Martin Chuzzlewit
by Charles Dickens
Hypertext Meanings and Commentaries
from the Encyclopedia of the Self
by Mark Zimmerman
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Mrs Prig relieved punctually, having passed a good night at her
other patient's. Mr Westlock came at the same time, but he was not
admitted, the disorder being infectious. The doctor came too. The
doctor shook his head. It was all he could do, under the
circumstances, and he did it well.

'What sort of a night, nurse?'

'Restless, sir,' said Mrs Gamp.

'Talk much?'

'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.'

'Oh, I shan't mind him,' Mrs Prig returned. 'I have somethin' else
to think of.'

'I pays my debts to-night, you know, my dear, and comes afore my
time,' said Mrs Gamp. 'But, Betsy Prig'--speaking with great
feeling, and laying her hand upon her arm--'try the cowcumbers, God
bless you!'

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

AN UNEXPECTED MEETING, AND A PROMISING PROSPECT

The laws of sympathy between beards and birds, and the secret source
of that attraction which frequently impels a shaver of the one to be
a dealer in the other, are questions for the subtle reasoning of
scientific bodies; not the less so, because their investigation
would seem calculated to lead to no particular result. It is enough
to know that the artist who had the honour of entertaining Mrs Gamp
as his first-floor lodger, united the two pursuits of barbering and
bird-fancying; and that it was not an original idea of his, but one
in which he had, dispersed about the by-streets and suburbs of the
town, a host of rivals.

The name of the householder was Paul Sweedlepipe. But he was
commonly called Poll Sweedlepipe; and was not uncommonly believed to
have been so christened, among his friends and neighbours.

With the exception of the staircase, and his lodger's private
apartment, Poll Sweedlepipe's house was one great bird's nest.
Gamecocks resided in the kitchen; pheasants wasted the brightness of
their golden plumage on the garret; bantams roosted in the cellar;
owls had possession of the bedroom; and specimens of all the smaller
fry of birds chirrupped and twittered in the shop. The staircase
was sacred to rabbits. There in hutches of all shapes and kinds,
made from old packing-cases, boxes, drawers, and tea-chests, they
increased in a prodigious degree, and contributed their share
towards that complicated whiff which, quite impartially, and without
distinction of persons, saluted every nose that was put into
Sweedlepipe's easy shaving-shop.

Many noses found their way there, for all that, especially on Sunday
morning, before church-time. Even archbishops shave, or must be
shaved, on a Sunday, and beards WILL grow after twelve o'clock on
Saturday night, though it be upon the chins of base mechanics; who,
not being able to engage their valets by the quarter, hire them by
the job, and pay them--oh, the wickedness of copper coin!--in dirty
pence. Poll Sweedlepipe, the sinner, shaved all comers at a penny
each, and cut the hair of any customer for twopence; and being a
lone unmarried man, and having some connection in the bird line, Poll
got on tolerably well.

He was a little elderly man, with a clammy cold right hand, from
which even rabbits and birds could not remove the smell of shaving-
soap. Poll had something of the bird in his nature; not of the
hawk or eagle, but of the sparrow, that builds in chimney-stacks and
inclines to human company. He was not quarrelsome, though, like the
sparrow; 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 in Poll than in a robin. Happily, too, when any of his
ornithological properties were on the verge of going too far, they
were quenched, dissolved, melted down, and neutralised in the barber;
just as his bald head--otherwise, as the head of a shaved magpie--
lost itself in a wig of curly black ringlets, parted on one side,
and cut away almost to the crown, to indicate immense capacity of
intellect.

Poll had a very small, shrill treble voice, which might have led the
wags of Kingsgate Street to insist the more upon his feminine
designation. He had a tender heart, too; for, when he had a good
commission to provide three or four score sparrows for a shooting-
match, he would observe, in a compassionate tone, how singular it
was that sparrows should have been made expressly for such purposes.
The question, whether men were made to shoot them, never entered
into Poll's philosophy.

Poll wore, in his sporting character, a velveteen coat, a great deal
of blue stocking, ankle boots, a neckerchief of some bright colour,
and a very tall hat. Pursuing his more quiet occupation of barber,
he generally subsided into an apron not over-clean, a flannel
jacket, and corduroy knee-shorts. It was in this latter costume,
but with his apron girded round his waist, as a token of his having
shut up shop for the night, that he closed the door one evening,
some weeks after the occurrences detailed in the last chapter, and
stood upon the steps in Kingsgate Street, listening until the little
cracked bell within should leave off ringing. For until it did--
this was Mr Sweedlepipe's reflection--the place never seemed quiet
enough to be left to itself.

'It's the greediest little bell to ring,' said Poll, 'that ever was.
But it's quiet at last.'

He rolled his apron up a little tighter as he said these words, and
hastened down the street. Just as he was turning into Holborn, he
ran against a young gentleman in a livery. This youth was bold,
though small, and with several lively expressions of displeasure,
turned upon him instantly.

'Now, STOO-PID!' cried the young gentleman. 'Can't you look where
you're a-going to--eh? Can't you mind where you're a-coming to--eh?
What do you think your eyes was made for--eh? Ah! Yes. Oh! Now
then!'

The young gentleman pronounced the two last words in a very loud
tone and with frightful emphasis, as though they contained within
themselves the essence of the direst aggravation. But he had
scarcely done so, when his anger yielded to surprise, and he cried,
in a milder tone:

'What! Polly!'

'Why, it an't you, sure!' cried Poll. 'It can't be you!'

'No. It an't me,' returned the youth. 'It's my son, my oldest
one. He's a credit to his father, an't he, Polly?'  With this
delicate little piece of banter, he halted on the pavement, and went
round and round in circles, for the better exhibition of his figure;
rather to the inconvenience of the passengers generally, who were
not in an equal state of spirits with himself.

'I wouldn't have believed it,' said Poll. 'What! You've left your
old place, then? Have you?'

'Have I!' returned his young friend, who had by this time stuck his
hands into the pockets of his white cord breeches, and was
swaggering along at the barber's side. 'D'ye know a pair of top-
boots when you see 'em, Polly?--look here!'

'Beau-ti-ful' cried Mr Sweedlepipe.

'D'ye know a slap-up sort of button, when you see it?' said the
youth. 'Don't look at mine, if you ain't a judge, because these
lions' heads was made for men of taste; not snobs.'

'Beau-ti-ful!' cried the barber again. 'A grass-green frock-coat,
too, bound with gold; and a cockade in your hat!'

'I should hope so,' replied the youth. 'Blow the cockade, though;
for, except that it don't turn round, it's like the wentilator that
used to be in the kitchen winder at Todgers's. You ain't seen the
old lady's name in the Gazette, have you?'

'No,' returned the barber. 'Is she a bankrupt?'

'If she ain't, she will be,' retorted Bailey. 'That bis'ness never
can be carried on without ME. Well! How are you?'

'Oh! I'm pretty well,' said Poll. 'Are you living at this end of
the town, or were you coming to see me? Was that the bis'ness that
brought you to Holborn?'

'I haven't got no bis'ness in Holborn,' returned Bailey, with some
displeasure. 'All my bis'ness lays at the West End. I've got the
right sort of governor now. You can't see his face for his
whiskers, and can't see his whiskers for the dye upon 'em. That's a
gentleman ain'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 was 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 buy any more red polls now, to hang up over
the sink, will you?'

'I should think not,' replied Bailey. 'Reether so. I wouldn't have
nothin' to say to any bird below a Peacock; and HE'd be wulgar.
Well, how are you?'

'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?' added Mr Bailey, with the same
graceful rakishness. He was quite the man-about-town of the
conversation, while the easy-shaver was the child.

'Why, I am going to fetch my lodger home,' said Paul.

'A woman!' cried Mr Bailey, 'for a twenty-pun' note!'

The little barber hastened to explain that she was neither a young
woman, nor a handsome woman, but a nurse, who had been acting as a
kind of house-keeper to a gentleman for some weeks past, and left
her place that night, in consequence of being superseded by another
and a more legitimate house-keeper--to wit, the gentleman's bride.

'He's newly married, and he brings his young wife home to-night,'
said the barber. 'So I'm going to fetch my lodger away--Mr
Chuzzlewit's, close behind the Post Office--and carry her box for
her.'

'Jonas Chuzzlewit's?' said Bailey.

'Ah!' returned Paul: 'that's the name sure enough. Do you know
him?'

'Oh, no!' cried Mr Bailey; 'not at all. And I don't know her! Not
neither! Why, they first kept company through me, a'most.'

'Ah?' said Paul.

'Ah!' said Mr Bailey, with a wink; 'and she ain't bad looking mind
you. But her sister was the best. SHE was the merry one. I often
used to have a bit of fun with her, in the hold times!'

Mr Bailey spoke as if he already had a leg and three-quarters in the
grave, and this had happened twenty or thirty years ago. Paul
Sweedlepipe, the meek, was so perfectly confounded by his precocious
self-possession, and his patronizing manner, as well as by his
boots, cockade, and livery, that a mist swam before his eyes, and he
saw--not the Bailey of acknowledged juvenility from Todgers's
Commercial Boarding House, who had made his acquaintance within a
twelvemonth, by purchasing, at sundry times, small birds at twopence
each--but a highly-condensed embodiment of all the sporting grooms
in London; an abstract of all the stable-knowledge of the time; a
something at a high-pressure that must have had existence many
years, and was fraught with terrible experiences. And truly, though
in the cloudy atmosphere of Todgers's, Mr Bailey's genius had ever
shone out brightly in this particular respect, it now eclipsed both
time and space, cheated beholders of their senses, and worked on
their belief in defiance of all natural laws. He walked along the
tangible and real stones of Holborn Hill, an undersized boy; and
yet he winked the winks, and thought the thoughts, and did the
deeds, and said the sayings of an ancient man. There was an old
principle within him, and a young surface without. He became an
inexplicable creature; a breeched and booted Sphinx. There was no
course open to the barber, but to go distracted himself, or to take
Bailey for granted; and he wisely chose the latter.

Mr Bailey was good enough to continue to bear him company, and to
entertain him, as they went, with easy conversation on various
sporting topics; especially on the comparative merits, as a general
principle, of horses with white stockings, and horses without. In
regard to the style of tail to be preferred, Mr Bailey had opinions
of his own, which he explained, but begged they might by no means
influence his friend's, as here he knew he had the misfortune to
differ from some excellent authorities. He treated Mr Sweedlepipe
to a dram, compounded agreeably to his own directions, which he
informed him had been invented by a member of the Jockey Club; and,
as they were by this time near the barber's destination, he observed
that, as he had an hour to spare, and knew the parties, he would, if
quite agreeable, be introduced to Mrs Gamp.

Paul knocked at Jonas Chuzzlewit's; and, on the door being opened by
that lady, made the two distinguished persons known to one another.
It was a happy feature in Mrs Gamp's twofold profession, that it
gave her an interest in everything that was young as well as in
everything that was old. She received Mr Bailey with much kindness.

'It's very good, I'm sure, of you to come,' she said to her
landlord, 'as well as bring so nice a friend. But I'm afraid
that I must trouble you so far as to step in, for the young couple
has not yet made appearance.'

'They're late, ain't they?' inquired her landlord, when she had
conducted them downstairs into the kitchen.

'Well, sir, considern' the Wings of Love, they are,' said Mrs Gamp.

Mr Bailey inquired whether the Wings of Love had ever won a plate,
or could be backed to do anything remarkable; and being informed
that it was not a horse, but merely a poetical or figurative
expression, evinced considerable disgust. Mrs Gamp was so very much
astonished by his affable manners and great ease, that she was about
to propound to her landlord in a whisper the staggering inquiry,
whether he was a man or a boy, when Mr Sweedlepipe, anticipating her
design, made a timely diversion.

'He knows Mrs Chuzzlewit,' said Paul aloud.

'There's nothin' he don't know; that's my opinion,' observed Mrs
Gamp. 'All the wickedness of the world is Print to him.'

Mr Bailey received this as a compliment, and said, adjusting his
cravat, 'reether so.'

'As you knows Mrs Chuzzlewit, you knows, p'raps, what her chris'en
name is?' Mrs Gamp observed.

'Charity,' said Bailey.

'That it ain't!' cried Mrs Gamp.

'Cherry, then,' said Bailey. 'Cherry's short for it. It's all the
same.'

'It don't begin with a C at all,' retorted Mrs Gamp, shaking her
head. 'It begins with a M.'

'Whew!' cried Mr Bailey, slapping a little cloud of pipe-clay out of
his left leg, 'then he's been and married the merry one!'

As these words were mysterious, Mrs Gamp called upon him to explain,
which Mr Bailey proceeded to do; that lady listening greedily to
everything he said. He was yet in the fullness of his narrative when
the sound of wheels, and a double knock at the street door,
announced the arrival of the newly married couple. Begging him to
reserve what more he had to say for her hearing on the way home,
Mrs Gamp took up the candle, and hurried away to receive and welcome
the young mistress of the house.

'Wishing you appiness and joy with all my art,' said Mrs Gamp,
dropping a curtsey as they entered the hall; 'and you, too, sir.
Your lady looks a little tired with the journey, Mr Chuzzlewit, a
pretty dear!'

'She has bothered enough about it,' grumbled Mr Jonas. 'Now, show a
light, will you?'

'This way, ma'am, if you please,' said Mrs Gamp, going upstairs
before them. 'Things has been made as comfortable as they could be,
but there's many things you'll have to alter your own self when you
gets time to look about you! Ah! sweet thing! But you don't,' added
Mrs Gamp, internally, 'you don't look much like a merry one, I must
say!'

It was true; she did not. The death that had gone before the bridal
seemed to have left its shade upon the house. The air was heavy and
oppressive; the rooms were dark; a deep gloom filled up every chink
and corner. Upon the hearthstone, like a creature of ill omen, sat
the aged clerk, with his eyes fixed on some withered branches in the
stove. He rose and looked at her.

'So there you are, Mr Chuff,' said Jonas carelessly, as he dusted
his boots; 'still in the land of the living, eh?'

'Still in the land of the living, sir,' retorted Mrs Gamp. 'And Mr
Chuffey may thank you for it, as many and many a time I've told
him.'

Mr Jonas was not in the best of humours, for he merely said, as he
looked round, 'We don't want you any more, you know, Mrs Gamp.'

'I'm a-going immediate, sir,' returned the nurse; 'unless there's
nothink I can do for you, ma'am. Ain't there,' said Mrs Gamp, with
a look of great sweetness, and rummaging all the time in her pocket;
'ain't there nothink I can do for you, my little bird?'

'No,' said Merry, almost crying. 'You had better go away, please!'

With a leer of mingled sweetness and slyness; with one eye on the
future, one on the bride, and an arch expression in her face, partly
spiritual, partly spirituous, and wholly professional and peculiar
to her art; Mrs Gamp rummaged in her pocket again, and took from it
a printed card, whereon was an inscription copied from her signboard.

'Would you be so good, my darling dovey of a dear young married
lady,' Mrs Gamp observed, in a low voice, 'as put that somewheres
where you can keep it in your mind? I'm well beknown to many
ladies, and it's my card. Gamp is my name, and Gamp my nater.
Livin' quite handy, I will make so bold as call in now and then, and
make inquiry how your health and spirits is, my precious chick!'

And with innumerable leers, winks, coughs, nods, smiles, and
curtseys, all leading to the establishment of a mysterious and
confidential understanding between herself and the bride, Mrs Gamp,
invoking a blessing upon the house, leered, winked, coughed, nodded,
smiled, and curtseyed herself out of the room.

'But I will say, and I would if I was led a Martha to the Stakes for
it,' Mrs Gamp remarked below stairs, in a whisper, 'that she don't
look much like a merry one at this present moment of time.'

'Ah! wait till you hear her laugh!' said Bailey.

'Hem!' cried Mrs Gamp, in a kind of groan. 'I will, child.'

They said no more in the house, for Mrs Gamp put on her bonnet, Mr
Sweedlepipe took up her box; and Mr Bailey accompanied them towards
Kingsgate Street; recounting to Mrs Gamp as they went along, the
origin and progress of his acquaintance with Mrs Chuzzlewit and her
sister. It was a pleasant instance of this youth's precocity, that
he fancied Mrs Gamp had conceived a tenderness for him, and was much
tickled by her misplaced attachment.

As the door closed heavily behind them, Mrs Jonas sat down in a
chair, and felt a strange chill creep upon her, whilst she looked
about the room. It was pretty much as she had known it, but
appeared more dreary. She had thought to see it brightened to
receive her.

'It ain't good enough for you, I suppose?' said Jonas, watching her
looks.

'Why, it IS dull,' said Merry, trying to be more herself.

'It'll be duller before you're done with it,' retorted Jonas, 'if
you give me any of your airs. You're a nice article, to turn sulky
on first coming home! Ecod, you used to have life enough, when you
could plague me with it. The gal's downstairs. Ring the bell for
supper, while I take my boots off!'

She roused herself from looking after him as he left the room, to do
what he had desired; when the old man Chuffey laid his hand softly
on her arm.

'You are not married?' he said eagerly. 'Not married?'

'Yes. A month ago. Good Heaven, what is the matter?'

He answered nothing was the matter; and turned from her. But in her
fear and wonder, turning also, she saw him raise his trembling hands
above his head, and heard him say:

'Oh! woe, woe, woe, upon this wicked house!'

It was her welcome--HOME.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

SHOWING THAT OLD FRIENDS MAY NOT ONLY APPEAR WITH NEW FACES, BUT IN
FALSE COLOURS. THAT PEOPLE ARE PRONE TO BITE, AND THAT BITERS MAY
SOMETIMES BE BITTEN.

Mr Bailey, Junior--for the sporting character, whilom of general
utility at Todgers's, had now regularly set up in life under that
name, without troubling himself to obtain from the legislature a
direct licence in the form of a Private Bill, which of all kinds and
classes of bills is without exception the most unreasonable in its
charges--Mr Bailey, Junior, just tall enough to be seen by an
inquiring eye, gazing indolently at society from beneath the apron
of his master's cab, drove slowly up and down Pall Mall, about the
hour of noon, in waiting for his 'Governor.'  The horse of
distinguished family, who had Capricorn for his nephew, and
Cauliflower for his brother, showed himself worthy of his high
relations by champing at the bit until his chest was white with
foam, and rearing like a horse in heraldry; the plated harness and
the patent leather glittered in the sun; pedestrians admired; Mr
Bailey was complacent, but unmoved. He seemed to say, 'A barrow,
good people, a mere barrow; nothing to what we could do, if we
chose!' and on he went, squaring his short green arms outside the
apron, as if he were hooked on to it by his armpits.

Mr Bailey had a great opinion of Brother to Cauliflower, and
estimated his powers highly. But he never told him so. On the
contrary, it was his practice, in driving that animal, to assail him
with disrespectful, if not injurious, expressions, as, 'Ah! would
you!' 'Did you think it, then?' 'Where are you going to now?' 'No,
you won't, my lad!' and similar fragmentary remarks. These being
usually accompanied by a jerk of the rein, or a crack of the whip,
led to many trials of strength between them, and to many contentions
for the upper-hand, terminating, now and then, in china-shops, and
other unusual goals, as Mr Bailey had already hinted to his friend
Poll Sweedlepipe.

On the present occasion Mr Bailey, being in spirits, was more than
commonly hard upon his charge; in consequence of which that fiery
animal confined himself almost entirely to his hind legs in
displaying his paces, and constantly got himself into positions with
reference to the cabriolet that very much amazed the passengers in
the street. But Mr Bailey, not at all disturbed, had still a shower
of pleasantries to bestow on any one who crossed his path; as,
calling to a full-grown coal-heaver in a wagon, who for a moment
blocked the way, 'Now, young 'un, who trusted YOU with a cart?'
inquiring of elderly ladies who wanted to cross, and ran back again,
'Why they didn't go to the workhouse and get an order to be buried?'
tempting boys, with friendly words, to get up behind, and
immediately afterwards cutting them down; and the like flashes of a
cheerful humour, which he would occasionally relieve by going round
St. James's Square at a hand gallop, and coming slowly into Pall
Mall by another entry, as if, in the interval, his pace had been a
perfect crawl.

It was not until these amusements had been very often repeated, and
the apple-stall at the corner had sustained so many miraculous
escapes as to appear impregnable, that Mr Bailey was summoned to the
door of a certain house in Pall Mall, and turning short, obeyed the
call and jumped out. It was not until he had held the bridle for
some minutes longer, every jerk of Cauliflower's brother's head, and
every twitch of Cauliflower's brother's nostril, taking him off his
legs in the meanwhile, that two persons entered the vehicle, one of
whom took the reins and drove rapidly off. Nor was it until Mr
Bailey had run after it some hundreds of yards in vain, that he
managed to lift his short leg into the iron step, and finally to get
his boots upon the little footboard behind. Then, indeed, he became
a sight to see; and--standing now on one foot and now upon the other,
now trying to look round the cab on this side, now on that, and now
endeavouring to peep over the top of it, as it went dashing in among
the carts and coaches--was from head to heel Newmarket.

The appearance of Mr Bailey's governor as he drove along fully
justified that enthusiastic youth's description of him to the
wondering Poll. He had a world of jet-black shining hair upon his
head, upon his cheeks, upon his chin, upon his upper lip. His
clothes, symmetrically made, were of the newest fashion and the
costliest kind. Flowers of gold and blue, and green and blushing
red, were on his waistcoat; precious chains and jewels sparkled on
his breast; his fingers, clogged with brilliant rings, were as
unwieldly as summer flies but newly rescued from a honey-pot. The
daylight mantled in his gleaming hat and boots as in a polished
glass. And yet, though changed his name, and changed his outward
surface, it was Tigg. Though turned and twisted upside down, and
inside out, as great men have been sometimes known to be; though no
longer Montague Tigg, but Tigg Montague; still it was Tigg; the same
Satanic, gallant, military Tigg. The brass was burnished,
lacquered, newly stamped; yet it was the true Tigg metal
notwithstanding.

Beside him sat a smiling gentleman, of less pretensions and of
business looks, whom he addressed as David. Surely not the David of
the--how shall it be phrased?--the triumvirate of golden balls? Not
David, tapster at the Lombards' Arms? Yes. The very man.

'The secretary's salary, David,' said Mr Montague, 'the office being
now established, is eight hundred pounds per annum, with his house-
rent, coals, and candles free. His five-and-twenty shares he holds,
of course. Is that enough?'

David smiled and nodded, and coughed behind a little locked
portfolio which he carried; with an air that proclaimed him to be
the secretary in question.

'If that's enough,' said Montague, 'I will propose it at the Board
to-day, in my capacity as chairman.'

The secretary smiled again; laughed, indeed, this time; and said,
rubbing his nose slily with one end of the portfolio:

'It was a capital thought, wasn't it?'

'What was a capital thought, David?' Mr Montague inquired.

'The Anglo-Bengalee,' tittered the secretary.

'The Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company is
rather a capital concern, I hope, David,' said Montague.

'Capital indeed!' cried the secretary, with another laugh--' in one
sense.'

'In the only important one,' observed the chairman; 'which is number
one, David.'

'What,' asked the secretary, bursting into another laugh, 'what will
be the paid up capital, according to the next prospectus?'

'A figure of two, and as many oughts after it as the printer can get
into the same line,' replied his friend. 'Ha, ha!'

At this they both laughed; the secretary so vehemently, that in
kicking up his feet, he kicked the apron open, and nearly started
Cauliflower's brother into an oyster shop; not to mention Mr
Bailey's receiving such a sudden swing, that he held on for a
moment quite a young Fame, by one strap and no legs.

'What a chap you are!' exclaimed David admiringly, when this little
alarm had subsided.

'Say, genius, David, genius.'

'"Well, upon my soul, you ARE a genius then,' said David. 'I always
knew you had the gift of the gab, of course; but I never believed
you were half the man you are. How could I?'

'I rise with circumstances, David. That's a point of genius in
itself,' said Tigg. 'If you were to lose a hundred pound wager to
me at this minute David, and were to pay it (which is most
confoundedly improbable), I should rise, in a mental point of view,
directly.'

It is due to Mr Tigg to say that he had really risen with his
opportunities; and, peculating on a grander scale, he had become
a grander man altogether.

'Ha, ha,' cried the secretary, laying his hand, with growing
familiarity, upon the chairman's arm. 'When I look at you, and
think of your property in Bengal being--ha, ha, ha!--'

The half-expressed idea seemed no less ludicrous to Mr Tigg than to
his friend, for he laughed too, heartily.

'--Being,' resumed David, 'being amenable--your property in Bengal
being amenable--to all claims upon the company; when I look at you
and think of that, you might tickle me into fits by waving the
feather of a pen at me. Upon my soul you might!'

'It a devilish fine property,' said Tigg Montague, 'to be amenable
to any claims. The preserve of tigers alone is worth a mint of
money, David.'

David could only reply in the intervals of his laughter, 'Oh, what a
chap you are!' and so continued to laugh, and hold his sides, and
wipe his eyes, for some time, without offering any other
observation.

'A capital idea?' said Tigg, returning after a time to his
companion's first remark; 'no doubt it was a capital idea. It was
my idea.'

'No, no. It was my idea,' said David. 'Hang it, let a man have
some credit. Didn't I say to you that I'd saved a few pounds?--'

'You said! Didn't I say to you,' interposed Tigg, 'that I had come
into a few pounds?'

'Certainly you did,' returned David, warmly, 'but that's not the
idea. Who said, that if we put the money together we could furnish
an office, and make a show?'

'And who said,' retorted Mr Tigg, 'that, provided we did it on a
sufficiently large scale, we could furnish an office and make a
show, without any money at all? Be rational, and just, and calm,
and tell me whose idea was that.'

'Why, there,' David was obliged to confess, 'you had the advantage
of me, I admit. But I don't put myself on a level with you. I only
want a little credit in the business.'

'All the credit you deserve to have,' said Tigg.

'The plain work of the company, David--figures, books, circulars,
advertisements, pen, ink, and paper, sealing-wax and wafers--is
admirably done by you. You are a first-rate groveller. I don't
dispute it. But the ornamental department, David; the inventive
and poetical department--'

'Is entirely yours,' said his friend. 'No question of it. But with
such a swell turnout as this, and all the handsome things you've
got about you, and the life you lead, I mean to say it's a precious
comfortable department too.'

'Does it gain the purpose? Is it Anglo-Bengalee?' asked Tigg.

'Yes,' said David.

'Could you undertake it yourself?' demanded Tigg.

'No,' said David.

'Ha, ha!' laughed Tigg. 'Then be contented with your station and
your profits, David, my fine fellow, and bless the day that made us
acquainted across the counter of our common uncle, for it was a
golden day to you.'

It will have been already gathered from the conversation of these
worthies, that they were embarked in an enterprise of some
magnitude, in which they addressed the public in general from the
strong position of having everything to gain and nothing at all to
lose; and which, based upon this great principle, was thriving
pretty comfortably.

The Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company
started into existence one morning, not an Infant Institution, but a
Grown-up Company running alone at a great pace, and doing business
right and left: with a 'branch' in a first floor over a tailor's at
the west-end of the town, and main offices in a new street in the
City, comprising the upper part of a spacious house resplendent in
stucco and plate-glass, with wire-blinds in all the windows, and
'Anglo-Bengalee' worked into the pattern of every one of them. On
the doorpost was painted again in large letters, 'offices of the
Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company,' and
on the door was a large brass plate with the same inscription;
always kept very bright, as courting inquiry; staring the City out
of countenance after office hours on working days, and all day long
on Sundays; and looking bolder than the Bank. Within, the offices
were newly plastered, newly painted, newly papered, newly countered,
newly floor-clothed, newly tabled, newly chaired, newly fitted up in
every way, with goods that were substantial and expensive, and
designed (like the company) to last. Business! Look at the green
ledgers with red backs, like strong cricket-balls beaten flat; the
court-guides directories, day-books, almanacks, letter-boxes,
weighing-machines for letters, rows of fire-buckets for dashing out
a conflagration in its first spark, and saving the immense wealth in
notes and bonds belonging to the company; look at the iron safes,
the clock, the office seal--in its capacious self, security for
anything. Solidity! Look at the massive blocks of marble in the
chimney-pieces, and the gorgeous parapet on the top of the house!
Publicity! Why, Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance
company is painted on the very coal-scuttles. It is repeated at
every turn until the eyes are dazzled with it, and the head is
giddy. It is engraved upon the top of all the letter paper, and it
makes a scroll-work round the seal, and it shines out of the
porter's buttons, and it is repeated twenty times in every circular
and public notice wherein one David Crimple, Esquire, Secretary and
resident Director, takes the liberty of inviting your attention to
the accompanying statement of the advantages offered by the Anglo-
Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company; and fully
proves to you that any connection on your part with that
establishment must result in a perpetual Christmas Box and
constantly increasing Bonus to yourself, and that nobody can run any
risk by the transaction except the office, which, in its great
liberality is pretty sure to lose. And this, David Crimple,
Esquire, submits to you (and the odds are heavy you believe him), is
the best guarantee that can reasonably be suggested by the Board of
Management for its permanence and stability.

This gentleman's name, by the way, had been originally Crimp; but as
the word was susceptible of an awkward construction and might be
misrepresented, he had altered it to Crimple.

Lest with all these proofs and confirmations, any man should be
suspicious of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life
Assurance company; should doubt in tiger, cab, or person, Tigg
Montague, Esquire, (of Pall Mall and Bengal), or any other name in
the imaginative List of Directors; there was a porter on the
premises--a wonderful creature, in a vast red waistcoat and a short-
tailed pepper-and-salt coat--who carried more conviction to the
minds of sceptics than the whole establishment without him. No
confidences existed between him and the Directorship; nobody knew
where he had served last; no character or explanation had been given
or required. No questions had been asked on either side. This
mysterious being, relying solely on his figure, had applied for the
situation, and had been instantly engaged on his own terms. They
were high; but he knew, doubtless, that no man could carry such an
extent of waistcoat as himself, and felt the full value of his
capacity to such an institution. When he sat upon a seat erected
for him in a corner of the office, with his glazed hat hanging on a
peg over his head, it was impossible to doubt the respectability of
the concern. It went on doubling itself with every square inch of
his red waistcoat until, like the problem of the nails in the
horse's shoes, the total became enormous. People had been known to
apply to effect an insurance on their lives for a thousand pounds,
and looking at him, to beg, before the form of proposal was filled
up, that it might be made two. And yet he was not a giant. His
coat was rather small than otherwise. The whole charm was in his
waistcoat. Respectability, competence, property in Bengal or
anywhere else, responsibility to any amount on the part of the
company that employed him, were all expressed in that one garment.

Rival offices had endeavoured to lure him away; Lombard Street
itself had beckoned to him; rich companies had whispered 'Be a
Beadle!' but he still continued faithful to the Anglo-Bengalee.
Whether he was a deep rogue, or a stately simpleton, it was
impossible to make out, but he appeared to believe in the Anglo-
Bengalee. He was grave with imaginary cares of office; and having
nothing whatever to do, and something less to take care of, would
look as if the pressure of his numerous duties, and a sense of the
treasure in the company's strong-room, made him a solemn and a
thoughtful man.

As the cabriolet drove up to the door, this officer appeared
bare-headed on the pavement, crying aloud 'Room for the chairman,
room for the chairman, if you please!' much to the admiration of the
bystanders, who, it is needless to say, had their attention directed
to the Anglo-Bengalee Company thenceforth, by that means. Mr Tigg
leaped gracefully out, followed by the Managing Director (who was by
this time very distant and respectful), and ascended the stairs,
still preceded by the porter, who cried as he went, 'By your leave
there! by your leave! The Chairman of the Board, Gentle--MEN! In
like manner, but in a still more stentorian voice, he ushered the
chairman through the public office, where some humble clients were
transacting business, into an awful chamber, labelled Board-room;
the door of which sanctuary immediately closed, and screened the
great capitalist from vulgar eyes.

The board-room had a Turkey carpet in it, a sideboard, a portrait of
Tigg Montague, Esquire, as chairman; a very imposing chair of
office, garnished with an ivory hammer and a little hand-bell; and a
long table, set out at intervals with sheets of blotting-paper,
foolscap, clean pens, and inkstands. The chairman having taken his
seat with great solemnity, the secretary supported him on his right
hand, and the porter stood bolt upright behind them, forming a warm
background of waistcoat. This was the board: everything else being
a light-hearted little fiction.

'Bullamy!' said Mr Tigg.

'Sir!' replied the porter.

'Let the Medical Officer know, with my compliments, that I wish to
see him.'

Bullamy cleared his throat, and bustled out into the office, crying
'The Chairman of the Board wishes to see the Medical Officer. By
your leave there! By your leave!'  He soon returned with the
gentleman in question; and at both openings of the board-room door--
at his coming in and at his going out--simple clients were seen to
stretch their necks and stand upon their toes, thirsting to catch
the slightest glimpse of that mysterious chamber.

'Jobling, my dear friend!' said Mr Tigg, 'how are you? Bullamy,
wait outside. Crimple, don't leave us. Jobling, my good fellow, I
am glad to see you.'

'And how are you, Mr Montague, eh?' said the Medical Officer,
throwing himself luxuriously into an easy-chair (they were all easy-
chairs in the board-room), and taking a handsome gold snuff-box from
the pocket of his black satin waistcoat. 'How are you? A little
worn with business, eh? If so, rest. A little feverish from wine,
humph? If so, water. Nothing at all the matter, and quite
comfortable? Then take some lunch. A very wholesome thing at this
time of day to strengthen the gastric juices with lunch, Mr
Montague.'

The Medical Officer (he was the same medical officer who had
followed poor old Anthony Chuzzlewit to the grave, and who had
attended Mrs Gamp's patient at the Bull) smiled in saying these
words; and casually added, as he brushed some grains of snuff from
his shirt-frill, 'I always take it myself about this time of day, do
you know!'

'Bullamy!' said the Chairman, ringing the little bell.

'Sir!'

'Lunch.'

'Not on my account, I hope?' said the doctor. 'You are very good.
Thank you. I'm quite ashamed. Ha, ha! if I had been a sharp
practitioner, Mr Montague, I shouldn't have mentioned it without a
fee; for you may depend upon it, my dear sir, that 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 off, 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 it?'

'Never you mind, my good sir,' returned the doctor, shaking his
head, 'whether it is the same with other legs, or not the same.'

'But I do mind,' said David.

'I take a particular case, Mr Montague,' returned the doctor, 'as
illustrating my remark, you observe. In this portion of Mr
Crimple's leg, sir, there is a certain amount of animal oil. In
every one of Mr Crimple's joints, sir, there is more or less of the
same deposit. Very good. If Mr Crimple neglects his meals, or
fails to take his proper quantity of rest, that oil wanes, and
becomes exhausted. What is the consequence? Mr Crimple's bones
sink down into their sockets, sir, and Mr Crimple becomes a weazen,
puny, stunted, miserable man!'

The doctor let Mr Crimple's leg fall suddenly, as if he were already
in that agreeable condition; turned down his wristbands again, and
looked triumphantly at the chairman.

'We know a few secrets of nature in our profession, sir,' said the
doctor. 'Of course we do. We study for that; we pass the Hall and
the College for that; and we take our station in society BY that.
It's extraordinary how little is known on these subjects generally.
Where do you suppose, now'--the doctor closed one eye, as he leaned
back smilingly in his chair, and formed a triangle with his hands,
of which his two thumbs composed the base--'where do you suppose Mr
Crimple's stomach is?'

Mr Crimple, more agitated than before, clapped his hand immediately
below his waistcoat.

'Not at all,' cried the doctor; 'not at all. Quite a popular
mistake! My good sir, you're altogether deceived.'

'I feel it there, when it's out of order; that's all I know,' said
Crimple.

'You think you do,' replied the doctor; 'but science knows better.
There was a patient of mine once,' touching one of the many mourning
rings upon his fingers, and slightly bowing his head, 'a gentleman
who did me the honour to make a very handsome mention of me in his
will--"in testimony," as he was pleased to say, "of the unremitting
zeal, talent, and attention of my friend and medical 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 professional
reputation, he was mistaken, he burst into tears, put out his hand,
and said, "Jobling, God bless you!"  Immediately afterwards he became
speechless, and was ultimately buried at Brixton.'

'By your leave there!' cried Bullamy, without. 'By your leave!
Refreshment for the Board-room!'

'Ha!' said the doctor, jocularly, as he rubbed his hands, and drew
his chair nearer to the table. 'The true Life Assurance, 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?'

The resident Director acquiesced rather sulkily, as if the
gratification of replenishing his stomach had been impaired by the
unsettlement of his preconceived opinions in reference to its
situation. But the 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 cool salad, quickly restored his good humour. It was enhanced
still further by the arrival of a bottle of excellent madeira, and
another of champagne; and he soon attacked the repast with an
appetite scarcely inferior to that of the medical officer.

