was a house of that sort which is likely to be dark at any time ; but that morning it was especially dark. There was an odd smell in the passage, as if the concentrated essence of all the dinners that had been cooked in the kitchen since the house was built, lingered at the top of the kitchen stairs to that hour, and, like the Black Fiiar in Don Jmm, "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 jiarloiu' was wainscoted, and commvmicated to strangers a magnetic and instinctive consciousness of rats and mice. The staircase was very gloomy and very broad, with balustrades so thick and heavy that they would have served for a bi'idge. In a sombre corner on the first landing, stood a gruff old giant of a clock, with a preposterous coronet of three lirass balls on his head ; Avhom few had ever seen — none ever looked in the face — and who seemed to continue his heavy tick for no other reason than to w\arn heedless people from nmning 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, Avas an old, disjointed, rickety, ill-favoured skylight, patched and mended in all kinds of ways, which looked distrustfully down at every- thing that passed below, and covered Todgers's up as if it were a sort of human cucumber-frame, and only people of a jiecidiar growth were reared there. Mr. Pecksniff and his fair daughters had not stood warming themselves at the fire ten minutes, when the sound of feet w^as heard upon the stairs, and the presiding deity of the establishment came hurrying in. M. Todgers was a lady, lather a bony and hard-featured lady, with a row of curls in front of her head, sliapcd like little banels of beer; and on the top of it sometliing made of net— you coiddn'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 122 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF jingled as she came. In lier other hand she bore a llaniing- tallow candle, which, after surveying Mr. Pecksniff for one instant by its light, she put down upon the table, to the end that she might receive him with the 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 T' "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 ! " " You are, I am sure ! " said Mrs. Todgers. " You're not a bit changed." " What do you say to this 1 " cried Mr. Pecksniff, stretching out his hand towards tlie 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 liis head ; and said, " My daughters, ]\Irs. 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 overjjowered by her feelings or the inclemency of the morning, jerked a little pocket-handkerchief out of the little basket, and applied the same to her face. "Now, my good madam," said Mr. Pecksniff, "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 house-room, and make an exception in their favour." "Perhaps?" cried Mrs. Todgers ecstatically. "Perhaps?" "I may say then, that I was sure you would," said Mr. Peck- sniff". " I know that you have a little room of your own, and that they can be comfortable there, without appearing at the general table." "Dear girls!" said Mrs. Todgers. "I must take that liberty once more." Mrs. Todgers meant by this that she nuist embrace them once more, wliich she accordingly did, Avith great ardour. But the truth was, that, the house being full with the exception of one bed, which would now l>e occu)}icd by Mr. Pecksniff, she wanted time for consideration : and so nuich time too (for it was a knotty MAKTIX ClIUZZLKWIT. . 123 jioiiit how to dispose of tlicin), that even when this secoud nubiace was over, she stood for some moments gaziuy at the sisters, witli att'eetion beaming in one eye, and calcuhition sliining out of the nther. " 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 ])Oor mother (which was highly probable : seeing that she had never beheld that lady), but that she rather thouglit the youngest was ; and then she said that as the gentlemen would be down directly, and the ladies were fatigued Avith travelling, would they step into her room at once 1 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 Avould see when the fog cleared off. Nor was this a A'aiii-glorious boast, for it commanded at a per- spective 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, Avhistling at his work in tlie absence of Mrs. Todgers (not to mention his sketching figures on his corduroys witii 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. Pecksnilf, looking in at the door, "how you like London. Shall 11" " We haven't seen much of it. Pa ! " cried ]\Ierry. "Nothing, I hope," said Cherry. (Both very miserably.) "Indeed," said Mr. Pecksnift", "that's true. We have our pleasure, and our business too, before us. All in good time. All iu good time ! " W^hether Mr. Pecksnifl''s business in London was as strictly profes-sional as he had given his new pupil to understand, we shall see, to adopt that worthy man's phraseology, "all in good time." 124 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF CHAPTER IX. i TOWN AND TODGERS'S. ' * Surely there never was, iu 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 i^art of it which hemmed Todgers's round, and hustled it, and crushed it, and stuck its brick-and-mortar elbows into it, and kept the air from it, and stood perpetually between it and the light, was worthy of Todgers's, and qualified to be on terms of close relationship and alliance with hundreds and thousands of the odd family to Avhich Todgers's belonged. You couldn't walk about in Todgers's neighbourhood, as you coidd in any other neighbourhood. You groped your way for an hour through lanes and bye-ways, and comi-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 anticipate 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, Avith its very chimney-pots in view ; and finding it, at last, impossible of attainment., had gone home again with a gentle melancholy on their spirits, tranquil and 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 them ; or by clinging tenaciously to the postman ; but these were rare ex- ceptions, and only Avent 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 awny in cellars. All day long, a stream of porters from the wharves beside the river, each bearing on his back a bursting cliest.of oranges, poured slowly through the narrow ]jassages ; while underneath the archway by the public- i MARTIX CHUZZr.KWrr. 125 hduse, tlic knuts of those who rostod and ic.naliMl within, were pilcil fivmi morning tnitil night. Stange solitary i)uniiis were tbnnd near Tinlgers's, hiding tlieniselves for tlie most part in blind alloys, and keeping company with tircdadders. There were churches also by iln/.eus, with many a ghostly little clnirchyard, all overgrown witli su.h straggling vegetation as springs up spontaneously from damii, and graves, and rubbish. In some of these dingy resting-places, wiiich bore much the same analogy to green churchyards, as the pots of earth for mignonette and wall-flower in the windows over- 1. Miking 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, jxiralysed old -svatchmen 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 Bounder sleep than even they had ever known above it, and were shut up in another kind of box, their condition can hardly l)e 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 wdiich, 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 mer- chandise as stifles sound and stiijjs tlie 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 wdiich 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 M'ould 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 i)ass ; so that wdien 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 maw^s of dark no-thorough- fares 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 (^uict Sunday rattling their T2t3 LIFE AND ADVEXTUKES OF halters, as disturbed sjiirits in tales of haunted houses are said to clank their chains. To tell of half the queer old taverns that had a drowsj' 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 olil guests who frequented their dimly-lighted parlours. These were, in general, ancient inhabitants of that region ; born, and bred there from boyhood ; 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 member of each little club who kept the keys of the nearest church, professionally, always attributed to the prevalence of dissent and irreligion ; though the major part of the company inclined to the belief that virtue went out with hair-powder, and that Old England's greatnes.s had decayed amain with barbers. As to Todgers's itself — .speaking of it only as a house in that neighbourhood, and making no reference to its merits as a com- mercial boarding establishment — it was worthy to stand where it did. There was one staircase-window in it : at the side of the house, on the ground-floor : which tradition said had not been opened for a hundred years at least, and which, abutting on an always dirty lane, was so begrimed and coated with a century's mud, that no one pane of glass could possibly fall out, though all were cracked and broken twenty times. But the grand mystery of Todgers's was the cellarage, approachable only by a little back door and a rusty grating : which cellarage within the memory of man 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, Avith posts and fragments of rotten lines, once intended 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 choked from having looked, perforce, straight down the kitchen chimney : but these two stages over, there were things to gaze at .MARTIN Cm/ZLKWIT. I'J" froiu the top of Todgers's, well worth your .seeing too. For lirst ami foremost, if the clay were briglit, you observed upou the liouse-tops, stretching far away, a long dark path : the shadow of the JNIonument : and turning round, the tall original was close heside you, with every hair erect upon his golden head, as if the doings of the city frightened him. Then there were steeples, t'lwers, belfries, shining vanes, and masts of shii^s : a very forest, (iables, housetops, garret-windows, wilderness upon wilderness. Smoke and noise enougli for all the world at once. After the first glance, there were slight features in the midst I'f this crowd of objects, which sprang out from the mass without any reason, as it were, and took hold of the attention whether the spectator would or no. Thus, the revolving chimney-pots on one -reat stack of buildings, seemed to be turning gravely to each other every now and then, and whispering the result of their separate observation of what was going on below. Others, of a crook-backed shape, appeared to be maliciously holding themselves askew, that they might shut the prospect out and baffle Todgers's. Tlie man who was mending a pen at an up2:)er 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 hundred- fold ; and after gazing round him, cpiite scared, he turned into Todgers's again, much more rapidly than he came out ; and ten to one he told M. Todgers afterwards that if he hadn't done so, he wouhl certaiidy have come into the street by the shortest cut : that is to say, headforemost. So said the two Miss Pecksniffs, when they retired with Mrs. Todgers from this place of espial, leaving the youthful porter to lose the dour and follow them down stairs : who being of a playful ;>iiiperament, and conterajilating with a delight peculiar to his MX and time of life, any chance of dashing himself into small fragments, lingered behind to walk upon the parapet. It being the second day of their stay in London, the Miss Pecksnirts and Mrs. Todgers were by this time highly confidential, insomuch that the last-named lady had already comnnmicatcd the jiarticulars of three early disajjpointments of a tender natin-e ; and liad furthermore possessed her young friends with a general summary of tlie life, comluct, and character of !^[r. Todgers : who, it seemed, had rut liis matrimonial career rather short, by unlaw- 128 LIFE AXD ADVENTURES OF fully running away from his haiDpiness, and establishing liirasclf 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 nuich happiness denied me. You'd hardly know who this was done for, perhaps 1 '' 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 Avould have cried : " Grood gracious ! ]\Irs. Todgers ! " " Presiding over an establishment like this, makes sad havoc with the features, my dear Miss Pecksnifts," said Mrs. Todgers. " The gravy alone, is enough to add twenty years to one's age, T do assure you." " Lor ! " cried the two Miss Pecksniffs. "Tlie 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 com- mercial 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 C'iiarity. "We have always noticed it in him, you remember '\ " "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 establishuient, where any gentleman may say, any Saturday evening, ' Mrs. Todgers, this day week ^\ e 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 relation to the gentleman you were sjieaking of just now. Miss Pecksniff r' " For goodness sake, Mrs. Todgers," interposed the lively ^rARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 129 Merry, "don't call him a gentleman. My dear Cherry, Pinch a gentleman ! The idea ! '' " "What a wicked girl you are ! " cried I\Irs. Todgers, embracing her with great affection. " You are ciuite a quiz I do declare ! My dear Miss Pecksniff, what a happiness your sister's spirits must be to your pn and self ! " " He's the most hideous, goggle-eyed creature, ]\Irs. Todgers, in existence," resumed Merry : " quite an ogre. The ugliest, awkwardest, fiightfullest 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 -svas quite afraid of her, that she was. She was so very severe. " Who is severe 1 " 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, Jlrs. Todgers 1 " Mrs. Todgers almost screamed, for the little door of communica- tion 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 1 Are we ready to go and see Tom Pinch's sister 1 Ha, ha, ha ! Poor Thomas Pinch ! " " Are we ready," returned Mrs. Todgers, nodding her head with mysterious intelligence, " to send a favourable reply to Sir. Jinkins's round-robin 1 That's the first question, Mr. Pecksniff." " Why Mr. Jinkins's robin, my dear madam ? " asked ]\Ir. Pecksniff, putting one arm round Mercy, and the other round Mrs. Todgers, wdiora he seemed, in the abstraction of the moment, to mistake for Charity. " Why Mr. Jinkins's 1 " " 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." K 130 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF "Well now," returned that lady, "having said so much, you must say tlie rest, Mr. Pecksniti" : so tell the dear young ladies all about it." With these words, she gently eluded Mr. Pecksniff's grasp, and took Miss Charity into her own embrace ; though whether she was impelled to this proceeding solely by the irrepressible affection she had conceived for that young lady, or whether it had any reference to a lowering, not to say distinctly spiteful expression which had been visible in her face for some moments, has never been exactly ascertained. Be this as it may, Mr. Pecksniff went on to inform his daughters of the purport and history of the round-robin afore- said, which was in brief, that the commercial gentlemen who helped to make up the sum and substance of that noun of multi- tude 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 fiimily, a lofty family; perhaps the wealthiest brass and copper founders' fomily 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 liandle 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 ])orter 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 slioulder 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 fore- going cei'emonies having been all jDerformed, they were ushered into the house ; and so, by degrees, they got at last into a small room with books in it, where Mr. Pincli's sister was at that moment, instructing her eldest pu{)il : to wit, a premature little' MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 131 woman of thirteen years old, who had already arrived at siu-h a pitch of whalebone and education that she had nothing girlish about lier, 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 discrimination between the cold respect with which he would have announced visitors to the fomily, and the waiin personal interest with which he would have announced visitors to the cook. " Visitors for INIiss Pinch I ' Miss Pinch rose hastily ; -w ith such tokens of agitation as plainly declared that her list of callers was not numerous. At the same time, the little pupil became alarmingly upright, and prepared herself to take mental notes of all that might be said and done. For the lady of the establishment was curious in the natural history and habits of the animal called Governess, and encouraged her daughters to report thereon whenever occasion served ; which was, in reference to all parties concerned, very laudable, improving, and pleasant. It is a melancholy fact ; but it nuist 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 gentle- ness of manner, and in her look of timid trustfulness ; but she was so far from being a fright, or a dowdy, or a horror, or anything else, predicted by the two Miss Pecksniffs, that those young ladies naturally regarded her with great indignation, feeling that this was by no means what they had come to see. ]\Iiss 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 oi)eidy 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 liand 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. i\Iy 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, tlie benefactor of your race ; the patron of your house ; the preserver of your brother, M. TODGERS AND THE PECKSNIFFS, CALL UPON MISS PINCH. LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF MARTIN CHUZZLKWIT. 133 who is fed with iiianua daily from my table ; and in right uf 1 whom there is a considerable balance in my favour at present i 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 Clospel Trutii. Her brother writing in the fulness of his simple heart, had often told I her so, aud how much more ! As Mr. Pecksniff ceased to sjjcak, I she hung her head, and dropped a tear upon his hand. "Oh very well, j\Iiss 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 1 " " 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." "j\Iy dears," said Mr. Pecksniff, turning to them with a smile : "Thomas's sister is saying something you will l)c glad to hear, I think." "We can't take any merit to ourselves, papa!" cried Cherry, as they both apprised Tom Pinch's sister, with a curtsey, that they would feel 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 how glad we are to hear that he is as grateful as he ought to be." " Oh very well. Miss Pinch ! " thought the pupil again. " Got a grateful brother, living on other people's kindness ! " " It was very kind of you," said Tom Pinch's sister, with Tom's own simplicity, and Tom's own smile, " to come here : very kind indeed : though how great a kindness 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 i:)leasant ; very proper," numnured Mr. Pecksniff. "It makes me hapijy too," said Ruth Piiirli, wlio now that her first surprise was over, had a chatty, cheerful way with her, and a single-hearted desire to look ujion tlie best side of evcrytliing, 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 134 LIFE AXD ADVENTURES OF I am situated here, antl how unnecessary it is that he should ever Avaste a regret ou 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, without one impatient or complaining thought, a great deal more than ever we have had to endure, I am very certain."' And if ever the plain truth were spoken on this occasionally false earth, Tom's sister spoke it when she said that. " Ah ! " cried ]\Ir. Pecksniff, whose eyes had in the meantime wandered to the pupil; "certainly. And how do you do, my very interesting child % " " 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 tlie scion of a Avealthy house (through whom the neaiest 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 INIr. Pecksniff, producing one of his pro- fessional cards, " and will say that I and my daughters — " "And ]\Irs. Todgers, i:)a," said Merry. "And Mrs. Todgers, of London," added Mr. Pecksniff; "that I, and my daughters, and Mrs. Todgers, of London, did not intrude ni)on them, as our olyect simply was to take some notice of Miss Pinch, wliose brother is a young man in my emi^loyinent ; but that I could not leave this very chaste mansion, without adding my humble tribute, as an Arcliitect, to the correctness and elegance of the owner's taste, and to his just appreciation of tliat l)cautiful art, to the cultivation of Avliicli I have devoted a life, and to the in-omotiou of whose glory and advancement I have sacrificed a — a f u'tune — I shall be very much obliged to you." "Missis's compliments to Miss Pinch," said the footman, suddenly appearing, and speaking in exactly the same key as before, "and begs to know wot my young lady is a learning of just now." "Oh!'' said Mr. Pccksiiifi', "here is the young man. He will take the card. "Witli my comijliments, if you please, young man. My dears, Ave are interrupting the studies. Let us go." Some confusion was occasioned for an instant by ]\Irs. Todgers's unstrapping her little flat liand-basket, and hurriedly entrusting the "young man'' with one of her own cards, Avhich. in addition MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 135 to certain iletuiknl iiilbrinatit)ii relative to the terms of tlie couiniereial establishment, bore a foot-note to the efieet that I\I. T. took that opportunity of thanking those gentlemen who had honoured her Avith their fovours, and begged that they would have the goodness, if satisfied with the table, to recommend her to their friends. But Mr. Pecksniff, Avith admirable presence of mind, recovered this document, and buttoned it up in his own po^et. y/Then he said to Miss Pinch — with more condescension and klidness 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 liless 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 foot- man, as if he meant him, "has shed a vision on my path, refulgent in its nature, and not easily to be obliterated. ]\Iy deai's, 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 ; for Mr. Pecksniff's delight in the tastefulness of the house was such that he could not help often stopping (particularly wlien 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 stejis, 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 bowet away all wandering epithets before it. Perhaps Miss Pincli 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-(piartcrs, with a full account of tlieir having presumptuously charged her Avith the delivery of a message afterwards consigned to the footman ; which outrage, taken in conjunction with Mr. Pecksnift"s unobtrusive remarks on the establishment, uiight possibly have had some sliare iu their dismissal. Poor IMiss Pinch, however, had to bear the brunt of it with both parties : being so severely taken to task by the Seraph's mother for having such vulgar acquaintances, that she was fain to retire to her own room iu tears, which her natural cheerfulness and submission, and the delight of having seen Mr. Pecksnift', and having received a letter from lier brother, were at first insutticient to repress. As to J\Ir. Pecksniff, he told them in the Hy, 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 Avere secretly inclined to lay the blame of half their failure. Todgers's was in a great bustle that evening, partly OAving to some additional domestic preparations for the morrow, and i)artly to the excitement always insei)arable in that house from Saturday night, when eA'ery gentleman's linen arrived at a different hour in its own little bundle, with his private account pinned on the out- side. 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 betAveen JMrs. Todgers and unknown females in remote back kitchens ; and sounds Avere occasionally heard, indicative of small articles of ironmongery and hardware being throAvn at the boy. It Avas the custom of tiiat youth ou Saturdays, to roll up his shirt sleeves to his shoulders, and pervade all jiarts of the house in an apron of coarse green baize ; moreover, he Avas more strongly tempted on Saturdays than on other days (it being a busy time), to make excursive bolts into the neighbouring alleys Avhcu he answered the door, and there to 138 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF play at leajj-frog and otlier 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 tlie ])eculiar incidents of the last day in the week at Todgers's. He was especially so on this particular Saturday evening, and honoured the Miss Pecksnitt's 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 caudle, without putting in his head and greeting them with some such compli- ments as, "There you are agin!" "An't it nice?" — and similar humorous attentions. "I say," he whispered, stopping in one of his journeys to and fro, "young ladies, there's soup to-morrow. She's a making it now. An't she a putting in the water ? Oh ! not at all neither ! " In the course of answering another knock, he thrust in his head again. "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, with this special warning, vanished again. By-and-bye, he returned to lay the cloth for supper : it having been arranged between Mrs. Todgers and the young ladies, that they should partake of an exclusive veal-cutlet together in the privacy of that apartment. 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 Avent on with his professional duties ; brightening every knife as he laid it on the table, by breathing on the blade and afterwards jwlishing 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 1 "' asked Mercy. "No," said Bailey, "it /*■ cooked. When I come up, she was dodging among the tender \nece^ with a fork, and eating of 'em." But he had scarcely achieved the utterance of these words, when he received a manual compliment on the head, which sent him staggering against the wall ; and Mrs. Todgers, dish in hand, stood indignantly before him. " Oh you little villain ! " said that lady. " Oh you bad, false boy ! " . ^ "No Avorso than yerself," retorted Bailey, guarding his head, on a piinciple invented by Mr. Thomas Cribb. "Ah ! Come now ! Do that adn, will yer ! " MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 139 " He's the most dreadi'ul oliiltl,'' said Mrs. Toilgcrs, scttiiiy ■luwn the dish, " I ever had to ch'al with. The gentlemen spoil iiim 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-beer for then, and destroying my constitooslum 1 " "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, Avhen he brought up some tumblers and hot water, and much disturbed the two Miss Pecksnifts by S4uinting hideously behind the back of the unconscious ]\Irs. Todgers. Having done this justice to his wounded feelings, he it'tired underground ; where, in company with a swarm of black lieetles 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 Barnwell, in memory of the rcleljrated relative in that degree who was shot by his nephew ( Jeorge, while meditating in his garden at Caraberwell. The giiitlemen at Todgers's had a merry habit, too, of bestowing upon him, for the time being, the name of any notorious malefiictor or minister ; and sometimes, when current events were flat, they even sdught tiie i)ages of history for these distinctions; as Mr. Pitt, Young Brownrigg, and the like. At the period of which we write, he was generally known among the gentlemen as Bailey jimior ; a name bestowed upon him in contradistinction, perhaps, to Old Bailey ; and possibly as involving the recollection of an unfortunate lady of tlic same name, who i)erislied by her own hand early in life, and lias l)cen immortalised in a ballad. The usual Sunday dinner-liour at Tudgers's was two o'clock,- - a suitable time, it was considered, for all jjarties ; convenient to I\Irs. Todgers, on account of the baker's ; and convenient to the gentlemen, with reference to their afternoon engagements. But on the Sunday which was to introduce the two IMiss Pecksniffs to a full knowledge of Todgers's and its society, the dinner was post- poned until five, in order that everything might be as genteel as the occasion demanded. Wiien tlie hour drew nigh, Bailey junior, testifying great excitement, appeared in a comphtc suit of cast-otV clothes several sizes too large for him, and in particular, mounted a clean shirt of 140 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF such extraordinary magnitude, that one of the gentlemen (remarkable for his readj' Avit) called hira "collars" on the spot. At about a quarter before five, a deputation, consisting of Mr. Jiukins, and another gentleman whose name was Gander, knocked at the door of Mrs. Todgers's room, and, being formally introduced to the two i\Iiss Pecksniffs by their parent, Avho 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, tliat 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, Avith seats in them, commanding the opposite archAvaj', there was another window looking point blank, without any compromise at all about it, into Jiukius's bed-room ; and high up all along one side of the wall was a strip of panes of glass, two- deep, giving light to tlie staircase. There were the oddest closets possible, with little casements in them like eight-day clocks, lurking in the wainscot and taking the shape of the stairs ; and the very door itself (which was painted black) had two 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 ]\Ir. Gander followed, escorting Mercy, and ]\Ir. Pecksniff brought up the rear with ]\Irs. Todgers. Tlien the presentations took place. They included a gentleman of a sporting turn, who propounded questions on jockey subjects to the editors of Sunday pajjers, which were regarded by his friends as rather stiff things to answer ; and they included a gentleman of a theatrical turn, who had once entertained serious thoughts of " coming out," but had been kept in by the wickedness of human nature ; and they included a gentleman of a debating turn, who was strong at speech-making ] and a gentleman of a literary turn, who wrote squibs upon the rest, and knew the weak side of everybody's character but his own. There was a gentleman of a vocal turn, and a gentleman of a smoking turn, and a gentleman of a convivial turn ; some of the gentlemen had a turn for whist, and a large proportion of the gentlemen had a strong turn for billiards and betting. They had all, it may be presumed, a turn for business ; being all commercially employed in one way or other ; and had, every one in his own way, a decided turn for pleasure to boot. Mr. Jinkius was of a fashionable turn ; being a regular JIARTIN CnUZZLKWIT. 141 tVtMjuenter of the Parks on Suiulays, and knowing a great many carriages by sight. He spoke mysteriously, too, of splendid women, and was susi)ected of having once committed himself with ;t Countess. I\Ir. Gander was of a witty turn, being indeed the gentleman who had originated the sally about "collars;" which .-^jiarkling pleasantry was now retailed from mouth to mouth, under tlie title of Gander's Last, and was received in all parts of the loom 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 J\lrs. Todgers, being rejiroached 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 rake 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 mis- cfllaneous conversation arising out of them, passed the time splendidly, until dinner was announced by Bailey junior in these terms : '' The wittles is ujj I "' On which notice they immediately descended to the banquet- liall ; some of the more facetious spirits in the rear taking down gentlemen as if they w^ere ladies, in imitation of the fortunate possessors of the two Miss Pecksniff's. ]\Ir. Pecksniff said grace — a short and pious grace, invoking a l)lessing on the appetites of those present, and conmiitting all persons who had nothing to eat, to the care of Providence : whose liusiness (so said the grace, in effect) it clearly was, to look after tlieni. This done, they fell to, with less ceremony than ap])etite ; the table groaning beneath the weight, not only of the delicacies whereof the ]\Iiss Pecksniffs had been jjreviously forewarned, but of boiled beef, roast veal, bacon, pies, and abundance of such heavy vegetables as are favourably known to housekeepers for their satisfying qualities. Besides which, there were bottles of stout, liottles of wine, bottles of ale, and divers other strong drinks, native and foreign. All this was highly agreeable to the two IMiss Pecksniffs, who 142 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF were in immense request ; sitting one on eitlier liund of Mr. Jinkins at tlie bottom of tlie table ; and who were called upon to take wine with some new admirer every minute. They had hardly ever felt so pleasant, and so fidl of conversation, in their lives ; Mercy, in particular, was uncommonly brilliant, and said so many j 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 attention 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 si)irits of the two Miss Pecksniffs, and the hungry watchfulness of Mrs. Todgers, were less worthy of note than the proceedings of this remarkable boy, Avhom 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 emo- tions 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 hope- lessness 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- ])lates 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; soujD-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, J MARTIN CIIUZZLEWIT. 143 wlien somebody vowed that but lor its colour it iui<;lit liave been mistaken, in regard of its innocuous qualities, for new milk ! AVhat a shout of "No!" biu'st from the gontlcmen when they pathetic-ally implored ]\Ir. Jinkins to suft'er 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 ctimes the ti-ying time. The sun, as Mr. Jinkins says (gentlemanly creature, Jinkins — never at a loss!), i.s about to leave the firmament. " J\Iiss Pecksnitf ! " say Mrs. Todgers, softly, "will you — V "Oh dear, no more, Mrs. Todgers.'' Mrs. Todgers rises ; the two j\Iiss Pecksniffs rise ; all rise. Miss Mercy Pecksniff looks downward for her scarf. Where is it ? Dear me, where ri it be? Sweet girl, she has it on — not on her fiiir neck, but loose upon her flowing figure. A dozen hands assist her. She is all confusion. The youngest gentleman in company thirsts to murder Jinkins. She skips and joins her sister at the door. Her sister has her arm about the waist of Mrs. Todgers. She winds her arm around her sister. Diana, what a picture ! The last things visible are a shape and a ski]). " Cientlemen, 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 eye ; to whom they owe a debt of gratitude. He repeats it — a debt of gratitude. Their rugged natures have been softened and ameliorated that day by the society of lovely woman. There is a gentleman in company whom two accomplished and delightful females regard with veneration, as the fountain of their existence. Yes, when yet the two Miss Pecksniffs 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 thi-ill ; for he feels that a mysterious influence pervades the man wlio 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 w ith a song. Gander leaves the Gander of all former feasts whole leagues behind. J/e rises to propose a toast. It is, The Father of 144 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF Todgers's. It is tlieir comniuii friend Jink — it is Old Jink, if lie 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 tliey have just jjartaken, he will be happy to talk to it. Until then, gentlemen, he will stick to Todgers's. Llore punch, more enthusiasm, more speeches. Everybody's health is drunk, saving the youngest gentleman's in company. He sits apart, with his elbow on the back of a vacant chair, and glares disdainfully at Jinkins. Gander, in a convulsing speech, gives them the health of Bailey junior ; 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 favdt 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 ]\Iercy, who has made a sofa of one of the window-seats, is in a gracefully recumbent attitude. She is rising hastily, wiien 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 with the answer, and invents a thousand tortures, rending tlieir hearts to pieces. Bailey brings up the tea and coffee. AIARTIX CHUZZLRWIT. 145 There is a small cluster of atliuirers round Cliarity ; but they are only those who cannot get near her sister. The youngest gentle- iiiau 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 adoration. He sees it Hashing sometimes in the corner of her eye. Have a care, Jinkins, ere you provoke a desperate man to frenzy ! i\Ir. Pecksnift" 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 cireumstauce ; nor diil he seem to know that there was muffin on lii.-s knee. "And how have they used you down-stairs, Sir ? " asked the hostess. '' Their conduct has been such, my dear madam," said Mr. reeksnitf, "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 lather. 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 nuiffin, 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 re- IH'iached it. "She was beautiful, Mrs. Todgers," he said, turning his glazed eye again upon her, without the least preliminary notice. " She had a small property." " So I have heard," cried IMrs. Todgers with great sympathy. "Those are her daughters," said Mr. Pecksniff, pointing out the young ladies, with increased emotion. Mrs. Todgers had no doubt of it. "Mercy and Charity," said Mr. Pecksniff, " Charity and Mercy. Not unholy names, I hope 1 " "Mr. Pecksniff !" cried Mrs. Todgers, " what a gliastly smile ! Are you ill. Sir ? " He pressed his hand upon her arm, and answered in a solemn manner, and a faint voice, " Chronic." " Cholic 1 " cried the frightened Mrs. Todgers. 146 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF " Chron-ic," he repeated with some clifRculty. " Clironic. A chronic disorder. I have been its victim from childhood. It is carrying me to my grave." " Heaven forbid ! " cried JMrs. Todgers. "Yes it is," said Mr. Peclisnifi', 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 very like her, Mrs. Todgers ! What a world this is ! " " Ah ! Indeed you may say that ! " cried IMrs. Todgers. " I'm afraid it's a vain and thoughtless world," said Mr. Peck- snift', overflowing with despondency. " Tliese young people about us. Oh ! what sense have tiiey 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 ci-eatui-c." " Hush ! " urged Mrs. Todgers. " Really you mustn't." "It's not me," said Mr. Pccksnift*. "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 % " "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." "Always," said JMrs. Todgers. "When they say they haven't improved, ma'am," whispered Mr. Pecksniff, looking at her with profound mystery, and motion- ing to her to advance her ear a little closer to his mouth. " When MARTIN CHUZZLKWIT. 147 I ! thej- say they haven t im{irove(l, niaani, and the pieniiiiiii was ton I high, they lie! I shouldn't wish it to be mentioned; you will i 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. Pecksnitf, "j^ou are right. I respect you j for that observation. A word in your ear. To Parents and I Guardians — This is in contidenee, j\Irs. Todgers 1 " " The strictest, of course ! " cried that lady. "To Parents and Guardians," repeated Mr. PeeksnifK "An [ eligible opportunity now offer.«i, which unites the advantages of the best practical architectural education with the comforts of a, home, and the constant association with some, who, however i 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, ]\Ir. 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, jMrs. Todgers," said 'Sir. Pecksniff, "who desires to avail himself of such an opportunity for a young gentleman 1 An orphan would be preferred. Do you know of any orphan with three or four hundred pound ? '" ]\Irs. Todgers reflected, and shook her head. " When you hear of an orphan with three or fom- hundred pound," said Mi-. Pecksniff, " let that dear orphan's friends apply, by letter post-paid, to 8. P., Post-office, Salisbury. I don't know who lie is, exactly. Don't be alarmed, ]\Irs. Todgers," said Mr. Pecksnift", falling heavily against her : " Chronic— chronic ! Let's have a httle drop of something to drink." " Bless my life. Miss Pecksnifts ! " cried Mrs. Todgers, aloud, " your dear pa's took very poorly ! " Mr. Pecksniff" straightened himself by a surprising effort, as every one turned hastily towards him ; and standing on his feet, regarded the assembly with a look of ineffable wisdom. Gradually it gave place to a smile ; a feeble, 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 tl;e fire-place. The youngest gentleman in company had him (nit in a second. Yes, before a hair upon his head was singed, lif had him on the hearth-rug. — Her father ! 148 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF She was almost beside herself. So was her sister. Jiiikins consoled them both. They all consoled them. Everybody had something to say except the youngest gentleman in the company, who with a noble self-devotion did the heavy work, and held up Mr. Pecksniff's head without being taken any notice of by anybody. At last they gathered round, and agreed to carry him up-stairs to bed. The youngest gentleman in company was rebuked by Jinkius for tearing Mr. Pecksniif '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 idiosyncrasy. 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 liim. But before they had all gained the bottom of the staircase, a vision of j\Ir. 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. .":€ro 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 simjjle piece from Doctor Watts's collection, an eligible oijportunity now offers." Nobody volunteered. "This is very soothing," said Mr. Pecksniff, after a jjause. " Extremely so. Cool and refreshing ; particularly to the legs ! The legs of the human subject, my friends, are a beautiful pro- duction. 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. Grander went up-stairs again, and once more got him into bed. But they had not ll MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 140 descended to the second floor before he was out again ; nor, when they had repeated the process, had they descended the first tiight, before he was out again. In a word, as often as he was sliut uj) in his own room, he darted out atVesh, c-harged with some new moral sentiment, which lie continually repeated over the banisters, with extraordinary relish, and an irrepressible desire for the improvement of liis fellow-creatures that nothing could subdue. Under these circumstances, when they had got him into bed for the thirtieth time or so, Mr. Jinkins held him, while his companion went down stairs in search of Bailey junior, with whom he presently returned. That youth, having been apprised of the service required of him, was in great spirits, and brought up a stool, a candle, and his supper ; to the end that he might keep watch outside the bedroom door with tolerable comfort. ^Vhen 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 wos in gineral, and didn't date his letters to his friends, from Todgers's, for nothing." CHAPTER X. f CONTAINING STRANGE MATTER ; ON WHICH MANY EVENTS IN THIS HISTORY MAY, FOR THEIR GOOD OR EVIL INFLUENCE, I CHIEFLY DEPEND. But Mr. Pecksniff came to town on business. Had he forgotten that ? Was he always taking his pleasure with Todgers's jovial : brood, unmindful of the serious demands, whatever they miglit 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 ■I, down in the table, and about to flow. No idle Pecksnirt" lingered ; far inland, unmindful of the changes of tlie stream ; but there, . upon the water's edge, over his shoes already, stood the wortiiy creature, prepared to wallow in the very mud, so that it slid towards the quarter of his hope. The trustfulness of his two fair dauffhters was beautiful indeed. If.O LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF They had that tinu reliance ou their parent's nature, which taught them to feel certain that in all he did, he had his purpose straiglit and full before him. And that its noble end and object was liimself, which almost of necessity included them, they knew. The devotion of tliese maids was perfect. Their filial confidence was rendered the more touching, by their having no knowledge of their parent's real designs, in the jjresent instance. All that they knew of his proceedings, was, that every morning, after the early breakfast, he repaired to the post-office and inquired for letters. That task 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. Pecksnift' returned with a breathless rapidity, strange to obserA^e in him, at other times so calm ; and, seeking immediate speech with his daughters, shut himself uj) with them in private conference, for two whole hours. Of all that passed in this period, only the following words of j\Ir. Pecksnift's utterance are known : " How he has come to change so very much (if it should turn out as I expect, that he has), we needn't stop to inquire. I\Iy dears, I have my thoughts upon the subject, Init I will not impart them. It is enough that we will not be proud, resentful, or unforgiving. If he wants our friendship, he shall have it. "We know om* duty, I hope ! " Tliat 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 Avith Mr. Peck- sniff's seal. It was very short, containing indeed nothing more than an address " with Mv. Pecksniffs respectful, and (notwithstanding what has passed) sincerely affectionate regards." The old gentle- man 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 jnu-suance of these instructions he was driven to the Monument ; 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, Avere all expressive of a resolution not easily shaken, and a purpose (it matters little whether right or wrong, just now) such as in other days might have survived the rack, and had its strongest life in weakest death ; still tliere were grains of hesitation in his mind, which made him MARTIN (.'HUZZLEWIT. 151 uiiw avoid the huii^ii' ho sought, and h:)iti'r to and IVo 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 tliere he walked, awakening the echoes as he ])aced 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 utf his incertitude as the air parted with the sound of the bells, he walked rajjidly to the house, and knocked at the door. i\Ir. 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 par- take of that simple refreshment with his children, when he knocked at the door. "Your daughters are welH "' said old Martin, laying down his hat and stick. Tilr. Pecksniff endeavoured to conceal his agitation as a father, wlien he answered, Yes, they were. They wei'e good girls, he said, very good. He would not venture to recommend Mr. Chuzzlewit tu take the easy-chair, or to keep out of the draught from the door. If lie 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 tlie door was far from being air-tight. This latter imperfection, he might perhaps venture to add, was not uncommonly to be met V ith in old houses. The old man sat down in the easy-chair, and after a few moments' silence, said : " In the first place, let me tliank you for coming to London so promptly, at my almost unexplained re(|uest : I need scarcely add, at, my cost." "At your cost, my good Sir ! " cried Mr. Pecksuitf, in a tone of ;^reat surjirise. " It is not," said Martin, waving his hand impatiently, " my habit to put my — well ! my relatives — to any jjersonal expense to gratify my caj)rices." " Caprices, my good Sir ! " cried I\Ir. Pecksniff. "That is scarcely the proper word either, in this instance," said the old man. "No. You are right." Mr. Pecksniff" was inwardly A'cry much relieved to hear it, though he didn't at all know why. " You are right," rejieated Martin. " It is not a caprice. It is 152 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 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 1 " 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 hear 1 " " Perfectly," said Mr. Pecksniff. " I very much regret," Martin resumed, looking steadily at him, and speaking in a slow and measured tune : "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 tliat 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, tliough Mr. Pecksniff' particularly begged him not to mention it ; " and to lielp me to visit the consequences of the very worst species of meanness, dissinuUation, and subtlety, on tlie right heads." " My noble Sir ! " cried Mr. Pecksniff", catching at his outstretched hand. "And ^ou regret tlie having harboured unjust thoughts of me ! 3/o« 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 1 " " In the nose of my eldest and the chin of my youngest, Mr. Chuzzlewit," leturned the widower, " their sainted parent — not myself, their mother — lives again." "I don't mean in person," said the old man. "Morally — morally." " "lis 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 i MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 15:i the door, from the beginning of this conversation imtil imw, when they precipitately retired. Having wiped tiie signs of weakness tVnm his eyes, and so given them fime to get up stairs, Sir. Peck- .-iiitf opened tlic door, and miklly cried in the i)assage, " My own (hirlings, where are yoti I " " Here, my dear pa ! " replied the distant voice of (.'harity. '' Come down into the back parlour, if you i)lease, 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. ]S^othing coidd exceed the astonishment of the two Miss Peck- sniffs 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. L'huzzlcwit 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 ■.)U1 man's neck. And when they had embraced him with such fer- \ ( jur of affection that no words can describe it, they grouped them- selves about liis chair, and hung over him : as figuring to themselves no earthly joy like that of ministering to his wants, and crow'ding 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 wdiich 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 calum- niators w'ould have said, with a view to any testamentary thoughts that might be flitting through old Martin's mind — "Pcrhai)s, my dears, you had better write them down. Your humble autograjjhs are of no value in themselves, but affection may prize them." "Affection," said the old man, "will ex])end 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 1 " "Why — yes — occasionally. Sir," said I\lr. Pecksnilf, wiio iiad been standing all this time. l1;UT11 I'ilKVAll-ii AMI YIllTUii la TlUUMi'llAM LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF MARTIN C11UZZLK\\ IT. 15;. " Will you do yo now ? "' "Can you ask me," returned Mr. Pecksnifl", slipping into a cliair immediately, ''whether I will do anything that you desire?" " You talk confidently,'' said Martin, "and you mean well ; Imt I fear you don't know what an old man's humours are. Yuu 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 witli his distrusts and jealousies ; and always still be zealous iti 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 liardly dare to claim you for my friend." " JMy worthy Sir," returned his relative, '• how can you talk in such a i)ainful 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 ^\■ith increasing obsequiousness, " that while we mourned the heaviness of our misfortune in being confounded with the base and mercenary, still we could not wonder at it. My dears, you remember 1 " Oh vividly ! A thousand times ! " AVe 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?" Recollect ! Could he doubt it ? Dearest pa, what strange, unnecessary questions ! "And when I saw you," resumed Mr. Pecksniff, with still greater deference, " in the little, unassuming village where we take the liberty of dwelling, I said you were mistaken in me, my dear Sir: tliat was all, I think?" "No — not all," said Martin, who had been sitting with his haml upon his brow for some time past, and now looked up again : "you sjiid uuich more, which, added to other circumstances that have come to my knowledge, opened my eyes. Y^ou spoke to me, di.s- interestedl}', on behalf of — I needn't name him. You know whom I mean." Trouble was expressed in Mr. Pecksniffs visage, as he i)ressed his hot hands together, and replied, with humility, " Quite dis- interestedly, Sir, I assure you." "I know it," said old Martin, in hi.; quiet way. " 1 am sure of 156 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF it. I said so. It was disinterested too, in j'ou, to draw tliat herd of har^jies off from nie, and be their victim yourself; most other men would liave suftered 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 — " "Yes, Sir," rejoined the architect, "I have." "He must quit it," said Martin. " For — for yours ? " asked IMr. Pecksniff, 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 fidl in the face, with a greater demonstration of interest than had yet appeared in his features. His gaze again encountered Mr. Pecksniff, as he said, composedly : " Of course you know that he has made his matrimonial choice 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 1" repeated Martin. " Surely not without his grandfiither's consent and approbation, my dear Sir ! " cried Mr. Pecksuitt". " 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 con- tracted serpent ; a crocodile, who had made a furtive offer of his hand ; an imposition on society : a bankrupt bachelor with no effects, trading with the siuuster world on false pretences ! And 5IARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 157 oh, to think tliat he should have disolicyed 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 witli 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 {)en- alties ? Could it be that the statutes of the land were so remiss as to have attixed no punishment to such delinquency'? Monster; how basely had they been deceived ! " I am glad to find you second me so warmly," said tiie 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." "Xo, 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 mai/ look upon it as done, I assure you." "There is another topic," said Martin, "on wliich I hope you will assist me. You remember Mary, cousin ? " " The young lady that I mentioned to you, my dears, as having interested me so very much," remarked Mr. Pecksnift'. " Excuse ray 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 favourably for my sake. But I find you have no jealousies ! Well ! You have no cause for any, to be sure. She has nothing to gain from me, my dears, and she knows it." The two Miss Pecksniffs murmured their approval of this wise arrangement, and tlieir cordial sympathy with its interesting object. " If I could have anticipated what has come to pass between us four," said the old man, thouglitfully : "but it is too late to think of that. You would receive her courteously, young ladies, and be kind to her, if need were 1 " Wjiere was the orphan whom the two Miss Pecksniffs would not liave cherished in their sisterly bosom ! But when tliat orphan was commended to their care by one on whom tiic 158 LIFE AXD ADVENTURES OF (lammed-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 rehearsed 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 1 Have you reflected ? " " Said of what, my dear Sir ? " Mi". Pecksniff asked. " Of this new understanding between us." Mr. 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 manj'," 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?" 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 meannesses and vile endurances, as nothing could repay ; no, not the legacy of half the world we live in. You can bear that 1 " Mr. Pecksniff made reply that this would be also very 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 tliem 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 punislunent which MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. ir.9 >hnul(l ninklc in the bosoms of tliesc kites the most, uiul strike into their gall, I devised tliis scheme at a time when the hist link in the chain of grateful love and duty, that held me to my race, w as roughly snapped asunder : roughly, for I loved him well ; iMughly, for I had ever put my trust in his aftection ; roughly, I'm- that he broke it when I loved him most — God help me ! — and he without a pang could throw me otf, the while I clung about his heart ! Now," said the old man, dismissing this jiassionate outburst, as suddenly as he had yielded to it, "is your mind made up to bear this likewise 1 Lay your account with having it to liear, and put no trust in being set right by me." "]\Iy dear Mr. Chuzzlewit," cried Pecksnitt* in an ecstary, "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 \\hat precise term to use — yet at the same time so remarkably — I (hm't know how to express my meaning; for such a man as I have described, I hope it is no presumption to say that I, and I am sure I may add my children also (my dears, Ave perfectly a-roe in this, I think ?), would bear anything whatever ! " " Enough," said ]\Iartin. " You can charge no consequences nil me. When do you return home?" "Whenever you jjlease, my dear Sir. To-night, if ymi I h -sire it." " I desire nothing," returned the old man, "that is unreason- able. Such a request would be. Will you be ready to return at the end of this Aveek 1 " The very time of all others that j\Ir. Pecksniff would have suggested if it had been left to liini to make his own choice. As to his daughters — the words, "Let us be at home on Satunlay, dear pa," were actually upon their lips. " Your expenses, cousin," said JMartin, taking a folded slip of liaper 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 aT)ode. When I have, you shall know it. You ai]il yom- 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. Ir. Pecksnitt" venturing to detain him. " .My dears !" 160 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF The sisters flew to wait upon him. " Poor girls ! " said Mr. PecliSuifl". " You will excuse their agitation, my dear Sir. Tliey 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, Sirl" "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 ]\Ir. 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 deliglitful." "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 tlie partiality of a fatlier may be excused in saying so. A wonderful aft'ection 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 witli which these latter words were spoken, Mr. Pecksniff" thanked liim devoutly. "Now let me go," said Martin, putting down tlie wine wiien 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 wlio, not a moment before, Iiad pledged their parent in such a very uncomfortable manner. These endearments terminated, he took a hasty leave of I\Ir. Pecksniff", and withdrew, followed to the door ^rARTix rnrzzLEWiT. ir.i by both lather ami daughters, who stood there, kissing tlieir hands, and beaming witli attection until lie disappeared : though, by the way, he never onee looked back, after he had crossed the threshold. When they returned into the house, and were again alone in Mrs. Todgers's.rooni, 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. "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 Avas 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. Peck- sniff that he reproved her in set terms, and gave her his parental advice to correct herself in solitude and contemplation. 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 Avay 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 ejMthet in his agitation, but corrected himself, by adding, "a gentleman of property, I mean, who practises with a pair of pistols (fellows too) M 162 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF of his own. If I am driveu to borrow 'em, and to send a friend to Jinkins — a tragedy Avill get into tlie pajDers. 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 ? No." "It is very wrong in Mr. Jinkius; 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 interrupt and contradict me on every -pccasion ? Does he ever fail to interpose 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 ! " 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 my.self 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 gentle- men ; 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." MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 103 " I'm not treated as if I was," said the youngest gentleman. " There you make a great mistake, Sir," retuiiied Mrs. Toilgers, 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 Avisli 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 gradually changed positions ; so that she l)ecame the injured party, and he was understood to be the injurer; but in a com- plimentary, not in an offensive sense ; his cruel conduct being attributable to his exalted nature, and to that alone. So, in the end, the young gentleman withdrew his notice, and assured Mrs. Todgers of his unalterable regard : and having done so, went back to business, "Goodness me, Miss Pecksniffs ! " cried that lady, as she came into the back room, and sat wearily down, with her basket on her knees, and her hands folded upon it, " what a trial of temper it is to keep a hou.se like this ! You must have heard most of what has just passed. Now did you ever hear the like 1 " " Never ! " said the two Miss Pecksniff's. "Of all the ridiculous young fellows that ever I had to deal with," resumed Mrs. Todgers, " that is the most ridiculous and unreasonable. Mr. Jinkins is hard upon him sometimes, but not half as hard as he deserves. To mention such a gentleman as Mr. Jinkins, in the same breath with him — you know it's too imich ! 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 gentleman's character, which she went on to tell them. But Mr. Pecksniff looked quite stern and angry : and wlien she had concluded, said in a solemn voice : " Pray, Mrs. Todgers, if I may inquire, what does that young gentleman contribute towards the support of these premises ''. " 164 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF " 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, looketl 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 Aveek, 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," faltered Mrs. Todgers. "I must preserve peace among them, and keep my connection 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 dis- simulation ! To worship the golden calf of Baal, for eighteen shillings a week ! " " Don't in your own goodness be too hard upon me, Mr. Peck- sniff," 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 immediately took down his hat from its peg in the passage, and went out for a walk, to compose his feelings. Anybody passing him in the street might have known him for a good man at first sight ; for his whole figure teemed with a consciousness of the moral homily he had read to Mrs. Todgers. Eighteen shillings a week ! Just, most just, thy censure, upright Pecksniff ! Had it been for the sake of a ribbon, star, or garter ; sleeves of lawn, a great man's smile, a seat in Parliament, a tap upon the shoulder from a courtly sword ; a place, a party, or a thriving lie, or eighteen thousand pounds, or even eighteen hundred ; — but to worship the golden calf for eighteen shillings a week ! Oh pitiful, pitiful ! I MAKTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 165 CHAPTER XI. WHEREIN A CERTAIN GENTLEMAN BECOMES PARTICULAR IN HIS ATTENTIONS TO A CERTAIN LADY ; AND MORE COMING EVENTS THAN ONE, CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE. The family were within two or three days of their dei^arture from Mrs. Todgers's, aud the commercial gentlemen were to a man desiDondent and not to be comforted, because of the approaching separation, wlien Bailey junior, at the jocund time of noon, pre- sented himself before Miss Charity Peeksnitf, then sitting with her sister in the banquet chamber, hemming sLx new pocket-handker- chiefs 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 drawing-room. Perhaps this last announcement showed in a more striking point of view than many lengthened speeches could have done, the trustfulness aud 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 au even chance that the visitor was then wandering on the roof of the house, or vainly seeking to extricate himself from a maze of bedrooms ; Todgers's being precisely that kind of establishment in which an unpiloted stranger is pretty sure to find himself in some j^lace where he least expects and least desires to be. "A gentleman for me!" cried Charity, jiausiiig in her work ; "my gracious, Bailey ! " "Ah!" said Bailey. "It /*• my gracious, a'nt if? Wouldn't I be gracious neither, not if I wos him ! " The remark was rendered somewhat obscure iu itself, liy reason (as the reader may have observed) of a redundancy of negatives ; but accompanied 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 tendenc3^ Miss Charity affected to reprove so great a liberty ; but she could not help smiling. He was a strange boy to be sure. There was always some ground of probability aud likelihood mingled with his absurd behaviour. That was the best of it I 166 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF " But I don't know any gentleman, Bailey," said Miss Peck- sniff. " I think you must have made a mistake." Mr. Bailey smiled at the extreme wildness of such a supposition, and regarded the young ladies with unimpaired affability. " My dear Merry," said Charity, " who can it be 1 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 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 sharp- ness, " though still, at the same time, you needn't be angiy, 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 comfortable in that respect, and not to be worried by those odious men ! How do you do it. Cherry 1 " 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 steji, extremely difficult in its nature, and only to be achieved in a moment of ecstacy, which is commonly called The Frog's Hornpipe. A manifestation so lively, brought to their immediate recollection the great virtuous precept, " Keep up ap2)earances whatever you do," in which they had been educated. They forbore at once, and jointly signilied 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 con- trition 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 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 167 out ; and so that damsel went in state up-stairs to receive her mysterious adorer. By some stranj^^e 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 1 " Miss Charity replied that she was (pute well ; and gave ]\Ir. 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 ? " " My sister is very well, I believe," returned the young lady. "I have not heard her complain of any indisposition. Sir. Per- haps 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 t/ou to know," said Cherry, " whether I am or not." "Well, perhaps it is," said Mr. Jona.s. "I say — did you think I was lost 1 You haven't told me that." " 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 1 " " 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 1 " said Jonas, lowering his voice. " She is very lively," said Cherry. " Liveliness is a pleasant thing — when it don't lead to spending money. An't it 1 " asked Mr. Jonas. " Very much so, indeed," said Cherry, with a demureness of manner that gave a very disinterested character to her assent. "Such liveliness as yours I mean, you know," observed Mr. Jonas, as he nudged her with his elbow. " I should have come to see you before, but I didn't know where you was. How quick you hurried off, that morning ! " "I was amenable to my Papa'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 168 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF morning. What a sleek, sly chap he is I Just like a tom-cat, an't he ? " " 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 my father, then, and so I give you leave," said Jonas. "I think it's liquid aggravation that circulates through his veins, and not regular blood. How old should you think my father was, cousin % " " Old, no doubt," replied Miss Charity; "but a fine old gentle- man." " 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 ! Three-score-and-ten's the mark ; and no ]nan 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 Jo such a book for such a purpose 1 Does any one doubt the md saw, that the Devil (being a layman) quotes Scripture for his own ends % If he will take the trouble to look about him, he may find a greater number of confirmations of the fixct, in the occurrences of any single day, than the steam-gun can discharge balls in a minute, " But there's enough of my fiither," said Jonas; "it's of no use to go putting oue's-self out of the way by talking about him. I called to ask you to come and take a walk, cousin, and see some of the sights ; and to come to our house afterwards, and have a bit of something. Pecksnift" will most likely look in in the even- ing, 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 jiroof, 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, witli your cousin. Let there be union among us Avhen it is possible ; " and after enough of hesita- tion to impart a proper value to her consent, withdrew, to prepare MARTIN CHUZZLEAVIT. 169 licr sister and herself for the excursion. She soon returnee!, aiiompanied by Miss Mercy, who was by no means pleased to U:ive the brilliant triumphs of Todgers's for the society of Mr. Jonas and his respected father. " Aha ! " cried Jonas. " There you ai-e, are you I " "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 Avhat opinion you like, fright," retorted JMercy. '• 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. " iShe's a regular teazer, an't she, cousin '? " iliss 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 ru-al 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 efiect of preventing any farther altercation, for Mr. Jonas immediately i^roposed 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 lond and violent fit of coughing, to which jjaroxysm he was still the victim when they turned the corner. ^Ir. 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 bfidges, churches, streets, outsides of theatres, and other free spectacles, in that one forenoon, as most people sec in a twelvemonth. It was observable in this gentleman that he had an insurmountable distaste to the insides of buildings ; and that he was perfectly acquainted with the merits of all shows, in respect of which there was any charge for admission, whidi it seemed were every one detestable, and of tiie very lowest grade of merit. He was so thoroughly possessed with this oi)inion, that 170 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF when Miss Chanty haiDi^ened 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 carae from ? "' and being told that Mr. Jinkins and party paid, was be- yond 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 silli- ness of those gentlemen, and (doubtless) at his own superior wisdom. When they had been out for some hours and were thoroughly fatigued, it being by that time twilight, Mr. Jonas intimated that he would show them one of the best pieces of fun with which he was acquainted. This joke was of a practical kind, and its humour lay in taking a hackney-coach to the extreme limits of possibility for a shilling. Haj^pily 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, Man- chester Warehousemen, and so forth, had its place of business in a very narrow street somewhere behind the Post Otfice ; where every house was in the brightest summer morning very gloomy ; and where light porters watered the pavement, each before his own emijloyer's premises, in fantastic patterns, in the dog-days ; and where spruce gentlemen with their hands in the pockets of sym- metrical trousers, were always to be seen in warm weather contem- plating their undeniable boots in dusty warehouse doorways, which appeared to be the hardest work they did, except now and tlien carrying pens behind their ears. A dim, dirty, smoky, ttunble- 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 otlier residence, or any care or thought beyond its narrow limits. Business, as may be readily supposed, was the main thing in this establishment ; insomuch indeed that it shouldered comfort out of doors, and jostled the domestic arrangements at every turn. Thus in the miserable bedrooms there were files of moth-eaten letters hanging up against the walls ; and linen rollers, and frag- ments of old patterns, and odds and ends of spoiled goods, strewn upon the ground ; wliile 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 aftair of life. The single sitting-room was on the same principle, a chaos of MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 171 boxes and old papers, aud had more countiug-honse stools in it '" than chairs : not to mention a great monster of a desk straddling over the middle of the floor, and an iron safe sunk into tlie wall above the fire-place. The solitary little table for purposes of refec- tion and social enjoyment, bore as fair a proportion to the desk and other business furniture, as the graces and harmless relaxations of life had ever done, in the persons of the old man and his son, to their pursuit of -wealth. It was meanly laid out, now, for dinner ; and in a chair before the fire, sat Anthony himself, who rose to greet his son and his fair cousins as they entered. An ancient proverb warns us that we should not expect to find uld heads upon young shoulders ; to which it may be added that N\e seldom meet with that unnatural combination, but we feel a -ti'ijug desire to knock them oft"; merely from an inherent love we liave of seeing things in their right places. It is not improbable that many men, in no wise choleric by nature, felt this impulse rising up within them, when they first made the acquaintance of ^Ir. Jonas ; but if they had known him more Intimately in his nwu house, aud had sat Avith him at his own board, it would assuredly have been paramount to all other considerations. '• Well, ghost ! " said Mr. Jonas, dutifully addressing his parent Viy that title. " Is dinner nearly ready 1 " " I should think it was," rejoined the old man. '• What's the good of thaf?" rejoined the son. ''/should think it was. I want to know." "Ah ! I don't know for certam," said Anthony. '■ You don't know for certain," rejoined his son in a lower tone. •• No. You don't know anything for certain, i/ou don't. Give me your candle here. I want it for the gals." ! I Anthony handed him a battered old office candlestick, with ' j which Mr. Jonas preceded the young ladies to the nearest bedroom, I [where he left them to take oft" their shawls and bonnets; and re- turning, occupied himself in opening a bottle of wine, sharpening • the carving-knife, and muttering compliments to his father, until i 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. I j " Bachelor's Hall you know, cousin," said Mr. Jonas to Charity, 1 1 " I say — the otlier one will be having a laugh at this when she •gets home, won't she? Here; you sit on the right side of me, and I'll have her upon the left. Other one, Avill you come here 1 " " 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." 172 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF "Au't she lively?" whispered Mr. Jonas to the elder siste with his favourite elbow emi^hasis. "Oh I really dou't know ! " replied Miss Pecksniflf, tartly. " am tired of being asked such ridiculous questions." "What's that precious old father of mine about now?" sai Mr. Jonas, seeing that his parent was travelling up and down th room, instead of taking his seat at table. " What are vou lookin for ? " " I've Tost my glasses, Jonas," said old Anthony. " Sit down without your glasses, can't you ? " returned his sor " You don't eat or drink out of 'em, I think ; and where's tha sleepy-headed old Chuffey got to ! Xow, stupid. Oh ! you kno\ your name, do you 1 " It would seem that he didn't, for he didn't come until th father called. As he spoke, the door of a small glass office, whic: was partitioned off from the rest of the room, was slowly opened and a little blear-eyed, weazen-faced, ancient man came creepin, out. He was of a remote fashion, and dusty, like the rest of th furniture; he was dressed in a decayed suit of black; with breeche garnished at the knees with rusty wisps of ribbon, the very pauper of shoe-strings; on the lower portion of his spindle legs were ding; worsted stockings of the same colour. He looked as if he ha( been put away and forgotten half a century before, and somebod; had just found him in a lumber-closet. Such as he was, he came slowly creeping on towards the table iintil at last he crept into the vacant chair, from which, as his din faculties became conscious of the presence of strangers, and thos- strangers ladies, he rose again, apparently intending to make il bow. But he sat down once more, without having made it, am' breathing on his shrivelled hands to warm them, remained with hi poor blue nose immoveable above his plate, looking at nothing with eyes that saw nothing, and a face that meant nothingi Take him in that state, and he was an embodiment of nothingi Nothing else. " Our clerk," said Mr. Jonas, as host and master of the cere monies : " Old Chuffey." "Is he deaf? " inquired one of the young ladies. "IS'o, 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 ? " inquired the young ladies. "N — no. I never understood that he was at all blind," sai( Jonas, carelessly. " You don't consider him so, do you, father ? " " Certainly not," replied Anthony. " What is he then ? " -? :\IARTIN CHUZZLEAVIT. 173 kA ""Why^ rU toll you what he is," said Mr. Jonas, ajiart to tlio roung ladies, " he's precious old, for one thing ; and I an"t best ■ "^)leased with him for that, for I think my father must have caught r of him. He's a strange old chap, for another,"' he added in a ■Miller voice, "and don't understand any one hardly, hut /ihn/" :lv pointed to his honoured parent with the carving-fork, in order hat they might know whom he meant. " How very strange ! " cried the sisters. "Why, you see," said Mr. Jonas, "he's been addling his old ' trains with figures and book-keeping all his life ; and twenty year i cir so he Avent and took a fever. All the time he was out of head (which was three weeks) he never left off casting up ; and ir i^ut to so many million at last that I don't believe he's ever l)een quite right since. We don't do much business now though, ' ' aud he an't a bad clerk." m "A very good one," said Anthony. iv] " 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 ; '''■' lie always understands him, though, and wakes up quite wonderful. He's been used to his ways so long, you see ! Why, I've seen him play whist, with my father for a partner ; and a good rubber :too ; when he had no more notion what sort of peoj)le he was ; playing against, than you have." !i|j " Has he no appetite 1 " asked Merry. m "Oh yes," said Jonas, plying his own knife and fork very fast. iJfr'He eats — when he's helped. But he don't care whether he waits (ja minute or an hour, as long as father's here ; so when I'm at all i: isharp set, as I am to-day, I come to him after I've taken the edge ''- I off my own hunger, you know. Now, Chuftey, stupid, are you I! ready?" 4 Chuffey remained immoveable. M "Always a perverse old file, he was," said I\Ii-. Jonas, coolly helping himself to another slice. "Ask him, father." ■'Are you ready for your dinner, Chuff'ey'?" asked the old man. "Yes, yes," said Chuftey, lighting up into a sentient human t\ creature at the first sound of the voice, so that it was at once a I; curious and quite a moving sight to see him. "Yes, yes. Quite ' i 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 for- sook his face by little and little, until he was nothing again. |j "He'll be very disagreeable, mind," said Jonas, addressing his 1 1 coixsins as he handed the old man's portion to his father, "lie -=7 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 1 I 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' got 1 If it hadn't been for the joke of it, I wouldn't have let h 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 infinitely 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 Chuflfey superior to his own father ; which, as he signi- ficantly 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, filled 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 attain- ment, truly ! But there be some who manufocture idols after the fashion of themselves, and fail to worship them when they are made ; charging their deformity on outraged nature. Anthony was better than these at any rate. Chuffey boggled over his plate so long, that Mr. Jonas, losing patience, took it from him at last with his own liands, and re- (|uested his father to signify to that venerable person that he had better " peg away at his bread : " which Anthony did. " Ay, ay ! " 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, Chuffey would be the deatli of him. The cloth was then removed, and the bottle of MARTIN CHTTZZLEWIT. 17r. ine set iiiion tlie table, from whioli Mr. Jonas filled tlie 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 witli 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 Pecksnift'. Your fiither, y 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 any- thing, my darlings. You may overdo even hypocrisy. Ask las!" "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 en- raptured, " Wisdom, wisdom ! A good exception, Jonas. No. It's not easy to overdo that." " Except," whispered Mr. Jonas to his flivourite 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 j-ou?" " She seems to make such game of one," replied Mr, Jonas, " Then why need you trouble yourself about her 1 " said Charity. "I am sure she doesn't trouble herself much about you." " Don't she though 1 " 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, us 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 iii'> 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 imi)artiiig the same to his ancient clerk, who rubbed his hands, nodded his palsied head, winked his watery eyes, and cried in his whistling 176 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF MARTIN CHU/ZLEWIT. tones, "Good! good! Your own sou, Mr. Chuzzlewit ! " with every feeble demonstration of deliglit tliat 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 lie 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 Chuffey fell back into a dark corner on one side of the fire-place, where he always spent his evenings, and was neither seen nor heard again that night ; save once, when a cup of tea was given him, in which he was seen to soak his bread mechanically. There was no reason to suppose that he went to sleep at these seasons, or that he heard, or saw, or felt, or thought. He re- mained, as it were, frozen up — if any term expressive of such a vigorous process can be applied to him— until he Avas 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 tliey chose to keep possession of it. When the tea-tray was taken away, as it was at last, Mr. Jonas produced a dirty pack of cards, and entertained the sisters with divers small feats of dexterity : whereof the main purpose of every one was, that you were to decoy somebody into laying a wager with you that you couldn't do it ; and were then immedi- ately 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 MR, JOXAS CIIUZZLEWIT KNTEIITAINS Ills COU.SI.NS. irs LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF * 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 Avholesorae remedies would not avail, so he was restrained by a bad passion from quaffing his full measure of evil, when virtue might have sought to hold him back in vain. By the time he had unfolded all the ijeddling schemes he knew upon the cards, it was growing late in the evening; and Mr. Pecksniff not making his appearance, the young ladies expressed a wish to return home. But this, Mr. Jonas, in his gallantry, would by no means allow, until they had partaken of some bread and cheese and porter ; and even then he was excessively unwilling to allow them to depart ; often beseeching Miss Charity to come a little closer, or to stop a little longer, and preferring many other complimentary petitions of that nature, in his own hospitable and earnest way. When all his efforts to detain them were fruitless, he put on his hat and great coat ijreparatory 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, ha, ha ! — to Pecksniff. Take care of your cousin, my dears j beware of Jonas ; he's a dangerous fellow. Don't quarrel for him, in any case ! " "Oh, the creature!" cried Mercy. "The idea of quarrelling for him ! You may take him, Cherry, my love, all to yourself. I make you a present of my share." " What ! I'm a sour grape, am I, cousin ?" said Jonas. Miss Charity was more entertained by this repartee than one would have supposed likely, considering its advanced age and simple character. But in her sisterly affection she took Mr. Jonas to task for leaning so very hard upon a broken reed, and said that he must not be so 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 wrong one ; so tightly too, as to cause her not a little inconvenience ; but as he talked to Charity in whispers the whole time, and paid her great attention, MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 179 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 tlie steps talking together for more than five minutes ; so, as lira. Todgers observed next morning, to a third party, " It was pretty clear what was going on there, and she was glad of it, for it really was high time Miss Pecksnift' thought of settling." And now the day was coming on, Avhen 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 gentleman, or any other dull reality of life, in a stage-coach, and carried down into the country ! "Xever, my dear Miss Pecksnifts," 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 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 ]\Iiss Pecksnifts, your Pa is a perfect missionary of peace and love." Entertaining an uncertainty as to the particular kind of love supposed to be comprised in Mr. Pecksnift''s mission, the young ladies received this compliment rather coldly. "If I dared," said ]\Irs. Todgers, perceiving this, "to violate a confidence which has been reposed in me, and to tell you why I must beg of you to leave the little door between your room and mine open to-night, I think you would be interested. Put I mustn't do it, for I promised Mr. Jiidcins faithfully that 1 would be as silent as the tomb." " Dear Mrs. Todgers ! What can you mean ? " "Why then, my sweet Miss Pecksnifts," 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, ]\Ir. Jinkins and the gentlemen have made up a little musical ]iarty 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 ilrink, they're not so musical, perhaps, as when they don't. Put this is thf 180 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF arrangement ; and I know you will be gratified, my dear Miss Pecksniffs, by such a mark of their attention." The young ladies were at first so much excited by the news, that they vowed they couldn't think of going to bed, until the serenade was over. But half an hour of cool waiting so altered their opinion that tliey not only went to bed, but fell asleep ; and were moreover not ecstatically charmed to be awakened some time afterwards by certain dulcet strains breaking in upon the silent watches of the night. It was very affecting — very. Nothing more dismal could have been desired by the most fastidious taste. The gentleman of a vocal turn was head mute, or chief mourner ; Jinkins took the bass ; and the rest took anything they could get. The youngest gentleman blew his melancholy into a flute. 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 com- bustion, 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 per- former. There was no knowing where to have him ; and exactly when you thought he was doing nothing at all, then was he doing the very thing that ought to astonish you most. There were several of these concerted pieces ; perhaps two or three too many, though that, as Mrs. Todgers said, was a fault on the right side. But even then, even at that solemn moment, when the thrilling sounds may be presumed to 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 key- liole of the door. He didn't play. What vent was a flute for the passions swelling up within his breast ? A trombone would have been a world too mild. The serenade approached its close. Its crowning interest was at hand. The gentleman of a literary turn had written a song on MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 181 the departure of the ladies, and adapted it to an old tunc. Tliey all joined, except the youngest gentleman in company, \\hi\ lor the reasons aforesaid, maintained a fearful silence. The song (which Avas of a classical nature) invoked the oracle of Apollo, and demanded to know what would become of Todgers's when C'hai;ity and Mercy were banished from its walls. The oracle delivered no opinion particularly worth remembering, according to tlie 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 ]\Iiss Peck- sniffs were nearly related to Rule Britannia, and that if Great Britain hadn't been an island there could have been no Mi.ss Pecksniff's. And being now on a nautical tack, it closed with this verse : " All hail to the vessel of PecksnitF the sire ! And favouriug breezes to fan ; While Tritons flock round it, and proudly admire The architect, artist, and man I " As they presented this beautiful picture to the imagination, the gentlemen gradually withdrew to bed to give the music the effect of distance; and so it died away, and Todgers's was left to its repose. Mr. Bailey reserved his vocal offering until the morning, when he put his head into the room as the young ladies were kneeling before their trunks, packing up, and treated them to an imitation of the voice of a young dog, in trying circumstances : wlien 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 homo, are you ; worse luck ? " " Yes, Bailey, we're going home," returned ]\Iercy. " A'nt you a going to leave none of 'em a lock of your hair ? " inquired the youth. " It's real, an't it 1 " They laughed at this, and told him of course it was. " Oh is it of course though ? " said Bailey. " I know better than that. Hers an't. Why, I see it hanging up once, on that nail by the winder. Besides, I have gone behind her at dinner- time and pulled it ; and she never know'd. I say, young ladies— I'm a going to leave. I an't a going to stand being called names by her, no longer." Mi.ss Mercy inquired what his plans for the future might be ; in reply to whom, Mr. Bailey intimated that he thought of going, either into top-boots, or into the army. "Into the army ! " cried the young ladies, with a laugh. 182 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF "Ah!" said Bailey, " wliy not? There's a iiuuiy driuiimers in the Tower. I'm acquainted with 'em. Don't their country set a valley on 'em, mind you ! Not at all ! " "You'll be shot, I see," observed Mercy. " Well ! " cried Mr. Bailey, " wot if 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 mi/ fault, is it ? " " Surely no one says it is," said Mercy. "Don't they though?" retorted the youth. "No. Yes. Ah ! Oh ! No one mayn't say it is ; but some one knows it is. But I an't a going to have 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 friendship, presented Mr. Bailey with a gratuity so liberal, that he could hardly do enough to show his gratitude ; which found but an imperfect vent, during the remainder of the day, in divers secret slaps upon his pocket, and other such facetious pantomime. Nor was it confined to these 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, Avas all bespoke, imtil 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 Jiidcins. " Come to say good bye, you see," said Anthony, in a low voice, to Mr. Pecksniff, as tliey took their seats apart at the table, wliile MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 183 the rc!>t couvcised among themselves. '' Where's the u.so 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 !" "Unanimity, my good sir," rejoined Mr. Pecksniff, "is ahvavs delightful. '' " I don't know about that,'' said the old man, " for tliere 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 i 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. Pecksnift''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 j should read nothing there. { "Jonas is a shrewd lad,"' said the old man. 1 "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 yom- daughter." I "Tut, my good sir," said Mr. Pecksniff, with his eyes still ' closed ; " young people — young people — a kind of cousins, too — no more sweetness than is in that, sir." " Why, there is very little sweetness in that, according to our experience," returned Anthony. " Isn't there a trifle more here 1 " " Impossible to say," rejoined Mr. Pecksniff. " Quite impossible ! You surprise me." "Yes, I know that," said the old man, drily. "It may last; I mean the sweetness, not the surprise ; anil it may die otl". Supposing it should last, perhaps (you having featlicred your nest pretty well, and I having done the same) we might have a mutual interest in the matter." 184 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF Mr. Pecksnirt', smiliug geutl}', ■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 i nearly affecting the happiness of your dear child, you couldn't, as a tender father, express an opinion ; and so forth. Yes, c^uite right. And like you ! But it seems to me, my dear Pecksnifl:'," added Anthony, laying his hand upon his sleeve, "that if you and I kept up the joke of pretending not to see this, one of us might possibly be placed in a position of disadvantage ; and as I am very unwilling to be that party myself, you will excuse my taking the. liberty of putting the matter beyond a doubt, thus early ; and having it distinctly understood, as it is now, that Ave do see it, and do know it. Thank you for your attention. We are now upon an equal footing ; which is agreeable to us both, I am sure." He rose as he spoke ; and giving Mr. Pecksniff a nod of intelligence, moved away from him to where the young people were sitting : leaving that good man somewhat puzzled and dis- comfited by such very jjlaiu 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 IMrs. 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-handker- chief 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, sujjported 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 interposition of Mr. Jinkins allowed. For Jinkins, to the last the youngest gentleman's rock ahead in life, stood upon the coach -step talking to the ladies. Upon the other step was Mr. Jonas, who maintained that position in right of 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 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 185 liail to coiitfiul and strive perpetually with heavy baggage. Tiiis I'alse position, combined with his nervous excitement, brought about the very consumnuition and catastrophe of his miseries ; \'nv wlien, in the moment of parting, he aimed a tlowor — a hot- lioiise tiower, that had cost money — at the fair hand of ]\Iercy, it reached, instead, the coachman on the box, who tiiankeil him kindly, and stuck it in his button-hole. They were otf now; and Todgers's was alone again. The two young ladies, leaning back in their separate corners, resigned themselves to their own regretful thoughts. But Mr. Pecksniff, dismissing all ephemeral considerations of social pleasure and enjoyment, concentrated his meditations on the one great virtuous purpose before him, of casting out that ingrate and deceiver, whose presence yet troubled his domestic hearth, and was a sacrilege upon the altars of his household gods. CHAPTER XII. WILL BE SEEN IN THE LONG RUN, IF NOT IN THE SHORT ONE, TO CONCERN MR. PINCH AND OTHERS, NEARLY. MR. PECKSNIFF ASSERTS THE DIGNITY OF OUTRAGED VIRTUE ; 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 Peck- snitKan halls, and improved their friendship daily. I\Iartin's facility, both of invention and execution, being remarkable, the grammar-school proceeded with great vigour ; and Tom repeatedly declared, that if tliere 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 saiignine 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 Avith much complacency, " PU tell you what .should be one of the things Pd build." "Ay!" cried Tom. "What?" "Why, your fortune." "No!" said Tom Pincli, quite as much delighted as if the 18t3 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF thing were done. " Would you though 1 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 — ay, 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 tlie 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 Avhat I say," retorted Martin, with a manner as free and easy in its condescension to, not to say in its com- passion for, the other, as if he were already First Architect in Ordinary to all the Crowned Heads in Euro^je. " 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 apjn-ove of Pinch ; ' I should like to know the man who would venture to put himself in opposition 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 1)0 a capital fellow, now, to see that my ideas were properly carried out ; and to overlook the works in their progress before they were suliiciently advanced to be very interesting to me; and to take all that sort of j^laiu sailing. Then you'd be a splendid fellow to show peoi^le over my studio, and to talk about Art to 'em, when I couldn't be bored myself, and all that kind of thing. For it would be devilish creditable, Tom (I'm quite in earnest, I give you my word), to have a man of your information about one, instead of some ordinary blockhead. Oh, I'd take care of you. You'd be useful, rely upon it ! " To say that Tom had no idea of playing first fiddle in any social orchestra, but was always quite satisfied to be set down for the hundred and fiftieth violin in the band, or thereabouts, is to express his modesty in very inadequate terms. He was much delighted, therefore, by these observations. " I should be married to her then, Tom, of course," said Martin. What was that which checked Tom Pincli so suddenly, in tlie hio;h flow of his dadness : bringing the blood into his honest MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 1S7 cheeks, and a remorseful feeling to liis honest heart, as if hv wore unworthy of his friend's regard 1 "I should be married to her then," said Martin, looking with a smile towards the light : "and we sliould have, I lioi)e, chihh-cn :ili 'ut us. Tliey'd be very fond of you, Tom." But not a word said Mr. Pinch. The words he wouhl 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 ]\Iartin. " Perhajis I might name one of 'em after you. Tom, eh ? AVell, I don't know ; Tom's not a bad name. Thomas Pinch Cluizzlewit. T. P. C. on his pina- fores — no objection to that, I should say 1 " Tom cleared his throat, and smiled. "She would like you, Tom, I know," said Martin. " Ay ! " cried Tom Pinch, faintly. "I can tell exactly what she would think of you," said Martin, leaning his chin iipon his hand, and looking through tlie 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 yon, Tom 1 " Mr. Pinch nodded his entire assent. " She w^ould always be kind and good-humoured, and glad to see you," said Martin; "and when she found out exactly what sort of fellow you were (which she'd do, very soon), she would pretend to give you little commissions to execute, and to ask little services of you, which she knew you were 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 would understand you far more delicately than I ever shall ; and would often say, I know, tliat you were a harmless, gentle, well-intentioned, good fellow." How silent Tom Pinch was ! "In honour of old times," said Martin, "and of her having heard you play the organ in this damp little church down here — for nothing too — we will have one in the house. I siiall build an architectural music-room on a plan of my own, and it'll look rather knowing in a recess at one end. There you sliall play away, Tom, till you tire yourself; and, as you like to do so in the dark, it 188 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF shall ht dark ; and luauy's the summer eveuiug she and I -will sit and listen to you, Tom j be sure of that ! " It may have required a stronger effort ou 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 ou his face j 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 blo-mi 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 eitlier true or tuneful. "It's a proof of the kindness of human nature," said Tom, characteristically putting himself quite out of sight in the matter, '• that everybody who comes here, as you have done, is more con- siderate 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 exiness, if I Avere the most eloquent. It really overpowers me. But trust me," said Tom, "that I am not ungrateful — -that I never forget — and tliat, if I can ever prove the truth of my words to you, I will." " Thafs 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 Pecksniffs, I remember, and perhaps a mile or so out of the high-road to fortune just at this minute. tSo you've heard again this morning from what's his name, eh I " "Who may that be?" asked Tom, seeming to enter a mild protest on behalf of the dignity of an absent person. " You know. What is it 1 Northkey." " Westlock," rejoined Tom, in rather a louder tone than usual. "Ah! to be sm-e," said Martin, "Westlock. I knew it was something connected with a point of the compass and a door. Well ! and what says Westlock 1 " " Oh ! he has come into his proj^erty," answered Tom, nodding his head, and smiling. " He's a lucky dog," said Martin. '• I wish it were mine instead. Is that all the mystery you were to tell me 1 ' " No," said Tom : " not all." " 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 executors cash up ' — he used strange expressions now and then, but that was his wav." ^[ARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 180 •• Cash-up's a very good expression," observed Martin, '• wiien (It her people don't apply it to you. "Well? — What a slow iVllow \ I ai are, Pinch ! " '• Yes, I am I know,"' said Tom ; " but you'll make me nervous if you tell me so. I'm afraid you have put me out a little now, for 1 f ii'uot wliat I was going to say." ■' When John's father's executors cashed up — " said IMartin impatiently. ••Oh yes, to be sure,"' cried Tom; "yes. 'Then,' says John, • I'll give you a dinner, Pinch, and come down to Salisbury on liHri)ose.' Now, when John wrote the other day — the morning IVH'ksnift' left, you know — he said his business was on the point of lieing immediately settled, and as he was to receive his money directly, when could I meet him at Salisbury 1 I wrote and said, any day this week ; and I told him besides, that there was a new jiuiiil here, and what a fine fellow you were, and what friends we liad become. IJpon which John w-rites back this letter " — Tom pn idiiced it — " fixes to-morrow ; sends his compliments to you ; and begs that we three may have the pleasure of dining together — n- it at the house where you and I were, either ; but at the very li-t hotel in the town. Piead what he says." ■■ Very well,"' said Martin, glancing over it with his customary (•M.ihiess : "much obliged to him. I'm agreeable."' Tom could have wished him to be a little more astonished, a little more pleased, or in some form or other a little more interested ill such a great event. But he was perfectly self-possessed : and, falling into his favourite solace of whistling, took another turn at tlie grammar-school, as if nothing at all had hai)pened. Mr. Pecksniff's horse being regarded in the liglit of a sacred aiiiiiud, only to be driven by him, the chief priest of that temple, >'V by some person distinctly nominated for the time being to that hiuh otfice by himself, the two young men agreed to walk to Salisbury ; and so, when the time came, they set oflF on foot ; \vlii(-h was, after all, a better mode of travelling than in the gig, as the weather was very cold and very dry. IJetter ! 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 tilings will not admit of comparison. It is an insult to the walk, ' I set them side by side. Where is an instance of a gig having V circulated a man's blood, unless when, putting him in danger is neck, it awakened in his veins and in his cans, and all along iii> spine, a tingling heat, much more peculiar than agreeable 1 When did a gig ever sharpen anybody's wits and energies, unless 190 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF it -was when the Lorse bolted, and, crashing madly down a steep hill with a stone wall at the bottom, his desperate circumstances 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 ? The blacksmith's fire burned very bright, and leaped up high, as though it wanted men to Avarm ; but would it have been less tempting, looked at from the clammy cushions of a gig ? The wind blew keenly, nipping the features of the hardy wight who fought his way along ; blind- ing 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 whist- ling in the very marroAV 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 were they so good humouredly and merrily bloused ? when did their laughter ring upon the air, as they turned them round, what time the stronger gusts came sweeping up ; and, facing round again as they passed by, dashed on in such a glow of ruddy health as nothing could keep pace with, but the high spirits 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 lingers on his granite leg, and beats those marble toes of his upon the foot-board. Ha, ha, ha ! Who Avould exchange this rapid hurry of the blood for yonder stagnant misery, though its iMce were twenty miles for one ? Better than the gig ! No man in a gig could have such interest in the milestones. No man in a gig could see, or feel, or think, like merry users of their legs. How, as the wind sweeps on, upon these breezy downs, it tracks its flight in darkening ripples on the grass, and smoothest shadows on the hills ! Look round and round upon this bare bleak plain, and see even here, upon a Avinter's day, hoAV beautiful the shadows are ! Alas 1 it is the nature of their kind to be so. The loA^eliest things in life, Tom, are but shadows ; and they come and go, and change and fiide away, as rapidly as these ! Another mile, and then begins a f;xll of snow, making the crow, Avho skims away so close above the ground to shirk the Avind, a blot of ink upon the landscape. But though it drives and drifts against them as they Avalk, stiffening on their skirts, and freez- ing ill tlie lashes of their eyes, they Avouldn't have it fall more MARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 101 sparingly, no, not so much as by a single flake, althougli tlioy 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 tliey present such flushed and burning faces to the cold waiter, and arc so brim fid of : vigour, that he almost feels assaulted by their presence ; and, i having nothing to oppose to the attack (being fresh, or rather stale, ; from the blazing fire in the coftee-room), is quite put out of his j pale countenance. I A famous Inn ! the hall a very grove of dead game, and dangling joints of mutton; and in one corner an illustrious larder, 1 with glass doors, developing cold fowls and noble joints, and tarts ' wherein the raspberry jam coyly withdrew itself, as such a precious I creature should, behind a lattice-work of pastry. And behold, on j the first floor, at the court-end of the house, in a room with all the j window-curtains drawn, a fire piled half-way up the chimney, plates warming before it, wax candles gleaming everywhere, and a table j spread for three, with silver and glass enough for thirty— John I Westlock : not the old John of Pecksnift"'s, but a proper gentleman : I 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 oft'-hand manner of bis own ; so they shook hands warmly, and were friends in no time. " Stand oft' 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 to 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 Pecksnift's, that it was a toss-up with Tom Pinch Avhetlier he should laugh or cry. Laugliter 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 "NVestlock. " No ! " said Tom Pinch, " Have you 1 " "Everything. Don't laugh, if you can help it, before tlie waiters. / couldn't when T was ordering it. It's like a dream.' 