The Pickwick Papers
by Charles Dickens
Hypertext Meanings and Commentaries
from the Encyclopedia of the Self
by Mark Zimmerman
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     Brave lodgings for one, brave lodgings for one,
     A few feet of cold earth, when life is done;
     A stone at the head, a stone at the feet,
     A rich, juicy meal for the worms to eat;
     Rank grass overhead, and damp clay around,
     Brave lodgings for one, these, in holy ground!

'"Ho! ho!" laughed Gabriel Grub, as he sat himself down on
a flat tombstone which was a favourite resting-place of his, and
drew forth his wicker bottle. "A coffin at Christmas! A Christmas
box! Ho! ho! ho!"

'"Ho! ho! ho!" repeated a voice which sounded close behind him.

'Gabriel paused, in some alarm, in the act of raising the wicker
bottle to his lips, and looked round. The bottom of the oldest
grave about him was not more still and quiet than the churchyard
in the pale moonlight. The cold hoar frost glistened on the
tombstones, and sparkled like rows of gems, among the stone
carvings of the old church. The snow lay hard and crisp upon
the ground; and spread over the thickly-strewn mounds of earth,
so white and smooth a cover that it seemed as if corpses lay
there, hidden only by their winding sheets. Not the faintest rustle
broke the profound tranquillity of the solemn scene. Sound itself
appeared to be frozen up, all was so cold and still.

'"It was the echoes," said Gabriel Grub, raising the bottle to
his lips again.

'"It was NOT," said a deep voice.

'Gabriel started up, and stood rooted to the spot with
astonishment and terror; for his eyes rested on a form that made
his blood run cold.

'Seated on an upright tombstone, close to him, was a strange,
unearthly figure, whom Gabriel felt at once, was no being of this
world. His long, fantastic legs which might have reached the
ground, were cocked up, and crossed after a quaint, fantastic
fashion; his sinewy arms were bare; and his hands rested on his
knees. On his short, round body, he wore a close covering,
ornamented with small slashes; a short cloak dangled at his
back; the collar was cut into curious peaks, which served the
goblin in lieu of ruff or neckerchief; and his shoes curled up at
his toes into long points. On his head, he wore a broad-brimmed
sugar-loaf hat, garnished with a single feather. The hat was
covered with the white frost; and the goblin looked as if he had
sat on the same tombstone very comfortably, for two or three
hundred years. He was sitting perfectly still; his tongue was put
out, as if in derision; and he was grinning at Gabriel Grub with
such a grin as only a goblin could call up.

'"It was NOT the echoes," said the goblin.

'Gabriel Grub was paralysed, and could make no reply.

'"What do you do here on Christmas Eve?" said the goblin sternly.
'"I came to dig a grave, Sir," stammered Gabriel Grub.

'"What man wanders among graves and churchyards on such
a night as this?" cried the goblin.

'"Gabriel Grub! Gabriel Grub!" screamed a wild chorus of
voices that seemed to fill the churchyard. Gabriel looked fearfully
round--nothing was to be seen.

'"What have you got in that bottle?" said the goblin.

'"Hollands, sir," replied the sexton, trembling more than ever;
for he had bought it of the smugglers, and he thought that
perhaps his questioner might be in the excise department of the goblins.

'"Who drinks Hollands alone, and in a churchyard, on such a
night as this?" said the goblin.

'"Gabriel Grub! Gabriel Grub!" exclaimed the wild voices again.

'The goblin leered maliciously at the terrified sexton, and then
raising his voice, exclaimed--

'"And who, then, is our fair and lawful prize?"

'To this inquiry the invisible chorus replied, in a strain that
sounded like the voices of many choristers singing to the mighty
swell of the old church organ--a strain that seemed borne to the
sexton's ears upon a wild wind, and to die away as it passed
onward; but the burden of the reply was still the same, "Gabriel
Grub! Gabriel Grub!"

'The goblin grinned a broader grin than before, as he said,
"Well, Gabriel, what do you say to this?"

'The sexton gasped for breath.
'"What do you think of this, Gabriel?" said the goblin,
kicking up his feet in the air on either side of the tombstone, and
looking at the turned-up points with as much complacency as if
he had been contemplating the most fashionable pair of
Wellingtons in all Bond Street.

'"It's--it's--very curious, Sir," replied the sexton, half dead
with fright; "very curious, and very pretty, but I think I'll go
back and finish my work, Sir, if you please."

'"Work!" said the goblin, "what work?"

'"The grave, Sir; making the grave," stammered the sexton.

'"Oh, the grave, eh?" said the goblin; "who makes graves at
a time when all other men are merry, and takes a pleasure in it?"

'Again the mysterious voices replied, "Gabriel Grub! Gabriel Grub!"

'"I am afraid my friends want you, Gabriel," said the goblin,
thrusting his tongue farther into his cheek than ever--and a most
astonishing tongue it was--"I'm afraid my friends want you,
Gabriel," said the goblin.

'"Under favour, Sir," replied the horror-stricken sexton, "I
don't think they can, Sir; they don't know me, Sir; I don't think
the gentlemen have ever seen me, Sir."

'"Oh, yes, they have," replied the goblin; "we know the man
with the sulky face and grim scowl, that came down the street
to-night, throwing his evil looks at the children, and grasping
his burying-spade the tighter. We know the man who struck the
boy in the envious malice of his heart, because the boy could be
merry, and he could not. We know him, we know him."

'Here, the goblin gave a loud, shrill laugh, which the echoes
returned twentyfold; and throwing his legs up in the air, stood
upon his head, or rather upon the very point of his sugar-loaf
hat, on the narrow edge of the tombstone, whence he threw a
Somerset with extraordinary agility, right to the sexton's feet, at
which he planted himself in the attitude in which tailors generally
sit upon the shop-board.

'"I--I--am afraid I must leave you, Sir," said the sexton,
making an effort to move.

'"Leave us!" said the goblin, "Gabriel Grub going to leave us.
Ho! ho! ho!"

'As the goblin laughed, the sexton observed, for one instant, a
brilliant illumination within the windows of the church, as if the
whole building were lighted up; it disappeared, the organ pealed
forth a lively air, and whole troops of goblins, the very counterpart
of the first one, poured into the churchyard, and began
playing at leap-frog with the tombstones, never stopping for an
instant to take breath, but "overing" the highest among them,
one after the other, with the most marvellous dexterity. The first
goblin was a most astonishing leaper, and none of the others
could come near him; even in the extremity of his terror the
sexton could not help observing, that while his friends were
content to leap over the common-sized gravestones, the first one
took the family vaults, iron railings and all, with as much ease as
if they had been so many street-posts.

'At last the game reached to a most exciting pitch; the organ
played quicker and quicker, and the goblins leaped faster and
faster, coiling themselves up, rolling head over heels upon the
ground, and bounding over the tombstones like footballs. The
sexton's brain whirled round with the rapidity of the motion he
beheld, and his legs reeled beneath him, as the spirits flew before
his eyes; when the goblin king, suddenly darting towards him,
laid his hand upon his collar, and sank with him through the earth.

'When Gabriel Grub had had time to fetch his breath, which
the rapidity of his descent had for the moment taken away, he
found himself in what appeared to be a large cavern, surrounded
on all sides by crowds of goblins, ugly and grim; in the centre of
the room, on an elevated seat, was stationed his friend of the
churchyard; and close behind him stood Gabriel Grub himself,
without power of motion.

'"Cold to-night," said the king of the goblins, "very cold. A
glass of something warm here!"

'At this command, half a dozen officious goblins, with a
perpetual smile upon their faces, whom Gabriel Grub imagined
to be courtiers, on that account, hastily disappeared, and presently
returned with a goblet of liquid fire, which they presented to the king.

'"Ah!" cried the goblin, whose cheeks and throat were transparent,
as he tossed down the flame, "this warms one, indeed!
Bring a bumper of the same, for Mr. Grub."

'It was in vain for the unfortunate sexton to protest that he
was not in the habit of taking anything warm at night; one of
the goblins held him while another poured the blazing liquid
down his throat; the whole assembly screeched with laughter,
as he coughed and choked, and wiped away the tears which
gushed plentifully from his eyes, after swallowing the burning draught.

'"And now," said the king, fantastically poking the taper
corner of his sugar-loaf hat into the sexton's eye, and thereby
occasioning him the most exquisite pain; "and now, show the
man of misery and gloom, a few of the pictures from our own
great storehouse!"

'As the goblin said this, a thick cloud which obscured the
remoter end of the cavern rolled gradually away, and disclosed,
apparently at a great distance, a small and scantily furnished, but
neat and clean apartment. A crowd of little children were
gathered round a bright fire, clinging to their mother's gown, and
gambolling around her chair. The mother occasionally rose, and
drew aside the window-curtain, as if to look for some expected
object; a frugal meal was ready spread upon the table; and an
elbow chair was placed near the fire. A knock was heard at the
door; the mother opened it, and the children crowded round her,
and clapped their hands for joy, as their father entered. He was
wet and weary, and shook the snow from his garments, as the
children crowded round him, and seizing his cloak, hat, stick,
and gloves, with busy zeal, ran with them from the room. Then,
as he sat down to his meal before the fire, the children climbed
about his knee, and the mother sat by his side, and all seemed
happiness and comfort.

'But a change came upon the view, almost imperceptibly. The
scene was altered to a small bedroom, where the fairest and
youngest child lay dying; the roses had fled from his cheek, and
the light from his eye; and even as the sexton looked upon him
with an interest he had never felt or known before, he died. His
young brothers and sisters crowded round his little bed, and
seized his tiny hand, so cold and heavy; but they shrank back
from its touch, and looked with awe on his infant face; for calm
and tranquil as it was, and sleeping in rest and peace as the
beautiful child seemed to be, they saw that he was dead, and they
knew that he was an angel looking down upon, and blessing
them, from a bright and happy Heaven.

'Again the light cloud passed across the picture, and again the
subject changed. The father and mother were old and helpless
now, and the number of those about them was diminished more
than half; but content and cheerfulness sat on every face, and
beamed in every eye, as they crowded round the fireside, and told
and listened to old stories of earlier and bygone days. Slowly
and peacefully, the father sank into the grave, and, soon after,
the sharer of all his cares and troubles followed him to a place of
rest. The few who yet survived them, kneeled by their tomb, and
watered the green turf which covered it with their tears; then rose,
and turned away, sadly and mournfully, but not with bitter
cries, or despairing lamentations, for they knew that they should
one day meet again; and once more they mixed with the busy
world, and their content and cheerfulness were restored. The
cloud settled upon the picture, and concealed it from the sexton's view.

'"What do you think of THAT?" said the goblin, turning his
large face towards Gabriel Grub.

'Gabriel murmured out something about its being very pretty,
and looked somewhat ashamed, as the goblin bent his fiery eyes
upon him.

'" You miserable man!" said the goblin, in a tone of excessive
contempt. "You!" He appeared disposed to add more, but
indignation choked his utterance, so he lifted up one of his very
pliable legs, and, flourishing it above his head a little, to insure
his aim, administered a good sound kick to Gabriel Grub;
immediately after which, all the goblins in waiting crowded
round the wretched sexton, and kicked him without mercy,
according to the established and invariable custom of courtiers
upon earth, who kick whom royalty kicks, and hug whom
royalty hugs.

'"Show him some more!" said the king of the goblins.

'At these words, the cloud was dispelled, and a rich and
beautiful landscape was disclosed to view--there is just such
another, to this day, within half a mile of the old abbey town.
The sun shone from out the clear blue sky, the water sparkled
beneath his rays, and the trees looked greener, and the flowers
more gay, beneath its cheering influence. The water rippled on
with a pleasant sound, the trees rustled in the light wind that
murmured among their leaves, the birds sang upon the boughs,
and the lark carolled on high her welcome to the morning. Yes,
it was morning; the bright, balmy morning of summer; the
minutest leaf, the smallest blade of grass, was instinct with life.
The ant crept forth to her daily toil, the butterfly fluttered and
basked in the warm rays of the sun; myriads of insects spread
their transparent wings, and revelled in their brief but happy
existence. Man walked forth, elated with the scene; and all was
brightness and splendour.

'"YOU a miserable man!" said the king of the goblins, in a
more contemptuous tone than before. And again the king of the
goblins gave his leg a flourish; again it descended on the shoulders
of the sexton; and again the attendant goblins imitated the
example of their chief.

'Many a time the cloud went and came, and many a lesson it
taught to Gabriel Grub, who, although his shoulders smarted
with pain from the frequent applications of the goblins' feet
thereunto, looked on with an interest that nothing could diminish.
He saw that men who worked hard, and earned their scanty
bread with lives of labour, were cheerful and happy; and that to
the most ignorant, the sweet face of Nature was a never-failing
source of cheerfulness and joy. He saw those who had been
delicately nurtured, and tenderly brought up, cheerful under
privations, and superior to suffering, that would have crushed
many of a rougher grain, because they bore within their own
bosoms the materials of happiness, contentment, and peace. He
saw that women, the tenderest and most fragile of all God's
creatures, were the oftenest superior to sorrow, adversity, and
distress; and he saw that it was because they bore, in their own
hearts, an inexhaustible well-spring of affection and devotion.
Above all, he saw that men like himself, who snarled at the mirth
and cheerfulness of others, were the foulest weeds on the fair
surface of the earth; and setting all the good of the world against
the evil, he came to the conclusion that it was a very decent and
respectable sort of world after all. No sooner had he formed it,
than the cloud which had closed over the last picture, seemed to
settle on his senses, and lull him to repose. One by one, the
goblins faded from his sight; and, as the last one disappeared, he
sank to sleep.

'The day had broken when Gabriel Grub awoke, and found
himself lying at full length on the flat gravestone in the churchyard,
with the wicker bottle lying empty by his side, and his coat,
spade, and lantern, all well whitened by the last night's frost,
scattered on the ground. The stone on which he had first seen
the goblin seated, stood bolt upright before him, and the grave
at which he had worked, the night before, was not far off. At
first, he began to doubt the reality of his adventures, but the
acute pain in his shoulders when he attempted to rise, assured
him that the kicking of the goblins was certainly not ideal. He
was staggered again, by observing no traces of footsteps in the
snow on which the goblins had played at leap-frog with the
gravestones, but he speedily accounted for this circumstance
when he remembered that, being spirits, they would leave no
visible impression behind them. So, Gabriel Grub got on his feet
as well as he could, for the pain in his back; and, brushing
the frost off his coat, put it on, and turned his face towards the town.

'But he was an altered man, and he could not bear the thought
of returning to a place where his repentance would be scoffed at,
and his reformation disbelieved. He hesitated for a few moments;
and then turned away to wander where he might, and seek his
bread elsewhere.

'The lantern, the spade, and the wicker bottle were found, that
day, in the churchyard. There were a great many speculations
about the sexton's fate, at first, but it was speedily determined
that he had been carried away by the goblins; and there were not
wanting some very credible witnesses who had distinctly seen
him whisked through the air on the back of a chestnut horse
blind of one eye, with the hind-quarters of a lion, and the tail of a
bear. At length all this was devoutly believed; and the new sexton
used to exhibit to the curious, for a trifling emolument, a good-
sized piece of the church weathercock which had been accidentally
kicked off by the aforesaid horse in his aerial flight, and picked
up by himself in the churchyard, a year or two afterwards.

'Unfortunately, these stories were somewhat disturbed by the
unlooked-for reappearance of Gabriel Grub himself, some ten
years afterwards, a ragged, contented, rheumatic old man. He
told his story to the clergyman, and also to the mayor; and in
course of time it began to be received as a matter of history, in
which form it has continued down to this very day. The
believers in the weathercock tale, having misplaced their confidence
once, were not easily prevailed upon to part with it
again, so they looked as wise as they could, shrugged their
shoulders, touched their foreheads, and murmured something
about Gabriel Grub having drunk all the Hollands, and then
fallen asleep on the flat tombstone; and they affected to explain
what he supposed he had witnessed in the goblin's cavern, by
saying that he had seen the world, and grown wiser. But this
opinion, which was by no means a popular one at any time,
gradually died off; and be the matter how it may, as Gabriel
Grub was afflicted with rheumatism to the end of his days, this
story has at least one moral, if it teach no better one--and that is,
that if a man turn sulky and drink by himself at Christmas time,
he may make up his mind to be not a bit the better for it: let the
spirits be never so good, or let them be even as many degrees
beyond proof, as those which Gabriel Grub saw in the goblin's cavern.'

CHAPTER XXX
HOW THE PICKWICKIANS MADE AND CULTIVATED THE
  ACQUAINTANCE OF A COUPLE OF NICE YOUNG MEN
  BELONGING TO ONE OF THE LIBERAL PROFESSIONS; HOW
  THEY DISPORTED THEMSELVES ON THE ICE; AND HOW
  THEIR VISIT CAME TO A CONCLUSION

'Well, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, as that favoured servitor entered
his bed-chamber, with his warm water, on the morning of Christmas
Day, 'still frosty?'

'Water in the wash-hand basin's a mask o' ice, Sir,' responded Sam.

'Severe weather, Sam,' observed Mr. Pickwick.

'Fine time for them as is well wropped up, as the Polar bear said
to himself, ven he was practising his skating,' replied Mr. Weller.

'I shall be down in a quarter of an hour, Sam,' said Mr.
Pickwick, untying his nightcap.

'Wery good, sir,' replied Sam. 'There's a couple o' sawbones
downstairs.'

'A couple of what!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, sitting up in bed.

'A couple o' sawbones,' said Sam.

'What's a sawbones?' inquired Mr. Pickwick, not quite
certain whether it was a live animal, or something to eat.

'What! Don't you know what a sawbones is, sir?' inquired
Mr. Weller. 'I thought everybody know'd as a sawbones was a surgeon.'

'Oh, a surgeon, eh?' said Mr. Pickwick, with a smile.

'Just that, sir,' replied Sam. 'These here ones as is below,
though, ain't reg'lar thoroughbred sawbones; they're only in
trainin'.'
'In other words they're medical students, I suppose?' said
Mr. Pickwick.

Sam Weller nodded assent.

'I am glad of it,' said Mr. Pickwick, casting his nightcap
energetically on the counterpane. 'They are fine fellows--very
fine fellows; with judgments matured by observation and
reflection; and tastes refined by reading and study. I am very
glad of it.'

'They're a-smokin' cigars by the kitchen fire,' said Sam.

'Ah!' observed Mr. Pickwick, rubbing his hands, 'overflowing
with kindly feelings and animal spirits. Just what I like
to see.'
'And one on 'em,' said Sam, not noticing his master's interruption,
'one on 'em's got his legs on the table, and is a-drinking
brandy neat, vile the t'other one--him in the barnacles--has got
a barrel o' oysters atween his knees, which he's a-openin' like
steam, and as fast as he eats 'em, he takes a aim vith the shells
at young dropsy, who's a sittin' down fast asleep, in the
chimbley corner.'

'Eccentricities of genius, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'You
may retire.'

Sam did retire accordingly. Mr. Pickwick at the expiration of
the quarter of an hour, went down to breakfast.

'Here he is at last!' said old Mr. Wardle. 'Pickwick, this is
Miss Allen's brother, Mr. Benjamin Allen. Ben we call him, and
so may you, if you like. This gentleman is his very particular
friend, Mr.--'

'Mr. Bob Sawyer,'interposed Mr. Benjamin Allen; whereupon
Mr. Bob Sawyer and Mr. Benjamin Allen laughed in concert.

Mr. Pickwick bowed to Bob Sawyer, and Bob Sawyer bowed
to Mr. Pickwick. Bob and his very particular friend then applied
themselves most assiduously to the eatables before them; and
Mr. Pickwick had an opportunity of glancing at them both.

Mr. Benjamin Allen was a coarse, stout, thick-set young man,
with black hair cut rather short, and a white face cut rather long.
He was embellished with spectacles, and wore a white neckerchief.
Below his single-breasted black surtout, which was
buttoned up to his chin, appeared the usual number of pepper-
and-salt coloured legs, terminating in a pair of imperfectly
polished boots. Although his coat was short in the sleeves, it
disclosed no vestige of a linen wristband; and although there was
quite enough of his face to admit of the encroachment of a shirt
collar, it was not graced by the smallest approach to that appendage.
He presented, altogether, rather a mildewy appearance,
and emitted a fragrant odour of full-flavoured Cubas.

Mr. Bob Sawyer, who was habited in a coarse, blue coat,
which, without being either a greatcoat or a surtout, partook of
the nature and qualities of both, had about him that sort of
slovenly smartness, and swaggering gait, which is peculiar to
young gentlemen who smoke in the streets by day, shout and
scream in the same by night, call waiters by their Christian
names, and do various other acts and deeds of an equally
facetious description. He wore a pair of plaid trousers,
and a large, rough, double-breasted waistcoat; out of doors, he
carried a thick stick with a big top. He eschewed gloves, and
looked, upon the whole, something like a dissipated Robinson Crusoe.

Such were the two worthies to whom Mr. Pickwick was
introduced, as he took his seat at the breakfast-table on
Christmas morning.

'Splendid morning, gentlemen,' said Mr. Pickwick.

Mr. Bob Sawyer slightly nodded his assent to the proposition,
and asked Mr. Benjamin Allen for the mustard.

'Have you come far this morning, gentlemen?' inquired
Mr. Pickwick.

'Blue Lion at Muggleton,' briefly responded Mr. Allen.

'You should have joined us last night,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'So we should,' replied Bob Sawyer, 'but the brandy was too
good to leave in a hurry; wasn't it, Ben?'

'Certainly,' said Mr. Benjamin Allen; 'and the cigars were not
bad, or the pork-chops either; were they, Bob?'

'Decidedly not,' said Bob. The particular friends resumed their
attack upon the breakfast, more freely than before, as if the
recollection of last night's supper had imparted a new relish to
the meal.

'Peg away, Bob,' said Mr. Allen, to his companion, encouragingly.

'So I do,' replied Bob Sawyer. And so, to do him justice, he did.

'Nothing like dissecting, to give one an appetite,' said Mr.
Bob Sawyer, looking round the table.

Mr. Pickwick slightly shuddered.

'By the bye, Bob,' said Mr. Allen, 'have you finished that leg yet?'

'Nearly,' replied Sawyer, helping himself to half a fowl as he
spoke. 'It's a very muscular one for a child's.'
'Is it?' inquired Mr. Allen carelessly.

'Very,' said Bob Sawyer, with his mouth full.

'I've put my name down for an arm at our place,' said Mr.
Allen. 'We're clubbing for a subject, and the list is nearly full,
only we can't get hold of any fellow that wants a head. I wish
you'd take it.'

'No,' replied 'Bob Sawyer; 'can't afford expensive luxuries.'

'Nonsense!' said Allen.

'Can't, indeed,' rejoined Bob Sawyer, 'I wouldn't mind a
brain, but I couldn't stand a whole head.'
'Hush, hush, gentlemen, pray,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'I hear the ladies.'

As Mr. Pickwick spoke, the ladies, gallantly escorted by
Messrs. Snodgrass, Winkle, and Tupman, returned from an
early walk.

'Why, Ben!' said Arabella, in a tone which expressed more
surprise than pleasure at the sight of her brother.

'Come to take you home to-morrow,' replied Benjamin.

Mr. Winkle turned pale.

'Don't you see Bob Sawyer, Arabella?' inquired Mr. Benjamin
Allen, somewhat reproachfully. Arabella gracefully held out her
hand, in acknowledgment of Bob Sawyer's presence. A thrill of
hatred struck to Mr. Winkle's heart, as Bob Sawyer inflicted on
the proffered hand a perceptible squeeze.

'Ben, dear!' said Arabella, blushing; 'have--have--you been
introduced to Mr. Winkle?'

'I have not been, but I shall be very happy to be, Arabella,'
replied her brother gravely. Here Mr. Allen bowed grimly to
Mr. Winkle, while Mr. Winkle and Mr. Bob Sawyer glanced
mutual distrust out of the corners of their eyes.

The arrival of the two new visitors, and the consequent check
upon Mr. Winkle and the young lady with the fur round her
boots, would in all probability have proved a very unpleasant
interruption to the hilarity of the party, had not the cheerfulness
of Mr. Pickwick, and the good humour of the host, been exerted
to the very utmost for the common weal. Mr. Winkle gradually
insinuated himself into the good graces of Mr. Benjamin Allen,
and even joined in a friendly conversation with Mr. Bob Sawyer;
who, enlivened with the brandy, and the breakfast, and the
talking, gradually ripened into a state of extreme facetiousness,
and related with much glee an agreeable anecdote, about the
removal of a tumour on some gentleman's head, which he
illustrated by means of an oyster-knife and a half-quartern loaf,
to the great edification of the assembled company. Then the
whole train went to church, where Mr. Benjamin Allen fell fast
asleep; while Mr. Bob Sawyer abstracted his thoughts from
worldly matters, by the ingenious process of carving his name on
the seat of the pew, in corpulent letters of four inches long.

'Now,' said Wardle, after a substantial lunch, with the agreeable
items of strong beer and cherry-brandy, had been done
ample justice to, 'what say you to an hour on the ice? We shall
have plenty of time.'

'Capital!' said Mr. Benjamin Allen.

'Prime!' ejaculated Mr. Bob Sawyer.

'You skate, of course, Winkle?' said Wardle.

'Ye-yes; oh, yes,' replied Mr. Winkle. 'I--I--am RATHER out
of practice.'

'Oh, DO skate, Mr. Winkle,' said Arabella. 'I like to see it so much.'

'Oh, it is SO graceful,' said another young lady.
A third young lady said it was elegant, and a fourth expressed
her opinion that it was 'swan-like.'

'I should be very happy, I'm sure,' said Mr. Winkle, reddening;
'but I have no skates.'

This objection was at once overruled. Trundle had a couple of
pair, and the fat boy announced that there were half a dozen
more downstairs; whereat Mr. Winkle expressed exquisite
delight, and looked exquisitely uncomfortable.

Old Wardle led the way to a pretty large sheet of ice; and the
fat boy and Mr. Weller, having shovelled and swept away the
snow which had fallen on it during the night, Mr. Bob Sawyer
adjusted his skates with a dexterity which to Mr. Winkle was
perfectly marvellous, and described circles with his left leg, and
cut figures of eight, and inscribed upon the ice, without once
stopping for breath, a great many other pleasant and astonishing
devices, to the excessive satisfaction of Mr. Pickwick, Mr. Tupman,
and the ladies; which reached a pitch of positive enthusiasm,
when old Wardle and Benjamin Allen, assisted by the
aforesaid Bob Sawyer, performed some mystic evolutions, which
they called a reel.

All this time, Mr. Winkle, with his face and hands blue with
the cold, had been forcing a gimlet into the sole of his feet, and
putting his skates on, with the points behind, and getting the
straps into a very complicated and entangled state, with the
assistance of Mr. Snodgrass, who knew rather less about skates
than a Hindoo. At length, however, with the assistance of Mr.
Weller, the unfortunate skates were firmly screwed and buckled
on, and Mr. Winkle was raised to his feet.

'Now, then, Sir,' said Sam, in an encouraging tone; 'off vith
you, and show 'em how to do it.'

'Stop, Sam, stop!' said Mr. Winkle, trembling violently, and
clutching hold of Sam's arms with the grasp of a drowning man.
'How slippery it is, Sam!'

'Not an uncommon thing upon ice, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller.
'Hold up, Sir!'

This last observation of Mr. Weller's bore reference to a
demonstration Mr. Winkle made at the instant, of a frantic
desire to throw his feet in the air, and dash the back of his head
on the ice.

'These--these--are very awkward skates; ain't they, Sam?'
inquired Mr. Winkle, staggering.

'I'm afeerd there's a orkard gen'l'm'n in 'em, Sir,' replied Sam.

'Now, Winkle,' cried Mr. Pickwick, quite unconscious that
there was anything the matter. 'Come; the ladies are all anxiety.'

'Yes, yes,' replied Mr. Winkle, with a ghastly smile. 'I'm coming.'

'Just a-goin' to begin,' said Sam, endeavouring to disengage
himself. 'Now, Sir, start off!'

'Stop an instant, Sam,' gasped Mr. Winkle, clinging most
affectionately to Mr. Weller. 'I find I've got a couple of coats at
home that I don't want, Sam. You may have them, Sam.'

'Thank'ee, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller.

'Never mind touching your hat, Sam,' said Mr. Winkle hastily.
'You needn't take your hand away to do that. I meant to have
given you five shillings this morning for a Christmas box, Sam.
I'll give it you this afternoon, Sam.'

'You're wery good, sir,' replied Mr. Weller.

'Just hold me at first, Sam; will you?' said Mr. Winkle.
'There--that's right. I shall soon get in the way of it, Sam. Not
too fast, Sam; not too fast.'

Mr. Winkle, stooping forward, with his body half doubled up,
was being assisted over the ice by Mr. Weller, in a very singular
and un-swan-like manner, when Mr. Pickwick most innocently
shouted from the opposite bank--

'Sam!'

'Sir?'

'Here. I want you.'

'Let go, Sir,' said Sam. 'Don't you hear the governor a-callin'?
Let go, sir.'

With a violent effort, Mr. Weller disengaged himself from the
grasp of the agonised Pickwickian, and, in so doing, administered
a considerable impetus to the unhappy Mr. Winkle. With an
accuracy which no degree of dexterity or practice could have
insured, that unfortunate gentleman bore swiftly down into the
centre of the reel, at the very moment when Mr. Bob Sawyer was
performing a flourish of unparalleled beauty. Mr. Winkle struck wildly
against him, and with a loud crash they both fell heavily down.
Mr. Pickwick ran to the spot. Bob Sawyer had risen to his feet,
but Mr. Winkle was far too wise to do anything of the kind, in skates.
He was seated on the ice, making spasmodic efforts to smile; but
anguish was depicted on every lineament of his countenance.

'Are you hurt?' inquired Mr. Benjamin Allen, with great anxiety.

'Not much,' said Mr. Winkle, rubbing his back very hard.
'I wish you'd let me bleed you,' said Mr. Benjamin, with great eagerness.

'No, thank you,' replied Mr. Winkle hurriedly.

'I really think you had better,' said Allen.

'Thank you,' replied Mr. Winkle; 'I'd rather not.'

'What do YOU think, Mr. Pickwick?' inquired Bob Sawyer.

Mr. Pickwick was excited and indignant. He beckoned to
Mr. Weller, and said in a stern voice, 'Take his skates off.'

'No; but really I had scarcely begun,' remonstrated Mr. Winkle.

'Take his skates off,' repeated Mr. Pickwick firmly.

The command was not to be resisted. Mr. Winkle allowed
Sam to obey it, in silence.

'Lift him up,' said Mr. Pickwick. Sam assisted him to rise.

Mr. Pickwick retired a few paces apart from the bystanders;
and, beckoning his friend to approach, fixed a searching look
upon him, and uttered in a low, but distinct and emphatic tone,
these remarkable words--

'You're a humbug, sir.'
'A what?' said Mr. Winkle, starting.

'A humbug, Sir. I will speak plainer, if you wish it. An
impostor, sir.'

With those words, Mr. Pickwick turned slowly on his heel, and
rejoined his friends.

While Mr. Pickwick was delivering himself of the sentiment
just recorded, Mr. Weller and the fat boy, having by their joint
endeavours cut out a slide, were exercising themselves thereupon,
in a very masterly and brilliant manner. Sam Weller, in particular,
was displaying that beautiful feat of fancy-sliding which is
currently denominated 'knocking at the cobbler's door,' and
which is achieved by skimming over the ice on one foot, and
occasionally giving a postman's knock upon it with the other. It
was a good long slide, and there was something in the motion
which Mr. Pickwick, who was very cold with standing still,
could not help envying.

'It looks a nice warm exercise that, doesn't it?' he inquired of
Wardle, when that gentleman was thoroughly out of breath, by
reason of the indefatigable manner in which he had converted his
legs into a pair of compasses, and drawn complicated problems
on the ice.

'Ah, it does, indeed,' replied Wardle. 'Do you slide?'

'I used to do so, on the gutters, when I was a boy,' replied
Mr. Pickwick.

'Try it now,' said Wardle.

'Oh, do, please, Mr. Pickwick!' cried all the ladies.

'I should be very happy to afford you any amusement,' replied
Mr. Pickwick, 'but I haven't done such a thing these thirty years.'

'Pooh! pooh! Nonsense!' said Wardle, dragging off his skates
with the impetuosity which characterised all his proceedings.
'Here; I'll keep you company; come along!' And away went the
good-tempered old fellow down the slide, with a rapidity which
came very close upon Mr. Weller, and beat the fat boy all to nothing.

Mr. Pickwick paused, considered, pulled off his gloves and put
them in his hat; took two or three short runs, baulked himself as
often, and at last took another run, and went slowly and gravely
down the slide, with his feet about a yard and a quarter apart,
amidst the gratified shouts of all the spectators.

'Keep the pot a-bilin', Sir!' said Sam; and down went Wardle
again, and then Mr. Pickwick, and then Sam, and then Mr.
Winkle, and then Mr. Bob Sawyer, and then the fat boy, and
then Mr. Snodgrass, following closely upon each other's heels,
and running after each other with as much eagerness as if their
future prospects in life depended on their expedition.

It was the most intensely interesting thing, to observe the
manner in which Mr. Pickwick performed his share in the
ceremony; to watch the torture of anxiety with which he viewed
the person behind, gaining upon him at the imminent hazard of
tripping him up; to see him gradually expend the painful force
he had put on at first, and turn slowly round on the slide, with his
face towards the point from which he had started; to contemplate
the playful smile which mantled on his face when he had accomplished
the distance, and the eagerness with which he turned
round when he had done so, and ran after his predecessor, his
black gaiters tripping pleasantly through the snow, and his eyes
beaming cheerfulness and gladness through his spectacles. And
when he was knocked down (which happened upon the average
every third round), it was the most invigorating sight that can
possibly be imagined, to behold him gather up his hat, gloves,
and handkerchief, with a glowing countenance, and resume his
station in the rank, with an ardour and enthusiasm that nothing
Could abate.

The sport was at its height, the sliding was at the quickest, the
laughter was at the loudest, when a sharp smart crack was heard.
There was a quick rush towards the bank, a wild scream from the
ladies, and a shout from Mr. Tupman. A large mass of ice
disappeared; the water bubbled up over it; Mr. Pickwick's hat,
gloves, and handkerchief were floating on the surface; and this
was all of Mr. Pickwick that anybody could see.

Dismay and anguish were depicted on every countenance; the
males turned pale, and the females fainted; Mr. Snodgrass and
Mr. Winkle grasped each other by the hand, and gazed at the
spot where their leader had gone down, with frenzied eagerness;
while Mr. Tupman, by way of rendering the promptest assistance,
and at the same time conveying to any persons who might be
within hearing, the clearest possible notion of the catastrophe,
ran off across the country at his utmost speed, screaming 'Fire!'
with all his might.

It was at this moment, when old Wardle and Sam Weller were
approaching the hole with cautious steps, and Mr. Benjamin
Allen was holding a hurried consultation with Mr. Bob Sawyer
on the advisability of bleeding the company generally, as an
improving little bit of professional practice--it was at this very
moment, that a face, head, and shoulders, emerged from beneath the
water, and disclosed the features and spectacles of Mr. Pickwick.

'Keep yourself up for an instant--for only one instant!'
bawled Mr. Snodgrass.

'Yes, do; let me implore you--for my sake!' roared Mr.
Winkle, deeply affected. The adjuration was rather unnecessary;
the probability being, that if Mr. Pickwick had declined to keep
himself up for anybody else's sake, it would have occurred to him
that he might as well do so, for his own.

'Do you feel the bottom there, old fellow?' said Wardle.

'Yes, certainly,' replied Mr. Pickwick, wringing the water from
his head and face, and gasping for breath. 'I fell upon my back.
I couldn't get on my feet at first.'

The clay upon so much of Mr. Pickwick's coat as was yet
visible, bore testimony to the accuracy of this statement; and as
the fears of the spectators were still further relieved by the fat
boy's suddenly recollecting that the water was nowhere more than
five feet deep, prodigies of valour were performed to get him out.
After a vast quantity of splashing, and cracking, and struggling,
Mr. Pickwick was at length fairly extricated from his unpleasant
position, and once more stood on dry land.

'Oh, he'll catch his death of cold,' said Emily.

'Dear old thing!' said Arabella. 'Let me wrap this shawl round
you, Mr. Pickwick.'

'Ah, that's the best thing you can do,' said Wardle; 'and when
you've got it on, run home as fast as your legs can carry you, and
jump into bed directly.'
A dozen shawls were offered on the instant. Three or four of
the thickest having been selected, Mr. Pickwick was wrapped up,
and started off, under the guidance of Mr. Weller; presenting the
singular phenomenon of an elderly gentleman, dripping wet, and
without a hat, with his arms bound down to his sides, skimming
over the ground, without any clearly-defined purpose, at the rate
of six good English miles an hour.

But Mr. Pickwick cared not for appearances in such an
extreme case, and urged on by Sam Weller, he kept at the very
top of his speed until he reached the door of Manor Farm, where
Mr. Tupman had arrived some five minutes before, and had
frightened the old lady into palpitations of the heart by
impressing her with the unalterable conviction that the kitchen
chimney was on fire--a calamity which always presented itself in
glowing colours to the old lady's mind, when anybody about her
evinced the smallest agitation.

Mr. Pickwick paused not an instant until he was snug in bed.
Sam Weller lighted a blazing fire in the room, and took up his
dinner; a bowl of punch was carried up afterwards, and a grand
carouse held in honour of his safety. Old Wardle would not hear
of his rising, so they made the bed the chair, and Mr. Pickwick
presided. A second and a third bowl were ordered in; and when
Mr. Pickwick awoke next morning, there was not a symptom of
rheumatism about him; which proves, as Mr. Bob Sawyer very
justly observed, that there is nothing like hot punch in such cases;
and that if ever hot punch did fail to act as a preventive, it was
merely because the patient fell into the vulgar error of not taking
enough of it.

The jovial party broke up next morning. Breakings-up are
capital things in our school-days, but in after life they are painful
enough. Death, self-interest, and fortune's changes, are every day
breaking up many a happy group, and scattering them far and
wide; and the boys and girls never come back again. We do not
mean to say that it was exactly the case in this particular instance;
all we wish to inform the reader is, that the different members of
the party dispersed to their several homes; that Mr. Pickwick and
his friends once more took their seats on the top of the Muggleton
coach; and that Arabella Allen repaired to her place of destination,
wherever it might have been--we dare say Mr. Winkle
knew, but we confess we don't--under the care and guardianship
of her brother Benjamin, and his most intimate and particular
friend, Mr. Bob Sawyer.

Before they separated, however, that gentleman and Mr.
Benjamin Allen drew Mr. Pickwick aside with an air of some
mystery; and Mr. Bob Sawyer, thrusting his forefinger between
two of Mr. Pickwick's ribs, and thereby displaying his native
drollery, and his knowledge of the anatomy of the human frame,
at one and the same time, inquired--

'I say, old boy, where do you hang out?'
Mr. Pickwick replied that he was at present suspended at the
George and Vulture.

'I wish you'd come and see me,' said Bob Sawyer.

'Nothing would give me greater pleasure,' replied Mr. Pickwick.

'There's my lodgings,' said Mr. Bob Sawyer, producing a card.
'Lant Street, Borough; it's near Guy's, and handy for me, you
know. Little distance after you've passed St. George's Church--
turns out of the High Street on the right hand side the way.'

'I shall find it,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Come on Thursday fortnight, and bring the other chaps with
you,' said Mr. Bob Sawyer; 'I'm going to have a few medical
fellows that night.'

Mr. Pickwick expressed the pleasure it would afford him to
meet the medical fellows; and after Mr. Bob Sawyer had
informed him that he meant to be very cosy, and that his friend
Ben was to be one of the party, they shook hands and separated.

We feel that in this place we lay ourself open to the inquiry
whether Mr. Winkle was whispering, during this brief conversation,
to Arabella Allen; and if so, what he said; and furthermore,
whether Mr. Snodgrass was conversing apart with Emily Wardle;
and if so, what HE said. To this, we reply, that whatever they
might have said to the ladies, they said nothing at all to Mr.
Pickwick or Mr. Tupman for eight-and-twenty miles, and that
they sighed very often, refused ale and brandy, and looked
gloomy. If our observant lady readers can deduce any satisfactory
inferences from these facts, we beg them by all means to do so.