The lunch was handsomely served, with a profusion of rich glass
plate, and china; which seemed to denote that eating and drinking on
a showy scale formed no unimportant item in the business of the
Anglo-Bengalee Directorship. As it proceeded, the Medical Officer
grew more and more joyous and red-faced, insomuch that every
mouthful he ate, and every drop of wine he swallowed, seemed to
impart new lustre to his eyes, and to light up new sparks in his
nose and forehead.

In certain quarters of the City and its neighbourhood, Mr Jobling
was, as we have already seen in some measure, a very popular
character. He had a portentously sagacious chin, and a pompous
voice, with a rich huskiness in some of its tones that went directly
to the heart, like a ray of light shining through the ruddy medium
of choice old burgundy. His neckerchief and shirt-frill were ever
of the whitest, his clothes of the blackest and sleekest, his gold
watch-chain of the heaviest, and his seals of the largest. His
boots, which were always of the brightest, creaked as he walked.
Perhaps he could shake his head, rub his hands, or warm himself
before a fire, better than any man alive; and he had a peculiar way
of smacking his lips and saying, 'Ah!' at intervals while patients
detailed their symptoms, which inspired great confidence. It seemed
to express, 'I know what you're going to say better than you do; but
go on, go on.'  As he talked on all occasions whether he had anything
to say or not, it was unanimously observed of him that he was 'full
of anecdote;' and his experience and profit from it were considered,
for the same reason, to be something much too extensive for
description. His female patients could never praise him too highly;
and the coldest of his male admirers would always say this for him
to their friends, 'that whatever Jobling's professional skill might
be (and it could not be denied that he had a very high reputation),
he was one of the most comfortable fellows you ever saw in your
life!'

Jobling was for many reasons, and not last in the list because his
connection lay principally among tradesmen and their families,
exactly the sort of person whom the Anglo-Bengalee Company wanted
for a medical officer. But Jobling was far too knowing to connect
himself with the company in any closer ties than as a paid (and well
paid) functionary, or to allow his connection to be misunderstood
abroad, if he could help it. Hence he always stated the case to an
inquiring patient, after this manner:

'Why, my dear sir, with regard to the Anglo-Bengalee, my
information, you see, is limited; very limited. I am the medical
officer, in consideration of a certain monthly payment. The
labourer is worthy of his hire; BIS DAT QUI CITO DAT'--('classical
scholar, Jobling!' thinks the patient, 'well-read man!')--'and I
receive it regularly. Therefore I am bound, so far as my own
knowledge goes, to speak well of the establishment.'  ('Nothing can
be fairer than Jobling's conduct,' thinks the patient, who has just
paid Jobling's bill himself.)  'If you put any question to me, my
dear friend,' says the doctor, 'touching the responsibility or
capital of the company, there I am at fault; for I have no head for
figures, and not being a shareholder, am delicate of showing any
curiosity whatever on the subject. Delicacy--your amiable lady will
agree with me I am sure--should be one of the first characteristics
of a medical man.'  ('Nothing can be finer or more gentlemanly than
Jobling's feeling,' thinks the patient.)  'Very good, my dear sir, so
the matter stands. You don't know Mr Montague? I'm sorry for it.
A remarkably handsome man, and quite the gentleman in every respect.
Property, I am told, in India. House and everything belonging to
him, beautiful. Costly furniture on the most elegant and lavish
scale. And pictures, which, even in an anatomical point of view,
are per-fection. In case you should ever think of doing anything
with the company, I'll pass you, you may depend upon it. I can
conscientiously report you a healthy subject. If I understand any
man's constitution, it is yours; and this little indisposition has
done him more good, ma'am,' says the doctor, turning to the
patient's wife, 'than if he had swallowed the contents of half the
nonsensical bottles in my surgery. For they ARE nonsense--to tell
the honest truth, one half of them are nonsense--compared with such
a constitution as his!'  ('Jobling is the most 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?' 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 feeling
that he did it but indifferently, changed the theme and praised the
wine.

'Talking of wine,' said the doctor, 'reminds me of one of the finest
glasses of light old port I ever drank in my life; and that was at a
funeral. You have 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. 'The honour
of his company is not requested if he is.'

'Ha, ha!' laughed the doctor. 'No; not quite. He was honourably
connected with that very occasion though.'

'Oh!' said Tigg, smoothing his moustache, as he cast his eyes upon
the name. 'I recollect. No. He has not been here.'

The words were on his lips, when Bullamy entered, and presented a
card to the Medical Officer.

'Talk of the what's his name--' observed the doctor rising.

'And he's sure to appear, eh?' said Tigg.

'Why, no, Mr Montague, no,' returned the doctor. 'We will not say
that in the present case, for this gentleman is very far from it.'

'So much the better,' retorted Tigg. 'So much the more adaptable to
the Anglo-Bengalee. Bullamy, clear the table and take the things
out by the other door. Mr Crimple, business.'

'Shall I introduce him?' asked Jobling.

'I shall be eternally delighted,' answered Tigg, kissing his hand
and smiling sweetly.

The doctor disappeared into the outer office, and immediately
returned with Jonas Chuzzlewit.

'Mr Montague,' said Jobling. 'Allow me. My friend Mr Chuzzlewit.
My dear friend--our chairman. Now do you know,' he added checking
himself with infinite policy, and looking round with a smile;
'that's a very singular instance of the force of example. It really
is a very remarkable instance of the force of example. I say OUR
chairman. Why do I say our chairman? Because he is not MY
chairman, you know. I have no connection with the company, farther
than giving them, for a certain fee and reward, my poor opinion as a
medical man, precisely as I may give it any day to Jack Noakes or
Tom Styles. Then why do I say our chairman? Simply because I hear
the phrase constantly repeated about me. Such is the involuntary
operation of the mental faculty in the imitative biped man. Mr
Crimple, I believe you never take snuff? Injudicious. You should.'

Pending these remarks on the part of the doctor, and the lengthened
and sonorous pinch with which he followed them up, Jonas took a seat
at the board; as ungainly a man as ever he has been within the
reader's knowledge. It is too common with all of us, but it is
especially in the nature of a mean mind, to be overawed by fine
clothes and fine furniture. They had a very decided influence on
Jonas.

'Now you two gentlemen have business to discuss, I know,' said the
doctor, 'and your time is precious. So is mine; for several lives
are waiting for me in the next room, and I have a round of visits to
make after--after I have taken 'em. Having had the happiness to
introduce you to each other, I may go about my business. Good-bye.
But allow me, Mr Montague, before I go, to say this of my friend who
sits beside you: That gentleman has done more, sir,' rapping his
snuff-box solemnly, 'to reconcile me to human nature, than any man
alive or dead. Good-bye!'

With these words Jobling bolted abruptly out of the room, and
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 friend considered him; and
was not the original Jobling, but a spurious imitation.

Mr Crimple also departed on the business of the morning; and Jonas
Chuzzlewit and Tigg were left alone.

'I learn from our friend,' said Tigg, drawing his chair towards
Jonas with a winning ease of manner, 'that you have been thinking--'

'Oh! Ecod then he'd no right to say so,' cried Jonas, interrupting.
'I didn't tell HIM my thoughts. If he took it into his head that I
was coming here for such or such a purpose, why, that's his
lookout. I don't stand committed by that.'

Jonas said this offensively enough; for over and above the habitual
distrust of his character, it was in his nature to seek to revenge
himself on the fine clothes and the fine furniture, in exact
proportion as he had been unable to withstand their influence.

'If I come here to ask a question or two, and get a document or two
to consider of, I don't bind myself to anything. Let's understand
that, you know,' said Jonas.

'My dear fellow!' cried Tigg, clapping him on the shoulder, 'I
applaud your frankness. If men like you and I speak openly at
first, all possible misunderstanding is avoided. Why should I
disguise what you know so well, but what the crowd never dream of?
We companies are all birds of prey; mere birds of prey. The only
question is, whether in serving our own turn, we can serve yours
too; whether in double-lining our own nest, we can put a single
living into yours. Oh, you're in our secret. You're behind the
scenes. We'll make a merit of dealing plainly with you, when we
know we can't help it.'

It was remarked, on the first introduction of Mr Jonas into these
pages, that there is a simplicity of cunning no less than a
simplicity of innocence, and that in all matters involving a faith
in knavery, he was the most credulous of men. If Mr Tigg had
preferred any claim to high and honourable dealing, Jonas would have
suspected him though he had been a very model of probity; but when
he gave utterance to Jonas's own thoughts of everything and
everybody, Jonas began to feel that he was a pleasant fellow, and
one to be talked to freely.

He changed his position in the chair, not for a less awkward, but
for a more boastful attitude; and smiling in his miserable conceit
rejoined:

'You an't a bad man of business, Mr Montague. You know how to
set about it, I WILL say.'

'Tut, tut,' said Tigg, nodding confidentially, and showing his white
teeth; 'we are not children, Mr Chuzzlewit; we are grown men, I
hope.'

Jonas assented, and said after a short silence, first spreading out
his legs, and sticking one arm akimbo to show how perfectly at home
he was,

'The truth is--'

'Don't say, the truth,' interposed Tigg, with another grin. 'It's
so like humbug.'

Greatly charmed by this, Jonas began again.

'The long and the short of it is--'

'Better,' muttered Tigg. 'Much better!'

'--That I didn't consider myself very well used by one or two of the
old companies in some negotiations I have had with 'em--once had, I
mean. They started objections they had no right to start, and put
questions they had no right to put, and carried things much too high
for my taste.'

As he made these observations he cast down his eyes, and looked
curiously at the carpet. Mr Tigg looked curiously at him.

He made so long a pause, that Tigg came to the rescue, and said, in
his pleasantest manner:

'Take a glass of wine.'

'No, no,' returned Jonas, with a cunning shake of the head; 'none of
that, thankee. No wine over business. All very well for you, but
it wouldn't do for me.'

'What an old hand you are, Mr Chuzzlewit!' said Tigg, leaning back in
his chair, and leering at him through his half-shut eyes.

Jonas shook his head again, as much as to say, 'You're right there;'
And then resumed, jocosely:

'Not such an old hand, either, but that I've been and got married.
That's rather green, you'll say. Perhaps it is, especially as she's
young. But one never knows what may happen to these women, so I'm
thinking of insuring her life. It is but fair, you know, that a man
should secure some consolation in case of meeting with such a loss.'

'If anything can console him under such heart-breaking
circumstances,' murmured Tigg, with his eyes shut up as before.

'Exactly,' returned Jonas; 'if anything can. Now, supposing I did
it here, I should do it cheap, I know, and easy, without bothering
her about it; which I'd much rather not do, for it's just in a
woman's way to take it into her head, if you talk to her about
such things, that she's going to die directly.'

'So it is,' cried Tigg, kissing his hand in honour of the sex.
'You're quite right. Sweet, silly, fluttering little simpletons!'

'Well,' said Jonas, 'on that account, you know, and because offence
has been given me in other quarters, I wouldn't mind patronizing
this Company. But I want to know what sort of security there is for
the Company's going on. That's the--'

'Not the truth?' cried Tigg, holding up his jewelled hand. 'Don't
use that Sunday School expression, please!'

'The long and the short of it,' said Jonas. 'The long and the short
of it is, what's the security?'

'The paid-up capital, my dear sir,' said Tigg, referring to some
papers on the table, 'is, at this present moment--'

'Oh! I understand all about paid-up capitals, you know,' said Jonas.

'You do?' cried Tigg, stopping short.

'I should hope so.'

He turned the papers down again, and moving nearer to him, said in
his ear:

'I know you do. I know you do. Look at me!'

It was not much in Jonas's way to look straight at anybody; but thus
requested, he made shift to take a tolerable survey of the
chairman's features. The chairman fell back a little, to give him
the better opportunity.

'You know me?' he inquired, elevating his eyebrows. 'You recollect?
You've seen me before?'

'Why, I thought I remembered your face when I first came in,' said
Jonas, gazing at it; 'but I couldn't call to mind where I had seen
it. No. I don't remember, even now. Was it in the street?'

'Was it in Pecksniff's parlour?' said Tigg

'In Pecksniff's parlour!' echoed Jonas, fetching a long breath.
'You don't mean when--'

'Yes,' cried Tigg, 'when there was a very charming and delightful
little family party, at which yourself and your respected father
assisted.'

'Well, never mind HIM,' said Jonas. 'He's dead, and there's no help
for it.'

'Dead, is he!' cried Tigg, 'Venerable old gentleman, is he dead!
You're very like him.'

Jonas received this compliment with anything but a good grace,
perhaps because of his own private sentiments in reference to the
personal appearance of his deceased parent; perhaps because he was
not best pleased to find that Montague and Tigg were one. That
gentleman perceived it, and tapping him familiarly on the sleeve,
beckoned him to the window. From this moment, Mr Montague's
jocularity and flow of spirits were remarkable.

'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?'

'It must have cost a lot of money,' said Jonas.

'You're right. Mine too. Why don't you'--he whispered this, and
nudged him in the side with his elbow--'why don't you take premiums,
instead of paying 'em? That's what a man like you should do. Join
us!'

Jonas stared at him in amazement.

'Is that a crowded street?' asked Montague, calling his attention to
the multitude without.

'Very,' said Jonas, only glancing at it, and immediately afterwards
looking at him again.

'There are printed calculations,' said his companion, 'which will
tell you pretty nearly how many people will pass up and down that
thoroughfare in the course of a day. I can tell you how many of 'em
will come in here, merely because they find this office here;
knowing no more about it than they do of the Pyramids. Ha, ha!
Join us. You shall come in cheap.'

Jonas looked at him harder and harder.

'I can tell you,' said Tigg in his ear, 'how many of 'em will buy
annuities, effect insurances, bring us their money in a hundred
shapes and ways, force it upon us, trust us as if we were the Mint;
yet know no more about us than you do of that crossing-sweeper at
the corner. Not so much. Ha, ha!'

Jonas gradually broke into a smile.

'Yah!' said Montague, giving him a pleasant thrust in the breast;
'you're too deep for us, you dog, or I wouldn't have told you. Dine
with me to-morrow, in Pall Mall!'

'I will' said Jonas.

'Done!' cried Montague. 'Wait a bit. Take these papers with you
and look 'em over. See,' he said, snatching some printed forms from
the table. 'B is a little tradesman, clerk, parson, artist, author,
any common thing you like.'

'Yes,' said Jonas, looking greedily over his shoulder. 'Well!'

'B wants a loan. Say fifty or a hundred pound; perhaps more; no
matter. B proposes self and two securities. B is accepted. Two
securities give a bond. B assures his own life for double the
amount, and brings two friends' lives also--just to patronize the
office. Ha ha, ha! Is that a good notion?'

'Ecod, that's a capital notion!' cried Jonas. 'But does he really
do it?'

'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,' replied the chairman, 'and I'm proud to hear you
say so. B pays the highest lawful interest--'

'That an't much,' interrupted Jonas.

'Right! quite right!' retorted Tigg. 'And hard it is upon the part
of the law that it should be so confoundedly down upon us
unfortunate victims; when it takes such amazing good interest for
itself from all its clients. But charity begins at home, and
justice begins next door. Well! The law being hard upon us, we're
not exactly soft upon B; for besides charging B the regular
interest, we get B's premium, and B's friends' premiums, and we
charge B for the bond, and, whether we accept him or not, we charge
B for "inquiries" (we keep a man, at a pound a week, to make 'em),
and we charge B a trifle for the secretary; and in short, my good
fellow, we stick it into B, up hill and down dale, and make a
devilish comfortable little property out of him. Ha, ha, ha! I
drive B, in point of fact,' said Tigg, pointing to the cabriolet,
'and a thoroughbred horse he is. Ha, ha, ha!'

Jonas enjoyed this joke very much indeed. It was quite in his
peculiar vein of humour.

'Then,' said Tigg Montague, 'we grant annuities on the very lowest
and most advantageous terms known in the money market; and the old
ladies and gentlemen down in the country buy 'em. Ha, ha, ha! And
we pay 'em too--perhaps. Ha, ha, ha!'

'But there's responsibility in that,' said Jonas, looking doubtful.

'I take it all myself,' said Tigg Montague. 'Here I am responsible
for everything. The only responsible person in the establishment!
Ha, ha, ha! Then there are the Life Assurances without loans; the
common policies. Very profitable, very comfortable. Money down,
you know; repeated every year; capital fun!'

'But when they begin to fall in,' observed Jonas. 'It's all very
well, while the office is young, but when the policies begin to
die--that's what I am thinking of.'

'At the first start, my dear fellow,' said Montague, 'to show you
how correct your judgment is, we had a couple of unlucky deaths that
brought us down to a grand piano.'

'Brought you down where?' cried Jonas.

'I give you my sacred word of honour,' said Tigg Montague, 'that I
raised money on every other individual piece of property, and was
left alone in the world with a grand piano. And it was an upright-
grand too, so that I couldn't even sit upon it. But, my dear
fellow, we got over it. We granted a great many new policies that
week (liberal allowance to solicitors, by the bye), and got over it
in no time. Whenever they should chance to fall in heavily, as you
very justly observe they may, one of these days; then--' he finished
the sentence in so low a whisper, that only one disconnected word
was audible, and that imperfectly. But it sounded like 'Bolt.'

'Why, you're as bold as brass!' said Jonas, in the utmost
admiration.

'A man can well afford to be as bold as brass, my good fellow, when
he gets gold in exchange!' cried the chairman, with a laugh that
shook him from head to foot. 'You'll dine with me to-morrow?'

'At what time?' asked Jonas.

'Seven. Here's my card. Take the documents. I see you'll join
us!'

'I don't know about that,' said Jonas. 'There's a good deal to be
looked into first.'

'You shall look,' said Montague, slapping him on the back, 'into
anything and everything you please. But you'll join us, I am
convinced. You were made for it. Bullamy!'

Obedient to the summons and the little bell, the waistcoat appeared.
Being charged to show Jonas out, it went before; and the voice
within it cried, as usual, 'By your leave there, by your leave!
Gentleman from the board-room, by your leave!'

Mr Montague being left alone, pondered for some moments, and then
said, raising his voice:

'Is Nadgett in the office there?'

'Here he is, sir.'  And he promptly entered; shutting the board-room
door after him, as carefully as if he were about to plot a murder.

He was the man at a pound a week who made the inquiries. It was no
virtue or merit in Nadgett that he transacted all his Anglo-Bengalee
business secretly and in the closest confidence; for he was born to
be a secret. He was a short, dried-up, withered old man, who seemed
to have secreted his very blood; for nobody would have given him
credit for the possession of six ounces of it in his whole body.
How he lived was a secret; where he lived was a secret; and even
what he was, was a secret. In his musty old pocket-book he carried
contradictory cards, in some of which he called himself a coal-
merchant, in others a wine-merchant, in others a commission-agent,
in others a collector, in others an accountant; as if he really
didn't know the secret himself. He was always keeping appointments
in the City, and the other man never seemed to come. He would sit
on 'Change for hours, looking at everybody who walked in and out,
and would do the like at Garraway's, and in other business coffee-
rooms, in some of which he would be occasionally seen drying a very
damp pocket-handkerchief before the fire, and still looking over his
shoulder for the man who never appeared. He was mildewed,
threadbare, shabby; always had flue upon his legs and back; and kept
his linen so secretly buttoning up and wrapping over, that he might
have had none--perhaps he hadn't. He carried one stained beaver
glove, which he dangled before him by the forefinger as he walked or
sat; but even its fellow was a secret. Some people said he had been
a bankrupt, others that he had gone an infant into an ancient
Chancery suit which was still depending, but it was all a secret.
He carried bits of sealing-wax and a hieroglyphical old copper seal
in his pocket, and often secretly indited letters in corner boxes of
the trysting-places before mentioned; but they never appeared to go
to anybody, for he would put them into a secret place in his coat,
and deliver them to himself weeks afterwards, very much to his own
surprise, quite yellow. He was that sort of man that if he had died
worth a million of money, or had died worth twopence halfpenny,
everybody would have been perfectly satisfied, and would have said
it was just as they expected. And yet he belonged to a class; a
race peculiar to the City; who are secrets as profound to one
another, as they are to the rest of mankind.

'Mr Nadgett,' said Montague, copying Jonas Chuzzlewit's address upon
a piece of paper, from the card which was still lying on the table,
'any information about this name, I shall be glad to have myself.
Don't you mind what it is. Any you can scrape together, bring me.
Bring it to me, Mr Nadgett.'

Nadgett put on his spectacles, and read the name attentively; then
looked at the chairman over his glasses, and bowed; then took them
off, and put them in their case; and then put the case in his
pocket. When he had done so, he looked, without his spectacles, at
the paper as it lay before him, and at the same time produced his
pocket-book from somewhere about the middle of his spine. Large as
it was, it was very full of documents, but he found a place for this
one; and having clasped it carefully, passed it by a kind of solemn
legerdemain into the same region as before.

He withdrew with another bow and without a word; opening the door no
wider than was sufficient for his passage out; and shutting it as
carefully as before. The chairman of the board employed the rest of
the morning in affixing his sign-manual of gracious acceptance to
various new proposals of annuity-purchase and assurance. The
Company was looking up, for they flowed in gayly.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

MR MONTAGUE AT HOME. AND MR JONAS CHUZZLEWIT AT HOME

There were many powerful reasons for Jonas Chuzzlewit being strongly
prepossessed in favour of the scheme which its great originator had
so boldly laid open to him; but three among them stood prominently
forward. Firstly, there was money to be made by it. Secondly, the
money had the peculiar charm of being sagaciously obtained at other
people's cost. Thirdly, it involved much outward show of homage and
distinction: a board being an awful institution in its own sphere,
and a director a mighty man. 'To make a swingeing profit, have a
lot of chaps to order about, and get into regular good society by
one and the same means, and them so easy to one's hand, ain't such a
bad look-out,' thought Jonas. The latter considerations were only
second to his avarice; for, conscious that there was nothing in his
person, conduct, character, or accomplishments, to command respect,
he was greedy of power, and was, in his heart, as much a tyrant as
any laureled conqueror on record.

But he determined to proceed with cunning and caution, and to be
very keen on his observation of the gentility of Mr Montague's
private establishment. For it no more occurred to this shallow
knave that Montague wanted him to be so, or he wouldn't have invited
him while his decision was yet in abeyance, than the possibility of
that genius being able to overreach him in any way, pierced through
his self-deceit 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 should hope he wos at home, and waiting dinner, too,' said
Bailey, with the ease of an old acquaintance. 'Will you take your
hat up along with you, or leave it here?'

Mr Jonas preferred leaving it there.

'The hold name, I suppose?' said Bailey, with a grin.

Mr Jonas stared at him in mute indignation.

'What, don't you remember hold mother Todgers's?' said Mr Bailey,
with his favourite action of the knees and boots. 'Don't you
remember my taking your name up to the young ladies, when you came
a-courting there? A reg'lar scaly old shop, warn't it? Times is
changed ain't they. I say how you've growed!'

Without pausing for any acknowledgement of this compliment, he
ushered the visitor upstairs, and having announced him, retired
with a private wink.

The lower story of the house was occupied by a wealthy tradesman,
but Mr Montague had all the upper portion, and splendid lodging it
was. The room in which he received Jonas was a spacious and elegant
apartment, furnished with extreme magnificence; decorated with
pictures, copies from the antique in alabaster and marble, china
vases, lofty mirrors, crimson hangings of the richest silk, gilded
carvings, luxurious couches, glistening cabinets inlaid with
precious woods; costly toys of every sort in negligent abundance.
The only guests besides Jonas were the doctor, the resident
Director, and two other gentlemen, whom Montague presented in due
form.

'My dear friend, I am delighted to see you. Jobling you know, I
believe?'

'I think so,' said the doctor pleasantly, as he stepped out of the
circle to shake hands. 'I trust I have the honour. I hope so. My
dear sir, I see you well. Quite well? THAT'S well!'

'Mr Wolf,' said Montague, as soon as the doctor would allow him to
introduce the two others, 'Mr Chuzzlewit. Mr Pip, Mr Chuzzlewit.'

Both gentlemen were exceedingly happy to have the honour of making
Mr Chuzzlewit's acquaintance. The doctor drew Jonas a little apart,
and whispered behind his hand:

'Men of the world, my dear sir--men of the world. Hem! Mr Wolf
--literary character--you needn't mention it--remarkably clever
weekly paper--oh, remarkably clever! Mr Pip--theatrical man--
capital man to know--oh, capital man!'

'Well!' said Wolf, folding his arms and resuming a conversation
which the arrival of Jonas had interrupted. 'And what did Lord
Nobley say to that?'

'Why,' returned Pip, with an oath. 'He didn't know what to say.
Same, sir, if he wasn't as mute as a poker. But you know what a
good fellow Nobley is!'

'The best fellow in the world!' cried Wolf. 'It as only last week
that Nobley said to me, "By Gad, Wolf, I've got a living to bestow,
and if you had but been brought up at the University, strike me
blind if I wouldn't have made a parson of you!"'

'Just like him,' said Pip with another oath. 'And he'd have done
it!'

'Not a doubt of it,' said Wolf. 'But you were going to tell us--'

'Oh, yes!' cried Pip. 'To be sure. So I was. At first he was
dumb--sewn up, dead, sir--but after a minute he said to the Duke,
"Here's Pip. Ask Pip. Pip's our mutual friend. Ask Pip. He
knows."  "Damme!" said the Duke, "I appeal to Pip then. Come, Pip.
Bandy or not bandy? Speak out!"  "Bandy, your Grace, by the Lord
Harry!" said I. "Ha, ha!" laughed the Duke. "To be sure she is.
Bravo, Pip. Well said Pip. I wish I may die if you're not a trump,
Pip. Pop me down among your fashionable visitors whenever I'm in
town, Pip."  And so I do, to this day.'

The conclusion of this story gave immense satisfaction, which was in
no degree lessened by the announcement of dinner. Jonas repaired to
the dining room, along with his distinguished host, and took his
seat at the board between that individual and his friend the doctor.
The rest fell into their places like men who were well accustomed to
the house; and dinner was done full justice to, by all parties.

It was a good a one as money (or credit, no matter which) could
produce. The dishes, wines, and fruits were of the choicest kind.
Everything was elegantly served. The plate was gorgeous. Mr Jonas
was in the midst of a calculation of the value of this item alone,
when his host disturbed him.

'A glass of wine?'

'Oh!' said Jonas, who had had several glasses already. 'As much of
that as you like! It's too good to refuse.'

'Well said, Mr Chuzzlewit!' cried Wolf.

'Tom Gag, upon my soul!' said Pip.

'Positively, you know, that's--ha, ha, ha!' observed the doctor,
laying down his knife and fork for one instant, and then going to work
again, pell-mell--'that's epigrammatic; quite!'

'You're tolerably comfortable, I hope?' said Tigg, apart to Jonas.

'Oh! You needn't trouble your head about ME,' he replied, 'Famous!'

'I thought it best not to have a party,' said Tigg. 'You feel
that?'

'Why, what do you call this?' retorted Jonas. 'You don't mean to
say you do this every day, do you?'

'My dear fellow,' said Montague, shrugging his shoulders, 'every day
of my life, when I dine at home. This is my common style. It was
of no use having anything uncommon for you. You'd have seen through
it. "You'll have a party?" said Crimple. "No, I won't," I said.
"he shall take us in the rough!"

'And pretty smooth, too, ecod!' said Jonas, glancing round the
table. 'This don't cost a trifle.'

'Why, to be candid with you, it does not,' returned the other. 'But
I like this sort of thing. It's the way I spend my money.'

Jonas thrust his tongue into his cheek, and said, 'Was it?'

'When you join us, you won't get rid of your share of the profits in
the same way?' said Tigg.

'Quite different,' retorted Jonas.

'Well, and you're right,' said Tigg, with friendly candour. 'You
needn't. It's not necessary. One of a Company must do it to hold the
connection together; but, as I take a pleasure in it, that's my
department. You don't mind dining expensively at another man's
expense, I hope?'

'Not a bit,' said Jonas.

'Then I hope you'll often dine with me?'

'Ah!' said Jonas, 'I don't mind. On the contrary.'

'And I'll never attempt to talk business to you over wine, I take my
oath,' said Tigg. 'Oh deep, deep, deep of you this morning! I must
tell 'em that. They're the very men to enjoy it. Pip, my good
fellow, I've a splendid little trait to tell you of my friend
Chuzzlewit who is the deepest dog I know; I give you my sacred word
of honour he is the deepest dog I know, Pip!'

Pip swore a frightful oath that he was sure of it already; and the
anecdote, being told, was received with loud applause, as an
incontestable proof of Mr Jonas's greatness. Pip, in a natural
spirit of emulation, then related some instances of his own depth;
and Wolf not to be left behind-hand, recited the leading points of
one or two vastly humorous articles he was then preparing. These
lucubrations being of what he called 'a warm complexion,' were
highly approved; and all the company agreed that they were full of
point.

'Men of the world, my dear sir,' Jobling whispered to Jonas;
'thorough men of the world! To a professional person like myself
it's quite refreshing to come into this kind of society. It's not
only agreeable--and nothing CAN be more agreeable--but it's
philosophically improving. It's character, my dear sir; character!'

It is so pleasant to find real merit appreciated, whatever its
particular walk in life may be, that the general harmony of the
company was doubtless much promoted by their knowing that the two
men of the world were held in great esteem by the upper classes of
society, and by the gallant defenders of their country in the army
and navy, but particularly the former. The least of their stories
had a colonel in it; lords were as plentiful as oaths; and even the
Blood Royal ran in the muddy channel of their personal recollections.

'Mr Chuzzlewit didn't know him, I'm afraid,' said Wolf, in reference
to a certain personage of illustrious descent, who had previously
figured in a reminiscence.

'No,' said Tigg. 'But we must bring him into contact with this sort
of fellows.'

'He was very fond of literature,' observed Wolf.

'Was he?' said Tigg.

'Oh, yes; he took my paper regularly for many years. Do you know he
said some good things now and then? He asked a certain Viscount,
who's a friend of mine--Pip knows him--"What's the editor's name,
what's the editor's name?"  "Wolf."  "Wolf, eh? Sharp biter, Wolf.
We must keep the Wolf from the door, as the proverb says. It was
very well. And being complimentary, I printed it.'

'But the Viscount's the boy!' cried Pip, who invented a new oath for
the introduction of everything he said. 'The Viscount's the boy! He
came into our place one night to take Her home; rather slued, but
not much; and said, "Where's Pip? I want to see Pip. Produce
Pip!"--"What's the row, my lord?"--"Shakspeare's an infernal humbug,
Pip! What's the good of Shakspeare, Pip? I never read him. What
the devil is it all about, Pip? There's a lot of feet in
Shakspeare's verse, but there an't any legs worth mentioning in
Shakspeare's plays, are there, Pip? Juliet, Desdemona, Lady
Macbeth, and all the rest of 'em, whatever their names are, might as
well have no legs at all, for anything the audience know about it,
Pip. Why, in that respect they're all Miss Biffins to the audience,
Pip. I'll tell you what it is. What the people call dramatic
poetry is a collection of sermons. Do I go to the theatre to be
lectured? No, Pip. If I wanted that, I'd go to church. What's the
legitimate object of the drama, Pip? Human nature. What are legs?
Human nature. Then let us have plenty of leg pieces, Pip, and I'll
stand by you, my buck!" and I am proud to say,' added Pip, 'that he
DID stand by me, handsomely.'

The conversation now becoming general, Mr Jonas's opinion was
requested on this subject; and as it was in full accordance with the
sentiments of Mr Pip, that gentleman was extremely gratified.
Indeed, both himself and Wolf had so much in common with Jonas, that
they became very amicable; and between their increasing friendship
and the fumes of wine, Jonas grew talkative.

It does not follow in the case of such a person that the more
talkative he becomes, the more agreeable he is; on the contrary, his
merits show to most advantage, perhaps, in silence. Having no
means, as he thought, of putting himself on an equality with the
rest, but by the assertion of that depth and sharpness on which he
had been complimented, Jonas exhibited that faculty to the utmost;
and was so deep and sharp that he lost himself in his own
profundity, and cut his fingers with his own edge-tools.

It was especially in his way and character to exhibit his quality at
his entertainer's expense; and while he drank of his sparkling
wines, and partook of his monstrous profusion, to ridicule the
extravagance which had set such costly fare before him. Even at
such a wanton board, and in such more than doubtful company, this
might have proved a disagreeable experiment, but that Tigg and
Crimple, studying to understand their man thoroughly, gave him what
license he chose: knowing that the more he took, the better for
their purpose. And thus while the blundering cheat--gull that he
was, for all his cunning--thought himself rolled up hedgehog
fashion, with his sharpest points towards them, he was, in fact,
betraying all his vulnerable parts to their unwinking watchfulness.

Whether the two gentlemen who contributed so much to the doctor's
philosophical knowledge (by the way, the doctor slipped off quietly,
after swallowing his usual amount of wine) had had their cue
distinctly from the host, or took it from what they saw and heard,
they acted their parts very well. They solicited the honour of
Jonas's better acquaintance; trusted that they would have the
pleasure of introducing him into that elevated society in which he
was so well qualified to shine; and informed him, in the most
friendly manner that the advantages of their respective
establishments were entirely at his control. In a word, they said
'Be one of us!'  And Jonas said he was infinitely obliged to them,
and he would be; adding within himself, that so long as they 'stood
treat,' there was nothing he would like better.

After coffee, which was served in the drawing-room, there was a
short interval (mainly sustained by Pip and Wolf) of conversation;
rather highly spiced and strongly seasoned. When it flagged, Jonas
took it up and showed considerable humour in appraising the
furniture; inquiring whether such an article was paid for; what it
had originally cost, and the like. In all of this, he was, as he
considered, desperately hard on Montague, and very demonstrative of
his own brilliant parts.

Some Champagne Punch gave a new though temporary fillip to the
entertainments of the evening. For after leading to some noisy
proceedings, which were not intelligible, it ended in the unsteady
departure of the two gentlemen of the world, and the slumber of Mr
Jonas upon one of the sofas.

As he could not be made to understand where he was, Mr Bailey
received orders to call a hackney-coach, and take him home; which
that young gentleman roused himself from an uneasy sleep in the
hall to do. It being now almost three o'clock in the morning.

'Is he hooked, do you think?' whispered Crimple, as himself and
partner stood in a distant part of the room observing him as he lay.

'Aye!' said Tigg, in the same tone. 'With a strong iron, perhaps.
Has Nadgett been here to-night?'

'Yes. I went out to him. Hearing you had company, he went away.'

'Why did he do that?'

'He said he would come back early in the morning, before you were
out of bed.'

'Tell them to be sure and send him up to my bedside. Hush! Here's
the boy! Now Mr Bailey, take this gentleman home, and see him safely
in. Hallo, here! Why Chuzzlewit, halloa!'

They got him upright with some difficulty, and assisted him
downstairs, where they put his hat upon his head, and tumbled him
into the coach. Mr Bailey, having shut him in, mounted the box
beside the coachman, and smoked his cigar with an air of particular
satisfaction; the undertaking in which he was engaged having a free
and sporting character about it, which was quite congenial to his
taste.

Arriving in due time at the house in the City, Mr Bailey jumped
down, and expressed the lively nature of his feelings in a knock the
like of which had probably not been heard in that quarter since the
great fire of London. Going out into the road to observe the effect
of this feat, he saw that a dim light, previously visible at an
upper window, had been already removed and was travelling
downstairs. 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 hall, and laid her hand upon
her heart; upon her eyes; upon her burning head. Then she came on
towards the door with such a wild and hurried step that Mr Bailey
lost his self-possession, and still had his eye where the keyhole
had been, when she opened it.

'Aha!' said Mr Bailey, with an effort. 'There you are, are you?
What's the matter? Ain't you well, though?'

In the midst of her astonishment as she recognized him in his
altered dress, so much of her old smile came back to her face that
Bailey was glad. But next moment he was sorry again, for he saw
tears standing in her poor dim eyes.

'Don't be frightened,' said Bailey. 'There ain't nothing the matter.
I've brought home Mr Chuzzlewit. He ain't ill. He's only a little
swipey, you know.'  Mr Bailey reeled in his boots, to express
intoxication.

'Have you come from Mrs Todgers's?' asked Merry, trembling.

'Todgers's, bless you! No!' cried Mr Bailey. 'I haven't got nothin,
to do with Todgers's. I cut that connection long ago. He's been a-
dining with my governor at the west-end. Didn't you know he was a-
coming to see us?'

'No,' she said, faintly.

'Oh yes! We're heavy swells too, and so I tell you. Don't you come
out, a-catching cold in your head. I'll wake him!'  Mr Bailey
expressing in his demeanour a perfect confidence that he could carry
him in with ease, if necessary, opened the coach door, let down the
steps, and giving Jonas a shake, cried 'We've got home, my flower!
Tumble up, then!'

He was so far recovered as to be able to respond to this appeal, and
to come stumbling out of the coach in a heap, to the great hazard of
Mr Bailey's person. When he got upon the pavement, Mr Bailey first
butted at him in front, and then dexterously propped him up behind;
and having steadied him by these means, he assisted him into the
house.