192 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF John was wrong there, because nobody ever dreamed such soup as was put upon the table directly afterwards ; or sucli 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 entertainment at ten-and-sixpence a head, exclusive of wines. As to them, the man who can dream such iced cham- pagne, such claret, port, or sherry, had better go to bed and stop there. But perhaps the finest feature of the banquet was, that nobody was half so much amazed by everything as John himself, who, in his high delight, was constantly bursting into fits of laughter, and then endeavouring to appear preternaturally solemn, lest the waiters should conceive he wasn't used to it. Some of the tilings they brought him to carve, were such outrageous practical jokes, though, that it was impossible to stand it ; and when Tom Pinch insisted, in spite of the deferential advice of an attendant, not only on breaking down the outer wall of a raised pie with a 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 lie demonstrated when they had all three gathered round the fire, and the dessert was on the table ; at which period, the head waiter inquired with respectful solicitude whether that port, being a light and tawny wine, was suited to his taste, or whether he would wish to try a fruity port with greater body. To this John gravely answered that he was well satisfied with what he had, which he esteemed, as one might say, a pretty tidy vintage ; for wliich the waiter thanked him and withdrew. And then John told his friends, with a broad grin, that he supposed it was all right, l)ut he didn't know ; and went off into a perfect shout. They were very merry and full of enjoyment the whole time, but not the least pleasant part of the festival was when they all three sat about the fire, cracking nuts, drinking wine, and talking cheerfully. It happened that Tom Pinch had a word to say to his friend the organist's assistant, and so deserted his warm corner for a few minutes at this season, lest it should grow too late ; leaving tlie 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. Pecksnift''s house. This naturally led him to dwell upon Tom's character, and to liint tliat Mr. Pecksnift" understood it pretty well. He only hinted this, and very distantly : knowing MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. f that it pained Tom Pinch to have that gentleman disparaged, and thinking- it woukl be as well to leave the new pupil to his own discoveries. "Yes,"' said Martin. " It's impossible to like Piuch better than 1 1 1 do, or to do greater justice to his good qualities. He is the most willing fellow I ever saw." " Pie's rather too willing," observed John, who was quick in 'ij>ervation. " 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'll never see it again." ■' Poor fellow ! "' said John, who had been very attentive to these \\'w 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 " Joliu ^Yestlock 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 liave no doubt, and :see how liable he is to be imposed upon." I "Certainly," said Martin, stretching out his legs, and holding this wine between his eye and the light, "Mr. Pecksnift' knows I that too. So do his daughters. Eh 1 " John Westlock smiled, but made no answer. "By the bye," said Martin, "that reminds me. What's your opinion of Pecksnift" ? How did he use you? What do you think of him now 1 — Coolly, you know, when it's all over ? " "Ask Pinch," returned the old pupil. " He knows what my sentiments used to be upon the subject. They are not changed, I assure you." "No, no," said Martin, "I'd rather have them from you." "But Pinch saj's they are unjust," urged John with a smile. "Oh ! well ! Tiien I know what course they take beforeliand," said Martin ; " and, therefore, you can have no delicacy in speak- ing plainly. Don't mind me, I beg. I don't like him, I tell you o 194 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF frankly. I am witli him because it happens from particular circumstances to suit my convenience. I have some ability, I believe, in that way ; and the obligation, if any, will most likely be on his side and not mine. At the lowest mark, the balance will be even and there'll be no obligation at all. So you may talk to me, as if I had no connexion with him." "If you press me to give my opinion" — returned John Westlock. "Yes, I do," said Martin. "You'll 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, without 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 Avorst realities ; when I remember how often I was the witness of all this, and how often I was made a kind of party to it, by tire 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 there. I tell you simply what my feeling is ; and even now, when, as you say, it's all over ; and when I have the satisfaction of knowing that he always hated me, and we always quarrelled, and I always told him my mind ; even now, I feel sorry that I didn't yield to an impulse I often had, as a boy, of running away from him and going abroad." "Why abroad?" asked Martin, turning his eyes upon the speaker. " In search," replied John Westlock, shruggiug his shoulders, "of the livelihood I couldn't have earned at home. There would have been something spirited in that. But, come — fill your glass, and let us forget him." "As soon as you please," said Martin. "In reference to myself and my connexion with him, I have only to repeat what I said before. I have taken my own way with him so far, and shall continue to do so, even more than ever ; for the fact is — to tell you the truth — that I believe he looks to me to supply his MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 195 tiefects, and coiUdii't afford to lose me. I liad 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?" "The fortunate youth, born under an auspicious star," returned John Westlock, laughing; "whose parents, or guardians, arc destined to be hooked by the advertisement. What ! Don't you know that lie 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 /dm ? 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 Pincli could be. There was no other simile that will express his state of mind. "And so," he said, when he had gazed at his friend for some time in silent pleasure, " so you really are a gentleman at last, John. Well, to be sure ! " " Trying to be, Tom; trying to be," he rejoined good-humouredly. "There is no saying what I may turn out, in time." "I suppose you wouldn't carry your own box to the mail now," said Tom Pinch, smiling : " althougli you lost it altogether by not taking it." " Wouldn't 1 1 " retorted John. " That's all you know about it, Pinch. It must be a very heavy box that I wouldn't carry to get away from Pecksniff's, Tom." " There ! " cried Pinch, turning to Martin, " I told you so. The great fault in his character is his injustice to Pecksniff". You mustn't mind a word he says on that subject. His prejudice is most extraordinary." "The absence of anything like prejudice on Tom's part, you know," said John AVestlock, laugliing heartily, as he laid his hand on Mr. Pinch's shoulder, "is perfectly wonderful. If one man ever had a profound knowledge of another, and saw him in a true light, and in his own proper colours, Tom has that know- ledge of Mr. Pecksniff." "Why, of course I have," cried Tom. "That's exactly what 196 LIFE AND ADA^EXTURES OF I have so often said to you. If you knew him as well as I do — John, I'd give almost any money to bring that about — you'd admire, respect, and reverence him. You couldn't help it. Oh, how you wounded his feelings when you went away 1 " " If I had known whereabout his feelings lay," retorted young Westlock, "I'd have done my best, Tom, with that end in view, you may depend upon it. But as I couldn't wound him in what he has not, and in what he knows nothing of, except in his ability to probe them to the quick in other people, I am afraid I can lay no claim to your compliment." Mr. Pinch, being unwilling to protract a discussion which might possibly corrupt ]\Iartin, forebore 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 notwithstanding. " His feelings ! Oh, he's a tender-hearted man. His feelings ! Oh, he's a considerate, conscientious, self-examining, moral vaga- bond, he is ! His feelings 1 Oh 1 — what's the matter, Tom ? " Mr. Pinch was by this time erect upon the hearth-rug, button- ing his coat with great energy. " I can't bear it," said Tom, shaking his head. " Xo. I really cannot. You must excuse me, John. I have a great esteem and friendship 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." "Xot 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." " You are quite right ! " exclaimed the other, exchanging looks with Martin; "and I am quite wrong, Tom. I don't know how the deuce we fell on this unlucky theme. I beg yom- 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." " AVell ! Pecksniff's pardon, then," said young "Westlock. " Anything, Tom, or anybody. Pecksniff's pardon — will that do ? Here I let us drink Pecksniff's health I " "Thank you," cried Tom, shaking hands with him eagerly. MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 197 and filling a bumper. "Thank you; I'll drink it with all my lieart, John. Mr. Pecksuitt"'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. Tlie 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 ( huzzlewit, than the manner in which each of the young men con- templated 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 other hand, had no impulse but to laugh at the recollection of Tom's extreme absurdity ; and mingled with his amusement there was something shghting and contemptuous, indicative, as it appeared, of his opinion that Mr. I'inch was much too far gone in simplicity, to be admitted as the friend, on serious and equal terms, of any rational man. Jnhn 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 oft", ruminating on the manifold good qualities of his old friend, when he was interrupted Ity a knock at his chamber door, and the voice of Jolin himself "You're not asleep yet, are you, Tom?" " Bless you, no ! not I. I was thinking of you," replied Tom, opening the door. " Come in." " I am not going to detain you," said John ; " but I have for- gotten 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 1 " " Tigg ! " cried Tom. " Tigg ! The gentleman who borrowed some money of me 1 " " Exactly," said John Westlock. " He begged me to present his compliments, ami 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 brightness might have shamed the metal ; and said he had no fear about that. He was glad, he added, to find Uv. Tigg so prompt and honourable in his dealings ; very glad. 198 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF " Why, to tell you the truth, Tom," replied his friend, " he is not always so. If you'll take my advice, you'll avoid him as much as you can, in the event of your encountering him again. And by no means, Tom — pray bear this in mind, for I am very serious — by no means lend him money any more." " Ay, ay ! " said Tom, with his eyes wide open. " He is very far from being a reputable acquaintance," returned young Westlock ; " and the more you let him know you think so, the better for you, Tom." " I say, John," quoth Mr. Pinch, as his countenance fell, and he shook his head in a dejected manner, "I hope you are not getting into bad company." "No, no," he replied laughing. "Don't be uneasy on that score." "Oh but I a??i 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 on such 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 ott". 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, ojien 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 nowV " 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 1 " " Quite," said Tom. " Tlien 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 ! " MARTIN Glll'ZZLEWlT. 199 "Excei)t Pecksniff," said his friend, stopping at the (h)ur tor 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 Westlock was to return to London by the coach that day. As he had some hours to spare, he bore them company for three or four miles on their walk, and only jDarted 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. Yoimg 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 aj^peared to be talking earnestly. Martin had taken off' his great-coat, the wind being now behind them, and carried it upon Ins arm. As he looked, he saw Tom relieve him of it, after a faint resistance, and, throwing it upon his own, encumber himself with the weight of both. This trivial incident impressed the old pupil mightily, for he stood there, gazing after them, until they were hidden from his view ; when he shook his liead, as if he were troubled by some uneasy reflection, and thoughtfully retraced his steps to Salisbury. In the meantime, Martin and Tom pmsued their way, until they halted, safe and sound, at Mr. Pecksniff's house, where a brief epistle from that good gentleman to Mr. Pinch, announced the fiimily's return by that night's coach. As it would pass the corner of the lane at about six o'clock in the morning, Mr. Pecksniff requested that the gig might be in waiting at the finger-post about that time, together with a cart for the luggage. And to the end that he might be received with the greater honour, the young men agreed to rise early, and be upon the spot themselves. It was the least cheerful day they had yet passed together. Martin was out of spirits and out of humour, and took every opportunity of comparing his condition aiul prospects with those of young Westlock : much to his own disadvantage always. This mood of his depressed Tom ; and neither that morning's 200 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF parting, uor yesterday's dinner, helped to mend tlie matter. So the hours dragged on heavily enough ; and they were glad to go ) to bed earlj'. j 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 rainedl 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 JMartin'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. Pecksniff let down the window-glass and hailed Tom Pinch. " Dear me, Mr. Pinch ! Is it possible that you are out upon this very inclement morning ? " " Yes, Sir," cried Tom, advancing eagerly, " Mr. Chuzzlewit and I, Sir." "Oh !" said Mr. Pecksniff, looking, not so much at Martin as at the spot on which he stood. " Oh ! Indeed ! Do me the favour to see to the trunks, if you please, Mr. Pinch." Then Mr. Pecksniff" descended, and helped his daughters to alight ; but neither he nor the young ladies took the slightest notice of Martin, who had advanced to offer his assistance, but was repulsed by Mr. Pecksniff"'s standing immediately before his person, with his back towards him. In the same manner, and in profound silence, Mr. Pecksniff handed his daughters into the gig ; and following himself and taking the reins, drove off home. Lost in astonishment, Martin stood staring at the coach ; and when the coach had driven away, at Mr. Pinch and the luggage, until the cart moved off' too ; when he said to Tom : "Now, will you have the goodness to tell me what this portends ] " MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 201 "What?" asked Tom. "This fellow's behaviour — Mr. Pecksiuft''s, I mean. You saw it ? ■' "No. Indeed I did not," cried Tom. "I was busy with the trunks." "It is no matter," said Mai'^in. " Come ! Let us make liaste back." And without another word he started off at sucli a pace, that Tom had some difficulty in keeping up witli 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 whiclr he felt convinced so great a favourite as the new pupil must unquestionably be labouring. But he was not a little amazed himself, when they did reach it, and entered the parlour where Mr. Pecksniff" was sitting alone before the fire, drinking some hot tea, to find, that instead of taking favourable notice of his relative, and keeping him, Mr. Pinch, in the background, he did exactly the reverse, and was so lavish in his attentions that Tom was thoroughly confounded. "Take some tea, Mr. Pinch — take some tea," said Pecksnift', 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. Pecksnitt' as though he could have easily found it in his heart to give him an invitation to a very warm place ; but he was c^uite silent, and standing oppo-site 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, ]\Ir. Pinch," said Pecksnitt", waving his hand and smiling, "we will not discuss anything connected with that question at present. What have you been doing, Thomas, humph?" Mr. Pinch looked from master to pupil, and from pupil to master, and was so perplexed and dismayed, that he wanted presence of mind to answer the question. In this awkward interval, Mr. Pecksnitt' (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. 202 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF "l!s"ow, Mr. Pecksuiti','' said Martin at last, in a very quiet I 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. PecksnitF, turning his eyes on Tom Pinch, even more placidly and gently than before, "what have yon been doing, Thomas, humph ? " When he had repeated this inquiry, he looked round the walls of the room as if he were curious to see whether any nails had been left there by accident in former times. Tom was almost at his wits' end what to say between the two, and had already made a gesture as if he would call Mr. Pecksniffs 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?" "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. Pecksniff'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 ]\Iartin, 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 ]\IARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 203 one, who has ilcceivcd, and cruelly deceived, an hononrabh^, 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 tliis carnal universe, and setting my face against all vice and treacliery. I weep for your depravity, Sir," said Mr. Pecksniff, " I mourn over your corruption, I pity your voluntary withdrawal of j'ourself 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 fortli," said Mr. Pecksniff, stretching out his hand: "go forth, young man! Like all who know you, I renounce you ! " With what intention Martin made a stride forward at these words, it is impossible to say. It is enough to know that Tom Pinch caught him in his arms, and that at the same moment Mr. Pecksniff stepped back so hastily, that he missed his footing, tumbled over a chair, and fell in a sitting posture on the ground ; where he remained without an effort to get up again, with his head in a corner ; perhaps considering it the safest place. " Let me go, Pinch ! " cried Martin, shaking him away. " Why do you hold me ! Do you think a blow could make hini 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. Piuch involuntarily did so. Mr. Pecksniff' sitting, as has been already inentioned, on the carpet, with his head in an acute angle of the wainscot, and all the damage and detriment of an uncomfortable journey about him, was not exactly a model of all that is prepossessing and dignified in man, certainly. Still he teas Pecksniff"; it was impossible to deprive him of that unique and paramount ajipeal to Tom. And he returned Tom's glance, as if lie would have said, "Ay, Mr. Pinch, look at me! Here I am ! \''iu know^ what the Poet says about an honest man; and an Imuest man is one of the few great works that can be seen for nothing ! Look at me ! " "I tell you," said Martin, "that as lie 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 lonie — 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, .md as he knows I do. Jle renounce me ! Cast your eyes on the Kenouncer, Pinch, and be the wiser for the recollection ! " He pointed at him as he spoke, with unutterable contempt, and MK. i'ECiiSXlFF KENUUXCES TUE KECElVEll, LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 205 inging his hat upon his head, walked from the room and from the .ouse. He went so rapidly that he was already clear of the illage, when he heard Tom Pinch calling breathlessly after him in he distance. " Well ! what now ?" he said, when Tom came up. " Dear, dear ! " cried Tom, " are you going 1 " " Going ! " he echoed. " Going I '' " I didn't so much mean that, as were you going now at once — Q this bad weather — on foot — without your clothes — with no noney 1 " cried Tom. "Yes," he answered sternly, " T am."' " And where 1 '" 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. ray don't ! Think better of it. Don't be so dreadfully regardless )f yourself. _ Don't go to America ! " """^y mind is made up," he said. "Your friend was right. ['11 go to America. God bless you. Pinch ! " ■' Take this ! " cried Tom, pressing a book upon him in great vgitation. "I must make haste back, and can't say anything I ivould. Heaven be with you. Look at the leaf I have turned iown. Good bye, good bye ! " The simple fellow wrung him by the hand, with tears stealing Iown his cheeks ; and they parted hurriedly upon their separate CHAPTER XIII. ■SHOWING WHAT BECAME OF MAETIX AND HIS DESPERATE RESOLVE AFTER HE LEFT MR. PECKSNIFF'S HOUSE ; WHAT PERSONS HE ENCOUNTERED ; 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 heavj' 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 (jf 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 pliysical percep- tions. The day was dawning from a patch of watery light in the 206 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF east, and sullen clouds came driving up before it, from which th( rain descended in a thick, wet mist. It streamed from every twij and bramble in the hedge; made little gullies in the path ; rai down a hundred channels in the road; and punched innumerabh 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 any when to be seen. The prospect could hardly have been more desolate i animated nature had been dissolved in water, and poured dowi upon the earth again in that form. The range of view within the solitary traveller was quite af cheerless as the scene without. Friendless and penniless ; incenset to the last degree ; deeply wounded in his pride and self-love ; ful of independent schemes, and perfectly destitute of any means o; realizing them ; his most vindictive enemy might have been satisfiec with the extent of his troubles. To add to his other miseries, h( was by this time sensible of being wet to the skin, and cold at hi.' very heart. In this deplorable condition, he remembered Mr. Pinch's book more because it was rather troublesome to carry, than from anj hope of being comforted by that parting gift. He looked at tlu dingy lettering on the back, and finding it to be an odd volume oi the " Bachelor of Salamanca," in the French tongue, cursed Tom) Pinch's folly, twenty times. He was on the point of throwing ilj away, in his ill-humour and vexation, when he bethought himsell' that Tom had referred him to a leaf, turned down ; and opening it. at that place, that he might have additional cause of complaini against him for suj^posing 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 tc the leaf. These 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 worldly scholars are verj apt and punctual, which bind men down to earth with leaden chains. Who would not rather have to fan him, in his dyinfi 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 ! j 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 .MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 207 his spirits, and reminding him that he was not altogether destitute, as he had left a foir 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 liave 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 liy these thoughts, and strengthened in his design of endeavouring to pusli his fortune in anotlier country, he resolved to get to London as a rallying-point, in the best way lie 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. PecksnitF, when he stopped to breakfast at a little roadside alehouse ; and resting upon a higli- backed settle before the fire, pulled off" his coat, and hung it before the cheerful blaze, to dry. It was a very diiferent j^lace from tlie last tavern in which he had regaled : boasting no greater extent of accommodation than the brick-fioored kitchen yielded : but the mind so soon accommodates itself to the necessities of the body, tliat this poor waggoner's house- of-call, which he would have despised yesterday, became now quite a choice hotel ; while his dish of eggs Li and bacon, and his mug of beer, were not by any means the coarse fare he had supposed, but fully bore out the inscription 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 ou the Avails, in little black frames like common shaving- glasses, and saw how the Wise IMen (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 througli the window at the falling rain, coming down aslant upon the sign-post over against the house, and overflowing the horse-trougli ; 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 liy four horses, and laden, as well as he could see (for it was covered in), with corn and straw. The driver, who was alone, stopped at the door to water his team, and presently came stamping and shaking the wet off his hat and coat into the room where Martin sat. 208 LIFE AND ADA'EXTURES OF He was a red-faced burly young fellow : smart iu his way, and with a good-humoured countenance. As he advanced towards the tire, 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 reck- less 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 1 " asked 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, " Xow you know all about it ; " put his hands deeper into his pockets : changed his tune, and whistled a little louder. "/'m going up," observed the driver: ''Hounslow, ten miles this side London." " Are you 1 " 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 suppose from my dress that I have money to spare. I have not. All I can afford fur coach-hire is a crown, for I have but two. If MARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 209 you can take me for tliat, and mj' waistcoat, or this silk liaiidkor- ihief, do. If you can't, leave it alone." Short and sweet," remarked the driver. You want more?" said Martin. "Then I haven't got move, ind 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 1 1 " asked tlie driver, with something like indignation. "You didn't say my ofter 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 ilk handkerchief's another thing ; and if you was satisfied when s^e got to Hounslow, I shouldn't object to that as a gift." " Is it a bargain, then *? " said Martin. "Yes, it is," returned the other. "Then finish this beer," said Martin, handing him the mug, md pulling on his coat with great alacrity ; "and let us be off as as you like." In two minutes more he had paid his bill, which amounted to shilling ; was lying at full length on a truss of straw, high and iry at the top of the van, with the tilt a little open in front for he convenience of talking to his new friend ; and was moving dong in the right direction with a most satisfactory and encourag- ng briskness. The driver's name, as he soon informed Martin, was William Simmons, better known as Bill ; and his spruce appearance was ufficiently explained by his connexion with a large stage-coaching stablishment at Hounslow, whither he was conveying his load from a farm belonging to the concern in Wiltshire. He was fre- P[uently 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 screw- ing off the mouthpiece to drain it ; " Limimy Ned of the Light Salisbury, he was the one for musical talents. He teas a guard. What you may call a Guardian Angel, was Ned." "Is he dead"?" asked Martin. 210 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF " 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 jiast tense," observed Martin, "so I supposed he was no more." "He's no more in England," said Bill, "if that's what j'ou mean. He went to the U-nited States." "Did \\e1" asked Martin, with sudden interest. "AYhen?" " Five year ago, or thenabout," said Bill. " He had set up in the 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." "WelH" 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 ? " asked Martin, with some scorn. "What do I mean?" said Bill. "Why, that. All men are alike in the U-nited States, an't they ? It makes no odds whether a man has a thousand 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 tliat it brought Old York to his mind quite wivid 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 Columbia, 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 was ascertained that they was really stopped, and sent 'em over witli 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, Init soon afterwards fell asleep, MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 211 and reiiiaincd so for an hour or more. When lie awoke, liiidiiig it had ceased to raiu, he took liis seat beside the driver, and asked liini 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 tlie 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 acknow- ledging that he had never heard, or had forgotten ; nor, although he returned to the charge very often, could he obtain any useful intelligence on these essential particulars. They jogged on all day, and stopped so often — now to refresh, now to change their team of horses, now to exchange or bring away a set of harness, now on one point of business, and now upon another, connected with the coaching on that line of road — that it was midnight when they reached Hounslow. A little short of the stables for w^hich the van was bound, Martin got down, paid his crown, and forced his silk handkerchief upon his honest friend, notwithstanding the many protestations that he didn't wish to deprive him of it, with which he tried to give the lie to his longing looks. That done, they parted company ; and when the 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 recollection of i\Ir. Pecksniff operated as a cordial to him ; awaken- ing 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 coidd have a bed there. It happened, by good luck, that he could. Though none of the gaudiest, it was tolerably clean, and Martin felt very glad and grateful wdien he crept into it, for warmth, rest, and forgetfulness. It was quite late in the afternoon wlieii 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 212 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF MARTIN CHUZZLEAVIT. matter of absolute necessity that he should part with his watch to some obliging pawnbroker; and he would have waited until after dark for this purpose, though it had been the longest day in tlie 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," were re- peated 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 chafl'," 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 ! " "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 ungrate- ful country. You are making it two-and-six, I think 1 " "I'm making it," returned the shopman, "what it alwaj's has been — two shillings. Same name as usual, I suppose 1 " "Still the same name," said Mr. Tigg; "my claim to the dor- mant peerage not being yet established by the House of Lords." " The old address 1" "Not at all," said Mr. Tigg; "I have removed ray town'i establishment from thirty-eight, Mayfair, to number fifteen-hundred- and-forty-two, Park Lane." i "Come, I'm not going to put down that, you know," said the! shopman, with a grin. " You may put down what you please, my friend," quoth Mr. nix MEETS A.\ AtyUAlMA.NCK, AT TllK KuCSE vf A MUTL'AL KELATXON. 214 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 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 vrhich 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. IMake 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 exulta- tion. 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 1 What is the news from the agricultural districts ? How are our friends the P.'s? Ha, ha! David, pay particular attention to this gentle- man, immediately, as a friend of mine, I beg." " Here ! Please to give me the most you can for this," said Martin, handing the Avatch to the shopman, " I want money sorely." " He wants money sorely ! " cried Mr. Tigg with excessiveJ 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 nrany years, under the most trying circumstances — " here he winked at Martin, that he might understand this recommendation would have an immense effect upon the shopman : "what do you say, David, to my friend? Be very particular to deserve my custom and recommendation, David." "I can lend you three pound on this, if you like," said the shopman to Martm, confidentially. " It's very old-fashioned. I couldn't say more." " And devilish handsome, too," cried Mr. Tigg. " Two-twelve- six for the Avatch, and seven-and-six for personal regard. I am gratified : it may be Aveakness, 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 Avinked MARTIN CIIUZZLEWIT. Iil5 at Martin again, to apprise liim that all the forms and ceremonies intscribed by law were now oomijlied with, and nothing remained Imt the receipt of the money. In point of fact, this proved to be the case, for IMartin, who had no resource but to take what was offered liim, signified his ai'(iuiesceuce by a nod of his head, and presently came out with tlie cash in his pocket. He was joined in the entry by Mr. Tigg, who warmly congratulated him, as he took his arm and accompanied him into the street, on the successful issue of the negotiation. "As for my part in the same," said Mr. Tigg, "don't mention it. Don't compliment me, for I can't bear it ! " •' 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 wuU 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 r liave nothing to bestow upon your friend, Mr. Slyme. And it i- ijuite as unnecessary for me to tell you that I don't desire the hniiour 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 i" be just before he is generous. Be just now, and you can be _inerous presently. Do not confuse me with the man Slyme. Do lint distingvush the man Slyme as a friend of mine, for he is no >nrh thing. I have been compelled. Sir, to abandon the party \\ horn you call Slyme. I have no knowledge of the party whom ymi 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 Avith great composure, " will you go one way or other 1 " "You will allow me to remind you. Sir," said Mr. Tigg, with sudden dignity, "that you — not I— that you — I say emphatically, 1/ou — have reduced the proceedings of this evening to a cold and distant matter of business, when I was disposed to place them on 216 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 1 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 the pecuniary advance, in which I have rendered you my humble services. After the terms in which you have addressed me. Sir," concluded Mr. Tigg, "you will not insult me, if you please, by offering more than half-a-crown." Martin drew that piece of money from his pocket, and tossed it towards him. Mr. Tigg caught it, looked at it to assure himself of its goodness, spun it in the air after the manner of a pieman, and buttoned it up. Finally, he raised his hat an inch or two from his head, with a military air, and, after pausing a moment with deep gravity, as to decide in which direction he should go, and to what 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 Llartiu 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 inde- pendent 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 Pecksniif would see it) requesting to have his clothes for- warded 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, witl) the faint hope of stumbling upon some engagement for the voyage, as clerk or supercargo, or custodian of something or some- body, which would enable him to procure a free passage. But finding soon that no such means of employment were likely to MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 217 lin-eiit themselves, aucl dreading the cousequeuccs of delay, he ilicw up a short advertisement, stating Avhat he wanted, and inserted it in the leading uewspajiers. Pending tlie receipt of the twenty or thirty answers which he vaguely expected, he reduced his wardrobe to the narrowest limits consistent with decent respectability, and carried the overplus at diftcrent times to the inwvnbroker's shop, for conversion into money. And it was strange, very strange, even to himself, to find, how liy quick though almost imperceptible degrees he lost his delicacy and self-respect, and gradually came to do that as a matter of eourse, without the least compunction, which but a few short days liefore had galled him to the quick. The first time he visited the pawnbroker's, he felt on his way there as if every person whom he passed suspected whitlier he Avas going; and on his way back a-ain, 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 niunterfeited the walk of one who had an object in his view; but - " lu there came upon him the sauntering, slipshod gait of listless idleness, and the lounging at street-corners, and i^lucking and biting of stray bits of straw, and strolling up and down the same jilaee, and looking into the same shop-windows, with a miserable indifference, fifty times a day. At first, he came out from his Indging with an uneasy sense of being observed — even by those cliance passers-by, on whom he had never looked before, and liundreds to one would never see again — issuing in the morning from a public-house ; but now, in his comings-out and goings-in lie 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 God'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, tliat there are scores of thousands breatliing 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 Avhen he strung his harp was old, and had never seen the righteous forsaken, or his seed begging their bread ; go, Teachers of content and honest pride, into the mine, the mill, the forge, the squalid depths of deepest 218 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 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 souudingly 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 ! Five weeks ! Of all the twenty or thirty answers, not one liad 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 Avliat could he do 1 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 ah'eady 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, totally without money, he 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 certainty of doing great things in the New World, if he could only get there. In proportion as he became more and more dejected by his present circumstances, and the means of gaining America receded from his grasp, the more he fretted himself with the con- viction that that was the only place in which he could liope to achieve any high end, and worried his brain with the tliought that men going there in the meanwhile might anticijxite 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 Avith him. But, although he foiled 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. MARTIN GHUZZLEWIT. 219 It might have yielded, however ; and no doubt must liave yielded soon, but for a very strange and unlooked-for occurrence. The five weeks had cjuito run out, and he was in a truly desperate plight, when one evening, having just returned to his I'Mlging, and being in the act of lighting his candle at the gas jet ill 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 tn tiic man, but had scrupulously kept it to himself, he was not a little startled by this; and so plainly showed his agitation, that thr landlord, to reassiu'e him, said "it was only a letter." '' A letter ! " cried Martin. ••For Mr. Martin Chuzzlewit," said the landlord, reading the suiierscription of one he held in his hand. "Noon. Chief office. Paid." I\Iartin 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 Maine, address, or other inscription or explanation of any kind A\ liatever, a Bank of England note for Twenty Pounds. To say that he was perfectly stunned with astonishment and • liliglit; that he looked again and again at the note and the wrai>per ; that he hurried below stairs to make quite certain that the note was a good note ; and then hurried itp again to satisfy himself for the fiftieth time that he had not overlooked some scrap nf 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 I'tlate so many matters of course, to no ^lurpose. The final upshot I'i' the business at that time was, that he resolved to treat himself t > a comfortable but frugal meal in his own chamber ; and having 'idured 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 i^retty heavily laden. It was somewhat of a damping circumstance to find the room full of smoke, which was attributable to two causes : firstly, to the fine 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 oversight, however ; and propped up the ^villdow-sash with a bundle of firewood to keep it open; so that, except in being rather inflammatory to the eyes and choking to the lung-s, the apartment was quite comfortable. Martin was in no vein to quarrel with it, if it had been in less tolerable order, especially when a gleaming pint of porter was set 220 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF " 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 sj^reading 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 meauwhile 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, whicli, 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 yuu come here 1 " "Right through the passage and up the stairs. Sir," said Mark. " How did you find me out, I mean ? " asked Martin. "Why, Sir," said Mark, "I've imssed you once or twice in the street if I'm not mistaken ; and when I was a looking in at the beef-and-ham sliop 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 1 " " Why then, Sir," said Mark, " I made bold to foller ; aud as I told 'em down stairs that you expected me, I was let up." "Are you charged with any message, that you told them you were expected ? " inquired Martin. "No, Sir, I an't," said Mark. "That was what you may call a pious fraud. Sir, that was." Martin cast an angry look at him : but there was something in :martin chtv.zlewit. 221 tlic fellow's merry face, and in his manner — wiiieli \vitli all its .111 erfulness was tar from being obtrusive or familiar — that quite disarmed him. He had lived a solitary life too, for many weeks, ami the voice was pleasant in his car. " Tapley," he said, " I'll deal openly with yon. 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 >ee 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. 1 )iiwn 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'll not have any," said Martin. ■•Very good, Sir," rejoined Mark. "That being your desire — now it is." With which reply he gravely helped himself, and went on eating. Martin having done the like for a short time in silence, -aid abruptly : ■ What are you doing in London 1 " •• Nothing at all, Sir," rejoined Mark. ■• Howe's that 1 " asked Martin, '■ I want a place," said Mark. •■ I'm sorry for you," said Martin. ■' — To attend upon a single gentleman,'' resumed Mark. " If frnm the country, the more desirable. Makeshifts would be pre- ferred. 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 iiifans of keeping a man-servant. Besides, I am going to America innnodiately." '• Well, Sir," returned Mark, cpiite unmoved by this intelligence, ■■ from all that ever I heard about it, I should say America's a \ery 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 roimd, 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 222 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF enough there's a screw loose in your affairs. I know'd well enough the first time I see you down at the Dragon that it must be so, sooner or later. Now, Sir, here am I, Avithout a sitiwation ; with- out any want of Avages 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 1 " " How can I take you 1 " cried Martin. " When I say take," rejoined Mark, " I mean will yoii let me go 1 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. Therefore, if I don't ^my 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 I 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, I perhaps, on account of thinking so. Therefore I contradict no gentle- I man. But all I say is, that if I don't emigrate to America in that ' case, in the beastliest old cockleshell as goes out of port, I'm " "You don't mean what you say, I'm sure?" said Martin. " Yes I do," cried Mark. " I tell you I know better," rejoined Martin. " Very good. Sir," said Mark, with the same air of perfect satisfaction. " Let it stand that way at present. Sir, and wait and see how it turns out. Why, love my heart alive ! the only doubt I have is, whether there's any credit in going with a gentleman like you, that's as certain to make his way there as a gimlet is to go through soft deal." This was touching Martin on his weak point, and having him at a great advantage. He could not help thinking, either, what a brisk fellow this Mark was, and how great a change he had . wrought in the atmosphere of the dismal little room already. " Why, certainly, Mark," he said, " I have hopes of doing well there, or I shouldn't go. I may have the qualifications for doing well, perhaps." "Of course you have, Sir," returned j\Iark Tapley. "Every- body knows that." JIARTIN CHUZZLEWTT. 223 "You see," said Martin, leaning liis chin upon liis liand, and ooking at the fire, " ornamental architecture applied to domestic nu-poses, can hardly fail to be in great request in that country ; 'or men are constantly changing their residences there, and moving \irther off; and it's clear they must have houses to live in." " I should sa}^. Sir," observed JMark, " that that's a state of hings as opens one of the jolliest look-outs for domestic archi- tecture that ever I heerd tell on." ]\Iartiu glanced at him hastily, not feeling quite free from a suspicion that this remark implied a doubt of the successful issue 3f 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. A.nother doubt arose in his mind, however, as this one disappeared. He produced the blank cover in which the note had been enclosed, land fixing his eyes on Mark as he put it in his hands, said, " Now tell me the truth. Do you know anything about that?" Mark turned it over and over ; held it near his eyes ; held it away from him at arm's length ; held it with the superscription ipwards, and with the superscription downwards ; and shook his dead with such a genuine expression of astonishment at being Eisked 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 j'ou 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 off me — -Mark Tapley — formerly of the Blue Dragon, as can be well ji'ecommended by Mr. Pinch, and as wants a gentleman of your Istrength of mind to look up to ; or will you, in climbing the ladder you're certain to get to the top of, take me along with you at espectful 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 IMartin, relenting more and more, said, with a condescension which was inex]nessib]y delicious to him, after his recent humiliation : 224 LIFE AXD ADVENTURES OF " We'll see about it, Tapley. You shall tell me in what disposi- tion 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 eff"ect 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 he 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. " And a young lady as any gentleman ought to feel more proud of being in love with," said Mark, energetically, " don't draw breath." " Ay ! You saw her when she was not happy," said jNIartin, 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 some- thing 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. •' Ko offence intended. Sir," urged ]Mark. " I don't mean to say she was any the happier without you ; but I thought she was a looking better, Su-." " 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 I\Iark, rising too, in great amazement, from the bed-stead. " Do you mean to tell me she's in London now ? " "Most likely. Sir. I mean to say she was, a week ago." " And you know where 1 " " Yes ! " cried Mark. " What 1 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 ! " cried ]\Iark, giving the little table such a blow f MARTIN CHUZZLEWrr. 225 with his clenched list tliat 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 churchyard in the City, getting myself into a jolly state, didn't I see your grandfather a toddling to and fro for pretty nigli a mortal hour ! Didn't I watch him into Codgers's commercial boarding-house, and watch him out, nnd Avatch 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 slie fall a laughing in a manner as was beautiful to see ! Didn't your grand- father say, 'Come back again next week,' and didn't T 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 ! iWho could help it, when things come about like this ! " I For some moments, Martin stood gazing at him, as if he really doubted the evidence of his senses, and could not believe that ]\Iavk stood there, in the body, before him. At length he asked him whether, if the young lady w^ere still in London, he thought hr could contrive to deliver a letter to her secretly. ■• Do I thiidc I can ! " cried Mark. " Thinlc I can ! Here, sit luwii, Sir. Write it out. Sir ! " AVith that he cleared the table by the summary process of [jtilting everything upon it into the fireplace ; snatched some writing naterials from the mantel-shelf ; set Martin's chair before them; breed him down into it ; dipped a pen into the ink ; and put it in lis hand. "Cutaway, Sir!" cried Mark. "Make it strong. Sir. Let t be wery pointed, Sir. Do I flunk so 1 I should think so. Go bo work. Sir ! " Martin required no further adjuration, but went to work at a Treat rate ; while Mr. Tapley, installing himself without any more T)rmalitios into the functions of his valet and general attendant, livested himself of his coat, and went on to clear the fireplace and irrange the room : talking to himself in a low voice the whole ;ime. "Jolly sort of lodgings,"" said Mark, rnbliing his ikisc with the fnob at the end of the fire-shovel, and looking round the poor hamber : " that's a comfort. The rain's come through the roof Q 226 LIFE AND ADVEXTURES OF too. That an't bad. A lively old bedstead, I'll be bound ; popilated by lots of wampires, uo doubt. Come ! my spirits is a getting up again. An uncommon 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 ! " CHAPTER 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 PRO- TECTION. 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 wn-ote another letter, whereof more will lie 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 hmidred 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 : and the 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 wandering up and down here in, like a thief! Fine weathei; indeed, for a meeting of lovers in the open air, and in a public walk ! I need be departing, witli all speed, for another country for I have come to a pretty pass in this ! " MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 227 Uv iniglit iierliai^s have y-one on to reflect that of ail mornings in tlie year, it was not the best calcuhited for a young lady's com- ing forth on such an errand, either. But he was stopped on the road to this reflection, 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 dis- creetly back, and surveyed the fog above him with an appearance of attentive interest. " I\Iy dear IMartin ! " 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 w^e parted," said Martin at length, as he looked upon her with a proud delight, " it is only to be more beautiful than ever ! " 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 slie was dwindling gently into an early grave ; or that her mental sufterings 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 po!-sible. But she had been reared up in a sterner school than the minds oi' most young girls are formed in ; she had had her nature strength- ened 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 happily in the end, for herself or him, is foreign to our present purpo.se to inquire— some- thing 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 aff"ection 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 temi)tation that the world could offei-. " Wiiat change is there in i/ou, Martin," she replied ; " for that concerns me nearest ? You look more anxious and more thoughtful than vou used." <^. -MK. JAl'I.EY ACTS THIRD PARTY, WITH GIIK IKAT DISCRETION'. LIFE AND ADVENTUREvS OF MARTIN CHUZZLEAVIT. '229 "Why as to that, my love," said Martin, as he drew her waist within liis arm, first looking round to see that there were no observers near, and beholding Mr. Tapley more intent than ever ou 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 1 " "Not often, I hope," said Martin. "Not often, I am sure. Not often, I have some right to expect, Mary ; for I have under- gone 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 1 " " If I do, or, I hope I may say, if I did," she answered, raising her head 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 ventme 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 ? " " Thought of it ! " 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? 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, .'^iiiiling tlirough lier tears. "Endeavouring to lie aiiything that's good, and being it, is, with you, all one. Don't I know that of old ? " cried Martin, 230 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF gaily. " So ! Tliat'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, bade him speak on. " You see," said Martin, playing with the little hand upon his wrist, " that my attempts to advance myself at home have been baffled 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. " " 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 1 " "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 fcAV 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 sufter me to MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 231 live (for this is true), if he cau help it, in my own laud. How ]>mg I may be absent is, of course, uncertain ; but it shall not be \ erv 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 jjuused to take from his jwcket the letter he had written nveniight, and then resumed: " In this fellow's employment, and living in this fellow's house (l\v fellow, I mean Mr. Pecksniff, of course), there is a certain person of the name of Pinch— don't forget it; a poor, strange, -imple oddity, Mary; but thoroughly honest and sincere; full of /.ral ; and with a cordial regard for me ; which I mean to return iiie of these days, by setting him up in life in some way or other." " Your old kind nature, Martin ! " " Oh ! " said Martin, " that's not worth speaking of, my love, fle's very grateful and desirous to serve me ; and I am more than repaid. Now one night I told this Pinch my history, and all about myself and you ; in which he was not a little interested, I • an tell you, for he knows you ! Ay, you may look surprised — and the longer the better, for it becomes you — but you have heard liini play the organ in the church of that village before now ; and he has seen you listening to his music ; and has caught his inspira- tion from you, too !" "Was he the organist?" cried Mary. "I thank liim from my " Yes he was," said Martin, " and is, and gets nothing for it cither. There never was such a simple fellow ! Quite an infant ! But a very good sort of creature, 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 careless 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 remember- ing 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 wiien- iver 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 232 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 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 off, "for he's slow of comprehension, poor fellow ; but he'll fiud 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 1 " 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 ' — mean- ing, 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 en- counter, 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." '•Wouldn't you? Weill 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 him. However, I'll 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 enclose my letters to the young lady of whom I have told j^ou, 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 en- countering each 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 . MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 233 you.' You see, my dear Mary," said Martin, " it will be a great consolatiou to you to have anybody, no matter how simple, with whom you eaii speak about me ; and the very first time you talk to Pinch, you'll 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 retiu'ned, 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'll 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 laugliing at him ; for he'll 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 sutticieutly established in your mind, I will only say in bidding you farewell, 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, JMartin Chuzzlewit. P.S. I enclose the amount wliich you so kindly' — Oh," said Martin, checking himself, and folding up the letter, " that's nothing ! " At this ciisis Mark Tapley interposed, with an apology for remarking that the clock at the Horse Guards Avas striking. "Which I shouldn't have said nothing about. Sir," added Mark, " if the young lady hadn't begged me to be particular in mentioning it." "I did," said Mary. "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 hai)py time of our next meeting. Heaven send it may come speeilily and prosperously ! But I have no fear of that." " Fear ! " cried Martin. " Why. who has 1 What are a few months? AVhat is a whole year ? When I come gaily l>ack, with a road through life hewn out before me, tlien indeed, looking back upon this partuig, it may seem a dismal one. But now ! 1 swear 234 LIFE AXD ADVENTURES OY I wouldn't have it happeu uuder 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 1 " " To-uight. 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 mouth ! 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 endurance, and her slow anxiety from day to day? Was there nothing jarring 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 bhnd. " 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 entreated 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. Let him, if he please ! By the MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. '235 time it readies lue, he will be iu his grave : a satire on his own auger, God help Iriui ! "' "Martin ! If you would but sometimes, iu some quiet hour ; beside the winter fire ; iu the summer air ; when you hear gentle music, or thiuk 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 oue 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 aud puppet of any man, far less his ; to whose pleasure and caprice, iu 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 uo such balance against me that I ueed throw in a mawkish forgiveness to poise the scale. He has for- Ijidden all mention of me to you, I know," he added hastily. " Come ! Has he not "I " "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-office, 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 aud such a ])arting ; 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 1 " " Have 1 1 " cried Martin ; it might have been iu his pride ; it might have been in his desire to set her mind at ease : " Have I jirovided money ? 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 ! IMore than euough. Twenty times more than enough. A pocketful. 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 ]\Ir. Tapley. " Good-bye a hundred times I " cried ]\Iary, in a trembling voice. 236 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF But how cold the comfort in Good-bye ! ]\I:irk Tapley knew it perfectly. Perhaps lie knew it from his reading, perhaps from his experience, 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 circumstances. 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 screened the lovers into a corner by themselves. There was a short pause, but Mark had an undefined sensation that it was a satisfactory one in its way. Then Mary, with her veil lowered, passed him with 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 ofi" 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 ou his knees, and his chin supported, in a not very ornamental manner, on the palms of his hands. "Well, Mark?" " 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 with 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 I outspread finger, than Martin himself liad, he was as certain that in I its purcliase she had expended her whole stock of hoarded money, as i if he had seen it paid down coin by coin. Her lover's strange : obtuseness in relation to this little incident, promptly suggested to j Mark's mind its real cause and root ; and from that moment he I had a clear and perfect insight into the one absorbing jiriuciple of Martin's character. "She is worthy of the sacrifices I have made," said Martin, MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 237 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 aifection, 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 miglit or might not have reached ]\Iark Tapley ; for though they w^re 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 : "Jollv!" 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 tlian Cliarity, shivering at the street corners ; church-towers humming with the taint 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 huslied, 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. Whitlier go the clouds and wind, so eagerly? If like guilty spirits they repair to some dread conference with powers like them- selves, 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 thousaml miles away so quietly in the midst of angry waves ; and hither, to meet 238 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF them, rush the blasts from unknown desert places of the -world. Here, in the fury of their unchecked liberty, they storm and buffet with each other, until the sea, lashed into i:)assion like their own, leaps up in ravings mightier than theirs, and the whole scene is wliirling 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 nishing water. Pm'suit, 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 howls 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 to others, moaningly depart, and dash themselves to fragments in their baflled anger : still she conies 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 yaw^niug in the unfathom- able depths below. Among these sleeping voyagers were Martin and Mark Tapley, wlio, rocked into a heavy drowsiness liy 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 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 239 objects Mr. Tapley recognised wlieii 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 struggles with the rolling of the ship. "This is the first time as I ever stood on my head all night." "You shouldn't go to sleep upon the ground with your head to leeward, 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 where- abouts 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 to 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 employment 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 yoH find yourself this morning, Sir?" "Very miserable," said Martin, with a peevish groan. " Ugh I 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 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 cliildren, in various 240 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF stages of sickness anrl misery, is not the liveliest place of assenilily 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 eucourager 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 Scotcli 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. j Every kind of domestic suff'ering that is bred in poverty, illness, / banishment, sorrow, and long ti'avel in bad weather, was crammed into the little space ; aiirl yet was there infinitely less of complaint and querulousiiess, and infinitely more of mutual assistance and general kindness to be found in that unwholesome 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 oflices, wherein they would have been ridiculous but for their good- will and kind purpose ; and here were swarthy fellows — giants in their way — doing such little acts of tenderness 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 ; and snapped his fingers, to amuse a crying child. ,"Now, then," said Mark, nodding to a woman wlio was dress- ing 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 ^vish you'd get breakfast, Mark, instead of worrying with people who don't belong to you," observed Martin, petulantly. " All right," said Mark. " Ske'W do that. It's a fair 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 kindness, as well she might, for she had been covered every night MARTIN CnUZZLEWIT. 241 with his great-coat, while lie had had f(n' his own l)cd the bare Iwards aud a rug. But Martin, who .seldom got up or looked about him, was quite incensed by the folly of this speeoli, 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 aud bred a barber. "What are you talking about, now?" asked Martin. "Whatj'ou said," replied Mark; "or what you meant, when you gave that there dismal vent to your feelings. T quite go along with it, Sir. It is very hard upon her." "What is?" "Making the voyage by herself along with these young impedi- ments 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-hankerchief on the shore, like a pictur out of a song-book, ray 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 l)erth, and then said, very quic^tly : "Ah! How^, indeed ! I can't tliink ! He's been away 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.'y MfUtin 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 ten, effectually put a stop to any resumi)tion 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 a.s much from sea-sickness as any man, woman, or child, im board ; 242 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF and that he had a peculiar faculty of knocking himself about on the smallest provocation, and losing his legs at every lurch of the ship. But resolved, in his usual phrase, to "come out strong" under disadvantageous circumstances, 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. It cannot be said that as his illness wore off, his cheerfulness and 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 roar- ing 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 destruction ; there again was Mr. Tapley, with his coat off 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. Ini short, there never was a more popular character than Mark Tapleyj became on board that noble and f;xst-sailing line-of-packet ship, the Screw; and he attained at last to such a pitch of universal! admiration, that he began to have grave doubts within himselfij ^lARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 213 whother a man might reasonably claim any credit for being jolly under such exciting circumstances. "' If this was going to last," said IMr. Tapley, " there'd be no great difference 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 Fates 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 ; 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 ! " " I'm thankful that I can't say from my own experience what the feelings of a gentleman may be," said Mark, "but I should have thought. Sir, as a gentleman would feel a deal more un- comfortable 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 ? " "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 ? " '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 badgcd and ticketed as an utterly 244 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF / ' poverty-stricken man. If I could liave 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 you, 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 possibility have half so much to undergo on board of her as / have'? Do you? "he asked, sitting upriglit 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 witli 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 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 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 245 fricmls 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 tlie 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 apparatus, books, trinkets, and other baggage. He likewise stuck liis^ hands deep iuto his pockets, and walked the deck Avith 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 su.spected of having run away from a bank, with something in his possession belonging to its strong-box besides the key, gxew eloquent upon the subject of the rights of man, and hummed the IMarseillaise 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 conve}-ed ashore. Oft' she came, soon after it was light next morning, and, lying alongside 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 IMartin, 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 ! " 246 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 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 TRANSACTIONS. 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 au exciting occasion, the friends of the disappointed candidate had found it necessary 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 sufBciently 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 newsboys, 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 slie touched the shore, was -boarded and overrun 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 Reporter ! Here's the New York Rowdy Journal ! Here's all the New York papers ! Here's full particulars of the patriotic loco-foco movement yesterday, in which the Avhigs was so chawed up ; and the last Alabama gouging case ; and the interesting Arkansas dooel with Bowie knives ; and all the Political, Com- mercial, and Fashionable News. Here they are I Here they are ! ere's the papers, here's the papeis ! " " 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 accounts of the markets, and all the shijjpiug news, and four whole columns of country correspondence, and a full account of the Ball at Rlrs. White's last night, where all the beauty and fashion of New York was assembled, with the Sewer's own MARTIN fHUZZLEWlT. 247 particulars of the private lives of all the ladies tliat 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 flagrant 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 column of New Yorkers to be shown up, and all their names printed ! 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 liis 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 woidd 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. Tliis gentleman wore a rather broad-brimmed hat for the greater wisdom of his appearance ; and had his arms folded for the greater impressiveness of his attitude. He was somewhat shabbily dressed in a blue surtout reaching nearly to his ankles, 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 por- tions of his dress, and maintaining a Declaration of Independence on its own account. His feet, which were of umisually large proportions, were leisurely crossed before him as he half leaned against, lialf sat upon, the steam-boat's side ; and his tliick cane, shod witli a mighty ferule at one end and armed with a great metal knob at the other, depended from a line-and-tassel on his wrist. Thus attired, and thus composed 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 bubl)]iiig jtassions of my country find a vent." 248 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF As he looked at Martin, and nobody else was by, Martin in- clined his head, and said : " You allude to — "' " To the Palladium of rational Liberty at home. Sir, and the dread of Foreign oj^pressiou abroad," returned the gentleman, as he pointed with his cane to an uncommonly dirty newsboy with one eye. " To the Envy of the world. Sir, and tlie leaders of Human Civilization. Let me ask you. Sir," he added, bringing the ferule of his stick heavily upon the deck with the air of a man who must not be equivocated Avith, " 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 gentleman, "to behold such signs of National Prosjierity as tliose?" He pointed to the vessels lying at the wharves ; and then gave a vague flourish witli his stick, as if he would include the air and water, generally, in this remark. " Really," said Martin, " I don't know. Yes. I think I was." Tlie 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 philosopher 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 con- siderable of truth, I find, in that remark." " The old ship will keep afloat a year or two longer yet, jjerhaps," 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 lie 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 tlie little ones required to be constantly 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 1" :\IARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 249 Martin told him. " How old are you, Sir ? " Martin told liim. "What's your profession, Sir?'" Martin told him that, also. " What is your destination, Sir 1 " inquired the gentleman. "Really," said Martin, laughing, "I can't satisfy you in that particular, 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 lie 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." jMartin received the communication with that degree of respect which an announcement so distinguished appeared to demand. " The New York RoAvdy Journal, Sir," resumed the colonel, "is, as I expect you know, the organ of our aristocracy in this city." " Oh 1 there is an aristocracy here, then ? " said Martin. " Of what is it composed 1 " " Of intelligence. Sir," replied the colonel ; " of intelligence and virtue. And of their necessary consequence in this republic — dollars. Sir." Martin was very glad to hear this, feeling well assured that if intelligence and virtue led, as a matter of course, to the acquisition of dollars, he would speedily become a great capitalist. He was about to express the gratification such news afforded him, when he was interrupted by the captain of tlie 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 unspeakaljle relief to Martin, who, in spite of the acknowledged supremacy of Intelligence and Virtue in that happy country, would have been deeply mortified to appear before Oolouel Diver in the poor char- acter of a steerage passenger. "Well, cap'en !" said the colonel. " Well, colonel ! " cried the captain. " You're looking most uncommon bright. Sir. I can hardly realise its being you, and that's a fact." "A good passage, cap'en?" inquired the colonel, taking liim aside. 250 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF "Well uow I It was a jDretty spanking run, Sir,"" said, or rather sung, the captain, who was a genuine New Euglander : " con-siderin the weather." " Yes ? " said the colonel. "Well ! It w^as. 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 1 " said the colonel, in a tone almost amounting to severity. "I guess there air a dozen if you want 'em, colonel," said the captain. " One moderate big 'un could convey a dozen of champagne, perhaps," observed the colonel, musing, " tu my office. You said a spanking run, I think 1 " "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 corkscrew 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 himself into a state of blind madness in another, took a cordial leave of his friend the colonel, and hurried away to despatch the champagne : well-knowing (as it afterwards appeared) that if he fiiiled 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 alone with Martin, checked 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 l)roceedings (he said), he would beseech the honour 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, MARTIN OHUZZLEWIT. 251 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 further orders at the Rowdy Journal Otiice, — he accompanied his new friend on shore. They made their way as they best could through the melancholy crowd of emigrants upon the wharf — wdio, grouped about their 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 shij^jjing ; and on the other by a long row of staring red-brick storehouses and offices, ornamented with more black boards and Avhite letters, and more white boards and black letters, than Martiii had ever seen before, in tifty 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 w^as 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 inconvenience by a sense of liis own greatness — led the way up a dark and dirty ilight of stairs into a room of sinular character, all littered and bestrewn with odds and ends of newspapers and other crumpled fragments, both in proof and manuscript. Behind a mangy old writing-table in this apartment, sat a figure with a stump of a pen in its mouth and a great ])uir 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 clipjiing and slicing as aforesaid at the Rowdy Journals, was a small young gentleman of very juvenile appearance, and unwholesoniely pale in the face ; partly, i>ei-hai)S, from intense thought, but partly, there is no doubt, from the ex- cessive use of tobacco, which he was at that moment cliewing vigorously. He wore his shirt-collar turned down over a black ribbon, and his lank hair — a fragile crop — was not oidy 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 develoj^ments being somewhat pimply. He had that order (jf no.se on which the envy of mankind has bestowed the appellation "smdj," and it was very much turned uj) at the cud, as with a lofty scorn. Upon tiie upper lip of this young gentleman, were tokens of a sandy down 252 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF — so very, very smooth and scant, that, though 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 Ins 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 tliat this nuist be Colonel Diver's son ; 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 Avas veiy pleasant to see him i»laying 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 announce- ment, 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 was no occasion to be frightened, for he (Brick) wouldn't hurt him. "You have heard of Jefferson 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 1 " " Five weeks ago," said Martin. " Five weeks ago," repeated the colonel, thoughtfully ; as he took his seat upon tlie 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 St. James's ? " "Upon my word,'' said Martin, "I — "' " I have reason to know. Sir," interrupted the colonel, " that the aristocratic circles of your country quail before the name of Jefferson Brick. T 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. Bi-ick, 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 MARTI X CHUZZLEWIT. 253 arp snap, as if they said blood too, and were quite of his inion. This done, tliey both looked at ]\Iartin, pausing for a reply. " Upon niy life," said Martin, who had by this time (piite ;overed his usual coolness, " I can't give you any satisfactory brmation about it ; for the truth is that I — " " Stop ! " cried the colonel, glancing sternly at his war corre- Dndent, and giving his head one shake after every sentence, rhat you never heard of Jefterson Brick, Sir. That you never id Jefferson Brirk, Sir. That you never saw the Rowdy Journal, '. That you never knew. Sir, of its mighty influence upon the binets of Europe. — Yes ? " "That's what I was about to observe, certainly," said I\Iartin. ''Keep cool, Jefferson," said the colonel gravely. "Don't bust! you Europeans ! Arter that, let's have a glass of wine ! " So {\\\g, he got dow^i from the table, and produced, from a basket tside the door, a bottle of champagne, and three glasses. " Mr. Jefferson Brick, Sir," said the colonel, filling Martin's iss and his own, and pushing the bottle to that gentleman, vill give us a sentiment." " Well, Sir ! " cried the war correspondent, " since you have iicluded to call upon me, I will respond. I will give you, Sir, le Rowdy Journal and its brethren ; the well of Truth, whose iters are black from being composed of printers' ink, but are ite clear enough for my country to behold the shadow of her jstiny reflected in." " Hear, hear ! " cried the colonel, with great complacency, riiere are flowery components. Sir, in the language of my friend f "Very nuich so, indeed," said Martin. "There is to-day's Rowdy, Sir," observed the colonel, handing m a paper. "You'll find Jefferson Brick at his usual jjost in e van of human civilization and moral purity." The colonel was by this time seated on the table again. INIr. ick also took up a position on that same piece of furniture : d they fell to drinking pretty hard. Tliey often looked at artin as he read the paper, and then at each other ; and when laid it down, which was not until they had finished a second ttle, the colonel asked him wdiat he thought of it. " Why, it's horribly personal," said IMartin. The colonel seemed much flattered l>y this remark : and said he iped it was. "AVe are independent here. Sir," said IMr. Jefferson Brick. We do as we like." " If I may judge from tliis specimen," returned Martin, "there MR. JEFFERSON BRICK PROPOSES AX APPROPRIATE SENTIMENT. LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF MARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 25.') must be a few thousands here, rather tlie reverse of independent, who do as tliey don't like."' "Well! They yield to the mighty mind of the Popular In- structor, Sir," said the colonel. "They rile up, sometimes; l>ut in general we liave 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 Mr. Brick. " En — tirely so," remarked the colonel. " Pray," said Martin, after some hesitation, " may I venture to ask, with 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 pursued, for the colonel was perfectly calm and quite at his ease, "solemnly purporting to have been written at recent periods by living men '] " "Well, Sir ! " replied the colonel. "It does, now and then." " And the popular instructed — what do they do 1 " asked Martin. " Buy 'em : " said the colonel. Mr. Jefferson Brick expectorated and laughed ; the former copiously, the latter approvingly. " Buy 'em by hundreds of thousands," resumed the colonel. "We are a smart people here, and can appreciate smartness." " Is smartness American for forgery ? " 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 Martiji. "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. " Xor any other kind of smartness, I reckon ? " " 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 tlie new 'un. There's an end of t/uit. 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 pre- ceded him witli great majesty. The colonel following, they left the Rowdy Journal Office and walked fortli into the streets : 256 LIFE AXD ADVENTURES OF Martin feeling doubtful whether he ought to kick the colonel for having presumed to speak to him, or whether it came witliin the bounds of possibility that he and his establishment could be among the boasted usages of tliat 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 responsi- bility 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 window ; 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, Tlie 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 tlie top windows to see who it was. Pending her journey down 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 nuijnr in-doors*?" inc^uired the colonel, as he entered. " Is it the master, Sir 1 " returned the girl, with a hesitation which seemed to imply that they were rather flush of majors in that establishment. "The master ! " said Colonel Diver, stopping short and looking round at his war correspondent. " Oh ! The depressing institutions of that British Empire, colonel ! " said Jefterson Brick. " Master ! " " What's the matter with the word ? " asked Llartin. " I sliould hope it was never heard in our country. Sir : that's all," said Jefl^erson Brick : "excejjt when it is used by S(mie de- graded Help, as new to the blessings of our form of government, as this Help is. There are no masters here." JIARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 257 "All 'owners,' care they?" said Martin. j\Ir. Jefferson Brick followed in the liowdy 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 uncomfortable : having nothing in it but the four cold white walls and ceiling, a mean carpet, a dreary waste of dining-table reaching Ifrom end to end, and a bewildering collection of cane-bottomed ;chairs. In the further' region of this bancjueting-hall was a stove, garnished on either side with 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 light hand of the stove, and the spittoon on the left, and then working his way back again in the same order. A muTo lad in a soiled white jacket was busily engaged in placing II 'Aii' table two long rows of knives and forks, relieved at intervals i\ ,jugs of water ; and as he travelled down one side of this festive manl, he straightened with his dirty hands the dirtier cloth, which >\as all askew, and had not been removed since breakfast. The itnins])here of this room was rendered intensely hot and stifling )>■ the stove ; but being further flavoured by a sickly gush of soup iMiii the kitchen, and by such remote suggestions of tobacco as iiiiricd within the brazen receptacles already mentioned, it became, :ii a .stranger's senses, almost in.supportable. The gentleman in the rocking-chair having liis back towards Imhi, and being much engaged in his intellectual pastime, was '! aware of their approach until the colonel walking uj) to the : 'M, contributed liis mite towards the support of the left-hand ] lilt nun, just as the major — for it was the major — bore down upon t. Major Pawkins then reserved his fire, and looking upward, ■till, with a peculiar air of quiet weariness, like a man who had "cu up all night — an air which Martin liad already observed Mjth in the colonel and Mr. Jefterson Brick — " Well, colonel ! " '■ Here is a gentleman from England, majcjr," the colonel I plied, "who has concluded to locate himself here if the amount i 'I'liipensation suits him." ■■ I am glad to see you, Sir," observed the major, shaking liands 258 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF ■with Martin, and not moving a muscle of his face. " You are pretty briglit, I hope 1 " " Xever better," said Martin. "You are never likel)' to be," returned tlie major. "You will see the sun shine here." " 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 indifference certainly, but still in a tone of firmness which admitted of no further dispute on that point. When he had thus settled the cpiestion, he put his hat a little on one side for the greater convenience of scratching his head, and saluted Mr. Jefferson Brick with a lazy nod. Major Pawkins (a gentleman of Pennsylvanian origin) was distinguished 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 jmtting all the goods he had (and more) into his Aviudow ; 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 iu Martin's ear : " One of the most remai-kable 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 1 creed, in reference to all public obligations involving the good \ faith and integrity of his country, was, "run a moist pen slick I through everything, and start fresh." Tliis made him a patriot. pin commercial affairs he was a bold speculator. In plainer words he had a most distinguished genius for swindling, and could start a bank, or negotiate a loan, or form a land -jobbing company (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 cock-tail, than any private gentleman MARTIN CHUZZLE-WIT. 259 of his acquaintance. Tliis made him an orator and a man of the people. In a word, the major was a rising character, and a poi)uhxr character, and was in a fair way to be sent by the poi)idar 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 imblic affairs ; and as fraudulent transactions have their downs as well as ups ; the major was occasionally under a cloud. Hence, just now, Mrs. Pawkins kept a boarding-house, and Major Pawkins rather " loafed " hi.s time away, than otherwise. " You have come to visit our country, Sir, at a season of great commercial 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 1 " 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 horn' 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?" said Martin. "Well!" returned the major, "I expect we shall get almig 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 neiglibouring bar- room, which, as he observed, was " only in the next block." He ithen referred Martin to IMrs. 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 Avanted 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 witliout 'more ado, and left them to follow if they thought jtroper. When the major rose from his rocldng-chair before the stove jand so disturbed the hot air and balmy whiff of soup which fanned 260 LIFE AXD ADVEXTURES OF 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 beliind him to the bar-room, he could not help thinking that the great square major, in his listless- uess and languor, looked very much like a stale weed liimsclf, such as might be hoed out of the public garden with great advantage to the decent growth of tliat preserve, and tossed on some congenial dunghill. They encountered more weeds in the bar-room, some of whom (being 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 w^alking 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 a house 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. Jefferson Brick, detach- ing 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 fjxltered on the pavement, three more gentlemen, w^ith horror and agitation depicted in their faces, came plunging wildly 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 api)eared, with fierce excitement. "Where is it?" cried Martin, breathlessly, to a negro whom he encountered in the passage. " In a eatin room, sa. 'Kernel, sa, him kep a seat 'side him- self, sa." " A seat ! " cried Martin. " For a diiniar, sa." INIartin stared at him for a moment, and burst into a hearty MARTIN CHUZZLEAVIT. 261 lauyh ; to wliicli tlic negro, out of his natural good humour and ilesire to jileasc, so lieartily responded, that his teetli shone like a gleam of light. " You're the pleasantest fellow I have seen yet," said INIartin, clapping him on the back, "and give me a better appetite than bitters." " With tlr hrsgntmrentibe walked into the dining-room and slipped cole into a chair next' the coloiieT," whieh that g efrtfeTnan-(4:Tj-this-ti«ie uearly-riftrnTgri' his dinn?i'^'~1md:'tl'mTe'd'dovMi, iir-ieserre for him, jatitk-tts^mckrTigainst the table. ■ It was a numerous company — eighteen or twenty, perhajis. Of these some five or six were ladies, who sat Avedged 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 fomine 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 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 tlie 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. Dyopcptic individuals bolted tfeeir food in wedges ; feeding, not themselves, but broods of night- mares, who were continually standing at livery within them. Sjjare men, with lanlc and rigid cheeks, came out unsatisfied from tlie destruction of heavy dishes, and dared witli watchful eyes ui)on tb o paatiy. What Mrs. PawkinsMfelt 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 plaee-while Martin, who had sent his plate for some turkey, was ¥«»tH»g to begin, he asked Jiii* wha't "he tlunight of the boarders, Hfhe-were from 'all paitstrf the Union, -and whetlier" lie woidd like to know any particulars concerning them. "Pray," 3a-i4-4Iartin, "who is that sickly little girl opposite, with the tight round eyes ? I don't see anybody here, wlio 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." 262 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF "No, no,"^«a«i9iiJaHin, "I mean the little girl, like a doll — directly opposite." " Well, Sir ! " cried the colonel. '' 'That is Mrs. Jett'erson Brick." -Martin glanced at- the colonel's face, but he was quite-seia^je. " 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. -^L^o [ t>o',s; The matron looked so uncomiiionLy like- tt -tjhtld -herself, that l\ o .> Martin could not help saying'as mneh". "Yes, Sir," retuFned tb«t ;' V colonel, "but some institutions develop human uatur : others retard it." "Jefferson Brick," he observed after a short silence, in com- mendation of his correspondent, "is one of the most remarkable men in our country, Sir ! " This had passed almost in a whisper, for the distinguished AVfi-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 though t"it prudent to eschew tfee- wend. — " that very short gentleman yonder, with tlie red nose?" "That is Pro — fessor MuUit, Sir," i=eplied Jefferson. "May I ask what he is professor of?" asked Martin. " Of education. Sir," said Jefferson Brick. " A sort of schoolmaster, possibly ? " Martin ventured to observe. " He is a man of fine moral elements, Sir, and not commonly endowed," said the war correspcmdent. "He felt it necessary, at the last election for President, to repudiate and denounce his father, who voted on the wrong interest. He has since written some powerful 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." ?'/•, . ;> , .. . , j. . - : 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 commanded 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, professors, or reverends. Three very hard and MAKTIX O^UZZLE^VIT. 263 disagreeable gentlenicu were on missions from neighbouring States ; one on monetary att'airs, 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, Avere 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 oft' 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 sedentary 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 ? "' 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. Jetierson 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 withdrawal of the other sex ; and who made a plentiful use of the spittoons and their toothpicks. It Avas rather barren of interest, to say the truth ; and the greater part of it may be summed up in one word — dollars. All • thyr cares, hopes, joys, afiections, virtues, and associations, seemed 1 to be melted down into dollars. Whatever the chance contributions I that fell into the slow cauldron of their talk, they made the gruel 1 thick and slab with dollars. Men were weighed by their dollar.s, measures gauged by their dollars ; life was auctioneered, appraised, I put up, and knocked down for its dollars. The next respectable : thing to dollars was any venture having their attaimnent for its end. The more of that worthless 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. LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF Make commerce one huge lie and miglity 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 I anything for dollars ! What is a flag to thnn /V ' — One who rides at all hazards of limb and'Tne in the chase of a fox, will prefer to ride recklessly at most times. So it was with these gentlemen. He was the greatest patriot, in their eyes, who brawled the loudest, and who cared the least for decency. He was their champion, who in the brutal fury of his own pursuit, could cast no stigma upon them, for the hot knavery of theirs. Thus, Martin learned in the five minutes' straggling talk about the stove, that to carry pistols into legislative assemblies, and swords in sticks, and other such jDeaceful 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, ^ien there was a pause, Martin asked such questions as naturafl^ occurred to him, being a stranger, about the national poets, the theatre, literature, and the arts. But tlie information which these gentlemen were in a condition to give him on such topics, did not extend beyond the efi'usions of such master-spirits of the time, as Colonel Diver, Mr. Jefferson Brick, and others ; renowned, as it appeared, for excellence in the ac hjeve- , ment of a peculiar style of broadside-essay called "a screamer.'' | 'T "We are a busy people, Sir," said one of the captains, wlrCwis j 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 ^nighty strong stuff of another sort, but darn your books." Here the general, who appeared to quite grow faint at the Ijare thought of reading anything which Avas neither mercantile nor political, and was not in a newspaper, inquired "if any gentle- man 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. Tlience they probably went to their stores and counting-houses ; thence to the bar-room again, to talk once more of dollars, and enlarge 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- MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 265 rooms ; debating within iuniself wliotlier busy jicoplc of tliis oliiss were really as busy as they claimed to be, or only had an inai)titu(le for social and domestic pleasure. It was a ditticult 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 neighbours, 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 inter- posed 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 1 " "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 : remembering that the colonel had whispered him to that effect, before going out. "Not much beholden," said the stranger drily. " The colonel occasionally boards packet-slnps, I have heard, to glean the latest information for his journal ; and he occasionally brings strangers to board here, I believe, with a view to the little percentage which attaches to those good offices ; and which the hostess deducts from his weekly bill. I don't offend you, I hopel" 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. " I am rather at a loss, since I must speak i)lainly," said Martin, 266 LIFE AND ADVEXTURES OF 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 administration of this country's laws or in the decent and right-minded feeling of its people, were justified in retorting on such jDublic nuisances by means of a stout cudgeU" " I was not aware of that," said Martin, " but I am very glad to know it, and I think it worthy of his memory ; especially " — here he hesitated again. "Go on," said the other, smiling as if he knew what stuck in Martin's throat. "Especially," pursued Martin, "as I can already understand that it may have required great courage even in his time 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 1 " " Indeed I think it would ; and not a Jiitle," said Martin. "You are right. So very right, thatll 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 know- ledge 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 -will 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 "bl'ought about?" 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 they 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 repre- sent it. Will you walk 1 " { MAETIN CHUZZLEWIT. 267 Tlicrc was a cordial candour in his manner, and an cn^ija.i^in;;- confidence that it would not be abused ; a manly bearing on his own part, and a simple reliance on the manly taitli 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 bright- ness of his distant dreams were lost to view ; appealed in these words — Oh but for such, Cokinibia's days were done ; Rank without ripeness, quickened without sun, Crude at the surface, rotten at the core, Her fruits would fall before her spring were o'er ! CHAPTER XYIT. 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 forgotten 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 some- thing by no means of a pressing nature, which might be attended to by-and-by, and could w^ait his perfect leisure. But, being now in the streets again, it occurred to him as just coming witliin the bare limits of possibility that Mr. Tapley nnght, 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 con- veniently 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 witli ([uestions eitiicr, whether your occupation 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 Massachusetts, and reside tiiere still. JNIy home is in a (piict 268 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF couiitiy town. I am not often in these bnsy places ; and my inclination to visit them does not increase with our better ac(|uaint- ance, I assure you." "You have been abroad?" asked Martin. " Oh yes." " And, like most peojjle who travel, have become more than ever attached to your home and native country," said JMartin, eyeing him curiously. " To my home — yes," rejoined his friend. " To my native country as my home — yes, 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 indiiference 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 i:)lainly. 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 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, dis- gusted with the low standard thus set up and made adaptable to everything, takes refuge among the graces and refinements it can bring to bear on private life, and leaves the public w^eal to such fortune as may betide it in the press and uproar of a general scramble — then again I answ^er, 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 fliding prospects of domestic architecture. " In a word," resumed the other, " I do not find and cannot believe, and tlierefore 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. MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 269 " One, that our history commenced at so late a period as to escape the ages of bloodshed and cruelty through which otlier nations have passed ; and so had all tlie light of tlieir probation, and none of its darkness. The other, that we have a vast territory, and not — as yet — too many people on it. These focts consideretl, wc have done little enough, I think.'"' " Education 1 " suggested Martin, faintly. "Pretty well on tliat 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 ]\Iajor 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 offer, which was open-hearted, unaffected, and good-natured. As it was next to impossible that he should not have his confi- dence 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 oft' the declaration with an air which might have implied that he had money enough for six months, instead of as many weeks ; but poor he said he wa.s, 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 particidarly easy for Martin, whose perceptions were sharp- ened 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 ett'ort to be as en- couraging as possible, could he prevent his head from sliaking once involuntarily, as if it said in the vulgar tongue, upon its own account, " Xo go ! " But he spoke in a cheerful tone, and said, 270 LIFE AXD ADVENTURES OF MARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. that although there was no such opeuing 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 cuTumstances connected with himself and family, which fully occupied the time, until they reached the Rowdy Journal Office. Mr. Tapley appeared to be taking his ease on the landing of the first floor ; for sounds as of some gentleman established in that region, whistling '' Rule 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 fortification of luggage, apparently performing his national anthem for the gratification of a grey-haired black man, who sat on one of the outworks (a port- manteau), staring intently at Mark, while Mark, with his head reclining 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 Rowdy Journal door, whereon his own initials now appeared in letters nearly half a foot long, together with the day of the mouth in smaller tyjie : 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 time at that point where Britons generally are supposed to declare (when it is whistledj that they never, never, never — " Nothing gone wi-ong, I hope, Sir ? " '' Xo, Mark. "Where's your friend ? " " The mad woman, Sir ? " said Mr. Tapley. " Oh 1 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 recoucileable with being alive. "When she didn't see him a waiting for lier. I tliought she'd have died herself, I did I " " Was he not here, then ? '" ''He wasn't here. There was a feeble old shadow come a -n. rAr.KvsrccKKns ,x K,xn,x. . ^;ou.v•■ s.b.ect ko. coxxKMn.Arr 272 LIFE AND ADYEXTURES OF creeping down at last, as mucli like his substance when she know'd hiui, as your sliadow when it's drawn out to its verj' 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 ! " " 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 un- limited. 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 anything long enough to sound it with." " Is this true 1 " asked Martin of his companion. " Extremely probable," he answered. " Some Mississippi or ]\Iissouri 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 tlie 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 ? Anotlier friend of yours I " "Why, Sir," returned Mark, taking him aside, and speaking confidentially in his ear, " he's a man of colour, Sir." "Do you take me for a blind man," asked Martin, somewhat impatiently, " 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 colour," 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, favouring 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. Why, 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 ; Ixv, 10 in 111 rill;; s up 111 n to this (1: V. Wh L'll l.pcd otr lii.s I'O it, a id MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 273 had his neck galled with an iron collar, ai his wrists and ankles. The marks are on h I was having luy dinner just now, he sti took away my appetite."' "Is M/s true?" asked Martin ot' his friend, who stood liesiile them. " I have no reason to doubt it,'' he answered, looking down, and shaking his head. " It very often is." "Bless j'ou," said Mark, "I know it is, from hearing his 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. Tajiley, 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 1 " " Waiting to take our luggage ofi' 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 hi.s 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 fier 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, ]\Iark, perhaps you'll attend to me. The place to which the luggage is to go, is printed on this card. Mrs. Pawkins's Boarding House." "IV'L-s. 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 274 LIFE AXD ADVEXTURES OF asseut from under a leathern portmanteau, than which his own face was 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 Avith u.'^. He is an honest fellow, and speaks his mind so very plainly." " Why, the fact is," said Martin, smiling, " that being un- accustomed 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 uot a slave State ; but I am ashamed to say that the spirit of Tolerance is uot so common anywhere in these latitudes as the form. "We are not remarkable for behaving veiy temperately to each other when we differ : but to strangers ! Is"o, I really think he had better go with us." Martin called to him 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. Pawkius'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 unintroduced, when this open-hearted gentleman was so ready to be his sjionsor, 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 tliat 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 princijDle, 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 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 27f. he may be said to have been in jMartin's eyes — Mr. Bevan led the way into the room which had shed its clieerfuhiess upon the street, to whose occupants 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 beconuiig 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 fomily pedigree from the two young ladies, because they were foremost 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, includ- ing four small shoes, and the like amount of silk stockings, and yes, why nof? — the feet and legs therein enshrined. And there is no doubt that Martin was monstrous well-disposed to regard his position in that light, after his recent experience of the Screw, and of Mrs. Pawkins's boarding-house. The consequence was, that he made himself very agreeable indeed ; and l)y the time the tea and coftee arrived (with sweet preserves, and cunning j tea-cakes in its train), was in a highly genial state, and much esteemed by the whole family. I Another delightful circumstance turned up before the first cup I of tea was drunk. The whole family had been in England. I 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 everytliing interested in the least particular concerning them. However, when tlicy asked after the wearer of this or that coronet, and said "Was he quite well?" 276 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF Martin answered "Yes, oh yes. ' iS^ever better;" a '1 when they said " his Lordship's mother, the Due, ss, was she m\ changed 1 " Martin said, "Oh dear no, they woull know her 'where if they saw her to-morrow ; " and so got on pretty In like manner wdien the young hidies questioned him touchi ^ the Gold Fish in that Grecian fountain in such and such a nobleman's con- servatory, 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 w^ords and honours they wished Mr. Norris the father and Mrs. Norris the mother, and the Misses Norris tlie 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 iu that enlightened land, where there were no noblemen 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 exijanding into an oration on this swelling theme was becoming 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 person 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 eifect, but varying in words ; to wit, that she 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 JIARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 277 then it appeared tliat all the I rrises were abolitionists. It was a great relief to hear this, p' |,1 Martin was so much encoiiraged on finding himself in such C9mpany, that he expressed his synii)athy with the ^ ■ ' 4i^;essed and wretched blacks. Now, one of the young ladies — i ^, prettiest and most delicate one — was mightily amused at the earnestness with which he spoke ; and on his craving leave to oisk her why, was quite unable for a time to speak for laughing. As soon however as she could, she told him tliat 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 I\Irs. Norris Senior the grandmother, were all of this opinion, and laid it down as an absolute matter of foct — 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 comfortably, " there is a natural antipathy between the races." "Extending," said Martin's friend, in a low voice, "to tlie 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 (drcumstances : and again addressed himself to the young ladies, who were very gorgeously attired in very beautiful colours, and had every article of dress on the same extensive scale as the little shoes and the thiu silk stockings. Tliis suggested to iiiin that they were great proficients in the French fiisliions, wliich soon turned out to be the case, for though their information appeared to be none of the newest, it was very extensive : and the eldest sister in particular, who was distinguislied by a talent for metaphysics, the laws of hydraulic pressure, and the rights of human kind, had a novel way of combining these acquirements and bringing them to bear on any suljject from Millinery to the Millennium, both inclusive : which was at once improving aiul remarkable, — so much so, in short, that it was usually observed to reduce foreigners to a state of temporary insanity in five minutes. 