CHAPTER XXXI
WHICH IS ALL ABOUT THE LAW, AND SUNDRY GREAT
  AUTHORITIES LEARNED THEREIN

Scattered about, in various holes and corners of the Temple,
are certain dark and dirty chambers, in and out of which,
all the morning in vacation, and half the evening too in
term time, there may be seen constantly hurrying with bundles of
papers under their arms, and protruding from their pockets, an
almost uninterrupted succession of lawyers' clerks. There are
several grades of lawyers' clerks. There is the articled clerk, who
has paid a premium, and is an attorney in perspective, who runs a
tailor's bill, receives invitations to parties, knows a family in
Gower Street, and another in Tavistock Square; who goes out
of town every long vacation to see his father, who keeps live
horses innumerable; and who is, in short, the very aristocrat of
clerks. There is the salaried clerk--out of door, or in door, as
the case may be--who devotes the major part of his thirty shillings
a week to his Personal pleasure and adornments, repairs half-price
to the Adelphi Theatre at least three times a week, dissipates
majestically at the cider cellars afterwards, and is a dirty caricature
of the fashion which expired six months ago. There is the middle-
aged copying clerk, with a large family, who is always shabby,
and often drunk. And there are the office lads in their first
surtouts, who feel a befitting contempt for boys at day-schools,
club as they go home at night, for saveloys and porter, and think
there's nothing like 'life.'  There are varieties of the genus, too
numerous to recapitulate, but however numerous they may be,
they are all to be seen, at certain regulated business hours,
hurrying to and from the places we have just mentioned.

These sequestered nooks are the public offices of the legal
profession, where writs are issued, judgments signed, declarations
filed, and numerous other ingenious machines put in motion for
the torture and torment of His Majesty's liege subjects, and the
comfort and emolument of the practitioners of the law. They are,
for the most part, low-roofed, mouldy rooms, where innumerable
rolls of parchment, which have been perspiring in secret for the
last century, send forth an agreeable odour, which is mingled by
day with the scent of the dry-rot, and by night with the various
exhalations which arise from damp cloaks, festering umbrellas,
and the coarsest tallow candles.

About half-past seven o'clock in the evening, some ten days or
a fortnight after Mr. Pickwick and his friends returned to London,
there hurried into one of these offices, an individual in a brown
coat and brass buttons, whose long hair was scrupulously
twisted round the rim of his napless hat, and whose soiled drab
trousers were so tightly strapped over his Blucher boots, that his
knees threatened every moment to start from their concealment.
He produced from his coat pockets a long and narrow strip of
parchment, on which the presiding functionary impressed an
illegible black stamp. He then drew forth four scraps of paper, of
similar dimensions, each containing a printed copy of the strip
of parchment with blanks for a name; and having filled up the
blanks, put all the five documents in his pocket, and hurried away.

The man in the brown coat, with the cabalistic documents in
his pocket, was no other than our old acquaintance Mr. Jackson,
of the house of Dodson & Fogg, Freeman's Court, Cornhill.
Instead of returning to the office whence he came, however, he
bent his steps direct to Sun Court, and walking straight into the
George and Vulture, demanded to know whether one Mr. Pickwick
was within.

'Call Mr. Pickwick's servant, Tom,' said the barmaid of the
George and Vulture.

'Don't trouble yourself,' said Mr. Jackson. 'I've come on
business. If you'll show me Mr. Pickwick's room I'll step up myself.'

'What name, Sir?' said the waiter.

'Jackson,' replied the clerk.

The waiter stepped upstairs to announce Mr. Jackson; but
Mr. Jackson saved him the trouble by following close at his heels,
and walking into the apartment before he could articulate a syllable.

Mr. Pickwick had, that day, invited his three friends to dinner;
they were all seated round the fire, drinking their wine, when
Mr. Jackson presented himself, as above described.

'How de do, sir?' said Mr. Jackson, nodding to Mr. Pickwick.

That gentleman bowed, and looked somewhat surprised, for
the physiognomy of Mr. Jackson dwelt not in his recollection.

'I have called from Dodson and Fogg's,' said Mr. Jackson, in
an explanatory tone.

Mr. Pickwick roused at the name. 'I refer you to my attorney,
Sir; Mr. Perker, of Gray's Inn,' said he. 'Waiter, show this
gentleman out.'

'Beg your pardon, Mr. Pickwick,' said Jackson, deliberately
depositing his hat on the floor, and drawing from his pocket the
strip of parchment. 'But personal service, by clerk or agent, in
these cases, you know, Mr. Pickwick--nothing like caution, sir,
in all legal forms--eh?'

Here Mr. Jackson cast his eye on the parchment; and, resting
his hands on the table, and looking round with a winning and
persuasive smile, said, 'Now, come; don't let's have no words
about such a little matter as this. Which of you gentlemen's
name's Snodgrass?'

At this inquiry, Mr. Snodgrass gave such a very undisguised
and palpable start, that no further reply was needed.

'Ah! I thought so,' said Mr. Jackson, more affably than before.
'I've a little something to trouble you with, Sir.'

'Me!'exclaimed Mr. Snodgrass.

'It's only a subpoena in Bardell and Pickwick on behalf of the
plaintiff,' replied Jackson, singling out one of the slips of paper,
and producing a shilling from his waistcoat pocket. 'It'll come
on, in the settens after Term: fourteenth of Febooary, we expect;
we've marked it a special jury cause, and it's only ten down the
paper. That's yours, Mr. Snodgrass.'  As Jackson said this, he
presented the parchment before the eyes of Mr. Snodgrass, and
slipped the paper and the shilling into his hand.

Mr. Tupman had witnessed this process in silent astonishment,
when Jackson, turning sharply upon him, said--

'I think I ain't mistaken when I say your name's Tupman,
am I?'

Mr. Tupman looked at Mr. Pickwick; but, perceiving no
encouragement in that gentleman's widely-opened eyes to deny
his name, said--

'Yes, my name is Tupman, Sir.'

'And that other gentleman's Mr. Winkle, I think?' said Jackson.
Mr. Winkle faltered out a reply in the affirmative; and both
gentlemen were forthwith invested with a slip of paper, and a
shilling each, by the dexterous Mr. Jackson.

'Now,' said Jackson, 'I'm afraid you'll think me rather
troublesome, but I want somebody else, if it ain't inconvenient.
I have Samuel Weller's name here, Mr. Pickwick.'

'Send my servant here, waiter,' said Mr. Pickwick. The waiter
retired, considerably astonished, and Mr. Pickwick motioned
Jackson to a seat.

There was a painful pause, which was at length broken by the
innocent defendant.
'I suppose, Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, his indignation rising while he
spoke--'I suppose, Sir, that it is the intention of your employers
to seek to criminate me upon the testimony of my own friends?'

Mr. Jackson struck his forefinger several times against the left
side of his nose, to intimate that he was not there to disclose the
secrets of the prison house, and playfully rejoined--

'Not knowin', can't say.'

'For what other reason, Sir,' pursued Mr. Pickwick, 'are these
subpoenas served upon them, if not for this?'

'Very good plant, Mr. Pickwick,' replied Jackson, slowly
shaking his head. 'But it won't do. No harm in trying, but there's
little to be got out of me.'

Here Mr. Jackson smiled once more upon the company, and,
applying his left thumb to the tip of his nose, worked a visionary
coffee-mill with his right hand, thereby performing a very
graceful piece of pantomime (then much in vogue, but now,
unhappily, almost obsolete) which was familiarly denominated
'taking a grinder.'

'No, no, Mr. Pickwick,' said Jackson, in conclusion; 'Perker's
people must guess what we've served these subpoenas for. If they
can't, they must wait till the action comes on, and then they'll
find out.'
Mr. Pickwick bestowed a look of excessive disgust on his
unwelcome visitor, and would probably have hurled some
tremendous anathema at the heads of Messrs. Dodson & Fogg,
had not Sam's entrance at the instant interrupted him.

'Samuel Weller?' said Mr. Jackson, inquiringly.

'Vun o' the truest things as you've said for many a long year,'
replied Sam, in a most composed manner.

'Here's a subpoena for you, Mr. Weller,' said Jackson.

'What's that in English?' inquired Sam.

'Here's the original,' said Jackson, declining the required
explanation.

'Which?' said Sam.

'This,' replied Jackson, shaking the parchment.

'Oh, that's the 'rig'nal, is it?' said Sam. 'Well, I'm wery glad
I've seen the 'rig'nal, 'cos it's a gratifyin' sort o' thing, and eases
vun's mind so much.'

'And here's the shilling,' said Jackson. 'It's from Dodson and Fogg's.'

'And it's uncommon handsome o' Dodson and Fogg, as knows
so little of me, to come down vith a present,' said Sam. 'I feel it
as a wery high compliment, sir; it's a wery honorable thing to
them, as they knows how to reward merit werever they meets it.
Besides which, it's affectin' to one's feelin's.'

As Mr. Weller said this, he inflicted a little friction on his right
eyelid, with the sleeve of his coat, after the most approved
manner of actors when they are in domestic pathetics.

Mr. Jackson seemed rather puzzled by Sam's proceedings; but,
as he had served the subpoenas, and had nothing more to say, he
made a feint of putting on the one glove which he usually carried
in his hand, for the sake of appearances; and returned to the
office to report progress.

Mr. Pickwick slept little that night; his memory had received
a very disagreeable refresher on the subject of Mrs. Bardell's
action. He breakfasted betimes next morning, and, desiring Sam
to accompany him, set forth towards Gray's Inn Square.

'Sam!' said Mr. Pickwick, looking round, when they got to the
end of Cheapside.

'Sir?' said Sam, stepping up to his master.

'Which way?'
'Up Newgate Street.'

Mr. Pickwick did not turn round immediately, but looked
vacantly in Sam's face for a few seconds, and heaved a deep sigh.

'What's the matter, sir?' inquired Sam.

'This action, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'is expected to come on,
on the fourteenth of next month.'
'Remarkable coincidence that 'ere, sir,' replied Sam.

'Why remarkable, Sam?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'Walentine's day, sir,' responded Sam; 'reg'lar good day for a
breach o' promise trial.'

Mr. Weller's smile awakened no gleam of mirth in his master's
countenance. Mr. Pickwick turned abruptly round, and led the
way in silence.

They had walked some distance, Mr. Pickwick trotting on
before, plunged in profound meditation, and Sam following
behind, with a countenance expressive of the most enviable and
easy defiance of everything and everybody, when the latter, who
was always especially anxious to impart to his master any
exclusive information he possessed, quickened his pace until he
was close at Mr. Pickwick's heels; and, pointing up at a house
they were passing, said--

'Wery nice pork-shop that 'ere, sir.'

'Yes, it seems so,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Celebrated sassage factory,' said Sam.

'Is it?' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Is it!' reiterated Sam, with some indignation; 'I should rayther
think it was. Why, sir, bless your innocent eyebrows, that's where
the mysterious disappearance of a 'spectable tradesman took
place four years ago.'

'You don't mean to say he was burked, Sam?' said Mr.
Pickwick, looking hastily round.

'No, I don't indeed, sir,' replied Mr. Weller, 'I wish I did; far
worse than that. He was the master o' that 'ere shop, sir, and the
inwentor o' the patent-never-leavin'-off sassage steam-ingin, as
'ud swaller up a pavin' stone if you put it too near, and grind it
into sassages as easy as if it was a tender young babby. Wery
proud o' that machine he was, as it was nat'ral he should be, and
he'd stand down in the celler a-lookin' at it wen it was in full
play, till he got quite melancholy with joy. A wery happy man
he'd ha' been, Sir, in the procession o' that 'ere ingin and two
more lovely hinfants besides, if it hadn't been for his wife, who
was a most owdacious wixin. She was always a-follerin' him
about, and dinnin' in his ears, till at last he couldn't stand it no
longer. "I'll tell you what it is, my dear," he says one day; "if you
persewere in this here sort of amusement," he says, "I'm
blessed if I don't go away to 'Merriker; and that's all about it."
"You're a idle willin," says she, "and I wish the 'Merrikins joy of
their bargain." Arter which she keeps on abusin' of him for half
an hour, and then runs into the little parlour behind the shop,
sets to a-screamin', says he'll be the death on her, and falls in a
fit, which lasts for three good hours--one o' them fits wich is all
screamin' and kickin'. Well, next mornin', the husband was
missin'. He hadn't taken nothin' from the till--hadn't even put
on his greatcoat--so it was quite clear he warn't gone to 'Merriker.
Didn't come back next day; didn't come back next week; missis
had bills printed, sayin' that, if he'd come back, he should be
forgiven everythin' (which was very liberal, seein' that he hadn't
done nothin' at all); the canals was dragged, and for two months
arterwards, wenever a body turned up, it was carried, as a reg'lar
thing, straight off to the sassage shop. Hows'ever, none on 'em
answered; so they gave out that he'd run away, and she kep' on
the bis'ness. One Saturday night, a little, thin, old gen'l'm'n
comes into the shop in a great passion and says, "Are you the
missis o' this here shop?" "Yes, I am," says she. "Well, ma'am,"
says he, "then I've just looked in to say that me and my family
ain't a-goin' to be choked for nothin'; and more than that,
ma'am," he says, "you'll allow me to observe that as you don't
use the primest parts of the meat in the manafacter o' sassages,
I'd think you'd find beef come nearly as cheap as buttons." "As
buttons, Sir!" says she. "Buttons, ma'am," says the little, old
gentleman, unfolding a bit of paper, and showin' twenty or
thirty halves o' buttons. "Nice seasonin' for sassages, is trousers'
buttons, ma'am." "They're my husband's buttons!" says the
widder beginnin' to faint, "What!" screams the little old
gen'l'm'n, turnin' wery pale. "I see it all," says the widder; "in a
fit of temporary insanity he rashly converted hisself into
sassages!" And so he had, Sir,' said Mr. Weller, looking steadily
into Mr. Pickwick's horror-stricken countenance, 'or else he'd
been draw'd into the ingin; but however that might ha' been, the
little, old gen'l'm'n, who had been remarkably partial to sassages
all his life, rushed out o' the shop in a wild state, and was never
heerd on arterwards!'

The relation of this affecting incident of private life brought
master and man to Mr. Perker's chambers. Lowten, holding the
door half open, was in conversation with a rustily-clad, miserable-
looking man, in boots without toes and gloves without fingers.
There were traces of privation and suffering--almost of despair
--in his lank and care-worn countenance; he felt his poverty, for
he shrank to the dark side of the staircase as Mr. Pickwick approached.

'It's very unfortunate,' said the stranger, with a sigh.

'Very,' said Lowten, scribbling his name on the doorpost with
his pen, and rubbing it out again with the feather. 'Will you
leave a message for him?'

'When do you think he'll be back?' inquired the stranger.

'Quite uncertain,' replied Lowten, winking at Mr. Pickwick, as
the stranger cast his eyes towards the ground.

'You don't think it would be of any use my waiting for him?'
said the stranger, looking wistfully into the office.

'Oh, no, I'm sure it wouldn't,' replied the clerk, moving a little
more into the centre of the doorway. 'He's certain not to be back
this week, and it's a chance whether he will be next; for when
Perker once gets out of town, he's never in a hurry to come back again.'

'Out of town!' said Mr. Pickwick; 'dear me, how unfortunate!'

'Don't go away, Mr. Pickwick,' said Lowten, 'I've got a letter
for you.'  The stranger, seeming to hesitate, once more looked
towards the ground, and the clerk winked slyly at Mr. PickwiCK,
as if to intimate that some exquisite piece of humour was going
forward, though what it was Mr. Pickwick could not for the life
of him divine.
'Step in, Mr. Pickwick,' said Lowten. 'Well, will you leave a
message, Mr. Watty, or will you call again?'

'Ask him to be so kind as to leave out word what has been done
in my business,' said the man; 'for God's sake don't neglect it,
Mr. Lowten.'

'No, no; I won't forget it,' replied the clerk. 'Walk in, Mr.
Pickwick. Good-morning, Mr. Watty; it's a fine day for walking,
isn't it?' Seeing that the stranger still lingered, he beckoned Sam
Weller to follow his master in, and shut the door in his face.

'There never was such a pestering bankrupt as that since the
world began, I do believe!' said Lowten, throwing down his pen
with the air of an injured man. 'His affairs haven't been in
Chancery quite four years yet, and I'm d--d if he don't come
worrying here twice a week. Step this way, Mr. Pickwick. Perker
IS in, and he'll see you, I know. Devilish cold,' he added pettishly,
'standing at that door, wasting one's time with such seedy
vagabonds!' Having very vehemently stirred a particularly large
fire with a particularly small poker, the clerk led the way to his
principal's private room, and announced Mr. Pickwick.

'Ah, my dear Sir,' said little Mr. Perker, bustling up from his
chair. 'Well, my dear sir, and what's the news about your matter,
eh? Anything more about our friends in Freeman's Court?
They've not been sleeping, I know that. Ah, they're very smart
fellows; very smart, indeed.'

As the little man concluded, he took an emphatic pinch of
snuff, as a tribute to the smartness of Messrs. Dodson and Fogg.

'They are great scoundrels,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Aye, aye,' said the little man; 'that's a matter of opinion, you
know, and we won't dispute about terms; because of course you
can't be expected to view these subjects with a professional eye.
Well, we've done everything that's necessary. I have retained
Serjeant Snubbin.'

'Is he a good man?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'Good man!' replied Perker; 'bless your heart and soul, my
dear Sir, Serjeant Snubbin is at the very top of his profession.
Gets treble the business of any man in court--engaged in every
case. You needn't mention it abroad; but we say--we of the
profession--that Serjeant Snubbin leads the court by the nose.'

The little man took another pinch of snuff as he made this
communication, and nodded mysteriously to Mr. Pickwick.

'They have subpoenaed my three friends,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Ah! of course they would,' replied Perker. 'Important
witnesses; saw you in a delicate situation.'

'But she fainted of her own accord,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'She
threw herself into my arms.'

'Very likely, my dear Sir,' replied Perker; 'very likely and very
natural. Nothing more so, my dear Sir, nothing. But who's to
prove it?'

'They have subpoenaed my servant, too,' said Mr. Pickwick,
quitting the other point; for there Mr. Perker's question had
somewhat staggered him.

'Sam?' said Perker.

Mr. Pickwick replied in the affirmative.

'Of course, my dear Sir; of course. I knew they would. I could
have told you that, a month ago. You know, my dear Sir, if you
WILL take the management of your affairs into your own hands
after entrusting them to your solicitor, you must also take the
consequences.'  Here Mr. Perker drew himself up with conscious
dignity, and brushed some stray grains of snuff from his shirt frill.

'And what do they want him to prove?' asked Mr. Pickwick,
after two or three minutes' silence.

'That you sent him up to the plaintiff 's to make some offer of
a compromise, I suppose,' replied Perker. 'It don't matter much,
though; I don't think many counsel could get a great deal out
of HIM.'

'I don't think they could,' said Mr. Pickwick, smiling, despite
his vexation, at the idea of Sam's appearance as a witness. 'What
course do we pursue?'

'We have only one to adopt, my dear Sir,' replied Perker;
'cross-examine the witnesses; trust to Snubbin's eloquence;
throw dust in the eyes of the judge; throw ourselves on the jury.'

'And suppose the verdict is against me?' said Mr. Pickwick.

Mr. Perker smiled, took a very long pinch of snuff, stirred the
fire, shrugged his shoulders, and remained expressively silent.

'You mean that in that case I must pay the damages?' said
Mr. Pickwick, who had watched this telegraphic answer with
considerable sternness.

Perker gave the fire another very unnecessary poke, and said,
'I am afraid so.'

'Then I beg to announce to you my unalterable determination
to pay no damages whatever,' said Mr. Pickwick, most
emphatically. 'None, Perker. Not a pound, not a penny of my
money, shall find its way into the pockets of Dodson and Fogg.
That is my deliberate and irrevocable determination.'  Mr. Pickwick
gave a heavy blow on the table before him, in confirmation
of the irrevocability of his intention.

'Very well, my dear Sir, very well,' said Perker. 'You know best,
of course.'

'Of course,' replied Mr. Pickwick hastily. 'Where does Serjeant
Snubbin live?'
'In Lincoln's Inn Old Square,' replied Perker.

'I should like to see him,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'See Serjeant Snubbin, my dear Sir!' rejoined Perker, in utter
amazement. 'Pooh, pooh, my dear Sir, impossible. See Serjeant
Snubbin! Bless you, my dear Sir, such a thing was never heard of,
without a consultation fee being previously paid, and a consultation
fixed. It couldn't be done, my dear Sir; it couldn't be done.'

Mr. Pickwick, however, had made up his mind not only that
it could be done, but that it should be done; and the consequence
was, that within ten minutes after he had received the assurance
that the thing was impossible, he was conducted by his solicitor
into the outer office of the great Serjeant Snubbin himself.

It was an uncarpeted room of tolerable dimensions, with a
large writing-table drawn up near the fire, the baize top of which
had long since lost all claim to its original hue of green, and had
gradually grown gray with dust and age, except where all traces
of its natural colour were obliterated by ink-stains. Upon the
table were numerous little bundles of papers tied with red tape;
and behind it, sat an elderly clerk, whose sleek appearance and
heavy gold watch-chain presented imposing indications of the
extensive and lucrative practice of Mr. Serjeant Snubbin.

'Is the Serjeant in his room, Mr. Mallard?' inquired Perker,
offering his box with all imaginable courtesy.

'Yes, he is,' was the reply, 'but he's very busy. Look here; not
an opinion given yet, on any one of these cases; and an expedition
fee paid with all of 'em.'  The clerk smiled as he said this, and
inhaled the pinch of snuff with a zest which seemed to be compounded
of a fondness for snuff and a relish for fees.

'Something like practice that,' said Perker.

'Yes,' said the barrister's clerk, producing his own box, and
offering it with the greatest cordiality; 'and the best of it is, that
as nobody alive except myself can read the serjeant's writing,
they are obliged to wait for the opinions, when he has given
them, till I have copied 'em, ha-ha-ha!'

'Which makes good for we know who, besides the serjeant,
and draws a little more out of the clients, eh?' said Perker; 'ha,
ha, ha!' At this the serjeant's clerk laughed again--not a noisy
boisterous laugh, but a silent, internal chuckle, which Mr. Pickwick
disliked to hear. When a man bleeds inwardly, it is a dangerous
thing for himself; but when he laughs inwardly, it bodes no
good to other people.

'You haven't made me out that little list of the fees that I'm in
your debt, have you?' said Perker.

'No, I have not,' replied the clerk.

'I wish you would,' said Perker. 'Let me have them, and I'll
send you a cheque. But I suppose you're too busy pocketing the
ready money, to think of the debtors, eh? ha, ha, ha!' This sally
seemed to tickle the clerk amazingly, and he once more enjoyed
a little quiet laugh to himself.

'But, Mr. Mallard, my dear friend,' said Perker, suddenly
recovering his gravity, and drawing the great man's great man
into a Corner, by the lappel of his coat; 'you must persuade the
Serjeant to see me, and my client here.'

'Come, come,' said the clerk, 'that's not bad either. See the
Serjeant! come, that's too absurd.'  Notwithstanding the absurdity
of the proposal, however, the clerk allowed himself to be
gently drawn beyond the hearing of Mr. Pickwick; and after a
short conversation conducted in whispers, walked softly down a
little dark passage, and disappeared into the legal luminary's
sanctum, whence he shortly returned on tiptoe, and informed
Mr. Perker and Mr. Pickwick that the Serjeant had been prevailed
upon, in violation of all established rules and customs, to admit
them at once.

Mr. Serjeant Snubbins was a lantern-faced, sallow-complexioned
man, of about five-and-forty, or--as the novels say--
he might be fifty. He had that dull-looking, boiled eye which is
often to be seen in the heads of people who have applied themselves
during many years to a weary and laborious course of
study; and which would have been sufficient, without the additional
eyeglass which dangled from a broad black riband round
his neck, to warn a stranger that he was very near-sighted. His
hair was thin and weak, which was partly attributable to his
having never devoted much time to its arrangement, and partly to
his having worn for five-and-twenty years the forensic wig which
hung on a block beside him. The marks of hairpowder on his
coat-collar, and the ill-washed and worse tied white neckerchief
round his throat, showed that he had not found leisure since he
left the court to make any alteration in his dress; while the
slovenly style of the remainder of his costume warranted the
inference that his personal appearance would not have been very
much improved if he had. Books of practice, heaps of papers,
and opened letters, were scattered over the table, without any
attempt at order or arrangement; the furniture of the room was
old and rickety; the doors of the book-case were rotting in their
hinges; the dust flew out from the carpet in little clouds at every
step; the blinds were yellow with age and dirt; the state of
everything in the room showed, with a clearness not to be
mistaken, that Mr. Serjeant Snubbin was far too much occupied
with his professional pursuits to take any great heed or regard of
his personal comforts.

The Serjeant was writing when his clients entered; he bowed
abstractedly when Mr. Pickwick was introduced by his solicitor;
and then, motioning them to a seat, put his pen carefully in the
inkstand, nursed his left leg, and waited to be spoken to.

'Mr. Pickwick is the defendant in Bardell and Pickwick,
Serjeant Snubbin,' said Perker.

'I am retained in that, am I?' said the Serjeant.

'You are, Sir,' replied Perker.

The Serjeant nodded his head, and waited for something else.

'Mr. Pickwick was anxious to call upon you, Serjeant
Snubbin,' said Perker, 'to state to you, before you entered upon
the case, that he denies there being any ground or pretence
whatever for the action against him; and that unless he came into
court with clean hands, and without the most conscientious
conviction that he was right in resisting the plaintiff's demand,
he would not be there at all. I believe I state your views correctly;
do I not, my dear Sir?' said the little man, turning to Mr. Pickwick.

'Quite so,' replied that gentleman.

Mr. Serjeant Snubbin unfolded his glasses, raised them to his
eyes; and, after looking at Mr. Pickwick for a few seconds with
great curiosity, turned to Mr. Perker, and said, smiling slightly
as he spoke--
'Has Mr. Pickwick a strong case?'

The attorney shrugged his shoulders.

'Do you propose calling witnesses?'

'No.'

The smile on the Serjeant's countenance became more defined;
he rocked his leg with increased violence; and, throwing himself
back in his easy-chair, coughed dubiously.

These tokens of the Serjeant's presentiments on the subject,
slight as they were, were not lost on Mr. Pickwick. He settled the
spectacles, through which he had attentively regarded such
demonstrations of the barrister's feelings as he had permitted
himself to exhibit, more firmly on his nose; and said with great
energy, and in utter disregard of all Mr. Perker's admonitory
winkings and frownings--

'My wishing to wait upon you, for such a purpose as this, Sir,
appears, I have no doubt, to a gentleman who sees so much of
these matters as you must necessarily do, a very extraordinary
circumstance.'

The Serjeant tried to look gravely at the fire, but the smile
came back again.

'Gentlemen of your profession, Sir,' continued Mr. Pickwick,
'see the worst side of human nature. All its disputes, all its ill-will
and bad blood, rise up before you. You know from your
experience of juries (I mean no disparagement to you, or them) how
much depends upon effect; and you are apt to attribute to others,
a desire to use, for purposes of deception and Self-interest, the
very instruments which you, in pure honesty and honour of
purpose, and with a laudable desire to do your utmost for your
client, know the temper and worth of so well, from constantly
employing them yourselves. I really believe that to this circumstance
may be attributed the vulgar but very general notion of
your being, as a body, suspicious, distrustful, and over-cautious.
Conscious as I am, sir, of the disadvantage of making such a
declaration to you, under such circumstances, I have come here,
because I wish you distinctly to understand, as my friend
Mr. Perker has said, that I am innocent of the falsehood laid to
my charge; and although I am very well aware of the inestimable
value of your assistance, Sir, I must beg to add, that unless you
sincerely believe this, I would rather be deprived of the aid of
your talents than have the advantage of them.'

Long before the close of this address, which we are bound to
say was of a very prosy character for Mr. Pickwick, the Serjeant
had relapsed into a state of abstraction. After some minutes,
however, during which he had reassumed his pen, he appeared to
be again aware of the presence of his clients; raising his head
from the paper, he said, rather snappishly--

'Who is with me in this case?'

'Mr. Phunky, Serjeant Snubbin,' replied the attorney.

'Phunky--Phunky,' said the Serjeant, 'I never heard the name
before. He must be a very young man.'

'Yes, he is a very young man,' replied the attorney. 'He was
only called the other day. Let me see--he has not been at the Bar
eight years yet.'

'Ah, I thought not,' said the Serjeant, in that sort of pitying
tone in which ordinary folks would speak of a very helpless little
child. 'Mr. Mallard, send round to Mr.--Mr.--' 'Phunky's--
Holborn Court, Gray's Inn,' interposed Perker. (Holborn Court,
by the bye, is South Square now.) 'Mr. Phunky, and say I should
be glad if he'd step here, a moment.'

Mr. Mallard departed to execute his commission; and Serjeant
Snubbin relapsed into abstraction until Mr. Phunky himself was
introduced.

Although an infant barrister, he was a full-grown man. He had
a very nervous manner, and a painful hesitation in his speech; it
did not appear to be a natural defect, but seemed rather the
result of timidity, arising from the consciousness of being 'kept
down' by want of means, or interest, or connection, or impudence,
as the case might be. He was overawed by the Serjeant, and
profoundly courteous to the attorney.

'I have not had the pleasure of seeing you before, Mr. Phunky,'
said Serjeant Snubbin, with haughty condescension.

Mr. Phunky bowed. He HAD had the pleasure of seeing the
Serjeant, and of envying him too, with all a poor man's envy, for
eight years and a quarter.

'You are with me in this case, I understand?' said the Serjeant.

If Mr. Phunky had been a rich man, he would have instantly
sent for his clerk to remind him; if he had been a wise one, he
would have applied his forefinger to his forehead, and
endeavoured to recollect, whether, in the multiplicity of his
engagements, he had undertaken this one or not; but as he was neither
rich nor wise (in this sense, at all events) he turned red, and bowed.

'Have you read the papers, Mr. Phunky?' inquired the Serjeant.

Here again, Mr. Phunky should have professed to have
forgotten all about the merits of the case; but as he had read such
papers as had been laid before him in the course of the action, and
had thought of nothing else, waking or sleeping, throughout the
two months during which he had been retained as Mr. Serjeant
Snubbin's junior, he turned a deeper red and bowed again.

'This is Mr. Pickwick,' said the Serjeant, waving his pen in the
direction in which that gentleman was standing.

Mr. Phunky bowed to Mr. Pickwick, with a reverence which a
first client must ever awaken; and again inclined his head towards
his leader.

'Perhaps you will take Mr. Pickwick away,' said the Serjeant,
'and--and--and--hear anything Mr. Pickwick may wish to
communicate. We shall have a consultation, of course.'  With
that hint that he had been interrupted quite long enough, Mr.
Serjeant Snubbin, who had been gradually growing more and
more abstracted, applied his glass to his eyes for an instant,
bowed slightly round, and was once more deeply immersed in the
case before him, which arose out of an interminable lawsuit,
originating in the act of an individual, deceased a century or so
ago, who had stopped up a pathway leading from some place
which nobody ever came from, to some other place which
nobody ever went to.

Mr. Phunky would not hear of passing through any door until
Mr. Pickwick and his solicitor had passed through before him, so
it was some time before they got into the Square; and when they
did reach it, they walked up and down, and held a long conference,
the result of which was, that it was a very difficult matter
to say how the verdict would go; that nobody could presume to
calculate on the issue of an action; that it was very lucky they had
prevented the other party from getting Serjeant Snubbin; and
other topics of doubt and consolation, common in such a position
of affairs.

Mr. Weller was then roused by his master from a sweet sleep of
an hour's duration; and, bidding adieu to Lowten, they returned
to the city.

CHAPTER XXXII
DESCRIBES, FAR MORE FULLY THAN THE COURT NEWSMAN
  EVER DID, A BACHELOR'S PARTY, GIVEN BY Mr.
  BOB SAWYER AT HIS LODGINGS IN THE BOROUGH

There is a repose about Lant Street, in the Borough, which
sheds a gentle melancholy upon the soul. There are always a
good many houses to let in the street: it is a by-street too,
and its dulness is soothing. A house in Lant Street would
not come within the denomination of a first-rate residence,
in the strict acceptation of the term; but it is a most desirable
spot nevertheless. If a man wished to abstract himself from the
world--to remove himself from within the reach of temptation--
to place himself beyond the possibility of any inducement to look
out of the window--we should recommend him by all means go
to Lant Street.

In this happy retreat are colonised a few clear-starchers, a
sprinkling of journeymen bookbinders, one or two prison agents
for the Insolvent Court, several small housekeepers who are
employed in the Docks, a handful of mantua-makers, and a
seasoning of jobbing tailors. The majority of the inhabitants
either direct their energies to the letting of furnished apartments,
or devote themselves to the healthful and invigorating pursuit of
mangling. The chief features in the still life of the street are
green shutters, lodging-bills, brass door-plates, and bell-handles;
the principal specimens of animated nature, the pot-boy, the
muffin youth, and the baked-potato man. The population is
migratory, usually disappearing on the verge of quarter-day, and
generally by night. His Majesty's revenues are seldom collected
in this happy valley; the rents are dubious; and the water
communication is very frequently cut off.

Mr. Bob Sawyer embellished one side of the fire, in his first-
floor front, early on the evening for which he had invited Mr.
Pickwick, and Mr. Ben Allen the other. The preparations for the
reception of visitors appeared to be completed. The umbrellas in
the passage had been heaped into the little corner outside the
back-parlour door; the bonnet and shawl of the landlady's
servant had been removed from the bannisters; there were not
more than two pairs of pattens on the street-door mat; and a
kitchen candle, with a very long snuff, burned cheerfully on the
ledge of the staircase window. Mr. Bob Sawyer had himself
purchased the spirits at a wine vaults in High Street, and had
returned home preceding the bearer thereof, to preclude the
possibility of their delivery at the wrong house. The punch was
ready-made in a red pan in the bedroom; a little table, covered
with a green baize cloth, had been borrowed from the parlour,
to play at cards on; and the glasses of the establishment, together
with those which had been borrowed for the occasion from the
public-house, were all drawn up in a tray, which was deposited
on the landing outside the door.

Notwithstanding the highly satisfactory nature of all these
arrangements, there was a cloud on the countenance of Mr. Bob
Sawyer, as he sat by the fireside. There was a sympathising
expression, too, in the features of Mr. Ben Allen, as he gazed
intently on the coals, and a tone of melancholy in his voice, as he
said, after a long silence--
'Well, it is unlucky she should have taken it in her head to turn
sour, just on this occasion. She might at least have waited
till to-morrow.'

'That's her malevolence--that's her malevolence,' returned
Mr. Bob Sawyer vehemently. 'She says that if I can afford to give
a party I ought to be able to pay her confounded "little bill."'
'How long has it been running?' inquired Mr. Ben Allen. A
bill, by the bye, is the most extraordinary locomotive engine that
the genius of man ever produced. It would keep on running
during the longest lifetime, without ever once stopping of its
own accord.

'Only a quarter, and a month or so,' replied Mr. Bob Sawyer.

Ben Allen coughed hopelessly, and directed a searching look
between the two top bars of the stove.

'It'll be a deuced unpleasant thing if she takes it into her head
to let out, when those fellows are here, won't it?' said Mr. Ben
Allen at length.

'Horrible,' replied Bob Sawyer, 'horrible.'
A low tap was heard at the room door. Mr. Bob Sawyer
looked expressively at his friend, and bade the tapper come in;
whereupon a dirty, slipshod girl in black cotton stockings, who
might have passed for the neglected daughter of a superannuated
dustman in very reduced circumstances, thrust in her head, and said--

'Please, Mister Sawyer, Missis Raddle wants to speak to you.'

Before Mr. Bob Sawyer could return any answer, the girl
suddenly disappeared with a jerk, as if somebody had given her
a violent pull behind; this mysterious exit was no sooner
accomplished, than there was another tap at the door--a smart,
pointed tap, which seemed to say, 'Here I am, and in I'm coming.'

Mr, Bob Sawyer glanced at his friend with a look of abject
apprehension, and once more cried, 'Come in.'

The permission was not at all necessary, for, before Mr. Bob
Sawyer had uttered the words, a little, fierce woman bounced
into the room, all in a tremble with passion, and pale with rage.

'Now, Mr. Sawyer,' said the little, fierce woman, trying to
appear very calm, 'if you'll have the kindness to settle that little
bill of mine I'll thank you, because I've got my rent to pay this
afternoon, and my landlord's a-waiting below now.'  Here the
little woman rubbed her hands, and looked steadily over Mr. Bob
Sawyer's head, at the wall behind him.

'I am very sorry to put you to any inconvenience, Mrs. Raddle,'
said Bob Sawyer deferentially, 'but--'

'Oh, it isn't any inconvenience,' replied the little woman, with
a shrill titter. 'I didn't want it particular before to-day; leastways,
as it has to go to my landlord directly, it was as well for you to
keep it as me. You promised me this afternoon, Mr. Sawyer, and
every gentleman as has ever lived here, has kept his word, Sir,
as of course anybody as calls himself a gentleman does.'
Mrs. Raddle tossed her head, bit her lips, rubbed her hands
harder, and looked at the wall more steadily than ever. It was
plain to see, as Mr. Bob Sawyer remarked in a style of Eastern
allegory on a subsequent occasion, that she was 'getting the
steam up.'

'I am very sorry, Mrs. Raddle,' said Bob Sawyer, with all
imaginable humility, 'but the fact is, that I have been disappointed
in the City to-day.'--Extraordinary place that City. An astonishing
number of men always ARE getting disappointed there.

'Well, Mr. Sawyer,' said Mrs. Raddle, planting herself firmly
on a purple cauliflower in the Kidderminster carpet, 'and what's
that to me, Sir?'

'I--I--have no doubt, Mrs. Raddle,' said Bob Sawyer, blinking
this last question, 'that before the middle of next week we shall
be able to set ourselves quite square, and go on, on a better
system, afterwards.'

This was all Mrs. Raddle wanted. She had bustled up to
the apartment of the unlucky Bob Sawyer, so bent upon going
into a passion, that, in all probability, payment would have
rather disappointed her than otherwise. She was in excellent
order for a little relaxation of the kind, having just exchanged
a few introductory compliments with Mr. R. in the front kitchen.

'Do you suppose, Mr. Sawyer,' said Mrs. Raddle, elevating her
voice for the information of the neighbours--'do you suppose
that I'm a-going day after day to let a fellar occupy my lodgings
as never thinks of paying his rent, nor even the very money laid
out for the fresh butter and lump sugar that's bought for his
breakfast, and the very milk that's took in, at the street door?
Do you suppose a hard-working and industrious woman as has
lived in this street for twenty year (ten year over the way, and
nine year and three-quarters in this very house) has nothing else
to do but to work herself to death after a parcel of lazy idle
fellars, that are always smoking and drinking, and lounging,
when they ought to be glad to turn their hands to anything that
would help 'em to pay their bills? Do you--'

'My good soul,' interposed Mr. Benjamin Allen soothingly.

'Have the goodness to keep your observashuns to yourself, Sir,
I beg,' said Mrs. Raddle, suddenly arresting the rapid torrent of
her speech, and addressing the third party with impressive slowness
and solemnity. 'I am not aweer, Sir, that you have any right
to address your conversation to me. I don't think I let these
apartments to you, Sir.'

'No, you certainly did not,' said Mr. Benjamin Allen.

'Very good, Sir,' responded Mrs. Raddle, with lofty politeness.
'Then p'raps, Sir, you'll confine yourself to breaking the arms and
legs of the poor people in the hospitals, and keep yourself TO
yourself, Sir, or there may be some persons here as will make
you, Sir.'

'But you are such an unreasonable woman,' remonstrated
Mr. Benjamin Allen.

'I beg your parding, young man,' said Mrs. Raddle, in a cold
perspiration of anger. 'But will you have the goodness just to call
me that again, sir?'

'I didn't make use of the word in any invidious sense, ma'am,'
replied Mr. Benjamin Allen, growing somewhat uneasy on his
own account.

'I beg your parding, young man,' demanded Mrs. Raddle, in a
louder and more imperative tone. 'But who do you call a woman?
Did you make that remark to me, sir?'

'Why, bless my heart!' said Mr. Benjamin Allen.

'Did you apply that name to me, I ask of you, sir?' interrupted
Mrs. Raddle, with intense fierceness, throwing the door wide open.

'Why, of course I did,' replied Mr. Benjamin Allen.

'Yes, of course you did,' said Mrs. Raddle, backing gradually
to the door, and raising her voice to its loudest pitch, for the
special behoof of Mr. Raddle in the kitchen. 'Yes, of course you
did! And everybody knows that they may safely insult me in my
own 'ouse while my husband sits sleeping downstairs, and taking
no more notice than if I was a dog in the streets. He ought to be
ashamed of himself (here Mrs. Raddle sobbed) to allow his wife
to be treated in this way by a parcel of young cutters and carvers
of live people's bodies, that disgraces the lodgings (another sob),
and leaving her exposed to all manner of abuse; a base, faint-
hearted, timorous wretch, that's afraid to come upstairs, and
face the ruffinly creatures--that's afraid--that's afraid to come!'
Mrs. Raddle paused to listen whether the repetition of the taunt
had roused her better half; and finding that it had not been
successful, proceeded to descend the stairs with sobs innumerable;
when there came a loud double knock at the street door;
whereupon she burst into an hysterical fit of weeping, accompanied
with dismal moans, which was prolonged until the knock
had been repeated six times, when, in an uncontrollable burst of
mental agony, she threw down all the umbrellas, and disappeared
into the back parlour, closing the door after her with an awful crash.

