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