278 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF Martin felt his reason going ; and as a means of saving himself, besought the other sister (seeing a piano in the room) to sing. Witli this request she willingly complied ; and a bravura concert, solely sustained 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 commonplace enough at home, but 'specially genteel abroad. There is little doubt that in course of time the Misses Norris Avould have come to Hebrew, if they had not been interrupted by an announcement 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 headlong, 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 Ids 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 any- thing, advanced with a smiling visage to salute tlie lady of the house. To be sure, it would have been impossible for the family to testify 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 liands with the Norrises three times all round, and then reviewed them from a little distance as a brave commander might, with his ample cloak drawn forward over the right shoulder and thrown back upon the left side to reveal his manly breast. MARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 279 "And do I then,'' cried the general, " once again behold the clioicest spirits of my country ! " "Yes,'' said Mr. Norris the father. " Here we are, generah"' Then all the Norrises 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 impressive here — "among the fashionable news. But, oh the conventionalities of that a-mazing Europe ! " " Ah ! " cried Mr. Norris the father, giving his head a melan- choly 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 ! " " 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 Mr. Norris the father, taking him by the arm. " Surely you crossed in the Screw, general ? " "Well ! so T did," was the reply. " 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 ! " 280 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF He had never seen Martin, but Martin had seen liim, 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 helj) 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, Fladdock, — 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 the 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 ujwn the Norrises. If this stnry should get wind, their country relation had, by his imprudence, for ever disgraced them. They were the 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. guardian 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 un worthiness, I assure you." AVith that he made his bow to the Norrises, and walked out like a man of snow, very cool externally, but i^retty hot within. " Come, come," said Mr. Norris the father, looking with a i)ale 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 magnificence of social decoration, to which he is a stranger in his own country. Let us hope it may awake a moral sense within him." I MARTIN CIIUZZLEWIT. 281 If that peculiarly transatlantic article, a moral sense, — for if native statesmen, orators, and paniplileteers, are to be believed, America quite monopolizes the commodity, — if that peculiarly transatlantic article be supposed to include a benevolent love of all mankind, certainly 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 liim to the utterance of some rather sanguinary remarks, Avhicli it was well for his own credit that nobody overheard. 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 liim, 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*?" 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 arc 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 fiiith, that's true," said ]\Iartin. " 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?" "Yes indeed ! " " Doubtless it is more ridiculous here tlian anywhere else," -aid his 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 addre.ssed liim as anotlier order of being, and sued to him in formd 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 282 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 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, was still upon the table. At one end of the board Mrs. Jefferson 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 diftercnt lengths, in as many candlesticks of ditterent 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 1 " 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 i " 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 accpiaintances, and (piite settled their business. Her bonnet, too, had far outshone every bonnet in the congregation : so she was traiKtuil 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 AVednesdays." "On Mondays?" " The Philosophy of Crime." "On Fridays?" "The Philosophy of Vegetables." " You have forgotten Thursdays — the Philosophy of Govern- ment, my dear," observed the third lady. "No," said Mrs. Brick. "That's Tuesdays." "So it is!" cried the lady. "The Philosophy of Matter on Thursdays, of course." JIARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. ,^ 283 " You SCO, Mr. Chuzzlcwit, our ladies arc fully cni})loyed,' licvau. "Indeed you have reason to say so," answered Martin. •• I'.ctween these very grave pursuits abroad, and family duties at liiuue, their time must be jiretty well engrossed." ^lartin 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 — ^Yhich they very soon did — Mr. Bevan informed him that (Inincstic drudgery was far beneath the exalted range of these riiilosophers, 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 with these edge-tools," he said, "is another question; but I can answer for nne thing — they don't often cut themselves. Devotions and lectures are our balls and concerts. They go to these places of lesort, 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 will discuss your projects in the morning. You cannot but feel already that it is useless staying here, with 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 ]\Iartin 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, tliat 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 aiul sanguine plans ! New and strange as he wa.s 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 misgiving that his enterprise was doomed. Rash and ill-considered as it had often looked on shijjboard, 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 I' 284 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 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 Instre. 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 a great white water-jug upon the sideboard, and lingering with a kind of hideous fliscination near tlie 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, before breakfast, all the water you've got to wash m, 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 ; tliat's my opinion. Take care how 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 his 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 ; 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 washing-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 oft' my boots for me," said Martin, dropping into one of the chairs. "I am quite knocked up — dead beat, Mark." i MARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 285 "You won't say tliat to-morrow morning, Sir,"' returned Mr. Tapley ; "nor even to-night, Sir, when you've made a trial of this." With wdiicli he produced a very large tumbler, piled up to the brim wdth li^le blocks of clear transparent ice, through which one or two thin slices of lemon, and a golden liquid of delicious appearance, appealed 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 — wiiich caused a pleasant commotion among the i)ieces 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. " 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!" replied the imperturbable Tapley; "from what we've seen already, I don't know whether, under those circum- stances, 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!" eclioed Mark, cheerfully, "if there waru'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 fn- ; and whenever you go 286 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF ' 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 backward 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 Taj^ley, 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 witliin a dream — as rapidly to change the scene, and cross the ocean to the English shore. CHAPTER XYIII. DOES BUSINESS WITH THE HOUSE OF ANTHONY CHUZZLEWIT AND SON, FROM WHICH ONE OF THE PARTNERS RETIRES UNEX- FECTEDLY. 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 which he has been an actor of importance, Avould 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, rending 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 faithfully set down in these pages. " What a cold spring it is ! " wliimpered old Anthony, drawing MARTIX f'HUZZLEWIT. 287 near the evening fire. '' It was .1 warmer season, sure, wlien I was young ! " " You needn't go scorching your clothes into holes, whether it was or not," observed tlie amiable Jonas, raising his eyes from yesterday's newspa])er. " 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 " " 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 I" chuckled the old man. " //, 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, tliat you take to wasting now 1 " "There's not time for that, Jonas," said the old man. " Not time for wdiat 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 wouldn't. And your own flesh and blood might come to want too, might they, for anything you cared 1 Oh you i)recious old flint ! " After this dutiful address, he took his tea-cup in his hand — for that meal was in jKogress, and the father and son and Chuftey 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 : " Want, indeed ! You're a nice old man to be talking of want nt this time of day. Beginning to talk of want, are you 1 Well, \ declare ! There isn't time ? No, I should hope not. But you'd live to be a couple of hundred if you could ; and after all be dis- contented. / 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 po.sition went on to argue the point on high moral ground.s. "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 pro- perty? Buy an annuity cheap, and make your life interesting to younself and everybody else that watches the s])eculation. But no, that wouldn't suit vou. Tliat would be natural conduct to 288 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF your own son, and you like to be unnatural, and to keep him out of his rights. Wliy, 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 Chufiey, 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 hanging 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 ? " " He says you're wrong ! " cried Anthony to the old clerk. "Tut, tut!" was Chuffey's answer. "I know better. I say hes wrong. I say Ae'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 I 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 every day, Chuff," said Anthony, with as much softness 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. i " That's a good sign ! " cried Chuffey. " Ha ! ha ! The best J sign in the world ! You saw too well before." I JIARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 289 He patted Antlioiiy upon the liand as one iiii^iit comfort a lild, and drawing the old man's arm still further tlirough liis vn, shook his trembling fingers towards the spot where Jonas .t, as though he would wave him off. But Anthony remaining lite still and silent, he relaxed his hold by slow degrees and psed into his usual niche in the corner ; merely putting forth his md at intervals and touching his old employer gently on the )at, as with the design of assuring himself that he was yet ?side him. ]\Ii-. Jonas was so very nuich amazed by these proceedings that 3 could do nothing but stare at the two old men, until Chuffey id fallen into his usual state, and Anthony had sunk into a doze ; hen he gave some vent to his emotions by going close up to the irnier personage, and making as though he would, in vulgar irlance, "punch his head." " They've been carrying on this game," thought Jonas in a rown study, " for the last two or three weeks. I never saw my ,ther take so much notice of him as he has in that time. What ! ou're legacy hunting are you. Mister Chuftl Eh?" But Chutiey was as little conscious of the thought as of the adily advance of Mr. Jonas's clenched fist, which hovered fondly bout his ear. When he had scowled at him to his heart's con- int, Jonas took the candle from the table, and walking into the lass office, produced a bunch of keys from his pocket. With one F these he opened a secret drawer in the desk : peeping stealthily lit, as he did so, to be certain that the two old men were still efore the fire. "All as right as ever," said Jonas, propping the lid of the desk pen with his forehead, and unfolding a paper. " Here's the will, lister Chuff". Thirty pound a year for your maintenance, old boy, nd all the rest to his only son, Jonas. You needn't trouble your- jlf to be too affectionate. You won't get anything bv it. What's bat?" It was startling, certainly. A face on the other side of the lass partition looking curiously in : and not at him but at the aper in his hand. For the eyes were attentively cast down njjon he writing, and were swiftly raised when he cried out. Then hey met his own, and were as the eyes of Mr. Pecksniff". Suffering the lid of the desk to fall with a loud noise, but not orgetting even then to lock it, Jonas, pale and breathless, gazed ipon this phantom. It moved, opened the door, and walked n. "What's the matter?" cried Jonas, falling back. "Who is it? iVhere do you come from ? What do you want ? ' u 290 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF " ]\Iatter ! " 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?" said Jonas, angrily. " What do you mean by coming up to town in tins way, 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 1 " "So I did, Mr. Jonas," answ^ered 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 interested 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. " AVas it poetry now ? " said Mr. Pecksniff, shaking the fore- finger 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." "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 im- patience, "what have you come up for?" " A little matter of business," said Mr. Pecksniff", " wliich has arisen quite unexpectedly." "Oh!" cried Jonas, "is that all? AVell ! Here's father in the next room. Hallo father, here's Pecksnift'! 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 1 " The combined effects of the shaking and this loving remonstrance * soon awoke the old man, who gave Mr. Pecksniff a chuckling : welcome, which w'as attributable in part to his being glad to see i that gentleman, and in part to his unfading delight in the recol- lection of having called him a hypocrite. As Mr. Pecksniff had I not yet taken tea (indeed he had but an hour before arrived in i London) the remains of the late collation, with a rasher of bacon, , were served up for his entertainment ; and as JNIr. Jonas had a i business appointment in the next street, he stepped out to keep^ MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 291 ir : promising to return before ^Ir. Pccksiiitt" could finish lii.s repast. "And now, my good Sir," said Mr. Pecksniff to Antliony : '• 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. Chuttey is, metaphysically speaking, a — shall I say a dummy 1 " asked Mr. Pecksnitf with his sweetest smile, and his head very much on one side. '' He neither hears us,"' replied Anthonj^, " nor sees us." " Why then," said Mr. Pecksniff, " I will be bold to say, with the utmost sympathy for his afflictions, 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. " / was," said Mr. Pecksniff, mildly. '• Oh ! yo« were 1 What was it 1 " "That I never," said Mr. Pecksniff", previously rising to sec that the door was shut, and arranging his chair when he came back, si I that it could not be opened in the least without his immediately Incoming aware of the circumstance: "that I never in my life w as so astonished as by the receipt of your letter yesterday. That you should do me the honour to wish to take counsel with me on any matter, amazed me ; but that you should desire to do so to tlie 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 i address very glibly ; having been at some pains to compose it out- j side 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 j profound silence and with a perfectly blank face. Nor did he j seem to have the least desire or impulse to piu'sue 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 1 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 passionately upon the table as if no interval at all had taken place : 292 LIFE AND ADA^ENTURES OF " Will you hold your tongue, Sir, and let me speak?" Mr. PecksniflF 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 Authonj\ "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 daughter." " 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 ! What, you ivill be a hypocrite, will you ? " " My good Sir," Mr. Pecksniff began. " Don't call me a good Sir," retorted Anthony, " 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 unwliole- some fancies ; quite unnecessary. Sir, quite uncalled for, I am sure. The truth is, my dear Sir, tliat 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. MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 293 \\ hy, look at him," poiutiug to his feeble clerk. "Death has no 1 iuht to leave him staudiug, and to mow me down." ]\Ir. Pecksiiiti" was so much afraid of the old man, and so rninpletely taken aback by the state in which he found him, tliat he had not even presence of mind enough to call up a scrap of morality from the great storehouse within his own breast. There- fire he stammered out that no doubt it was, in fairness and ileeency, Mr. Chuftey's turn to expire ; and that from all he had heard of Mr. Chuffey, and the little he had the pleasure of knowing nttliat gentleman, personally, he felt convinced iu his own mind that lie 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'll snap. Bind him when he's in the mood, Pecksniff; bind him. You're too deep. In your way of leading him on, you'll leave him miles behind. Bah, you man of oil, have I no eyes to see how you have angled with him from the first 1 " "Xow I wonder," thought Mr. Pecksniff, looking at him with a wistful face, "whether this is all he has to say ! " Old Anthony ruljbed his hands and muttered to himself; com- plained again that he was cold ; drew his chair before tlie 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. 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 uj), and home ;igain. For the good gentleman liad never (for want of an oppor- tunity) dived into tlie depths of Mr. Jonas's nature; and any riiipe 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 [. j order that he might lose no chance of improving so fair an oppor- ' tunity by allowing Anthony to fall asleep before he had finished all he had to say, Mr. Pecksniff, in the disposal of the refresii- ments on the table — a work to which he now applied himself in earnest — resorted to manv in'aniious contrivances for attracting 294 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. his attention, such as coughing, sneezing, clattering the tea-cui)S, sharpening the knives, dropi^ing the loaf, and so forth. But all in vain, for Mr. Jonas returned, and Anthony had said no more. " What ! My father asleep again 1 " 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?" repeated Jonas. "Yes; let him alone for that. He'll 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 1" "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. He 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 know 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 1 " " Blooming, Mr. Jonas, blooming." " And the other one — how's she ? " " 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?" 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, glanc- ing towards 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 intensest sensibility, when the sound he had, already noticed was repeated. " Upon my word, Mr. Jonas, that is a very extraordinary clock," said Pecksniff". It would have been, if it had made the noise which startled them : 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 ^^- 11 THE DISSOLUTION OF rAllTNEIlSHIl 296 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF saw Anthony Cbuzzlewit extended ou the floor, with the okl 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 witliin his withered frame, fought like a strong devil, mad to be released, and rent its ancient prison-house. 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, en- dowed 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 imconscious and exhausted — into bed. " Don't go," said Jonas, putting his ashy Vips, to Mr. Pecksnift"'s ear, and whispering across the bed. " It was a mercy you were present when he was taken ill. Some one might have said it was my doing." " Your doing ! " cried Mr. Pecksnitf. " I don't know but they might," he rei^lied, wiping the moisture from his white face. " People say such things. How does he look now 1 " 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. Pecksnitt"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, Pecksnitt". Now it's come to this, I wouldn't be without a witness for a thousand pound." Chuff'ey said not a word, and lieard not a word. He had sat himself down in a chair at tlie 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 niglit : not where his father could :\IARTm CHUZZLEWIT. 2'.)? have sei'U liiiii, had his consciousness returncil, l)ut iiidin^ir, as it ■were, behind liiui, and only reading how he looked in Mr. Peck- snift''s eyes, lle^ tlie coarse upstart, who liad 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. Peoi^le hurried up and down the street ; windows and doors were opened ; thieves and beggars took their usual posts; workmen bestirred them- selves ; tradesmen set forth their shops ; bailifts 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 com- bated for every grain of sand in his fast-emptying glass, as eagerly as if it were an empire. "If anything happens, Pecksnitf," 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 Peck- snitf. " 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. Pecksnitf 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 appari- tion 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 — iu something of his own voice too, l)ut sharpened and made hollow, like a dead man's face. What lie would have said, God knows. He seemed to utter woi'ds, but they were such as man had never heard. And this was the most fearful circumstance of all, to see liiui standing there, gabbling in an unearthly tongue. "He's better now," said ('liuffey. "Better now. Let Inni sit in his old chair, and he'll be well again. I tolil him imt to mind. I said so, yesterday." They put hiin in his easy-chair, and wheeled it near the window ; then, setting open the door, exposed him to tlie free current of 298 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF inorniug air. But not all the air that is, uor 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 liis heavy fingers should not close on one. CHAPTER XIX. THE READER IS BROUUHT INTO COMMUXICATION WITH SOME PROFESSIONAL PERSONS, AND SHEDS A TEAR OVER THK FILIAL PIETY OF 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 cliarged upon his father's son that he had grudged the money for his father's funeral. Hence, until the obsequies should be concluded, Jonas had taken for his motto "Spend, and spare not I" Mr. Pecksniff had been to the undertaker, and was now upon his way to another officer 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 his hand, Avas Gamp ; her residence in Kingsgate Street, High Holborn. So Mr. Pecksniff, in a hackney 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 celebrated mutton-pie shop, and directly opposite to the original cat's-meat warehouse ; the renown of which establishments was duly heralded on tlieir respective fronts. It was a little house, and this was the more convenient ; for Mrs. Gamp being, in her highest walk of art, a monthly um-se, 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 with 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 wliich expresses, I MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 299 ill two syllables, the curse pronounced on Adam. It chanced that Mrs. Gamp had not been regularly engaged, but had been called in at a crisis, in consequence of her great repute, to assist another 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-foncier's, and gone to bed. So when Mr. Pecksniff drove up in the hackney cab, Mrs. Gamp's curtains were drawn close, and Mrs. Gamp was fost asleep behind them. If the bird-fancier had been at home, as he ought to have beeu, 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 head against the roof ; w'hile one unhappy goldfinch wdio 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 towni, 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 imagina- tion of an inquirer, than a professional print or emblem of his calling (much favoured in the trade), representing a hair-dresser of easy manners curling a lady of distinguished fashion, in the presence of a patent upright grand piano. Noting these circumstances, Mr. Pecksniff', in tlie innocence of his 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 ]\Irs. Gamp themselves, very shortly) came flocking round the steps ; all crying out with one accord, and with uncommon interest, " Knock at the winder. Sir, knock at the winder. Lord bless you, don't lose no more tinie than you can help — knock at the winder ! " Acting upon this suggestion, and borrowing the 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 satisfaction 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. MU. PECKSNIFF OX HIS MISSION. LIFE AND ADVEXTURES OK .MARTIX CIIUZZLE\VIT. 301 " So he ought to be, if he's the feelings of ;i man," observed another. A third \m\y (with her arms folded) said she wished he had chosen any other time for fetching Mrs. Gamp, but it always happened so with her. It gave Mr. Pecksniff much uneasiness to find from these remarks that he was supposed to have come to Mrs. Gamp upon an errand touching — not the close of life, but the other end. Mrs. Gamp herself was under the same impression, for tlirowing open the window, she cried behind the curtains, as she hastily attired herself : " Is it Mrs. Perkins 1 " "Xo!" returned Mr. Pecksniff, sharply, "nothing of the sort."' "What, Mr. "Whilks ! " cried Mrs. Gamp. "Don't say it's yon, Mr. Whilks, and that poor creetur JNIrs. Whilks witli not even a pincushion ready. Don't say it's you, Mr. Whilks ! " "It isn't Mr. Whilks," said Pecksniff. "I don't know the man. Nothing of the kind. A gentleman is dead ; and some person being wanted iu the house, you have been recommended l)y 'Sir. Mould, the undertaker." As she was by this time in a condition to appear, IMrs. Gamp, who had a face for all occasions, looked out of window with her mourning countenance, and said she Avould be down directly. But the matrons took it very ill, that Mr. Pecksniff's mission was of so unimportant a kind ; 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 " w^itli his corpses ; " and giving it as her opinion that he was quite 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 aj)pearcd, 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 l)ceii dexterously let in at the top. She was much flurried by the haste she had made, and laboured under the most erroneous views of cabriolets, which she appeared to confound with niail-cDaches or stage-waggons, inasmuch as she was constantly endeavouring for the first half mile to force her luggage throngh the little front window, and clamouring to tlie driver to "put it in the boot." 302 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF When she was disabused of this idea, her whole being resolved itself into an absorbing anxiety about her i^attens, witli which she played innumerable games at quoits, on Mr. Pecksnitf's legs. It was not until they were close upon the house of mourning that she had enougli 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 what 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 occasions as the present ; for this at once expressed a decent amount of veneration for the deceased, and invited the next of kin to present her with a fresher suit of weeds : an appeal so 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 fiice of Mrs. Gamp — the nose in particular — was somewhat red and swollen, and it was difficult to enjoy her society without becoming conscious of a smell of spirits. Like most persons who have attained to great eminence in their i^rofession, she took to hers very kindly ; insomuch, that setting aside her natural predilections as a woman, she went to a lying-in or a laying-out with equal zest and relish. " Ah ! " repeated Mrs. Gamp ; for it was always a safe sentiment in cases of mourning. " Ah dear ! When Gamp was summoned 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 fointed 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 ftiirness, 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 indifterent since then, I suppose?" said Mr. Pecksniff. " Use is second nature, Mrs. Gamp." MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 803 "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 (I never was able to do more than taste it), I never could go through with what I sometimes have to do. 'Mrs. Harris,' I says, 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 was a sober creetur to be got at eighteen pence a day for working people, and three and six for gentlefolks — night watching,' " said Mrs. Gamp, with emphasis, " ' being a extra charge — you are that inwalable person.' 'Mrs. Harris,' I says to her, 'don't name the charge, for if I could aftbrd 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 under- taker : 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 cpieer 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 7jeen sitting in the window, apart from Jonas and her sister, burst nto a half-smothered laugh, and skipped towards the door. " Hallo ! " cried Jonas. " Don't go." " Oh, I dare say ! " rejoined Merry, looking back. " You're [•ery anxious I should stay, fright, ain't you % " "Yes, I am," said Jonas. "Upon my word I am. I want o speak to you." But as she left the room notwithstanding, he ;an 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 ou ! There are bounds even to absurdity, my dear." "Thank you, my sweet," said Meriy, pursing up her rosy lips. Much obliged to it for its advice. Oh I do leave me alone, you lonster, do ! " This entreaty was wrung from her by a new roceeding on the part of Mr. Jonas, who pulled her down, all reathless as she was, into a seat beside him on the sofa, having t the same time Miss Cherry upon the other side. "Now," said Jonas, clasping the waist of eacli : "I have got oth arms full, haven't 1 1 " Y 322 LIFE AND ADVEXTURES OF " One of them will be black and blue to-morrow, if you don't let me go," cried the playful Merry. "Ah ! I don't mind your pinching," grinned Jonas, "a bit." "Pinch him for me. Cherry, pray," said Mercy. "I never did hate anybody so much as I hate this creature, I declare I " "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 understanding. 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'll not believe what I am 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'll laugh, or pretend to — I know that, beforehand. But you can tell her I'm in earnest, cousin ; can't you ? You'll confess you know, won't you ? You'll be honourable, I'm sure," he added persuasively. No answ^er. His throat seemed to grow hotter and hotter, and to be more and more difficult to control. "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 miglit get to know her without seeming to wish it; can they? I always asked you about hei', and said where had she gone, and when would she come, and how lively she was, and all that ; didn't I, cousin 1 I know you'll tell her so, if you haven'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 ]\Ir. Jonas — tlie eldei 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'll bear honest witness now ; won't you ? We've been very good friends from the first 1 haven'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^' ]\rARTm CHUZZLEWIT. 323 ou've heard what I've been saying. She'll confirm it, every i^ord ; she must. Will you have me for your liusbaiul 1 Eh 1 " As he released his hold of Charity, to put this question with letter efiect, she started uji and hurried away to her own room, aarkiiig her progress as she went by such a train of passionate ud incoherent sound, as nothing but a slighted woman in her ,nger could produce. " Let me go awvay. Let me go after her," said Merry, pushing liin oti" and giving him — to tell the trutli — more than one sounding lap upon his outstretched face. "Not till you say 'Yes.' You haven't told me. "Will you lave me for your husband I " " No, I won't. I can't bear the sight of you. I have told ou so a hundred times. You are a fright. Besides, I always hought you liked my sister best. We all thought so." " But that wasn't my fault," said Jonas. "Yes, it was : you know it was." . " Any trick is fair in love," said Jonas. " She may have hought I liked her best, but you didn't." " I did ! " " No, you didn't. You never could have thought I liked her test, when you were by." "There's no accounting for tastes," said Merry; "at least I lidn't mean to say that. I don't know what I naean. Let me ;o to her." "Say 'Yes,' and then I will." " If I ever brought myself to say so, it should only be, that ' might hate and tease you all my life." " That's as good," cried Jonas, " as saying it right out. It's , bargain, cousin. We're a pair, if ever there was one." This gallant speech was succeeded by a confused noise of kiss- ng and slapping ; and then the fair, but much dishevelled Merry )roke away, and followed in the footstejjs of her sister. Now, whether Mr. Pecksniff" had been listening— which in one if his character appears impossible : or divined almost l)y iiispira- ion what the matter was — which, in a man of his sagacity is far iiore probable : or happened by sheer good fortune to find himself n exactly the right place, at precisely the right time — which, mder the special guardianship in which lie lived might very easonably happen : it is quite certain that at the moment wlien he sisters came together in their own room, he aj^peared at the ;hamber door. And a marvellous contrast it was — tlioy so heated, loisy, and vehement; he so calm, so self-possessed, so cool and 'all of peace, that not a hair upon his head was stirred. 324 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF " 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 ? " " The wretch ; the apostate ; the false, mean, odious villain ; lias before my very face proposed to Mercy ! " was his elder daughter's answer. " Who has proposed to Mercy T' said Mr. Pecksniff. " He has. That thing. Jonas, down stairs." " Jonas proposed to Mercy ! " said Mr. Pecksniff. " Ay, ay ! 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, envj'^, envy, what a passion you are ! " Uttering this apostrophe in a tone full of grief and lamentation, i\Ir. Pecksniff left the room (taking care to shut the door behind him), and walked down stairs into the jjarlour. There he found his intended son-in-law, whom he seized by both hands. "Jonas!" cried Mr. Pecksniff", "Jonas! the dearest wish of my heart is now fulfilled ! " " Very well ; I'm glad to hear it," said Jonas. " That'll 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 haven't a sacrifice to make." The grin with which he accompanied this, set oft' 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 stupefied 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. Peck- sniff 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 sufiicient apology for this intrusion. "Mr. Pinch," said Pecksniff, "this is hardly decent. You will excuse my saying that I think your conduct scarcely decent, Mr. Pinch." MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 325 "I beg your jmrdou, Sir," replied Tom, "for not knocking at ;he door." "Rather beg tliis gentleman's pardon, Mr. Pinch," said Peck- iuift". "/know you ; he does not. — My young man, Mr. Jonas." The son-in-law tliat was to be gave him a slight m>d — not ictively disdainful or contemptuous, only passively ; for he was :n a good humour. " Could I speak a word with you, Sir, if you please 1 " said Fora. "It's rather pressing." "It should be very pressing to justify this strange behaviour, Mr. Pinch," returned his master. " Excuse me for a moment, my lear friend. Non^, Sir, what is the reason of this rough intru- sion ? " " I am very sorry. Sir, I am sure," said Tom, standing, cap in land, before his patron in the passage : " and I know it must lave a very rude appearance — " "It has a very rude ajDiiearance, 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 ndeed, and really hadn't enough command over myself to know ivhat I was doing very well. I was in the church just now. Sir, iouching the organ for my own amusement, when I happened to ook round, and saw a gentleman and lady standing in the aisle istening. They seemed to be strangers. Sir, as well as I could iiake out in the dusk : and I thought I didn't know them : so [presently I left off, and said, would they walk up into the organ- loft, or take a seaf? No, they said, they wouldn't do tliat ; but they thanked me for the music tliey had heard — in fact," observed Pom, blushing — " they said, ' Delicious music ! ' at least, she did •. xnd I am sure tliat was a greater pleasure and honour to me, than my compliment I could have had. I — I — beg your pardon, Sir ; " lie 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. Pccksnilf, with an icy look, " I shall feel obliged." "Yes, Sir," retnrned Tom, "certainly. They had a posting carriage at the porcli, Sir, and had stopped to hear the organ, they said, and then they said — she said, I mean, ' I believe you live ivith Mr. Pecksniff, Sir?' I said I had that honour, and I took ;he liberty. Sir," added Tom, raising his eyes to his benefactor's ace, " of saying, as I always will and must, with your permission, ;hat I was under great obligations to you, and never could express ny sense of them sufficiently." 326 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF "That," said Mr. Pecksniff, "was very, very wroug. 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 1 ' When I said there was, and said how hapjDy 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 nm 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 gentleman 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. Pecksniff 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-stejis ; 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 i\Ir. 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 own bewildered persons. "Dear, dear! "cried Tom, "what have I donel 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. 327 CHAPTER XXI. MORE AMERICAN EXPERIENCES. MARTIN TAKES A PARTNER, AND MAKES A PURCHASE. SOME ACCOUNT OF EDEN, AS IT APPEARED ON PAPER. ALSO OF THE BRITISH LION. ALSO OF THE KIND OF SYMPATHY PROFESSED AND ENTERTAINED BY THE WATERTOAST ASSOCIATION OF UNITED SYMPATHIZERS. The knocking at Mr. Pecksniff's 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 witli tliis frank admission, lest the reader should imagine that the sounds now deafening this history's ears have any connexion with the knocker on Mr. Pecksniff's door, or with the great amount of agitation pretty equally divided between that worthy man and Mr. Pinch, of which its strong iDcrformance was the cause. ]Mr. Pecksniti"'s house is more than a thousand leagues away • and again this happy chronicle has Liberty and Moi-al Sensibility for its high companions. Again it breathes the blessed air of Inde- pendence ; again it contemplates with pious awe that moral sense which renders unto Caesar nothing that is his ; again inhales that sacred atmosphere which was the life of him — oh noble patriot, witli 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 tortured like a living labourer, and writhed in agony. A poor fancy; for steel and iron are of infinitely greater account, in this cummon wealth, 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 tlie driver's pleasure. Look at that engine! It shall cost a man iiinrc dollars in the way^ of penalty and fine, iTinT salisfarfiTTri (if the iiuti-a;j;ed law, to deface in wantonness that smscli^s.s mass nf metal, than to take the lives of twenty human crcatiui's ! 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. 828 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF The engiue-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 legs against the side of the carriage, smoking; and, except when he expressed, by a grunt as short as hLs 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 loco- motive had been a sucking-pig, he could not have been more perfectly indiflfereut to its doings. Notwithstanding the tranquil state of this officer, and his imbroken peace of mind, the train was proceeding 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. IMartin and Mark Tapley were in the first, as it was the most comfortable ; 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 expression, — " and so you are glad we have left New York far behind us, are you 1 " "Yes, Sir," said Mark. "lam. Precious glad." "Were you not 'jolly' there?" asked Martin. " On the coutrairy. Sir," returned Mark. " The joUiest week as ever I spent in my life, was that there week at Pawkins's." " What do you think of our prospects 1 " inquired Martin, Avith au air that plainly said he had avoided the question for some time. " Uncommon bright, Sir," returned Mark. " Imjjossible 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 ai^proaching consummation of his fondest wishes. .MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 329 "Who told you that?" asked Martin, sternly. " A military otticcr," said Mark. " (.'oiifound you for a ridiculous fellow ! " cried Martin, lau^uhini,' heartily iu spite of himself. "What military otHcer'? Yuu know they .«ipring up in every field — " "As thick as scarecrows iu England, Sir," interposed ]\Iark, " 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 maT/, 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?' says I. 'And more,' says he. 'Wampires?' says I. 'And more,' says he. 'Musquitoes, perhaps?' says I. 'And more,' says he. 'What more? 'says I. 'Snakes more,' says he ; ' rattlesnakes. You're right to a certain extent, stranger ; there air some catawampous chawers in the small way too, as graze upon a human 2)retty strong ; but don't mind the7)i — they're company. It's snakes,' he says, 'as you'll object to : and whenever you wake and see one in a upright poster on your bed,' he says, 'like a corkscrew with the handle oft' a sittiu' on its bottom ring, cut him down, for he means wenom.'" "Why didn't you tell me this before I " cried Martin, with an ex2)ression 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 car, 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, wlm, full nf the insj)iriting influence of the anecdote upon himself, had for the moment forgotten its probal)lc etfect upon his master: "anyhow, we must live, you know. Sir." "Live!" cried Martin. "Yes, it's ea.sy to say live; but if we should happen not to wake when rattlesnakes are making cork- screws of themselves upon our beds, it may be not so easy to do it." "And that's a fact," said a voice so close iu his ear that it tickled him. "That's dreadful true." 330 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF Martin looked round, and found that a gentleman, on the seat behind, had thrust his head between himself and ]\Iark, and sat with his chin resting on the back rail of their little bench, enter- taining 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 buffalo. "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 remembering the wisdom of donig at Rome as Romans do, he smiled with the pleasantest expression he could assume upon so short a notice. 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 struck 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 ; i put his knife into one pocket and his tobacco into another; rested i! his cliin 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 ? " he asked. " Upon my word," said Martin, " I don't know what it's called." "It'll cost a dollar or more a yard, I reckon?" MARTIN CnUZZLEWIT. 331 " I really don't know," " In my country," said the gentleman, " we know the cost of our own produce." Martin not discussing the question, there was a iianse. " Well ! " resumed tiieir 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 ! " — would have resented it instantly, but for Martin's prompt interposition. " You mean the old country 1 " he said. " Ah ! " was the reply. " How's she ? Progressing back'ards, I expect, as usual 1 Well ! How's Queen Victoria 1 " " In good health, I believe," said Martin. " Queen Victoria won'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 location 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 waistcoat, and a black great-coat, who seemed to be in authority among them, felt called upon to acknowledge it. " Hem ! Mr. La Fayette Kettle," he saitl, taking off his hat. Tliere was a grave murmur of " Hush ! " " Mr. La Fayette Kettle ! Sir ! " jMr. 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 tlie name of the star-spangled banner of the Great United States, for your elo(juent and categorical exposition. And if, Sir," said tlie si^eakcr, jxiking Martin with the handle of his umbrella to bespeak iiis attention, for 332 LIFE AND ADA^ENTURES OF 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 senti- ment, glancing — however 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 nuisic which is breathed in every empty shell that lies upon the shores of green Co-lumbia ! " Here the lank gentleman sat down again, amidst a great sensa- tion ; and every one looked veiy 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 never 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 Mr. Tapley, affecting the greatest politeness, and regarding them with an immovable 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'll have the goodness not to interfere with preposterous state- ments, 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 ? " " General ! " echoed several others. " General ! " " Hush ! Pray, silence ! " said General Choke, holding up his hand, and speaking with a patient and complacent benevolence tliat was quite touching. " I have always remarked it as a very extra- ordinary circumstance, which I impute to the natur' of British Institutions and their tendency to suppress that popular inquiry and information which air so widely diffused even in the trackless forests of this vast Continent of the Western Ocean ; that the MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 333 iuowlcdge of Britishers themselves on sucli points is not to be com- )ared with that possessed by our intelligent and locomotive citizens, rhis is interesting, and confirms my observation. When you say, sir," he continued, addressing Martin, " that your Queen does not •eiside in the Tower of London, you fall into an error, not uncommon ;o your countrymen, even when their abilities and moral elements vir such as to command respect. But, 8ir, you air wrong. Slie loes live there — " "When she is at the Court of Saint James's;" interpo.sed Kettle. " When she is at the Court of Saint James's, of course," returned i;he General, in the same benignant way : " for if her location was n Windsor Pavilion it couldn't be in London at the same time. Vour Tower of London, Sir," pursued the General, smiling with a mild consciousness of his knowledge, "is nat'rally your royal resi- lence. Being located in the immediate neighbourhood of your Parks, your Drives, your Triumphant Arciies, your Opera, and your Royal Almacks, it nat'rally suggests itself as the place for holding X luxurious and thoughtless court. And, consequently," said the breueral, "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 xiT a reading people here. Sir. You will meet with much informa- tion among us that will surprise you, Sir." " I have not the least doubt of it," returned Martin. But here lie 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 1 " " One of the most remarkable men in the country ? " 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 intro- duction 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 finislied the note, he came over to Martin, sat down 1iy Iiini, and shook hands. " Well ! " he said, " and you think of settling in Eden ? " "Subject to your opinion, and the agent's advice," replic(l 334 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 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 connexion, as he thought, with any land company, and therefore being likely to give him disinter- ested advice. The General explained that he had joined the Corporation only a few weeks ago, and that 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 wasn't any hope or chance in the speculation, it wouldn'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?" 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; and a villanous-lookiug umbrella it was ; a very bad counter to stand for the sterling jp^ii of his benevolence -"'Hiere am I with gray liairs^ Sir, and a moral sense. Would I, with my principles, invest capital in this specu- lation if I didn'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 enqueriy, for you come from England, and you do not know my country." " Then you think," said Martin, " that allowing for the hard- ships we are prepared to undergo, there is a reasonable — Heaven knows we don't expect much — a reasonable ojDening in this place?" " A reasonable opening in Eden. Sir ! But see the agent, see ^lARTIN CHUZZLEAVIT. 335 the agent ; see the maps, and plans, Sir ; and conclude to go or stay, according to the natiir' 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 uugentlemanly 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 ou wl)at 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 town to which they 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 stopped, 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 slices, 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 interminable whitewashed staircases, long whitewashed galleries up stairs and down stairs, scores of little whitewasiied bed-rooms, and a four-sided verandah to every stoiy 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, where- ever 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. 336 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF They did the same things ; said the same things ; judged all sub- jects by, and reduced all subjects to, the same standard. Observing how they lived, and how they were always in the enchanting com- pany of each other, Martin even began to comprehend their being the social, cheerful, winning, airy men they were. At the sounding of a dismal gong, this pleasant company went trooping down from all parts of the house to the imblic 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 ravishing 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 brothers 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 counsel, 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. " Thirty -seven pound ten and sixpence. The Savings' Bank said so, at least. I never counted it. But they 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 imjwrtance 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 7^ I MARTIX CIIUZZLEWIT. 337 to yo\i, ami a great satisfaction to nie. ]\Iark, 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 ^lartin ! 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 conscious- uess of patronising and most munificently lewarding Mark ! "I don't know. Sir," I\Iark rejoined, much more sadly than his custom was, though from a very different cause than Martin sup- posed, " what I can say to this, in the way of thanking you. I'll 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 the 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. ; but I little thought as ever I should live to be one." " You shall have your own way, Mark." " Thank'ee, Sir. If any country gentleman thereabouts, in the [jublic 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 fouple of sherry-cobblers, Mark, and we'll drink success to the firm." Either he forgot already (and often afterwards), that 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 agi-eed 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 judgment. And Mark made no merit, even to him- self in his jollity, of this concession; perfectly well knowing that tlie matter would come to that in the end, any way. The General was one of the party at the puhlic table next day, and after breakf\ist suggested that they should wait upon the agent without loss of time. They, desiring nothing more, agreed ; so off 7. 338 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 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 estab- lishment 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 for- wards 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 stuff. The weather being hot, he had no cravat, and wore his shirt collar wide open ; so that every time he spoke something was seen to twitch and jerk up in his throat, like the little hammers 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 movable 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 straiglit as any plummet line, but rumpled tufts were on the arches of liis 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 tlie General saluted by the name of Scadder. "Well, Gen'ral," he returned, "and how arc youl" " Ac-tive and spry. Sir, in my country's service and the sym- pathetic 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. " I tliink I know what bis'ness you have brought these strangers iiere upon, then, Gen'ral ? " " Well, Sir. I expect you may.' MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 339 " You air a tongue-y person, Gen'ral. For you talk too much, id that's a fact," said Scadder. "You speak a-larming well in iblic, 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 e General, after pausing for consideration. " You know we didn't wish to sell the lots off right away to y loafer as might bid," said Scadder; "but had con-eluded to 3erve 'em for Aristocrats of Natur'. Yes ! " " And they are here. Sir ! " cried the General with warmtli. rhey 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 ith me, Gen'ral." The General whispered Martin that Scadder was the honestcst low in the world, and that he wouldn't have given him offence signedly, for ten thousand dollars. " I do my duty ; and I raise the dander of my feller critters, I wisli to serve," said Scadder in a low voice, looking down the ad and rocking still. " They rile up rough, along of my object- g to their selling Eden off too cheap. That's human natur' ! ell ! " "Mr. Scadder," said the General, assuming his oratorical de- irtment. " Sir ! Here is my hand, and here my heart. I teem you. Sir, and ask your pardon. These gentlemen air ends of mine, or I would not have brought 'em here. Sir, being ?11 aware. Sir, that the lots at present go entirely too cheap, it these air friends, Sir ] these air partick'ler friends." Mr. Scadder was so satisfied by this explanation, that he shook e General warmly by the hand, and got out of the rocking-chair do it. He then invited the General's particular friends to company him into the office. As to the General, he observed, th his usual benevolence, that being one of the Comi^any, he juldn't interfere in the transaction on any account ; so he ipropriated the rocking-chair to himself, and looked at the pres- et, like a good Samaritan waiting for a traveller. " Heyday ! " cried Martin, as his eye rested on a great plan lich occupied one whole side of the office. Indeed, the office .d little else in it, but some geological and botanical specimens, e or two rusty ledgers, a homely desk, and a stool. " Heyday ! liat's that 1 " "That's Eden," said Scadder, picking his teeth with a sort of ung bayonet that flew out of his knife when he touched a spring. " Why, I had no idea it was a city." " Hadn't you ? Oh, it's a city." -'^^^«^ -^t. RIVIXG CITY OF EDEX, AS IT APPEARED ON PAPER. LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF MARTIN I'llUZZLEWIT. oil A flourishing city, too ! An ai-chitectnral city ! There were banks, churches, cathedrals, market-places, factories, hotels, stores, mansions, Avharves ; an exchange, a theatre ; public buildings of all kinds, down to the office of the Eden Stinger, a daily journal ; all I'aithfully depicted in the view before them. "Dear me ! It's really a most important place ! " cried Martin, turning roiuid. " Oh ! it's very important," observed the agent. "But, I am afraid," said Martin, glancing again at the rublic Buildings, " that there's nothing left for me to do." " Well ! it ain't all built," replied the agent. " Not quite." Tliis was a great relief. "The market-place, now," said Martin. "Is that built?" "That?" said the agent, sticking his toothpick into the weathercock on the top. "Let me see. No : that ain't built." "Rather 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 vacations 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 spon- taneous, perhaps," said Mark. He was on the agent's dark side as he said it ; but Scadder instantly changed his place, and brouglit his active eye to bear upon him. "Feel of my hands, young nuui," he said. " What for ? " asked Mark, declining. "Air they dirty, or air they clean, Sir?" said Scadder, holding them out. In a physical })oint of view they were decideiece of plate, of imilar value, should be presented to a certain Patriot, who had eclared from his high place in the Legislature, that he and his riends would hang, without trial, any Abolitionist who might pay hem a visit. For the surplus, it was agreed that it should be evoted to aiding the enforcement of those free and equal laws, rhich render it incalculably more criminal and dangerous to teach negro to read and write, than to roast him alive in a public city. Miese points adjusted, the meeting broke up in great disorder : nd there was an end of the Watertoast Sympathy. As Martin ascended to his bedroom, his eye was attracted by he Piepublican banner, which had been hoisted from the house- op in honour of the occasion, and was fluttering before a window •hich he passed. "Tut!" said Martin. "You're a gay flag in the distance. >ut let a man be near enough to get the light upon the other ide, and see through you ; and you are but sorry fustian ! " CHAPTER XXIL ROM WHICH IT AVILL BE SEEN THAT MARTIN BECAME A LION ON HIS OWN ACCOUNT. TOGETHER WITH THE REASON WHY. As soon as it was generally known in the National Hotel, that he young Englishman, Mr. Cliuzzlewit, had jnirchased a "lo- ation " in the Valley of Eden, and intended to betake himself to hat earthly paradise by the next steamboat ; he became a popular haracter. Wliy this should be, or how it liad come to pass, lartin no more knew than Mrs. Gamp, of Kingsgate Street, High lolborn, did ; but that he was for the time being, the lion, by opular election, of the Watertoast community, and that his society as in rather inconvenient request, there could be no kind of doubt. 3i8 LIFE AXD ADVENTURES OF The first notification he received of this change in his position, was the following epistle, written in a thin running hand, — Avitl: here and there a fat letter or two, to make the general effect more striking,— on a sheet of paper, ruled with blue lines. ,,-P, ,. ^' jVational Hotel. Jlondaij Jloniinq. '■ Dear •bir, ' ^ "^ " When I had the privillidge of being yonr fellow-travellei in the cars, the day before yesterday, you offered some remarks upon the subject of the Tower of London, which (in common witl my fellow-citizens generally) I could wish to hear repeated to i public audience. " As secretary to the Young Men's Watertoast Association o this town, I am requested to inform you that the Society will b( proud to hear you deliver a lecture upon the Tower of London, a their Hall to-mon'ow evening, at seven o'clock ; and as a largi issue of quarter-dollar tickets may be expected, your answer anc 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 ti the Tower of London. Permit me to suggest that any remark upon the Elements of Geology, or (if more convenient) upon th Writings of your talented and witty countryman, the Honorabl Mr. Miller, would be well received." Very much aghast at this invitation, Martin wrote back, civilly de dining it ; and had scarcely done so, when he received another lettei "(Private.) ugjj. " JS^o. 47, Bunker Hill Street, Monday Ilorning "I was raised in those interminable solitudes where on 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, seh 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 foi six months after my arrival 1 " There is something within me which gives me the assuranc, that this enlightened patronage would not be thrown away. Ii| literature or art ; the bar, the pulpit, or the stage ; in one o. other, if not all, I feel that I am certain to succeed. :\[ARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 349 ''If too much engaged to write to any such yourself, {jlease let ne have a list of tlu-ee or four of those most likely to respond, uid I will address them through the Post Ottice. i\Iay I also ask ,'ou to favour me with any critical observations that have ever jresented themselves to your reflective faculties, on ' Cain : a Mystery,' by the Right Honorable 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 ]\Iartin's reply to each, iv^ere, according to a laudable custom, much tending to the pro- notion of gentlemanly feeling and social confidence, published in :he 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 ,'ettiug on. The captain sat down upon the bed before he spoke ; lud finding it rather hard, moved to the pillow. " Well, Sir ! " said the Captain, putting his hat a little more )n one side, for it was rather tight in the crown : " You're ({uitc a jublic man, I calc'late." " So it seems," retorted Martin, who was very tired. "Our citizens, Sir," pursued the Captain, "intend to pay their •espects to you. You will have to hold a sort of le-vee. Sir, while (Tou're here." " Powers above 1 " cried Martin, " I couldn't do that, my good ■allow ! " " I reckon you muM 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 t," said the Captain, coolly: "else Pd make it pleasant. You mist re-ceive. That's all." "But why should I i-eceive people who care as much for me as [ care for theml" asked Martin. "Well! because I have had a muniment put up in the bar," •eturned the Captain. " A what ? " cried ]\Iartin. " A muniment," rejoined the Captain. Martin looked despairingly at Mark, who informed him that :he Cai)tain meant a written notice that Mr. Chuzzh wit unuiil receive the Watertoasters that dav, at and after two (('clock ; 350 LIFE AND ADYEXTURES OF which was, in effect, then hanging in the bar, as Mark fron ocular inspection of the same could testify. "You wouldn't be uupop'lar, /kuow," said the Captain, parinj his nails. " Our citizens au't long of riling up, I tell you ; anc our Gazette could flay you like a wild cat." Martin was going to be very wroth, but he thought better o: it, and said : "In Heaven's name let them come, then." " Oh, they^W come," returned the Captain. " I have seen thf 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 1 What do they want to see me for ? what have I done 1 and how do they happen tc have such a sudden interest in me ? " Captain Kedgick put a thumb and three fingers to each side ol the brim of his hat ; lifted it a little way off his head ; put it or again carefully ; passed one hand all down his face, beginning ai the forehead and ending at the chin ; looked at Martin ; then a1 Mark ; then at Martin again ; winked ; and walked out. " Upon my life, now ! " said Martin, bringing his hand heavilj upon the table ; " such a perfectly unaccountable fellow as that, 1 never saw. Mark, what do you say to this 1 " "Why, Sir," returned his partner, "my opinion is that we must have got to the most remarkable man in the country, at last. Sc I hope there's an end of the breed, Sir." Although this made Martin laugh, it couldn't keep off twc o'clock. Punctually, as the hour struck, Captain Kedgick re- turned to hand him to the room of state ; and he had no soonei got him safe there, than he bawled down the staircase to his fellow-citizens below, tliat 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 tc 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 oi hands, the thick, the thin, the short, the long, the fat, the lean, the coarse, the fine ; such difterences 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 tlie Captain's voice was heard above the crowd — " There's more below ; tliere's more below. Now, gentlemen, you that have been introduced to Mr. Chuzzlewit, Avill you clear, gentlemen ? Will you clear 1 Will you be so good as clear, gentlemen, and make a little room for more 1 " MARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 351 Regardless of the Captain's cries, thej' didn't clear at all, but tood there, bolt upright and staring. Two gentlemen connected rith the Watertoast Gazette had come express to get the matter or an article on Martin. They had agreed to divide the labour. )ue of them took him below the waistcoat ; one above. Each tood directly in front of his subject with his head a little on one ide, intent on his department. If Martin put one boot before the ther, the lower gentleman was down upon him ; he rubbed a imple on his nose, and the upper gentleman booked it. He pened his mouth to speak, and the same gentleman was on one nee before him, looking in at his teeth, with the nice scrutiny of dentist. Amateurs in the physiognomical and phreuological ^iences roved about him with watchful eyes and itching fingers, nd sometimes one, more daring than the rest, made a mad grasp t the back of his head, and vanished in the crowd. They had im in all points of view : in front, in j^rofile, three-Cjuarter face, nd behind. Those Avho were not professional or scientific, audibly xchanged opinions on his looks. New lights shone in upon him, I respect of his nose. Contradictory rumours were abroad on the abject of his hair. And still the Captain's voice was heard — so titled by the concourse, that he seemed to speak from underneath feather-bed — exclaiming, " Gentlemen, you that have been intro- uced to Mr. Chuzzlewit, loill you clear ? " Even when they began to clear, it was no better ; for then a tream of gentlemen, every one with a lady on each arm (exactly ke the chorus to the National Anthem when Royalty goes in state the play), came gliding in — every new group fresher than the ist, and bent on staying to the latest moment. If they spoke to lim, which was not often, they invariably asked the same questions, II the same tone ; with no more remorse, or delicacy, or considera- ion, than if he had been a figure of stone, purchased, and paid ur, and set up there, for their delight. Even when, in the slow ourse of time, these died off, it was as bad as ever, if not worse ; ar then the boys grew bold, and came in as a class of themselves, nd did everything that the gi'own-up people had done. Uncouth tragglers too appeared ; men of a ghostly kind, who being in, idn't know how to get out again : insomuch that one silent entleman with glazed and fishy eyes, and only one button on is waistcoat (which was a very large metal one, and shone pro- igiously), got behind the door, and stood there, like a clock, long fter everybody else was gone. Martin felt, from pure fatigue, and heat, and worry, as if he ould have fallen on the ground and willingly remained there, if hey would but have had the mercy to leave him alone. But as 352 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF letters and messages threatening his public denouncement if he didn't see tlie 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 proteet- tion, 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 gi'eat 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 1 " 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 yon use in your country. Sir." " Oh yes, it is," said Martin. " You air mistaken, Sir," returned the gentleman, with great decision : " but we will not pursue the subject, lest it should awake your preju-dice. Sir, Mrs. Hominy." Martin bowed. "Mrs. Hominy, Sir, is the lady of Major Hominy, one of our chicest spirits ; and belongs Toe one of our most aristocratic families;. You air, p'raps, accpiainted, Sir, with Mrs. Hominy's writings ? '" 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!" IMartin 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." MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 353 ''Snags and sawyers, ma'am'?" said Martin. "Well, then, I do suppose you'll liardly realise my meaning, 1-," said Mrs. Hominy. " My ! Only think ! Do tell ! "' It did not appear that these expressions, although they seemed to nclude with an urgent entreaty, stood in need of any answer ; for Mrs. 3miny, untying her bonnet-strings, observed that she would with- aw 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 e sort of woman. Sir, as would be discovered with her eyes wide en, and her mind a-working for her country's good, at any hour the day or night." They had no opportunity of saying more, for Mrs. Hominy liked in again — very erect, in proof of her aristocratic blood ; d holding in her clasped hands a red cotton pocket-handkerchief, rhaps a parting gift from that choice spirit, the IMajor. She ,d laid aside her bonnet, and now appeared in a highly aristocratic d classical cap, meeting beneath her chin : a style of head-dress admirably adapted to her countenance, that if the late Mr. rimaldi had appeared in the lappets of Mrs. Siddons, a more mplete effect could not have been produced. ]Martin handed her to a chair. Her first words arrested him fore he could get back to his own seat. " Pray, Sir ! " said Mrs. Hominy, " where do you hail from 1 " " I am afraid I am dull of comprehension," answered Martin, jeing extremely tired ; but, upon my word, I don't understand you." Mrs. Hominy shook her head with a melancholy smile that id, not inexpressively, " They corrupt even the language in that \ country ! " and added then, as coming down a step or two to eet his low capacity, "Where was you rose?" " Oh ! " said Martin, " I was born in Kent." " And how do you like our country. Sir 1 " asked Mrs. Hominy. " Very much indeed," said Martin, half asleep. " At least — at is — pretty well, ma'am." " Most strangers — and partick'larly Britishers — are much sur- ised by what they see in the U-nited States," remarked IMrs. bminy. I " They have excellent reason to be so, ma'am," said ]\Iartin. I never was so much surprised in all my life." i " Our institutions make our people smart much, Sir," Mrs. aminy remarked. The most short-sighted man could see that at a glance, with 3 naked eye," said ]\Iartin. Mrs. Hominy was a philosopher and an authoress, and conse- 354 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF quently had a pretty strong digestion ; but this coarse, this indecorous phrase, was ahnost too much for her. For a gentleman sitting alone with a lady — although the door was open — to talk about a naked eye ! A long interval elapsed before even she — a 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 had her letters from abroad, beginning "My ever dearest blank," and signed "The Mother of the Modern Gracchi " (meaning the married Miss Hominy), regu- larly printed in a public journal, with all the indignation 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 pro- gress 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 de- fence and 'vantage-ground enough for that Republic, but yesterday 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 hope- less to the sense, that her best friends turn from the loathsome creature with disgust. Who, having by their ancestors declared and won their Independence, 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 themselves, in that alone, as immeasurably behind the import of the trust they hold, and as unworthy to pos- sess it, as if the sordid hucksterings of all their little governments — each one a kingdom in its small depravity — were brought into a heap for evidence against them. MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 355 ]Martin by degrees became so fur awake, that he had a sense of I terrible oppression on his mind ; an imperfect dream that he had nurdered a particidar friend, and coid(ln't get rid of the body. ^Vlicn liis eyes opened it was staring liim full in the face. There ,vas the horrible Hominy, talking deep truths in a melodious ;nuffle, and pouring forth her mental endowments to such an extent ;hat the IMajor's bitterest enemy, hearing her, would have forgiven lim 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 it the upper end of the table, he took refuge at the lower end limself ; whence, after a hasty meal, he stole away, while the lady ivas yet busied with dried beef and a whole saucer-full of pickled ixings. It would be difficult to give an adequate idea of Mrs. Hominy's ■reshness next day, or of the avidity with which she went headlong nto moral philosophy at breakfast. Some little additional degree )f asperity, perhaps, was visible in her features, but not more than ;he pickles would have naturally produced. All that day, she dung to Martin. She sat beside him while he received his friends —for there was another Reception, yet more numerous than the brmer — 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 !ssays on government, written by herself; used the Major's pocket- landkerchief as if the snuffle were a temporary malady, of which she was determined to rid herself by some means or other; and, a 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 tlu; head for the general peace of society. In the meantime Alark w^as busy, from early in the morning .mtil Late at niglit, in getting on board the steamboat such pro- s^isions, tools, and other necessaries, as they had been forewarnetl it would be wise to take. The purchase of these things, and the settlement of their bill at the National, reduced their finances to 50 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, wdio (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 [•omraenced. There they were, all huddled together, with the engine and the fires. Farmers who had never seen a plough ; woudinen who had never used an axe ; builders who couldn't make 356 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF a box ; cast out of their own laud, 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 '? " " I'll 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. " What have they been making so much of him for, now 1 " said Mark, slyly. " Come ! " " Our people like ex-citement," answered Kedgick, sucking hia cigar. " But how has he excited 'em ? " asked Mark. The captain looked at him as if he were half inclined i unburden his mind of a capital joke. "You air a going T' 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 ol this ; " he winked and burst into a smothered laugh ; " along this. Scadder is a smart man, and — and — nobody as goes to Eder ever comes back a-live ! " The wharf was close at hand, and at that instant Mark coule hear them shouting out his name — could even hear Martin calling to him to make haste, or they would be separated. It was to« late to mend the matter, or put any face upon it but the best. H gave the Captain a parting benediction, and ran off like a race-hor-se i RIARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 857 " Mark ! Mark ! " cried Martin. " Here am I, Sir ! " shouted IMark, suddenlj' replying from the ige of the quay, aud leaping at a bound on board. " Never was alf so jolly, Sir. All right ! Haul in ! Go a-head ! " The sparks from the wood fire streamed upward from the two limneys, as if the vessel were a great firework just lighted ; aud ley roared away upon the dark water. CHAPTER XXIII. ARTIX 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 gentle- len passengers, of the same stamp as Martin's New York friend Ir. Bevau ; and in their society he was cheerful aud happy. They jleased him as well as they could from the intellectual entaugle- leuts of Mrs. Hominy ; and exhibited, in all they said and did, ) much good sense and high feeling, that he could not like them )0 well. "If this were a republic of Intellect and Worth," he lid, " instead of vapouring and jobbing, they would not want the ivers to keep it in motion." " Having good tools, aud using bad ones," returned Mr. Tapley, would look as if they was rather a poor sort of carpenters. Sir, wouldn't it 1 " Martin nodded. " As if their work were infinitely above their owers and purpose, Mark; and they botched it in consequence." "The best on it is," said Mark, "that when they do happen to lake a decent stroke ; such as better workmen, with no such pportunities, make every day of their lives and think nothing of; hey begin to sing out so surprising loud. Take notice of my r'ords. Sir. If ever the defaulting part of this here country pays ;s debts — along of finding that not paying 'em won't do in a ommercial point of view, you see, and is inconvenient in its onsequences — they'll take such a shine out of it, and make such Tagging speeches, that a man might suppose no borrowed money ad ever been paid afore, since the world was first begun. That's he way they gammon each other. Sir. Bless you, / know 'em. ^ake notice of my words, now ! " "You seem to be growing profoundly sagacious ! " cried Martin, tughing. 358 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF " "Whether that is," tliought 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 propliet." He gave no utterance to these sentiments ; but the excessive joviality they inspired within him, and the merriment they brought upon liis shining face, were quite enough for Martin. Although he might sometimes profess to make light of his partner's inex- haustible 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 affected. 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 melancholv night : beneath the burning sun, and in the mist and vapoui of the evening : on, until return appeared impossible, and restora- tion to their home a miserable dream. They had now but iew people on board, and these few were as flat, as dull, and stagnant, as the vegetation that oppressed theii eyes. No sound of cheerfulness or hope was heard ; no pleasant talk beguiled the tardy time ; no little group made common causi against the dull depression of the scene. But that, at certaii periods, they swallowed food together from a common trough, i! might have been old Charon's boat, conveying melancholy shade! to judgment. At length they drew near New Thermopyhe ; where, that sara! evening, Mrs. Hominy would disembark. A gleam of comfori sunk into Martin's bosom when she told him this. Mark needeij none ; but he was not dis])leased. ' It was almost night when they came alongside the landiucj })lace — ^a steep bank with an hotel, like a barn, on the top of itj a wooden store or two ; and a few scattered sheds. i i MARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 359 " You sleep here to-uight, aud go ou in the luurning, I suppose, la'aui 1" said Martin. " Where should I go ou to 1 " cried the uiother of the modern ■racchi. " To New Thermopyke." " My ! ain't I there 1 " said Mrs. Houiiuy. Martin looked for it all round the darkening panorama ; but s couldn't see it, and was obliged to say so. '' Why, that's it ! " cried Mrs. Hominy, pointing to the sheds ist mentioned. " Tkitt ! " exclaimed Martin. " Ah ! that ; aud work it which way you will, it whips Eden," lid Mrs. Hominy, nodding her head with great expression. The married Miss Hominy, who had come on board with her usband, gave to this statement her most unqualified support, as A that gentleman also. Martin gratefully declined their invita- on to regale himself at their bouse during the half hour of the issel's stay ; aud having escorted Mrs. Hominy aud the red Dcket- handkerchief (which was still on active service) safely ;ross the gangway, returned in a thoughtful mood to watch le emigrants as they removed their goods ashore. Mark, as he stood beside him, glanced in his face from time to me ; anxious to discover what effect this dialogue had had upon im, and not unwilling that his hopes should be dashed before ley reached their destination, so that the blow he feared, might J broken in its fall. But saving that he sometimes looked up .lickly at the poor erections ou the hill, he gave him no clue to hat was passing in his mind, until they were again upon their ay. "Mark," he said then, "are there really none but ourselves 1 board this boat who are bound for Eden % " "None at all, Sir. Most of 'em, as you know, have stojiped lort ; and the few that are left are going further on. What lattcrs tliat ! More room there for us, >Sir." " Oh, to be sure ! " said Martin. "• But I was thinking " — id there he paused. " Yes, Sir," observed Mark. " How odd it was that the people should have arranged to ■y their fortune at a wretched hole like that, for instance, when lere is sueh a much better, and such a very different kind of lace, near at liand, as one may say." He spoke in a tone so very different from his usual confidence, ud with such an obvious dread of Mark's reply, that the good- iiturod fellow was full of jjity. 360 LIFE AND ADVEXTURES OF "Why, you kuow, 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 kuow the worst of it. Ain't we. Sir ? " 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 har.shly 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,"' until next day; 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 increased 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 fiat moras.s, 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 sprang, 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 waterJ hunted them like spectres until day ; where even the blessed sun! shining down on festering 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 bon that name. There being no depth of water close in shore, they landed fron the vessel's boat, with all their goods beside them. There wen a few log-houses visible among the dark trees ; the best, a cow shed or a rude stable ; but for the wharves, the market-place, tb public buildings — " Here comes an Edener," said Mark. '• He'll get us help t carry these things up. Keep a good heart. Sir. Hallo there ! " The man advanced toward them through the thickening glocyr very slowly : leaning on a stick. As he drew nearer, they observe' MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 361 ;liat he Ava.s pale and worn, and that his anxious eyes were deeply sunken in his head. His dress of homespun blue hung about him ,n rags ; his feet and head were bare. He sat down on a stump lalf-way, and beckoned theni to come to him. When they com- :)lied, he put his hand upon his side as if in pain, and while he ■etched his breath stared at them, wondering. '' Strangers ! " he exclaimed, as soon as he could speak. " The A'ery same," said Mark. " How are you, Sir 1" "I've had the fever very bad," he answered faintly. "I laven't stood upright these many weeks. Those are your notions [ see," pointing to their property. "Yes, Sir," said Mark, " they are. You couldn't recommend IS some one as would lend a hand to help carry 'em up to the — ;o the town, could you, Sir ? " " My eldest sou would do it if he could," replied the man : ' but to-day he has his chill upon him, and is lying wrapped up n the blankets. My youngest died last week." "I'm sorry for it, governor, with all my heart," said Mark, ihaking him by the hand. " Don't mind us. Come along with ue, and I'll give you au arm back. The goods is safe enough, 5ir,'' — to Martin, — "there ain't many people about, to make iway 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 iu the bush, ;owards the north. We've buried most of 'em. The rest have joiie away. Tliem 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 tliey went along explained to him the nature of their purchase, and inquired where it lay. Close to his own log-house, he said : so 3lose that lie had used their dwelling as a store-house for some :orn : they must excuse it that night, but he would endeavour to get it taken out upon the morrow. He then gave tliem to understand, as an additional scrap of local chit-chat, that he had buried the last proprietor with his own hands ; a piece of information which Mark also received without the least abatement of his equanimity. In a word, he conducted them to a miserable cabin, rudely con- structed of the trunks of trees; the door of which had either fallen ilown or been carried away long ago ; and which was consequently i^en to the wild landscape and the dark night. Saving for the little store he had mentioned, it was perfectly bare of all furniture ; 362 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 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 oft' 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 dis- mantled, 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, Sii', 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 Martiu as he paused upon his knees before the chest, in the act of unlocking it, to say these words, sufticiently confirmed 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 cheer- fulness ; as he jiroceeded to unjiack the chest. " The head partner a asking forgiveness 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 thei tin jjot. This tin pot's a small fortun' in itself! Here's the' blankets. Here's the axe. Who says we ain't got a first-rate fit, out? I feel as if I was a cadet gone out to Indy, and my uoblel|| father was chairman of the Board of Directors. Now, when I've; i got some water from the stream afore the door and mixed the grog," J 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 1 " It was impossible not to take lieart, in the company of sucl: a man as this. Martin sat upon the ground beside the box ; took out his knife ; and ate and drank sturdily. MARTIN C'HUZZLEWIT. 363 " Now you see,'" said Mark, when tlicy liad made a hearty meal ; ' with your knife and mine, I sticks this bhmket riglit afore the loor, or where, in a state of high civilisation, the door Avould be. \.nd very neat it looks. Then I stops the aperture below, by )utting the chest agin it. And very neat that looks. Then there's ■our blanket, Sir. Then here's mine. And what's to hinder our )assing a good night 1 " For all his light-hearted speaking, it was long before he slei)t limself. He wrapped his blanket round him, put the axe ready his hand, and lay across the threshold of the door : too anxious tnd too watchful to close his eyes. The novelty of their dreary ituation, the dread of some rapacious animal or human enemy, he terrible uncertainty of their means of subsistence, the apprehen- ion of death, the immense distance and the hosts of obstacles )etween themselves and England, were fruitful sources of disquiet u the deep silence of the night. Though Martin would have had lira think otherwise, Mark felt that he was waking also, and a )rey to the same reflections. This was almost worse than all, for f he began to brood over their miseries instead of trying to make lead against them, there could be little doubt that such a state of nind would powerfully assist the influence of the pestilent climate. S'ever had the light of day been half so welcome to his eyes, as vhen awaking from a fitful doze, Mark saw it shining through the )lanket in the doorway. He stole out gently, for his companion wan sleeping now ; and laving refreshed himself by washing in the river, where it flowed )efore tlie door, took a rough survey of the settlement. There vere not above a score of cabins in the whole ; half of these ippeared untenanted ; all were rotten and decayed. The most ottering, abject, and forlorn among them, was called, with great )ropriety, the Bank, and National Credit Oflice. It had some eeble props about it, but was settling deei) down in the mud, )ast all recovery. Here and there, an eftbrt liad been made to clear the land ; and iomething like a field had been marked out, where, among the itumps and ashes of burnt trees, a scanty crop of Indian corn was ,'rowing. In some quarters, a snake or zigzag fence had been jegun, but in no instance had it been coinpleted ; and the fallen og.s, half hidden in the soil, lay mouldering away. Three or four ueagre dog.s, wasted and vexed with hunger ; some long-legged )igs, wandering away into tlie woods in search of food ; some children, nearly naked, gazing at him from the huts ; were all the iving things he saw. A fetid vajjour, hot and sickening as the Oreath of an oven, rose up from tlic earth, and liung on everything 364 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF aroimd ; and as his foot-prints sank 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 close 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 frowsy underwood ; not divisible into their separate kinds, but tangled all together 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 oft' upon their several tasks. Martin was by this time stirring ; but he had greatly changed, even in one night. He Avas very pale and languid ; he spoke ot 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 dooi from one of the deserted houses, and fitted it to their own habita- tion ; then went back again for a rude bench he had observed, witl) which he presently returned in triumph ; and having put thi.' piece of furniture outside the house, arranged the notable tin-po1 and other such movables upon it, that it might represent a dressei or a sideboard. Greatly satisfied with this arrangement, he nexl rolled their cask of flour into the house, and set it up on end ir one corner, where it served for aside-table. No better diuing-tabh could be required than the chest, which he solemnly devoted t( that useful service thenceforth. Their blankets, clothes, and th( like, he hung on pegs and nails. And lastly, he brought forth i great placard (which Martin in the exultation of his heart ha( prepared with his own hands at the National Hotel), bearing th<' inscription, Chuzzlewit & Co., Architects and Sukveyoes wiiich he displayed upon the most conspicuous part of tlie premises. Avith as much gravity as if the thriving city of Eden had lia' MARTIN CHUZZLEAVIT. 36r. a real existence, and they expected to he overwhelmed witli business. " These here tools," said Mark, bringing forward Martin's case of 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 presently reappeared with a hatchet : intent on per- forming some impossibilities 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 ; tliinking, perhaps, how fast it moved towards the open sea, the high road to the home he never would behold again. 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 1 " '"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 tliink, by making some personal obserwations in a letter to Scadder 1 " "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'll 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 IMark, tenderly, "and now I'm sure of it. A touch of fever and ague caught on these rivers, THE THKIVrXG CITY OF F.DF.X, AS IT APPEARED IN FACT. LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF MARTIN CIIUZZLKWIT. 367 daresay ; but bless yon, t/ixt's nothing. It's only ,-i seasoning- ; ntl we must all be seasoned, one way or another. Tliat's religion, hat is, you know," said Mark. He only sighed and shook his head. "Wait half a minute," said Mark cheerily, "till I run up to ne of our neighbours and ask what's best to be took, and borrow , little of it to give you ; and to-morrow you'll find yourself as trong as ever again. I won't be gone a minute. Don't give in, rhile I'm away, whatever you do ! " Throwing down his hatchet, he sped away immediately, but topped when he had gone a little distance, and looked l)ack : then lurried on again. " Now, Mr. Tapley," said Mark, giving himself a tremendous ilow in the chest by way of reviver, "just you attend to what 've got to say. Things is looking about as bad as they can look, ■oung man. You'll not have such another opportunity for showing our jolly disposition, my fine fellow, as long as you live. And herefore, Tapley, Now's your time to come out strong ; or 'fever ! " CHAPTER XXIV. REPORTS PROGRESS IN CERTAIN HOMELY MATTERS OF LOVE, HATRED, .JEALOUSY, AND REVENGE. " Hallo, Pecksniff' ! " cried Mr. Jonas from the parlour. " Isn't iomebody a going to open that precious old door of yours 1 " "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 ;o wake the — " he had such a repugnance to the idea of waking :he Dead, that he stopped even then with the words upon his tongue, and said, instead, " the Seven Sleepers." " Immediately, LIr. Jonas ; immediately," repeated Pecksniff'. "Thoma.s 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 2)ro tern. — "go up to my daughters' 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'll — ha ha ha ! — you'll excuse me, Mr. Jonas, if I close 368 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF this door a moment, will you 1 " 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. Chuzzlewit ! 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. Mi/ 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, is 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 ! " " Mary," said the 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 Pecksniff,) 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 aftei Charity, my dear child, who is not so well as I could wish. No,' said ]\Ir. Pecksniff, answering their looks, " I am sorry to say, she | is not. It is merely an hysterical affection ; nothing more. I an: IIARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 369 )t uneasy. Mr. Pinch ! Thomas ! " exclaimed Pecksnift", in his mlest accents. "Pray come in. I sliall make no stranger of )u. Thomas is a friend of mine of rather long standing, Mr. huzzlewit, you must know." " Thank you, Sir," said Tom. " You introduce nie very kindly, id speak of me in terms of which I am very proud." " Old Thomas ! " cried his master, pleasantly, " God bless )u ! " Tom reported that the young ladies would appear directly, and lat the best refreshments which the house attbrded were even lea in preparation, under their joint superintendence. While he as speaking, the old man looked at him intently, though with ss harshness than was common to him ; nor did the mutual nbarrassment of Tom and the young lady, to whatever cause he itributed it, seem to escape his observation. "Pecksniff"," he said after a pause, rising and taking him aside iwards the window, "I was much shocked on hearing of my •other's death. We had been strangers for many years. My ily comfort is, that he must have lived the happier and better an for having associated no hopes or schemes with me. Peace I his memory ! We were playfellows once ; and it would have ;en better for us both if we had died then." Finding him in this gentle mood, Mr. Pecksniff began to see lother way out of his difficulties, besides the casting overboard of Dnas. " That any man, my dear Sir, could possibly be the happier for Dt knowing you," he returned, "you will excuse my doubting, ut that ]\Ir. Anthony, in the evening of his life, was happy in the fection of his excellent son — a pattern, my dear Sir, a pattern to .1 sons — and in the care of a distant reLation, who, however lowly i his means of serving him, had no boimds to his inclination ; 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 is hand, "quite understand my nature yet, I find. No, Sir, I am at a legatee. I am proud to say I am not a legatee. I am proud ) say tliat neither of my children is a legatee. And yet. Sir, I as with him at his own request. He understood me somewhat 3tter, Sir. He wrote and said, 'I am sick. I am sinking. Come ) me ! ' I went to him. I sat beside his bed. Sir, and I stood 3side his grave. Yes, at the risk of offending even t/ou, I did it, ir. Though the avowal should lead to our instant separation, id to the severing of those tender ties between us which have 'cently been formed, I make it. But I am not a legatee," said 9tj 370 LIFE AND ADVEXTURES OF 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 1 My brother had in his wealth the usual doom of wealth, and root of misery. He carried his corrupting influence with liim, go where he would ; and shed it round him, even on liis hearth. It made of his own child a greedy expectant, who measured every day and horn- 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 ? 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 under- takers and coffin-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 witii himself in the excite- ment 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 her, 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 an warm ; but I am honest, and must state the truth." In proof of the character he gave himself, Mr. Pecksniff suttere( tears of honesty to ooze out of his eyes. The old man gazed at liim for a moment with a look of wondei repeating to himself, "Here now! In this house!" But h mastered his surprise, and said, after a pause : " Let me sec him." "In a friendly spirit, I hope?" said Mr. Pecksniff. " Forgi\ me. Sir, but he is in the receipt of my humble hospitality." "I said," replied the old man, "let me see him. If I we) disposed to regard him in any other than a friendly spirit, I shoa have said, keep us apart." " Certainly, my dear Sir. So you would. You are frankne itself, I know. I will break this happiness to him," said M MARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 371 ^ccksnift* ns 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 [uarter of an hour elapsed before he returned with Mr. Jonas, n the meantime the young ladies had made their appearance, and he table had been set out for the refreshment of the travellers. Now, however well Mr. Pecksniff, in his morality, had taught Fonas the lesson of dutiful behaviour to his uncle, and however )erfect]y Jonas, in the cunning of his nature, had learnt it, that 'oung man's bearing, when presented to his father's brother, was inything but manly or engaging. Perhaps, indeed, so singular a iiixture of defiance and obsequiousness, of fear and hardihood, of logged suUenness and an attempt at cringing and propitiation, lever was expressed in any one human figure as in that of Jonas, vhen, having raised his downcast eyes to Martin's face, he let hem fall again, and uneasily closing and unclosing his hands without a moment's intermission, stood swinging himself from side .0 side, waiting to be addressed. "Nephew," said the old man. "You have been a dutiful son, '. hear." "As dutifid as sons in general, I suppose," returned Jonas, coking up and down once more. " I don't brag to have been any )etter than other sons ; but I haven't been any worse, I dare say.'' " A pattern to all .?ons, I am told," said the old man, glancing ;owards 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 jrothcr. It's the pot and the kettle, if you come to that." "You s^Deak bitterly, in the violence of your regret," said Martin, after a pause. "Give me your hand." Jonas did so, and was almost at his case. " Pccksnift"," he ivhispered, as they drew their chairs about the table ; " I gave iiim as good as he brought, eh ? He had better look at home, before he looks out of window, I think?" Mr. Pecksniff oidy answered by a nudge of the elbow, which might either be construed into an indignant remonstrance or a :ordial a.ssent ; but which, in any case, was an emphatic admoni- tion to his chosen son-in-law to be silent. He then proceede 378 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF the many years they had passed together. He Avas stupetied with amazemeut. " 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." " JSTot so much ! " she repeated, clenching her hand and stamp- ing 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 bj its kindling expression ; and seizing his right hand, pressed it tc^ her breast, and kissed it. And there was nothing personal in thiij to render it at all embarrassing, for even Tom, wliose power o| observation was by no means remarkable, knew from the energ;f with which she did it that she would have fondled any hand, u- matter how bedaubed or dyed, that had broken the head of Jona Chuzzlewit. Tom went into his room, and went to bed, full of uncomfortabl thoughts. That there should be any such tremendous division i the family as he knew must have taken place to convert Charit Pecksniff into his friend, for any reason, but, above all, for thf which was clearly the real one ; that Jonas, wdio had assailed hii with such exceeding coarseness, should have been sufficient! magnanimous to keep the secret of their quarrel ; and that ar' train of circumstances should have led to the commission of S'. assault and battery by Thomas Pinch upon any man calling hw\ self the friend of Seth Pecksniff'; were matters of such deep ai- painful cogitation, that he could not close his eyes. His ov, violence, in particular, so preyed upon the generous mind of Toi! that coupling it with the many former occasions on which he hi; given Mr. Pecksnifi" pain and anxiety (occasions of which th. gentleman often reminded him), he really began to regard hims< as destined by a mysterious fate to be the evil genius and b' angel of his patron. But he fell asleep at last, and dreamed — ml source of waking uneasiness — that he had betrayed his trust, a ■ run away with Mary Graham. It must be acknowledged that, asleep or awake, Tom's positii in reference to this young lady w^as full of uneasiness. The m(,! he saw of her, the more he admired her beauty, her intelligen;, .AIARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 37fl e amiable end a boy to Kingsgate Street,' she says, ' and snap lier up at ny jjrice, for 3Irs. Gamp is worth her weiglit and more in goldian [uineas.' ]\Iy landlord brings the message down to me, and says, bein' in a light place wliere you are, and this job promising so veil, why not unite the twoT 'Xo, Sir,' I says, 'not unbeknown Sir. ]\Iould, and therefore do not think it. But I will go to 390 LIFE AND ADYEXTURES OF Mr. Mould,' I says, ' and ast him, if j'ou like.' "' Here she looked sideways at the undertaker, and came to a stop. " Night-watching, eh ? " 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 1 " said ]\Iould. " Quite free then, Sir, to attend to Mr. Chutfey. 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, and that the money is a object ; but do not let that act upon you, Mr. Mould. Rich folks may ride on camels, but it ain'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 j^ou point-blank." " The very words was on my lips. Sir," Mrs. Gamp rejoined. " Suppoging 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 1 " i " Certainly, Mrs. Gamp," said Mould, with much condescension. " You may casually remark, in such a case, that we do the thiuc' pleasantly and in a great variety of styles, and are generalh considered to make it as agreeable as possible to the feelings o the survivors. But don't obtrude it — don't obtrude it. Easy easy ! j\Iy 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 wim (for the bottle was locked up again) rose to take her departure. "Wishing ev'ry happiness to this happy family," said 3Irs Gamp, " with all my heart. Good arternoon, Mrs. Moidd ! If 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 th^ delighted undertaker. "As to the young ladies," said Mrs. Gamp, dropping a curtsej' "bless their sweet looks — how they can ever reconsize it wit! their duties to be so grown up with such young parents, it ani for sech as me to give a guess at." " Nonsense, nonsense. Be off, Mrs. Gamp ! " cried Mouhj But in the height of his gratification, he actually })inched Mr, Mould, as he said it. MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 391 "I'll tell you ■what, my dear," he observed, when Mrs. Camp ad at last withdrawn, and shut the door, " that's a ve-ry shrewd reman. That's a woman whose intellect is immensely superior to er station in life. That's a woman who observes and reflects in n uncommon manner. She's the sort of woman now," said lould, drawing his silk handkerchief over his head again, and omposing himself for a nap, " one would almost feel disposed to iiiry for nothing : and do it neatly, too ! " Mrs. Mould and her daughteis fully concurred in these remarks ; he subject of which had by this time reached the street, where she xperienced so much inconvenience from the air, that she was obliged stand under an archway for a short time, to recover herself Wen after this precaution, she walked so unsteadily as to attract he compassionate regards of divers kind-hearted boys, who took he liveliest interest in her disorder ; and in their simple language, lade her be of good cheer, for she was "only a little screwed." Wliatever she was, or whatever name the vocabulary of aedical science would have bestowed upon her malady, Mrs. Gamp ras perfectly acc^uainted with the way home again ; and arriving t the house of Anthony Chuzzlewit & Son, lay down to rest, lemaining there until seven o'clock in the evening, and then lersuadiug poor old ChufFey to betake himself to bed, she sallied orth upon her new engagement. First, she went to her private odgings in Kingsgate Street, for a bundle of robes and wrappings omfortable in the night season ; and then repaired to the Bull in lolborn, which she reached as the clocks were striking eight. As she turned into the yard, she stopped ; for the landlord, andlady, and head chambermaid, were all on the threshold ogether, talking earnestly with a young gentleman who seemed o have just come or to be just going away. The first words that truck upon Mrs. Gamp's ear obviously bore reference to the )atient ; and it being expedient that all good attendants should :now as much as possible about the case on which their skill is )rought to hear, INIrs. 