'Does Mr. Sawyer live here?' said Mr. Pickwick, when the door
was opened.

'Yes,' said the girl, 'first floor. It's the door straight afore you,
when you gets to the top of the stairs.'  Having given this instruction,
the handmaid, who had been brought up among the
aboriginal inhabitants of Southwark, disappeared, with the
candle in her hand, down the kitchen stairs, perfectly satisfied
that she had done everything that could possibly be required of
her under the circumstances.

Mr. Snodgrass, who entered last, secured the street door, after
several ineffectual efforts, by putting up the chain; and the
friends stumbled upstairs, where they were received by Mr. Bob
Sawyer, who had been afraid to go down, lest he should be
waylaid by Mrs. Raddle.

'How are you?' said the discomfited student. 'Glad to see you
--take care of the glasses.'  This caution was addressed to Mr.
Pickwick, who had put his hat in the tray.

'Dear me,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'I beg your pardon.'

'Don't mention it, don't mention it,' said Bob Sawyer. 'I'm
rather confined for room here, but you must put up with all that,
when you come to see a young bachelor. Walk in. You've seen
this gentleman before, I think?' Mr. Pickwick shook hands with
Mr. Benjamin Allen, and his friends followed his example. They
had scarcely taken their seats when there was another double knock.

'I hope that's Jack Hopkins!' said Mr. Bob Sawyer. 'Hush.
Yes, it is. Come up, Jack; come up.'

A heavy footstep was heard upon the stairs, and Jack Hopkins
presented himself. He wore a black velvet waistcoat, with
thunder-and-lightning buttons; and a blue striped shirt, with a
white false collar.

'You're late, Jack?' said Mr. Benjamin Allen.

'Been detained at Bartholomew's,' replied Hopkins.

'Anything new?'

'No, nothing particular. Rather a good accident brought into
the casualty ward.'

'What was that, sir?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'Only a man fallen out of a four pair of stairs' window; but it's
a very fair case indeed.'

'Do you mean that the patient is in a fair way to recover?'
inquired Mr. Pickwick.
'No,' replied Mr. Hopkins carelessly. 'No, I should rather say
he wouldn't. There must be a splendid operation, though,
to-morrow--magnificent sight if Slasher does it.'

'You consider Mr. Slasher a good operator?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Best alive,' replied Hopkins. 'Took a boy's leg out of the
socket last week--boy ate five apples and a gingerbread cake--
exactly two minutes after it was all over, boy said he wouldn't lie
there to be made game of, and he'd tell his mother if they didn't begin.'

'Dear me!' said Mr. Pickwick, astonished.

'Pooh! That's nothing, that ain't,' said Jack Hopkins. 'Is it, Bob?'

'Nothing at all,' replied Mr. Bob Sawyer.

'By the bye, Bob,' said Hopkins, with a scarcely perceptible
glance at Mr. Pickwick's attentive face, 'we had a curious
accident last night. A child was brought in, who had swallowed a
necklace.'

'Swallowed what, Sir?' interrupted Mr. Pickwick.
'A necklace,' replied Jack Hopkins. 'Not all at once, you know,
that would be too much--you couldn't swallow that, if the child
did--eh, Mr. Pickwick? ha, ha!' Mr. Hopkins appeared highly
gratified with his own pleasantry, and continued--'No, the way
was this. Child's parents were poor people who lived in a court.
Child's eldest sister bought a necklace--common necklace, made
of large black wooden beads. Child being fond of toys, cribbed
the necklace, hid it, played with it, cut the string, and swallowed
a bead. Child thought it capital fun, went back next day, and
swallowed another bead.'

'Bless my heart,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'what a dreadful thing! I
beg your pardon, Sir. Go on.'

'Next day, child swallowed two beads; the day after that, he
treated himself to three, and so on, till in a week's time he had
got through the necklace--five-and-twenty beads in all. The
sister, who was an industrious girl, and seldom treated herself to
a bit of finery, cried her eyes out, at the loss of the necklace;
looked high and low for it; but, I needn't say, didn't find it. A
few days afterwards, the family were at dinner--baked shoulder
of mutton, and potatoes under it--the child, who wasn't hungry,
was playing about the room, when suddenly there was heard a
devil of a noise, like a small hailstorm. "Don't do that, my boy,"
said the father. "I ain't a-doin' nothing," said the child. "Well,
don't do it again," said the father. There was a short silence, and
then the noise began again, worse than ever. "If you don't mind
what I say, my boy," said the father, "you'll find yourself in bed,
in something less than a pig's whisper." He gave the child a
shake to make him obedient, and such a rattling ensued as
nobody ever heard before. "Why, damme, it's IN the child!" said
the father, "he's got the croup in the wrong place!" "No, I
haven't, father," said the child, beginning to cry, "it's the necklace;
I swallowed it, father."--The father caught the child up,
and ran with him to the hospital; the beads in the boy's stomach
rattling all the way with the jolting; and the people looking up in
the air, and down in the cellars, to see where the unusual sound
came from. He's in the hospital now,' said Jack Hopkins, 'and he
makes such a devil of a noise when he walks about, that they're
obliged to muffle him in a watchman's coat, for fear he should
wake the patients.'

'That's the most extraordinary case I ever heard of,' said
Mr. Pickwick, with an emphatic blow on the table.

'Oh, that's nothing,' said Jack Hopkins. 'Is it, Bob?'

'Certainly not,' replied Bob Sawyer.

'Very singular things occur in our profession, I can assure you,
Sir,' said Hopkins.

'So I should be disposed to imagine,' replied Mr. Pickwick.

Another knock at the door announced a large-headed young
man in a black wig, who brought with him a scorbutic youth in a
long stock. The next comer was a gentleman in a shirt emblazoned
with pink anchors, who was closely followed by a pale youth with
a plated watchguard. The arrival of a prim personage in clean
linen and cloth boots rendered the party complete. The little
table with the green baize cover was wheeled out; the first
instalment of punch was brought in, in a white jug; and the
succeeding three hours were devoted to VINGT-ET-UN at sixpence a
dozen, which was only once interrupted by a slight dispute
between the scorbutic youth and the gentleman with the pink
anchors; in the course of which, the scorbutic youth intimated a
burning desire to pull the nose of the gentleman with the emblems
of hope; in reply to which, that individual expressed his decided
unwillingness to accept of any 'sauce' on gratuitous terms, either
from the irascible young gentleman with the scorbutic countenance,
or any other person who was ornamented with a head.

When the last 'natural' had been declared, and the profit and
loss account of fish and sixpences adjusted, to the satisfaction of
all parties, Mr. Bob Sawyer rang for supper, and the visitors
squeezed themselves into corners while it was getting ready.

it was not so easily got ready as some people may imagine.
First of all, it was necessary to awaken the girl, who had fallen
asleep with her face on the kitchen table; this took a little time,
and, even when she did answer the bell, another quarter of an
hour was consumed in fruitless endeavours to impart to her a
faint and distant glimmering of reason. The man to whom the
order for the oysters had been sent, had not been told to open
them; it is a very difficult thing to open an oyster with a limp
knife and a two-pronged fork; and very little was done in this
way. Very little of the beef was done either; and the ham (which
was also from the German-sausage shop round the corner) was
in a similar predicament. However, there was plenty of porter in
a tin can; and the cheese went a great way, for it was very strong.
So upon the whole, perhaps, the supper was quite as good as such
matters usually are.

After supper, another jug of punch was put upon the table,
together with a paper of cigars, and a couple of bottles of spirits.
Then there was an awful pause; and this awful pause was
occasioned by a very common occurrence in this sort of place,
but a very embarrassing one notwithstanding.

The fact is, the girl was washing the glasses. The establishment
boasted four: we do not record the circumstance as at all
derogatory to Mrs. Raddle, for there never was a lodging-house
yet, that was not short of glasses. The landlady's glasses were
little, thin, blown-glass tumblers, and those which had been
borrowed from the public-house were great, dropsical, bloated
articles, each supported on a huge gouty leg. This would have
been in itself sufficient to have possessed the company with the
real state of affairs; but the young woman of all work had
prevented the possibility of any misconception arising in the
mind of any gentleman upon the subject, by forcibly dragging
every man's glass away, long before he had finished his beer, and
audibly stating, despite the winks and interruptions of Mr. Bob
Sawyer, that it was to be conveyed downstairs, and washed forthwith.

It is a very ill wind that blows nobody any good. The prim
man in the cloth boots, who had been unsuccessfully attempting
to make a joke during the whole time the round game lasted,
saw his opportunity, and availed himself of it. The instant the
glasses disappeared, he commenced a long story about a great
public character, whose name he had forgotten, making a particularly
happy reply to another eminent and illustrious individual
whom he had never been able to identify. He enlarged at some
length and with great minuteness upon divers collateral circumstances,
distantly connected with the anecdote in hand, but for
the life of him he couldn't recollect at that precise moment what
the anecdote was, although he had been in the habit of telling the
story with great applause for the last ten years.

'Dear me,' said the prim man in the cloth boots, 'it is a very
extraordinary circumstance.'

'I am sorry you have forgotten it,' said Mr. Bob Sawyer,
glancing eagerly at the door, as he thought he heard the noise of
glasses jingling; 'very sorry.'

'So am I,' responded the prim man, 'because I know it would
have afforded so much amusement. Never mind; I dare say I
shall manage to recollect it, in the course of half an hour or so.'

The prim man arrived at this point just as the glasses came
back, when Mr. Bob Sawyer, who had been absorbed in attention
during the whole time, said he should very much like to hear the
end of it, for, so far as it went, it was, without exception, the very
best story he had ever heard.
The sight of the tumblers restored Bob Sawyer to a degree of
equanimity which he had not possessed since his interview with his
landlady. His face brightened up, and he began to feel quite convivial.

'Now, Betsy,' said Mr. Bob Sawyer, with great suavity, and
dispersing, at the same time, the tumultuous little mob of glasses
the girl had collected in the centre of the table--'now, Betsy, the
warm water; be brisk, there's a good girl.'

'You can't have no warm water,' replied Betsy.

'No warm water!' exclaimed Mr. Bob Sawyer.

'No,' said the girl, with a shake of the head which expressed a
more decided negative than the most copious language could
have conveyed. 'Missis Raddle said you warn't to have none.'

The surprise depicted on the countenances of his guests
imparted new courage to the host.

'Bring up the warm water instantly--instantly!' said Mr. Bob
Sawyer, with desperate sternness.

'No. I can't,' replied the girl; 'Missis Raddle raked out the
kitchen fire afore she went to bed, and locked up the kittle.'

'Oh, never mind; never mind. Pray don't disturb yourself
about such a trifle,' said Mr. Pickwick, observing the conflict of
Bob Sawyer's passions, as depicted in his countenance, 'cold
water will do very well.'

'Oh, admirably,' said Mr. Benjamin Allen.

'My landlady is subject to some slight attacks of mental
derangement,' remarked Bob Sawyer, with a ghastly smile; 'I fear
I must give her warning.'

'No, don't,' said Ben Allen.

'I fear I must,' said Bob, with heroic firmness. 'I'll pay her
what I owe her, and give her warning to-morrow morning.'  Poor
fellow! how devoutly he wished he could!

Mr. Bob Sawyer's heart-sickening attempts to rally under this
last blow, communicated a dispiriting influence to the company,
the greater part of whom, with the view of raising their spirits,
attached themselves with extra cordiality to the cold brandy-and-
water, the first perceptible effects of which were displayed in a
renewal of hostilities between the scorbutic youth and the
gentleman in the shirt. The belligerents vented their feelings of
mutual contempt, for some time, in a variety of frownings and
snortings, until at last the scorbutic youth felt it necessary to
come to a more explicit understanding on the matter; when the
following clear understanding took place.
'Sawyer,' said the scorbutic youth, in a loud voice.

'Well, Noddy,' replied Mr. Bob Sawyer.

'I should be very sorry, Sawyer,' said Mr. Noddy, 'to create
any unpleasantness at any friend's table, and much less at yours,
Sawyer--very; but I must take this opportunity of informing
Mr. Gunter that he is no gentleman.'

'And I should be very sorry, Sawyer, to create any disturbance
in the street in which you reside,' said Mr. Gunter, 'but I'm
afraid I shall be under the necessity of alarming the neighbours by
throwing the person who has just spoken, out o' window.'

'What do you mean by that, sir?' inquired Mr. Noddy.

'What I say, Sir,' replied Mr. Gunter.

'I should like to see you do it, Sir,' said Mr. Noddy.

'You shall FEEL me do it in half a minute, Sir,' replied Mr. Gunter.

'I request that you'll favour me with your card, Sir,' said
Mr. Noddy.

'I'll do nothing of the kind, Sir,' replied Mr. Gunter.

'Why not, Sir?' inquired Mr. Noddy.

'Because you'll stick it up over your chimney-piece, and delude
your visitors into the false belief that a gentleman has been to
see you, Sir,' replied Mr. Gunter.

'Sir, a friend of mine shall wait on you in the morning,' said
Mr. Noddy.

'Sir, I'm very much obliged to you for the caution, and I'll
leave particular directions with the servant to lock up the spoons,'
replied Mr. Gunter.

At this point the remainder of the guests interposed, and
remonstrated with both parties on the impropriety of their
conduct; on which Mr. Noddy begged to state that his father was
quite as respectable as Mr. Gunter's father; to which Mr. Gunter
replied that his father was to the full as respectable as Mr. Noddy's
father, and that his father's son was as good a man as Mr. Noddy,
any day in the week. As this announcement seemed the prelude
to a recommencement of the dispute, there was another interference
on the part of the company; and a vast quantity of
talking and clamouring ensued, in the course of which Mr. Noddy
gradually allowed his feelings to overpower him, and professed
that he had ever entertained a devoted personal attachment
towards Mr. Gunter. To this Mr. Gunter replied that, upon the
whole, he rather preferred Mr. Noddy to his own brother; on
hearing which admission, Mr. Noddy magnanimously rose from
his seat, and proffered his hand to Mr. Gunter. Mr. Gunter
grasped it with affecting fervour; and everybody said that the
whole dispute had been conducted in a manner which was highly
honourable to both parties concerned.

'Now,' said Jack Hopkins, 'just to set us going again, Bob, I
don't mind singing a song.'  And Hopkins, incited thereto by
tumultuous applause, plunged himself at once into 'The King,
God bless him,' which he sang as loud as he could, to a novel air,
compounded of the 'Bay of Biscay,' and 'A Frog he would.'
The chorus was the essence of the song; and, as each gentleman
sang it to the tune he knew best, the effect was very striking indeed.

It was at the end of the chorus to the first verse, that Mr.
Pickwick held up his hand in a listening attitude, and said, as
soon as silence was restored--

'Hush! I beg your pardon. I thought I heard somebody calling
from upstairs.'

A profound silence immediately ensued; and Mr. Bob Sawyer
was observed to turn pale.

'I think I hear it now,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Have the goodness
to open the door.'

The door was no sooner opened than all doubt on the subject
was removed.

'Mr. Sawyer! Mr. Sawyer!' screamed a voice from the two-pair landing.

'It's my landlady,' said Bob Sawyer, looking round him with
great dismay. 'Yes, Mrs. Raddle.'

'What do you mean by this, Mr. Sawyer?' replied the voice,
with great shrillness and rapidity of utterance. 'Ain't it enough
to be swindled out of one's rent, and money lent out of pocket
besides, and abused and insulted by your friends that dares to
call themselves men, without having the house turned out of the
window, and noise enough made to bring the fire-engines here,
at two o'clock in the morning?--Turn them wretches away.'

'You ought to be ashamed of yourselves,' said the voice of
Mr. Raddle, which appeared to proceed from beneath some
distant bed-clothes.

'Ashamed of themselves!' said Mrs. Raddle. 'Why don't you
go down and knock 'em every one downstairs? You would if
you was a man.'
'I should if I was a dozen men, my dear,' replied Mr. Raddle
pacifically, 'but they have the advantage of me in numbers, my dear.'

'Ugh, you coward!' replied Mrs. Raddle, with supreme contempt.
'DO you mean to turn them wretches out, or not, Mr. Sawyer?'

'They're going, Mrs. Raddle, they're going,' said the miserable
Bob. 'I am afraid you'd better go,' said Mr. Bob Sawyer to his
friends. 'I thought you were making too much noise.'

'It's a very unfortunate thing,' said the prim man. 'Just as we
were getting so comfortable too!' The prim man was just
beginning to have a dawning recollection of the story he had forgotten.

'It's hardly to be borne,' said the prim man, looking round.
'Hardly to be borne, is it?'

'Not to be endured,' replied Jack Hopkins; 'let's have the
other verse, Bob. Come, here goes!'

'No, no, Jack, don't,' interposed Bob Sawyer; 'it's a capital
song, but I am afraid we had better not have the other verse.
They are very violent people, the people of the house.'

'Shall I step upstairs, and pitch into the landlord?' inquired
Hopkins, 'or keep on ringing the bell, or go and groan on the
staircase? You may command me, Bob.'

'I am very much indebted to you for your friendship and good-
nature, Hopkins,' said the wretched Mr. Bob Sawyer, 'but I
think the best plan to avoid any further dispute is for us to
break up at once.'

'Now, Mr. Sawyer,' screamed the shrill voice of Mrs. Raddle,
'are them brutes going?'

'They're only looking for their hats, Mrs. Raddle,' said Bob;
'they are going directly.'

'Going!' said Mrs. Raddle, thrusting her nightcap over the
banisters just as Mr. Pickwick, followed by Mr. Tupman,
emerged from the sitting-room. 'Going! what did they ever
come for?'

'My dear ma'am,' remonstrated Mr. Pickwick, looking up.

'Get along with you, old wretch!' replied Mrs. Raddle, hastily
withdrawing the nightcap. 'Old enough to be his grandfather,
you willin! You're worse than any of 'em.'

Mr. Pickwick found it in vain to protest his innocence, so
hurried downstairs into the street, whither he was closely
followed by Mr. Tupman, Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass.
Mr. Ben Allen, who was dismally depressed with spirits and
agitation, accompanied them as far as London Bridge, and in the
course of the walk confided to Mr. Winkle, as an especially
eligible person to intrust the secret to, that he was resolved to
cut the throat of any gentleman, except Mr. Bob Sawyer, who
should aspire to the affections of his sister Arabella. Having
expressed his determination to perform this painful duty of a
brother with proper firmness, he burst into tears, knocked his hat
over his eyes, and, making the best of his way back, knocked
double knocks at the door of the Borough Market office,
and took short naps on the steps alternately, until daybreak,
under the firm impression that he lived there, and had forgotten
the key.

The visitors having all departed, in compliance with the rather
pressing request of Mrs. Raddle, the luckless Mr. Bob Sawyer
was left alone, to meditate on the probable events of to-morrow,
and the pleasures of the evening.

CHAPTER XXXIII
Mr. WELLER THE ELDER DELIVERS SOME CRITICAL SENTIMENTS
  RESPECTING LITERARY COMPOSITION; AND,
  ASSISTED BY HIS SON SAMUEL, PAYS A SMALL INSTALMENT
  OF RETALIATION TO THE ACCOUNT OF THE REVEREND
  GENTLEMAN WITH THE RED NOSE

The morning of the thirteenth of February, which the readers of
this authentic narrative know, as well as we do, to have been the day
immediately preceding that which was appointed for the trial of
Mrs. Bardell's action, was a busy time for Mr. Samuel Weller, who
was perpetually engaged in travelling from the George and Vulture to
Mr. Perker's chambers and back again, from and between the hours
of nine o'clock in the morning and two in the afternoon, both
inclusive. Not that there was anything whatever to be done, for the
consultation had taken place, and the course of proceeding to be
adopted, had been finally determined on; but Mr. Pickwick being in
a most extreme state of excitement, persevered in constantly
sending small notes to his attorney, merely containing the inquiry,
'Dear Perker. Is all going on well?' to which Mr. Perker
invariably forwarded the reply, 'Dear Pickwick. As well as
possible'; the fact being, as we have already hinted, that there
was nothing whatever to go on, either well or ill, until the
sitting of the court on the following morning.

But people who go voluntarily to law, or are taken forcibly
there, for the first time, may be allowed to labour under some
temporary irritation and anxiety; and Sam, with a due allowance
for the frailties of human nature, obeyed all his master's behests
with that imperturbable good-humour and unruffable composure
which formed one of his most striking and amiable characteristics.

Sam had solaced himself with a most agreeable little dinner,
and was waiting at the bar for the glass of warm mixture in which
Mr. Pickwick had requested him to drown the fatigues of his
morning's walks, when a young boy of about three feet high, or
thereabouts, in a hairy cap and fustian overalls, whose garb
bespoke a laudable ambition to attain in time the elevation of
an hostler, entered the passage of the George and Vulture, and
looked first up the stairs, and then along the passage, and then
into the bar, as if in search of somebody to whom he bore a
commission; whereupon the barmaid, conceiving it not
improbable that the said commission might be directed to the tea or
table spoons of the establishment, accosted the boy with--

'Now, young man, what do you want?'

'Is there anybody here, named Sam?' inquired the youth, in a
loud voice of treble quality.

'What's the t'other name?' said Sam Weller, looking round.

'How should I know?' briskly replied the young gentleman
below the hairy cap.
'You're a sharp boy, you are,' said Mr. Weller; 'only I
wouldn't show that wery fine edge too much, if I was you, in case
anybody took it off. What do you mean by comin' to a hot-el,
and asking arter Sam, vith as much politeness as a vild Indian?'

''Cos an old gen'l'm'n told me to,' replied the boy.

'What old gen'l'm'n?' inquired Sam, with deep disdain.

'Him as drives a Ipswich coach, and uses our parlour,' rejoined
the boy. 'He told me yesterday mornin' to come to the George
and Wultur this arternoon, and ask for Sam.'

'It's my father, my dear,' said Mr. Weller, turning with an
explanatory air to the young lady in the bar; 'blessed if I think
he hardly knows wot my other name is. Well, young brockiley
sprout, wot then?'

'Why then,' said the boy, 'you was to come to him at six
o'clock to our 'ouse, 'cos he wants to see you--Blue Boar,
Leaden'all Markit. Shall I say you're comin'?'

'You may wenture on that 'ere statement, Sir,' replied Sam.
And thus empowered, the young gentleman walked away,
awakening all the echoes in George Yard as he did so, with
several chaste and extremely correct imitations of a drover's
whistle, delivered in a tone of peculiar richness and volume.

Mr. Weller having obtained leave of absence from Mr. Pickwick,
who, in his then state of excitement and worry, was by no
means displeased at being left alone, set forth, long before the
appointed hour, and having plenty of time at his disposal,
sauntered down as far as the Mansion House, where he paused
and contemplated, with a face of great calmness and philosophy,
the numerous cads and drivers of short stages who assemble near
that famous place of resort, to the great terror and confusion of
the old-lady population of these realms. Having loitered here, for
half an hour or so, Mr. Weller turned, and began wending his
way towards Leadenhall Market, through a variety of by-streets
and courts. As he was sauntering away his spare time, and
stopped to look at almost every object that met his gaze, it is by
no means surprising that Mr. Weller should have paused before
a small stationer's and print-seller's window; but without further
explanation it does appear surprising that his eyes should have
no sooner rested on certain pictures which were exposed for sale
therein, than he gave a sudden start, smote his right leg with
great vehemence, and exclaimed, with energy, 'if it hadn't been
for this, I should ha' forgot all about it, till it was too late!'

The particular picture on which Sam Weller's eyes were fixed,
as he said this, was a highly-coloured representation of a couple
of human hearts skewered together with an arrow, cooking
before a cheerful fire, while a male and female cannibal in
modern attire, the gentleman being clad in a blue coat and white
trousers, and the lady in a deep red pelisse with a parasol of the
same, were approaching the meal with hungry eyes, up a serpentine
gravel path leading thereunto. A decidedly indelicate young
gentleman, in a pair of wings and nothing else, was depicted as
superintending the cooking; a representation of the spire of the
church in Langham Place, London, appeared in the distance;
and the whole formed a 'valentine,' of which, as a written
inscription in the window testified, there was a large assortment
within, which the shopkeeper pledged himself to dispose of, to his
countrymen generally, at the reduced rate of one-and-sixpence each.

'I should ha' forgot it; I should certainly ha' forgot it!' said
Sam; so saying, he at once stepped into the stationer's shop, and
requested to be served with a sheet of the best gilt-edged letter-
paper, and a hard-nibbed pen which could be warranted not to
splutter. These articles having been promptly supplied, he
walked on direct towards Leadenhall Market at a good round
pace, very different from his recent lingering one. Looking round
him, he there beheld a signboard on which the painter's art had
delineated something remotely resembling a cerulean elephant
with an aquiline nose in lieu of trunk. Rightly conjecturing that
this was the Blue Boar himself, he stepped into the house, and
inquired concerning his parent.

'He won't be here this three-quarters of an hour or more,' said
the young lady who superintended the domestic arrangements of
the Blue Boar.

'Wery good, my dear,' replied Sam. 'Let me have nine-
penn'oth o' brandy-and-water luke, and the inkstand, will you, miss?'

The brandy-and-water luke, and the inkstand, having been
carried into the little parlour, and the young lady having carefully
flattened down the coals to prevent their blazing, and carried
away the poker to preclude the possibility of the fire being stirred,
without the full privity and concurrence of the Blue Boar being
first had and obtained, Sam Weller sat himself down in a box
near the stove, and pulled out the sheet of gilt-edged letter-paper,
and the hard-nibbed pen. Then looking carefully at the pen to
see that there were no hairs in it, and dusting down the table, so
that there might be no crumbs of bread under the paper, Sam
tucked up the cuffs of his coat, squared his elbows, and composed
himself to write.

To ladies and gentlemen who are not in the habit of devoting
themselves practically to the science of penmanship, writing a
letter is no very easy task; it being always considered necessary
in such cases for the writer to recline his head on his left arm, so
as to place his eyes as nearly as possible on a level with the paper,
and, while glancing sideways at the letters he is constructing, to
form with his tongue imaginary characters to correspond. These
motions, although unquestionably of the greatest assistance to
original composition, retard in some degree the progress of the
writer; and Sam had unconsciously been a full hour and a half
writing words in small text, smearing out wrong letters with his
little finger, and putting in new ones which required going over
very often to render them visible through the old blots, when he
was roused by the opening of the door and the entrance of his parent.

'Vell, Sammy,' said the father.

'Vell, my Prooshan Blue,' responded the son, laying down his
pen. 'What's the last bulletin about mother-in-law?'

'Mrs. Veller passed a very good night, but is uncommon
perwerse, and unpleasant this mornin'. Signed upon oath, Tony
Veller, Esquire. That's the last vun as was issued, Sammy,'
replied Mr. Weller, untying his shawl.

'No better yet?' inquired Sam.

'All the symptoms aggerawated,' replied Mr. Weller, shaking
his head. 'But wot's that, you're a-doin' of? Pursuit of knowledge
under difficulties, Sammy?'

'I've done now,' said Sam, with slight embarrassment; 'I've
been a-writin'.'

'So I see,' replied Mr. Weller. 'Not to any young 'ooman, I
hope, Sammy?'

'Why, it's no use a-sayin' it ain't,' replied Sam; 'it's a walentine.'

'A what!' exclaimed Mr. Weller, apparently horror-stricken
by the word.

'A walentine,' replied Sam.
'Samivel, Samivel,' said Mr. Weller, in reproachful accents, 'I
didn't think you'd ha' done it. Arter the warnin' you've had o'
your father's wicious propensities; arter all I've said to you upon
this here wery subject; arter actiwally seein' and bein' in the
company o' your own mother-in-law, vich I should ha' thought
wos a moral lesson as no man could never ha' forgotten to his
dyin' day! I didn't think you'd ha' done it, Sammy, I didn't
think you'd ha' done it!' These reflections were too much for the
good old man. He raised Sam's tumbler to his lips and drank off
its contents.

'Wot's the matter now?' said Sam.

'Nev'r mind, Sammy,' replied Mr. Weller, 'it'll be a wery
agonisin' trial to me at my time of life, but I'm pretty tough, that's
vun consolation, as the wery old turkey remarked wen the
farmer said he wos afeerd he should be obliged to kill him for the
London market.'

'Wot'll be a trial?' inquired Sam.
'To see you married, Sammy--to see you a dilluded wictim,
and thinkin' in your innocence that it's all wery capital,' replied
Mr. Weller. 'It's a dreadful trial to a father's feelin's, that 'ere,
Sammy--'

'Nonsense,' said Sam. 'I ain't a-goin' to get married, don't you
fret yourself about that; I know you're a judge of these things.
Order in your pipe and I'll read you the letter. There!'

We cannot distinctly say whether it was the prospect of the
pipe, or the consolatory reflection that a fatal disposition to get
married ran in the family, and couldn't be helped, which calmed
Mr. Weller's feelings, and caused his grief to subside. We should
be rather disposed to say that the result was attained by combining
the two sources of consolation, for he repeated the second
in a low tone, very frequently; ringing the bell meanwhile, to
order in the first. He then divested himself of his upper coat; and
lighting the pipe and placing himself in front of the fire with his
back towards it, so that he could feel its full heat, and recline
against the mantel-piece at the same time, turned towards Sam,
and, with a countenance greatly mollified by the softening
influence of tobacco, requested him to 'fire away.'

Sam dipped his pen into the ink to be ready for any corrections,
and began with a very theatrical air--

'"Lovely--"'

'Stop,' said Mr. Weller, ringing the bell. 'A double glass o' the
inwariable, my dear.'

'Very well, Sir,' replied the girl; who with great quickness
appeared, vanished, returned, and disappeared.

'They seem to know your ways here,' observed Sam.

'Yes,' replied his father, 'I've been here before, in my time.
Go on, Sammy.'

'"Lovely creetur,"' repeated Sam.

''Tain't in poetry, is it?' interposed his father.

'No, no,' replied Sam.

'Wery glad to hear it,' said Mr. Weller. 'Poetry's unnat'ral; no
man ever talked poetry 'cept a beadle on boxin'-day, or Warren's
blackin', or Rowland's oil, or some of them low fellows; never
you let yourself down to talk poetry, my boy. Begin agin, Sammy.'

Mr. Weller resumed his pipe with critical solemnity, and Sam
once more commenced, and read as follows:

'"Lovely creetur I feel myself a damned--"'
'That ain't proper,' said Mr. Weller, taking his pipe from his mouth.

'No; it ain't "damned,"' observed Sam, holding the letter up
to the light, 'it's "shamed," there's a blot there--"I feel myself
ashamed."'

'Wery good,' said Mr. Weller. 'Go on.'

'"Feel myself ashamed, and completely cir--' I forget what
this here word is,' said Sam, scratching his head with the pen,
in vain attempts to remember.

'Why don't you look at it, then?' inquired Mr. Weller.

'So I am a-lookin' at it,' replied Sam, 'but there's another blot.
Here's a "c," and a "i," and a "d."'

'Circumwented, p'raps,' suggested Mr. Weller.

'No, it ain't that,' said Sam, '"circumscribed"; that's it.'

'That ain't as good a word as "circumwented," Sammy,' said
Mr. Weller gravely.

'Think not?' said Sam.

'Nothin' like it,' replied his father.

'But don't you think it means more?' inquired Sam.

'Vell p'raps it's a more tenderer word,' said Mr. Weller, after
a few moments' reflection. 'Go on, Sammy.'

'"Feel myself ashamed and completely circumscribed in a-
dressin' of you, for you are a nice gal and nothin' but it."'

'That's a wery pretty sentiment,' said the elder Mr. Weller,
removing his pipe to make way for the remark.

'Yes, I think it is rayther good,' observed Sam, highly flattered.

'Wot I like in that 'ere style of writin',' said the elder Mr.
Weller, 'is, that there ain't no callin' names in it--no Wenuses,
nor nothin' o' that kind. Wot's the good o' callin' a young
'ooman a Wenus or a angel, Sammy?'

'Ah! what, indeed?' replied Sam.

'You might jist as well call her a griffin, or a unicorn, or a
king's arms at once, which is wery well known to be a collection
o' fabulous animals,' added Mr. Weller.

'Just as well,' replied Sam.

'Drive on, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller.

Sam complied with the request, and proceeded as follows; his
father continuing to smoke, with a mixed expression of wisdom
and complacency, which was particularly edifying.

'"Afore I see you, I thought all women was alike."'

'So they are,' observed the elder Mr. Weller parenthetically.

'"But now,"' continued Sam, '"now I find what a reg'lar soft-
headed, inkred'lous turnip I must ha' been; for there ain't
nobody like you, though I like you better than nothin' at all." I
thought it best to make that rayther strong,' said Sam, looking up.

Mr. Weller nodded approvingly, and Sam resumed.

'"So I take the privilidge of the day, Mary, my dear--as the
gen'l'm'n in difficulties did, ven he valked out of a Sunday--to
tell you that the first and only time I see you, your likeness was
took on my hart in much quicker time and brighter colours than
ever a likeness was took by the profeel macheen (wich p'raps you
may have heerd on Mary my dear) altho it DOES finish a portrait
and put the frame and glass on complete, with a hook at the
end to hang it up by, and all in two minutes and a quarter."'

'I am afeerd that werges on the poetical, Sammy,' said Mr.
Weller dubiously.

'No, it don't,' replied Sam, reading on very quickly, to avoid
contesting the point--

'"Except of me Mary my dear as your walentine and think
over what I've said.--My dear Mary I will now conclude." That's
all,' said Sam.

'That's rather a Sudden pull-up, ain't it, Sammy?' inquired
Mr. Weller.

'Not a bit on it,' said Sam; 'she'll vish there wos more, and
that's the great art o' letter-writin'.'

'Well,' said Mr. Weller, 'there's somethin' in that; and I wish
your mother-in-law 'ud only conduct her conwersation on the
same gen-teel principle. Ain't you a-goin' to sign it?'

'That's the difficulty,' said Sam; 'I don't know what to sign it.'

'Sign it--"Veller",' said the oldest surviving proprietor of that name.

'Won't do,' said Sam. 'Never sign a walentine with your own name.'

'Sign it "Pickwick," then,' said Mr. Weller; 'it's a wery good
name, and a easy one to spell.'
'The wery thing,' said Sam. 'I COULD end with a werse; what do
you think?'

'I don't like it, Sam,' rejoined Mr. Weller. 'I never know'd a
respectable coachman as wrote poetry, 'cept one, as made an
affectin' copy o' werses the night afore he was hung for a highway
robbery; and he wos only a Cambervell man, so even that's no rule.'

But Sam was not to be dissuaded from the poetical idea that
had occurred to him, so he signed the letter--
     'Your love-sick
       Pickwick.'

And having folded it, in a very intricate manner, squeezed a
downhill direction in one corner: 'To Mary, Housemaid, at
Mr. Nupkins's, Mayor's, Ipswich, Suffolk'; and put it into his
pocket, wafered, and ready for the general post. This important
business having been transacted, Mr. Weller the elder proceeded
to open that, on which he had summoned his son.

'The first matter relates to your governor, Sammy,' said Mr.
Weller. 'He's a-goin' to be tried to-morrow, ain't he?'

'The trial's a-comin' on,' replied Sam.

'Vell,' said Mr. Weller, 'Now I s'pose he'll want to call some
witnesses to speak to his character, or p'rhaps to prove a alleybi.
I've been a-turnin' the bis'ness over in my mind, and he may
make his-self easy, Sammy. I've got some friends as'll do either
for him, but my adwice 'ud be this here--never mind the
character, and stick to the alleybi. Nothing like a alleybi, Sammy,
nothing.'  Mr. Weller looked very profound as he delivered this
legal opinion; and burying his nose in his tumbler, winked over
the top thereof, at his astonished son.
'Why, what do you mean?' said Sam; 'you don't think he's
a-goin' to be tried at the Old Bailey, do you?'

'That ain't no part of the present consideration, Sammy,'
replied Mr. Weller. 'Verever he's a-goin' to be tried, my boy, a
alleybi's the thing to get him off. Ve got Tom Vildspark off that
'ere manslaughter, with a alleybi, ven all the big vigs to a man
said as nothing couldn't save him. And my 'pinion is, Sammy,
that if your governor don't prove a alleybi, he'll be what the
Italians call reg'larly flummoxed, and that's all about it.'

As the elder Mr. Weller entertained a firm and unalterable
conviction that the Old Bailey was the supreme court of judicature
in this country, and that its rules and forms of proceeding
regulated and controlled the practice of all other courts of justice
whatsoever, he totally disregarded the assurances and arguments
of his son, tending to show that the alibi was inadmissible; and
vehemently protested that Mr. Pickwick was being 'wictimised.'
Finding that it was of no use to discuss the matter further, Sam
changed the subject, and inquired what the second topic was, on
which his revered parent wished to consult him.

'That's a pint o' domestic policy, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller.
'This here Stiggins--'

'Red-nosed man?' inquired Sam.

'The wery same,' replied Mr. Weller. 'This here red-nosed
man, Sammy, wisits your mother-in-law vith a kindness and
constancy I never see equalled. He's sitch a friend o' the family,
Sammy, that wen he's avay from us, he can't be comfortable
unless he has somethin' to remember us by.'

'And I'd give him somethin' as 'ud turpentine and beeswax his
memory for the next ten years or so, if I wos you,' interposed Sam.

'Stop a minute,' said Mr. Weller; 'I wos a-going to say, he
always brings now, a flat bottle as holds about a pint and a half,
and fills it vith the pine-apple rum afore he goes avay.'

'And empties it afore he comes back, I s'pose?' said Sam.

'Clean!' replied Mr. Weller; 'never leaves nothin' in it but the
cork and the smell; trust him for that, Sammy. Now, these here
fellows, my boy, are a-goin' to-night to get up the monthly
meetin' o' the Brick Lane Branch o' the United Grand Junction
Ebenezer Temperance Association. Your mother-in-law wos
a-goin', Sammy, but she's got the rheumatics, and can't; and I,
Sammy--I've got the two tickets as wos sent her.'  Mr. Weller
communicated this secret with great glee, and winked so
indefatigably after doing so, that Sam began to think he must have
got the TIC DOLOUREUX in his right eyelid.

'Well?' said that young gentleman.
'Well,' continued his progenitor, looking round him very
cautiously, 'you and I'll go, punctiwal to the time. The deputy-
shepherd won't, Sammy; the deputy-shepherd won't.'  Here Mr.
Weller was seized with a paroxysm of chuckles, which gradually
terminated in as near an approach to a choke as an elderly
gentleman can, with safety, sustain.

'Well, I never see sitch an old ghost in all my born days,'
exclaimed Sam, rubbing the old gentleman's back, hard enough
to set him on fire with the friction. 'What are you a-laughin' at,
corpilence?'

'Hush! Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, looking round him with
increased caution, and speaking in a whisper. 'Two friends o'
mine, as works the Oxford Road, and is up to all kinds o' games,
has got the deputy-shepherd safe in tow, Sammy; and ven he
does come to the Ebenezer Junction (vich he's sure to do: for
they'll see him to the door, and shove him in, if necessary), he'll
be as far gone in rum-and-water, as ever he wos at the Markis o'
Granby, Dorkin', and that's not sayin' a little neither.'  And with
this, Mr. Weller once more laughed immoderately, and once
more relapsed into a state of partial suffocation, in consequence.

Nothing could have been more in accordance with Sam
Weller's feelings than the projected exposure of the real propensities
and qualities of the red-nosed man; and it being very
near the appointed hour of meeting, the father and son took
their way at once to Brick Lane, Sam not forgetting to drop his
letter into a general post-office as they walked along.

The monthly meetings of the Brick Lane Branch of the United
Grand Junction Ebenezer Temperance Association were held in
a large room, pleasantly and airily situated at the top of a safe
and commodious ladder. The president was the straight-walking
Mr. Anthony Humm, a converted fireman, now a schoolmaster,
and occasionally an itinerant preacher; and the secretary was
Mr. Jonas Mudge, chandler's shopkeeper, an enthusiastic and
disinterested vessel, who sold tea to the members. Previous to the
commencement of business, the ladies sat upon forms, and drank
tea, till such time as they considered it expedient to leave off; and
a large wooden money-box was conspicuously placed upon the
green baize cloth of the business-table, behind which
the secretary stood, and acknowledged, with a gracious smile,
every addition to the rich vein of copper which lay concealed within.

On this particular occasion the women drank tea to a most
alarming extent; greatly to the horror of Mr. Weller, senior, who,
utterly regardless of all Sam's admonitory nudgings, stared about
him in every direction with the most undisguised astonishment.

'Sammy,' whispered Mr. Weller, 'if some o' these here people
don't want tappin' to-morrow mornin', I ain't your father, and
that's wot it is. Why, this here old lady next me is a-drowndin'
herself in tea.'
'Be quiet, can't you?' murmured Sam.

'Sam,' whispered Mr. Weller, a moment afterwards, in a tone
of deep agitation, 'mark my vords, my boy. If that 'ere secretary
fellow keeps on for only five minutes more, he'll blow hisself up
with toast and water.'