'You go up first with the light,' said Bailey to Mr Jonas, 'and
we'll foller. 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
rumpled hair, sat blinking and drooping, and rolling his idiotic
eyes about, until, becoming conscious by degrees, he recognized his
wife, and shook his fist at her.

'Ah!' cried Mr Bailey, squaring his arms with a sudden emotion.
'What, you're wicious, are you? Would you though! You'd better
not!'

'Pray, go away!' said Merry. 'Bailey, my good boy, go home.
Jonas!' she said; timidly laying her hand upon his shoulder, and
bending her head down over him. 'Jonas!'

'Look at her!' cried Jonas, pushing her off with his extended arm.
'Look here! Look at her! Here's a bargain for a man!'

'Dear Jonas!'

'Dear Devil!' he replied, with a fierce gesture. 'You're a pretty
clog to be tied to a man for life, you mewling, white-faced cat!
Get out of my sight!'

'I know you don't mean it, Jonas. You wouldn't say it if you were
sober.'

With affected gayety 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?'

'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 you bear
mine now. I always promised myself I would. I married you that I
might. I'll know who's master, and who's slave!'

'Heaven knows I am obedient!' said the sobbing girl. 'Much more so
than I ever thought to be!'

Jonas laughed in his drunken exultation. 'What! you're finding it
out, are you! Patience, and you will in time! Griffins have claws,
my girl. There's not a pretty slight you ever put upon me, nor a
pretty trick you ever played me, nor a pretty insolence you ever
showed me, that I won't pay back a hundred-fold. What else did I
marry you for? YOU, too!' he said, with coarse contempt.

It might have softened him--indeed it might--to hear her turn a
little fragment of a song he used to say he liked; trying, with
a heart so full, to win him back.

'Oho!' he said, 'you're deaf, are you? You don't hear me, eh? So
much the better for you. I hate you. I hate myself, for having,
been fool enough to strap a pack upon my back for the pleasure of
treading on it whenever I choose. Why, things have opened to me,
now, so that I might marry almost where I liked. But I wouldn't;
I'd keep single. I ought to be single, among the friends I know.
Instead of that, here I am, tied like a log to you. Pah! Why do
you show your pale face when I come home? Am I never to forget you?'

'How late it is!' she said cheerfully, opening the shutter after an
interval of silence. 'Broad day, Jonas!'

'Broad day or black night, what do I care!' was the kind rejoinder.

'The night passed quickly, too. I don't mind sitting up, at all.'

'Sit up for me again, if you dare!' growled Jonas.

'I was reading,' she proceeded, 'all night long. I began when you
went out, and read till you came home again. The strangest story,
Jonas! And true, the book says. I'll tell it you to-morrow.'

'True, was it?' said Jonas, doggedly.

'So the book says.'

'Was there anything in it, about a man's being determined to conquer
his wife, break her spirit, bend her temper, crush all her humours
like so many nut-shells--kill her, for aught I know?' said Jonas.

'No. Not a word,' she answered quickly.

'Oh!' he returned. 'That'll be a true story though, before long;
for all the book says nothing about it. It's a lying book, I see.
A fit book for a lying reader. But you're deaf. I forgot that.'

There was another interval of silence; and the boy was stealing
away, when he heard her footstep on the floor, and stopped. She
went up to him, as it seemed, and spoke lovingly; saying that she
would defer to him in everything and would consult his wishes and
obey them, and they might be very happy if he would be gentle with
her. He answered with an imprecation, and--

Not with a blow? Yes. Stern truth against the base-souled villain;
with a blow.

No angry cries; no loud reproaches. Even her weeping and her sobs
were stifled by her clinging round him. She only said, repeating
it in agony of heart, how could he, could he, could he--and lost
utterance in tears.

Oh woman, God beloved in old Jerusalem! The best among us need
deal lightly with thy faults, if only for the punishment thy nature
will endure, in bearing heavy evidence against us, on the Day of
Judgment!

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

IN WHICH SOME PEOPLE ARE PRECOCIOUS, OTHERS PROFESSIONAL, AND OTHERS
MYSTERIOUS; ALL IN THEIR SEVERAL WAYS

It may have been the restless remembrance of what he had seen and
heard overnight, or it may have been no deeper mental operation than
the discovery that he had nothing to do, which caused Mr Bailey, on
the following afternoon, to feel particularly disposed for agreeable
society, and prompted him to pay a visit to his friend Poll
Sweedlepipe.

On the little bell giving clamorous notice of a visitor's approach
(for Mr Bailey came in at the door with a lunge, to get as much
sound out of the bell as possible), Poll Sweedlepipe desisted from
the contemplation of a favourite owl, and gave his young friend
hearty welcome.

'Why, you look smarter by day,' said Poll, 'than you do by candle-
light. I never see such a tight young dasher.'

'Reether so, Polly. How's our fair friend, Sairah?'

'Oh, she's pretty well,' said Poll. 'She's at home.'

'There's the remains of a fine woman about Sairah, Poll,' observed
Mr Bailey, with genteel indifference.

'Oh!' thought Poll, 'he's old. He must be very old!'

'Too much crumb, you know,' said Mr Bailey; 'too fat, Poll. But
there's many worse at her time of life'

'The very owl's a-opening his eyes!' thought Poll. 'I don't wonder
at it in a bird of his opinions.'

He happened to have been sharpening his razors, which were lying
open in a row, while a huge strop dangled from the wall. Glancing
at these preparations, Mr Bailey stroked his chin, and a thought
appeared to occur to him.

'Poll,' he said, 'I ain't as neat as I could wish about the gills.
Being here, I may as well have a shave, and get trimmed close.'

The barber stood aghast; but Mr Bailey divested himself of his neck-
cloth, 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, on affidavit, that he
had the beard of a Jewish rabbi.

'Go WITH the grain, Poll, all round, please,' said Mr Bailey,
screwing up his face for the reception of the lather. 'You may do
wot you like with the bits of whisker. I don't care for 'em.'

The meek little barber stood gazing at him with the brush and soap-
dish in his hand, stirring them round and round in a ludicrous
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. Mr Bailey smiled through the suds in his satisfaction.
'Gently over the stones, Poll. Go a tip-toe 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 man so much as a easy shave.'

He was in the act of tying his cravat at the glass, without his
coat, and Poll had wiped his razor, ready for the next customer,
when Mrs Gamp, coming downstairs, looked in at the shop-door to
give the barber neighbourly good day. Feeling for her unfortunate
situation, in having conceived a regard for himself which it was not
in the nature of things that he could return, Mr Bailey hastened to
soothe her with words of kindness.

'Hallo!' he said, 'Sairah! I needn't ask you how you've been this
long time, for you're in full bloom. All a-blowin and a-growin;
ain't she, Polly?'

'Why, drat the Bragian boldness of that boy!' cried Mrs Gamp, though
not displeased. 'What a imperent young sparrow it is! I wouldn't be
that creetur's mother not for fifty pound!'

Mr Bailey regarded this as a delicate confession of her attachment,
and a hint that no pecuniary gain could recompense her for its being
rendered hopeless. He felt flattered. Disinterested affection is
always flattering.

'Ah, dear!' moaned Mrs Gamp, sinking into the shaving chair, 'that
there blessed Bull, Mr Sweedlepipe, has done his wery best to conker
me. Of all the trying inwalieges in this walley of the shadder,
that one beats 'em black and blue.'

It was the practice of Mrs Gamp and her friends in the profession,
to say this of all the easy customers; as having at once the effect
of discouraging competitors for office, and accounting for the
necessity of high living on the part of the nurses.

'Talk of constitooshun!' Mrs Gamp observed. 'A person's
constitooshun need be made of bricks to stand it. Mrs Harris jestly
says to me, but t'other day, "Oh! Sairey Gamp," she says, "how is it
done?"  "Mrs Harris, ma'am," I says to her, "we gives no trust
ourselves, and puts a deal o'trust elsevere; these is our religious
feelins, and we finds 'em answer."  "Sairey," says Mrs Harris, "sech
is life. Vich likeways is the hend of all things!"'

The barber gave a soft murmur, as much as to say that Mrs Harris's
remark, though perhaps not quite so intelligible as could be desired
from such an authority, did equal honour to her head and to her
heart.

'And here,' continued Mrs Gamp, 'and here am I a-goin twenty mile in
distant, on as wentersome a chance as ever any one as monthlied ever
run, I do believe. Says Mrs Harris, with a woman's and a mother's
art a-beatin in her human breast, she says to me, "You're not a-
goin, Sairey, Lord forgive you!"  "Why am I not a-goin, Mrs Harris?"
I replies. "Mrs Gill," I says, "wos never wrong with six; and is it
likely, ma'am--I ast you as a mother--that she will begin to be
unreg'lar now? Often and often have I heerd him say," I says to Mrs
Harris, meaning Mr Gill, "that he would back his wife agen Moore's
almanack, to name the very day and hour, for ninepence farden. IS
it likely, ma'am," I says, "as she will fail this once?"  Says Mrs
Harris "No, ma'am, not in the course of natur. But," she says, the
tears a-fillin in her eyes, "you knows much betterer than me, with
your experienge, how little puts us out. A Punch's show," she says,
"a chimbley sweep, a newfundlan dog, or a drunkin man a-comin round
the corner sharp may do it."  So it may, Mr Sweedlepipes,' said Mrs
Gamp, 'there's no deniging of it; and though my books is clear for a
full week, I takes a anxious art along with me, I do assure you,
sir.'

'You're so full of zeal, you see!' said Poll. 'You worrit yourself
so.'

'Worrit myself!' cried Mrs Gamp, raising her hands and turning up
her eyes. 'You speak truth in that, sir, if you never speaks no
more 'twixt this and when two Sundays jines together. I feels the
sufferins of other people more than I feels my own, though no one
mayn't suppoge it. The families I've had,' said Mrs Gamp, 'if all
was knowd and credit done where credit's doo, would take a week to
chris'en at Saint Polge's fontin!'

'Where's the patient goin?' asked Sweedlepipe.

'Into Har'fordshire, which is his native air. But native airs nor
native graces neither,' Mrs Gamp observed, 'won't bring HIM round.'

'So bad as that?' inquired the wistful barber. 'Indeed!'

Mrs Gamp shook her head mysteriously, and pursed up her lips.
'There's fevers of the mind,' she said, 'as well as body. You may
take your slime drafts till you files into the air with
efferwescence; but you won't cure that.'

'Ah!' said the barber, opening his eyes, and putting on his raven
aspect; 'Lor!'

'No. You may make yourself as light as any gash balloon,' said Mrs
Gamp. 'But talk, when you're wrong in your head and when you're in
your sleep, of certain things; and you'll be heavy in your mind.'

'Of what kind of things now?' inquired Poll, greedily biting his
nails in his great interest. 'Ghosts?'

Mrs Gamp, who perhaps had been already tempted further than she had
intended to go, by the barber's stimulating curiosity, gave a sniff
of uncommon significance, and said, it didn't signify.

'I'm a-goin down with my patient in the coach this arternoon,' she
proceeded. 'I'm a-goin to stop with him a day or so, till he gets a
country nuss (drat them country nusses, much the orkard hussies
knows about their bis'ness); and then I'm a-comin back; and that's
my trouble, Mr Sweedlepipes. But I hope that everythink'll only go
on right and comfortable as long as I'm away; perwisin which, as Mrs
Harris says, Mrs Gill is welcome to choose her own time; all times
of the day and night bein' equally the same to me.'

During the progress of the foregoing remarks, which Mrs Gamp had
addressed exclusively to the barber, Mr Bailey had been tying his
cravat, getting on his coat, and making hideous faces at himself in
the glass. Being now personally addressed by Mrs Gamp, he turned
round, and mingled in the conversation.

'You ain't been in the City, I suppose, sir, since we was all three
there together,' said Mrs Gamp, 'at Mr Chuzzlewit's?'

'Yes, I have, Sairah. I was there last night.'

'Last night!' cried the barber.

'Yes, Poll, reether so. You can call it this morning, if you like
to be particular. He dined with us.'

'Who does that young Limb mean by "hus?"' said Mrs Gamp, with most
impatient emphasis.

'Me and my Governor, Sairah. He dined at our house. We wos very
merry, Sairah. So much so, that I was obliged to see him home in a
hackney coach at three o'clock in the morning.'  It was on the tip of
the boy's tongue to relate what had followed; but remembering how
easily it might be carried to his master's ears, and the repeated
cautions he had had from Mr Crimple 'not to chatter,' he checked
himself; adding, only, 'She was sitting up, expecting him.'

'And all things considered,' said Mrs Gamp sharply, 'she might have
know'd better than to go a-tirin herself out, by doin' anythink of
the sort. Did they seem pretty pleasant together, sir?'

'Oh, yes,' answered Bailey, 'pleasant enough.'

'I'm glad on it,' said Mrs Gamp, with a second sniff of significance.

'They haven't been married so long,' observed Poll, rubbing his
hands, 'that they need be anything but pleasant yet awhile.'

'No,' said Mrs Gamp, with a third significant signal.

'Especially,' pursued the barber, 'when the gentleman bears such a
character as you gave him.'

'I speak; as I find, Mr Sweedlepipes,' said Mrs Gamp. 'Forbid it
should be otherways! But we never knows wot's hidden in each other's
hearts; and if we had glass winders there, we'd need keep the
shetters up, some on us, I do assure you!'

'But you don't mean to say--' Poll Sweedlepipe began.

'No,' said Mrs Gamp, cutting him very short, 'I don't. Don't think
I do. The torters of the Imposition shouldn't make me own I did.
All I says is,' added the good woman, rising and folding her shawl
about her, 'that the Bull's a-waitin, and the precious moments is
a-flyin' fast.'

The little barber having in his eager curiosity a great desire to
see Mrs Gamp's patient, proposed to Mr Bailey that they should
accompany her to the Bull, and witness the departure of the coach.
That young gentleman assenting, they all went out together.

Arriving at the tavern, Mrs Gamp (who was full-dressed for the
journey, in her latest suit of mourning) left her friends to
entertain themselves in the yard, while she ascended to the sick
room, where her fellow-labourer Mrs Prig was dressing the invalid.

He was so wasted, that it seemed as if his bones would rattle when
they moved him. His cheeks were sunken, and his eyes unnaturally
large. He lay back in the easy-chair like one more dead than
living; and rolled his languid eyes towards the door when Mrs Gamp
appeared, as painfully as if their weight alone were burdensome to
move.

'And how are we by this time?' Mrs Gamp observed. 'We looks
charming.'

'We looks a deal charminger than we are, then,' returned Mrs Prig, a
little chafed in her temper. 'We got out of bed back'ards, I think,
for we're as cross as two sticks. I never see sich a man. He
wouldn't have been washed, if he'd had his own way.'

'She put the soap in my mouth,' said the unfortunate patient feebly.

'Couldn't you keep it shut then?' retorted Mrs Prig. 'Who do you
think's to wash one feater, and miss another, and wear one's eyes
out with all manner of fine work of that description, for half-a-
crown a day! If you wants to be tittivated, you must pay accordin'.'

'Oh dear me!' cried the patient, 'oh dear, dear!'

'There!' said Mrs Prig, 'that's the way he's been a-conductin of
himself, Sarah, ever since I got him out of bed, if you'll believe
it.'

'Instead of being grateful,' Mrs Gamp observed, 'for all our little
ways. Oh, fie for shame, sir, fie for shame!'

Here Mrs Prig seized the patient by the chin, and began to rasp his
unhappy head with a hair-brush.

'I suppose you don't like that, neither!' she observed, stopping to
look at him.

It was just possible that he didn't for the brush was a specimen of
the hardest kind of instrument producible by modern art; and his
very eyelids were red with the friction. Mrs Prig was gratified to
observe the correctness of her supposition, and said triumphantly
'she know'd as much.'

When his hair was smoothed down comfortably into his eyes, Mrs Prig
and Mrs Gamp put on his neckerchief; adjusting his shirt collar with
great nicety, so that the starched points should also invade those
organs, and afflict them with an artificial ophthalmia. His
waistcoat and coat were next arranged; and as every button was
wrenched into a wrong button-hole, and the order of his boots was
reversed, he presented on the whole rather a melancholy appearance.

'I don't think it's right,' said the poor weak invalid. 'I feel as
if I was in somebody else's clothes. I'm all on one side; and
you've made one of my legs shorter than the other. There's a bottle
in my pocket too. What do you make me sit upon a bottle for?'

'Deuce take the man!' cried Mrs Gamp, drawing it forth. 'If he
ain't been and got my night-bottle here. I made a little cupboard
of his coat when it hung behind the door, and quite forgot it,
Betsey. You'll find a ingun or two, and a little tea and sugar in
his t'other pocket, my dear, if you'll just be good enough to take
'em out.'

Betsey produced the property in question, together with some other
articles of general chandlery; and Mrs Gamp transferred them to her
own pocket, which was a species of nankeen pannier. Refreshment
then arrived in the form of chops and strong ale for the ladies, and
a basin of beef-tea for the patient; which refection was barely at
an end when John Westlock appeared.

'Up and dressed!' cried John, sitting down beside him. 'That's
brave. How do you feel?'

'Much better. But very weak.'

'No wonder. You have had a hard bout of it. But country air, and
change of scene,' said John, 'will make another man of you! Why, Mrs
Gamp,' he added, laughing, as he kindly arranged the sick man's
garments, 'you have odd notions of a gentleman's dress!'

'Mr Lewsome an't a easy gent to get into his clothes, sir,' Mrs Gamp
replied with dignity; 'as me and Betsey Prig can certify afore the
Lord Mayor and Uncommon Counsellors, if needful!'

John at that moment was standing close in front of the sick man, in
the act of releasing him from the torture of the collars before
mentioned, when he said in a whisper:

'Mr Westlock! I don't wish to be overheard. I have something very
particular and strange to say to you; something that has been a
dreadful weight on my mind, through this long illness.'

Quick in all his motions, John was turning round to desire the women
to leave the room; when the sick man held him by the sleeve.

'Not now. I've not the strength. I've not the courage. May I tell
it when I have? May I write it, if I find that easier and better?'

'May you!' cried John. 'Why, Lewsome, what is this!'

'Don't ask me what it is. It's unnatural and cruel. Frightful to
think of. Frightful to tell. Frightful to know. Frightful to have
helped in. Let me kiss your hand for all your goodness to me. Be
kinder still, and don't ask me what it is!'

At first, John gazed at him in great surprise; but remembering how
very much reduced he was, and how recently his brain had been on
fire with fever, believed that he was labouring under some imaginary
horror or despondent fancy. For farther information on this point,
he took an opportunity of drawing Mrs Gamp aside, while Betsey Prig
was wrapping him in cloaks and shawls, and asked her whether he was
quite collected in his mind.

'Oh bless you, no!' said Mrs Gamp. 'He hates his nusses to this
hour. They always does it, sir. It's a certain sign. If you could
have heerd the poor dear soul a-findin fault with me and Betsey
Prig, not half an hour ago, you would have wondered how it is we
don't get fretted to the tomb.'

This almost confirmed John in his suspicion; so, not taking what had
passed into any serious account, he resumed his former cheerful
manner, and assisted by Mrs Gamp and Betsey Prig, conducted Lewsome
downstairs to the coach; just then upon the point of starting.
Poll Sweedlepipe was at the door with his arms tight folded and his
eyes wide open, and looked on with absorbing interest, while the
sick man was slowly moved into the vehicle. His bony hands and
haggard face impressed Poll wonderfully; and he informed Mr Bailey
in confidence, that he wouldn't have missed seeing him for a pound.
Mr Bailey, who was of a different constitution, remarked that he
would have stayed away for five shillings.

It was a troublesome matter to adjust Mrs Gamp's luggage to her
satisfaction; for every package belonging to that lady had the
inconvenient property of requiring to be put in a boot by itself,
and to have no other luggage near it, on pain of actions at law for
heavy damages against the proprietors of the coach. The umbrella
with the circular patch was particularly hard to be got rid of, and
several times thrust out its battered brass nozzle from improper
crevices and chinks, to the great terror of the other passengers.
Indeed, in her intense anxiety to find a haven of refuge for this
chattel, Mrs Gamp so often moved it, in the course of five minutes,
that it seemed not one umbrella but fifty. At length it was lost,
or said to be; and for the next five minutes she was face to face
with the coachman, go wherever he might, protesting that it should
be 'made good,' though she took the question to the House of
Commons.

At last, her bundle, and her pattens, and her basket, and
everything else, being disposed of, she took a friendly leave of
Poll and Mr Bailey, dropped a curtsey to John Westlock, and parted
as from a cherished member of the sisterhood with Betsey Prig.

'Wishin you lots of sickness, my darlin creetur,' Mrs Gamp observed,
'and good places. It won't be long, I hope, afore we works
together, off and on, again, Betsey; and may our next meetin' be at
a large family's, where they all takes it reg'lar, one from another,
turn and turn about, and has it business-like.'

'I don't care how soon it is,' said Mrs Prig; 'nor how many weeks it
lasts.'

Mrs Gamp with a reply in a congenial spirit was backing to the
coach, when she came in contact with a lady and gentleman who were
passing along the footway.

'Take care, take care here!' cried the gentleman. 'Halloo!
My dear! Why, it's Mrs Gamp!'

'What, Mr Mould!' exclaimed the nurse. 'And Mrs Mould! who would
have thought as we should ever have a meetin' here, I'm sure!'

'Going out of town, Mrs Gamp?' cried Mould. 'That's unusual, isn't
it?'

'It IS unusual, sir,' said Mrs Gamp. 'But only for a day or two at
most. The gent,' she whispered, 'as I spoke about.'

'What, in the coach!' cried Mould. 'The one you thought of
recommending? Very odd. My dear, this will interest you. The
gentleman that Mrs Gamp thought likely to suit us is in the coach,
my love.'

Mrs Mould was greatly interested.

'Here, my dear. You can stand upon the door-step,' said Mould, 'and
take a look at him. Ha! There he is. Where's my glass? Oh! all
right. I've got it. Do you see him, my dear?'

'Quite plain,' said Mrs Mould.

'Upon my life, you know, this is a very singular circumstance,' said
Mould, quite delighted. 'This is the sort of thing, my dear, I
wouldn't have missed on any account. It tickles one. It's
interesting. It's almost a little play, you know. Ah! There
he is! To be sure. Looks poorly, Mrs M., don't he?'

Mrs Mould assented.

'He's coming our way, perhaps, after all,' said Mould. 'Who knows!
I feel as if I ought to show him some little attention, really. He
don't seem a stranger to me. I'm very much inclined to move my hat,
my dear.'

'He's looking hard this way,' said Mrs Mould.

'Then I will!' cried Mould. 'How d'ye do, sir! I wish you good day.
Ha! He bows too. Very gentlemanly. Mrs Gamp has the cards in her
pocket, I have no doubt. This is very singular, my dear--and very
pleasant. I am not superstitious, but it really seems as if one was
destined to pay him those little melancholy civilities which belong
to our peculiar line of business. There can be no kind of objection
to your kissing your hand to him, my dear.'

Mrs Mould did so.

'Ha!' said Mould. 'He's evidently gratified. Poor fellow! I am
quite glad you did it, my love. Bye bye, Mrs Gamp!' waving his
hand. 'There he goes; there he goes!'

So he did; for the coach rolled off as the words were spoken. Mr
and Mrs Mould, in high good humour, went their merry way. Mr Bailey
retired with Poll Sweedlepipe as soon as possible; but some little
time elapsed before he could remove his friend from the ground,
owing to the impression wrought upon the barber's nerves by Mrs
Prig, whom he pronounced, in admiration of her beard, to be a woman
of transcendent charms.

When the light cloud of bustle hanging round the coach was thus
dispersed, Nadgett was seen in the darkest box of the Bull coffee-
room, looking wistfully up at the clock--as if the man who never
appeared were a little behind his time.

CHAPTER THIRTY

PROVES THAT CHANGES MAY BE RUNG IN THE BEST-REGULATED FAMILIES, AND
THAT MR PECKNIFF WAS A SPECIAL HAND AT A TRIPLE-BOB-MAJOR

As the surgeon's first care after amputating a limb, is to take up
the arteries the cruel knife has severed, so it is the duty of this
history, which in its remorseless course has cut from the
Pecksniffian trunk its right arm, Mercy, to look to the parent stem,
and see how in all its various ramifications it got on without her.

And first of Mr Pecksniff it may be observed, that having provided
for his youngest daughter that choicest of blessings, a tender and
indulgent husband; and having gratified the dearest wish of his
parental heart by establishing her in life so happily; he renewed
his youth, and spreading the plumage of his own bright conscience,
felt himself equal to all kinds of flights. It is customary with
fathers in stage-plays, after giving their daughters to the men of
their hearts, to congratulate themselves on having no other business
on their hands but to die immediately; though it is rarely found
that they are in a hurry to do it. Mr Pecksniff, being a father of
a more sage and practical class, appeared to think that his
immediate business was to live; and having deprived himself of one
comfort, to surround himself with others.

But however much inclined the good man was to be jocose and playful,
and in the garden of his fancy to disport himself (if one may say
so) like an architectural kitten, he had one impediment constantly
opposed to him. The gentle Cherry, stung by a sense of slight and
injury, which far from softening down or wearing out, rankled and
festered in her heart--the gentle Cherry was in flat rebellion.
She waged fierce war against her dear papa, she led her parent
what is usually called, for want of a better figure of speech,
the life of a dog. But never did that dog live, in kennel,
stable-yard, or house, whose life was half as hard as Mr Pecksniff's
with his gentle child.

The father and daughter were sitting at their breakfast. Tom had
retired, and they were alone. Mr Pecksniff frowned at first; but
having cleared his brow, looked stealthily at his child. Her nose
was very red indeed, and screwed up tight, with hostile preparation.

'Cherry,' cried Mr Pecksniff, 'what is amiss between us? My child,
why are we disunited?'

Miss Pecksniff's answer was scarcely a response to this gush of
affection, for it was simply, 'Bother, Pa!'

'Bother!' repeated Mr Pecksniff, in a tone of anguish.

'Oh! 'tis too late, Pa,' said his daughter, calmly 'to talk to me
like this. I know what it means, and what its value is.'

'This is hard!' cried Mr Pecksniff, addressing his breakfast-cup.
'This is very hard! She is my child. I carried her in my arms when
she wore shapeless worsted shoes--I might say, mufflers--many years
ago!'

'You needn't taunt me with that, Pa,' retorted Cherry, with a
spiteful look. 'I am not so many years older than my sister,
either, though she IS married to your friend!'

'Ah, human nature, human nature! Poor human nature!' said Mr
Pecksniff, shaking his head at human nature, as if he didn't belong
to it. 'To think that this discord should arise from such a cause!
oh dear, oh dear!'

'From such a cause indeed!' cried Cherry. 'State the real cause,
Pa, or I'll state it myself. Mind! I will!'

Perhaps the energy with which she said this was infectious. However
that may be, Mr Pecksniff changed his tone and the expression of his
face for one of anger, if not downright violence, when he said:

'You will! you have. You did yesterday. You do always. You have
no decency; you make no secret of your temper; you have exposed
yourself to Mr Chuzzlewit a hundred times.'

'Myself!' cried Cherry, with a bitter smile. 'Oh indeed! I don't
mind that.'

'Me, too, then,' said Mr Pecksniff.

His daughter answered with a scornful laugh.

'And since we have come to an explanation, Charity,' said Mr
Pecksniff, rolling his head portentously, 'let me tell you that I
won't allow it. None of your nonsense, Miss! I won't permit it to
be done.'

'I shall do,' said Charity, rocking her chair backwards and
forwards, and raising her voice to a high pitch, 'I shall do, Pa,
what I please and what I have done. I am not going to be crushed in
everything, depend upon it. I've been more shamefully used than
anybody ever was in this world,' here she began to cry and sob, 'and
may expect the worse treatment from you, I know. But I don't care
for that. No, I don't!'

Mr Pecksniff was made so desperate by the loud tone in which she
spoke, that, after looking about him in frantic uncertainty for some
means of softening it, he rose and shook her until the ornamental
bow of hair upon her head nodded like a plume. She was so very much
astonished by this assault, that it really had the desired effect.

'I'll do it again!' cried Mr Pecksniff, as he resumed his seat and
fetched his breath, 'if you dare to talk in that loud manner. How
do you mean about being shamefully used? If Mr Jonas chose your
sister in preference to you, who could help it, I should wish to
know? What have I to do with it?'

'Wasn't I made a convenience of? Weren't my feelings trifled with?
Didn't he address himself to me first?' sobbed Cherry, clasping her
hands; 'and oh, good gracious, that I should live to be shook!'

'You'll live to be shaken again,' returned her parent, 'if you drive
me to that means of maintaining the decorum of this humble roof.
You surprise me. I wonder you have not more spirit. If Mr Jonas
didn't care for you, how could you wish to have him?'

'I wish to have him!' exclaimed Cherry. 'I wish to have him, Pa!'

'Then what are you making all this piece of work for,' retorted her
father, 'if you didn't wish to have him?'

'Because I was treated with duplicity,' said Cherry; 'and because my
own sister and my own father conspired against me. I am not angry
with HER,' said Cherry; looking much more angry than ever. 'I pity
her. I'm sorry for her. I know the fate that's in store for her,
with that Wretch.'

'Mr Jonas will survive your calling him a wretch, my child, I dare
say,' said Mr Pecksniff, with returning resignation; 'but call him
what you like and make an end of it.'

'Not an end, Pa,' said Charity. 'No, not an end. That's not the
only point on which we're not agreed. I won't submit to it. It's
better you should know that at once. No; I won't submit to it
indeed, Pa! I am not quite a fool, and I am not blind. All I have
got to say is, I won't submit to it.'

Whatever she meant, she shook Mr Pecksniff now; for his lame attempt
to seem composed was melancholy in the last degree. His anger
changed to meekness, and his words were mild and fawning.

'My dear,' he said; 'if in the short excitement of an angry moment I
resorted to an unjustifiable means of suppressing a little outbreak
calculated to injure you as well as myself--it's possible I may have
done so; perhaps I did--I ask your pardon. A father asking pardon
of his child,' said Mr Pecksniff, 'is, I believe, a spectacle to
soften the most rugged nature.'

But it didn't at all soften Miss Pecksniff; perhaps because her
nature was not rugged enough. On the contrary, she persisted in
saying, over and over again, that she wasn't quite a fool, and
wasn't blind, and wouldn't submit to it.

'You labour under some mistake, my child!' said Mr Pecksniff. 'but
I will not ask you what it is; I don't desire to know. No, pray!'
he added, holding out his hand and colouring again, 'let us avoid
the subject, my dear, whatever it is!'

'It's quite right that the subject should be avoided between us,
sir,' said Cherry. 'But I wish to be able to avoid it altogether,
and consequently must beg you to provide me with a home.'

Mr Pecksniff looked about the room, and said, 'A home, my child!'

'Another home, papa,' said Cherry, with increasing stateliness
'Place me at Mrs Todgers's or somewhere, on an independent footing;
but I will not live here, if such is to be the case.'

It is possible that Miss Pecksniff saw in Mrs Todgers's a vision of
enthusiastic men, pining to fall in adoration at her feet. It is
possible that Mr Pecksniff, in his new-born juvenility, saw, in the
suggestion of that same establishment, an easy means of relieving
himself from an irksome charge in the way of temper and
watchfulness. It is undoubtedly a fact that in the attentive ears
of Mr Pecksniff, the proposition did not sound quite like the dismal
knell of all his hopes.

But he was a man of great feeling and acute sensibility; and he
squeezed his pocket-handkerchief against his eyes with both hands--
as such men always do, especially when they are observed. 'One of
my birds,' Mr Pecksniff said, 'has left me for the stranger's
breast; the other would take wing to Todgers's! Well, well, what am
I? I don't know what I am, exactly. Never mind!'

Even this remark, made more pathetic perhaps by his breaking down in
the middle of it, had no effect upon Charity. She was grim, rigid,
and inflexible.

'But I have ever,' said Mr Pecksniff, 'sacrificed my children's
happiness to my own--I mean my own happiness to my children's--and I
will not begin to regulate my life by other rules of conduct now.
If you can be happier at Mrs Todgers's than in your father's house,
my dear, go to Mrs Todgers's! Do not think of me, my girl!' said Mr
Pecksniff with emotion; 'I shall get on pretty well, no doubt.'

Miss Charity, who knew he had a secret pleasure in the contemplation
of the proposed change, suppressed her own, and went on to negotiate
the terms. His views upon this subject were at first so very
limited that another difference, involving possibly another shaking,
threatened to ensue; but by degrees they came to something like an
understanding, and the storm blew over. Indeed, Miss Charity's idea
was so agreeable to both, that it would have been strange if they
had not come to an amicable agreement. It was soon arranged between
them that the project should be tried, and that immediately; and
that Cherry's not being well, and needing change of scene, and
wishing to be near her sister, should form the excuse for her
departure to Mr Chuzzlewit and Mary, to both of whom she had pleaded
indisposition for some time past. These premises agreed on, Mr
Pecksniff gave her his blessing, with all the dignity of a self-
denying man who had made a hard sacrifice, but comforted himself
with the reflection that virtue is its own reward. Thus they were
reconciled for the first time since that not easily forgiven night,
when Mr Jonas, repudiating the elder, had confessed his passion for
the younger sister, and Mr Pecksniff had abetted him on moral
grounds.

But how happened it--in the name of an unexpected addition to that
small family, the Seven Wonders of the World, whatever and wherever
they may be, how happened it--that Mr Pecksniff and his daughter
were about to part? How happened it that their mutual relations
were so greatly altered? Why was Miss Pecksniff so clamorous to
have it understood that she was neither blind nor foolish, and she
wouldn't bear it? It is not possible that Mr Pecksniff had any
thoughts of marrying again; or that his daughter, with the sharp eye
of a single woman, fathomed his design!

Let us inquire into this.

Mr Pecksniff, as a man without reproach, from whom the breath of
slander passed like common breath from any other polished surface,
could afford to do what common men could not. He knew the purity of
his own motives; and when he had a motive worked at it as only a
very good man (or a very bad one) can. Did he set before himself
any strong and palpable motives for taking a second wife? Yes; and
not one or two of them, but a combination of very many.

Old Martin Chuzzlewit had gradually undergone an important change.
Even upon the night when he made such an ill-timed arrival at Mr
Pecksniff's house, he was comparatively subdued and easy to deal
with. This Mr Pecksniff attributed, at the time, to the effect his
brother's death had had upon him. But from that hour his character
seemed to have modified by regular degrees, and to have softened
down into a dull indifference for almost every one but Mr Pecksniff.
His looks were much the same as ever, but his mind was singularly
altered. It was not that this or that passion stood out in brighter
or in dimmer hues; but that the colour of the whole man was faded.
As one trait disappeared, no other trait sprung up to take its
place. His senses dwindled too. He was less keen of sight; was
deaf sometimes; took little notice of what passed before him; and
would be profoundly taciturn for days together. The process of this
alteration was so easy that almost as soon as it began to be
observed it was complete. But Mr Pecksniff saw it first, and having
Anthony Chuzzlewit fresh in his recollection, saw in his brother
Martin the same process of decay.

To a gentleman of Mr Pecksniff's tenderness, this was a very
mournful sight. He could not but foresee the probability of his
respected relative being made the victim of designing persons, and
of his riches falling into worthless hands. It gave him so much
pain that he resolved to secure the property to himself; to keep bad
testamentary suitors at a distance; to wall up the old gentleman, as
it were, for his own use. By little and little, therefore, he began
to try whether Mr Chuzzlewit gave any promise of becoming an
instrument in his hands, and finding that he did, and indeed that he
was very supple in his plastic fingers, he made it the business of
his life--kind soul!--to establish an ascendancy over him; and every
little test he durst apply meeting with a success beyond his hopes,
he began to think he heard old Martin's cash already chinking in his
own unworldly pockets.

But when Mr Pecksniff pondered on this subject (as, in his zealous
way, he often did), and thought with an uplifted heart of the train
of circumstances which had delivered the old gentleman into his
hands for the confusion of evil-doers and the triumph of a righteous
nature, he always felt that Mary Graham was his stumbling-block.
Let the old man say what he would, Mr Pecksniff knew he had a strong
affection for her. He knew that he showed it in a thousand little
ways; that he liked to have her near him, and was never quite at
ease when she was absent long. That he had ever really sworn to
leave her nothing in his will, Mr Pecksniff greatly doubted. That
even if he had, there were many ways by which he could evade the
oath and satisfy his conscience, Mr Pecksniff knew. That her
unprotected state was no light burden on the old man's mind, he also
knew, for Mr Chuzzlewit had plainly told him so. 'Then,' said Mr
Pecksniff 'what if I married her! What,' repeated Mr Pecksniff,
sticking up his hair and glancing at his bust by Spoker; 'what if,
making sure of his approval first--he is nearly imbecile, poor
gentleman--I married her!'