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- ,Tound, opening her eyes very wide, and shaking her head. "Poor fellow!" said the gentleman, "I am sorry to hear it. riie worst of it is, that I have no idea what friends or relations he las, or where they live, except that it certainly is not in London." The landlord looked at the landlady ; the landlady looked at :he landlord ; and the chambermaid remarked, hysterically, "that 392 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF of all the luaiiy Avague directions she had ever seen or lieerd 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 yesterday when you seut to me, I really know very little about him. We were schoolfellows together ; but since that time I have ouly met him t-nice. On both occasions I was in Loudon for a boy's holiday (having come up for a Aveek or so from Wiltshire), and lost sight of him again directly. The letter bearing my name and address which you foimd upon his table, and which led to your api^lying 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 chambermaid, in the background, 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 1 " observed the gentleman, who 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 jiurse, 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 ! " said John, "as the medical gentleman says the fever must take its course, and nothing can be done just uow beyond giving him his drinks regularly and having him carefully attended to, nothing more can be said that I know of, until he is in a con- dition to give us some information. Can you suggest anything else?" " X-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. " Xot forgetting to remember the servants," said the chamber maid in a bland whisper. " It is but reasonable, I fully admit," said John Westluck "At all events, you have the stock in hand to go upon for th present ; and I will readily undertake to pay the doctor and th nurses." " Ah I " cried Mrs. Gamp. " A rayal gentleman ! " She gi'oaned her admiration so audibly, that they all turne ronnd. Mrs. Gamp felt the necessity of advancing, bundle i hand, and introducing herself " The night-nurse," she observed, " from MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 393 rell bekuowu to JMrs. Prig the day-iiurso, and the best of creeturs. low is the poor clear gentleman, to-night 1 If he an't no better et, still that is Avhat must be expected and prepared for. It an't he fust time by a many score, ma'am," dropping a curtsey to the mdlady, "that Mrs. Prig and me has nussed together, turn and urn about, one oft", one on. We knows each other's ways, and ften gives relief when others failed. Our charges is but low, lir " — j\Irs. Gamp addressed herself to John on this head — " con- iderin' the nater of our painful dooty. If they wos made accordin' our wishes, they would be easy paid." Regarding herself as having now delivered her inauguration ddres.s, Mrs. Gamp curtseyed all round, and signified her wish to 16 conducted to the scene of her official duties. The chambermaid 3d her, through a variety of intricate passages, to the top of the ouse ; and pointing at length to a solitary door at the end of a allery, informed her that yonder was the chamber where the latient lay. That done, she hurried off with all the speed she ould make. Mrs. Gamp traversed the gallery in a great heat from having arried her large bundle up so many stairs, and tapped at the door, I'hich was immediately opened by Mrs. Prig, bonneted and sliawled nd all impatience to be gone. Mrs. Prig was of the Gamp build, lUt not so ftit ; and her voice was deeper and more like a man's. Ihe had also a beard. " I began to think you warn't a coming I '' I\Irs. Prig observed, li some displeasure. "It shall be made good to-morrow night," said Mrs. Gamp, ■/honourable. I had to go and fetch my things." She had begun make signs of enquiry in reference to the position of the patient nd 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 .n't no matter wot you say." " Anythin' to tell afore you goes, my dear 1 " asked Mrs. Gamp, etting her bundle down inside the door, and looking affectioiiutely .t her partner. "The pickled salmon," Mrs. Prig replied, "is quite delicious, can partick'ler recommend it. Don't have nothink to say to the old 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 nuinkle- helf," said Mrs. Prig, cursorily. " He took his last slime draught at even. The easy-chair an't soft enough. You'll want his piller." Mrs. Gamp thanked her for these hints, and giving her a friendly 394 LIFE AXD ADVENTURES OF good night, held the door open luitil 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 occuj^ation of the sick chamber. "A little dull, but not so bad as might be,'' Mrs. Gamp re- marked. " I'm glad to see a parapidge, in case of fire, and lots of roofs and chimley-iDots to walk upon." It will be seen from these remarks that Mrs. Gamp was looking out of window. When 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 wliiteness 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 j expression of impatience or fatigue, sometimes of surprise ; and f still his restless head — oh, weary, weary hour I — 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 con- ' noisseur 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 stooping down, she pinned his wandering arras 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 ! " Slie 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 purpose ; 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 higli time to think about supper ; so she rang the bell and ordered it. "I think, young woman," said Mrs. Gamp to the assistant ^lARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 39') hambermaid, in a tone expressive of weakness, '"that I could pick I little bit of pickled salmon, with a nice little sprig of fennel, and I sprinkling of -white pepper. I takes new bread, my dear, with est a little pat of fresh butter, and a mossel of cheese. In case here should be such a thing as a cowcumber in the 'ouse, will you oe so kind as bring it, for I'm rather partial to 'em, and they does I world of good in a sick room. If they draws the Brighton ripper here, I takes that ale at night, my love ; it bein' considered ivakeful by the doctors. And whatever you do, young woman, ion't bring more than a shilling's-worth of gin and water warm .vhen I rings the bell a second time : for that is always my allow- iince, and I never takes a drop beyond ! " Having preferred these moderate requests, Mrs. Gamp observed ;hat she would stand at the door until the order was executed, to ;he end that the patient might not be disturbed by her opening it second time ; and therefore she would thank the young woman o "look sharp." A tray was brought with everything upon it, even to the jucumber ; and Mrs. Gamp accordingly sat down to eat and drink n high good humour. The extent to which she availed herself of ;he vinegar, and supped up that refreshing fluid with the blade of knife, can scarcely be expressed in narrative. " Ah ! " sighed Mrs. Gamp, as she meditated over the warm hilling's-worth, " what a blessed thing it is — living in a wale — to )e contented ! What a blessed thing it is to make sick people lappy in their beds, and never mind one's self as long as one can lo a service ! I don't believe a finer cowcumber was ever grow'd. !'in sure I never see one ! " She moralised in the same vein until her glass was empty, and hen administered the patient's medicine, by the simple process of ;lutching his windpipe to make him gasp, and immediately pouring t down his throat. " I a'most forgot the piller, I declare ! " said Mrs. Gamp, draw- ng it away. " There ! Now he's as comfortable as he can be, p'm sure ! I must try to make myself as much so as I can." With this view, she went about the construction of an extem- )oraneous bed in the easy chair, with the addition of the next easy >ne for her feet. Having formed the best couch that the circum- tances admitted of, she took out of her bundle a yellow inghtcap, )f prodigious size, in shape resembling a cabbage ; which article of Iress she fixed and tied on with the utmost care, previously divest- ng herself of a row of bald old curls that could scarcely be called alse, they were so very innocent of anything approaching to leception. From the same repository she brought forth a night- LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF jacket, in which she also attired herself. Finally, she i^roduced watchman's coat, which she tied round her neck by the sleeves, that she became two people ; and looked, behind, as if she were i: 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 tj the streets were 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 j through the past ; incapable of detaching itself from the miserable i present; dragging its heavy chain of care through imaginary feasts jiiie^j and revels, and scenes of awful pomp; seeking but a moment's iiijuitt rest among the long-forgotten haunts of childhood, and the resorts of yesterday; and dimly finding fear and horror everywhere ! Ob, weary, weary hour ! AVhat 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, suftering, 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 av/fully for answers some- times ; 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 niotioii of the head, but he talked on wildly. " Ah ! " said Mrs. Gamp, coming out of the chair with an im patient 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'll ruin Ui all. Don't you see how the fountain sinks 1 Look at the marl where the sparkling water was just now ! " "Sparkling water, indeed!" said Mrs. Gamji. "I'll liave :' sparkling cup o' tea, I think. I wish you'd hold your noise ! " He burst into a laugh, which, being prolonged, fell off into .: dismal wail. Checking himself, with fierce inconstancy he begarl to count, fast. " One — two — three — four — five— six." " ' One, two, buckle my shoe,' " said Mrs. CJamp, who was uoi on her knees, lighting the fire, " ' three, four, shut the door ' f H IMARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 397 wish you'd shut your mouth, young man — 'five, six, picking- uji sticks.' If I'd got a few handy, I sliould have the kettle biliiig 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 ; ind for some time she drowsily amused herself by sliding that feature backwards and forwards along the brass top, as far as she jould, without changing her position to do it. She maintained, all the while, a running commentary upon the wanderings of the man a bed. "That makes five hundred and twenty- one men, all dressed ilike, 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 I Five hundred and twenty -two — twenty-three — twenty-four. Do you see them 1 " "Ah ! /see 'em," said Mrs. Gamp; "all the whole kit of 'em umbered like hackney-coaches — ain't they 1 " " Touch me ! Let me be sure of this. Touch me ! " "You'll take yoiu* next draught when I've made the kettle bile," retorted Mrs. Gamp, composedly, "and you'll be touched then. You'll 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 ! " " What's the matter now 1 " said Mrs. Gamp. " They're coming four abreast, each man with his arm entwined iin the next man's, and his hand upon his shoulder. What's that upon the arm of every man, and on the flag 1 " " Spiders, p'raps," said Mrs. Gamp. " Crape ! Black crape ! Good God ! why do they wear it outside 1 " " Woidd you have 'em carry black crape in tlieir insides 1 " Mrs. Gamp retorted. " Hold your noise, hold your noise." The fire beginning by this time to impart a grateful warmth, iMrs. Gamp became silent ; gradually rubbed her nose more and 'more slowly along the top of the fender ; and fell into a heavy idoze. She was awakened by the room ringing (as she fancied) [with a name she knew : 1 " Chuzzlewit ! " ' The sound was so distinct and real, and so full of agonised en- itreaty, 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 in 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 parsed 398 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF to her seat again, she glanced at the jmtient. Just the same ; but silent. Mrs. Gamp was so warm now, that she threw off 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'll 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 ; and sat down at the tea-board, with her face to the fire. When once again, 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 tea-board 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 Avas not admitted, the disorder being infectious. The doctor carae 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 " " Restless, Sir," said Mrs. Gamp. " Talk much 1 " " 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 ; 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 curtseyed 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 needn't mind him." t MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 399 "Oh, I .slui'ii't mind him," Mrs. Prig returned. "I have some- in' else to think of." " I pays my debts to-night, you know, my dear, and comes afore ,' time," said Mrs. Gamp. "But, Betsey Prig" — speaking with ?at feeling, and laying her hand upon her arm — "try the cow- mbers, God bless you ! " CHAPTER XX YI. AX UNEXPECTED MEETING, AND A PROMISING PROSPECT. The laws of sympathy between beards and birds, and the secret irce of that attraction which frequently impels a shaver of the e to be a dealer in the other, are questions for the subtle isoning of scientific bodies : not tlie less so, because their ,'estigation would seem calculated to lead to no particular result. is enough to know that the artist who had the honour of tertaining Mrs. Gamp as his first-floor lodger, united the two rsuits of barbering and bird-f;incying ; and that it was not an ginal idea of his, but one in which he had, dispersed about the e-streets and suburbs of the town, a host of rivals. The name of this householder was Paid Sweedlepipe. But he is commonly called Poll Sweedlepipe ; and was not uncommonly lieved to have been so christened, among his friends and ighbours. With the exception of the staircase, and his lodger's private artment. Poll Sweedlepipe's house was one great bird's nest, ime-cocks resided in the kitchen ; pheasants wasted the bright- ss of their golden plumage on the garret ; bantams roosted in 2 cellar ; owls had possession of the bed-room ; and specimens of the smaller fry of birds chirrupped and twittered in the shoj). le staircase was sacred to rabbits. There, in hutches of all apes and kinds, made from old packing-cases, boxes, drawers, d tea-chests, they increased in a prodigious degree, and con- buted their share towards that complicated whitt' which, (piite partially, and without distinction of persons, saluted every nose at was put into Sweedlepipe's easy shaving-shop. Many noses found their way there, for all that, especially on a mday morning, before church-time. Even archbishops shave, or 1st be shaved, on a Sunday, and beards vnll grow after twelve ;lock on Saturday night, though it be upon the chins of base ?chanics ; who, not being able to engage their \alets by the 400 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF quarter, hire them by the job, and pay them — oh, the wickedness of copper coin ! — iu 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 sjDarrow, that builds iu chimney- stacks, and inclines to human company. He was not quarrelsome, though, like the sparrow ; 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 prosiness 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 iu 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 headi — 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 hi,' feminine designation. He had a tender heart, too ; for, when hf had a good commission to provide three or four score sparrows fo) a shooting-match, he would observe, in a compassionate tone, hov singular it was that sparrows should have been made expressly fo such purposes. The question, whether men were made to shoo them, never entered into Poll's philosophy. Poll wore, in his sporting character, a velveteen coat, a grea deal of blue stocking, ankle boots, a neckerchief of some brigh: colour, and a very tall hat. Pursuing his more quiet occupatioij of barber, he generally subsided into an apron not over-clean, . flannel jacket, and corduroy knee-shorts. It was in this latte' costume, but with his apron girded round his waist, as a token C his having shut up shop for the night, that he closed the doc; one evening, some weeks after the occurrences detailed iu the laj. chapter, and stood upon the steps, in Kingsgate Street, listenic until the little cracked bell within should leave off ringing. Fo until it did — this was Mr. Sweedlepipe's reflection — the pla(; never seemed quiet enough to be left to itself. MARTIX (lirZZLEWIT. 401 "It's tlic greediest little bell to ring," said Poll, " tiiat ever ras. Biit it's quiet at last." He rolled his apron up a little tighter as he said these words, nd hastened down the street. Just as he was turning into lolborn, he ran against a young gentleman in livery. This youth ras bold, though small, and, with several lively expressions of ispleasure, turned upon him instantly. "Xow, Stoo-PiD ! " cried the young gentleman. "Can't you jok where you're a going to— eh 1 Can't you mind where you're coming to — eh 1 What do you think your eyes was made for — h I Ah ! Yes. Oh ! Now then ! " The young gentleman pronounced the two last words in a very )ud tone and with frightful emphasis, as though they contained rithin themselves the essence of the direst aggravation. But he ad scarcely done so, when his auger yielded to surprise, and he ried, in a milder tone : " What ! Polly ! " " Why it an't you, sure 1 " cried Poll. '' It can't be you ! " " No. It an't me," returned the youth. " It's my son : my Idest one. He's a credit to his father, ain't he, Polly 1 " With his delicate little piece of banter, he halted on the pavement, and rent round and round in circles, for the better exhibition of his igure : rather to the inconvenience of the passengers generally, rho were not in an equal state of spirits with himself " I wouldn't have believed it," said Poll. "What! You've ;ft your old place, then 1 Have you 1 " " Have I ! " returned his young friend, who had by this time tuck his hands iu the pockets of his white cord breeches, and was waggering along at the barber's side. " D'ye know a pair of op-boots when you see 'em, Polly 1 — Look here ! " " Beau-ti-ful ! " cried Mr. Sweedlepipe. " D'ye know a slap-up sort of button, when you see it ? " said he youth. " Don't look at mine, if you ain't a judge, because hese lions' heads was made for men of taste : not snobs." "Beau-ti-ful ! " cried the barber again. " A grass-green frock- oat, too, bound with gold ! And a cockade in your hat ! " "/should hope so," replied the youth. " Blow the cockade, hough ; for, except that it don't turn round, it's like the wentilator hat used to be in the kitchen winder at Todgers's. You ain't leen the old lady's name in the Gazette, have you?" " No," returned the barber. " Is she a bankrupt 1 " "If she ain't, she will be," retorted Bailey. "That bis'ness lever can be carried on without me. Well ! How are you ] " "Oh! I'm pretty well," said Poll. "Are you living at this 2r. 402 LIFE AXD ADVENTURES OF end of the town, or were you coming to see me ? AYas tliat the bis'ness that brought you to Holborn 1 " "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, an't it ? You wouldn't like a ride in a cab, would you? Why, it wouldn't 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 counterfeited 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 chaney shops since we've had him, and wos sold for killin' his missis. That's a horse, I hope ? " "Ah! you'll never want to buy any more red -polls, now," observed Poll, looking on his young friend with an air of melancholy. " You'll never want to bny any more red-polls now, to hang up over the sink, will you?" "/ should think not," reijlied Bailey. "Reether so. I wouldn't have nothin' to say to any bird below a peacock ; and Ae'd be wulgar. Well, how are you ? " " 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. Bailej', with the portrait of Tigg Montague Esquire as chairman ; a very imposiu: MARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 4ir. Iiair of office, garnislied witli an ivory hammer and a little hand- ell ; and a long table, set ont at intervals with sheets of blottiug- apcr, foolscap, clean pens, and inkstands. The chairman having iken his seat with great solemnity, tlie secretary supported him II his right hand, and the porter stood bolt upright behind them, )rming a warm background of waistcoat. This was the board : rerything else being a light-hearted little liction. '^Bullamy!" said Mr.^Tigg. " Sir ! "' replied the Porter. "Let the Medical Officer know, with my com])liments, that I ish to see him." Bullamy cleared his throat, and bustled out into the office, ■ying " The Chairman of the Board wislies to see the Medical fficer. By your leave there ! By your leave ! " He soon re- u-ned with the gentleman in question ; and at both openings f the board-room door — at his coming in and at his going out — mple clients were seen to stretch their necks and stand upon leir toes, thirsting to catch the slightest glimpse of that mysterious lamber. "Jobling, my dear friend!" said ]\Ir. Tigg, "how are you? ullamy, wait outside. Crimple, don't leave us. Jobling, my )od fellow, I am glad to see you." " And how are you, Mr. Montague, eh ? " said the Medical fficer, throwing himself luxuriously into an easy chair (they ere all ea.sy chairs in the board-room), and taking a handsome )ld snuffbox from the pocket of his black satin waistcoat. How are you ? A little worn with business, eh 1 If so, rest. little feverish from wine, humph ? If so, water. Nothing at 1 the matter, and quite comfortable ? Then take some lunch. very wholesome thing at this time of day to strengthen the istric juices with lunch, Mr. Montague." The medical officer (he was the same medical officer who had ilowed poor old Anthony Chuzzlewit to the grave, and who had :tendcd J\Irs. Gamp's patient at the Bull) smiled in saying these ords; and casually added, as he brushed some grains of snuft' om his sliirt-fiill, "I always take it myself aliout this time of ly, do you know ! " "BuUaniv!" said the chairman, ringing tlie little l)ell. "Sir!" ^ " Lunch." " Not on my account, I hope ? " said the doctor. " You are jry good. Thank you. I'm quite ashamed. Ha, ha ! if I liad Jen a sharp practitioner, Mr. Montague, I shouldn't have mentioned without a fee; for you may depend upmi it, my dear Sir, that 416 LIFE AXD ADYEXTURES OF MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. if you don't make a point of taking lunch, you'll 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 oft', then and there. " In Mr. Crimple's leg, you'll 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 iti" " 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, tliere 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 1 INIr. 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 societj by that. It's extraordinary how little is known on these subjects generally. Where do you suppose, now " — the doctor closed on( eye, as he leaned back smilingly in his chair, and formed a triangk, with his hands, of which his two thumbs composed the base— '* where do you suppose Mr. Crimple's stomach is ?" Mr. Crimple, more agitated than before, clapped his liam immediately below his waistcoat. " Not at all," cried the doctor ; " not at all. Quite a pojiula mistake ! ]\Iy good Sir, you're altogether deceived." " I feel it there, when it's out of order; that's all I know," sal Crimple, TllK BOAiiD. 418 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF "You think you do," replied the doctor; "but science knows better. There was a patient of mine once," touching one of the manjr mourniug rings upon his fingers, and slightly bowing his head, " a gentleman who did me the honour to make a very hand- some 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 attendant, John Jobling, Esquire, M.R.C.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 jDrofessional 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 Bullamy, without. " By your leave ! Refreshment for the Board-room ! " ■ "Ha!" said the doctor, jocularly, as he rubbed his hands, andi 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 1 " The resident Director acquiesced rather sulkily, as if the gratifi- cation of replenishing his stomach had been impaired by the unsettlement of his preconceived ojjinions in reference to its situation. But the appearance 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 cold 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 th(' repast with an appetite scarcely inferior to that of the medica' officer. The lunch was handsomely served, with a profusion of ricl glass, plate, and china; which seemed to denote that eating am drinking on a showy scale formed no unimportant item in th' business of the Anglo-Bengalee Directorship. As it proceeded the medical officer grew more and more joyous and red-faced, insc much that every mouthful he ate, and everj' drop of wine h swallowed, seemed to impart new lustre to his eyes, and to ligb up new sparks in his nose and forehead. In certain quarters of the City and its neighbourhood, M Jobling was, as we have already seen in some measure, a vei popvdar character. He had a portentously sagacious chin, and pompous voice, with a rich huskiness in some of its tones th; went directly to the heart, like a ray of light shining through tl i JIARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 419 .uUly medium of clioice old burgundj'. His iieek-kercliief ami lirt-tVill were ever of the whitest, his clothes of the blackest and eekest, his gold watch-chain of the heaviest, ami his seals of the irgest. His boots, which were always of the brightest, creaked 3 he walked. Perhajis he could shake his head, rub his hands, r warm himsjelf before a fire, better than, any man alive ; and he ;ul a peculiar way of smacking his lips and saying, "Ah!" at itervals while jjatients detailed their symptoms, which inspired reat confidence. It seemed to express, "I know what you're oing to say better than you do ; but go on, go on." As he talked 1 all occasions whether he had anything to say or not, it was uanimously observed of him that he was "full of anecdote ;" and is experience and profit from it were considered, for the same ;ason, to be something much too extensive for description. His jmale patients could never praise him too highly ; and the coldest f his male admirers would always say this for him to their friends, that whatever Jobling's professional skill might be (and it could ot be denied that he had a very high reputation), he was one f the most comfortable fellows you ever saw in your life !" Jobling was for many reasons, and not last in the list because is connection lay principally among tradesmen and their families, sactly the sort of person whom the Anglo-Bengalee Company anted for a medical officer. But Jobling was far too knowing to mnect himself with the company in any closer ties than as a paid uid well-paid) functionary, or to allow his connection to be mis- nderstood abroad, if he could help it. Hence he always stated 16 case to an inquiring patient, after this manner : "AVhy, my dear Sir, with regard to the Anglo-Bengalee, my iformation, you see, is limited : very limited. I am the medical tticer, in consideration of a certain monthly jjayment. The ibourer is wortliy of his hire ; Bis chd qui cito dat " — (" Classical ;holar, Jobling !" thinks the patient, "well-read man!") — "and receive it regularly. Therefore I am bound, so far as my own nowledge goes, to .speak well of the establishment." ("Nothing an be fairer than Jobling's conduct," thinks the patient, who has ist paid Jobling's bill himself.) " If you put any question to me, ly dear friend," f^ays the doctor, " touching the responsibility or apital of the company, there I am at fault ; for I have no head for gures, and not being a shareholder, am delicate of showing any uriosity whatever on the subject. Delicacy — your amiable lady .'ill agree with me I am sure — should be one of the first charac- eri.stics of a medical man." ("Nothing can be finer or more entlemanly than Jobling's feeling," tliiiiks the patient.) "Very cod, my dear Sir, so the matter stands. You don't know INIr. 420 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF Montague 'l 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'll pass you, you may depend upon it. I can conscientiously report you a healthy subject. If I understand any man's constitu- tion, 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 lialf of them cere nonsense — compared with such a constitution as his !" — (" Jobling is the most friendly creature I ever met with in my life," thinks the patient ; " and upon my word and honour, I'll 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 ; but feelino that he did it but indifferently, changed the theme, and praised the wine. "Talking of wine," said the doctor, "reminds rae of one of th( finest glasses of old light port I ever drank in my life; and tha' was at a funeral. You liave not seen anything of — of that party Mr. Montague, have you'?" handing him a card. "He is not buried, I hope?" said Tigg, as he took it. " Th' honour of his company is not requested if he is." "Ha, ha!" laughed the doctor. "No; not quite. He wa honourably connected with that very occasion thougb." " Oh ! " said Tigg, smoothing his moustache, as he cast his ej'e upon the name. " I recollect. No. He has not been here." MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 421 The words were ou his lips, when Bullamy entered, and presented card to the medical officer. " 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 )t say that in thepresent case, for this gentleman is very far from it." "So much the better," retorted Tigg. "So much the more laptable to the Anglo-Bengalee. Bullamy, clear the table and ke the things out by the other door. Mr. Crimple, business." "Shall I introduce him V asked Jobling. "I shall be eternally delighted," answered Tigg, kissing his hand id smiling sweetly. The doctor disappeared into the outer office, and immediately turned with Jonas Chuzzlewit. "Mr. Montague," said Jobling. "Allow me. My friend Mr. huzzlewit. My dear friend — our chairman. Now do you know," ; added, checking himself with infinite policy, and looking round ith a smile : " that's a very singular instance of the force of [ample. It really is a very remarkable instance of the force of :ample. I say our chairman. Why do I say our chairman 1 ecause he is not m?/ chairman, you know. I have no connection ith the company, farther than giving tliem, for a certain fee and iward, my poor opinion as a medical man, precisely as I may give any day to Jack Noakes or Tom Styles. Then why do I say ir chairman? Simply because I hear the phrase constantly ipeated about me. Such is the involuntary operation of the icntal faculty in the imitative biped man. Mr. Crimple, I jlieve you never take snuft"? Injudicious. You should." Pending these remarks on the part of the doctor, and the ngthened and sonorous pinch Avith which he followed them up, onas t(Jok a seat at the board : as ungainly a man as ever he has een within the reader's knowledge. It is too common with all of 3, but it is especially in the nature of a mean mind, to be over- ftX'd by fine clothes and fine furniture. They had a very decided ifiueuce on Jonas. " Now you two gentlemen have business to discuss, I know,'' iid the doctor, " and your time is precious. So is mine ; for 3veral lives are waiting for me in the next room, and I have a round f visits to make after- — after I have taken 'em. Having had the; appiness to introduce you to each other, I may go alxnit my busi- ess. Good bye. But allow me, Mr. Montague, before I go, to xy tliis of my friend Avho sits beside you : That gentleman lias one more, Sir," rapping his snuft'-box solemnly, " to reconcile me D human nature, than any man alive or dead. Good bye !" 422 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF With these words Jobling bolted abruptly out of the room, aud proceeded, 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. Criraple 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, inter- ■ rupting. " 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 possil^le misunderstanding is avoided. Why should I' disguise what you know so well, but what the crowd never drean^ of? We companies are all birds of prey : mere birds of prey. The only question is, whether in serving our own turn, we car ; serve yours too ; whether in double-lining our own nest, we cai jmt a single lining into yours. Oh, you're in our secret. You'r( behind the scenes. We'll make a merit of dealing plainly witl, you, when we know we can't help it." It was remarked, on the first introduction of Mr. Jonas int' these pages, that there is a simplicity of cunning, no less than ; simplicity of innocence, and that in all matters involving a faitl in knavery, he was the most credulous of men. If Mr. "Tigg ha' preferred any claim to high and honourable dealing, Jonas wouk have suspected him though he had been a very model of probity but when he gave utterance to Jonas's own thoughts of everj MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 423 ling ami everybodj', Jonas began to feel that he was a pleasant ;llo\v, and one to be talked to freely. He changed his position in his cliair ; not for a less awkward, ut for a more boastful attitude ; and smiling in his miserable jnceit, rejoined : " You an't a bad man of business, Mr. Montague. You know ow to set about it, I u'ill say." "Tut, tut," said Tigg, nodding confidentially, and showing his ■hite teeth : "we are not children, Mr. C'huzzlewit ; we are grown leu, I hope." Jonas assented, and said after a short silence, first spreading ut his legs, and sticking one arm akimbo to show how perfectly t liome 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 f the old companies in some negotiations I have had with 'em — nee had, I mean. They started objections they had no right to tart, and jDut questions they had no right to put, and carried hings much too high for my taste." As he made these observations he cast down his eyes, and Joked curiously at the carpet. Mr. Tigg looked curiously at im. He made so long a pause, that Tigg came to the rescue, and aid, in his pleasantest manner : " Take a glass of wine V "No, no," returned Jonas, with a cunning shake uf the head ; ' none of that, thankee. No wine over business. All very well or you, but it wouldn't do for me." "What an old hand you are, Mr. Chuzzlewit!' said Tigg, eaning back in his chair, and leering at him through his iialf-shut ^yes. Jonas shook his head again, as much as to say, " You're right here ;" and then resumed, jocosely : "Not such an old hand, either, but that I've been and got narried. That's rather green, you'll say. Perhaps it is, especi- dly as she's young. But one never knows what may hajjpen to ihese women, so I'm thinking of insuring her life. It is but fair, rou know, that a man should secure some consolation in case of neeting with such a loss." 424 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF \ " If anything can console hiin under such heart-breaking cir jcumstances," murmured Tigg, with his eyes shut up as before. " Exactly," returned Jonas ; " if anything can. Now, supposiui I did it here, I should do it cheap, I know, and easy, withou bothering her about it ; which I'd much rather not do, for it's jus in a woman's way to take it into her head, if you talk to her abou 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 becaus- offence has been given me in other quarters, I wouldn't min( patronising this Company. But I want to know what sort o 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 am the short of it is, what's the security 1 " " The paid-up capital, my dear Sir," said Tigg, referring to soni papers on the table, " is, at this present moment — " " Oh ! I understand all about paid-up capitals, you know," sai Jonas. " You do ? " cried Tigg, stopping short. " I should hope so." He turned the papers down again, and moving nearer to hiu 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 ; bi thus requested, he made shift to take a tolerable survey of tl chairman's features. The chairman fell back a little, to give hi the better opportunity. "You know me?" he inquired, elevating his ej-ebrows. " Yi recollect ? You've seen me before ? " " Why, I thought I remembered your face Avhen I first can} in," said Jonas, gazing at it; "but I couldn't call to mind wheit I had seen it. No. I don't remember, even now. Was it in tl street 1 " "Was it in Pecksniff's parlour?" said Tigg. " In Pecksniffs parlour ! " echoed Jonas, fetching a long breal " You don't mean when — " "Yes," cried Tigg, "when there was a very charming delightful little family party, at which yourself and your respeci father assisted." " Well, never mind him" said Jonas. " He's dead, and ther no help for it." iMARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 425 " Dead, is he ! " cried Tigg. " Venerable olil gontleman, is he dead ! You're very like him." Jouas received this compliment with anything but a good grace: perhaps because of his own private sentiments in reference to the personal apjiearance of liis deceased parent ; perhaps because he was not best pleased to find that Montague and Tigg were one. That gentleman perceived it, and tapping him familiarly on the sleeve, beckoned him to the window. From tliis moment, Mr. Montague's jocularity and flow of spirits were remarkable. " Do you find me at all changed since that time ? " he asked. '' Speak plainly." Jonas looked hard at his waistcoat and jewels ; and said, '' Rather, 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 1 " '•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 1 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 after- wards looking at him again. "There are printed calculations," said his companion, "which will tell you pretty nearly how many people will i)ass up and down that thoroughfare in the course of a day. / can tell you how many nf 'em will come in here, merely because they find this office here ; knowing no more about it tlian 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 niucli. Ha, ha ! " ' Jonas gradually broke into a smile. I ** Yah ! " said Montague, giving him a pleasant thrust in the ^ 426 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF breast ; "you're too deep for us, you dog, or I wouldn't have told you. Dine with rae to-uiorrow, 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 1 " " Ecod, that's a capital notion ! " cried Jonas. " But does he really do it 1 " " Do it ! " repeated the chairman. " B's hard-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," rej^lied the chairman, "and I'm proud to hear you say so. B pays the highest lawful interest — " " That au't much," interrupted Jonas. " Right ! quite right ! " retorted Tigg. " And hard it is upor the part of the law that it should be so confoundedly down upoi us unfortunate victims ; when it takes such amazing good interesi for itself from all its clients. But charity begins at home, am justice begins next door. Well ! The law being hard upon us we're not exactly soft upon B ; for besides charging B the regula interest, we get B's premium, and B's friends' premiums, and w^ charge B for the bond, and, whether we accept him or not, w charge B for ' inquiries ' (we keep a man, at a pound a week, t make 'em), and we charge B a trifle for the secretary ; and, i short, my good fellow, we stick it into B up hill and down dalt and make a devilish comfortable little property out of him. H; ha, ha ! I drive B, in point of fact," said Tigg, pointing to tli cabriolet, " and a thorough-bred horse he is. Ha, ha, ha ! " Jonas enjoyed this joke very much indeed. It was quite in h: peculiar vein of humour. "Then," said Tigg Montague, "we grant annuities on the ver lowest and most advantageous terms, known in the money market and the old ladies and gentlemen down in the country, buy 'en Ha, ha, ha ! And we pay 'em too — perhaps. Ha, ha, ha ! " " But there's responsibility in that," said Jonas, lookitl doubtful. , "I take it all myself," said Tigg Montague. "Here I ai MARTIN CHUZZLEAVIT. 427 •esponsiblc for everything. The only responsible person in the establishment ! Ha, ha, ha ! Then there are the Life Insurances ivithout loans : the common i^olicies. Very profitable, very com- ■ortable. Money down, yon know ; repeated every year ; capital \m ! " " But when they begin to fall in," observed Jonas. " It's all i^ery well, while the office is young, but when the policies begin X) die — that's what I am thinking of." "At the first start, my dear fellow," said Montague, "to show mi how correct your judgment is, we had a couple of unlucky ieaths that brought us down to a grand piano." " Brought you down where '? " cried Jonas. "I give you my sacred word of honour," said Tigg Lloutague, ' that I raised money on every other individual piece of property, ind was left alone in the world with a grand jMano. And it was m upright-grand too, so that I couldn't even sit upon it. But, my lear fellow, we got over it. We granted a great many new policies hat week (liberal allowance to solicitors, by the bye), and got over t in no time. Whenever they should cliance to fell in heavily, as ,ou very justly observe they may, one of these days ; then — " he inished the sentence in so low a whisper, that only one disconnected vord was audible, and that imperfectly. But it sounded like • Bolt." "Why, you're as bold as brass!" said Jonas, in the utmost idmiratiun. " A man can well aft"ord to be as bold as brass, my good fellow, vhen he gets gold in exchange ! " cried the chairman, with a laugh hat shook him from head to foot. " You'll dine with me to- norrow ? " " At what time ? " asked Jonas. " Seven. Here's my card. Take the documents. I see you'll oin us ! " "I don't know about that," said Jonas. " Tliere's a good deal be looked into first." "Yon shall look," said Montague, slapping him on the back, 'into anything and everything you please. But you'll join us, I im convinced. You were made for it. Bullamy ! " Obedient to the summons and the little bell, the waistcoat ippeared. Being charged to show Jonas out, it went before ; and he voice within it cried, as usual, " By your leave there, by your eave ! Gentleman from the board-room, by your leave ! " Mr. ^Montague being left alone, jjondered for some moments, and lien said, raising his voice, " Is Nadgett in the office there ? " 428 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF " 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 iu Nadgett that he transacted all hi; Anglo-Bengalee business secretly and in the closest confidence ; fo: 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 nobodj would have given him credit for the possession of six ounces of i iu his whole body. How he lived was a secret ; Avhere he live( was a secret ; and even what he was, was a secret. In his nmst; old pocket-book he carried contradictory cards, in some of which hi called himself a coal-merchant, in others a wine-merchant, in other a commission-agent, in others a collector, in others an accountant as if he really didn't know the secret himself. He was ahvay keeping appointments iu the City, and the other man never seemei to come. He would sit on 'Change for hours, looking at everybod; who walked in and out, and would do the like at Garraway's, aO' ia other business coftee-rooms, iu some of which he would be occ£ sionally seen drying a very damp pocket-handkerchief before the fire and still looking over his shoulder for the man who never appearec He was mildewed, threadbare, shabby ; always had flue upon h' legs and back ; and kept his linen so secret by buttoning up an wrapping over, that he might have had none — perhaps he hadn' He carried one stained beaver glove, which he dangled before hi) by the forefinger as he walked or sat ; but even its fellow was secret. Some people said he had beeu a bankrupt, others that 1 had gone an infant into an ancient Chancery suit which was sti depending, but it was all a secret. He carried bits of sealing-wt and a hieroglyphical old copper seal in his jiocket, and often secret indited letters in corner boxes of the try sting-places before me tioned ; but they never appeared to go to anybody, for he won put them into a secret place in his coat, and deliver them to hii self weeks afterwards, very much to his own surprise, quite yello" He was that sort of man that if he had died worth a million money, or had died worth twopence halfpenny, everybody won have been perfectly satisfied, and would have said it was just they expected. And yet he belonged to a class ; a race peculiar ' the City ; who are secrets as profound to one another, as they s to the rest of mankind. " ]\Ir. Nadgett," said Montague, copying Jonas Chuzzlewi address upon a piece of paper, from the card which was still lyi on the table, "any information about this name, I shall be glad have myself. Don't you mind what it is. Any you can sera; together, bring me. Bring it to me, Mr. Nadgett." HIARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 429 Xadgett put on his spectacles, and read tlic name attentively ; ;hen looked at the chairman over his glasses, and bowed ; then took :hem otl", and put them in their case ; and then jiut the case in his locket. When he had done so, he looked, without his spectacles, it the paper as it lay before him, and at the same time produced lis 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 or this one ; and having clasped it carefully, passed it by a kind )f solemn legerdemain into the same region as before. He withdrew with another bow and without a word ; opening he door no wider than was sufficient for his passage out ; and Quitting it as carefully as before. The chairman of the board employed tlie rest of the morning in affixing his sign-manual of jracions acceptance to various new proposals of annuity-purchase uid insurance. The Company was looking up, for they flowed in rail v. CHAPTER XXVIII. MK. MONTAGUE AT HOME. AND MR. JONAS CIITTZZLEWaT AT HOME. There were many powerful reasons for Jonns Chuzzlewit being strongly prepossessed in favour of the scheme which its great jriginator 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 liomage and distinction : a board being an awful institution in its own sphere, and a director a nughty man. " To make a swingeing profit, have a lot of chaps to order about, iuid 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 Jona.s. 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 conqueror 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 jjiivate establishment. For it no more occurred to this .sliallow knave that Montague wanted liim to be so, or he wouldn't have 430 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF invited him while his decision was yet in abeyance, than the possi- bility of that genius being able to overreach him in any way, ])ierced through his self-conceit 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 faltering 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 summons. He was not proud, and was kindly disposed to take notice of Jonas ; but Jonas had forgotten him. "Mr. Montague at home?" " I shoidd hope he wos at home, and waiting dinner, too," saidi Bailey, with the ease of an old acquaintance. " Will you take your] hat up along with you, or leave it here 1 " j Mr. Jonas preferred leaving it there. I "The hold name, I suppose T' said Bailey, with a grin. Mr. Jonas stared at him, in mute indignation. " What, don't you remember hold Mother Todgers's ? " 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, wheii yoii come a coiu'ting there '? A reg'lar scaly old shop, warn't it ' Times is changed, ain't they 1 I say, how you've growed ! " Without pausing for any acknowledgment of this compliment he ushered the visitor up stairs ; and having announced him, retiree with a private wink. The lower story of the house was occupied by a wealthy trades man, but Mr. Montague had all the upper portion, and splendi( lodging it was. The room in which he received Jonas was v spacious and elegant apartment, furnished with extreme maguifi. cence : decorated with pictures, copies from the antique in alabaste j and marble, china vases, lofty mirrors, crimson hangings of thj richest silk, gilded carvings, luxurious couches, glistening cabinefcj inlaid with precious woods : costly toys of every sort in negligenj abundance. The only guests besides Jonas were the Doctor, th- resident Director, and two other gentlemen, whom Montague pre sented in due form. ' " My dear friend, I am delighted to see you. Jobling you knov! I believe ? " \ " I think so," said the Doctor jileasantly, as he stepped out (' tlie circle to shake hands. " I trust I have that honour. I hop; so. My dear Sir, I see you well. Quite well ? That's well ! " i " Mr. Wolf," said Montague, as soon as the Doctor would alio : -^ MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 431 n to introduce the two others, "Mr. Chuzzlewit. ^Ir. Pip, j\Ir. mzzlewit." Both pciitlcmcii were exocc(liii,t;ly liappy to have tlie lionour of iking ^Ir. Ciiuzzlewit's acquaintance. The Doctor drew Jonas a tie apart, and wliispered behind his hand : '• ]\Ien of the world, my dear Sir — men of the world. Hem ! r. "Wolf — literary character — you needn't mention it — remarkably !ver weekly paper— oli, remarkably clever ! Mr. Pip — theatrictd in — capital man to know — oh, capital man ! " " Well ! " said Wolf, folding his arms and resuming a conversa- which he had been complimented, Jonas exhibited that faculty the utmost ; and was so deep and so sharp that he lost himself his own profundity, and cut his fingers with his own edge-tools. ; It was especially in his way and character to exhibit his quali, at his entertainer's expense ; and while he drank of the sparkli: wines, and partook of his monstrous profusion, to ridicule t; extravagance which had set such costly ftire before him. Even ■ such a wanton board, and in such more than doubtful compar this might have proved a disagreeable experiment, but that Tij; and Crimple, studying to understand their man thoroughly, gf.; him what license he chose : knowing that the more he took, 1') better for their purpose. And thus while the blundering cheat!- gull that he was, for all his cunning — thought liimself rolled j) hedgehog fashion, with his sharpest points towards them, he vi', in fact, betraying all his vulnerable parts to their unwink=J watclifulness. Whether the two gentlemen ^Yho contributed so much to |e Doctor's philosophical knowledge (by the way, the Doctor slip ;i MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 435 )fF quietly, nfter swallowing his usual amount of wine) had liad iieir cue distinctly from the host, or took it from what they saw iiul heard, they acted their parts very well. They solicited the lonour of Jonas's better acquaintance ; trusted that they would lave the pleasure of introducing him into that elevated society in vhich he was so well qualified to shine ; and infonlied him, in the nost friendly manner, that the advantages of their respective 'stablishments were entirely at his control. In a word, they said ' Be one of us ! " And Jonas said he was infinitely obliged to hem, and he would be : adding within himself, that so long as hey "stood ti'eat," there was nothing he would like better. After coffee, which was served in the drawing-room, there was I short interval (mainly sustained by Pip and Wolf) of conversa- ion ; rather highly spiced and strongly seasoned. When it lagged, Jonas took it up, and showed considerable humour in ippraising the furniture ; inquiring Avhether such an article was jaid for ; what it had originally cost ; and the like. In all of his, he was, as he considered, desperately haul on Montague, and :ery demonstrative of his own brilliant part.' . Some champagne punch gav3 a new though temporary fillip to he entertainments of the evening. For after leading to some loisy proceedings, which were .lot at all intelligible, it ended in he unsteady departure of the two gentlemen of the world, and the ^lumber 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 : vhich that young gentleman roused himself from an uneasy sleep n the hall, to do. It being now almost three o'clock in the noniiug. " Is he hooked, do you think 1 " whispered Crimple, as himself md partner stood in a distant part of the room observing him as 16 lay. " Ay ! " said Tigg, in the same tone. " With a strong iron, terhap.s. Has Nadgett been here to-night 1 " "Yes. I went out to him. Hearing you had company, he .vent away." " Why did he do that 1 " " He said he would come back early in the morning, before you xere out of bed." " Teil them to be sure and send him up to my bedside. Hush I flere's the boy ! Now Mr. Bailey, take this gentleman home, and 'oe him safely in. Hallo here ! Why C'huzzlewit, hallna ! " They got him upright with some ditliculty, and assisted him lown stairs, where they put his hat upon his head, and tumbled 436 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF him into the coach. Mr. Bailey, having shut liim 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 this feat, he saw that a dim light, pre- viously 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 faltering 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 liall, and laid her hand upon her heart ; upon her eyes ; upon lier burning liead. 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 wliere the keyhole had been, when she opened it. " Aha ! " said Mr. Bailey, with an effort. " There you are, are you 1 What's the matter 1 Ain't you well, though 1 " 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 tliat 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 ])oots, 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 i you know he was a coming to see us ?" i " No," she said, faintly. " Oh yes ! We're heavy swells too, and so I tell you. Don'ti' you come out, a catching cold in your head, /"ll wake him!" And Mr. Bailey expressing in his demeanour a perfect confidence, tliat he could carry him in with ease, if necessary, opened the: MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 437 coach door, lot down the steiDS, and giving Jonas a .shake, criiHl " We've got home, my flower ! Tumble up then ! " He was so for recovered as to be able to rcsj^ond to tins 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 jiavement, Mr. Bailey first butted at him in front, and then dexterously propi)od him up behind ; and having steadied him by these means, he assisted him into the house. " You uo up first with the light," said Bailey to Mrs. Jonas, •• and we'll fuller. Don't tremble so. He won't hurt you. When I'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 rumi^led 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. " Ah ! " cried Mr. Bailey, squaring his arms witli a sudden emotion. "What, you're Avicious, are you? AVould 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 ofli'with his extended arm. " Look here ! Look at her ! Here's a bargain for a man ! " " Dear Jonas ! " "Dear Devil!" he reijlied, with a fierce gesture. "You're a pretty clog to be tied to a man for life, you mewling, white-faced cat ! Get out of my sight ! " "I know you don't mean it, Jonas. You wouldn't say it if you were sober." With afi'ected 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 better. Have I never said it when I was sober 1 " " 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'll make 438 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF you bear mine now. I always promised myself I would. married you that I might. I'll know who's master, and who slave ! " " Heaven knows I am obedient ! " said the sobbing gir " Much more so than I ever thought to be ! " Jonas laughed in his drunken exultation. "What! you'i finding it out, are you ! Patience, and you will in time ! Griffii have claws, my girl. There's not a pretty slight you ever pi upon me, nor a pretty trick you ever played me, nor a prett insolence you ever showed me, that I won't pay back a hundr&l fold. What else did I marry you for. You, too ! " he said, wiij coarse contempt. j It might have softened him — indeed it might — to hear hj turn a little fragment of a song he used to say he liked ; tryini with a heart so full, to win him back. ' "Oho ! " he said, "you're deaf, are youl You don't hear m eh ? So much the better for you. I hate you. I hate myse for having been fool enough to strap a pack upon my back for t' pleasure of treading on it whenever I choose. Why, things ha opened to me, now, so that I might marry almost where I like But I wouldn't ; I'd keep single. I ought to be single, among t friends / know. Instead of that, here I am, tied like a log to yt Pah ! Why do you show your 2mle face when I come home ? A I never to forget you?" " How late it is ! " she said cheerfully : opening the shutt' after an interval of silence. " Broad day, Jonas ! " " Broad day or black night, what do / care ! " was the ki rejoinder. " Tlie night passed quickly, too. I don't mind sitting up, all." " Sit up for me again, if you dare ! " growled Jonas. " I was reading," she proceeded, " all night long. I beg i when you went out, and read till you came home again. Ts strangest story, Jonas ! And true, the book says. I'll tell it yi to-morrow." " True, was it 1 " said Jonas, doggedly. " So the book says." " Was there anything in it, about a man's being determined ) conquer his wife, break her spirit, bend her temper, crush all 1 :" humours like so many nutsliells — kill her, for aught I know ' said Jonas. "No. Not a word," she answered quickly. "Ah !" he returned. "That'll be a true story though, bef-J long ; for all the book says nothing about it. It's a lying boi , MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 439 sec. A tit book for a lying reader. But you're deaf. I forgot lat.' Tliere was another interval of silence ; and the boy was stealing way, when he heard her footstep on the floor, and stopped. She ent up to him, as it seemed, and spoke lovingly : saying that she ould defer to him in everytliiug, and would consult his wishes id obey them, and they might be very happy if he would be ?utle with lier. He answered with an imprecation, and — Not with a blow ] Yes. Stern truth against the base-souled illain : with a blow. No angry cries ; no loud reproaches. Even her weeping and er sobs were stifled by her clinging round him. She only said, jpeatiiig 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 3 need deal lightly with thy faults, if only for the punishment ly nature will endure, in bearing heavy evidence against us, on le Day of Judgment 1 CHAPTER XXIX. ^i 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 ieu and heard overnight, or it may have been no deeper mental peratiou than the di-scovery that he had nothing to do, which iiused Mr. Bailey, on the following afternoon, to feel particularly isposed for agreeable society, and prompted him to pay a visit to is 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 3und out of the bell as possible), Poll Sweedlepipe desisted from be contemplation of a favourite owl, and gave liis young friend earty welcome. " ^^'hy, you look smarter by day," said Poll, " than you do by andle-light. I never see sucli a tight young dasher." " Reether 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," bserved Mr. Bailey, with genteel indifference. " Oh ! " thought Poll, " he's old. He must be very old ! " 440 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. '•' Too much crumb, you know," said Mr. Bailey ; " too fat, Poll. But there's many worse at her time of life." " The very owl's a opeuiug his eyes ! " thought Poll. " I don't wonder at it, in a Ijird 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 jMr. 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 evidence 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, ou affidavit, that he had the beard of a Jewish rabbi. " Go ti'ith the grain, Poll, all round, please," said I\Ir. Bailej', 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 uncertainty, 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 adjuration to " Go in and win," he lathered him bountifully. IMr. 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 particular 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, " Reether redder than I could wish. Poll." The operation being concluded. Poll 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 mau 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 ]\Irs. Gamp, coming down stairs, looked in at the shop- door to give the barber neighbourly good day. Feeling for her 442 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF unfortunate situation, in having conceived a regard for himsel 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'v( been this long time, for you're in full bloom. All a blowin' and f growiu' ; ain't she, Polly 1 " " Why, drat the Bragiau 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 attach ment, and a hint that no pecuniary gain could recompense her foi its being rendered hopeless. He felt flattered. Disinterestec affection is always flattering. " Ah, dear ! " moaned Mrs. Gamp, sinking into the shaving chair " That there blessed Bull, Mr. Sweedlepipe, has done his wer best to conker me. Of all the trying invalieges in this walley o the shadder, that one beats 'em black and blue." It was the practice of Mrs. Gamp and her friends in the prcj fession, to say this of all the easy customers; as having at one] the eftect of discouraging competitors for office, and accounting fo the necessity of high living on the part of the nurses. " Talk of constitooshun ! " Mrs. Gamp observed. " A person' constitooshun need be made of Bricks to stand it. Mrs. Harri jestly says to me, but t'other day, ' Oh ! Sairey Gamp,' she say; ' how is it done ! ' ' Mrs. Harris, ma'am,' I says to her, 'we give no trust ourselves, and puts a deal o' trust elsevere ; these is oi religious feelins, and we finds 'em answer.' ' Sairey,' says Mr Harris, ' sech is life. Vich likeways is the hend of all things ! ' " The barber gave a soft murmur, as much as to say that Mr Harris's remark, though perhaps not quite so intelligible as coul be desired from such an authority, did equal honour to her heti and to her heart. "And here," continued Mrs. Gamp, "and here am I a go twenty mile in distant, on as wentersome a chance as ever any oi; as monthlied ever run, I do believe. Says Mrs. Harris, withj woman's and a mother's art a beatin in her human breast, sa;, she to me, ' You're not a goin, Sairey, Lord forgive you ! ' ' Wl; am I not a going, Mrs. Harris?' I replies. 'Mrs. Gill,' I saj! ' wos never wrong with six ; and is it likely, ma'am — I ast you i a mother — that she will begin to be unreg'lar now. Often aij often have I heerd him say,' I says to Mrs. Harris, meaning M Gill, 'that he would back his wife agen Moore's almanack, i name the very day and hour, for ninepence farden. /*• it likeli ma'am,' I says, 'as she will fail this oncel' Says Mrs. Harr; MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 443 0, ma'am, not in the course of nater. But,' she says, the tears lliu in her eyes, ' you knows much bettcrer than me, with your )erienge, how little puts us out. A Punch's show,' she says, ' a mbley sweep, a newfundlandog, or a drunkin man, a comin nd the corner sharp, may do it.' 80 it may, Mr. Sweedle- es," said Mrs. Gamp, "there's no deniging of it; and though books is clear for full a week, I takes a anxious art along with , I do assure you. Sir." "You're so full of zeal, you see!" said Poll. "You worrit irself so." " "NVorrit myself ! " cried Mrs. Gamp, i-aising her hands and ning up her eyes. "You speak the truth in that, Sir, if you 'er speaks no more, 'twixt this and when two Sundays jines ether. I feels tlie sufterins of other people more than I feels own, though no one mayn't suppoge it. The families Pve I," said Mrs. Gamp, "if all wos kuowd, and credit done where dit's doo, would take a week to chris'en at Saint Polge's tin I " " Where's the patient goin ? " asked Sweedlepipe. " Into Har'fordshire, which is his native air. But native airs • native graces neither," Mrs. Gamp observed, " won't bring him nd." " So bad as that ?" inquired the wistful barber. " Indeed ! " Mrs. Gamp shook her head mysteriously, and pursed up her 5. " There's fevers of the mind," she said, " as well as body. u may take your slime drafts till .you flies into the air with ;rwescence ; but you won't cure that." " Ah ! ' said the barber, opening his eyes, autl putting on his eu aspect, " Lor ! " "No. You may make yourself as light as any gash balloon," 1 Mrs. Gamp. " But talk, when you're wrong in your head and en you're in your sleep, of certain things ; and you'll be heavy your mind." " Of what kind of things now 1 " inquired Poll, greedily biting nails in his great interest. "Ghosts?" Mrs. Gamp, who perhaps had been already tempted furtlier m she had intended to go, by the barber's stinudatiug curiosity, r'c a snilf of uncommon significance, and said, it didn't matter. " I'm a going down with my patient in the coach this arter- )n," she proceeded. " I'm a going to stop with him a day or till he gets a country nuss (drat them country nusses, much • orkard luissies knows about their bis'ness) ; and then I'm a uin' back; and that's my trouble, Mr. Sweedlepipes. But I 36 that everythink '11 only go on right and comfortable as long 444 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF as I'm away ; perwisin which, as Mrs. Harris says, Mrs. Gill welcome to choose her own time : all times of the day ami nig bein' equally the same to me." During the progress of the foregoing remarks, which M: Gamp had addressed exclusively to the barber, Mr. Bailey h been tying his cravat, getting on his coat, and making hideo faces at hhnself in the glass. Being now i^ersonally addressed Mrs. Gamp, he turned round, and mingled in the conversation. " You ain't been in the City, I suppose, Sir, since Ave was . three there together," said Mrs. Gamp, "at Mr. Chuzzlewit's ? " " Yes I have, Sairah. I Avas there, last night." '• Last night ! " cried the barber. " Yes, Poll, reether so. You can call it this morning if y like to be particular. He dined with us." " Who does that young Limb mean by ' hus 1 ' " said Mrs. Gan with most impatient emphasis. " Me and my Governor, Sairah. He dined at our house, "^i wos very merry, Sairah. So much so, that I was obliged to ; him home in a hackney coach at three o'clock in the mornin It was on the tip of the boy's tongue to relate what had foUowc but remembering how easily it might be carried to his inast( ears, and the repeated cautions he had had from Mr. Crim "not to chatter," he checked himself: adding only, "She \ sitting up, expecting him." "And all things considered," said Mrs. Gamp sharply, "; might have know'd better tlian to go a tiring herself out, by dc anythink of the sort. Did they seem pretty pleasant togetl , Sir 1 " "Oh, yes," answered Bailey, "pleasant enough." " I'm glad on it," said Mrs. Gamp, with a second sniff t significance. " They haven't been married so long," observed Poll, rubb - his hands, " that they need be anything but pleasant yet awhik "No," said Mrs. Gamp, with a third significant signal. "Especially," pursued the barber, "when the gentleman hcfi such a character as you gave him." , "I speak as I find, Mr. Sweedlepipes," said Mrs. Gar>. " Forbid it should be otherways ! But Ave never knoAA's w,& hidden in each other's hearts; and if we had glass Avinders th !, Ave'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 dct. Don't think I do. Tlie torters of the Imposition shouldn't m-'e me own I did. All I says is," added the good woman rising d MARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 445 ding hoi- sliawl about hor, " tliat the Bull's a waitin', and the jcious moments is a tlyin' fast." The little barber having in his eager curiosity a groat desire to ! ^Irs. Gamp's patient, proposed to Mr. Bailey that they should •onipany her to the Bull, and witness the departure of the coach, lat young gentleman assenting, they all went out together. Arriving at the tavern, Mrs. Gamp (avIio was full-dressed for 5 journey, in her latest suit of mourning) left her friends to tertain themselves in the yard, while she ascended to the sick )m, where her fellow -labourer Mrs. Prig was dressing the iu- lid. He was so wasted, that it seemed as if his bones would rattle len they moved him. His cheeks were sunken, and his eyes naturally large. He lay back iu the easy chair like one more id than living; and rolled his languid eyes towards the door len Mrs. Gamp appeared, as painfully as if their weight alone re burdensome to move. " And how are we by this time 1 " Mrs. Gamp observed. iVe looks charming." "We looks a deal charminger than we are, then," returned •s. Prig, a little chafed in her temper. " We got out of bed jk'ards, I think, for we're as cross as two sticks. I never see h a man. He wouldn't have been washed, if he'd had his own "She put the soap in my mouth," said the unfortunate patient, bly. " Couldn't j'ou keep it shut then 1 " retorted ]\Irs. Prig. iVho do you think's to wash one feater, aiul miss another, and ar one's eyes out with all manner of fine-work of that descrip- n, for half-a-crowii a day 1 If you wants to be tittivated, you ist pay accordin." " Oh dear me ! " cried the patient, " oh dear, dear '. " " There ! " said Mrs. Prig, " that's the way he's been a con- fting of himself, Sarah, ever since I got him out of bed, if ii'll believe it." "Instead of being grateful," Mrs. Gamp observed, "fur all r little ways. Oh, fie for shame. Sir, fie for shame I " Here Mrs. Prig seized the patient by the chin, and began to sp his unhappy head with a hair-brush. " I suppose you don't like that, neither ! " she observed, ipping to look at him. It Was just possible that he didn't, for the brush was a ■cinien of the hardest kind of instrument producible by modern ;; and ids very eye-lids were red with tiie IVictiun. Mrs, I'rig 446 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF was gratified to observe the cnrrectjiess of her supposition, and said triumphantly, " she know'd as much." When his hair was smoothed down comfortalily into his eyes, Mrs. Prig and Mrs. Gamp put on his neckerchief: adjusting his shirt-collar with great nicety, so that the starched points shoulc also invade those organs, and afflict them with an artificia ophthalmia. His waistcoat and coat were next arranged : and as every button was wrenched into a wrong button-hole, and th( order of his boots was reversed, he presented on the whole rathei a melancholy appearance. " I don't think it's right," said the poor weak invalid. " I feej 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 .' bottle in my pocket too. What do you make me sit upon bottle for ? " " Deuce take the man ! " cried Mrs. Gamp, drawing it fortl: "If he ain't been and got my night-bottle here. I made a littl cupboard of his coat when it hung behind the door, and quit forgot it, Betsey. You'll find a ingun or two, and a little tea an sugar in his t'other pocket, my dear, if you'll jest be good enoug to take 'em out." Betsey produced the property in question, together with soni other articles of general chandlery ; and Mrs. Gamp transferre them to her own pocket, which was a species of nankeen pannie Refreshment then arrived in the form of chops and strong a for the ladies, and a basin of beef-tea for the patient : whic refection was barely at an end when John Westlock appeared. " Up and dressed ! " cried John, sitting down beside hiii "That's brave. How do you feel?" " Much better. But very weak." "No wonder. You have had a hard bout of it. But count! ail-, and change of scene," said John, "will make another man you ! Why, Mrs. Gamp," he added, laughing, as he kind arranged the sick man's garments, "you have odd notions of' 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 Ci certify afore the Lord Mayor and Uncommon Counsellors, needful ! " John was at that moment standing close in front of the si- man, in the act of releasing him from the torture of the colla before mentioned, when he said in a whisper : "Mr. Westlock! I don't wish to be overheard. I ha- something very particular and strange to say to you ; somethi MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 447 t has been a dreadful weight on my mind, througli this knig ess." Quick in all his motions, Jolin was tnrning round to desire •women to leave the room : wlien the sick man lu>ld liim by sleeve. " Not now. I've not the strength. I've not the courage. J I tell it wlien I have 1 jNIay I write it, if I find that easier better % " " May you ! '" cried John. " Why, Leewsome, what is this ! " " Don't a.sk me what it is. It's unnatural and cruel. Frightful hink of Frightful to tell. Frightful to know. Frightful to e helped in. Let me kiss your hand for all your goodness to Be kinder still, and don't ask me what it is ! " A-t first, John gazed at him, in great surprise ; but remember- how very much reduced he was, and how recently his brain been on fire with fever, believed that he was labouring under e imaginary horror, or despondent fancy. For farther informa- \ on this point, he took an opportunity of drawing Mrs. Gamp e, wliile Betsey Prig was wrapping him in cloaks and shawls, asked her whether he was quite collected in his mind. " Oh bless you, no ! " said Mrs. Gamp. " He hates his nusses this liour. They always does it. Sir. It's a certain sign. If could have heerd the poor dear soul a findin' fault with me Betsey Prig, not half an hour ago, you would have wondered ' it is we don't get fretted to the tomb." rhis almost confirmed John in his suspicion ; so, not taking it had passed into any serious account, he resumed his former ^rful manner, and assisted by Mrs. Gamp and Betsey Prig, luctcd Leewsome down stairs to the coach : just then upon the it of starting. Poll Sweedlepipe was at the door with Ins arms tight folded his eyes wide open, and looked on with absorbing interest, le the sick man was slowly moved into the vehicle. His bony ds and haggard face impressed Poll wonderfully ; and he irmcd ^Ir. Bailey, in confidence, that he wouldn't have missed ng him for a pound. Mr. Bailey, who was of a difterent stitution, remarked, that he would have stayed away for shillings. It was a troublesome matter to adjust Mrs. Gamp's luggage to satisfaction ; for every package belonging to that lady iiad the )nvenient property of requiring to be put in a boot by itself, to have no other luggage near it, on pain of actions at law heavy damages against the proprietors of the coach. The brella with the circular patch was particularly hard to be got 448 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF rid of, and several times tlirust 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 tlie question to the House of Commons. At last, her bundle, and her pattens, and her basket, and everything else, being disposed of, she took a friendly leave of Poll and Mr. Bailey, dropped a curtsey to Joiin Westlock, and parted as from a cherished member of the sisterhood witli Betsey Prig. " Wishin' you lots of sickness, my darling creetur," Mrs. Gamp J observed, "and good places. It won't be long, I hope, afore we works together, off and on, again, Betsey ; and may our next meetin' be at a large family's, where tliey 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 \\o\\ many weeks it lasts." Mrs. Gamp with a reply in a congenial spirit was backing ti the coach, when she came in contact witli a lady and gentlemai who were passing along the footway. " Take care, take care here ! " cried the gentleman. " Halloo My dear ! Why, it's Mrs. Gamp ! " "What, Mr. Mould!" exclaimed the nurse. "And Mr? Mould ! who would have thought as we sliould ever have ; meetin' here, I'm sure ! " "Going out of town, Mrs. Gamp?" cried Mould. "That' unusual, isn't it T' " It is unusual, Sir," said Mrs. Gamp. " But only for a da or two at most. The gent," she whispered, "as I spoke about." "What, in the coach !" cried Mould. "The one you though of recommending 1 Very odd. My dear, this will interest yoi The gentleman that Mrs. Gamp thought likely to suit us, is i the coach, my love." Mrs. Mould was greatly interested. I " Here, my dear. You can stand upon the door-step," sal Mould, " and take a look at him. Ha ! There he is. Where my glass ? Oh ! all right, I've got it. Do you see him, rr dear 1 " " Quite plain," said Mrs. Mould. " Upon my life you knuw, this iri a very singular circumstance JIARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 449 itl jMonld, quite delighted. " This is the sort of tiling, my dear, wouldn't have missed on any account. It tickles one. It's tei-esting. It's almost a little play, you know. Ah ! There he ! To be sure. Looks poorly, Mrs. M., don't he 1 " 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 teution, really. He don't seem a stranger to me. I'm very uch inclined to move my hat, my dear." " He's looking hard this way," said Mrs. ]\Iould. " Then I will ! " cried Mould. " How d'ye do, Sir 1 I wish lU good day. Ha ! He bows too. Very gentlemanly. Mrs. amp has the cards in her pocket, I have no doubt. This is very :igular, my dear — and very pleasant. I am not superstitious, It it really seems as if one was destined to pay him those little elancholy civilities which belong to our peculiar line of business. :iere can lie no kind of objection to your kissing your hand to m, my dear." Mrs. Mould did so. " Ha ! " said Mould. " He's evidently gratifiean? You are not going to do anything in haste, you may ji-et ! ■' "No, my good Sir," said Mr. Pecksniff, firmly, "No. But I ve a duty to discharge which I owe to society ; and it shall be icharged, my friend, ut any cost ! " Oh hite-remcmbered, much-forgotten, mouthing, braggart duty, vays owed, and seldom jvaid in any other coin than punishment d wrath, when will mankind begin to know thee ! When will ■u acknowledge thee in thy neglected cradle, and thy stunted uth, and not begin their recognition in thy sinful manhood and Y desolate old age ! Oh ermined Judge whose duty to society is w to doom the ragged criminal to punishment and death, hadst m never, Man, a duty to discharge in barring up the hundred en gates that wooed him to the felon's dock, and throwing but ir the portals to a decent life I Oh prelate, prelate, whose duty society it is to mourn in melancholy phrase the sad degeneracy these bad times in which thy lot of honours has been cast, did thing go before thy elevation to the lofty scat, from which thou ilest out thy homilies to other tarricrs for dead men's shoes, lose duty to society has not begun ! Oh magistrate, so rare a mtry gentleman and brave a squire, had you no duty to society, fore the licks were blazing and the mob were mad ; or did it •ing up armed and booted from the earth, a corps of yeomanry, 1-grown ! Mr. Pecksnift^s duty to society coT.Ud i;ot be paid till Tom came L-k. The interval which preceded the return of that young man, occupied in a close conference with his friend ; so that when ■m did arrive, he found the two quite ready to receive him. iry was in her own room above, whither Mr. Pecksniff, always isiderate, had besought old Martin to entreat her to remain ne half-hour longer, that her feelings might be spared. When Tom came back, he found old ]\Iartin sitting by the ndow, and Mr. Pecksniff in an imposing attitude at the table. I one side of him was his pocket-handkerchief; and on the other, ittle heap (a very little heap) of gold and silver, and odd ]mice. m saw, at a glance, that it was his own salaiy for the current arter. "Have you fastened the vestry -window, Mr. Piuch ?" said cksniff. "Yes, Sir." "Thank you. Put down the keys if you plea.se, I\lr. Pinch." \ 476 LIFE AND ADVEXTURES OF Tom placed them on the table. He held the buuch by the ke; of the orgau-loft (though it was one of the smallest) and looke( hard at it as he laid it down. It had been an old, old friend o Tom's ; a kind companion to him, many and many a day. " Mr. Pinch," said Pecksnitf, shaking his head : " Oh Mr. Pinch I wonder you can loot me in the face ! " Tom did it though.; and notwithstanding that he has beei described as stooping generally, he stood as upright then as mai could stand. "Mr. Pinch," said Pecksniff, taking up his liandkerchief, as i he felt that he should want it soon, " I will not dwell upon th past. I will spare you, and I will spare myself, that pain a least." Tom's was not a very bright eye, but it was a very expressiv one when he looked at Mr. Pecksniff, and said : " Thank you, Sir. I am very glad you will not refer to th past." " The present is enough," said Mr. Pecksniff', dropping a penn^ " and the sooner that is imst, the better. Mr. Pinch, I will nc dismiss you without a word of explanation. Even such a court would be quite justifiable under the circumstances ; but it migl wear an appearance of hmiy, and I will not do it ; for I am," sai Mr. Pecksniff", knocking down another penny, "perfectly sel possessed. Therefore I will say to you, what I have already sai to Mr. Chuzzlewit." Tom glanced at the old gentleman, who nodded now and thf as approving of Mr. Pecksniff^'s sentences and sentiments, bi interposed between them in no other way. " From fragments of a conversation which I overheard in tl chui'ch, just now, Mr. Pinch," said Pecksniff", "between yourself ai Miss Graham — I say fragments, because I was slumbering at considerable distance from you, when I was roused by yom- voic — and from what I saw, I ascertained (I would have given a gre deal not to have ascertained, Mr. Pinch) that ycu, forgetful of ; ties of duty and of honour. Sir ; regardless of the sacred laws hospitality, to which you were pledged as an inmate of this hous have presumed to address Miss Graham with un-returned jirofc sions of attachment and proposals of love.'" Tom looked at him steadily. "Do you deny it. Sir?" asked Mr. Pecksniff, dropping o pound two and fourpence, and making a great business of picki it up again. " Xo, Sir," replied Tom. "I do not.'" "You do not," said Mr. Pecksniff", glancing at the old gent MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 477 ,11. " Oblige mo by counting this money, Mr. Piiicli, and imttiiig ir name to this receipt. You do not I " No, Tom did not. He scorned to deny it. He saw tliat Mv. cksnift' having overheard his own disgrace, cared not a jot for Icing lower yet in his contempt. He saw that he had devised s fiction as the readiest means of getting rid of him at once, but it it must end in that any way. He saw that Mr. Pecksniff koned on his not denying it, because his doing so and explaining, uld incense the old man more than ever against Martin, and linst Mary : while Pecksniff" himself would only have been staken in his "fragments." Deny it ! No. " You find the amount correct do you, Mr. Pinch ? " said cksnift". " Quite correct. Sir," answered Tom. " A person is waiting in the kitchen," said Mr. Pecksniff", " to ■ry your luggage wherever you please. We part, Mr. Pinch, at ce, and are strangers from this time." Something without a name ; compassion, sorrow, old tenderness, staken gratitude, habit : none of these, and yet all of them ; ote upon Tom's gentle heart, at parting. There was no such d as Pecksniff's in that carcase ; and yet, though his speaking out 1 not involved the comi^romise of one he loved, he couldn't have nounced the very shape and figure of the man. Not even then. "I will not say," cried Mr. Pecksniff" shedding tears, "what a )w tliis is. I will not say how much it tries me ; how it works oil my nature ; how it grates upon my feelings. I do not care ■ that. I can endure as well as another man. But what I have hope, and what you liave to hope, Mr. Pinch (otlierwise a great ;ponsibility rests upon you), is, that this deception may not alter .' ideas of humanity ; that it may not impair my freshness, or con- ict, if I may use the expression, my Pinions. I hope it will not ; lon't think it will. It may be a comfort to you, if not now, at ne future time, to know, that I shall endeavour not to think the )rse of my fellow-creatures in general, for what has jxassed between . Farewell I " Tom had meant to spare liiiii one little puncturation Avith a icet, which he had it in his jtower to administer, but he cliunged 5 mind on hearing this, and saiil : "I think you left something in the church, Sir." "Thank you, Mr. Pinch," said Pecksniff'. "I am not aware at I did." "This is your double eye-glass, I believe ?" said Tom. " Oil ! " cried Pecksniff", with some degree of confusion. "I am liged to you. Put it down, if you jjleaee." 478 LIFE AXD ADA^ENTURES OF " I found it,"' saiurs he had passed there : for the love of his very dreams, t there was no Pecksniff; there never had been a Pecksnift'; 1 the unreality of Pecksniff extended itself to the chamber, in ich, sitting on one particular bed, the thing supposed to be that eat Abstraction had often preached morality with such effect, it Tom had felt a moisture in his eyes, while hanging breathless the words. The man engaged to bear his l)ox : Tom knew him well ; a agon man : came stamping up the stairs, and made a ronghish iv to Tom (to wliom in common times he would have nodded :h a grin) as though he were aware of what had happened, and jhed him to perceive it made no difference in him. It was msily done ; he was a mere waterer of horses ; but Tom liked ; man for it, and felt it more than going aw^ay. Tom would have helped him with the box, but he made no more it, though it was a heavy one, than an elephant would have de of a castle : just swinging it on his back and bowling down irs as if, being naturally a heavy sort of fellow, he coidd carry box infinitely better than he could go alone. Tom took the •pet-bag and went down stairs along with him. At the outer Dr stood Jane, crying with all her might ; and on the steps ,s Mrs. Lupin, sobbing bitterly, and putting out her hand for m to shake. "You're coming to the Dragon, Mr. Pincli'?'' "No," said Tom, "no. I shall walk to Salisbury to-night, couldn't stay here. For goodness' sake, don't make me sd hai)py, Mrs. Lupin." " But you'll come to the Dragon, IMr. Pinch. If it's only for night. To see me, you know : not as a traveller." '• God bless my soul ! " said Tom, wiping Ins eyes. " The idness of people is enough to break one's heart ! I mean to go Salisbury to-night, my dear good creature. If you'll take care my box for me, till I write for it, I shall consider it the greatest ulness yovx can do me." 480 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. "I wish," cried Mrs. Lvipiii, "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, some of whom cried with Mrs. Lupin ; while 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 squinting at a sheet of paper ; and others wert divided between that feeling, and sympathy with Tom. Mr. Peck sniff had appeared on the top of the steps, simultaneously with his old pupil, and while Tom was talking with Mrs. Lupin kepi his hand stretched out, as though he said " Go forth ! " Whei Tom went forth, and had turned the corner, Mr. Pecksniff shool his head, shut his eyes, and heaving a deep sigh, likewise shut tht door. On which, the best of Tom's supporters said he must havi done some dreadful deed, or such a man as Mr. Pecksniff nevcJi could have felt like that. If it had been a common quarrel (the; observed) he would have said something, but when he didn't, Mr Pinch must have shocked him dreadfully. Tom was out of hearing of their shrewd opinions, and ploddei on as steadily as he could go, until he came within sight of tli turnpike where the tollman's family had cried out " Mr. Pinch ! that frosty morning, when he went to meet young Martin. H had got through the village, and this tollbar was his last trial but when tlie infant toll-takers came screeching out, he had ha. a mind to run for it, and make a bolt across the country. " Why deary Mr. Pinch ! oh deary Sir ! " exclaimed the tol man's wife. " What an unlikely time for you to be a going tlii way with a bag ! " " I am going to Salisbury," said Tom. " Why, goodness, where's the gig then 1 " cried the tollman wife, looking down the road, as if she thought Tom might ha\ been upset without observing it. " I haven't got it," said Tom. " I — " he couldn't evade it he felt she would have him in the next question, if he got ovi this one. " I have left Mr. Pecksniff." The tollman — a crusty customer, always smoking solitary pip in a Windsor chair, inside, set artfully between two little window that looked up and down the road, so that when he saw anythii coming up, he might hug liimself on having toll to take, and whr he saw it going down, might hug himself on having taken it — t!i tollman was out in an instant. ; " Left Mr, Pecksniff ! " cried the tollman. R. PKC'KSNIFF DISCHAROES A DUTY WIIICU HE OWES TO SOCIETY. 2i 482 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF "Yes," said Tom, "left him." The tolhnan looked at his wife, uncertain whether to ask hi if she had anything to suggest, or to order her to mind tl children. Astonishment making him surly, he preferred the latte and sent her into tlie toll-house, with a flea in her ear. " You left Mr. Pecksniff ! " cried the tollman, folding his arm and spreading his legs. " I should as soon have thought of h head leaving him." " Ay ! " said Tom, " so should I, yesterday. Good night ! " If a heavy drove of oxen hadn't come by, immediately, tl tollman would have gone down to the village straight to inquii into it. As things turned out, he smoked another pipe, and toe his wife into his confidence. But their united sagacity cou make nothing of it, and they went to bed — metaphorically — in tl dark. But several times that night, when a waggon or oth vehicle came through, and the driver asked the tollkeeper "Wh news ?" he looked at the man by the light of his lantern, to assu himself that he had an interest in the subject, and then sai wrapping his watch-coat round his legs : " You've heerd of Mr. Pecksnirt" down yonder ? '' ; " Ah ! sure-ly ! " j "And of his yoimg man Mr. Piucli p'raps ?" " Ah ! " " They've parted." After every one of these disclosures, the tollman plunged in his house again, and was seen no more, while the other side we on, in great amazement. But this was long after Tom was abed, and Tom was now wi his face towards Salisbury, doing his best to get there. T evening was beautiful at first, but it became cloudy and dull sunset, and the i-ain fell heavily soon afterwards. For ten lo miles he jilodded on, wet through, until at last the lights a]i]ieari and he came into the welcome precincts of the city. He went to the inn where he had waited for Martin, and brie; answering their enquiries after Mr. Pecksniff, ordered a bed. .: liad no heart for tea or supper, meat or drink of any kind, l sat by himself before an empty table in the public room while > bed was getting I'eady : revolving in his mind all tliat hail h ' pened that eventful day, and wondering what he could or she! do for the future. It was a great relief when the chamberm '■ came in, and said the bed was ready. ' It was a low four-poster shelving downward in the centre 1;' a trougli, and the room was crowded with impracticable tal? and exploded chests of drawers, fidl of damp linen. A grap'! MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 483 resentatiou in oil of a remarkablj- fiit ox hung over tlie firc- ;e, and the portrait of some former landlord (who might have u the ox's brother, he was so like him) stared roundly in, at foot of the bed. A variety of queer smells were partially uched in the prevailing scent of very old lavender; and the dow liad not been opened for such a long space of time, that ileaded immemorial usage, and wouldn't come open now. These were trifles in themselves, but they added to the strange- 3 of the place, and did not induce Tom to forget his new posi- I. Pecksnift" had gone out of the world — had never been in it ,nd it was as much as Tom could do to say his prayers without I. But he felt happier afterw\ards, and went to sleep, and xmed about him as he Never Was. CHAPTER XXXII. REATS OF TODGERS'S AGAIN ; AND OF ANOTHER ELIGTITED PLANT BESIDES THE PLANTS UPON THE LEADS. Early ou the day next after that on which she bade adieu to halls of her youth and the scenes of her childhood, ]\Ii.ss Peck- f, arriving safely at the coach -office in London, was there 'ived, and conducted to her peaceful home beneath the shadow the i\Ionument, by Mrs. Todgers. M. Todgers looked a little Ti by cares of gravy and other such solicitudes arising out of establishment, but displayed her usual earnestness and warmth naniier. "And how, my sweet Miss Pecksniff," said she, "how is your icely pa ? " Mi.s8 Pecksniff signified (in confidence) that he contemplated the -oduction of a princely ma ; and repeated the sentiment that wiisn't blind, and wasn't quite a fool, and wouldn't bear it. Mrs. Todgers was more sliocked by the intelligence than any could have expected. She was quite bitter. She said theie 4 no truth in man, and that the warmer he expressed himself, a general ])rinciple, the falser and more treacherous he was. ; foresaw with astonishing clearness that the object of Mr. :ksnifFs attachment was designing, worthless, and wicked ; and jiving from Charity the fullest confirmation of these views, tested with tears in her eyes that she loved Mis.s Pecksniff ' a sister, and felt her injuries as if they were her own. " Your real darling sister I have not seen more than once since 484 LIFE AND ADA^ENTURES OF her marriage," said Mrs. Todgers, "aud then I thought her lookii poorly. My sweet JMiss Pecksniff, I always thought that you w to be the lady." " Oh dear no ! " cried Cherry, shaking her head. " Oh n Mrs. Todgers. Thank you. No ! not for any consideration 1 could offer." "I dare say you are right," said Mrs. Todgers, with a sig " I feared it all along. But the misery we have had from th match, here among ourselves, in this house, my dear j\Iiss Pec sniff, nobody would believe." " Lor, Mrs. Todgers ! " " Awful, awful ! " repeated jMrs. Todgers, with strong emphasi "You recollect our youngest gentleman, my dear?"' " Of course I do," said Cherry. "You might have observed," said Mrs. Todgers, "how used to watch your sister ; and that a kind of stony dumbne came over him whenever she was in company ? " " I am sure I never saw anything of the sort," said Cherry, a peevish manner. " What nonsense, Mrs. Todgers ! " "My dear," returned that lady in a hollow voice, "I ha seen him, again and again, sitting over his pie at dinner, w his spoon a perfect fixture in his mouth, looking at your sist I have seen him standing in a corner of om' drawing-room, gazi at her, in sucli a lonely, melancholy state, tliat he was more lik 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, j ceeding with her subject, " when it was in the paper, and a read out here at breakfast, I thought he had taken leave of senses, I did indeed. The violence of that young man, my d Miss Pecksniff ; the frightful opinions he expressed upon tlie s • ject of self-destruction ; the extraordinary actions he perforr 1 with his tea ; the clenching way in which he bit his bread ; 1 butter ; the manner in which he taunted Mr. Jinkins ; all or bined to form a picture never to be forgotten." j " It's a pity he didn't destroy himself, I think," observed life Pecksnift". '■ Himself! " said Mr.g. Todgers, "it took another turn at nij'. He was for destroying other people then. There was a li'e chaffing going on — I hope you don't consider that a low express!, Miss Pecksniff ; it is always in our gentlemen's mouths — a 1 '« chaffing going on, my dear, among 'era, all in good natm-e, as » suddenly he rose up, foaming with his fury, and but for being (l by three, would have had Mr. Jinkins's life with a boot-jack !' li MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 485 Miss Pecksuili's lace expressed supreme iiulitt'erence. "Aud now," said Mrs. Todgers, "now he is the meekest of i. You cau ahuost bring the tears into his eyes by looking at I. He sits with me the whole day long on Sundays, talking in ti a dismal way that I find it next to impossible to keep my •its up equal to the accommodation of the boarders. His only ifort is in female society. He takes me half-price to the play, ui extent which I sometimes fear is beyond his means ; and I the tears a standing in his eyes during the whole performance : ticularly if it is anything of a comic nature. Tlie turn I ex- ienced only yesterday," said Mrs. Todgers, putting her hand to side, " wlien the housemaid threw his bedside carpet out of the idow of his room, while I was sitting here, no one can imagine, iought it was him, and that he had done it at last ! " The contempt with which Miss Charity received this pathetic ouiit of the state to which tlie youngest gentleman in company i reduced, did not say much for her power of sympathising with t unfortunate character. She treated it Avith great levity, and it on to inform herself, then and afterwards, whether any other nges had occurred in the Commercial Boarding-house. Mr. Bailey was gone, and had been succeeded (such is the decay luman greatness !) by an old woman wliose name was reported be Tamaroo: which seemed an impossibility. Indeed it appeared tlie fulness of time that the jocular boarders had approiniated word from an English ballad, in which it is supposed to express bold and fiery nature of a certain hackney-coachman ; and that vns bestowed upon ]Mr. Bailey's successor by reason of lier having hing fiery about her, except an occasional attack of tliat fire ich is called St. Anthony's. This ancient female had been :aged, iu fulfilment of a vow, registered by Mrs. Todgers, that more boys should darken the commercial doors ; and she was efly remarkable for a total absence of all comprehension upon ry subject whatever. She was a perfect Tomb for messages and ill i)arcels ; and when despatclied to the Post-office with letters, I been frequently seen endeavouring to insinuate them into ual chinks in private doors, under tlic delusion tliat any dour h a hole in it would answer the purpose. She was a very little woman, and always wore a very coarse apron witli a bib before i a loop behind, together with bandages on her wrists, which )eared to be afflicted with an everlasting sprain. She was on occasions chary of opening the street-door, aud ardent to shut .gain ; and she waited at table in a bonnet. Tliis w;xs the only great clmnge over and above the change eh hud fallen ou the youngest gentleman. As for him, he 486 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF more than corroborated the account of Mrs. Todgers : possessir greater sensibility than even she had given him credit for. E entertained some terrible notions of Destiny, among other matter and talked much about peoj^le's "Missions:" upon which he seeme to have some private information not generally attainable, as 1 knew it had been poor Merry's mission to crush him in the bu( He was very frail, and tearful ; for being aware that a shepherd mission was to pipe to his flocks, and that a boatswain's missic was to pipe all hands, and that one man's mission was to be a pai piper, and another man's mission was to pay the piper, so he ha got it into his head that his own peculiar mission was to pipe h eye. Which he did perpetually. He often informed Mrs. Todgers that the sun had set upc him ; that the billows had rolled over him ; that the Car of Jugge naut had crushed him ; and also that the deadly Upas tree of Jsi\ had blighted him. His name was Moddle. Towards this most unhappy Moddle, Miss Pecksniff" conductf herself at first with distant haughtiness, being in no humour be entertained with dirges in honour of her married sister. Tl poor young gentleman was additionally crushed by this, ai remonstrated with Mrs. Todgers on the subject. " Even she tiu'ns from me, Mrs. Todgers," said Moddle. " Then why don't you try and be a little bit more cheerfi Sir ? " retorted Mrs. Todgers. " Cheerful, Mrs. Todgers ! cheerful ! " cried the youngest gent man : "when she reminds me of days for ever fled, Mrs. Todgers " Then you had better avoid her for a short time, if she doe.' said Mrs. Todgers, "and come to know her again, by degree That's my advice." " But I can't avoid her," replied Moddle. " I haven't stren^t: of mind to do it. Oh, Mrs. Todgers, if you knew what a coinf( her nose is to me ! " " Her nose. Sir ! " Mrs. Todgers cried. "Her profile, in general," said the youngest gentleman, "I particularly her nose. It's so like ; " here he yielded to a burst grief ; " it's so like hers who is Another's, Mrs. Todgers ! " The observant matron did not foil to report this conversat: to Charity, wdio laughed at the time, but treated Mr. Moddle tl; very evening with increased consideration, and presented her si fixce to him as much as possible. Mr. Moddle was not less sei mental than usual ; was rather more so, if anything ; but he and stared at her with glistening eyes, and seemed grateful. "Well, Sir!" said the lady of the Boarding-House next (b ■ " you held up your head last night. You're coming round, I thin JIARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 487 "Only because she's so like her who is Another's, Mrs. Todgers," joined the j'outh. "When she talks, and wlien she smiles, I ink Ini looking on her brow again, Mrs. Todgers." Til is was likewise carried to Charity, who talked and smiled xt evening in her most engaging manner, and rallying Mr. oddle on the lowness of his spirits, challenged him to play a bber at cribbage. Mr. Moddle taking up tlie gauntlet, they lyed several rubbers for sixpences, and Charity won tliem all. lis may have been partially attributable to the gallantry of the ' ungest gentleman, but it was certainly referable to the state of 3 feelings also ; for his eyes being frequently dimmed by tears, thought that aces were tens, and knaves queens, which at times civsioned some confusion in his play. On the seventh night of cribbage, when Mrs. Todgers, sitting , proposed that instead of gambling they should play for " love," r. Moddle was seen to change coloiu-. On the fourteenth night, kissed Miss Pecksniti's snutfers, in the passage, when she went I stairs to bed : meaning to have kissed her hand, but missing it. In short, Mr. Moddle began to be impressed with tlie idea that iss Pecksniffs mission was to comfort him ; and Miss Pecksniff gan to speculate on the probability of its being her mission to come ultimately Mrs. Moddle. He was a young gentleman liss Pecksniff was not a very young lady) with rising prospects, d " almost " enough to live on. Really it looked very well. Besides — besides — he had been regarded as devoted to ]\Ierry. erry had joked about him, and had once spoken of it to her ;ter Jis a con(|uest. He was better looking, better shaped, better oken, better tempered, better mannered than Jonas. He was sy to manage, could be made to consult the humoiu-s of his ;trothed, and could be shown oft' like a lamb wlien Jonas was a ar. There was the rub ! In the meantime the cribbage went on, and IMrs. Todgers went '; for the youngest gentleman, dropping her society, began to ke Miss Pecksnitt" to the play. He also began, as Mrs. Todgers id, to slip home "in his dinner-times," and to get away from the ofKce " at unholy seasons ; and twice, as he informed Mrs. )dgers himself, he received anonymous letters, inclosing cards )m Furniture Warehouses — clearly the act of that ungentlemanly ffian Jinkins : only he hadn't evidence enough to call him out •on. All of which, so Mrs. Todgers told Miss Pecksniff, spoke plain English as the shining sun. " My dear Miss Pecksnift", you may depend upon it," said Mrs. >dgers, " that he is burning to propose." 1 "My goodness me, wliy don't he theuT' cried Cherry. 488 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. "Men are so much' more timid than we thhik 'em, my clear, returned Mrs. Todgers. " The^^ baulk themselves continually, saw the words on Todgers's lips for months and months and month before he said 'em." Miss Pecksnitf submitted that Todgers might not have been fair specimen. " Oh yes he was. Oh bless you, j^es my dear. I was vei particular in those days, I assure you," said Islvs. Todgers, bridliuj " No, no. You give Mr. Moddle a little encouragement, Mii Pecksnitf, if you wish him to speak ; and he'll speak fast enougl depend upon it." " I am sure I don't know what encouragement he would hav Mrs. Todgers," returned Charity. " He walks with me, and pk^ cards with me, and he comes and sits alone with me." " Quite right," said Mrs. Todgers. " That's indispensable, u 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, whatever it is — behind me, yon know." "/ should think so," said Mrs. Todgers. m | " And then he begins to cry ! " * ] Mrs. Todgers admitted that he might do better than thaj and might undoubtedly profit by the recollection of the great Lo Nelson's signal at the battle of Trafalgar. iStill, she said, Avould come round, or, not to mince the matter, would be broug round, if Miss Pecksniif took up a decided position, and plaii showed him that it must be done. Determining to regulate her conduct by this opinion, the you lady received Mr. Moddle, on the earliest subsequent occasi' \yith an air of constraint ; and gradually leading him to inquire, a dejected manner, why she was so changed, confessed to hiin tl she felt it necessary for their mutual peace and happiness to t;i a decided step. They had been much together lately, she observ( much together, and had tasted the sweets of a genuine reciproc of sentiment. She never could forget him, nor could she c cease to think of him with feelings of the liveliest friendship; 1 people had begun to talk, the thing had been observed ; and it v necessary that they should be nothing more to each other, tl any gentleman and lady in society usually are. She was glad f had had the resolution to say thus much before her feelings 1 been tried too far ; they had been greatly tried, she would adm MODIILK la UOTU I'AKTICLLAK AND riXULIAK IN 11 IS AlTliNTIONS. 490 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF but though she was weak and silly, she would soon get the ]jett( of it, she hoped. Moddle, who had by this time Ijecome in the last degre. maudlin, and who w^ept abundantly, inferred from the foregoir avowal, that it was his mission to communicate to others tl blight which had fallen on himself; and that, being a kind < unintentional Vampire, he had had Miss Pecksniff assigned to hii by the Fates, as Victim Number One. Miss Pecksniff controver ing this opinion as sinful, Moddle was goaded on to ask whethi she could be contented with a blighted heart ; and it appearing c further examination that she could be, jilighted his dismal trot which w^as accepted and returned. He bore his good fortune with the utmost moderation. Inste; of being triumphant, he shed more tears than he had ever be( known to shed before : and, sobbing, said : " Oh, what a day this has been ! I can't go back to the offi this afternoon. Oh, what a trying day this has been, Go^ Gracious ! " CHAPTER XXXIII. FURTHER PROCEKDINGS IN EDEN, AND A PROCEEDING OUT O MARTIN MAKES A DISCOVERY OF SOME IMPORTANCE. \ Fro3I Mr. Moddle to Eden is au easy and natural transitin Mr. Moddle, living in the atmosphere of Miss Pecksniff's love, dw( (if he had but known it) in a terrestrial Paradise. The thriving city Eden was also a terrestrial Paradise, upon the showing of its pi prietors. Tiie beautiful Miss Pecksniff might have been poetical described as a something too good for man in his fallen and degrad state. That was exactly the character of the thriving city of Eden, poetically heightened by Zephaniah .Scadder, General Clioke, andotl! worthies : part and parcel of the talons of that great American Eag which is always airing itself sky-high in purest aether, and nevi no never, never, tumbles down, with draggled wings, into the mv When Mark Tapley, leaving Martin in the architectural a surveying offices, had efl'ectually strengthened and encouraged 1 own spirits by the contemplation of their joint misfortunes, proceeded, with new cheerfulness, in search of help : congratul ing himself, as he went along, on the enviable position to whi he had at last attained. "I used to think, sometimes," said Mr. Tapley, "as a desoL, island would suit me, but I should only liave had myself to provi MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 401 there, and being naterally a easy man to manage, tliere wouldn't ^•e been much credit in that. Now here I've got my partner to :e care on, and he's something like the sort of man for the rpose. I want a man as is ahvays a sliding otf his logs when he ;;ht to be on 'em. I want a man as is so low down in the lool of life, tiiat he's ahvays a making figures of one in his copy- )k, and can't get no further. I want a man as is his own great- it and cloak, and is always a wrapping himself up in himself. d I have got him too," said Mr. Tapley, after a moment's ;uce. " What a happiness ! " He paused to look round, uncertain to which of the log-houses should repair. " I don't know which to take," he observed ; " that's the truth, ey're equally prepossessing outside, and equally commodious, no abt, within ; being fitted up with every convenience that a ligator, in a state of natur', could possibly require. Let me see ! e citizen as turned out last night, lives under water, in the right- iid dog-kennel at the corner. I don't want to trouble him if I 1 help it, poor man, for he is a melancholy object : a reg'lar ttler in every respect. There's a house with a winder, but I'm aid of their Ijeing proud. I don't know whether a door ain't » aristocratic ; but here goes for the first one ! " He went up to the nearest cabin, and knocked witli his hand, ing desired to enter, he complied. " Neighbour," said ]\Iark ; " for I am a neighbour, though you ii't know me ; I've come a-begging. Hallo ! hal — lo ! Am L-bei], and dreaming ! " He made this exclamation on hearing his own name pronounced, I finding himself clasped about the skirts by two little boys, lose faces he had often washed, and whose suppers he had often )ked, on board of that noble, and fast-sailing line-of-packct ship, ; Screw. "My eyes is wrong!" said Mark. "I don't l)eli('ve 'cm. at ain't my fellow-passenger yonder, a nursing her little girl, 10, I am sorry to see, is so delicate ; and that ain't her husliand come to New York to fetch her. Nor these," he addetl, looking rt'n upon the boys, " ain't them two young shavers as was so iiiliar to me; though they are uncommon like 'em. That I ist confess." The woman shed tears, in very joy to see him; the man shook th his hands, and would not let them go ; the two boys luiggrd 1 legs ; the sick child, in the mother's arms, stretched out lier rning little fingers, and muttered, in her hoarse, dry throat, his ll-remembered name. MK. TAPLEY IS KECOGNIZEU BY SOME EELLOW-CITIZENS OF EDEN. LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 5IARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 493 It was the same fomily, sure enough. Altered by the sahibrious ■ of Eden. But the same. "This is a new sort of a morning call,"" said Mark, drawing long breath. " It strikes one all of a heap. Wait a little bit ! n a coming round, fast. That'll do ! These gentlemen ain't my ends. Are they on the wisiting list of the house ? " The inquiry referred to certain gaunt pigs, who liad walked in ;er him, and were much interested in the heels of tlie family, i they did not belong to the mansion, they were expelled by the little boys. "I ain't superstitious about toads," said Mark, looking round e room, " but if you could prevail upon the two or three I see company, to step out at the same time, my young friends, I ink they'd find the ojien air refreshing. Not that I at all object 'em. A very handsome animal is a toad," said Mr. Tapley, ting down upon a stool : " very spotted ; very like a partickler rle of old gentleman about the throat ; very bright-eyed, very ol, and very slippy. But one sees 'em to the best advantage t of doors perhaps." While pretending, with such talk as this, to be perfectly at his se, and to be the most iuditferent and careless of men, ]\Iark ipley had an eye on all around him. The wan and meagre pect of the family, the changed looks of the poor mother, the rered child she held in her lap, the air of great despondency and tie hope on everything, were jilain to him, and made a deep ipression on his mind. He .saw it all as clearly and as quickly, with his bodily eyes he saw the rough shelves supi)orted by gs driven between the logs, of which the house was made ; the lur-cask in the corner, serving also for a table ; tlie blankets, ades, and other articles against the walls ; the damp that blotched e ground ; or the crop of vegetable rottenness in every crevice the hut. " How is it that you have come here ] " asked tlie man, when eir first expressions of surprise were over. "Why, we come by the steamer last night," replied IMark. Our intention is to make our fortuns with punctuality and spatch ; and to retire upon our property as soon as ever it's alised. But how are you all 1 You're looking noble ! " " We are but si(;kly now," said the poor woman, bending over T child. " But we shall do better when we are seasoned to e place." "There are some here,' thought ^lark, " wliose seasoning will st for ever." But he said cheerfully, "Do better! To be sure you will. 494 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF We shall all do better. What we've got to do, is, to keep u our spirits, aud be neighbourly. We shall come all right in tb end, never fear. That reminds me, by the bye, that my partner- all wrong ju.st at present ; and that I looked in, to beg for liin I wish you'd come, and give me your opinion of him, master." That nuist have been a very unreasonable request on the pai of Mark Tapley, with Avhich, in their gratitude for his kind office on board the ship, they would not have complied instantly. Th man rose to accompany him without a moment's delay. Befoi' they went, Mark took the sick child in his arms, and tried t comfort the mother ; but the hand of death was on it thai: he saw. I They found Martin in the house, lying wrapped up in h' blanket on the ground. He was, to all appearance, very ill indeei and shook and shivered horribly : not as people do from cold, bi in a frightful kind of spasm or convulsion, that racked his who body. Mark's friend pronounced his disease an aggravated kin of fever, accompanied with ague ; which was very common i tliose parts, and which he predicted would be worse to-morroA and for many more to-morrows. He had had it himself oft' ai on, he said, for a couple of years or so ; but he was thankful tha wliile so many he had known had died about him, he had escap with life. " And with not too much of that," thouglit j\Iark, surveyii his emaciated form. " Eden for ever ! " They had some medicine in their chest ; and this man of p; experience showed Mark how and when to administer it, and ho he could best alleviate the sufferings of Martin. His attentio did not stop there ; for he was backwards and forwards constant! and rendered Mark good service in all his brisk attempts to ma tlieir situation more endurable. Hope or comfort for the futii he could not bestow. The season was a sickly one ; tlie sett ment a grave. His child died that night ; aud Mark, keeping t secret from Martin, helped to bury it, l)eneath a tree, next day. With all his various duties of attendance upon Martin (w, became the more exacting in his claims, the worse he grew), Ma worked out of doors, early and late ; and with the assistance his friend and others, laboured to do something witli their lar' Not that he had the least strength of heart or hope, or steal purpose in so doing, beyond the habitual cheerfulness of 1| disposition, and his amazing power of self-sustainment ; for witl' himself, he looked on their condition as beyond all hope, and,,! his own words, "came out strong" in consequence. ; " As to coming out as strong as I could wish, Sir," he confided? MARTIN CIIUZZLEAVIT. 