'Well, let him, if he likes,' replied Sam; 'it ain't no bis'ness
o' yourn.'

'If this here lasts much longer, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, in
the same low voice, 'I shall feel it my duty, as a human bein', to
rise and address the cheer. There's a young 'ooman on the next
form but two, as has drunk nine breakfast cups and a half; and
she's a-swellin' wisibly before my wery eyes.'

There is little doubt that Mr. Weller would have carried his
benevolent intention into immediate execution, if a great noise,
occasioned by putting up the cups and saucers, had not very
fortunately announced that the tea-drinking was over. The
crockery having been removed, the table with the green baize
cover was carried out into the centre of the room, and the
business of the evening was commenced by a little emphatic man,
with a bald head and drab shorts, who suddenly rushed up the
ladder, at the imminent peril of snapping the two little legs
incased in the drab shorts, and said--

'Ladies and gentlemen, I move our excellent brother, Mr.
Anthony Humm, into the chair.'

The ladies waved a choice selection of pocket-handkerchiefs at
this proposition; and the impetuous little man literally moved
Mr. Humm into the chair, by taking him by the shoulders and
thrusting him into a mahogany-frame which had once represented
that article of furniture. The waving of handkerchiefs was
renewed; and Mr. Humm, who was a sleek, white-faced man, in a
perpetual perspiration, bowed meekly, to the great admiration of
the females, and formally took his seat. Silence was then proclaimed
by the little man in the drab shorts, and Mr. Humm rose
and said--That, with the permission of his Brick Lane Branch
brothers and sisters, then and there present, the secretary would
read the report of the Brick Lane Branch committee; a proposition
which was again received with a demonstration of pocket-handkerchiefs.

The secretary having sneezed in a very impressive manner, and
the cough which always seizes an assembly, when anything
particular is going to be done, having been duly performed, the
following document was read:

'REPORT OF THE COMMITTEE OF THE BRICK LANE BRANCH OF THE
UNITED GRAND JUNCTION EBENEZER TEMPERANCE ASSOCIATION

'Your committee have pursued their grateful labours during the
past month, and have the unspeakable pleasure of reporting the
following additional cases of converts to Temperance.

'H. Walker, tailor, wife, and two children. When in better
circumstances, owns to having been in the constant habit of
drinking ale and beer; says he is not certain whether he did not
twice a week, for twenty years, taste "dog's nose," which your
committee find upon inquiry, to be compounded of warm porter,
moist sugar, gin, and nutmeg (a groan, and 'So it is!' from an
elderly female). Is now out of work and penniless; thinks it must
be the porter (cheers) or the loss of the use of his right hand; is
not certain which, but thinks it very likely that, if he had drunk
nothing but water all his life, his fellow-workman would never
have stuck a rusty needle in him, and thereby occasioned his
accident (tremendous cheering). Has nothing but cold water to
drink, and never feels thirsty (great applause).

'Betsy Martin, widow, one child, and one eye. Goes out
charing and washing, by the day; never had more than one eye,
but knows her mother drank bottled stout, and shouldn't wonder
if that caused it (immense cheering). Thinks it not impossible
that if she had always abstained from spirits she might have had
two eyes by this time (tremendous applause). Used, at every
place she went to, to have eighteen-pence a day, a pint of porter,
and a glass of spirits; but since she became a member of the
Brick Lane Branch, has always demanded three-and-sixpence
(the announcement of this most interesting fact was received
with deafening enthusiasm).

'Henry Beller was for many years toast-master at various
corporation dinners, during which time he drank a great deal of
foreign wine; may sometimes have carried a bottle or two home
with him; is not quite certain of that, but is sure if he did, that he
drank the contents. Feels very low and melancholy, is very
feverish, and has a constant thirst upon him; thinks it must be
the wine he used to drink (cheers). Is out of employ now; and
never touches a drop of foreign wine by any chance (tremendous
plaudits).

'Thomas Burton is purveyor of cat's meat to the Lord Mayor
and Sheriffs, and several members of the Common Council (the
announcement of this gentleman's name was received with
breathless interest). Has a wooden leg; finds a wooden leg
expensive, going over the stones; used to wear second-hand
wooden legs, and drink a glass of hot gin-and-water regularly
every night--sometimes two (deep sighs). Found the second-hand
wooden legs split and rot very quickly; is firmly persuaded that
their constitution was undermined by the gin-and-water (prolonged
cheering). Buys new wooden legs now, and drinks
nothing but water and weak tea. The new legs last twice as long
as the others used to do, and he attributes this solely to his
temperate habits (triumphant cheers).'

Anthony Humm now moved that the assembly do regale itself
with a song. With a view to their rational and moral enjoyment,
Brother Mordlin had adapted the beautiful words of 'Who hasn't
heard of a Jolly Young Waterman?' to the tune of the Old
Hundredth, which he would request them to join him in singing
(great applause). He might take that opportunity of expressing his
firm persuasion that the late Mr. Dibdin, seeing the errors of his
former life, had written that song to show the advantages of
abstinence. It was a temperance song (whirlwinds of cheers). The
neatness of the young man's attire, the dexterity of his feathering,
the enviable state of mind which enabled him in the beautiful
words of the poet, to

  'Row along, thinking of nothing at all,'

all combined to prove that he must have been a water-drinker
(cheers). Oh, what a state of virtuous jollity! (rapturous cheering).
And what was the young man's reward? Let all young men present
mark this:

  'The maidens all flocked to his boat so readily.'

(Loud cheers, in which the ladies joined.) What a bright example!
The sisterhood, the maidens, flocking round the young waterman,
and urging him along the stream of duty and of temperance.
But, was it the maidens of humble life only, who soothed, consoled,
and supported him? No!

  'He was always first oars with the fine city ladies.'

(Immense cheering.) The soft sex to a man--he begged pardon,
to a female--rallied round the young waterman, and turned with
disgust from the drinker of spirits (cheers). The Brick Lane
Branch brothers were watermen (cheers and laughter). That room
was their boat; that audience were the maidens; and he (Mr.
Anthony Humm), however unworthily, was 'first oars'
(unbounded applause).

'Wot does he mean by the soft sex, Sammy?' inquired Mr.
Weller, in a whisper.

'The womin,' said Sam, in the same tone.

'He ain't far out there, Sammy,' replied Mr. Weller; 'they
MUST be a soft sex--a wery soft sex, indeed--if they let themselves
be gammoned by such fellers as him.'

Any further observations from the indignant old gentleman
were cut short by the announcement of the song, which Mr.
Anthony Humm gave out two lines at a time, for the information
of such of his hearers as were unacquainted with the legend.
While it was being sung, the little man with the drab shorts
disappeared; he returned immediately on its conclusion, and
whispered Mr. Anthony Humm, with a face of the deepest importance.
'My friends,' said Mr. Humm, holding up his hand in a
deprecatory manner, to bespeak the silence of such of the stout
old ladies as were yet a line or two behind; 'my friends, a delegate
from the Dorking Branch of our society, Brother Stiggins,
attends below.'

Out came the pocket-handkerchiefs again, in greater force
than ever; for Mr. Stiggins was excessively popular among the
female constituency of Brick Lane.

'He may approach, I think,' said Mr. Humm, looking round
him, with a fat smile. 'Brother Tadger, let him come forth and
greet us.'

The little man in the drab shorts who answered to the name of
Brother Tadger, bustled down the ladder with great speed, and
was immediately afterwards heard tumbling up with the Reverend
Mr. Stiggins.

'He's a-comin', Sammy,' whispered Mr. Weller, purple in the
countenance with suppressed laughter.

'Don't say nothin' to me,' replied Sam, 'for I can't bear it. He's
close to the door. I hear him a-knockin' his head again the lath
and plaster now.'

As Sam Weller spoke, the little door flew open, and Brother
Tadger appeared, closely followed by the Reverend Mr. Stiggins,
who no sooner entered, than there was a great clapping of hands,
and stamping of feet, and flourishing of handkerchiefs; to all of
which manifestations of delight, Brother Stiggins returned no
other acknowledgment than staring with a wild eye, and a fixed
smile, at the extreme top of the wick of the candle on the table,
swaying his body to and fro, meanwhile, in a very unsteady and
uncertain manner.

'Are you unwell, Brother Stiggins?' whispered Mr. Anthony Humm.

'I am all right, Sir,' replied Mr. Stiggins, in a tone in which
ferocity was blended with an extreme thickness of utterance; 'I
am all right, Sir.'

'Oh, very well,' rejoined Mr. Anthony Humm, retreating a few paces.

'I believe no man here has ventured to say that I am not all
right, Sir?' said Mr. Stiggins.

'Oh, certainly not,' said Mr. Humm.
'I should advise him not to, Sir; I should advise him not,' said
Mr. Stiggins.

By this time the audience were perfectly silent, and waited
with some anxiety for the resumption of business.

'Will you address the meeting, brother?' said Mr. Humm, with
a smile of invitation.

'No, sir,' rejoined Mr. Stiggins; 'No, sir. I will not, sir.'

The meeting looked at each other with raised eyelids; and a
murmur of astonishment ran through the room.

'It's my opinion, sir,' said Mr. Stiggins, unbuttoning his coat,
and speaking very loudly--'it's my opinion, sir, that this meeting
is drunk, sir. Brother Tadger, sir!' said Mr. Stiggins, suddenly
increasing in ferocity, and turning sharp round on the little man
in the drab shorts, 'YOU are drunk, sir!' With this, Mr. Stiggins,
entertaining a praiseworthy desire to promote the sobriety of the
meeting, and to exclude therefrom all improper characters, hit
Brother Tadger on the summit of the nose with such unerring
aim, that the drab shorts disappeared like a flash of lightning.
Brother Tadger had been knocked, head first, down the ladder.

Upon this, the women set up a loud and dismal screaming;
and rushing in small parties before their favourite brothers, flung
their arms around them to preserve them from danger. An
instance of affection, which had nearly proved fatal to Humm,
who, being extremely popular, was all but suffocated, by the
crowd of female devotees that hung about his neck, and heaped
caresses upon him. The greater part of the lights were quickly
put out, and nothing but noise and confusion resounded on all sides.

'Now, Sammy,' said Mr. Weller, taking off his greatcoat with
much deliberation, 'just you step out, and fetch in a watchman.'

'And wot are you a-goin' to do, the while?' inquired Sam.

'Never you mind me, Sammy,' replied the old gentleman; 'I
shall ockipy myself in havin' a small settlement with that 'ere
Stiggins.'  Before Sam could interfere to prevent it, his heroic
parent had penetrated into a remote corner of the room, and
attacked the Reverend Mr. Stiggins with manual dexterity.

'Come off!' said Sam.

'Come on!' cried Mr. Weller; and without further invitation
he gave the Reverend Mr. Stiggins a preliminary tap on the head,
and began dancing round him in a buoyant and cork-like
manner, which in a gentleman at his time of life was a perfect
marvel to behold.

Finding all remonstrances unavailing, Sam pulled his hat
firmly on, threw his father's coat over his arm, and taking the old
man round the waist, forcibly dragged him down the ladder, and
into the street; never releasing his hold, or permitting him to
stop, until they reached the corner. As they gained it, they could
hear the shouts of the populace, who were witnessing the removal
of the Reverend Mr. Stiggins to strong lodgings for the night,
and could hear the noise occasioned by the dispersion in various
directions of the members of the Brick Lane Branch of the
United Grand Junction Ebenezer Temperance Association.

CHAPTER XXXIV
IS WHOLLY DEVOTED TO A FULL AND FAITHFUL REPORT
  OF THE MEMORABLE TRIAL OF BARDELL AGAINST PICKWICK

'I wonder what the foreman of the jury, whoever he'll be, has got
for breakfast,' said Mr. Snodgrass, by way of keeping up a
conversation on the eventful morning of the fourteenth of February.

'Ah!' said Perker, 'I hope he's got a good one.'
'Why so?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'Highly important--very important, my dear Sir,' replied
Perker. 'A good, contented, well-breakfasted juryman is a capital
thing to get hold of. Discontented or hungry jurymen, my dear
sir, always find for the plaintiff.'

'Bless my heart,' said Mr. Pickwick, looking very blank, 'what
do they do that for?'

'Why, I don't know,' replied the little man coolly; 'saves time,
I suppose. If it's near dinner-time, the foreman takes out his
watch when the jury has retired, and says, "Dear me, gentlemen,
ten minutes to five, I declare! I dine at five, gentlemen." "So do I,"
says everybody else, except two men who ought to have dined at
three and seem more than half disposed to stand out in consequence.
The foreman smiles, and puts up his watch:--"Well,
gentlemen, what do we say, plaintiff or defendant, gentlemen? I
rather think, so far as I am concerned, gentlemen,--I say, I
rather think--but don't let that influence you--I RATHER think
the plaintiff's the man." Upon this, two or three other men
are sure to say that they think so too--as of course they do; and
then they get on very unanimously and comfortably. Ten minutes
past nine!' said the little man, looking at his watch.'Time we were
off, my dear sir; breach of promise trial-court is generally full
in such cases. You had better ring for a coach, my dear sir, or we
shall be rather late.'

Mr. Pickwick immediately rang the bell, and a coach having
been procured, the four Pickwickians and Mr. Perker ensconced
themselves therein, and drove to Guildhall; Sam Weller, Mr.
Lowten, and the blue bag, following in a cab.

'Lowten,' said Perker, when they reached the outer hall of the
court, 'put Mr. Pickwick's friends in the students' box; Mr.
Pickwick himself had better sit by me. This way, my dear sir, this
way.'  Taking Mr. Pickwick by the coat sleeve, the little man led
him to the low seat just beneath the desks of the King's Counsel,
which is constructed for the convenience of attorneys, who from
that spot can whisper into the ear of the leading counsel in the
case, any instructions that may be necessary during the progress
of the trial. The occupants of this seat are invisible to the great
body of spectators, inasmuch as they sit on a much lower level
than either the barristers or the audience, whose seats are raised
above the floor. Of course they have their backs to both, and
their faces towards the judge.

'That's the witness-box, I suppose?' said Mr. Pickwick,
pointing to a kind of pulpit, with a brass rail, on his left hand.

'That's the witness-box, my dear sir,' replied Perker,
disinterring a quantity of papers from the blue bag, which Lowten
had just deposited at his feet.

'And that,' said Mr. Pickwick, pointing to a couple of enclosed
seats on his right, 'that's where the jurymen sit, is it not?'

'The identical place, my dear Sir,' replied Perker, tapping the
lid of his snuff-box.

Mr. Pickwick stood up in a state of great agitation, and took a
glance at the court. There were already a pretty large sprinkling
of spectators in the gallery, and a numerous muster of gentlemen
in wigs, in the barristers' seats, who presented, as a body, all that
pleasing and extensive variety of nose and whisker for which the
Bar of England is so justly celebrated. Such of the gentlemen as
had a brief to carry, carried it in as conspicuous a manner as
possible, and occasionally scratched their noses therewith, to
impress the fact more strongly on the observation of the spectators.
Other gentlemen, who had no briefs to show, carried
under their arms goodly octavos, with a red label behind, and that
under-done-pie-crust-coloured cover, which is technically known
as 'law calf.'  Others, who had neither briefs nor books, thrust
their hands into their pockets, and looked as wise as they
conveniently could; others, again, moved here and there with great
restlessness and earnestness of manner, content to awaken
thereby the admiration and astonishment of the uninitiated
strangers. The whole, to the great wonderment of Mr, Pickwick,
were divided into little groups, who were chatting and discussing
the news of the day in the most unfeeling manner possible--just as
if no trial at all were coming on.

A bow from Mr. Phunky, as he entered, and took his seat
behind the row appropriated to the King's Counsel, attracted
Mr. Pickwick's attention; and he had scarcely returned it, when
Mr. Serjeant Snubbin appeared, followed by Mr. Mallard, who
half hid the Serjeant behind a large crimson bag, which he
placed on his table, and, after shaking hands with Perker, withdrew.
Then there entered two or three more Serjeants; and among them,
one with a fat body and a red face, who nodded in a friendly
manner to Mr. Serjeant Snubbin, and said it was a fine morning.

'Who's that red-faced man, who said it was a fine morning,
and nodded to our counsel?' whispered Mr. Pickwick.

'Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz,' replied Perker. 'He's opposed to us; he
leads on the other side. That gentleman behind him is Mr.
Skimpin, his junior.'

Mr. Pickwick was on the point of inquiring, with great
abhorrence of the man's cold-blooded villainy, how Mr, Serjeant
Buzfuz, who was counsel for the opposite party, dared to presume
to tell Mr. Serjeant Snubbin, who was counsel for him, that it
was a fine morning, when he was interrupted by a general rising
of the barristers, and a loud cry of 'Silence!' from the officers of
the court. Looking round, he found that this was caused by the
entrance of the judge.

Mr. Justice Stareleigh (who sat in the absence of the Chief
Justice, occasioned by indisposition) was a most particularly
short man, and so fat, that he seemed all face and waistcoat. He
rolled in, upon two little turned legs, and having bobbed gravely
to the Bar, who bobbed gravely to him, put his little legs underneath
his table, and his little three-cornered hat upon it;
and when Mr. Justice Stareleigh had done this, all you could
see of him was two queer little eyes, one broad pink face,
and somewhere about half of a big and very comical-looking wig.

The judge had no sooner taken his seat, than the officer on the
floor of the court called out 'Silence!' in a commanding tone,
upon which another officer in the gallery cried 'Silence!' in an
angry manner, whereupon three or four more ushers shouted
'Silence!' in a voice of indignant remonstrance. This being done,
a gentleman in black, who sat below the judge, proceeded to call
over the names of the jury; and after a great deal of bawling,
it was discovered that only ten special jurymen were present.
Upon this, Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz prayed a TALES; the gentleman
in black then proceeded to press into the special jury, two of the
common jurymen; and a greengrocer and a chemist were caught directly.

'Answer to your names, gentlemen, that you may be sworn,'
said the gentleman in black. 'Richard Upwitch.'

'Here,' said the greengrocer.

'Thomas Groffin.'

'Here,' said the chemist.

'Take the book, gentlemen. You shall well and truly try--'

'I beg this court's pardon,' said the chemist, who was a tall, thin,
yellow-visaged man, 'but I hope this court will excuse my attendance.'

'On what grounds, Sir?' said Mr. Justice Stareleigh.

'I have no assistant, my Lord,' said the chemist.

'I can't help that, Sir,' replied Mr. Justice Stareleigh. 'You
should hire one.'

'I can't afford it, my Lord,' rejoined the chemist.

'Then you ought to be able to afford it, Sir,' said the judge,
reddening; for Mr. Justice Stareleigh's temper bordered on the
irritable, and brooked not contradiction.

'I know I OUGHT to do, if I got on as well as I deserved; but I
don't, my Lord,' answered the chemist.

'Swear the gentleman,' said the judge peremptorily.

The officer had got no further than the 'You shall well and
truly try,' when he was again interrupted by the chemist.

'I am to be sworn, my Lord, am I?' said the chemist.

'Certainly, sir,' replied the testy little judge.

'Very well, my Lord,' replied the chemist, in a resigned
manner. 'Then there'll be murder before this trial's over; that's
all. Swear me, if you please, Sir;' and sworn the chemist was,
before the judge could find words to utter.

'I merely wanted to observe, my Lord,' said the chemist,
taking his seat with great deliberation, 'that I've left nobody but
an errand-boy in my shop. He is a very nice boy, my Lord, but
he is not acquainted with drugs; and I know that the prevailing
impression on his mind is, that Epsom salts means oxalic acid;
and syrup of senna, laudanum. That's all, my Lord.'  With this,
the tall chemist composed himself into a comfortable attitude,
and, assuming a pleasant expression of countenance, appeared to
have prepared himself for the worst.

Mr. Pickwick was regarding the chemist with feelings of the
deepest horror, when a slight sensation was perceptible in the
body of the court; and immediately afterwards Mrs. Bardell,
supported by Mrs. Cluppins, was led in, and placed, in a drooping
state, at the other end of the seat on which Mr. Pickwick sat.
An extra-sized umbrella was then handed in by Mr. Dodson, and
a pair of pattens by Mr. Fogg, each of whom had prepared a
most sympathising and melancholy face for the occasion. Mrs.
Sanders then appeared, leading in Master Bardell. At sight of
her child, Mrs. Bardell started; suddenly recollecting herself, she
kissed him in a frantic manner; then relapsing into a state of
hysterical imbecility, the good lady requested to be informed
where she was. In reply to this, Mrs. Cluppins and Mrs. Sanders
turned their heads away and wept, while Messrs. Dodson and
Fogg entreated the plaintiff to compose herself. Serjeant Buzfuz
rubbed his eyes very hard with a large white handkerchief, and
gave an appealing look towards the jury, while the judge was
visibly affected, and several of the beholders tried to cough down
their emotion.

'Very good notion that indeed,' whispered Perker to Mr.
Pickwick. 'Capital fellows those Dodson and Fogg; excellent
ideas of effect, my dear Sir, excellent.'

As Perker spoke, Mrs. Bardell began to recover by slow
degrees, while Mrs. Cluppins, after a careful survey of Master
Bardell's buttons and the button-holes to which they severally
belonged, placed him on the floor of the court in front of his
mother--a commanding position in which he could not fail to
awaken the full commiseration and sympathy of both judge and
jury. This was not done without considerable opposition, and
many tears, on the part of the young gentleman himself, who had
certain inward misgivings that the placing him within the full
glare of the judge's eye was only a formal prelude to his being
immediately ordered away for instant execution, or for transportation
beyond the seas, during the whole term of his natural
life, at the very least.

'Bardell and Pickwick,' cried the gentleman in black, calling
on the case, which stood first on the list.

'I am for the plaintiff, my Lord,' said Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz.

'Who is with you, Brother Buzfuz?' said the judge. Mr.
Skimpin bowed, to intimate that he was.

'I appear for the defendant, my Lord,' said Mr. Serjeant Snubbin.

'Anybody with you, Brother Snubbin?' inquired the court.

'Mr. Phunky, my Lord,' replied Serjeant Snubbin.

'Serjeant Buzfuz and Mr. Skimpin for the plaintiff,' said
the judge, writing down the names in his note-book, and reading
as he wrote; 'for the defendant, Serjeant Snubbin and Mr. Monkey.'

'Beg your Lordship's pardon, Phunky.'

'Oh, very good,' said the judge; 'I never had the pleasure of
hearing the gentleman's name before.'  Here Mr. Phunky bowed
and smiled, and the judge bowed and smiled too, and then Mr.
Phunky, blushing into the very whites of his eyes, tried to look as
if he didn't know that everybody was gazing at him, a thing
which no man ever succeeded in doing yet, or in all reasonable
probability, ever will.

'Go on,' said the judge.

The ushers again called silence, and Mr. Skimpin proceeded
to 'open the case'; and the case appeared to have very little inside
it when he had opened it, for he kept such particulars as he
knew, completely to himself, and sat down, after a lapse of
three minutes, leaving the jury in precisely the same advanced
stage of wisdom as they were in before.

Serjeant Buzfuz then rose with all the majesty and dignity
which the grave nature of the proceedings demanded, and
having whispered to Dodson, and conferred briefly with Fogg,
pulled his gown over his shoulders, settled his wig, and addressed
the jury.

Serjeant Buzfuz began by saying, that never, in the whole
course of his professional experience--never, from the very first
moment of his applying himself to the study and practice of the
law--had he approached a case with feelings of such deep
emotion, or with such a heavy sense of the responsibility imposed
upon him--a responsibility, he would say, which he could never
have supported, were he not buoyed up and sustained by a conviction
so strong, that it amounted to positive certainty that the
cause of truth and justice, or, in other words, the cause of his
much-injured and most oppressed client, must prevail with the
high-minded and intelligent dozen of men whom he now saw in
that box before him.

Counsel usually begin in this way, because it puts the jury on
the very best terms with themselves, and makes them think what
sharp fellows they must be. A visible effect was produced
immediately, several jurymen beginning to take voluminous notes
with the utmost eagerness.

'You have heard from my learned friend, gentlemen,' continued
Serjeant Buzfuz, well knowing that, from the learned
friend alluded to, the gentlemen of the jury had heard just
nothing at all--'you have heard from my learned friend, gentlemen,
that this is an action for a breach of promise of marriage,
in which the damages are laid at #1,500. But you have not heard
from my learned friend, inasmuch as it did not come within my
learned friend's province to tell you, what are the facts and
circumstances of the case. Those facts and circumstances,
gentlemen, you shall hear detailed by me, and proved by
the unimpeachable female whom I will place in that box before you.'

Here, Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz, with a tremendous emphasis on
the word 'box,' smote his table with a mighty sound, and glanced
at Dodson and Fogg, who nodded admiration of the Serjeant,
and indignant defiance of the defendant.

'The plaintiff, gentlemen,' continued Serjeant Buzfuz, in a soft
and melancholy voice, 'the plaintiff is a widow; yes, gentlemen, a
widow. The late Mr. Bardell, after enjoying, for many years, the
esteem and confidence of his sovereign, as one of the guardians
of his royal revenues, glided almost imperceptibly from the
world, to seek elsewhere for that repose and peace which a
custom-house can never afford.'
At this pathetic description of the decease of Mr. Bardell, who
had been knocked on the head with a quart-pot in a public-house
cellar, the learned serjeant's voice faltered, and he proceeded,
with emotion--

'Some time before his death, he had stamped his likeness upon
a little boy. With this little boy, the only pledge of her departed
exciseman, Mrs. Bardell shrank from the world, and courted the
retirement and tranquillity of Goswell Street; and here she
placed in her front parlour window a written placard, bearing
this inscription--"Apartments furnished for a single gentleman.
Inquire within."' Here Serjeant Buzfuz paused, while several
gentlemen of the jury took a note of the document.

'There is no date to that, is there?' inquired a juror.
'There is no date, gentlemen,' replied Serjeant Buzfuz; 'but I
am instructed to say that it was put in the plaintiff's parlour
window just this time three years. I entreat the attention of the
jury to the wording of this document--"Apartments furnished
for a single gentleman"! Mrs. Bardell's opinions of the opposite
sex, gentlemen, were derived from a long contemplation of the
inestimable qualities of her lost husband. She had no fear, she
had no distrust, she had no suspicion; all was confidence and
reliance. "Mr. Bardell," said the widow--"Mr. Bardell was a
man of honour, Mr. Bardell was a man of his word, Mr. Bardell
was no deceiver, Mr. Bardell was once a single gentleman himself;
to single gentlemen I look for protection, for assistance, for
comfort, and for consolation; in single gentlemen I shall
perpetually see something to remind me of what Mr. Bardell was
when he first won my young and untried affections; to a single
gentleman, then, shall my lodgings be let." Actuated by this
beautiful and touching impulse (among the best impulses of our
imperfect nature, gentlemen), the lonely and desolate widow
dried her tears, furnished her first floor, caught her innocent boy
to her maternal bosom, and put the bill up in her parlour window.
Did it remain there long? No. The serpent was on the watch, the
train was laid, the mine was preparing, the sapper and miner was
at work. Before the bill had been in the parlour window three
days--three days, gentlemen--a being, erect upon two legs, and
bearing all the outward semblance of a man, and not of a
monster, knocked at the door of Mrs. Bardell's house. He
inquired within--he took the lodgings; and on the very next day
he entered into possession of them. This man was Pickwick--
Pickwick, the defendant.'

Serjeant Buzfuz, who had proceeded with such volubility that
his face was perfectly crimson, here paused for breath. The
silence awoke Mr. Justice Stareleigh, who immediately wrote
down something with a pen without any ink in it, and looked
unusually profound, to impress the jury with the belief that he
always thought most deeply with his eyes shut. Serjeant Buzfuz
proceeded--

'Of this man Pickwick I will say little; the subject presents but
few attractions; and I, gentlemen, am not the man, nor are you,
gentlemen, the men, to delight in the contemplation of revolting
heartlessness, and of systematic villainy.'

Here Mr. Pickwick, who had been writhing in silence for some
time, gave a violent start, as if some vague idea of assaulting
Serjeant Buzfuz, in the august presence of justice and law,
suggested itself to his mind. An admonitory gesture from Perker
restrained him, and he listened to the learned gentleman's
continuation with a look of indignation, which contrasted
forcibly with the admiring faces of Mrs. Cluppins and Mrs. Sanders.

'I say systematic villainy, gentlemen,' said Serjeant Buzfuz,
looking through Mr. Pickwick, and talking AT him; 'and when I
say systematic villainy, let me tell the defendant Pickwick, if he
be in court, as I am informed he is, that it would have been more
decent in him, more becoming, in better judgment, and in better
taste, if he had stopped away. Let me tell him, gentlemen, that
any gestures of dissent or disapprobation in which he may
indulge in this court will not go down with you; that you will
know how to value and how to appreciate them; and let me tell him
further, as my Lord will tell you, gentlemen, that a counsel, in the
discharge of his duty to his client, is neither to be intimidated
nor bullied, nor put down; and that any attempt to do either
the one or the other, or the first, or the last, will recoil on the head
of the attempter, be he plaintiff or be he defendant, be his name
Pickwick, or Noakes, or Stoakes, or Stiles, or Brown, or Thompson.'

This little divergence from the subject in hand, had, of course,
the intended effect of turning all eyes to Mr. Pickwick. Serjeant
Buzfuz, having partially recovered from the state of moral
elevation into which he had lashed himself, resumed--

'I shall show you, gentlemen, that for two years, Pickwick
continued to reside constantly, and without interruption or
intermission, at Mrs. Bardell's house. I shall show you that
Mrs. Bardell, during the whole of that time, waited on him,
attended to his comforts, cooked his meals, looked out his linen
for the washerwoman when it went abroad, darned, aired, and
prepared it for wear, when it came home, and, in short, enjoyed
his fullest trust and confidence. I shall show you that, on many
occasions, he gave halfpence, and on some occasions even sixpences,
to her little boy; and I shall prove to you, by a witness
whose testimony it will be impossible for my learned friend to
weaken or controvert, that on one occasion he patted the boy on
the head, and, after inquiring whether he had won any "ALLEY
TORS" or "COMMONEYS" lately (both of which I understand to be a
particular species of marbles much prized by the youth of this
town), made use of this remarkable expression, "How should you
like to have another father?" I shall prove to you, gentlemen,
that about a year ago, Pickwick suddenly began to absent himself
from home, during long intervals, as if with the intention of
gradually breaking off from my client; but I shall show you also,
that his resolution was not at that time sufficiently strong, or that
his better feelings conquered, if better feelings he has, or that the
charms and accomplishments of my client prevailed against his
unmanly intentions, by proving to you, that on one occasion,
when he returned from the country, he distinctly and in terms,
offered her marriage: previously, however, taking special care
that there would be no witness to their solemn contract; and I
am in a situation to prove to you, on the testimony of three of
his own friends--most unwilling witnesses, gentlemen--most
unwilling witnesses--that on that morning he was discovered by
them holding the plaintiff in his arms, and soothing her agitation
by his caresses and endearments.'

A visible impression was produced upon the auditors by this
part of the learned Serjeant's address. Drawing forth two very
small scraps of paper, he proceeded--
'And now, gentlemen, but one word more. Two letters have
passed between these parties, letters which are admitted to be in
the handwriting of the defendant, and which speak volumes,
indeed. The letters, too, bespeak the character of the man. They
are not open, fervent, eloquent epistles, breathing nothing but
the language of affectionate attachment. They are covert, sly,
underhanded communications, but, fortunately, far more conclusive
than if couched in the most glowing language and the
most poetic imagery--letters that must be viewed with a cautious
and suspicious eye--letters that were evidently intended at the
time, by Pickwick, to mislead and delude any third parties into
whose hands they might fall. Let me read the first: "Garraways,
twelve o'clock. Dear Mrs. B.--Chops and tomato sauce. Yours,
PICKWICK." Gentlemen, what does this mean? Chops and tomato
sauce. Yours, Pickwick! Chops! Gracious heavens! and tomato
sauce! Gentlemen, is the happiness of a sensitive and confiding
female to be trifled away, by such shallow artifices as these? The
next has no date whatever, which is in itself suspicious. "Dear
Mrs. B., I shall not be at home till to-morrow. Slow coach."
And then follows this very remarkable expression. "Don't trouble
yourself about the warming-pan." The warming-pan! Why,
gentlemen, who DOES trouble himself about a warming-pan?
When was the peace of mind of man or woman broken or disturbed
by a warming-pan, which is in itself a harmless, a useful,
and I will add, gentlemen, a comforting article of domestic
furniture? Why is Mrs. Bardell so earnestly entreated not to
agitate herself about this warming-pan, unless (as is no doubt the
case) it is a mere cover for hidden fire--a mere substitute for
some endearing word or promise, agreeably to a preconcerted
system of correspondence, artfully contrived by Pickwick with a
view to his contemplated desertion, and which I am not in a
condition to explain? And what does this allusion to the slow
coach mean? For aught I know, it may be a reference to Pickwick
himself, who has most unquestionably been a criminally slow
coach during the whole of this transaction, but whose speed will
now be very unexpectedly accelerated, and whose wheels,
gentlemen, as he will find to his cost, will very soon be greased
by you!'

Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz paused in this place, to see whether the
jury smiled at his joke; but as nobody took it but the greengrocer,
whose sensitiveness on the subject was very probably occasioned
by his having subjected a chaise-cart to the process in question
on that identical morning, the learned Serjeant considered it
advisable to undergo a slight relapse into the dismals before he
concluded.

'But enough of this, gentlemen,' said Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz, 'it
is difficult to smile with an aching heart; it is ill jesting when our
deepest sympathies are awakened. My client's hopes and prospects
are ruined, and it is no figure of speech to say that her occupation
is gone indeed. The bill is down--but there is no tenant. Eligible
single gentlemen pass and repass-but there is no invitation for
to inquire within or without. All is gloom and silence in the
house; even the voice of the child is hushed; his infant sports are
disregarded when his mother weeps; his "alley tors" and his
"commoneys" are alike neglected; he forgets the long familiar
cry of "knuckle down," and at tip-cheese, or odd and even, his
hand is out. But Pickwick, gentlemen, Pickwick, the ruthless
destroyer of this domestic oasis in the desert of Goswell Street--
Pickwick who has choked up the well, and thrown ashes on the
sward--Pickwick, who comes before you to-day with his heartless
tomato sauce and warming-pans--Pickwick still rears his head
with unblushing effrontery, and gazes without a sigh on the ruin
he has made. Damages, gentlemen--heavy damages is the only
punishment with which you can visit him; the only recompense
you can award to my client. And for those damages she now
appeals to an enlightened, a high-minded, a right-feeling, a
conscientious, a dispassionate, a sympathising, a contemplative jury
of her civilised countrymen.'  With this beautiful peroration,
Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz sat down, and Mr. Justice Stareleigh
woke up.

'Call Elizabeth Cluppins,' said Serjeant Buzfuz, rising a
minute afterwards, with renewed vigour.

The nearest usher called for Elizabeth Tuppins; another one,
at a little distance off, demanded Elizabeth Jupkins; and a third
rushed in a breathless state into King Street, and screamed for
Elizabeth Muffins till he was hoarse.

Meanwhile Mrs. Cluppins, with the combined assistance of
Mrs. Bardell, Mrs. Sanders, Mr. Dodson, and Mr. Fogg, was
hoisted into the witness-box; and when she was safely perched
on the top step, Mrs. Bardell stood on the bottom one, with the
pocket-handkerchief and pattens in one hand, and a glass bottle
that might hold about a quarter of a pint of smelling-salts in the
other, ready for any emergency. Mrs. Sanders, whose eyes were
intently fixed on the judge's face, planted herself close by, with
the large umbrella, keeping her right thumb pressed on the spring
with an earnest countenance, as if she were fully prepared to put
it up at a moment's notice.

'Mrs. Cluppins,' said Serjeant Buzfuz, 'pray compose yourself,
ma'am.'  Of course, directly Mrs. Cluppins was desired to compose
herself, she sobbed with increased vehemence, and gave
divers alarming manifestations of an approaching fainting fit,
or, as she afterwards said, of her feelings being too many for her.

'Do you recollect, Mrs. Cluppins,' said Serjeant Buzfuz, after
a few unimportant questions--'do you recollect being in Mrs.
Bardell's back one pair of stairs, on one particular morning in
July last, when she was dusting Pickwick's apartment?'

'Yes, my Lord and jury, I do,' replied Mrs. Cluppins.

'Mr. Pickwick's sitting-room was the first-floor front, I believe?'

'Yes, it were, Sir,' replied Mrs. Cluppins.

'What were you doing in the back room, ma'am?' inquired the
little judge.

'My Lord and jury,' said Mrs. Cluppins, with interesting
agitation, 'I will not deceive you.'

'You had better not, ma'am,' said the little judge.

'I was there,' resumed Mrs. Cluppins, 'unbeknown to Mrs.
Bardell; I had been out with a little basket, gentlemen, to buy
three pound of red kidney pertaties, which was three pound
tuppence ha'penny, when I see Mrs. Bardell's street door on the jar.'

'On the what?' exclaimed the little judge.

'Partly open, my Lord,' said Serjeant Snubbin.

'She said on the jar,' said the little judge, with a cunning look.

'It's all the same, my Lord,' said Serjeant Snubbin. The little
judge looked doubtful, and said he'd make a note of it. Mrs.
Cluppins then resumed--

'I walked in, gentlemen, just to say good-mornin', and went, in
a permiscuous manner, upstairs, and into the back room. Gentlemen,
there was the sound of voices in the front room, and--'

'And you listened, I believe, Mrs. Cluppins?' said Serjeant Buzfuz.

'Beggin' your pardon, Sir,' replied Mrs. Cluppins, in a majestic
manner, 'I would scorn the haction. The voices was very loud,
Sir, and forced themselves upon my ear,'

'Well, Mrs. Cluppins, you were not listening, but you heard
the voices. Was one of those voices Pickwick's?'

'Yes, it were, Sir.'
And Mrs. Cluppins, after distinctly stating that Mr. Pickwick
addressed himself to Mrs. Bardell, repeated by slow degrees, and
by dint of many questions, the conversation with which our
readers are already acquainted.

The jury looked suspicious, and Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz smiled
as he sat down. They looked positively awful when Serjeant
Snubbin intimated that he should not cross-examine the witness,
for Mr. Pickwick wished it to be distinctly stated that it was due
to her to say, that her account was in substance correct.

Mrs. Cluppins having once broken the ice, thought it a
favourable opportunity for entering into a short dissertation on
her own domestic affairs; so she straightway proceeded to inform
the court that she was the mother of eight children at that present
speaking, and that she entertained confident expectations of
presenting Mr. Cluppins with a ninth, somewhere about that day
six months. At this interesting point, the little judge interposed
most irascibly; and the effect of the interposition was, that both
the worthy lady and Mrs. Sanders were politely taken out of
court, under the escort of Mr. Jackson, without further parley.

'Nathaniel Winkle!' said Mr. Skimpin.

'Here!' replied a feeble voice. Mr. Winkle entered the witness-
box, and having been duly sworn, bowed to the judge with
considerable deference.

'Don't look at me, Sir,' said the judge sharply, in acknowledgment
of the salute; 'look at the jury.'

Mr. Winkle obeyed the mandate, and looked at the place
where he thought it most probable the jury might be; for seeing
anything in his then state of intellectual complication was wholly
out of the question.

Mr. Winkle was then examined by Mr. Skimpin, who, being
a promising young man of two or three-and-forty, was of course
anxious to confuse a witness who was notoriously predisposed in
favour of the other side, as much as he could.

'Now, Sir,' said Mr. Skimpin, 'have the goodness to let his
Lordship know what your name is, will you?' and Mr. Skimpin
inclined his head on one side to listen with great sharpness to the
answer, and glanced at the jury meanwhile, as if to imply that he
rather expected Mr. Winkle's natural taste for perjury would
induce him to give some name which did not belong to him.

'Winkle,' replied the witness.

'What's your Christian name, Sir?' angrily inquired the little judge.

'Nathaniel, Sir.'

'Daniel--any other name?'

'Nathaniel, sir--my Lord, I mean.'

'Nathaniel Daniel, or Daniel Nathaniel?'

'No, my Lord, only Nathaniel--not Daniel at all.'

'What did you tell me it was Daniel for, then, sir?' inquired the judge.

'I didn't, my Lord,' replied Mr. Winkle.

'You did, Sir,' replied the judge, with a severe frown. 'How
could I have got Daniel on my notes, unless you told me so, Sir?'
This argument was, of course, unanswerable.

'Mr. Winkle has rather a short memory, my Lord,' interposed
Mr. Skimpin, with another glance at the jury. 'We shall find
means to refresh it before we have quite done with him, I dare say.'

'You had better be careful, Sir,' said the little judge, with a
sinister look at the witness.

Poor Mr. Winkle bowed, and endeavoured to feign an easiness
of manner, which, in his then state of confusion, gave him rather
the air of a disconcerted pickpocket.