Mr Pecksniff had a lively sense of the Beautiful; especially in
women. His manner towards the sex was remarkable for its
insinuating character. It is recorded of him in another part of
these pages, that he embraced Mrs Todgers on the smallest
provocation; and it was a way he had; it was a part of the gentle
placidity of his disposition. Before any thought of matrimony was
in his mind, he had bestowed on Mary many little tokens of his
spiritual admiration. They had been indignantly received, but that
was nothing. True, as the idea expanded within him, these had
become too ardent to escape the piercing eye of Cherry, who read his
scheme at once; but he had always felt the power of Mary's charms.
So Interest and Inclination made a pair, and drew the curricle of Mr
Pecksniff's plan.

As to any thought of revenging himself on young Martin for his
insolent expressions when they parted, and of shutting him out still
more effectually from any hope of reconciliation with his
grandfather, Mr Pecksniff was much too meek and forgiving to be
suspected of harbouring it. As to being refused by Mary, Mr
Pecksniff was quite satisfied that in her position she could never
hold out if he and Mr Chuzzlewit were both against her. As to
consulting the wishes of her heart in such a case, it formed no part
of Mr Pecksniff's moral code; for he knew what a good man he was,
and what a blessing he must be to anybody. His daughter having
broken the ice, and the murder being out between them, Mr Pecksniff
had now only to pursue his design as cleverly as he could, and by
the craftiest approaches.

'Well, my good sir,' said Mr Pecksniff, meeting old Martin in the
garden, for it was his habit to walk in and out by that way, as the
fancy took him; 'and how is my dear friend this delicious morning?'

'Do you mean me?' asked the old man.

'Ah!' said Mr Pecksniff, 'one of his deaf days, I see. Could I mean
any one else, my dear sir?'

'You might have meant Mary,' said the old man.

'Indeed I might. Quite true. I might speak of her as a dear, dear
friend, I hope?' observed Mr Pecksniff.

'I hope so,' returned old Martin. 'I think she deserves it.'

'Think!' cried Pecksniff, 'think, Mr Chuzzlewit!'

'You are speaking, I know,' returned Martin, 'but I don't catch what
you say. Speak up!'

'He's getting deafer than a flint,' said Pecksniff. 'I was saying,
my dear sir, that I am afraid I must make up my mind to part with
Cherry.'

'What has SHE been doing?' asked the old man.

'He puts the most ridiculous questions I ever heard!' muttered Mr
Pecksniff. 'He's a child to-day.'  After which he added, in a mild
roar: 'She hasn't been doing anything, my dear friend.'

'What are you going to part with her for?' demanded Martin.

'She hasn't her health by any means,' said Mr Pecksniff. 'She
misses her sister, my dear sir; they doted on each other from the
cradle. And I think of giving her a run in London for a change. A
good long run, sir, if I find she likes it.'

'Quite right,' cried Martin. 'It's judicious.'

'I am glad to hear you say so. I hope you mean to bear me company
in this dull part, while she's away?' said Mr Pecksniff.

'I have no intention of removing from it,' was Martin's answer.

'Then why,' said Mr Pecksniff, taking the old man's arm in his, and
walking slowly on; 'Why, my good sir, can't you come and stay with
me? I am sure I could surround you with more comforts--lowly as is
my Cot--than you can obtain at a village house of entertainment.
And pardon me, Mr Chuzzlewit, pardon me if I say that such a place
as the Dragon, however well-conducted (and, as far as I know, Mrs
Lupin is one of the worthiest creatures in this county), is hardly a
home for Miss Graham.'

Martin mused a moment; and then said, as he shook him by the hand:

'No. You're quite right; it is not.'

'The very sight of skittles,' Mr Pecksniff eloquently pursued, 'is
far from being congenial to a delicate mind.'

'It's an amusement of the vulgar,' said old Martin, 'certainly.'

'Of the very vulgar,' Mr Pecksniff answered. 'Then why not bring
Miss Graham here, sir? Here is the house. Here am I alone in it,
for Thomas Pinch I do not count as any one. Our lovely friend shall
occupy my daughter's chamber; you shall choose your own; we shall
not quarrel, I hope!'

'We are not likely to do that,' said Martin.

Mr Pecksniff pressed his hand. 'We understand each other, my dear
sir, I see!--I can wind him,' he thought, with exultation, 'round my
little finger.'

'You leave the recompense to me?' said the old man, after a minute's
silence.

'Oh! do not speak of recompense!' cried Pecksniff.

'I say,' repeated Martin, with a glimmer of his old obstinacy, 'you
leave the recompense to me. Do you?'

'Since you desire it, my good sir.'

'I always desire it,' said the old man. 'You know I always desire
it. I wish to pay as I go, even when I buy of you. Not that I do
not leave a balance to be settled one day, Pecksniff.'

The architect was too much overcome to speak. He tried to drop a
tear upon his patron's hand, but couldn't find one in his dry
distillery.

'May that day be very distant!' was his pious exclamation. 'Ah,
sir! If I could say how deep an interest I have in you and yours!
I allude to our beautiful young friend.'

'True,' he answered. 'True. She need have some one interested in
her. I did her wrong to train her as I did. Orphan though she was,
she would have found some one to protect her whom she might have
loved again. When she was a child, I pleased myself with the
thought that in gratifying my whim of placing her between me and
false-hearted knaves, I had done her a kindness. Now she is a
woman, I have no such comfort. She has no protector but herself. I
have put her at such odds with the world, that any dog may bark or
fawn upon her at his pleasure. Indeed she stands in need of
delicate consideration. Yes; indeed she does!'

'If her position could be altered and defined, sir?' Mr Pecksniff
hinted.

'How can that be done? Should I make a seamstress of her, or a
governess?'

'Heaven forbid!' said Mr Pecksniff. 'My dear sir, there are other
ways. There are indeed. But I am much excited and embarrassed at
present, and would rather not pursue the subject. I scarcely know
what I mean. Permit me to resume it at another time.'

'You are not unwell?' asked Martin anxiously.

'No, no!' cried Pecksniff. 'No. Permit me to resume it at another
time. I'll walk a little. Bless you!'

Old Martin blessed him in return, and squeezed his hand. As he
turned away, and slowly walked towards the house, Mr Pecksniff stood
gazing after him; being pretty well recovered from his late emotion,
which, in any other man, one might have thought had been assumed as
a machinery for feeling Martin's pulse. The change in the old man
found such a slight expression in his figure, that Mr Pecksniff,
looking after him, could not help saying to himself:

'And I can wind him round my little finger! Only think!'

Old Martin happening to turn his head, saluted him affectionately.
Mr Pecksniff returned the gesture.

'Why, the time was,' said Mr Pecksniff; 'and not long ago, when he
wouldn't look at me! How soothing is this change. Such is the
delicate texture of the human heart; so complicated is the process
of its being softened! Externally he looks the same, and I can wind
him round my little finger. Only think!'

In sober truth, there did appear to be nothing on which Mr Pecksniff
might not have ventured with Martin Chuzzlewit; for whatever Mr
Pecksniff said or did was right, and whatever he advised was done.
Martin had escaped so many snares from needy fortune-hunters, and
had withered in the shell of his suspicion and distrust for so many
years, but to become the good man's tool and plaything. With the
happiness of this conviction painted on his face, the architect went
forth upon his morning walk.

The summer weather in his bosom was reflected in the breast of
Nature. Through deep green vistas where the boughs arched overhead,
and showed the sunlight flashing in the beautiful perspective;
through dewy fern from which the startled hares leaped up, and fled
at his approach; by mantled pools, and fallen trees, and down in
hollow places, rustling among last year's leaves whose scent woke
memory of the past; the placid Pecksniff strolled. By meadow gates
and hedges fragrant with wild roses; and by thatched-roof cottages
whose inmates humbly bowed before him as a man both good and wise;
the worthy Pecksniff walked in tranquil meditation. The bee passed
onward, humming of the work he had to do; the idle gnats for ever
going round and round in one contracting and expanding ring, yet
always going on as fast as he, danced merrily before him; the colour
of the long grass came and went, as if the light clouds made it
timid as they floated through the distant air. The birds, so many
Pecksniff consciences, sang gayly upon every branch; and Mr
Pecksniff paid HIS homage to the day by ruminating on his projects
as he walked along.

Chancing to trip, in his abstraction, over the spreading root of an
old tree, he raised his pious eyes to take a survey of the ground
before him. It startled him to see the embodied image of his
thoughts not far ahead. Mary herself. And alone.

At first Mr Pecksniff stopped as if with the intention of avoiding
her; but his next impulse was to advance, which he did at a brisk
pace; caroling as he went so sweetly and with so much innocence
that he only wanted feathers and wings to be a bird.

Hearing notes behind her, not belonging to the songsters of the
grove, she looked round. Mr Pecksniff kissed his hand, and was at
her side immediately.

'Communing with nature?' said Mr Pecksniff. 'So am I.'

She said the morning was so beautiful that she had walked further
than she intended, and would return. Mr Pecksniff said it was
exactly his case, and he would return with her.

'Take my arm, sweet girl,' said Mr Pecksniff.

Mary declined it, and walked so very fast that he remonstrated.
'You were loitering when I came upon you,' Mr Pecksniff said. 'Why
be so cruel as to hurry now? You would not shun me, would you?'

'Yes, I would,' she answered, turning her glowing cheek indignantly
upon him, 'you know I would. Release me, Mr Pecksniff. Your touch
is disagreeable to me.'

His touch! What? That chaste patriarchal touch which Mrs Todgers--
surely a discreet lady--had endured, not only without complaint, but
with apparent satisfaction! This was positively wrong. Mr Pecksniff
was sorry to hear her say it.

'If you have not observed,' said Mary, 'that it is so, pray take
assurance from my lips, and do not, as you are a gentleman,
continue to offend me.'

'Well, well!' said Mr Pecksniff, mildly, 'I feel that I might
consider this becoming in a daughter of my own, and why should I
object to it in one so beautiful! It's harsh. It cuts me to the
soul,' said Mr Pecksniff; 'but I cannot quarrel with you, Mary.'

She tried to say she was sorry to hear it, but burst into tears. Mr
Pecksniff now repeated the Todgers performance on a comfortable
scale, as if he intended it to last some time; and in his disengaged
hand, catching hers, employed himself in separating the fingers with
his own, and sometimes kissing them, as he pursued the conversation
thus:

'I am glad we met. I am very glad we met. I am able now to ease my
bosom of a heavy load, and speak to you in confidence. Mary,' said
Mr Pecksniff in his tenderest tones, indeed they were so very
tender that he almost squeaked: 'My soul! I love you!'

A fantastic thing, that maiden affectation! She made believe to
shudder.

'I love you,' said Mr Pecksniff, 'my gentle life, with a devotion
which is quite surprising, even to myself. I did suppose that the
sensation was buried in the silent tomb of a lady, only second to
you in qualities of the mind and form; but I find I am mistaken.'

She tried to disengage her hand, but might as well have tried to
free herself from the embrace of an affectionate boa-constrictor; if
anything so wily may be brought into comparison with Pecksniff.

'Although I am a widower,' said Mr Pecksniff, examining the rings
upon her fingers, and tracing the course of one delicate blue vein
with his fat thumb, 'a widower with two daughters, still I am not
encumbered, my love. One of them, as you know, is married. The
other, by her own desire, but with a view, I will confess--why not?
--to my altering my condition, is about to leave her father's house.
I have a character, I hope. People are pleased to speak well of me,
I think. My person and manner are not absolutely those of a
monster, I trust. Ah! naughty Hand!' said Mr Pecksniff,
apostrophizing the reluctant prize, 'why did you take me prisoner?
Go, go!'

He slapped the hand to punish it; but relenting, folded it in his
waistcoat to comfort it again.

'Blessed in each other, and in the society of our venerable friend,
my darling,' said Mr Pecksniff, 'we shall be happy. When he is
wafted to a haven of rest, we will console each other. My pretty
primrose, what do you say?'

'It is possible,' Mary answered, in a hurried manner, 'that I ought
to feel grateful for this mark of your confidence. I cannot say
that I do, but I am willing to suppose you may deserve my thanks.
Take them; and pray leave me, Mr Pecksniff.'

The good man smiled a greasy smile; and drew her closer to him.

'Pray, pray release me, Mr Pecksniff. I cannot listen to your
proposal. I cannot receive it. There are many to whom it may be
acceptable, but it is not so to me. As an act of kindness and an
act of pity, leave me!'

Mr Pecksniff walked on with his arm round her waist, and her hand in
his, as contentedly as if they had been all in all to each other,
and were joined in the bonds of truest love.

'If you force me by your superior strength,' said Mary, who finding
that good words had not the least effect upon him, made no further
effort to suppress her indignation; 'if you force me by your
superior strength to accompany you back, and to be the subject of
your insolence upon the way, you cannot constrain the expression of
my thoughts. I hold you in the deepest abhorrence. I know your
real nature and despise it.'

'No, no,' said Mr Pecksniff, sweetly. 'No, no, no!'

'By what arts or unhappy chances you have gained your influence over
Mr Chuzzlewit, I do not know,' said Mary; 'it may be strong enough
to soften even this, but he shall know of this, trust me, sir.'

Mr Pecksniff raised his heavy eyelids languidly, and let them fall
again. It was saying with perfect coolness, 'Aye, aye! Indeed!'

'Is it not enough,' said Mary, 'that you warp and change his nature,
adapt his every prejudice to your bad ends, and harden a heart
naturally kind by shutting out the truth and allowing none but false
and distorted views to reach it; is it not enough that you have the
power of doing this, and that you exercise it, but must you also be
so coarse, so cruel, and so cowardly to me?'

Still Mr Pecksniff led her calmly on, and looked as mild as any lamb
that ever pastured in the fields.

'Will nothing move you, sir?' cried Mary.

'My dear,' observed Mr Pecksniff, with a placid leer, 'a habit of
self-examination, and the practice of--shall I say of virtue?'

'Of hypocrisy,' said Mary.

'No, no,' resumed Mr Pecksniff, chafing the captive hand
reproachfully, 'of virtue--have enabled me to set such guards upon
myself, that it is really difficult to ruffle me. It is a curious
fact, but it is difficult, do you know, for any one to ruffle me.
And did she think,' said Mr Pecksniff, with a playful tightening of
his grasp 'that SHE could! How little did she know his heart!'

Little, indeed! Her mind was so strangely constituted that she would
have preferred the caresses of a toad, an adder, or a serpent--nay,
the hug of a bear--to the endearments of Mr Pecksniff.

'Come, come,' said that good gentleman, 'a word or two will set this
matter right, and establish a pleasant understanding between us. I
am not angry, my love.'

'YOU angry!'

'No,' said Mr Pecksniff, 'I am not. I say so. Neither are you.'

There was a beating heart beneath his hand that told another story
though.

'I am sure you are not,' said Mr Pecksniff: 'and I will tell you
why. There are two Martin Chuzzlewits, my dear; and your carrying
your anger to one might have a serious effect--who knows!--upon the
other. You wouldn't wish to hurt him, would you?'

She trembled violently, and looked at him with such a proud disdain
that he turned his eyes away. No doubt lest he should be offended
with her in spite of his better self.

'A passive quarrel, my love,' said Mr Pecksniff, 'may be changed
into an active one, remember. It would be sad to blight even a
disinherited young man in his already blighted prospects; but how
easy to do it. Ah, how easy! HAVE I influence with our venerable
friend, do you think? Well, perhaps I have. Perhaps I have.'

He raised his eyes to hers; and nodded with an air of banter that
was charming.

'No,' he continued, thoughtfully. 'Upon the whole, my sweet, if I
were you I'd keep my secret to myself. I am not at all sure--very
far from it--that it would surprise our friend in any way, for he
and I have had some conversation together only this morning, and he
is anxious, very anxious, to establish you in some more settled
manner. But whether he was surprised or not surprised, the
consequence of your imparting it might be the same. Martin junior
might suffer severely. I'd have compassion on Martin junior, do you
know?' said Mr Pecksniff, with a persuasive smile. 'Yes. He don't
deserve it, but I would.'

She wept so bitterly now, and was so much distressed, that he
thought it prudent to unclasp her waist, and hold her only by the
hand.

'As to our own share in the precious little mystery,' said Mr
Pecksniff, 'we will keep it to ourselves, and talk of it between
ourselves, and you shall think it over. You will consent, my love;
you will consent, I know. Whatever you may think; you will. I seem
to remember to have heard--I really don't know where, or how'--he
added, with bewitching frankness, 'that you and Martin junior, when
you were children, had a sort of childish fondness for each other.
When we are married, you shall have the satisfaction of thinking
that it didn't last to ruin him, but passed away to do him good; for
we'll see then what we can do to put some trifling help in Martin
junior's way. HAVE I any influence with our venerable friend?
Well! Perhaps I have. Perhaps I have.'

The outlet from the wood in which these tender passages occurred,
was close to Mr Pecksniff's house. They were now so near it that he
stopped, and holding up her little finger, said in playful accents,
as a parting fancy:

'Shall I bite it?'

Receiving no reply he kissed it instead; and then stooping down,
inclined his flabby face to hers--he had a flabby face, although he
WAS a good man--and with a blessing, which from such a source was
quite enough to set her up in life, and prosper her from that time
forth permitted her to leave him.

Gallantry in its true sense is supposed to ennoble and dignify a
man; and love has shed refinements on innumerable Cymons. But Mr
Pecksniff--perhaps because to one of his exalted nature these were
mere grossnesses--certainly did not appear to any unusual advantage,
now that he was left alone. On the contrary, he seemed to be shrunk
and reduced; to be trying to hide himself within himself; and to be
wretched at not having the power to do it. His shoes looked too
large; his sleeve looked too long; his hair looked too limp; his
features looked too mean; his exposed throat looked as if a halter
would have done it good. For a minute or two, in fact, he was hot,
and pale, and mean, and shy, and slinking, and consequently not at
all Pecksniffian. But after that, he recovered himself, and went
home with as beneficent an air as if he had been the High Priest of
the summer weather.

'I have arranged to go, Papa,' said Charity, 'to-morrow.'

'So soon, my child!'

'I can't go too soon,' said Charity, 'under the circumstances. I
have written to Mrs Todgers to propose an arrangement, and have
requested her to meet me at the coach, at all events. You'll be
quite your own master now, Mr Pinch!'

Mr Pecksniff had just gone out of the room, and Tom had just come
into it.

'My own master!' repeated Tom.

'Yes, you'll have nobody to interfere with you,' said Charity. 'At
least I hope you won't. Hem! It's a changing world.'

'What! are YOU going to be married, Miss Pecksniff?' asked Tom in
great surprise.

'Not exactly,' faltered Cherry. 'I haven't made up my mind to be.
I believe I could be, if I chose, Mr Pinch.'

'Of course you could!' said Tom. And he said it in perfect good
faith. He believed it from the bottom of his heart.

'No,' said Cherry, 'I am not going to be married. Nobody is, that I
know of. Hem! But I am not going to live with Papa. I have my
reasons, but it's all a secret. I shall always feel very kindly
towards you, I assure you, for the boldness you showed that night.
As to you and me, Mr Pinch, WE part the best friends possible!'

Tom thanked her for her confidence, and for her friendship, but
there was a mystery in the former which perfectly bewildered him.
In his extravagant devotion to the family, he had felt the loss of
Merry more than any one but those who knew that for all the slights
he underwent he thought his own demerits were to blame, could
possibly have understood. He had scarcely reconciled himself to
that when here was Charity about to leave them. She had grown up,
as it were, under Tom's eye. The sisters were a part of Pecksniff,
and a part of Tom; items in Pecksniff's goodness, and in Tom's
service. He couldn't bear it; not two hours' sleep had Tom that
night, through dwelling in his bed upon these dreadful changes.

When morning dawned he thought he must have dreamed this piece of
ambiguity; but no, on going downstairs he found them packing trunks
and cording boxes, and making other preparations for Miss Charity's
departure, which lasted all day long. In good time for the evening
coach, Miss Charity deposited her housekeeping keys with much
ceremony upon the parlour table; took a gracious leave of all the
house; and quitted her paternal roof--a blessing for which the
Pecksniffian servant was observed by some profane persons to be
particularly active in the thanksgiving at church next Sunday.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

MR PINCH IS DISCHARGED OF A DUTY WHICH HE NEVER OWED TO ANYBODY, AND
MR PECKSNIFF DISCHARGES A DUTY WHICH HE OWES TO SOCIETY

The closing words of the last chapter lead naturally to the
commencement of this, its successor; for it has to do with a church.
With the church, so often mentioned heretofore, in which Tom Pinch
played the organ for nothing.

One sultry afternoon, about a week after Miss Charity's departure
for London, Mr Pecksniff being out walking by himself, took it into
his head to stray into the churchyard. As he was lingering among
the tombstones, endeavouring to extract an available sentiment or
two from the epitaphs--for he never lost an opportunity of making up
a few moral crackers, to be let off as occasion served--Tom Pinch
began to practice. Tom could run down to the church and do so
whenever he had time to spare; for it was a simple little organ,
provided with wind by the action of the musician's feet; and he was
independent, even of a bellows-blower. Though if Tom had wanted one
at any time, there was not a man or boy in all the village, and away
to the turnpike (tollman included), but would have blown away for
him till he was black in the face.

Mr Pecksniff had no objection to music; not the least. He was
tolerant of everything; he often said so. He considered it a
vagabond kind of trifling, in general, just suited to Tom's
capacity. But in regard to Tom's performance upon this same organ,
he was remarkably lenient, singularly amiable; for when Tom played
it on Sundays, Mr Pecksniff in his unbounded sympathy felt as if he
played it himself, and were a benefactor to the congregation. So
whenever it was impossible to devise any other means of taking the
value of Tom's wages out of him, Mr Pecksniff gave him leave to
cultivate this instrument. For which mark of his consideration Tom
was very grateful.

The afternoon was remarkably warm, and Mr Pecksniff had been
strolling a long way. He had not what may be called a fine ear for
music, but he knew when it had a tranquilizing influence on his
soul; and that was the case now, for it sounded to him like a
melodious snore. He approached the church, and looking through the
diamond lattice of a window near the porch, saw Tom, with the
curtains in the loft drawn back, playing away with great expression
and tenderness.

The church had an inviting air of coolness. The old oak roof
supported by cross-beams, the hoary walls, the marble tablets, and
the cracked stone pavement, were refreshing to look at. There were
leaves of ivy tapping gently at the opposite windows; and the sun
poured in through only one; leaving the body of the church in
tempting shade. But the most tempting spot of all, was one red-
curtained and soft-cushioned pew, wherein the official dignitaries
of the place (of whom Mr Pecksniff was the head and chief) enshrined
themselves on Sundays. Mr Pecksniff's seat was in the corner; a
remarkably comfortable corner; where his very large Prayer-Book was
at that minute making the most of its quarto self upon the desk. He
determined to go in and rest.

He entered very softly; in part because it was a church; in part
because his tread was always soft; in part because Tom played a
solemn tune; in part because he thought he would surprise him when
he stopped. Unbolting the door of the high pew of state, he glided
in and shut it after him; then sitting in his usual place, and
stretching out his legs upon the hassocks, he composed himself to
listen to the music.

It is an unaccountable circumstance that he should have felt drowsy
there, where the force of association might surely have been enough
to keep him wide awake; but he did. He had not been in the snug
little corner five minutes before he began to nod. He had not
recovered himself one minute before he began to nod again. In the
very act of opening his eyes indolently, he nodded again. In the
very act of shutting them, he nodded again. So he fell out of one
nod into another until at last he ceased to nod at all, and was as
fast as the church itself.

He had a consciousness of the organ, long after he fell asleep,
though as to its being an organ he had no more idea of that than he
had of its being a bull. After a while he began to have at
intervals the same dreamy impressions of voices; and awakening to an
indolent curiosity upon the subject, opened his eyes.

He was so indolent, that after glancing at the hassocks and the pew,
he was already half-way off to sleep again, when it occurred to him
that there really were voices in the church; low voices, talking
earnestly hard by; while the echoes seemed to mutter responses. He
roused himself, and listened.

Before he had listened half a dozen seconds, he became as broad
awake as ever he had been in all his life. With eyes, and ears, and
mouth, wide open, he moved himself a very little with the utmost
caution, and gathering the curtain in his hand, peeped out.

Tom Pinch and Mary. Of course. He had recognized their voices, and
already knew the topic they discussed. Looking like the small end
of a guillotined man, with his chin on a level with the top of the
pew, so that he might duck down immediately in case of either of
them turning round, he listened. Listened with such concentrated
eagerness, that his very hair and shirt-collar stood bristling up to
help him.

'No,' cried Tom. 'No letters have ever reached me, except that one
from New York. But don't be uneasy on that account, for it's very
likely they have gone away to some far-off place, where the posts
are neither regular nor frequent. He said in that very letter that
it might be so, even in that city to which they thought of
travelling--Eden, you know.'

'It is a great weight upon my mind,' said Mary.

'Oh, but you mustn't let it be,' said Tom. 'There's a true saying
that nothing travels so fast as ill news; and if the slightest harm
had happened to Martin, you may be sure you would have heard of it
long ago. I have often wished to say this to you,' Tom continued
with an embarrassment that became him very well, 'but you have never
given me an opportunity.'

'I have sometimes been almost afraid,' said Mary, 'that you might
suppose I hesitated to confide in you, Mr Pinch.'

'No,' Tom stammered, 'I--I am not aware that I ever supposed that.
I am sure that if I have, I have checked the thought directly, as an
injustice to you. I feel the delicacy of your situation in having
to confide in me at all,' said Tom, 'but I would risk my life to
save you from one day's uneasiness; indeed I would!'

Poor Tom!

'I have dreaded sometimes,' Tom continued, 'that I might have
displeased you by--by having the boldness to try and anticipate your
wishes now and then. At other times I have fancied that your
kindness prompted you to keep aloof from me.'

'Indeed!'

'It was very foolish; very presumptuous and ridiculous, to think
so,' Tom pursued; 'but I feared you might suppose it possible that
I--I--should admire you too much for my own peace; and so denied
yourself the slight assistance you would otherwise have accepted
from me. If such an idea has ever presented itself to you,'
faltered Tom, 'pray dismiss it. I am easily made happy; and I shall
live contented here long after you and Martin have forgotten me. I
am a poor, shy, awkward creature; not at all a man of the world; and
you should think no more of me, bless you, than if I were an old
friar!'

If friars bear such hearts as thine, Tom, let friars multiply;
though they have no such rule in all their stern arithmetic.

'Dear Mr Pinch!' said Mary, giving him her hand; 'I cannot tell you
how your kindness moves me. I have never wronged you by the
lightest doubt, and have never for an instant ceased to feel that
you were all--much more than all--that Martin found you. Without
the silent care and friendship I have experienced from you, my life
here would have been unhappy. But you have been a good angel to me;
filling me with gratitude of heart, hope, and courage.'

'I am as little like an angel, I am afraid,' replied Tom, shaking
his head, 'as any stone cherubim among the grave-stones; and I don't
think there are many real angels of THAT pattern. But I should like
to know (if you will tell me) why you have been so very silent about
Martin.'

'Because I have been afraid,' said Mary, 'of injuring you.'

'Of injuring me!' cried Tom.

'Of doing you an injury with your employer.'

The gentleman in question dived.

'With Pecksniff!' rejoined Tom, with cheerful confidence. 'Oh dear,
he'd never think of us! He's the best of men. The more at ease you
were, the happier he would be. Oh dear, you needn't be afraid of
Pecksniff. He is not a spy.'

Many a man in Mr Pecksniff's place, if he could have dived through
the floor of the pew of state and come out at Calcutta or any
inhabited region on the other side of the earth, would have done it
instantly. Mr Pecksniff sat down upon a hassock, and listening more
attentively than ever, smiled.

Mary seemed to have expressed some dissent in the meanwhile, for Tom
went on to say, with honest energy:

'Well, I don't know how it is, but it always happens, whenever I
express myself in this way to anybody almost, that I find they won't
do justice to Pecksniff. It is one of the most extraordinary
circumstances that ever came within my knowledge, but it is so.
There's John Westlock, who used to be a pupil here, one of the best-
hearted young men in the world, in all other matters--I really
believe John would have Pecksniff flogged at the cart's tail if he
could. And John is not a solitary case, for every pupil we have had
in my time has gone away with the same inveterate hatred of him.
There was Mark Tapley, too, quite in another station of life,' said
Tom; 'the mockery he used to make of Pecksniff when he was at the
Dragon was shocking. Martin too: Martin was worse than any of 'em.
But I forgot. He prepared you to dislike Pecksniff, of course. So
you came with a prejudice, you know, Miss Graham, and are not a fair
witness.'

Tom triumphed very much in this discovery, and rubbed his hands with
great satisfaction.

'Mr Pinch,' said Mary, 'you mistake him.'

'No, no!' cried Tom. 'YOU mistake him. But,' he added, with a
rapid change in his tone, 'what is the matter? Miss Graham, what is
the matter?'

Mr Pecksniff brought up to the top of the pew, by slow degrees, his
hair, his forehead, his eyebrow, his eye. She was sitting on a
bench beside the door with her hands before her face; and Tom was
bending over her.

'What is the matter?' cried Tom. 'Have I said anything to hurt you?
Has any one said anything to hurt you? Don't cry. Pray tell me
what it is. I cannot bear to see you so distressed. Mercy on us, I
never was so surprised and grieved in all my life!'

Mr Pecksniff kept his eye in the same place. He could have moved it
now for nothing short of a gimlet or a red-hot wire.

'I wouldn't have told you, Mr Pinch,' said Mary, 'if I could have
helped it; but your delusion is so absorbing, and it is so necessary
that we should be upon our guard; that you should not be
compromised; and to that end that you should know by whom I am
beset; that no alternative is left me. I came here purposely to
tell you, but I think I should have wanted courage if you had not
chanced to lead me so directly to the object of my coming.'

Tom gazed at her steadfastly, and seemed to say, 'What else?'  But he
said not a word.

'That person whom you think the best of men,' said Mary, looking up,
and speaking with a quivering lip and flashing eye.

'Lord bless me!' muttered Tom, staggering back. 'Wait a moment.
That person whom I think the best of men! You mean Pecksniff, of
course. Yes, I see you mean Pecksniff. Good gracious me, don't
speak without authority. What has he done? If he is not the best
of men, what is he?'

'The worst. The falsest, craftiest, meanest, cruellest, most
sordid, most shameless,' said the trembling girl--trembling with her
indignation.

Tom sat down on a seat, and clasped his hands.

'What is he,' said Mary, 'who receiving me in his house as his
guest; his unwilling guest; knowing my history, and how defenceless
and alone I am, presumes before his daughters to affront me so, that
if I had a brother but a child, who saw it, he would instinctively
have helped me?'

'He is a scoundrel!' exclaimed Tom. 'Whoever he may be, he is a
scoundrel.'

Mr Pecksniff dived again.

'What is he,' said Mary, 'who, when my only friend--a dear and kind
one, too--was in full health of mind, humbled himself before him,
but was spurned away (for he knew him then) like a dog. Who, in his
forgiving spirit, now that that friend is sunk into a failing state,
can crawl about him again, and use the influence he basely gains for
every base and wicked purpose, and not for one--not one--that's true
or good?'

'I say he is a scoundrel!' answered Tom.

'But what is he--oh, Mr Pinch, what IS he--who, thinking he could
compass these designs the better if I were his wife, assails me with
the coward's argument that if I marry him, Martin, on whom I have
brought so much misfortune, shall be restored to something of his
former hopes; and if I do not, shall be plunged in deeper ruin?
What is he who makes my very constancy to one I love with all my
heart a torture to myself and wrong to him; who makes me, do what I
will, the instrument to hurt a head I would heap blessings on! What
is he who, winding all these cruel snares about me, explains their
purpose to me, with a smooth tongue and a smiling face, in the broad
light of day; dragging me on, the while, in his embrace, and holding
to his lips a hand,' pursued the agitated girl, extending it, 'which
I would have struck off, if with it I could lose the shame and
degradation of his touch?'

'I say,' cried Tom, in great excitement, 'he is a scoundrel and a
villain! I don't care who he is, I say he is a double-dyed and most
intolerable villain!'

Covering her face with her hands again, as if the passion which
had sustained her through these disclosures lost itself in an
overwhelming sense of shame and grief, she abandoned herself to
tears.

Any sight of distress was sure to move the tenderness of Tom, but
this especially. Tears and sobs from her were arrows in his heart.
He tried to comfort her; sat down beside her; expended all his store
of homely eloquence; and spoke in words of praise and hope of
Martin. Aye, though he loved her from his soul with such a self-
denying love as woman seldom wins; he spoke from first to last of
Martin. Not the wealth of the rich Indies would have tempted Tom to
shirk one mention of her lover's name.

When she was more composed, she impressed upon Tom that this man she
had described, was Pecksniff in his real colours; and word by word
and phrase by phrase, as well as she remembered it, related what had
passed between them in the wood: which was no doubt a source of high
gratification to that gentleman himself, who in his desire to see
and his dread of being seen, was constantly diving down into the
state pew, and coming up again like the intelligent householder in
Punch's Show, who avoids being knocked on the head with a cudgel.
When she had concluded her account, and had besought Tom to be very
distant and unconscious in his manner towards her after this
explanation, and had thanked him very much, they parted on the alarm
of footsteps in the burial-ground; and Tom was left alone in the
church again.

And now the full agitation and misery of the disclosure came rushing
upon Tom indeed. The star of his whole life from boyhood had
become, in a moment, putrid vapour. It was not that Pecksniff,
Tom's Pecksniff, had ceased to exist, but that he never had existed.
In his death Tom would have had the comfort of remembering what he
used to be, but in this discovery, he had the anguish of
recollecting what he never was. For, as Tom's blindness in this
matter had been total and not partial, so was his restored sight.
HIS Pecksniff could never have worked the wickedness of which he had
just now heard, but any other Pecksniff could; and the Pecksniff who
could do that could do anything, and no doubt had been doing
anything and everything except the right thing, all through his
career. From the lofty height on which poor Tom had placed his idol
it was tumbled down headlong, and

     Not all the king's horses, nor all the king's men,
     Could have set Mr Pecksniff up again.

Legions of Titans couldn't have got him out of the mud; and serve
him right! But it was not he who suffered; it was Tom. His compass
was broken, his chart destroyed, his chronometer had stopped, his
masts were gone by the board; his anchor was adrift, ten thousand
leagues away.

Mr Pecksniff watched him with a lively interest, for he divined the
purpose of Tom's ruminations, and was curious to see how he
conducted himself. For some time, Tom wandered up and down the
aisle like a man demented, stopping occasionally to lean against a
pew and think it over; then he stood staring at a blank old monument
bordered tastefully with skulls and cross-bones, as if it were the
finest work of Art he had ever seen, although at other times he held
it in unspeakable contempt; then he sat down; then walked to and fro
again; then went wandering up into the organ-loft, and touched the
keys. But their minstrelsy was changed, their music gone; and
sounding one long melancholy chord, Tom drooped his head upon his
hands and gave it up as hopeless.

'I wouldn't have cared,' said Tom Pinch, rising from his stool and
looking down into the church as if he had been the Clergyman, 'I
wouldn't have cared for anything he might have done to Me, for I
have tried his patience often, and have lived upon his sufferance
and have never been the help to him that others could have been. I
wouldn't have minded, Pecksniff,' Tom continued, little thinking who
heard him, 'if you had done Me any wrong; I could have found plenty
of excuses for that; and though you might have hurt me, could have
still gone on respecting you. But why did you ever fall so low as
this in my esteem! Oh Pecksniff, Pecksniff, there is nothing I would
not have given, to have had you deserve my old opinion of you;
nothing!'

Mr Pecksniff sat upon the hassock pulling up his shirt-collar, while
Tom, touched to the quick, delivered this apostrophe. After a pause
he heard Tom coming down the stairs, jingling the church keys; and
bringing his eye to the top of the pew again, saw him go slowly out
and lock the door.

Mr Pecksniff durst not issue from his place of concealment; for
through the windows of the church he saw Tom passing on among the
graves, and sometimes stopping at a stone, and leaning there as if
he were a mourner who had lost a friend. Even when he had left the
churchyard, Mr Pecksniff still remained shut up; not being at all
secure but that in his restless state of mind Tom might come
wandering back. At length he issued forth, and walked with a
pleasant countenance into the vestry; where he knew there was a
window near the ground, by which he could release himself by merely
stepping out.

He was in a curious frame of mind, Mr Pecksniff; being in no hurry
to go, but rather inclining to a dilatory trifling with the time,
which prompted him to open the vestry cupboard, and look at himself
in the parson's little glass that hung within the door. Seeing that
his hair was rumpled, he took the liberty of borrowing the canonical
brush and arranging it. He also took the liberty of opening another
cupboard; but he shut it up again quickly, being rather startled by
the sight of a black and a white surplice dangling against the wall;
which had very much the appearance of two curates who had committed
suicide by hanging themselves. Remembering that he had seen in the
first cupboard a port-wine bottle and some biscuits, he peeped into
it again, and helped himself with much deliberation; cogitating all
the time though, in a very deep and weighty manner, as if his
thoughts were otherwise employed.