495 •tin in a leisure moment ; tliat is to say, one eveninf,^ while he wasiiing the linen of the establishment, after a hard clay's k, " that I give up. It's a piece of good fortune as never is to pen to me, I see ! " 'Would you -wish for circumstances stronger than these?" ■tin retorted with a groan, from underueatli his blanket. 'Why, only see how easy they might have been stronger, Sir," Mark, " if it wasn't for the envy of that uncommon fortun of e, which is always after me, and tripping mc up. The night landed here, I thought things did look pretty jolly. I won't Y it. I thought they did look pretty jollj-." ' How do they look noAv '?" groaned Martin. 'Ah!" said Mark, "Ah to be sure. That's the question. V do they look now ! On the very first morning of my going what do I do? Stumble on a family I know, who are itantly assisting of us in all sorts of ways, from that time to ! That won't do, you know : that ain't what I'd a right to ?ct. If I had stumbled on a serpent, and got bit ; or stumbled I first-rate patriot, and got bowie-knifed ; or stumbled on a lot sympathizers with inverted shirt-collars, and got made a lion I might have distinguished myself, and earned some credit, it is, the great object of my voyage is knocked on the head, it would be, wherever I went. How do you feel to-niL:lit, I" ' Worse than ever," said poor Martin. ' That's something," returned Mark, " but not enough. hing hut being very bad myself, and jolly to the last, will ever ne justice." 'In Heaven's name, don't talk of that," said Martin, with a II of terror. " What should I do, Mark, if you were taken ill ! Mr. Tapley's spirits appeared to Ite stimulated by this remark, ough it was not a very flattering one. He proceeded witii his hing in a brighter mood; and obsei-ved "that his glass was iing." 'Tiiere's one good thing in this place, Sir," said Mr. Tapley, ibbing away at the linen, " as dispo.ses me to be jolly ; and ; is, that it's a reg'lar little United States in itself. There's or three American settlers left ; and they coolly comes over even here, Sir, as if it was the whole.somcst and loveliest spot he world. But they're like the cock that went and hid Idmself Vive his life, and was found out by the noise he made. They t help crowing. They was born to do it ; and do it they must, itever comes of it." Klancing from his work, out at the door, as he said these words, 496 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF Mark's eyes encountered a lean person in a blue frock and a stra' hat, with a short black pipe in his rnoutli, and a great hickor stick, studded all over with knots, in his hand ; who, smoking an chewing as he came along, and spitting frequently, recorded h 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 com in. Sir." Which turned out to be quite true, for he did. H face was almost as hard and knobby as his stick ; and so were Ir hands. His head was like an old black hearth-broom. He Sf down on the chest with his hat on ; and crossing his legs au looking up at Mark, said, without removing his pipe : "Well, Mr. Co ! and how do you gifc along, Sir?" It may be necessary to observe that Mr. Tapley had gravel 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 visito "How do you git along, Sir?" Martin shook his head, and drew the blanket over it involiv tarily ; for he felt that Hannibal was going to spit ; and his ey as the song says, was upon him. " You need not regard me, Sir," observed Mr. Chollop, cor jDlacently. " I am fever-proof, and likewise agur." " Mine was a more selfish motive," said Martin, looking c again. "I was afraid you were going to " "I can calc'late my distance, Sir," returned Mr. Cholloji, " an inch." With a proof of which happy foculty he immediately favoun him. " I re-cpiire. Sir," said Hannibal, " two foot clear in a circ'l di-rection, and can engage my-self toe keep within it. I have go ten foot, in a circ'lar di-rection, but that was for a w^ager," " I hope you won it. Sir," said Mark. "Well, Sir, I realised the stakes," said Cholloix "Yes, Sir. He was silent for a time, during which he was actively engag in the formation of a magic circle round the chest on which he s;' When it was completed, he began to talk again. " How do you like our country, Sir % " he inquired, looking Martin. " Not at all," was the invalid's reply. Chollop continued to smoke without the least appearance j emotion, until he felt disposed to speak again. That time | length arriving, he took his pipe from his mouth, and said : i MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 497 ■'lam not surprised to hear you say so. It re-quires An ■ation, and A preparation of the intellect. The mind oi" man it be prepared for Freedom, INIr. Co." He addressed himself to I\Iark : because he saw that Martin, ) wished him to go, being already half-mad with feverish ;ation which the droning voice of this new horror rendered ost insupportable, had closed his eyes, and turned on his nsy bed. 'A little bodily preparation wouldn't be amiss, either, would ir," said Mark, "in the case of a blessed old swamp like this?" ' Do you con-sider this a swamp, Sir 1 "' inquired Chollop rely. 'Why j'es. Sir," returned Mark. "I haven't a doubt about nyself " 'The sentiment is quite Europian,'' said the Major, "and does sm-prise me : what would your English millions say to such a mp in England, Sir ? " ' They'd say it was an uncommon nasty one, I should think," Mark; "and that they would rather be inoculated for fever ome other way." ' Europian ! " remarked Chollop, with sardonic pity. " Quite opian ! " A.nd there he sat. Silent and cool, as if the house were his ; king away like a factory chimney. Mr. Chollop was, of course, one of the most remarkable men in country ; but he really was a notorious person besides. He usually described by his friends, in the South and West, as splendid sample of our na-tive raw material. Sir," and was •h esteemed for his devotion to rational Liberty ; for the better lagatiou whereof he usually carried a brace of revolving-pistols lis coat pocket, with seven barrels apiece. He also carried, mgst other trinkets, a sword-stick, which he called his ickler;" and a great knife, which (for he was a man of a isant turn of humour) he called " Ripper," in allusion to its 'ulness as a means of ventilating the stomach of any adversary close contest. He had used these weapons with distinguished :'t in several instances, all duly chronicled in the newspapers ; was greatly beloved for the gallant manner in which he had l)bed out" the eye of one gentleman, as he was in the act <>f i-king at his own street-door. Mr. Chollop was a man of a roving disposition ; and, in any advanced community, might have Ijcen nnstaken for a violent ■xbond. But his fine qualities being perfectly understood and beciated in those redons where his lot was cast, ami where he 498 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF had many kindred spirits to consort with, he may be regarded having been born under a fortunate star, which is not always 1 case with a man so much before the age in which he liv Preferring, with a view to the gratification of his tickling c. ripping fancies, to dwell upon tlie outskirts of society, and in 1 more remote towns and cities, he was in the habit of eraigrat: from place to place, and establishing in each some business — usua a newspaper — which he presently sold : for the most part clos: the bargain by challenging, stabbing, pistolling, or gouging, ■ new editor, before he had quite taken possession of the propertj He had come to Eden on a speculation of this kind, but 1 abandoned it, and was about to leave. He always introdm himself to strangers as a worshipper of Freedom ; was consistent advocate of Lynch law, and slavery ; and invaria recommended, both in print and speech, the " tarring ; feathering " of any unpopular person who differed from liims He called this " planting the standard of civilisation in the wil gardens of My country." There is little doubt that Chollop would have planted i; standard in Eden at Mark's expense, in return for his plainnes' speech (for the genuine Freedom is dumb, save v.'hen she vai herself), but for the utter desolation and decay prevailing in settlement, and his own approaching departure from it. A was, he contented himself with showing Mark one of the revolv pistols, and asking him what he thought of that weapon. " It ain't long since I shot a man down with that, Sir, ui State of IWinoi/," observed Chollop. " Did yon, indeed ! " said Mark, without the smallest agitat " Very free of you. And very independent ! " "I shot him down. Sir," pursued Chollop, "for asserting iD(i Spartan Portico, a tri-weekly journal, that the ancient Athenii went a-head of the present Locofoco Ticket." " And what's that 1 " asked Mark. " Europian not to know," said Chollop, smoking plac V " Europian quite ! " After a short devotion to the interests of the magic circld' resumed the conversation by observing : "You won't half feel yoiu-self at home in Eden, now?" ' "No," said Mark, "I don't." " You miss the imposts of your country. You miss tlie 1 s< 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. ^fARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 499 " No stakes, no dungeons, no blocks, no racks, no scaftblds, no imbserews, no pikes, no pilluries," saitl Chollop. "Xotliing but rewohvers and bowie-knives," returned IMark. md what are tliey ? Not wortli mentioning ! '' Tiie man who liad met tlieni on the night of their arrival came wling up at this juncture, and looked in at the doi)r. ''Well, Sir!'' said Chollop. "How do yon git along?"' He had considerable difficulty in getting along at all, and said mucii in reply. '*Mr. Co. And me, Sir," observed Chollop, "arc disputating a ce. He ought to be slicked up pretty smart, to disputate ween the Old World and the New, I do expect ? " "Well ! " returned the miserable shadow. " So he had." "I w;vs merely observing. Sir,'' said Mark, addressing his new itor, " that I looked upon the city in which we have the honour live, a.s being swampy. What's your sentiments 1 " " I opinionate it's moist, i)erhaps, at certain times," returned man. "But not as moist as England, Sir?" cried Chollop, with a ce expression in his foce. " Oh ! Not as moist as England ; let alone its Institutions," I tiie man. " I should hope there ain't a swamp in all Americay, as don't ip that small island into mush and molasses," observed Chollop, isively. "You bought slick, straight, and right away, of .dder. Sir?" to Mark. He answered in the aflBrmative. Mr. Chollop winked at the er citizen. " Scadder is a smart man. Sir ? He is a rising man ? He is nan as will come up'ards, right side up. Sir?" .Mr. Cholloj) iked again at the other citizen. " He should have his right side very high up, if I had my way," 1 Mark. "As high up as the top of a good tall gallows, haps." Mr. Chollop was so delighted at the smartness of his excellent ntryman having been too much for the Britisher, and at the tisher's resenting it, that he could contain himself no lunger, 1 broke forth in a shout of delight. But the strangest exposition his ruling pa.ssion was in the other : the pestilence stricken, ken, miserable shadow of a man : who derived so much enter- inient from the circumstance, that he seemed to forget his own 1 in thinking of it, and laughed outriglit when he said " tliat dder was a smart man, and had draw'd a lot of British capital t way, as sure as sun-up." 500 LIFE AND ADA^ENTURES OF After a full enjoyment of this joke, Mr. Hannibal Chollop sal smoking and improving the circle, without making any attemptf either to converse, or to take leave ; apparently labouring undei the not uncommon delusion, that for a free and enlightened citizei of the United States to convert another man's house into a spittooi for two or three hours together, was a delicate attention, full o interest and politeness, of which nobody could ever tire. At las' 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 sa; 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 an, spotted painter in the bush, as ever was so riddled througli am through as you will be, I bet." , " What for ? " asked Mark. j "We must be cracked-up, Sir," retorted Chollop, in a tone a' menace. " You are not now in A despotic land. We are a mod( 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 t make themselves uncommon skase for less. I have know'd me Lynched for less, and beaten into punkin'-sarse for less, by an ei lightened people. We are the intellect and virtue of the airth, tl cream Of human natur', and the flower Of moral force. Our bad is easy ris. We must be cracked-up, or they rises, and we snarl We shows our teeth, I tell you, fierce. You'd better crack us ir you had ! " After the delivery of this caution, J\Ir. Chollop departed ; wil Ripper, Tickler, and the revolvers, all ready for action on tl shortest notice. "Come out from under the blanket. Sir," said Mark, "h(' gone. What's this ! " he added softly ; kneeling down to look inj his partner's face, and taking his hot hand. " What's come off that chattering aud swaggering? He's wandering in his rait to-night, and don't know me ! " '' Martin indeed was dangerously ill ; very near his death. I: lay in that state many days, during which time Mark's poor frienc ' regardless of themselves, attended him. Mark, fatigued in mi:' and body ; working all the day and sitting up at night; wornwi hard living and the unaccustomed toil of his new life ; surround; by dismal and discouraging circumstances of every kind; ue\ MAKTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 501 iplaiuccl or yielded in the least degree. If ever he had thought rtiu selfish or inconsiderate, or had deemed him energetic only fits and starts, and then too passive for their desperate ;unes, he now forgot it all. He remembered nothing but the tcr qualities of his fellow-wanderer, and was devoted to him, heart I hand. I\Iany weeks elapsed before Martin was strong enough to move lilt with the help of a stick and IMark's arm ; and even then his jvery, for want of wholesome air and proper nourishment, was y slow. He was yet in a feeble and weak condition, when the fortune he had so much dreaded fell u])ou them. ]\Iark was en ill. Mark fought against it ; but the malady fouglit harder, and his •rts were in vain. " Floored for the present, Sir," he said one morning, sinking :k upon his bed : " but jolly ! " Floored indeed, and by a heavy blow ! As any one but Martin jht have known beforehand. If Mark's friends had been kind to Martin (and they had been, y), they were twenty times kinder to Mark. And iio^'j'j j listen rtin's turn to work, and sit beside the bed an^^^^^ iu ' the gloomy ough the long, long nights, to e.- l^ ^.^ .vandering fancy, derncss; and hear poor Mr. T i^^^^. i^^,^.^.^,^^,,,trances to yingat skitt es in the D^.-^^^^ '^^^ ^^J^ ^,^^ ^ ,^^^^„ I old^Tl'SJr--Wish roads, and burning stumps of trees Men, all ^'t "nce.^^^^^,^.^ ^^^^ j^.^ ^^j^j, ^^ medicine, or tended u M lenever^ ^^_ ^^^^^^ .^^^ ^^^ j^^^^^ returning from some id-erv^witho^v^'*' ^^'^ P''^^^''^ ^^'■- Tapley brightened up, and cried : 'now"w1% ^^^^'^'^ ^''^^"=''' *° *''"'^ ''^ ^'''•'' ''"'^ ^'^ ^'""^ ''* ^^''"^ he lav tir^^^ > ^'^'^*^^' i"ci'i'oaching him by so much as an expres- n of rets^^*' ' "^^'^"^ murmuring ; always striving to be manful and uiich 'Tlie began to think, how was it that this man who liad J g^/ few advantages, was so much better than he who had had ^.aiiiuy? And attendance upon a sick bed, but especially the ok bed of one whom we have been accustomed to see in full :;tivity and vigour, being a great breeder of reflection, he began to ik himself in what they differed. He was assisted in coining to a conclusion on this head by the •equent presence of IMark's friend, their felhjw-passenger across the f;ean : which suggested to him that in regard to having aided her, )r example, they had differed very much. Somehow he coui)led 502 LIFE AXD ADVENTURES OF Tom Pinch with tliis train of reflection ; and tliinking that Tom ■would be very lilvely to have struck up the same sort of acquaint- ance 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. Martin's nature was a frank and generous one ; but he had been bred up in his grandfather's liouse ; and it will usually be found that tlie meaner domestic vices propagate themselves to be their own antagonists. Selfishness does this especially ; so do suspicion, cunning, stealth, and covetous propensities. Martin had uncon sciously reasoned as a child, " My guardian takes so much thought of himself, that unless I do the like by vi?/sel{, I shall be for- gotten. " So he had grown selfish. But he had never known it. If any one had taxed him witli the vice, he woidd have indignantly repelled the accusation, and conceived himself unworthily asjiersed. He never would have known it, but that being newly risen from a bed of dangerous sickness, to watch by such another couch, he felt how nearly Sell i.Onofi dropped into the grave, and what a poor, dependent, miserable thing it wao. - It was natural fof ..JiJ.m to reflect — he had months to do it in— upon his own escape, and Mat./ili's extremity. This led him to con- sider which of them could be the w^^etter spared, and why 'I Then the curtain slowly rose a very little wa^kK; and Self, Self, Self, was shown below. rn^ He asked himself, besides, when dreadingno Mark's decease (as all men do and must, at such a time), whether he ri.had done his dutv by him, and had deserved and made a good respobmse to his fidelity and zeal. No. Short as their companionship haa ^ been, he felt in man)', many instances, that there was blame against d> himself ; and still iuciuiring why, the curtain slowly rose a little moxicre, and Self. Self, Self, dilated on the scene. It was long before he fixed the knowledge of himselMaso firmly in his mind that he could thoroughly discern the truth ; \)0 «t in the hideous solitude of that most hideous place, with Hope 9ieso far removed. Ambition quenched, and Death beside him rattling at! n-the' very door, reflection came, as in a plague-beleaguered town ; and" i so he felt and knew the failing of his life, and saw distinctly what an ugly spot it was. Eden was a hard school to learn so liard 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 solenui resolution that when his strength returned MARTIN CIIUZZLEWIT. r.03 ivmild not dispute tlie poiut or resist tiie conviction, but would : upon it as an established foct, that selfishness was in his vst, and must be rooted out. He was so doubtful (and with ice) of his own character, that he determined not to say one word ain regret or good resolve to Mark, but steadily to keep his pose before his own eyes solely : and there was not a jot of le in this ; nothing but humility and steadfastness : the best lOur lie could wear. So Ioav had Eden brought him down. So 1 had Eden raised him up. After a long and lingering illness (in certain forlorn stages of eh, when too far gone to speak, he had feebly written "jolly ! " a slate), Mark showed some symptoms of returning health. y came and went, and flickered for a time ; but he began to id at last decidedly ; and after that, continued to improve fi'om to day. IS soon as he was well enough to talk without fatigue, Martin suited him upon a project he had in his mind, and which a few iths back he would have carried into execution without troubling body's head but his own. ■'Ours is a desperate case," said Martin. "Plainly. The « is deserted ; its failure must have become known ; and selling it we have bought to any one, for anything, is hopeless, even t were honest. We left home on a mad enterprise, and have ;d. The only hope left us : the only one end for which we e now to try, is to quit this settlement for ever, and get back England. Any how ! by any means ! Only to get back there, rk." "That's all, Sir," returned Mr. Tapley, with a significant stress n the words : " only that ! " ■' Xow, upon this side of the water," said Martin, "we have one friend who can help us, and that is Mr. Bevan."' " I thought of him wlien you was ill," said Mark. ■' But for the time that would be lost, I would even write to grandfather," Martin went on to say, "and implore him for ley to free us from this trap into which we were so cruelly oyed. Shall I try JMr. Bevan first ? " " He's a very pleasant sort of a gentleman," said Mark. "I ik so." "The few goods we brought here, and in which we spent our ley, would produce something if sold," resumed Martin ; "and itever they realise shall be paid him instantly. But tliey can't sold here." "There's nobody but corpses to buy 'em," saiil ]\Ir. Tapley, king liis head with a rueful air, "and pigs." 504 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF " Shall I tell liim so, and only ask him for money eiiDUgh ti enable us by the cheapest means to reach New York, or any porl from which we may hope to get a passage home, by serving in am capacity 1 Explaining to him at the same time how I am con nected, and that I will endeavour to repay him, even through ni} grandfather, immediately on our arrival in England 1 " " Why to be sure," said Mark : " he can only say no, and lu may say yes. If you don't mind trying him. Sir — " " Mind ! " exclaimed Martin. " I am to blame for coming here. and I would do anything to get away. I grieve to tliink uf tbi past. If I had taken yonr opinion sooner, Mark, wu nevei 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 then all the same ; and that he had set his heart upon coming to Eden, from the first word he had ever heard of it. I Martin then read him a letter to Mr. Bevan, which he had; already prepared. It was frankly and ingenuously written, andi described their situation without the least concealment; i)laiuly stated the miseries they had undergone 3 and preferred their request in modest but straightforward terms. Mark higlily 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 Avood 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, and wrote upon the cover an entreaty that it might In forwarded without delay. More than a week elapsed before a boat appeared ; but at length they Avere 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, Avho had been very eminent some- where. Hurrying down to the landing-place, they got it safe on board ; and waiting anxiously to see the boat depart, stopped u]) the gangway: an instance of neglect which caused the " Captiug of the Esau Slodge to " wish he might be sifted fine as flour, and whittled small as chips ; that if they didn't come oft" that there fixing, right smart too, he'd spill 'em in the drink : " whereby tlie 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 strengtli as they had, to the attempted improvement of their land; to clearing some of it, and preparing it for useful imrpose.^. Monstrously defective as their farming was, still it was better tha thm MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 505 neighbours' ; for ]\Iark had some practical knowledge of such ers, and Martin learned of him ; whereas the other settlers remained upon the putrid swamp (a mere handful, and those ;rcd by disease), appeared to have wandered tliere with the tliat husbandry was the natural gift of all mankind. They d each other after their own manner in these struggles, and . others ; but they worked as hopelessly and sadly as a gang iivicts in a penal settlement. ften at night when Mark and Martin were alone, and lying . to sleep, they spoke of Ijome, familiar places, houses, roads, people whom they knew ; sometimes in the lively hope of g them again, and sometimes with a sorrowful tranquillity, as at hope were dea-d. It was a source of great amazement to : Tapley to find, pervading all these conversations, a singular ition in IMartin. I don't know what to make of him," he thouglit one night, ain't what I supposed. He don't think of himself half as . I'll try him again. Asleep, Sir 1 " Xo, Mark." Thinking of home. Sir ? " Yes, Mark." So was I, Sir. I was wondering how JMr. Pinch and Mr. sniff gets on now." Poor Tom ! " said JMartin, thoughtfully. Weak-minded man, Sir," observed Mr. Taj^ley. "Plays the I for nothing. Sir. Takes no care of himself?" I wish he took a little more, indeed," said Martin. "Though I't know why I should. "We shouldn't like hiai half as well, tps." He gets put upon. Sir," hinted ]\Iark. Yes," said Martin, after a short silence. " / know that, ]\Iark." e spoke so regretfully, that his jtartner abandoned the theme, vas silent for a short time, until he had thought of anotlier. Ah, Sir ! " said Mark, with a sigh. " Dear me ! You've u-ed a good deal for a young lady's love ! " I'll tell you what. I'm not so sure of that, Mark," was the : so hastily and energetically spoken, that Martin sat up 8 bed to give it. "I begin to be far from clear upon it. may depenoor girl ! I begin to tliink she lore to bear than ever I have had. Upon my .'■old I do ! " 506 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF Mr. Tapley opened his eyes wide, in the dark ; but did not interrupt. "And I'll tell you a secret, Mark," said Martin, "since we an upon this subject. That ring — " "Which ring, Sirr' Mark inquired: opening liis eyes stil 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, ]| took it from her hand, and wore it on my own, and never dreamec. of this even at the moment when I parted with it, when some fainlj glimmering of the truth might surely have possessed me ! But it'f| late," said Martin, checking himself, " and you are weak and tired j I know. You only talk to cheer me up. Good night ! God bles«j you, Mark ! " "God bless you, Sir! But I'm reg'larly defrauded," thouglr 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 ii being jolly with him ! " The time wore on, and other steam-boats coming from tiie poiii on which their hopes were fixed, arrived to take in wood ; but stil no answer to the letter. Rain, heat, foul slime, and noxioii 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 los j two children long before ; and buried now her last. Such thing:; are much too common to be widely known or cared for. Smar , citizens grow rich, and friendless victims smart and die, and an forgotten. That is all. At last, a boat came panting up the ugly river, and stopped a Eden. Mark was waiting at the wood hut, when it came, and ha( 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 ml of dollar-notes fell out upon the ground. What either of them said, or did, or felt, at first, neither o them knew. All Mark could ever tell was, that he was at the river' bank again out of breath, before the boat had gone, inquiring whei 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, tha MARTIX CIIUZZLEWIT. 507 iiiglit. Wlien this stage of excitement was passed, eacli of believed (tiiey found this out, in talking of it afterwards) le would surely die before the boat returned, ley lived, however, and it came, after the lapse of three long iug weeks. At sunrise, on an autumn day, they stood upon sck. I!ourage ! ^Ve shall meet again ! " cried Martin, waving his to two tliin figures on the bank. " In the Old World ! " 3r in the next one," added Mark below his breath. " To see standing side by side, so (piiet, is a'most the worst of all ! " ley looked at one another, as the vessel moved away, and then 1 backward at the spot from which it hurried fast. The log- , with the open door, and drooping trees about it ; the int morning mist, and red sun, dimly seen beyond ; the r rising up from land and river ; the quick stream making >athsorae banks it washed, more flat and dull : how often returned in dreams ! How often it was happiness to wake, nd them Shadows that had vanished ! CHAPTER XXXIV. HKH THE TRAVELLERS MOVE HOMEAVARD, AND EXCOUNTER SOME DLSTINGUISHED CHARACTERS UPON THE "WAV. JONG the passengers on board the steam-boat, there was a gentleman sitting on a low camp-stool, with his legs on a barrel of flour, as if he were looking at the prospect with his s ; who attracted their attention speedily. 3 had straight black hair, parted up the middle of his head, anging down upon his coat ; a little fringe of hair upon his wore no neckcloth ; a white hat ; a suit of black, long in leeves, and short in the legs ; soiled brown stockings, and shoes. His complexion, naturally muddy, was rendered ier by too strict an economy of soap and water ; and the observation will apply to the washable part of his attire, . he might have changed with comfort to himself, and ication to his friends. He was about five-and-thirty ; was id and jammed up in a heap, under the shade of a large cotton umbrella ; and ruminated over his tobacco-plug like a 3 was not singular, to be sure, in these respects; for every gentle- )ii board appeared to have had a diftcrcnce with liis laundress, 508 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF and to have left off washing himself in early youth. Ev! gentleman, too, was perfectly stopped up with tight plugging, ; was dislocated in the greater part of his joints. But about t gentleman there was a peculiar air of sagacity and wisdom, \vb convinced Martin that he was no common character ; and t 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 Avho spoke to him, with a carj; cap on, and a long loose coat of green baize, ornamented about 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 ■ gentleman and he attached difierent meanings to this remark. " You air fortunate, Sir, in having an opportunity of behold our Elijah Pogram, Sir." "Your Elijahpogram ! " said Martin, thinking it was all ( word, and a building of some sort. "Yes, Sir." Martin tried to look as if he understood him, but he could make it out. " Yes, Sir," repeated the gentleman. " Our Elijah Pogram, ^ is, at this minute, identically settin' by the en-gine biler." The gentleman under the umbrella j^ut his right forefinger his eyebrow, as if he were revolving schemes of state. "That is Elijah Pogram, is itl" said Martin. "Yes, Sir," replied the other. "That is Elijah Pogram." "Dear me !" said Martin. "lam astonished." But he 1 not the least idea who this Elijah Pogram was ; having ne' heard the name in all his life. " If the biler of this vessel was Toe bust, Sir," said his n acquaintance, " and Toe bust now, this would be a fesTival day the calendar of despotism ; pretty nigh equallin'. Sir, in its effc upon the human race, our Fourth of glorious July. Yes, Sir, ti is the Honourable Elijah Pogram, Member of Congress ; one the master-minds of our country. Sir. There is a brow. Sir, there " Quite remarkable," said Martin. "Yes, Sir. Our own immortal Chiggle, Sir, is said to h; observed, when he made the celebrated Pogram statter in marl which rose so much con-test and preju-dice in Europe, that i brow was more than mortal. This was before the Pogi'i Defiance, and was, therefore, a pre-diction, cruel smart." MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 509 ■What is the Pogram Defiance'?" asked i\rartin, thinking, aps, it was the siirn of a public-hnuso. An o-ration, Sir," retuniod his friend. •Oh! to be sure," cried Martin. "What am I tiiinking of ! efied — " 'It defied the world, Sir," said tlie otlier, gravelj\ "Defied worhl in genral to coin-pete with our country upon any hook ; devellop'd our internal resources for making war upon the ersal airth. You would like to know Elijah Pograni, Sir ? " ■ If you please," said IMartin. 'Mr. Pograni," said the stranger — Mr. Pogram having over- d every word of the dialogue — " this is a gentleman from )pe, Sir ; from England, Sir. But gen'rous enc-mies may meet 1 the neutral sile of private lifefl think." 'he languid Mr. Pogram shook hands with Martin, like a i-work figure that was just running down. But he made lids by chewing like one that was just wound up. 'Mr, Pogram," said the introducer, "is a public servant. Sir. ?n Congress is recessed, he makes himself accpiainted with those United States, of which he is the gifted son." t occurred to Martin, that if the Honourable Elijah Pogram stayed at home, and sent his shoes upon a tour, they would J answered the same purpose ; for they were the only part of in a situation to see anything. n course of time, however, Mr. Pogram rose ; and having :ed certain plugging consequences which would have impeded articulation, took up a position where there was something to against, and began to talk to IMartin : shading himself with green umbrella all the time. Ls he began with the words, "How do you like — ?" ]\Iartin : him up, and said : 'The country I presume?" 'Yes Sir," said Elijah Pogram. A knot of passengers lered round to hear what followed ; and Martin heard his id say, as he whi.spered to another friend, and rubbed his hands, )gram w^ill smash him into sky-blue fit.s, I know ! " ' Why," said Martin, after a moment's hesitation, " I liave ned by experience, that you take an unfair advantage of a nger, when you ask that question. You don't mean it to be vered, except in one way. Now, I don't ciioose to answer it in ; way, for I cannot honestly answer it in tiiat way. And ■efore, I would rather not answer it at all." But ^Ir. Pogram w^as going to make a great speech in the next ion about foreign relations, and was going to write strong 510 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF articles on the subject ; and as he greatly favoured the free ai iudependent custom (a very harmless and agreeable one) of pr curing information of any sort in any kind of confidence, and afte wards perverting it publicly in any manner that happened to sii him, lie liad determined to get at Martin's opinions someliow > other. For, if he could have got nothing out of him, he won have had to invent it for him, and tliat would have been laborion He made a mental note of his answer, and went in again. "You are from Eden, Sir'? How did you like Eden 1 " Martin said what he thought of that part of the country, : pretty strong terms. " It is strange," said Pogram, looking round ujDon the grou " this hatred of our country, and her Institutions ! This nation; antipathy is deeply rooted in the British mind ! " "Good Heaven, Sir!" cried Martin. "Is the Eden Lau Corporation, with Mr. Scadder at its head ; and all the misery lias worked, at its door ; an Institution of America ? A part i any form of government that ever was known or heard of 1 " "I con-sider the cause of this to be," said Pogram, lookiii round again, and taking himself up where Martin had interrupte him, " partly jealousy and prejudice, and partly the nat'ral uiifi ness of the British people to appreciate the exalted Institutioi of our native land. I expect, Sir," turning to Martin agaii " that a gentleman named Chollop ha^Dpened in upon you duriii your lo-cation in the town of Eden 1 " "Yes," answered Martin; "but my friend can answer tli better than I can, for I was very ill at the time. Mark ! tli gentleman is speaking of Mr. Chollop." "Oh. Yes, Sir. Yes. / see him," observed Mark. "A splendid example of our na-tive raw material, Sir •? " sai Pogram, interrogatively. " Indeed, Sir ! " cried Mark. The Honourable Elijah Pogram glanced at his friends as thoug he would have said, " Observe this ! See what follows ! " an they rendered tribute to the Pogram genius, by a gentle murmur, "Our fellow-countryman is a model of a man, cj^uite fresh froi Natur's mould ! " said Pogram, with enthusiasm. " He is a trm born child of this free hemisphere ! Verdant as the mountains c our country ; bright and flowing as our mineral Licks ; uiispile by withering conventionalities as air our broad and boundles Perearers ! Rough he may be. So air our Barrs. Wild he mai be. So air our Bufifalers. But he is a child of Natur', and i child of Freedom ; and his boastful answer to the Despot and th' Tyrant is, that his bright home is in the Settin Sun."' MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 511 Part of this referred to Chollop, and jiart to a Western jjost- ter, wlio, being a public defaulter not very kmg before (a racter not at all uncommon in America), had been removed 11 ottiee ; and on whose behalf Mr. Pogram (he voted for ram) had thundered the last sentence from his seat in Congress, :he iiead of an unpopular President. It told brilliantly ; for bystamlers were delighted, and one of them said to Martin, lat he guessed he had now seen something of the eloquential ^ct of our country, and was chawed up pritty small." Mr. Pogram waited until his hearers were calm again, before said to Mark : ■' You do not seem to coincide. Sir ? ' " Why," said Mark, " I didn't like him much ; and that's the ;li, Sir. I thought he was a bully ; and I didn't admire his yin' them murderous little persuaders, and being so ready to 'em." ■' It's singler ! " said Pogram, lifting his umbrella high enough look all round from under it. " It's strange ! You observe settled opposition to our Institutions which pervades tlie tish mind ! " " What an extraordinary people you are ! " cried I\Iartin. re Mr. Chollop and the class he represents, an Institution i1 Are pistols with revolving barrels, sword-sticks, bowie- ves, and such things. Institutions on which you pride your- es ? Are bloody duels, brutal combats, savage assaults, shoot- > down and stabbing in the streets, your Institutions ! Why, hall hear next, that Dishonour and Fraud are among the titutions of the Great Republic ! " The moment the words passed his lips, the Honourable l^lijuh [ram looked round again. "This morbid hatred of our Institutions," he observed, "is te a study for the jisychological observer. He's alludin to mdiation now ! " "Oh! You may make anything an Institution if you like," I Martin, laughing, "and I confess you had me there, for you ainly have made that one. But the gi-eater part of these igs are one Institution with us, and we call it by the generic le of Old Bailey ! " The bell being rung for dinner at this moment, everybody ran ly into the cabin, whither the Honourable Elijah Pogram fled ii such precipitation that he forgot his umbrella was up, and d it so tightly in the cabin door that it could neither be let <'n nor got out. For a minute or so this accident created a feet rebellion among the hungry passengers behind, who, seeing 512 LIFE AXD ADVENTURES OF the dishes and hearing the knives and forks at work, well kne what would happen unless they got there instantly, and we; nearly mad : while several virtuous citizens at the table were i deadly peril of choking themselves in their unnatural efforts \ get rid of all the meat before these others came. They carried the umbrella by storm, however, and rushed in i the breach. The Honourable Elijah Pogram and Martin four themselves, after a severe struggle, side by side, as they migl have come together in the pit of a London theatre ; and for foi whole minutes afterwards, Pogram was snapping up great blocl of everything he could get hold of, like a raven. When he ha taken this unusually protracted dinner, he began to talk 1 Martin ; and begged him not to have the least delicacy in speakii; with perfect freedom to him, for he was a calm philosophe Which Martin was extremely glad to hear ; for he had begun I speculate on Elijah being a disciple of that other school i republican philosophy, whose noble sentiments are carved wit knives upon a pupil's body, and written, not with pen and in) 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 gorginc and the greater part of the company were decidedly dirt feeders. The Honourable Elijah Pogram looked at Martin as if 1 thought "You don't mean that, I know !" and he was soon coi firmed in this opinion. Sitting opposite to them was a gentleman in a high state i tobacco, who wore quite a little beard, composed of the overflo\ ings of that weed, as they had dried about his mouth and chin so common an ornament that it scarcely attracted Martin's observ;! tion : but this good citizen, burning to assert his equality againi all comers, sucked his knife for some moments, and made a ci with it at the butter, just as Martin was in the act of taking som There was a juiciness about the deed that might have sickened scavenger. When Elijah Pogram (to whom this was an every-day incident saw that Martin put the plate away, and took no butter, he wi quite delighted, and said : " Well ! The morbid hatred of you British to the Institutioi of our country is as-TONishin ! '' " Upon my life ! " cried Martin, in his turn, " This is the mo ,MAKTIN CnUZZLEWIT. 513 ulorl'iil community tliat ever existed. A man deliberately ces a hog of himself, and tliafs an Institution ! "' •' We have no time to ac-quire forms, Sir," said Elijah Po^^jram. '' Acquire ! '' cried Martin. " But it's not a question of acquir- anytliing. It's a question of losing the natural politeness of a ige, and that instinctive good breeding which admonishes one 1 not to offend and disgust another. Don't you think that 1 over the way, for instance, naturally knows better, but con- ■rs it a very fine and independent thing to be a brute in small ;ter3 ? " " He is a na-tive of our country, and is uat'rally liright and r, of course,'" said Sir. Pogram. ^ "Now, observe what this comes to, i\[r. Pogram," jnirsued/l rtin. " The mass of your countrymen begin by stubbornly lecting little social observances, which have nothing to do with tility, custom, usage, government, or country, but are acts of imon, decent, natural, human politeness. You abet them in ., by resenting all attacks upon their social offences as if they e a beautiful national feature. From disregarding small gations they come in regular course to disregard great ones ; so refuse to pay their debts. What they may do, or what r may refuse to do next, I don't know ; but any man may see e will, that it will be something following in natural succession, ' a part of one great growth, which is rotten at the root." '^— > The mind of ]\Ir. Pogram was too philosophical to see this ; so \- went on deck again, where, resuming his former post, he wed until he was in a lethargic state, amounting to insensibility. After a weary voyage of several days, they came again to that le wharf where Mark had been so nearly left behind on the lit of starting for Eden. Captain Kedgick, the landlord, was iding there, and was greatly surprised to see them coming from boat. " Why, what the 'tarnal ! "' cried the Captain. " Well ! I do lire at this, I do I " "We can stay at your house mitil to-morrow. Captain, I jwse 1 " said ^Martin. " I reckon you can stay there for a twelvemonth if you like," )rted Kedgick coolly. " But our people won't best like your ling back." "Won't like it, Captain Kedgick !" said Martin. "They did ex-pect you was a-going to settle," Kedgick wered, as he shook his head. "They've been took in, you 't deny ! " •■ What do vou mean V cried Martin. 2l 514 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF "You didn't ought to have received 'em," said the Capta "No, you didn't ! " "My good friend," returned Martin, "did I want to recei them 1 Was it any act of mine ? Didn't you tell me they woi rile up, and that I should be flayed like a wild cat ; and threat all kinds of vengeance, if I didn't receive them 1 " "I don't know about that," returned the Captain. "I when our people's frills is out, they're starched up pretty stiff tell you ! " With that, he fell into the rear to walk with Mark, wh 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. ' man ain't got no right to be a public man, unless he meets i public views. Our fashionable people woiddn't have attended le-vee, if they had know'd it." Nothing mollified the Captain, who persisted in taking it vr ill that they had not both died in Eden. The boarders at f National felt strongly on the subject too ; but it happened by gc' fortune that they had not much time to think about this grievan for it was suddenly determined to pounce upon the Honoura' Elijah Pogram, and give him a le-vee forthwith. As the general evening meal of the house was over before 1 arrival of the boat, Martin, Mark, and Pogram, were taking and fixings at the public table by themselves, when the deputat: entered, to announce this honour: consisting of six gentlen/ boarders, and a very shrill boy. . " Sir ! " said the spokesman. " Mr. Pogram ! " cried the shrill boy. I The spokesman thus reminded of the shrill boy's preser introduced him. " Doctor Ginery Dunkle, Sir. A gentleman great poetical elements. He has recently jined us here. Sir, a is an acquisition to us. Sir, I do assure you. Yes, Sir. Mr. Joi Sir. Mr. Izzard, Sir. Mr. Julius Bib, Sir." " Julius Washington Merryweather Bib," said the gentlen himself to himself " I beg your pardon. Sir. Ex-cuse me. Mr. Julius Washing! Merryweather Bib, Sir ; a gentleman in the lumber line, Sir, ;i much esteemed. Colonel Groper, Sir. Pro-fessor Piper, !■ My own name. Sir, is Oscar Buffum." Each man took one slide forward as he was named ; butted the Honourable Elijah Pogram with his head ; shook hands, :i slid back again. The introductions being completed, the spokesn: resumed. MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 515 Sir ; ■■ Mr. Pogram 1 '' cried the shrill boy. Perhaps," said the spokesman, with a hopeless look, "you be so good. Dr. Ginery Duiikle, as to charge yourself with the ition of our little otKce, Sir V s there was nothing the shrill boy desired more, he immedi- stepjied forward. Mr. Pogram ! Sir ! A handful Of your fellow citizens, Sir, ug Of your arrival at the National Hotel ; and feeling the otic character Of yoiu: public services ; wish. Sir, to have the fication Of beholding you ; and mixing with you, Sir ; and nding with you. Sir, in those moments which—" Air," suggested Buflfuni. Which air so peculiarly the lot. Sir, Of our great and hai)py try.' Hear I " cried Colonel Groper, in a loud voice. " Good ! •him! Good!" And therefore. Sir," pursued the Doctor, " they request ; as ark Of their respect ; the honour of your company at a little ;e. Sir, in the ladies' ordinary, at eight o'clock." [r. Pogram bowed, and said : Fellow countrymen I " Good ! " cried the Colonel. " Hear him ! Good ! " [r. Pogram bowed to the Colonel individually, and then ned : Your approbation of My labors in the common cause, goes to ieart. At all times and in all places ; in the ladies' ordinary, ■riends, and in the Battle Field — " Good, very good ! Hear him ! Hear him ! " said the nel. The name Of Pogram will be proud to jine you. And may [y friends, be written on My tomb, ' He was a member of the gress of our common country, and was ac-Tive in his trust.' " The Com-mittee, Sir," said the shrill boy, " will wait upon at five minutes afore eight. I take I\Iy leave. Sir ! " Ir. Pogram shook hands with him, and everybody else, once ;; and when they came back again at five minutes before t, they said, one by one, in a melancholy voice, " How do you sir / " and shook hands with Mr. Pogram all over again, as if ad been abroad for a twelvemonth in the meantime, and they now, at a funeral. >ut by this time Mr. Pogram had freshened himself up, and composed his hair and features after tiie Pogram statue, so any one with half an eye might cry out, " There he is ! as he 516 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 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, accom})anie(l 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 ol 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, layinj hands on Mr. Pogram as if he were taking his measure tor a coat '• to stand up with your back agin the wall right in the furthesi corner, that there may be more room for our fellow cit-izeiis. I; you could set your back right slap agin that curtain-peg. Sir keeping your left leg everlastingly behind the stove, we should bt fixed quite slick." Mr. Pogram did as he was told, and wedged himself into siicl a little corner, that the Pogram statue wouldn't have known him. The entertainments of the evening then began. Gentlemei brought ladies up, and brought themselves up, and brought ead other up; and asked Elijah Pogram what he thought of thi; political question, and what he thought of that ; and looked a him, and looked at one another, and seemed very unhappy indeed The ladies on the chairs looked at Elijah Pogram through thei glasses, and said audibly, " I wish he'd speak. Why don't t speak. Oh, do ask him to speak ! " And Elijah Pogram looket sometimes at the ladies and sometimes elsewliere, delivering sena: torial opinions, as he was asked for them. But tlie great endaiM, object of the meeting seemed to be, not to let Elijah Pogram ou of the corner on any account : so there they kept him, hard ani fast. A great bustle at the door, in the course of the eveniiiL announced the arrival of some remarkable person ; and immediate! afterwards an elderly gentleman, much excited, was seen to preeipitat himself upon the crowd, and battle his Avay towards the HonouraW Elijah Pogram. Martin, who had found a snug place of observ; tion in a distant corner, where he stood with Mark beside him {i< he did not so often forget him now as formerly, though he still ili sometimes), thought he knew this gentleman, but had no doubt' it, wdien he cried as loud as he could, with his eyes starting out* his head : " Sir, Mrs. Hominy 1 :\IARTI\ CIIUZZLE-WIT. 517 Lord bless that woiuan, i\Iark. Slio has tuine^l up again ! "' Here she comes, Sir," answered ]\Ir. Tapley. " Pograni knows A i)nblic character ! Always got her eye upon lier country. If tliat tliere lady's husband is of my opinion, wliat a jolly ?ntleinan he must be ! '' lane was made ; and Mrs. Hominy, witli the aristocratic the pocket handkerchief, the clasped hands, and the classical ;anie slowly up it, in a procession of one. Mr. Pogram testi- niotions of delight on seeing her, and a general hush prevailed, it was known that when a woman like Mrs. Hominy ■utered a man like Pogram, something interesting must be leir first salutations were exchanged in a voice too low to reach npatient ears of the throng ; but they soon became audible, !rs. Hominy felt her position, and knew what was expected of rs. H. was hard upon him at first ; and put him through a catechism, in reference to a certain vote he had given, which ad found it necessarj^, as tlie mother of the modern Gracchi, precate in a line by itself, set up expressly for the purpose in lan text. But Mr. Pogram evading it by a well-timed allusion 3 star-spangled banner, Avhich, it appeared, had the remarkable iarity of flouting the breeze w'henever it was hoisted where the blew, she forgave him. They now enlarged on certain ions of tarift", commercial treaty, boundary, importation, and tation, with great eftect. And Mrs. Hominy not only talked, e saying is, like a book, but actually did talk her own books, for word. My ! what is this?" cried JMrs. Hominy, opening a little note 1 was handed her by her excited gentleman-usher. "Do tell I rell, now ! on'y think ! " nd then she read aloud, as follows : Two literary ladies present their compliments to the mother le modern Gracchi, and claim her kind introduction, as their ted covmtrywoman, to the honourable (and distinguished) h Pogram, whom the two L.L.'s have often contemplated in speaking marble of the soul-subduing Chiggle. On a verl)al lation from the mother of the M.G., that she will comply with eqiiest of tlic two L.L.'s, they will have the immediate pleasure ining tlie galaxy assembled to do honour to the i)atriotic con- of a Pogram. It may be anotlier bond of union between the L.L.'s and the mother of the M.G. to observe, that the two s are Transcendental." [rs. Hominy promptly rose, and proceeded to the door, whence 518 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF she returned, after a minute's interval, with the two L.L.'s, whi she led, through the lane in the crowd, with all that stateliuess deportment which was so remarkably her own, up to the gn Elijah Pogram. It was (as the shrill boy cried out in an ecstac quite the Last Scene from Coriolanus. One of the L.L.'s wore a brown wig of uncommon size. Sticki on the forehead of the other, by invisible means, was a mass: cameo, in size and shape like the raspberry tart which is ordinar sold for a penny, representing on its front the Capitol at Washingti "Miss Toppit, and Miss Codger !" said Mrs. Hominy. '' Codger's the lady so often mentioned in the English ne\ papers, I should think, Sir," whispered Mark. " The old inhabitant, as never remembers anything." "To be presented to a Pogram," said Miss Codger, "bj Hominy, indeed, a thrilling moment is it in its impressiveness onwl we call our feelings. But why we call them so, or why impress they are, or if impressed they are at all, or if at all we are, oi there really is, oh gasping one ! a Pogram or a Hominy, or a active principle to which we give those titles, is a topic, Spii searching, light abandoned, much too vast to enter on, at t; unlooked for crisis." i "Mind and matter," said the lady in the wig, "glide swift ii! the vortex of immensity. Howls the sublime, and softly sleeps 1 calm Ideal, in the whispering chambers of Imagination. To hi it, sweet it is. But then, outlaughs the stern philosopher, ;i saith to the Grotesque, ' What ho ! arrest for me that Agency. ( bring it here ! ' And so the vision fadeth." After this, they both took I\Ir. Pogram by the hand, and pres; it to their lips, as a patriotic palm. That homage paid, the motl of the modern Gracchi called for chairs, and tlie three literary lad went to work in earnest, to bring poor Pogram out, and make li show himself in all his brilliant colours. How Pogram got out of his depth instantly, and how the th L.L.'s were never in theirs, is a piece of history not wo recording. Suffice it, that being all fom* out of their depths, f all unable to swim, they splashed up words in all directions, ri floundered about famously. On the whole, it was considered have been the severest mental exercise ever heard in the Xatio Hotel. Tears stood in the shrill boy's eyes several times ; and t whole company observed that their heads ached with the effort as well tliey might. When it at last became necessary to release Elijah Pogram fr the corner, and the Committee saw him safely back again to i next room, they were fervent in their admiration. MARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. r.l9 * Which," said Mr. Buft\ini, " must have vent, or it will Inist. you, Mr. Pogram, I am grateful. Toe-wards you, Sir, I am lired with lofty veneration, and with deep e-rao-tion. The iment Toe which I would propose to give ex-pression, Sir, is : ' May you ever be as firm. Sir, as your marble statter ! May rer be as great a terror Toe its ene-mies as you.' " rhere is some reason to suppose that it was rather terrible to ■riends ; being a statue of the Elevated or Goblin School, in i?h the Honourable Elijah Pogram was represented as in a very 1 wind, with his hair all standing on enil, and his nostrils blown e open. But Mr. Pogram thanked his friend and countryman the aspiration to which he had given utterance, and the Com- :ee, after another solemn shaking of hands, retired to bed, except Doctor ; who immediately repaired to the newspaper-otfice, and e wrote a short poem suggested by the events of the evening, nning with fourteen stars, and headed, "A Fragment. Sug- ed by witnessing the Honourable Elijah Pogram engaged in a osoi)hical disputation with three of Columbia's fairest daughters. Doctor Ginery Dunkle. Of Troy." 'f Pogi-am was as glad to get to bed as Martin was, he must 3 been well rewarded for his labours. They started off again ; day (Martin and Mark previously disposing of their goods to storekeepers of w'hom they had purchased them, for anything T would bring), and were fellow-travellers to within a short dis- ;e of New York. When Pogram was about to leave them he V thoughtful, and after pondering for some time, took ]\Iartin e. '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 dd wish you to accept a copy of My oration." ' Thank you," said Martin, " you are very good. I shall be most py." 'It ain't quite that, Sir, neither,'' resumed Pogram : "air you I enough to introduce a copy into your country ? '' ' Certainly," said Martin. " Why not ? " 'Its .sentiments air strong. Sir," hinted Pogram, darkly. 'That makes no difference," said Martin. " I'll take a dozen 'A\ like." 'No, Sir," retorted Pogram. "Not A dozen. That is more 1 I require. If you are content to run the hazard. Sir, here is for your Lord Chancellor," producing it, "and one for Your cipal Secretary of State. I should wish them to see it. Sir, expressing what my opinions air. That they may not plead 520 LIFE AND ADVENTUKES OF 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, anxiously expecting to see them. To this place they repaired without a moment's delay. They had the satisfaction of iindiug 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, tlie original cause of your misfortunes. I no more supposed you would go to Eden on such re^^resentations as you received ; or, indeed, that you would do anything but be dispossessed, by the readiest means, of your idea tliat 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 lie?" returned Mr. Bevan : laughing with an air that showed his under- standing 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 learu : 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 ui)inion too, I hope ? " " Unquestionably. Yov 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 Fladdock, is in port ; of course 1 " " 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 MAKTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 521 in he hud ah-eady borrowed, and if it had been enougli for [lassage-nioney, he could hardly liave resolved to spend it. plained this to i\Ir. Bevan, and stated what their project was. Vhy, that's as wild as Eden every bit," returned his friend. must take your passage like a Christian • at least, as like a ian as a fore-cabin jjassenoer can ; and owe me a few more > than you intend. If Mark will go down to the ship and lat i)assengers there are, and finds that you can go in tier, it being actually suffocated ; my advice is, go ! You and I ok about us in the meantime (we won't call at the Norris's, you like), and we will all three dine together, in the after- rtin had nothing to express but gratitude, and so it was ed. But he went out of the room after Mark, and advised ) take their passage in the Screw, though they lay upon the leek; which INIr. Tapley, who needed no entreaty on the t, readily promised to do. len he and Martin met again, and were alone, he was in high , and evidently had something to communicate, in which he L very much. 've done Mr. Bevan, Sir," said Mark. )one Mr. Bevan ! " repeated Martin. 'he cook of the Screw went and got married yesterday. Sir," [r. Tapley. rtiii looked at him for further explanation. Lud when I got on board, and the word was passed that it e," said Llark, " the mate he comes and asks me whether I'd ; to take this said cook's place upon the passage home. ' For used to it,' he says : ' you were always a cooking for every- n your passage out.' And so I was," said Mark, " although r cooked before, I'll take my oath." ^^hat did you say?" demanded Martin. .ay ! " cried Mark. " That I'd take anything I could get. at's so,' said the mate, ' wliy, bring a glass of rum ; ' which rought according. And my wages, Sir," said Mark in high ' pays your passage ; and, I've put the rolling-pin in your to take it (it's the easy one up in the corner) ; and there we ule Britannia, and Britons strike home ! " 'here never was such a good fellow as you are ! " cried Martin, ■ him by the hand. " But what do you mean by * doing ' ?van, JIark 1 " kliy, don't you see," said Mark. "We don't tell him, you We take his money, but we don't spend it, and we don't t. What we do is, write him a little note, explaining this 522 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF 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 delight in this idea was not inferior to Mark's. It M-as 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 I 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 j'ou know of emigration in your own case, and impress upon it how much suffering 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 I\Iartiu. "Why I was a thinking, Sir," returned Mark, "that if I was f painter, and was called upon to paint the American Eagle, hov should I do it 1 " " Paint it as like an Eagle as you could, I suppose." ■~^ "No," said Mark. "That wouldn't do for me, Sir. I shoul( 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 ashe of its faults and vices, and soaring up anew into the sky I " saii MartiDy^ "Well, Mark. Let us hope so." CHAPTER XXXV. ARRIVING IX ENGLAND, MARTIN AVITNESSES A CEREMONY, FROi' WHICH HE DERIVES THE CHEERINCJ INFORMATION THAT H HAS NOT BEEN FORGOTTEN IN HIS ABSENCE. It was mid-daj', and high water in the English port for whic the Screw was bound, when, borne in gallantly upon the fidnes of the tide, she let go her anchor in the river. MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 523 Bright as the scene was ; fresh, and full of motion ; airy, free, 1(1 sparkling ; it was nothing to the life and exultation in the :easts of the two travellers, at sight of the old churches, roofs, id darkened chimney stacks of Home. The distant roar, that veiled up hoarsely from the busy streets, was music in their ears ; le lines of people gazing from the wharves, were friends held ^ar ; the canopy of smoke that overhung the town, was brighter id more beautiful to them, than if the richest silks of Persia had ?en waving in the air. And though the water, going on its istening track, turned, ever and again, aside, to dance and )arkle round great ships, and heave them up ; and leaped from f the blades of oars, a shower of diving diamonds ; and wantoned ith the idle boats, and swiftly passed, in many a sportive chase, irough obdurate old iron rings, set deep into the stone-work of le quays ; not even it, was half so buoyant, and so restless, as leir fluttering hearts, when yearning to set foot, once more, on itive ground. A year had passed, since those same spires and roofs had faded cm their eyes. It seemed to them a dozen years. Some trifling langes, here and there, they called to mind ; and wondered that ley were so few and slight. In health and fortune, prospect and ^source, they came back poorer men than they had gone away, ut it was home. And thaugh home is a name, a word, it is a rong one ; stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit answered ), in strongest conjuration. Being set ashore, with very little money in their pockets, and 3 definite plan of operation in their heads, they sought out a leap tavern, where they regaled upon a smoking steak, and ;rtain flowing mugs of beer, as only men just landed from the !a can revel in the generous dainties of the earth. When they id feasted, as two grateful -tempered giants might have done, ley stirred the fire, drew back the glowing curtain from the indow, and making each a sofa for himself, by union of the reat unwieldy chairs, gazed blissfully into the street. Even the street was made a fairy street, by being half hidden I an atmosphere of steak, and strong, stout, stand-up English 2er. For on the window-glass hung such a mist, that ]Mr. Tapley as obliged to rise and wipe it with his hankerchief, before the issengers appeared like common mortals. And even then, a )iral little cloud went curling up from their two glasses of hot "og, which nearly hid them from each other. It was one of those unaccountable little rooms which are never ■en anywhere but in a tavern, and are supposed to have got into iverns by reason of the focilities afforded to the architect for 524 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF getting drunk while engaged in their construction. It had mor corners in it than the brain of an obstinate man ; was full of mai closets, into which nothing could be put that was not speciall invented and made for that purpose ; had mysterious shelving and bulk- heads, and indications of staircases in the ceiling; ani was elaborately provided with a bell that rang in the room itselj about two feet from the handle, and had no connection whateve with any other part of the establishment. It was a little belo\ the pavement, and abutted close upon it ; so that passenger grated against the window-panes with their buttons, and scrapei it with their baskets ; and fearful boys suddenly coming betweei a thoughtful guest and the light, derided him, or put out thei tongues as if he were a physician ; or made white knobs on th end of their noses by flattening the same against the glass, am 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 yourse' thought silence most advisable — and consequently, never havin heard from her since we left New York the first time, I don know where she is, my good fellow." " My opinion is, Sir," returned Mark, " that what we've g(| to do, is to travel straight to the Dragon. There's no need £(■ you to go there, where you're known, unless you like. You maj stop ten mile short of it. I'll go on. Mrs. Lupin will tell ii' all the news. Mr. Pinch will give me every information that ^a want : and right glad Mr. Pinch will be to do it. My proposal i; To set off walking this afternoon. To stop when we are tirC' To get a lift when we can. To walk when we can't. To do it ; once, and do it cheap." " Unless we do it cheap, we shall have some ditficulty in doii it at all," said Martin, pulling out the bank, and telling it over his hand. " The greater reason for losing no time, Sir," replied Mar "Whereas, when you've seen the young lady; and know wh' state of mind the old gentleman's in, and all about it ; then you know what to do next." " No doubt," said Martin. " You are quite right." They were raising their glasses to their lips, when their han stopped midway, and their gaze was arrested by a figure, whi slowly, very slowly, and reflectively, passed the window at tl moment. MARTIN cnUZZLEWIT. 525 Mr. Pecksniff. Placid, calm, hut proud. Honestly iimud. Dressed with peculiar care, siuiliiig- with even more than usual tlandness, i)ondering on the beauties of his art with a mild bstraction from all sordid thoughts, and gently travelling across he disc, as if he were a figure in a magic lantern. As Mr. Pecksniff passed, a person coming in the opposite lirection stopped to look after him with great interest and espeet : almost with veneration : and the landlord bouncing out f the house, as if he had seen him too, joined this person, and poke to him, and shook his head gravely, and looked after Mr. 'ecksniff likewise. Martin and ]\Iark sat staring at each other, as if they could not lelieve it ; but there stood the landlord, and the other man still, n spite of the indignation with which this glimpse of Mr. Peck- niff had inspired him, Martin could not help laughing heartily, s'either could Mark. ''We must inquire into this !" said Martin. "Ask the land- ord in, Mark.' j\Ir. Tapley retired for that purpose, and immediately returned k-ith their large-headed host in safe convoy. " Pray, landlord ! " said Martin, " who is that gentleman who assed just now, and whom you were looking after 1 " The landlord poked the fire as if, in his desire to make the nost of his answer, he had become indifferent even to the price if coals ; and putting his hands in his pockets, said, after infiating liniself to give still further eftect to his rejjly : " That, gentlemen, is the great Mr. Pecksnitt" ! The celebrated irdiitect, gentlemen ! " He looked from one to the other while he said it, as if he were eady to assist the first man who might be overcome by the ntelligence. '• The great Mr. Pecksniff, the celebrated architect, gentlemen," -aid the landlord, " has come down here, to help lay the first stone )f a new and splendid public building." "Is it to be built from his designs? " asked Martin. "The great Mr. Pecksnitt", the celebrated architect, gentlemen," eturned the landlord, who seemed to have an unspeakable delight n the repetition of these words, "carried off the First Premium, md will erect the building." "Who lays the stone? " 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, rt-ho is returned upon tlie Gentlemanly Interest." 526 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF "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 time, that it was the Gentlemanly side, and he immedi- ately 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 uo 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. Pecksnift' 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 belong- ing 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, Sir 1 " 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 nmsic followed, led by a conscientious drummer who never left oft". 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 tht member for the Gentlemanly Interest ; who had the great Mr Pecksniff, the celebrated architect, on his right hand, and con versed with him familiarly as they came along. Then the ladie- waved their handkerchiefs, and the gentlemen their hats, and tht charity children shrieked, and the member for the Gentlemanl} Interest bowed. Silence being restored, the member for the Gentlemanly Interes rubbed his hands, and wagged his head, and looked about hin MARTIN CHUZZLE^YIT. r,27 asantly : and there was nothing this member rlid, at wliicli lie lad}- or otlier did not burst into an ecstatic waving of her ■ket-handkerchief. When he looked up at the stone, they said y graceful 1 when he jDceped into the hole, they said how con- cending ! when he chatted with the Mayor, they said how easy ! en he folded his arms they cried with one accord, how states- u-like ! Mr. Pecksniff was observed too ; closely. When he talked to Mayor, they said, Oh, really, what a courtly man he Avas ! len he laid his hand upon the mason's shoulder, giving him ections, how pleasant his demeanour to the working classes : t the sort of man who made their toil a pleasure to them, poor ,r souls I But now a silver trowel was brought ; and when the member the Gentlemanly Interest, tucking up his coat -sleeve, did a le sleight-of-hand with the mortar, the air was rent, so loud 3 the applause. The workman-like manner in which he did it 3 amazing. No one could conceive where such a gentlemaidy ature could have picked the knowledge up. When he had made a kind of dirt-pie under the direction of mason, they brought a little vase containing coins, the which member for the Gentlemanly Interest jingled, as if he were ng to conjure. Whereat they said how droll, how cheerful, at a flow of spirits ! This put into its j^lace, an ancient scholar d the inscription, which was in Latin : not in English : that uld never do. It gave great satisfaction ; especially every time re was a good long substantive in the third declension, ablative e, with an adjective to match ; at which periods the assembly ;ame very tender, and were much affected. And now the stone was lowered down into its place, amidst I shouting of the concourse. When it was firndy fixed, the mber for the Gentlemanly Interest struck upon it tlirice with ! handle of the trowel, as if inquiring, with a touch of inour, whether anybody was at home. I\Ir. Pecksiuff then rolled his Plans (prodigious plans they were), and people hered round to look at and admire them. Martin, who had been fretting himself — quite unnecessarily, a.s irk thought — during the whole of these proceedings, could no ger restrain his impatience ; but stepping forward among .several lens, looked straight over the shoulder of the unconscious Mr. cksniff, at the designs and plans he had unrolled. He returned Mark, boiling with rage. " Why, what's the matter, Sir 1 " cried IVIark. " Matter I This is yn?/ Ijuilding." 528 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. "Your building, Sir ! " said Mark. " My grammar-school. I invented it. I did it all. He hj only put four windows in, the villain, and si^oilt it ! " Mark could hardly believe it at first, but being assured that : was really so, actually held him to prevent his interferenc foolishly, until his temporary heat was past. In the meantimi tiie member addressed the company on the gratifying deed whic he had just performed. He said that since he had sat in Parliament to represent tl Gentlemanly Interest of that town ; and he might add, the Lad Interest he hoped, besides (pocket handkerchiefs) ; it had been li pleasant duty to come among them, and to raise his voice on the behalf in Another Place (pocket handkerchiefs and laughter often. But he had never come among them, and had never raisf his voice, with half such pure, such deep, such unalloyed deligh as now. " The present occasion," he said, " will ever be memorab to me : not only for the reasons I have assigned, but because has aff'orded me an opportunity of becoming personally known to gentleman — " Here he pointed the trowel at Mr. Pecksniff, who was greet( with vociferous cheering, and laid his hand upon his heart. , "To a gentleman who, I am happy to believe, will reap boij distinction and profit from this field : whose fame had previous; penetrated to me — as to whose ears has it not! — but who intellectual countenance I never had the distinguished honour behold until this day, and whose intellectual conversation I h; never before the improving pleasure to enjoy." Everybody seemed very glad of this, and applauded mo tlian ever. "But I hope my Honourable Friend," said the Gentleman member — of course he added ' if he will allow me to call him s and of course Mr. Pecksniff" bowed — " will give me ma; opportunities of cultivating the knowledge of him ; and that may have the extraordinary gratification of reflecting in after tii that I laid on this day two first stones, both belonging structures which shall last my life ! " Great cheering again. All this time, Martin was cursing J Pecksniff up hill and down dale. " My friends ! " said Mr. Pecksniff, in reply. " My duty is build, not speak ; to act, not talk ; to deal with marble, stone, a brick : not language. I am very nuich affected. God bL you This address, pumped out apparently from Mr. Pecksniff's v( heart, brought the enthusiasm to its highest pitch. The pool MAm-IN- IS MV ■^ Mi-crr fiP.ATiFrF.n p,y ax iMrosivr; cf.rkmoni 530 LIFE AXD ADYEXTURES OF handkerchiefs were waved again ; the charity children w admonished to grow up Pecksnift's, every boy among them ; 1 Corporation, gentlemen with wands, member for the Gentlemai Interest, all cheered for Mr. Pecksniff. Three cheers for I Pecksniff ! Three more for Mr. Pecksniff' ! Three more for I Pecksniff, gentlemen, if you please ! One more, gentlemen, Mr. Pecksniff", and let it be a good one to finish with ! In short, Mr. Pecksniff' was supposed to have done a gr work, and was very kindly, courteously, and generously reward When the procession moved away, and Martin and Mark were 1 almost alone upon the ground, his merits and a desire acknowledge them formed the common topic. He was only secc to the Gentlemanly member. "Compare that fellow's situation to-day with ours!'" s Martin, bitterly. " Lord bless you. Sir ! "' cried Mark, " what's the use 1 So architects are clever at making foundations, and some archite are clever at building on 'em when they're made. But it'll i come right in the end. Sir ; it'll all come right ! " I " And in the meantime — " began Martin. " In the meantime, as you saj'. Sir, we have a deal to do, u far to go. So sharp's the word, and Jolly ! " • "You are the best master in the world, Mark," said Mar " and I will not be a bad scholar if I can help it, I am resolv So come ! Best foot foremost, old fellow ! " CHAPTER XXXVI. T(.M PINCH DEPARTS TO SEEK HIS FORTUNE. WHAT HE PL'S AT STARTING. Oh 1 what a different town Salisbury was in Tom Pinch's < .'s to be sure, when the substantial Pecksniff" of his heart me (1 away into an idle dream ! He possessed the same faith in if wonderful shops, the same intensified appreciation of the mys'y and wickedness of the place ; made the same exalted estimate o ts wealth, population, and resources ; and yet it was not the old t.v nor anything like it. He walked into the market while they -re getting breakfast ready for him at the Inn : and thougli it as the same market as of old, crowded by the same buyers iJ sellers ; brisk with the same business ; noisy with the s-W confusion of tongues and cluttering of fowls in coops ; fair " th MARTIX CIIUZZLEWIT. r.31 ; same display of rolls of luittor, newly made, set forth in linen ths of dazzling whiteness : green with the same fresh sliow of ivy vegetables ; dainty with the same array in higglers' baskets small shaving-glasses, laces, braces, trouser-straps, and hardware ; roury with the same unstinted show of delicate pigs' feet, and s made precious by the pork that once had walked upon them : II it was strangely changed to Tom. For in the centre of the rket-place he missed a statue he had set up there, as in all ler places of his personal resort ; and it looked cold and bare thout that ornament. The change lay no deeper than this, for Tom was far from ng sage enough to know, that, having been disappointed in one n, it would have been a strictly rational and eminently wise )ceeding to have revenged himself upon mankind in general, by strnsting them one and all. Indeed this piece of justice, though is upheld by the authority of divers profound poets and aourable men, bears a nearer resemblance to the justice of that )d Vizier in the Thousand-and-one Nights, who issues orders the destruction of all the Porters in Bagdad because one of it unfortunate fraternity is supposed to have misconducted nself, than to any logical, not to say Christian system of conduct, own to the world in later times. Tom had so long been used to steep the Pecksniff of his fancy his tea, and spread him out upon his toast, and take him as a ish with his beer, that he made but a poor breakfast on the 5t morning after his expulsion. Nor did he much improve his petite fur dinner by seriously considering his own atlaire, and cing counsel thereon with his friend the organist's assistant. The organist's assistant gave it as his decided opinion that latever Tom did, he must go to London ; for there was no place e it. Wliich may be true in the main, though hardly perhaps, itself, a sufficient reason for Tom's going there. But Tom had thought of London before, and had coupled with thoughts of his sister, and of his old friend John Westlock, lose advice he naturally felt disposed to seek in this imjjortant sis of his fortunes. To London, therefore, he resolved to go ; i he went away to the coach-office at once, to secure his place. 16 coach being already full, he was obliged to postpone his parture until the next night ; but even this circumstance had its ight side as well as its dark one, for though it threatened to luce his poor purse with unexpected country-charges, it affi)rdcd n an opportunity of writing to Mrs. Lupin and ajjpointing liis X to be brought to the old finger-post at the old time ; which luld enable him to take that treasure with him to the metropolis, 532 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF and save the expense of its carriage. " So," said Tom, comfortiu himself, "it's very nearly as broad as it's long." And it cannot be denied that, when he had made up his min to even this extent, he felt an unaccustomed sense of freedom — vague and indistinct impression of holiday-making — -niiich was ver luxurious. He had his moments of depression and anxiety, an they were, with good reason, pretty numerous ; but still, it wa wonderfully pleasant to reflect that he was his own master, au' could plan and scheme for himself. It was startling, thrilliiio vast, difficult to understand ; it was a stupendous truth, teemin 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 dreamy haze between him and his prospects, in which the sometimes showed to magical advantage. In this unsettled state of mind, Tom went once more to bed i the low four-poster, to the same immoveable surprise of the effigii of the former landlord and the fat ox ; and in this condition, passe; the whole of the succeeding day. "When the coach came round ;' last, with " London " blazoned in letters of gold upon the boot, gave Tom such a turn, that he was half disposed to run awa But he didn't do it ; for he took his seat upon the box instea and looking down upon the four grays, felt as if he were anoth gray himself, or, at all events, a part of the turn-out ; and w quite confused by the novelty and splendour of his situation. And really it might have confused a less modest man than Tc to find himself sitting next that coachman ; for of all the swe that ever flourished a whip, professionally, he might have be elected emperor. He didn't handle his gloves like another mr but put them on — even when he was standing on the paveme); quite detached from the coach — as if the four grays were, somehi, or other, at the ends of the fingers. It was the same with his h^ He did things with his hat, which nothing but an unlimil knowledge of horses and the wildest freedom of the road, coi ever have made him perfect in. Valuable little parcels w brought to him with particular instructions, and he pitched th; into this hat, and stuck it on again ; as if the laws of gravity v not admit of such an event as its being knocked off or blown ', and nothing like an accident could befall it. The guard, ti,'! Seventy breezy miles a-day were written in his very whiskt-. His manners were a canter ; his conversation a round trot. ' was a fast coach upon a down-hill turnpike road ; he was all p;- A w^aggon couldn't have moved slowly, with that guard and s key-bugle on the top of it. These were all foreshadowings of London, Tom thought, as « MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 533 t upon the Ijox, aud looked about him. Such a coachuian, and ch a guard, never could have existed between Salisbury and any der place. The coach was none of your steady-going, yokel ichcs, but a swaggering, rakish, dissipated, London coach ; up night, and lying by all day, aud leading a devil of a life. It red no more for Salisbury than if it had been a hamlet. It ttled noisily through the best streets, defied the Cathedral, took 8 worst corners sharpest, went cutting in everywhere, making erything get out of its way ; and spun along the open country- id, blowing a lively defiance out of its key-bugle, as its last glad rting legacy. It was a charming evening. Mild and bright. And even with e weight upon his mind which arose out of the immensity and certainty of London, Tom could not resist the captivating sense rapid motion through the pleasant air. The four grays immed along, as if they liked it quite as well as Tom did ; the gle was in as high S2)irits as the grays ; the coachman chimed in metiuies Avith his voice ; the wheels hummed cheerfully in isou ; tlie brass-work on the harness was an orchestra of little lis ; aud thus, as they went clinking, jingling, rattling, smoothly , the whole concern, from the buckles of the leaders' coupling- ins, to the handle of the hind boot, was one great instrument of iisic. Yoho, past hedges, gates, and trees ; past cottages aud barns, d people going home from work. Yoho, past donkey-chaises, awn aside into the ditch, and empty carts with rampant horses, lipped up at a bound upon the little water-course, and held by •uggling carters close to the five-barred gate, until the coach had .s.sed the narrow turning in tlie road. Yoho, by churches dropped wn by themselves iu quiet nooks, with rustic burial-grounds out them, where the graves are green, and daisies sleep — for it evening — on the bosoms of the dead. Yoho, past streams, in lich the cattle cool their feet, and where the rushes grow ; past ddock-fenccs, farms, and rick-yards ; past last year's stacks, cut, ce by slice, away, aud showing, in the weaning light, like ruined bles, old and brown. Yoho, down the j^ebbly dip, and through e merry water-splash, and up at a canter to the level road again, ^ho : Yoho ! Was the box there, when they came up to tlie old finger-post ? le 1)ox! Was Mrs. Lupin herself 1 Had she turned out ignificently as a hostess sliould, iu her own chaise-cart, and was e sitting in a mahogany chair, driving her own horse Dragon ■ho ought to have been called Dumpling), and looking lovely 1 id tlic stage-coach pull up beside her, shaving her very wheel, 534 LIFE AInD ADVENTURES OF MARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 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 Pecksniti', as if the coach exjiressed 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." " Trouble, Mr. Pinch ! " cried the hostess of the Dragon. " Well ! It's a jjleasure 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 cheerful, 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'll write when you get settled, Mr. Pinch"?" said Mrs. Lupin. " When I get settled ! " cried Tom, with an involuntary opening of his eyes. " Oh, yes, I'll 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 haviui only one friend. I shall give your love to the friend, by the way You were always great with Mr. AVestlock, you know. Gooi bye ! " " Good bye ! " said Mrs. Lupin, hastily liroducing a baskei with a long bottle sticking out of it. " Take this. Good bye ! '' " 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 fo refreshment on the road. Sit fast. Jack. Drive on. Sir. Al 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 Ton straining his eyes, " where I have so often stood, to see this ver coach go by, and where I have parted with so many companions I used to compare this coach to some great monster that appeare at certain times to bear my friends away into the world. An now it's bearing me away, to seek my fortune. Heaven knov where and how ! " It made Tom melancholy to picture himself Avalking up tl lane and back to Pecksnitt"s as of old ; and being melancholy, 1 looked downwards at the basket on his knee, which he had for tl moment forgotten. " She is the kindest and most considerate creature in the world thought Tom. " Xow I knoiu that she particularly told that m: /W- -^ ^^^^^' -' Mli. I'l.NcH DEPARTS iu SKEK HIS FORTUXE. f.36 LIFE AXD ADVENTURES OF uf hers not to Inok at me, on imrpose to prevent my throwing hii a shilling ! I had it ready for him all the time, and he nev( once looked towards me ; whereas that man naturally (fur I kno' him very well), would have done nothing but grin and stan Upon my word, the kindness of people perfectly melts me." Here lie caught the coachman's eye. The coachman winkei " Remarkable fine woman for her time of life," said the coachmai " I quite agree with you," returned Tom. '■' So she is." " Finer than many a young one, I mean to say," observed tl coachman. "Eh?" " Than many a young one,"' Tom assented. " I don't care for 'em myself when they're too young," rcmarkc the coachman. This was a matter of taste, which Tom did not feel hinisi called upon to discuss. " You'll seldom find 'em possessing correct opinions abo refreshment, for instance, when they're too young, you know," sa the coachman : "a woman must have arrived at maturity, beft her mind's equal to coming provided with a basket like that." " Perhaps you would like to know what it contains ?" said To smiling. As the coachman only laughed, and as Tom was curious himse he unpacked it, and put the articles, one by one, upon the foy^ board. A cold roast fowl, a packet of ham in slices, a crusty loll a piece of cheese, a paper of biscuits, half a dozen apples, a kn some butter, a screw of salt, and a bottle of old sherry. Tli was a letter besides, which Tom put in his pocket. The coachman was so earnest in his ap]5roval of ]\Irs. Lupi ])rovident habits, and congratulated Tom so warmly on his g( ibrtune, that Tom felt it necessary, for the lady's sake, to expl that the basket was a strictly Platonic basket, and had merely l« in'esented to him in the way of friendship. When he had the statement with perfect gravity ; for he felt it incumbent ( him to disabuse the mind of this las rover of any incorrect impi sions on the subject ; he signified that he would be happy to si the gifts with him, and proposed that they should attack basket in a spirit of good fellowship at any time in the course the night which the coachman's experience and knowledge of road might suggest, as being best adapted to the purpose. ¥i- this time they chatted so pleasantly together, that although 1 • knew infinitely more of unicorns than horses, the coachmau • formed his friend the guard, at the end of the next stage, "tt rum as the box-seat looked, he was as good a one to go, in pi' of couversatiou, as ever he'd wish to sit by." MARTIN CIIUZZLEWIT. 637 Yoho, among the gathering shades ; niakhig of no account the p reflections of the trees, but scanii)ering on through light and kncss, all the same, as if the light of London fifty miles away, •e quite enough to travel by, and some to sj^are. Yoho, beside village-green, where cricket-i^layers linger yet, and every little entation made in the fresh grass by bat or wicket, ball or ^•er's foot, sheds out its perfume on tlie night. Away with four ;h horses from the Bald-faced Stag, wliere topers congregate ut the door admiring ; and the last team with traces hanging 56, go roaming off towards the pond, imtil observed and shouted ;r by a dozen throats, while volunteering boys pursue them. w with a clattering of hoofs and striking out of fiery sparks, )ss the old stone bridge, and down again into the shadowy i, and through the open gate, and far awav, awav, into the d. Yoho! Yoho, behind there, stop that bugle for a moment ! Come ;ping over to the front, along the coach-roof, guard, and make at this basket ! Not that we slacken in our pace the while, we : we rather put the bits of blood upon their metal, for the iter glory of the snack. Ah ! It is long since tliis bottle of wine was brought into contact with the mellow breath of night, may depend, and rare good stuff it is to wet a bugler's whistle h. Only try it. Don't be afraid of turning up your finger, I, another in\\\ ! Now, take your breath, and try the bugle, 1. There's music ! There's a tone ! " Over tlie hills and far ly," indeed. Yoho ! The skittish mare is all alive to-night. 30 ! Yoho ! See the bright moon ! High up before we know it : making earth reflect the objects on its breast like water. Hedges, !S, low cottages, church steeples, blighted stumps and flourishing ng slips, have all grown vain upon the sudden, and mean to template their own fair images till morning. The poplars der rustle, that their c^uivering leaves may see themselves upon ground. Not so the oak ; trembling does not become kiin ; he watches himself in his stout old burly steadfastness, without motion of a twig. The moss-grown gate, ill-poised uj)on its iking liinges, crippled and decayed, swings to and fro before its 5S, like some fantastic dowager; while our own ghostly likeness .'els on, Yoho ! Yoho ! through ditch and brake, upon the Jglied land and tlie smooth, along the steep hill-side and steeper 1, as if it were a phantom-Himter. Clouds too ! And a mist upon the Hollow ! Not a dull fog t hides it, but a light airy gauze-like mist, which in our eyes of lest admiration gives a new charm to the beauties it is spread 538 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF before : as real gauze has done ere now, and would again, so plef you, though we were the Pope. Yoho ! Why now we travel h the Moon herself. Hiding this minute in a grove of trees ; nt minute in a patch of vapour ; emerging now upon our broad cl( course ; withdrawing now, but always dashing on, our journey a counterpart of hers. Yoho ! A match against the Mo( Yoho, yoho ! The beauty of the night is hardly felt, when Day comes leapi up. Yoho ! Two stages, and the country roads are almost chauo to a continuous street. Yoho, past market-gardens, rows of hous villas, crescents, terraces, and squares ; past waggons, coach carts ; past early workmen, late stragglers, drunken men, a sober carriers of loads ; past brick and mortar in its every shaj and in among the rattling pavements, Avhere a jaunty-seat upoi coach is not so easy to preserve 1 Yoho, down countless turniu, and through countless mazy ways, until an old Inn-yard is gain: and Tom Pinch, getting down, quite stunned and giddy, is London ! "Five minutes before the time, tool" said the driver, as received his fee of Tom. "Upon my word," said Tom, "I should not have minded Vj much, if we had been five hours after it ; for at this early houj don't kuow where to go, or what to do with myself" " Don't they expect you then ? "' inquired the driver. " Who ?" said Tom. " Why, them," returned the driver. His mind was so clearly running on the assumption of To having come to town to see an extensive circle of anxious relati' and friends, that it would have been pretty hard work to undece him. Tom did not try. He cheerfully evaded the subject, i going into the Inn fell fast asleep before a fire in one of the pull rooms opening from the yard. When he awoke, the people in ; house were all astir, so he washed and dressed himself; to great refreshment after the journey ; and, it being by that ti eight o'clock, Avent forth at once to see his old friend John. John Westlock lived in Furnival's Inn, High Holborn, wh i was within a quarter of an hour's walk of Tom's starting-po' but seemed a long way ott", by reason of his going two or tl miles out of the straight road to make a short cut. When at last arrived outside John's door, two stories up, he stood faltering his hand upon the knocker, and trembled from head to foot, he was rendered very nervous by the thought of having to what had fiillen out between himself and Pecksniff; and he misgiving that John would exult fearfully in the disclosure. ast : MARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. f.39 But it must be made," thought Tom, "'sooner or later; and 1 better get it over."" [at tat. I am afraid that's not a London knock,"" thought Tom. " It 't sound bold. Perhaps that's the reason why nobody answers loor."' t is quite certain that nobody came, and that Tom stood looking le knocker : wondering whereabouts in the neighbourhood a in gentleman resided, who was roaring out to somebody, me in !" with all his might. Bless my soul!" thought Tom at last. "Perhaps he lives and is calling to me. I never thought of that. Can I open loor from the outside, I wonder. Yes, to be sure I can." be sure he could, by turning the handle : and to be sure 1 he did turn it, the same voice came rushing out, crying liy don't you come in ? Come in, do you hear *? "What arc standing there for 1 " c^uite violently, 'om stepped from the little passage into the room from which 3 sounds proceeded, and had barely caught a glimpse of a leman in a dressing-gown and slippers (Avith his boots beside ready to put on), sitting at his breakfiist with a newspaper in band, when the said gentleman, at the imminent hazard of setting his tea-table, made a plunge at Tom, and hugged him, Wh}-, Tom my boy !" cried the gentleman, "Tom !" How glad I am to see you, Mr. AVestlock ! "' said Tom Pinch, ing both his hands, and trembling more than ever. " How you are ! "' Mr. "Westlock !" repeated John, " what do you mean by that, h ? You have not forgotten my Christian name, I suppose 1 "' •No, John, no. I have not forgotten it," said Thomas Pinch. )od gracious me, how kind you are !" 'I never saw such a fellow in all my life!" cried John. hat do you mean by saying that over and over again ? "What you expect me to be, I wonder ! Here, sit down, Tom, and rea.sonable creature. How are you, my boy "? I am delighted 36 you ! " 'And I am delighted to see i/ou," said Tom. 'It's mutual, of course," returned John. "It always was, I ;, If I had known you had been coming, Tom, I would have something for breakfast. I would rather have such a surprise I the best breakfast in the world, myself; but yours is another , and I have no doubt you are as hungry as a hunter. You t make out as well as you can, Tom, and we'll recompense cur- es at dinner time. You take sugar I know : I recollect the I 540 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF sugar at Peck.suift\s. Ha, ha, ha I Ho\a- is Pecksuitil V( (lid you come to town ? Do begin at something or other, '. There are only scraps here, but tliey are not at all bad. B i head potted. Try it, Tom ! Make a beginning whatever yoi i What an old Blade you are ! I am delighted to see you." While he delivered himself of these words in a state of ^i commotion, John was constantly running backwards and forw to and from the closet, bringing out all sorts of things in i scooping extraordinary quantities of tea out of the caddy, dro] French rolls into his boots, pouring hot water over the butter, making a variety of similar mistakes without disconcerting hii in the least. "There!" said John, sitting down for the fiftieth time, instantly starting up again to make some other addition tc breakfast. " Now we are as well off as we are likely to bt dinner. And now let us have the news, Tom. Imprimis, 1 Pecksniff?" "I don't know liow he is," was Tom's grave answer. John Westlock i)ut the teapot down, and looked at hii astonishment. "I don't know how he is," said Thomas Pinch ; "and s; that I wish him no ill, I don't care. I have left him, Johi liave left him for ever." " Voluntarily r' '• Why no, for he dismissed me. But I had first fouuc that I was mistaken in him ; and I could not have remained him under any circumstances. I grieve to say that you were in your estimate of his character. It may be a ridicidous ^ ness, John, but it has been very painful and bitter to me ti this out, I do assure you." Tom had no need to direct that appealing look toward friend, in mild and gentle deprecation of his answering w laugh. John Westlock would as soon have thought of str him down upon the floor. "It was all a dream of mine," said Tom, "and it is over, tell you how it happened, at some other time. Bear witl folly, John. I do not, just now, like to think or speak abou "I swear to you, Tom," returned his friend, with great eai ness of manner, after remaining silent for a few moments, ' when I see, as I do now, how deei^ly you feel this, I don't ji whether to be glad or sorry, that you have made the discove! last. I reproach myself with the thought that I ever jesti the subject; I ought to have known better." "My dear friend," said Tom, extending his hand, "it is ^lARTIX CIIUZZLEWIT. 541 Tous ami gallant in you to receive me anil my disclosure in spirit ; it makes me blusli to think that I should have felt a lent's uneasiness as I came along. You can't think what a ;ht is lifted oft" my mind," said Tom, taking up his knife and again, and looking very cheerful. '• I shall punish tlie boar's I dreadfully."' ?he host, thus reminded of his duties, instantly betook liimself iling up all kinds of irreconcilable and contradictory viands in I's plate, and a very capital breakfast Tom made, and very h the better for it, Tom felt. 'That's all right," said John, after contemplating his visitor's eedings, with infinite satisfaction. "Now, about our plans. are going to stay with me, of course. Where's your box 1 " 'It's at the Inn," said Tom. "I didn't intend " 'Never mind what you didn't intend," John Westlock inter- A. " What you did intend is more to the purpose. You iided, in coming here, to ask my advice, did you not, TomT' ' Certainly." ' And to take it when I gave it to you 1 '' 'Yes," rejoined Tom, smiling, "if it were good advice, which, g yours, I have no doubt it will be." 'Very well. Then don't be an obstinate old humbug in tlie et, Tom, or I shall shut up shop and dispense none of that iluable commodity. You are on a visit t(j me. I wish I had )rgan for you, Tom '. " ' So do the gentlemen dowii stairs, and the gentlemen over- 1, I have no doubt," was Tom's reply. ' Let me see. In the first place, you will wish to see your T this morning," pursued liis friend, " and of course you will to go there alone. I'll walk part of ihe way witli you ; and about a little business of my own, and meet you here again in afternoon. Pnt that in your pocket, Tom. It's only the key lie door. If you come home first, you'll want it." 'Really," said Tom, "quartering one's self upon a friend in way — " 'Why, there are two keys,'' interpo.sed John Westlock. '• 1 t open the door with them both at once, can I ? What a :;ulous fellow you are, Tom ! Nothing particular you'd like for ler, is there ? '' 'Oh dear no," said Tom. ■'Very well, then you may as well leave it to nic. Have a 3 of cherry brandy, Tom 1 " •'Not a drop! What remarkable chambers thc^^e arc 1 "' said ch, "there's everything in 'em '." 542 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF " Bless your soul, Tom, nothing but a few little bachelor cor trivances ! the sort of impromptu arrangements that miglit hav suggested themselves to Philip Quarll or Robinson Crusoe : that' all. What do you say 1 Shall we walk 1 " "By all means," cried Tom. "As soon as you like."" Accordingly, John Westlock took the French rolls out of hi boots, and put his boots on, and dressed himself: giving Tom tli paper to read in the meanwhile. When he returned, equipped ft walking, he found Tom in a brown study, with the paper in hi hand. " Dreaming, Tom ? " " No," said Mr. Pinch, " No. I have been looking over tli advertising sheet, thinking there might be something in it, whic would be likely to suit me. But, as I often think, the straug thing seems to be that nobody is suited. Here are all kinds i employers wanting all sorts of servants, and all sorts of servani wanting all kinds of employers, and they never seem to come ti gether. Here is a gentleman in a public office in a position ( temporary difficulty, who wants to borrow five hundred pounds and in the very next advertisement here is another gentleman wl has got exactly that sum to lend. But he'll never lend it to hic; John, you'll find. Here is a lady possessing a moderate ind pendence, who wants to board and lodge Avith a quiet,, cheerf family ; and here is a family describing themselves in those vei words, 'a quiet, cheerful family,' who want exactly such a lady \ come and live with them. But she'll never go, John. Neitbj do any of these single gentlemen who want an airy bedroom, wil* the occasional use of a parlour, ever ap]}ear to come to terms wil these other people who live in a rural situation, remarkable f its bracing atmosphere, within five minutes' walk of the Koy Exchange. Even those letters of the alphabet, who are alwa; running away from their friends and being entreated at the to of columns to come back, never do come back, if we may judge fro the number of times they are asked to do it, and don't. It real seems," said Tom, relinquishing the paper, with a thoughtful sig "as if people had the same gratification in printing their coi plaints as in making them known by word of mouth; as if th found it a comfort and consolation to proclaim ' I want such ai 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 gether. So many years had jmssed since Tom was last in LondO and he had known so little of it then, that his interest in all;| saw was very great. He was particularly anxious, among o^ notorious localities, to have those streets pointed out to him \vl MARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 5-13 appropriated to the sliuigliter of countrymen ; and was quite ipointed to find, after a half-an-liour's walking, tliat he hadn't tiis pocket picked. But on John Westlock's inventing a pick- gt for his gratification, and pointing out a highly respectable ger as one of that fraternity, he was mucli delighted, 'is friend accompanied him to within a short distance of berwell, and liaving put him beyond the possibility of mistak- ;he wealthy brass-and-copper founder's, left him to make his Arriving before the great bell-handle, Tom gave it a gentle The porter appeared. Pray does Miss Pinch live liere 1 " said Tom. Miss Pinch is Governess liere," replied tlie portei-. t the same time he looked at Tom from head to foot, as if he i have said, "You are a nice man, t/ou are ; where did i/ou from I '' It's the same young lady,'' said Tom. "It's quite right. Is ,t homer' I don't know, I'm sure,'' rejoined the porter. Do you think you could have the goodness to ascertain ? " Tom. He had quite a delicacy in offering the suggestion, for wssibility of such a step did not appear to present itself to lorter's mind at all. he fact was that the porter in answering the gate-bell had, ding to usage, rung the house -bell (for it is as well to do things in the Baronial style while you are about it), and there the functions of his ofhce had ceased. Being hired to and shut the gate, and not to explain himself to strangers, ift this little incident to be developed by the footman with ags, who, at this juncture, called out from the door steps : Hollo, there ! wot are you up to ! This way, young man I " Oh ! " said Tom, hurrying towards him. " I didn't olisei-vc there was anybody else. Pray is Miss Pinch at home ? " She's in," replied the footman. As much as to say to Tom : t if you think she has anything to do with the proprietorship is place, you had better abandon that idea." I wish to see her if you please," said Tom. he footman, being a lively young man, happened to have his ition caught at that moment by tlie fiiglit of a pigeon, in h lie took S(j warm an interest, that his gaze was rivetted on )ird imtil it was quite out of sight. He then invited Tom tu ! in, and showed him into a parlour. Hany neem?" said the young man, pausing languidly at tlie t was a good thought : because witliout jjrdviding the stranger, 544 LIFE AKD ADVENTURES OF in case he should happen to be of a warm temper, with a sufficie excuse for knocking hini clown, it implied this young niai estimate of his quality, and relieved his breast of the oppressi burden of rating him in secret as a nameless and obscure individui " Say her brother, if you please," said Tom. "Mother?" drawled the footman. "Brother," repeated Tom, slightly raising his voice. "And you will say, in the first instance, a gentleman, and then say li brother, I shall be obliged to you, as she does not expect me, know I am in London, and I do not wish to startle her." The young man's interest in Tom's observations had ceas long before this time, but he kindly waited until now ; wh( shutting the door, he withdrew. " Dear me ! " said Tom. " This is very disrespectful a uncivil behaviour. I hope these are new servants here, and tl Ruth is very differently treated." His cogitations were interrupted by the sound of voices in t; adjoining room. They seemed to be engaged in high dispute, in indignant reprimand of some ofiender ; and gathering streu^ occasionally, broke out into a perfect whirlwind. It was in ( of these gusts, as it appeared to Tom, that the footman annouu( him ; for an abrupt and unnatural calm took place, and thei dead silence. He was standing before the window, wonder: what domestic quarrel might have caused these sounds, anil hop Ruth had nothing to do with it, when the door opened, and sister ran into his arms. "Why, bless my soul!" said Tom, looking at her with gr pride, when they had tenderly embraced each other, " liow alte you are, Ruth ! I should scarcely have known yon, my love, i Iiad seen you anywhere else, I declare ! You are so im]irove said Tom, with inexpressible delight: "you are so womanly; ; are so — positively, you know, you are so handsome ! " "If yoM think so, Tom — " "Oh, but everybody must think so, you know," said Ti gently smoothing down her hair. " It's matter of f\ict ; opinion. But what's the matter?" said Tom, looking at her n ' intently, " how fluslied you are ! and you have been crying." . "No, I have not, Tom." " Nonsense," said her brother stoutly. " That's a story. D-if tell me ! I know better. What is it, dear ? I'm not with Pecksniff now; I am going to try and settle myself in Loud: and if you are not happy here (as I very much fear you are . for I begin to think you have been deceiving me with the km t and most affectionate intention) you sliall not remain here." . jj MARTIX CHUZZLEWrr. 545 L ! Tom's blond was rising ; mind that. Perhaps tlie boar's had something to do with it, but certainly the footman had. il the sight of his pretty sister — a great deal to do Mith it. >onld bear a good deal himself, but he was proud of her, and is a sensitive thing. He began to think, " there are more niffs than one, perhaps," and by all the pins and needles un up and down in angry veins, Tom was in a most unusual all at once. Ve will talk about it, Tom," said Ruth, giving him another 3 pacify him. "I am afraid I cannot stay here." !