'Now, Mr. Winkle,' said Mr. Skimpin, 'attend to me, if you
please, Sir; and let me recommend you, for your own sake, to
bear in mind his Lordship's injunctions to be careful. I believe
you are a particular friend of Mr. Pickwick, the defendant, are
you not?'

'I have known Mr. Pickwick now, as well as I recollect at this
moment, nearly--'

'Pray, Mr. Winkle, do not evade the question. Are you, or are
you not, a particular friend of the defendant's?'

'I was just about to say, that--'

'Will you, or will you not, answer my question, Sir?'
'If you don't answer the question, you'll be committed, Sir,'
interposed the little judge, looking over his note-book.

'Come, Sir,' said Mr. Skimpin, 'yes or no, if you please.'

'Yes, I am,' replied Mr. Winkle.

'Yes, you are. And why couldn't you say that at once, Sir?
Perhaps you know the plaintiff too? Eh, Mr. Winkle?'

'I don't know her; I've seen her.'

'Oh, you don't know her, but you've seen her? Now, have the
goodness to tell the gentlemen of the jury what you mean by that,
Mr. Winkle.'

'I mean that I am not intimate with her, but I have seen her
when I went to call on Mr. Pickwick, in Goswell Street.'

'How often have you seen her, Sir?'

'How often?'

'Yes, Mr. Winkle, how often? I'll repeat the question for you
a dozen times, if you require it, Sir.'  And the learned gentleman,
with a firm and steady frown, placed his hands on his hips, and
smiled suspiciously to the jury.

On this question there arose the edifying brow-beating,
customary on such points. First of all, Mr. Winkle said it was
quite impossible for him to say how many times he had seen
Mrs. Bardell. Then he was asked if he had seen her twenty times,
to which he replied, 'Certainly--more than that.'  Then he was
asked whether he hadn't seen her a hundred times--whether he
couldn't swear that he had seen her more than fifty times--
whether he didn't know that he had seen her at least seventy-five
times, and so forth; the satisfactory conclusion which was arrived
at, at last, being, that he had better take care of himself, and
mind what he was about. The witness having been by these
means reduced to the requisite ebb of nervous perplexity, the
examination was continued as follows--

'Pray, Mr. Winkle, do you remember calling on the defendant
Pickwick at these apartments in the plaintiff's house in Goswell
Street, on one particular morning, in the month of July last?'

'Yes, I do.'

'Were you accompanied on that occasion by a friend of the
name of Tupman, and another by the name of Snodgrass?'

'Yes, I was.'

'Are they here?'
'Yes, they are,' replied Mr. Winkle, looking very earnestly
towards the spot where his friends were stationed.

'Pray attend to me, Mr. Winkle, and never mind your friends,'
said Mr. Skimpin, with another expressive look at the jury.
'They must tell their stories without any previous consultation
with you, if none has yet taken place (another look at the jury).
Now, Sir, tell the gentlemen of the jury what you saw on entering
the defendant's room, on this particular morning. Come; out
with it, Sir; we must have it, sooner or later.'

'The defendant, Mr. Pickwick, was holding the plaintiff in his
arms, with his hands clasping her waist,' replied Mr. Winkle with
natural hesitation, 'and the plaintiff appeared to have fainted away.'

'Did you hear the defendant say anything?'

'I heard him call Mrs. Bardell a good creature, and I heard him
ask her to compose herself, for what a situation it was, if anybody
should come, or words to that effect.'

'Now, Mr. Winkle, I have only one more question to ask you,
and I beg you to bear in mind his Lordship's caution. Will you
undertake to swear that Pickwick, the defendant, did not say on
the occasion in question--"My dear Mrs. Bardell, you're a good
creature; compose yourself to this situation, for to this situation
you must come," or words to that effect?'

'I--I didn't understand him so, certainly,' said Mr. Winkle,
astounded on this ingenious dove-tailing of the few words he had
heard. 'I was on the staircase, and couldn't hear distinctly; the
impression on my mind is--'

'The gentlemen of the jury want none of the impressions on
your mind, Mr. Winkle, which I fear would be of little service to
honest, straightforward men,' interposed Mr. Skimpin. 'You
were on the staircase, and didn't distinctly hear; but you will not
swear that Pickwick did not make use of the expressions I have
quoted? Do I understand that?'

'No, I will not,' replied Mr. Winkle; and down sat Mr.
Skimpin with a triumphant countenance.

Mr. Pickwick's case had not gone off in so particularly happy
a manner, up to this point, that it could very well afford to have
any additional suspicion cast upon it. But as it could afford to
be placed in a rather better light, if possible, Mr. Phunky rose for
the purpose of getting something important out of Mr. Winkle in
cross-examination. Whether he did get anything important out
of him, will immediately appear.

'I believe, Mr. Winkle,' said Mr. Phunky, 'that Mr. Pickwick
is not a young man?'

'Oh, no,' replied Mr. Winkle; 'old enough to be my father.'

'You have told my learned friend that you have known Mr.
Pickwick a long time. Had you ever any reason to suppose or
believe that he was about to be married?'

'Oh, no; certainly not;' replied Mr. Winkle with so much
eagerness, that Mr. Phunky ought to have got him out of the box
with all possible dispatch. Lawyers hold that there are two kinds
of particularly bad witnesses--a reluctant witness, and a too-willing
witness; it was Mr. Winkle's fate to figure in both characters.

'I will even go further than this, Mr. Winkle,' continued
Mr. Phunky, in a most smooth and complacent manner. 'Did
you ever see anything in Mr. Pickwick's manner and conduct
towards the opposite sex, to induce you to believe that he ever
contemplated matrimony of late years, in any case?'

'Oh, no; certainly not,' replied Mr. Winkle.

'Has his behaviour, when females have been in the case, always
been that of a man, who, having attained a pretty advanced period
of life, content with his own occupations and amusements,
treats them only as a father might his daughters?'

'Not the least doubt of it,' replied Mr. Winkle, in the fulness of
his heart. 'That is--yes--oh, yes--certainly.'

'You have never known anything in his behaviour towards
Mrs. Bardell, or any other female, in the least degree suspicious?'
said Mr. Phunky, preparing to sit down; for Serjeant Snubbin
was winking at him.

'N-n-no,' replied Mr. Winkle, 'except on one trifling
occasion, which, I have no doubt, might be easily explained.'

Now, if the unfortunate Mr. Phunky had sat down when
Serjeant Snubbin had winked at him, or if Serjeant Buzfuz had
stopped this irregular cross-examination at the outset (which he
knew better than to do; observing Mr. Winkle's anxiety, and
well knowing it would, in all probability, lead to something
serviceable to him), this unfortunate admission would not have
been elicited. The moment the words fell from Mr. Winkle's lips,
Mr. Phunky sat down, and Serjeant Snubbin rather hastily
told him he might leave the box, which Mr. Winkle prepared
to do with great readiness, when Serjeant Buzfuz stopped him.

'Stay, Mr. Winkle, stay!' said Serjeant Buzfuz, 'will your
Lordship have the goodness to ask him, what this one instance of
suspicious behaviour towards females on the part of this gentleman,
who is old enough to be his father, was?'

'You hear what the learned counsel says, Sir,' observed the
judge, turning to the miserable and agonised Mr. Winkle.
'Describe the occasion to which you refer.'

'My Lord,' said Mr. Winkle, trembling with anxiety, 'I--I'd
rather not.'

'Perhaps so,' said the little judge; 'but you must.'

Amid the profound silence of the whole court, Mr. Winkle
faltered out, that the trifling circumstance of suspicion was Mr.
Pickwick's being found in a lady's sleeping-apartment at midnight;
which had terminated, he believed, in the breaking off of
the projected marriage of the lady in question, and had led, he
knew, to the whole party being forcibly carried before George
Nupkins, Esq., magistrate and justice of the peace, for the
borough of Ipswich!

'You may leave the box, Sir,' said Serjeant Snubbin. Mr.
Winkle did leave the box, and rushed with delirious haste to the
George and Vulture, where he was discovered some hours after,
by the waiter, groaning in a hollow and dismal manner, with his
head buried beneath the sofa cushions.

Tracy Tupman, and Augustus Snodgrass, were severally called
into the box; both corroborated the testimony of their unhappy
friend; and each was driven to the verge of desperation by
excessive badgering.
Susannah Sanders was then called, and examined by Serjeant
Buzfuz, and cross-examined by Serjeant Snubbin. Had always
said and believed that Pickwick would marry Mrs. Bardell; knew
that Mrs. Bardell's being engaged to Pickwick was the current
topic of conversation in the neighbourhood, after the fainting in
July; had been told it herself by Mrs. Mudberry which kept a
mangle, and Mrs. Bunkin which clear-starched, but did not see
either Mrs. Mudberry or Mrs. Bunkin in court. Had heard
Pickwick ask the little boy how he should like to have another
father. Did not know that Mrs. Bardell was at that time keeping
company with the baker, but did know that the baker was then a
single man and is now married. Couldn't swear that Mrs.
Bardell was not very fond of the baker, but should think that the
baker was not very fond of Mrs. Bardell, or he wouldn't have
married somebody else. Thought Mrs. Bardell fainted away on
the morning in July, because Pickwick asked her to name the day:
knew that she (witness) fainted away stone dead when Mr.
Sanders asked her to name the day, and believed that everybody as
called herself a lady would do the same, under similar circumstances.
Heard Pickwick ask the boy the question about the marbles, but upon
her oath did not know the difference between an 'alley tor'
and a 'commoney.'

By the COURT.--During the period of her keeping company
with Mr. Sanders, had received love letters, like other ladies. In
the course of their correspondence Mr. Sanders had often called
her a 'duck,' but never 'chops,' nor yet 'tomato sauce.'  He was
particularly fond of ducks. Perhaps if he had been as fond of
chops and tomato sauce, he might have called her that, as a
term of affection.

Serjeant Buzfuz now rose with more importance than he had
yet exhibited, if that were possible, and vociferated; 'Call Samuel
Weller.'

It was quite unnecessary to call Samuel Weller; for Samuel
Weller stepped briskly into the box the instant his name was
pronounced; and placing his hat on the floor, and his arms on
the rail, took a bird's-eye view of the Bar, and a comprehensive
survey of the Bench, with a remarkably cheerful and lively aspect.
'What's your name, sir?' inquired the judge.

'Sam Weller, my Lord,' replied that gentleman.

'Do you spell it with a "V" or a "W"?' inquired the judge.

'That depends upon the taste and fancy of the speller, my
Lord,' replied Sam; 'I never had occasion to spell it more than
once or twice in my life, but I spells it with a "V." '

Here a voice in the gallery exclaimed aloud, 'Quite right too,
Samivel, quite right. Put it down a "we," my Lord, put it down
a "we."'
'Who is that, who dares address the court?' said the little
judge, looking up. 'Usher.'

'Yes, my Lord.'

'Bring that person here instantly.'

'Yes, my Lord.'

But as the usher didn't find the person, he didn't bring him;
and, after a great commotion, all the people who had got up to
look for the culprit, sat down again. The little judge turned to the
witness as soon as his indignation would allow him to speak, and
said--

'Do you know who that was, sir?'

'I rayther suspect it was my father, my lord,' replied Sam.

'Do you see him here now?' said the judge.

'No, I don't, my Lord,' replied Sam, staring right up into the
lantern at the roof of the court.

'If you could have pointed him out, I would have committed
him instantly,' said the judge.
Sam bowed his acknowledgments and turned, with unimpaired
cheerfulness of countenance, towards Serjeant Buzfuz.

'Now, Mr. Weller,' said Serjeant Buzfuz.

'Now, sir,' replied Sam.

'I believe you are in the service of Mr. Pickwick, the defendant
in this case? Speak up, if you please, Mr. Weller.'

'I mean to speak up, Sir,' replied Sam; 'I am in the service o'
that 'ere gen'l'man, and a wery good service it is.'

'Little to do, and plenty to get, I suppose?' said Serjeant
Buzfuz, with jocularity.
'Oh, quite enough to get, Sir, as the soldier said ven they
ordered him three hundred and fifty lashes,' replied Sam.

'You must not tell us what the soldier, or any other man, said,
Sir,' interposed the judge; 'it's not evidence.'

'Wery good, my Lord,' replied Sam.

'Do you recollect anything particular happening on the
morning when you were first engaged by the defendant; eh,
Mr. Weller?' said Serjeant Buzfuz.

'Yes, I do, sir,' replied Sam.

'Have the goodness to tell the jury what it was.'

'I had a reg'lar new fit out o' clothes that mornin', gen'l'men
of the jury,' said Sam, 'and that was a wery partickler and
uncommon circumstance vith me in those days.'

Hereupon there was a general laugh; and the little judge,
looking with an angry countenance over his desk, said, 'You had
better be careful, Sir.'

'So Mr. Pickwick said at the time, my Lord,' replied Sam; 'and
I was wery careful o' that 'ere suit o' clothes; wery careful indeed,
my Lord.'

The judge looked sternly at Sam for full two minutes, but
Sam's features were so perfectly calm and serene that the judge
said nothing, and motioned Serjeant Buzfuz to proceed.

'Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Weller,' said Serjeant Buzfuz,
folding his arms emphatically, and turning half-round to
the jury, as if in mute assurance that he would bother the
witness yet--'do you mean to tell me, Mr. Weller, that you saw
nothing of this fainting on the part of the plaintiff in the arms of
the defendant, which you have heard described by the witnesses?'
'Certainly not,' replied Sam; 'I was in the passage till they
called me up, and then the old lady was not there.'

'Now, attend, Mr. Weller,' said Serjeant Buzfuz, dipping a
large pen into the inkstand before him, for the purpose of
frightening Sam with a show of taking down his answer. 'You
were in the passage, and yet saw nothing of what was going
forward. Have you a pair of eyes, Mr. Weller?'

'Yes, I have a pair of eyes,' replied Sam, 'and that's just it. If
they wos a pair o' patent double million magnifyin' gas microscopes
of hextra power, p'raps I might be able to see through a
flight o' stairs and a deal door; but bein' only eyes, you see, my
wision 's limited.'

At this answer, which was delivered without the slightest
appearance of irritation, and with the most complete simplicity
and equanimity of manner, the spectators tittered, the little judge
smiled, and Serjeant Buzfuz looked particularly foolish. After a
short consultation with Dodson & Fogg, the learned Serjeant
again turned towards Sam, and said, with a painful effort to
conceal his vexation, 'Now, Mr. Weller, I'll ask you a question
on another point, if you please.'

'If you please, Sir,' rejoined Sam, with the utmost good-humour.

'Do you remember going up to Mrs. Bardell's house, one
night in November last?'
'Oh, yes, wery well.'

'Oh, you do remember that, Mr. Weller,' said Serjeant Buzfuz,
recovering his spirits; 'I thought we should get at something at last.'

'I rayther thought that, too, sir,' replied Sam; and at this the
spectators tittered again.

'Well; I suppose you went up to have a little talk about this
trial--eh, Mr. Weller?' said Serjeant Buzfuz, looking knowingly
at the jury.

'I went up to pay the rent; but we did get a-talkin' about the
trial,' replied Sam.

'Oh, you did get a-talking about the trial,' said Serjeant
Buzfuz, brightening up with the anticipation of some important
discovery. 'Now, what passed about the trial; will you have the
goodness to tell us, Mr. Weller'?'

'Vith all the pleasure in life, sir,' replied Sam. 'Arter a few
unimportant obserwations from the two wirtuous females as has
been examined here to-day, the ladies gets into a very great state
o' admiration at the honourable conduct of Mr. Dodson and
Fogg--them two gen'l'men as is settin' near you now.'  This, of
course, drew general attention to Dodson & Fogg, who looked
as virtuous as possible.

'The attorneys for the plaintiff,' said Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz.
'Well! They spoke in high praise of the honourable conduct of
Messrs. Dodson and Fogg, the attorneys for the plaintiff, did they?'

'Yes,' said Sam, 'they said what a wery gen'rous thing it was
o' them to have taken up the case on spec, and to charge nothing
at all for costs, unless they got 'em out of Mr. Pickwick.'

At this very unexpected reply, the spectators tittered again, and
Dodson & Fogg, turning very red, leaned over to Serjeant
Buzfuz, and in a hurried manner whispered something in his ear.

'You are quite right,' said Serjeant Buzfuz aloud, with affected
composure. 'It's perfectly useless, my Lord, attempting to get at
any evidence through the impenetrable stupidity of this witness.
I will not trouble the court by asking him any more questions.
Stand down, sir.'

'Would any other gen'l'man like to ask me anythin'?' inquired
Sam, taking up his hat, and looking round most deliberately.

'Not I, Mr. Weller, thank you,' said Serjeant Snubbin, laughing.

'You may go down, sir,' said Serjeant Buzfuz, waving his hand
impatiently. Sam went down accordingly, after doing Messrs.
Dodson & Fogg's case as much harm as he conveniently
could, and saying just as little respecting Mr. Pickwick as
might be, which was precisely the object he had had in view all along.

'I have no objection to admit, my Lord,' said Serjeant
Snubbin, 'if it will save the examination of another witness, that
Mr. Pickwick has retired from business, and is a gentleman of
considerable independent property.'

'Very well,' said Serjeant Buzfuz, putting in the two letters to
be read, 'then that's my case, my Lord.'

Serjeant Snubbin then addressed the jury on behalf of the
defendant; and a very long and a very emphatic address he
delivered, in which he bestowed the highest possible eulogiums
on the conduct and character of Mr. Pickwick; but inasmuch as
our readers are far better able to form a correct estimate of that
gentleman's merits and deserts, than Serjeant Snubbin could
possibly be, we do not feel called upon to enter at any length into
the learned gentleman's observations. He attempted to show
that the letters which had been exhibited, merely related
to Mr. Pickwick's dinner, or to the preparations for receiving
him in his apartments on his return from some country excursion.
It is sufficient to add in general terms, that he did the
best he could for Mr. Pickwick; and the best, as everybody
knows, on the infallible authority of the old adage, could do
no more.

Mr. Justice Stareleigh summed up, in the old-established and
most approved form. He read as much of his notes to the jury as
he could decipher on so short a notice, and made running-
comments on the evidence as he went along. If Mrs. Bardell were
right, it was perfectly clear that Mr. Pickwick was wrong, and if
they thought the evidence of Mrs. Cluppins worthy of credence
they would believe it, and, if they didn't, why, they wouldn't. If
they were satisfied that a breach of promise of marriage had been
committed they would find for the plaintiff with such damages as
they thought proper; and if, on the other hand, it appeared to
them that no promise of marriage had ever been given, they
would find for the defendant with no damages at all. The jury
then retired to their private room to talk the matter over, and the
judge retired to HIS private room, to refresh himself with a mutton
chop and a glass of sherry.
An anxious quarter of a hour elapsed; the jury came back; the
judge was fetched in. Mr. Pickwick put on his spectacles, and
gazed at the foreman with an agitated countenance and a
quickly-beating heart.

'Gentlemen,' said the individual in black, 'are you all agreed
upon your verdict?'

'We are,' replied the foreman.

'Do you find for the plaintiff, gentlemen, or for the defendant?'
'For the plaintiff.'

'With what damages, gentlemen?'

'Seven hundred and fifty pounds.'

Mr. Pickwick took off his spectacles, carefully wiped the
glasses, folded them into their case, and put them in his pocket;
then, having drawn on his gloves with great nicety, and stared at
the foreman all the while, he mechanically followed Mr. Perker
and the blue bag out of court.

They stopped in a side room while Perker paid the court fees;
and here, Mr. Pickwick was joined by his friends. Here, too, he
encountered Messrs. Dodson & Fogg, rubbing their hands with
every token of outward satisfaction.

'Well, gentlemen,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Well, Sir,' said Dodson, for self and partner.

'You imagine you'll get your costs, don't you, gentlemen?'
said Mr. Pickwick.

Fogg said they thought it rather probable. Dodson smiled, and
said they'd try.

'You may try, and try, and try again, Messrs. Dodson and
Fogg,' said Mr. Pickwick vehemently,'but not one farthing of
costs or damages do you ever get from me, if I spend the rest of
my existence in a debtor's prison.'

'Ha! ha!' laughed Dodson. 'You'll think better of that, before
next term, Mr. Pickwick.'

'He, he, he! We'll soon see about that, Mr. Pickwick,' grinned Fogg.

Speechless with indignation, Mr. Pickwick allowed himself to
be led by his solicitor and friends to the door, and there assisted
into a hackney-coach, which had been fetched for the purpose,
by the ever-watchful Sam Weller.

Sam had put up the steps, and was preparing to jump upon the
box, when he felt himself gently touched on the shoulder; and,
looking round, his father stood before him. The old gentleman's
countenance wore a mournful expression, as he shook his head
gravely, and said, in warning accents--

'I know'd what 'ud come o' this here mode o' doin' bisness.
Oh, Sammy, Sammy, vy worn't there a alleybi!'

CHAPTER XXXV
IN WHICH Mr. PICKWICK THINKS HE HAD BETTER GO TO
  BATH; AND GOES ACCORDINGLY

'But surely, my dear sir,' said little Perker, as he stood in Mr.
Pickwick's apartment on the morning after the trial, 'surely you
don't really mean--really and seriously now, and irritation
apart--that you won't pay these costs and damages?'

'Not one halfpenny,' said Mr. Pickwick firmly; 'not one halfpenny.'

'Hooroar for the principle, as the money-lender said ven he
vouldn't renew the bill,' observed Mr. Weller, who was clearing
away the breakfast-things.

'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'have the goodness to step downstairs.'

'Cert'nly, sir,' replied Mr. Weller; and acting on Mr. Pickwick's
gentle hint, Sam retired.

'No, Perker,' said Mr. Pickwick, with great seriousness of
manner, 'my friends here have endeavoured to dissuade me from
this determination, but without avail. I shall employ myself as
usual, until the opposite party have the power of issuing a legal
process of execution against me; and if they are vile enough to
avail themselves of it, and to arrest my person, I shall yield
myself up with perfect cheerfulness and content of heart. When
can they do this?'

'They can issue execution, my dear Sir, for the amount of the
damages and taxed costs, next term,' replied Perker, 'just two
months hence, my dear sir.'

'Very good,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Until that time, my dear
fellow, let me hear no more of the matter. And now,' continued
Mr. Pickwick, looking round on his friends with a good-
humoured smile, and a sparkle in the eye which no spectacles
could dim or conceal, 'the only question is, Where shall we go next?'

Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass were too much affected by
their friend's heroism to offer any reply. Mr. Winkle had not yet
sufficiently recovered the recollection of his evidence at the trial,
to make any observation on any subject, so Mr. Pickwick paused
in vain.

'Well,' said that gentleman, 'if you leave me to suggest our
destination, I say Bath. I think none of us have ever been there.'

Nobody had; and as the proposition was warmly seconded by
Perker, who considered it extremely probable that if Mr. Pickwick
saw a little change and gaiety he would be inclined to think
better of his determination, and worse of a debtor's prison, it was
carried unanimously; and Sam was at once despatched to the
White Horse Cellar, to take five places by the half-past seven
o'clock coach, next morning.

There were just two places to be had inside, and just three to
be had out; so Sam Weller booked for them all, and having
exchanged a few compliments with the booking-office clerk on
the subject of a pewter half-crown which was tendered him as a
portion of his 'change,' walked back to the George and Vulture,
where he was pretty busily employed until bed-time in reducing
clothes and linen into the smallest possible compass, and exerting
his mechanical genius in constructing a variety of ingenious
devices for keeping the lids on boxes which had neither locks nor hinges.

The next was a very unpropitious morning for a journey--
muggy, damp, and drizzly. The horses in the stages that were
going out, and had come through the city, were smoking so, that
the outside passengers were invisible. The newspaper-sellers
looked moist, and smelled mouldy; the wet ran off the hats of
the orange-vendors as they thrust their heads into the coach
windows, and diluted the insides in a refreshing manner. The
Jews with the fifty-bladed penknives shut them up in despair; the
men with the pocket-books made pocket-books of them. Watch-
guards and toasting-forks were alike at a discount, and pencil-
cases and sponges were a drug in the market.

Leaving Sam Weller to rescue the luggage from the seven or
eight porters who flung themselves savagely upon it, the moment
the coach stopped, and finding that they were about twenty
minutes too early, Mr. Pickwick and his friends went for shelter
into the travellers' room--the last resource of human dejection.

The travellers' room at the White Horse Cellar is of course
uncomfortable; it would be no travellers' room if it were not. It
is the right-hand parlour, into which an aspiring kitchen fireplace
appears to have walked, accompanied by a rebellious poker,
tongs, and shovel. It is divided into boxes, for the solitary confinement
of travellers, and is furnished with a clock, a looking-glass,
and a live waiter, which latter article is kept in a small kennel
for washing glasses, in a corner of the apartment.

One of these boxes was occupied, on this particular occasion,
by a stern-eyed man of about five-and-forty, who had a bald and
glossy forehead, with a good deal of black hair at the sides and
back of his head, and large black whiskers. He was buttoned up
to the chin in a brown coat; and had a large sealskin travelling-
cap, and a greatcoat and cloak, lying on the seat beside him. He
looked up from his breakfast as Mr. Pickwick entered, with a
fierce and peremptory air, which was very dignified; and, having
scrutinised that gentleman and his companions to his entire
satisfaction, hummed a tune, in a manner which seemed to say
that he rather suspected somebody wanted to take advantage of
him, but it wouldn't do.

'Waiter,' said the gentleman with the whiskers.

'Sir?' replied a man with a dirty complexion, and a towel of
the same, emerging from the kennel before mentioned.

'Some more toast.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Buttered toast, mind,' said the gentleman fiercely.

'Directly, sir,' replied the waiter.

The gentleman with the whiskers hummed a tune in the same
manner as before, and pending the arrival of the toast, advanced
to the front of the fire, and, taking his coat tails under his arms,
looked at his boots and ruminated.

'I wonder whereabouts in Bath this coach puts up,' said
Mr. Pickwick, mildly addressing Mr. Winkle.

'Hum--eh--what's that?' said the strange man.

'I made an observation to my friend, sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick,
always ready to enter into conversation. 'I wondered at what
house the Bath coach put up. Perhaps you can inform me.'
'Are you going to Bath?' said the strange man.

'I am, sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick.

'And those other gentlemen?'

'They are going also,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Not inside--I'll be damned if you're going inside,' said the
strange man.

'Not all of us,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'No, not all of you,' said the strange man emphatically. 'I've
taken two places. If they try to squeeze six people into an infernal
box that only holds four, I'll take a post-chaise and bring an
action. I've paid my fare. It won't do; I told the clerk when I
took my places that it wouldn't do. I know these things have
been done. I know they are done every day; but I never was done,
and I never will be. Those who know me best, best know it;
crush me!' Here the fierce gentleman rang the bell with great
violence, and told the waiter he'd better bring the toast in five
seconds, or he'd know the reason why.

'My good sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'you will allow me to
observe that this is a very unnecessary display of excitement. I
have only taken places inside for two.'

'I am glad to hear it,' said the fierce man. 'I withdraw my
expressions. I tender an apology. There's my card. Give me your
acquaintance.'

'With great pleasure, Sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'We are to be
fellow-travellers, and I hope we shall find each other's society
mutually agreeable.'

'I hope we shall,' said the fierce gentleman. 'I know we shall.
I like your looks; they please me. Gentlemen, your hands and
names. Know me.'

Of course, an interchange of friendly salutations followed this
gracious speech; and the fierce gentleman immediately proceeded
to inform the friends, in the same short, abrupt, jerking sentences,
that his name was Dowler; that he was going to Bath on pleasure;
that he was formerly in the army; that he had now set up in
business as a gentleman; that he lived upon the profits; and that
the individual for whom the second place was taken, was a
personage no less illustrious than Mrs. Dowler, his lady wife.

'She's a fine woman,' said Mr. Dowler. 'I am proud of her. I
have reason.'

'I hope I shall have the pleasure of judging,' said Mr. Pickwick,
with a smile.
'You shall,' replied Dowler. 'She shall know you. She shall
esteem you. I courted her under singular circumstances. I won
her through a rash vow. Thus. I saw her; I loved her; I proposed;
she refused me.--"You love another?"--"Spare my blushes."--
"I know him."--"You do."--"Very good; if he remains here, I'll
skin him."'

'Lord bless me!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick involuntarily.

'Did you skin the gentleman, Sir?' inquired Mr. Winkle, with
a very pale face.

'I wrote him a note, I said it was a painful thing. And so it was.'

'Certainly,' interposed Mr. Winkle.

'I said I had pledged my word as a gentleman to skin him. My
character was at stake. I had no alternative. As an officer in His
Majesty's service, I was bound to skin him. I regretted the
necessity, but it must be done. He was open to conviction. He
saw that the rules of the service were imperative. He fled. I
married her. Here's the coach. That's her head.'

As Mr. Dowler concluded, he pointed to a stage which had
just driven up, from the open window of which a rather pretty
face in a bright blue bonnet was looking among the crowd on the
pavement, most probably for the rash man himself. Mr. Dowler
paid his bill, and hurried out with his travelling cap, coat, and
cloak; and Mr. Pickwick and his friends followed to secure their
places.
Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass had seated themselves at the
back part of the coach; Mr. Winkle had got inside; and Mr.
Pickwick was preparing to follow him, when Sam Weller came
up to his master, and whispering in his ear, begged to speak to
him, with an air of the deepest mystery.

'Well, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'what's the matter now?'

'Here's rayther a rum go, sir,' replied Sam.

'What?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'This here, Sir,' rejoined Sam. 'I'm wery much afeerd, sir, that
the properiator o' this here coach is a playin' some imperence
vith us.'

'How is that, Sam?' said Mr. Pickwick; 'aren't the names down
on the way-bill?'

'The names is not only down on the vay-bill, Sir,' replied Sam,
'but they've painted vun on 'em up, on the door o' the coach.'
As Sam spoke, he pointed to that part of the coach door on
which the proprietor's name usually appears; and there, sure
enough, in gilt letters of a goodly size, was the magic name of
PICKWICK!

'Dear me,' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, quite staggered by the
coincidence; 'what a very extraordinary thing!'

'Yes, but that ain't all,' said Sam, again directing his master's
attention to the coach door; 'not content vith writin' up "Pick-
wick," they puts "Moses" afore it, vich I call addin' insult to
injury, as the parrot said ven they not only took him from his
native land, but made him talk the English langwidge arterwards.'

'It's odd enough, certainly, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'but if
we stand talking here, we shall lose our places.'

'Wot, ain't nothin' to be done in consequence, sir?' exclaimed
Sam, perfectly aghast at the coolness with which Mr. Pickwick
prepared to ensconce himself inside.

'Done!' said Mr. Pickwick. 'What should be done?'
'Ain't nobody to be whopped for takin' this here liberty, sir?'
said Mr. Weller, who had expected that at least he would have
been commissioned to challenge the guard and the coachman to
a pugilistic encounter on the spot.

'Certainly not,' replied Mr. Pickwick eagerly; 'not on any
account. Jump up to your seat directly.'

'I am wery much afeered,' muttered Sam to himself, as he
turned away, 'that somethin' queer's come over the governor, or
he'd never ha' stood this so quiet. I hope that 'ere trial hasn't
broke his spirit, but it looks bad, wery bad.'  Mr. Weller shook
his head gravely; and it is worthy of remark, as an illustration
of the manner in which he took this circumstance to heart,
that he did not speak another word until the coach reached
the Kensington turnpike. Which was so long a time for him to
remain taciturn, that the fact may be considered wholly unprecedented.

Nothing worthy of special mention occurred during the
journey. Mr. Dowler related a variety of anecdotes, all illustrative
of his own personal prowess and desperation, and appealed to
Mrs. Dowler in corroboration thereof; when Mrs. Dowler
invariably brought in, in the form of an appendix, some remarkable
fact or circumstance which Mr. Dowler had forgotten, or
had perhaps through modesty, omitted; for the addenda in every
instance went to show that Mr. Dowler was even a more wonderful
fellow than he made himself out to be. Mr. Pickwick and
Mr. Winkle listened with great admiration, and at intervals
conversed with Mrs. Dowler, who was a very agreeable and
fascinating person. So, what between Mr. Dowler's stories, and
Mrs. Dowler's charms, and Mr. Pickwick's good-humour, and
Mr. Winkle's good listening, the insides contrived to be very
companionable all the way.
The outsides did as outsides always do. They were very cheerful
and talkative at the beginning of every stage, and very dismal and
sleepy in the middle, and very bright and wakeful again towards
the end. There was one young gentleman in an India-rubber
cloak, who smoked cigars all day; and there was another young
gentleman in a parody upon a greatcoat, who lighted a good many,
and feeling obviously unsettled after the second whiff, threw them
away when he thought nobody was looking at him. There was a
third young man on the box who wished to be learned in cattle;
and an old one behind, who was familiar with farming. There
was a constant succession of Christian names in smock-frocks
and white coats, who were invited to have a 'lift' by the guard,
and who knew every horse and hostler on the road and off it;
and there was a dinner which would have been cheap at half-a-
crown a mouth, if any moderate number of mouths could have
eaten it in the time. And at seven o'clock P.m. Mr. Pickwick and
his friends, and Mr. Dowler and his wife, respectively retired to
their private sitting-rooms at the White Hart Hotel, opposite the
Great Pump Room, Bath, where the waiters, from their costume,
might be mistaken for Westminster boys, only they destroy the
illusion by behaving themselves much better.
Breakfast had scarcely been cleared away on the succeeding
morning, when a waiter brought in Mr. Dowler's card, with a
request to be allowed permission to introduce a friend. Mr.
Dowler at once followed up the delivery of the card, by bringing
himself and the friend also.

The friend was a charming young man of not much more than
fifty, dressed in a very bright blue coat with resplendent buttons,
black trousers, and the thinnest possible pair of highly-polished
boots. A gold eye-glass was suspended from his neck by a short,
broad, black ribbon; a gold snuff-box was lightly clasped in his
left hand; gold rings innumerable glittered on his fingers; and
a large diamond pin set in gold glistened in his shirt frill. He
had a gold watch, and a gold curb chain with large gold seals;
and he carried a pliant ebony cane with a gold top. His linen was
of the very whitest, finest, and stiffest; his wig of the glossiest,
blackest, and curliest. His snuff was princes' mixture; his scent
BOUQUET DU ROI. His features were contracted into a perpetual
smile; and his teeth were in such perfect order that it was difficult
at a small distance to tell the real from the false.

'Mr. Pickwick,' said Mr. Dowler; 'my friend, Angelo Cyrus
Bantam, Esquire, M.C.; Bantam; Mr. Pickwick. Know each other.'

'Welcome to Ba-ath, Sir. This is indeed an acquisition. Most
welcome to Ba-ath, sir. It is long--very long, Mr. Pickwick,
since you drank the waters. It appears an age, Mr. Pickwick.
Re-markable!'

Such were the expressions with which Angelo Cyrus Bantam,
Esquire, M.C., took Mr. Pickwick's hand; retaining it in his,
meantime, and shrugging up his shoulders with a constant
succession of bows, as if he really could not make up his mind to
the trial of letting it go again.

'It is a very long time since I drank the waters, certainly,'
replied Mr. Pickwick; 'for, to the best of my knowledge, I was
never here before.'

'Never in Ba-ath, Mr. Pickwick!' exclaimed the Grand
Master, letting the hand fall in astonishment. 'Never in Ba-ath!
He! he! Mr. Pickwick, you are a wag. Not bad, not bad. Good,
good. He! he! he! Re-markable!'

'To my shame, I must say that I am perfectly serious,' rejoined
Mr. Pickwick. 'I really never was here before.'

'Oh, I see,' exclaimed the Grand Master, looking extremely
pleased; 'yes, yes--good, good--better and better. You are the
gentleman of whom we have heard. Yes; we know you, Mr.
Pickwick; we know you.'

'The reports of the trial in those confounded papers,' thought
Mr. Pickwick. 'They have heard all about me.'
'You are the gentleman residing on Clapham Green,' resumed
Bantam, 'who lost the use of his limbs from imprudently taking
cold after port wine; who could not be moved in consequence of
acute suffering, and who had the water from the king's bath
bottled at one hundred and three degrees, and sent by wagon to
his bedroom in town, where he bathed, sneezed, and the same day
recovered. Very remarkable!'

Mr. Pickwick acknowledged the compliment which the supposition
implied, but had the self-denial to repudiate it, notwithstanding;
and taking advantage of a moment's silence on the part
of the M.C., begged to introduce his friends, Mr. Tupman,
Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass. An introduction which overwhelmed
the M.C. with delight and honour.

'Bantam,' said Mr. Dowler, 'Mr. Pickwick and his friends are
strangers. They must put their names down. Where's the book?'

'The register of the distinguished visitors in Ba-ath will be at
the Pump Room this morning at two o'clock,' replied the M.C.
'Will you guide our friends to that splendid building, and enable
me to procure their autographs?'

'I will,' rejoined Dowler. 'This is a long call. It's time to go. I
shall be here again in an hour. Come.'

'This is a ball-night,' said the M.C., again taking Mr. Pickwick's
hand, as he rose to go. 'The ball-nights in Ba-ath are moments
snatched from paradise; rendered bewitching by music, beauty,
elegance, fashion, etiquette, and--and--above all, by the absence
of tradespeople, who are quite inconsistent with paradise, and
who have an amalgamation of themselves at the Guildhall every
fortnight, which is, to say the least, remarkable. Good-bye,
good-bye!' and protesting all the way downstairs that he was
most satisfied, and most delighted, and most overpowered,
and most flattered, Angelo Cyrus Bantam, Esquire, M.C.,
stepped into a very elegant chariot that waited at the door, and
rattled off.

At the appointed hour, Mr. Pickwick and his friends, escorted
by Dowler, repaired to the Assembly Rooms, and wrote their
names down in the book--an instance of condescension at which
Angelo Bantam was even more overpowered than before. Tickets
of admission to that evening's assembly were to have been
prepared for the whole party, but as they were not ready, Mr.
Pickwick undertook, despite all the protestations to the contrary
of Angelo Bantam, to send Sam for them at four o'clock in
the afternoon, to the M.C.'s house in Queen Square. Having
taken a short walk through the city, and arrived at the unanimous
conclusion that Park Street was very much like the
perpendicular streets a man sees in a dream, which he cannot
get up for the life of him, they returned to the White Hart, and
despatched Sam on the errand to which his master had pledged him.

Sam Weller put on his hat in a very easy and graceful manner,
and, thrusting his hands in his waistcoat pockets, walked with
great deliberation to Queen Square, whistling as he went along,
several of the most popular airs of the day, as arranged with
entirely new movements for that noble instrument the organ,
either mouth or barrel. Arriving at the number in Queen Square
to which he had been directed, he left off whistling and gave a
cheerful knock, which was instantaneously answered by a
powdered-headed footman in gorgeous livery, and of symmetrical
stature.

'is this here Mr. Bantam's, old feller?' inquired Sam Weller,
nothing abashed by the blaze of splendour which burst upon his
sight in the person of the powdered-headed footman with the
gorgeous livery.

'Why, young man?' was the haughty inquiry of the powdered-
headed footman.

''Cos if it is, jist you step in to him with that 'ere card, and say
Mr. Veller's a-waitin', will you?' said Sam. And saying it, he very
coolly walked into the hall, and sat down.

The powdered-headed footman slammed the door very hard,
and scowled very grandly; but both the slam and the scowl were
lost upon Sam, who was regarding a mahogany umbrella-stand
with every outward token of critical approval.

Apparently his master's reception of the card had impressed
the powdered-headed footman in Sam's favour, for when he
came back from delivering it, he smiled in a friendly manner, and
said that the answer would be ready directly.

'Wery good,' said Sam. 'Tell the old gen'l'm'n not to put
himself in a perspiration. No hurry, six-foot. I've had my dinner.'

'You dine early, sir,' said the powdered-headed footman.

'I find I gets on better at supper when I does,' replied Sam.

'Have you been long in Bath, sir?' inquired the powdered-
headed footman. 'I have not had the pleasure of hearing of you before.'

'I haven't created any wery surprisin' sensation here, as yet,'
rejoined Sam, 'for me and the other fash'nables only come last night.'

'Nice place, Sir,' said the powdered-headed footman.

'Seems so,' observed Sam.

'Pleasant society, sir,' remarked the powdered-headed footman.
'Very agreeable servants, sir.'

'I should think they wos,' replied Sam. 'Affable, unaffected,
say-nothin'-to-nobody sorts o' fellers.'

'Oh, very much so, indeed, sir,' said the powdered-headed
footman, taking Sam's remarks as a high compliment. 'Very
much so indeed. Do you do anything in this way, Sir?' inquired
the tall footman, producing a small snuff-box with a fox's head
on the top of it.

'Not without sneezing,' replied Sam.

'Why, it IS difficult, sir, I confess,' said the tall footman. 'It
may be done by degrees, Sir. Coffee is the best practice. I carried
coffee, Sir, for a long time. It looks very like rappee, sir.'