He soon made up his mind, if it had ever been in doubt; and putting
back the bottle and biscuits, opened the casement. He got out into
the churchyard without any difficulty; shut the window after him;
and walked straight home.

'Is Mr Pinch indoors?' asked Mr Pecksniff of his serving-maid.

'Just come in, sir.'

'Just come in, eh?' repeated Mr Pecksniff, cheerfully. 'And gone
upstairs, I suppose?'

'Yes sir. Gone upstairs. Shall I call him, sir?'

'No,' said Mr Pecksniff, 'no. You needn't call him, Jane. Thank
you, Jane. How are your relations, Jane?'

'Pretty well, I thank you, sir.'

'I am glad to hear it. Let them know I asked about them, Jane. Is
Mr Chuzzlewit in the way, Jane?'

'Yes, sir. He's in the parlour, reading.'

'He's in the parlour, reading, is he, Jane?' said Mr Pecksniff.
'Very well. Then I think I'll go and see him, Jane.'

Never had Mr Pecksniff been beheld in a more pleasant humour!

But when he walked into the parlour where the old man was engaged as
Jane had said; with pen and ink and paper on a table close at hand
(for Mr Pecksniff was always very particular to have him well
supplied with writing materials), he became less cheerful. He was
not angry, he was not vindictive, he was not cross, he was not
moody, but he was grieved; he was sorely grieved. As he sat down by
the old man's side, two tears--not tears like those with which
recording angels blot their entries out, but drops so precious that
they use them for their ink--stole down his meritorious cheeks.

'What is the matter?' asked old Martin. 'Pecksniff, what ails you,
man?'

'I am sorry to interrupt you, my dear sir, and I am still more sorry
for the cause. My good, my worthy friend, I am deceived.'

'You are deceived!'

'Ah!' cried Mr Pecksniff, in an agony, 'deceived in the tenderest
point. Cruelly deceived in that quarter, sir, in which I placed the
most unbounded confidence. Deceived, Mr Chuzzlewit, by Thomas
Pinch.'

'Oh! bad, bad, bad!' said Martin, laying down his book. 'Very bad!
I hope not. Are you certain?'

'Certain, my good sir! My eyes and ears are witnesses. I wouldn't
have believed it otherwise. I wouldn't have believed it, Mr
Chuzzlewit, if a Fiery Serpent had proclaimed it from the top of
Salisbury Cathedral. I would have said,' cried Mr Pecksniff, 'that
the Serpent lied. Such was my faith in Thomas Pinch, that I would
have cast the falsehood back into the Serpent's teeth, and would
have taken Thomas to my heart. But I am not a Serpent, sir, myself,
I grieve to say, and no excuse or hope is left me.'

Martin was greatly disturbed to see him so much agitated, and to
hear such unexpected news. He begged him to compose himself, and
asked upon what subject Mr Pinch's treachery had been developed.

'That is almost the worst of all, sir,' Mr Pecksniff answered. 'on
a subject nearly concerning YOU. Oh! is it not enough,' said Mr
Pecksniff, looking upward, 'that these blows must fall on me, but
must they also hit my friends!'

'You alarm me,' cried the old man, changing colour. 'I am not so
strong as I was. You terrify me, Pecksniff!'

'Cheer up, my noble sir,' said Mr Pecksniff, taking courage, 'and we
will do what is required of us. You shall know all, sir, and shall
be righted. But first excuse me, sir, excuse me. I have a duty to
discharge, which I owe to society.'

He rang the bell, and Jane appeared. 'Send Mr Pinch here, if you
please, Jane.'

Tom came. Constrained and altered in his manner, downcast and
dejected, visibly confused; not liking to look Pecksniff in the
face.

The honest man bestowed a glance on Mr Chuzzlewit, as who should say
'You see!' and addressed himself to Tom in these terms:

'Mr Pinch, I have left the vestry-window unfastened. Will you do me
the favour to go and secure it; then bring the keys of the sacred
edifice to me!'

'The vestry-window, sir?' cried Tom.

'You understand me, Mr Pinch, I think,' returned his patron. 'Yes,
Mr Pinch, the vestry-window. I grieve to say that sleeping in the
church after a fatiguing ramble, I overheard just now some
fragments,' he emphasised that word, 'of a dialogue between two
parties; and one of them locking the church when he went out, I was
obliged to leave it myself by the vestry-window. Do me the favour
to secure that vestry-window, Mr Pinch, and then come back to me.'

No physiognomist that ever dwelt on earth could have construed Tom's
face when he heard these words. Wonder was in it, and a mild look
of reproach, but certainly no fear or guilt, although a host of
strong emotions struggled to display themselves. He bowed, and
without saying one word, good or bad, withdrew.

'Pecksniff,' cried Martin, in a tremble, 'what does all this mean?
You are not going to do anything in haste, you may regret!'

'No, my good sir,' said Mr Pecksniff, firmly, 'No. But I have a
duty to discharge which I owe to society; and it shall be
discharged, my friend, at any cost!'

Oh, late-remembered, much-forgotten, mouthing, braggart duty, always
owed, and seldom paid in any other coin than punishment and wrath,
when will mankind begin to know thee! When will men acknowledge thee
in thy neglected cradle, and thy stunted youth, and not begin their
recognition in thy sinful manhood and thy desolate old age! Oh,
ermined Judge whose duty to society is, now, to doom the ragged
criminal to punishment and death, hadst thou never, Man, a duty to
discharge in barring up the hundred open gates that wooed him to the
felon's dock, and throwing but ajar the portals to a decent life! Oh,
prelate, prelate, whose duty to society it is to mourn in melancholy
phrase the sad degeneracy of these bad times in which thy lot of
honours has been cast, did nothing go before thy elevation to the
lofty seat, from which thou dealest out thy homilies to other
tarriers for dead men's shoes, whose duty to society has not begun!
Oh! magistrate, so rare a country gentleman and brave a squire, had
you no duty to society, before the ricks were blazing and the mob
were mad; or did it spring up, armed and booted from the earth, a
corps of yeomanry full-grown!

Mr Pecksniff's duty to society could not be paid till Tom came back.
The interval which preceded the return of that young man, he
occupied in a close conference with his friend; so that when Tom did
arrive, he found the two quite ready to receive him. Mary was in
her own room above, whither Mr Pecksniff, always considerate, had
besought old Martin to entreat her to remain some half-hour longer,
that her feelings might be spared.

When Tom came back, he found old Martin sitting by the window, and
Mr Pecksniff in an imposing attitude at the table. On one side of
him was his pocket-handkerchief; and on the other a little heap (a
very little heap) of gold and silver, and odd pence. Tom saw, at a
glance, that it was his own salary for the current quarter.

'Have you fastened the vestry-window, Mr Pinch?' said Pecksniff.

'Yes, sir.'

'Thank you. Put down the keys if you please, Mr Pinch.'

Tom placed them on the table. He held the bunch by the key of the
organ-loft (though it was one of the smallest), and looked hard at
it as he laid it down. It had been an old, old friend of Tom's; a
kind companion to him, many and many a day.

'Mr Pinch,' said Pecksniff, shaking his head; 'oh, Mr Pinch! I
wonder you can look me in the face!'

Tom did it though; and notwithstanding that he has been described as
stooping generally, he stood as upright then as man could stand.

'Mr Pinch,' said Pecksniff, taking up his handkerchief, as if he
felt that he should want it soon, 'I will not dwell upon the past.
I will spare you, and I will spare myself, that pain at least.'

Tom's was not a very bright eye, but it was a very expressive one
when he looked at Mr Pecksniff, and said:

'Thank you, sir. I am very glad you will not refer to the past.'

'The present is enough,' said Mr Pecksniff, dropping a penny, 'and
the sooner THAT is past, the better. Mr Pinch, I will not dismiss
you without a word of explanation. Even such a course would be
quite justifiable under the circumstances; but it might wear an
appearance of hurry, and I will not do it; for I am,' said Mr
Pecksniff, knocking down another penny, 'perfectly self-possessed.
Therefore I will say to you, what I have already said to Mr
Chuzzlewit.'

Tom glanced at the old gentleman, who nodded now and then as
approving of Mr Pecksniff's sentences and sentiments, but interposed
between them in no other way.

'From fragments of a conversation which I overheard in the church,
just now, Mr Pinch,' said Pecksniff, 'between yourself and Miss
Graham--I say fragments, because I was slumbering at a considerable
distance from you, when I was roused by your voices--and from what I
saw, I ascertained (I would have given a great deal not to have
ascertained, Mr Pinch) that you, forgetful of all ties of duty and
of honour, sir; regardless of the sacred laws of hospitality, to
which you were pledged as an inmate of this house; have presumed to
address Miss Graham with unreturned professions of attachment and
proposals of love.'

Tom looked at him steadily.

'Do you deny it, sir?' asked Mr Pecksniff, dropping one pound two
and fourpence, and making a great business of picking it up again.

'No, sir,' replied Tom. 'I do not.'

'You do not,' said Mr Pecksniff, glancing at the old gentleman.
'Oblige me by counting this money, Mr Pinch, and putting your name
to this receipt. You do not?'

No, Tom did not. He scorned to deny it. He saw that Mr Pecksniff
having overheard his own disgrace, cared not a jot for sinking lower
yet in his contempt. He saw that he had devised this fiction as the
readiest means of getting rid of him at once, but that it must end
in that any way. He saw that Mr Pecksniff reckoned on his not
denying it, because his doing so and explaining would incense the
old man more than ever against Martin and against Mary; while
Pecksniff himself would only have been mistaken in his 'fragments.'
Deny it! No.

'You find the amount correct, do you, Mr Pinch?' said Pecksniff.

'Quite correct, sir,' answered Tom.

'A person is waiting in the kitchen,' said Mr Pecksniff, 'to carry
your luggage wherever you please. We part, Mr Pinch, at once, and
are strangers from this time.'

Something without a name; compassion, sorrow, old tenderness,
mistaken gratitude, habit; none of these, and yet all of them; smote
upon Tom's gentle heart at parting. There was no such soul as
Pecksniff's in that carcase; and yet, though his speaking out had
not involved the compromise of one he loved, he couldn't have
denounced the very shape and figure of the man. Not even then.

'I will not say,' cried Mr Pecksniff, shedding tears, 'what a blow
this is. I will not say how much it tries me; how it works upon my
nature; how it grates upon my feelings. I do not care for that. I
can endure as well as another man. But what I have to hope, and
what you have to hope, Mr Pinch (otherwise a great responsibility
rests upon you), is, that this deception may not alter my ideas of
humanity; that it may not impair my freshness, or contract, if I may
use the expression, my Pinions. I hope it will not; I don't think
it will. It may be a comfort to you, if not now, at some future
time, to know that I shall endeavour not to think the worse of my
fellow-creatures in general, for what has passed between us.
Farewell!'

Tom had meant to spare him one little puncturation with a lancet,
which he had it in his power to administer, but he changed his mind
on hearing this, and said:

'I think you left something in the church, sir.'

'Thank you, Mr Pinch,' said Pecksniff. 'I am not aware that I did.'

'This is your double eye-glass, I believe?' said Tom.

'Oh!' cried Pecksniff, with some degree of confusion. 'I am obliged
to you. Put it down, if you please.'

'I found it,' said Tom, slowly--'when I went to bolt the vestry-
window--in the pew.'

So he had. Mr Pecksniff had taken it off when he was bobbing up and
down, lest it should strike against the panelling; and had forgotten
it. Going back to the church with his mind full of having been
watched, and wondering very much from what part, Tom's attention was
caught by the door of the state pew standing open. Looking into it
he found the glass. And thus he knew, and by returning it gave Mr
Pecksniff the information that he knew, where the listener had been;
and that instead of overhearing fragments of the conversation, he
must have rejoiced in every word of it.

'I am glad he's gone,' said Martin, drawing a long breath when Tom
had left the room.

'It IS a relief,' assented Mr Pecksniff. 'It is a great relief.
But having discharged--I hope with tolerable firmness--the duty
which I owed to society, I will now, my dear sir, if you will give
me leave, retire to shed a few tears in the back garden, as an
humble individual.'

Tom went upstairs; cleared his shelf of books; packed them up with
his music and an old fiddle in his trunk; got out his clothes (they
were not so many that they made his head ache); put them on the top
of his books; and went into the workroom for his case of
instruments. There was a ragged stool there, with the horsehair all
sticking out of the top like a wig: a very Beast of a stool in
itself; on which he had taken up his daily seat, year after year,
during the whole period of his service. They had grown older and
shabbier in company. Pupils had served their time; seasons had come
and gone. Tom and the worn-out stool had held together through it
all. That part of the room was traditionally called 'Tom's Corner.'
It had been assigned to him at first because of its being situated
in a strong draught, and a great way from the fire; and he had
occupied it ever since. There were portraits of him on the walls,
with all his weak points monstrously portrayed. Diabolical
sentiments, foreign to his character, were represented as issuing
from his mouth in fat balloons. Every pupil had added something,
even unto fancy portraits of his father with one eye, and of his
mother with a disproportionate nose, and especially of his sister;
who always being presented as extremely beautiful, made full amends
to Tom for any other jokes. Under less uncommon circumstances, it
would have cut Tom to the heart to leave these things and think that
he saw them for the last time; but it didn't now. There was no
Pecksniff; there never had been a Pecksniff; and all his other
griefs were swallowed up in that.

So, when he returned into the bedroom, and, having fastened his box
and a carpet-bag, put on his walking gaiters, and his great-coat,
and his hat, and taken his stick in his hand, looked round it for
the last time. Early on summer mornings, and by the light of
private candle-ends on winter nights, he had read himself half blind
in this same room. He had tried in this same room to learn the
fiddle under the bedclothes, but yielding to objections from the
other pupils, had reluctantly abandoned the design. At any other
time he would have parted from it with a pang, thinking of all he
had learned there, of the many hours he had passed there; for the
love of his very dreams. But there was no Pecksniff; there never
had been a Pecksniff, and the unreality of Pecksniff extended itself
to the chamber, in which, sitting on one particular bed, the thing
supposed to be that Great Abstraction had often preached morality
with such effect that Tom had felt a moisture in his eyes, while
hanging breathless on the words.

The man engaged to bear his box--Tom knew him well: a Dragon man--
came stamping up the stairs, and made a roughish bow to Tom (to whom
in common times he would have nodded with a grin) as though he were
aware of what had happened, and wished him to perceive it made no
difference to HIM. It was clumsily done; he was a mere waterer of
horses; but Tom liked the man for it, and felt it more than going
away.

Tom would have helped him with the box, but he made no more of it,
though it was a heavy one, than an elephant would have made of a
castle; just swinging it on his back and bowling downstairs as if,
being naturally a heavy sort of fellow, he could carry a box
infinitely better than he could go alone. Tom took the carpet-bag,
and went downstairs along with him. At the outer door stood Jane,
crying with all her might; and on the steps was Mrs Lupin, sobbing
bitterly, and putting out her hand for Tom to shake.

'You're coming to the Dragon, Mr Pinch?'

'No,' said Tom, 'no. I shall walk to Salisbury to-night. I
couldn't stay here. For goodness' sake, don't make me so unhappy,
Mrs Lupin.'

'But you'll come to the Dragon, Mr Pinch. If it's only for tonight.
To see me, you know; not as a traveller.'

'God bless my soul!' said Tom, wiping his eyes. 'The kindness of
people is enough to break one's heart! I mean to go to Salisbury
to-night, my dear good creature. If you'll take care of my box for
me till I write for it, I shall consider it the greatest kindness
you can do me.'

'I wish,' cried Mrs Lupin, 'there were twenty boxes, Mr Pinch, that
I might have 'em all.'

'Thank'ee,' said Tom. 'It's like you. Good-bye. Good-bye.'

There were several people, young and old, standing about the door,
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 were divided between that
feeling and sympathy with Tom. Mr Pecksniff had appeared on the top
of the steps, simultaneously with his old pupil, and while Tom was
talking with Mrs Lupin kept his hand stretched out, as though he
said 'Go forth!'  When Tom went forth, and had turned the corner Mr
Pecksniff shook his head, shut his eyes, and heaving a deep sigh,
shut the door. On which, the best of Tom's supporters said he must
have done some dreadful deed, or such a man as Mr Pecksniff never
could have felt like that. If it had been a common quarrel (they
observed), he would have said something, but when he didn't, Mr
Pinch must have shocked him dreadfully.

Tom was out of hearing of their shrewd opinions, and plodded on as
steadily as he could go, until he came within sight of the turnpike
where the tollman's family had cried out 'Mr Pinch!' that frosty
morning, when he went to meet young Martin. He had got through the
village, and this toll-bar was his last trial; but when the infant
toll-takers came screeching out, he had half a mind to run for it,
and make a bolt across the country.

'Why, deary Mr Pinch! oh, deary sir!' cried the tollman's wife. 'What
an unlikely time for you to be a-going this way with a bag!'

'I am going to Salisbury,' said Tom.

'Why, goodness, where's the gig, then?' cried the tollman's wife,
looking down the road, as if she thought Tom might have been upset
without observing it.

'I 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 over this one.
'I have left Mr Pecksniff.'

The tollman--a crusty customer, always smoking solitary pipes in a
Windsor chair, inside, set artfully between two little windows that
looked up and down the road, so that when he saw anything coming up
he might hug himself on having toll to take, and when he saw it
going down, might hug himself on having taken it--the tollman was
out in an instant.

'Left Mr Pecksniff!' cried the tollman.

'Yes,' said Tom, 'left him.'

The tollman looked at his wife, uncertain whether to ask her if she
had anything to suggest, or to order her to mind the children.
Astonishment making him surly, he preferred the latter, and sent her
into the toll-house with a flea in her ear.

'You left Mr Pecksniff!' cried the tollman, folding his arms, and
spreading his legs. 'I should as soon have thought of his head
leaving him.'

'Aye!' said Tom, 'so should I, yesterday. Good night!'

If a heavy drove of oxen hadn't come by immediately, the tollman
would have gone down to the village straight, to inquire into it.
As things turned out, he smoked another pipe, and took his wife into
his confidence. But their united sagacity could make nothing of it,
and they went to bed--metaphorically--in the dark. But several
times that night, when a waggon or other vehicle came through, and
the driver asked the tollkeeper 'What news?' he looked at the man by
the light of his lantern, to assure himself that he had an interest
in the subject, and then said, wrapping his watch-coat round his
legs:

'You've heerd of Mr Pecksniff down yonder?'

'Ah! sure-ly!'

'And of his young man Mr Pinch, p'raps?'

'Ah!'

'They've parted.'

After every one of these disclosures, the tollman plunged into his
house again, and was seen no more, while the other side went on in
great amazement.

But this was long after Tom was abed, and Tom was now with his face
towards Salisbury, doing his best to get there. The evening was
beautiful at first, but it became cloudy and dull at sunset, and the
rain fell heavily soon afterwards. For ten long miles he plodded
on, wet through, until at last the lights appeared, and he came into
the welcome precincts of the city.

He went to the inn where he had waited for Martin, and briefly
answering their inquiries after Mr Pecksniff, ordered a bed. He had
no heart for tea or supper, meat or drink of any kind, but sat by
himself before an empty table in the public room while the bed was
getting ready, revolving in his mind all that had happened that
eventful day, and wondering what he could or should do for the
future. It was a great relief when the chambermaid came in, and
said the bed was ready.

It was a low four-poster, shelving downward in the centre like a
trough, and the room was crowded with impracticable tables and
exploded chests of drawers, full of damp linen. A graphic
representation in oil of a remarkably fat ox hung over the
fireplace, and the portrait of some former landlord (who might have
been the ox's brother, he was so like him) stared roundly in, at the
foot of the bed. A variety of queer smells were partially quenched
in the prevailing scent of very old lavender; and the window had not
been opened for such a long space of time that it pleaded immemorial
usage, and wouldn't come open now.

These were trifles in themselves, but they added to the strangeness
of the place, and did not induce Tom to forget his new position.
Pecksniff had gone out of the world--had never been in it--and it
was as much as Tom could do to say his prayers without him. But he
felt happier afterwards, and went to sleep, and dreamed about him as
he Never Was.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

TREATS OF TODGER'S AGAIN; AND OF ANOTHER BLIGHTED PLANT BESIDES THE
PLANTS UPON THE LEADS

Early on the day next after that on which she bade adieu to the
halls of her youth and the scenes of her childhood, Miss Pecksniff,
arriving safely at the coach-office in London, was there received,
and conducted to her peaceful home beneath the shadow of the
Monument, by Mrs Todgers. M. Todgers looked a little worn by cares
of gravy and other such solicitudes arising out of her
establishment, but displayed her usual earnestness and warmth of
manner.

'And how, my sweet Miss Pecksniff,' said she, 'how is your princely
pa?'

Miss Pecksniff signified (in confidence) that he contemplated the
introduction of a princely ma; and repeated the sentiment that she
wasn't blind, and wasn't quite a fool, and wouldn't bear it.

Mrs Todgers was more shocked by the intelligence than any one could
have expected. She was quite bitter. She said there was no truth
in man and that the warmer he expressed himself, as a general
principle, the falser and more treacherous he was. She foresaw with
astonishing clearness that the object of Mr Pecksniff's attachment
was designing, worthless, and wicked; and receiving from Charity the
fullest confirmation of these views, protested with tears in her
eyes that she loved Miss Pecksniff like a sister, and felt her
injuries as if they were her own.

'Your real darling sister, I have not seen her more than once since
her marriage,' said Mrs Todgers, 'and then I thought her looking
poorly. My sweet Miss Pecksniff, I always thought that you was to
be the lady?'

'Oh dear no!' cried Cherry, shaking her head. 'Oh no, Mrs Todgers.
Thank you. No! not for any consideration he could offer.'

'I dare say you are right,' said Mrs Todgers with a sigh. 'I feared
it all along. But the misery we have had from that match, here
among ourselves, in this house, my dear Miss Pecksniff, nobody would
believe.'

'Lor, Mrs Todgers!'

'Awful, awful!' repeated Mrs Todgers, with strong emphasis. 'You
recollect our youngest gentleman, my dear?'

'Of course I do,' said Cherry.

'You might have observed,' said Mrs Todgers, 'how he used to watch
your sister; and that a kind of stony dumbness came over him
whenever she was in company?'

'I am sure I never saw anything of the sort,' said Cherry, in a
peevish manner. 'What nonsense, Mrs Todgers!'

'My dear,' returned that lady in a hollow voice, 'I have seen him
again and again, sitting over his pie at dinner, with his spoon a
perfect fixture in his mouth, looking at your sister. I have seen
him standing in a corner of our drawing-room, gazing at her, in such
a lonely, melancholy state, that he was more like a Pump than a man,
and might have drawed tears.'

'I never saw it!' cried Cherry; 'that's all I can say.'

'But when the marriage took place,' said Mrs Todgers, proceeding
with her subject, 'when it was in the paper, and was read out here
at breakfast, I thought he had taken leave of his senses, I did
indeed. The violence of that young man, my dear Miss Pecksniff; the
frightful opinions he expressed upon the subject of self-
destruction; the extraordinary actions he performed with his tea;
the clenching way in which he bit his bread and butter; the manner
in which he taunted Mr Jinkins; all combined to form a picture never
to be forgotten.'

'It's a pity he didn't destroy himself, I think,' observed Miss
Pecksniff.

'Himself!' said Mrs Todgers, 'it took another turn at night. He was
for destroying other people then. There was a little chaffing going
on--I hope you don't consider that a low expression, Miss Pecksniff;
it is always in our gentlemen's mouths--a little chaffing going on,
my dear, among 'em, all in good nature, when suddenly he rose up,
foaming with his fury, and but for being held by three would have
had Mr Jinkins's life with a bootjack.'

Miss Pecksniff's face expressed supreme indifference.

'And now,' said Mrs Todgers, 'now he is the meekest of men. You can
almost bring the tears into his eyes by looking at him. He sits
with me the whole day long on Sundays, talking in such a dismal way
that I find it next to impossible to keep my spirits up equal to the
accommodation of the boarders. His only comfort is in female
society. He takes me half-price to the play, to an extent which I
sometimes fear is beyond his means; and I see the tears a-standing
in his eyes during the whole performance--particularly if it is
anything of a comic nature. The turn I experienced only yesterday,'
said Mrs Todgers putting her hand to her side, 'when the house-maid
threw his bedside carpet out of the window of his room, while I was
sitting here, no one can imagine. I thought it was him, and that he
had done it at last!'

The contempt with which Miss Charity received this pathetic account
of the state to which the youngest gentleman in company was reduced,
did not say much for her power of sympathising with that unfortunate
character. She treated it with great levity, and went on to inform
herself, then and afterwards, whether any other changes had occurred
in the commercial boarding-house.

Mr Bailey was gone, and had been succeeded (such is the decay of
human greatness!) by an old woman whose name was reported to be
Tamaroo--which seemed an impossibility. Indeed it appeared in the
fullness of time that the jocular boarders had appropriated the word
from an English ballad, in which it is supposed to express the bold
and fiery nature of a certain hackney coachman; and that it was
bestowed upon Mr Bailey's successor by reason of her having nothing
fiery about her, except an occasional attack of that fire which is
called St. Anthony's. This ancient female had been engaged, in
fulfillment of a vow, registered by Mrs Todgers, that no more boys
should darken the commercial doors; and she was chiefly remarkable
for a total absence of all comprehension upon every subject
whatever. She was a perfect Tomb for messages and small parcels;
and when dispatched to the Post Office with letters, had been
frequently seen endeavouring to insinuate them into casual chinks in
private doors, under the delusion that any door with a hole in it
would answer the purpose. She was a very little old woman, and
always wore a very coarse apron with a bib before and a loop behind,
together with bandages on her wrists, which appeared to be afflicted
with an everlasting sprain. She was on all occasions chary of
opening the street door, and ardent to shut it again; and she waited
at table in a bonnet.

This was the only great change over and above the change which had
fallen on the youngest gentleman. As for him, he more than
corroborated the account of Mrs Todgers; possessing greater
sensibility than even she had given him credit for. He entertained
some terrible notions of Destiny, among other matters, and talked
much about people's 'Missions'; upon which he seemed to have some
private information not generally attainable, as he knew it had been
poor Merry's mission to crush him in the bud. He was very frail and
tearful; for being aware that a shepherd's mission was to pipe to
his flocks, and that a boatswain's mission was to pipe all hands,
and that one man's mission was to be a paid piper, and another man's
mission was to pay the piper, so he had got it into his head that
his own peculiar mission was to pipe his eye. Which he did
perpetually.

He often informed Mrs Todgers that the sun had set upon him; that
the billows had rolled over him; that the car of Juggernaut had
crushed him, and also that the deadly Upas tree of Java had blighted
him. His name was Moddle.

Towards this most unhappy Moddle, Miss Pecksniff conducted herself
at first with distant haughtiness, being in no humour to be
entertained with dirges in honour of her married sister. The poor
young gentleman was additionally crushed by this, and remonstrated
with Mrs Todgers on the subject.

'Even she turns from me, Mrs Todgers,' said Moddle.

'Then why don't you try and be a little bit more cheerful, sir?'
retorted Mrs Todgers.

'Cheerful, Mrs Todgers! cheerful!' cried the youngest gentleman;
'when she reminds me of days for ever fled, Mrs Todgers!'

'Then you had better avoid her for a short time, if she does,' said
Mrs Todgers, 'and come to know her again, by degrees. That's my
advice.'

'But I can't avoid her,' replied Moddle, 'I haven't strength of mind
to do it. Oh, Mrs Todgers, if you knew what a comfort her nose is
to me!'

'Her nose, sir!' Mrs Todgers cried.

'Her profile, in general,' said the youngest gentleman, 'but
particularly her nose. It's so like;' here he yielded to a burst of
grief. 'it's so like hers who is Another's, Mrs Todgers!'

The observant matron did not fail to report this conversation to
Charity, who laughed at the time, but treated Mr Moddle that very
evening with increased consideration, and presented her side face to
him as much as possible. Mr Moddle was not less sentimental than
usual; was rather more so, if anything; but he sat and stared at her
with glistening eyes, and seemed grateful.

'Well, sir!' said the lady of the Boarding-House next day. 'You
held up your head last night. You're coming round, I think.'

'Only because she's so like her who is Another's, Mrs Todgers,'
rejoined the youth. 'When she talks, and when she smiles, I think
I'm looking on HER brow again, Mrs Todgers.'

This was likewise carried to Charity, who talked and smiled next
evening in her most engaging manner, and rallying Mr Moddle on the
lowness of his spirits, challenged him to play a rubber at cribbage.
Mr Moddle taking up the gauntlet, they played several rubbers for
sixpences, and Charity won them all. This may have been partially
attributable to the gallantry of the youngest gentleman, but it was
certainly referable to the state of his feelings also; for his eyes
being frequently dimmed by tears, he thought that aces were tens,
and knaves queens, which at times occasioned some confusion in his
play.

On the seventh night of cribbage, when Mrs Todgers, sitting by,
proposed that instead of gambling they should play for 'love,' Mr
Moddle was seen to change colour. On the fourteenth night, he
kissed Miss Pecksniff's snuffers, in the passage, when she went
upstairs to bed; meaning to have kissed her hand, but missing it.

In short, Mr Moddle began to be impressed with the idea that Miss
Pecksniff's mission was to comfort him; and Miss Pecksniff began to
speculate on the probability of its being her mission to become
ultimately Mrs Moddle. He was a young gentleman (Miss Pecksniff was
not a very young lady) with rising prospects, and 'almost' enough to
live on. Really it looked very well.

Besides--besides--he had been regarded as devoted to Merry. Merry
had joked about him, and had once spoken of it to her sister as a
conquest. He was better looking, better shaped, better spoken,
better tempered, better mannered than Jonas. He was easy to manage,
could be made to consult the humours of his Betrothed, and could be
shown off like a lamb when Jonas was a bear. There was the rub!

In the meantime the cribbage went on, and Mrs Todgers went off; for
the youngest gentleman, dropping her society, began to take Miss
Pecksniff to the play. He also began, as Mrs Todgers said, to slip
home 'in his dinner-times,' and to get away from 'the office' at
unholy seasons; and twice, as he informed Mrs Todgers himself, he
received anonymous letters, enclosing cards from Furniture
Warehouses--clearly the act of that ungentlemanly ruffian Jinkins;
only he hadn't evidence enough to call him out upon. All of which,
so Mrs Todgers told Miss Pecksniff, spoke as plain English as the
shining sun.

'My dear Miss Pecksniff, you may depend upon it,' said Mrs Todgers,
'that he is burning to propose.'

'My goodness me, why don't he then?' cried Cherry.

'Men are so much more timid than we think 'em, my dear,' returned
Mrs Todgers. 'They baulk themselves continually. I saw the words
on Todgers's lips for months and months and months, before he said
'em.'

Miss Pecksniff submitted that Todgers might not have been a fair
specimen.

'Oh yes, he was. Oh bless you, yes, my dear. I was very particular
in those days, I assure you,' said Mrs Todgers, bridling. 'No, no.
You give Mr Moddle a little encouragement, Miss Pecksniff, if you
wish him to speak; and he'll speak fast enough, depend upon it.'

'I am sure I don't know what encouragement he would have, Mrs
Todgers,' returned Charity. 'He walks with me, and plays cards with
me, and he comes and sits alone with me.'

'Quite right,' said Mrs Todgers. 'That's indispensable, my dear.'

'And he sits very close to me.'

'Also quite correct,' said Mrs Todgers.

'And he looks at me.'

'To be sure he does,' said Mrs Todgers.

'And he has his arm upon the back of the chair or sofa, or whatever
it is--behind me, you know.'

'I should think so,' said Mrs Todgers.

'And then he begins to cry!'

Mrs Todgers admitted that he might do better than that; and might
undoubtedly profit by the recollection of the great Lord Nelson's
signal at the battle of Trafalgar. Still, she said, he would come
round, or, not to mince the matter, would be brought round, if Miss
Pecksniff took up a decided position, and plainly showed him that it
must be done.

Determining to regulate her conduct by this opinion, the young lady
received Mr Moddle, on the earliest subsequent occasion, with an air
of constraint; and gradually leading him to inquire, in a dejected
manner, why she was so changed, confessed to him that she felt it
necessary for their mutual peace and happiness to take a decided
step. They had been much together lately, she observed, much
together, and had tasted the sweets of a genuine reciprocity of
sentiment. She never could forget him, nor could she ever cease to
think of him with feelings of the liveliest friendship, but people
had begun to talk, the thing had been observed, and it was necessary
that they should be nothing more to each other, than any gentleman
and lady in society usually are. She was glad she had had the
resolution to say thus much before her feelings had been tried too
far; they had been greatly tried, she would admit; but though she
was weak and silly, she would soon get the better of it, she hoped.

Moddle, who had by this time become in the last degree maudlin, and
wept abundantly, inferred from the foregoing avowal, that it was his
mission to communicate to others the blight which had fallen on
himself; and that, being a kind of unintentional Vampire, he had had
Miss Pecksniff assigned to him by the Fates, as Victim Number One.
Miss Pecksniff controverting this opinion as sinful, Moddle was
goaded on to ask whether she could be contented with a blighted
heart; and it appearing on further examination that she could be,
plighted his dismal troth, which was accepted and returned.

He bore his good fortune with the utmost moderation. Instead of
being triumphant, he shed more tears than he had ever been known to
shed before; and, sobbing, said:

'Oh! what a day this has been! I can't go back to the office this
afternoon. Oh, what a trying day this has been! Good Gracious!'

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

FURTHER PROCEEDINGS IN EDEN, AND A PROCEEDING OUT OF IT. MARTIN
MAKES A DISCOVERY OF SOME IMPORTANCE

From Mr Moddle to Eden is an easy and natural transition. Mr
Moddle, living in the atmosphere of Miss Pecksniff's love, dwelt (if
he had but known it) in a terrestrial Paradise. The thriving city
of Eden was also a terrestrial Paradise, upon the showing of its
proprietors. The beautiful Miss Pecksniff might have been
poetically described as a something too good for man in his fallen
and degraded state. That was exactly the character of the thriving
city of Eden, as poetically heightened by Zephaniah Scadder, General
Choke, and other worthies; part and parcel of the talons of that
great American Eagle, which is always airing itself sky-high in
purest aether, and never, no never, never, tumbles down with
draggled wings into the mud.

When Mark Tapley, leaving Martin in the architectural and surveying
offices, had effectually strengthened and encouraged his own spirits
by the contemplation of their joint misfortunes, he proceeded, with
new cheerfulness, in search of help; congratulating himself, as he
went along, on the enviable position to which he had at last
attained.

'I used to think, sometimes,' said Mr Tapley, 'as a desolate island
would suit me, but I should only have had myself to provide for
there, and being naturally a easy man to manage, there wouldn't have
been much credit in THAT. Now here I've got my partner to take care
on, and he's something like the sort of man for the purpose. I want
a man as is always a-sliding off his legs when he ought to be on
'em. I want a man as is so low down in the school of life that he's
always a-making figures of one in his copy-book, and can't get no
further. I want a man as is his own great coat and cloak, and is
always a-wrapping himself up in himself. And I have got him too,'
said Mr Tapley, after a moment's silence. 'What a happiness!'

He paused to look round, uncertain to which of the log-houses he
should repair.

'I don't know which to take,' he observed; 'that's the truth.
They're equally prepossessing outside, and equally commodious, no
doubt, within; being fitted up with every convenience that a
Alligator, in a state of natur', could possibly require. Let me
see! The citizen as turned out last night, lives under water, in the
right hand dog-kennel at the corner. I don't want to trouble him
if I can help it, poor man, for he is a melancholy object; a reg'lar
Settler in every respect. There's house with a winder, but I am
afraid of their being proud. I don't know whether a door ain't too
aristocratic; but here goes for the first one!'

He went up to the nearest cabin, and knocked with his hand. Being
desired to enter, he complied.

'Neighbour,' said Mark; 'for I AM a neighbour, though you don't know
me; I've come a-begging. Hallo! hal--lo! Am I a-bed, and dreaming!'

He made this exclamation on hearing his own name pronounced, and
finding himself clasped about the skirts by two little boys, whose
faces he had often washed, and whose suppers he had often cooked, on
board of that noble and fast-sailing line-of-packet ship, the Screw.

'My eyes is wrong!' said Mark. 'I don't believe 'em. That ain't my
fellow-passenger younder, a-nursing her little girl, who, I am sorry
to see, is so delicate; and that ain't her husband as come to New
York to fetch her. Nor these,' he added, looking down upon the
boys, 'ain't them two young shavers as was so familiar to me; though
they are uncommon like 'em. That I must confess.'