/'anuot ! " replied Tom. " Why then, you shall not, my love, ly ! You are not an object of charity ! Upon my word ! " m was stopped in these e.Kclamations by the footman, who tit a message from his master, importing that he wished to with him before he went, and with j\Iiss Pinch also. Show the wa}'," said Tom. " Fll wait upon him at once." cordingly they entered the adjoining room from which the 3f altercation had proceeded ; and there they found a middle- jentleman, with a pompous voice and manner, and a middle- lady, with what may be termed an exciseable face, or one in starch and vinegar were decidedly employed. There was se present that eldest pupil of Miss Pinch, whom Mrs. rs, on a previous occasion, had called a syrup, and who was reeping and sobbing spitefully. ily brother, Sir," said Ruth Pinch, timidly presenting Tom. )h ! " cried the gentleman, surveying Tom attentively. really are Miss Pinch's brother, I presume ? You will ! my asking. I don't observe any resemblance." tliss Pinch has a brother, I know," observed the lady, iliss Pinch is always talking about her brother, when she to be engaged upon my education," sobbed the pupil. 5ophia ! Hold your tongue ! " observed the gentleman. Jown, if you please," addressing Tom. m sat down, looking from one fiice to another, in mute surprise, 'emain here, if you please. Miss Pinch," pursued the gentle- looking slightly over his shoulder. m interrupted him here, by rising to place a chair for his Having done which, he sat down again. '. am glad you chajice to have called to see your sister to-day, resumed the brass-and-copper founder. " For although I do pprove, as a principle, of any yomig person engaged in my T, in the capacity of a governess, receiving visitors, it happens ■3 case to be well-timed. I am sorry to inform you that we )t at all satisfied with vour sister." 546 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF , , Q^ D5»<-o<''^v- ' -. ! - ..:■ ,{ r^cu-. A ^^■'■■■' ^ . i^"We are very much J/ssatisficd ^vith mv," observed the had; o^i^yTVVv*'^ "I'd never say another lesson to Miss Pinch if I was to A-K^ beat to death for it ! " sobbed the pupiL ( . ^ i'-l -"Sophia ! " cried her father. " Plohl your tongacJ " _ ' "~^' Will you allow me to inquire what your ground of dissa faction is 1 " aske4-¥mn. "Yes," said the gentleman, "I will. I don't recognise it s right ; but I will. Your sister has not the slightest innate po^ of commanding respect. It has been a constant source of dif ence between us. Although she has been in this family for sc time, and although the young lady who is now present, has alm( as it were, grown up under her tuition, that young lady has respect for her. Miss Pinch has been perfectly unable to C( mand my daughter's respect, or to win my daughter's confidei ]Srow,"-^sa,id the gentLeraau, a,llowiug the paka-of hi»-hfm4-4a.. gravely (lt3wn upon the--table-i "I maintain that there is so thing radically wrong in that ! You, as her brother, may be f posed to deny it — " "I beg your pardon. Sir," said^-^OHi. "I am not at all posed to deny it. I am sure that there is something radic wrong: radically monstrous : in that." "Good Heavens!" cried the gentleman, looking round - room with dignity, " what do I find to be the case ! what re;^ obtrude themselves upon me as flowing from this weaknes character on the part of Miss Pinch ! What are my feelings father, when, after my desire (r^jjeatedly^xpi-essed to Miss^jli as. I think she will- not venture to detiy) that my daughter shli be choice in her expressions, genteel in her deportment, as bec(:e her station in life, and politely distant to her inferiors in soc.:.V I find her, only this very morning, addressing Miss Pinch he^'l as a bggga r ! "^:^ ' " A beggarly thing," -©bseived the ia^ly, iTrcopree^n. " Which is worse," said the gentleman, triTunphantly-; ""^'cl is worse. A beggarly thing ! A low, coarse, despicable 'ex]-S sion ! " " Most despicable," cried Tom. " I am glad to find tha*:: i< is a just appreciation of it here." . , 1).*. .''So just. Sir," said the gentleman, lowering his-rmee^te-b)^ ^V » ' •■ '■jjiore impressive. " S'O-jrtst, thttt,- but for my knowing ]\Iiss ]:icl to be an unprotected yomig person, an orphan, and without frid?. I would, as I assured Miss Pinch, upon my veracity and peinal character, a few minutes ago, I would have severed the conntiw' between ns at that moment and from that time." i "Bless my soul, Sir ! " cried Tom, rising from his seat; i' h« MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. now unable to contain himself any longer ; •' don't allow such iderations as those to influence you, pray. Tliey don't exist! She is not unprotected. She is ready to depart this instant, li, ju^uieai', get j^our bonnet on ! '"' ■ Oh, a pretty family ! " cxied the lady-. '' Oli, he's her brother ! re's no doubt about that ! "' 'As little doubt, madam,"' sai4~¥om, "as that the young lady ler is the cluUl of j-our teaching, and not my sister's. Rw»lt -, itiH TV^ct TDur bo a tiot - on : " 'When YOU say, young man," i»4«'powtl' the brasf5-atid-copper 4o r, hfl HghtJly, '• with that impertinence which is natural to .aiid-.which I therefore do not condescend to notice fitrther; the young lady, my eldest daugliter, has been educated by any but Miss Pinch, you — I needn't proceed. You comprehend ully. J have^ no doubt you are used to iK" •Sir ! " erietl Tom, after regarding him in silence for some little s: "If you do not understand what I mean, I will tell you. on do understand what I mean, I beg you not to repeat that e of expressing yourself in answer to it. ]\Iy meaning is, that lan can expect his children to respect what he degrades.' 'Ha. ha, ha i " laughed thfr-gentleman. " Oant ! cant ! Tiie luon cant* ! ' ' The common story, Sir • " said"Tom ; " the story of a common \7 ' Your governess cannot win tlie confidence and respect of • cliildreii, forsootli ! Let her begin by winning yours, and see t happens then." 'Miss PiiTch*is getting her bonnet on, I trust, my dear?" said ffentlenTan. 'I trust she is,-' .said Tom, forestalling the reply. "I liave loiiUfr«h«^.- In the meantime, I address myself to yuu, 8ir. made your statement to me, Sir ; you required to see me for purpose ; and I have a right to answer it. I am not loud or luleiit," said Tom, which was quite true, " though I can scarcely as much for you, in your manner of addressing yourself to me. I wish, on my sister's behalf, to state the simple truth." 'You may state anything you like, young man,"- returned the il«wan , affecting' to yawn. "^My dear ! IMiss Pinch's money." 'When you tell me," resumed T«m, who was not~tlie4«»s jiimili tirni ilimitng IrtaSflLcpiiet, " tliat my sister has no innate er of commanding the respect of your children, I must tell you not so ; and that slie has. She is as well bred, as well taught, veil qualified by nature to command respect, as any hirer of a ;rness you know. But- when you place her at a disadvantage eference to every servant in your house, how can you suppose, 548 LIFE AND ADA'ENTURES OF if you have the gift of common sense, that she is not in a tenfold -worse position in reference to your daughters ? " " Pretty well ! UjJon my -worcl,'"" exclaimed the gent.lefti«»i " this is pretty well ! " " It is very ill, Sir," .miA" '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 tbe\ respect whom no one else respects, and everybody slights ? And very partial they must grow : oh, very partial : to tlieir studies. when they see to what a pass proficiency in those same tasks has brought their governess ! Respect ! Put anything the most deserving of respect before your daughters in the light in whicl you place her, and you will bring it down as low, no matter whai it is ! " "You speak with extreme impertinence, young man,"~obserf»8 the gefftMfein. "I speak without passion, but with extreme indignation am contempt for such a course of treatment, and for all who practia, it," said-I^i. "Why, how can you, as an honest gentleman^ profess displeasure or surprise, at your daughter telling my sistei she is something beggarly and humble, when you are for eve; telling her the same thing yourself in fifty plain, out-speaking wayS; though not in words ; and when your very porter and footma) make the same delicate announcement to all comers 1 As to yon suspicion and distrust of her : even of her word : if she is no 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 th payment of an annual sum of money gdves it to you, you immense], exaggerate its power and value. Your money is the least part i your bargain in such a case. You may be punctual in that t lialf a second on the clock, and yet be bankrupt. I have nothiii more to say," said Tom, much flushed and flustered, now that i was over, " except to crave permission to stand in your garde until my sister is ready." Not waiting to obtain it, Tom walked "out. Before he had well begun to cool, his sister joined him. Sb. was crying ; and Tom could not bear that any one about the hous should see her doing that. "They will think you are sorry to go," said Tom. "You ai not sorry to go ? " " No, Tom, no, I have been anxious to go for a very lor time." " Very well, then ! Don't cry ! " said Tom. MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 549 I am so sorry for you, dear," sobbed Tom's sister. ■But you ought to be gUul on my account," said Tom. "I I be twice as happy with you for a companion. Hold up your . There ! Now we go out as we ought. Not bhistering, you 7, but firm and confident in ourselves." 'he idea of Tom and his sister blustering, under any ciroum- :es, was a splendid absurdity. But Toiu was very far from :ig it to be so, in his excitement ; and passed out at the gate such severe determination written in his face that the porter ly knew him again. t was not until they had walked some short distance, and Tom i liiraself getting cooler and more collected, that he was quite ired to himself by an inquiry from his sister, who said in her >aut little voice : AVhere 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 r, looking wistfully in his face. No," said Tom. "Not at present. Not exactly. I only ■ed this morning. We must have some lodgings." le didn't tell her that he had been going to stay with his d John, and could on no account think of billeting two inmates 1 him, of whom one was a young lady ; for he knew that would e her imcomfortable, and would cause her to regard herself as I an inconvenience to him. Neither did he like to leave hei- rhere while he called on John, and told him of this change in .rrangements ; for he was delicate of seeming to encroach upon generous and hospitable nature of his friend. Therefore he again, " We must have some lodgings, of course • " and said stoutly as if he had been a perfect Directory and Guide-Book 1 tlie lodgings in London. Where shall we go and look for 'em % " said Ton). " What do think 1 " 'om's sister was not much wiser on such a topic than he was. he squeezed her little purse into his coat-pocket, and folding ittle hand with which she did so on the other little hand witli h she clasped his arm, said nothing. It ought to be a cheap neighbourhood," said Tom, "and not ar from London. Let me see. Should you think Islington a place % " I should think it was an excellent place, Tom." It used to be called Merry Islington, once upon a time," said . "Perhaps it's merry now ; if so, it's all the better. Eh?" If it's not too dear," said Tum's sister. 550 LIFE AND ADYEXTURES OF "Of course, if it's not too dear,'' assented Tom. "Well, whe is Islington ? We can"t do better than go there, I .should thin Let's go." Tom's sister would have gone anywhere with him ; . f that in consideration of not haviny; dined, thev would ventur '" MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 551 jxtravagauce of chops for supper at nine, he walked out aiiniu irrate these marvellous occurreuces to John. I am quite a fiimily man all at once," thought Tom. " If I only get something to do, how comfortable Ruth and I may Ah, that if! But it's of no use to despond. I can but do ■when I have tried everything and failed ; and even then it t serve me much. Upon my -word," thought Tom, quickening )ace, " I don't know what John will think has become of me. [ begin to be afraid I have strayed into one of those streets •e the countrymen are murdered ; and that I have been made ; pics of, or some horrible thing." CHAPTER XXXVII. PINCH, GOING ASTRAY, FINDS THAT HK IS NOT THE ONLY PERSON IN THAT PREDICAMENT. HE RETALIATES UPON A KALLEN FOE. 'om's evil genius did not lead him into the dens of any of those arers of cannibalic pastry, who are represented in many dard country legends, as doing a lively retail business in the ropolis ; nor did it mark him out as the i)rey of ring-droppers, and thimble-riggers, dutfers, touters, or any of those bloodless pers, who are, perhaps, a little better known to the Police, fell into conversation with no gentleman, who took him into a lie-house, where there happened to be another gentleman, who re he had more money than any gentleman, and very soon •ed he had more money than one gentleman, by taking his away 1 him : neither did he fall into any other of the numerous man- s which are set up, without notice, in the public grounds of city. But he lost his way. He very soon did that : and in ng to find it again, he lost it more and more. S'ow Tom, in his guileless distrust of London, thouglit himself ' knowing in coming to tlie determination that he would not to be directed to Furnival's Inn, if he could help it ; unless, 'cd, he should ha])pcn to find himself near tlie Mint, or the k of England ; in which case, he would step in, and ask a civil jtion or two, confiding in the perfect respectability of the ;ern. So on he went, looking up all the streets he came near, going up half of tliem ; and thus, by dint of not being true to well Street, and filing off into Aldermanbury, and bewildering self in Barbican, and l)eing constant to tlie wrong ]M>iut of the 552 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF compass in London Wall, and then getting himself crosswise int' Thames Street, by an instinct that would have been marvellous i he had had the least desire or reason to go there, he found himsell at last, hard by the Monument. The Mau in the Monument was quite as mysterious a being t Tom as the Mau in the Moon. It immediately occurred to hit that the lonely creature who held himself aloof from all maukin in that pillar, like some old hermit, was the very man of whom t ask his way. Cold, he might be ; little sympathy he had, perhaps with human passion — the column seemed too tall for that ; but i Truth didn't live in the base of the Monument, notwithstaudin Pope's couplet about the outside of it, where in London (Tor thought) was she likely to be found ! i Coming close below the pillar, it was a great encouragement 1; Tom to find that the ]\Iau in the Monument had simple tastes! that stony and artificial as his residence was, he still preserve: some rustic recollections ; that he liked plants, hung up bird-cage was not wholly cut ofi" from fresh groundsel, and kept young tre^ in tubs. The Man in the Monument, himself, was sitting outsit the door — his own door : the Monument-door : what a grand ide; — and was actually yawning, as if there were no Monument to sti his mouth, and give him a jjerpetual interest in his own existenc( Tom was advancing towards this remarkable creature, to iuqui the way to Furnival's Inn, when two people came to see t; Monument. They were a gentleman and a lady ; and t 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 the Monument opened a dark little door. "When the gentleni and lady had passed out of view, he shut it again, and came slov back to his chair. He sat down and laughed. "They don't know what a many steps there is!" he sa " It's worth twice the money to stop here. Oh, my eye ! " The Man in the Monument was a Cynic ; a worldly mai Tom couldn't ask his way of him. He was prepared to put ', confidence in anything he said. "My Gracious !" cried a well-known voice behind Mr Pin' " Why, to be sure it is ! " At the same time he Avas poked in the back by a })aras Turning round to inquire into this salute, he beheld the eld' daughter of his late patron. " Miss Pecksniff ! " said Tom. MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 553 Why, my goodness, Mr. Piuch ! " cried Cherry. " Wliut are doing here 1 '' ,1 have rather wandered from my way," said Tom. " I — " I hope you have run away," said Charity. "It would be 5 spirited and proper if you had, when my Papa so far forgets ,elf." I have left him," returned Tom. "But it was jterfectly Tstood on both sides. It was not done clandestinely." Is he married?" asked Cherry, with a spasmodic shake of ;hin. No, not yet," said Tom, colouring : " to tell you the truth, a't think he is likely to be, if — if Miss Graham is the object s passion." Tcha, Mr. Pinch ! " cried Charity, with sharp impatience, I're very easily deceived. You don't know the arts of which a creature is capable. Oh ! it's a wicked world." You are not married ? " Tom hinted, to divert the conversa- No — no ! " said Cherry, tracing out one particular paving } in Monument Yard with the end of her parasol. " I — but y it's quite impossible to explain. Won't you walk in 1 " You live here, then 1 " said Tom. Yes," returned Miss Pecksniff, pointing with her imrasol to jers's : " I reside with this lady, at present." 'he great stress on the two last words suggested to Tom he was expected to say something in reference to them. So lid: Only at present ! Are you going home again, soon 1 " Xu, Mr. Pinch," returned Charity. "No, thank you. No! other-in-law who is younger than — I mean to say, who is as ly as possible about the same age as one's self, would not ; suit my spirit. Not quite ! " said Cherry, with a spiteful Jr. I thought from your saying at present " — Tom observed. Really upon my word ! I had no idea you would press me so closely on the subject, Mr. Pinch," said Ciiarity, blushing, I should not have been so foolish as to allude to — Oh really ! on't you walk in ? " 'oin mentioned, to excuse him.self, that he had an appointment 'uruival's Inn, and that coming from Islington he had taken w wrong turnings, and arrived at the Monument instead. • Pecksniff simpered very much when he asked her if she V the way to Furnival's Inn, and at length found courage to 554 LIFE AXD ADVENTURES OF " A gentlemau who is a friend of mine, or at least wlio is n exactly a friend so much as a sort of acquaintance — Oh, ujDon u word, I hardly know what I saj'^, Mr. Pinch ; you mustn't suppo there is any engagement between us ; or at least if there is, th it is at all a settled thing as yet — is going to Furnival's Ii immediately, I believe upon a little business, and I am sure 1 would be very glad to accompany you, so as to prevent yo going wrong again. You had better walk in. You will ve likely iind my sister Merry here," she said, with a curious toss her head, and anything but an agreeable smile. " Then, I tliiuk, I'll endeavour to find my way alone,'' sa Tom ; " for I fear she would not be very glad to see me. Th unfortunate occurrence, in relation to which you and I had soi amicable words together, in private, is not likely to have impress^ her with any friendly feeling towards me. Though it really w not my fault." " She has never heard of that, you may depend," said Chen gathering up the corners of her mouth, and nodding at Tom. ' am far from sure that she would bear you any mighty ill will i it, if she had." " You don't say so ? " cried Tom, who was really concerned tliis insinuation. "I say nothing," said Charity. "If I had not already kno' what shocking things treachery and deceit are in themselves, J Pinch, I might perhaps have learnt it from the success they nn with — from the success they meet with." Here she smiled before. " But I don't say anything. On the contrary, I shoi scorn it. You liad better walk in ! " There was something hidden here, which piqued Tom's inter and troubled his tender heart. When, in a moment's irresoluti he looked at Charity, he could not but observe a struggle iu face between a sense of triumph and a sense of shame ; nor co he but remark how, meeting even his eyes, which she cared little for, she turned away her own, for all the splenetic defia iu her manner. An uneasy thought entered Tom's head ; a shadowy misgiv that the altered relations between himself and Pecksniff, u somehow to involve an altered knowledge on his part of ot people, and Avere to give him an insiglit into much of which ' liad had no previous suspicion. And yet he put no definite (r struction upon Charity's proceedings. He certainly had no i* that as he had been the audience and spectator of her mortificat i. she grasped with eager delight at any opportunity of reproacl 'S her sister with his jtresence in her far deeper misery : for he ki v MARTIN CHUZZLE^V1T. 555 thing of it, aiul only pictured that sister as the same giddy, reless, trivial creature she always had been, with the same ght estimation of himself which she had never been at the least ins to conceal. In short, he had merely a confused imi)ression at Miss Pecksniff was not quite sisterly or kind ; and being rious to set it right, accompanied her, as she desired. The house-door being opened, she went in before Tom, requesting m to follow her; and led the way to the parlour door. '•Oh, Merry!" she said, looking in, "I am so glad you have t gone home. "Who do you think I have met in the street, and ought to see you ! Mr. Pinch ! There. Now you are sur- ised, I am sure ! " Not more surprised than Tom wa^;, when he looked upon her. ut so much. Not half so much. "Mr. Pinch has left Papa, my dear,"' said C'licrry, ''and his ospects are quite flourishing. I have i)romised that Augustus, 10 is going that way, shall escort him to the ])]ace he wants, igustus, my child, where are you ? " "With which Miss Pecksnift' screamed out of the parlour, Uing on Augustus Moddle to appear; and left Tom Pinch alone th her. If she had always been his kindest friend ; if she had treated ra through all his servitude with such consideration as was never t received by struggling man ; if she had lightened every moment those many years, and had ever spared and never wounded him ; s honest heart could not have swelled before her with a deeper ty, or a purer freedom from all base remembrance than it did en. "My gracious me! You are really the last person in the iirld I should have thought of seeing, I am sure ! " Tom was sorry to hear her speaking in her old manner. He id not expected that. Yet he did not feel it a contradiction that ; should be sorry to see her so unlike her old self, and sony at le same time to hear her speaking in her old manner. The two lings seemed quite natural. "I wonder you find any gratiticatiou in coming to see me. I .ii"t think what put it in your head. I never had much in .seeing HI. There was no love lost between us, Mr. Pinch, at any time, think." Her bonnet lay beside her on the sofa, and she was very l)U.sy ith the ribbons as she spoke. INEuch too busy to be conscious of le work her fingers did. "We never quarrelled," .said Tom. --Tom was riglit in that, r one jierson can no more quarrel williout an adversary, than 556 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF one person can play at chess, or fight a duel. " I hoped yc would be glad to shake hands with an old friend. Don't let i rake up byegones," said Tom. " If I ever offended you, forgi^ nie." She looked at him for a moment ; dropped her bonnet fro: her hands ; spread them before her altered face ; and burst in; tears. " Oh, Mr. Pinch ! " she said, " although I never used you we! I did believe your nature was forgiving. I did not think yc could be cruel." She spoke as little like her old self now, for certain, as To could possibly have wished. But she seemed to be appealing hini reproachfully, and he did not understand her. " I seldom showed it — never — I know that. But I had tb belief in you, that if I had been asked to name the person in t world least likely to retort upon me, I would have named yc, 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 oh; beside her. " Do you believe," said Tom, " oh can you think, that wha' said just now, I said with any but the true and plain inteuti which n)y words professed ? I mean it, in the spirit and the lett If I ever ottended you, forgive me ; I may have done so, ma times. You never injured or offended me. How, then, could possibly retort, if even I were stern and bad enough to wish do it ! " After a little while she thanked him, through her tears a sobs, and told him she had never been at once so sorry and comforted, since she left home. Still she wept bitterly ; and was the greater pain to Tom to see her weeping, from her stand in especial need, just then, of sympathy and tenderness. " Come, come ! " said Tom, "you used to be as cheerful as day was long." "Ah ! used ! " she cried, in such a tone as rent Tom's heart.' "And will be again," said Tom. 1 "No, never more. No, never, never more. If you shoj talk with old Mr. Chuzzlewit, at any time," she added look!; Imrriedly into his face — "I sometimes thought he liked you, |t suppressed it — will you promise me to tell him that you saw « here, and that I said I bore in mind the time we talked togel '' in the churchyard ? " Tom promised that he would. ' ;martix chuzzlewit. 557 Many times since then, when I have wished I had been ed there before that day, I have recalled his words. I wish he should know how true they were, although the least Dwledgmeut to that effect has never passed my lips, and never om promised this, conilitionallj', too. He did not tell her improbable it was that he and the old man would ever meet 1, because he thought it might disturb her more. If he should ever know this, through your means, dear Mr. h," said I\Ierc3', " tell him that I sent the message, not for :lf, but that he might be more forbearing, and more patient, more trustful to some other person, in some other time of need, him that if he could know how my heart trembled in the ice that day, and what a very little would have turned the , 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 —I know I was, for I have often, often, thought about it since e most inclined to yield to what he showed me. Oh ! if he relented but a little more ; if he had thrown himself in my for but one other quarter of an hour ; if he had extended his jassion for a vain, unthinking, miserable girl in but the least ee ; he might, and I believe he would, have saved her ! Tell that I don't blame him, but am grateful for the effort that lade ; but ask him for the love of God, and youth, and in Tciful consideration for the struggle which an ill-advised and vakened nature makes to hide the strength it thinks its weak- — ask him never, never to forget this, when he deals with again I " Llthough Tom did not hold the clue to her full meaning, he 1 guess it pretty nearly. Touched to the quick, he took her 1 and said, or meant to say, some words of consolation. She and understood them, whether they were spoken or no. He not quite certain afterwards but that she had tried to kneel n at his feet, and bless him. ie found that he was not alone in the room when she had left Mrs. Todgers was there, shaking her head. Tom had never Mrs. Todgers, it is needless to say, but he had a perception er being the lady of the house ; and he saw some genuine passion in her eyes, that won his good opinion. ' Ah, Sir ! You are an old friend, I see," said Mrs. Todgers. ' Yes," said Tom. 'And yet," quoth Mrs. Todgers, shutting the door softly, e hasn't told you what her troubles are, I'm certain." 5S8 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF Tom was struck by tliese words, for they 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 won of explanation or reproach. But I know," said Mrs. Todgers drawing in her breath, " / 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 cm half of what that poor young creature has to undergo. Bu though she comes here, constantly, to ease her poor full hear without his knowing it ; and saying, ' Mrs. Todgers, I am ver, low to-day ; I think that I shall soon be dead,' sits crying in ro room until the fit is past ; I know no more from her. And, believe," said Mrs. Todgers, putting back her handkerchief agaii " that she considers me a good friend too." Mrs. Todgers might have said her best friend. Commerciij gentlemen and gravy had tried Mrs. Todgers's temper ; the maii chance — it was such a very small one in her case, that she raigli have been excused for looking sharp after it, lest it should entire ; vanish from her sight— had taken a firm hold on Mrs. Todgers- attention. But in some odd nook of Mrs. Todgers's breast, up great many steps, and in a corner easy to be overlooked, there w a secret door, with " AVoman " written on the spring, which a touch from Mercy's hand had flown wide open, and admitt' her for shelter. When boarding-house accounts are balanced with all oth I ledgers, and the books of the Recording Angel are made up 1 / ever, perhaps there may be seen an entry to thy credit, lean M / Todgers, which shall make thee beautiful ! '" She was growing beautiful so rapidly in Tom's eyes ; for he s; that she was poor, and that this good had sprung up in her fn among the sordid strivings of her life; that she might have b( a very Venus in a minute more, if Miss Pecksniff had not entei with her friend. " Mr. Thomas Pincli ! " said Charity, performing the ceremcl of introduction with evident pride, "Mr. JModdle. Where's u sister ■? " " Gone, Miss Pecksniff," ]\Irs. Todgers answered. " She 1. 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 b i married, Mrs. Todgers ! " observed Moddle. "My dear Augustus ! " said Miss Pecksnift", in a low voice, 'I .MAKTIX CIirZZLKWIT. r.o9 ly believe you have said that fifty tliousMiMl time.*, in my 'ing. What a Prose you are ! " rhis was succeeded by some trifling love passages, which ?ared to originate with, if not to be wholly carried on by. Miss ksnift". At any rate, Mr. Moddle was much slower in his ouses than is customary with young lovers, and exhibited a less of spirits which was quite oppressive. 3.6 did not improve at all when Tom anmes of you 1 '' said Moddle. Pom admitted that it was a subject in wliicli he certainly felt 8 interest. 'I don't," said Mr. Moddle. "The Elemeaits may have me u they please. I'm ready." Pom inferred from these, and other expressions of the same ire, that he was jealous. Therefore he allowed him to take own course ; which was such a gloomy one, that he felt a load oved from his mind Avhen they parted company at the gate of nival's Inn. [t Avas now a couple of hours past Jolin Westlock's dinner- i ; and he was walking up and down the room, quite anxious Tom's safety. The table was spread ; the wine was carefully uited : and the dinner smelt delicious. ' Why, Tom, old boy, where on earth have yon been ? Your is liere. Get your boots off instantly, and sit down ! ' 'I am sorry to say I can't stay, Joiin," replied Tom Pincli, I was breathless with the haste he had made in running up staii-s. ' Can't stay ! " 'If you'll go on with your dinner,'' said Tom, "I'll tell you reason the while. I mustn't eat myself, or I shall have no etite for the chops." 'There are no chops here, my good fellow." 'No. But there are, at Islington," said Tom. Tohn Westlock was perfectly confounded by this reply, and ed he wnuld not touch a morsel until Tom had explained him- fully. So Tom sat down, and told him all ; to which lie ?ne(l with the greatest interest. He knew Tom too well, and respected l:is delicacy U»> much, 560 LIFE AND ADA^ENTURES OF to ask him why he had taken these measures without communicat- ing with 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 said, as they rode along, "I have a question to ask you, to which I expect a manly and straightforward answer. Do you want any money 1 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, I have a five-pound note, which 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 &> hard as she could go." " And a blessing on every dimple in her handsome face, say 1 1 ' cried John, " though why you should give her the preference ove) me, I don't know. Never mind. I bide my time, Tom." " And I hope you'll continue to bide it," returned Tom gaily '' For I owe you more already, in a hundred other ways, than I cai ever hope to pay." They parted at the door of Tom's new residence. John AVest lock, sitting in the cab, and, catching a glimpse of a blooming litt]( busy creature darting out to kiss Tom and to help him with hi: box, would not have had the least objection to change place, with him. Well ! she ivas a cheerful little thing : and had a quaint, brigh quietness about her, that was infinitely jileasant. Surely she w;i the best sauce for chops ever invented. The potatoes seemed t' take a pleasure in sending up their grateful steam before her ; th froth upon the pint of porter pouted to attract her notice. But i was all in vain. She saw nothing but Tom. Tom was the firs and last thing in the world. As she sat opposite to Tom at supper, fingering one of Tom'' pet tunes upon the table-cloth, and smiling in his face, he ha-i never been so hapjjy in his life. MARTI X CHUZZLEWIT. 561 CHAPTER XXXTIII. SECRET SERVICE, walking from the City with his sentimental friend, Tom had looked into the face, and brushed against the thread- leeve, of Mr. Xadgett, man of mystery to the Anglo-Bengalee ■erested Loan and Life Insurance Company. Mr. Nadgett illy passed away from Tom's remembrance, as he passed f his view ; for he didn't know him, and liad never heard ime. , there are a vast number of j^eople in the huge metropolis igland who rise up every morning, not knowing where their will rest at night, so there are a multitude who shooting s over houses as their daily business, never know on whom fall. Mr. Xadgett might have passed Tom Pinch ten and times ; might even have been quite familiar witli his his name, pursuits, and character ; yet never once have led that Tom had any interest in any act or mystery of his. might have done the like by him, of course. But the same ;e man out of all the men alive, was in the mind of each le same moment ; was prominently connected, though in ^rent manner, with the day's adventures of both ; and formed, they passed each other in the street, tlie one absorbing of tlieir thoughts. hy Tom had Jonas Chuzzlewit in his mind requires no ex- tion. Why Mr. Nadgett should have had Jonas Chuzzlewit 1, is quite another thing. it somehow or other that amiable and worthy orphan had 36 a part of the mystery of Mr. Nadgett's existence. Mr. ett took an interest in his lightest proceedings ; and it never !d or wavered. He watched him in and out of the Insurance !, where he was now formally installed as a Director ; he !d his footsteps in the streets ; he stood listening when he il; he sat in coffee-rooms entering his name in tlie great it-book, over and over again ; he wrote letters to liimself ; him constantly ; and when he found them in his pocket hem in the fire, with such distrust and caution tliat he would down to watch the crumpled tinder wliile it floated upward, his mind misgave him, that the mystery it had contained t come out at the chimney-pot. nd yet all this was quite a secret. Mr. Xadgett kept it to 2o 562 LIFE AXD ADA^ENTURES OF himself, and kept it close. Jonas had no more idea that J] Nadgett's e3'es were fixed on him, than he had that he was livii under the daily inspection and report of a whole order of Jesuii Indeed Mr. Nadgett's eyes were seldom fixed on any other objec than the ground, the clock, or the fire ; but every button on 1 coat might have been an eye : he saw so much. The secret manner of the man disarmed suspicion in this wis suggesting, not that he was watching any one, but that he thoug some other man was watching him. He went about so stealthil and kept himself so wrapped up in himself, that the whole obje of his life appeared to be, to avoid notice, and preserve his o\ mystery. Jonas sometimes saw him in the street, hovering in t outer office, waiting at the door for the man who never came, slinking off with his immoveable face and drooping head, and t, one beaver glove dangling before him ; but he would as soon hai thought of the cross upon the top of St. Paul's Cathedral taki note of what he did, or slowly winding a great net about his ii as of Nadgett's being engaged in such an occupation. Mr. Nadgett made a mysterious change about this time in mysterious life : for whereas he had, until now, been first & every morning coming down Cornhill, so exactly like the Nadget' the day before as to occasion a popular belief that he never went bed or took his clothes oflf, he Avas now first seen in Holb: coming out of Kingsgate Street ; and it was soon discovered t he actually went every morning to a barber's shop in that st;, to get shaved ; and that the barber's name was Sweedlepipe. \. seemed to make appointments with the man who never cameii meet him at this barber's ; for he would frequently take 1^ spells of waiting in the shop, and would ask for pen and ink, ,il pull out his pocket-book, and be very busy over it for an i'r at a time. Mrs. G-amp and Mr. Sweedlepipe had many ('|' discoursings on the subject of this mysterious customer; but )' usually agreed that he had speculated too much and was kee i' out of the way. He must have appointed the man who nevBr kept his \^ i to meet him at another new place too; for one day he was fo I for the first time, by the waiter at the Mourning Coach-H',i'. the House-of-call for Undertakers, down in the City there, ma i- figures with a pipe-stem in the sawdust of a clean spittoon ; n' declined to call for anything, on the ground of expecting a ge f- man presently. As the gentleman was not honourable enougl" keep his engagement, he came again next day, with his pocket- ■'^ in such a state of distension that he was regarded in the bar ' man of large property. After that, he repeated his visits i rj MA1;TIX ClirZZLEWIT. 563 ami had so nnu-h writiiii;- to do. that he made nothing of I'hig a capacious leaden inkstand in two sittings. Alchongh ?ver talked much, still, by being there among the regular mers, he made their acquaintance ; and in course of time le quite intimate with Mr. Tackcr, I\Ir. Mould's foreman ; ven with Mr. Mould himself, who openly said he was a long- id man, a dry one, a salt fish, a deep file, a rasper : and made he subject of many other flattering encomiums. ; the same time, too, he told the peo^ile at the Insurance , in his own mysterious way, that there was something wrong itly wrong, of course) in his liver, and that he feared he put himself under the doctor's hands. He w^as delivered to Jobling upon this representation ; and though Jobling not find out where his liver was wrong, wrong Mr. Nadgett it was ; observing that it was his own liver, and he hoped ght to know. Accordingly, he became Mr. Jobling's patient ; ietailing his symptoms in his slow and secret way, was in and f that gentleman's room a dozen times a-day. 3 he pursued all these occupations at once ; and all steadily ; ,11 secretly ; and never slackened in his watchfulness of every- that Mr. Jonas said and did, and left unsaid and undone ; not improbable that they were, secretly, essential parts of great secret scheme which INFr. Nadgett had on foot. WMs on the morning of this very day on which so much had Mied to Tom Pinch, that Nadgett suddenly appeai'ed before ilontague's house in Pall Mall — he always made his appearance he had that moment come up a trap — when the clocks were ng nine. He rang the bell in a covert under-handed way, ough it were a treasonable act ; and passed in at the door, loment it was opened wide enough to receive his body. That he shut it immediately, with his own hands. r. Bailey, taking up his name without delay, returned with |uest that he wouhl follow him into his master's chamber, chairman of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life •ance Board was dressing, and received him as a business n who was often backwards and forwards, and was received times for his business' sake. Well, I\Ir. Nadgett ! " r. Nadgett put his hat upon the ground and coughed. The laving withdrawn and shut the door, he went to it softly, ined tlie handle, and returned to within a pace or two of the in which Mr. Montague sat. Any news, ]\Ir. Nadgett 1 " I think we have some new.s at last. Sir." 564 LIFE AND ADVEXTURES OF " I am happy to hear it. I began to fear you were off tt scent, Mr. Nadgett." " No, Sir. It grows cold occasionally. It will sometime; We can't help that." " You are Truth itself, Mr. Nadgett. Do you report a gres success ? " " That depends upon your judgment and construction of it, was his answer, as he put on his spectacles. " What do you think of it yourself. Have you pleased you self?" Mr. Nadgett rubbed his hands slowly, stroked his chin, lookf round the room, and said, " Yes, yes, I think it's a good case, am disposed to think it's a good case. Will you go into it i once 1 " " By all means." Mr. Nadgett picked out a certain chair from among the re; and having planted it in a particular spot, as carefully as if had been going to vault over it, placed another chair in front it : leaving room for his own legs between them. He then ^ down in chair number two, and laid his pocket-book, very careful on chair number one. He then untied the pocket-book, and hu the string over the back of chair number one. He then dr both the chairs a little nearer Mr. Montague, and opening t pocket-book spread out its contents. Finally, he selected certain memorandum from the rest, and held it out to his employ who, during the whole of these preliminary ceremonies, had b( making violent efforts to conceal his impatience. " I wish you wouldn't be so fond of making notes, my excell' friend," said Tigg Montague with a ghastly smile. "I wish ; would consent to give me their purport by word of mouth." "I don't like word of mouth," said Mr. Nadgett, gravi' " We never know who's listening." Mr. Montague was going to retort, when Nadgett handed ) the paper, and said, with quiet exultation in his tone, " We'll be at the beginning, and take that one first, if you please, Sir.' The chairman cast his eyes upon it, coldly, and with a si which did not render any great homage to the slow and methoc],' habits of his spy. But he had not read half-a-dozen lines 'w ' the expression of his face began to change, and before he ' finished the perusal of the paper, it was full of grave and ser ■ attention. " Number Two," said Mr. Nadgett, handing him another, ti receiving back the first. "Read Number Two, Sir, if you plf^ There is more interest as you go on." MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 565 igg Montague leaned backward in hi.s chair, and cast iii^on hi.s iary such a look of A'acaut wonder (not uumingled with alarm), Mr. Nadgott considered it necessary to repeat the request he already twice preferred : with the view of recalling his tion to the point in hand. Profiting by the hint, Mr. ;ague went on with Number Two, and afterwards with bers Three, and Four, and Five, and so ou. hese documents Avere all in Mr. Nadgett's writing, and were •ently a series of memoranda, jotted down from time to time the backs of old letters, or any scrap of paper that came to hand. Loose straggling scraAvls they were, and of very siting exterior ; but they had weighty purpose in them, if the man's foce were any index to the character of their contents, he progress of Mr. Nadgett's secret satisfaction arising out of effect they made, kept pace with the emotions of the reader. .rst, I\Ir. Nadgett sat with his spectacles low down upon his looking over them at Ins employer, and nervously rubbing lands. After a little M'hile, he changed his posture in his for one of greater ease, and leisurely perused the next ment he held ready, as if an occasional glance at his em- ir's face were now enough, and all occasion for anxiety or t were gone. And finally he rose and looked out of the ow, where he stood, with a triumphant air, until Tigg :ague had finished. And this is the last, Mr. Nadgett ! " said that gentleman, ing 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 is papers. " It cost some trouble, Sir." Tiie trouble shall be well rewarded, Mr. Nadgett." Nadgett d. " Tliere is a deeper impression of Somebody's Hoof here, I had expected, Mr. Nadgett. I may congratulate myself your being such a good hand at a secret." Oh ! nothing has an interest to me that's not a secret," ed Nadgett, as he tied the string about his pocket-book, put it up. " It almost takes away any pleasure I may have iu tiiis inquiry even to make it known to you." A most invaluable constitution," Tigg retorted. " A great for a gentleman employed as you are, Mr. Nadgett. Mucli !r than discretion : though you possess that quality also in raineut degree. I tliink I heard a double knock. Will you your head out of window, and tell me whether there is any- ■ at the dour ? " 566 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF Mr. Nadgett softly raised the sash, aud peered out from tl very comer, as a man might who was looking down into a stre from whence a brisk discharge of musketry might be expected any moment. Drawing in his head with equal caution, he observe not altering his voice or manner : " Mr. Jonas Chuzzlewit ! " " I thought so," Tigg retorted. " Shall I go 'I " "I think you had better. Stay though ! No! remain hei Mr. Nadgett, if you please." It was remarkable how pale and Hurried he had become iu ; instant. Tliere was nothing to account for it. His eye had f\ill on his razors : but what of tiiem ! Mr. Chuzzlewit was announced. . " Show him up directly, Nadgett ! Don't you leave us aloi together. Mind you don't, now ! By the Lord ! " he added a whisper to himself: "We don't know what may happen." Saying this, he hurriedly took up a couple of hair-brushes, ii began to exercise them on his own head, as if his toilet had i been interrupted. Mr. Nadgett withdrew to the stove in wli there was a small fire for the convenience of heating cmiing-iroi and taking advantage of so favourable an opportunity for dry his pocket-handkerchief, produced it without loss of time. Tl) he stood, during the whole interview, holding it before the h. and sometimes, but not often, glancing over his shoulder. " My dear Chuzzlewit ! " cried Montague, as Jonas enterj: "you rise with the lark. Though you go to bed with '8 nightingale, you rise with the lark. You have superhuip energy, my dear Chuzzlewit ! " I " Ecod ! " said Jonas, with an air of languor and ill-humoui'js he took a chair, "I should be very glad not to get up with'e lark, if I could help it. But I am a light sleeper; and it's be 'if to be up, than lying awake, counting the dismal old church-clcis, in bed." | "A light sleeper!" cried his friend. "Now, what is a Ijit sleeper? I often hear the expression, but upon my life I ll'C not the least conception w^hat a light sleeper is." • " Hallo ! " said Jonas, " Who's that 1 Oh, old what's ,-'■ name : looking (as usual) as if he wanted to skulk up the cliimi.'- " Ha, ha ! I have no doubt he does." ; " Well ! He's not wanted here, I suppose. He mayiO) mayn't he ? " , " Oh, let him stay, let him stay ! " said Tigg. " He's a iiW ]jiece of furniture. He has been making his report, and is yve.% MARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 567 further orders. He has been told," said Tigg, raising his ;, "not to lose sight of certain friends of ours, or to think he has done with them by any means. He understands his less." He need," replied Jonas : " for of all tlie precious old dummies [ipearance that ever I saw, lie's about the worst. He's afraid e, I think." It's my belief," said Tigg, "that yon are Poison to him. 2;ett ! give me that towel ! " [e had as little occasion for a towel as Jonas had for a start. Nadgett brought it quickly; and, having lingered for a lent, fell back upon his old post by the fire. You see, uiy dear fellow," resumed Tigg, "you are too i's the matter with your lips ? How white they are ! " I took some vinegar just now," said Jonas. " I had oysters iiy breakfast. "Where are they white ? " he added, nuittering lath, and rubbing them upon his handkerchief. " I don't ve they are white." Now I look again, they are not," replied liis friend. "They ;oming right again." Say what you were going to say," cried Jonas, angrily, "and ny ftxce be ! As long as I can show my teeth when I want ind I can do that pretty well), the colour of my lips is not ;rial." Quite true," said Tigg. "I was only going to say that you too quick and active for our friend. He is too shy to cope such a man as you, but does his duty well. Oh very well ! what is a light sleeper ? " ' Hang a light sleeper ! " exclaimed Jonas, pettishly. ' No, no," interrupted Tigg. " Xo. We'll not do that.'' ■A light .sleeper an't a heavy one," said Jonas in his sulky : "don't sleep much, and don't sleep well, and don't sleep tl." An his pocket awkwardly, he begged to be allowed to do it for ; "for meat," he said, with some emotion, "must be humoured, drove." 3ack they went to the lodgings again, after they had bought e eggs, and flour, and such small matters ; and Tom sat rely down to write, at one end of the parlour table, while Ruth lared to make the pudding, at tlie otlier end : for there was ody in the house but an old woman (the landlord being a iterious sort of man, who went out early in the morning, and scarcely ever seen) ; and, saving in mere household drudgery, r waited on themselves. ■' What are you writing, Tom 1 '' inquired his sister, laying her d upon his shoulder. ■'Why, you see, my dear," said Tom, leaning back in his cliair, looking up in her foce, " I am very anxious, of course, to lin some suitable employment ; and, before Mr. Westlock es this afternoon, I tliink I may as well prepare a little ;ription of myself and my qualifications ; such as he could show ny friend of his." 'You had better do the same for me, Tom, also," .said his ?r, casting down her eyes. "I should dearly like ti> keep se for you, and take care of you, always, Tom ; but we are not enough for that." 'We are not rich," returned Tom. " certaiidy ; ;uid we may be 574 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF much poorer. But we will not part, if we can help it. No, ii( we will make up our minds, Ruth, that, unless we are so vei unfortunate as to render me quite sure that you would be bett off away from me than with me, we will battle it out together, am certain we shall be happier if we can battle it out togethe Don't you think we shalH" "Think, Tom!^' "Oh, tut, tut r' interposed Tom, tenderly. "You mustr cry.^' " No, no ; I won't, Tom. But you can't afford it, dear. Y( can't, indeed." "We don't know that," said Tom. "How are we to kno that yet awhile, and without trying 1 Lord bless my soul Tom's energy became quite grand. "There is no knowing wh may happen, if we try hard. And I am sure we can live co tentedly upon a very little — if we can only get it." "Yes : that I am sure we can, Tom." "Why, then," said Tom, " AVe must try for it. My frien John Westlock, is a capital fellow, and very shrewd and intelligei ril take his advice. We'll talk it over with him — both of together. You'll like John very much, when yoii come to knc him, I am certain. Don't cry, don't cry. You make a beef-ste pudding, indeed!" said Tom, giving her a gentle pu.sh. "Wl you haven't boldness enough for a dumpling ! " "You win call it a pudding, Tom. Mind ! I told you not !' " I may as well call it that, till it proves to be something eh said Tom. "Oh, you are going to work in earnest, are you?" Ay, ay ! That she was. And in such pleasant earnest, mo over, that Tom's attention wandered from his writing evi moment. Fii'st, she tripped down stairs into the kitchen for I flour, then for the pie-board, then for the eggs, then for the butt then for a jug of water, then for the rolling-pin, then for a puddii basin, then for the pepper, then for the salt ; making a separ journey for everything, and laughing every time she started afresh. When all the materials were collected, she was horril to find she had no apron on, and so ran tq) stairs, by way variety, to fetch it. She didn't put it on up stairs, but ca dancing down with it in her hand ; and being one of those lit women to whom an apron is a most becoming little vanity, it ti an immense time to arrange ; having to be carefully smootl down beneath — Oh, heaven, what a wicked little stomacher and to be gathered up into little plaits by the strings before could be tied, and to be tapped, rebuked, and wheedled, at ' pockets, before it woidd set right, which at last it did, and W; i MAKTIX CIIUZZLEWIT. 575 il — but never mind ; this is a sober chronicle. C»li, never [ ! And then there were her cuffs to be tucked \\\), for fear our : and she had a little ring to pull off her finger, w hicii dn't come off (foolish little ring!); and during the -whole nf ; preparations she looked demurely every now and then at , from under her dark eye-lashes, as if they were all a part of nulding, and indispensable to its composition, 'or the life and soul of him Tom could get no further in his ing than, "A respectable young man, aged thirty-five,'' and notwithstanding the show she made of being supernaturally t, and going about on tiptoe, lest she should disturb liim : h only served as an additional means of distracting iiis ition, and keeping it upon her. Tom," she said at last, in high glee. " Tom ! " What now?" said Tom, repeating to himself, "nged thirty- Will you look here a moment, please ? ' lS if he hadn't been looking all the time ! I am going to begin, Tom. Don't you wonder why I butter inside of the basin "? " said his busy little sister. " Eh, Tom ? '' ' Not more than you do, I dare say," replied Tom, laughing. r I believe you don't know anything about it." •What an infidel you are, Tom! How else do you think it Id turn out easily when it was done ? For a civil engineer land-surveyor not to know that I My goodness, Tom ! " t was wholly out of the question to try to write. Tom I out " A respectable young man, aged thirty-five ; " and sat ing on, pen in hand, with one of the most loving smiles finable. Inch a busy little woman as she was ! So full of self-im- ance, and trying so hard not to smile, or seem uncertain about hing ! It was a perfect treat to Tom to see her with her rs knit, and lier rosy lips pursed up, kneading away at the t, rolling it out, cutting it up into strips, lining the basin with having it off fine round the rim ; chopping up the steak into II pieces, raining down pepper and salt upon them, j)ackitig II into the basin, pouring in cold water for gravy ; and never ;uring to steal a look in his direction, lest her gravity should listurbed ; until at last, the basin being quite full and only ting the top cnist, she clapped her hands, all covered with e and flour, at Tom, and burst out heartily into such a ming little laugh of triumph, that the pudding need have had ther seasoning to commend it to the taste of any reasonable on earth. 576 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. "Where's the pudding?" said Tom. For he was cutting jokes, Tom was. " Where ! " she answered, holding it up with both han "Look at it !" " That a pudding ! " said Tom. " It will be, you stupid fellow, when it's covered in," retun Ills sister. Tom still pretending to look incredulous, she gave li a tap on the head with the rolling-])in, and still laughing merri had returned to the composition of the top-crust, when she stan and turned very red. Tom started, too, for following her eyes, saw John Westlock in the room. " Why, my goodness, John ! How did you come in ? "' "I beg pardon," said John — " your sister's pardon especial but I met an old lady at the street door, who requested me enter here ; and as you didu't hear me knock, and the door ■^ open, I made bold to do so. I hardly know," said John, w a smile, " why any of us should be disconcerted at my hav accidentally intruded upon such an agreeable domestic occupati so very agreeably and skilfully pursued • but I must confess t / 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 Jo laughing, " you will have the goodness to detach yoiu" first imp' sions of me from my unfortunate entrance." \ " My sister is not indisposed perhaps to say the same to youi her own behalf," retorted Tom. r John said, of course, that this was quite unnecessary, for. had been transfixed in silent admiration ; and he held out his li to Miss Pinch ; who couldn't take it, however, by reason of flour and paste upon her own. This, which might seem calcuL to increase the general confusion and render matters worse, hat reality the best eftect in the world, for neither of them could 1 laughing ; and so they both found themselves on easy te ^ immediately. " I am delighted to see you," said Tom. " Sit down." | " I can only tliink of sitting down, on one condition," returji his friend : " and that is, that yoiu- sister goes on with {( pudding, as if you were still alone." j "That I am sure she will," said Tom. "On one other t dition, and that is, that you stay and help us to eat it." ; Poor little Ruth was seized with a jjalpitatiou of the hii when Tom committed this appalling indiscretion, for she felt it if the dish turned out a failure, she never would be able to 1 ^ up her head before John Westlock again. Quite uneonsciou -'* >":■ I'iNcir A.M. nuTH, unconscious of a visr-n 578 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF her state of mind, John accepted the mvitation with all imagin; heartiness ; and after a little more pleasantry concerning this si pudding, and the tremendous expectations he made believe entertain of it, she blushingly resumed her occupation, and took a chair. " I am here much earlier than I intended, Tom ; but I will you what brings me, and I think I can answer for your being | to hear it. Is that anything you wish to show me 1 " " Oh dear no ! " cried Tom, who had forgotten the blotted s( of paper in his hand, until this inquiry brought it to his recollect " 'A respectable young man, aged thirty-five' — The beginnin; a description of myself. That's all." " I don't think you will have occasion to finish it, Tom. how is it you never told me you had friends in London 1 " Tom looked at his sister with all his might ; and certainly sister looked with all her might at him. " Friends in London ! " echoed Tom. " Ah ! " said Westlock, " to be sure." "Have 7/071 any friends in London, Ruth, my dearf ail Tom. ' ' " No, Tom." "I am very happy to hear that / have," said Tom, "but news to me. I never knew it. They must be capital peopl keep a secret, John." " You shall judge for yourself," returned the other. " Serio Tom, here is the plain state of the case. As I was sittiu : breakfast this morning, there comes a knock at my door." " On which you cried out, very loud, ' Come in ! ' " sugg t Tom. "So I did. And the person who knocked, not beh respectable young man, aged thirty-five, from the country, 'i in when he was invited, Tom, instead of standing gaping 'n staring about him on the landing. Well ! When he came , found he was a stranger; a gi'ave, business-like, sedate-loi n stranger. 'Mr. Westlock T said he. 'That is my name,' s; ■ ' The favour of a few words with you 1 ' said he. ' Pray be S(ie( Sir,' said I." , Here John stopped for an instant, to glance towards the )li where Tom's sister, listening attentively, was still busy wit.itli basin, which by this time made a noble appearance. Th' 1^ resumed : " The pudding having taken a chair, Tom " — " What ! " cried Tom. i " Having taken a chair." * JIARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 579 You said a pudding." No, no," replied John, colourintj; rather ; "a chair. The idea stranger coming into my rooms at half-past eight o'clock in iiorning, and taking a pudding ! Having taken a chair, Tom, jr — amazed me by opening the conversation thus : ' I believe ire acquainted. Sir, with Mr. Thomas Pinch T " No ! " cried Tom. His very words, I assure you. I told him that I was. Did DW where you were at present residing ? Yes. In London 1 He had casually heard, in a roundabout way, that you had your situation with jMr. Pecksuitf. Was that the foct ? it was. Did you want another? Yes, you did." Certaiidy," said Tom, nodding his head. Just what I impressed upon him. You may rest assured I set that point beyond the possibility of any mistake, and him distinctly to understand that he might make up his L about it. Very well.'' 'Then,' said he, 'I think I can accommodate him.'" om's sister stopped short. Lord bless me ! " cried Tom. " Paith, my dear, ' think I can nmodate him.' " Of course I begged him," pursued John Westlock, glancing ^m's sister, who was not less eager in her interest than Tom elf, " to proceed, and said that I would undertake to see you ?diately. He replied that he had very little to say, being a of few- words, but such as it was, it was to the purpose : and ideed, it turned out : for he immediately went on to tell me a friend of his was in want of a kind of secretary and nan ; and that although the salary was small, being only a Ired pounds a year, with neither board nor lodging, still the '8 were not heavy, and there the post was. Vacant, and f for j'our acceptance." Good gracious me ! " cried Tom ; " a hundred pounds a year ! lear John ! Ptuth, my love ! A hundred pounds a year ! " But the strangest part of the story," resumed John "Westlock, g his hand on Tom's wrist, to bespeak his attention, and 'ss his ecstacies for the moment : " the strangest part of tiie ■, Miss Pinch, is this. I don't know this man from Adam ; ler does this man know Tom." He can't," said Tom, in great perplexity, "if he's a Londoner, n't know any one in London." And on my observing," John resumed, still keeping his liand I Tom's wrist, "that I had no doubt he would excuse the lorn I took, in inquiring who directed him to me ; how he 580 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF came to know of the change which had taken place in my friend position ; and how he came to be acquainted with my friend peculiar fitness for such an office as he had described ; he dri said that he was not at liberty to enter into any explanations." " Not at liberty to enter into any explanations ! " repeat< Tom, drawing a long breath. " 'I must be perfectly aware,' he said," John added, " 'that any person who had ever been in Mr. Pecksniff's neighbourhoo Mr. Thomas Pinch and his acquirements were as well known the Church steeple, or the Blue Dragon.' " " The Blue Dragon ! " rej^eated Tom, staring alternately at I friend and his sister. " Ay ; think of that ! He spoke as familiarly of the Bl Dragon, I give you my word, as if he had been Mark Tapley. opened my eyes, I can tell you, when he did so ; but I could i fancy I had ever seen the man before, although he said witl smile, ' You know the Blue Dragon, Mr. Westlock ; you kept up there, once or twice, yourself.' Kept it up there ! So I d You remember, Tom '? " Tom nodded with great significance, and, falling into a state deeper perplexity than before, observed that this was the ni unaccountable and extraordinary circumstance he had ever he of in his life. " Unaccountable ! " his friend repeated. " I became afraid the man. Though it was broad day, and bright sunshine, I ' positively afraid of him. I declare I half suspected him to 1 supernatural visitor, and not a mortal, imtil he took on commonplace description of pocket-book, and handed me card." "Mr. Fips," said Tom, reading it aloud. "Austin Fri ■ Austin Friars sounds ghostly, John." "Fips don't, I think," was John's reply. "But there he 11. Tom, and there he expects us to call this morning. And now i know as much of this strange incident as I do, upon my houoii Tom's flice, between his exultation in the hundred pounc i year, and his wonder at this narration, was only to be equf ' by the face of his sister, on which there sat the very ^ expression of blooming surprise that any painter could 1 ^ wished to see. What the beef-steak pudding would have com *i if it had not been by this time finished, astrology itself c « hardly determine. "Tom," said Ruth, after a little hesitation, "perhaps ''■ Westlock, in his friendship for you, knows more of this tha "' chooses to tell." MARTIN CIIUZZLEWIT. 581 Jfo, indeed!" cried John, eagerly. "It is not so, I assure I wish it were. I cannot take credit to myself, Miss Pincli, y such thing-. All that I know, or, so far as I can judge, cely to know, I have told you." [^^ouldn't you know more, if you thought proper ? " said Ruth, ng the ])ie-board industriously. So," retorted John. " Indeed, no. It is very ungenerous 1, to be so suspicious of me, when I repose implicit fiiitli in I have unbounded confidence in the pudding, ]\iiss Pinch." e laughed at this, but they soon got back into a serious and discussed the subject with profound gravity. Whatever \'as obscure in the business, it appeared to be quite plain Pom was offered a salary of one hundred i^ouuds a year ; and )eiug tlie main point, the surrounding obscurity rather set it in otherwise. an, being in a great flutter, wished to start for Austin i instantly, but they waited nearly an hour, by John's ?, before they dejiarted. Tom made himself as spruce as he before leaving home, and when John Westlock, through the pened ])arlour door, had glimpses of that brave little sister ing the collar of liis coat in the passage, taking up loose es in his gloves, and hovering lightly about and about him, ing him up here and there in the height of her quaint, little, shioned tidiness, he called to mind the fancy-portraits of her 16 wall of the Pecksniffian work-room, and decided with imon indignation that they were gross libels, and not half ' enougli : though, as hath been mentioned in its place, the 5 always made those sketches beautiful, and he had drawn at a score of them with his own hands. Com," he said, as they were walking along, " I begin to you must be somebody's son." [ 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 luencc, nor my mother either." ^ou remember tliem perfectly, then ? " tlemendjer tliem 1 oh dear yes. ]\Iy poor motlier was the Slie died wlien Rutli was a mere baby, and then we botli le a charge upon the savings of that good old grandmother I to tell you of. You remember ! Oh ! There's nothing itic in our history, John." Very well," said John in quiet despair. " Tiien there is no Df accounting for my visitor of this morning. So we'll not 'cm." 582 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF They did try notwithstanding, and never left off trying un they got to Austin Friars, where, in a very dark passage on t first floor, oddly situated at the back of a house, across some leai they found a little blear-eyed glass door up in one corner, wi Mr. Fips painted on it in characters which were meant to transparent. There was also a wicked old sideboard hiding the gloom hard by, meditating designs upon the ribs of visitor and an old mat, Avorn into lattice work, which, being useless as mat (even if anybody could have seen it, whicli was impossibL had for many years directed its industry into another channel, a: regularly tripped up every one of Mr. Fips's clients. Mr. Fips, hearing a violent concussion between a human li and his oflice door, was apprised, by the usual means of co; munication, that somebody had come to call upon him, and givi that somebody admission, observed that it was "rather dark." "Dark indeed," John wdiispered in Tom Pinch's ear. "Noi bad i^lace to dispose of a countryman in, I shoidd think, Tom." Tom had been already turning over in his mind the possibil of their having been tempted into that region to furnish fortl pie ; but the sight of Mr. Fips, who was small and spare, a looked peaceable, and wore black shorts and powder, dispel his doubts. " Walk in," said I\Ir. Fips. They walked in. And a mighty yellow-jaundiced little oti Mr. Fips had of it : with a great black, sijrawling splash u) the floor in one corner, as if some old clerk had cut his thr there, years ago, and had let out ink instead of blood. " I have brought my friend Mr. Pinch, Sir," said J( Westlock. " Be pleased to sit," said Mr. Fips. They occupied the two chairs, and Mr. Fips took the ot stool, from the stufling whereof he drew forth a piece of ho hair of immense length, which he put into his mouth M'itl great appearance of appetite. He looked at Tom Pinch curiously, but with an entire freet! from any sucii expression as could be reasonably construed into i unusual display of interest. After a short silence, during wl •' Mr. Fips was so perfectly unembarrassed as to render it mani jt that lie could have broken it sooner without hesitation, if he .;i felt inclined to do so, he asked if Mr. Westlock had made f offer fully known to IMr. Pinch. ! John answered in the affirmative. "And you think it worth your while, Sir, do you?" Mr. I* inquired of Tom. MARTIN CHUZZLE^VIT. 583 ■ I think it a piece of great good fortune, Sir," said Tom. " I exceedingly obliged to you for the offer. " Not to me," said Mr. Tips. "I act upon instructions." To your friend, Sir, then," said Tom. "To the gentleman whom I am to engage, and whose confidence I shall endeavour 2serve. "When he knows me better, Sir, I hope he will not his good opinion of me. He will find me punctual ai^l ant, and anxious to do what is right. That I think I can rer for, and so," looking towards him, "can Mr. Westlock." ' Most a.ssuredly," said John. Ir. Fips ai)peared to have some little difficulty in resuming conversation. To relieve himself, he took up the wafer-stamp, began stamping capital F's all over his legs. 'The foot is," said Mr. Fips, "that my friend is not, at this ?nt moment, in town." 'om's countenance fell ; for he thought this ciiuivalcnt to jg him that his appearance did not answer; and that Fips t 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. " said Fips, taking off a very deep impression of the wafer- ip upon the calf of his left leg, and looking steadily at Tom, lon't know that it's a matter of much consequence." *oor Tom inclined his head deferentially, but appeared to )t that. 'I say," repeated Mr. Fips, "that I don't know it's a matter luch consequence. The business lies entirely between yourself me, ]ilr. Pinch. With reference to your duties, I can set you g; and with reference to your salary, I can pay it. Weekly," Mr. Fips, putting down the wafer-stamp, and looking at 11 Westlock and Tom Pinch by turns, " weekly ; in this ottice ; my time between tlie hours of four and five o'clock in the rnoon." As Mr. Fips said this, he made up his face as if he 3 going to whistle. But he didn't. 'You are very good," said Tom, whose countenance was now ised with pleasure : " and nothing can be more satisfactory or ightforward. My attendance will be required — " 'From half-past nine to four o'clock or so, I should say," rrupted Mr. Fips. "About that." ' I did not mean the hours of attendance," retorted Tom, liich are light and easy, I am sure ; but the place." 'Oh, the place ! The place is in the Temple." rom was delighted. 'Perhaps," said Mr. Fips, "you would like to see the place 1" 584 LIFE AND ADVEXTURES OF " Oh dear ! " cried Tom. •' I shall ouly be too glad to cousin myself engaged, if you 'svill allow me ; without any furtL reference to the place." "You may consider yourself engaged, by all means," said M| Fips : " you couldn't meet me at the Temple Gate in Fleet Strec in an hour from this time, I supiwse, could you 1 '"' Certaiidy Tom could. " Good," said Mr. Fips, rising. " Then I will show you tl' place; and you can begin your attendance to-morrow mornin! In an hour, therefore. I shall see you too, Mr. Westlock 1 Ye good. Take care how you go. It's rather dark." With this remark, which seemed superfluous, he shut tliem o upon the staircase, and they groped their way into the street agai The interview had done so little to remove the mystery which Tom's new engagement was involved, and had done much to thicken it, that neither could help smiling at tlie puzzl looks of the other. They agreed, however, that the introducti of Tom to his new office and office companions could hardly fail throw a light upon the subject ; and therefore postponed further consideration until after the fulfilment of the appoiutnu they had made with Mr. Fips. After looking in at John Westlock's chambers, and devoting few spare minutes to the boar's head, they issued forth again the place of meeting. The time agreed upon had not quite com but Mr. Fips Avas already at the Temple Gate, and expressed 1 satisfaction at their punctuality. He led the way through sundry lanes and courts, into one nv quiet and more gloomy than the rest, and, singling out a cert; house, ascended a common staircase : taking from his pocket, he went, a bunch of rusty keys. Stopping before a door upon upper story, which had nothing but a yellow smear of paint wh( custom would have placed the tenant's name, he began to beat t dust out of one of these keys, very deliberately, upon the grt broad hand-rail of the balustrade. " You had better have a little plug made," he said, looki round at Tom. after blowing a shrill whistle into the barrel of t key. " It's the only way of preventing them from getting stopp up. You'll find the lock go the better, too, I dare say, for a lit oil." Tom thanked him ; but was too much occupied with his o^ speculations, and John Westlock's looks, to be very talkative, the meantime, Mr. Fips opened the door, which yielded to his ha very unwillingly, and with a horribly discordant sound. He to the key out when he had done so, and gave it to Tom. MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 685 ^y, ay ! " said Mr. Fips. " Tlie dust lies rather thick liere." lUy, it did. IMr. Fips might have gone so far as to say, very It had accumuhited everywhere ; lay deep on everything ; I one part, where a ray of sun slione through a crevice in the T and struck upon the opposite wall, it went twirling round )und like a gigantic squirrel-cage. ist was tlie only thing in tlie place that had any motion it. When their conductor admitted the liglit i'recly, and up the heavy window-sash, let in the summer air, he showed juldering furniture, discoloured wainscoting and ceiling, rusty and ashy hearth, in all their inert neglect. Close to tlie ;here stood a candlestick, with an extinguisher upon it, as last man who had been there, had paused, after securing a t, to take a parting look at the dreariness he left behind, len had shut out light and life together, and closed the place e a tomb, ere were two rooms on that floor ; and in the first or outer narrow staircase, leading to two more above. These last fitted up as bed-chambers. Neither in them, nor in the below, was any scarcity of convenient furniture observable, gh the fittings were of a by-gone fashion ; but solitude and of use seemed to have rendered it unfit for any purjioses of rt, and to have given it a grisly, haunted air. )veables of every kind lay strewn about, without the least pt at order, and were intermixed with boxes, hampers, and ts of lumber. On all the floors were i)iles of books, to the it perhaps of some thousands of volumes : these still in those Avrapped in paper, as they had been purchased : scattered singly or in heaps : not one upon the shelves lined the walls. To these, Mr. Fips called Tom's attention. Jefore anything else can be done, we must have them put in catalogued, and ranged upon the book-shelves, Mr. Pinch, .vill do to begin witli, I think. Sir." II rubbed his hands in the pleasant anticipation of a task so lial to his taste, and said : m occupation full of interest for me, I assure ynu. It will ' me, i)erhaps, until Mr. " 'ntil Mr. " repeated Fips; as much as to ask Tom lie was sto}ipiiig for. forgot tliat you had not mentioned the gentleman's name,'' om. •h ! " cried Mr. Fips, pulling on his glove, " didn't 1 1 No, -bye, I don't think I did. Ah ! I dare say he'll be here You will get on very well together, I have no doubt. I 586 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. wish you success, I am sure. You won't forget to shut the door It'll lock of itself if you slam it. Half-past uine, you know. Le 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. Tips, Austin Friars, of course you'll remember? And yoi won't forget to slam the door, if you please V He said all this in such a comfortable, easy manner, that Ton could only rub his hands, and nod his head, and smile in acquies cence, 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 himsel upon a pile of books, and looking up at his astonished friend, " h- 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 ther among the books with his hat in one hand and the key in th other, looked so prodigiously confounded, that his friend could m help laughing heartily, Tom himself was tickled : no less by tb hilarity of his friend, than by the recollection of the sudde manner in which he had been brought to a stoji, in the very heigl of his urbane conference with Mr. Fips ; so by degrees Tom bur: out laughing too ; and each making the other laugh more, tht ftiirly roared. When they had had their laugh out, which did not happen vei soon, for, give John an inch in that way, and he was sure to tal several ells, being a jovial, good-tempered fellow, they looked abc them more closely, groping among the lumber for any stray mea' of enlightenment that might turn up. But no scrap or shred information could they find. The books were marked with variety of owners' names, having, no doubt, been bought at salt and collected here and there at different times ; but whether a ., one of these names belonged to Tom's employer, and, if so, whil of them, they had no means Avhatever of determining. It occuri to John as a very bright thouglit, to make inquiry at the stewal office, to whom the chambers belonged, or by whom they held ; but he came back no wiser than he went, the answer ben "Mr. Fips, of Austin Friars." " After all, Tom, I begin to think it lies no deeper than tbj Fips is an eccentric man ; has some knowledge of Pecksnij despises him, of course ; has heard or seen enough of you to knl that you are the man he wants ; and engages you in his o' whimsical manner." " But why in his own whimsical manner ?" asked Tom. MYSTEKIUCS IX«TALI.ATIUX Oi' Ml:. VlSVl 588 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF " Oh ! why does any man entertain lii.s own whimsical taste Why does Mr. Tips wear shorts and powder, and Mr. Fips's uex door neighbour boots and a wig 1 " Tom, being in that state of mind in which any explanation : a great relief, adopted this last one (which indeed was quite f feasible as any other) readily, and said he had no doubt of i Nor was his faith at all shaken by his having said exactly tl same thing to each suggestion of his friend's in turn, and beiti perfectly ready to say it again if he had had any new solution t propose. As he had not, Tom drew down the window-sash, and foldt the shutter ; and they left the rooms. He closed the door heavil as Mr. Fips had desired him ; tried it, found it all fast, and pi the key in his pocket. They made a pretty wide circuit in going back to Islington, they had time to spare ; and Tom was never tired of looking abo him. It was well he had John Wcstlock for his companion, t most people would have been weary of his perpetual stoppages shop-windows, and his frequent dashes into the crowded carriai way at the peril of his life, to get the better view of chiir steeples, and other public buildings. But John was charmed see him so much interested, and every time Tom came back wi a beaming face from among the wheels of carts and hackut coaches, wholly unconscious of the personal congratulatic addressed to him by the drivers, John seemed to like him bet tlian before. There was no flour on Ruth's hands when she received them, tlie triangular parlour, but there were pleasant smiles upon 1 face, and a crowd of welcomes shining out of every one, and glea. ing in her bright eyes. By-the-bye, how bright they we' Looking into them for but a moment, when you took her ha' you saw in each such a capital miniature of yourself, represent^ you as such a restless, flashing, eager, brilliant little fellow — Ah ! if you could only have kept them for your own miniatu But wicked, roving, restless, too impartial eyes, it was enough any one to stand before them, and straightway, there he dau'i and sparkled quite as merrily as you. , The table was already spread for dinner; and though it * spread with nothing very choice in the way of glass or linen, ,'1 with green-handled knives, and very mountebanks of two-proD 1 forks, wliich seemed to be trying how for asunder they C( i possibly stretch their legs, without converting themselves " double the number of iron toothpicks ; it wanted neither dami>) silver, gold, nor china ; no, nor any other garniture at all. TI* M ARTIST CHUZZLEWIT. 589 (i.s : and, being tliere, notliing else would have done as lie success of that initiative dish : that first experiment of in cookery : was so entire, so unalloyed and perfect, that Westlock and Tom agreed she must have been studying the n secret for a long time past ; and urged her to make a full ssion of the fact. They were exceedingly merry over this and many smart things were said concerning it ; but John lot as fair in his beliaviour as might have been expected, for, luring Tom Pinch on for a long time, he suddenly went over le enemj', and swore everything his sister said. However, as observed the same night before going to bed, it was only in and John had always been famous for being polite to ladies, when he was quite a boy. Ruth said, " Oh ! indeed ! '' She t say anything else. ; is astonishing how much three people may find to talk about, scarcely left off talking once. And it was not all lively chat h occupied them ; for, when Tom related how he had seen Pecksniff's daughters, and what a change had fallen on the ger, they were very serious. 9hn Westlock became quite absorbed in her fortunes ; asking r questions of Tom Pinch about her marriage, inquiring her lier husband was the gentleman whom Tom had brought ine with him at Salisbury ; in what degree of relationship stood towards each other, being different persons ; and tak- in sliort, the greatest interest in the subject. Tom then went it, at full length ; he told how Martin had gone abroad, and not l^een heard of for a long time ; how Dragon Mark had 3 him company ; how ]\rr. Pecksnifi" had got the poDr old ig grandfather into his power ; and how he basely sought the of ]\Iary Graham. But not a word said Tom of what lay m in his heart ; his heart, so deep, and true, and full of ur, and yet with so much room for every gentle and luiselfish ght ; not a word. om, Tom ! The man in all this world most confident in his ;ity and shrewdness ; the man in all this world most proud of li.strust of other men, and having most to show in gold and r as tlie gains belonging to his creed ; the meekest favourer of wise doctrine, Every man for himself, and God for us all •e being high wisdom in the thought that the Eternal l\Iajesty [eaven ever was, or can be, on the side of selfish lust and !) : shall never find, oh, never find, be sure of that, the time ! home to him, when all his wisdom is an idiot's folly, weighed ist a simple heart ! 590 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF Well, well, Tom, it was simple too, though simple in a differen way, to be so eager touching that same theatre, of which Johi said, when tea was done, he had the absolute command, so far a taking parties in without the paj'ment of a sixpence, was concerned and simpler yet, perhaps, never to suspect that when he weu in first, alone, he paid the money ! Simple in thee, dear Tom, t laugh and cry so heartily, at such a sorry show, so poorly shown simple, to be so happy and locpiacious trudging home with Euth simple, to be so surprised to find that merry present of a cooken book, awaiting her in the parlour next morning, with the bee; steak-pudding-leaf turned down, and blotted out. There ! Le the record stand ! Thy quality of soul was simple, simple ; quit contemptible, Tom Pinch ! I CHAPTER XL. ! THE PIXCHES MAKE A NEW ACQUAINTANCE, AND HAVE FRESl OCCASION FOR SURPRISE AND WONDER. There was a ghostly air about these uninhabited chambers the Temple, and attending every circumstance of Tom's emplo ment there, which had a strange charm in it. Every mornii when he shut his door at Islington, he turned his face towards ; atmosphere of unaccountable fascination, as surely as he turned to the London smoke ; and from that moment, it thickened roui and round him all day long, until the time arrived for going her again, and leaving it, like a motionless cloud, behind. It seemed to Tom, every morning, that he approached tl ghostly mist, and became enveloped in it, by the easiest success!' of degrees imaginable. Passing from the roar and rattle of t streets into the quiet court-yards of the Temple, Avas the first pi paration. Every echo of his footsteps sounded to him like a sou; from the old walls and pavements, wanting language to relate t histories of the dim, dismal rooms ; to tell liim what lost doc ments were decaying in forgotten corners of the shut-up cella from whose lattices such mouldy sighs came breathing forth as went past ; to whisper of dark bins of rare old wine, bricked in vaults among the old foundations of the Halls ; or mutter in lower tone yet darker legends of the cross-legged knights, whc marble effigies were in the church. With the first planting of 1 foot upon the staircase of his dusty office, all these myster MARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 591 ised ; until ascending step by step, as Tom ascended, they led their full growth in the solitary labours of the day. rery day brought one recurring, never -failing source of lation. This employer; would he come to-day, and what I he be like ? For Tom could not stop short at Mr. Fips ; lite believed that i\Ir. Fips had spoken truly, when he said ted for another ; and what manner of man that other was, 16 a full-blown flower of wonder in the garden of Tom's fancy, I never faded or got trodden down. b one time he conceived that Mr. Pecksniff', repenting of his lood, might, by exertion of his influence with some third Q, have devised these means of giving him employment. 3und this idea so insupportable after what had taken place ?en that good man and himself, that he confided it to John lock on the very same day ; informing John that he would r ply for hire as a porter, than fall so low in his own esteem accept the smallest obligation from the hands of Mr. Peck- But John assured him that he (Tom Pinch) was far from ■ justice to the character of Mr. Pecksniff" yet, if he supposed gentleman capable of performing a generous action ; and that ight make his mind cpiite easy on that head, until he saw im turn green and the moon black, and at the same time dis- y perceived with the naked eye, twelve first-rate comets ring round those planets. In which unusual state of things, id (and not before), it might become not absolutely lunatic spect Mr. Pecksniff of anything so monstrous. In short he led the idea down, completely ; and Tom, abandoning it, was vn upon his beam-ends again for some other solution. I the meantime Tom attended to his duties daily, and made Jerable progress with the books : which were already re(hiccd me sort of order, and made a great appearance in his fairly- en catalogue. During his business hours, he indulged himself ionally with snatches of reading ; which were often indeed a sary part of his pursuit ; and as he usually made bold to carry if these goblin volumes home at night (always bringing it back 1 next morning, in case his strange employer should ajipcar isk what had become of it), he led a happy, quiet, studious of life, after his own heart. ut though the books were never so interesting, and never so af novelty to Tom, they could not so enchain him, in tho.se erious chambers, as to render him unconscious for a moment e lightest sound. Any footstep on the flags without, set him ling attentively, and when it turned into that house, and up, up, up, the .stairs, he always tliought with a beating 692 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF heart, " Now I am coming face to face with him, at last ! " ] 110 footstep ever passed the floor immediately below: except his oi This mystery and loneliness engendered fancies in Tom's mi the folly of which his common sense could readily discover, 1 which his common sense was quite unable to keep away, notwi standing ; that quality being with most of us, in such a case, 1 the old French Police — quick at detection, but very weak ai preventive power. Misgivings, undefined, absurd, inexplical that there was some one hiding in the inner-room ; walking sol overhead, peeping in through the door-chink ; doing sometli stealthy, anywhere where he was not ; came over him a himd times a day : making it i^leasant to throw up the sash, and li communication even with the sparrows who had built in tlie i and water spout, and were twittering about the windows all long. He sat with the outer door wide open at all times, that; might hear the footsteps as they entered, and turned oft" intoi chambers on the lower floor. He formed odd prepossessions j regarding strangers in the streets ; and would say within him of such or such a man, who struck him as having anything une mon in his dress or aspect, " I shouldn't Avonder now if that v he ! " But it never was. And though he actually turned 1 and followed more than one of these suspected iudivduals, i singular belief that they were going to the place he was then v i his way from, he never got any other satisfaction by it, than satisfaction of knowing it was not the case. Mr. Fips, of Austin Friars, rather deepened than illumined obscurity of his position ; for on the first occasion of Tom's wai on him to receive his weekly pay, he said : " Oh ! by-the-bye, Mr. Pinch, you needn't mention it, if ' please ! " Tom thought he was going to tell him a secret ; so he said i he wouldn't on any account, and that Mr. Fips might cut i] depend upon him. But as Mr. Fips said "Very good," in nf 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 FijDS. "Not at all." However, sc'is Tom confused, he added, " I mean that you needn't mention i] particulars about your place of emjoloyment, to people gener }' You'll find it better not." " I have not had the pleasure of seeing my employer yet, :', observed Tom, jDutting his week's salary in his pocket. MARTIN CIIUZZLEAVIT. 593 lavtMi't yon ? "' said Fips. " Xo, I don't suppose you have 1. " should like to thank him, and to know tliat what I liave far, is done to his satisfoction," faltered Tom. Juite rigiit," said INIr. Fips, with a yawn. " Highly credit- Very proper."' in hastily resolved to try him on anotlier tack, shall soon have finished with the books," he said. '' I hope will not terminate my engagement, Sir, or render nie i." )h dear no ! " retorted Fips. " Plenty to do : ]ilen-ty to do ! •eful how you go. It's rather dark." is was the very utmost e.^tent of information Tom could ever t of him. So it was dark enough in all conscience ; and if ips expressed himself with a double meaning, he had good for doing so. t now a circumstance occurred, which helped to divert Tom's its from even this mystery, and to divide them between it new channel, which was a very Nile in itself, e way it came about was this. Having always been an early and having now no organ to engage him in sweet converse morning, it was his habit to take a long walk before going e Temple ; and naturally inclining, as a stranger, towards parts of the town which were conspicuous for the life and tion pervading them, he became a great frequenter of the ■t-places, bridges, quays, and especially the steamboat es ; for it was very lively and fresh to see the people hurry- I'ay upon their many schemes of business or pleasure ; and it Tom glad to think that there was that much change and im in the monotonous routine of city lives, most of these morning excursions Rutli accompanied him. eir landlord was always up and away at his business (what- hat might be, no one seemed to know) at a very early hour, abits of the people of the house in which they lodged corre- ed with their own. Thus, they had often finished their fast, and were out in the summer- air, by seven o'clock, a two hours' stroll they parted at some convenient point : going to the Temple, and his sister returning home, as )dically as you please. liny and many a pleasant stroll they had in Covent-Garden ft : siiutfing up the perfume of the fruits and flowers, wonder- ; the magnificence of the pine-apples and melons ; catching .ses down side avenues, of rows and rows of old women, seated i-erted baskets shelling peas ; looking unutterable things at 2q 594 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF the fat bundles of asparagus with which the dainty shops \ fortified as with a breastwork ; and, at the herbalists' dc gratefully inhaling scents as of veal-stuffiug yet uncooked, drear mixed up with capsicums, brown-paper, seeds : even with hint lusty snails and fine young curly leeches. Many and man jDleasaut stroll they had among the poultry markets, where di and fowls, witli necks unnaturally long, lay stretched out in p; ready for cooking ; where there were speckled eggs in mossy baski white country sausages beyond impeachment by surviving cai dog, or horse or donkey ; new cheeses to any wild extent ; birds in coops and cages, looking much too big to be natura consequence of those receptacles being much too little ; rab alive and dead, innumerable. Many a pleasant stroll they among the cool, refreshing, silvery fish-stalls, with a kind of m light effect about their stock in trade, excepting always for ruddy lobsters. Many a pleasant stroll among the waggon-loac fragrant hay, beneath which dogs and tired waggoners lay asleep, oblivious of the ^iieraan and the public-house. But i half so good a stroll, as down among the steamboats on a b: morning. There they lay, alongside of each other ; hard and fast for to all appearance, but designing to get out somehow, and < confident of doing it ; and in that faith shoals of passengers.! heaps of luggage, were proceeding hurriedly on board, ll steamboats dashed up and down the stream incessantly, upon tiers of vessels, scores of masts, labyrinths of tackle, sails, splashing oars, ghding row-boats, lumbering barges ; si piles, with ugly lodgings for the water-rat within their mn i coloured nooks ; church steeples, warehouses, house-roofs, a' • bridges, men and women, children, casks, cranes, boxes, h^t coaches, idlers, and hard-labourers : there they were, all juiil up together, any summer morning, far beyond Tom's pofll separation. : In the midst of all this turmoil, there was an incessant o from every packet's funnel, which quite expressed and carri(0 the uppermost emotion of the scene. They all appeared ' persjDiring and bothering themselves, exactly as their passi;,'f did ; they never left off fretting and chafing, in their own u' manner, once ; but were always panting out, without any pi " Come along do make haste I'm very nervous come along olio' gracious we shall never get there how late you are do make as I'm off" directly come along ! " Even when they had left o'ai had got safely out into the current, on the smallest prove tii they began again ; for the bravest packet of them all, being s .)P' MARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 595 inie eutangleraeut in the river, would immediately begin to ami pant afresh, " Oh here's a stoppage wliat's the matter do there I'm in a hurry it's done on purpose did you ever oli my less do go on there ! " and so, in a state of mind bordering on .ction, would be last seen drifting slowly through tlic mist into unmer light beyond, that made it red. )m's ship, however ; or, at least, the packet-boat in which and his sister took the greatest interest on one particular on ; was not oft' yet, by any means ; but was at the height disorder. The press of passengers was very great ; another iboat lay on each side of her ; the gangways were choked up ; ,cted women, obviously bound for Gravesend, but turning a ?ar to all representations that this particular vessel was about 1 for Antwerp, persisted in secreting baskets of refreshments d bulk-heads and water-casks, and under seats ; and very confusion prevailed. was so amusing, that Tom, with Ruth upon his arm, stood ig down from the wharf, as nearly regardless as it was in the e of flesh and blood to be, of an elderly lady behind him, who Drought a large umbrella with her, and didn't know what to ith it. This tremendous instrument had a hooked handle ; ts vicinity was first made known to him by a painful pressure e windpipe, consequent upon its having caught him round the t. Soon after disengaging himself with perfect good humour, .d a sensation of the ferule in his back ; immediately after- ?, of the hook entangling his ankles; then of the umbrella ally, wandering about his hat, and flapping at it like a great and, lastly, of a poke or thrust below the ribs, which gave iuch exceeding anguish, that lie could not refrain from turning I, to ofter a mild remonstrance. pon his turning round, he found the owner of the umbrella gling, on tiptoe, with a countenance expressive of violent asity, to look down upon the steamboats ; from which he ed that she had attacked him : standing in the front row : ■sign, and as her natural enemy. What a very ill-natured person you mu.st be 1 ' said Tom. lie lady cried out fiercely, " Where's the pelisse!" — meaning :on.«tabulary — and went on to say, shaking the handle of the ella at Tom, that but for them fellers never being in the way they was wanted, she'd have given him in charge, she would. If they greased their whi.skers less, and minded the duties 1 they're paid so heavy for, a little more," she observed, *' no leedn't be drove mad by scrouding so ! " le had been grievously kncicked about, no doubt, for her I I 596 LIFE AND AD VENTURES OF bonnet was bent into the shape of a cocked hat. Being a fat lit woman, too, she was in a state of great exhaustion and intei heat. Instead of pursuing the altercation, therefore, Tom civi inquired what boat she wanted to go on board of. "I suppose," returned the lady, "as nobody but yourself f want to look at a steam package, without wanting to go a boardi of it, can tliey ! Booby ! " "Which one do you want to look at then?" said Tc " We'll make room for you if we can. Don't be so ill-tempered " No blessed creetur as ever I was with in trying tim( returned the lady, someAvhat softened, " and they're a many in tl numbers, ever brought it as a charge again myself that I was a thin' but mild and equal in my spirits. Never mind a contradict of me, if you seems to feel it does you good, ma'am, I often &i: for well you know that Sairey may be trusted not to give it V: again. But I will not denige that I am worrited and wexed " day, and with good reagion, Lord forbid ! " By this time, Mrs. Gamp (for it was no other than that exj enced practitioner) had, with Tom's assistance, squeezed worked herself into a small corner between Ruth and the r where, after breathing very hard for some little time, and perfo ing a short series of dangerous evolutions with the umbrella, managed to establish herself pretty comfortably. " And which of all them smoking monsters is the Ankwi - boat, I wonder. Goodness me ! " cried Mrs. Gamp. " What boat did you want "? " asked Ruth. " The Ankworks package," Mrs. Gamp replied. " I will A 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. Ga : appearing to confound the prophet with the whale in i« miraculous aspiration. Ruth said nothing in reply ; but, as ]\Irs. Gamp, laying -T chin against the cool iron of the rail, continued to look intent it the Antwerp boat, and every now and then to give a little gii) she inquired whether any child of hers was going abroad it morning 1 Or perhaps her husband, she said kindly. , " Which shows," said Mrs. Gamp, casting up her eyes, "wl » little way you've travelled into this wale of life, mydeary.ig creetur. As a good friend of mine has frequent made reiuai to me, wliich her name, my love, is Harris, Mrs. Harris througl'i* square and up the steps a turnin' round by the tobacker shop, )li Sairey, Sairey, little do we know wot lays afore us I ' ' fS- Harris, ma'am,' I says, 'not much, it's true, but more thanou .AIAKTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 597 ro. Our oak-il;itioiis, ma'am,' I says, * respectin" wut tlie »r of a family will be, comes most times witliin one, ami r than yoii would suppoge, exact.' ' Sairey,' says Mrs. Harris, iwful way, 'Tell me wot is my individgle number.' 'No, larris,' I says to her, 'ex-cuge me, if you please. j\Iy own,' , ' has fallen out of three-pair backs, and had damp doorsteps [ on their lungs, and one was turned up smilin' in a bedstead, nown. Therefore, ma'am,' I says, 'seek not to proticii)ate, ke 'em as they come and as they go.' Mine," said Mrs. Gamp, ; is all gone, my dear young chick. And as to husbands, ; a Avooden leg gone likeways home to its account, which in istancy of walkin' into wine vaults, and never comin' out 'till fetched by force, was quite as weak as flesh, if not r." len she had delivered this oration, Mrs. Gamp leaned her pon the cool iron again ; and looking intently at the Antwerp '; shook her head and groaned. wouldn't," said Mrs. Gamp, " I wouldn't be a man and have , think upon my mind ! — but nobody as owned the name of ;ould do it ! " iu and his sister glanced at each other ; and Ruth, after a it's hesitation, asked Mrs. Gamp what troubled her so much. ly dear," returned that lady, dropping her voice, " you are an't you ? " th laughed, blushed, and said "Yes." Vorse luck," proceeded Mrs. Gamp, " for all parties ! But is married, and in the marriage state ; and there is a dear creetur a comin' down this mornin' to that very package, is no more fit to trust herself to sea, than nothin' is ! " } paused here, to look all over the deck of the packet in )n, and on the steps leading down to it, and on the gangways, iig to have thus assured herself that the object of her seration had not yet arrived, she raised her eyes gradually the top of the escape-pipe, and indignantly apostrophised the 'h drat you !" said Mrs. Gamp, shaking her uinl)rella at it, •e a nice spluttering noisy monster for a delicate young r to go and be a passinger by ; an't you ! You never do no in that way, do you ? With your hammering, and roaring, ssing, and lamp-iling, you brute ! Them Confusion steamers," Irs. Gamp, shaking her umbrella again, " has done more to us out of our reg'lar work and bring ewents on at times when Y counted on 'em (especially them screeching railroad ones), ill the other frights that ever was took. I have hecrd of i 598 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF one young man, a guard upon a railway, onh^ three year opened well does Mrs. Harris know him, which indeed he is her c relation by her sister's marriage with a master sawyer — as godfather at this present time to six-and-twenty blessed lit strangers, equally unexpected, and all on 'um named after t Ingeins as was the cause. Ugh ! " said Mrs. Gamp, resuming 1 apostrophe, " one might easy know you was a man's inventic from your disregardlessness of the weakness of our natm-s, so o might, you brute ! " It would not have been unnatural to suppose, from the fu'st p: of Mrs. Gamp's lamentations, that she was connected with t stage-coaching or post-horsing trade. She had no means of judgi of the effect of her concluding remarks upon her young companic for she interrupted herself at this point, and exclaimed : "There she identically goes ! Poor sweet young creetur, th: she goes, like a lamb to the sacrifige ! If there's any illness wli that wessel gets to sea," said Mrs. Gamp, prophetically, " j murder, and I'm the witness for the persecution." i She was so very earnest on the subject, that Tom's sister (bi as kind as Tom himself), could not help saying something to in reply. "Pray which is the lady," she inquired, "in whom you ap much interested 1 " " There ! " groaned Mrs. Gamp. " There she goes? ! A cro.- the little wooden bridge at this minute. She's a slippiu' on a : of orange-peel!" tightly clutching her umbrella. "What am it give me ! " "Do you mean the lady who is with that man wrapped p from head to foot in a large cloak, so that his face is ah it hidden ? " " Well he may hide it ! " Mrs. Gamp replied. " He's good'U to be ashamed of himself. Did you see him a jerkiug of her wt, then 1 " " He seems to be hasty with her, indeed." " Now he's a taking of her down iuto the close cabin ! " U Mrs. Gamp, impatiently. "What's the man about! Thet'* is in him I think. Why can't he leave her in the open airl", He did not, whatever his reason was, but led her quickly ( f and disappeared himself, without loosening his cloak, or pausu."" the crowded deck one moment longer than was necessary to ai their way to that part of the vessel. Tom had not heard this little dialogue ; for his attentior^'^' been engaged in an unexpected manner. A hand upon his s " had caused him to look round just when Mrs. Gamp conclude lef MARTIN CHUZZLEAVIT. 599 ophe to the steam-engine ; and on his right arm, Ruth being left, lie found their landlord ; to his great surprise. was not so much surprised at the man's being there, as at ,viug got close to him so quietly and swiftly ; for another had been at his elbow one instant before ; and he had not meantime beeu conscious of any change or pressure in the f people among whom he stood. He and Ruth had frequently ied how noiselessly this landlord of tlieirs came into and out of his own house ; but Tom was not the less amazed to u at his elbow now. beg your pardon, Mr. Pinch,"' he said in his car. " I am infirm, and out of breath, and my eyes are not very good. not as young as I w^as, Sir. You don't see a gentleman in e cloak dowu yonder, with a lady on his arm ; a lady in a id a black shawl ; do you 1 " he did not, it was curious that in speaking he should have I out from all the crowd the very people whom he described : lould have glanced hastily from them to Tom, as if he were g to direct his Avauderiug eyes. L gentleman in a large cloak : " said Tom, "and a lady in a shawl ! Let me see ! " 'es, yes ! " replied the other, with keen impatience. " A man muffled up from head to foot — strangely muffled up for morning as this — like an invalid, with his hand to his face s minute, perhai)s. No, no, no ! not there," he added, ing Tom's gaze ; " the other way ; in that direction ; down •." Again he indicated, but this time in his hurry, with his itched finger, the very spot on which the progress of these s was checked at that moment. 'here are so many people, and so mucli motion, and so many 3," said Tom, " that I find it difficult to — no, I really don't gentleman in a large cloak, and a lady in a black shawl, s a lady in a red shawl over there ! " ro, 110, no !" cried his landlord, pointing eagerly again, "not Tiie other way : the other way. Look at the cabin steps. ! left. They must be near the cabin steps. Do you see the steps ? There's the bell ringing already ! Do you see the tay ! " said Tom, "you're right. Look ! there they go now. t tlie gentleman you mean 1 Descending at this minute ; he folds of a great cloak trailing down after him '! " 'he very man ! " returned the other, not looking at wliut Tom il out, however, but at Tom's own face. " \Viil you do me ness, Sir, a great kindness ] Will you put that letter in his 600 . LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF hand ? Only give him that 1 He expects it. I am charged do it by my employers, but I am late in finding him, and, not beii as young as I have been, should never be able to make my way i board and off the deck again in time. Will you pardon ii boldness, and do me that great kindness 1 " His liands shook, and his face bespoke the utmost interest a: agitation, as he pressed the letter upon Tom, and pointed to : destination, like the Tempter in some grim old carving. To hesitate in the performance of a good-natured or cornp; sionate office, was not in Tom's way. He took the lett« whispered Ruth to wait till he returned, which Avould be imme ately ; and ran down the stej^s with all the expedition he cor make. There were so many people going down, so many otbii coming up, such heavy goods iu com'se of transit to and fro, sv' a ringing of bells, blowing-off of steam, and shouting of me voices, that he had much ado to force his way, or keep in miud which boat he was going. But, he reached the right one w good speed, and, going down the cabin-stairs immediately, deser the object of his search standing at the further end of the salo with his back towards him, reading some notice which was hi against the wall. As Tom advanced to give him the letter, started, hearing footsteps, and turned round. What was Tom's astonishment to find in him the man v whom he had had the conflict in the field, poor Mercy's husbn Jonas ! Tom understood him to say, what the devil did he want ; it was not easy to make out what he said ; he spoke so indistint " I w-aut nothing with you for myself," said Tom ; "I asked a moment since to give you this letter. You w^ere poii out to me, but I didn't know you in your strange dress. Take i He did so, opened it, and read the writing on the inside. 'Ij contents were evidently very brief; not more perhaps than |3 line ; but they struck upon him like a stone from a sling. 