Here, a sharp peal at the bell reduced the powdered-headed
footman to the ignominious necessity of putting the fox's head
in his pocket, and hastening with a humble countenance to
Mr. Bantam's 'study.'  By the bye, who ever knew a man who
never read or wrote either, who hadn't got some small back
parlour which he WOULD call a study!

'There is the answer, sir,' said the powdered-headed footman.
'I'm afraid you'll find it inconveniently large.'

'Don't mention it,' said Sam, taking a letter with a small
enclosure. 'It's just possible as exhausted natur' may manage to
surwive it.'

'I hope we shall meet again, Sir,' said the powdered-headed
footman, rubbing his hands, and following Sam out to the door-step.

'You are wery obligin', sir,' replied Sam. 'Now, don't allow
yourself to be fatigued beyond your powers; there's a amiable
bein'. Consider what you owe to society, and don't let yourself be
injured by too much work. For the sake o' your feller-creeturs,
keep yourself as quiet as you can; only think what a loss you
would be!' With these pathetic words, Sam Weller departed.

'A very singular young man that,' said the powdered-headed
footman, looking after Mr. Weller, with a countenance which
clearly showed he could make nothing of him.

Sam said nothing at all. He winked, shook his head, smiled,
winked again; and, with an expression of countenance which
seemed to denote that he was greatly amused with something or
other, walked merrily away.

At precisely twenty minutes before eight o'clock that night,
Angelo Cyrus Bantam, Esq., the Master of the Ceremonies,
emerged from his chariot at the door of the Assembly Rooms in
the same wig, the same teeth, the same eye-glass, the same watch
and seals, the same rings, the same shirt-pin, and the same cane.
The only observable alterations in his appearance were, that he
wore a brighter blue coat, with a white silk lining, black tights,
black silk stockings, and pumps, and a white waistcoat, and was,
if possible, just a thought more scented.

Thus attired, the Master of the Ceremonies, in strict discharge
of the important duties of his all-important office, planted
himself in the room to receive the company.

Bath being full, the company, and the sixpences for tea,
poured in, in shoals. In the ballroom, the long card-room, the
octagonal card-room, the staircases, and the passages, the hum
of many voices, and the sound of many feet, were perfectly
bewildering. Dresses rustled, feathers waved, lights shone, and
jewels sparkled. There was the music--not of the quadrille band,
for it had not yet commenced; but the music of soft, tiny footsteps,
with now and then a clear, merry laugh--low and gentle,
but very pleasant to hear in a female voice, whether in Bath or
elsewhere. Brilliant eyes, lighted up with pleasurable expectation,
gleamed from every side; and, look where you would, some
exquisite form glided gracefully through the throng, and was no
sooner lost, than it was replaced by another as dainty and bewitching.

In the tea-room, and hovering round the card-tables, were a
vast number of queer old ladies, and decrepit old gentlemen,
discussing all the small talk and scandal of the day, with a relish
and gusto which sufficiently bespoke the intensity of the pleasure
they derived from the occupation. Mingled with these groups,
were three or four match-making mammas, appearing to be
wholly absorbed by the conversation in which they were taking
part, but failing not from time to time to cast an anxious sidelong
glance upon their daughters, who, remembering the maternal
injunction to make the best use of their youth, had already
commenced incipient flirtations in the mislaying scarves, putting
on gloves, setting down cups, and so forth; slight matters apparently,
but which may be turned to surprisingly good account by
expert practitioners.

Lounging near the doors, and in remote corners, were various
knots of silly young men, displaying various varieties of puppyism
and stupidity; amusing all sensible people near them with their
folly and conceit; and happily thinking themselves the objects of
general admiration--a wise and merciful dispensation which no
good man will quarrel with.

And lastly, seated on some of the back benches, where they had
already taken up their positions for the evening, were divers
unmarried ladies past their grand climacteric, who, not dancing
because there were no partners for them, and not playing cards
lest they should be set down as irretrievably single, were in the
favourable situation of being able to abuse everybody without
reflecting on themselves. In short, they could abuse everybody,
because everybody was there. It was a scene of gaiety, glitter, and
show; of richly-dressed people, handsome mirrors, chalked
floors, girandoles and wax-candles; and in all parts of the scene,
gliding from spot to spot in silent softness, bowing obsequiously
to this party, nodding familiarly to that, and smiling complacently
on all, was the sprucely-attired person of Angelo Cyrus Bantam,
Esquire, the Master of the Ceremonies.

'Stop in the tea-room. Take your sixpenn'orth. Then lay on hot
water, and call it tea. Drink it,' said Mr. Dowler, in a loud voice,
directing Mr. Pickwick, who advanced at the head of the little
party, with Mrs. Dowler on his arm. Into the tea-room Mr.
Pickwick turned; and catching sight of him, Mr. Bantam corkscrewed
his way through the crowd and welcomed him with ecstasy.

'My dear Sir, I am highly honoured. Ba-ath is favoured.
Mrs. Dowler, you embellish the rooms. I congratulate you on
your feathers. Re-markable!'

'Anybody here?' inquired Dowler suspiciously.

'Anybody! The ELITE of Ba-ath. Mr. Pickwick, do you see the
old lady in the gauze turban?'

'The fat old lady?' inquired Mr. Pickwick innocently.

'Hush, my dear sir--nobody's fat or old in Ba-ath. That's the
Dowager Lady Snuphanuph.'

'Is it, indeed?' said Mr. Pickwick.

'No less a person, I assure you,' said the Master of the Ceremonies.
'Hush. Draw a little nearer, Mr. Pickwick. You see the
splendidly-dressed young man coming this way?'

'The one with the long hair, and the particularly small forehead?'
inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'The same. The richest young man in Ba-ath at this moment.
Young Lord Mutanhed.'

'You don't say so?' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Yes. You'll hear his voice in a moment, Mr. Pickwick. He'll
speak to me. The other gentleman with him, in the red under-
waistcoat and dark moustache, is the Honourable Mr. Crushton,
his bosom friend. How do you do, my Lord?'

'Veway hot, Bantam,' said his Lordship.

'It IS very warm, my Lord,' replied the M.C.

'Confounded,' assented the Honourable Mr. Crushton.

'Have you seen his Lordship's mail-cart, Bantam?' inquired the
Honourable Mr. Crushton, after a short pause, during which
young Lord Mutanhed had been endeavouring to stare Mr.
Pickwick out of countenance, and Mr. Crushton had been
reflecting what subject his Lordship could talk about best.

'Dear me, no,' replied the M.C.'A mail-cart! What an excellent
idea. Re-markable!'

'Gwacious heavens!' said his Lordship, 'I thought evewebody
had seen the new mail-cart; it's the neatest, pwettiest, gwacefullest
thing that ever wan upon wheels. Painted wed, with a
cweam piebald.'

'With a real box for the letters, and all complete,' said the
Honourable Mr. Crushton.

'And a little seat in fwont, with an iwon wail, for the dwiver,'
added his Lordship. 'I dwove it over to Bwistol the other
morning, in a cwimson coat, with two servants widing a quarter
of a mile behind; and confound me if the people didn't wush out
of their cottages, and awest my pwogwess, to know if I wasn't
the post. Glorwious--glorwious!'

At this anecdote his Lordship laughed very heartily, as did the
listeners, of course. Then, drawing his arm through that of the
obsequious Mr. Crushton, Lord Mutanhed walked away.

'Delightful young man, his Lordship,' said the Master of
the Ceremonies.

'So I should think,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick drily.

The dancing having commenced, the necessary introductions
having been made, and all preliminaries arranged, Angelo
Bantam rejoined Mr. Pickwick, and led him into the card-room.

Just at the very moment of their entrance, the Dowager Lady
Snuphanuph and two other ladies of an ancient and whist-like
appearance, were hovering over an unoccupied card-table; and
they no sooner set eyes upon Mr. Pickwick under the convoy of
Angelo Bantam, than they exchanged glances with each other,
seeing that he was precisely the very person they wanted, to make
up the rubber.

'My dear Bantam,' said the Dowager Lady Snuphanuph
coaxingly, 'find us some nice creature to make up this table;
there's a good soul.'  Mr. Pickwick happened to be looking
another way at the moment, so her Ladyship nodded her head
towards him, and frowned expressively.

'My friend Mr. Pickwick, my Lady, will be most happy, I am
sure, remarkably so,' said the M.C., taking the hint. 'Mr. Pickwick,
Lady Snuphanuph--Mrs. Colonel Wugsby--Miss Bolo.'

Mr. Pickwick bowed to each of the ladies, and, finding escape
impossible, cut. Mr. Pickwick and Miss Bolo against Lady
Snuphanuph and Mrs. Colonel Wugsby.
As the trump card was turned up, at the commencement of the
second deal, two young ladies hurried into the room, and took
their stations on either side of Mrs. Colonel Wugsby's chair,
where they waited patiently until the hand was over.

'Now, Jane,' said Mrs. Colonel Wugsby, turning to one of the
girls, 'what is it?'
'I came to ask, ma, whether I might dance with the youngest
Mr. Crawley,' whispered the prettier and younger of the two.

'Good God, Jane, how can you think of such things?' replied
the mamma indignantly. 'Haven't you repeatedly heard that his
father has eight hundred a year, which dies with him? I am
ashamed of you. Not on any account.'

'Ma,' whispered the other, who was much older than her sister,
and very insipid and artificial, 'Lord Mutanhed has been introduced
to me. I said I thought I wasn't engaged, ma.'

'You're a sweet pet, my love,' replied Mrs. Colonel Wugsby,
tapping her daughter's cheek with her fan, 'and are always to be
trusted. He's immensely rich, my dear. Bless you!' With these
words Mrs. Colonel Wugsby kissed her eldest daughter most
affectionately, and frowning in a warning manner upon the other,
sorted her cards.

Poor Mr. Pickwick! he had never played with three thorough-
paced female card-players before. They were so desperately sharp,
that they quite frightened him. If he played a wrong card, Miss
Bolo looked a small armoury of daggers; if he stopped to consider
which was the right one, Lady Snuphanuph would throw
herself back in her chair, and smile with a mingled glance of
impatience and pity to Mrs. Colonel Wugsby, at which Mrs.
Colonel Wugsby would shrug up her shoulders, and cough, as
much as to say she wondered whether he ever would begin.
Then, at the end of every hand, Miss Bolo would inquire with a
dismal countenance and reproachful sigh, why Mr. Pickwick had
not returned that diamond, or led the club, or roughed the spade,
or finessed the heart, or led through the honour, or brought out
the ace, or played up to the king, or some such thing; and in
reply to all these grave charges, Mr. Pickwick would be wholly
unable to plead any justification whatever, having by this time
forgotten all about the game. People came and looked on, too,
which made Mr. Pickwick nervous. Besides all this, there was a
great deal of distracting conversation near the table, between
Angelo Bantam and the two Misses Matinter, who, being single
and singular, paid great court to the Master of the Ceremonies, in
the hope of getting a stray partner now and then. All these things,
combined with the noises and interruptions of constant comings
in and goings out, made Mr. Pickwick play rather badly; the
cards were against him, also; and when they left off at ten minutes
past eleven, Miss Bolo rose from the table considerably agitated,
and went straight home, in a flood of tears and a sedan-chair.

Being joined by his friends, who one and all protested that they
had scarcely ever spent a more pleasant evening, Mr. Pickwick
accompanied them to the White Hart, and having soothed his
feelings with something hot, went to bed, and to sleep, almost
simultaneously.

CHAPTER XXXVI
THE CHIEF FEATURES OF WHICH WILL BE FOUND TO BE
  AN AUTHENTIC VERSION OF THE LEGEND OF PRINCE
  BLADUD, AND A MOST EXTRAORDINARY CALAMITY THAT
  BEFELL Mr. WINKLE

As Mr. Pickwick contemplated a stay of at least two months in
Bath, he deemed it advisable to take private lodgings for himself
and friends for that period; and as a favourable opportunity
offered for their securing, on moderate terms, the upper portion
of a house in the Royal Crescent, which was larger than they
required, Mr. and Mrs. Dowler offered to relieve them of a
bedroom and sitting-room. This proposition was at once
accepted, and in three days' time they were all located in their
new abode, when Mr. Pickwick began to drink the waters with the
utmost assiduity. Mr. Pickwick took them systematically. He
drank a quarter of a pint before breakfast, and then walked up a
hill; and another quarter of a pint after breakfast, and then
walked down a hill; and, after every fresh quarter of a pint,
Mr. Pickwick declared, in the most solemn and emphatic terms,
that he felt a great deal better; whereat his friends were very
much delighted, though they had not been previously aware that
there was anything the matter with him.

The Great Pump Room is a spacious saloon, ornamented with
Corinthian pillars, and a music-gallery, and a Tompion clock,
and a statue of Nash, and a golden inscription, to which all the
water-drinkers should attend, for it appeals to them in the cause
of a deserving charity. There is a large bar with a marble vase,
out of which the pumper gets the water; and there are a number
of yellow-looking tumblers, out of which the company get it;
and it is a most edifying and satisfactory sight to behold the
perseverance and gravity with which they swallow it. There are
baths near at hand, in which a part of the company wash themselves;
and a band plays afterwards, to congratulate the remainder
on their having done so. There is another pump room, into which
infirm ladies and gentlemen are wheeled, in such an astonishing
variety of chairs and chaises, that any adventurous individual
who goes in with the regular number of toes, is in imminent danger
of coming out without them; and there is a third, into which the quiet
people go, for it is less noisy than either. There is an immensity of
promenading, on crutches and off, with sticks and without, and a
great deal of conversation, and liveliness, and pleasantry.

Every morning, the regular water-drinkers, Mr. Pickwick
among the number, met each other in the pump room, took their
quarter of a pint, and walked constitutionally. At the afternoon's
promenade, Lord Mutanhed, and the Honourable Mr. Crushton,
the Dowager Lady Snuphanuph, Mrs. Colonel Wugsby, and
all the great people, and all the morning water-drinkers, met in
grand assemblage. After this, they walked out, or drove out, or
were pushed out in bath-chairs, and met one another again. After
this, the gentlemen went to the reading-rooms, and met divisions
of the mass. After this, they went home. If it were theatre-night,
perhaps they met at the theatre; if it were assembly-night, they
met at the rooms; and if it were neither, they met the next day.
A very pleasant routine, with perhaps a slight tinge of sameness.

Mr. Pickwick was sitting up by himself, after a day spent in
this manner, making entries in his journal, his friends having
retired to bed, when he was roused by a gentle tap at the room door.

'Beg your pardon, Sir,' said Mrs. Craddock, the landlady,
peeping in; 'but did you want anything more, sir?'

'Nothing more, ma'am,' replied Mr. Pickwick.

'My young girl is gone to bed, Sir,' said Mrs. Craddock; 'and
Mr. Dowler is good enough to say that he'll sit up for Mrs.
Dowler, as the party isn't expected to be over till late; so I was
thinking that if you wanted nothing more, Mr. Pickwick, I
would go to bed.'

'By all means, ma'am,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
'Wish you good-night, Sir,' said Mrs. Craddock.

'Good-night, ma'am,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick.

Mrs. Craddock closed the door, and Mr. Pickwick resumed his writing.

In half an hour's time the entries were concluded. Mr. Pickwick
carefully rubbed the last page on the blotting-paper, shut up the
book, wiped his pen on the bottom of the inside of his coat tail,
and opened the drawer of the inkstand to put it carefully away.
There were a couple of sheets of writing-paper, pretty closely
written over, in the inkstand drawer, and they were folded so,
that the title, which was in a good round hand, was fully disclosed
to him. Seeing from this, that it was no private document;
and as it seemed to relate to Bath, and was very short: Mr. Pick-
wick unfolded it, lighted his bedroom candle that it might burn
up well by the time he finished; and drawing his chair nearer the
fire, read as follows--

  THE TRUE LEGEND OF PRINCE BLADUD

'Less than two hundred years ago, on one of the public baths
in this city, there appeared an inscription in honour of its mighty
founder, the renowned Prince Bladud. That inscription is now erased.

'For many hundred years before that time, there had been
handed down, from age to age, an old legend, that the illustrious
prince being afflicted with leprosy, on his return from reaping a
rich harvest of knowledge in Athens, shunned the court of his
royal father, and consorted moodily with husbandman and pigs.
Among the herd (so said the legend) was a pig of grave and
solemn countenance, with whom the prince had a fellow-feeling
--for he too was wise--a pig of thoughtful and reserved demeanour;
an animal superior to his fellows, whose grunt was
terrible, and whose bite was sharp. The young prince sighed
deeply as he looked upon the countenance of the majestic swine;
he thought of his royal father, and his eyes were bedewed with tears.

'This sagacious pig was fond of bathing in rich, moist mud.
Not in summer, as common pigs do now, to cool themselves,
and did even in those distant ages (which is a proof that the light
of civilisation had already begun to dawn, though feebly), but in
the cold, sharp days of winter. His coat was ever so sleek, and
his complexion so clear, that the prince resolved to essay the
purifying qualities of the same water that his friend resorted to.
He made the trial. Beneath that black mud, bubbled the hot
springs of Bath. He washed, and was cured. Hastening to his
father's court, he paid his best respects, and returning quickly
hither, founded this city and its famous baths.

'He sought the pig with all the ardour of their early friendship
--but, alas! the waters had been his death. He had imprudently
taken a bath at too high a temperature, and the natural philosopher
was no more! He was succeeded by Pliny, who also fell a
victim to his thirst for knowledge.

'This was the legend. Listen to the true one.

'A great many centuries since, there flourished, in great state,
the famous and renowned Lud Hudibras, king of Britain. He was
a mighty monarch. The earth shook when he walked--he was so
very stout. His people basked in the light of his countenance--it
was so red and glowing. He was, indeed, every inch a king. And
there were a good many inches of him, too, for although he was
not very tall, he was a remarkable size round, and the inches that
he wanted in height, he made up in circumference. If any
degenerate monarch of modern times could be in any way compared
with him, I should say the venerable King Cole would be
that illustrious potentate.

'This good king had a queen, who eighteen years before, had
had a son, who was called Bladud. He was sent to a preparatory
seminary in his father's dominions until he was ten years old, and
was then despatched, in charge of a trusty messenger, to a
finishing school at Athens; and as there was no extra charge for
remaining during the holidays, and no notice required previous
to the removal of a pupil, there he remained for eight long years,
at the expiration of which time, the king his father sent the lord
chamberlain over, to settle the bill, and to bring him home;
which, the lord chamberlain doing, was received with shouts, and
pensioned immediately.

'When King Lud saw the prince his son, and found he had
grown up such a fine young man, he perceived what a grand
thing it would be to have him married without delay, so that his
children might be the means of perpetuating the glorious race of
Lud, down to the very latest ages of the world. With this view,
he sent a special embassy, composed of great noblemen who had
nothing particular to do, and wanted lucrative employment, to a
neighbouring king, and demanded his fair daughter in marriage
for his son; stating at the same time that he was anxious to be on
the most affectionate terms with his brother and friend, but that
if they couldn't agree in arranging this marriage, he should be
under the unpleasant necessity of invading his kingdom and
putting his eyes out. To this, the other king (who was the weaker
of the two) replied that he was very much obliged to his friend
and brother for all his goodness and magnanimity, and that his
daughter was quite ready to be married, whenever Prince Bladud
liked to come and fetch her.

'This answer no sooner reached Britain, than the whole nation
was transported with joy. Nothing was heard, on all sides, but
the sounds of feasting and revelry--except the chinking of money
as it was paid in by the people to the collector of the royal
treasures, to defray the expenses of the happy ceremony. It was
upon this occasion that King Lud, seated on the top of his throne
in full council, rose, in the exuberance of his feelings, and commanded
the lord chief justice to order in the richest wines and
the court minstrels--an act of graciousness which has been,
through the ignorance of traditionary historians, attributed to
King Cole, in those celebrated lines in which his Majesty is
represented as

     Calling for his pipe, and calling for his pot,
     And calling for his fiddlers three.

Which is an obvious injustice to the memory of King Lud, and
a dishonest exaltation of the virtues of King Cole.

'But, in the midst of all this festivity and rejoicing, there was
one individual present, who tasted not when the sparkling wines
were poured forth, and who danced not, when the minstrels
played. This was no other than Prince Bladud himself, in honour
of whose happiness a whole people were, at that very moment,
straining alike their throats and purse-strings. The truth was,
that the prince, forgetting the undoubted right of the minister for
foreign affairs to fall in love on his behalf, had, contrary to every
precedent of policy and diplomacy, already fallen in love on his
own account, and privately contracted himself unto the fair
daughter of a noble Athenian.

'Here we have a striking example of one of the manifold
advantages of civilisation and refinement. If the prince had lived
in later days, he might at once have married the object of his
father's choice, and then set himself seriously to work, to relieve
himself of the burden which rested heavily upon him. He might have
endeavoured to break her heart by a systematic course of insult and
neglect; or, if the spirit of her sex, and a proud consciousness
of her many wrongs had upheld her under this ill-treatment, he
might have sought to take her life, and so get rid of her effectually.
But neither mode of relief suggested itself to Prince Bladud; so he
solicited a private audience, and told his father.

'it is an old prerogative of kings to govern everything but their
passions. King Lud flew into a frightful rage, tossed his crown up
to the ceiling, and caught it again--for in those days kings kept
their crowns on their heads, and not in the Tower--stamped the
ground, rapped his forehead, wondered why his own flesh and
blood rebelled against him, and, finally, calling in his guards,
ordered the prince away to instant Confinement in a lofty turret;
a course of treatment which the kings of old very generally
pursued towards their sons, when their matrimonial inclinations
did not happen to point to the same quarter as their own.

'When Prince Bladud had been shut up in the lofty turret for
the greater part of a year, with no better prospect before his
bodily eyes than a stone wall, or before his mental vision than
prolonged imprisonment, he naturally began to ruminate on a
plan of escape, which, after months of preparation, he managed
to accomplish; considerately leaving his dinner-knife in the heart
of his jailer, lest the poor fellow (who had a family) should be
considered privy to his flight, and punished accordingly by the
infuriated king.

'The monarch was frantic at the loss of his son. He knew not
on whom to vent his grief and wrath, until fortunately bethinking
himself of the lord chamberlain who had brought him home, he
struck off his pension and his head together.

'Meanwhile, the young prince, effectually disguised, wandered
on foot through his father's dominions, cheered and supported
in all his hardships by sweet thoughts of the Athenian maid, who
was the innocent cause of his weary trials. One day he stopped
to rest in a country village; and seeing that there were gay dances
going forward on the green, and gay faces passing to and fro,
ventured to inquire of a reveller who stood near him, the reason
for this rejoicing.

'"Know you not, O stranger," was the reply, "of the recent
proclamation of our gracious king?"

'"Proclamation! No. What proclamation?" rejoined the
prince--for he had travelled along the by and little-frequented
ways, and knew nothing of what had passed upon the public
roads, such as they were.

'"Why," replied the peasant, "the foreign lady that our prince
wished to wed, is married to a foreign noble of her own country,
and the king proclaims the fact, and a great public festival
besides; for now, of course, Prince Bladud will come back and
marry the lady his father chose, who they say is as beautiful as
the noonday sun. Your health, sir. God save the king!"

'The prince remained to hear no more. He fled from the spot,
and plunged into the thickest recesses of a neighbouring wood.
On, on, he wandered, night and day; beneath the blazing sun, and
the cold pale moon; through the dry heat of noon, and the damp
cold of night; in the gray light of morn, and the red glare
of eve. So heedless was he of time or object, that being
bound for Athens, he wandered as far out of his way as Bath.

'There was no city where Bath stands, then. There was no
vestige of human habitation, or sign of man's resort, to bear the
name; but there was the same noble country, the same broad
expanse of hill and dale, the same beautiful channel stealing on,
far away, the same lofty mountains which, like the troubles of
life, viewed at a distance, and partially obscured by the bright
mist of its morning, lose their ruggedness and asperity, and seem
all ease and softness. Moved by the gentle beauty of the scene,
the prince sank upon the green turf, and bathed his swollen feet
in his tears.

'"Oh!" said the unhappy Bladud, clasping his hands, and
mournfully raising his eyes towards the sky, "would that my
wanderings might end here! Would that these grateful tears with
which I now mourn hope misplaced, and love despised, might
flow in peace for ever!"

'The wish was heard. It was in the time of the heathen deities,
who used occasionally to take people at their words, with a
promptness, in some cases, extremely awkward. The ground
opened beneath the prince's feet; he sank into the chasm; and
instantaneously it closed upon his head for ever, save where his
hot tears welled up through the earth, and where they have
continued to gush forth ever since.

'It is observable that, to this day, large numbers of elderly
ladies and gentlemen who have been disappointed in procuring
partners, and almost as many young ones who are anxious to
obtain them, repair annually to Bath to drink the waters, from
which they derive much strength and comfort. This is most
complimentary to the virtue of Prince Bladud's tears, and strongly
corroborative of the veracity of this legend.'

Mr. Pickwick yawned several times when he had arrived at the
end of this little manuscript, carefully refolded, and replaced it in
the inkstand drawer, and then, with a countenance expressive of
the utmost weariness, lighted his chamber candle, and went
upstairs to bed.
He stopped at Mr. Dowler's door, according to custom, and
knocked to say good-night.

'Ah!' said Dowler, 'going to bed? I wish I was. Dismal night.
Windy; isn't it?'

'Very,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Good-night.'

'Good-night.'

Mr. Pickwick went to his bedchamber, and Mr. Dowler
resumed his seat before the fire, in fulfilment of his rash promise
to sit up till his wife came home.

There are few things more worrying than sitting up for somebody,
especially if that somebody be at a party. You cannot help
thinking how quickly the time passes with them, which drags so
heavily with you; and the more you think of this, the more your
hopes of their speedy arrival decline. Clocks tick so loud, too,
when you are sitting up alone, and you seem as if you had an
under-garment of cobwebs on. First, something tickles your
right knee, and then the same sensation irritates your left. You
have no sooner changed your position, than it comes again in the
arms; when you have fidgeted your limbs into all sorts of queer
shapes, you have a sudden relapse in the nose, which you rub as
if to rub it off--as there is no doubt you would, if you could.
Eyes, too, are mere personal inconveniences; and the wick of one
candle gets an inch and a half long, while you are snuffing the
other. These, and various other little nervous annoyances,
render sitting up for a length of time after everybody else has
gone to bed, anything but a cheerful amusement.

This was just Mr. Dowler's opinion, as he sat before the fire,
and felt honestly indignant with all the inhuman people at the
party who were keeping him up. He was not put into better
humour either, by the reflection that he had taken it into his
head, early in the evening, to think he had got an ache there, and
so stopped at home. At length, after several droppings asleep,
and fallings forward towards the bars, and catchings backward
soon enough to prevent being branded in the face, Mr. Dowler
made up his mind that he would throw himself on the bed in the
back room and think--not sleep, of course.

'I'm a heavy sleeper,' said Mr. Dowler, as he flung himself on
the bed. 'I must keep awake. I suppose I shall hear a knock here.
Yes. I thought so. I can hear the watchman. There he goes.
Fainter now, though. A little fainter. He's turning the corner.
Ah!' When Mr. Dowler arrived at this point, he turned the
corner at which he had been long hesitating, and fell fast asleep.

Just as the clock struck three, there was blown into the crescent
a sedan-chair with Mrs. Dowler inside, borne by one short, fat
chairman, and one long, thin one, who had had much ado to
keep their bodies perpendicular: to say nothing of the chair.
But on that high ground, and in the crescent, which the wind
swept round and round as if it were going to tear the paving
stones up, its fury was tremendous. They were very glad to set
the chair down, and give a good round loud double-knock at the
street door.

They waited some time, but nobody came.

'Servants is in the arms o' Porpus, I think,' said the short
chairman, warming his hands at the attendant link-boy's torch.

'I wish he'd give 'em a squeeze and wake 'em,' observed the
long one.

'Knock again, will you, if you please,' cried Mrs. Dowler from
the chair. 'Knock two or three times, if you please.'

The short man was quite willing to get the job over, as soon as
possible; so he stood on the step, and gave four or five most
startling double-knocks, of eight or ten knocks a-piece, while the
long man went into the road, and looked up at the windows for
a light.

Nobody came. It was all as silent and dark as ever.

'Dear me!' said Mrs. Dowler. 'You must knock again, if you
please.'
'There ain't a bell, is there, ma'am?' said the short chairman.

'Yes, there is,' interposed the link-boy, 'I've been a-ringing at
it ever so long.'

'It's only a handle,' said Mrs. Dowler, 'the wire's broken.'

'I wish the servants' heads wos,' growled the long man.

'I must trouble you to knock again, if you please,' said Mrs.
Dowler, with the utmost politeness.

The short man did knock again several times, without producing
the smallest effect. The tall man, growing very impatient,
then relieved him, and kept on perpetually knocking double-
knocks of two loud knocks each, like an insane postman.

At length Mr. Winkle began to dream that he was at a club,
and that the members being very refractory, the chairman was
obliged to hammer the table a good deal to preserve order; then
he had a confused notion of an auction room where there were
no bidders, and the auctioneer was buying everything in; and
ultimately he began to think it just within the bounds of possibility
that somebody might be knocking at the street door. To
make quite certain, however, he remained quiet in bed for ten
minutes or so, and listened; and when he had counted two or
three-and-thirty knocks, he felt quite satisfied, and gave himself a
great deal of credit for being so wakeful.

'Rap rap-rap rap-rap rap-ra, ra, ra, ra, ra, rap!' went the knocker.

Mr. Winkle jumped out of bed, wondering very much what
could possibly be the matter, and hastily putting on his stockings
and slippers, folded his dressing-gown round him, lighted a flat
candle from the rush-light that was burning in the fireplace, and
hurried downstairs.

'Here's somebody comin' at last, ma'am,' said the
short chairman.

'I wish I wos behind him vith a bradawl,' muttered the long one.

'Who's there?' cried Mr. Winkle, undoing the chain.

'Don't stop to ask questions, cast-iron head,' replied the long
man, with great disgust, taking it for granted that the inquirer was
a footman; 'but open the door.'

'Come, look sharp, timber eyelids,' added the other encouragingly.

Mr. Winkle, being half asleep, obeyed the command mechanically,
opened the door a little, and peeped out. The first thing he
saw, was the red glare of the link-boy's torch. Startled by the
sudden fear that the house might be on fire, he hastily threw the
door wide open, and holding the candle above his head, stared
eagerly before him, not quite certain whether what he saw was a
sedan-chair or a fire-engine. At this instant there came a violent
gust of wind; the light was blown out; Mr. Winkle felt himself
irresistibly impelled on to the steps; and the door blew to, with
a loud crash.

'Well, young man, now you HAVE done it!' said the short chairman.

Mr. Winkle, catching sight of a lady's face at the window of
the sedan, turned hastily round, plied the knocker with all his
might and main, and called frantically upon the chairman to
take the chair away again.

'Take it away, take it away,' cried Mr. Winkle. 'Here's somebody
coming out of another house; put me into the chair. Hide
me! Do something with me!'

All this time he was shivering with cold; and every time he
raised his hand to the knocker, the wind took the dressing-gown
in a most unpleasant manner.

'The people are coming down the crescent now. There are
ladies with 'em; cover me up with something. Stand before me!'
roared Mr. Winkle. But the chairmen were too much exhausted
with laughing to afford him the slightest assistance, and the ladies
were every moment approaching nearer and nearer.
Mr. Winkle gave a last hopeless knock; the ladies were only a
few doors off. He threw away the extinguished candle, which, all
this time he had held above his head, and fairly bolted into the
sedan-chair where Mrs. Dowler was.

Now, Mrs. Craddock had heard the knocking and the voices
at last; and, only waiting to put something smarter on her head
than her nightcap, ran down into the front drawing-room to make
sure that it was the right party. Throwing up the window-sash
as Mr. Winkle was rushing into the chair, she no sooner caught
sight of what was going forward below, than she raised a vehement
and dismal shriek, and implored Mr. Dowler to get up
directly, for his wife was running away with another gentleman.

Upon this, Mr. Dowler bounced off the bed as abruptly as an
India-rubber ball, and rushing into the front room, arrived at one
window just as Mr. Pickwick threw up the other, when the first
object that met the gaze of both, was Mr. Winkle bolting into the
sedan-chair.

'Watchman,' shouted Dowler furiously, 'stop him--hold him
--keep him tight--shut him in, till I come down. I'll cut his
throat--give me a knife--from ear to ear, Mrs. Craddock--I
will!' And breaking from the shrieking landlady, and from Mr.
Pickwick, the indignant husband seized a small supper-knife, and
tore into the street.
But Mr. Winkle didn't wait for him. He no sooner heard the
horrible threat of the valorous Dowler, than he bounced out of
the sedan, quite as quickly as he had bounced in, and throwing
off his slippers into the road, took to his heels and tore round the
crescent, hotly pursued by Dowler and the watchman. He kept
ahead; the door was open as he came round the second time; he
rushed in, slammed it in Dowler's face, mounted to his bedroom,
locked the door, piled a wash-hand-stand, chest of drawers, and a
table against it, and packed up a few necessaries ready for flight
with the first ray of morning.

Dowler came up to the outside of the door; avowed, through
the keyhole, his steadfast determination of cutting Mr. Winkle's
throat next day; and, after a great confusion of voices in the
drawing-room, amidst which that of Mr. Pickwick was distinctly
heard endeavouring to make peace, the inmates dispersed to their
several bed-chambers, and all was quiet once more.

It is not unlikely that the inquiry may be made, where Mr.
Weller was, all this time? We will state where he was, in the next
chapter.

CHAPTER XXXVII
HONOURABLY ACCOUNTS FOR Mr. WELLER'S ABSENCE,
  BY DESCRIBING A SOIREE TO WHICH HE WAS INVITED
  AND WENT; ALSO RELATES HOW HE WAS ENTRUSTED BY
  Mr. PICKWICK WITH A PRIVATE MISSION OF DELICACY
  AND IMPORTANCE

'Mr. Weller,' said Mrs. Craddock, upon the morning of this very
eventful day, 'here's a letter for you.'

'Wery odd that,' said Sam; 'I'm afeerd there must be somethin'
the matter, for I don't recollect any gen'l'm'n in my circle of
acquaintance as is capable o' writin' one.'

'Perhaps something uncommon has taken place,' observed
Mrs. Craddock.

'It must be somethin' wery uncommon indeed, as could
perduce a letter out o' any friend o' mine,' replied Sam, shaking
his head dubiously; 'nothin' less than a nat'ral conwulsion, as the
young gen'l'm'n observed ven he wos took with fits. It can't be
from the gov'ner,' said Sam, looking at the direction. 'He always
prints, I know, 'cos he learnt writin' from the large bills in the
booking-offices. It's a wery strange thing now, where this here
letter can ha' come from.'

As Sam said this, he did what a great many people do when
they are uncertain about the writer of a note--looked at the seal,
and then at the front, and then at the back, and then at the sides,
and then at the superscription; and, as a last resource, thought
perhaps he might as well look at the inside, and try to find out
from that.

'It's wrote on gilt-edged paper,' said Sam, as he unfolded it,
'and sealed in bronze vax vith the top of a door key. Now for it.'
And, with a very grave face, Mr. Weller slowly read as follows--

'A select company of the Bath footmen presents their compliments
to Mr. Weller, and requests the pleasure of his company
this evening, to a friendly swarry, consisting of a boiled leg of
mutton with the usual trimmings. The swarry to be on table at
half-past nine o'clock punctually.'

This was inclosed in another note, which ran thus--

'Mr. John Smauker, the gentleman who had the pleasure of
meeting Mr. Weller at the house of their mutual acquaintance,
Mr. Bantam, a few days since, begs to inclose Mr. Weller the
herewith invitation. If Mr. Weller will call on Mr. John Smauker
at nine o'clock, Mr. John Smauker will have the pleasure of
introducing Mr. Weller.
     (Signed)           'JOHN SMAUKER.'

The envelope was directed to blank Weller, Esq., at Mr. Pickwick's;
and in a parenthesis, in the left hand corner, were the
words 'airy bell,' as an instruction to the bearer.

'Vell,' said Sam, 'this is comin' it rayther powerful, this is. I
never heerd a biled leg o' mutton called a swarry afore. I wonder
wot they'd call a roast one.'

However, without waiting to debate the point, Sam at once
betook himself into the presence of Mr. Pickwick, and requested
leave of absence for that evening, which was readily granted.
With this permission and the street-door key, Sam Weller issued
forth a little before the appointed time, and strolled leisurely
towards Queen Square, which he no sooner gained than he had
the satisfaction of beholding Mr. John Smauker leaning his
powdered head against a lamp-post at a short distance off,
smoking a cigar through an amber tube.

'How do you do, Mr. Weller?' said Mr. John Smauker, raising
his hat gracefully with one hand, while he gently waved the other
in a condescending manner. 'How do you do, Sir?'

'Why, reasonably conwalessent,' replied Sam. 'How do YOU
find yourself, my dear feller?'

'Only so so,' said Mr. John Smauker.

'Ah, you've been a-workin' too hard,' observed Sam. 'I was
fearful you would; it won't do, you know; you must not give way
to that 'ere uncompromisin' spirit o' yourn.'

'It's not so much that, Mr. Weller,' replied Mr. John Smauker,
'as bad wine; I'm afraid I've been dissipating.'

'Oh! that's it, is it?' said Sam; 'that's a wery bad complaint, that.'

'And yet the temptation, you see, Mr. Weller,' observed Mr.
John Smauker.

'Ah, to be sure,' said Sam.

'Plunged into the very vortex of society, you know, Mr.
Weller,' said Mr. John Smauker, with a sigh.

'Dreadful, indeed!' rejoined Sam.

'But it's always the way,' said Mr. John Smauker; 'if your
destiny leads you into public life, and public station, you must
expect to be subjected to temptations which other people is free
from, Mr. Weller.'

'Precisely what my uncle said, ven he vent into the public line,'
remarked Sam, 'and wery right the old gen'l'm'n wos, for he
drank hisself to death in somethin' less than a quarter.'
Mr. John Smauker looked deeply indignant at any parallel
being drawn between himself and the deceased gentleman in
question; but, as Sam's face was in the most immovable state of
calmness, he thought better of it, and looked affable again.
'Perhaps we had better be walking,' said Mr. Smauker,
consulting a copper timepiece which dwelt at the bottom of a deep
watch-pocket, and was raised to the surface by means of a black
string, with a copper key at the other end.

'P'raps we had,' replied Sam, 'or they'll overdo the swarry, and
that'll spile it.'

'Have you drank the waters, Mr. Weller?' inquired his
companion, as they walked towards High Street.

'Once,' replied Sam.

'What did you think of 'em, Sir?'

'I thought they was particklery unpleasant,' replied Sam.

'Ah,' said Mr. John Smauker, 'you disliked the killibeate
taste, perhaps?'

'I don't know much about that 'ere,' said Sam. 'I thought
they'd a wery strong flavour o' warm flat irons.'

'That IS the killibeate, Mr. Weller,' observed Mr. John Smauker
contemptuously.

'Well, if it is, it's a wery inexpressive word, that's all,' said
Sam. 'It may be, but I ain't much in the chimical line myself, so
I can't say.'  And here, to the great horror of Mr. John Smauker,
Sam Weller began to whistle.

'I beg your pardon, Mr. Weller,' said Mr. John Smauker,
agonised at the exceeding ungenteel sound, 'will you take my arm?'

'Thank'ee, you're wery good, but I won't deprive you of it,'
replied Sam. 'I've rayther a way o' putting my hands in my
pockets, if it's all the same to you.'  As Sam said this, he suited
the action to the word, and whistled far louder than before.

'This way,' said his new friend, apparently much relieved as
they turned down a by-street; 'we shall soon be there.'

'Shall we?' said Sam, quite unmoved by the announcement of
his close vicinity to the select footmen of Bath.

'Yes,' said Mr. John Smauker. 'Don't be alarmed, Mr. Weller.'

'Oh, no,' said Sam.

'You'll see some very handsome uniforms, Mr. Weller,' continued
Mr. John Smauker; 'and perhaps you'll find some of the
gentlemen rather high at first, you know, but they'll soon come round.'

'That's wery kind on 'em,' replied Sam.
'And you know,' resumed Mr. John Smauker, with an air of
sublime protection--'you know, as you're a stranger, perhaps,
they'll be rather hard upon you at first.'

'They won't be wery cruel, though, will they?' inquired Sam.

'No, no,' replied Mr. John Smauker, pulling forth the fox's
head, and taking a gentlemanly pinch. 'There are some funny
dogs among us, and they will have their joke, you know; but you
mustn't mind 'em, you mustn't mind 'em.'

'I'll try and bear up agin such a reg'lar knock down o' talent,'
replied Sam.

'That's right,' said Mr. John Smauker, putting forth his fox's
head, and elevating his own; 'I'll stand by you.'

By this time they had reached a small greengrocer's shop,
which Mr. John Smauker entered, followed by Sam, who, the
moment he got behind him, relapsed into a series of the very
broadest and most unmitigated grins, and manifested other
demonstrations of being in a highly enviable state of inward merriment.