The woman shed tears, in very joy to see him; the man shook both his
hands and would not let them go; the two boys hugged his legs; the
sick child in the mother's arms stretched out her burning little
fingers, and muttered, in her hoarse, dry throat, his well-
remembered name.

It was the same family, sure enough. Altered by the salubrious air
of Eden. But the same.

'This is a new sort of a morning call,' said Mark, drawing a long
breath. 'It strikes one all of a heap. Wait a little bit! I'm a-
coming round fast. That'll do! These gentlemen ain't my friends.
Are they on the visiting list of the house?'

The inquiry referred to certain gaunt pigs, who had walked in after
him, and were much interested in the heels of the family. As they
did not belong to the mansion, they were expelled by the two little
boys.

'I ain't superstitious about toads,' said Mark, looking round the
room, 'but if you could prevail upon the two or three I see in
company, to step out at the same time, my young friends, I think
they'd find the open air refreshing. Not that I at all object to
'em. A very handsome animal is a toad,' said Mr Tapley, sitting
down upon a stool; 'very spotted; very like a partickler style of
old gentleman about the throat; very bright-eyed, very cool, and
very slippy. But one sees 'em to the best advantage out of doors
perhaps.'

While pretending, with such talk as this, to be perfectly at his
ease, and to be the most indifferent and careless of men, Mark
Tapley had an eye on all around him. The wan and meagre aspect of
the family, the changed looks of the poor mother, the fevered child
she held in her lap, the air of great despondency and little hope on
everything, were plain to him, and made a deep impression on his
mind. He saw it all as clearly and as quickly, as with his bodily
eyes he saw the rough shelves supported by pegs driven between the
logs, of which the house was made; the flour-cask in the corner,
serving also for a table; the blankets, spades, and other articles
against the walls; the damp that blotched the ground; or the crop of
vegetable rottenness in every crevice of the hut.

'How is it that you have come here?' asked the man, when their first
expressions of surprise were over.

'Why, we come by the steamer last night,' replied Mark. 'Our
intention is to make our fortuns with punctuality and dispatch; and
to retire upon our property as soon as ever it's realised. But how
are you all? You're looking noble!'

'We are but sickly now,' said the poor woman, bending over her
child. 'But we shall do better when we are seasoned to the place.'

'There are some here,' thought Mark 'whose seasoning will last for
ever.'

But he said cheerfully, 'Do better! To be sure you will. We shall
all do better. What we've got to do is, to keep up our spirits, and
be neighbourly. We shall come all right in the end, never fear.
That reminds me, by the bye, that my partner's all wrong just at
present; and that I looked in to beg for him. I wish you'd come and
give me your opinion of him, master.'

That must have been a very unreasonable request on the part of Mark
Tapley, with which, in their gratitude for his kind offices on board
the ship, they would not have complied instantly. The man rose to
accompany him without a moment's delay. Before they went, Mark took
the sick child in his arms, and tried to comfort the mother; but the
hand of death was on it then, he saw.

They found Martin in the house, lying wrapped up in his blanket on
the ground. He was, to all appearance, very ill indeed, and shook
and shivered horribly; not as people do from cold, but in a
frightful kind of spasm or convulsion, that racked his whole body.
Mark's friend pronounced his disease an aggravated kind of fever,
accompanied with ague; which was very common in those parts, and
which he predicted would be worse to-morrow, and for many more
to-morrows. He had had it himself off and on, he said, for a
couple of years or so; but he was thankful that, while so many
he had known had died about him, he had escaped with life.

'And with not too much of that,' thought Mark, surveying his
emaciated form. 'Eden for ever!'

They had some medicine in their chest; and this man of sad
experience showed Mark how and when to administer it, and how he
could best alleviate the sufferings of Martin. His attentions did
not stop there; for he was backwards and forwards constantly, and
rendered Mark good service in all his brisk attempts to make their
situation more endurable. Hope or comfort for the future he could
not bestow. The season was a sickly one; the settlement a grave.
His child died that night; and Mark, keeping the secret from Martin,
helped to bury it, beneath a tree, next day.

With all his various duties of attendance upon Martin (who became
the more exacting in his claims, the worse he grew), Mark worked out
of doors, early and late; and with the assistance of his friend and
others, laboured to do something with their land. Not that he had
the least strength of heart or hope, or steady purpose in so doing,
beyond the habitual cheerfulness of his disposition, and his amazing
power of self-sustainment; for within himself, he looked on their
condition as beyond all hope, and, in his own words, 'came out
strong' in consequence.

'As to coming out as strong as I could wish, sir,' he confided to
Martin in a leisure moment; that is to say, one evening, while he
was washing the linen of the establishment, after a hard day's work,
'that I give up. It's a piece of good fortune as never is to happen
to me, I see!'

'Would you wish for circumstances stronger than these?' Martin
retorted with a groan, from underneath his blanket.

'Why, only see how easy they might have been stronger, sir,' said
Mark, 'if it wasn't for the envy of that uncommon fortun of mine,
which is always after me, and tripping me up. The night we landed
here, I thought things did look pretty jolly. I won't deny it. I
thought they did look pretty jolly.'

'How do they look now?' groaned Martin.

'Ah!' said Mark, 'Ah, to be sure. That's the question. How do they
look now? On the very first morning of my going out, what do I do?
Stumble on a family I know, who are constantly assisting of us in
all sorts of ways, from that time to this! That won't do, you know;
that ain't what I'd a right to expect. If I had stumbled on a
serpent and got bit; or stumbled on a first-rate patriot, and got
bowie-knifed, or stumbled on a lot of Sympathisers with inverted
shirt-collars, and got made a lion of; I might have distinguished
myself, and earned some credit. As it is, the great object of my
voyage is knocked on the head. So it would be, wherever I went.
How do you feel to-night, sir?'

'Worse than ever,' said poor Martin.

'That's something,' returned Mark, 'but not enough. Nothing but
being very bad myself, and jolly to the last, will ever do me
justice.'

'In Heaven's name, don't talk of that,' said Martin with a thrill
of terror. 'What should I do, Mark, if you were taken ill!'

Mr Tapley's spirits appeared to be stimulated by this remark,
although it was not a very flattering one. He proceeded with his
washing in a brighter mood; and observed 'that his glass was
arising.'

'There's one good thing in this place, sir,' said Mr Tapley,
scrubbing away at the linen, 'as disposes me to be jolly; and that
is that it's a reg'lar little United States in itself. There's two
or three American settlers left; and they coolly comes over one,
even here, sir, as if it was the wholesomest and loveliest spot in
the world. But they're like the cock that went and hid himself to
save his life, and was found out by the noise he made. They can't
help crowing. They was born to do it, and do it they must, whatever
comes of it.'

Glancing from his work out at the door as he said these words,
Mark's eyes encountered a lean person in a blue frock and a straw
hat, with a short black pipe in his mouth, and a great hickory stick
studded all over with knots, in his hand; who smoking and chewing as
he came along, and spitting frequently, recorded his progress by a
train of decomposed tobacco on the ground.

'Here's one on 'em,' cried Mark, 'Hannibal Chollop.'

'Don't let him in,' said Martin, feebly.

'He won't want any letting in,' replied Mark. 'He'll come in, sir.'
Which turned out to be quite true, for he did. His face was almost
as hard and knobby as his stick; and so were his hands. His head
was like an old black hearth-broom. He sat down on the chest with
his hat on; and crossing his legs and looking up at Mark, said,
without removing his pipe:

'Well, Mr Co.! and how do you git along, sir?'

It may be necessary to observe that Mr Tapley had gravely introduced
himself to all strangers, by that name.

'Pretty well, sir; pretty well,' said Mark.

'If this ain't Mr Chuzzlewit, ain't it!' exclaimed the visitor 'How
do YOU git along, sir?'

Martin shook his head, and drew the blanket over it involuntarily;
for he felt that Hannibal was going to spit; and his eye, as the
song says, was upon him.

'You need not regard me, sir,' observed Mr Chollop, complacently.
'I am fever-proof, and likewise agur.'

'Mine was a more selfish motive,' said Martin, looking out again.
'I was afraid you were going to--'

'I can calc'late my distance, sir,' returned Mr Chollop, 'to an
inch.'

With a proof of which happy faculty he immediately favoured him.

'I re-quire, sir,' said Hannibal, 'two foot clear in a circ'lar di-
rection, and can engage my-self toe keep within it. I HAVE gone ten
foot, in a circ'lar di-rection, but that was for a wager.'

'I hope you won it, sir,' said Mark.

'Well, sir, I realised the stakes,' said Chollop. 'Yes, sir.'

He was silent for a time, during which he was actively engaged in
the formation of a magic circle round the chest on which he sat.
When it was completed, he began to talk again.

'How do you like our country, sir?' he inquired, looking at Martin.

'Not at all,' was the invalid's reply.

Chollop continued to smoke without the least appearance of emotion,
until he felt disposed to speak again. That time at length
arriving, he took his pipe from his mouth, and said:

'I am not surprised to hear you say so. It re-quires An elevation,
and A preparation of the intellect. The mind of man must be
prepared for Freedom, Mr Co.'

He addressed himself to Mark; because he saw that Martin, who wished
him to go, being already half-mad with feverish irritation, which
the droning voice of this new horror rendered almost insupportable,
had closed his eyes, and turned on his uneasy bed.

'A little bodily preparation wouldn't be amiss, either, would it,
sir,' said Mark, 'in the case of a blessed old swamp like this?'

'Do you con-sider this a swamp, sir?' inquired Chollop gravely.

'Why yes, sir,' returned Mark. 'I haven't a doubt about it myself.'

'The sentiment is quite Europian,' said the major, 'and does not
surprise me; what would your English millions say to such a swamp in
England, sir?'

'They'd say it was an uncommon nasty one, I should think, said Mark;
'and that they would rather be inoculated for fever in some other
way.'

'Europian!' remarked Chollop, with sardonic pity. 'Quite Europian!'

And there he sat. Silent and cool, as if the house were his;
smoking away like a factory chimney.

Mr Chollop was, of course, one of the most remarkable men in the
country; but he really was a notorious person besides. He was
usually described by his friends, in the South and West, as 'a
splendid sample of our na-tive raw material, sir,' and was much
esteemed for his devotion to rational Liberty; for the better
propagation whereof he usually carried a brace of revolving pistols
in his coat pocket, with seven barrels a-piece. He also carried,
amongst other trinkets, a sword-stick, which he called his
'Tickler.' and a great knife, which (for he was a man of a pleasant
turn of humour) he called 'Ripper,' in allusion to its usefulness as
a means of ventilating the stomach of any adversary in a close
contest. He had used these weapons with distinguished effect in
several instances, all duly chronicled in the newspapers; and was
greatly beloved for the gallant manner in which he had 'jobbed out'
the eye of one gentleman, as he was in the act of knocking at his
own street-door.

Mr Chollop was a man of a roving disposition; and, in any less
advanced community, might have been mistaken for a violent vagabond.
But his fine qualities being perfectly understood and appreciated in
those regions where his lot was cast, and where he had many kindred
spirits to consort with, he may be regarded as having been born
under a fortunate star, which is not always the case with a man so
much before the age in which he lives. Preferring, with a view to
the gratification of his tickling and ripping fancies, to dwell upon
the outskirts of society, and in the more remote towns and cities,
he was in the habit of emigrating from place to place, and
establishing in each some business--usually a newspaper--which he
presently sold; for the most part closing the bargain by challenging,
stabbing, pistolling, or gouging the new editor, before he had quite
taken possession of the property.

He had come to Eden on a speculation of this kind, but had abandoned
it, and was about to leave. He always introduced himself to
strangers as a worshipper of Freedom; was the consistent advocate of
Lynch law, and slavery; and invariably recommended, both in print
and speech, the 'tarring and feathering' of any unpopular person who
differed from himself. He called this 'planting the standard of
civilization in the wilder gardens of My country.'

There is little doubt that Chollop would have planted this standard
in Eden at Mark's expense, in return for his plainness of speech
(for the genuine Freedom is dumb, save when she vaunts herself), but
for the utter desolation and decay prevailing in the settlement, and
his own approaching departure from it. As it was, he contented
himself with showing Mark one of the revolving-pistols, and asking
him what he thought of that weapon.

'It ain't long since I shot a man down with that, sir, in the State
of IllinOY,' observed Chollop.

'Did you, indeed!' said Mark, without the smallest agitation. 'Very
free of you. And very independent!'

'I shot him down, sir,' pursued Chollop, 'for asserting in the
Spartan Portico, a tri-weekly journal, that the ancient Athenians
went a-head of the present Locofoco Ticket.'

'And what's that?' asked Mark.

'Europian not to know,' said Chollop, smoking placidly. 'Europian
quite!'

After a short devotion to the interests of the magic circle, he
resumed the conversation by observing:

'You won't half feel yourself at home in Eden, now?'

'No,' said Mark, 'I don't.'

'You miss the imposts of your country. You miss the house dues?'
observed Chollop.

'And the houses--rather,' said Mark.

'No window dues here, sir,' observed Chollop.

'And no windows to put 'em on,' said Mark.

'No stakes, no dungeons, no blocks, no racks, no scaffolds, no
thumbscrews, no pikes, no pillories,' said Chollop.

'Nothing but rewolwers and bowie-knives,' returned Mark. 'And what
are they? Not worth mentioning!'

The man who had met them on the night of their arrival came crawling
up at this juncture, and looked in at the door.

'Well, sir,' said Chollop. 'How do YOU git along?'

He had considerable difficulty in getting along at all, and said as
much in reply.

'Mr Co. And me, sir,' observed Chollop, 'are disputating a piece.
He ought to be slicked up pretty smart to disputate between the Old
World and the New, I do expect?'

'Well!' returned the miserable shadow. 'So he had.'

'I was merely observing, sir,' said Mark, addressing this new
visitor, 'that I looked upon the city in which we have the honour to
live, as being swampy. What's your sentiments?'

'I opinionate it's moist perhaps, at certain times,' returned the
man.

'But not as moist as England, sir?' cried Chollop, with a fierce
expression in his face.

'Oh! Not as moist as England; let alone its Institutions,' said the
man.

'I should hope there ain't a swamp in all Americay, as don't whip
THAT small island into mush and molasses,' observed Chollop,
decisively. 'You bought slick, straight, and right away, of
Scadder, sir?' to Mark.

He answered in the affirmative. Mr Chollop winked at the other
citizen.

'Scadder is a smart man, sir? He is a rising man? He is a man as
will come up'ards, right side up, sir?'  Mr Chollop winked again at
the other citizen.

'He should have his right side very high up, if I had my way,' said
Mark. 'As high up as the top of a good tall gallows, perhaps.'

Mr Chollop was so delighted at the smartness of his excellent
countryman having been too much for the Britisher, and at the
Britisher's resenting it, that he could contain himself no longer,
and broke forth in a shout of delight. But the strangest exposition
of this ruling passion was in the other--the pestilence-stricken,
broken, miserable shadow of a man--who derived so much entertainment
from the circumstance that he seemed to forget his own ruin in
thinking of it, and laughed outright when he said 'that Scadder was
a smart man, and had draw'd a lot of British capital that way, as
sure as sun-up.'

After a full enjoyment of this joke, Mr Hannibal Chollop sat smoking
and improving the circle, without making any attempts either to
converse or to take leave; apparently labouring under the not
uncommon delusion that for a free and enlightened citizen of the
United States to convert another man's house into a spittoon for two
or three hours together, was a delicate attention, full of interest
and politeness, of which nobody could ever tire. At last he rose.

'I am a-going easy,' he observed.

Mark entreated him to take particular care of himself.

'Afore I go,' he said sternly, 'I have got a leetle word to say to
you. You are darnation 'cute, you are.'

Mark thanked him for the compliment.

'But you are much too 'cute to last. I can't con-ceive of any
spotted Painter in the bush, as ever was so riddled through and
through as you will be, I bet.'

'What for?' asked Mark.

'We must be cracked up, sir,' retorted Chollop, in a tone of menace.
'You are not now in A despotic land. We are a model to the airth,
and must be jist cracked-up, I tell you.'

'What! I speak too free, do I?' cried Mark.

'I have draw'd upon A man, and fired upon A man for less,' said
Chollop, frowning. 'I have know'd strong men obleeged to make
themselves uncommon skase for less. I have know'd men Lynched for
less, and beaten into punkin'-sarse for less, by an enlightened
people. We are the intellect and virtue of the airth, the cream of
human natur', and the flower Of moral force. Our backs is easy ris.
We must be cracked-up, or they rises, and we snarls. We shows our
teeth, I tell you, fierce. You'd better crack us up, you had!'

After the delivery of this caution, Mr Chollop departed; with
Ripper, Tickler, and the revolvers, all ready for action on the
shortest notice.

'Come out from under the blanket, sir,' said Mark, 'he's gone.
What's this!' he added softly; kneeling down to look into his
partner's face, and taking his hot hand. 'What's come of all that
chattering and swaggering? He's wandering in his mind to-night, and
don't know me!'

Martin indeed was dangerously ill; very near his death. He lay in
that state many days, during which time Mark's poor friends,
regardless of themselves, attended him. Mark, fatigued in mind and
body; working all the day and sitting up at night; worn with hard
living and the unaccustomed toil of his new life; surrounded by
dismal and discouraging circumstances of every kind; never
complained or yielded in the least degree. If ever he had thought
Martin selfish or inconsiderate, or had deemed him energetic only by
fits and starts, and then too passive for their desperate fortunes,
he now forgot it all. He remembered nothing but the better
qualities of his fellow-wanderer, and was devoted to him, heart and
hand.

Many weeks elapsed before Martin was strong enough to move about
with the help of a stick and Mark's arm; and even then his recovery,
for want of wholesome air and proper nourishment, was very slow. He
was yet in a feeble and weak condition, when the misfourtune he had
so much dreaded fell upon them. Mark was taken ill.

Mark fought against it; but the malady fought harder, and his
efforts were in vain.

'Floored for the present, sir,' he said one morning, sinking back
upon his bed; 'but jolly!'

Floored indeed, and by a heavy blow! As any one but Martin might
have known beforehand.

If Mark's friends had been kind to Martin (and they had been very),
they were twenty times kinder to Mark. And now it was Martin's turn
to work, and sit beside the bed and watch, and listen through the
long, long nights, to every sound in the gloomy wilderness; and hear
poor Mr Tapley, in his wandering fancy, playing at skittles in the
Dragon, making love-remonstrances to Mrs Lupin, getting his sea-legs
on board the Screw, travelling with old Tom Pinch on English roads,
and burning stumps of trees in Eden, all at once.

But whenever Martin gave him drink or medicine, or tended him in any
way, or came into the house returning from some drudgery without,
the patient Mr Tapley brightened up and cried: 'I'm jolly, sir; 'I'm
jolly!'

Now, when Martin began to think of this, and to look at Mark as he
lay there; never reproaching him by so much as an expression of
regret; never murmuring; always striving to be manful and staunch;
he began to think, how was it that this man who had had so few
advantages, was so much better than he who had had so many? And
attendance upon a sick bed, but especially the sick bed of one whom
we have been accustomed to see in full activity and vigour, being a
great breeder of reflection, he began to ask himself in what they
differed.

He was assisted in coming to a conclusion on this head by the
frequent presence of Mark's friend, their fellow-passenger across
the ocean, which suggested to him that in regard to having aided
her, for example, they had differed very much. Somehow he coupled
Tom Pinch with this train of reflection; and thinking that Tom would
be very likely to have struck up the same sort of acquaintance under
similar circumstances, began to think in what respects two people so
extremely different were like each other, and were unlike him. At
first sight there was nothing very distressing in these meditations,
but they did undoubtedly distress him for all that.

Martin's nature was a frank and generous one; but he had been bred
up in his grandfather's house; and it will usually be found that the
meaner domestic vices propagate themselves to be their own
antagonists. Selfishness does this especially; so do suspicion,
cunning, stealth, and covetous propensities. Martin had
unconsciously reasoned as a child, 'My guardian takes so much
thought of himself, that unless I do the like by MYself, I shall be
forgotten.'  So he had grown selfish.

But he had never known it. If any one had taxed him with the vice,
he would have indignantly repelled the accusation, and conceived
himself unworthily aspersed. He never would have known it, but that
being newly risen from a bed of dangerous sickness, to watch by such
another couch, he felt how nearly Self had dropped into the grave,
and what a poor dependent, miserable thing it was.

It was natural for him to reflect--he had months to do it in--upon
his own escape, and Mark's extremity. This led him to consider
which of them could be the better spared, and why? Then the curtain
slowly rose a very little way; and Self, Self, Self, was shown
below.

He asked himself, besides, when dreading Mark's decease (as all men
do and must, at such a time), whether he had done his duty by him,
and had deserved and made a good response to his fidelity and zeal.
No. Short as their companionship had been, he felt in many, many
instances, that there was blame against himself; and still inquiring
why, the curtain slowly rose a little more, and Self, Self, Self,
dilated on the scene.

It was long before he fixed the knowledge of himself so firmly in
his mind that he could thoroughly discern the truth; but in the
hideous solitude of that most hideous place, with Hope so far
removed, Ambition quenched, and Death beside him rattling at the
very door, reflection came, as in a plague-beleaguered town; and so
he felt and knew the failing of his life, and saw distinctly what an
ugly spot it was.

Eden was a hard school to learn so hard a lesson in; but there were
teachers in the swamp and thicket, and the pestilential air, who had
a searching method of their own.

He made a solemn resolution that when his strength returned he would
not dispute the point or resist the conviction, but would look upon
it as an established fact, that selfishness was in his breast, and
must be rooted out. He was so doubtful (and with justice) of his
own character, that he determined not to say one word of vain regret
or good resolve to Mark, but steadily to keep his purpose before his
own eyes solely; and there was not a jot of pride in this; nothing
but humility and steadfastness; the best armour he could wear. So
low had Eden brought him down. So high had Eden raised him up.

After a long and lingering illness (in certain forlorn stages of
which, when too far gone to speak, he had feebly written 'jolly!' on
a slate), Mark showed some symptoms of returning health. They came
and went, and flickered for a time; but he began to mend at last
decidedly; and after that continued to improve from day to day.

As soon as he was well enough to talk without fatigue, Martin
consulted him upon a project he had in his mind, and which a few
months back he would have carried into execution without troubling
anybody's head but his own.

'Ours is a desperate case,' said Martin. 'Plainly. The place is
deserted; its failure must have become known; and selling what we
have bought to any one, for anything, is hopeless, even if it were
honest. We left home on a mad enterprise, and have failed. The
only hope left us, the only one end for which we have now to try, is
to quit this settlement for ever, and get back to England. Anyhow!
by any means! only to get back there, Mark.'

'That's all, sir,' returned Mr Tapley, with a significant stress
upon the words; 'only that!'

'Now, upon this side of the water,' said Martin, 'we have but one
friend who can help us, and that is Mr Bevan.'

'I thought of him when you was ill,' said Mark.

'But for the time that would be lost, I would even write to my
grandfather,' Martin went on to say, 'and implore him for money to
free us from this trap into which we were so cruelly decoyed. Shall
I try Mr Bevan first?'

'He's a very pleasant sort of a gentleman,' said Mark. 'I think
so.'

'The few goods we brought here, and in which we spent our money,
would produce something if sold,' resumed Martin; 'and whatever they
realise shall be paid him instantly. But they can't be sold here.'

'There's nobody but corpses to buy 'em,' said Mr Tapley, shaking his
head with a rueful air, 'and pigs.'

'Shall I tell him so, and only ask him for money enough to enable us
by the cheapest means to reach New York, or any port from which we
may hope to get a passage home, by serving in any capacity?
Explaining to him at the same time how I am connected, and that I
will endeavour to repay him, even through my grandfather,
immediately on our arrival in England?'

'Why to be sure,' said Mark: 'he can only say no, and he 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 think of the past. If I
had taken your opinion sooner, Mark, we never should have been here,
I am certain.'

Mr Tapley was very much surprised at this admission, but protested,
with great vehemence, that they would have been there all the same;
and that he had set his heart upon coming to Eden, from the first
word he had ever heard of it.

Martin then read him a letter to Mr Bevan, which he had already
prepared. It was frankly and ingenuously written, and described
their situation without the least concealment; plainly stated the
miseries they had undergone; and preferred their request in modest
but straightforward terms. Mark highly commended it; and they
determined to dispatch it by the next steamboat going the right way,
that might call to take in wood at Eden--where there was plenty of
wood to spare. Not knowing how to address Mr Bevan at his own place
of abode, Martin superscribed it to the care of the memorable Mr
Norris of New York, and wrote upon the cover an entreaty that it
might be forwarded without delay.

More than a week elapsed before a boat appeared; but at length they
were awakened very early one morning by the high-pressure snorting
of the 'Esau Slodge;' named after one of the most remarkable men in
the country, who had been very eminent somewhere. Hurrying down to
the landing-place, they got it safe on board; and waiting anxiously
to see the boat depart, stopped up the gangway; an instance of
neglect which caused the 'Capting' of the Esau Slodge to 'wish he
might be sifted fine as flour, and whittled small as chips; that if
they didn't come off that there fixing right smart too, he'd spill
'em in the drink;' whereby the Capting metaphorically said he'd
throw them in the river.

They were not likely to receive an answer for eight or ten weeks at
the earliest. In the meantime they devoted such strength as they
had to the attempted improvement of their land; to clearing some of
it, and preparing it for useful purposes. Monstrously defective as
their farming was, still it was better than their neighbours'; for
Mark had some practical knowledge of such matters, and Martin
learned of him; whereas the other settlers who remained upon the
putrid swamp (a mere handful, and those withered by disease),
appeared to have wandered there with the idea that husbandry was the
natural gift of all mankind. They helped each other after their own
manner in these struggles, and in all others; but they worked as
hopelessly and sadly as a gang of convicts in a penal settlement.

Often at night when Mark and Martin were alone, and lying down to
sleep, they spoke of home, familiar places, houses, roads, and
people whom they knew; sometimes in the lively hope of seeing them
again, and sometimes with a sorrowful tranquillity, as if that hope
were dead. It was a source of great amazement to Mark Tapley to
find, pervading all these conversations, a singular alteration in
Martin.

'I don't know what to make of him,' he thought one night, 'he ain't
what I supposed. He don't think of himself half as much. I'll try
him again. Asleep, sir?'

'No, Mark.'

'Thinking of home, sir?'

'Yes, Mark.'

'So was I, sir. I was wondering how Mr Pinch and Mr Pecksniff gets
on now.'

'Poor Tom!' said Martin, thoughtfully.

'Weak-minded man, sir,' observed Mr Tapley. 'Plays the organ for
nothing, sir. Takes no care of himself?'

'I wish he took a little more, indeed,' said Martin. 'Though I
don't know why I should. We shouldn't like him half as well,
perhaps.'

'He gets put upon, sir,' hinted Mark.

'Yes!' said Martin, after a short silence. 'I know that, Mark.'

He spoke so regretfully that his partner abandoned the theme, and
was silent for a short time until he had thought of another.

'Ah, sir!' said Mark, with a sigh. 'Dear me! You've ventured a good
deal for a young lady's love!'

'I tell you what. I'm not so sure of that, Mark,' was the reply; so
hastily and energetically spoken, that Martin sat up in his bed to
give it. 'I begin to be far from clear upon it. You may depend
upon it she is very unhappy. She has sacrificed her peace of mind;
she has endangered her interests very much; she can't run away from
those who are jealous of her, and opposed to her, as I have done.
She has to endure, Mark; to endure without the possibility of
action, poor girl! I begin to think that she has more to bear than
ever I had. Upon my soul I do!'

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 ARE upon
this subject. That ring--'

'Which ring, sir?' Mark inquired, opening his eyes still wider.

'That ring she gave me when we parted, Mark. She bought it; bought
it; knowing I was poor and proud (Heaven help me! Proud!) and wanted
money.'

'Who says so, sir?' asked Mark.

'I say so. I know it. I thought of it, my good fellow, hundreds of
times, while you were lying ill. And like a beast, I took it from
her hand, and wore it on my own, and never dreamed of this even at
the moment when I parted with it, when some faint glimmering of the
truth might surely have possessed me! But it's late,' said Martin,
checking himself, 'and you are weak and tired, I know. You only
talk to cheer me up. Good night! God bless you, Mark!'

'God bless you, sir! But I'm reg'larly defrauded,' thought Mr
Tapley, turning round with a happy face. 'It's a swindle. I never
entered for this sort of service. There'll be no credit in being
jolly with HIM!'

The time wore on, and other steamboats coming from the point on
which their hopes were fixed, arrived to take in wood; but still no
answer to the letter. Rain, heat, foul slime, and noxious vapour,
with all the ills and filthy things they bred, prevailed. The
earth, the air, the vegetation, and the water that they drank, all
teemed with deadly properties. Their fellow-passenger had lost two
children long before; and buried now her last. Such things are much
too common to be widely known or cared for. Smart citizens grow
rich, and friendless victims smart and die, and are forgotten. That
is all.

At last a boat came panting up the ugly river, and stopped at Eden.
Mark was waiting at the wood hut when it came, and had a letter
handed to him from on board. He bore it off to Martin. They looked
at one another, trembling.

'It feels heavy,' faltered Martin. And opening it a little roll of
dollar-notes fell out upon the ground.

What either of them said, or did, or felt, at first, neither of them
knew. All Mark could ever tell was, that he was at the river's bank
again out of breath, before the boat had gone, inquiring when it
would retrace its track and put in there.

The answer was, in ten or twelve days; notwithstanding which they
began to get their goods together and to tie them up that very
night. When this stage of excitement was passed, each of them
believed (they found this out, in talking of it afterwards) that he
would surely die before the boat returned.

They lived, however, and it came, after the lapse of three long
crawling weeks. At sunrise, on an autumn day, they stood upon her
deck.

'Courage! We shall meet again!' cried Martin, waving his hand to two
thin figures on the bank. 'In the Old World!'

'Or in the next one,' added Mark below his breath. 'To see them
standing side by side, so quiet, is a'most the worst of all!'

They looked at one another as the vessel moved away, and then looked
backward at the spot from which it hurried fast. The log-house, with
the open door, and drooping trees about it; the stagnant morning
mist, and red sun, dimly seen beyond; the vapour rising up from land
and river; the quick stream making the loathsome banks it washed
more flat and dull; how often they returned in dreams! How often it
was happiness to wake and find them Shadows that had vanished!

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

IN WHICH THE TRAVELLERS MOVE HOMEWARD, AND ENCOUNTER SOME
DISTINGUISHED CHARACTERS UPON THE WAY

Among the passengers on board the steamboat, there was a faint
gentleman sitting on a low camp-stool, with his legs on a high
barrel of flour, as if he were looking at the prospect with his
ankles, who attracted their attention speedily.

He had straight black hair, parted up the middle of his head and
hanging down upon his coat; a little fringe of hair upon his chin;
wore no neckcloth; a white hat; a suit of black, long in the sleeves
and short in the legs; soiled brown stockings and laced shoes. His
complexion, naturally muddy, was rendered muddier by too strict an
economy of soap and water; and the same observation will apply to
the washable part of his attire, which he might have changed with
comfort to himself and gratification to his friends. He was about
five and thirty; was crushed and jammed up in a heap, under the
shade of a large green cotton umbrella; and ruminated over his
tobacco-plug like a cow.

He was not singular, to be sure, in these respects; for every
gentleman on board appeared to have had a difference with his
laundress and to have left off washing himself in early youth.
Every gentleman, too, was perfectly stopped up with tight plugging,
and was dislocated in the greater part of his joints. But about
this gentleman there was a peculiar air of sagacity and wisdom,
which convinced Martin that he was no common character; and this
turned out to be the case.

'How do you do sir?' said a voice in Martin's ear

'How do you do sir?' said Martin.

It was a tall thin gentleman who spoke to him, with a carpet-cap on,
and a long loose coat of green baize, ornamented about the pockets
with black velvet.

'You air from Europe, sir?'

'I am,' said Martin.

'You air fortunate, sir.'

Martin thought so too; but he soon discovered that the gentleman and
he attached different meanings to this remark.

'You air fortunate, sir, in having an opportunity of beholding our
Elijah Pogram, sir.'

'Your Elijahpogram!' said Martin, thinking it was all one word, and
a building of some sort.

'Yes sir.'

Martin tried to look as if he understood him, but he couldn't make
it out.

'Yes, sir,' repeated the gentleman. 'our Elijah Pogram, sir, is, at
this minute, identically settin' by the en-gine biler.'

The gentleman under the umbrella put his right forefinger to his
eyebrow, as if he were revolving schemes of state.

'That is Elijah Pogram, is it?' said Martin.

'Yes, sir,' replied the other. 'That is Elijah Pogram.'

'Dear me!' said Martin. 'I am astonished.'  But he had not the least
idea who this Elijah Pogram was; having never heard the name in all
his life.

'If the biler of this vessel was Toe bust, sir,' said his new
acquaintance, 'and Toe bust now, this would be a festival day in the
calendar of despotism; pretty nigh equallin', sir, in its effects
upon the human race, our Fourth of glorious July. Yes, sir, that is
the Honourable Elijah Pogram, Member of Congress; one of the master-
minds of our country, sir. There is a brow, sir, there!'

'Quite remarkable,' said Martin.

'Yes, sir. Our own immortal Chiggle, sir, is said to have observed,
when he made the celebrated Pogram statter in marble, which rose so
much con-test and preju-dice in Europe, that the brow was more than
mortal. This was before the Pogram Defiance, and was, therefore, a
pre-diction, cruel smart.'

'What is the Pogram Defiance?' asked Martin, thinking, perhaps, it
was the sign of a public-house.

'An o-ration, sir,' returned his friend.

'Oh! to be sure,' cried Martin. 'What am I thinking of! It
defied--'

'It defied the world, sir,' said the other, gravely. 'Defied the
world in general to com-pete with our country upon any hook; and
devellop'd our internal resources for making war upon the universal
airth. You would like to know Elijah Pogram, sir?'

'If you please,' said Martin.

'Mr Pogram,' said the stranger--Mr Pogram having overheard every
word of the dialogue--'this is a gentleman from Europe, sir; from
England, sir. But gen'rous ene-mies may meet upon the neutral sile
of private life, I think.'

The languid Mr Pogram shook hands with Martin, like a clock-work
figure that was just running down. But he made amends by chewing
like one that was just wound up.

'Mr Pogram,' said the introducer, 'is a public servant, sir. When
Congress is recessed, he makes himself acquainted with those free
United States, of which he is the gifted son.'

It occurred to Martin that if the Honourable Elijah Pogram had
stayed at home, and sent his shoes upon a tour, they would have
answered the same purpose; for they were the only part of him in a
situation to see anything.

In course of time, however, Mr Pogram rose; and having ejected
certain plugging consequences which would have impeded his
articulation, took up a position where there was something to lean
against, and began to talk to Martin; shading himself with the green
umbrella all the time.

As he began with the words, 'How do you like--?'  Martin took him up
and said:

'The country, I presume?'

'Yes, sir,' said Elijah Pogram. A knot of passengers gathered round
to hear what followed; and Martin heard his friend say, as he
whispered to another friend, and rubbed his hands, 'Pogram will
smash him into sky-blue fits, I know!'

'Why,' said Martin, after a moment's hesitation, 'I have learned by
experience, that you take an unfair advantage of a stranger, when
you ask that question. You don't mean it to be answered, except in
one way. Now, I don't choose to answer it in that way, for I cannot
honestly answer it in that way. And therefore, I would rather not
answer it at all.'

But Mr Pogram was going to make a great speech in the next session
about foreign relations, and was going to write strong articles on
the subject; and as he greatly favoured the free and independent
custom (a very harmless and agreeable one) of procuring information
of any sort in any kind of confidence, and afterwards perverting it
publicly in any manner that happened to suit him, he had determined
to get at Martin's opinions somehow or other. For if he could have
got nothing out of him, he would have had to invent it for him, and
that would have been laborious. He made a mental note of his
answer, and went in again.

'You are from Eden, sir? How did you like Eden?'

Martin said what he thought of that part of the country, in pretty
strong terms.

'It is strange,' said Pogram, looking round upon the group, 'this
hatred of our country, and her Institutions! This national antipathy
is deeply rooted in the British mind!'

'Good Heaven, sir,' cried Martin. 'Is the Eden Land Corporation,
with Mr Scadder at its head, and all the misery it has worked, at
its door, an Institution of America? A part of any form of
government that ever was known or heard of?'

'I con-sider the cause of this to be,' said Pogram, looking round
again and taking himself up where Martin had interrupted him,
'partly jealousy and pre-judice, and partly the nat'ral unfitness of
the British people to appreciate the ex-alted Institutions of our
native land. I expect, sir,' turning to Martin again, 'that a
gentleman named Chollop happened in upon you during your lo-cation
in the town of Eden?'