3 reeled back as he read. ; His emotion was so different from any Tom had ever seen bel s that he stopped involuntarily. Momentary as his state'f indecision w'as, the bell ceased while he stood there; and a hce voice calling down the steps, inquired if there was any one to ashore. "Ye.s," cried Jonas, "I — I am coming. Give me t - AVhere's that woman ! Come back ; come back here." He threw oijen another door as he spoke, and dragged, ra t than led, her forth. She was pale and frightened, and amaze o see her old acquaintance ; but had no time to speak, for they ""^ ISIARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 601 t; a orcat stir above ; and Jonas drew her lapidly towards ick. Vhere are we going ? Wiiat is the matter I " Ve are going back," said Jonas, wildly. " I have changed iud, I can't go. Don't question me, or I shall be the death .1, or some one else. Stop there ! Stop ! We're for the Do you iiear 1 We're for the shore ! " : turned, even in the madness of his hurry, and scowling • back at Tom, shook his clenched hand at him. There are lany human faces capable of the exi^ression with which he panied that gesture. dragged her up, and Tom followed them. Across the deck, he side, along the crazy plank, and up the steps, he dragged 3rcely ; not bestowing any look on her, but gazing upwards ; while among the faces on the wharf. Suddenly he turned and said to Tom with a tremendous oath : Vhere is he ? " fore Tom, in his indignation and amazement, could return an r to a question he so little understood, a gentleman approached behind, and saluted Jonas Chuzzlewit by name. He was a man of foreign appearance, with a black moustache and ers ; and addressed him with a polite composure, strangely nt from his own distracted and desperate manner, .'huzzlewit, my good fellow ! " said the gentleman, raising ,t in compliment to Mrs. Chuzzlewit, "I ask your i)ardon y tliousand times. I am most unwiUing to interfere between id a domestic trip of this natiu-e (ahvays so very charming ifreshing, I know, although I have not the happiness to be a tic man myself, which is the great infelicity of my existence) : 16 bee-hive, my dear friend, the bee-hive — will you introduce ■"his is Mr. Montague," said Jonas, whom the words appeared ike. ["he most unhappy and most penitent of men, Mrs. Chuzzle- pursued that gentleman, "for having Ijeen the means of ig tliis excursion ; but as I tell my friend, tlic bee-hive ; tlie ve. You projected a short little continental trip, my dear , of course 'i " nas maintained a dogged silence. ^lay I die," cried Montague, "but I am shocked ! Upon my am shocked. But that confounded bee-hive of ours in tlie nust be paramount to every other consideration, when tlicre ley to be made ; and that is my best excuse. Here is a very ar old female dropping curtseys on my right," said l^Iontaguc, 602 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF breaking off in his discourse, and looking at Mrs. Gamp, " who not a friend of mine. Does anybody know her ? " " Ah ! Well they knows me, bless their precious hearts ! " ga Mrs. Gamp; "not forgettin' your own merry one, Sir, and loi may it be so ! Wishin' as every one " (she delivered this in tl form of a toast or sentiment) " was as merry, and as handsoui looking, as a little bird has whispered me a certain gent is, whii I will not name for fear I give offence Avhere none is due ! 1 precious lady," here she stopped short in her merriment, for s! had until now affected to be vastly entertained, "you're too pj by half ! " " You are here too, are you?" mattered Jonas. " Ecod, the are enough of you." "I hope. Sir," returned Mrs. Gamp, dropping an indigna curtsey, "as no bones is broke by me and Mrs. Harris walk down upon a jDublic wharf. Which was the very words she s; to me (although they was the last I ever had to speak) was the: ' Sairey,' she says, 'is it a public wharf?' ' Mrs. Harris,' I mal answer, ' can you doubt it 1 You have know'd me, now, nia'a eight and thirty year ; and did you ever know me go, or wish go, where I was not made welcome, say the words.' ' No, Sain Mrs. Harris says, 'contrairy quite.' And well she knows it, t I am but a poor woman, but I've been sought arter, Sir, thoi you may not think it. I've been knocked up at all hours of night, and warned out by a many landlords, in consequence being mistook for Fire. I goes out working for my bread, true, but I maintains my indepency, Avith your kind leave, ; which I will till death. I has my feelins as a woman. Sir, am have been a mother likewaj's ; but touch a pipkin as belong.- me, or make the least remarks on what I eats or drinks, ; though you was the favouritest young, for'ard, hussy of a serv: gal as ever come into a house, either you leaves the place, or My earnins is not great. Sir, but I will not be impoged uij. Bless the babe, and save the mother, is my motter. Sir; buit makes so free as add to that. Don't try no impogician with J Nuss, for she will not abear it ! " ' Mrs. Gamp concluded by drawing her shawl tightly over hei;f with both hands, and, as usual, referring to I\Irs. Harris for 1 corroboration of these particulars. She had that peculiar tremb'^ of the head, which, in ladies of her excitable nature, may be tai as a sure indication of their breaking out again very shortly; y*^ Jonas made a timely interposition. "As you are here," he said, "you had better see to her, 'd take her home. I am otherwise engaged." He said notlg MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 608 ; but looked at Moutague, as if to give liiiu notice tliat he eady to attend him. [ am sorry to take you away," said Montague. nas gave him a sinister look, wliich long lived in Tom's ry, and which he often recalled afterwards. [ am, upon my life," said Montague. " Why did you make essary 1 " ith the same dark glance as before, Jonas replied, after a nt's silence, Che necessity is none of my making. You have brought it yourself." i said nothing more. He said even this as if he were bound, a the other's power, but had a sullen and suppressed devil 1 him, which he could not quite resist. His very gait, as (valked away together, was like that of a fettered man ; but, ig to work out at his clenched hands, knitted brows, and it lips, was the same imprisoned devil still, ley got into a handsome cabriolet, whicli was waiting for and drove away. 16 wliole of this extraordinary scene had passed so rapidly, lie tumult which prevailed around was so unconscious of any ssion from it, that, although Tom had been one of tlie chief ;, it was like a dream. No one had noticed him after they ?ft the packet. He had stood behind Jonas, and so near him, he could not help hearing all that passed. He had stood with his sister on his arm, expecting and hoping to have an tuuity of explaining his strange share in this yet stranger ess. But Jonas had not raised liis eyes from the ground ; no Ise had even looked towards him ; and before he could resolve y course of action, they were all gone. B gazed round for his landlord. But he had done that more once already ; and no such man was to be seen. He was pursuing this search with his eyes, when he saw a hand ning to him from a hackney-coach ; and hurrying towards it, it was Merry's. She addressed him hurriedly, but bent out ! window, that she might not be overheard by her companion, Gamp. ^Vhat is it?" she said, "Good Heaven, what is it? Why le teU me last night to prepare for a long journey, and have you brought us back like criminals? Dear Mr. I ! " she clasped her hands distractedly, " be merciful to Whatever this dreadful secret is, be merciful, and God will you I " [f any power of mercy lay with me," cried Tom, "trust mo, 604 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF you shouldirt ask in vain. Bnt I am far more ignorant and we; than you." She -withdrew into the coach again, and he saw the hand wavii towards him for a moment ; but whether in reproachfuhiess • incredulity, or misery, or grief, or sad adieu, or what else, he cou not, being so hurried, understand. She was gone now ; and Ru and he wei-e left to walk away, and wonder. Had Mr. Nadgett appointed the man who never came, to m( him upon London Bridge, that morning 1 He was certainly looki over the i)arapet, and down upon the steamboat-wharf at tl moment. It could not have been for pleasure ; he never toi pleasure. Xo. He must have had some business there. i I CHAPTER XLI. MR. JONAS AND HIS FRIEND, ARRIVING AT A PLEASANT UNDi; STANDING, SET FORTH UPON AN ENTERPRISE. The office of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and I Insurance Company being near at hand ; and ]\Ir. ]\Iontague driv Jonas straight there ; they had very little way to go. But journey might have been one of several hours' duration, with provoking a remark from either : for it was clear that Jonas not mean to break the silence which prevailed between them, -- that it was not, as yet, his dear friend's cue to tempt him i conversation. He had thrown aside his cloak, as having now no motive concealment, and with that garment huddled on his knees, sai far removed from his companion as the limited space in sue carriage would allow. There was a striking ditference in manner, compared with what it had been, within a few minii when Tom encountered him so unexpectedly on board the pad . or when the ugly change had fallen on him in Mr. Montag 5 dressing-room. He had the aspect of a man found out, and I'l at bay ; of being baffled, hunted, and beset ; but there was no,» dawning and increasing purpose in his face, which changed it ^y much. It was gloomy, distrustful, lowering; pale with an!', and defeat ; it still was humbled, abject, cowardly, and me ; but let the conflict go on as it would, there was one strong purje wrestling with every emotion of his mind, and casting the wl e series down as they arose. Not prepossessing in appearance, at the best of times, it ry ^[ARTIX CflUZZLEWIT. 605 aclily supposed that he was not so now. He had left deep 5 of his front teeth in his nether lip; and those tokens of the ion he had lately undergone, improved his looks as little as javy corrugations in his forehead. But he was self-possessed unnaturally self-possessed, indeed, as men quite otherwise brave are known to be in desperate extremities ; and when irriage stopped, he waited for no invitation, but leapt hardily nd went up stairs. le chairman followed him ; and closing the board-room door »n as they had entered, threw himself upon a sofa. Jonas before the window, looking down into the street ; and leajied it the sash, resting his head upon his arms. Phis is not handsome, Chuzzlewit ! " said IMontague, at 1. " Not handsome, upon my soul ! " iVhat would you have me do ? " he answered, looking round tly ; " what do you expect 1 " ;;!onfidence, my good fellow. Some confidence 1 " said igue, in an injured tone. 3cod ! You show great confidence in me," retorted Jonas. I't you?" Do I not ? " said his companion, raising his head, and looking n, but he had turned again. "Do I not 1 Have I not ed to you the easy schemes I have formed for our advantage ; dvantage, mind ; not mine alone ; and what is my i-eturn 1 ipted flight ! "' low do you know that ? Who said I meant to fly 1 " iVho said ! Come, come. A foreign boat, my friend, an hour, a figiu-e wrapped up for disguise ! Who said ! If you mean to jilt me, why Avere you there"? If you didn't mean rne, why did you come back ? " ' came back," said Jonas, "to avoid disturbance." foil were wise," rejoined his friend. nas stood quite silent; still looking down into the street, ?sting his head upion his arms. Sow, Chuzzlewit," said IMontague, "notwithstanding what i-sscd, I will be phun with you. Are you attending to uw, I I only see your back." '' hear you. Go on 1 " say that notwithstanding what has passed, I will l>c plain fOU." fou said that before. And I have told you once, I heard ly it. Go on." fou are a little chafed, but I can make allowance for that ; .ni, fortunately, myself in the very best of tempers. Now, 606 LIFE AND ADYEXTURES OF let us see how circumstances stand. A clay or two ago, I mentio: to you, my clear fellow, that I thought I had discovered " " Will you hold your tongue ? " said Jonas, looking fien round, and glancing at the door. " Well, well ! " said Montague. " Judicious ! Quite corre My discoveries being published, would be like many other m( discoveries in this honest world ; of no further use to me. 1 see, Chuzzlewit, how ingenuous and frank I am in showing you weakness of my own position ! To return. I make, or thinl make, a certain discovery, which I take an early opportunitj mentioning in yoiu* ear, in that spirit of confidence which I re; hoped did prevail between us, and was reciprocated by y Perhaps there is something in it ; perhaps there is nothing, have my knowledge and opinion on the subject. You have yoi We will not discuss the cjuestion. But, my good fellow, you h been weak ; what I wish to point out to you is, that you h been weak. I may desire to turn this little incident to my aceo (indeed I do — I'll not deny it), but my account does not lie probing it, or using it against you." " What do you call using it against me '? " asked Jonas, ' had not yet changed his attitude. " Oh ! " said Montague, with a laugli. " We'll not enter that." " Using it, to make a beggar of me. Is that the use mean 1 " " No." "Ecod," muttered Jonas, bitterly. "That's the use in w your account does lie. You speak the truth there." " I wish you to venture (it's a very safe venture) a little i with us, certainly, and to keep quiet," said Montague. '' promised me you would ; and you must. I say it pla • Chuzzlewit, you must. Reason the matter. If you don't, ; secret is worthless to me ; and being so, it may as well become i public property as mine : better, for I shall gain some cr t bringing it to light. I want you, besides, to act as a decoy i case I have already told you of. You clon't mind that, I k «v You care nothing for the man (you care nothing for any man ; ," are too sharp ; so am I, I hope) ; and could bear any loss o: i with pious fortitude. Ha, ha, ha ! You have tried to escape n the first conseciuence. You cannot escape it, I assure you ^ have shown you that to-day. Now, I am not a moral man, Ji know. I am not the least in the world affected by anything ^i may have done ; by any little indiscretion you may have '> mitted ; but I wish to profit by it, if I can ; and to a man of ^ MAKTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 607 ligeuce I make that free confession. I am not at all singular lat infirmity. Every body_jjmfits_by tlie-iiulisci'etion of his ibour ; and the peopIeTn the best repute, the most. Why do ^ive me this trouble f ~ If must come to a friendly agreement, 11 unfriendly crash. It must. If the former, you are very hurt. If the latter — well ! you know best what is likely to eu then."' onas left the window, and walked up close to him. He did ook him in the face ; it M'as not his habit to do that ; but he his eyes towards him — on his breast, or thereabouts— and at great pains to speak slowly and distinctly, in reply. Just man in a state of conscious drunkenness might be. Lying is of no use, now," he said. " I did think of getting ' this morning, and making better terms with you from a .nee." To be sure ! To be sure ! " replied Montague. " Nothing ■ natural. I foresaw that, and provided against it. But I am d I am interrupting you." How the devil," pursued Jonas, with a still greater effort, 1 made choice of your messenger, and where you found him, lot ask you. I owed him one good turn before to-day. If are so careless of men in general, as you said you were just you are quite indifierent to what becomes of such a crop- d cur as that, and will leave me to settle my account with in my own manner." f he had raised his eyes to his companion's face, he would have that Montague was evidently unable to comprehend his uiiig. But continuing to stand before him, with his furtive directed as before, and pausing here, only to moisten his dry with his tongue, the fact was lost upon him. It might have ck a close observer that this fixed and steady glance of is's was a part of the alteration which had taken place in his eanour. He kept it rivetted on one spot, with which his ights had manifestly nothing to do ; like as a juggler walking I cord or wire to any dangerous end, holds some object in his t to steady him, an digestion were the cause, he must have been a very ostrich. At dinner, it was just the same ; and after dinner too ; th ?1 wine was drunk in abundance, and various rich meats eaten. A nine o'clock it was still the same. There being a lamp iiji' carriage, he swore they would take a pack of cards, and a Ul of wine: and with these things under his cloak, went dow;t' the door. " Out of the way, Tom Thumb, and get to bed ! " This was the salutation he bestowed on Mr. Bailey, who, b ^ and wrapped up, stood at the carriage-door to help him in. " To bed. Sir ! I'm a going, too," said Bailey. MARTI X CHUZZLEWIT. 618 I alighted quickly, and walked back into the hall, where igne was lighting a cigar : conducting Mr. Bailey with him, ; collar. l'ou are not a going to take tliis monkey of a boy, are youT' fes,'" said Montague, " I am."' ! gave the boy a shake, and threw him roughly aside. There iiore of his taniiliar self in the action, than in anything he lone that day ; but he broke out laughing immediately ards ; and making a thrust at the doctor with his hand in ion of his representation of the medical friend, went out to irriage again, and took his seat. His comjianion followed liately. Mr. Bailey climbed into the rumble. t will be a stormy night ! " exclaimed the doctor, as they J. CHAPTER XLII. TIXUATIOX OF THK ENTERPRISE OF MR. JONAS AND HIS FRIEND. IE doctor's prognostication in reference to the weather was ily verified. Althougli the weather was not a patient of his, 10 third party had required him to give an opinion on the the quick fulfilment of his prophecy may be taken as an ice of his professional tact ; for, unless tlie threatening aspect e uiglit had been perfectly plain and unmistakeable, Mr. ig would never have compromised his reputation by deliver- ny sentiments on tlie subject. He used this priucijjle in :ine with too nuich success, to be unmindful of it in his onest transactions. was one of those hot, silent nights, when people sit at »W8, listening for tiie thunder which they know will shortly ; when they recall dismal tales of hurricanes and earth- 's; and of lonely travellers on open plains, and lonely sliips I struck by lightning. Liglitning flashed and (juivered on jlack horizon even now ; and lioUow inui murings were in vind, as though it had been blowing where the thunder , and still was charged with its exhausted echoes. But the , thougli gathering swiftly, had not yet come up ; and the iUng stillness was the more solemn, from the dull intelligence ieemed to hover in the air, of noise and coniiict afar off. was very dark ; but in the murky sky there were masses of 614 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF cloud which shone with a lurid light, like monstrous heaps of cop that had been heated in a furnace, and were growing cold. Tli had been advancing steadily and slowly, but they were now moti less, or nearly so ; and as the carriage clattered round the cort of the streets, it passed, at every one, a knot of persons, who 1 come there — many from their houses close at hand, without hats- look up at tliat quarter of the sky. And now a very few la drops of rain began to fall, and thunder rumbled in the distanci Jonas sat in a corner of the carriage, with his bottle resting his knee, and gripped as tightly in his hand, as if he would h; ground its neck to powder if he could. Instinctively attracted the night, he had laid aside the pack of cards upon the cuslii< and with the same involuntary imjiulse, so intelligible to botli them as not to occasion a remark on either side, his compaii had extinguished the lamp. The front glasses were down ; ; they sat looking silently out upon the gloomy scene before then They were clear of London : or as clear of it as travellers be, whose way lies on the Western Road, within a stage of t enormous city. Occasionally, they encountered a foot-passeu; hurrying to the nearest place of shelter ; or some unwieldy ( proceeding onward at a heavy trot, with the same end in vi Little clusters of such vehicles were gathered round the sta yard or baiting-place of every way-side tavern ; while their dri\ watched the weather from the doors and open windows, or ni merry within. Everywhere the people were disposed to bear e other company, rather than sit alone ; so that groups of watcl faces seemed to be looking out upon the night and them, t\ almost every house they passed. It may appear strange that this should have disturbed Jo or rendered him uneasy : but it did. After muttering to bini; and often changing his position, he drew up the blind on his of the carriage, and turned his shoulder sulkily towards it. he neither looked at his companion, nor broke the silence wl prevailed between them, and whicli had fallen so suddenly i himself, by addressing a word to him. The thunder rolled, the lightning flashed ; the rain poured d like Heaven's wrath. Surrounded at one moment by intoler light, and at the next by pitchy darkness, they still pressed for\ on their journey. Even when they arrived at the end of the st and might have tarried, they did not ; but ordered horses immediately. Nor had this any reference to some five mim lull, which at that time seemed to promise a cessation of the st' ' They held their course as if they were impelled and driven h.;^ fury. Although they had not exchanged a dozen words, and iv^" MAKTIX CHUZZLE WIT. 615 tarried very well, they seemed to feel, by joint cousent, that rd tliey must go. )uder aud louder the deep thunder rolled, as through the id halls of some vast temple iu the sky ; fiercer and brighter le the lightning; more and more heavily the rain poured . Tiie horses (tliey were travelling now witli a single pair) :ed and started from the rills of quivering tire that seemed to along the ground before them : but there these two men sat, and ,rd they went as if they were led on by an invisible attraction. le eye, partaking of tlie quickness of the tiasliing light, saw every gleam a multitude of objects wliich it could not see at y noon in fifty times that period. Bells iu steeples, with the md wheel that moved tliem ; ragged nests of birds in cornices looks ; f;aces full of consternation in the tilted waggons that tearing past, their frightened teams ringing out a warning 1 the thunder drowned ; harrows and ploughs left out in fields ; upon miles of hedge-divided country, with the distant fringe :es as obvious as the scarecrow in the beanfield close at hand : ;rembling, vivid, flickering instant, everything was clear and : tiien came a flush of red into the yelloAv light ; a change to a brightness so intense that there was nothing else but light : hen the deepest and profoundest darkness, lie lightning, being very crooked and very dazzling, may have ated or assisted a curious optical illusion, which suddenly rose e the startled eyes of Montague in the carriage, and as rapidly peared. He thought he saw Jonas with his hand lifted, and ottle clenched in it like a hammer, making as if he would aim w at his head. At the same time he observed (or so believed) pression in his face ; a combination of the unnatural e.xcite- he had shown all day, with a wild hatred and fear wliich t have rendered a wolf a less terrible companion, e uttered an involuntary exclamation, and called to the r, who brought his horses to a stop with all speed. could hardly have been as he supposed, for although he had aken his eyes off his companion, and had not seen him move, t reclining in his corner as before. What's the matter ? " said Jonas. " Is that your general way iking out of your sleep ? " I could swear," returned the other, " that I have not closed ^es ! " When you have sworn it," said Jonas, composedly, "we had r go on again, if you have only stopped for that." e uncorked the bottle with the help of his teeth ; and jiutting his lips, took a long draught. 616 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF " I wish we had never started on this journey. This is m said Montague, recoiling instinctively, and speaking in a voice t betrayed his agitation : " this is not a night to travel in." " Ecod ! you're right there," returned Jonas : " and we shouk be out in it but for you. If you hadn't kept me waiting all d we might have been at Salisbury by this time ; snug abed audj asleep. What are we stopping now for 1 " His companion put his head out of window for a moment, i drawing it in again, observed (as if that were his cause of anxif that the boy was drenched to the skin. " Serve him right," said Jonas. " I'm glad of it. What devil are we stopping now for 1 Are you going to spread him to dry ? " " I have half a mind to take him inside," observed the ot with some hesitation. " Oh ! thankee ! " said Jonas. "We don't want any damp 1 here : especially a young imp like him. Let him be where h( He ain't afraid of a little thunder and lightning, I dare say ; m ever else is. Go on, driver ! We had better have hi7n in; perhaps," he muttered with a laugh ; " and the horses ! " " Don't go too fast," cried Montague to the postillion; "andt care how you go. You were nearly in the ditch when I called to y This was not true ; and Jonas bluntly said so, as they mc forward again. Montague took little or no heed of what he s but repeated that it was not a night for travelling, and sho himself, both then and afterwards, unusually anxious. From this time, Jonas recovered his former spirits ; if sue term may be employed to express the state in which he had left City. He had his bottle often at his mouth ; roared out suat of songs, without the least regard to time or tune or voice, or ; thing but loud discordance ; and urged his silent friend to be m with him. " You're the best company in the world, my good fellow," Montague with an efibrt, " and in general irresistible ; but to-n — do you hear it ? " " Ecod I hear and see it too," cried Jonas, shading his eyes the moment, from the lightning which was flashing, not in any, direction, but all round them. " What of that 1 It don't cha you, nor me, nor our affairs. Chorus, chorus ! It may lighten and storm, Till it hunt the red worm From the grass wliere the gibbet is driven ; But it can't hurt the dead, And it won't save the head That is doom'd to be rifled and riven. MARTIX (.HUZZLEWIT. 617 must be a precious old song," he added with an oatli, as he )ed short iu a kind of wonder at himself. " I haven't heard it I was a boy, and how it comes into my head now, unless the iiing put it there, I don't know. ' Cant hurt the dead ' ! No, 'And won't save the head' ! No, no. No ! Ha, hix, ha ! " is mirth was of such a savage and extraordinary cluiracter, vas, in an inexplicable way, at once so suited to the night, and Lich a coarse intrusion on its terrors, that his fellow-traveller, rs a coward, shrank from him in positive fear. Instead of 5 being his tool and instrument, their places seemed to be sed. But there was reason for this too, Montague thought ; the sense of his debasement might naturally inspire such a with the wish to assert a noisy independence, and in that ie to forget his real condition. Being quick enough in Mice to such subjects of contemplation, he was not long in g this argument into account, and giving it its full weight. still he felt a vague sense of alarm, and was depressed and >y- e was certain he had not been asleep ; but his eyes might have ved him, for looking at Jonas now, in any interval of darkness, aid represent his figure to himself in any attitude his state of suggested. On the other hand, he knew full well that Jonas 10 reason to love him ; and even taking the piece of pantomime 1 had so impressed his mind to be a real gesture, and not the ing of his fancy, the most that could be said of it was, that it piite in keeping with the rest of his diabolical fun, and had ;irae impotent expression of truth in it. " If he could kill me a wish," thought the swindler, " I should not live long." e resolved, that wlien he should have had his use of Jonas, he I restrain liira with an iron curb : in tlie meantime, that he not do better than leave him to take his own way, and pre- his own jieculiar description of good-humour, after his own nmon manner. It was no great sacrifice to bear with him ; when all is got that can be got," thought Montague, " I sliall lip across the water, and have the laugh on my side — and the ich were his reflections from hour to hour ; his state of mind one in which the same thoughts constantly present theni- 5 over and over again in wearisome repetition ; wliile Jonas, :iprjeared to have dismissed reflection altogether, entertained ilf as before. They agreed that they would go to Salisbury, vould cross to Mr. Pecksniff""s in the murniiig ; and at the '■ct of deluding that worthy gentleman, tlie spirits of his )]e soQ-in-law became more boisterous than ever. 618 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. As the night wore on, the thunder died away, but still rol gloomily and mournfully in the distance. The lightning too, thou now comparatively harmless, was yet bright and frequent. 1 rain was quite as violent as it had ever been. It was their ill-fortune, at about the time of dawn and iu 1 last stage of their journey, to have a restive pair of horses. Th animals had been greatly terrified in their stable by the tempei and coming out into the dreary interval between night and morni' when the glare of the lightning was yet unsubdued by day, and 1 various objects in their view were presented in indistinct 8 exaggerated shapes which they would not have worn by niglit, tl gradually became less and less capable of control ; until, takinc sudden fright at something by the roadside, they dashed off wil down a steep hill, flung the driver from his saddle, drew the carri; to the brink of a ditch, stumbled headlong down, and threv crashing over. The travellers had opened the carriage door, and had eit jumped or fallen out. Jonas was the first to stagger to his fi He felt sick and weak, and very giddy, and, reeling to a five-bar gate, stood holding by it : looking drowsily about, as the wll landscape swam before his eyes. But by degrees he grew ii conscious, and presently observed that Montague was lying sei less in the road, within a few feet of the horses. In an instant, as if his own faint body were siiddenly auimf by a demon, he ran to the horses' heads ; and pulling at t' bridles with all his force, set them struggling and plunging \ such mad violence as brought their hoofs at every effort nearei the skull of the prostrate man, and must have led in half a mii to his brains being dashed out on the highway. As he did this, he fought and contended with them like a ) i possessed : making them wilder by his cries. " Whoop !" cried Jonas. "Whoop! again! another! Al more, a little more ! Up, ye devils ! Hillo ! " As he heard the driver who had risen and was hurrying crying to him to desist, his violence increased. " Hillo ! Hillo ! " cried Jonas. " For God's sake ! " cried the driver. — " The gentleman — ii i' road — he'll be killed ! " i The same shouts and the same struggles were his only ansii But the man darting in at the peril of his own life, saved Montagjs by dragging him through the mire and water out of the reaoio present harm. That done, he ran to Jonas; and with the ao his knife they very shortly disengaged the horses from the bpii chariot, and got them, cut and bleeding, on their legs again. '^' ■•'''■ 1,1- - MU. JOXA.S KXHimiS His I'UKSK.N-fE OF MIND. b 620 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF postillion and Jonas had now leisure to look at each other, wh: they had not had yet. " Presence of mind, presence of mind ! " cried Jonas, throwi up his hands wildly. " What would you have done without mc " The other gentleman would have done badly witliout m returned the man, shaking his head. " You should have mo\ him first. I gave him up for dead." " Presence of mind, you croaker, presence of mind ! " cried Jon with a harsh loud laugh. " Was he struck, do you think ] '' They both turned to look at him. Jonas muttered somethi to himself, when he saw him sitting up beneath the hedge, looki vacantly round. "AVhat's the matter?" asked Montague. "Is anybody hurl " Ecod ! " said Jonas, " it don't seem so. There are no boi broke, after all." Tliey raised him, and he tried to walk. He was a good d shaken, and trembled very much. But with the exception of a i cuts and bruises this was all the damage he had sustained. "Cuts and bruises, eh?" said Jonas. " We've all got tli( Only cuts and bruises, eh ? " " I wouldn't have given sixpence for the gentleman's heac' half a dozen seconds more, for all he's only cut and bruised," obser the i)ost-boy. " If ever you're in an accident of this sort ag; Sir ; which I hope you won't be ; never you pull at the bridle i horse that's down, when there's a man's head in the way. T can't be done twice without there being a dead man in the c; it would have ended in that, this time, as sure as ever you v i born, if I hadn't come up just when I did." Jonas replied liy advising him with a curse to hold his ton; and to go somewhere, whither he was not very likely to go of own accord. But Montague, who had listened eagerly to e) word, himself diverted the subject, by exclaiming : " Where's t boy!" ^ _ ^ ^ I "Ecod, I forgot that monkey," said Jonas. "What's beciK of him ! " A very brief search settled that question. The uiir- tunate Mr. Bailey had been thrown sheer over the hedge or the f barred gate; and was lying in the neighbouring field, to all apjji' ance dead. " When I said to-night, that I wished I had never startecj)" this journey," cried his master, "I knew it was an ill-fated j-P' Look at this boy ! " j " Is that all ? " growled Jonas. " If you call that a sign of i'-' "Why, what should I call a sign of it?" asked Monti jie, hurriedly. " What do you mean 1 " i MARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 621- I mcau," said Jonas, stooping down over tlie body, "that I : heard you were his father, or had any particidar reason to much about him. Halloa. Hold up here 1 ' lit the boy was past holding up, or being hold up, or giving )ther sign of life, than a faint and fitful beating of tiie heart. • some discussion, the driver mounted the horse which had least injured, and took the lad in his arms, as well as he could ; ^ jNIontague and Jonas leading the other horse, and carrying a c between them, walked by his side towards Salisbury. You'd get there in a few minutes, and be able to send assistance eet us, if you went forward, post-boy," said Jonas. "Trot Xo, no," cried Montague, hastily ; " we'll keep together." AVliy, what a chicken you are ! You are not afraid of being 'd ; are you 1 " said Jonas. I am not afraid of anything," replied the other, whose looks nanner were in flat contradiction to Ids words. " But we'll together." You were mighty anxious about the boy, a minute ago," said s. " I suppose you know that he may die in the itime 1 " Ay, ay. I know. But we'll keep together.'" s it was clear that he was not to be moved from this deter- tion, Jonas made no other rejoinder than such as his face ;sse(l ; and they proceeded in company. They had three or good miles to travel ; and the way was not made easier by tate of the road, the burden by which they were embarrassed, leir own stiff and sore condition. After a sufficiently long painful walk, they arrived at the Inn ; and having knocked )eople up (it being yet very early in the morning), sent out engers to see to the carriage and its contents, and roused a ;on from his bed to tend the chief sufferer. All tlie service )uld render, he rendered promptly and skilfully. But he gave his opinion that the boy was labouring under a severe con- on of the brain, and that Mr. Bailey's mortal course was run. f Montague's strong interest in the announcement could Iiave considered as unselfish, in any degree, it might liave been Jeeming trait in a character that had no such lineaments to ;. But it was not difficidt to see that, for .some unexpressed )n best appreciated by himself, he attached a strange value to company and presence of this mere child. "When, after ving some assistance from the surgeon himself, he retired to bed-room prepared for him, and it was broad day, his mind still dwelling on this theme. 622 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF " I would rather have lost," he said, " a thousand pounds t' lost the boy just now. But I'll return home alone ; I am resol upon that. Chuzzlewit shall go forward first, and I will fol in my own time. I'll have no more of this," he added, wiping damp forehead. "Twenty -four hours of this would turn hair grey ! " After examining his chamber, and looking under the bed, i in the cupboards, and even behind the curtains, witli unus caution (although it was, as has been said, broad day) he dou locked the door by which he had entered, and retired to r There was another door in the room, but it was locked on outer side ; and with what place it comnumicated, he knew not His fears or evil conscience reproduced this door in all dreams. He dreamed that a dreadful secret was connected v it : a secret which he knew, and yet did not know, for althoi he was heavily responsible for it, and a party to it, he ■ harassed even in his vision by a distracting uncertainty in refere to its import. Incoherently entwined with this dream ■ another, which represented it as the hiding-place of an eneni; shadow, a phantom ; and made it the business of his life to k the terrible creature closed up, and prevent it from forcing way in upon him. With tliis view Nadgett, and he, and a stra man with a bloody smear upon his head (who told him that had been his playfellow, and told him, too, the real name of old schoolmate, forgotten until then), worked with iron plates nails to make the door secure ; but though they worked neve hard, it was all in vain, for the nails broke, or changed to twigs, or, what was worse, to worms, between their fingers ; wood of the door splintered and crumbled, so that even i would not remain in it ; and the iron plates curled up like paper. All this time the creature on the other side — whetln was in the shape of man, or beast, he neither knew nor soi to know — was gaining on them. But his greatest terror when the man with the bloody smear upon his head demande him if he knew this creature's name, and said that he w whisper it. At this the dreamer fell upon his knees, his w blood thrilling with inexplicable fear, and held his ears. ^ looking at the speaker's lips, he saw that they formed the u ance of the letter " J ; " and crying out aloud that the secret discovered, and they were all lost, he awoke. Awoke to find Jonas standing at his bedside watching i And that very door wide open. As their eyes met, Jonas retreated a few paces, and Mont sprang out of bed. I MARTIX CHUZZLEAVIT. 623 ' Heyday ! " said Jonas. "You're all alive this morning." • Alive ! " the other stammered, as he pulled tlie bell-rope jntly : " "What are you doing here 1 " 'It's your room to be sure/' said Jonas; "but I'm almost ned to ask you what t/ou are doing here. My room is on other side of that door. Xo one told me last niglit not to I it. I thought it led into a passage, and was comiug out to r breakfost. There's — there's no bell in my room." ilontague had in the meantime admitted the man with his water and boots, who hearing this, said, yes, there was ; and ed into the adjoining room to point it out, at the head of bed. 'I couldn't find it, then,"' said Jonas: "it's all the same. 1 I order breakfast ? " lontague answered in the affirmative. "When Jonas had ed, whistling, through his own room, he opened the door of luuuication, to take out the key and fasten it on tlie inner But it was taken out already, le dragged a table against the door, and sat down to collect 5elf, as if his dreams still had some influence upon his mind. 'Au evil journey," he repeated .several times. "An evil riey. But I'll travel home alone. I'll have no more of this ! " lis presentiment, or superstition, that it was an evil journey, not at all deter him from doing the evil for which the journey undertaken. With this in view, he dressed himself more fully than usual, to make a favourable impression on Mr. csniff: and, lea-ssured by his own appearance, the beauty of morning, and the flashing of the wet boughs outside his window le merry sunshine, he was soon sufficiently inspirited to swear .V round oaths, and hum tlie fag-end of a song. Jut he still muttered to himself at intervals, for all tliat : 1 travel home alone ! " CHAPTER XLIII. AN INFLUENCE ON THE FORTUNES OF SEVERAL PEOPLE. MR. PECKSNIFF IS EXHIBITED IN THE PLENITUDE OF POWER ; AND ft'IELDS THE .SAME WITH FORTITUDE AND MAGNANIMITY. )n the ni;,dit i)f the storm, Mrs. Lupin, hostess of the Blue ,'on, sat by lierself in her little bar. Her solitary cunditiou, le bad weather, or both united, made ]\Irs. Lupin thoughtful, 62i LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF not to say sorrowful ; and as she sat with her chin upon her ha looking out through a low back lattice, rendered dim in brightest daytime by clustering vine-leaves, she shook her Ik very often, and said, " Dear me ! Ah, dear, dear me ! " It was a melancholy time, even in the suugness of the Draj bar. The rich expanse of corn-field, pasture-land, green slope, t gentle undulation, with its sparkling brooks, its many hedgera and its clumps of beautiful trees, was black and drearj-, from diamond panes of the lattice away to the far horizon, wliere ■ thunder seemed to roll along the hills. The heavy rain b down tlie tender branches of vine and jessamine, and tramp on them in its fury ; and when the lightning gleamed, it sho\ the tearful leaves shivering and cowering together at the windi and tapping at it urgently, as if beseeching to be sheltered fi the dismal night. As a mark of her respect for the lightning, Mrs. Lupin removed her candle to the chimney-piece. Her basket of nee work stood unheeded at her elbow ; her supper, spread on a ro table not far off", was untasted ; and the knives had been remo for fear of attraction. She had sat for a long time with her c ujion her hand, saying to herself at intervals, " Dear me ! dear, dear me ! " She was on the eve of saying so, once more, when the late < the house-door (closed to keep the rain out), rattled on its v ^ worn catch, and a traveller came in, who, shutting it after him, ' walking straight up to the half-door of the bar, said, rather grn "A pint of the best old beer here." He had some reason to be gruff", for if he had passed the in a waterfall, he could scarcely have been wetter than he • He was wrapped up to the eyes in a rough blue sailor's coat, ^ had an oil-skiu hat on, from the capacious brim of which, the 'i fell trickling down upon his breast, and back, and shouliis Judging from a certain liveliness of chin — he had so pvdled di his hat, and pulled up his collar, to defend himself from in weather, that she could only see his chin, and even across tha n drew the wet sleeve of his shaggy coat, as she looked at him — '"s Lupin set him down for a good-natured fellow, too. , " A bad night ! " observed the hostess cheerfully. The traveller shook himself like a Newfoundland dog, and k it was, rather. "There's a fire in the kitchen,'' said Mrs. Lupin, ''and ,i"J good company there. Hadn't you better go and dry yourself "No, thankee," said the man, glancing towards the kitei as he spoke : he seemed to know the way. ' MARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 825 ;'s enough to give you your death of coM,"' oliservod the don't take my death easy," veturnod tlio traveller; "or I most likely have took it aturo to-night. Your health, 5. Lupin thanked him ; but in the act of lifting the tankard mouth, he changed his mind, and put it down again, ing his body back, and looking about him stiffly, as a man does wra]ipcd up, and has his hat low down over his eyes, he said, "hat do vou call this house? Not the Dragon, do you 1" 5. Lupin complacently made answer, " Yes, the Dragon." t'hy, tlien, you've got a sort of a relation of mine here, ," said the traveller : "a young man of the name of Tapley. ! iLark, my boy ! " apostrophising the premises, " have I ipon you at last, old buck ! " :s was touching Mrs. Lupin on a tender point. She turned 1 the candle on the chimney-piece, and said, with her back Is the traveller : [obody should be made more welcome at the Dragon, master, ny one who brought me news of Mark. But it's many and a long day and month since he left here and England. And er he's alive or dead, poor fellow. Heaven above us only J shook her head, and her voice trembled ; her hand must lone so too, for the light required a deal of trimming. Vhere did he go, ma'am ? " asked the traveller, in a gentler le went," said Mrs. Lujiin, with increased distress, "to ca. He was always tender-hearted and kind, and perhaps 5 moment may be lying in prison under sentence of death, king pity on some miserable black, and helping the jwor ay creetur to escape. How couhl he ever go to America 1 didn't he go to some of those countries which arc not quite rous ; where the savages eat each other fairly, and gi\e an chance to every one ! " lite subdued by this time, Mrs. Liq)iii sobbed, ami was ig to a chair to give her grief free vent, when tlie traveller t her in his arms, and she uttered a glad cry of recognition. i'e.«, I will ! " cried Mark, " another— one more — twenty 1 You didn't know me in that hat and coat? I thought ould have known me anywhere ! Ten more ! " >io I should have known you, if I could have seen you ; but ildn't, and you spoke so gruff. I didn't think you could grntt" to me, Mark, at first coming back." 2s 626 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF " Fifteen more ! " said Mr. Tapley. " How handsome and young you look ! Six more ! The last lialf-dozen warn't a one, and must be done over again. Lord bless you, what a ■ it is to see you ! One more ! Well, I never was so jolly, a few more, on account of there not being any credit in it ! " When Mr. Tapley stopped in these calculations in si addition, he did it, not because he was at all tired of the exei but because he was out of breath. The pause reminded hi other duties. " ]\Ir. Martin Chuzzlewit's outside,'' he said. "I left under the cart-shed, while I came on to see if there was any here. We want to keep quiet to-night, till we know the from you, and what it's best for us to do." " There's not a soul in the house except the kitchen comp returned the hostess. " If they were to know you had come \ Mark, they'd have a bonfire in the street, late as it is." " But they mustn't know it to-night, my precious soul,' Mark : "so have the house shut, and the kitchen fire madi and when it's all readj', \nit a light in tlie winder, and we'll in. One more ! I long to hear about old friends. Yon" ' me all about 'em, won't you : ]\Ir. Pinch, and the butcher down the street, and the terrier over the way, and the Wright's, and every one of 'em. When I first caught sight I church to-night, I thought the steeple would have choked e did. One more ! Won't you "? Not a very little one to fiiii with 1 " ; "You have had plenty, I am sm-e," said the hostess. ■'' along with your foreign manners ! " "That ain't foreign, bless you!" cried Mark. "Na.e oysters, that is ! One more, because it's native ! As a e 'k respect for the land we live in ! This don't count as betwe }' and me, you understand," said Mr. Tapley. "I an't a 'ssi you now, you'll observe. I have been among the patriots I'm kissiu' my country." It would have been very unreasonable to complain f ^ exhibition of his patriotism with which he followed up this (!)lai tion, that it was all lukewarm or indifferent. When he hfjgiv' full expression to his nationality, he hurried ofi" to IMartinjW'ii Mrs. Lupin, in a state of great agitation and excitement, jlpa" for their reception. [ The company soon came tumbling out: insisting to ea!*^'' that the Dragon clock was half an hour too fast, and it thunder must have affected it. Imi)atient, wet, and weary ib they were, Martin and Mark were overjoyed to see these c hx MARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 627 [itched them with delighted interest, as tliey departed from use, and passed elose by them. 'here's the old tailor, j\lark ! "' whispered Martin. 'here he goes. Sir ! A little bandier than he was, I think, in't he? His figure's so far altered, as it seems to me, ou might wheel a rather laiger barrow between his legs as Iks, than you could have done conveniently, when we know'd There's Sam a coming out, Sir." di, to be sure ! " cried Martin : " Sam, the hostler. I r whether that horse of Pecksniff's is alive still 1 " rot a doubt on it, Sir," returned Mark. " That's a descrip- ' animal. Sir, as will go on in a bony way peculiar to himself long time, and get into the newspapers at last under the )f ' Sing'lar Tenacity of Life in a Quadrnped.' As if he •er been alive in all his life, worth mentioning ! There's the Sir, — wery drunk, as usual." see him ! " said Martin, laughing. *' But, my life, how wet e, Mark ! " ' am ! What do you consider yourself, Sir 1 " )h, not half as bad," said his fellow-traveller, with an air ot vexation. " I told you not to keep on the windy side, Mark, let us change and change about. The rain has been beating 1, ever since it began." fou don"t know how it pleases me, Sir," said Mark, after a silence : " if I may make so bold as say so, to hear you a on in that there uncommon considerate way of yours ; which t mean to attend to, never, but winch, ever .since that time I was floored in Eden, you have showed." Lh, Mark ! " sighed Martin, " the less we say of that the . Do I see the light yonder?" Miat's the light ! " cried Mark. " Lord bless her, what brisk- he possesses ! Now for it. Sir. Neat wines, good beds, and ite entertainment for man or beast." e kitchen fire burnt clear and red, the table was spread out, ;ettle boiled ; the slippers were there, the boot-jack too, of ham were cooking on the gridiron ; half-a-dozen eggs rtoaching in the frying-pan ; a plethoric cherry-brandy bottle ■inking at a foaming jug of beer upon the table ; rare provi- were dangling from the rafters as if you had only to ojicn mouth, and .something exquisitely ripe and good would bo »o glad of the excuse for tumbling into it. Utb. Liii»in, who leir sakes had dislodged the very cook, high priestess of the e, with her own genial hands was dressing their repa.st. was impossible to help it- -a ghost must have hugged her. 628 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF The Atlantic Ocean and the Red Sea being, in that respect, all oi Martin hugged her instantly. Mr. Tapley (as if the idea we quite novel, and had never occurred to him before), followed, wi much gravity, on the same side. "Little did I ever think," said Mrs. Lupin, adjusting here; and laughing heartily ; yes, and blushing too ; " often as I ha said that Mr. Pecksnitf's young gentlemen were the life and so of the Dragon, and that without them it would be too dull to li in — little did I ever think, I am sure, that any one of them won ever make so free as you, Mr. Martin ! And still less that shouldn't be angry with him, but shovdd be glad with all i heart, to be the first to welcome him home from America, wi Mark Tapley, for his — " " For his friend, Mrs. Lupin," interposed Martin hastily. " For his friend," said the hostess, evidently gratified by t distinction, but at the same time admonishing Mr. Tapley witl fork, to remain at a respectful distance. " Little did I ever thi that ! But still less, that I should ever have the changes relate that I shall have to tell you of, when you have done V' supper ! " " Good Heaven ! " cried Martin, changing colour, " W i changes ? " '^ She," said the hostess, "is quite well, and now at Mr. Pcl- sniff''s. Don't be at all alarmed about her. She is everythig you could wish. It's of no use mincing matters or making seers, is it 1 " added Mrs. Lupin. " I know all about it, you see ! " ' "My good creature," returned Martin, "you are exactly 'e person who ought to know all about it. I am delighted to tlik you do know all about it. But what changes do you hint i-l Has any death occurred ? " > "No, no !" said the hostess. "Not so bad as that. Bi.I declare now that I will not be drawn into saying another word: 11 you have had your supper. If you ask me fifty questions in le meantime, I won't answer one." ' She was so positive that there was nothing for it but tojet the supper over as quickly as possible ; and as they had "3ii walking a great many miles, and had fasted since the midd ot the day, they did no great violence to their own inclinatioii|iii falling on it tooth and nail. It took rather longer to get thnjgh than might have been expected ; for, half-a-dozen times, when jey thought they had finished, Mrs. Lupin exposed the fallacy of lat impression triumphantly. But at last, in the course of timeifld nature, they gave in. Then, sitting with their slippered j^et stretched out iipon the kitchen hearth (which was wonderlly MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 629 forting, for the night liad grown by this time raw and chilly), looking with involuntary admiration at their dimpled, buxom, imiiig hostess, as the firelight sjiarkled in her eyes and unered in her raven hair, they composed tliemselves to listen ler news. !ilany were the exclamations of surprise wliich interrupted her, m she told them of tlie sejiaratiou between Mr. Pecksniti" and daughters, and between the same good gentleman and Mr. eh. But these were nothing to the indignant demonstrations lartiii, when she related, as the common talk of the neighbour- 3, what entire possession he had obtained over the mind and lou of old Mr. Chuzzlewit, and what high honour he designed Mary. On receipt of this intelligence, Martin's slippers tlew u a twinkling, and he began pulling on his wet boots with that ifinite intention of going somewhere instantly, and doing some- ig to somebody, which is the first safety-valve of a hot temper. ' He ! " said Martin, " smooth-tongued villain that he is ! He ! e me that other boot, IMark ! " 'Where was you a thinking of going to, Sirl" inquired Mr. ley, drying the sole at the fire, and looking coolly at it as he ie, as if it were a slice of toast. ■'Where ! " repeated Martin. "You don't suppose I am going email! here, do you 1 " rhe imperturbable J\Iark confessed that he did. 'You do !" retorted Martin angrily. "I am much obliged to . What do you take me for ? " 'I take you for what you are, Sir," said Mark; "and, con- leiitly, am quite stu-e that whatever you do, will be right and 'ible. The boot, Sir." Martin darted an impatient look at him, without taking it, and ked rapidly up and down the kitchen several times, with one t and a stocking on. But, mindful of liis Eden resolution, he already gained many victories over himself when 3Iark was he case, and he resolved to coucpier now. So he came back to boot-jack, laid his hand on IMark's .shoulder to steady himself, led the boot off, picked \ip his slippers, put them on, and sat •n again. He could not help thrusting his hands to the very torn of his pockets, and muttering at intervals, " Pecksniff too ! it fellow ! Upon my soul ! In-deed ! What next ? " and so h : nor could he help occasionally shaking his fist at the nney, with a very threatening countenance : but this did not long ; and he heard Mrs. Lupin out, if not with composure, at events in silence. "As to Mr. Pecksniff himself," observed the hostess in con- 630 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF elusion, spreading out tlie skirts of lier gown with both liancls, ai nodding her head a great many times as she did so, "I don't kno what to say. Somebody must liave poisoned his mind, or intlueuc( him in some extraordinary way. I cannot believe that such a nobl spoken gentleman would go and do wrong of his own accord ! " " How many people are there in the world, who, for no betti reason, uphold their Pecksniffs to the last, and abandon virtuoi men, when Pecksnifts breathe upon them ! "As to Mr. Pinch," pursued the landlady, " if ever there was dear, good, pleasant, worthy soul alive, Pinch, and no other, his name. But how do we know that old Mr. Chuzzlewit liims( was not the cause of difference arising between him and Jl Pecksniff? No one but themselves can tell : for Mv. Pinch has proud spirit, though he has such a quiet way ; and when he l(i us, and was so sorry to go, he scorned to make his story goc even to me." " Poor old Tom ! " said Martin, in a tone that sounded li remorse. " It's a comfort to know," resumed the landlady, "that he 1 his sister living with him, and is doing well. Only yesterday sent me back, by post, a little " — here the colour came into cheeks — "a little trifle I Avas bold enough to lend him when.; went aAvay : saying, Avith many thanks, that he had good eniplj- ment, and didn't want it. It was the same note; he ha(it broken it. I never thought I could have been so little iDleasecp see a bank-note come back to me, as I was to see that." | " Kindly said, and heartily ! " said Martin. " Is it not, Marl?' "She can't say anything as does not possess them qualiti!" returned Mr. Tapley ; " which as much belong to the Dragoiiis its license. And now that we have got quite cool and fresb-o the subject again, Sir: Avhat will you do? If you're not prij, and can make up your mind to go through with what you sj-ce of, coming along, that's the course for you to take. If you sta,!il wrong with your grandfather (which, you'll excuse my taking |ie liberty of saying, appears to have been the case), up with jU) Sir, and tell him so, and make an appeal to his affections. lii't staiid out. He's a great deal older tlian you, and if he was h^, you was hasty too. Give Avay, Sir, give way." j The eloquence of Mr. Tapley was not without its effecjou Martin, but he still hesitated, and expressed his reason thus : I " That's all very true, and jDerfectly correct, Mark ; and • i' were a mere question of humbling myself before hivi, I wouLiiot consider it twice. But don't you see, that being wholly uudeijbis hypocrite's government, and having (if what we hear be truno MARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 631 d or will of his own, I throw mj^self, in fact, not at his feet, at the feet of Mr. Pecksuitf? And when I am rejected and •ued awa3'," said Martin, turning crimson at tlie thouglit, " it ot hy him : my own blood stirred against me : but by Pecksniti" •ecksnitt; Mark ! " ' Well, but we know beforehand,"' returned the politic I\Ir. ley, "that Pecksniff is a wagaboud, a scoundrel, and a Avillaiu." 'A most pernicious villain ! '' said Martin. 'A most pernicious willain. We know that beforehand. Sir; , consequenth', it's no shame to be defeated by Pecksniff. w Pecksuitf ! "' cried Mr. Taplej', in the fervour of his eloc^uence. 'ho's he ! It's not in the natur of Pecksniff to shame us, unless igieed with us, or done us a service ; and, in case he otiered outdacity of that description, we could express our sentiments the English language, I hope 1 Pecksniti' ! " repeated Mr. iley, with inetiable disdain. "What's Pecksniff, who's ksniff, where's Pecksniff, that he's to be so much considered 1 're not a calculating for ourselves ; " he laid uncommon )hasi3 on the last syllable of that word, and looked full in rtin's face ; " we're making a effort for a young lady likewise has undergone her share ; and whatever little hope we have, I here Pecksniff is not to stand iu its way, I expect. I never rd of any Act of Parliament as was made by Pecksnift". ksniifl Why, I wouldn't see the man myself; I wouldn't r him ; I wouldn't choose to know he was iu company. Pd ipe my shoes on the scraper of tlie door, and call that Pecksniflf, ou liked ; but I wouldn't condescend no further." The amazement of Mrs. Lupin, and indeed of Mr. Tapley him- for that matter, at this impassioned flow of language, was nense. But Martin, after looking thoughtfully at the fire for liort time, said : "You are right, Mark. Plight or wrong, it shall be done. I'll it." "One word more, Sir," returned Mark. "Only think of him far, as not to give him a handle against you. Don't you do •thing secret, that he can report before you get there. Don't I even see Miss Mary in the morning, but let this here dear ■nd of ours ; " Mr. Tapley bestowed a smile upon the liostes.s ; irepare her for what's a going to happen, and carry any little ssage as may be agreeable. She knows how. Don't you 1 " s. Lupin laughed and tossed her head. " Then you go in, bold I free as a gentleman should. 'I haven't done nothing under- ided,' says you. ' I haven't been a skulking about the premises, •e I am, for-give me, I ask your pardon, God Bless You ! ' " I 632 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF Martin smiled, but felt that it was good advice uotwithstaudinj and resolved to act upon it. When tliey had ascertained froi Mrs. Lupin that Pecksnifi" had already returned from the gre< ceremonial at which they had beheld liim in his glory ; and whe they had fully arranged the order of their proceedings ; they Wei to bad, intent upon the morrow. In pursuance of their project as agreed upon at this discussio; Mr. Tapley issued forth next morning, after breakfast, charge with a letter from Martin to his grandfather, requesting leave ■ wait upon him for a few minutes. And postponing as he wei along the congratulations of his numerous friends until a mo convenient season, he soon arrived at Mr. Pecksniff's house, i that gentleman's door : with a face so immoveable that it wou: hav^e been next to an impossibility for the most acute phy ognomist to determine what he was thinking about, or whether was thinking at all : he straightway knocked. A person of Mr. Tapley's observation could not long rema insensible to the fact, that Mr. Pecksniff was making the e of his nose very blunt against the glass of the parlour windo in an angular attempt to discover who had knocked at t door. Nor was Mr. Tapley slow to baffle this movement on t part of the enemy, by perching himself on the top step, a presenting the crown of his hat in that direction. But possil Mr. Pecksniff had already seen him, for Mark soon heard shoes creaking, as he advanced to open the door wath his o hands. Mr. Pecksniff was as cheerful as ever, and sang a little soug. the i^assage. "How d'ye do, Sirl " said Mark. " Oh ! " cried Mr. Pecksniff. " Tapley, I believe 1 Prodigal returned ! We don't want any beer, my friend." "Thankee, Sir," said Mark. "I couldn't accommodate you'f you did. A letter. Sir. Wait for an answer." " For me ? " cried Mr. Pecksniff. " And an answer, eh 1 " " Not for you I think. Sir," said Mark, pointing out « direction. " (Jluizzlewit, I believe the name is. Sir.'' " Oh ! " returned Mr. Pecksniff". " Thank you. Yes. WVs it from, my good young man T' i " The gentleman it comes from, wrote his name inside, £' returned Mr. Tapley with extreme politeness. " I see him a si- ing of it at the end, wdiile I was a waitin'." " And he said he wanted an answer did he ? " asked r. Pecksniff in his most persuasive manner. ^ Mark rcjilicd in tlie affirmative. ; MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 633 He teball have au answer. Certainly," .said Mr. Pecksniff, ng the letter into small pieces, as mildly as if that were the flattering attention a correspondent could receive. "Have ;oodiiess to give him that, with my compliments, if you please. . morning ! " Whereupon, he handed Mark the scraps ; id ; and shut the door. [ark thought it prudent to subdue his personal emotions, and n to Martin, at the Dragon. They were not unprepared for a reception, and suffered au hour or so to elapse before making ier attempt. When this interval had gone by, they returned r. Pecksnitfs house in company. Llartin knocked this time, 3 Mr. Tapley prepared himself to keep the door opeu with his and shoulder, when anybody came, and by that means secure uforced parley. But this precaution was needless, for the int-girl appeared almost immediately. Brushing quickly past IS he had resolved in such a case to do, Martin (closely followed is foithful ally) opened the door of that parlour in which he : a visitor was most likely to be found ; i^assed at once into •com ; and stood, without a word of notice or announcement, le presence of his grandfather. Ir. Pecksniff' also was in the room ; and Mary, In the swift int of their mutual recognition, JMartin saw the old man droop ;ray head, and hide his face in his hands, t smote him to the heart. In his most selfish and most ess day, this lingering remnant of the old man's ancient love, buttress of a ruined tower he had built up in the time gone by, so much pride and hope, would have caused a-paug in Martin's t. But now, changed for the better in his worst respect ; ing through au altered medium on his former friend, the dian of his childhood, so broken and bowed down ; resentment, nness, self-confidence, and pride, were all swept away, before starting tears upon the witliered cheeks. He could not to .see them. He could not bear to think they fell at sight lim. He could not bear to view reflected in them, the oachful and irrevocable Past. le hurriedly advanced, to seize the old man's hand in his, n Mr. Pecksniff interposed himself between tliem. 'No, young man!" said Mr. Pecksniff, striking himself upon breast, and stretching out his other arm towards his guest as i were a wing to shelter hhn. "No, Sir. None of that, ke here, Sir, here ! Launch your arrows at Me, Sir, if you'll i the goodness ; not at Him ! " 'Grandfather!" cried Martin. "Hear me! I implore you, ne speak 1 " ^ g^ fl. PECKSNIFF ANNOUNCES HIMSELF AS THE SHIELD OF VHITU' LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT, 635 "Would you, Sir ! Would you ! " said ]\Ir. Pecksniff, dodging t, so as to keep himself always between them. " Is it not gh. Sir, that you come into my house like a thief in the night, should rather say, for we can never be too particular on the ;ct of Truth, like a thief in the day-time ; bringing your •lute companions with you, to plant themselves with their s against the insides of parlour doors, and prevent the mce or issiiiug forth of any of my household ; " Mark had n up this position, and held it quite unmoved ; " but would also strike at venerable Virtue i "Would you 1 Know that it )t defenceless. I will be its shield, young man. Assail me. e on, Sir. Fire away ! " ■ Pecksnitf," said the old man, in a feeble voice. "Calm your- Be quiet." •I can't be calm," cried Mr. Pecksnitf, "and I won't be quiet, benefactor and my friend ! Shall even my house be no refuge 'our hoary pillow ! " ' Stand aside ! " said the old man, stretching out his hand ; d let me see what it is, I used to love so dearly." ' It is right that you should see it, my friend," said Mr. csnitf. " It is well that you should see it, my noble Sir. It !sirable that you should contemplate it in its true proportions. M it ! There it is. Sir. There it is ! " lartin could hardly be a mortal man, and not express in his somethuig of the anger and disdain, with which Mv. Pecksniff ired him. But beyond this he evinced no knowledge w'hatever lat gentleman's presence or existence. True, he had once, and at tkst, glanced at him involuntarily, and with supreme empt ; but for any other heed he took of him, there might J been nothing in his place save empty air. Ls Mr. Pecksniff withdrew from between them, agreeably to wish just now expressed (which he did during the delivery of observations last recorded), old Martin, who had taken I\Iary barn's hand hi his, and whispered kindly to her, as telling her had no cause to be alarmed, gently pushed her from him, nd his chair ; and looked steadily at his grandson. ' And that," he said, " is he. Ah ! that is he ! Say what wish to say. But come no nearer." ' His sense of justice is so fine," said Mr. PecksniH", " that he hear even him ; although he knows beforehanil that nothing come of it. Ingenuous mind ! " Mr. Pecksnitf did not ress himself immediately to any person in saying this, but ming the position of the Chonis in a Greek Tragedy, vered his opinion as a commentary on the proceedings. 636 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF " Graudfather ! " said Martin, witli great earnestness. '' Fr a painful journey, from a hard life, from a sick bed, from privat and distress, from gloom and disappointment, from almost ho lessness and despair, I have come back to j'ou." "Rovers of this sort," observed Mr. Pecksniff as Chor "very commonly come back when they find they don't meet w the success they expected in their marauding ravages." " But for this faithful man," said Martin, turning toAva Mark, " whom I first knew in this place, and who went away w me voluntarily, as a servant, but has been, throughout, my zeaL and devoted friend ; but for him, I must have died abroad. J from home, far from any help or consolation ; far from the probabi! even of my wretched fate being ever known to any one who ca to hear it — oh that you would let me say, of being known you ! " The old man looked at Mr. PecksniflF. Mr. Pecksnift' looj at him. "Did you speak, my worthy Sir?" said Mr. Pecksii with a smile. The old man answered in the negative. "I ki what you thought," said Mr. Pecicsniff, with another smile. " him go on, my friend. The development of self-interest in human mind is always a curious study. Let him go on, Sir." "Go on ! " observed the old man ; in a mechanical obedienc i appeared, to Mr. Pecksniff's suggestion. "I have been so wretched and so poor," said Martin, "th; am indebted to the charitable help of a stranger in a lam strangers, for the means of returning here. All this tells ag;i ~ me in your mind, I know. I have given you cause to thiu have been driven here wholly by want, and have not been ledic in any degree, by afiection or regret. When I i)arted from iu Grandfiither, I deserved that susiiicion, but I do not now. J^l not now." The Chorus put its hand in its waistcoat, and smiled. ' ie him go on, my worthy Sir," it said. "I know what yoUri' thinking of, but don't express it prematurely." ' Old Martin raised his eyes to Mr. Pecksniff's face, and ap; u ing to derive renewed instruction from his looks and words, W once again : " Go on ! " ' " I have little more to say," returned Martin. "And as .'jia; it now, with little or no hope. Grandfather ; whatever dawj c hope I had on entering the room ; believe it to be true. At as believe it to be true." " Beautiful Truth ! " exclaimed the Chorus, looking up^rd " How is your name profaned by vicious persons ! You don' iv MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 637 ■well, my holy principle, but on the lips of false inaiikiiul. ; hanl to bear with mankind, dear Sir,'' — addressing the elder Chuzzlewit ; "but let us do so meeklj-. It is our duty so to Let us be among the Few who do their duty. If," jnirsucd Chorus, soaring up into a lofty flight, "as the poet informs us, land expects Every man to do his duty, England is the most ;uinc country on the face of the earth, and will find itself inually disappointed." 'Upon that subject," said jMartin, looking calmly at the old as he spnke, but glancing once at Mary, whose Aice was now ed in her hands, upon the back of his easy-chair: "upon that ect, which first occasioned a division between us, my mind and t are incapable of change. Whatever influence they have ?rgone, since that unhappy time, has not been one to weaken to strengthen me. I cannot profess sorrow for that, nor ;olution in that, nor shame in that. Nor would you wish me, low. But that I might have trusted to your love, if I had wn myself manfully upon it ; that I might have won you over I ease, if I had been more yielding, and more considerate ; I sliould have best remembered myself in forgetting myself, recollecting yon ; reflection, solitude, and misery have taught I came resolved to say this, and to ask your forgiveness : so much in hope for the future, as in regret for the : for all that I would ask of you is, that you would aid me to Help me to get honest work to do, and I would do it. IMy lition places me at the disadvantage of seeming to have only my sh ends to serve, but try if that be so, or not. Try if I be willed, obdurate, and haughty, as I was ; or have been iplined in a rough school. Let the voice of nature and elation plead between us, Grandfather; and do not, for one t, however thankless, quite reject me ! " b he ceased, the gray head of the old man drooped again ; and oncealed his face behind his outspread fingers. 'My dear Sir," cried Mr. Pecksniff, bending over him, "you t not give way to this. It is very natural, and very amiable, you nnist not allow the shameless conduct of one whom you ■ ago cast off, to move you so far. Rouse yourself. Tliink,' Mr. Pecksniff, " think of Me, my friend." 'I will," returned old Martin, looking up into his face. "You II me to myself I will.'' 'Why, what," said Mr. PecksniflT, sitting down beside him in air which he drew up for the purpose, and tapping him play- r on the arm, "what is the matter with my 8trong-min, my ng Sir, an Ugly Customer ! " Still Slartin looked steadily and mildly at his grandfather, nil you give me no answer," he said at length, "not a wordi "' " You hear what has been said," replied the old man, without rting his eyes from the face of Mr. Pecksniff: who nodded ouragingly. "I have not heard your voice. I have not heard your spirit," irned ]\Iartin. "Tell him again,"" said the old man, still gazing up in Mr. ■ksniff's face. "I only hear," replied Martin, strong in his purpose from the t, and stronger in it as he felt how Pecksniff winced and shrank eath his contempt ; "I only hear wdiat you say to me, grand- }er." Perhaps it was well fn- Mr. Pecksniff" that his venerable friend nd in his (Mr. Pecksniff's) features an exclusive and engrossing ect of contemplation, for if his eyes had gone astray, and he I compared young Martin's bearing with that of his zealous ender, the latter disinterested gentleman would scarcely have wn to greater advantage than on the memorable afternoon when took Tom Pinch's last receipt in full of all demands. One lly jnight have thought there w\is some quality in Mr. Pecksnifl" ui emanation from the brightness and purity within him haps — which set off and adorned his foes : they looked so hint and so manly beside him. " Not a word 1 " said Martin, for the second time. "I remember that I have a word to say, Pecksniff," observed old man. " But a word. You spoke of being indebted to the iritable help of some stranger for the means of returning to gland. Who is he? And what help, in money, did lie render iV Although he asked this question of Martin, he did not look rards him, but kept his eyes on Mr. Pecksniff as before. It reared to have become a habit with him, both in a literal and iirative sense, to look to Mk. Pecksniff alone. Martin took out his pencil, tore a leaf from his iMnket-book, 1 hastily wrote down the particulars of his debt to Mr. Bcvan. e old man stretched out liis hand for the paper, and took it ; t his eyes did not wander from Mr. Pecksniff's face. "It would be a poor pride and a false humility," said ]\Iartiii, alow voice, "to say, I do not wish tliat to be paid, or that I 640 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF have any present hope of being able to pay it. But I never fe my poverty so deeply as I feel it now.'' " Read it to me Pecksniff," said the old man. Mr. Pecksniff, after approaching the perusal of the paper as it were a manuscript confession of a murder, complied. " I think, Pecksniff," said old Martin, " I could wish that be discharged. I should not like the lender, who was abroaoj who had no opportunity of making inquiry, and who did (as li thought) a kind action ; to sufier." " An honourable sentiment, my dear Sir. Your own entire)' But a dangerous precedent," said Mr. Pecksniff', " permit me ■ suggest." "It shall not be a precedent,"' returned the old man. "It the only recognition of him. But we will talk of it again. Y shall advise me. There is nothing else 1 " "Nothing else," said Mr. Pecksniff, buoyantly, "but for you recover this intrusion : this cowardly and indefensible outrage your feelings : with all possible dispatch ; and smile again." "You have nothing more to say?" inquired the old mf laying his hand with imusual earnestness on Mr. Pecksniff's slee Mr. Pecksnift' would not say what rose to his lips. P reproaches, he observed, were useless. "You have nothing at all to urge? You are sure of that? you have ; no matter what it is ; speak freely. I will opp( nothing that you ask of me," said the old man. The tears rose in such abundance to Mr. Pecksniff's eyes this proof of unlimited confidence on the part of his friend, tl he was fain to clasp the bridge of his nose convulsively before could at all compose himself. When he had the power of utterai again, he said, with great emotion, that he hoped he shoidd 1 to deserve this ; and added, that he had no other observat whatever to make. For a few moments the old man sat looking at him, with tl blank and motionless expression which is not uncommon in ■ faces of those whose faculties are on the wane, in age. But rose up firmly too, and walked towards the door, from which M; withdrew to make way for him. The obsequious Mr. Pecksniff proffered his arm. The old n took it. Turning at the door, he said to Martin, waving him ■ with his hand, "You have heard him. Go away. It is all over. Go!" Mr. Pecksniff murmured certain cheering expressions ,;f sympathy and encouragement as they retired ; and Marl;, awakening from tlie stupor into which the closing portion of f ^ iMARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 641 liatl plunged him, to the opportunity aflbixled by tlieir ture, caught the innocent cause of all in his embrace, and 'd her to his heart. Dear girl ! " said Martin. " He has not changed you. AVhy, an impotent and harmless knave the fellow is ! " Vou have restrained yourself so nobly ! You have borne so !" Restrained myself!" cried Martin, cheerfully. ''You were lid were unchanged, I knew. What more advantage did I ? The sight of me was such bitterness to the dog, that I my triumph in his being forced to endure it. But tell me, -for the few hasty words we can exchange now are precious lat is this which has been rumoured to me ? Is it true that ire persecuted by this knave's addresses 1 " I was, dear Martin, and to some extent am now ; but my source of unhappiness has been anxiety for you. Why did eave us iu such terrible suspense ? " Sickness, distance ; the dread of hinting at our real condition, mpossibility of concealing it except in perfect silence ; the •ledge that the truth would have pained you infinitely more uncertainty and doubt," said Martin, hurriedly ; as indeed 'thing else was done and said, in those few hurried moments, :e the causes of my writing only once. But Pecksniff 1 You I't fear to tell me the whole tale : for you saw me with him to face, hearing him speak, and not taking him by the throat : is the history of his pursuit of you'i^ Is it known to my Ifather '. " Yes." And he assists him in it 1 " No," she answered eagerly. Thank Heaven!" cried Martin, "that it leaves his mind )uded in that one respect ! " I do not think," said Mary, "it was known to him at first, n this man had sutticiently prepared his mind, he revealed it m by degrees. I think so, but I only know it, from my own ession : not from anything they told me. Then he spoke to done." My grandfather did 1 " said IMartin. 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 erately rich ; in good repute ; and high in his favour and idence. But seeing me very much distressed, he said that he Id not control or force my inclinations, but woidd content I'T 642 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF himself with telling me the fact. He would not jiain nie dwelling on it, or reverting to it : nor has he ever done so sii but has truly kept his word." "The man himself? — " asked Martin. " He has had few opportunities of pursuing his suit. I h never walked out alone, or remained alone an instant in presence. Dear Martin, I must tell you," she continued, "t the kindness of your grandfather to me, remains unchanged, am his comimnion still. An indescribable tenderness compassion seem to have mingled themselves with his old rega and if I were his only child, I could not have a gentler fat What former fancy or old habit survives in this, when his lieart turned so cold to you, is a mystery I cannot penetrate ; but it been, and it is, a happiness to me, that I remained true to li that if he should wake from his delusion, even at the poin death, I am here, love, to recall you to his thoughts." Martin looked with admiration ou her glowing face, and pre his lips to hers. "I have sometimes heard, and read," she said, "that t whose powers had been enfeebled long ago, and whose lives > faded, as it were, into a dream, have been known to r ■ themselves before death, and inquire for familiar faces once dear to them ; but forgotten, unrecognised, hated even, in meantime. Think, if with his old impressions of this man should suddenly resunae his former self, and find in him his J friend ! " ' "I would not urge you to abandon him, dearest," said Ma'i " though I could count the years Ave are to wear out asui .'i But the influence this fellow exercises over him, has ste;:.l increased, I fear." She could not help admitting that. Steadily, impercept.lj and surely, until now it was i^aramount and supreme. She h( t had none ; and yet he treated her with more affection than a1 n previous time. Martin thought the inconsistency a part oMi weakness and decay. "Does the influence extend to fear?" said Martin. "11' timid of asserting his own opinion in the presence of this inf'-M tion ? I fancied so just now." • "I have thought so, often. Often when we are sitting fn< almost as we used to do, and I have been reading a favourite »o- to him, or he has been talking quite cheerfully, I have obs '& tliat the entrance of Mr. Pecksnifl" has changed his i ol demeanour. He has broken oft' immediately, and become Iw you have seen to-day. AVhen we first came here he hac hi JIARTIN CHITZZLEWIT. fiJ3 tuoiis outbreaks, in which it was not easy for Mr. Pecksniff his utmost plausibility to appease him. But these have long I dwindled away. He defers to him in everything, and has pinion upon any question, but that which is forced upon him Ills treacherous man." uch was the account ; rapidly furnished in whispers, and Tupted, brief as it was, by many false alarms of Mr. Pecksnift''s rn ; which Martin received of his grandfather's decline, and of good gentleman's ascendancy. He heard of Tom Pinch too, Jonas too, with not a little about himself into the bargain ; though lovers are remarkable for leaving a great deal unsaid II occasions, and very properly desiring to come back and say ley are remarkable also for a wonderful power of condensation ; can, in one way or other, give utterance to more language— iient language — in any given short space of time, than all the hundred and fifty-eight members in the Commons House of lament of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland ; are strong lovers, no doubt, but of their country only, which es all the difference ; for in a passion of that kind (which is always returned), it is the custom to use as many words as ible, and express nothing whatever. I caution from Mr. Tapley ; a hasty interchange of farewells, of something else which the proverb says must not be told of rwards ; a white hand held out to Mr. Tapley himself, which dssed with the devotion of a knight-errant ; more farewells, e something else's ; a parting word from Martin that he would e from London and would do great things there yet (Heaven .vs what, but he quite believed it) ; and Mark and he stood he outside of the Pecksniffian halls. ' A short interview after such an absence ! " said Martin, jwfully. " But we are well out of the house. We might have ed ourselves in a false position by remaining there, even so , Mark." ' I don't know about ourselves. Sir," he returned ; " but ebody else would have got into a false position, if he had :)ened to come back again, while we was there. I had the • all ready, Sir. If Pecksniff had showed his head, or had 80 much as li-stened behind it, I should have caught him like alnut. He's the sort of man," added Mr, Tapley, musing, would squeeze soft, I know." V. [icrson who was evidently going to Mr. Pecksniff's house, ed them at this moment. He raised his eyes at the mention lie architect's name ; and when he had gone on a few yards, I)ed, and gazed at them. ]\Ir. Tapley, also, looked over his 644 LIFE AND ADYEXTURES OF shoulder, and so did Martin ; for the stranger, as he passed, 1 looked very sharply at them. " Who may that be, I wonder I " said Martin. " The f; seems familiar to me, but I don't know the man." " He seems to have a amiable desire that his face should tolerable familiar to us," said Mr. Tapley, " for he's a staring pre hard. He'd better not waste his beauty, for he aint got mi to spare." Coming in sight of the Dragon, they saw a travelling carrij at the door. "And a Salisbury carriage, eh!" said Mr. Tapley. '• Ths what he came in, depend upon it. What's in the wind now? new pupil, I shouldn't wonder. P'raps it's a order for anot' grammar-school, of the same pattern as the last." Before they coidd enter at the door, Mrs. Lupin came runn out ; and beckoning them to the carriage showed them a p manteau with the name of Chuzzlewit upon it. " Miss Pecksniff's husband that was," said the good womar Martin. " I didn't know what terms you might be on, and ■ quite in a worry tdl you came back." " He and I have never interchanged a word yet," obserl ^.lartiu ; " and as I have no wish to be better or worse acquairl with him, I wiU not put myself in his way. We passed himi the road, I have no doubt. I am glad he timed his coming ass did. Upon my word ! Miss Pecksniffs husband travels gaily *■ A very fine-looking gentleman with him — in the best pj now," whispered Mrs. Lupin, glancing up at the window as ty went into the house. " He has ordered everything that cai e got for dinner; and has the glossiest moustaches and whisi^s that ever you saw." "Has he?" cried Martin, "why then we'll endeavour to ad him too, in the hope that our self-denial may be strong euc li for the sacrifice. It is only for a few hours," said Martin, drop g wearily into a chair behind the little screen in the bar. " ir visit has met with no success, my dear Mrs. Lupin, and I muf.,'0 to London." " Dear, dear ! " cried the hostess. " Yes. One foul wind no more makes a winter, than if swallow makes a summer. — ^I'll try it again. Tom Pinch ii^ succeeded. With his advice to guide me, I may do the same ' took Tom under my protection once, God save the mark ! " '" Martin, with a melancholy smile ; " and promised I would i k* his fortune. Perliaps Tom will take me under his protection and teacli me how to earn my bread." w, iMARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 645 CHAPTER XLIV. :thki; continuation of the enterprise of mr. jonas and his friend. : was a special qualitj% among the many admirable qualities ssecl by Mr. Pecksniff, that the more he was found out, the hypocrisy he practised. Let him be discomfited in one or, and he refreshed and recompensed himself by carrying the uto another. If his workings and windings were detected by I much the greater reason was there for practising without )f time on B, if it were only to keep his hand in. He had • been such a saintly and improving spectacle to all about as after his detection by Thomas Pinch. He had scarcely been at once so tender in his humanity, and so dignified and ed ill his virtue, as when young Martin's scorn was fresh and ipon him. having this large stock of superfluous sentiment and morality md which must positively be cleared off at any sacrifice, Mr. sniff no sooner heard his son-in-law announced, than he ded him as a kind of wholesale or general order, to be ?diatcly executed. Descending, therefore, swiftly to the ur, and clasping the young man in his arms, he exclaimed, looks and gestures that denoted the perturbation of his spirit : Jonas! My child — she is well? There is nothing the er?" Wliat you're at it again, are you?" replied his son-in-law. en with me 1 Get away with you, will you 1 " Tell me she is well, then," said Mr. Pecksniff. " Tell me she ;11, my boy ! " She's Avell enough," retorted Jonas, disengaging himself, ere's nothing the matter with her." There is notliing the matter with her ! " cried Mr. Pecksniff, ig down in the nearest chair, and rubbing up his hair. " Fie my weakness ! I cannot help it, Jonas. Thank you. I am ;r now. How is my other child ; my eldest ; my Cherrywerry- ) 1 " said Mr. Pecksnifi', inventing a playful little name for her, le restored lightness of his heart. She's much about the same as usual," returned Mr. Jonas. 6 sticks pretty close to the vinegar-bottle. You know she's got eetheart, I suppose 1 " 646 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF "I "have heard of it," said Mr. Pecksnitt", "from head-quarters from my child herself. I will not deny that it moved me 1 contemplate the loss of my remaining daughter, Jonas — I ai afraid we parents are selfish, I am. afraid we are — but it has evi been the study of my life to qualify them for the domestic heartl and it is a sphere which Cherry will adorn." " She need adorn some sphere or other," observed his son-ii law, witli charming frankness. " For she ain't very ornamental i general." " My girls are now provided for," said Mr. Pecksniff. " TIk are now happily provided for ; and I have not laboured in vain ! This is exactly what Mr. Pecksniff would have said, if one his daughters had drawn a prize of thirty thousand pounds in tl lottery, or the other had picked up a valuable purse in the stre( which nobody appeared to claim. In either of these cases, '. would have invoked a patriarchal blessing on the fortunate hea with great solemnity, and would have taken immense credit himself, as having meant it from the infant's cradle. | " Suppose we talk about something else, now," observed Jonij drily; "just for a change. Are you quite agreeable '? " "Quite," said Mr. Pecksniff. "Ah, you wag, you naugli wag ! You laugh at poor old fond papa. Well ! He desert it. And he don't mind it either, for his feelings are their c reward. You have come to stay with me, Jonas ? " " No. I've got a friend with me," said Jonas. " Bring your friend ! " cried Mr. Pecksniff, in a gush hospitality. " Bring any number of your friends ! " " This ain't the sort of man to be brought," said Jonas, c temptuously. "I think I see myself 'bringing' him to yi house, for a treat ! Thauk'ee all the same ; but lie's a little near the top of the tree for that, Pecksniff." The good man pricked up his ears ; his interest was awakeu; A position near the top of the tree was greatness, virtue, goodni sense, genius ; or, it should rather be said, a dispensation from ' and in itself something immeasurably better than all ; with Ij. Pecksniff. A man who was able to look down upon ]\Ir. Pecks';f could not be looked up at, by tliat gentleman, with too great i amount of deference, or from a position of too much humility. J it always is with great sijirits. " I'll tell you what you may do, if you like," said Jonas : " *• may come and dine with us at the Dragon. We were forced o come down to Salisbury last night, on some business, and I ^ him to bring me over here this morning, in his carriage ; at lePi not his own carriage, for we had a break-down in the night, it .AlARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. fi47 ye liircd instead ; it's all tho same. jMiiid wliat you're about, know. He's not used to all sorts ; lie only mixes with the ! " Some young nobleman wlio lias been borrowing money of you )od interest, eh ? " said Mr. Pecksniff, shaking his forefinger iously. "I shall be delighted to know the gay sprig." Borrowing!" echoed Jonas. "Borrowing! When you're a tieth i^art as rich as he is, you may shut up shop ! We Id be pretty well off, if we could buy his furniture, and plate, jictures, by clubbing together. A likely man to borrow : Mr. ;ague ! Why, since I was lucky cnougli (come ! and Til say, ) enough, too) to get a share in the Insurance Office tliat he's dent of, I've made — never mind what I've made," said Jonas, ing to recover all at once his usual caution. " You know me y well, and I don't blab about such things. But, ecod, I've ! a trifle." Really, my dear Jonas," cried Mr. Pecksniff, with much ith, "a gentleman like this should receive some attention. Id he like to see the church ? Or if he has a taste for the irts — which I have no doubt he has, from the description you of his circumstances — I can send him down a few portfolios, biu-y Cathedral, my dear Jonas," said Mr. Pecksniff; the ion of the portfolios, and his anxiety to display himself to titage, suggesting his usual phraseology in that regard ; " is idifice replete with venerable associations, and strikingly jstive of tlie loftiest emotions. It is here Ave contemplate vork of bygone ages. It is here we listen to the swelling 1, as we stroll through the reverberating aisles. We have ings of this celebrated structure from the North, from the h, from the East, from the West, from the South-East, from S"or'-West " 'uring this digression, and indeed during the whole dialogue, s had been rocking on his chair, with his hands in his pockets, his head thrown cunningly on one side. He looked at Mr. sniff now with such shrewd meaning twinkling in his eyes, Mr. Pecksniff stopped, and asked him what he was going to Ecod 1 " he answered. " Pecksniff, if I knew how you meant iive your money, I couhl put you in the way of doubling it, » time. It wouldn't be bad to keep a chance like this snug e family. But you're such a deep one ! " Jona.s ! " cried Mr. Pecksniff, much affected, " I am not a inatical character : my heart is in my hand. By far the er i)art of the inconsiderable savings I have accumulated in 648 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF the course of — I hope — a not dishonourable or useless career, already given, devised, and bequeathed (correct nie, my d( Jonas, if I am technically wrong), with expressions of confideii which I will not repeat ; and in securities which it is unnecessf to mention ; to a person, whom I cannot, whom I will not, wIk I need not name." Here he gave the hand of his son-in-lav fervent squeeze, as if he would have added, " God bless you ; very careful of it when you get it ! " Mr. Jonas only shook his head and laughed, and, seeming think better of what he had had in his mind, said, " No. would keep his own counsel." But as he observed that he woi take a walk, Mr. Pecksniff insisted on accompanying him, rema ing that he could leave a card for Mr. Montague, as they w( along, by way of gentleman-usher to himself at dinner-tii Which he did. In the course of their walk, Mr. Jonas affected to maint that close reserve which had operated as a timely check upon 1 during the foregoing dialogue. And as lie made no attempt conciliate Mr. Pecksniff, but, on the contrary, was more booi and rude to him than usual, that gentleman, so far from suspect his real design, laid himself out to be attacked with advanti' For it is in the nature of a knave to think the tools with wll he works indispensable to knavery; and knowing what he W( do himself in such a case, Mr. Pecksniff argued, "if this yo man wanted anything of me for his own ends, he would be pi and deferential." The more Jonas repelled liira in his hints and inquiries, i more solicitous, therefore, Mr. Pecksniff became to be initiated the golden mysteries at which he had obscurely glauced. ^ should there be cold and worldly secrets, he observed, \>%i\ relations 1 What was life without confidence '? If the ch husband of his daughter, the man to whom he had delivered ,e with so much pride and hope, such bounding and such beai|i joy : if he were not a green spot in the barren waste of life, wr was that Oasis to be found 1 ; Little did Mr. Pecksniff" think on what a very green spoil lilanted one foot at that moment ! Little did he foresee whe li said, " All is but dust ! " how very shortly he would come Of with his own ! Inch by inch, in his grudging and ill-conditioned way : sust^jie to the life, for the ho])e of making IMr. Pecksniff suffer in '"^^ tender phice^the jpocket, where Jonas smarted so terribly hir:'l gavelithi an additional and malicious interest in the wiles hf;*'" set on to practise ; inch by inch, and bit by bit, Jonas rJie MARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 6-19 iweil the dazzling prospects of the Anglo-Bengalee cstablishnicnt escape him, than paraded them before his greedy listener. And the same niggardly spirit, he left ]\Ir. Peeksniif to infer, if he se (which he did choose, of course), that a consciousness of nut ■iug any great natural gifts of speech and manner himself, dered him desirous to have the credit of introducing to I\Ir. ntague some one who was w'ell endowed in those resjiects, and atone for his own deficiencies. Otherwise, he muttered discon- tedly, he would have seen his beloved father-in-law " far enough " before he would have taken him into his confidence. Primed in this artful manner, Mr. Pecksniff presented liimself ilinner-time in such a state of suavity, benevolence, cheerfulness, iteness, and cordiality, as even he had perhaps never attained ore. The frankness of the country gentleman, the refinement the artist, the good-humoured allowance of the man of the rid ; jihilanthropy, forbearance, piety, toleration, all blended ether in a flexible adaptability to anything and everything ; re expressed in Mr. Pecksnift', as he shook hands with the great culator and capitalist. "Welcome, respected Sir," said Mr. Pecksnirt", "to our humble lage ! We are a simple people ; primitive clods, Mr. Montague ; t we can appreciate the honour of your visit, as my dear son-in- : can testify. It is very strange," said Mr. Pecksnitt', pressing hand almost reverentiallj-, "but I seem to know you. That rering forehead, my dear Jonas," said Mr. Pecksnifi' aside, " and )se clustering masses of rich hair — I must have seen you, my ir Sir, in the sparkling throng." Nothing was more probable, they all agreed. "I could have wished," said Mr. Pecksnitt", "to have had the lOur of introducing you to an elderly inmate of our house : to : uncle of our friend. Mr. Chuzzlewit, Sir, would have been »ud indeed to have taken you by the hand." "Is the gentleman here now?" asked Montague, turning deeply 1. " He is," said ]Mr. Pecksniff. "You said nothing about that, Chuzzlewit." "I didn't suppose you'd care to hear of it," returned Jonas, 'on wouldn't care to know him, I can pi-omise you." "Jonas! my dear Jonas!" I'emonstrated ]\Ir. I'ccksnilf. teally \ " "Oh! it's all very well for you to sjtcak uj) lor him, ' said lias. "You have nailed him. You'll get a fortune by him." "Oho ! Is the wind in that quarter ! " cried Montague. " Ha, ha!" and here they all laughed — especially Mr. Pecksnitf. 650 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF " No, no 1 '' said that gentleman, clapping his son-in-law plaj fully upon the shoulder. " You must not believe all that m young relative says, Mr. Montague. You may believe him i official business, and trust him in official business, but you muf- not attach importance to his Hights of fancy." " Upon my life, Mr. Pecksniff," cried Montague, " I attach tli greatest importance to that last observation of his. I trust au hope it's true. Money cannot be turned and turned again quick! enough in the ordinary course, Mr. Pecksniff. There is nothic like building our fortunes on the weaknesses of mankind." "Oh fie ! Oh fie ! Oh fie, for .shame I" cried Mr, Pecksni) But they all laughed again — especially Mr. Pecksnitt'. " I give you my honour that ive do it," said Montague. "Oh fie, fie!" cried Mr. Pecksuift'. "You are very pleasaui That I am sure you don't ! That I am sure you don't ! Ho, can you, you know ? " Agahi they all laughed in concert ; and again Mr. Pecksu laughed especially. This was very agreeable indeed. It was confidential, eas straightforward : and still left Mr. Pecksniff in the position being in a gentle way the Mentor of the party. The greatc achievements in the article of cookery that the Dragon had ev performed, were set before them ; the oldest and best wines in t Dragon's cellar saw the light on that occasion ; a thousand bubbl indicative of the wealth and station of Mr. Montague in the dept of his pursuits, were constantly rising to the surface of the ci versation ; and they were as frank and merry as three honest ni could be. Mr. Pecksniff" thouglit it a pity (he said so) that I\ Montague should think lightly of mankind and their weakness: He was anxious upon this subject ; his mind ran upon it ; in C) way or other he was constantly coming back to it ; he must msl a convert of him, he said. And as often as Mr. Montague repea': his sentiment about building fortunes on the weaknesses of m] kind, and added frankly, " We do it I " just as often Mr. Pecksi;:' repeated " Oh fie ! Oh fie, for shame ! I am sure you don't. Hj' '•(1)1 you, you know 1 " laying a greater stress eacli time on th;' last words. The frequent repetition of this playfid inquiry on the partif Mr. Pecksniff", led at last to playful answers on the part of If Montague ; but after some little sharp-shooting on both sides, M- Pecksniff' became grave, almost to tears ; observing that if !'• Montague would give him leave, he would drink the health of ;S young kinsman, Mr. Jonas : congratulating him upon the valu£;8 and distinguished friendship he had formed, but envying him,e MARTIN CHUZZLEAVIT. 651 d confess, his usefulness to his fellow-creatures. For, if he Tstood the objects of that Institution with which he was y and advantageously connected- — knowing them l)ut iiuper- y — they were calculated to do Good ; and for his (Mr. Peck- 's) part, if he could in any way promote them, he thought he d be able to lay his head ui^on his pillow every night, with bsolute certainty of going to sleep at once, 'he transition from this accidental remark (for it was quite lental, and had fallen from Mr. Pecksniff in the openness of oul), to the discussion of the subject as a matter of business, easy. Books, papers, statements, tables, calculations of various s, were soon spread out before them ; and as they were all ed with one object, it is not surprising that they should all : tended to one end. But still, whenever Montague enlarged I the profits of the office, and said that as long as there were i upon the wing it must succeed, Mr. Pecksniff mildly said I fie ! " — and might indeed have remonstrated with him, but he knew he was joking. Mr. Pecksniff did know he was ig ; because he said so. 'here never had beeu before, and there never would be again, an opijortuuity for the investment of a considerable sum (the of advantage increased in proportion to the amount invested), t that moment. The only time that had at all approached it, the time when Jonas had come into the concern ; which made ill-natm-ed now, and inclined him to pick out a doubt in tiiis L', and a flaw in that, and grumblingly to advise ]\Ir. I'ecksniff hink better of it. The sum which would complete the pro- torship in this snug concern, was nearly equal to Mr. Peck- 's whole hoard : not counting Mr. Chuzzlewit, that is to say, m he looked upon as money in the Bank, the possession of 'h inclined him the more to make a dash with his own private ts for the capture of such a whale as Mr. Montague described. returns began almost immediatelj', and were immense. Tlic of it was, that Mr. Pecksniff agreetl to become the last partner proprietor in the Anglo-Bengalee, and made an a])pointment line with j\Ir. Montague, at Salisbury, on the next day but then and there to complete the negotiation. t took .so long to bring the subject to this head, that it was ly midnight when they parted. When Mr. Pecksniff walked n stairs to the door, he found Mrs. Lupin standing there, ing out. 'Ah, my good friend!"' he said: "not a-bed yet! Conteni- iiig the stars, Mrs. Lupin ? " ■It's a beautiful starlight night, Sir." 652 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF "A beautiful starlight night," said Mr. Pecksnitt", looking ii " Behold the planets, how they shine ! Behold the those ti persons wlio were here this morning, have left your house, I ho] Mrs. Lupin 1 " "Yes, Sir. They are gone." " I am glad to hear it," said Mr. Pecksniff. " Behold t wonders of the firmament, Mrs. Lupin ! How glorious is tl scene ! When I look up at those shining orbs, I think that ea of them is winking to the other to take notice of the vanity men's pursuits. My fellow-men ! " cried Mr. Pecksniff, sliaking 1 head in pity ; "you are much mistaken ; my wormy relatives, y are much deceived ! The stars are perfectly contented (I suppc so) in their several spheres. Why are not you 1 Oh ! do \ strive and struggle to enrich yourselves, or to get the better each other, my deluded friends, but look up there, with me ! " Mrs. Lupin shook her head, and heaved a sigh. It was ve affecting. " Look up there, with me ! " repeated Mr. Pecksniff, stretchi out his hand ; " with me, an humble individual who is also Insect like yourselves. Can silver, gold, or precious stones, spar! like those constellations ! I think not. Theu do not thirst silver, gold, or i^recious stones ; but look up there, with me ! " With these words, the good man patted Mrs. Lupin's ha between his own, as if he would have added " think of this, i good woman ! " and walked away in a sort of ecstasy or raptu with his hat under his arm. Jonas sat in the attitude in which Mr. Pecksniff had left lii gazing moodily at his friend : who, surrounded by a heap documents, was writing something on an oblong slip of paper. " You mean to wait at Salisbury over the day after to-morr( do you, then 1 " said Jonas. "You heard our appointment," returned Montague, with i-aising his eyes. " In any case I should have waited to see al the boy." They appeared to have changed places again ; Montague be in high spirits ; and Jonas gloomy and lowering. "You don't want me, I suppose?" said Jonas. " I want you to put your name here," he returned, glancin.i i him with a smile, " as soon as I have filled up the stamp. I i '> as well have your note of hand for that extra capital. Tliat'.« I want. If you wish to go home, I can manage Mr. Peeks'^ now, alone. There is a perfect understanding between us." J Jonas sat scowling at him as he wrote, in silence. Whenjf had iiuished his writing, and had dried it on the blotting-p£ «i MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. Gr.3 his travelling-(le!~k : he looked up, and to.ssed the pen towards 11. " What, not a day's grace, not a day's trust, eh ? " said Jrkf' " To-night's work was a part of our bargain," replied Montague; ind so was this.' "You drive a hard bargain," said Jonas, advancing to the table, i'ou know best. Give it here ! '' Montague gave him the paper. After pausing as if he could t make up his mind to put his name to it, Jonas dipped his pen stily in the nearest inkstand, and began to w'rite. But he had u'cely marked the paper when he started back, in a panic. •' Why, what the devil's this ? " he said. " It's bloody ! " He had dipped the pen, as another moment shewed, into red V. But he attached a strange degree of importance to the stake. He asked how it had come there, who had brought it, ly it had been brought ; and looked at Montague, at first, as if tiiought he had put a trick upon him. Even when he used a ferent pen, and the right ink, he made some scratches on another per first, as half-believing they would turn red also. "Black enough, this time," he said, handing the note to untague. " Good-bye ! " " Going now ! How do you mean to get away from here ? " " I shall cross early in the morning, to the high road, before u are out of bed ; and catch the day-coach, going up. Crood- e!" " 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 ;i' learned man, and knew the flavour of John Westlock's p:at( sauces, which he softly and feelingly described, as he hande-tbt little bottles round. He was a grave man, and a noiseless foi dinner being done, and wine and fruit arranged upon the boa. w vanished, box and all, like something that had never been. -MARTIN C^HUZZLEWIT. G'.P Didirt I say he was a tremendous fellow in his housekeeping'?" Tom. ''Bless my soul I It's wonderful.'' Ah, jNIiss Pinch,"' said John. " This is the bright side of the ve lead in such a place. It would be a dismal life, indeed, if .In't brighten up to-day." Don't believe a word he says,'' cried Tom. " He lives here a monarch, and wouldn't change his mode of life for any con- ation. He only pretends to grumble." lO, John really did not appear to pretend ; for he was uncom- .y earnest in his desire to have it imderstood, that he was as solitary, and uncomfortable on ordinary occasions as an unfor- te young man could, in reason, be. It was a wretched life, aid, a miserable life. He thought of getting rid of the ibers as soon as possible ; and meant, in fact, to })ut a bill up shortly. Well :" said Tom Pinch, "I don't know where you can go, I, to be more comfortable. That's all I can say. What do say, Ruth ? " Uith trifled with the cherries on her plate, and said that she ght ilr. Westlock ought to be quite happy, and that she had oubt he was. ih, foolish, panting, fri^litened little heart, how timidly she it! ■ But you are forgetting what you had to tell, Tom : what rred this morning," she added in the same breath. 'So I am," said Tom. "We have been so talkative on other ;s, that I declare I have not had time to think of it. I'll tell m at once, John, in case I should forget it altogether." )ii Tom's relating what had passed upon the wharf, his friend very much surprised, and took such a great interest in the ative as Tom could not quite understand. He believed he v the old lady whose acquaintance they had made, he said ; that he might venture to say, from their description of her, her name was Gamp. But of what nature the communication il have been which Tom had borne so unexpectedly ; why its .•ery had been entrusted to him ; how it happened tiiat the ies were involved together ; and what secret lay at the bottom he whole affair ; perplexed him very much. Tom had been of his taking some interest in the matter; but was not ]ire- d for the strong interest he showed. It held John Westlock lie subject, even after Ptuth had left the room ; and evidently e him anxious to pursue it further than as a mere subject of ■ersation. 