Crossing the greengrocer's shop, and putting their hats on the
stairs in the little passage behind it, they walked into a small
parlour; and here the full splendour of the scene burst upon Mr.
Weller's view.

A couple of tables were put together in the middle of the
parlour, covered with three or four cloths of different ages and
dates of washing, arranged to look as much like one as the
circumstances of the case would allow. Upon these were laid
knives and forks for six or eight people. Some of the knife
handles were green, others red, and a few yellow; and as all the
forks were black, the combination of colours was exceedingly
striking. Plates for a corresponding number of guests were
warming behind the fender; and the guests themselves were
warming before it: the chief and most important of whom appeared
to be a stoutish gentleman in a bright crimson coat with long
tails, vividly red breeches, and a cocked hat, who was standing
with his back to the fire, and had apparently just entered, for
besides retaining his cocked hat on his head, he carried in his
hand a high stick, such as gentlemen of his profession usually
elevate in a sloping position over the roofs of carriages.

'Smauker, my lad, your fin,' said the gentleman with the
cocked hat.

Mr. Smauker dovetailed the top joint of his right-hand little
finger into that of the gentleman with the cocked hat, and said he
was charmed to see him looking so well.

'Well, they tell me I am looking pretty blooming,' said
the man with the cocked hat, 'and it's a wonder, too. I've
been following our old woman about, two hours a day, for
the last fortnight; and if a constant contemplation of the
manner in which she hooks-and-eyes that infernal lavender-
coloured old gown of hers behind, isn't enough to throw anybody
into a low state of despondency for life, stop my quarter's salary.'

At this, the assembled selections laughed very heartily; and
one gentleman in a yellow waistcoat, with a coach-trimming
border, whispered a neighbour in green-foil smalls, that Tuckle
was in spirits to-night.

'By the bye,' said Mr. Tuckle, 'Smauker, my boy, you--'
The remainder of the sentence was forwarded into Mr. John
Smauker's ear, by whisper.

'Oh, dear me, I quite forgot,' said Mr. John Smauker.
'Gentlemen, my friend Mr. Weller.'

'Sorry to keep the fire off you, Weller,' said Mr. Tuckle, with a
familiar nod. 'Hope you're not cold, Weller.'

'Not by no means, Blazes,' replied Sam. 'It 'ud be a wery chilly
subject as felt cold wen you stood opposite. You'd save coals if
they put you behind the fender in the waitin'-room at a public
office, you would.'

As this retort appeared to convey rather a personal allusion to
Mr. Tuckle's crimson livery, that gentleman looked majestic for
a few seconds, but gradually edging away from the fire, broke
into a forced smile, and said it wasn't bad.

'Wery much obliged for your good opinion, sir,' replied Sam.
'We shall get on by degrees, I des-say. We'll try a better one by
and bye.'

At this point the conversation was interrupted by the arrival
of a gentleman in orange-coloured plush, accompanied by
another selection in purple cloth, with a great extent of stocking.
The new-comers having been welcomed by the old ones, Mr.
Tuckle put the question that supper be ordered in, which was
carried unanimously.

The greengrocer and his wife then arranged upon the table a
boiled leg of mutton, hot, with caper sauce, turnips, and potatoes.
Mr. Tuckle took the chair, and was supported at the other end
of the board by the gentleman in orange plush. The greengrocer
put on a pair of wash-leather gloves to hand the plates with, and
stationed himself behind Mr. Tuckle's chair.

'Harris,' said Mr. Tuckle, in a commanding tone.
'Sir,' said the greengrocer.

'Have you got your gloves on?'
'Yes, Sir.'

'Then take the kiver off.'

'Yes, Sir.'

The greengrocer did as he was told, with a show of great
humility, and obsequiously handed Mr. Tuckle the carving-
knife; in doing which, he accidentally gaped.

'What do you mean by that, Sir?' said Mr. Tuckle, with great asperity.

'I beg your pardon, Sir,' replied the crestfallen greengrocer, 'I
didn't mean to do it, Sir; I was up very late last night, Sir.'

'I tell you what my opinion of you is, Harris,' said Mr. Tuckle,
with a most impressive air, 'you're a wulgar beast.'

'I hope, gentlemen,' said Harris, 'that you won't be severe
with me, gentlemen. I am very much obliged to you indeed,
gentlemen, for your patronage, and also for your recommendations,
gentlemen, whenever additional assistance in waiting is
required. I hope, gentlemen, I give satisfaction.'

'No, you don't, Sir,' said Mr. Tuckle. 'Very far from it, Sir.'

'We consider you an inattentive reskel,' said the gentleman in
the orange plush.

'And a low thief,' added the gentleman in the green-foil smalls.

'And an unreclaimable blaygaird,' added the gentleman in purple.

The poor greengrocer bowed very humbly while these little
epithets were bestowed upon him, in the true spirit of the very
smallest tyranny; and when everybody had said something to
show his superiority, Mr. Tuckle proceeded to carve the leg of
mutton, and to help the company.

This important business of the evening had hardly commenced,
when the door was thrown briskly open, and another
gentleman in a light-blue suit, and leaden buttons, made his appearance.

'Against the rules,' said Mr. Tuckle. 'Too late, too late.'

'No, no; positively I couldn't help it,' said the gentleman in
blue. 'I appeal to the company. An affair of gallantry now, an
appointment at the theayter.'

'Oh, that indeed,' said the gentleman in the orange plush.

'Yes; raly now, honour bright,' said the man in blue. 'I made a
promese to fetch our youngest daughter at half-past ten, and she
is such an uncauminly fine gal, that I raly hadn't the 'art to
disappint her. No offence to the present company, Sir, but a
petticut, sir--a petticut, Sir, is irrevokeable.'

'I begin to suspect there's something in that quarter,' said
Tuckle, as the new-comer took his seat next Sam, 'I've remarked,
once or twice, that she leans very heavy on your shoulder when
she gets in and out of the carriage.'

'Oh, raly, raly, Tuckle, you shouldn't,' said the man in blue.
'It's not fair. I may have said to one or two friends that she wos a
very divine creechure, and had refused one or two offers without
any hobvus cause, but--no, no, no, indeed, Tuckle--before
strangers, too--it's not right--you shouldn't. Delicacy, my
dear friend, delicacy!'  And the man in blue, pulling up his
neckerchief, and adjusting his coat cuffs, nodded and frowned as
if there were more behind, which he could say if he liked, but was
bound in honour to suppress.

The man in blue being a light-haired, stiff-necked, free and easy
sort of footman, with a swaggering air and pert face, had
attracted Mr. Weller's special attention at first, but when he
began to come out in this way, Sam felt more than ever disposed
to cultivate his acquaintance; so he launched himself into the
conversation at once, with characteristic independence.

'Your health, Sir,' said Sam. 'I like your conversation much.
I think it's wery pretty.'

At this the man in blue smiled, as if it were a compliment he
was well used to; but looked approvingly on Sam at the same
time, and said he hoped he should be better acquainted with him,
for without any flattery at all he seemed to have the makings of a
very nice fellow about him, and to be just the man after his own heart.

'You're wery good, sir,' said Sam. 'What a lucky feller you are!'

'How do you mean?' inquired the gentleman in blue.

'That 'ere young lady,' replied Sam.'She knows wot's wot, she
does. Ah! I see.'  Mr. Weller closed one eye, and shook his head
from side to side, in a manner which was highly gratifying to the
personal vanity of the gentleman in blue.

'I'm afraid your a cunning fellow, Mr. Weller,' said that
individual.

'No, no,' said Sam. 'I leave all that 'ere to you. It's a great deal
more in your way than mine, as the gen'l'm'n on the right side o'
the garden vall said to the man on the wrong un, ven the mad
bull vos a-comin' up the lane.'

'Well, well, Mr. Weller,' said the gentleman in blue, 'I think she
has remarked my air and manner, Mr. Weller.'

'I should think she couldn't wery well be off o' that,' said Sam.

'Have you any little thing of that kind in hand, sir?' inquired
the favoured gentleman in blue, drawing a toothpick from his
waistcoat pocket.

'Not exactly,' said Sam. 'There's no daughters at my place,
else o' course I should ha' made up to vun on 'em. As it is, I don't
think I can do with anythin' under a female markis. I might keep
up with a young 'ooman o' large property as hadn't a title, if she
made wery fierce love to me. Not else.'

'Of course not, Mr. Weller,' said the gentleman in blue, 'one
can't be troubled, you know; and WE know, Mr. Weller--we,
who are men of the world--that a good uniform must work its
way with the women, sooner or later. In fact, that's the only
thing, between you and me, that makes the service worth entering into.'

'Just so,' said Sam. 'That's it, o' course.'

When this confidential dialogue had gone thus far, glasses were
placed round, and every gentleman ordered what he liked best,
before the public-house shut up. The gentleman in blue, and the
man in orange, who were the chief exquisites of the party,
ordered 'cold shrub and water,' but with the others, gin-and-
water, sweet, appeared to be the favourite beverage. Sam called
the greengrocer a 'desp'rate willin,' and ordered a large bowl of
punch--two circumstances which seemed to raise him very much
in the opinion of the selections.

'Gentlemen,' said the man in blue, with an air of the most
consummate dandyism, 'I'll give you the ladies; come.'

'Hear, hear!' said Sam. 'The young mississes.'

Here there was a loud cry of 'Order,' and Mr. John Smauker,
as the gentleman who had introduced Mr. Weller into that
company, begged to inform him that the word he had just made use
of, was unparliamentary.

'Which word was that 'ere, Sir?' inquired Sam.
'Mississes, Sir,' replied Mr. John Smauker, with an alarming
frown. 'We don't recognise such distinctions here.'

'Oh, wery good,' said Sam; 'then I'll amend the obserwation
and call 'em the dear creeturs, if Blazes vill allow me.'

Some doubt appeared to exist in the mind of the gentleman in
the green-foil smalls, whether the chairman could be legally
appealed to, as 'Blazes,' but as the company seemed more
disposed to stand upon their own rights than his, the question
was not raised. The man with the cocked hat breathed short, and
looked long at Sam, but apparently thought it as well to say
nothing, in case he should get the worst of it.
After a short silence, a gentleman in an embroidered coat
reaching down to his heels, and a waistcoat of the same which
kept one half of his legs warm, stirred his gin-and-water with
great energy, and putting himself upon his feet, all at once by a
violent effort, said he was desirous of offering a few remarks to
the company, whereupon the person in the cocked hat had no
doubt that the company would be very happy to hear any
remarks that the man in the long coat might wish to offer.

'I feel a great delicacy, gentlemen, in coming for'ard,' said the
man in the long coat, 'having the misforchune to be a coachman,
and being only admitted as a honorary member of these agreeable
swarrys, but I do feel myself bound, gentlemen--drove into a
corner, if I may use the expression--to make known an afflicting
circumstance which has come to my knowledge; which has
happened I may say within the soap of my everyday contemplation.
Gentlemen, our friend Mr. Whiffers (everybody looked at
the individual in orange), our friend Mr. Whiffers has resigned.'

Universal astonishment fell upon the hearers. Each gentleman
looked in his neighbour's face, and then transferred his glance to
the upstanding coachman.

'You may well be sapparised, gentlemen,' said the coachman.
'I will not wenchure to state the reasons of this irrepairabel loss
to the service, but I will beg Mr. Whiffers to state them himself,
for the improvement and imitation of his admiring friends.'

The suggestion being loudly approved of, Mr. Whiffers
explained. He said he certainly could have wished to have continued
to hold the appointment he had just resigned. The uniform
was extremely rich and expensive, the females of the family
was most agreeable, and the duties of the situation was not, he
was bound to say, too heavy; the principal service that was
required of him, being, that he should look out of the hall
window as much as possible, in company with another gentleman,
who had also resigned. He could have wished to have spared that
company the painful and disgusting detail on which he was about
to enter, but as the explanation had been demanded of him, he
had no alternative but to state, boldly and distinctly, that he had
been required to eat cold meat.

It is impossible to conceive the disgust which this avowal
awakened in the bosoms of the hearers. Loud cries of 'Shame,'
mingled with groans and hisses, prevailed for a quarter of an hour.

Mr. Whiffers then added that he feared a portion of this
outrage might be traced to his own forbearing and accommodating
disposition. He had a distinct recollection of having once
consented to eat salt butter, and he had, moreover, on an occasion
of sudden sickness in the house, so far forgotten himself as to
carry a coal-scuttle up to the second floor. He trusted he had not
lowered himself in the good opinion of his friends by this frank
confession of his faults; and he hoped the promptness with which
he had resented the last unmanly outrage on his feelings, to
which he had referred, would reinstate him in their good opinion,
if he had.

Mr. Whiffers's address was responded to, with a shout of
admiration, and the health of the interesting martyr was drunk
in a most enthusiastic manner; for this, the martyr returned
thanks, and proposed their visitor, Mr. Weller--a gentleman
whom he had not the pleasure of an intimate acquaintance with,
but who was the friend of Mr. John Smauker, which was a
sufficient letter of recommendation to any society of gentlemen
whatever, or wherever. On this account, he should have been
disposed to have given Mr. Weller's health with all the honours,
if his friends had been drinking wine; but as they were taking
spirits by way of a change, and as it might be inconvenient to
empty a tumbler at every toast, he should propose that the
honours be understood.

At the conclusion of this speech, everybody took a sip in
honour of Sam; and Sam having ladled out, and drunk, two full
glasses of punch in honour of himself, returned thanks in a neat speech.

'Wery much obliged to you, old fellers,' said Sam, ladling
away at the punch in the most unembarrassed manner possible,
'for this here compliment; which, comin' from sich a quarter, is
wery overvelmin'. I've heered a good deal on you as a body, but
I will say, that I never thought you was sich uncommon nice men
as I find you air. I only hope you'll take care o' yourselves, and
not compromise nothin' o' your dignity, which is a wery charmin'
thing to see, when one's out a-walkin', and has always made me
wery happy to look at, ever since I was a boy about half as high
as the brass-headed stick o' my wery respectable friend, Blazes,
there. As to the wictim of oppression in the suit o' brimstone, all
I can say of him, is, that I hope he'll get jist as good a berth as he
deserves; in vitch case it's wery little cold swarry as ever he'll be
troubled with agin.'

Here Sam sat down with a pleasant smile, and his speech
having been vociferously applauded, the company broke up.

'Wy, you don't mean to say you're a-goin' old feller?' said
Sam Weller to his friend, Mr. John Smauker.

'I must, indeed,' said Mr. Smauker; 'I promised Bantam.'

'Oh, wery well,' said Sam; 'that's another thing. P'raps he'd
resign if you disappinted him. You ain't a-goin', Blazes?'

'Yes, I am,' said the man with the cocked hat.

'Wot, and leave three-quarters of a bowl of punch behind
you!' said Sam; 'nonsense, set down agin.'

Mr. Tuckle was not proof against this invitation. He laid aside
the cocked hat and stick which he had just taken up, and said he
would have one glass, for good fellowship's sake.

As the gentleman in blue went home the same way as Mr.
Tuckle, he was prevailed upon to stop too. When the punch was
about half gone, Sam ordered in some oysters from the green-
grocer's shop; and the effect of both was so extremely exhilarating,
that Mr. Tuckle, dressed out with the cocked hat and stick,
danced the frog hornpipe among the shells on the table, while the
gentleman in blue played an accompaniment upon an ingenious
musical instrument formed of a hair-comb upon a curl-paper.
At last, when the punch was all gone, and the night nearly so,
they sallied forth to see each other home. Mr. Tuckle no sooner
got into the open air, than he was seized with a sudden desire to
lie on the curbstone; Sam thought it would be a pity to contradict
him, and so let him have his own way. As the cocked hat would
have been spoiled if left there, Sam very considerately flattened it
down on the head of the gentleman in blue, and putting the big
stick in his hand, propped him up against his own street-door,
rang the bell, and walked quietly home.

At a much earlier hour next morning than his usual time of
rising, Mr. Pickwick walked downstairs completely dressed, and
rang the bell.

'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, when Mr. Weller appeared in reply
to the summons, 'shut the door.'

Mr. Weller did so.

'There was an unfortunate occurrence here, last night, Sam,'
said Mr. Pickwick, 'which gave Mr. Winkle some cause to
apprehend violence from Mr. Dowler.'

'So I've heerd from the old lady downstairs, Sir,' replied Sam.

'And I'm sorry to say, Sam,' continued Mr. Pickwick, with a
most perplexed countenance, 'that in dread of this violence,
Mr. Winkle has gone away.'

'Gone avay!' said Sam.

'Left the house early this morning, without the slightest
previous communication with me,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'And
is gone, I know not where.'

'He should ha' stopped and fought it out, Sir,' replied Sam
contemptuously. 'It wouldn't take much to settle that 'ere
Dowler, Sir.'

'Well, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'I may have my doubts of his
great bravery and determination also. But however that may be,
Mr. Winkle is gone. He must be found, Sam. Found and brought
back to me.'
'And s'pose he won't come back, Sir?' said Sam.

'He must be made, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Who's to do it, Sir?' inquired Sam, with a smile.

'You,' replied Mr. Pickwick.

'Wery good, Sir.'

With these words Mr. Weller left the room, and immediately
afterwards was heard to shut the street door. In two hours' time
he returned with so much coolness as if he had been despatched
on the most ordinary message possible, and brought the information
that an individual, in every respect answering Mr. Winkle's
description, had gone over to Bristol that morning, by the branch
coach from the Royal Hotel.

'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, grasping his hand, 'you're a capital
fellow; an invaluable fellow. You must follow him, Sam.'

'Cert'nly, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller.

'The instant you discover him, write to me immediately, Sam,'
said Mr. Pickwick. 'If he attempts to run away from you, knock
him down, or lock him up. You have my full authority, Sam.'

'I'll be wery careful, sir,' rejoined Sam.

'You'll tell him,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'that I am highly excited,
highly displeased, and naturally indignant, at the very
extraordinary course he has thought proper to pursue.'

'I will, Sir,' replied Sam.

'You'll tell him,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'that if he does not come
back to this very house, with you, he will come back with me, for
I will come and fetch him.'

'I'll mention that 'ere, Sir,' rejoined Sam.

'You think you can find him, Sam?' said Mr. Pickwick, looking
earnestly in his face.

'Oh, I'll find him if he's anyvere,' rejoined Sam, with
great confidence.

'Very well,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Then the sooner you go the
better.'

With these instructions, Mr. Pickwick placed a sum of money
in the hands of his faithful servitor, and ordered him to start for
Bristol immediately, in pursuit of the fugitive.

Sam put a few necessaries in a carpet-bag, and was ready for
starting. He stopped when he had got to the end of the passage,
and walking quietly back, thrust his head in at the parlour door.

'Sir,' whispered Sam.

'Well, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'I fully understands my instructions, do I, Sir?' inquired Sam.

'I hope so,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'It's reg'larly understood about the knockin' down, is it, Sir?'
inquired Sam.

'Perfectly,' replied Pickwick. 'Thoroughly. Do what you think
necessary. You have my orders.'

Sam gave a nod of intelligence, and withdrawing his head
from the door, set forth on his pilgrimage with a light heart.

CHAPTER XXXVIII
HOW Mr. WINKLE, WHEN HE STEPPED OUT OF THE
  FRYING-PAN, WALKED GENTLY AND COMFORTABLY INTO
  THE FIRE

The ill-starred gentleman who had been the unfortunate cause of
the unusual noise and disturbance which alarmed the inhabitants of
the Royal Crescent in manner and form already described, after
passing a night of great confusion and anxiety, left the roof
beneath which his friends still slumbered, bound he knew not whither.
The excellent and considerate feelings which prompted Mr. Winkle to
take this step can never be too highly appreciated or too warmly
extolled. 'If,' reasoned Mr. Winkle with himself--'if this Dowler
attempts (as I have no doubt he will) to carry into execution his
threat of personal violence against myself, it will be incumbent on me
to call him out. He has a wife; that wife is attached to, and
dependent on him. Heavens! If I should kill him in the blindness of my
wrath, what would be my feelings ever afterwards!'  This painful
consideration operated so powerfully on the feelings of the humane
young man, as to cause his knees to knock together, and his
countenance to exhibit alarming manifestations of inward
emotion. Impelled by such reflections, he grasped his carpet-
bag, and creeping stealthily downstairs, shut the detestable street
door with as little noise as possible, and walked off. Bending his
steps towards the Royal Hotel, he found a coach on the point of
starting for Bristol, and, thinking Bristol as good a place for his
purpose as any other he could go to, he mounted the box, and
reached his place of destination in such time as the pair of horses,
who went the whole stage and back again, twice a day or more,
could be reasonably supposed to arrive there.
He took up his quarters at the Bush, and designing to postpone
any communication by letter with Mr. Pickwick until it was
probable that Mr. Dowler's wrath might have in some degree
evaporated, walked forth to view the city, which struck him as
being a shade more dirty than any place he had ever seen. Having
inspected the docks and shipping, and viewed the cathedral, he
inquired his way to Clifton, and being directed thither, took the
route which was pointed out to him. But as the pavements of
Bristol are not the widest or cleanest upon earth, so its streets are
not altogether the straightest or least intricate; and Mr. Winkle,
being greatly puzzled by their manifold windings and twistings,
looked about him for a decent shop in which he could apply
afresh for counsel and instruction.

His eye fell upon a newly-painted tenement which had been
recently converted into something between a shop and a private
house, and which a red lamp, projecting over the fanlight of the
street door, would have sufficiently announced as the residence
of a medical practitioner, even if the word 'Surgery' had not been
inscribed in golden characters on a wainscot ground, above the
window of what, in times bygone, had been the front parlour.
Thinking this an eligible place wherein to make his inquiries,
Mr. Winkle stepped into the little shop where the gilt-labelled
drawers and bottles were; and finding nobody there, knocked
with a half-crown on the counter, to attract the attention of anybody
who might happen to be in the back parlour, which he
judged to be the innermost and peculiar sanctum of the establishment,
from the repetition of the word surgery on the door--
painted in white letters this time, by way of taking off the monotony.

At the first knock, a sound, as of persons fencing with fire-
irons, which had until now been very audible, suddenly ceased;
at the second, a studious-looking young gentleman in green
spectacles, with a very large book in his hand, glided quietly into
the shop, and stepping behind the counter, requested to know the
visitor's pleasure.

'I am sorry to trouble you, Sir,' said Mr. Winkle, 'but will you
have the goodness to direct me to--'

'Ha! ha! ha!' roared the studious young gentleman, throwing
the large book up into the air, and catching it with great dexterity
at the very moment when it threatened to smash to atoms all the
bottles on the counter. 'Here's a start!'

There was, without doubt; for Mr. Winkle was so very much
astonished at the extraordinary behaviour of the medical gentleman,
that he involuntarily retreated towards the door, and looked
very much disturbed at his strange reception.

'What, don't you know me?' said the medical gentleman.
Mr. Winkle murmured, in reply, that he had not that pleasure.

'Why, then,' said the medical gentleman, 'there are hopes for
me yet; I may attend half the old women in Bristol, if I've decent
luck. Get out, you mouldy old villain, get out!'  With this adjuration,
which was addressed to the large book, the medical gentleman
kicked the volume with remarkable agility to the farther end
of the shop, and, pulling off his green spectacles, grinned
the identical grin of Robert Sawyer, Esquire, formerly of Guy's
Hospital in the Borough, with a private residence in Lant Street.

'You don't mean to say you weren't down upon me?' said
Mr. Bob Sawyer, shaking Mr. Winkle's hand with friendly warmth.

'Upon my word I was not,' replied Mr. Winkle, returning
his pressure.

'I wonder you didn't see the name,' said Bob Sawyer, calling
his friend's attention to the outer door, on which, in the same
white paint, were traced the words 'Sawyer, late Nockemorf.'

'It never caught my eye,' returned Mr. Winkle.

'Lord, if I had known who you were, I should have rushed out,
and caught you in my arms,' said Bob Sawyer; 'but upon my
life, I thought you were the King's-taxes.'

'No!' said Mr. Winkle.

'I did, indeed,' responded Bob Sawyer, 'and I was just going to
say that I wasn't at home, but if you'd leave a message I'd be sure
to give it to myself; for he don't know me; no more does the
Lighting and Paving. I think the Church-rates guesses who I am,
and I know the Water-works does, because I drew a tooth of his
when I first came down here. But come in, come in!'  Chattering
in this way, Mr. Bob Sawyer pushed Mr. Winkle into the back
room, where, amusing himself by boring little circular caverns in
the chimney-piece with a red-hot poker, sat no less a person than
Mr. Benjamin Allen.

'Well!' said Mr. Winkle. 'This is indeed a pleasure I did not
expect. What a very nice place you have here!'

'Pretty well, pretty well,' replied Bob Sawyer. 'I PASSED, soon
after that precious party, and my friends came down with the
needful for this business; so I put on a black suit of clothes, and
a pair of spectacles, and came here to look as solemn as I could.'

'And a very snug little business you have, no doubt?' said
Mr. Winkle knowingly.

'Very,' replied Bob Sawyer. 'So snug, that at the end of a few
years you might put all the profits in a wine-glass, and cover 'em
over with a gooseberry leaf.'
'You cannot surely mean that?' said Mr. Winkle. 'The stock itself--'
'Dummies, my dear boy,' said Bob Sawyer; 'half the drawers
have nothing in 'em, and the other half don't open.'

'Nonsense!' said Mr. Winkle.

'Fact--honour!' returned Bob Sawyer, stepping out into the
shop, and demonstrating the veracity of the assertion by divers
hard pulls at the little gilt knobs on the counterfeit drawers.
'Hardly anything real in the shop but the leeches, and THEY are
second-hand.'

'I shouldn't have thought it!' exclaimed Mr. Winkle, much surprised.

'I hope not,' replied Bob Sawyer, 'else where's the use of
appearances, eh? But what will you take? Do as we do? That's
right. Ben, my fine fellow, put your hand into the cupboard, and
bring out the patent digester.'

Mr. Benjamin Allen smiled his readiness, and produced from
the closet at his elbow a black bottle half full of brandy.

'You don't take water, of course?' said Bob Sawyer.

'Thank you,' replied Mr. Winkle. 'It's rather early. I should
like to qualify it, if you have no objection.'

'None in the least, if you can reconcile it to your conscience,'
replied Bob Sawyer, tossing off, as he spoke, a glass of the liquor
with great relish. 'Ben, the pipkin!'

Mr. Benjamin Allen drew forth, from the same hiding-place, a
small brass pipkin, which Bob Sawyer observed he prided himself
upon, particularly because it looked so business-like. The water
in the professional pipkin having been made to boil, in course of
time, by various little shovelfuls of coal, which Mr. Bob Sawyer
took out of a practicable window-seat, labelled 'Soda Water,'
Mr. Winkle adulterated his brandy; and the conversation was
becoming general, when it was interrupted by the entrance into
the shop of a boy, in a sober gray livery and a gold-laced hat,
with a small covered basket under his arm, whom Mr. Bob
Sawyer immediately hailed with, 'Tom, you vagabond, come here.'

The boy presented himself accordingly.

'You've been stopping to "over" all the posts in Bristol, you
idle young scamp!' said Mr. Bob Sawyer.

'No, sir, I haven't,' replied the boy.

'You had better not!' said Mr. Bob Sawyer, with a threatening
aspect. 'Who do you suppose will ever employ a professional
man, when they see his boy playing at marbles in the gutter, or
flying the garter in the horse-road? Have you no feeling for your
profession, you groveller? Did you leave all the medicine?'
'Yes, Sir.'

'The powders for the child, at the large house with the new
family, and the pills to be taken four times a day at the ill-
tempered old gentleman's with the gouty leg?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Then shut the door, and mind the shop.'

'Come,' said Mr. Winkle, as the boy retired, 'things are not
quite so bad as you would have me believe, either. There is SOME
medicine to be sent out.'

Mr. Bob Sawyer peeped into the shop to see that no stranger
was within hearing, and leaning forward to Mr. Winkle, said, in a
low tone--

'He leaves it all at the wrong houses.'

Mr. Winkle looked perplexed, and Bob Sawyer and his friend laughed.

'Don't you see?' said Bob. 'He goes up to a house, rings the
area bell, pokes a packet of medicine without a direction into the
servant's hand, and walks off. Servant takes it into the dining-
parlour; master opens it, and reads the label: "Draught to be
taken at bedtime--pills as before--lotion as usual--the powder.
From Sawyer's, late Nockemorf's. Physicians' prescriptions
carefully prepared," and all the rest of it. Shows it to his wife--
she reads the label; it goes down to the servants--THEY read the
label. Next day, boy calls: "Very sorry--his mistake--immense
business--great many parcels to deliver--Mr. Sawyer's
compliments--late Nockemorf."  The name gets known, and that's
the thing, my boy, in the medical way. Bless your heart, old
fellow, it's better than all the advertising in the world. We have
got one four-ounce bottle that's been to half the houses in Bristol,
and hasn't done yet.'

'Dear me, I see,' observed Mr. Winkle; 'what an excellent plan!'

'Oh, Ben and I have hit upon a dozen such,' replied Bob
Sawyer, with great glee. 'The lamplighter has eighteenpence a
week to pull the night-bell for ten minutes every time he comes
round; and my boy always rushes into the church just before the
psalms, when the people have got nothing to do but look about
'em, and calls me out, with horror and dismay depicted on his
countenance. "Bless my soul," everybody says, "somebody taken
suddenly ill! Sawyer, late Nockemorf, sent for. What a business
that young man has!"'

At the termination of this disclosure of some of the mysteries
of medicine, Mr. Bob Sawyer and his friend, Ben Allen, threw
themselves back in their respective chairs, and laughed boisterously.
When they had enjoyed the joke to their heart's content, the
discourse changed to topics in which Mr. Winkle was more
immediately interested.

We think we have hinted elsewhere, that Mr. Benjamin Allen
had a way of becoming sentimental after brandy. The case is not
a peculiar one, as we ourself can testify, having, on a few
occasions, had to deal with patients who have been afflicted in a
similar manner. At this precise period of his existence, Mr. Benjamin
Allen had perhaps a greater predisposition to maudlinism
than he had ever known before; the cause of which malady was
briefly this. He had been staying nearly three weeks with Mr. Bob
Sawyer; Mr. Bob Sawyer was not remarkable for temperance,
nor was Mr. Benjamin Allen for the ownership of a very strong
head; the consequence was that, during the whole space of time
just mentioned, Mr. Benjamin Allen had been wavering between
intoxication partial, and intoxication complete.

'My dear friend,' said Mr. Ben Allen, taking advantage of
Mr. Bob Sawyer's temporary absence behind the counter,
whither he had retired to dispense some of the second-hand
leeches, previously referred to; 'my dear friend, I am very miserable.'

Mr. Winkle professed his heartfelt regret to hear it, and
begged to know whether he could do anything to alleviate the
sorrows of the suffering student.

'Nothing, my dear boy, nothing,' said Ben. 'You recollect
Arabella, Winkle? My sister Arabella--a little girl, Winkle, with
black eyes--when we were down at Wardle's? I don't know
whether you happened to notice her--a nice little girl, Winkle.
Perhaps my features may recall her countenance to your recollection?'

Mr. Winkle required nothing to recall the charming Arabella
to his mind; and it was rather fortunate he did not, for the
features of her brother Benjamin would unquestionably have
proved but an indifferent refresher to his memory. He answered,
with as much calmness as he could assume, that he perfectly
remembered the young lady referred to, and sincerely trusted she
was in good health.

'Our friend Bob is a delightful fellow, Winkle,' was the only
reply of Mr. Ben Allen.

'Very,' said Mr. Winkle, not much relishing this close
connection of the two names.

'I designed 'em for each other; they were made for each other,
sent into the world for each other, born for each other, Winkle,'
said Mr. Ben Allen, setting down his glass with emphasis.
'There's a special destiny in the matter, my dear sir; there's only
five years' difference between 'em, and both their birthdays are
in August.'

Mr. Winkle was too anxious to hear what was to follow to
express much wonderment at this extraordinary coincidence,
marvellous as it was; so Mr. Ben Allen, after a tear or two, went
on to say that, notwithstanding all his esteem and respect and
veneration for his friend, Arabella had unaccountably and
undutifully evinced the most determined antipathy to his person.

'And I think,' said Mr. Ben Allen, in conclusion. 'I think
there's a prior attachment.'

'Have you any idea who the object of it might be?' asked Mr.
Winkle, with great trepidation.

Mr. Ben Allen seized the poker, flourished it in a warlike
manner above his head, inflicted a savage blow on an imaginary
skull, and wound up by saying, in a very expressive manner, that
he only wished he could guess; that was all.

'I'd show him what I thought of him,' said Mr. Ben Allen.
And round went the poker again, more fiercely than before.

All this was, of course, very soothing to the feelings of Mr.
Winkle, who remained silent for a few minutes; but at length
mustered up resolution to inquire whether Miss Allen was in Kent.

'No, no,' said Mr. Ben Allen, laying aside the poker, and
looking very cunning; 'I didn't think Wardle's exactly the place
for a headstrong girl; so, as I am her natural protector and
guardian, our parents being dead, I have brought her down into
this part of the country to spend a few months at an old aunt's, in
a nice, dull, close place. I think that will cure her, my boy. If it
doesn't, I'll take her abroad for a little while, and see what
that'll do.'

'Oh, the aunt's is in Bristol, is it?' faltered Mr. Winkle.

'No, no, not in Bristol,' replied Mr. Ben Allen, jerking his
thumb over his right shoulder; 'over that way--down there.
But, hush, here's Bob. Not a word, my dear friend, not a word.'

Short as this conversation was, it roused in Mr. Winkle the
highest degree of excitement and anxiety. The suspected prior
attachment rankled in his heart. Could he be the object of it?
Could it be for him that the fair Arabella had looked scornfully
on the sprightly Bob Sawyer, or had he a successful rival? He
determined to see her, cost what it might; but here an insurmountable
objection presented itself, for whether the explanatory
'over that way,' and 'down there,' of Mr. Ben Allen, meant three
miles off, or thirty, or three hundred, he could in no wise guess.

But he had no opportunity of pondering over his love just then,
for Bob Sawyer's return was the immediate precursor of the
arrival of a meat-pie from the baker's, of which that gentleman
insisted on his staying to partake. The cloth was laid by an
occasional charwoman, who officiated in the capacity of Mr. Bob
Sawyer's housekeeper; and a third knife and fork having been
borrowed from the mother of the boy in the gray livery (for
Mr. Sawyer's domestic arrangements were as yet conducted on
a limited scale), they sat down to dinner; the beer being served
up, as Mr. Sawyer remarked, 'in its native pewter.'

After dinner, Mr. Bob Sawyer ordered in the largest mortar in
the shop, and proceeded to brew a reeking jorum of rum-punch
therein, stirring up and amalgamating the materials with a pestle
in a very creditable and apothecary-like manner. Mr. Sawyer,
being a bachelor, had only one tumbler in the house, which was
assigned to Mr. Winkle as a compliment to the visitor, Mr. Ben
Allen being accommodated with a funnel with a cork in the
narrow end, and Bob Sawyer contented himself with one of those
wide-lipped crystal vessels inscribed with a variety of cabalistic
characters, in which chemists are wont to measure out their
liquid drugs in compounding prescriptions. These preliminaries
adjusted, the punch was tasted, and pronounced excellent; and it
having been arranged that Bob Sawyer and Ben Allen should be
considered at liberty to fill twice to Mr. Winkle's once, they
started fair, with great satisfaction and good-fellowship.

There was no singing, because Mr. Bob Sawyer said it wouldn't
look professional; but to make amends for this deprivation there
was so much talking and laughing that it might have been heard,
and very likely was, at the end of the street. Which conversation
materially lightened the hours and improved the mind of Mr.
Bob Sawyer's boy, who, instead of devoting the evening to his
ordinary occupation of writing his name on the counter, and
rubbing it out again, peeped through the glass door, and thus
listened and looked on at the same time.

The mirth of Mr. Bob Sawyer was rapidly ripening into the
furious, Mr. Ben Allen was fast relapsing into the sentimental,
and the punch had well-nigh disappeared altogether, when the
boy hastily running in, announced that a young woman had just
come over, to say that Sawyer late Nockemorf was wanted
directly, a couple of streets off. This broke up the party. Mr. Bob
Sawyer, understanding the message, after some twenty repetitions,
tied a wet cloth round his head to sober himself, and, having
partially succeeded, put on his green spectacles and issued forth.
Resisting all entreaties to stay till he came back, and finding it
quite impossible to engage Mr. Ben Allen in any intelligible
conversation on the subject nearest his heart, or indeed on
any other, Mr. Winkle took his departure, and returned to the
Bush.

The anxiety of his mind, and the numerous meditations which
Arabella had awakened, prevented his share of the mortar of
punch producing that effect upon him which it would have had
under other circumstances. So, after taking a glass of soda-water
and brandy at the bar, he turned into the coffee-room, dispirited
rather than elevated by the occurrences of the evening.
Sitting in front of the fire, with his back towards him, was a
tallish gentleman in a greatcoat: the only other occupant of the
room. It was rather a cool evening for the season of the year, and
the gentleman drew his chair aside to afford the new-comer a
sight of the fire. What were Mr. Winkle's feelings when, in doing
so, he disclosed to view the face and figure of the vindictive and
sanguinary Dowler!

Mr. Winkle's first impulse was to give a violent pull at the
nearest bell-handle, but that unfortunately happened to be
immediately behind Mr. Dowler's head. He had made one step
towards it, before he checked himself. As he did so, Mr. Dowler
very hastily drew back.

'Mr. Winkle, Sir. Be calm. Don't strike me. I won't bear it. A
blow! Never!' said Mr. Dowler, looking meeker than Mr. Winkle
had expected in a gentleman of his ferocity.

'A blow, Sir?' stammered Mr. Winkle.

'A blow, Sir,' replied Dowler. 'Compose your feelings. Sit
down. Hear me.'

'Sir,' said Mr. Winkle, trembling from head to foot, 'before I
consent to sit down beside, or opposite you, without the presence
of a waiter, I must be secured by some further understanding.
You used a threat against me last night, Sir, a dreadful threat,
Sir.'  Here Mr. Winkle turned very pale indeed, and stopped short.

'I did,' said Dowler, with a countenance almost as white as
Mr. Winkle's. 'Circumstances were suspicious. They have been
explained. I respect your bravery. Your feeling is upright.
Conscious innocence. There's my hand. Grasp it.'

'Really, Sir,' said Mr. Winkle, hesitating whether to give his
hand or not, and almost fearing that it was demanded in order
that he might be taken at an advantage, 'really, Sir, I--'

'I know what you mean,' interposed Dowler. 'You feel
aggrieved. Very natural. So should I. I was wrong. I beg your
pardon. Be friendly. Forgive me.'  With this, Dowler fairly
forced his hand upon Mr. Winkle, and shaking it with the utmost
vehemence, declared he was a fellow of extreme spirit, and he had
a higher opinion of him than ever.

'Now,' said Dowler, 'sit down. Relate it all. How did you find
me? When did you follow? Be frank. Tell me.'

'It's quite accidental,' replied Mr. Winkle, greatly perplexed
by the curious and unexpected nature of the interview. 'Quite.'

'Glad of it,' said Dowler. 'I woke this morning. I had forgotten
my threat. I laughed at the accident. I felt friendly. I said so.'

'To whom?' inquired Mr. Winkle.

'To Mrs. Dowler. "You made a vow," said she. "I did," said I.
"It was a rash one," said she. "It was," said I. "I'll apologise.
Where is he?"'

'Who?' inquired Mr. Winkle.

'You,' replied Dowler. 'I went downstairs. You were not to be
found. Pickwick looked gloomy. Shook his head. Hoped no
violence would be committed. I saw it all. You felt yourself
insulted. You had gone, for a friend perhaps. Possibly for pistols.
"High spirit," said I. "I admire him."'

Mr. Winkle coughed, and beginning to see how the land lay,
assumed a look of importance.

'I left a note for you,' resumed Dowler. 'I said I was sorry. So
I was. Pressing business called me here. You were not satisfied.
You followed. You required a verbal explanation. You were
right. It's all over now. My business is finished. I go back
to-morrow. Join me.'

As Dowler progressed in his explanation, Mr. Winkle's
countenance grew more and more dignified. The mysterious
nature of the commencement of their conversation was
explained; Mr. Dowler had as great an objection to duelling as
himself; in short, this blustering and awful personage was one of
the most egregious cowards in existence, and interpreting Mr.
Winkle's absence through the medium of his own fears, had
taken the same step as himself, and prudently retired until all
excitement of feeling should have subsided.

As the real state of the case dawned upon Mr. Winkle's mind,
he looked very terrible, and said he was perfectly satisfied; but at
the same time, said so with an air that left Mr. Dowler no alternative
but to infer that if he had not been, something most horrible
and destructive must inevitably have occurred. Mr. Dowler
appeared to be impressed with a becoming sense of Mr. Winkle's
magnanimity and condescension; and the two belligerents parted
for the night, with many protestations of eternal friendship.