'Yes,' answered Martin; 'but my friend can answer this better than I
can, for I was very ill at the time. Mark! The gentleman is
speaking of Mr Chollop.'

'Oh. Yes, sir. Yes. I see him,' observed Mark.

'A splendid example of our na-tive raw material, sir?' said Pogram,
interrogatively.

'Indeed, sir!' cried Mark.

The Honourable Elijah Pogram glanced at his friends as though he
would have said, 'Observe this! See what follows!' and they rendered
tribute to the Pogram genius by a gentle murmur.

'Our fellow-countryman is a model of a man, quite fresh from Natur's
mould!' said Pogram, with enthusiasm. 'He is a true-born child of
this free hemisphere! Verdant as the mountains of our country;
bright and flowing as our mineral Licks; unspiled by withering
conventionalities as air our broad and boundless Perearers! Rough he
may be. So air our Barrs. Wild he may be. So air our Buffalers.
But he is a child of Natur', and a child of Freedom; and his
boastful answer to the Despot and the Tyrant is, that his bright
home is in the Settin Sun.'

Part of this referred to Chollop, and part to a Western postmaster,
who, being a public defaulter not very long before (a character not
at all uncommon in America), had been removed from office; and on
whose behalf Mr Pogram (he voted for Pogram) had thundered the last
sentence from his seat in Congress, at the head of an unpopular
President. It told brilliantly; for the bystanders were delighted,
and one of them said to Martin, 'that he guessed he had now seen
something of the eloquential aspect of our country, and was chawed
up pritty small.'

Mr Pogram waited until his hearers were calm again, before he said
to Mark:

'You do not seem to coincide, sir?'

'Why,' said Mark, 'I didn't like him much; and that's the truth,
sir. I thought he was a bully; and I didn't admire his carryin'
them murderous little persuaders, and being so ready to use 'em.'

'It's singler!' said Pogram, lifting his umbrella high enough to
look all round from under it. 'It's strange! You observe the
settled opposition to our Institutions which pervades the British
mind!'

'What an extraordinary people you are!' cried Martin. 'Are Mr
Chollop and the class he represents, an Institution here? Are
pistols with revolving barrels, sword-sticks, bowie-knives, and such
things, Institutions on which you pride yourselves? Are bloody
duels, brutal combats, savage assaults, shooting down and stabbing
in the streets, your Institutions! Why, I shall hear next that
Dishonour and Fraud are among the Institutions of the great
republic!'

The moment the words passed his lips, the Honourable Elijah Pogram
looked round again.

'This morbid hatred of our Institutions,' he observed, 'is quite a
study for the psychological observer. He's alludin' to Repudiation
now!'

'Oh! you may make anything an Institution if you like,' said Martin,
laughing, 'and I confess you had me there, for you certainly have
made that one. But the greater part of these things are one
Institution with us, and we call it by the generic name of Old
Bailey!'

The bell being rung for dinner at this moment, everybody ran away
into the cabin, whither the Honourable Elijah Pogram fled with such
precipitation that he forgot his umbrella was up, and fixed it so
tightly in the cabin door that it could neither be let down nor got
out. For a minute or so this accident created a perfect rebellion
among the hungry passengers behind, who, seeing the dishes, and
hearing the knives and forks at work, well knew what would happen
unless they got there instantly, and were nearly mad; while several
virtuous citizens at the table were in deadly peril of choking
themselves in their unnatural efforts to get rid of all the meat
before these others came.

They carried the umbrella by storm, however, and rushed in at the
breach. The Honourable Elijah Pogram and Martin found themselves,
after a severe struggle, side by side, as they might have come
together in the pit of a London theatre; and for four whole minutes
afterwards, Pogram was snapping up great blocks of everything he
could get hold of, like a raven. When he had taken this unusually
protracted dinner, he began to talk to Martin; and begged him not to
have the least delicacy in speaking with perfect freedom to him, for
he was a calm philosopher. Which Martin was extremely glad to hear;
for he had begun to speculate on Elijah being a disciple of that
other school of republican philosophy, whose noble sentiments are
carved with knives upon a pupil's body, and written, not with pen
and ink, but tar and feathers.

'What do you think of my countrymen who are present, sir?' inquired
Elijah Pogram.

'Oh! very pleasant,' said Martin.

They were a very pleasant party. No man had spoken a word; every
one had been intent, as usual, on his own private gorging; and the
greater part of the company were decidedly dirty feeders.

The Honourable Elijah Pogram looked at Martin as if he thought 'You
don't mean that, I know!' and he was soon confirmed in this opinion.

Sitting opposite to them was a gentleman in a high state of tobacco,
who wore quite a little beard, composed of the overflowing of that
weed, as they had dried about his mouth and chin; so common an
ornament that it would scarcely have attracted Martin's observation,
but that this good citizen, burning to assert his equality against
all comers, sucked his knife for some moments, and made a cut with
it at the butter, just as Martin was in the act of taking some.
There was a juiciness about the deed that might have sickened a
scavenger.

When Elijah Pogram (to whom this was an every-day incident) saw that
Martin put the plate away, and took no butter, he was quite
delighted, and said,

'Well! The morbid hatred of you British to the Institutions of our
country is as-TONishing!'

'Upon my life!' cried Martin, in his turn. 'This is the most
wonderful community that ever existed. A man deliberately makes a
hog of himself, and THAT'S an Institution!'

'We have no time to ac-quire forms, sir,' said Elijah Pogram.

'Acquire!' cried Martin. 'But it's not a question of acquiring
anything. It's a question of losing the natural politeness of a
savage, and that instinctive good breeding which admonishes one man
not to offend and disgust another. Don't you think that man over
the way, for instance, naturally knows better, but considers it a
very fine and independent thing to be a brute in small matters?'

'He is a na-tive of our country, and is nat'rally bright and spry,
of course,' said Mr Pogram.

'Now, observe what this comes to, Mr Pogram,' pursued Martin. 'The
mass of your countrymen begin by stubbornly neglecting little social
observances, which have nothing to do with gentility, custom, usage,
government, or country, but are acts of common, decent, natural,
human politeness. You abet them in this, by resenting all attacks
upon their social offences as if they were a beautiful national
feature. From disregarding small obligations they come in regular
course to disregard great ones; and so refuse to pay their debts.
What they may do, or what they may refuse to do next, I don't know;
but any man may see if he will, that it will be something following
in natural succession, and a part of one great growth, which is
rotten at the root.'

The mind of Mr Pogram was too philosophical to see this; so they
went on deck again, where, resuming his former post, he chewed until
he was in a lethargic state, amounting to insensibility.

After a weary voyage of several days, they came again to that same
wharf where Mark had been so nearly left behind, on the night of
starting for Eden. Captain Kedgick, the landlord, was standing
there, and was greatly surprised to see them coming from the boat.

'Why, what the 'tarnal!' cried the Captain. 'Well! I do admire at
this, I do!'

'We can stay at your house until to-morrow, Captain, I suppose?'
said Martin.

'I reckon you can stay there for a twelvemonth if you like,'
retorted Kedgick coolly. 'But our people won't best like your
coming back.'

'Won't like it, Captain Kedgick!' said Martin.

'They did ex-pect you was a-going to settle,' Kedgick answered, as
he shook his head. 'They've been took in, you can't deny!'

'What do you mean?' cried Martin.

'You didn't ought to have received 'em,' said the Captain. 'No you
didn't!'

'My good friend,' returned Martin, 'did I want to receive them? Was
it any act of mine? Didn't you tell me they would rile up, and that
I should be flayed like a wild cat--and threaten all kinds of
vengeance, if I didn't receive them?'

'I don't know about that,' returned the Captain. 'But when our
people's frills is out, they're starched up pretty stiff, I tell
you!'

With that, he fell into the rear to walk with Mark, while Martin and
Elijah Pogram went on to the National.

'We've come back alive, you see!' said Mark.

'It ain't the thing I did expect,' the Captain grumbled. 'A man
ain't got no right to be a public man, unless he meets the public
views. Our fashionable people wouldn't have attended his le-vee, if
they had know'd it.'

Nothing mollified the Captain, who persisted in taking it very ill
that they had not both died in Eden. The boarders at the National
felt strongly on the subject too; but it happened by good fortune
that they had not much time to think about this grievance, for it
was suddenly determined to pounce upon the Honourable Elijah Pogram,
and give HIM a le-vee forthwith.

As the general evening meal of the house was over before the arrival
of the boat, Martin, Mark, and Pogram were taking tea and fixings at
the public table by themselves, when the deputation entered to
announce this honour; consisting of six gentlemen boarders and a
very shrill boy.

'Sir!' said the spokesman.

'Mr Pogram!' cried the shrill boy.

The spokesman thus reminded of the shrill boy's presence, introduced
him. 'Doctor Ginery Dunkle, sir. A gentleman of great poetical
elements. He has recently jined us here, sir, and is an acquisition
to us, sir, I do assure you. Yes, sir. Mr Jodd, sir. Mr Izzard,
sir. Mr Julius Bib, sir.'

'Julius Washington Merryweather Bib,' said the gentleman himself TO
himself.

'I beg your pardon, sir. Excuse me. Mr Julius Washington
Merryweather Bib, sir; a gentleman in the lumber line, sir, and much
esteemed. Colonel Groper, sir. Pro-fessor Piper, sir. My own name,
sir, is Oscar Buffum.'

Each man took one slide forward as he was named; butted at the
Honourable Elijah Pogram with his head; shook hands, and slid back
again. The introductions being completed, the spokesman resumed.

'Sir!'

'Mr Pogram!' cried the shrill boy.

'Perhaps,' said the spokesman, with a hopeless look, 'you will be so
good, Dr. Ginery Dunkle, as to charge yourself with the execution
of our little office, sir?'

As there was nothing the shrill boy desired more, he immediately
stepped forward.

'Mr Pogram! Sir! A handful of your fellow-citizens, sir, hearing
of your arrival at the National Hotel, and feeling the patriotic
character of your public services, wish, sir, to have the
gratification of beholding you, and mixing with you, sir; and
unbending with you, sir, in those moments which--'

'Air,' suggested Buffum.

'Which air so peculiarly the lot, sir, of our great and happy
country.'

'Hear!' cried Colonel Grouper, in a loud voice. 'Good! Hear him!
Good!'

'And therefore, sir,' pursued the Doctor, 'they request; as A mark
Of their respect; the honour of your company at a little le-Vee,
sir, in the ladies' ordinary, at eight o'clock.'

Mr Pogram bowed, and said:

'Fellow countrymen!'

'Good!' cried the Colonel. 'Hear, him! Good!'

Mr Pogram bowed to the Colonel individually, and then resumed.

'Your approbation of My labours in the common cause goes to My
heart. At all times and in all places; in the ladies' ordinary, My
friends, and in the Battle Field--'

'Good, very good! Hear him! Hear him!' said the Colonel.

'The name of Pogram will be proud to jine you. And may it, My
friends, be written on My tomb, "He was a member of the Congress of
our common country, and was ac-Tive in his trust."'

'The Com-mittee, sir,' said the shrill boy, 'will wait upon you at
five minutes afore eight. I take My leave, sir!'

Mr Pogram shook hands with him, and everybody else, once more; and
when they came back again at five minutes before eight, they said,
one by one, in a melancholy voice, 'How do you do, sir?' and shook
hands with Mr Pogram all over again, as if he had been abroad for a
twelvemonth in the meantime, and they met, now, at a funeral.

But by this time Mr Pogram had freshened himself up, and had
composed his hair and features after the Pogram statue, so that any
one with half an eye might cry out, 'There he is! as he delivered
the Defiance!'  The Committee were embellished also; and when they
entered the ladies' ordinary in a body, there was much clapping of
hands from ladies and gentlemen, accompanied by cries of 'Pogram!
Pogram!' and some standing up on chairs to see him.

The object of the popular caress looked round the room as he walked
up it, and smiled; at the same time observing to the shrill boy,
that he knew something of the beauty of the daughters of their
common country, but had never seen it in such lustre and perfection
as at that moment. Which the shrill boy put in the paper next day;
to Elijah Pogram's great surprise.

'We will re-quest you, sir, if you please,' said Buffum, laying
hands on Mr Pogram as if he were taking his measure for a coat, 'to
stand up with your back agin the wall right in the furthest corner,
that there may be more room for our fellow cit-izens. If you could
set your back right slap agin that curtain-peg, sir, keeping your
left leg everlastingly behind the stove, we should be fixed quite
slick.'

Mr Pogram did as he was told, and wedged himself into such a little
corner that the Pogram statue wouldn't have known him.

The entertainments of the evening then began. Gentlemen brought
ladies up, and brought themselves up, and brought each other up; and
asked Elijah Pogram what he thought of this political question, and
what he thought of that; and looked at him, and looked at one
another, and seemed very unhappy indeed. The ladies on the chairs
looked at Elijah Pogram through their glasses, and said audibly, 'I
wish he'd speak. Why don't he speak? Oh, do ask him to speak!'  And
Elijah Pogram looked sometimes at the ladies and sometimes
elsewhere, delivering senatorial opinions, as he was asked for them.
But the great end and object of the meeting seemed to be, not to let
Elijah Pogram out of the corner on any account; so there they kept
him, hard and fast.

A great bustle at the door, in the course of the evening, announced
the arrival of some remarkable person; and immediately afterwards an
elderly gentleman, much excited, was seen to precipitate himself
upon the crowd, and battle his way towards the Honourable Elijah
Pogram. Martin, who had found a snug place of observation in a
distant corner, where he stood with Mark beside him (for he did not
so often forget him now as formerly, though he still did sometimes),
thought he knew this gentleman, but had no doubt of it, when he
cried as loud as he could, with his eyes starting out of his head:

'Sir, Mrs Hominy!'

'Lord bless that woman, Mark. She has turned up again!'

'Here she comes, sir,' answered Mr Tapley. 'Pogram knows her. A
public character! Always got her eye upon her country, sir! If that
there lady's husband is of my opinion, what a jolly old gentleman he
must be!'

A lane was made; and Mrs Hominy, with the aristocratic stalk, the
pocket handkerchief, the clasped hands, and the classical cap, came
slowly up it, in a procession of one. Mr Pogram testified emotions
of delight on seeing her, and a general hush prevailed. For it was
known that when a woman like Mrs Hominy encountered a man like
Pogram, something interesting must be said.

Their first salutations were exchanged in a voice too low to reach
the impatient ears of the throng; but they soon became audible, for
Mrs Hominy felt her position, and knew what was expected of her.

Mrs H. was hard upon him at first; and put him through a rigid
catechism in reference to a certain vote he had given, which she had
found it necessary, as the mother of the modern Gracchi, to
deprecate in a line by itself, set up expressly for the purpose in
German text. But Mr Pogram evading it by a well-timed allusion to
the star-spangled banner, which, it appeared, had the remarkable
peculiarity of flouting the breeze whenever it was hoisted where the
wind blew, she forgave him. They now enlarged on certain questions
of tariff, commercial treaty, boundary, importation and exportation
with great effect. And Mrs Hominy not only talked, as the saying
is, like a book, but actually did talk her own books, word for word.

'My! what is this!' cried Mrs Hominy, opening a little note which
was handed her by her excited gentleman-usher. 'Do tell! oh, well,
now! on'y think!'

And then she read aloud, as follows:

'Two literary ladies present their compliments to the mother of the
modern Gracchi, and claim her kind introduction, as their talented
countrywoman, to the honourable (and distinguished) Elijah Pogram,
whom the two L. L.'s have often contemplated in the speaking marble
of the soul-subduing Chiggle. On a verbal intimation from the
mother of the M. G., that she will comply with the request of the two
L. L.'s, they will have the immediate pleasure of joining the galaxy
assembled to do honour to the patriotic conduct of a Pogram. It may
be another bond of union between the two L. L.'s and the mother of
the M. G. to observe, that the two L. L.'s are Transcendental.'

Mrs Hominy promptly rose, and proceeded to the door, whence she
returned, after a minute's interval, with the two L. L.'s, whom she
led, through the lane in the crowd, with all that stateliness of
deportment which was so remarkably her own, up to the great Elijah
Pogram. It was (as the shrill boy cried out in an ecstasy) quite
the Last Scene from Coriolanus.   One of the L. L.'s wore a brown
wig of uncommon size. Sticking on the forehead of the other,
by invisible means, was a massive cameo, in size and shape like
the raspberry tart which is ordinarily sold for a penny,
representing on its front the Capitol at Washington.

'Miss Toppit, and Miss Codger!' said Mrs Hominy.

'Codger's the lady so often mentioned in the English newspapers I
should think, sir,' whispered Mark. 'The oldest inhabitant as never
remembers anything.'

'To be presented to a Pogram,' said Miss Codger, 'by a Hominy,
indeed, a thrilling moment is it in its impressiveness on what we
call our feelings. But why we call them so, or why impressed they
are, or if impressed they are at all, or if at all we are, or if
there really is, oh gasping one! a Pogram or a Hominy, or any active
principle to which we give those titles, is a topic, Spirit
searching, light abandoned, much too vast to enter on, at this
unlooked-for crisis.'

'Mind and matter,' said the lady in the wig, 'glide swift into the
vortex of immensity. Howls the sublime, and softly sleeps the calm
Ideal, in the whispering chambers of Imagination. To hear it, sweet
it is. But then, outlaughs the stern philosopher, and saith to the
Grotesque, "What ho! arrest for me that Agency. Go, bring it here!"
And so the vision fadeth.'

After this, they both took Mr Pogram by the hand, and pressed it to
their lips, as a patriotic palm. That homage paid, the mother of
the modern Gracchi called for chairs, and the three literary ladies
went to work in earnest, to bring poor Pogram out, and make him show
himself in all his brilliant colours.

How Pogram got out of his depth instantly, and how the three L. L.'s
were never in theirs, is a piece of history not worth recording.
Suffice it, that being all four out of their depths, and all unable
to swim, they splashed up words in all directions, and floundered
about famously. On the whole, it was considered to have been the
severest mental exercise ever heard in the National Hotel. Tears
stood in the shrill boy's eyes several times; and the whole company
observed that their heads ached with the effort--as well they might.

When it at last became necessary to release Elijah Pogram from the
corner, and the Committee saw him safely back again to the next
room, they were fervent in their admiration.

'Which,' said Mr Buffum, 'must have vent, or it will bust. Toe you,
Mr Pogram, I am grateful. Toe-wards you, sir, I am inspired with
lofty veneration, and with deep e-mo-tion. The sentiment Toe which
I would propose to give ex-pression, sir, is this: "May you ever be
as firm, sir, as your marble statter! May it ever be as great a
terror Toe its ene-mies as you."'

There is some reason to suppose that it was rather terrible to its
friends; being a statue of the Elevated or Goblin School, in which
the Honourable Elijah Pogram was represented as in a very high wind,
with his hair all standing on end, and his nostrils blown wide open.
But Mr Pogram thanked his friend and countryman for the aspiration
to which he had given utterance, and the Committee, after another
solemn shaking of hands, retired to bed, except the Doctor; who
immediately repaired to the newspaper-office, and there wrote a
short poem suggested by the events of the evening, beginning with
fourteen stars, and headed, 'A Fragment. Suggested by witnessing
the Honourable Elijah Pogram engaged in a philosophical disputation
with three of Columbia's fairest daughters. By Doctor Ginery
Dunkle. Of Troy.'

If Pogram was as glad to get to bed as Martin was, he must have been
well rewarded for his labours. They started off again next day
(Martin and Mark previously disposing of their goods to the
storekeepers of whom they had purchased them, for anything they
would bring), and were fellow travellers to within a short distance
of New York. When Pogram was about to leave them he grew
thoughtful, and after pondering for some time, took Martin aside.

'We air going to part, sir,' said Pogram.

'Pray don't distress yourself,' said Martin; 'we must bear it.'

'It ain't that, sir,' returned Pogram, 'not at all. But I should
wish you to accept a copy of My oration.'

'Thank you,' said Martin, 'you are very good. I shall be most
happy.'

'It ain't quite that, sir, neither,' resumed Pogram; 'air you bold
enough to introduce a copy into your country?'

'Certainly,' said Martin. 'Why not?'

'Its sentiments air strong, sir,' hinted Pogram, darkly.

'That makes no difference,' said Martin. 'I'll take a dozen if you
like.'

'No, sir,' retorted Pogram. 'Not A dozen. That is more than I
require. If you are content to run the hazard, sir, here is one for
your Lord Chancellor,' producing it, 'and one for Your principal
Secretary of State. I should wish them to see it, sir, as
expressing what my opinions air. That they may not plead ignorance
at a future time. But don't get into danger, sir, on my account!'

'There is not the least danger, I assure you,' said Martin. So he
put the pamphlets in his pocket, and they parted.

Mr Bevan had written in his letter that, at a certain time, which
fell out happily just then, he would be at a certain hotel in the
city, anxiously expecting to see them. To this place they repaired
without a moment's delay. They had the satisfaction of finding him
within; and of being received by their good friend, with his own
warmth and heartiness.

'I am truly sorry and ashamed,' said Martin, 'to have begged of you.
But look at us. See what we are, and judge to what we are reduced!'

'So far from claiming to have done you any service,' returned the
other, 'I reproach myself with having been, unwittingly, the
original cause of your misfortunes. I no more supposed you would go
to Eden on such representations as you received; or, indeed, that
you would do anything but be dispossessed, by the readiest means, of
your idea that fortunes were so easily made here; than I thought of
going to Eden myself.'

'The fact is, I closed with the thing in a mad and sanguine manner,'
said Martin, 'and the less said about it the better for me. Mark,
here, hadn't a voice in the matter.'

'Well! but he hadn't a voice in any other matter, had he?' returned
Mr Bevan; laughing with an air that showed his understanding of Mark
and Martin too.

'Not a very powerful one, I am afraid,' said Martin with a blush.
'But live and learn, Mr Bevan! Nearly die and learn; we learn the
quicker.'

'Now,' said their friend, 'about your plans. You mean to return
home at once?'

'Oh, I think so,' returned Martin hastily, for he turned pale at the
thought of any other suggestion. 'That is your opinion too, I
hope?'

'Unquestionably. For I don't know why you ever came here; though
it's not such an unusual case, I am sorry to say, that we need go
any farther into that. You don't know that the ship in which you
came over with our friend General Fladdock, is in port, of course?'

'Indeed!' said Martin.

'Yes. And is advertised to sail to-morrow.'

This was tempting news, but tantalising too; for Martin knew that
his getting any employment on board a ship of that class was
hopeless. The money in his pocket would not pay one-fourth of the
sum he had already borrowed, and if it had been enough for their
passage-money, he could hardly have resolved to spend it. He
explained this to Mr Bevan, and stated what their project was.

'Why, that's as wild as Eden every bit,' returned his friend. 'You
must take your passage like a Christian; at least, as like a
Christian as a fore-cabin passenger can; and owe me a few more
dollars than you intend. If Mark will go down to the ship and see
what passengers there are, and finds that you can go in her without
being actually suffocated, my advice is, go! You and I will look
about us in the meantime (we won't call at the Norris's unless you
like), and we will all three dine together in the afternoon.'

Martin had nothing to express but gratitude, and so it was arranged.
But he went out of the room after Mark, and advised him to take
their passage in the Screw, though they lay upon the bare deck;
which Mr Tapley, who needed no entreaty on the subject readily
promised to do.

When he and Martin met again, and were alone, he was in high
spirits, and evidently had something to communicate, in which he
gloried very much.

'I've done Mr Bevan, sir,' said Mark.

'Done Mr Bevan!' repeated Martin.

'The cook of the Screw went and got married yesterday, sir,' said Mr
Tapley.

Martin looked at him for farther explanation.

'And when I got on board, and the word was passed that it was me,'
said Mark, 'the mate he comes and asks me whether I'd engage to take
this said cook's place upon the passage home. "For you're used to
it," he says; "you were always a-cooking for everybody on your
passage out."  And so I was,' said Mark, 'although I never cooked
before, I'll take my oath.'

'What did you say?' demanded Martin.

'Say!' cried Mark. 'That I'd take anything I could get. "If that's
so," says the mate, "why, bring a glass of rum;" which they brought
according. And my wages, sir,' said Mark in high glee, 'pays your
passage; and I've put the rolling-pin in your berth to take it (it's
the easy one up in the corner); and there we are, Rule Britannia,
and Britons strike home!'

'There never was such a good fellow as you are!' cried Martin
seizing him by the hand. 'But what do you mean by "doing" Mr Bevan,
Mark?'

'Why, don't you see?' said Mark. 'We don't tell him, you know. We
take his money, but we don't spend it, and we don't keep it. What
we do is, write him a little note, explaining this engagement, and
roll it up, and leave it at the bar, to be given to him after we are
gone. Don't you see?'

Martin's delight in this idea was not inferior to Mark's. It was
all done as he proposed. They passed a cheerful evening; slept at
the hotel; left the letter as arranged; and went off to the ship
betimes next morning, with such light hearts as the weight of their
past miseries engendered.

'Good-bye! a hundred thousand times good-bye!' said Martin to their
friend. 'How shall I remember all your kindness! How shall I ever
thank you!'

'If you ever become a rich man, or a powerful one,' returned his
friend, 'you shall try to make your Government more careful of its
subjects when they roam abroad to live. Tell it what you know of
emigration in your own case, and impress upon it how much 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 Martin.

'Why, I was a-thinking, sir,' returned Mark, 'that if I was a
painter and was called upon to paint the American Eagle, how should
I do it?'

'Paint it as like an Eagle as you could, I suppose.'

'No,' said Mark. 'That wouldn't do for me, sir. I should want to
draw it like a Bat, for its short-sightedness; like a Bantam, for
its bragging; like a Magpie, for its honesty; like a Peacock, for
its vanity; like a ostrich, for its putting its head in the mud, and
thinking nobody sees it--'

'And like a Phoenix, for its power of springing from the ashes of
its faults and vices, and soaring up anew into the sky!' said
Martin. 'Well, Mark. Let us hope so.'

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

ARRIVING IN ENGLAND, MARTIN WITNESSES A CEREMONY, FROM WHICH HE
DERIVES THE CHEERING INFORMATION THAT HE HAS NOT BEEN FORGOTTEN IN
HIS ABSENCE

It was mid-day, and high water in the English port for which the
Screw was bound, when, borne in gallantly upon the fullness of the
tide, she let go her anchor in the river.

Bright as the scene was; fresh, and full of motion; airy, free, and
sparkling; it was nothing to the life and exultation in the breasts
of the two travellers, at sight of the old churches, roofs, and
darkened chimney stacks of Home. The distant roar that swelled up
hoarsely from the busy streets, was music in their ears; the lines
of people gazing from the wharves, were friends held dear; the
canopy of smoke that overhung the town was brighter and more
beautiful to them than if the richest silks of Persia had been
waving in the air. And though the water going on its glistening
track, turned, ever and again, aside to dance and sparkle round
great ships, and heave them up; and leaped from off the blades of
oars, a shower of diving diamonds; and wantoned with the idle boats,
and swiftly passed, in many a sportive chase, through obdurate old
iron rings, set deep into the stone-work of the quays; not even it
was half so buoyant, and so restless, as their fluttering hearts,
when yearning to set foot, once more, on native ground.

A year had passed since those same spires and roofs had faded from
their eyes. It seemed to them, a dozen years. Some trifling
changes, here and there, they called to mind; and wondered that they
were so few and slight. In health and fortune, prospect and
resource, they came back poorer men than they had gone away. But it
was home. And though home is a name, a word, it is a strong one;
stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit answered to, in
strongest conjuration.

Being set ashore, with very little money in their pockets, and no
definite plan of operation in their heads, they sought out a cheap
tavern, where they regaled upon a smoking steak, and certain flowing
mugs of beer, as only men just landed from the sea can revel in the
generous dainties of the earth. When they had feasted, as two
grateful-tempered giants might have done, they stirred the fire,
drew back the glowing curtain from the window, and making each a
sofa for himself, by union of the great unwieldy chairs, gazed
blissfully into the street.

Even the street was made a fairy street, by being half hidden in an
atmosphere of steak, and strong, stout, stand-up English beer. For
on the window-glass hung such a mist, that Mr Tapley was obliged to
rise and wipe it with his handkerchief, before the passengers
appeared like common mortals. And even then, a spiral little cloud
went curling up from their two glasses of hot grog, which nearly hid
them from each other.

It was one of those unaccountable little rooms which are never seen
anywhere but in a tavern, and are supposed to have got into taverns
by reason of the facilities afforded to the architect for getting
drunk while engaged in their construction. It had more corners in
it than the brain of an obstinate man; was full of mad closets, into
which nothing could be put that was not specially invented and made
for that purpose; had mysterious shelvings and bulkheads, and
indications of staircases in the ceiling; and was elaborately
provided with a bell that rung in the room itself, about two feet
from the handle, and had no connection whatever with any other part
of the establishment. It was a little below the pavement, and
abutted close upon it; so that passengers grated against the window-
panes with their buttons, and scraped it with their baskets; and
fearful boys suddenly coming between a thoughtful guest and the
light, derided him, or put out their tongues as if he were a
physician; or made white knobs on the ends of their noses by
flattening the same against the glass, and vanished awfully, like
spectres.

Martin and Mark sat looking at the people as they passed, debating
every now and then what their first step should be.

'We want to see Miss Mary, of course,' said Mark.

'Of course,' said Martin. 'But I don't know where she is. Not
having had the heart to write in our distress--you yourself thought
silence most advisable--and consequently, never having heard from
her since we left New York the first time, I don't know where she
is, my good fellow.'

'My opinion is, sir,' returned Mark, 'that what we've got to do is
to travel straight to the Dragon. There's no need for you to go
there, where you're known, unless you like. You may stop ten mile
short of it. I'll go on. Mrs Lupin will tell me all the news. Mr
Pinch will give me every information that we want; and right glad Mr
Pinch will be to do it. My proposal is: To set off walking this
afternoon. To stop when we are tired. To get a lift when we can.
To walk when we can't. To do it at once, and do it cheap.'

'Unless we do it cheap, we shall have some difficulty in doing it at
all,' said Martin, pulling out the bank, and telling it over in his
hand.

'The greater reason for losing no time, sir,' replied Mark.
'Whereas, when you've seen the young lady; and know what state of
mind the old gentleman's in, and all about it; then you'll know what
to do next.'

'No doubt,' said Martin. 'You are quite right.'

They were raising their glasses to their lips, when their hands
stopped midway, and their gaze was arrested by a figure which
slowly, very slowly, and reflectively, passed the window at that
moment.

Mr Pecksniff. Placid, calm, but proud. Honestly proud. Dressed
with peculiar care, smiling with even more than usual blandness,
pondering on the beauties of his art with a mild abstraction from
all sordid thoughts, and gently travelling across the disc, as if he
were a figure in a magic lantern.

As Mr Pecksniff passed, a person coming in the opposite direction
stopped to look after him with great interest and respect, almost
with veneration; and the landlord bouncing out of the house, as if
he had seen him too, joined this person, and spoke to him, and shook
his head gravely, and looked after Mr Pecksniff likewise.

Martin and Mark sat staring at each other, as if they could not
believe it; but there stood the landlord, and the other man still.
In spite of the indignation with which this glimpse of Mr Pecksniff
had inspired him, Martin could not help laughing heartily. Neither
could Mark.

'We must inquire into this!' said Martin. 'Ask the landlord in,
Mark.'

Mr Tapley retired for that purpose, and immediately returned with
their large-headed host in safe convoy.

'Pray, landlord!' said Martin, 'who is that gentleman who passed
just now, and whom you were looking after?'

The landlord poked the fire as if, in his desire to make the most of
his answer, he had become indifferent even to the price of coals;
and putting his hands in his pockets, said, after inflating himself
to give still further effect to his reply:

'That, gentlemen, is the great Mr Pecksniff! The celebrated
architect, gentlemen!'

He looked from one to the other while he said it, as if he were
ready to assist the first man who might be overcome by the
intelligence.

'The great Mr Pecksniff, the celebrated architect, gentlemen.' said
the landlord, 'has come down here, to help to lay the first stone of
a new and splendid public building.'

'Is it to be built from his designs?' asked Martin.

'The great Mr Pecksniff, the celebrated architect, gentlemen,'
returned the landlord, who seemed to have an unspeakable delight in
the repetition of these words, 'carried off the First Premium, and
will erect the building.'

'Who lays the stone?' asked Martin.

'Our member has come down express,' returned the landlord. 'No
scrubs would do for no such a purpose. Nothing less would satisfy
our Directors than our member in the House of Commons, who is
returned upon the Gentlemanly Interest.'

'Which interest is that?' asked Martin.

'What, don't you know!' returned the landlord.

It was quite clear the landlord didn't. They always told him at
election time, that it was the Gentlemanly side, and he immediately
put on his top-boots, and voted for it.

'When does the ceremony take place?' asked Martin.

'This day,' replied the landlord. Then pulling out his watch, he
added, impressively, 'almost this minute.'

Martin hastily inquired whether there was any possibility of getting
in to witness it; and finding that there would be no objection to
the admittance of any decent person, unless indeed the ground were
full, hurried off with Mark, as hard as they could go.

They were fortunate enough to squeeze themselves into a famous
corner on the ground, where they could see all that passed, without
much dread of being beheld by Mr Pecksniff in return. They were not
a minute too soon, for as they were in the act of congratulating
each other, a great noise was heard at some distance, and everybody
looked towards the gate. Several ladies prepared their pocket
handkerchiefs for waving; and a stray teacher belonging to the
charity school being much cheered by mistake, was immensely groaned
at when detected.

'Perhaps he has Tom Pinch with him,' Martin whispered Mr Tapley.

'It would be rather too much of a treat for him, wouldn't it, sir?'
whispered Mr Tapley in return.

There was no time to discuss the probabilities either way, for the
charity school, in clean linen, came filing in two and two, so much
to the self-approval of all the people present who didn't subscribe
to it, that many of them shed tears. A band of music followed, led
by a conscientious drummer who never left off. Then came a great
many gentlemen with wands in their hands, and bows on their breasts,
whose share in the proceedings did not appear to be distinctly laid
down, and who trod upon each other, and blocked up the entry for a
considerable period. These were followed by the Mayor and
Corporation, all clustering round the member for the Gentlemanly
Interest; who had the great Mr Pecksniff, the celebrated architect
on his right hand, and conversed with him familiarly as they came
along. Then the ladies waved their handkerchiefs, and the gentlemen
their hats, and the charity children shrieked, and the member for
the Gentlemanly Interest bowed.

Silence being restored, the member for the Gentlemanly Interest
rubbed his hands, and wagged his head, and looked about him
pleasantly; and there was nothing this member did, at which some
lady or other did not burst into an ecstatic waving of her pocket
handkerchief. When he looked up at the stone, they said how
graceful! when he peeped into the hole, they said how condescending!
when he chatted with the Mayor, they said how easy! when he folded
his arms they cried with one accord, how statesman-like!

Mr Pecksniff was observed too, closely. When he talked to the
Mayor, they said, Oh, really, what a courtly man he was! When he
laid his hand upon the mason's shoulder, giving him directions, how
pleasant his demeanour to the working classes; just the sort of man
who made their toil a pleasure to them, poor dear souls!

But now a silver trowel was brought; and when the member for the
Gentlemanly Interest, tucking up his coat-sleeve, did a little
sleight of hand with the mortar, the air was rent, so loud was the
applause. The workman-like manner in which he did it was amazing.
No one could conceive where such a gentlemanly creature could have
picked the knowledge up.

When he had made a kind of dirt-pie under the direction of the
mason, they brought a little vase containing coins, the which the
member for the Gentlemanly Interest jingled, as if he were going to
conjure. Whereat they said how droll, how cheerful, what a flow of
spirits! This put into its place, an ancient scholar read the
inscription, which was in Latin; not in English; that would never
do. It gave great satisfaction; especially every time there was a
good long substantive in the third declension, ablative case, with
an adjective to match; at which periods the assembly became very
tender, and were much affected.

And now the stone was lowered down into its place, amidst the
shouting of the concourse. When it was firmly fixed, the member for
the Gentlemanly Interest struck upon it thrice with the handle of
the trowel, as if inquiring, with a touch of humour, whether anybody
was at home. Mr Pecksniff then unrolled his Plans (prodigious plans
they were), and people gathered round to look at and admire them.

Martin, who had been fretting himself--quite unnecessarily, as Mark
thought--during the whole of these proceedings, could no longer
restrain his impatience; but stepping forward among several others,
looked straight over the shoulder of the unconscious Mr Pecksniff,
at the designs and plans he had unrolled. He returned to Mark,
boiling with rage.

'Why, what's the matter, sir?' cried Mark.

'Matter! This is MY building.'

'Your building, sir!' said Mark.

'My grammar-school. I invented it. I did it all. He has only put
four windows in, the villain, and spoilt it!'

Mark could hardly believe it at first, but being assured that it was
really so, actually held him to prevent his interference foolishly,
until his temporary heat was past. In the meantime, the member
addressed the company on the gratifying deed which he had just
performed.