'I shall remonstrate with mv landlord, uf course," said Tom : CGO LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF " though he is a very singular secret sort of man, and not lil-^ely iittbrd me much satisfaction ; even if he Icnew wliat was in t letter." " Which you may swear he did," John interposed. " You think so?" " I am certain of it." "Well !" said Tom, "I shall remonstrate with him when I s him (he goes in and out in a strange way, but I will try to cat him to-morrow morning), on his having asked me to execute sii an unpleasant commission. And I have been thinking, Jolni, tl if I went down to Mrs. What's-her-name's in the City, where was before, you know — Mrs. Todgers's — to-morrow morning, might find poor Mercy Pecksniff there, perhaps, and be able explain to her how I came to have any hand in the business." "You are perfectly right, Tom," returned his friend, afteij short interval of reflection. " You cannot do better. It is quj clear to me that whatever the business is, there is little good' it ; and it is so desirable for you to disentangle yourself from i\ appearance of wilful connection with it, that I would counsel ;ii to see her husband, if you can, and wash your hands of it, b': plain statement of the facts. I have a misgiving that then something dark at work here, Tom. I will tell you why, another time : when I have made an inquiry or two myself." All this sounded very mysterious to Tom Pinch. But as knew he could rely upon his friend, he resolved to follow |S advice. ! Ah, but it would have been a good thing to have had a coa"i invisibility, wherein to have watched little Ruth, when she is left to herself in John Westlock's chambers, and John and ii' brother were talking thus, over their wine ! The gentle waiH which she tried to get up a little conversation with the fiery-fi.il matron in the crunched bonnet, who was waiting to attend 1 : after making a desperate rally in regard of her dress, and attig herself in a washed-out yellow gown with sprigs of the same i '" it, so that it looked like a tesselated work of pats of butter, '^it would have been pleasant. The grim and griffin-like inflexib,-)' with which the fiery-faced matron repelled these engaging ad vai s, as proceeding from a jiostile and dangerous power, who could '^'^ no business there, unless it were to deprive her of a custome:or suggest what became of the self-consuming tea and sugar, "i other general trifles. That would have been agreeable, l'^' bashful, winning, glorious curiosity, with which little Ruth, Ven fiery-fice was gone, peeped into the books and nick-nacks that -i'" lying about, and had a particular interest in some delicate p er- JIAKTIX CIIUZZLEWIT. 661 bes on the chimney-piece : wondering who could have made . Tliat would have been worth seeing. The faltering hand which she tied those flowers together ; with which, almost ling at her own fair self as imaged in the glass, she arranged in her breast, and looking at them with her head aside, now resolved to take tlieni out again, now half resolved to leave where they were. That would have been delightful ! j\m seemed to think it all delightful : for coming in with Tom a, he took his seat beside her like a man enchanted. And I the tea-service had been removed, and Tom, sitting down at jiano, became absorbed in some of his old organ tunes, he still beside her at the open window, looking out upuu the ?ht. here is little enough to see, in Furnival's Inn. It is a shady, i place, echoing to the footsteps of the stragglers who have less there ; and rather monotonous and gloomy on summer ings. What gave it such a charm to them, that they remained e window as unconscious of the flight of time as Tom himself, Ireanier, while the melodies which had so often soothed his t, were liovering again about him ! What power infused into "ading light, the gathering darkness ; the stars that here and ! appeared ; the evening air, the City's hum and stir, the very ing of the old church clocks ; such excpiisite enthralment, that livinest regions of the earth spread out before their eyes could lave held them captive in a stronger chain ? he shadows deepened, deepened, and the room became (piite . Still Tom's lingers wandered over the keys of the piano ; still the window had its pair of tenants. .t length, her hand upon his shoulder, and her breath u\)on orehead, roused Tom from his reverie. Dear me !" he cried, desisting with a start. "I am afraid I been very inconsiderate and unpolite." um little thought how much consideration and politeness he shown ! Sing something to us, my dear,"' said Tom. "Let us hear voice. Come ! " ohn Westlock added his entreaties, with such earnestness that iity heart alone could have resisted them. Hers was not a f heart. Oh dear no ! Quite another thing. down she sat, and in a pleasant voice began to sing tlic 'Is T'lm loved well. Old rhyming stories, with here ami ; a pause for a few simple chords, such as a liari»cr might have ded in the ancient time while looking upward for the current )me half-remembered legend ; words of old poets, wedded to 662 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF such measures that the strain of music might have been the poe breath, giviug utterance and expression to his thoughts ; and n( a melody so joyous and light-hearted, that the singer seemed : capable of sadness, until in her inconstancy (oh wicked little singe; she relapsed, and broke the listeners' hearts again : these were t simple means she used to please them. And that these simj lueans prevailed, and she did please them, let the still darken chamber, and its long-deferred illumination witness ! The candles came at last, and it was time for moving homewai Cutting paper carefully, and rolling it about the stalks of th( same flowers, occasioned some delay ; but even this was done time, and Ruth was ready. " Good night !' said Tom. " A memorable and delightful vis John ! " Good night ! " John thought he woidd walk with them. "No, no. Don't!" said Tom. "What nonsense! We ( 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 afr you only say so out of politeness." John being quite sure, gave his arm to Ruth, and led out. Fiery-face, who was again in attendance, acknowledged : departure with so cold a curtsey that it was hardly visible ; ; 1 cut Tom, dead. Their host was bent on walking the whole distance, and wc-1 not listen to Tom's dissuasions. Hapi^y time, happy walk, ha!y parting, happy dreams ! But there are some sweet day-dreams o there are, that put the visions of the night to shame, ! Busily the Temple fountain murmured in the moonlight, wie Ruth lay sleeping with her flowers beside her; and John Westjk sketched a portrait — whose 'I — from memory. j ^'- " ^ CHAPTER XLVI, \ IN_ WHICH MISS PECKSNIFF MAKES LOVE,/ MR. JONAS M.iES WKATH, MRS. GAMP MAKES TEA, AND MR. CHUFFEY MJES BUSINESS. i On the next day's oflicial duties coming to a close, Tom hqieJ home without losing any time by the way ; and, after dinnerj.nil a short rest, sallied out again, accompanied by Ruth, to pa his MARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. G63 (cted visit to Todgers's. Tom took Ruth with him, not only Lise it Avas a great pleasure to him to have her for his com- Du whenever he could, but because he wished her to cherisli comfort poor Merry ; which she, for her own part (having i the wretched history of that young wife from Tom), was all rness to do. She was so glad to see me," said Tom, "that I am sure she be glad to see you. Your sympathy is certain to be much ! delicate and acceptable than mine." I am veiy far from being certain of that, Tom," she replied ; 1 indeed you do yourself an injustice. Indeed you do. But pe 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 W'as of way of thinking. Shouldn't I, Tom, dear ? " said his little r, pinching him upon the cheek. 'om laughed, and said that with reference to this particular case ad no doubt at all of finding a disciple in Merry. " For you en," said Tom, " you women, my dear, are so kind, and in your ness have such nice perception ; you know so well how to be tionateaud full of solicitude without appearing to be; your gentle- of feeling is like your touch : so light and easy, that the one les you to deal with wounds of the mind as tenderly as the other les you to deal with wounds of the body. You are such " ' My goodness, Tom ! " his sister interposed. " You ought to in love immediately." 'cm put this observation off" good-humouredly, but somewhat ely too ; and they w^ere soon very chatty again on some other 3Ct. l3 they were passing through a street in the City, not very far Mrs. Todgers's place of residence, Ruth checked Tom before window of a large Upholstery and Furniture Warehouse, to his attention to something very magnificent and ingenious, layed there to the best advantage, for the admiration and itation of the public. Tom had hazarded some most erroneous extravagantly wrong guess in relation to the price of this le, and had joined his sister in laughing heartily at his mis- , when he pressed her arm in his, and pointed to two persons little distance, who were looking in at the same window with ep interest in the cliests of drawers and tables. 'Hush!" Tom whispered. "Miss Pecksnitt', and tiie young leniau to whom she is going to be married." ' Why does he look as if he was going to be buried, Turn ? " ired his little sister. JIK. MODDLR IS LED TO THE CONTEMPLATION OF HIS DESTINY. LIFK AND ADVENTURES OF MARTIN ClIUZZLEWIT. 065 Why, he is uaturally ;i dismal youiii;- liOiitU'iiiaii. I lirlicvr," Tom : "but he is very oivil ami inoffensive." I suppose they are furnishing their house," v/hispered Ruth. Yes, I suppo.se they are," replied Tom. "We had better i speaking to them." 'hey could not very well avoid looking at them, ho\ve\er, jially as some obstruction on the j^avement, at a little dis- B, happened to detain them where they were for a few lents. ]\Iiss Pecksniff had quite the air of having taken the ippy Moddle ca]itive, and lirought him uj) to the contem- on of the furniture like a lamb to the altar. He offered no tance, but was perfectly resigned and quiet. The melancholy 3ted in the turn of his languishing head, and in his dejected ude, was extreme ; and though there was a full-sized four-post tead in the window, such a tear stood trembling in his eye, as led to blot it out. Augustus, my love," said Miss Pecksniff", "ask the price of eight rosewood chairs, and the loo table." ■ Perhaps they are ordered already," said Augustus. " Perhaps are Another's." 'They can make more like them, if they are," rejoined Miss csniff. 'Xo, no, they can't," said Moddle. "It's impossible ! " le appeared, for the moment, to be quite overwhelmed and efied by the prospect of his approaching happiness ; but rering, entered the shc>p. He returned immediately : saying tone of despair : ' Twenty-four pound ten ! " liss Pecksniff, turning to receive this announcement, Ijecamc cious of the observation of Tom Pinch and his sister. 'Oh, really!" cried Miss Pecksniff", glancing about her, as if iome convenient means of sinking into the earth. " U])on my 1, I — there never was such a — to think that one should be so —Mr. Augustus Moddle, Miss Pinch ! " iliss Pecksniff was quite gracious to ISIiss Pinch in tliis iiphant introduction ; exceedingly gracious. She was more 1 gracious ; she was kind and cordial. Whether the recolloc- of the old service Tom had rendered her in knocking Mr. IS on the head, had wrought this change in her opinions ; or ther her separation from her parent had reconciled her to all an-kind, or to all tiiat increasing jwrtion of human-kind wliich not friendly to him ; or whether the delight of having some female acquaintance to whom to communicate her interesting pacts, was paramount to every other consideration ; cordial 666 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF aud kiud Miss Pecksniff was. And twice Miss Pecksniff kisse( Miss Pinch iiiwu tlie clieek. "Augustus — Mr. Piucli, you know. My dear girl I " sai( Miss Pecksniff, aside. "I never was so ashamed in my life."' s^Ruth begged her not to think of it. " I mind your brother less than anybody else," simpered Mis Pecksniff. " But the indelicacy of meeting any gentleman unde such circumstances ! Augustus, my child, did you ■" Here Miss Pecksniff whispered in his ear. The sufferiii; Moddle repeated : " Twenty-four pound ten 1 " "Oh, you silly man! I don't mean them," said Miss Peel sniff. " I am speaking of the " Here she whispered him again. i "If it's the same patterned chintz as that in the window; thirty-two, twelve, six," said Moddle, with a sigh. "And vei dear." Miss Pecksniff stopped him from giving any further explauatii by laying her hand upon his lips, and betraying a soft embarras ment. She then asked Tom Pinch which way he was going. " I was going to see if I could find your sister," answered Toi " to whom I wished to say a few words. We were going to Mi Todgers's, where I had the pleasure of seeing her, before." "It's of no use your going on, then," said Cherry, "for •( have not long left there ; and I know she is not at home. B ni take you to my sister's house, if you please. Augustus — J Moddle, I mean — and myself, are on our way to tea there, no You needn't think of him" she added, nodding her head, as s; observed some hesitation on Tom's part. " He is not at home."! " Are you sure ? " asked Tom. t " Oh, I am quite sure of that. I don't want any more reveng; said Miss Pecksniff', expressively. " But, really, I must beg j. two gentlemen to walk on, and allow me to follow with M; Pinch. My dear, I never was so taken by surprise ! " In furtherance of this bashful arrangement, Moddle gave ;i arm to Tom ; and Miss Pecksniff linked her own in Ruth's. " Of coiu'se, my love," said Miss Pecksniff", " it would be uselJ for me to disguise, after what you have seen, that I am about I) be united to the gentleman who is walking with your brother, 't would be in vain to conceal it. What do you think of him 1 Pi!) let me have your candid opinion." Ruth intimated that, as far as she could judge, he was a ^ f eligible swain. " I am curious to know," said Miss Pecksniff, with loquaci 9 MARTIX CHUZZLEAVIT. 667 cuess, ''whether you have observed, or faiieied, in thi.s very ; space of time, that he is of a rather niehincholy turn ? '' So very .■^hort a time," Ruth pleaded. No, uo ; but don't let that interfere with your answer,"' ■ued Miss Pecksniff. "I am curious to hear what you say." luth acknowledged that he had impressed her at tirst sight as ng "rather low." No, really 1 " said Miss Pecksniff. " Well I that is quite rkable 1 Everybody says the same. Mrs. Todgers says the : ; and Augustus informs me that it is quite a joke among the .emeu ia the house. Indeed, hut for the positive commands ire laid upon him, I believe it would have been the occasion of :d fire-arms being resorted to more than once. What do you : is the cause of his appearance of depression 1 " .uth thought of several things ; such as his digestion, his r, his mother, and the like. But, hesitating to give utterance ly one of them, she refrained from expressing an opinion. My dear," said Miss Pecksniff ; " I shouldn't wish it to be ni, but I don't mind mentioning it to you, having known brother for so many years — I refused Augustus three times. 8 of a most amiable and sensitive nature ; always ready to tears, if you look at him, which is extremely cliarming ; and as never recovered the effect of that cruelty. For it tvas ," said Miss Pecksniff, with a self- convicting candour that t have adorned the diadem of her own papa. " There is no t of it. I look back upon my conduct now with blushes. I ys liked him. I felt that he was not to me wliat the crowd )ung men who had made proposals had been, but something different. Then what right had I to refuse him three times 1 " It was a severe trial of his fidelity, no doubt," said Ruth. My dear," returned Miss Pecksnitt". "It was wrong. But is the caprice and thoughtlessness of our sex I Let me be a ing to you. Don't try the feelings of any one who makes lu offer, as I have tried the feelings of Augustus ; but if you feel towards a person as I really felt towards him, at the very when I was driving him to distraction, let tiiat feeling find 3ssion, if that person throws himself at your feet, as Augustus die did at mine. Think," said Miss Pecksnifi", "what my igs would have been, if I had goaded him to suicide, and it got into the papers I " luth observed that she would have been full of remorse, no t. Remorse ! " cried Mi.ss Pecksniff, in a sort of snug and com- ble penitence. " What my remorse is at this moment, even 668 LIFE AXD ADVENTURES OF after making reparation by accepting him, it would be inipossil to tell you ! Looking back upon my giddy self, my dear, m that I am sobered down and made thoughtful, by treading on t very brink of matrimony ; and contemplating myself as I w when I was like what you are now ; I shudder. I shudd "What is the consequence of my past conduct ? Until August leads me to the altar, he is not sure of me. I have blighted a withered the affections of his heart to that extent that he is i sure of me. I see that preying on his mind and feeding on 1 vitals. What are tlie reproaches of my conscience, when I f this in the man I love 1 " Ruth endeavoured to express some sense of her unbounded a flattering confidence ; and presumed that she was going to married soon. "Very soon indeed," returned Miss Pecksniff. "As soon our house is ready. We are furnishing now as fast as we can." la the same vein of confidence, Miss Pecksnifi' ran througt general inventory of the articles that were already bought, a; the articles that remained to be purchased ; what garments f' intended to be married in, and where the ceremony was to ' performed ; and gave Miss Pinch, in short (as she told her), e:i and exclusive information on all points of interest connected w the event. While this was going forward in the rear, Tom and Mr. Moil walked on, arm in arm, in the front, in a state of profound silei which Tom at last broke : after thinking for a long time what could say that should refer to an indifierent topic, in respect i which he might rely, with some degree of certainty, on Moddle's bosom being unruffled. " I wonder," said Tom, " that in these crowded streets, (« foot-passengers are not ofteuer run over." i Mr. Moddle, with a dark look, replied : " The drivers won't do it." " Do you mean 1 " Tom began — "That there are some men," interrupted Moddle, with a ho «' laugh, " wlio can't get run over. They live a charmed life. < >1 waggons recoil from them, and even cabs refuse to run them dc':i. Ay ! " said Augustus, marking Tom's astonishment. " There re such men. One of 'em is a friend of mine." "Upon my word and honour," thought Tom, "this ydg gentleman is in a state of mind, which is very serious indee " Abandoning all idea of conversation, he did not venture to >y another word ; but he was careful to keep a tight hold ^?^^ Augustus's arm, lest he should fly into the road, and ma^g >[ARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 060 ther, :uul a more successful attempt, should get up a private le Jui;-irernaut before the eyes of his lietrothed. Tom was so lid of his committing this rash act, tiiat lie had scarcely ever erienced sucli a mental relief as when tliey arrived in safety at i. Jonas Chuzzlewit's house. " Walk up, pray, Mr. Pinch," said ]\Iiss Pecksniff. For Tom ted, irresolutely, at the door. ''I am doubtful whether I should be welcome,'' replied Tom, •, I ought rather to say, I have no doubt about it. I will send a message, I think." "But what nonsense that is 1 '" returned Miss Pecksniff, speak- apart to Tom. " He is not at home, I am certain ; I know is not ; and Merry hasn't the least idea that you ever " "No," interrupted Tom. "Nor would I have her know it, on account. I am not so proud of that scuffle, I assure you." "Ah, but then you are so modest, you see," returned Mi.rs were practising in a neighbouring church, and the clashing le bells was almost maddening. Curse the clamouring bells, seemed to know that he was listening at the door, and to laim it in a crowd of voices to all the town ! "Would they r be still ? 'hey ceased at last ; and then the silence was so new and ble that it seemed the prelude to some dreadful noise. Foot- ; in the coiu-t ! Two men. He fell back from the door on e, as if they could have seen him through its wooden panels, 'hey passed on, talking (he could make out) about a skeleton h had been dug up yesterday, in some work of excavation near uid, and was supposed to be that of a murdered man. " So ler is not always found out, you see," they said to one another ley tinned the corner, [ush ! le put the key into the lock, and turned it. The door resisted I wiiile, but soon came stiffly open : mingling with the sense •ver in his mouth, a taste of rust, and dust, and earth, and ng wood. He looked out ; passed out ; locked it after him. .11 wa-s clear and quiet, as he fled away. CHAPTER XLVIT. ONCLUSION OF THK KNTEKPRISE OF MR. JONAS AND HIS FRIKNl). >ID no men passing through the dim streets shrink witliout ving why, when he came stealing up behind them 'i As he ■d on, had no child in its sleep an indistinct perception of a y shadow falling on its bed, that troubled its innocent rest? 686 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF Did no dog howl, and strive to break its rattling chain, that might tear him ; no bm-rowing rat, scenting the work he had hand, essay to gnaw a passage after him, that it might holi greedy revel at the feast of his providing 1 When he looked ha across his shoulder, was it to see if his quick footsteps still fell upon the dusty pavement, or were already moist and clogged \i the red mrre that stained the naked feet of Cain 1 He shaped his course for the main western road, and b< reached it : riding a part of the way, then alighting and walk on again. He travelled for a considerable distance upon the i of a stage-coach, which came up while he was a-foot ; and whei turned out of his road, bribed the driver of a return post-chais( take him on with him ; and then made across the country a run, and saved a mile or two before he struck again into the r( At last, as his plan was, he came up with a certain lumber" slow, night-coach, which stopped wherever it could, and stopping then at a public-house, while the guard and coachi ate and drank within. He bargained for a seat outside this coach, and took it. . he quitted it no more until it was within a few miles of, 1 destination, but occupied the same place all night. j [ All night ! It is a common fancy that nature seems to s! by night. It is a false fancy, as who should know better than The fishes slumbered in the cold, bright, glistening streams rivers, perhaps ; and the birds roosted on the branches of trees ; and in their stalls and pastures beasts were quiet ; human creatures slept. But what of that, when the solemn n was watching, when it never winked, when its darkness wati • no less than its light 1 The stately trees, the moon and shi i stars, the softly-stirring wind, the over-shadowed lane, the hi bright country-side, they all kept watch. There was not a 1 of growing grass or corn, but watched ; and the c^uieter it the more intent and fixed its watch upon him seemed to be. And yet he slept. Riding on among these sentinels of Goi : slept, and did not change the purpose of his journey. If he fc i it in his troubled dreams, it came up steadily, and woke i But it never woke him to remorse, or to abandonment ol'ii design. I He dreamed at one time that he was lying calmly in his "( thinking of a moonlight night and the noise of wheels, when li old clerk jnit his head in at the door, and beckoned him. At n signal he arose immediately: being already dressed, in the cl(i( he actually wore at that time : and accompanied him into a sti g ritv, where the names of the streets were written on the wal i l^FARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 687 •acters quite now to him ; which gave him no surprise or isiness, for he remembered in his dream to liave been tliere ire. Although these streets were very precipitous, insoniucli ; to get from one to another, it was necessary to descend great ;hts by ladders that were too short, and ropes that moved deeji s, and swung and swayed as they were clung to, the danger 3 him little emotion beyond the first thrill of terror ; his ieties being concentrated on his dress, which was quite unfitted some festival that was about to be holden there, and in which lad come to take a part. Already, great crowds began to fill streets, and in one direction myriads of people came rushing ■u an interminable perspective strewing flowers and making • for others on Avhite horses, when a terrible figure started from throng, and cried out that it was the Last Day for all the Id. The cry being spread, there was a wild hurrying on to gment ; and tlie press became so great that he and his com- ion (who was constantly changing, and was never the same 1 two minutes together, though he never saw one man come another go), stood aside in a porch, fearfully surveying the titude ; in which there were many faces that he knew, and ly that he did not know, but dreamed he did ; when all at e a struggling head rose up among the rest— livid and deadly, the same as he had known it — and denounced him as having Glinted that direful day to happen. They closed together. As "trove to free the hand in which he held a club, and strike the *v he had so often thought of, he started to the knowledge of waking purpose and the rising of the sun. The sun was welcome to him. There were life, and motion, a world astir, to divide the attention of Day. It was the eye S'ight : of wakeful, watchful, silent, and attentive Night, with nuch leisure for the observation of his wicked thoughts : that dreaded mf)st. There is no glare in the night. Even Glory ws to small advantage in the night, upon a crowded battle-field. \v then shows Glory's blood-relation, bastard Murder ! Ay ! He made no compromise, and held no secret with himself i^. 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 irself. It won't break our hearts to lose you, and it wouldn't e broken 'em if we'd never found you. Be a little quicker, it's all." The guard had alighted, and was waiting in the road to take 688 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF his money. In the jealousy and distrust of what he couteniplat( he tliought this man looked at hiiu with more tlian comni curiosity. " What are you staring at ? " said Jonas. " Not at a handsome man," returned the guard. " If you wa your fortune told, I'll tell you a bit of it. You won't be drown( That's a consolation for you." Before he could retort, or turn away, the coachman put an e to the dialogue by giving him a cut with his whip, and bid hira f out for a surly dog. The guard jumped up to his seat at the sai moment, and they drove off, laughing ; leaving him to stand in t road, and shake his fist at them. He was not displeased thorn on second thoughts, to have been taken for an ill-conditioi) common country fellow ; but rather congratulated himself upon as a proof that he was well disguised. Wandering into a copse by the road-side — but not in that pla( two or three miles off — he tore out from a fence a thick, ha knotted stake ; and, sitting down beneath a hay-riek, spent so time in shaping it, in peeling oft" the bark, and fashioning its jagi head, with his knife. The day passed on. Noon, afternoon, evening. Sunset. At that serene and peaceful time two men, riding in a gig, ca out of the city by a road not much frequented. It was the day which Mr. Pecksniff had agreed to dine with Montague. He 1 kept his appointment, and was now going home. His host ^ riding with him for a short distance ; meaning to return ]>} pleasant track, which Mr. Pecksniff had engaged to show li through some fields. Jonas knew their plans. He had hung ah the inn-yard while they were at dinner and had heard tlieir on given. They were loud and merry in tlieir conversation, and mi have been heard at some distance : f\ir above the sound of tl:i carriage wheels or horses' hoofs. They came on noisily, to wl|( a stile and footpath indicated their point of separation. Here tjj stopped. "It's too soon. Much too soon," said Mr. Pecksniff. " I'l this is the place, my dear Sir. Keep the path, and go strai'i through the little wood you'll come to. The path is narrol^i there, but you can't miss it. When shall I see you again 1 S(;)) I hope 1 " "I hope so," replied Montague. "Good-night!" : " Good-night. And a pleasant ride ! " ; So long as Mr. Pecksnift'was in sight, and turned his head it MARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 689 vals, to salute him, Montague stood in the road .sniilintj, and ng his hand. But Avhen his new partner had disappeared, and show was no longer necessary, he sat down on the stile with > so altered, that he might have grown ten years older in tho itime. [e was flushed with wine, but not gay. His scheme iiad >eded, but he showed no triumph. The efibrt of sustaining hia ult part before his late companion had fatigued him, perhaps, may be, that the evening whispered to his conscience, or it may IS it has been) that a shadowy veil was dropping round him, iig out all thoughts but the presentiment and vague foreknow- ' of impending doom. f there be fluids, as we know there are, which, conscious of a ng wind, or rain, or frost, will shrink and strive to hide them- s in their glass arteries ; may not that subtle liquor of the I perceive by properties within itself, that hands are raised to e and spill it ; and in the veins of men ruu cold and dull as his in that hour ! cold, although the air was warm : so dull, although the sky bright : that he rose up shivering, from his seat, and hastily ued his walk. He checked himself as hastily : undecided her to pursue the footpath which was lonely and retired, or to ick by the road, [e took the footpath. he glory of the departing sun was on his face. The music of jirds was in his ears. Sweet wild flowers bloomed about him. ched roofs of poor men's homes were in the distance ; and an ^•ey spire, surmounted by a cross, rose up between him and the ng night. [e had never read the lesson which these things conveyed ; he ever mocked and turned away fiom it ; but, before going down a liollow place, he looked round once upon the evening prospect iwfully. Then he went down, down, down, into the dell, t brought him to the wood ; a close, thick, shadowy wood, iigh which the path went winding on, dwindling away into a ler sheep-track. He pau. wore; which would lead to rumour, rumour to dctcctiim, ction to death. At that instant, as if by some design and ■r of circumstances, tlie knocking had come. It still continued ; like a warning echo of the dread reality he conjured \\\). As he could not sit and hear it, he paid for his • and walked on again. And having slunk about, in jjlaces un- wn to him, all day ; and being out at niglit, in a lonely road, in unusual dress, and in that wandering and unsettle 1 frame of d ; he stopped more than once to look about him, hoping he ht be in a dream. Still he wa.s not soriy. Xo. He had hated the man too much, liad been bent, too desperately and too long, on setting himself 692 LIFE AXD ADVENTURES OF free. If the thing could have come over again, he would liave d it again. His malignant and revengeful jDassions were not so ea laid. There was no more penitence or remorse within him n than there had been while the deed was brewing. Dread and fear were upon him. To an extent he liad ne counted on, and could not manage in the least degree. He was horribly afraid of that infernal room at home. This made him a gloomy, murderous, mad way, not only fearful for himself bin himself; for being, as it were, a part of the room: a someth supposed to be there, yet missing from it : he invested himself v its mysterious terrors ; and when he pictured in his mind the v chamber, folse and quiet, false and quiet, through the dark he of two nights ; and the tumbled bed, and he not in it, tho believed to be ; lie became in a manner his own ghost and pliant and was at once the haunting sjiirit and the haunted man. When the coach came up, which it soon did, he got a place side, and was carried briskly onward towards home. No^^ taking his seat among the people behind, who were chiefly ecu people, he conceived a fear that they knew of the murder, and W' tell him that the body had been found ; which, considering the i and place of the commission of the crime, were events ah impossible to have happened yet, as he very well knew. .1 although he did know it, and had therefore no reason to re: their ignorance as anything but the natural sequence to the f: i still this very ignorance of theirs encom'aged him. So for enc i aged him, that he began to believe the body never would be fo 'J and began to speculate on that probability. Setting off from ' point ; and measuring time by the rapid hurry of his guilty thorn and what had gone before the bloodshed, and the troojis of incobt and disordered images, of which he was the constant prey ; he (■! by daylight to regard the miu-der as an old murder, and to til himself comparatively safe, because it had not been discovered 'I Yet ! When the sun which looked into the wood, and gilded tl its rising light a dead man's face, had seen that man alive. U' sought to win him to one thought of Heaven, on its going iS\ last night ! But here were London streets again. Hush ! It was but five o'clock. He had time enough to reach his^vi house unobserved, and before there were many people ir 1" streets ; if nothing had happened so far, tending to his disco He slipped down from the coach without troubling the driv t stop his horses : and hurrying across the road, and in and f every by-w-ay that lay near his course, at length approached bi.-,ffi dwellino;. He used additional caution in his immediate neigh "f MARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 693 , haltiug first to look all down the street before him ; then ig swiftly through that one, and stopjjing to survey the next ; ■0 on. he passage-Avay was empty when his murderer's face looked it. He stole on to the door on tiittoe, as if he dreaded to dis- his own imaginary rest. 'e listened. Not a sound. As he turned the key with a bliug hand, and pushed the door softly open with his knee, a itrous fear beset his mind. 'hat if the murdered man were there before him ! e cast a fearful glance all round. But there was nothing e went in, locked the door, drew the key through and through lust and damp in the fire-place to sully it again, and hung it s of old. He took off" his disguise, tied it up in a bundle : for carrying away and sinking in the river before night, and d it up in a cupboard. These precautious taken, he undressed, ivent to bed. he raging thirst, the fire that burnt within him, as he lay ith the clothes ; the augmented horror of the room, when they it out from his view ; the agony of listening, in Avhich he paid ced regard to every sound, and thought the most unlikely one prelude to that knocking which should bring the news ; the s with which he left his couch, and looking in the glass, ined that his deed was broadly written in his face ; and lying 1 and burying himself once more beneath the blankets, licard wn heart beating Murder, Murder, ]\Iurder, in the bed. What 3 can paint tremendous truths like these ! he morning advanced. There were footsteps in the house. Iieard the blinds drawn up, and shutters opened ; and now then a stealthy tread outside his own door. He tried to call lait ■ than once, but his mouth was dry as if it liad been filled with ing sand. At last he sat uj) in his T)ed, and crieil : Who's there ! " t -was his wife. le asked her wliat it was o'clock. Nine. Did — did no one knock at my door, yesterday ? " he ftxltered, niething disturbed me ; but unless you had knocked the door 1, you would iiave got no notice from me." Xo one," she replied. That was well. He had waited, almost thle.s.s, for her answer. It was a relief to him, if aiiytliing Ibe. Mr. Xadgett wanted to .see you," .she said, "but I tnld him n-ere tired, and had requested not to be disturbed. He .sdd it 694 LIFE AND ADYEXTURES OF was of little consequeuce, and went awaj-. As I was opening window, to let in the cool air, I saw him passing through the sti this morning, very early ; lout he hasn't been again.'' Passing through the street that morning. Very early ! Jc trembled at the thought of having had a narrow chance of se( him himself : even him, who had no object but to avoid peo and sneak on unobserved, and keep his own secrets : and who i nothing. He called to her to get his breakfast ready, and prepared tc up stairs : attiring himself in the clothes he had taken otf whei came into that room, which had been ever since outside the d In his secret dread of meeting the household for the first ti after what he had done, he lingered at the door on slight preti that they might see him without looking in his face ; and lei ajar while he dressed ; and called out to have the windows opei and the pavement watered, that they might become accustome' his voice. Even when he had put off the time, by one mean, other, so that he had seen or spoken to them all, he could muster courage for a long while to go in among them, but stoo his own door listening to the murmur of their distant conversal He could not stop there for ever, and so joined them. His glance at the glass had seen a tell-tale face, but that might 1 been because of his anxious looking in it. He dared not loo them to see if they observed him, but he thought them silent. And whatsoever guard he kept upon himself, he coidd not 1 listening, and showing that he listened. Whether he attendet their talk, or tried to think of other things, or talked himseljc held his peace, or resolutely counted the dull tickings of a hc;« clock at his back, he always lapsed, as if a spell were on him, ,t eager listening : for he knew it must come, and his present pu 1 ment, and torture, and distraction, was, to listen for its comin Hush : CHAPTER XLYIII. . BEARS TIDINGS OF MARTIN, AND OF MARK, AS WELL AS OF A TjR PERSON NOT QUITE UNKNOWN TO THE READER. EXH'T FILIAL PIETY IN AN UGLY ASPECT ; AND CASTS A DOUB'L' RAY OF LIGHT UPON A VERY DARK PLACE. Tom Pinch and Ruth were sitting at their early brealsl with the window^ open, and a row of the freshest little F i^ MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT 605 ed before it ou the inside, -Uy Ruth's own liands ; and Rutli lastened a sprig of geranium in Tom's button-liole, to make very smart and summer-like for tlie day (it was obliged to Listened in, or that dear old Tom was certain to lose it) ; people were crying flowers up and down the street ; and a dering bee, who had got himself in between the two sashes of svindow, was bruising his head against the glass, endeavouring Tce himself out into the fine morning, and considering himself anted because he couldn't do it ; and the morning was as fine )rning as ever was seen; and the fragrant air w-as kissing Ruth rustling about Tom, as if it said, " How are you, my dears : I ? all this way on purpose to salute you;'"' and it was one of 3 glad times when we form, or ought to form, the wish that y eue ou earth were able to be happy, and catching glimpses of imumer of the heart, to feel the beauty of the summer of the year, t was even a pleasanter breakfast than usual ; and it was ys a pleasant one. For little Ruth had now two pupils to id, each three times a week, and each two hours at a time ; besides this, she had jminted some screens and card-racks, and, lowu to Tom (was there ever anything so delightful !) had :ed into a certain shop which dealt in such articles, after often iug through the 'window; and had taken courage to ask the ress of that shoi) whether she would buy them. And the ress had not only bought them, but had ordered more ; and very morning Ruth liad made confession of these facts to , and had handed him the money in a little purse she had ced expressly for the purpose. They had been in a flutter it this, and perhaps had shed a happy tear or two for anything history knows to the contrary ; but it was all over now ; and •igliter face than Tom's, or a brighter face than Ruth's, the ht sun had not looked ou since he went to bed last night. 'My dear girl," said Tom, coming so abruptly on the subject, he interrupted himself in the act of cutting a slice of bread, left the knife sticking in the loaf, " what a queer fellow our lord is ! I don't believe he has been home once, since he got iito that unsatisfactory scrajje. I begin to think he will never e home again. What a mysterious life that man does lead, to urc ! " 'Very strange. Is it not, Tom ! ' ' Really," said Tom, " I hope it is only strange. I hope there be nothing wrong in it. Sometimes I begin to be doubtful lat. I must have an explanation with him," said Tom, shak- iiis head as if this were a most tremendous threat, " when I "•atcli him ! " 696 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF A short double knock at tlie uoor put Toui",s nieiiaciug looks ilight, aud awakened an exi^ression of surprise instead. " Heyday ! " said Tom. " An early hour for visitors 1 It m be John, I suppose." "I — I — don't think it was his knock, Tom," observed his lit sister. " No 1 " said Tom. " It surely can't be my employer, suddei arrived in town ; directed here by Mi-. Fips ; and come for 1 key of the office. It's somebody inquiring for me, I deck Come in, if you please ! " But when the person came in, Tom Pinch, instead of sayi "Didj'ou wish to speak with me, Sir?" or, "My name is Pin Sir; what is your business, may I ask 1 " or addressing him in; such distant terms ; cried out, '• Good gracious Heaven ! " j seized him by both hands, with the liveliest manifestations; astonishment and pleasure. The visitor was not less moved than Tom himself, and t shook hands a great many times, without another word be spokeu on either side. Tom was the first to find his voice. " Mark Tapley, too ! " said Tom, running towards the door, shaking hands with somebody else. "My dear 3Iark, come How are you, Mark ? He don't look like a day older than he i . to do, at the Dragon. How are you, Mark ? " " Uncommou jolly. Sir, thank'ee," returned Mr. Tapley, I smiles and bows. " I hope I see you well. Sir." " Good gracious me ! " cried Tom, patting him tenderly on ■ back. " How delightful it is to hear his old voice again ! } dear Martin, sit down. My sister, Martin. Mr. Chuzzlewit, ) love. Mark Tapley from the Dragon, my dear. Good grac:ii me, what a surprise this is ! Sit down. Lord bless me ! " Tom was in such a state of excitement that he couldn't ]}] himself still for a moment, but was constantly running b€t\ t Mark and Martin, shaking hands with them alternately, i And don't you recollect the dinner we had at Salisbury, Ms Uj with John Westlock, eh 1 Good gracious me ! Ruth, my ifi Mr. Chuzzlewit. IMark Tapley, my love, from the Dragon. '" cups and saucers, if you please. Bless my soul, how glad I a,t« see you both ! " I\1ARTIX CHUZZLE^V]T. G07 iwd then Tom (as John Westlock had done oii his arrival) ran the loaf to cut some bread and Initter fur tlicm ; and before lad spread a single sUce, remembered sometliini,^ else, and came ling back again to tell it ; and then he shook hands with them II ; and then he introduced his sister again ; and then he did ytliiug he had done already all over again ; and nothing Tom d do, and nothing Tom could say, was half sufficient to express joy at their safe return. ilr. Tai)ley was the first to resume his composure. In a very t space of time, he was discovered to have somehow installed self in office as waiter, or attendant upon the party ; a tact :h was first suggested to them by his temporary absence in the hen, and speedy return with a kettle of boiling water, from :h he replenished the tea-})ot with a self-possession that was e his own. 'Sit down, and take your breaktast, Mark," said Tom. ake him sit down and take his breakfast, Martin." 'Oil 1 I gave him up, long ago, as incorrigible," Martin replied. e takes his own way, Tom. You would excuse him, ]\Iiss -•h, if you knew his value." 'She knows it, bless you !" said Tom. ''I have told her all It Mark Tapley. Have I not, Paith 1 " 'Yes, Tom." ' Not all," returned Martin, in a low voice. " The best of Mark ley is only known to one man, Tom ; and but for Mark he Id hardly lie alive to tell it." ' Mark ! " said Tom Pinch, energetically : '• if you don"t sit down minute, I'll swear at you ! " 'Well, Sir," returned Mr. Tapley, "sooner than you should do :, I'll com-ply. It's a considerable invasion of a man's j'dlity je made so partickler welcome, but a Werb is a word as signi- to be, to do, or to suffer (which is all the grammar, and enough a.s ever I wos taught) ; and if there's a Werb alive, I'm it. PVir always a bein', sometimes a doin', and continually a suti'erin'." ■'Not jolly yetl" asked Tom, with a smile. ''Why, I was rather so, over the water, Sir," returned Mr. 'ley ; "and not entirely without credit. But Human Natur' i.s . conspiracy again' me ; I can't get on. I shall have to leave it iiy will, Sir, to be wrote upon my tomb : ' He was a man as ht have come out strong if he could have got a chance. But as denied him.' " Mr. Tapley took this occasion of looking about him with a grin, subsequently attacking the breakfast, with an ajipetite not at expressive of blighted hopes, or insurmuuntable despondency. 698 LIFE AXD ADVENTURES OF In the meauwhile, Martin drew his chair a little nearer to Tc and his sister, and related to them what had passed at Mr. Pec sniffs house ; adding in few words a general summary of the d tresses and disappointments he had undergone since he L England. " For your faithful stewardsliip in the trust I left with yc Tom," he said, "and for all your goodness and disinterestedness can never thank you enough. When I add Mary's thanks mine " Ah, Tom ! The blood retreated from his cheeks, and ciinie rul- ing back, so violently, that it was pain to feel it : ease thou: ease, to the aching of his woimded heart. "When I add Mary's thanks to mine," said Martin, "I k made the only poor acknowledgment it is in our power to oti' but if you knew how much we feel, Tom, you would set some st by it, I am sure." And if they had known how much Tom felt — but that no huu creature ever knew — they would have set some store by h Indeed they would. Tom changed the topic of discourse. He was sorry he could pursue it, as it gave ]\Iartin pleasure ; but he was unable, at t moment. Xo cbop of envy or bitterness was in his soul ; but could not master the firm utterance of her name. He inquired what Martin's projects were. "No longer to make your fortune, Tom," said Martin, ''but try to live. I tried that once in London, Tom : and failed, you will give me the benefit of your advice and friendly counsi. may succeed better under your guidance : I will do anythii Tom, anything ; to gain a livelihood by my own exertions. My h^ do not soar above that, now.'' i High-hearted, noble Tom ! Sorry to find the pride of his I companion humbled, and to hear him speaking in this alte-l strain ; at once, at once, he drove from his breast tlie inability') contend with its deep emotions, and spoke out bravely. " Your hopes do not soar above that I " cried Tom. " js they do. How can you talk so ! They soar up to the time w J you will be happy witli her, ]\Iartin. They soar up to the time w'u you will be able to claim her, Martin. They soar up to the tie when you will not be able to believe that you were ever cast i\o\ ' iu spirit, or poor in pocket, Martin. Advice and friendly coiui! • Why, of course. But you shall have better advice and con '1 (though you cannot have more friendly) than mine. You s:il consult Jolin Westlock. We'll go there immediately. It is ;t so early, that I shall have time to take you to his chambers be* MARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 699 to busiuess ; they are iu uiy a\ ay ; auil I oau leave you there, Ik over your afiairs with him. So come along. Come along. a mau of occuixition now, you know," said Tom, with his antest smile : '' and have no time to lose. Your hopes don't higher than that? I dare say they don't. / know you, Y well. They'll be soaring out of sight soon, Martin, and Qg all the rest of us leagues behind." Ah! But I may be a little changed,' said Martin, ''since inew me pretty well, Tom." What nonsense I " exclaimed Tom. "Why should you be ^ed ? You talk as if you were an old man. I never heard a fellow I Come to John Westlock's, come. Come along, : Tapley. It's Mark's doing, I have no doubt ; and it serves •ight for having such a grumbler for your companion." There's uo credit to be got through being jolly with i/ou, Mr. Ii, anpvays," said Mark, with his face all wrinkled up Avitli "A parish doctor might be jolly with you. There's ing short of goin' to the U-nited States for a second trip, ould make it at all creditable to be jolly, arter seein' you cm laughed, and taking leave of his sister, hurried Mark and in out into the street, and aw^ay to John Westlock's liy the ;st road ; for his hour of business was very near at hand, and rided himself on always being exact to his time, ohn Westlock was at home, but, strange to say, was rather irrassed to see them ; and when Tom was about to go into the . where he was breakfasting, said he had a stranger there. It ared to be a mysterious stranger, for Juhu shut that door as he it, and led them into the next room. [e was very much delighted, though, to see Mark Tapley ; and ved Martin ^vith his own frank courtesy. But Martin felt he did not inspire John Westlock with any unusual interest ; twice or thrice obser\-ed that he looked at Tom Pinch doubt- ; not to say compassionately. He thought, and blushed to i, that he knew the cause of this. I apprehend you are engaged," said Martin, when Tom had unced the purport of their visit. " If you will allow me to ! again at your own time, I shall be glad to do so." I am engaged," replied John, with some reluctance; "but matter on which I am engaged is one, to say tlie truth, more cdiately demanding your knowledge than mine." Indeed ! " cried Martin. It relates to a member of your family, and is of a serious re. If vou will have the kindness to remain here, it will be 700 LIFE AND ADVEXTURES OF a satisfaction to me to have it privately comnuuiicated to you, i order that you may judge of its importance for yourself." " And in the meantime," said Tom, " I must really take myse off, without any further ceremony." " Is your business so very particular," asked Martin, " that yc cannot remain with us for half an hour 1 I wish you could. Whi is your business, Tom 1 " It was Tom's turn to be embarrassed, now : but he plain! said, after a little hesitation : "Why, I am not at liberty to say what it is, Martin : thoug I hope soon to be in a condition to do so, and am aware of r other reason to prevent my doing so now, than the request of ni employer. It's an aAvkward position to be placed in," said Toe with an uneasy sense of seeming to doubt his friend, "as I fe every day ; but I really cannot help it, can I, John 1 " John Westlock replied in the negative ; and Martin, expres ing himself ])erfectly satisfied, begged them not to say anoth' word : though he could not help wondering very much, wb curious office Tom held, and why he was so secret, and ei barrassed, and unlike himself, in reference to it. Nor could I help reverting to it, in his own mind, several times after To went away, which he did as soon as this conversation was ende taking Mr. Tapley with hini, who, as he laughingly said, mig accompany him as far as Fleet Street, Avithout injury. "And what do i/ou mean to do, Mark?" asked Tom, as th Avalked on together. "Mean to do, Su-?" returned Mr. Tapley. " Ay. What course of life do you mean to pursue ? " "Well, Sir," said Mr. Tapley. " The fact is, that I have k a-thinkiug rather of the matrimonial line, Sir." " You don't say so, Mark ! " cried Tom. "Yes, Sir. I've been a-turnin' of it over." " And who is the lady, Mark 1 " " The which. Sir ? " said Mr. Tapley. "The lady. Come! You know what I said," repHed Tc laugliing, " as well as I do ! " Mr. Tapley suppressed his owni inclination to laugh ; and, w one of his most whimsically-twisted looks, replied, " You couldn't guess I suppose, Mr. Pinch 1 " " How is it possible 1 " said Tom. " I don't know any of V' ' flames, Mark. Except Mrs. Lupin, indeed." "Well, Sir!" retorted Mr. TajDley. "And supposing it '^;' her ! " Tom stopping in the street to look at him, Mr. Tapley ff ' MARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 701 iient presented to ids view, an utterly stolid and expressiou- tace : a perfect dead wall of countenance. But opening dow after window in it, with astonishing rapidity, and lighting n all up as for a general illumination, he repeated : ' Snpposin', for the sake of argument, as it was her, Sir I " " Why, I thought such a connexion wouldn't suit you, I\Iark, luy terms I " cried Tom. 'Well, Sir, I used to think so myself, once,"' said ^Mark. " But I't so clear about it now. A dear, sweet creetur. Sir ! '' 'A dear, sweet creature 1 To be sure she is," cried Tom. ut she always was a dear, sweet creature, was she not ?" " Was she not ! "' assented Mr. Taj^ley. "Then why on earth didn't you marry her at first, jiark, ead of wandering abroad : and losing all this time, and leaving alone by herself : liable to be courted by other people 1 " "Why, Sir," retorted Mr. Tapley, in a spirit of unbounded fidence, " I'll tell you how it come about. You know me, Mr. ch, Sir; there ant a gentleman alive as knows me better. I're acquainted with my constitution, and you're acquainted h my weakness. My constitution is, to be jolly; and my ikuess is, to wish to find a credit in it. W^eiy good. Sir. this state of mind, I gets a notion in my head that she looks me with a eye of — with what you may call a fevourable sort ■ye in foct," said Mr. Taplej', -with modest hesitation. "No doubt," replied Tom. "We knew that perfectly well ?n we spoke on this subject long ago ; before you left the igon." Mr. Tapley nodded assent. " Well Sir ! But bein' at that e full of hopeful wisions, I arrives at the con-elusion that no lit is to be got out of such a way of life as that, where every- ig agreeable woidd be ready to one's hand. Lookin' on the ,'ht side of human life in short, one of my hopeful wisions is, t there's a deal of misery a-waitiu' for me ; in the midst of ich I may come out tolerable strong, and be j! asked her. But we was wery agreeable together — comfortal I may say — the night I come home. It's all right, Sir." , "Well!" said Tom, stopping at the Temjile Gate. "Im' you joy, Mark, with all my heart. I shall see you again to-di I dare say. Good-bye for the present.' '. " Good-bye, Sir ! Good-bye, Mr. Pinch," he added, by wa^l soliloquy, as he stood looking after him. " Although you o' damper to a honourable ambition. You little think it, but was the first to dash my hopes. Pecksnift' would have built up for life, but your sweet temper pulled me down. Good-1 Mr. Pinch ! " While these confidences were interchanged between Tom Pi and Mark, Martin and John Westlock were very difterently i gaged. They were no sooner left alone together than IMartin s I with an eftbrt he could not disguise : " Mr. Westlock, we have met only once before, but you 1 known Tom a long while, and that seems to render you fani i to me. I cannot talk freely with you on any subject unle; relieve my mind of what oppresses it just now. I see with ; i that you so far mistrust me that you think me likely to impos ■' Tom's regardlessness of himself, or on his kind nature, or soui j liis good qualities." " I had no intention," replied John, " of conveying any 'M impression to you, and am exceedingly sorry to have done so."| " But you entertain it ? " said Martin. | " You ask me so pointedly and directly," returned the ob^ " that I cannot deny the having accustomed myself to regard )' as one who, not in wantonness but in mere thoughtlessnes c character, did not sutficiently consider his nature and did not c t -MARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 70S , it as it deserves to be treated. It is luucli easier to slight to appreciate Tom Pinch.'' 'ills was not said warndy, but was energetically spoken too ; ;here was no subject in the world (but one) on which the ker felt so strongly. I grew into tlie knowledge of Tom, ' he pursued, "as I grew ,rds manhood ; and I have learned to love him as something itely better than myself. I did not think that you understood when we met before. I did not think that you greatly cared nderstand him. The instances itf this which I observed in were, like my opportunities for observation, very trivial ; and very harmless I dare say. But they were not agreeable to and they forced themselves upon me ; for I was not upon the h for them, believe me. You will say," added John, with a ?, as he subsided into more of his accustomed manner, " that 1 not by any means agreeable to you. I can only assure you, eply, that I would not have originated this topic on any iUltV' I originated it," said ]\Iartin ; " and so far from having any )laint to make against you, highly esteem the friendship you rtxiin for Tom, and the very many proofs you have given him , Why should I endeavour to conceal from you : ''' he coloured ly though : " that I neither understood him nor cared to 'rstand him when I was his companion ; and that I am very r sorry for it now ! " t was so sincerely said, at once so modestly and manfully, that 1 oflered him his hand as if he had not done so before ; and tin giving his in the same open sidrit. all constraint between >'oung men vanished. Now pray," said John, "when I tire your patience very much hat I am going to say, recollect that it has an end to it, and the end is the point of the story." Vith this preface, he related all the circumstances connected his having presided over the illness and slow recovery of the int at the Bull ; and tacked on to the skirts of that narrative I's own account of the business on the wharf. Martin was not tie puzzled when he came to an end, for the two stories seemed lave no connexion with each other, and to leave him, as the se is, all abroad. ' If you will excuse me for one moment," said Jolin, rising, kvill Ijeg you almost immediately to come into tlie next room." 'pon that, he left Martin to himself, in a state of considerable nishment ; and soon came back again to fulfil his promise. )nipanying him into the next i-oi^m, Martin fuund then' a thin! 704 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF person ; no doubt the stranger of whom his host liad spoken wl Tom Pinch introduced him. He was a young man ; with deep black hair anefore they parted on their several errands, they caused to read aloud, in the presence of them all, the paper which he ibout him, and the declaration he had attached to it, which to the ottoct, that he had written it voluntarily, in the tear of 1, and in tlie torture of his mind. And when he had done so, all .signed it, and taking it from him, of his froo will, locked a place of safety, tartin also wrote, by John's advice, a letter to the trustees of amous Grammar School, boldly claiming the successful design S and charging Mr. Pecksnirt' with the fraud he had coi ittod. lis proceeding also, John was hotly interested : ob.serving with isual irreverence, tliat Mr. PecksniH' had been a successfid 1 all his life tliroutrh, and that it would l>e a lasting source ippiiiess to him (John; if he couM help to do him jn.stice in niallest particulai-. . busy day '. But :Martin had no lodgings yet ; so when thcjse 710 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF matters were disposed of, lie excused himself iVom dining ' John Westlock and was fain to wander out alone, and look some. He succeeded, after great trouble, in engaging two gai for himself and Mark, situated in a court in the Strand, not from Temple Bar. Their luggage, which was waiting for thei a coach-office, he conveyed to this new place of refuge ; and it with a glow of satisfaction, which as a selfish man he never c have known and never had, that : thinking how much pains trouble he had saved Mark, and how ])leased and astonished I would be : he afterwards walked up and down, in the Ten eating a meat-pie for his dinner. CHAPTER XLIX. IN WHICH MRS. HAKllLS, ASSISTED BY A TEAl'OT, IS THE C.-* OF A DIVISION BETWEEN FRIENDS. Mrs. Gamp's apartment in Kingsgate Street, High Holl wore, metaphorically speaking, a robe of state. It was swept garnished for the reception of a visitor. That visitor was Be Prig : Mrs. Prig, of Bartlemy's ; or as some said Barklemy's, some said Bardlemy's : for l)y all these endearing and fan appellations, had the hospital of Saint Bartholomew becoi household word among the sisterhood which Betsey Prig ador; Mrs. Gamp's apartment was not a spacious one, but, contented mind a closet is a palace ; and the first-floor froi Mr. Sweedlepipe's may have been, in the imagination of i Gamp, a stately ]iile. If it were not exactly that, to ret intellects, it at least comprised as much accommodation as i person, not sanguine to insanity, could have looked for in a :) of its dimensions. For only keep the bedstead always in |>i mind; and you were safe. That was the grand secret. Re:' bering the bedstead, you might even stoop to look under the t round table for anything you had dropped, without hurting n self much against the chest of drawers, or qualifying as a p:'-' of Saint Bartholomew, by falling into the fire. Visitors were much assisted in their cautious eff'orts to prr" an unflagging recollection of this piece of furniture, by its zt which was great. It was not a turn-up bedstead, nor yet a F k bedstead, nor yet a four-post bedstead, but what is poctiH called a tent: the sacking whereof, was low and bulgy, insti" that Mrs. Gamp's box would not go under it, but stoppei i" MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 711 ■, ill a iiiauuer whidi Avliile it did violcneo to tlie roa.soii, like- l' fiidangered tlie legs, of a stranger. The frame too, wiiii-h lid have supported tlie canopy and hangings if there had been , -was ornamented with divers pippins carved in timber, which the slightest provocation, and frequently on none at all, came ibling down ; harassing the peaceful truest with inexplicable ors. rhe bed itself was decorated with a patchwoik quilt of great iquity ; and at the upper end, upon the side nearest to the door, g a scanty curtain of blue check, which prevented the Zephyrs t were abroad in Kingsgate Street from visiting Mrs. Gamp's il too roughly. Some rusty gowns and other articles of that r's wardrobe depended from the jiosts ; and these had so adapted nsclves by long usage to her figure, that more than one atient husband coming in ijrecipitately, at about the time of light, had been for an instant stricken dumb by the supposed every that Mrs. Gamp had hanged herself. One gentleman, ling on the usual hasty errand, had said indeed, that they :ed like guardian angels "watching of her in her sleep." But [, a.s Mrs. Gamp said, "was his first ;" and he never rej)eated sentiment, though he often repeated his visit. rhe chairs in Mrs. Gamp's apartment were extremely large and id-backed, which was more than a sufficient reason for their ig but two in number. They were both elbow-chairs, of ancient logany ; and were chiefly valuable for tlie slippery nature of r seats, which had been originally horsehair, but were now ?red with a siiiny substance of a bluish tint, from wiiicli the tor licgan to slide away with a dismayed countenance, immedi- y after sitting down. What Mrs. Gamp wanted in chairs she le up in bandboxes; of which she had a great collection, nted to the reception of various miscellaneous valuables, which e not, however, as well protected as the good woman, by a isant fiction, seemed to think: for, tliough every bandbnx had ircfully closed lid, not one among them had a bottom ; f.wing which cau.se, the jiroperty within was merely, as it were, nguishcd. The chest of drawers having been originally made itand upon the top of another chest, had a dwarfisli, elfin look, le; but in regard of its security it had a great advantage over bandboxes, for as all the handles had been long ago j.ulled otf, .iis very difiicult to get at its contents. This indeed wxs only he done by one of two devices; either by tilting the wliolc icture forward until all the drawers fell out together, or by ning them singly with knive-s, like oysters. Mrs. Gamp stored all her househoM matters in a little cupboard 712 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF by the fire-place ; begiimiug below tlie surfece (as in nature) w the coals, and mouiitiug gradually upwards to the spirits, whi from motives of delicacy, she kept in a tea-pot. The chimu piece was ornamented with a small almanack, marked here i there in Mrs. Gamp's own hand, with a memorandum of the d at which some lady was expected to fall due. It was a embellished with three profiles : one, in colours, of Mrs. Ga herself in early life ; one, in bronze, of a lady in feathers, suppoi to be Mrs. Harris, as she appeared when dressed for a ball ; i one, in black, of Mr. Gamp, deceased. The last was a full leug in order that the likeness might be rendered more obvious i forcible, by the introduction of the wooden leg. A pair of bellows, a pair of pattens, a toasting-fork, a ket a pap-boat, a spoon for the administration of medicine to refractory ; and lastly, Mrs. Gamp's umbrella, which as someth of great price and rarity was displayed with particular ostentati' completed the decorations of the chimney-piece and adjacent w Towards these objects, Mrs. Gamp raised her eyes in satisfaci when she had arranged the tea-board, and had concluded her arrai meuts for the reception of Betsey Prig, even unto the setting f of two pounds of Newcastle salmon, intensely pickled. "There ! Now drat you, Betsey, don't be long ! " said Mrs. Ga apostrophising her absent friend. " For I can't abear to wai do assure you. To wotever place I goes, I sticks to this mortar, ' I'm easy pleased ; it is but little as I wants ; but I u have that little of the best, and to tlie miiiit when the c 1 strikes, else we do not part as I could wish, but bearin' m; in our arts.' " Her own preparations were of the best, for they compreliei i a delicate new loaf, a i^late of fresh butter, a basin of fine v,l sugar, and other arrangements on the same scale. Even the f i with which she now refreshed herself, was so choice in quay that she took a second pinch. " There's the little bell a ringing now," said Mrs. Gamp, hiy lag to the stair-head and looking over. " Betsey Prig, my — '] it's that there disapintin' Sweedlepipes, I do believe." yl" Yes, it's me," said the barber, in a faint voice, "I'vc'is come in." ; " You're always a comin' in, I think," muttered Mrs. Gaii t< herself, " except wen you're a-going out. I ha'n't no patience tl that man ! " " Mrs. Gamp ! " said the barber. " I say ! Mrs. Gamp !" "AVell!" cried Mrs. Gamp, imi)atieutly, as she descendecli< stairs. "What is it? Is the Thames a-fire, and cooking its «'i MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 713 ]\Ii-. Swcedlepipes 1 AVhy wot's the nuin gone ami been iu' of to hiuiself? He's as white as chalk ! " ihe added the hatter chxuse of iuquiry, when she got (Knvii s, and found him seated iu the shaving- chair, pale and )usolate. You recollect," said Poll. "You recollect young — ■" Not young Wilkins ! " cried Mrs. Gamp. " Don't say young kins, wotever you do. If young Wilkius's wife is took — " It isn't anybody's wife," exclaimed the little barber. " Bailey, ig Bailey ! " Why, wot do you mean to say that chit's been a-doin' ' retorted Mrs. Gamp, sharply. " Stutf and nonsense, Mr. edlepipes ! " He hasn't been a-doiug anything ! " exclaimed poor Poll, quite erate. " What do you catch me up so short for, when you ue put out, to that extent, that I can hardly sjjeak ? He'll r do anything again. He's done for. He's killed. The first I ever see that boy," said Poll, "I charged him too uuich for 1-poll. I asked him three-halfpence for a penny one, because IS afraid he'd beat me down. But he didn't. And now he's 1 ; and if you was to crowd all the steam-engines and electric s that ever was, into this shop, and set 'em every one to k their hardest, they couldn't square the account, though it's a ha'penny ! " ilr. Sweedlepipe turned aside to the towel, and wiped his eyes I it. 'And what a clever boy he was ! " he said. " What a surpris- young chap he was ! How he talked ! and what a deal he v'd ! Shaved in this very chair he was ; only for fun ; it was lis fun ; he was full of it. Ah ! to think that he'll never be ed iu earnest ! The birds might every one have died, and ome," cried the little barber, looking round him at the cages, again applying to the towel, "sooner than Fil liave heard this ■ How did you ever come to hear it 1 " said Mrs. (jamp. " Wlm you ? " ■ I went out," returned the little barber, " into the City, to t a sporting Gent upon the Stock Exchange, that wanted a slow pigeons to practise at ; aud when I'd done with liim, I t to get a little drop of beer, and there I heard everybody Iking about it. It's in the papers." 'You arc in a nice state of confugion, Mr. Sweedlepiijcs, you "said Mrs. Gamp, shaking her head; "and my opinion is, lalf-a-dudgeon fresh young lively leeclies on your temples, 714 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF wouldn't be too much to clear your mind, -whicli so I tell yoi Wot were they a-talkin' on, and wot was in the papers 1 " " All about it ! " cried the barber. " What else do you suppose Him and his master were upset on a journey, and he was carrie to Salisbury, and was breathing liis last when the account cam away. He never spoke afterwards. Not a single word. That the worst of it to me ; but that an't all. His master can't I found. The other manager of their office in the City : Crimpli David Crimple : has gone off with the money, and is advertise for, with a reward, upon the walls. Mr. Montague, poor youii Bailey's master (what a boy he was !) is advertised for, too. Soni say he's slipped off", to join his friend abroad ; some say he mayii have got away yet ; and they're looking for him high and lo\ Their office is a smash ; a swindle altogether. But what's a Li: Insurance Office to a Life ! And what a Life Young Bailey's was' " He was born into a wale," said Mrs. Gamp, with jjhilosopbie coolness ; " and he lived in a wale ; and he must take the cons quences of sech a sitiwation. But don't you hear uothink of M Chuzzlewit in all this 1 " " No," said Poll, " nothing to speak of. His name wasi printed as one of the board, though some people say it was jii giiing to be. Some believe he was took in, and some believe '. was one of the takers-in ; but however that may be, they cai prove nothing against him. This morning he went up of his o\ accord afore the Lord Mayor or some of them City big-wigs, ai complained that he'd been swindled, and that these two 2)erso had gone off and cheated him, and tluxt he had just found out tl) Montague's name wasn't even Montague, but something el: And they do say that he looked like Death, owing to his loss: But, Lord forgive me," cried the barber, coming back again to t, subject of his individual grief, "what's his looks to me! J, might have died and welcome, fifty times, and not been sucb: loss as Bailey ! " ; At this juncture the little bell rang, and the deep voice of M' Prig struck into the conversation. ; " Oh ! You're a-talkin' about it, arc you ! " observed tl' lady. "Well, I hope you've got it over, for I au't interested' it myself." ' "My precious Betsey," said Mrs. Gami?, "how late you are.; The worthy Mrs. Prig replied, with some asperity, "thaJf perwerse i^eople went off dead, when they was least expectedit warn't no fault of her'n." And further, " that it was qi/ aggrawation enough to be made late when one was dropping r one's tea. without hearing on it ag:ain." ]\IARTIN CIIUZZLEWIT. 715 Irs. Gaiiiji, doriving from this exliilntiun of rci)artcc some duo lie state of Mrs. Prig's feelings, instantly conducted her up s : deeming that the sight of jiickled salmon might work a ning change. lut Betsey Prig expected pickled salmon. It was obvious that lid ; for her first words, after glancing at the table, were : I kuow'd she wouldn't have a coucumber ! " Irs. Gamp changed colour, and sat down upon the l)odstead. Lord bless you, Betsey Prig, your words is true. T (piite >t it ! " Irs. Prig, looking steadfastly at her friend, put her liand in pocket, and, with an air of surly triumph, drew forth either oldest of lettuces or youngest of cabbages, but at any rate, ?en vegetable of an expansive nature, and of such magnificent ortions that she was obliged to shut it up like an umbrella •e slie could pull it out. She also produced a handful of ;ard and cress, a trifle of the herb called dandelion, three hes of radishes, an onion rather larger than an average turnip, 3 substantial slices of beetroot, and a short prong or antler of y ; the whole of this garden-stutt' liaving been publicly ex- ed but a short time before as a twopenny salad, and purchased Irs. Prig, on condition that the vendor could get it all into pocket. Which had been happily accomplished, in High )orn : to the breathless interest of a hackney-coach stand, she laid so little stress on this surprising forethought, that lid not even smile, but returning her pocket into its accus- d sjjhere, merely recommended that these productions of re should be sliced up, for immediate consumption, in plenty negar. And don't go a dropping none of your snuft' in it," said Mrs. "In gruel, barley-water, apple-tea, mutton -broth, and it don't signifv. It stimilates a patient. But I don't relish vself." Wiiy, Betsey Prig : ' ciied j\Irs. Gamp, ''how cdn you talk Wut, an't your patients, wotever their diseases is, always a '■\n' their wery heads oH', along of your snutf ! " said Mrs. And wot if they are ! " said Mrs. Gamp. Nothing if tliev are," said Mr.s. Prig. '' But don't deny it, di." Who deiiiges of it ?" Mrs. Gamp inquired. Ir.s. Prig returned no answer. ^Vhu deiiiges of it, Betsey?" Mrs. (Jamp iiiijuiied again. 716 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. I Then Mrs. Gamp, by reversing the question, imparted a deep and more awful character of solemnity to the same. '^Betse who deniges of it 1 " ' It was the nearest possible approach to a very decided diff( ■ ence of opinion between these ladies ; but Mrs. Prig's iinpatien for the meal being greater at the moment than her impatience contradiction, she replied, for the present, " Nobody, if you don 1 Sairah," and prepared herself for tea. For a quarrel can be tab I up at any time, but a limited quantity of salmon cannot. 1 Her toilet was simple. She had merely to "chuck" h I bonnet and shawl upon the bed ; give her hair two pulls, o; upon the right side and one upon the left, as if she were ringii j a couple of bells ; and all was done. The tea was already mac Mrs. Gamp was not long over the salad, and they w^ere soon ' the heiglit of their repast. The temper of both parties was improved, for the time beiu by the enjoyments of the table. When the meal came to a t( miuation (which it was pretty long in doing), and Mrs. Gar having cleared away, produced the tea-pot from the tup-she simultaneously with a couple of wine-glasses, they were qii amiable. "Betsey," said Mrs. Gamp, filling her own glass, and passi the tea-pot, " I will now propoge a toast. My frequent pardii Betsey Prig ! " " Which, altering the name to Sairah Gamp ; I drink," s; Mrs. Prig, " Avitli love and tenderness." From this moment, symptoms of inflammation began to It in the nose of each lady ; and perhaps, notwithstanding appearances to the contrary, in the temper also. "Now, Sairah," said Mrs. Prig, "joining business with jJeasii wot is this case in which you wants me ? " Mrs. Gamp betraying in her face some intention of return an evasive answer, Betsey added : "/&■ 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 that, at any rate." "Why should you be glad of that, Betsey?" Mrs. Gi\ ' retorted, warndy. " She is unbeknown to you except by hear- why should you be glad ? If you have anythink to say contr; to the character of Mrs. Harris, which well I knows behind back, afore her face, or anywheres, is not to be impeaged, i;' with it, Betsey. I have know'd that sweetest and best of womtj said Mrs, Gamp, shaking her head, and shedding tears, "ff MRS. GAMP I'ROPOGES A TOAST. 718 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF since afore her First, wbicli Mr. Harris who was dreadful tin went and stopped his ears in a empty dog-kennel, and never to liis hands away or come out once till he was showed the bal wen bein' took with fits, the doctor collared him and laid him his back upon tlie airy stones, and she was told to ease her mit his owls was organs. And I have know'd her, Betsey Prig, wlr he has hurt her feelin' art by sayin' of his Ninth that it wa.s > too many, if not two, while that dear innocent was cooin' in face, which thrive it did though bandy, but I have never kuo\ as you had occagion to be glad, Betsey, on accounts of ]\Irs. Hai not requiring you. Recpiire she never will, depend upon it, her constant words in sickness is, and will be, ' Send for Sairey ! During this touching address, Mrs. Prig adroitly feigning to the victim of that absence of mind which has its origin in exc sive attention to one topic, helped herself from the tea-pot with' appearing to observe it. Mrs. Gamp observed it, however, : came to a premature close in consequence. "Well it an't her, it seems," said Mrs. Prig, coldly: "wh' it, then ? " "You have heerd me mention, Betsey," Mrs. Gamp repli after glancing in an expressive and marked manner at the tea-] "a person as I took care on at the time as you and me ^ imrdners off and on, ii that tlicre fever at the BulH" "Old Snuffey," Mrs. Prig observed. Sarah Gamp looked at her with an eye of fire, for she sa^^ > this mistake of Mrs. Prig, another wilful and malignant stal' that same weakness or custom of liers, an ungenerous allusioi which, on the part of Betsey, ha I first disturbed their harm that evening. And she saw it still more clearly, when, iwlii but firmly correcting that lady by the distinct enunciation of ,' word "Ohuftey," Mrs. Prig received the correction with a diabol I laugh. The best among us have their failings, and it must be conce 1 of Mrs. Prig, that if there were a blemish in the goodness of i disposition, it was a habit she had of not bestowing all its sbji and acid properties upon her patients (as a thoroughly ami; « woman would have done), but of keeping a considerable reniaii 't for the service of her friends. Higlily pickled salmon, and letti •* chopped up in vinegar, may, as viands possessing some acidit'l their own, have encouraged and increased this tailing in J'- Prig ; and every application to the tea-pot, certainly did ; f( t was often remarked of her by her friends, that she was most i- tradictory when most elevated. It is certain tliat her counten; '« became about this time derisive and defiant, and that she sat ^ 1 MAKTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 719 arms folded, and oue eye shut up : h\ a soinewiiat oHensive, use obtrusively intelligent, manner. Irs.' Gamp observing this, felt it the more necessary that Jlrs. should know her place, and be made sensible of her exact on in society, as well as of her obligations to herself. She ?fore assumed an air of greater patronage and importance, as n-ent on to answer Mrs. Prig a little more in detail. Mr. Chutley, Betsey," said Mrs. Gamp, "is weak in his mind, ige me if I makes remark, that he may neither be so weak as le thinks, nor people may not think he is so weak as they mds, and what I knows, I knows ; and what you don't, you t J so do not ask me, Betsey. But Mr. Chuftey's friends has 3 propojals for his bein' took care on, and has said to me, 3. Gamp, ?/'/// you undertake it 1 We couldn't think,' they 'of trustin him to nobody but you, for, Saiiey, you are gold as passed through the furnage. Will you undertake it, at own price, day and night, and by your own selfT 'No,' I 'I will not. Do not reckon on it. There is,' I says, 'but creetur in the world as I would undertake on sech terms, and lame is Harris. But,' I says, ' I am acquainted with a friend, 56 name is Betsey Prig, that I can recommend, and will assist Betsey,' I says, 'is always to be trusted, under me, and be guided as I could desire.' " lere !Mrs. Prig, ^\ithout any abatement of her oftensive ncr, again counterfeited abstraction of mind, and stretched tier hand to tlie tea-pot. It was rao-re than Mrs. Gamp could . She stopped the hand of Mrs. Prig with her own, and said, great feeling : ' No, Betsey ! Drink fair, wotever you do ! " Irs. Prig, thus baffled, threw her.-^elf back in her chair, and ng tlie same eye more emphatically, and folding lier arms ter, suffered her head to roll slowly from side to side, while surveyed lier friend with a contemptuous smile. Irs. Gamp resumed : Mrs. HaiTis, Betsey- " ' Bother I\Irs. Harris ! " said Betsey Prig. Irs. Gamp looked at her with amazement, incredulity, and jnation ; when j\Ir.s. Prig, shutting her eye still do.ser, and ng her arms still tighter, uttered these memorable and tre- [lous words : '' I don't believe there's no sich a person ! " iftor the utterance of which expressions, she leaned forward, snapped her fingers once, twice, thrice ; each time nearer t<» face of Mr.s. Gamp; and tlien rose to put on lir-r bonnet, aw 720 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF one who felt that there was now a gulf between them, whi' nothing coukl ever bridge across. Tlie shock of this blow was so violent and sudden, that Mi G-amp sat staring at nothing with uplifted eyes, and her moii open as if she were gasping for breath, until Betsey Prig had g on her bonnet and her shawl, and was gathering the latter abo her throat. Then Mrs. Gamp rose — morally and physically ro • — and denounced her. " What ! " said Mrs. Gamp, " you bage creetur, have I know Mrs. Harris five and thirty year, to be told at last that there ai no sech a person livin' ! Have I stood her friend in all h troubles, great and small, for it to come at last to sech a end this, which her own sweet picter hanging up afore you all i time, to shame your Bragian words ! But well you mayn't belie there's no sech a creetur, for she wouldn't demean herself to loi at you, and often has she said, when I have made mention of yo name, which, to my sinful sorrow, I have done, 'AVhat, Sair Gamp ! debage yourself to her / ' Go along with you ! " "I'm a goin', ma'am, ain't II" said Mrs. Prig, stopping as s said it. "You had better, ma'am," said Mrs. Gamp. " Do you know who you're talking to, ma'am ^ " inquired 1 visitor. " Aperiently," said Mrs. Gamp, surveying her with scorn fn head to foot, " to Betsey Prig. Aperiently so. I know her. ' one better. Go along wath you, do ! " " And ^oic was a going to take me under you ! " cried M Prig, surveying Mrs. Gamp from head to foot in her turn. ") was, was you ! Oh, how kind ! Why, deuce take your ini]i ence," said Mrs. Prig, with a rapid change from banter to feroci " what do you mean 1 '' " Go along with you ! " said Mrs. Gamp. " I blush for you. "You had better blush a little for yourself, while you ' about it ! " said Mrs. Prig. " You and your Chulfeys ! Wli the poor old creetur isn't mad enough, isn't he ? Aha ! " " He'd very soon be mad enough, if you had anythink to ' with him," said Mrs. Gamp. "And that's what I was wanted for, is if?" cried Mrs. Pi, triumphantly. " Yes. But you'll find yourself deceived. I W' go near him. We shall see how you get on without me. I w< have nothink to do with him." "You never spoke a ti'uer word than that !" said Mrs. Gni " Go along wdth you ! " She was prevented from witnessing the actual retirement i MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 721 . Prig from the room, notwithstanding the great desire slie expressed to behold it, by tliat lady, in her angry withdrawal, ing into contaet with the bedstead, and bringing down the ■iously-mentioned pippins ; three or four of which came rattling the head of Mrs. Gamp so smartly, tliat when she recovered 1 this wooden shower-bath, Mrs. Prig was gone. she had the satisfaction, however, of hearing the deep voice of sey, proclaiming her injuries and her determination to have ling to do with Mr. Chuflfey, down the stairs, and along the ;age, and even out in Kingsgate Street. Likewise, of seeing er own apartment, in the place of Mrs. Prig, Mr. Sweedlepipe two gentlemen, 'Why, bless my life!" exclaimed the little barber, "what's ss ? The noise you ladies have been making, Mrs. Gamp ! y, these two gentlemen have been standing on the stairs, >ide the door, nearly all the time, trying to make you hear, le you were pelting away, hammer and tongs ! It'll be the th of the little bullfinch in the shop, that draws his own water, his fright, lie's been a straining himself all to bits, drawing ■e water than he could drink in a twelvemonth. He must e thought it was Fire ! " Mrs. Gamp had in the meanwhile sunk into lier chair, from mce, turning up her overiiowiiig eyes, and clasping her hands, delivered the following lamentation : "Oh, Mr. Sweedlepipes, which Mr. AVestlock also, if my eyes not deceive me, and a friend not haviu' tlie pleasure of bein' iiown, wot I have took from Betsey Prig this blessed night, no •tiul creetur knows ! If she had abuged nie, bein' in li(iuor, ch I thought I smelt her wen she come, but could not so eve, not bein' used myself" — Mrs. Gamp, by the way, was tty far gone, and the fragrance of the tea-pot was strong in the in — "I could have bore it with a thankful art. But the words s[K)ke of Mrs. Harris, lambs couhl not forgive. No, Betsey !" 1 Mrs. Gamp, in a violent burst of feeling, " nor worms forget ! " The little barl)er scratched his head, and shook it, and hujkeil tlie tea-pot, and gradually got out of the room. John "West <, taking a chair, sat down on one side of Mrs. Gamp. Martin, ing the foot of the bed, supported her on the otlier. "You wonder what we want, I dare say," observed John. " I'll you presently, when you have recovered. It's not pressing, a few minutes or so. How do you find yourself? Better?" Mrs. Gamp shed more tears, shook her head, and feebly pro- meed Mrs. Harris's name. ■' Have a little — " John was at a loss what to call it. •S A 722 LIFE AND ADYEXTURES OF "Tea," suggested Martin. " It ain't tea," said Mis. Gamp. " Physic of some sort, I suppose," cried John. " Have a litt Mrs. Gamp was prevailed upon to take a glassful. " condition," she passionately observed, " as Betsey never' another stroke of work from me." " Certainly not," said John. " She shall never help to m me." "To think," said Mrs. Gamp, "as she should ever have hel to nuss that friend of yourn, and been so near of hearing tin 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 hav the night, and hearin' of him in his wanderins ; and her the d that saved it. Wot would she have said and done, if she 1 know'd what / know ; that perfeejus Avretch ! Yet, oh g gracious me ! " cried Mrs. Gamp, trampling on the floor, in absence of Mrs. Prig, " that I should hear from that sa 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 knov that dear woman is expecting of me at this minnit, Mr. Westli and is a lookin' out of winder down the street, with little Ton Harris in her arras, as calls me his own Gammy, and truly r; for bless the mottled little legs of that there precious child ( Canterbury Brawn his own dear father says, whicli so they his own I have been, ever since I found him, Mr. Westlock, v his small red worsted shoe a gurglin' in his throat, where he ' put it in his play, a chick, wile they was leavin' of him on floor a looking for it through the ouse and him a choakin' swc , in the parlour ! Oh, Betsey Prig, what wickedness you've she ' this night, but never shall you darken Sairey's doors agen, ■' twining serpiant ! " " You were always so kind to her, too ! " said John, consolir:)' " That's the cuttin part. That's where it hurts me, 'i Westlock," Mrs. Gamp replied ; holding out her glass unconscioi'J while Martin filled it. i " Chosen to help you with IMr. Lewsome ! " said John. " Ch'Ji to help you with Mr. Chufley ! " "Chose once, but chose no more," cried Mrs. Gamp. '^^ pardnership 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. Cin] MARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 723 0(1, witli tlio solemnity peculiar to a certain stage of intoxicu- '• Xow tliat the marks,'' hy wliicli Mrs. Gamp is supposed live meant mask, "is oft' that creetur's face, I do not think it would have done. There are reagions in families for keeping gs a secret, Mr. Westlock, and havin' only them about you as knows you can repoge in. Who could repoge in Betsey Prig, r her words of Mrs. Hari'is, setting in that chair afore my 'Quite true,"' said John: "quite. I hope you have time to another assistant, Mrs. Gamp ? "' between her indignation and the tea-pot, her powers of corn- ending what was said to her began to fail. She looked at 1 with tearful eyes, and murnuiring the w^'ll-rememberod name ?h !Mrs. Prig had challenged — as if it were a talisman against ■arthly sorrows — seemed to wander in her mind. 'I hoj)e," repeated John, "that you have time to find another ;tant ? '" ' Which short it is, indeed,'' cried Mrs. Gamp, turning up her ;uid eyes, and clasping Mr. Westlock's wrist with matronly ^tion. " To-morrow evenin'. Sir, I waits upon his friends. Chuzzlewit apinted it from nine to ten." ' From nine to ten," said John, with a significant glance at •tin ; " and then Mr. Chuftey retires into safe keeping, does he 1 " ' He needs to be kep safe, I do assure you," Mrs. Gamp replied, I a mysterious air. " Other people besides me has liad a py deliverance from Betsey Prig. I little know'd that woman, 'tl have let it out ! " ' Let him out, you mean," said John. 'Do I ! " retorted Mrs. Gamp. " Oh ! " riie severely ironical character of this reply was strengthened I very slow nod, and a still slower drawing down of the corners Mrs. Gani])'s mouth. She added witli extreme statelinesa of nier, afti'r indulging in a short doze : " P>ut I am a keepin' of you gentlemen, and time is preciou.s." Mingling with that delusion of the tea-pot which inspired her li tlie belief that tiiey wanted her to go somewhere immediately, hrewd avoidance of any further reference to the topics into '•h she had lately strayed, ]\Irs. Gamp ro.se ; and jmtting away tea-pot in its accustomed place, and locking the cupl)oard with •Ii gravity, proceeded to attire herself for a proffssional visit. This preparation was easily made, as it retpiired nothing nmre n the snuffy Ijlack bonnet, the snuffy black shawl, the pattens, the indispensable umbrella, without which neither a lying-in a laying-out could by any possibility be attempted. When 724 LIFE AXD ADVEXTURES OF Mrs. Gamp liad invested herself with tliese appendages returned to her chair, and sitting down again, declared he quite ready. "It's a appiness to know as one can benefit the poor si creetur," she observed, "I'm sure. It isn"t all as can. torters Betsey Prig inflicts is frightful." Closing her eyes as she made this remark, in the acutene; her commiseration for Betsey's patients, she forgot to open t again until she dropped a patten. Her nap was also broke intervals, like the fabled slumbers of Friar Bacon, by the drop- of the other patten, and of the umbrella ; but when she had rid of both of those incumbrances, her sleep was peaceful. The two young men looked at each other, ludicrously enoi and Martin, stifling his disposition to laugh, whispered in J Westlock's ear : " What shall we do now ? "" " Stay here," he replied. Mrs. Gamp was heard to murmur " Mrs. Harris I '' in her s' "Rely upon it," whispered John, looking cautiously tow her, " that you shall question this old clerk, though you go as Harris herself. We know quite enough to carry her our own now, at all events ; thanks to this quarrel, which confirms th( saying that, when rogues fall out, honest people get what want. Let Jonas Chuzzlewit look to himself ; and let her as long as she likes. We shall ffain our end in good time." CHAPTER L. SURPRISES TOM PINCH VERY MUCH, AND SHOWS HOW CER CONFIDENCES PASSED BETWEEN HIM AND HIS SISTER. It was the next evening ; and Tom and his sister were ?i together before tea, talking, in their usual quiet way, about a many things, but not at all about Lewsome's story or any connected with it ; for John Westlock — really John, for so \ a man, was one of the most considerate fellows in the world- particularly advised Tom not to mention it to his sister jus ' in case it should disquiet her. " And I wouldn't, Tom," he i with a little hesitation, " I wouldn't have a shadow on her 1 •] face, or an uneasy thought in her gentle heart, for all the wj and honours of the universe ! " Really John was uncomi n MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 725 ; extraordinarily kind. If he had been her fathei-, Toui said, mid not have taken a greater interest in her. lit although Tom and his. sister were extremely conversational, were less lively, and less cheerful, than usual. Tom had no that this originated with Kuth, but took it for granted that rt^ rather dull himself. In truth he was ; for the lightest I upon the heaven of her quiet mind, cast its shadow upon .nd there was a cloud on little Ruth that evening. Yes, ;d. When Tom was looking in another direction, her bright stealing on towards his face, would sparkle still more brightly their custom was, and then grow dim. "When Tom was t, looking out upon the summer w^eather, she would sometimes i a hasty movement, as if she were about to throw herself his neck ; then check the impulse, and when he looked round, ■ a laughing face, and speak to him very merrily. When she anything to give Tom, or had any excuse for coming near him, would flutter about him, and lay her little bashful hand upon •boulder, and not be willing to withdraw it ; and would show II such means that there was something on her heart which in p"eat love she longed to say to him, but had not the courage ter. they were sitting, she with her work before her, but not ;ing, and Tom with his book beside him, but not reading, 1 Martin knocked at the door. Anticipating who it was, Tom : to oi)en it ; and he and Martin came back into the room :her. Tom looked surprised, for in answer to his cordial :iug Martin had hardly spoken a word. luth also saw that there was something strange in the manner leir mitor, and raised her eyes inquiringly to Tom's face, as if were seeking an explanation there. Tom shook his head, and c the same mute appeal to Martin. lartin did not sit down, but walked up to the window, and 1 there, looking out. He turned round after a few moments leuk, but hastily averted his head again, without doing so. What has happened, Martin?" Tom anxiously inquired. k' dear fellow, wliat bad news do you bring ? " Oh Tom : " replied Martin, in a tone of deep reproacli. "T<» you feign that interest in anytliing that happens to mc, hurts ■ven more than your ungenerous dealing." My ungenerous dealing ! Martin ! My — " Tom couKl get no ler. How could you Tom, how could you suffer mc to thank you LTveutly and sincerely for your friendship; and not tell me, 726 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF like a man, that you had deserted me ! AVas it true, Tom ! "\ it honest ! Was it worthy of Avhat you used to be : of wh; am sure yoi; used to be : to tempt me, when you had turned agai me, into pouring out niy lieart ! Oh Tom ! " His tone was one of sucli strong injury and yet of so nuich g for the loss of a friend he had trusted in ; it expressed such h past love for Tom, and so nuich sorrow and compassion for supposed unworthiness ; that Tom, for a moment, put his h before his face, and had no more power of justifying himself, tl if he had been a monster of deceit and falsehood. " I protest, as I must die," said Martin, " that I grieve o tlie loss of what I thought you ; and have no anger in recollection of my own injuries. It is only at such a time, ; after such a discovery, that Ave know the full measure of our regard for the subject of it. And I swear, little as I showed little as I know I showed it ; that when I had the least cousidi tion for you, Tom, I loved you like a brother." Tom was composed by this time, and might have been Sjurit of Truth, in a homely dress — it very often w-ears a hoii dress, thank God ! — when he replied to him : "Martin," he said, "I don't know what is in your niiud who has abused it, or by what extraordinary means. But means are false. There is no truth whatever in the inipre^^; under which you labour. It is a delusion from first to last ; I warn you that you will deeply regret the wrong you do uie. can honestly say that I have been true to you, and to my You Avill be very sorry for this. Indeed, you will be veiy .s for it, Martin." " I am sorry," returned Martin, shaking his head. " I n knew what it Avas to be sorry in my heart, until now." " At least," said Tom, "if I had always been what you cli me with being now, and had never had a place in your regard, had always been despised by you, and had always deserved it, would tell me in what you have found me to be treacherous ; i on what grounds you proceed. I do not intreat you, therefor i give me that satisfaction as a favour, Martin ; but I ask it ot^ as a right." "My own eyes are my witnesses," returned Martin. '^ M to believe them 1 " i " No," said Tom, calmly. " Not if they accuse me.'' \ " Your own words. Your own manner," pursued Martin. ' I' I to believe them ?" i " Xo," replied Tom, calmly. " Not if they accuse me. .'i they never have accused me. AVlioever has perverted thei t MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 727 h a jnirpose, has wronged me, almost as cruolly ; " his cahiiiiess lier failed him here; "as you have done."' "I came here," said Martin ; "and I appeal to your good sister near me — '' "Not to her," interrupted Tom. "* Fray, do nnt appeal to her. ; 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. AVliy, tut, , tut. What a silly little thing you are ! " "I never meant," said Martin, hastily, "to appeal to you inst your brother. Do not think me so unmanly and unkind. lerely appealed to you to hear my declaration, that I came here no purpose of reproach : I have not one to vent : but in deep ret. You could not know in what bitterness of regret, unless . knew how often I have thought of Tom ; how long in almost leless circumstances, I have looked forward to the better estima- 1 of his friendship ; and how steadfastly I have believed and sted in him." "Tut, tut," said Tom, stopping her as she was about to speak. [e is mistaken. He is deceived. Why should you mind 1 He ure to be set right at last." " Heaven bless the day that sets me right ! " cried Martin, " if ould ever come I " "Amen I" said Tom. "And it will 1" ^lartin paused, and then said in a still milder voice : " You have chosen for yourself, Tom, and will be relieved by our ting. It is not an angry one. There is no auger on my side — " "There is none on mine," said Tom. '• — It is merely what you have brought about, and workt-d to ig about. I say again, you have chosen for yourself You e made the choice that might have been expected in most pie situated as you are, but which I did not expect in you. • that, perhaps, I should blame my own judgment more than !. There is wealth and favour worth having, on one side ; and re is the worthless friendship of an abandoned, struggling r>w, on the other. You were free to niakt as i her heart would break. "Don't. Don't," said Tom. "Why do you hide your fact 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 fouiu it out ; you couldn't hide the truth from me. Why didn't yoi ]\IARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 729 iC? I am sure I could have made you liappior, if you liad ! ove her, Tom, so dearly ! " m made a motion witli his hand as if he would have put his hurriedly away ; but it clasped upon hers, and all his little y was ■written in the action. All its pathetic elociuencc was : silent touch. [n spite of that," said Ruth, "you have been so faithful and od, dear ; in spite of that, you have been so true and self- Qg, and have struggled with yourself; in spite of that, you been so gentle, and so kind, and even-tempered, that I have seen you give a hasty look, or heard you say one irritable In spite of all, you have been so cruelly mistaken. Oh dear Tom, loved as no other brother can be, will this be set too ! Will it, Tom ! Will you always have this sorrow in your ; : you who deserve to be so happy : or is there any hope ! " id still she hid her face from Tom, and clasped him round ?ck, and wept for him, and poured out all her woman's heart 3ul in the relief and pain of this disclosure. was not very long before she and Tom were sitting side by ^nd she Avas looking with an earnest quietness in Tom's face. Tom spoke to her thus : cheerily, though gravely. [ am very glad, my dear, that this has passed between us. :iecause it assures me of your tender affection (for I was well !d of that before), but because it relieves my uiind of a great t." im's eyes glistened when he spoke of her affection ; and lie i her on the cheek. My dear girl," said Tom : " with whatever feeling I regard ' they seemed to avoid the name by mutual consent ; " I long ago — I am sure I may say from the very first— looked it as a dream. As something that might possibly have :ned under very different circumstances, but which cau never Now, tell me. What would you have set right 1 " le gave Tom such a significant little look, that he was obliged ce 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 [artui • and was, long before cither of them knew of my iiice. You would have her betrothed to me 1 " Ves," she said directly. Yes," rejoined Tom, "but that might be setting it wrong, id of right. Do you think,"' said Tom, with a grave smile, t even if she had never seen him, it is very likely she would fallen in love with Me 1 " Why not, dear Tom 1 " 730 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF Tom shook his head, and smiled again. "You think of me, Ruth," said Tom, "and it is very natun that you should, as if I were a character in a book ; and you iiiak it a sort oi' poetical justice that I should, by some impossibl means or other, come, at last, to marry the person I love. Bi there is a much higher justice than poetical justice, my dear, au it does not order events upon the same principle. Accordiugl people who read about heroes in books, and choose to make hcro( of themselves out of books, consider it a veiy fine thing to be di contented and gloomy, and misanthropical, and perhaps a litt blasphemous, because they cannot have everything ordered li their individual accommodation. Would you like me to becoii one of that sort of people 1 " "No, Tom. But still I know,"' she added timidly, "that tli is a sorrow to you in your own better way." Tom thought of disputing the position. But it would h;u been mere folly, and he gave it up. " ]My dear," said Tom, " I will repay your affection with tl Truth, and all the Truth. It is a sorrow to me. I have provi it to be so sometimes, though I have always striven against i But somebody who is precious to you may die, and you may drea that you ai'e in heaven with the departed spirit, and you may fii it a sorrow to wake to the life on earth, which is no harder to " borne than Avhen you fell asleep. It is sorrowful to me to co template my dream, Avhich I always knew was a dream, even wL' it first presented itself; but the realities about me are not blame. They are the same as they were. My sister, my swi companion, who makes this place so dear, is she less devoted me, Ruth, than she would have been, if this vision had ncv troubled me? My old friend John, who might so easily lia treated me with coldness and neglect, is he less cordial to m The world about me, is there less good in that ? Are my wor to be harsli and my looks to be sour, and is my heart to gr< cold, because there has fallen in my way a good and beautil creature, who but for the selfish regret that I cannot call hen, own, would, like all other good and beautiful creatm-es, make i happier and better ! No, my dear sister. No," said Tom, stouti' " Remembering all my means of happiness, I hardly dare to c| this lurking something, a sorrow ; but whatever name it ui: justly bear, I thank Heaven that it renders me more sensible affection and attachment, and softens me in fifty ways. Not l'' happy. Not less happy, Ruth ! "' She couLl not speak to him, but she loved him, as he ^^■ deserved. Even iis he deserved, she loved him. I\1ARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 731 She will open IMartiu's eyes," said Tom, witli a i^low of pride, 1 tliat (which is indeed wrong) will be sot right. Nothing persuade lier, I know, that I have betrayed him. It will be •iglit through her, and he will be very sorry for it. Our t, Ruth, is our own, and lives and dies with us. I don't ve I ever could have told it you," said Tom, with a smile, ; how glad I am to think you have found it out ! " hey had never taken such a pleasant walk as they took that ;. Tom told her all so freely, and so simply, and was so ous to return her tenderness with his fullest confidence, that prolonged it fiir beyond their usual hour, and sat up late when came home. And when they parted for the night there was a tranquil, beautiful expression in Tom's face, that she could )ear to shut it out, but going back on tip-toe to his chamber- looked in, and stood there till he saw her, and then embracing again, withdrew. And in her prayers, and in her sleep — good 5 to be remembered with such fervour, Tom ! — his name was rmost. /'hen he was left alone, Tom pondered very nuu-h mi this very of hers, and greatly wondered what had led her to it. :ause," thought Tom, " I have been so very careful. It was ih and unnecessary in me, as I clearly sec now, when I am so red by her knowing it ; but I have been so very careful to ;al it from her. Of course I knew that she was intelligent juick, and for that reason was more upon my guard ; but I not in the least prepared for this. I am sure her discovery been sudden too. Dear mc ! " said Tom. " It's a most dar instance of penetration ! " om could not get it out of his head. There it was, when his was on his itillow. How she trembled when she began to tell me she knew it 1 " ^ht Tom, recalling all the little incidents and circumstances ; 1 how her face flushed ! But that was natural. Oh, quite ral I That needs no accounting for." om little thought how natural it was. Tom little knew that ! w;ls that in Rutli's ow^n heart, but newly set there, which helped her to the reading of his mystery. Ah, Tom I He 't understand the whispers of the Temple Fountain, though he ^d it every d:iy. riio so lively and cheerful as busy Kutli next morning ! Her ■ tap at Tom's door, and her light foot outside, woidd liave nnisic to him though she had not spoken. But she said it the brightest nidrning ever seen : and so it was; and if it had otherwise, .'^he would have made it so to Tom. 732 LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF She was ready with his neat breakfast when he weut dowi stairs, and had her bouiiet ready for the early walk, and was si 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, and there was bread down a penny ; loaf, and there was twice as much strength in this tea as in tin last, and the milkwomau's husband had come out of the hospita cured, and the curly-headed child over the way had been lost al yesterday, and she was going to make all sorts of preserves in ; desperate hurry, and there happened to be a saucepan in the hou-' which was the very saucepan for the purpose ; and she knew al; about the last book Tom had brought home, all through, thougli it was a teazer to read ; and she had so much to tell him that sli- had finished breakfast first. Then she had her little bonnet on and the tea and sugar locked up, and the keys in her reticule, aii' the flower, as usual, in Tom's coat, and was, in all respects quit ready to accompany him, before Tom knew she had begun t prepare. And in short, as Tom said, with a confidence in his ow: 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 hei She put such enticing questions to him ; about books, and abou dates of churches, and about organs, and about the Temple, aw about all kinds of things. Indeed, she lightened the way (au' Tom's heart with it) to that degree, that the Temple looked quit blank and solitary when he jjarted from her at the gate. "jSTo Mr. Fips's friend to-day, I suppose," thought Tom, as h ascended the stairs. Not yet, at any rate, for the door was closed as usual, and Tui opened it with his key. He had got the books into perfect ordt now, and had mended the torn leaves, and pasted up the broki' backs, and substituted neat labels for the worn-out letterings. I looked a ditterent place, it was so orderly and neat : Tom fel some pride in contemplating the change he had wrought, thoug there was no one to approve or disapprove of it. He was at present occupied in making a fair copy of his dra) of the catalogue ; on which, as there was no hurry, he was painfull concentrating all the ingenious and laborious neatness he had eve expended on map or plan in Mr. Pecksniff"'s workroom. It walj a very marvel of a catalogue ; for Tom sometimes thought hj was really getting his money too easily, and he had determine' within himself that this document should take a little of h\ superfluous leisure out of him. , So, with pens and ruler, and compasses and india-rubber, an MARTIX CHUZZLEWIT. 733 cil, and black ink, and red h\k, Tom workod away all the ■uiug. He thong-ht a good deal about Martin, and their inter- V of yesterday, and would have been far easier in his mind le could liavc resolved to confide it to his friend John, and have taken liis opinion on the subject. But besides that lie w what John's boiling indignation would be, he bethonght self that he was helping Martin now in a matter of great nent, and that to deprive the latter of his assistance at such •isis of affairs, would be to inflict a serious injury upon him. ■'So I'll keep it to myself," said Tom, with a sigh. "I'll keep 3 myself" A.nd to work he went again, more assiduously than ever, with pens, and the ruler, and the india-rubber, and the pencil, and black ink, and the red ink, that he might forget it. He had laboured away for another hour or more, when he rd a footstep in the entry, down below. "Ah!" said Tom, looking towards the door, "time was, not J ago either, when that would have set me wondering and acting. But I have left off now." rhe footstep came on, up the stairs. "Thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty -eiglit," said Tom, counting, ow you'll stop. Nobody ever comes past the thirty-eighth stair." riic person did stop, certainly, but only to take breath ; for the footstep came again. Forty, forty -one, forty-two, and so on. The door stood open. As the tread advanced, Tom looked latiently and eagerly towards it. When a figure came upon landing, and arriving in the doorway, stopped and gazc