About half-past twelve o'clock, when Mr. Winkle had been
revelling some twenty minutes in the full luxury of his first sleep,
he was suddenly awakened by a loud knocking at his chamber
door, which, being repeated with increased vehemence, caused
him to start up in bed, and inquire who was there, and what the
matter was.

'Please, Sir, here's a young man which says he must see you
directly,' responded the voice of the chambermaid.

'A young man!' exclaimed Mr. Winkle.

'No mistake about that 'ere, Sir,' replied another voice through
the keyhole; 'and if that wery same interestin' young creetur ain't
let in vithout delay, it's wery possible as his legs vill enter afore
his countenance.'  The young man gave a gentle kick at one of the

lower panels of the door, after he had given utterance to this hint,
as if to add force and point to the remark.

'Is that you, Sam?' inquired Mr. Winkle, springing out of bed.

'Quite unpossible to identify any gen'l'm'n vith any degree o'
mental satisfaction, vithout lookin' at him, Sir,' replied the
voice dogmatically.

Mr. Winkle, not much doubting who the young man was,
unlocked the door; which he had no sooner done than Mr.
Samuel Weller entered with great precipitation, and carefully
relocking it on the inside, deliberately put the key in his waistcoat
pocket; and, after surveying Mr. Winkle from head to foot,
said--

'You're a wery humorous young gen'l'm'n, you air, Sir!'

'What do you mean by this conduct, Sam?' inquired Mr.
Winkle indignantly. 'Get out, sir, this instant. What do you
mean, Sir?'

'What do I mean,' retorted Sam; 'come, Sir, this is rayther too
rich, as the young lady said when she remonstrated with the
pastry-cook, arter he'd sold her a pork pie as had got nothin' but
fat inside. What do I mean! Well, that ain't a bad 'un, that ain't.'

'Unlock that door, and leave this room immediately, Sir,' said
Mr. Winkle.

'I shall leave this here room, sir, just precisely at the wery
same moment as you leaves it,' responded Sam, speaking in a
forcible manner, and seating himself with perfect gravity. 'If I
find it necessary to carry you away, pick-a-back, o' course I shall
leave it the least bit o' time possible afore you; but allow me to
express a hope as you won't reduce me to extremities; in saying
wich, I merely quote wot the nobleman said to the fractious
pennywinkle, ven he vouldn't come out of his shell by means of a
pin, and he conseqvently began to be afeered that he should be
obliged to crack him in the parlour door.'  At the end of this
address, which was unusually lengthy for him, Mr. Weller
planted his hands on his knees, and looked full in Mr. Winkle's
face, with an expression of countenance which showed that he
had not the remotest intention of being trifled with.

'You're a amiably-disposed young man, Sir, I don't think,'
resumed Mr. Weller, in a tone of moral reproof, 'to go inwolving
our precious governor in all sorts o' fanteegs, wen he's made up
his mind to go through everythink for principle. You're far
worse nor Dodson, Sir; and as for Fogg, I consider him a born
angel to you!'  Mr. Weller having accompanied this last sentiment
with an emphatic slap on each knee, folded his arms with a look
of great disgust, and threw himself back in his chair, as if
awaiting the criminal's defence.

'My good fellow,' said Mr. Winkle, extending his hand--his
teeth chattering all the time he spoke, for he had been standing,
during the whole of Mr. Weller's lecture, in his night-gear--'my
good fellow, I respect your attachment to my excellent friend,
and I am very sorry indeed to have added to his causes for
disquiet. There, Sam, there!'

'Well,' said Sam, rather sulkily, but giving the proffered hand
a respectful shake at the same time--'well, so you ought to be,
and I am very glad to find you air; for, if I can help it, I won't
have him put upon by nobody, and that's all about it.'

'Certainly not, Sam,' said Mr. Winkle. 'There! Now go to bed,
Sam, and we'll talk further about this in the morning.'

'I'm wery sorry,' said Sam, 'but I can't go to bed.'

'Not go to bed!' repeated Mr. Winkle.

'No,' said Sam, shaking his head. 'Can't be done.'

'You don't mean to say you're going back to-night, Sam?'
urged Mr. Winkle, greatly surprised.

'Not unless you particklerly wish it,' replied Sam; 'but I
mustn't leave this here room. The governor's orders wos peremptory.'

'Nonsense, Sam,' said Mr. Winkle, 'I must stop here two or
three days; and more than that, Sam, you must stop here too,
to assist me in gaining an interview with a young lady--Miss
Allen, Sam; you remember her--whom I must and will see before
I leave Bristol.'

But in reply to each of these positions, Sam shook his head
with great firmness, and energetically replied, 'It can't be done.'

After a great deal of argument and representation on the part
of Mr. Winkle, however, and a full disclosure of what had passed
in the interview with Dowler, Sam began to waver; and at length
a compromise was effected, of which the following were the main
and principal conditions:--

That Sam should retire, and leave Mr. Winkle in the undisturbed
possession of his apartment, on the condition that he had
permission to lock the door on the outside, and carry off the key;
provided always, that in the event of an alarm of fire, or other
dangerous contingency, the door should be instantly unlocked.
That a letter should be written to Mr. Pickwick early next
morning, and forwarded per Dowler, requesting his consent to
Sam and Mr. Winkle's remaining at Bristol, for the purpose and
with the object already assigned, and begging an answer by the
next coach--, if favourable, the aforesaid parties to remain
accordingly, and if not, to return to Bath immediately on the
receipt thereof. And, lastly, that Mr. Winkle should be understood
as distinctly pledging himself not to resort to the window,
fireplace, or other surreptitious mode of escape in the meanwhile.
These stipulations having been concluded, Sam locked the door
and departed.

He had nearly got downstairs, when he stopped, and drew the
key from his pocket.

'I quite forgot about the knockin' down,' said Sam, half
turning back. 'The governor distinctly said it was to be done.
Amazin' stupid o' me, that 'ere! Never mind,' said Sam, brightening
up, 'it's easily done to-morrow, anyvays.'

Apparently much consoled by this reflection, Mr. Weller once
more deposited the key in his pocket, and descending the remainder
of the stairs without any fresh visitations of conscience,
was soon, in common with the other inmates of the house, buried
in profound repose.

CHAPTER XXXIX
Mr. SAMUEL WELLER, BEING INTRUSTED WITH A MISSION
  OF LOVE, PROCEEDS TO EXECUTE IT; WITH WHAT SUCCESS
  WILL HEREINAFTER APPEAR

During the whole of next day, Sam kept Mr. Winkle steadily in
sight, fully determined not to take his eyes off him for one
instant, until he should receive express instructions from the
fountain-head. However disagreeable Sam's very close watch and
great vigilance were to Mr. Winkle, he thought it better to bear
with them, than, by any act of violent opposition, to hazard
being carried away by force, which Mr. Weller more than once
strongly hinted was the line of conduct that a strict sense of duty
prompted him to pursue. There is little reason to doubt that Sam
would very speedily have quieted his scruples, by bearing
Mr. Winkle back to Bath, bound hand and foot, had not Mr.
Pickwick's prompt attention to the note, which Dowler had
undertaken to deliver, forestalled any such proceeding. In
short, at eight o'clock in the evening, Mr. Pickwick himself
walked into the coffee-room of the Bush Tavern, and told Sam
with a smile, to his very great relief, that he had done quite
right, and it was unnecessary for him to mount guard any longer.

'I thought it better to come myself,' said Mr. Pickwick,
addressing Mr. Winkle, as Sam disencumbered him of his great-
coat and travelling-shawl, 'to ascertain, before I gave my consent
to Sam's employment in this matter, that you are quite in earnest
and serious, with respect to this young lady.'

'Serious, from my heart--from my soul!'returned Mr. Winkle,
with great energy.

'Remember,' said Mr. Pickwick, with beaming eyes, 'we met
her at our excellent and hospitable friend's, Winkle. It would be
an ill return to tamper lightly, and without due consideration,
with this young lady's affections. I'll not allow that, sir. I'll not
allow it.'

'I have no such intention, indeed,' exclaimed Mr. Winkle
warmly. 'I have considered the matter well, for a long time, and
I feel that my happiness is bound up in her.'

'That's wot we call tying it up in a small parcel, sir,' interposed
Mr. Weller, with an agreeable smile.

Mr. Winkle looked somewhat stern at this interruption, and
Mr. Pickwick angrily requested his attendant not to jest with one
of the best feelings of our nature; to which Sam replied, 'That he
wouldn't, if he was aware on it; but there were so many on 'em, that
he hardly know'd which was the best ones wen he heerd 'em mentioned.'

Mr. Winkle then recounted what had passed between himself
and Mr. Ben Allen, relative to Arabella; stated that his object was
to gain an interview with the young lady, and make a formal
disclosure of his passion; and declared his conviction, founded
on certain dark hints and mutterings of the aforesaid Ben, that,
wherever she was at present immured, it was somewhere near the
Downs. And this was his whole stock of knowledge or suspicion
on the subject.

With this very slight clue to guide him, it was determined that
Mr. Weller should start next morning on an expedition of
discovery; it was also arranged that Mr. Pickwick and Mr.
Winkle, who were less confident of their powers, should parade
the town meanwhile, and accidentally drop in upon Mr. Bob
Sawyer in the course of the day, in the hope of seeing or hearing
something of the young lady's whereabouts.

Accordingly, next morning, Sam Weller issued forth upon his
quest, in no way daunted by the very discouraging prospect
before him; and away he walked, up one street and down another
--we were going to say, up one hill and down another, only it's
all uphill at Clifton--without meeting with anything or anybody
that tended to throw the faintest light on the matter in hand.
Many were the colloquies into which Sam entered with grooms
who were airing horses on roads, and nursemaids who were
airing children in lanes; but nothing could Sam elicit from either
the first-mentioned or the last, which bore the slightest reference
to the object of his artfully-prosecuted inquiries. There were a
great many young ladies in a great many houses, the greater part
whereof were shrewdly suspected by the male and female
domestics to be deeply attached to somebody, or perfectly ready
to become so, if opportunity afforded. But as none among these
young ladies was Miss Arabella Allen, the information left
Sam at exactly the old point of wisdom at which he had stood before.

Sam struggled across the Downs against a good high wind,
wondering whether it was always necessary to hold your hat on
with both hands in that part of the country, and came to a shady
by-place, about which were sprinkled several little villas of quiet
and secluded appearance. Outside a stable door at the bottom of
a long back lane without a thoroughfare, a groom in undress was
idling about, apparently persuading himself that he was doing
something with a spade and a wheel-barrow. We may remark, in
this place, that we have scarcely ever seen a groom near a stable,
in his lazy moments, who has not been, to a greater or less extent,
the victim of this singular delusion.

Sam thought he might as well talk to this groom as to any one
else, especially as he was very tired with walking, and there was a
good large stone just opposite the wheel-barrow; so he strolled
down the lane, and, seating himself on the stone, opened a
conversation with the ease and freedom for which he was remarkable.

'Mornin', old friend,' said Sam.

'Arternoon, you mean,' replied the groom, casting a surly look
at Sam.

'You're wery right, old friend,' said Sam; 'I DO mean arternoon.
How are you?'

'Why, I don't find myself much the better for seeing of you,'
replied the ill-tempered groom.

'That's wery odd--that is,' said Sam, 'for you look so uncommon
cheerful, and seem altogether so lively, that it does vun's
heart good to see you.'

The surly groom looked surlier still at this, but not sufficiently
so to produce any effect upon Sam, who immediately inquired,
with a countenance of great anxiety, whether his master's name
was not Walker.

'No, it ain't,' said the groom.

'Nor Brown, I s'pose?' said Sam.

'No, it ain't.'

'Nor Vilson?'

'No; nor that @ither,' said the groom.

'Vell,' replied Sam, 'then I'm mistaken, and he hasn't got the
honour o' my acquaintance, which I thought he had. Don't wait
here out o' compliment to me,' said Sam, as the groom wheeled
in the barrow, and prepared to shut the gate. 'Ease afore
ceremony, old boy; I'll excuse you.'

'I'd knock your head off for half-a-crown,' said the surly
groom, bolting one half of the gate.

'Couldn't afford to have it done on those terms,' rejoined Sam.
'It 'ud be worth a life's board wages at least, to you, and 'ud be
cheap at that. Make my compliments indoors. Tell 'em not to
vait dinner for me, and say they needn't mind puttin' any by, for
it'll be cold afore I come in.'

In reply to this, the groom waxing very wroth, muttered a
desire to damage somebody's person; but disappeared without
carrying it into execution, slamming the door angrily after him,
and wholly unheeding Sam's affectionate request, that he would
leave him a lock of his hair before he went.

Sam continued to sit on the large stone, meditating upon what
was best to be done, and revolving in his mind a plan for knocking
at all the doors within five miles of Bristol, taking them at a
hundred and fifty or two hundred a day, and endeavouring to
find Miss Arabella by that expedient, when accident all of a
sudden threw in his way what he might have sat there for a
twelvemonth and yet not found without it.

Into the lane where he sat, there opened three or four garden
gates, belonging to as many houses, which though detached from
each other, were only separated by their gardens. As these were
large and long, and well planted with trees, the houses were not
only at some distance off, but the greater part of them were
nearly concealed from view. Sam was sitting with his eyes fixed
upon the dust-heap outside the next gate to that by which the
groom had disappeared, profoundly turning over in his mind the
difficulties of his present undertaking, when the gate opened, and
a female servant came out into the lane to shake some bedside carpets.

Sam was so very busy with his own thoughts, that it is probable
he would have taken no more notice of the young woman than
just raising his head and remarking that she had a very neat and
pretty figure, if his feelings of gallantry had not been most
strongly roused by observing that she had no one to help her, and
that the carpets seemed too heavy for her single strength. Mr.
Weller was a gentleman of great gallantry in his own way, and he
no sooner remarked this circumstance than he hastily rose from
the large stone, and advanced towards her.

'My dear,' said Sam, sliding up with an air of great respect,
'you'll spile that wery pretty figure out o' all perportion if you
shake them carpets by yourself. Let me help you.'

The young lady, who had been coyly affecting not to know
that a gentleman was so near, turned round as Sam spoke--no
doubt (indeed she said so, afterwards) to decline this offer from a
perfect stranger--when instead of speaking, she started back, and
uttered a half-suppressed scream. Sam was scarcely less staggered,
for in the countenance of the well-shaped female servant, he
beheld the very features of his valentine, the pretty housemaid
from Mr. Nupkins's.

'Wy, Mary, my dear!' said Sam.

'Lauk, Mr. Weller,' said Mary, 'how you do frighten one!'

Sam made no verbal answer to this complaint, nor can we
precisely say what reply he did make. We merely know that after
a short pause Mary said, 'Lor, do adun, Mr. Weller!' and that his
hat had fallen off a few moments before--from both of which
tokens we should be disposed to infer that one kiss, or more, had
passed between the parties.

'Why, how did you come here?' said Mary, when the conversation
to which this interruption had been offered, was
resumed.

'O' course I came to look arter you, my darlin',' replied Mr.
Weller; for once permitting his passion to get the better of
his veracity.

'And how did you know I was here?' inquired Mary. 'Who
could have told you that I took another service at Ipswich, and
that they afterwards moved all the way here? Who COULD have
told you that, Mr. Weller?'

'Ah, to be sure,' said Sam, with a cunning look, 'that's the
pint. Who could ha' told me?'

'It wasn't Mr. Muzzle, was it?' inquired Mary.

'Oh, no.'  replied Sam, with a solemn shake of the head, 'it
warn't him.'

'It must have been the cook,' said Mary.

'O' course it must,' said Sam.

'Well, I never heard the like of that!' exclaimed Mary.

'No more did I,' said Sam. 'But Mary, my dear'--here Sam's
manner grew extremely affectionate--'Mary, my dear, I've got
another affair in hand as is wery pressin'. There's one o' my
governor's friends--Mr. Winkle, you remember him?'

'Him in the green coat?' said Mary. 'Oh, yes, I remember him.'

'Well,' said Sam, 'he's in a horrid state o' love; reg'larly
comfoozled, and done over vith it.'

'Lor!' interposed Mary.

'Yes,' said Sam; 'but that's nothin' if we could find out the
young 'ooman;' and here Sam, with many digressions upon the
personal beauty of Mary, and the unspeakable tortures he had
experienced since he last saw her, gave a faithful account of
Mr. Winkle's present predicament.

'Well,' said Mary, 'I never did!'

'O' course not,' said Sam, 'and nobody never did, nor never
vill neither; and here am I a-walkin' about like the wandering
Jew--a sportin' character you have perhaps heerd on Mary, my
dear, as vos alvays doin' a match agin' time, and never vent to
sleep--looking arter this here Miss Arabella Allen.'

'Miss who?' said Mary, in great astonishment.

'Miss Arabella Allen,' said Sam.

'Goodness gracious!' said Mary, pointing to the garden door
which the sulky groom had locked after him. 'Why, it's that very
house; she's been living there these six weeks. Their upper house-
maid, which is lady's-maid too, told me all about it over the
wash-house palin's before the family was out of bed, one mornin'.'

'Wot, the wery next door to you?' said Sam.

'The very next,' replied Mary.

Mr. Weller was so deeply overcome on receiving this intelligence
that he found it absolutely necessary to cling to his fair
informant for support; and divers little love passages had passed
between them, before he was sufficiently collected to return to
the subject.

'Vell,' said Sam at length, 'if this don't beat cock-fightin'
nothin' never vill, as the lord mayor said, ven the chief secretary
o' state proposed his missis's health arter dinner. That wery next
house! Wy, I've got a message to her as I've been a-trying all day
to deliver.'

'Ah,' said Mary, 'but you can't deliver it now, because she only
walks in the garden in the evening, and then only for a very little
time; she never goes out, without the old lady.'

Sam ruminated for a few moments, and finally hit upon the
following plan of operations; that he should return just at dusk
--the time at which Arabella invariably took her walk--and,
being admitted by Mary into the garden of the house to which she
belonged, would contrive to scramble up the wall, beneath the
overhanging boughs of a large pear-tree, which would effectually
screen him from observation; would there deliver his message,
and arrange, if possible, an interview on behalf of Mr. Winkle for
the ensuing evening at the same hour. Having made this arrangement
with great despatch, he assisted Mary in the long-deferred
occupation of shaking the carpets.

It is not half as innocent a thing as it looks, that shaking little
pieces of carpet--at least, there may be no great harm in the
shaking, but the folding is a very insidious process. So long as the
shaking lasts, and the two parties are kept the carpet's length
apart, it is as innocent an amusement as can well be devised;
but when the folding begins, and the distance between them gets
gradually lessened from one half its former length to a quarter,
and then to an eighth, and then to a sixteenth, and then to a
thirty-second, if the carpet be long enough, it becomes dangerous.
We do not know, to a nicety, how many pieces of carpet were
folded in this instance, but we can venture to state that as many
pieces as there were, so many times did Sam kiss the pretty housemaid.

Mr. Weller regaled himself with moderation at the nearest
tavern until it was nearly dusk, and then returned to the lane
without the thoroughfare. Having been admitted into the
garden by Mary, and having received from that lady sundry
admonitions concerning the safety of his limbs and neck, Sam
mounted into the pear-tree, to wait until Arabella should come
into sight.

He waited so long without this anxiously-expected event
occurring, that he began to think it was not going to take place
at all, when he heard light footsteps upon the gravel, and
immediately afterwards beheld Arabella walking pensively down
the garden. As soon as she came nearly below the tree, Sam
began, by way of gently indicating his presence, to make sundry
diabolical noises similar to those which would probably be
natural to a person of middle age who had been afflicted with a
combination of inflammatory sore throat, croup, and whooping-
cough, from his earliest infancy.

Upon this, the young lady cast a hurried glance towards the
spot whence the dreadful sounds proceeded; and her previous
alarm being not at all diminished when she saw a man among the
branches, she would most certainly have decamped, and alarmed
the house, had not fear fortunately deprived her of the power of
moving, and caused her to sink down on a garden seat, which
happened by good luck to be near at hand.

'She's a-goin' off,' soliloquised Sam in great perplexity. 'Wot
a thing it is, as these here young creeturs will go a-faintin' avay
just ven they oughtn't to. Here, young 'ooman, Miss Sawbones,
Mrs. Vinkle, don't!'

Whether it was the magic of Mr. Winkle's name, or the coolness
of the open air, or some recollection of Mr. Weller's voice,
that revived Arabella, matters not. She raised her head and
languidly inquired, 'Who's that, and what do you want?'

'Hush,' said Sam, swinging himself on to the wall, and crouching
there in as small a compass as he could reduce himself to,
'only me, miss, only me.'

'Mr. Pickwick's servant!' said Arabella earnestly.

'The wery same, miss,' replied Sam. 'Here's Mr. Vinkle
reg'larly sewed up vith desperation, miss.'

'Ah!' said Arabella, drawing nearer the wall.

'Ah, indeed,' said Sam. 'Ve thought ve should ha' been
obliged to strait-veskit him last night; he's been a-ravin' all day;
and he says if he can't see you afore to-morrow night's over, he
vishes he may be somethin' unpleasanted if he don't drownd hisself.'

'Oh, no, no, Mr. Weller!' said Arabella, clasping her hands.

'That's wot he says, miss,' replied Sam coolly. 'He's a man of
his word, and it's my opinion he'll do it, miss. He's heerd all
about you from the sawbones in barnacles.'

'From my brother!' said Arabella, having some faint recognition
of Sam's description.

'I don't rightly know which is your brother, miss,' replied Sam.
'Is it the dirtiest vun o' the two?'

'Yes, yes, Mr. Weller,' returned Arabella, 'go on. Make haste, pray.'

'Well, miss,' said Sam, 'he's heerd all about it from him; and
it's the gov'nor's opinion that if you don't see him wery quick,
the sawbones as we've been a-speakin' on, 'ull get as much extra
lead in his head as'll rayther damage the dewelopment o' the
orgins if they ever put it in spirits artervards.'

'Oh, what can I do to prevent these dreadful quarrels!'
exclaimed Arabella.

'It's the suspicion of a priory 'tachment as is the cause of it all,'
replied Sam. 'You'd better see him, miss.'

'But how?--where?'cried Arabella. 'I dare not leave the house
alone. My brother is so unkind, so unreasonable! I know how
strange my talking thus to you may appear, Mr. Weller, but I am
very, very unhappy--' and here poor Arabella wept so bitterly
that Sam grew chivalrous.

'It may seem wery strange talkin' to me about these here
affairs, miss,' said Sam, with great vehemence; 'but all I can say
is, that I'm not only ready but villin' to do anythin' as'll make
matters agreeable; and if chuckin' either o' them sawboneses out
o' winder 'ull do it, I'm the man.'  As Sam Weller said this, he
tucked up his wristbands, at the imminent hazard of falling off the
wall in so doing, to intimate his readiness to set to work immediately.

Flattering as these professions of good feeling were, Arabella
resolutely declined (most unaccountably, as Sam thought) to
avail herself of them. For some time she strenuously refused to
grant Mr. Winkle the interview Sam had so pathetically requested;
but at length, when the conversation threatened to be
interrupted by the unwelcome arrival of a third party, she
hurriedly gave him to understand, with many professions of
gratitude, that it was barely possible she might be in the garden
an hour later, next evening. Sam understood this perfectly well;
and Arabella, bestowing upon him one of her sweetest smiles,
tripped gracefully away, leaving Mr. Weller in a state of very
great admiration of her charms, both personal and mental.

Having descended in safety from the wall, and not forgotten
to devote a few moments to his own particular business in the
same department, Mr. Weller then made the best of his way back
to the Bush, where his prolonged absence had occasioned much
speculation and some alarm.

'We must be careful,' said Mr. Pickwick, after listening
attentively to Sam's tale, 'not for our sakes, but for that of the
young lady. We must be very cautious.'

'WE!' said Mr. Winkle, with marked emphasis.

Mr. Pickwick's momentary look of indignation at the tone of
this remark, subsided into his characteristic expression of
benevolence, as he replied--

'WE, Sir! I shall accompany you.'

'You!' said Mr. Winkle.

'I,' replied Mr. Pickwick mildly. 'In affording you this interview,
the young lady has taken a natural, perhaps, but still a
very imprudent step. If I am present at the meeting--a mutual
friend, who is old enough to be the father of both parties--the
voice of calumny can never be raised against her hereafter.'

Mr. Pickwick's eyes lightened with honest exultation at his
own foresight, as he spoke thus. Mr. Winkle was touched by this
little trait of his delicate respect for the young PROTEGEE of his
friend, and took his hand with a feeling of regard, akin to veneration.

'You SHALL go,' said Mr. Winkle.

'I will,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Sam, have my greatcoat and shawl
ready, and order a conveyance to be at the door to-morrow
evening, rather earlier than is absolutely necessary, in order that
we may be in good time.'

Mr. Weller touched his hat, as an earnest of his obedience,
and withdrew to make all needful preparations for the expedition.

The coach was punctual to the time appointed; and Mr. Weller,
after duly installing Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Winkle inside, took
his seat on the box by the driver. They alighted, as had been
agreed on, about a quarter of a mile from the place of rendezvous,
and desiring the coachman to await their return, proceeded the
remaining distance on foot.

It was at this stage of the undertaking that Mr. Pickwick, with
many smiles and various other indications of great self-satisfaction,
produced from one of his coat pockets a dark lantern, with
which he had specially provided himself for the occasion, and the
great mechanical beauty of which he proceeded to explain to
Mr. Winkle, as they walked along, to the no small surprise of the
few stragglers they met.

'I should have been the better for something of this kind, in
my last garden expedition, at night; eh, Sam?' said Mr. Pickwick,
looking good-humouredly round at his follower, who was
trudging behind.

'Wery nice things, if they're managed properly, Sir,' replied
Mr. Weller; 'but wen you don't want to be seen, I think they're
more useful arter the candle's gone out, than wen it's alight.'

Mr. Pickwick appeared struck by Sam's remarks, for he put
the lantern into his pocket again, and they walked on in silence.

'Down here, Sir,' said Sam. 'Let me lead the way. This is the
lane, Sir.'

Down the lane they went, and dark enough it was. Mr. Pickwick
brought out the lantern, once or twice, as they groped their
way along, and threw a very brilliant little tunnel of light before
them, about a foot in diameter. It was very pretty to look at, but
seemed to have the effect of rendering surrounding objects
rather darker than before.

At length they arrived at the large stone. Here Sam recommended
his master and Mr. Winkle to seat themselves, while
he reconnoitred, and ascertained whether Mary was yet in waiting.

After an absence of five or ten minutes, Sam returned to say
that the gate was opened, and all quiet. Following him with
stealthy tread, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Winkle soon found themselves
in the garden. Here everybody said, 'Hush!' a good many
times; and that being done, no one seemed to have any very
distinct apprehension of what was to be done next.

'Is Miss Allen in the garden yet, Mary?' inquired Mr. Winkle,
much agitated.

'I don't know, sir,' replied the pretty housemaid. 'The best
thing to be done, sir, will be for Mr. Weller to give you a hoist up
into the tree, and perhaps Mr. Pickwick will have the goodness
to see that nobody comes up the lane, while I watch at the other
end of the garden. Goodness gracious, what's that?'

'That 'ere blessed lantern 'ull be the death on us all,' exclaimed
Sam peevishly. 'Take care wot you're a-doin' on, sir; you're
a-sendin' a blaze o' light, right into the back parlour winder.'

'Dear me!' said Mr. Pickwick, turning hastily aside, 'I didn't
mean to do that.'

'Now, it's in the next house, sir,' remonstrated Sam.

'Bless my heart!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, turning round again.

'Now, it's in the stable, and they'll think the place is afire,' said
Sam. 'Shut it up, sir, can't you?'

'It's the most extraordinary lantern I ever met with, in all my
life!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, greatly bewildered by the effects
he had so unintentionally produced. 'I never saw such a powerful
reflector.'

'It'll be vun too powerful for us, if you keep blazin' avay in
that manner, sir,' replied Sam, as Mr. Pickwick, after various
unsuccessful efforts, managed to close the slide. 'There's the
young lady's footsteps. Now, Mr. Winkle, sir, up vith you.'

'Stop, stop!' said Mr. Pickwick, 'I must speak to her first.
Help me up, Sam.'

'Gently, Sir,' said Sam, planting his head against the wall, and
making a platform of his back. 'Step atop o' that 'ere flower-pot,
Sir. Now then, up vith you.'

'I'm afraid I shall hurt you, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Never mind me, Sir,' replied Sam. 'Lend him a hand, Mr.
Winkle. sir. Steady, sir, steady! That's the time o' day!'

As Sam spoke, Mr. Pickwick, by exertions almost supernatural
in a gentleman of his years and weight, contrived to get upon
Sam's back; and Sam gently raising himself up, and Mr. Pickwick
holding on fast by the top of the wall, while Mr. Winkle
clasped him tight by the legs, they contrived by these means to
bring his spectacles just above the level of the coping.

'My dear,' said Mr. Pickwick, looking over the wall, and
catching sight of Arabella, on the other side, 'don't be frightened,
my dear, it's only me.'
'Oh, pray go away, Mr. Pickwick,' said Arabella. 'Tell them all
to go away. I am so dreadfully frightened. Dear, dear Mr.
Pickwick, don't stop there. You'll fall down and kill yourself, I
know you will.'

'Now, pray don't alarm yourself, my dear,' said Mr. Pickwick
soothingly. 'There is not the least cause for fear, I assure you.
Stand firm, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, looking down.

'All right, sir,' replied Mr. Weller. 'Don't be longer than you
can conweniently help, sir. You're rayther heavy.'

'Only another moment, Sam,' replied Mr. Pickwick.

'I merely wished you to know, my dear, that I should not have
allowed my young friend to see you in this clandestine way, if the
situation in which you are placed had left him any alternative;
and, lest the impropriety of this step should cause you any
uneasiness, my love, it may be a satisfaction to you, to know that
I am present. That's all, my dear.'

'Indeed, Mr. Pickwick, I am very much obliged to you for your
kindness and consideration,' replied Arabella, drying her tears
with her handkerchief. She would probably have said much more,
had not Mr. Pickwick's head disappeared with great swiftness, in
consequence of a false step on Sam's shoulder which brought
him suddenly to the ground. He was up again in an instant
however; and bidding Mr. Winkle make haste and get the interview
over, ran out into the lane to keep watch, with all the
courage and ardour of youth. Mr. Winkle himself, inspired by
the occasion, was on the wall in a moment, merely pausing to
request Sam to be careful of his master.

'I'll take care on him, sir,' replied Sam. 'Leave him to me.'

'Where is he? What's he doing, Sam?' inquired Mr. Winkle.

'Bless his old gaiters,' rejoined Sam, looking out at the garden
door. 'He's a-keepin' guard in the lane vith that 'ere dark lantern,
like a amiable Guy Fawkes! I never see such a fine creetur in my
days. Blessed if I don't think his heart must ha' been born five-
and-twenty year arter his body, at least!'

Mr. Winkle stayed not to hear the encomium upon his friend.
He had dropped from the wall; thrown himself at Arabella's
feet; and by this time was pleading the sincerity of his passion
with an eloquence worthy even of Mr. Pickwick himself.

While these things were going on in the open air, an elderly
gentleman of scientific attainments was seated in his library, two
or three houses off, writing a philosophical treatise, and ever and
anon moistening his clay and his labours with a glass of claret
from a venerable-looking bottle which stood by his side. In the
agonies of composition, the elderly gentleman looked sometimes
at the carpet, sometimes at the ceiling, and sometimes at the wall;
and when neither carpet, ceiling, nor wall afforded the requisite
degree of inspiration, he looked out of the window.

In one of these pauses of invention, the scientific gentleman
was gazing abstractedly on the thick darkness outside, when he
was very much surprised by observing a most brilliant light glide
through the air, at a short distance above the ground, and almost
instantaneously vanish. After a short time the phenomenon was
repeated, not once or twice, but several times; at last the scientific
gentleman, laying down his pen, began to consider to what
natural causes these appearances were to be assigned.

They were not meteors; they were too low. They were not
glow-worms; they were too high. They were not will-o'-the-
wisps; they were not fireflies; they were not fireworks. What could
they be? Some extraordinary and wonderful phenomenon of
nature, which no philosopher had ever seen before; something
which it had been reserved for him alone to discover, and which
he should immortalise his name by chronicling for the benefit of
posterity. Full of this idea, the scientific gentleman seized his
pen again, and committed to paper sundry notes of these
unparalleled appearances, with the date, day, hour, minute, and
precise second at which they were visible: all of which were to
form the data of a voluminous treatise of great research and deep
learning, which should astonish all the atmospherical wiseacres
that ever drew breath in any part of the civilised globe.

He threw himself back in his easy-chair, wrapped in
contemplations of his future greatness. The mysterious light appeared
more brilliantly than before, dancing, to all appearance, up and
down the lane, crossing from side to side, and moving in an
orbit as eccentric as comets themselves.

The scientific gentleman was a bachelor. He had no wife to call
in and astonish, so he rang the bell for his servant.

'Pruffle,' said the scientific gentleman, 'there is something very
extraordinary in the air to-night? Did you see that?' said the
scientific gentleman, pointing out of the window, as the light
again became visible.

'Yes, I did, Sir.'

'What do you think of it, Pruffle?'

'Think of it, Sir?'

'Yes. You have been bred up in this country. What should you
say was the cause for those lights, now?'

The scientific gentleman smilingly anticipated Pruffle's reply
that he could assign no cause for them at all. Pruffle meditated.

'I should say it was thieves, Sir,' said Pruffle at length.

'You're a fool, and may go downstairs,' said the scientific gentleman.

'Thank you, Sir,' said Pruffle. And down he went.

But the scientific gentleman could not rest under the idea of the
ingenious treatise he had projected being lost to the world, which
must inevitably be the case if the speculation of the ingenious
Mr. Pruffle were not stifled in its birth. He put on his hat and
walked quickly down the garden, determined to investigate the
matter to the very bottom.

Now, shortly before the scientific gentleman walked out into
the garden, Mr. Pickwick had run down the lane as fast as he
could, to convey a false alarm that somebody was coming that
way; occasionally drawing back the slide of the dark lantern to
keep himself from the ditch. The alarm was no sooner given,
than Mr. Winkle scrambled back over the wall, and Arabella ran
into the house; the garden gate was shut, and the three adventurers
were making the best of their way down the lane, when
they were startled by the scientific gentleman unlocking his
garden gate.

'Hold hard,' whispered Sam, who was, of course, the first of
the party. 'Show a light for just vun second, Sir.'

Mr. Pickwick did as he was desired, and Sam, seeing a man's
head peeping out very cautiously within half a yard of his own,
gave it a gentle tap with his clenched fist, which knocked it, with
a hollow sound, against the gate. Having performed this feat with
great suddenness and dexterity, Mr. Weller caught Mr. Pickwick
up on his back, and followed Mr. Winkle down the lane at a pace
which, considering the burden he carried, was perfectly astonishing.

'Have you got your vind back agin, Sir,' inquired Sam, when
they had reached the end.

'Quite. Quite, now,' replied Mr. Pickwick.

'Then come along, Sir,' said Sam, setting his master on his feet
again. 'Come betveen us, sir. Not half a mile to run. Think you're
vinnin' a cup, sir. Now for it.'

Thus encouraged, Mr. Pickwick made the very best use of his
legs. It may be confidently stated that a pair of black gaiters
never got over the ground in better style than did those of Mr.
Pickwick on this memorable occasion.

The coach was waiting, the horses were fresh, the roads were
good, and the driver was willing. The whole party arrived in
safety at the Bush before Mr. Pickwick had recovered his breath.

'in with you at once, sir,' said Sam, as he helped his master out.
'Don't stop a second in the street, arter that 'ere exercise. Beg
your pardon, sir,'continued Sam, touching his hat as Mr. Winkle
descended, 'hope there warn't a priory 'tachment, sir?'

Mr. Winkle grasped his humble friend by the hand, and
whispered in his ear, 'It's all right, Sam; quite right.'  Upon which
Mr. Weller struck three distinct blows upon his nose in token of
intelligence, smiled, winked, and proceeded to put the steps up,
with a countenance expressive of lively satisfaction.

As to the scientific gentleman, he demonstrated, in a masterly
treatise, that these wonderful lights were the effect of electricity;
and clearly proved the same by detailing how a flash of fire
danced before his eyes when he put his head out of the gate, and
how he received a shock which stunned him for a quarter of an
hour afterwards; which demonstration delighted all the scientific
associations beyond measure, and caused him to be considered a
light of science ever afterwards.

CHAPTER XL
INTRODUCES Mr. PICKWICK TO A NEW AND NOT UNINTERESTING
  SCENE IN THE GREAT DRAMA OF LIFE

The remainder of the period which Mr. Pickwick had assigned
as the duration of the stay at Bath passed over without the
occurrence of anything material. Trinity term commenced. On the
expiration of its first week, Mr. Pickwick and his friends returned
to London; and the former gentleman, attended of course by Sam,
straightway repaired to his old quarters at the George and Vulture.

On the third morning after their arrival, just as all the clocks in
the city were striking nine individually, and somewhere about
nine hundred and ninety-nine collectively, Sam was taking the air
in George Yard, when a queer sort of fresh-painted vehicle drove
up, out of which there jumped with great agility, throwing the
reins to a stout man who sat beside him, a queer sort of gentleman,
who seemed made for the vehicle, and the vehicle for him.

The vehicle was not exactly a gig, neither was it a stanhope. It
was not what is currently denominated a dog-cart, neither was it
a taxed cart, nor a chaise-cart, nor a guillotined cabriolet; and
yet it had something of the character of each and every of these
machines. It was painted a bright yellow, with the shafts and
wheels picked out in black; and the driver sat in the orthodox
sporting style, on cushions piled about two feet above the rail.
The horse was a bay, a well-looking animal enough; but with
something of a flash and dog-fighting air about him, nevertheless,
which accorded both with the vehicle and his master.

The master himself was a man of about forty, with black hair,
and carefully combed whiskers. He was dressed in a particularly
gorgeous manner, with plenty of articles of jewellery about him--
all about three sizes larger than those which are usually worn by
gentlemen--and a rough greatcoat to crown the whole. Into one
pocket of this greatcoat, he thrust his left hand the moment he
dismounted, while from the other he drew forth, with his right, a
very bright and glaring silk handkerchief, with which he whisked
a speck or two of dust from his boots, and then, crumpling it in
his hand, swaggered up the court.

It had not escaped Sam's attention that, when this person
dismounted, a shabby-looking man in a brown greatcoat shorn
of divers buttons, who had been previously slinking about, on the
opposite side of the way, crossed over, and remained stationary
close by. Having something more than a suspicion of the object
of the gentleman's visit, Sam preceded him to the George and
Vulture, and, turning sharp round, planted himself in the Centre
of the doorway.

'Now, my fine fellow!' said the man in the rough coat, in an
imperious tone, attempting at the same time to push his way past.

'Now, Sir, wot's the matter?' replied Sam, returning the push
with compound interest.

'Come, none of this, my man; this won't do with me,' said the
owner of the rough coat, raising his voice, and turning white.
'Here, Smouch!'

'Well, wot's amiss here?' growled the man in the brown coat, who
had been gradually sneaking up the court during this short dialogue.

'Only some insolence of this young man's,' said the principal,
giving Sam another push.

'Come, none o' this gammon,' growled Smouch, giving him
another, and a harder one.

This last push had the effect which it was intended by the
experienced Mr. Smouch to produce; for while Sam, anxious to
return the compliment, was grinding that gentleman's body
against the door-post, the principal crept past, and made his way
to the bar, whither Sam, after bandying a few epithetical remarks
with Mr. Smouch, followed at once.

'Good-morning, my dear,' said the principal, addressing the
young lady at the bar, with Botany Bay ease, and New South
Wales gentility; 'which is Mr. Pickwick's room, my dear?'

'Show him up,' said the barmaid to a waiter, without deigning
another look at the exquisite, in reply to his inquiry.

The waiter led the way upstairs as he was desired, and the man
in the rough coat followed, with Sam behind him, who, in his
progress up the staircase, indulged in sundry gestures indicative
of supreme contempt and defiance, to the unspeakable gratification
of the servants and other lookers-on. Mr. Smouch, who was
troubled with a hoarse cough, remained below, and expectorated
in the passage.

Mr. Pickwick was fast asleep in bed, when his early visitor,
followed by Sam, entered the room. The noise they made, in so
doing, awoke him.

'Shaving-water, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, from within the curtains.

'Shave you directly, Mr. Pickwick,' said the visitor, drawing
one of them back from the bed's head. 'I've got an execution
against you, at the suit of Bardell.--Here's the warrant.--
Common Pleas.--Here's my card. I suppose you'll come over to
my house.'  Giving Mr. Pickwick a friendly tap on the shoulder,
the sheriff's officer (for such he was) threw his card on the
counterpane, and pulled a gold toothpick from his waistcoat pocket.