He said that since he had sat in Parliament to represent the
Gentlemanly Interest of that town; and he might add, the Lady
Interest, he hoped, besides (pocket handkerchiefs); it had been his
pleasant duty to come among them, and to raise his voice on their
behalf in Another Place (pocket handkerchiefs and laughter), often.
But he had never come among them, and had never raised his voice,
with half such pure, such deep, such unalloyed delight, as now.
'The present occasion,' he said, 'will ever be memorable to me; not
only for the reasons I have assigned, but because it has afforded me
an opportunity of becoming personally known to a gentleman--'

Here he pointed the trowel at Mr Pecksniff, who was greeted with
vociferous cheering, and laid his hand upon his heart.

'To a gentleman who, I am happy to believe, will reap both
distinction and profit from this field; whose fame had previously
penetrated to me--as to whose ears has it not!--but whose
intellectual countenance I never had the distinguished honour to
behold until this day, and whose intellectual conversation I had
never before the improving pleasure to enjoy.'

Everybody seemed very glad of this, and applauded more than ever.

'But I hope my Honourable Friend,' said the Gentlemanly member--of
course he added "if he will allow me to call him so," and of course
Mr Pecksniff bowed--'will give me many opportunities of cultivating
the knowledge of him; and that I may have the extraordinary
gratification of reflecting in after-time that I laid on this day
two first stones, both belonging to structures which shall last my
life!'

Great cheering again. All this time, Martin was cursing Mr
Pecksniff up hill and down dale.

'My friends!' said Mr Pecksniff, in reply. 'My duty is to build,
not speak; to act, not talk; to deal with marble, stone, and brick;
not language. I am very much affected. God bless you!'

This address, pumped out apparently from Mr Pecksniff's very heart,
brought the enthusiasm to its highest pitch. The pocket
handkerchiefs were waved again; the charity children were admonished
to grow up Pecksniffs, every boy among them; the Corporation,
gentlemen with wands, member for the Gentlemanly Interest, all
cheered for Mr Pecksniff. Three cheers for Mr Pecksniff! Three more
for Mr Pecksniff! Three more for Mr Pecksniff, gentlemen, if you
please! One more, gentlemen, for Mr Pecksniff, and let it be a good
one to finish with!

In short, Mr Pecksniff was supposed to have done a great work and
was very kindly, courteously, and generously rewarded. When the
procession moved away, and Martin and Mark were left almost alone
upon the ground, his merits and a desire to acknowledge them formed
the common topic. He was only second to the Gentlemanly member.

'Compare the fellow's situation to-day with ours!' said Martin
bitterly.

'Lord bless you, sir!' cried Mark, 'what's the use? Some architects
are clever at making foundations, and some architects are clever at
building on 'em when they're made. But it'll all come right in the
end, sir; it'll all come right!'

'And in the meantime--' began Martin.

'In the meantime, as you say, sir, we have a deal to do, and far to
go. So sharp's the word, and Jolly!'

'You are the best master in the world, Mark,' said Martin, 'and I
will not be a bad scholar if I can help it, I am resolved! So come!
Best foot foremost, old fellow!'

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

TOM PINCH DEPARTS TO SEEK HIS FORTUNE. WHAT HE FINDS AT STARTING

Oh! What a different town Salisbury was in Tom Pinch's eyes to be
sure, when the substantial Pecksniff of his heart melted away into
an idle dream! He possessed the same faith in the wonderful shops,
the same intensified appreciation of the mystery and wickedness of
the place; made the same exalted estimate of its wealth, population,
and resources; and yet it was not the old city nor anything like it.
He walked into the market while they were getting breakfast ready
for him at the Inn; and though it was the same market as of old,
crowded by the same buyers and sellers; brisk with the same
business; noisy with the same confusion of tongues and cluttering of
fowls in coops; fair with the same display of rolls of butter, newly
made, set forth in linen cloths of dazzling whiteness; green with
the same fresh show of dewy vegetables; dainty with the same array
in higglers' baskets of small shaving-glasses, laces, braces,
trouser-straps, and hardware; savoury with the same unstinted show
of delicate pigs' feet, and pies made precious by the pork that once
had walked upon them; still it was strangely changed to Tom. For,
in the centre of the market-place, he missed a statue he had set up
there as in all other places of his personal resort; and it looked
cold and bare without that ornament.

The change lay no deeper than this, for Tom was far from being sage
enough to know, that, having been disappointed in one man, it would
have been a strictly rational and eminently wise proceeding to have
revenged himself upon mankind in general, by mistrusting them one
and all. Indeed this piece of justice, though it is upheld by the
authority of divers profound poets and honourable men, bears a
nearer resemblance to the justice of that good Vizier in the
Thousand-and-one Nights, who issues orders for the destruction of
all the Porters in Bagdad because one of that unfortunate fraternity
is supposed to have misconducted himself, than to any logical, not
to say Christian, system of conduct, known to the world in later
times.

Tom had so long been used to steep the Pecksniff of his fancy in his
tea, and spread him out upon his toast, and take him as a relish
with his beer, that he made but a poor breakfast on the first
morning after his expulsion. Nor did he much improve his appetite
for dinner by seriously considering his own affairs, and taking
counsel thereon with his friend the organist's assistant.

The organist's assistant gave it as his decided opinion that
whatever Tom did, he must go to London; for there was no place like
it. Which may be true in the main, though hardly, perhaps, in
itself, a sufficient reason for Tom's going there.

But Tom had thought of London before, and had coupled with it
thoughts of his sister, and of his old friend John Westlock, whose
advice he naturally felt disposed to seek in this important crisis
of his fortunes. To London, therefore, he resolved to go; and he
went away to the coach-office at once, to secure his place. The
coach being already full, he was obliged to postpone his departure
until the next night; but even this circumstance had its bright side
as well as its dark one, for though it threatened to reduce his poor
purse with unexpected country charges, it afforded him an
opportunity of writing to Mrs Lupin and appointing his box to be
brought to the old finger-post at the old time; which would enable
him to take that treasure with him to the metropolis, and save the
expense of its carriage. 'So,' said Tom, comforting himself, 'it's
very nearly as broad as it's long.'

And it cannot be denied that, when he had made up his mind to even
this extent, he felt an unaccustomed sense of freedom--a vague and
indistinct impression of holiday-making--which was very luxurious.
He had his moments of depression and anxiety, and they were, with
good reason, pretty numerous; but still, it was wonderfully pleasant
to reflect that he was his own master, and could plan and scheme for
himself. It was startling, thrilling, vast, difficult to
understand; it was a stupendous truth, teeming with responsibility
and self-distrust; but in spite of all his cares, it gave a curious
relish to the viands at the Inn, and interposed a dreamy haze
between him and his prospects, in which they sometimes showed to
magical advantage.

In this unsettled state of mind, Tom went once more to bed in the
low four-poster, to the same immovable surprise of the effigies of
the former landlord and the fat ox; and in this condition, passed
the whole of the succeeding day. When the coach came round at last
with 'London' blazoned in letters of gold upon the boot, it gave Tom
such a turn, that he was half disposed to run away. But he didn't
do it; for he took his seat upon the box instead, and looking down
upon the four greys, felt as if he were another grey himself, or, at
all events, a part of the turn-out; and was quite confused by the
novelty and splendour of his situation.

And really it might have confused a less modest man than Tom to find
himself sitting next that coachman; for of all the swells that ever
flourished a whip professionally, he might have been elected
emperor. He didn't handle his gloves like another man, but put them
on--even when he was standing on the pavement, quite detached from
the coach--as if the four greys were, somehow or other, at the ends
of the fingers. It was the same with his hat. He did things with
his hat, which nothing but an unlimited knowledge of horses and the
wildest freedom of the road, could ever have made him perfect in.
Valuable little parcels were brought to him with particular
instructions, and he pitched them into this hat, and stuck it on
again; as if the laws of gravity did not admit of such an event as
its being knocked off or blown off, and nothing like an accident
could befall it. The guard, too! Seventy breezy miles a day were
written in his very whiskers. His manners were a canter; his
conversation a round trot. He was a fast coach upon a down-hill
turnpike road; he was all pace. A waggon couldn't have moved
slowly, with that guard and his key-bugle on the top of it.

These were all foreshadowings of London, Tom thought, as he sat upon
the box, and looked about him. Such a coachman, and such a guard,
never could have existed between Salisbury and any other place. The
coach was none of your steady-going, yokel coaches, but a
swaggering, rakish, dissipated London coach; up all night, and lying
by all day, and leading a devil of a life. It cared no more for
Salisbury than if it had been a hamlet. It rattled noisily through
the best streets, defied the Cathedral, took the worst corners
sharpest, went cutting in everywhere, making everything get out of
its way; and spun along the open country-road, blowing a lively
defiance out of its key-bugle, as its last glad parting legacy.

It was a charming evening. Mild and bright. And even with the
weight upon his mind which arose out of the immensity and
uncertainty of London, Tom could not resist the captivating sense of
rapid motion through the pleasant air. The four greys skimmed
along, as if they liked it quite as well as Tom did; the bugle was
in as high spirits as the greys; the coachman chimed in sometimes
with his voice; the wheels hummed cheerfully in unison; the brass
work on the harness was an orchestra of little bells; and thus, as
they went clinking, jingling, rattling smoothly on, the whole
concern, from the buckles of the leaders' coupling-reins to the
handle of the hind boot, was one great instrument of music.

Yoho, past hedges, gates, and trees; past cottages and barns, and
people going home from work. Yoho, past donkey-chaises, drawn aside
into the ditch, and empty carts with rampant horses, whipped up at a
bound upon the little watercourse, and held by struggling carters
close to the five-barred gate, until the coach had passed the narrow
turning in the road. Yoho, by churches dropped down by themselves
in quiet nooks, with rustic burial-grounds about them, where the
graves are green, and daisies sleep--for it is evening--on the
bosoms of the dead. Yoho, past streams, in which the cattle cool
their feet, and where the rushes grow; past paddock-fences, farms,
and rick-yards; past last year's stacks, cut, slice by slice, away,
and showing, in the waning light, like ruined gables, old and brown.
Yoho, down the pebbly dip, and through the merry water-splash and up
at a canter to the level road again. Yoho! Yoho!

Was the box there, when they came up to the old finger-post? The
box! Was Mrs Lupin herself? Had she turned out magnificently as a
hostess should, in her own chaise-cart, and was she sitting in a
mahogany chair, driving her own horse Dragon (who ought to have been
called Dumpling), and looking lovely? Did the stage-coach pull up
beside her, shaving her very wheel, and even while the guard helped
her man up with the trunk, did he send the glad echoes of his bugle
careering down the chimneys of the distant Pecksniff, as if the
coach expressed its exultation in the rescue of Tom Pinch?

'This is kind indeed!' said Tom, bending down to shake hands with
her. 'I didn't mean to give you this trouble.'

'Trouble, Mr Pinch!' cried the hostess of the Dragon.

'Well! It's a pleasure to you, I know,' said Tom, squeezing her hand
heartily. 'Is there any news?'

The hostess shook her head.

'Say you saw me,' said Tom, 'and that I was very bold and 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 having only one
friend. I shall give your love to the friend, by the way. You were
always great with Mr Westlock, you know. Good-bye!'

'Good-bye!' said Mrs Lupin, hastily producing a basket with a long
bottle sticking out of it. 'Take this. Good-bye!'

'Do you want me to carry it to London for you?' cried Tom. She was
already turning the chaise-cart round.

'No, no,' said Mrs Lupin. 'It's only a little something for
refreshment on the road. Sit fast, Jack. Drive on, sir. All
right! Good-bye!'

She was a quarter of a mile off, before Tom collected himself; and
then he was waving his hand lustily; and so was she.

'And that's the last of the old finger-post,' thought Tom, straining
his eyes, 'where I have so often stood to see this very coach go by,
and where I have parted with so many companions! I used to compare
this coach to some great monster that appeared at certain times to
bear my friends away into the world. And now it's bearing me away,
to seek my fortune, Heaven knows where and how!'

It made Tom melancholy to picture himself walking up the lane and
back to Pecksniff's as of old; and being melancholy, he looked
downwards at the basket on his knee, which he had for the moment
forgotten.

'She is the kindest and most considerate creature in the world,'
thought Tom. 'Now I KNOW that she particularly told that man of
hers not to look at me, on purpose to prevent my throwing him a
shilling! I had it ready for him all the time, and he never once
looked towards me; whereas that man naturally, (for I know him very
well,) would have done nothing but grin and stare. Upon my word,
the kindness of people perfectly melts me.'

Here he caught the coachman's eye. The coachman winked.
'Remarkable fine woman for her time of life,' said the coachman.

'I quite agree with you,' returned Tom. 'So she is.'

'Finer than many a young 'un, I mean to say,' observed the coachman.
'Eh?'

'Than many a young one,' Tom assented.

'I don't care for 'em myself when they're too young,' remarked the
coachman.

This was a matter of taste, which Tom did not feel himself called
upon to discuss.

'You'll seldom find 'em possessing correct opinions about
refreshment, for instance, when they're too young, you know,' said
the coachman; 'a woman must have arrived at maturity, before her
mind's equal to coming provided with a basket like that.'

'Perhaps you would like to know what it contains?' said Tom,
smiling.

As the coachman only laughed, and as Tom was curious himself, he
unpacked it, and put the articles, one by one, upon the footboard.
A cold roast fowl, a packet of ham in slices, a crusty loaf, a piece
of cheese, a paper of biscuits, half a dozen apples, a knife, some
butter, a screw of salt, and a bottle of old sherry. There was a
letter besides, which Tom put in his pocket.

The coachman was so earnest in his approval of Mrs Lupin's provident
habits, and congratulated Torn so warmly on his good fortune, that
Tom felt it necessary, for the lady's sake, to explain that the
basket was a strictly Platonic basket, and had merely been presented
to him in the way of friendship. When he had made the statement
with perfect gravity; for he felt it incumbent on him to disabuse
the mind of this lax rover of any incorrect impressions on the
subject; he signified that he would be happy to share the gifts with
him, and proposed that they should attack the basket in a spirit of
good fellowship at any time in the course of the night which the
coachman's experience and knowledge of the road might suggest, as
being best adapted to the purpose. From this time they chatted so
pleasantly together, that although Tom knew infinitely more of
unicorns than horses, the coachman informed his friend the guard at
the end of the next stage, 'that rum as the box-seat looked, he was
as good a one to go, in pint of conversation, as ever he'd wish to
sit by.'

Yoho, among the gathering shades; making of no account the deep
reflections of the trees, but scampering on through light and
darkness, all the same, as if the light of London fifty miles away,
were quite enough to travel by, and some to spare. Yoho, beside the
village green, where cricket-players linger yet, and every little
indentation made in the fresh grass by bat or wicket, ball or
player's foot, sheds out its perfume on the night. Away with four
fresh horses from the Bald-faced Stag, where topers congregate about
the door admiring; and the last team with traces hanging loose, go
roaming off towards the pond, until observed and shouted after by a
dozen throats, while volunteering boys pursue them. Now, with a
clattering of hoofs and striking out of fiery sparks, across the old
stone bridge, and down again into the shadowy road, and through the
open gate, and far away, away, into the wold. Yoho!

Yoho, behind there, stop that bugle for a moment! Come creeping over
to the front, along the coach-roof, guard, and make one at this
basket! Not that we slacken in our pace the while, not we; we rather
put the bits of blood upon their metal, for the greater glory of the
snack. Ah! It is long since this bottle of old wine was brought
into contact with the mellow breath of night, you may depend, and
rare good stuff it is to wet a bugler's whistle with. Only try it.
Don't be afraid of turning up your finger, Bill, another pull! Now,
take your breath, and try the bugle, Bill. There's music! There's a
tone!' over the hills and far away,' indeed. Yoho! The skittish
mare is all alive to-night. Yoho! Yoho!

See the bright moon! High up before we know it; making the earth
reflect the objects on its breast like water. Hedges, trees, low
cottages, church steeples, blighted stumps and flourishing young
slips, have all grown vain upon the sudden, and mean to contemplate
their own fair images till morning. The poplars yonder rustle that
their quivering leaves may see themselves upon the ground. Not so
the oak; trembling does not become HIM; and he watches himself in
his stout old burly steadfastness, without the motion of a twig.
The moss-grown gate, ill-poised upon its creaking hinges, crippled
and decayed swings to and fro before its glass, like some fantastic
dowager; while our own ghostly likeness travels on, Yoho! Yoho!
through ditch and brake, upon the ploughed land and the smooth,
along the steep hillside and steeper wall, as if it were a phantom-
Hunter.

Clouds too! And a mist upon the Hollow! Not a dull fog that hides
it, but a light airy gauze-like mist, which in our eyes of modest
admiration gives a new charm to the beauties it is spread before; as
real gauze has done ere now, and would again, so please you, though
we were the Pope. Yoho! Why now we travel like the Moon herself.
Hiding this minute in a grove of trees; next minute in a patch of
vapour; emerging now upon our broad clear course; withdrawing now,
but always dashing on, our journey is a counter-part of hers. Yoho!
A match against the Moon!

The beauty of the night is hardly felt, when Day comes rushing up.
Yoho! Two stages, and the country roads are almost changed to a
continuous street. Yoho, past market-gardens, rows of houses,
villas, crescents, terraces, and squares; past waggons, coaches,
carts; past early workmen, late stragglers, drunken men, and sober
carriers of loads; past brick and mortar in its every shape; and in
among the rattling pavements, where a jaunty-seat upon a coach is
not so easy to preserve! Yoho, down countless turnings, and through
countless mazy ways, until an old Innyard is gained, and Tom Pinch,
getting down quite stunned and giddy, is in London!

'Five minutes before the time, too!' said the driver, as he received
his fee of Tom.

'Upon my word,' said Tom, 'I should not have minded very much, if we
had been five hours after it; for at this early hour I don't know
where to go, or what to do with myself.'

'Don't they expect you then?' inquired the driver.

'Who?' said Tom.

'Why them,' returned the driver.

His mind was so clearly running on the assumption of Tom's having
come to town to see an extensive circle of anxious relations and
friends, that it would have been pretty hard work to undeceive him.
Tom did not try. He cheerfully evaded the subject, and going into
the Inn, fell fast asleep before a fire in one of the public rooms
opening from the yard. When he awoke, the people in the house were
all astir, so he washed and dressed himself; to his great
refreshment after the journey; and, it being by that time eight
o'clock, went forth at once to see his old friend John.

John Westlock lived in Furnival's Inn, High Holborn, which was
within a quarter of an hour's walk of Tom's starting-point, but
seemed a long way off, by reason of his going two or three miles out
of the straight road to make a short cut. When at last he arrived
outside John's door, two stories up, he stood faltering with his
hand upon the knocker, and trembled from head to foot. For he was
rendered very nervous by the thought of having to relate what had
fallen out between himself and Pecksniff; and he had a misgiving
that John would exult fearfully in the disclosure.

'But it must be made,' thought Tom, 'sooner or later; and I had
better get it over.'

Rat tat.

'I am afraid that's not a London knock,' thought Tom. 'It didn't
sound bold. Perhaps that's the reason why nobody answers the door.'

It is quite certain that nobody came, and that Tom stood looking at
the knocker; wondering whereabouts in the neighbourhood a certain
gentleman resided, who was roaring out to somebody 'Come in!' with
all his might.

'Bless my soul!' thought Tom at last. 'Perhaps he lives here, and
is calling to me. I never thought of that. Can I open the door
from the outside, I wonder. Yes, to be sure I can.'

To be sure he could, by turning the handle; and to be sure when he
did turn it the same voice came rushing out, crying 'Why don't you
come in? Come in, do you hear? What are you standing there for?'--
quite violently.

Tom stepped from the little passage into the room from which these
sounds proceeded, and had barely caught a glimpse of a gentleman in
a dressing-gown and slippers (with his boots beside him ready to put
on), sitting at his breakfast with a newspaper in his hand, when the
said gentleman, at the imminent hazard of oversetting his tea-table,
made a plunge at Tom, and hugged him.

'Why, Tom, my boy!' cried the gentleman. 'Tom!'

'How glad I am to see you, Mr Westlock!' said Tom Pinch, shaking
both his hands, and trembling more than ever. 'How kind you are!'

'Mr Westlock!' repeated John, 'what do you mean by that, Pinch? You
have not forgotten my Christian name, I suppose?'

'No, John, no. I have not forgotten,' said Thomas Pinch. 'Good
gracious me, how kind you are!'

'I never saw such a fellow in all my life!' cried John. 'What do
you mean by saying THAT over and over again? What did you expect me
to be, I wonder! Here, sit down, Tom, and be a reasonable creature.
How are you, my boy? I am delighted to see you!'

'And I am delighted to see YOU,' said Tom.

'It's mutual, of course,' returned John. 'It always was, I hope.
If I had known you had been coming, Tom, I would have had something
for breakfast. I would rather have such a surprise than the best
breakfast in the world, myself; but yours is another case, and I
have no doubt you are as hungry as a hunter. You must make out as
well as you can, Tom, and we'll recompense ourselves at dinner-time.
You take sugar, I know; I recollect the sugar at Pecksniff's. Ha,
ha, ha! How IS Pecksniff? When did you come to town? DO begin at
something or other, Tom. There are only scraps here, but they are
not at all bad. Boar's Head potted. Try it, Tom. Make a beginning
whatever you do. What an old Blade you are! I am delighted to see
you.'

While he delivered himself of these words in a state of great
commotion, John was constantly running backwards and forwards to and
from the closet, bringing out all sorts of things in pots, scooping
extraordinary quantities of tea out of the caddy, dropping French
rolls into his boots, pouring hot water over the butter, and making
a variety of similar mistakes without disconcerting himself in the
least.

'There!' said John, sitting down for the fiftieth time, and
instantly starting up again to make some other addition to the
breakfast. 'Now we are as well off as we are likely to be till
dinner. And now let us have the news, Tom. Imprimis, how's
Pecksniff?'

'I don't know how he is,' was Tom's grave answer.

John Westlock put the teapot down, and looked at him, in
astonishment.

'I don't know how he is,' said Thomas Pinch; 'and, saving that I
wish him no ill, I don't care. I have left him, John. I have left
him for ever.'

'Voluntarily?'

'Why, no, for he dismissed me. But I had first found out that I was
mistaken in him; and I could not have remained with him under any
circumstances. I grieve to say that you were right in your estimate
of his character. It may be a ridiculous weakness, John, but it has
been very painful and bitter to me to find this out, I do assure
you.'

Tom had no need to direct that appealing look towards his friend, in
mild and gentle deprecation of his answering with a laugh. John
Westlock would as soon have thought of striking him down upon the
floor.

'It was all a dream of mine,' said Tom, 'and it is over. I'll tell
you how it happened, at some other time. Bear with my folly, John.
I do not, just now, like to think or speak about it.'

'I swear to you, Tom,' returned his friend, with great earnestness
of manner, after remaining silent for a few moments, 'that when I
see, as I do now, how deeply you feel this, I don't know whether to
be glad or sorry that you have made the discovery at last. I
reproach myself with the thought that I ever jested on the subject;
I ought to have known better.'

'My dear friend,' said Tom, extending his hand, 'it is very generous
and gallant in you to receive me and my disclosure in this spirit;
it makes me blush to think that I should have felt a moment's
uneasiness as I came along. You can't think what a weight is lifted
off my mind,' said Tom, taking up his knife and fork again, and
looking very cheerful. 'I shall punish the Boar's Head dreadfully.'

The host, thus reminded of his duties, instantly betook himself to
piling up all kinds of irreconcilable and contradictory viands in
Tom's plate, and a very capital breakfast Tom made, and very much
the better for it Tom felt.

'That's all right,' said John, after contemplating his visitor's
proceedings with infinite satisfaction. 'Now, about our plans. You
are going to stay with me, of course. Where's your box?'

'It's at the Inn,' said Tom. 'I didn't intend--'

'Never mind what you didn't intend,' John Westlock interposed.
'What you DID intend is more to the purpose. You intended, in
coming here, to ask my advice, did you not, Tom?'

'Certainly.'

'And to take it when I gave it to you?'

'Yes,' rejoined Tom, smiling, 'if it were good advice, which, being
yours, I have no doubt it will be.'

'Very well. Then don't be an obstinate old humbug in the outset,
Tom, or I shall shut up shop and dispense none of that invaluable
commodity. You are on a visit to me. I wish I had an organ for
you, Tom!'

'So do the gentlemen downstairs, and the gentlemen overhead I have
no doubt,' was Tom's reply.

'Let me see. In the first place, you will wish to see your sister
this morning,' pursued his friend, 'and of course you will like to
go there alone. I'll walk part of the way with you; and see about a
little business of my own, and meet you here again in the afternoon.
Put that in your pocket, Tom. It's only the key of the door. If
you come home first you'll want it.'

'Really,' said Tom, 'quartering one's self upon a friend in this
way--'

'Why, there are two keys,' interposed John Westlock. 'I can't open
the door with them both at once, can I? What a ridiculous fellow
you are, Tom? Nothing particular you'd like for dinner, is there?'

'Oh dear no,' said Tom.

'Very well, then you may as well leave it to me. Have a glass of
cherry brandy, Tom?'

'Not a drop! What remarkable chambers these are!' said Pinch
'there's everything in 'em!'

'Bless your soul, Tom, nothing but a few little bachelor
contrivances! the sort of impromptu arrangements that might have
suggested themselves to Philip Quarll or Robinson Crusoe, that's
all. What do you say? Shall we walk?'

'By all means,' cried Tom. 'As soon as you like.'

Accordingly John Westlock took the French rolls out of his boots,
and put his boots on, and dressed himself; giving Tom the paper to
read in the meanwhile. When he returned, equipped for walking, he
found Tom in a brown study, with the paper in his hand.

'Dreaming, Tom?'

'No,' said Mr Pinch, 'No. I have been looking over the advertising
sheet, thinking there might be something in it which would be likely
to suit me. But, as I often think, the strange thing seems to be
that nobody is suited. Here are all kinds of employers wanting all
sorts of servants, and all sorts of servants wanting all kinds of
employers, and they never seem to come together. Here is a
gentleman in a public office in a position of temporary difficulty,
who wants to borrow five hundred pounds; and in the very next
advertisement here is another gentleman who has got exactly that sum
to lend. But he'll never lend it to him, John, you'll find! Here is
a lady possessing a moderate independence, who wants to board and
lodge with a quiet, cheerful family; and here is a family describing
themselves in those very words, "a quiet, cheerful family," who want
exactly such a lady to come and live with them. But she'll never
go, John! Neither do any of these single gentlemen who want an airy
bedroom, with the occasional use of a parlour, ever appear to come
to terms with these other people who live in a rural situation
remarkable for its bracing atmosphere, within five minutes' walk of
the Royal Exchange. Even those letters of the alphabet who are
always running away from their friends and being entreated at the
tops of columns to come back, never DO come back, if we may judge
from the number of times they are asked to do it and don't. It
really seems,' said Tom, relinquishing the paper with a thoughtful
sigh, 'as if people had the same gratification in printing their
complaints as in making them known by word of mouth; as if they
found it a comfort and consolation to proclaim "I want such and such
a thing, and I can't get it, and I don't expect I ever shall!"'

John Westlock laughed at the idea, and they went out together. So
many years had passed since Tom was last in London, and he had known
so little of it then, that his interest in all he saw was very
great. He was particularly anxious, among other notorious
localities, to have those streets pointed out to him which were
appropriated to the slaughter of countrymen; and was quite
disappointed to find, after half-an-hour's walking, that he hadn't
had his pocket picked. But on John Westlock's inventing a
pickpocket for his gratification, and pointing out a highly
respectable stranger as one of that fraternity, he was much
delighted.

His friend accompanied him to within a short distance of Camberwell
and having put him beyond the possibility of mistaking the wealthy
brass-and-copper founder's, left him to make his visit. Arriving
before the great bell-handle, Tom gave it a gentle pull. The porter
appeared.

'Pray does Miss Pinch live here?' said Tom.

'Miss Pinch is governess here,' replied the porter.

At the same time he looked at Tom from head to foot, as if he would
have said, 'You are a nice man, YOU are; where did YOU come from?'

'It's the same young lady,' said Tom. 'It's quite right. Is she at
home?'

'I don't know, I'm sure,' rejoined the porter.

'Do you think you could have the goodness to ascertain?' said Tom.
He had quite a delicacy in offering the suggestion, for the
possibility of such a step did not appear to present itself to the
porter's mind at all.

The fact was that the porter in answering the gate-bell had,
according to usage, rung the house-bell (for it is as well to do
these things in the Baronial style while you are about it), and that
there the functions of his office had ceased. Being hired to open
and shut the gate, and not to explain himself to strangers, he left
this little incident to be developed by the footman with the tags,
who, at this juncture, called out from the door steps:

'Hollo, there! wot are you up to? This way, young man!'

'Oh!' said Tom, hurrying towards him. 'I didn't observe that there
was anybody else. Pray is Miss Pinch at home?'

'She's IN,' replied the footman. As much as to say to Tom: 'But if
you think she has anything to do with the proprietorship of this
place you had better abandon that idea.'

'I wish to see her, if you please,' said Tom.

The footman, being a lively young man, happened to have his
attention caught at that moment by the flight of a pigeon, in which
he took so warm an interest that his gaze was rivetted on the bird
until it was quite out of sight. He then invited Tom to come in,
and showed him into a parlour.

'Hany neem?' said the young man, pausing languidly at the door.

It was a good thought; because without providing the stranger, in
case he should happen to be of a warm temper, with a sufficient
excuse for knocking him down, it implied this young man's estimate
of his quality, and relieved his breast of the oppressive burden of
rating him in secret as a nameless and obscure individual.

'Say her brother, if you please,' said Tom.

'Mother?' drawled the footman.

'Brother,' repeated Tom, slightly raising his voice. 'And if you
will say, in the first instance, a gentleman, and then say her
brother, I shall be obliged to you, as she does not expect me or
know I am in London, and I do not wish to startle her.'

The young man's interest in Tom's observations had ceased long
before this time, but he kindly waited until now; when, shutting the
door, he withdrew.

'Dear me!' said Tom. 'This is very disrespectful and uncivil
behaviour. I hope these are new servants here, and that Ruth is
very differently treated.'

His cogitations were interrupted by the sound of voices in the
adjoining room. They seemed to be engaged in high dispute, or in
indignant reprimand of some offender; and gathering strength
occasionally, broke out into a perfect whirlwind. It was in one of
these gusts, as it appeared to Tom, that the footman announced him;
for an abrupt and unnatural calm took place, and then a dead
silence. He was standing before the window, wondering what domestic
quarrel might have caused these sounds, and hoping Ruth had nothing
to do with it, when the door opened, and his sister ran into his
arms.

'Why, bless my soul!' said Tom, looking at her with great pride,
when they had tenderly embraced each other, 'how altered you are
Ruth! I should scarcely have known you, my love, if I had seen you
anywhere else, I declare! You are so improved,' said Tom, with
inexpressible delight; 'you are so womanly; you are so--positively,
you know, you are so handsome!'

'If YOU think so Tom--'

'Oh, but everybody must think so, you know,' said Tom, gently
smoothing down her hair. 'It's matter of fact; not opinion. But
what's the matter?' said Tom, looking at her more intently, 'how
flushed you are! and you have been crying.'

'No, I have not, Tom.'

'Nonsense,' said her brother stoutly. 'That's a story. Don't tell
me! I know better. What is it, dear? I'm not with Mr Pecksniff
now. I am going to try and settle myself in London; and if you are
not happy here (as I very much fear you are not, for I begin to
think you have been deceiving me with the kindest and most
affectionate intention) you shall not remain here.'

Oh! Tom's blood was rising; mind that! Perhaps the Boar's Head had
something to do with it, but certainly the footman had. So had the
sight of his pretty sister--a great deal to do with it. Tom could
bear a good deal himself, but he was proud of her, and pride is a
sensitive thing. He began to think, 'there are more Pecksniffs than
one, perhaps,' and by all the pins and needles that run up and down
in angry veins, Tom was in a most unusual tingle all at once!

'We will talk about it, Tom,' said Ruth, giving him another kiss to
pacify him. 'I am afraid I cannot stay here.'

'Cannot!' replied Tom. 'Why then, you shall not, my love. Heyday!
You are not an object of charity! Upon my word!'

Tom was stopped in these exclamations by the footman, who brought a
message from his master, importing that he wished to speak with him
before he went, and with Miss Pinch also.

'Show the way,' said Tom. 'I'll wait upon him at once.'

Accordingly they entered the adjoining room from which the noise of
altercation had proceeded; and there they found a middle-aged
gentleman, with a pompous voice and manner, and a middle-aged lady,
with what may be termed an excisable face, or one in which starch
and vinegar were decidedly employed. There was likewise present
that eldest pupil of Miss Pinch, whom Mrs Todgers, on a previous
occasion, had called a syrup, and who was now weeping and sobbing
spitefully.

'My brother, sir,' said Ruth Pinch, timidly presenting Tom.

'Oh!' cried the gentleman, surveying Tom attentively. 'You really
are Miss Pinch's brother, I presume? You will excuse my asking. I
don't observe any resemblance.'

'Miss Pinch has a brother, I know,' observed the lady.

'Miss Pinch is always talking about her brother, when she ought to
be engaged upon my education,' sobbed the pupil.

'Sophia! Hold your tongue!' observed the gentleman. 'Sit down, if
you please,' addressing Tom.

Tom sat down, looking from one face to another, in mute surprise.

'Remain here, if you please, Miss Pinch,' pursued the gentleman,
looking slightly over his shoulder.

Tom interrupted him here, by rising to place a chair for his sister.
Having done which he sat down again.

'I am glad you chance to have called to see your sister to-day,
sir,' resumed the brass-and-copper founder. 'For although I do not
approve, as a principle, of any young person engaged in my family in
the capacity of a governess, receiving visitors, it happens in this
case to be well timed. I am sorry to inform you that we are not at
all satisfied with your sister.'

'We are very much DISsatisfied with her,' observed the lady.

'I'd never say another lesson to Miss Pinch if I was to be beat to
death for it!' sobbed the pupil.

'Sophia!' cried her father. 'Hold your tongue!'

'Will you allow me to inquire what your ground of dissatisfaction
is?' asked Tom.

'Yes,' said the gentleman, 'I will. I don't recognize it as a
right; but I will. Your sister has not the slightest innate power
of commanding respect. It has been a constant source of difference
between us. Although she has been in this family for some time, and
although the young lady who is now present has almost, as it were,
grown up under her tuition, that young lady has no respect for her.
Miss Pinch has been perfectly unable to command my daughter's
respect, or to win my daughter's confidence. Now,' said the
gentleman, allowing the palm of his hand to fall gravely down upon
the table: 'I maintain that there is something radically wrong in
that! You, as her brother, may be disposed to deny it--'

'I beg your pardon, sir,' said Tom. 'I am not at all disposed to
deny it. I am sure that there is something radically wrong;
radically monstrous, in that.'

'Good Heavens!' cried the gentleman, looking round the room with
dignity, 'what do I find to be the case! what results obtrude
themselves upon me as flowing from this weakness of character on the
part of Miss Pinch! What are my feelings as a father, when, after my
desire (repeatedly expressed to Miss Pinch, as I think she will not
venture to deny) that my daughter should be choice in her
expressions, genteel in her deportment, as becomes her station in
life, and politely distant to her inferiors in society, I find her,
only this very morning, addressing Miss Pinch herself as a beggar!'

'A beggarly thing,' observed the lady, in correction.

'Which is worse,' said the gentleman, triumphantly; 'which is worse.
A beggarly thing. A low, coarse, despicable expression!'

'Most despicable,' cried Tom. 'I am glad to find that there is a
just appreciation of it here.'

'So just, sir,' said the gentleman, lowering his voice to be the
more impressive. 'So just, that, but for my knowing Miss Pinch to
be an unprotected young person, an orphan, and without friends, I
would, as I assured Miss Pinch, upon my veracity and personal
character, a few minutes ago, I would have severed the connection
between us at that moment and from that time.'

'Bless my soul, sir!' cried Tom, rising from his seat; for he was
now unable to contain himself any longer; 'don't allow such
considerations as those to influence you, pray. They don't exist,
sir. She is not unprotected. She is ready to depart this instant.
Ruth, my dear, get your bonnet on!'

'Oh, a pretty family!' cried the lady. 'Oh, he's her brother!
There's no doubt about that!'

'As little doubt, madam,' said Tom, 'as that the young lady yonder
is the child of your teaching, and not my sister's. Ruth, my dear,
get your bonnet on!'

'When you say, young man,' interposed the brass-and-copper founder,
haughtily, 'with that impertinence which is natural to you, and
which I therefore do not condescend to notice further, that the
young lady, my eldest daughter, has been educated by any one but
Miss Pinch, you--I needn't proceed. You comprehend me fully. I
have no doubt you are used to it.'